#yeah jude burned his hand but

[luveline]

can we have bed time with dad!spencer, his baby boy and reader? 

Jude has brown eyes like Spencer. They have the same mouth and nose, the same thoughtful gaze. “That’s me,” Spencer says, Jude’s back to his chest, an arm between his legs to keep the little boy steady, “and this is you.” He points at Jude before smoothing a hand over his chest. “See us? That’s dad and Jude.” 

“Us,” Jude echoes. 

“Yeah, that’s us.”

Jude works his lips up into a smile. 

They smell like talc and lavender oil for the teeny tiny burns on Jude’s fingertips. He touched the oven door a few days ago while it was still on, Spencer gets hot remembering how hard Jude cried. It took more kisses than he bothered counting to make him stop screaming, an ice pop held to his small hand with a hand towel wrapped around it, squeezed to the bathroom door together —the first place Spencer could remember seeing a towel, Jude still sobbing. 

Spencer wants Jude to associate the bathroom with normal things. Peeing, showering, and not the little burns. If he can have happy associations, that’s better. Like dad and Jude’s night time routine, where Spencer brings him in here to brush his teeth and dab his face clean with a cloth. Some nights he needs to detangle his hair, or give his baby an impromptu shower, and some nights Jude is already asleep by the time Spencer remembers these things. 

“You’re really handsome,” Spencer says, pointing at the mirror, “see? You’re beautiful. See your smile?” 

Jude giggles excitedly. “I am beautiful,” he says proudly. 

“Exactly, you’re beautiful. Are you happy?” 

“Yeah,” he says, tipping back, his curls tickling Spencer’s nose. 

“Are you comfy?” Spencer whispers. 

“Think so.” 

“You think so,” Spencer says, beaming to himself as he kisses the top of Jude’s head. “You’re smart, Judey. Okay, how do we know we’re comfortable? Are your clothes tight? Do you want to take off your socks?”

“No.” 

“Okay, good. Does your mouth still taste all minty from the paste?” 

A flicker of disgust. “Yeah, it does.” 

“I’ll get you your sippy cup. You don’t seem tired, are we having a story?” he asks, voice turned to fatherly syrup as he shifts Jude around. He turns off the bathroom light and shuts the door behind them as they leave. 

“No, I wan’ be in the big bed.” 

“You do?” 

“With you.” 

“Okay, that’s okay, you can be in the big bed, are you sure you don’t want a story too? We can read about Edward the rabbit again.” 

Jude doesn’t bother answering. Spencer tends to read to him every night unless Jude has expressly shouted that he doesn’t want one, ‘cos that’s what his mom did for him, and Spencer loves his mom. 

Spencer fills Jude’s sippy cup with water (not so much a sippy cup as a bottle), and they retreat together to the big bed. In the middle of the bed, tired and curled up and waiting for them, is you. You perk up enough to drag yourself to one side of the bed as you kick down the sheets. 

Spencer isn’t used to this, but he should be. (This, because there isn’t really a word for it? For being friends and for not being intimate and for sleeping in the same bed together whenever you stay the night.) 

“Hi, baby,” you say, holding your arms out for Jude. 

Spencer gives him over. Jude suckles his drink, a picture of the baby he was when Spencer first got him as he turns into your chest. He’d need all the help he could get back then. You’d given more than he could ever ask for, and Jude knows you for that. 

You tip Jude against you and press yourself flat, your hand spread over his back. 

“Are you reading Edward Tulane tonight?” you ask quietly. 

“Just a bit. Couple of pages.” 

“Sounds good. You okay, mister?” you ask Jude. 

He nods around his drink. 

Spencer turns the light off and the lamp on, bathing you and Jude in a kind orange glow. The mattress sinks under his weight, dipping under yours, encouraging you closer together in the middle. You barely notice the outside influence, shuffling across the pillows to rest your face against Spencer’s arm. 

“Did you want milk?” Spencer asks him. “You can have some, it’s okay.” 

“Minty,” Jude whispers. 

“Minty,” you whisper in support. “Daddy takes good care of those teeth, huh?” 

Jude loves being spoken to sweetly. He closes his eyes as you pull him like a curve to you, squished and cuddling. You’re his mirror, eyes fluttering shut as you sniff his hair. Spencer loves your smile —he knows what you’re thinking, because he knows what you’re thinking. Jude still smells like baby. 

“Maybe this book is too sad,” Spencer says, thumbing to the last page he’d read from. 

“It’s not too sad, and we won’t be awake long.” 

“My Judey told me he’s not tired,” Spencer says. 

“My Judey needs his sleep,” you whisper.

Jude smiles and lets the rest of the cup fall away from him. “Can say you love me?” Jude whispers. 

“Who, baby?” Spencer asks. 

“You and you,” he says. 

You take a deep breath, whispering grandly, “I love you.” 

Spencer follows suit with a hand wrapped around Jude’s calf. “I love you, too. So much they don’t have a word for it yet. You know your middle name, you know what it means? Anwil, it means loved one, because I love you a lot. And I have forever and ever.” 

“And ever?” Jude asks. 

Spencer rubs his leg softly. “And ever. More than Y/N does.” 

You gasp in offense. “No way!”

Jude giggles but settles as you run your fingers through his hair. Spencer lays down and cracks the book over his chest, falling into his usual reading cadence, though he doesn’t bother much with special voices. Jude’s eyes are already shut and he’s jelly on your chest. 

He leans over mid story to brush hair from Jude’s ear. “I love you,” he says, to be sure.

Jude says something back that sounds like, “too.” 

[judeswhore]

santa baby

summary: you have an extra special gift for jude this christmas

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+, hints of brothers bsf!jude, grinding, mentions of sex

notes: i Need him!!! you can find my masterlist here. i might make a second part to this

"can i open my eyes yet?" jude asked. he was seated at the very edge of your mattress, legs spread wide and arms behind him as he rested back on his palms, the perfect picture of calm. the barely noticeable tick in his jaw was the only giveaway that he was on edge and it sent a thrill through you knowing just how much you affected him. it boosted your confidence, made this little show feel a lot more exciting despite the slightly nervous tremor in your fingers.

for a few quiet moments you simply admired the man in front of you, basked in the opportunity to drink him in without his eyes on you. he was shirtless, per your request and the sight of his bare chest and that teasing ladder of hair made you a little dry mouthed, filled your head with endless fantasies. dragging your gaze upwards you settled on his face, on the stubble covering his jaw, the soft curve of his lips and his lashes, so unfairly long, they made you jealous. he was stupidly pretty, gorgeous in a way that had landed you in trouble the second your brother had brought him home. jude was supposed to be off limits. yet here he was, half naked in your room and growing slightly impatient with your surprise.

"babe?"

"hmm?" you hummed softly, still caught up in running your eyes over his arms, cheeks growing hot at the bulge of his biceps. you wanted to sink your teeth into them, into his shoulders and chest, to mark and claim him despite all the reasons you shouldn't. jude's huff of laughter brought your attention back to his face.

"can i open my eyes?"

"oh." you coughed quietly to clear your throat and straightened up, prepared to spin as you double checked your outfit was perfect. "yeah, you can open your eyes." you held your breath and watched his lashes flutter open, watched almost in slow motion as his jaw dropped, dark gaze bouncing rapidly over your body. he didn’t seem to know where he wanted to look most, a soft curse falling from his lips as he suddenly sat up straight.

you gave him a slow twirl, felt the tiny skirt you were wearing lift up just slightly and you were rewarded with a low groan from jude at the peak of your ass beneath. the outfit was simple enough, a tiny red skirt, equally as tiny red bra and a santa hat but the boy in front of you was staring as though you were a prized painting. it made your pulse thunder and your skin felt hot and prickly wherever his eyes roamed. goosebumps had risen across your chest because jude’s gaze was suddenly pinned to your boobs.

“merry christmas, jude.”

“holy shit.” he gave a light, breathless laugh, swallowed harshly and twisted his finger in the air. “fuck, gimme another spin.” you did as you were told, twirled for him and then stopped with your hands on your hips. a smile tugged your lips.

“what do you think?”

“what do i- jesus christ.”

“yeah?” you raised your eyebrows at his obvious lack of words, at the dazed look he was wearing and the desire burning in his eyes. jude bit down on his bottom lip, head shaking as he tracked every inch of your body and the heat of his gaze felt like the caress of his fingers over your bare skin. up along your legs, lingering just slightly on your thighs before sliding over your bare stomach, drinking in the way your boobs half spilled from the slightly too small cups and then over your face and to the little hat sitting lopsidedly on your head. he was grinning by that point.

“you’re gorgeous. it’s- i don’t- how do you look so fuckin’ good?” he groaned low in his throat, sounding almost like he was in pain. “that skirt.” a half shy smile was making its way onto your face as you fiddled with the hem of the skirt, hyper aware of the bulge that had appeared in jude’s shorts and even more aware of the way his hand had wandered only inches from it.

“i have something else for you.”

“something else?” jude gaped a little, shifted on your mattress to adjust his shorts but it did nothing to hide his cock. you swallowed, swiped your tongue along your bottom lip before slowly making your way over to him, hips swaying as you tried your hardest not to look ridiculous. the way this boy was looking at you however suggested that wasn’t a possibility. you came to a stop in front of him, tits so close to his face that jude simply couldn’t help himself as he leant forward, nipped softly at the flesh spilling out over the material before soothing the mark with a kiss. he glanced up at you through his lashes, eyes so dark they almost had you gasping for air. “what more could you possibly have?”

with your hands on his shoulders, you pressed your knees into the mattress on either side of his thighs, settled yourself in his lap only inches from his aching cock. you could feel the heat of him and wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him but you wanted jude to see the last part of your little gift. unable to stop yourself from teasing, you lowered your hips, ground down a little so you could drag your pussy over the tent in his shorts and grinned at the low hiss he let out. his hands clamped down on your waist.

“lift the skirt up.” your voice was a low command, silky smooth and you felt him shudder beneath you, watched his eyes fall closed for a moment when you lifted yourself back off his lap and simply hovered.

jude’s hands settled on your thighs and his fingers were soft as they slid up until they rested at the hem of your skirt. he fiddled with it for a second before flipping the material up, revealing your silky red underwear and his jaw ticked when he spotted just what it was you wanted to show him. stitched across the front of your underwear in pretty white thread, was one simple word, jude.

“thought you’d like it.” you whispered, heart thudding in your chest at his silence, heat flooding your cheeks because jude simply couldn’t look away. his throat bobbed on a swallow, lashes fluttering as he blinked once, twice before finally dragging his gaze back up to yours.

“you’re not real.” he didn’t give you chance to reply to that as he tipped his head to kiss you, lips slotting messily over yours as he curled one hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer. his other hand flattened against the top of your thigh, your skirt falling over his fingers as you settled back down into his lap.

for the next few minutes you simply got lost in his kisses, in the slow drag of his tongue over yours and the occasional nip of his teeth against your bottom lip. nothing mattered but jude’s mouth and the feel of his cock beneath you as you rocked slowly against him, unaware of the damp spot that was slowly spreading over the crotch of your new underwear. a startled whine bled past your lips when jude’s hand shifted beneath your skirt and his thumb pressed firmly over your clit. he rubbed it in soft, slow circles that matched the lazy press of his lips.

“want you to keep these on.” he mumbled, words muffled as he started to work his lips and teeth along your jaw. his hand had knocked your hat slightly askew and when he pulled back he helped to fix it for you, grinning dark and dirty at you when you eyed him in confusion.

“hm?” you were a little dazed, rocking into his hand and down onto his cock, fingers sunk deep into his shoulders for purchase. you choked on a quiet moan when his fingers slipped down and pressed against your already soaked hole, pushed against the damp material of the underwear he was now so infatuated with.

“y’gonna ride my cock like a good girl,” he told you, fingers deftly hooking into the material and tugging it to the side. two fingers brushed over your pussy, circled your clit before sliding back down. “but i want you to keep this pretty little outfit on, okay?”

[oneforthemunny]

hold my heart and watch it burn |ex-husband!eddie munson x ex-wife!reader|

prompt: your first christmas apart and it's proving to be a lot harder and lonelier than you thought.

contains: i mean, you know i'm gonna write christmas angst lmao. so angst. divorce. ex-husband!eddie. dad!eddie. mentions of loneliness. of fighting. language. holiday blues. divorce blues. just sad but a little better at the end? maybe? kinda?

"Jude!" Your voice drops, breathy with a stern hiss that your eight year old ignored, running ahead through the crowds of people bustling through the ridiculously busy Starcourt Mall.

Lucy's small hand in yours, you pulled her through the crowds of people, dodging a woman and her twenty shopping bags that swung when she turned, nearly taking you out.

"Jude Wayne, stop." A rare tone of your voice came out, void of it's usual lightness that you always used with the kids- a tone that you usually reserved for their father.

"Woah," Your shoulders tensed, fighting back a grimace at the squeal Lucy let out, wringing her hand out of your grip. Speak of the devil, you thought, lips pursing to hold back the snarl you wanted to give. You wouldn't, not in front of the kids, no- you'd keep it civil for them, even though you wanted to smack the smug, dimpled grin that greeted you when you did finally look at him.

"Hi, sweetheart." Eddie hummed, eyes rolling over your figure, hoisting Lucy on his hip.

Your lips twisted, fighting back an eye roll. "Hi," You snapped curtly, turning to Jude, bending at your knees to get to his level. "Jude, you can't run through the mall, honey. You have to stay with me-"

"-Ah, he was just excited, baby." Eddie grinned, nodding at the young boy, who looked so much like him. "Weren't you, Jude?"

"Yeah, Mama." Jude nodded, lips curling in a positively sweetly devious grin- just like his Daddy's. You could feel your heart melting already. "I just want to see Santa. I hafta tell him the things on my list or he'll-"

"-You will, Jude." You sighed, the start of a headache pulsating dully at the base of your skull. "We'll walk to the line right now, and you both can tell Santa what you want, ok?"

Jude nodded, still walking ahead in quick, excited steps. Your eyes cut to Eddie, looking past him towards Lucy. "Surprised you showed up on time." Your tone clipped, quiet enough that the kids couldn't hear but that he did.

Eddie scoffed, a snort of air. "Showed up on time to see my kids? That's not very nice." Eddie's tone stayed light though his eyes narrowed when they looked at you.

"The truth isn't always nice, is it?" You quipped, turning forward to look at Jude.

"You act like I don't come to every thing they do." Eddie retaliated, a low hiss in his tone that left your jaw clenching with a familiar bubbling rage. "Really trying to make me into the deadbeat dad, hm?"

"I can't make you into anything." You scoffed. "But if the shoe fits-"

"-You're really doin' this?" Eddie's voice dropped, jaw ground tight with irritation. "Really? Today you're gonna start this?"

"I'm not starting anything." You snapped, a little louder than you meant to, eyeing Jude and Lucy carefully. "You're the one who's usually late to things. It's a fact."

Eddie scoffed, a light airy laugh leaving his lips that made your blood boil, nails digging into your balled fists. "Please. You think I don't know what this is about?"

"What?" You snapped, brows furrowed at him.

"Oh, c'mon, you're pissed about Trina." Eddie turned, looking at you fully.

You knew he had to see the way your heart dropped, sinking into a burning pit in your belly, filled with ache.

Trina was a bartender at The Hideout, she'd been one since you and Eddie had started going, and one you'd always felt a little wary of. The way she'd giggle and bat her eyes at Eddie- she'd been a catalyst to a few fights when you were still together.

Last Saturday morning, Eddie was late coming to the house to get the kids.

"Rough night?" You giggled, his hair wild, eyes puffy with lack of sleep- a look you'd seen too many times before, one that was always a sign he was hungover.

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot to set my alarm last night. I went out, and got a little... ya know," Eddie had muttered, running a hand down his face. "Had to shower because I smelt like smoke and didn't want Lucy's allergies actin' up, and I had to take Trina to her apartment, then I had to get gas, and-"

"-Trina?" You'd nearly spat. "From-From The Hideout, Trina?"

"Yeah, we, uh, we kinda went out last night." Eddie wouldn't meet your eyes, looking anywhere but at you. "I mean, you've been goin' on dates, and... ya know." He lifted his hand, nervously running his fingers through his bangs, a habit he'd always had.

You noticed the gold band missing from his left hand for the first time since your wedding, stomach dropping as he walked in, greeted by your children's excited squeals.

You were sick in the bathroom after that.

Now, your stomach still flipped, still burned with a familiar nauseating ache. Standing in line, trying to feign excitement listening to Jude and Lucy babble on and on about what they wanted Santa to bring them, trying to ignore the spiraling thoughts that consumed your mind.

The same thoughts that kept you up at night, tear stained cheeks pressed into the pillow next to yours, that still smelled like Eddie- the one he'd slept on three nights before his date with Trina. Did he know he was going out with her when he laid there next to you? Was he thinking of her when he had slid into you that same night? When he kissed you so fiercely, so full of love that it left you dizzy, did he wish it was her instead?

A piercing wail of a infant cut through your thoughts, taking another zombie like step towards the front of the line. Jude was bouncing, eyes so wide an intense, honed in on the older man in a red suit juggling the screaming baby to a photo.

"What're you gonna ask for Luce?" Eddie hummed, bouncing the four year old on his hip with a grin.

"Play Doh," Lucy gave a toothy smile. "The ones where you can make the rings." She shoved her chubby finger towards Eddie with emphasis.

"Oh, you gonna make some rings for Daddy?" Eddie grinned, glowing from the inside out- damn him, he was a good dad. Your heart fluttered when he wiggled his own fingers at her playfully, rings shining dully under the white Christmas lights of the mall. "I've been needin' some new ones."

Lucy laughed, silly infectious giggles that had your lips tugging in a grin, your hand smoothing over the wool of Jude's jacket. "You ready Luce? You're next." You cooed, stepping up to the bright candy caned line.

A bored teenage 'elf' looked at you with a less than jolly expression, waving them over as the kids ahead went bounding towards the mall Santa.

"Stay with Jude. Hold her hand, Jude. We'll be right over here." Your voice tightened, not moving until her hand was in his, scampering towards the next marker. "Smile pretty!"

"C'mon," Eddie muttered, his hand softly on the small of your back. "They're good."

You glared at him, huffing and pulling away from his grasp. "Don't talk to me like that."

Eddie sighed, tired and bored. "Like what?"

"Like that," You sneered, voice low as you stood behind the gate with the other parents, watching their kids as they told Santa their lists. "You don't have to be so condescending."

"Condescending." Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, just like that." You snarled, turning away from him, lips in a tight, annoyed line. "Like you always are."

Eddie nodded, slowly, tongue running on the inside of his cheek. There was a tense pause, both of you looking forward wordlessly.

"Look, I don't know what pissed you off so bad, if it's the Trina thing or-"

"-Can you not do this?" You bit in a hushed hiss. "Watch your kids. Don't make this about us." Your chin jerked towards Jude and Lucy, who were too enthralled with climbing on the fake sleigh to look back at two of you, which you were thankful for.

Eddie laughed humorlessly, an airy, unamused snort of air and you could feel him stiffening beside you. "Fine."

The eye roll you gave was so fierce it left you with a headache between the brows, fingers tapping on your crossed arms, trying to ignore him- to be present for your kids, enjoy and embrace the moment, but dammit was it hard. When he always had to have the last fucking word. Flashbacks of countless fights spun through your mind like a rolodex.

You managed enough cheer to mask the tension, greeting Jude and Lucy with their waving candy canes. "Did you tell Santa what you wanted?" You cooed, a hand running over Lucy's head.

"Yeah," Jude hugged your waist. "I told him I'd been really good, but will you tell him too, Mama? When you talk to him later."

You smiled, warm with content at his childlike innocence. "Of course." You nodded. "Let me pay for your photo and you can take it to Papa Wayne-"

"-I got it." Eddie muttered, still not looking at you, already flicking through the bills of his wallet, handing them to the cashier dressed like a elf.

"Let me pay you my half." You frowned, slinging your purse forward, pulling the zipper.

Eddie shook his head with an eye roll, nodding at the cashier, before stepping to the side. He sifted through the change in his palm, plucking out two quarters and handing them to Lucy and Jude. "Here, go get something out of the gumball machine."

Lucy and Jude squealed with excitement, bounding towards the array of candy and toy machines in the middle of the mall, ignoring your shout of warning.

"They already have a candy cane." You looked at Eddie with a bored expression. "So you're giving them more sugar?"

"Jesus Christ, it's the holidays." Eddie huffed. "Thought this was your favorite holiday?"

"It is." You countered, arms crossing over your frame defensively.

"Then quit bein' so mean." Eddie shook his head. "Just 'cause you're pissed at me."

"I'm not pissed at you." Your lips pressed in a hard line. "Not everything is about you."

Eddie let out a laugh, teetering on mocking and mean. "I- you know what, I give up." He shook his head. "Stay in your foul mood, whatever."

His hand fell on the white envelope on the counter, pulling the small photo out, handing it to you. "Here. Merry Christmas." His words fell flat, filled with irritation. "I'll have them back by eight tonight."

You fought back a snarl, looking at the grinning face of your children on the glossy photo, two identical smiles that reminded you so much of the man you loved- used to love.

"C'mon, let's go see Papa." Eddie clapped, grinning at the kids. "Tell Mama bye." His eyes met your with a forced grin, teeth nearly baring at you.

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, bending to hug each of them, pressing a kiss to their cheeks. "Be good, ok? Tell Papa I said hi."

Your eyes met Eddie's, a beat of silence between both of you, nearly challenging the other to speak first, to admit defeat. Neither of you did.

Eddie gave a curt nod, turning in the opposite direction with your children through the ever growing crowd.

You felt incredibly lonely, walking to your car silently, a sinking feeling in the pit of your tummy.

"Fuck-" Your fingers brushing the tip of the box, pushing it further back onto the shelf, away from your grasp.

Your annoyed huff echoed off the concrete of the garage walls, settling back on your tip toes. "Are you fuckin' serious? Ed-" Your words were strangled in your throat, heart dropping with sudden realization.

He wasn't here.

You should've been used to it by now. The house was empty, quiet even with the stereo playing. You'd turned it on, shoved a worn Christmas cassette tape in and tried to drown out the miserable silence that filled the house.

It used to be a tradition, just for the two of you. You and Eddie would drop the kids off at Wayne's going back home to wrap all the gifts you'd hidden. Eddie was always in charge of that, hiding them in the hard to reach, clever places around the house. You'd make hot toddies on the stove, Eddie would put on your favorite Christmas cassette without asking, and you'd spend the evening wrapping gifts.

Your first Christmas, Eddie had been so excited, positively beaming as you wrapped little onesies and teething toys- small gifts for Jude, but Eddie still boasted with pride. "Can you believe we're really doin' this? We're parents. Real parents wrapping real gifts for our real kid. Isn't- That's just fuckin' insane."

Now, you were alone, wrapping gifts for your kids and filling out the gift tag just to them for the first time in years.

The feeling was anything but joyful, sitting on your couch alone while Rudolph played lowly in the background. The hot toddy you'd made didn't nearly lift your spirits the way you hoped. No, if anything, it only made you feel worse.

Maybe it had been a mistake- the divorce. The thought had consumed you since you'd heard about Trina. Maybe Eddie was right, maybe the divorce was too much. Maybe you should have gone to therapy instead. Why else would you be feeling like this? Alone and miserable and full of regret. Were you just jealous? Was it the longer, darker days and colder weather messing with your mind? Or was it really that you-

"Hellooooooo!" Jude's sing-songy scream had you jumping, the hot liquid sloshing over the edge of the mug, splashing on to your reindeer printed pajamas.

"In here." Your voice was tight, not passing for the cheery tone you were hoping.

Two sets of feet bounded towards you as you set down your mug. Jude and Lucy came in, babbling with excitement about their day with Papa Wayne, still in their snow boots and coats.

"Mama, we saw Papa today an-and he asked me if I could make him some extra reindeer food so he can have some for his roof too, so Santa doesn't miss him." Jude jumped in your lap, eyes bright and wild as he told his story with excitement.

"Did he?" You grinned, unzipping Jude's jacket gently. "We'll have to make him some, won't we?"

"Yeah." Jude nodded, looking over at the tree. "Are those for us?" His eyes widened.

"Not until Christmas." You pointed at him. "Or I'll take them all back."

Jude pouted, eyes darting towards the screen. Your eyes cut towards Eddie as he helped Lucy out of her little snow boots, shimmying them off carefully and putting them by the door. The ache in your chest only grew.

You stood, crossing the living room towards the entry way. "Hey, Luce," You cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she flung herself at you. "Did you have fun today with Papa?"

"Yeah," Lucy giggled, hanging off your leg. "We gotta see the lights."

"The neighbors," Eddie muttered, his gaze not meeting yours, looking at Lucy instead. "They have a bunch of light displays now. Decked out the whole trailer. She really liked it."

"That sounds like fun." You smoothed a hand over her head. "Why don't you go see what Jude's watching? Let me talk to Daddy for a minute. Ok?" You tracked her as she bounded towards the living room, plopping next to Jude on the couch.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space between you and Eddie before you even turned around.

"So, um," You swallowed, rocking back and forth on your slippered toes. "Sounds like they had a good time." You lifted your head, looking up at Eddie.

"Yeah, they had fun." Eddie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyes flickering from you to the frilly garland over the door. That same dreaded pause came back, filling the space between you.

"I'll head out," Eddie broke the silence, your heart lurching at his words. "I'll, uh, be back tomorrow morning, if that's cool? Stop by and-"

"-Wait," Your tone was fiercer than you meant it to be, Eddie's eyes told you that. "I-I just-" You turned towards the kitchen, heart hammering with a steady thud in your ears.

"I, uh, I made hot toddies." You swallowed your hammering heart. "Why don't you- I mean, if you want one, yo-you could stay for a while. Put the kids to bed, ya know, if you don't have plans or whatever." You muttered, cringing at how juvenile you sounded. You sounded like you were back in high school, stammering the same way you had when Eddie first asked you out.

Eddie's lip curled in a small smile, running a hand over his face. "Sure." He shrugged, shedding off his worn leather jacket. "Thank you."

You shook your head gently, turning towards the kitchen, ears ringing with the dull beating of your heart, barely registering the squeals of laughter from Jude and Lucy in the other room. You ladled the steaming contents into a festive mug nearly robotically, brain numb with the same swirling thoughts that made you feel like you were underwater- washing away in the strong current of your own mind.

Your slippers felt like weights, dragging your body across the hardwood floor towards the living room, passing Eddie the steaming cup. His hand brushed yours, sending your system flooded with electric excitement.

As you settled back into the cushions, your body relaxed- just for a moment. The kids were squealing, babbling and giggling about their afternoon with Papa. Rudolph still playing lowly in the background. Eddie next to you, sipping out of his mug. For a moment, the lights strung on the tree felt brighter, warmer.

For a moment, it felt like home again.

That sickening realization had your stomach lurching, pulling you back into the cruel reality that none of this was permanent. Eddie, the lights, the happiness- it was all temporary. It would be gone tomorrow.

You wished it wouldn't.

Your mind at war with itself, filled with conflict and regret as you tried to mask it, giving fake grins and exaggerated coos that half heartedly passed for truthful.

"They're finally asleep." Eddie's voice had you jumping, the mug slipping through your hands into the sudsy water.

You turned, chin hooking over your shoulder to face him. "You were probably right. All that candy wasn't the best idea." Eddie gave a tight grin, his eyes sparkling dully, just enough to have your heart skipping. "They got even more at Wayne's too."

"I told you," You sighed softly, a playful hum in your tone. Still, it wasn't convincing enough, not for Eddie.

Eddie frowned behind you. "What's goin' on with you?" He didn't miss the way your spine went rigid.

"What?" You voice pitched, high like it was when you were lying- when you were hiding something. That hadn't changed since high school.

"Don't- c'mon." Eddie gave a soft huff, accompanied by an eye roll. "Just tell me what's goin' on."

"Nothing's goin' on-"

"-Don't lie to me." Eddie scoffed, shaking his head. "I've known you too long. You think you can lie to me and I won't know? Please."

Your lips tugged in a smile you tried to hide, turning back towards the dishes you were finishing up. Eddie moved beside you, hip leaning on the counter next to you.

"What's on your mind, baby?" His voice was so gentle- you hated that it was exactly what you needed, that he knew it was exactly what you needed.

You swallowed the ever growing lump in your throat, fighting the swell of tears that was already forming.

"Hey, c'mon, sweetheart," Eddie's hand pressed to your cheek, cupping it sweetly, his rings pressed to your skin. "Talk t'me, baby. What's goin' on?"

"Nothing." Your voice was as strained as the words you struggled to get out.

"Baby," Eddie eyed you playfully. "I know we're not together anymore, but I still know you and you can- what's wrong?" He froze, his hold going rigid at the first shake- a tremble of emotion that was a telltale sign you were about to break.

"Did I say something? I was just- hey, don't cry. Don't cry." Eddie cooed, gathering your face in his hands, pulling you towards him.

Your lip trembled, biting back a sob that tore its way through anyways, vision flooding with tears that built on your waterline.

"Is this- Is this about Trina? Because I didn't- Nothing happened, we just went out. Well, I mean, she kissed me, but I didn't- I really didn't-" Eddie's voice rose in panic, rambling, frantic at the watery sob you let out.

"Please, hey, please don't cry? I'm not- fuck, baby, I didn't- I thought it would be ok, be-because you'd been on a few dates, and I thought it would be a good thing."

"It is." You blubbered, sniffling wetly, wiping your eyes with the back of your rolled pajama tops.

"Then why are you crying?" Eddie frowned lightly, pads of his thumbs wiping over the apples of your wet cheeks catching your tears.

"I just..." Your eyes pinched shut, jaw clenching to keep in another sob. How could you tell him? You couldn't. You knew you couldn't, even though you wanted to so badly.

"Just what?" Eddie's voice dropped. "Tell me."

He could feel your trembling breath, his own heart squeezing with constricting fear before you spoke.

"I just... I miss this." Your voice cracked, eyes squeezing shut. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bring yourself to see his reaction.

"I-I didn't know how much I would miss just... just us all being together, and I really fuckin' miss it, and I think," Your breath hitched, heart stilling entirely with hesitant fear.

Eddie held his own breath, eyes wide, looking at you with a wild gaze like he knew what you were going to say.

"I think," You swallowed around your words, strangled in your throat. "I... I made a mistake."

Eddie's heart leapt so fiercely he thought it tore through his rib cage. His body eerily still, unable to move.

"I didn't know you going out with someone else w-would make me feel... this bad, and," Your eyes shone, the strung lights in the kitchen catching in your tears. "And I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too." Eddie's lungs constricted with those words, feeling breathless and light headed.

"I don't like spending the holidays without you." Your voice squeaked, teary and upset, face crumbling with the admission you'd been holding in for too long. "I don't- I don't like being without you, an-and I think I made a really bad mistake and I-I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm so-o sorry-"

Your teary face pressed to the soft material of his t-shirt, your cry muffled into his chest. Eddie held you close to him, as tight as he could, his own head spinning now.

He'd dreamt of this, longed for this moment since you'd fist served him the papers. The day had finally come, one he thought he'd only see in his head- you coming back to him, taking it back, taking him back.

Only it didn't feel as triumphant as it did in his head.

Not with you sobbing into his arms. Not with his head spinning so fiercely he thought he might still be dreaming.

"It's alright," Eddie soothed nearly robotically, staring ahead out the window towards the darkened street as he soothed your sobbing apologies. "We'll- We'll figure it out, baby. We'll be alright."

Every time you both felt like you found your footing, finally on stable ground, you were back here- falling with horror back into uncertainty.

Even as Eddie held you in the kitchen, or later when he slipped into bed with you, both of you whispering and sniffly under the sheets, it wasn't new but it wasn't the same as it was before.

You weren't sure if it would ever be the same as it was before, if you'd ever have what you had before. Even if you replicated the same traditions, hung the tinsel in the same place, retraced your footsteps exactly as you did the year before; it would never hold the same feeling as it once did.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Return of the swaggy Monster of the Week cases.

Chapter Title from Hey Jude by The Beatles

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You go home, and try to get back into a rhythm. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

You have rules.

If you’re going to love Dean, you have to have rules.

To keep yourself sane, and to keep Dean safe.

To ensure that your priority can be making sure Dean stays alive. You can never, ever fail him again, because now that you have him, it will take a biblical tragedy to make you lose him again.

So you have rules.

The first rule comes before the drive home. You stay the night in Texas, but neither of you really sleep. For Dean, it’s so the stiches can set, and for you, it’s so you can feel Dean’s arms around you and hear his heartbeat near your ear, his hand splayed gently over your stomach to monitor the stitches. Then, before the dawn has even fully broken the sky, you go.

Together.

Dean asked you not to run, so now you means you and Dean, together.

He goes to pick you up some non-bloodstained clothing—you’d slept in his shirt, and you’d both silently agreed not to talk about it—as you get the coffee, and when you start to change he takes a tall, rigid stance facing the door. It’s almost adorable, how he’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket and glowering at the walls. Like he’s somehow trying to preserve your modesty.

“We’re taking my car.” Dean mutters, and you freeze with one leg in the sweatpants.

“Dean, I’m not just leaving the Firebird.“

“Yeah, you are.”

“You gave me that car-“

“I’ll send Sammy back for it.” He snaps. “He’ll bus down and drive it back up, and you’ll stay with me.”

You roll your eyes, standing up straight as you finish with the sweats. “You never let Sam drive Baby, why is my car different-“

“Because.” Dean grunts, shooting you a glare as you shuffle over to his side. “I am not letting you drive back to Sioux Falls by yourself after you just got fucking shot, Princess. We’re leaving the Firebird.”

“You can be really dramatic, Deano, you know that?”

His lips twitch slightly. “It’s not dramatic to make sure you don’t bleed out somewhere in Oklahoma, Princess.”

“See, you sound dramatic-“

“And you’re not driving yourself home. Give it up.”

You pout up at him, putting on your best, innocent, sweet expression. “But my car, De. Please-“

“I don’t give a shit about your car.” He grumbles, and that breaks you in a second.

You could see the clench of his jaw and fists, hear the resolve in his voice, and this wasn’t a fight you were going to win. If Dean is valuing you over the car, you’d lost before the conversation even started.

It wasn’t like you really cared either way. If it were up to you, you’d climb onto Dean’s body and never be peeled away from him again.

“What about your car?” You hum, just to selfishly press a little further, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“If that’s what it’s gonna take to get your ass back home, we’ll take the freakin’ Firebird instead. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m driving, and you’re resting, and that’s it.”

You stare at him, and it creeps right up to the edge of your tongue. You love him. So much. Desperately and eternally, because he cares. More than anyone. All the time. You’ve seen him almost shoot people for looking at the Impala wrong, he’s willing to leave it in fucking Texas for you, and you can see how serious he is in his Gold—solid and burning in his body—and you love him-

“Dean, you don’t need to-“

“I do.” He grumbles, starting to herd you out the door. “I’ll carry you home on fucking foot, if I have to. You’re more important-“

“Than a car?!” 

Dean shoots you a glare, you offer him a soft, teasing smile, and he sighs. “And you’ve got the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“Bold words from the man who just said he’d carry me home on foot.” You hum, and Dean finally grins.

Wide and pretty and unrestrained, staring at you in the breaching light of the morning that’s somehow less golden than he is, and here. Alive.

Not yours, but with you. 

And you love him. 

“I missed you, Princess.” He mutters, and it’s a good thing you’re already half-pressed into his side. Otherwise, you would’ve fallen over.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, and Dean’s grin is beautiful, and there’s the first rule.

This can’t be about you. He’s too pretty and magnetic and Golden, and you love him, but if you’re going to keep loving him it can’t be about you.

“We can take Baby.” You mumble. “I- That was nice, though.”

“No problem.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, and you could swear there was a slight redness to his cheeks before he looked away. “I, uh- Yeah. C’mon.”

Dean half carries you to the car, because he’s an amazing idiot who really seems to think that if he takes his hand off your body for a second, you’ll vanish into thin air.

You understand the sentiment. It’s the same reason that, when you stop for gas after a few hours and he tells you to stay in the car, you shake your head and start to open the door.

“What are you-“

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, I told you to stay-“

“You’re not the boss of me.” You mutter, twisting to glare at him when his arm crosses your chest, pinning you to the seat. “I want a shitty gas station donut, Winchester. Let me go.”

He doesn’t move. “I’ll get you one, sweetheart, just stay-“

“Listen to me.” You snap, leaning forward with a scowl. “If you don’t let me out, I am going to break out, stab you, and sit on you while I eat my donut.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “Bossy, Princess.”

“Dean Winchester-“

“Chill out,” he drawls your name, his arm moving back and leaving an almost whining depression where he’d been touching you before. “I’m not looking to get stabbed today, you can get your own freakin’ donut.”

You smile at him in triumph, Dean snorts and shakes his head, and you really don’t give a fuck about the donut. You care about Dean, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, muttering low jokes in your ear as you wait in the shockingly long line, and grinning at you like there’s nobody else in the world.

Dean plays his music too loud in the car on the drive back, trying to get you to sing along and pouting whenever you refuse.

“You know, this isn’t very nice,” he grumbles after the fifth attempt. “I just came back from the dead, Princess, the least you could do is sing for me.”

You shoot him glare, the Silver whining in your body at the reminder. “The I was dead card isn’t going to work on me, Deano. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He shrugs. “C’mon. I think I’m making it work.”

“You’re not.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and Dean drops it like that.

You don’t know if he gets it. The toll his death took on you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure he never knows—that’s just another burden you don’t want him to carry—but there are things you can’t keep him from seeing. 

How you get quiet whenever he mentions it, because the numb feeling of nothing, Dean’s gone so there’s nothing, washes back over your body. The fact that you know you don’t look healthy, because even with the Silver humming once more in your body, you still have bruises from malnutrition and rashes on your wrists from where Ketch tied you up. There’s a gaunt quality to your skin that wasn’t there when he last saw you, and you might not be trying to force the Silver down anymore, but the habit of picking your skin raw is too deeply ingrained to go away.

You have gotten better at the healing, over the past four months. But the weakness from being held captive hasn’t faded away, and it means that you’re too tired to do most anything but rest, and talk to Dean.

You can always talk to Dean. 

He’s keeping his voice softer than usual. Almost gentle, as your eyelids start to droop, and his word fade in and out of your head.

“I’m gonna pull over.” He mutters after another few hours. “Check your stitches.”

You hum, and don’t bother to do anything but wait for Dean to park the car and move so he’s kneeling on the grass before you, then let him maneuver your body, so your stomach is under the flashlight in his mouth.

All your effort goes into trying not to moan, when his fingers brush over your skin. Warm and broad and calloused, so careful when they touch you, like you’re something that could possibly be broken.

You don’t care if the Sky sees this. If it hates it, or doesn’t care because Dean’s keeping you safe and alive. 

You’re for Dean. Nothing and no one else. He’s the one who sits you up carefully and presses a kiss to your brow, before making you drink water and settling you upright once more. Dean is the only person in the universe who, when he scoots back into the driver’s seat and slings his arm around your shoulders, you’d ever even consider leaning into.

Sleep comes easy and peaceful, on Dean’s shoulder, the music humming softly in the background and the Silver flowing softly through the world as Dean drives you home.

It’s twilight, when he wakes you up. Everything is cast in deep shades of blue, and the shadows have grown a little longer in the night, but there’s no pain or fear in your body at all.

It’s all still technicolor. 

Dean’s still here.

And you’re curled right into his side, and you can hear his heartbeat, and everything is okay.

“You wanna go right to bed?” He mutters in your ear, and you blink up at him as sleep lingers over your brain.

“Huh?”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, looking at you with an odd gentleness you don’t understand, but are going to cling to for the rest of your life.

“De, I-“ You cut yourself off with a yawn, burrowing yourself a little further into his side because he’s warm and alive and you’re too tired to stop yourself. “What’s happening?”

“We’re back at Bobby’s, Princess.” Dean watches you carefully, his voice still so strongly low and soft. “And Sammy told me they’d wait up, if you wanted, but if you wanna go to bed, we can sleep in your room, or the room I’ve been using. If you, uh, if you want me in the bed, obviously. We can separate and I can take the couch if you want my room-“

You shake your head, moving your hand to press over Dean’s mouth. 

He blinks at you, and you only stare at him through a slight daze.

“Slow down, Deano, you’re talking so fast.” Your voice sounds whiny to your own ears, but Dean doesn’t really look like he cares, and you’re so tired. “‘M tired, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Dean grabs your hand and slowly lowers it down, his eyes dancing with a soft light. “You’re tired, sweetheart?”

You nod, dropping your head to his shoulder, and he lets out a low chuckle that rolls through your body. 

“Alright, you’re doing bed then.”

You frown against his body. “What’s doing bed mean.”

“Means you’re acting like you’re freakin’ drunk, ba- Princess.” Dean starts to shift you around until you might be in his lap—the world is all blurry color and Dean, so you can’t really tell—and sighs in your ear. “So Sam and Bobby will just have to wait till morning.”

“Sam and Bobby. Where are-” Your words die as you lean back, and Dean’s face is right there. A breath from yours, and pretty, and there’s so much life in his eyes—all beautiful and so focused on you—that you almost burst into tears.

“Wait, shit-“ Dean grabs your face with one hand, the other keeping you steady by your waist, and that’s enough. Your eyes start to sting, and a weak noise leaves your chest as the Silver pours out into the world.

You’re the easy wind outside the car, the gentle comfort of the Impala—warm and filled with love from Dean’s care—and the soft hope of a lightbulb outside, covered in moths and flickering but still holding out to draw something else into its light. 

You’re not Dean, but you’re curled right against him, and when your eyes flick down to your hands they’re covered in gold, and Dean-

“Fuck, Princess, don’t cry- It’s- I didn’t mean to- Oof-“

You tackle your body fully into his, somehow finding force without movement, and Dean’s arms wrap tight around you in half a second as you sob.

“You died.” Your hands fist against his shirt, and there’s too much dizzy, sleepy fog over your brain for you to do anything else but sob and hold onto Dean. “You- you were gone, and you died, and I couldn’t- I tried but I couldn’t- And you- You were in Hell, and I didn’t-“

You cut yourself off with another strangled sound, and Dean’s hand starts to stroke through your hair.

“I know. But I’m good now.” he mutters in your ear, and it’s soothing. Like a lullaby that’s a little more. A promise. “I know, Princess I do, but you’re okay. We’re gonna get you to bed, sweetheart, you’re real tired and it’s- It’s okay.”

Dean pries you off his chest as you continue to sniffle, his thumb presses to the bridge of your nose, and it’s like a spell. 

The Silver eases back into your body, and you’re out. 

When you wake up, sunlight is filtering through the room. Your room.

You’re back in your own room.

It hasn’t really changed. Bobby seems to have cleaned up all your notes from the floor, and the sheets are fresh and changed, but everything else is as you left it, save for a slight coat of dust.

And Dean.

The last time you’d slept in this room, Dean had been at your side, but he’s not here now.

The only thing that keeps the Silver from bursting out of your body and ripping through the world to find him is the Gold. Bright and strong and covering your whole room, imprinted on the mattress and all across your clothing, a soft lining of it on the door knob and over the carpet. 

Dean is alive. The Spiderweb is soft and iridescent in your body, so he’s still alive, and he’d been here because only Dean is Golden like that.

It wasn’t just a cruel nightmare or trick of your mind, that he’d come to get you, and-

Oh, fuck.

You’re not tired now, but god, you had been when you got home, and you’d fallen apart from nothing at all. Fragile and uncontrolled and sobbing into Dean’s arms when he was the one who fucking died.

And he’d held you, but you’d been far too close. If he hadn’t somehow eased you to sleep, you probably mumbled that you loved him, in your exhaustion. And he had so many other things to worry about, all far more important than you. Dean shouldn’t be responsible for soothing you whenever you lose your fucking mind-

But he had. Because he was amazing, and Dean, and has always had you  when you lost your fucking mind.

You love him.

Second rule.

You can’t overindulge yourself.

If Dean volunteers to care for you, you’ll take it because you’ll never have enough will to not. But you can never ask for more, when he already gives so much. If you ask for more and he gives it, that won’t be love. It will be selfishness, and greed, and the monster in you hoarding him like the gold he is because you love him, and nothing should ever touch him again. 

Instead you’ll be his beast. Snarling and marching in front of him and taking whatever scraps he throws to you. If Dean asks to keep sleeping in your bed, there’s no world where you say no. If he wants to carry you around and stitches up your wounds and hug you in his lap, you’ll keep pressing your face to his shoulder and drowning yourself in his Gold until he either shoves you away, or you start to infect him and you have to put yourself down.

Castiel said you’d already infected him. That you’d embedded yourself in him.

He’d seemed fine. There were all those new parts of the Gold, and the way that the rivers of Silver were glowing and secured through his body, but if that was what Castiel had been talking about, Dean didn’t seem to be fighting it or rejecting it from his soul. 

That could be part of the no overindulging. What you’d planted in Dean seems to have grown roots, and there was no taking that back, but it ends there. With the only exception of saving his life, the Silver will never touch him again. Especially with how little control over it you still have.

When you see Castiel again, you’ll have to ask him what he knows about souls. He’s the first other not-person you’ve met who ca see them. 

As your brain starts to fully kick back into its normal gear—devoid of weeks without sleep and months of being plagued by Dean’s voice on the wind—it hits you that you really need to talk to Castiel again. He’s a fucking angel. Angels are real, and one had saved Dean, and all the Hell dreams were real too, which has to mean something, but you don’t know what, and Castiel hadn’t seemed to know what either, but he was an angel, so he has to know something-

One thing at a time. 

Too much is happening, and you’ll get through it—you always do—but you still had to go one thing at a time.

And you’re home.

You shuffle out of the bedroom on silent feet, and you can hear them before you can see them.

“I still don’t know why I have to go to Texas.” Sam’s voice mutters from the kitchen. “You’re the one who made her leave her car there-“

“She’d been bleeding out, Sammy, I wasn’t gonna just let her fucking drive-“

“But-“

“Sam.” Bobby’s voice grunts, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. You can’t really tell if the gnawing feeling in your gut is guilt of relief. “I’m with Dean on this one.”

“Thank you, Bobby-“

“Not cause you made the right call, ya’ idjit.” Bobby snaps, and you can very easily picture Dean’s dejected puppy look. “If you’d used your fuckin’ brain, you wouldn’t have taken off the moment Cas found her, and one of us coulda driven it back behind you.”

“But, uh, I still did the right thing with the stitches and driving-“

“Stop fishin’ for compliments. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you for only callin’ us two hours before you got back.”

“I was busy,” Dean mutters, Sam snorts, and you finally turn into the kitchen. 

Dean sees you first, but Bobby’s close behind, and once they’re both staring at you, Sam follows their gaze with wide eyes.

“Hi.” You mumble, keeping one hand on the doorframe to steady yourself. “I- uh- sorry.”

It’s all you can think of to say.

And it turns out it’s all you need, because the words hang in the air for a fraction of a second before Bobby’s marching across the room and you’re pulled into a long firm hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and his grip tightens. You can almost feel all of Bobby’s anger and stress and relief pressing into your body, and you’ve been a really shitty daughter but he’s still hugging you, and there’s no urge to let go.

It’s the same way he’d hug you when you were a kid. When you’d make the house go haywire, then curl into a corner and cry for hours. The hug that meant, even though you’d made a huge mess for him to clean up, Bobby was just glad you hadn’t killed yourself in the process. 

And you hadn’t.

But when Bobby speaks, his voice is still gruff.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me again, kiddo.” He mutters, low enough for only you to hear, and he knows you don’t need to hear the rest of the lecture. About how you damn near killed him, and he doesn’t need to lose you and Dean, so next time you should just come home. You can feel it all in his hug, and that’s enough.

“I won’t.” You whisper, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bobby pulls back, scanning over you with a tight frown. “You gonna tell us what had you off the face of the damn earth and needin’ stitches?”

You nod, rubbing your wrists as you speak. “I will later.” You lean around Bobby to see Sam still gaping at you from his chair. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam pushes out of his chair without another word, and Bobby barely side-steps him before you’re in another death-gripping hug, Sam almost crushing you into his body.

“Did you get bigger?” You mutter into his chest, and Sam snorts.

“I’ve had a weird seven months.” 

“Ah.” You lean back, and Sam stares down at you, but doesn’t let go. “Same.”

He swallows, and something flashes over his face that you don’t understand. “I, um- I’m sorry I didn’t look for you. Dean was gone, and I knew you’d take it worse than anyone, and you were kind of all I had left of him, so I really should’ve tried harder-“

“Sam.” You offer him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t make myself an easy person to find.”

He nods, taking a slow step back, and Dean clears his throat.

“Can I have a hug too, Princess?”

You give him a flat look. “I’ve hugged you three times already.”

“Yeah, but I also drove you home, I think that’s earning me another one-“

“I’m not running a hug-based economy, Winchester, they’re fucking free-“

Dean almost crashes into you, and you hadn’t realized how different Dean hugging you really was until you felt them all back-to-back. 

Sam and Bobby had been firm, and almost strangling, but they hadn’t been trying to move you into their body. They hadn’t rested their chin on the top of your head, or moved your face to press into their necks, and you hadn’t tilted your head to try and hear their heartbeats. 

Sam and Bobby had stepped back, after the socially allotted amount of time.

Even after Sam lets out a very loud cough, Dean still squeezes you one last time, and keeps his hand between your shoulder blades as he moves away.

That wasn’t overindulging. Dean had hugged you, and you’d only responded to the pace he’d set. You’d sunken a little further down, down, down into Dean because he’d given you to chance, and you’d curled your fingers at the nape of his neck because the situation called for it.

Still, you have to set another two rules.

Third, you can’t let it show on your face, where Sam and Bobby and anyone else who knows where to look can see. When Dean keeps talking—and he’s right next you, and you love him, and he’s so pretty—you can’t just stare at him with a stupid smile and soft, adoring eyes. It has to be business as usual, no matter what, where you love Dean and it’s kept locked in the Spiderweb.

Fourth, you can’t let it affect work. At all. You have to fucking pay attention as they fill you in on the seals, heaven and Lilith, some guy named Chuck wrote those books, and a girl named Anna who’s now a missing angel.

“Oh, wait, get this.” Sam leans forward, his eyes wide on yours. “Where’s the Blade and your book, there’s-“

You cut Sam off with a long sigh. “I lost them.” 

“You- How?”

“Hunters.” You mutter, twisting the skin on your finger, and Dean’s eyes narrow.

“You got a clue where they are, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dean opens his mouth to push it, but Sam cuts him off before he gets the chance.

“Well, alright, Dean says you can write in the language too-“

You frown. “What language?”

“Cas and Uriel called it Enochian.” Dean mutters, running his hand over his face. “Angel language.”

“Angel what?”

“You heard him, kiddo.” Bobby shrugs at you, and you must still be clouded with sleep, because there’s no fucking way-

“I speak angel?”

“Yeah, but,” Sam sighs, frowning at the air. “We don’t know why, so if you’ve got something-“

You shake your head. “I’m not an angel, Sam, if that’s where you’re-“

“It’s not. Anna was a secret angel, and that was worked out in a month.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s gotten really long, but—and he’ll never get to hear this—it suits him. “It’s just better than nothing, right? Did you find anything new on, you know…”

You huff a soft laugh as Sam trails off. “Yeah, I know. And sort of. It’s- I was sort of visiting a bunch of witches-“

Dean pushed off the counter with wide eyes. “You were what-“

“Calm down, Deano.” You give him a firm look, and he scowls, but shuts his mouth. “None of them hurt me. They all treated me like I was some sort of royalty. It was really fucking weird.”

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely going to be adorable and unhelpful, but Bobby beats him to the punch.

“They give you anythin’ to go off of? If they were treatin’ you like that, they had to know somethin’-“

You shake your head with a long sigh. “They didn’t have a fucking clue either. One older one, like really old, said the name for what I was is lost, but-“ Your eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“What-“

You shake your head, and Sam cuts himself off as you stare ahead into nothing and rub your wrists, letting your brain turn over the chance. It’s lining up, and it’s less than a gamble and more of a risk, but there’s no fucking way it’s that easy-

Dean says your name in a low, careful voice. “What are you thinking?”

“You remember how I thought the soulweapons were solemn oath weapons? And you told me that solemn oath means soul?” You run your thumb against your palm, and Dean nods. “I thought that was just, you know, whoever wrote it being weird or something. But if it really is a different language-“

“It is.” Sam mumbles, and you sigh. 

“Okay, but that means I’ve been translating in my head for some fucking reason, and what if I’ve been mistranslating other words like that?”

Sam frowns. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been makin’ them literal.” Bobby grunts, giving you a small smile and nod, and you stand a little taller. “You thinkin’ of another word you need worked out?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Are you guys still kind of fighting with Castiel, or is he going to take a, uh, prayer?”

“He’ll take it if we say we’ve got something interesting. He’s nosy.” Dean starts to guide you to the table. “He’s kinda like a cat. Comes and goes. You’ll like him.”

You give Dean a sweet smile, biting down the words that you already met him, and he did seem a little like a cat. It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.

And that’s bad within itself, but at least until you see Castiel again—and he gets real fucking specific about what the angels have been waiting for means—you’ll have to keep omitting. 

Even if Dean pulls out a chair and helps you into your seat, and the Silver twists because there’s still some muss in his hair from sleep, and he’s still touching you, and you love him.

“I can walk myself, you know.” You raise your brows at him, and he shrugs, dropping in the seat between you and Sam.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Princess.”

“We both know you won’t-“

“Sammy, can we have some paper?” Sam passes Dean a sheet from his notebook, and it’s slid in front of you with a pen.

You blink at Dean, and he sighs, grabbing the pen and moving it into your hands.

“Write down what you want Cas to look at.” He mutters, tapping the paper. “So when we call him, we’ve got something to show him.”

“Oh.” You whisper, glancing down to the paper. “Right. Smart.”

You could swear Dean sits a little taller, his face breaking out in an even wider grin, and the rest of breakfast slides by fast. You do some loose, more pointless catchup about the past months—Sam found some new books he can show you, Bobby’s being a butthead and won’t tell you if he’s been dating, and Dean won’t stop reminding Sam that he needs to get moving to Texas soon—and for long, beautiful seconds, it’s hard to remember that you were gone at all.

But there’s evidence. Proof only you can see that you’ve change. That you’ve all changed.

Dean’s soul is still Golden, even if parts of it are to clearly new and molten from being mended, and Bobby’s soul is still green—although a little more worn, which is going to keep eating at your stomach—but Sam is…

Different. 

There’s more red, even when you give him a quick glance. It’s like blood seeping over his softer tissue and bone, and there’s certainly far less blue to his purple than before. It looks a little like an infection. It’s raw and malignant the same way the Darkness was, and the Silver doesn’t like it. It’s still setting off and keening to spread out over you in an almost chemical reaction. To burst and bubble and flow until all the red is gone, because it’s wrong.

You can’t really think of a good way to mention that to Sam. You’ve never told someone that their soul looks infected before. 

A problem for a later.

Because right now, as you finish up with the word—it takes longer than you’d like, but you’ve never tried to write in Enochian, and it takes an odd amount of effort to separate it in your brain—and you take the time to look at their souls fully, you see it.

Bobby’s soul is firm and pact, like the soil of the ground. Unwavering and firm, but not cold like stone. 

But Sam and Dean aren’t anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d noticed it, when Dean found you, but you’d been tired and chalked it up to exhaustion. Yet you’ve slept, and you’re looking with the intent of seeing, and they’re not anything.

Or they’re everything.

You can’t really tell.

But whatever they’re made of, it’s the same. It’s all light and shadow, shifting and turning like a star inside of them, and almost pure looking. Like it’s raw, but still made from something old. 

You can’t stare. If you stare, they’ll ask questions that you don’t have an answer for. Whatever it is, they’ve been made of it their whole lives, so it’s not another change.

And the changes all fit themselves—except for Sam’s, you’re a little worried about him—but they also still fit each other. You can see that too. How Sam’s soul is running with wisps of Bobby’s green, deeper coatings of gold that look a little like stitches over the redness, and a thin layer of silver that’s flowing through and off of him without leaving any scratches. The marks of silver are on Bobby as well, although a little brighter and further into the muscle of his soul, and then Dean-

Embedded.

You’re embedded in Dean. The rivers of silver as refracting with rainbow and have been almost buried in the Gold, and that’s what Castiel meant.

You don’t get to ask him about it when he arrives.

The introduction is quick. Dean says your name, Castiel—Cas is quicker, and suits him a little better—gives you a short nod, and you both stare at each other for a long second as Dean keeps talking. 

“We just need you to take a look at it.” He taps the paper, and Cas’ eyes flick away from yours, down to the paper.

“That is it?”

You nod, glancing down to the words. Word. When you’ve focused on writing it in Enochian, it’s obviously one word, no matter how it keeps shifting off the paper into four. “I, uh, I might have been giving it a literal translation, because nobody ever actually taught me what I was writing. I didn’t even know I was writing in a different language.”

“Enochian is… very old and complex.” Cas mutters, moving to frown down at the paper. “I do recognize this word, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.”

Dean frowns. “How can you not know what it means, it’s your freakin’ magic language-“

“Do you know every word in the English dictionary, Dean?” Cas gives him a bored, pointed look, and you have to cover your mouth to hide your giggle.

“No.” He grumbles, shooting you a glare. “And you’re supposed to be on my side, Princess.“

“I am.” You shrug. “But that was funny.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas keeps staring down at the paper.

"There are some things I will have to check before I give you an answer." Cas turns to look at you, his words slow and cautious. "But I warn you, what I find may not be what you wish to hear."

"As long as it's something." You mutter, leaning back in your chair. "I really don't give a fuck what."

It's a few more minutes where Cas lingers in the kitchen, talking about some new seal Lilith is trying to break, and telling you that—wherever he has to look for the direct translation of your word—it may take him a few weeks to do it undetected.

"Won't the angels want us to figure it out?" Sam asks, frowning down at your paper. "I mean, you told Dean that not even you guys really know-"

"None of my siblings within my rank know." Cas corrects, shaking his head. "It is not information that has been deemed necessary. Our only orders are to keep out of it.”

"Then what's got you suddenly all in on helping her?" Dean raises his brows, and Cas shrugs.

"I am... curious. My brothers and sisters are dying, and if this is what I think it may be-“ Cas sighs. “I am willing to bend things. For this alone. And as long as we are careful, and the seal is dealt with-"

"Your big bosses won't be all pissed.” Dean finishes, running a hand over his face. "I dunno, Cas, that douchebag at Chuck's didn't seem too flexible about things."

"Aw." You give Dean a soft, teasing smile before Cas has to respond. "You're worried about him getting in trouble."

Dean scowls. "Yeah, because they'll freakin' smite him or something, Princess. Then maybe try to get you too-"

"They cannot smite her.” Cas shrugs. “They’ve been very clear about that. It would not be effective.” 

You swallow, but Dean relaxes. That opens up a million more questions, but Dean lets out a slow breath and presses his knee further into yours, and you almost say it again. 

And you know that there has to be a last rule. 

It’s most important of all. 

You can never say it aloud. 

It won’t bring Dean anything but more danger. More grief. Everything is only growing more and more complicated, and telling Dean you love him will only be cruel to you both. Telling someone else will force them to keep your secret, and that’s selfish. 

It will have to live in your head. Where only you can hear. Not even the mirror can know, because the Sky might be listening, and you never want it to touch Dean. 

You love him. 

You’re going to have to find a way to tell yourself that in more silence, because it’s not helpful to repeat. You’re aware. It’s a given. You love Dean.

And you don’t know how you convince him to go without you for the seal case. It’s a lot of promises of phone calls and check-ins, plus the fact that Ruby’s going to be there, and Sam is—rightfully—under the impression that you’ll kill the moment you see her.

“She left me at the gas station. She’s the reason I didn’t get to Dean on time.” You hiss to Sam—Dean, Cas, and Bobby wrapping up in the kitchen—and he sighs.

“She got kicked out of her vessel by Lilith.” He mutters your name, and you scoff. 

You don’t believe him. 

More accurately, you don’t believe what Ruby’s told him. 

But it’s still the right call to sit out the seal case. The angels are still hunting you. Cas is likely risking a fair amount by looking into the Enochian, and it’s better not to draw attention while things are still so fragile. You lie low at Bobby’s for a few days while Sam gets the Firebird, and you keep to your rules. Dean sleeps in your bed, but you only hold him when he holds you first. He hovers at your side like your stitches may rip open if you breathe wrong, and you keep your glances at him measured and controlled, your flush under complete control.

When Jo calls you with a case—bunch of deaths at an opera house, sounding like a lich—you agree to it in a second.

It doesn’t matter how the Silver howls at the idea of leaving Dean’s side. It can’t affect work, and you miss Jo, so even as Dean glowers at you when you hang up, you’re going to go on that hunt.

“I can’t just sit here, De.” You mutter before he can even open his mouth. “Cas said it could take a week, and if the angels are looking for me I shouldn’t be doing the seals-“

“You safer here.” He cuts you off with a grunt. “There are wards, and Bobby can watch you-“

“I don’t need watching. And you don’t get to fucking bench me-“

“I’m not- Son of a bitch.” Dean lets out a long breath, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “Just come with us. I really don’t give a shit if you kill Ruby, I’m all for it, but you just got back-“

“Dean.” You sigh, keeping your tone soft. “I’m not leaving. You and Sam will work the seal, and I’ll be with Jo the whole time.”

“But-“

“She asked me to help. I’m going to. And,” you give him a pointed look. “You can’t stop me. You can either go with Sam, or come on this case with me, but you’re not keeping me here.”

“Bossy.” Dean mutters, and you’ve won.

You want to lean forward and kiss him—at least on the cheek as a thanks—but that would be overindulging. 

Sam’s back by that night, and when the morning comes, you split up once more.

“Call me if it goes south.” Dean mutters your name as you stand in front of the Impala, Sam already in the passenger’s seat.

“It won’t. I know what I’m doing, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know, just-“ He sighs. “You heading out to New York?”

“Boston.” You correct. “Citizen’s Opera House. We’ll be fine, and you guys can join us if you finish first.”

Dean gives a tight nod and, right before he turns to climb into the Impala, he whips around and pulls you right back into a crushing hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and it’s not breaking a rule. He hugged you. 

“Come with us.” He mutters in your ear. “Fuck the angels and Ruby, it’s safer together-“

“Not for this, De.” You force yourself to peel back, giving him a soft, sad smile. “And I’ll be with Jo. She’ll have a gun.”

Dean’s mouth twitches slightly. You’ll take it.

He presses a kiss to your brow before he takes off, and you really are a monster. A dragon. Taking every bit of Gold Dean gives you and only craving more. You can’t let it show on your face, but he’s driving away, and you want him to turn around. 

He looks back. You see him glancing in the rearview mirror, and it’s all you can do to keep the Silver in your body as he vanishes down the road.

He’ll be fine. Sam won’t let him get hurt, won’t let him be taken away from you, even if Ruby’s there. And you did miss Jo—grinning at you from the motel sidewalk as you pull into the parking lot—but this might have been a mistake.

Because more than anyone, you want to tell Jo. 

The biggest point of the case—at least to you—is to mimic some normalcy. Sam and Dean are trying to stop Lilith from something to do with flowers blooming at night, and if you can’t be with them, you can’t just do nothing. And lich are easy—up until the very end—so most of the case can just be you and Jo talking, like nothing in the world is wrong at all.

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You tell her over breakfast, flipping through the evidence she’s already found. “It’ll have a bunch of artifacts it’s tethered its lifeforce to, and once we burn all of those, we find the lich and burn it.”

Jo frowns. “Will it be easy to tell? If it’s a magic corpse?”

“It can illusion itself.” You shrug. “But it’ll just be an illusion, so-“ You pause, glancing down at Jo’s eggs. “I’ll tell you later.”

She grimaces. “It’s gonna be real freakin’ gross, isn’t it.”

“I think it’ll be better if I don’t answer that.”

“Great.” Jo sighs, poking at her plate with her fork. “Ya know, I didn’t think Dean was gonna just let you go off alone.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’-“

“Yeah, but I know where you’re going with it.”

“What?” Jo gives you a mockingly innocent smile. “That you two should save us all and start suckin’ face- Shit!”

You laugh as she barely manages to doge one of your apple slices, aim right at her head. 

“Fuckin’- I just did my hair-“

“Well I warned you.” You stick out your tongue, a wide grin still splitting your face. “I told you to shut up, and you didn’t.”

“You just don’t want to hear the truth-“

“Because it’s not the truth.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ stupid for the smartest person I know.”

You scowl. “Hey-“

Jo cuts you off with raised brows. “How many times Dean called you, since you guys split up?”

You flush, and do the smart and mature thing.

Ignore her.

But it still scratches at your tongue. You want to tell Jo. To lean forward and whisper that you love Dean, like it’s not something complicated. Like you’re just two girls in your twenties, eating greasy diner food and gossiping about crushes and other pointless, normal things.

You’re not, though. The very next thing you do is grab your knife and a set of matches, then get in the car to go kill a magic corpse. 

The first day really is just a scavenger hunt.

“This place is freakin’ fancy,” Jo mutters in your ear, adjusting the black cap on her head, and you hum in agreement.

“Just act like you belong.” You whisper, scanning over the lobby. “We’re new staff. I’m in hair and makeup, you do sound.”

“I don’t know how to do sound-“

“You don’t have to know.” You shrug. “We just need as much backstage access as we can get.”

“Right. Smart.”

You shoot her a grin. “I know.”

Jo scoffs. “Shut up. How are we gonna know what’s one of those life-objects?”

“The normal effort is a lot of cutting your hand and seeing if the object eats your blood-“

“Eats your blood-“

“But.” You raise your brows, and Jo sighs. 

“You’ve got something else, don’t you.”

“Nope.” You give her a wide grin. “You’ve got me. And the life force is just a faded and split form of their souls. So…”

You spread your arms, and Jo just stares at you. “So what?”

“I can see souls, Jo.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right.” She gives you a grimacing smile. “I kinda forgot. Lot been happenin’ this year.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.” You let out a long sigh, rubbing your palm as you scan around the lobby. “Ready?”

Jo nods, and for such a fancy place, it’s shockingly easy to lie your way into a fake job. 

“I didn’t know we had new people.” The small, pretty girl—sitting at the front desk with a bow in her hair—smiles between you and Jo, and you’ve never seen someone’s teeth be so white. “They never tell me anything, though, so don’t worry about it.”

“They didn’t tell us much either,” you give her an innocent nervous smile, glancing back to Jo over your shoulder. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?”

The girl waves her hand. “Just walk into the stage. If someone yells at you, tell them to actually tell Lacy things instead of just expecting her to deal.” She pauses. “I’m Lacy, by the way.”

“I guessed that.” You glance to the doors. “Just walk inside?”

“Yeah, um, wait-“ Lacy slides two badges across the desk. “Take these, and uh, be careful. We’ve been having a lot of accidents.”

You blink like you have no clue what she’s talking about, passing Jo one of the badges. “Accidents?”

“There’s been a lot of crew deaths, right?” Jo jumps in with a perfect, fake-worried expression. “Is it gonna be affectin’ the jobs?”

She’s gotten really good at this.

You’re proud.

Lacy shakes her head. “No, bosses say it’s business as usual. Just really bad luck.”

Bad luck doesn’t usually end up making corpses look like they’ve been dead five years. 

Lacy doesn’t need to worry about that.

“Jesus fuckin’ Mary.” Jo’s eyes widen as you step into the house, the stage large and shining ahead of you, rows of red velvet seats around you. “Can we actually just work here? For real?”

You snort. “After we kill the undead wizard, sure.” 

“Right.” She gives you a teasing look. “You think Dean would wanna work mechanics, so you can stay together-“

“I’m going to push you off the balcony.” You say in a flat tone, marching up towards the stage, and Jo laughs before running after you.

“That’s fuckin’ rude!”

“I’m not listening!” You call over your shoulder, not bothering to hide your smile, and push yourself up onto the stage. “There’s nothing in here, by the way.”

“What’d you-“

“No souls.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Jo climbs up to your side, frowning around the house. “You know, I can play a mean triangle. Maybe they’d take me. Or- Dean told me you can sing, we can run away with the circus-“

“This is the literal opposite of a circus.” You mutter, turning to scan over the stage. “And Dean’s never heard me sing.”

You’re walking before Jo can push it further, because every single mention of Dean is going to make you want to tell her, and you can’t let this distract you from the job.

Lich cases really are easy, when you know what you’re doing. The first thing you find is a delicate, old hand mirror in a dressing room—crawling and twisting with faded gray tendrils—and Jo throws it against the wall before you can stop her.

“That do it?”

You poke one of the shards with your foot, and let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Somehow it did.”

“Awesome.” Jo grins at you, turning around the room with her gun in hand. “Now we fight?”

“There are going to be like, two or three more you know.”

“Three?” Jo gapes at you, and you snort. 

“Yep. Nothing else in here, though.” You start back towards the door, poking your head out the hall to check for other staff. “Jo?”

She sighs from behind you. “No more smashin’?”

You give her an apologetic look. “It’s kind of loud. And we can’t draw attention, or people will split us up.”

“But it’s fun, and it works-“

“You sound like Dean.”

“From you, I’m takin’ that as a compliment.”

You flush again, but you walked into that one.

You’re walking into most of these. The day passes quickly, and you manage to destroy another two artifacts—a comb and a fountain pen—before the building closes. There are no deaths when you leave for the night, but you really wish a stakeout was a plausible option, because most of the night is filled with Jo teasing about Dean.

Most of the whole next day is filled with teasing about Dean. You find a fancy gun with lifeforce, and Jo says you should give it to Dean. It doesn’t help that you would, if it didn’t need to be destroyed to kill the lich. It’s the exact type of gun Dean would like.

It wears off around the afternoon, though. Every single sweep of a room, you find another artifact, and it’s starting to drive you and Jo up the wall.

“You said three,” she grumbles as you drag another mirror into what you’ve deemed the destruction room. “This is more than three.”

You shrug, stepping back so Jo can smash, because she was right. It does work. “Yeah, well, this asshole must be strong.”

“How are we even gonna know when we’re done?”

“I’ll be able to see it, because all its lifeforce will be back inside its body.”

“So I don’t have to do the gross thing?”

You shake your head. “Once the objects are destroyed, you can’t do the gross thing.”

She frowns at you. “Which was?”

“Touching it.” You sigh, wiping your hands on your pants. “You’ll be able to. You know. Feel the deadness, right now.”

Jo wrinkles her nose. “But after?”

“It’ll make you the deadness.”

“Oh.” Jo blinks. “Fun.”

You hum, and move on to the next sweep. 

It doesn’t take all the artifacts being destroyed to work out who the lich is, though. Jo works it out herself by day three.

“Who even wears a monocle anymore.” You mutter, chucking this one at the wall yourself, and Jo tilts her head.

“I’ve seen an old guy doin’ it. The one who waves his hands, while the orchestra’s rehearsin’.”

You frown. “The conductor?”

“Yeah, him.” She pauses, staring into the air for a long second before speaking with slow, careful words. “That was his dressin’ room. And I ain’t seen that monocle on his face before. You don’t think-“

“If you think.” You shrug. “I’m on board. Be careful of the conductor.”

Jo grins, and you’re really proud of her. She’s got this whole case under control, to the point that she barely even needs you at all. She figures out that—as you keep looking everywhere, finding less and less with each sweep—it’s likely that there’s an instrument you won’t be able to get until the orchestras rehearsing again, and that you’ll have to be ready to fight the moment it goes down.

The lich hasn’t been killing since you showed up, though. It’s probably worked out that you’re not just new staff. Figuring out that it’s the conductor puts you back on even ground.

Jo figuring out that it’s the conductor.

You hadn’t even looked at the name on the dressing room, because Dean had texted you, and you’d gotten distracted.

You let yourself off the hook for that one, though. It wasn’t your love for Dean messing with your focus. It was the fact that he’d been blowing up your phone with how he was gonna fucking shoot Ruby in the face.

“I think you should.” You tell him over the phone that night, and he laughs through the speaker.

“I’m this freakin’ close, Princess. I’m serious. She’s a fucking bitch-“

“Do you want me to tell you not to?” You grin into the night air, leaning against the outside of the diner. “Because that would be lying, De, and lying is a sin-“

He snorts. “You were just telling me about how you spent the whole day committing property damage-“

“Which is a crime. Not a sin.”

“So you’re a criminal?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I wanna hear you admit it-“

“You’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time, Winchester.”

“Alright. I got patience.” You can hear his smile over the phone, and your fingers are still painted in his Gold. It’s going to drive you insane. “Oh, and text me the address of the motel you’re staying at. Me and Sammy are wrapping this up.”

You sigh, ignoring how the Silver start to riot at the very idea of Dean, here, holding you all day and through the night, and why did you suggest splitting up in the first place, you haven’t slept well all week, and all you do is dream of him anyway-

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“I know. But I’m gonna. And if you don’t text me, I’ll make Sammy do his computer magic to track you down.”

You sigh. You know he’s not lying, and that makes all of this harder. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Dean pauses, muttering something you can’t make out, but raising his voice before you can ask what. “C’mon. Do it for Jo, least she’ll be happy to see me-“”

“I’ll be happy to see you, De.” You cut him off with a frown at the air. “But the seal was all the way in Kentucky-“

“And I love driving.”

“I know, but-“

“Please,” Dean mutters, and that’s it.

He wants to. It’s not indulging if he wants to.

“Sam and Dean are coming to help.” You tell Jo as you slide back into the booth, and her grin is shit-eating.

“Aw, he wants to see you,” she hums when you hang up, and you flip her off without a word.

It’s not effective. 

“You guys are so cute, runnin’ around after each other, and callin’ every night-“

“I got shot.” You mutter, tracing your fingers over your stomach. You haven’t tried to fully heal it with the Silver. At this point, it would be pointless anyway. “He calls to make sure I’m not dead.”

“Cause he loves-“

“Jo.” You shoot her a glare over the table, and she scoffs.

“Why don’t you think he loves you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this-“

“I do! He at least wants you!” She sighs, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “You’re supposed to be smart, you know. Whenever people ask me about you, they ask you know the smart girl that-“

Jo cuts herself off with a sudden, strange expression, and you narrow your eyes. “That what.”

“I don’t remember.” She mumbles lamely.

“Joanna-“

“You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well now I have to-“

“That Dean Winchester’s obsessed with!” She blurts, giving you an apologetic expression, and the whole world stops for a second. 

Obsessed with. And you’re embedded in him. And he’d apologized, on his knees, and put you to bed and let you crawl all over him and had never wanted you to leave-

“You were kinda all he talked about, before you got back.” Jo sighs. “I’m kinda shocked you ain’t together, after all that. I mean, everyone’s seen it, and if they ain’t seen it, they’ve heard about how you damn near died tryin’ to save him, and how he’s always smilin’ more when you’re at the roadhouse with him.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Spiderweb feels like it’s crashing down, down, down all while building and pulsing with light. “Please don’t. I- Everything is so complicated, and I-“

You can’t say it aloud.

And Jo only gives you a soft smile, reaching across the table and holding your hand. She’s such a pretty, soft blue, when you look over at her. Smooth and gentle like water, but still running and turning faster than any other soul you’ve ever seen. 

“I know.” She mutters, and you feel a little like a child. “I just need you to know, cause, God, I ain’t gonna be able to handle another year of y’all starin’ at each other like lost puppies. You’re happier together, and he drove to freakin’ Texas for you, then begged you to come home.”

You sigh. “I shouldn’t have told you about that-“

“But ya did. And if a guy did that for me, I’d marry him.”

“I-“

“I’m not sayin’ you marry him now. I’m just saying thinkin’ he don’t at least want you is insane. But,” she leans back, shrugging and giving you a small smile. “We can talk about somethin’ else now. How’d you get shot, anyway?”

You pause, giving Jo a careful look. She’s really just moved on that fast, her brows raised as she takes a bite of her burger, and you let out a long sigh. “You can’t tell Dean.”

“Ooo, it’s a secret-“

“It’s not a secret, I just don’t want him to-“

“Worry?”

You flush, glaring down at your plate. “Shut up.”

“I’m teasin’.” Jo says your name, giving you a firm look. “When have I ever told one of your secrets?”

That’s a fair point. She hasn’t. And the Spiderweb is still raw in your body as the world grows more and more vibrant, so maybe your judgement is clouded, but maybe it’s just Jo. And you sort of trust her more than anyone in the world. 

And you tell her everything. Studying witchcraft, and trying to look for ways to bring back Dean. How ever has been Silver since he died but it’s all still so painful and hard to control, and Ketch and Davis chasing you then holding you captive. The books—you need to ask them how that panned out, actually—and Enochian and the months on the road.

You leave out the Spiderweb and the Sky and Cas’ visit, for the same reason you won’t tell Dean you love him. That’s not their problems. You won’t make things more complicated than they already are.

But you do mention seeing Dean in Hell, mostly because you have to tell someone.

“Like- In Hell?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “And I, uh- I don’t think it was a dream thing. It was really realistic, and I saw-“

“You still don’t want him to know about this, right?”

You frown at her. “Yeah, wh-“

“Cause I can see Dean right now.”

Jo nods over your shoulder, you twist in your booth, and she right.

Dean’s standing at the door, his hands in his pockets as he scans over the diner, and when his eyes land on yours, a wide, bright grin splits his whole face.

You love him.

You’re going to fucking kill him. 

“We’ll finish later,” Jo whispers, and you give her a small nod right as Dean stops at your table. 

He’s so fucking pretty, grinning at you as he drops into at your side without a word, forcing you to scoot back so he doesn’t end up half on your lap, and looping his arm around the back of the booth like this is the most casual thing in the world. 

“What are two girls like you doing in a place like this, huh?”

“Dean.” You keep your voice firm, forcing yourself to ignore how he’s pressed his thigh right to yours without a thought. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”

“Sammy’s got it. Rather be here anyway.” He shrugs like as if it’s nothing, already eyeing your fries because he’s a perfect idiot. “You ladies doin’ like a girls night or something?”

“We’re huntin’.” Jo says, crossing her arms and raising her chin, and you slide your plate over to Dean without a word.

He winks at you before he takes one.

You’re going to explode.

“I heard, kid. You know, extra hands never hurt-“

You snort. “Dean. What do you want.”

“Why do I have to want something.” His eyes flick right to yours, and he’s Golden, and you swallow. “Can’t I just be here-“

“What about Kentucky?” Jo pipes in, and Dean sighs.

“I already said Sam’s got it. What are we hunting?”

“We’re not hunting anything-“

“Lich.” 

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just shrugs. 

“We get to smash things,” she tells Dean, and he raises his brows.

“I can smash things, Princess.”

“Yeah, I know you can, De. Jo, if it’s just the instrument-“

“Then the lich is going to reveal itself.” She gives you a pointed look. “And the more people we have for that, the better.”

“Awesome.” Dean takes another fry, settling somehow further into the booth. Into you. “I’ll tell Sammy to call Bobby when he’s done, and we can gank this lich thingy.”

“Cool. But,” Jo shoots you a grin, and you’re going to kill her. “It’s funny you mentioned it, Dean, but we do have a girl’s night. You agree not to be a big whinin’ bitch about it, you can stay in our motel room.”

Dean pauses, glances over to you in a silent question, and death isn’t a firm enough fate for Jo. You’re going to leave her in a room with Bobby after you ask him about historical figures he thinks were secretly hunters or monsters.

You shouldn’t have trained her so well. It’s coming back to bite you in the fucking ass.

There’s nothing you can do but give Dean a small smile and nod—because he’s asking permission, but you split open the world if it meant not having to go another night without him on the other side of the bed—and mouth I hate you at Jo across the table. 

She only laughs, and you’re not going to kill her.

The rest of the night is going to kill you first.

Because you can’t stop seeing it, now that Jo has said something. Dean doesn’t ever just press into people like this, or offer anyone else fries with raised brows. And he fucking pouts when you say no, then grins when you roll your eyes and snatch the fry from his hand. Whenever Jo’s talking he’s listening, but you can’t stop staring at him from the corner of your eyes, and he glances over at you so often. And he helps you out of the booth, and pays the bill—you’ve never seen him volunteer to pay a bill, not unless he was trying to make a dramatic point—and walks you to your car like you don’t have a fucking knife in your jacket.

The jacket that’s always been yours, but he held onto when he didn’t even know if he’d see you again. And the knife he gave you, because he was worried about you.

His hand stays on your lower back with every step.

This isn’t good. 

Not when you can really never say it aloud.

Dean trails you back to the motel in the Impala, and while Jo had been exaggerating about girl’s night, you do have… rituals. 

There aren’t a lot of other girl hunters. And you love the men you’ve surrounded yourself with, but the one most secure in his masculinity is Rufus, and it’s still not pseudo-sleepover-secure. 

Because that’s a better description for this. Neither you nor Jo got real, stupid, fun sleepovers growing up, so it’s become a habit whenever you have a hunt together. A stupid game, or more stupid series of truth or dare—Dean is a banned truth topic for you, and get the most people to leave the bar is a banned dare topic for Jo after the fire incident—with snacks and a movie and-

“I am not doing a fuckin’ face mask.” Dean snaps at you, and you raise your brows as Jo snickers.

“You said you wouldn’t be a little bitch, Winchester.”

“I said whining bitch-“

“You’re still being a bitch.”

Dean scowls, eyeing the plastic in your hand like it’s a bomb set to go off. “What’s it even going to help with, my skin is fine-“

“Yeah, but it’s not-“ You glance down, having already forgotten which mask you chose. “Poreless.”

“I- I fuckin’ need my pores-“

“It’ll make you pretty, Dean.” Jo calls from her bed, and he flips her off. 

You sigh. “Not helpful, Jo.”

“Sorry, mom.”

Dean snorts, and you whack his arm.

“Whose side are you on, Winchester?”

He shrugs. “Whichever side gets me out of that mask, Princess.” 

“What if I say please?”

“Uh,” Dean sighs. “Maybe.”

“What if I say please,” you pout at him slightly, making your smile impossibly sweet. “And I promise not to stab you when you try to check my stitches later?”

“I wasn’t gonna-“ Dean cuts himself off at your pointed look, running a hand over his face. “Fine. But I get to actually check them, too.”

“Deal.” You lock your pinky with his quickly, shoving the mask into his hands before he can take it back. “Go wash your face.”

Dean doesn’t move. He only stares at you, and Spiderweb might as well be made of the Sun in your body, and your pinkies are still locked. His skin is rough, and warm, and feels right against yours, and he can’t look at you like that, or you’ll-

Jo coughs, and you pull yourself back together. 

“C’mon.” You fold your fingers fully through Dean’s and pull him after you into the motel bathroom. 

You sit on the sink for a better, and it’s a good excuse to touch him, as you smooth out the lines of the mask on his face. Taking more time than you need, with more careful fingers than necessary, because you just want to touch him a little longer. 

“Be honest.” He mutters as you move around his eyes, continuing after you hum an agreement. “I look stupid.”

“That’s not a question, De-“

“So I do look stupid-“

“You look very handsome.” You let your fingers trail down to his cheeks. “Stoic. Debonair and heroesque-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

“Everyone looks stupid in a face mask.” You mumble, pressing the sheet onto his brow. ��You’re still working it pretty well.”

Dean gives you an odd look. “You’ll look good.”

It’s a good thing you didn’t bother with the full overhead light. Dean doesn’t need to see how your flush is spreading down your neck. “Thanks.”

He just shrugs, and the silence stretches on without tension as you try to focus on the mask, you’re touching him because of the mask, not to trace his sharp jawline and slightly crooked nose-

“Dad would kill me if he saw me now.” Dean chuckles suddenly, and your hands still on his face. 

“Because you’re with me?”

Dean shakes his head. “One of the reasons, yeah. Mostly cause I let Sammy talk me into ditching him for a girl.”

You frown at him. “Sam told you to go?”

“Apparently I was driving him insane.” Dean mutters. “He said he had it, and I should, uh, just freaking go to her.”

“Her?”

“You.”

You swallow, and he’s so close. You’re brushing over his lips as you keep holding his face, and the liquid of his mask is sticky, but you don’t really care. 

“Is my face supposed to be tingling?” He mutters, and pulls a soft giggle from your throat.

“Yep. That means it’s working.”

Dean frowns, but lets you keep touching him. And he does look handsome with the mask. It’s insane, and unfair, and even when you finish up, he doesn’t move away.

Neither of you are trying to move away.

And things are always complicated. They’ve always been complicated, but when he’s gotten the chance, Dean’s always stayed, and you can’t tell him that, but you have to tell him something-

“I’m really glad you’re alive.” You whisper, and he beams at you.

Full and happy and so fucking Dean—handsome and Golden and not yours, but still making the Spiderweb catch light and throw it around your body until you’re a little dizzy—and nothing about this is easy, but it still feels it. Dean is here, so pain is somehow foreign. 

You’re suddenly a little afraid of what you’d do to keep him safe, and away from the Sky, out of the angel’s reach.

“Yeah. I- I’m glad you’re alive, too.” He blinks, frowning into the air. “I mean- I’m glad we’re both alive. Uh, together.”

You smile at him, and in the low light of the bathroom, it’s a little like he has a halo.

You still don’t know what his soul is made of. You don’t really care. 

It’s still Dean all the same.

“All the way down.” You take a careful step back, but you’re cruel to yourself, so you let your hand fall back into his. 

It’s his gravity.

You’re never going to be able to pull away.

And if you could, you’d never able to bring yourself to try.

Because he grins, and says it back with a squeeze of your hand. 

“All the way down.”

And you know. It doesn’t matter what Cas comes back saying you are, or what heaven or hell wants from you. You know what you are. 

Dean’s.

You’ll be damnation or salvation or a whore or a monster for him. You’ll be wrathful god if that’s what it comes to. But you’ll be his.

All the way down.

——————

She’d fallen asleep on Dean’s chest. 

At some point during the movie She started to lean into him, and Dean could never be strong enough to push Her away. When Her eyes had started to flutter shut and Her face had angled in his body, he’d pulled her a little closer. When she’d let out a small, soft sigh, he’d been certain that the world could crumble and collapse around them, but he would just stay right fucking here.

Jo had been giving Dean smug, pointed looks when Her arms had wrapped around his stomach. And when he’d carefully moved his hand to brush a little hair from Her face, he’d kept his words to Jo low.

He didn’t want to wake Her up. Not when She was sleeping this well.

“Don’t say a freakin’ word.”

Jo had let out a soft laugh, her gaze never moving from the chick flick on the TV. “I ain’t said nothin’.”

“If you tell Bobby, he’ll-“

“Like Bobby don’t already know.” Jo had scoffed. “He’s old, not blind and stupid.”

Dean had swallowed—Bobby couldn’t know, nobody really knew—but kept going. “Fine, but if you tell Sam about anything tonight-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep all the girly stuff you did to myself.” 

“Okay-“

“But I am gonna tell him about this.” 

Jo had waved a loose hand to Her and Dean—their bodies now fully curled together, Her breathing even and steady, one of Dean’s hand stroking carefully through Her hair—and Dean’s jaw had clenched.

The only thing that has kept him from yelling at Jo was Her. She’d stirred slightly as he tensed, and he couldn’t disturb Her. 

And, selfishly, he couldn’t ruin this for himself.

This was the part of being Her shadow that he’d always wanted, but never dared to ask for. The part that was softer, and bloodless, and gave Her even more. Where he got to hold Her and touch her like no one else, and She was safe as long as Dean was at her side. The part that could maybe lead to his hands on bare, soft skin, to Dean being allowed to kiss a little more than Her brow when he could get away with it. 

He didn’t know how to earn that. Hell, he hadn’t even earned this. He could never fucking earn it. She’d told him that She was what they hunted, but that was fucking insane because nobody in their right mind could want to hurt Her. It would take more than a monster to grab something rare and beautiful and destroy it, rather than orbit around it and follow it all the way to the edge of the earth, then down. Dean was the one who’d barely become better than a demon, but the very last fucking thing separating him from the black-eyed sons of bitches was that he still had things to defend. 

No matter how Sammy was driving him insane with the Ruby bullshit, Dean still defended him because that was what he did. Sam was still a kid, and he was smart as shit but he could never handle all the blood and guts the same way Dean was crafted for them. It was the same way She fit so well into Dean, but She could never been made for the mud and darkness. Dean was Her shadow to keep as much of that from Her hands as he could. 

She’d chosen to be here, with Dean. To come home and forgive him for things She shouldn’t ever have to know about, and the angels could forget all their fucking plans, because if She told Dean she wanted Lilith to open the seals and to let the world burn, he’d let it fall apart without a single fucking question.

And She wouldn’t do that. She was made of too many good things, and full of too much light to want the world to be ash. It wouldn’t be any place for Her, so Dean wouldn’t let it happen. 

This was the place for Her.

At Dean’s side, where he could watch over Her and silently crave more until She decided he’d earned it. Because it would never matter what Dean had done until She said it was too far, then the last piece of him that Alistair hadn’t carved into would become the very ash he was trying to save Her from.

“You call her Princess, don’t you.” Alistair sneered, and Dean didn’t respond, only staring at the different weapons before him. “Answer me, boy.”

He hadn’t. It was one of the last lines Dean had for himself. He’d rip himself and a million other souls apart, but he’d never let Alistair touch on the fucking idea of Her or Sammy. It was his last apology to them. The last way he had to protect them, when—if they saw him now—he’d beg them to drive Ruby’s knife right into his ribs to save themselves.

His silence always ended with a little extra torment. Dean could live—or die—with that. It was what he deserved.

“I’ve warned ya.” Alistair hissed Her name in his ear after. “She’d got a special spot on my rack, when I drag her down here. I might not be supposed to hurt her, but I ain’t ever cared ‘bout the rules before. Nothing gonna fuckin’ stop me anyway.”

Dean had tensed, and Alistair had laughed in his ear.

“You think you’re gonna save her? That she’d want you to save her? Be your Princess’s shining white knight and sweep her away into the sunset? Here’s a new lesson for you, Dean. Nothin’ can save her, and if I’m bein’ honest, she might be better off down here, with me. I’m not man of god, and maybe,” Alistair’s breath had been hot over Dean’s face as he’d been yanked up by his hair. “That’s exactly what she fuckin’ needs. Maybe she’ll beg me to hurt her. I’ve heard what a little masochist that one is.”

Dean jolted awake in a cold sweat, the sound of Alistair’s laughter still echoing around his skull. It was just another nightmare. She was still right at his side. His hand was touching the bare skin of Her arm, and when he dared to draw small circles with his thumb, She hummed and let out a soft sound Dean would like to hear for the rest of his life. 

Cas needed to hurry up on that translation. The sooner they had better idea of what She was, the sooner Dean could handle those certain nightmares better. 

They’d never go away.

But at least he’d be able to wake up, look at Her, and know nothing would touch Her. That Lilith couldn’t grab Her and use her against them, and the angels might not want Her around, but they could never hurt Her, and She was—as long as he used all the sharper and bloodied parts of himself right—safe at Dean’s side. 

Or across the room from him, or in his car, or holding his hand and pulling him into the fanciest fucking building he’d ever seen. Wherever he could see Her, and orbit around Her. 

Maybe crash down to his knees before Her, because that had worked real well in his favor last time, and there was really no other proper response to Her when she looked like that.

She really was a fucking Princess. This dress was worse than the one last year. Silk, falling over Her body like it was made for Her—most of the world was—and showing Dean too much for him to properly, but still not enough to satiate him, because was a greedy son of a bitch.

He didn’t have a goddamn clue where She’d gotten such fancy outfits on such a short notice, but he knew his tie wasn’t strangling at his throat because She’d carefully adjusted it before they left the motel. Standing only a long breath away, every bit of Her blinding and beautiful as she chewed at Her lower lip, going over the plan one last time.

“There might be multiple instruments.” She’d said, glancing over her shoulder to Jo, who was working on balancing  in her heels. “Once I find what they are, we have to move fast. Smash them, burn them, whatever you need to do. Then the conductor will be in raw form, and if I can see him, I’ll give you the all clear to burn him. Dean, we have to take separate cars-“

Dean had scowled. “No-“

“We’re about to burn a man alive at a public event.” She’d said with a flat voice. “Once we finish, we have to book it. And I am not making Sam take the bus again. Finally,” Her fingers had stilled on Dean’s chest, Her voice dropping to a soft, firm tone. “Don’t let it touch you. It’ll turn you into a puppet corpse.”

Jo had gaped at Her. “A what-“

“Puppet corpse.” She’d sighed. “It’ll kill you then use your body like a puppet.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Dean had cleared his throat. “Can we go back to the car thing-“

“No.” She’d turned on Her heels, tangled Her hand in Dean’s, and pulled him out the door.

And Alistair hadn’t been wrong that Dean wasn’t a white knight, but he was still Her’s. She was brilliant, and as long as it wasn’t putting Her in direct danger, Dean would do whatever the hell She asked. If She needed an army, he’d been a million fucking soldiers. If She needed a guard, he’d turn into a shield.

If She needed him to stand off to the side of a stage while a lady sang in loud, high sounds and She frowned the orchestra, he’d do that. 

He was even allowed to keep his hand on Her lower back. 

“De.” She whispered, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, and he glanced down to see Her attention fully fixed on the area below them. “It’s the harp.”

Dean followed Her gaze to the instrument. “You sure?”

She nodded, and Jo’s voice crackled in their ears. “Is there only one?”

“Yeah.” She whispered, scanning slowly over the area once more. “But- Shit, there are so many people here, Dean we’ve gotta-“

Dean nodded. “Jo, you’re in the sound booth thing, right?”

“Uh huh. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of this, too.” Jo hummed Her name. “Turns out I can do sound. You want me to steal more earpieces before we go?”

A small smile tugged at Her lips, and She gave Dean an amused look as she spoke. “We’ve already stolen three, and we’re about to totally ruin their performance. I think that’s enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jo paused. “Were you tryin’ to talk to me, Dean?”

She giggled, eyes dancing with amusement, and Dean couldn’t really be that annoyed if this was making Her so happy. “Yeah, I’m thinking you can cut all the sound to the audience, we can run out, get it done in the confusion, then get out.”

“That’s good,” She muttered with a nod, and Dean stood a little taller. “Maybe- Jo, can you just amplify the speakers? If you get them loud enough it’ll start a feedback loop, and we’ll get a good-“

“Cover?” Jo finished Her sentence, and Dean could hear the grin in the girl’s voice. “On it. You want a countdown?”

“One second.” She turned to Dean with a firm, determined look. “Go for the harp. I’ll take care of the conductor.”

There was no fucking way Dean was letting Her do the more dangerous thing. That was supposed to be what he was here for-

“And before you argue, if it’s not the conductor, I’ll be able to see who it is. You won’t.”

Son of a bitch, that was a good point. And She had that shining, fluttering look in Her eyes as Dean just glared at Her, the one where she knew She’d already won. “Princess-“

“Please, De.” 

God fucking damnit. “Fine.”

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, and raised Her hand to her ear. “Ready, Jo. Turn it up.”

“Alright.” Jo hummed, and Dean’s fingers started to curl onto the bare skin of Her back. “Three.”

Dean didn’t like this. Something was tight in his gut, and She’d hunted these things before and been just fine alone—with Dean or Jo there to help Her—but this felt wrong-

“Two-“

He muttered Her name, and She gave him a smile, and it was only making him feel sick because something was off about this-

“Go.”

A loud, screeching noise echoed through the theatre, people started shouting as it pierced into their skulls, and Dean had to force himself not to grab Her and hold her to his chest until it all just passed. 

None of this would pass unless he did his job.

Smash the harp. All Dean had to do was smash the fucking harp. Break it into pieces so She could burn this lich asshole.

Dean could break something. He really was good at breaking things, and breaking something for Her might be the easiest job he’d ever had.

He ran into the pit, shoving his way through the orchestra and ignoring people shouts of protest. His ears felt like they were going to fucking bleed, but he’d felt worse, so Dean pushed through it. 

The harp was heavier than Dean had thought it would be, when he reached it.

It still broke easy.

Dean threw his whole body against it, the instrument fell to the floor, and when the first piece of wood snapped off, all hell broke loose. 

People were screaming and running around—that had been a given, the rich idiots probably thought they were under attack—but over all of it, Dean could hear Her, shouting his name.

He turned right in time to see the conductor running right towards him, hands outstretched, and fuck-

Dean dodged as She screamed, and started to fumble in his pockets for his lighter, where was his fucking lighter, he was tripping over abandoned trumpets and seats as the conductor continued to swing at him, and where the fuck was his lighter-

There was another scream of his name, and Dean looked up to see the conductor only fucking inches away, and that couldn’t be good, but right before slightly shriveled hands closed around Dean’s face, the man stumbled back and screeched.

Loud, and echoing through the theater, his whole body writhing, seeming to flicker and wither and-

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as the lich’s illusion fully faded, his body a sticky, browned and boned corpse. “You’re one ugly asshole.”

The lich only screeched again, and as it fell to its knees, Dean looked up to find Her standing on the edge of the stage.

Dean had only seen Her use her thing once, when Lilith had attacked them. And that had only been a primal, feral scream ripping through Her body as Lilith released him with a cruel laugh.

This was different. 

There was no proper way to describe it, but She didn’t look like a human. Or a monster. Or a demon, or angel, or witch.

She looked like Her, turned up to a goddamn million. Everything closer to Her body was more colorful. Her hair was impossibly shinier, and Her skin seemed to be glowing, and Her eyes were fucking bright. 

Her pupils weren’t black anymore. They were silver. 

Dean had never seen anything more terrifyingly beautiful in his life. And when the lich turned to slime at their feet—sinking back into the floor and vanishing like there had never been anything at all—whatever had been amplifying Her seemed to collect back into Her body, her eyes focused right on Dean’s.

He almost fell to his knees again. This was the siren or goddess he’d been silently worshipping since he met Her. This was the royal, ethereal woman he wanted to serve for the rest of with worthless life. And it was just Her, but it was all of Her, and Dean wanted fucking all of Her-

He didn’t see it until it was too late. 

The woman behind Her. 

Not a woman. The illusion of a small young woman—white-teethed with a bow in her hair—vanished the moment the lich grabbed Her around the wrist.

There were two. 

There were fucking two, and Dean wasn’t goddamn fast enough.

The only reason he could hear his roar over the blood in his ears was because it echoed around the theater. And She wasn’t even fucking fighting the thing, She’d gone slack and pale, and Dean was sprinting over the abandoned instruments to get to Her, yanking his gun from his jacket and aiming it right at the ugly bitch’s fucking face.

The shots didn’t kill it, but the lich released Her and stumbled back, falling right on the floor as Jo sprinted out from the backstage.

Jo’s lighter dropped, and the lich died with a scream.

But the fire didn’t slow or die. It only spread across the stage, and Dean was going to have to add arson to his rap sheet again, but he really didn’t fucking care.

All that mattered was Her, pallid and backed into the wall, rubbing at her wrists like she’d been branded.

Dean wasn’t sure if the whole corpse puppet thing was contagious.

That was another thing he really didn’t fucking care about.

“Hey,” Dean muttered Her name as he grabbed her face between his hands, forcing Her slightly glazed eyes onto his. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay-“

“It touched me.” She cut him off with a whisper, and Dean’s grip tightened. “Dean, it touched me-“

“I know.” He grunted. “I know, Princess, but it’s- we’ll fix it.”

She shook Her head, still scratching at Her wrists and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He stroked his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until her breathing was relaxed, and she’d slumped forward into his arms.

“Dean?” Jo called from behind them. “I- uh, we should go before the building burns down.”

Dean nodded an acknowledgment, but She wouldn’t be able to run. She was too pale, shaking in his arms and starting to draw blood with Her nails- 

He knocked Her hand away, She made a whining noise, and this was not allowed to be it. He was not fucking losing Her like this, he’d call another fucking demon deal or trap a million fucking angels until they performed a miracle, or-

Cas. He needed to call Cas. 

But first, he had to get Her out before the building killed all three of them. 

Dean pressed a quick kiss to Her brow, and hauled Her up bridal-style into his arms, and the moment Jo was at his side he was moving. Out the back into the cold air of an alley, down the streets until they were at the Impala and the Firebird. 

“Here’s the plan.” He grunted, raising up to face a pale-faced Jo on the sidewalk. “You’re taking her car. Drive for forty minutes west, then stop at the first motel you see. Call Sam on the drive, tell him what happened.”

Jo nodded, catching Her keys with shaking hands. “What about- Dean, I’m- We thought there was one-“

“Jo.” He snapped. “Just fucking go.”

“Is she gonna be okay-“

“Yes. Go.”

Dean’s short, firm words got Jo to move, but he didn’t have a fucking clue if She was going to be okay. She wasn’t turning into a corpse, but She was still colorless and silent, and Dean was praying to Cas the whole fucking ride but they didn’t have a goddamn timeline on this, it might already be over-

It couldn’t be over. Dean had only just gotten Her back, and he’d meant it.

He wasn’t losing Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She knew everything, and She was a genius, so if Dean could get Her to speak, he’d do whatever she said needed to be done to fix this.

Jo met them right where she was supposed to, and Dean gave short orders for her to just keep fucking praying to Cas until he showed up. 

“C’mon.” He muttered Her name, moving her to the edge of the bed and kneeling down, keeping his thumb running down her nose and scanning over Her slack face. “I need you to talk to me, I don’t have a fucking clue how to do this, Princess, I- I fucking need you, c’mon-“

Something was wrapping around Dean’s lungs. He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. Not like this. It was all his head could loop around because fuck, this would kill Jo, and he’d never be able to look at Bobby again, and he would’ve gotten Her back for barely a week just to prove Alistair right.

She was better anywhere without Dean. He’d do anything for Her, but anything wasn’t enough, and She’d survived all those months without him, but the moment he’d gotten back he’d killed Her, he’d fucking broken the one that had always seemed permanent, and he was a vile piece of shit from lower than the mud, and Dad should’ve killed him. Instead of threatening and hurting Her, Dad should’ve pressed a barrel to Dean’s head and shot him. It would’ve saved everyone a whole lot of grief if Dad had gotten some fucking clarity and killed Dean instead, or just let him die in that goddamn hospital-

“Dean.” She whispered, blinding eyes finally focusing on his. “You need to go.”

He stared at Her. “What.”

“Before it hits. I- I can’t feel it, but once it kicks in-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He snapped. This wasn’t a conversation he was going to have, because it wouldn’t matter when She was fine, and they were driving back to Bobby’s like nothing had happened at all. “Cas is coming, and I’ll grab whatever we need to slow this down-“

“There’s no slowing it down.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s heart might be trying to claw its way out of his throat. “It’ll be better to burn me. So nothing finds my body.”

“Shut up.” He grunted, his hands tightening on Her thighs. She wasn’t moving away, and maybe if he held tight enough, that would keep Her together. “We’ll fix this, there’s always a way to fix this-“

“Not here, De. I- I’m-“ She started to rub Her wrists, letting out a slow breath. “I could do it myself, but I can’t even feel it, I’d have to feel it to know what to fix-“

“Then maybe you’re fine-“

“I don’t want to risk it.” She mumbled. “Please go.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m staying right fucking here.” He hissed, rising up on his knees to look Her in the eyes. “And that’s it. You try to kick me out and I’ll come right back in, Princess, I did not spend so goddamn long waiting for you only to lose you-“

“You can’t lose me.” She whispered. “You’ve never been able to lose me. I-“ 

She swallowed, Her eyes starting to go glossy, and Dean wouldn’t let the sting in his own take over. There was nothing to mourn about, because She was going to be fine-

“I’m here.” She pressed Her hand to his chest, and he wasn’t breathing. “All the way down.”

Dean stared at Her. 

He didn’t have enough words for Her beauty. He never had. He’d never been good at words, or saying the right thing, or knowing when to stop or how to keep something. And he’d let the world use him and beat him however it wanted—crawl right back onto Alistair’s rack or pick up only torture instrument until he was a demon—if he got to break that last pattern. Dean could replace words with actions, replace saying the right thing with doing the right thing, and replace knowing when to stop with going until his soul gave out. 

He couldn’t replace Her. Keeping Her was the only option, if She’d have him.

But losing Her to something other than Her own will was simply not on the goddamn table.

Dean had prayed before. Since the angels had showed up, he’d been praying to Cas a lot. 

But he’d never prayed to God. 

And it was all he could do now. This wouldn’t be it. Nothing holy or good owed Dean any favors, but the fucking universe owed Her. It couldn’t let Her go, because She was too good for all of it, and Dean needed Her.

She was the universe. She was bigger and brighter than God, and wherever the hell that asshole was—if he was even real at all—he better be fucking listening because Dean needed Her, and maybe She was God and he just needed to pray and worship Her instead.

The thought moved through Dean’s whole body. He needed to tend to Her. That was what he could see. What he could know. What he’d always known. 

He rose slowly, never breaking Her gaze. Giving Her time to move away as he inched closer, cupping one hand on Her face and bracing the other on the mattress, stopping where if he spoke, Dean’s lips would brush Her’s.

There was no mistaking what he was daring to attempt. No way for Her to miss it, and be caught off guard. A long, strained moment where Dean gave Her the chance to shove him away and curse his name back to Hell, and at least then he’d know. That he’d always be in Her orbit, but to Her, Dean was just another thing, trying to sit in Her light. 

But She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were wide on his, yet She wasn’t looking away. Her fingers were curled on his shirt, and Her breath was heavy from her nostrils.

He licked his lips because he couldn’t fucking help himself, and She flushed, Her breath hitching, and Her mouth falling slightly open.

There it was.

Dean crashed down, and kissed Her.

And he’d never been good with words.

But this didn’t need any.

It was all movement and feeling. Her lips fit even better against Dean’s than he’d ever been able to imagine, and every single bit of desperation he threw into Her, she threw right fucking back. Dean bit at Her lower lip and She moaned, right down his fucking throat as She opened further for him, but when Dean got to press his tongue into Her mouth and have more, She pulled it between Her teeth and swallowed Dean’s groan with the best sound he’d ever fucking heard escaping from her throat. 

She tasted like coffee and sugar and that fucking fruit, Dean could taste the fruit and he was going to get addicted, but there were worse fucking vices to have. At least this one had Her wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging at his shirt to get him closer, She wanted Dean closer and he’d have to be fucking insane to deny Her.

When he pushed deeper, moving Her down to lie flat on Her back and never fucking breaking the kiss, She let him. She let Dean have fucking all of it. He got to overtake Her quickly, and She was responding to all his silents pleas for more and shivering under his touch when he grabbed Her waist and trailed his fingers down, down, down, to the bare skin of Her thighs-

“Dean.” She gasped against him, arching slightly off the mattress, and if God didn’t take his prayer, Dean would put all his torture skills to some good fucking use until the son of a bitch promised to never let anything hurt Her again. 

Until then he’d keep Her caged safely between the mattress and his body, devouring every single sound he was learning so fast to pull from Her body with only his mouth. They were all somehow better than last, and Dean had never felt this fucking high from just a kiss-

A foreign noise breached through Dean’s skull, and he sat up in half a second, pulling Her with him and burying Her tight into his chest. Anything that wasn’t Her or Dean was a fucking threat and-

It was Jo. When Dean twisted around with a deadly glower it was just Jo, and maybe he’d gotten a little too intense about that. 

But She was still in danger. The lich had still touched Her.

“Dean." She shoved at his chest, Her words muffled in his body, and he loosened his grip until She could twist against him.

But She stayed against him. Small victories.

“How, uh-“ She swallowed, and Dean glanced down to see Her rubbing at her wrists. “How long have you been there?”

“Few minutes.” Jo mumbled, staring at the floor, and Dean realized the girl’s whole face was red. “I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t stop it cause I was happy for you, but then I realized it was just gonna keep goin’, and, uh, sorry-“

“Jo.” Dean muttered. “What-“

“Cas is here.” Jo gave Dean a nervous look. “I prayed to him.” 

Dean sat a little taller. She would be fine. “Tell him to get his angel-ass in here and fix her-“

“There is nothing to fix.” Cas was very suddenly in the room, and Jo squeaked in surprise.

“Fuckin’ Christ-“

“My apologies.” Cas said with a small, grimacing frown. “You told me to wait until I was summoned, and Dean did just say to get my ass in here. My ass can’t be here without the rest of me, so-“

“Cas.” Dean gave him a flat look. “Focus. What’d you mean there’s nothing to fix-“

Cas said Her name slowly. “She is in perfect health.”

She frowned. “But the lich-“

“You are not in danger of any lich infection.” Cas shrugged. “It is not possible for your kind to succumb to any sort of preternatural disease, curse, or weapon. At most you will have felt a little sick, but it will have already passed.”

“My-“ She cut Herself off, setting up tall and straight, and Dean caught it. 

What Cas had implied. .

“My kind?” She whispered, Her eyes wide. “Did you- You figured out what I am?”

Cas sighed, and nodded. “I cannot offer a full explanation- The word you gave me is ancient. Uncommon. I would not call it taboo, but it is mostly lost with purpose.”

Dean frowned. “You mean on purpose?”

“No, Dean. With purpose. It has been deemed better for mortals to know as little as possible. Even we are not fully able to comprehend it.”

“Cas.” She muttered, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “Please just say it.”

Cas let out a long breath. “You are the Magdalene.” He said Her name, watching her carefully as he continued. “They are the oldest and rarest breed of witch, although witch is a… crude term. You are made of the magic witches learn to harness.”

She swallowed, Her voice impossibly soft. “I- I’m a Magdalene.”

“No. You are the Magdalene.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Cas sighed, still not moving from his place beside a wide-eyed Jo. “There is nothing in heaven’s record or knowledge about where Magdalene’s come from. They simply… are. Impossibly rare, and powerful. Dangerous. There is maybe one born every five hundred years, with the rare exception of two existing at once around the end of what your historians call the Common Era.” Cas said Her name again, and Dean was a little worried She wasn’t breathing. “You are the most powerful one recorded.”

“Oh.” She mumbled. “Cool. I- Doesn’t that probably mean whatever, um, Magdalene comes after me will be more powerful?”

Cas shook his head. “Heaven has monitored Magdalene’s since Lilith-“

Dean went rigid. “Lilith? What the hell does that bitch have to do with-“

“She’s a Magdalene, isn’t she.” Her words were still soft, Her attention still trained on Cas. “She said she was like me. That I was her descendent.”

Cas gave Her a grimacing, apologetic nod. “It is a biological trait, yes. There are complexities to it I do not think you’ll care to understand, but before Lilith was a demon, she was the first Magdalene. She had daughters, and they had daughters, and-“

“It led to me.” She muttered, and Cas nodded.

“The birth of a Magdalene has always heralded danger. Change. Lilith brought on demons, Avva, a goat-keeper in Sumar, brought on writing and calendars, and a consort in ancient China name Fu Hau introduced witchcraft to non-natural born-“

Dean sighed. “Man, we’re not here for a history lesson-“

“I am getting to my point, Dean.” Cas’ voice remained flat, his attention returning to Her. “The most powerful Magdalene’s before you were Cleopatra VII Thea Philopato, who brought about the Roman Empire, and Mary-“

“Magdalene.” She finished, Her eyes widening. “Is it- If it’s that old, how can it be named after her?”

“It isn’t.” Cas shrugged. “Magdala was the home of Lilith, as a human. It is simply what you would call coincidence.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “The point.”

Cas sighed. “Mary brought on the invention of the human religion, Christianity, which has been… impactful. Both her soul, and that of Cleopatra’s, had a sliver of the Magdalene power.”

Jo frowned, her voice small as she jumped in. “A sliver? How much is in a sliver?”

“My best estimate would be 2.159%.” Cas said. “Although I do not think Dean would want a math lesson on top of my history.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and She let out a soft laugh, even as Her nails started to dig into Dean’s skin.

Better than it being Her own.

“Cas?” She said carefully, and they were already looking at each other like there was a silent conversation Dean and Jo weren’t allowed to be a part of. 

Cas said Her name, bowing his head slightly, and She swallowed.

“How much of my soul is… Magdalene.”

“Half.” Cas muttered, giving Her an apologetic look, and She was going to draw blood. “And from what I have found, that should not be possible.”

“Oh.” She was almost fully curling into Dean’s body. He chanced one arm snaking around Her side, and She held it there.

Small, horrible victories. 

“It is likely why you were able to walk into Hell.” Cas said, looking only at Her, and Dean froze.

“What’d you mean, walk into Hell.” He hissed, looking between Her and Cas. “You’ve never been to Hell, Princess, and nobody just walks in-“

“I- I know, De, just-“ She shot Cas a glare. “You have horrible timing.”

Cas frowned. “I will- is that something to improve?”

“Yes. We’ll talk about it later.” She sighed, giving Dean a careful, soft expression that made something in him balk.

She couldn’t have walked into Hell. Something would’ve grabbed Her, Alistair would’ve known and seen Her and hurt Her, and Dean felt like a million fucking bricks were being pressed down onto his chest. 

“I sort of,” She took a deep, long breath, and whatever it was, Dean kind of didn’t want to hear it. “Could see you, sometimes. In Hell.”

“See me.” He grunted, and She nodded. “When.”

“Every night.” She whispered. “I was- I saw Cas saving you. That’s how he knows.”

She wasn’t lying. 

And there wasn’t a place low enough for Dean in the universe. She’d seen everything. And he’d be able to just beat himself and ignore the bruises if it hands only been his torture, but She’d seen parts of what he’d done. The souls he’d ripped and broken, and there had to be something worse than Hell, for things like Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and She wasn’t pulling away. 

Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t pulling away. This was the reason. More than an out, a neon sign begging Her to take the exit door, yet She was still here.

He’d never understand Her. She wasn’t caving under any of this, just looking back to Cas and staying pressed to Dean, and She knew, She’s known, how has She known and not fucking left-

“What now?” She asked, and Dean had to focus.

It wasn’t about him, now. If he was going to keep doing the shadow thing right, it was about Her.

“You will need to be careful.” Cas said slowly. “There is more, that I was not able to access, and once it is known that you have reunited with the Winchester’s, precautions may be taken.”

“What-“

“I am not able to say, but mostly because I do not know. I have already lingered too long. Jo. Dean,” Cas gave them both nods, then said Her name with the same movement. “We will talk later.”

She blinked, something flashing over Her face that Dean didn’t understand, and Cas vanished. 

None of them spoke. There was nothing to say. Too much had changed from the morning, and it was all so fucking complicated, and God, Dean really fucking hated that word.

But She was still in Dean’s arms. A hand over his on Her stomach, that fucking fruit smell invading his sense as She leaned slightly further into his body. Into Dean.

So as long as he could manage, Dean wasn’t going to let Her go.

End Note: The emotional whiplash Dean just went through... someone get him like a blanket or something. (Also 300k words to kiss. They're insane)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive

@itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378

@godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend

@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

@funkenniffler @laurakirsten0502

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

hiiiiiii,

Can I request a Jude Bellingham imagine where you’re in the Bellingham documentary for his YouTube and it shows you behind the scenes watching his games and stuff and just being a cute couple 💓.

Thank Youuuuuu💓✨

a/n: sorry for the delay, I don't know why but it took me a while to write it. I hope you like it. Request me whatever you want!

THE ONE

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: none, just that English is not my first language.

summary: It’s her turn to step into the spotlight of Jude’s documentary, where unseen moments reveal the depth of their connection, exposing a side of their relationship and how much they mean for each other to the public.

The camera lens focuses, the soft hum of equipment fills the room, and she sits on their cozy, cream-colored couch. Her hands are folded nervously on her lap, her leg bouncing ever so slightly as she adjust her position, trying to find the perfect balance between comfort and confidence. Her hair falls softly around her face, and she tucks a strand behind her ear, looking up at the camera with a genuine smile. A nervous chuckle escapes her as she glances toward the crew and to him.

Jude stands just out of the frame, leaning against the wall, giving her a reassuring nod, his warm smile reaching his eyes. He mouths, "You got this," and she exhales deeply, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. His presence is comforting, just like it always is.

"Hi, I'm...well, Jude's girlfriend," she says. "But, more than that, I’m just me—someone who tries to support him, love him, and keep him grounded." Her voice is gentle, but there’s a quiet strength in it, one that suggests she's much more than just his partner.

The interviewer asks the first question, something light to ease her in. "How did you two meet?"

She smiles wider and looks down for a moment, as if reliving the memory. “We actually met through mutual friends. Super normal. I didn’t know much about football back then, but of course I was fully aware of who he was. In person, he was even more handsome and charming, so it wasn’t a surprise that I was attracted to him straight away.” She laughs at herself. “Because of that, I spent most of the night ignoring him since I was dying of embarrassment and it wasn’t until I spilled a drink on his shirt that I was able to look him in the eye to apologize, but Jude just laughed. From then on, we spent the whole night talking, even over text afterward. We got along pretty quickly, but we took things slow. I think that’s what made it work… just letting everything happen naturally.”

As she speaks, the screen fades into footage of the two of them, candid moments from Jude's life. There's a clip of them walking hand in hand, Jude glancing over at her, his face lighting up in a way that's impossible to fake. Another video shows them sitting on a couch, laughing at something on TV. Jude’s arm is casually draped around her shoulders, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her arm. The chemistry is effortless, easy.

Back in the interview, she’s asked about how their relationship has evolved with Jude’s career skyrocketing.

"Honestly, it’s been crazy," she admits. "His schedule is intense, and sometimes we’re apart for long stretches. But we’ve always made it a priority to stay connected. We FaceTime all the time, even if it’s just to say goodnight. And when he’s home, we make sure to enjoy the little things—going on walks, cooking together, just spending time. Those are the moments that matter most."

Suddenly, Jude’s voice breaks in from off-camera, clearly teasing her. “Yeah, well burning food doesn’t count as cooking, love.”

She laughs, shaking her head, the sound of his voice immediately softening her expression. “He’s talking about his abilities,” she replies with a grin. The off-screen laughter from the crew adds to the playful atmosphere.

The next part of the interview focuses on her relationship with Jude’s family, something that’s been a big part of his life. Clips play of her with Jude’s younger brother, Jobe, during a family dinner. They’re joking around, Jobe and her teasing Jude and him complaining about their alliance. Another clip shows her talking to Jobe who’s clearly comfortable with her, and at one point, she playfully nudges him, making everyone laugh. Then, she’s shown with Jude’s parents, Denise and Mark, during a relaxed family gathering. She’s sitting next to Denise, the two of them talking and laughing as if they’ve known each other forever. The bond is clear—she fits into the family seamlessly, not as an outsider, but as someone who belongs.

"Jobe is like a little brother to me," she says with a smile when asked about him. "He’s such a good kid, and we’re always joking around. It’s just easy with him. And Jude’s parents... they’re honestly the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Denise is like a second mom to me. She’s always checking in, making sure I’m okay, especially when Jude’s away. And Mark, well... he’s the kind of dad who always has a story to tell and advice to give, whether you ask for it or not,” she adds with a laugh. “I couldn’t be luckier.”

Cut to a heartwarming montage of family moments: Jude’s girlfriend and Jobe playing video games, both of them laughing uncontrollably as Jude looks on from the side, shaking his head. Another clip shows her helping Denise in the kitchen, the two of them sharing a peaceful, easy rapport, with Mark chiming in from the dining room, to help them.

“They are awesome.”

The screen cuts to a new video clip of Jude talking directly to the camera in a different segment of the documentary. He’s sitting outside on a patio, the sun glinting off his face as he reflects.

"My mom told me pretty early on that she thought she was the one," Jude says, nodding slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She said she just knew. And I trust my mom’s instincts more than anyone else’s. Honestly, I think I knew too, but hearing it from her made me super sure."

The scene shifts again, showing a playful clip of Jude and her from one of their trips. They’re by the beach, Jude holding the camera as they walk barefoot in the sand. He’s joking, trying to push her toward the water while she protests, laughing and running away. They tease each other endlessly, but the affection is obvious. Every touch, every glance, speaks volumes.

Back in the interview, Jude’s voice is heard once more, this time in a more serious tone. “She’s my rock,” he says. “People always ask me how I stay grounded, how I handle everything, and it’s her. She’s the one who keeps me steady when things get overwhelming.”

Her eyes soften as she listens to the interviewer words. "He said that?” She asks, blushing a little as the one holding the camera nods. “Well, I think we’re a team. We support each other through everything. When he's having a tough day, I’m there for him. And when I'm struggling, he’s always the first to lift me up."

The interviewer gives a knowing nod, then shifts the tone to something more playful. "Now, we’ve seen some fun clips of you two together, but who’s the bigger tease in the relationship?"

Her eyes widen slightly as she chuckles. "Oh, I know he’s going to say it’s him, but i’s definitely me. I love to tease him. He gets this little furrowed brow, and I just can’t help myself."

Another video plays, this time a candid clip of them in the living room. Jude is trying to explain some football tactic using salt shakers and a pepper grinder as players, while she watches him with an amused smile. Suddenly, she moves one of the shakers, to condiment her food, completely messing up his demonstration, and bursts into laughter when he groans dramatically, head in his hands.

Back in the interview, she shrugs innocently. "He takes it well, though. He’s a good sport about it."

Jude’s voice cuts in again. "Barely."

She bursts out laughing, shaking her head. "See? Always listening in."

The documentary closes with one last video—Jude and her sitting on the couch, his arm around her once more as they scroll through pictures on his phone. They’re laughing, teasing each other about the awkward photos, and then he pulls her close, kissing the top of her head. It’s a simple, intimate moment, but it says everything.

As the video is about to finish, she’s seen asleep in his arms and Jude’s voice comes through one last time. He looks at the camera with a smirk and whispers “Yeah... she’s the one.”

[missbluee]

Chasing dimples

Pairing : Jobe bellingham × she/her (maya) Summary: One night. A slow-burn connection. And a morning that feels heavier than goodbye. What happens when something fleeting doesn’t feel so fleeting after all?

🌺 ₊˚⊹♡୨୧

🎧 Vibe Track :

.

Ibiza had a way of making everything feel slower.

The breeze was warm, like it carried secrets from the ocean. Jobe leaned back in his seat, sunglasses sliding a little down his nose, fingers wrapped lazily around the neck of a sweating glass bottle. Jude was somewhere behind him, laughing too loud with the boys — but Jobe barely listened.

He liked this — the quiet buzz of vacation, the heat, the music humming low from a bar. He looked good. He knew it. Tall. Relaxed. A little smug. The kind of smug that came from having nothing to prove, at least for the moment.

And everything felt fine.

Until he saw her.

...Until she happened.

She wasn’t doing anything special. Just walking. But there was something in the way she moved — slow, unbothered, like she belonged here and nowhere at the same time.

The sunlight kissed her skin, giving it that honey-golden glow, like she’d been dipped in light. Her dress — pale blue, almost white in the sun — clung just enough to make you blink twice. Thin straps, low back, the kind of thing that made the breeze look lucky just to touch her.

Her hair was pinned up in that easy, undone way, a few strands falling forward and brushing her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear without thinking. No loud makeup. No flashy jewelry. Just her — clean, radiant, untouchable.

Jobe stared a second too long.

And then, because he was Jobe — because confidence was second nature — he tilted his chin up and said the first thing that came to mind:

“You’re not from here, are you?”

She slowed, head turning just enough for him to catch the curve of her smile — polite, not impressed.

“That obvious?”

Her voice was soft. American. A little tired, like the sun had worn her down. Or maybe life had.

Jobe smiled — easy, charming. The kind he knew worked nine times out of ten.

“Kind of,” he said, nudging his sunglasses up. “You don’t look like you belong here.”

She raised a brow, kept walking.

“Thanks… I guess?”

“No, I mean that in a good way,” he added quickly, standing now, a half-step toward her, half a dare.

“You’re not like these girls. You’ve got— I dunno. A different vibe.”

She finally stopped.

Looked up at him.

Her eyes were clear. Curious. Not cold — just unreadable. Like she was weighing something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“That’s the second line you’ve used in under a minute,” she said, voice light but firm.

“You got a third one, or should I keep walking?”

For a second, he had nothing.

And that? That didn’t happen often.

She gave him a small smile. Not flirtatious. Just... amused.

Then turned and walked away.

No backward glance.

No name exchanged.

No interest shown.

Jobe blinked, caught somewhere between offended and intrigued. His pride didn’t bruise easily — but this wasn’t about rejection.

It was the fact that she wasn’t trying. That she wasn’t even playing the game.

He watched her blend into the slow-moving crowd, that soft blue dress slipping out of sight like a daydream that never stuck around long enough.

Jude showed up a minute later, smacking a hand on his shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Jobe muttered, still watching where she’d gone.

“Just saw something interesting.”

“What, a mirror?” Jude grinned.

Jobe didn’t answer.

Because now he was wondering if he’d see her again.

And why it mattered if he didn’t.

He tried to shake her off.

Laughed with the boys, joined whatever beach game they had going. Sipped from an overpriced drink in a neon cup. Flirted back when it made sense.

But something about her had lodged in him — like sand in a shoe.

But she was still there.

Not literally.

Just... there.

The way the breeze had lifted the hem of her dress.

The shape of her collarbone.

The way her voice curled around her words — soft but certain.

Like she didn’t need to be louder to be heard.

Her nails — painted something pale, like seashells.

Her skin — smooth, sun-kissed, but not tanned. She didn’t look like someone who lived in the sun.

More like someone the sun had borrowed for a weekend.

But her eyes...

That’s what did it.

They weren’t bored.

They weren’t impressed.

They weren’t wide with recognition or flirty curiosity.

They just looked at him.

Like he was some guy.

Not Jobe Bellingham.

Just... a guy.

And that?

That stuck.

The sun had started to drop, painting the sky in that soft gold-blue haze Ibiza was known for. Jobe sat at the edge of a beach chair, one arm slung across the backrest, phone in hand — screen black, forgotten.

He hadn’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Alright.”

Jude’s voice cut through, loud and amused.

“Who is she?”

Jobe blinked. “What?”

Jude arched a brow and flopped down beside him.

“You’ve been weird since this morning. Zoning out. Stirring your drink like you’re trying to read it. So — who’s the girl?”

Jobe scoffed, mouth twitching at the corners.

“No one.”

“‘No one’ got you acting like your soul’s still wandering the boardwalk.”

Jude leaned in, grinning.

“Come on. Spill.”

Jobe shrugged, but his voice dropped a little lower.

“Just... ran into someone earlier.”

Jude didn’t press. Just nodded — slow, knowing. Like he already had the whole story.

Jobe leaned back, eyes locked on the horizon.

The kind of stillness that didn’t come from peace, but from thinking too hard.

“She didn’t even know who I was,” he said finally.

“Didn’t care, either.”

Jude let out a long, low whistle.

“Damn. That’ll do it.”

Jobe chuckled — short, quiet. The kind that stays behind the teeth.

“She was just... I dunno. Quiet. Pretty. Real.”

“And now she’s gone?”

“Guess so.”

But even as he said it, he didn’t quite believe it.

Because maybe, just maybe — the night wasn’t finished with him yet.

The bass was thick — heavy, steady, like a second heartbeat pulsing through the sand.

The party had moved beachside, the sky now a canopy of stars tangled with the strobe of club lights. Music bled out of the speakers, all glitter and heat.

Jobe moved with it. Half-dancing, half-searching.

Laughter buzzed around him — people with saltwater hair and sticky drinks, all tanned limbs and soft chaos.

Everyone else was in it.

But not him.

He was still in her.

Still back in the way she looked at him like he didn’t matter.

Still caught in the quiet she left behind.

His eyes flicked through the crowd.

Scanning. Hoping.

Maybe even praying a little — not that he’d admit it.

And then —

There.

Not a vision.

Not a trick of the light.

Her, just her.

A few tables away, under the warm glow of soft yellow bulbs strung overhead, she sat with a group of friends.

Different dress now — white, soft, almost silky.

Her hair was twisted up into a loose bun, strands slipping free to frame her face. Her lips shimmered with something glossy, catching the light when she smiled.

She was laughing.

Not loud. Not forced.

Just a soft, easy sound that melted into the air like it belonged there.

Then Jobe saw it.

A guy.

Sitting next to her.

His hand resting on her shoulder — casual. Familiar.

Bare skin.

An easy touch.

Jobe froze.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

She wasn’t his.

He didn’t even know her name.

But still — something twisted, low and tight in his gut.

He didn’t look away.

She didn’t see him.

Didn’t glance his way.

Didn’t feel his eyes — steady, heavy — tracking every slow tilt of her head, every small shift of her shoulders when she laughed again.

The guy leaned in.

Said something low, right against her ear.

And she smiled.

Then blushed.

Not big. Not showy.

Just this soft tuck of her chin, like a secret bloomed beneath her skin.

And God, she looked like a memory in the making.

Jobe’s fingers curled tighter around his cup.

He hadn’t taken a sip in a while.

“Bro.”

Jude’s voice again — perfectly timed and wildly annoying — as he clapped a hand on Jobe’s shoulder.

“You good? You’ve been staring into space like it owes you something.”

Jobe blinked.

Back to the party.

The noise. The heat. The beat.

“Thought I saw someone I knew,” he muttered.

Jude followed his gaze.

“The table full of models over there? Wow. Must be a tough life.”

“Shut up,” Jobe said, but a smile tugged, despite everything.

Still — he looked back.

She still hadn’t turned.

Still hadn’t noticed.

Jude watched him for a beat longer.

Then, slower this time, tracked the line of his brother’s gaze.

Paused.

And smirked.

“Ahhh.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping into that older-brother drawl.

“Is that her?”

Jobe didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

“Damn.” Jude let out a quiet whistle.

“No wonder you’ve been walking around like your brain’s buffering all day.”

Jobe rolled his eyes, shifting.

“Shut up, man.”

“She got you spiraling, huh?”

Jude nudged him. “You’ve been acting real poetic since this morning. Like, staring-out-car-windows-during-rain-montage poetic.”

Jobe shook his head, cheeks warming.

But he laughed.

Jude stepped in front of him, hands out like a coach mid-pep talk.

“Bro. You’re Jobe Bellingham. You wanna talk to her or what?”

Jobe’s eyes flicked back toward the table.

“I dunno. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Exactly.” Jude grinned wider.

“Mystery. Women love mystery. Go make your movie moment or something. You’re tall. You’ve got the hair. You’re literally glowing. Do something.”

Jobe hesitated.

The guy’s hand was still there — still too close.

“She’s with someone.”

Jude shrugged.

“He’s barely touching her. Could be her cousin.”

He gave him a push. “Go be interesting.”

“I’m not going over there,” Jobe said finally, jaw tight.

Jude blinked.

“Bro. What?”

“I’m not.” He crossed his arms, shifting just enough to angle her table out of view.

“She’s already got some guy whispering in her ear. I’m not about to look like I’m... pressed.”

Jude stared at him.

Then let out the longest, most dramatic sigh known to man.

“Jesus Christ. You’re impossible.”

Jobe didn’t look at him.

Didn’t look back at her either.

“She walked away once,” he said, low. “Not chasing that.”

Jude threw his hands up.

“You’re not chasing. You’re showing up. Right now, you’re walking around like a man in a Lana Del Rey music video and doing nothing about it.”

“Let it go, man.”

“No.” Jude deadpanned.

“Because she’s gonna leave and you’ll be crying to the ocean about her lip gloss or whatever.”

Jobe shook his head, but the smile was creeping in.

“Okay. Fine,” Jude said, eyeing him. “If you won’t go up to her, do something better.”

“Like what?”

Jude’s grin was slow and lethal.

“Make her come to you.”

Jobe squinted.

“How?”

Jude stepped in close, grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You’re Jobe damn Bellingham. Go beat every guy here at beach football. Go DJ. Get in the water and flex. I don’t know — give her a reason to look again.”

Jobe stared.

Then downed what was left in his cup.

“…You’re actually not as dumb as you look.”

Jude laughed.

“You’re welcome. Now go be hot.”

Jobe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharp through his nose.

He still hadn’t looked back at her — but he could feel her. Like gravity.

That laugh — he knew it now. The flick of her fingers when she talked. The way her shoulders moved when she leaned in to listen.

It was messing with his head.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.”

Jude raised a brow.

“Okay what?”

Jobe hesitated.

Then turned to him — the quiet kind of desperation only a younger brother can pull off.

Eyes a little wide. Voice low.

“…What if we sent her table drinks or something?”

Jude blinked.

Then grinned.

Then doubled over laughing.

“Oh my God — no. You’re so down bad it’s embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” Jobe snapped, cheeks flaming.

“It’s just an idea.”

“That’s not an idea, that’s you throwing a rock at her window like we’re in a romcom.” Jude wiped a tear from under his eye.

“You’re so gone.”

Jobe rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his mouth.

“Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself.”

“No no no,” Jude said, straightening up and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“We’re doing this. She doesn’t even know your name yet. Let’s change that.”

He pulled out his phone, eyes scanning the scene like a director.

“You want this cute or cocky?”

Jobe considered it.

Then: “…Cocky.”

“Alright then,” Jude said, typing fast.

“We send a drink. With a note.”

Jobe narrowed his eyes.

“What kind of note?”

Jude turned the screen toward him.

It read:

The guy you walked away from says hi.

Jobe stared.

Then smirked.

“…Send it.”

The server made their way across the beach with the drinks — two glasses, glinting pale gold in the evening light, and a folded note tucked gently between them.

Jobe stood a little off to the side, hands in his pockets, the sea breeze teasing his hair. He was pretending to laugh at something Jude was saying, but really — he couldn’t breathe.

She was mid-laugh herself, head tilted back in that careless, pretty way, when the tray arrived. Her brows furrowed as she looked up, lips parting just slightly as the server nodded toward her.

Jobe watched it happen — the moment it clicked. The way her hand hovered over the note, uncertain, before she picked it up and unfolded it slowly.

She read it once.

Then again.

Her lips pressed into a smile. Not wide. Not too much. Just enough to soften her whole face.

Her friend leaned in to peek, saying something. She shook her head, a blush creeping up the sides of her face.

And then—

Her eyes began to scan the crowd.

Jobe’s stomach dropped.

She looked left, toward the firepit. Right, toward the bar. Her gaze moved across groups laughing, dancing, talking — and then her eyes stopped.

On him.

Just for a second.

A flicker.

Recognition.

Then she looked away. Fast. Flustered.

Like she’d seen something she wasn’t ready for.

Jude elbowed him hard.

“There it is. She saw you, man.”

Jobe swallowed, smirking under his breath — but something in his chest tightened.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Felt like she looked through me.”

She didn’t look again.

Not during the next ten minutes, when her friend told a story with wild hand gestures.

Not when a new song started and the group around her cheered.

Not even when Jude made a very obvious joke and Jobe laughed louder than necessary, hoping — praying — she might glance up.

Nothing.

Jobe hated how aware of her he was.

Every move she made — the way she tucked her leg under her chair, leaned forward to talk, circled her straw absentmindedly — it all tugged at him like a thread wound straight through his ribs.

But she didn’t look.

Not even once.

She had read his note.

Smiled at it.

Searched for him.

And now?

Now it was like she was pretending he didn’t exist.

"…She’s doing it on purpose,” Jobe muttered, arms folded tight across his chest.

Jude raised a brow. “Or maybe she’s just letting you sweat a little.”

“Yeah, well—congrats. It’s working.”

Across the tables, her friend leaned in, said something low.

She gave the tiniest smile. Barely there.

And maybe Jobe was imagining it — but for just a second, a flicker — he thought her gaze brushed his again.

Like light catching on glass.

Like she was letting him feel the silence between them.

She knew.

She knew he was watching.

And she was making him wait.

Jude took a sip of his drink. “You’re in trouble, bro.”

Jobe didn’t answer.

His jaw tensed, but his lips curled. Just slightly.

“I know.”

Jude was still talking beside him — loud, animated, probably hilarious — but Jobe wasn’t listening.

His eyes were on her again.

She was dancing now. Just swaying in her seat, hips moving with the beat, hair falling loose from the bun she’d tried to keep neat.

She didn’t even look like she was trying. She was just… being.

And it was driving him insane.

“I mean, look at you,” Jude scoffed, half pity, half delight. “You’re completely gone.”

“I am not.”

“You’ve been staring at her for thirty minutes like a Victorian man in emotional crisis.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re gripping your drink like you’re about to challenge her to a duel.”

“I’m just—”

“Obsessed,” Jude finished.

Jobe exhaled through his nose, turned his back to the crowd. “She’s not even that—I mean, she’s cute, sure, but it’s not like—”

Jude gave him a flat look. “You’ve described her dress in more detail than you’ve ever talked about tactics.”

“That’s just… observation.”

“Observation? Bro. You said she’s ‘the kind of girl whose perfume probably smells like dreams and trouble.’ Who even says that?”

Jobe groaned, dragging a hand through his curls. “This is so dumb. I don’t even know her.”

“Yet here you are. Acting like you’ll die if she doesn’t look at you again.”

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because Jude was right.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t know where she was from.

Didn’t know if he’d ever see her after tonight.

But the idea of watching her walk away — of doing nothing — made his chest feel too tight to breathe.

Jobe glanced over his shoulder again—his eyes finding her instantly, like they had their own orbit now.

She was laughing.

Not at him. Not for him. Just... living.

And it was unbearable.

“I swear to God, this is embarrassing,” Jude muttered. “You’re down bad.”

“I am not—”

“You need help.”

“I don’t need help—”

“Fine. Then go talk to her.”

“…I might need help.”

Jude’s tone turned syrupy-sweet. Too sweet. “If you’re not gonna do anything, I will.”

Jobe blinked. “What?”

Jude shrugged, casually throwing a match into the gasoline. “I’ll just go over, say hi, maybe tell her how you’ve been watching her like a lovesick golden retriever for the past hour—”

“Jude.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” He was already standing, already fixing his shirt. “She deserves to know she’s the main character in your little mental romcom.”

“Sit down.”

“Why? You’re not doing anything.”

“I said—”

“I’ll even tell her you’re the funny Bellingham brother. You know, to soften the blow.”

“Jude, I swear—”

“Or maybe I’ll lie and say you’re shy. Girls love shy guys.”

Jobe grabbed his wrist before he could move. “You are so annoying.”

“Admit you wanna talk to her.”

“No.”

“Admit you’ve imagined her saying your name like it’s poetry.”

Jobe’s grip tightened. “I will end you.”

“Then go.” Jude leaned in, voice low and goading. “Unless you're scared.”

“I’m not—” Jobe scoffed, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t seconds from combusting. “I’m just not pressed. It’s not that deep.”

Jude smirked. “Then why are your ears red?”

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

Jobe scowled, rubbing the back of his neck like it could cool the heat crawling up. “You’re acting like I’m in love or something.”

“Aren’t you?”

Jobe didn’t answer.

Because she was laughing again—eyes soft, lips glossy, that boy still too close—and something in his chest clenched.

He wasn’t in love.

Obviously.

But he was definitely losing a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Jude leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lazily against the table as he watched his younger brother silently combust across the dance floor.

“So… we’re just gonna sit here all night while your dream girl gets claimed by Mr. Hand-On-Her-Shoulder over there?”

Jobe didn’t respond. His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed locked on the shimmer of her dress as she leaned in to whisper something to her friend—laughing again.

Jude let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Tragic, really. All that height, all that jawline—and zero game.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” He turned, voice low, smirk in full effect. “If you’re not gonna do anything, maybe I should.”

Jobe’s head snapped toward him. “You what?”

“I mean…” Jude dragged it out, relishing every word. “She’s cute. I’m charming. I could keep her company, ask her about her night. Maybe get her number. If someone doesn’t step up—”

“Don’t even try it.”

Jude held up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. You clearly don’t want her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t do anything either.” Jude leaned in, grin sharp. “I could walk over there right now, flash the Bellingham smile, tell her I’ve got a little brother who’s tragically shy—”

“Jude.”

“—and she’d eat it up.”

Jobe was out of his chair before he even realized it, a low curse muttered under his breath.

Jude leaned back, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

Jobe shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to calm the storm brewing in his chest as his eyes found her again.

Jude’s grin widened. “Go on, Romeo. Save her from the wrong guy—before your big brother does.”

She didn’t see him coming.

Jobe’s steps were steady—measured—even as his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got nervous. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. Shoulders back. Chin up. Hands in his pockets. Casual. Controlled. Cool.

She was seated, legs crossed with effortless grace, the soft fabric of her dress slipping just past her knee. Glossy lips curved around the rim of her glass, head tilted as she listened to the boy beside her. There was something glowing about her—moonlit and unbothered. Like she belonged only to herself, and that made him want her even more.

He stopped a few steps from the table, letting the silence stretch for a beat before speaking.

“Did you like the drink?”

She looked up, surprised—but not startled. No real shift in expression. Just those eyes—calm, assessing—meeting his.

“So that was you.”

He smirked. “Who else would it be?”

She angled slightly toward him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Could’ve been your brother. He was staring too.”

His brows lifted, caught. “You noticed?”

“I notice a lot of things.”

Damn.

He stepped closer, thumb brushing his lower lip, trying not to get lost in the shimmer on her collarbone.

“You always this hard to read?”

Her lips didn’t smile, but her eyes did. “You always this full of yourself?”

His grin widened. “Only when it works.”

A breath of laughter slipped out of her—quiet, effortless. She raised her glass again, sipping slow, watching him over the rim.

“So what now?” she asked. “You gonna ask my name, or just stand there looking proud of yourself?”

“I figured I’d let you ask mine first,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t invite him, either.

But she didn’t look away.

And that was enough—for now.

She swirled the drink absentmindedly, lashes brushing her cheek as she finally asked—soft, like it was a secret:

“Okay… so what’s your name then?”

Jobe leaned back slightly in the chair, eyes steady on her, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jobe,” he said simply.

“And yours?”

She hesitated—just a beat—then,

“Maya.”

“Pretty,” he said, too fast. But without an ounce of regret.

She glanced at him sideways, the ghost of a smile playing at her mouth.

“You say that to all the girls you send drinks to?”

He let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through the curls at the back of his head.

“Nah. You’re the first one to make me work for a smile.”

This time, she did smile. Soft. A little shy. But real.

“Maybe I’m not that easy to impress.”

He tilted his head, playful. Curious.

“Challenge accepted.”

Her gaze lingered now—searching—as if trying to read the spaces between his words.

“You don’t look like the type who needs to try hard.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m not used to girls walking away from me.”

She raised a brow, amused.

“I didn’t walk away. I just… didn’t stop.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dipping lower.

“Would you stop now?”

Her breath caught—just a fraction. She blinked slowly, fingertips tracing the condensation on her glass.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

His voice was quiet. Careful.

She looked at him—more directly this time. Eyes soft, but impossible to read.

“On whether you’re worth stopping for.”

Jobe didn’t move. Not right away. He kept his expression neutral, let his mouth twitch without turning into a smile.

Cool. Calm. In control.

But damn.

She smiled.

And not just any smile.

That kind. The kind that came slow and effortless—so soft it felt like a win he didn’t see coming.

And then he saw them.

Dimples.

Two of them.

Perfect. Deep. Completely unfair.

It hit him like a cheap shot to the chest.

He blinked, glanced away for a beat—like the lights above suddenly needed inspecting. Anything to stop looking at her like she was gravity.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care—too busy sipping her drink, eyes drifting toward the beach, casually wrecking him without even trying.

Jobe cleared his throat.

“So... you always out here charming strangers with that smile, or am I just lucky tonight?”

She turned back to him—slow, like she’d been expecting the question.

“I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.”

That smile again.

His ego should’ve kicked in. Should’ve tossed out some clever, cocky line.

But his brain?

“You’ve got dimples.”

It slipped out. Flat. Unfiltered. Dumb.

Too late.

She laughed.

“Most people do.”

“Not like that.”

His voice came out lower than expected—more honest than he meant it to.

Shit.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, finally meeting his eyes again—warmer now, a little amused.

“You’re not as smooth as you look, Jobe.”

He tilted his head, trying not to grin.

“Then stay a little longer and let me prove you wrong.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him.

Long enough to make his stomach flip once—annoyingly—despite all the cool he was trying to project.

Then, without a word, she slid off the stool, downed the last of her drink, and set the glass on the table with a soft clink.

“Alright,” she said, fingers brushing through her bun.

“Let’s walk, pretty boy.”

Jobe blinked.

Just like that?

He moved fast to catch up, hands in his pockets, trying not to stare too long at the way the breeze toyed with the hem of her dress. Her shoulders bare. Her pace unhurried. She didn’t glance back. Didn’t need to.

She just knew.

They walked side by side along the curved path that hugged the beach, the night cooler now, the party sounds fading into the distance behind them.

“So, Maya,” he started, glancing sideways at her, “what brings a mystery girl like you to Ibiza?”

She smiled softly but didn’t look at him.

“A little break. Some sun. A bit of dancing. You?”

“Same. Minus the dancing. Jude won’t shut up about it though.”

“The one who whistled?” she teased, finally meeting his eyes.

“He’s dramatic.”

“You have no idea.” Jobe chuckled, shaking his head. Then quieter, “He saw me staring at you.”

Her eyebrow lifted gently.

“Did you?”

“A bit.”

A pause.

“Maybe more than a bit.”

Maya hummed, like she was deciding whether to like that or not. Her fingers brushed her arm absently; her voice light again.

“You’re better when you’re not trying so hard, you know.”

He smiled—real this time.

“And you’re dangerous when you smile like that.”

She didn’t deny it.

They walked on, arms occasionally brushing. Silence settled—not awkward, but full. Warm. Curious. The kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

“So,” he asked, kicking a small stone off the path with his sneaker, “where’s home?”

She glanced over, her eyes catching bits of moonlight.

“Michigan,” she said, smoothing the side of her dress absentmindedly.

“It’s not as glamorous as Ibiza, trust me.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Something about you sounds like you belong somewhere colder. Like winter, record stores, and overpriced coffee.”

She laughed softly.

“You got all that from ‘Michigan’?”

“Nah,” he smirked, “from the way you said it.”

She bit her lip, like she didn’t want to smile but failed.

“Where’s home for you, mystery boy?”

“Birmingham. England.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Explains the accent.”

“Explains the charm, too.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes lightly.

“You were doing better when you weren’t trying so hard, remember?”

Jobe chuckled, his hand sliding from his pocket to brush his knuckles near hers—almost accidently.

A beat passed.

Then she tilted her head, looking up at him, her voice dropping quieter.

“You play football?”

He raised a brow. “You knew?”

“No. Jude called you ‘a walking PR nightmare’ earlier. Sounded like a football brother thing.”

He laughed out loud. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Then, “Yeah. I play for Sunderland.”

She gave a small nod, no flash of recognition—just curiosity.

“Is that big?”

And weirdly… that made him like her more.

“Not Madrid,” he shrugged, “but… it’s mine.”

She smiled again—real this time.

“I like that.”

They kept walking, the sand getting closer now, the wind tugging softly at her dress and loosening a strand from her bun.

The night air had that hush—the kind that makes you whisper without even thinking. Sand crunched lightly beneath their steps as they reached the edge of the beach, waves rolling in soft and silver under the moon.

She kicked off her heels with a grin, letting her toes sink into the cool sand.

“God, this feels better than it should.”

He smiled quietly, the kind of smile not meant to be seen.

“Yeah... you look like you needed it.”

She turned to him, arms crossed now against the breeze.

“So what do you actually do when you’re not being mysteriously vague and charmingly annoying?”

“Annoying?” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock offended.

“See? I was right about the cold state energy.”

She laughed again, soft and warm this time—as if the tension folded into something sweeter.

A silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. The wind moved her dress; the moonlight settled on her skin. Jobe didn’t look away.

“You’ve been staring,” she said quietly, not accusing—more like letting him know she noticed.

“I know,” he replied just as quietly.

Her eyes searched his face, maybe for a sign he was playing. But he wasn’t. His mouth twitched slightly, unsure.

She stepped a little closer, head tilted. The air between them thinned.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“You didn’t even know who I was.” He smirked.

“Exactly.”

Her smile softened, fingers brushing down the inside of her arm—nervous but steady.

He took a step closer, testing the space, watching her eyes.

“Don’t kiss me if you’re gonna regret it,” she whispered.

“Don’t let me,” he whispered back.

She didn’t move. Neither did he—until his hand found her cheek, gentle, thumb brushing the freckle just below her eye. Her breath hitched.

And slowly, like something inevitable, he leaned in.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t fireworks. It was something softer, deeper—like the tide pulling in slow and steady, carrying all the words they hadn’t spoken. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to shout, only to feel. Just being there, two heartbeats syncing quietly in the dark.

When they pulled apart, her breath hitched, eyes wide and glowing with something fragile and fierce all at once.

He didn’t say a thing. He just held her there, like she was the only secret he’d ever want to keep.

She searched his eyes, breath trembling, before he whispered,

“Let’s get out of here.”

No urgency. No pressure. Just a soft invitation wrapped in everything he couldn’t say aloud.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up, the faintest, almost shy smile breaking through the quiet. A yes, delicate as silk.

His fingers slid down her arm, finding hers, lacing together like they belonged—like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.

They moved through the fading music and flickering lights, her heels swinging loose in her hand, his thumb tracing small circles on her knuckles—slow, sure, grounding.

The elevator closed around them, a quiet bubble outside the world.

She leaned against the mirrored wall, eyes closed, breath shallow and soft, and he memorized every line, every curve, every subtle tremble.

Ding.

The door opened, the lock clicked—then closed.

She turned, eyes meeting his—soft, open, vulnerable, unreadable—and it shattered the silence between them, breaking everything wide open.

His hand found her face, gentle, trembling just slightly with the weight of everything unsaid.

He leaned in—slow, deliberate, needing.

The kiss ignited something wild and tender all at once—heat and hunger tangled with aching softness. Her fingers wove through his shirt, pulling him closer, while his hands roamed freely, desperate and reverent, tracing her curves like a prayer.

There was no doubt. No hesitation. Only the fierce pull of two souls crashing together in a perfect, endless moment.

Outside, the city sparkled in cold blues and distant golds.

But inside, the world dissolved—two shadows, breaths mingling, soft laughter breaking through the darkness.

Skin met skin, hearts pounding, lips moving—until the edges blurred.

Until everything else faded away.

.....

The morning sun filtered softly through the half-open curtains, spilling a gentle gold light that pooled over the rumpled sheets and the delicate curve of her bare shoulder. The room felt suspended in that quiet, tender moment between night and day, when everything was still soft and unspoken.

Jobe blinked awake slowly, his mind foggy, his body still halfway lost in sleep. His arm stretched across the bed, resting on the sheets where she had been lying—almost as if it hadn’t yet remembered she wasn’t his to hold. He breathed in the faint scent of her, a mix of salt air and something sweet and familiar, and for a moment, he let himself stay there, frozen in the stillness.

Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess of soft waves scattered across the pillow, strands catching the light like threads of silk. Her cheek pressed gently into the fabric, her lips parted just so, like she was caught between dreams and waking. There was a tiny crease between her brows, a trace of the weight her mind carried even in sleep—like she was living a story he wasn’t quite part of yet.

He watched her in silence, not daring to move, not needing words. Just memorizing the way the morning light made her skin glow, warm and fragile, as if it could be broken or kissed away in a single breath.

The quiet around them was too thick, too heavy—like the world was holding its breath, waiting.

Last night still clung to the air. The heat of it, the softness and the rush, the messy closeness of two people who had somehow found something rare between them. But morning was different. Morning was a fragile thing. It was the pause after a rush, the space where things could slip away if they weren’t careful.

His fingers twitched, restless, and then he reached out without thinking, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The light touch stirred her, slow and hesitant. Her lashes fluttered open, sleepy and uncertain, before her eyes met his—deep, searching, a little vulnerable.

“Morning,” she whispered, voice thick and raspy, like she was still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

“Hey.” His throat tightened, words catching like they weren’t sure if they belonged here. For a moment, the space between them was full of everything unsaid—the warmth, the uncertainty, the fragile hope.

Her smile was lazy, soft, the kind of smile that made him want to freeze time, to hold onto the moment before it slipped away.

And there it was — that dimple.

Not the kind that shouted, but soft, tucked into her right cheek like a secret. The kind that only showed when her smile was real, unguarded. He liked that about her — that it wasn’t always there. Like it was something rare. Something earned.

And he’d earned it.

At least for this moment.

But then, her gaze dropped to the clock on the wall.

And everything shifted. The spell cracked.

“Shit…” she muttered, sitting up too quickly, the sheets slipping from her skin in a quiet sigh. Jobe’s eyes traced the motion for a brief second before he looked away, trying to hold back the sudden swell of something like regret.

“You leaving today?” His voice was low, steady but fragile—because he already knew the answer, and it hurt just to say it out loud.

She nodded, her fingers tangled in her hair, brushing it back as if trying to smooth out more than just strands. “Flight in a few hours. Gotta pack and… all that.”

Silence settled over the room like a weight. It filled every corner, thick and heavy with things neither of them wanted to say but both felt pressing between them.

Jobe sank back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it could offer answers. What was this? What did last night mean? Was it just a moment stolen from the world, or something more? And did he even want it to be something more?

He was no longer the cool, collected guy he had convinced himself he was. Suddenly, he felt exposed—too honest, too raw, too real.

She moved quietly around the room, gathering her things with a grace that made it impossible to look away. Her perfume lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of her presence. He watched—the soft arch of her back, the delicate curve of her fingers, the way a small dimple appeared when she smiled softly at something on her phone.

The quiet stretched between them, a fragile bridge holding them together, or maybe pulling them apart.

Before the silence could become too much, she finally spoke—her voice barely more than a breath, but weighted with everything she couldn’t say:

“Thanks… for last night.”

She stood at the mirror, slipping on her earrings—delicate little things that caught the morning light like tiny promises. Her lips were glossed again, the same soft shine from the night before, but this time, there was no anticipation in her eyes. No excitement for the night ahead. She was dressing to leave.

Jobe sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to his waist, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her reflected in the glass. Words crowded his chest, heavy and raw, but they tangled somewhere between pride and confusion, stuck beneath the surface.

“You really have to go?” His voice was softer than he meant it to be. Quieter. Almost a plea.

She paused for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air. Then, without turning around, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed was long, stretching between them like a fragile thread.

“You gonna give me your number or…” He left the sentence unfinished, the casual tone belying the nerves fluttering in his fingers as they fidgeted with the sheet.

Slowly, she turned to face him, eyes meeting his—gentle, sad, but with a quiet certainty.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

There it was.

The answer he didn’t want, but somehow, deep down, expected.

He raised his brows, trying to look unfazed. Trying to convince himself it didn’t matter.

“Why not?”

Still calm. Still cool. Still pretending it was just words.

She laughed softly, a quiet sound more to herself than to him. Her voice was steady, but it carried an undercurrent of something bittersweet.

“Because it was just a night. And I don’t want it to become something it wasn’t.”

His throat suddenly felt dry, the words catching there.

“You think it wasn’t something?”

Her eyes flicked away, down to her hands twisting the earring backs.

“I think it was beautiful. But… I leave in a few hours. You go back to your world. I go back to mine.”

He scoffed, leaning back a little, the edge of frustration creeping in.

“So that’s it?”

She stepped closer—just enough to meet his gaze without hesitation.

“Jobe… You don’t even know my last name.”

That struck deeper than he wanted to admit, unraveling a thread inside him he hadn’t noticed before.

She pressed her lips into a soft, bittersweet smile—one full of kindness and goodbye all at once.

And then, slow and warm, she kissed his cheek. The kind of kiss that stays with you—gentle, final.

“Take care, alright?”

With that, she turned, walking toward the door—barefoot, graceful, gone.

He didn’t stop her.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because a part of him already knew.

If it was meant to be more, fate would find a way.

If not… at least he’d remember the girl with the dimples and the soft smile.

The one who didn’t stay.

The door clicked shut.

That was it.

Jobe didn’t move. He just sat there—legs dangling over the edge of the bed, hair tousled, her perfume still lingering in the air like a whisper too fragile to hold but too heavy to forget.

And for a boy who had it all—fame, attention, girls he could forget by morning—

he hated this.

He hated how her absence screamed louder than the music from last night.

Hated how his chest ached in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

Hated that she didn’t look back.

That she didn’t want to.

And still, he couldn’t stop replaying it—her voice, the way her laugh curled at the edges, the way she said his name like it was silk, not something tossed around by commentators.

He stood, walked to the window, eyes scanning the horizon like she might still be there.

She wasn’t.

He pressed his forehead to the glass, jaw tight.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But God… it did.

It did. And now she was gone—no number, no last name, no trace.

Just that look in her eyes, and a kiss on the cheek he still hadn’t wiped off.

Maybe he’d try to find her.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe he’d go out tonight, smile for the cameras, play it cool, pretend like she didn’t matter.

But part of him already knew—

no matter how many cities he flew to, how many parties he showed up at, how many girls he kissed—

he’d be chasing a ghost with dimples.

And maybe, just maybe…

she was out there, thinking of him too.

author's note 🫧

hi, it’s me 🦋

this one was special — softer, longer🥲. i don’t know if it needs a part 2, or if it’s one of those stories that should just... stay exactly where it ended.

but i’d love to know what you think.

did it leave you wanting more?

or was that last kiss goodbye enough?

either way, if you wanna be on the taglist for part 2 (just in case 👀), drop a 🐚 or a 💬 below — and tell me your thoughts. it really means a lot.

thank you for reading 🩵

— @missbluee

[halarealmadridd]

rizzy

pairing. jude bellingham x vs!reader genre. fluff warnings. none request. victoriasecretmodel! reader and jude soing a couples interview and jude keep on flirting with her author‘s note. uhmm so i kinda fell asleep while doing this so this is uploaded a bit late!

the camera slowly focused on you and jude sitting on a sofa, tangled in each other’s arms. your head was resting on jude‘s chest, feeling his chest steadily rise up and down.

the director gave you a thumbs up to signal that you could start speaking.

“hello i’m y/n” you introduced yourself. “and i’m jude” jude continued.

“and today were going to be doing a couples interview” you said while clapping your hands together and sitting up. jude’s hand made it’s way to your thigh, squeezing it a bit.

“where did you guys meet?” one of the staff members asked curiously.

“funnily enough we actually met through instagram, i mean i didn’t know who jude was so he was the first one that messaged me and asked for my number” you explained while sensing that you had just lowered jude’s ego.

“you didn’t know me?” he gasped while dramatically putting his hand on his chest while his mouth was wide open. you giggled at the sight. you loved this dramatic and “quirky” side of jude.

“where was your first date” another staff member challenged.

“of course inside. we had a nice little cozy movie date whilst eating cake and popcorn. we couldn’t go out, obviously” jude explained while rolling his eyes.

“i still remember when you burned the popcorn” you laughed at the memory.

“i didn’t burn it it just toasted i don’t know what happens, how could you even burn popcorn in the microwave” he complained.

“i don’t know, maybe ask yourself” you joked, receiving a small slap to your waist from jude.

“did your modeling career affect your relationship at all?” someone questioned.

“i mean yeah, we couldn’t really eat everything on our dates, or i atleast couldn’t cause i was on a diet” you frowned. “also we couldn’t spend a lot of time together as i had to travel for shows and jude had to travel for international competitions so our relationship was just facetime at one point” you continued, explaining the down sides of your relationship.

“what is one thing you guys will always have different opinions about?”

“baked beans” you revealed.

“what are you on about they are divine” jude said defensively, as baked beans where his favourite food.

“i just cannot eat them without throwing up, like the texture is just so icky and they don’t taste like anything ew” you said, making a gag sound.

jude rolled his eyes at your dramatic behaviour.

“well, that’s it for today time to wrap it up” the director said making you feel relieved.

“hope you guys learnt something new from this video, goodbye” jude waved.

you both got up from the sofa and made your way to the parking lot where your car was.

“can you get a driving’s license already i don’t want to drive”

“shut up you little rat” he spat back, making you laugh. you pressed a kiss to his temple and started driving home.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Tastes like home

with JUDE BELLINGHAM⭐︎

synopsis: When homesickness hits hard in Madrid, Jude surprises his Cameroonian wife by recreating her favorite childhood snack—beef pies—despite being a terrible cook.proving love really is the best recipe

Madrid’s sunset had never felt so quiet.

The city buzzed outside, as always—cars humming, children laughing down the block, the scent of warm bread wafting from the bakery near the corner. But inside Jude’s house—your house—it was still. Too still.

You sat curled on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, the television playing some mindless show you weren’t really watching. You didn’t even realize tears had slipped down your cheek until the warmth reached the corner of your lips. You wiped them away quickly.

You missed home.

Not the place, necessarily—Cameroon was far, yes, but you’d grown used to the distance. You missed the people. Your family. The way they loved you. The sound of your auntie's voice when she got excited, the way your brothers bickered over the last beef pie during Sunday lunch. You missed the smell of the kitchen back home, the chaos, the laughter that lived in the walls.

Today, Madrid just felt… too quiet.

Jude hadn’t said much when he left for training that morning. He’d noticed something was off—you weren’t your usual bubbly self, and you’d barely touched your breakfast. He kissed your forehead and whispered, “I love you. I’ll be back soon,” before slipping out the door with a lingering glance.

You figured he’d come back tired and sweaty, probably collapse on the couch beside you and ask for cuddles. You weren’t expecting… this.

A loud clang came from the kitchen. Followed by a curse. And then another. “Bloody hell—ow!”

You blinked, sat up. “Jude?”

No answer. Just the sound of pans shuffling and a suspicious hiss from something on the stove.

You got up cautiously and padded into the kitchen.

The sight made you pause.

Flour everywhere. A cutting board covered in something that vaguely resembled dough. Jude, shirtless (because of course he was), standing at the stove with a confused look, spatula in hand, and an apron tied lopsided around his waist.

Your eyes dropped to the tray by the oven. There, lined up like little misfit soldiers, were oddly shaped pastries. Misshapen, a bit too brown in places, but definitely filled—with something.

“Wait… are those—?”

He turned quickly, startled. “Babe! No, wait! Don’t come in yet—”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. A wet, shaky, surprised laugh.

“Jude. What are you doing?”

He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Trying to make those beef pies you love so much.”

Your breath caught.

“I know they’re your favorite,” he continued, eyes lowering. “You’ve been quiet lately. I figured… maybe it’s a homesick day. And I know I can’t fly your whole family over or cook like your mum does but…” He shrugged. “I watched a YouTube video. Burned the first two trays. That one might actually be edible though.”

You walked over, stunned into silence.

“They’re… not pretty,” he admitted, “but they smell kinda good, right?”

You looked up at him, tears welling again, but this time for a whole different reason.

“They smell like home,” you whispered.

Jude’s face softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He brought one of the pastries to you, still warm, steam curling from the edges. You took a bite—and okay, it wasn’t perfect. A little too much onion. But the gesture? The effort? It tasted like love.

You swallowed, heart so full you thought it might burst. “You did this for me?”

Jude stepped closer, arms wrapping around your waist. “Course I did. I’d burn ten more trays if it made you smile like that.”

You rested your forehead against his chest. “I love you.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I love you more.”

And just like that, Madrid didn’t feel so quiet anymore.

You stood there, wrapped in his arms, letting yourself melt into him. He was warm, a little sweaty, still covered in flour, but it didn’t matter. It felt like safety. Like love.

“Come on,” Jude murmured. “Let’s sit. I wanna see if I actually made something edible or if I’ve just risked poisoning the love of my life.”

You laughed, letting him guide you to the couch. He had already set it up: a cozy blanket thrown over the cushions, your favorite throw pillows in place, and two plates on the coffee table—one with the remaining beef pies, and the other with pineapple slices and dark chocolate (your comfort snack, and he knew that).

“You’re seriously trying to win Best Husband award tonight,” you teased, curling beside him.

He smiled, one arm draped around your shoulders. “I’m campaigning hard.”

You picked up another pie, letting the warmth of it settle between your palms. Jude watched you closely, like his entire existence depended on your reaction.

You took a bite.

It was better this time. Still a little lopsided, but the flavors were there—the meat, the onions, the soft potato… even the spice was right. You raised your brows. “Okay, Mr. Bellingham. This one might’ve hit.”

He grinned wide, proud and boyish. “Yeah?! Proper?”

“Proper,” you nodded, bumping your shoulder into his. “You still cannot roll dough to save your life, but the filling? Solid eight.”

“Eight?! Harsh. I deserve at least an eight point five,” he pouted.

You laughed again, wiping a bit of flour from his cheek. “Fine. Eight point six. But that’s only because you’re cute.”

“You know what,” he said, standing up suddenly, “I have one more surprise.”

Your brow lifted. “Another one?”

“Just… stay here.”

He disappeared down the hallway, and you waited, confused and curious. A few seconds later, he returned holding his iPad—and you immediately heard the sound of voices.

Familiar voices.

He turned the screen toward you and your breath caught.

It was your family. Your family—on a video call. Your mum, your brothers, your cousin, all smiling and waving at once. “Ah! There she is! My baby girl!” your mum exclaimed in French-accented English. “You see, Jude told us you were having a bad day!”

You covered your mouth, tears springing back into your eyes as your brothers shouted over each other, teasing you and calling you “softie” and “crybaby.”

Jude wrapped his arms around your shoulder again, whispering in your ear, “Asked them to be free around this time. I figured you’d need them.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and wet. “How did you even—?”

“I asked your mum two days ago,” he said with a grin. “She grilled me. Told me I better not waste ingredients if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You laughed, full-on, heart-deep, and kissed his cheek.

Jude sat back beside you while you chatted with your family, smiling every time someone said something ridiculous or someone roasted his cooking attempt.

And as you leaned into him, wrapped up in laughter, surrounded by love—both near and far—you realized something.

Home wasn’t just Cameroon. It was wherever Jude was. Flour-covered apron, bad dough, sweet heart and all.

The call ended nearly an hour later, your cheeks sore from smiling and laughing too much. Your phone buzzed with messages from your cousin and mum, all full of heart emojis and “Tell Jude I love him!!” texts.

Jude stretched beside you, letting out a dramatic sigh. “That call was long.”

“Oh please,” you teased, curling into him. “You loved every second of it. Admit it.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I did. Your family’s chaotic. It’s fun. I love them.”

You both sat there a moment, warm and full, the scent of beef pies still lingering faintly in the kitchen.

Then Jude stood up, offering you his hand. “Come with me.”

You gave him a curious look but placed your hand in his anyway. He led you through the quiet house and out onto the balcony, where the air was crisp and cool. The Madrid skyline sparkled in the distance, soft city lights flickering like stars.

He pulled a blanket around both of you, then wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

“This view’s mad,” he said quietly.

You hummed in agreement. “It is.”

But you weren’t looking at the skyline. You were looking at his hands around your waist. The gentle rise and fall of his chest behind you. The peace in the silence between you both.

After a beat, you whispered, “You didn’t have to do any of this, you know.”

“I did,” he replied simply.

“Why?”

He turned you around slowly to face him. His eyes searched yours, sincere and warm in the moonlight. “Because when you hurt, I hurt. And if I can do something—anything—to make you feel even a little better, I’m doing it.”

Your heart fluttered.

“Besides,” he added with a grin, “I’m trying to secure Husband of the Year before December.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’ve already won. Don’t push your luck.”

He dipped his head, nose brushing against yours. “Then kiss me before I burn something else.”

And so, under the stars of Madrid, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like him and a love that felt like home, you kissed your husband—grateful, soft, and full.

And for the first time in days, your heart didn’t ache for Cameroon. Because somehow, Jude had brought it to you.

[paddockletters]

close to you | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x reader summary: after months of long-distance dating, you finally meet Jude's family, share moments together leading to a conversation about moving in together request: yes / thank you sooo much for you request!

Being in a long-distance relationship with Jude had its ups and downs. Video calls filled our evenings, laughter echoing through the screens, but I often missed the warmth of his presence. The anticipation of finally meeting his family sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Are you ready for this?” Jude asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he pulled up to his family’s house.

“I think so! But what if they don’t like me?” I fretted, twisting the ring on my finger.

“Don’t worry; they’ll love you. Just be your charming self” he teased, nudging me with his elbow.

As we walked inside, Jude’s mom, Denise, greeted us with a warm hug.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“Thank you for having me! It’s wonderful to be here" I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

“Jude talks about you all the time” Denise said, her smile wide.

“Does he?” I glanced at Jude, who looked a bit embarrassed.

“Just the good stuff” he shot back playfully, earning a gentle shove from me.

“So, you’re the infamous Y/N. Jude's been raving about you. Just wait until I share his childhood stories!” Jobe, Jude’s brother, strolled into the room, a grin spreading across his face.

“Hey! No stories, Jobe!” Jude interjected, his face flushing a shade of red.

“Oh come on, I have to give Y/N the real scoop!” Jobe laughed, giving me a wink.

As the afternoon unfolded, the kitchen filled with laughter and delicious smells from the family dinner Denise prepared. I felt myself relaxing as Jude wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“So, Y/N, what’s your favourite dish?” Denise asked as we sat around the table.

“I love Italian food!” I exclaimed, sharing how I once tried to make homemade pasta and ended up with a huge mess.

“That sounds like quite the adventure!” Jude chuckled, nudging me playfully. “Maybe I’ll let you cook for me next time?”

“Only if you help!” I retorted, laughing.

As the evening went on, I felt the warmth of Jude’s family wrapping around me, but a small knot of insecurity lingered. When Jude playfully teased me about my cooking skills, I felt a flicker of doubt.

“Hey, don’t let him get to you! You’re doing great,” Jobe chimed in, winking at me.

“Yeah, don’t listen to him. He burns toast” Jude added with a smirk.

“Alright, fine! I’ll take your word for it,” I said, trying to brush it off, but I excused myself to the guest room, feeling the weight of the moment.

Jude followed, concern etched on his face.

“babe, wait! What’s going on?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“I just… I want your family to like me” I confessed, my voice trembling slightly.

“They already do. They see how happy you make me” he said softly, his hands gently cupping my face. “You mean the world to me, and that’s what matters.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling my heart swell.

“Absolutely. Now, let’s go back out there and have some fun together” he said, leaning in to kiss my forehead, sending butterflies racing in my stomach.

As we stepped back into the living room, the mood shifted. Jude took my hand, intertwining our fingers as Jobe launched into another childhood story, making us all laugh.

With our family meeting behind us, our focus shifted to the upcoming Valentine’s Day in Paris. Jude had planned a surprise trip, and I could hardly contain my excitement.

The moment we arrived, the magic of the city enveloped us. Walking hand in hand along the Seine, I looked up at Jude.

“This is incredible. Thank you for bringing me here” I said, the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the distance.

“Anything for you” he replied, leaning down to kiss my cheek. The warmth of his lips lingered, making me blush.

As we strolled through the cobbled streets.

“Look at that! Can we get a portrait?” I pointed at a street artist.

“Sure, but only if I get to keep it.” Jude smiled, nodding.

“Deal! Just promise not to make a funny face” I joked.

We approached the artist, and after a few giggles and playful banter, he captured us in a moment that felt perfect. As we looked at the drawing, I laughed.

“You look like a dashing rogue!”

“Yeah, and you look like a princess” he said, his gaze warm.

Later that evening, we dined at a quaint bistro, the atmosphere glowing with candlelight.

“This is amazing, Jude” I sighed, taking in the ambiance.

“I knew you’d love it” he said, his eyes sparkling. He reached across the table, taking my hand.

After dinner, we walked back to our hotel, the city lit up like a dream. Jude suddenly stopped, pulling me close.

“Hey, let’s take a picture with the Eiffel Tower in the background” he suggested.

“Great idea! Say ‘cheese’!” I grinned, but as we posed, he leaned in, whispering.

“You’re cute” and snapped the picture just as I blushed.

“Jude!” I giggled, swatting him playfully.

“I meant it” he chuckled, his eyes dancing.

Later that night, after a delightful dinner, we decided to hit the club scene. The music pulsed around us as we danced, completely immersed in the rhythm of the night.

“Let’s show them how it’s done!” Jude exclaimed, pulling me to the dance floor.

“I’m ready! Just try to keep up!” I challenged playfully, and we lost ourselves in laughter and movement.

As we twirled and swayed to the beat, Jude’s hands found my waist, pulling me close.

“You have the best dance moves” he said, grinning.

“I’ll take that as a compliment! But you’re not too shabby yourself” I teased back, leaning in to whisper in his ear, feeling his breath tickle my neck.

When the music slowed, Jude wrapped his arms around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“I could stay like this forever” I murmured.

“Me too” he replied, gently tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. His lips met mine in a soft kiss that sent sparks through me, deepening as he pulled me closer.

After a night of dancing, we returned to the hotel room, exhilarated but exhausted.

“That was amazing” I sighed, flopping onto the bed.

“See? I knew you’d love it” Jude said, sitting beside me with a satisfied smile.

Summer arrived, and we planned a getaway with friends to a beautiful beach destination. The sun, sand, and laughter filled our days, making memories that felt like pure bliss.

“Hey, what do you think about renting those paddleboards tomorrow?” one of our friends suggested while lounging on the beach.

“I’m in! Just don’t expect me to be a pro” I laughed, already picturing myself face-planting into the water.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there to rescue you” Jude said, grinning. “Maybe we’ll make a game out of it—who can fall off first?”

“Challenge accepted!” I shot back, nudging him playfully.

As we soaked up the sun, Jude pulled me aside.

“Can we chat for a moment?” he asked, leading me away from the group.

“Sure, what’s up?” I replied, curious.

He looked serious for a moment, glancing back at our friends before speaking.

“I’ve been thinking… would you want to move in together?"

“Really? You want me to move in?” I was taken aback, my heart racing.

“Absolutely. I think it would be amazing” he said, his excitement evident.

“Does your mom agree?” I asked, wanting to ensure that this was what everyone wanted.

“I think she’d love it. She’s been saying she’d be happy to have you around,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face.

I couldn’t help but smile back, my heart swelling with joy.

“Then yes! I’d love to!” Jude pulled me into a warm embrace.

“I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Me neither” I replied, leaning up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss.

[madridfangirl]

I'm taking you home NOW!

(Part 2 of the one-shot. On popular demand. Part one here. This is SMUT.)

Summary: Jude sees his girlfriend at a club, tries to control himself as he watches her have the time of her life, but ultimately decides to take the matter in his own hands. What happens when he finally gets his hands on her?

Inspired from an anon request.

She hung up. Jude couldn’t believe she hung up on him.

He stared at his phone, then at her through the glass, then back at his phone.

Boy, was he going to make her pay.

Ananya realised that wasn’t a very smart move but he had completely thrown her off-guard. Between fight or flight, her instincts went with the latter. She could feel his gaze on her as she walked back to her table, the intensity burning her skin even through the distance and glass divider. She didn’t dare to look in that direction and sat down with her back to him.

Jude stayed there for a few seconds, half-inclined to walk down there right now and make good on his threat. But if he did that, sex would be off the table tonight. His parents / team would get a heart attack from the scandal he would have caused. And Ananya - oh she would strangulate him with her bare tiny hands.

Grudgingly, he dragged himself back to his teammates. Brahim elbowed him as soon as he sat down, telling him he was being too plain. Just that, the rest of the guys were pissed drunk already and hadn’t noticed. Jude couldn’t get himself to care. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Ananya knew he wouldn’t just let it go. And she was proven right 5 mins later when her phone buzzed. 

It was a picture with him, Cama, Vini and three waitresses. Two of them were on either side of Jude, their arms around his back and his around theirs. Both leaning against him, a little too close, looking all giddy and infatuated. The typical reaction he invoked in girls.

She started at her screen, open-mouthed, at his obvious attempt to rile her up. No, she won’t give him the satisfaction. She watched her tone carefully before texting him back.

Ananya: ??

Jude: Sent by mistake. Was sending to one of the girls.

Please, like she was born yesterday.

Jude: They didn’t have their phone on them so I took from mine & sending over. To the one on my right.

So, Jude had her number and she had Jude’s. 

Ananya: How sweet.

The girl was pretty. A classic petite, sexy Spanish brunette. A high-end waitress for the VIP section of one of the most posh clubs in Madrid. In her tight-fitted top & mini-skirt. Ananya knew from first-hand experience how Jude had a fetish for such uniforms. 

Jude: Yeah she’s over the moon. Thanking me non-stop.

She groaned. The boy was smart, talking in insinuations so she couldn’t hold anything over his head. So he doesn’t lose the moral high-ground he had right now. So he could always say later ‘oh it was just a nice thing I did for my fans.’ 

The fucker. The absolute shrewd twat. 

It had taken him all of 5 mins to swing this. The girl was probably touching his arm right now, trying to get his attention in her barely there attire. Batting her lashes, smiling extra hard. Reserving special service for him. Ready to drop her knickers at his one look. 

Her friend probably wanted to join in too. Both in a frenzy over how sweet he was being. Trying to score with the hottest property in football right now (literally & figuratively), who was drunk (ergo unreserved) and looked like an absolute meal tonight. 

This happened all too often with him. Offers for quickies in washrooms / hook-ups / one-night stands tended to pour in for him freely. Jude would tell her every time someone hit on him so explicitly or proposition him so openly. It was an unspoken understanding between them, something that gave her comfort.

Usually, he would nip these things in the bud, not providing any encouragement. But tonight, would he indulge a bit? To get back at her for her supposed flirting?

She hadn’t flirted, she hadn’t. She just smiled a bit cheesily at the bartender and chatted him up so she could get her drinks faster. That’s it. That wasn’t flirting, right?

Jude would vehemently disagree. But fuck him. 

And fuck the fact that he knew her so well. He knew what this photo would do to her. The exact things running through her mind. How she would notice that his hands were on their waist, not their shoulders which was his usual with other girls. How she’d be able to tell that the girls were trying to throw themselves at him. 

And it had taken him less than 5 mins to orchestrate this. Such was his charm.

The bastard. She hated his guts right now.

He wanted every single one of these 30 mins to be a torture for her. Not letting her have the win. And he was succeeding. In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t cross the line, she trusted him. But there was a grey area that existed between nonchalance and crossing the line. And Jude being Jude was obviously well aware of that grey area of ‘humouring someone’ or ‘harmless flirting.’

If she was making him wait, then he wanted to make sure she feels the pinch of it too. To the point where SHE suggests to call it a night sooner. How sweet a win that would be for him, he’d forever throw that in her face.

No. Whatever happens, she won’t succumb to such lows. Even the great, most desirable Jude Bellingham would have to wait once in a while. Even if it was killing her from the inside.

Ananya: Careful, unless you wanna sleep on the couch tonight.

Jude: Neither of us are sleeping tonight.

She hated the shiver that ran down her spine. She hated the power he had over her, making her tremble just with his words.

In need of some liquid courage, Ananya downed three more shots of tequila quickly. That, and the lack of food during the night, hit her straight in the head. She went to the washroom to fix her look, re-applying the makeup.

It was almost time. To walk into the lion’s den. A pissed-off predator on edge. At least that’s what it felt like as she somehow found the way to the back-door of the VIP section.

When she saw his car, she froze. Not knowing what to expect tonight. He’d always been possessive & dominant, but tonight he felt unhinged. Like some switch had flipped in his head. 

When she didn’t move for a few more seconds, her phone started ringing. She didn’t bother looking, she knew it was him. Growing impatient. Wanting her to move her butt. As if he was the king of the world.

Cocky, entitled prick.

Half-pissed and full drunk, she marched to the car. As soon as she got into the back-seat, she turned towards him.

‘Just you? Thought your admirers would join you.’

Jude scoffed, looking at her like she had let his childhood pup run to the road and get hit by a car.

‘Look who’s talking.’

Their eyes locked in a fiery staring contest.

‘YOU SENT ME A FUCKING PHOTO YOU JERK.’

‘You started it.’

The fact that he was able to keep his head and speak with an even tone pissed her off further.

‘I started it? I STARTED IT? OH YOU LITTLE…’

A timid uncomfortable clearing of throat from the front seat broke her out of her rage. Poor Agnes wanted to be invisible in that moment.

‘Ummm, sorry but shall we get going? The security is signalling us to clear the lane.’

Jude recovered quickly while Ananya sat numb. Having completely forgotten about the sweet chauffeur’s existence. Someone she had grown fond of. Someone her uncle’s age maybe. Someone she respected. And she just made a scene in front of him. Horrified, she sunk into her seat.

‘Yes please. Take us home.’

‘Sure thing.’

His place was a short 15 min away. Especially at this hour of the night.

She was determined to let these minutes pass without any other incident. But Jude had other plans.

He took off his jacket and threw it over her, covering her waist and legs. Before she could tell him she wasn’t cold or anything, his hand found its way under the jacket to her thigh, lifting her dress up, grabbing her bare skin.

She gaped at him in shock, but he looked straight ahead, completely nonchalant. 

The pressure of his hand increased. She bit her lip to muffle her gasp, trying to push his hand away but Jude stayed firm. She tried again but he gripped her harder, showing her how it will play out if she struggles more.

She couldn’t push him away with more force. She couldn’t call him out verbally. She couldn’t throw the jacket away while his hand was there. With Agnes sitting ahead, all these would create such a scandal in her head that it would take forever to recover from the embarrassment.

And Jude knew that. He knew she didn’t have an escape, and he pounced on the opportunity.

His hand travelled further up, brushing against her core. Her shocked whimper didn’t go unnoticed this time, and Ananya tried to cover it up by pretend cough.

‘Would you like some water?’

Agnes passed over a bottle to her, which she took gratefully. While Jude suppressed a smirk building at the corner of his lips. How she wanted to slap that pretty face right now.

While she sipped the water, his fingers brushed against her again, and some water spilled out. A trail of droplets went down her lips, via her long neck, soaking her cleavage, disappearing into her strapless dress. Drawing Jude’s attention. He stared at her wet, smooth, glistening skin and cursed inwardly when she wiped off the spilled water with her hand, missing his thirsty look altogether.

His hand assaulted her sensitive skin with more intent, alternating between her thigh and her core. Feeling how wetness started to pool between her legs. 

Helpless, she looked out of the window. Hoping for the universe to swallow her whole. Biting her hand / wrist to mask her whimpers. Feeling a strange mix of anger, frustration & arousal. All feelings accentuated due to her drunken state. He was stroking the fight away from her, one touch at a time. Every move calculated to turn her into a whiny hot mess. Needy, pliant and ready for him.

She hated him for putting her in this vulnerable position. But her body was responding to the thrill of it. Jude was the king of spontaneity and adventure, never a dull moment with him.

Finally, they reached home. The ride felt like 3 hours to her, but it had only been 12 mins.

‘Thanks Agnes. You can leave the car here.’

The middle-aged man turned towards his boss, confused. The car was in the open driveway, not in the covered garage where he usually parked.

‘It might rain tonight. And the dust…’

‘It’s alright. See you tomorrow. Good night.’

‘Good night to you too.’

A very confused Agnes got out of the car, as his passengers remained in the back seat.

Ananya knew where this was going. Doing it in the car was one of Jude’s fetishes too. He would have preferred an open road if he wasn’t who he was. She was just thankful he waited for Agnes to be out of hearing distance.

As soon as Jude saw the compound gate click shut, he grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap, making her straddle him. Her dress inched further up by the position, pooling at her waist, revealing her matching red lace panties. Jude traced the border of the flimsy garment with his index finger, losing his focus for a few seconds, while she tried to gauge his mood by studying his face.

She was still mad at him but darn it she also needed him now. His expert fingers had worked their magic as usual. And her drunken state was making her needy. She liked to be taken softly & slowly after being buzzed. While that wasn’t gonna happen tonight, given the mood he was in, but maybe she could find a middle ground.

Ananya leaned forward, trying to kiss his lips, but he grabbed the back of her head, keeping her in place. Staring at her with a ferocious intensity. Like he wanted to eat her alive.

‘You had your fun tonight.’

Being the sole object of his undivided, obsessive attention was also intoxicating in its own way. There were surely worse things in the world than Jude Bellingham wanting to fuck you anytime he wanted.

And she needed him to get on with it, preferably not too roughly.

‘Yes, with my friends.’

Her tone was soft and assuaging. She moved in his lap, trying to rub herself against his crotch, but he grabbed her hips too, not letting her dictate the terms.

‘Not JUST with your friends.’

The image of the bartender and those ugly, sweaty guys trying to dance with her was still fresh in his mind.

Arguing that point would be useless, so she changed tact, keeping her tone sensuous.

‘Does it matter? I was always going to come home to you.’

He scoffed, incredulously. 

‘YOU REFUSED ME. I NEEDED you and you REFUSED ME.’

He was painfully half-hard most of the night, all because of her. And she had refused to take care of his need.

‘Didn’t refuse you baby, just asked for a bit more time with my friends.’

‘Yeah right.'

Despite her horniness, his petulant tone was starting to set her off. Here she was trying to be the adult, to let bygones be bygones, but he was stuck on being petty. 

‘What are you implying exactly?’

‘That you FLIRTED with that asshole, you KNEW what you were doing. And then you picked your friends OVER ME.’

He was probably right about the flirting bit. In a rational state she may have conceded this. But rationality had gone out of the window at his entitled cribbing.

‘Yeah, and what about what you did, huh?’

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, both to shake him and to steady herself.

‘I got one night in weeks, WEEKS, to get out of work early and have fun with my friends. But you wanted me to drop EVERYTHING and run to you at your first command? To be at your beck and call all the time? I don’t deserve one night off?’

‘All the time? ALL THE TIME? We have barely….’

‘SHUT UP.’

She yelled like she meant it, shushing him up for good.

‘And you had the audacity to send me THAT photo? Fuck that, you had the audacity to TAKE THAT PHOTO? What did you do to make them so giddy, huh? Smiled at them? Paid some compliments? Let your gaze linger? Brushed your fingers against their hand? What did you fucking do in those 5 mins that they were FALLING ALL OVER YOU?’

Jude leaned back against the seat. Smug, proud, making no effort to hide the sentiment.

That egotistical dickhead.

‘Who says I did anything?’

‘I’ll fucking slap you I swear. TELL ME.’

Jude eyed her, calculating his next move, choosing his words carefully.

‘Just said I liked what they were wearing.’

She shook him by his collar. Hard.

Jude loved it when she was all pliant and needy. But he loved it even more when she was this feisty & lippy with him.

The image of him complimenting them and them turning into mush on the spot made her want to puke. 

Enraged, Ananya moved to smack him on his chest but he grabbed her wrists, hard enough so she feels the sting.

Another defiant staring contest ensued, as she struggled to get off his lap, failing miserably, her movement making his blood rush south.

Defeated and pissed off, she reverted to a verbal retort.

‘Maybe I should call that bartender and say that to him too, yeah? He did give me his number after all.’

He hadn’t. Well, he was about to do that but she cut him off at the right time. To hell with facts though.

Jude stilled, then turned the full force of his glare at her, face heating up with ire at her words. 

She tried to meet his eyes head on, but it was like staring into the sun. It burned her, and she flinched, looking away to shield herself.

He locked her arms behind her back, tightening his grip on her wrists, his hot & heavy breath causing goosebumps on her face. 

She thanked her stars for not mentioning Arjun instead of the bartender, an option she had considered briefly. God knows how nuclear he would have gone then. Would have probably kept her locked in his room, tied to his bed for weeks on end.

‘He did what?’

His voice was low & threatening, somehow a lot more sinister than when it was raised. She felt its effect straight between her legs.

‘Answer me, sweetness.’

Oh, the bite in that suppose endearment. She shuddered involuntarily. But she was too far in to back out now.

‘I…I wasn’t gonna do anything about it.’

‘Immaterial, darling. You let him think he had a shot, yeah? That he could take you home tonight, or to his car, or a quickie in the loo. Correct?’

She shook her head from side to side in a no, unable to find the right words to respond. 

‘No? So when you were bending over the counter, giving him a view of this…’

He grabbed a breast harshly, making her gasp.

‘….was it to tell him that you were taken?’

She whined loudly under his touch.

‘Jude c’monnn I….’

‘Quiet.’

She hated herself for complying immediately. Like an obedient pet. 

The temperature around them was both burning hot and ice cold at the same time. Silence hung heavy in the air, only the sound of heavy breaths breaking through. 

And then, she heard the unlocking of his belt buckle.

Her eyes went to his waist, as he slowly took off his belt. What he did next made her throat go dry.

Jude tied her hands behind her back with his belt, in a tight grip, while she was still straddling him. His eyes boring a hole through her shaking body.

‘Someone needs to learn how to behave. And a reminder of who she belongs to.’

She wished he would go back to his frenzied ire. Because whatever it is he was doing right now with his chilly even tone was a thousand times more unnerving. She had never seen him like that before. 

‘This dress……was to be worn for me. But now, you’ve ruined it.’

She guessed his next move, but before she could utter a word in protest, strong hands ripped through her dress. Forcefully and mercilessly. Like that garment had personally offended him somehow. 

Ananya saw the remnants fall over the floor of the car in a pile, swiftly followed by her lace panties. It was a shame; she really liked both of those. He had bought them both for her.

Jude looked at her now naked form, while she still hid from his gaze.

He tapped on her lips with two fingers, gently. Then shoved them inside. Spreading her legs with his other hand, he shoved two fingers inside her wet, tight, leaking heat. Then latched on to a nipple with his teeth. Her resulting cries were muffled with his fingers in her mouth.

She was helpless, unable to do anything but to let him have his way. Whining & moaning through it all.

Jude’s hands worked at fast pace, sending her into an overdrive. Then, he switched both hands, making her taste herself on his fingers. As his mouth paid equal attention to both nipples. 

She shuddered violently when his thumb found her clit, as his fingers scissored her mercilessly. And she came on his fingers while screaming his name, falling over his chest, as he made her suck the fingers clean.

Jude gave her precisely 10 seconds to catch her breath, while he unzipped his trousers.

Immediately after, she found herself being brought down over his rock-hard dick, whimpering all the way through. As always, she struggled to take him all in, especially with this angle, and he revelled in the sight, getting extra hard by it, finally nudging his way in.

She had never been rendered this helpless before. Her legs were cramping and her arms were immobile as he bounced her up and down relentlessly, like a maniac. The overstimulation making her eyes water.

His mouth travelled through her torso, leaving angry marks on her sensitive skin. It was pointless asking him to go easy so she didn’t even try.

But when his thumb found her clit again, forcing her towards another orgasm while he was still nowhere near his, she begged him to slow it down. He went just a tad slower, just to humour her but the pressure made her head spin. He was playing her body like a pro, applying just the right pressure at all her sensitive spots together, wrecking her completely. While she was just a helpless doll in his lap.

Jude looked at her bouncing body, swollen & sweaty with his attention, just how it should be. Instead of slowing it down, he increased his pace. And the pressure of his fingers and teeth.

Ananya cried out in painful pleasure. 

She knew what he wanted. She had been fighting hard not to give him the satisfaction. But she was close to shattering again. And he would keep going like a madman till he extracted what he wanted from her. He’d somehow push out his own release and she was nearing the brink of passing out from overstimulation. 

After a long time, she looked straight into his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry?’

‘Yeah, what for?’

‘FOR EVERYTHING.’

She cried out with an extra hard thrust.

‘More specific.’

He wouldn’t let go, not even now, not when he had her completely at his mercy, not when she was meeting him 80% of the way. 

‘For….the bartender…the waiting…the dancing…the fighting…..the dress…..the bra…just…..please Jude.’

Her helpless moaning of his name and the sheer submission of her body did the trick. 

Jude undid her wrists, and brought them around his neck, stroking the bruised areas softly.

She sought out his lips for comfort and he kissed her back slowly, while still bouncing her rhythmically on top of him. Sweaty limbs intertwined. 

Their lips found their familiar motions as her nails dug into his shoulders. He sighed at the sensation. Both nearing their peaks.

‘Dove?’

Her heart swelled at the fondness in his tone and the use of her nickname.

‘Yeah baby?’

Their eyes met. How she could just drown in those honeyed orbs and never come back for air. What a sweet demise that would be.

‘Nothing happened with those girls. I didn’t want them.’

Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest now. And her tears spilled for a different reason. He kissed them away, peppering her face with kisses.

‘I know baby. I know.’

She hugged him tightly, as he rocked them both to their pleasures, coming down from their highs while still clinging to each other.

A few minutes later, he unwrapped her from around himself, covered her in his jacket, and carefully picked her up to carry her to bed, tucking her in.

As he slid under the covers and came to hold her, she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Confused, he searched her face but came up with nothing.

‘What?’

‘You need to go back to the car now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want Agnes to find my torn clothes tomorrow.’

‘I’ll do it in the morning.’

‘We might end up sleeping late and he comes in early.’

‘You want me to go down right now?’

‘Won’t you? For me?’

‘Fine. Whatever.’

She smiled as he stomped his feet all the way down to the car, making his displeasure known, but still keeping her wish.

..........................................................

There you go.

I had no plans for Part 2 but your enthusiasm made it happen.

Let me know your thoughts / comments :)

[pedriache]

Nervous — Jude Bellingham.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jude, who you couldn’t bear to be around, was suddenly making you very nervous.

Word count: 900+

Disclaimer/s: banter , dancing , alcohol, yeah idk

A/N: Hai ! Home from vacation and finally writing again bless up! Side note: if trump wins im going to have to take a hiatus while I figure out a plan to move to Barcelona.

The club was full of energy. People around you danced and sang along to whatever lyrics were playing, their drinks sloshing around in their cups, dangerously close to spilling. Yet you were huddled in a corner, out of your element completely.

You weren’t used to these types of things. Sure, you attended parties, but that was only when you had to. So standing under the flashing lights, a black dress clinging to your body uncomfortably… well, it just wasn’t very fun.

A presence beside you brought you out of the self pitying thoughts. Glancing up, you internally groan. Your eyes instantly rolling as you let out a huff of annoyance. “What do you want?”

Jude looks down at you, his lips pulling into that familiar smirk you hated so much. “You looked lonely.” He shrugs, his eyes flickering to your dress for a moment. “Nice dress.” He drawls.

It was a small compliment, but it had to not-so-subtly shifting on your feet as you used one hand to tug the hem of it further down your thigh. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

The taller man gasps, using both his hands to clasp over his heart to show his offense. “Hey! I was being serious! You look.. pretty.”

Your eyebrows pull together, causing a crease to form between them. You weren’t sure why, but that had sent a wave of heat to your cheeks. At that moment, you were quite grateful for the strobe lights as they concealed your predicament well.

“Oh, shut up.” You scoff, “why don’t you leave me alone and go dance with randoms or something?” Your snarky reply is only met with a laugh, which made you grow even more irritated.

“Aw, come on! I’ll go.. if you join me.” He nudges your shoulder with his, “please?”

Glancing up at him, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when you’re met with a serious looking Jude. “Yeah, no. Hard pass. And not just because of you.”

Jude rolls his eyes at your stubbornness. “Down whatever you have in that cup, get some energy, and let’s dance!”

You weren’t exactly sure why you did what you did, but you tilted the cup to your lips and took two big gulps of the burning substance. Setting the glass down on the table you let out a long breath. “Whatever. No touching me.” You point at him with narrowed eyes.

Jude puts his hands up in feigned surrender. “No touching, got it.”

Leading the way, you make a path toward the black and white tiled floor. You had to push your way through, but with Jude close behind, you both made it to a tiny open space.

Turning to face him, you have to fight the roll of your eyes at his prideful smile. Ignoring him, you find a comfortable rhythm. Your eyes close as you sway to the music, only opening when the beat changes, your eyes connecting with Jude’s. He was watching you, the smile lines near his eyes prominent as he does so.

“Ew, don’t look at me like that.” You make a disgusted face, but that doesn’t deter the man.

He cocks his head to the side, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve just never seen you dance before.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” You scowl, “I don’t see you dancing.” You point out, but you’re only met with another teasing grin on his part.

“I don’t dance, not without a partner.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks once again. Your mouth opens and closes about four times before you give in. Taking the few strides toward him, he sucks his teeth, suppressing the smug look at threatened at his face.

“Don’t make me regret this.” You snap, turning around to face the DJ’s booth and away from Jude’s stupidly pretty face. You try not to stiffen when his hands rest on the curves of your hips, but by the soft chuckle you hear next to your ear, you know he noticed.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just me.” Jude teases but a hint of sincerity laced his voice, his face far too close to yours as he does so, sending shivers crawling up your spine.

You refuse to look at him as you speak, “I am not.”

“Sure you aren’t.” He laughs, spinning you around. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you come face to face with him.

You find yourself at a loss for words, every rebuttal seemed to be caught in your throat. All you could get out was a strangled cough. Jude finds great pleasure in your loss for words, because a smirk adorned his face when you didn’t speak.

“Exactly.” He continues smugly, which you don’t even roll your eyes at for once. You just let out a heavy breath and look away, too at a loss for words to even function properly.

Jude doesn’t comment on this, just sways along with you to the music, his fingers pressing into your hips all the while, like you’d leave him at any given moment. But you don’t, you stay there until your feet physically couldn’t take it anymore.

And when you finally had enough, the man was decent enough to help you back to your seclusion corner for a rest. But even though you’d stayed there silently, he stood beside you with a small content smile on his face.

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[judeswhore]

this is what it feels like

summary: jude just can’t stop kissing you

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: stupid fluff + it’s short but like yeah

notes: you can find my masterlist here. this is a longer version of this ask bc it made me all silly and weak

“could kiss you forever.” jude mumbled, humming softly against your lips as he pushed yet another light kiss to the corner of your mouth. it was a perfect match for the one he’d pressed to the other side only seconds before, your boyfriend seemingly on a mission to love on every part of your face.

“hmm, surely that would get boring.” you teased and let your thumb brush along the edge of his jaw before curling your hand around the back of his neck in an attempt to pull him a little closer. you were already glued to his body, the both of you turned onto your sides, your leg hooked comfortably over jude’s hip so he could wrap an arm around your back and use his hand to keep you firmly pressed against his chest. it was a soothing position, one that had made your kissing lazy and languid almost immediately, both of you on the verge of falling asleep and yet unwilling to pull away.

jude ran his hand gently up and down your spine, his palm tucked under your shirt and pressed warm against your bare skin. the gesture was calming, relaxing in a way that had you pliant in his arms, brain a lump of mush that could only focus on the heat of his fingers and the tenderness of his lips. you’d forgotten how long he’d been kissing you, how long it had been since you’d gotten into bed with every intention of actually going to sleep. you’d wanted one kiss, a quick peck to say goodnight but that wasn’t enough for jude and before you knew it he had you pressed against him and was kissing you breathless.

now, he made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. “s’not possible.” he settled his mouth a little more firmly against yours, effectively cutting off your little huff of amusement. his movements were slow, lips and tongue swiping over yours so lovingly it left you feeling dizzy and light headed. there was a sort of weightlessness that came with kissing jude, a feeling that, if he wasn’t holding you, would have you floating away. his lips stole all your worries with one swipe and left you blissfully empty, only able to think about him.

the rain pattered against the windows and jude kissed you. he rubbed a slow path up and down your spine, up between your shoulder blades and down to the curve of your ass, back up and repeated until you were sure he must have burned a mark into your skin. you tipped your head, opened your mouth a little more and swallowed the happy moan he let out when your tongue met his again. the tips of your nails grazed gently over the back of his head before you lowered them and scratched his neck, content with staying like this forever. you knew the kisses would taper off at some point, knew jude would start to grow sleepy, his mouth tripping messily over yours until he gave you one last peck and tucked his face away into your neck.

the hand on your back travelled a little lower on the next pass, brushed down to your ass which he gave a soft and somewhat playful tap to get your attention. “turn the lamp off.” he told you between the kiss, words muffled because you were still pressed so close together. you were nodding, trying to shift away and reach behind you for the little switch but jude’s mouth was still attached to yours, his tongue still brushing into your mouth with absolutely no intention of stopping.

you gave a light laugh, one that he swallowed with yet another kiss and he followed as you half rolled onto your back, chased you for more kisses because he couldn’t stomach even a seconds break. he caught your jaw with his hand, palm spanning your face so he could keep you in place and litter playful pecks around your lips because you were giggling too much for him to kiss you properly. the noise had he own smile growing, so big his attempts at kisses were just messy presses of his mouth to your skin.

“jude,” you puffed out with a laugh, nose crinkling because the stubble on his chin and jaw was tickling you. your hand rose between your bodies and you pressed a firm but gentle palm to his forehead then pushed. “y’have to actually let me go to turn it off.”

“m’sure you could just wave your arm around and knock it.” he whined a little and tried to dodge your hand but you managed to keep him away for a few seconds. you ignored his over dramatic frown and the way he purposefully butted his head into your hand and managed to twist a little to reach the lamp switch with your free hand.

you’d barely even flipped the switch when jude was knocking your hand off of his head, his thumb and fingers finding your chin so he could pull your face back to his. the grin he was wearing was flirty and annoying but so stupidly pretty your heart skittered. he nudged the tip of your nose with his before dipping his head, going back to kissing you like nothing had happened. the heavy thumps of your heart didn’t go away, your body feeling hot and tingly with giddy love at how eager and needy jude was to show you his love.

the bedroom now bathed in darkness, jude started to settle down over you, shifting on the mattress so he could lay you comfortably on your back and lower himself on top of you. the weight of him had you sighing happily, arms winding around his neck as he pressed his forearms down beside your head, caged you in in a way that made you feel safe and secure. the duvet was twisted a little around your bodies but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too caught up in how he brushed his tongue back into your mouth, moaned low in his throat when you licked into his.

silence wrapped around you for the next few minutes, broken only by soft moans and panted breaths, the gentle taps of rain on the windows. jude finally gave you a few moments to catch your breath properly, his forehead pressed to your temple as he shuddered above you, the soft scratch of your nails over the back of his neck making his eyes feel heavy. the palm of your hand smoothed along his shoulders and back, copied his moments from earlier and you quirked a quick smile.

“y’getting bored yet?” you asked, voice lilting playfully and he answered with a quick scoff, shifting to peer down at you through dark eyes.

“never.”

[hiddenlife-manager]

Jude Bellingham x Fem Reader

cw… bdsm, caning implied, consent, handcuffs, restraints, blood, wrist pain, a lot of pain, doggy, slightly edited, bruises, etc

notebook… Yall college has been nothing but fucking awful. So yeah I disappeared. Hopefully next semester is better, ALSO I am starting a book. I want to write a romance vampire novel with adventure. (This is totally gonna take me five ish years with this fuck ass schedule of mine.)

Your hands slipped consistently off the wooden board, your knees cushioned by the mattress below. The comforts for your knees meant nothing, your heart beating each pump being loud within your ears. Your ass covered in red streaks, dark spots slowly spreading around. Your body shivered as if it was the coldest day of the entire year; funnily enough, your body was warm, so warm you were dripping down your own legs.

“Had enough?” A deep voice from behind whispered beside your ear; it was strong, loud enough to overshadow your own heart. Your mouth covered by your own panties, drool dribbling down your chin. The lacy fabric bought for this special night is no longer where it was supposed to be. Your wrists were burning, the metal no longer soothing amongst the skin. Your makeup smeared all over your face, your lipstick no longer perfectly aligned around those two lips.

“Mhm.” You weakly attempted to speak, your jaw being locked in place. The pain forced your teeth to clench so tightly the gag did nothing to stop you from talking; it was your jaw. Your hands continuously attempting to grab onto the wooden headboard, no use; the wetness on them causing your wrist to lose grip and hurt your wrist over and over.

“I doubt it; you did this to yourself.” His beautiful two-toned lips pressed right at your temple. Your appearance did not display your true enjoyment. Jude was your lover after all; he would never harm you if you did not want this. It all started because he was curious; you joined him on this journey, and here you were. On your knees, wrist stinging, ass covered in bruises, most importantly dripping wet.

“You want me to fuck you?” His hand raised to your hair and pulled it back. Your face looking rougher than before. “Touch your clit like you want? Just beg, baby.”

“Mhm.” He smirked at the desperate whine. He was wearing only a button-down and dress pants. He let go of your head, forcing your head to drop down at such movements. He made you look at him, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at his every move. His hand pushing against the sleeves and folding them over. One by one, his large hands removed a button from his dress shirt. Only a few were left before he moved to his dress pants.

“You worship me so well, baby.” His lips raised to a smirk, and he pushed your head away. He climbed onto the bed; there his hand touched your bruised ass. “Your poor ass, I’ll take good care of you.” You heard him lowering his boxers from behind you. In minutes you felt his cock prodding at your cheeks. His hand reached for your hair; he gripped it, wrapping it in his hand. Forcing your head back.

“Good girl.” His other hand touched your warm, shivering body, gripped at your waist; he loved every mark on you, the one he made on you, and the scars you brought before you two ever met your beautiful marks. You called them blemishes; he would never. “You don’t deserve prep.”

“MHM!” A cry erupted; your body weakly attempted to grab at the board, the sweat causing them to slip. You felt it, hips being rocked in and out of you. This is all you wanted: you needed him, to be close to him. Perhaps a few would call this brutal or disgusting. You paid no mind to other opinions. Jude was your world, and making him happy and yourself happy is all that matters.

His hand raised, slapping at your left ass cheek, his other hand still holding your hair, forcing your head back. His cock going into your dipping wet cunt, from all the pain inflicted on your body, you were needy. Desperate for him to finally fill you up with what you desired, he enjoyed this foreplay. He loved it; you rarely ever used the safe word. He knew pain made you needy, and watching you in pain created a monster from within.

“So tight,” he groaned, “taking me so well.” His hand that slapped your ass caressing the bruises, even during these harsh sexual encounters, you felt the tender touches he allowed linger. You could only imagine the face of pleasure he currently held. The way his beautiful brown skin complimented yours. The way his dress shirt is messed up, your eyes were shut, creating an image in your mind.

It took several thrusts into your cunt to cause the feeling to slowly become unbearable to ignore. It tingled from within. Causing you to moan into your panties. His thighs hitting your bruised ass caused pleasure and pain. You eventually managed to grab at the headboard, your hair still being in his grip.

“Getting louder and tighter, baby.” You tried to nod, but his hand gripped your hair tighter, preventing you from nodding. His thrust was clean and precise; it hit the right spot every single time. The feeling of an impending orgasm no longer allowed you to ignore it. You wanted to cum; you craved his touch. You knew he was having an ego boost, not just from just handling you so well but from his successes. He was extremely successful, scoring goals in every single match—an impressive feat for a midfielder.

“You want to cum?” There was a hint of playfulness in his tone. He knew you wanted to cum, and he had no intention of stopping you. He held a plan to fuck you even after you cum. He was close; that was not something he could deny. He wasn’t as close as you thought. “I will allow you to cum; all you have to do is spit those panties out and beg.”

In a matter of seconds, you tried to spit the panties out; unfortunately, it wasn’t easy. It slipped out of your mouth with more drool than anything. “Please, Jude, let me cum. I’ve been good!”

“Good girl.” He gripped your hair even tighter; finally, he could hear your gasps and moans without the panties in your mouth. He wanted to hear you cry out in pleasure when you cum. “Go ahead.” He thrust harder than before; his free hand, no longer on your cheek, snaked down to your clit. His long and skinny fingers rubbing circles with the right pace.

“Shit.” Your cunt clenched on him tightly, and your legs shook with fury. Your hands lost grip once more on the headboard, and with his permission, he let go of your hair. Your head dropped, followed by his hands gripping at your waist and quickening the pace, thrusting with purpose. You cried out in pleasure, the orgasm washing through you; immediately you realized he wasn’t stopping. “Too much!”

“You asked to cum, baby; you made the choice.” Your ears picked up the teasing tone. You could not stop the shaking, the pain of being overstimulated. He did not stop his two fingers rubbing at your clit. He ignored your pleas; he was chasing the high he deserved. He pleased you, and it was your turn to treat him. “Ugh! Fucking close!”

You tried hard to pull away, but each time was futile; his body thrust deeper each time, and he would press just a little harder on your clit at your attempts. Your tears quicken down your face, your wrist becoming almost naked by the rubbing. You were no longer grabbing onto anything, causing your wrist to ache in pain. His thighs began to tense, his thrust kept at the pace, not slowing down for a second.

“So fucking good!” He smirked at how he was close. Then there it was, the feeling of being full. You were about to orgasm once more, and you knew this one had something else. You cried louder, begging him to slow down; he could care less. Then it happened; he thrust so deep he felt you clench harder than before, and a grunt left his lips. His head was thrown back, and that was it. Your body burst in pleasure, and the sheets below you were covered by your own sweet liquids. Your legs shook so much you no longer supported your knees, and you fell down, his cock slipping out.

“How pathetic; you ruined our sheets.” He groaned in pleasure, his cock dripping his cum; your cunt was full already. He climbed over you gently and removed the key from his neck and unlocked your wrist. He would never let you lie there exhausted and your wrist aching. He loved you too much.

[judesmoonbeauty]

𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕁𝕒𝕫𝕫𝕒'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪: ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟞 + 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

Jude: Haven’t forgotten yer promise, have ya?

The muttered words spilled from his lips with a thin smile, and my skin burned hot.

Kate: If anything happens, I’ll call your name, right?

Jude: Not that. The one ya brought up.

(Oh…..)

[Flashback]

Kate: Jude…..I promise you.

Kate: I will never die before you.

[Flashback]

—It was a heartfelt promise I made to Jude.

Kate: I definitely won’t die.

Kate: If I break my promise, you can come after me in hell and get revenge.

Looking straight into Jude’s eyes, I tell him my honest feelings.

Jude: Kinda damned masochist are ya, wantin’ to be tortured after ya die. Are ya some perv with weird tastes?

Kate: I’m not a masochist or a pervert with weird tastes, but a woman who doesn’t break her promises.

Lit. a woman/man who doesn’t have two words. This is an old proverb Kate is using.

Jude: Don’t want yer naive hogwash ‘bout bein’ in love. But…..

Jude: Yer bein’ gutsy, ain’t so bad after all.

Kate: ……..

The words he spoke so bluntly were also exuding something very similar to kindness.

(Even though he pushes me away, he still worries about my life.)

That's the kind of person Jude is.

(I had no idea what he was thinking before, but...)

Now, I have come to understand so much more about the heart that hides behind his cruel and ruthless behavior.

(So much so, that I find it endearing….)

My heart tightens as I think of Jude.

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What?

(What I’m about to say, will likely torment him again.)

(However—)

Kate: You said that love’s a curse, right?

Kate: So, what I'm about to tell you, may become a curse to you.

Kate: It might just end up being something that torments you.

—Curses and love are one in the same.

Everything in this life is like a thorn pricking and causing him pain.

Kate: I understand that—

Jude: If ya get it th—

Kate: But still…

Interrupting him, I grabbed Jude by his hand to keep him connected.

Kate: I don’t want you to give up either.

Kate: I want you to keep shouting at the moon forever.

My voice trembles with my selfish thoughts.

(Here it goes….)

Kate: Even if it pains you.

Jude: ………..

As I stared at him with unwavering determination, Jude's gaze took on a sharp sword-like glint.

Jude: D’ya even know what yer sayin’?

Kate: Of course I do.

Kate: I love you.

Kate: …..Because really, all I can think of is you.

I can confidently say that the thing that shines brightest in my heart, is my feelings for Jude.

(I will do whatever it takes to keep you in this world.)

Jude: …..Are ya daft?

Kate: I don’t care if I’m daft or not. So, just…..

Ellis’ Voice: Jude, Kate.

(Oh….)

Jude: ……Yeah, comin’.

Jude takes his hand off the wall, and shakes my hand away.

The figure that had covered the moonlight disappeared, and feeling heartbroken and lost, I quietly grasp my hands.

The specified meeting place was the laboratory.

Stepping into the dark room with Jude and Ellis, a hand stops me abruptly—

Kate: ……!

I restrained my voice that tried to rise.

All I could see was a blood soaked man sitting in a chair.

Ellis moved closer and gently touched his neck.

Ellis: …..There’s no pulse.

Jude: It’s that git……

Kate: Do you recognize him?

Jude: He’s the crime exec I’m s’pposed to meet today.

(What—)

Ellis: Someone killed the man you were supposed to meet up with?

Jude: …..Tch, s’that’s their play.

At that moment, the sound of multiple footsteps was heard from behind.

???: Don’t move, hands in the air….!

We were immediately surrounded by armed men.

The man at the front — with his shining, blond slicked-back hair, and muscular physique, stepped forward before us.

Then with his hands clasped behind his back, he spoke loudly.

Senior Officer Gilbert: We are the British Army. I am Senior British Army officer, Gilbert Murphy.

He is likely a general or a field officer during this time period, but I chose to title him Senior Officer since it's not specified.

Senior Officer Gilbert: You are charged of conspiring with a criminal organization to develop and smuggle missiles.

Senior Officer Gilbert: Jude Jazza, member of Her Majesty the Queen’s private army, Crown, you are hereby under arrest.

Jude: ………..

The military officer lifts his chin slightly, and several soldiers detain Jude.

(Jude!)

As I was about to run over, Jude's sharp gaze stopped me.

Jude: ………

Then he silently mouthed with his lips, “keep quiet.”

Ellis: Jude.

Jude: Ellis, don’t do nothin’.

Jude then stops Ellis, who is about to use his cursed ability.

Allowing himself to be tied up, as Ellis and I watch helplessly.

Kate: Why the British Army?!

Ellis: …..He was probably set-up.

Ellis spoke in a hushed voice.

(A setup…..?)

We were acting on the basis that the crime group was working with the British Army.

However, the British officer named Gilbert, said that it’s Jude and the criminal group who are conspiring to commit crimes.

Additionally, there’s the executive of the syndicate dying in front of us.

(And there’s something else that bothers me.)

The existence of Crown is a top secret that only a few people know about.

And yet, this British military officer just mentioned Crown.

(So, besides the syndicate and the British Army, a third party is call the shots?)

My heart makes a terrible sound.

(……Calm down. Think, who definitely knows of Crown’s existence?)

Her Majesty, Crown, me, as the Fairytale Keeper, and—

What came to me was a memory from when I had just become the fairytale keeper.

[Flashback]

Kate: Victor, who are the Privy Council?

I was being shown some of the reports that had been written by Crown members up to that date.

I found an account that caught my attention and asked Victor about it….

Victor: The official name is 'Her Majesty's Most Honorable Privy Council.'

Victor: Well, in short, they’re the higher-ups of the court, who have the privilege to give advice to Her Majesty.

Kate: They’re aware of Crown’s existence…..Does that mean they’re allies of Crown?

That’s when Victor made a complicated expression.

Victor: In a sense, we are essentially in a cooperative relationship, as we both serve Her Majesty.

Victor: However, the Privy Council is not pleased with the Crown. Kate, you should be wary of them.

[Flashback Ends]

(Seriously—)

Just as I held my breath, I heard footsteps...

Privy Councilman: You’ve captured Jude Jazza……Haha, well done!

A man in a suit appeared before us.

Ellis: That badge on his chest...it's the Privy Council’s.

(That man’s from the Privy Council......)

Jude: The hell’s a big wig from the palace doin’ in a place like this?

Privy Councilman: I discovered a certain fact related to your research.

Privy Councilman: That you Crown people are going to start a war against Britain’s allies.

Jude: …………

Privy Councilman: And then you’ll sell them the weapons that you’ve researched and developed yourself…..isn’t it an outrageous ploy?

Privy Councilman: It’s a most despicable act of treason, not only against Her Majesty the Queen, but against the British people here in England.

Although it was a brief, I have spent a lot of time with Crown on a daily basis, so it didn’t take me long to grasp the situation.

(The criminal group and Britain did make contact.)

In that sense, Nica’s information wasn’t wrong.

However, the contact wasn’t for the purpose of working together.

(It was to frame Jude.)

This whole scheme was planned and orchestrated by the Privy Council.

All so the Privy Council can destroy the Crown—

Jude's research is the perfect bomb to expose Crown as an evil entity and crush it on its head, by winning over public sentiment.

The moment that thought occurred to me.…..my hands started shaking with frustration.

(I can’t believe the desire to fulfill his promise to his sister is being treated like this….)

(What should I do?)

(What can I do in this situation….)

Senior Officer Gilbert: What about this other man? I see that he's on the Crown register.

Privy Councilman: Speak to him as a suspect. However, don’t use violence or do anything that could put us at a disadvantage.

Privy Councilman: Jude Jazza fell into my hands.

Privy Councilman: Crown will soon be forced to dismantle any way.

Privy Councilman: Ohhh……it’s repulsive that these wicked deviants serve Her Majesty!

(…...Just like I thought. The Pricy Council wants to dissolve Crown.)

(I have to do something.)

However, one wrong move and it could lead to Crown’s demise.

As I frantically racked my brains trying to think of a way to resolve this situation...

Senior Officer Gilbert: Who is this girl?

An intimidating gaze was directed at me—

A Note Scribbled Next to A Document

…..Kate likes me. Whadda rotten joke. Ain’t her fault that she feels that way. It’s my fault fer thinkin’ there was nothin’ wrong with lettin’ her in. I was complicit, just as guilty — After this, I'm goin' to hell. Doesn’t suit a carefree princess at all. …..Ain’t the least bit funny. 𝒥𝓊𝒹ℯ 𝒥𝒶𝓏𝓏𝒶

[Main Story Master List] [Chapter 17]

Tag list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway

T/L Note: For the line in the letter, "I was complicit, just as guilty — After this, I'm going' to hell." This line does not include any personal pronouns and/or possessive particles. It literally translates like this: "Complicit/Accomplice, equal guilt.....-after this, going to hell". So, I am assuming based on context that Jude is referring to himself. However, Jude could also be referring Kate and her outcome due to loving him.

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

LATE NIGHT, SAFE HANDS.

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: just the horrible title. (Also, English is not my first language!)

• summary: Jude Bellingham’s quiet night is interrupted when his girlfriend arrives home drunk after a night out. Amid playful chaos, he faces the ultimate challenge: getting her to finally sleep, revealing the warmth and humor of their relationship.

PART 2: EARLY MORNING, SWEET KISSES

His girlfriend had gone out with her group of friends tonight. She´d had been looking forward to it all week. They had been together for about eight months, and things between them felt easy, natural, despite their busy lives. Jude was head over heels for her, and though they weren´t living together yet, they spend a lot of time at each other´s places. He trusted her completly, however he couldn´t help the subtle flicker of concern that burned in his chest.

Earlier that evening, she had sent him a picture of her outfit for the night, teasing him with a playful "Rate it out of 10." He remembered grinning at the sight―she looked stunning in that red dress that left Jude staring at his phone for way longer tham he´d like to admit. His reply was a teasing, "Solid 11. You´re gonna have every guy at that club staring at you. Take care, yeah?"

She´d reply with a string of laughing emojis and a lot of hearts of different colors and added, "Promise! Love ya."

Hours passed, and with her occasional messages about how much fun she was having and how the club had "grwat music bt terriblw cocktailss" and a few blurred slefies, Jude couldn´t help but laugh before texting her to be careful, trying not to admit that maybe he was a little bit unease.

Around 1:30 a.m, the messages and slurred audios from her had started to slow down, but he wasn´t too worried. He figured she was just caught up in the fun, dancing with her friends and enjoying the night. After all, it was still early. Still, he checked his phone more frequently, feeling a little restless as the minutes ticked by without a response.

"Everything okay?" he´d sent about an hour ago, hoping for an answer.

Nothing.

Jude sighed, staring at the screen for a moment before tossing the phone back onto the couch beside him. He told himself not to worry. She was probably, no, she was definitely fine, just lost in the music, and her phone was somewhere deep in her bag. But a small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him otherwise.

He tried not to be that boyfriend. You know, the one who texts every five minutes to check up on her. But as the clock ticked closer to 3 a.m. and still no word from her, his foot started tapping nervously against the wooden floor. He shot her another text, "You good? Getting kinda late..." Jude stared at the screen, waiting for those familiar typing dots to appear, but after two minutes of nothing, he sighed. He set his phone down, leaning back against the cushions, trying to keep his mind out of it.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

By the time it hit twenty, Jude was seriously considering calling her. Just to check, he told himself. He had refreshed the chat multiple times but there was no response. He unlocked his phone and was about to hit her name when the sound of the doorbell cut through the quiet.

Frowning, Jude stood up, wondering who could be visiting at this time of night. As he approached the door, a series of knocks came, maybe a little frantic. His heart race just a little. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour?

He then swung the door open and froze.

There she was, standing in front of him, her makeup smudged, her hair slightly tousled, and that same red dress clinging maybe a little bit higher than when she went out. But what really stood out was the way she was standing, as if she was going to fall at any minute, with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed―whether from the cold air or the alcohol, Jude wasn´t sure.

But the smile she gave him? Bright as ever.

"Juuuuude!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up as if she´d just seen him for the first time in weeks.

He couldn´t help but grin at the sight, feeling the relief flood through him. She just threw herself into his arms before he had a chance to react. He caught her easily, wraping his arms around her waist as she giggled into his chest.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, trying to hold back a laugh of his own. "You alright?"

She pulled back slightly, swaying on her feet as she looked up to him. "Of course I am. Why wouldn´t I be?" Her words slurred together, and she had to repeat the question a few times.

"You´re plastered," he stated plainly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Your plastered," she tried to imitate him. "Am not," she protested, though the wobble in her stance told him otherwise. She tried to step forward, but Jude quickly caught her before she could topple over.

"Please tell me you didn´t come walking all the way here like this," he asked, closing the door behind them with one hand, the other firmly around her waist.

She gave him a pout. "Wanted to see you."

“Yeah, I figured that much.” He chuckled, guiding her over to the leather couch. “Come on, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

She let him guide her but promptly flopped onto the couch with dramatic flair, kicking off her heels and curling her legs beneath her. She looked at him, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Jude?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, love?”

“I'm hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to make you something?”

“Nooo...” She shook her head, grinning mischievously. “I wanna cook.”

Jude immediately burst out laughing, kneeling beside the couch as he looked at her incredulously. “Babe, you’re drunk. You can’t even stand up properly, let alone cook.”

She squinted at him, clearly not appreciating his lack of faith. “I can cook. I make the best... sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches? That’s the bar we’re setting?”

She nodded eagerly, but before he could protest further, she was already struggling to stand, making a beeline for the kitchen. Jude quickly jumped up to intercept her, catching her around the waist before she could get too far.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, pulling her back toward him. “You are not cooking in this state.”

She notice how warm he was. “Jude…”

He laughed, tightening his grip around her. “Nope. Not happening. You’re going to hurt yourself or burn the kitchen down.”

“That is not true.”

“I’ve seen you try to use a toaster when you’re half-asleep. I don’t need you burning down my kitchen with us inside.”

With a huff, she slumped against him, clearly defeated but still playful. She tilted her head back to look at him, her frown returning. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m a lot of fun,” he corrected, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll see how fun I am tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover,” he teased. “Now, how about we get you some water and you go to bed, yeah?”

“I don’t want water,” she mumbled playfully, leaning her head onto his shoulder and putting her hand on his back. “I want… you.”

Jude felt his heart do a little flip at her words, though he tried to play it cool. “Yeah, well, you can have me tomorrow after you drink some water.”

He got up and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and bringing it back to her. She was now sprawled across the couch, one leg dangling off the side as she stared up at the ceiling, mumbling something incoherent.

“Here,” Jude said, sitting her up gently and handing her the glass.

She took it begrudgingly, sipping at it like a child forced to take medicine. “I didn’t want this,” she muttered.

“I know,” Jude said, rubbing her back soothingly. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

After a few sips, she set the glass down and looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes. “You’re so good to me,” she said softly, her voice suddenly tender.

Jude smiled, feeling his chest tighten in that familiar way it did whenever she said something sweet, even in her drunken state. “Of course I am. Someone’s gotta take care of you when you decide to get hammered.”

“Jude, I’ve already told you that I’m not—,”

“Alright, alright,” he said defeated. Then, after making sure that she had drunk all the water, he lifted her as if she was nothing and carried her to his room.

The softness of the mattress and the sheets made her yawn. As Jude carefully wiped off her makeup and gave her some of his clothes, she couldn’t help to smile, adoring his features. When one of his hands brushed where her ribs where, she giggled at the motion, leaning her head against his chest. “You’re my favorite person,” she whispered.

His heart melted. “And you’re mine,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

They stayed like that for a while, she snuggled up against him as Jude absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her into a more peaceful state. Her tipsy giggles slowly faded, replaced by soft, sleepy breaths.

“You okay now?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm,” she hummed, half asleep against him.

Jude looked down at her, his chest swelling with affection. Drunk or not, she always managed to make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. And despite her occasional recklessness, he wouldn’t trade moments like this for anything.

[dolliethv]

Double Fantasy.

Summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, I'm sorry!! Maybe Halloween isn't just about parties and going from house to house asking for trick or treat, right? I hope you enjoy this. Happy October xoxo!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 2,7k

Halloween had arrived on the streets of Madrid. You and Jude were leaving the party that his teammate, Trent Alexander-Arnold, had organized for the occasion. Holding hands, you walked toward the car, exchanging knowing glances and soft laughter that echoed in the night air.

You took the wheel because Jude didn’t know how to drive. Your determined and calm gaze was a sharp contrast to the weather that had erupted without warning. Raindrops fell as if the sky was venting after a long, exhausting night, making the road ahead almost invisible.

"I've to stop" you say softly but firmly, looking for a safe place to park. Jude, sitting in the passenger seat, watched you, his gaze never leaving you for a second.

He had noticed the tension all through the party: the accidental touches, the glances held a little too long, the slight tremble in your lips every time you teased him with a veiled provocation. Now, alone in the car, the storm outside only added a dramatic touch to what was coming.

The sound of rain battered the car, creating a perfect backdrop for the tension brewing inside the Mercedes. You parked on the side of the road, the rain forming a barrier between you and the outside world. The air inside the car grew denser, charged with something neither of you was ready to name yet. You decided to play The Weeknd's music on Spotify and turned on the colored LED lights of the Mercedes Benz.

Jude, dressed in his Spiderman costume that barely hid his imposing physique, looked at you with a mix of audacity and desire. His broad shoulders and strong arms seemed even more prominent under the tight suit, marking every muscle and line of his body. There was something about the way the fabric clung to his crotch, making his size impossible to hide. The contrast between Jude's tall, muscular body and your delicate figure in your Gogo Yubari costume only fueled the silent fire that was starting to burn.

"You know," he starts, his voice hoarse and low, "I have a fantasy... no, a double fantasy," he adds with a sly smile, letting the tension in his words hang in the air.

You look at him with those big, bright eyes, fully aware of what Jude is implying but pretending an innocence you know drives him crazy.

"Double fantasy?" you repeat, tilting your head slightly, your tone sweet and curious, as you shift your legs as if unaware of what's about to unfold.

Jude smiles, that egocentric grin of his when he knows he has control of the situation. Although, at that moment, he’s not so sure if he’s the one in charge.

"Yeah, babe," he says in a low, provocative voice. "I've thought a lot about doing it in a car..." He pauses, letting the words linger for a second. "And also while dressed up like this. Something I can't get out of my head."

You let out a soft, tempting giggle. Without changing your innocent expression, you slip off your shoes and stretch a leg, deliberately brushing against Jude's crotch with your foot covered in white stockings, as if you’re just getting comfortable.

"And what’s so special about that fantasy?" you ask with that mix of sweetness and innocence that you know drives him wild, as you fold one leg toward your chest. Your eyes shine with curiosity, but there’s a little spark behind them, suggesting that you’re enjoying the game as much as he is.

Jude swallows hard, feeling how his body instantly reacts to the touch of your foot. The tight fabric of the Spiderman costume leaves little room to hide his growing excitement, and he knows it.

"The special thing is...," he says in a deeper voice, "you always do it better than I imagine. You know exactly what to do to provoke me."

You raise an eyebrow, still looking at him with those eyes that pretend to know nothing.

"Provoke you?" you repeat playfully, moving your foot a little more, increasing the pressure on his crotch. "I don't know what you mean, Jude..." you continue with a sweet smile, which contrasts with the boldness of your actions.

Jude lets out a low, dark laugh, gritting his teeth, struggling to maintain control. His erection is becoming more and more evident, clearly outlined under the tight fabric of his costume, and he can't take his eyes off you. Especially when you lean forward, supposedly looking for something in the car's glove compartment.

"My phone is dead... I think I left a charger here," you murmur innocently, kneeling on the seat. The short skirt rides up dangerously, revealing your black underwear that barely covers what’s necessary.

Jude holds his breath. From his angle, he can clearly see the small black garment tracing the curve of your behind, and the throbbing in his crotch intensifies to the point of becoming unbearable. The fabric of his costume can no longer hide the obvious.

"Shit..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire, as his eyes lower to your backside, clearly seeing your vulva outlined through the tight underwear. Jude grits his teeth, feeling the blood rush faster to his crotch, and at any moment, he might explode.

You keep pretending to search for something in the glove compartment but turn your head towards him with that innocent expression that drives him crazy, letting your small hands, adorned with sharp acrylic nails, rest on his large, strong thighs. The touch is light but enough to ignite everything inside him.

"Provoke you?" you repeat playfully as you trace soft lines with your nails over his thighs. "I don't know what you're talking about..." you add in a sweet tone, though your gaze says otherwise.

Jude loses control; you think you're dominating him, but he grabs you by the nape, pulling you onto his lap. He immobilizes you with one hand and nearly rips your shirt off, exposing your skin. His eyes lock onto your pink, excited nipples.

"The skirt stays," he commands with authority.

Your hips move impulsively, grinding against him, making both of you moan with desire. Jude lets out a deep, clear groan as he grabs your hair and whispers against your ear:

"Is this what you wanted? To know how hard you make me, hmm?"

You, in an attempt to get up obviously don't manage it because of the force that Jude puts on your body, you only manage to put your knees between Jude's legs raising yourself slightly upwards making your tits be at the height of the dark skinned boy's face.

"Oh princess you really don't want to do that" Jude said hitting your ass hard, pulling down your wet underwear and finally bringing his big fingers to your wet pussy, caressing it and playing with your sanity, and when you were about to claim Jude put two fingers in making you moan in such a sweet way... Jude, while sucking your tits, began to fuck you with two of his fingers increasing the speed little by little, making you hear how his big hand hit your ass.

From time to time he would completely take his fingers out of you and with the tips of his fingers he would move in circles, pressing your folds and finding your clitoris until your legs begin to tremble and then he would put them back in. He pauses briefly just to look at your face, but his fingers don't stop. It's something so sexy that Jude swore his cock might explode.

You let out a gasp and arch your body under his touch. You open your mouth and let out a gasp as his fingers once again begin to abuse your spot, you begin to cry out from the overstimulation as his mouth finds yours again, swallowing every sound you make at his touch.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so small between my fingers,” he whispers huskily against your lips, pulling his fingers out of you, repeatedly hitting your cunt that was on the verge of climax. You whimper and sit on your knees awkwardly trying to compose yourself from everything that just happened. When you look up again you find that Jude has pulled his suit down to his hips revealing his bare chest and fat cock, he takes you by the arms and sits you back down on his lap.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna regret being such a bitch to me, you're gonna regret provoking me so badly and I'm not gonna stop until you're filled with my cum and you're left voiceless"

Jude just hummed, instead of bringing their lips together, he opened your mouth with his hand holding your jaw so he could spit, making it drip slowly and spill inside your lips.

It was as dirty and degrading as it looked, but it was enough to push you over the edge.

Your hips bucked a few times as his big throbbing cock brushed against your aroused pussy.

“Always so messy,” Jude said, “always soaking everything.”

“Please! Fuck! Stop!” you cried out desperately, your voice trembling.

You tried to push him away, your body now too sensitive to handle the situation, but it was futile; all your strength had been spent, leaving you completely at Bellingham’s mercy.

“You wanted to cum, didn’t you? Now you will do this as many times as I see fit."

In one swift motion, he flipped you over, laying you down on the reclined seat, one hand on your waist and the other around his own member. Jude lined himself up with your entrance, beginning to playfully rub his tip against your clit.

You almost scuttled away from him, barely crawling back, silent pleas escaping your lips.

"Jude, no, I don't—" you breathed out, turning your head to look at the dark-skinned boy with a distressed expression. "I can't."

Jude had to try his best to suppress a smile.

"Tired?" he asked, attempting to sound warm and comforting. "Or sensitive?"

You nodded slowly, hesitantly, your lips pouting slightly, confirming both options.

"Such a selfish baby." Almost laughing, Jude hummed, caressing your waist in a calm manner. “Just thinking about your own pleasure.”

You stopped moving when you realized that the more you did, the tighter Jude’s grip became.

“You’re going to shut up,” he said through gritted teeth as he thrust in a little. “And you’re going to take what I’m giving you.”

You sighed immediately, your body tensing, but relaxing as soon as Jude moved closer to you, slowly, careful not to hurt you.

Meanwhile, he wanted nothing more than to pound into you again and again. Your warmth was addictively enticing.

It wasn’t until he filled you completely that your gasps turned into moans, making Jude wonder how long it would take to turn your “No” into “Yes.”

Waiting for you to adjust and get comfortable around him felt like his greatest agony. His blood was hot, his skin was sweating, and his jaw ached from the force he exerted in squeezing you.

His breathing was deep and ragged, the excitement finally cutting his patience in half. The heat and wetness around him was so pleasantly stifling that it made him dizzy with lust.

The second he started to pull back, you moaned wantonly, a string of “Please’s” spilling out of your mouth.

The dark-skinned boy pushed even harder, moving his hips back and forth experimentally and confirming with each movement that you weren’t hurt, just overstimulated. He had never experienced it himself, but it made sense that after jerking you off, he would stop you from cumming.

Right after he gave his first real thrust— not too fast, but deeper than before, letting out a third of his cock before pushing back in again. You gripped Jude’s back with all your might, clawing at him and hurting his back a little in the process.

"Fuck! That's too much!" you gasped.

That only encouraged Jude to move his hips harder. Once, twice, three times, deep moans and whimpers escaping your lips.

"Then learn not to tease me," he growled. He kept thrusting in and out, creating a steady rhythm that brought him one step closer to his release. This was too much for you because the fucking Jude Bellingham knew how to fuck. He knew how to hit that spot, and that's exactly what he was doing right now. Hitting your spot for so long made you more sensitive than usual.

"There, baby? That's where you like it?" he asked, increasing the speed wildly. He brought a hand to your belly as he leaned down to your ear, whispering through clenched teeth, "You feel it, babe? You feel my cock mauling you inside, huh?"

Finally, with a smile on his face, Jude tightened his grip around the back of your throat and stood up straight, using you for support to keep you steady while he rammed into you. Without hesitation, he matched his strength and skill.

“Jude… baby,” moans escaped your lips, and it didn’t take long for Jude to add some of his own as the spasms he felt around his cock were too good to control. “Jude! Ah— mmm!”

“You gonna come all over the car seat, huh?” he growled, finally leaning back to envelop you fully in his arms, muffling his own sounds of pleasure so he could better enjoy yours.

“Come on then. Put on a show for me, babe.”

And as if his wish was a command, he felt spasms against his chest, finally experiencing the sensation through his cock as you squirted, wetting everything in its path. Shit.

Jude didn’t stop, not for a second.

“That’s it, fuck!”

With a bite to your shoulder and a shiver in his hips, Jude released all of his cum inside you, taking it upon himself to empty his entire load into you.

As soon as Jude was done, he shamelessly collapsed on top of you.

Fucking hell.

That was…

You were too tired to think of the right words to describe what it was like.

But in a positive way.

Definitely in a positive way.

You were exhausted.

Really, at the end of it all, you got your candy for Halloween.