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kalembappe · 1 year

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cry baby| e.h. 9

Part 2 is out!

word count: 8278

"You ruined it!" Your eyes looked big. Like how your head was. He thought about how much funnier it made you look, it looked like it would inflate and grow twice as bigger every second he ticked you off. She looks stupid

The young boy then stared at the ball that was set atop your creation. Or what remained of it.

"You should be happy that wasn't your head," The boy replies dismissively.

There was an audible silence in the air before you replied, "You won't even say sorry?" The pitch in your voice raised, turning higher with your fit of rage, eyes following the boy picking up the football. He smiles to himself while wiping the sand from it before flicking off a singular seashell with a huff. You watched, feeling a tremble on your bottom lip.

"It's just a tower, not big deal." He says, looking up from the ball in his hands with an unamused expression. Despite his broken English he manages to elicit so much anguish and rage in you. It was a small, stupid argument. You were a small stupid child.

Cry baby your mother would say. You should stop crying all the time about the littlest things. But you hate how you are when you get mad. You feel no relief from it. You can't shout loud enough to break your voice or punch something strong enough to make it disappear. So you cry because something comes out of it without you having to be violent. You try to bite back that wobble on your lip, but ultimately fail as you feel your eyes begin to water.

The boy's eyes went from slits to a wider version of his normal ones, "Why are you crying? " He heard a hiccup escape from you and a piece of his heart fell. "It's a CASTLE YOU SASQUATCH." You yelled with glossy eyes, the boy's widened with his head recoiling back. He didn't know what that word meant but he knew he should be offended.

"SASS-KWAT?!" In your fit of rage you missed the confusion in his also enraged tone. He squinted at the sun burning his eyes, it's a funny sight from afar. Two sunburnt kids arguing and yelling (despite it clearly being one sided, he's sure his memory never betrayed him).

"Haaland!" A familiar voice that made both your heads turn shot from afar. Jean, your brother walked down lazily, his feet leaving prints on the wet sand as he got closer. "How long does it take to grab a ball?"

"This child kept me here." He spat, forgetting that he was only 3 years older.

"What? Oh you met my sister." Jean turned to his friend, hands grabbing the soccer ball from Erling's distinctly bigger ones.

He must drink a lot of milk

Jean turned back to you after giving Erling your name, "C'est mon ami, il joue au foot aussi!"

You pull yourself up from the ground in you're sandy flip flops and wet hair. Your tears were suddenly the last thing on both your minds.

"Your name is Holland?" Erling couldn't have looked more confused. "You look like you ate the whole of Holland." You remarked, a smirk building on your face. Erling's jaw slacked, taken aback once again. You had a lot of insults for a six year-old. Just as he was about to throw a profanity at you, he heard who you assume is his mother, call him from a distance. She wasn't far, you could see her bright grin and her big sun hat from where you stood. Their family visits Nice every summer where they have a home, your brother said. You couldn't be less ecstatic about the news. But you smiled looking forward to most likely never having to interact with that brat any time soon. Sighing, you pick up the shell he flicked off from your sand castle, looking down at it in reminiscence. Jean walked over to you, seeing your melancholic expression. "Aww… Vous vous disputiez à cause de votre tourelle?"

You hid the shell behind in your fist, cheeks heating up. "IT'S A CASTLE." * Puberty has not been kind to you. Your skin was as sunburnt as it always gets, but your hormones aren't helping when you feel pimples appearing under your chin or your forehead. You're already moody self had just gotten more moody and to make matters worse, you got your first period on a beach. You sat in the restroom, head in your hands and stomach hunched on a toilet seat. You didn't know what to do. Your mom's not here to help you, you can't call Jean because he probably knows jack shit about monthlies or whatever this is, even if you're not sure.

"Hello?? I need to piss." OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod

You cursed anyone and everything. Surely, you didn't upset anyone (God) for this to happen. "Fuck off, I'm busy." You yelled, trying to keep your voice together as you started to feel dread wash over you. "Where do you think I should go?"

"There's an ocean outside. Find someone who got stung by a—fuck —sea urchin?" You hugged your stomach, silently groaning and trying to find relief while shifting positions on the toilet seat.

"Did you eat a lasagna?"

"What? No."

"Then I am lost." "This is none of your business, argh." You mask the groan as one of irritation for Erling, but it was remarked towards the ache in your stomach. Your hands found their way to your hair, clawing at it and pulling the front behind. Your breathing starts to feel uneven and your vision goes blurry. You hated this. You feel humiliated and disgusting. There was this boy you saw washing his sandals on a hose and he looked cute and you bought this black two piece because you thought you'd look good and you do but now you had your period and it ruined everything and don't know anything about it and you're already fourteen and why did Eve have to bite that fucking apple that made God so pressed- You heard a soft knock on the door.

"WHAT?!"

A sigh could be heard from behind the door. "Do you...want me to call my mom?" He heard the lock click from the door, eyes peering down at you. Your nose was as red as your eyes, you looked sick. He wanted to ask if you were okay, which you obviously weren't so he decided against it. But he mostly decided not to because he didn't really care, this was just a stomach bug probably but he couldn't shake that feeling that tugged in his chest.

The first time he felt it was that day on the beach he knocked your castle down. That face you made like you were about to burst like a dam and that pout you had on your lips made him uneasy. It's the same face you have on now only you didn't have that bad short haircut or that mean look on your face anymore. Your face grew softer and your lashes batted at anyone who looked into your eyes. He almost curses himself for thinking that of you. What he's trying to say, is that you grew into yourself. That's it.

He's quick to store the thought away in the back of his head. He needs to lock it in a box and throw the key in the ocean. At the end of the day, you are a loud, whiney, nosey, brat and despite your face turning less stupid with time, your intellect did not.

"Stop crying, you look stupid."

"Stop standing there and call your mom." Erling huffed as he turned around, you could see how his head bobbed as he mocked you. You didn't have enough energy to muster up another insult anyway, instead you rolled your eyes in silence.

You silently shut the door and walk towards the sink, looking up at the mirror you find that you were smiling to yourself.

* "So can you pick me up? Please?" Your knee was jittering, and your chest heaved. The rain made it hard for you to leave so you sat in a cafe, your phone pressed against your ear, a finger deafening your left so you could hear properly on the other, asking your brother to get you out of there as soon as possible.

"Ange, I cannot do that, it's Mariella's last day here and I promised to take her out. I'm so sorry. Can you wait till five?" Your stomach sank. Cursing at yourself, you bump your head back on the wall of the booth you sat in. You completely forgot about Jean's girlfriend. He met her two summers ago. A nice lady, one from Italy. She cooks well and she's got a sense of humor. She's beautiful too. Maybe that's what you need to be so your date doesn't stand you up. To be perfect.

At this point your thought process was to burn every man you see on the stake and run away. It was embarrassing to get stood up but even worse that you have to call your brother to pick you up. Jean heard the deep sigh you let out, feeling nothing but pity in his stomach. At this point he even told his girlfriend what happened and the sound of her insisting that they both pick you up made it worse for you. It had gone silent from his side but that's when the waiter came to their table for their order and his eyes breezed over a photo of a lasagna. --

You counted the raindrops that fell on the window, looking out with your both hands curled into each other, sweaty and jittery. You used every distraction at your disposal. It's been almost a year since you last saw him. He spent his time with his dad last summer and you haven't spoken since. It was weird not having dinner with his family and having to be forced to socialize only for it to turn into a debate that makes you feel sour towards the end of night. But it was even more weird not having anything to argue about now since you both don't talk much outside of the bickering and glaring. You both itch to fill the silence but only know to communicate in a limited way, but you're both quiet, thinking of another way to spark anything without having to create a dumb argument to just talk. So you both sat with the silence filling the space between you. The air felt thick but you weren't obligated to telling anything to Erling about your life. Just like he didn't tell you he was leaving. You wouldn't say you were mad, you just expected at least something.

You were his friend, right? That sounds weird. What didn't help the tension was that you could feel him staring at the back of your head. Your hands held together tighter, a beat of silence passed. "We're friends right?" "What's his name?"

You both cut yourselves off, maybe you both had something to say. "what?" You muttered, a faint line appearing between your brows, finally gaining the courage to look at him.

"What do you mean ‘what’? " It was his turn to be confused, he shifted in the car seat, the leather squeaked while his eyes kept on the road. But that doesn't tell you why his grip on the wheel tightened.

"Never mind, it was a stupid question." You felt colder, the hair on your arms rose. You tucked your arms to your chest when the traffic lights turned red. Erling's eyes found the side of your face, he felt that pull on his chest. His head turned back towards the road and cleared his throat. "Crying again?"

"I'm not in the mood for this."

"You're never in a good mood."

"What does that mean?"

"That means you're always mad around me."

You look back at him who's still looking at the road. His jaw was fixed, and his hair was wet from a shower. "I'm sorry." You whisper, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It's just a boy. They're all immature." You wiped your nose,

"And What about you?"

"I'm the best so that doesn't apply."

"The best at losing your swimming trunks after diving?"

"I was a small kid."

"You were thirteen!" he looked back at you with a scrunched face, "And 5'7." You added.

"At least I hit my growth spurt, flatty."

"Oh, I'm flat? Did you miss the mirror on your way out the shower?"

"I don't show my goods to just anyone." Then something unexpected happened, you snort. The snort bubbled into a giggle and then to a laugh in a span of 5 seconds. Most of your laughs towards him were either sarcastic or mocking but this one threw him off. It threw him off so badly that he accidentally pressed the car honk, scaring the person who walked by in front of you. Both of you jolted then end up laughing harder. Out of amusement (but mostly embarrassment) Erling laughed with you. He hasn't heard anything like it. He stared at how your eyes looked brighter. He couldn't look away, watching from how your hair fell on your face to when you pushed it back. He was sure 5 years ago that he said you laughed like a horse (or maybe even looked like one if he was feeling creative). He tried to ignore that now it started to sound like bells. *

You hated family dinners. You didn't know anyone here and Jean was preoccupied with attending to Mariella. You watch them from where you sat, feeling a sense of longing and loneliness. You wondered what Erling would be doing right now. He's in Spain with his dad. It's been a couple months since you've seen him. His mother and sister decided to spend Christmas here, something about how there wouldn't be snow this year but the pissing down rain back home.

The restaurant wasn't loud but it wasn't quiet. You could hear the bustling of the staff members faintly, the light chatter of people not too far from your table, and of course the ladies chatting.

"So how's Erling doing? He's getting really serious with his soccer, I hear."

Maybe he's playing soccer with his friends, People he probably prefers over you. You stiffen when you realize that you hate that you hate the thought.

What are you doing?

Maybe it was boredom or there was someone gassing the air that night.

"He's been talking about this girl, actually." You hear your aunt and your dad react, probing questions and ensuing the conversation.

"Oh and she's really pretty." His sister adds, a mischievous glint in her eye appeared as she nudged her mother.

You grabbed the glass of wine that was placed a little farther to your left, it was already half empty but you're drinking it all anyways when your dad turned around. You bring your lips to the oversized goblet, gulping down the red liquid. This action however, was not missed by your brother.

"Allez-y doucement avec le vin." Jean says behind your right ear. You choke, coughing excessively. The whisper catches you off guard. You immediately flush, your whole face turning warm, hearing chuckles from the ladies and some people outside your table turning their heads at your direction.

"Êtes-vous bien?" Your aunt's patting your back. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat and nodding, unable to say anything, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed by your chair.

After everyone settled down everything turned back to normal, except for you. In silence, your stomach twisted. As everything around you moved, you stilled.

What were you even thinking earlier? Or even worse, all this time? Feeding into your delusions again. You haven't seen him in a while and It's not like you even like him as a person. You don't know how you feel. No, you do know. You hate him. You always did, always will. You're convinced. At the end of the day, it's just a boy.

Your throat closed up but you swallowed back.

They're all immature anyway. *

You stood by the bleachers, cursing at the cold with your left foot tapping on the ground while you hugged yourself. Your dad was late, Jean said he'd pick him up. So you stood there in a loud, cold, and big arena. You were nervous. Why would you be nervous? You tucked your hand tighter under your arms, if you could dig a hole in your chest to stay warm for a few minutes, you would. This weather wasn't helping at all. How could players play in shorts and move without their muscled stiffening? That you will never understand. You cut yourself on your silent rambling. You knew why you were doing it the second you caught yourself saying more in your head than you normally do. You needed a distraction. Like instinct, your eyes scanned the field, it's hard not to miss him. The second you say that to yourself, you find him already staring at you. You look away immediately. He stood there with a black windbreaker and his hands were in its pockets. His hair was a bit longer than last time, a little over the brow but he− it looked good. You curse at yourself again. You always do when he's mentioned.

That fucking giraffe

You sat yourself down, ignoring the fact that he probably could still see you. You'd pull out your phone but your hands were too cold to move. After a short minute, your eyes slowly trail back to where you last saw him, and he's no longer there. You ignore the small flicker of disappointment you feel.

He's nervous. First game jitters, his dad likes to call them. His knee wouldn't quit jumping up and down in the locker room, he kept rubbing his hands together to warm them. Yes, it was cold but the air on the field is different from anywhere he's been. He walked in there, heart pumping and all smiles. He was ready.

What he wasn't ready for, was seeing you by the bleachers, with his parents no doubt but for now you stood between empty seats. You sported a jersey that was too big on you, arms crossed over you from where you stood. You always do that. Your cheeks were red and you looked like you were looking for someone. You're still an idiot, he thought to himself. You always get cold fast but you're wearing a shirt (hopefully pants too) and nothing else.

He felt his heart beat faster, Just nervous, he tells himself. But this time he wasn't sure of what.

Your eyes finally found him, your mouth opened but closed immediately. You turned around so fast that he nearly missed it with how he blinked.

He took note of how you sat down, trying to disappear from the crowd.

You really are dumb.

He blinked, looking at how you were on the second row. He hasn't seen you in nearly a month. He tried his best to avoid you. But he can't. It's probably because of your nagging loud voice that replays in his head. But when it's quiet, his mind drifts to the sound of your voice, your bad singing or your dumb laugh before he feels guilty for thinking of you at all.

He was about to walk away when the last note on the national anthem played. He was benched for the first parts of the game, the seats were under from where you sat, allowing him to set his focus on his debut game. He already forgot that part for a split second. From where he stood, it started to clear. People began to sit down, and the spaces around you began filling up. He let out a long sigh as he got closer, ready to store any thoughts including his best friend's sister in the back of his head till the night ended.

But all thoughts of that crumbled when he saw someone approach you. His whole body stilled at the sight. You stood up, welcoming this person, arms out ready to take an embrace. So you brought a friend? Big Deal.

His eye twitches. This gUy grabs you by the waist and lifts you slightly.

They must be close.

A kiss on his cheeks.

Very close.

Erling didn't know what he felt. He's used to feeling mad around you. Annoyed-mad, or angry-mad, now he doesn't know what kind of mad. He wanted to punch his face. This dude was the complete opposite of him. He had a bleached buzz cut. He decided he hates men who bleach their hair and have buzz cuts. He can't believe it. Not like you owed him to spill your life right now but there’s other people you could’ve gone for. Like with a guy with good hair for one-

"SIT DOWN" He hears someone from his team yell. Some of them laughed, but he didn't have time to feel embarrassed. He walked away with a scowl on his face, brows furrowed. He was mad.

"You played like you were mad!" Jean shouted, shaking Erling's shoulders as he pulled away from a hug. He's been overwhelmed with all the praise. Some people called it one of, if not, the greatest debuts in football. 2 goals in 23 minutes. This isn't new ground for Erling though. The praise, he means. He's had his share of it his entire life but never at this rate. He was worried about today, he felt unfit from not playing for a while but all of that washed away when he heard the sea of people scream for him. At first, he was so preoccupied with what other insults he could come up with for a guy that he hasn't even met that he ended up scoring a goal in the process.

He wasn't even looking at the net, it was just him and the ball and the occasional thought of "you know what he looks like?" But when he did score, the yelling of the crowd got louder and that was the only thing that mattered from then on until he saw you there too, screaming with that potty mouth of yours when the referee called a penalty. For a second he'd forget why he was mad and almost broke his expression from how serious you looked up there.

His team was celebrating after a family dinner, he decided to drag Jean in, who could not decline and out of "kindness" he invited you and your friend. But your friend politely declined, and with a kiss on both his cheeks, he left. Erling felt his teeth clench and his jaw tick, turning around with a silent roll in his eyes as he walks toward the faint sound of music not far from where you just ate dinner, while the boys walked towards the bar, you got in your brother's car for a change of clothes you had for moments like this, not having it with the cold weather getting to you.

Erling waited outside until you came back then walked into the club, his head was above the sea of people he walked by, like a buoy in an ocean. You didn't have to push through too much, and this wasn't your first time in a club so you sort of knew what to do if you got set apart from the others. But it's not like you wanted to stay. You only did go because Jean has been suspicious of you ever since that night you had dinner for Christmas last year. If you refused to go with no valid reason, his suspicions would only grow and so would his ego, thinking he was right all along. BUT HE'S NOT. Obviously.

Jean joined Erling with the guys from the team but you didn't stay long with them, having no one to talk to and the only thing Erling had said to you that night or at least indirectly was introduce you to his teammates. You tap your brother's shoulder, shouting over the music that you'll get a drink and he seems to understand when he nods his head while talking to another person. You didn't know where some of the boys went, including Erling.

Unfortunately most of the guys that came had no girlfriends you could get acquainted with. The men seemed polite, no doubt, but you just didn't have it in you to try harder to relate in conversations with them.

So you sit by the bar with your phone, playing a word game until you see a glass place down on a coaster in front of you. The bartender smiles at you, says it was from that guy on the left booth. You could hear him, not loudly though, but you could read his lips perfectly. Instinctively, your head turns. You see someone already standing, walking towards you. This guy looked visibly older than you. He wore slacks with a belt the same amount as your salary and an open white dress shirt, his hair slicked, reeking of some strong cologne you'll have to rub off with coffee as he approached closer.

He introduced himself, giving your hand a light shake with a flash of his teeth that look brighter than they are under the colorful strobe of changing lights. From across you, Erling's smile disappeared from where he was once laughing with his friend, staring at your back as some guy with probably saggy balls shook your hand. He saw how his fingers lingered on your palm. His breathing got deeper and the alcohol in his system gave him enough courage to visibly disapprove of the sight unfolding at him. Don't you have a boyfriend? Or you're just throwing yourself around like a desperate-

"You good?" He heard from a friendly voice. With the scowl staying on his face, he downed another shot before replying, "Just something stupid."

It's 12:34 when you decide that you should call it a night. The guy that offered you a drink didn't last long, leaving as soon as you told him you had a paper due on Monday. You decided to text your brother instead of going to find him, too lazy to possibly get pressed in between people and their sweating bodies. You also remind him to congratulate Erling for you before grabbing your jacket and heading towards the exit, leaving your drink watery and untouched.

From what you expected to be an uneventful close to a night however, changes when you feel a grab on your wrist. You pause and shut your phone off, hoping that it was your brother but as soon the shadow behind you got closer and it still remained bigger, the beat of your heart began to raise.

He spun you around, pushing you against the wall of the club, his movement although slurred, firm. Your eyes widened.

We are in PUBLIC

Although there were people around they could care less about how this is happening in a club, save for the people who couldn't see because either they were vomiting in a bin or making out inside cars in the parking lot.

He points a finger in the air while trying to fix his stance, holding your shoulder for leverage. You were too nervous to speak, being the only one who hasn't drank anything between you both. You were stiff. Even if his eyes were shut, you could feel how his thumb was on your collarbone and palm rested between your neck and your shoulder. Unlike your hands, his were warm. You never had the chance to feel his hands on you, you relished in it , your knees almost giving out.

Erling peels his lids open, looking down on where his hand rested. His eyes trail from his hands to your neck and to your face. His lips parted slightly, it was if he was seeing you for the first time. He brought his hand down, brushing against your jacket. Under the yellow street light, your eyes seemed to shine and your lips looked dangerously pouty when you sucked in a breath from the cold, a cloud escaping in the air from your mouth.

He leaned in, with a different look in his eyes. He stared you down, his hands cupped your elbows as the space between you shrunk with each step he took, holding onto his forearms to stop him from falling on you. You could feel his hot breath on your cheek, shutting your eyes before he utters;

"Sidewalk rule."

Your eyes open and you immediately shove him off with a curse. You regret soon after his steps falter and you're forced to catch his weight. Your neck hurts, regretting that you had no alcohol in your system to have an excuse for "accidentally" throwing him on the road and having him run over by a moped. Maybe the sidewalk rule would have applied then.

"Oh my- Pull yourself together, Haaland." He's laughing now, finding your struggle amusing, his entire arm was over your shoulder, you grab it while trying to steady the giant. He was mumbling something you didn't understand, still snickering.

"Du ser så søt ut som sliter" he snorted, brushing your hair back when you reposition his arm on yours.

"You're a fucking 5 year old!" a stranger heard from the distance then spotted you two, longing in their eyes. *

It may have taken longer to drag him and pull him in the taxi than the drive back to your flat will take. You didn't know his address, nor did you know what the password to his phone is . So you did the inevitable and asked the driver to take you to your flat. Erling's head leaned on the window, pressed against it, mouth open while he slept. You'd take a photo of him, knowing that you likely wouldn’t see him like this again, but you’re much too occupied with the thoughts swirling in your head. You could feel yourself blush at the thought of his hands on your arms. Why was he there in the first place? He probably wanted a ride. But he knows you don’t have a car??

You shook your head, blowing a cold breath into the air. Again, DELUSIONAL. You’re nursing this thought and it’s becoming too big to leave unacknowledged. You feel Erling shift, brushing his hand on yours while turning his entire body away from the window. He groans from how heavy his head was as he feels the car swivel too far into a curve. His hand palmed his head, and laid down without a second thought. You gasp on the sudden weight on your thighs. You were frozen once again, unable to move a nerve while you stared straight ahead. His head bobbed a lot and you convince yourself it’s out of pity before reaching for him and laying your palm flat atop it forehead, then brush your fingers through his scalp. You smiled to yourself, treading it lightly, you wondered how he'd looked like if he grew his hair longer.

You come to an abrupt stop and pull your hand back as if you were burned. Erling had a blissful look on his face, unaware of anything he’d been putting you through. The taxi felt smaller and you wanted nothing more than to get out.

It was the same process dragging him into your apartment, excluding for the part where you had to slap his face lightly to wake him up, in which he overreacted . You look down at both your feet as you walk towards the path leading to the building you stayed in. You took your time, following which foot moved for Erling, too tired to shout which leg should go first knowing better than to add to the amount of struggle you should put yourself through. You feel his arm slip from your shoulder, so you grab onto his hand. Erling had been slurring about his game earlier, how he should’ve done something he didn’t during his play. You didn’t understand the terms like hat trick or save so you just hummed and agreed with everything he said, counting the steps you’re taking till you reach the elevator.

“...but you look extra pissed when that referee waved the yellow card. So did that boy you brought.”

Confusion takes over your face as you turn your head to him. He was awfully close, you backed up before his cheek brushed against yours, turning back towards the path of your flat. You’re almost there.

“What? Mathew?"

He doesn’t answer, he stays there quiet, shifting his weight to his other leg as you wait in the elevator. He no longer had his shoulder around you, instead your arm “carried” his back, just to keep him from falling backwards.

There’s a ding that reminds you to get out, relief starting to fill you as you walk towards your flat’s door before dread settles when you push it open. You stood there, not knowing what to do from here. Were you throwing him on your bed and just leaving? Where do you sleep? You could put him on the couch. Would he even fit?

Before you could think to answer a single question, Erling ran to your kitchen. You call him but he’s already opened the fridge.

His whole body folds when he inspects the contents of your chiller, normally you just duck down. He cranes his neck up to where you are, “Where’s the milk?”

With a huff, you shut the door on his face, the refrigerator light disappearing with a snap. Just as he was about to protest, you cut him off. “I’ll get the milk just…don’t touch anything.”

He rolls his eyes, droopy as they were . His cheeks looked flushed, but not as flushed as they seemed to be earlier. He must be sobering a bit. Good. You let him wander around the flat knowing you’re spent trying to keep him in one place.

After getting the glass of milk from the microwave, you check around where he's probably gone, switching the lights in the areas that had theirs off. You soon find him lying on your bed, hugging your pillow tightly, face pressed against the linen.

You grimace, seeing that he was sprawled out, taking most of the space. Guess you’re taking the couch. Sighing, you place down the warm milk on the bedside table beside Erling.

Just as you are about to walk out of your room, you hear Erling mutter in the silence.

“I miss you.”

Everything stopped, including you. The air grew thick, suddenly so did your tongue. You couldn’t speak and you could breathe. He’s obviously dreaming and talking. You try to stop your mind from thinking that he’s maybe— probably dreaming about her, but the thought still grazes your head. You ignore the small falter in the beat of your heart.

“It’s late Haaland, you can talk to her in the morning.”

It take him a while to say anything but he does before you're given the chance to breathe. “But I wanna talk to her now.” There’s a sting in your eyes, and you curse yourself. He’s been testing you this entire night and this is the moment you might finally break. If you were driven into your brink, you might think he was doing this on purpose.

Your hold on the doorknob grew tighter. You swallow your pride, breath getting more shallow at every thought that settles in your stomach.

And then, release.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” You yell. Turning only your head around, you see his eyes wide open in the dark, the only light coming from the city outside your window.

“Talk to me.” he replies calmly.

There’s a flicker of light in your chest you immediately blow out. Repeating to yourself; No not today. None of that.

“You’re tired, go to sleep.” “I miss you.” “Stop saying that.”

The lamp switched on, you see him now. He’s sat up mid argument, his hair’s a mess but now he’s a lot more conscious than you liked. “Then what am I supposed to do?” He echoes,

“How about you start by not mocking me.” “I’m running out of words here.”

You nearly laugh, even when he’s barely sober he’s a smart-ass. “Then think.”

There was a brief moment of silence, the air only filled with cars passing by the highway till they disappeared. It felt peaceful, for once.

“You want me to think?“ The silence was short-lived. You half expected him to throw an insult, and half expected him to tell you to leave. What you didn’t expect is that he was able to walk himself out of bed in a straight line. A line straight towards you.

“You want me to think?” He repeated again only softer, standing from a short distance from you, but it shrunk by each step he took. Slow yet distinct. A step closer with every word. “Personally, I say I think too much. I sit and think too much and watch everything happen in front of me. I think I spend too much time thinking about what I’m going to say for a conversation that hasn’t happened. I’ve been thinking for years and still have nothing good enough to say. Fuck. It’s the same thing every night and I find something wrong in what I say. I never had words for anything at the right time and the one time you’re here, and I’m letting myself say something you tell me to think?” He stood in front of you now, and you don’t know whether to meet him where he stood or to push the door open behind you so you can disappear.

You’re drunk. You’re crazy. You’re stupid. You want to tell him, even shout it to the mountains but your body stands planted to the ground as he closes the distance between you, warm and tall like the waves back home. You close your eyes, hand finding the pace of his heart, a palm to his chest to create a space you both don’t want to be there but need.

“Please. Just for now,” A breath escapes from one of you, you feel his hand cup your jaw, tilting your head up. “Don’t make me think.”

His forehead touched yours, hands beginning to sneak your waist, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t know who leaned in first, who pushed or who tugged but your lips brushed lightly and that was enough to make you melt into each other.

He leans down as you sink from the kiss, the hand on your back exploring the size of your waist. You felt yourself turn liquid in his hold, your arms wrapped around his neck, both wanting to feel closer but never feeling close enough. His hands find the back of your thighs, he squeezes it lightly and it makes you gasp, briefly pulling back from this kiss. He lets out a small laugh, his smile makes its way to your face. Erling hoists you up with ease before walking back to your bed, you don’t know how he’s able to keep you both on your feet as if he hadn’t struggled with his earlier.

His touch starts to get more aggressive as soon as he lays you down, grabbing your hips, or sliding his thumbs up your waist till he feels them brush the underside of your breasts. You breathe into his mouth, nervous and unfamiliar with the touch yet craved it as if it was always meant to be there. Your hands clutch his hair, the pull eliciting a groan from the man. The sound sends ripples down your stomach and an embarrassing heat pools down your core. You feel his head dip lower, lips mouth at your jaw, sucking and nibbling at the expanse of your throat. His hands are wandering lower, it’s everywhere but it’s not enough to satiate you. That’s when you realize that his touch was there to linger, to tease. You squirm when his nose drags between the valley of your chest. You tilt his head up with a desperate look on your face. Your lips look swollen, and your hair stuck to the sides of your neck, your shirt rode up to your ribs. He wanted to remember you this way.

“You had so much to say earlier, baby.” His tone was smug and so was his face, you’d groan out of annoyance if you weren’t trying to coax him to feel you more. “You want me to touch you?" You nod, "I am already touching you.” His palm lands flat on your stomach, thumb brushing up and down.

You blush, your eyes shift to the ceiling, too ashamed to look at his eyes.

“What do you want me to do for you? Tell me.” He’s smiling even in his tone, and you hate how quickly you fold.

“Do anything.” With your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath, you didn’t see how his eyes darkened at the words.

You’re glad you open your eyes when you feel him pry himself off you. He’s already peeling his shirt off him, and you try your hardest to stop yourself from crossing your thighs. The lamp had probably been tinkered with to work with his body. The v-line on his hips growing more inviting with each moment your stare longer. Erling helps you undress, taking his time to let his hands linger in the areas he’s yet to explore more later. His eyes oggle shamelessly, drinking you in with a thirst he only felt after getting his first taste.

His stare makes you anxious, you cross your arms over your chest, tucking it in. Erling couldn’t contain himself, his hands were everywhere once again, only hotter, on your skin. You’re flushed red, and press your lips on him to hide in shame. His fingers trace the seam of your underwear, it makes you squirm. He chuckled at how adorable you look, a desperate blushing mess, kissing your temple as he rubbed the dampening cloth between your thighs. A moan leaves your lips, and it catches you by surprise.

“Erling.... I’m not, I don't know-” Before you know it, everything stops. His hand is on your stomach and his head is off your neck, now staring at your face, a concerned look etched on his. “I haven’t…” You stammer over your words, unable to say it with a straight face. You groan, “Please don’t make me say it.”

There’s a brief moment where all is quiet, waiting till one or the other says anything to break the silence. Erling’s expression immediately shifts, turning soft as he watches you sink into the pillow. He can’t believe you’re letting him do this. Him out of everyone. “Do you wanna stop?” You shook your head.

“Just go easy on me.” A smile graces his lips, and he leans down to meet yours. Gentle and pliant. It’s more than words could say right now and it’s enough to get you to stay.

Erling pulls back the lace from under your legs, leaving a kiss on your knee before he sits back up. His hand presses your thighs against your stomach, his breath hot on your core. You didn’t expect him to act so quickly, leaving an open kiss on your clit. Erling mouths on the skin around and you nearly groan when he sucks on the center, tongue lapping again and again until your hips buckle before sinking into the duvet. Earling is groaning, drinking you up like water and he’s only been in a desert all his life. He sounds as if he was the one getting off from this, and silently he was too. He folds your legs up, hands gripping your ass, the grip drew bruises on your skin but you wanted more. Your voice breaks, a silent wail replacing it. Your body starts to feel less like yours and more like an instrument for your brother’s best friend. Just as you thought you couldn’t handle more, you feel his finger prodding at your slit. He remembers to go easy on you like you told him, so he laid your hips to rest back on the bed.

It’s either Erling’s fingers are thick or you’re very tight. He spits square on your clit, and you jolt. His thumb spreads the spit around, teasing you. Your legs are flaccid when he adds another finger inside and begins to pump it in you. Your moan died in your throat, unable to think. The split second of silence is filled with his hard breathing and the sound of your wet core squelching around him, inviting him. His pace doesn't falter, reaching areas you didn’t know you had. He could feel how much tighter you got, cock swelling at the thought of how you could suck him in. You’re more vocal, more unsteady. Your thighs are trying to close but his leg is hooked over one, holding it open. He hears you let out a moan louder than normal but sees you're hiding your face behind your arms.

“Look at me, baby.” He stops completely. Your hands pry from your face, revealing the mess he’s made. He took your wrists in his hand, holding it against your chest. He’s painfully hard in his boxers watching your breasts squeeze.

You’re fucking perfect.

He pulls his fingers out, just as you were about to protest, Erling shuts you up with a rough kiss, so close that your teeth click. Releasing your hands from his grip, they immediately crawl to his hair. His kisses turn softer from your jaw to your neck, lingering on your throat when he pulls out his cock from his boxers. The tip flushed a bright pink, rubbing against your center and collecting slick. Erling leaves your neck with a wet pop, sparing a glance at the forming bruise before keeping his eyes on you.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, he mumbled something you couldn’t hear, or couldn’t bear to listen to, focused on holding your breath as he pushed in. The stretch is unfamiliar to your body, it stings but it doesn’t hurt, you need more. He’s a little less than halfway when you feel him leave a kiss on your cheek, whispering sweet nothings to your ear. He shamefully thought of this for so long. He wanted you for so long. Thought about you for so long and now he had you, he didn’t want to let go. He pulls back slightly, before pumping back in. Slowly, he’s setting a pace.

“Erling…” The sound of you whimpering his name finds a special place in his head. Always calling him by his last name ever since you were kids. You only ever did call him by his first name when you were mocking him, usually followed by his full name. But now, you weren’t kids. You were here, under him, and he was fucking ruining you.

The bed creaks, and your short breaths turns into moans, echoing louder after every buck of his hips. You’re trying to find purchase on his arms, already on edge from a while ago. “I need…I’m close,” Unable to complete sentences just as you’re unable to form a single coherent thought.

Your body writhed under him, glistening in sweat, you were close again. He made things worse by sneaking his hand between you two to thumb your clit. He groaned when he felt you clench around him, he curses to himself. The coil that’s been pulling on your stomach finally snaps, a sob escaping your lips. You babbled nonsense, you thighs shaking and sensitive, completely fucked out but Erling was relentless, like a machine. He bites his lip, his hair falling on his face. It took everything in him to not completely break you.

Your moan would break at times and it would just be a cry and the lewd sound of skin slapping. Erling felt his climax approaching, hips gaining much faster while you cursed at his tolerance. You went limp under him, not like you weren’t for the majority of the time. He did all the work, but now he was using you like a toy, holding your hips up and getting himself off. Erling lays you lower before he pulls out, his hand on his cock quickly jerking him. You used your remaining energy to shove his hand off, replacing it with your own, both hands working on the member and the tip. He thanked whatever made him tall enough to see you from this view. With a loud moan bubbling from his throat, he came on your stomach watching the white stripe reach the soft flesh of your breasts. You lay on the duvet, breathing heavily with his soft member laying on your abdomen.

–

There was the sound of a belt buckling. You woke up, feeling cold. As you sat up, you saw someone’s back facing you, they stopped moving.

“Erling?” You say above a whisper. He doesn’t turn around, he just stood still, hand on the doorknob. You ignore the feeling that loomed over you, remembering the events of last night. A blush creeps your face. “Are you leaving?” No response. “You could stay for breakfast. I don’t think you got to drink the-”

“I’m sorry about last night.”

He was fully dressed, the complete opposite of you. You clutch the sheets closer to your chest. The gray cloud over your head starts to shadow over yourself.

“What do you mean?” He stayed there, staring at the door, his body stiff but it didn’t slouch, it didn't look like he was turning around either. He couldn’t even look at you.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

#erling haaland x reader #erling haaland fanfic #erling haaland #football image #erling haaland angst

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stardustshimmer · 7 months

Note

Cheese is a dairy product produced in wide ranges of flavors, textures, and forms by coagulation of the milk protein casein. It comprises proteins and fat from milk (usually the milk of cows, buffalo, goats, or sheep). During production, milk is usually acidified and either the enzymes of rennet or bacterial enzymes with similar activity are added to cause the casein to coagulate. The solid curds are then separated from the liquid whey and pressed into finished cheese. Some cheeses have aromatic molds on the rind, the outer layer, or throughout.

A platter with cheese and garnishes

Cheeses in art: Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels, Clara Peeters, c. 1615

Over a thousand types of cheese exist and are produced in various countries. Their styles, textures and flavors depend on the origin of the milk (including the animal's diet), whether they have been pasteurized, the butterfat content, the bacteria and mold, the processing, and how long they have been aged. Herbs, spices, or wood smoke may be used as flavoring agents. The yellow to red color of many cheeses is produced by adding annatto. Other ingredients may be added to some cheeses, such as black pepper, garlic, chives, or cranberries. A cheesemonger, or specialist seller of cheeses, may have expertise with selecting, purchasing, receiving, storing and ripening cheeses.

For a few cheeses, the milk is curdled by adding acids such as vinegar or lemon juice. Most cheeses are acidified to a lesser degree by bacteria, which turn milk sugars into lactic acid, then the addition of rennet completes the curdling. Vegetarian alternatives to rennet are available; most are produced by fermentation of the fungus Mucor miehei, but others have been extracted from various species of the Cynara thistle family. Cheesemakers near a dairy region may benefit from fresher, lower-priced milk, and lower shipping costs.

Cheese is valued for its portability, long shelf life, and high content of fat, protein, calcium, and phosphorus. Cheese is more compact and has a longer shelf life than milk, although how long a cheese will keep depends on the type of cheese. Hard cheeses, such as Parmesan, last longer than soft cheeses, such as Brie or goat's milk cheese. The long storage life of some cheeses, especially when encased in a protective rind, allows selling when markets are favorable. Vacuum packaging of block-shaped cheeses and gas-flushing of plastic bags with mixtures of carbon dioxide and nitrogen are used for storage and mass distribution of cheeses in the 21st century.

Etymology

Various hard cheeses

The word cheese comes from Latin caseus,from which the modern word casein is also derived. The earliest source is from the proto-Indo-European root *kwat-, which means "to ferment, become sour". That gave rise to cīese or cēse (in Old English) and chese (in Middle English). Similar words are shared by other West Germanic languages—West Frisian tsiis, Dutch kaas, German Käse, Old High German chāsi—all from the reconstructed West-Germanic form *kāsī, which in turn is an early borrowing from Latin.

The Online Etymological Dictionary states that "cheese" comes from:

Old English cyse (West Saxon), cese (Anglian) ... from West Germanic *kasjus (source also of Old Saxon kasi, Old High German chasi, German Käse, Middle Dutch case, Dutch kaas), from Latin caseus [for] "cheese" (source of Italian cacio, Spanish queso, Irish caise, Welsh caws).

The Online Etymological Dictionary states that the word is of:

unknown origin; perhaps from a PIE root *kwat- "to ferment, become sour" (source also of Prakrit chasi "buttermilk;" Old Church Slavonic kvasu "leaven; fermented drink," kyselu "sour," -kyseti "to turn sour;" Czech kysati "to turn sour, rot;" Sanskrit kvathati "boils, seethes;" Gothic hwaþjan "foam"). Also compare fromage. Old Norse ostr, Danish ost, Swedish ost are related to Latin ius "broth, sauce, juice."

When the Romans began to make hard cheeses for their legionaries' supplies, a new word started to be used: formaticum, from caseus formatus, or "molded cheese" (as in "formed", not "moldy"). It is from this word that the French fromage, standard Italian formaggio, Catalan formatge, Breton fourmaj, and Occitan fromatge (or formatge) are derived. Of the Romance languages, Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian, Tuscan and Southern Italian dialects use words derived from caseus (queso, queijo, caș and caso for example). The word cheese itself is occasionally employed in a sense that means "molded" or "formed". Head cheese uses the word in this sense. The term "cheese" is also used as a noun, verb and adjective in a number of figurative expressions (e.g., "the big cheese", "to be cheesed off" and "cheesy lyrics").

A piece of soft curd cheese, oven-baked to increase shelf life

Cheese is an ancient food whose origins predate recorded history. There is no conclusive evidence indicating where cheesemaking originated, whether in Europe, Central Asia or the Middle East. Earliest proposed dates for the origin of cheesemaking range from around 8000 BCE, when sheep were first domesticated. Since animal skins and inflated internal organs have, since ancient times, provided storage vessels for a range of foodstuffs, it is probable that the process of cheese making was discovered accidentally by storing milk in a container made from the stomach of an animal, resulting in the milk being turned to curd and whey by the rennet from the stomach.

The earliest evidence of cheesemaking in the archaeological record dates back to 5500 BCE and is found in what is now Kuyavia, Poland, where strainers coated with milk-fat molecules have been found.

Cheesemaking may have begun independently of this by the pressing and salting of curdled milk to preserve it. Observation that the effect of making cheese in an animal stomach gave more solid and better-textured curds may have led to the deliberate addition of rennet. Early archeological evidence of Egyptian cheese has been found in Egyptian tomb murals, dating to about 2000 BCE. A 2018 scientific paper stated that the world's oldest cheese, dating to approximately 1200 BCE (3200 years before present), was found in ancient Egyptian tombs.

The earliest cheeses were likely quite sour and salty, similar in texture to rustic cottage cheese or feta, a crumbly, flavorful Greek cheese. Cheese produced in Europe, where climates are cooler than the Middle East, required less salt for preservation. With less salt and acidity, the cheese became a suitable environment for useful microbes and molds, giving aged cheeses their respective flavors. The earliest ever discovered preserved cheese was found in the Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang, China, dating back as early as 1615 BCE (3600 years before present).

Ancient Greece and Rome

Cheese in a market in Italy

Ancient Greek mythology credited Aristaeus with the discovery of cheese. Homer's Odyssey (8th century BCE) describes the Cyclops making and storing sheep's and goats' milk cheese (translation by Samuel Butler):

We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens could hold...

When he had so done he sat down and milked his ewes and goats, all in due course, and then let each of them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside in wicker strainers.

Columella's De Re Rustica (c. 65 CE) details a cheesemaking process involving rennet coagulation, pressing of the curd, salting, and aging. According to Pliny the Elder, it had become a sophisticated enterprise by the time the Roman Empire came into being.

Cheese, Tacuinum sanitatis Casanatensis (14th century)

As Romanized populations encountered unfamiliar newly settled neighbors, bringing their own cheese-making traditions, their own flocks and their own unrelated words for cheese, cheeses in Europe diversified further, with various locales developing their own distinctive traditions and products. As long-distance trade collapsed, only travelers would encounter unfamiliar cheeses: Charlemagne's first encounter with a white cheese that had an edible rind forms one of the constructed anecdotes of Notker's Life of the Emperor.

The British Cheese Board claims that Britain has approximately 700 distinct local cheeses; France and Italy have perhaps 400 each (a French proverb holds there is a different French cheese for every day of the year, and Charles de Gaulle once asked "how can you govern a country in which there are 246 kinds of cheese?"). Still, the advancement of the cheese art in Europe was slow during the centuries after Rome's fall. Many cheeses popular today were first recorded in the late Middle Ages or after—cheeses like Cheddar around 1500, Parmesan in 1597, Gouda in 1697, and Camembert in 1791.

In 1546, The Proverbs of John Heywood claimed "the moon is made of a green cheese" (Greene may refer here not to the color, as many now think, but to being new or unaged). Variations on this sentiment were long repeated and NASA exploited this myth for an April Fools' Day spoof announcement in 2006.

Cheese display in grocery store, Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States

Until its modern spread along with European culture, cheese was nearly unheard of in east Asian cultures and in the pre-Columbian Americas and had only limited use in sub-Mediterranean Africa, mainly being widespread and popular only in Europe, the Middle East, the Indian subcontinent, and areas influenced by those cultures. But with the spread, first of European imperialism, and later of Euro-American culture and food, cheese has gradually become known and increasingly popular worldwide.

The first factory for the industrial production of cheese opened in Switzerland in 1815, but large-scale production first found real success in the United States. Credit usually goes to Jesse Williams, a dairy farmer from Rome, New York, who in 1851 started making cheese in an assembly-line fashion using the milk from neighboring farms; this made cheddar cheese one of the first US industrial foods.Within decades, hundreds of such commercial dairy associations existed.

The 1860s saw the beginnings of mass-produced rennet, and by the turn of the century scientists were producing pure microbial cultures. Before then, bacteria in cheesemaking had come from the environment or from recycling an earlier batch's whey; the pure cultures meant a more standardized cheese could be produced.

Factory-made cheese overtook traditional cheesemaking in the World War II era, and factories have been the source of most cheese in America and Europe ever since.By 2012, cheese was one of the most shoplifted items from supermarkets worldwide.

I’M NOT GRADING YOUR INFORMATIVE ESSAY.

#random asks #stardust's mystical mailbox #food mention

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