Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Reader | wc: 9.7k
Summary: You and Jobe have been dating for some while and you haven't had a proper date due to the paparazzi and all. He asks you out on a dinner date but he doesn't show up after you've waited.
Note: This is my first time posting a fanfic. I'm sorry if it isn't good as the others and sorry if I make mistakes in some parts!
The restaurant hummed with low conversation, silverware clinking gently against porcelain. Soft light glowed from chandeliers above, catching the shimmer of your jewelries each time you shifted in your seat.
You smoothed the fabric of your dress again. You felt sweaty. Nervous. For your date. A dinner date. With Jobe Bellingham. It was felt unreal, it wasn't something that you planned but you were glad that it happened.
Your phone sat down, untouched. Your eyes lingered to the door. Anticipating for your date to enter anytime soon. 'Anytime soon.' You told yourself. He'd walk in any second from now.
You leaned b ack, exhaling slowly. A smile tugged at your lips as you went into memory lane to remember when you first met.
You were in the club with your friends. Bass thumped through the floor, neon lights pulsed around the crowded room. Your friends were deep into their second round of shots but you weren't with. You sat down in the bar dancing in your seat.
That's when a shadow fell over the table.
"Mind if I sit?" A voice asked. Low. Smooth, like he'd been here before.
You looked up expecting a drunk man but you didn't. He didn't look like those club guys. His smile was easy, not pushy, and for some reason you found yourself nodding.
"Sure." You said, motioning on the seat next to you.
He sat down, facing you. His elbows leaned on the table. His eyes flickering on your untouched glass.
"You don't look like you're having much fun." He said.
You shrugged. "Maybe, I'm not just the dancing type."
He chuckled. "Fair enough, not everyone is the dance type."
There was something grounding about him. Despite the flashing lights and the chaos of the club, his attention didn’t waver. He asked you what you liked to drink, if you came here often. Somewhere behind him, a group of guys were laughing, clearly watching the two of you, but you barely noticed.
"You look like someone." You pointed out. His brow raised. Curious.
"Who do I look like?" A subtle smirk. lingered on his face.
"Hmmm." You hummed, tapping your chin and thinking. What celebrity does he look like? You looked at him again, studying his facials.
"Wait." You gasped. "You look like Jude! That Bellingham guy that everyone crushes on." Your smile widened.
That earned a quiet laugh from him, low and amused. He leaned forward a little. "Is that so?" His eyes glinting.
"Yeah, your resemblance is uncanny. You could actually pass as his younger brother or something."
The smirk widened, but he didn't correct you. He just titled his head, sipping in his drink. "You think so?"
"I know so." You nodded, certain. "Trust me, I've seen his face everywhere. On interviews, billboards, Tiktok clips—" You stopped suddenly, realization dawning as you looked at him. Your mouth dropped open.
"Wait." Your hands flying to your lips. "Don't tell me–"
He chuckled, holding out his hand across the table like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Jobe. Nice to meet you.”
You took his hands, shaking it. "Holy shit." You muttered under your breath. "I'm with a Bellingham." You whispered.
"I love how you took your time." He winked.
You laughed. Still in disbelief. "I can't believe it. No wonder, half of the club keeps staring." A smile tugged at your lips.
He glanced over his shoulder where a few of his teammates were clearly watching, trying to hide their grins. When he turned back, his expression softened. "And yet I’m over here, talking to you."
That line pulled a small, unexpected flutter from your chest and you tried to cover it with sarcasm. "Smooth. Do you rehearse that one?"
He laughed again, warm and unbothered. "Not at all, but you're giving me time to rehearse."
And that's when you knew something changed that night. You knew there was something about him. How he talked, how he listened to you– something that made the club chaos fade just for you to feel like you weren't another face in the crowd.
"Miss?" A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring a little too long at the flickering candle on your table.
A waiter stood beside you, polite smile in place, tray tucked under his arm. “Would you like me to refresh your water? Or… perhaps order while you wait?” His tone was careful, he didn't know when they weren’t sure if they should feel sorry for you.
Heat crept up your neck. You shook your head quickly. “No, thank you. I’ll… I’ll wait.”
“Of course.” He gave a small nod and slipped away, leaving you with the clinking of cutlery.
You waited for him just to come into the door. You tapped your phone which was on the table to see any notifications from him but you didn't. That's when you knew that he wasn't coming anytime soon.
Tears began to build up but you couldn't let your emotions get ahead of you. You stood up, paid for whatever you purchased. People gave you the look–looks of pity, curiosity.
You left the restaurant feeling betrayed. Stupid. Gullible. He didn't even text, no calls. Nothing. It made you furious and made you wonder why he did that.
Then headlights cuts across the street, stopping right in front you.
The driver seat opens, and he steps out.
He moves fast, his face all sweaty, his hair not combed, his eyes locks on yours–filled with guilt. You didn't care, you broke the contact and walked past him.
You heard him call out but you didn’t stop. Your legs just kept moving, faster this time, not caring.
"Wait!" He shouted again, calling your name. You shook your head, wiping your cheek quickly with the back of your hand. You couldn’t let him see you like this. Not after you sat there all evening waiting, staring at the door like a fool.
The footsteps came closer, louder, and before you could step off the curb, a hand caught your arm gently. Warm. Firm.
You froze, your back still turned to him.
"Please," his voice was softer now, almost begging. "Just… look at me."
Slowly, you turned around, and there he was—Jobe. Breathless. His eyes searched yours, guilt all over his face.
"I’m sorry," he said quickly. "I swear I was on my way, but Jude—" he rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you. “He called last minute, wanted me to come over. Said it was important. You know how he gets."
Your jaw tightened. "So you left me for him, you made me sit down for hours waiting for you!"
"It wasn’t like that," he rushed out. "I thought I’d make it on time after, I really did. But then it dragged and—" He sighed, shoulders slumping. "I messed up."
"You did, big time." You stared at him, your arms crossed.
"Jobe, I sat there like an fool waiting for you. People were staring at me like I got stood up." You pointed. "No texts, no calls–nothing."
"I didn’t mean for that to happen." His voice was softer now, like he was trying to shrink the weight of it. "I thought you’d understand. It was Jude, he needed me."
You laughed, but it wasn’t funny. "But I needed you the most! It's always the same excuse–It’s either training, your friends, now Jude. When is it ever me? It was our first date Jobe!" Your voice croaked, tears already starting to build up.
It was your first date together after multiple texting, video calls on phone. You planned it'll go smoothly, you thought it'll be magical but now it's ruined.
That shut him up for a second. He blinked, chest rising and falling like he was searching for words.
"I’m here now,” he said finally. “I came, didn’t I?"
Your heart twisted, but your face stayed cold. “Yeah, you came… after I already knew I didn’t matter enough to be first."
You turned like you were ready to walk away, and his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist gently.
“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t go.”
You yanked your hand out of his grip, the sting of disappointment heavier than his touch. "Don’t." Your voice cracked, sharp but shaky. "You don’t get to hold me like that after making me feel like nothing."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked like he didn’t know whether to argue or beg. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the muffled hum of cars passing on the street.
You folded your arms tighter around yourself, "You’re Jobe Bellingham, right? The guy that all the girls are supposed to be lucky to even talk to. Maybe that’s what I should’ve expected."
"That’s not true," he said quickly, eyes narrowing just a little. "You know I don’t think I’m above you."
"Then why did you leave me sitting there alone?" you shot back.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. No excuse this time.
"Why am I even surprised." You scoffed. "And I thought that maybe I've found love somewhere but I was wrong. Maybe being a celebrity girlfriend isn't my thing after all."
"Please don't say that, my love." His voice breaking, he was guilty and he knew. His eyes watery, he didn't know how to react. "Please...." His voice quiet.
"I messed up, big time. I know I did. But don’t let this ruin the night. Please, my love."
You sigh. "Fine but how exactly do you want to fix this mess?"
"I know a place,” he said quickly, eyes pleading. “Not fancy, not crowded, but good food. Just… somewhere we can actually talk. No waiting, no staring, no nonsense. Just us."
You hesitated, arms still crossed, but something in the way he looked at you—genuine, desperate even—made the edge in your chest soften a little.
"Fine," you said finally, voice tight but giving him a chance. "But if this goes wrong too, I’m walking again."
His face lit up with a small, relieved smile. "Deal. Come on."
He offered his hand, and after a beat, you took it. Warm, solid, and a little comforting. Together, you walked toward the car, the tension between you still there, but slightly eased by the promise of a do-over.
The place he took you to wasn’t fancy at all. Just a small restaurant down a side street, warm lights, a few tables, and the smell of fresh food in the air. It was quiet, not packed like the other place, and for some reason, it made everything feel more better.
Jobe held the door for you, and you walked in, still a little tense, but not as tight as before. He led you to a table in the corner and pulled out a chair for you like a proper gentleman.
"I’m really sorry about before," he said, sliding into the seat across from you. "I should’ve texted. I should’ve—" He shook his head, cutting himself off. "I just… I messed up, okay?"
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the little smile threatening to break through. "Yeah, you did. Big time."
"I know," he said, grinning sheepishly. "So, can I make it up to you, Love?"
You studied him for a second, then shrugged. "Fine. But if this place sucks, I’m blaming you."
He laughed, the sound soft and easy. "Deal. But trust me, you won’t be disappointed."
The menu smelled amazing, but you barely looked at it. You found yourself watching him instead—how he was relaxed here, how his smile felt real, how his eyes lit up when he talked about stupid things, like the new playlist his teammates were obsessed with or some game he had that week.
For the first time tonight, you felt yourself relax. It wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t perfect. But right now, sitting across from him in this quiet little place, it felt real.
You picked at the edge of your napkin, pretending to be focused on it, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at him. He was scrolling through his phone for a second, then looked up and caught you
With a teasing grin. "You like what you see?"
You rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh. "Please. I’m just… observing."
"Observing, huh?" he raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "That sounds way too serious for a first date."
You smirked. "Maybe I take my first dates seriously."
He laughed, soft and easy, and it made your chest feel warm. "Good to know. I’ll try to live up to the standard then."
The waiter came by with your food, and as you started to eat, he watched you like you were the only person in the restaurant. Every once in a while, he’d reach across the table, brushing your hand lightly, just enough to make your stomach flutter.
"You’re ridiculous," you said, shaking your head but smiling.
"And you like it," he countered instantly, smirk tugging at his lips.
You rolled your eyes, but your grin betrayed you. "Maybe I do."
He leaned back, satisfied, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Just sat there, eating, laughing at small jokes, the awkward tension from earlier slowly melting away.
By the time you left the little restaurant, walking back toward the car, your hand brushed his, and this time, you didn’t pull away. He gave your fingers a soft squeeze, and you couldn’t stop the small smile from spreading across your face.
Tonight didn’t go as planned. But right now, it was perfect enough.
Dinner was over and Jobe offered his arm as you walked toward where his car was parked, and you hesitated for just a second before taking it. The ride back was quiet, comfortable. He didn’t try to fill the car with small talk.
When you reached your street, he pulled up in front of your house. The headlights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk, and he turned to you, a small, nervous smile on his face.
"I’ll walk you to the door," he said.
You nodded, letting him help you out. He stayed close as you walked up the path, your hand brushing his every few steps.
When you reached your front door, he stopped and turned to face you. "I had a really good night," he said softly, eyes searching yours.
"Me too," you admitted, heart fluttering.
He leaned just a little closer, his hand finding yours. "I won't make the same mistake again and I promise that I'll make our date more special each time to amend my mistakes."
You smiled, "Okay, i trust you."
"Thank you," he whispered.
And then, before either of you could think it, he pressed his lips to yours. Just a soft, quick kiss at first, then a little longer as you leaned in, wrapping your free hand around his neck. Your heart raced, and everything from earlier—the waiting, the frustration melted away in that moment.
When you finally pulled back, you were both smiling, a little breathless, but happier than either of you had been all night.
"Goodnight Jobe." you whispered.
"Goodnight, my love." he said, grinning. "See you soon." And he gave you a quick kiss before leaving.
You watched him walk back to the car, the soft glow from the streetlights catching his hair, and you couldn’t stop smiling. Tonight had been a mess, but somehow, it had ended perfectly.
