THE ONLY EXCEPTION: you, a footballer for la liga mx femenil and la selecciĆ³n femenil, have never given love a chance. that is until you meet Declan rice, a footballer for arsenal and England's national team.
GRAYCEE SPEAKS: yay!!! declan!!! also, you could totally replace liga mx femenil/mexico for the reader, I just picked my favorites! enjoy! send in requests!
growing up, you'd learned two things.
your father let when you were nine. your first boyfriend cheated on you the week before your first senior national team camp. another swore he'd wait through tournaments, through time zones, through six-hour time differences. he didn't make it past the group stage.
so somewhere between your first liga mx femenil title and your thirtieth game for Mexico, you'd quietly decided love was for people with free weekends and normal jobs.
not for women who lived out of suitcases.
not for women whose calendars revolved around FIFA windows.
whenever reporters asked why you were still single, you'd smile.
"I'm already in a committed relationship."
you'd shrug towards the crest over your heart.
declan rice had heard about you long before he'd met you.
England's midfield engine.
Mexico's impossible number eight.
the woman who played very match like someone had personally offended her.
"you know she's terrifying," one of his teammates joked while they watched clips of an international friendly.
"she tackled Marta so hard she apologized after."
"I'm appreciating good defending."
the first time you met, you were both ambassadors at a FIFA youth clinic in New York City.
you spent the first hour pretending the other didn't exist.
until one little girl wearing a Mexico jersey walked over holding two footballs.
"can you both sign these?"
you took one, he took the other.
the girl frowned, "no. can both of you sign both?"
Declan smiled first, "bossy."
"my mamĆ” says if you're going to ask for something, ask correctly."
barely more than a breath.
but it caught him completely off guard.
because everyone had warned him you were serious.
nobody mentioned your laugh.
friendship happened by accident.
you'd run into each other at awards ceremonies.
international tournaments.
champions league matches.
every few months, the universe seemed determined to shove you into the same room.
until one night after a charity match in London.
the rest of the players disappeared towards the hotel bar.
you stayed behind on the pitch, lying flat on your back in the center circle, staring at the lights.
"you do this often?" he asked.
"lay on football pitches."
"they're quiet after everyone leaves."
another long silence settled between you.
"so..." he turned his head towards you. "you've never had a girlfriend? boyfriend? anyone?"
"you always dodge the question."
you folded your hands over your stomach.
"you've never met someone worth trying for?"
you stared at the lights until they blurred."
"so I stopped giving them the chance."
you said it like you were commenting on the weather. matter of fact and simple.
as if your heart had built walls so high even you couldn't see over them anymore.
declan looked away before you could catch the expression on his face.
because for the first time in years, he wanted to prove someone wrong. not because he needed a relationship. not because he thought love fixed people. but because the woman lying beside him genuinely believed she was easier to leave than to stay.
and somehow without even realizing it, he would become her only exception.
if anyone had asked either of you when things changed, neither of you would've had an answer.
no dramatic kiss in the rain.
no confession after a final.
just hundreds of little moments that, somehow, added up to something neither of you had planned.
your phone buzzed at 2:13 am.
three dots appeared almost instantly.
"same. we just landed. you watch that Barcelona match?"
you smiled despite yourself.
only Declan would text another footballer at two in the morning to discuss a match.
you spent the next hour arguing over tactics.
not once did either of you realize you'd been smiling at your phones the entire time.
it became routine after that.
he'd send you pictures of gloomy London mornings with the caption,
you'd send him photos of the sunrise before training.
when one you played before the other, the messages were always the same.
"don't get tackled too hard."
the last one usually came with an emoji.
the media noticed before either of you did.
"so..." a reporter asked after one of Mexico's friendlies, "England midfielder Declan Rice congratulated you on social media after your goal. are you friends?"
the edits started a week later.
pictures of you two laughing during a FIFA event.
someone even made a ten minute compilation titled:
"Declan Rice looking at Mexico's number eight like she's the sun"
at breakfast, one of them slid her phone across the table.
"he does look at you like that."
"I am begging all of you to find a hobby"
"our hobby is watching you ignore the nicest man alive."
"my hobby is winning football matches."
you kept him at arm's length.
not because you disliked him.
one dinner after an awards ceremony became impossible to refuse.
"it's just food," he said.
"it sounds suspicious when you say it like that."
"it could still be a date."
he almost looked offended.
"I asked if you were hungry."
"I don't like how reasonable you are."
"I've been told it's one of my better qualities."
coffee became walks through cities neither of you lived in.
sometimes you'd spend hours together without talking about anything important.
neither of you called it dating.
one evening in Madrid, after meeting up during your overlapping breaks, you wandered through nearly empty streets with takeaway coffees warming your hands.
"you know," Declan said, "everyone thinks we're together."
"they've thought that for months."
"you ever going to tell them they're wrong?"
"you seem awfully interested in my public relations strategy."
"I'm interested in your answer."
you looked down at your coffee cup.
those three words terrified you more than they should have."
a five-year football goal.
this was uncharted territory.
"I told you," you said quietly, "I don't do relationships."
"I leave for camp in five days."
"I'll be gone for almost a month,"
he smiled softly, "I know."
you finally looked up at him.
"aren't you going to argue?"
"because I don't want you to choose."
his answer caught you completely off guard.
"I don't want you to have to choose between me or football."
he stepped a little closer, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.
"I want to fit into the life you've already built."
you'd never heard anyone say that before.
every relationship you'd ever watched had been about sacrifice.
someone always had to lose.
but Declan wasn't asking you to give anything up.
he was simply asking if he could stand beside you while you chased the thing you loved most.
for the first time in years...
the walls you spent so long building didn't crack.
just enough for one person to walk through.
"I've never been someone's first choice," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
"you won't have to wonder if you are with me."
your heart did something unfamiliar.
it wasn't the kind of love songs promised.
it was quieter than that.
like coming home after a long trip.
without really thinking, you reached for his hand.
not because you were ready. not because you suddenly believed in forever. but because for the first time... you wanted to see what happened if you stopped assuming everyone would leave.
his fingers slipped between yours so naturally it felt like they'd been waiting to do it all along.
neither of you said anything.
for now, walking hand in hand through the streets of Madrid were enough.
it felt like the beginning of something worth believing in.
vaporwave
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areudirty
