Omg His Pussy Almost Out

Omg his pussy almost out 😮

sobbing i love anfield so much

reporting live

trent alexander arnold x fem!reader. fluff. Trent who was rather interested in the reporter than the actual report he had to give.

Time was ticking on a thin thread for you as your supervisor might call you within five minutes if you do not interview, at least, one player of liverpool. You have been in the reporting field for at least seven months and you now also have juniors yet for you to move like an amateur was hurting your pride.

You are social issues reporter, going around different cities, and write an interesting jaw-dropping report then, call it a day. Sport reporting was not your forte, it is almost like . . fork found in your backpack. Simply out of place. The million dollar question ringing in your head was why were you here in Anfield Stadium at the first place but you face-palmed yourself on accepting to cover for your senior who was in her maternity leave. You had always hated whenever you had to cover for a reporter doing sports. No particular reasoning, just childhood trauma.

You saw all the liverpool footballer players walking out from the dressing room after a hot win. You crossed path with the tall, charismatic dutch leader of liverpool to the small growing liverpool superstar Endo but you had your goal set on the biggest prize, the player with a fresh trim, and his headphone on as every reporter tried catching his attention.

Trent Alexander Arnold, the star of Anfield and liverpool. Your supervisor might as well, move you to the Sports section if you got to interview Trent; you were not looking forward to that but a lady has bills to pay. You sighed as you had to save your job before it slipped away from your grip.

Just one interview, anyway. What is the harm? You held the sleeve of his tracker suit lightly, you needed this, you needed a bang.

"Great win in Anfield, innit? Please let us know about how are you feeling about the win?" You asked reaching your microphone out to the man. His gaze froze, so did his feet in front of you. It could be the audacity to block his way toward the team bus or the glitch of mischievousness in his eyes that flickered on your red hue cheeks.

Trent chuckled as he moved slightly forward removing his headphone, your eyes set on the man completely compelled from the bridge of his nose, deep doe eyes to his captivating smile. Everything about the man was setting you up for a failure, realizing how much of a bad idea this was.

"Yeah, yeah it is great team win but to become the last scorer for the win is a different achievement, so I am proud and happy." Trent answered, his eyes never leaving yours for a minute. His heavy scouser accent oozed out every word as Trent kept his smile intact.

His eyes glanced at you, noting the rose hue on your cheeks, one hand slightly shaking to hold onto the microphone and the other holding onto the notebook. "Come here, love. Let me hold that for you." He mumbled gripping on the microphone as your fingers brushed on his and you were secretly praying to every god that was staring upon you to not show your slight jump after the touch.

"Okay so-" You paused, clearly out of the atmosphere as you were in no place to check out players nor drool out your delusional ideas when you have a very angry supervisor waiting on the clock and an impatient cameraman behind you. "Yeah, I cannot lie, you . . you were great in the field." You complimented him quickly but you were not lying about it. With the long passes, and all the chances Trent created for the team; anyone can tell he was born to become a football player who succeeds with legacy.

"You were watching?" Trent asked raising his eyebrows in question. Utterly confused, you paused to flip your notebook to look at the man in front of you. With the silent eye contact, your neck burnt hot. You nodded sternly, a thin smile on your face. "Of course, I was watching, I mean, I am a reporter, can't be missing out on the main point of the whole show."

Trent kissed his teeth, he smirked, "So, tell me more. How was I on the field? Did you like what you see?" He winked at your direction. Your mind went blank, in what position does he have to be to flirt openly with a camera panning on his face? The burning hot sensation on your back came straight up and your heart beating fast was not helping to form words, "Like . . like I said, you were great. You are the star of liverpool after all." You sweetly smiled.

Trent had the cheeky smile on his face, his eyes lingering on your lips before glancing upward to your eyes. He knew what he was doing to you moving closer to the barrier between the reporters and the players.

You cleared your throat. "You are also the player of the match." You trailed off; Trent leaned closer. Call it the stadium being loud for him to not hear you clearly or he simply wanted to be close to you, to mesmerize the small moles on your face, to engulf himself on your warm scent.

"Are you excited for your next big game against Manchester City?" You inquired. All the back and forth staring and silence with Trent will not colour your supervisor impressed at all. You need to interview someone else that will not . . leave you speechless in minutes.

"Well it depends, to be very honest with you. Will you be in the next game?" Trent further pestered.

You furrowed your eyebrows in slight annoyance at the player for making everything about you while the whole fanbase would want to know more about him.

The cameraman behind you almost dropped his equipment taken back by the question. You did not know . . how to respond to the player who was attacking you with his doe eyes. Nervously, you laughed, "I cannot be certain about that. Are you and your team ready? It is one of the anticipated game of the season." You diverted his topic back to what you needed at the first place.

Trent stared at you without responding to your question, you quickly started shaking your leg anxiously as your eyes lingered at almost all the players leaving to go back to the training ground from the stadium. Your chances were blowing every second Trent silent in front of you.

During this period, you started considering finding other jobs, as you started making mental notes. With thoughts looming around your head, you did not come to realize Trent walked a few steps toward you, nibbling on his bottom teeth. He removed the microphone away from his lips, coming forward for a conversation that is sealed between you and the liverpool player.

You flinched at his hot breathe hitting your skin, as he gently held onto your forearm to keep you in position knowing you will move away from his contact.

You coughed away from his grip. "Have a great day then. We cannot wait till what magic liverpool can bring to Anfield once again."

"And you too, have a great day but i did not quite catch your name." He inquired with his wicked smirk playing on his face. He wants me gone, jobless. Clearly, with zero intention to support my penniless lifestyle.

You smiled, "If you do goal against Manchester City, I will let you know."

"Should we seal the deal with a kiss then, perhaps?"

not a single thought behind those eyes

low tolerance, you say

trent alexander arnold x fem!reader. fluff. Being drunk with fruitful intentions.

One thing Trent realized while dating you was to literally not put alcohol and you at the same place, at the same time. But, not many people know that aspect since you and Trent do not go out often, staying home in each other's presence.

Many people not knowing your low alcohol tolerance is absolute shit is what made Trent's job hard tonight. After picking up your call, he became more alert noticing it was not your angelic voice; rather greeted with a huskier male tone but was relaxed immediately as the person from the other line claimed, "She had way too many drinks to handle, but if the address is right. We are outside your house. Please take her away from me."

Every fiber in Trent's bone eased up. Rushing down wearing his flip-flops, frantically opens the door to see your male friend followed by three other girlfriends move you out of the car. His eyes darted on your fragile limping drunk legs almost giving out, Trent could not help but chuckle at your friends trying to keep you well.

"My boyfriend is here." You screamed loud, your eyes squeezed your eyes to scan your boyfriend coming out from his front yard to pick you away from the world for the night. Trent walked toward you, but you ran behind your friend's car.

You sat down on the road, hiding your face on your lap. Trent glanced at your friends in question since some of your drunk actions are still concerning and confusing. He is not surprised, just picking up pieces real quick.

With no words exchanged, Trent walked behind your friend's car where you were crotched down hiding your face. He bent down on his knees to meet your eye level. "What's wrong, baby?" He whispered in the shell of your ears, his fingers slowly cupping your face to glance up at him.

"You are not angry at me?" You tilted your head, clenching his hand which was settled on your face. Trent stared at your eyes slowly shutting themselves before you shook yourself up. His nose wrinkled to force himself from laughing at your drunk gesture.

He shook his head, "Never, princess. Come, let's go home." Trent gently lifted you from the ground. With his single action, you enveloped your body securing your arm around his neck. Trent silently thanked your friends for dropping you off. You shifted your head safely on the arc of his neck, eyeing your friends. "I love you guys, thank you for tonight." You waved your hand.

Trent laid you down on the sofa. For you, the whole world was spinning. It was even worse than the roller coasters you enjoyed back in some of those expensive amusement park. This cycle was endless, even if your body knows you are home, your eyes and mind are not helping at all.

"Trent, are we sure we are back home?" You asked with your eyebrows furrowed. Your hand waved around but was beaten around by the air, not being able to hold Trent. With no answers returned, you took matters on your own hand.

Standing on your own feet to only fall back on the sofa. Your legs had given out all the energy. In the spinning world, you had resulted that Trent was just a hallucination. With that, you wailed loudly, eyes shut as tears sprinkled down your cheek.

You covered your eyes with your forearm, thinking you are alone in this whole world and the person you love, is not even real. It was just a fragment of your imagination. In between your thoughts and your sobs, you paused. Wait, you thought, Was I not drunk? You removed your forearm away from your eyes, soaking in the cozy and humbling living room in front of you.

Before you could process everything, the face of the man, you swore you dreamt of popped in front of you. "You are real?" You whispered, your fingertips reaching out to draw out his face.

Sun-kissed skin, doe-eyes, and the perfect plumped lips you wish you could ju-

"Please stop eye-fucking me."

He also speaks. "Yes, I speak." He spoke, shaking his head, pulling you forward to sit on the sofa. Trent sat in front of you carrying your makeup remover, a few clothes to change, and a blanket.

"So you are my boyfriend?" You hesitated to ask, not sure how you bagged a hot scrumptious-looking boyfriend. Trent leaned on his knee, using his elbow as leverage to stare at your drunk swollen eyes and pink lips that has been abused too many times by you with the continous biting.

Trent nodded, "We have done way too many times, princess. For now, please do as I say." You raised your eyebrows, and a line formed between your eyebrows in question. You gave him a lopsided smile, "So how do you want me?"

"On your back."

You froze. Being drunk does not mean you did not understand the intention of his words. Trent snorted cockily, "Are you serious? Let me remove your makeup." He asked, waving his hand and gesturing you to lay down on the sofa so he could remove your makeup.

So lying down on the sofa, you did. Trent sat on the edge of the sofa near your arm as he leaned forward to press the wet wipes onto your face, forcefully closing your eyes after every aggressive wipe.

In silence, Trent removed your makeup. Giving you enough time to admire his face closer once again. Up close, he . . seemed so familiar. All the small freckles that are not spoken about, the light wrinkle settled on his forehead, and the vein that pops out on his temple. With it all, Trent was simply so beautiful.

"We should definitely have babies." You said breaking the silence. Trent paused his action with his third use of makeup remover wet wipes. He lazily smiled, grinning ear-to-ear. You glanced upward to the ceiling as the tension was peaking its roof.

Trent clicked his tongue, "I don't know. Don't you think we should get married first?" He proposed, his eyes twinkling with the hint of mischievousness but your mind was too hazy to process through what he was saying.

"Then why are we not married yet?" You curiously asked, your arm finding its way to his neck pulling him closer to your face. "Or we can just do everything the opposite. I heard there are many people who do that." You justified your reason on wanting kids, slurping on your own words.

Trent giggled hiding his face on the nape of your neck at your utter misery and cuteness. He had the urge to pull his phone and record the amount of random crap was coming out; it is the same routine when you are drunk.

"I am serious though." You softly laid down your guards. With mind intoxicated and eyes about to give out to the lights. But this, you know, Trent was the man you want your kids grow up calling father; it is not a dream so hard to not want considering how dearly Trent is to you.

He removed his face away from your neck, coming face-to-face. "Baby, you are drunk and we have spoke about wanting kids and getting married like hundreds of times when you are drunk." He confessed trying to retrieve back to his original position to finish off your leftover makeup.

You pulled him forward caging him in your arm. "Then ask me tomorrow morning when I am completely sober if I still want to have your kids, Trent. I will say yes." You dared, eyes not fazing away from Trent.

Your eyes glanced down at his lips, "And I swear if you stop me from doing this, I will say no." You threatened before pressing your lips against his. You moaned loudly in his lips pulling him closer. Trent moved to straddle his legs as his hand shifted under your shirt.

Your hand itself tangled to pull his sweater off his body. He tsked away, continously shaking his head. "Let's do this tomorrow, baby. Let's go back to bed." He insisted only for you to shake your head whining, already missing his lips on you.

"We can only stop this operation if i accidentally vomit."

"What operation?"

You shrugged your shoulder, "To have your kids."