pic is from pinterest and isnt mine!
jude cant help but fall for the caring , nurturing and loving you. you don’t make him feel like he’s a soccer player but instead make him feel like the human being he is.
taglist (tw) : jude bellingham x reader, fem reader, children, fluff, pda (holding hands)
the first thing jude noticed was you.
not the flowers at the front or the handwritten sign hanging above the entrance to the community centre, nor the kids sprinting around the football pitch behind it.
you were kneeling in front of a little girl, carefully tying the lace of her tiny football boot while she excitedly told you a story with wildly exaggerated hand gestures. you listened as if it were the most important conversation in the world, laughing softly before gently patting her shoulder and sending her back onto the pitch.
“that’s the volunteer i was telling you about,” the organiser smiled beside jude. “she practically runs this place.”
jude nodded absentmindedly in response.
he was only supposed to be stopping by for an hour. take photos, sign shirts, kick a ball around with the children, then head back to training. but instead, his eyes kept finding you.
every time one child fell over, you were already helping them up or when someone looked nervous, you were beside them before anyone else noticed and somehow, despite juggling nearly thirty energetic children, you never looked overwhelmed.
after the football session ended, the kids crowded around jude for photos before gradually being collected by their parents.
you finally let out a long sigh, collapsing onto one of the benches with a bottle of water.
“you alright?” jude asked, walking over.
you looked up, startled for half a second before smiling.“barely.”
he laughed. “they’ve got more energy than premier league midfielders.”
“don’t let them hear you say that. they’ll take it as a challenge.”
the two of you laughed together.
it was surprisingly easy between you two. yhere wasn’t any awkwardness. no forced conversation. it was just…comfortable.
you talked while helping pack away cones and footballs, somehow ending up debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
“absolutely not,” jude said.
“i play football professionally.”
“which has absolutely nothing to do with pizza.”
you grinned triumphantly.
before leaving, one of the little boys tugged on jude’s sleeve.“are you coming back?”
jude hesitated. his schedule was packed with matches, training and travelling. before he could answer, you crouched beside the boy.
the little boy’s face fell.
“…but,” you continued, glancing up at jude, “sometimes busy people can still make time.”
the challenge in your eyes made him smile.
“yeah,” jude nodded. “i’ll come back.”
the little boy cheered before running off.
“well,” you said, folding your arms. “guess you’re committed now.”
the next week, he came back and then the week after that.
eventually the children stopped treating him like a famous footballer and started treating him like…jude.
someone who got absolutely destroyed in races.
someone who couldn’t win at dodgeball to save his life.
someone who always ended up covered in paint during arts and crafts because one of the kids thought he looked “too clean.”
you laughed so hard that day you nearly cried.
“don’t.” jude pointed a paint-covered finger at you.“don’t even start.”
“there is blue paint in your hair.”
“and green on your nose.”
“and-“ before you could finish, he dabbed yellow paint across your cheek.
you gasped. “…you did not.”
five minutes later both of you were running around the room while the children screamed with laughter, armed with paintbrushes like they were swords. by the end of the afternoon, neither of you had a single clean patch left on your clothes.
“worth it,” jude said, looking at the mess.
the organiser smiled and snapped a photo without either of you noticing.
weeks later, after one of jude’s matches, that same framed photo appeared on the shelf in his house. the one with both of you laughing, covered in paint and surrounded by children. it quickly became his favourite picture. and not because he’d scored a winning goal that weekend or because it reminded him of football but because it reminded him that life felt lighter whenever you were around.
one rainy afternoon, after helping clean up the centre, the two of you sat beneath the small awning outside, listening to the rain drum against the roof.
“you know,” you murmured, “the kids think you’re coming because they love football.”
jude looked over.“they’re wrong?”
you smiled.“they think you keep coming back for them.”
he stayed quiet for a moment.“…they’re only half right.”
“i do love seeing them.” he glanced at you, smiling softly. “but you’re the reason i kept coming back.”
it was quiet for a bit, the rain comfortable taking charge. then you laughed quietly, looking down to hide the blush spreading across your face. “good.”
“because…” you admitted, “i might’ve been hoping you’d say that.”
jude’s smile only grew. “really?”
and without thinking, he reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours. your hand fit perfectly and neither of you let go.
somewhere inside the community centre, one of the children peeked through the window before loudly shouting:
“i told you they liked each other!”
groans erupted from the rest of the kids, followed by a chorus of cheers.
you buried your face in your free hand while jude laughed so hard he could barely breathe.
“we’re never living this down,” you mumbled.
“definetly not.” he squeezed your hand gently. “i don’t really mind, though.”
you smiled. “me neither.”
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