Chapter Text
Jude knew he was being unreasonable as he sighed dreamily at the tiny picture on the Norway vs Brazil lineup graphic. The image was barely larger than his thumbnail, forcing him to pinch the screen apart until the pixels blurred into a grainy mess to see a picture of Erling and his tied up blonde hair and almost non-existent looking blonde eyebrows.
The resolution was terrible, his features reduced to little more than smudges of colors, yet Jude couldn't stop staring. He was proud to witness that Norway managed to reach the quarter finalists but there was no avoiding it anymore. One of them would be going home.
Jude let out a sigh before locking his phone. The universe had a cruel sense of humor. Of all the possible fixtures, it had chosen this one.
"Norway will lose to Jude's omega pheromones." Someone read the comment aloud, immediately setting off a chorus of laughter around the room.
"Oh, that's a good one."
"Damn."
Anthony nearly doubled over. "Yeah, Jude," he wheezed between laughs, "why didn't you just lure him over to England with your omega pheromones?" causing more snorts and chuckles erupted from the squad.
Jude looked up with the flattest expression he could manage. "...Shut up." That only made them laugh harder.
"Think about the tactical advantage," another teammate chimed in. "Forget scoring. Just walk onto the pitch smelling nice."
"Oh, right," Jude deadpanned, looking around at the room full of idiots. "Why didn't you distract him?"
That only made the laughter louder.
Jude groaned and buried his face in his hands. Ever since the quarterfinal fixture had been confirmed, this had become a daily occurrence. Every training session, every meal, every bus ride, if someone was on their phone, within minutes, like a broken clockwork… someone would bring up Norway and mention Erling, and the entire squad would dissolve into a pack of hysterical maniacs.
It all started when someone found the edits online, he didn't remember who it was exactly. After that came the memes, the endless jokes about England's secret weapon. He was tempted to confiscate their phones or said fuck you all and threw them into a river, or burn them, forget the consenquenses.
At first, Jude had absolutely no idea what everyone was talking about. The first few jokes flew straight over his head while everyone else laughed like they were all in on the same secret. Until someone took pity on him.
"Right," one of them patted the empty seat beside him. "Come here. We need to explain something."
Jude sat down, already suspicious. "What?"
"It's called omegaverse."
"...Come again?"
For the next ten minutes, his teammate attempted to explain alphas, omegas, betas, pheromones, each new sentence sounding somehow more absurd than the last.
Jude stared at him in complete silence. "...You're taking the piss."
"I'm not."
"No, seriously."
"I'm serious."
"So..." Jude held up a hand, trying to process it. "People smell each other and lose all self-control?"
"...Sort of."
"And alphas can scent omegas?"
"Yeah."
"And omegas have pheromones that drive alphas mad?"
"Basically."
Jude's face twisted into one of pure disbelief. "...That sounds like dogs."
The room erupted into laughter.
"I'm serious!" Jude insisted over the laughter. "You're literally describing animals sniffing each other."
"It's fiction."
"What do you mean fiction? People actually write this?"
"They do."
"Voluntarily?"
"Millions of them."
Jude looked genuinely horrified. "What the hell?"
By the time they reached the concept of mating bites, Jude had buried his face in both hands. "I'm begging you," he groaned. "Please stop talking."
Naturally, like the assholes they were, nobody did, his teammates had turned it into an endless source of entertainment, happily quoting comments and reading new fan theories aloud whenever they found one.
The worst part? There was absolutely no chance Erling hadn't seen at least some of it.
The man was practically chronically online. Erling seemed to exist on every platform imaginable. Jude knew because he had checked them all. His burner account had become embarrassingly active over the past month. If Erling uploaded something, Jude had probably seen it within the hour.
Erling had almost certainly stumbled across at least one of the ridiculous edits or viral posts pairing the two of them together.
He was tempted to text him but then what? Good luck? Looking forward to knocking you out? Hope you lose, respectfully.
Every option sounded ridiculous. Besides, they didn't really text each other anymore. Months slipped by without either of them saying anything, and Jude wasn't even sure Erling still used the same number. Maybe he'd changed it and this one belonged to someone else now
They'd never been the type to message every day, but there were exchanges stretching back years, of birthday wishes, congratulations after trophies, but he was still hung up on that one text when he first joined Real Madrid even years later, you look nice in white.
He'd opened the chat, typed a reply, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to reply back, he almost texted i’d look nice in a white wedding dress if that what you mean?
He had deleted every single letter frantically, convinced he'd suffered some kind of temporary brain failure and instead he typed, blue didn't look so bad on you.
He archived Erling’s texts even since that day, afraid he'd do something stupid.
Jude knew he should be asleep since it was three in the morning. Training was in a few hours. Yet there he was, lying on his side with the blankets tangled around his legs, the only light in the room coming from the glow of his phone.
He really needed to stop doomscrolling. Instead, he watched another edit.
This one stitched together clips from their Dortmund days, of Erling effortlessly hauling him onto his front after a goal while Jude laughed into his shoulder. The edit slowed the moment down dramatically, layered it with heartbreakingly romantic music, and ended with a shot of them walking off the pitch side by side.
Damn.
He was jealous of his past self.
Back then, Erling had thought nothing of scooping him off the ground or throwing an arm over his shoulders. Jude barely had to ask before Erling was carrying him around like he weighed nothing, his legs wrapping around that ridiculously strong body while the cameras flashed around them.
But that Dortmund kit was awful. Whoever had approved that shade of yellow deserved prison time.
He replayed the edit anyway. Then another and another. When he finally dragged himself back to Twitter, the app was still overflowing with the same nonsense that had plagued his timeline for the past week.
JUDE'S OMEGA PHEROMONES was somehow still trending.
Underneath it sat another trending topic.
ENGLAND PACK OF OMEGAS.
Jude stared at his screen in disbelief. Did people genuinely have nothing better to do? Well… Apparently neither did he.
The replies were even worse.
The forehead touches mean they're bonded🔥
He's scenting him in public.
Norway is cooked once Jude releases the omega pheromones.
Erling is going to forget football the second Jude walks onto the pitch.
Jude really hadn't delved further into whatever this omega thing was, he knew the general sense but he had no idea why people were so interested in this. The deeper he scrolled, the more it became painfully obvious that he'd only been standing at the entrance of an enormous rabbit hole, and the more his forehead creased, he was going to have premature wrinkles if they kept this nonsense and stressed him out.
Someone had made an entire thread categorizing footballers by secondary gender. Another had written several paragraphs analyzing "alpha body language" using slowed-down match footage.
Social media was a terrible place. He knew that.
Fans could be wonderfully supportive one minute and completely unhinged the next. Rumors spread like wildfire, harmless jokes mutated into narratives, and people could build entire evil narratives out of a two-second clip from a post-match interview.
Normally, he tried to stay away from it since it was healthier that way. But there was something undeniably addictive about it.
By the time he finally glanced at the clock again, it was almost 4 am.
THE SMELL OF JUDE’S SLICK WOULD MAKE EVERYONE IN THE STADIUM TO GO INTO RUTS💦💦
He reread that sentence three times, horrified and tossed the phone onto the bedside table.
Training was terrible and he could only blame himself for only sleeping for two hours. He was drenched in sweat and the heat of the USA sun was also terrible. Thomas had yelled at him when he noticed his under eyes were a little darker but hey man chill, everyone was stressed, everyone had dark eyebags for fuck’s sake!
The pressure was intense. It was a miracle he didn't faint on the spot from sheer nervousness, it was his only second World Cup. They needed to give him a break sometimes.
People spoke about him as though he'd been carrying England for a decade, expecting calm, mature performances every single match. They forgot he was still learning, still making mistakes, still figuring out how to deal with the burden that came with wearing the shirt. Some days he wanted to remind everyone that he wasn't thirty nine like a certain guy.
A few hours later, he was sitting on a bench in their locker room glued to his phone, staring blankly at the blinking cursor of him and Erling's text history. The last one was almost two weeks ago when Erling congratulated him on his birthday. Hey happy birthday man, i'd ask you out to lunch or something if i wouldn't get yelled at for fraternizing with the enemy.
Enemy? Huh right, he was considered an enemy now. There was a part of him that would always miss him, it wasn't like Erling was going to a war and would never be seen again, they would still see each other occasionally fighting for different clubs, different colors of kits, having a face off instead of side by side like they used to.
He missed the easy friendship they had, of how easy it was to hug him and smother him in kisses after a goal, of stolen glances in the locker room when he thought Erling wasn't looking. The quick, affectionate peck against Erling's cheek after an especially important win that had earned nothing more than an exaggerated, "Oi!"
Back then, none of it had felt significant. They were just... them. It was so easy back then and he didn't remember when had hey, what are you up to? become something he spent twenty minutes rewriting before giving up entirely? When had he begun worrying whether replying too quickly looked desperate?
His thumb traced the edge of his phone.
Maybe...
Maybe it had started when his feelings stopped fitting inside the neat little box labeled friendship. He hadn't meant for it to happen, it had crept up on him quietly.
Then suddenly every little thing mattered, casual shoulder nudges, late-night conversations, stupid inside jokes nobody else understood.
He wanted more. That was the problem. He'd become greedy, selfish. Perfectly happy with what they had until one day it wasn't enough anymore.
Then Erling left for Manchester City.
It was football, transfers happened every season. Jude understood that better than most. He'd congratulated him and for the cameras, told everyone it was an incredible move, and he had meant every word. But that understanding hadn't made Dortmund feel any less empty afterward.
It hadn't stopped him from instinctively turning to say something after training, only to remember Erling wasn't there anymore. It hadn't stopped him from glancing toward the locker room door, expecting a six-foot-four blond idiot to walk through it with wet hair. It hadn't stopped him from opening Instagram after City's matches just to make sure Erling looked happy or from feeling a strange ache every time he did.
He wasn't angry that Erling had left, he was angry that time had kept moving afterward that what they'd had had slowly become memories instead of habits. That somewhere along the way, See you tomorrow had quietly turned into maybe we'll play against each other next season.
Jude stared at the blinking cursor again. He typed before he could chicken out.
Good luck on the next match.
With that, he shoved his phone deep into his bag and deliberately did not wait for the text back when the training continued.
"According to Twitter, Dan is considered an alpha because of his stereotypical height.” Harry announced between barely contained giggles, reading straight from his phone.
Jude closed his eyes. Oh my God. They were never going to let this die, were they? "...And?"
Harry grinned, clearly delighted he'd earned a reaction. "I'm just reporting the findings."
"Very important research."
"Groundbreaking.” Marc added, nodding solemnly.
Harry continued scrolling. "Apparently England has multiple alphas but mostly omegas."
"Oh, brilliant." Jude answered sarcastically.
"But—" Harry dragged the word out dramatically, "the internet has unanimously decided Erling is still yours."
Dan, who had been innocently minding his own business until his name had been dragged into the conversation, wandered over wearing the biggest grin imaginable. "Don't worry, man," he said, placing a patronizing hand on Jude's head. "Erling's still your alpha."
Jude immediately smacked his hand away. "Don't touch me."
Dan only laughed harder. "Aww."
"I said don't."
"You look stressed."
"I wonder why." Jude gritted out.
Dan reached over again just to be annoying and Jude swatted his hand away a second time before shooting him a glare that would have intimidated most people. Unfortunately, Dan wasn't most people. He leaned closer with an exaggerated whisper. "Think he'll scent you before kickoff?"
Jude stared at him in complete silence and drawled out "I hope you pull a hamstring."
"That's vile!” Dan gasped.
"See?" Anthony wheezed. "Classic omega aggression."
Jude grabbed the nearest rolled-up towel and threw it but Dan ducked just in time, the towel bouncing harmlessly off the locker behind him.
"Oh, he's nesting now!"
"That's not what nesting means!" Jude yelled.
"You know what nesting means?" Harry gasped and every head turned toward Jude.
"...Shit."
The laughter that followed was deafening.
"He's been researching!"
"Our boy's reading the lore!"
"I have not!" Jude protested, cheeks warming immediately. "You idiots have forced me to learn against my will!"
"Mhm. Sure."
Jude groaned so loudly it echoed through the locker room before dropping his head into his hands. "I actually hate every single one of you."
The team, mercifully, found someone else to torment. Anthony wandered off in search of food, Harry became distracted by a card game someone had started across the room, and Dan finally stopped trying to pat Jude on the head.
Peace. At last.
Jude exhaled, dropped onto the bench, and rummaged through his duffel bag until his fingers found his phone wedged between a roll of athletic tape and a pair of clean socks.
Three unread messages. He suddenly felt his heart drop into his stomach and he had to do breathing exercises before completely freaking out. Come on, it's just Erling, you two are friends!
good luck to you too! was the first text.
It took Erling ten more minutes before he texted a link.
have you read this?
[archiveofourown]
Jude frowned, immediately going into alert, was it a critic? a hate smear against him? Did he do something stupid without realizing? When he clicked the link, it led him to a… writing website?
He skimmed the top of the page. Then his eyes landed on the tags. Erling Haaland/Jude Bellingham. His expression slowly transformed from confusion to absolute horror. "Oh my God."
There it was again. Alpha Erling Haaland, omega Jude Bellingham, mating bites, heat.
“Hold your legs up," Erling instructed, releasing Jude’s hair, and he eagerly followed his command, resting his body completely against the Alpha and raising his legs until each one of them resting on the cubicle walls on either side of them. His hole was completely exposed, stretched widely around Erling’s massive cock, clenching tightly with every thrust.”
Jude physically recoiled from the screen. He kept reading for exactly three more lines. His ears burned and immediately locked his phone as though the words themselves might leap out and infect him before unlocking it again one minute later.
What did he just read? More importantly, what the hell was Erling doing? Why had he sent this? Had he... read it? Surely not. No chance, absolutely impossible.
He opened the chat again. His thumbs hovered uncertainly over the keyboard.
What the fuck is this?
Delete.
Why are you sending me this?
Delete.
Have YOU read this??
He stared at that one for a while before sending it and the message was delivered instantly.
Erling replied fast with a simple ...maybe.
Jude stared at the screen in utter disbelief. What do you mean maybe? he sent another text
His phone buzzed almost immediately. It's actually kind of funny, it read. Jude looked around the emptying dressing room as if someone might explain what parallel universe he'd accidentally wandered into.
its not fucking funny.
Jude sent the text before throwing his phone into his bag and stomped out of the locker room to go to the hotel where their team was staying.
Walking back to the hotel suddenly didn't seem like such a brilliant idea since someone would recognize him within minutes, and he resigned himself into waiting for the rest of the team to get into the bus. His phone was probably buzzing again in his bag but he kept it there, he didn't fish it out during the ride, during team dinner at the hotel buffet, during team bonding when they played cards, during more training.
It was late at night when he was finally alone in his room that he stared at his bag like a snake might pop out and bite him in the face, he sighed and gingerly fished out his phone, dreading to see what Erling had sent him.
There was three texts, sorry, i didnt mean to make you angry
jude?
jude?
And two missed calls from Erling. Jude sighed again, i'm not angry. Jude replied before leaving his phone on the bed for a much needed shower.
When he was done, he saw his phone lit up before going idle again. Tying his bathrobe, he swiped the phone open and his eyes almost bulged out of his skull when he read im outside your hotel.
What?!
Abandoning his bathrobe, he immediately put on a shirt and pants, quickly typing what? isn't your hotel too far?
He didn't know the exact details on where the Norwegian team was staying, but it shouldn't be walking distance or that near. Tournament organizers usually kept teams in separate hotels, separate training facilities, separate bubbles. Realistically, Erling was probably an hour away, maybe two. Far enough that Jude couldn't simply decide to walk over, knock on the hotel door, and ask if he fancied grabbing tea or coffee like they might have done in Dortmund.
His heart picked up, almost flying out from between his ribcage at the prospect of seeing Erling so soon, privately at that, without the cheers and the blinding lights of the paparazzi cameras.
He didn't remember when was the last time he had a conversation with Erling when it was just the two of them. He vaguely remember it was probably when Erling parted to be with Manchester City and saying goodbye, Jude remembered the warmth of his body heat as he clung too long on their hug, relunctant to let go as Erling petted his head, whispering i'll see you soon.
Yeah, that soon became standing on opposite sides of the tunnel before kickoff. Soon became swapping shirts after ninety minutes of trying to beat each other. Soon became quick hugs in front of dozens of cameras before being pulled in opposite directions by their respective teammates.
It wasn't the same.
It would never be the same.
He wished this omega pheromenon thing was real and he could actually lure the man into the England team, but that was just another daydream.
Jude saw him first, Erling was hunched over his phone but still sticking out like a sore thumb at the hotel lobby. A black training hoodie stretched across his broad shoulders, the zipper left halfway open despite the cold air conditioning. His blond hair was tied back in a loose knot that had clearly been done in a hurry, a few pale strands escaping to frame his forehead. From where Jude stood, he could see the familiar furrow between Erling's brows whenever he concentrated on reading something.
Even the receptionist couldn't stop sneaking uncertain looks in his direction. She shifted awkwardly behind the front desk, clearly recognizing him but equally unsure what to do with a player from the opposing national team sitting comfortably inside England's hotel.
Her eyes flicked toward the security staff. Jude caught her gaze and she looked at him questioningly, almost asking if she should intervene. Jude just gave a tiny shake of his head.
Approaching the man slowly, he drawled, “I thought you're not supposed to fraternize with the enemy?” Erling looked up at the sound of his voice.
A grin spread across his face, wide, blindingly bright, and achingly familiar. "There you are," Erling said, standing so quickly the sofa creaked beneath him.
Jude hadn't realized until that moment just how much he'd missed being on the receiving end of that smile. It was exactly the same as he remembered from Dortmund. “Here i am, what are you doing here?” Jude asked.
Erling slipped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. "I was starting to think you were actually angry."
"I told you i wasn't."
"Yeah," Erling replied. "After ignoring me for about six hours."
"I was busy training, you should know that.” Jude grumbled.
“I know, i know, i'm here because i want to tell you that i'm not making fun of you.” Erling explained. "I figured... I don't know." Erling rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "We used to send each other stupid stuff all the time."
We used to.
Jude swallowed. "Yeah."
"I guess i thought this would be the same."
Things wouldn't be the same anymore since Jude already fucked up by wanting more. "It was just..." Jude searched for the right words. "Bad timing."
Jude let out a tired breath. "They haven't shut up about this thing on social media since the quarterfinal was announced. Then training was awful, i barely slept, everyone's acting like the world ends if we lose… By the time you sent that link, you were just unlucky enough to be the last thing that tipped me over."
Yeah, no, not totally truthful, but he couldn't say that out loud, couldnt he?
Of how he wanted the stuffs on the internet to be real and the prospect of Erling making fun of him by knowing that.
What if he knows? What if he's laughing because he knows?
"Anyway." Jude forced a small smile onto his face. "I'm over it."
It probably wasn't entirely convincing because Erling studied him, blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "...You sure?"
"Yeah." It was the easiest lie he'd told all day. “I… i should go. I don't think you're supposed to be here,”
“So you're shooing me away now.” Erling actually looked hurt.
"Its just..." Jude sighed, searching for words that didn't make him sound like he was running away. "If someone from the staff sees you sitting in England's hotel lobby, they're probably going to have questions."
"They've already looked at me funny."
"I noticed."
"I think the receptionist was about thirty seconds away from kicking me out."
"She was."
Erling laughed softly. "I figured."
A group of England staff members emerged from a nearby corridor, deep in conversation. Without thinking, both Jude and Erling took half a step farther into the corner of the lobby, instinctively avoiding drawing attention to themselves.
The staff walked past without noticing. Only when they disappeared into the restaurant did either of them speak again. "We'll see each other soon anyway." Erling said.
Jude's smile faltered almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."
The words sounded familiar. I'll see you soon. The exact same promise, the exact same optimism. Only now soon meant walking out of opposite tunnels with different flags stitched across their chests.
Jude held out a fist. "For what it's worth… Good luck." Instead of a fist bump. Erling pulled his fist towards him and engulfed him in a hug. It happened so naturally that his body responded before his mind could. His own arms slid around Erling’s waist, fingers bunching the fabric of his hoodie as warmth enveloped him.
He was aware that they were hugging too long for this to be a friendly one, Jude was about to let go when Erling whispered. “I wish that was real.” Erling’s forehead rested lightly against Jude’s shoulder, his voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the sounds of the lobby.
“What?”
“The link i sent you.”
Jude’s heart lurched.
“I…” Erling let out a shaky breath that brushed against the side of Jude’s neck. “I couldn’t say it.” His hands tightened almost imperceptibly against the back of Jude’s shirt. “I didn’t know how.”
Jude forgot how to breathe.
“I thought…” Erling gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “I thought if i sent something ridiculous enough, maybe you’d laugh. Or maybe you’d tell me i was an idiot. Anything would’ve been easier than saying it properly.”
Jude’s mind refused to catch up.
The words circled uselessly inside his head.
I wish that was real.
Jude scrambled back and out of the warm hug, heart racing, he probably looked manic right now since Erling looked concerned. “You sent me porn!” Jude said hysterically and Erling was trying to shush him, the receptionist looked alarmed at the sudden outburst.
Erling’s eyes went impossibly wide. “Oh my God,” he hissed. “Will you keep your voice down?”
“I am keeping my voice down!”
“You absolutely are not!”
“You sent me porn!”
“It wasn’t—” Erling clapped a hand over Jude’s mouth before he could continue.
“Mmph!”
“Indoor voice.”
Jude glared at him over Erling’s fingers and the receptionist watched them with growing concern.
Jude peeled Erling’s hand off his face and glared. “I'm so mad at you right now.” He said, he only took one step towards the elevator where be could be inside the safety of his own room when Erling held him back.
“I'm sorry.” Erling said, looking like a gigantic puppy.
By now the receptionist had decided that whatever bizarre conversation these two international footballers were having, it wasn’t going to become a full-scale incident. She slowly returned to her computer, though Jude caught her sneaking one last curious glance in their direction.
“No, i'll see you soon.” Jude said, shrugging off Erling’s hand that was clasped on his shoulder who looked like Jude just kicked him and ran him over with a truck, and dump him in a river. “No idiot, i'll see you soon.” He said, pecking him on the cheek.
“Soon?” Erling said, holding his cheek and looking dreamy.
“After the match, privately, try not to beat me.” With that, Jude scurried towards the elevator and leaving a dumbstruck Erling in the lobby.
If someone noticed an extra happy step in his steps, nobody said anything.
Thank god for the so called omega pheromones jokes. Maybe the internet had accidentally done one thing right after all.