mimi

𑣲. welcome to my blog!

american/italian, 20, she/her

𑣲. about my blog!

my reqs are open but i am really busy so i might not write the fic quickly

im looking for moots!

i'll write smut but only if requested

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part 2 of: wrong name

₊⊹ contains: angst, second chances, exes to lovers, emotional conversations, yearning, comfort, forgiveness, happy ending, lots of fluff

₊⊹ summary: after months of trying to move on from a love he never truly let go of, jude finally finds the courage to fight for the person who always felt like home.

there's a difference between missing someone, and building your entire life around pretending you don't. jude learns that the hard way.

it's almost six months after the interview. six months since that phone call. six months since hearing your voice for the first time in nearly a year. everyone assumes the story died after a week. the internet moved on. football moved on. the headlines disappeared beneath transfer rumors and match reports.

but real life isn't like social media. there isn't a switch that suddenly flips. there isn't one perfect morning where you wake up and realize someone no longer lives in your heart.

jude had tried. god, he'd tried. he'd thrown himself into football. into training. into travelling. into interviews. into anything that kept him too busy to think. but somehow, every quiet moment still belonged to you.

he and ashlyn had ended things three weeks earlier. not dramatically. not because of shouting. not because either of them had done something unforgivable. they'd simply reached the truth they'd both been avoiding.

she deserved someone who loved her without hesitation. someone who didn't compare every happy memory to one he'd already lived. someone whose heart wasn't somewhere else.

she'd looked at him across the café table that afternoon. calm. kind. tired. "i don't think i'm competing with another person anymore."

he'd frowned. "what do you mean?"

she'd smiled sadly. "i'm competing with a memory."

he'd looked down at his coffee, unable to argue. because she was right. "i'm sorry." he'd whispered.

she reached across the table anyway, resting her hand over his. "i know you are."

"...you deserve better."

"so do you."

he'd looked up, confused.

she smiled. "you deserve to stop pretending you're over someone when you aren't."

those words followed him home. they stayed with him for days. for weeks. until eventually, they became impossible to ignore.

you don't know any of this. your life has become quieter. steady. you're working. seeing friends. sleeping better. laughing more often. some days, you even go entire afternoons without thinking about him. you count those days as victories. you've stopped checking football scores every weekend. stopped wondering if he's watching the same sunset from another country. stopped opening old photo albums when you couldn't sleep. mostly.

there are still difficult days. birthdays. anniversaries. songs. certain cafes. certain streets. some people leave fingerprints on your entire life.

it's late october when your phone buzzes. a message from an unknown number.

unknown: hi unknown: don't block this straight away unknown: it's jude

your heart immediately forgets how to beat properly. you stare. read it again. then again. another message arrives.

unknown: if you don't want to reply, i understand. unknown: i'd really like to talk to you, properly this time.

you place the phone face down on your kitchen counter. walk away. come back. pick it up. put it down again. you tell yourself not to answer. you answer anyway.

you: what about?

you create his contact and set his name as 'jude(be careful)' right as three dots appear, indicating that he's typing.

jude(be careful): everything i should've said months ago.

you don't agree immediately. it takes another week. another three unread messages. none of them pushy. none of them demanding. just patient. until eventually, you agree to coffee. neutral ground. one hour. that's all.

he's already there when you arrive. sitting outside despite the cold. hands wrapped around a mug that's long since stopped steaming. he stands the second he sees you. you almost don't recognize him. not because he looks different. because he looks lighter, more nervous than you've ever seen him before.

"hi." his voice is quieter than you remember.

"hi."

an awkward silence follows.

he laughs softly. "this was easier in my head."

"i imagine it was."

he smiles. "yeah."

you sit opposite each other. for a few minutes, it's just small talk. work. football. family. safe topics. until finally, he looks down into his coffee.

"i owe you an apology."

you stay quiet, letting him continue.

"not just for the interview... for everything." he rubs the back of his neck. a habit he never managed to break. "i spent so long convincing myself moving on meant never looking back... and then when i finally did," he lets out a slow breath. "i realized i'd never actually stopped."

you watch him carefully. he isn't performing. there are no cameras. no microphones. just the two of you.

"ashlyn and i aren't together anymore." he says gently.

"i know."

his eyebrows lift. "you know?"

you shrug slightly. "people talk."

he nods. "right." another silence, then, "she deserved better than what i could give her." he says. "and i think she knew that before i did."

you nod once. "i'm sorry she got hurt."

"me too."

the cafe grows busier around you. cups clink together. people laugh. someone opens the door every few seconds, letting cold air rush inside. yet somehow, the two of you remain in your own little world.

"do you know what the worst part was?" he asks quietly.

you shake your head.

"i kept catching myself wanting to tell you things." he smiles sadly. "after good matches, after bad ones. when i'd see something funny, when i'd hear a song you'd like." he laughs softly. "i must've picked my phone up about a hundred times."

your chest aches. "why didn't you call?"

he meets your eyes. "because i was the one who let you go." the honesty in his voice almost hurts. "i didn't think it was fair to ask you to wait around while i figured myself out."

you look out of the cafe window, watching leaves blow across the pavement. "i hated you for a while." you admit quietly.

he nods immediately. "i know."

"then i missed you, then i hated missing you."

he smiles sadly. "sounds about right."

"then the interview happened... and somehow," you laugh bitterly. "you made it harder."

he closes his eyes briefly. "i know."

he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. you tense slightly. instead of anything dramatic, he places something small on the table. your old bookmark. the little pressed flower you'd forgotten existed.

your breath catches. "where did you..."

"it fell into one of my books." he says. "found it after we broke up."

you gently pick it up. "you kept it?"

he smiles. "...couldn't throw it away."

you trace your thumb across the faded petals. "i thought i'd lost this."

"guess neither of us was very good at letting go."

another long silence settles. comfortable this time. not awkward. just full. finally, he speaks.

"i'm not here because i'm lonely." he exhales. "or because something else didn't work." then he looks into your eyes softly. "i'm here because i still love you."

the words arrive quietly, without rehearsed speeches, just the truth.

"i've tried not to." he admits. "i really have. but every version of my future somehow ends with you in it."

your eyes sting.

he continues. "if you tell me no today..." he smiles weakly. "...i'll leave you alone. i won't keep showing up... but i couldn't spend the rest of my life wondering what would've happened if i'd just been brave enough to ask."

you stare at him. the boy you'd loved. the man sitting in front of you now. older. wiser. still nervously rubbing the back of his neck. still looking at you like you hung the moon.

"you broke my heart." you whisper.

his eyes immediately fill with guilt. "i know."

"it took me months to put myself back together."

"...i know."

"i don't think i could survive doing it twice."

his voice is barely audible. "i'd never ask you to."

you look down at your hands, at the bookmark resting between your fingers. "i still love you too." you admit.

his head lifts so quickly it almost looks painful. "you do?"

you laugh quietly through the tears forming. "annoyingly."

a small smile appears, careful, hopeful. "...yeah?"

"yeah."

he lets out a breath that sounds like he's been holding it for months. maybe he has.

"but..." you say.

his smile falters slightly.

"if we do this..." you meet his eyes. "...we don't pick up where we left off."

he nods immediately. "okay."

"we start again."

"okay."

"properly."

"okay."

you smile despite yourself. "you don't even know what i'm asking yet."

he laughs. "don't care."

"jude."

he grins. "still okay."

you shake your head, laughing. "you're impossible."

"missed hearing you say that."

he walks you home. not because either of you planned it. because neither of you is ready to say goodbye. the streets glow beneath rows of golden streetlights. the evening air carries the smell of rain. your shoulders occasionally brush together as you walk. not quite holding hands. not yet.

he quietly asks, "...can i?"

you glance down. he's looking at your hand. waiting. you smile, slowly threading your fingers through his. it feels familiar. like muscle memory. like your hands remembered each other long before the rest of you did.

he squeezes gently. "...missed this."

"me too."

you stop outside your apartment building. the same one where you'd once stood saying goodbye. only now, it feels different. hopeful. he looks up at the windows. then back at you.

"so..."

"so."

"does this mean..." he smiles nervously. "...i get another chance?"

you step a little closer, close enough to see the tiny details across his face, close enough to hear his breathing. "it means..." you whisper. "...we take things one day at a time."

he nods. "i can do that."

"good."

"and maybe..." you smile. "...if you're lucky."

"yeah?"

"i'll let you take me on a first date."

his grin is immediate, bright. the brightest you've seen in over a year. "a first date?"

"our second first date."

he laughs. "reckon i can do better this time."

"you'd better."

one week later he picks you up wearing the same nervous smile he wore the very first time he'd ever taken you out. he actually brings flowers this time. admits he'd forgotten them the first time around. you tease him about it for the entire evening. he lets you. because he's smiling too much to care.

months later, you're lying together on his sofa after another impossibly long day. your head resting against his chest. his fingers lazily playing with yours. the television is on. neither of you is watching it.

"can i tell you something?" he asks quietly.

"always."

he kisses the top of your head. "remember that interview?"

you groan dramatically. "don't."

he laughs. "...i'm serious."

"it nearly killed me."

"i know." he grows quieter. "they asked me who the love of my life was."

you nod. "yeah."

he gently lifts your chin until you're looking at him, his expression is soft. completely certain. "if they asked me today..."

you smile. "what would you say?"

he doesn't hesitate. "i'd say she's the girl who gave me a second chance when i probably didn't deserve one."

your eyes begin to water.

"the girl who taught me that loving someone isn't enough if you don't fight for them. the girl who somehow still laughs at my terrible jokes."

you laugh through your tears. "they're still terrible."

"i know." he smiles. "and i'd tell them she's sitting right here." he brushes his thumb across your cheek. "and that every day i get to love her again..." he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. "...is my favorite day."

you don't answer with words, you simply close the tiny gap between you, kissing him softly, slowly. like every month apart, every sleepless night, every missed conversation, every ounce of heartbreak, finally finds somewhere safe to rest.

when you pull away, he smiles against your lips.

"welcome home then, baby." you smile and kiss him again softly

this time, neither of you lets go.

₊⊹ contains: angst, exes, unresolved feelings, emotional interviews, heartbreak, longing, media pressure, bittersweet ending

₊⊹ summary: months after your breakup, jude is asked to describe the love of his life, only to describe you instead of the woman he's currently dating.

₊⊹ an: thinking about making a part 2 so lmk!

there are some people you spend months trying to forget. then there are the ones your heart remembers before your mind even has a chance. jude was always going to be the second kind.

it's been eight months. eight months since the boxes. since splitting books neither of you actually wanted. since deciding who kept the coffee machine because you'd both bought it together. since standing in the hallway of your apartment with swollen eyes and shaking hands, pretending saying goodbye was somehow the mature thing to do.

everyone told you time would help. they weren't wrong. time helped. just... not enough. there are still mornings where you wake up expecting to hear his voice from the kitchen. still moments where your thumb hovers over his contact before you remember his number doesn't belong to your favorites anymore. still songs you automatically skip because they sound too much like long drives through madrid with the windows down.

life moved forward anyway. it always does. he kept playing football. you buried yourself in work. the headlines eventually stopped talking about your breakup. people found something newer. someone newer. ashlyn.

the first time you saw the photos, they appeared without warning while you were waiting for your coffee. jude laughing. her hand in his. headlines guessing timelines. speculating. deciding they looked happy from six blurry pictures. you'd stared for exactly four seconds. then locked your phone.

that night, you'd cried anyway. not because he'd moved on. because eventually... you knew he had to. months later, it hurts less. not gone. just quieter. like an old scar that only aches when it rains.

you're making breakfast one saturday morning when your phone buzzes against the counter. your best friend.

madelyn: don't watch the interview.

you frown.

you: what interview?

three dots appear immediately. then disappear. then appear again.

madelyn: just don't.

your stomach sinks. that feeling hasn't left you yet. the one that arrives before bad news does. you don't answer. instead... you open social media. the clip is everywhere. millions of views already. every football page. every entertainment account. every gossip profile.

the caption reads: "jude bellingham asked who the love of his life is..."

your thumb freezes. you shouldn't. you know you shouldn't. you press play anyway.

it's one of those relaxed interviews. not after a match. not serious. just jude sitting comfortably in a chair wearing a plain black hoodie. smiling. laughing with the interviewer. he looks older than the last time you saw him. more tired around the eyes. his hair's slightly longer. otherwise... he's exactly the same.

the interviewer smiles. "alright, next question."

jude nods. "go on."

"who would you say is the love of your life?"

he laughs quietly. "...that's a dangerous question."

"why?"

"'cause whatever i say's gonna end up somewhere."

the interviewer laughs too. "probably."

jude smiles. "fair enough."

he thinks for a second, looking down at his hands. then he starts speaking. slowly. carefully. "i think..." he smiles to himself. "...for me, it'd have to be someone who makes every place feel familiar."

your grip tightens around your phone.

"someone where you don't really have to think before you're yourself." he continues. "someone you can have the worst day imaginable with..." he pauses. "...and somehow it still becomes the best part of your day because they're there."

your breathing slows.

"someone who notices the little things." he says. "like..." he laughs quietly. "...they'll remember stuff you've forgotten happened. they'll know when you're pretending you're alright before you've even opened your mouth."

your coffee goes cold beside you.

"someone who celebrates the little wins as much as the big ones. someone who reminds you who you are when football gets loud." he smiles again. softly this time. not for the interviewer. almost for himself. "someone who feels like home."

silence.

the interviewer smiles. "that's lovely."

jude nods absent mindedly. "yeah."

then the interviewer asks the question that changes everything. "is ashlyn like that?"

jude blinks. just once. almost too quickly to notice. "...yeah." the answer comes a second too late. "yeah, she's lovely."

the interviewer moves on. the interview continues. but nobody watching seems interested in the rest anymore. because everyone noticed. the hesitation. the expression. the way his description sounded less like something he'd discovered... and more like something he'd remembered.

you replay it. once. twice. three times. you hate yourself for doing it. because with every replay... you hear it more clearly. every sentence. every word. every memory. he wasn't talking about a person. he was talking about a life. your life together.

your phone won't stop vibrating. friends. family. people sending the clip. people asking if you've seen it. people posting side by side compilations of old interviews with photos of the two of you.

comments flood every platform.

"he wasn't describing ashlyn."

"that's literally his ex."

"you can tell."

"he answered before remembering he's got a girlfriend."

you lock your phone, throw it onto the sofa and walk onto your balcony. the afternoon air feels unusually heavy. below, people continue walking through the streets completely unaware that somewhere on the internet, strangers are trying to piece together a relationship they'd never actually lived. you should ignore it. you know that. instead, your mind drifts backwards.

"you feel like home." he'd whispered that once.

not in an interview. not in front of cameras. just lying beside you one night after a champions league match. half asleep. his forehead resting against yours.

"i've lived in different places." he'd murmured. "but nowhere's ever felt as quiet as when i'm with you."

you'd smiled. asked if he was getting sentimental.

he'd laughed. "...don't tell anyone."

the memory hurts more now.

across the city, or maybe another country entirely, jude is having the worst day imaginable. he doesn't realise it immediately. the interview finishes. he thanks everyone. heads towards the car. his phone starts vibrating before he even sits down. first jobe. then trent. then morgan. then his mom. then his agent.

he answers the agent first. "...hello?"

"have you seen what's happening online?"

"...no."

"don't open social media."

jude immediately opens social media. "oh."

he scrolls. clip after clip. headlines. comments. slow motion edits analyzing his expression. people comparing your old interviews to today's.

his stomach sinks. "that's not..." he whispers.

except, he knows exactly what happened. he hadn't meant to describe anyone. he'd just answered honestly. the problem was... his honest answer hadn't caught up with his current life.

ashlyn calls an hour later, he answers immediately. "hey."

her voice is calm. too calm. "...did you mean me?"

the question hangs in the silence between them. he closes his eyes. "i..."

for the first time in a long time... jude doesn't know what to say. because lying would be cruel. but telling the whole truth might be worse.

"i wasn't trying to hurt you." he says quietly.

"that's not what i asked."

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "...i know."

she lets out a slow breath. "when you described her..." she catches herself. "...when you described the love of your life." another pause. "i don't think you were talking about me."

he doesn't answer. his silence answers for him.

that night you can't sleep. you tell yourself it's because of the rain. because of the coffee you drank too late. because of work tomorrow. it's none of those things.

at nearly one in the morning your phone lights up. one notification. not a text. not a call. just his name appearing because he'd viewed one of your old public posts after months of silence. then, nothing.

you stare at the screen. wondering if it was accidental. wondering if he stared just as long before closing the app.

three days pass. the headlines begin fading. new stories replace old ones. football moves on. the internet always does. your heart, not quite.

you're in a bookshop on a rainy afternoon when your phone vibrates again. an unknown number. you almost ignore it. instead, you answer.

"...hello?"

silence. then, "...hi."

you'd know that voice anywhere. your eyes close automatically. "...hi."

another silence. awkward. careful. "...how are you?" he asks.

you almost laugh. not because it's funny. because after everything, that's the question he chooses. "i'm alright."

"that's good."

"how are you?"

he lets out a quiet breath. "...been better."

you nod even though he can't see it. "...i figured."

another pause. then, "i'm sorry." his voice is genuine. completely stripped of interviews and headlines and media training.

"for what?"

"all of it."

"you didn't actually say my name."

"didn't have to."

you look out through the bookshop window. watching rain slide down the glass.

he's quiet for a while. then says, "...i wasn't trying to disrespect anyone."

"i know."

"...i just answered."

"i know."

"and halfway through..." he stops, searching for words. "...i realized."

your chest tightens. "realized what?"

his laugh is quiet, tired. "that every answer in my head still sounded like you."

you close your eyes. it would've been easier if he'd lied. if he'd laughed it off. if he'd blamed the interviewer. instead, he tells the truth. and somehow, the truth hurts most.

"...jude."

"yeah?"

"...you have someone now."

"I know."

"she deserves someone who's thinking about her when they're asked questions like that."

his silence stretches, because he knows you're right.

"...and you deserve someone who doesn't make you wonder if they're still looking backwards." he whispers.

you don't answer. because you deserve that. and so does ashlyn. another long silence settles.

finally, he speaks again. "i don't know when people stop being part of you."

you lean against the bookshelf behind you. "maybe they don't."

he laughs quietly through his nose. "that's what scares me."

your eyes sting. "me too."

someone walks past you carrying a stack of novels. life continues around you. completely ordinary. while your whole world feels suspended inside one phone call.

"i hope you're happy." he says eventually.

you smile sadly. "i'm getting there."

"good."

"...you?"

another pause. "...i'm trying."

you nod. "that's enough for now."

"yeah..."

neither of you hangs up. neither of you knows how. until finally, he says, "look after yourself."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "you too."

₊⊹ contains: fluff, established relationship, singer!reader, studio setting, emotional conversations, unreleased music, lots of romance, affectionate banter

₊⊹ summary: before anyone else hears your unreleased album, you let jude listen to every song first, only for him to slowly realize that more than half of them were written about him.

recording studios never really slept. even at nearly midnight, there was still a low hum coming from somewhere behind the walls. a guitar being tuned. someone laughing in another room. the faint sound of a drum loop leaking through a closed door. the smell of coffee lingered in the air, mixed with warm electronics and old wood.

it had become one of your favorite places in the world. some people found studios intimidating. you found them comforting. every song you'd ever loved had started somewhere that looked a little like this.

a small room. dim lights. messy notebooks. half empty mugs. ideas scattered everywhere.

your latest album had lived inside these four walls for almost a year. late nights. rewritten lyrics. voice cracks. happy tears. frustration. tiny breakthroughs at three in the morning.

you'd poured more of yourself into these songs than anything you'd ever written before. and tonight, before the producers, before your label, before the fans, before anyone. there was only one person you wanted to hear it first. jude.

he'd arrived straight from training. still wearing a grey hoodie. tracksuit bottoms. slightly messy curls from where he'd clearly run his hands through them too many times. he'd walked in carrying takeaway coffees for both of you. one exactly how you liked it. without asking. because he never had to anymore. he looked around the studio curiously.

"this is where you've basically been living, then?"

you laughed softly. "pretty much."

"i knew you were busy, but..." he glanced at the piano in the corner. the microphone still standing in the vocal booth. pages of handwritten lyrics covering one table. "...it's different seeing it."

you smiled. "welcome to my second home."

he walked slowly around the room. taking everything in. his fingertips brushed lightly over the edge of your notebook. "can i look?"

"after."

he nodded immediately. "alright."

never pushing. never asking twice. one of the things you loved most about him.

you watched him stop in front of the huge mixing desk. "...i've got absolutely no idea what any of these buttons do."

you laughed. "neither does my dad."

"good." he smiled. "makes me feel better."

you took a slow breath. suddenly, unexpectedly nervous.

he noticed immediately. "hey." he walked back over. "what's wrong?"

you looked down at your trainers. "nothing."

he tilted his head. "...that's not your nothing."

you smiled weakly. "i'm just..." you searched for the right words. "...i've never cared this much about someone hearing something."

his expression softened. "really?"

"yeah."

he frowned slightly. "more than your producers?"

"way more."

"your label?"

you nodded. "way more."

he looked genuinely surprised. "why?"

you laughed quietly. "because you're you."

he stepped closer. close enough that his trainers bumped yours. "you know i'm not gonna judge you."

"i know."

"i'll tell you if i like it."

"i know."

"and i'll tell you if i don't."

you raised an eyebrow. "would you?"

he smiled. "probably not."

you laughed. "thought so."

he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. "i'm gonna love it."

"you haven't even heard it."

"don't need to."

"that's biased."

"massively."

you walked over to the producer's chair. the large black leather one that always squeaked slightly whenever anyone moved. you sat down first. then looked at him.

"come here."

he frowned. "where?"

you smiled. "here." patting your lap.

he blinked. "...reckon i've got that backwards."

you laughed. "i know."

he looked around the empty studio dramatically. "just checking nobody's watching."

"they all went home."

"good." he sat down carefully, pulling you gently onto his lap instead. "better."

you settled comfortably against him. your back resting against his chest. his arms naturally wrapping around your waist. the position was so familiar it barely required thought anymore.

he rested his chin lightly on your shoulder. "comfortable?"

"very."

"good." his voice was quieter now. almost matching the peaceful atmosphere of the room. you reached forward. clicked open the folder labelled: unreleased

your stomach flipped. "...ready?"

he nodded against your shoulder. "more than."

you pressed play. the first song began with soft piano. just piano. nothing else. the studio speakers filled the room with a sound you'd listened to hundreds of times already. yet tonight, it somehow felt brand new. because of him.

you didn't watch the computer screen. you watched jude. his expression stayed thoughtful. completely focused. not saying a word. listening properly. every lyric. every little harmony. every breath. he didn't interrupt once. not until the final note faded away. silence settled. he was still looking ahead.

"...well?" you asked quietly.

he turned his head slightly, looking at you instead. "...that was beautiful."

you smiled. "yeah?"

"honestly." he shook his head once. "...i forgot i was listening to something unfinished."

your shoulders relaxed. "a good start?"

"a very good start."

the second song was brighter. lighter. guitars. summer memories. late night drives. you saw him smile halfway through.

"what?" you whispered.

he laughed quietly. "...that second verse."

"yeah?"

"...that happened."

you grinned. "it did."

"you actually wrote about me getting lost?"

"you did get lost."

"because my satnav was broken."

"you drove into the wrong country."

he sighed dramatically. "...don't remind me."

"it's permanently documented now."

he covered his face with one hand. "brilliant."

by track four, he'd stopped making comments. not because he wasn't enjoying it. because he was listening so carefully. you could actually see him processing every lyric. every story. every memory. the room stayed quiet between songs. just enough silence to let each one breathe.

then track six. the opening guitar started.

jude frowned slightly. "...hang on."

you felt your heart race. he recognized it. this one. this was the first song you'd written after officially becoming a couple. the lyrics weren't obvious. to anyone else, it was just another love song. to him, they were memories. specific ones.

"that's..." he spoke quietly. "...that's about madrid."

you looked back at him. "yeah."

"the bit about sitting on apartment rooftops."

you nodded.

"...and the takeaway chips."

"yeah."

he smiled to himself. "...i remember that."

you rested your hand over his. "i hoped you would."

the song ended. he didn't say anything immediately. instead, his arms tightened around your waist. just a little.

"you remembered all that?" he asked softly.

you smiled. "every second."

he laughed quietly through his nose. "...mad."

"why?"

"didn't think anyone noticed half of it."

"i notice everything."

he looked at you for another second. "...clearly."

track eight started. he was smiling before the chorus even arrived.

"...no." he laughed.

"what?"

"...you actually put that in."

you couldn't stop smiling. "i absolutely did."

the lyric referenced one very specific moment. jude accidentally burning pancakes. setting the smoke alarm off. then confidently insisting they were "salvageable."

he pointed at the speakers. "...i'm never living that down."

"never."

"that's permanent now."

"forever."

he sighed dramatically. "...should've dated someone with a worse memory."

"too late."

the next two songs passed quietly. then, track eleven. the room changed. slower. softer. strings. piano. your voice lower than before. more vulnerable. you felt him shift slightly behind you. not because he was uncomfortable. because he'd recognized something.

this song he'd never heard before. not even little pieces of it. it was about one night. after one of the hardest matches of his career. the night he'd come home convinced he'd let everyone down. you'd never told him you'd written about it.

he listened without moving. completely still. by the second chorus, his chin wasn't resting on your shoulder anymore. he'd lowered his head. his cheek resting gently against yours instead. you kept looking forward. giving him space. the final lyric faded. silence. a long silence.

"...jude?"

he swallowed once. "...you wrote that... about me?"

you nodded. "yeah."

another quiet moment. "...i didn't know you remembered that night."

you smiled sadly. "i remember everything."

he let out a slow breath. "...i wasn't exactly at my best."

"i know."

"...i was a mess."

"i know."

"you still stayed."

you turned slightly in his lap, just enough to look at him. "always."

his eyes looked shinier than before. not crying. just... emotional. he kissed the side of your head absent mindedly. "...thank you."

"for what?"

"for making the bad days sound..." he searched for the word. "...gentle."

your heart ached. "that's how i saw them."

then, track twelve. your favorite. also the one you'd been most terrified for him to hear. because unlike the others, there was absolutely no hiding who this one was about. it mentioned birmingham. his family. his laugh. his football boots left by the front door. the way he always reached for your hand without thinking. the way he whispered "drive safe" every single time you left. it was him. completely.

you suddenly couldn't look at him anymore. so you stared at the speakers instead. the chorus arrived. the room filled with your voice. telling him everything you'd never quite managed to say out loud. when it ended, the silence felt enormous.

"...y/n." his voice was almost a whisper.

you looked back. "...yeah?"

he just stared at you. completely speechless. "...was that...all me?"

you laughed nervously. "...most of it."

he blinked. "most?"

"there are artistic liberties."

he shook his head slowly. "...that's mental."

"good mental?"

"yeah." he laughed softly. "...really good mental." his hands found yours. intertwining your fingers. "...i don't even know what to say."

"you don't have to."

"nah." he looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. "...i've had people chant my name in stadiums... i've scored goals, won trophies." he smiled softly. "...none of that feels like someone writing an entire song about you."

you felt your cheeks warm. "it wasn't difficult."

he laughed quietly. "that's somehow making it worse."

"better."

"yeah." he smiled. "...better."

the album continued. track after track. some happy. some sad. some loud. some barely more than a whisper. by the final song, it was nearly one in the morning. neither of you had moved. the last note slowly disappeared into silence. the speakers finally stopped. the room became quiet again. you reached towards the keyboard. hesitating.

"...well?"

he didn't answer immediately. instead, he gently turned you around until you were facing him properly. still sitting on his lap. one hand resting carefully against your waist. the other lifting to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"...can i be honest?"

your stomach flipped. "please."

he smiled softly. "...i've never listened to anything that made me feel so known."

your eyes searched his.

he continued. "it wasn't just the songs about me. it was the way you notice things. the tiny details." he laughed quietly. "...stuff i'd forgotten happened, stuff i didn't even realize mattered." he shook his head once. "...and somehow..." he smiled again. "...you turned all of it into music."

you felt your eyes sting. "i was scared."

"why?"

"because..." you looked down at your hands. "...if you hated it..."

he immediately interrupted. "not possible."

"you hadn't heard it."

"didn't matter." he tilted your chin back up gently. "...i would've loved it because you made it."

you laughed quietly. "biased."

"very."

"hopelessly."

"massively."

you smiled. "good."

he looked at the computer screen then back at you. "...can i ask something?"

"anything."

"how many songs were actually about me?"

you pretended to think. "...seven."

his eyebrows shot up. "seven?"

"roughly."

"out of?"

"fourteen."

he laughed in disbelief. "...i've taken up half your album."

"you've taken up most of my life." the words slipped out before you could stop them. the room went quiet again. jude just looked at you. completely still. then, he smiled. slowly. the kind of smile that always reached his eyes.

"...that's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

you smiled back. "good."

he leaned forward. pressing a slow kiss against your forehead. lingering there for a second. then another. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

"...promise me something."

"what?"

"next album..."

you laughed. "yeah?"

"...leave at least one song where i don't accidentally burn breakfast."

you burst into laughter. "no chance."

he groaned dramatically. "knew it."

"it's too good of a story."

"i'll never recover."

"definitely not."

he smiled despite himself. "...worth it, though."

"why?"

his thumb brushed gently across your cheek. "because if burning pancakes gets me another song..." he shrugged. "...i'll happily ruin breakfast every morning."

you laughed. "careful."

"what?"

"i might actually write that."

he grinned. "...i'm counting on it."

outside, the city had long since gone quiet. inside the studio, the lights still glowed softly across the mixing desk. your notebooks still lay scattered across the room. half empty coffee cups still sat forgotten on the table. everything looked exactly the same as it had a few hours earlier. except now, the songs didn't belong only to you anymore.

₊⊹ jude bellingham x gf!reader random texts🥹

₊⊹ contains: fluff, established relationship, playful teasing, pouty steve, domestic moments, lots of banter, soft ending

₊⊹ summary: after deciding to give steve no attention, you become completely absorbed in your book, leaving him to slowly unravel from being ignored.

rain taps softly against the windows. not loudly. not dramatically. just enough to fill the apartment with a quiet rhythm that somehow makes everything feel slower.

it's one of those afternoons where the sky never quite decides whether it wants to brighten or stay grey. the lights in the living room are off. they don't need to be on. there's enough light spilling through the windows to paint everything in soft shades of gold and silver.

your favorite blanket is draped over your legs. a mug of tea sits on the coffee table, forgotten now that it's gone lukewarm. you're curled into the corner of the sofa. one leg tucked underneath you. a book balanced comfortably in your hands. it's the kind of silence you've been craving all week. the kind where nothing exists except the pages in front of you.

except, there's one small problem. steve harrington. he walks into the living room carrying two bowls of popcorn.

"movie?"

you don't answer. not because you're trying to be rude. you genuinely don't hear him. you're halfway through a chapter that's finally explaining the mystery you've been waiting three hundred pages to solve.

he stops in front of the sofa. "...baby?" still nothing. he looks down at you. you're completely focused. eyes moving across each line. barely blinking. "...y/n." he waits another second. "...hello?" you turn a page. he frowns. "...seriously?"

he sets one bowl on the table, sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. normally, you'd automatically lean into him. today, nothing.

he glances between you and the book. "...whatcha reading?" silence. "...good talk."

he waits. five whole minutes. you don't move except to turn another page. he picks up his own popcorn. eats a handful. "...you know." crunch. "i'm here." crunch. "just thought i'd mention it." another page turns. he sighs dramatically. "wow."

the truth is, you absolutely hear him now. you've just decided not to respond. mostly because yesterday, you'd spent twenty minutes telling him about a plot twist in your book. he'd nodded along. said "yeah." then accidentally admitted he'd been watching the basketball game over your shoulder the entire time. so today you were returning the favor.

steve stretches his arm across the back of the sofa. waiting for you to naturally lean against him. you don't. he looks offended. "...alright."

he shifts a little closer. still nothing. closer again. your shoulder brushes his. you absent mindedly adjust your position without looking up, accidentally moving away.

he stares. "...did you just..." he blinks. "...move away from me?" he narrows his eyes. "okay." he points at the book. "me or the book?" no response. "that's a trick question." silence. "i'm losing."

he lets his head fall dramatically against the back of the sofa. "can't believe this." another page. "...replaced by paper."

after another minute, he leans sideways just enough to peek at your book. "who's this guy?" you keep reading. "he better not be handsome." still nothing. he reads the page upside down for approximately two seconds. "...what language is this?" it's english. he just can't read upside down.

he sits back again. "...i miss you."

your lips twitch. don't smile. don't smile. stay committed.

he notices. "you nearly smiled." nothing. "i saw that." he points accusingly. "you smiled."

the apartment falls quiet again. steve lasts exactly four more minutes before trying something else. he reaches for the television remote. turns the volume up. dramatically. an advert immediately starts blaring through the room. you don't even flinch. still reading. he slowly turns the volume back down. "...didn't work."

he gets up, walks into the kitchen. you hear cupboards opening. closing. the fridge. more cupboards. then, "ow!"

you don't look up.

"...i stubbed my toe." he waits. "...nothing?" he walks back into the living room. "that one actually hurt." nothing. he sits back down. "...you're cold."

five minutes later, he starts narrating everything he's doing. "i'm eating popcorn." crunch. "pretty good." crunch. "think you'd like it." crunch. "well..." another handful. "...guess i'll eat yours too."

you reach over, without taking your eyes off the page, grab your bowl and pull it back.

steve gasps dramatically. "she lives."

you eat one piece and continue reading.

"...that's cheating."

he studies you for a second. really studies you. the way your eyebrows pull together whenever you're concentrating. the way your thumb absent mindedly rubs the edge of the page before you turn it. the tiny smile that appears whenever something nice happens in the story.

he softens. "...you're cute." nothing. "ridiculously cute." he smiles to himself. "still not looking."

after a while he quietly rests his head on your shoulder. just to see. you let him. he smiles. "progress."

you continue reading. he stays there for almost ten minutes. surprisingly patient. until he blurts out, "...what if i died?"

you sigh internally. still don't answer.

he lifts his head. "...hypothetically." nothing. "like right now." silence. "dramatically." nothing. "heroically... saving puppies."

you finally speak without looking up. "you'd find a way to make it dramatic."

he sits bolt upright. "you spoke... you actually spoke."

you immediately go back to reading.

he grins. "alright we're getting somewhere."

another chapter. another forty pages. you barely notice time passing. until, your book disappears. you blink. look up for the first time in almost an hour. steve is holding it above his head.

"...steve."

he smiles sweetly. "hello."

you stare at him. "...give it back."

"she remembers my name."

"steve."

"yeah?"

"book."

"conversation first."

you narrow your eyes. "you're unbelievable."

"thank you."

"that wasn't a compliment."

"i accepted it anyway."

you reach for the book. he lifts it higher. "...seriously?"

"you've ignored me for..." he checks the clock dramatically. "...an hour and twenty three minutes."

"that's very specific."

"i've been counting."

you laugh quietly. he points triumphantly. "there."

"what?"

"you laughed."

"did i?"

"yeah."

"must've slipped."

he keeps holding your book hostage. "talk to me."

"i was."

"one word every half hour doesn't count."

"i was reading."

"i know."

"you ignored me yesterday."

he pauses. "...when?"

"when i was explaining the ending."

he blinks. realization slowly spreads across his face. "...oh."

"yeah."

"...that."

"that."

he scratches the back of his neck. "...i did do that."

"you did."

"...sorry."

you fold your arms. "i spent twenty minutes talking."

"i know."

"and you were watching basketball."

he winces. "...i know."

"i even asked you who the murderer was."

"...i said the butler."

"there wasn't even a butler."

he sighs dramatically. "that should've been my clue."

you finally smile properly. "exactly."

he lowers your book and hands it back. "...fair enough."

you take it, setting it on your lap instead of opening it again.

"see?" he gestures. "that wasn't so hard."

"don't push it."

he laughs. "right."

you look at him. really look at him. his hair's a mess. probably from running his hands through it every five minutes while trying to get your attention. he's pouting. actually pouting. lower lip pushed out ever so slightly.

"...are you sulking?"

"maybe."

"because i ignored you?"

"yeah."

"for one hour?"

"felt longer."

"dramatic."

"a hundred percent."

you can't stop smiling. "you're unbelievable."

"missed you."

"i was literally sitting next to you."

"emotionally unavailable."

you laugh. "emotionally unavailable?"

"you chose a book over me."

"i did."

"hurt my feelings."

"did it?"

he places a hand over his heart. "...deeply."

you set the book on the coffee table completely now. his eyes immediately brighten. "finished?"

"taking a break."

"good."

before you can react, he slides across the sofa until you're trapped between him and the armrest.

"...steve."

"yeah?"

"what are you doing?"

"making up for lost time." he wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you against him.

you laugh. "you're clingy."

"correct."

"very clingy."

"also correct." he rests his chin on top of your head. "...can't believe you abandoned me."

"you survived."

"barely."

you poke his side. "remember when you ignored me for an entire football game?"

"that was different."

"how?"

"there were penalties."

"and?"

"they're stressful."

you nod. "my chapter was stressful."

he opens his mouth. closes it again. "...fair."

"thank you."

silence settles again. comfortable this time. you rest your head against his chest. listening to his heartbeat. he absent mindedly plays with your fingers. "...what's the book about?" he asks quietly.

you glance up suspiciously. "are you actually listening?"

he nods. "promise."

"no basketball?"

"there isn't even a tv on."

"good point."

so you tell him. about the mystery. the characters. the plot twist. the ending you're hoping for. he doesn't interrupt. doesn't glance anywhere else. doesn't fake listening. he actually listens. asking questions. remembering names. making little comments.

"...hang on." he frowns. "that guy definitely did it."

"that's what i said."

"he's suspicious."

"exactly."

"don't trust him."

you smile. "i don't."

half an hour later, your explanation ends.

he nods thoughtfully. "...alright."

"what?"

"i get it now."

"yeah?"

"i would've ignored me too."

you laugh. "see?"

"seems like a good book."

"it's really good."

he points at it. "go finish it."

you blink. "...really?"

"yeah."

"what about you?"

he smiles. "i'll just..." he gently squeezes your hand. "...read next to you."

you look at him. "...you don't read."

"i'll find something."

he disappears into the bedroom then comes back carrying an old car magazine.

you stare. "...seriously?"

he shrugs. "it's my version."

you laugh. "that's adorable."

"don't make it weird."

the two of you settle back onto the sofa. you open your novel. he opens the magazine upside down.

"...steve."

"yeah?"

"that's upside down."

he flips it around. "just testing you. i'm not that dumb..."

for twenty peaceful minutes, the apartment is silent again. except this time, your legs are tangled together. his hand is resting on your knee. every now and then he absent mindedly rubs little circles against your skin without even realizing.

then, without looking away from his magazine, he quietly says, "...hey."

"hm?"

"i love you."

your eyes leave the page. you look over at him. he's still pretending to read. "i love you too."

he smiles without lifting his head. "good."

another few pages pass. then, "you ignoring me anymore?"

you laugh softly. "no."

"good."

"why?"

he finally looks over. because even after all the teasing, even after all the pouting, even after spending over an hour desperately trying to steal your attention, his smile is still as warm as ever. "because i like it better when you're talking to me."

you close your book. lean across the tiny gap between you. kiss him softly. "me too."

he smiles into the kiss. "worth the wait."

₊⊹ contains: fluff, established relationship, holiday romance, family introductions, italian reader, lots of teasing, domestic moments, light humor

₊⊹ summary: your holiday in italy quickly turns into jude relying on you as his full time translator after discovering your family have absolutely no intention of speaking english.

the first thing jude learns after landing in italy is that you have been lying to him. not maliciously. not dramatically. just... through omission.

"you never told me everyone talks this fast."

you laugh as the taxi winds through the narrow streets of your hometown. "they're speaking normally."

"nah." he shakes his head, looking out of the window. "that wasn't normal."

the airport had barely been behind you when the taxi driver started enthusiastically asking questions. to you. of course. because the second you'd answered him in fluent italian, his face had lit up.

the conversation hadn't stopped for almost forty minutes. jude had spent the entire drive sitting beside you like someone trying to solve an impossible maths equation.

he'd smile politely whenever the driver looked at him. nod occasionally. hope that was the correct response. it usually wasn't. the driver laughed loudly after one of jude's nods. you laughed too.

jude immediately looked at you. "...what did i agree to?"

you grinned. "he asked if you'd like to move here permanently."

"...oh."

"you nodded."

"...did i?"

"very confidently."

he buried his face in his hands. "brilliant."

"don't worry."

"no, i definitely should."

"he knows you didn't understand."

"i hope so."

you laughed again. "he said you have a kind face."

"that's better."

"then he asked if you'd become his neighbour."

"...right."

"that's where you accidentally agreed."

he sighed dramatically. "this holiday's been going ten minutes."

your hometown feels exactly as you remember it. warm afternoon sunshine. old stone buildings. laundry hanging between balconies. the smell of fresh bread drifting from tiny bakeries. people stopping to talk in the middle of the street. nobody in any rush.

jude stands beside you, suitcase still in one hand. looking around quietly. "...it's beautiful."

you smile. "i told you."

"yeah." he glances at you. "didn't think it'd be this nice though."

"welcome home." you take his hand.

he squeezes it gently. "happy to be here."

you barely make it twenty metres before someone recognises you. "y/n!" you turn. "ciao!" ("hi!")

an elderly woman you've known since childhood immediately wraps you in a hug. she starts talking at approximately a thousand words a minute.

"tesoro, quanto tempo! tua madre mi ha detto che arrivavi oggi! e questo è il tuo ragazzo?" ("darling, it's been so long! your mother told me you were arriving today! and is this your boyfriend?")

you answer just as quickly. "si, lui è jude." ("yes, he is jude.")

the woman gasps. looks at jude. smiles brightly. then pinches his cheek.

he freezes. "...hello?"

she laughs. "che bel ragazzo!" ("what a handsome young man!")

jude looks at you. "...what happened?"

you smile. "she called you handsome."

"oh." another pause. "...why'd she pinch my face?"

"that's affection."

"...right."

"you'll get used to it."

"don't know if i will."

he doesn't. because three streets later... someone else pinches his cheek too.

by the time you reach your grandmother's house, jude has accepted two things. one, everyone knows you. two, everyone wants to feed him.

the front door opens before you've even knocked. your grandmother immediately pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable.

"amore mio!" ("my love!")

"ciao, nonna." ("hi, grandma.")

she kisses both your cheeks repeatedly. holds your face. starts talking immediately. "sei troppo magra. non mangi abbastanza. vieni dentro." ("you're too thin. you're not eating enough. come inside.")

jude waits politely behind you. smiling.

your grandmother finally notices him. "...ah!"

she walks straight over. takes both of his hands. looks him up and down thoughtfully. "...molto alto." ("...very tall.")

jude looks at you. "...help."

you're already laughing. "she said you're very tall."

"that's alright."

your grandmother keeps talking. "ha gli occhi gentili." ("he had kind eyes.")

you translate. "she says you have kind eyes."

he smiles warmly. "tell her thank you."

"grazie." ("thank you.")

your grandmother pats his arm. then immediately says something much longer.

jude blinks. "...that wasn't thank you."

you laugh. "no."

"what was it?"

"she wants to know if you're eating properly."

"that's her first question?"

"yes."

he nods once. "...fair enough."

inside the house, nothing has changed. the same photographs. the same embroidered tablecloth. the same little bowls of wrapped sweets. the same smell of fresh tomato sauce.

jude quietly looks around. "feels like a film."

"it's always looked like this."

"it's nice."

your grandmother calls from the kitchen. "y/n!"

you disappear for a second. leaving jude alone. he smiles politely at your grandmother. she smiles back. then starts another conversation. entirely in italian.

he nods. "...yeah." she continues. he nods again. "...absolutely." she pauses. looks at him. waiting. "...si?" ("...yes?")

her face lights up. she starts talking even faster. you walk back in. immediately noticing jude's expression.

"...what happened?"

he points helplessly. "i accidentally started another conversation."

you look at your grandmother. she's smiling proudly. "nonna..." ("grandma...")

she explains what she was saying. you immediately burst out laughing.

"what?"

"you just told her you'd like another plate of food."

"...i what?"

"she asked if you were hungry."

"i thought she asked if i was okay."

"close enough."

he sighs. "i'm never surviving this."

your grandmother places enough food on the table to feed twelve people. there are three of you.

jude stares. "...this is lunch?"

you nod. "light lunch."

he looks horrified. "light?"

"wait until dinner."

"there's more?"

you laugh. "you'll understand why italians don't leave hungry."

throughout the meal, you become a professional translator.

"nonna says eat more."

"i'm trying."

"she says not fast enough."

"she says football players need more pasta."

"tell her i agree."

you translate. your grandmother beams. immediately serves him another portion.

he looks at you. "...you betrayed me."

"she was going to anyway."

"true."

halfway through lunch, your grandmother asks something. you smile immediately.

jude notices. "...what?"

"nothing."

"what did she ask?"

"nothing."

"y/n."

you sigh dramatically. "she asked when we're getting married."

he nearly chokes on his water. "...already?"

"she's efficient."

"what'd you say?"

"that we're enjoying our holiday."

"good answer."

"she wasn't satisfied."

"i can imagine."

your grandmother says something else.

"now what?"

you smile wider. "she says she'd like great grandchildren before she's ninety."

he drops his fork. "...she doesn't mess about."

"not even slightly."

after lunch, you all walk through the town together. every five minutes someone stops your grandmother. which means, another conversation. another introduction. another translation.

"...what'd he say?"

"he asked if you're famous."

"and?"

"nonna said you're my boyfriend."

"that's nice."

"then she told him you're too skinny."

he sighs. "she's really committed to that."

later that afternoon, you stop for gelato.

the man behind the counter smiles. "cosa prendete?" ("what are you having?")

you look at jude. "what flavour?"

"...the pistachio looks nice."

you translate. the man starts talking enthusiastically about where the pistachios came from.

jude watches him. "...what's happening now?"

"he's explaining the history of the pistachios."

"...that's a thing?"

"in italy?" you grin. "absolutely."

you hand jude his cone. he takes one bite. his eyes widen. "...alright."

"yeah?"

"best ice cream i've ever had."

"told you."

he nods seriously. "i'm never eating supermarket ice cream again."

that evening, the whole family gathers for dinner. cousins. aunts. uncles. people jude has never met. they all greet him warmly. they all speak italian. he smiles through every conversation. occasionally looking at you for help. you become his unofficial interpreter again.

"my uncle says he supports juventus."

"okay."

"he's apologising."

"why?"

"because you play for madrid."

he laughs. "tell him it's alright."

someone asks jude a question directly. he blinks then looks at you.

you whisper, "they asked how you met me."

"oh." he smiles. "tell them..." he looks at you. "...best decision i ever made."

you translate. there's an immediate chorus of happy noises around the table. your grandmother puts a hand dramatically over her heart. your aunt wipes away imaginary tears. your cousin whistles.

jude looks around. "...good reaction?"

you nod. "very."

later, your grandmother quietly pulls you aside.

she speaks softly. "è un bravo ragazzo." ("he's a good guy.")

you smile. "lo so." ("i know.")

she pats your cheek. "ti guarda come se fossi tutto il suo mondo." ("he looks at you as if you're his whole world.")

you glance across the garden. jude is laughing with your cousins despite understanding almost none of what they're saying. still smiling. still trying. still pointing at random objects while everyone teaches him italian words.

"he's saying 'grazie' properly now!" one cousin cheers. another claps.

jude laughs. "am i saying it right?"

"almost!"

your grandmother follows your gaze. then smiles. "tienilo stretto." ("hold onto him.")

you smile and nod. "lo farò." ("i will.")

on the walk back to your hotel, the streets are quieter. golden lights reflecting on old stone buildings. your fingers intertwined with jude's. he lets out a long breath.

"...i've never been this mentally tired."

you laugh. "translating's exhausting."

"i wasn't even translating."

"exactly."

he smiles. "how do you switch between languages so quickly?"

"practice."

"it's impressive."

you shrug. "doesn't feel like anything special."

"it is."

you keep walking.

he suddenly speaks. "in all seriousness..."

"yeah?"

"...thanks."

"for what?"

"for making sure i wasn't completely lost today."

you squeeze his hand. "you weren't."

"i absolutely was."

"only a little."

he laughs. "a lot."

"okay, a lot then"

he looks up at the stars. "felt weird."

"what did?"

"not understanding anything."

you nod. "that's how a lot of people feel when they move somewhere new."

he thinks about that quietly. "guess i never really understood it."

you smile softly. "now you do."

he stops walking, turning to face you. "your family..."

"yeah?"

"...they're lovely."

your smile grows. "even though none of them speak english?"

"yeah."

"and even though my grandma interrogated you for six hours?"

"roughly" he laughs. "still." another pause. "...she really cares about you."

"she does."

he nods. "could tell."

you step a little closer. "she likes you."

"really?"

"she told me."

"what exactly did she say?"

you smile. "she said..." you brush a strand of hair away from his forehead. "...you're a good man."

his expression softens. "that's nice."

"and..." you grin. "...she also said if you ever make me cry, she'll hit you with her wooden spoon."

he stares. "...seriously?"

"completely... she would too." you nod. "without hesitation."

he laughs so hard he has to stop walking. "she's terrifying."

"a little."

"i love her."

"she loves you too."

"already?"

"you ate four plates of pasta."

"that helped?"

"massively."

back at the hotel, you both sit out on the little balcony. sharing one final gelato. the warm evening air carrying distant conversations from people walking below. all in italian. jude listens for a while. then quietly says, "i still don't understand a word."

you laugh. "you'll learn."

"eventually." he leans his head against yours.

"until then..."

"yeah?"

"...you're gonna have to stay my personal translator."

you smile. "is that so?"

"definitely."

"what do i get in return?"

he pretends to think. "...unlimited kisses?"

"not enough."

"breakfast in bed."

"better."

"foot massages."

you look at him. "...you're negotiating now?"

"doing my best."

you laugh. "deal."

he smiles proudly. "thought so."

you rest your head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of your home around you. the language you'd grown up speaking. the streets you'd run through as a child. and beside you, the person trying his absolute hardest to understand a world that wasn't his.

₊⊹ contains: fluff, established relationship, wisdom teeth removal, loopy jude, lots of banter, embarrassing moments, second-hand embarrassment, happy ending

₊⊹ summary: after getting his wisdom teeth removed, a very drugged up jude completely forgets you're already his girlfriend and spends the afternoon trying to convince his mom to let him date you.

the waiting room smells like disinfectant and peppermint. it's almost too clean. the kind of clean that makes you feel like you shouldn't touch anything. soft instrumental music hums through the ceiling speakers while a fish tank bubbles quietly in the corner.

you're pretty sure you've watched the same bright orange fish swim in the exact same circle at least fifty times. not because it's interesting. because there's absolutely nothing else to do.

you glance at the clock again. five minutes have passed. it somehow feels like fifty. beside you, denise smiles without looking up from the magazine she'd picked up nearly half an hour ago.

"he'll be alright."

you laugh quietly. "i know."

"you're worrying."

"am i that obvious?"

"a little."

you sigh. "he kept texting me all morning saying he wasn't nervous."

"which means..."

"...he was terrified."

she laughs. "exactly."

you pull your phone from your pocket. the last message jude had sent before going into surgery is still sitting there.

jude💗: if i say anything embarrassing afterwards, pretend i didn't.

you smile to yourself.

you: that's not how this works.

jude💗: please.

you: no promises.

you lock your phone again. "he's gonna hate this."

denise smiles knowingly. "i've seen him after anaesthetic before."

you immediately turn towards her. "...have you?"

"oh, yes."

"was it bad?"

she nods once. "he cried because he thought they threw away his socks."

"...his socks?"

"they were on his feet."

you cover your mouth to stop yourself laughing. "you're joking."

"i wish i was."

before you can ask anything else, the surgery door opens. a nurse steps into the waiting room. "he's all done."

both of you stand immediately.

"he's still a little sleepy," the nurse says with a smile. "someone will need to stay with him for the rest of the day."

"of course," denise replies.

the nurse nods. "he's coming now."

you hear footsteps. slow. slightly uneven. then, jude appears. his hoodie hangs loosely over his shoulders. his hair is messier than when he went in. his cheeks are slightly swollen. there's a little ice pack balanced awkwardly against one side of his face. and his eyes, they're barely open. he looks like he's trying to understand a world that's suddenly become far more confusing than it was an hour ago.

"hi, sweetheart," denise says gently.

he blinks. "mom..."

"that's me."

he smiles lazily. "you're here."

"i told you i'd be."

he nods thoughtfully. "...good."

the nurse lightly guides him towards the chairs. "just take your time."

he sits down carefully. staring at absolutely nothing.

you crouch beside him. "hey."

he slowly turns his head. looks directly at you. stares. for a very, very, very long time.

"...hello." his voice is slow and slightly slurred.

"hi."

he keeps staring. like he's trying to place where he knows you from. his eyebrows pull together.

you bite the inside of your cheek. don't laugh.

he looks at his mom. points at you. "...who's that?"

you completely lose it. a tiny laugh escapes before you can stop it.

denise presses her lips together, trying very hard not to smile. "that's y/n."

he nods slowly. "...right." another long pause. "...she's pretty."

you feel your face warm.

denise smiles. "she is."

he keeps looking at you. completely fascinated. "...really pretty."

"thank you," you say softly.

he smiles at you. then immediately turns back to his mom. "...can i keep her?"

the waiting room falls silent. you stare. denise stares. the nurse at the reception desk definitely heard. she's already trying not to laugh.

"...keep her?" denise repeats.

he nods seriously. "yeah."

"what do you mean?"

he gestures vaguely in your direction. "...her."

"yes?"

"can i keep her?"

you cover your mouth. your shoulders already shaking with laughter.

denise raises an eyebrow. "...why?"

he looks genuinely confused by the question. "...because she's nice."

"you've only just met her."

"exactly." another thoughtful pause. "...i'm making good time."

you snort.

he immediately looks proud of himself. "she laughed."

"she did."

he smiles dreamily. "...good." then he leans slightly towards his mom, not quietly enough. "...i think i like her."

you have to look away. because if he sees your face right now, you'll absolutely burst out laughing.

denise nods thoughtfully. "do you?"

"yeah."

"why?"

he looks back at you again, studying you like she's the most interesting person he's ever seen. "...pretty eyes." your heart melts. "...nice smile." you smile wider without meaning to. "...and she laughed at my joke."

denise hums. "anything else?"

he thinks very hard. "...she smells nice."

you bury your face in your hands. "oh my god."

he immediately looks concerned. "...did i say that out loud?"

"you did."

"...right." he nods once. "...still true."

the nurse quietly excuses herself before she starts laughing.

a few minutes later, you're helping jude stand so you can all walk back to the car. he looks down at your hand holding his arm. then back up at you.

"...are you single?"

you choke on absolutely nothing. "what?"

he looks at you hopefully. "are you?"

before you can answer, denise beats you to it. "she's got a boyfriend."

jude's face falls. completely. "...she does?"

"she does."

he sighs dramatically. "...that's unlucky."

you can't stop laughing. "i'm sorry."

he nods sadly. "...me too."

walking through the car park takes forever. mostly because jude keeps stopping. first, to wave at a pigeon. then, to tell a parked car it has "nice headlights." then, to ask if clouds ever get tired. you and denise exchange one look. neither of you says a word.

halfway to the car, he looks at you again. "...would your boyfriend be upset if i asked for your number?"

you laugh so hard you nearly have to stop walking. "probably."

"...yeah." he sighs. "respect." then, after another few steps, "...unless..." he looks at his mom. "...what if she breaks up with him?"

denise bites the inside of her cheek. "that's not very nice."

"...true." he nods. "...i'll wait."

once everyone's finally in the car, you sit beside him in the back. mostly because you know he'll probably fall asleep. he stares out of the window quietly for a minute. then suddenly turns to you again.

"...hi."

"hi."

"what's your name again?"

"y/n."

he smiles. "...pretty."

"thank you."

"i'm jude."

"i know."

his eyebrows lift. "...you do?"

"yeah."

"have we met before?"

you glance at denise in the driver's seat. she's already smiling. "...once or twice."

"that's nice." another pause. "...do you play football?"

you blink. "...what?"

"feel like i've seen you somewhere."

"i don't play football."

"...right." he nods. "...i do."

"i know."

he looks strangely impressed. "...you know loads."

the drive home is only twenty minutes. it somehow becomes the funniest twenty minutes of your life. because jude refuses to let the subject go.

"mom."

"yes?"

"...can y/n come over sometime?"

denise glances at you in the mirror. "she already does."

he frowns. "...really?"

"all the time."

"...why?"

"because she's your girlfriend."

he blinks. looks at you. looks back at his mom. then laughs. "...good one."

"i'm serious."

he shakes his head. "nah. why would she date me?"

you immediately answer. "because you're lovely."

he stares at you. "...that's flirting."

you grin. "maybe."

he turns bright pink. or... as pink as someone with swollen cheeks can manage.

"...mom."

"yes?"

"...she's flirting."

denise nods. "she does that."

"...i think i like it."

you reach over and gently adjust the ice pack slipping off his cheek. he freezes completely. watching you.

"...you're really nice."

"thank you."

"...could i maybe..." he hesitates. "...hold your hand?"

you look at denise. she's trying so hard not to laugh she's practically crying. you nod. "of course."

he gently threads his fingers through yours, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "...nice."

five minutes later, he's still holding your hand. still smiling to himself. then suddenly, "...mom."

"yes?"

"...i've had an idea."

"should i be worried?"

"...i'm gonna ask her out."

you press your lips together.

"right now?"

he nods confidently. "...timing's important."

denise almost drives onto the curb because she's laughing.

he turns towards you properly. doing his absolute best to sit up straight. which isn't very straight. "...y/n."

"yeah?"

"...would you..." he pauses. apparently forgetting what he was saying. "...what was i doing?"

"asking me something."

"...right." he nods. "...yeah." another pause. "...will you...hang on." he looks at his own hands. "...lost it."

you can't breathe. you're laughing so hard tears are forming. he suddenly remembers. his face lights up.

"...there it is." he clears his throat dramatically. "...will you be my girlfriend?" there's complete sincerity in his eyes. despite everything. he genuinely looks nervous.

you smile as softly as you can. "i'd love to."

his entire face lights up. "...really?"

"really."

he immediately looks at his mom. "mom!"

"yes?"

"...she said yes!"

denise nods. "i heard."

"...that's brilliant."

"it is."

he squeezes your hand excitedly. "...i've got a girlfriend."

you laugh. "you do."

when you finally arrive at his house, helping him inside somehow takes even longer. mostly because he keeps introducing you to objects. he pats the hallway table. "...this is table."

"lovely to meet you, table."

he nods approvingly. "...good manners."

once he's settled on the sofa with another ice pack, he looks exhausted. the medication is finally starting to wear him out. his words become slower. his eyelids heavier. you sit beside him. still holding his hand. he looks at your joined hands.

"...can i ask something?"

"go on."

"...how long have we been together?"

you smile. "just over a year."

his eyes widen. "...a year?"

"yeah."

"...i did well."

you laugh softly. "you really did."

he looks strangely proud of himself. "...past jude's got game."

"apparently."

he nods seriously. "...respect."

his head slowly tips sideways until it's resting against your shoulder. you brush a hand gently through his messy curls. "...comfortable?"

"very."

"good."

another quiet minute passes. "...y/n?"

"yeah?"

"...don't tell anyone i forgot."

you smile. "can't promise that."

he groans dramatically. "...please."

"your mom already knows."

he slowly looks across the room. denise is standing in the kitchen making him a milkshake. she waves.

"...hi."

"hi, sweetheart."

he sighs. "...she's definitely gonna tell jobe."

"probably."

"...and dad."

"maybe."

"...and everyone."

you nod sympathetically. "most likely."

he closes his eyes. "...worst day ever."

you laugh. "really?"

he peeks at you with one sleepy eye. "...actually..." his fingers tighten around yours just a little. "...second best."

"second?"

"yeah."

"what was the best?"

his sleepy smile returns. "...meeting my girlfriend."

you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

"again." he nods lazily. "...worth doing twice."

within another minute, he's asleep against your shoulder, still holding your hand like he's afraid you'll disappear. you glance toward denise. she quietly lifts her phone, showing you the video she'd secretly taken of jude proudly announcing, "mom! she said yes!"

you laugh silently. "i'm absolutely keeping this."

denise grins. "oh, definitely."

₊⊹ contains: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, football disappointment, arguments, apologies, comfort, crying, happy ending

₊⊹ summary: after england's heartbreaking world cup semi-final loss to argentina, jude lets his emotions spill over onto the one person who never deserved it.

the hotel hallway is unnaturally quiet. usually, after matches, there are voices drifting between rooms. laughter. music. someone ordering room service too loudly. tonight... nothing. just silence. the kind that settles after something important has been taken away.

you stand outside jude's hotel room for a second before knocking softly. no answer. you wait. knock again. another few seconds pass before the door swings open. jude doesn't even look at you properly. he turns around immediately, walking back into the room without saying a word.

your stomach sinks. he's still wearing the england tracksuit. his hair is damp from the shower. his jaw is clenched so tightly you're surprised it doesn't hurt. the television is on. muted. football highlights replaying the match over and over again.

you quietly shut the door behind you. "hey."

"...hey." his voice is flat, empty even. he doesn't look away from the screen.

you step closer. "i came as soon as i could."

"yeah."

you hate silence like this. especially with him.

"do you want to talk?"

he lets out a short laugh. there's no humor in it. "talk about what?"

"anything."

"nothing to say."

you look at the television. another replay. another chance. another moment that could've gone differently. he reaches for the remote. switches it off. the room somehow feels even quieter.

"they're saying you all played well."

he shakes his head. "don't."

"i'm just saying—"

"don't." his voice is sharper this time.

you pause. "okay."

he walks towards the window. hands on his hips. looking out over the city lights. "everyone keeps saying 'there's always next time.'" he scoffs. "easy for them to say."

you don't answer. because there isn't really anything to say. you know how much this meant to him. how much it meant to every player in that dressing room. how much it meant to an entire country. you move closer anyway. carefully. "i'm sorry."

he nods once. "...yeah." another long silence. then. "we should've won." he says it so quietly you almost miss it.

"jude..."

"we should've won." he turns around. there's frustration written across every inch of his face. "we had chances."

"i know."

"we had them."

"i know."

"and now everyone's just gonna move on." his breathing is heavier now. "everyone else gets to move on."

you step forward, placing a gentle hand against his arm. "hey—"

he pulls away before you can finish. "don't."

your hand falls back to your side. "...okay."

"i just..." he runs both hands through his hair. "...i can't."

"that's alright."

"no." he shakes his head. "it's not."

his pacing starts. one end of the room. then the other. then back again. like he physically cannot sit still. you've seen him upset before. after difficult matches. after injuries. after criticism online. never like this. never this... wound up.

"everyone's gonna talk about where we went wrong." he mutters. "they'll pick apart every pass."

"people always talk."

"exactly." he laughs bitterly. "they always do."

you take another careful step. "come here."

he doesn't. instead, "why are you looking at me like that?"

you blink. "...like what?"

"like i'm gonna break."

"because you're hurting."

"don't."

"jude."

"don't look at me like that." his voice rises. "i'm fine."

you're quiet for a second. "you're not."

"i said i'm fine."

"you don't have to pretend with me."

"i'm not pretending."

"you are."

he laughs again, this time louder. "you know everything now, do you?"

your chest tightens. "that's not what i said."

"isn't it?"

"no."

"feels like it."

you swallow. "i'm trying to help."

"well, stop."

the words hit harder than either of you expect. the room goes still. he realizes it the second they leave his mouth. you can see it. the flash of regret. but neither of you says anything.

you nod once. "...okay." you take a small step backwards. giving him the space he'd asked for.

he turns away again. hands on the back of his neck. breathing hard. the silence stretches. minutes. it feels like hours. finally...

you quietly speak. "i'm gonna make you some tea."

"i don't want tea."

"okay."

"i don't want anything."

"alright."

"can everyone just stop trying to fix it?" he spins around again. "you can't fix this."

"i know."

"then why are you acting like you can?"

"i'm not."

"you are."

"jude."

"just..." he throws his hands into the air. "...leave it."

your heart aches. not because he's angry. because you know who he's really angry with. himself. the match. the result. everything except you. but right now... you're the only person standing in front of him. so the frustration has nowhere else to go.

you take a slow breath. "i'm not your opponent."

he immediately looks guilty. "...i know."

"i'm not the referee."

"...i know."

"i'm not the result."

he closes his eyes. "...i know."

your voice softens. "but you're talking to me like i am."

another silence. he doesn't answer. because he can't. because you're right. you walk over to the sofa instead. sitting quietly. giving him space without leaving. he keeps pacing for another five minutes. the only sound is his footsteps across the carpet. back and forth. back and forth. eventually they stop.

"i'm sorry." it's so quiet you almost don't hear it. you look up. he's still facing away from you. shoulders tense. head lowered. "...i'm sorry." he says it again. "i shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

you don't rush him. "i know."

he nods once. "you didn't deserve it."

"no, i didn't."

another pause. "...i just..." his voice catches. "...i don't know what to do."

your heart breaks a little. because suddenly... he doesn't look like one of the best footballers in the world. he just looks tired. young. completely heartbroken. you stand slowly. walking over until you're only a step away.

"look at me."

he hesitates. then finally does. his eyes are red. not from crying. from trying not to.

"come here."

he doesn't move immediately. almost like he doesn't think he deserves comfort after snapping at you. so you take the last step yourself. gently wrapping your arms around him. for a second... he stays completely stiff. hands hanging awkwardly by his sides. then, something inside him gives way. his arms wrap around you so tightly it almost hurts. he buries his face into your shoulder. and the first shaky breath escapes him.

"...i'm sorry." he whispers.

you rub slow circles across his back. "i know."

"i'm so sorry."

"i know."

he squeezes you tighter. "i didn't mean it."

"i know."

his breathing becomes uneven. another shaky breath. another. then, he breaks. completely. his shoulders shake against you. the first sob is quiet. the second isn't. you hold him exactly where he is. one hand in his hair. the other resting against his back.

"it's alright."

he shakes his head against your shoulder. "...it's not."

"you don't have to hold it together."

another sob. "we should've won." his voice cracks. "we should've won."

you close your eyes. letting him speak. letting him finally let everything out.

"we gave everything." he says between uneven breaths. "everything."

"i know."

"it wasn't enough." his grip tightens again. "...it doesn't feel fair."

you don't argue. you don't try to convince him otherwise. right now, he isn't asking for analysis. he's grieving a dream. "i can't stop thinking about it." he whispers. "every decision, every chance." he lets out another broken breath. "...it just..." he presses his forehead against your shoulder. "...it felt rigged."

the words come out raw. frustrated. not as a statement of fact. just the exhausted feeling of someone searching for a reason after a crushing defeat.

you gently stroke the back of his head. "i know it feels impossible to make sense of it."

he nods weakly. "nothing went our way."

"i know."

"we should've been there." his voice is barely above a whisper now. "in the final."

you hold him a little tighter. "you wanted it so much."

he laughs through another tear. "more than anything."

"i know."

"i wanted to bring it home." his voice cracks again. "for everyone."

your own eyes sting. because you know he means it. every interview. every match. every celebration. he'd carried that dream with him for months. and now... it was gone. he finally lifts his head enough to look at you. his eyes are wet. his face exhausted. "i hate losing."

you smile sadly. "i know you do."

"i hate feeling like i let people down."

you shake your head immediately. "you didn't."

"it feels like i did."

"feeling something doesn't always make it true."

he looks at you quietly, taking that in.

"the people who love you..." you brush a thumb gently across his cheek. "...don't only love you when you win." he doesn't answer. so you continue. "they love you when you score. when you don't score. when you lift trophies. when you don't."

his lip trembles slightly.

"i love you because you're you." you whisper. "not because of a result." another tear slips down his face. you wipe it away before it reaches his jaw. "today hurts." you say softly. "and it's okay that it hurts."

he nods. finally allowing himself to believe you. the room falls quiet again. not uncomfortable this time. just peaceful. after a while... he rests his forehead against yours.

"thank you."

"for what?"

"for staying."

you smile gently. "there wasn't anywhere else i was going."

he lets out the smallest laugh. "even after i was a bit of an idiot."

"a bit?"

he winces. "...alright" he sighs. "a massive idiot."

"that's better."

he smiles properly for the first time all evening. small. but real. "i'll spend ages making that up to you."

"you don't have to."

"i want to."

you tilt your head. "how?"

he thinks for a second. "...whatever you want."

"dangerous offer."

"probably."

"i might cash it in."

he nods. "fair."

you brush his curls away from his forehead. "right now..." you murmur. "...i just want you to stop carrying this by yourself."

he closes his eyes. letting out one long breath. like he's finally putting some of the weight down. "can we just..." he gestures vaguely towards the bed. "...sit?"

"of course."

you both climb onto the bed. backs against the headboard. the room lit only by the bedside lamp now. he reaches for your hand automatically. intertwining your fingers. his thumb slowly brushes across your knuckles. a familiar habit. one that always returns when he needs grounding.

you lean your head against his shoulder. he rests his against yours. neither of you says anything for a while.

outside, the city continues as normal. cars pass below. lights flicker in distant buildings. life keeps moving. inside the room, time seems to pause.

after a few minutes, he quietly says, "next time."

you glance up. "yeah?"

"we'll go again." there's still sadness in his voice. but now, there's determination too. "we'll keep fighting."

you smile. "i know you will."

he squeezes your hand once. "and when it hurts..."

you whisper. "...you don't have to carry it alone."

he turns his head and kisses your forehead, softly. "i'll try to remember that."

"good."

he smiles. "i love you."

"i love you more."

"not possible."

"watch me."

₊⊹ contains: established relationship, fluff, playful teasing, influencer reader, tiktok trend, pouty jude, affectionate banter, lots of kisses

₊⊹ summary: you convince jude to film a tiktok with you, but every time he kisses you, you do a trend by wiping it away, something he absolutely does not take well.

there are exactly two kinds of videos that your followers loved. ones where you were by yourself. and ones where jude accidentally stole the entire comment section.

he always insisted he wasn't good in front of the camera. always claimed he was awkward. always asked, "what do i actually do?" and then he'd stand there smiling for five minutes and somehow become everyone's favorite part of the video.

he was currently standing in the kitchen, making coffee, wearing grey joggers and one of those plain black t-shirts that somehow looked unfairly good on him. the morning light poured through the windows, making the whole room feel warm.

you leaned against the island, phone already in your hand. "jude."

he looked over his shoulder. "yeah?"

"will you film something with me?"

he took another sip of his coffee. "...depends."

"on what?"

"how embarrassing it is."

you smiled innocently. "not embarrassing."

he narrowed his eyes immediately. "that's exactly what someone says before it becomes embarrassing."

"i promise."

"...do you?"

"mostly."

he laughed quietly. "that's not convincing."

you walked over, slipping your arms around his waist. "please?"

he looked down at you. "you're using the nice voice."

"because it works."

"it does."

he sighed dramatically. "alright."

"really?"

"yeah." he shrugged. "can't say no to you, can i?"

"nope."

"thought so."

ten minutes later, the living room had been transformed into your filming space. ring light. phone tripod. soft music playing quietly in the background.

jude stood beside you, looking at the setup. "looks serious."

"it's literally just my phone."

"yeah, but every time you get this light out, i know i'm about to end up online."

"only if you're cute."

he looked at you. "...so definitely online then?"

you smiled. "see? you're getting confident."

he laughed. "been around you too long."

you adjusted the camera. checked the framing. perfect.

"what am i doing?" jude asked.

"nothing complicated."

"good."

"just be affectionate."

he looked genuinely confused. "...that's it?"

"that's it."

"easy."

"exactly."

he smiled. "i can do that." if only he knew.

you pressed record. the little timer counted down. three. two. one. you stood beside each other, smiling at the camera. everything looked perfectly normal. jude glanced at you. then leaned over naturally. pressed a gentle kiss against your temple. soft. quick. the kind he gave you every single day without thinking.

you smiled. waited exactly one second. then casually brushed the spot with the back of your hand. like you were wiping something away. out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pause. very slightly. he didn't say anything. yet.

he slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulled you a little closer and kissed your cheek this time. you smiled again. then... wipe. barely noticeable. but definitely there. his arm tightened ever so slightly. he looked at you. you kept looking at the camera. completely innocent.

third kiss, this time on your forehead. his favourite place. always had been. another gentle kiss. another tiny smile from you. another wipe. he frowned. actually frowned. you almost laughed. you didn't, staying committed.

you reached forward to stop recording. before you even touched your phone,

"...why do you keep doing that?"

you turned around. "doing what?"

"that." he pointed at your face. "every time i kiss you."

"...what?"

"you wipe it off."

you blinked. "i don't."

"you literally do."

"i think you're imagining things."

he stared at you. "...i'm not imagining it."

you shrugged. "must be."

he looked genuinely confused now. "no." he shook his head. "i definitely saw it."

you tilted your head. "saw what?"

he looked like he was trying to work out if he was losing his mind. "nothing."

"okay."

you restarted the recording. "one more."

he nodded slowly, still suspicious. "alright."

he looked at you for a second before carefully leaning in again, this time he kissed the corner of your mouth. lingering just a little longer. you smiled and then you wiped it.

his eyebrows shot up immediately. he looked directly into the camera. then back at you. "...seriously?"

you bit the inside of your cheek. don't laugh. don't laugh.

he tried again. kiss on your nose. wipe. kiss on your other cheek. wipe. kiss on your jaw. wipe. by now, he wasn't even pretending to hide his reaction. he just stood there staring at you, completely offended.

the recording ended. before you could reach the phone he caught your wrist.

"nah."

you looked up. "what?"

"tell me."

"tell you what?"

"why are you wiping my kisses off?"

"...i'm not."

"yes, you are."

"proof?"

he blinked. "proof?"

"yeah."

"i literally watched you."

"maybe your eyes were wrong."

he laughed once. "...my eyes?"

"stranger things have happened."

he shook his head. "you're winding me up."

"am i?"

"yeah."

"how?"

he let go of your wrist just to gesture dramatically. "every time i kiss you..." he leaned forward slightly, demonstrating. "...you do this." he brushed the side of his own face with his hand, exactly the movement you'd been making. "...like i'm dirty."

you gasped dramatically. "i would never."

he gave you a look. "you just did."

"did i?"

"yes."

"huh."

he folded his arms. "you're enjoying this."

"a little."

"a little?"

"maybe a lot."

he sighed. "right."

without warning, he cupped your face and kissed your forehead. you automatically smiled, then remembered, wipe.

he watched you do it in real time. his shoulders dropped. "...ouch."

your smile nearly broke. "what?"

"that one hurt."

"dramatic."

"nah." he pointed at his chest. "right here."

"you'll recover."

"don't know if i will."

he walked over to the sofa, sat down, crossed his arms.

you stared. "...what are you doing?"

"thinking."

"about?"

"whether my girlfriend likes me."

you laughed. "jude."

"because i'm not getting many positive signs right now."

you sat beside him. "you're getting loads."

"am i?"

"yeah."

"where?" he waited. "...exactly."

you rested your head against his shoulder. he didn't move. "you're sulking."

"i'm processing."

"same thing."

"not really."

"very much."

he looked down at you. "...can i ask something?"

"go on."

"if i smelled bad..."

you blinked. "...what?"

"would you tell me?"

you burst into laughter. "where did that come from?"

"well..." he scratched the back of his neck. "...you keep wiping my kisses."

"that doesn't mean you smell."

"does it not?"

"no."

"you sure?"

"very."

he looked relieved for exactly one second, then frowned again. "...still don't like the wiping."

your phone buzzed with a message. your best friend.

did you do the trend yet??

you quickly locked the screen. too late.

jude had seen enough. "trend?" he raises an eyebrow and stares at you deeply. "what trend?"

"...nothing."

he narrowed his eyes. "...y/n."

"yes?"

"what trend?"

you smiled. "...just a tiktok thing."

he sighed. "of course it is."

he stood up, walked over, and picked up your phone. "show me."

"no."

"why?"

"because."

"that's suspicious."

"you're suspicious."

"nice try."

he unlocked your phone using the passcode he definitely wasn't supposed to know. "i saw you type it once."

"i remember."

he opened tiktok, typed exactly four words. wiping my boyfriend's kisses. videos appeared instantly. he clicked the first one. you watched his face as he realised. girl gets kissed. girl wipes it away. boyfriend looks confused. repeat. he watched another. then another. the finally, he looked at you.

"...seriously?"

you smiled sheepishly. "...maybe."

he let out the biggest sigh. "i genuinely thought you were annoyed at me."

"really?"

"yeah."

"baby..."

he laughed at himself. "i was sat there thinking..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "...'what have i done?'"

your heart melted a little. "you actually thought that?"

"well..." he shrugged. "...yeah."

"i'm sorry."

"nah." he smiled. "it's funny now."

"is it?"

"a little." he paused. "...still rude though."

you wrapped your arms around his waist. "i didn't mean it."

"i know."

"i like your kisses."

"do you?"

"love them."

he pretended to think. "not convinced."

you looked up at him. "how can i convince you?"

he smiled immediately. "knew you'd ask."

"you planned this?"

"a bit."

"unbelievable."

he pointed at himself. "i reckon i'm owed..." he counted on his fingers. "...at least ten kisses."

"ten?"

"minimum."

"you're negotiating now?"

"absolutely."

you laughed. "fine." you stood on your tiptoes. kissed his cheek once. then the other, his forehead, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his nose, and his lips. he stayed completely still through all of them. watching you with the softest smile. when you reached number ten, he nodded.

"alright."

"happy?"

"nearly."

"nearly?"

he leaned down, kissed you properly, slow, gentle. the kind that made everything else disappear for a second. when he pulled away, he watched you carefully.

"...go on."

"what?"

"wipe it."

you smiled. "...not gonna."

"why not?"

"because i like that one."

"just that one?"

"all of them."

he grinned. "better." he suddenly reached for your phone again. "one more video."

you blinked. "what?"

"humour me."

camera back on. recording. he stood beside you again. this time before you could even move, he kissed your forehead. then your cheek. then your nose. then both your hands. then finally your lips. one after another. you laughed the whole time. when he finished, he gently held both your wrists. "...not this time."

you looked at him, smiling. "okay." you deliberately left every kiss exactly where he'd put it. he looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"that's more like it."

you stopped recording. "people are gonna love this."

"hope so." he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking with you towards the kitchen. "next time." he said casually. "don't emotionally attack me for content."

"emotionally attack?"

"that's what happened."

"dramatic."

"accurate."

you opened the fridge. "want lunch?"

"yeah."

"what?"

"don't mind."

you pulled ingredients out. he quietly started helping. cutting vegetables. passing you plates. like always. comfortable. easy. after a minute, he suddenly leaned over. kissed your cheek again. then immediately watched you. waiting. you smiled. didn't move.

his shoulders visibly relaxed. "good."

"you're unbelievable."

"just checking."

you laughed. "you really got in your head about it."

he looked slightly embarrassed. "...a little."

"a little?"

"alright." he sighed. "a lot."

"why?"

he shrugged. "because..." his voice softened. "...i like kissing you."

you looked at him. he continued chopping tomatoes like he hadn't just said something that made your heart do a backflip.

"...it's my favourite way of saying hello." another pause. "...or goodbye." he laughed quietly. "...or good morning, or goodnight." he smiled to himself. "...or just because."

your expression softened completely. "that's really cute."

he looked confused. "is it?"

"very."

"huh." he shrugged. "just feels normal."

"it is." you stepped closer and rested a hand against his chest. "and for the record..." he looked down at you. "...i never wipe your kisses off."

"except twenty minutes ago."

"that was research."

he laughed. "research."

"for the internet."

"right."

"very important."

"course it was."

later that afternoon, the video went viral. within minutes the comments exploded.

"his little pout i'm crying."

"he looked genuinely heartbroken."

"someone protect this man."

"the way he kept checking after every kiss."

"he's literally just a golden retriever."

you showed jude the last comment.

he frowned. "...golden retriever?"

"i see it."

"do you?"

"yeah."

"don't know how i feel about that."

"they're loyal."

"good point."

"friendly."

"also true."

"very affectionate."

he smiled. "...can't argue there."

you laughed. "exactly."

he reached over. kissed your cheek one last time. soft. warm. familiar. then looked at you expectantly. "...well?"

you smiled and left it exactly where it was. "happy?"

he smiled back. "very."

₊⊹ contains: domestic fluff, married drew starkey, toddler chaos, beach day, family moments, exhausted parents, lots of sweetness

₊⊹ summary: what was supposed to be a relaxing beach day quickly turns into a full-time workout thanks to your energetic three year old daughter, alexandra.

if someone had asked you what your ideal saturday looked like before becoming a parent, your answer would've been embarrassingly simple. sleep in. get coffee. go to the beach. read a book. come home. easy. now? your ideal saturday was surviving it.

"mommy!"

you don't even get a chance to open your eyes before tiny hands are pressing against your cheeks.

"mommy, wake up!"

you groan into your pillow. "what time is it?"

"beach!"

not an answer. you crack one eye open. the clock reads 6:18.

"...alexandra."

your three year old daughter is already fully dressed. well. mostly. she's wearing a pink swimsuit. one sandal. and somehow one of drew's baseball caps.

"baby..."

she bounces on the mattress. "beach!"

you look across the bed. drew hasn't escaped either. alexandra is now climbing directly onto his stomach.

"daddy!"

he makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "good morning to you too."

she grabs his face with both little hands. "sun's awake."

he peeks through one eye. "...is it?"

she nods enthusiastically. "yeah!"

he sighs dramatically. "reckon the sun could've slept another hour."

"no."

"fair enough."

you laugh quietly.

alexandra points towards the bedroom door. "come on!"

drew looks at you. "whose child is this?"

"yours."

"don't put this on me."

"she has your energy."

"absolutely not."

alex immediately interrupts. "beach now?"

you both answer together. "five minutes."

she gasps. "that's forever."

an hour later, after sunscreen battles, missing sunglasses, one emergency outfit change because someone spilled orange juice all over themselves, and drew having to search the entire house for a stuffed dolphin that absolutely had to come... you finally pull into the beach car park. alexandra is already trying to unbuckle herself.

"easy." drew reaches back from the driver's seat. "wait for us, alright?"

"okay." she waits exactly three seconds. "now?"

"nearly."

"now?"

"still nearly."

"now?"

you smile. "she definitely gets that from you."

drew shakes his head. "i refuse responsibility."

getting onto the beach somehow feels like moving house. cooler. umbrella. towels. snacks. sand toys. extra clothes. a little inflatable ball. three different buckets because apparently one wasn't enough.

"how do tiny humans need this much stuff?" drew mutters, balancing almost everything in both hands.

"because they're tiny dictators."

"that's actually fair."

alex is already halfway to the sand. "daddy!"

"coming."

"faster!"

he laughs. "i'm carrying half the car."

the second her feet touch the sand, she's gone. straight towards the shoreline. tiny curls bouncing. arms spread wide.

"daddy! look!"

"i'm looking."

"look!"

"still looking."

"look again!"

he smiles. "done."

you reach his side. "she's excited."

"i think excited might be an understatement."

for the first twenty minutes, everything is perfect. alex builds tiny sandcastles. you sit beside drew. the ocean breeze is warm. waves roll lazily onto the shore. you actually think, this is relaxing. then...

"mommy!" alex appears covered head to toe in sand.

"yes?"

"look!" she proudly holds out a dead piece of seaweed. "isn't it pretty?"

you look at drew. he looks back.

"...it's beautiful."

she smiles so brightly it hurts your heart. "i know!"

ten minutes later...

"daddy!"

"yeah?"

"come dig."

he gets up immediately. "alright."

you watch them walk away together. drew crouches beside her. she hands him a tiny pink shovel. he takes it without question. within minutes, they've somehow dug a hole almost as deep as alexandra herself.

"look!" she jumps into it. "daddy, i'm gone!"

he pretends to panic. "where'd you go?"

"right here!"

"oh." he places a hand over his heart dramatically. "thought i'd lost you."

she giggles so hard she nearly falls over. you snap a photo. they're completely unaware. your favourite kind.

an hour passes. you've barely sat down. because alexandra has discovered shell collecting. which means every thirty seconds—

"mommy!"

"yes?"

"look!" another shell. "daddy!"

"yeah?"

"look!" another shell. "look!"

by shell number forty eight, your pockets are somehow full.

"baby." you crouch beside her. "i think we've found enough."

she frowns. "...beach still has more."

"it definitely does."

"we need them."

drew quietly leans over. "she's got a point."

you look at him. "don't encourage this."

"i'm just saying..." he picks up another shell. "...this one's pretty nice."

"you're both impossible."

lunchtime should be easy. should. instead, alex decides seagulls are her new best friends.

"birdies!"

before either of you can react, she's running. holding half a sandwich. straight towards them. the birds immediately scatter. she chases them anyway. laughing hysterically.

"drew."

"i know." he's already up. "alex!"

she keeps running. "they're flying!"

"because you're chasing them!"

"they're playing!"

"i don't think they are." he finally catches up, lifts her effortlessly onto his hip.

she pouts. "i wanted birdies."

he kisses the side of her head. "they wanted lunch."

"me too."

he blinks. "...that's literally what we were doing."

back under the umbrella, she eats exactly three bites. then remembers she has legs.

"all done."

"alex." you point at the sandwich. "finish a little more."

she sighs dramatically. "okay."

one tiny bite. "all done."

drew leans closer to you. "...that's progress."

the afternoon somehow gets even busier. alex wants to paddle. then swim. then collect more shells. then bury drew in sand. then make him a mermaid.

"why am i the mermaid?" he laughs.

"because daddy."

"solid reasoning."

she pats more sand onto his legs. "don't move."

"yes, ma'am."

you can't stop laughing as she decorates him with shells.

"daddy's beautiful."

he nods seriously. "i've always said that."

"humble too." you say sarcastically.

"obviously."

alex places a piece of seaweed on top of his head. "princess hair."

he looks at you. "...help."

"absolutely not."

"traitor."

later, she insists you all jump waves together. which sounds adorable. until you realise toddlers have absolutely no concept of timing.

"jump!" a wave crashes, she squeals, another wave. "jump!" too late.

you get soaked. drew laughs so hard he nearly loses his balance.

"don't laugh!"

"i'm trying."

"you're failing."

"a little."

alex points at both of you. "again!"

after three straight hours of running, jumping waves, and swimming, your legs hurt. your shoulders hurt. your back hurts. and somehow, alex still has enough energy to sprint in circles around the beach towel.

"drew."

"yeah?"

"...is she battery powered?"

he watches your daughter doing what can only be described as interpretive dancing. "...might be."

"where does it come from?"

"wish i knew."

"i need whatever she's got."

"same."

eventually, you convince her it's time to head home. which naturally leads to her protesting against you and drew.

"no."

"baby."

"no."

"daddy's tired."

she looks at him. "...why?"

he laughs quietly. "because i've been chasing you all day."

she thinks about it. "do it again."

he looks at you. "see?"

"i saw."

"she's ruthless."

the walk back to the car is significantly slower. alex insists on carrying her own bucket. which weighs almost nothing. but she keeps stopping. every five steps. because another shell appears. or another feather. or another interesting rock. twenty minutes later, you've covered what should've taken four.

getting her into the car seat is another adventure. she's talking so fast neither of you can keep up.

"and then daddy was sandy and birdies and waves and shells and i found pink one and mommy got wet and daddy was princess—"

drew buckles her in. "that's exactly how i remember it."

she nods proudly. "best day."

five minutes into the drive, silence. you look into the rearview mirror. alexandra is asleep. head tilted slightly. one hand still clutching her favourite shell.

you smile instantly. "finally."

drew glances back too. "she lasted longer than i expected."

"by about thirty seconds."

he laughs. the car is quiet. just music playing softly. windows down. the smell of saltwater still lingering. you reach over. rest your hand on his arm.

"you okay?"

he smiles. "yeah."

"tired?"

"...very."

"same." another pause. "worth it though."

when you get home, the challenge somehow isn't over. because now there's sand. everywhere.

"how is there sand inside my shoe?" you ask.

drew looks down. "i've got sand in my pocket."

"how?"

"don't know."

you empty your beach bag. more sand. the towels. sand. the snacks somehow. also sand.

"i'm convinced we brought half the beach home."

"probably did."

alex wakes just enough to mumble, "bath?"

"good idea." drew carries her upstairs. still sleepy. still curled against his shoulder. you follow behind. watching the way one tiny hand lazily holds onto the back of his t-shirt.

bath time somehow wakes her up again. for exactly twelve minutes. she makes bubbles. splashes both of you. insists every rubber duck needs introducing by name. then, almost like someone flipped a switch, she yawns. huge.

"sleepy."

you smile. "i noticed."

by bedtime, she can barely keep her eyes open. drew sits beside her little bed while you tuck the blankets around her.

"story?" she whispers.

he smiles. "one."

"two."

"nice try."

she giggles. he ends up reading one and a half. because halfway through the second, she's asleep. mouth slightly open. still hugging her stuffed dolphin. you both stand there quietly for a second. neither of you wanting to wake her.

drew whispers, "she's out."

"completely."

he reaches over. takes your hand. the two of you quietly leave the room. closing the door behind you.

the second you make it downstairs, you both collapse onto the sofa at exactly the same time. neither of you speaks. not for almost a full minute.

"i don't think i can move."

you laugh. "same."

he stretches his legs out with a groan. "my back."

"my everything."

"did we run a marathon today?"

"felt like it."

he nods seriously. "against someone with unlimited stamina."

you smile. "she really does."

"it's terrifying."

you both sit there in comfortable silence. the house finally quiet. no little footsteps. no excited shouting. no tiny voice yelling "look!" just the soft hum of the air conditioning. after a while, you rest your head on drew's shoulder.

"you know..."

"hm?"

"before we had alex..."

"yeah?"

"i used to think beach days were relaxing."

he laughs quietly. "same."

"now they're basically extreme sports."

"with snacks."

"exactly."

he reaches for the remote. doesn't even turn the tv on. just holds it. too tired to decide.

"we're getting old."

"we're thirty something."

"feels older."

you smile. "because of her."

"because of her."

your phone buzzes. it's a notification from the shared album. photos from today have uploaded. you open them. the first one, alex laughing with her bucket. the second, drew buried in sand wearing his seaweed "hair." the third, the three of you standing ankle deep in the ocean, alexandra between you, both your hands holding hers while she jumps over the waves with the biggest smile you've ever seen.

you show drew. he smiles instantly.

"...that's a good one."

"yeah."

he studies it for another second. "look how happy she is."

"look how tired we look."

he laughs. "...worth it."

"always."

another silence settles between you. comfortable. easy. the kind that only comes after years of knowing someone. after surviving long filming schedules. long flights. late nights. and now, the wonderfully chaotic days that came with raising a three year old.

drew glances towards the stairs. "think she'll be up at six again?"

you sigh dramatically. "definitely."

"earlier?"

"probably."

he closes his eyes. "...great."

you smile. "you'll survive."

"barely."

"you're a good dad."

he opens one eye. "...you reckon?"

you look at him. "i know."

he smiles in that quiet way he always does when he doesn't quite know what to say. "you're a pretty great mom."

"even when i nearly let her keep forty nine shells?"

"especially then."

you lean over and kiss his cheek. "thanks for carrying ninety percent of the bags today."

he laughs. "i noticed you counted."

"i did."

"thought i was being subtle."

"you were carrying a beach umbrella, three chairs, a cooler, and a child."

"...yeah."

"not subtle."

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer until you're tucked comfortably against him.

"same time next weekend?"

you look up at him like he's completely lost his mind. "...absolutely not."

he laughs. "too soon?"

"way too soon."

"give it two weeks?"

"maybe."

"three?"

"we'll negotiate."

he grins. "fair."

you both look towards the stairs again, thinking about the little girl asleep upstairs. the one who had somehow managed to exhaust two grown adults before lunchtime. the one who could turn a simple beach trip into an adventure, a workout, and a memory you'd talk about for years.

₊⊹ contains: established relationship, fluff, playful banter, influencer reader, tiktok trend, domestic moments, teasing, soft jude

₊⊹ summary: while filming an ice cream taste test for tiktok, you decide to try the "current boyfriend" trend on jude, and he absolutely refuses to let that slide.

you'd learned a long time ago that dating jude bellingham came with two very specific things. one, you'd never win an argument about football. and two, he'd hear absolutely everything. even the things you wished he'd ignore. especially those.

"are we actually filming now?" jude asks, leaning against the kitchen island.

you glance over from where you're arranging little bowls of ice cream into a line. "yes."

"been waiting twenty minutes."

"because presentation matters."

he looks at the tiny handwritten labels you've stuck in front of each flavour. "you've labelled vanilla."

"yes."

"it's vanilla."

"and?"

"...it looks like vanilla."

you gasp dramatically. "don't disrespect the aesthetic."

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head. "right."

the kitchen is a mess already. camera balanced on its tripod. ring light taking up half the room. melting tubs of ice cream scattered across the counter. tiny plastic spoons everywhere. the freezer door is still slightly open.

jude reaches over and closes it. "that'll probably help."

"i was gonna do that."

"were you?"

"...eventually."

he gives you a look. "you're lucky you're pretty."

you grin. "i know."

"cocky."

"dating you does wonders for confidence."

he rolls his eyes, though the smile gives him away. dating jude had also taught you something else. he secretly loved being involved in your videos. he'd never admit it. he always acted like he was being dragged into them against his will. but every single time your followers asked for another video with him... he'd somehow always end up standing next to you anyway.

"ready?" you ask.

he nods. "do i need to say anything?"

"just be yourself."

"...that's dangerous."

"exactly why people like you."

he laughs. "fair."

you pick up the little remote that starts recording. the red light appears. instantly, your influencer smile switches on.

"hi, everyone!"

jude watches you transform beside him. he always found it funny. one second you're stealing bites of chocolate from the fridge. the next you're speaking like you've just walked onto a television set.

"today we're doing something that's been all over my comments for ages." you gesture towards the row of ice creams. "we're gonna be trying every weird ice cream flavour we could find." you reach over, wrap an arm around jude's waist, and smile sweetly at the camera. "...with my current boyfriend."

silence. you feel him look at you. not move. just... look.

"...current?"

you keep smiling directly into the camera. "yeah."

"...current?"

"mhm."

he blinks. "that's interesting."

you bite the inside of your cheek. don't laugh. not yet.

"we're gonna rate them out of ten and—"

"sorry." he interrupts, still staring at you. "current boyfriend?"

you finally look up at him. "yeah?"

he points at himself. "current?"

"that's what i said."

"...right." his eyebrows pull together. "so... there's gonna be another one?"

you shrug innocently. "who knows."

"i'm sorry?"

"let's just taste the ice cream."

he folds his arms. "nah."

"jude."

"hold on." he looks straight into your camera now. "did everyone hear that?"

you start laughing.

he ignores you. "current boyfriend." he repeats the words slowly. "that's what i've been reduced to."

you can barely breathe. "reduced?"

"that's crazy."

"how?"

"i thought i was just boyfriend."

you nod. "you are."

"apparently not."

"you're my current one."

he looks genuinely offended. "there's... future candidates?"

"maybe."

"maybe?" he stares at you for another second before looking back at the camera. "i'm learning things today."

you completely lose it, laughing so hard you lean against the counter. he watches you with the tiniest smile threatening to appear.

"you're enjoying this way too much."

"i really am."

"yeah, i can tell."

you wave a hand. "okay." deep breath. "can we actually film the video now?"

he doesn't answer immediately. instead, he takes one of the little bowls. looks directly into the lens.

"hi everyone."

you immediately know he's about to be difficult.

"this is apparently my final appearance."

"stop."

"because i'm only the current boyfriend."

"jude."

"don't know who's next."

"there is no next."

"you don't know that."

you shove his shoulder. "you're so dramatic."

he grins. "just using your words."

you finally manage to restart.

"okay." you point at the first flavour. "salted caramel."

jude picks up his spoon. "safe start."

"exactly."

you both take a bite.

he nods. "that's nice."

"eight."

"i'm saying eight and a half."

"copycat."

"i said mine second."

"still copied."

he shrugs. "can't help having good opinions."

the second flavour is birthday cake. you immediately pull a face.

"that tastes like perfume."

jude laughs so hard he nearly chokes. "nah."

"it's awful."

"it's alright."

you stare at him. "you're lying."

"i'm really not."

"you've lost your mind."

he reaches over and steals another spoonful. "more for me."

halfway through the video you've completely forgotten about the trend. until you ask,

"which flavour's your favourite so far?"

he answers instantly. "depends."

"on what?"

"am i still your current favourite boyfriend?"

you freeze. "...seriously?"

he smiles. "just checking."

"yes."

"for now?"

you throw your spoon at him. it bounces harmlessly off his hoodie.

he laughs. "i'm joking."

"you're impossible."

"you started it."

comments are going to love this. you already know.

the next flavour is chilli chocolate. you both regret it instantly.

"what on earth..." you cough. "who invented this?"

jude is laughing too hard to answer. "it's actually spicy."

"that's literally the point."

"ice cream shouldn't be spicy."

"i agree."

he reaches straight for your glass of water. takes a sip. then offers it to you without thinking. you drink from the same glass. completely automatic. one of those tiny habits neither of you notices anymore.

"never again."

you nod. "that's getting a one."

"that's generous."

"next." you lift another tub. "pickle."

he looks horrified. "...you're joking."

"i wish."

"nah."

"yes."

"absolutely not."

you point to him. "you promised."

he sighs dramatically. "this relationship..."

you interrupt. "current relationship."

he slowly closes his eyes. "...you're enjoying this way too much." he takes one bite. immediately stands there in silence.

"well?" you raise an eyebrow. "jude?"

"...i don't actually know what i'm tasting."

"it's disgusting."

he nods slowly. "yeah." another pause. "...i think that's the worst thing i've ever eaten."

"same."

he walks to the sink. spits it out. comes back.

"if that's your idea of replacing me..."

you burst into laughter again. "stop bringing it up!"

"can't."

"why?"

"because i'm still thinking about it."

you eventually finish filming. camera still rolling as you both sit on the kitchen stools surrounded by empty bowls.

"overall winner?" you ask.

"vanilla."

"boring."

"reliable."

"boring."

he shrugs. "works every time."

"you have the tastebuds of a seventy-year-old."

"and yet..." he nudges your knee with his. "...i'm still the current boyfriend."

you groan. "you're never letting that go."

"absolutely not."

you reach over to stop recording. click. the camera turns off. finally.

you collapse dramatically over the counter. "i'm exhausted."

"from eating ice cream?"

"content creation is hard."

"right." he starts gathering bowls together without being asked. he always does.

you watch him rinse spoons under the tap. "you're washing up?"

"someone has to."

"rude."

"am i wrong?"

"...no."

he smirks. "thought so."

you wander over beside him. wrap your arms loosely around his waist from behind. rest your cheek against the back of his hoodie. he keeps washing dishes. like this happens every day. because it does.

"you're quiet."

"thinking."

"dangerous."

"very." he hums. "current boyfriend."

you laugh into his back. "still?"

"still." he turns the tap off. faces you. "can i ask something?"

"depends."

"was that one of those internet things?"

"...maybe."

he narrows his eyes. "it was."

you nod. "there's a trend."

"explains everything."

"people call their boyfriend their current boyfriend to see how they react."

he blinks. "...seriously?"

"yeah."

"and you lot just wake up and decide to emotionally confuse people?"

you grin. "pretty much."

he lets out a quiet laugh. "social media's gone."

"it has."

"you got me."

"i definitely did."

"thought you were trying to tell me something."

your smile softens. "no."

"you sure?"

"very."

he nods once. "good."

there's something so genuine in the way he says it. like, despite all the joking... for just a second he'd actually wondered.

you reach up, cup his face. "there isn't another boyfriend."

"good."

"there hasn't been."

"good."

"and there won't be."

"good."

you smile. "you're the boyfriend."

he pretends to think about it. "...i like the sound of that better."

"me too." you lean up to kiss him. quick. soft. he smiles into it. when you pull away, he's still smiling. "what?"

"nothing."

"you're looking at me."

"am i not allowed?"

"depends."

he laughs. "on what?"

"whether you're my current boyfriend."

he groans dramatically. "see?"

"what?"

"you've ruined that word forever."

an hour later you're both curled up on the sofa. editing the video together. mostly because jude insists on seeing how ridiculous he looked.

"pause." he points at the screen. "why am i making that face?"

"because you thought i was breaking up with you."

"i didn't."

you give him a look.

"...a little bit."

"exactly."

"well..." he scratches the back of his neck. "...who says current?"

"it's funny."

"not for me."

you laugh. "everyone's gonna love this."

"everyone's gonna laugh at me."

"probably."

he sighs. "great."

you upload it anyway.

caption: trying weird ice cream flavors with my current boyfriend

"you're evil."

"just wait."

"for what?"

"the comments."

they start rolling in almost immediately. you and jude read them together.

"his face dropped so fast."

"he looked like he saw his future disappear."

"the way he kept bringing it up is killing me."

"current??? i'd react exactly the same."

"he was buffering."

jude points at one. "that's accurate."

you laugh. another appears.

"protect him at all costs."

he nods proudly. "i agree."

"of course you do."

five minutes later, your phone buzzes. instagram notification. you open it. jude has posted.

you frown. "...what?"

he tries not to smile. "nothing."

you open his story. it's a picture he'd secretly taken while you were laughing in the kitchen. ice cream everywhere. hair messy. completely unaware.

across the photo he'd written: spent the afternoon filming with my favourite influencer. apparently i'm still the current boyfriend.

you look over at him. "...really?"

he shrugs. "thought i'd remind everyone."

you smile despite yourself. "you're unbelievable."

"and?"

"very annoying."

"anything else?"

you lean across the sofa, kiss his cheek. "...my favorite boyfriend."

he smiles. "that's better."

you pretend to think. "...current favourite."

he drops his head back dramatically. "honestly..."

you laugh so hard you nearly fall off the sofa. he catches your arm before you do. shaking his head.

"you're lucky i like you."

you look up at him. "like me?"

"yeah."

"just like?"

he grins. "careful."

"or what?"

"i'll start introducing you as my current girlfriend."

you gasp. "you wouldn't."

"try me."

"...okay." you hold your hands up in surrender. "i'll behave."

"good." he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back against him. "because i've quite grown attached to this boyfriend job."

you rest your head against him. "yeah?"

"yeah."

"planning on keeping it?"

he kisses the top of your head without hesitation. "long-term."

you smile to yourself. "good."

"good?"

"yeah."

"why's that?"

𑣲. welcome to my masterlist!

i will add on more people as i continue to write fics!

fluff=𝜗ৎ angst=಄ smut=☆ suggestive=⟡

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 jude bellingham

༉‧₊˚. OFFSIDE 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚.CURRENT BF 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. KEEP THEM 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. AFTER THE FINAL WHISTLE 𝜗ৎ ಄

༉‧₊˚. WISDOM TEETH 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. LOST IN TRANSLATION 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. TRACK TWELVE 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. WRONG NAME ಄, ༉‧₊˚. p2: FINDING HOME AGAIN ಄ 𝜗ৎ

༉‧₊˚. JUDE BELLINGHAM TEXTS! 𝜗ৎ⟡

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 drew starkey

༉‧₊˚. SANDY FEET 𝜗ৎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 steve harrington

₊⊹ contains: fluff, banter, football rivalry, first meeting, protective brother gavi, awkward flirting, post-match chaos, slowburn

₊⊹ summary: after spotting gavi's sister in the stands during el clásico, jude decides getting her number is worth trying to get.

₊⊹ an: first fic 💔 bare with me i'll get better

the santiago bernabéu had never exactly been a quiet place.

every whistle was loud, every tackle heavy, every chant somehow managed to shake the seats beneath thousands of people. el clásico had a way of making ninety minutes feel like life or death.

y/n wasn't even supposed to be sitting where she was. she usually watched from the family section at the camp nou, surrounded by parents, siblings, girlfriends, and people who had known gavi since he was a kid kicking a ball around los palacios. but away games were different. smaller sections. tighter security. louder abuse from the home crowd.

still, she'd never miss one of her brother's matches. especially not this one.

she leaned forward every time barcelona attacked, groaning whenever real madrid won possession back.

"come on, gavi!" she shouted without thinking, her voice disappeared into the stadium. down below, gavi was arguing with the referee already. she laughed. "never change."

jude bellingham noticed her in the thirty-fourth minute. it wasn't intentional. he'd looked towards the touchline after the ball had gone out, catching movement from the away supporters.

then he'd seen her. barcelona shirt. blue jeans. hair getting blown across her face every few seconds because of the wind. she was laughing at something happening on the pitch. he didn't know why she'd caught his eye.

maybe because she wasn't looking at him. everyone usually watched him. phones followed him during warm-ups. kids screamed his name. people recorded every little thing he did. she wasn't. she was too busy yelling at someone for fouling her brother.

jude almost smiled.

"oi!" antonio rüdiger nudged him. "focus."

"yeah." he shook his head and jogged back into position. still... he found himself glancing over there again. and again.

by half-time he'd decided she was probably someone's girlfriend. by the sixtieth minute he'd realised she looked a lot like—

"...that's gavi's sister." he blinked.

"what?" vinícius had followed his line of sight while they waited for a corner.

"the girl." jude looked back.

"how do you know?"

"because she literally looks exactly like him."

she did. same eyes. same smile.

"mad." vinícius laughed. "don't even think about it."

"i wasn't."

"you definitely were."

the match ended with the usual chaos. players arguing. fans singing over one another. shirts being swapped. media flooding the pitch. jude barely heard any of it. because he'd looked over again. and she'd still been there.

except now she was making her way down towards the tunnel entrance where families waited. without really thinking about it, he started walking.

"where you going?" rodrygo called.

"two minutes."

"bro, interviews."

"i'll be back."

y/n checked her phone. three missed texts.

mom: wait by the tunnel.

dad: your brother's doing media first.

gavi: don't leave.

she sighed. "typical."

players were beginning to disappear down the corridor when someone stopped beside her.

"excuse me?"

she turned. and immediately forgot how to speak. jude bellingham. standing right there. still sweaty from the match. shirt slung over one shoulder, looking slightly awkward.

"hi."

"...hi."

"you alright?"

"yeah..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "this is probably gonna sound a bit random."

"a little."

he laughed. "fair enough."

there was a second where neither of them spoke. he pointed towards the pitch. "i... noticed you during the game."

"hopefully because i wasn't throwing anything."

"nah." he smiled. "you looked like you were having the time of your life shouting at everyone."

she laughed. "occupational hazard."

"you're gavi's sister, yeah?"

"that obvious?"

"a bit."

"rude."

"nah, i mean, you both smile the same."

she tried not to smile again.

"that's better."

"what is?"

"the smile." he said it so casually it took her a second to process it.

"...was that a pick up line?"

"a terrible one, wasn't it?"

"a bit."

"yeah." he laughed at himself. "i'm better on a football pitch."

"i've heard."

another silence. not awkward. just... unexpected.

he looked at her. "listen..."

she waited.

"i thought you were cute."

straight to the point. very english. very jude.

"and i was wondering..." he hesitated for the first time all conversation. "...if maybe i could get your number?"

she stared at him. "you're asking me for my number."

"that's generally how it works."

"you do realise what shirt i'm wearing?"

he looked down dramatically. "...yeah."

"and who my brother is?"

"also... yeah."

"you're brave."

"i get that sometimes." he grinned. "can i still have it?"

she opened her mouth—

"y/n!"

oh no.

she closed her eyes. "...that's him."

jude looked over her shoulder. walking straight towards them. gavi. still in full kit. still looking like he'd happily play another ninety minutes if it meant winning an argument. he spotted jude. his expression immediately changed.

"...what's he doing here?"

y/n muttered, "this is gonna be painful."

gavi reached them within seconds. he looked between the pair. once. twice. "...why are you talking to my sister?"

jude answered before y/n could. "just saying hello."

"why?"

"because i wanted to."

gavi folded his arms. "why?"

jude blinked. "...that's the same question."

"answer it again."

"pablo."

"no." he didn't even look at her, eyes stayed on jude. "why are you talking to my sister?"

jude somehow didn't laugh. "because i think she's nice."

gavi narrowed his eyes. "that's suspicious."

"how?"

"you're from madrid."

"i'm from birmingham."

"...you play for madrid."

"that's true."

"see?"

jude looked at y/n. "is he always like this?"

"worse, actually."

"oi." gavi grumbled.

"what?"

"help me out here."

"i'm enjoying this." y/n laughs.

gavi pointed at jude. "don't flirt."

"i wasn't flirting."

"you literally are."

"i asked for her number."

"exactly!"

"that's flirting?"

"yes!"

jude looked genuinely confused. "...well then."

gavi looked horrified. "don't 'well then' me."

a few madrid players were now slowing down as they walked past. rodrygo. vinícius. even luka modrić. all pretending they weren't watching. none of them were convincing.

vinícius whispered loudly, "he's getting cooked."

rodrygo snorted.

y/n pinched the bridge of her nose. "can everyone stop staring?"

"can't," vinícius called. "this is entertaining."

gavi ignored everyone else. "you're not getting her number."

jude looked at y/n. "feels like that should be her decision."

"it's mine."

"it's definitely not."

"it is today."

"that's... not how sisters work."

y/n sighed dramatically. "can someone please explain why i'm apparently not part of this conversation?"

both boys looked at her. "...sorry." they said it at the same time.

she laughed. "incredible."

jude scratched his jaw. "look." he spoke to gavi. "i'm not trying to cause problems."

"you are."

"i literally just wanted to ask your sister if she'd maybe like to get coffee sometime."

gavi looked offended. "coffee?"

"...yeah?"

"that's somehow worse."

"how?"

"you're making it sound serious."

"it's coffee."

"exactly."

jude looked completely lost. "i don't know what the right answer is."

"there isn't one."

"pablo." their mother appeared from further down the corridor. "stop interrogating people."

"mom—"

"no."

she walked over before hugging y/n, then smiled politely at jude. "hello."

"hi."

she looked between everyone. "...what have i interrupted?"

y/n answered. "jude asked for my number."

there was a beat. their mom looked at jude. then at gavi. then back at jude. "...that's nice."

gavi nearly combusted. "mom!"

"what?"

"you're supposed to help."

"help with what?"

"he's trying to date her."

their mom shrugged. "she's an adult."

"exactly."

"mom."

"what?"

"whose side are you on?"

"hers."

gavi looked betrayed. "dad!"

their father arrived seconds later carrying a backpack. "what's happened now?"

"he wants y/n's number."

their dad looked at jude. "...fair enough."

gavi stared. "what is wrong with everyone?"

even jude laughed. "sorry."

gavi pointed again. "stop being likeable."

"i'm trying."

"well stop."

y/n couldn't stop smiling. this was ridiculous. completely ridiculous. she looked at jude. he caught her eye immediately. there was something unexpectedly nervous about him now. different to how he played. on a football pitch he looked fearless. here... he actually looked like he thought she'd say no. it was strangely sweet.

she stepped closer. "you know..."

"yeah?"

"i was going to give you my number."

his eyebrows lifted.

"before my brother started conducting a police investigation."

"right."

she held out her hand. "phone."

gavi gasped dramatically. "traitor."

"relax."

"i'm trying."

"badly."

jude pulled his phone out quicker than he'd probably intended. "cheers."

she typed her number in. added her name. then, without him noticing, added a heart emoji after it.

she handed it back. "there."

he looked down, a grin spread across his face. "nice."

"don't make me regret it."

"i won't."

"good."

gavi folded his arms harder somehow. "i still don't approve."

y/n smiled. "good thing nobody asked."

their parents were trying not to laugh.

jude slipped his phone into his pocket. "so..." he nodded towards her. "i'll text you?"

"depends."

"on?"

"whether you survive another conversation with my brother."

he looked at gavi. "...fifty-fifty."

"optimistic."

there was another announcement calling players towards media. someone shouted jude's name. he sighed.

"gotta go."

"probably."

he took a couple of steps backwards, then looked at her again. "it was nice meeting you."

"you too."

"even with..." he gestured towards gavi. "all this."

"you handled it well."

"years of playing against defenders."

"same skillset?"

"pretty much."

she laughed. "see you around."

"hopefully." he smiled one last time before jogging away.

vinícius immediately fell into step beside him. "did you get it?"

"yeah."

"actually?"

"yeah."

rodrygo appeared on the other side. "no way."

jude tried to hide his smile. "leave it."

"bro's blushing."

"i'm not."

"you definitely are."

"shut up."

back by the tunnel, gavi was still complaining. "i don't trust him."

y/n nudged his shoulder. "he asked politely."

"exactly."

"what's wrong with politely?"

"everything."

she laughed. "you're impossible."

"i'm your brother."

"unfortunately."

he pretended to look offended. "wow."

she wrapped an arm around him anyway. "love you."

"...love you too." after a few seconds he sighed. "...if he hurts you—"

"he hasn't even texted me yet."

"still."

she smiled. "i know."

the bus ride back to the hotel was loud. music. laughing. players replaying moments from the match. jude barely heard any of it.

his phone buzzed. y/n's number. he grinned. opened it.

y/n🤍: hope the interviews were less stressful than meeting my brother.

he laughed quietly.

jude: honestly? your brother was scarier.

three dots appeared almost instantly.

y/n🤍: don't tell him that. it'll inflate his ego.

jude: too late i reckon.

another reply.

y/n🤍: probably.

he stared at the screen for a second before smiling to himself.

vinícius leaned over from the next seat. "...is that her?"

jude locked his phone. "mind your business."

vinícius grinned. "it's definitely her."