Couple Goals Kylian Mbapp

couple goals ✩ kylian mbappé

summary: you and kylian being the best celebrity couple ever.

Liked by ynusername, ethanmbappe, and 5.638.828 others

k.mbappe Happy birthday to my amazing wife

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ynusername thank you dude

user1 I JUST LOVE THEM

user2 well i can hardly see her

user3 this made me laugh out loud

user4 cool, now post a pic of u two

user5 ADOPT ME

Liked by ynusername, neymarjr, and 1.835.285 others

k.mbappe 👑📸

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ynusername i think this just got me pregnant

k.mbappe I will be out of the office starting July 22nd through the middle of forever and ever. If you need immediate assistance during my absence, please contact someone. Anyone. Otherwise I will respond to your message as soon as possible upon my unlikely return. Thank you.

user1 KYLIAN NO LOLOLOLOL

user2 omg sir you’re hot

user3 i just can focus on y/n’s comment and kylian’s answer

user4 Y/N HAHAHAHA

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ynusername happy fathers day!!! @k.mbappe since the day our baby was born, i’ve felt so strongly in my heart that you were most likely the father. 😳😬😋😊 #iloveyousomuchitssilly

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k.mbappe 🤔🤔🤔🤔

user1 I CANT WITH U GUYS

user2 best couple ever

user3 i just want what they have

user4 we have to protect them at all cost

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ynusername congratulations to the most influential person in my life. the best man i know… you deserve all of these achievements… if only my husband wasn’t blocking you in these shots. i’m so sorry @leomessi

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antonelaroccuzzo 🤣🤣🤣🤣

k.mbappe Who are you?

user1 Y/N LOOOOOL

user2 for a second i thought she was saying cute things about kylian

user3 my parents

user4 the best couple in the world

user5 it’s leo messi…we got you y/n

Cherry Earrings

Note - okay before we start I need you to listen to this song first, or have it on it the background cause this fic is heavily based on it. Thank you to the anons I spoke to about this a while back as it got me back into writing when I was struggling. I really hope you all enjoy and feedback is appreciated as always ❤️

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 3.3K

Warnings - fluff and some suggestive content

There was something about England in the sun that always picked your mood up drastically. After months of grey skies and wind so forceful it nearly knocked you over most mornings, waking up to blue skies and the heat of the sun on your face made you happier than you ever thought it could.

It was one of those rare days that you and Mason had to yourselves. No where to be and no one to answer to but yourselves so when Mason suggested the idea of a picnic in the park near by that afternoon you were happy to agree.

You were currently in the small Sainsbury’s near your house, basket filled high with snacks and drinks for your afternoon of soaking up the sun when you realised how much crap you’d both picked up so you dragged him back to the front of the shop.

‘I think we should get some fruit Mase. What do you fancy?’ You asked, hearing him groan at the thought of something healthy.

His eyes scanned over the shelves, seemingly disinterested until his eyes lit up when they landed on what he wanted. A cheeky smirk on his face as he bought his lips to your ear and his hand that was perched on your shoulder suddenly moved down carefully to the back of your arm.

‘How about some cherries?’ He whispered, a shiver rolling down your spine at his words as his thumb lightly stroked over one particular spot. Sometimes you thought he could point out where the tiny drawing was in the dark but you suppose it helped with him having the same thing in the same place on his own body.

You laughed, picking up the box before turning to him. You knew you were blushing by the way he was looking at you and even though you were in a public place where people knew exactly who he was, you let him dip his head down to kiss you sweetly.

Matching tattoos was something you’d never thought about until that fateful night in Portland a few years ago. You hadn’t been seeing Mason that long in the grand scheme of things, the pair of you meeting when he’d accidentally stolen your taxi but since you were both going the same way you decided to share. it was very unlike you but you gave him your number when you’d both arrived at your destination, him asking to see you again and you were too blinded by his smile to disagree.

You both told each other you weren’t looking for anything too serious, but that was out the window by day three. Not able to keep away from each other for too long and you loved getting to know every inch of him. You weren’t official but you knew it was coming soon, so when he invited you away for a long weekend with some of his friends and their girlfriends you jumped at the chance.

You figured Portland was an odd choice, but after Mason explained it was out the way and hopefully they could keep a low profile you understood why and couldn’t wait to go. You’d never done anything this exciting before and the fact you got to do it with Mason made the whole trip even better.

You and Mason were sharing the loft room of the huge house you’d all rented and were using the fact that no one could hear you from all there way up their to your advantage. You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other and most nights it felt like you barely slept but on the last night things had taken a weird turn when you’d gone out for some some celebratory drinks before heading home the next afternoon.

Reece’s idea of going to bar for ‘a few’ had turned into a mini bar crawl and whilst on your way to your fourth at nearly 3am, Ben had spotted a tattoo shop tucked away in a alley next to where you were just about to enter.

‘We should so get tattoos together’ he exclaimed, throwing an arm around Masons shoulder as he pulled his date along by the hand.

‘Is that not a bit weird?’ Mason laughed, dragging you through the door and into a small booth at the back. The bar wasn’t overly loud or crowded but the boys always liked the space since they never knew who was around and you liked how they could just be themselves for a bit without constantly watching over their shoulder.

‘They don’t have to be matching, just something to remember the weekend by’ he told you all and even though everyone else seemed on board, Mason looked at you with curious eyes. Unsure of if it was something you’d be up for but you just smiled at him before giving your drink order to Ben who’s round it was.

You never seen Mason this drunk before. Not that he was hammered by any stretch of the imagination, but his little tipsy smile and soft bleary eyes were pulling at your heart strings and you couldn’t help but lean over and kiss him.

‘You two need to learn to keep your hands off each other’ Ben laughed as he made his way back, drinks for everyone and a shot as extra but Mason just pushed his shot to you.

‘Mase? Don’t you want it?’

‘I’ve had enough. You have it’ he smiled

‘Why won’t you drink with me?’ You pouted and even though you’d just been told off for not keeping your lips to yourself he lent back in to kiss you quickly.

‘It doesn’t matter. you’re having a good time right?’ He asked and you nodded at him enthusiastically. ‘Look I would, I just know there’s a long walk home. I want at least one of us to have their wits about them and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you just because I didn’t know my limit’ he told you softly, feeling your heart thump at sweet words. Thinking about your safety when it had completely gone over the top of your head to think about anything else but what was happening in the moment.

The others had abandoned you at the table now, Mason pulling you in closer so he could kiss you again and you let him. Cupping his jaw to keep him close as his kisses were more addictive tonight and you didn’t want to be away from him. You weren’t too sure of it was the alcohol making the pair of you a bit more carefree but it’s like you didn’t care who could be watching you, you just wanted to be close.

His kisses were slow and sexy, pulling a content hum from you as he continually brushed he tongue against yours. His hands were planted on your waist as he carefully skimmed his thumbs across your skin, feeling his gentle touches through your clothes and you shivered at the intimacy of it all. You’d never kissed anyone how Mason kissed you, real kisses that made your head spin and when he bit your lip you had to stop yourself from moaning too loud. You could of kissed him forever but the sound of Reece’s laugh pulled you apart from each other.

‘You two coming?’ You suddenly heard behind you, turning to see Reece and his girlfriend looking at you with giant smiles. You’d wondered if time had suddenly passed by really quickly but a short glance at the clock behind the bar showed you’d only been here around 15 minutes or so.

‘Where?’ Mason asked as Reece began to walk away but he quickly stepped back so you could hear him.

‘Bens convinced us to get tattoos so we’re heading out. You coming?’

‘We’ll meet you in there’ Mason told him before they swayed out, holding onto each other for dear life as their legs struggled to carry them away. ‘We don’t have to, not if you don’t want to’ he said seriously.

‘Fuck it’ you laughed, downing the rest of your drink and pecking his lips again before grabbing your bag. ‘Whatever, let’s do it’

‘Promise me you’re sure’ he laughed, turning your face to him and you gave him what you thought was a reassuring smile but the alcohol pumping through you right now meant it could of looked like anything.

‘Promise. Now come on, they’re waiting’

You followed him inside the tattoo shop, noticing Ben already getting ready for his whilst Reece stood looking at the wall, trying to pick something to add to his collection. You were all going small, something silly and random but all the designs were starting to overwhelm you and you were glad you had Mason behind you for support.

‘What you thinking?’ Mason asked after a while, his chin resting in your shoulder as he held you by your waist.

‘I’m not sure, I don’t want it to be too random’ you told him, but he wasn’t listening fully. His lips on your neck placing wet open mouthed kisses that were making your tummy flutter. ‘Come on Mase, help’ you laughed, tapping his hand and he smiled into your neck before his eyes glanced back up at the wall. ‘What are you getting?’

‘I was thinking the little cherries’ he told you, nodding to the small drawing and you fell in love with them instantly.

‘Why the cherries?’

‘Cause it reminds me of the cherry earrings you’ve got in. I think they’re my favourite’ he whispered in your ear, referencing the small cherry shaped studs you’d bought in duty free on the way over and you followed his eye line to the tiny cherry symbol on the wall so you could take another look. ‘Why don’t you get it too?’

‘What, like matching with you?’

‘Yeah, I don’t see why not?’ he told you, turning your head to look up at him and he was looking back at you with a wide grin, pulling you closer to his body as he let out a little chuckle.

‘Are you sure you’re okay with the same though?’

‘Of course’

‘But what if…’ you started to ask, gulping down a nervous lump as your words trailed off. You looked down at his chest but his lips on your forehead settled you as he began to sway you from side to side softly.

‘Not gonna happen’ he spoke against your hairline quietly, making you smile that he seemed you know what you were thinking before you’d even said it. ‘And even if it does, then we’ll always be connected’ he laughed before making you look at him. ‘How I feel about you, I could never feel this way about anyone else. Known if from the moment I saw you naked’ he teased and you tapped his chest playfully. ‘If it’s too much or too soon I can pick something else’

‘No’ you smiled, shaking your before kissing him softly. ‘I think it’s cute. Let’s do it’ you told him, letting him know you were happy with your choices before you changed your mind. You knew it was crazy, you weren’t even his girlfriend officially but the thought of having tiny matching tattoos with him was an offer you couldn’t pass up.

Mason did all the talking, even offering to go first as you weren’t quite comfortable yet and you held his hand as the artist started, choosing to get it done on the back of his arm so it would be less seen. He didn’t need to as he was wearing a short sleeved top but you didn’t complain when he took it off, letting you stand and look over his perfect torso as he looked at you cheekily.

Mason eventually pulled you in between his legs so he could kiss you after a minute or so and the tattoo didn’t take much longer than that with with being so small. He hadn’t even flinched the whole time and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or if he just had a high pain threshold but it was sexy as hell and you knew you were giving him your come to bed eyes. You were just hoping he could see it through all the alcohol clouding your vision.

‘Last chance to back out’ he laughed as the man wrapped him up but you shook your head, determined to go through with it just as Mason had. Mason carefully helped you up onto seat where he had just been and he held onto your thigh with one hand whilst linking your fingers with the others.

‘Where would you like it?’ The artist asked and you pointed to the same place Mason had his, feeling Masons chest rumble before he placed a kiss to your cheek.

‘You guys are cute’ your artist laughed, getting settled behind you and you felt Mason squeeze your hand. ‘How long have you been together?’

‘Its funny you should ask that, It’s our four year anniversary tomorrow’ Mason chirped and you almost choked on your own breath as Mason winked at you. ‘Think it’s about time I popped the question soon huh?’

‘I mean I think I’ve waited long enough’ you replied, watching his face lighten at the fact you were going along with his silly drunken joke.

‘We pretty much know how we want the wedding to be though, don’t we babe’ he smiled and your tummy flipped at the pet name, not one he’d used on you before.

‘We sure do. Private ceremony with all our family and closest friends’

‘And then a massive party afterwards for everyone with an open bar’

‘And I’ve love a chocolate fountain’

‘And personalised cocktails. One for each of us’

‘In the evenings we’ll let everyone set off a lantern just like in tangled’

‘I definitely want our dog to be the ring barer and wear a little suit’

‘And Summer can be my bridesmaid, Mila too if she’s old enough by then’ you laughed and his whole face changed into the most loving look you’d ever seen him give you.

‘I’d love that so much’ he whispered, his drunken eyes getting a little glassy and you reached up with you free hand to cup his jaw. Kissing the tip of his nose to hopefully make him smile and lucky for you it worked.

‘Right, you’re all done’ you suddenly heard, not feeling a thing as Mason had distracted you the whole way through and you laughed as you caught sight of it in the mirror before you were all wrapped up.

Mason refused to let you pay for yours, calling it an early engagement present which no one else seemed to understand but you didn’t care. You were in your own little bubble with him and the fact you had this weird private joke going on now made you even happier.

You all compared tattoos on the way home, the others going for smiley faces or stars and they were all pretty shocked when you revealed that yours and Masons were matching but the six of you ended up in a fit of giggles when it finally hit you what you’d all done.

By the time your head hit the pillow, you were too far gone to be intimate in anyway with the man next to you so you curled up into his chest and fell asleep to the soft feeling of his fingers dancing over your back.

The next morning you didn’t want to move in fear of your brain possibly falling out of your head as it was thumping so hard. You turned to look at Mason though, still asleep beside you but he was turned with his back facing you and the first thing you saw was the two little cherries that now sat proudly on the back of his arm.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the realisation that the pair of you were now bound by a piece of fruit that was permanently etched onto your skin was funnier than it should of been and Mason eventually turned to give you a confused look.

‘You alright there?’ He smiked, pulling you flush against him and you nodded into his neck, trying to calm yourself so you could form a coherent sentence. ‘Hey, what’s so funny?’

‘Why the fuck did we get matching cherry tattoos last night?’

‘It seemed romantic at the time’ he shrugged, the smile in his voice evident but you felt it against your skin when he kissed your forehead. ‘Why, do you regret it?’

‘Not even a little bit’ you whispered, kissing his chest as you felt him relax.

‘Well thank god for that. Would of been difficult to explain to my dad that I need a tattoo removal booked in for me and my girlfriend’

‘What?’ You breathed, pulling back to look at him properly and he was giving you shy smile.

‘Well, I don’t know about you but I don’t get matching tattoos with just anybody. Figured the girl i love could do with an updated title’

‘Are you love bombing me?’ You laughed, shuffling up carefully so you were now eye level and even in his hungover state you could of sworn you’d never seen anyway look better.

‘I’m just letting you know how I feel’ he smiled but you saw his face faulted ever so slightly. ‘Thought it might of been the alcohol making me feel things last night but I still feel the same now. Why is it too much?’

‘Not at all. For the record I was hoping the boy I loved might ask me to be his girlfriend soon’

‘Oh yeah?’ He laughed, hiding his face in the pillow before peering back at you through one eye. ‘You should tell him to hurry up’

‘Nah, I’ve got you now. He can wait’ you teased, both laughing as you held onto each other. ‘Although if you make me wait four years before you propose I’m off’ you winked before leaning down to kiss him gently. ‘I mean it though, I love you’

‘I love you, too’ he smiled, pushing your head down lightly so you’d kiss him again and you shivered as you felt him lightly brush over the small tattoo as he smiled into your mouth. ‘Maybe that can be my name for you. My little cherry’ he laughed before his hand travelled down to your bum to give it a gentle squeeze.

‘I guess it’s lucky I didn’t get the banana earrings. I don’t think that would work the same’ you told him and he laughed loudly as he pulled you on top of his body.

‘No but you can call me that if you like’ he winked, tickling your sides as you buried your head in his neck. ‘It’s not little though’

‘No, Mase. You have a very big banana’ you reassured him with a roll of your eyes and he tickled your sides gently as you felt him press his hips up into you.

‘You don’t sound convinced, maybe I should remind you’ he whispered in your ear before rolling you onto your back, your finger absentmindedly tracing the new tattoo on his arm as a warm feeling rushed throughout your body. Mason was yours, and in your gut you knew this could be a forever thing. Your matching tattoos only making everything feel more real.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) I’d love to know what you thought so please feel free to comment or drop me an ask, l'd really appreciate it, much love 💕

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RUNNING THE TABLE. (jb5)

⤷ what started as a boring week-long stay at your parents’ house with your brother takes an unexpected turn after the last-minute arrival of his best friend. (wc: 17.6k)

GENRE. smut with way too much fluff ! TROPES. brother’s bsf, summer fling, forbidden love ! WARNINGS. explicit nsfw content! cursing, drinking, light spoilers for the great gatsby and the secret history !

A/N. it's finally here! my first official jude fic! this was meant to be a one shot and i definitely got carried away (as you can tell by the word count, lmao). for the sake of this story, let's pretend jude knows how to cook okay 😁. not proofread !

The last thing Jude wants after a long day of traveling is a swarm of fans in his hotel lobby. After a particularly rough argument with his mother and a far too clingy air stewardess, the only thing that would ease his growing headache is time to himself.

“Just turn back round, I’ll find another place to stay,” Jude says to the driver in the van. He leans his temple against the tinted windows and watches as the man pulls out of the hotel entrance now packed with screaming teens and bright camera flashes.

As the crowd alongside the noise starts to shrink in the distance, Jude feels like he can breathe again. Out of sight, out of mind. With an exasperated huff, he leans harshly on the seat behind him, making his frustration a point. His fingers tightly grip the seats, eyelids closing as his head tips back to face the ceiling. 

Air fills his lungs, peace at last— but he still needs a place to stay for the week. Jude’s eyes shoot open to face the black velvet interior of the Mercedes. 

Jude reaches for his phone in his pocket, instinctively dialing a number he’s punched many times before.

“Hey, what’s up? D’you land yet?” The voice of his best friend, Marcus, rings in his right ear.

“Hey. Yeah, not too long ago.” Jude rubs his eyebrows with his free hand, trying not to remember how even more hectic the airport was compared to the hotel. “Slight issue, though. They found me.”

“Ahh, the fans?” Jude nods like Marcus can see him, kissing his teeth. “I don’t know what to tell you, mate. Whole city loves you.”

“If they really did they’d let me sleep in peace…” Jude trails off, his tone letting his best friend know he wasn’t fully serious.

A chuckle escapes from the other line. “Really? They’re at the hotel? Did you make it in one piece to your room?” 

“My room? Nah, I can’t be arsed. I just told the driver to turn back round.” A heavier laugh escapes this time.

“So? Where to? Any other hotels in mind?” Marcus questions. Jude’s finger taps the leather surface of the car handle a few times as he looks out into the distance. 

“Not… really a hotel, no. I was actually thinking if I could stay at yours for the week.”

When Jude thinks of Marcus’ house, he remembers the smell of sweaty football kits and freshly trimmed grass. He remembers the sound of boisterous laughter past midnight followed by the nagging of his best friend’s parents. It’s a house that holds memories for teenage Jude. Now, an adult, he can’t even remember what the living room looks like.

“If that’s fine with you, I mean, I don’t know if your parents are home or—”

“Of course it’s fine. And no, my parents are out of town for the week. It’s just my sister visiting, do you remember her?” A breath of relief escapes Jude knowing he has a place to sleep tonight, his mind too occupied that the last bit of Marcus’ sentence became barely audible to him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, her.” After more small talk and a final thanks, Jude ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket.

His best friend’s house is nothing in comparison to the glamor of the five-star hotel Jude had originally booked, but maybe it was karma for going against his mother’s wishes who, in her own words, felt it was too much even for someone like him. His mind continues to drift deep in thought as he sways with the car through the streets of his hometown.

It takes a few more minutes of thought-drifting for Jude to finally grasp the last of Marcus' words.

Do you remember her?

Jude tries to. He recalls a girl walking into the kitchen whilst he and his friends were sitting at the dinner table, quiet, and disappearing without him noticing. He remembers opening a door halfway as he’s occupied with his phone, only to be stopped by Marcus gripping his wrist.

The extent of his memory only reaches those cloudy recollections. Jude shakes his head, the presence of a third person in the house shouldn’t be all that of a nuisance.

The views in the window take Jude straight back down memory lane as it morphs from a metropolitan borough to streets he knows like the back of his hand. He leans forward to tap the driver on the shoulder, abstractly pointing to his right.

“Take a right here.”

“To Stourbridge, sir?” The driver glances at Jude, who had returned to lean on his seat.

“Yes.” 

He’s home.

Nothing in your mind could come closer to a perfect summer vacation than a week-long getaway to Portofino, toasting champagne glasses on yachts and checking out hot Italian men by the docks. Unfortunately for you, your brother had successfully convinced you to come home to Birmingham instead, for the price of a couple hundred quid and a few favors to complete in the future.

It’s only been a few hours since you landed in your hometown from Spain where you’ve been studying for a semester. The chilling weather that greeted you the moment you stepped off the plane reminded you how happily you’ve been enjoying your time away from home— but the sight of your brother at the gate reminded you maybe just how much you needed it.

You’re deep into a book you’d found under your childhood bed when a series of rapid honks catches your attention. A quick check out the window reveals a black van with windows that are too dark to see who’s inside, a car that couldn’t have possibly belonged to anyone you knew.

Your brother, Marcus, was halfway down the hall when you left to check the commotion. There’s a smile present on his face, his pace eager with every step he takes closer to the stairs. 

“Who’s that?” Marcus holds on to the stair railing to turn in your direction.

“A friend.”

“Who?”

“Jude, you remember him.” You don’t. Marcus is in disbelief as he realizes the look on your face shows precisely that.

“God, really? Jude, the loud one. He who used to come over with the rest of the boys. The one who moved to Germany, seriously?” Marcus proceeds to name the other five or so boys he used to hang out with, all of whom ring a bell— except for Jude.

Marcus clicks his tongue and starts walking down the stairs. “Whatever, you’ll have to get used to him.”

You move to lean against the railing, watching your brother from the top of the stairs as he reaches the front door. “Used? What do you mean used to him?”

Marcus looks up to meet your eyes. Your head was tilted in confusion, arms folded against your chest.

“He’s staying over for the week.” With a turn of the doorknob, Marcus is out of the house, but that doesn’t stop you from interrogating him further.

“What?! You said you were alone in the house.” Your brother doesn’t seem interested in your words as his footsteps get further away from the door. After a few unsuccessful calls of his name, you went back into your room with a roll of your eyes and an annoyed grunt.

Part of the reason you agreed to come home was Marcus’ insistence on how he’d “die of boredom alone” and “would get murdered by a serial killer if no one was in the house with him” (his own words) over the hour-long phone call you had. The presence of a third person in the house, and a stranger at that, means you’d sacrificed a glamorous Italian summer for nothing.

Soft footsteps echoed closer to your door before it loudly swung open, causing the book you’d continued reading to fall on your face.

“Can you knock?” you hissed.

“You wanna say hi to him? Jog your memory?” Marcus pays no mind to your sour grimace as you set the book down and pushed the loose hair from your face. 

“No, I’ll be too busy to look at flights to Italy tonight,” you snap back. Marcus’ hands fall to his sides, hitting his thighs with an audible thud.

“Oh, come on! It’s just Jude!”

“To you he’s just Jude! He’s a stranger to me! If I’d known you weren’t actually alone for the week I would’ve never said yes to this. I could’ve been on a yacht by now!” As you spoke, you sat up straight until you sat on the edge of your bed, feet flat on the carpet.

Marcus raises his hand, eyes widened in offense. “Okay, first off— that’s rude. I can’t believe that you’d choose a yacht over your big brother.”

“I’d take the yacht any day,” you interrupt.

“And second,” Marcus speaks a little louder, preventing you from saying more, “I was alone when I called you last week. Jude called, like, 10 minutes ago. What was I supposed to say, no Jude, you can’t stay at my place, my sister hates you.” He lifts his hands in defense, theatrically moving them around to mock you. His face falls flat once the gimmick is over.

“Whatever,” you state, unamused. “I’ll go downstairs when I feel like it.” You heard the slightest fine escape from Marcus’ mouth as he leaves your room. You left the book to your right untouched, instead opting to use your phone. You weren’t joking about those tickets.

The living room Jude remembers from his childhood memories looks nothing like the area he’s standing in now. It had been upgraded to a foyer, complete with a swirling staircase and a chandelier dangling off the ceiling.  “Looks exactly the same as it did, yeah?” Marcus playfully nudges Jude’s elbow, chuckling at his friend’s awed expression.

“When’d your parents get it renovated?” Jude looks over his shoulder to see Marcus locking the door, fumbling with the keys in his hand.

“Erm… not too long after you moved to Dortmund.” Marcus pulls the keys from the lock and pockets them, making his way over to Jude. “But nothing’s changed too much, so don’t worry.”

“I ordered food for dinner, it should be here any minute.” Marcus explains, hands on his hips. His eyes dart to the suitcase in Jude’s hand. “Oh, and you can put your stuff in the guest bedroom.”

It feels weird for Jude to stay in a room in this house that isn’t Marcus’ or in the living room with the rest of his mates, but times have changed, and he’s gotten older. The guest bedroom will have to do in the meantime.

Jude takes half a step to the stairs before turning back to Marcus. “Where is it again?”

“Just down the hall on the second floor. You’ll find it.”

When Jude finishes hauling his luggage to the top of the steps, he’s greeted with a singular hallway and five doors, all identical to each other. It seems like Marcus’ parents had no interest in signs when decorating the house, and their son doesn’t like going into specifics. 

Jude tries the first door on the left side of the hall, knocking twice. There’s no response. He turns the knob— the door is locked. Four more doors to go. 

He moves to the door across from it. Once again, he knocks twice and is met with no response. He turns the knob, and the first thing he sees is a woman’s bare back.

You’re halfway through pulling the sweater over your head, arms tangled and your face hidden under the fabric. The cotton shorts underneath cover just about as much skin as underwear would— or even less, as Jude can see your black panties peeking from behind.

Jude’s frozen. The spatial awareness from his footballing experience fails to show up as his brain tries to formulate a plan to leave as quietly as possible, albeit at the pace of a snail. He can only watch as you tossed the piece of clothing to the side, picking up a t-shirt.

The angle makes it impossible for Jude to see your exposed chest, but it does mean his face (thanks to his much taller frame) is now in the mirror. Your eyes meet his in the reflection, and you hurry to cover your front with the shirt in your hand.

You turn around, shrieking as you back up into the mirror. Only the sound of your voice makes Jude whip his head in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?!” You stress every word, anger coursing through your veins. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Do you men not know how to fucking knock?!” Your voice only grows louder with every word, watching as Jude finally slams the door shut. 

“I’m so sorry. It’s just, I knocked and I, I didn’t hear anyone answer so I thought this room was empty,” Jude explains profusely from behind the door. He’s still there. For a second, you thought you had sent him running downstairs.

After ridding yourself of the pajamas from earlier and putting on a semi-decent outfit, you open the door to find him leaning against the wall across your door, head hung low in shame. He almost flinches at the sound.

This must be Jude. 

“Well it’s not, is it? And you should’ve left the second you realized,” you said, sternly. Jude’s posture is that of a child being scolded by his mother, but you’re sure he’s older than you.

“Fucking perv,” you murmur. The phrase doesn’t make Jude feel any less guilty.

“I thought it was the guest bedroom. Your brother didn’t tell me which door it was.”

You pointed at the farthest door down the hall. “The last one, on the right.” 

With a quick thank you under his breath, Jude pulls his suitcase closer to his body and walks as fast as his legs would allow him. Your eyes remain on him even as he opens the door with shaky hands, and lingers until he’s closed it.

Whoever this Jude was, if this was the person you’d be stuck with for the next week, you’d rather sleep at your neighbor’s.

“Alright!” Marcus exclaims, dragging out the word. You see him ruffle through a big plastic bag at the dining table, setting down both of your dinners.

You see him take out a third. Oh right, Jude’s dinner too. Jude.

The sound of his name in your head is enough to have your forehead creasing, grumpily plopping down on a chair as you pick at your food.

Marcus catches on to your pissed-off demeanor, tugging at your hair. You slap his hip in retaliation.

“Can you at least try to not act suicidal because Jude showed up?” he teases. You debate telling him about the incident earlier but decide otherwise. It would’ve been embarrassing on your end, too.

“I couldn’t care less about him.” Marcus lets a slight chuckle escape his throat.

“That is a shocker. You know most girls your age are on their knees for him? They’d probably kill to be in your spot right now.” Whatever your brother is referencing, you don’t catch on to it.

“Why? Is he famous or something?” 

Marcus sits next to you, picking up a fork to eat. He looks at you with an expression that just reads, really? You can’t tell if he’s taking the piss.

“Jude!” Marcus beckons, arms raising to invite him over. Speak of the devil.

Jude doesn’t have his head hung low this time, giving you a clear view of his face. You can’t hide it— he’s gorgeous in every sense of the word. The white tank top he has on does not help with your growing attraction, showcasing his toned biceps, almost glowing underneath the soft lights. He briefly looks around the table before sitting across from you.

An elbow pulls you out of your trance. Marcus has a precautionary look on his face. 

“Don’t glare at him,” he whispers.

You shake it off and go back to eating your dinner. You’re relieved he thought you were glaring at Jude when you were actually checking him out. 

Dinner went on, the two men catching up with each other’s lives as you ate quietly. Jude is insanely attractive, you finally decide. It’s ridiculous— you wanted this man dead 20 minutes ago. But he has a twinkle in his eye and a charm in his smile that makes you forget every bad thought you’ve had of him.

Half an hour and three full stomachs later, you’re left alone in the kitchen to clean up. You wipe the glass surface of the dining table clean with a washcloth, getting every last spot. A light touch to the shoulder makes you jolt and turn around, leaning back with your palms flat on the table.

It’s Jude. For the second time that night, he’s shown up just as you were thinking about him. He sees your startled reaction and takes a small step back, akin to a human trying to protect themself from a wild animal.

Jude’s lips curl into the friendliest grin he could muster. “I don’t think I was able to get a proper introduction. I’m Jude, by the way.” His hand reaches out for a handshake, testing the waters. You accept, taking his hand into yours.

“Y/N. I’m Marcus’ sister.” 

“I know.” Jude’s grin has grown into a visible smile. You’re not sure which is more distracting; his eyes, or the fact that his hand is much larger than yours.

“And I… want to say sorry for blowing up in your face earlier.” You retract your hand and continue wiping. “I was already in kind of a bad mood, Marcus mostly.”

Jude lets out a breathy laugh. It was a sight to see this humorous and relaxed side of the girl cussing him out not too long ago. 

“Tell me about it. He’s been pissing me off since he came out the womb,” Jude teases. A louder, more unabashed laugh escapes you. He thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re smiling.

“So, Jude…” you trail off, trying to get used to his name on your tongue. “...what brings you to our house?” The youngster opts to lean against the wall rather than sit on the table you just cleaned. “Marcus told me the decision happened last minute.”

Jude scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I have this event I have to do here.”

“Event?” You remember Marcus’ hinting that Jude might’ve been famous and slowly come to the realization that it might’ve been the rare few times he wasn’t joking.

“Yeah. Just a pop-up store for Adidas, they want me to stay for a bit. Fans will come over for photos, sign some autographs.”

“Fans? What are you, famous or something?” Jude cocks his head, chewing on his bottom lip. You’ve decided to take your brother’s word for it, but want to see just how far alleged celebrity Jude’s ego went.

Jude blows raspberries and flashes you that same toothy grin that has your cheeks heating. “You could say the whole city loves me,” he echoes your brother’s words before you two share some laughter.

Once the table is clear of packaging and spotless (a result of overly scrubbing the surface from not wanting to end the conversation with Jude), you moved to sit on one edge of the living room couch, Jude trailing behind you like a lost puppy. He sits on the opposite edge, stretching all 6’3 of his body on the cushions as you brought your knees to your chest. 

“But, why couldn’t you stay at your own house?” you question.

“Well, the whole family’s moved out now. Mum’s always lived with me in Germany, and my younger brother’s in Sunderland with my dad. We sold the house not too long ago,” Jude explains.

You bite at your pinky nails as he explains, a habit you’ve tried way too many times to get rid of. An absentminded activity to you— you don’t catch Jude shuffling in his seat as he watched your pretty pink lips enclose the tip of your fingers.

“Why a week, though? The event’s only for a day, no?” Jude blinks rapidly to clear his head. 

“I miss home.” Jude shrugs. “I’ve been traveling nonstop since December. All the times I’ve been here since then, it’s with my family. Now I’m alone, and I was hoping to really let loose, you know?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He looks abstractly beside him, running his hand up and down his biceps. You start to wonder if someone turned the heating up in the room. 

You hear footsteps grow closer as Marcus steps into the living room. “Oh hey, looks like you finally decided to say hi,” he teases, referring to you. You roll your eyes in response as he stands between you and Jude behind the sofa.

Marcus turns to his best friend. “When’s the event, by the way?” 

“Tomorrow, why?” Marcus groans under his breath.

“I have work. ‘Dunno if I can take you then, mate.” Just as the boys share a moment of silence to think of a solution, Marcus remembers you’re in the room. He glances at you fiddling with the hem of your shirt before turning to Jude.

“Y/N can take you!” Your head shoots up to look at your brother, eyebrows furrowed. You then turn to look at Jude with a much softer expression, mouth agape.

“What?” you protest. Marcus folds his arms, nodding in satisfaction.

“She can drive you there. Plus she could use the time out of her room for once,” Marcus snarks. You shove at his hip in retaliation. From the corner of your eye, you swear you can see Jude stifle a laugh watching you two bicker.

Marcus leaves to go back to his room not long after, leaving you and Jude alone again. “You can’t drive?” you ask, tone heavy with disbelief. Jude can only purse his lips before morphing them into a childlike smile.

“You’re older than me!”

“And I’m much busier than you. I just haven’t had the time…” he says trailing off, guilty, like he’s formulating an excuse in his head as he goes. You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head.

When the sky turned pitch-black, you two decided to call it a night. You both have places to be tomorrow morning, anyway. Your conversation only continues as you walk up the stairs, joined by the hip, only stopping once you were in front of your door.

“Good night, Jude.” Your voice comes out mellow as you speak, music to his ears. 

“Good night,” he replies, watching as you disappeared behind your door. He stays frozen in place for a few moments, only moving when he hears another door open down the hall— Marcus’ door.

His best friend doesn’t fully leave his room, his hand still lingering on the doorknob. The dim light from within Marcus’ room provided the only source of light in the dark hallway.

“Was that my sister?” he asks. Jude gulps, acting as nonchalant as possible.

“Uh… yeah. She just went to bed.” A factual statement, but hiding so much underneath.

“What are you doing in front of her door?” Jude hopes Marcus can’t see how scared he is from where he’s standing. “Was just talking.”

“Huh.” Marcus pauses briefly before speaking again. “It better just be talking,” he ejects before closing the door shut.

Jude lies on his bed in his— or his friend’s, he should say— room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the bare silhouette of the girl sleeping three doors down from him.

“You know, usually it’s guys who drive girls around.” You’re leaning against the hood of your car, watching as Jude walks out your front door. He’s locking the door with one hand while juggling a water bottle, his phone, his wallet, and his headphones in the other. There’s a smirk evident on his face as he walks over to you.

“Good morning to you, too,” Jude teases. He clambers into the front seat and you follow suit, buckling in the driver’s seat next to him. 

You were up and ready by 7 am to take Jude to the pop-up store. Marcus was already out of the house by then, leaving you and Jude alone. 

Speaking truthfully, last night really changed your perspective of him. Who you thought was some perverted douchebag quickly turned into a charming, irresistible gentleman. You also couldn’t resist doing a little digging before you slept; you learned he was a footballer and for Real Madrid at that. Football never piqued your interest, but even you knew that people from around here playing for them is far from a common occurrence.

The more you went looking, the more a part of you felt the need to suppress your desires for him. Not including the 10+ million followers on his Instagram, it seemed like everyone in the world collectively agreed that Jude Bellingham is a player. It didn’t take long for you to find a clip of his former teammate, Giovanni Reyna, proclaiming on camera that he wouldn’t let Jude near his sister. The comments were flooded with thousands of people cracking jokes at his playboy demeanor.

To top it all off— you were the younger sister of his best friend. Could he even see you the way you saw him? If Marcus found out that you as much found Jude attractive, he would shut you down instantly. 

But Marcus isn’t with you two today. He’s on the other side of town.

You arrive at the shopping mall where the pop-up store was situated, parking in the basement. Jude was told he had to enter through the back entry as his whole appearance was a surprise.

“Thanks a lot for the ride, Y/N,” Jude says as he unbuckled his seatbelt. You flashed him a small smile, doing the same.

“Oh! Yeah, by the way…” Jude turns to look at you, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you look at him inquisitively. “Do I just, wait for you? Or do-”

“You can come with me,” Jude interrupts. He jumps out of the car and starts walking— and this time it’s you who’s trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“Oh, okay, cool,” you mutter. Jude’s looking around the area, almost like he’s searching for someone.

“Of course. If anything happens to you, Marcus will never forgive me.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his words, Jude watching in amusement as he chews on his gum. “I’m an adult, I can take care of myself thank you very much,” you state.

Jude lets out a fake haha before his hands ruffle through your hair to make a mess of it—best friend’s little sister.

You two keep walking until a suited man approaches Jude, shaking his hand, then yours. He introduces himself as a representative from Adidas who’s in charge of the pop-up event. The man, who you soon learn is named Henry, leads you and Jude down a series of hallways and stairwells to avoid the main area packed with people.

“The store’s almost full already,” Henry informs as you trail behind the two men, who are walking much faster than you. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

As Henry keeps talking, you learn more about this pop-up store in question. It’s a one-day exhibit that turned the Adidas store in the mall into ‘store twenty-two’, selling exclusively Jude’s new Real Madrid home kits and his signature cleats. Henry explains how Jude will get a chance to surprise unsuspecting fans and give out autographs to buyers.

Eventually, all three of you end up in an empty room. You could hear the sound of chattering and camera flashes on the other side— you’re next door to where all the commotion is.

“We’re in the employees-only room right now,” Henry says. “The door leads to the photo booth area of the event. Jude, when I give you the call, you’ll go out there and surprise everyone.”

Henry was now talking to his walkie-talkie almost nonstop in the corner of the room. You opt to sit down in a vacant seat, scrolling through your phone to no luck— there was barely any service in the area. Just as you put it back in your purse, Jude took the seat next to you.

You watch as he stares blankly at his feet, silent. “How’re you feeling?”

Jude’s eyes meet yours, laced with a tinge of worry. “Just normal,” he replies impassively. You’ve forgotten that he’s probably used to this by now— hundreds or even tens of thousands of fans anticipating his presence.

You turn to the door where Jude’s supposed to walk out, hearing where the crowd only gets louder. It’s not an easy life to get used to.

“Jude! 3 minutes until go time,” Henry calls from the other side of the room, hand already gripping the door handle. Jude’s patting down his clothes, trying to put on the best appearance.

“Hey, Jude.” You tap his shoulder, earning his attention. His head leans closer to the point where you can feel his breath fanning dangerously close to your face. You take your hand in his, interlocking the fingers, and Jude subconsciously forgets how to breathe as you do.

You lightly squeeze on the flesh, bringing the back of his palm to rest on your cheek. “Good luck.” 

It’s only once you let go that Jude feels the air entering his lungs.

“...and he signed autographs for like two hours. Then he had to do some media for Adidas and that was it, really.”

You’re back in your bed after the pop-up event, retelling the story to Marcus on the phone. He’s still held up at work but will be back soon, in his own words.

“Wow. Seemed like a busy day.”

“Nah, I was just chilling.”

“For Jude, Y/N.” 

When Jude was finished surprising the lucky few fans in the photo booth before the news spread, you were able to weasel your way out of the cramped room and sneak off to the side. The store was probably nearing its capacity, and there were still more people outside.

As Jude carried on with his duties, you took the time to aimlessly stroll through the small makeshift Jude-centric store. A pamphlet catches your eye, tucked away behind the vibrant white and gold of the Real Madrid home kits.

From Birmingham to the Bernabéu, it read. Your eyes glazed quickly over the text, moving to put it back.

A sudden burst of camera flashes goes off on the opposite side of the room, earning your attention. Jude is gently stroking the crown of a small child, his head buried in his arms as he’s crying. You can see Jude lean in, whispering soft encouragement in the fan’s ear, fingertips dancing through his hair like he’ll break if he dares go any less gently. Jude lets go of the child, beaming as he squeezes in a personal handwritten message on the jersey. 

“There was a kid who was crying when he went to get his kit signed.”

Marcus’ laughter fills your ears. “That must’ve gone well.”

“No, he’s…” You fiddle with the pendant dangling off your neck. “...he’s really good with kids.”

After you end the call with Marcus, you spend your evening going through your collection of books. A part of you feels disappointed you never kept up with your avid reading habits once you moved out for uni, and hope this will serve as a reminder to do. You make a mental note to yourself to pack some books for the trip back.

You’re halfway through a chapter in The Secret History, a book you last read far too long ago to forget the storyline, when the dinner bell downstairs rings. Some food would be great after a long day, but your brain tells you it needs to find out how the group kills Bunny. As a result, you drag your feet, taking long, drawn-out steps out of your room as your eyes are glued to the novel.

The dinner bell rings again, briefly invigorating your movements. Bunny shows up unexpectedly. You take your first step down the stairs. Henry takes one for the team. Your feet move faster, the adrenaline unable to be stored solely in your heart. Bunny laughs at Henry’s advances, blissfully unaware of the true nature of their meeting. You’re halfway down the stairwell when you stop walking completely, your heart beating out of your chest.

Bunny asks Henry what they’re doing. The adrenaline is back, and you’re jogging this time around. You make it to the ground floor and into the kitchen. Henry takes a step forward. And the first part of the story ends.

An intense gasp leaves your throat, eyes still on the page.

“What?” a voice calls. It’s not the one you were expecting.

You lift your eyes to find Jude by the dining table, shocked at the noise. Slamming the book shut, you stumble over your own words at the sight.

“Jude! Oh, I thought you were Marcus,” you explain, adding a polite chuckle for good measure. The aroma of something grilled hits your nose before your eyes register the meal in front of you— roasted salmon and the creamiest mash you’ve seen in your life.

“Whoa…” you murmur, taking a seat. Jude pushes a plate closer to you, and it only looks more delicious up close. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Jude scoffs and picks up his utensils to slice into the fish. “It’s nothing fancy. And I really hope you don’t mind me using some of the things in your fridge to make this.”

Your fork slides like a knife through hot butter as you pick up a morsel of salmon to eat. The taste has you moaning, already going in for a second bite. “Oh my god, not at all,” you praise. Jude looks away for a moment, feeling his face get hot.

“You didn’t have to do any of this, you know,” you say in between bites of the mash. 

“Think of it as a thank you, for earlier.” Your head tilts in confusion. 

“For the ride, and for dealing with all…” Jude’s hands abstractly move in circles in front of him. “...of that, for four hours.”

You flash him a small smile. “All I did was drive.”

“And all I did was cook,” he’s quick to respond. Fair play.

You shove the fork into your mouth, relishing the way the salmon almost melts on your tongue. “God, Jude. You’re so good at this,” you sigh. It takes a lot for Jude not to choke on his water.

God, Jude. You’re so good at this. The words echo in his head as he looks over to you, focused on finishing your plate, unclear of the effects it has on him. He looks at the way your eyelids flutter shut as you bite, the way your tongue swipes across your pillow lips to catch any remaining seasoning. 

You’re so beautiful. You’d be so easy to ruin. Jude squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of the thoughts dissipating.

Jude’s presence beside you doesn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes are glued to his biceps as they flex when he goes to lift his fork. When he reaches over to grab a napkin, his chest is so close to your face that you can smell the remnants of his cologne. His knee occasionally grazes your thigh, and you don’t dare move away when it does.

“Can I ask you something?” Jude asks. Both your plates are cleared and he’s doing his part in washing the mess he left behind while cooking. You decide to stay with him in the kitchen, feeling uneasy if you’d left so early.

“Go for it,” you reply. There’s a pause before Jude answers. He just needs an excuse to keep hearing your voice.

“Why’d you gasp like that earlier?” He hears you giggling through the sound of running water and scrubbing porcelain. Even better.

“I was just… reading this book. It’s called The Secret History.” 

“What’s it about?” he questions. Just from the tone of your voice earlier, he can tell he’s hooked you into a topic that could leave you talking for hours.

“A group of friends at a university with a very dark secret.” You move to stand next to Jude by the sink, back against the counter so you’re essentially facing each other. 

“And what made you gasp?” Jude can keep going for as long as you want.

“So, there’s two parts in the book. Part one and part two. And, well, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but something really crazy happens, and then the author ends the first part. Super abruptly, almost like a cliffhanger.” Jude nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in acknowledgment.

“You can just tell me what happens, you know,” Jude explains. 

“Well, what if you want to read the book?”

“I’m not a huge reader.” You gasp for the second time that night.

“Unacceptable.” You begin listing off your favorite classics, only to be met with Jude frowning and shaking his head, revealing he hasn’t read a single one. Folding your arms against your chest, you tut as Jude turns the sink off. You don’t miss the muscles on his arms as he leans forward on the edge.

“Told you, I’m not a big reader.” Jude shrugs. “I don’t really know what to read, I guess.”

“There’s a local bookstore not too far from here where I used to get all my books from. You should go sometime.”

“Or…” Jude turns around, mimicking your pose with his arms folded. “...you can take me and show me around?”

You look up at him, a glint of excitement in your eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure. You’re the book expert anyway.” Your face lights up and Jude melts in your warmth.

“Okay!” you cheer. You can’t wait for tomorrow.

All of a sudden, the door swings open, bouncing against the wall. Marcus brings dinner— and your conversation with Jude to a halt.

After lunch the next day, Jude is by the mirror in your doorway, adjusting his shirt collar. You thank whoever Marcus’ higher-ups are for the number of meetings they’ve decided to involve your brother in.

“Ready to go?” You stand up from the couch, gripping your bag. Jude nods and you’re out the door.

It’s an unusually bright day in Birmingham, and with the bookstore being close by, you two decided to walk there. It seems like almost everything is going in your favor as the streets have also cleared up, allowing you two to candidly converse and joke around.

Jude points out a familiar corner shop or park bench every couple of meters, remembering the days of his youth. You do the same, finding comfort in the similarities between both your memories.

“Can I ask you something?” It’s the second time Jude’s asked that this week.

“Of course.”

“Before I left to see the fans, you squeezed my hand when you said good luck.” Jude’s chest feels warm as he recalls the incident. “Why’d you do that?”

You’re nodding as you walk along, realizing how brash and impulsive your actions were that day. “It’s a thing me and Marcus have. He did it to me first before a play I was in when I was eight. I was so nervous I couldn’t bring myself to go out on the stage. Now it’s just become a subconscious thing between us…” Your hand finds Jude’s, interlacing the fingers and holding it up so he can see. “...as a way to show support.”

Jude nods. His hand doesn’t let go of yours for the rest of the walk.

“Here it is!” you half-whispered as you push the bookstore’s door open with your shoulder. Jude takes a look around the room. It’s cozy, filled with warm yellow lighting and the sound of light jazz echoes through the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He’s never been in here, but it feels familiar. It feels like home.

Your hand finally lets go of Jude to give him the time to explore. The selection of books ranges from classic Russian literature to modern-day poetry books you’ve seen on your Instagram Explore page. Your fingertip glides across the spines of several books, reading the titles to see if any piqued your interest— and find a pick for Jude.

“So, what are you into Jude?” He trails behind you as you walk down an aisle. “You a classics guy? Into the poets, romance, maybe fantasy or sci-fi?”

Jude takes a moment to think. “Maybe you can give me something you’ve read before. I’m open to anything,” he suggests. He catches you nodding from behind.

“How about…” You take a step back and reach for a shelf above you, failing to take the book you want in your hands. Jude sees you struggling and is quick to stand behind you, pointing to one with ease. His chest is pressed into your back and his arms are trapping you between the shelf. You feel the material of his pants graze the back of your exposed thighs, this time thanking the weather for allowing you to wear a skirt.

“This one?” Jude’s voice is deep, low in your ear as his hand grazes yours on the way up. Goosebumps arise on your skin from the contact.

“No…” Your fingers wrap around his wrist to guide him to the book beside it. Turning to look up at him, Jude leans down to meet your gaze. “This one.” 

Jude can’t get enough of how you look and sound beneath him.

He takes the book in his hands and steps to the side, releasing you from his embrace. You wish he would’ve stayed for longer.

“The Great Gatsby,” Jude reads, examining the book in his hands. “Like the movie.”

“No, like the book. The movie is adapted from it,” you correct, moving to the other side of the aisle— partly to look for more books, partly to regain composure.

“But I’ve already watched the movie, why do I need to read the book too?” he asks from behind the shelf. 

“You asked for my pick, and I’m giving you one. Besides, there’s always a difference between books and movies.” The needed time away from Jude is cut short when he meets you on the other side of the shelf.

You pick up Kafka from one side of the aisle and Ocean Vuong from the other. “And it’s a really short read, so it’s perfect if you’re new to classics.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” There’s that smile again. 

You need some fresh air. “D’you want ice cream?”

The day ends with two cones of it. 

Beacons of golden light decorate the streets, warming up the air and painting the sky a beautiful gradation of purple and orange. You’re transfixed at the sight as you slowly savor the taste of your cookies and cream cone.

Jude is halfway finished with his, terrified of the heat melting the sweet dessert onto the paper bag he’s carrying. He volunteered to carry the bag containing the books, especially after you paid for them all on your own. 

With every lick of his green tea ice cream, Jude feels guilty as he tastes the sugar on his tongue. He’s supposed to be watching his diet. Preseason starts soon— Real Madrid’s coaching staff had already shipped him his training gear to his new address.

But when you offered him the first time in the bookstore, he knew he didn’t have the nerve to turn you down.

“The ice cream here is everything,” you gush, bringing the cone closer to your lips to lick the melt.

Jude might just drop everything in his hands now. “Genuinely.”

“Is there…” you turn your head to look in every direction, causing strands of your hair to fly everywhere with the added evening breeze. “...anywhere else you want to go?”

You take another bite of the ice cream, licking your lips a second, third, fourth time. Jude looks down at his feet, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I think we should head back. Need to read The Great Gatsby,” he utters. You hum in agreement, and Jude can finally lift his head again.

“It shouldn’t take long. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.” 

“Well, if I’m done, can I borrow that Secret History book you were reading?” 

“Of course. I’ll give it to you tonight,” you reply, watching how his eyes gleam when the sun hits it. It’s impossible to look away. Your phone vibrates in your skirt pocket, probably from Marcus or your friends, but you deliberately ignore it.

A trail of soft cream dribbles down your wrist, pulling you out of your trance. You lick down the inside of your wrist to catch it with your tongue, not wanting it to stain your shirt.

“Let’s go,” you call to Jude so you can start the journey back home. You could’ve sworn his eyes were dark when you turned to look the second time.

It takes Jude four hours to finish The Great Gatsby.

He closes the book and runs his thumb over the embossed cover before setting it on his nightstand. It was a quick read after all— he started the second he got home and didn’t move an inch before he was done.

Jude checks the alarm clock plugged into the wall; 9.15 pm. He’s hungry, a result of skipping his usual dinner time just as Tom confronts Gatsby about his affair with Daisy at the Plaza Hotel. 

Looking at the book set atop the nightstand, he remembers your conversation earlier. Once Jude was finished with The Great Gatsby, he could borrow The Secret History. It’s exactly what Jude needs; any excuse to see you.

Jude leaves the room and stops at your door, knocking twice. No response. He knocks a third and fourth time, progressively getting louder and adding in a few calls of your name to make his presence heard. 

There’s still no response. Jude’s fingers skim over the doorknob. In the words of Taylor Swift, he thinks he’s seen this film before— and he’s not really sure how to feel about the ending.

Jude takes a deep breath, twists the metal and slowly enters your room. His eyes stay glued to the floor to prevent them from wandering, taking light steps like he’s walking across a decrepit bridge over a cliff.

“Y/N?” He calls. No response for the third time that night. Jude takes it as the green light to look around your room and finds it empty. His eyes scour the perimeter for any sign of life until the sound of a microwave beeping from downstairs catches his attention.

When Jude enters the living room, he’s greeted by a figure hunched over the coffee table, eating silently out of a plastic container. Something in you tells you to turn around, almost sensing Jude as he steps closer.

“Jude,” you murmur, mouth full of food. “Did you need anything?”

“Dinner,” he responds. His sight locks onto the container you’re eating out of, and you take the hint, turning to look at it, too.

“Oh, these are just leftovers from when Marcus bought food the other day. You can have some, I’m not finishing it anyway.” Jude sits on the cushion perpendicular to the couch, not daring to sit beside you.

Your fingers nudge the Tupperware closer to him along with the fork. Jude takes a bite out of the pasta presented to him, realizing upon the first bite just how hungry he truly is. He goes in for a second almost immediately.

You pull the zip-up jacket closer to your body, seeking warmth in the otherwise cold living room. There’s silence between you two, a comfortable one.

Jude is the first to break it. “I finished the book,” he says in between bites. Your eyes widen in amusement, nodding slowly.

“Really?” He nods. “Did you like it?”

“Honestly, yeah. I was hooked from the start.” A small smile creeps up on your face.

“Glad to hear that. I’ll give you The Secret History later when you’re done eating.” Jude lets out an acknowledging hum, focused on finishing his dinner for the day.

You reach for the glass of wine on the coffee table that you’d poured for yourself earlier, swirling it around and taking a sip. Jude watches as you do, feeling the heat build in his taste buds.

“Can I have some?” You’re halfway through your second sip when he asks. The expression on his face and the way he hisses lets you know the pasta’s too spicy for his taste. It’s an opportunity to keep him on his toes.

“No,” you say, tantalizing. Jude’s jaw drops lightly, panting to cool down.

“Oh, come on, please,” he begs, extending his right arm to ask you again. You deny him a second time.

“Y/N! It’s not funny, what kind of fucking pasta did Marcus buy?” You laugh at his frustration, hugging your knees and bringing the rim closer to your lips. You sipped loudly, slurping to annoy Jude about his lack of refreshment.

“Little shit—” Jude leans forward in your direction to forcibly grab the drink, bursting into a fit of laughter when you prevent him from doing so, backing into the throw pillows.

“No! Stop! Get your own!” you manage to choke out in between giggles, already clutching your abdomen from the excessive laughter. Jude leaps onto the couch, arms snaking closer to yours in every direction.

“Just one sip!” Your shared laughter only gets increasingly raucous, covering the glass with your palm as a final act of defense. Jude crawls above you, forehead pressing into yours. If it wasn’t for the humorous nature of your actions, you would’ve noticed his drop-dead features centimeters away from your face.

With one rough nudge of the knee, you jolt forward, splashing the dark red liquid onto your jacket. You gasp at the sight, lifting your palm from the glass to examine the damage. Jude takes this opportunity to swipe the glass away from you.

“My fucking god, this’ll stain for weeks,” you groan, running your fingers over the damp spot. Luckily, your zip-up was a navy blue shade, slightly masking the mess. 

Jude giggles, proud of his steal. He takes his first sip of the wine, although the spice had died moments ago. His breath hitches when you slowly unzip the jacket, tossing the tarnished clothing to the side, all while your eyes remain on his.

The realization that he’s on top of you hits him like a truck, and Jude takes a strong gulp of the liquid. You’re just staring at him from below, chest heaving to collect your breath. The white bralette you were wearing underneath leaves little to the imagination, your chest poking through the thin fabric due to the cold. Jude swears he can drop the glass right then and there.

Jude bends lower and to the side, gently placing the wine glass on the coffee table. He’s frozen in place when he feels the pad of your thumb graze his bottom lip, and he turns to face you.

“Wine,” you whisper, not needing to speak any louder due to your proximity. Jude’s heart races in his ribcage, and he thinks it might explode when you suckle on your thumb to catch the last drop of Merlot.

Heavy panting. Lips breathing and eyes boring into each other. It’s all Jude can process as his eyes dart to examine your every feature, every inch of your face as you look on lovingly, the glow of a million stars in your eyes.

Your palm cups his cheek, gently pulling Jude in closer until your noses brush. You’re panting, heart beating fast and hot anticipating something, anything.

“Jude,” you say. It comes out more as a plead than a call.

Jude wants to run at you with all he’s got. He searches deep and hard in his brain for the final push to reach the finish line.

But when he speaks, nothing of the sort comes out. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The stars in your eyes die one by one, Jude observes as he leans farther away from you. “Then we should go back to our rooms.”

Jude’s quick to remove himself from you, adjusting his shirt and wiping his hands on his sweats— like wiping evidence off a crime scene, like he’s guilty. His brain is flashing back and forth between images of you and Marcus sleeping upstairs.

Jude turns around and is ready to make a run for it, until your voice rings in his ears, effectively gluing his feet to the carpet. “Wait, Jude,” you call.

Jude looks over his shoulder, unwilling to make eye contact. You’re handing him your copy of The Secret History.

“I’m sorry I’ve been held up at work a lot,” Marcus says as he swings his arm forward, knocking the cue ball with the stick. It rolls and ricochets off the pool table’s walls, and Marcus stands up straight to walk around. “It’s just, this new manager came in and he’s such a prick, honestly.”

Jude chuckles and gets ready for his turn. Not that he’s ever or will ever know what it’s like to work a 9 to 5, but he understands the sentiment of snobby higher-ups pushing him to work past the healthy limit. He calculates his next move, analyzing which ball to hit to get his remaining few striped ones in. 

After Marcus was (finally) able to ensure one day where he has no obligation to come to work, the first thing he did was spend it with Jude. The two remained in the house mostly, playing rounds of FIFA 22 and watching some of Quentin Tarantino’s best works upon Jude’s recommendation. They made the most of the small backyard, challenging each other to increasingly bizarre trick shots before they had to run back inside due to a group of primary schoolers spotting Jude.

To end the day, they’re playing pool in the basement— a room that Marcus had turned into a man cave back in his school days, furnished with a couch, a cooler, a TV, several beanbags, and a drawer full of snacks.

The pool table was his father’s doing. As kids, the equipment went ignored, collecting dust and being used as a place to throw backpacks on. The boys have grown up now, and appreciate the finer activity.

“What have you been doing while I’m gone?” he asks. Jude places his cue stick on the table, targetting an easy shot to knock his 11 ball into the corner hole. Does he tell Marcus that he’s been spending every day since with his sister?

“Other than the Adidas thing, not much.” He doesn’t.

Whack. Jude strikes with shaky hands and the ball rolls in just as it was about to lose momentum. Marcus whistles proudly opposite him.

“Really? One of my coworkers who lives near here says he saw you out once,” Marcus says. Jude freezes— the only time he’s been out was with you, hand in hand. 

“Oh, yeah. Just walking around town,” Jude clarifies, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. He conveniently leaves out an important detail from that day and hopes Marcus’ mystery worker paid no mind to the girl he was with. 

Jude wants the conversation to end now. “Yeah? What else did you—”

The basement door slams open, followed by a barrage of footsteps. “Marcus, someone’s asking for you on the phone.” Jude’s head whips to the sound of your voice. His wishes were answered, yes, but in the worst way possible. 

Your eyes look at the pool table, at your feet, anywhere but at Jude. He’s doing the opposite, blatantly staring at you with a look on his face that screams, we have unfinished business.

Ever since your incident on the couch, you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid facing Jude. The fact that he and Marcus decided to spend the whole day indoors didn’t help your case, resulting in you locking yourself in your room.

You tossed and turned in bed that night, smothering your face in your pillows to forget how he looked hovering over you, how his lips felt on your thumb, how his voice sounds right next to your ear. Turns out, it’s quite difficult to do that when the man in question is sleeping down the hall, across your brother’s room.

Marcus groans in disappointment, setting the cue stick down and debating whether he should go or not. He goes with the former.

As he approaches you on the steps, he nudges you and says loud enough so Jude can hear as well, “Continue my game with Jude for me.”

You’re left in awe, jaw slightly agape at his request. The slamming of the door leaves you and Jude in a room, all to yourselves, for the first time since the incident.

Both you and the youngster stood unmoving in your places, unwilling to take a step any closer. Your hand still lingers on the stair railing, halfway up the first step. You barely comply with most of Marcus’ usual demands anyway, why do you have to listen to now?

Your foot is planted firmly on the step, propelling your body up just as Jude utters his first words after a solid three minutes of silence. “You play pool?” His voice chains you to the ground. You can’t leave now that he’s spoken.

“I’ve only seen people play,” you reply gently, retracting your feet. Just the sight of him with his head titled down, almost glaring at you has your legs intuitively walking closer to the pool table, almost gliding in the air.

“You want to have a go?” Jude picks up Marcus’ cue stick and reaches out to hand it to you. You accept, not missing the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles as you do.

You know the general rules of pool, a feat you can thank GamePigeon and hundreds of 8Ball wins for, but have never played let alone held a cue stick in your hands in person. Bending over the table, you place one leg behind the other, sticking out your knee and aiming for Marcus’ 6 ball.

Jude can only look on as you push your hips behind you, arching your back to get a clearer view of your target. He gulps at the sight, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans.

You take a deep breath, mimicking what you’ve seen time and time again with people in movies or Marcus and your father. You swing— and the cue ball slides in the opposite direction. Kissing your teeth, you lift your head but remain leaning over the table.

“Okay maybe watching other people play wasn’t enough,” you joke, lightening the atmosphere. Jude chuckles in response, pretending that he didn’t just spend the last few minutes staring at your ass.

Your hand beckons to the table, stepping back to make way for Jude. “Your turn.” Jude steps up, smiling politely. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about the right form.”

“I mean it’s just…” Jude demonstrates, getting ready to target a shot before the 8 ball. “I guess an important thing is you’re leaning into the stick, not, like parallel from it,” he explains. Now it’s your turn to pretend like you have any interest in pool that doesn’t involve staring at Jude’s biceps while he plays.

“And when you’re striking the ball, do it kinda slowly, like your arms sort of moving through water. A long stroke.” Jude does as he says, and gets the last ball in smoothly. You nod along, acting like you register even a word of his explanation.

Jude stands up straight. “Your turn again.”

You mumble a soft okay and move around the table to designate your next target. You find one, conveniently right next to where Jude is standing. He has to move backwards to give you space to get into the proper stance.

Following his advice, you place your cue stick on the pool table and bend over, slowly, to get a view of the ball. Jude is transfixed, regretting his decision to stand behind you now as he can see the curve of your ass peaking through your skirt. God, your skirt, it’s the same one from your bookstore date with him, and it’s driving Jude to the point of insanity.

“Like this?” you ask, innocently. Jude takes half a step forward, toying with his own fingers.

“Uh, just, a bit more to the right,” Jude instructs. He hovers over you, one hand gripping your waist and the other on your hand planted on the table. The feeling of his skin on yours sets your body ablaze.

“Oh, okay.” You shift your weight on one of your legs, sticking out your hips. Your skirt rides up with every movement, almost taunting Jude. He feels the bulge in his pants grow more prominent with each moving second.

You strike the cue ball with one long stroke, getting it in the nearby hole. Jude’s advice worked.

“How’d I do?” you ask, looking over your shoulder and up to Jude for a response. He drinks in your sight— bent over below him as his (much bigger) hand engulfs your wrist. The dim glow from the overhead lighting obscures Jude’s vision, but if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that you’re mesmerizing. Your demure, doe eyes staring up at him and inviting him in closer, to do the most sinful things imaginable.

You lift your head to stand up straight, in doing so unintentionally pushing your ass into Jude. You attempt to pull away as quickly as possible, cheeks heating as you felt how hard he had gotten through his pants— but his hand on your waist locks you in place, grinding just the slightest bit forward.

Your hands are shaking from the weight, so you prop yourself up on your palms, only pushing back on him even more. Your head drops, unable to process any thoughts other than how good he feels pressed onto you.

There’s no hiding now. Jude wants, needs you, as you do him. 

“Jude,” you gasp, feeling the air knocked clean from your lungs when he repeats his motions a second time. 

Jude shushes you. “Quiet,” he grunts, both of his hands now clutching your waist firmly, boldly pulling you back on him. You had built up walls, holding back from the moment you first saw him, and now you’re whimpering, on the verge of begging.

Jude’s palm smooths over the curve of your ass, feeling the flesh below his skin, and squeezes. His hand travels lower, down to the hem where he flips your skirt over to expose more skin. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath, and he can see the damp spot where he’s pressed against you. Jude curses at the sight, pulling you back against the shape of his cock, punching a whine from your throat. 

Your hips roll back on their own, meeting the rocking of Jude’s hips, making a mess on his pants from how wet you’ve gotten. You chase the drag of your clit against him, but it’s not enough.

“Please,” you plead. “I need you, Jude.” Jude thinks he’s never heard anything more beautiful than the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

You take matters into your own hands, taking his hand in yours, moving it from your hips to between your thighs. You look back at him, eyes laced with want and lust, shifting from grinding his hard-on to rocking against his fingers. 

Jude finds the band of your underwear, gently pulling it down and watching it snap against your ass until it reaches your thighs. The cold air of the basement hits your exposed core, earning a hitched breath from you. Jude watches your slick glisten in the dim lighting, groaning lowly as his fingers separate your folds.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, feeling the wetness gather on his fingertips. Jude’s other hand is rough where he gropes, alternating between feeling your bare ass under his touch and bunching the material of your skirt above your waist.

“Been so good for you, Jude,” you whine, circling your waist on his hands, inviting him for more. He obliges, slipping a digit inside you, focusing on the way your jaw falls slack once he does.

Jude pulls out after a few pumps, leaving you breathless and confused. As you look at him for any idea of what he’s doing, he roughly pushes you down onto the table on your elbows. You’re just about to stand back up when he sinks two fingers in your sopping core, pinning you down to the furniture.

You feel the stretch first, followed by waves of euphoria centered between your thighs. Jude twists his fingers inside you, curling them upwards, and your elbows topple under your weight, pressing your chest flat on the table. 

He starts slow and steady, finding his own pace as he savors the feeling of your warm walls sucking his fingers in. Moans began to spill from your lips at a sporadic rate, a symphony Jude hopes he’ll never stop hearing.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Jude curses. You can only whine in response, warm and dizzy on the feeling of Jude inside you.

Jude angles his fingers higher, reaching that spongy spot that has you holding on to the table for dear life. He starts scissoring you at a relentless pace as you beg and whimper beneath him, getting louder with every thrust.

After a particularly loud moan bordering on a scream, Jude is quick to pull you up to him. His hands wrap around your throat, snaking around your chest so your back is flat against his chest. “I said be quiet,” he warns, and you gulp.

“What if your brother hears?” Jude asks, almost taunts, and he swears he feels you get wetter. You throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes shutting in pleasure.

You can practically sense Jude smirking. “Bet you’d like that, huh?” he groans deep and low. “His own best friend, knuckles-deep in his sister.”

Your lip is caught in your bottom teeth, attempting to suppress your voice when you open your eyes again. Jude’s eyes are watching your every move, the way your face contorts when he pumps a little harder into you, and the way your eyebrows crease along with it. His pace never wavers once, a testament to his stamina.

Your jaw falls slack after a while, and Jude takes this as an opportunity to slip his fingers into your mouth. Just the other day he’d been fantasizing over the way your tongue feels around them, and now he gets to experience it firsthand.

You whine and moan around his fingers, bobbing your head back and forth as your tongue swirls around his digits. Jude can’t help himself from groaning at the sight of two of your holes being filled by his fingers. Your eyes are hooded, half-open but you keep your eyes on him the whole time.

“God, just like that,” his praise is mellow and smooth close to your ears, and it only eggs you on further. Jude slips a third finger into your cunt, and you break. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. Wish it was my cock instead”

He releases his fingers from your mouth and swiftly returns them to your throat. “Fuck, ah, right there, please.” You can’t think straight, a writhing mess solely from the work of his hands.

“Shit, like that?” he coos, and he finds the spot that has your back arching into him. 

“Yes!” you whine, feeling lightheaded. Jude only goes harder, smirk doubling as your thighs start to shake around him. His palm rubs over your clit each time he fucks into you, sending slick gushing down the inside of your thighs and on his wrist.

You grab a hold of Jude’s wrist, locking him in place and meeting his movements. Your nails dig deep into his arm in doing so, causing him to hiss at the pain. He catches on the way your walls pulse and flutter around him, breathing getting more sporadic.

“I’m close,” you manage to squeak out in between ah’s, feeling the knot growing tigher in your lower abdomen. Jude tuts, pulling out of you and you almost collapse on the table if it wasn’t for his hands on your waist.

You’re confused, not quite thinking clearly yet when he does. It’s embarassing how fucked out you are, how you’ve turned into a mess below him.

Jude turns you around and hoists you up on the table, making you squeal in the process. Your hands naturally plant themselves on his shoulder as he stands between your thighs, using his knee to push them farther apart.

Jude slowly pulls your (now destroyed) panties down your legs, and you almost miss how he pockets them to keep for himself. One by one, Jude takes your legs and spreads them as wide as you’ll allow it. His hand goes to cup your cheek, gentle as he touches it, and you melt into his palm, sighing in relief.

Your face is flushed, your chest heaving and sweat trickling down your temple. Jude swipes his thumb against your cheek, his other hand squeezing your waist as he looks on with an adoring gaze, completely different from a few moments ago. You wonder if this is the same Jude.

“Hi,” you say, trying to get a response out of him. Jude giggles, letting go of your face and pressing his forehead into yours.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and he’s kissing you. You sigh at the feeling of his pillowy lips molding against yours, the same lips you’ve fantasized about many times before. Jude tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you allow him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer.

Jude bucks his clothed bulge onto your bare pussy, knocking a moan out of you. For a second you’d almost forgotten what got you into this position in the first place.

“Jude,” you beg, pulling away to brush your lips against his ear. “Need to cum.” 

“Yeah? Think you earned it?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, humming in response.

You press your forehead into him again, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. “I need it, Jude.” You take his hand and guide him to where you need him the most, where you’re dripping and throbbing. 

Jude gawks at you, and you can tell he doesn’t want to stop hearing your voice tell him the filthiest of words. “Need you to fuck me with your fingers, please.”

“You’ll be the death of me, I swear.” Jude covers your mouth with his, and he slams into you.

You moan into his mouth, Jude slipping his tongue into yours. The burning feeling in your abdomen is back and stronger than ever, reignited as Jude pumps at an unforgiving pace. The room is filled with the sounds of your slick between your thighs and your lips on Jude’s, and you hope with all you have that Marcus is far enough away from the basement so he can’t hear.

Jude rocks harder with his fingers, using his other hand to bunch up your skirt and lift it over your waist. He breaks away the kiss, looking down to admire your soaked hole being abused by his fingers.

You throw your head back, biting your bottom lip and Jude is quick to leave a trail of kisses on your throat, your neck, down to the swell of your chest. Your hands find solace on the back of his neck, nails digging into the flesh as Jude sucks on your skin harder.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, and Jude brushes his nose against yours. He releases your skirt and uses your other hand to rub circles on your clit, causing the pleasure to increase tenfold.

Your breathing is erratic, thighs shaking as you hold on to the table for dear life. “There it is,” Jude sounds. “Fuck, give it to me, wanna feel you cum around my fingers.”

“Jude!” you half-scream, and Jude is quick to silence you with his lips. You attempt to kiss back, finding it increasingly difficult as you teeter so close to the edge.

“Come on, you’ve been so good for me,” he praises. “Let go for me, cum for me, baby.”

The endearing term is all you needed to let go, cumming with a muffled cry. Fire courses through your veins as the knot comes undone, sending your release gushing around Jude’s wrist as he fucks you through it. He keeps his fingers inside you, buried knuckle-deep into your hole as you ride out the last few aftershocks.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, looking at your fucked out state. “Talk to me,” Jude urges.

You nod, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face before Jude finishes the job for you. “That was amazing,” you murmur, causing Jude to chuckle.

He slowly pulls out of you, laving over your release with his tongue as you watch on. Jude softly moans at your heavenly taste and finishes with a clean pop. You’re quick to pull him back in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The kiss is slow, dragged out. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull you as close as humanely possible, and Jude engulfs you in his arms so that your chests are touching. You never want this to end, never want to forget how his lips feel moulding on yours, lazily making out for some time— but a loud beep resonating from Jude’s back pocket pulls you to reality.

Jude groans in frustration, reading the name on the screen and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He flips over to show you— it’s Marcus.

You’re panicking, eyes alternating between looking at Jude and at the screen. With a reassuring squeeze on your hip, Jude calms you down and shushes you.

He accepts the call, putting it on speaker for both of you to hear. Your palm goes to cover your mouth, scared of making a single sound.

“Hey,” Jude greets, hoping, praying, Marcus isn’t calling for what he thinks.

“Sorry for dipping. Again, new manager,” Marcus teases. There’s no hostility in his voice and no signs of suspicion— you’re safe.

“Uh, yeah, no, it’s fine.”

“Anyway, I’m in an emergency Zoom call for whatever reason, and I think it could last for a few hours, so you don’t have to wait for me. You can go to bed if you want.” 

“Is everything alright?” Jude asks, trying to mask his initial terror between bated breaths.

“Yeah, just an issue with, wait— why are you panting so much?” You go wide-eyed again, and Jude has a smirk playing across his face, leaning closer to you.

“Oh, nothing. Just a… really intense game of pool.”

It’s Jude’s final day before he leaves for Madrid, and he wants to throw himself off the second-floor balcony.

It’s been two days since the pool table incident. After the phone call with Marcus ended, he walked you to your door, feeling déjà vu from a few nights prior. You linger at your open doorway, looking up at him for a few seconds before you bid him goodbye.

You’re an idiot, Jude insults himself as he replays the moment over and over in his head. He should’ve walked inside, pinning you against the wall as he did. He should’ve grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to his room instead, feeling all of you on his bed. Instead, he had to finish himself off in the shower.

When he woke up the next morning, Jude had to take a second to process if last night was a dream or not. When he went downstairs, he almost thought it was— you were silently eating your pancakes and even said a soft hi when he entered as well. You didn’t spare him another word, locking yourself in your bedroom.

Marcus invited him for a second round of pool, but when Jude stepped into the basement, the first thing he saw when he looked at the pool table was the image of you bent over it. He wasn’t thinking straight, losing to Marcus every round to the point where he had to ask him if his arm was injured.

Jude knows he has to see you, and has to feel you before he leaves. He doesn’t know how to initiate it. What was he supposed to do, knock at your door and say, hey, remember when I fingerfucked you the other day, do you think maybe I can get something in return? Absolutely not.

So he waits, waits for the opportunity to arise. He spends more time in the living room, in the kitchen, in the basement— hoping you’d ‘accidentally’ stumble into him and he can have a word with you. But you don’t show up every time.

Jude’s given up all hope. In just a few weeks, he’ll be in the States making his official debut as a Real Madrid player, and you’ll be a distant memory. He’s grown, he’s had his fair share of summer flings and every single one of them end up the same. Forgotten.

Something tells him he’s wrong this time, though.

It’s a quiet evening as Jude is deep into Martin Scorsese’s filmography, rewatching The Wolf of Wall Street for (what he thinks is) the fifth time. It’s been his favorite pastime, one that doesn’t involve human interaction— from you, or your brother.

He’s so immersed in his iPad that he doesn’t hear the repeated knocking on his door until it gets so loud it blasts through Matthew McConaughey’s peculiar monologue to DiCaprio.

Jude runs to the door, swinging it in a rush. A pair of familiar eyes stare back at him.

“Y/N!” he gasps, taken off guard. The same can’t quite be said for you.

“Hi, Jude.” There’s a slight gap between your words as you fiddled with your bracelet, looking at him the same way you did the other night.

“What… what did you need?” Jude speaks like he just ran a half-marathon, though your mere presence is more than enough to conjure a similar heart rate.

“My book. I want to bring it back with me.” The Secret History. Jude looks back to see it untouched, collecting dust on a shelf. He hasn’t dared to even look at it considering what happened before you handed it to him.

“I mean, I can find like a free version online if you still want to read it for yourself,” you suggest, noticing the expression on Jude’s face— like he has so much he wants to say, but can’t.

“No, I’ll just… buy a copy for myself. Or an audiobook…” Jude trails off as he goes to collect the book, handing it back to you. Once it’s in your grip, you can somehow tell he hasn’t opened it once.

You examine the book in your hands, chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a bad habit, one Jude hopes you’ll stop. He looks at the flesh between your teeth and glances at Marcus’ door. Jude feels like a ticking time bomb.

“Is that all?” Jude asks, already taking a preliminary step backward to anticipate closing the door. You’re still deep in thought, and it has nothing to do with the paperback in your grip, it’s about the boy standing a meter before you.

You’ve had enough of him. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary that can accurately represent the cocktail of absolute anger, confusion, yearning, love, and hate that you have for Jude. You’ve made it crystal clear you want nothing more than him. Why can’t he do the same for you?

“Why do you hate me?” The sentence is almost forced from your mouth. Even you don’t realize it until you look up at him, seeing his eyes nervously dart across your face.

“I don’t hate you,” Jude scoffs, shaking his head.

“Then why are you treating me like this?” Another sentence, forced.

“Treating you like what?” Jude’s beginning to wonder what your true intentions for showing up in front of his door is.

“Oh, don’t play this game with me, Jude. You get all close to me, closer than I’ll allow most people, get me on a fucking table of all places and you push me away like it never happened,” you protest, and Jude turns around to step into the room. You follow after, shutting the door behind you.

Jude’s speechless, his hands are on his hips, and he’s pacing in circles. It just infuriates you further.

“What is it? What are you so afraid of? Did I do something wrong?” you ask, voice laced with desperation.

“No! No, not you…” Jude rubs his eyebrows in frustration, a million words trapped on the way up and out of his throat.

“Tell me if I did.” You don’t hear him the first time. “Fucking hell, it’s not about you, okay?” Jude releases his head from his hands, jutting them out in front of him. 

“Then tell me,” you demand.

Jude takes a long, deep breath. He opens his mouth to say something, and you eagerly anticipate his response. Instead, he snaps it shut, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Jude?” You’re worried you might’ve taken it too far. Jude is at his breaking point— but you’re not willing to give up just yet.

Slowly, you step closer to him, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Jude hears the soft ruffling of the carpet as you do, letting go of his head to regain his vision. 

Every time you two are in a closed room, alone, it never ends well.

Your palms find solace on Jude’s broad shoulders, and he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the contact. Your hands travel upwards, testing the waters until your right palm is on his cheek, moving your thumb back and forth.

Jude holds on to your waist, afraid that you’ll let go, afraid that you’ll leave. His eyes trail up your figure, drinks it in, embeds it into his memory. You’re dressed similarly to the night on the couch: a bralette, shorts, and a zip-up. All he can think of is how perfect you look even in the simplest of clothes, and how he wants to recreate that night— and then some.

Jude keeps his eyes on yours as his hands slide to the back of your thighs, one by one setting them beside him so you’re straddling him, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at his touch.

It feels like you can’t breathe with your heart ramming against your ribcage, and it might as well be ripped out from you as Jude nudges his face slightly closer, just enough to press your foreheads together. You wanted an explanation. Instead, you ended up on his lap.

“Jude…” Your voice calls out to Jude like a siren tempting him from ice-cold waters below a ship deck as he holds on for dear life. Does he take the plunge?

“Don’t push me away,” you whisper, a desperate final attempt— and he lets the freezing waves consume him as he jumps.

All it takes is Jude sitting up straight for him to close the gap, knocking the air clean from your lungs. The feeling of his lips on yours is better than you remember it. His palm cups the back of your head, preventing you from pulling away as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

Your hands free his cheek, resorting to run down his hoodie-clad torso, occasionally dipping down under the hem before sliding back out, and then running your thumb over the band of his Calvins. When your thumbs dip dangerously into undergarments, you feel Jude’s breath hitch.

Jude finally breaks the kiss and is quick to pepper featherlight kisses down the side of your jaw, causing your neck to tilt to one side to give him more access. He finds the spot that draws a shaken whimper out of you, but just as he does, you push him away by the shoulders.

You admire Jude below you, lips puffy and eyes blown out, confused. “Tell me you want me.” 

“How about I just show you.” Jude grinds upward, letting you feel just how much he wants you. “Hm?”

The pressure on your clothed core has you humming in content, but you stand your ground. “I need to hear it from you, Jude.”

Jude’s mouth opens slightly and snaps close, taking a pause. You worry he’ll leave you hanging for a third time.

To your surprise, he gently flicks a stray strand of hair away from your face. His knuckles trail down your cheeks, feeling the heat that had risen before it goes further down, unzipping your jacket.

“I want this.” He zips it all the way down, and you help him in discarding the piece of clothing.

“I want you,” Jude grunts, resuming his assault on your neck, hands gripping your waist rougher. His lips ghost over the shape of your collarbone, dipping to the valley between your breasts. You’re sure he’ll leave a purple mark with the way he’s sucking, but at least he left it in a spot where only he can see.

Jude’s back to kissing you, laving his tongue over yours until you give in, letting him explore your mouth. His hands smooth over your back, resting on the curve of your ass as he molds the flesh in his palms.

He pulls your shorts down along with your panties, now ruined and soaked. The cold air hitting your exposed cunt makes you hiss. You need Jude to do something about it.

“Aren’t you gonna show me as well now?” you coo in his ear, dragging your core on his sweats, spreading your slick on his clothed thigh. 

“I’m a man of my word.” With a strong grip on your waist, Jude lies flat on the bed, pulling you on top of him. His hold on you never loosens, only beckoning you higher up his body— and it’s clear what he wants you to do.

You inch higher and higher up his torso, breathing increasingly heavier until you’re hovering right above his face. Nothing has looked more glorious than Jude Bellingham below you, between your thighs.

Jude curses at the sight of you, dripping and bare above him. His eyes don’t leave your pussy, taking his finger and spreading your folds, planting a light kiss on it.

“Fuck.” Your knees buckle at the first contact, hands reaching to steady yourself on the headboard. 

“This all for me, baby?” The endearing term doesn’t help with your clouded thoughts.

“Mhm.” You hum in anticipation. “Just for you, Jude.”

Jude’s lips ghost over your core, close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over it. “You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, yeah? Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, wanting nothing more than for him to taste you.

You feel Jude smirk beneath you. “Good girl.”

Jude licks one long stripe up your folds, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself moan. He starts eating you out like a starved man, the tip of his tongue dipping occasionally inside you before retracting. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning and whimpering into your palm, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jude moves to wrap his arms around your thighs, locking you down on him.

He lays his tongue flat over your sopping cunt before moving to encircle your clit with the tip, drunk on how heavenly you taste. You’re a writhing mess above him, hesitant for more in fear or hurting Jude below— but his hold on your thighs push you down further, giving you the green light.

Jude laps your juices, pushing his tongue in and out of you and a steady rhythm the way his fingers the other night. He fucks in and out of you, eyes closed, taking it nothing but your taste and your muffled moans as you comply with his request.

His nose nudges your clit each time he pushes impossibly deeper into you, his palms rough as it travels around your lower body. You hold on with so much restraint, so much self control to keep quiet, but the flames roaring in your abdomen grow larger as Jude only picks up the pace, devouring your pussy.

“Fuck—” Your palm drops from your hand, landing on his head, overwhelmed with pressure. You’re close, Jude knows it. “Jude, I’m close,” you spit through bated breaths.

“Let go for me, babe,” Jude sounds against your folds. “You’ve been so good for me, so fucking good.” His praise is low and soft, and your palm is back on your mouth to bite back the scream as you cum around his tongue.

Jude rocks his head slowly, helping you ride out your high as you regain composure, collapsing against the headboard. He taps your thigh twice, in awe of you panting and undone above him. 

“I’ve got you. You alright?” You could only nod, Jude chuckling in response. He leaves one final chaste kiss to your inner thigh, gently dragging you down his body so your face hovers above his.

Jude’s chin is glistening with your juices, spread over his cheeks. You lean in to taste yourself on his tongue, settling comfortable on his torso until you slide down onto his bulge, prominent through his pants. Jude groans into your mouth, shifting below you for more friction.

You trail kisses down his neck, palms dipping below his hoodie to trace his defined abs. “Off,” you demand, and Jude’s quick to pull it up and over him, discarding it carelessly. Jude feels shivers shoot up and down his spine as you run your nails across his toned chest, down to his abs, grazing the skin, a testament to his hard work in the gym. 

Your hands dip lower until you palm him through his pants, mouth latching onto the crook of his neck. Jude hisses, shutting his eyes, involuntarily bucking his hips up to meet your palm.

“Let me return the favor.” Your lips ghost over his earlobe, tugging it slightly as you pull away. Your hands make quick work of pulling down the clothing, with Jude standing up off the bed to ease the process, joining his hoodie in some corner of the room.

Getting on your knees on the bed, his hard on is just inches away from your face, imprinted on his Calvins. Jude can sense your hesitation, reaching down to stroke your chin adoringly, slightly jutting it up so you can meet his eyes. 

“Are you sure about this?” Such a gentleman. You lean forward, pressing your cheek against his crotch, nodding with an amorous glance. Jude lets a stray shit slip from his mouth as you suckle on the tip of his thumb, giving him further assurance.

Your fingers dig into the waistband, pulling Jude’s last piece of clothing down before he’s stood completely bare before you— his cock springing from the restraint and slapping against his belly. He’s big, a size you’re not used to encountering in the past.

You spit onto your palm, still slightly wet from earlier, and begin pumping him in your hands, eyes never leaving Jude’s face. His lips are already caught between his teeth at the stimulation, working to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail to help you out.

Your press a delicate kiss on his tip, laving your tongue over the slit. Jude feels his jaw start to go slack, fully falling agape when you lick a long stripe up his shaft, repeating the motions. He swallows hard, throwing his head back when you start to let him in your mouth.

You start slow, breathing through your nose before pulling away with a clean pop, jerking him off as you recollect your breath. When your mouth is around him again, you begin to bob your head up and down his length, hands taking care what your mouth doesn’t fit.

You hollow your cheeks, laying your tongue flat below his cock, focused on nothing more than giving Jude the best head he’ll ever get in his life. Jude’s restrained groans morph to low moans, tickling your ears with every sound spilling from his throat.

“You take me so well,” he praises, and his words go straight to your core. You rub your thighs together for some sort of relief and Jude curses at the sight. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Jude’s hips start to stutter out of his control, causing you to gag around him, tears building in the corners of your eyes. You hold on to his thighs for support, not needing to move your head as he slowly starts fucking into your mouth. Your other hand is cupping his balls, massaging the flesh.

You feel Jude’s fingers run trace down your neck, landing on the straps of your bralette. He slides them down your shoulders one by one, letting them drape loosely over your arms. 

Jude’s movements turn erratic, breathing heavily as he starts to thrust into your mouth with more force that you can feel him in the back of your throat. Just before you couldn’t take more, Jude pulls out, roughly stroking himself, leaving you time to catch your breath.

“Need to be inside you, now.” You smirk devilishly at his wishes, sliding backwards on the bed. Spreading your legs wide, you tease your fingers over your folds. Jude moans at the sight before him, his hand only speeding up.

“How do you want it, baby?” You echo his endearing nickname, and Jude sits against the headboard, patting his thigh, beckoning you over.

“Come ride me.” 

You’re back to straddling Jude as he pulls your top off, latching onto your breasts instantly. You throw your head back, grabbing the back of his neck. He swirls his tongue across your hardened bud, tugging it with his teeth before diving back in, working the other with his hand. He licks over the valley of your chest, giving your other the same attention.

Jude’s hands are tough on your waist, lightly pushing you down— and you feel the tip of his cock swipe against your pussy. A stray moan escapes your throat and Jude is quick to silence you with another passionate kiss.

“There’s people in the other room,” Jude warns in between kisses. When he means ‘people’, he means your brother, his best friend.

“I know. I’ll be quiet,” you promise. “Now fuck me, Jude, please.” 

“So needy.” Jude lowers you on his cock, letting you warm up to the stretch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting back the filthy sounds threatening to escape. Jude peppers your temple with light kisses, moving you lower until he’s buried deep inside you.

The feeling of Jude inside you sends waves of pure ecstasy rushing through you, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Jude smashes his lips into yours, feeling your ass flush onto his thighs, adjusting to his size.

You plant your palms on his shoulders, lifting off of him completely, encircling your waist so the tip of his length rubs against your clit. With one swift move, you sink back onto him, throwing your head back in pleasure. Jude has to stop himself from finishing then and there, feeling your walls suck him back in and your folds flutter around him. 

You start to find a steady pace, moving up and down his cock. Jude’s eyes are struggling to stay open, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, addicted to how you look on top of him— tits bouncing in his face, chest decorated with blusih purple marks, eyebrows furrowed as you focused on getting yourself off on him.

“Jude,” you moan silently.

“Shh,” Jude hushes, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, plunging it onto your mouth. He watches as you stifle your desperate cries around it. “Doing so well for me, pretty girl.” Jude’s grip on your waist has almost entirely loosened, giving you freedom to move at your own pace. You slam down harder on him with every move, driving silent groans from Jude, until you begin to bounce mercilessly on his cock.

Your thighs start to burn with the rapid movements, and you’re not sure if you can hold out for much longer. Jude senses your fatigue, wrapping his arms around your torso, hovering his mouth in front of yours.

“Need help? Hm?” You nod ferverently, panting into his mouth, begging with your eyes. You’re so close, yet so far.

Jude gently leaves a kiss on your lips, accepting the offer. His hands are back on your waist, halting your movements.

“Turn around for me, baby.” 

And so you do, hissing when you pull Jude out, leaving you empty. For a second, you’re staring at the sight of his cock, throbbing and glassy with your slick coating it, dripping down onto his balls. He doesn’t miss where your eyes trail, chuckling when he realizes.

“Look at the mess you made,” he taunts, stroking himself, but nothing could compare with the feeling of your walls around him. Jude juts his head, snapping you out of your trance as you turn around and sit against his cock.

You feel him stroke himself against you, feel him smear your wetness against your cheeks before he roughly takes them in his hands, kneading and spreading the flesh. You arch further into him, rubbing your thighs in anticipation. Jude lands a harsh slap against your ass in response, eliciting a choked gasp out of you.

His palms land roughly against your skin, a second, third, fourth time, pushing you further and further down on the mattress until your face is smuthered against the sheets, ass lifted in the air. 

You helplessly squirm under him, only growing wetter at the impact, feeling it pool between your thighs. Jude’s hand lock you in place, the other tapping the head of his cock against your entrance, sending your juices dripping down onto the sheets.

“So fucking wet.” You claw at the sheets, bracing yourself when you feel him press against you. “All ruined for me.” The air is knocked clean out of your lungs when he slams into you, forcing you to bury your face into the sheets.

Incoherent, muffled noises flood from your throat, prompting Jude to only ram into you harder. The sight of you, snappy and brainy, fucked out and wrecked below him is nothing short of a masterpiece to him.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this to happen,” Jude grunts through gritted teeth, “Walking around in those fucking skirts all week.” Another helpless whine out from you, silenced by the mattress.

“And with your brother around, too.” Your head snaps up to the door directly in front of you. Marcus. He’s in his room, doing god knows what, utterly oblivious to what his sister was up to a few doors down. Suddenly, the possibility of him barging in at any given moment becomes very real, but you forget about it immediately when Jude pulls you against his chest by your neck.

“What would Marcus think if he saw you like this? Hm?” he goads. 

“You said it was wrong,” you spit back. “Fucking your best friend’s sister.” “But you can’t get enough, can’t you?” You nod, but Jude’s not giving in. His free hand snakes around your waist, finding your clit and drawing figure-eights on the swollen bud.

“Come on. Use your words.” You can’t think clearly, dizzy at the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, his fingers on your clit, his hand on your throat. You lost all your fight.

“Mhm. I need more, Jude. Please, harder,” you beg, and Jude pushes you back into the mattress, freeing himself of any restraints he had earlier. Your eyes crack open at a particularly rough trust, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“And if he walks in? Sees you bent over for his best friend.” “Jude.” He feels slick gush around him, coating his cock. 

“Taking it so well, too.” Jude angles his hips to fuck deeper into you, hitting the spot that has you seeing stars, knees buckling below him. He’s hooked on your pretty face, sweaty and ruined, trembling with every thrust.

Jude feels your walls spasm around him. “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine between low ah’s and curses under your breath. He twitches inside you and knows he’s not far from finishing either. His thrusts get more sporadic, shallower with every move of his hips.

“Can I? Please?” You look up at Jude with demure eyes, and he knows he can’t say no.

“Make a mess all over my cock, baby.” You collapse on the bed as you finish around him, pressing your face into the sheets to stop the cries leaving your throat, milking his cock dry.

Jude doesn’t slow down, chasing his own high. With whatever energy you have left, you reach around him and hold him in place. He’s confused at first, wondering if it’s too much for you, blinking quickly.

“Cum inside me,” you plead and Jude’s vision goes white, hips sputtering as he feels warm ropes of white shoot deep into you. He fucks his cum into you, and you take the overstimulation for him, feeling so full— full of Jude.

You flip over, basking Jude in all of his glory, sweat trickling down his upper body. Your eyes travel down to where you’re two connected, where Jude is still buried in, seeing the faintest outline of his girth in your abdomen.

Jude collapses onto you and you’re quick to rub his back, letting him catch his breath. “Hey, you okay?” You hear him release a soft grunt in response. It’s usually him checking up on you— how the tables have turned.

Your chests rise and fall in unison, worn out and exhausted. You run your nails up and down Jude’s back, the other hand scratching the back of his neck, where his face is buried into your shoulders. He’s trembling above you.

“I’ve got you, breathe,” you reassure him, planting a kiss on his temple and wrapping your legs around his waist. Jude holds your wrist, interlocking your hands together, setting it beside you.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” he murmurs. “Or we could just…” You pause, feeling your brain return from its clouded state. “...stay here. Like this. For a while.” Jude slowly nods, lifting his face to meet yours. He looks at you with wide eyes, warmth filling his chest as your eyes gaze right back at his, heart beating in unison. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’d love that.” Stroking his face, you smile in response. You hold Jude in your arms as you drift off, scared that you’ll never be in the same position once you both leave for the airport tomorrow.

“JUDE BELLINGHAM!” 

You choke on your tea, sputtering the liquid out of the cup at the commentator’s roaring voice. It dribbles down your arm, and you set the drink down on the tray as you rush to turn down the volume on your phone. You never realized how passionate American commentators could get for a sport that is so looked down on in their country.

“What! A! Goal!” Then, you see him, all 6 feet of him with tan glowing skin, sculpted muscles, running around the pitch, swarmed by his new teammates.

“Jude Bellingham with an amazing goal assisted by Rüdiger gives Real Madrid a comfortable lead against Manchester United tonight in Houston! The 21 year old scores his first ever goal for the reigning Copa del Rey champs, proving people who may have had second thoughts about his transfer to the Spanish club wrong,” chimes in another commentator.

You can’t help yourself from smiling as the video replays the goal in slow motion, taking a bite of your strawberry shortcake. Looking outside, you spot NRG Stadium twinkling faintly in the dark of the night. It’s been several hours since the match, and you’re back in your hotel room, still in the Number 5 jersey from earlier.

You don’t realize you’ve ingested the morsel of cake, leaving yourself to chew on the fork as you admire how Jude looks doing the one thing he loves the most— playing football. He’s full of fight, full of passion as he gives his all and more on the pitch, a burning desire in his chest to win.

A loud knocking on your door, followed by a bell resonating through the room pulls you to reality. You set down the plate, walking to greet whoever was waiting for you behind at the entrance.

You swing the door open, and who else, if not Jude? His eyes take in the sight of you in his kit, the way it hugs your frame and hangs loosely over your body, being several sizes bigger. 

“Look who finally learned how to knock,” you joke, taking him by the hand and pulling him inside.

hope you enjoyed! check my masterlist for more ♡ inspired by leclsrc's 'do you want it?' (go check it out, it's amazing) and various bsf's brother jude drabbles on my dashboard!

taglist: @lilians17 @tudesuite @judethluvr @hoeforkitkat @gavisuntiedboot @muddollz @lina1407 @roseczbalt @mazzystqrz @starjoyyy @pedritboy

---

girl dad benji has me in my FEELS! do you think you could write about the first time little girl goes to a game and benji is just so proud that she’s there and brings her all around the locker room showing her off to everyone? 💕💕

you’re making me fall even more in love with benji —

it’s been three month since you gave birth to the beautiful girl in your arms. the new role has been difficult in the beginning since benji still had to leave a lot because the games and training sessions didn’t wait for noelle to grow up. but this time, this one saturday, you decided to watch the game against freiburg and show the princess the allianz arena for the first time.

a pair of noise-reducing headphones covered her small ears, dressed in one of the first crimson-red bayern jerseys, benji brought home after a game. seated close to the pitch, you had the best view of your husband throughout the ninety-two minutes, and he even scored a goal. by the time the referee blew the whistle to end the second half with a win for the number one of the chart, benjamin grabbed a water bottle and jogged over to the stands.

behind you, the supporters almost went crazy. screaming his last name, reaching out with their phones and trying to get the match-worn jersey. and he would have been happy about the attention, he would have cared for it if his eyes would not have landed on the sweet, sleeping princess in your arms. the world around him seemed to vanish, it didn’t matter where he was or who shouted his name.

benji’s arms quickly found their way around noelle, picking her up from your lap and holding her tightly to his chest. the fans and cameras went crazy at the sight, taking millions of photos while the defender tried to hide the face of the little one. “i will take her to the team, are you coming with me?”

you nodded your head frequently, relieved to leave the mass of fans that gathered in the front of the stands to receive an autograph from benjamin. and he didn’t want to seem mean, or act like an arrogant fool but as soon as his fingers only touched noelle’s little body, he was pulled into another world. climbing over the stands with the help of a security guard, benjamin led you towards the catacombs, where most of the team already changed clothes and celebrated their important win to increase the points.

before even reaching the locker rooms, the loud laughs of müller and sommer already echoed through the busy corridors. photographers waited at the end, their cameras tightly in their hands and trying to take a couple of very interesting pictures for their websites, and the social media accounts of the club.

you quickly followed the hurried steps of your boyfriend, noelle pressed tightly to his chest and ignoring the incoming questions from the interviewers about the new-born baby in his muscular arms. when benji reached the locker room, kimmich’s eyes focused immediately on him and as the captain, he instructed the team to lower their voices and not interrupt noelle’s tight sleep.

“well boys,” benjamin stepped into the silenced changing rooms, followed closely by you. wrapped up in a rose blanket, and dressed in her sweet woolen cardigan over the bayern jersey, noelle smacked in his arms, moving slightly to cuddle herself further into the warm material and benji’s arms. “i’d like to introduce you to noelle, my beautiful princess. she’s just three months so no touching.”

you stayed in the door, the shoulder leaned against the frame and watching in awe, how benjamin carried the little girl through the attentive gazes of his teammates. after telling him that he could not fulfill his dreams of a little boy following into his footsteps, his mood changed for a couple of days. his expectations were completely overthrown when he saw noelle for the first time. since the first day, benjamin and noelle were inseparable. she slept more in his arms and cuddled up with her father than in her own crib. it was beautiful, a sweet sight and your phone was flooded with pictures of them.

“look at that cute little girl.” sane cooed, smiling widely as the team gathered around noelle and benjamin. most of the mates already had their own children, and always teased benjamin for not going a serious step forward with his marriage. and yet, a new baby in the locker room always seemed like a huge surprise.

“she’s way too beautiful to be benji’s!” müller chuckled, carefully patting benjamin’s shoulder with the dry palm of his hand. “she has your curls.” leon interrupted the joking ways of müller, and ruffled a large hand through the chestnut curls on benjamin’s head.

the praise from the boys, the little resemblances spoken by the teammates made him extremely proud. benjamin’s soft gaze drifted from the smiling mates around him to the little girl in his arms, watching how her small hands moved and tried to grab her woolen cardigan.

benjamin held the whole world in his hands before. being part of a popular and successful club for over two years, and having a certain position in the starting eleven of each game. playing football, doing what he loves so much and earning money for it.

but benjamin’s world changed, turned upside down when the babygirl was born. noelle pavard became all the good things in his life, and added another tad of happiness. and you were allowed to watch his loving gaze, how his brown, soft orbs traveled over the sleeping girl in his arms.

his long pointer finger reached out, carefully stroking over the soft skin of noelle’s strawberry-red blushed cheek. “you know, i made this beautiful, little girl.” benji muttered, his heart swelling with extreme pride.

“sure, but you had a little help.” joshua commented, patting the defenders shoulder and nodding towards the door. benjamin’s gaze followed his gesture, his lips curling into a wide smile at the sight of you. arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe and watching the loving interactions. but it was obvious, that you couldn’t wish for a better dad for little noelle than benjamin.

---

this is way too cute 🥹🥹🥹

sanctuary

pairing: jude bellingham x f1 driver!reader

summary: after an eventful singapore gp, the only thing you can think of is your comfy bed but your body has another plan and your boyfriend isn't happy about that. [wc: 1,6k]

req: Ferrari driver reader x jude where she feels a bit dizzy after a race and kind of faints when they get at the hotel, like just fluff with him taking care of her + CAN YOU WRITE JUDE ANGST THEN FLUFF IDC ABT THE SCENARIO JS JUDE ANGST IN JUDE X DRIVER READER 🙏🙏

contents: established relationship, charles is reader's teammate, ferrari being good au (impossible ik), reader faints, jude is a worried bf, barely has angst ngl 🏃‍♀️, nothing else i think

note: i have no idea how to write about fainting and it probably shows. ALSO, i wrote most of this at 1am so i hope it makes sense (probably doesn't but we move😪)

now playing: sanctuary by joji (nectar)

usually you would say you absolutely loved singapore. the track was one of your favourites on the calendar and you practically counted down the days to this race. but this week was probably the most difficult of your entire career in motorsports. of course, marina bay had never been an easy race, and the weather conditions in singapore were only making it harder to handle. but this year, no number of ice bath and cold shower could appease the dizzying headache that plagued your weekend.

and to add to that, everyone at the team has been stressing you out about the championship. obviously, you were grateful that you could finally fight for one, ferrari had built the perfect car this season. but this came with a price, fighting against charles for the title. you were great friends with your teammate but you had to admit your relationship took a toll with the constant tension between the two of you throughout the season. anyone wearing a bright red kit kept reminding you that you needed to be careful on track, that if you crashed with anyone, but especially with charles, you'd be in great trouble.

thankfully your boyfriend joined you after qualifying, and made your weekend instantly better. he noticed something was wrong right away. of course, you told jude about your struggles but he didn't expect to find you in this state.

"maybe you shouldn't race tomorrow..?"

you took a glance at jude, laid down on the hotel room bed, to check if he actually meant what he just uttered only to find a very serious look on his face.

"yeah, i'll just call fred to tell him i'm feeling sick and don't care about the championship anymore, that's definitely the best choice i have." sarcasm dripped out of your words as jude rolled his eyes.

"just because you had a bad day, doesn't mean you have to give me an attitude." it was your turn to roll your eyes. you quietly got under the sheets and muttered a barely audible 'goodnight', clearly not having the energy to argue with him tonight.

as you closed your eyes you felt jude turn around to wrap you in his arms around you.

"i'm just worried for my girl, that's all." he said, softly kissing your hair. you turned around to face him, having to trace his face before finding his lips because of the darkness of the room, and pressed a quick kiss on his lips.

"i appreciate your concern, i really do. but this race is so much more important than a silly headache. i'll be okay." you kissed him again for good measure. "you're gonna have to trust me with this one."

"i always trust you." the two of you talked some more before falling asleep in each other's arms.

—

the only thing you could think of when you stepped out of your car was your bed. as expected the race had been particularly draining and truth be told, you didn't know if you would be able to stand on the podium in your state. you managed to score a satisfying p2, well it would have been more satisfying if charles wasn't standing on the highest step of the podium, with a 4-point difference before catching on you in the driver's standing.

when the whole team congratulated you on your results, it felt like you were in a fever dream, barely making out what was real and what wasn't. you didn't even notice jude talking to you before he snapped his fingers in front of you.

"are you okay ? should i take you to the medics ?" he asked in a worried tone.

"i'm alright... just need to get through the podium." which did not happen. you ran off stage as soon as the italian anthem stopped ringing in your ears. it was all too much, the heat, the noise, the exhaustion, the pressure. all too much to handle for you.

when you joined jude, he was already talking with your pr manager, telling her you wouldn't be able to do any media work right now. it was the truth, not a petty lie to get away with it. you genuinely felt even more lightheaded (if that was possible) at the sole thought of having to go through a dozen interviews.

seeing you barely standing straight must have conceived her, so soon enough you were on your way back to the hotel in a cab jude called.

you quietly laid your head on jude's shoulder. he barely said a word to you since the podium incident, only asking how you felt, if you drank enough water, and how many hours of sleep you had. you watched him as he typed things on his phone in total silence. you wondered if he was mad at you for putting yourself in such a situation or only worried. regardless, you felt a pang of sadness in your heart thinking about it before drifting off.

—

as soon as jude opened your hotel room's door, you felt your legs giving up on you, your hands found the wall to steady yourself. you could hear jude's voice but couldn't make out what he was saying, like you were underwater.

you tried making it to the bed, but you fell down on your knees and just propped your back against it, waiting a minute before getting up, to get your head to stop spinning uncontrollably.

"y/n. are you okay ?" you felt your boyfriend kneeling down next to you and could finally understand his words, but it felt like they were resonating in your brain, only worsening your headache.

"i'm fine, i'm fine... i just need a moment." you didn't want to worry jude more than he already was, although the weak tone of your voice alarmed him more than anything. you felt him shift around you, and caught a glimpse of him coming back from the bathroom before your eyes shut.

when you woke up, you were laid on the bed with a wet cloth on your forehead. and the first thing you saw was a wide-eyed jude handing you a glass of water.

"i thought about making you drink when you were... asleep? but i didn't want to drown you. so i waited for you to wake up." he was talking fast, too fast for you to fully understand his nonsense.

"hello to you too." your voice was still weak but you felt much better than at the race track. you quickly took a few sips of water before jude tried drowning you for good.

"what's that ?" you asked pointing at the cloth still laying on your face.

"some website said that's what you're supposed to do when your irresponsible girlfriend faints." you hid your face in your pillow at his accusatory words.

"no, but seriously y/n. do you have any idea of how worried i was ? imagine if something wrong happened. god, i knew i shouldn't have let you race..." his words had an angry tone to them and you were confused as to why jude was mad at you over hypothetical scenarios.

"but nothing wrong happened, i even got points. are you not proud of me ?"

"are you being serious right now ? you know i'm always proud of you, points or no points. but you think i'm gonna clap for you after putting yourself in danger like that ?" jude's tone got somewhat angrier but he kept going.

"fuck, when you fainted i already saw myself explaining everything to your mum. you can't take those risks, especially when you drive a fast car for a living. you can understand that right ?"

you felt tears well up in your eyes at his words, thinking about how worried he must have been this whole time.

"i'm sorry, it's just... i've been thinking about the championship a lot. i guess that clouded my judgment." you wiped away your tears quickly, before jude could notice them but it was too late.

"hey, hey, hey... you shouldn't be saying sorry to me, you probably spent a worse weekend than i did anyway. i'm not mad at you but at the situation, alright ?" his fingers stroke the wet spots under your eyes, wiping what was left of your tears away. "i'm proud of you, and happy for your points. but you're not winning a championship by making your dangerous job even more dangerous." his voice and his eyes were soft and you felt your chest get significantly warmer.

"you're right..." the room got silent for a couple seconds at your words.

"what was that ? i couldn't hear you babe" jude had a shit-eating grin on his face and you knew exactly what he wanted, and it almost made you physically sick to give him this satisfaction.

"i said... you'reright." you tried getting those terrible words out as fast as you could, but he wasn't happy with that.

"mmh mmh, that won't do... say it nice and loud for me love." you felt your face heat up, both in fluster and embarrassment at his words.

"you're right." your words had a defeated tone to them, but jude decided that would be enough by the way he didn't taunt you anymore.

he moved and got under the covers with you, even though you were gonna have to get up again as you were both still dressed. he just wanted to share this little moment of peace with you.

"you know, it's crazy how you drive the fastest car in the world but can't survive singapore's heat for a weekend." you playfully elbowed jude's ribs at his teasing.

you were grateful to have someone like jude to support you and your intense lifestyle, but also someone to talk about silly little things, legs tangled under the sheets.

---

victory — mm

AHTHOR: jesus i need to stop writing

SUMMARY: in which he plays against her dad’s team…

WARNINGS: none

“And it’s another goal for Chelsea’s number 19: Mason Mount!”

You listened to the loud screams coming from the Chelsea fan, trying so hard to hide a smile whilst seeing their golden boy run around, his tongue sticking out. You had to keep yourself together as you sat in the box of the opposite team but you internally celebrated his goal. Manchester City’s coach cursed under his breath after seeing that Chelsea had added another goal to the score: 2-1.

“I wonder what he’d think if he knew his daughter is in love with me.” Mason had teased before the day before the match. You rested your head on his naked chest before slapping his hip delicately. He loved to bring up your dad and how he had managed to win his daughter over.

“I’m going to dedicate to you every single goal, baby.”

And he did. He really did. The game went on. It was just a few minutes after the 80th when Broja went to shoot his shot but Días took him down, committing a foul in the penalty area which resulted in giving Chelsea another occasion to score a goal. You hissed, watching as the Man City players tried to take the referee out of giving the opposite team a penalty kick but you all knew it was nearly impossible. You saw your dad throw his hands in the air, but not say anything because he knew it was pointless. That was a clear foul.

After a few more seconds you saw Mason position the ball and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling to obviously.

“Three goals. Four if I’m feeling generous. But you have to wear my shirt.” He had told you, drying off his body with a towel. You scoffed, not buying his words but the player sounded and was dead serious.

“I am not wearing a Chelsea shirt next to my dad, Mase.” You explained. You would have loved to show your support but you also didn’t want to be disowned by your own father. Mason chuckled and put the towel down, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“Then you’re going out to celebrate with us.”

You thought his overconfidence was a bit over the top but you had to admit you were wrong. Everyone’s eyes were on Mason as he prepared himself to shoot the ball. And then it all happened so quickly, his foot kicked it in the top right side of the net and it was goal again. The number 19 celebrated again, holding his three fingers up as he ran around the field.

“And it’s a hat trick for Mason Mount!”

The game was near the end and even though Man City had tried its best to recover from those three perfect goals it was near impossible when Havertz scored the fourth one. When the clock hit the 98th minute it was game over. Chelsea had won 4 to 2 against Manchester City and there was nothing else left to do.

Your dad went to shake Potter’s hand, a fake smile on his lips. You knew he was probably disappointed in himself and you obviously felt bad for him and the players, seeing Jack congratulating his Chelsea friends before going straight into the changing rooms. You waited a second, enjoying your boyfriend being praised by his fans and teammates. You got distracted for a second, a woman asking you if she could pass so you stood up to give her space and when you sat back down you saw the unexpected happen: Mason was walking in your father’s directions, who was not paying much attention to the Chelsea scorer.

“Sir, those goals were all for your daughter.” You couldn’t hear their interaction but you could see the look on their faces. Mason’s smug never left his lips as he shook your dad’s hand who looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Don’t make me break your legs today, Mount, go celebrate with your team.” And with that he looked up to see you, the glare he shot you let you know that he wasn’t pleased with whatever your boyfriend of five months had told him.

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