#dortmund

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.‎ pairings‎ ‎ ‎ bf!jo.bellingham & fem!reader

.‎ summary ‎ ‎ ‎ jobe headcanons if he was your footballer boyfie

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boyfriend!jobe ... he's the kind to bring you home small gifts that remind him of you. or even bring you a fresh bouquet of flowers every few days. it's his little way of showing you're always on his mind.

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boyfriend!jobe ... can't STAND when people disrespect you. will speak up in the moment if needed, and if it's bad enough he'll cut the person off completely after conversing with you first. your opinions and perceptions matter just as much to him in situations.

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boyfriend!jobe ... genuinely is your number one supporter. anything you acheive is also a victory of his own. he would never let himself get in the way of your goals and dreams, but would indeed be the proudest man as he'd stand by your side to cheer you on for anything and everything.

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boyfriend!jobe ... stays soft during arguments. one of his biggest fears is creating a barrier between the two of you due to miscommunication or lack of regulating emotions with one another. he's not necessarily trying to argue, but without communicating it could become something fake and or toxic. which is what he will never let by.

"i know you're upset love, but we still have to talk." he said, sitting on the edge of the bed as you blow dried your hair in the bathroom across.

"there's nothing to talk about, jobe."

he let a soft exhale leave his mouth. then a beat of silence passed. "babe,"

"what." refusing to look over at him through the doorway.

"come here." tone as soft as a man wanting to soothe and understand, not to prove himself right and disregard your point of view.

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boyfriend!jobe ... a handbook gentleman. will not let you open doors first, always pulling out a chair for you, never letting you walk on the road side of the side walk. he never feels pleased nor settled with himself if he does otherwise.

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boyfriend!jobe ... already knows your the one, when you meet his family for the first time and instantly click. family is everything to him, and if he wishes to have one of his own it's superrr important to him that you can fit into his life and household as it is. because that's one thing he's not willingly to change just to make a single relationship work.

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boyfriend!jobe ... loves physical touch. whether it be a hand resting on your lower back in public, or especially in those moments when you two are alone. his arms wrapping around you as you both laid dead on the couch, warm hands slipping up under your shirt, thumbs tracing circling motions.

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boyfriend!jobe ... has a guilty pleasure of being called the sweet nicknames you've established for him. the only difference from him and most guys, is that he WANTS you to do it in public. he wants it to be know that your both completely and utterly devoted to each other.

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boyfriend!jobe ... he hates making you jealous, even if it's not on purpose. but he can't deny the fact that it feeds a part of him, knowing that you love him to that extent.

"i can't believe you" you mumbled. pissed at the girl that had tried to throw herself at YOUR man, to get his attention. the image of her hands on his arm and that stupid, home-wrecking gleam in her eyes imprinted behind your eyelids.

"baby, come on." he let out a low chuckle, but it only held half the usual humor. "she was being friendly. that's it. all right?"

"she looked a second away from trying to jump your bones." now visibly upset, and it made him frown.

he moved to stand infront of you.

"hey. baby, look at me." his hands held your face like you were something so dangerously fragile.

"i've got eyes for no one, but this gorgeous woman before me. this, gorgeous... sweet... and fierce woman." he paused, making sure you were taking in every word as he held eye contact.

"understand?"

it made you melt, all you could do was smile. 'how could one be so lucky.'

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boyfriend!jobe ... takes every chance he can to compliment you. no matter if you believe it or not. he means every word, and he makes sure you know he does. he doesn't like the thought of you seeing yourself for less than what you were. and makes it his mission to remind you everyday.

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(little smut warning)

boyfriend!jobe ... lowkey has a neck biting kink. ESPECIALLYYY when you do it to him. he loves the feeling of you on top of him, teeth nipping at his skin. that, and the friction from you two grinding is an absolute deadly combination for him.

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isn't much but im soooo tired 😭😭 i'll probably be posting more footballer aus/headcanons now. i've missed my fine ass men.

jobe bellingham x f! reader

:: Being mad at Jobe would've been a lot easier if he didn't have the most unfair smile you'd ever seen.

masterlist

(someone requested it, but i forgot to link it..)

The argument had been over for at least five minutes but neither of you had admitted it.

You were standing in the kitchen, pretending to be incredibly interested in pouring yourself a glass of water while Jobe lingered somewhere behind you.

The apartment had gone quiet again, except for the sound of the tap running and the occasional shuffle of his feet across the floor.

You took a slow sip of your water, refusing to turn around.

"If you're waiting for me to apologize first," you said, still facing the sink, "you're gonna be waiting a while."

"I wasn't." His voice was quieter now, less defensive than it had been ten minutes ago. "I just didn't want you walking away while you were still upset."

You set your glass down with a soft clink. "I'm not walking away."

"It looked like you were."

"I just came to get water."

He sighed still standing behind you. "Right."

You could almost feel him looking at you. "You can stop staring."

"I'm not staring, I'm just looking in your direction."

You let out a small breath that was very close to a laugh. "That's still staring."

"It isn't."

"It is when there's nothing else over here to look at."

Then you heard it, a quiet little huff of laughter.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second. "Dont laugh."

You finally turned around but the second you did, you regretted it.

Jobe was leaning against the kitchen island, one ankle crossed over the other, trying so hard to look innocent that it was almost funny. His lips were pressed together, but the corners kept twitching upwards.

His eyes already had that tiny squint to them, like he was seconds away from properly smiling.

You pointed a finger at him. "No."

He blinked "No?"

"I know what you're doing, dont act clueless."

A grin slipped onto his face. "What am I doing?"

You groaned, immediately looking away again. "There it is."

"What?"

"That smile."

"What about it?" He scratched the back of his neck, trying and failing to hide how amused he was.

"I think you're making things up."

You looked back at him annoyed. "You've figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

You looked back at him for half a second before shaking your head. "You know I can't stay mad when you smile."

The grin spread a little wider. "Did I?"

He let out a laugh he was trying to bite back. "I didn't realize it had that much power."

You sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

He pushed himself off the island and wandered over, stopping beside you instead of directly in front of you.

He reached for your glass, took a sip of your water without asking, then put it back exactly where it had been.

"Did you just drink my water?"

He looked down into the glass. "I think I did."

You shook your head, trying so hard not to smile. "You're actually unbelievable."

He laughed. "There it is."

"I'm really sorry," he stated. This time there wasn't a smile.

You searched his face for a second before letting out a quiet sigh. "It's okay, as long we don't fight over stupid things again"

"I promise."

You studied him for another second before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist.

He hugged you back almost immediately.

"You still stole my water," you mumbled against his shoulder.

your public story:

your close friends story:

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first thing i’ve done about jobe bellingham!! except a fluff story soon! :) please like, reblog, & comment if you’d like to be added to the jo. bellingham taglist!

ph. Danko Maksimovic - Dortmund, Germany (2025)

Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

sy: you unexpectedly run into your ex's brother at a party.

a/n: just a little something silly i wrote after watching an edit of him, i kinda let my imagination run wild lol. sorry if there are any writing or translation mistakes

You hadn't expected to see anyone you knew at this party.

That was precisely the appeal. A friday night in someone else's flat, in a part of the city you didn't frequent much, with people who belonged to circles adjacent to yours but that didn't overlap enough to create social obligations. The kind of party where you could exist without having to be the version of yourself that people had already catalogued. You were fine with that. You were, in fact, actively enjoying it, drink in hand and the music low enough to think, leaning against a wall near the window that looked out over the city lights below.

That was when you saw him.

Not Jude — that possibility you had evaluated and dismissed before walking in, with the practical coldness of someone who learned to locate emergency exits before needing them. The brother. Jobe. Younger, taller than you remembered from the last time you'd crossed paths with him in a family context you preferred not to revisit, with that smile that was familiar in a way that did strange work in your stomach.

He saw you at almost the same moment.

You watched the recognition move across his face, a small pause, a reorganisation of expectations, and then the smile that wasn't surprise but was something more deliberate than that. He was on the other side of the room and there were enough people between you that you could have looked away and pretended not to have noticed.

You didn't do that.

Not out of masochism — at least that's what you told yourself — but because Jobe Bellingham was coming in your direction with the specific energy of someone who isn't in a hurry because he knows he's going to get there regardless, and there was something in that which made you curious enough to stay where you were.

"I should have put money on it," he said when he was close enough to be heard over the music, his eyes moving over you in a way that was direct without being invasive. "That you'd be here tonight."

"You would have won," you said.

"I would have." He leaned against the wall beside you, not in front of you, which was a calculated choice you noticed and that he probably knew you'd notice. His profile settled into your peripheral vision, his jaw, the line of his neck, that resemblance that was undeniable and that you preferred to file in a mental folder labelled irrelevant for now. "It's been a while."

"It has," you agreed.

"You look good." It wasn't a question. It was an observation with a specific weight, the kind that stays suspended in the air waiting for you to decide what to do with it.

You turned your face slightly toward him. "Are you being polite or making an observation?"

His smile grew slowly, the kind that doesn't rush because it doesn't need to. "Both things can be true."

The music shifted to something lower, heavier, the kind of sound that exists specifically to create atmosphere in dark rooms, and you turned back to the window with your drink in hand trying not to let his proximity do more work than it should. Jobe was younger, he was the brother of someone who had been a considerable part of your life for a considerable amount of time, and there were at least three practical reasons why this conversation should stay exactly where it was.

You were cataloguing those reasons when he turned to look at you properly, his shoulder leaning lightly against yours — casual, could have been accidental, but you knew the difference between accident and intention.

"Can I tell you something?" he said, his voice low enough to be just yours in the middle of the party noise.

You looked at him. "Depends on the thing."

"You'll always be my favourite."

The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough for you to process that sentence and everything it carried. You felt the warmth before you could formulate a response, and the part of you that had come to this party with the intention of existing without complications was looking at the situation with an expression that said I warned you.

"What do you mean?" you said, because it was the only honest response.

Jobe looked at you for a second and then the smile appeared again, that specific smile that was simultaneously a shield and a confession.

"Sister in law," he said. "Favourite sister in law, obviously."

The word arrived wrapped in something that wasn't innocent, delivered with a look that didn't match the explanation accompanying it in any way, and you stood looking at him for a moment with the very clear awareness that he knew exactly what he was doing. That he'd said it one way first, and then another, and that the space between the two versions was entirely intentional.

You laughed — not because it was funny, but because it was the most honest response to a situation that didn't have a right answer. "You're terrible," you said.

"I'm honest," he corrected, and there was something in his tone that wasn't regret. "They're different things."

The party continued around you both with the usual indifference of parties. Someone laughing louder than necessary in a corner, the sound of ice in a glass, the music pulsing through the floor. Jobe was looking at you with that expression you couldn't quite classify, something between what he'd said and what he wasn't going to say, and you felt the weight of it like physical pressure in the space between you.

You pushed off from the wall. "I'm going to get another drink."

"I'll come with you."

"You don't need to."

"I know," he said, simply, and stayed where he was — which was, you realised as you walked away, perhaps the smartest thing he could have done. Not insisting. Not following. Just staying there with that smile and that look and the sentence that was going to stay in your head longer than it should.

You reached the makeshift bar in the kitchen and ordered something without quite knowing what you'd asked for, and stood for a moment with the glass in your hand looking at the surface of the drink with the very specific awareness that there were two versions of you in that moment: the one who was going to go back to the party and find other people and finish the night without complications, and the one who knew she was going to look back before leaving the kitchen.

You looked back.

He was exactly where you'd left him, leaning against the wall with his drink in hand, and when your eyes found his across the room he did nothing except smile — that small, very deliberate smile of someone who didn't need more than that.

You turned back to the bar.

There were at least three practical reasons why that conversation should have stayed exactly where it did.