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starlitmelanin · 1 month ago

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ᡣ𐭩ྀི too far gone; j.bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 4.5k

warnings/notes - angst. cheating/situationship. (classic case of falling for the wrong guy—unfortunately, y/n is ‘the other woman’ in this one). honestly just me word vomiting (this will not be everybody’s cup of tea). i do not condone infidelity, this is purely for the plot.

summary - jude's got a girlfriend, but he always ends up in your bed. tonight is no different, except she's here too—sleeping in your guest room, crying over him.

she shows up at your door just after midnight, eyes swollen and red, shoulders slumped like she's carrying the weight of the world on them. her hair's pulled back in a messy bun, and her makeup is smeared, but she still manages to look effortlessly beautiful. you hate her for it. but you hate yourself even more for the fact that you're the reason she's standing here, crying over a man who's tangled up in your sheets more often than not.

"he's cheating," she blurts out, voice thick with tears. "it sounds crazy, but i know he is. he has to be."

you don't flinch. you don't react. because this moment was bound to happen eventually, wasn't it? you knew she'd figure it out sooner or later. you want to tell her that she's not crazy, that she's not imagining things, that her gut is screaming at her for a reason. but you don't.

"come in," you say instead, stepping aside, and she walks past you, oblivious to the way your hands shake as you close the door behind her.

you make her a cup of tea, and you listen as she spills her heart out, every word chipping away at the fragile wall of secrecy you've built around yourself. she tells you about the fights, the late-night arguments, the way jude's been distant lately. and all you can think is of course he's distant. he's been spending his nights with you.

"do you think he's seeing someone else?" she asks, looking up at you with those big, doe eyes, and for a moment, you wonder if she knows. if she's pieced it all together and this is her way of calling you out.

but then she lets out a shaky breath, biting her lip, and you realise she's just desperate. desperate for answers, for reassurance, for anything that'll make this hurt less.

"i... i don't know," you say, and it's the closest you've come to lying to her face. but technically, it's not a lie. you don't know what jude feels for you, don't know if you're just some thrill, a secret he'll eventually get tired of. but you do know he's cheating. you know because he's doing it with you.

"i'm sorry," you add, because what else can you say? and she just nods, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"can i stay here tonight?" she asks, voice small, and you want to scream. you want to tell her to leave, to run as far away from you as she can, because you're not the friend she thinks you are. but instead, you force a smile, nodding.

"of course," you say, leading her to the guest room. you watch as she curls up on the bed, clutching one of the pillows to her chest, and it's almost enough to make you break.

almost.

you leave her there, retreating to your own room, and the silence that follows is deafening. you sit on the edge of your bed, fingers slightly trembling as you reach for your phone, typing out a quick;

she's here. she thinks you're cheating.

you don't expect a response. it's late, and jude's probably already asleep. but barely five minutes later, your phone buzzes with his reply;

on my way.

you hear the door creak open around 2 a.m., the soft shuffle of footsteps as he makes his way through your apartment. you don't move. don't say a word. you just wait. wait for him to find you like he always does.

"where is she?" he asks, and his voice is low, rough with sleep, and you hate how much it affects you. how even now, with the weight of his girlfriend's tears still clinging to your skin, you want him.

"the guest room," you murmur, and jude nods, but he doesn't go to her. doesn't even look in her direction. instead, he steps into your room, closing the door behind him, and suddenly the air feels too thick, too heavy.

"you shouldn't be here," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, and you both know it.

"then why did you text me?" he counters, and you have no answer for that. because the truth is, you didn't want him to stay away. you never do.

he's in front of you in two strides, his hands cupping your face, and there's suddenly this desperate look in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. "i'm sorry," he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours. "i'm so fucking sorry for putting you in this position."

"don't–" you whisper, shaking your head, but he's already kissing you, swallowing the words you'll never have the courage to say out loud.

his lips are soft, warm, and there's this urgency in the way he touches you, like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. and maybe that's the problem. maybe that's why you keep letting him back in, even when you know it's wrong. because when he's touching you, when he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters, you forget. you forget about the lies, the guilt, the way his girlfriend is sleeping just a few feet away. all that matters is this — him.

"jude," you whisper. it's a plea. a desperate, broken plea for him to stop, to keep going, to never leave. you're not even sure which one anymore.

"i know," he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you. "i know, baby. but just... just let me have this. let me have you."

and you do. because you always do.

he kisses you like it's the first time, like he's memorising every curve, every taste, and you hate that it feels so good. hate that it feels like you're finally home, even when you know this is anything but.

he lays you down on the bed, his weight settling over you, and for a moment, everything else fades away. it's just him. just you. tangled up in sheets that smell like regret and desperation, and you let yourself believe that this is enough. that this is all you'll ever need.

you know it, though.

as his lips ghost over your collarbone, you know it. you know you have no business letting him back in, especially considering the unsuspecting victim that's currently sleeping with a broken heart in your guest room. you know that you're going to regret this, come morning.

but how do you even begin to push him away when you've finally tasted technicolour after living in black and white for so long? how do you push him away when this feels so much like heaven? it's a heaven that's built on lies and secrets, but it's heaven nonetheless.

and so, you close your eyes, arching into his touch, and let yourself drown in him.

because maybe that's all you'll ever be to each other—two sinners, reaching for heaven in all the wrong ways.

—

the morning light creeps in through the blinds, casting soft shadows across your bedroom, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that this is normal. that this is just another morning, another lazy sunday where you don't have to think about anything beyond the warmth of jude's skin pressed against yours.

but reality is quick to sink in, and you remember. you remember the girl sleeping in your guest room, the one who trusts you. the one who cried herself to sleep just down the hall while you let her boyfriend trace his lips along every inch of your skin.

opening your eyes, you blink against the harsh light, and there he is. your person who's not quite your person. lying beside you, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. it's a sight you've seen countless times, but it never gets easier. never feels any less wrong.

you watch him for a moment, memorising the way his eyelashes brush against his cheeks, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. he looks so peaceful, so different from the man who kissed you with a desperation that left you breathless just hours ago.

you know you should get up. you should get dressed, make coffee, do anything other than lie here and pretend that this is something it'll never be. but you don't move. you don't want to. because the moment you leave this bed, this little bubble you've created, everything will come crashing back down, and you're not ready for that. not yet.

"you're staring," jude mumbles, eyes still closed, voice rough with sleep.

"and what about it?" you retort, a small, playful smile adorning your lips.

he opens one eye, peering up at you with that lazy, half-smirk that drives you insane. "come here," he murmurs, reaching out to pull you closer, and you go willingly, curling into his side like you belong there. like this is where you're supposed to be.

you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, you let yourself forget. forget about the lies you've told, the promises you've broken.

you let yourself believe that this is enough.

"what are we doing?" you whisper after a moment, you can't help it. and the question hangs heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you.

he's silent for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on your back, and you wonder if he'll answer. if he even knows the answer. but then he sighs, his breath warm against your hair.

"i don't know," he admits, and there's a vulnerability in his voice that makes your heart ache.

it's not the answer you want. it's not the reassurance you crave, the promise that this will be more than just a mistake you'll both regret. but it's honest. it's all you have. and for now, maybe that's enough.

"she's gonna wake up soon," you say, because you need to remind him. need to remind yourself that this isn't just some fairytale, that there are consequences to every touch, every kiss.

"i know," he murmurs, but he doesn't let go. doesn't pull away. instead, he tightens his grip on you. "just... a few more minutes. please."

and, oh, you're weak. you're so weak when it comes to him, because you nod, burying your face in his chest, letting yourself savour the feeling of his arms around you, the warmth of his skin against yours. you let yourself pretend, just for a little while longer, that this is something that can last.

but of course, it can't. because soon enough, the soft creak of a door opening echoes through the apartment, and you freeze. your body tenses against jude's, and you pull away, your heart racing as you listen to the sound of footsteps padding down the hall.

"y/n?" the soft knock on your door is accompanied by her even softer voice, and you swear your heart stops. "are you awake?"

"uh, yeah," you respond, and you can't help the panic that bleeds into your voice. "just... give me a minute, okay?"

"okay," she says, and there's no suspicion in her voice. no anger. just the unmistakable hurt she's carried from the night before. and that almost makes it worse.

you scramble out of bed, grabbing jude's shirt off the floor and slipping it on, your hands shaking as you try to make yourself look presentable. and when you glance back at him, all in your sheets like he belongs there, the look in his eyes mirrors the conflict in your own heart.

you both know you're dancing on the edge of something that could shatter you completely.

you take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and then you slip out of your room, closing the door quietly behind you. the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you laugh. she's standing in your kitchen, wearing one of your old t-shirts, her hair a mess, eyes puffy from crying, and yet she still manages to look so effortlessly beautiful.

"hey," you say, forcing a smile. "you're up early."

she offers you a weak smile in return, running a hand through her hair. "couldn't sleep," she admits. "kept thinking about jude. about what he's doing. where he is... who he's with."

you swallow the guilt that rises in your throat, nodding. "i get it," you say, because you do. more than she'll ever know.

"i should probably go," she mutters, biting her lip. "i don't wanna impose."

"you're not imposing," you say quickly, shaking your head. "stay. have breakfast. we can... we can talk, if you want."

and you hate yourself for this.

for the way you're lying to her face, pretending to be her friend when all you've done is betray her in the worst possible way. but she looks at you with such gratitude, such relief, that you force yourself to keep smiling, to keep pretending.

"thank you," she says softly, and you nod, blinking back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall.

"it's nothing."

you make her breakfast. you sit across from her, listening as she talks about jude, about the man you know just as well, if not better. and every word, every confession, is another knife in your heart, another reminder of the choice you made the moment you let him into your bed.

but you keep smiling.

keep pretending.

because that's all you can do now. pretend that you're not in love with a man who'll never be yours, that you're not the reason the woman sitting across from you is breaking.

and when she finally leaves, when she hugs you and thanks you for being there, you close the door behind her, and it's only then that you let yourself fall apart. you slide down the door, burying your face in your hands, and the tears come, hot and bitter and laced with regret.

you don't know how long you sit there, crying, but eventually, you feel jude's arms around you, pulling you into his lap, and you let him. you let him hold you, let him press kisses to your hair, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be honest.

"i can't keep doing this," you sob, and your voice is raw, broken. "i can't keep pretending that this doesn't hurt."

he's silent for a moment, and you wonder if he'll say the words you've been dreading, if he'll finally tell you that it's over. but instead, he tightens his hold on you, his voice soft, filled with a pain that mirrors your own.

"i know," he says. "but i don't know how to stop."

and maybe that's the worst part.

because deep down, you don't either.

—

you don't see him for days after that morning.

he doesn't text, doesn't call, and you tell yourself it's for the best. that maybe, this is the clean break you've both needed but never had the strength to make.

but it doesn't stop the ache in your chest, the hollow feeling that sits heavy in your stomach every time your phone buzzes and it's not his name lighting up the screen. it doesn't stop the way you wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for him, only to be met with the cold, empty sheets on the other side of your bed.

you're not supposed to miss him. you're not supposed to care. but you do. you care so much it feels like you're fraying at the edges, tearing from the inside out.

you're sitting on your couch one evening, staring blankly at the tv, some reality show playing in the background that you're not really watching, when your phone buzzes. you glance at it, expecting another pointless notification, but your breath catches in your throat when you see his name.

jude: can we talk?

you stare at the screen, your heart hammering in your chest, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to ignore him, to let this be the end, but your heart—your stupid, traitorous heart—is already typing out a response before you can stop yourself.

you: when?

the three little dots appear almost instantly, and you hate how it makes your pulse quicken, how it makes hope flare to life in your chest even though you know better.

jude: i'm outside.

you freeze, your eyes flickering to your front door, and sure enough, there's a shadowy figure standing just beyond the glass. you let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, you consider not answering. just leaving him out there in the cold, letting him feel the sting of rejection that's been eating at you for days.

but you don't.

because when it comes to jude, you're weak like that.

you always have been.

and so, you push yourself off the couch, padding over to the door and pulling it open, your heart lodged in your throat as you meet his gaze. he looks like hell. like he hasn't slept in days. and you hate how much you want to reach out and smooth the worry lines on his forehead, tell him that everything's going to be okay.

"hey."

"hey," you reply, keeping your tone as neutral as possible as you cross your arms over your chest. "what're you doing here?"

he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around like he's not sure where to look, and it's so uncharacteristically vulnerable that it makes your heart ache.

"i needed to see you," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "couldn't stay away."

you laugh, but there's no humour in it. "you've done a pretty good job of it the past few days."

jude's jaw clenches at that, and you feel a small flicker of satisfaction at the way your words hit him, at the way he looks like he's coming apart right in front of you. "i know," he says. "i thought... i thought it would be easier if i didn't see you. but it's not."

"maybe it's time we stop doing this," you say suddenly, your voice sharper than you intend. "stop pretending that this is something it's not."

"and what is it?" he asks, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours, desperate and full of something you're not sure you want to name. "what is this, y/n?"

you shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. "it's a mistake," you whisper, and the words taste like poison on your tongue. "we're a mistake, jude."

he flinches like you've slapped him, and for a moment, you think he's going to turn around and leave. that this will finally be the moment where he lets you go, where he walks away and leaves you to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart.

but he doesn't.

instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and you hate the way you lean into his touch, the way your body betrays you even now.

"we're not a mistake. never have been," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "mistakes don't make this much sense. mistakes don't feel this right."

"jude..." you start, but he shakes his head, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his forehead rests against yours.

"please," he whispers, and there's a rawness to his voice that cuts through you, that makes it impossible to turn away. "just... don't push me away. not tonight."

with a conflicted sigh, you close your eyes because you know you're not supposed to be this deep. you're not supposed to feel this much. "this is gonna ruin us."

"maybe," he admits, and there's a softness to his words that makes your heart clench. "but i'd rather be ruined with you than be whole with someone else."

and that's all it takes.

the last thread of resistance snaps, and you're kissing him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him like you need air. he kisses you back with a desperation that mirrors your own, his hands roaming over your body, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

he lifts you, carrying you back inside, fingers curling into your skin — touching you as if you're a lifeline, as if you're the only real thing he has left.

he lays you down on the couch, his body covering yours, and he's looking at you, dark eyes tracing every line, every curve, every inch of you like he's committing you to memory. and there's something different in his gaze tonight—something raw and unguarded and so achingly tender that it steals the breath from your lungs.

you know what's coming.

you can feel it in the way his hands tremble against your sides, the way his heartbeat thuds against your own chest. you know he's about to say it—those three cursed words that you've always been so desperate to hear but never believed.

and you don't want him to.

you don't want him to because if he says it, if he lets those words slip past his lips, then this becomes real. and you don't think you're ready for that. don't think you can handle the weight of everything that would come with it.

"don't say it," you breathe out, and your voice is shaking, barely above a whisper. "please, jude, don't."

his eyes darken, and there's a flash of something—hurt, maybe. but he doesn't move. doesn't pull away. instead, his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes you want to weep.

and you hate him for that, hate him for the way he always knows just how to touch you, just how to break down every wall you've spent years building up.

"why not?" he asks, and there's a desperation in his voice that you've never heard before. "why can't i say it?"

because you don't mean it, you want to scream. because you'll go back to her tomorrow, and i'll be left with nothing but the memory of this moment. but the words get stuck in your throat, tangled up with every unspoken confession you've kept buried in your chest.

"because you can't," you whisper, choke out, the tears you've been blinking back finally spilling over, hot and wet against your cheeks. "you can't say something you don't mean."

"y/n–"

"stop," your voice cracks, breaks, chest heaving as you try to keep yourself together. but it's no use. jude's always been the one to undo you, always been the one to break you apart with nothing more than a look, a touch, a whispered word.

his thumb swipes at the tears on your cheeks, but it's a pointless effort; they keep coming, spilling over faster than he can catch them.

"baby," he breathes, and there's a pain in his voice that cuts through you, sharp and unforgiving. "baby, i have to. i need to say it."

"no, you don't. you don't have to say anything..." you shake your head, chest aching, throat tight, the words all weak and dying in your lips.

he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and you can see the tears welling up in his own eyes now, dark and glistening. and it breaks you, seeing him like this, because this isn't the jude you know. this isn't the confident, untouchable jude who always has everything under control. this is the jude who's hurting, the jude who's breaking apart right in front of you, and you don't know how to save him. you don't know how to save either of you.

"i love you," he breathes, and it's barely a whisper, barely a sound, but it echoes through you, reverberating in your chest, your bones, your soul. "i love you, and i can't—i won't pretend that i don't anymore."

you squeeze your eyes shut, the tears falling faster now, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. "don't make this harder than it already is," you beg, and your voice is ragged, raw, the sound of someone who's been shattered one too many times.

but jude's relentless, his hands cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. "y/n, i need you to hear me," he says, and there's an urgency in his voice. "i need you to know that you're not just some escape for me, that you're not just someone i come to when everything else is falling apart. you're it for me. you're everything."

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, because this is what you've always wanted, isn't it? to hear him say those words, to know that he feels the same way you do. but now that they're here, now that he's laid himself bare in front of you, all you feel is pain.

"you have her," you manage to choke out, and it feels like you're ripping yourself apart, bleeding out all the love you've tried so hard to keep buried. "you have her, jude. you can't love me and still have her."

his grip tightens, and you can feel the tremble in his hands, the way he's barely holding himself together.

"i know," he whispers, and there's so much anguish in his eyes that it makes your chest ache. "i know, and i'm trying to fix it. i'm trying to make it right. i will—i'll fix this," a tear slips down his cheek, and it's the most beautiful, most devastating thing you've ever seen. "i'll spend every single day trying," he says, and his voice is so full of conviction, so full of everything you've ever wanted to hear. "because you're worth it. you've always been worth it."

and that's what does it.

that's what breaks you.

you let out a sob, the sound ripping from your chest, and you clutch at him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his arms, his skin, like you're afraid he's going to disappear. "you can't just say that and then leave," you cry, your words muffled against his neck.

"i'm not leaving," he vows, and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight, holding you together, even as you fall apart. "i'm not leaving you. ever."

and maybe it's a lie.

maybe he'll be gone tomorrow, back in her arms, and you'll be left with nothing but the memory of this moment.

but right now, with his breath on your skin and his heart beating against yours, you let yourself believe him.

just this once.

just for tonight.

"i love you," he says again, and it's softer this time, more tender, more real.

and this time, you let yourself believe it. you let yourself believe him.

because some things are worth breaking for.

#⋆⁺₊✧ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧 #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot

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thatsdemko · 7 months ago

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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.

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justforjobe · 21 days ago

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THIN LINE , j.bellingham

──one shot

pairing ➜ jobe x fem!reader

word count ➜ 2.8k

warnings/notes ➜ angst.

summary ➜ what happens when the kisses start feeling too real, when the touches linger a little too long? are friends with benefits ever just that?

you're sitting on the edge of jobe's bed, your legs dangling off the side, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, trying to keep your breathing steady.

you've been here a million times before, in this room, on this bed, with him. the routine is familiar, almost comforting in the way it's just so predictable—the way he texts you late at night, the way you show up, the way things just happen between you two.

but tonight, something feels different, heavier, like there's an unspoken tension hanging in the air, thick enough to choke on.

you can feel his eyes on you, watching you with that quiet intensity he always has, and it's enough to make your skin tingle, your heart beat a little faster. but you don't dare look at him, not yet, because you know that if you do, if you meet his gaze, you'll lose whatever fragile hold you have on your emotions right now.

he's sitting across from you, on the other side of the bed, his back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. his shirt is off, discarded somewhere on the floor, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, steady, calm. you wish you could say the same for yourself, but your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts all colliding at once, none of them making any sense.

this was supposed to be simple.

it was supposed to be easy.

you and jobe, no strings, no complications, just... fun. and it was, at first. you'd known each other for a while, ran in the same circles, always flirted a bit more than friends probably should. so when it finally happened, when you finally crossed that line, it felt natural, like the most logical next step. and it was good. really good. better than you expected. so you kept doing it, kept meeting up, kept falling into bed together.

but somewhere along the way, things started to shift. the lines started to blur. and now, you're not sure where you stand anymore, not sure what any of this means. because somewhere in between all the stolen moments, the late-night texts, the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention—you started to feel things. real things. things you're not supposed to feel when the deal was no feelings, no attachment.

and now, you're here, on his bed, heart pounding in your chest, wondering how the hell you got yourself into this mess.

"you okay?" jobe's voice cuts through the silence, low and smooth, laced with just a hint of concern.

you force yourself to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you feel that familiar flutter in your stomach, the one that always hits you whenever he's this close.

he's watching you, his expression unreadable, but there's something in his eyes, something soft, something you can't quite name, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"yeah," you lie, your voice barely above a whisper. "i'm fine."

but you're not fine, and you know it, and you think maybe he knows it too, because his gaze doesn't waver, doesn't move from yours, like he's trying to read the thoughts you're so desperately trying to hide.

he shifts slightly, pushing himself off the headboard, and suddenly he's closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough that the scent of him—something clean and warm and distinctly jobe—fills your senses, makes your head spin.

"you sure?" he asks again, softer this time, like he's trying to coax the truth out of you.

you swallow hard, your throat tight, because you want to tell him. you want to tell him everything that's been swirling around in your head, the way your heart skips a beat whenever he touches you, the way you find yourself thinking about him when you shouldn't be, the way this whole thing has stopped feeling casual and started feeling like something more.

but you can't. you can't risk it. can't risk ruining whatever this is, whatever fragile thing you've built together.

"yeah," you say again, the word feeling heavy on your tongue, like a lie you're not quite ready to admit to.

he doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and you think maybe he's going to call you out on your bullshit, maybe he's going to push you to tell him what's really going on. but then he just nods, like he's accepting your answer, even though you both know it's not the truth.

"come here," he says, his voice gentle, his hand reaching out to you, palm open, inviting.

and you want to. God, you want to. you want to fall into his arms, let him hold you, let him kiss away all the doubts and fears that have been eating away at you. but you hesitate, because you know where this is going, you know how this ends, and you're not sure you can handle it. not tonight.

but then he's looking at you with those eyes, those stupid, beautiful eyes, and you know you're done for. you're always done for when it comes to him.

so you take his hand, let him pull you closer until you're right there, pressed against him, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. and it feels good, it feels right, and for a moment, you let yourself forget everything else, let yourself just be here, in this moment, with him.

his hand slides up your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine, makes your breath hitch in your throat. he leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, soft, warm, and you feel that familiar pull, that overwhelming need to be closer, to lose yourself in him.

but just as his lips find yours, just as the kiss deepens, something inside you snaps, and suddenly it's too much, too real, too everything. you pull back, breaking the kiss, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, try to steady yourself.

"what's wrong?" he asks, his voice laced with concern, his hand still resting on your back.

you take a shaky breath, your mind racing, because you know you can't keep doing this, can't keep pretending like this is just some casual thing when it feels like anything but.

"jobe..." you start, your voice trembling, and you hate how vulnerable you sound, how exposed you feel.

he tilts his head, his eyes searching yours, and you can see the worry there, the confusion, and it makes your heart ache, makes you want to take it all back, pretend like everything's fine, like you're fine. but you're not, and you can't keep lying to yourself, can't keep lying to him.

"you need to stop kissing me like you mean it," you say finally, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, before you can think them through.

he blinks, taken aback, his brows furrowing in confusion. "what?"

you close your eyes for a moment, trying to find the courage to say what you need to say, even though it feels like it's going to tear you apart.

"you need to stop kissing me like you mean it," you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. "because i'm going to read into things wrong and end up breaking my own heart."

there's a heavy silence that follows, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, and you can feel your chest tightening, your heart pounding in your ears as you wait for his response, as you wait for the other shoe to drop.

"y/n..." he starts, his voice soft, hesitant, like he's not sure what to say, not sure how to fix this.

"i know we said no feelings, no attachment," you continue, your voice shaky, your eyes fixed on the floor, because you can't bear to look at him, can't bear to see whatever expression is on his face right now. "but i can't help it, jobe. every time you kiss me like that, every time you look at me like i'm the only person in the world that matters, i start to think that maybe... maybe this could be something more. and i know it's not supposed to be. i know that. but it doesn't stop me from wanting it."

he's silent, and it's killing you, the not knowing what he's thinking, what he's feeling. because this is it. this is the moment where everything either falls apart or... or you don't even know what. but you know that you can't take it back, you can't unsay the words that have already been spoken, can't pretend like you don't feel the way you do.

and now you can't bring yourself to look up, the weight of what you've just said sinking into the air between you. you can feel jobe's presence beside you, the way his breath has slowed, almost as if he's holding it in, waiting for the right words to come out. but nothing comes. just silence, thick and suffocating, like the room is shrinking around you.

"i'm sorry," you mutter, because what else can you say? you've just bared your heart in the most vulnerable way, laid it all out there, and now you're left with nothing but the unbearable tension of the unknown.

finally, after what feels like forever, you dare to glance up at him. his eyes are fixed on you, brows furrowed in a way that makes your stomach twist with anxiety.

he looks conflicted, like he’s caught in a battle with himself, trying to figure out how to say something he doesn’t fully understand. his brows are drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are swimming with a feeling you can’t quite name. it’s not pity, thank God, but it’s not exactly reassurance either. it’s somewhere in the middle, something that makes you want to lean in and pull away at the same time.

“y/n,” he says your name so softly that it nearly breaks you. the way it slips from his lips, careful, like he’s afraid of shattering what little strength you have left. “i never wanted to make you feel like this.”

you blink back the tears that are so damn close to spilling over, biting down hard on your bottom lip because if you don’t, you might lose it right here. but it’s not his fault, not really. you were the one who let things get out of hand, who started reading too much into every lingering look, every touch, every kiss that left your heart pounding.

“i know,” you whisper, forcing yourself to look away, to stare at anything but him. “i just… i don’t know how to do this anymore, jobe. it was supposed to be simple. and now… now it’s just a mess.”

he’s silent, and the quiet makes it worse, makes the ache in your chest tighten. because even now, even with all of this hanging in the air between you, your heart still longs for him. you still want him to pull you close, to tell you that everything’s going to be okay, that he feels the same way you do. but you know better. you know that’s not how this is going to go.

“what do you want me to do?” he asks eventually, and there’s a sadness in his voice, like he’s trying to find a way to fix this without hurting either of you more. “you wanna stop? we can stop. if this is hurting you—”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head before he can finish that thought, because the idea of stopping, of not having him in your life at all, feels unbearable. “i don’t want to stop, jobe. i just… i don’t know what i want.”

it’s the truth. the messy, complicated truth. you don’t know what you want, because you can’t imagine not having him around, but you also can’t keep doing this—can’t keep putting your heart on the line every time he touches you, every time he kisses you like he means it, only to act like it’s nothing the next day.

he lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging, and for the first time, he looks just as lost as you feel. “i care about you, y/n,” he says, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “i’m sorry. i thought—” he pauses, shaking his head, regret lacing every word. “i don’t know what i thought. i just never meant for it to get this complicated.”

you force a weak smile, even though it feels like your chest is caving in. “things like this always get complicated, jobe. that’s just… how it goes.”

he reaches out then, his hand cupping your chin gently, turning your face toward his so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. and there it is again—that look. the one that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, like you mean more to him than he’s willing to say. it’s the look that makes you question everything, makes you wonder how this can’t be more than what it is. how he can look at you like this and not feel the same things you do.

“look,” he says softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a way that makes your heart stutter, makes it impossible not to lean into his touch. “we don’t have to figure it all out right now. we can just… take it one step at a time, yeah? whatever you need, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do that.”

and there it is. the thing that both comforts and destroys you all at once. he’s giving you a way out, offering you a chance to keep him in your life, but not in the way you want. not in the way that matters. because you don’t just want him around when the nights get lonely, when you both need someone to hold onto. you want more. and you know, deep down, that’s not something he can give you, no matter how much you wish he could.

but you nod anyway. because it’s easier. because you’re too tired to keep fighting, and the thought of losing him completely feels like more than you can bear.

“okay,” you say, though the word feels empty, foreign in your mouth, like you’re already bracing yourself for what’s to come.

he pulls you into his arms then, holding you close, and you let him, sinking into the warmth of him because it’s easier to pretend, even if just for a little while. easier to believe that maybe, somehow, you’ll be able to handle this. that maybe you won’t end up with your heart in pieces again.

but deep down, you already know the truth. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. no matter how much you try to keep things light, to keep things from getting messy, you’ve already fallen too far. and the thing about falling is that, eventually, you hit the ground.

you stay there, wrapped up in each other, the silence thick with all the things you’re both too scared to say. maybe this is just how it’ll always be—a series of almosts, of things left unsaid, of feelings too tangled to ever make sense of.

and as much as it hurts, as much as it’s tearing you apart from the inside, you’ll take it. you’ll take whatever pieces of him he’s willing to give, even if it means breaking your own heart over and over again.

because when it comes to jobe, you’ve never been good at walking away.

#jobe bellingham #jobe bellingham x reader #jobe bellingham x you #jobe bellingham fanfiction #jobe bellingham oneshot #jobe bellingham angst #jobe bellingham x black reader

138 notes · View notes

leviscolwill · 1 year ago

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whenever i see that damn goal by j.bellingham notif

#fuck off

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thequranicechoes · 4 months ago

Video

youtube

England vs Slovakia player ratings: J.Bellingham & K. Mainoo shine in Eu...

#youtube

0 notes

lewisjudebemilton · 3 months ago

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The smile is so cute! Jude recently in LA

#jude bellingham #jude #J.bellingham #real madrid #bellingham

21 notes · View notes

teatalkblog · 18 days ago

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Babe go see that woman comments🍿🍿😂😫

It’s her liking the comments for me 💀

#j.bellingham

11 notes · View notes

footytea · 6 months ago

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i know you were talking about tags, you could also do what hockey blogs do and put the first initial and last name like an example would be like j.bellingham or j. bellingham

you just reminded me i was supposed to tag my posts 😂

but yeah i could do that as well

0 notes

starlitmelanin · 2 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩ྀི make-believe; j.bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 3k

warnings - none

summary - you and jude had broken up, decided to go your separate ways, but now you're both forced to play nice for an adidas ad.

you knew this day was coming.

the email landed in your inbox a week ago, the subject line so innocent, so unassuming: adidas shoot - schedule update.

you almost deleted it out of reflex, your heart dropping the moment you recognised the sender. but you clicked it anyway, because you knew better than to ignore reality.

"we've got an exciting shoot coming up with some of our top athletes," the message read, all corporate cheerfulness, "including you and jude bellingham! can't wait to see the magic you two create together."

magic. right.

you hadn't seen jude since it happened, since the two of you had ended things with a mutual understanding that felt more like mutual devastation. the kind of breakup where there's no yelling, no slamming doors, just a quiet acceptance that what you had was too complicated, too much for either of you to carry any longer.

but it wasn't any easier for that. in fact, it might've been harder. because you couldn't even hate him. you couldn't even scream or cry or blame him for anything. you were just... sad. sad in a way that sat heavy in your chest, that didn't go away no matter how many times you told yourself it was for the best.

and now, here you are, standing in the studio with the lights too bright and the air too cool, dressed head-to-toe in adidas gear, waiting for jude to show up.

you can feel the tension building in your shoulders, the nerves twisting in your stomach. you're trying to remind yourself that it's just another day at work, just another shoot, but it's not. not when he's involved.

you hear him before you see him, the familiar sound of his voice as he greets someone at the entrance, that same tone that used to make your heart skip a beat. you don't turn around right away, too busy pretending to adjust the fit of your jacket, but when you finally look up, there he is.

jude's standing there, just a few feet away, looking as good as ever, and it's like air is being sucked right out of your lungs. you thought you were prepared for this, thought you'd built up enough of a wall around your heart to keep it together, but the moment you see him, that wall cracks, just a little.

he looks... different. maybe it's just the distance, the time that's passed, or maybe it's the way he's holding himself, more reserved, more cautious. but his eyes still find yours, and for a split second, everything else fades away. it's just the two of you, caught in that familiar yet unspoken connection that never really went away.

"hey," he says, his voice softer than you remember, almost hesitant.

"hey," you reply, and it's too casual, too normal for what this moment really is. but you don't know what else to say, how else to greet the person who used to be your everything.

before either of you can say more, the director claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "all right, let's get started! y/n, jude, we're going to start with some paired shots, just the two of you. we want to capture that chemistry, that connection you both have as madrid's star players."

you almost laugh at the irony, but it sticks in your throat, coming out as a forced smile instead. you nod, falling into step with jude as the crew starts directing you both, positioning you in front of the camera.

the first pose isn't too bad. you're standing side by side, arms crossed, the standard tough athlete look. it's easy enough to slip into character, to pretend like everything's fine. but then the director starts asking for more.

"can you two get a little closer? jude, put your arm around y/n's shoulders, like you're celebrating a win together."

it's such a simple request, something you've done a hundred times before, but now it feels like the hardest thing in the world. still, you nod, forcing your body to move as jude steps closer, his arm brushing against yours before he rests it on your shoulders.

the contact sends a shiver through you, a reminder of all the times you used to lean into him, used to find comfort in his touch. but now, it feels different. awkward, forced, like a ghost of something that used to be real.

you keep your smile plastered on, staring straight ahead at the camera, but you can feel jude's tension too, the way his grip on your shoulder isn't as relaxed as it used to be, how he's holding back. and it makes everything worse because it's a reminder that he's just as affected by this as you are.

"perfect, perfect!" the director calls out, oblivious to the silent struggle happening between you. "now, y/n, turn towards jude, like you're about to high-five him, but stop just before your hands meet. we want to capture that anticipation, that energy."

you don't even know what that means, but you do as you're told, turning to face jude, your hand hovering in the air between you. he mirrors your movement, and now you're standing so close that you can see every detail of his face, the lines of stress around his eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line.

the silence stretches between you, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has shrunk down to just this, just the space between your hands, the weight of everything unsaid. your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming a little faster, and you're terrified that he can hear it, that he knows how much this is affecting you.

"great, hold that! now, jude, how about you pull y/n in for a side hug, like you're celebrating together again?"

you blink, your smile faltering for just a second before you catch yourself. this is too much, too close, too soon. but you don't have much of a choice, so you force yourself to move, stepping into jude's space as he wraps an arm around you.

it's stiff, weird, nothing like the way it used to be. and you can tell he feels it too, the way his body is tense, how his touch is light, as if he's afraid to hold on too tight, afraid of what might happen if he does.

you try to relax, try to let yourself sink into the moment, but it's impossible. because all you can think about is how wrong this feels, how much it hurts to be this close to him and yet so far away.

"beautiful! now, y/n, lean your head on jude's shoulder, like you're sharing a moment after a big win."

the director's voice feels like nails on a chalkboard, and you have to fight the urge to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. but you don't. instead, you follow his instructions, tilting your head to rest on jude's shoulder, your heart in your throat.

the scent of him hits you, familiar and comforting, and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes close, not to let yourself get lost in the memories that flood your mind. you can feel jude's breath hitch, just for a second, and you wonder if he's feeling the same thing, if the weight of this moment is crushing him too.

"and... got it! that's a wrap on this setup!"

the words are a relief, but also a disappointment. because even though this is torture, part of you doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to step away from him and go back to pretending like everything's fine, like you're over it.

but you have to. so you pull away, stepping back as jude's arm drops from your shoulders, the distance between you growing again. you glance up at him, catching his eyes for just a moment, and the look there makes your chest ache.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low, just for you.

you nod, but it's a lie, and you both know it. "yeah. you?"

"yeah." another lie.

the director is already moving on, calling for the next setup, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. you and jude follow along, moving like you're on autopilot, but it's clear that the magic they were hoping for isn't there. not really.

the next few poses are just as bad, each one requiring you to get close, to touch, to pretend like everything's fine when it's not. and with each one, the facade gets harder to maintain, the cracks in your armor growing wider.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the director calls for a break, and you all but collapse onto a nearby bench, your head in your hands. you can feel jude's presence next to you, but you can't bring yourself to look at him, not now, not when you're so close to breaking.

"y/n," he says softly, and you can hear the concern in his voice, the guilt.

"don't," you whisper, shaking your head. "not here."

he doesn't push, but you can feel his frustration, his helplessness. and it's almost worse than if he had tried to talk to you, because it means he's feeling it too, the weight of this, the impossibility of pretending like nothing's changed.

the break doesn't last long enough.

before you've even caught your breath, the director is calling you back, his voice echoing through the studio like a bad dream. you don't want to get up, don't want to face jude again, but you don't have a choice. this is your job, your life, and sometimes that means swallowing the pain and pushing through it.

when you stand, jude's already on his feet, watching you with that same look he had earlier—like he wants to say something, like he's waiting for the right moment. but there's no right moment, and there won’t be. so you just walk past him, heading back to the set, feeling his eyes on your back the entire way.

"alright, now we're thinking something dynamic," the director explains, too excited for his own good. "like jude lifting y/n off the ground, both of you laughing, like you've just won a big tournament or something."

you almost laugh at the absurdity of it. the idea of jude lifting you, holding you close, laughing like nothing's wrong—it feels like a cruel joke. but you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

you take your position, standing in front of jude. the director is giving more instructions, telling jude how to wrap his arms around your waist, how to make it look effortless, but you can't focus on any of it. all you can think about is how this is going to hurt in ways you can't even begin to prepare for.

when jude's hands settle on your waist, it's like a jolt of electricity shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. his touch is gentle, almost too gentle, but it's the tenderness that cuts the deepest.

"on three," the director says, his voice distant, like it's coming from underwater. "one, two, three!"

jude lifts you, just like he's supposed to, and you feel the ground disappear beneath your feet. for a split second, it's almost like it used to be—before everything fell apart. the way he used to hold you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were worth protecting.

you're supposed to laugh, supposed to act like this is fun, but the sound that comes out of your mouth is hollow, forced. you don't know how jude manages to smile, how he keeps up the act, because all you want to do is scream, to tell everyone to stop, that this is too much, too painful.

but you don't. you just hang there, suspended in jude's arms, pretending like this is just another day, like you're not dying inside.

"perfect, perfect! that's exactly what we needed!" the director's voice is too loud, too cheerful, and it grates against your nerves. you want to tell him that this isn't perfect, that nothing about this is perfect, but the words stick in your throat.

when jude finally sets you down, you're unsteady on your feet, your legs shaky. you take a step back, putting distance between you, but it's not enough. the damage is done. the wound has been ripped open.

you glance at jude, and the look in his eyes tells you everything. he's hurting too, more than he's letting on. but he's also resigned, like he knows there's nothing either of you can do to fix this, like he's accepted that this is just the way it has to be.

"we'll take five," the director announces, already moving on to the next setup, oblivious to the emotional minefield he's just dragged you both through.

you nod, barely acknowledging him, and walk off the set, needing to be alone, needing to breathe. jude doesn't follow you this time, and you're grateful for it. you don't know what you'd say if he did. you don't know how to explain the mess of emotions swirling inside you, the pain of being so close to him and yet so far away.

you find a quiet corner of the studio, out of sight of the crew, and lean against the wall, your head tilted back as you try to keep it together. but the tears are already welling up, and you hate yourself for it, for being this vulnerable, this broken.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you and jude were supposed to be the ones who made it, who figured it out. but life had other plans, and now you're stuck here, pretending like everything's fine when it's anything but.

you wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but it's no use. the emotions are too raw, too fresh. you can still feel jude's touch on your skin, still hear his voice in your head, and it's all too much.

you're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear him approach. it's only when he speaks that you realise he's standing right in front of you.

"y/n..."

you look up, and there he is, his expression a mix of concern and something else. you want to tell him to leave, to go back to the set and let you deal with this on your own, but the words won't come.

"i'm sorry," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. "i didn't think it'd be this hard."

"me neither," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he takes a step closer, hesitating like he's not sure if he should, like he's afraid of crossing a line that's already been blurred too many times today. "i... i still care about you. that hasn't changed."

his words hit you like a heavy blow, and you have to look away, your eyes focusing on the floor because you can't bear to look at him right now.

"jude, don't," you manage to say, your voice shaky. "please, just... don't."

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line of his body. "i don't know what to do, y/n. i don't know how to make this better."

you wish you had an answer for him, but you don't. because there isn't one. some things just can't be fixed, no matter how much you want them to be.

"maybe it's not supposed to be better," you say, your voice barely holding steady. "maybe this is just... how it has to be."

the words hang in the air, final and unchangeable, and you know they're true, even if you don't want them to be. whatever you and jude had, it's gone now, and no amount of pretending is going to bring it back.

he nods, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you can see the defeat in his posture, the way he's finally accepted that this is the end.

"we should get back," you say, needing to put distance between you, needing to end this conversation before it destroys you completely.

he doesn't argue, just follows your lead as you both make your way back to the set, the silence between you deafening.

the rest of the shoot goes by in a blur. you're going through the motions, doing what's asked of you without really thinking, without really feeling. it's easier that way, easier to disconnect, to shut down.

and jude... jude is the same. distant, reserved, like he's put up his own walls to protect himself from the hurt. you don't blame him. you've done the same.

when it's finally over, when the director calls it a wrap and the crew starts packing up, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. it's done. you survived. but that relief is tinged with sadness, with the knowledge that nothing's really changed. the pain is still there, still as fresh as it was when you first saw him this morning.

you grab your things, eager to get out of there. but as you're about to leave, he catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"y/n," he says, and there's something in his voice, something that makes you pause.

you turn to look at him, and for a moment, you see the boy you fell in love with, the one who made you believe in forever.

"take care of yourself," he says, his voice soft, almost tender.

you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. because there's no closure here, no neat ending, no goodbye that makes everything okay. there's just this—this messy, painful, complicated thing that you and jude have become.

"you too," you finally manage to say.

he gives you a small, sad smile, and then he lets you go.

and just like that, it's over. you walk away, your heart heavy, your mind racing with everything you wanted to say but couldn't.

because this isn't a movie, and there's no script to follow.

it's just... done.

#⋆⁺₊✧ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧 #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham angst

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