Soccer/Football Imagines

Olivier Giroud [~] Good Cop, Bad Cop

Olivier Giroud

Walking through the grocery store, you got a phone call from Laurent. Picking the phone up out of your purse, you pressed the button and placed the phone next to your ear. "Hey, what's up?"

"You wouldn't happen to be doing anything important right now, would you?" came Laurent's frazzled reply.

"No, I'm just at the grocery store. Are you okay, you sound frustrated?"

"I'm fine, but Olivier's another story," Laurent sighed. Your heart dropped.

"Is he okay? Did he hurt himself?"

"No, he's physically perfectly okay. But, uh . . . Jennifer dumped him last night."

"What!? Why?" you asked, making your way to the checkout line. You placed your basket of groceries on the stand as you began to scan them quickly.

"I don't know, but she left him. He's now currently lying in bed mumbling incoherent things. He's hung over and I don't know what to do with him. Help me, please," Laurent pleaded.

"I just have to stop at my apartment to put away my groceries and then I'll be right over. Do you need anything?" you quickly rushed out of the grocery store, practically throwing your purchases into the back seat as you hopped into the driver's seat.

"No, I'm fine. But, you might want to bring some Advil with you."

"Does he have a headache?"

"He did. I was talking about for you. It's like talking to a brick wall," you could hear the frustration clear as day in Laurent's voice.

"Alright. I'll be there in fifteen minutes, tops. Can you last that long?" you replied, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Yes. Please hurry though." You hung up the phone and drove to your house, putting away the food you had bought in a mad dash before hopping back into your car, a bottle of Advil in your hand. Pulling up to the familiar house, you hopped out of your car and knocked on the door. It was opened seconds later by Laurent, who looked immensely relieved. "Thank God you're here. C'mon, he's in his room," Laurent led the way up the stairs and into Olivier's room.

Walking into the master bedroom, you immediately picked out Oliver's familiar head amongst the covers. "Why don't you go home, Lolo? I'm sure Claire's missing you," you told the center back.

"You sure you can handle him by yourself?"

"Sure as day. Tell Claire I said 'Hi'," you smiled. Laurent walked out of the room and you saw him drive away through the window. Setting the Advil on the bedside table, you shook Olivier's shoulders. "Olivier, it's me, (Y/N)," you shook his shoulders again lightly.

"Go away," he whined, rolling over so that his back was to you.

"Come on. Get out of bed. You can't just lie around all day," you said.

"Yes you can. Just watch me," Olivier mumbled into the pillow.

"Look, why don't we go out to the crepe place you like? That always cheers you up," you suggested, hoping that temptation would get his butt out of bed.

"I'm not hungry," he replied.

"Well, let's take a walk in the park or something else like that. The park always made you happy," you stated, starting to grow frustrated with the Frenchman.

"I don't want to."

"Okay, that's it. I'm going to get your sorry ass out of bed today if it's the last thing I do," I vowed, grabbing the covers and pulling them off of him. Throwing them into a ball at the base of the bed, you put your hands on your hips. Olivier turned to give you a lazy glare.

"You know being rude isn't going to make me hop out of bed to spend time with you," he said coolly.

"If you wanted the nice treatment, you should have listened to Laurent. But, I'm not nice like Laurent. I'm a bitch that's going to get you out of bed," you responded, making him roll back onto his stomach. "Get out of bed, Olivier!"

"No."

"You're acting like a child."

"And you're acting like my mother. Just leave me alone," he sighed.

"What kind of friend would I be then? Get out of bed, Olivier Giroud or I will call your mother!"

"She's in France, she has no power over me here." Growling, you grabbed one of his muscular legs and tried to pull him off the bed. He didn't budge much. Huffing, you threw his leg back on the bed. "Give up, yet?"

"No." Jumping onto the bed, you kicked off your shoes and jumped on the bed like you were a five-year-old. Annoyed, Olivier turned to look at you. "Would you stop that, please?!"

"No," you smirked. "You have an awfully large bed, Oli. I can jump around it all day long or until you get up out of bed. Your choice." Olivier rolled his eyes before trying to snuggle back into his pillows. Grabbing one, you started hitting him with it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Olivier growled.

"I don't know sour puss, why don't you ask yourself that question?" You moved back your arm, ready to hit Olivier again when two hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto the bed. Trapped in between his legs, you crossed your arms and stared up at Olivier with a deadpanned look. "Are you going to get out of bed now?"

"For the last time, no! Can't a guy mope in peace?"

"Not while I'm around," you smiled, reaching up and tickling him. He swatted your hands away but your nimble fingers almost immediately had Olivier laughing. You smiled wider at the sound of his booming laughter. He fell onto his back and you took the opportunity to get better leverage in the tickle war. You squealed as Olivier flipped the two of you over, this time tickling you. "S-S-Stop, O-O-Oli! I-I sur-r-render!" you giggled. Opening your eyes, you looked up into his blue eyes, which were startlingly close to your own. Without a second thought, you both closed your eyes and leaned in. Realizing what was going on, you pulled back, causing Olivier to look at you confused. "I'm sorry, Olivier. I didn't mean to do that."

"You weren't the only one to lean in, (Y/N)," he replied, tucking a stray hair around your ear.

"No, but I should have stopped it. You don't need a rebound right now, Olivier. I'm sorry, I should go," you sighed, getting up and nearly running out of the room. A hand grabbed your own, spinning you around. His lips connected with yours once more. He pulled back, resting his forehead on your own.

"You're not a rebound, (Y/N). You never were. I guess, Jennifer leaving just opened my eyes a bit. And I finally saw what was right in front of me," Olivier stated. "I love you, (Y/N), I was just too stupid to realize it."

"I love you too, Olivier," you sighed, a smile gracing your lips once more. Frenchmen really do know how to kiss.