Aug 3
Trent Alexander Arnold 🏴 and Beta Squad 🇬🇧
PEAK beta vid 🙏
seen from Algeria
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seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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Trent Alexander Arnold 🏴 and Beta Squad 🇬🇧
PEAK beta vid 🙏
sidelined | aj shabeel
summary – he takes you to a world cup match, but you get a little too infatuated with a certain english baller.
warnings – swearing, jealous!aj, mentions of anxiety, in another universe, this would have been jude x reader
word count – 2.3k
note – jude bellingham stole my heart this world cup but i don’t think i can do him justice in his own fic, so this is the closest we’ll get lol. catching up on some fun requests, so enjoy this for now! thank you so much for all the love, i promise i see it all ❤︎
Started watching Beta Squad. I love the dynamic between Aj and Niko
can we get niko headcannons with a pregnant wife and/or him as a father 💕💕
Yess ofc! That's so cute🫶 and im SO incredibly sorry because this request was almost a year ago and I haven't fulfilled this request because I have taken such a long break and I hope u can forgive me😭
As always,send in your requests everyone❤️
Niko headcanons- being a father
Pregnant wife headcanons:
•he would read parenting books secretly just to be the best dad he could possibly be.
•niko would INSIST on carrying anything heavy so you wouldn't have to
•he would happily make late night runs to satisfy any cravings, He would litterally be on standby.
•he would attend EVERY appointment possible and would ask a million different questions.
•he would learn how to assemble any cribs,strollers etc even if it takes him hours.
•he would show his appreciation every.single.day for bringing your child into the world. He absolutely adores you,trust me.
• I feel like niko would be such a girl dad, and when he finds out he's having a girl he would be OVER THE MOON. this man would have been searching up different names left and right, trying to find the perfect one for when she's born.
Niko as a father headcanons:
•The baby falls asleep fastest when she's on nikos chest.
•He'd do absolutely anything to make her smile, even if it means looking completely RIDICULOUS.
•Every time she accomplishes something, he looks prouder than anyone else.
•Niko would 100% make terrible dad jokes😭
•No matter how old she gets, she'll always be his little girl🥹
•niko always claps the loudest at any school performance,sports day, u name it.
•He would proudly show everyone pictures of her whether they ask or not.
me when aj posts selfies:
I’m not even kidding, everyone go to the Beta Squad channel and watch their latest vid, it was ABSOLUTE CINEMA
Best season finale ever.
tease x World Cup — aj shabeel x reader
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summary AJ Shabeel was born in Leidschendam. AJ Shabeel was, as of June 14th 2026, supporting Japan. for reasons he refused to explain beyond "vibes" and "marriage is about balance, babe."
prompt – World Cup 2026, Netherlands vs Japan, husband AJ teases reader by supporting Japan, surprise tickets warnings – none, just chaos and fluff 🎀 word count – ~2.5k note – Im dutch myself so this was fun to write!!! thank you for this request <3
requests are open :)
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"You're Dutch," I said. For the third time.
"Born and bred," AJ agreed. He was sprawled on the sofa, no orange anywhere on his person, scrolling his phone with the specific ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and was thoroughly enjoying it.
"You were BORN there. Leidschendam. Twelve years."
"Yep."
"So why," I said, gesturing at the TV, where the pre-match graphics were doing their thing, "are you wearing a Japan jersey."
He looked down at himself. At the jersey. Back at me. Completely unbothered.
"Felt right," he said.
"Felt right."
"Yeah."
"AJ. You support Manchester United. With your whole chest. You have THREE separate shirts. You once cried—"
"That was emotional, leave it—"
"—when they won a match against Brighton—"
"BRIGHTON, Y/N. Away. Do you understand what that means—"
"That's not the point!" I sat down beside him, arms crossed. "You're a United man through and through but suddenly, today, World Cup day, you're a Japan supporter?"
"People grow," AJ said. Sagely. "People change. I've been on a journey."
"Your journey started two days ago when you ordered that jersey online."
"...Coincidence."
"AJ."
"What?" He was very clearly fighting a smile, the lopsided one tugging at the corner of his mouth, the one I'd fallen for approximately four years ago and had never recovered from. "I told you. Marriage is about balance, babe. You're rooting for Oranje so hard for both of us, someone's gotta even it out. Spread the support around. It's basically diplomacy."
"That is NOT a real concept."
"It's called being considerate." He nodded, completely serious, completely ridiculous. "I'm being considerate."
I poked him in the side. He yelped — the specific touch-averse flinch he'd had since the day I met him, the one that had somehow never applied to me even from the start — and pulled away, laughing.
"You're doing this to wind me up," I said.
"Maybe," he said. Grinning fully now. "Is it working?"
"Completely," I said.
"Good." He went back to his phone, deeply satisfied with himself.
I'd been excited about this match for weeks.
Properly excited — the specific kind that lived in your chest from childhood, the kind that didn't go away no matter how long you'd lived in London with a husband whose idea of football loyalty involved screaming at a television about a club from Manchester. I'd been talking about the squad, the group stage, what it meant, for days. AJ had listened to all of it, nodding along, asking the right questions.
And then this morning he'd walked out of the bedroom in a Japan jersey like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"You bought that two days ago," I said. Realisation dawning properly now. "You didn't just have a Japan jersey lying around."
"I have a lot of things lying around, babe—"
"Not THIS."
"Okay, fine." He shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Bought it online. Two day shipping. World Cup pricing is criminal by the way, that thing cost more than my actual United shirt—"
"You spent MORE on the joke than on your real team—"
"The bit demanded commitment," he said. Like this was simply how the universe worked. "You can't half-arse a bit, Y/N. My nan taught me that."
"Your nan did not teach you that."
"She would have, if she'd thought of it."
I threw a cushion at him. He caught it without looking — the reflexes that always surprised people given how lanky he was — and tucked it behind his head, treating the attack as a delivery of extra comfort.
"Cheers, babe," he said.
The match kicked off.
I had my own shirt on — orange, the one I'd had since I was a teenager, slightly too small now but I refused to part with it — and AJ sat beside me in his deliberately provocative Japan jersey, scrolling occasionally, the picture of someone with no emotional investment whatsoever.
For the first half it was tense. Tight. Neither team finding the breakthrough.
"This is SO stressful," I said. Around the thirtieth minute.
"It's nil-nil, babe."
"That's WHY it's stressful, AJ, how do you not understand this—"
He looked at me. Properly, this time — something underneath the chaos, the genuine fondness that was always there even when he was being an absolute menace.
"You really care about this," he said.
"It's the World Cup. It's the Oranje. It's—" I gestured helplessly at the screen. "It's everything, AJ."
"I know." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "It's cute, wallahi."
"Don't call me cute when you're wearing THAT—"
"I contain multitudes," he said. Solemnly.
Second half. Fifty-first minute.
Van Dijk's header went in and I was on my feet, both arms up, shouting something that wasn't really words.
AJ watched me with the specific delight of a man who loved watching his wife lose her mind over something she cared about, jersey or no jersey.
"ONE NIL," I said. Sitting back down, slightly breathless. "ONE NIL, AJ, DID YOU SEE THAT HEADER—"
"Against Japan," AJ said. Mournfully. A hand pressed flat against his chest, over the badge. "My boys. My people. Down already."
"They are not your people, you were BORN here—"
"I contain multitudes," he reminded me. "Layers, Y/N. You'll see."
Six minutes later Nakamura equalised and AJ was on HIS feet, considerably more dramatically than mine had been, doing something that might generously be called a dance — knees, arms, a spin that nearly took out the lamp.
"YESSSS," he bellowed. "NAKAMURA. MY brother. MY—"
"You don't know him—"
"SPIRITUALLY, Y/N, spiritually I know him—"
I grabbed his jersey and pulled him back onto the sofa. He let himself be pulled, cackling, thrilled with himself in a way that was deeply, deeply familiar.
"Two-one," he said. "Vibes shifting. I can feel it. The Leidschendam in me is conflicted but the JERSEY—"
"The vibes are NOT shifting, AJ—"
Sixty-fourth minute. Summerville.
I was up again, louder this time, and AJ — credit where due — actually clapped properly for that one, no commentary, because even mid-bit he had limits and watching me genuinely thrilled tended to override most of them.
"Okay that one I'll allow," he said. "Good strike. Even Japan can't be mad about that, that's just quality."
"TWO-ONE. We're WINNING."
"For now," he said. Darkly. Tapping the side of his nose like he had insider information from somewhere classified.
"You don't KNOW anything—"
"I have a feeling, babe."
"Your feelings are based on a jersey you bought for thirty quid—"
"Forty quid. World Cup pricing. And my feelings are ALWAYS valid—"
Eighty-eighth minute.
Kamada's equaliser came off a corner kick scramble — the ball pinballing through bodies in the box before finding the net — and the stadium erupted on screen, and I sat there in complete silence.
AJ, beside him, was very carefully not celebrating. The visible effort of a man trying to be sensitive while also having just been proven right about something.
"Two-two," he said. Gently.
"I know the score, AJ."
"Eighty-eighth minute, though. That's so late—"
"I KNOW."
He looked at me properly. Whatever was on my face wiped the remaining smugness off his completely, and his expression softened all the way.
"Hey," he said. Quieter now. "C'mere." He put his arm around me, the Japan jersey pressing absurdly against my shoulder. "It's still a point. Draw away from home, against a good team — that's not nothing, yeah?"
"I know that logically," I said. "I'm still devastated, AJ."
"Yeah. I know." A pause. "For what it's worth — I was supporting Oranje the whole second half. Properly. The jersey was just a bit."
I looked at him. "You were?"
"OBVIOUSLY." He looked almost offended. "Wallahi, Y/N, I've got Oranje in my blood. Born there. The jersey was comedy. I was screaming for Van Dijk on the inside the entire time."
"You celebrated Japan's goal. With a SPIN."
"That was for the bit."
"The bit nearly took out the lamp—"
"The bit required commitment," he said. "My nan—"
"Your nan did not say that either—"
He laughed, and despite everything — the draw, the eighty-eighth minute, all of it — I laughed too, and he pulled me closer, the post-match analysis starting up on screen, the specific deflated energy of a match that had given everything and ended even.
"I've got something for you," AJ said. After a moment. Quieter.
"If it's another jersey I will divorce you."
"It's not a jersey." He reached for his phone. Pulled something up. Turned the screen toward me.
Two tickets. World Cup. Round of sixteen — date still to be confirmed depending on how the group settled, but real. Booked.
"AJ."
"Group's wide open now," he said. "Sweden's top after today apparently. But whoever we end up playing — wherever it ends up being — I got us tickets." The lopsided smile faltered slightly, the specific shyness underneath the chaos that only ever showed up for things that actually mattered to him. "I know what this means to you. The Oranje thing. Wanted you to actually be there. Not just — me in the wrong jersey on a sofa."
I stared at the screen. Then at him.
"You bought knockout stage World Cup tickets."
"Yeah."
"AJ those are not CHEAP—"
"I know what they cost," he said simply. "Wanted to do it."
I looked at him for a long moment. At the lopsided smile, the slight nervousness underneath it, the ridiculous forty-quid Japan jersey he'd worn for ninety minutes purely to wind me up, immediately followed by this.
"You're an idiot," I said quietly.
"Yeah," he agreed easily. "But I'm your idiot."
I kissed him. He made a small surprised sound against my mouth — the touch-averse reflex that had never once applied to me — and then he was kissing me back properly, hand coming up to my jaw.
When I pulled back he was smiling. The real one.
"So," he said. "Worth the jersey?"
"No," I said. "The jersey was insane and I hate it and I want it gone."
"But the tickets—"
"The tickets make up for the jersey," I said. "Slightly."
"Slightly?"
"Slightly." I narrowed my eyes. "You're still wearing a Japan shirt in our flat, AJ."
He looked down at himself. Considered this with the gravity of a man weighing important matters.
"Fair," he said. And pulled it off in one motion, tossing it dramatically across the room — revealing the United shirt underneath, which he'd apparently been wearing the entire time.
I stared at him.
"You had it on THE WHOLE TIME?"
"Layers, babe." He grinned, fully, the whole face. "I told you. Multitudes. Wanted to see how long it'd take you to actually crack about the jersey instead of just being annoyed."
"AJ—"
"You threw a CUSHION at me—"
"That's DIFFERENT—"
He laughed — the proper one, the warm easy one that still did something to my chest every single time — and pulled me back against him, completely unbothered, United shirt and all.
"I love you," I said. "Even though you're certifiable."
"Love you too," he said. "Even though you fell for the jersey thing completely, wallahi."
"I did NOT fall for—"
"Cushion, Y/N. Lamp nearly went."
"That's different—"
Outside the post-match analysis continued. The group was wide open. And somewhere down the line there'd be a knockout match with two seats that were ours — orange, properly, no jerseys required to make a point.
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bad days — aj shabeel x reader
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summary AJ was having a bad day. she could tell. she always could. the problem was getting him to let her do anything about it.
prompt – bad day AJ, reader tries to reach him, established relationship warnings – light swearing, AJ being AJ about his feelings word count – ~1.5k note – AJ shabeel and his complicated relationship with letting people in - thank you for this request 🫶
requests are open :)
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She noticed it the moment he walked through the door.
Not that AJ would ever announce it. That wasn't him. He'd sooner shave his curls than sit someone down and say I'm having a bad day, please be nice to me. No — with AJ, you had to learn the language. The specific, subtle, thoroughly inconvenient language of a man who felt things deeply and showed them sideways.
Today's dialect: he came in, dropped his bag by the door instead of putting it away, and went straight to the sofa without saying a word.
No stupid joke. No wallahi you would not believe what happened today. No dramatic retelling of something that had happened to him on the way over.
Just silence.
She let him have it for a bit. Made herself busy in the kitchen, put the kettle on, listened to the specific quality of the quiet he was sitting in.
Then she went and sat beside him.
Not too close. Not right on top of him — she knew better than that. Just. Beside him. Near enough.
"Aight?" she said.
"Yeah," he said. Flat.
She looked at him.
He was staring at the TV, which wasn't on.
"You're staring at a blank screen," she pointed out.
"I know."
"Okay." She reached for the remote and turned it on, flicking to something neither of them would pay attention to. "Cool."
They sat there for a few minutes. The TV played. AJ stayed in whatever room he'd gone to in his head.
She tried again.
"You eaten?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
A pause. "...This morning."
"AJ."
"I wasn't hungry."
"It's seven in the evening."
"Yeah." He shifted slightly on the sofa, still not looking at her. "I know."
She looked at his profile — the set of his jaw, the way he was holding himself, the specific tension of someone who had been carrying something all day and hadn't put it down yet. She'd seen it before. Not often, because AJ was frustratingly good at being fine, at being funny and loud and filling a room until there was no space left for anything else. But sometimes, on days like this, the performance dropped and she could see the underneath of him.
She hated that she couldn't just fix it.
She also knew that saying that would get her nowhere.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Nah."
"Okay."
Another few minutes of TV neither of them watched.
"It's just—" AJ started, then stopped.
She waited. She was good at waiting for him.
"It's nothing," he said. "Forget it."
"You brought it up."
"I said forget it."
"AJ."
"What?"
She turned to look at him properly. He was still doing the thing where he wasn't quite looking at her — eyes somewhere adjacent, jaw tight, the specific posture of someone who wanted to say something and had decided against it and was annoyed at themselves for wanting to say it in the first place.
"You're allowed to just tell me," she said. Simply. "Whatever it is."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
He finally looked at her. His dark brown eyes doing the thing she'd learned to read — the flash of something real before the deflection arrived.
"It's embarrassing," he muttered.
"More embarrassing than the time you tried to do that backflip at Niko's and knocked over the whole table?"
Despite himself, the corner of his mouth moved. "That was Niko's fault."
"You said that at the time. Nobody believed you then either."
He made a sound that was almost a laugh. Almost.
"It's just been a long day," he said finally, quieter. "One of those days where everything's a bit—" he shrugged, searching for the word, "—a lot. You know?"
"Yeah," she said. "I know."
"And I don't—" he stopped again. Exhaled through his nose. "I don't want to make it a whole thing."
"It's not a whole thing," she said. "It's just me."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then, slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders did something. Not gone — just less. The specific release of someone who had decided, against their better judgement, to let something in.
"Come here then," she said. Soft.
AJ looked at her. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious of the gentleness the way he was always suspicious of gentleness when it was directed at him, like some part of him was still waiting for the catch.
"I'm not a child," he said.
"I know you're not."
"I don't need—"
"AJ." She held his gaze. "Come here."
He looked at her for another second.
Then, with all the dignity he could manage, which was not very much, he leaned over and let himself rest against her. His head on her shoulder, his whole tall awkward self attempting to fit into the space she'd made for him.
She didn't make a big deal of it. Just let him settle. One hand coming up to the back of his neck, fingers moving through the curls at the nape, slow and gentle the way she knew he'd never in a million years ask for.
He exhaled.
Proper — the long kind, the kind that meant something had been let go.
"There he is," she said quietly. Not to embarrass him. Just because it was true.
He said nothing. But she felt him press slightly closer, and that was its own kind of answer.
They stayed like that for a while. The TV played. The light in the flat changed as the evening moved through it.
"The curls thing," AJ said eventually, his voice low and slightly muffled against her shoulder.
"What about them."
"You can — I mean." A pause. "That's — yeah. That's fine. If you want."
She bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Noted."
"Don't make it weird."
"I'm not making it weird."
"You're smiling."
"You can't even see my face."
"I can tell." He shifted slightly, getting more comfortable in the most elaborately casual way possible. "Wallahi, you're always smiling when you've won something."
"I haven't won anything."
"You've got me laid on you like a labrador, don't you."
She did laugh then — properly, the helpless kind — and she felt him smile against her shoulder despite himself. The specific reluctant smile of AJ Shabeel when something was funny and he didn't want to admit the mood had lifted.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"Yeah, yeah." He was quiet for a moment. "Thanks, by the way."
She looked down at the top of his curls. "For what."
"For not—" he stopped. Tried again. "For not making it a thing."
"I told you it wasn't a thing."
"Still." A pause. "Ta."
She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Felt him try to act like he didn't care about that and fail completely.
"Anytime," she said.
And meant it.
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