Sinbad
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Chapter 246: Domestic Goals
🕑 Added 2025-08-02 02:40:24 +0000 UTCIt was just past eleven, the sun outside still uncertain about committing to the day all pale light and low winter sky. Inside the house, t
It was just past eleven, the sun outside still uncertain about committing to the day all pale light and low winter sky.
Inside the house, the living room was a nest of soft textures and gentle sounds. The TV buzzed low with an episode of Paw Patrol, Biscuit planted directly in front of the screen.
Her head tilted, one floppy ear flicked sideways, tongue occasionally poking out in thought as she watched the animated pups save the day. Every so often, she barked perfectly timed with the action.
Barbara was curled against Tristan on the couch, tablet balanced on her thighs, fingers half scrolling through property listings while pretending to focus. Her legs were tangled with his under a fleece blanket, bare feet tucked against the inside of his calves for warmth.
His arm was draped around her middle, relaxed and possessive, palm spread lazily across the fabric of the oversized shirt she was wearing.
The house was warm, quiet. They had nowhere to be — not until later. The jet was already en route to Hungary. Her family would be flying in tonight. That meant a full house tomorrow.
But for now?
Just them.
He kept pressing soft, idle kisses along her neck not even consciously, just a habit at this point while she tilted the screen toward him with a half-hearted snort.
“This one’s got a kitchen bigger than the actual house,” Barbara said, tilting the tablet toward him.
Tristan leaned in, squinting. “Honestly? We might need that.”
Barbara nodded. “We do. Felix complains every time we have more than four people over.”
“He complains when Biscuit breathes too loud.”
“Still. We cook a lot. And between his prep, your post-match meals, our diets, and guests... it gets tight.”
Tristan hummed, brushing his thumb absently across her hip. “Alright. Bigger kitchen. Noted.”
“And a proper pantry this time,” she added.
“Sure. Whatever you want.” Tristan replied. He wasn’t a big fan of sweet things, but Barbara loved baking so who was he to deny her passion?
Barbara smiled and turned back to the tablet, zooming in on another house in South Liverpool modern lines, big windows, small footprint, tucked away on a generous bit of land. The interior looked bright. The kitchen was minimalist. The driveway? Big enough for five cars, easy.
She tapped her lip, thinking.
Tristan leaned in again, chin brushing her shoulder. “You’re doing that thing where you start mentally decorating.”
Barbara didn’t look up. “We need more space.”
“For what? Your four thousand shoes?”
“For all the cars you’re clearly planning to buy,” she said, deadpan.
“I haven’t even—”
“Tristan,” she cut in gently. “You send me car videos like they’re baby photos.”
He grinned. “I like cars, babe.”
She didn’t answer — just scrolled. “We don’t want something too big, though.”
“Yeah, just cleaning this house already is a pain in the ass.”
“So… big plot. Smaller footprint. Modern build. Clean design. Enough room for Biscuit to terrorize the backyard.”
Biscuit, as if on cue, let out a triumphant “ROOF!” from her spot on the carpet, still glued to the TV where cartoon pups were leaping from animated helicopters.
Barbara smiled down at her. “She agrees.”
Tristan watched the screen with mock seriousness. “She’s got strong architectural taste.”
“She has strong opinions about everything.”
“She gets it from you.”
Barbara stuck her tongue out at him.
The tablet dimmed from disuse again, and Barbara tapped it awake. She’d just started scrolling through a new listing sleek black and white exterior, skylights, solar panels when a notification slid across the top of the screen.
[YouTube] Sidemen — We Made Him Play Goalkeeper 😳 ft. Tristan Hale
She blinked. Then narrowed her eyes and tilted the screen toward him.
“Wait. I thought this video was already out.”
Tristan glanced at it, then shook his head. “Nah, JJ and the guys held it. Said they wanted to drop it for New Year’s weekend. Better numbers. More hype.”
Barbara raised a brow. “You’ve been sitting on this?”
He smiled, already guilty. “They’ve been teasing it for weeks.”
“And you didn’t tell me they made you play goalkeeper.”
He shrugged. “Some things a man’s gotta keep to himself.” He kissed her shoulder. “You love it. Trust me.”
She rolled her eyes, already pressing play.
The moment the video began, Barbara shifted upright, blanket sliding down her legs.
The Sidemen intro exploded across the screen. Then came the drone shot: the East London sports facility, moody under a low grey sky.
She squinted. “Wait… this is the shoot from before Christmas?”
Tristan gave a small, knowing nod, eyes already on the screen. “Didn’t know they were recording everything. JJ just told me to wait till it dropped like everyone else.”
The camera cut to JJ barking instructions.
Barbara blinked, surprised. “They were… actually nervous.”
Tristan hummed again.
She kept watching.
The handshakes. The shouts. The half-stumbled introductions. It was charming in a messy way.
Barbara leaned back slowly, tablet resting heavier in her lap. “You could’ve gone easier on them.”
On the couch, Tristan lifted one shoulder. “I was being polite.”
She glanced sideways at him, brows raised. “You Cruyff-turned Simon into the floor.”
He tilted his head. “I think he tripped.”
“You did the Cruyff.”
“Gravity’s not always kind.”
She gave him a long, deadpan look.
The match segment kicked off. JJ immediately ate turf. Harry chased a ball like it owed him money. Barbara laughed a full, unfiltered laugh that tightened her shoulders and shook the blanket off.
“They’re such disasters. I love them.”
And then her boyfriend.
He didn’t chase the game; it bent around him. He passed without looking, drew defenders just to slip the ball behind them. At one point, he backheeled a flick-pass like he was tying his shoes.
Barbara stared.
“You show off so much more when I’m not there.”
On the couch, Tristan made a soft face of mock innocence. “I wasn’t showing off. I was blending in.”
“You embarrassed JJ with one step-over.”
“That was accidental flair.”
“You passed with your heel.”
He leaned back against the couch, grinning.
She didn’t argue just kept watching until the GOAT challenge began. Ethan’s wild swing made her snort. Vik collapsing a mannequin made her slap Tristan’s thigh with laughter.
And then…
Tristan in goal.
Barbara sat bolt upright. “Wait. Wait. Is this the bit?”
He just crossed his arms behind his head, smug.
She grabbed a pillow and clutched it tight — partly from dread, partly from disbelief. “You didn’t tell me they made you goalkeeper.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I assumed this was going to be your first public flop.”
“Thanks for the faith.”
“Tristan—!” she blurted as the first save played — Tobi’s top-corner curler, cleanly palmed away. Her face shifted instantly. Eyes wide, mouth open, hand frozen in midair.
Then came another — a point-blank blast from JJ, and Tristan smothered it with one hand, barely flinching.
“WHAT. THE FUCK,” she shouted at the screen. “TRISTAN.”
He laughed, leaning into her side.
“I swear to god, if you’ve been hiding this—”
“It never came up.”
“Never came up?!” she rounded on him, completely affronted. “I have to warn people when I attempt to reverse into a parking spot. And you’re just—” she flailed toward the screen, “—casually a world-class goalkeeper on YouTube?!”
He gave her a slow shrug. “It’s… just coordination.”
She stared at him, pillow still in hand. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or fight you.”
“Little of both?”
Her face twisted — like she was actually weighing it.
Then she turned back to the screen, watching with a hand half over her mouth as he blocked another shot, this time with his foot.
The interview segment came next.
When he said her name? It just made her smile instantly.
“You didn’t tell me you mentioned me.”
Tristan just nudged her thigh with his knuckles.
The final questions rolled on. Banter. Goofy answers.
Barbara, still staring at the screen, shook her head slowly. “You’re not nearly as mysterious as you think you are.”
Tristan turned his head, one brow raised. “Is that an insult?”
“No,” she said, quietly. “It’s why I like you.”
The video ended, the screen fading to the Sidemen outro and a cheerful “LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE” blast that made Biscuit’s ears twitch.
Sixty-three thousand views.
Posted twenty-two minutes ago.
She blinked. “It’s already blowing up.”
Tristan leaned in, eyebrow cocked. “That’s… fast.”
Barbara hit refresh. The number ticked up again. She scrolled to the comments.
And then — full chaos.
@xLucqs: bro JJ faceplanted in the FIRST MINUTE 😭😭😭
↳@cybersage: can’t even blame the guy, I would be nervous too if I was the first person doing a youtube video with Tristan
↳@Angelo Meßmer: tbf his laces were untied. man sabotaged himself
@Bless: I still can't believe Tristan Hale exists. like?? he’s good at everything?? the cheek of it. Dude legit has everything from looks to money to skills to his girl fuck I’m jealous
↳@AnomalousApeiron: honestly at this point i’m convinced he’s 3 people in a trench coat
↳@Cle: Nah the saves in goal were ILLEGAL. Arrest that man!
@Flipoverrr54: moment of silence for Vik’s mannequin
↳@ChrisMasterSky: 💀💀💀
Tristan leaned back into the couch cushions, stretching. “If this is YouTube’s reaction,” he muttered, voice dry, “don’t open Twitter.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously,” he added, nudging her thigh with his knee. “Mute the app. Throw your phone in a lake. Come back in three business days.”
Barbara snorted. “Why?”
“Because you’re about to watch a thousand grown men spiral over me picking Beckham over Ronaldinho.”
“Oh god.”
But she was already opening the app.
TRENDING IN SPORTS: #TristanHale | #SidemenVideo | #Marcelo | #GKTristan
Within thirty seconds, Barbara’s feed looked like it had been thrown into a blender.
Clips from the Sidemen video were being clipped, edited, meme’d, slowed down, and re-scored like it was some kind of cinematic masterpiece. One viral edit had Tristan’s saves cut together in black and white to In the Air Tonight, complete with dramatic zooms and fake stadium sound. Another had JJ’s faceplant looped with 8D audio and the caption: “this is why aliens don’t visit us.”
But the real battleground?
The quote tweets. The comment threads. The digital warzones where football fans gathered like gladiators to throw elbows over the dumbest things imaginable.
@Daniyal: Tristan saying Marcelo is in his all-time XI is insane. What has the guy even accomplished??
↳@iIbrahim: Marcelo clears literally everyone on aesthetics alone. THIS IS TRISTAN’S LIST. His personal choice.
↳@Lo Mestre: Nah be serious. This list has zero all time greats. Where’s Lahm? Where’s Cafu? Maldini?
↳@AlexisGoated11: You people forget this is HIS personal XI. Not FIFA Ultimate Team. Let the man pick Beckham if he wants lmao
↳@Sword Immortal: I’m not even mad at Marcelo. I’m mad he put Beckham in and didn’t mention Xavi. Like wtf bro I get it hes your idol but use your common sense Tristan
↳@Ashley Papke: Saying use your common sense to the best player on the planet is wild, lmao. Lower your ego, this is just Tristan’s list. Make your own starting eleven instead of bitching about someone else.
↳@OnceAgain: Exactly like people are insane trying to fight Tristan on this like that man would carry, lol. He’s probably laughing in bed with Barbara right now
↳@Ashley Papke: Still funnier that he didn’t put himself in the XI. If i had his stats and reputation, shi I’m putting myself first whose gonna try to argue against someone who has like 200 goals and 200 assists in just three seasons
Barbara blinked at the screen, scrolling in disbelief. “They’re actually fighting. Like, full-on war… over this.”
Tristan leaned in, already wincing. “Oh no. They found the XI, didn’t they?”
“Found it? They’re breaking it down like it holds the secrets of the world.
Tristan let out a slow sigh, amused. “Football Twitter could start beef over grass length.”
Barbara scrolled again. The arguments over Tristan’s XI were still raging in one corner of the app — debates about fame versus legacy, aesthetics versus statistics but a whole new wave had erupted elsewhere.
Now, it was all about goalkeeping.
@Cruchurly: Someone tell Kasper Schmeichel his contract’s not as ironclad as he thinks. Tristan Hale’s coming for that No.1.
↳@Mo ali: @Leicester: 👀 Give our boy a chance, come on think about it
↳@Kezman: photo of Kasper watching from the bench with a Tristan face superimposed over the pitch “he’s better than me…”
@Adam M: Tristan’s reflexes are terrifying. Who the fuck dives like that in joggers??
↳@Thomas05: The man saved a JJ rocket shot with one hand. Dude might really be built different
↳@Marcus: Schmeichel better start updating that CV.
@Engebu: Petition to get Tristan on loan to a League Two club for shits and giggles. We need chaos.
@Mark_M1102: Man’s got a better highlight reel than half the actual goalkeepers in the Prem and this was supposed to be a joke video. I’m sick. I just know David De Gea is pissed as fuck right now, lmao
Barbara laughed under her breath, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet. “They’re actually debating whether you should switch positions.”
Tristan blinked, visibly offended. “What— retire as a midfielder and become a keeper? That’s like evolving backwards.”
“Honestly?” she said, grinning now, “Some of them are begging for it. I think most of the comments are from desperate United fans.”
He scoffed, shifting half on top of her, eyes narrowed. “I saved, like, four shots. Calm down.”
“Yeah. Perfectly. In joggers. On YouTube. With no warmup. You psychopath.”
Biscuit let out a single, pointed “Roof,” like she was weighing in too.
Tristan pointed at her. “Even she agrees I’m not built for it.”
Barbara set the tablet aside and looked at him — properly, fully — amusement softening into affection. “I hate how good you are at things you don’t even try at.”
He grinned, lazy and smug. “What can I say? I’m just a simple man with a simple dream.”
Tristan’s phone buzzed again. And again. Six more pings in a row.
Barbara raised a brow. “Is it the group chat?”
He picked it up with a sigh. “Yeah… they’ve found the video.”
Vardy: AYE NAH WHAT WAS THAT IN GOAL 💀💀💀 BRO SAVED THAT JJ SHOT LIKE HE DOES THIS ON TUESDAYS
Albrighton: We’ve played with you for 3 seasons and NEVER seen you dive for anything but Barbara
Schmeichel: Oi Tristan you coming for my job next buddy? I have you know I know how to fight
Ben: I knew you were hiding something.
Mahrez: Since when could Tristan do that, lmao
Danny: How you go from midfield to YouTube keeper in one episode
Vardy: If I see you warm up with the keepers next training I’m calling the FA
Pick a lane, buddy 😤
Tristan: I literally saved four shots. Chill.
Schmeichel: Four shots too many. You better not even look at my gloves
Mahrez: Not gonna lie though… if we play City again and Kasper gets injured I’m putting you in goal myself
Barbara leaned over his shoulder to read. “Kasper sounds threatened.”
“He should be,” Tristan said flatly. “His gloves looked dusty in April anyway.”
Barbara choked on her own laugh.
.
Hours later, after Barbara had made them both tea and Tristan had reluctantly gotten off the couch only to fall asleep again on the floor with Biscuit curled into his ribs, she finally glanced at the time and groaned.
“Babe,” she said, nudging his hip with her toe, “the plane’s landing in an hour. You have ten minutes to stop being adorable and put on real pants.”
Later…
By the time they got back from the airport, the sun had long dipped below the horizon. A soft winter drizzle misted the driveway, headlights catching silver streaks in the air as her Range Rover and Tristan’s One-77 pulled into the garage.
The front door opened with a soft creak, letting in a gust of cold air and the shuffle of tired footsteps.
“Come in, come in,” Barbara called over her shoulder, already tugging Anita’s carry-on through the foyer.
Inside, the house was warm and glowing — lights low, fireplace alive with a lazy flame. Biscuit darted down the hall at full speed, skidding to a stop at the sight of guests, tail wagging like mad.
“Jaj, de édes!” Ágnes smiled, crouching immediately as Biscuit nosed at her shoes. “Still remembers me, huh?”
Tristan closed the door behind them, rubbing his hands together as the cold air finally disappeared. “How could she forget you after a few days?
Biscuit’s tail wagged even harder in response, circling around István next. He bent down slowly, patting her head.
“I missed you too,” he said in Hungarian.
“She’s been eating well,” Barbara said, slipping off her coat and hanging it by the stairs. “And a little spoiled.”
“Not just her,” Tristan teased, tossing Anita a wink.
Anita rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, arms crossed over her hoodie. “You’re the one who insisted I take the front seat.” She said in somewhat broken english. They were learning fast.
“Only because you elbowed me every ten minutes on the flight last time,” Barbara said.
“I was being affectionate.”
“You were hogging the armrest.”
Ágnes stepped into the living room and looked around, her gaze softening at the sight of the low fire, the familiar scent of citrus and vanilla still lingering from Barbara’s candles. “Still cozy here.”
“I tried,” Barbara said, rubbing her hands together. “We’ll add more stuff tomorrow.”
István stepped in behind his wife, eyes scanning the open-plan kitchen, then the garland along the stair railing. “Where’s your mum and dad?” he asked Tristan, switching gently to English.
“Coming tomorrow,” Tristan replied, pulling off his jacket.
“Ah, jó,” István nodded. “It’ll be nice to see them again.”
“I think my mum is bringing her cinnamon rolls,” Tristan added. “So be prepared.”
Ágnes turned, eyes lighting up. “The ones with the sugar crust?”
Barbara smirked. “You remember those?”
“I dream about them.”
They all laughed. Biscuit barked in agreement or maybe just because Anita was digging in her bag and she thought it meant food.
“Kitchen’s stocked,” Barbara said. “Fridge is packed, and I made soup this morning. Tristan helped… sort of.”
“I stirred,” Tristan added proudly. “That counts.”
“You also burned your thumb.”
“That also counts.”
Ágnes set her purse on the entry bench and looked toward the kitchen. “We should eat soon.”
“We will,” Barbara said. “But you guys should rest for a bit first. Tea? Coffee? We’ve got both.”
“I’ll take tea,” István said, kicking off his shoes with a small sigh.
“Same,” Ágnes nodded.
“Coffee for me,” Anita added, already making a beeline toward the couch. “Unless you’re out. Then I’m stealing Tristan’s Red Bulls.”
“Those aren’t mine, they belong to a buddy of mine” Tristan said. “You’ll be bouncing off the ceiling.”
“I’ll take Biscuit with me.”
Biscuit let out a hopeful whine and padded after her.
Tristan couldn’t help but smile as he watched Barbara’s face lightning up talking to her mom. “I’ll get the mugs.”
“I’ll get the honey,” Barbara replied, sitting down her parents.
As they moved toward the kitchen together, voices overlapping behind them, the warmth in the house doubled not from the fire, or the tea, or the food.
But from the presence of family. Finally, all under one roof again. Just in time for the new year.
Comments
Amos
Schmeichel should get a red card some game and Tristan shines in goal 😂
Cobalt
As someone who hates when mcs turn into celibate monks that forgo earthly pleasures for power tftc
Nick Pod
You have a repeated paragraph again Sin. The section with ““Babe,” she said, nudging his hip with her toe, “the plane’s …” I greatly enjoyed the chapter! Always love Barbara’s reactions to Tristan being ridiculous.
