Captain’s Girlfriend
Pairing: Manuel Locatelli x Reader
Word Count:940
Request open!
Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II
You’re already bored.
That’s the first thought that crosses your mind as you stand just off the pitch, arms crossed, watching reporters cluster like sharks near the tunnel. Flashing lights, shouted questions, microphones pushed too close to players’ faces.
“You look like you’re about to bite someone,” one of the staff members jokes as he passes.
You don’t even look at him. “Only if they deserve it.”
He laughs and keeps walking.
Behind you, the stadium is still buzzing. Another win. Another clean performance. Another night where everyone will talk about him like he isn’t a human being with legs that ache and lungs that are still on fire.
You spot Manuel before he spots you.
He’s still in his kit, captain’s armband tucked under his sleeve, hair damp with sweat. He’s laughing at something one of his teammates says, head thrown back, relaxed in that rare way he only gets after a good match.
Then his eyes flick toward the sideline.
Toward you.
The smile changes instantly. Softer. Warmer. Real.
He excuses himself without a word, jogging over like the world hasn’t spent the last ninety minutes chanting his name.
“Hey,” he says, breathless, grin wide. “You disappeared.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You were busy being famous.”
He laughs. “You hate it when I talk to reporters.”
“I don’t hate it,” you correct. “I just hate them.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “They love you, you know.”
You snort. “They don’t know me.”
“Exactly,” he says, fond. “That’s why.”
Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air.
“Manuel! One question!”
You don’t even turn around. He does.
“Just one!” the reporter insists, already moving closer. “About the armband,”
Manuel sighs quietly. You feel it more than hear it.
“You want to go?” he asks you under his breath.
“Not really,” you reply. “But I’m guessing we’re about to be surrounded.”
You’re right.
Two cameras. Then three. A woman with a microphone angles herself just a bit too close to you.
“And you must be,” she starts, eyes flicking you up and down.
You smile politely. Dangerously. “I must be standing.”
Manuel bites his lip to keep from laughing.
The reporter turns back to him. “Captain, how does it feel leading the team to another victory?”
“It feels good,” he says evenly. “The team worked hard.”
“And having your partner here,does that add pressure?”
You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself.
Manuel’s hand finds your lower back instantly.
It’s subtle. Protective. Possessive without being showy.
“It adds support,” he replies, calm but firm. “Which is more important.”
The cameras edge closer. The lights feel hotter now.
“Do you worry about balancing your relationship with your responsibilities as captain?” another voice asks.
You laugh. Out loud.
Manuel glances at you. “Something funny?”
You lean into the mic just slightly. “I’m not a responsibility. I’m a choice.”
There’s a pause.
Someone coughs.
Manuel’s grin is immediate and unashamed. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping fully around your waist now, drawing you into his side like there was never any other option.
“That,” he says, squeezing you gently, “is exactly why I’m with her.”
A reporter tries again. “But the attention,”
“She doesn’t care,” Manuel cuts in, tone sharper now. “And anyone who gets too close finds that out pretty quickly.”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’m very unimpressed by fame. It’s a flaw.”
“It’s my favorite thing about you,” he says without hesitation.
You look up at him. “Liar.”
He shrugs. “Okay, one of my favorite things.”
You watch the reporters exchange looks, unsure whether to keep pushing or back off.
One of them doesn’t get the hint.
“Is it difficult,” he asks, “dating someone so outspoken?”
Manuel’s grip tightens just a fraction.
“No,” he says, smiling politely while his eyes harden. “It’s difficult dating someone who thinks that’s a bad thing.”
You hum. “Tell him again, but slower.”
He laughs, dropping his forehead briefly against yours. “Behave.”
“Make me.”
He straightens, clearing his throat. “We’re done here.”
“But,”
“Thank you,” he adds, voice final. “Have a good night.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. He just turns, guiding you away with a hand firm at your waist, shielding you from cameras and questions alike.
Once you’re safely inside the tunnel, you exhale.
“God,” you mutter. “They’re exhausting.”
He looks down at you, eyes soft again. “You okay?”
“Please,” you scoff. “I survived worse than that.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “Still.”
You stop walking and turn to face him. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” he replies immediately. “That’s not why I do it.”
“Then why?”
He steps closer, lowering his voice like the walls might be listening. “Because I want to. Because when they look at you like that, I remember the world doesn’t get to have you.”
Your teasing fades just a little. “You’re dramatic.”
“Captain’s privilege,” he smirks.
You smile despite yourself. “You played well, by the way.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Leader. Calm. Annoyingly attractive.”
“Annoyingly?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
He leans in, brushing a kiss just below your ear. “Only with you.”
You roll your eyes again, but you don’t move away.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go home before someone asks us about wedding plans.”
You snort. “If they do, I’m telling them you cry during movies.”
He groans. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me, Capitano.”
He laughs, arm tightening around you as he leads you down the corridor,away from the noise, the lights, the questions.
Away from everyone else.
Right where you both belong.
