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sports-on-sundays · 20 days

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football in the rain / Antoine Griezmann

Summary: Antoine x female!Spanish!reader - You met a celebrity before he became a celebrity.

Warnings: running away from home, angst I suppose, missing home, sad ending, melancholy vibes, bit of Spanish (sorry if it's not correct), slight parasocial relationship?

Author's Note: I'M BEGGING YOU. PLEASE READ THIS! I wrote this because I'm a huge fan of his, okay, but listen, I know a lot of you couldn't care less about this but it was an idea I had that I needed to write down. It's not even romantic at all, so you don't have to worry about that! I'm just super proud of this and it would make me so happy to know someone read and enjoyed it. Please, if you don't enjoy it as a fic, then enjoy it simply as a story! Anyway of course I know after this mega long author's note I'm going to get 0 notes anyway.

Requested: Be real.

The year was 2006. The rain beat on your head, soaking through your clothes, as you walked, carrying nothing but a backpack on your back, in the middle of the night.

You stared down at your shoes as you walked, watching as water squished out of them with every step. You let out a deep sigh.

But suddenly, a football gently ran into your foot.

You looked up just in time to see a soaking wet teenage boy, running towards you, saying quickly, "¡Lo siento!"

His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were also soaking, hanging from his body. He had no shoes on, which you found strange.

You picked up his ball and held it, saying, "Who are you?" A part of you assumed he was just some homeless guy who had come across a ball and decided to start playing with himself.

"Mi nombre es Antoine," he said, and it became clear Spanish wasn't his first language. He eyed the ball, waiting for you to hand it back to him.

"Are you French?" you asked.

He nodded, looking at you with his big eyes. "Can I have my ball back?"

You frowned, and, being merely a teenager, asked bluntly, "Are you homeless or something?"

The boy blinked in surprise. "No! I play for Real Sociedad." He gestured, and you were surprised to see you were right by the academy, and you hadn't even noticed.

"Really?" you had asked, sweeping a wet strand of hair out of your face.

He nodded.

"How come you're out practicing in the middle of a rainy night, then?"

You watched as his jaw tightened a bit, but he responded back simply, "I want to improve. I practice whenever I can."

You laughed a bit at that as you asked incredulously, "Don't you get any sleep?"

He shrugged. "Of course I do."

You nodded, and stood there. You glanced at his ball, before rolling it back to him. He stopped it with his foot, which compelled you to ask, "Why aren't you wearing any shoes?"

He shrugged. "They got too wet on the grass. It's easier without."

"Won't you slip?"

He shrugged for about the one hundredth time.

"Well, it makes you look homeless."

"I don't care."

You nodded, shifting your backpack strap on your shoulder, as he said, "But what are you doing, walking in the middle of the night, like you are?"

You shrugged. "I'm running away from home."

The boy blinked in shock as he began kicking the ball back near the field. You followed, somewhat intrigued by this guy, Antoine, with his bright eyes, as he asked, "Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. I'm sick of my home," you said, shrugging off your backpack.

"Want to play?" Antoine offered.

You nodded, slipping off your coat, too. You started playing, just going easy on each other, before Antoine said, eyeing the jersey you were wearing, "Atlético? Are you from Madrid?"

You stood a little straighter, proud of your club. "No, but my uncle is. He's who I'm running away to. I'm sick of my parents."

"You said that," Antoine said as he intercepted your dribble.

"You're really good," you complimented.

"I'm going to go professional, soon enough," the boy smiled proudly.

You nodded. The two of you kept playing, until the score was 3-2, Antoine winning, and you flopped down on the grass next to your backpack, both covered in not only water, now, but also sweat.

"Fernando Torres?" Antoine asked, glancing at the back of your jersey. "Is he your favorite player?"

You grinned, nodding. "He's the best."

He nodded back, and you sat silently in the grey night together for some minutes, before Antoine asked softer, "Why do you want to run away from home?"

You frowned. "I don't know. I want something new. My parents expect me to do so much, and then they never even care about me. They're so controlling. I mean, I'm fifteen! They treat me like a little kid."

"Oh..." Antoine nodded again, trailing off. "Do you think they love you?"

You blinked in surprise at that question. "Of course they do!"

He nodded, and said simply, kind of suddenly, "I'm from France."

"You said."

"My parents are still back there, and my siblings. In France. I hardly ever have gotten to see them... Since... I moved here, for football."

"Well, why didn't you join a club closer to your home, then?" you asked. It seemed fairly obvious to you.

"No clubs would take me."

"What? Why?! You're good!"

But Antoine shrugged, a sad tinge to his voice, so much so, that for just a moment, you thought he might cry. "Apparently, not good enough... What's your name, anyway?"

You told him your name, and he nodded. "Mucho gusto."

You sat there for a while, together, silently. The rain subsided a bit, and finally, you stood up, grabbing your backpack. Antoine stood up with you as you said, "Well, I better get going."

Antoine nodded and said, "Bye. It was really nice, to..." he trailed off, because neither of you really knew what had just happened.

"Yeah," you smiled, understanding. "You too. Antoine."

He grinned back a bit as you turned on your heel to get walking.

But suddenly, he grabbed your wrist. You turned to face him again, your eyebrows scrunching together. "Wait," he said.

You stared.

He let out a shaky breath, before saying, "If your parents love you... I don't think you should run away... I know it's hard, but I don't think you'll regret it in the end."

You saw the glimpse of all the sadness in his eyes. The loneliness.

He knew how it would feel.

His heart was aching for his family.

You assumed it was just a stray raindrop that slowly rolled down his cheek.

You swallowed, and slipped your hand down to squeeze his. "Thanks, Antoine. I'll think about it."

"I don't think I'll ever forget you," he said suddenly, softer.

You blinked in surprise. "W- Why?"

He grinned suddenly. Those sparkling sad blue eyes shining. "I've had a nice time with you, practicing."

You nodded, smiling a little back. "Yeah I had fun, too. Well... bye, Antoine."

He let your hand slip out of his as he called, "Thank you!"

At that time, you didn't have any idea what he was thanking you for as you walked away.

Sometimes, today, you think about it. Now you figure he was just lonely. A boy in the world striving for success, but couldn't see the bright path ahead of him, at the time. Someone who kept going simply because he was a dreamer. He never let go of hope.

That night, you didn't walk to the station and get on a train to Madrid. You went home, took a warm shower, and went to bed.

And after that, things got better for you, slowly but surely.

And you thanked Antoine for that, partially.

And you hoped things would get better for him, too.

Well, you saw that with your own eyes. You saw him get older, and get a place on the first team.

And though perhaps you didn't realize it at the time like Antoine did, the same went for you.

That night, a strange connection you would never forget was formed.

There was no way you could ever forget that lonely night with Antoine, playing football in the rain.

You stand in line, holding two jerseys in your hand. All around you, you, people gushed and huffed and jabbered and pushed in mostly excitement.

Ahead of all the people, somewhere, was Antoine Griezmann, sitting at a table, signing fans' items.

Antoine, who years ago, you played football with in the rain.

You're sure the fame, the money- it changed him. You assume that's something that happens with everyone. But there were so many moments when your heart pounded, and all you could think was, Once upon a time, I stood in the rain and talked to that boy. In that moment, on that one night, we were connected.

Now, eighteen years later, you're determined to let your paths cross again.

He's a famous footballer, with everything anyone could ever ask for. Practically all the money in the world, and a beautiful wife and children.

You're just you, a woman in her thirties who has had a generally alright life, but remain middle class and alone in the world.

But there's a connection you don't want to let go of.

There were moments.

When your uncle phoned you to tell of the news of the young Real Sociedad hotshot who was signing for Atlético Madrid.

When you watched him walk off the pitch crying, after a loss to Germany in the 2014 World Cup.

When you stood up from your sofa and screamed for joy when he scored his first goal for your club, Atlético de Madrid.

When he won the World Cup for France in 2018, and you watched him smiling in the rain with the glimmering golden trophy in his hand.

When you watched him go off to Barcelona, and still stayed his supporter through that mess.

And then you saw him come back to his club. Your club.

And become it's top goalscorer.

And now you're determined to see him face-to-face again.

It seems to happen so slow, and so quick, and the same time. You're not sure if it's tedious or sudden, but either way, at some point, you step up to the table with a lump in your throat.

He looks up and meet your eyes.

He won't recognize me, will he?

"Could you sign two things for me? Antoine?"

He nods, "Of course," and you lay down your jersey of his, with the number seven on the back of it. His Spanish is a lot better now, but you know that. You watch as he scribbles his signature on the shirt and hands it back to you with a smile.

You swallow down the lump in your throat as you lay down the second jersey.

"Fernando Tor-" his voice falters, "Torres," he finishes.

He glances back up at you.

A hint of uncertainty.

Does he really recognize this old jersey?

Is it really ringing a bell, or am I just imagining things?

You breathe deeply.

Come on, Y/n. Say something. This is your chance. This is your one moment, your mind screams as he signs the second, ragged, quite older jersey.

He hands it back to you, but his eyes linger on you longer.

You blurt, "Mi nombre es Y/n."

His bright blue eyes become slightly wider as he opens his mouth to speak.

But suddenly a fan pushes your back in annoyance, and a security guard says, "Miss, we've got a lot of people to get through, and Griezmann doesn't have a lot of time."

And just like that, you're swept away by the crowd. The moment is lost, and you stare at your shoes, clutching your jerseys. You stare at all the other shoes around you, your brain drowning out all the noise.

Your heart pounds.

He remembered me. He did.

Your head aches. All you needed was another moment. All you needed was-

What did you need? Did you really expect anything? Could you even have expected anything?

You feel dizzy, as your stomach drops, and the whole world seems to spin.

You should just be happy you got your jerseys signed, by a star like him.

But to you, he feels like more than just a distant star.

You walk out, swallowing the newest lump forming in your throat, not even taking a moment to look back and see the blue eyes still glancing up and burning into your back.

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https-sonshine · 1 year

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Muy Grande

pairing : son heung-min x reader

word count : 911 words

warnings: slightly suggestive, slight cursing

authors note: hey guys this is a small draft from the fanfic i’m working on.i haven’t written in a while so i’m not quite sure if i’m doing it right. please feel free to leave constructive criticism and let me know what you guys think about it 😅

_________________________________________________

Son watches you.

The humid summer air envelopes him and makes him clammy as he watches as you pull your shorts down. Denim stutters against your skin as sweat cling to them. With your back against the brick wall, you lift your feet to stand on tiptoes. Your cheeks look soft and shiny under the dim alleyway light. Watching you start to relieve yourself, the puddle under you grows. Something is intoxicating about the look of instant relief on your face.

Fuck. Why am I getting harder?

A night out drinking sealed his fate. He knew he should've been resting for the upcoming match. Drinking wasn't his thing. Inevitably, he had been a victim of peer pressure. He didn't expect to meet you. You were like coming up for a breath of fresh air. Underneath his cherry smile, he had been drowning in the pressure of leading his team through the world cup. He didn't want to disappoint his country. He was sure you had yet to learn who he was and that you would have no recollection of tonight's events. His thoughts wandered to your friends, your boyfriend.

What kind of boyfriend purposely tries to pimp their girlfriend out? Is there not a limit to showing off?

However, that thought left his head as soon as it knocked his mind. After all, it was none of his business. Since that dreadful drinking game, you had stuck to him like glue. Rocking back and forth uncomfortably, you tugged on his shirt sleeve.

"Preciso de urinar," she slurred.

(I need to pee)

"What"

"Urinar, o toalete," you exclaimed whilst rubbing your legs together.

(Pee, the toilet)

Toilet?

His mouth formed an O shape as the realisation hit him. He looked around, but it seemed unlikely that any English players would return soon. Son wiped his sweaty palms against his shorts and carefully pushed you two through the crowd in search of a toilet.

The familiar sight of a female stick figure caused him to exhale a breath he didn't know he was holding. He strengthened his grip on your hand and dragged you towards the long line of women.

"A linha...." you muttered, causing his eyebrows to shoot up.

(The line...)

"É muito longa, linha longa, longa," you kept repeating like a chant.

(Is too long, line long, long)

He ran his hands through his head, mouth slightly open, yet no words could come out

"Linhaa longa" you let go of his hand and pointed towards the line.

(Linee is long )

"Line too long?" he said, making you nod mindlessly.

How did he end up here? He asked himself again. Before he could start feeling sorry for himself, he noticed the pretty girl was no longer standing before him. Instead, she was stumbling toward the bar's exit. He quickly made his way towards you just in time to witness their pathetic attempt at pushing a pull door.

Cute

"A porta não abre porque" he saw you pout and squeeze your eyes shot before you pointed at the door

(The door isn't opening. Why? )

"It's a pull door," he lightly chuckled whilst pulling the door open

Her eyes bored into his. Suddenly, her face cracked into a smile.

"Muy grande" is all she said

(You're so cool)

God, what he would do just to see her smile like that again

And this is how he ended up in this humid summer air instead of the comfort of his hotel room.

At the entrance to the alleyway, he stood guard to ensure you didn't attract anyone's attention. To ensure that no creeps were doing what he was doing right now.

Despite being finished, you haven't shimmied back up the wall. Or re-put your shorts on. Son observes as you tilt your head to the side, glistening eyes meeting his gaze.

Don't be weird. Don't make this weird.

"Sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Está bem," You giggle and continue to sit there for a little while, the alcohol in your system making your brain sluggish.

(It's okay)

"Merda, eu estou perdido"

(Shit, I'm wasted)

"Your pants are not on," he quickly says before turning around, which causes you to look back down at your bare legs encased in shorts. He hears a muttered "Merda" from behind him, which prompts him to turn around as your hands clumsily pull the sides up, underwear and all. You don't even button them before standing back up in such a shaky manner that Son extends a hand to you for support.

As you start strolling out of the alleyway, he can't help but notice your panties poking out from above your waistband

"Wait, wait!" He shouts, "Button your shorts first," grasping your arm to stop you.

You waste too much time fumbling with the zipper and button before giving up and letting your hands drop to your sides.

"Voce nao fala portugues voce?" she mumbled before biting her lip.

(You don't speak Portuguese, do you?)

"Can't," you hiccup, "do it for me."

Son hesitates before coming up from behind you. Your panties are twisted and sitting high on your hips as a result of how forcefully you shoved them up. The front of the shorts are entirely exposed and barely holding on.

The warmth of your body pressed against his only made him harder, his shaky fingers not taking long to push the button through.

His hands drop, and he slowly moves from behind you, scared he's made you uncomfortable. You turn around, closing the gap between you two, faces close, sparkly eyes smiling at him with an emotion he can't make out.

"I-"

"The others must be wondering where we are," you say before remaking your way out with faltering steps.

Completely unaware of what you've just done to him.

#son heung min #son heung min fanfic #heung min son #son heung min imagines #son heung min x reader #football imagine #football imagines #sonny x reader #tottenham hotspur #world cup 2018 #football fanfic #wattpad #jesse lingard

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messidump · 5 months

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Lionel Messi and Sergio Agüero during an open to public training session at Bronnitsy Training Camp on June 11, 2018 in Bronnitsy, Russia.

#lionel messi #sergio aguero #argentina nt #world cup 2018 #2018

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itsanidiom · 1 year

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y’all 🤣🤣🤣

#no #lol #world cup #world cup 2018 #son heung min #LOLOL #my tiktok feed is all #just simping over the Korean national team #🤣🤣🤣

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mountinez · 1 year

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gen·ius

/ˈjēnyəs/

a characteristic of original and exceptional insight in the performance of some art or endeavor that surpasses expectations

#leo messi #lionel messi #world cup 2018 #fifa world cup #football #art #genius #him <3 #argentina nt

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rubybecker-rb2 · 1 year

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You know, when I first saw him on television, I was only 10 years old. It was the 2018 World Cup and he came in to replace Coutinho in the game against Mexico. As soon as he entered the field, he immediately scored his goal and the goal that sent Brazil forward. Since then, I've had my eyes on him. He was my first crush as a child, the first person I showed my friends and said: "Cara, eu queria um homem desses na minha vida." He is magnificent, in everything. And I will always have my heart for him. Even if he leaves Liverpool, I will continue to look up to him and put my name on my jersey the way he did.

All I wanted was to be able to go back in time and see that goal scene again. Remember I'll always love you, Bobby.

#liverpool #liverpool fc #alisson becker #fanfic #virgil van dijk #jurgen klopp #darwin nunez #soccer #football #football fanfic #roberto firmino #bobby firmino #fabinho #world cup #champions league #premier league #world cup 2018 #i miss them #i love this guy

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leonsliga · 1 year

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@in-trench-you-are-not-alone: Leo Messi was in his Ewan McGregor era in 2018

And after consulting the evidence, I can conclusively say they’re not wrong 😂

#and they’re both hot #lionel messi #ewan mcgregor #funny stoofs #fifa world cup #world cup 2018

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ferraripoolfc · 10 months

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Somethings really don’t change 😭

#he’s the prettiest #kylian mbappe #mbappe psg #france national team #Mbappe 7 #world cup 2018 #world cup 2022 #qatar world cup #kmbappe #my baby my baby

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onmykneesforhotdilfs · 1 year

Note

When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy! Then, send it to the last ten people in your notifications (anonymously). You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity. ♡

Luka Modric - I mean how can he not? He's the litteral definition of the most precious being on this earth and I just wanna wrap him up in a blanket and give him a kiss on the forehead😍

Croatia NT - most famously the 2018 wc nt era, but really, anything Croatia national team related🇭🇷

Friends - both irl and tumblr pals that I've met🤗

Strange new worlds - the new era of star trek y'all, can't go wrong with this particular team🤩

Music and dancing- two separate things, I know and yet they are so intertwined one cannot go without the other

#personal #Luka Modric #luka modric #croatia national team #Croatia nt #world cup 2018 #star trek #strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #st snw

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l0n4t1csfan65 · 5 months

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my ships opinion

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thiagodasilva · 1 year

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England playing boring football but Senegal making defensive mistakes I’m suffering on all fronts

#fucking hell #but I can’t find it in me to turn it off it’s like staring at a car crash #also I still hate Kane it’s so crazy #world cup 2018

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vinylsbygi · 1 year

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So all this football happening, I just have to look back to 2018. Let me tell you a story.

I was still a kid back then. And I was more passionate about football that I am now. The world cup of 2018 was pure magic.

I come from Croatia. It's not a big country and it's not I don't know how famous, so when Croatia got into finale of world cup, which has never happened before, we were unstoppable. We were infinity.

I was screaming and I was crying alongside my grandma, because we had our colors for the whole world to see.

We didn't win. We ended up second in the world. I don't even know what words I want to use to describe how we were feeling.

Few days later, players came back. They landed in 3.30 pm, and it was expected for them to come to the main square in about 4.30/5.00.

My family and I were part of the people waiting on the square. There you have one of the biggest stores in our whole country, and by 2.00 pm, all the drinks were gone. Shelfs were empty, and it was summer, so only people in the store were the ones who were hot and wanted to cool down for a bit.

I don't think I have ever experienced such a vibe. We had about 150 thousand people just on the square. We were all singing and dancing and celebrating until we waited for players to arrive. It was an ocean of red and white. We were one piece, all there to be proud of our country.

In the end players arrived in 8.30 pm. They couldn't even drive as they planned to because roads were filled with people with their numbers on their back. They were heroes.

And when they finally came to the square, god was it something. We had fireworks and players were singing and I remember sitting on my father's shoulders, crying and singing and laughing and feeling thousand things at once. There is something that is often on my mind these days. It's one of the lines from the song and it goes "Ovdje nitko nije normalan, nije normalan" in translation "No one here is normal, is normal".

At the end, it was almost half million people. All singing as one. I remember watching Šime Vrsaljko on the stage and he had a cap on his head, and now looking back I think he had a few to drink, which to be honest, he had every right to.

It was beautiful. We had a bigger celebration than France, who was the world champion. We were infinity.

Small country, on the top of the world.

#gigi's talk 💌#football world cup #world cup #football #world cup 2018 #wc2018 #wc 2018 #croatia #balkan #france #memories #on top of the world #gigi talks football 💌

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