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***
Wait... did I just NTR my own player before he even got a chance to hook up?
That was the first chaotic thought that ran through Arthur's slightly buzzed mind. He blinked a few times, trying to process reality. Piqué hadn't even signed for Barcelona yet. They weren't together. Hell, they hadn't even met, had they?
And here he was—half drunk on red wine, basslines, and pheromones—dancing with Shakira.
Yes, that Shakira.
"Why so quiet all of a sudden?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as the music shifted to a slower beat. Her voice teased like warm silk against his ear. "Don't tell me you're starstruck."
Arthur snapped out of his spiral with a grin. "No, not at all," he said, recovering quickly. "I was just thinking how ridiculous my luck is. First time in Madrid... and I bump into a beautiful world-famous singer. Can't tell if I'm dreaming or just blacked out from the tequila."
Shakira giggled, taking a small step closer, her body lightly brushing against his. Arthur caught a whiff of her perfume—something floral, soft, and intoxicating. "Mm, quite the smooth talker," she said with a grin. "Tell me—do you recycle that line with every woman you meet, or am I just tonight's special?"
Arthur didn't back away. He leaned in a little more, his tone playful, but quiet enough that only she could hear. "Would you believe me if I told you... you're the first one ever?"
Shakira tilted her head slightly, her green eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. She stared at him for a few seconds, as if weighing the charm against the probability. Then she smiled—slow, sly, and devastating.
"Doubtful," she said. "But I'll give you a pass. For now."
Arthur laughed. "That's generous of you."
"I'm a generous woman," she said matter-of-factly, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.
They lingered on the edge of the dance floor, lost in the haze of lights and chatter, the kind of bubble that makes everything else disappear—the music, the crowd, the drinks—fading into a blur around them. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Her smile seemed to bend time. And Arthur, for the first time in a long time, wasn't thinking about tactics or transfers or press conferences. Just her.
"Alright, Mr. Half-British Football Genius," she said suddenly. "Tell me—what's your story?"
Arthur leaned back against a nearby column, folding his arms. "Depends. You want the PR version, or the slightly tipsy, probably-a-bit-too-honest one?"
Shakira's lips curled into a smirk. "I think I've earned the latter."
He shrugged. "Grew up split between London and Leeds. Kicked a ball better than I did anything else, so I stuck with it. Got picked up by some youth academies, played a bit , figured I'm not cut out for it. Then lived as a rich guy spending daddy's money.
But after dad passed away, I had to take up running the club. Now… let's just say I'm more of a thinker than a runner. Managerial side."
"Coaching? Already?" she asked, curious.
Arthur nodded. "Youngest in the league, probably. Still figuring things out. But it's what I love. Football's... the one thing that's always made sense."
Her gaze softened for a second. "That's beautiful."
"And you?" Arthur tilted his head. "What's your story? I mean, I know the albums and the charts and the hips that famously don't lie—but what does Shakira do on a Friday night when she's not accidentally making lost footballers fall in love in Madrid clubs?"
She laughed again, but there was a warmth to it this time. "Mostly? I write music. Travel. Try not to lose my mind with all the chaos. And occasionally—very occasionally—I let myself have nights like this."
Arthur grinned. "So I caught you on a rare evening, huh?"
"You did," she replied. "Must be fate."
They locked eyes again. This time, the silence between them wasn't awkward—it was heavy with a kind of electric tension neither wanted to break.
Arthur exhaled slowly, pulling away just slightly. "As much as I'd love to keep charming you... I think I need to tap out."
Shakira raised an eyebrow. "So soon?"
"I'm a little drunk," he admitted, giving her a sheepish smile. "And I don't think I'd be able to behave much longer if I keep standing this close to someone this... dangerously attractive."
She blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his honesty. A blush crept onto her cheeks before she quickly looked away, muttering something under her breath in Spanish—too fast for him to catch, but soft and sweet-sounding.
Arthur tilted his head. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, her smile returning—this time a little more flustered. "Just... surprised. Not many guys say something like that and mean it."
Arthur gave her a boyish shrug. "I'm not most guys."
Shakira met his gaze again, this time holding it. "No. You're not."
The lights around them dimmed just a bit more. The crowd kept moving, but neither of them did.
****
As Arthur stood up, brushing himself off and preparing to head back to Julian—probably to face some smug grin and a ridiculous story—he felt a soft hand wrap around his arm.
"Can you stay a little longer?" Shakira asked, her tone hopeful. "I wanted to get to know you more. It's… not easy to find good company here."
Arthur froze.
It wasn't the question that caught him—it was the way she said it. Not as a celebrity used to being chased, but as a woman trying to hold on to a rare, genuine moment. For a second, he considered giving her the polite excuse.
But then he looked into her eyes.
And well… very few men could say no when Shakira looked at them like that.
"…Alright," Arthur said, smiling despite himself. "But I blame you if I wake up tomorrow with a hangover and headlines."
She grinned, clapping her hands like a child who'd just convinced someone to join in on her mischief. "Deal!"
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a private booth tucked in the back of the lounge, lit softly by golden bulbs and hidden enough to feel like its own little universe. A waiter brought them another round—tequila for her, whiskey for him—and the music faded into the background.
They leaned in closer, the night growing warmer and more intimate.
"So," Shakira said, sipping her drink, "tell me more about you, mister mysterious football mind. Don't think I missed that Leeds United comment earlier."
Arthur smirked, setting down his glass. "Yeah, I coach the team. Most of my time goes into analyzing formations, prepping for matches, trying not to throw a water bottle when we concede late goals."
She gasped suddenly, pointing at him. "Oh my God! That's why you looked familiar! You're the young manager of Leeds United! I knew I'd seen you somewhere! I watched your match against Manchester United earlier this season. That comeback? Your team was incredible!"
Arthur laughed, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. "Wait, you watched that match?"
Shakira nodded rapidly. "Of course! I love watching football. That day I… well…" She paused, then blurted without thinking, "I almost got a crush on you when the camera showed you shouting at your team."
Arthur blinked.
Shakira immediately covered her face. "Wait—forget the last part! That was the tequila talking!"
Arthur leaned back, chuckling. "Well, I'm honored. I always hoped one day I'd have a celebrity admirer. Now I can brag to my entire neighborhood."
Shakira narrowed her eyes in mock revenge, grabbing the tequila bottle. "You leave me no choice, coach. I'm going to make you drink until you do forget it."
"Wait, what—?" Arthur barely had time to react as she tilted the bottle toward his lips. He sputtered, laughing, "Hey, mercy!"
But in the struggle, he lost balance—already tipsy and off-guard. He tumbled backward onto the couch, and in the chaos, accidentally pulled Shakira down with him.
His head hit the soft cushion, spinning slightly, but when he opened his eyes, everything narrowed.
Shakira's face was just inches from his.
She was on top of him, her hair falling around his face, breath warm, lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide, but there was no panic. Just surprise. And something else.
She tried to move—but her hand slipped on the glass bottle beside them, and before either of them could stop it…
Their lips crashed.
Arthur's eyes widened as time stilled. He could feel the softness of her lips, the slight tension in her body. For a second, neither moved.
Then Shakira's eyes fluttered closed.
Something bold surged in Arthur—maybe the drinks, maybe the moment—and he wrapped his arm around her waist, gently pulling her closer. She responded instinctively, her hand resting on his chest as their kiss deepened for a heartbeat longer.
When they finally parted, both were breathless. The world seemed louder now—the clink of glasses, distant music, the hum of the lounge—like someone had turned reality back on.
Shakira immediately sat up, running a hand through her hair, cheeks flushed. "Why did I do that?" she muttered. "But… it felt so right…"
Arthur sat up slowly, trying to realign both his thoughts and his dignity. He glanced at her with a nervous grin. "I did warn you. I said I wouldn't be able to behave if I stayed near a beautiful woman like you."
She turned toward him, frowning at first—but softened. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have tried to force you to drink. And about that… I'm sorry?"
Arthur shrugged, chuckling. "Why are you saying sorry? No man in their right mind would refuse a kiss from you. Especially not one who finds you insanely attractive."
Shakira blinked. "You really just say what you want, huh?"
Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender. "It's the alcohol. I tend to get... honest. Just don't ask me for my bank details."
She burst out laughing. "Good. I'll wait till tomorrow morning."
Then, without warning, she picked up another bottle and took a deep swig.
Arthur sat up straighter, eyes wide. "Whoa, whoa, slow down! Only one of us can afford to be drunk tonight—and I'm already pretty hammered."
Shakira slammed the bottle on the table and let out a loud snort of laughter. "Too late! Now we're even!"
She slumped sideways, leaning against him without hesitation. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, her voice softer now, almost sleepy. "You smell like whisky and... warm laundry," she mumbled.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temple. "Great. Now I have to make sure both of us don't end up on the front page of a gossip magazine."
"Let them talk," Shakira murmured.
And for a second, Arthur thought—maybe she meant it.
***
Arthur sighed deeply, staring down at the Grammy-winning, world-famous Shakira, who was currently half-asleep and sprawled against his chest like a clingy kitten.
Of all the women in the world… this is the one passed out in my arms? he thought, his face a warzone of conflicting emotions. His brain was screaming ethics, boundaries, and dignity. His body, on the other hand, was screaming something entirely less noble—specifically the very noticeable problem in his pants. And Shakira, in her drunken stupor, was not helping.
Her face shifted slightly as she nestled in, exhaling a warm, slow breath—right on his lap.
Arthur flinched like he'd been electrocuted. Oh come on! Don't breathe on it, woman! This isn't fair!
He looked up at the ceiling, as if divine intervention would help.
Alright. You've read enough online to know this is one of those defining moments. Either I act like a dog… or like a decent human being.
He took another breath, muttering under his breath, "Great. And now I'm talking to myself like a cartoon character."
With great willpower and a very tense jaw, Arthur gently lifted Shakira into a more upright sitting position. "Okay, time to find Julian. Or your friend. Or literally anyone to pawn you off to."
"Pawn me?" she mumbled, eyes still closed. "I'm not a jewelry…"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're drunk is what you are."
She wrapped both arms around his torso like a koala and muttered, "And you smell so nice. Like… fresh laundry and whiskey and regret."
Arthur had to grip her waist tightly to keep her from toppling forward again. Her heels wobbled with every step. Trying to support a drunk pop icon through a packed club was exactly as awkward as it sounded.
"Alright, let's go find your people," he said, carefully maneuvering her past the velvet booth and back into the crowd.
He scanned the club, but Julian was nowhere in sight. Shakira's friend? Gone too. And when he tried calling Julian—no answer. Of course. Bloody typical.
"Julian, you better be getting kidnapped or married if you're not answering your phone," Arthur muttered, ending the call and stuffing it back into his pocket.
Shakira was now humming softly, her cheek pressed to his chest. "You're comfy… like a big sexy couch."
Arthur looked down at her. "You're lucky you're gorgeous, because anyone else saying that to me would be sleeping on the sidewalk tonight."
"I wanna dance again," she suddenly announced, trying to spin away from him, only for her heel to catch the edge of the carpet.
Arthur lunged and caught her before she hit the floor.
"No, no more dancing," he said, pulling her upright. "You'll snap an ankle and I'll be the villain of every gossip site tomorrow morning. Your hips won't be able to lie or move then."
Shakira pouted but then smiled, leaned forward and whispered, "But I like you… You're fun."
He stared at her, exasperated. "You don't even know me girl."
"I know enough," she said dramatically. "You didn't kiss me just to get in my pants. That makes you… noble. And kinda cute."
Arthur grumbled under his breath. "Right. That's me. Sir Arthur of Leeds. Defender of virtue and accidental lap pillows."
She giggled, barely staying on her feet.
He finally gave up. "Alright. Where's your hotel? I'll take you there."
Shakira groaned into his shoulder. "Nooo, I don't wanna gooo~ I like it here… You're warm and you smell good…"
"That's flattering," Arthur muttered, "but it's not a location."
She clung to him tighter, burying her face in his chest. "You can take me home," she slurred.
Arthur raised a brow. "Yeah, no. Not happening. I'm not getting sued or writing a public apology tomorrow."
Shakira giggled, " Why apologize if I don't mind it ~"
Arthur groaned, " Is this a test from heavens to see if I can hold my libido ? I seriously need to get back have a cold shower. "
Shakira added from his side, " shower ? You want me to come ? It's a little early , but why not~"
Arthur: "For fucks sake ..."
But with no other options and no address from her, he finally made a decision. He flagged down a cab outside the club, still carrying half of Shakira's weight. She waved lazily to the bouncer like royalty as they stepped into the street. " Thank you, I'll recommend this place to friends... Blegh." Her face turned green and she lurched.
Arthur nearly facepalmed. "You're done for tonight, lady. I'm sending you to bed." He held her gently as she threw up, patting her back. After that, he helped her get freshened up. She mumbled thank you, and nestled in his arms while closing her eyes.
The cab pulled up, and Arthur guided her inside carefully, closing the door behind them. As he gave the driver the address of his own hotel, he could feel Shakira's head slide back onto his shoulder, while her arms wrapped around his torso. She was already drifting off, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and content.
"Sir… this your girlfriend?" the cabbie asked.
Arthur glanced down at her, sleeping peacefully, still clinging to his jacket.
"…Something like that," he said with a sigh.
He leaned his head back, the city lights flashing through the window. This was not how he expected his night to end.
But as he looked at the woman dozing on his shoulder, a faint smile crept across his lips.
"…Still not complaining."