Isco was the new rising young star at Real Madrid. You on the other hand was the daughter of Carlo Ancelotti. You attended as many Real Madrid matches as you could, always proudly wearing your Real Madrid jersey. Having grown up around the sport, you loved football to death. However, you were never really good at it.

You instead pursued modelling, which you found easy. You didn't really enjoy modelling, preferring workout clothes to heels and a dress any day but it allowed you to enjoy your real hobby, photography without having to worry about financial crisis. Your apartment was decorated with your various photos.

As you sat in your car, waiting for a text from your manager about your next photoshoot when you got a text from your father. Can you run to my house and pick up my notes from the last game. I left them on the countertop. Rolling your eyes at your dad's forgetfulness, you responded that you would and drove to your father's home. Quickly grabbing the notes, you drove to the Real Madrid training grounds.

Getting out of your car, you locked the car and walked towards the entrance. The guard waved you through and you walked through the familiar halls of the training ground. Turning left, you walked onto the practice field. A chorus of "Hi (Y/N)!" echoed around you as the players ran past you. You called back a greeting, having met most of them beforehand.

You strolled over to your father, notes outstretched. He grabbed them from you, thanking you extensively. "What do you have going on the rest of today?" you father asked. "Any photo shoots?"

"If (your agent) would just reply, I would tell you," you responded, checking your phone.

"Why don't you stay and watch practice?" your dad suggested.

"Sure, I have nothing better to do," you shrugged. Slipping off your painful heels you had been forced to wear to promote the line you were modelling, you grabbed a ball and started juggling on the side of the field. That was the one thing you had been good at, keepy uppy. Of course you couldn't just juggle around defenders so your football career never took off. Your father called over the players as you continued your peaceful game in the corner.

Unbeknownst to you, a set of eyes were glued to you. Isco couldn't help but stare at you. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Snickering pulled him out of his daydream. "If you're done looking my daughter up and down, Isco, we'll move onto to offensive drills," your father stated loudly. Isco blushed as the other boys hooted in his ear.

Hearing your father's statement, you stopped your juggling, turning to look at the red Spaniard, which caused poor Isco to turn an even deeper shade of red. He jogged off towards the drills, your eyes following him. You had recognized him from Real Madrid matches but never met him face to face. You would sneak glances at him and he would sneak glances at you.

After the offensive drill ended, the boys broke into groups of two, passing long distance. You meanwhile had grown tired of keepy uppy and bending down, grabbed your heels. An audible smack from a football sounded from behind you. Turning around, you found Isco on the ground, holding his nose. He had lost focus on the drill because he had been too busy staring at you. His partner had passed a ball, which had hit unsuspecting Isco on the nose.

You walked over to him, noticing drops of blood leak from his nose. "Are you okay?" you asked, kneeling down.

"I-I-I'm okay," he replied. You grabbed a nearby medical kit and handed him the tissues and gauze inside it.

"Here, to stop the bloody nose," you stated. He thanked you and squeezed his nose as other people walked over.

"You okay?" you father asked Isco.

"I'm fine," Isco insisted, glancing quickly at you.

"I think little Isco took his eye off the ball for a little too long," Pepe smirked, elbowing Isco lightly in the side, motioning towards you. The other guys laughed or wiggled their eyebrows at the young Spaniard, whose pride was now more hurt than his nose. After the bloody nose was cleaned up, everyone went straight back to work. You walked over to your father.

"Maybe I should leave, I seem to be a hazard to your players' health," you joked.

"Alright, call me tonight though," you father replied, hugging you quickly before walking over to the other coaches. You waved good bye to the other boys, walking back through the tunnel. Isco watched you go. He, however, was not hit in the face by a football this time. You attended the next Real Madrid match, wearing a Real Madrid jersey.

You watched as Isco ran onto the field. He hadn't noticed you and played his heart out. Scoring the winning goal, you cheered with the rest of the stadium as Isco was jumped on by his teammates in celebration of his goal. As he ran back to his starting position, his eyes locked with yours. You waved at him and he smiled back.

The match ended, Real Madrid on top. You walked down to the inner hallway of the stadium. Waiting for your father, your eyes once again locked with Isco's as he emerged from the locker room. His hair was wet, sign of a shower, and you could see his muscles through his t shirt. "That was a brilliant goal you scored," you stated.

"Thank you," he responded, a blush dusting his cheeks.

"How's the nose?"

"Its fine, the ball just caused a bloody nose. No harm done," he smiled at you.

"Good, I would hate to be the cause of your pain," you replied.

"You aren't the cause of my pain. I mean how can a girl like you cause pain? I didn't mean that in a bad way! I meant that you're very beautiful—no. That's not what I meant. I mean you are really beautiful but that doesn't have to do with my pain. Really, you did nothing wrong. I'm going to shut up," he sighed.

"You think I'm beautiful?" you smiled.

"I think I said that like three times," Isco replied sheepishly.

"Well, thank you, Isco. Hope to see you around some more," you teased. Quickly pecking his cheek, you ran after your father, leaving a flabbergasted Isco standing in the hallway. He tentatively touched his cheek where your chap stick had left an imprint. Smiling to himself, he failed to notice the hooting from his emerging teammates.