Save me? - J. Bellingham x reader
Summary: after the GlobeSoccer awards, you find yourself being chased by Paparazzi, and end up leaving with something you didnât come with.
A/n: visit my masterlist for more!!
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
The Globe soccer awards dwindle in attendance as the night comes to a close, an evening of boredom but occasional awe falls behind you. Literally, while you walk away from the theatre-like award hall, and head in the direction of the Ladies toilets.
Youâd come on your own, having been in Dubai for a bit of relaxation away from the hustle and bustle of your home.
You smile politely at people exiting the lavish building as you head in the opposite direction, having to contain a sliver of inner fangirl as some of your favourite footballers walk past you.
It takes you a few minutes to find the bathroom, the signs conveniently covered up by directions to bars dotted around as opposed to their original purpose.
You push the door open to find the most extravagant looking bathroom youâve ever seen in your life. The expanse of it almost bigger than the whole bottom floor of your house (and youâre quite successful so your house is not small). Large, black, velvet sofas stretch out against the sides with gold detailing in an intricate floral pattern, the mirror stretching the expanse of wall above the sinks had little lights around the side cascading a warm gold hue, complimenting the dimly lit room beautifully. It was magnificent.
You went into one of the stalls and checked your phone, only having notifications from your agent instructing you who to network with. OopsâŚprobably shouldâve checked that earlier, you think with a grimace.
Once done, you unlock the door and head over to the sinks, washing your hands and making sure to make good use of the heavily perfumed hand soap and lotion before reaching into your handbag to touch up your lipliner.
Once happy with your appearance, you run your hands over your dress, smoothing it out and checking it in the mirror. Satisfied, you begin to head out and back into the labyrinth of hallways.
Everyone must have been in a hurry to leave, as the once overpopulated building now laid barren and desolate.
This suited you quite nicely, of course, savouring the peace and quiet as your feet scream at you for wearing your heels for too long.
You only get a few metres along the hallway, your heels sinking tenderly into the soft carpeted floor, before you hear someone attempt to talk to you.
Itâs a waiter, his pristine suit and a white apron tied from the waist down giving it away. Heâs looking at you with slightly panicked eyes and his hands make what looks to be a camera shape. Heâs speaking to you, but in a language you donât understand.
âIâm sorry. I donât understand?â You say, feeling somewhat helpless.
He continues speaking but your cluelessness has no avail.
âOkay. Well, have a good night. Sorry againâ you say, awkwardly shuffling away as his attempts to communicate with you slow.
He waves at you with a defeated look on his face, but you can still sense some nerves from his posture.
You head towards the doors that were previously home to attendees flooding out, only to find them closed with the little windows boarded up with pieces ofâŚcard?
The two men at the door turn to look at you as they hear you approach.
âSorry Miss, we canât let you out this wayâ one of them says.
Your shoulders slump slightly, knowing the other exit is on the complete other side of the building.
âPleaseâ you sigh âmy feet are killing me, and I didnât even want to be here in the first place, Iâm exhausted and this thing lasted hours longer than I was anticipatingâ you try to keep the begging out of your voice but donât succeed.
They look at each other, before the other one turns to look at you. âIf youâre sure?â
âWhy would I not be sure, whatâs going on?â You ask.
âWell, thereâs-â the same guy starts before the one that spoke to you first interrupts him, sounding entirely uninterested, âjust open the doors.â
Your brows furrow at the uncertainty on the otherâs face before the doors swing open and your face is assaulted by a flurry of camera flashes.
Your brain doesnât compute whatâs going on as voices shout out:
âThatâs not Ronaldoâ a deep voice calls from behind a camera.
The cameras holt their flashing for a moment, allowing you some time to breathe. But not for long.
âWait, thatâs y/n y/l/n!â Another voice calls, and then the cameras begin their second assault.
âbollocksâ you mutter under your breath before youâre running down the hallway, attempting to flee the bombardment, ignoring the pain in your feet at every step.
âThey lied! Ronaldo must be on the other sideâ a pap calls out and you sigh in relief as you turn the first corner of the hallway, thinking they must be leaving you alone to go and find him.
But youâre wrong, as whilst the numbers have dwindled, a crowd of paparazzi come barrelling down the hallway youâve just run through, in pursuit of you.
So much for the door guardsâŚ
You waste no time before sprinting again, as fast as you can in your shoes, towards the bathrooms again. Theyâre all men, they canât follow you in there.
You manage to put a few metres between you and the photographers, them thankfully not having the stamina of a professional athlete, giving you the upper hand.
Just as you reach the entrance to the award hall, a figure walks out.
You donât have time to compute before youâre smashing into them, their hard chest taking the breath out of you. But you canât stop to look, you have to keep running.
âY/n? What?â You recognise the voice as Jude Bellingham.
You halt in your tracks for a moment before turning round and grabbing his hand before pulling him with you, forcing him to start sprinting too.
Youâd met a few times doing some shoots for Adidas campaigns, so whilst your conversations were brief, you were familiar with him and so you felt you owed him the loyalty of saving him from the paparazzi.
âKeep running, trust meâ you say as you turn your head to the side to see his face looking entirely confused as he easily matches your pace.
He looks over his shoulder to see the large crowd of paparazzi that he somehow hadnât noticed as he was leaving the award hall.
âOh dearâ he says before increasing his pace, slightly dragging you behind, your hand still in his.
âI thought you were supposed to be fastâ he teases, and you glare at him. How is he joking in these circumstancesâŚ
âWear a pair of heels in your next match, then come find me and tell me if they help your speedâ you bite back.
He begins to laugh but immediately stops as you yank him sideways into the womenâs bathroom, finally arriving at the place you were silently begging for.
You let go of his hand, allowing him to slightly stumble into the room as you press your back against the door. You press a finger to your lips, gesturing for the man to be quiet as you listen.
âDid y/n just bring Jude Bellingham into the bathroom with herâ you hear one voice say as the camera shutters finally cease.
âThat will make a headline, Iâm happy to go nowâ you hear another one say before all the shuffling outside the door stops.
You stand in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the two of you catching your breath.
Your face scrunches up as one of your palms rests on your forehead.
âYouâre welcome for saving youâ you say after what feels like a minute.
âSaving me? Youâve just caused a PR nightmare for me to wake up to tomorrowâ he says, his face painting annoyance but his tone lets you know heâs just teasing.
âA notch in Jude Bellinghams belt.â You try out the title, âHow everyone woman wishes to be describedâ you laugh and he does too.
âCould be worse, Modric was right behind me. At least this is age appropriateâ he jests as he flops his lean body onto one of the sofas you were admiring earlier.
âAre you assuming I like dating men my own age, Bellingham?â You squint your eyes at him, your voice full of sarcasm.
âOh no, by all means go for a 39 year old manâ the smirk on his face causing your stomach flip, a feeling youâre used to whenever you speak to him at shoots, albeit it only short conversations.
You laugh, a sound his smile widens at as you walk over to the mirror, fixing your hair after the events of the last five minutes have displaced some strands.
âI believe congratulations are in orderâ you say as you look at him, your gaze meeting his in the mirror, âwhere are your two awards anyway?â
âMy mum took them back to our hotel, she left as she was tired but I stayed for a drink with a mateâ he replies, moving to a sitting position, leaning back on the sofa, arms spread over the back and legs apart.
God heâs attractiveâŚfor a man-spreader, of course.
âSo you didnât take a 39 year old date with you?â You smirk as you turn to look at him, pushing yourself up onto the counter next to the sinks and crossing a leg over the other.
âNah, not my typeâ he shrugs with a smirk mirroring yours.
âBut thank you, for your congratulationsâ he starts before his face turns in confusion, âwhat are you doing here anyway, these awards are just for male footballers. Are you someoneâs date?â He asks with a slight edge to his voice, making you tilt your head to the side.
âWas that jealousy I heard thereâ you raise a brow.
âWho am I going to talk to during long campaign shoots if your whisked away by a boyfriend on set with you?â He jokes, pouting his bottom lip.
You giggle, âIâm here because I was holidaying here anyway and so my agent thought it would be a good ânetworkingâ opportunity. You know, show my face at an award show thatâs got big stars like you in attendance.â
âDo you need networking? Youâre quite a household name in womenâs football, are you not?â He says with a smile.
âDifferent audience in menâs versus womenâs football i guess?â You shrug, tiredness weighing on you.
âFair enough. Donât think your agent is going to be happy with the kind of press youâll come out with after the newspapers are published tomorrowâ he sighs.
âYouâd be surprised. He actually suggested I fake date this Swedish model just to get my name recognised outside of Englandâ you laugh, a slight edge of bitterness in your voice.
âWhat?!â Jude barks out a laugh, throwing his head back as a smile grows on your face.
âYep. Only got out of it by saying I was ill and didnât want to infect the guyâ you admit, not having told anyone that before.
âYou need a new agentâ he tsks, shaking his head.
âTrust me, Iâm working on itâ you say, looking around the room. Your eyes light up when you see something to your left.
A gasp leaves your lips causing Jude to look at you.
You push yourself off the counter, and head over to the little table near the entrance of the bathroom.
A metal bucket filled with chilled water, no doubt melted ice, and an unopened bottle of very expensive looking champagne with a few glasses on the side.
You pick up the metal tray the items lay on before taking it over to the sofa where Jude moves to create space for you.
âWhat on earth is that in here for?â He asks, his voice filled with joy.
âI guess itâs promotional?â You answer, reading the label.
He nods and picks up two glasses, holding them out to you, âwe might as well, probably safe to hide in here for a while and let the paps disperse.â
âAre you really going to make me pop the bottle?â You sigh, to which he nods.
You go to take the cork out the top, somewhat succeeding apart from the fact to cork flies out of your hands and into the ceiling, leaving a tiny dent.
âOh my godâ you say, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it.
Jude begins cackling, âand that is why I wanted you to open itâ
You shake your head before filling up the glasses, he hands one to you after you put the bottle back into the metal bucket.
âCheers to your awardsâ you say, smiling at him as you hold your glass up for him to cheers.
He does so with a nod in thanks, before you both take a sip.
Your gaze snaps to his, the liquid resting in your mouth. His eyes meet yours, before swallowing it with a grimace.
âGod thatâs awfulâ he proclaims, his mouth open in disgust.
You swallow as you stare at him, having almost spat yours out at the look on his face.
âYeah, there was always going to be a reason the bottle was unopenedâ you say in regret, your expression matching his.
You stare at him for a moment before linking your arm holding your glass, with his.
âDown the hatch?â You ask, and he nods, the both of you emptying the contents of the glass into your mouths, your arms intertwined.
You shake your head as you finish the last drop, âvile, so so vileâ you say.
âAgreed. But itâs free alcoholâ he proposes with an eyebrow raise.
âAs if you need anything to be freeâ you tease him, and he smirks.
âWhat can I say?â He teases and you push your tongue into the side of your cheek.
âYou can say âthanks for saving meâ?â You suggest with a laugh and he nods sarcastically.
âOh yeah, thanks so much for saving me. So glad I ended up stuck in the womenâs bathroom drinking champagne that tastes like itâs from the toiletâ he mocks with a smile as he pours another glass.
âYouâre welcome!â You match his tone before taking his arm and knocking back another glass.
âSo, howâve you been since I last saw you?â He asks, his full attention on you.
âIâve been good. Christmas was nice, saw all of my family. Scored lots of goals in recent matches, as perâ you smirk.
âYeah? Iâve been watching a few of your matches actually. Only really watched the England matches before but since we met, Iâve watched a few league games too. I get what all the fuss is about nowâ he says, taking a sip from his freshly filled glass.
âYeah people tend to overlook womenâs football, but itâs actually not badâ you reply.
âNot the fuss about footballâ he starts, âthe fuss about youâ
His gaze is intense as he looks for a reaction, âI donât get awards for nothing, Bellingham. Iâm actually very goodâ you say, drinking out of your own glass.
âYeah, you are. But donât tell me you donât know youâre all over tiktok with teenage boys obsessing over youâ he says with a raised brow.
âAh, youâve seen the editsâ you laugh, and he nods. âGuess that makes two of us with an avid fan base on tiktok.â
âSo youâve seen the edits of me then?â He asks, his voice full of humour.
âDonât go thinking I searched for them, they just pop up occasionallyâ you weakly defend yourself.
âOn your for you page. Which is made for you. Based on what youâve liked and viewed in the past?â He teases, the biggest and handsomist smirk youâve ever seen on his face.
âIf youâve seen mine, then youâve stitched yourself up tooâ you poke back at him and he holds his hands up.
âYouâve got meâ he sighs.
âBut yeah, Iâm not blind, maybe I do like the edits Iâve seenâ you say, the alcohol loosening your lips.
âMakes two of usâ he shoots back just as easily, seeming unphased at the admission.
âWhereâs this all coming from?â You ask, not shy at all, feeling perfectly comfortable with the man sat beside you suited up in all his glory.
âNever had the chance to tell you. Youâre a busy ladyâ he quips.
âWell, you couldâve followed me back on Instagram and send me a messageâ you turn to look at him.
âFirst, I didnât know you followed me and I was too shy to follow you first. Second, Iâll do you one betterâ he says and you gesture for him to continue.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He taps on the screen for a few moments before holding his phone up to you, âsmile.â
You do as he says as you hold your glass of champagne up and pose sweetly.
Your cheeks heat up at the way heâs looking at you through the screen before he passes his phone to you with a contact page open, your name and the picture waiting to have your number added.
You type your number in as you try desperately hard to act like this isnât what youâve wanted for months.
âOkay that is betterâ you say as you hand the phone back to him.
He presses the button, and your phone starts ringing from your handbag.
You raise a brow as if to say âreally?â.
âWhat? Just got to make sure you arenât lying to meâ he bites back a smile.
âIâd never lie to youâ you tease as you save his contact.
The two of you stay like that for what ends up being an hour, finishing the bottle and having a proper conversation like the both of you have desired since you first met, not the surface level chatter you have during shoots.
Youâre both suitably drunk as he holds his hand out for you, helping you out of the taxi thatâs now parked in front of the hotel.
âWait a moment, please mate. Just going to walk her up to her roomâ he says, leaning back into the car to talk to the taxi driver once youâd gotten out.
Wordlessly, he takes off his suit jacket and wraps it around your shoulders as his hand finds the small of your back to guide you into the hotel.
You lead him to the elevator, where you press your floor number and wait for the door to close.
Once itâs closed, you lean into his chest, resting your head on the hard surface youâd crashed into earlier.
He smiles softly and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
You inhale the smell of his expensive cologne and allow your eyes to flutter shut for a moment.
âY/nâ Jude whispers your name, making you pull away from him and look up at him.
âYouâre beautifulâ he murmurs, his lips against your forehead as he pulls you back to him.
âThank you, Jude. Youâre jaw droppingly gorgeousâ you say and a deep laugh rumbles through his chest.
âOkay I was going to say those exact words but I thought Iâd better play it coolâ he jests and itâs your turn to laugh now, looking up so your faces fall only a few centimetres away from each other.
You canât hold back any longer, you go to move your lips close to his, but before you can, his soft lips are on yours.
It takes you a moment to process but you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss, allowing him to explore you in a way heâd been wanting to for months.
Youâre in a peaceful bliss, until the elevator door opens, having reached your floor.
You donât care to pull away, and nor does Jude, until you hear the all too familiar shutter of a camera.
You jump away from him as the both of you turn to look in the direction of the sound, to see a lone photographer looking like heâs just stumbled upon a goldmine.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
