Trent Alexander Arnold X Y/n - Tumblr Posts

-> 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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