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formulakatya · 1 year ago

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BLESSING IN DISGUISE | TAA

"maybe it's a blessing in disguise, i see my reflection in your eyes"

summary: where you and trent are childhood friends, you find yourself in a difficult situation, clueless on what to do, you call trent for advice.

pairing: trent alexander-arnold × freestyle skier!reader

notes: i'm back! i've been out of ideas recently but on a whim, i decided to write a story to the first audio i get on my tiktok for you page which just so happened to be reflections by the neighbourhood :) this is unedited work and a rather short story so im sorry about that!

warnings: none that i can think of, just really bad writing.

—

holding your skies tightly, you waited nervously for the score. you had given your final run your all, landing the prestigious and tricky 1620 jump. “come on,” you mumbled underneath your breath. your heart pounding, you held your breath as you glanced at the score board nervously.

93.50

you could’ve swore you felt your heart break right there and then. falling down onto the snow, you looked down at the ground as you tried to compose yourself together, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to flow.

it wasn’t enough.

composing yourself, you stood back up as you tried your best to smile as you congratulated the winner before walking towards your coach who engulfed you in a hug. “it wasn’t good enough,” you spoke through shaky breaths, tears spilling out.

“you tried your best,” he spoke on his attempt to comfort you. “at least you landed the 1620, first time in competition!”

“yeah,” you nodded before going back to the other two medalists, shaking hands with them as you posed for a picture.

“well done on that 1620!”

“thanks,” you smiled at eileen, your training partner and also the skier who had came in third. “well done on yours as well.”

“wanna go out for dinner later?”

“sure,” you nodded, trying to think about what you would do at dinner and during the few days extra you had in austria in a pathetic attempt to cheer yourself up.

but all you could think of was the silver medal.

—

staring at the ceiling, you wiped your tears dry as you let out a sigh.

why was it still not good enough?

turning your head, you picked up your phone to check the time before going through your notifications. you had put your phone on ‘do not disturb’, no doubt missing a couple of texts and calls.

trent: congratulations! what a performance!

staring at the message for a minute or so, you hesitated before opening the message, typing a quick ‘thank you’ and sending it before closing your phone and going back to staring at the ceiling.

what if you had done a different jump? what if you had executed the 1620 a little better?

looking back at your phone, you noticed trent had replied to your message as you unplugged your phone from the charging cable.

trent: if you wanna talk about it i’m free to call.

he knew you all too well.

deliberating whether you should take him up on the offer for a while, you finally decided to, dialling his number and putting the phone on speaker as you waited a response.

“hey,” trent’s voice could be heard from the other end of the line. “you okay?”

“could be better, honestly,” you replied. “how did you deal with it?”

“deal with what?”

“y’know…” you replied vaguely, not wanting to bring up the dreaded loss.

“oh,” he responded, picking up on what you were referring to. “not well to be honest, but talking to someone helped me. and lots of crying as well. i guess it was easier because we won the champions league and fa cup. seeing the fans at the parade helped as well.”

trent paused for awhile, nothing but a slight sigh being able to be heard on the other line.

“second place always feels the worst, i get that— especially losing by one point as well. but don’t be so hard on yourself, there’s no point y’know? you did everything you could’ve done and it was one hell of a performance,” he continued speaking. “i know you’re probably beating yourself up over it so don’t. there’s nothing you can do to change what happened and knowing you, you tried your best. you tried your best and that’s all you could really do. take a few days off, pick yourself up and come back stronger, y’know?”

“mhm,” you hummed in response. “it just hurts. it hurts a lot.”

“it’s only natural,” he responded. “you’ll bounce back, though, i know you will.”

“thanks, trent,” you smiled, taking in the words of advice. “you really helped.”

“no problem,” he laughed. “i’m always here if you need anything, alright, love?”

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #footballer #football #football fanfic #football x reader #football x yn #football fluff #football angst #football smut #football one shot #trent alexander arnold one shot #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold fic

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so-you-melted-22 · 2 years ago

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New Amity song!!!!

#it’s so good!!!!#i love this band so much!!!!!!#stuff #text #taa #the amity affliction

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itsasainz · 2 years ago

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Girlfriend Treatment | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Summary: You've been holding off on becoming Trent's girlfriend, but there's nothing like a bit of peer pressure to change your mind.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: smut, fluff, trent being the loml

mdni please :)

a/n: I love taa. thats all.

masterlist!

His breathing is heavy in the crook of your neck, lips damp and soft on your skin, your own breaths ragged as you come down from your high, flushed and warm from the moment, your eyes trained on the light above your bed and the fact that you shouldn’t be doing this. You run your hands down the plains of his back, smiling to yourself at the fact that he hasn’t pulled away. “You need to get to training,” you say, “Match day and all that.”

You can feel his hesitancy as he pulls away to sit back on his heels, hands trailing along your skin. “Can I shower here?”

You nod, “I’ll start on breakfast.”

He leans forwards and kisses you, just a peck, before getting out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you blushing in your messy sheets. God, he’ll be the death of you.

You drag yourself out of bed and pull some pants on, grabbing his t-shirt as you head to the kitchen, swearing when you see the time – lunch it is, you guess. You’re familiar enough with his pre-match routines to know what he’ll want to eat and how long he can stay. Caught up in your thoughts – of him, and his match and whether you’ll agree when he inevitably asks (again) whether you’ll be there. You’re plating up when he reappears in his joggers, shirtless, smiling at the sight of you in his clothes; if the match goes well, he’ll probably want to fuck while you wear his shirt, and you’ll almost certainly oblige.

Sure enough, he asks while you're sitting at the table. “I’ve got two comps left,” he says, “Please come – bring Hannah, if you like.”

You glance at him, "That sounds like WaG behaviour – not your girlfriend, remember?"

"Darlin', you know that fact's entirely on you, right?"

“Who else is going?” You deflect.

“Just my brothers.”

You mull it over; if anything, his brothers are good fun, and you’ve got no plans. “I’ll think about it,” you say, “but I’m not wearing your shirt.”

“That sounds like a yes,” he teases, taking your empty plate, “You’re coming?”

You lean back in your chair, watching him start to wash up, “I said I’ll think about it.”

Even with his back turned to you, you can feel his smile. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt your head.”

“That’s my line,” you scoff, standing up to join him at the sink. Absentmindedly, you find yourself leaning your cheek into the top of his back, your hands sneaking around his middle. “Let me ask Han if she’s free, mkay?”

His soapy hand finds yours. “Can I have my shirt back?”

“I like this one.” you mutter. “I’ve got a ton of your other ones in the drawer, though.”

He wipes his hands on a tea towel, then turns to hug you back, leaning back against the edge of the sink. “I was wondering where they’d all gone.”

You smile at him, “It would be such a shame if you never got them back.”

“I need to go, sweetheart.”

You kiss him. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “See you later.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

When he’s gone, taking one of his other shirts and promising to text you after training, you lie on the sofa, texting your friend to see if she can come to the game – last time you went without a friend, someone took a load of photos of you with his parents, and the rumours had been circling for weeks after.

From Hannah: I have that work dinner, remember? Yk I’d rather come to the game, but I can’t miss it.

To Hannah: Shit, I forgot. Don’t worry about it, have fun at the dinner <3

With a few hours until the game, you shower and text Trent to send you a ticket, taking your mind of the anxiety about getting spotted again by getting ahead on some of your admin for the new year, deliberating for a little too long on what to wear, knowing you’ll wear something similar to what you’ve worn to every other game you’ve attended in the winter – a thick coat and jeans, probably with a red top so you don’t stand out too much from the sea of Liverpool supporters.

Tyler picks you up just after six, and you find yourselves sat in the box early with some of the other players' friends and family, watching the warm ups while Marcell catches you up on his current girl troubles and the argument he had with Dianne the other day; you've heard about it all through Trent already, but you don’t mention that to his brother, instead getting Tyler to bring you a drink from the bar.

The first half is both awful and brilliant at once: Leicester City's early goal throws the Scousers off a little, but the two own goals cheer the home crowd right back up. Trent disappears back to the changing rooms during half time, and you chat some more with his brothers – at this rate, you'll have gotten an entire family history out of them by the time the game ends. He comes over for a couple of minutes right before the game starts up again, looking all sweaty and waving to his brothers. You go to the barrier and crouch down to talk to him.

"God," you mutter, "You reek of sweat."

"'S almost like I've been playing football."

You smile down at him. "Good luck – you're playing well."

His eyes are adoring, though you won't let yourself admit that it's you he's looking at like that. "Gimme a kiss?"

"In front of everyone?" You frown, "And with you smelling like that?"

He stares at you for a few long seconds, and you cave, opting to press your lips to his cheek before pecking him on the lips. "Go get 'em."

He moves away from you as you stand, leaning your elbows on the barrier to watch him weave through players to get back to the pitch, chatting to Robbo on the way. Back in your seat, Trent's brothers are looking at you with quizzical expressions.

"I thought you weren't together." says Tyler.

"We're not." you mutter.

"He hasn't asked?" Marcell chips in.

"Oh, he's asked." you say.

"Why'd you refuse then?"

You want to sink into the floor. "When he asked, it was just after all those photos came out, and I was super freaked out about having my life turned upside down by the idea of everyone finding out I'm dating Liverpool's golden boy."

"You just kissed him in a stadium of 50,000 people."

You can feel your face going red. He raises a good point – you've gotten past the panic of having your face fleetingly in the tabloids, and it's not like you and Trent don't already act like a couple – he even took you to Qatar with him and introduced you to the actual WaGs.

The second half drags by, but Trent plays well until he's taken off, right at the end, and you can tell he's unhappy with the overall performance. You check your phone when the game ends, aware that it's going to be a long while before you leave, surprised by the bunch of texts Hannah had sent you.

From Hannah: I wish I was at the match this meal is so boring

From Hannah: omg not the own goals

From Hannah: ummmm since when were u kissing trent in PUBLIC?!?!!?

From Hannah: wife him up

To Hannah: what?? where did u see that??

She sends you a link to a tweet by some LFC fan who must have been sitting in the seats above the box, because beneath the words "UM TRENT WHO ARE YOU KISSINGGG???" are a bunch of photos of you crouched down to talk to him, recognisable by your coat but thankfully without your face in them – the time stamp shows that it must have been posted within minutes of the interaction, and you're almost impressed.

Tyler sees what you're looking at and scoffs. "Jesus, that was quick."

"Right?" You laugh. "At least my face isn't in it."

He nods, "Better than last time, eh?"

The two of them bid farewell once the stadium's cleared out, knowing Trent will drive you home, and make you promise to drop by at some point before the next game. Once they're gone, you spot Hendo's wife and go to say hi, the two of you catching up until, at long last, Hendo and Trent reappear, having showered and done their interviews. Trent hugs you tight when he sees you, his warm hands slipping under your coat and pressing into your skin.

"Proud of you, T." you say, earning a satisfied smile. "Wanna grab something to eat on the way home?"

He agrees, walking with his arm over your shoulders, chatting to Hendo on the way to the car, signing a couple of autographs on the way out, smiling for the lingering fans. They don't pay you or Rebecca much notice, you hang back until they're gone and Trent finally unlocks the car.

"Chinese?" You offer on the way, "My treat?"

He laughs, "What's gotten into you? Two public appearances in one evening?"

"Going to the local Chinese place is hardly a public appearance." you argue.

"I'd love to." he says, stopping at a red light. You smile to yourself, for once filled with utter confidence in everything about this relationship – or, more accurately, suddenly able to acknowledge that this man loved you and wanted to be with you, even if he'd never put the former into words.

He parks on the street in front of the takeaway, grabbing a menu from the counter and joining you to deliberate about what to order in the corner by the window. You spend five minutes um-ing and ah-ing only to order what you always do. You insist on paying like you'd send you would, and sit back down beside him.

You turn pointedly to face him rather than the counter. "T," you begin. Fuck, who'd have thought you'd be so nervous about asking a question you already knew the answer to? You need to find a segue. "Have you seen the photos?"

"Again?" he asks, the concern immediately clouding his face – he saw the anxiety you went through last time, and it makes your heart flutter to know he holds that concern for you.

"Relax, my face isn't in them," you say, getting the tweet back up. He inspects the photos, instinctively smiling at the little moment.

"Why are you so okay with it?" he asks.

You shrug. "There's no point in getting stressed about the same stuff twice."

"Wise." he teases, squeezing your thigh slightly.

"I'm practically Oogway." you say, making him laugh. "Seriously though-"

Your order is called, interrupting you. He goes to get it, unlocking the car as you take the bag from him. In the car, he sends you a worried look as he turns the engine on. The takeaway sits on your knees, warm on your jeans.

"What were you going to say?" he asks.

You tell yourself to let tonight last a little longer. "Oh, uh, nothing. Let's get home, yeah?"

He parks on the street under your flat, waiting diligently while you fiddle with your keys and grab your mail from the pigeon hole, greet an elderly neighbour and insist on taking the stairs.

Once inside, he helps you grab the chopsticks and drinks before settling onto the sofa, cross legged with the news on in the background.

"Listen," you say, "I've been thinking."

"Don't tell me you bought me dinner just to break up with me."

You panic for a second, "Oh my God, no, of course not! In fact, kinda the opposite."

He leans against the sofa behind him, looking a little smug. Bastard. "Oh yeah?"

"Don't tease, okay? I need to say this."

His eyes don't leave your face as you put your meal on the coffee table. "Go on."

You face him, "T, I maybe like you a bit – well, a lot – more than I ever planned to, and, like, I was thinking a lot over Christmas and stuff, but I wish I hadn't been so anxious when you first asked me to be your girlfriend, 'cause I don't want to be thinking about what the fucking Mirror are saying about us when they're irrelevant to us, as like, people. You’re one of the most important people in my life and every time we spend time together I'm just reminded of how lucky I am to have you in my life, and of how bloody dumb I've been. Anyway, this is a very long way of saying something simple: I love you, and do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Trent has a soft look on his face that makes you flustered. "For real?" He mutters, mostly to himself, as he takes your hands. He pulls you to him so you're forced to straddle him and takes his sweet time kissing you, hands on your waist.

"Is that a yes?"

He laughs, "You're cute, y'know? of course it's a yes, love."

You blush. "Does this mean I get girlfriend treatment now?"

His lips, ever so gentle, ghost over your neck, "My sweet, sweet girl, let me show you just what kind of treatment you get now."

You are, as ever, putty in his hands.

Gently, he moves you so that you're under him, kissing your neck and murmuring endless kindnesses into your skin as he undoes your jeans, pulling them down to expose your thighs, the fabric tangling around your ankles. He pulls back, seemingly reluctantly, to pull them off your legs completely, and repositions himself so he can kiss you on the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving teeth marks and bruises in his wake, hands preoccupied with your bra and removing your top.

Ever the tease, his kisses only graze the fabric over your core, hands teasing your nipples. You sigh, getting frustrated with his not-quite touches.

His lips finally attach to your core through the lace of your pants, finding the fabric damp with your arousement, his mouth wet over you. His mouth on your panties elicits a moan from you, breathy and sweet. His hands disappear from your chest for a moment before you feel the slight sting of him tearing your underwear off, leaving you exposed to him as he kneels on the floor, your legs over his shoulders, hands in his locs.

He is systematic with his assault on your core, knowing your every weakness and slightest tells, his tongue toying with you, teeth grazing your clit slightly, making you twitch with pleasure around him. He presses his fingers into you, relishing in the way you contract around him, letting out another moan, this one louder, less restrained as he unravels you, bit by bit, like an animal toying with its prey. You're bucking into him more now, trying to use the pressure of his mouth on your clit to create a rhythm, unsatisfied with his slow teasing – he knows, instinctively, that you probably don't even fully realise your doing it. He uses his fingers to set a pace, still teasing, still unpicking you, slow and steady.

His other hand holds your hips, keeping you pressed right into him, allowing him full control over you in your most vulnerable state, moaning as you come undone for him. He can tell from your shaking that your close, that it will only take a few strategic movements to have you coming on his face, and he is more than happy to push you over the precipice, feeling your moment of tenseness, muscles contracting with absolute pleasure, before you breathe again, heavier, warmer, trying to make sense of your situation as he plants kisses on your sensitive skin. He kisses his way up your stomach, kissing you when he reaches your neck. You're still trying to catch your breath, the kiss sloppy and messy.

"T," you murmur, shivering at his every touch. "T, need you."

He hums, "Mmm, I'm not doing this for the first time as your boyfriend on the sofa."

You giggle. "I don't think I trust my legs right now."

"I got you," he says, "You know I've got you."

He picks you up, your arms still wrapped around him, and takes you to your bedroom, apparently unbothered by the weight or inconvenience of carrying you across the flat.

He lays you down on your bed, still unmade from the morning, and pulls his top off, trousers and boxers following. Hovering over you on the bed, he kisses you again, relishing in the feeling of your fingertips on his back, the sensation inciting something guttural in him. Only you can do this to him, pull him apart with just the lightest of touches. You take pride in that fact.

His touch is firm, and your thighs, still sensitive from his abuses, warm at the feeling of his hardened length pressed to them, precum decorating your fingers as you reach down to aid him, your thumb toying with his tip as he kisses you, open mouths and desperate, your other hand on his neck, pulling his ear close to your mouth.

"Please, Trent," you murmur, "Please."

He moves your hand from his length, lining himself up with your core, lips refinding yours as he pushes in, nearly coming right then as you gasp into his mouth, letting out the prettiest of moans as he bottoms out in you, unable to keep your composure under him.

He moves slow, not necessarily soft, but he draws out the experience, making the most of every gasp and moan, lips never leaving your skin, your nails digging into the muscular smoothness of his back. He could die at the feeling of you under him, around him.

He returns one hand to your clit, toying with you to edge you closer to your climax, the feeling of your convulsions around him bringing him closer too. He pushes you over the edge, riding you through your orgasm and into his own, grunting into your skin as he breathes you in, loving every sensation of you on him. He could live in this moment for eternity.

Your kiss on his forehead brings him back to the world. You, fucked out under him, hair a mess, smile lazy. "Boyfriend."

He relaxes on top of you, careful not to lean too much weight on your chest – he'd hate to suffocate you – and kisses your jaw. "Girlfriend."

#trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold #taa66 #lfc #itsasainz

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galgannet · 10 months ago

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Ahmose I (Ahmes I) was a pharaoh who reigned approximately 1550 - 1525 BC. e., and is the founder of the 18th dynasty. He was never particularly popular or known and that’s the reason that made me draw this picture so that people would remember him or learn about him. Ahmose's reign began on the day he came of age (at the age of 16), by which time his heroic father Seqenenra Taa II was already dead (he died not from intrigue, as you might think, but in a battle with the Hyksos). Ahmose's mother, Queen Yahhotep, initially ruled together with her son until he got married. Having blessed the couple to have a long and happy life, she finally retired from political affairs (not really). Ahmose continued the war with the Hyksos because his father’s work had to continue and his death had to be avenged. The brave pharaoh set his sights on the very capital of his vile enemies. The young pharaoh entered into an alliance with Crete, which was famous for its unsurpassed fleet (And also for dancing with bulls and a centralized water supply, but that’s another story). He led the combined fleet to Avaris, a fortified city located on the Nile Delta, which made approaches to it from the river quite convenient. Nevertheless, the siege lasted for an indecently long time and only in the 11th year of the reign of Ahmose, the city was captured through a fierce assault. Many hands were cut off, and the water was stained with blood to the delight of the alligators. The unfortunate Hyksos were forced to retreat all the way to Asia, liberating all of Lower Egypt. But this did not stop Ahmose. The thirst for revenge and the desire to protect Egypt from further encroachments by the Hyksos forced him to capture the Sharukhen fortress in Palestine. The last stronghold of his enemies fell. All this time, Queen Yahhotep did not sit idle and actively helped her son in military activities, earning awards for her valor (perhaps we will talk about her in our next illustrations). Recapturing Egypt became the greatest deed in the life of Ahmose (which, you see, is quite impressive). While the young pharaoh was engaged in his military activities (after all, as you know, once you start, it’s impossible to stop), his still fragile power over Egypt weakened. Uprisings began. However, they were successfully suppressed, thus finally strengthening him on the throne. Finally, as he grew older, Ahmose’s ardor subsided and he began construction work. However, he was not so good in this field and practically not a single building of Ahmose has survived to this day. However, during his time new quarries were opened for the construction of temples, so everything is not so bad. Ahmose's mother and grandmother were quite strong women who actively participated in political and even military activities until their last day. The first wife of Ahmose, Ahmose-Nefertari, also did not lag behind her relatives. All these women overshadowed Ahmose himself (we will not write about their deeds here). However, he loved his family and treated them with respect, which is reflected in some frescoes and in the records of scribes. The painting reflects my interpretation of the fresco on the stele that Ahmose dedicated to his grandmother Tetisheri after her death. Here he makes offerings to her. Ahmose died early, he was about 40 years old. After his death, his son Amenhotep I took the throne. If you want to know more about this pharaoh, but don't want to read boring historical texts, there are works of fiction on the topic. Ahmose is the main character in Naguib Mahfouz's novel The War of Thebes and Christian Jacques's Wrath of the Gods trilogy. Both works tell the story of the liberation of Egypt from the rule of the Hyksos. Artstation | Deviantart | VK | Commission List

#galgannet #illustration #ancient egypt #egyptian art #ancient history #egyptology #egyptian #Tetisheri #Ahmose I #Pharaoh Ahmose #древний египет.#Digital 2D #Comic Art #Illustration #pharaoh #Stylized #NoAI

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jude5bellingham · 10 months ago

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imsg ౨ৎ trent alexander-arnold

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader

notes : i cleared out my messages kind of ☝🏻🤓

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cherryxcadbury · 2 years ago

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Idk if you write for TAA but I thought in which you’re famous maybe like a writer or idk. Not model or singer, something different because people are delighted that he didn’t choose a “fake” girl, because you’re smart and show in his games every time you can.

this is my oldest request, from almost a year ago. apologies anon.

y/n-your name

2nd person pov

Post match meant time to celebrate and relax. Usually anyways.

It was Sunday, the day after the champions league final, where Liverpool had lost to Real Madrid.

Since then, all the WAGs, players, and coaching staff had made it home from Paris.

And currently, a smaller group of you were gathered around the sitting room of the Van Dijk’s home. Virgil and his wife Rike, stood ready to get whatever anyone needed as hosts.

Captain Jordan Henderson & his wife Rebecca were seated, squished on a small seat.

Andy Robertson, your boyfriend’s best friend was on the floor with a beer in hand, with his wife Rachel seated right behind him on a chair.

As for you and Trent, you two were seated on a slightly smaller sofa, squished, but content.

Usually Mo and his wife, who you’d spent lots of time talking to, managed to find time to come to these gatherings but their daughter had fallen ill.

“I just dunno how the fans will receive us.” Jordan confessed, with his head in his hands.

“If I were a fan I’d want to physically assault myself after yesterday.” Andy groaned.

“I fucked up bad.” Trent mumbled into your ear.

You lightly slapped his knee, telling him not to think such thoughts.

“Heads up guys. We win as a team, we lose as a team.” Virgil comforted everyone.

“You lot have got the FA cup parade tomorrow. That’s something to look forward to.” Rachel brought up, trying to add cheer to the conversation.

“Not the same as a champions league trophy.” Trent groaned.

Rebecca stood up, beckoning Rike & Virgil to sit down.

“We need to change the topic guys. If we keep talking about the defeat you guys are going to moping all the way until next season and into the World Cup.” She suggested.

“So change of topic anyone?” Andy asked, taking another swig of his beer.

“How about that Y/N’s latest book has just won a Pulitzer Prize.” Trent offered the newest bit of information.

You whipped your head in his direction. You hadn’t thought that he’d remember or had even noticed with all of the matches and finals going on.

When your eyes met Trent’s, all you could see in his face was pure love and joy.

“I’m so so proud of you.” He said into your ear.

Your heart swelled with happiness. You felt on top of cloud nine despite yesterday’s events in Paris.

“Y/N that’s amazing!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Was it Life as We Know it?” Rachel asked, referring to the novel of yours which had been an international success in the last year.

You nodded, “Yeah that was it.”

“I need to tell the team.” Jordan got out his phone and started texting rapidly.

You blushed, these very public gestures always made you feel shy. Shy but appreciated.

“This calls for a toast. Let me help with the drinks.” Rebecca, Rike, and Virgil made their ways to the kitchen to get some more wine and beer.

“WOOOO Y/N IS THE BEST WRITER EVER!” Andy’s hands shot up in the air and he started dancing around.

You and Trent looked over at each other. You tried to hide your laughter by snuggling into his chest, but it was impossible.

Andy was Andy. The loud, hilarious Scotsman.

*** “A toast. To Y/N. For making our dark days, brighten with some light.” Trent raised his glass, as the others followed.

You did the same, giving everyone a grateful smile, especially Trent.

You looked at everyone around you, they were happy yes. But as you squinted further you could still see the sad looks in their eyes. The stinging pain of the loss didn’t just go away like that.

“Thank you guys. I appreciate it, I really do. But it’s okay to feel bad for yourselves you know. A champions league final is a big thing. You can’t just get over it in less than twenty four hours. Don’t let me be the reason you have to suppress your emotions.” You told them honestly.

“The channels did say that you guys had quite a few things you needed to work on.” Rike responded.

“The different in caliber between us and Madrid was incredibly large.” Jordan agreed.

“Let’s hear them then.” Trent started.

“Y/N. You go first. You always have the best insight and you never share it with anyone except us.” Rachel began, gesturing to her, Rike, and Rebecca.

Trent shared a knowing smile with you. He knew how analytical you were. How easy it was for you to immediately spot the flaw in the lineup and what’s substitutions needed to be made.

“Well,” You sighed.

This wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot.

“Your defense was lacking for the majority of the match. When they finally stepped up, it was too late. You guys didn’t press enough until the match was basically over. And essentially, you let yourself be outplayed. It didn’t help that Courtois was a wall of steal either.” You explained.

“You have a good back line for the most part. Just need to strengthen the weak areas, like tracking back. And as for up front, you need to work on converting those shots.” You finished.

“This is better insight than what Klopp gave us yesterday.” Jordan murmured.

“I’m texting everything you said to him right now. Thank you so much YN.” Virgil smiled, his thumbs rapidly moving on his smartphone screen.

Trent drew close to you and pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“My beautiful, intelligent girl. I’m so so lucky to have you.” He whispered into your ear.

“Thank you for mentioning the Pulitzer Prize. I thought you’d forgotten to be honest.” You confessed.

He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re too incredible for me to forget anything about you. You’re on my mind every second of everyday.” Trent smiled at you.

“You guys are gross.” Andy furrowed his eyebrows at you and Trent, a small smile playing on his lips.

this is a bit of a mess. thank you for bearing w me

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