Soccer/Football Imagines

Bastian Schweinsteiger [~] Munich to Manchester

For heather openshaw: Bastian Schweinsteiger

Moving was stress to the fullest. Especially when you were moving with two children: your three-year-old son and your husband who acted like a three-year-old. And since you and your husband had the utmost confidence in yourselves, you decided to pack up your whole house in Munich by yourselves for your move to Manchester.

Bastian's move to Manchester from Bayern had been a surprise and a bittersweet moment for you and everyone else. But, you were excited for a fresh start in a new country. Your son said he didn't mind the move, as long as his favorite Uncle Thomas stopped by every now and again. Your son, like his father and 'uncle', was a top joker and class clown.

Your time to start packing had come around and you guys had the world's supply of cardboard boxes and bubble wrap in your living room. "Let's get to it!" you ordered, grabbing boxes. "Why don't you guys start in (Y/S/N)'s room? I'll be in here if you need me," you said.

"Okay, Momma!" your son smiled, holding the unfolded cardboard boxes over his head, causing him to sway side to side. Bastian grabbed the boxes and your son before walking upstairs to your son's room. Sighing to yourself, you looked around the living room. You packed up all the photos first, before starting on the closets when you heard a crash.

"Please let it just be a lamp," you prayed, walking upstairs. "Are you guys okay? What broke?" you called, opening the door. Your son and your husband stood in the room, all smiles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Bastian smiled.

"I swear I heard a crash," you mumbled.

"It was nothing," your son repeated. You raised an eyebrow at the two of them, not truly believing them.

"If you say so," you sighed, walking out of the room, closing the door. If your son and your husband thought that you had actually left them alone, they didn't know you that well. Placing an ear on the door, you heard the both of them let out a sigh of relief.

"Good acting," you heard Bastian tell your son.

"So Mom won't know we broke the lamp?" your son asked.

"Not if we get rid of the evidence," Bastian told him. Taking this moment, you pushed open the door, crossing your hands over your chest. Bastian and your son jumped in surprise.

"So you broke a lamp, huh?" you raised an eyebrow at the duo, with a you-actually-thought-I-wouldn't-find-out look plastered across your face.

"What? Psh, no. What is this lamp you speak of?" Bastian chuckled nervously. Knowing that Bastian would spill to your face, you narrowed your gaze on the easier of the two targets, your son. Kneeling in front of him, you looked at your son.

"(Y/S/N), do you want to tell Mommy what happened?" you questioned. You could see the resolve breaking in his eyes. He looked over at Bastian before looking back at you. His bottom lip started to quiver and you knew you had him.

"It was Dad! We were passing a football and he tried to do a trick and he knocked the lamp onto the ground! He told me that if I didn't tell you I'd get an ice cream," your son rambled. You smiled and picked up your son. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, but Daddy is," you smirked, turning your gaze to Bastian. He chuckled nervously. "You get to pack up the room all by yourself. And when you're done, you can load everything into the trailer." You pecked his cheek before turning and walking out of the room. "And we get to pack up the rest of the house," you told your son.

By we, it ended up being just you, that is after your son discovered the mounds of bubble wrap in the living room. You, meanwhile, started to pack up the kitchen. Bastian came down soon afterwards with boxes from your son's room. The two of you started to load the boxes into the trailer. Movers would come in two days to drag out the furniture but in the meantime, you, Bastian, and your son would have to pack up everything else in the house.

You and Bastian slumped onto the couch, both exhausted from packing the whole day. Your son, whom you still thought was wrapped up in the bubble wrap or tissue paper trotted over to you. His little blonde head could be seen bobbing up and down as he made his way over to the two of you. He scrambled up onto the couch, resting in between the two of you.

Looking up around at your house, which was staring to look more barren by the minute. "So we're actually leaving?" you son asked.

"Yeah buddy," you sighed, kissing his forehead softly.

"Will we ever come back?"

"Maybe," Bastian said. "But you'll like our new house in England, I promise. You have a bigger room, and you'll have your own bathroom."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Bastian smiled.

"Will we see everyone again? Are they coming with us?"

"No, they're staying here, but you'll see them again," you added. Your son nodded, looking around at the house again.

"Well, no time to pout and such, that's no way how to spend one of our last nights here," Bastian stated, hopping up off the couch. Grabbing the few throw pillows you hadn't pack yet, he tossed two over to you and your son. "Pillow fight!"

You handed your son one of the pillows, and he giggled before charging his father. Bastian ran away from your son and right into your pillow. "Ha, take that!" you laughed, pointing at your husband. Taking an opportunity, your son ran forwards and repeatedly hit Bastian with the pillow. Bastian grabbed his little waist and pulled him to his chest.

"Mommy! Help!" you son squirmed on Bastian's chest. You tried pulling Bastian's arms to the side but Bastian's arms didn't budge. You tried once more but you just got pulled into the group hug on the floor of your living room. You guys just spent the night laughing and having fun together. Two days past and it was moving day.

You stood watching the moving guys carry your furniture out of your home and into the truck until only the hooks and nails remained. Walking through the now empty house with Bastian and your son, you sighed deeply. There were so many memories engraved in this house. This was the home you and Bastian first bought together. This was the home where your son came home from the hospital to. Sighing again, you felt a hand rest on your shoulder. You rested your head on Bastian's shoulder, your son in his other arm. "I'm going to miss this place," you sighed.

"I know, me too. But it's a fresh start for us. New country, new city, new lives," Bastian rambled.

"We should go, get on the road," you sighed. And with that, your small little family left Munich and left your old lives behind.