#borussia dortmund

[wincaraz]

[belli5]

Big boy — Jobe B.

Jobe Bellingham 𝒙 fem!reader

╰ In which You’re just obsessed with your boyfriends abs and muscles..

Warnings Fluff, no smut but some suggestive stuff implied, reader being touchy around Jobe’s family (not that they notice or smth), use of y/n, established relationship, muscle kink(?), use of pet names (barely), kissing abs, pda, 1.1k words

Jobe B. masterlist

Being on a vacation with Jobe felt like a dream, but having his entire family around didn’t exactly help the constant ache of neediness that pulsed through you whenever Jobe was near.

You really loved it, the opportunity to grow closer with his parents, to laugh with Jude and his girlfriend, and to experience Greece’s breathtaking islands from the deck of a private boat was something you’d cherish forever.

But sometimes, you wished the boat was just for the two of you, where you didn’t need to behave. Because right now, all you could focus on was your boyfriend.

And especially focus on his toned abs. And muscles.

Back home, Jobe was well aware of how much you enjoyed his abs and muscles, probably way more than he did himself. And he didn’t blame you one bit. In fact, he silently thanked football every single day for sculpting this body, because the way your eyes devoured him, it was worth every training session.

But what he wasn’t aware of was that you were thinking like this right now, surrounded by his family. He obviously had no clue.

Jobe stood at the railing in nothing but navy swim trunks, the sun kissing every inch of his body. When he pointed out a distant island to his dad and Jude, his muscles flexed naturally with the movement.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from staring too obviously, your cold iced tea sat forgotten in your hands as you tried your best to put your attention to his mother and Ashlyn talking, rather than staring at Jobe.

When Jobe and Jude finally sat down at the foredeck, leaning slightly back on their arms with their legs stretched out in front of them, their dad came over to join the conversation with you, his mom, and Jude’s girlfriend. You took the opportunity to excuse yourself from the group, murmuring something about the sun getting stronger.

You reached into your bag for the bottle of sunscreen and walked toward Jobe. He looked up at you with a smile as you approached. “You should put some sunscreen on.” You said softly, holding up the bottle.

“Oh yeah, thanks, babe!” Jobe replied, reaching out his hand to take it from you.

You smiled sweetly, pulling it back just out of reach. “I’ll help.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, but he was more than happy to get your help. He moved a little, giving you more space. You started with his back to save the best for last, smoothing the lotion over his broad shoulders and the defined muscles along his spine.

Once his back was done, you moved around to face him. You squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen into your palms, rubbing them together before reaching for his stomach. The moment your palm made contact with his warm skin, Jobe instinctively squeezed his abs, the cool lotion making his muscles tense and ripple beneath your touch.

You bit back a grin, feeling every ridge and line move under your hands.

You used both hands now, spreading the sunscreen in smooth strokes. You tried to keep it subtle, tracing the defined squares of his sixpack, letting your fingertips glide along the deep cuts at his sides, but it was impossible to keep your hands away.

Just as you finished, Jude turned toward you. “Y/n, you doing full service today? Mind putting some on me too?”

You straightened up, wiping your hands on a towel, and gave him a playful eyeroll. “Fine..” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Later when you all were back at the beach, Jobe laid comfortably on a sunbed under a large umbrella. You sat right beside him near his thighs, the two of you talking quietly while his family laughed in the water a good distance away.

Without a thought, you reached out and placed your hand on his stomach again. You didn’t feel like there was a need to be careful now, your fingers traced the hard planes of his abs slowly, feeling the firm ridges move under your touch as he breathed.

Jobe continued talking about tomorrow’s plans as if nothing was happening. When he finished his sentence, you looked up at him with a soft smile. “You know you look so good today!” You complimented him.

Jobe’s grin widened, his eyes crinkling in a charming way you loved. “Really? Thank you, babe. You’re just as beautiful as you always are,” he cut himself off. “— Actually, even more with this sun on you.”

“Thank you, baby!” You replied, still running your palm over his warm stomach. “But really.. even your abs have got me so distracted today.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating under your hand. “Are you really this worked up with everyone around?” He teased lightly.

You jokingly glanced around, checking the shoreline. His family was still happily swimming. “I don’t see anyone around right now?!” You said innocently.

“Yeah, not right now.” Jobe replied, raising an eyebrow. “But on the boat? That was my whole family right there.”

“So?” you shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the center of his stomach, then another, and another, trailing your lips over the defined muscles. Jobe’s hand found its way into your hair, holding it gently, his fingers threading through the strands as you worshipped his abs with kisses.

When you finally made your way up to his lips, he happily pulled you closer, his hand moving to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. It was sweet, his mouth moving against yours. When you started to pull away after a moment, he chased your lips with a few soft pecks, making you smile against him.

When he finally let you pull away after the few more pecks, you were both smiling. You leaned forward slightly on the sunbed and reached into the back pocket of your shorts, pulling out your phone. “Let me take a picture of you.” You said, already opening the camera app.

Jobe raised an eyebrow, still lounging back against the cushions. “Is there any particular reason you would need to take a picture of me right now?”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Do I have to have a reason to take a picture of my boyfriend?” you asked, deliberately dragging out the word ‘my.’

He shrugged. “I don’t know.. I’m just trying to understand if it’s because of how I look right now, or so you can stare at the abs in the picture later.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warming. “Well, I actually wanted to take a picture of you because you look really good right now.. but thanks for the idea. Now I’ll do both.”

He happily flexed his biceps for the camera, making sure to tighten his core at the same time. You snapped a few shots, adjusting the angle to capture the way the light kissed him. “Perfect!” You murmured.

— This is pretty boring, bec i didn't know what to write, but i wanted to post something for Jobe, so i would love to get sent in some requests for him !!

[zerocoded]

BACK HOME !

You've barely been unofficially dating Jobe for a month, yet he already treats you like home—forever within arm's reach, forever looking for one more kiss, forever finding reasons to keep you close. Unfortunately, the rest of the world isn't quite as gentle as the little bubble the two of you have built together.

WARNINGS ◦ family issues (slight angst) ◦ weird pacing bc i just wanted to make them kiss lmfao ◦ depressive thoughts of an athlete my bad ◦ size difference / big boy jobe agenda 🙂 ◦ this is all over the place but it was made with love i swear ◦ making out ◦ not explicit but suggestive ◦ they are both young and in love your honor ◦ mdni

5,337 ━━━━━ oneshot jobe bellingham x reader

۶ৎ 𝓩 , i'm falling for the jobe propaganda and i'm bringing you all down with me. this one is for all my girlies who enjoyed the childhood bsf jobe last time and asked for a part two. even tho this can be read as a standalone and you'll be fine with it, here is my previous jb work if you're interested in reading >< not my proudest work (just needed to get situationship!jobe out of my system lmfao), but still enjoyed writing this one!

━━━━━ read on ao3

You pulled into the familiar driveway of the old Bellingham family home, the tyres crunching softly over the gravel in the late afternoon light. The engine ticked as you switched it off, and for a moment you simply sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, letting the quiet settle around you.

The house looked much the same as it always had, the brickwork warmed by years of English weather, the garden a little overgrown but still recognisable, the same faded blue gate leaning slightly on its hinges. You had driven this route so many times over the years that the turns felt automatic, the landmarks passing without thought: the corner shop where you and Jobe used to buy sweets after school, the park where Jude had once tried to teach you both how to juggle a football and ended up with a bruised knee for his efforts.

Today the air carried the faint scent of cut grass and distant rain, the kind of ordinary English afternoon that made the house feel less empty than it was.

Denise had asked you again last week, her voice warm and matter-of-fact over the phone from Madrid, to keep an eye on things while both sides of the family were scattered. Mark was in Germany with Jobe, Denise and Jude were settled in Spain. The house sat quiet for most of the year now, but someone still needed to water the plants, collect the post, open the windows every so often so the place didn’t start to smell damp.

You had become that someone without anyone ever making it official, a key had simply always been on your ring, passed along through years of holidays and emergencies and quiet reliance.

You were in your final year at university nearby, living in a cramped dorm room that never quite felt like home, so stopping by once or twice a week had become part of your routine. Nobody questioned it anymore, you belonged here in the same effortless way the family did.

You stepped out of the car, slinging your bag over one shoulder, and made your way to the gate. The metal felt cool under your fingers as you unlatched it, the familiar squeak greeting you like an old friend.

The path to the front door was the same as always, a few weeds pushing through the cracks near the step, the flowerbeds Denise tended so carefully now looking a little neglected but still alive. You unlocked the door without knocking, the key turning smoothly in the lock, and slipped inside, kicking off your shoes in the hallway the way you always did. The house smelled faintly of closed-up air and the lavender spray Denise liked to use, a scent that immediately wrapped around you like an embrace.

You moved through the rooms with the unthinking ease of long habit. First the curtains in the living room, pulling them back to let the afternoon light spill across the worn sofa and the coffee table still scattered with old magazines. You opened a window in the conservatory, complaining quietly to yourself about how nobody ever remembered to close it properly, the cool breeze stirring the leaves of the plants lined up along the sill.

Denise had once jokingly insisted they grew better when someone spoke to them, and you had rolled your eyes every single time since, yet here you were again, murmuring nonsense to the monstera as you checked the soil and gave it a careful drink of water from the jug you kept under the sink.

“Don’t tell your mum I forgot last week,” you whispered, the words half-absurd, half-comforting in the quiet house. She felt like a mother to you in ways that still caught you off guard sometimes, especially on days when the absence of your own family pressed a little harder than usual.

In the kitchen you switched the kettle on before doing anything else, the ritual so ingrained you barely noticed yourself doing it. You straightened a crooked family photo on the wall without thinking, one from years ago, you and Jobe as little kids standing beside a slightly taller Jude, all of you grinning wildly at the camera with matching grass stains on your knees. The sight made something twist warmly in your chest.

You thought of the last time you had seen Jobe, barely a month ago now, the way his hands had felt steady on your waist during that first sober kiss, the quiet certainty in his voice when he had suggested a proper date. Since he had returned to Germany the two of you had fallen into something that felt both brand new and deeply familiar. Daily texts, late-night FaceTime calls where one of you would fall asleep mid-sentence, stupid videos sent back and forth across the distance, inside jokes that had grown naturally from shared routines. You knew when his training sessions ended, he knew when your lectures finished.

Neither of you had labelled it, but the feelings were real, the kisses sober and intentional, the way you slipped into behaving like a couple without ever sitting down to define it. Mark and Denise still didn’t know, not because you were hiding, but because it simply hadn’t come up in the scattered conversations across continents.

You moved upstairs briefly to crack open a window in one of the bedrooms, noticing Jude’s old hoodie still draped over the back of a chair, and smiled faintly to yourself. Downstairs again, you checked the dehumidifier in the utility room, emptying the water tray with the same automatic care you always gave it.

The house felt lived in because you made sure it did, a quiet responsibility you had carried for years without fanfare. It was home in the truest sense, not because of blood, but because you had chosen it, and it had chosen you back.

You were folding a blanket left untidy on the sofa, the soft wool familiar under your fingers, when you heard a noise upstairs.

Not loud, but distinct enough to make you pause, hands stilling on the fabric.

The house was supposed to be empty, Denise and Jude were in Madrid, Mark and Jobe were in Germany. You stood very still, listening, the kettle beginning to click and bubble in the kitchen behind you. Probably nothing, you told yourself.

You convinced yourself for a moment it was the old pipes settling, or a bird on the roof. But then it came again, a faint creak of floorboards, the soft sound of movement where there should have been none.

Your heart picked up. You glanced around, instinct more than bravery, and grabbed the nearest thing that felt solid, an umbrella from the stand by the door, its wooden handle cool in your grip. You moved cautiously through the hallway, the stairs creaking under your weight as you climbed, the familiar scent of the house suddenly sharper with tension.

The landing was dim, light filtering weakly from the half-open bedroom doors. You paused outside Jobe’s old room, listening. Another soft sound. Your grip tightened on the umbrella.

The door was ajar. You pushed it open slowly, the hinges giving their familiar whine.

Jobe was standing near the bed, looking exhausted in a way that went deeper than travel. His hair was messy, hoodie creased from the flight, trainers half untied as if he had kicked them off without caring where they landed. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still damp, the puffiness around them impossible to miss even in the soft light. He didn’t look glamorous or composed, he looked like someone who had been quietly falling apart and had nowhere else to go.

“Sam?” The nickname slipped out, confused and soft, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His gaze lifted to you, surprise flickering across his face as he registered the umbrella gripped in your hand, the way you stood frozen in the doorway like an intruder in a house that had always been yours as much as his.

The question was there in his eyes — you? — raw and unguarded, a silent Y/N? that needed no words. It was the kind of look that carried years of shared history, the surprise of finding the one person who had always made the world feel steadier right when everything else had tilted.

You felt it too, that pull, the instinctive need to close the distance, to bridge the sudden, unexpected gap between you. Your feet moved before your mind fully caught up, the floorboards creaking softly under you as you stepped further into the room, the umbrella lowering slowly to your side.

He blinked once, as if grounding himself in the reality of you being there, then took a slow step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Another step, unhurried, giving the moment space to unfold naturally.

“You’re here,” he said quietly, the words rough around the edges with exhaustion and something deeper, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the last bit of space. There was no rush in the way he moved, only the quiet certainty of someone who had been carrying too much and had finally found the one person who made the weight feel bearable.

His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your arm first, then cupping the side of your face with a gentleness that contrasted the tiredness in his posture.

“Didn’t think anyone would be here.”

You didn’t pull away. The umbrella clattered forgotten to the floor as you leaned into the touch, your free hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady, if weary, beat of his heart beneath the fabric.

The kiss, when it came, wasn’t sudden. It built in the shared breath between you, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek as if memorising the familiarity of it all over again. Then his mouth found yours, deep and a little rough around the edges, not from lust but from the simple, desperate need to hold onto something solid after days of everything feeling unsteady.

You yelped softly in surprise as he guided you back toward the wall, breathless, his body following with a quiet urgency that made your heart stutter. You stepped back instinctively at first, stunned, but you didn’t let him go, one hand fisting gently in the front of his hoodie as you kissed him back, the relief of it washing over you both in the quiet room.

The kiss lingered, deepening in the way you had grown used to over the past month, the way Jobe had quietly revealed himself to be someone who loved kissing, who used every stolen moment to his advantage with a clingy affection that still caught you off guard sometimes.

In that first week after waking up in his bed, when he had stretched every off day just to spend more time with you, the two of you had slipped into something that felt more like a couple than anything either of you had admitted out loud. Proper dates that had started awkward and ended with his hand in yours, sober kisses that had grown bolder and more frequent, the kind where he would pull you close in the middle of a conversation or press his mouth to yours in the car before you could even say goodbye.

You had learned quickly that Jobe Bellingham was touchy in the softest ways, fingers brushing your waist when he walked beside you, foreheads touching after a laugh, kisses that started slow and turned needy because he simply couldn’t help himself. He would steal them in the middle of films, in empty car parks, against kitchen counters while the kettle boiled, always with that same quiet intensity that made your knees feel a little unsteady.

This kiss now carried that same neediness, the rush of it not desperation but the accumulated want of weeks apart, the way his free hand slid to your lower back to pull you closer, holding you there as if afraid the moment might slip away.

You kissed him back with equal measure, the familiarity of it grounding you even as your mind wandered briefly to those early dates, the way he had smiled against your mouth the first time you had kissed sober, the quiet laugh he let out when you had teased him for being clingy, the way he had admitted without fanfare that he had wanted to do it for longer than he knew how to say. It wasn’t out of nowhere.

This was Jobe, the same boy who had always been physically affectionate with the people he cared about, now simply directing more of it toward you in the private spaces you had carved out together.

His mouth softened after a moment, the roughness giving way to something sweeter, more lingering, his thumb still stroking your cheek as if he needed the constant point of contact. You melted into it, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his fade out haircut, the taste of him, faint traces of travel and the mint he always chewed on flights, filling your senses in the quiet afternoon light of his old bedroom.

When he finally pulled away enough to breathe, he kept your face between his hands, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. His eyes searched yours, close and intent, the silence stretching between you filled only by the sound of your shared breathing.

You looked up at him, worry tightening in your chest as you noticed the wet lashes, the puffiness, the way his shoulders carried a weight you hadn’t seen in months. You stayed like that for a long moment, simply eyeing each other in the quiet room that had witnessed so many versions of your lives. Your hand came up to cup his where it still held your face, thumb stroking gently over his knuckles, the touch instinctive and tender, the kind of easy affection that came from knowing someone since childhood.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, voice barely disturbing the air between you. “Are you okay?”

He thought about the question for a long beat, eyes flicking away briefly before returning to yours. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the gesture almost embarrassed in its gentleness, as if the vulnerability still felt new.

You repeated the question, quieter this time, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric.

“What happened?” you asked softly, voice barely disturbing the air between you, your fingers still resting against his chest. “You caught a flight back last night?”

He nodded slowly, his thumbs continuing their gentle movement across your skin as if the contact alone helped him stay grounded. “Yeah, a late one. Didn’t tell Dad, didn’t tell Mum either. Just… needed somewhere quiet, so I came here.”

Jobe exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was low, tired, the words coming in pieces rather than a rush.

The words hung for a moment, simple logistics that didn’t quite mask the exhaustion in his eyes. You searched his face, worry deepening as your hand moved to his arm, squeezing lightly.

“Is Mark okay? Did something happen with him?” Your voice betrayed the care you held for the elder couple, the tightness in your grip revealing the worriness you felt.

Jobe shook his head, the motion small and tired. “No., dad’s fine. It’s not… it’s not that.”

You kept your hand on him, thumb tracing absent circles against his sleeve, the gesture automatic. “Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve picked you up from the airport or—”

He cut you off gently, not with words but by guiding you away from the wall with the same quiet care, his arm slipping around your waist as he led you toward the bed. The mattress dipped under your combined weight as you both sat, close enough that your knees brushed, his hand never leaving your side. The room felt smaller in that moment, the familiar posters and scattered trainers grounding the conversation in the ordinary. He took a slow breath, eyes dropping to your joined hands for a beat before he spoke again.

“I fought with Dad first,” he said quietly, the admission coming after another pause, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. “Then over the phone with Mum, I said some stuff I regret. Didn’t mean most of it, but it came out anyway.”

You listened without interrupting, your free hand coming up to rest on his knee, the touch light but present. Only then did he continue, voice low and steady against the ordinary sounds of the house.

“Borussia hasn’t gone the way I hoped,” he said eventually, the admission quiet. “Performances have dipped, coach is talking about benching me. For the first time since leaving Sunderland, it feels like the pressure from everyone, Mum, Dad, the headlines, the comparisons, it’s all sitting on my chest at once. It fucking sucks.”

He didn’t elaborate with long explanations. He simply let the words sit, his hands still gentle on yours as you listened, your thumb continuing its slow stroke over his knuckles. You didn’t offer solutions or bright reassurances, you simply nodded, leaning into him a little more, your body fitting against his in the way it had started to over the last month.

“That must’ve hurt,” you murmured after a while, the words simple and honest. Your hand moved to his back, rubbing slow circles there, the motion automatic and comforting. “I know what you’re capable of, Sam,” you said quietly after a long pause, voice steady and low, the nickname slipping out like it always did when you needed him to hear you. “I’ve watched you train through injuries, through bad games, through everything. This isn’t the first time things have felt heavy. Remember when you were breaking into the first team at Sunderland? You thought the world was ending after that one rough patch, and look where you are now.”

Jobe let out a shaky breath, his head tilting slightly toward you, forehead nearly brushing your temple. His hand found your knee, fingers curling loosely around it as if anchoring himself. “It fucking sucks,” he muttered again, the words rough and tired, no filter left after the flight and the fight. “Feels like I’m letting everyone down. Mom and Dad, the coach… it’s all piling up.”

You didn’t rush to contradict him. You knew this version of him, the one who carried the weight of expectations like it was his alone to bear, from years of watching him process disappointments on football pitches and in quiet conversations just like this.

Instead you shifted closer on the bed, your thigh pressing against his, one arm slipping fully around his waist as you continued the slow rub along his back. “One bad season isn’t the end of the world,” you said gently, the words woven into the steady motion of your hand. “And if the coach is already thinking about benching you this early, clearly Borussia has bigger problems than just you. You’re twenty, you’ve got time, you run like a beast. You’ve always figured it out before.”

“Doesn’t feel like it right now,” he admitted eventually, voice thick with the stress that had been building for weeks. “Every training session, every match… it’s like I’m waiting for the next mistake. Dad was trying to help, but it came out all wrong. Mum on the phone… I said things I shouldn’t have. Just wanted it to stop.”

You nodded against his shoulder, your free hand coming up to brush a strand of curl from his forehead, the touch lingering as you let him vent.

You had seen him like this a thousand times over the years — frustrated, overwhelmed, the competitive fire that made him brilliant also making the lows feel endless. So you let him be, your body a steady presence beside him, fingers still tracing those slow circles on his back while your other hand rested on his thigh, thumb stroking lightly.

“We can talk about solutions when you’re ready,” you said after another comfortable silence, voice calm and practical. “Maybe reach out to Mark first, tell him you needed space but you’re okay. Then Denise. They love you, they’ll understand once the heat dies down. And for Borussia… you’ve got people there who rate you. Use the time off to reset, train smart, not just hard. You’ve done it before.”

Jobe exhaled again, longer this time, his arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you closer until you were tucked against his side, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. The physical closeness felt as natural as breathing, the kind of quiet intimacy you had built over the last month, stolen touches during dates, late-night calls where words gave way to comfortable silence.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, the word heavy but less sharp. “Maybe. It still sucks though.”

You smiled faintly against his hoodie, your hand continuing its soothing path along his back. “I know. But you’re not alone in it, not even a little.”

The conversation unfolded slowly like that, ebbing between his frustrations and your steady presence, the two of you shifting until you were both lying back against the pillows, bodies tangled in the easy way that had become second nature. His head eventually found your shoulder, your fingers carding through his hair as he talked through more of the pressure, the comparisons, the fear of stalling when he had only just started.

You listened, offered small, practical thoughts when the silence invited them, reminded him of past comebacks without turning it into a speech. Only later, when the tension in his frame had softened further, did you bring it up again.

“You shouldn’t have left without telling anyone,” you said quietly, your hand still in his hair, the words gentle but firm. “Mark must be going crazy right now, thinking something happened. Call him soon, yeah? Even if it’s just to say you’re here and you’re alright.”

Jobe nodded against you, his arm tightening around your waist in silent agreement, the domestic warmth of the moment wrapping around you both like the house itself had been waiting for exactly this.

You stayed like that for a while longer, the conversation easing into a comfortable quiet as the afternoon light continued its slow shift across the room. His breathing grew steadier, the tension in his frame melting further under the steady rhythm of your fingers in his hair and the gentle press of your body against his.

Eventually he shifted, turning more fully toward you on the bed so that his head rested more comfortably against your shoulder. “I missed you,” he murmured, the words low and simple against your skin, his breath warm. “Didn’t even realise how much until you walked in holding that umbrella... Wasn’t expecting it, but I’m grateful, really.”

His hand slid slowly up your side, fingers tracing idle patterns along your ribs through the fabric of your shirt, the touch growing more intentional as he wound down, the exhaustion giving way to the easy affection you had come to expect from him. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before trailing down to your cheek.

The kisses were unhurried, almost absentminded, the kind that came naturally when he was like this, touchy and clingy in the quiet way that had become one of your favourite things about the last month.

You felt him smile against your skin as his mouth brushed the corner of your jaw, then lower to the side of your neck, one hand slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest warm and steady against the small of your back.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound bubbling up despite yourself as his fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing the line of your spine. “You’re being extra handsy today,” you teased lightly, tilting your head to give him better access even as you rolled your eyes in fond amusement. “Anyone would think you hadn’t seen me in years instead of a few weeks.”

Jobe hummed against your neck, the vibration sending a small shiver through you, but there was nothing urgent in it, just the simple, winding-down need to be close.

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled, pressing another kiss just below your ear before pulling back enough to look at you, his eyes softer now, the puffiness around them less pronounced. His hand stayed under your shirt, palm flat and warm against your skin, thumb stroking slow circles there as if the contact alone helped him stay present. “Missed this, missed you.”

The admission landed gently, no pressure behind it, only the honest relief of having you there in the one place that had always felt safe. You turned your face toward his, your own hand coming up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing away the last trace of dampness from his lashes.

“I love you, you know that?”

“You already told me that, princess. I love you too.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

“I know, thanks.” He smiled faintly against your palm, the expression tired but real. “You also told me that on our first date.”

You rolled your eyes, the familiar teasing pulling a soft laugh from you despite everything. “Can’t I try to comfort you once again? I’m trying to be a good person here!”

Jobe laughed quietly, the sound low and warm in his chest as he shifted closer, his tall frame curling around you on the bed with that effortless strength he carried so naturally. “I know,” he murmured, voice rough with affection. “I love you for this.”

The words hung between you for a heartbeat before his mouth found yours again, the kiss picking up where the earlier one had left off, deeper this time, slower, the kind that built gradually as his large hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair.

He was so tall and broad that even lying beside you he seemed to envelop the space, his body a solid, grounding weight as he rolled half over you, one strong arm bracing beside your head while the other pulled you closer.

The kiss turned heated, his mouth moving with a needy intensity that had you sighing into him, your hands fisting in his hoodie as the familiar rush of him — tall, huge, overwhelmingly present — made everything else fade. His free hand wandered lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt again, palm warm and possessive against your skin as the kiss grew messier, more urgent, his breath coming heavier against your lips.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, a breathless laugh escaping you as you pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palm. “Weren’t you crying minutes ago?” you teased, voice light and fond, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw even as you gently pushed him back a fraction.

Jobe let out a low, amused sound, eyes dark and half-lidded as he looked down at you. “Shut up,” he muttered, the words carrying no heat at all before he ducked his head again, capturing your mouth in another deep kiss.

His huge frame pressed you further into the mattress, strong arms caging you in with that effortless power as the kiss continued, slower this time but no less consuming, the quiet room filling with the soft sounds of it and the steady rhythm of two people who had finally stopped pretending they could keep any distance at all.

You sighed into the kiss, your own hands fisting in his hoodie before slipping underneath to trace the solid lines of his back, feeling the way his muscles shifted under your touch. He made a low sound in his throat, the kiss turning hotter, more consuming, his hips shifting against yours in a slow roll that sent heat pooling low in your belly. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then down the side of your neck, open-mouthed and lingering, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him as his hand slid higher under your shirt, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

You were both breathing harder now, bodies tangled and pressing closer, the quiet room filled with the soft sounds of it, the rustle of fabric, the shared breaths, the faint creak of the old bed beneath you. His kisses grew needier, less controlled, the tall, huge frame of him surrounding you completely as he settled more fully between your legs, one strong thigh nudging yours apart.

The air between you felt thick, charged with the kind of want that had been building since the moment he had walked you back against the wall earlier. Your hands tugged at his hoodie, pulling it higher, fingers tracing the warm skin of his sides as his mouth returned to yours, deep and devouring, the kiss turning into something that felt inevitable, bodies moving together in a slow, heated rhythm that promised more.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, a breathless laugh escaping you as you pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. “What time did you have to catch your flight back?” you managed, voice soft and teasing even as your fingers traced the line of his collarbone, the question a gentle reminder that the world outside this room still existed.

Jobe let out a low, frustrated sound against your neck, his strong arms tightening around you for a moment longer, hips still pressed close in a way that left little doubt where things had been heading. But he didn’t push, he simply kissed you once more, slow and lingering, before resting his forehead against yours with a quiet laugh of his own, the sound warm and fond in the quiet space between you.

“Two hours max?” he answered, voice rough and a little breathless, the words brushing against your lips as he stayed close, one large hand still splayed possessively across your lower back.

You let out a soft laugh of your own, tilting your head just enough to nudge your nose against his, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the back of his neck. “Two hours? That’s all the warning I get before you turn back into a responsible professional footballer who has to catch flights and leave me here for another month?”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours, his thumb stroking slow circles just under the hem of your shirt. “Guess I’ll have to make the most of it then,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar half-smile, teasing and fond all at once. “Unless you’re planning to kick me out before I even get a proper cup of tea, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing lightly at his shoulder even as you kept him close, your legs still tangled with his on the bed. “As if I could get rid of you when you’re like this. You’re worse than a stray cat once you decide you’re staying.”

Jobe’s laugh was low and easy, his forehead still resting against yours as he stole one last quick kiss, light and playful this time. “Good thing you already know that,” he said, the banter wrapping around you both like the familiar warmth of the house itself.

The ordinary afternoon continued on around you, the distant sounds of the neighbourhood filtering in through the open window, but for now the two of you remained exactly where you were, tangled, teasing, and quietly content in the small world you had carved out together.

author's note — if you enjoyed and would like to see more of my football works, click here bebs >< SITUATIONSHIP JOBE SITUATIONSHIP JOBE SITUATIONSHIP JOBE yes, i know. i'm joking, they are going to be the best couple out there, just give them time. THANK YOU FOR READING.

TAGLIST — @hesperisms @caratchronicles @candidupped @fairybalance647 @ingydingyy

[whasabi]

── loving you ( awkwardly ) ! ⌗ 7️⃣

headcannons & habits of awkward bf!jobe !

content warnings: none. gn!reader.

── ( j.b. ) jobe is still figuring out how to be someone's boyfriend.

he overthinks almost everything at first. after every date, he'll replay the entire day in his head wondering if he talked too much, if he should've held your hand sooner, or if that joke actually landed. meanwhile, you're already planning the next time you'll see him, completely unaware that he's been analyzing every interaction for the last three hours.

── ( j.b. ) compliments genuinely catch him off guard.

he can take praise on the pitch just fine, but the second you tell him he's handsome or that you missed him, it's like his brain short-circuits. he'll duck his head with a quiet laugh, rub the back of his neck, and mumble something like, "you're just saying that."

he never quite knows what to do with the butterflies you give him.

── ( j.b. ) he always ducks down without realizing it.

whether he's hugging you, listening to you talk in a crowded room, or posing for a picture together, he'll instinctively lower himself so you don't have to strain to reach him. it's become such an unconscious habit that he doesn't even notice anymore until you laugh and tell him he looks like he's folding himself in half just to hear what you're saying.

── ( j.b. ) he accidentally stares at you.

not in an intense way.

more like he'll be listening to you talk, completely invested in whatever story you're telling, only to realize halfway through that he hasn't responded in thirty seconds because he got distracted watching you smile.

when you ask, "why are you looking at me like that?"

he'll blink.

"...sorry."

he doesn't even know he was doing it.

── ( j.b. ) he's awkward whenever he wants a kiss.

instead of just asking, he'll suddenly hover closer than usual. he'll stand beside you in the kitchen for absolutely no reason. sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a couch that definitely has enough space.

look at you.

look away.

look back again.

eventually you sigh, cup his face, and kiss him first. he smiles so hard afterward that you wonder why he didn't just ask.

── ( j.b. ) he's terrified of accidentally hurting you.

he'll hesitate before pulling you into a hug or playfully nudging your shoulder, always second-guessing how much strength he's using. if the two of you are messing around and you dramatically go, "ow," even as a joke, he'll freeze immediately.

"...did i actually hurt you?"

the panic on his face is so genuine that you end up laughing and reassuring him for the next five minutes.

── ( j.b. ) he's constantly reaching for your hand... then second-guesses himself.

his fingers will brush yours while you're walking.

he'll almost intertwine them.

then he'll hesitate for a split second, wondering if now's the right time. you always notice. so you slip your hand into his first. the relieved smile he gives you afterward is so small that anyone else would've missed it.

── ( j.b. ) physical affection becomes easier once he's comfortable.

the awkwardness never really disappears.

it just changes.

he still blushes sometimes, but now he'll absentmindedly lean against you while watching a movie or rest his head on your shoulder without thinking. months into the relationship, he'll catch himself doing it and quietly laugh because there was a time when simply holding your hand felt like the bravest thing he'd ever done.

── ( j.b. ) he gets embarrassed when people point out how obvious he is around you.

his teammates don't even have to say anything.

one raised eyebrow after they catch him smiling at his phone is enough.

he immediately flips his screen over.

"what?"

"nothing."

"...why are you lot looking at me like that?"

he already knows. his ears are red before they even answer.

── ( j.b. ) he's terrible at flirting on purpose.

he'll think of something smooth to say. rehearse it in his head. walk over confidently...

and somehow end up asking if you've eaten today. you laugh every single time. he pretends he meant to say that. even though he absolutely didn't.

── ( j.b. ) he remembers tiny details because paying attention comes naturally to him.

you'll mention your favorite snack once, and two weeks later he'll show up with it without making a big deal out of it. he'll notice when you've changed your perfume, when you've cut half an inch off your hair, or when you're quieter than usual. he isn't always the best at finding the perfect words, but he's incredibly observant, and his way of loving often shows up in the little things he notices before anyone else does.

── ( j.b. ) he never stops getting a little nervous around you.

even after months together, there are moments where he'll look at you and have the same butterflies he had on your first date. you'll catch him smiling to himself after you've looked away or hear him laugh quietly when he realizes he's still getting flustered over someone who already calls him theirs. he secretly hopes that feeling never goes away, because to him, it means he'll never stop choosing you.

[judesboots]

༄ self-respect !

warnings: slight suggestive content

pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!reader

summary: everyone’s convinced that y/n’s dating jude, but turns out, it’s the other bellingham brother - requested.

jude bellingham uploaded to his story!

REPLIES

y/n: u look dumb -> judebellingham: thx, looks inspired by you ☺️ -> y/n: lose my number

jobebellingham: congrats mate!! -> judebellingham: cheers lad, tell your girlfriend to pattern up. -> jobebellingham: No

trent: 😂 -> judebellingham: oi whats funny

user1: is this a hint to y/n…. 👀

y/n

liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, trent, zaralarsson and 3.6 million others caption: looking like someone’s trophy girlfriend 😮‍💨🏆

user1: ughhhh motherrrrr 😩

user2: so… anyone else see jude posted with a trophy yesterday? no? just me…okay 👀 -> user3: they’re definitely dating -> user4: what’s stopping her from dating him 😏 -> y/n: self respect -> judebellingham: 😀😀

jobebellingham: 🤩🤩 -> user5: commenting on his sister-in-law’s post -> user6: her post could literally be about him, he posted his own trophy too -> user7: why would she date jobe, though? she could easily pull jude and he’s richer and more popular…. -> user8: that’s such a weird thing to say btw

morning sunlight spilled through the gap in the curtains, painting soft golden lights across the duvet.

jobe had been awake for the last ten minutes, with absolutely no plans on getting out of bed.

y/n was tucked impossibly close against him, one arm lazily draped across his waist, her cheek resting just beneath his collarbone.

he found himself absentmindedly running his fingers through the ends of her hair, watching as sunlight bounced off of it.

y/n made the smallest sound in her sleep, nose scrunching for barely a second before settling again.

jobe’s phone buzzed on the table as he reached for it slowly, stretching just enough to grab it without disturbing her.

the screen lit up immediately, flashing an instagram notification at him.

y/n’s post, as usual, was the first on his feed.

she’d looked gorgeous at her event last night, the gold jacket she’d been wearing now thrown over a chair along with the rest of her clothes.

it was safe to say, jobe had definitely enjoyed that look last night.

he smiled to himself. he liked the caption.

that was, until, his eyes drifted past it, and down to the comments.

almost every single one was about jude.

the story makes sense now!!

they’re actually so cute together

jude hard launch??

his eyebrows pulled together as he scrolled down, all the comments regurgitating some variation of the other ones.

mrs bellingham??

jobe sighed quietly. technically true, just not the brother they thought.

“what’s got you s’frowny so early?”

jobe looked down. he hadn’t even registered she was awake, sleep clinging to y/n’s every word, eyes still closed.

she’d shifted to nuzzle closer to him, one hand on his chest, tracing patterns against his hot skin.

“morning,” he murmured, turning his phone off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

a sleepy hum.

“you wake?” 

“mhm,” she mumbled again, her cheek still pressed to his chest, his heartbeat thumping softly beneath her ear.

“you don’t sound very sure,” 

“i’m deciding,”

“on?”

“if opening my eyes is worth it,” 

jobe snorted, lips twitching into a small smile. even half-asleep, she still managed to make him laugh.

“and?”

“not yet,” 

silence settled between them, not awkward, but comfortable. the sort of silence that didn’t need filling.

jobe grabbed his phone again, holding it above them.

“they all think you’re dating jude,”

that got one eye open,

“…what?”

jobe angled the screen towards her as she blinked slowly, taking a few seconds for the words to properly register.

he watched as she read comment after comment, eyebrows knitting together before a small smile appear on her lips.

“you’ve been reading these?” 

“for a while,”

“you’ve wound yourself up,”

y/n’s fingers reached up, letting her fingertips linger against his temple before dropping down to his jaw.

“they don’t know,” she whispered.

“i know,”

“they’re just guessing,” 

“i know,”

her hand drifted up again, resting lightly against his cheek, jobe’s hand moving up to rest on top of hers, leaning into her touch.

“it doesn’t matter what they think,” she said firmly, looking up slightly as he hummed. half of him wanted to agree with her, that he was acting jealous and possessive.

but the other half, the other half hated it.

jobe hated scrolling through hundreds of comments talking about his own brother, when she’d spent the night with him.

sometimes he found himself imagining if she had dated jude instead, like the comments thought.

the thought hurt.

“it does matter a bit,” 

“jobe…”

“they’re all sat there saying how good you and jude look together,” he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, “an’ i can’t even say they’re wrong,”

“kiss me,”

his brows pinched together slightly, confused.

“what?”

“i said kiss me,”

y/n didn’t give him a chance to question it, before she lifted herself Judy enough to close the distance between them.

her lips found his in a slow, sleepy kiss as he hummed into her mouth, his hand finding the side of her face instinctively, thumb brushing against her cheek.

they only pulled back when they both needed air, y/n’s cheek resting comfortably on his chest.

“I’ve never looked at jude the way i look at you,” 

his heart squeezed.

“i’ve ever wanted to wake up next to jude,” she paused again, “and i’ve definitely never kissed jude,”

that finally earned the smile y/n had been waiting for.

“you make me sound needy,” jobe hummed, letting her pull him into a soft kiss again.

“you are needy,” 

“just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he let out a breath, pressing a kiss to her lips again after.

“they will know,” y/n whispered, “when we’re ready,”

their lips met again, moving in tandem against each other, soft and slow, no urgency behind the movement.

“should we get up?” she pulled back, eyes flicking to the alarm clock on the side. almost midday.

before she even had a chance to mention it, jobe moved, his arms caging her in against the mattress as she gasped.

“not a chance,” 

jude’s house had always been loud.

not because there were loads of people round, but because someone was always talking.

usually jude.

or y/n.

the two of them had discovered very quickly that winding each other up was a lot more entertaining than acting like adults, leaving jobe to watch in slight confusion and amusement.

“you’re unbelievable,” jude shook his head as he returned from the kitchen.

“what’ve i done now?” y/n looked up innocently from where she was curled into the corner of the sofa.

“you’ve eaten all the biscuits,”

“i’ve had two,”

he let out an exaggerated sigh, setting down the mugs of hot chocolate down onto the coffee table.

jobe shrugged, one arm still slung lazily around y/n’s shoulders. 

“i’ve learnt not to argue,” 

y/n nodded approvingly, leaning comfortably against his side as his hand traced gently patterns just under the hem of her skirt.

“you’re both a nightmare,” 

“yet you invited us,”

“started to regret it,”

a quiet laugh escaped y/n as she reached forwards for her mug.

a comfortable silence settled over them for a second as jude checked his phone, y/n’s finger tracing patterns on the back of jobe’s hand.

a few minutes passed, before a snort broke the silence.

“what?” y/n looked over.

jude turned the screen towards them, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face.

“the comments are getting worse,”

“they’re still going?”

countless comments under jude’s latest post, almost every single one mentioning y/n in some sort of way.

y/n couldn’t help the smile on her face.

it was ridiculous, really.

jude snickered too, scrolling further down, an amused smile on his face as he looked to jobe, only to see that he was very much not laughing.

he lowered his hand slowly, dropping his phone onto the sofa.

“you lot aren’t funny,” jobe pulled his arm from round y/n, pushing himself off the sofa towards the kitchen.

y/n swallowed for a second. even jude, who usually had a hard time shutting up, had gone quiet.

“shit,” he muttered.

“shit,” she echoed his word, watching as jobe disappeared into the kitchen.

she hadn’t ever thought about just how hurtful it would be for jobe, reading the comments almost every day about how jude probably treats y/n so well.

she followed him into the kitchen a few minutes later.

jobe was by the sink, scrubbing at the same plate he’d been cleaning for the past ten minutes, every one of those comments running through his mind.

“baby?”

he didn’t look up.

“are you okay?”

“fine,”

one word answers from jobe were never good. y/n swallowed, stepping closer.

“jobe-,”

“y’seemed comfortable with jude inside,” he paused, “just go back to him,”

“jobe, no, that’s not what that was,” y/n’s eyes widened. he’d always been possessive of her, and she loved it. but to ever insinuate she’d have feelings for his own brother was beyond her.

“looked like it,”

y/n paused for a second. “jobe, look at me,”

he didn’t move.

“baby, please,” she took his hand, as he finally placed the plate into the rack, arms folded across his chest, “talk to me,”

jobe’s gaze moved everywhere but on her, before he finally sighed.

“‘m sick of those comments, y/n,” he dropped his arms to the side, “i know we’re keepin’ it to a secret cuz we’re not ready but…i dont like the idea of you and jude,”

“baby, you know that’d never happen,” she stepped forwards, taking his hands into hers, “‘m yours and yours only,”

jobe sighed.

it felt stupid, to be this jealous of something he knew wasn’t even true.

“i know,”

“so?”

“just want everyone else t’know too,”

“if you want that, then we can make it happen, okay? i’ll make a post,” y/n smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“you’re the best, y’know that?” he wrapped his arm right round her waist, deepening the kiss.

she hummed into his mouth, arms round his neck.

his tongue pushed against her lower lip, pulling her body impossibly closed, arms tight round her waist. she could feel the heat radiating off of him as their lips moved in a slow, steady rhythm-

“not in my kitchen, you nasty shits,” jude smacked his brother on the back of the neck with a towel as they jumped apart.

“alright- alright, i get it!” jobe threw his arms over his face to protect himself as y/n laughed, hiding behind her boyfriend.

“disgusting!”

y/n

liked by jobebellingham, judebellingham, trent and 7.8 million others caption: y’all had the right family i guess 😭

jobebellingham: gorgeous girl ❤️ -> user1: THEYRE SO CUTEEEEEE!! -> user2: ho wasn’t u saying how she was dating jude 😭 -> y/n: 🫶🏾

judebellingham: right. -> y/n: delete your account -> judebellingham: why -> y/n: shits and giggles, idk, stop asking questions

jaafarjackson: congrats!! -> y/n: get outta here unc 😭 when’s part two coming out -> jaafarjackson: never 😕

jermajestyjackson: CONGRATULATIONS!! -> y/n: congratJERlations -> user3: CRYINGGGG

zaralarsson: CUTIEEEEE

bvb09: why is jobe not at practise? -> y/n: tf 😭 message him or something -> bvb09: 🆗 -> user4: i think we’re all lost

judebellingham: delete that photo -> erling: @/y/n, send it to me please

erling: nice 👍 -> y/n: thanks goat

cynthiaerivo: jude haha 😂

select tags here

i kinda love writing smau’s…if i say i wanna write another 👀?

taglist: @haileyslifee @smzyyx @poplolitam @tremendousthingherodean-blog @christinecantdance @j3ons4 @winterosco @readerhahahaidk @wiingedhearts @prvncessvibes @humannaturess @cupidslyrics @camillemonroe @botdfaholic @riyallure @jermajestic @llenn002 @mimosathetequila @mikaylajacksonnn @multifandomposts-blog

[jinxedmuse]

you want it? say so, — jobe bellingham

in which: two best friends who've always tethered the line of their friendship with something more, spend a special night together

or; in which jobe just can't seem to keep his hands off you after being apart from each other for a month

playlist: why don’t we fall in love — amerie, who said — clara la san, full moon — brandy, needy — Ariana grande, so anxious — genuwine, classic — drake, sex in the rain — MoKenStef, when we oooo — Janet Jackson, can I — drake ft beyonce, feenin’ — jodeci, acts of service — doja cat

authors note: hey babes, i’m back after my last adrian fic! it’s been a long time but I’ve definitely seen and felt all the love while away, so thank you so much! a lot has happened since then but you’ll be pleased to know I have more time to write now so I’ll be pumping a few out (feel free to send req too!!!) before i inevitably go mia again 🙈. as always, I hope you enjoy & if u do plz lmk + reblog <3

warnings/tags: smut (mdni) a bit cheesy so fluff if you squint (but I won't tag it as that lol), !femreader/pussy mentioned, plot with porn, best friends to ???, Jobe is a bit inexperienced but it's endearing, lotsss of macking, surprisingly no actual PIV sex (I know, who am I??? a nun? christ sakes!), cunnilingus, finger stuff, handie, ab riding, spit etc

visual representation of *that* scene, p!link …yh need him to do that to #ME

wc: 7.7K 🥲…don’t look at me i want him sb yall

You hear the soft patter of rain outside, blended with a grating ring from your phone waking you from sleep.

One arm now outstretched, searching for your phone on the table in front of you. Sleep still in your shut eyes.

You peel them open to see the contact disturbing your sleep; the white font across the screen reads "Jobe-iwan Bellingham" in front of a photo of him with a wide smile, his face half covered by the heart he was making with his hands—a picture you'd taken of him at a restaurant you both loved to frequent.

A swipe and click of the speakerphone button, and his husky voice filled your living room,

"Have I woken you?"

You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face at the sound of his distinctive, brummie-laced voice; it'd been weeks, if not a month, since you had seen each other, let alone spoken. You'd only sent words of encouragement from time to time, never had a real conversation.

What went from frequent hangouts quickly diminished once Jobe signed for Dortmund. The last proper hangout was right after he found out you were in school, with taxing classes taking up most of your time and his own rigorous football schedule; you hardly had any time.

"You know you have." You slug out, voice still a bit hoarse from the lengthy nap you took.

His familiar giggling follows, then a bit of shuffling and the sound of a door closing on the other side of the line.

You get up, stretching the sleep out of your body, and make your way to your kitchen: a switch and the big light hums on. You set your phone down on the kitchen island and turn to an overhead cupboard, grab a glass, and spin to the sink to get some water to soothe your throat. A single gulp, and he's back.

"It's cool. I know you've been looking forward to this," he teases

You feign a shocked scoff. "Someone's got a big head, eh?"

"Oh, relax, I've been eager for this as well…"

His confession throws you off guard; he always had a habit of slipping something in that would divert you from your casual back-and-forth banter. You didn't even fully realize you'd gone quiet until he spoke up again,

"I am still good to come over, right?"

You pull yourself out of your thoughts and back into reality. "Yeah, of course. When'll you get here, you think?"

You hear the familiar sound of car keys jingling before you even finish the sentence, another door opening and closing, and the background noise fades away completely. You set your glass down and turn back to your cupboards, searching through them until you find the jackpot: two small 16oz boxes of pancake mix. You close the cupboard and set them down next to the stove.

"Leaving now, should reach your flat in like 20."

Oddly, a rabble of butterflies erupts in your stomach; it's a casual sentence you've heard countless times since getting your own place, but it always feels like the first time.

"Mhm, drive safe."

"See you." And with that, the line hangs up.

You look around your place, actually really clean. Jobe's seen it in worse condition anyway. You finish setting out everything you'll need once he's here, and with the spare time, you decide to freshen up.

In true Jobe fashion, he shows up exactly 20 minutes later, using the spare key you had handed him whenever he needed a place to crash to get out of the way for a bit, even if you weren't there, to let himself in.

You hear the front door open as you swish and spit out your mouthwash.

He calls out your name as he's locking the door, and you make your way out of your bathroom to find him already making himself comfortable on your couch, shoes kicked off and crisp white Nike fitted feet brought up, his long limbs outstretched, and eyes closed.

You couldn't help but quietly admire the view splayed out before you, your best friend, Jobe Bellingham. His skin was a shade tanner than you remembered, but it still held that constant glow you thought only came from a facial; he swears by his skincare routine. His lashes were uncharacteristically long when he rested like this and His full lips, a blushed pink, the kind that always distracted you whenever he spoke.

You didn't realize how close you were until he pulled you into a bear hug, strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you flush with him and dropping your head face-first into the couch. 

His touchy nature was something you'd grown used to. Knowing it stemmed from such an affectionate family, he gave it out easily and got as much back. It no longer took you off guard; his casual touches were something you secretly found comfort in.

"Smooth, real smooth," you mutter, muffled against a pillow. You feel the rumble of his laugh beneath you.

"Miss me?" he asks softly, sincerely in this moment with just you two. You strain your neck the opposite way, trying your hardest not to nuzzle your face into the crook of his own and inhale his scent you haven't gotten to smell in too fucking long. The warmth of his body enveloped you, even though his hoodie still had a few raindrops on it and was slightly cool from just coming outside.

"Maybe," you relent, never giving him satisfaction unless he tugged it out of you. "Did you?" you ask. Once he doesn't say anything, you let him fill out the rest of the sentence, and you feel him nodding; you could even swear he squeezed tighter for an instant as well

"Too much," his voice rasped,

This was the second time tonight his confession rendered you uselessly stunned. With nothing to say, you let your body weight relax onto him completely, hoping that would show what you couldn't muster yourself to say as easily as he did. You almost drift off to sleep again when a growling stomach- his- interrupts the comfortable silence

You laugh first, and his follows, his body reverberating against yours. You decide to push yourself up and out of his arms, slipping out easily once he drops them and sits up from the couch as well.

"C'mon, mate," you say, nodding your head towards the kitchen, "let's get some food in you."

You lead the way, Jobe following closely behind you. He always infiltrated your space like this, making all your senses focus on him. Sometimes it felt as though he did it on purpose, but he was blissfully unaware of the effect he had on anyone; nevertheless, you.

"Oh, you're the best," he mutters once his sights are set on the preparation laid out on the kitchen island before him, his large frame slipping past you, and he's ahead of you in just two big steps. He snags a strawberry from one of the platters and leans forward, arms crossed against the counter.

You slip past him, next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, looking at the various options in front of you both, "So, where'd ya want to start first?"

He plays as though he's thinking, brows furrowing, but you shove his shoulder a bit, already seeing through the facade and catching what he was trying to do. You playfully slap the hand creeping over to yet another strawberry, but he's quicker, popping it into his mouth, end first, with a shit-eating grin

"If you keep at it, we'll have to split it like 5 each way. At least let me slice them first," you whine, moving the plate of fruit from his side to yours.

Jobe can't help but find you cute when you pout, so he straightens up, stretching first before striking a salute. "Yes, chef, understood, chef."

You divvy up the task, and a flow finally enters the kitchen.

While you're whipping up batter, he finishes setting up the plates and greasing the pan on the stove.

Jobe takes a swipe of the batter and tries to lick it, but before he can bring it to his mouth, you're already judging him

"Right, so that's actually just gross."

Your commentary makes him pause, but he grows a mischievous look on his face and wipes it on the bottom of your nose.

You're both blank-faced for an instant, his having to do with how unsure he is of how much he's tested his luck tonight.

You break first, setting the bowl on the table and bursting into laughter, which he soon follows, leaning into your space.

Suddenly, he puts your face in his large hands on either side. Looking down at you with something so uncertain you can physically feel your heart beating rapidly.

This moment reminded you of a time a couple of months ago, before he ever left. While you were both at a club, the music's bass was shaking up the entire place, a frenzy of lights illuminating only your faces, heated bodies everywhere.

When he had suddenly leaned down and done as he was right now, bringing your face close to his, lips merely inches away from sealing a fate you're sure you'd both blame on the atmosphere and the alcohol.

So you preemptively close your eyes, but then you feel a slight wet sensation from the tip of your nose to your bridge, and you grimace, eyes open

He's backed up, laughing so hard he's folded himself and is holding onto the kitchen island

“You're actually so fucking odd"

"Ah cmon im not that bad," he finally manages once he's caught his breath

“You're impossible, actually,” correcting him, going back to whisking the batter with a bit of force. Once you're done, you place yourself in front of the stove with him across from you.

You're frying the pancakes, and he's leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, just staring at you, so you ask about his last game 

“You had time to catch that?”

“I watch all your games... or at least I try to.”

The growing smile on his face is clear enough to show how he really feels, dimples making their signature display. “Hm, okay, super fan”

“You're so annoying,” you deadpan, removing the pancake you'd just done and pouring more batter into the pan.

“Nah, I'm joking, but Jude kinda prepped me for all that, so I know my way around it. Besides, the support is nice; it still feels unreal on the pitch sometimes.”

“I'm sure it is; you deserve it”

“Yours is nice too”

Heart pounding, you start smelling a slight edge, so u flip the pancake and lower the heat. You can still feel him looking at you, and when you look back, you feel yourself naturally gravitating to him. Each step felt like you were floating

You stopped right in front of him, and he gave you a cocked head with a confused expression. You brought your hand up to his face, barely touching his brow ridge. "What's with the brick wall screening? You've only got one head, y'know?"

The remark cracked a wheezed laugh out of him, his own hand coming up to take yours in his, not letting go yet.

"I'm telling you, they're a lot smaller than they look. Don't see em till they're already properly going down." He retorts with a pout

"So you're just that huge now that you aren't aware of your surroundings?"

“Yeah, I am. You've noticed, haven't you?” he asks, squeezing his hand around yours a bit

Oh, you've noticed.

He lets go and clears his throat, looks around the kitchen, and you gather yourself as well, returning to the stove and removing the pancake. Repeating the process, adding more batter to the pan, “What are you looking for?"

He says nothing until he spots your minibar stacked against the wall next to the kitchen

“Have you got the fancy wine glasses?” He asks while making his way to the makeshift bar, inspecting your selection of drinks

You nod before even looking at him and reach for the cabinet in front of you once more, getting out two glasses of wine

He creeps up behind you with champagne

"Champagne and pancakes, biblical levels of greed" you joke

He laughs; “gotta have a proper celebration"

And after almost 40 minutes of Hell's Kitchen for 6 pancakes, gossiping about missed information there was no time to message about, breaking into at least 2 dance breaks, the mess was borderline abysmal—an issue for later.

He carries both plates over for you two, and you carry the wine glasses, full to the brim with sparkling rosé champagne, as you both head back to the living room and decide to sit on the floor in front of the table. You're knee to knee, beside each other, yours slightly resting on his much larger thigh.

You take a sip from your glass before you dig in, he tugs off his hoodie in the same boyish, overhead way all men seem to do, and you have to pretend to search for the remote to avoid staring at his body. It's like every time you see him again after a while, he gets even more swole.

He tosses it on the couch as you turn the telly on. "Got a pick in mind?" You ask, looking straight ahead.

He shimmies closer, your full thigh now atop his, and rests his right arm on it before plucking the remote from your hand with his left. All in your space.

You go to scooch over a bit, and he brings his right arm up and around your shoulder, his scent woody with a clean hit of citrus. If he could invade your space and not blink twice about it, as could you. So you dip your head to his shoulder and take an exaggerated whiff. "Did you change your cologne?" You ask, looking up at him

His face is unreadable, simply gazing down at you. His mouth is slightly parted before he shuts it and opens it again to speak, looking back at the telly. "Nope, same as it's always been; must be thinking of someone else."

He selects Hulu and types in some movie name. You straighten up and keep a small smile to yourself, satisfied that you seemed to stump him, even if only for a moment, and pick up your utensils to finally cut into your pancake, which had only 2 sliced strawberries on top instead of his 5.

Once you noticed the movie he selected, you rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated groan, which was immediately met with him laughing because he knew you were growing tired of it

"Inside man again? Wow, you shouldn't have, really." You say after chewing a bit; these pancakes were definitely a bit overcooked, but they're better than undercooked. The strawberries' sweetness helped.

"One day you'll grow to appreciate this masterpiece as I have." He says, now leaning back on the couch, his arm falling from your shoulders as he grabs a spare pillow to place over his lap.

"J, I appreciated it the first 5 times we've watched it."

The loss of his heavy touch against your shoulder felt cold instantly, but you took another bite, swallowing down the feeling of disappointment.

He cuts into his own pancake now, taking a much larger portion for a much larger bite, smiling with his mouth closed as he chews.

You had only taken three from the many you made, so you were down to one pancake left and no more strawberries. You looked over at his plate, and he still had three strawberries left.

You look back at him, leaning against the couch, both arms behind his head as he focuses more and more on the movie before him.

"Nice cut," you say, referring to his hair; he must've gotten it done as soon as he landed back. He was always orderly with his appearance; you told him once it was the Libra in him, and he looked at you like you had gone mad.

He couldn't help the smile growing on his face, bright teeth illuminating his face even more, "Oh, have at it; I saw you staring at my plate"

You gasp, placing a hand on your heart. "I was not ' staring '."

Now it was his turn to playfully roll his eyes. He leaned forward, grabbed his fork, impaled one of his strawberries, and, in a swift motion, brought it to your mouth.

On instinct, you open your mouth, and he looks at you as he places it inside; your lips close around the tines, your eyes widening in surprise at his move before you smile at the sweetness of the fraise.

"Stop it…" he finally manages to mutter after a thick gulp, pulling back his fork and instinctively placing it in his own mouth, which causes you to furrow your brows.

He falls back on the couch with a sigh, taking the fork out of his mouth and grabbing his glass to take a sip, training his eyes back forward. "You're distracting me from me film."

Your face felt hot; you pulled your eyes away from him and huffed. "You're distracting yourself," you murmured, suddenly feeling quite full.

He's still famished, of course; a male of his size and needs. He placed his glass back down and finished two mini pancakes in one go, washing it down with a gulp of his champagne.

Your phone pings, and you pick it up immediately; another message from a classmate confirms an upcoming study session.

You lean away a bit while answering; this catches Jobe's attention in his peripheral vision. He shifted, closed his eyes, and inhaled as he stretched his neck for a moment.

When he opened them, you were still typing away, a small smile forming on your face as another ping came in. He couldn't help but feel annoyed; he picked up his glass of champagne and took a sip, swallowing the uncomfortable feeling lodged in his throat before speaking up.

"You know this is proper bad movie theater etiquette." His voice pulls you from your messages, closing your phone and placing it face down on the table before responding with your own quip, "Good thing we're not at a theater."

"Rude, you're missing the most pivotal scene."

You look back at the telly; there was a fighting sequence going on now between Denzel and some other chap.

Another ping note indicating a text came through, and you know it's yours again because Jobe always keeps his phone on Do Not Disturb. You pick up your phone and swipe, ready to respond, when suddenly it's out of your hands and in his, his arm outstretched

"Phone jail." He states simply. You whip your head back to look at him and your phone, and you try to reach it from where you're, but you fall short when he stretches further back, your hands falling on either side of him. Faces inches apart, he stared blankly down at you, testing you.

"What point are you proving, J?"

His facade breaks at that; something else shows on his face now. "Have you…met someone?" He whispers, eyes flickering with uncertainty.

"What?" Was all you could say, your gaze now trailing to the beauty mark by his lips that always caught your attention as he repeated the question. A charge hung in the air; the rain had started up again outside.

"While I was gone…this person who keeps messaging you—"

"A classmate, I'm not…" You don't finish the sentence; this conversation feels like an excuse for something you both refuse to say.

You feel him let out a shudder of relief beneath you. You hang your head down and close your eyes, summoning the courage to ask him the same, but he answers it for you before you even speak

"Goody, and y'know I'm far too busy. Can't risk getting…distracted." He rushes, bringing down his arm and placing your phone on the table.

Can't risk getting distracted, right? Of course he couldn't. The movie's long forgotten now, as you turn your head and start to back away from him. His right arm snakes around your waist, keeping you in place. His cold hands find a space between your risen top and your pants, fingers resting there too comfortably.

You're barely centimeters apart now, hitched breaths fanning against each other. You didn't trust yourself not to stare at his lips from this close, so you looked ahead into the kitchen, your eyes glossing over everything and nothing at the same time. You felt his intense stare on your face, though. The heat in your face was traveling to all parts of your body, settling in the pit of your stomach with an all-too-familiar ache.

You could take the usual touches, but this was something else entirely. It felt like too much, too hot. "Jobe—" you began, but you were cut off when he suddenly adjusted himself lower and rested his head on your cheek; when you tried to turn, he slid it down to the nape of your neck, his lips hovering just on your collarbone.

"Where do you keep trying to run off to?" he mutters.

The ache now pooling down, you can't help the shuddering sigh that escapes your lips. "I'm right here," you whispered with the same intensity his words had caused you.

"Look, I want this but—" he starts whispering into your skin.

This? You look at him, fully now, and can feel your heart pounding. Was this really the moment you two would break the barrier of friendship that set a line uncrossed? A line you've been tethering for far too long.

He pulls back as well, and his face looks wrecked with passion. "I need to know you want this just as much," he admits in a murmur

Oh, beautiful, dear, oblivious Jobe. It almost made you laugh how naively innocent he was to notice the way you looked at him when he's over at yours, fresh out of the shower. This condensation and droplets of water on his chiseled body. Or when you're eating ice cream together and a bit of chocolate trickles down the side of his hand, prompting him to stick out his tongue and lick it clean, or after his games when he lifts you so high up you feel on top of the world in his arms.

Now, his eyes were earnestly searching for that same desire in yours, and you could only hope he saw it just as much as you felt in your bones.

Neither of you noticed the movie coming to an end, too lost in your own world. He starts trailing his head up now, lips grazing the entire way up until they softly rest on your cheek, which causes your eyes to flutter open. "Can I…" he starts, then He brings his left hand up to turn your head more into him. Your noses were eskimo kissing, and his own eyes were locked on what he wanted most: your lips.

You could only nod, mind too hazy in need to remember any part of the English language. He wasted no time after gaining your approval; his right hand trailed up from your body until it hooked itself at the nape of your neck, large and steady, holding you in place. His left hand's thumb tugged on your bottom lip before he dived in, eyes closed.

A part of you wanted to pinch yourself, but it felt so right, so inevitable. You let yourself melt into the kiss, closing your own eyes. His plush lips were even softer than you could've imagined, but his tenacity was firm, pressing you further into him. When you pull apart, you notice a slight rosy tint to his face, his chest noticeably heaving. You couldn't imagine what you looked like from his end.

He speaks up first, bringing a hand to push your hair back behind your ear. A gentleness in his eyes was conveyed in his tone: "How far do you feel comfortable going?"

Everything, anything, is the first things that come to mind. This was something you'd imagined behind the closed doors of your room. When you let your mind stray to the boy you grew up with, how it'd feel with his touch on you, in you.

You're almost embarrassed to say it, as if you weren't just all over each other. You felt the heat of the blush creeping over your face; you couldn't look at him when you said, "I just want you." Point blank.

He lets out a small laugh, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. Down your nose, on your cheek, and you're panting, leaning in when he's hovering just over your lips.

"Have you got a Johnny?" He asks, eyes still locked on your lips.

You shook your head no, cursing yourself in your head for not having stocked up. You couldn't have known, and you genuinely were too busy to be casually hooking up around at the moment, but still.

Jobe was also muttering profanities to himself; the number one rule of any sensible player was to keep one on in moments like these. The risk was just far too large for young athletes- not one worth taking, his father told him, his brother, and even coaches. Never worth the risk.

He so wanted the feel of your warm, velvet walls around his aching member straining against his briefs. Had dreamed about it while away, tasted it in his sweetest fantasies after long days away.

Next time, he promises himself. If you were to honor him with a chance like this again, he'd be prepared.

He stood, adjusting his pants and stretching before falling back onto the sofa. Lust craze still fixed into his eyes.

"On the couch." He instructed, sitting at the far end and patting down across from him.

The distance disappoints you, but you stand. The slick between your legs is uncomfortable with each movement as you place yourself where he instructed. Your eyes had locked on the tent forming in his pants since your heated kiss.

"So, what now?" You ask shyly, fingers drumming on the couch.

"I can still pleasure you in other ways—"

"Pleasure? Big word for Elmo." You joked, trying to ease the tension that began to pull a heated pit of molten lava in your stomach again; you adjusted your position to unstick yourself from your panties.

He has his signature, charming grin. Everything about you was always amusing to him, he could spend hours with you and never be bored. "If you still want to, that is. If you'll let me." It was his turn to be shy, looking down at his hands.

You found him so cute when he got like this, his dimple reappearing with every word he spoke. You couldn't help the twitching smile on your face; you leaned forward on your own hands. Back arched in, ass tantalizing him from his point of view, camisole leaving your cleavage on full display

"Didn't you hear me? I, want, you." You declare, emphasizing every word and no longer feeling too smitten to deny yourself your need.

He's properly beaming now, bringing up his hands to pull you into another deep kiss. It knocked the wind out of you, your elbows buckling under the weight of his body and the weakness of his kiss. Little sounds of pleasure were coming from both of you; the deeper he leaned into you and melted against your lips, the hungrier you became for what you couldn't have.

He pulled back, "Strip."

He only needs to say it once for you to remove your shirt, letting it fall to the ground behind you. You really had to clean your apartment later.

Your breasts swelled in your bra, nipples poking at the fabric under the cold air of your flat. They mesmerized him. You go to undo your bra, noticing his intense gaze on them, but he stops you just short

"Let me do it." He asks, voice husky and eyes concentrated on his objective

You let him, dropping your hands and focusing on the way his much larger ones went back to undo your clasp, the feel of the clasp and his fingers sending a shudder up your spine. His proximity, his head just by yours, revived the heat that never fully settled in your stomach

You let out a gasp of surprise when he places a kiss on your neck as your bra falls undone. He tosses it to the side in a swift motion and brings his other hand up to the right side of your neck.

Keeping you in place as he continues pressing kisses along your jugular, giving soft kitten licks with his firm tongue against your vein just past your collarbone and down to the mounds on your chest.

He pulls back, eyes flickering over your face before he leans forward and gives you another kiss on your lips. "They're beautiful; every part of you is."

It felt intoxicatingly satisfying to have such a handsome man at the fever of your body, feeling his hands tremble against you. You wondered how many people would pay to be in your position, praying every night for the view you were getting for free.

You push his chest down until he's lying on his side and let yourself take in the tent you had noticed when he stood up. It was still there and seemed to be getting harder by the minute, actually.

It was your turn to ask now, "Can I?" You say, hands already on the edge of his sweatpants.

He nods his head, fast and excited like a puppy who knows they're about to receive a treat.

Jobe's removing his shirt while you greedily tug and pull away at his dark navy cashmere sweatpants that no doubt cost a fortune, revealing his black Calvin Klein knickers.

He watched you with concentrated eyes as he launched his shirt onto the arm of the chair over his head. You took your time in sizing up his increasingly chiseled body. It seemed as though every part of his body had grown 3 times in size, muscle mass flexing under every cool touch as you lay on him.

"Lie back." He instructed, voice coarse and thick with want.

You do as he says, placing another pillow amongst the two already behind you, and lay your head on the arm of your couch. Your heart was pounding again while you stared at the ceiling fan.

You heard him shifting into position, the couch dipping with his enormous weight of pure muscle.

Peeking your head down, his new position made you let out an audible gasp.

It was a bit silly, with his feet hanging off the edge of the couch arm as he lay on his stomach, still positioning himself comfortably. His tongue was poking out, as it always did when he was concentrating, and he propped up your legs so he could wrap his arm around your thighs.

Once he tugged you closer, you couldn’t bare to keep looking down. Opting instead to look back up at the ceiling. You could feel him tugging off your shorts with his teeth, cool against the supple of your skin. It fell to your ankles and he sat up a bit to fully remove them, he then did the same with your underwear but at an antagonizing slow pace.

Suddenly his warm, large hand found yours and forced you to hold his interlocked; his left hand still maintained a good grip on the quads of your groin. He nudged that same thigh with his hand, prompting you to look at him

"So wet already…" he murmured to no one but himself 

You pulled your eyes from the ceiling, and the view in front of you almost made you melt like butter into the couch. His face seemed so eagerly concentrated on your core, nose barely inches from your mound and pleading dark eyes urging for attention 

"You need to look at me, to teach me how you like it." He asks matter-of-factly. 

"Okay…" is all you manage to mutter, voice coarse with need

"You can pull, if you want." It's the last thing he says right before he pushes his face into your already leaking center

You barely have time to register the start, tightening your grip interlaced with his right hand and landing your other in his hair, fingers ingraining themselves into the scalp amongst his short coiled curls.

It's barely a gasp leaving your mouth, more like just small shoots of air when the bridge of his nose pushes against your protruding clit and tongue coming out to give a straight, firm lick on your vulva as if testing the premises.

Satisfied with your initial reaction, Jobe grows in confidence and burrows himself into your cunt all at once, your clit continuing to press into the bridge of his nose and you feel his low stubble against your skin. His tongue, long and wet, twists itself into your hot cunt. 

Instinctively, you try to back up, your back hitting the wall of throw pillows protecting you from the edge of the couch, your neck thrown slightly back, but you feel that familiar nudge before he's back to business. 

Your sight feels dizzying, but you try to focus on the way his tongue flattens against your walls but dips into your center every few licks, even finding time to suck on your clit now and then when you curl your fingers into his hair. 

Your thighs keep trying to close around his head, which was ferociously not letting up between your legs. Every disgraceful sound let out from the act, a mix of your slick and his lapping tongue, just brought you closer and closer to your edge. 

He gives a harsh suck on your now throbbing clit, which earns a squeamish moan out of you unlike any from the pleasures you've given yourself and you can feel his lips smiling against your cunt before peppering kisses onto your sides. 

He drops the hand holding your thigh and gives your other hand a reassuring squeeze with his own. You feel his lengthy middle finger dip into you, and it causes your back to arch off the couch. 

Jobe was fascinated with how easily it slipped in, your wetness welcoming him so warmly. He felt your walls constricting around his finger, and it just motivated him to pump it in you some more, pulling it in and out at an achingly slow pace. 

Your voice was wrecked; it was your turn for your chest to start heaving, but you managed to find some strength to instruct him as he had told you to, "More, please, more." 

He didn't look up at you, eyes concentrated on the artwork leaking onto the couch in front of him. Every part of you truly is beautiful. He smiled at your demand, felt his dick twitch before you could even say, "please."

"Yeah, you can take it?" He started, dipping in his ring finger now. He starts at that annoyingly slow pace again, working you up until you were practically chasing his hand before he relented and began stuffing you again. 

The noises were getting him harder by the second; the wet squelching sounds of his fingers invading your sopped cunt filled the quiet living room. Your drawn-out, breathy moans kept motivating him. He wanted to see more of it, all for him. 

Jobe slipped in his index finger and felt your cunt spasm-ing around all three of his fingers now. "You're taking these so well, baby. No replacement for the real thing, though, innit?" He couldn't help but joke, but you nodded in agreement, words too hard to make out anymore. 

It excited him to see you like this; he kept ramming his slender fingers into you, and with each contortion you clenched around him as if you were on the brink of coming. He gave one last harsh suck on your clit while he slipped his fingers out, leaving you to feel empty again. 

"Don't come yet." He said, finally coming up for air, the tip of his nose and the entire bottom of his face practically soaked in your wetness. 

He sits up fully now, pulling you closer until you were plush against him with legs on either side of his own thighs.

Jobe looked divine with you all over him; you could help licking at his bottom lip before connecting into a slow, open-mouth kiss. Tongues pressing harshly together, no longer the polite restraint you showed earlier. 

You could feel his member growing harder against your stomach, and it motivated you to whine a bit against him. It earned you a grunt into your mouth before he pulled back to check, and sure enough, pre cum was starting to leak at his tip through his $70 knickers.

The sight was stunning: his near-purple tip forming beads ever so slowly, straining against the slight curve of his briefs. 

"Let me take care of you." You asked, not below resorting to unfiltered temptation, but he didn't need much convincing. 

You palmed him with a free hand, eyes fixed on his, which began to flutter at the action. He felt thicker than he looked; you started peppering some kisses down his throat. Nibbling a bit at the skin after every slow kiss, but not long enough to leave a hickey for the boy who so often loved to go shirtless on the pitch. 

"Go on then, take care of me." He instigates as you had offered, becoming putty in your hands.

His words, rough and jagged, made you clench around nothing. It didn't help that his face still looked perfect when tortured, sweat now forming at his temples and his eyes darker under the light. 

You continued palming him at first, enjoying the way his hips kept sputtering into your palm before you decided you wanted to see what you were working with. 

The thought made you nearly salivate. Imagining it, you looked down at what you were doing, wanting a proper first look, 

You tugged down in his briefs, and his hardened member sprang out. As you'd expected from your Libra man, the landscaping was trimmed to an exact, barely-there height. He looked neat, pretty. The shaft was a dark hue of pink, veiny, and, like every other muscle on his body, thick and even heavier without constraints forcing it down. 

The precum beginning to pool and dribble down was certainly a start, but not enough, so you gathered the saliva sitting in your mouth and opened, letting it drip onto the tip as you continued massaging his shaft. 

The action looked down, right pornographic to Jobe, who had only ever had a helping hand (his) and videos to take care of him while lonely in foreign countries. Nothing was as vivid as his imagination when it came to thinking of you, but seeing it in person felt otherworldly. 

It felt worth it. 

The spit and precum were mixing in together now, and the noises from the hand job and his whispery, shuddering moans were more than enough to motivate you to see him climax. You wondered what his face would contort into, what sound he made when he was about to come, and you picked up speed. 

Your fingers, barely able to fully wrap around his shaft due to how thick he was, went faster around the member, and you would gradually slow down the higher you reached, opting for slow strokes on his tip and a firm thumb on the sensitive bundle of nerves over his frenulum. 

That sent him leaning into you, his large body shaking in a slight shudder, unable to control himself. He brought his hand up to your nape again and pressed you into him, needing to taste your lips. 

Your mouths connected, and this time you were more in sync, lips moving against each other in harmony as his bold tongue found solace in your mouth, pressing against yours. 

He was grinding up into your hand job as he kissed you, his hand never letting you go to catch your breath. He swallowed every moan of yours, and it just made him whimper when you tightened your grip around him. 

He felt weak, and he was docile enough that you could push him back onto his backside. He moaned in disappointment at the loss of your lips, brows furrowing into that same annoyed expression you'd see in his highlights when a ref annoyed him. 

Once he was down, you brought your hand up to his tip, keeping that same massaging motion going before bringing your body up. His eyes widened for a moment, large palms flying to your waist to hold you in position, but you only grazed lightly, barely there over his peen. 

The action still made him throw his head onto the couch arm; it all felt too sensitive. You landed yourself just on his V line. The view of him from above like this only aroused you more, so you tested a shift with his strong hands still on your waist, and it brought his attention back to you. 

The action and feel of his rock-hard body pressing against your clit felt even better than you could've imagined. You were oblivious to the fact that Jobe was fully watching you now with eager, attentive eyes.

Almost as if in a locked state of awe, admiring the way your breast bounced with each movement, the feel of your slick gliding on his body, the pleasure on his face was enough for him to be on board immediately. 

You let him take over control, feeling his grip tighten into the dough of your skin and press you further onto him firmly. He slid you up in a harsh and swift motion, and your clit hooked on one of his many sets of abs; your head fell back, and eyes shot shut, lost in the ecstasy of it all. 

It got him off to watch you like this, so he continued repeating the motion, as if you were riding his shaft itself. Every strong press into his muscle just made you moan louder, unable to contain yourself any longer. 

"I'm c-close." You barely manage to breathe out, trying to get off him, but he only sinks his fingers further into your sides, sure to leave bruising imprints, and quickens up the pace. His own chest heaving, animalistic grunts ramping up as he watched you slide over the hard work he's been doing at training, all worth it just for this moment. 

You hear it before you feel it, but once it lands, heavy palm against your ass to give a slap, the sting feeling just right in the bliss of your mess, you couldn't hold back any longer, nor did you. The knotting pit in your stomach that was bundling up came undone, and so did you, all over his abs, body stuttering in position. 

"That's it, baby, let it all out for me." He whispered encouragement, movements coming to a halt to let you finish riding out your high. He hadn't even noticed he had come as well, dick twitching to a gradual half-hard, half-flaccid state right after you came. 

Once you went limp, body weak from the workout, he brought you down to him. Strong arms traveled from your waist to your shoulders until you were flushed chest to chest.

"You did so good, all for me…" he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You hardly had any idea what he was saying, but his voice was calming. 

He rested his head atop yours, and the warm, human feel of his breathing slowing down beneath you centered you. You could feel his heartbeat, almost listening to it as your body fell into a gentle, dreamlike sleepiness. 

He drew small circles on your back, his touch warm and attentive, when he suddenly cleared his throat. "So when can I tell everyone?" 

You weren't even sure what he was referring to, too lulled away after such a comedown. "Everyone who? And what?" 

A small giggle from him brought a smile to your face; it all felt so domestic. "I meant to tell my family, silly, that we're together now." 

This statement jolted you right awake. He said it so easily, so expectantly. You step back a bit to look at his face, and he seems confused by your move. 

"We're together now, are we?" 

He looked away, almost shy. You notice how red his ears are and wonder how long they've been like that. "I mean, well yeah, still gotta take you out to a proper dinner and all that, but…d'you not want to be?" He asks suddenly, eyes defensive and back on you. 

For Jobe, the only outcome of all this was that you ended up together; it's what made sense. It's what was right. He couldn't have borne the thought of doing all this with you, whose face kept him grounded while away, and letting you slip away from his arms into someone else's. No, just no. 

The offended look on his face brought that familiar warm feeling to your stomach; you felt the heat on your face too. To have this man now on your arm, your Jobe. You couldn't help the smile you were displaying, slowly laying back down onto him and pressing chaste kisses to his lips. 

"Well, if you say so, y'know, since you asked nicely, how could I say no?" You quipped, melting into him and letting his arms hook themselves around you again. 

You let yourself furrow your head into his neck this time. His scent was alive and stabilizing; you couldn't help but inhale deeply all the sweat and hard work he'd just gone through to make you feel good. He was all yours now. 

"We definitely have to shower, though; you stink." You fibbed; you felt him squeeze tighter around you almost immediately, his familiar laugh against your body and filling the room. 

You could get used to this. 

———

Haven't written on here in so long I've legitamwnly forgotten how I used to tag & do all my cute aesthetic shit 🤣 anywho, hope you enjoyed reading!

I think I've done every riding except abs so that's still on the bucketlist, Jobe Bellingham where are you 😩?

xx muse

[luvelcore]

shorts: breeding with your boyfriend jobe bellingham (18+) 𝜗ৎ

jobe’s hands pinned your wrists above your head against the disheveled sheets of his apartment bed, the afternoon light glowing through half-drawn curtains. his cock stretched your cunt wide, thick and pulsing as he bottomed out with a low grunt. you were both adults, barely out of your early twenties, but that didn’t stop the heat flooding your core every time he drove in.

“fuck, baby— pussy’s squeezing me like it wants every drop,” he rasped, hips snapping forward. the wet slap of skin filled the room, your slick coating his shaft and dripping down your ass. he smelled like sweat mixed with the cologne he wore, his breath hot on your neck. “i know we’re too young for this shit— know it. but goddamn, the way you milk me— like your cunt’s begging for my cum.”

you moaned, thighs trembling around his waist. his grip tightened, one hand sliding down to thumb your clit in rough circles. pleasure shook, harsh and rough, your inner walls fluttering around him. jobe’s eyes darkened, jaw clenched as he fought the urge.

“can’t pull out,” he growled, thrusting harder, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every stroke. “feels too fucking good. your tight little hole’s gripping me, sucking me deeper. wanna breed you, baby. fill this pussy up till it’s leaking my load. tell me you want it.”

his voice cracked with raw need, hips stuttering. you felt every ridge of him dragging against your sensitive flesh, the wet squelch of your juices mixing with his pre-cum. sweat slicked your skin where your bodies met, the air thick with the scent of sex. inside, your mind spun, too young, too reckless, but the thought of him claiming you like this made your cunt clench harder.

“please,” he begged, voice rough, “let me knock you up. can’t stop. your pussy’s too perfect, milking my cock like it owns me. gonna cum so deep— fuck, take it.”

he slammed in one final time, cock throbbing as hot ropes of cum flooded your womb. his body shuddered over yours, breath ragged, still whispering filthy pleas even as he emptied himself completely.

[hunnibunny303]

JOBE BELLINGHAM- DIGI CAM ⋆˙⟡

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Synopsis .☘︎ ݁˖-you just wanted one picture with Jobe Bellingham during your family vacation. No big deal. Just a cute memory to look back on. One viral post later, and your life is turned upside down you definitely didn't expect the entire internet to think you're a couple. Now the picture is everywhere,and a certain Birmingham boy found it and from that moment led to another unforgettable memory.

Genre .☘︎ ݁˖- Fluff/ family fluff, and a bit of rom com vibes, Fem!reader

Warnings .☘︎ ݁˖- none

Wc.☘︎ ݁˖- 4.8k

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You gave your reflection one final, critical  in the full-length mirror. The soft, flowy skirt you’d thrown over your bikini swished around your thighs, and the top caught the light in just the right way. It was perfect. You grabbed your trusty digital camera, the one that had documented every family holiday for the past five years and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“Y/N! We’re leaving without you!” your cousin’s muffled voice echoed from the hallway outside your hotel room.

“Coming!” you yelled back, but by the time you’d slipped on your sandals and opened the door, you heard the distant ding of the elevator doors closing. Classic. You were always the last one ready.

You sighed, a small smile on your lips. It was fine. You’d been to this resort twice before with your family; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. The walk to the fire-pit near the beach was only two minutes, a path lit by tiki torches and the fading glow of the setting sun.

As you stepped out of the elevator and into the open-air lobby, you felt eyes on you immediately. A few resort staff members and guests glanced your way, and one of the female staff, holding a tray of welcome cocktails, gave you a warm smile. “You look very lovely this evening, miss!” she said as you passed.

“Thank you,” you replied, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

The moment you stepped onto the sandy path leading to the beach, you noticed it: a commotion. A large crowd of people had gathered near the resort’s beachfront bar, phones held high, a chorus of excited shouts and camera clicks filling the calm evening air. You couldn’t quite make out the who or what was causing the storm 

And then, a figure detached himself from the chaos.

He was tall, with a familiar build and a head of dark curls that you’d recognise anywhere. He backed away from the crowd,  his mother,Denise, laughing softly at his side as he watched the scene unfold. It was a scene you’d only ever seen on social media: Jude Bellingham, engulfed by fans, and his girlfriend caught in the whirlwind. But your eyes weren’t on Jude.

They were fixed on his younger brother.

Jobe.

Your stomach dropped, a strange mix of nerves and excitement flooding your system. Your feet felt like they were glued to the sand. “Should I ask for a picture? “a frantic voice screamed in your head. “Or should I just walk past him like I haven’t just memorised every goal he’s scored this season?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This wasn't a scenario you'd ever rehearsed. You were on a family holiday, in a flowy skirt and a bikini top, clutching a digital camera like a tourist. And he was Jobe Bellingham, looking effortlessly cool in a simple t-shirt and shorts, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched his brother’s fame unfold from a safe distance.

It was now or never.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You walked towards him, your steps feeling both too loud and too quiet on the soft sand. He turned his head, his gaze shifting from the crowd to you. He looked at you, his expression momentarily stunned, as if he wasn’t used to people approaching him first.

Say something, you idiot!

“Um, hey, Jobe?” you managed, your voice a little higher than you’d intended. You forced a pleasant smile, hoping it looked more confident than you felt. “Is it okay if I ask for a picture?”

For a split second, he didn't say a word. He just blinked, his dark eyes scanning your face with an unreadable intensity. Then, a small, surprised smile tugged at his lips. He glanced at his mom, Denise, who was watching the interaction with a curious, knowing glint in her eyes. He looked back at you, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.

“Uh… yeah, sure, sure, of course,” he said, his voice laced with that soft, melodic Brummie accent that made your insides flutter. It was deeper in person, more real.

You were half-expecting a polite ‘no’ or a ‘sorry, I’m busy’. The fact that he’d agreed so readily, so genuinely, made a wave of pure joy crash over you. “Oh!? Oh my god, yes!” you squeaked, your tense expression dissolving into a wide, beaming smile.

You fumbled with your phone, unlocking it and opening the camera app. You angled it up, trying to find a good shot, but you could see in the viewfinder that the lighting was off, and the angle was awkward. You were just about to settle for it when Jobe noticed your struggle.

“Here, lemme take it for you,” he offered, holding out his large, tanned hand. You placed your phone in his palm, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second. A jolt of electricity shot up your arm, and you were certain he felt it too.

He stretched his arm up high, and you shuffled to stand beside him, very aware of the significant height difference. You looked up at the camera, feeling like a total dwarf next to him. Denise watched with a soft, maternal smile, her gaze flickering between you both.

Just as Jobe was about to lower the phone, you caught a glimpse of the sky behind him. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of orange, pink, and purple. It was a perfect, impossibly romantic backdrop.

“NO, JOBE, WAIT!” you burst out, your hand instinctively flying to his shoulder to stop him. Your fingers gripped the soft fabric of his t-shirt, your excitement getting the better of you. You were talking to him like he was an old friend, the celebrity status completely forgotten in the face of the stunning sunset. “I need one on my digi camera! This sunset is amazing! I need this.” You gestured wildly with your other hand towards the sky, your eyes wide and pleading. He looked down at you, your hand still resting on his shoulder, your face lit up with the golden hues of the sun, and let out a low, amused chuckle. His expression softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t look away from you, not even for a second. He was captivated.

“Oh, yeah, that would be sick, mate,” he said, his accent thickening slightly. “Let’s do it.”

He turned to his mother. “Mom, can you take these for us?” He asked, holding out your digital camera.

Denise walked over, a knowing smile on her lips. She took the camera from you, her fingers brushing yours. She looked between you and her son, a silent understanding passing between them.

You and Jobe stood side-by-side, facing Denise. You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even realise what was happening. His arm naturally found its way around your waist, his large hand resting on the curve of your hip. You instinctively leaned into him, your head falling gently against his shoulder, your hand coming to rest on his solid waist. You felt the warmth of his hand through your thin skirt, his fingers caressing the fabric gently, almost absentmindedly. It felt so natural, so right.

Denise raised the camera. “1… 2… 3…”

The flash went off, and you both blinked rapidly, the bright light leaving spots in your vision. You pulled away slightly, still rubbing your eyes, and walked over to Denise.

“Thank you so much, Momma Bellingham!” you exclaimed, grinning as you reached for your camera.

Denise chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. “I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, amused by the unexpected nickname.

You and Jobe continued to chat for a few minutes as Jude started to wrap things up with the last few fans. He seemed in no rush to leave your company.

“So… um, I hope you’re doing better after that injury you got last game,” you said, looking up at him.

He tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. “Ay, how’d you know about that?” he asked, his tone genuinely intrigued.

“I watch all of your games, silly,” you said, a soft smile on your lips. Great, now I sound like a stalker (you thought to yourself after your remark).

His expression melted. The playful curiosity was replaced by something deeper, something softer. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. “Is that so, huh?” he breathed, his voice low. “Well… I really appreciate that, mate. I don’t think you truly know how much that means.”

You knew your face was flaming now, but you didn’t care. The sincerity in his voice hit

you right in the chest. “I even got tickets for the next upcoming game next month,” you quickly added. “It’ll be my first match I’ll watch in person. Hopefully, you’ll be playing.”

“C’mon, you know I’ll be there!” he said, grinning. He started to tell you about the new training drills he’d been working on, and his excitement was palpable. But you were lost. You couldn't concentrate on a single word he was saying.

He was even more handsome in person., the straight, white flash of his smile, the sheer breadth of his shoulders… he was even taller than you’d expected. Your gaze traced the line of his jaw, the small mole near his eyebrow, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about football.

You were so obviously checking him out that you didn’t even realise you’d started looking down, a shy smile playing on your lips, trying to avoid his gaze. The air between you both crackled with unspoken electricity.

Denise watched everything, her eyes sharp and analytical. She’d seen that look before, in her husband’s eyes, in Jude’s eyes. She saw the way her son’s hand had lingered on your waist, the way his voice had softened, the way he was hanging on your every word. She knew. And the knowing smile that touched her lips was undeniable.

A few moments later, Jude and Ashlyn finally made their way over. The reality of the situation crashed back down around you.

“I better get going now,” you said, a little abruptly, cutting off Jobe mid-sentence. You hadn’t even heard his last question.

You turned to leave, but Jobe’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. His touch was warm, sending another shockwave through your system. Your heart hammered as you turned back, your eyes wide.

“Hey, wait,” he said, a soft, almost hopeful smile on his lips. “You didn’t give me your name?”

It was once again another shocker. You blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up with reality. You hadn't even registered he'd asked such a question during his rant about training drills and upcoming fixtures.

"Oh, sorry," you said, letting out a breathy laugh. "I didn't even know you asked that, Jobe."

You gave him your name, your voice barely above a whisper. Part of you wondered why the hell he would even need to know it. You were just another fan, another face in the crowd. Tomorrow, he'd probably have a hundred more people asking for pictures, and your name would slip from his memory like water through fingers. You'd probably never see each other in such a moment again. Before parting ways, you couldn't help yourself. A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you looked him up and down, taking in his tall frame one last time.

"Not like you'll remember my name by next month anyway," you teased, your tone light and airy. Jobe's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock offense crossing his handsome face. "Watch!" he called after you as you started to walk away, his voice carrying that warm Brummie lilt. "I wouldn't... hopefully I will see you at the game, yeah?"

You glanced back over your shoulder, catching his eye one last time. He was still watching you, a small, lingering smile on his face. Denise was beside him, whispering something in his ear that made him duck his head and laugh.

You forced yourself to turn around and keep walking.

Don't look back again. Don't look back again.

You didn't.

The night went back to normal after you both parted ways. The festival music pulsed through the warm beach air, the fire crackled, and your family's laughter filled your ears. But yet, every single interaction you'd had with him kept replaying in your head on an endless loop.

The way his hand had felt on your waist.

The way his eyes had softened when you said you watched his games.

The way he'd said your name back to you, testing it on his tongue like he was committing it to memory.

You found your cousins near the fire-pit, huddled around the warm glow of the flames. They were all laughing, drinks in hand, clearly having the time of their lives without you. "Finally!" your cousin Mia shouted as you approached. "We thought you got lost!"You flopped down onto the log next to them, pulling out your phone. "You're never going to believe what happened to me." "Did you get hit on by the pool boy again?" your cousin Leah teased. "No," you said, a giddy smile spreading across your face. "Worse. Better. I don't even know." You opened your camera roll and shoved your phone in their faces. There it was. The picture Jobe had taken of you both. The one where the obvious height differences showed as you leaned up looking at the camera. The reaction was immediate.

"OH MY GOD!" Mia shrieked, grabbing the phone from your hands. "IS THAT JOBE BELLINGHAM?!"

"Wait, wait, wait—" Leah leaned in closer, her eyes wide. "You met JOBE? Like, the Jobe Bellingham?!"

"And Jude," you added nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "He was there too. But Jobe was the one I talked to."

"Great!" Mia threw her hands up. "The ONE moment I leave you behind, you meet freaking Jobe Bellingham... heck, even Jude!"

"I'm so jealous right now," Leah groaned, dramatically clutching her chest. "This is actually so unfair."

Your oldest cousin, Melanie, had been quiet, studying the picture with an analytical eye. She zoomed in, tilting her head, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"You both would look so cute as a couple," she said finally, her voice dripping with teasing. "Now that I'm looking at the picture properly... I mean, look at the way he's holding you. That's not just a  picture, Y/N. That's literally a moment."

Your cheeks immediately flushed. The thought of it, of you and Jobe Bellingham, together—made your stomach do a full somersault. You snatched your phone back, staring at the picture again.

"Ugh, I wish," you said, flopping yourself backward onto the sand, staring up at the starry sky. You felt utterly defeated. "You guys think he's still thinking about everything right now? Like... I can't just be ME, right? I'm just some random girl."

You sat up abruptly, your eyes wide. "I mean, I know he's famous and all," you continued, your voice gaining momentum. "But I swear, it felt like he was a little interested. If only you’d see the way he looked at me? That wasn't just a fan picture. That was—"

"You're a beautiful girl," Melanie interrupted, her voice firm and reassuring. "Even I wouldn't pass up a face like yours."

"Exactly!" Mia chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh, he's probably trying to find your social media as we speak. Like, why else would he want to know your name? If you were just another fan, he would've taken the picture and moved on. But he ASKED. That means something."

"Maybe he's already googling you," Leah added with a mischievous grin. "He's probably scrolling through your Instagram right now, trying to figure out how to slide into your DMs."

All these back-to-back remarks made you laugh. Hard. Your cousins sure knew how to support your delusions. They had you believing that maybe, just maybe, something had actually happened between you and Jobe Bellingham.

But you didn't want to spend the whole night talking about a boy. You were on holiday with your family, surrounded by warmth and love and the sound of the ocean. You decided to forget that whole thing had happened for a moment.

"Alright, enough about Jobe," you announced, standing up and brushing the sand off your skirt. "Who's ready for some more pictures?"

You pulled out your digital camera, the one that had started this whole mess, and spent the rest of the night capturing moments. Your cousins goofing off. The sunset finally disappeared into the dark ocean. The fire crackled. Your aunt attempting to dance and almost tripping over a log.

You laughed until your stomach hurt. You sang along to the festival music. You ate too much s'mores and got sand absolutely everywhere.

But in the back of your mind, one thought lingered.

Jobe Bellingham asked for my name.

It was stupid. It was delusional. It was absolutely, positively nothing.

But still.

He asked.

Coming back to your hotel room, you could hear the muffled sounds of your family getting ready for bed in the adjoining rooms. The festival had worn everyone out, and the distant crash of waves was already sending  the resort into a peaceful silence.

You showered quickly, the warm water washing away the salt and sand from the evening. Wrapped in your comfiest pajamas, you pulled your laptop out and sat cross-legged on the plush hotel bed. Your digital camera was still heavy with memories from the night, and you couldn't wait to see how they'd turned out.

You transferred the pictures from your camera to your laptop, then from your laptop to your phone. The familiar process was almost meditative. Once everything was transferred, you opened your camera roll and began going through the moments you'd captured at the fire pit on the beach. You slid through each picture, critiquing every angle and lighting. Your cousin's mid-laugh. The fire crackling. Your aunt's disastrous dance moves. Each one brought a smile to your face.

You slid right once more.

And then you landed on it.

The one Denise had taken of you and Jobe.

Your hands flew to your mouth immediately, muffling the scream that threatened to escape. Your eyes went wide, practically bulging out of your head.

"This is  THEE vacation picture," you whispered, your voice trembling with immense excitement.

You stared at the screen, unable to look away. The sunset behind you both was absolutely breathtaking—swirls of orange, pink, and purple bleeding into the darkening sky. But that wasn't what had you frozen.

It was you and Jobe.

You were both smiling, looking so natural and comfortable with each other. Your head was resting against his shoulder, your hand placed casually on his waist. And his arm was wrapped around you, his large hand resting firmly on your hip.

You zoomed in, your breath catching in your throat.

"WHAT THE HECK?" you whispered, your voice pitching higher. "How did I not blow up in the moment when that happened?"

You zoomed in further, examining the way his fingers curved around your waist. His hand was massive—one hand was literally covering most of your waist. Only ONE hand. The warmth you'd felt in that moment came flooding back, and you could practically feel his touch again.

"His hand is literally covering most of my waist," you repeated, your cheeks burning. "We literally look like a couple."

You stared at the picture for what felt like hours, zooming in and out, examining every detail. The soft smile on his lips. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners. The way you looked so safe in his arms.

You couldn't wait to go home and post these pictures after your vacation. You already knew which one would be first.

1 Week Time Skip

It had been two days since you'd come home from vacation. The post-holiday blues had hit hard, but you'd finally unpacked, done your laundry, and settled back into your normal routine. And now, sitting in your childhood bedroom surrounded by the familiar comfort of your things, you felt like this was the best time to post your vacation dump to Instagram.

You opened the app, your thumb hovering over the upload button. You'd carefully curated the perfect slideshow, making sure to put the picture of you and Jobe first. It was the crown jewel of your entire trip—the moment that had replayed in your head a thousand times since that night.

Like last time, you were freshly showered, sitting in bed in the dead of night. The soft glow of your phone screen illuminated your face as you gave your pictures in the slideshow one last look through, seeing if you needed to add or remove anything before posting.

“Should I post it?” a nervous voice whispered in your head.” What if people think it's weird?” “ What if it comes off as obsessive?”

But then you looked at the picture again. By the way Jobe was holding you. At the genuine smiles on both your faces. It wasn't obsessive. It was a beautiful moment captured on camera.

"AND POST," you announced to no one, pressing the button immediately and placing your phone face down on your nightstand to avoid seeing any notifications.

You didn't want to obsess. You didn't want to refresh the page every five seconds waiting for likes.

Slowly, you dozed off to sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the surprise of your life.

Your eyes fluttered open, the morning sun streaming through your curtains. You reached for your phone, still half-asleep, and your thumb pressed the home button.

Your Lock Screen was filled with notifications. They were never-ending—every time you scrolled, more appeared at the bottom. Your heart started pounding as you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram.

Your jaw dropped.

The picture had gone viral overnight. Slightly viral, at least. You'd gained 130k likes—the most you'd ever gotten in your entire life. Your notifications were flooded, your DMs were overflowing, and your comments section was an absolute frenzy.

You scrolled through the comments, your eyes growing wider with each one:

"Are you two a couple?" "Very beautiful couple 😍"

"I'm a new fan of his,is this Jobe's girlfriend?!" "This picture is so Pinterest coded omg" "The way he's holding her... I'm crying" "Wait, is this real???"

And then you saw one from your cousin, mia: 

"YOU NEVER SHOWED ME THIS PICTURE OMG SO GORGEOUS YOU BOTH ARE!" "You're famous now :)"

This was all so much to process. You felt a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention brought to your account. You'd posted vacation photos before—you'd never gotten more than a hundred likes. And now, hundreds of thousands of people were looking at you.

Soon after, you saw messages from your family members coming in. You clicked on the one from your older uncle, who was a crazy football fan:

"Scrolling on Facebook and I saw this picture of you and the Bellingham brother. Is this real or AI?"

Then from your cousin chat:

"GIRL, you're currently trending on Twitter with that damn picture. It's literally everywhere."

You placed your phone down, just staring out the window for a while. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning.

"This feels so weird," you said aloud, your voice barely above a whisper. "So this is how it feels to go viral overnight, huh?"

But despite the overwhelm, you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face. You'd been bubbly the whole morning since that moment. Every time you checked your phone, the likes and followers kept climbing on your picture. It was surreal. And as the hours went by, as you did your daily routine, the numbers just kept growing. It was a matter of time until it stumbled upon Jobe's feed.

Across the country, the final whistle for training blew, and Coach called today's session to an end.

Jobe walked over to the locker room, his shirt drenched in sweat, talking to one of his teammates and good friend off the pitch, Carney.

"Finished earlier than expected today, huh?" Carney laughed, tossing his towel over his shoulder.

"Coach probably has a babe to meet at 6pm sharp," Jobe replied with a grin.

Both Jobe and Carney let out obnoxious snorts of laughter, causing the other mates to look their way. They weren't surprised—it was always them making the noise.

The atmosphere simmered down as they reached the locker room, and Jobe sat down on the bench, peeling his shirt off. He pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly at first, just doom-scrolling through his feed.

And then it happened.

Your picture appeared on his feed.

His thumb froze over the screen. His heart gave an unexpected lurch in his chest.

It was the picture. The one his mom had taken of you both at the resort. The one where his hand was resting on your waist. The one where you were both smiling like you'd known each other for years.

He read the caption, then scrolled to the comments. His ears grew redder by the moment as he read what was being said about you both:

"He would look amazing with you" "Are you his girlfriend?" "Beautiful couple 😍" "How does it feel to live my dream?" "Jobe needs to wife her up immediately"

He zoned out mid-way, his mind drifting back to that night on the beach. The way you'd walked up to him so confidently. The way your eyes had lit up when you talked about the sunset. The way you'd said you watched all his games. That kind of support you showed, that's the kind of support he wanted from someone dear to him. Someone who saw him for more than just a Jude Bellingham's little brother. Someone who genuinely cared.

And your eyes. Your smile. The way you'd looked at him like he was just a normal guy.

He wished he could go back to that moment again. He wished he could relive it.

"Jobe?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to find Carney staring at him with a suspicious expression.

"Dude, I'm talking to you," Carney said, tilting his head. "What has you so down in that damn phone, man?"

Jobe turned his phone off quickly, adjusting his voice, trying to sound casual. "What'd you ask,mate?"

Carney gave him a slow, side-eyed look. He knew Jobe was suddenly acting a bit funny, his face visibly super flustered all of a sudden. But he tried not to question it too much.

"...I said if we're still on for the game with the boys later?" Carney repeated slowly.

"Yeah, yeah, course we are," Jobe replied, his voice a little too quick. "Wouldn't miss it, lad."

Carney just nodded, still side-eyeing him, but let it drop.

Later that night, back at home away from the world, Jobe finally settled into his bed. The house was quiet, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic outside.

He pulled his phone back out.

He opened Instagram.

He went back to your account.

Just to watch it once more. Just to reminisce on the moment with you again. He scrolled through the pictures you'd posted. You with your family. You laughing at the fire pit. You looking beautiful in the golden hour light. And then the picture of you both, staring back at him like a reminder of something he couldn't quite let go of.

Finally, his thumb hovered over the like button.

He pressed it.

*Jobe Bellingham liked your post*.

Little did he know, something so small was about to add even more fuel to the raging fire over this picture that was already sending the football world into a frenzy.

Soon after, he went through your previous highlights, looking at pictures of you and the other moments you'd shared on social media. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you seemed so genuine and real.

It was taking everything in him in that moment to not DM you.

To not type out a message and send it into the void.

To not tell you how much that moment had meant to him.

But he held back. For now.

Back on your side, the moment THAT like came in, your phone buzzed with a notification.

"user Jobe Bellingham liked your post."

Your heart stopped.

You stared at the screen, your mouth falling open.

He found your account at last.

This was the night everything changed for your life. And subsequently, Jobe's own too.

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author's note .☘︎ ݁˖- first story on Tumblr kinda nervous 😬