heyy! you could write jobe's headcanons?? with make-out sessions, something sweet and intimate about what kind of boyfriend he would be... thanksss! I love your writing as much as I love jobe :)
— 🎀🩰
Jobe Bellingham as a boyfriend
headcanon;
may contain spelling and translation errors.
♡ Make-out sessions
♡ He’s definitely the type to smile into kisses. Like, you’ll pull away for a second and he’s already grinning because he knows you’re flustered.
♡ He kisses you everywhere except your lips just to tease you.
"Nope.”
kiss on your forehead.
"Still not here.”
♡ One hand always finds your waist. It’s almost subconscious. Whether you’re standing in the kitchen or sitting on his lap, his hand naturally settles there.
♡ If you’re talking during a make-out session, he’ll stop just to listen. He’s genuinely interested in whatever random story you’re trying to tell, even if you’re both completely distracted.
♡ Loves slow kisses more than rushed ones. He’s in absolutely no hurry.
♡ If you laugh mid-kiss, he’ll laugh too. Neither of you can stay serious for long.
♡ He’ll brush your hair behind your ear before kissing you again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
♡ After a while, he’ll rest his forehead against yours and just breathe for a second because he likes the closeness as much as the kisses themselves.
♡ Little intimate moments
♡ You’re lying on the sofa together, and he absentmindedly traces circles on your back while watching a movie.
♡ He loves when your legs are tangled together. Physical touch is almost a comfort language for him.
♡ Random forehead kisses. Constantly.
♡ If you’re wearing one of his hoodies, he pretends to complain.
“I’m never getting that back, am I?”
…before pulling you into another hug because you look too cute in it.
♡ He memorizes tiny things without realizing it.
Your coffee order, the side of the bed you prefer, which songs make you sleepy and that exact way you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating.
♡ Protective, but not possessive
♡ Walking on the side closest to the road.
♡ Automatically reaching for your hand when crossing the street.
♡ Checking that you got home safely, but never in an overbearing way.
♡ If someone makes you uncomfortable, he notices almost immediately.
He doesn’t make a dramatic scene. He simply appears beside you, wraps an arm around your shoulders and changes the conversation so naturally that only you realize what he’s doing.
♡ The softest boyfriend
♡ Loves being the little spoon… but will deny it.
♡ He melts if you play with his curls. Seriously.
He becomes incapable of forming coherent sentences.
♡ If you’re reading a book, he’ll quietly put his head in your lap and scroll on his phone just because he likes being near you.
♡ He’s the kind of boyfriend who randomly whispers:
“You’re really pretty.”
Not because you’re dressed up. Just because he looked at you.
♡ His love language
I think Jobe would be a mix of:
♡ Physical touch.
♡ Quality time.
♡ Acts of service.
He’s not necessarily the biggest “grand romantic gesture” guy.
Instead, love looks like:
♡ making you tea before you’ve asked,
♡ charging your phone because he noticed it was on 8%,
♡ warming up your side of the bed,
♡ tying your shoelace because your hands are full,
♡ remembering you mentioned your favorite snack once three months ago and bringing it home after training. think
summary: where you deliver his birthday present only after the party.
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The night was still pouring warmly over Dortmund, and the balcony of Jobe's apartment seemed suspended in the air, accomplice of a forbidden and sweet secret. The table was already marked by the raw movements of before, the smell of sex mixed with that of spilled wine, the breathing still heavy in both. But you didn't seem satisfied to stop there, the brightness in your eyes denounced that you wanted more, you wanted to prolong that promise of eternity with something that was only yours, done calmly, but still incendiary.
You slipped from his lap, still panting, and walked barefoot until you took the almost empty wine bottle, filling two glasses with the unpretentious gesture of someone who had already decided the next step. Jobe watched you, sitting on the balcony chair, your naked body shining with sweat, his cock still hard, resting only for seconds. Your way, on your back, the crumpled red dress falling from your shoulders, the skin marked by his hands, made his blood boil again.
You turned slowly, bringing one of the cups, and handed it to him with a malicious smile, before leaning on his lap, sitting on his strong thighs as if it were your natural throne.
-You haven't finished yet, right, honey?
You provoked, your voice low, dragged by the accent.
He raised his glass, his dark eyes fixed on you, and took a sip slowly, savouring the wine while feeling the heat of your pussy settling against his cock.
-Not even close to that...
He replied, hoarsely, the lazy smile denouncing how much he was about to get lost again.
You held his base with your delicate hand, slowly guiding the tip against you, rubbing first, wetting it even more with your moisture, until they both gasped in unison. Only then did you go down slowly, sitting on him for real, the body opening centimetre by centimetre, the moans escaping in the rhythm of penetration.
-Oh my God...- the moan escaped dragged, your head tipping back, your breasts rising and falling as you swallowed it all.- Fuck!
The boy squeezed your thigh hard, but he didn't hurry at all. He took the glass of wine to his mouth again, drinking while watching, fascinated, you settle completely on his dick, your hips going down until he was buried until the end.
-What a view, my love, you're a delight... -He murmured, panting, his eyes devouring every detail: the dress down, the beaks of the hard breasts, the belly contracted with the effort. -There's nothing more beautiful or better than that to get as a gift today.
You began to move, first slow, savouring, your hip spinning in an intimate ballet that made his cock throb inside. He drank another sip, his mouth stained with wine, while the other hand slid down your body, holding your waist tightly, sometimes going up to his breast, squeezing, twisting his nipple between his fingers, pulling out your loudest moans.
-Oh... Jobe... so deep, huh?
You rolled slowly, the wet sound of your bodies filling the night, each descent pulling out of him a deep moan, a hoarse sigh.
He dropped the glass, leaving it on the table, and grabbed your hips with both big hands, guiding the rhythm, but still keeping it slow, almost reverent. His organ went in and out with soft, wet pops, and you looked at him with half-closed eyes, your mouth ajar, completely surrendered.
-Look how you sit on me. -He whispered, sliding his hand to your clitoris, rubbing in firm circles while making you sit down again. -What a beautiful thing, my darling...
You moaned louder, your whole body shaking, your hip accelerating involuntarily. His vision of you riding on him, your dishevelled hair swaying, the brightness of sweat illuminated by the city light, it was like a perfect erotic painting. Jobe didn't know whether to look at your face, contorted with pleasure, or at the way the cock disappeared inside you with every movement.
-Just like that, babe, keep going! - You put your hands on his chest, ridding faster now, every beat making the sound of skin against skin echo on the balcony. -I'm going... I'm going to cum again...
He pulled your right breast to his mouth, sucking hard, biting until you screamed, and at the same time rubbed your clitoris mercilessly.
-Shout, Y/n... let all of Germany listen...
He snored against your skin, his cock stocking deep, your hips going down without stopping.
Your scream exploded when you came, your whole body contracting, squeezing him inside in an almost painful way, pulling out of him deep, hoarse moans, while struggling on top of him.
The younger Bellingham held you tightly, his hips cracking against yours, and soon came too, gushing hot, deep, the wine still burning in the mouth, but nothing compared to the heat of the cum inside you.
Both were glued, panting, you lying against his shoulder, sweaty, laughing softly, your hip still shaking with the final spasms. He took the glass once again, drank the last sip of wine and ran his stained lips down his neck, muttering.
- I don't know if it was the wine, you or the birthday party... but I've never tasted anything so good.
You laughed, tired, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.
-Definitely, it was me.
And on the balcony lit by almost extinguished candles, you knew that no party crowded with people would be the best way to celebrate another year of life. That was enough: wine, Dortmund, and the certainty that one would always get lost in the other.
