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🫦

𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 / • 𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐣𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ; 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘪 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

(𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙚𝙢!) /𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘵𝘷, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘥𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘪 & 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘭.

i hummed quietly as i slightly pulled up my olive colored stringed tube too, examining my now bigger backside through my matching colored leggings, with jewelry to top the outfit off, with a slick back ponytail.

i never felt more beautiful in the world. i mean, after dealing with postpartum depression when i had davi, took a toll on my mental and it effected mostly how i viewed myself, mostly how i looked.

but ney made sure i wasn’t going through it alone. even sitting out for the season for me, which he didn’t have to do, but it was along the lines of “i love you more than ever, why wouldn’t i?”.

best husband i could ever ask for right?

finishing putting on my last anklet, i grabbed me purse, before i opened our shared bedroom door, walking downstairs as i was met with neymar watching tv, just putting down davi for bed.

“tudo bem papi, estou saindo para hoje à noite!” i said, before i bent down to reach my shoes, before being met with my handsome husband, just blatantly staring, like analyzing what i was wearing. ["alright papi, im leaving for tonight!"]

“is it something wrong?” I asked before neymar stood up, walking over to me, his tall figure just standing over me. mnm.

“não... mas sua roupa, é problema meu. você não vai sair com essa roupa meu amor.” neymar shook his head, before slightly leaning against the wall before i kissed my teeth in a attempt to win him over. [“nope...but your outfit, is my problem. your not going out in that outfit my love.”]

“but babyyyyy! i thought this was ‘hubby approved?’” i whined, walking up to him, hoping that he would change his mind on the outfit. i like when he’s like that, possessive, but he wasn’t overly possessive. he just didn’t want anyone to see what was his.

“it is...but i know...you look this good? you might be hiding something under these leggings...your ass is moving way too much princess.” neymar smiled, wrapping his arms around me as he kissed my lips, before burying his face inside of my neck, making me break out in giggles.

“stop-neyyyy! why are you feeling in my pantsss?-” you kept squirming in his arms, before his hands successfully made it to the inside of your tights before he felt around your ass…

he stopped before he felt a thin string run across his hand, standing back, as he felt himmself run hard…just from rubbing against you, he knew you had on a thong, not let alone a g-string.

“princesa, puxe-os para baixo e deixe-me ver o que você está vestindo.” neymar demanded, his demeanor just turning me on in seconds…wet. [“princess, pull them down and let me see what you're wearin’”]

pouting and just irritated in general about the whole ordeal, i whined, him not budging at all. still.

cockblocker.

“what did i say?” his accent was present in his english.

“ugh…fine.” I rolled my eyes, pulling my pants before revealing a black thong, causing him to bite his lip…just examining me and my figure , how natural my curves were and how my body snapped back just easily after birthing davi.

“are you trying to tempt me? by sneaking out in a thong mu amour?” neymar teased slightly, giving me that gaze.

wetted my underwear that fast-

“no…it’s just panties. what’s the big deal?” i sassed, before neymar chuckled, pulling me back swiftly, before his hand was around my throat just like that.

“or should i fix that attitude of yours? you wouldn’t wanna wake up davi would you?” neymar challenged, as my lip was tucked in my bottom teeth, feeling my legs go weak just from him putting me in my place that fast.

before huffing “no papi.” i responded, before he let go, his hands running back down my ass, gripping it in his hands, just caressing it before his lips made it to my ear.

(i have a thing for tatted hands…)

“so be a good girl and change for me. and drop the attitude.” neymar spoke, his breath hitching in my ear as he moved closer, making me whimper, sprinkled with a moan in this midst.

“okay…” i smiled, trailing off before walking back to our shared room, changing my underwear.

a short few minutes later, i walked back downstairs, to be smart, i put on his favorite pink laced panties he bought me for valentines day, standing in front of him.

“better now?” i huffed before standing up. neymar felt a heartbeat down there…the throbbing sensation grew the more he stared…and in his favorite panties? i was bound to be fucked up…

“way much better. covers up nicely.” neymar sarcastically spoke, before you could pull up or grab your leggings from the floor, neymar pulled you by your panties, causing me to fall on him.

“neyyy! i have to go! im gonna be-ouuu shit.” you felt him slap your ass, before softly sucking on your sweet spot, as i caressed his head.

“shhh…eles podem esperar, deixe-me provar baby antes de você sair... foda-se.” neymar muttered across your skin, before slapping your ass again, causing euphoric thoughts to take over as he repeatedly attacked my spot, sucking on it. [“shh, they can wait, let me get a taste baby, before you leave...fuck.”]

i guess im never leaving the house anytime soon…without any more inspections. i don’t mind it tho.

first neymar fic bc im obsessed, give me suggestions!, lemme know how i did loves!

aftercare with our boy haaland

❝ 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 ❞

.ೃ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ! 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰 𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✰ ´ˎ˗

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⌇ 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 ੈ✩‧₊˚

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⌇ 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

ೄྀ࿐ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⌇ 𝟎.𝟔𝐤 !

↳ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ೃ⁀➷ 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐫. 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 !

Erling rolled over in bed. Both of you recovering from your highs and gasping for breath, muttering phrases of endearment into the air towards each other. “So good f’me,” he praised, breath uneven. He blinked over at you, cheek pressed into the pillow as he shifted himself over to look at you and the fall and rise of your chest with a coy grin. “You okay?” he rasped.

You glanced over at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a lazy downturned smile. “Mhm.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead gently, then withdrew and clambered out of the bed; looking over his shoulder momentarily to cast a last glimpse of you. Hair tousled and splayed over the duvet haphazardly, cheeks flushed and marked by his touch. “Where you goin’?” you tilted your head at him, cocking it to the side. 

He chuckled, tongue-in-cheek, his back turned to you as he called out, “I’ll be back in a minute, elskling,” from down the corridor. You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and pulling the duvet further over yourself, the sun painting a line of orange sunlight into the room. You faintly heard the sound of running water carrying itself through the walls, the sound of Erling’s hummed tunes accompanying it. He returned a moment later, hovering by the doorway, blue eyes skimming across your form. A smirk tugged at his lips as you looked up and over at him. “You’re so beautiful,” he commented offhandedly, pushing off from the doorframe and padding towards you in bed.

“Thank you,” you replied, a cheeky smile adorning your features. Erling leaned down slightly, pecking you on the lips whilst his calloused hand found its way to your hip, gently starving shapes into your skin. “Jus’ running you a bath, ‘kay?” he mentioned, and you nodded. “Thank you, again.” He grinned back, shoving your face playfully whilst clambering back into bed next to you. He swiftly settled himself flush against you, peppering kisses against the side of your neck and profile that he could reach.

You rolled your eyes jokingly and giggled at him, turning around so you were both face to face. “Love you,” you breathed. “Love you too,” he repeated, as if it was a prayer between you two. “How’re you feeling?” he asked eventually, staring attentively at your features. “Not too sore?” you shook your head with a light scoff. “All fine.” He nodded, both of you softly smiling at each other, as if afraid if you looked away the other would simply disappear. He traced your features with his eyes, then made a noise of contentment; snaking an arm around your exposed waist and nuzzling his face into your shoulder. 

You let out a small downturned smile. “What?” he laughed quietly. “Nothin’,” you retorted, eyes trained on his, arms reaching out to drape over his chest and behind his head. “Your bath will be ready soon,” he mumbled, eyes flickering closed. You nodded and made a noise of acknowledgment, gently running your nails through his hair; as you silently breathed together in the comfort of your bed, only broken up by the hum of running water down the corridor.

“Erl,” you whispered after some time. He lifted his head groggily at you, cocking his head to the side. “Can you check if the bath’s ready or if it’s flooded?” he chuckled softly, withdrawing himself from your touch, before plodding along to the bathroom and turning the tap off. “All ready,” he called out, dipping a finger in to test the temperature of the milky foam as you walked in. “Want me to join you?” he joked as he was drying his hand on a towel, cocky grin plastered over his face. You gave him an equally unimpressed glare, swatting him out of the bathroom before dipping yourself into its warmth.

୨୧ @𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ୨୧

-> redemption | chapter three

trent a. x black!fem!reader | master list + summary

genre: angst, fluff, smut, minors dni | authors note: happens in a world where trent is injured, klopp isn’t retired, and contracts exist for medical staff at anfield on match days. just walk with me!

warnings: mentions of injury, brief mentions of depressive feelings

“He needs a friend,” Your godfather said with soft eyes. He leaned against his desk and crossed his legs. You hadn’t stopped chewing the inside of your lip since the encounter with Trent. “I think that you two are getting along well, no?”

“My job isn’t to be his friend. I’m his physiotherapist.” You reiterated.

“You can be both of those things. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.” Klopp suggested a compromise.

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Klopp sighed deeply as if he was about to unearth something bigger than the two of you. “When he got hit by that tackle and I ran out to check on him - I immediately thought of you. He had that same look in his eyes.”

“You cannot compare that to me.” Your jaw tensed up at the recollection of Trent’s injury. Yours was in an entirely different ballpark.

“You’re the right person for this.”

“Why?”

“He’s a bit of a stubborn guy.”

“A bit?” You scoffed.

“And you two have that in common.” Klopp finished his sentence.

“Just give it a chance. ” Klopp could see he was losing you on this idea. So he took a different angle, knowing that your career meant a lot to you. “There was no one else who could make this happen even Dr. Moore agreed.”

You bit your lip at the mention of Dr. Moore’s remarks and wondered if you could measure up to that expectation.

“I don’t think it’s going to work.” You stood your ground.

“Try,” Klopp said, cupping your face in his hands before placing a loving kiss on your forehead. You swatted him off because of your makeup and sighed at the thought of making Trent, your patient, your godfather’s employee, Liverpool’s very own - your friend.

——

Trent’s mind was reeling over the news and as he stood in the back yard with a drink in hand, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You were greeting various people with hugs or cheek kisses - some even screamed in delight at you being there.

The atmosphere was nice, he admitted to himself but he was unsure of how to act like the night could go on casually after finding out his physiotherapist, a girl who he considered to be better than any one he’d worked with before, was his boss’s god daughter. He had a tiny crush on the boss’ god daughter. It wedged an awkward knife in whatever it was that you two shared. He suddenly felt a wave of guilt and insecurity over the things he said or how he responded to you. Were you telling Klopp about the things he said?

Trent watched as made your way to Frank, noting the way the older man’s eyes lit up at the sight of you. You took him in for a long hug and took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders in awe of you.

Me too, Frank. Trent thought to himself. You looked happier, softer, a little less serious. Instead of your usual style of a ponytail, your hair fell on your shoulders and you wore a dress that accentuated your toned legs. You looked more relaxed than he had ever seen before.

Trent searched for any indicators about how you felt but your features were soft and lacked tension. Truthfully, Trent watched while you did his physiotherapy, especially when your hands were massaging out his knee. But for the first time, Trent saw you. He saw the fullness of your hips and thighs. He saw the way you rested one barefoot on top of the other, balancing yourself as you chatted to Frank. He saw the way your nose wrinkled and saw the way you tilted your head back to laugh. It was oddly intimate to stare but he struggled to look away especially when the sun was setting and leaving the most beautiful glow on your brown skin. He saw how intently you listened to people while they spoke and he wondered why you never looked at him like that.

“You know, when she was a little girl she would say she would play for Liverpool.” Katrina, Klopp’s wife, commented as she stepped beside Trent.

“Really?” Trent turned inward, facing Katrina head on. She drank a bit of her wine and nodded, waving her hand in a circle.

“It was all planned out: academy, private school, Liverpool, German national team. All of it.” Katrina elaborated.

“I had no clue.”

“Mhm, she was a star. Hot headed but a star, nonetheless.” Katrina laughed. “If she managed to get through a game without getting a red card we would get her ice cream.”

“Wha’ was she fightin’ for?

“Her teammates. Rarely did anyone try to bully her but they always targeted her teammates. If there was any chance to put a girl in her place, she would do it the very next play.”

“That’s surprising. I never even knew she played.”

“The gaffers loved her - a few told her dad that she needed to calm down because she was playing too harshly.”

“I can not imagine that.” Trent honestly couldn’t.

“She’ll tell you. I know for a fact my husband will bring it up. He gets a few beers and he gets emotional.” Katrina peeked over his shoulder and she smiled.

Trent turned, his eyes falling onto your smaller frame. You held a small smirk and you crossed your arms skeptically. “I’ll be back.” Katrina commented with a pat on your shoulder.

“Tell what?” You inquired.

“You played?” Trent asked. The party was becoming a telling of your life story and you weren’t enjoying it at all.

“When I was kid.” You settled. It wasn’t the truth but it wasn’t a lie.

“You’ve never mentioned tha’” Trent frowned. You rolled your eyes at his disappointment.

“Physio sessions aren’t story time.”

“You’re always askin’ me stuff.”

“It’s my job, Trent. It’s called manners.”

“Who did you play for?”

“This isn’t 20 questions.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Wasn’t for me, I guess.”

There was more than a guess to it - your body was damaged by a car accident and you could never play comfortably or confidently, again. You didn’t want to go down that road. The last thing on your agenda was to pour your heart out to Trent Alexander Arnold for the sake of making conversation. If anyone could understand the soul crushing feeling of not being able to play the sport you loved, it would be Trent but even he would only understand it on a minor scale. He had the option to go back. You didn’t.

The car accident was devastating enough to make that qualifying match your last one ever. You hated thinking of what could have happened in your career - rising to seniority in the academy, getting called up to the national team, standing on a podium, lifting a trophy. You always imagined what it would have felt like to have your dad running to hug after you a winning a championship.

You hated thinking of all the what-ifs. Those unanswered questions hurt more than the broken back that shattered your career. The physical pain was easier to overcome compared to the heartbreak of your career ending before it even started. In the accident, you broke your back and had a serious concussion - both injuries you could recover from, according to the surgeon but, in his humble and professional opinion he told you that if you wanted to live a full life, you had to stop playing. One wrong hit or even a fall could end up with you never being able to walk or move the same way again.

“I can play! I’ll be safe and I can still play, right?!” You sobbed looking towards your father for validation but he sat there, staring at his hands in his lap. You knew by his lack of eye contact that he had already agreed to what the doctor told him. You didn’t have a choice. You could still smell the staleness of the hospital room, the uncomfortable bed, and the denial when the doctor broke the news.

“I promise I’ll be safe! I can do something else! I can find another position or I…” you stammered on and on, a sobbing mess. It felt impossible to be only 17 and to have the one thing you loved the most taken from you. You said so many plans. So many open workouts and so many opportunities to showcase yourself.

“Sweetie,” your dad finally said and you turned to him hoping that he had possibly changed his mind. Hoping he suddenly understood what you were saying. “If you get hit, in the slightest bit, you could paralyze yourself.”

“I know it’s difficult to hear but it’s what’s best for you in the long run.” The doctor explained calmly which made you cry harder. Why weren’t they upset? Why were they giving up so easily?

“I don’t care about the long run! I care about right now. I don’t care about the future.”

“I understand,” your dad began to say but you cut him off. You felt the tears streaming down your face and it stung the cuts you sustained in the car crash.

“You don’t! You had your time. You had your career.”

“Sweetie,” he rose to his feet and came to the bedside to hold your hand. “It’s just a game.”

It took well over a year to feel like yourself in a physical sense. It took multiple years for you to heal mentally and some days you don’t feel that you have healed at all. In the end, it was just a game, but it was one you would never experience again.

“No wonder you act the way you do.” Trent scoffed and you cocked your head backwards at the comment.

“What’s that mean?”

“She said you liked to fight, that’s why you’re so…” Trent waited for the right word to come to him.

“So what?” You prodded.

“Mean.”

“Mean? You ever considered that I’m not mean but critical because it’s my job?”

“Nah definitely mean. She said you used to fight all the time.”

The memory of all the petty spats and insults that you instigated came to mind easily. Your laugh was hearty and genuine. You could see that Trent was amused.

“I can’t imagine you fighting at all.” Trent said with a shake of his head. The two of you stood side by side watching all the guests laugh and joke with one another. There was a sense of relief in being there at that moment. Even the kids kicking around the ball was a nice thing to see.

It felt good to be back with people who knew you when you were just a girl, people who saw you being an absolute menace.

“God I was a bitch. Sometimes I would get subbed into the game just to start shit.” You laughed and Trent choked on his drink at the nonchalant honesty.

Your coaches told you more than once to go out onto the pitch and “get in their heads.” It was comical that you were such a hothead and lived for the drama of it all. At the end of the day, all you cared about was winning. By any means necessary.

“Swear girls fight more than boys.”

“I don’t know where I got it from. My dad was calm. Klopp was too for the most part but I was willing to do anything to win. I hate losing, it ruins me.”

”Me too. Been told I’m too intense but nah, not in my mind.”

“If you aren’t willing to do anything to get the win then you shouldn’t be on the pitch.” You said. That had been an argument that you had with your coach and teammates constantly. You didn’t care about stat padding or breaking records - you simply wanted to win.

“You sound like me, ya know.” Trent laughed with a longing glance at you. For a beat, for the first time, you stared into his eyes. The roundness of his brown eyes was endearing. When you saw him at work Trent had a rougher edge to him but now, standing in the yard with the sounds of a party as background noise, he seemed like the boy next door that you would find yourself crushing on. He was just a boy from Liverpool and that was glaringly obvious as he cleared his throat and broke the stare.

“Have you got any videos or pictures from playin?”

“Oh God, do I.” You waved him towards the house and you found yourself feeling your heartbeat in your throat. You

The two of you bypassed the party by walking in through the side door. A silence fell between you two as you opened the door to the huge office that Klopp had all of his memories carefully curated as decorations. Trent stood in the middle of the room walking in a small circle taking in everything that he could. You rummaged through a tall bookshelf that was built into the wall. and hummed in confusion about the whereabouts of the photo album that your godfather cherished. It had to be here somewhere. Trent’s footsteps shuffled across the floor and he whistled at the sight of a picture of young Klopp.

“What a stud.” Trent was impressed. Klopp rarely mentioned his own playing days so for Trent, this was a nice look into his own career. Of all the coaches he played under, Klopp was the one he loved. He was family and as much as Trent wanted to deny it, physiotherapy with you had been good for him during his recovery.

“God, where is it?” You mumbled as you rose onto your tippy toes to get a better view of the books. You’d given the album full of photos as a gift one year and you knew he’d kept it because once or twice a year- usually your birthday or Christmas, he would send you a text message with a photo and a heartfelt message, reminding you that he was proud of you.

“Let me,” Trent said after watching you stand on your toes to grab the book but failing to reach it. You plopped down on your heels and were about to get out of his way when you felt his presence behind your body, nearly touching every part of your backside. His cologne was to die for and his breathing was slow, steady, and he must've been unaware or not caring about the fact that as he reached for the photo album, he was pushing up against you in the process. You forced yourself to not move a muscle - with him reaching over you, the last thing you wanted was to accidentally feel him brush his dick against your back. You were a girl with needs and it would be a lie to say your eyes never lingered on Trent’s crotch in grey sweatpants or at his broad and toned stomach when his compression shirt was drenched in sweat. But no matter how much you looked, you were never going to touch. You made that mistake once with Wesson and you never wanted to repeat it again.

“Uh, thanks.” You breathed a little bit and took it from his hands. He eyed the book curiously as you flipped from page to page and then set the book on the desk. You leaned over to get a better look and Trent stood by your side, his head dipped down to inspect it.

“This was my 5th birthday party.” You said, pointing to a photo of you and a bunch of other people. There were tons of players he didn’t recognize but Klopp stood out like a sore thumb, his face so much younger but all his features the same.

“My birthday fell on a match day so they surprised me after the match with a cake.” You flipped a page and were met with a photo of you and Klopp.

“This?” Trent pointed towards the photo. You were right on the edge of a pitch, fully fitted in a football kit with your hands on your hips. Klopp was moving his hands in a way that looked eerily similar to how he spoke to Trent and it made him smile thinking about it - Klopp communicated with Trent in the same. Your brows were furrowed in concentration and your hair was divided into two messy braids, some of your hair stuck to your forehead from the sweat.

“That was one of the first times I traveled with the academy to play a game.”

“To where?”

“Liverpool, actually.” You turned your head to smile at him. Trent’s eyes were scanning the page with softness and interest. His locs were framing his face, his skin tanned from the sun and his lips round and pouty from this angle. His side profile rivaled a model. You always found him attractive. If anyone said otherwise they would be lying. Trent was every girl's type.

“Crazy.” He said. “Mental.”

“That’s me, there…” you said pointing to a tinier figure. You were always the shortest on the team but that never stopped you from playing like you were the largest. The joy in your eyes was unmistakable and seeing your younger self made you a bit emotional.

“You look like a problem out there. ” Trent said with a chuckle, “not much has changed.” He said with a playful nudge.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked up at him through your lashes, finding that he was already looking at you. You placed your hand on the photo book and leaned your hip on the desk.Your eyes darted back and forth across his face before finally settling on his lips which were round, plump, and were covered in a little sheen from his drink. His own eyes lowered down to your chest and up to your face and your breathing hitched when you made eye contact again.

“You should. It was.” Trent’s smile had a new touch to it that made your heartbeat a little harder than normal.

He cleared his throat and pointed towards the photo album, eagerly wanting to know what else was in there. You grabbed the book and settled on leaning your back on the edge of the desk to hold the photo album in your hands. It was flopping down much to your annoyance and Trent got closer to you, crossing his legs at his ankles. He took the other side of the book in his palm, helping you hold it up. You worked with him nearly every day and touched him constantly but this felt entirely different. You forced yourself to remember that he was your patient. You forced your gaze onto the pages of the book as you pointed towards the different photographs.

Trent listened intently as you detailed the different moments in your career. He noticed the bittersweet tone that took over as you got closer towards the end of the book. The very last photo was of your teammates in a dog pile, presumably after a win. You felt the threat of tears heating up your face and you cleared your throat and closed the book without explaining, as if you were a kid caught with a stolen cookie from the cookie jar.

“What happened?” Trent asked. You weren’t sure if he was referring to your mood change or to the rest of your career but you settled on not answering either question.

“We should probably get out of here, ya know, before they come looking.” You cleared your throat and moved to place the book back on the shelf but you ultimately decided to jam it in on the middle shelf instead of where it was before. With your back turned to him, you thought you could hide the way you were beginning to take shallow breaths to hold back the tears.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.” You spun on your heel to face him and cracked a smile. “But why’d you stop playing?” Trent asked with a genuine curiosity. You could see him approaching the topic as carefully as he could and you were thankful for the effort.

“I don’t like to talk about it much, it’s in the past.”

‘Were you cut from the team or something?” Trent asked and you shook your head no. “You just stopped playing for the hell of it?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to.”

“Whadda you mean?”

“I broke my back after getting hit in a car accident.”

“Oh.” Trent’s eyes widened which you expected. Everyone had the same response to that answer. it wasn’t a measly injury - it was all consuming and absolutely life changing. It was the worst thing that ever happened to you by far. There was nothing that could compete with that trauma.

“I gotta go to the ladies room but - uh, I’ll um see you outside?” You stumbled and brushed past Trent.

—

You did your best to avoid Trent for the rest of the party. You struck up random conversation with people who you would probably never speak to again but anything was better than facing the fact you told Trent about your injury and nearly cried in the process. You’d made your rounds as many times as possible and although most of the party moved inside, the kids hadn’t.

You sat on the grass leaving back into your hands and watched the kids run around and kick the football. The kids argued but ultimately ended up wrapping their arms around one another’s neck, rolling in the grass and winding each other up all in good fun. The distant shout of a mom yelling, “be nice.” caught your attention. As soon as you turned your head to look, Trent stepped out onto the patio and slid the door shut. There was nowhere for you to run and you accepted your fate — you were going to get the familiar, unoriginal, comments from Trent about how “everything happens for a reason.” and that “you were meant to be a physiotherapist.”

Trent was holding two bottles of beer, jutting one out towards and you accepted it quietly. Trent stood for a while and just stared at the grass while you watched the kids go back and forth with the worst dribbling you would probably ever see in your lifetime. But they were having fun and that is what mattered the most. It felt like an eternity for you to work up the courage to say something and when you finally did, all you could come up with was:

“It's been a bloodbath. There’s no real rules here.” You tilted your bottle towards the game.

One of the boys decided he didn’t want to play anymore and opted to sit on the grass, leaving one mixed matched team short by one player. The kids were trying their hardest to come up with a solution when one of their heads whipped towards the two of you.

“Look!” One of the boys yelled and pointed towards Trent. “He can play with us.”

“That’s not fair, he’s not even a kid. He’s like…really old.” A younger boy said in protest.

Of all the arguments that could have been made, you were not expecting his age to be the problem. You covered your mouth to giggle at Trent’s slight offense at the comments.

“I’m injured.” Trent laughed and pointed to his knee.

“What about her?” Another boy said and their eyes fell on you.

“She’s a girl…” The boy said with a dissatisfied voice.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Fine.” He huffed and stomped to his team’s side of the yard.

“What, who said I wanted to play?” You argued. You were more than happy to sit on the grass and be a spectator of their game.

“Pleaseeeeee.” A chorus of kids sang out. Trent looked down at you and you felt the pressure of his stare. You narrowed your eyes at him, hoping it would stop him from joining their pleas.

“You have to, since I can’t.” Trent said as if it was the obvious answer.

“One game.” You got on your feet and dusted off the back of your dress. “Just one.” You held up a single finger and then handed your beer over to Trent.

——

Tag list 🏷️ - @trentswh0re @bffrwme @trenterprise @itswerecookie @judeswifeyyyyyyyy @chrisoppar @abiigaiil1234 @hopefulromantic1

“He’s My Person.”

Paring: Hugh Jackman x Actor F!Reader

Summary: You and your co-star Hugh Jackman are in the eye of the public. Your fans always loving the dynamic between the two of you. However no one knew if you would be anything more than friends, not even you.

- oneshot, Hugh Jackman M.List, Navigation — other works!

Warnings: None!

Taglist: Just ask to be added.

I walked past the camera set crew, and smiled when I saw Hugh sitting in one of the chairs. The Aussie immediately stood up, and gave me a hug.

Today was the first, of many interviews for the press tour of X-Men Origins Wolverine. I had been so lucky to get a part in this film, and I loved filming every second of it.

The lights dimmed a little, and focused on us and the cameras started to roll.

“Welcome, welcome you too.” I smiled at her and did a little wave to the camera. “First I would like to say congratulations on your achievement in making this film.”

“Thank you, that’s really sweet.” I could feel red lightly forming on my cheeks at the praise while Hugh — like the professional he is, take the compliment like a champ. “Thank you, much appreciated.”

“Now we have a bit of a game set up for us to do, but first some questions.”

Oh gosh, I could feel slightly nervous, but Hugh placed his palm on my knee and slightly rubbed it with his thumb. Calming my nerves.

“Now Hugh, you’ve done X-Men for quite some time now, but Y/N this is your first time in the Marvel franchise.”

Hugh squeezed my knee slightly, and gave me a proud smile while he rested his chin on his other hand.

“Yes well it’s such an honor.” I couldn’t help but feel a tiny nostalgic when I remembered how I started my career and where I’m at now. “I had done some small films before, but nothing like this. It was truly a one of a kind experience.”

I was expecting for another question, but Hugh spoke up as well. “Not to mention Y/N is such an amazing actor — and she’s always fun to work with. She’s a very good sport when things don’t go right the first time.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that sounded like a giggle leaving my lip, a smile brightening my face.

“Careful Hugh I might think you’re flirting with me.” I wouldn’t mind that, and this teasing, flirting thing we do is something we’ve always done since we first met each other.

“You two are adorable.” The interviewer — Annie — commented. “What was your favorite thing to film.”

Oh god, this is a trap. The movie hasn’t hit theaters, and there’s only so much we can say before it comes out.

I slapped my hand over Hugh’s, “kissing Hugh Jackman.” That little bit was in the trailer — so it’s the safest thing to say, if not the honest.

Hugh didn’t his cute little laugh, a snort breaking free, before he regained his composure.

“I won’t lie, I 100% messed that scene up so I could just kiss the wonderful Y/N again. So I’ll have to agree with her there.”

My face started to warm in embarrassment while I hid inside my hands, all while Hugh laughed — his hand never leaving my knee.

“Do either of you have a date to the premier? If yes, then do you mind saying?”

My response came so quick out of my mouth I didn’t have a moment to process what I was saying, though that’s how I am a lot of the time. “Hey, Hugh, wanna be my date?” 

Hugh looked at you, and despite his smile, and the humor in his voice — his eyes were laced in seriousness. “It would be the greatest honor of my life, to walk down that carpet on your arm like eye candy.”

I blew him a kiss, teasing him before looking right back at the camera. “I might look fine right now, but trust me girls I’m screaming on the inside.”

The whole camera crew started to laugh, while I silently laughed as well.

“In ten or words less describe each-other’s character.” I gestured for Hugh to go first to which he took a moment to think, using his fingers.

“Badass solider that always completes a mission no matter what.”

Fuck. Alright.

“A military solider that can’t die, infused with metal.” Fuck I need another word. “Handsome.”

“Aweeeee.” Hugh leaned over and kissed my cheek.

The sound of cheering was the only thing I could hear as I grabbed a hold of Hugh’s arm and made our way onto the carpet.

“God, what if I fall on my face?” I stopped just before my heel could meet with the carpet. Too nervous to go on.

“Y/N, you’re going to be okay. I won’t let you fall.” He laced his fingers with mine and walked us down the carpet, giving me the push I needed to get out of my own head.

The paparazzi photos started to flash immediately, blinding me but I had been used to this by now — so I just kept my focus.

Hugh leaned down to my ear, whispering a joke about how a photographer back would hurt tomorrow in that position, causing me to laugh.

The lights went crazy as he hugged laughed with me, “you look very beautiful tonight.”

“I might have to make you my date to every premier Mr. Jackman.”

We made our way to the first reporter of the night, sticking close together.

“Good evening.” She was a pretty decidedly young girl, and you could see how nervous she was. “Hi/G’day.” Me and Hugh responded.

“So you two are each other’s date, any special chemistry going on.” The Aussie wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him, while I held his shoulder with my left arm. This position was suggestive, but it was teasing.

Unfortunately, to my disappointment we weren’t seeing each other.

“One day.”

One day.

You couldn’t help but give him a smile, and he returned it with the same exact emotion in his eyes. Care, and love.

Over the next few years, you and Logan had worked on a few projects together, but even if you weren’t, you and him always were close and kept in touch.

You would grab dinner together often, or sometimes when one of you were free and the other was busy on a set, it wasn’t strange that one of you would fly out to the other.

Everyone believed that one of you were together, especially after a video leaked of you and Logan slow dancing at a house party together.

But whenever asked about it, you two would always either say, “not yet,” or “one day.”

You were having a premier coming up, and it was the only time that there was a chance that Hugh couldn’t make it. So everyone was wondering if you would bring anyone else. It was well known you didn’t like going places without someone close to you.

You sat with one of your co-stars and smiled at the interviewer that was asking the question on everyone’s mind.

“Are you sure you and Hugh Jackman are not dating.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the phrasing of her words.

“Hugh Jackman? Never heard of him.” The crew and your Co-Star started laughing, but you did answer the question. “No we’re not dating.” It was the first time the two of you were direct with it, and not being vague.

Overtime you grew to love Hugh, and to be honest you didn’t know if you could keep telling yourself ‘one day.’ Because in your head you two weren’t only giving fans false hope, but you were giving it to yourself.

“Hugh is away filming, you always take him to events, since he won’t be here will you take someone else.”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking through your answer.

“To be honest, even if I wanted to take someone else I don’t think I could.” You looked down to your lap before continuing. “Hugh is such a major part of my life. Really he’s my pillar. He will always be the one a I take, and if I can’t take him then I wouldn’t go with anyone else.”

“It sounds like you deeply care for him. Are you sure there’s no feelings?” She didn’t ask if you were dating, but if you had feelings.

“Hugh Jackman is so many things. He’s a great dancer, actor, singer. Full of so many talents — and I always love the fact that I am apart of his life. Because most of all He’s my person.”

You finally looked back up to the interviewer.

“If something were to ever happen between us, then it would have already.”

Sure you fans would be sad, and even you, but it was time to finally put the rumors to rest.

You were a little quieter through the rest of the interview, but still kept it fun.

Hugh downed his drink. He was on a plane, flying back to you. He wore a tux so he could be on the ready to go so when he lands, he can confess, then they can make their way to the premier — where he can make it known to the world.

He was watching your interview, and when you put said that you two weren’t happening, he felt panic.

He cursed himself for waiting too long. But the truth was he felt like with his career going the way it was that maybe he wasn’t ready for a relationship. He was an idiot.

He felt terrible for leading you on so long, but he would make it right — and hope maybe you still liked him.

By the time he finally landed you had just walked onto the carpet, alone. So he paid the driver extra to just step on the gas.

Once he was let in — the crowd started going wild. He was on the carpet, and he didn’t stop to take photos, or talk to people.

He set his sights on you and immediately started to hurry to you. And ironically it was like something from a movie.

The cameras all the sudden started going crazy, and you looked to your right to see what was going on, but was met with a Hugh Jackman out of breath, and grabbing your face.

“Hugh? When did—“ You were cut off by his lips pressing into yours. His hands gently leaving your cheeks, and resting on your neck while he pulled you closer.

You parted just a little, so he could whisper his confession to you.

“You’re my person too. I’m sorry for being an idiot, but I’m an idiot in love with you.”

A smile took over your face, finally your one day was today. “Just kiss me again, you bloody fool.” You didn’t need to tell him twice — and the camera was absolutely going crazy.

The rest of the premier, Hugh had a few lipstick stains on his face that he didn’t even bother to wipe away.

He was took focus on the smile that was on your face, the same smile that matched his.

The next day Hugh found a photo of you two kissing, with Ryan Reynolds shocked, smiling face, he immediately posted it, letting your fans know that your finally got together with the caption, “my person.”

You two also made that your locks screen and every time either of you are asked about your friendship with Ryan, you immediately talk about it.

Ky when Judy hits him up w Brummie accent

can i request a dad!erling imagine in which him and the reader have a baby boy and he’s all over the moon with everything he does and the reader is all 🥹 because their baby is a carbon copy of erling in every way!

❝ 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 ❞

.ೃ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ! 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰 𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐟 𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ✰ ´ˎ˗

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⌇ 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ੈ✩‧₊˚

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⌇ 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

ೄྀ࿐ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⌇ 𝟐.𝟎𝐤 !

↳ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ೃ⁀➷ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐎𝐋. 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 "𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝😭" 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 !

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE TWO FULL DAYS, but in reality was a couple of hours, you pushed your first baby out. A baby boy. You and Erling had both decided on a name weeks, if not months, in advance; so after he had doted on you, ensuring you had a drink, food, making sure you weren’t in any pain, and anything else that you may have needed or was on your mind. He brought in the paperwork for you to sign to say you confirmed the name, Emil. It was like a switch flicked when he was born, you saw glimpses of his frown looking back and forth at him by your side and the nurse by your legs comforting and motivating you to push. 

His face after he was born turned from one of concern to that of awe and admiration, the same look he would give you while fondling your pregnant stomach, but amplified tenfold more. His mouth slightly agape, in shock, you swore he was almost crying when he held him for the first time; watching his sleeping face resting on his palm, his son’s head smaller than it.

He tucked his bottom lip in, likely trying to compose himself in front of you seeing as you wouldn’t want to do anymore crying after two hours’ worth of labour. You had already held him, of course, but seeing Erling holding your son made you want to tear up even more.

You breathed in deeply, wiping your face with your hand as a nurse kindly passed you five or six tissues as you thanked her groggily, rolling one up and pressing it against your nose and face. You slipped out of the side of the hospital bed, two nurses immediately offered to help you to the bathroom but Erling waved them off politely, insisting he would, leaving the baby in a cot to be overseen by the nurses accompanying you momentarily.

“At least wanna do something,” he had said, you scoffed, laughing and teasing him. “You did do something, you helped make this baby in the first place!” he rolled his eyes and glared at you, helping you down to the toilet while he held the door shut from the outside in case you struggled with the lock.

While he held the door shut from prying eyes, he couldn’t help but stare at his newborn son, it didn’t seem real. He couldn’t believe there was a baby lying around nine feet away from him that was a combination of both himself and you. He felt as if he would wake up tomorrow and he would be gone, he just dreamed it up. He panicked for a split second, what if he hurt him? What if he couldn’t raise him properly? What if he couldn’t spend time with his son due to work?

His mind was racing with possibilities, but you lightly tapping on the door the other side woke him out of it.

The door swung open and he smiled at you. This was a team effort, and at least he wasn’t raising him alone. You, the embodiment of perfection and kindness would surely set your son off on the right path; he just wanted to help you in any way shape or form while you did so, you helping their baby while he helped his. He walked you back towards your baby, spread out in its crib, quietly cooing to itself.

“Should I get the car seat?” Erling asked you, you just nodded, sitting down next to the crib and simply watching your baby. Your baby, you could say that now. He was here. He was real. He walked back in with the car seat, adjusting it and balancing it against a chair opposite yours and gently picked up Emil, cradling him in his arms and placing him – all swaddled up in blankets, a matching hat, and complimentary nappy – as if he was a fine piece of china about to smash into a million pieces, into the car seat.

He strapped him up and then held in sideways so he remained lying down for good measure, and you both walked your way to the car, you slowly hobbling while complaining about stomach pains.

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen when we get home, yeah?” he had said, but his eyes never broke off of the baby’s, and you didn’t blame him. It was around this time that Erling started mumbling to himself about parking the car closer to the emergency room entrance, you however just laughed as Emil started kicking his legs in the air.

“He’s gonna be a footballer just like daddy,” Erling just grinned at you, not expressing the way he imagined kicking a ball about in your garden with his son. He hadn’t even considered that before, the fact that his son might continue on in his footsteps as he did with his.

You continued cooing at the baby until you finally reached the car, the cold air nipping at your cheeks and nose until they bloomed a red colour. You tightened the blankets around Emil, tucking his beanie over his ears so he doesn’t get too chilly, and then fastened him up in the passenger seat next to Erling, then you went to the back. “I’m not used to this,” you had confessed, chuckling to yourself and doing up your own seatbelt, hearing the click and soon after Erling’s.

He turned to face you in the backseat, eyes wrinkling up. “Having a baby?” he joked. “Do you have experience in that sector?” you waved him off, rolling his eyes. “Sitting in the back, not next to you. Guess I’m gonna have to get used to it,” he scoffed. “Jealous of a baby born half an hour ago?” you narrowed your eyes at him interrogatively, furrowing your brows and he raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Watch yourself or I’m gonna start saying some things the baby won’t wanna be hearing,” he laughed, then turned the engine on. “Don’t think he can understand anything yet, can you?” he cooed at his son, reversing out of the parking spot and checking behind him in the car mirror.

“What do you think his first word is gonna be?” you asked. “Hope it’s mama and not dada,” you added, Erling scoffed, making a turn down the road and away from the hospital. “You’re gonna have to get used to crying, Erl. You’re gonna be doing a lot of it now he’s here,” you admitted, recollecting his tearful eyes threatening to spill out and wet his cheeks earlier on.

“I know,” he murmured. “Imagine his first day of school,” you gasped. “I won’t be able to cope for the whole week, you’ll have to get me a bucket to cry into before I wave him off.” He looked at you, frowning through the car mirror. “He’s only just been born, babe. You’re still stuck changing nappies for the next three years.”

You huffed, glaring at him and jabbing an accusatory finger at him while staring at the car mirror.

“You mean you?” he met your eyes through the mirror, grinning. “I’ll be the one breastfeeding. So you better put your shift in, just ‘cause you’re doing football doesn’t mean you won’t be changing nappies and feeding him at three am. Let me have my beauty sleep, Mr. Haaland,” he laughed, mumbling something out the car window as he rolled it down just a bit, placing the smaller side of his palm against Emil’s head to check his temperature, softly pulling into the driveway and picking up Emil, still in the baby car seat, taking him into the house and creaking up the stairs – internally cursing himself as the noise threatened to wake Emil up – and placing him down in the bassinet next to yours and his shared bed.

The car seat was now left abandoned in the corner of the room, both of you huddled around your son’s crib.

That’s where he remained for the majority of the first couple of weeks, if you were being brutally honest, aside from midnight nappy runs in which Erling partook in, you just rocked him back and forth in your arms and whispered nursery rhymes to him. Baa-baa black sheep was his favourite so far, most likely due to your passionate attempts at mimicking sheep noises that he giggled and clapped his hands at. You had recorded his first laugh as Erling missed it, he returned home having watched the video grumbling to himself and persisting that he wanted to make him laugh.

Which then evolved into a challenge between you both on who could make Emil laugh the most. At his teammate’s wedding he wasn't paying attention to the procession, and kept telling you that he was sure Emil was going to laugh at him any second now, just cupping his hands over his face and exclaiming peek-a-boo in the worst possible moments. Yet he stayed adamant – he was going to laugh any second now – despite it being two or three more months of ‘any second now’ he finally laughed.

Erling practically sprinted to you while you were having a nap, shaking your shoulders. “Baby, baby. He laughed!” he repeated, you looked up at him groggily, unable to process what he was saying to you in your sleep induced state. “He laughed!” you whipped your head round, rubbing your eyes and then widening them, racing him back to your baby as he followed after you with gleaming eyes and smile lines up to his ears.

Emil on the other hand was utterly oblivious to your smiles, just throwing his blocks around and bubbling to himself. He watched as you both sat down in front of him, you resting on your knees and Erling cross-legged looking expectantly at his four month year old son. He imitated what he did earlier, grabbing a pillow from beside you and popping his head around it, Emil smiled at him with his chubby cheeks, big brown eyes batting his eyelashes at his dad, but he didn’t smile.

Erling groaned and his face dropped. “He did laugh, I believe you, babe,” you rubbed his arm comfortingly.

“Hey, do you wanna go outside with dada and play football?” you nodded up and down at your son, rising back to your feet with your hands resting on your thighs. “Yeah? Go in the garden with dada?” he nodded, Erling already making his way into the garden upon hearing your suggestion, a small inflatable ball in his hand. “Dada,” Emil imitated and your mouth fell agape, eyes widened. Erling dropped the ball, snapping his neck around and running to his son, lifting him in the air and spinning him around. “I knew it! I knew it!” he laughed, you covered your mouth with your hand, his first word.

You should have been celebrating, you were, but it was dada, not mama. 

He was definitely rubbing that in later, but for now you simply congratulated your son and yourself. “I said it, he said it ‘cause I said it,” you shrugged, trying to relieve yourself. “He said dada,” he beamed at you, carefully placing your son back on the floor and giving him a small hug, ruffling his hair.

“You better be celebrating this much when he says mama,” you grumbled, Erling huffed with laughter at you. You faked a frown at your son. “Why do you have to be his biggest fan? Is he your favourite parent?” you teased, gasping at your son in an attempt for him to copy you and make him imitate your facial expression.

Erling chuckled to himself, phone in hand likely texting a friend about the milestone achievement. “Go and grab the ball, Emil. Go get it!” you encouraged, grinning at him. Erling rolled the ball over as your son crawled towards it, half-slapping it and grabbing it with both hands. Erling picked him up with the ball still in his hands. “Yeah, go play football with dada. You Haaland clone,” you teased, groaning to yourself. “Carried you for nine months ‘n’ this is how you repay me!” you started chasing after Erling, both of you giggling as Emil squealed in his hands.

“I’m gonna get you!”

୨୧ @𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ୨୧