DATING ERLING HAALAND

➛ DATING ERLING HAALAND

𖥻 WARNINGS ー [ none ] 𖥻 AUTHORS NOTE ー [ requested by anon "PLEASE haaland headcanons or a daring erling haaland imagine" your wish is my command hope you like it - also double update who dis ]

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the two of you met when you went to a dortmund game. you and your friends were shown on the big screen, and he was instantly hooked. after the game, he spent hours trying to find your socials. instagram, twitter, tiktok, snapchat anything that could tell him more about you. and when he found you, boy, was he happy. smiling like a complete idiot as he scrolled through your feed. and was basically kicking his feet and twirling his hair when he found out that you were single. so he followed you and started liking and commenting on your posts. safe to say you were stunned. a football player noticed you - well, that wasn't on your 2023 bingo card.soon after, he messaged you. which you were a bit apprehensive about since the stereotype that all footballers were fuck boys and assholes was ingrained in the back of your mind. but with a bit of persuasion, you agreed to go on a 'friendly' outing to a theme park. safe to say it was a massive success. you were the only two in the park (he rented it out for the two of you). so no long ques and privacy. you went on all the rides and ate as much as you want.

and he won you basically every available prize. with the final stop of the night being a photo booth. and with some last-minute confidence boost, you kiss him before the final photo is taken. that picture is now his wallpaper. after a couple more dates, you made it official. after that, it was full steam ahead. posting each other daily/hourly. cute tiktoks. and light pda. people couldn't get enough of you. especially the height difference. his jerseys looked like dresses on you. and his hoodies basically touched the floor. safe to say you looked super cute. midnight snack runs. and baking at 2am. cuddling while watching movies and playing in the snow. not to mention showering you with many gifts. you look at a dress. it's yours. you think those earrings are cute. here is one in every colour. like this makeup brand. here's one of every product they make. not only does erling love you, but so does his teammate. jude is basically your best friend 2 minutes into meeting each other. and Dortmund coaches love having you around, even if you distract Haaland a bit. all in all, a very happy and healthy relationship :)

one of those things ────── aurélien isn't ready to let you go.

♡ ────── pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified, but they are described to be smaller than aurel. no smut but aurel is very touchy here... viewer's discretion is advised. kiiiiinda toxic idk they're exes and also drunk. aurel is sorta an asshole but idc he's so hot omfgggg sorry he is JEALOUS. important to mention that he's a bit forceful here but reader (& me) lowkey likes it... NOT proofread!!! it's a bit messy sorry ♡ ────── wordcount : 1,431 ♡ ────── notes : i am blushing as i write this. there is no plot to this, it's literally just banters. the stranger can be whoever you want but i am imagining trent from lfc omggg hes so fine. i GOTTA stop talking so much on the tags. not based on cowboy like my by taylor swift, but i was listening to it the whole time i was writing this ♡ masterlist.

“Stop looking at him.”

Aurélien has his lips hovering against the side of your neck, glowering at the general direction of the bar, like he was a wolf trying to protect his slaughtered prey.

“I’ll look at whoever I want,” you roll your eyes, hands gripping his arms—much bigger, much stronger—that are wrapped around your waist, trying to pry him off you. He has refused to let go of you ever since his drunken gaze spied you on the bar, biting your lips as you tug on the sleeve of a stranger of a man you’ve met only tonight.

You were flirting with him, because obviously you were.

It’s a club. It’s 1 A.M. And you are single.

Why wouldn’t you flirt with the next piece of hot ass you see?

“Come on,” Aurélien whispers, focusing all his hazy attention on you. “Should I go over and talk to him? S’that what you want? What do you think, baby?”

The fun banters were cut short when you felt an all too familiar farm wrapped around your waist, whisking you away.

And before you know it, you are settled on your ex’s lap, thirty feet away from the stranger on the bar, somewhere between his footballer friends, too busy with themselves and too accustomed with Aurélien’s antics to pay you any spare attention.

“I think,” you keep your eye contact with the man in the bar, fingers trying to slip between Aurélien’s hand, “you’re drunk. And stupid.”

“Drunk?” he chuckles, fully burying his face into your neck, an enticing feeling that you haven’t felt in a while, as he breathes in your scent. “Maybe.”

You shift on his lap, knees aching to get up, but he holds you down.

“But I’m not stupid, baby—”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’.”

“—don’t call me stupid.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” you repeat, leaning away from his head, trying to push his face away from the tender skin of your neck. Ex-lovers definitely shouldn’t be all over each other like this. “We’re over, Aurélien. Remember?”

“Remember?” He chuckles, still keeping his chin on your shoulder despite your eagerness to get away. “Ouch.”

“Get used to it.”

You glance back at the bar as Aurélien’s fingers find their way to the hem of your shirt, ungodly intention laced in every stretch of his muscles before your shaky hand stops him, somewhat affected by the couple of shots the stranger had bought you too.

“Fine,” he murmurs, pouting, as though you will melt for that age-old trick. “I’ll apologise for calling you ‘baby’, and then we’ll go home and have some fun.”

You scrunch your nose at his offer, turn to glare at him, only to meet his lazy grin.

“I’m not—”

You breathe in a deep sigh, and you can feel his jaw clench.

“—If I’m going home with anyone tonight, it won’t be you.”

“Why not?” He whines, pulling you in even closer, if possible, and you bite your lips as your ass rubs against his crotch, the friction causing you to shut your eyes as the blood rushes away from your brain.

The night just gets more hazy.

And seeing you distracted, Aurélien steals the moment to continue his way under your shirt, his fingers digging deep into the side of your torso.

“Aurélien,” your murmur, your voice drawing out to a drawl. You almost forgot about the stranger in the bar—when you look back at him for a short second, he is holding a glass of shots against his lips, a smirk etched on his lips like he’s enjoying the show Aurélien is putting on for him.

Aurélien grits his teeth, grazing them against your neck when he notices that your attention is centred on the guy more than on him. “Answer me.”

You huff, gripping his wrist over your shirt. “Because we’re over. We broke up.”

An irritated sigh escapes his lips, somehow returning his lips on your neck, nipping softly on the skin. “You’re being stubborn.”

“I’m being stubborn?”

“Come on,” he pretends that he isn’t in denial. “I’ll take you home and I’ll fix whatever was wrong with us, yeah?”

His hand continues to knead on your flesh, lips moving up your neck, to your jaw, to nip on your earlobes. 

“That’s not,” your grip on his wrist tightened, “how it works.”

“Of course it is,” he whispers, pulling you back. “That’s exactly how it works. We’ll talk, just you and me, back at my place.”

You shake your head, one hand on the velvet couch beneath you two, to find leverage as your feet find the floor—a sad attempt of getting up. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“You sure about that?” His hand leaves your shirt, and finds itself gripping your thigh to pull you back down. He sounds inviting, and you almost fell for the alluring tone of his words. “Don’t make me prove you wrong.”

You slant your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

Aurélien laughs, seeming to enjoy riling you up, like he wants to see you break.

“Or what?” He cups the side of your hips, rocking you, his fingers drawing aimless patterns against the fabric of your jeans. “You gonna do something about it? Gonna punish me, baby?”

You grit your teeth, drawing in a sharp breath, a hot sensation stirring in your chest—a mixture of exhilaration, and annoyance, and interest, and anger.

You can backtrack. You can forget about your break up, and go home with him, and let the alcohol take over the night. But your ego is higher than whatever pedestal Aurélien has decided to put you on.

And you? Well, you are just not the type of person to get back together after a break up.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing.

Aurélien tilts his head at the way your bottom lip juts and pouts as you rake your brain for some sort of response. He can’t help pushing you over the edge—that feeling of dominance over your feeble resolve, having you on his lap, small and bothered; he loves it.

And he loves you. He is pretty sure that he does. And he’s pretty sure that you would come running back to him if he just pushes the right button.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” He kisses your cheek, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart towards the bar for a second. “I’m tryna talk to you, baby. I can’t have you go home with ‘nother man, now can I?”

“Fuck,” you jolt when you feel him dig even further into your hip, “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, Aurélien.”

He chuckles. “Say it again.”

You scoff, throwing your gaze away, trying to distract yourself with the arbitrary coloured lights on the dancefloor. “You got a sick kink?”

“I do,” Aurélien laughs, fond of the way you are feisty, of the way you hold back out of pride. “Only for you, though.”

It’s what he likes about you, he guesses, you keep it interesting for him. 

“Say you want me back,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your neck, lips just inches away from the one spot he had been lapping on all night. He would love to see you tomorrow morning—he just knows that his bite marks will develop into pretty bruises tomorrow, and the thought latches his teeth on the skin above your collarbone. “I know you want me, baby.”

“You’re dreaming,” you sneer, though it leaves your mouth more like a whine. He raises an eyebrow. “M’gonna say this—last time I’ll ever say it. We broke up.”

Aurélien groans, shutting his eyes, annoyed. “You’re so difficult.”

His large palm rubs against you, returning once more to the warm skin under your shirt, nails lightly scratching on it.

“You’re not protesting against me, though,” he points out. “You still love me, dontcha?”

You bite your lips, and it takes two seconds too long to answer him. “No.”

The way you whine, the way you shift—deliberately or not—on his lap. Aurélien murmurs, “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ohh, that’s not the language that a pretty baby should use,” his drunken slurs scold. You feel annoyed—and helpless—just listening to him. “Shouldn’t you mind your manners, considering you’re sitting on my lap?”

“Well,” you swallow, turning to look back at him. “Maybe you should consider letting me go.”

“And let you go back to him?” Aurélien shoots another murderous look at the bar. “No. Besides, I’m not done with you.”

You sigh, biting your lips, and a small smirk sprouts on his lips. You’re in for a long, long night.

Ky when Judy hits him up w Brummie accent

“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.

no pressure but imo we should get a winners fic today 🤭

Every night - Jude Bellingham

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend’s real reward is at home, waiting for him to make their night unforgettable…

GENRE: smut, reward sex

WARNINGS: smut (+18), fingering, jerking off, unprotected sex, crampie…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: of course i had to write this…especially with him looking so hot tonight😌

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If there’s one thing Jude loved more than winning a game, it was what came after.

Sure, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the match, and the praise of being called the best on the pitch was a rush like no other. But what really got him, what he craved most, was knowing that you were waiting for him at home with that smile, the one that told him he’d more than earned his reward.

Tonight was no different.

“Oi, Jude, you comin’ out to celebrate?” Vinícius called out, his grin infectious.

“Nah, man, got somethin’ special planned,” Jude replied, a sly smile playing on his lips. The lads teased him, but he didn’t care. He knew they’d understand.

It was when he opened the door of his hotel’s room that he saw his real reward, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” you teased.

Jude’s grin matched yours as he dropped his bag by the door, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know I had to, right? Can’t leave my biggest fan waitin’.”

He led you to the couch, where you comfortably sat on his lap, still looking at him.He kissed you slowly, like he was savoring every second of it, every taste of you. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held you just a little tighter, his fingers gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

“Jude…” you breathed out, barely able to form words as his hands roamed your body, exploring, claiming.

“Mhm?” he hummed against your lips, his eyes half-lidded, full of that fiery intensity you loved so much.

“You were so good out there baby…” You whispered against his lips, which curved into a satisfied smile as he felt your breath against his skin.

“Yeah?” Jude’s voice was a low growl against your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “You know I do it all for you, right?”

You shivered under his touch, fingers tangling in his hair. “I know, baby.”

His hands roamed down your back, gripping your waist with a possessive intensity, his mouth leaving wet kisses down your neck. Soft moans escaped your lips.

“Don’t ever stop making that sound, yeah?” he murmured between kisses. You silently nodded, doing exactly as he requested.

Jude’s hands moved with purpose, tracing the curve of your body until his fingers brushed against the delicate lace of your panties. He pressed a finger against the fabric, feeling the heat and wetness beneath.

“Fuck, you’re so ready for me,” he growled, his voice thick. He slid your panties aside, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside, making you gasp.

“Jude…” you moaned, clutching at his shoulders, your hips rocking against his hand. His thumb found your clit, circling it with just the right pressure, making you see stars.

“You like that?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, Jude… don’t stop,” you panted, your nails digging into his back.

He smiled against your neck, adding another finger and thrusting them deeper, his pace relentless. “Gonna make you come, love. Gonna make you scream my name.”

You could feel the tension building, your body trembling with the need for release. Jude’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough and urgent. “Let go.”

With a cry, you did, but Jude didn’t stop, his fingers working you through your orgasm until you were a trembling, panting mess in his arms.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing you deeply, his hand still teasing your oversensitive flesh. “But we’re not done yet.”

You gently pushed him back, your eyes locked with his as you slid down his body. He watched you with a mix of surprise and hunger as you unbuttoned his pants, freeing his hard length.

“You want to be rewarded too, right?” you whispered, your voice sultry.

Jude could only nod, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m all yours.”

You wrapped your hand around him, your tongue flicking over the tip before taking him into your mouth. His groan was deep and guttural, his hands finding their way to your hair, guiding you as you moved.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he muttered, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around him, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. His grip tightened in your hair as you increased your pace, the sounds of your sucking and his moans filling the room.

“Baby, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his as you continued to stroke him, your mouth working the tip with focused intensity.

With a shuddering groan, he came, his release filling your mouth. You swallowed every drop, licking him clean before looking up at him with a satisfied smile.

Jude pulled you up, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips.

He climbed over you, positioning himself between your legs. He grabbed your hips, pulling you closer as he lined himself up with your entrance. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Nu-uh, let me look at these pretty eyes,” Jude murmured, his voice rough.

You did as he asked, opening your ‘pretty eyes’ and grabbing his hand, squeezing and caressing it

As he entered you, he started moving his hips slowly at first, savoring every moment. You moaned softly, the sensation overwhelming.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. “So tight, so perfect.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Jude… faster, please.”

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more urgent, each one driving you closer to the edge.Your gasps and moans filled the room .

“Your legs are shaking so much, baby,” he whispered, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”

“God- Don’t stop please,” you whimpered , your nails digging into his shoulders.

He increased his pace, his thrusts hitting deeper and harder. “I never thought I’d hear you say this. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

You moaned louder, your body arching into his. “Jude… I’m so close…”

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “I’m gonna come.”

The intensity of his thrusts, combined with the pressure of his thumb on your clit, pushed you over the edge once more.As he spilled inside you, he messily kissed you,moving your hair from your face.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding.

You turned to face him, blushing a bit.

“Why are you looking at me like this?”you asked, trying to catch your breath, a playful grin on your face.

“I’m just imagining how amazing it would be to celebrate like this every night.”

-> 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.

——

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