football imagines <3

(18) shoot - marcus rashford

"Miss Y/N, we're ready for you."

One of the set managers knocked on the door, and peeped her head in, smiling at you through the mirror. Nodding your head, you sat still until the make-up + hair team was finished and only then, did you put your gown on and make your way to the set.

It was bustling with people — all kinds of people — as you served through the crowd, greeting all the people's whose faces you could see. They were so busy hurrying around the set that they didn't have time to look up except when they're being demanded on something. It made your heart ache that the workers who make all this possible are not even treated with respect.

"This way, Miss Y/N." The manager lead as she opened a curtain, "You read in the contract that you would be modelling alongside a man, right?"

You nodded, "Yes, ma'am." The manager laughed and shook her head. "Please call me Sheila, ma'am makes me sound so old."

"Okay." You mumbled, eyes fixated on the rather... compact but intimate set that she had led you to, a smaller group of people working on this one. They seemed nicer to each other, talking and giggling away with each other.

"So, back to your counterpart, we couldn't reveal his name in the contract for much reason but you'll meet him a little bit before we start."

Sheila noticed that you were playing with the ends of your gowns sleeve, pulling apart the cotton when she laid her hands over yours. With widened eyes, you looked at the sturdy woman, "It'll be fine, dear, he's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. You'll be fine, yeah?"

She asked and you nodded your head, not believing her but needing to get her hands off of yours before she notices how red they have become.

It's silly how you have been doing this for a couple of years now — okay, to be fair, it was never with a big brand-name like Adidas — and you still couldn't conquer your social anxiety. Sheila had to lead you to your chair, with your name sowed into the back rest, and put you there herself with a par on your hand.

"It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. You are going to be okay." It's like your personal mantra, something to motivate you to get through the day.

It's simple and old but very effective.

"Y/N right?" A voice asked, surprising you making you jump, slightly, in your seat. "Oh, I apologise for frightening you, love."

The voice continued to speak and only when you looked up did you see who it belonged to, one of English football's biggest stars — Marcus Rashford. He was standing in front of you, in full glory, with a small smile on his face and his hand outstretched, hanging in mid-air.

"Oh, sorry." You grabbed his hand and shook it, offering a smile yourself. "I'm Marcus."

"I kinda know who you are. But I'm Y/N."

Marcus eyebrows raised in surprise, "A football fan?" He questioned, curiously.

"Kinda." You nodded your head, your cheeks lighting up in colour.

"Mind me asking who you support?"

"Ooh, I don't think you'll like my answer."

"Okay, I know it can't be Man United, so now, I'm really interest in your answer." He pressed, lightly touching your shoulder. The touch had burned your skin that you looked at his hand, and wondered what the hell you were feeling?

After realising you had been silent for a few seconds more than you wanted to be, you cleared your throat and opened your mouth, "It's..."

But the call had finally come — for the two of to take centre stage. It had disappointed you that you had to stop talking to Marcus, he was such a comfort on set. You didn't even have your usual mini-anxiety attack because you were too focused on not being swooned by his cute smile and lingering touches. His missing presence affected you that much that you slumped your way onto the white set, the make-up + hair crew on standby for final touches.

It wasn't until he called your name and you looked towards him, on the same set you were, that you realised... HE was the other model.

He gave you a confident smile and two thumbs up to which you responded with a cheeky smile, biting your tongue to hide the excessively wide smile wanting to escape.

"You ready?" He asked, grabbing your elbow and bringing you closer to his body. The proximity of his naked upper body and your arm being just mere inches.

"Yes, now that you're here."

Marcus eyes widened before he tilted his down, biting on his lip to stop his smile - this time - from spreading too wide.

The beginning of the shoot was a bit stiff — expectedly — as it was the first time you've worked together but as the time went on, your chemistry became much better with each other. To the point where the woman behind the camera did not have to shout poses or directions out to you anymore, you would just naturally do what feels/what felt right.

Marcus would chat to you in the middle of the shoot, making you laugh and needing to shoot a particular section over again.

"Okay, so with this one, Marcus, I need Y/N in front of you. Yes! That's perfect. Y/N, can you hold the side of Marcus's face or maybe, his head - just like that! And Marcus, I want your hand around her waist, with a way to emphasise the Adidas on the back of Y/N's jacket."

"Can I put my arm around your waist?" Marcus whispered in your ear, his hand hovering in the air. You nodded, shyly, as you flinched at his touch - not because you hated but you loved it that much.

His warm breath, something minty on his tongue, hit the side of your neck as he leaned in closer to your face. "Is this okay?"

All you could do was nod your head, you were afraid that if you opened your mouth that you would say something stupid. "Are you comfortable?" You asked in retaliation, to which he replied,

"Only because you're here."

The use of your previous words in his mouth made you want to crawl away in a corner and die but all you could do was burrow your head in his shoulder until they started shooting again.

It was close to the end of the shoot and you were really sad it was ending already — you've had such a fun time with Marcus that time flew by. Finally, one of the last poses were revealed. Both of you had to be on the floor with you between Marcus's legs, as he looks down at you and you look up at him.

He gently led you onto the floor and, nicely, positioned you between his legs so you didn't hurt your neck looking up at him. He was really considerate like that. He, then, held your hand and laid it on the floor next to you, lifting on leg up and leaning on his knee to look at you.

"Every gonna tell me the team you support?" He tried one more time.

Giggling, making him laugh, you gathered all the courage in the word to say this next line, "Take me on a date first, Mr Rashford, maybe then I'll let you know."

Nodding his head and smirking, "Well played, Miss Y/N, well played. How about lunch after this, would that work for you?" He asked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"Perfect."