Niall Horan Imagine for Mariandrea- go out for ice cream

You were in the passenger seat of your boyfriend, Niall Horan’s car, on your way to the ice cream factory. There was this little ice cream shop right by the beach about twenty minutes from you and Niall’s apartment, that no one seemed to know about. It was your place where could escape the world, the fans and the press. You arrive to the ice cream shop and enjoy the fact that there is only an old couple there. You go up to the window and open your mouth to order when Niall cuts you off with “Mariandrea will have a small vanilla with a scoop of oreos and a couple swedish fish in a waffle cone. And I will have a medium moose tracks with a scoop of crazy vanilla, topped with hot fudge, oreos, m&ms, and topped with whip cream and a cherry in a cup with a cone on it.” The woman looks at him and laughs, already knowing his regular. He laughs and after you are handed your ice creams you go down and sit on the beach. Niall smears some whip cream on your nose and on your lips, leans over and kisses them both. “Yummmy” he says in his cute irish accent.

Makes Me Wonder - 1

   To say that Mariandrea Cayetana Casillas Fernández was Real Madrid Royalty was an understatement. 

   Her father, THE Fernando Casillas, was, putting it simply, a football legend. He was the golden boy of both Real Madrid and the Spanish National Team in his day. Born just outside of the city, El Rey had been brought up in La Fábrica, Real Madrid’s youth academy, working his way up the ranks until reaching his long, glorious career with Real Madrid’s first team. The handsome defender lead his team to many victories, and was beloved all throughout Spain (except for Barcelona, of course.) He left a mark on football similar to that of Pele, his combination of genius, athleticism, skill, and a little bit of luck creating an absolute masterpiece on the pitch. After his retirement, he went onto become manager of the first team, coached the Spanish National Team when they won the 2010 world cup, and was now president of Real Madrid C.F.

     His wife, and Mari’s mother, María Fernández, was his coach’s daughter, a lifetime Madridista, who had even played in Madrid’s female youth system too before her modeling career took off, becoming Spain’s answer to Cindy Crawford. Mari’s older brother was in fact San Iker, the current keeper for Real Madrid’s first team. Her second older brother Unai, worked as a physio for the team. Mari Casillas herself was the newest intern in Real Madrid’s publicity department. Which was why, if you’re still with me, her family, La Familia Real de Real Madrid,was standing in the middle of the pitch at the Bernabeu (a place that had always felt like home), before El Classico, being honored for their “supreme dedication to the club”. 

    And also why it was very bad she was getting eye-fucked by Marc Bartra, who was currently sitting on the Barcelona bench. Stop looking at me, she willed him. He was hot, and there was a time where she thought she was in love with him, but she knew now that there was no way in hell she could ever date a Cule. I mean, could you imagine the press on that one? “Real Madrid Princess seen leaving club with Barcelona Defender”. Her father would be so upset, and Iker had been trying to set her up with Isco ever since he had joined the first team, anyway. Marc winked at her. 

    Fuck, she thought, he is sexy. She allowed her eyes to glance at him for a second, with a perfect perma-smile still on her face for the crowd. He looked the same. Tall. Lean, muscular body. The prettiest eyes she had ever seen. And a very large smirk now that he had noticed she was subtly checking him out. "Estás mirando, princesa”, he mouthed. Mari tried not to blush. “Viniendo de ti”, she mouthed back, when she was sure the crowd was focused on her papá’s emotional speech about how Real Madrid had impacted his life. “I wanted your attention”, Marc said. Well, he had certainly never had any trouble getting that. Mari and Marc had a little bit of a ….. history. 

    Mari’s father had always loved to go watch Spain U18 and U21 matches, just to see the up and coming talent in Spanish football. It was at one of those matches when an 18 year old Marc Bartra saw La Princesa de Real Madrid outside of a magazine for the first time. He nearly fell over on the pitch. Marc Bartra thought Mariandrea Casillas was the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. Mari didn’t really notice him. She had spent most of her life around famous footballers, and she certainly wasn’t going to be phased by an 18 year old defender who thought he was hot shit. Until he practically chased her down after the game, hoping to get her phone number. That he did, and one thing let lead to another, and the pair spent the next year in one of those together-not together-together “sorta” relationships.

    Living in two different cities, focusing on their careers, and trying to stay out of the watchful eye of both Mari’s parents and the press that already followed Mari wherever she went, and would eventually begin to follow Marc as his career at Barcelona progressed, did not make for an easy relationship. The two were never actually official, and eventually grew apart.

   Mari hadn’t talked to Marc Bartra for two whole years. And here he was claiming he “wanted her attention”. What the fuck does that even mean? 

   She didn’t really have time to think about it, as soon enough the pre-match ceremony was over, Iker went to join his teammates and prepare for the game, Unai began working with the rest off the medical staff, and Mari and her parents were whisked away to their box seat. As they passed the Barcelona bench, Marc grinned at her before he spoke. "Mariandrea, I think we need to talk."

Author’s Note: Obviously Fernando Casillas is not a real person, and Iker doesn’t have a famous footballer and a model for parents, but I thought this was a really interesting idea for a story. Please leave me a message if anyone wants to hear more of this, or if you think it’s dumb, or if my spanish is wrong, or I have any grammar mistakes, or anything like that :) Thanks so much! 

Makes Me Wonder-2

2 years ago 

   Carajo. Carajo. Carajo. CARAJO. At this moment, Marc agreed with the stereotype that footballers were stupid. Because he had done something really fucking stupid. He looked over at the back of the girl in bed next to him. Maybe last night had all just been a dream, and he had woken up next to his beloved Mariandrea. He then looked at the woman’s face and noticed her hair was an awful acid blonde with shit brown roots and had what appeared to be herpes on her lip(?). No, it was not his corazón, Mariandrea was still off in Madrid happily going about her life, with no idea that her kinda-boyfriend had cheated on her last night. He shuddered at the word-cheated. He was a big fucking cheater.

    Mariandrea hated cheaters. One of their many (kinda) breakups (they never were officially dating) was caused because she was convinced he had cheated in FIFA, which spiraled into a huge, awful fight. (Later that night, she had come by his hotel room with Mexican food, their favorite, to apologize and also to convince him there was good Mexican in Madrid. His position on the matter remained unchanged, but she did look pretty damn cute eating a taco.) Marc remembered her cursing at the TV (always TV, she never went anywhere in public with him because of “what the press and her family would say”, so they spent their small amounts of time together in hotels/apartments/dorm rooms) when someone fouled her beloved Ronaldo, claiming that they were a cheater. She also made it clear that if he ever (kinda) cheated on her he would be dead to her. 

 Marc didn’t want to be dead to her. 

 He just wanted to date her for real. 

    Not have some weird on-again,off-again (kinda) fling. Not get shot down every time he talked about being something more than “whatever we are”. Not live in completely different cities. Not see her post a picture on Instagram with some dude at some party at her University when he was half-drunk, call her in a drunken-range,fight (again), get more drunk, and cheat on her. But he had to fuck it up. 

 Marc wasn’t used to things not going his way. (Mind you, things with her had never really gone his way.) He had no idea how to handle this situation. 

 He wondered if he could just… not tell her? I mean, they were only kinda dating, right? That was her rule, not his. No, that was stupid, Mariandrea was the smartest person he had ever met, and she could always see right through him anyway. She would know something was up, and even though they were only kinda dating, she would be hurt. And besides, maybe this was kind of a blessing in disguise. A break might be a good thing. They only saw each other during U21 National Team matches (She would wear his jersey to those matches. He liked it when she wore his jersey. A lot.) or on the occasional break from trainings or classes when one of them could travel to the other’s city. It was obvious he wasn’t going to sway her on the idea of them just coming out and saying they were dating, the press and her family be damned.  (“Who really cared about the press?”, he thought.) They fought all the time.  (He was trying very hard to convince himself this was actually good. Things always went his way, right?)  

But most of all, he knew she didn’t deserve a cheater. He had to tell her.

 So, after dashing out of the apartment of last night’s mistake, he sat down for the hardest video-call he would ever have to make, blessing in disguise or not. 

He hated the look of happiness on her face when she saw him. 

 ”Hey baby, I missed you!” 

 He hated the look of shock and hurt that flashed across her eyes when he told her what he did. 


 He hated when the girl who couldn’t stop talking seemed to be speechless. He hated when the look of sadness was replaced with a look of indifference. He would have rather her have gotten mad. She always said the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference.

 ”Um, uh, it’s ok. I mean, we were never really exclusive.” 

 He hated when she tried to act like everything was ok. (And what the hell did she mean,not exclusive? He hated that he wasn’t really in a place to call her out on that, she was already upset with him.)

 ”I’m not mad at you. It’s fine.”

 He hated when she said things were fine. 

 ”Marc, it’s not like this relationship was ever that important to me anyway.” 

 He hated that he knew he deserved that. He hated that she knew exactly how to hurt him. (He hated how he had always been scared that was true.) 

 He hated when she said it was (kinda) over, even though he knew it was coming. 

 ”I guess this is it then, yeah?” 


Author’s Note: Hey! This is just a little bit of background into Marc and Mari’s (kinda) relationship, and also so you know the reason why they “grew apart”. I hope y’all are enjoying this!!! :)