You’d been in Ibiza for four days.

No parties. No distractions. Just photoshoots during golden hour and quiet mornings in your private villa. You were booked for a campaign with a luxury swimwear brand.

Maya begged you to come to the private boat party.

Maya: “Just sunset drinks with a few people.”

You gave in, eventually. The vibe was chill. A few influencers, a few athletes.

You were pouring a drink when someone bumped into you. Ice water spilled down your hand. You turned sharply.

?: “Watch it,” he muttered.

Deep voice, British accent, brown curls: Jobe Bellingham.

You blinked.

You: “You bumped into me?” Jobe: “Did I? Didn’t notice.” You: “Clearly.”

You didn’t speak to him again that night. But the next morning, you woke up to a DM.

@jobebellingham: “You always that clumsy? Or was it the outfit.”

                            — sent at 2:47 AM.

You rolled your eyes, then smiled but didn’t reply.

It was a beach café this time. You were barefoot, hair wet from swimming. He was sitting alone, you walked past but didn’t look at him.

Jobe: “Still ignoring me?” You stopped walking.

You: “Still trying?” He smirked.

He was the first guy who didn’t chase you — but still wanted you. That scared you more than you’d admit.

✧ 𝙏𝙒𝙊 𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙆𝙎 𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙍…

You posted a photo on your story: Madrid skyline, no caption. 🏙️🤍

One minute later:

@jobebellingham:

“Madrid soon. Don’t act surprised if I show up.”

You let out a scoff. He wouldn’t dare, he was just bluffing. You didn’t reply.

You were back in your routine, photo shoots, meetings, queit nights, Ibiza stayed in your head: The water, the silence.

Him.

You never replied to his DM. You just opened it, then archived it like it meant nothing, but it meant everything.

One night, Maya dragged you to a rooftop party — you didn’t want to go, but your agency was co-hosting and you had to.

You wore something simple but dangerous. Black halter dress, fresh blowout. Everyone was staring, but you weren’t interested. Until you stepped out on the rooftop balcony, And saw him.

Jobe.

Leaning against the railing. Talking to some guys. Same stare, quiet confidence. Except this time… he was in your city.

You (quietly): “No fucking way.”

He spotted you before you could turn away. Didn’t say anything — just stared. Like he was reading every thought you were hiding.

You looked away. Pretended to fix your hair, but your hands were shaking. You walked into the hallway, he followed you. You were angry, confused— you didn’t even know. While you talked angry, he just kept speaking calm. Oh jobe, the man he was….

You: “You think you can just show up and—” Jobe: “Yes.” You: “That’s not how this works, Jobe.” Jobe: “Then tell me how it works. Cuz clearly, I’m still in your head.”

He said looking into your eyes. You didn’t know why you were so cold to him, but you knew one thing: He drove you absolutely insane.

@adrianaaz_19