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saleeba · 7 months ago

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subha hone na de ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ alexa play moonlight by twice :D

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x south asian/brown!fem!reader

content ♡ fluff, fiancé!jude, asian wedding shenanigans, jude in a black kurta (brown ppl will know that this is a trope in itself 😌), y/c/n = your cousin's name, lovergirl!reader, the moon as a symbol of beauty, tiny social media au at the end, bollywood fans this one's for u !! 🗣🗣

a/n ♡ ahhhh my first brown girl reader fic & i’m so excited for u all to read it 🥰🥰 the reason i used both south asian and brown as descriptors for the reader is bc i wanted to include the girlies of the diaspora like the caribbean/fiji/south africa/south east asia etc & tbh i wasn’t sure if any person of south asian descent preferred to describe themselves as either ‘south asian’ or as ‘brown’ !! also pls note that this is a very broad & non-specific portrayal of a person from “south asian culture” - that is to say that bc south asia is made up of numerous ethnicities, religions, cultures etc i don’t want to show disrespect by lumping them all together nor do i intend the reader to be from a certain south asian background! i tried to keep it as “general” (?) as possible esp when it came to the clothing but pls let me know if u would like to see elements of a specific culture or religion in a future south asian/brown!reader fic !! ALSO oml ik my a/ns are always so long 😭 but the title is a reference to one of my fav bollywood songs <3 it’s an absolute BANGER & it translates to “let there be no morning/don’t allow the dawn to arrive” which i think ties in nicely to this fic :D pls enjoy & lmk what u think!!! 🫶🏽💛

“alright… how do i look, babe?” your fiancé asks, emerging from the bedroom into the ensuite where you’re placing the finishing touches to your simple makeup look as he pats down the black sequinned kurta you’ve picked out for your cousin’s at-home henna ceremony tonight. his personal choice to pair it with a golden necklace and a watch to match makes the whole look pop against the summer-tanned tone of his skin.

you’re careful not to blind yourself with the eyeliner in your hand once you catch even the smallest glimpse of him in the mirror. it’s safe to say that if you were a cartoon character, there’d be hearts protruding from your eyeballs, all pink and comically large.

“you look amazing, jude, so handsome,” you beam at him, genuinely in awe of how good he looks in your culture’s clothing, not that it’s the first time you’ve seen jude wearing such a thing. over the years that the two of you have been dating, you’ve introduced him to so many facets of your heritage, sharing parts of yourself that were inseparably you – and jude has embraced and immersed himself in everything like he was born into that same culture.

your fiancé smiles right back at you before replying. “have to make sure i look good in front of my wife’s family now, don’t i?”

you struggle to stifle the schoolgirl-like giggle that racks through your chest at his words, still not able to be used to the word ‘wife’ coming out of jude’s mouth while referring to you, despite you not even being that yet. truth be told, it’s almost been a month since jude proposed and although you both agreed to wait for some time before telling fans and the media, he’s been calling you his wife around friends and family ever since he got down on one knee, resulting in your bashful smile and blushing cheeks becoming the subject of their teasing every time.

“true, yeah, can’t have the aunties gossiping about how you have zero drip.”

your joking is met with a childish sticking out of jude’s tongue before he’s shooed out of the bathroom, leaving you to complete your makeup and don the black and gold outfit that matches jude’s for tonight.

***

your cousin had told everyone that she wanted a very lowkey and relaxed henna function, especially since weddings from your culture tend to be incredibly busy—almost chaotically so—and she has the opportunity of her other nuptial ceremonies to go all out anyway, hence tonight’s dress code being as equally relaxed and minimal. in spite of all that, you’ve taught jude that celebrations in your culture and the word ‘lowkey’ are nothing but oxymorons of each other so he isn’t surprised when you both walk in to see the bridal home all decked out in bright lights and flower garlands the colours of a vivid spring and ten times the guests he was anticipating to see all bumbling about the place. what does surprise jude is when you inform him that you’ve been appointed as a “chief henna artist” (in the words of the bride) last minute so now he’s been abandoned; left to the mercy of your relatives who haven’t seen him for all of three months and so decide to hound him with every question under the sun.

“tell us how it was winning the champions league, jude!”

“jude, any plans for the wedding yet?”

“uncle jude, come play in the garden with us! please, uncle jude, please!

“is it true mbappé’s going to madrid? do you have his number?!”

“ooh, can you give me mbappé’s number?!”

jude fights the urge to jet past everyone and run out the front door screaming and flailing his arms, the blaring music and onslaught of inquiries getting to him, and instead peeks over the heads of the crowd around him to try and silently get your attention because as much as he loves your family, he’s praying you can be his knight in shining black and gold to save him from their unwarranted fixation right now. Unfortunately, he’s met with the sight of you fully concentrated on working on your cousin’s bridal henna, having teamed up with another cousin to meticulously draw intricate patterns across her arms and feet. oh, he’s going to have to get comfortable with the company of your relatives for at least the next three hours then.

***

those three hours turn into five by the time jude is done having a kickabout in the garden with your younger family members, detailing the night his club were champions of europe once again and politely declining the chance to leak the kylian mbappé’s phone number to your niece. not that he’s at his wits’ end (he kind of really is) but jude thinks he’d do good to be in your company as the clock tolls eleven so he opts out of another game of footy to go and look for you, much to the amusement of your relatives who lightheartedly taunt him about the way he can’t stay away from his fiancée for even a short while.

passing into the living room once again, jude finds you right where he left you but this time, it’s your henna that’s being painted onto the palms of your hands, the design so complex and elaborate that some of the already-dried parts look richly brick-ish red against your skin tone. under the twinkling fairy lights and waves of marigold flowers, jude can’t help but imagine it’s your nuptials being celebrated here; sitting so prettily like you’re what everyone came here to see and honestly? he can’t wait until it’s time for you to be just that.

“hi, again. remember me?” he jests, taking a seat on the floor cushion next to where you’re sat with your arms sprawled out as your cousin decorates them with muddy green paste.

“hmm, remind me who you are again?” you feign a confused look.

“ouch. is that ring on your finger not good enough of a reminder, mrs bellingham?”

“nope, the diamond’s too small.”

“oi!”

the laughter that erupts from the both of you even has your cousin joining in, jude breaking the giggle fits to ask an all-important question.

“have you eaten yet? you’ve been sat here the whole night doing this.”

shaking your head, you gesture towards the now empty bottle of water sitting by your feet that you’d been rationing throughout the evening and tell him that's all you’ve been filling your stomach with, way too busy with doing the bride’s henna then an aunty’s then a cousin’s then another aunty and then the next after that to even move from your spot in the lounge.

jude determines that that won’t do and offers to make you a plate of food that your elders had just topped up the buffet table with. you comply and ask him to get enough food for you to share.

between mouthfuls and munching of samosas—jude doing the super important job of biting the corner of a samosa and blowing the savoury pastry cool enough for you to take a bite—and sweetmeats, your cousin works hard at completing the henna art on your left hand, and there’s just the matter of a couple of fingers left before she utters a heartfelt apology and comments that her hand is about to cramp from holding cones of henna for so long.

“that’s okay! go grab a break and then if you’re still up for it, you can finish it later,” you say sincerely, encouraging her to go hang out with other parts of the family before she loses her mind in swirls and paisley patterns like you nearly have. “or i can always get someone else to do it!”

“can i have a go?”

the way jude pipes up, mouth stuffed with chocolate barfi like a child who's just found the cookie jar, has you and your cousin whipping your heads towards him and then at each other, sharing the slightest of sceptical looks.

“oh god, will we need to get the stencils out for him, y/n?” your cousin japes – well, she believes she is but the thought of her painstaking work being destroyed by a guy who, although creates art with a football, cannot draw anything further than a stick person makes her nervous, to say the least.

“hey!” jude wants to advocate for his art skills right here, right now. “i’ve been watching you do it all just now, i’ll just copy the exact same thing for the last two fingers, right?”

you pipe in as his supporting act. “he makes a very good case, your honour.”

your cousin surrenders to the pair of you, essentially fleeing the scene with mutters of “better not mess it up, bellingham” and you both know she’s deadly serious.

“still not too late to get the stencils, y’know?” you watch as your fiancé struggles with holding the henna cone correctly.

“no, no, i’ve got this, babe,” he remarks before almost smudging the still-wet design on your palm with his fingers. “oh shit!”

“jude!”

your heart nearly jumps out of your mouth at the sight.

“It’s fine, love, see!” jude points to an edge that’s ever so slightly smudged from the commotion. “all good. now, close your eyes.”

“you’re joking!” you squeak out incredulously, fearful of whatever is going on in that mad mind of his. you do not want to face the wrath of your cousin on a night that’s going so well.

“please, babe!” your grown fiancé looks like a kid trying to prove himself to his mum right now with the way his already puppy-dog eyes grow wider. “i promise it’ll look good, just… close your eyes, please?”

“ok, fine!” trying not to let reluctance get in the way, you’re now the one surrendering to jude’s request as your eyes close without any further argument.. “i’m telling y/c/n to kill you and not me if this doesn’t go to plan.”

a small chuckle is the only thing you can hear from jude before he gets to work, spending more minutes than you can count on your henna-adorned fingers as he drags the cool paint over your digits, questions of whether you can open your eyes yet meet with shushes and oftentimes you hear yourself hissing when jude tugs your skin with the pointed tip of the cone instead of hovering slightly above with it.

“aaand we’re done! you have my permission to open your eyes.” as soon as you do, you’re met with the sight of a very smug, very excited jude bellingham who gestures towards your left hand where… wow, the design is beautiful. it’s the tiniest bit clumsy, just where the lines are supposed to be straight, but it mirrors exactly what your cousin had painted on your right hand, the pattern set in its curls and dots and spirals.

“i did a little something extra, too. i hope y/c/n doesn’t mind but i think you’ll like it.”

“yeah? you’re gonna have to help me find it then, babe,” you say, already scanning over the artwork he’s created to try and find what mystery he’s left behind.

“actually, that’s supposed to be your job.” your fiancé replies, his smile a little more bashful and voice a little softer. “it’s my name, i wrote it in there for you to find—”

“really?! where?!” you ask albeit rhetorically as your eyes now frantically run all over your left hand in search of where jude has inscribed his own name.

a few seconds pass before they do a double-take over where your engagement ring sits on your finger, just there, just to the right of it along the crook of where your finger meets the back of your palm. there is it — the print so whimsically curled and sweetly small that it looks like it fits right in with the rest of the henna design. jude.

“where did you learn all this?” you’re tearing up just the slightest over it all, glad no one is within earshot of you two for you would’ve been teased to no end tonight.

your fiancé shrugs nonchalantly at your question before explaining everything. “i did some research after proposing and read about it. i know, originally, you’re supposed to be the one that knows and i’m the one that looks for it but i thought this would be cute.”

“it was cute— so cute,” you beam across at jude, the hearts in your eyes back again over how willing he is to throw himself into your cultural traditions and quirks, even learning things unprompted and without your encouragement. you thank your lucky stars that you found yourself a life partner who’s so unabashed in not just learning about your heritage but incorporating it into your lives. in a way, he’s been healing that little girl who grew up ashamed and embarrassed of her culture, wishing she was someone else, something else, and helping her become a woman who proudly wears it without giving anyone else ownership.

a chorus of “uncle jude! uncle jude!” rings through the living room as your younger relatives, all pumped up on sugar at around midnight (oh well, it is the time for festivities anyway), run in, dragging your fiancé away from you before you two can exchange any more words. you settle with a shared knowing look and smile, leaving you to get your henna dried and jude to commence round 2 of another football match.

***

there are only so many probing questions from aunties and uncles and instances of your cousin bitching about her situationship that you can take as your henna dries in, what are now, two makeshift cling-film casts to help strengthen the colour before you’re bothered by the lack of jude by your side as the clock tolls just past two in the morning. after sifting through possibly the entire family tree dotted throughout the house, you’re directed by an uncle to the balcony where jude’s standing hunched over the railing, gazing into the sky where the moon illuminates the earth, peeking from behind a sliver of cloud dust.

“hey, you,” you speak softly so as not to startle the peaceful moment that’s now given you a break from the hubbub inside.

jude whips his head towards the voice, instantly grinning at the sight of you, so beautiful in the moonshine, before extending an arm to pull you into his side.

“i see the moon’s out tonight,” you muse, not taking your eyes off him one bit as he continues to stare up into the sky.

“looks beautiful, right?”

“yeah, he does.” you daren’t unlock your gaze from the way jude glows in the moonlight, the cool tone sitting over his skin and bringing more attention to the bridge of his nose and the highest points of his cheekbones. oh, how you want to spend the rest of the night laying kisses across them.

“he? oh—” he turns to find your pretty eyes, lit equally as bright by the natural light, not even having budged an inch from his face as he realises you’re not talking about that moon. “shut up!”

you laugh as he blushes like a smitten teenage boy, a sight not too unfamiliar since that’s exactly what he was when the two of you started dating.

“what, can’t a girl be romantic with her husband?” you act out a sweet pout, the sight and your words making jude’s heart skip a beat or three.

“you are so lucky your family isn’t here to take the piss.”

another set of giggles from the pair of you as you cuddle into jude’s side, both now facing the moon that you swear is shining way brighter than before, the cloud in front of it nearly dissipating into non-existence.

“i love you, mrs bellingham,” jude breaks the serene silence. “i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” he places the gentlest of kisses on your ring finger, lips ghosting just over the cling-film-covered diamond ring. the scene would’ve been amusing had it not been for the tender romance of the moment, a few minutes to get away from the beloved chaos of family celebrations and to pretend the whole world rotated on its axis, served its purpose, for only jude and you.

“i love you, too. so much, jude.”

you sigh into the warming summer air, silently asking the sun to rise a little later so that you can fawn over your lover's features in the moonlight for as much time as you want.

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