#didn’t even know liverpool had that many fans

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

adding avfc to my twitter bio because two lfc fans followed me…and that’s just too many liverpool fans

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestions, smut love bombing, occasionally sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 19 - ‘You’re Mine’

You were not as hopeless as your inner dialogue made you sound. You missed Trent so much your little heart hurt but you could live. You were busy with an array of things, you had gotten really active in local charities in Liverpool and initiatives especially Trent’s latest project launch. You had a degree from university that you didn’t really share with a lot of people around you but Trent obviously knew about it so your skill set came in handy. With the spare time you had you reached out to some contacts from your previous jobs you had put on hold back in New York. At the time you met Trent you were taking a little hiatus to just decompress. You were privileged enough to do that and well aware that is not something everyone could have the luxury of doing so once you got settled in England you started to connect with brands you worked with in the US that had UK offices. You got back into work freelance writing and styling. Your career before was in Fashion Editorial so it was an easy transition to get back into the swing of things. It made you feel better you were able to have a life outside of being Trent’s number one fan, even though that often was your favorite thing to be occupied with. Thankfully the two, Trent and work, were kept separated for the moment.

Before the tournament actually began you found that the little T- Bear Trent left for you just seemed to be with you 24/7. Tucked in bed with you every night, snuggled up on the couch watching television and as wonderful as that was, there was a certain part that this ‘T’ wasn’t able to… how do you put this… fulfill.

You were just about to whine down from the day but your hair and makeup were still done so you decided to take a few cheeky photos. A client, Agent Provocateur, a brand you adored, from an editorial piece you had worked on recently with them had gifted you some pieces of gorgeous lingerie. So you put on a little pink satin trimmed lace bra with a matching thong. The goal was to entice Trent obviously, but aside from that this set was making you feel confident which you seemed to be struggling with lately. You took some photos with the whole set on, some taking it off, some with it barely serving any purpose all while holding your new little bear. It was an incredibly sweet concept but far from innocent. You picked your favorites, ones you knew showed off things he’d enjoy so you sent them in a text unsolicited and unprovoked as you tucked into bed for the night. The little ‘delivered’ popped up under the sent photos and it quickly turned to ‘read.’ You knew he’d be excited to see them but there was always a little part of you that worried about how you actually looked in them, if he’d like them, and then of course about the potential consequences of sending such explicit photos when he’s at ‘work’ so you held your breath. He started to type and the three dots in the bubble appeared but stopped, started again only to disappear once again. The brief moment of confidence you had built started to waver. While you laid in your bed, a little disheartened, you put your phone far away from you to try to forget the situation until you heard the familiar ring of an incoming FaceTime.

“You’re such a tease, baby.” Trent rolled his perfect plump lips into a pout shaking his head but couldn’t really hold back the lustful grin he was really expressing. “I have training early tomorrow and you got me so fucking hard I can’t possibly get to sleep now.” He groaned. You sighed in relief that he did in fact really like your pictures.

“I’m sorry, T. I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just trying some things on and I thought you’d want to see. I didn’t mean to disrupt your night.” You feigned an apology playing coy.

“Nah, nah, nah you got me all worked up, miles away, sending me something I can’t have right now. You’re staying on the phone right now, helping me with this.” He sounded so commanding and it turned you on instantly.

“What can I help with, baby? To help, do you need me to keep this on or take it off?” You pulled the bra strap off your body to let it snap back against your skin.

“I wanna see more of you, beautiful. Take that off…Save that for when I can rip it off you myself and put your phone somewhere. I need to see all of you.” He instructed you so you leaned back against your headboard in front of your now propped up phone.

“This okay?” You asked craving his approval.

“Yeah, baby, just like that. You wanna spread your legs for me? Show me how wet you are.” He confirmed that was what he wanted to see. He began to stroke his cock from the tip to the base. His command had you stifling a moan.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. I miss you so much, T” you whimpered waiting for instructions till he asked for you to touch your clit, and then slowly slide your fingers into yourself. Just watching his cock get harder, hearing him pant on the other side of your phone had you inching closer to your release.

“Keep fucking that pussy,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that, little faster, baby. Use your other hand and rub that clit again. Tell me how much you miss my cock.” His words had you crumbling. It was a cross between complete desperation, lust, and absence.

“I mi-miss it. I want your cock to fuck me, please. Ple..please I need your cock, T.” You whined. The tension and pressure released all at once causing you to whimper louder as waves of pleasure rippled through you. Your fingers coated in your slick. You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, Trent repeatedly moaning your name as ropes of his cum spurted from his cock covering his abs. When you both came to, you smiled and wiggled in your bed giggling with him happy to feel the release but also to have achieved making him feel good from miles away.

“Fuck, that was so hot, you’re so beautiful, baby.” Trent said, laughing a little more while he cleaned himself up.

“I love you. Miss having you here with me so much.” You pouted. “Going to be able to sleep now?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay now, thank you.” He chuckled. “I’ll be saving those pictures though, I might need them till I get you back.”

“Yeah, yeah but I think a call may be a little more mutually beneficial.” You giggled. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Love you, pretty girl. Miss you so much. Night.” Pushing his lips out for a virtual kiss before he hung up the phone.

A week later and many similar FaceTimes, you and Dianne were going to the Euro’s. You were traveling for the first match of the tournament. You and Dianne had a great relationship. You had essentially become like a daughter. She spoiled you, she always defended you against the boys teasing, you spent a lot of time shopping together or sitting pitch side. You appreciated her so much for all she did for you since you arrived in Liverpool and loved the idea of a little trip together. You checked into a lovely hotel and settled into your separate rooms but planned to meet up for a breakfast in the morning before you headed off for the stadium tomorrow.

It was the opening match of the group stage and the place was buzzing. You hadn’t seen England play in a big tournament like this yet as Trent’s girlfriend so you didn’t really know what to expect. You hoped you had adapted to life as a ‘wag’ at Liverpool but this was a whole new lot. You had made friends with a few girls you’d met at international friendly matches, the boys you knew on the team, and were excited to be able to see some girls from Liverpool whose partners were playing for other countries. That said as much as you had watched the Euros countless times before, to be there felt so strange. Thank god Dianne was with you. You both had opted to match in Alexander-Arnold white England kit shirts. You kept your outfit pretty casual not wanting to draw too much attention given the mayhem that seemed to be ensuing lately with your every move relatively near a football pitch. ‘Casual’ is all relative though when you are a little bit of a fashion girly so; you paired T’s jersey with R13 Crossover denim shorts, white and gray Prada ‘Downtown’ sneakers, a Mui Mui gray fleece hoodie in case you got cold, your new, very sweetly gifted, navy Dior saddle bag and what felt like just about every piece of gold jewelry you owned; you’d be remiss to not be wearing your prized possession; the white gold diamond Van Clef necklace Trent gave you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. That was always going to be on and the myriad of other little bits and bobs of jewelry he'd given you over time. You liked the look, it felt authentically you: low key but if you looked close enough the finer details told another story and you liked that.

You promised Dianne you’d help up her ‘MaG’ match day fits. You two had started an inside joke considering you were Mum and Girlfriend for Trent in the stands. It was cute and you were elated to help. Outside the stadium, you stopped a girl around your age to take a photo for you with Dianne to keep for a memory and you got that special photo but it also transgressed into plenty of questions because the girl was a fan which was sweet but in turn the exchange was shared to your least favorite part of the internet lately… social football gossip pages.

‘Okay, ICL, Trent Alexander-Arnold’s mum and his presumed girlfriend holding hands walking into the stadium was precious. The mystery girl is definitely no mystery to the fam’

The girl who kindly took a photo for you outside the stadium had also shared with a fan page another photo she had taken unsolicited as you walked away with Dianne.

Dianne held onto your hand still as you walked through the corridors of the stadium while masses of people swirled around you. It was insane. Complete chaos. A familiar chaos, but chaos nonetheless. England had a strong team this year and people were excited to say the least. You made it to your seats and your heart filled with relief seeing the tan skinned pretty pretty boy, smiling beaming, warming up ahead of the match. You leaned onto Diane’s shoulder in repose.

“It’s the best feeling in the world seeing him happy doing what he loves.” Leaning her head on top of yours.

“I know, I feel lucky I get to witness it. Even just to be a small part of the whole experience.”

“Hun, you’re a big part. Things changed when you came to England for him. He’s emotionally never been in a better place.” She cooed.

“I hope so, I just want to be there for him as much as I can. I try not to let my emotions ever sway his, like when I miss him. I don’t know how you’ve done this for so long.” You joked a little because you referring to ‘so long’ was really in reference to from birth to this very moment and having to share her son globally.

“One thing I always know, he does miss us when he’s away. He doesn’t need to tell us but you know he will always, even as focused as he is for work. More specifically, he misses you sweetheart…so much.” She placed a kiss on head. “You make that boy's life outside of all this so much better for him. Easier, happier, calmer, healthier, I could go on… so thank you hun.” Her words had your heart bursting. You always had an open relationship but to get such a verbal confirmation felt really nice.

When a Trent fan account finally published the photo of you and Dianne walking into the stadium together the response was different to the usual wrath of hate you’d receive from the public on the likes of gossip news sites. Instead these fans were enthused by the sighting. Commenting…

‘I feel like she’s probably super sweet if she’s that close with his mum’

‘Seeing her with his family makes me feel like she’s actually a serious girlfriend’

‘Okay, ngl, she actually looks too cool for him lol’

‘Matching with his mum is so precious’

‘Imagine Trent being your boyfriend 😭’

‘She’s with his mum 🥺’

You couldn’t have asked for a better opening match. England dominated and Trent got a decent amount of minutes and during his time on the pitch he managed to assist Bukaya for an unbelievable goal. It was just icing on the cake to see him after a couple weeks, have the result go their way, and to have him play well. When the final whistle blew it was such a special feeling being surrounded by people who all felt just the same as you. It was a big family just supporting boys that had worked so tirelessly to get here, to represent their country. When the team had wrapped up some post match duties they were able to come over to the stands to meet up with their families after the stadium had cleared out. Trent walked over with a smile that made your heart melt. You leaned over the railing to give him the biggest kiss. His arms reached up to grab your face, yours falling around his neck. You both hummed at the satisfaction of being back together. The kiss felt like fireworks for you, your whole body ignited feeling his lips on yours. Trent’s body on the other hand fell into complete comfort and relaxation soothed by your touch.

“Missed you so much, baby.” He whispered his lips ghosting over yours.

“My T” you giggled, pressing one more peck before pulling apart.

“Lemme climb on up, pretty girl.” He needed to get off the pitch over into the stands so he did haphazardly because his body was exhausted.

“You were amazing, sweetie. So proud of you Trenty.” Dianne cooed, giving him a big tight hug. Diane stayed standing but Trent collapsed onto a seat in the stands burnt out.

“T, honestly so good. You were incredible.” Leaning over to give him another kiss. You sat next to him and he wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head onto your shoulder. He pressed light kisses to it and you did the same to his temple. Dianne stood there talking to you both about the match before going over to talk to Jude Bellingham’s mum, Denise, after spotting her now the match had finished. With the idea of being alone with you, despite being surrounded by friends, family and teammates, Trent sprawled out across a row of seats and laid his head in your lap. You caressed his face and played with his hair while you two gushed about how much you missed each other. He was practically stuck to you. He couldn’t pull his hands or lips off your skin if he tried. Kissing your wrists as they moved over his face, pulling your face down for proper kisses every once in a while, purring as your nails scratched his scalp.

“Trent, come here quick.” Dianne yelled for him evoking a disgruntled face on the boy who had gotten quite comfortable back under your touch. So he stood up and made his way over to talk to the two mums. Despite telling him you’d stay put, he dragged you with him, pushing you in front of him while his hands wrapped around your waist. He kept his chin on your shoulder listening to his mum while his idle fingers played with the belt loops of your shorts. You introduced yourself to Denise who was as kind as her sons were. You’d met and spent a lot of time with both her boys since you moved to England, knowing how polite they were, it made sense she’d be that way as well.

“Going to do a lunch after the group stage with them, five of us, yeah?” Dianne was informing you and Trent about a plan she and Denise had made to go out before the England Team were hosting a little party for all the families.

“That sounds lovely!” You cheerfully smiled liking the idea of getting time together away from other than just seeing the boys from a distance on the pitch. Trent didn’t say anything, he just smiled seeing you smile. He missed the way your cheeks warmed when you did. Jude waddled his way up the stairs of the seats sore from the game coming up to you all, first giving a hug and kiss to his mum, then to Diane and then looked at you, smiled, and then rolled his eyes at Trent who was lost still gazing at you.

“Gonna let go for a minute so we can all say hello?” Jude joked removing Trent’s hands stuck to your body.

“Hi Judey” you giggled giving him a big hug. Lately he and Trent were together most of the time when league play was suspended for breaks and he found himself back in England so you had gotten close. He was coming on your holiday after the tournament. The holiday had funnily become a little bit of a boys trip that included you and your best friend, but moreover Trent obviously, Marcel was coming, Jude, and Jobe, his brother, had decided to tag along, and then a few other boys. You didn’t mind but it was a little comical now. Jude could sense the humor in it and knew your relationship well enough that you just were dying to be laying on the beach with Trent, alone, unbothered, but that more than likely wouldn’t be the case now.

“All good? Ready for this to be over?” You pulled out of his hug rolling your eyes at his comment as he sat down in front of you leaning on the back of a seat a row below you.

“What do you mean! Very excited to be here for the next two weeks” you beamed sarcastically.

“It worries me how good you are at lying. It’s unsettling for my brother” he shoved at your shoulder while glancing at Trent.

“No, seriously! I am actually really excited. This is amazing though. You played so well, lucky to be supporting England.” You clarified.

“Yeah, just don’t open your mouth too much and you might pass as one of us.” Jude teased about your accent but was quickly reprimanded by Denise. She scolded Jude telling him to be nicer and you just smiled relishing in the mum's protection over you.

The boys had to go back to the dressing room after getting to say hello which was bittersweet and came all too quickly. Luckily in a few days time they’d be out of the group stages and would have a few days off so you could see Trent then but right now you had to say bye.

“Call me tonight?” You cooed, draping your arms around Trent’s neck, his arms coming to drop low on your waist pulling his jersey you had on up to caress your skin, dipping his hands into your shorts slyly.

“Course, baby. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He whispered, pulling your body a little closer to his pushing his hips into you.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, T.” You quietly said back pressing your nose against his.

“Love you, beautiful” he said with a little peck to your lips.

“I love you.” You sealed with another kiss. Your focus only on each other.

“Honestly, enough. I’m going without you.” Jude dramatically but in, hitting Trent’s arm before proceeding to stand up. Trent said goodbye to the mums, and you again with another swift but sweet kiss and a sneaky squeeze to your ass cheek before hurrying after Jude. He turned and winked at you before disappearing down the tunnel.

Later that evening, the England Instagram account posted a carousel of families reuniting after the first win of the tournament. None directly featured you, Diane or Trent but behind a photo posted of the Bellingham family were you and Trent having a cuddle while sharing a sweet kiss. There definitely was a fair share of comments who caught the affectionate interaction. In turn, cropped images of the photo, zooming in on you two, blew up all over socials again,

‘They’re not even trying anymore lol’

‘I’m happy for them 🥹’

‘Trent, I don’t need to see you cheating on me like this’

‘To kiss that sweaty man, I’d die’

‘Still just avoiding cameras, like fam, we know your together lol’

You and Diane continued going to the remaining group stage matches with England performing well. Trent even bagging a goal so the brief moments seeing him after the games were just so special. Being so close but unable to properly be alone and cuddle or kiss was slightly driving you both insane. So you spent the nights apart FaceTiming only mere hotels, short distances apart. Trent would vent about the games and you listened intently trying your best to not add unnecessary additions to the already noisy commentary he was surrounded by, you’d joke around, if there wasn’t a game directly the following day, things would get a little steamier on the call but overall you just repeated how much you missed being back at home together. More often than not you two just stayed on the phone till you both fell asleep making one of you wake up hours later and having to end the call that had been ongoing for hours of just your sleeping faces lit by phone screens.

As expected the England team finished top of their group so they were to have a few days off before the knockout stage began which meant you got to spend some time with your T. He did have to go to a short morning training session after last night's game but he was coming to meet you and his mum at your hotel to see you both after. You always grappled with sharing Trent but his mom was an exception, she deserved all his time and attention so you were hoping for a little sliver. He met you later in the day after the training session in a tea room of the hotel you and Dianne were staying at and joined you for brunch. Somehow if it was even possible, Trent walked in and looked even more beautiful than he ever did. He seemed to have that effect on you. It didn’t matter if it had been 5 minutes when he’d walk to the kitchen and back or days since you last saw him but when he’d return he somehow looked even more handsome than before. His mum stayed seated and she gave him a little side hug. You opted to stand up to give him a tight hug, you missed his warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around you and his familiar amber smell engulfed you. You could’ve stayed there forever. You kissed his neck gently, subtly, and quietly to keep it hidden from his mum but Trent wasn’t having that.

“Erm…I’d like a proper kiss, beautiful.” He beamed with a big smile, his lips pushing out waiting for you. His hands slid up from around your waist to hold both your cheeks. He placed a heart stopping kiss on your lips and you felt your legs almost give out. He was like a dream all the time. You finally sat and had a nice little meal filled with conversation more so about what was happening back at home than football, he wanted the break from the intensity. When Dianne excused herself to run to the restroom, Trent pulled your chair a little closer to his. He placed another kiss on your cheek.

“What’d you doing, pretty boy?” You cooed, unable to hide the smile he was pulling from you and the flush rising in your cheeks smitten by his flirty move.

“Wanna be closer to my girl” his hand came and wrapped around the back of your neck stroking his thumb over your exposed skin. In your Trents true fashion he had shown up with a little gift for you. “Got you a little something, baby.”

“T!! You don’t always have to do this!” You quipped in feigned annoyance. You gestured to the Dior Saddle bag you were using today again but it still always was a little exciting “I don’t need anything. I just need this.” You said, moving your hand over his resting on his leg, playing with each of his fingers slowly. It was true, just being close to him was enough for you but nevertheless he pulled out a little box.

“Just so you don’t forget where you’re loyaly lies on match days, yeah?” You opened the little jewelry box that had a Monica Rich Kosann locket that opened with two little pictures; one of you and T hugging in the tunnel at Anfield in his Liverpool kit, the other of you and him sharing a cute kiss in his England uniform. It just made you melt. He was so thoughtful and cute. “I know you're technically only half American but don’t you forget whose you are, beautiful. You’re all mine.”

“I’m pretty sure I know who I’ll be rooting for always. Always yours.” You said giggling, “but thank you, baby. I love it and I love you” leaning your head on his shoulder nuzzling into that familiar smell as his arm wrapped around you. He pressed light kisses on your head while you whispered little mushy things back and forth. When Dianne returned she smiled entering the main room seeing that her departure caused your chairs to move inexplicably closer. She liked to see that her very reserved boy found someone to be so comfortable, protective, confident and unequivocally in love with. She sat back down but it wasn’t long until she excused herself again.

“I need a little rest, a shower, and some time to get ready for tonight to keep up my ‘MaG’ looks so I’m going to head up.” She stood up from the table, placing her napkin down, pushing her chair in and placing her hand gently on yours briefly.

“MaG?” Trent questioned, looking between you and his mum for some context on the inside joke he was clearly left out of.

“Don’t worry about it” you laughed in Dianne’s direction telling her if she needed you to text you but she just wanted to let you and Trent to spend some time alone together.

“Thank you hun!” She kissed Trent’s head and squeezed your arm. “I’ll see you both a little later on before we meet with Denise and her boys.” You said your goodbyes but you stayed a little longer cuddled up as close as you can be in a restaurant setting picking at little sandwiches and sweets. Eventually, Trent and you finally left and went up to your room where he dramatically crashed on the bed, rushing to get under the covers like a little boy because he was ‘so tired.’

“T! T! Shoes! Gross!” You squealed, pulling at his arms to get him out and off your freshly cleaned hotel bedding.

“Wowwwww already asking me to take my clothes off. Eager much, baby?” He teased starting to get out of the bed begrudgingly.

“No…no, well” you blushed at his words. “I wouldn’t complain but I just meant if you could not get my bed all dirty I would appreciate it” you gave a genuine smile and a sweet giggle that made his heart falter.

“So you don’t want to be dirty in bed?” he sat up on the bed with a cheeky and devious smile, his legs hung off the side and he held his arms out for you. You moved over and stood between his legs, his hands caressed up your back pulling your shirt up with them, “With me? Not even me baby?” He gave you a look that made you cave immediately. You let him pull your shirt off over your head and after he did your hands reached out to pull his off.

“I missed this body. You’re so fucking beautiful. Been dreaming of this.” He said, dragging the strap of your bra down off your shoulder.

“Dreaming of what, T? What do you need?” You cooed with a sly smirk as your hands played with the waistband of the skirt you still had on.

“I need all of this…” sliding the mini skirt down your legs. “off right now.” He said gently, his words dripping like honey, his hands moving in slow motion. Making your skin burn.

You were standing in front of him completely naked now. He sat back resting on his arms behind him on the bed. The hotel room light cast over you illuminating the dips of your collarbones, highlighting the rise of your tits, the smoothness of your skin. Trent stared in awe just about drooling over his girl.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you here right now.” He said pulling your waist towards him. You sat with your legs on both sides of his and straddled him, feeling his prominent bulge growing harder and harder beneath your wet core.

“And I’m going to need these off, T.” You said pulling off his trousers. In quick motions all clothing was removed, Trent had flipped you over to be on top of you making out passionately, whispers and gasps of ‘I love you’ and ‘missed this so much’ muddled in between messy, sloppy, yearning kisses. You spit a little on your hand and gently gilded it up and down the length of his cock. His fingers slid between your folds gathering your wetness to play with your clit while he dipped two in to help stretch you out.

“Shit, that feels so good, sh-shit, I’m not gonna last very long, it's been a while without you. You’re so fucking tight” Trent was panting, losing focus at just the feeling of you.

“Baby, I need you so bad, can we just ju-just. Please I miss you so much T.” You were moaning as his languid fingers circled your clit begging for him to fuck you. His mouth nipped down your neck before his tongue circled and licked around your hard nipples eliciting a whimper of pleasure from you.

“Yeah, yeah, sweet girl. I’m gonna give you whatever you need.” He groaned. In swift motions he slowly aligned his cock with your core and slid into you. You both gasped at the contact. He moved slowly inch by inch but he just wanted to get as deep as possible. He missed this feeling like nothing else. His thick cock hit your g spot almost immediately once he was in. He felt so deep and the stretch of him being back inside you had your mind turn to complete mush. You lost any control you had when he was fully inside. The force and pace of his thrusts increased and so did the volume of both your moans. “You’re such a good girl, so fucking wet for me.” He said hearing the sounds of your slick as he dragged his cock slowly out of you and watched himself push all the way back thrusting harder. Your legs wrapped around him. You were whining in pleasure. Your lips parted gasping at the sensation of him. You both were moaning inexplicable phrases of praise, love, and adoration. You were completely obsessed with each other and how good the sex was only amplified it.

“Oh my fu-fucking god, T, you feel so good.” You felt tears fill your lash line. His cock rammed deep inside you again and again, hitting a spot only he knew, while his finger pressed rough circles around your clit. He dipped his head a little and played with your nipples more, pulling at them and biting. You could barely handle the sensory overload so you bit harshly onto his shoulder to try to quiet your moans.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s so perfect for me. Taking me so well.” He growled moving to nibble at your ear, his hot breath on your skin had your orgasm approaching faster and faster. He pulled back nearly all the way out and hammered back in. Tears started to roll down your cheek. Your arms wrapped around his body so tight your nails were digging into his skin leaving deep crescent marks while Trent continued to fuck you at an inhuman pace.

“I missed you, I missed this. You feel so fucking good. I want this forever.” You babled as your legs started to tremble. Your orgasm was getting closer and closer. Your eyes rolled back as you heard him moan your name again, again, and again.

You were getting lost in the pleasure that your T was giving to you while he was just as infatuated by your body and the sounds you were making had him fighting to not cum without you getting to orgasm first.

“You have me forever.” He whispered barely getting the words out softly in your ear. In a split second you felt your pussy spasm at the tenderness of his words and his rough strokes. You soaked his cock completely when you felt his release fill you up so much, it began to seep out while he was still inside. He laid on top of you for a while before he spoke again.

“I’m so addicted to you, beautiful. Can’t be away from you like this.” He murmured laying on your chest completely exhausted

“I guess we’re both addicts then” you giggled tracing your fingers up his spine. He continued laying there just holding you. You kissed him slowly. You were both so tired in the hotel room. “My sleepy, sleepy, needy boy.” You cooed, pressing your lips on his warm skin. You were so authentic with each other. Being back together felt like a saccharine summertime daydream. Feeling your New York daydream turned into your reality. Your love was undiluted, nothing felt better than being physically connected like this .

“We have to go soon, baby.” Trent finally picked his head up to nuzzle into your neck placing kisses all over your skin. If you could bottle this feeling forever you would, it was worth more than its weight in gold.

“I just want another cuddle, pleaseee” you whined childishly and in turned caused Trent to just let all his body weigh on top of you and wrap his arms so tight around you thought you couldn't breathe but the sound of his joyful laugh had you able to completely disregard the bone crushing pressure and just relish in the moment. You wanted to hear him happy, you wanted to see that beautiful smile pull across his face, the smile lines wrinkle, his little dimples appear so you let it ensue. Eventually you both got up and started to get dressed to meet with the Bellinghams; Denise, Jude, and Jobe at the restaurant and to meet Dianne downstairs at the hotel.

Trent needed to shower but you opted not to because your hair would take too long to do if you did which disappointed Trent because he claimed he needed your ‘help’ but in reality he just wanted another round of messing about to his disappointment you held your ground. Instead you began your skincare and makeup at the vanity in the hotel bathroom before moving back to the bedroom and sitting with a pout looking at your suitcase confused.

“What do you think I should wear? I don’t know Denise that well and I don’t know what people have said about me so I don’t want to like… I don’t know, mess up.” You nervously babbled rummaging through your suitcase on the floor.

“You look beautiful in anything.” Trent picked you up off the ground to give you a hug still wet from his shower.

“That’s incredibly unhelpful, T, seriously.” He placed a kiss on your forehead to try to calm your nerves. “Erm… I’m wearing this,” said showing you the outfit he had layed out of the bed. “If that helps at all.”

“Baby… I picked that out though” so you both started laughing.

Because you were going to the England team’s event after you wanted to be a little ‘on theme’ but not exactly sporting Saint George’s cross. You picked a pair of white linen trousers from Cult Gaia, a navy and white striped knit tank from Kule, paired with a Bottega Veneta mini sunrise bag in red, you also opted to bring a Jacquemus denim jacket in case you got cold. Oh! And of course shoes so red Manolo Blahniks were the choice. Your boobs were on display a little bit from not wearing a bra with the top but having a jacket would be a good cover. The pants fit your waist perfectly and when standing showed off your incredible figure. You wanted to be casual so your shoe choice was flats. Once you were dressed you walked over to help fix the collar of Trent’s shirt. He wore tailored khaki cargo style pants, a white t-shirt, a Rhude button up open overtop and a pair of Louis Vuitton trainer sneakers.

“You’re so so so handsome. It’s a little unfair.” You said as he stood in front of a full length mirror inspecting his outfit and you went and wrapped your hands around his biceps and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I have to keep up with you don’t I?” He cheekily said, squeezing his hands around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss.

You went to the lobby and Dianne asked if you wanted a photo, well she wanted one of you two, you obliged not particularly upset about capturing memories. Trent and you took a few and Dianne gushed over how beautiful she thought you both were. You had Dianne send them to you and Trent but neither of you posted the photo. Your camera rolls were filled with photos like this that never saw the light of day only when they were printed and hung in the house or a rare occasion where you’d post a more subtle pic of you holding hands walking down the street in your fits like you did tonight.

You held hands as you walked down cobble streets till you saw the Brummie Bellingham family waiting outside the restaurant for dinner. The group of the three boys, two mums, and yourself filed into the restaurant and per usual heads began to turn. Trent was one thing but Jude out in public was another animal… the two of them together; Pandora’s box. You sat at a table nestled in the back of a nice restaurant, you were relieved your outfit of choice was appropriate. To no one’s surprise, you sat close to Trent. One part of the table had a booth for seating and you took his lead so Trent helped you slid in before he followed. Your thighs were touching immediately, one hand wrapped around your waist low with his thumb in between the fabric of your trousers and your skin. The other gripped high on your leg till he needed to use it to look at a menu. Trent, Jude, Jobe honed in on some conversation regarding a referee error that happened in another countries group match. You nodded your head following along, you had seen the story, and Trent had explained it at length. Trent pulled on your waist to get you to be a little closer to him so you gave into his wishes and placed your head on his shoulder. He placed a kiss onto your hair in between sentences. Dianne and Denise were talking about something you couldn’t really hear but they were engrossed in their own back and forth until Dianne tapped at your hand that was resting on the table top.

“Hmm?” You picked up your head with a smile turning towards her. Trent unphased with his hand still gripping you tight.

“Come talk with us sweetheart.” She cooed, gesturing her head towards the other side of the table. You didn’t need his permission but you looked at Trent peeling his fingers off your waist to slide over to talk to the mums before whispering in his ear.

“Okay?” You asked with no real expectation for an answer you just wanted to note what you were doing.

“You can only listen to so much hun.” Denise spoke with a smile you hadn’t really seen her crack yet. Another mum of only boys made you nervous.

“It’s fine, I think when I hit the 15th time discussing the same call, I start to check out a little.” You giggled picking up a glass of wine, bringing it slowly to your lips holding it there a little longer after your sip.

“I understand that, imagine over 20 years of football chaos all day every day. It’ll never end.” Dianne and Denise laughed reminiscing about going from grassroots teams to the biggest stadiums in the world with their little boys.

“I don’t mind. I do actually love football…” you paused and giggled a little before your gaze drifted away from them to Trent. “Maybe not to the same extent of course but it’s nice when people are passionate about something, really love, devote, and care about it.” Your eyes fell back towards them but more so to the table where you played with the rings on your fingers. Trent felt your gaze but missed the connection so he reached over a little and linked his pinky with your hand that was on the seat of the booth before giving you a soft smile. Denise and Dianne watched the exchange and the way your words softened talking about being passionate and what it meant to really love something catching that it wasn’t maybe only about football but about someone sitting at the table who was playing football.

“I heard you followed football before you moved here, is that right?” Denise asked, giving you a sweet smile.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s always been something my dad and I bonded over, had a connection with, I actually played till I was around 16 or so but didn’t really want to play at university so it faded out but when I got older following a team with my dad really kept us close and that’s important to me. We’ve created some of the best memories together at matches.” You rambled a bit, maybe it was the wine, or just panic trying to speak to Denise but you felt a little on edge.

“You did not play footie! That’s bullshit.” Jude’s head turned towards you.

“Jude…” Denise gave a stare that if it was directed at you, you’d probably cry but he just shrugged.

“Sentiment still stands, I don’t believe that.” Jude scoffed.

“Nah, she did! Kept the little secret in her back pocket for a while.” Trent confirmed it was in fact true with a little chuckle.

“Okay, well I wasn’t going to walk up to you people who do it professionally and be like ‘oh I played too!’ That’s embarrassing.” You sarcastically swayed your head back and forth making fun of how ridiculous it would’ve been.

“It still would’ve been interesting to know.” Jobe piped up and it made you smile. You just wanted to pinch his cheeks but he was older than that, definitely not as naive as he played but truly was adorable.

“Thanks, Jobe” you gave him a heartfelt smile. “Jude, you just listening in on our conversation?” You teased picking up your fork and pointing it at him.

“Nah, nah, you’re not all that interesting.” Jude pointed his fork at you emphasizing ‘you’ while he rolled his eyes.

“I’d say otherwise but each their own.” You imitated the same shrug he did earlier.

“You’ve had quite a whirlwind couple of years though sweetheart, at least from what I’ve heard. What did you do before you moved to the UK?” Denise, now interested in how you ended up at this dinner table and that there were things her boys were even still learning about.

“Oh, um, I went to university for a degree and then worked in fashion for a little and in what felt like a blink of an eye I ended up here.” You smiled, oversimplifying your backstory.

“Wow, Hun! Pretty, smart, funny, pushes back against my Jude. Trenty, you’ve got a good one.” Denise cooed looking at Trent whose eyes were still fixed on you from when you were speaking.

“Yeah, absolutely perfect. Worth getting her to move countries innit” Trent gushed eyes still stuck on you before sliding your body back over to him to wrap his arms around your frame placing a little peck on your neck.

“Done well” Dianne cooed, smiling at Trent’s clear obsession while taking a sip from her glass.

“Well then you’ve suddenly become my default to keep all the boys in line on this Greece holiday.” Denise joked a little but it was laced with a bit of seriousness.

“I always do, she’s been looking after mine for a bit now.” Dianne creased, the two mums were having a laugh themselves so you let it play out. The bulk of dinner wrapped up and Denise and Dianne decided they’d let the four of you get up to some nonsense without them so they said their goodbyes, hugs and kisses, and started to walk away from the table.

“Di, he is in love with that girl.” Denise quietly spoke to Dianne as they walked.

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s mutual too, think she’s more shy about the affection because he’s in his element or spaces he’s already familiar with but it’s totally infatuation all the time”

“Think they want to get married?” Denise asked the blatant question.

“I know Trent would, he’s slyly mentioned looking at rings but I keep my mouth shut.” Diane smiled just keeping her eyes forward as Denise glanced back at the table.

“It’s the only way we get any information now, just being quiet I swear” Denise laughed at the reality of their situations.

“She’s so good for him and he’s good to her. They make each other so happy, their house is gorgeous and so warm. It makes my heart full that they built this all from some whirlwind interaction.” She paused having a think. “Oh, god, you know what, yeah I’d really want that for them. Whole family loves that girl to bits.” Dianne babbled getting caught in the idea of what the future had in store for you and Trent.

You and the three boys decided to grab the check but go to the bar, you didn’t really need to sneak Jobe in with you like you normally would with a younger boy just being with Jude and Trent was like going anywhere with a free pass so it was no problem.

On cue, a few girls approached asking for photos with the boys so you happily helped take some for them. They wanted individual photos with Jude and then Trent. When one girl was posing for her photo with Trent she was a little bit more handsy than you cared for but it was only a photo so you bit your tongue. She wrapped her arm around his waist and placed her palm over his chest like a couple may pose. Jobe gripped your shoulder with his hand sensing the tension as you tapped away taking the photos on her phone. Even he knew it was probably a step too far on the girls' part. The other girl waiting for her turn for photos with Jude and Trent squealed a little.

“Literally you look like a couple! You’d be so cute together.” The fan said with a cheeky wink to her friend. Jude was quick to cut the encounter, none of you wanted to make a big deal but it still didn’t make you feel great.

“Alright darling, you want your picture with me too or just Trentski, C’mere” Jude cooed with false flirtation. The girl detached and Jobe said he’d take the remaining photos. You were polite and smiled to the girls and let them know if they needed you to take more you would but Trent walked up to you and draped his arms over your shoulder, his hands caressing the back of your head before you could really do anything else.

“Getting jealous, pretty girl?” Pressing his nose against yours. “Hmm, baby?” His lips pulled into a sly smile. You leaned in and rested your head on his chest before you started pressing light kisses over his shirt up to his collarbone and then his neck, all the way to his ear.

“Don’t like seeing you with someone else,” you quietly admitted. “You’re mine, baby.” You pouted your lips, he couldn’t see but could probably feel them roll against his skin. He grabbed both your cheeks and held your face out in front of his. You innocently looked up at him through your lashes. He teased you a little bit pressing small kisses to your neck now the same way you did to him but his were heavy with a more sensual motive. He heard you purr a little at the sensation so he took it a step further and began whispering against your sensitive skin about what he was going to do to you back in your hotel room; his words interspersed by kisses. You tried to hold back a moan before pulling him in for a proper kiss needing one to hold you over knowing you were in for a long night of cheeky hand placements and sultry kisses until you made it back to the promised land i.e your hotel room.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! Comment or message what you think of the chapter / series … 🤍

Next Part - Chapter 20 xx

[whorekneecentral]

Mistletoe Means Kisses

Andy Robertson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: andy goes a little overboard, a fuck ton of mistletoe, so many kisses, he gives you a house tour even tho you live there, cheesy comments but that's just how andy is, one diss on Everton lmao, shower sex!, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), trent gets bullied even tho he's not there.

Word Count: 1,449

Author's Note: okay so I didn’t know mistletoe didn’t have a smell but I always assumed it smelled minty so I’m going with that for the sake of the fic lol

merry smutmas series

--

The overpowering smell of mistletoe hits you when you walk into he house, your husband came up with his own plan while you were out. 

Your husband was a romantic.

Most would see him as a jokester, which he was, but under all of that, Andy was the biggest sap you had ever met in your life.

Hence your lack of surprise when you returned home from work to see the bundle of mistletoe hanging over the front door. You smile, unlocking the door to meet the overwhelming smell of mint. Typically, you didn't mind the smell but god, this was overwhelming.

It was as if someone was shoving a mint plant up your nose.

"Andrew!" You shouted from the front door, kicking your shoes off. "What the hell is going on-" you're cut off, your husband's arm wrapped around your waist as he pulls you into a kiss, dipping you in the process.

"Hi beautiful," Andy smiles, letting you go.

You can't help but smile too. "Hi Andy." You gave him another kiss, "why does it smell like that in here?"

He grins, his big brown eyes already getting you to forgive him for whatever he's done. Andy's hand in yours, the man pulling you through the house, stopping under every doorway - there's a bundle of mistletoe hanging.

The living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, garage, basement, storage room, pantry, bedroom, office.

If there was a doorway, there was mistletoe hanging there.

You two were stopped in the kitchen currently, Andy's hands wandering down to your ass as he pulled you flush against him. Your husband kisses you and you feel yourself melt against him, the two of you making out like you were 20 again.

Pulling away finally, your hand rests on his chest. "Did you rob a mistletoe farm? Where did you even get all of this?"

"I bought out the nursery," he smiled proudly.

"How- Andy, what the hell? It's a week to Christmas, how did you manage to get him to do that ?"

It was no secret that the man who ran your local plant nursery was a bit of a scrooge. He was the grumpiest man in town, it didn't matter what you were buying plants or flowers for - Christmas, birthdays, valentines, anniversaries - he was always sour. He did have the freshest and the nicest flowers and plants in all of Liverpool.

"Promised him tickets for the Merseyside derby, he's an Everton fan." Andy makes a disgusted face, causing you to laugh.

"You didn't have to buy out the place, babe. You act as if I don't kiss you."

"what can I say?" Andy smiles, his brows raising in amusement. "I'm a romantic."

Shaking your head, you give him one last kiss. "I'm gonna take a shower, work was exhausting today." "Okay," Andy smiles, letting you go.

Making your way into the bathroom, you turn the shower on to warm up while you take your makeup off and undressed. Again, the smell of mint crept up on you and you can't seem to put your finger on it.

Looking around, you made sure you locked the bathroom door so it wasn't coming from the bundle hung above the door.

Finally, you spot it.

Somehow your husband used all his brain cells to get a bundle of mistletoe hung over the shower, tied on by a ribbon. You were fed up with the mistletoe already and you had only been home for 40 minutes.

Opening the bathroom door, you shout for your husband. "Andrew!"

The second Andrew since you've gotten home, he must really be in trouble. You can hear the footsteps up the stairs, the man holding the door frame as he rushed in, "what? What's going on? Are you okay?"

"What the fuck?" You point to the mistletoe above the shower. "How did you even get up there to put it there?"

Andy ignores your yelling and instead, shuts you up with a kiss.

You let him kiss you, slowly walking back to the shower. You push the door open, the stream bellowing out from behind you as you pull him into the shower, fully dressed, with you.

"Babe," he laughed, his clothes now soaked. "What are you doing?" Your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the muscles along his torso, the were fabric clinging to your hands.

"I just think," you start, kissing down his jaw to his neck. Andy's head tilts, giving you space. "That I should kiss you," you whispered, moving down to his collarbone and there's the spot you were looking for - a whimper slipping past Andy's lips. "Properly." You tell him, sinking down onto your knees in front of him.

It takes Andy a second to gather himself, as if his brain hadn't caught up to what was happening in front of him.

Once it does, he pulls his shirt off, watching as you undo his pants. He steps out of them, his hand tangled in your hair as your lips wrap around the tip of his cock, tongue circling the tip.

His hand reaches for you to pull you forward. His cock in your mouth, your own hands on his thighs as you feel him push your head down to take all of him.

“Your mouth was made just for me hm?” He asks, looking down at you. 

Your hair wrapped around his hand as he controls the pace, your head bobbing up and down, lips wrapped around him and your tongue running over the vein on the underside of his cock. 

Andy's hand moves from your hair to your jaw, holding in place as his hips thrusts forward. His grip on your jaw tighter now, fucking your throat. There’s spit running down your chin, your eyes watery as you look up at him and Andy just smiles, brushing the hair away from your face.

He pulls you up from the floor, wiping your chin off before he kisses you again. He turns you, the two of you standing directly under the water. He takes another step, leading you to rest your back on the cold tile wall. 

His hand shifts to rest on your hip, giving it a squeeze before moving down to pull your leg up a bit to rest on the edge of the tub. Your head rests on the wall when Andy slips two fingers into you. 

Your hand gripping on his shoulder, “Andy, fuck- oh, that, do that again.” You ramble out in one breath, chest heaving, his fingers curling upwards. 

He loved when you praised him, telling home. how good he makes you feel. Andy brings you just to the edge of your orgasm before he stops, moving his fingers to your mouth. 

Before you could complain, Andy had pushed his lips past your lips. 

“Suck,” He tells you, feeling your tongue lap his fingers. Meanwhile, his other hand is wrapped around his cock, rubbing it along your slit, slapping on your clit a few times. 

“Baby,” you whimper, eyes pleading with him, “fuck me.” You beg, your hand wrapped around his wrist. 

Not having the heart to deny you anymore, Andy hooks your leg on his hip instead of resting it on the ledge. He pushes into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. His lips met yours, a hand resting on your hip to keep you up as he fucked you, your body welcoming him like he belonged there. 

His other hand rests on your cheek, pulling your focus to him. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“Hm I love you,” you say back, your hand resting on his jaw. 

He can feel you squeezing his cock, your eyes fluttering closed. Andy pats your jaw lightly, “look at me,” he tells you. “If you want to cum, open your eyes.”

You give in, your eyes opening a little and his thrusts are sloppy, you know he’s just as close as you are. A few more thrusts and you’re over the edge, calling his name as you do. 

The two of you were tangled in each other for another minute or two before you decided to wash away the mess you had just made before you got out of the shower.

Andy sits on the edge of the bathtub, towel around his waist as he watches you brush your hair. You walk over to him, the silk robe swayed as you did, standing between his legs.

his hand rests on your butt, head tipped back as you brushed his hair for him. "You'll have to take some of the mistletoe down, it's giving me a headache babe."

Andy nods. "I'll give it to Trent, he seems like he's bad at romance."

You pinched his jaw lightly, "don't be mean, he's still your vice captain," you joked, kissing his nose.

--

taglist: @nosugarallspice  @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16  @books-and-netflix-pls  @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade  @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @trentsfav @trentsmyfave @noturbabe22

[sammy-234]

Does anyone else think that Sebastian fans (most Bucky fans) are getting a little too crazy? Not meaning to offend anyone if I did I’m sorry.

(Also not trying to put the blame just on one group since a lot of people in fandoms are now getting really rude but yeah this is just my experience from tonight)

But like lately so many people have been posting a clip from comic con Liverpool of Sebastian saying he wants Steve Roger’s back and people were calling out names (since he asked who they would like to see come back) some said iron man, someone said Wanda but a lot of people said Natasha which he agreed on. Now I wasn’t there I live in Australia but a lot of the clips people are saying they want to see a movie on Natasha and Bucky like I have no problem with that but why do people go crazy about it? (Still not trying to be mean)

Like I commented on two posts saying a bucky and Natasha movie would be good but that they should do one on him and his sister I wanted to know more about Rebecca Barnes, his other siblings and his family. One post nobody commented on my comment but on the second post so many people told me if I read the comics I would understand and that it’s a waste of time. Like it got nasty that I had to delete the comment because people were just getting mean because I haven’t read the comics. Like all my comment said was it would be cool if we got a movie on Bucky and Rebecca since they kinda brought up he had a sister in falcon and the winter soldier. But so many people hated it.

Guys what happened to the fandom where we were nice to each other? Like I didn’t hate on anyone talking about winterwidow but people hated on my comment? Like what?

Sebastian is a nice amazing guy and has a nice community but it seems a lot of people are getting nasty when you don’t agree with them.

Don’t want to be one of them people but I was in a bad place and when I found Sebastian’s movies and even Bucky it brought me comfort that I’m still here today. But if people are gonna be nasty and hateful then maybe I might leave the community for a while til it just goes back to peace.

Hope nobody else is experiencing this. Sucks that it happened to me and I really hope it’s not happening to anyone else since Sebastian is a positive guy and spreads positivity so you would think his fans are the same but yeah some people are just taking it a bit too far.

Also hope anyone that met Sebastian this weekend had a good time a lot of the photos of people I’ve seen with him from Instagram are cute you guys all look wonderful

But yeah anyways goodnight 💤 it’s late in Australia hope everyone has a good day and FUCKING SPREAD POSITIVITY NOT HATE

[trentslocss]

Happy as ever pt.2 -TAA

Pairing: Reader x Dad!Trent Alexander Arnold

Warnings: None. As fluffy as fluff can be.

Plot: Your daughter comes to his game for the first time! Virgil is a good captain so he gives Trent the band so your daughter could brag even more:)

masterlist

—————————————————————

As soon as your daughter learned how to walk a ball was between her feet. You of course, expected nothing less from her father. She was the miniature and female version of him in every single way, so this was something you accepted before it even happened.

Tina was 5 years old now and started football practice which she was very proud of. Every time she saw one of Trent’s teammates she would go on and on about how she loves her uncles, but her dad is better than them, and she of course took after him (the sassiness also came from we know who).

Even though she loved football in general and adored watching her dad play, you have never taken her to Anfield. She was still small and both you and Trent thought it was too loud and too much for her to handle. But as she was growing older she has become more stubborn than the both of you together (that may have come from you, but you would never admit that in front of your husband).

“Mommy I wanna go see daddy playyy! Let’s go pleeeeeeeeease.” your daughter begged as you sat on the couch with Trent, but you didn’t listen to her. She couldn’t get everything she wanted, at least that’s what you were trying to teach her. But when she moved into Trent’s view, and shone him those puppy dog eyes, he couldn’t resist. “Y/N maybe we could let her go once…” he whispered so only you could hear and see. The truth is you wanted to take her, you were just scared something could happen and you didn’t want her to associate her father’s career and his whole life with something bad. You couldn’t let that happen.

After some negotiating, begging, persuading and a lot of puppy dog eyes pointed to your better half, you both agreed to let her go with you. “Yesss. We’ll crash stinky United, right daddy” she yelled proudly, and Trent looked at you with a face that said ‘I never taught her that’, but you knew he was lying. You had already heard their secret conversations about United way too many times.

—————————————————————

Game day came too soon. You had woken up that morning from the sound of a falling object. As you walked into your bathroom with groggy eyes you saw your husband braiding your daughter’s hair, hair brushes and bands falling to the floor one after the other. “You gotta have a pretty hairstyle for the game princess. Everyone has to know I have the prettiest daughter in all of Liverpool” he said to her while tying her last braid as she giggled, looking at you through the mirror. You smiled at them, looking at their identical features which always made you melt.

Anfield was packed with supporters as you entered the family and friends section of the red and white stands with your daughter in your arms. You were both wearing Trent’s jerseys, but Tina insisted on wearing the whole kit (including the boots!) so she could show off to people about how she also played football like her daddy.

As the players started emerging on the green field, Trent waved in your direction, making Tina ecstatic “That’s my dad! He’s the captain! Wave back to him!” She said to Andy and Virgil’s wives which made them die out of laughter.

When the first ball was in the goal, your daughter was jumping up and down, singing along to the fans’ songs and hugging you. “My dad assisted uncle Salah, just like I did on my game yesterday!!!!”

Trent had another assist in the record. He had been in many goal chances, but he didn’t score. “Come on dad I know you can score. Teach those bastards how it’s done” She yelled making absolutely everyone laugh, except for you, you would have to have a talk with Trent about swear words in front of the kid.

It was the 89th minute, Liverpool was sure to win it. While everyone was happy with the result and already singing about winning the game, Tina was still tense and focused. She knew he could do it, and he did.

“THAT’S MY DAD! THE ONE WHO SCORED!” she ran to the edge, screaming as Trent pointed at her and showed a heart, everyone jumping on him and the whole stadium cheering him on.

—————————————————————

“Daddy!” your daughter jumped on Trent as you passed the tunnel, hugging him tighter than she ever did. “I knew you could do it, I kept telling mommy you would score! And you did!” Trent giggled as he kissed her cheek, putting her down and taking her hand. “Did you like the game?” he asked, walking down to you and kissing your cheek too. She would usually say eww and separate you two, but she was too invested in commenting the game to care. “Oh dad I loved it! The goal was phenomenal!”

As you were getting ready to go home, she found another victim, Virgil. “Uncle Virg did you know I’m also captain? Just like my dad?” “Oh really? Must mean you’re a great player then” he giggled and tickled her a bit. “Yeah! One day I’m gonna play for Liverpool, just like dad, and I’m gonna break those asses from United just like he did today!”

“Seriously Trent stop swearing around the kid!”

[pinkorchidsinspring]

Liverpool Night 3 Surprise Song ✨Breakdown✨:

A lyrical breakdown of course…

Let’s get started on the sheer importance of this combination of songs- CAUSE WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS

Carolina + no body, no crime

Carolina as in KARLI-e??

Anyway, she had that smirk on her face and called this the “murder Mash-up”?!!! Murder of what darling? Possibly Taylor Swift™️? I digress, lyric time:

Lonesome I'll always stay / Carolina knows / Why for years I roam / Free as these birds, light as whispers

Translated to: Karlie knows why Taylor roams from man to man and is so “lonesome” in the public eye. After all she’s just as free as any musician right…?

And you didn't see me here / No, they never did see me here

Translated to: the fans didn’t see her there with Karlie, no they never really saw her with karlie. Most of them never saw the intent behind Taylor’s eyes when she looked at Karlie, and vice versa. :(

And she's in my dreams / Into the mist, into the clouds

Oh, Carolina knows / Why for years they've said /That I was guilty as sin / And sleep in a liar's bed /But the sleep comes fast

Translation: Karlie knows why the fans have said for years that she’s gay and sleeps in another liars bed (aka Karlie’s), however she lives peacefully when she’s alone with her lover, and simultaneously lies to the public weekly about her real lover.

No body, no crime as in if there’s no evidence than it never happened??

Much like how she emphasized “infidelity” when she sings

Her husband’s actin’ different and it smells like infidelity.

How very telling of whether or not the same muse in the first song (Karlie) has a ‘faithful’ husband (-when you’re in a lavender marriage it is different morally, but to the public it is disloyalty to even consider he is with anyone other than her)

I think I’m gonna call him out

Maybe as in… I don’t know… 🏳️‍🌈call her husband out of the closet… coughs in coumingoutlor*

ALSO just an added bonus is the sheer amount of times she emphasizes the word “SHE” in the performance… there’s way more than just this short clip 🏳️‍🌈✨💅

The manuscript + Red

The Manuscript as in the ENTIRE torrid affair?!

Whilst reading this part of the analysis keep in mind that I believe that the manuscript is most likely from Karlie’s point of view in the future, it may be from Taylor’s, but it makes the most sense as Karlie’s POV.

Now and then she rereads the manuscript / Of the entire torrid affair

Now and then Karlie remembers (aka rereading) a time (a manuscript) full of ‘difficulty and tribulation’ (the definition of torrid), that was her lavender marriage to Josh.

They compared their licenses

I believe that this could possibly be about Taylor & Karlie in the way that Taylor has a drivers license but Karlie has a Marriage License in the era of this memory.

He said, "I'm not a donor but / I'd give you my heart if you needed it"

Gay best friend offers to give Karlie his heart, or at least his legal (-and for show) heart if she needs it.

And the years passed / Like scenes of a show

From there the marriage begins, and much like a show, Karlie and Josh are constantly performing.

Then the actors / Were hitting their marks/ And the slow dance/ Was alight with the sparks / And the tears fell / In synchronicity with the score

This is her looking back at the lavender marriage/ bearding time of their public relationship. The actors (aka the girls and their men) truly were hitting their marks and convincing the public of a romance worthy of a small Nicolas sparks novel. Obviously this isn’t a happy thing to look back on, and with the pretend comes all the times she wished she could just be done with the agony of pretending all the time. The agony that caused her so many years at the time.

And at last / She knew what the agony had been for

At last, present day (the future) Karlie knows why they did it, she looks back and knows they made the right decision because something good has clearly come from it.

The only thing that's left is the manuscript / One last souvenir from my trip to your shores

The only thing that’s left are the memories of this time.

Now and then I reread the manuscript / But the story isn't mine anymore

Now and then she remembers, but she’s out now. The story isn’t hers anymore. She isn’t in the closet anymore.

Red as in

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes / Tell myself it's time now gotta let go/ But moving on from him is impossible / When I still see it all in my head

IF you have read this, tell me how I’m wrong when this entire combination of surprise songs so obviously has an invisible string CONNECTING THEM all together. (not so invisible now 😉) Because no I didn’t pick and choose what lyrics from red Taylor sang night 3. She did that herself. AND THESE WERE what TAYLOR Alison SWIFT chose to play directly after the manuscript.

Happy pride month people 🏳️‍🌈✨💗

[julianalvarez9]

acting on it / martin ødegaard

author's note: been avoiding writing smut for this man for ages. i started this back when arsenal played liverpool so it's been A WHILE. not proofread bc i just needed to get it out quick. needless to say this isn't real, don't know the real reason why they took him out so yeah, fiction :)

warnings: smut with plot. badly translated norwegian pet names (?, kinda hair pulling, kinda choking, kinda public sex (they could get walked in anytime) ¿?

wc: 2k words

summary: suggesting to take martin out of the game to avoid any serious injury backfires when he blames you for being subbed off.

"why did you tell him to take me out?".

you knew this talk would be coming, but still, the loud thud when the norwegian shut the door a bit too hard startled you. the draw was rough for everyone at arsenal, and at some point, felt almost like a loss. the players got into the dressing room with their heads hung low after clapping for the fans, and apart from some encouraging pats on the back, you didn’t really get to talk to anyone in particular.

you saw how angry martin had left the pitch when arteta decided to take him off, but he hadn’t said anything: of course he hadn’t. he was a good captain, and he wouldn’t ever question the gaffer’s decisions. at least, not publicly.

but under the anger, he knew it was a good decision: he wasn’t asking for the ball and leading his team like he used to do at every game. like he was supposed to. he knew his performance was below average, but he refused to attribute it to the minor discomfort he had during the week. he was fine during warm ups and the entire first half. he couldn’t afford to get injured now, at this point.

being seated during the last ten minutes of the match was the worst thing for him. seeing how the win slipped through their fingers felt like a knife being turned on his stomach. and even if martin knew they still had the top position secured, the lead they had against city was cut short, and they hoped it wouldn’t be something they turned to regret at the end of the line.

martin was observant, not only off the pitch, but during games, too. he frequently saw the bench, awaiting for instructions offered by the manager or movement in the sidelines, signaling some players being subbed in. when he saw you, the team’s physio, talking to arteta, he knew he would be the player to be taken off.

“you were only meant to play 60 minutes, martin. you played 80,” you reasoned. before the game, you had been consulted how many minutes was the norwegian able to play, without risking an injury. knowing martin, you were sure that he wouldn't appreciate being subbed off if there was still a match being played, but you were aware that mikel was considering the bigger picture -there were still games that needed to be won, and it would be immensely more difficult if they were without the norwegian on the pitch. you understood arteta's worries about his key player being sidelined for way too long if he were to make the matters worse.

he wasn't happy with your response, but he didn't say anything else: he stayed in the way of the door, impeding the way out, whether intentionally or not, trapping you in the room with him. the frown is still visible on his features, glooming his usual prince charming looks for something darker, almost malicious. you think that he's maybe transported back to the game, reliving again and again what went wrong, and you try to ease his worries. "not everything is your fault, you know? you have to take care of yourself first”.

he scoffed. "i'm the captain. everything is my fault".

at this point, you've grown tired. all you want to do is finish packing your things, and get home as fast as possible. but the presence of the norwegian is stopping you from completing the checklist you have in hand. "what do you want me to do, ødegaard? i’m doing my job, which is to keep you all healthy," you say, while finishing to check the last thing you had on the list, assuring that you aren't forgetting anything. you throw the little notepad to the desk, while sitting on the empty space, as martin watches your every movement like a hunter keeping track of his prey. "you can't play 90 minutes every three days: you need to rest, or you'll get a serious injury. if you have any problems with it, talk to arteta”.

you're mirroring the frown he had for the last five minutes, and martin can't stop thinking about how cute you look while trying to act mad at him. "quit the attitude. i'm supposed to be mad, not you".

now it's your turn to scoff. "you are making me mad by trying to take your frustrations on me, like i'm in the wrong for doing my fucking job".

"if you think this is me taking my frustrations on you-” his blue eyes turn almost dark gray, and martin takes big, rushed steps towards your figure, making his wider frame tower over yours. he lifts his hand, brushing a string of hair that had fallen from your makeshift ponytail behind your ear, and his hand rest softly on the side of your neck, with his palm surely covering half of your skin.

he looks for hesitation in your eyes, something that would tell him to back off, but he can't find any. instead, your breath is ragged, and you're trying really hard to keep eye contact with him while trying not to visibly shut your legs in a way that lets you ease some of the tension. "this would be me taking my frustrations on you," he corrects, now his thumb resting across your neck, restricting your airflow but just slightly.

you're not sure if you feel dizzy because this is what you wanted all along, ever since you've crossed paths with the norwegian, or due to how intoxicating you find his touch: either way, you gasp for air, and it has martin smiling wickedly, in a form you haven't really seen before. "oh, does my pretty girl like being choked?".

the whine you emit is, surely, pathetic, but it fires something inside of him. his grab on your neck is a bit rougher after hearing the sweetest sound he had only dreamed of hearing, but it’s not enough to worry you about the possible marks he could be leaving. still, you can feel it, just as you can feel the desk behind you that would not really leave you any space to escape, if you wanted to. but you don't want to, although you probably should remember where you're at, that you're working and he's a player.

the smallest glimpse of reality comes back to your senses when you hear a sort of commotion outside, and you're cut back from his spell, just barely. "martin, we-".

he hears the hesitation in your voice, and is quick to lure you back in, his kisses leaving a wet trail under his way. "i know we can't. and i know we don't have enough time. but i need this, i need you. will you let me?. the way he's whispering in your ear makes your skin flourish in goosebumps, joined by how he's nudging at your neck, while smelling your perfume, driving you mad. he realizes when the smallest whimper leaves your lips and is proud of his doing, showing by the way it oozes out of his mouth when he whispers "that's my good girl".

your hands are quick to find their way under his shirt, having the chance to feel the toned abs you've never dared to look at before while trying to keep up with the feverish kisses shared between you two. the second his mouth trails down to your collarbone, you slip a playful "eager, aren't we?" when you realize his hard on pressed against your leg. "could say the same about you," he bites back, after his leg graces your center and you're eager to rub yourself against it.

you two don’t even get to take your clothes fully before he slides into you. his right hand is covering your mouth, helping you in silencing the moans that seem impossible to contain, while he isn’t much better at keeping quiet. especially, when your hands are pulling on his blonde hair, driving him crazy. you’re coming undone under him, and martin can’t help but groan at the sight of you, a wreck for him, while taking him so well.

through his grunts, he can barely manage to warm "not gonna last long if you keep on squeezing me like that, kjaere," but it’s to no use, given that you’re still clenching on him tightly, your warm walls swallowing his length fully as he snaps his hips in and out of you in a relentless pace. the desk underneath you shakes with force, given that you’re perched against it while trying to stay on your feet.

it’s not long before your whole body is shaking under his frame, as his left hand lifts your leg up, now hugging him by his waist in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. you let out another moan that gets muffled by the hand he still has over your mouth, and you’re grateful for it, because in your hazy mind filled with pleasure, you can’t mute your sounds as your orgasm approaches.

“where?” he asks, looking deep into your eyes to ensure you won’t be too loud, before freeing your lips to speak. your voice comes out hoarse when you reply where you want him to cum. “i-inside, please-”.

the norwegian has to crush his mouth to yours in a bruising, hard kiss, before his sounds are the ones that alert the outside world of what's happening in your little workspace. his bruising pace fails when he's on the edge, and a soft moan that slips out of you and directly onto his ear makes him lose it. he's deep into you, coating your insides which provoques your own frenzy to disinvolve.

everything gets too much for you, and you’re not sure you can wrap your mind around your surroundings, but martin keeps you afloat, holding your figure flush against him. "hey, you're okay, i'm here," he reassures, his soft touch grazing your cheek in a loving way when he sees your eyes glaze over. it's purely because of the mind shattering orgasm you just experienced, but he cares, wants to know you're okay. the gesture is intimate, certainly feels almost more intimate than the moment you've just shared, and once you reassure him that you're okay, he kisses the crown of your hair before proceeding to dress himself properly.

"you like the armband, right? i'm bringing it next time," martin shows his million dollar smile before picking his shirt from the floor, and puts it again in a quick motion, smothering the creases in hopes that no one that sees him leaving your office could figure out what went down between you two.

"already thinking about the next time, ødegaard?".

the door knock startles you both, and breaks the atmosphere previously held in the four walls. his hair is a bit messy after you pulled endlessly from the locks not even five minutes ago, but he makes a quick move to tame it, passing his long fingers through his gold strands and setting it in place, exactly how he likes it, before you open the door to find just the one person that you didn’t want to see.

"oh, i knew you'd still be here," arteta calls upon seeing you, still in the secluded area you work in. he doesn't find it weird that you remain here, knowing that you’re the first one to arrive and the last one to leave, just like he is. instead, his eyes furrow when he sees better into your eyes, still a bit glassy.

"martin, did you make her cry?".

his hands are in his pockets, trying to hide off the tent still present in his joggings. it doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to gather a believable enough excuse, and you’re kinda impressed about it, figuring that he might have thought about this more than you thought. "she was upset about the game" he explained, lips pursed without giving out much emotion, quite like how you saw him answer the interviews he did post-match. "told her to not worry too much. we'll win next time,” martin smiled, turning his stare to you now. “for you, right?".

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Siúil a Rún (Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: Allusions to past violence & trauma, talk of the IRA, mild swearing

Summary: On a day you're not feeling your best, fighting yet another hard battle with your greatest enemy, your mind, Alfie has a little surprise prepared for you. After all, all he wants is to see you smile.

And make a lasting promise to his Irish queen.

Author's Note: Gods above, it's finally here! At long last I had the energy and time to finish this piece, which is partially inspired by my recent moods. Ah dinnae ken what it is, but don't you worry about my head or how I'll fix it. Instead, enjoy this piece.

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley @hoodeddreams13 @rose-like-the-phoenix

Alfie's POV

I’m no fan of the Irish, who can’t even remember what they had for fucking breakfast. However, right, they can perfectly recall their great-great-however many times- grandfather’s best friend’s cousin’s name and the unjust treatment he got from Oliver Cromwell if not the Black and Tan if they have a particularly clear check in with reality.

Yet here I am.

Engaged to my Irish queen, come all the way from Belfast. Raised in a family that supports the IRA, a bunch of hooligans that’ll do well to be tossed in the lock and left to drown.

But not her.

No.

She cut ties to home the moment she set foot ashore in Liverpool and boarded the train to London. She ain’t English, doesn’t particularly like them. So fancy the shock me ticker got when it turned out she liked me.

Or I her, as she likes to remind me, bringing up the time I asked her to taste the Irish sourdough I made her. She’d just arrived in town, wandered into my bakery looking like a parched twig on a stormy day, and sat by the window with an awfully glum face. Curious about this darling little dove who flew in, I lumbered over to see what had her caught up in her phone and laptop. One look at the screens told the whole story behind the erratic fingers flying over the keyboard or tapping away.

A place to stay, to call home.

In a land that had oppressed hers for centuries, still sees her as an outsider.

In the very capital of the cyclops, king of northern giants.

Now I, yeah, saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash on the side. Sure, Margate is about two hours outside London by train so I couldn’t charge the full price for the room I had left over.

I didn’t.

For when those dove eyes turned to me, haunted and scared to death, whether it be due to her circumstances or me as a man I still do not know nor want to, I hadn’t the guts to ask her for a single penny.

Only a sliver of trust.

Though my rings, my kingdom, are covered in blood, I fortunately pleased Yahweh enough to have her put her trust in me. It’s a fragile thing, built over various meals, starting with silent breakfasts which gradually have filled with drowsy small talk. Normally I loathe small talk because if someone wants to say something and wants me to understand, they should talk. Nonetheless, Y/N doesn’t have to. Her voice is like an angel’s song, pleasant to wake up with.

And to fall asleep to on the nights the insomnia hits hard again. You get that, living a life of violence. Yet, even gods can’t simply forget.

I can only hide my crimes, spin a pretty yarn for an excuse, and pretend.

Pretend I’m a good man.

For her. 

If only because my midnight baking episodes have reduced since we met. Because I don’t, no, can’t do without those small hands leading me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to what is now our bedroom. Pathetic, innit, how I also can’t live without those pretty fingers running through my beard until I can breathe normally. Close my eyes without ghosts creeping from the darkest shadows of my mind. To not feel the rage simmering beneath my skin.

For the first time in years, I can sleep again.

And if neither of us can find peace in slumber, we’ll slip into the old habit of having coffee or tea in the living room until the sun rises. No matter if we have an outing planned the next day or not.

It was on an outing like that, to Oxford, after a brief visit to that shithole called Birmingham, she first held my finger.

Two weeks later, when we popped by Hastings, she held my hand.

A month passed before she hugged me, in Cecil Court, during our first book and antiques shop hopping trip. I had bought her a vintage bound copy of one of her favourite books, Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Gregory.

However, it was in Camden, right outside me own bakery, on a bloody rotten autumn day, we first kissed. Cinnamon sugar and pumpkin spice, that’s what she tasted like.

My Irish queen.

Y/N will always claim it’s me who first confessed. Regardless of whether that’s true or not, in my opinion, right, and through genuine testimony, it was her wistful smile and timid ‘thank you’ as I served her a ham sandwich made with the sourdough I learned during one of my visits from a lovely old lady in Donegal and O’Neills ham which makes her the first to confess. Little did I know the brooding sadness around her could get much worse.

Since there are days she gets like this, reluctant to interact with the world. She’ll go out with Cyril, a barely mustered smile on her gentle face. 

It does her good. Our big bugger takes me on walks that are manageable even when my leg’s bad and her on those long enough to let her mind wander and forget about the desire to stay home. Like yesterday, they are again sitting side by side on the shore.

Y/N wrapped in my coat and scarf.

Cyril at her side.

Watching the waves.

Funny, innit, how a man of many words absolutely can’t stand the silence of his own house. Tragic, too, because it means he can’t live with himself. Perhaps that’s why I always bury myself in work, the bakery.

Our bakery.

Look, Y/N was the one who insisted on helping out. I was ready to give her board and room for free, though I was also desperate for help since business had taken a hit. Too cold, manly, rough. In need of a woman’s touch.

It was only when she told me it ain’t right to accept the offer without repaying the debt she never had and called me mister Solomons I took her on.

Mostly because she’d call me Alfie right from the start, wouldn’t see me as her boss or landlord. I never was nor am a fan of formalities, polite behaviour or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. You only get to know a person and their intentions once you place them in an informal environment, lull them into a sense of safety. Or, in her case, a sense of friendship too.

After a few more moments of watching them from the balcony, I head back inside to busy myself in the kitchen. Now, normally, yeah, on my rare day off, I love to bake. Gets the mind off things since you only have to focus on what your hands are doing and you get the ingredients right. Alleviates some of the stress the bakery saddles me up with, but those involved with the business need discipline so I can’t take a break. Would leave it to the dogs. Regardless, Ollie, the bloody bastard I hired as an assistant branch manager, forbade me to come into work. It’s my fucking bakery! Yet, though I’m loath to admit it, I am thankful he did this particular day. Must’ve felt Y/N had been different these past days, always has been good at dealing with people and emotions despite his panicky disposition. Better than me.

At least leaves her with one person to understand her entirely whereas I still grasp at straws at times.

Godhood comes with its complications, but I’ll do my best for Y/N.

For Mrs Solomons.

It’s worth the tightening in my chest, the battle for air while the same concerns keep milling in my noggin like some damned ever-turning grinding stone. I ain’t afraid of anything.

Anything except this mood.

It’s like Yahweh has established the terrifying truth of what she might be like when me health finally wins the battle, granting me a vision of a future in which we’re separated. Or perhaps it is an alternate reality in which I don’t exist or we’ve even never met. This morning, as Y/N stood by the door, her vacant gaze saw right through me as I draped my scarf around her neck. I kept rambling, not nagging, no, rambling on about how she’d catch a cold if she didn’t dress warmly despite knowing she wasn’t paying attention. As I placed a kiss on her forehead she likely didn’t feel, the comforting sense of normalcy shattered, turned into dust along with the little bit of sanity I had established by acting like everything was fine. Thankfully she felt warm in my arms because we might as well have been spectres moving past each other. Then she sauntered out the door, slow and ghostly.

My beautiful Irish queen.

When this mood strikes her, it takes away her voice. She won’t talk, reluctant to participate in any sort of conversation. Although, I think she hopes her quietness proves enough of a hint to not want to be surrounded by any voices at all. Not even mine. Now, any other man, right, any other sod who’s too self-obsessed to understand his girl, would go mad. I, on the other hand, the very image of an understanding and wise man who cares about his girl, his wife, speak less if at all to accommodate her. Instead, in the fleeting moments she’s here, Y/N communicates via small gestures.

A tug on my sleeve when she wants attention.

A brush over my fingers, a silent request for guidance.

We don’t go out in London on days like this. We tried once and while everything went fine, all things considered, the thought something happens in the split second I don’t pay attention breaks my already damaged nerves. Trafalgar Square is tricky enough as is to navigate with the fucking awful traffic, but when she’s barely here and we don’t cross the street in time or our hands let go of each other…

Eyes squeezed shut, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly to remedy the tightening in my chest. To burn the claws crushing my ribs to ashes and let them take the nauseating vision in my banged up nogging with them. Blown away on the briny wind outside, past the lonely beach.

Left to drown in the sea across the road.

Right in front of her, vanishing beneath the waves. Cyril will make sure she won’t notice, keeps an eye on her when I can’t.

Especially when I’m too caught up in my own head, engulfed by something very, very grim. 

Eyes closed, I breathe in and exhale deeply as I repeat the thought like the verses in the Torah, embedding it further and further into my entire tainted being with each repetition. Only when my breathing has evened out and me ticker beats at regular intervals do I carry on.

I quit drinking after we met. Y/N needed a safe home and with an old drunk brute you ain’t going to find that. So I poured the rum, beer, and wine down the drain the very same evening and a drop hasn’t entered my house since. The day she first put her suitcase across the threshold, I’d been sober for a week.

We’re now a year further.

For all the bloody good he does me by banning me from my own business, Ollie makes for a fine lifestyle coach. I’ll admit that if it hadn’t been for him, his incessant texts and the brave efforts to pluck a glass from my hands, I might have lost her. Fuck, she might have hated me.

Or we might never have even met.

The house now finally knows silence.

No violent words. 

No drunk ravings going nowhere and anywhere.

True, genuine, silence.

I put the kettle on and pull the sourdough from the bread box. Bought it on our last trip abroad, to Amsterdam. It’s one of the things in this house which makes it ours because I used to plonk bread in a zipper bag and toss it on the counter. Not anymore. It goes in the box.

The mixed fruit blend I used for the dough we recently bought at Borough Market. Y/N was staring at it with a tender look on her face.

“Those special, love?” I hugged her from behind, my head on her shoulder. That morning, she had washed her hair and granted me the intense honour of brushing it. A smile grew on her lips in tandem with mine as I worked the brush through her strands. Nonetheless, while I was flattered and delighted beyond imagination, for being thus allowed in her space is a rare gift every man should know how to appreciate properly, she was amused with my attitude. But it’s alright. I don’t mind her laughing at me. 

Eyes closed, I drank in her presence. The sounds of the food stalls and crowd faded into a background hum, each sense overtaken by her frame in my arms and the scent of Argan oil and Shea butter in my nose. In that single moment, I didn’t have to think, to scheme. Just be.

With her, I can just be.

And I like that, makes me love her all the more.

Y/N regularly gives me an earful, but there are times when I truly listen and not only enjoy the sound of her voice. So when she gave me a piece of her story, I immediately snapped out of my reverie. “Nan used a blend of these when making brack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of bread with sultanas and raisins. Officially, that is. But she added currants and other dried fruits when we had it and it wasn’t Samhain.”

“Tell me about the tradition. What does bread ‘ave to do with it?”

“We’d put items in the brack. A pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and a bean. Each of these items had a special meaning, applicable to the person who got them.”

“Which were?”

Occasionally, right, I enjoy teasing her because I adore the way her frown naturally flows into a bright smile as her distrust melts away. However, the calculating coldness in her stare even gave me the chills. Terrible, it was, and I don’t say that lightly. “Alfie, where’s this coming from? I thought you hated the Irish.”

I thought you hated me.

She didn’t say it, but the words were there, precariously dancing on the tip of her tongue. The shopkeeper gave me a warning look, ready to beat me with her cane if I didn’t watch my mouth.

“It’s your culture, innit, love?’’ I said, quick to placate both women lest we had more than a simple situation on our hands. Moreover, dangerous as it normally is, curiosity genuinely got the better of me. There’s little I know of her previous life so I am overjoyed when my Irish queen, obviously unintentionally, indulges me like this. ‘‘I know the past hurts you, but this clearly means a lot to you. Your Nan’s obviously important to you too.”

“She practically raised me. Didn’t want me involved in politics, give me a normal life. Well, for as far as that’s possible when…” she froze in my embrace, paler than a ghost at midnight in Highgate. Bit by bit, I could feel her fade in the chaos she had kept firmly under lock and key. We’re rather alike in that, keeping the mess in our fucked up noggins hidden until we choose to open up.

Or come across a trigger. 

I scanned the surroundings for hers. Men conversing as they’re hauling boxes. Tourists and locals squeezing together as they navigate the narrow spaces between the stalls, leaving no room to breathe without doing so down someone’s neck. The sizzling of oil on a hot surface.

Like a lit fuse.

“When…” She flinched when one of the other shopkeepers dropped a couple of crates.

I remember how my heart dropped into my stomach as her knees gave way. Her nails dug into my skin as I gently coaxed her to the ground, though she relaxed her grip a bit as a vague inkling of recognition made her realise it was me holding her. “Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Alfie, your boyfriend. You’re in London. Safe. There ain’t no guns ‘ere. Just a couple crates. Just crates. That’s all.” 

I glared at the bastard who reduced my queen to a shivering husk of herself, breathing way too fast as the current of grim things swooped her along. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly scurried to the back. After cursing him under my breath, I held her tight against my chest, cradled her lovely head and the funny mind in it as I gently rocked back and forth like me mum used to do when I was a child. “No guns. No bullets. No fighting. Just us, dove.”

For a few moments we sat like that on the cold paving stones. The shopkeeper fetched Y/N a glass of water which she managed to make her drink. Perhaps it’s only because the subconscious ego of my Irish queen saw her Nan in the woman. Do not misunderstand, right, I was grateful for her kindness. Nonetheless, what Y/N needed was space, fresh air. So I picked her up and carried her bridal-style to the central seating area. One day, I hope to carry her the same way across the threshold of our home.

Colour began to return to her face the longer we sat on a bench removed from everyone in a quieter area of the market. With each passing minute, I saw the demons causing those awful vacant eyes and suffocating her with every breath leave her body. The best I could do was wait and do my damn best to not let my own fear and impatience get the better of me. After all, I was not a god at that moment.

Only a man praying for the better. 

A man overjoyed when an angel gave her back her voice.

“My brothers were killed in shootings.” Slowly, Y/N sought my gaze. She blinked a few times like she woke up a second ago and did not really know whether she was still dreaming or awake. “Cillian was shot in March. Seàn the month after. They rather died than be tried by law.”

It was easier to phrase it as such than tell the truth.

They killed themselves.

Died for the ideal that had left her with a broken family. Although, perhaps it’s better to say she never had a family to begin with.

“And the man who I was meant to marry to get our family higher up the ranks, Patrick McHugh, a man I loathed, was ready to shoot me when the Gardaí had us cornered during a car bomb attack. We were meant to go on a date, so he told me, but… we stopped in the street. Alfie, he- he-’’ I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her against me, and rested my head on hers. She didn’t owe me an explanation for her behaviour, but before I could tell her it was alright to stop, she continued. “He took me hostage. Was ready to burn me alive with him.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“Rory turned on him. His second in command, the only person he trusted. I pulled Patrick’s gun in the same moment I freed myself from his grip. Shot him in the head. In cold blood.” She bit her lip to fight the ugly sob which made her shoulders heave. “I have blood on my hands, don’t you see? Rory didn’t make it either. Stayed behind after he negotiated safe passage for me. Later I heard he saved me because he loved me. Had been crushing on me for years. Never said a word, Alfie. Never.” The fight with self-control lost, Y/N’s voice cracked with the tears yet unshed. “And now he’s gone. Everyone’s gone.”

‘‘No, not everyone. I’m ‘ere and I ain’t going anywhere. You and I, yeah, we’re gonna build something fucking biblical. A ‘ome, right, in Margate. You and I. And it’s gonna be safe. No violence. I’ll even get rid of me gun if that makes you feel better.”

“No, keep it. Still, thank you.”

I pulled a tissue from my pocket to clean up her mascara, which had stained her cheeks with little black rivulets. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel safer, you tell me, yeah? If need be, I’ll build a fucking wall that’ll put Daedalus to shame. With me own ‘ands. Anything.”

“Thank you. I think I should repay that kindness with a clean shirt.’’ She sighed as she surveyed the damage done to my clothes. ‘‘Sorry for the stains. I know you got it fresh out of the closet.”

“Nah, it’s just a shirt. No worries. But, knowing you and your bloody adorable stubbornness, you won’t let this go. So, instead of beating yourself up over nothing because you got nothing to be sorry for, yeah, can you tell me more about the bar- barm- the… thing. Bread.”

“Barmbrack. Brack, for short.”

“Barmbrack,” I repeated. “Brack. Gonna try and remember. The items in it. You said they have special meaning.”

“Right. The… pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and… something else.”

“A bean.”

“Yes, a bean. A future without money. Anyway, so, now, the pea meant the person would not marry that year. The stick meant they would have an unhappy marriage or continually be in disputes. Now, the cloth or rag no one wanted to find because it meant bad luck, though it was also regarded as an omen of poverty. In contrast, and perhaps very bloody obvious, the coin meant good fortune or riches were coming for the person. If you got the ring, you’d be wed within the year.”

Say what you will of the Irish, but they are bloody creative.

We went back to the stall, got a full bag of dried fruit and went on our merry way. Y/N fortunately hasn’t noticed I’ve used some of the contents for a little surprise. For once her adorable drowsy noggin in the morning comes in handy, when she’s too sleepy to notice nor doesn’t check the bag’s contents before she puts a little in her yoghurt.

The kettle goes off. The steam creates a thin layer of condensation on the tiles and warms my face when I pour the water in a mug. There’s nothing like a cup of char regardless of the time of day.

I wager they’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Until they are, I sit on the chaise longue in the living room. It’s a gorgeous thing, a real beauty we found while antique shopping in London. I had my doubts about the red velvet, but Y/N convinced me to get it regardless because “it fits the house’s aesthetic” whatever the fuck that means. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture, definitely worth every penny.

We tested it thoroughly.

Multiple times.

Nipping the gingerbread tea we bought yesterday at M&S, when I barely managed to prevent Y/N from buying three boxes on top of the three boxes of Christmas spice tea already in our basket, I watch my family. A low chuckle tickles in my throat, proud and amused. Who’d ever thought I, Alfie Solomons, the Divine King of Camden, would stop wandering, settle down, become a family man? Tommy, the self-proclaimed head of the Shelby family though they’re all bad people, would have a bubble if he heard that. 

I ain’t like him. I’d marry my wife, the lovely and downright bloody gorgeous goddess currently down on the beach, the one and only true Mrs Solomons, out of love. A love based on loyalty, right, and not out of convenience or business. No whoring when she ain’t about, no secrets, no dirty business.

No more blood on my rings.

We’d raise our children together, perhaps spoil them rotten. Y/N would chastise me for it, I already know, but I want the best for my girls. Maybe two or three, though I’m not opposed to having a son, yeah, but he’d have to be born before my princesses so he can protect them when their good old man can’t. Hopefully, one of them would like to take over the bakery, keep the business in the family. 

I might have to be on my best behaviour, be more of a father rather than a boss if I don’t want to have her tell me over dinner one night “Papa, I’m not taking over. None of us wants to, least of all Seraphina. She’s more one for painting.”

Yes, they’d be artisans in their own right. But if one of my girls wants to paint, no way she’d learn it from Arthur Shelby, who’s head is like a broken vase what is glued together badly. Nah, I wager she’d be clever enough to teach herself. All of them would be talented like their mother.

The sound of the front door opening resonates in the hallway, followed by Cyril’s happy padding, merrily trodding past me on his way to his bed in front of the hearth. We never should’ve gotten him that pillow, has made him lazy.

But how could I tell her no?

Not that she’d have listened anyway. Y/N would’ve used her own card at the till. However, being a proper gentleman, right, and maybe because I wanted to gain extra what they call ‘brownie points’, which is a stupid phrase in and of itself, a show of being too incapable to use one’s speech properly, I paid.

Y/N follows the happy bugger, head hung low and eyes cast towards the ground. Headphones in her ears.

It’s one of those days.

I step in front of her when she makes for the living room. For a moment, she stays still, like a ghost puzzled by why it can’t move forward. Nevertheless, our eyes meet for a second when my hands touch her shoulders.

“No need to wear a coat inside, is there, darling?” I doubt she hears me, my voice drowned out with the rest of the world.

Perhaps, no, no perhaps.

I am sometimes too loud for her as well.

Although she always tries to play it off afterwards, me intestines tie themselves into a pretty tight and suffocating bow tie when it happens. When the world gets to her.

When I, the real me, The Mad Baker of Camden, get to her.

From the corner of my eye, I’ve seen her flinch when disciplining my staff or stiffen when removing rude customers. I especially hate those who bother her, how they make her freeze in their presence and how she’ll avoid my touch afterwards. Breathing is an art in and of it-bloody-self when I watch her from a distance, headphones blasting music as she sits bowed over a cup of coffee which will grow cold.

Yet, when she’s ready for contact again, those earbuds leave her ears. I don’t fucking care what my men say at this point, but I rush over as fast as I can what with my me fucking leg. I can bear that pain, incomparable to what I unwillingly inflict on her or its effect on me.

Her fingers only take my palm, mapped out from a distance, if she sees no violent lines in it. Some days it trembles, those days when her breath is shivery and I feel tears roll down the good, to her trustworthy, lines as she presses them to her cheek.

Although she doesn’t know it, then again my clever little dove likely does, I’m proud of her for trying to go without headphones nowadays. Recently, it’s only one she’ll keep in, in the ear opposite of the side I’m on. Left if I’m on her right, right if I'm on her left. On really good days, those splendid days which make you wonder whether Yahweh wants to give back to humanity, she’ll go without completely. Fortunately, most of the time this doesn’t result in situations like Borough Market.

Nevertheless, today is a day she needs them.

While Y/N moves to the living room, I head to the kitchen to finish setting up the little surprise I prepared for her. By the looks of things, she needs it. It’s hypocritical, innit, that I’m doing this despite hating when it’s done to me? Still, a good man, a proper man, yeah, a proper fucking gentleman, a bloody king, will try his damned best to surprise the woman he loves whenever and however he can.

Because she deserves it.

These acts of love.

If only because words have a tendency to fail.

As mine do.

A lot.

Tray in hand, I make for the living room. Exactly as I envisioned, Y/N has curled up on the sofa, headphones in while she’s doing that funny yarn thing her Nan taught her. She’s good at it, has made me a very nice scarf and beanie for Hanukkah last year. 

Recently, after our little getaway to the Scottish Highlands, where they speak some form of English she fortunately seemed to understand, worse than the Irish except for her, she made a blanket with a deer’s head. Got inspired by our surroundings, she said. I think it’s the show she watched on her phone every night or in the car.

I put the tray on the coffee table and sit down next to her, a little distance between us. “Hard day, dove?”

“Yeah.” She glances from the slices of sweet soda bread to the glass of whiskey and then to me, her fingers expertly holding up the yarn wrapped around them. “That for me?”

I nod, trying to contain the excitement ignited by hearing her voice. One decibel too loud and I’ll lose her again. Gotta play me cards right, so I speak as evenly as I can without showing her the precarious edge I’m balancing on. “‘Cause you look awful homesick.”

“Thank you, mhuirnin.”

For a few moments I watch her nibble on a slice, vacant gaze cast towards the cold hearth. “We can go on a trip to-’’

“No.”

“Y/N, we don’t have to go to the place your people live. We can go to, fuck, I don’t know, the Republic. It’s safe there, innit? Cork? Enjoy the sea. Waterford? Dublin for an urban-’’

“Alfie, I said no.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“I left Ireland for a reason.” Finally she meets my gaze and me ticker almost sinks through the floor once those pretty eyes shimmering with tears meet mine. “The whole fucking island. Don’t make me return.”

“Alright. We’ll go somewhere else.” I open my arms in invitation. Fortunately, it seems she’s in the mood for contact with me. Face buried in my sweater, her small fist clutching some of the fabric, I wrap her up on my arms. “Or nowhere. We can stay ‘ere.”

As an answer I’m given muffled mumbling, worse than me own.

“What was that?”

“Hotel night.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. London?”

“We already know the town well. What about the Lake District, hm? Nice and quiet. Lots of green. We can rent a cottage or a nice B&B. Cyril would like it too, right, lots of places to explore. Makes for nice walks, yeah.”

As in agreement, Cyril lets out an excited though low bark, sensitive to what she gets like when her mood’s as it is now.

“See?” I say, pulling her a bit closer. “‘E likes the idea.”

In acknowledgement of our shared sentiments, she hums.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, ‘ave another slice, drink some whiskey, crochet. But lean on me, eh? Lean on Papa Solomons.”

She grabs another piece of bread and starts nibbling on it, occasionally nipping on her glass.

For a while we sit in silence as she crochets and I simply watch her eat, occasionally shutting my eyes to drink in the moment.

Until my plan comes to fruition.

Feigning innocence, I lift an eyebrow when Y/N pulls a difficult face and spits something into her hand.

She once told me that according to Celtic philosophy, all things come in three.

Third slice of bread.

A ring, of course not the one I mean to present to her properly.

Her head snaps up at me, so fast I’m both glad and impressed she hasn’t broken a vertebrae.

“Yeah, this ain’t a joke.” I kiss her forehead. “Within the year.”

On a better day.

[kraeki]

Yes! People constantly going on about how Dom is a camera merchant and that he’s too busy modeling during games to play football is so idiotic when the poor guy is just handsomely existing 😭 Meanwhile I know Mo’s abs better than my mother’s face at this point 😭

-

handsomely existing is the one! my brother, a die hard man united fan who find it hard to say anything positive about liverpool, on wednesday literally said when the camera panned on dom “this szoboszlai guy is actually very handsome you know, he should be a model not even a footballer” so you see 😭😭😭 even the men cannoh deny. and Meanwhile I know Mo’s abs better than my mother’s face at this point 😭

girl goodbye 💀

- 🥸

😭😭 I know what you mean, I have a friend that doesn’t follow football and I was telling her about all the good looking guys in our team and showing her and she didn’t like any of them until Dom!!!! Virgil got a “yeah I can see it but not for me” and she was baffled why Trent had so many fangirls 😭

[vivianbernadetteaurora]

I give the 90s Viber a star sign it will definitely be Pisces energy, maybe also a bit of Aquarius energy for the difference, and the humanity of some of the nature but but a big butt in fact, a massive Uranus, Neptune, Capricorn conjunction which I was born in and I think went up to the early 90s, which then I didn’t even realise does make it Aquarius energy because Aquarius obviously comes after Capricorn and then we have Pisces, if you remember the 90s ages I was born in the early 90s so when it ended I would’ve been nine years old but I remember bits of it and if not, I remember the nostalgia of it. I know many people who were adults in the 90s because most of people I know if me and friends have been and told me it was the best times of their lives., dad brought me up an amazing music and musician himself and is, he’s from Liverpool and there was a massive Beatles fan, Eric Clapton, Dire Straits Pink Floyd, so out of music around me all different types. Being a young child, a young adults and adult or having any sort of connection to this era you know how, know nothing on telly was anything but the fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Simpsons, friends. Jennifer Aniston everybody wanted a Rachel haircut and I remember most people did have that laid out. We all had Barbies and babies baby born had nappies and you could feed., all different 90s adverts

When you grow up, you would make your own CDs and have your own collection where you would write on them and put all your favourite songs which would take a couple of days you would download all your songs from lime wire, and put your twist on and before that came along, we would record everything off the radio and record the charts and try to cut out the DJ every every time the song played out.

Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee, had their infamous sex tape, a couple of the 90s, after Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love into the midnight till the 2000 and you would see them both in music videos on TV on different programs because they were everywhere even when they broke up you would see them on their own individual little path even to having a fight at the 2007 VMA

Leonardo DiCaprio with every girls crush at the time and every girl was obsessed withTitanic . I was too young to get this but all my sisters were into that film, while I was watching Beatles films over and over again, it was a happy time. I remember when Mars bars were cheap and bigger and things didn’t make you fat

You would have 50p pocket money for Penny sweets which you don’t really see any more either , every time I grew up and I saw the new technological thing come out my dad was obsessed with having the latest technology of something he has like one of the first iPhones or something it was an iPod , I hated all those things and I felt like I stand it against them. I enjoyed making the music from them but I didn’t like the idea of Blu-ray and 3-D calories. I just felt a distance towards it

And then we had the Spice Girls I had a lunchbox of the Spice Girls and a T-shirt and we remember Jerry Lee because Jerry was my favourite Spice Girl , for me as well my first obsession as someone autistic was Destiny’s Child. I knew everything about them. I knew every member every song and my first CD , I got asked for my dad what CD would you like at Christmas and it was between Samantha and mamba Destiny’s Child and I chose the writing on the wall , it was amazing. I love every tractor this day on that album , his child got a lot of shit at the time because of .

I want you to know that I’m doing so good good so good. I had to tell you, but I’m so good so good., so they had two members that left LaTavia and Latoya, and then they had another team members join Michelle and Farah, Farah Franklin got kicked out of the ground very quickly because Matthew knows was very strict with health, weren’t allowed any brakes, he was known as Joe Jackson of the 90s I guess, because of her strict he was on them and wipe them so hard so then they became a 3 piece,  Beyoncé, Michelle and Kelly . I didn’t see it till years later, but Farrah went on the Wendy Williams show when she was a, and she was told that she was to look like Latvia because she was short and they died, they also tried to make her uglier because she was prettier than Beyoncé. In my opinion. She had green eyes and she was lovely and she always said and other people who said that the other girls when they went on holiday they would., Beyoncé had to wear a high factor so she was a lightest one on the group and, his mother was very racist and wanted to marry a white woman. and his Beyoncé s mum was creole , but she still got black. 

Jennifer Aniston was not going for many, from the nineties to the 2000s till this present day people know what’s going on with Jennifer Aniston and will she ever have children?, We live through the Jennifer Aniston., Angelina Brad saga ,, people had T-shirt saying team Jen or team ange.

The best group of the time the best wraps group one of we had a major amazing rap in the mighty we had the Fugees , Lauryn Hill and the racism scandal of the fact that she said she wouldn’t want any white people to buy her music was it true? Wasn’t it? True we live through these dramas back of what people were saying what they weren’t , everything is captured and therefore , where is now these people who grew up in that time? Almost have to change their views and if they say nothing , say something they’re fucked. You can’t say anything. I’ll be anything without getting it opinion . Winona Ryder was the old alternative girl of, well if you are in a band you would have dated, was that Paleo and all the alternative Tim Burton films, and that pretty girl she even got done in the early 2000s for shoplifting for which she was so iconic and said it was a role in a film,

She’s still a bit Cookey people still do these days with Winona Ryder when she is a bit random at ward shows those strange things, cheated Johnny Depp before he got with Kate Moss he was her first of everything and there was a massive age gap between , Johnny Depp was in every film the night is that you can think of that was popular but also independent. He never wanted to be part of a franchise and then he became the pirates of the Caribbean boy . Everybody fancy Johnny Depp man fancy Jennifer Aniston Kate Moss was a model that everybody knew and was familiar with you to see the adverts of Remo London Bradshaw a.k.a. Sarah Jessica take over the airwaves with advert and performances, the adverts that you would remember for P1 on high essences herbal essence was a shampoo and conditioner , a conditioner could give you an orgasm . that’s it for now guys. This is my look of my own life through the 90s .

[diedinacrash]

Here's Part 2 of Dominik's interview.

I: You always call the National team’s coach, boss. You are the only one who does that in the team, where did it come from?

D: I don’t know, I always call him differently, sometimes it's Mister, sometimes it’s boss. I mean, when I talk to him I call him MIster but when I talk about him I call him boss. Because after all he’s the boss, it is what he says, but I think he has a very good relationship with the players, and it’s very important.

I: What does Marco Rossi mean to you?

D: Well, he was the first who dared to play me in the National team, before that I played under two other coaches who didn’t trust me as much as he did, so it was a very important step for me, that…he dared to play me at the age of 17 or 18 and luckily I could stay a standard player in the team. Of course it’s thanks to me as well, but the fact that he always trusted me is his merit. And…I’d say that our relationship is pretty close, but I don’t want it to sound stupid from outside…but yeah we are close.

I: Yesterday, the recordings that were made and published by MLSZ (Magyar Labdarúgó Szövetség ->Hungarian Football Association), we can see that the way you two celebrated was very special, and you can feel how strong the connection is between you two.

D: It is really strong, I think it became so strong when we qualified against Iceland three years ago, because he wasn’t on the bench then and he wrote me a long message before the game, and I told him not to worry, we can do it and I wrote him after the game, saying “you’re welcome”. He only laughed, but it turned out good.

I: The next stop is the 0-0 against Montenegro, a college posted not long ago that we had 0.16 xG through the game. That was a very painful game, but almost everyone says that it was a key moment for the whole qualification series that we could successfully take a point from there. Do you agree?

D: That was the most important game? I don’t see it that way, but it was really important because I told the others that time as well, that no problem, there are games like this, but we knew from the beginning that it will be a one on one game. At the previous World Cup qualification, we made the mistake of going into a one on one game against Albania and lost in the last minute, we did the same at home, and lost again. But we learnt from those games, and what was important is that we realized that if we don’t push that hard we won’t have such power, but we won’t concede that many goals either. And we did just that.

I: You said that you really want to play against Montenegro, is it only because it’s a home game, and you can celebrate with more than 65 000 people, or do you still have a desire to prove yourself?

D: Both, I think it’s an incredible experience for everyone to play at home, in front of 65 000 people and…already celebrating. But I don't want any kind of celebration to happen prior to the game, we celebrated yesterday, there’s no celebration today. Today is about concentration and so is tomorrow. We can’t live from the past, even if we did qualify , we want to qualify first and if we beat Montenegro, then we’ll celebrate again.

I: Comes the summer, you sign for Liverpool under a moment, at least from the outside perspective. Who was the first you told in the National team, that you are going to Liverpool?

D: I think Schäfer, when it became certain we had a phone call and he wasn’t pleased, because he’s a United fan. He said I chose the wrong club, I said you can go to United and then we can play against each other. But yeah, he was the first, I think.

I: Did the others' opinion change about you, because you signed to one of the biggest clubs in the world?

D: No. When I did the pep talk before our game against Serbia, I tried to put it in there that I’m still the same person, I didn’t change because I signed for Liverpool. I don’t want them to treat me like a star, because I’m a player like any of them and a person just like them. I really don’t like it when someone is lifted out from the rest, yes everyone has their own character and everyone is good at different things, but we can only achieve what we did as a team. Because it’s not an individual sport, alone I couldn’t have qualified for the Euros.

I: It’s amazing how much attention you get, it’s a very rare occasion when a Ferencváros Puskás League game (Hungarian League game) has less viewers than a Liverpool Chelsea game, and because of you it happened. How surprised were you that you could burst into the public consciousness this easily?

D: I’ll be honest, I was trying very hard for people not to think that…I actually like to read the comments.

I: Really?

D: Really. For me it’s not…it doesn’t anger me, rather motivates me. You can never do good, it will be bad for someone, and I learnt to deal with this, and I can live together with this. But I tell you it motivates me, it constantly gives me motivation, that I signed there, they said I won’t play, I’ll be on the bench, etc, etc, etc. I signed there, I became a starter, I fought myself into the team, I scored, I assisted, I play great, I’m a standard player. IT’s a good feeling, but there are still people out there who don’t like it, but it only motivates me more to continue, to become better, to achieve even more, to win more trophies, to be more successful, as in me, in the club and in the National team as well.

I: When did you learn to speak English like this?

D: When…When, you know I was at Salzbourg, I started to learn German there, and when I knew around 90 percent German, I started to go to an English teacher, because there were a lot of players I spoke English to. Then I stopped taking the classes, because I didn’t really like them, it was always early in the morning. Then I learnt it from the players around me, let it be Haaland or Dabbur, they were the two I actually had a closer relationship with, and always spoke English to them. I was open, I talked even if my English wasn’t particularly great, but then they were kind and corrected me.

I: You have an interview, it was made after one of your first games, where they first pronounced your name correctly. Dominik Szoboszlai, and you did mention it there, and I read the comments under that interview, and one said ‘captain material’ even for Liverpool. Do you see yourself as Liverpool’s captain?

D: Why not? Of course, I said it a lot of times already, if I’ll be at Liverpool for the next ten years, and I have a great career, I’ll sign it right now. (Means if someone offered him a good career there he’d take it without question) And if they give me the armband at one point, I won’t refuse it because I'm immediately gonna say that it’s okay, it’s alright. It comes with responsibilities, yeah but I like to be responsible.

I: Is there anything you surprised yourself with positively?

D: No.

I: Confident.

I: Just before returning to the National team. Your dad has been asked by a lot of people about a lot of topics, even you quoted him. What did your mum do for this career?

D: She was a ‘‘background character’’. But, nothing…she always made sure I had breakfast and dinner at home, had my medicine ready, if it was cold then she made sure that my clothes were warm, so I wouldn’t be cold. Things like this. But really, she wanted to stay in the background, and she is still there until today. But apart from football, everything else is thanks to her.

I:One last question about the Euro qualification. Last time Salzburg didn’t let you go to Sofia, this time you were there. When you heard the final whistle, we talked about it at the beginning, did you only think that we had qualified for the Euros, or did you think about what our goals are out there? Kerkez said, you want to be competitive there as well. Or do you think it’s still the celebration part, the draw is on the second of December and there's no point thinking about this until then?

D: There’s still the Montenegro game, but yeah we talked a bit about it already, honestly I started to think about it when Willi (Orbán) posted that picture. Because if we look at it, whatever group we are going to be in, we have a chance to get through the group stages. This is how I approach it, this is how everyone approaches it. IT’s not important who we’ll be in the same group with, but from there all games are one on one, you either go through or go home. So I just want to enjoy it, go as far as we can, we’re at Euros, maybe in the end we’ll be the biggest surprise.

[foreverisntenough]

-YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestive, smut love bombing, little sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 14 - ‘You’re Mine’

Weeks had passed and you had gotten more comfortable and accustomed to life in Liverpool. You knew you had to go back to New York eventually but at the moment you two were really happy. You had a routine, you fit in well with Trent’s life, his family liked having you around, it was all good.

Things had quieted down a little after plenty of ‘Alexander-Arnold leaves Anfield with mystery girl in car’ stories surfaced all over social media and one crass bull shit filled Daily Mail article. You were thankful you’d been able to have that conversation early and navigate how you were going to handle eyes on your relationship. You had settled into a more calm, normal as possible life with him. Although life would never truly be dating him and you knew that but this was now your ‘normal.’ Constant camera flashes and Instagram comments desperate for more information on your lives; but you left nothing, barely crumbs. People’s interest faded but fans of his kept a close watch for your appearances. You weren’t hiding but you also weren’t handing out any details.

You and Trent had fallen asleep on the den’s couch one night watching a movie. You were laying totally on top of his body, your head nestled on his chest, his hands wrapped around you. You woke up when you heard rustling somewhere else in the house. You squinted your eyes at the brightness of the room before placing ‘good morning’ kisses onto Trents bare skin. He didn’t move though.

“T” you called quietly. No response. “T…” you whispered again, placing a heavier kiss on him. “Trent..” you said at a normal volume. He could only hum. “We fell asleep on the couch, baby.” You explained trying to get him to move from being in the middle of the families home.

“Okay,” he didn’t care, he was exhausted and wanted to stay put. You tried to peel your body up off his. “Nah nah, please baby,” he moaned, squeezing you tighter to him.

“T..” you giggled. “Let me get up. I’m thirsty.” You managed to sit up, straddling his lap. Your eyes were fixed on his sleepy beautiful face. You failed to notice a friend of Marcel’s who had slept over came down from upstairs, passing the living room seeing you atop of Trent dressed in a tight, thin shirt and little shorts with a ruffled hem. You were putting your hair up causing your shirt to lift revealing more and more of your body. His mouth gaped open. He ran away before you could catch him staring. Marcel sat in the kitchen eating breakfast when his friend came rushing in flushed.

“Erm… who is the bird on your couch right now?” He eagerly asked, picturing your figure again, sliding onto a seat.

“I’m assuming the one on top of Trent?” Marcel didn’t even need to pick his head up. He knew his friend was talking about you.

“Yeah… who the fuck is that? She’s so hot.” It was early enough in the morning that the younger boy couldn’t keep his hormones in check. He was foaming at the mouth seeing a girl like you on the couch first thing.

“It’s his girlfriend bro… relax.” Marcel was unphased and disinterested.

“When was anyone going to tell me Trent had a girlfriend??” He was left annoyed being left out of the loop.

“What? Did you want a text from him… ‘hey bro, got me self a girlfriend. We keep Marcel up every night fucking. ?” Marcel quipped, making fun of what an exaggerated version of the possible message his friend wanted to receive.

Trent was half asleep. Awake enough for his hands to be kneading your ass, able to pull you further down to him, kissing your chest, nuzzling his face in your boobs, working his way to your nipples.

“T! Please” you said giggling, not exactly upset with the affection but you were so thirsty you needed water. “Baby, please I need to go get something to drink.” Trent just shook his head ‘no.’ Meanwhile back in the kitchen the two boys were continuing to discuss their juxtaposed opinions of you.

“You hear them! She’s sexy, brother. Do you listen?” He’s friend leaned closer awaiting the response to the ridiculously juvenile question. .

“I can’t really not hear it.” Marcel was annoyed, not at his friend, but being reminded that his sleep schedule had been destroyed by you and Trent going at it every night… loudly.

“I’d be waking up hard no question if I heard that girl moan.” He friend shut his eyes imaging your body straddling his not Trent’s.

“Mate…” Marcel made a grosssed out face.

“Why do you not care abo....” Marcel’s friend's sentence came to a crashing halt when you silently walked into the kitchen. You had managed to pry yourself from Trent’s arms in search of a drink and made your way to the kitchen.

“Morning Marc..” your hand glided across his back from one shoulder to the other sleepily.

“Yeah. All good?” He asked, suppressing a laugh seeing his friend's eyes now falling out of his head scanning over your body.

“Really good” you said too chipper for his liking though.

“Ugh… Did you fuck on the couch?” Marcel moaned in disgust.

“Excuse me!” You whipped around quickly at the crude comment. “Erm and what would that have to do with you anyway?” You probed.

“Because it’s OUR couch… did you?” He pushed, putting his fork down. His friend leaning onto the table now invested eager to know if the hot girl in front of him got fucked last night, putting the fact that this was his best friend’s older brother’s girlfriend aside.

“No,” you smiled simply. You weren’t lying exactly. You didn’t have sex last night. You didn’t… you had before, on other days… a few times on it. Trent had also eaten you out last night on the couch giving you one of the best orgasms of your life but they didn’t need to know that.

“I know you’re fucking lying.” Marcel didn’t really care deep down he was just sticking to his little brother cast but ultimately you two had gotten really close and got on well, the banter was just a part of your bond. You spent a lot of time together. You walked towards him again gripping in between his shoulders and neck squeezing the muscles.

“You need to relaxxxxx” you said giggling. “Can I grab a water?” You asked, letting go and already opening the refrigerator.

“Why are you even asking if it's in your hand...” Marcel hit back quick before diving back into his food. You opened your water and finally acknowledged the ogling boy who was also in the room.

“Sorry to be so impolite, I was caught off guard by someone being so rude so early… I’m Y/N.” Taking a big sip, some spilled and rolled down your chin continuing to drip down your neck. There was a big pause. You wiped at the water on your skin. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his eyes had now fixated on your nipples hard against your shirt. You took note so you crossed your arms over your chest embarrassed. You hadn’t clocked that he had been undressing you with his eyes since you first walked in. He got his name out eventually and you just giggled smug.

“Nice to meet you.” You grabbed at his arm squeezing it before starting to walk out of the room. “I’m going upstairs, I didn’t get to charge my phone last night I was too busy not fucking on the couch.” You joked, not turning back. The boy's eyes glued to your ass cheeks peeking out of your shorts, marcel’s stuck on his food shaking his head at your departing comment.

“That was embarrassing bro..” Marcel spoke to his friend.

“She’s American! That’s so fucking hot.” He groaned after hearing you speak.

“Mate, I’m aware.. I know her. Drop it.” Marcel snidely said getting a little less agitated and a little more protective over you.

The two boys made their way to the living room where Trent was still passed out. Marcel hopped onto the other end of the couch, turning on the upcoming F1 race not before throwing a pillow at his brother to wake him up.

“Get up bro!”

“Yo!” Marcel’s friend said throwing another one at him. Trent started to speak before he opened his eyes.

“Bab..” stopping mid word as he quickly became more conscious, you were no longer around, it was just too annoying younger boys.

“No, not baby you melt.” Marcel joked throwing one more at him for good measure.

“What the fuck! Stop!” Trent ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes trying to wake up. “Where’s Y/N?” Marcel told him you had gone upstairs but he was too tired to move, just able to shift his body upwards against the back cushion to settle in to watch the race.

“I don’t mean any disrespect mate but I gotta say it before I get drunk and you beat the shit out of me one night for it but Trent, mate…your girl is a fucking smoke.”

“Embarrassing..” Marcel muttered.

“Alright..” Trent rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his laugh at the boy's clear attraction.

“You fuck on this couch?” Marcel cut his brother’s response off.

“We have... why?” Trent was confused by the inquisition and didn’t see any point in lying about your antics to his brother, he was proud to fuck you. “Also…” Trent turned his head to face his brother’s friend, “yeah, but reel it in, that’s my girl. I know she’s beautiful.”

“Whose beautiful?” You cooed rentering the living space now changed into a tank top, a pair of Trent’s joggers, and a big smile.

“You, baby” Trent said sitting up, extending his arms out for you to come to him. You sat on his lap and he purred nuzzling into your neck, lips pressing into your skin, completely unbothered the boys were still in the room.

“Morning” you said giggling trying to pull him off after kissing his shoulder.

“You’re such a fucking liar, Y/N.” Marcel said to you not taking his eyes off the tv. You questioned what he was talking about only for him to restate that Trent had said you did in fact fuck on the couch.

“We didn’t!” You yelled to Marcel, you then turned to remind Trent. ”We didn’t!”

“Last night? We.. well or I” Trent started to talk but you stopped him placing your hand over his mouth.

“Stop! T…” you looked at him with an intense glare. “T.. don’t” you gripped his shoulder. “To be clear, we did not have sex on this couch last night.” You said eyes now fixed on Marcel trying to convince him. What you hadn’t realized was Dianne had come into the room.

“Okay! ….Good to know sweetie” she cooed smiling. Your head fell onto Trent’s shoulder in embarrassment. All three boys in the room burst into laughter. Very funny to them, absolutely mortifying for you. You tried to say sorry but she just poked a little more fun and hushed your apology.

“I’m going to die” you murmured into Trent’s neck.

“No you’re not” he kissed your cheek still laughing a little. If his smile wasn’t so god damn pretty you’d be more annoyed. “It’s fine, baby.”

“It’s fine, baby” Marcel quipped, mocking Trent and your tender moment.

Trent had an away game and you wanted to go but it was kind of a wash of a game. It was all the way in Brighton, no one else in his family was going, and Liverpool was destined to win. Had you asked, Trent would’ve easily gotten you there, made sure you could see him. You’d gone to a few away games so far but you didn’t want to be needy so you stayed at home opting to watch from there with everyone else. Away games had Trent gone for essentially two days. It was tough to be without him. Neither of you liked being apart. He’d FaceTime as much as he could, he’d text his brothers to make sure you were actually okay when you said you were ‘fine.’

You, Tyler, Marcel, and two of their close friends sat around in the cinema room watching the game, the pundits' commentary filled the room only to be corrected or jeered at by the boys. It was late and you were tired. It was 3 nil in about the 70th minute when Tyler looked over to see your eyes fluttering closed only for you to attempt to keep them open. He nudged your leg with his.

“Go to sleep. Games won… seriously. He’ll probably get subbed off soon with this one.” He said with another nudge. You didn’t want to but you could barely keep your eyes open. You also wanted to be in his bed not down here when Trent came home so you sleepily slumped off the chair to drag your body upstairs. All the boys said ‘night’ politely but unable to turn their attention away from the game to actually look at you.

You tucked into his bed, your bed, and snuggled a pillow wishing he was with you. It felt like he had been gone forever. Trent finally got home absolutely exhausted around 3:00 am. Seeing you in his bed after coming home from a game was his favorite thing in the world. He quietly snuck around the room getting ready for sleep. Turning off any remaining lights before slipping under the covers next to you. His warm hands came around your waist. You only wore a t-shirt of his and a tiny thong. His hands sprawled over your stomach caressing your skin. He pulled your body back into his, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

“M’ home, baby,” his facial hair tickled your skin when he whispered. You were so tired and only got more comfortable in his arms but Trent had been missing you and your body. His hands trailed up you before cupping your boobs under the shirt. He squeezed them slowly, sensually, placing more kisses on your neck, humming in pleasure. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pulling on them a little. “Missed you so much, baby. You're so fucking sexy.” You instinctively pushed your ass into him to get closer, you could feel his incredibly hard cock through the thin material of his boxers. “Fuck, baby” he moaned so turned on, he was leaking pre cum already but you we’re practically asleep.

“T…” you quietly moaned feeling one of his hands slip away from boobs, sliding down over your body squeezing your ass before slipping his fingers under you and through your folds. You were already dripping subconsciously from his touch.

“C’mere baby. Let me make you feel good. Missed my girl.” You hummed in pleasure but couldn’t seem to shake your tiredness.

“Baby… I’m sleepy.” You whispered guilty.

“Okay, okay” he accepted disappointedly but remained kissing on your neck just to show affection. He needed to keep his lips on you. He never pushed if you said no so he removed his hands and wrapped them around your waist pulling you closer to him instead, humming feeling your body against his. You were half asleep but you could still feel his hard cock.

“T… did you win, baby?” You were also half awake so you asked about the game quietly, facing away from him tucked in his arms.

“Of course, beautiful” he confirmed, placing a kiss behind your ear purring. You turned in his arms to face him. Sleepily you crawled to lay completely on top of him, laying your head on his chest and tangling your legs with his. He grunted a little sore from the match now with your body weight on his but he wanted you close, his arms wrapped instinctively around you pulling you even closer.

“Baby..” you whispered again.

“Yeah, beautiful?” he whispered back unsuspectingly. You pulled your head off his chest nuzzling into his neck placing your lips near his ear.

“Can I keep your cock warm in my pussy” you moaned quietly while your teeth pulled his ear lobe. He released a groan, you could feel his cock twitch beneath you. “Please baby.” You begged despite your tiredness essentially being asleep on top of him.

“Yeah, we can do that.” He said like he was doing you a favor but he was relishing that you offered given how needy he was for you right now. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.” He whispered close to your ear, slipping his cock into you. You were wet but so tight so he moved every inch of him in bit by bit making sure you could adjust. Once in, his whole length repeatedly hit your g spot slow every. single. time. You were barely moving but every little shift was orgasmic. You couldn’t hold in a soft whiny cry. Your lips parted, biting the skin of his neck. Your pussy was sopping wet now, the languid movements had you gushing all over him. The sex was so tender and sweet. You held onto him, rubbing your clit on him as he moved you up and down.

“Your pussy’s made for me” he groaned, his finger running across your bottom lip. He slipped his finger into your mouth and you sucked on it desperately. “Such a good girl, baby.” His spit coated finger reached down between you to rub your clit circling it moaning your name in your ear. You were so tired you couldn’t even process how close you were to unraveling, he felt so good, your mind wasn’t working, you couldn’t warn him before your pussy spasmed, squirting all over his cock. Covering his abs and leaking down your thighs. Your pussy gripped so tight and intensely around his cock as you came Trent couldn’t hold back his own release. He pumped you full of his warm cum, spurting into you while your pussy throbbed, milking him of everything he had. You stayed in that position. Refusing to pull his cock out, preventing any of his cum from spilling out. He rolled his hips a few more times into you.

“Too much, baby” you whimpered, muffled into his skin, overstimulated and exhausted. You could fall asleep with him inside you but he pulled out of you slowly.

“C’mere” he said, half asleep now, completely drained. Clinging to each other tightly before you both dozed off. Cuddling even closer, neither of you having the strength to go clean up or peel apart.

The next day you sat out in Trent’s back garden cuddled up on the couch with hot tea. It was a sunny winter day. You were bundled in one of his jumpers with his hands tucked underneath it around you caressing your skin. You weren’t talking, not at all really, just the rustle of the wind could be heard and the sound of Trent’s lips occasionally pressing and pulling off your skin, kissing you. It was moments like this when you found pockets of peace to be alone that you felt incredibly connected. No football, no fans, no family, no distractions, just you two.

“Baby..” he said into your ear and you hummed in response leaning further back into him.

“I need to tell you something.” You just hummed again but he seemed to hesitate.

“Go ahead, pretty boy. What’s up?” You pushed nonchalantly thinking nothing of it.

“Nah, it’s serious, baby.” Your body stiffened at his words not sure if this ‘something’ was going to tear your current peace to shreds. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, but I’ve been scared. I can’t hold it any longer because I feel it every second of every day. I don't want it to slip out at the wrong time and… “ he took a deep breath. He moved his lips closer to your ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant these words, or if I ever felt this truly until I met you.” He placed a kiss behind your ear. Your eyes softly closed, the warmth of his body and the vibrations of his voice against your skin had you purring.

“What’s that, T?” you quietly, softly whispered facing ahead trying to encourage him to get his words out. He placed another soft kiss behind your ear again but you could feel more passion behind this one. It felt like the sun got a little brighter, your body warmer, the world quieter.

“I love you.” He said in a sure confident tone. You felt your body go into shock for a moment. His hand grabbed for your chin to turn your head to him. “Look at me baby… Y/N, I’m in love with you.” You could hear a slight tremble in his voice. “Hopelessly. You deserve a love that feels like summer, the way my heart felt on 78th street when I first met you, year round. I told you so many times I want to give you everything you deserve, baby. Let me love you forever.” His words came flooding out.

You blinked your eyes to hold back tears trying to composure yourself at his heartfelt words. His eyes pooled deep like a puppy dog that had you melting. It was obvious both of you had been skirting around the overwhelming ever present feeling but it was scary, like Trent had said, that emotion had never felt so real until now. You turned your body fully to him cuddling into his chest more, nestling into your favorite place. You looked up at him, your hand sliding to wrap behind his neck to scratch your nails gently against his skin to get his attention, assure him you were present.

“T… Trent, I love you so much.” You could barely get the words out because you were trying to focus on not crying looking into his big brown eyes weakening you more every second. You sniffled with a soft smile. He let out a sigh of relief his feelings were reciprocated. You leaned up to press your noses together needing to be closer. With a small smile tugging at his lips, he pulled your waist.

“Yeah, baby… you love me?” Trent needing reassurance broke your heart in the softest way. As much as he held a lot of power and confidence he wanted desperately to be truly loved by you and you definitely did.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this in love with someone” you cooed completely lost in the all consuming feeling that filled your chest, how much you loved him made your heart ache. The hold he had over you was intense and you wanted to be under it forever but in this moment he seemed so timid.

“You are the love of my life, Y/N. I want everything with you.” He said it so meekly. His eyes looking needier, filled to the brim with love.

“You have it, my perfect pretty boy.” Your pet name sent shivers down his spine. He loved when you called him things like that. He was softer and more sensitive around you then he led on, you made him vulnerable. He held you tighter. His hands caressing your skin under his jumper and nuzzling into your neck again. Placing light kisses anywhere he could. His legs coming to lay on top of yours. You were intertwined.

“I love when you're touchy like this, T. I like when you need me. I always need you so it’s nice to know I can do somethings for you.” He only responded with a hum, letting his eyes close for a little as you continued to scratch his skin softly tracing patterns. He was so comfortable with you in his arms. Being with you was like heaven. No big house or fancy hotel could ever be enough if there was no you in it. You felt the same. As he held you, you felt the world drift away, unimportant. In his arms, his embrace, was home, it was safe, it was comfortable, it was your T.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! Comment or message what you think of the series so far… 🤍

Next part - Chapter 15 xx

[thewebbloghouse]

FOOTBALL | ANN-KATRIN BERGER INTERVIEW

Ann-Katrin Berger: Playing football helped me beat cancer – twice

Chelsea goalkeeper’s love for the game helped her through darkest times

Berger has her eyes set on winning the Champions League.

When Ann-Katrin Berger walks out of the tunnel at the Emirates stadium in front of more than 44,500 fans tomorrow lunchtime, the Chelsea goalkeeper will be covered in goosebumps and have the same nervous anticipation she gets at the beginning of every match.

Nothing has changed for the 32-year-old in all her time spent playing football, and — as the Women’s Super League returns from its winter break — a north London derby against title rivals Arsenal is as important as ever. While this season has been a “rollercoaster”, the past six months have featured far more dips than most professional footballers endure.

On July 31, Berger was part of the Germany squad that lost to England in the final of the European Championship. On August 1, her worst fears were confirmed; the thyroid cancer first diagnosed in 2017, from which she thought she had recovered, had returned.

“The only negative was that it was my last appointment to get the full clear [when the blood test came back abnormal],” Berger says. “Obviously cancer can come back at any time, but you can say after five years normally it is all done and dusted. That was the negative because it was so close to being finished. The positives were I knew what to expect and what to do and it wasn’t like the unknown like before.”

When Berger first had thyroid cancer diagnosed while she was at Birmingham City, she played throughout her treatment, and she has done so again this time. The only match she has missed this season was the opening Women’s Super League game against Liverpool.

“I needed that aim to get rid of the cancer,” she says. Having finished her treatment, Berger’s tests results have come back clear, but she is understandably cautious in her optimism. “Now we just have to hope and wait,” she says, explaining it can take up to two years to feel more confident the cancer has gone.”

Berger’s statement on social media announcing that the cancer had returned has more than 25,000 likes. Her openness and strength moved Paul Green, the Chelsea general manager, to describe her as an “inspiration”, although it has taken Berger a while to adjust to the spotlight.

Berger is grateful for the motivation and discipline that being a professional footballer has given her.

“I had to learn it over the years,” she says. “I know I am in a position where I can help people. If I can only affect 1 or 2 per cent of people that is good enough for me. Even after the diagnosis I looked after the people around me, I didn’t allow them to look after me.”

“Too many people came to me, texting me. I’m not a social media person so I had to get my nieces and nephew and Jess [Carter, her partner and Chelsea team-mate] to explain how to work it out. It felt crazy because I never saw myself as a role model. How I did that, I don’t know.”

Berger is grateful for the motivation and discipline that being a professional footballer has given her, reflecting that her fitness as an athlete played a big role during her treatment. “You can’t tell me one athlete that likes to give up and I think that helps me quite a lot,” she says. “Even though I had cancer I feel like I still have a healthier body than anyone else.”

While the ever-positive Berger admits her second round of treatment “hit her quite hard”, it was the emotional toll she found difficult. Sarina Wiegman, the England manager, gave Jess permission to attend appointments with her throughout the Euros.

Berger with her Chelsea team-mate and partner Carter after winning the FA Cup last season.

“It was during the Euros and Jess was allowed to come with me to two appointments so we were always together,” Berger says. “It was easier for the tournament to be in England because I knew if something happened she was not far from me, our hotels were not far from each other. It sounds crazy, but my main focus was being as good as possible in the Euros. The doctor’s side and the appointments was almost next to it. I took it seriously, but I didn’t want the thoughts to overcome me and the game be affected.”

Another difficult moment was having to break the news to her Chelsea team-mates, although Berger was relieved it had gone better than when she delivered the same news to her Birmingham colleagues.

“It was the hardest to actually tell them . . . not to feel sorry for me,” she says. “I learnt from the first time and how I came across. The first thing when I told them was that everything should be normal, treating me normal. That helped me.”

“As good human beings, obviously it affected them a little bit and I could see that but I tried to say to them they could talk to me, because we are process driven. Any questions they have, I don’t feel uncomfortable, even to Jess because she has been through this with me twice now so she probably knows even more than me.”

“My aim is to get healthy, but how do I get there? To be as normal as possible and do the things I always did before. If I don’t do the health side I can’t play football and if I can’t play football I will be miserable.”

Her health scare has left her even more determined to improve, personally and collectively with Chelsea. “I want to be one of the best goalkeepers in the world again. Off the pitch if I’m not healthy enough I can’t reach these goals so having a good balance between both is important for this year. Everyone at Chelsea knows we are going for all the trophies this year. The biggest aim is to win the Champions League. I feel like nobody can stop us, only us.”

[alexbkrieger13]

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/d7ef18ae-935d-11ed-beb4-99fcdfa7645c?shareToken=8439a7faac2dc0a303c43bf64648ae18

Ann-Katrin Berger: Playing football helped me beat cancer – twice

Chelsea goalkeeper’s love for the game helped her through darkest times

When Ann-Katrin Berger walks out of the tunnel at the Emirates stadium in front of more than 44,500 fans tomorrow lunchtime, the Chelsea goalkeeper will be covered in goosebumps and have the same nervous anticipation she gets at the beginning of every match.

Nothing has changed for the 32-year-old in all her time spent playing football, and — as the Women’s Super League returns from its winter break — a north London derby against title rivals Arsenal is as important as ever. While this season has been a “rollercoaster”, the past six months have featured far more dips than most professional footballers endure.

On July 31, Berger was part of the Germany squad that lost to England in the final of the European Championship. On August 1, her worst fears were confirmed; the thyroid cancer first diagnosed in 2017, from which she thought she had recovered, had returned.

“The only negative was that it was my last appointment to get the full clear [when the blood test came back abnormal],” Berger says. “Obviously cancer can come back at any time, but you can say after five years normally it is all done and dusted. That was the negative because it was so close to being finished. The positives were I knew what to expect and what to do and it wasn’t like the unknown like before.”

When Berger first had thyroid cancer diagnosed while she was at Birmingham City, she played throughout her treatment, and she has done so again this time. The only match she has missed this season was the opening Women’s Super League game against Liverpool.

“I needed that aim to get rid of the cancer,” she says. Having finished her treatment, Berger’s tests results have come back clear, but she is understandably cautious in her optimism. “Now we just have to hope and wait,” she says, explaining it can take up to two years to feel more confident the cancer has gone.

Berger’s statement on social media announcing that the cancer had returned has more than 25,000 likes. Her openness and strength moved Paul Green, the Chelsea general manager, to describe her as an “inspiration”, although it has taken Berger a while to adjust to the spotlight.

“I had to learn it over the years,” she says. “I know I am in a position where I can help people. If I can only affect 1 or 2 per cent of people that is good enough for me. Even after the diagnosis I looked after the people around me, I didn’t allow them to look after me.

“Too many people came to me, texting me. I’m not a social media person so I had to get my nieces and nephew and Jess [Carter, her partner and Chelsea team-mate] to explain how to work it out. It felt crazy because I never saw myself as a role model. How I did that, I don’t know.”

Berger is grateful for the motivation and discipline that being a professional footballer has given her, reflecting that her fitness as an athlete played a big role during her treatment. “You can’t tell me one athlete that likes to give up and I think that helps me quite a lot,” she says. “Even though I had cancer I feel like I still have a healthier body than anyone else.”

While the ever-positive Berger admits her second round of treatment “hit her quite hard”, it was the emotional toll she found difficult. Sarina Wiegman, the England manager, gave Jess permission to attend appointments with her throughout the Euros.

“It was during the Euros and Jess was allowed to come with me to two appointments so we were always together,” Berger says. “It was easier for the tournament to be in England because I knew if something happened she was not far from me, our hotels were not far from each other. It sounds crazy, but my main focus was being as good as possible in the Euros. The doctor’s side and the appointments was almost next to it. I took it seriously, but I didn’t want the thoughts to overcome me and the game be affected.”

Another difficult moment was having to break the news to her Chelsea team-mates, although Berger was relieved it had gone better than when she delivered the same news to her Birmingham colleagues.

“It was the hardest to actually tell them . . . not to feel sorry for me,” she says. “I learnt from the first time and how I came across. The first thing when I told them was that everything should be normal, treating me normal. That helped me.

“As good human beings, obviously it affected them a little bit and I could see that but I tried to say to them they could talk to me, because we are process driven. Any questions they have, I don’t feel uncomfortable, even to Jess because she has been through this with me twice now so she probably knows even more than me.

“My aim is to get healthy, but how do I get there? To be as normal as possible and do the things I always did before. If I don’t do the health side I can’t play football and if I can’t play football I will be miserable.”

Her health scare has left her even more determined to improve, personally and collectively with Chelsea. “I want to be one of the best goalkeepers in the world again. Off the pitch if I’m not healthy enough I can’t reach these goals so having a good balance between both is important for this year. Everyone at Chelsea knows we are going for all the trophies this year. The biggest aim is to win the Champions League. I feel like nobody can stop us, only us.”

[mariacallous]

Mariano Dalesio is one of several hundred thousand members of River Plate, a top Argentine soccer club. Having been proudly registered by his father at birth, the 29-year-old pays a monthly fee to go to local games, always sporting the same jersey and pants to bring him luck, and votes to elect the club’s leaders. He considers the stadium in Buenos Aires his second home. “It’s a very important part of my life,” he said. “Actually, it is my life.”

But the young fan worries about whether the libertarian vision of Argentine President Javier Milei may disrupt soccer as he knows it.

The country’s several thousand soccer clubs, which have birthed legends such as Lionel Messi and Diego Maradona, have long operated as nonprofit associations run by their members. However, as Milei tackles Argentina’s long-winded economic crisis, he is seeking to encourage private investment in the sport and sees it as an untapped source of revenue. Since the early days of his presidency, he has pushed for clubs to have the freedom to become for-profit companies under private owners, insisting they’ll make quick money. “No more poor socialism in soccer,” he declared in July on X.

In August, Milei issued a decree that would give the Argentine Football Association (AFA) a year to adjust its statutes and permit for-profit clubs to join. One of the first interested investors has been Foster Gillett, the son of former Liverpool co-owner George Gillett, who recently traveled to Argentina and met with government officials and several clubs in the country’s top soccer league, according to Juliana Santillán, an Argentine congresswoman.

But so far, Milei’s actions have been met with strong opposition. Many of the clubs in the AFA have loudly rejected handing their reins over to new owners. Under the current model, their income, which comes from membership dues, ticket sales, player transfers, and television rights, must be reinvested into the club. Some worry that new owners will care more about making money than the social mission of the clubs, which often serve as community centers that keep children out of trouble and offer recreational sports that may not be as lucrative as professional soccer.

Dalesio, who occasionally attends River Plate membership assemblies, recalled how he once spoke about the need for more transparency on a project to remodel the stadium. “Here, the members have a lot of voice. The for-profit model will make that disappear,” he said.

Soccer was first introduced to Argentina by British immigrants in the 19th century, with one of the earliest recorded matches played in 1867 in Buenos Aires. Over the decades, clubs continued to form as the city grew and even helped create neighborhood identities. By the early 1900s, the game had become the national pastime and “had long since ceased to be the preserve of British expats,” wrote British sports journalist Jonathan Wilson in his book Angels With Dirty Faces: The Footballing History of Argentina.

As a result, Argentines developed their own style focused on dribbling skills. They claimed their technique was better—more spontaneous and passionate even—than the British, thus fueling a sense of nationalism that has now come to be commonly associated with the game.

The early 1900s also saw the formation of some of the country’s biggest soccer clubs: River Plate, Boca Juniors, Racing, Independiente, and San Lorenzo. Clubs swiftly became places “to socialize, to get together, to understand each other, to form communities,” said Cesar Torres, a sports historian at SUNY Brockport. “They didn’t have the idea of making money.” Nonetheless, the sport quickly became entangled in politics.

The government of populist President Juan Perón, who first served in the 1940s and 1950s, underwrote stadium construction projects and in return, according to Wilson, had his representatives work closely with the clubs’ leadership. Perón wanted to make sure he had the clubs’ support, recognizing the fervor they generated and their potential to organize politically. Soccer also kept Argentines entertained and, to some degree, distracted.

Years later, the military junta, which had overthrown the Argentine government and murdered or disappeared thousands of people, used the 1978 World Cup—hosted and won by Argentina—to revamp its global image and project calm and control. One stadium was just minutes away from a notorious clandestine detention center in Buenos Aires.

More recently, in 2009, then-President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner’s administration offered Argentines free soccer television programing, but critics called the move a ploy to spread government propaganda with political ads.

In the last decade, clubs have slogged through economic crises as governments have struggled to repay billions of dollars in debts to the International Monetary Fund and overspending has resulted in soaring inflation. Though Milei’s severe austerity measures have slowed monthly inflation to 4 percent, cuts to subsidies have left many families struggling to get by.

Rodolfo Paverini, the president of the Argentine Sports Confederation, said clubs have lost membership dues and been hampered by high increases in electricity and gas bills. “In all governments, there was a tendency to protect clubs,” he said. “Today, they are totally in God’s hands.”

Despite the success of its national team, the champions of this summer’s Copa América tournament and the 2022 World Cup, Argentina has found it hard to compete with other markets, notably Brazil, the most comparable market in Latin America due to the country’s size and soccer culture.

The strong Brazilian economy has meant that its clubs have significantly more resources and can sign the most promising young players from the region, including Argentina, said Fernando Roitman, an expert in sports governance at the Switzerland-based International Centre for Sports Studies (CIES).

Argentina has the third-highest number of professional players overseas, after Brazil and France, according to a 2023 report by CIES. Among them are almost all the members of its national team, from Messi at Inter Miami to midfielder Alexis Mac Allister at Liverpool. While several of Argentina’s largest clubs are seen as financially stable, others have accumulated heaping amounts of debt while unable to pay their players.

Milei, who played as a goalkeeper for a lower-ranking division of San Lorenzo in the 1980s, has made it his mission to change the clubs’ finances, an unconventional economic passion project. Last December, mere days into his term, Milei issued a sweeping mandate to deregulate the economy that included measures to allow for-profit clubs to join the AFA, getting around the association’s current prohibition. Those measures, as well as Milei’s August decree, have since been knocked down by the courts. However, the government can still appeal the legal decision.

Government officials, including Justice Minister Mariano Cúneo Libarona, have argued that they’re merely fighting to give clubs the freedom to choose what they want to be. “As the government, we have the mandate to free Argentines,” Libarona said in July. “Soccer is no exception.”

Santillán, the congresswoman, said Foster, the investor who visited Argentina, presented several clubs with proposals that their members are expected to vote on. The idea, she said, is to approach fans “in a smart way so they don’t feel Foster is an investor who comes to buy but an investor who comes to share.”

The moves fall in line with Milei’s broader free market approach. He has sought to appeal to domestic and foreign investors (including courting billionaire Elon Musk). “He favors unfettered capitalism, the commercialization of basically every aspect of social life, so he sees that this [soccer] is an opportunity for free enterprise as well,” said Torres, the sports historian.

Some do support Milei’s crusade. Retired Argentine star player Sergio Agüero has said private ownership could strengthen clubs but that “if the members say no, it’s no.” In Rosario, which is located a few hours northwest of the capital and is also Messi’s hometown, several members of Newell’s Old Boys, a local soccer club, favor turning the protégé’s old club into a for-profit company.

Alejo Navarro, a university student, complained that the club hadn’t won a national championship since 2013. He voted for Milei, a person who he said “disrupts everything in politics, for better or for worse,” and would be in favor of Newell’s becoming for-profit.

Milei isn’t operating in a vacuum. In recent years, the for-profit model for sports clubs has trended across Latin America. In 2021, Brazil passed legislation to encourage the creation of for-profit clubs. The move wasn’t as contentious as the ongoing debate in Argentina.

As a result, according to Cesar Grafietti, a financial consultant for Brazilian soccer clubs, several prominent clubs are now in better shape. For example, in 2023, City Football Group (CFG), the parent company of English football club Manchester City, completed its acquisition of Brazilian club Bahia, investing substantially in new players. But there have also been legal problems—such as with the takeover of top club Vasco da Gama—and fewer investors than expected, Grafietti added. Argentina’s neighbor Uruguay also permits for-profit clubs. In 2017, CFG acquired Club Atlético Torque, which was later renamed to Montevideo City Torque, a nod to its new ownership.

It’s unclear what the economic impact of private investment in soccer clubs might look like for Argentina. However, many experts agree that better management is more important than the club model itself and that the problem of Argentine players going overseas has more to do with the country’s less developed economy more generally—something that cannot necessarily be fixed by pumping dollars into clubs. “The model doesn’t guarantee success and neither does it protect you from an eventual failure,” said Ariel Reck, a sports attorney based in Buenos Aires. “There is no magic.”

Smaller clubs with fewer members may be more likely to make the switch to private ownership. However, several factors may spook investors first. There’s the economic crisis: Argentina has a CC credit rating from Fitch, which predicts that the country will likely default on its debt in the coming years. There are also the barras bravas, or fan-run soccer gangs known for mob violence and for running ticket and parking rackets. And then there is the biggest obstacle for now: The AFA still excludes for-profit clubs.

“They’re clubs with a lot of history, and I don’t think the members, the fans, would allow it at all,” said Tato Aguilera, an Argentine sports journalist. “There’s a lot of love for the institution.”

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Shannen Bamford’s emotionally-charged new single ‘Addicted’ merges intimacy with intensity, building a story both through sound and personal admissions

Since the release of her first original single in 2020, Shannen Bamford has continued a slow rise through topics close to the heart, connecting with fans of similarly resonant artists like Phoebe Bridgers, Alvvays and Oh Wonder. Now it’s 2024, the Liverpool-based multi-instrumentalist is not slowing down, backed up by UK tours and local NYC shows that have seen her not just establish a safe presence in her music but in person too.

Within her newest single ‘Addicted’, Shannen looks to be perhaps at her most vulnerable yet, delving into the complexities of heartbreak, but instead looking inwards at the ways she’s perhaps to blame. While we often find ourselves fearful to introspectively look at our actions, Shannen’s here to keep it real, showing that while it hurts it’s a pain worth tackling sooner rather than later. In part, ‘Addicted’ flows through the ways a lot of broken people often seek out the comfort of emotional turmoil once again, yearning for that familiar sense of uncertainty and the highs of the euphoric moments even when the agony of it feels unbearable every single time: ‘forget how to breathe, feel like I’m sinking’. Turning even the best situations into bouts of unregulated emotions and anxiety-induced frenzies, lines like the choruses hook 'I'm addicted to the pain' say it most accurately, returning to what she knows despite the hatred of it all the same. If you’ve been there, you’ll understand every single line of what ‘Addicted’ has to say, or perhaps you’ll start to unpack why even the safest of your relationships have turned through similarly destructive tendencies.

The sound is just as intimately laid out, swirling through a carefully finger-picked electric guitar riff and light synth notes, wrapping each element in an echoey reverberance through the sound. Shannen’s words are haunting in delivery to match, soaked in low-tones and a hushed sense of rawness that leaves every emotionally-charged line lingering that little bit longer, all the while a soft raspiness clings to her sincere performance in a way that only adds to the personal nature of it all. Picked up by more vigorous guitar strums, an added intermittent riff and backing vocal ooh’s, ‘Addicted’ finds just as much of its storytelling in sound as it does its words, merging together moments of intensity and others’ of tenderness. Things continue to rise with acoustic guitar touches, bass and drums, as well as shifts in the core riff, building further upon the entire soundscape in a way that reflects the complex and conflicting emotions all weaving together at once. It’s perfectly overwhelming in many ways, capturing that sense of heightened emotions as well as the realisations that this cyclical pattern can’t keep happening.

Adding to the track’s message, Shannen shares, “I started to feel like I didn’t know who I was if I wasn’t in some kind of emotional turmoil… It just felt like a part of me, I was in a toxic cycle of putting myself into painful situations. Even in a good situation I had to find some way of making it anxiety inducing. It felt like I was addicted to pain, which ultimately inspired this song and the main hook. At its core, this song is a story of slowly losing someone and having your heart broken, but with the acceptance of it essentially being your own fault for putting yourself in a situation that you knew would cause you pain.”

Between the messy thoughts, the anger, the sadness, the heartbreak and everything in-between ‘Addicted’ really manages to channel every single ounce of how it can feel to be so entwined within turmoil. Even the closing out shredded guitar solo is in some ways unhinged, letting loose without care to overshadow any other moving parts or vocal lines, releasing the bottled-up frustrations with one final in-your-face thrashing of strings. If what Shannen sings in ‘Addicted’ hits close to home, or perhaps just sounds like the tune you’ve been searching for, don’t hesitate to keep listening for yourself here.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.