Jude Bellingham Reads Thirst Tweets About Himself

i said i was gonna spam but i ran out of ideas so i'm gonna come back when i get more xx

take ur time bae i love you bro ur giving me life 🙏

Do you think you can do R dragging joao to the shops with her?

❦ - retail therapy.. or not?

summary:: you dragged your boyfriend joao out shopping with you. despite all his protests he ends up enjoying his time.

warnings:: none.

writers note:: anyways so i’ve hired the amazing @cherryloveshs to make the moodboards for me bc she sent me diabolical requests so for the next 20 fics you’ll see the moodboards i told her to make for me 😍.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

you tugged joão’s hand, practically dragging him along the sidewalk as he trailed behind you, every step exaggerated like you were pulling him toward impending doom rather than just another store.

'come on,' you whined, glancing back at him. 'it won’t take long, i promise.'

he shot you a look, one eyebrow raised. 'that’s what you said at the last store,' he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, just that playful exasperation he always threw your way when you got him into situations like this.

'yeah, well, that store didn’t have what i was looking for,' you said, matter-of-fact, giving his hand another tug.

joão sighed dramatically, tilting his head back to stare at the sky like he was praying for strength. 'how many stores do you need to go to?'

'just this one,' you promised, fully aware there was a shoe store two doors down you’d 'accidentally' stumble into afterward.

he grumbled under his breath but followed anyway, fingers still laced with yours. when you stepped inside, he blinked at the rows of clothes. 'this place is huge,' he said. 'are we living here now?'

'only if you keep complaining,' you shot back, grinning.

joão immediately put on his most put-upon boyfriend face, shoulders slumping. 'if i die in here, tell everyone i loved them,' he said, loud enough that a nearby shopper snorted a laugh.

rolling your eyes, you started flipping through a rack. 'you’re so dramatic.'

'you brought me here!'

'you said you needed new jeans!' you reminded him.

'yeah, but i thought we’d pop in and out, not... whatever this is,' he gestured vaguely at the racks surrounding you. then, with a sigh that screamed long-suffering, he spotted one of those little benches near the fitting rooms and made a beeline for it. 'i’ll just... sit here and age gracefully while you look.'

'nope,' you said quickly, grabbing a shirt off a hanger and tossing it at him. 'you’re trying stuff on too.'

'why?'

'because you always complain about shopping and then end up loving half the things you try on,' you pointed out. 'don’t think i forgot last time when you acted like you were dying and walked out with three new hoodies.'

'hoodies are different,' he said, already examining the shirt you handed him. 'they’re... comforting.'

'uh-huh,' you deadpanned. 'go. fitting room. now.'

'yes, boss,' he grinned, shooting you a wink before disappearing into the changing room.

while he was inside, you grabbed a couple more things you thought he’d like, hanging them over your arm. you could hear the faint sounds of him grumbling about tags and buttons, which only made you smile.

'ready?' he called.

'let’s see it.'

the door creaked open, and joão stepped out, adjusting the sleeves of the shirt. you blinked.

'okay... rude,' you said. 'you’re not allowed to look that good after complaining this much.'

he glanced in the mirror, a slow smirk spreading across his face. 'not bad, huh?'

'get it,' you said immediately. 'no arguments.'

'thought you said you wouldn’t take long,' he teased. 'you’re the one making me try stuff on now.'

'yeah, yeah,' you waved him off, already scanning for a pair of jeans you thought would go with the shirt.

he laughed, heading back into the fitting room. 'this is payback for making you watch football highlights, isn’t it?'

'maybe,' you grinned.

a little while later, you both emerged with a couple of items draped over your arms, way more successful than joão had anticipated. as you headed toward the checkout, he leaned in and murmured, 'so... coffee after this?'

'of course,' you said. 'thanks for surviving.'

'barely,' he grinned. 'but i’ll need that coffee for recovery.'

'you’ll live,' you teased.

as you left the store, bags in hand and his fingers slipping back into yours, he glanced at you with a soft smile. 'you’re lucky i like you,' he said.

'oh, i know,’ you shot back, laughing as he bumped his shoulder into yours.

and despite all the whining, he never once let go of your hand.

aint no way lil pablito gavi can handle allat,,, give me your man

Hector fort taking care of reader who had her period unprepared and is embarrassed about it cuz her ex used to get mad at her for it?

Maybe?

Perhaps?

(Idk how to request if you didn’t notice already 😭)

❦ - unexpected but never a problem.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: nooooone? cussing i think…?

writers notes:: i love you anon you’re so cute i saw it and instantly wrote it you’re adorable! anyways im not very good w requests so i really dunno if this is what you wanted but i hope u love it nonetheless? gimme feedback yg i beg 💔. ALSO I HAVE NO JOAO REQUESTS GIMME SOME PLSSS

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @nngkay

you realize it too late.

the uncomfortable dampness, the slight cramping you brushed off earlier, the way hector’s hoodie, his favorite one, now feels impossibly heavy around your waist as you tie it there in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence.

you should have known. you should have been prepared. but your cycle has always been unpredictable, and with how distracted you’ve been lately, school, work, trying not to fall too hard for the boy currently walking beside you - you weren’t paying attention.

now, you’re hyperaware. of every step you take, of every shift in fabric, of how you can feel it, and god, you don’t even want to check. you don’t want to know how bad it is.

but the worst part? you know what happens next.

or, at least, you think you do.

‘you good?’ hector asks, nudging your shoulder gently.

his voice is casual, light, but you can hear the underlying concern. you’re usually more talkative, always teasing him about something, and now you’re barely saying a word.

you swallow hard. ‘yeah. just… tired.’

he doesn’t look convinced. he studies you for a second, his gaze flicking to the hoodie tied around your waist.

then he stops walking.

‘okay, what’s wrong?’

your stomach twists. ‘nothing, hector, i just..’

‘nah, you’re acting weird. did something happen?’

the worry in his voice only makes the knot in your throat worse. but what are you supposed to say? hey, i just bled through my clothes, and i’m freaking out because my ex used to act like it was the worst thing in the world whenever this happened?

your silence lasts a second too long.

hector frowns. then his eyes flick down again, just for a second, before realization dawns on his face.

your heart pounds.

this is it. this is where he pulls back, where he sighs in frustration, where he makes some offhand comment about how you should’ve planned better. you brace for it, already shrinking into yourself, already fighting back the burning embarrassment

but then he’s shrugging off his jacket.

before you can react, he steps closer, wrapping it securely around your waist, completely covering the hoodie. he makes quick work of tying the sleeves, knotting them tight like it’s second nature.

your breath catches.

‘there,’ he says easily, tugging once to make sure it’s secure. ‘you wanna go home?’

you blink. ‘…what?’

he gives you a look. ‘you’re clearly not comfortable. we can dip.’

he’s not mad. he’s not annoyed.

he’s just helping.

you stare at him, your chest tight, emotions tangling together too fast for you to process.

‘you don’t have to do all that,’ you mumble.

he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘why wouldn’t i?’

you hesitate, fingers gripping the edge of the jacket now wrapped around you. ‘because it’s gross.’

his brow furrows. ‘who told you that?’

you freeze.

you don’t mean to react, but the words hit you like a gut punch. because you know who told you that. over and over again, in every careless remark, every sigh, every time he made you feel like something you couldn’t control was your fault.

and hector sees it.

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, before looking at you again, softer this time.

‘listen, i don’t know who made you feel bad about this, but that’s bullshit. it’s not gross, it’s not your fault, and you sure as hell don’t need to be embarrassed about it.’ he shakes his head, muttering, ‘like, how do you even get mad at someone for having a body? that’s insane.’

you let out a breathy laugh, small, but real.

hector smirks. ‘there she is.’

you roll your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosens. ‘you’re stupid.’

‘nah, i just have common sense.’ he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. ‘now, c’mon. let’s get you home.’

you don’t argue. you just squeeze his hand, let yourself lean into the warmth of him, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel ashamed.

Maybeeee part 3 where they actually meet irl pookie? 🥺💙

But hear me out, they meet on accident not a planned date but wtv you feel like luv we trust in you 🛐

❦ - one wrong digit. part 3.

summary:: fate is real? isn’t it? or is it just a concept we believe from movies. idk bro and neither does joao.

warnings:: SO when i started this series, joao was still a chelsea player so we have to stick to this plot line to save my dignity!

writers note:: happy valentine’s day loves! this woulda taken me ages but i locked in bc this is my valentine’s day gift to you lot! so enjoy this and i lowkey had to speed up the plot so yk!

tags!:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

it was a cold day in kensington where you lived but you had to go to chelsea just for some errands. in the end you stumbled into a cute cafe on the edge of the road.

you don’t expect to see him. not today, not like this.

one second, you’re just going about your day, lost in your own world, and the next, you hear his voice. not through a phone speaker. not filtered by distance. but real,right there.

your brain takes a second to process it. because it’s one thing to facetime someone every day, to hear their voice in your ear at night, to recognize the way they laugh, the way they tease, the way they say your name like it belongs to them.

but it’s another thing entirely to see them in person.

you stop in your tracks, heart hammering, eyes scanning the cafe like you’re hallucinating. but no, he’s right there, standing near the counter, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone, completely unaware that you’re staring at him like the world just tilted on its axis.

you should say something. you should.

instead, your phone buzzes.

joão: what are you doing right now?

your breath catches. you glance up at him again. it’s so weird, seeing him like this, taller than you imagined, the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, how his hoodie is slightly oversized like it always is in your calls.

he still hasn’t noticed you.

nothing. why?

you watch as he reads it. he types for a second, then stops. then starts again.

joão: just wondering.

he lifts his head, eyes flicking up for just a second.

and that’s when it happens.

his gaze meets yours.

for a moment, neither of you move. you don’t breathe. he doesn’t either.

then, slowly, like he’s making sure you’re real, he lowers his phone.

‘no way,’ he murmurs.

you let out a breathless laugh, lost for words

his lips part slightly, like he doesn’t know whether to smile or freak out. ‘this is..’ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. ‘i was literally just texting you.’

you hold up your phone. ‘yeah. saw that.’

he laughs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. ‘okay, this is crazy.’

‘a little bit.’

‘like, what are the odds?’

‘apparently very low,’ you say, eyes still wide. ‘yet here we are.’

he lets out a disbelieving chuckle, then tilts his head at you, something softer in his expression now. ‘so… do we acknowledge that this is probably fate?’

you pretend to think. ‘hmm. or just a very, very weird coincidence.’

he smirks. ‘so, fate.’

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

he takes a small step closer, hesitates for half a second, then grins. ‘hi.’

and just like that, you realise, this? whatever this is? it’s real. and it’s happening.

texts jude would send you part 2 - jb au!!

got another request to do this so here you go!! 🤍🤍

part one

Yes pt2 of the Jude fic plis

❦ - not enough for you. part 2.

summary:: ‘and with hardship comes ease.’ here is finally your ease.

warnings:: THIS WAS LEFT IN MY DRAFTS FOR ALMOST A MONTH.

writers note:: i am SO sorry it took this long? but here’s part one as well.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb

it had been weeks.

weeks since you walked out of his apartment, since you left behind the life you had built together. weeks of silence, of pretending you were okay, of waking up in an empty bed and forcing yourself not to check your phone.

you tried to move on. threw yourself into work, took on extra projects, stayed late at the office just to avoid coming home to the quiet. you told yourself you were fine. that you had made the right choice. that love should never come at the expense of yourself.

but god, you missed him.

you missed the way he’d pull you into his arms at the end of a long day, the way he’d press lazy kisses to your temple while you worked, the way he’d always keep a hand on you, your knee, your back, your fingers tangled with his, like he needed to know you were there.

some nights, you swore you could still hear his laugh echoing in the corners of your apartment. some mornings, you still reached for him in bed before remembering he wasn’t there.

and it hurt. because for all the love you had for him, it hadn’t been enough. and that truth sat heavy on your chest, refusing to fade.

then, one night, your phone rang.

his name flashed across the screen. your breath caught.

for a moment, you considered ignoring it. letting it go to voicemail. but something in you, something stubborn, something still so deeply tied to him, made you press accept.

‘hey,’ his voice was rough, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

you swallowed, gripping your phone tighter. ‘hey.’

silence.

‘i don’t know how to do this,’ he admitted, voice quiet. ‘how to be without you.’

your eyes burned. ‘you’re not without me, jude. i’m still here. i just… i just couldn’t keep choosing you over myself.’

a harsh exhale. ‘i know. and i hate that i made you feel like you had to.’

his voice cracked on the last word, and something inside you splintered.

‘it wasn’t fair,’ you whispered. ‘you wanted me to be someone i’m not. and that’s not love, jude. love isn’t asking someone to sacrifice who they are to fit into your world.’

he was quiet for so long you thought maybe he wouldn’t respond. but then,

‘i know,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘i’ve been thinking about it. about us. about what i did wrong. and you were right. i wanted you to fit into my life, but i never stopped to think about how i could fit into yours.’

your throat tightened. ‘jude…’

‘i was selfish,’ he continued, not letting you interrupt. ‘i thought love meant you’d follow me anywhere, that you’d drop everything because you loved me. but i never stopped to think about how much you already had to lose. and that’s not fair. it’s not fair to you.’

a tear slipped down your cheek.

‘i miss you,’ he admitted, voice breaking. ‘but more than that, i miss being the person who made you happy. and i don’t know if we can fix this. but i want to try. if you’ll let me.’

your breath hitched.

for weeks, you had convinced yourself that he would never understand. that he would always expect you to fit into his world, to mold yourself into something easier, something more convenient. but this—this was him trying.

this was him choosing to meet you in the middle.

‘if we try again,’ you said carefully, ‘things have to be different. i need to know that you see me, jude. that you respect what i want for myself just as much as i respect what you want for yourself.’

‘i do,’ he said without hesitation. ‘i swear i do. i just… i don’t want to do this without you.’

you exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers to your temple.

‘can i see you?’ he asked after a beat. ‘not to fix everything right now, not to force anything. just… to see you.’

your heart ached. you knew this was a risk. that loving him, choosing him again, meant trusting that he would follow through on his promises. but a part of you, the part that never stopped loving him, wanted to believe that he could.

so you swallowed past the lump in your throat and whispered, ‘yeah. okay.’

and for the first time in weeks, hope felt like something real. something worth holding onto.

Can you do one of kenan liking reader who’s a family friend and can it be like reader is moving to Turin because she’s and influencer so she got a nice apartment and has to set up and kenan finds out by his mom and dad so he uses that to get closer to her (before he was shy) and then the end can be all you

❦ - match made in turin.

summary:: kenan has always had a crush on you but distance always held him back. you finally moved to turin, leaving a huge surprise.

warnings:: uhh none?

writers notes:: i have sm kenan requests i love it

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz had a crush.

a long, painfully obvious, yet entirely unspoken crush.

it had started when he was younger, back when you were just ‘a family friend’, someone he saw at gatherings, during summer vacations, or whenever your families crossed paths. back then, he’d been too shy to talk to you much. and even now, despite growing older, despite playing for one of the biggest clubs in italy, despite all the confidence he had on the pitch, when it came to you, kenan still found himself fumbling.

which was why, when he found out you were moving to turin, it was from his parents and not you.

‘did you hear?’ his mother had said over dinner, her voice casual, unaware of how her words would completely upend kenan’s night. ‘she’s moving here. got a new place and everything. apparently, she’s arriving next week.’

kenan, mid bite, nearly choked. he coughed, reaching for his water as his dad chuckled.

‘you alright?’ his dad asked, though the amused look in his eyes made kenan suspect he knew exactly what was going on in his head.

his mom continued, oblivious. ‘i told her to let us know if she needs anything. she’ll probably need help setting up the apartment.’

kenan was barely listening at this point. all he could think about was that you were moving here. to his city. for the first time, he wouldn’t have to wait for random family gatherings or holidays to see you—you’d be here, close, a part of his everyday life.

and maybe, just maybe, this was the excuse he needed to finally do something about this crush he’d been harboring for years.

when you landed in turin, you barely had time to breathe before your phone lit up with a message from kenan.

kenan: heard you moved in today. need help with anything?

it was unexpected. not that kenan wasn’t friendly, he was. but you’d always been the one to reach out first, the one to keep conversations going when he got quiet. this was new.

you: wow, look who’s being proactive.
you: but yeah, actually. i still have to set up some furniture.

his reply came almost instantly.

kenan: omw.

and just like that, you had company.

when kenan showed up at your new place, he looked different, not physically, but in the way he carried himself. he still had that soft awkwardness, the quiet confidence, but there was something else too. a kind of determination.

‘hey,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘so where’s the furniture?’

‘straight to the point, huh?’ you teased, closing the door behind him.

he only shrugged, fighting back a grin. ‘i’m here to help, aren’t i?’

you led him to the mess of boxes and half-assembled furniture in your living room. he took one look at it, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

and that was how the next few hours went, building, unpacking, and somewhere along the way, talking more than you ever had before. kenan was still the same, thoughtful, a little reserved, but now, he wasn’t hesitating. he asked questions, told stories, even made you laugh a few times.

it felt easy. natural. like this had always been the way things were supposed to go.

by the time the last piece of furniture was in place, the sun had set, casting a warm glow through your new apartment.

‘not bad,’ kenan said, surveying the space.

‘yeah,’ you agreed, stretching your arms over your head. ‘couldn’t have done it without you.’

he looked at you then, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between you. something that had been building for years but never fully acknowledged.

you smiled. ‘guess i owe you dinner or something.’

his lips twitched, as if he was fighting the urge to smile too wide. ‘i wouldn’t say no to that.’

you nodded toward the kitchen. ‘i think i have instant ramen.’

he laughed, shaking his head. ‘or we could go somewhere actually good.’

‘wow, okay, mr. fancy.’

he only shrugged, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. something that told you this wasn’t just about dinner. it was about something more.

and maybe, finally, you were both ready for it.

Pablo Gavi (FCBarcelona) - Ugly Sweater

Day 25 of Christmas

Prompt: Ugly Sweater Contest

25 Days Of Christmas

Happy Christmas!

The camera zooms in on the bustling training ground of FC Barcelona. The players are gathered for a unique challenge, and the atmosphere is electric with excitement. Pablo Gavi and Y/n Y/l/n are at the center of it all, surrounded by an array of colorful fabric paints, glitters, and other crafting materials scattered across a large table. “Hola culers, I am Y/n Y/l/n, here with Pablo Gavi and we are here to see who can make the ugliest Christmas jumper.”

“Vamos, Y/n!” Pablo exclaims, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Who do you think is going to make the ugliest jumper?” Y/n rolls her eyes playfully, a grin spreading across her face. “Please, Pablo. You’re the king of ugly. I’m just here to help you look good for once”

“Yo y lo feo no deberíamos estar en la misma frase. A veces me sorprendes, Y/n.” He responds with a laugh, grabbing a neon green paint. “This is going to be epic!” Y/n couldn't help but laugh at the new word he learned just earlier that week: epic. As they dive into the challenge, they begin painting and glueing random materials onto their sweaters. Y/n grabs a handful of googly eyes, sticking them haphazardly all over her sweater. “Mira, Pablo. Un monstruo.” She declares, giggling. Pablo, not one to be outdone, quickly snatches a handful of bright pink feathers. “Ves esto? I’ll make a flamingo sweater. Que original.”

“Original? Creo que quieres decir horrible.” Y/n teases, sticking a paintbrush covered in blue paint into his hair. “Ese es el punto de este desafío, no?” The crew laughed behidn the camera as Pablo tried dodging the paint, but failing miserably. “Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Y/n laughed, not meaning to actually paint his hair. Pablo laughs, attempting to swipe the paint off his head but only making it worse. “You’re going to regret that, Y/n. Just wait until I win this challenge!”

As the clock counts down, they both put the finishing touches on their creations. Pablo, with a shirt that looks like a flamboyant bird’s nest, and Y/n, with a monstrous creation covered in eyes and glitter. “Okay, time’s up! Muestra tu suéter!” Yhe crew shouts, eager to see their creations. They step back, proudly displaying their sweaters. Pablo poses dramatically, striking a pose that makes the crew burst into laughter. “Mira esto! El más feo del mundo!” He declares. “More like the most ridiculous.” Y/n laughs, sticking her tongue out at him. They both turn to the camera, their playful rivalry shining through.

“Okay, final round is a catwalk.” Y/n says, glancing at Pablo with a mischievous glint in her eyes. As they both momentarily turned around to put their jumpers on, the crew let out a few quiet laughs. They counted down from 3 and turned to face eachother, looking one another up and down. Y/n hummed. “You know, it’s hard to have an ugly sweater when you have a face like that.” She gestures playfully at him, her words laced with flirtation. Pablo’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red, and the crew erupts in laughter. “No te rías de mí!” He protests, trying to hide his embarrassment. But his playful smile gives him away.

“Sorry, Pablito, but you really can’t help it.” Y/n adds, leaning closer as she pretends to inspect his sweater. “Qué dices? I’m handsome?” He grins, his blush deepens. “Pero, mi suéter es más feo.” Y/n scoffs. “Más feo? Have you seen mine?” Y/n raises an eyebrow, unable to contain her laughter. “I think you've lost this challenge, guapo.”

“Alright, alright! Let’s just let the viewers decide who’s the winner.” Pablo says, regaining his composure, but the smile never leaves his face. “But we both know it’s going to be me.”