Can I Request A Dad!erling Imagine In Which Him And The Reader Have A Baby Boy And Hes All Over The Moon

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

about to cry

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.

➛ 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 :)

can you pleaseee do a story about haaland being insecure about something while looking at himself in the mirror and y/n enters the room and comforts him then they end up making out

i hv an exam tomorrow but this inspired me hope u like it <3

erling haaland x fem reader

it wasn’t like him to feel down at all. usually he felt full of power and confidence, he believed in himself and couldn’t care less about what others said about him. he was the strong, norwegian viking after all.

but today was different and you noticed it. he did poorly in the match and although city still won, he’s rating was low and his failed shots were posted all over the internet. you felt his sadness and disappointment, the way he walked out of the changing room, the way his usual bright smile faded away. he could take all the criticism about the way he played, he could take it when it was about his talent or the lack of it, but he couldn’t deal with criticism about his looks. you told him not to go on instagram, to not open comments but he couldn’t stop himself. he sat in the changing room for a good 30 minutes scrolling nonstop, every rude comment, every mean word about his face seeping into his mind. he suddenly felt small and uncomfortable in his own skin, and all he craved was your touch and kind words. you noticed immediately as he walked besides you on your way to the car, his fingers holding tightly onto yours, his golden hair laying on his shoulders, his eyes fixated on the floor. he needed soft touches and sweet words whispered into his ears, a hug and kisses all over his cheeks.

and you knew exactly how to make him feel better, how to make the sad pout disappear from his face.

- hey baby what about a bath when we get home? i got a new bathbomb yesterday, its strawberry and vanilla scented. - you look over at him in the car, his eyes are sad and his fingers viciously gripping the wheel but he seems to like your idea a lot, his face lighting up, his cheeks blushing.

you took baths together whenever either of you was feeling down, the bubbles, the relaxation of the warm water and the closeness of your bodies cheering you up instantly. so as soon as you get home you tell him to go and get out of his clothes and wait for a little in the bedroom while you start the bath and collect all the stuff you want to put into it. you eventually gather all of your things, and with the bathbombs and gels in your hand return to the bedroom. you find your boyfriend staring at himself in the mirror, theres a frustrated look spreading across his beautiful features, his eyebrows are furrowed. he looks like he might start crying and you feel your heart breaking by the sight. you walk up to him, hugging him from behind, your smaller frame disappearing into his. your fingers are running up and down on his torso, caressing his skin, drawing circles on his waist. your cheek is resting against his back, hes warm and he smells like him. like erling, like soap and grass and his lingering parfume. you want him to know how beautiful he is, how his touch lights your skin up, how his eyes mesmerize you, how it feels to call him yours.

- can we take the bath and then watch a dumb movie? im so tired, im sorry..- he asks, theres some shame in his voice as he stares at his reflection.

- of course baby, lets go, i think the water is already perfect.- you grab his hand as you guide him to the bathroom, holding him close and tight, wanting to show him how beautiful he truly is.

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