iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh - Tumblr blog

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

Why does he feel the necessity to do this..

oh?? sometimes i think they be forgetting they have cameras on them at all times 😭

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

we’re in a sassy men apocalypse

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Yk the trend where girls go up to their bf and just stick their hands out and say nothing? Yeah that but with jude. Going up to him in the living room and sticking your hand out. He’d be so confused and I feel like he’d flip your hand over and kiss it first but when he realizes that you’re a still there he’s pulling out his wallet/asking you if you want money/to go shopping and guilt would just take you up because he’s so sweet and is always offering to buy you something; never letting you leave a store without a bag, lets you order whatever at restaurants, ect.

he’s such an angel

confusion lit up jude’s face when you stopped in front of the sofa, ignored his outstretched arms, which he was clearly expecting you to fall into, and instead held out one of your hands to him. you had your phone in your other hand, recording his reaction for a tiktok trend you’d seen all over the internet and he eyed it a little dubiously. his gaze flickered between your hand and your face, brows drawing together.

“y’alright?” he asked, tone wary because he had no idea what you were expecting from him. his puzzled expression at your lack of reply was adorable and you had to hold back a grin, heart thumping when he finally reached for your hand.

a soft smile curved his lips as he held your fingers, flipped your hand the other way so he could press a light kiss to your skin. his mouth was warm, lips a little chapped because he was always chewing on them but the little action sent a flicker of love through your chest. the idea of the tiktok was to see what his immediate reaction would be if you gave him your hand and you weren’t at all disappointed by the choice he’d made. he gave you another firm kiss before letting go.

“do you wanna-“ jude’s words halted when he realised you were still standing in front of him, your palm once again facing the ceiling. another confused frown twisted his features but this time his eyes bounced to the phone in your other hand and your poorly disguised half smile. you knew he knew something was up but he wasn’t quite sure what, his body shifting on the sofa so he could dig into his back pocket.

“how much do you want? is it for shopping? i can just give you my card if you want it?” he was talking softly, eyes on yours as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, immediately flipping it open to rifle through the few notes he had. you caught sight of a picture of you tucked into the clear pocket, a polaroid he’d taken during one of your trips to greece and a fizzy feeling took off through your blood, love and adoration heavy in your tummy at the man in front of you.

jude deposited a number of notes into your palm, you weren’t sure you wanted to know how much he was so ready to give you, but when you still didn’t move he only went back for more. it wasn’t that you wanted to see how far he’d go, you knew he’d give you everything in there and more without you even asking, just you’d half frozen because he was so willing to hand you money with no questions asked.

“are you going somewhere for lunch?” you watched as he pressed yet another note into your palm, an odd feeling of guilt settling in the pit of your stomach. “if you are i’ll wait and-“

“jude.” you cut him off with a half laugh, switching your phone off and letting it drop to the sofa next to him, your fingers closing around the money in your hand before pushing it back towards him. “you can’t just throw hundreds of pounds at me.”

once again he looked confused, tilting his head as you finally dropped into his lap, thighs settling on either side of his while you started tucking the notes back into his wallet. he watched you with a frown, his hands finding your hips when you let the now closed and full wallet fall onto the cushions. you felt a tug in your chest, feeling strangely guilty about all the things jude gives you and the money he’s always so willing to spend.

this wasn’t the first time he’d handed money off to you, he tries to do it often, pressing notes into your hand when you’re leaving to meet your friends or sending hundreds over to your bank when you’re apart for a few days. sometimes he does it just because he can, money landing in your bank with the note “you’re pretty” because to him that’s a valid reason. he’s also always spoiling you rotten, taking you out to expensive restaurants, buying you jewellery and clothes, heels and bags, so many books he then had to go and buy you a new bookcase.

it was no secret jude liked to spoil and take care of his girl, he was more than happy to do so but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel bad about it, afraid he’d think that’s all you wanted from him. worried he’d sometimes wonder whether you were using him for what he could give you.

“i thought you wanted money?” he questioned, lifting a hand to brush his thumb over your cheek. you leant into the warmth of his palm and shook your head.

“i didn’t want anything, it was a tiktok. i just wanted to see what you’d do if i gave you my hand.” you mumbled softly into the skin of his wrist, kissed the spot before turning your attention back to him. “you give me too much.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“jude.”

“what? there’s no such thing. if i wanna treat and spoil my girl then i will, even if it is just for a tiktok.” he tipped his head back against the sofa, soft eyes on your and quirked a smile. “you weren’t expecting me to give you money?”

“i don’t know what i was expecting but it wasn’t you handing over half your wages.” you shook your head, hands sliding up his arms and over his shoulders and watched his eyes roll in mock annoyance. a half glare was your response. “i don’t want you thinking i’m after your money all the time.”

“silly girl.” jude huffed a sigh and gripped your chin, brought your gaze to his and sent you a pointed look. “i don’t think that. i’d never think that because you never ask me for anything. i give you things and buy you things because i want to. because i love you and you deserve everything you want.” he pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, let his lips linger a few moments as though to make you really understand his words. then he grinned, his tone turning teasing. “half my wages,” he mocked your words. “i was only gonna give you twenty quid.”

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all i ask for is one normal day in this tag 😧😧😧

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Came across another gf conspiracy video on tiktok… I thought yall were done be so fr

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

husband Jude headcannons

jude just really really enjoys married life

Word count - 2.3K+

Watch it - i got carried away sorry guys, proposal lore??

—--

He's not a fan of you being known as his, rather he's your husband. Always correcting people during interviews and giving you the spotlight. Even when you shy away, not knowing where to look or what to say. He's always there, a gentle hand on your knee rubbing circles as he nods for you to continue. 

Every red carpet he wants to match, doesn’t care how big or small the event is. Gotta be a way you two look look a pair 

His fav is when you wear exactly the same thing so there’s no way to confuse anything for what it really is hehe 

Bouncing around while you get ready together, helping you get your shoes on while he tries his best to stand still while you fix his tie 

“Look okay?” he asks, head tilted 

You rub his arm, “you look great.” 

And he smiles wide, giving you pecks all over while you giggle, trying to shoo him away from you and closer to the door. your ride is waiting, but he doesn’t care. pouting for just one more kiss. please ? 

All his socials turn into your personal fan page, a big fat married in every bio, ring and all 

He has more posts about you then his actual job 

His teammates poke fun at it, “when are you gonna post us huh?”

He just rolls his eyes,”when I marry you i’ll think about it”

And that’s that

You're the first he runs to post a match, greeting you with the silly hand shake you perfected years ago. You think you could do it in your sleep at this rate. You came up with it ages ago when you kissed him after practice, playing with his fingers till he came up with the idea, and you with the actual hand shake. 

You're his biggest supporter, and him likewise. In every and anything you do, give him pompoms and he'd be your personal cheerleader at this point.

He just likes to have you at games. Waving obnoxiously while you tell him to pose. And he does, every time, sending hearts your way. He dedicates his goals your way. The kisses he would send the crowd in his youth now only go your way where you catch them like a teenager.

You see complications of it everywhere, he thinks it's endearing. He makes you watch them together on the living room tv while you grimace

“My face looks so weird there, oh my god.”

He flicks your arm, “you look great shush. Ha that was during el clasico, ah good times.” 

You roll your eyes but snuggle up against him anyway.

One of your favorite past times btw, nothing he loves better than a lazy morning in with you in his arms while he hits snooze on every alarm.

He tries to cook, with his stupid kiss the chef apron he got just for you. but he will need help, which you gladly give. You end up eating on the couch, covered in pillows watching cheesy shows. You've watched keeping up with the kardashians too many times to count and he still laughs out loud every time.

Jude is soft and sweet when he's not forced into a picture perfect smile and self 24/7. He's a silly guy, always trying to make you laugh. Teasing is his love language by the way.

But he's still sweet, leaving notes around your house for you to find when he has to leave for away games. Hearts and smiley faces littering every inch of the paper. Some frowny faces when he knows he'll miss you extra. 

He likes bringing you to family events and bragging about how cool you are, but everyone already loves you as is, he just likes to brag. Look at how cool the love of my life is everyone, I am sooo lucky you guys look look. 

Jobe has rolled his eyes far too many times, but he's happy to see his brother so happy. Plus you guys threw a fantastic wedding. A win is a win.

When you can't be there he facetimes you every second he possibly can. Blowing kisses when he has to go. 

“Judes been complaining all day I hope you know,” Aurélien pops his head into the screen. 

You snort, “ hello to you too Aurélien.”

He gives you a wave before ruffling the top of Judes hair as he pouts, fixing it just how he likes again, “they just don't get it,” he sighs dramatically.

You laugh, “sure baby, sure.”

You make sure to keep up with the match the best you can, texting him live reactions, even if you know he won't see them till later. He likes them all the same.

Your name on his phone is a simple "mine" with a bunch of heart emojis, the contact pic is one of the two of you together on vacation, smiling with your faces squished together while laying in the sand

It makes him smile every time. he thinks you’re the cutest

He's a big fan of nicknames, weather its a version of your first name, or just a good ole fashion baby. He rarely uses your actual name. He called you something so insane like pooki bear in public once and you have yet to let him live it down.

"in a restaurant was crazy," you squint at him.

He only giggles, "but it was soo funny baby come on."

Speaking of restaurants, this guy loves a good date night 

Gigdy as he comes down the hall in his pjs, grinning while showing you the new reservations, it’s your fav place ! 

Every anniversary he somehow finds a way to outdo himself, don't ask, because in truth he doesn't even know how he pulls it off, but anything for you. Anything. 

Even if it means hunting down the stuffed animal you had as a kid and couldn't find after you lost it in your couch cushions. He finds it, after months and months of searching, making Jobe help him look, it comes in the mail and he has to get creative to get you out of the house and away from the mail the day it's supposed to come.

It gets neatly wrapped and placed on your shared bed the morning of, surrounded by a collection of other gifts, your favorite flowers, and a cheesy note that you always end up crying at. 

The look on your face makes it all worth it, when you tackle him in a bone crushing hug, tumbling into the covers in a tangle of legs while you laugh in between sniffles, he loves you. Oh how he loves you 

It's been a tradition to end the night with the very place he proposed, his home, now yours. 

He doesnt think he could forget it even if he tried. It was a whirlwind of a day. Picture this: 

He's lost all his black socks, his (and your) favorite body wash just spilled all over the shower, his hair looks awful ( he got a haircut that morning), his cologne isn't where he left it, and the private chef he hired isnt replying. All while you're not even awake yet. 

He calls his mom because what else are you supposed to do when you're set to propose and everything is going wrong. 

She only chuckles softly over the phone, “calm down jude, just breathe. You'll find your things, just take a breather and come back to things with a clear head okay?”

So he does. Sitting on his bed, towel still on, frowning. He chooses to instead pat himself dry, get dressed, and give himself a pep talk in the floor length mirror at the corner of his room. 

Turns out his mom was right, things fix themself for the most part, his socks are stuck at the bottom of the dryer, his hair isn't as bad as he thought, he finds a better cologne in his collection, and a perfect body cream. It's gonna be a good day. 

He finishes the last of the day of prep, getting fancy candles, a lighter, and greeting the decorator. Yes he hired a decorator. 

It's nothing over the top, just little changes to make his home look a little softer, changing out the curtains, placing lace table cloth with details in your favorite color. The main event is his second living room that gets covered in an arch of your favorite flowers, gentle curling to just kiss the top of the new antique chandelier that will be holding the fancy candles too. He hopes you like it. He really really hopes you like it.

He's had this planned for ages, since the moment he first met you he thinks. 

When you greet him with a silly good morning text he only grows oh so fond of you, excited to see you. He told you it was a fancy dinner at his place. A change of pace from the resurates. Both of you prefer a much more intimate night in then cameras shoved into your face while a hundred people all yell a hundred things while you're trying to chew your food. 

So you get ready, dress up and make it for dinner. When you see the familiar face of the chef, Karlos, you give him a wave and get seated. Noticing the new table cloth but you don't say anything. You don't want to be wrong so early into the night. 

Jude comes in, nervous as a school boy as he takes your hand for a quick peek, running around like a maniac back and forth. He looks nice, in a signature all black suit, and smelling amazing per usual. 

Dinner is amazing, full of your favorite courses and Jude is jittery in his seat. 

“You okay?”

He nods, a little too fast, “oh yeah. I am. Don't worry.”

You raise a brow but dont push, thanking Karlos for the amazing meal as he cleans up and heads out for the night. 

Jude gets up, telling you to stay put while he'll be righttt back. Don't worry, remember! 

He comes back, unable to meet your eyes while he gives you his hand. You take it, sliding out of your seat and following him down the hall. There's flower petals on the floor now, you look at him, but he looks anywhere but at you, chewing his cheek.

He leads you to the second living room, where the furniture has been cleared out. Replaced by a walkway of flowers and candles, leading up to where an arch of your favorite flowers hugs the curtain, new ones.

Gently pulled back to reveal the floor to ceiling windows that give way to his yard. And the most gorgeous sunset you have ever seen. A chandelier hangs above you, decorated with more flowers, and the most ornate candles and bulbs you have ever seen.

Your eyes begin to water before he even gets down on one knee, his lip wobbles, holding your hand the whole time as he confesses every little moment and reason for his love.

He loves you, he adores you. You're- youre everything. Truly and fully. You're the sunlight that kisses his skin, the stars he wishes to touch, to know, he yearns for you. Years to know you in your entirety, till he knows nothing else but you. For your name to only fully know his lips, for only he will fully know you. He sees no other, he knows no other. He wants- no needs, to give himself as he is. 

You see him, see him as more than just Jude Belingham. You see what others can not, will not. You see him, you know him. You know him better than he knows himself most days. You've seen all there is to see, all that makes him who he is. You know his stupid sandwich order at the place you hate but keep going to because you know how much he loves it.

You sit in freezing weather for the full game just to make sure you don't miss a second of him. The first to congratulate him, the first to mourn with him, the first to sooth his aches and pains. You're the face he looks for in a crowd, you're the first person he calls when anything happens. 

 And you love him with such ferocity it amazes him. 

You're full crying at this point, fat tears rolling down your cheeks till you can barely see him, and he finally gets down on one knee, fishing out a small velvet box from his inner pocket, opening it with shaky hands.

And he whispers, “will you marry me?”

You fall next to him, sobbing into his shoulder while you repeat yes over and over. He cries with you, till you're both laughing from pure joy. 

Who better to spend the rest of your life with then the man who loves you so?

Telling his family is the best part. You have them over for what was supposed to be a quick lunch, turned dinner, and you break the news at dessert, showing off your ring while they all gasp. 

They pile you into the biggest hug, smiles so wide they hurt and you laugh, you're going to get married! You think they just might be more excited than you are.

Wedding planning comes and goes both so fast and so slow. Youre so excited you can't wait, and yet every step of the way seems like it takes excruciatingly long.

Your wedding planner tries her best, bless her soul, but you want it to be completely and utterly perfect. Down to the types of chairs at the venue.

Jude lets you have your way for the most part, chiming in now and again, he trusts you fully. Knowing you're going to make it the best regardless. 

Leading up to the big day you think you just might pass out from stress and never be seen again, but the almost year of planning pays off, and you're married! 

The honeymoon is spent traveling all over while jude is wide-eyed, unable to believe he's married to you of all people. 

The press catches on soon after, even if your wedding was small and intimate. News comes out one way or another.

Jude only responds with a picture of you two slow dancing among your family and friends, captioned, “all you need to know.” and he pins it to every social media page. 

What a man huh?

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free my man he ain’t done nothing

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Not a Liverpool fan (just a symphatizer at times) but WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK KLOPPO???????

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and when I make it out of my jude phase we will be there

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i stop to think about hugging jude at least once a day

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[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

running the table.

what you thought would be as a boring, week-long stay at your parents’ house takes a turn when your brother’s best friend shows up. (wc: 17.6k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jb5 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff, smut – mdni! brother’s best friend trope, sneaking around, slowburn ish?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, mild spoilers for the great gatsby and the secret history! explicit nsfw content: unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk + more

𝐀/𝐍. first reupload from 888bear! those pool table pics could not have come at a better time. happy reading! (or re-reading <;3)

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,” 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, I meant.”

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 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.

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

✶ ֗ ꫂmaybe in the morning ۪ 🫒﹒ 𓂂 ˚ ❀

word count : 2.0k

pairing : jude bellingham x fem!reader

genre : angst ➡️ fluff

author’s note : based on these two asks — 1️⃣ + 2️⃣

“you’re going to work?” your boyfriend appeared from the doorway of your shared bedroom, his morning voice groggy as he aggressively rubbed the sleep out of his eyes—something you’d constantly have to remind him not to do because you were afraid he’d end up hurting himself one day.

and then it hit you—the countless of things you’d always have to remind him of. the countless of things he’ll never remember or keep his word for. maybe it was the drowsiness which came with the sickness that was making you feel extra sensitive and on a little edge. or maybe it was the fact your boss had texted you at 5 in the morning —requesting for you to take up a shift on your day off because they were short staffed.

you were tired, annoyed—and ill on top of all those things. your body ached, and the want to crawl back into the warm sheets with your lover was strong. but you had to remind yourself you did not have that option.

“mhm, boss texted earlier asking if i could come in. we’re short on staff—lots of colleagues took an off to go visit their family and stuff” you mumbled, hastily gathering your materials and shoving them into your bag because it was nearing 7:30 and you had to be in the office by 8 am.

“that doesn’t mean you have to go and fill in for them—it’s your day off. and you’re sick”

“i don’t have the option to not go, jude. not even if i’m sick” you remind him, keeping your replies rather short because your head was hurting too much for you to even engage in a conversation.

“just tell them no? or that you’re sick—i’m not letting you go to work in this state” he had walked over to you know, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead and the skin of your neck to check your temperature; his eyes widening when he’d realized you already had a fever.

“don’t be silly. i have to go and i am going” you tell him, picking up your bag and turning around to leave but he’s quick to stop you—grabbing your arm lightly and pulling you into his embrace.

“you are not going,” he repeated, nudging towards the phone in your hand. “c’mon, text him and say that you’ve got a fever”

instead of obliging to his request, you let out an annoyed groan—pushing at his chest to put some distance between the both of you. “stop acting childish jude, you’re wasting my time” you didn’t mean to snap at him like that—but you were exhausted and the unnecessary commands he was spewing in expectance that you’d follow was further irritating your already spoiled mood.

“wasting your time? oh so me caring about your well being is a waste of time?”

“you’re not one to talk about that, jude. real hypocritical coming from you” you knew deep down you were being unreasonable and mean to him—when he really was just concerned about you. but you were fed up and reached a point where all you wanted to do was to let out the pent up frustration.

“what the hell do you mean by that? you think i’m not at all concerned about you? or am i not allowed to do that now” jude frowned, utterly confused as to why you were reacting in such a way.

“hmm, sounds fair considering how i’m not allowed to be concerned about you either—don’t you think?”

“stop talking in riddles and tell me what’s going on” you could tell jude had begun to feel annoyed now, and that had you laughing to his face—because he couldn’t seem to handle even a quarter of what he expected you to put up with whenever he went against your word and continued to play; even with serious injuries.

“why the fuck are you laughing?” jude’s voice was a little louder now, his tone sharp—indicating that he was being serious and would appreciate if you’d treat the situation the same way.

“just think it’s really funny how you can continue to play 90 minutes of football games even with a dislocated shoulder and a busted knee but somehow i can’t attend my shift just because i’ve caught a cold” you scoff, yanking your arm out of his hold because you were desperate to leave the house now—no longer wanting to stay in his presence.

“oh so that’s what this is about? i can’t just abandon my games because i’m injured—as long as i can stay up on my feet, then i’m in good form to play. but i don’t expect you to understand that” jude’s words were amusing, because if that’s what he thought—then you could use the exact same argument against him but of course the rules would suddenly be different then.

“and i don’t expect you to understand it either! so stop bothering me and let me go to work, sounds good?” you asked, shooting him a sarcastic smile that had jude fuming.

“go then, i’m so fucking sorry for being a bother by caring about you. my bad for being concerned” he scoffed, watching as you rolled your eyes at him and stomped your way out of the apartment whilst you were mad at him. you didn’t even tell him that you loved him—nor did you give him a kiss like you usually would’ve.

by the time you came back home, it was already past 7 pm and you were completely spent after the long hours—already having had 3 painkillers throughout the day because your migraine was killing you and it was a miracle you’d managed to make it through it.

the lights were switched off, and it didn’t seem like jude was home when you’d returned. you felt a little bad for being thankful about that—because you had been thinking about the argument you had that morning and weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet. sure, you were still annoyed at him. but you also felt guilty—realizing you’ve said some out of pocket things to him that wasn’t at all deserved.

when jude arrived home, you’d already changed out of your clothes and was heating up some dinner. you silently wished he’d come to you and start up a conversation, because the regret was slowly eating you up now that you had all the time to overthink it.

you wanted to talk, but you didn’t know how to—not when you weren’t even sure that he wanted to. but your suspicions were confirmed when he’d passed on the offer to eat dinner with you, saying how he’s already grabbed some food while he was out with a few friends.

your heart felt heavy as you packed away his portion of the food in a container to store in the fridge, your throat closing in on you and snatching away your appetite. you hated fighting with him, but this was your fault—you started it.

you attempted to eat a little because of how hungry you were, but in the end you couldn’t eat much. when you’d gone to your shared bedroom, jude was already in bed—scrolling away on his phone as his back faced your side of the bed. and you just knew he didn’t want to talk. perhaps it was sickening for him to even be in the same room as you in that moment.

you got into bed beside him, stealing glances at his back—hoping he’d turn around and embrace you. you wanted to cry and that made you feel even more stupid because you were the one that hurt jude—not the other way around.

you turned on your side, reminding yourself that it’ll be alright—that you both loved each other more than ever regardless of how many petty fights you’d had and what you needed was some time to let the frustration bubble down.

maybe, in the morning you’ll say that you’re sorry—and he’ll say that he still loves you. the mere thought of losing him was so scary that it kept you up the entirety of that night; the warmth of his arms never arriving to wrap around you like the comforting blanket they were.

surely, in the morning—you make the bed. jude’s in the kitchen, making two cups of coffee. you tell him to take a seat, that you can pour it. normally he wouldn’t have obliged so easily—saying a comment about how much you spoil him by not letting him do any work. you’d giggle about it, and he’d give you a peck on the cheek which would be followed by an attack of thousand other kisses.

but he doesn’t fight it, instead sitting as told as he watches you. you feel uneasy under his stare, feeling like you’ve disappointed him. but you refuse to crumble so easily, you needed to talk and apologize. you wanted to make this work.

“we’ll talk whenever you’re ready” it was like as if he could read your mind—and of course he could, jude could read you like the back of his hand. he could tell from the way you moved and avoided his gaze that you were nervous; and uncomfortable.

and that was the last thing he wanted to make you feel in his presence.

“i want to talk now” you started, tears already pricking at your waterline—ready to glide down your cheeks. jude nodded, motioning for you to come to him; which you do, quietly walking over to where he was seated. he wraps his arms around your waist and brings you close, resting his head against your tummy to let you know that he weren’t upset with you.

you swallowed hard, tears already dampening your cheeks as you bring your hand to stroke his face. “i’m sorry” you choke on your words, and jude could tell you were crying—making him gently rub gentle circles over your skin; something he would always do to soothe you and calm your nerves.

“i’m sorry aswell, i was being an ignorant idiot and refusing to see the point” he apologizes.

“you were just worried, and i was being unreasonably rude. i’m sorry, you’re not at all a bother to me—i didn’t mean that” you sobbed, feeling embarrassed because you were the one that hurt him yet here you were crying about it.

“hey it’s okay—i know you didn’t. you were just frustrated and i was being difficult too. i know you don’t want me getting hurt the same way i don’t want you to be and yet i always disappoint you every single time. it’s something i need to work on, and i really am sorry for always worrying you. next time i try to argue with you about going to training while i’m injured, feel free to tie me to the bed.” he attempted to lighten up the mood with the little joke at the end, and it surely worked because he’d manage to get a little laugh out of you.

“i really hate fighting with you. i never want to go to sleep while i’m still angry at you—it’s awful.” you admit to him, rubbing at your eyes a little aggressive in a desperate attempt to get rid of the tears that seemed never ending; forgetting your own words that you’d always tell jude.

jude lightly grabs your wrist to stop you, pulling you into his lap in the process as he pressed his lips to your cheeks that were wet from your tears—kissing them away in the most loving manner.

“we’re never doing that again. and you even left the house without telling me that you loved me”

you groaned, lips pulling into a pout. “don’t make me feel bad now.”

“didn’t give me a kiss either; now how’re you gonna make up for that?” he asked in a teasing tone, nudging the tip of his nose into your cheek as he pressed a lasting kiss to the corner of your lips.

you cupped his face and pressed your lips over his properly—kissing him slow and taking your time as if to wash away all the hurt you’ve caused him with your words. and when you’d eventually pulled away, you did not forget to press the three words “i love you” across each and every crevice of the beautiful features that belonged to his face.

“good enough?” you ask, a teasing smile pulling on your lips as you caressed the soft pad of your thumb along his kiss bitten ones. “sure, i’ll accept it for now” his response was one that matched your teasing, had you thankful that the tension from earlier had fizzled out and disappeared entirely.

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

just friends? or more? - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: interviews and late night talks. but it’s always hard to see your best friend leave for his away games. no matter the distance or duration.

wc: 3k | masterlist | jude's masterlist

psa🗣️: happy new year everyone, hope everyone is doing okay! 🤍 mixed a request with my own imagination. this was supposed to be a small blurb but I ended up writing more. best friends to lover trope 🫂 🧟‍♀️ hope you enjoy! 🤍

“it must be an excitement to see him play at this level and talent?” the journalist asked you, to which you nodded and smiled. “it’s quite a pleasure honestly. it’s what he’s always wanted and we couldn’t be more proud,” you replied calmly not knowing where exactly to look at. 

your eyes glanced from her, to the camera and then jude who was walking back from the tunnels. “recalling all his goals from this current season, which one has been your favorite? could there be a sort of muse to inspire and motivate him to this level?” she asked curiously, leaving you thinking. 

“my favorite probably, okay wait actually i don’t know if i wanna say because i don’t want to get dragged, but it was special to see him win his debut here in the bernabeu, even if it was a tap in,” you laugh, “his goal against napoli and barcelona are one for the books as well.” you kept glancing behind her to see jude standing there cockily, arms crossed with a smirk plastered on his face. 

“as for a muse, i’d say himself and the people around him whether it’s friends or family even the fans. with the constant support and wins, seeing how the team reflects, how he can do more. overall i think it’s just him and the healthy mentality he has,” you say shyly, nodding your head as you spoke, jude then decided to intervene. 

“erm excuse me? this is my interview,” you say in a teasing manner, stepping on your tiptoes to reach his hug. “i apologize. just wanted to come over and say hi,” jude says playfully making everyone smile. “we were just asking y/n about if there could be a certain muse to make you perform at this level. is there anything you would like to say about that?” the journalist asks. 

jude scratches his brow and looks down smiling, “well to be honest there is someone…but for privacy reasons or maybe to not jinx it, i’ll keep it hidden… they’re truly wonderful and inspire me to do my best every time,” he says with a huge grin looking down to you where you stand. your eyes connected and for a second maybe he was dedicating this to you? you thought. 

as the journalist wrapped up her interview the two of you teased and joked around, answering her questions politely and respectfully, making sure to wish her the best of luck and a small be careful. the thoughts of him having a ‘muse’ still didn’t go away from your head.  if he was referring to you or if there was someone he had yet to tell you about. 

jude was always private with his life, but around you he couldn’t stop yapping, always with a smile in his face when he spoke about him. but this had you questioning just a bit, if there was more to your close friendship. to his longer and more intense stares towards you, his touch on your waist when out together, always asking to stay longer and cuddle. 

it wasn’t just you who had noticed it, his teammates as well, often teasing both of you especially jude as you would hear it when he called you after training. don't even get started on the media, replays, and many comments on the two of you when together, always asking if you were dating, or saying they lived for your friendship.

there was something different and you couldn’t avoid it any longer, being left confused with your feelings. it began to feel like love. you can’t love your best friend, you couldn’t take a risk like that.  

“you’re awfully quiet? something in your mind? i know something’s up so don’t say it’s anything,” jude remarked, squinting his eyes. you let a soft chuckle out and turned to face him, “i’m just tired… also i was reading some of the comments from our interview,” you lied offering a quick smile and showing him your open instagram page. he raised his brow and got out the car. 

you trailed behind him to where you were greeted to a quiet home. jude quickly slipped on some slides and dropped his bag in the mud room. you took of your shoes and walked into the kitchen to prepare some dinner for the two of you. as you glanced around you felt jude hug you from behind, his face leveled next to yours making you jump. “fridge is full?” he asked.

“oh yeah. i went grocery shopping and brought the necessities! refilled the fridge, got toothpaste, and i also got you those scooby doo cookies you love so much,” your hand interlocked with his that was around your waist as you pointed to the cabinet above you. just then you realized how close the two of you were. 

it felt like you had moved in, and shared a house together. you never ever had shared a bed, but for the past month you had, waking up with jude on top of you or your back next to his chest. having breakfast daily together and him waiting for you to come back from uni or work. hanging out more than usual, cuddling more than usual. the his and hers titles applying to the two of you, when brushing your teeth, your mugs, sharing clothes, having your shoes aligned by the door. 

jude felt you tense asking what was wrong but you shook your head, “after dinner, i might go home,” you tell him watching the smile disappear from his face. “what? why? do you want me to go with you? you should just stay it's already late, i want to you to stay” jude insisted, making up different reasons as to why you should stay the night. 

it’s not that you didn't want to be with jude tonight, you did, to feel him hold you and kiss your head at night. but the thought of acting like a couple, with no label, with your best friend made you freakout, because what if how you felt wasn't how he did? what if you read the cards wrong and it was only you who fell over heels for your best friend? what if he didn't love you like you did? 

“i’ll think about it, i said i might go, still debating, i haven't seen the roomies in a while and we want to have a girls night,” you said trying to calm the panic that overtook his body. “i don’t mind joining, you guys just do spa night, drink wine, and talk, i’ll be like one of the girls…” jude shrugged jokingly, making your eyes roll playfully. 

“okay decide what you want to eat so we can start cooking,” you recalled, grabbing a pan and heating up some oil. jude played his old songs playlist, singing along to the songs you remembered, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he led you to dance in the middle of the kitchen, his soft brown eyes never leaving yours as he sang happily. would this be what it felt like to be a couple? 

the tv show played softly on the background, jude fast asleep on your chest letting out small snores. he refused to let you leave as the time you had finished eating and talking was super late, leaving with no choice but to stay once again. it felt like home, jude felt like your home, they way you fit perfectly in each other's arms. you turn the tv off, squinting your eyes in confusion as you saw his phone ping. 

jocelyn:

thanks for the other day! hope we can see each other again, had so much fun! 

your heart sank looking back at jude who was still sound asleep on your chest, feeling your eyes burn with tears and your stomach sink further down. you controlled your breathing, feeling stupid and naive for actually believing and falling for him. it wasn't his fault, it was you for letting yourself believe there could be something. you would never be his, there was already someone else in his life to fill your spot. 

you were able to manage to sneak off the next morning without a word or budge from jude, feeling trapped and claustrophobic around him when he hugged you from behind. you couldn't stop thinking about his words from yesterday's interview and his ‘muse’, the way his touch still burned on your skin, the way he hid a girl from you. it felt like you were the other woman even though you had no clue who she was. 

you fiddled with your keys, opening the door to a silent home once again, darting straight to your room where you fell onto your beg with small whimpers and sobs, crying over a boy. you weren't able to sleep last night, so you didn't even feel when you fell asleep, forgetting about reality for the day. 

jude was left confused and curious as to why you weren't there, next to him. he called and called, texting you over and over again, becoming worried when there was no response from you. he was unable to focus during recovery and training session, thinking of how you suddenly left, and how distant and tense you were yesterday. he wondered if you had school, or if you something came up with your roommates. 

jude wanted to hang out before he had to travel away for the weekend. spend as much time with you. his head should be focused on winning and on the team to advance in the ‘copa del rey’ but he couldn't when he hadn't heard from you. 

jude was deep in. as every day went by his love for you grew more and more, knowing it could be risk for your friendship. he had the urge to just yell out how much he loved you, how badly he wanted to call you his, to finally stop playing around and put a label. it was hard to read you and that killed him more. feeling hopeless and desperate, he called again quickly listening to your voicemail. 

you had jude’s head spinning, heart skipping beats at the thought of you, and he was left with no choice but to show up the day before he left at your doorstep. your eyes frantically roamed jude who stood with a serious look on his face, almost shutting the door at him out of nervousness. jude let himself in, turning to you quickly brows drawn in. “is there a reason why you are not answering your phone?” he asked seriously, no taint of playing around. 

“i needed to catch up on some uni work. i have so much to do still, and i wanted to focus on getting the hard part out first,” you say unsure, as his brows draw in with bewilderment. 

“but yet couldn't answer one phone call from me?”

“jude-”

“i’ve been left worried, thinking if you were okay after you randomly left without saying anything? i don't like you shutting me out y/n, i understand you were busy but a text even would’ve taken me out of my misery,” jude huffed letting out a sign of disappointment, walking to the couch and staring at your study layout. books and books, open pages of your notes, and your laptop that sounded louder than usual. 

“i just wanted to give you space and time for yourself. i don't wanna seem clingy or attached because all we've done for the past month is be together at house. i just thought you might’ve wanted to do something else with your teammates or other people,” you say embarrassed, daring to spill the girls name from the other night. 

“well you thought wrong, the only person i want to be with is you. i wanted to see you before i left tomorrow,” jude said with a small frown, hands digging into his hands. ‘the only person i want to be with is you’ should have not stung like it did, the ache in your chest as you heard him say that, bitting your lip to hold back the tears that wanted to build up. though you were stronger than that. 

“what about jocelyn?” you asked carefully being met with a quiet jude, giving you a questioning look. “what about her?” maybe it was the way he had said it or the fact he was upset but you now regretted bringing her up knowing it had triggered something. “didn’t she mention-” you were cut off by jude.

“jocelyn is my stylist when i’m here in madrid. she invited me to have brunch with her and her girlfriend when you were taking a midterm this week. I didnt mention it because it was a fast meal, just food and talking,” jude said. you felt utterly stupid and left more embarrassed than before, wanting to punch yourself for quickly making up assumptions instead of asking for clarification. 

“oh.”

“wait.. how do you know about jocelyn? did you think something else?” jude asked, lifting his head from his hands. you rubbed your shoulder anxiously not knowing how exactly to respond, “you mentioned her the other day, i just assumed,” you lied quickly, “also i saw her message the other night i stayed over.” jude had caught you, and now he wasn't going to let the opportunity to go to waste. “

“so that's what this is about?” 

“i don't know what you're talking about…” you shrugged quickly, dismissing his tone. 

jude ushered you to come over, and like a puppet you quickly followed his request. you stood in the middle on his legs that were spread, shifting your weight from one foot to another, contemplating what to say or where to look. “you thought jocelyn meant something else to me didn't you…” jude asked to which you nodded slowly. 

“would have it bothered you if it did? if she did mean something to me?” he asked softly, watching as your eyes looked around and landed on his, you let out a small “yes” in a quiet tone, jude smirking. 

“well, it’s a good thing you don't have to worry about that. jocelyn doesn't mean anything, and the only person who does to me is you,” jude spoke softly, you shuddered a breath as you felt his fingertips trace from your calves all the way up behind your thighs, making you lose balance and grip his shoulder to regain it. “jude-” you warn again, but quickly gulp as he repeated his actions. 

“the way you smile, the way you hold my hand, the way your eyes glimmer when you let me rant about anything. i love it all. the only person who makes me feel like that is you… all i want is you, y/n. to have and to hold, to love and cherish, to protect and kept by my side forever,” jude gripped your thighs and pulled you onto his lap where you gasped. 

“can’t you see that? hmm? can't you see how much i love you? how badly i want to make you mine and call you my girlfriend officially? they say it's forbidden to fall for your best friend, but who cares about those rules when what we have is real. a genuine love.” 

your lips pursed open, letting out a shaky breath before speaking again. he had that effect, leaving you breathless even if it was a small action. “this whole time i thought i had it wrong, and that it was just me who saw the sudden shift in our friendship. who felt the feelings. i know it was wrong from me to have assumed that when i have no right, but i thought there was someone else,” you reply. 

jude’s hands roamed your thighs, making you relax to his touch, “it drove me crazy two nights ago as i rethought our whole friendship. it felt not weird but it felt like we were living a life with no label placed, acting like a couple because we just felt the need to or we had just gotten that close. not only did it confuse me but also scared me, and it made me distant,” you continued. 

“what you feel here,” you pointed and touched his heart, “is what i feel here,” you then pointed to your heart, which was beating like crazy not only at revealed feelings but also the proximity you two were. “i want you to know that i can't stop thinking about you no matter where i am or if i’m this close to you,” you reassured him and yourself. that this was reality.  

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited to hear you say that… to say that you love me. everyone could see it, everyone teased us for it, but we were scared. but i’m not scared to take this risk, because it means i get to have you here and forever. to love you,” jude said making your eyes go glossy. 

“is this actually happening?” you laughed and sniffled, “because if it's not and i’m dreaming i’m going to be mad,” you say. “it's all real, i could pinch you if you want, to make you believe it? or i could kiss you to seal our relationship?” jude offered with a huge grin, making you raise your eyebrow. “you haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend yet,” you remark. 

“my beautiful y/n… do you want to be my girlfriend?” instead of replying, you sealed your answer with a kiss. a kiss that sealed also promises and your love forever. jude’s lips molded into yours, tugging him closer by his broad shoulders as his hands delicately rubbed along your thighs. he tasted like honey, not having enough by how gentle and passionate he was being with you. “my jude. my jude forever,” you say still kissing his lips as he smiled into it.

“i love you princess.”

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

i volunteer as tribute 🤭

[iicldkwhatimdoingheretbh]

II. Trippin', Fallin'

word count: 4.1k warning: angst, smut 18+ summary: fwb!jude wants more while the reader just wants to protect her heart. author’s note: this is a three-part series that will contain angst, smut, and fluff. below is/are the song (s) that coincide with this part! let me know what you think!

You really had no one to blame but yourself. It was you who urged your coworkers to go on their holidays early. It was you who insisted that planning and creating content for the break would be no difficult feat for one person. It was you. Now, you were currently slumped against the white walls of your office, legs extended, while your thighs supported your overheating, and humming laptop. You found this position a lot more comfortable than the seated position your silver rolling desk chair had you in. At least, that is what you have deluded yourself into believing, as the amount of work you were tasked with was slowly driving you crazy– you concluded that your desk chair was to blame.

It was day number 9. Your coworkers and the rest of the team went home 9 days ago and you were still trying to curate enough content that would keep the fans fed and satisfied while the boys rejuvenated and spent time with their families. This also meant that it has been 9 days since you last saw—or even properly chatted with—Jude. You would be lying if you said this wasn’t your intention. It was all starting to become too much with him. After the closet, it was like a switch had flipped. He was always a gentleman–always the type to check if you got home safe, or if you ate, or if you slept well. And he actually cared–not only asking the questions because they were expected to be asked.

“The ‘friends’ goes before the ‘benefits’ part.”He always said.

But this was different. Now, instead of merely asking you these questions, he was taking the initiative to ensure you actually did get home safe or eat. For 9 days, Jude has made it a point to text you as you were walking the short distance from your office to your flat, insisting that you detailed every step of your journey, urging you to be hyper-aware because it was always pitch black by that time. He also began to have food delivered straight to your office on particularly busy days, when the only thing you truly had time to do besides work was to breathe.

Jude had gone from considerate to overly attentive.

You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the fact that his actions triggered the dormant butterflies in your stomach to suddenly take enthusiastic flight. Instead, you focused on the heavy, anxiety-laced knot that lay amidst the butterflies and the small, yet overbearing voice of doubt that constantly whispered reminders of your previous relationship and Jude’s reputation. A reputation that–in his defense–is incredibly well concealed…and seemingly a thing of the past, as you have yet to hear of any of his teammates snickering about his little escapades since the two of you began to embark on this sexual relationship.

Nonetheless, the obnoxious knot and the nagging voice were enough to force you to keep Jude at a distance since the Christmas dinner– even if the 20-year-old was persistent. The buzzing of your phone pulled you from your thoughts. “Speaking of the devil.” You say aloud as the contact name, ‘JB’ flashes across your screen. Smiling at the irony, you had half the mind to let the call go to voicemail, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to why he was calling you in the first place. Though you were only answering him sometimes, the past 9 days were spent solely communicating via text messages. Intrigued, you hesitantly slide a finger over the screen.

“Jude.” You say, pressing the device to your ear, removing the now uncomfortably hot laptop from your thighs. “Hey, babes.” Jude greets. You can practically hear his smile through the phone, which alone causes the smile already plastered on your face to widen. “What’s up? You know I’m busy.” Though you meant to sound stern and all reprimand-y, your tone was playful and teasing.

“I know,” You hear him chuckle through the line, “But it’s already 8 and you haven’t had dinner yet.”

Your eyes immediately flick to the clock nailed to the wall directly in front of you. Damn, time had truly slipped away from you; you could’ve sworn it was no later than 6. “How do you know that?” You asked though he was right.

“Because you don’t eat unless I deliver food to your office and I didn’t do that tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re starting to slack off.” You don’t miss a beat and neither does your stomach as you suddenly become aware of your intense hunger when it grumbles lowly.

“Lucky for you,” Jude says, completely dismissing your quip, “I cooked tonight and I have the house to myself.” You couldn’t help but snort at his words. He cooked?

“You don’t cook.”

“Okay, I ordered in,” He admits, “but, I plated it.”

“Lovely, now what does that have to do with me?” You know exactly what he is getting at, but you couldn’t help but give him a hard time. It was fun.

“Come over, have dinner with me, and tell me about how much you love to hate your job.” Jude’s tone is authoritative, deep, and dripping with an unknown something that makes you subconsciously clench your burning thighs together. His tone also doesn’t give you much room to disobey.

“Give me like, thirty minutes.”

***

Just as you promised, you were knocking on the front door of Jude’s modest home approximately thirty minutes later, after first stopping to retrieve your vehicle. His house was small, hidden away just on the outskirts of the vibrant city, and beautiful. It is not often you come to his place, since he lived with his mother, but any time she was away for whatever reason, Jude would always invite you over. You never turned him down, either. His house was always clean–surely the work of Ms. Denise—and also radiated a feeling that you can only describe as home. It was everything and more in comparison to the nothing that was your dingy, messy flat.

Jude opens the door, adorned in loose, gray joggers and a white tank top despite the frigid December weather. You rolled your eyes at his fuck-me-fit. His lack of subtly never seized to both amuse and amaze you. He greets you with a smile and a tight bear hug. Immediately, you are consumed with the smell of laundry detergent intertwined with the woody, musked scent of his cologne. You lean into him, burying your face into his chest as you inhale–hoping the intake of breath didn’t catch Jude’s attention, but you couldn’t help yourself; he smelled so good. He squeezes you firmly and it is then you realize how much you missed being around him. That realization is enough to make you pull away first.

“Hello.” You say simply when he finally guides you inside.

“Hello. How was work?” Jude asked, hands working to remove your pea coat and scarf. You answer by throwing him an unimpressed look, hoping that the silent effort would be enough to properly relay your misery. He chuckles, taking your hands in his larger ones before slotting his fingers through yours. You tense, the action feeling foreign outside the confines of a bedroom. Even more so now that it is rooted in romance and not dominance like it typically was between the sheets.

You open your mouth to tease him about it, but instead of your usual witty remark, you let out a surprised gasp, hands immediately flying to your mouth as you took in the scene in front of you. Having pushed all of his furniture against the wall, Jude managed to construct the coziest indoor picnic in his living room. On the floor laid a red blanket, Chinese takeaway plated and resting beautifully right on top of it just as he promised; along the perimeter of the blanket were flameless LED candles, perfectly mocking the actions of a live candle as it flickered, cracked, and popped. You could hear the faint instrumental of an R&B tune humming softly as you turned to look at the beaming boy beside you.

“Wha-”

“I was serious when I said I wanted to be with you.” He states firmly and simply, urging you to sit on the blanket with his hands.

“Jude, I don’t-” You began to form your argument, mind already queuing your typical, dismissive response. Jude, prepared and accustomed to your avoidance, cuts you off.

“Give me a chance tonight.” He pleads, moving to stand in front of you so he could look you in the eyes. You reluctantly meet his gaze, instantly softening when you take in his flustered state. “Humor me; let me show you how much I want you,” Jude leans down, pressing a feathery kiss to the corner of your mouth, “how much I want us.” He says, finally covering your lips with his own. You sigh into the kiss, shoulders immediately slumping just as you lower your defensiveness. When Jude pulls away, his smile is infectious and placid. He motions you to sit, You oblige, situating yourself in a criss-cross position near a pile of soy sauce packets. He sits diagonal to you, long legs stretched in front of him.

“We have all your favorites: chicken fried rice, egg rolls, one extra fortune cookie, and extra, extra soy sauce.” As he speaks, he points to each respected item enthusiastically. Cued in, your stomach growls just as he finishes. Jude says very little as he watches you eat. Though you felt his eyes on you, you ignored him–this was your first meal of the day, and your priorities lay with your stomach.

“Do I need to start delivering breakfast and lunch to your office too?” Jude asks when your plate is finally cleared. You take a swig of your water before you respond.

“Please don’t,” You stack your empty plate on top of his, “sending me dinner is already doing way too much.” With the plates in your hands, you stand and walk to the kitchen. Jude wastes no time trailing you. When you stand in front of the sink, he positions himself directly behind you, breath fanning your neck.

“Leave ‘em.” He says when you jerk the faucet awake but you ignore him and begin lathering up the dish sponge.

“You bought dinner, it’s the least I can do.”

“I’ve been buying you dinner every night.” He notes.

“Even more reason to do the dishes then, yeah?” Jude laughs at this, accepting his defeat. After you are done, he dries and puts the plates away before interlocking your fingers with his and leading you back into the candle-lit space of his living room.

“Thank you for this.” You say when the two of you are finally seated directly beside each other on the makeshift picnic blanket, knees and shoulders grazing and bumping due to the lack of distance between the two of you. “Thank me fa’ what?” Jude murmurs, index finger reaching out to draw lazy patterns on the skin just above your knee. Your eyes follow his finger’s movement. “For all this,” you gesture to the romantic setup of his living room, “and for taking care of me.” You add quietly, looking down timidly as you pick at some of the lint on the fabric of the blanket. Though your actions indicated otherwise, you did appreciate Jude’s efforts, especially this past week when you had practically no time for anything besides work. Jude cups your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. The fake flickering flames of the plastic candles cast a soft orange glow that accented his brown skin, only further contributing to the radiance of beauty that was already there. He looked so cozy, staring at you with a soft gaze and a smile that, though lazy, was still prominent enough to meet and illuminate his eyes.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him or run out of his house and never speak to him again. 

“You don’t have to thank me.” He says, eyes flickering from yours to your slightly pouted lips. “I was serious when I said I wanted to be with you, now I have to be serious about making you feel secure with me.” 

The words are only half registered when Jude finally bends down and smashes his lips to yours. Your body immediately goes rigid, but before you allow your mind to whip you back into your disciplined ways, you throw your arms around Jude’s neck and sigh into the kiss. You did agree to humor him. You also would be lying if you said the night was not weakening you at the knees. Smiling against you, Jude takes a nip at your bottom lip, thrusting his tongue in your mouth once you grant him the slightest opening. His tongue finds yours, lapping at it as he moves to sit you on his lap. 

“Was this your plan all along, Mr. Bellingham?” You tease breathlessly as his fingers begin to work at the buttons of your blouse. 

“Getting you naked is always a part of my plan.”

Jude nudges the article of clothing past your shoulders once it’s unbuttoned, lips immediately making their way to your neck. He places wet, open-mouthed kisses along its length, occasionally nipping at the exposed skin before soothing it with the tip of his tongue. He places a kiss on your shoulder, right where your bra strap is,  as his fingers work to unfasten its clips. With his attack on your neck never seizing, Jude manages to expertly rid you of your bra, leaving your top half completely nude. 

When he finally detaches his lip from yours, his eyes fall to your exposed breasts. Taking your nipple between his index and thumb,  Jude rolls the hardened bud softly. You’re holding your breath, arms still thrown lazily over his shoulder as the steady heartbeat between your thighs begins to intensify and make itself known. Jude’s eyes flicker to you.  He bends down slightly until his parted lips are hovering only inches away from the nipple he was toying with.  Without breaking his piercing glare, he takes it into his warm mouth, “Jude.” You whimper, throwing your head back. 

“Hmmm?” He hums, eyes still trained on you, tongue still working its magic. 

You tug at the bottom of his tank top, hinting at your desire for its removal. Jude reluctantly pulls away, quickly ridding himself of the top. Once it is discarded, the two of you stare at each other wordlessly, heaving chest pressed to heaving chest. You feel as though your entire body is on fire, but your mind is devoid of any thoughts that didn’t concern him or his dick.

“Strip fa’ me.” Jude’s accent is thick, heavy, and dripping in lust. Its tone and cadence rip you from your thoughts, dazed. 

“Huh-” 

“Strip.” He emphasizes his point by forcefully tugging at the sides of your pencil skirt. Without another word, you rise to your feet. Under the belittling intensity of his fiery gaze, you slowly shimmy out of the material, the only thing you’re left in now is your pantyhose. Jude kneels in front of you before you have the chance to even attempt to take them off. He bunches up the flimsy material around your thighs, shoving it down with so much force that you hear a loud tear.  Before you can chastise him, his mouth is over your clothed core. “You’re already so wet.” Jude sounds more pleased than anything. He speaks his praises into the growing wet patch that already decorated your panties. The vibration of his voice makes you buck your hip and throw your head back.

“I know, just for you.” You say honestly. 

“Just fa’ me?” His smile is cheeky, his eyes now displaying a prideful glint.

 You just nod, creating enough distance so you can drop to your knees and be leveled with him. Jude pulls you into him, positioning the two of you so that you are seated on his lap again, his already-hardened cock pressing tenderly between your slippery folds. You instinctively rock your hips forwards, causing both you and Jude to suck in a harsh breath. Your pussy is slick, you slide your clit up and down his length with ease.Wanting more, you take his glistening cock in your hand and lift yourself slightly until his oozing tip is aligned with your dripping hole. 

“Oh fuck.” You whimper, still tight from the lack of proper foreplay.  Jude’s bottom lip is tucked between his front teeth, thick brows knitted together in pleasure, as he begins to softly massage the flesh of your stilled hips. “You can take it.” He encourages, peppering feather-light kisses along your collarbones as you attempt to adjust to his size. You’re grimacing in a mix of pleasure and pain, but you still nod at Jude’s words, slowly sinking down onto him until you feel that familiar burn in your stomach. 

“That’s it,” Jude coos, fingers now massaging pressured circles up the length of your back, “That’s my good girl.” His words ignite something in you. 

You raise up until just the very tip of his cock is against your opening, practically on your tiptoes now. Ignoring the burning in your knees, you begin to bounce on him. The claps of your ass cheeks, Jude’s groans, and your screams are echoing loudly through the living room. His hands are still on your back to keep you steady, but Jude allows you to fuck him, yielding complete power to you as you selfishly and desperately sought your orgasm.

 “Are you gonna cum fa’ me baby?” He questions though he has already taken note of your quivering thighs and short intakes of breaths. “I know you are, baby, just let go fa’ me.” His fingers find your clit, wasting no time in rubbing tight circles against it. “Just let go fa’ me, you deserve it.”

This is exactly what you need to hear to push you over the edge. You cum around him, shaking and sputtering a mess of incoherent phrases you nor Jude can make sense of. As you attempt to come back down to earth, completely delirious from your orgasm, Jude positions you to lay on your stomach in front of him. He caresses your ass, placing a stinging slap on its surface before following it up with a tender kiss. Spreading your cheeks apart, he spits on your exposed, already-wet pussy. He backs you into his face and then licks a teasing swipe along your slit. You are completely thrown, naturally arching your back and moaning into the blanket as he begins to devour you in a similar way you devoured your fried rice.

He moans into you, driving your hips back until his face is so close to your core, that you are sure he can’t breathe. Jude is relentless and determined though, refusing to loosen his grip, even slapping the side of your thigh warningly when you try a create some space between his face and your pussy. Your vision is blurred with tears, fingers gripping desperately at the disheveled blanket underneath you. You feel Jude insert two fingers inside of you, scissoring them as he pushed them in and out of you, tongue still lapping at you faithfully. 

“I’m about to-” You begin, your entire body now shaking from the pleasure you were experiencing, but before you can finish the warning, he completely withdraws himself from you. “Jude.” You pathetically whine, lifting your head so that you can turn to look at him. He had his cock in his hands, pumping it slowly as he took you in with hooded eyes. 

“Hmm?” He sings, his movement never once seizing. “Do something.” Is all you can get out and he chuckles. You watch him lean over you, lips slightly parted as he teasingly brushes them against the skin of your back. You shudder when you feel his tongue flat against your skin, licking up its length in a way that makes you see stars.  As he continues to lick and kiss, you can feel the tip of his cock graze against your opening. You push against and Jude immediately catches the hint, burying a couple of his delicious inches past your moist, silky walls. He keeps his movement controlled, and measured, seemingly reveling in the feeling of having you molded so perfectly around him.  When he finally bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, the two of you sigh in relief. Jude rocks his hip forward, body leaning against you completely as he builds a slow, deep rhythm. You can feel his labored breaths against the shell of your ear and the thudding of his heart against your back but all you can focus on is how you can feel him in your tummy.

“You feel so good.” 

“You feel so good.” 

The two of you groan out simultaneously, causing both of you to burst into a fit of laughter. The wholesome pause was short-lived, as Jude cut it short with a harsh slap on your ass and assertive thrust. You turn to look at him, a devilish smirk playing on your lips as you push your hips back against his to meet his movements. His actions stutter only slightly, his brows quirk in a slight mixture of curiosity and anticipation as he looks down at you. You hold his gaze as you expertly throw

 your ass back against him, hips whining in a half circle as you confidently took him. He only lets you have your fun for a moment, taking back control with a particularly hard thrust that lurches you forward. You are almost flat on your tummy now, Jude lying almost entirely on top of you as he pounds into you. You were hearing colors and seeing sound with this new angle, his cock was now hitting your deepest crevices. 

“I’m convinced your pussy meant to be wrapped around my cock.” Jude groans through gritted teeth.

You’re close again and you know he is too, as his thrusts are now faltering and his breath is even more hoarse and rigid than it already was. The words are spoken against your ear lowly and though you only half-hear them, you nod profusely. Jude lets out a breathless laugh, hips now grinding into you as he wraps one of his arms around your neck, while the other supports his weight,

 “Tell me it’s mine,” He says, the arm around your neck tightening as the pleasure infused tears spilled past the barriers of your eyelids and onto the picnic blanket.

“It’s yours!” You scream with no hesitancy, the words feeling familiar and natural on your tongue.

 “What’s mine?” Jude’s pace had increased subtly, but his movements were still disciplined “This pussy.” You say, not missing a single beat. He groans against your ear and nods in enthused agreeance, “That’s right. And me,” he delves into you even deeper, his tip now grazing an area inside of you that you weren’t aware existed, “I belong to you.” The sound you let out is animalistic and embarrassing but you are having a hard time caring about anything else except the man on top of you. 

“Tell me it’s yours.” Jude urges, bringing your head up and tilting it to the side so you are looking at him. “Tell me this cock is yours.” He demands firmly, his gaze intense and piercing but not intimidating enough for you to comply with his request. The words tumble past your lips as naturally as the moans that followed did, sending you into your second earth-shattering orgasm of the night and Jude into his first. As he fills you, he’s holding you firmly to his chest, spewing a mix of sweet nothings and pure admiration for you. 

***

The light of the early dawn sky was enough to dull the flickering light of the few plastic candles that managed to stay upright. Jude’s arm and the makeshift blanket are thrown lazily over your waist. He is snoring beside you on his tummy, still nude from the previous night’s activities. You don’t allow yourself to take him in fully, knowing that he is destined to wake up at any moment meaning you have very little time. You carefully remove his arms from around you and place them at his side. 

Jude stirs but does not wake and you let out a breath you did not know you were holding. 

You locate and throw on your blouse and pencil skirt as quickly and as quietly as you possibly can. Once you get yourself together, you walk to Jude’s front door on your tiptoes. Doing your absolute best to ignore the guilt that is slowly making its way into your conscience, you step outside of his home and into the crisp morning air, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder.

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