Football Manager: Running a Rip-off club

****Uploaded the next chapter by mistake. I wrote this myself lol cz there's literally zero mention of her other than cameos. Thus the mixup as I inserted it between the other stuff.

****

Arthur had been juggling football negotiations and endless paperwork for weeks, and after sealing the Schmeichel deal with Ferguson and passing the Atletico Madrid follow-up to Allan, he finally felt like he could breathe. For once, his head wasn't filled with transfer clauses, training schedules, or tactical tweaks. Instead, it was filled with one thing—well, one person: Shakira. He knew she was in Seville for her concert, and if there was one thing his heart longed for more than Leeds United's next trophy, it was to see her smile again.

Backstage after her show, Shakira dragged her tired feet into the corridor, her curls bouncing despite her exhaustion. Sweat glistened faintly on her forehead, her voice hoarse but still laced with that natural charm. Her assistant, Naya, stood waiting with a grin that could light up the whole arena.

Shakira raised a brow, tugging at the hem of her glittering stage outfit. "Alright, Naya, what's with that face? Did you win the lottery, or find a briefcase full of cash lying around?"

Naya smirked knowingly, clearly trying not to burst out laughing. "Better than cash. You'll see. Just go inside your dressing room."

Suspicion flickered across Shakira's face. She tilted her head, half-expecting a prank, but when she pushed open the door, her jaw dropped.

Her room wasn't her room anymore—it looked like something out of a romance film. Her favorite flowers were everywhere, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. In the very center stood Arthur, sharp suit, warm eyes, and that infuriatingly smug grin. In his hand was a bouquet of roses, the crimson petals matching the slight flush creeping across her cheeks.

"Surprise, babe," Arthur said softly, his voice carrying both mischief and tenderness. "Your charming prince has arrived to whisk you away from work."

Shakira froze, her lips parting as the exhaustion melted right off her face. Then, without hesitation, she launched herself into his arms. Arthur caught her effortlessly, spinning her around like they were in their own private world. Their lips met in a kiss that was long overdue—hungry, passionate, and desperate from months of distance.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Shakira's hands lingered on his cheeks, caressing his stubble as if to make sure he was really there. "Your work is done, honey?" she asked, her voice low and affectionate.

Arthur chuckled, his hands settling comfortably on her waist. "Not really. I dumped most of it on poor Allan. But hey, I promised you a vacation, didn't I? Couldn't possibly disappoint my wonderful girlfriend."

Shakira giggled, that musical laugh that always sent shivers through him. She rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling. "You just made my day, dear. It feels so good to have you with me."

Then her voice dropped, her lips brushing dangerously close to his ear. "Since my charming boyfriend has made me so happy…" She nipped playfully at his ear, making him shiver. "…we can start the vacation tomorrow. But tonight…" Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. "Tonight, I'm not letting you sleep."

Arthur's throat went dry. He swallowed hard and squeezed her backside, unable to resist. "Well… if it's for you, I suppose I can sacrifice a little sleep."

Shakira moaned softly at his touch, pulling him into another heated kiss before they finally composed themselves enough to leave. She tugged on a coat, slipped her arm around his, and together they walked out of the venue.

The hallway was filled with security, staff, and the inevitable flashing of cameras as soon as they stepped outside. Reporters had been waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but none of them expected Arthur to be there. The two rarely showed much affection in public, so when they appeared arm in arm, the cameras went wild.

One reporter, braver than the rest, shouted, "Shakira! Arthur! Could you pose for a few photos? Maybe answer a question or two?"

Shakira, amused, covered her mouth with a hand and laughed. "We don't have time for questions. But…" She leaned into Arthur, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "…since I'm in such a happy mood, you'll get a photo."

Arthur arched a brow, already suspicious, but before he could say a word, Shakira grabbed his face, turned him toward her, and kissed him. Not just a kiss—a deep, passionate kiss that sent the press into a frenzy. Her hands locked behind his neck while Arthur, stunned but delighted, instinctively wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.

The clicking of cameras was relentless, a rapid-fire storm of flashes as though the world had been waiting for this exact moment.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, they looked into each other's eyes and broke into identical grins. Without saying another word, they slid into the backseat of their car, leaving behind a mob of ecstatic reporters shouting about their "scoop of the year."

Arthur leaned back with a smirk, glancing at Shakira. "You know, you just handed them the headline for tomorrow: Arthur and Shakira: Passion Caught on Camera."

Shakira smirked, brushing a hand through her hair. "Good. Let them talk. I'm proud of you. I want the world to know how much I love you."

Arthur's chest warmed at her words. He kissed her forehead softly, whispering, "And I want the world to know I'd do anything for you."

He joked lightly. "Some even calling you the Queen of Leeds."

Shakira giggled and hugged him." I could get used to that title."

The car pulled away from the flashing chaos, the night outside alive with the city's energy. But inside that car, for them, the world had gone still.

*****

Arthur's days in Colombia quickly became a blur of family, food, and laughter. He was used to the tactical rigidity of football—schedules, formations, match prep—but here, with Shakira's people, life seemed to flow with its own rhythm, loud, warm, and a little chaotic.

One afternoon, Shakira took him to her grandmother's house. It was tucked away on a quiet street, the scent of freshly baked arepas spilling into the air before they even reached the door. The moment they stepped inside, Arthur was smothered by hugs. Her grandmother clutched his face in her hands, speaking rapid Spanish he couldn't fully follow. Shakira translated between giggles: "She says you have kind eyes, and she approves. That's basically the royal seal of approval in this family."

Arthur smiled awkwardly, but inside he felt strangely proud. Winning the Premier League was one thing. Winning Shakira's grandmother's heart? That was a whole different kind of achievement.

Meals with her family were an event in themselves. Cousins gathered around the table, uncles told stories at full volume, and children darted around like midfielders avoiding tackles. Arthur was fed so much food he half-joked he'd need to start preseason training early just to burn it off. Shakira teased him mercilessly. "You're supposed to be the disciplined athlete here. Look at you, defeated by empanadas."

Arthur, his mouth full, could only mumble, "Worth it."

In the evenings, Shakira's brothers dragged Arthur into local games of football on the dusty neighborhood pitches. They didn't care that he was a Premier League manager; here, he was just Shakira's boyfriend. Kids sprinted around him, nutmegging him, laughing when he tripped in the sand. Shakira sat on the sidelines, cheering loudly, her laughter mixing with the chaos. Arthur, red-faced and sweating, jogged over at one point, pointing at her: "You're enjoying this too much!"

She blew him a kiss. "Of course I am. It's good for your ego to shrink a little."

Arthur couldn't even be mad. It felt good to be ordinary for once—to chase a ball on a dusty pitch, to eat too much food, to laugh until his stomach hurt.

But amidst all the joy, Shakira carried a small secret. For the past few days, she'd been feeling lightheaded at odd times. At first, she brushed it off—jet lag, exhaustion from the tour, maybe even the Colombian heat. But when the dizziness came with a wave of nausea one morning, something clicked in her mind.

She didn't tell Arthur immediately. Instead, she quietly excused herself and went with her assistant, Naya, to a nearby pharmacy. Her heart hammered as she stood in the aisle staring at the small white box. Naya squeezed her arm. "Do you want me to—"

"No," Shakira interrupted softly, "I need to do this myself."

Back at her villa, she locked herself in the bathroom. The air felt thick, her hands trembling as she opened the package. Minutes passed like hours as she waited for the result. When the faint lines appeared, she gasped and covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

Pregnant.

She sat on the edge of the tub, the reality crashing over her in waves. A thousand thoughts rushed through her head: excitement, fear, joy, uncertainty. She imagined Arthur's face when she told him, his crooked grin, the way his eyes always softened when he looked at her. He would be shocked, definitely. But happy? She felt deep down he would be overjoyed.

Shakira touched her stomach gently, whispering to herself, "So… you're the little secret I've been carrying."

Her reflection in the mirror showed both nerves and an uncontainable smile. She wasn't just a global superstar, not just Arthur's partner—she was going to be a mother.

That night, as Arthur joked with her cousins over dinner, completely unaware, Shakira watched him closely. Her heart swelled with affection, but she bit her lip to stop herself from blurting it out too soon. No—this deserved to be special. She decided she'd plan the perfect surprise for him. Something unforgettable, just like the life they were about to start together.

*****

The idea sat in Shakira's heart for days, glowing brighter each time she caught Arthur laughing with her family or when he wrapped his arms around her at night. She knew him—football had taught him to prepare for everything, but this wasn't a goal you trained for. This was life itself, messy and magical. She wanted to tell him in a way he'd never forget.

One evening, just before sunset, Shakira set her plan into motion. The villa's terrace overlooked the coastline, the sea painted orange and pink under the fading light. She'd sent her family off with playful excuses—"I want a little private time with my coach"—and they'd all winked knowingly. Now it was just her and Arthur, a table set with candles, music playing softly in the background.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, sipping a glass of wine, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked relaxed, which was rare. "You've gone all out," he said with a smile. "Am I in trouble? This feels like the kind of setup where you're about to tell me you bought another villa."

Shakira laughed, sliding into the seat across from him. "No villas. At least, not yet." She reached over and covered his hand with hers. "I just wanted a moment for us. No noise, no cameras, no family running around."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, though his grin stayed. "This sounds suspiciously like you're buttering me up before breaking news. Do I need to brace myself?"

"Yes," she said softly, her heart racing.

Arthur blinked, his grin faltering into confusion. "Wait—you're serious? What is it?"

Shakira didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood and disappeared inside for a moment. Arthur leaned forward, baffled, until she returned carrying a small gift box. She placed it in front of him, her eyes shimmering with both nerves and joy.

Arthur chuckled. "A present? Babe, you know you don't need to—"

"Just open it," Shakira interrupted, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Arthur carefully lifted the lid. Inside was a tiny white onesie, impossibly small, with the Leeds United crest printed on the front. Next to it lay a pregnancy test, the two lines clear as day.

For a moment, Arthur didn't move. His mind tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. He looked at the onesie, then at the test, then back at Shakira, who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her chest, watching him nervously.

"Wait…" His voice cracked. He picked up the test like it was a sacred artifact. "Is this—are you—"

Shakira nodded quickly, tears spilling over her cheeks. "Yes, Arthur. I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air, heavy and light all at once. Arthur's chair scraped back as he stood, crossing to her in two quick steps. He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes wide and wet.

"Are you serious?" he whispered, his forehead pressing to hers.

She laughed through her tears. "Completely serious. You're going to be a dad."

For the first time in a long time, Arthur was speechless. The man who could argue transfers with Ferguson and yell tactical instructions to thousands of people could only stand there, shaking, laughing, crying, all at once. Then he scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around just like he had backstage at her concert.

"Oh my God, Shak! We're having a baby!" he shouted, his voice breaking with pure joy.

She clung to him, laughing through her tears. "Yes, love. We are."

When he finally set her down, Arthur looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. His hand immediately found her stomach, resting there with reverence. "There's really… a little us in there?"

Shakira covered his hand with hers. "There is. Half you, half me."

Arthur chuckled shakily, his eyes still wide. "Well, God help the world if it gets your dancing skills and my sarcasm."

She smacked his chest lightly, smiling through her tears. "Or maybe your football brain and my hips."

They laughed together, holding each other, the sea breeze wrapping around them as if the whole world had paused to give them this moment. For once, Arthur wasn't thinking about tactics, transfers, or trophies. For once, Shakira wasn't thinking about stages or cameras.

It was just them—and the tiny future they had just discovered, already changing everything.

****

The flight back to England was quieter than usual, but only because Arthur refused to let Shakira lift a finger. From the moment they stepped onto the plane, he had gone full "dad mode," as if the baby might suddenly appear mid-air if she so much as carried her handbag.

"Arthur, I'm pregnant, not injured," Shakira teased as he fussed over adjusting her seatbelt for the third time.

"Exactly why you're not touching anything heavy. No bags, no trays, no… buttons," he replied firmly, swatting her hand away when she reached for the overhead light.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, secretly loving how protective he'd become already. It was surreal—this man who could handle ruthless transfer negotiations without blinking, who could shout down referees with the confidence of a general, was now nervously hovering over her like she was made of glass.

Halfway through the flight, Arthur made her a pillow fortress out of spare blankets and insisted she stretch her legs every thirty minutes. When she leaned against him with a laugh, he kissed the top of her head softly. "Sorry, I can't help it. I just keep thinking… everything you do now, you're doing for two."

Her heart melted instantly. Shakira tucked her hand into his and whispered, "Then you're doing it for two as well."

By the time they landed in Leeds, Arthur already had a plan. He quietly rearranged his schedule with Allen to make sure he'd be home more often. He even gave Shakira a strict rule: no carrying groceries, no rushing to events, and definitely no stress. Every evening he cooked—or at least tried.

The first attempt at pasta ended with the smoke alarm blaring. Shakira walked in, hands on her hips, to find him frantically waving a dish towel at the ceiling. "Arthur!" she exclaimed, laughing so hard she nearly doubled over.

"Okay, okay," he defended himself, coughing through the haze, "so maybe I'm better with football tactics than boiling pasta. But it's the thought that counts, yeah?"

She kissed his soot-covered cheek. "Yes, coach. And luckily for you, I love you for more than your cooking."

Arthur wasn't just protective, though—he was thoughtful. He downloaded apps about pregnancy, read late at night about symptoms and stages, and even whispered goodnight to her belly, as if the baby could already hear him. Shakira watched him sometimes, her chest tightening with a love so overwhelming she couldn't speak.

One quiet night in bed, Arthur lay awake staring at the ceiling, mind racing. He glanced at her sleeping beside him, the soft curve of her body outlined under the sheets. For the first time in his life, he was thinking about rings, not trophies. He wanted to propose, but he wanted it to be perfect. The right place, the right moment, something worthy of the woman who'd changed his life.

Shakira, though, was having her own thoughts. Over breakfast one morning, she put her spoon down and said, "Arthur, I've been thinking about next year's tour."

Arthur froze. "What about it?"

"I want to cut it down," she said simply. "Maybe postpone some of it."

He looked at her seriously, already shaking his head. "Shak, listen. You don't have to give up your career because of me—or because of this baby. I'll support whatever you want. Always."

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. Her smile was warm, steady, full of love. "I know. But this isn't about sacrificing for you. This is for me. For us. I've been on the road for years, Arthur. I want to be there for my children. I want to be there for you. Family is the only stage I don't want to miss."

Arthur swallowed hard, emotion rising in his throat. She leaned in, kissed him deeply, and whispered against his lips, "Besides… I'd rather sing lullabies to our baby than perform them to strangers."

For once, Arthur had no comeback. He just held her hand tighter, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes.

Of course, Shakira couldn't let the moment be entirely serious. She smirked and added, "But remember, now you'll have to split your time. Half for me, half for the baby."

Arthur groaned dramatically. "So basically I'm outnumbered already?"

"Completely," she said, laughing as she slid onto his lap. "And you love it."

He kissed her forehead, pulling her close. "Yeah. I really do."