alone time: NETHERLANDS / HENDRIK MORGENS x READER

Sometimes your Dutch boyfriend could be downright intolerable, especially today. Dragging you down to the park despite your bitching hangover just so he could practice a few of his football [1] moves before his big game with the boys tomorrow had lost him some serious points in your book.

You curled up on the park bench whose paint was chipping. Resting your heavy head on the cold, metal armrest, you watched Hendrik’s footwork with contempt in your eyes.

“[Name],” He called out, with what you thought could be tenderness and you crossed your arms, ready to complain about what an asshole he was being. Hendrik walked over to you, sporting old grass stains on his shorts and holding the ball in his hands. He bent down until he was almost on his knees so he could be on your level. Slowly, he reached out a hand and pushed some strands of hair out of your face. “You should sit up,” He encouraged, “You look like a drug addict.”

“Oh, fuck you,” You muttered, sitting up properly on the bench anyway, swinging your feet. “Dick.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a terrible drunk.” Hendrik smirked, pulling your hood off and lowering your sunglasses. You promptly smacked his hands away. “Aw, are you mad at me?” You answered with a growl.

“Okay,” He says in a serious tone, which meant he had a proposition for you. “No parties tonight. I’ll call Emma and tell her we’re not coming. It’s just you and me in the apartment tonight.”

You looked up at him, surprised. His dazzling green eyes seemed sincere enough.

“Just you and me?” You asked softly, his hand stroking your cheek. Almost shyly, you place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Yes, lieveling [2],” Hendrik takes this opportunity to quickly peck your lips, “And possibly a kilo of reefer I picked up yesterday.”

You stared at him, not saying a word. “Hendrik.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you get horny when you’re high.”

You don’t know what you expected.