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wordsbyrian · 2 years ago

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No Coat - Hardersson x Kid!Reader

Summary: Kid!R has a very full day but it always comes back to not wanting to wear a coat.

A/N: This is very dialogue heavy and if it seems like a hot mess its because I tried to think like a 3-year-old. Also, how many conversations do you think I've had with my mother about weather appropriate clothing?

Game day is your favorite day of the week.

Mostly because it means that you get to lay in bed for a long time and you don’t have to get dressed and go to nursery or your babysitter’s house.

And sometimes, if you’re really lucky like you seemed to be this morning, you get to have a cuddle with your moms in the big bed.

Grabbing your stuffed moose, Älg, you roll out of bed and make your way down the hall to your mothers’ room.

Opening the door, you aren’t surprised when your Danish mother lifts her head and watches you make your way to her side of the bed.

“What are you doing out of bed lille skat,” your mamma asks you.

“I want to lay in the big bed,” you tell her softly.

She doesn’t respond, just picks you up and pulls you into the bed, where you make yourself comfortable immediately.

The last thing you hear before you drift off is your mamma mumbling about how cuddly you’re being while stroking hair.

You’re practically dead to the world after that, only stirring when you get passed from one set of arms to a different but still familiar pair.

Shortly after that, you’re awoken by a voice asking if you’re ready to wake up and start your day yet.

“Nej,” you whine, trying to bury yourself further within the blankets.

“Nej,” the voice, which your slightly more awake brain recognizes as your Morsa, says in fake shock, “But our friend Älg is awake and ready to eat breakfast. We wouldn’t want him to starve, would we?”

Peeking your head from under the blanket, you see your Swedish mother looking at you and holding your favored stuffed animal.

“If Älg is hungry, I guess we can get out of bed,” you say, sitting up.

“Good choice, älskling,” Morsa says before she gets up and carries you to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Morsan,” you say, once you’ve reached the kitchen and she’s placed you in your seat.

“Yes.”

“Sun’s out today, don’t need to wear my coat,” you tell her pointing out the kitchen window.

That gets a laugh from both your mothers, Mamma placing a plate in front of you while ruffling your hair.

“Sorry skat, it’s still February, the sun is tricking you,” she says, making you pout.

Breakfast passes smoothly for you, in that you’re more focused on what’s on your plate than whatever conversation your parents are having.

When you’re done, and your face and hands more than thoroughly covered with food, your mamma takes you from the table to help you get ready for the day.

It goes well until it comes time to get dressed.

“What jersey do you want to wear today, Y/N/N,” Mamma asks, opening your drawer.

“Jessie?”

“Your Jessie jersey is short-sleeved,” she tells you, “If you wear that you need to wear both a hoodie and your coat.”

“No. No coat,” you say, eyes already beginning to fill with tears.

“Yes, my love, you have to wear a coat,” Mamma says again, “No matter what kit you choose, you’ll be wearing a coat.”

“No, no, no,” you wail, tears starting to fall, “No coat.”

Before you can work yourself into a full tantrum, you feel your mamma take your hands in hers.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” she says firmly, “You and I both know that screaming and crying is not the way to get what you want, I’m sorry you're upset so I'm going to give you a moment to calm down, and then we can try again.”

Taking a deep breath, you roughly wipe the tears from your face, grimacing when your mamma stops you only to do it with a wet wipe instead.

“Finished,” she asks, only continuing when you nod, “Alright. Now we can go back and forth all day about what you’re going to wear but what’s not up for debate is a coat, understand?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“Good, so let’s go back to jerseys.”

“Wear Jessie’s?”

“We can make that happen,” Mamma says, “But if you wear just that, you’ll get cold, so you need to wear something warm.”

“Won’t get cold, promise.”

“I know you think that but Mamma has been here for a long time,” she says slowly, “So you have to trust me on this one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great, so we have a couple of options: you can wear a long sleeve shirt or a hoodie as your extra layer,” Mamma explains, “If you wear the hoodie you can wear it underneath your jersey so that everyone can still see your jersey when we get to Kingsmeadow.”

“Long sleeves,” you say simply.

“Good choice, skat. Now, will you be wearing a hat as well?”

“Uhm,” you say thinking about it.

Then you hear your morsa shout from the hallway.

“That was rhetorical, Y/N/N,” she calls out.

“Don’t know what that means,” you yell back, then in a much softer voice, “Mamma, what does that mean?”

“It means that the question doesn’t need an answer,” she tells you, tugging the long sleeve shirt over your head.

“Oh, that’s stupid.”

“You’re not wrong but let’s try to use kind words.”

“Okay.”

With that crisis averted, the rest of the time spent getting ready goes well.

Even the part where your Morsa forces a hat onto your head and your coat onto your body happens without much fuss but that’s mostly because your mini-tantrum has worn you out.

By the time you’re awake enough to protest, she’s carrying you through the players' entrance and into the locker room.

The second the door closes behind your small family, you’re instantly taken from you Morsa’s arms, the culprit none other than Zeçira.

“Everyone, Magda and Pernille brought my good luck charm,” she announces, carrying you to her locker, “Did you wear my jersey today, Y/N/N?”

“No,” you tell her, “Wore it last time. Wearing Jessie’s today.”

“Oh so you’re Fleming’s good luck charm today,” the Swedish goalkeeper says, getting back up and placing you in the space between Jessie and Niamh Charles.

Luckily for you, the two young players are more than happy to keep you company in the spare that they have before they need to head out for warm-ups.

“Lose the battle again today, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, helping you take off your coat.

“I don’t like it,” you tell her pouting, “Don’t like the hat either.”

“Yea mate, we know.”

“It’s not all bad though,” Jessie says, “If you weren’t wearing a hat I couldn’t do this.” She pulls your hat down further so that it covers your eyes. “Much better.”

Pushing the hat back away from your eyes, you begin to grow frustrated when Niamh reaches over and pulls it down again.

“Cut it out,” you whine, looking up at her.

“Yea Niamh, cut it out,” Jessie says, trying not to show her smile.

“Sorry, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, “I know you like being a living ice cube.”

“It’s okay,” you say, forgiving her easily, “We can play still after the game.”

“Sounds like a plan, mate. I bet you and me can score tons of goals on Zeçira.”

“And Jessie too,” you say, unwilling to leave your favorite Chelsea player out of the planned fun.

“Yes, Jessie too. Maybe Alsu will want to play as well.”

“Of course, I want to play,” the Russian woman shouts from across the room.

You smile widely, glad that all four of your favorite Chelsea players have agreed to play with you after the game.

A few minutes later, Emma comes into the locker room to give her pregame talk and send the players to warm up, so you go around giving your customary prematch high-5, making sure to pause and give both your moms a cuddle.

Once in the stands with your babysitter, time passes quickly as she lets you do and eat whatever you want. By the time the game is over, you’ve had a hotdog, a cheeseburger, some chips, and a soda.

It’s safe to say that you go a little overboard with the freedom your babysitter allows.

At the end of the match, you’re allowed on the field and while you do take a moment to congratulate your parents on their performance, it takes less than a minute before you wiggle away and run toward where Jessie and Niamh are kicking around a ball.

When you reach the players you waste no time, stealing the ball away and sprinting towards the goal as fast as your little legs will carry you. You’re laughing gleefully as Jessie and Niamh, and Alsu when she spots you, all put on a show of trying to stop you.

Once you get inside the 6-yard box, you come face to face with Zeçira who dramatically dives the wrong way when you shoot. When it crosses the line, you can hear the fans that remain break out into raucous applause.

You and the four footballers continue your mini-game for a while with them allowing you to take up different roles on the field. Your smile only grows wider each time you steal the ball or stop a goal after Zeçira gives you her gloves.

Eventually, after your third attempt to take off your hat and coat, the players decide that enough is enough and Jessie carries you back to the locker room.

Unfortunately, neither of your moms are to be spotted in the changing room and although you can hear the showers running, you aren’t willing to check there and instead wander back out of the room and down the hall to where the press conferences are held.

After taking off your outer layers of course.

Opening the door, you quietly make your way to the front of the room and the table where Coach Emma and your Morsa are sitting answering questions.

When you get there, you stand silently between the two women, head barely peeking out over the top of the table, patiently waiting for Morsa to finish speaking.

When she does, you make your presence known by climbing into her lap.

As you try to make yourself comfortable, you can hear the soft laughter of the reporters and you’re pretty sure you hear Emma say something about being joined by the youngest member of the squad.

None of that matters to you though.

You’re more than content to sit with your head on your mother’s chest, zoning out as she answers the boring questions.

You stay like that for a while, feeling the vibrations of her voice through her chest before you notice she’s turned her attention to you.

“Are you going to answer the question Y/N/N,” she asks when you make eye contact with her.

When you stare at her in confusion, she repeats the question.

“They want to know who your favorite player is.” She then helps you shift on her lap so that you can speak into the microphone. “Go on.”

Leaning forward you go to speak into the mic pausing for a second to look at your Morsa, when she nods her approval you continue.

“My favorite player is Rolfö,” you say.

“It’s not one of your mummies,” one of the reporters asks.

You shake your head, leaning back once more, feeling your mother laugh again but you tune back out before you hear if she says anything.

The memories you have of the rest of the press conference are blurry, you hadn’t been paying attention and you really had only come in here because you wanted to be held anyway.

Which is why no one should be surprised when you fall asleep despite all the bright lights shining in your face.

You wake up slightly in the locker room when your mamma tries to put your coat on you. You know it’s her because only she would try something like this.

So without opening your eyes you begin to whine in protest, “Nej, Mamma, jag vill inte ha jackan på mig.”

You're pretty sure that your protests are ignored, especially since you fall back asleep almost instantly.

#woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #womens soccer #hardersson x reader #hardersson imagine #pernille harder x reader #magdalena eriksson x reader

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