#fuck it tinsel gets two elemental dads

[thatrandomartistjavi]

Bro look at how small Tinsel is

[travellvogue]

“You look cold, do you want my jacket?”- Marcus Rashford

12 Days of Christmas 2020- Day 3:

It had been your dream to work in the football industry since you were a little girl, you’d envied the managers, the fitness coaches, even the footballers themselves. Every aspect of the sport was endearing to you, so you worked hard- harder than most people are you, long hours and endless studying was the only thing that got you to where you were today. Manchester United’s training ground.

You’d been here for just over a month now, slowly but surely you were coming to terms with the new rules of your job, gradually finding your feet and discovering where you fit in. admittedly it was overwhelming, not only did you have a high level job to grow accustomed to, but you were also surrounded by people you’d watched on the telly. The tiny little bodies you’d watch running around the perfectly cut pitch where now life size, talking, walking, real life humans, in arms reach. It sounded stupid, of course they are real humans, but there had been no bigger ‘pinch me’ moment then in your life right now. You’d made it. 

Okay, maybe the job wasn’t always as glamorous as you’d hoped. The endless paperwork and sweeping of the floor whenever someone blissfully walks past the ‘Please remove your boots here’ sign, leaving a trail of mud all the way to the changing rooms. But it had its perks, you’d made great friends, even in the short period of being here you’d formed close bonds with a few of the guys. Only friendships, strictly friendships, ‘Don’t go flirting with them all’ you could practically hear your dad’s voice in your head every time you felt yourself blush whenever Marcus walked into the room. Goddamn that boy had some kind of spell on you, you’d never known yourself to be so giddy in someone’s presence.

With the temperature quickly dropping and the days of December quickly passing, it was you who had been assigned the role to decorate. Not exactly what you’d signed up for, but you certainly weren’t complaining (anything was better than paperwork and awkward phone calls). 

The abundance of tinsel and tacky cheap ornaments you were in your element, flinching each time the staple gun smacked into the wall, the arrays of green, gold and red tinsel dangling from the ceiling, a fake tree in the corner with red and white baubles, sticking to the colours of the club, a clever move if you say so yourself. 

“Looks… like Santa’s thrown up” you nearly fall off the stepladder at the sound of his voice, Michael Buble’s singing now occupied by someone else. 

“Jesus Marcus! Could’ve fallen and broken my neck!” you sigh, stepping down from the two steps you had climbed, admittedly the height of the small ladder would hardly do you any damage if you had fallen, maybe a sore back or a chipped nail- certainly not a broken neck.

“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it” he smirks, picking up a bauble and spinning it around his finger, eyes flicking across the room at the magic you’d created. Once again, his words have that effect on you, desperately trying to hide your face as you feel your cheeks grow hot. “Once you’ve finished up in here, doing… whatever this is… come outside, watch me train?” he smiles, throwing a casual wink this way as he zips up his coat so it sits tightly on his chin, an extra laying of protection from the bitter chill outside. 

All you can do is nod, for god sake, not even a word could leave your mouth under his stare. Hissing a ‘fuck sake Y/N’ as he leaves the room, boots clicking against the floor until it’s only you and Michael Buble left inside. 

You do exactly as he says- of course you do. And god you’d underestimated just how cold it was, the thought of being inside cutting your hands on the fake bristles of the tree was far more appealing then being stood on the sidelines shivering your ass off. But of course, if it meant just getting a few more minutes to enjoy Marcus’ company, then you could endure some teeth-chattering anyway. 

“You look cold…” he jogs towards you whilst everyone takes a drinks break, an amused smirk on his face, “...do you want my jacket?” he’s unzipping it before you can even answer, flinging it across your shoulders and rubbing at your arms in an attempt to bring some heat to your body. It smells like him, it’s comforting. A mixture of grass stains and… maybe Dior… Tom Ford?. “Y’know what would warm you up?” he smiles, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing at your cheek… they’re red, again. In the moment you could kid yourself into thinking he’s going to kiss you, not that you’d complain. In fact you nearly close your eyes and lean into his touch, but his next words stop you from doing so. “A hot chocolate, fancy getting one with me after this?”. If your cheeks weren’t burning his thumb before, they certainly were now, whimpering a ‘sure’ before his jogs back with a content grin.

***

“Blimey, looks like they took notes from you” he chuckles, the two of you walking into the small café down the road, the Christmas decorations overwhelming you both. Wreaths, trees, the log fire burning next to your table, it really couldn’t be more festive if they’d tried. There was a hummer of chatter, mainly old ladies gossiping over steaming coffee and calorific cakes, plus the odd mum’s group with screaming babies in prams. But overall, it’s a nice atmosphere, cozy. 

His foot taps against yours as you drink your hot chocolates together, Marcus has insisted he paid. “You can get the next one” he’d told you, making your tummy perform it’s best somersaults.

“How are you finding it? The job, I mean” he stutters, part of you wants to say he’s nervous, a bit shy. 

You swallow your mouthful of milky chocolate, “It’s good!” you smile, “Still a lot to get used to, but, yeah, I’m enjoying it” he nods along with you, watching you for a second before he speaks. 

“I’m glad, I wouldn’t want to see you go” your head tilts at his confession, trying your best not to wiggle with excitement in your seat. “I like having you here y/n, you’re a good girl… maybe…” he pauses for a second, clearing his throat with a weak cough and taking another sip of his drink. “Maybe… we could do this again sometime? Somewhere, less… festive” you giggle, hiding the fact you were secretly screaming inside. 

“I’d love to” you reply gently, “But I can’t promise the ‘less festive’ bit” you wink, teasingly tapping your foot against his as he chuckles and laughs. He’d be willing to make that compromise for you. 

tags: @footballdaydream @footballerimaginess @prettylittletrent @evie-pr @hnrfc