୧ 𝓙 ＵＤＥ ＢＥＬＬＩＮＧＨＡＭ

^THE SUN SLIPPED THROUGH THE CURTAINS OF THE HOTEL ROOM, SLICING ACROSS THE RUMPLED SHEETS AND THE FAINT SCENT OF CHAMPAGNE.* — your head throbbed in sync with the alarm you’d forgotten to set, a dull reminder that last night had been… absolutely insane.

Then it hit you.

The small, gold band on your finger. And the matching one on his.

Jude Bellingham was still asleep beside you, chest rising slowly, hair messily fanned across the pillow. You didn’t know him. Not really. Not at all. And yet, somehow, Vegas had decided to solve that problem for you.

Your heart skipped like it had a personal vendetta. “Oh my God,” you whispered, voice catching. He stirred. Opened one eye. Blinked.

“Morning,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, already sensing the chaos in your gaze.

You pointed at the rings. “We… we’re married,” you said, your voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

He froze, then slowly sat up, eyes wide, scanning the room like he’d missed something in a dream. “Wait—what?”

You couldn’t even answer. The memory of neon lights, Elvis impersonators, and a very impulsive “Yes” just… evaporated the night before.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the headboard, staring at the rings like they were alien artifacts. “We don’t even… know each other,” he said, half-laughing, half-panicking.

“Exactly!” you squeaked. “I mean, I know you’re a football player. But I didn’t even—” You stopped yourself, realizing words weren’t enough for a situation this absurd.

Somewhere down the strip, the city hummed and blinked, oblivious to the two strangers who had just stumbled into a lifetime commitment before coffee.

He looked at you again, slower this time. “So… what now?”

You swallowed hard. The answer felt impossible, yet your pulse betrayed a strange thrill.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted. And maybe that was the only right answer.

Because in Vegas, sometimes desire and chaos wrote the rules. And last night, it had written yours.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒