Soccer/Football Imagines

Neymar [~] Meet the Father

You were on the phone when your long term boyfriend, Neymar, walked through the front door of your apartment. You smiled and waved at him before focusing back on the conversation you were having with your mother on the phone. "You two should come down Thursday, if you're both free, to celebrate your birthday," you mother stated.

"Let me talk to Ney about it, and check our schedules, and then I will get back to you on that," you replied. Your mother agreed and you bid her goodbye before hanging up. "How was training?" you asked your boyfriend, pecking his lips.

"It was good, coach said we have the rest of the week off to rest before the big game next week," Neymar stated, pulling you into a hug.

"So you're free Thursday?" you asked.

"Yeah, as far as I know, why?" Neymar responded, walking over to the fridge to make himself lunch.

"My mother was wondering if we could go over there for my birthday celebration—" You were cut off by a bang and then loud cursing from your boyfriend. He stood up, rubbing the back of his head, where he most likely hit his head on something.

"Go over to your parents house," Neymar repeated. You nodded. "Are you sure your dad is okay with this because I am pretty sure he hates me," your boyfriend implied, still rubbing the goose egg that was forming. You handed him an ice pack and frowned.

"My dad doesn't hate you," you insisted.

"(Y/N), I have been over your parent's house three times since we started dating. Each time your dad was either sharpening knives, talking about going to the shooting range, or reading a book on the history of castration!" Neymar sighed.

"He doesn't hate you," you insisted.

"Ok, say he doesn't hate me. What if we mention the fact that we're going to move in together, or the fact that we both agreed that we want to get married, or that we want kids, huh?"

"He'll accept the fact that I love you and that you love me," you assured your boyfriend, who didn't look too convinced. You pleaded for a little bit before he finally conceded. Thursday arrived and you hopped in the car with Neymar, awaiting the hour drive to your parent's house. Neymar pulled into the driveway of your childhood home and you hopped out, taking Neymar's shaking hand in yours. He looked nervous and let you drag him up to the front door. Ringing the doorbell, you stood besides your boyfriend and waited for the door to open.

Your mother opened the door. "(Y/N)!" your mother shouted, pulling you into a hug. You smiled and hugged your mother back, having to release Neymar's hand to do so. Your mother pulled back and greeted your boyfriend warmly. You both walked into the house. You walked into the kitchen/dining area to see your dad watching the latest rerun of a Real Madrid game. He turned and smiled at you, pulling you into a deep hug, like your mother had.

"Happy birthday, sweety," he said, pulling away. Looking behind you, he frowned at the sight of your boyfriend. "I see you brought your friend," he grumbled.

"Sir," Neymar stated, nodding his head at your father, looking nervous as ever.

"Nemo, right?" your father asked.

"Neymar," your boyfriend corrected. Your father brushed it off before helping your mother set the table for lunch. Your boyfriend shot you a look that said 'I-told-you-so' before following you into the dining room. He pulled out your chair for you before sitting down next to you, across from your father. You piled your plate with your mother's home cooked meal, digging in.

"So, (Y/N), how's work been going?" your mother asked.

"Good, we just had our fall show two weeks ago," you replied. You were a fashion designer, currently a trainee but slowly spreading your wings. The conversation went on from there but Neymar stayed quiet, eating his food quietly.

"So, Omar—" your father started.

"—Neymar," you interjected, scolding your dad with your facial expression. You knew he knew Neymar's name, he was just trying to make Neymar feel uncomfortable.

"Neymar," your father corrected after your mother shot him a pointed look, "what do you do, again?"

"I play fútbol, sir," your boyfriend replied quietly. "For Barcelona." Dinner dragged on with a half assed conversation going on between your boyfriend and father. Your parents stood up, clearing the table and promising to return in a minute with dessert. You looked over at your boyfriend.

"He hates me," your boyfriend stated simply. You sighed and took his hand in yours. Before you could reply, your parents walk out with a cake.

"Happy Birthday!" your parents shout. You smiled at them before standing up.

"We have something we need to discuss," you stated. Neymar as well as your parents turned to look at you in confusion.

"What's there to talk about?" your mother asked.

"Neymar and I have something to share with you," you stated, pulling your boyfriend to his feet. He still looked as confused as your parents.

"We do?" he asked.

"Yes, we do."

"Honey, what is this all about, why are you making such a big deal over this?" your father asked.

"Neymar and I have decided that we want to get married," you stated. Your boyfriend's eyes widened at the fact that you let that spill, and frantically looked over at your father who stood still. Neymar looked ready to bolt. Your parents both stood in shock before your mother placed the cake on the table.

"That's great honey, has he proposed, yet?" your mother smiled, pulling you into a hug.

"No, because we wanted your blessing," you replied, looking over at your father. He still seemed to be in shock. Neymar seemed to have gotten over his initial shock.

Stepping forward, he cleared his throat. "Sir and madam, I humbly request your permission to marry your daughter. She is the kindest, strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman that I have ever met. We make each other very happy and we love each other very much. Please, sir, I don't know what I would do without your daughter. She's changed my life so much and we want to spend the rest of our lives together. Do I have your permission to ask your daughter to marry me?" Neymar asked. Your father didn't say anything before walking over to Neymar.

Your dad shot his hand out forward and Neymar flinched, expecting a blow, only to find your father's hand outstretched and waiting for Neymar to shake it. "I give you permission to marry my daughter," your father nodded before smiling. "Truth be told, I never thought you would have the guts to say it, kid. Take good care of her, or I will castrate you myself," your father stated. Your mother scolded your father before you all dug into the birthday cake.