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You didn’t mean to fall inlove with Erling Haaland and Kylian Mbappe; they were arguably two of the best strikers in the world, yet you still found yourself in a dingy cafe in the outskirts of town, Mbappe’s firm hand gripping your thigh possessively.
The catch was obvious. Of course neither of them knew of eachother.
You shifted nervously, “Mbappe, people may talk if they see us like this.”
Mbappe turned to you, his grip tightening, “I could care less, Mon cheur.” His lips twitched, as if he found your thought amusing.
You sighed softly, resigned. At that same moment your phone rang. It lit up your little booth and you jumped as Siri almost read aloud the name; Erlin-
You snatched your phone hurriedly, “It’s the hospital!” You gasped out, wiggling out of Mbappe’s grasp and standing up. “My mom, you see, very important stuff—“
Mbappe frowned. His gaze lowered to your phone which you hid behind the palm of your hand. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
“Okay. Tell me if everything’s okay.” He finally said. He still looked vaguely suspicious, but it didn’t matter. You needed to go—now.
You nodded tersely and bolted outside. With a shudder you answered the call.
“Hey Y/N. How are you my darling?” Said Haaland. He sounded out of breath. A quick glance at the time told you it was just past 6pm. Practice must’ve just ended.
Your breath caught— he must’ve called you right after practice. Mbappe certainly never did-
“Y/N? Can you hear me?” He asked. He sounded uncertain.
His voice quickly snapped you out your thoughts. “Y-yes, sorry. I’m okay. Just finishing up,” you looked up and caught Mbappe staring at you through the window; you smiled tightly and turned away, “with um, some work.”
There was some quiet shuffling, and then Haaland’s voice filled the speaker once more, “I miss you. Can I see you tonight?”
You shuffled your feet on the cement. A rock skittered out from under your sneakers. “I guess.”
There was a pause. “If you can’t, it’s okay.” Haaland said.
You tugged a loose curl, sighing, “No, I’d like to see you, Haaland.”
“Okay baby. I’ll be around your house at 8.”
You shifted nervously, “Alright. I have to go. See you soon.”
Cheers erupted from the other line. Grimacing, you hung up.
“Seems like you have your night cut out for you, Y/N.” A voice drawled.
You snapped your head behind you. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed was Mbappe. His gaze was cold.
You took a step forward, “Mbappe-“ you began.
Mbappe shook his head, chuckling softly. “No need to explain, Y/N. So, who’s the lucky man? Who can provide for you better than I can?”
You stood frozen. You couldn’t just expose Haaland like that— Mbappe had powers beyond imagination. Who knows what could happen to Haaland? You couldn’t let that happen.
Think, Y/N, think! Who’s a player you truly hate—one you wouldn’t mind losing it all… It took only a moment before you realized with a start who.
“Harry Kane!” You blurted.
Mbappe froze. His eyebrows rose. “Harry Kane?” He said indignantly.
You nodded hurriedly, “He’s been blackmailing me. He hacked into my Snapchat, and found my private photos!” Once you started you couldn’t stop. A small part of your brain felt guilty, but your adrenaline kept you going.
Mbappe’s face turned expressionless. As if a perfectly curated mask raveled itself around his features. His voice was disconcertingly level, “It will be dealt with.”
With a flash, Mbappe ran into the sunset.
You smiled. Your phone buzzed; a picture of you and Bellingham flashing. Finally you can be rid of Haaland and Mbappe both. With a flight to England in one hour, you smiled happily and walked to your car.
Haaland would come to an empty home, and Mbappe a confrontation based on fabrication. Now, you and Jude could be happy together forever.