summary: let it be a surprise. just fluffy and relationship shit.
note: i apologize if there’s any orthography errors, english is not my first language. plus tell me if this is too long or too short, cause i feel i got carried away but also feel like it could be longer. thanks!
if you’ve ever wished for something, it was that erling wasn’t as busy as he was most weeks. however, in days like this it was almost a blessing.
you had prepared a surprise dinner for the two of you, wanting to show erling your acknowledgment for how much effort he was putting into the world cup training.
you’d made a perfect steak, mashed potatoes, an amazing salad, and bought a good wine. you had until 8 pm to finish all the details.
it was 7:45 pm, you were putting on a good outfit, but not too much. you knew erling came freshly showered after training, but he came home in joggers and hoodie set.
why were you so nervous? you had cooked for him before, if anything was wrong, he’d never complain about it. he was the most thankful person you’ve ever met.
maybe it was the fact you were telling him you were pregnant. it could be.
you had found out that morning, an hour after he left. your period was two weeks absent, it wasn’t casual, you were worried. not for the pregnancy, but because it wasn’t something you had planned.
you knew he wanted kids. you’d talked about it. but not for it to happen now, it was somewhat obvious. he was in the peak of his career.
did you fear his reaction? maybe. your reaction wasn’t pretty either, you had cried, laughed and questioned your future, all in the span of an hour before you called your mom.
“why aren’t you happy?” her question made your stomach close, you didn’t understand the reason for your mixed emotions, “you’ve wanted to be a mom for as long i can remember. am i wrong?”
you shook your head, your mom’s eyes softened and she smiled with a relief sigh.
“i know it’s scary. i felt it too. but erling and you have a precious love between the two of you, why would something that came out of that love be bad?”
those words had resonated on your mind since you closed that call. she was right. erling loved you, that wasn’t a doubt. but did he want this as much as you did?
the sound of the door opening dragged you back to the dinning table, where you were awaiting for erling. you heard him leave his stuff on the floor as he entered.
“my love? wow, it’s smells incredible!” he said while walking towards the table. his eyes opened in surprise as he saw all your preparations. “you know our anniversary isn’t for another month, right?”
“i know, dummy. sit down” you greet him with a kiss and he smiles in your mouth as you do, “eat, tell me how it is”
“i bet my whole family this will be the best meal that my mouth is gonna touch,” he smiles, he doesn’t waste another second and took a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth
he groaned with approval, that made you happy. at least he enjoyed his dinner before the news.
“i’m happy you like it.” you started to eat as well, you congratulated yourself in your mind, it was really good.
“like it? i love it. what do i owe this pleasure to?” he continued enjoying his plate as he ended talking
“nothing, i just know you’ve been busting your ass off due to the world cup. and i wanted you to know i love you. more than anything in this world.”
his hand got yours, and caressed it for a second before talking.
“i love you more. thank you, for this and for everything, really, you’re the best.” he smiled as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it carefully
the evening continued with the usual routine of asking how his day was, if anything new happened in training, if he had the chance to talk to his family, etc.
“aren’t you having some wine?” he asked as he filled his glass with the red juice
“nop, i’m sticking with water tonight” your fingers wrapped around your own glass and took a long sip. you were trembling underneath the table, your leg shaking continuously
he continued to talk about some changes the team had made into the tactics, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the news you were about to give.
“do you wanna watch a movie? you can choose this one” he said smiling, but you flew out of your seat before he could even get up
“wait, don’t move. there’s one more thing.” you said as you walked—ran—to the kitchen for the little box you had made for the surprise
it wasn’t that elaborated as you would’ve wanted, but, it was perfect. at least for the short notice.
his smile grew bigger, “god, another gift? thanks, my love” you put the box in the table as he grabbed you and pulled you into his lap
“open it.” your expectancy showing through your words
his fingers opened delicately the box, you felt his body tense underneath you. his eyes scanned the content for a second before asking.
a stuffed bunny, a baby norway jersey, some baby mittens and the pregnancy test that stated “pregnant”.
“what— is this a… wait, what?” his words stumbled into gibberish, he couldn’t formulate a coherent thought
your eyes had started to fill with tears and your voice shook between your words
“i’m.. i’m pregnant. i know it wasn’t the plan but-” you were interrupted when he pulled you into a hug
“this is the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me” his voice cracked, your tears wetted his hoodie, your hands ran through his hair with caress
“do you really think so?” you asked after a few seconds into the hug
“of course, love. what else would it be?” he said as he took distance to look you in your eyes
“you are just beginning the best part of your career.” your explanation sounded so incoherent when it came out of your mouth
“do you think i care more about my career than my life with you? i’d give anything to have a family with you.” he cleaned your tears with his thumbs and a smile drew in your face
“fuck. i feel so stupid for even doubting this was a happy moment.” he laughed, leaving a kiss in the corner of your mouth
“i’m sorry if i ever made you think that. i’m more than happy to have a little bundle of us.” his smiled could heal every inch of your heart that had been hurting
“we’ll have a little haaland coming our way in 9 months…” thinking about it was one thing, but saying it out loud still felt unreal. the mere fact of knowing you would go from being two to becoming three made you weep with emotion all over again
“i can’t wait for it, you’ll be the best mommy.” his hands flew to your belly for a gentle rub, “but i doubt he’ll or she’ll be little. you do know i was almost 9 pounds at birth, right?”
“wait, what?” you laughed and shook your head, "well, i'm happy to have your giant babies."
"i'm happy you're having them." he left a kiss in your lips with sweetness before carrying you to the couch and started talking about everything he was gonna buy for the baby
ERLING ROLLED OVER IN BED. Both of you recovering from your highs and gasping for breath, muttering phrases of endearment into the air towards each other. “So good f’me,” he praised, breath uneven. He blinked over at you, cheek pressed into the pillow as he shifted himself over to look at you and the fall and rise of your chest with a coy grin. “You okay?” he rasped.
You glanced over at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a lazy downturned smile. “Mhm.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead gently, then withdrew and clambered out of the bed; looking over his shoulder momentarily to cast a last glimpse of you. Hair tousled and splayed over the duvet haphazardly, cheeks flushed and marked by his touch. “Where you goin’?” you tilted your head at him, cocking it to the side.
He chuckled, tongue-in-cheek, his back turned to you as he called out, “I’ll be back in a minute, elskling,” from down the corridor. You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and pulling the duvet further over yourself, the sun painting a line of orange sunlight into the room. You faintly heard the sound of running water carrying itself through the walls, the sound of Erling’s hummed tunes accompanying it. He returned a moment later, hovering by the doorway, blue eyes skimming across your form. A smirk tugged at his lips as you looked up and over at him. “You’re so beautiful,” he commented offhandedly, pushing off from the doorframe and padding towards you in bed.
“Thank you,” you replied, a cheeky smile adorning your features. Erling leaned down slightly, pecking you on the lips whilst his calloused hand found its way to your hip, gently starving shapes into your skin. “Jus’ running you a bath, ‘kay?” he mentioned, and you nodded. “Thank you, again.” He grinned back, shoving your face playfully whilst clambering back into bed next to you. He swiftly settled himself flush against you, peppering kisses against the side of your neck and profile that he could reach.
You rolled your eyes jokingly and giggled at him, turning around so you were both face to face. “Love you,” you breathed. “Love you too,” he repeated, as if it was a prayer between you two. “How’re you feeling?” he asked eventually, staring attentively at your features. “Not too sore?” you shook your head with a light scoff. “All fine.” He nodded, both of you softly smiling at each other, as if afraid if you looked away the other would simply disappear. He traced your features with his eyes, then made a noise of contentment; snaking an arm around your exposed waist and nuzzling his face into your shoulder.
You let out a small downturned smile. “What?” he laughed quietly. “Nothin’,” you retorted, eyes trained on his, arms reaching out to drape over his chest and behind his head. “Your bath will be ready soon,” he mumbled, eyes flickering closed. You nodded and made a noise of acknowledgment, gently running your nails through his hair; as you silently breathed together in the comfort of your bed, only broken up by the hum of running water down the corridor.
“Erl,” you whispered after some time. He lifted his head groggily at you, cocking his head to the side. “Can you check if the bath’s ready or if it’s flooded?” he chuckled softly, withdrawing himself from your touch, before plodding along to the bathroom and turning the tap off. “All ready,” he called out, dipping a finger in to test the temperature of the milky foam as you walked in. “Want me to join you?” he joked as he was drying his hand on a towel, cocky grin plastered over his face. You gave him an equally unimpressed glare, swatting him out of the bathroom before dipping yourself into its warmth.
If your requests are open could you write Erling Haaland x hairstylist reader
Reader making a video of washing his hair (in the salon) and he tries moving his head so she pulls him by the hair back. Maybe in the background of the video you hear her voice "just a reminder i.do.not do this to my clients I'm kinda dating him and he did annoy me a lot this weekend"
-🍷
i kinda took it to a different direction im sorry 😭hope u still like it tho mwah
~ erling haaland x hairdresser reader
it was media day, everyone running around the place, photographers, makeup artists and the players of course. you yawned as you sat down for a second, you just did half of the teams hair, you felt exhausted. it took you a good two hours, styling everyone, working together with the cameramen, the makeup artists, it was a mess. ( plus jack kept complaining about the amount of gel you used.. in the end you let him drench his hair in it just so he would leave your chair) you yawn in the chair, rubbing your eyes, trying to get some strength into yourself when out of nowhere you feel hands on your shoulders. you know its him without looking around, you can smell his cologne and the way his finger’s slowly massage your back is way too familiar.
“ are you tired baby?”- he asks, leaning close, his chest pressing against your back, his lips dangerously close to your neck. you get goosebumps from his presence, how tall and huge he is, how he stands behind you.
“mhm..”- you stand up from your chair, facing him with a blush and a smile on your face.
“ is it your turn to get your hair done or are you just trying to distract me erling?”
“its my turn promise!” - he looks at you shocked, his brows furrowed, why would you assume he’s there to mess around with you?.. distracting you? oh he never would do such thing..
you hum as a response and push him down into the chair. his hair is beautiful but its getting so weak from him tying it up all the time.. you brush it out, running your fingers through it.
“ erling. i have a crazy idea.”- you look at him in the mirror, with a huge grin.
“ oh oh. and what’s your idea”?- he looks at you in the mirror, his eyes sparkling from the curiosity.
“ will you let me braid your hair? you know like i did on friday, but i would put some hair oil in it now.. and and it will look so good trust me! i think it will go with the new jersey so much more than a bun..! you look so good in that jersey….”
you can see it on his face that you already convinced him, he loves wearing his hair in braids, and he trusts you with it totally. ( plus that comment of him looking good in the new jersey gave him such an ego boost, he wouldn’t let you do anything else with his hair) he nods enthusiastically, staring at you and your eyes, he’s mesmerized.
“mhm okay braids it is” - you say, leaning closer to him, acting like your brushing through his locks, and quickly pressing a kiss on his cheek. he lights up, his face turning bright red. you smile coyly to yourself, you love the effect you have on him. you get back to his hair, brushing it again, then grabbing some hair ties as you get to braiding. you decide on two strands of dutch styled braids and everything is going smoothly and well until erling starts hissing.
“ouch ouch, y/n your hurting mee, you keep pulling on my scalp” - he complains, sulking in the chair.
“ i’m not pulling! just tilt your head back more!”- to these demands ( the himbo he is) he manages to tilt his head forwards, getting completely out of your hands.
“ oh god”- u sigh, taking his head into your hands and directing him towards the angle you need him in.
“ oh damn, i think my hair is actually fine as it is”- you hear as kevin enters the room, his snarky comment making you blush and the camera crew bust out laughing.
your embarrassed, you almost forgot how many people and cameras are around you.
“ i didn’t.. its okay, trust me he’s the only one getting rough treatment, cuz he doesn’t know the difference between forward and backwards!”- your explanation gets erling to spin around in the chair, looking at you with his mouth open.
“ no i know! i was just escaping you and your hair pulling! i swear i know the difference! - he looks around upset, hoping that he convinced the crew of his knowledge of positions.
“mhm okay okay sure.. whatever please lay back now i have to do your hair”- you roll your eyes, softly pushing him back into the chair, ignoring the giggling around the room.
(…)
his hair of course ends up gorgeous, and it holds together so nicely (thanks to your talent) that he wears his hair in the braids at tomorrow’s training.
A/N: Finally !! A football Imagine !! The amount of players I imagined this for before settling for Erling 💀. Anyways, Enjoy 🥳
Genre: fluff, then heart-wrenching angst. Erling Haaland x Singer!FemReader.
Words: 4.7K
Synopsis: after your tour’s last show at the Etihad, your Manchester songwriting sessions start for the next six months. However, a newly found love between you and a Norwegian player gets harder to navigate the closer your time to go back to your life in the US gets.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
You look out the plane's window, trying to count the clouds filling up the night sky to get your mind off counting the cracks in your heart or the tears that won't stop falling.
Why won't anything last? Why can't anything perfect just exist? But then you wouldn't have had the six months worth a life time with him anyway.
It wasn't perfect. But you still loved every living minute of it. You loved his imperfect guitar skills, his imperfect dancing, his imperfect cooking. All his imperfects were perfect to you.
You wished that your team never handed out tickets to the ManCity players for your Etihad Stadium concert. You wished you hadn't met him. That meant you won't ever have all the memories from your short time together, and you were okay with that. You can live without this heart ache. You can definitely live without Erling's sobs and red face engraved in your head.
You try to pin point exactly when you lost yourself to him. Your songwriting sessions in Manchester were supposed to come and go quietly after your tour's last show at the Etihad.
You weren't supposed to run into a Norwegian player from a sky blue team two days later. He wasn't supposed to complement your music. You weren't supposed to blush as you thanked him. And he absolutely shouldn't have asked you out for lunch.
But you still ran into that Norwegian player, and you still agreed for lunch. You sat in the cool Manchester air outside a quiet restaurant and just talked about anything that came to mind.
You talked about music and he talked about football. You hoped he didn't notice how much you were enjoying talking with him over pizza and coke. It was embarrassingly a lot. But you didn't know that he felt exactly the same way.
He never wanted it to end.
He didn't want all his planning to purposely run into you outside the studio you worked at to end in just an hour.
So he was obviously unhappy when Pep called his number, asking where he was.
"Training?" You smiled, ignoring the disappointment that he had to go and that you'll probably never see him again. At least not in person.
"Yeah. Maybe I could show you around tomorrow since it's my day off. I've been in Manchester long enough to finally say this to someone" he proudly opens his arms and you laugh lightly, keeping your excitement as low as possible for it not to show.
And he did show you Manchester the next day. He took you downtown, to the park he always goes to when he wants to just relax after a busy week of games and training, to where all the tourists go when they usually visit, and where he and his teammates usually hang out around the Etihad.
"I never knew there's this much to do in Manchester" you smile at him and he shakes his head.
"Me neither. It's a beautiful 'City'" he does air quotes and laughs. You roll your eyes at his joke, laughing along with him.
He drops you off at your rented house and waits until you get inside. You fight the urge to look back and wave one last time at your newly found crush. You felt so stupid for admitting it, but for the next few weeks, you waited for him to text you, you danced around your room when he finally did, you hoped and dreamt of when he would ask you to hang out again, you looked for tickets to his games, thought about how his cheeks redden under the sun, how focused he gets when driving, and how excited he gets when he talks about football.
A few weeks of texting lead to something more. You start writing songs about how he made you feel. About your little interactions. About him.
Going downtown turned into going to his house. Just a few hours turned into all day. Hearing about training and games turned into watching them live at the Etihad.
"That was a great game!" You try to convince him as you walked out of the stadium after a disappointing game. He still sulks as you walk to his car.
"We could've won with a bigger difference" he whines and you shake your head, leaning back on his car door when you reached it. He stands in front of you.
"You still won, though. Give yourself and the team some credit" you tell him. He doesn't reply.
He looks up and you admire how the setting sun washes his face golden. He looks at you, not holding back any emotion from flooding his eyes and drowning you in admiration. You don't either. You don't hold back from staring into his eyes for as long as he would let you.
"I've been..." he walks closer to you, hesitantly taking your hands in his own. Your heart feels like it could stop any second. You almost urge him to just say it. To finally make your dreams come to life.
"You're all I think about" he laughs nervously. You don't. You're too flustered to do or say anything.
"And I just can't wait any longer to ask you to be mine. I want you for myself. I want you to be wearing my jersey when I look at the crowd and look for you" he says so quietly it's almost a whisper. You wanted to kiss him. Right then and there. So when he leaned in, you placed a hand on his cheek and he took that as an invitation to lean in further.
You've never felt anything like you did in that moment. Nothing even came close. Everything felt meaningless compared to it. You wanted him more than you've ever wanted anything. You wanted that kiss to last a life time, but nothing does unfortunately.
Once Erling pulled away, you looked down at your feet and pursed your lips together as he looked around. Nervous and flustered, you turn around and open the car door, getting in quickly and leaving Erling outside.
He looks at you through the window and chuckles. However, you don't see him jump up and down, raising two thumbs ups to Jack, John, and Ruben who just witnessed everything that happened between the two of you. They smiled proudly at Erling who never stopped talking about you to them. How he was going to ask you to be finally his. So, they had a mini party right there that he finally got you.
Things in the studio were fired up. With your raging emotions, so much was getting done and work has never been easier. You and Erling hung out every day at that point. He would sometimes come hang out at the studio, and you'd leave together to spend the night at his place.
He would cook you too salty, or too bland meals every time you went to his place. His movie choices were peculiar, yet enjoyable. His arms were slowly becoming home to you, and his clothes were becoming your daily attire.
You attended every game. You did wear his jersey to every single one of them, and though the Etihad was always full of thousands of people, Erling always looked up to only you to celebrate his goals.
It was a Tuesday night at his place. Half eaten, too salty pasta sat in ceramic plates on the coffee table and a soap opera on Erling's TV. You laid on top of Erling on his living room's couch, resting your head of his chest while silently counting his calm heart beats and enjoying the warmth from his wrapped arm around your body.
"Y/n" Erling calls quietly.
"Hm?" You hum in response, your eyes focused on the TV.
He suddenly detangles himself from you and towers above you as he stands next to the couch. You look up at him before he carries you. You giggle, unconsciously wrapping your arms around his neck and brining your face close to his.
Your foreheads touch and you both stay quiet for a second. You wait for Erling to speak.
"I'm in love with you, y/n y/l/n" he whispers and your heart explodes with an emotion you could only explain as love. You thought of all the explanations of love you came across throughout your life. You compared them to what you felt in that moment, but to no avail. Nothing came close to that feeling. That feeling could never be articulated. Could never be conveyed through mere speech or writing.
"I'm in love with you, Erling Haaland" you whisper back before kissing him, hoping to convey how real your feelings were for him. How deep you felt how you felt towards him.
As your fourth month in Manchester wraps up, you realize how far you and Erling have come. And how close your time to go back to the States was coming too.
But you kept your eyes shut and your ears plugged. You convinced yourself that by doing so, that day would just never come around.
You two still held hands every chance you got, you still slow danced around Erling's living room, you still went to every game, Erling still celebrated his goals and wins with only you. You kept writing songs about him and he kept dedicating all his hard work to you.
"Come on close your eyes" Erling urged and you placed both hands on your eyes. You were sat on his bed, ready to go to sleep when he announced that he got you something. He dangled a necklace right in front of your face.
"Open them" he orders quietly. You do so and gasp at the dangling jewelry in front of you.
Erling admires your reaction as you take the necklace in your hand. You inspect the golden letters written in his cursive handwriting. It was both of your initials.
"This way you'll always have a piece of me with you when I'm away" he says quietly and you look at him. You quickly hug him tightly, trying to bury the heart ache that only keeps getting more tangible.
The more time that passes, the harder it gets to hide the fact that this whole whirlwind romance won't last. You knew that. Erling knew that too. But, understandably, none of you wanted to admit it. So you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your tears back into their ducts and he held you tighter than usual.
"I love you" you mumbled into his neck and he kissed your temple, still holding you.
"I love you" he said it back to you like he always did and forever will.
You finally meet his family. You get to know his younger sisters and help his mother in the kitchen. You try to test your football trivia with his dad and you actually impress him with how much you picked up since you got together with Erling.
Under the dinner table, your hands intertwine and your heart flutters at the way his parents smile at you every time Erling talks about you.
At the Etihad, things are also getting fired up because of Erling's raging emotions. He runs faster, laughs louder, and scores better. Pep, Jack, and John stand next to each other, admiring his genuine laughter at something Kyle said.
"Funny what love does to you" John says quietly, still smiling at Erling. Jack nodded, his eyes focused on Erling as well.
Only Pep was worried. He knew once the slightest crack occurs in Erlings dream relationship, and not because his performance will plummet, but because he knew how hard heartbreak could be. And he knew damn well that he'll just stand and watch, because nothing ever mends a broken heart.
Towards the end of your sixth month in Manchester, a coherent draft of your upcoming studio album finally came together. You couldn't wait to go home and tell Erling all about it and even listen to it with him.
It was all about falling in love with him after all.
But the plane tickets your manager handed you blew everything away. It was a slap across your face. A wake up call to finally leave the waking dream you've been so immersed in.
"Couldn't find any sooner flights, unfortunately. You've got a lot to catch up to once we get back to the States. Some stations asked if they could..." you couldn't hear anything anymore.
How could you be so stupid? It was only then that you realized how far you've let go of yourself.
You knew you were leaving. At some point. But it still definitely snuck up on you. You've been so in love that you forgot the cruelty of your world. You've been in a shared dream that you've completely forgotten about your own.
You didn't know how you ended up at Erling's place, but you did. You walked in, your feet leading you to where he usually was in the living room. It was familiar. Too familiar.
You didn't say a single word. You just laid on the couch, your head on his thigh. He didn't say anything either.
You stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but just a minute later, Erling spoke.
"What's wrong?" His voice was so quiet he was almost whispering. You unravelled. Completely came undone.
You got up, buried your head in chest and just sobbed. You didn't see an end to it. Not in the near future at least. Startled, Erling tries to look at your face, placing both his hands on your wet cheeks.
"Hey, look at me" he whispers. You try to hold it in to try and have a conversation about it.
But what were you going to say? That you couldn't stay? That you were leaving him after the six months worth a lifetime and more? That you weren't taking his sisters to the park next Sunday? Not going to his game next Monday either? That you were returning his clothes that were practically yours? That you were never waking up next to him again? Not partying with his teammates after every win? That you'll move on and find someone else eventually, but never a love like you've had with him?
You could never.
It takes insane self control to take a steady breath to speak one single coherent sentence. You looked at your hands as his eyes studied your puffy face.
"My plane leaves on Wednesday. To LA" you risk a look at his face and it's as if his life crumbled. In a split second, Erling is up on his feet and chuckling. You start crying again, covering your face with your hands.
"That's all?" He laughs. You look up at him and stand up to walk to him.
"You're crying because you're leaving for a few-"
"No! Not a few days, Erling! I'm going back to the US because my whole life is there! Your whole life?! Here!" You scream at him, tears streaming down your face. You let out a few sobs.
"So? We'll make it work" he shrugs and you roll your eyes at his state of denial. You knew. He knew, too.
You won't work. Ever. Not when your lives were across the world from one another.
"Yeah and how is that?" You impatiently cross your arms and wipe your nose with the sleeve of your sweater.
He looks at you for a long moment in a way that cut your heart a million times. Your lips shake and you turn away from him.
You feel his arms around you from behind almost immediately. He keeps you on your feet. You feel him kiss your temple gently, as if reassuring you that it'll be alright.
But it will not. It will never be.
"We'll find a way. We will" even he sounds unsure now and it breaks you. It really shatters your wellbeing.
You let yourself cry as Erling just held you in his safe arms. You try to gather yourself, but you fail for the next ten minutes. Once you succeed, you guide Erling to sit next to you on the couch.
"Erling" you call his name even though he was right next to you. You take his hand and hold it with both of your own.
"Once I leave Manchester" you start. You couldn't control the blurriness in your eyes any longer, so you just let a tear roll down your cheek.
"I'm never coming back" you look up at him. You wished you hadn't, because his face fell once the words left your mouth. You could tell it was the first time it really hit him.
It really hit him hard. In just two days from now, you'll only be another pretty celebrity in someone else's phone. Running from interview to interview, meeting guys way better than him. Guys who could actually play guitar and know how songwriting works. Guys who can actually be there. Guys that were not tied by a football career across the globe from you.
"Erling, I can't come see you in breaks because I never have any other than one or two days. You deserve someone who can actually be here for you-"
He cuts you off by pulling you into his chest, holding you so tight that it was becoming harder to breath. You just stopped talking. Not bearing to break him or yourself any further.
"You're the only one I want. Even if you leave, that will never ever change. Don't tell me I deserve someone better. Don't tell me that I will find someone who could make my heart beat the way you make it do" he begs and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't sob. You were way too tired. You just let the tears silently find their way down your face.
Erling was wrong. You'll never find a guy better then he is. You loved teaching him how to play the guitar every time he visited the studio, and he didn't know much about songwriting, but he was the inspiration behind your entire upcoming album.
None of you could say it. None of you could come to terms with it and actually face it. You just held each other as if it was your last day on earth.
Waking up the next day next to Erling didn't feel the same. It didn't make your heart race from excitement and happiness. He didn't kiss your face until you yelled at him to stop, your laughter filling his house.
The rest of the day was spent like normal, though. You were skeptical at first when Erling woke up and was acting like nothing had happened the night before. He didn't seem sad. Or like this was technically your last day together. But as the day went on, you appreciated having one last day with him instead of just crying all day.
You went out for a walk at the park Erling took you to when you first met. Laughed at a cat fight over a bird. Sat under a big tree and held hands while taking in the view around you. Went with Erling to his training session afterwards and cheered him on like you always did. After training, you just went home and Erling immediately got to cooking after a quick shower. You watched his every move from where you sat on the kitchen island.
After dinner, you spent the rest of the night just acting blind to the fact that once you left, you were never coming back to him. Holding hands, listening to his heart beat, rewatching your favorite movie, talking about random topics and sharing your opinions on them.
But time never stopped for anyone. Or anything for that matter. It was so cruel that it kept going until one in the morning. Until you had to leave. And it still kept going as you detangled yourself from Erling.
Suddenly, the atmosphere got heavy. Your feet felt like they couldn't walk you out of his door. Your heart didn't seem to take it.
Erling places his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He really tried to not cry when it was time, but it was just too much. It was a lot to handle his first ever true love to end just like this.
"Erling" you call him shakily, but he's sobbing at this point. You sat back down next to him, not knowing what to do. He stops himself from crying all of a sudden and gets up. You follow.
"I'll drive you back" he says quietly. You don't object. You follow him to his car.
The drive to your place was awfully quiet. It was too quiet. Every few minutes, you tried stealing a look at him. Checking if he was okay. But you were just kidding yourself. How could he be okay? How could you?
He steps out of his car once he parks in your house's driveway. You do so too. You walk around the car to meet him by the driver's door.
You take his hands and he holds yours. You look up at him and muster a smile. One tugs at his lips too. It was sad, what you were going through. But beautiful. It was all so beautiful nothing will ever compare to it.
He leans in and kisses you. So passionately you almost scream in agony at the thought of it being the last time. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, hoping to make him feel an ounce of how he made you feel.
You don't pull away from each other for what seemed like an eternity. But when you do, you knew it was a piece of yourself that you've lost and will never be able to restore.
"I love you, y/n" Erling whispers.
"I love you, Erling" you whisper back.
With that, you turn away and walk quickly to your door, as if to outrun the pain. But you knew better than that.
Once your front door shuts, Erling quickly gets into his car, coming completely undone. He cries his heart out, hitting the steering wheel and cursing his mind for playing a reel of the best six months of his life.
You do too. You curse yourself for loving him. You curse yourself for knowing what it's like to be held by him. What it's like to kiss him. Feel him. Hear him talk or watch him cook. Your heart hurts. Your chest hurts too. Your eyes won't stop flooding with tears. You hold the necklace he gave you a few months ago as if you were holding on to him.
Somehow, the next day came a long. Your assistant and manager helped pack the car with you. They doesn't ask about your puffy eyes or sick demeanor. They naturally connected the dots. They knew about you and Erling. Everyone did.
You let yourself silently cry in the backseat on the way to the airport, hoping your manager and assistant don't hear or notice.
After checking in and on your way to security, you hear someone call your name. You turn around to see Jack, John, and Ruben. You smile at them. Genuinely.
"Hey" you greet them, giving them each a quick hug. You ignore the heart ache from not seeing Erling with them.
You two said goodbye last night anyway.
"We couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye in person" John tells you and you smile at them.
"It was fun knowing you guys. Thank you for everything. I never thought I'd make any friends in my time here honestly" you admit.
"Don't let your newly found Brit side die once you get back to America" Jack warns and everyone laughs. Including yourself.
You shake your head and wave at them. They all smile and wave back to you as you start walking backwards.
"I'll stay in touch and watch your games still!" You assure them before turning away to follow your manager and assistant.
And that's how you ended up in a plane, looking out at the clouds, crying as your mind raced with a million thoughts. a million what ifs and would'ves. You thought you won't live long after that heartbreak. You couldn't keep going like this.
But you didn't. As your manager told you, your schedule was full once you got back. You woke up every morning, got your makeup and hair done before running out the door for your scheduled interviews, album shoots, recordings, and many other things you had to do before your album came out.
You still cried yourself to sleep for weeks, though. But it slowly got better. You focused on your work. Your friends. Yourself. You tried your best to not give up. He wouldn't have wanted that for you. Ever.
When your album finally dropped, it was your best one yet. It broke records you never thought you'd break and so many people were enjoying it all across the world. The week your album dropped was a dream turned into reality after two years of constant hard work.
As part of your promotions, you sat in one of the many interviewee chairs you had sat in before. You got comfortable as the interviewer asked you all sorts of questions and you answered them like you always did, wittily yet sufficiently, making the tiny crowd laugh in their seats as they watched.
"About your new album" the interviewer starts and the whole room cheers. You cheer too.
"It seems to be following some sort of plot line, as if telling a story in a way" he continues and you nod along, confirming his theory.
"What's it really about?" The interviewer asks hopefully. You already decided how much you were going to tell the public, so the question didn't surprise you at all.
"About a year ago, I was writing this album in Manchester, UK, and I met this guy while I was there" you start and the room erupts with cheers again. You smile at them before going on.
"We fell for each other a bit too hard" you laugh lightly and the interviewer nods, laughing along.
"But I had to come back to the States and he had to stay in the UK, so" you sigh towards the end.
It was moments like these when you allowed yourself to think about him. About everything that happened last year. You never allowed yourself past just a thought crossing your mind.
But when you actually talked about it, you allowed yourself more than just that. You allowed yourself to remember the little details. To miss him and wonder how he was doing. You've met some guys since then, but Erling had already set the bar impossibly high for any of them to even see.
In Manchester, Erling was still being the star player he is. Since you've left, he had won his first Premier League with ManCity. He still thought about you before, during, and after each game. He kept up with all your news. Watching you shine from afar when you were once in between his arms. He wished you knew how proud he was of you. Of how well your album was doing. That everywhere he went in Manchester, it was being played somewhere.
That night, he watched your interview in bed, his phone resting on the pillow where your head used to rest. He watches you talk about your album and he thinks of how he would've celebrated its success with you. But all he did was smile at his phone screen when you did and hoped you were doing okay off of it too. He prayed every night and everyday that fate will eventually bring you two back together somehow. Still the same, but under different and better circumstances. You prayed for that too.
But until then, all you had was the memories you had together, replaying in your heads and reminding you of the only time you truly felt alive.
YOU HAD FINALLY WON IT ALL, the Monaco Grand Prix final wasn’t an easy track to complete, nonetheless you finished in the quickest time with only a few mishaps along the way. If you were being brutally honest to yourself, your ears were ringing with the words of your race engineer. “You’re P1, P1,” he repeated, your head echoing with it so much so that you zoned out the cheers and congratulations of people coming up to you, fans, teammates, and opponents; you could barely hear them, it was as if you had headphones in blasting music, you were only able to attempt to lipread them smile and nod as if you understood a word they were saying in your world of silence.
The ringing in your ears finally commenced and sunk back to roars and cheers of your name, chanting it like a mantra. You took your helmet off and pulled your hair out the suit, waving to fans and grinning, it hadn’t properly sunk in for you that you had won, you beat everyone, you were first place, people were screaming your name and throwing scarves, balloons, miniature figures, flowers, and chocolates towards you from their fenced off area. You needed time to think it over and properly reinforce the fact in your head that you won it all, but you didn’t get that. Instead you were ushered up and towards the finishing podium, helmet held between both hands as if you were cradling a baby.
The climb up to the winners’ podium was intense, it was as if you were living life in slow motion, your ears now pricked up and breathing heavily. Either side of you were second and third place respectively, giving you a curt nod, likely appreciating their own close finishing time against yours with a grain of salt. You raised your head, facing forward on the podium, trophy and champagne in either hand with a grin up to your ears. You felt like you wanted to scream, there was a squeak in your throat that tingled and you wanted to let it out; let out your excitement, let out your inner feelings and hardships that went into this win.
You did. You raised the trophy in both hands, yelling at the top of your lungs, but mostly being blurred out by the crowd roaring with you; spraying the champagne, people beside you smiling to themselves and stepping away slightly to avoid the soapy liquid. You had your time to celebrate, and you were sure it would finally hit you when you left the ceremony and the race entirely — just to return to your hotel, or if possibly your house, somehow catch a plane and go home — but your mind was still warped trying to understand what you had accomplished.
With a glass of champagne in hand you said your toasts to the race engineer communicating with you throughout the race, of course, and all the behind-the-scenes individuals who helped you finally get what you well and truly deserved. Then retired, making your way to the exit until an individual who you recognised from media events, not just with F1 but many other sports, football being one of them, approached you. She was tailed closely behind by a much taller man, whom she was tiny in comparison to, and yet his hands were fumbling against each other.
You looked up, half in confusion, half-grinning; maybe it was the champagne getting you tipsy, or the raw feeling of victory finally overtaking you and coming over your senses, moreso the champagne. “Hello and congratulations on the win, Ms. Ramirez!” you have her a polite smile in return and an appreciative nod. “Thank you, thank you. It hasn’t really kicked in yet, I can't believe I’ve actually done it.” She laughed and you placed your champagne glass on a table near you, the man still hovering behind her and darting his eyes around anywhere but with yours.
“Bet that champagne has though,” you scoffed, chuckling alongside her and nodding admittingly. “Yeah, yeah.” She paused momentarily, looking behind her and up at the man and you questioned in that one instance whether she had come to introduce him or he was just waiting in line to speak to you, or something like that. It seemed egotistical, but you had just won the Grand Prix. You would have done the same with drivers you looked up to in your time, you’re sure. She then moved out the way, just to the side, and he eventually seemed to get the message, slowly shifting so they were side to side and you half expected them to break out into song and dance, but he just shyly stuck his hand out.
You shook it, albeit the action was a bit foreign to you due to how old-fashioned it may seem and how informal the event was, but you did so gratefully nonetheless. He coughed, clearing his throat and you watched his face. “Very nice to meet you,” he was still shaking your hand, you smiled at him. “Thank you,” you let go of his hand and stepped back courteously, the woman next to him unmoving, and he retracted back as if she was his cue.
“Do you watch football?” she asked, you shrugged. “Sometimes, if it’s on.” She nodded. “What team do you support?” you hummed in thought, your mind not settling on one clear answer, it had been a long time since you had watched football, all your time recently had been spent trying to win the Grand Prix. Now that you have done it, maybe you should start watching it more. “Arsenal,” you finally replied. The man sucked in his cheeks, grimacing and she chuckled next to him.
“This man here plays for Manchester City, have you heard of Haaland?” your eyes widened, nodding as if memory of him was coming back to you. “Ah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard of you before,” you smiled at him, he grinned back with all teeth on display. “We’re rivals then, yeah?” you laughed, trying to ease the tension or awkwardness he was seemingly repressing due to his tensed position. “Do you wanna sit down?” you asked him, brown knit tightly together.
“Lovely meeting you,” the woman shook your hand gracefully with a curt smile, and then left, likely introducing more players; maybe this was all just one scheme to get athletes from different professions to collaborate together. You had seen Sky Sports do it, maybe she worked for them.
“Good job on the win,” he said, looking at you from across the table. “I know you’re probably gonna hear it for the next three weeks, but you deserved it, best one there for sure.” You scoffed, laughing and grinning at him. “Yeah, that’s why I won. Thanks,” he shrugged, his compliment maybe not having the desired effect he originally wanted to achieve. Maybe you shouldn’t be so harsh on him, he was clearly a bit anxious despite his stature suggesting otherwise. “What’s your name?” you questioned, the corners of your eyes crinkling up as you spoke to him, smiling.
You had both exchanged surnames, not on a personal level, just by the fact the woman from earlier had introduced him to you and the fact that he had come to an event where your name was now plastered against every electric board, podium, and banner in every square mile. “Erling, you?” you took a sip of your champagne, placing it back down.
“Sara.” He nodded at your name, tucking his bottom lip in. “Suits you,” you furrowed your brows. “Yeah?” he now scoffed, he was just trying to be polite. You simply laughed it off, waving a hand at him and then sticking one up in the air as a gesture for a waiter to come over.
“Can I have champagne for him, please?” Erling shook his head and you frowned. “I don’t drink.” You pouted. “Just one f’me then, please,” you chuckled, staring at the half-full glass in front of you and downing it while the waiter walked off. “Why don’t you drink? Football get in the way?” he nodded.
“You should support Manchester City instead,” he directed, sounding something between a question and an order. Moreso a question with the way his anxious eyes were betraying him; you almost laughed. “Why? ‘Cause I like Arsenal?” he shook his head. “No, because I’m in it,” you rolled your eyes, grinning until you heard your name being called out.
“Ramirez, your Uber’s here,” thank god, you stood up and went to shake Erling’s hand in response to him doing it earlier, but his hands fumbled with yours and you just went in for a hug, trying to tightly wrap your arms around this bear of a man. He huffed lightly, hands wrapped around your shoulders. “Thanks for meeting me,” you nodded, smiling at him.
Upon pushing yourself through the crowd and to the exit you felt something against your jean pockets, assuming it was just someone bumping into you; as you turned round and no one was immediately a prime suspect to you, even Erling, now gone, disappeared from his original spot. Once you had finally reached the Uber you gave the man who called your name a friendly pat on the shoulder and a quick hug, and then went into the car, directions already taken care of.
The journey back to your hotel room wasn’t too long, it was probably just the intensity of the whole day and the fact it was getting darker now, that made you tired. Maybe it’s the tiredness that didn’t help you see the note stuffed in your pocket, only realising when you got off your seat in the Uber and it fell out when you were leaving the car.
A phone number, this could’ve been anyone’s, that’s probably what happened when you felt something prodding against your pocket. You scoffed, lightly chuckling to yourself at the audacity of some people, and, sitting down in your hotel room, typed the digits out.
can i request a dad!erling imagine in which him and the reader have a baby boy and he’s all over the moon with everything he does and the reader is all 🥹 because their baby is a carbon copy of erling in every way!
AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE TWO FULL DAYS, but in reality was a couple of hours, you pushed your first baby out. A baby boy. You and Erling had both decided on a name weeks, if not months, in advance; so after he had doted on you, ensuring you had a drink, food, making sure you weren’t in any pain, and anything else that you may have needed or was on your mind. He brought in the paperwork for you to sign to say you confirmed the name, Emil. It was like a switch flicked when he was born, you saw glimpses of his frown looking back and forth at him by your side and the nurse by your legs comforting and motivating you to push.
His face after he was born turned from one of concern to that of awe and admiration, the same look he would give you while fondling your pregnant stomach, but amplified tenfold more. His mouth slightly agape, in shock, you swore he was almost crying when he held him for the first time; watching his sleeping face resting on his palm, his son’s head smaller than it.
He tucked his bottom lip in, likely trying to compose himself in front of you seeing as you wouldn’t want to do anymore crying after two hours’ worth of labour. You had already held him, of course, but seeing Erling holding your son made you want to tear up even more.
You breathed in deeply, wiping your face with your hand as a nurse kindly passed you five or six tissues as you thanked her groggily, rolling one up and pressing it against your nose and face. You slipped out of the side of the hospital bed, two nurses immediately offered to help you to the bathroom but Erling waved them off politely, insisting he would, leaving the baby in a cot to be overseen by the nurses accompanying you momentarily.
“At least wanna do something,” he had said, you scoffed, laughing and teasing him. “You did do something, you helped make this baby in the first place!” he rolled his eyes and glared at you, helping you down to the toilet while he held the door shut from the outside in case you struggled with the lock.
While he held the door shut from prying eyes, he couldn’t help but stare at his newborn son, it didn’t seem real. He couldn’t believe there was a baby lying around nine feet away from him that was a combination of both himself and you. He felt as if he would wake up tomorrow and he would be gone, he just dreamed it up. He panicked for a split second, what if he hurt him? What if he couldn’t raise him properly? What if he couldn’t spend time with his son due to work?
His mind was racing with possibilities, but you lightly tapping on the door the other side woke him out of it.
The door swung open and he smiled at you. This was a team effort, and at least he wasn’t raising him alone. You, the embodiment of perfection and kindness would surely set your son off on the right path; he just wanted to help you in any way shape or form while you did so, you helping their baby while he helped his. He walked you back towards your baby, spread out in its crib, quietly cooing to itself.
“Should I get the car seat?” Erling asked you, you just nodded, sitting down next to the crib and simply watching your baby. Your baby, you could say that now. He was here. He was real. He walked back in with the car seat, adjusting it and balancing it against a chair opposite yours and gently picked up Emil, cradling him in his arms and placing him – all swaddled up in blankets, a matching hat, and complimentary nappy – as if he was a fine piece of china about to smash into a million pieces, into the car seat.
He strapped him up and then held in sideways so he remained lying down for good measure, and you both walked your way to the car, you slowly hobbling while complaining about stomach pains.
“I’ll get you some ibuprofen when we get home, yeah?” he had said, but his eyes never broke off of the baby’s, and you didn’t blame him. It was around this time that Erling started mumbling to himself about parking the car closer to the emergency room entrance, you however just laughed as Emil started kicking his legs in the air.
“He’s gonna be a footballer just like daddy,” Erling just grinned at you, not expressing the way he imagined kicking a ball about in your garden with his son. He hadn’t even considered that before, the fact that his son might continue on in his footsteps as he did with his.
You continued cooing at the baby until you finally reached the car, the cold air nipping at your cheeks and nose until they bloomed a red colour. You tightened the blankets around Emil, tucking his beanie over his ears so he doesn’t get too chilly, and then fastened him up in the passenger seat next to Erling, then you went to the back. “I’m not used to this,” you had confessed, chuckling to yourself and doing up your own seatbelt, hearing the click and soon after Erling’s.
He turned to face you in the backseat, eyes wrinkling up. “Having a baby?” he joked. “Do you have experience in that sector?” you waved him off, rolling his eyes. “Sitting in the back, not next to you. Guess I’m gonna have to get used to it,” he scoffed. “Jealous of a baby born half an hour ago?” you narrowed your eyes at him interrogatively, furrowing your brows and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Watch yourself or I’m gonna start saying some things the baby won’t wanna be hearing,” he laughed, then turned the engine on. “Don’t think he can understand anything yet, can you?” he cooed at his son, reversing out of the parking spot and checking behind him in the car mirror.
“What do you think his first word is gonna be?” you asked. “Hope it’s mama and not dada,” you added, Erling scoffed, making a turn down the road and away from the hospital. “You’re gonna have to get used to crying, Erl. You’re gonna be doing a lot of it now he’s here,” you admitted, recollecting his tearful eyes threatening to spill out and wet his cheeks earlier on.
“I know,” he murmured. “Imagine his first day of school,” you gasped. “I won’t be able to cope for the whole week, you’ll have to get me a bucket to cry into before I wave him off.” He looked at you, frowning through the car mirror. “He’s only just been born, babe. You’re still stuck changing nappies for the next three years.”
You huffed, glaring at him and jabbing an accusatory finger at him while staring at the car mirror.
“You mean you?” he met your eyes through the mirror, grinning. “I’ll be the one breastfeeding. So you better put your shift in, just ‘cause you’re doing football doesn’t mean you won’t be changing nappies and feeding him at three am. Let me have my beauty sleep, Mr. Haaland,” he laughed, mumbling something out the car window as he rolled it down just a bit, placing the smaller side of his palm against Emil’s head to check his temperature, softly pulling into the driveway and picking up Emil, still in the baby car seat, taking him into the house and creaking up the stairs – internally cursing himself as the noise threatened to wake Emil up – and placing him down in the bassinet next to yours and his shared bed.
The car seat was now left abandoned in the corner of the room, both of you huddled around your son’s crib.
That’s where he remained for the majority of the first couple of weeks, if you were being brutally honest, aside from midnight nappy runs in which Erling partook in, you just rocked him back and forth in your arms and whispered nursery rhymes to him. Baa-baa black sheep was his favourite so far, most likely due to your passionate attempts at mimicking sheep noises that he giggled and clapped his hands at. You had recorded his first laugh as Erling missed it, he returned home having watched the video grumbling to himself and persisting that he wanted to make him laugh.
Which then evolved into a challenge between you both on who could make Emil laugh the most. At his teammate’s wedding he wasn't paying attention to the procession, and kept telling you that he was sure Emil was going to laugh at him any second now, just cupping his hands over his face and exclaiming peek-a-boo in the worst possible moments. Yet he stayed adamant – he was going to laugh any second now – despite it being two or three more months of ‘any second now’ he finally laughed.
Erling practically sprinted to you while you were having a nap, shaking your shoulders. “Baby, baby. He laughed!” he repeated, you looked up at him groggily, unable to process what he was saying to you in your sleep induced state. “He laughed!” you whipped your head round, rubbing your eyes and then widening them, racing him back to your baby as he followed after you with gleaming eyes and smile lines up to his ears.
Emil on the other hand was utterly oblivious to your smiles, just throwing his blocks around and bubbling to himself. He watched as you both sat down in front of him, you resting on your knees and Erling cross-legged looking expectantly at his four month year old son. He imitated what he did earlier, grabbing a pillow from beside you and popping his head around it, Emil smiled at him with his chubby cheeks, big brown eyes batting his eyelashes at his dad, but he didn’t smile.
Erling groaned and his face dropped. “He did laugh, I believe you, babe,” you rubbed his arm comfortingly.
“Hey, do you wanna go outside with dada and play football?” you nodded up and down at your son, rising back to your feet with your hands resting on your thighs. “Yeah? Go in the garden with dada?” he nodded, Erling already making his way into the garden upon hearing your suggestion, a small inflatable ball in his hand. “Dada,” Emil imitated and your mouth fell agape, eyes widened. Erling dropped the ball, snapping his neck around and running to his son, lifting him in the air and spinning him around. “I knew it! I knew it!” he laughed, you covered your mouth with your hand, his first word.
You should have been celebrating, you were, but it was dada, not mama.
He was definitely rubbing that in later, but for now you simply congratulated your son and yourself. “I said it, he said it ‘cause I said it,” you shrugged, trying to relieve yourself. “He said dada,” he beamed at you, carefully placing your son back on the floor and giving him a small hug, ruffling his hair.
“You better be celebrating this much when he says mama,” you grumbled, Erling huffed with laughter at you. You faked a frown at your son. “Why do you have to be his biggest fan? Is he your favourite parent?” you teased, gasping at your son in an attempt for him to copy you and make him imitate your facial expression.
Erling chuckled to himself, phone in hand likely texting a friend about the milestone achievement. “Go and grab the ball, Emil. Go get it!” you encouraged, grinning at him. Erling rolled the ball over as your son crawled towards it, half-slapping it and grabbing it with both hands. Erling picked him up with the ball still in his hands. “Yeah, go play football with dada. You Haaland clone,” you teased, groaning to yourself. “Carried you for nine months ‘n’ this is how you repay me!” you started chasing after Erling, both of you giggling as Emil squealed in his hands.
Bestie you’re feeding us with the Erling masterpieces so I was wondering if we could get more 🥰 maybe size difference? The reader being tiny compared to him and Erling just loving it. Nothing smutty please, just pure fluff ❤️
“ERL, YOU’RE SQUISHING ME!” you yelled amidst giggles and shrieks as he fully enveloped you under his chest and arms. You had come up with a few disadvantages to being short with a tall boyfriend; neck problems being your primary concern for both of you, being stuck in a bear hug wasn’t one of them. However it seemed to be all he ever talked about, your friends insisted you were so lucky, if anything you thought it was annoying.
At theme parks he would point at the height requirement stand, and with the biggest grin on his face ask, “do you think you’re tall enough for the ride?” for every single ride, even the kids’ ones.
You managed to get him back sometimes though, upon seeing a height barrier going into a carpark you pointed it out, teasing him saying, “mind your head big man,” and laughing to yourself, he just rolled his eyes.
“Can’t I hug you anymore?” he huffed, grinning into your shoulder against the floor. You thrashed about and hit his back with clenched fists. “Not like this baby, you’re too big.” He scoffed, chuckling to himself, and then murmured a quick, “not my fault.” You quipped back with, “yeah, not my fault I’m short either. Get up you giant.”
He eventually flopped to the side of you and you smiled down at him, your hair flailing in front of you laughing then gave him a quick peck on the lips and collapsed onto him instead. He winced at first and then just laughed, wrapping his arms around you this way and kissing your forehead.
“D’ you think you could lift me like this?” he looked you up and down for a second, then scoffed. “Probably, you’re tiny,” you lightly slapped him and he then held his hands either side of your stomach. “Move your arms to the side,” he nudged, flattening his legs out. You did so and then felt yourself moving up into the air and down again, you laughed, half-shrieking.
Then resorted to kissing his nose every time you went down, he grinned, “I could get used to this workout.” You laughed and patted his chest, bracing yourself to go back to the floor and then laid back on top of him; your head just below his.
“What d’ you think our kids would look like?” he suddenly said. “Won’t need to do a paternity test, that’s for sure, they’ll probably be seven foot,” he grinned down at you. “Your height might even it out a bit,” he teased, “more like three foot.” You rolled your eyes, rolling over so you faced him now.
“They’ll be three foot when they come out of the womb!” you joked. “I wasn’t, I had a massive growth spurt at nineteen.” Your eyes widened, “really?” he grinned at you, “don’t act too surprised.” You furrowed your brows, shaking your head and placing a hand to your chest, “just too used to you being tall. Can’t imagine short Erling,” you laughed.
“Wouldn’t you like me if I wasn’t?” you shook your head, jutting out your lip, “I think I’d like you more, don’t have to deal with neck cramps all the time,” you joked, and he shoved you off of him before getting up and pulling you up with him. Then stood you both side to side and held out a hand above your hand that just fell below his shoulders, you tilted your head to look at him curiously.
He then bent down to be nearer your height and you grinned, “you’re so annoying,” he looked you up and down, then looked around as if he was getting used to his new height. You spoke up once more. “Nah, I don’t like it, I take it back,” you laughed, he grinned and stood upright again.
You did like how big he was compared to you, you appreciated your own self more despite it. In fact, you loved it, secretly.
it’s me again :) yk i’ll ask for erling imagines and Erling imagines only. i’m thinking reader takes care of him or the other way around and it’s pure fluff 🥹🥹🥹
“YOU’RE SUCH A BABY!” you scoffed at him, watching as he leaned back onto the sofa with his leg propped up on the foot stool next to you, reaching his arms out and huffing at your laughter. “Come here!” he whined, trying to reach towards you without moving his leg, you just moved back slightly and grinned at his futile efforts to pull you towards him. “I need to go and get your medication,” you nodded, gesturing towards the kitchen, Erling shook his head, pouting. “I’ll be fine if you just come here.” You rolled your eyes at his antics, going to sit next to him and immediately being pulled into the crook of his neck.
You giggled, pushing yourself off and sat up properly, his arm now slinked around to your shoulders. “What d’you wanna watch?” you asked, now sat upright, eyes searching around the room for the remote control, he had been zoning in and out of the sports channel on the screen until you arrived and started helping with his injured hamstring. Your boyfriend pointed at the remote, on the other sofa, covered with a pillow and a discarded blanket he had left there prior due to how hot the weather was getting.
He went to get up, you lightly shoved him back down, patted his leg and strolled over to it, pointing it at the screen and changing the channel. “Ted Lasso?” you laughed, walking back to your seat next to Erling who was already shuffling up to you to feel your touch, murmuring into your skin. “You should’ve done a cameo for them,” he shrugged, lacing his arms back around your body and resting his head on top of yours, kissing your hair occasionally as you watched the show.
The episode ended, and you eventually forced yourself up from your boyfriend’s grip, careful not to walk into the footstool resting his leg as you made your way to the kitchen; hearing Erling complaining for you to hurry up with a chuckle. You found the bag given to Erling by the medical staff upon receiving treatment for his hamstring injury, he wasn’t having any of it, you however were the one forcing him to sit still to not stress the muscle out anymore. He was just lucky he got injured on the last game of the season, and not in the middle where he would have had to miss games, you probably would have had to tie him down on the sofa if that was the case.
The bag mostly consisted of his injury chart, where he got the injury and how they came to that conclusion based on scans and symptoms, and then a list of medication or prescribed help he should receive. You picked the small translucent box up from the bottom of the bag, full of pills, and poured two out into the palm of your hand. Then you felt an arm snake around your waist, and you swivelled your way round with your hand now scrunched up in a fist to hold the pills.
“Takin’ too long,” he mumbled, you swivelled round on the tips of your feet, planting a kiss on his nose. “Thought I told you to rest your leg,” you looked up at him, palm flat out squeezing through his grip to show your boyfriend the pills. He groaned, walking back towards the living room, tracing over your steps and practically pushing you back to the room with him.
He laid back down, huffing as he raised his leg back up onto the footstool. “Stop movin’ about ‘n’ let me take care of you, Erl.” He grumbled under his breath, holding his palm out for the pills. “Let me go get you some water for it,” he nodded gratefully, staring at the pills in his hand and listening to the sound of you walking around the house as if you were playing as a nurse for him. He grinned to himself.
You returned, placing the glass in his other hand. “Take these now ‘n’ you can have two more in five hours.” He thinned his lips, you just gave him a look. Then downed the pills, rinsing his throat with the water you had handed to him, then placed it on the table next to him. “Don’t knock that over,” you advised. “You’ll probably end up spilling it when you try getting up ‘n’ then that’s more work for me to do.”
He rolled his eyes, huffing. “I won’t spill it, I’m ill not stupid.” You laughed, slapping his shoulder and clicking the button to stop pausing the screen, continuing to watch Ted Lasso. “Nah, you’re stupid usually, that’s why.” He chuckled lightly to himself, watching the screen with you. “You’re actually addicted to this show,” he laughed, half-whispering, careful not to interrupt the show.
You didn’t answer, he frowned and tilted his head at you, assuming you just didn’t hear him. He was right, you didn’t. You were fast asleep with your head resting on his shoulder. Erling grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead and checked the time — to be fair to you, you had basically been taking care of your boyfriend during all your free time that day — then propped you up into his arms, careful to not drop you; stress out his leg, or knock the glass of water over as you sternly recommended.
He was sure you would have some more words for him upon realising what he did, about why he was lifting you up the stairs and into bed with an injured hamstring, why wasn’t he resting?
He didn’t care, he could only rest if you were, and so that’s what he did. Tomorrow’s problem was tomorrow’s concern, right now he was just focused on getting the rest you both deserved. He fluffed up your pillow for you, rested you delicately in your shared bed and placed a fan right in front of you so you wouldn’t wake up in the night with hot sweats.
He smiled to himself, drifting off to sleep while watching you.
