#virgil van djik imagine

[themandaloriansdiaries]

Birthday Girl

This is dedicated to my bestie for the restie @libraryofloveletters , I won’t get too much into it, you already know how much you mean to me, you’re literally my soul sister, my diary. I love you so so much bookie. Happy mf-ing birthday!!! 🫶🏽

Warnings: none, Jack and his Gucci slide are mentioned like once. It’s mostly just mister dinky winky being super sweet - hopefully you don’t get the ick from him being so loving. Big man Virg is standing on business 🧍🏽‍♂️

A/N: I know I’m posting this a day late but you know I be struggling lmao. Love you bookie.

Word Count: 1583

~~

You rolled over, expecting to be met with Virgil’s warm body but his side was cold. Furrowing your brows, you peeked through one eye - his side of the bed was empty but there was a note on the pillow.

You grabbed the note, squinting as you tried to read it.

Hi baby, I ran out to go get some pastries from your favorite bakery. I should be back soon, stay in bed as long as you want. Love youuu.

You smiled to yourself. Leaning over, you grabbed your phone before falling back into your pillow. You spent some time scrolling through your feed before finally getting out of bed.

By the time you had finished getting ready, Virgil was back with breakfast.

“Hi big man.” You smiled as you walked down the stairs.

“There’s the birthday girl,” he smiled, walking over and kissing your head, “happy birthday, baby.”

“Thank you, did you get my muffin?” You asked as you sat down on the chair. “Of course, I didn't want you to beat me up.” Virg chuckled before rummaging through the box of baked goods and grabbing the chocolate chip muffin for you.

“So, since it’s your birthday, I figured I’d take you out on a shopping spree and let you spend all my money.”

You looked over at him mid bite “oh?” You laugh. “So, you do love meee.” You continued to giggle, the sound coming out muffled because of the muffin you had just bitten into.

He laughed, leaning back against his chair with his arms crossed, “yeah, I guess you could say that.”

You nudged him with your foot playfully, humming happily as you continued to eat your muffin, “this is so good.” You licked your lips.

“I had them freshly made for you.” Virgil grinned.

“Ah, you’re the best.”

—

“Should I get matching Gucci slides with Jack?” You looked over at Virgil as you both walked inside the store, you couldn’t help but laugh watching him struggle to carry all of your bags - yeah he was a giant but he was definitely struggling.

“Another bag to add to the hundred you already have me carrying?” His brow raised, it looked like he thought about it for a second, “I say go for it, I mean it is your birthday after all, baby.”

“Okay, but let me pick a pair that’s actually cute.” You joked as you continued to browse through the shoe section, you finally found a couple pairs you liked. “Which one?” you held up both pairs to show him. “Why not get both?” he suggests, “you’re not being very helpful.”

After a while of contemplating on which pair you should get, Virg finally convinced you to just get both. You said no but before you could protest any further, Virgil took both pairs up to the register.

You both continued to walk around the mall, browsing through the stores, well it was more so Virg following you around like a lost puppy, with multiple bags hanging off of his arms - but it was cute.

—

“Our dinner reservation is at 7, so you have plenty of time to get ready.” Virgil murmurs, placing a kiss to your neck, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re so pretty.” You could feel him smiling against your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you turned around, resting your hands on his chest, “and it’s not happening.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we need to get ready, or at least I do.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss him.

“Hm, that’s true. You take forever.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, trying your hardest to bite back the smile that wanted to spread across your face. “You’re annoying.” You teased, before walking into the bathroom.

“You love me.” He shot back, following you into the bathroom.

Of course Virgil finished before you in the shower, which gave him enough time to lay out the pretty black dress on the bed, along with those stunning heels to go with it.

You had been eyeing them while you both were at the mall, but you didn’t get them. Virgil on the other hand, took notice of your interest in these shoes, so while you were off buying something in another store he went in and got them for you.

By the time you had finished in the shower, Virgil was already dressed, waiting for you.

“What’s this?” You asked, walking over to the bed where the dress was. You hadn’t noticed the heels until you got closer. “Virgil, you did not!” You gasped, staring down at the shoes, “how’d you know?” You faced him, heels in hand.

“I noticed you eyeing them as we passed by the store, so I went ahead and got them for you.”

Virgil jumped at any opportunity to make you feel special, whether it be with words or gifts. He loved spoiling you, even though you insisted that he didn’t need to, he would because he wanted to.

“You’re too good to me.”

He was closer now, standing right in front of you. “You deserve it, plus I know you’ll look amazing in both the dress and heels.”

You slipped into the dress with Virgil’s assistance to zip it up, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror smiling to yourself, it hugged your body in all the right places. Once you finished getting ready, you met Virgil downstairs and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“What?” you smiled, suddenly feeling shy.

“You look incredible, babe.” his hands rested on your hips, as he looked at you, leaning down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

—

“So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” His hand rested on your thigh, caressing the exposed flesh. “We'll be there soon.”

Not long after, Virgil pulled into the parking lot.

“We’re here.” He smiled, getting out of the car and walking over to help you get out as well. “Surprise.”

You knew the name of the restaurant seemed familiar, it was the new place that had just opened up downtown. You’ve been trying to get reservations but they’ve been booked for months, - so it really was a surprise for you.

It warmed your heart, knowing that he paid attention even to the little things.

You both finally made it to the table, taking your seats across from each other. The restaurant was beautiful inside.

The rest of the night went perfectly. You really enjoyed yourself, and you could tell that Virgil did as well. He cherished moments like this, being able to spend time with you, especially on such a special occasion.

—

“Virgil, I don’t trust you.” You laugh, holding your arms out to try and grab onto whatever was in front of you.

His giant hand covered your eyes as you walked inside the house, while the other rested on your hip to help guide you. He said he had one more surprise for you.

“If I fall, I’m beating you up, I swear.” You whisper loud enough for him to hear you. You knew he did because of the snickering that could be heard coming from behind you.

“Not if I run away.”

The bickering between the two of you continued until you stopped, finally reaching your destination. “Okay, don’t open your eyes just yet.”

You felt him move his hands away so you quickly shut them, reaching forward you could feel the counter top. You were in the kitchen. Some rustling could be heard from in front of you, along with the flickering sound coming from a lighter.

“Are you lighting something?” a hint of confusion laced with your voice. “Hm, you can open your eyes now.”

You uncovered your eyes - in front of you laid a dozen beautiful red roses and a cake with the candles lit, the same exact cake you had been talking about for months.

“Make a wish.”

You leaned down, closing your eyes as you made your wish, although there wasn't really anything you wanted that you didn't already have. You took a couple seconds before blowing out the candles, the sound of Virgil whistling filled your ears as you blew them out.

Virgil grabbed two plates while you cut into the cake, of course following your family’s traditions with feeding you the cake. “How is it?” he smiled, wiping the frosting from the corner of your mouth. “It's delicious.” you offered him a bite, but you weren't going to feed him some without smearing frosting on his face. “The cake is good but you’re so foul for this babe.” he looked at you, frosting covering his chin and nose.

“Awe, you look so cute.” you tease, reaching over with a napkin to wipe his face, but he just stood there, grinning like a kid.

You continued to eat your cake, swaying around until you felt him behind you. His strong arms wrapping around your waist. You instantly melt into him, leaning your head back against his chest.

“Thank you for today, it was perfect.” you look up, patting his cheek. “Anything for my girl.” he placed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“Mm, I love you.”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey, we could have a fic where Virgil is frustrated about being knocked out of the Nations League and then he decides to visit Alisson in Barcelona (because that's where the Brazilian team is training) and Alisson sees that he's sad and starts trying to cheer him up.

I was like, he treats Virgil like he's a kid, you know? Like, he pinches Virgil's cheek when they're not being seen and says something like: "Oh my baby, are you sad? Don't be sad, you are the best quarterback!" And Virgil is slowly cheering up. Then when they go to sleep together at Ali's house (Virgil wouldn't miss the chance to take advantage of Alisson to eat brigadeiros) Virgil sleeps hugging Alisson by his own free will as a form of thanks and kisses his forehead.

I hope you understood my request 😅

Request understood 😁

@bobbybecker-21 @alissonbecksfan234 @moomin279 @millythegoat @liverpool-enjoyer @calm-smol

[varanest]

one thing i’ve left to do, discover me, discovering you

a/n: this is a ‘whoever you want to read it with’ piece i have posted and deleted twice but i decided i will post everything that’s on my drafts so - any feedback is appreciated. 

As soon as they were in their Uber, he was all over her. His hand slipped between her thighs, slowly working his way up. His face was buried in her neck, his tongue and teeth mapping out the column of her throat. She fisted his hair as he assaulted her neck, keeping her lips firmly together so that her moans didn’t reach the ears of their driver while she dragged his hand up to her cunt.

“Impatient little thing… can’t even wait ‘til we’re home to have my hands on that pretty cunt,” he growled into her skin as his fingers traced the damp circle soaking through her panties. The heat rose to her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the filthy words dripping off his lips or from the way their driver’s jaw clenched in annoyance. Didn’t really matter which, though. Maia still grinded against his hand while he murmured cheesy praises into her neck.

Once inside his building, Maia barely got a chance to catch her breath. He had her caged between him and the wall during the elevator ride, letting his hands trail over her sides as he pressed his full weight into her. His thumbs reached just below the underwire of her bra when the elevator doors slid open.

She whined quietly as he pulled off her, already missing the feeling of him practically engulfing her. He was taller than her, maybe six feet tall if she were to guess. When she was pressed up against him, she almost felt small. Little. Like a fragile thing surrounded by him.

It was a foreign feeling. She had never really felt small.

And as his large hand engulfed hers as he pulled her toward his apartment, this giddy, warm feeling pooled in her stomach. Just his hand covering hers made her feel little. That feeling only grew as he tugged her into his apartment before pushing her up against his door. “Fucking finally,” he grumbled before his mouth took hers.

As greedy and hard as his lips on her neck had been, his first kiss to her lips was surprisingly gentle. And warm. His entire body was pressed hard against her, squeezing her body tight between him and the door, but his lips remained soft. And the way his tongue dipped into her mouth… she’d call it filthy if it were more urgent, but the slow pace made it feel reverent.

It was so easy to respond to him, to just shut her mind off and only think about reacting to the tongue exploring her mouth and swallowing his quiet grunts. It wasn’t until minutes later when he pulled away and they were both breathless that she realized how urgent it had become. His hand was now fisting her hair, her hands were gripping his collar, and the two of them were gasping for air.

“Bedroom.” She meant for it to come out like a command. After all, Maia was a little bossy in all aspects of her life, but especially when it came to getting laid. But her voice sounded smaller than it usually does, a little breathless and pleading. And it wasn’t without an effect on him, whose lips smirked and eyes darkened as he took a step back. She almost whined at the loss of contact, but he kept both his hands on her as he walked her toward his bedroom.

This time, he had her up a dresser. He flicked the lights on before slamming his lips back onto her neck, this time on the other side… perhaps his way of making sure there was an even distribution of his marks when Maia woke up in the morning.

She tried to get back into it, but she was itching to turn the light back off. Its presence transformed her excitement into fear. Fear of him seeing her naked. Fear that he wouldn’t like what he saw. Fear that every dimple on her thighs and roll on her stomach would repulse him.

Before her thoughts took the dark turn into a full-on body-loathing spiral, she asked, “Could we keep the lights off?”

He blinked several times, his brows furrowed as he processed her question. He was going to ask her why. They always asked why. And then Maia would try to downplay it, but he wouldn’t buy it. And next thing she knows she’s spilling all her body image problems onto a stranger instead of having sex. Fuck, she should have just kept her mouth shut and suffered through having the light on.

After a beat, his face faltered. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured before flicking it back off. Relief should have washed over her once the lights were out. No longer did she have to fear him seeing her naked in a well-lit room. It meant that Maia could fuck him however she wanted without her anxieties about her body ruining it.

But something lurched in her chest at this visible disappointment in his eyes. As he leaned forward to kiss her, she stopped him. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, whatever you want, baby,” he shrugged it off, but Maia stopped him again when he leaned forward. “Okay, I just…”

“You just what?”

“I just wanna see you.” There was no smugness in his voice. No teasing tone that came with all his pick-up lines. No endearment or praise. Just him, with a hint of sadness in his voice, admitting that he wants to see her.

Maia bit down on her lip and stared back at him. The lamppost outside his building illuminated his face in the dark, meaning she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

So, even though her stomach lurched at the thought, she leaned over to flick the light back on, and the change in his demeanor was immediate.

“There you are,” he grinned as he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head up in time for his lips to glide against hers again, and the contented moan that escaped his throat sent a chill down her body.

He kissed her like he did before, his mouth demanding her full attention. She felt her mind go blank again, only vaguely aware of him tugging off his own jacket. She kicked off her heels next, giggling a bit into his mouth when she realized just how much shorter than him this made her.

She tugged at his shirt next, whining until he helped her get it off. Maia wanted to run her fingers all over the warm, newly exposed skin, but he had other ideas. His fingers worked the zipper of her dress, and Maia felt a familiar panic set in.

Maia tucked her face into his neck, pressing kisses to distract herself from the fact that her dress was about to fall to the ground, exposing every stretch mark to him. “Baby,” he murmured right into her ear. The zipper was completely undone, meaning he was just waiting for Maia to pull her arms out of it and let it fall.

He tilted her chin up with his finger, and Maia locked eyes with him. His were warmer than they had been, not the dark, smug eyes that had watched her for most of the night. She relaxed under his gaze, letting her dress fall to the floor with an easy exhale.

His body snapped back into focus. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back to his bed. “Fuck, look at you,” he growled right into her ear, his breath hot on her earlobe. “Gorgeous.” She was about to roll her eyes again when the back of her legs hit his mattress. She fell back onto the comforter with a thud. A giggle escaped her lips. There was no way that was hot or graceful.

When she looked up at him, his eyes were raking over her… staring at her uncovered body for the first time. God, she should have kept the lights off. His soft eyes lingered on her chest, which wasn’t surprising. One silver lining for Maia’s weight gain had been the massive breasts that came with it. But when his gaze drifted lower, her arms automatically came up to cover her stomach.

”Maia.” His voice broke on that one syllable. It was low, gravelly, and forlorn. “Will you let me look at you some more?”

She kept her eyes trained on his face as she removed her arms, and there was a small twitch at his lips, curving the corners of his mouth up. His eyes didn’t leave her body as his hands slid up and down her bare thighs. And just when she got her heart rate down again and relaxed into his touch, he whispered one quiet, earnest word that sent a shudder through her entire body.

“Beautiful.”

a/n: who did you picture this with? let me know.

 ✿masterlist.

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Tags:@alissonbecksfan234, @millythegoat, @moomin279, @lfc-fanfiction

Can We Keep Her?

It wasn’t like Van Dijk hadn’t seen mascots before. He had seen plenty in his time, and he liked every one of the young children. Especially the babies, who would stare at him like they didn’t know who he was.

But there was something different about this little girl that Van Dijk couldn’t quite put his finger on. She rocked back and forth on her feet, her nerves clear for anybody to see.

To be honest, Van Dijk couldn’t see why anybody would be nervous about being a mascot. You walked out with the players, and that was it. But if she was a Liverpool fan, Van Dijk could see exactly why she’d be nervous.

“Hey, kiddo.” Van Dijk bent over so he was closer to the girl’s level, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I’ll try my best today, I promise. We’re going to keep a clean sheet, okay?”

The girl turned to look at Van Dijk, eyes wide. “I don’t think so. At least keep the damage down?”

Van Dijk nodded. “Glad to see that you and I are on the same path, um…”

“Gloria.”

“Okay, Gloria. We’re on the same path, huh? You want to play football someday?”

Gloria nodded, her braids swinging behind her. “I want to be an attacking midfielder, like Bobby Firmino.”

“You hear that, Bobby?” Van Dijk called over to the Brazilian, further back in the line. “You have an admirer.”

Firmino grinned, teeth on full display.

“You wanna hear a secret, Van Dijk?” Gloria whispered, fiddling with the edge of her jersey. Van Dijk nodded, encouraging her to go ahead and spill the beans.

Gloria stood on her tiptoes, then whispered into Van Dijk’s ear. “I think Alisson is handsome.”

Van Dijk bit his lip in an effort not to burst into laughter. He’d never been that good at hiding amusement, though, and Alisson, who was just behind Van Dijk, immediately realized that something was going on.

“What’s going on up there?” He stepped a bit closer to Van Dijk, his expression softening when he saw Gloria’s face light up with a megawatt smile. “Oh, hi there!”

Gloria declined, rocking on the balls of her feet. But Van Dijk placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling at Alisson.

“Gloria thinks you’re handsome. And to be fair, so do I.”

Alisson blushed redder than the Liverpool kit, while the others—Spurs players included—burst out laughing.

“Can we keep Gloria, gaffer?” Robertson begged, running over to the back of the line where Klopp stood. “She has good taste in goalkeepers.”

Klopp shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I think that Gloria has a family to return to, right? And we wouldn’t want to keep her away from her family, right?”

Robertson pouted, shuffling back to his place in the line. “So unfair.”

Gloria took the opportunity to start talking Van Dijk’s ear off about her family. Van Dijk only half-listened as they came onto the pitch, thinking about how they’d barely dodged a bullet. Gloria was a chatter machine, and Van Dijk feared what would happen if she and Robertson lived in the same place.

They way his whole face changed when he saw her, the lil shoulder caresses, trying to make conversation to calm her down because she was clearly really nervous. I’m finito.

[tinnchan]

top 5 football players 😌🤟

okokokokokokokokokokkokokokok cool cool cool cool fav of all time???? favourite from liverpool??? favourite current players???? this is so not ok a question i cannot cope rn. Favourite players of all time i guess???? Narrowing it down to players who actually played in my lifetime, imagine me being a snobbish binch and saying cruyff or pele. But Im cheating and picking 10. 1. Steven Gerrard 2. Xabi Alonso 3. Andrea Pirlo 4. Jordan Henderson 5. Sadio Mane 6. Zinedine Zidane 7. Virgil Van Djik 8. Trent Alexander Arnold 9. Robert Lewandowski 10. Samuel eto'o

[themandaloriansdiaries]

hi sugarpie can you write something for Virgil Van Dijk with prompt 30 from the fluff section ? thank you 💓 love your work xx 💓

Hi love!! Of course I can. I hope you like it<3

Author’s Note: ignore the tags, they’re all over the place lmaoo.

~~

Virg sent you a text letting you know that he was finally coming home after spending the entire day training, and for some reason you were missing him a lil extra today.

You had dinner already made, along with some baked goodies - his favorites of course. To kill time while you waited, you sat on the couch with your dog Milo in your lap, watching some random movie as you waited patiently for Virgil to arrive home.

The movie you put on ended up being so good that you didn’t realize Virg pulled into the driveway until Milo started barking. You made your way over to the door, opening it for him.

There he was, your tall, handsome husband walking up the walkway and into the house- before he could shut the door, or even put his bag down, here you are, jumping right into his arms, he wrapped his arms around you tightly so you don’t fall. “Can I at least shut the door before you decide to pounce on me the moment I come home?” He chuckled.

You let out a giggle while you shook your head, “nope, missed you too much.” You smiled, placing a kiss to his cheek. Finally back on your own two feet, your hands rested on his chest as you stared up at him.

You often find yourself staring at him in awe, he’s such a gentle giant- especially with you. He may appear as someone who is serious, but deep down he’s a big softy, and you love that about him.

“You need a shower, big man.” That nickname always made him laugh. You can’t remember what made you call him that but it stuck with you ever since.

“Yes ma’am.” He replied, a smirk on his face as he made his way up to the bedroom.

—

After his shower, you both ate dinner while he told you all about his day. You cherished moments like this- it warmed your heart, you could listen to this man talk your ear off for hours and never get tired.

You absolutely adored him, and you know he felt the same about you. As much as he loved his time at practice goofing around with the boys, he loved coming home to you at the end of the day.

You both ended the night watching tv, cuddled up on the couch accompanied by milk and cookies; the ones you baked of course.

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey, me again!

So your fanfic about Alisson and Virg made me feel butterflies in my stomach with happiness.

Possibly you don't ship them. Me, however, when I think of fanfic, I usually disregard that they are married with kids, so yes, I confess, I ship them.

And I wanted to ask for a specific fanfic. I'm not going to ask for anything involving kisses on the mouth or anything wrong because that wouldn't make much sense.

However, I wish you could write a fanfic where they comfort each other, especially Alisson comforting Virgil since he feels bad about his wound. It could be something like forehead kisses or things that people who don't ship might see as platonic. I also wanted it to be a fic that focused on them. It could be anguish with a happy ending, if you will.

Kisses! Ruby loves you!

So glad that my fanfics make you feel that way!!! 💛💚💙 Here it is after days of work

Tags: @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2, @millythegoat, @rist-mlts

Nightmares and Sweet Dreams

Virgil Van Dijk was one of those people where you got exactly what it said on the tin. His particular tin happened to advertise an extremely promising and reliable product of hard work, public experience, and…well, you get it.

Works hard, plays hard. Quieter than most, but always ready to help. Reliable. Never crumbles, never breaks. Not affected by anything.

Calm as you like.

Even though Van Dijk loved his song, it was the “calm as you like” part that scared him the most. Because at this current point, he was laid up with an injury while his teammates were left to salvage what they could from their dumpster fire of a season.

He couldn’t deny, being injured brought back memories; but they weren’t exactly ones he wanted to revisit anytime soon. When the physios had told him that he would be out for a month, Van Dijk's mind had immediately flashed back to Pickford’s tackle.

You’re out, Virgil, he remembered the medics saying that day. You’ll be out for an entire year and you’ll probably miss the Euros. Pickford’s tackle blew your ACL and you’ll need to have surgery.

Sitting on the same treatment table, in front of the same doctor, in the same track pants hadn’t helped whatsoever. In fact, it made Van Dijk even more scared of the same thing happening as it did last time.

What if it got worse and worse? What if he couldn’t play for a whole year, again? What if Matip ended up on the treatment table, and then Konate, and then Phillips and then…

That’s why Van Dijk now navigated the world on crutches, even though he didn’t necessarily need them. Every time he watched the matches, he couldn’t help but think how he should’ve been there, helping his teammates. And he’d stopped staying at Kirkby, always finding a reason to drive home and spend the night there. Nobody needed to know that he still woke up from the same apocalyptic nightmares every night. Nobody needed to know that the nightmares had gotten so bad, he’d taken to sleeping with a special throw blanket.

Nobody whatsoever needed to know that the throw blanket happened to be Alisson's throw blanket.

*

The Liverpool players had gotten a rare day off, since their next game was on Sunday. For some, that meant a pool tournament in the cafeteria.

Alisson leaned his cue against the wall as he and Carvalho watched their teammates play pool. Fabinho was outscoring the others on the scoreboard, and Alisson was rock-bottom of the table. It was new to him, considering that he was almost never ranked the worst in anything, but he knew he wasn’t going to be the best of everything.

“A-ha!” Matip cheered, knocking his ball into one of the holes. “Second place! Take that, Joey.”

Gomez pouted, rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. “You wouldn’t have won if you were playing against The Virg!”

Matip nodded, updating the scoreboard. “Yeah, if Virg was playing Fabi wouldn't be leading either. Ali might still be at the bottom of the table, though.”

“Where is Virg, by the way?” Alisson wondered aloud. “Did you see him, Joel?”

“I invited him to the pool tournament,” said the Cameroonian, deep in thought. “He said he’s got stuff to do at home.”

Carvalho frowned, taking up his cue. “He’s sure got a lot of stuff to do. Did he have a baby or something?”

Fabinho stared at Carvalho like he’d just walked in wearing an Everton shirt. “What makes you think that?”

The young Portuguese put his hands up in defense, stepping back. “He rarely spends time with us anymore! All he does is sleep or think…or isolate himself.”

Alisson didn’t waste another moment. He dropped his cue, heading in search of Van Dijk without any further explanation.

*

Van Dijk wasn’t known to hide. Alisson had the feeling that hiding was exactly what the Dutchman was doing, though—so he searched all the places that he would hide if he were Van Dijk.

The broom closets and the showers were empty. Alisson's inspection of the rec rooms turned out futile, as well, and his pace increased from a slow walk to a brisk jog through the halls of Kirkby.

This was more serious than Alisson had thought. Where was Van Dijk, and why couldn’t he find him anywhere? He wasn’t usually on this end of the situation; but if there was one Alisson was sure about, it was that he could usually find his teammates wherever they were hiding.

What if Virg left Kirkby? Alisson gulped at the thought, throwing aside the curtain to check. Luckily, Van Dijk's car was still in the parking lot. The goalkeeper let out a sigh of relief—Van Dijk was usually a good driver, but emotion could get the best of anyone.

Tell me next time you want to hide, Virg, and I’ll show you some good places.

A clattering noise shook Alisson out of his thoughts. He spun on his heel, glancing towards the source of the noise—the training pitch.

He pushed open the door with the most force he could ever remember, sprinting over the training pitch while calling for Van Dijk. The training pitch was large but very open, and soon Alisson found Van Dijk kicking balls into the net with his uninjured foot, holding onto the goalpost. His crutches had been tossed aside, landing haphazardly on a yellow plastic dummy.

“Finally, Virgil!” Alisson tried to sound as cheerful as possible despite Van Dijk's strange behavior. “What are you doing here?”

Van Dijk didn’t respond, slamming another ball into the net.

“Virg?” It was as if Alisson wasn’t even there. “Please, answer me!”

Van Dijk finally stopped booting balls into the net and faced Alisson. His normally tidy man bun had tendrils and puffs of hair sticking out of it, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Alisson then realized just how long it had been since he’d seen Van Dijk in person.

“You…forgot your crutches,” said Alisson, handing the walking aids back to Van Dijk. He wanted to comment on how tired Van Dijk looked, but Van Dijk was rather sensitive about his looks. “The pool tournament started half an hour ago. Didn’t Joel invite you?”

Van Dijk took the crutches and threw them as far as he could. They landed on the same yellow plastic dummy. “Joel’s better off without me.”

“Why would he be better off without you?” Now Alisson knew something was wrong. If there was one person who Van Dijk adored, it was Matip. While the two had their own opinions on certain matters, Matip cared for Van Dijk as much as Alisson did.

Van Dijk's hands clawed and scratched at his hair, further disheveling it. Alisson could only imagine how many scrapes and lacerations were left on the Dutchman’s skull, such was the force he was using.

“Virgil, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Alisson exclaimed once he couldn’t take it anymore. He gently but firmly grasped Van Dijk's wrists and pried them off his head, directing his arms to his sides. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You have eyebags and dark circles under your eyes, you look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“That’s because I haven’t,” Van Dijk confessed, wrestling his arms away from Alisson's grasp. “What am I going to do with myself? I can’t play and I can’t help the team. What if this injury lasts for more than o-one month? What if it lasts for a year, and then a year turns into two years, and then—”

“Acalmar.” Alisson sat next to Van Dijk, trying to appear calm while he was internally freaking out. Van Dijk wasn’t always calm, that was for sure, but Alisson had never been in a situation where he and a not-calm Van Dijk were alone. Simply put, Alisson had no idea what to do.

Unless he did the obvious.

“It’s not going to go that long. The medics won’t lie to you, right? They only want the best for us, Virgil.”

“But…” An excruciatingly long three seconds passed before Van Dijk spoke again. “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Oh…” Suddenly, the reason for all of Van Dijk's strange behavior dawned upon him. “You’re scared of missing a whole year. Just like the last time you got injured.”

Van Dijk nodded, leaning into Alisson's shoulder. The keeper had never seen Van Dijk this vulnerable before—even after losing major tournaments finals and making drastic errors. “I can’t do it again. It’s giving me nightmares…I’m so tired every day.”

Alisson had never been very good with words of comfort. So he settled on pulling Van Dijk into his arms, letting his teammate rest his head on his chest. “Sleep, then.”

Van Dijk yawned, eyes half closed. “I have a secret.”

“Yeah?” Alisson sighed with relief upon seeing that Van Dijk had calmed down from his previous hysterics.

“Don’t tell anyone…I have your throw blanket. The Selecao one,” Van Dijk elaborated. “I wrap myself in it like a cocoon and it’s the only way I can sleep. Yes, I know it’s weird, but…”

Alisson shut Van Dijk up by hugging him even tighter. “Then we can be weird together. I stole one of the boss’s jackets in 2019 and it was one of the only things that kept me from going insane during the lockdown.”

“But that’s you.” Van Dijk yawned again; he was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. “I’m supposed to be as calm as you like for everyone.”

“Nobody can be as calm as you like all of the time,” Alisson reminded him. He fully untied Van Dijk's hair, gently untangling the various knots and clumps of grass. “Even o patrão freaks out in the moment.”

“What about everybody else?” Van Dijk mumbled sleepily.

“Shhh, acalmar. I’ll take care of that,” Alisson assured Van Dijk. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d take care of that—he’d left his phone inside the training ground—but Van Dijk didn’t need to know that. What Van Dijk needed now was reassurance—and sleep.

A noise pulled Alisson from his thoughts. He froze, then smiled when he realized the noise was a light snore and that Van Dijk had fallen asleep.

He draped his scarf over his friend, gently stroking him on the forehead. “Doces sonhos, Virgil.”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Guess who is back just after you posted my request lol

So, we all remember that Robbo kind of got himself hurt after somebody ran into him while they were celebrating Bobby's goal in the match against United.

So, what about Trent trying to help Robbo to get along with his swollen ankle? That would be very cute since they're besties.

Here we are! Sorry that it's late...

Note: this is also posted on my AO3 account.

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @rubybecker-rb2, @moomin279, @liverpool-enjoyer

One Rotten Apple Won’t Spoil Your Barrel

Trent Alexander-Arnold hated losing with an utter passion. He especially hated when losses came at the wrong time.

That statement might have been a bit biased, since he hated losing in all forms. But this came at the utmost worst time, because March the eleventh also happened to be Robertson’s twenty-ninth birthday.

With the manner they’d lost in, Alexander-Arnold wouldn’t normally be in the mood for a celebration. But he’d been hellbent for weeks to give the Scotsman the celebration that he deserved.

He took extra long in the shower on purpose, fixing his hair and changing into something more festive. With a final tug of his shirt collar, he slipped into the empty locker room, inching towards Alisson’s locker—only to freeze upon seeing Alisson and Van Dijk embracing in front of the aforementioned locker.

“Trent!” Alisson brightened almost immediately upon seeing Alexander-Arnold. The Brazilian had seemed slightly melancholy, undoubtedly after missing the ball that led to the goal. “Is it time now?”

Alexander-Arnold hesitated upon seeing how red Alisson’s face was. “I feel like I missed something important.”

“Nothing, just a friendly embrace.” Van Dijk nodded towards the locker. “We’ve been guarding this forever, what took you so long?”

“You try washing dreadlocks after a day in Southeast England,” Alexander-Arnold grumbled. “Both of you get dressed now, it’ll be time soon enough.”

*

 “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. What an ironic song,” Robertson grunted, leaning against the lockers.

He unwrapped the wrapping around his ankle, wincing at how swollen it was. A pitch invader had crashed into him during the United routing; so now Robertson had to deal with the humiliation of losing versus Bournemouth along with a swollen ankle.

Nobody would be in the mood to have a party or celebrate after this. The goal had happened from the left wing and Robertson couldn’t do anything about it. His teammates were going to be furious…

“Why so down, mate?” Alexander-Arnold appeared out of nowhere and sat beside him. His best friend wore a button-down and a tie—a major step for him. Then Robertson identified the shirt as one he’d given Alexander-Arnold for Christmas.

“Thinking about the loss, who isn’t? Why do you look so dressed up now?”

“Why do you think? Don’t you remember what day it is?”

“It’s a funeral, innit?”

“A funeral?” Alexander-Arnold snorted, rolling his eyes. “Where do you get these ideas from?”

“A funeral for our pride,” Robertson answered simply. “We scored seven versus the Mancs, lost to the Cherries 1-0 and Mo missed a penalty. The goal came down the left wing and I couldn’t even stop it—”

Alexander-Arnold cut him off with a finger to his ever-moving lips. “Enough negative self-talk, Robbo. The boss always tells us that there are eleven players on the team, and things are rarely just one guys’ fault, okay? Forgive me; I’m terrible at these talks so I’m just treating you to my verbal logorrhea.”

This managed to crack a smile from Robertson. “Really?”

“Yeah, you're a good mate. Now let’s get you to the bus!” With that, Alexander-Arnold picked up Robertson bridal style.

“What are you doing, Trentski?” Robertson hissed as his ankle accidentally hit the doorframe. “You’re going to put me out of contention for the rest of the season.”

“Carrying you, because of your ankle. Now will you sit back and enjoy the ride?” Alexander-Arnold rolled his eyes at Robertson’s usual behavior. “You’re not exactly light, y’know.”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey Lynn. Amazing win for Liverpool, it took them long enough. 🙄

Anyway on with the ask. I’m inquiring about a fanfic about the Everton game obviously. Alisson got pretty beaten up in the game (nearly kicked in the head, smashed in the head aswell. Do you reckon we could have a fic about it. Maybe with Alisson going down (for the 1st or 2nd one I don’t really care and Klopp and Virgil going crazy on the sidelines yelling at the ref about how bad the foul was and how it should be a yellow card.

Thanks for your help

Have a good time!

Here you go :) I was rather excited to write this one, I must admit

Tags: @millythegoat, @moomin279, @alissonbecksfan234, @rubybecker-rb2

Alisson’s Protection Squad

Klopp hated seeing any of his boys fouled. A tactical challenge he could take, but manhandling his boys and sending them to the ground, screaming and agonizing in pain? Totally unacceptable.

It didn’t help that the referees were sometimes completely oblivious to unnecessarily hard fouls towards Liverpool, sometimes giving the opposition eight fouls before brandishing an overdue yellow card. If he was still playing, Klopp was sure he would’ve socked the living daylights out of one of them. And that was coming from a man who’d only received seventy-nine yellow cards and five reds in his entire playing career—as a defender.

Klopp wouldn't dare admit it in front of most people, but he had a particular soft spot for some of his boys, even though he loved them all. If any opposition player or manager touched those ones in a threatening way…well, then he would give them filthy animals a talking-to at the very least.

In other words, Klopp in protective dad mode was nothing to sneeze at.

Clearly, some people still needed to learn that.

*

Klopp hadn't been fooled--he knew Everton were a very physical opponent, to say the least. With Sean Dyche at the helm, he would specifically tell his new Everton team to wrestle Liverpool, muscle them around and injure every player on the pitch. Well, not exactly, but that was the main idea.

Klopp remembered the team’s collective groan when he’d announced the Everton fixture was next. Most of them had played against Burnley, where Dyche used to run his rugby school of a football club, and those who hadn’t had heard plenty of complaints about it from their teammates. He’d managed to get them out of the locker room without looking too nervous about getting mauled.

It was twenty minutes, and Klopp could already see the signs of an aggressive game. The Everton players didn’t even seem to want to score—they just fouled for the fun of it. This absolutely infuriated Klopp, who struggled to not lose it and scream in Dyche’s face.

Liverpool conceded a corner in the twenty-second minute. Klopp was pretty sure it wasn't a corner, but nobody would listen to his protests even if he was right. So he kept his mouth shut.

The corner went in, and Klopp relaxed a bit upon seeing Alisson in perfect position to catch it. The keeper caught the ball easily—but then an Everton player knocked him over like a bowling pin.

“Excuse me!!! Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Klopp yelled over the increasing din of protest from both the Liverpool fans and the players. “You’re going to traumatize him!”

“You babying those players again, Klopp?” Dyche retorted. Apparently Klopp hadn't been as subtle as he thought he'd been. “They're grown men. They can take a little hustling.”

“A little hustling?!” Klopp barely resisted the urge to give the British manager a taste of his own medicine. “If Ali did the same thing to your player he would’ve gotten a red card! These boys have families, no need to break their legs!”

Dyche spotted the fourth official approaching and growled under his breath, storming away from Klopp. “Come full time, I might break your legs.”

*

At halftime, Klopp jogged down the tunnel, stopping to count all the players as they made their way in. Almost all of them were there except two: Van Dijk, who’d been fit enough to make the bench, and Alisson. That was strange—the two were almost never late for anything, even things they didn’t like. Though Klopp couldn’t see why Van Dijk or Alisson wouldn’t want halftime to come…

He snuck around the hallways, narrowly dodging reporters with prying eyes and huge cameras, until he stopped in a hall. Pressed against the wall was Andre Onana, the guy who had fouled Alisson earlier. And pressing him onto the wall…was Virgil van Dijk.

“Look,” Van Dijk snarled, glaring at Onana. “If you touch Ali again, you’re in big trouble. If you do so much as breathe near him, I will kick you and your sorry butt back to Lille.”

“Virg, I don’t think you should be that harsh on him,” another voice said. Klopp’s eyes widened in surprise upon realizing the voice belonged to Alisson. “Anything can happen. And he’s only twenty-one.”

Van Dijk shook his head, pinning Onana down even harder. “I don’t care, he still fouled you! Listen, Andre. I have teammates who are more than willing to defend Alisson. Brazilian teammates. Our vice skipper will flip you like a table, and you’re more than welcome to have Joey G slide-tackle you. And don’t forget our boss. He has classic combat skills…and he’s not afraid to use them.”

Onana chuckled nervously, pressing himself even further against the wall. Klopp could see the youngster was wide-eyed with fear, and he silently prayed that Van Dijk wouldn’t do anything too bad to him. “Um…this is a joke, right?”

“Yes indeed. I am producing a true piece of slapstick comedy—and here’s the punchline.” Van Dijk slapped him on the cheek, taking Alisson by the arm. He walked away, leaving Onana to process what had just happened.

“Virgil van Dijk!” Klopp exclaimed, coming from his hiding place. As was his custom, he quickly checked the pair for any telltale signs of a scuffle, finding nay but one bruise across Alisson’s forehead. “What happened?”

“Onana found Ali and dragged him into that dark hall. He punched him a couple of times—but then I came to the rescue.” Van Dijk shook his head, hovering over Alisson in an attempt to protect him. “If you ask me he deserves more than just a slap, but I don’t want to get in trouble with the FA.”

“Good work, Virgil.” Klopp turned his attention to Alisson, wincing at the purplish-black bruise Onana’s punch had left. “Where did he punch you, Ali?”

“Besides my head?” Alisson gestured towards both his arms with some difficulty. “On the arms, twice…and on the collarbone. I told Virg to go easy on him.”

“You’re lucky that it’s Virg who found you, Ali. I would’ve gone feral on him.” Klopp took Alisson’s hand, careful of any potential bruises. “Let’s get you to the locker room and get those bruises treated. I think we have some makeup that’ll hide the bruise for the next forty-five minutes.”

Alisson blushed at the mention of makeup, staring down at the floor. “It’s fine boss—”

“Ali.” Van Dijk cut the goalkeeper off, taking his other hand. “You take care of our dignity all the time. Let us take care of you.”

Alisson shrugged, letting Van Dijk and Klopp lead him down the halls. “I guess you have a point there.”

“Damn right. Nobody touches my boys.”

“BOSS!”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Right I’m back again to ask for a new fanfic.

I need a fanfic about Alisson not getting called up for Brazil because we are all thinking the same thing (this isn’t going to end well) I don’t really have a concept maybe just hurt/comfort between Alisson and Virgil because I need comfort so cool.

Ramon Menezes is the manager ‘caretaker’ person in question.

Thanks ��️

Nothing Is Permanent

I know we just beat United, I have something happier coming, I promise :) But this is itching to make it's entrance

Song is "The Next Right Thing" by Kristen Bell

Tags: @millythegoat, @rubybecker-rb2, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279

I've seen dark before, but not like this

This is cold, this is empty, this is numb

The life I knew is over, the lights are out

Hello, darkness, I'm ready to succumb

It didn’t feel real. Just three days ago, Alisson had thought that things were perfect. Liverpool had kept four straight clean sheets in the league, and Firmino and Fabinho were there to stay. The Brazil national team would play a friendly soon, and he looked forward to that more than anything.

But then Firmino decided to leave. And on that same Friday, the new interim for Brazil refused to call up any of the three Brazilians.

Ever since Firmino had told him and Fabinho, Alisson hadn’t spoken to Firmino. He hadn’t looked at him. He couldn’t even think of him without tearing up.

With Muriel in faraway Cyprus, Firmino was Alisson’s second older brother figure. The two shared everything: curly hair, a love of hugs, even their birthday. It was like they were always meant to be together.

They were yin and yang, two peas in a pod. They had a mutual understanding of each other—Firmino could usually sense when Alisson wasn’t doing well, and vice versa. They, along with Fabinho, had bonded quickly—and permanently, Alisson always loved to think with a fond smile.

He should’ve learned that nothing good was permanent by now.

I follow you around, I always have

But you've gone to a place I cannot find

To Alisson, it seemed like everybody he’d ever loved left him at some point. His Roma teammates, his Liverpool teammates. His brother had left Internacional at one point. His own father—permanently.

"You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing"

How he wanted to laugh at that. He wanted to laugh and laugh until somebody had to pick him up and drag him to bed. No voice told him to go on or anything. Everything inside of him laid balled up in a dark hole, afraid to come out. Afraid that if he did, there was no protection. One of his favorite people was about to leave—again.

Now there would be only two Brazilians—three if Pitaluga returned from his loan. Alisson would be the oldest one. He didn’t know how he would handle not being in the middle of things. He’d always been in the middle at Liverpool—between goalposts, between compatriots, between the other goalkeepers. He’d never been the head of anything. Firmino was his light, and now he wasn’t going to be there.

Ah, Bobby. Foi assim que você se sentiu quando Philippe partiu. Sozinho.

He had Fabinho. But it was never going to be the same again.

Vaguely, his nerves reported somebody touching him, taking him by the hand. Alisson wasn’t sure who, until he caught the sight of perfectly manicured nails and the smell of Dutch baby oil. Van Dijk.

Wordlessly, Alisson allowed Van Dijk to pull him off the floor of the broom closet, wrapping him in a strong yet gentle embrace. Van Dijk didn’t speak either; Alisson was fine with that. It was a small reminder, a small light in his new darkness.

Like both Darwins, Alisson would have to change, adapt to his new norm. He didn’t like change—but he’d done it before.

Quietly, and nearly whispered, Van Dijk began to sing. Alisson couldn’t help but smile when he realized it was the same song he’d been listening to earlier.

So I'll walk through this night

Stumbling blindly toward the light

And do the next right thing

And with the dawn, what comes then

When it's clear that everything will never be the same again?

Then I'll make the choice to hear that voice

And do the next right thing

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Liverpool Group Chat

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @rubybecker-rb2, @moomin279

sm17: Hey guys

Ali: SADIO

Ali: You did great in the game yesterday, it’s great to see you back 🥰

Ali: I saw your Twitter message but I wanted to congratulate you personally ❤️❤️❤️

sm17: Thanks, you did great too ✨✨🥰🥰❤️❤️

sm17: Anything exciting on your end?

Ali: I have a surprise, but I want to wait for everybody to come here

(DUTCH DADDY, BOSS, HENDO, DARWIN, HARVEY, FABIO and THEGREEKSCOUSER have joined the chat.)

Boss: Hi Sadio! You did pretty well, you almost assisted Raumdeuter

sm17: Hey boss 😀 Is Lucho here?

Harvey: Lucho’s depressed today

Hendo: Harvey Elliott you will be taking tact lessons during the summer

Darwin: Why wait until the summer, let’s start now

sm17: Oh no 🙁 what happened 

Boss: Harvey, you didn’t tell me this

Harvey: He’s upset that he can’t help the team because he’s useless when injured

Ali: Give me Lucho’s location so I can hug him

Harvey: He’s thirty-one feet and sixty-nine inches away from you

sm17: How do you know that

Harvey: Raumdeuter told me

Darwin: HE DID NOT

Harvey: How do YOU know, you’re not the boss of my phone

Hendo: LADS stop it

sm17: I just called Thomas and he said that he hasn’t talked to Harvey all day

Harvey: 💀💀

Darwin: Yeah, you’re so dead

TheGreekScouser: relax Darwin, he’s just joking

(LUCHO, SARCASM MODE, SISENOR, FLACO, NABY-LAD, TAA66, and MO have joined the chat.)

Darwin: How can I relax when you always copy my hair

Lucho: hey

Ali: LUCHOOOOO

sm17: LIBREEEEEEE

Boss: For once in my life I will use capitals

Boss: YOU ARE NOT USELESS LUCHO WE LOVE YOU

Harvey: RIGHT

Hendo: 👍

Sarcasm Mode: For once, I’m with Harvey

Lucho: idk 😔

Ali: Virtual hug 🤗

SiSenor: SIM 🤗

Lucho: gracias amigos

Lucho: Btw Sadio, I notice and appreciate your wrestling joke

Lucho: But it’s actually called “lucha libre”

sm17: Another word learned 😁

Flaco: OKAY THIS IS CRIMINAL

Flaco: WHO changed my chat name to Flaco?

SiSenor: 😑 Seriously mano we might as well change your birth certificate from Fabi to Flaco now

Harvey: Now if you want to gain some weight, then we can consider keeping your certificate this way

Lucho: I was reading the earlier messages, what’s the surprise?

Ali: (takes deep breath) The surprise is…

Ali: Hold on

(BEBÊ MARCELINHO has been added to the chat.)

Ali: Meet my honorary baby brother!

Flaco: HEY I thought I was your honorary baby brother 🥺

Ali: You’re my little brother and Marcelinho is my baby brother 💛💚💙

Bebê Marcelinho: Oh, no, OH NO 😡

Bebê Marcelinho: Alisson keep me out of this chat, I command you

Bebê Marcelinho: I don’t want ANY involvement in whatever crap you guys get up to in Kirkby

Ali: Come on, Mari! Give them a chance, they’re not all that bad

Bebê Marcelinho: Then how come every time I FaceTime you, you look as stressed out as the boss?

Boss: Just one small question: are you two related?`

Bebê Marcelinho: NO

Ali: My brother met him in his club’s youth system, and he told Mari the best club to go for further development is here

Bebê Marcelinho: First of all: don’t call me Mari

Bebê Marcelinho: Second of all: how can I change this stupid chat name?

Flaco: Beats me, I’m still wondering how Bobby changed mine

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Please we need a fic, it can even be a short fic, where Virgil comforts Ali after the defense left him alone in today's match. I swear, he did all the fucking job for 90 minutes

Here it is. It might not be exactly what you expected, but I wanted to deviate from the usual hurt/comfort fics a bit:

[live-laugh-loverpool]

I really need hurt/comfort after this game and especially after all the hate Alisson’s getting. I know you just wrote a fanfic like this but I really need another one if you could maybe Virgil/ Alisson and maybe even a little bit of the Real Madrid Brazilian players.

Thanks 😊 sorry to be a bother

Part 2 out! Don't worry, Part 3 will come sooner rather than later. Apparently, losses give my writer's block a kick up the backside.

Tags: @millythegoat, @moomin279 @alissonbecksfan234 @rubybecker-rb2

Sgt. Klopp’s Broken Hearts—Part 2

The fighting hadn’t gotten any better in the Liverpool locker room. After Firmino had punched Van Dijk, a brawl had broken out among most of the players. It was mainly the Brazilians and their allies versus the Dutch and their allies, and considering the large numbers of both there were hardly any neutrals.

Milner had let the fight go on, watching from the bench to make sure nobody got seriously injured and to manually bleep out all the curses thrown around the locker room. He didn’t have the energy to pull apart the brawl and give an inspirational speech, not after the humiliation of his career.

Elliott definitely hadn’t taken Milner’s actions as an example. He brawled and insulted and yelled along with the others, and it was his additions to the fight that Milner was especially disgusted with. His comments had spilled over from comments about the game and footballing form to verbal abuse, and from the looks on his victims’ faces Milner could tell that Elliott’s retorts had hit hard.

“Harvey Daniel James Elliott,” Milner said once things had finally calmed down somewhat. “Come here.”

The youngster huffed, glaring at Milner with piercing blue eyes. “You can’t make me. I’m twenty.”

“And I’m thirty-seven. Now come here this instant, young man.”

Elliott opened his mouth to protest, but eventually he shuffled towards Milner.

“Glad you finally decided to come,” said Milner, pulling Elliott onto the seat next to him. “Now what do I always tell you youngsters about fights?”

As soon as Milner had said that, all the bravado disappeared from Elliott’s demeanor. He shrank in on himself, staring down at the floor. “Comments about the game are okay, but verbal abuse is not acceptable.”

Milner nodded in agreement. “And what would you call the words you said to your teammates just now?”

“Verbal abuse,” Elliott muttered under his breath. “But I didn’t do anything wrong in the match.”

“Maybe not. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to treat your friends so poorly.”

“Kind of hard to believe when you’re singling me out for participating in a team-wide brawl.”

Milner huffed. He’d had all that he could take of Elliott’s insolence. “That is enough for you, young man! Stand in that corner and wait for me to smack you.”

Elliott whipped his head to face Milner, shock and anger set across his features. “You’re not my dad!”

“Er…sorry to interrupt you,” said a voice in a familiar French accent. “But have you seen Vini anywhere?”

All activity inside the locker room halted as the Liverpudlians gaped at the intruder.

“Karim Mostafa Benzema!” Henderson exclaimed upon seeing the Real Madrid captain enter the locker room. “What did you come here for?”

“To taunt us?” Elliott mumbled loud enough for Milner to hear. Milner didn’t even bother to slap him, opting to glare at Benzema.

“What? No, I already have a Ballon D’Or. I came looking for Vini,” Benzema explained. “You know, Vinicius Jr. He felt bad for humiliating you guys and wanted to apologize in person—especially to the Brazilians.”

Milner nearly smacked himself in frustration. Brazilian players tended to look out for each other, even when they played on different clubs, and of course Vinicius would be no exception to the rule.

“Vini has a heart of gold,” said Fabinho, standing from where he’d been forced down during the brawl. “But I think the sight of Vini is the last thing Ali needs.”

“You mean your goalkeeper? Where is he anyways?” Benzema sounded visibly confused about not seeing Alisson among the others.

Elliott took this as the perfect opportunity to speak up. “He and Virg had a fight and he disappeared into the showers.”

“That sounds…like you’re used to this happening.” Benzema inched closer to the door, gripping the doorframe. “Shouldn’t you try and find him?”

“I think what he’d like the most is some time alone,” Firmino explained. “Anyways, we already know where Ali is—in the showers. He couldn’t leave the room without us knowing.”

“Unless he took the hall door,” said Vinicius, appearing in the room.

“Hall door?” Firmino queried, confusion visible upon every one of his features.

“Yeah, the hall door. The one that leads from the showers outside the door—we totally forgot!” This time, Milner did smack himself. He turned to Henderson, then Benzema. “God, he could be anywhere now.”

“I’ll go check on him,” Van Dijk offered. “If we hadn’t fought, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Matip’s eyes widened in surprise. “So you’re finally admitting that this is all your fault?”

“It’s not all Virgil’s fault,” Vinicius argued. “If I’d not scored versus you, maybe there’d still be some dignity left.”

“Vini, that’s not your fault. Your job is to score,” Firmino objected, wrapping his arms around the younger Brazilian. “You did that, we didn’t. Would you tell me to apologize to Thibaut if it was the other way around?”

“I guess you’re right,” Vinicius admitted with a shrug. “But I still feel like I should check on Ali…when I find him.”

“You mean when we find him.” Fabinho stepped through the door, gesturing for the others to follow him. “Vini, Bobby, follow me. We’ll find him faster than Darwin can run!”

Nunez offered a slight smile at that remark. “Maybe Virg should go along to apologize.”

Benzema put his hands up in the air, shaking his head. “No no no. From what Harvey’s told me, Virg’s done enough damage already.”

Van Dijk opened his mouth to argue, but promptly shut it upon seeing Firmino glare at him from behind dark brown eyes. “Okay. But I promise to apologize afterwards.”

“Good idea,” Elliott remarked, ignoring Milner’s glare at him. “After all, you can’t afford to lose the lilac part of your heart.”

*

Alisson didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Clearly not goalkeeping, because all it brought was a sword blow after a false dawn.

He’d taken a shower just so the sounds of running water would muffle his ringing phone. Even though he knew the people behind the hate comments couldn’t jump out of his phone to get him, it still hurt to think that all those people hated him.

And where are the hate comments when we win? No, then you’re a hero. But now you’re a zero. Hero to zero, in no time flat. Just like that Disney movie.

“Cala a boca, cérebro,” Alisson muttered, running a comb through his hair. He didn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror—that always made him feel even worse. “You can’t get to me this time.”

Quiet Becker! Whenever you speak up, we’re in big trouble. You couldn't even organize your wall for the third goal. Klopp will be so disappointed in you. What a loser—you can’t even avoid getting into a fight, and now Virgil’s mad at you, and…

Alisson tossed down the comb and picked up his phone. He needed something to distract him, before he went insane from the hate his own mind sent towards him.

He briefly checked his Whatsapp and smiled upon seeing notifications from the Goalkeeper’s Union group chat. They were probably talking about the match that he was trying to avoid, but it was a distraction for Alisson’s self-persecuting brain. At least they wouldn’t hate upon him like the fans…

SweeperKeeper: Damn, that was some game

WeWonIt14Times: You can say that again

Eder: You’d better change your chat name Keylor, that’s gonna sting Ali once he’d in the chat

Alisson couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept across his face upon reading that text.

Ali: It’s fine Eder, he can keep it

Eder: Ali how’re you doing

Ali: Hanging in there…barely 😶

Ali: Virgil and I fought

SweeperKeeper: Whoa, you got into a fight? Klopp’s not gonna be happy when he hears you punched someone…

Alisson tried to ignore the last part of that comment. He just couldn’t ignore anything having to do with Klopp’s opinion on him.

Ali: Not physically fighting, but verbally

Ali: He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me again

Ali: What kind of keeper lets in more than 4 goals?

Eder: Whoa whoa whoa, calm down

KingOfBarca#1: We conceded eight goals before Ali, and I’m still the best goalkeeper in all of Germany

SweeperKeeper: SAYS WHO

KingofBarca#1: Well, I’m the only one who didn’t go ski on rocks

SweeperKeeper: YOU TAKE THAT BACK YA FILTHY ANIMAL

Germans, Alisson thought with a wry chuckle.

WeWonIt14Times: That joke���s getting old Marc Andre 😑

WeWonIt14Times: But Ali, if it makes you feel any better I conceded 7 goals in one World Cup game

Eder: I conceded 3 goals in consecutive ties vs. Los Blancos just last year. AND City lost 2-5 versus Leicester, at home. At least yours was vs. the World Champions

Alisson’s eyes widened upon seeing Ederson’s latest text. His compatriot hated talking about any game where he’d conceded more than one goal—and that definitely included the Leicester game.

KingofBarca#1: And don’t forget my 8 giant blunders versus Bayern

SweeperKeeper: If we’re all mentioning our heaviest losses, then I swallowed six goals versus Spain

GoalKepa: AND I conceded six vs. City

Eder: see? One or two mistakes doesn’t automatically make you the worst keeper in the world. We all swallowed more than four goals in a game before

Eder: And we’re still world class boss badass awesome goalies

SweeperKeeper: HELL YEAH

Ali: 😭😭😭😭

GoalKepa: oh no, did we break him?

Ali: 🥹 I love you guys

Eder: We’re the Goalkeepers’ Union, we’re supposed to support each other

WeWonIt14Times: Keepers are the only ones who can really understand other keepers

Ali: Come here 🤗🤗🤗💛💚💙❤️

Eder: feeling better?

Ali: Somewhat😥

Eder: Btw, I sent the Brazilians to check on you. I’d do it myself but we’re in Germany now

SweeperKeeper: Oh that reminds me

SweeperKeeper: Sadio told me to remind you to check on your boss

Ali: Is he OK?

Eder: Take it easy, Ali. First shower, then tell nossos compatriotas that you’re alright.

Ali: I will, ttyl

Eder: ttyl

“Ali!” a familiar voice called out to Alisson before he could even put down his phone. “Are you here? We checked all the broom closets in Anfield, there must be a million in this place!”

“Not a million,” said a voice in an Alagoas accent. Alisson could almost hear the brightness of his teeth. “Only seventeen.”

“Dezessete malditos armários?!”

To Alisson’s surprise, Vinicius stuck his head through the door. “There you are! I’m so sorry about the Virg incident earlier, and the goal. Bobby did tell me not to apologize because it’s my job, but I just can’t help it! After the quarterfinals in the World Cup you looked so upset and—”

Alisson just hugged the younger man, ignoring the Real kit that he still wore. “Bobby’s right. You’re just being the great forward that you are.”

“Well, it took us long enough to find you!” Firmino chuckled upon seeing Alisson squishing Vinicius in a giant bear hug. “You ready to go back to the locker room, Ali?”

Alisson shrugged, staring down at the tiled floors. “I’m ready. Not sure Virgil is, though.”

Fabinho appeared out of nowhere, taking a seat next to Alisson on the counter. “Trust me, he feels as guilty as you do. You both have some talking to do with each other, but I think you can go back.”

“But what about the boss? He’ll be so mad at me.”

“He won’t be that upset. And if he is, we’ll stand up for you,” Vinicius proclaimed. “After all, it wasn’t just you who had a horror showing today. Fabi didn’t get a single tackle, and Joe didn’t do anything, and—I’m putting my foot in my mouth again, huh?”

Firmino rolled his eyes. “Just like Harvey. Honestly, Milly’s about to smack him. But Vini’s right—we win as a team and we lose as a team. We’re all equally at fault for this.” He opened his arms, expectantly glancing at his compatriots. “Now it’s time for me to say: abraço coletivo!”

They huddled up together, momentarily forgetting about their rivalries. For now, they were just four Brazilians living out their childhood dreams.

Until Elliott burst into the room, breathless.

“Guys, we need your help. The boss ran away and we can’t find him anywhere!”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey! It's Ruby again. Sorry for asking for fanfic requests all the time. But I really wanted a nice distraction. Things are not cool around here.

Remember your previous fanfic, in celebration of Taki's birthday? There's a silly little flirtation (which maybe shouldn't even be called that) between Virg and Ali, and I wanted to ask for a good fanfic between them.

With Virgil out injured and simple Ali being slaughtered by fake fans for every mistake he makes, maybe a hurt/comfort story would do wonders for all of us. You can wait until the end of today's game, or do it now. It doesn't really matter to me.

I wish you the best!

Hey Ruby! No need to feel sorry abour asking for fanfics--it's what my inbox is for, after all. I started to write something more angsty, but then I got this :/ Welcome to my mind

Tag: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2, @rist-mlts

The Secret Garden

Klopp may have needed glasses for more than twenty years, but he wasn’t blind. He could see the change in his players. One point from nine available was not how he’d planned to start 2023, and he couldn’t even blame the wind or rain or snow for it.

He’d seen how below-standards Van Dijk had been for nearly the whole season. Klopp had tried new tactics to make the workload easier on Van Dijk and kept playing him so as to not diminish his self-confidence. It seemed that a spell on the sidelines was Van Dijk's fate, though, as an injury brought a premature end to arguably his worst showing of the season.

The only reason that Liverpool hadn’t conceded more goals was Alisson’s impeccable performances in goal, again and again. While Klopp couldn’t have been more proud of the Brazilian, he also knew that excellent form had to end, no matter how hard one tried to keep it up. And unfortunately, Alisson ended up making not just one, but two needless errors in the very next game.

Needless to say, neither Van Dijk or Alisson were pleased with their situations. And that was why, after an abject Brighton performance that left Klopp closer to the wheel than ever before, he decided to do something he rarely did—go back on his word.

“I’ve decided that you deserve a rest today, Ali,” Klopp told Alisson in private. He would give the mass team lineup later, but for somebody like Alisson, who’d performed almost perfectly the whole season, he felt it was only fair that he should know beforehands. “You’ve played many good games for us and Brazil and now it’s time you took a short break.”

Alisson, while sensitive, was intelligent enough to think about why he could be benched. “It’s those mistakes, isn’t it?”

Klopp shook his head—he’d seen this conversation coming. “You’ve played nearly every game of the whole season. I will admit I was disappointed at those mistakes Ali, but you improved vs. Brighton, even though we lost. Caoimhin needs playing time as well, and I decided that today we should let him get some minutes.”

“Okay.” Alisson nodded, although he sounded disappointed. And…was that a stifled yawn Klopp heard?

Klopp decided to brush it off—they were away from home with an important match to play and try to redeem themselves in. He didn’t mention that he’d heard a similar-sounding yawn from the closet Van Dijk had been hiding in before they’d left.

*

Klopp let out a huge sigh of relief as the final whistle blew. Elliott’s rocket of a goal had sent Liverpool to the fourth round of the FA cup—but that didn’t mean they could relax. They still had Chelsea up ahead of them, and then there was the rest of the season.

As had been his custom since becoming manager, Klopp hugged each and every one of his players. While the action stemmed from sincere affection, it was also a convenient way to perform the headcount.

He found everyone but Van Dijk and Alisson. Alarm bells rang in his head as he realized he hadn’t seen the pair since halftime.

Klopp spotted Firmino chatting with Diaz and Elliott, all of them wearing a broad grin. The Brazilian was friends with both Alisson and Van Dijk, so he’d probably know where the two were.

“Hey, you three!” Klopp called from the other side of the room. “Have you seen Ali or Virg anywhere?”

Diaz and Elliott shook their heads at the same time. “Nope, haven’t seen them.”

Klopp turned his attention towards Firmino, silently searching for any answer the forward might have had. Firmino’s eyes widened, gaze wildly darting here and there.

“They’re…they’re fine, no need to worry,” Firmino rambled, tripping and stumbling over his words. He grabbed a package from the table, hurrying away from Klopp. “I’ll just take these toffees to them.”

With a sidelong glance, Klopp spotted Milner’s scowl towards Firmino. Firmino figuratively zipped his lips shut, and Milner resumed his conversation with Henderson without a hitch.

Something was definitely up, and Klopp was hellbent on figuring out what.

*

The day before, Klopp didn’t know what had told him to pack a black tracksuit and knitted hat for the match, compared to his usual gray tracksuit and hat. He quietly praised himself for his sense of premonition—who’d have known that he’d be stalking his own No. 9 less than an hour after the game?

For once, Klopp let his German espionage instincts take over as he snuck around, sticking as close to the walls as he could. Firmino had taken an unusually shadowy path throughout Molineux, staying away from the lights and reporters, so it was easy for Klopp to follow the Brazilian to wherever he was going. All he needed to do was stay quiet and not trip over anything.

What am I going to find? Klopp couldn’t help but wonder as he inched through a very narrow alleyway. What if I find something amazing, like a sanctuary full of all the answers to any footballing problem? Or the answers to any problem in life—wouldn’t that be cool? Maybe I’ll regret following Bobby. What if he leads me to another secret nightclub like the ones Kostas has? Or a secret FIFA hideout? That could be good—now I can give them a piece of my mind and a piece of my baseball bat. I could even add a few excerpts from the Oxford Dictionary of Sweary Insults, as some food for thought.

Finally, Firmino stopped walking. He stood in front of a door, glancing both ways before knocking.

“Password?” a Dutch voice whispered just loud enough for Klopp to hear.

Firmino leaned closer to the door, whispering into the keyhole. “Jonge man, moço.”

Klopp’s eyes widened upon hearing the password. Jonge man was similar enough to Junge mann in German. Young man…and I remember Ali saying moço when talking to Kairo. That’s Dutch and Portuguese, and doesn’t Bobby know both languages? I wonder… And before logic could tell him to stay put, he was already through the door, following Firmino again.

The room, surprisingly well-lit for something so hidden, was almost like an indoor botanical garden. It had rows and rows of flowers, well-trimmed topiaries, and even a couple of stone fountains dotted here and there, flowing with sparkling water.

It wasn’t hard for Klopp to hide among all those plants. He alternated between creeping under bushes and posing behind crazily-balanced topiaries, careful not to lose his balance. Thankfully, his clumsiness only manifested in tripping behind a ballerina-shaped topiary—hey, arabesques were hard—and a sneeze, which was well muffled as he was behind the largest fountain. Firmino kept going on, and so did the garden.

How big is this room? Klopp wondered, passing yet another rosebush. I’ve never seen such a huge indoor garden. What could Bobby be doing?

Firmino stopped near a patch of hydrangeas and roses, tapping his foot five times on the ground. He hung the toffees on a thorny branch, and Klopp caught sight of a gloved hand taking them from the branch and flashing a thumbs-up. On the wrist, there were the initials AB.

AB is Alisson Becker!

Now Klopp knew for sure that at least Alisson was there. His Geminian curiosity just had to know what the Brazilian was up to. So after three minutes once Firmino completely left the room, Klopp stepped out from the sunflower patch, parting the rose bushes and peering inside.

The opened but full bag of toffees on the floor wasn’t the only thing that caught his eye.

Leaning against a pot of hydrangeas was Van Dijk, fast asleep with his usual man bun untied. Alisson was out like a light as well, one hand tangled in Van Dijk's curls. The goalkeeper’s head rested in Van Dijk's lap, and his oversized jacket covered the two of them.

Klopp wondered what the pair had been up to before they’d fallen asleep. He decided not to ask, adjusting Van Dijk's head so that he was leaning against a more stable bush. Almost instinctively, Alisson shifted so that he was in the same position as before, except his hand was now draped on the Dutchman’s shoulder.

“You two gave me a scare,” Klopp whispered as they shifted again. “And you’re sleeping so peacefully in the meantime. I’m so jealous—I’ve not gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

With that, Klopp prepared to leave the two in peace. He’d seen Firmino take a different route outside, and he hoped that it would be shorter, so Van Dijk and Alisson would be able to find the rest of the team when they woke up. But he couldn’t leave yet—he had to take a few photos of the two.

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey! I'm Ruby and I'm new here on Tumblr. I've known Becker and the Liver boys for years from watching the games a few years ago. Can I ask for a cool fanfic between Jurgen and Ali? Maybe something hurt/comfort, to start the year off right?

Glad to see a new Liverpool fan on here :) Here it is

New Year, Same Liverpool

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279

Warnings: OOC Mo, OOC Ali (though for a good reason)

Nobody ever listened to him.

Alisson smashed a bottle against his locker. The plastic canteen fell to the ground with a thunk that echoed around the locker room. He couldn’t care less.

Alisson was usually a quiet person, both on and off the pitch. He much preferred doing his job in the shadows than commanding everybody from the spotlight. He knew being vocal was important sometimes but it wasn’t for him, thank you very much.

Now he wished he was louder, scarier. He wished his teammates listened to him.

He’d sounded the alarm bells multiple times. He’d even taken to shouting, which hurt his throat, while organizing his teammates for setpieces. It was hopeless, because nobody ever took the time to consider if his words had merit to them. Nobody did—not Fabinho, not Van Dijk, not even Salah.

It was halftime.

They were 2-0 down at Brentford.

And for once in his life, Alisson Ramses Becker was mad.

He was mad at Van Dijk, who’d been nonexistent. At Nunez, for missing all those chances. At Konate, for scoring his own goal—even though Alisson knew he shouldn’t be.

One by one, the others bar Elliott, Tsimikas and Van Dijk filtered into the locker room. Alisson didn’t even want to face them, he was seething.

“Well…” Konate sighed. “That didn’t go as planned.”

You think? Alisson didn’t bother to say it.

Fabinho nodded. “We all played below our standards.”

He knew it was unlike him. But at this moment Alisson wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into Fabinho’s bald head.

We? There is no we. You played below standards. I saved your butts from being down by 6.

Salah shrugged, wrapping his towel around his shoulders. “Maybe you defenders should have listened to Virg. He’s the captain, after all.”

And where did THAT get us, Mohammed Salah? Alisson glared at the Egyptian, but he didn’t pay attention. As usual, nobody notices.

The bell rang, signaling that it was time for the second half. If Liverpool wasn’t goalless, Alisson would’ve sabotaged things so the match could stop.

Normally he would never think of doing that. But he was fed up with being ignored.

*

By some miracle, Alisson got his wish. Oxlaide-Chamberlain—of all people—halved the deficit with a header. Alisson prayed to every saint he knew for an equalizer, something to quell the foreign rage inside of him.

And then Brentford scored a third, right before the 90-minute mark.

This was getting ridiculous.

The final whistle couldn’t come soon enough for Alisson. He wasn’t even disappointed—just fuming at his teammates.

“What the hell, Van Dijk?!” he yelled at the Dutchman. Van Dijk, who’d been reading on his phone, nearly dropped it with surprise.

“Ali, do you have a fever or something?” Van Dijk scanned Alisson for anything suspicious. “Were you even talking to me?”

“Virgil Van Dijk, what the hell is that? What in the name of the devil do you call that? A performance?” he roared.

Van Dijk blinked in confusion. “I know we didn’t play well Ali, but—”

“WE?! The hell, there is no we! YOU played like absolute crap.”

Salah looked up from his phone. “That’s pretty accurate, actually.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on you, Mo,” the goalkeeper seethed. “You were absolutely shambolic out there. Even Ox played better than you today.”

“Really?” Salah shot back. “I can count at least five balls Ox missed. You didn’t do much better either, Ali.”

The world seemed to screech to a halt around Alisson. “Excuse me?”

“You could’ve saved the third goal if you tried, easily. If you’d spoken up you could have organized the defense.” The Egyptian didn’t even flinch as he said this. “Ali, I know you hate criticism—”

“What are you talking about?” At least Keita was on Alisson’s side. He stepped out of the showers, glaring at Salah. “You messed your own chances up, Mo. Ali had nothing to do with it.”

“Mates, MATES!” Robertson yelled from the bench. “You know the gaffer wouldn’t like this.”

Alisson glared at the Scot so hard, he shivered in his shoes. “The boss should be proud of me. It’s about time I got mad at you all for the nonexistent protection you give me!”

He stared at Tsimikas and Matip. “You two are absolute jokes, just like Virg. When will we get actual players who care about the game? Me, Lucho, Robbo, Darwin, and Caoimhin are the only ones here who give an iota of a damn about our dignity.”

“Like father, like son,” Fabinho whispered to Elliott. Alisson wanted to shoot a laser through him.

“Are you okay?” Robertson had the sense to ask. “You don’t usually yell like this.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. As if switching off a light, all the rage drained from his soul. One by one Alisson’s heart sank as he registered all the things he’d said to his teammates.

“Ali?” A hand rested on his shoulder, and another on his head. He couldn’t tell who it was. “Are you okay?”

*

He’d run away to a broom closet. After a whole display of rage-induced self-confidence, he’d ran away and hid in a broom closet as usual. How pathetic.

“Ali! Are you here?”

Great. Alisson groaned, facepalming. They told the boss I’m missing, and they probably told him what I said, too. He’ll be so disappointed with me.

“Ali?” The door began to open. “Tell me if you’re in here or not.”

“Present,” he said weakly.

The door opened fully, letting in all the sounds and light in the stadium. Alisson could still hear the PA system blasting Brentford’s anthem “Hey Jude”, which had been written and performed by the Beatles.

How ironic.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Klopp, taking a seat on a bucket. “I just want to say, Ali: those goals were not your fault.”

“Mo thinks so.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because nobody listens to me, even when I speak up,” Alisson admitted, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so maldito quiet all the time, nobody hears me out even when I have something important to say.”

Klopp pulled Alisson into his arms. “I know just how you feel. Back when I was playing I was pretty quiet as well. When I became player-manager it took a while for them to listen to my verdict on things.”

“If I was like Hendo,” said Alisson, muffled by the gray puffer jacket, “maybe they’d listen to me.”

“No, this has nothing to do with you,” Klopp insisted. “The other guys need to learn to take you seriously during the matches. Just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you don’t have valuable input. You could do better than some of those referees when it comes to the rules.”

“So can I yell at Virg if he doesn’t listen to me?”

This made Klopp laugh. “No, you can’t. But I will be having a talk with the others about listening to you. Your input is important Ali, and it especially will be if we’re going to make the top-4 this season.” He groaned, clutching his leg in one hand. “Now let’s get out of here, huh? My old legs are getting cramped.”

Alisson suddenly realized that his legs were cramping, too. He really needed to find better hiding spaces than broom closets. “Yeah.”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

I want a fanfic that went back in time a little, but specifically in 2019, when Liverpool won the Champions League.

More specifically the fateful scene in which @alissonbecksfan234 and I always talk: the one where Ali kisses Virgil on the cheek. I would love to see something cute and funny out of this because I laughed so hard when I saw the video.

For me it might be platonic, I don't care.

💚💛💙

Sorry it took so long! Here it is

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2

Just One Kiss…And A Six-Pack of Beer

They’d won the Champions’ League.

Van Dijk had never imagined this would happen. As a young boy he’d imagined playing football for a big club, simple as that.

He’d never imagined playing for Klopp, and meeting his teammates. He’d never imagined winning the Champions’ League so young.

After Van Dijk and his teammates had partied long and hard into the night, he’d fallen asleep—although he wasn’t sure how he’d got into bed. He didn’t care: there were dancing, jubilant spirits in the air, there were three bottles of beer in his system, and there was a gold medal around his neck.

When he’d woke up, the bright summer sun shone through his hotel window, as if erasing the previous night. For a moment, Van Dijk feared it was all just a dream.

Then he felt the welcome weight of the golden medal on his lightly-clad chest. Then he heard snoring next to him.

Wait a minute. I’m not sharing a room!

That wasn’t fully true. Van Dijk was sharing a room with Gini Wijnaldum. But Wijnaldum had fallen asleep earlier than him, knocked out in Robinson’s bed. Plus, Wijnaldum snores were deeper.

Yawning, Van Dijk tries to make out who was asleep next to him. The figure was much too large to be Wijnaldum, and for a moment Van Dijk thought Klopp had crashed next to him. What a story that would be to tell. But this person had dark hair, and his arms were wrapped around Van Dijk.

Ah-ha! Van Dijk smiled to himself upon seeing Alisson snoozing away next to Van Dijk, holding on to the Dutchman like a koala—albeit a fuzzy-haired, tall koala. Van Dijk and Alisson had become good friends since the younger man had joined Liverpool as their new goalkeeper. They’d bonded slowly, since Alisson had, at first, preferred to hang out with the other Brazilians in the team. But after a win vs. Leicester where Alisson had made his first real mistake of the season, Van Dijk had found him in a broom closet for the first time. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Alisson pressed closer to Van Dijk, reminding him of the team’s plans for the day. As much as Van Dijk found a sleeping Alisson pretty cute, he didn’t want to miss the plane back to Liverpool.

“Ali, time to wake up now.” Van Dijk shook the Brazilian until he was awake.

“Ugh…sleep. Hold on, Virgil?” Alisson immediately pried himself off Van Dijk once he realized they were in the same bed. “What are you doing here?”

“More like what are you doing here. We’re in my bed,” Van Dijk explained. “Did you carry me to bed last night?”

“Bobby asked me to…he wanted to but you’re taller than him. So I picked you up and brought you to bed. You were drunk on beer.”

“Don’t remind me,” Van Dijk groaned. Already, he could feel the effects of a hangover coming on. “My head’s swimming.”

“Lads!” Milner appeared out of nowhere, sticking his head around the door. The vice-skipper was in an odd combination of his pajama shirt and his kit shorts, a club headscarf and his medal wrapped around his head. Milner was one of the few people who hadn’t managed to get drunk the night before. “The gaffer says it’s time for breakfast.”

Alisson groaned at the thought of breakfast. Even though he didn’t make much noise, Van Dijk flinched at the sound.

“You two aren’t the only ones stuck with hangovers,” Milner chuckled upon seeing his teammates’ state. “About three-quarters of the squad are suffering the effects of too much partying. The gaffer included, but he managed to pull together a decent breakfast.”

“If I know the boss’s definition of a ‘decent breakfast’, he’s brought out nearly every item in the kitchen. But I’m coming,” Van Dijk yawned, hustling himself out of bed. “My head’s killing me.”

Milner smirked, rolling his eyes. No doubt because Van Dijk never showed up to training or anything as less than dignified. “Take these aspirins for your headache. And Ali?”

Alisson didn’t even bother to nod. The very mention of breakfast had completely paled him. He managed to raise a finger in acknowledgement before crashing against the pillows again.

Milner shook his head, placing a bottle of water and a plate of saltines near Alisson’s bed. “He’ll feel better in time for the victory parade.”

*

This was Van Dijk’s first British victory parade. The Dutchman had decided he already loved it, singing along with the PA system and his teammates. It might have been loud and a little off-key, but Van Dijk didn’t care for now. There was plenty of time to take summer singing lessons.

There was plenty of beer and champagne on the bus, as well. Aside from the customary champagne spraying, most of the Liverpoolians didn't drink enough to get hangovers, if they drank at all. It was a stark comparison to the booze fest they’d enjoyed the night of the final.

Van Dijk didn’t even need to look around to tell Alisson was having a good time. He’d been singing along with the other Brazilians, loudly and jubilantly, a Liverpool scarf wrapped around his head. His singing wasn’t as off-key as the others, thankfully so since almost everybody was singing off key.

An interviewer came up to Van Dijk, asking him some questions. Van Dijk was in the middle of answering when he spotted Alisson approaching him. He hadn’t thought much of it, since he and Alisson were good friends by now.

But then Alisson kissed him on the cheek. IN PUBLIC. In front of cameras and broadcasting stations.

Grateful to the sun for concealing the slight reddening on his face, Van Dijk quickly finished his short interview and pushed his way through the team. He had to talk to Alisson about this—there was no way that he couldn’t.

Eventually he found Alisson on the other end of the bus. He was talking with Firmino and Fabinho, and the two didn’t move when Van Dijk settled near Alisson.

“So…about that kiss back there.” Van Dijk had never been good at talking about things, so he decided to get to the point. “Are you crushing on me or something?!”

“Am I…o quê?!” Alisson spun to face Firmino and Fabinho, who were laughing their heads off. “Vocês me pregaram uma peça…”

“Foi tão engraçado!” Firmino laughed, leaning against the sides of the bus to catch his breath. “Uma vez que temos a imagem em nossas mentes, nós apenas tivemos que vê-la na vida real.”

Alisson was red and hot all over, blushing nearly the same color as the jersey. “Você me fez beijar Virg na frente das câmeras!”

Fabinho grinned at Alisson like a Cheshire cat, clearly unapologetic. “Você concordou com isso! Pelo menos não tivemos você beijando ele na boca…”

“Fábio Henrique Tavares, seu demônio!”

“What’s going on?” Van Dijk couldn’t keep up with the conversation in Portuguese very well. “What did they do?”

Alisson turned to Van Dijk with an exasperated sigh. “I’m so sorry about that, Virg! Fabi and Bobby tricked me into kissing you!”

Van Dijk’s mouth dropped open in shock, while Fabinho and Firmino laughed so hard, they had to lean on each other for support.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ali, I like you,” Van Dijk said, reading Alisson’s thoughts. “But next time, don’t kiss me like that on camera, okay? You’ll start up rumors.”

“Would a hug be better?” Alisson asked, already wrapping his arms around Van Dijk.

The Dutchman rolled his eyes, affectionately ruffling Alisson’s hair. “We’ll stick with the hugs.”