#michael olise x reader

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Where’s My Matcha?

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: You casually post a sleepy morning TikTok—but the internet loses it when Michael Olise strolls by shirtless, raspy-voiced, and mumbles, “Where’s my matcha?” Fans fall head over heels for his unexpected soft boyfriend energy, but Michael? He’s totally unfazed. Just wants his matcha… and maybe a kiss. @muglermami

It was a quiet Saturday morning—the kind where the sun filters through the curtains and everything feels a little slower, a little softer.

You were in the kitchen, wearing his Bayern training hoodie and fuzzy socks, propping your phone against the coffee jar to film a TikTok. Just something simple—lo-fi music, you making toast, lighting a candle, pouring juice. Nothing serious.

Caption: [cozy mornings with me🫶🏾]

The camera caught your soft smile, the sleepy sway of your hips to the beat, the clink of the butter knife.

And then it happened.

0:07 — A door creaked in the background.

0:09 — Michael walked past the hallway arch, shirtless, locs flattened on one side, grey sweats hanging low on his hips, a tattoo peeking as he scratched the back of his neck.

Still blinking, still waking up, he mumbled in the most unreasonably attractive raspy voice:

“Where’s my matcha?”

And kept walking.

You didn’t cut it.

Didn’t reshoot.

Just posted it with a little shrug and a caption update: [he’s not camera shy. he’s just always sleepy. 😭☕️]

You thought nothing of it until your notifications blew up.

@bayernmunichfanpage: “the way he said ‘where’s my matcha’ i’m screamingggg 💀💀💀”

@footiegirliessarehere: “y/n & michael are the calmest, coziest couple ever like i just KNOW their house always smells like vanilla and vibes.”

@matchaisworlddd: “petition to make michael olise our official matcha mascot immediately”

Even Bayern’s official account quote tweeted it:

@fcbayern: “we’ll get him a lifetime supply if he keeps giving us content like this”

You showed Michael later that morning while you were curled up on the couch, his head in your lap.

“They’re obsessed with you,” you said, scrolling through the comments.

He peeked up at you, lips twitching. “Because I said four words?”

“It’s the voice. And the shirtless you. And probably your entire existence, babe.”

He just hummed and closed his eyes again, hand resting on your thigh.

“They can have the voice,” he murmured. “The rest is yours.”

You blinked, heart doing a slow little backflip. “I like it when you just say stuff like that casually”

He smirked, eyes still closed. “I’m half-asleep. Wait till I’m fully charged.”

[annahala]

mind games

chapter i / ii / iii

michael olise x reader

! work of fiction. all characters, events, and scenarios depicted are entirely imaginary. portrayals of michael olise and jamal musiala do not reflect their real personalities, behaviours, or actions.

୨ৎ

you didn’t ask him.

not that night.

you let him sweep the glass from the sink, wrap your hand in a towel, kiss your knuckles like you’re fragile. like he didn’t just confirm the worst thing you’ve never suspected.

you don’t sleep again.

just lies there, eyes open, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.

he smiles in his sleep.

it makes you wonder how many smiles were lies.

୨ৎ

in the morning, he’s sweeter than usual.

pancakes with strawberries, your favorite. a playlist of songs she mentioned once in passing. he even slips a handwritten note into your pants pocket.

“for choosing me. i’ll always protect you.”

you stare at it while his back is turned.

and something breaks inside you.

୨ৎ

jamal doesn’t call anymore.

but you find yourself scrolling through your old texts at 2 a.m., like a ghost clinging to warmth it can’t feel anymore.

there’s one you rereads more than the others:

“never my intention to make you to feel like a second choice. you’ve always been the first thing i want to see when i wake up.”

you left that one on read.

୨ৎ

the next night, you try to bring it up.

“you were on the phone the other day,” you start carefully.

olise looks up from his laptop.

“i’m on the phone every day.”

“you said something about… it working. about me ending it.”

his expression doesn’t shift. doesn’t flicker.

instead, he closes the laptop slowly.

“you’re spying on me now?”

“i wasn’t spying. i just—”

“what, heard something out of context and made up a story?”

his voice is still quiet. too quiet.

you opened your mouth.

closes it.

he stands, walks over, cups your cheek gently.

his thumb strokes your skin.

“you’ve been through a lot,” he murmurs. “your mind plays tricks when it’s scared.”

a kiss to your forehead.

“you’re safe now. don’t sabotage that.”

but that word—sabotage—sits in your throat like a thorn.

୨ৎ

two days later, you finds a journal hidden beneath his bed.

nothing dramatic.

just pages of notes.

dates. observations. things you said.

times you cried.

songs you listened to after fights with jamal.

a line circled in red: “tell her he never really saw her.”

another: “remind her he forgot her birthday. she’ll crumble on that.”

you knees buckle.

you sit on the floor, breath shallow.

and behind you, the door creaks open.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says softly.

not angry. not even surprised.

just… disappointed.

like you ruined the ending to a story he’s been carefully writing.

[crisjones]

I desperately need someone to write for michael olise😩😩

[muglermami]

@amirawrah just posted FOUR new imagines for him!!!!

my crush on michael olise is growing omg

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ wedding plans; 

         jamal musiala ft. michael olise ────── 

   planning for michael’s wedding makes jamal wonder about his own.

⭑  word count : one thousand six hundred twenty.

⭑  notes : fluff isn’t my usual vibe but i tried

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

The crisp spring breeze carried the promise of summer as Jamal pulled you closer, his hand snugly clasping yours. The two of you had just arrived at Michael Olise’s favorite café, a modest spot tucked into a quiet corner of Munich. Michael and his fiancé were already there, seated at a small table adorned with wedding planning binders, color swatches, and an open laptop. The scene was so unlike the Michael Olise you’d come to know that you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

Michael was usually the embodiment of cool indifference—a player so composed on and off the pitch that it bordered on comedic. Nothing fazed him. He always had a deadpan response for every situation, even when Jamal would crack the kind of jokes that had everyone else doubled over.

But today?

Today, he looked like he was plotting the heist of the century as he discussed floral arrangements with his fiancé, an absolutely lovely woman who was as detail-oriented as Michael was laid-back.

“About time Jamal.” Michael stated to the two of you as Jamal helped pull out your chair. 

“You told us to meet you at noon; the clock hasn’t even hit twelve yet.” Jamal pointed out, grinning as he leaned back in his chair, his arm draping instinctively over the back of yours.

Michael’s fiancé, Imani, laughed, her eyes sparkling as she reached over to pat his hand. “He’s just stressed. Don’t mind him.”

“Stressed?” Jamal asked with raised eyebrows, glancing at you like you were both witnessing a rare phenomenon. “Michael doesn’t get stressed.”

“He does now,” you teased, shooting Michael a smirk. “Apparently, weddings are his kryptonite.”

Michael rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, which was a win in itself. You’d learned over the years that Jamal and Michael’s friendship was built on this kind of easy ribbing.

They were polar opposites in many ways—Jamal was warm and expressive, while Michael was cool and reserved—but their bond was undeniable. And as Jamal’s girlfriend, you’d been lucky enough to be pulled into their tight-knit circle.

Imani laughed softly. “Honestly, he’s been amazing. You should’ve seen him at the cake tasting. He took notes.”

“Notes?” Jamal said, feigning shock. “Olise took notes?”

Michael shot him a glare that was more amused than annoyed. “Do you two want to help, or are you just here to annoy me?”

“Bit of both,” you said cheekily, and even Michael had to laugh at that.

The next hour was spent flipping through endless photographs of flower arrangements and venue setups. Jamal kept leaning over to whisper funny comments in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You tried to keep a straight face, but when he pointed out that Michael’s intense focus on table linens looked like he was deciding on where to aim a penalty kick, you lost it.

“Okay, okay,” Michael said, pretending to be exasperated as Jamal tried to keep a straight face.

“Laugh it up. But wait until it’s your turn. I’m going to make you suffer through cake tastings and centerpiece debates.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Jamal replied, winking at you.

The wedding planning wasn’t just confined to these casual afternoons, though. In the weeks leading up to the big day, you found yourself spending more time with Imani than you ever thought possible. The two of you had bonded over dress fittings, invitation designs, and brainstorming ways to keep this information away from the public.

She was sharp-witted and kind, with a calm presence that seemed to balance out Michael’s newfound stress. It was clear to everyone who saw them together how much Michael adored her.

“Have you ever seen him like this?” you asked Jamal one evening as you lounged on the couch in his apartment. The two of you were scrolling through pictures of potential bridesmaid dresses.

“Never,” Jamal said, shaking his head with a smile. “It’s hilarious. Michael’s the guy who barely flinches when Davies tackles him at full speed, but when we went to the jewelers he’s suddenly sweating.”

You laughed, leaning into Jamal’s side as he slipped an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, though. You can tell how much he loves her.”

Jamal kissed the top of your head. “Yeah, he got lucky. Kind of like I did.”

It was moments like these that made your relationship with Jamal feel so special. Even amidst all the chaos of wedding prep, he always found ways to remind you how much he cared.

-

The week of the wedding, the Bayern Munich squad got involved in the preparation. Alphonso Davies, Harry Kane, and a few of the other players insisted on throwing Michael a dinner celebration. The night was full of jokes and friendly teasing.

“So, Michael,” Alphonso said as they all lounged in a private booth at a trendy Munich bar. “What’s it like being whipped?”

Michael gave him a withering look as Imani blushed. “Do you ever get tired of talking?”

Harry Kane laughed, shaking his head. “He’s been whipped for years. He just hid it well.”

Jamal, who was sitting next to you, smirked. “It’s true. Remember when he bailed during our FIFA match to go watch a movie with her?”

“That was one time,” Michael muttered, but the tips of his ears were pink.

You and Jamal exchanged amused glances. It was rare to see Michael this flustered, and you had to admit, it was fun to watch. But, of course, the teasing eventually turned on you and Jamal.

“So, when are we getting invites to your wedding?” Alphonso asked, grinning mischievously.

Jamal choked on his drink, and you felt your face heat up. “Um—”.

“Oh, come on,” Harry said, clearly enjoying this. “You’ve been together for years. What’s the hold-up?”

Jamal shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. “How about we focus on Michael’s wedding first?”

-

The wedding was everything Michael and Imani had envisioned: elegant, romantic, and full of personal touches that perfectly captured their relationship. As the ceremony unfolded, you couldn’t help but squeeze Jamal’s hand tighter. The cool breeze from the vineyard mixed with the soft murmur of the guests, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped.

You, ever the observant one, seemed to notice all the small details—Michael’s hand shaking as he held Imani’s, the way Imani beamed as she walked down the aisle, and how Michael’s eyes softened when their hands met. Jamal’s thumb gently brushed over your knuckles as you both watched the couple exchange their vows.

“You good?” he asked in a quiet tone, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, blinking back a tear. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a little overwhelmed, I guess.”

Jamal’s smile softened, and he leaned in closer, his forehead lightly touching yours. “I get that. It’s a lot of love in the air.”

“You’re not wrong,” you whispered back, feeling your heart flutter. “It’s just so… real.”

Jamal squeezed your hand tighter, his voice a little lower now. “I know what you mean. But hey, I’m glad we’re here. Together.”

You turned your head slightly, catching his eye. “Always,” you said, the words feeling like a promise as much as a response.

The ceremony continued, but you could feel Jamal’s attention lingering on you. As the vows were exchanged, he kept glancing at you with that signature, soft smile of his—the one that made your heart skip a beat. You both watched Michael, a man who had always been so composed, lose his cool for the first time in a long while. His eyes glistened as he looked at Imani, and that made Jamal chuckle beside you.

“You think he’s gonna lose it when they kiss?” Jamal murmured, his lips near your ear again.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

When they did share that first kiss as husband and wife, Michael wiped his eyes quickly, and you caught Jamal’s eye, both of you trying to suppress your laughter.

“Okay, I admit it,” Jamal said in a mock-serious tone, “that was a really sweet moment.”

“Really sweet,” you agreed, your voice teasing but with a fond undertone.

Once the ceremony ended and the reception kicked off, the playful atmosphere returned. You and Jamal found yourselves twirling on the dance floor, his hands secure on your waist as he moved you in a slow circle.

He leaned down close, his lips brushing your ear. “How’s this? The song’s not overly romantic, is it?”

You chuckled, feeling his warmth radiating against you. “It’s way too cheesy.” you said softly, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. 

Jamal smirked, twirling you with a little flourish, making you laugh. “Oh? So, why are you still here then? Am I just that good of a dancer?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You wish.”

His smile widened as he pulled you back into a close hold. “Well I must be decent enough to keep you around, huh?”

You pressed your cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and calm beneath your ear. “You’ve definitely got me. For good.”

Jamal’s voice dropped low again, the teasing tone from earlier gone. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I don’t want to, either.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes making your chest tighten. “Me neither.”

As the night went on, the fun continued—jokes from the other boys, Michael rolling his eyes at Jamal’s speech, and plenty of cake. But through it all, Jamal never let you out of his arms. He was constantly pulling you closer, stealing small kisses, and murmuring little sweet things that made your heart feel full.

© gul4bjamoons 

[luckycrystal]

unexpected love || jamal musiala x reader ft friends micheal olise

Summary:

Reader is friends with Micheal Olise who is best friends with Jamal Musiala. Jamal gets on the wrong foot of y/n and they start to argue, until one day when she is in trouble with others he defends her. That's when they discover their feelings for each other.

Disclaimer: I don't own the image, I got it from Pinterest.

Micheal and Y/n were the best of friends. She was one of his closest friends, one that he let into his guided circle that only a few family members and teammates were allowed into. They had similar personalities, both often being quiet and hating social media and small talk, preferring to go straight to the point.

It was far better than people pleasers that he often encountered in his career, y/n had gradually become a safe space where he could air his ideas without the feeling that his every word would be posted or overanalyzed. She also found a good listener and a loyal friend in him.

"Are you going to come with me?" That's why she was not surprised he invited her to team event.

"What about Lamine Jamal?" Y/n raised an eyebrow.

He adjusted the way he laid on her bed, "First of," He raised a hand. "Lamine Yamal, that's a completely different footballers. The person you want to ask is Jamal musiala, he's a player so can't bring him".

"I don't know" Y/n shakes her head. "I have a fashion show this week, the models still have to try on the dresses to make sure everything is perfect. I have to check on the set and see it's fine. Also, t is not really my scene is it?".

"Neither is mine" Micheal makes a pout. "But could you really see your best friend suffering alone in the wild with no one to talk to or have at a date?" He has watery eyes.

"You are a menace" Y/n tells him as she chuckles. "If only your Bayern or national team saw you now". She says as she arranged a new rack of clothes, "Fine I'll go."

**

Micheal had picked her up and taken her to the restaurant the team event was going to be held. It was a quiet and nice place, no cameras, paparazzi or press taking photos, she noticed already that he had already released a sigh of relief.

"Hey" he turns to her. "I think I left my phone in the car". His expression is that of a startled cat, she laughs and nods, telling him she'd be fine and that he could go ahead and get it.

It takes her only two seconds of surveying the area before she finds him looking at her, Jamal Musiala. Y/n thinks she gets his name right this time, and after watching several of their interviews together before now she could recognise him from miles away.

"what are you doing here?" Jamal says as soon as he is close enough to get.

"attending the event" she tells him in all seriousness. "aren't you?".

"yeah," then takes a look at her. "but this is meant for teammates, no press".

Musiala is already looking around. "You're going to get into loads of trouble if someone sees you" he points at the bathroom, "If you go in through there, there's an exit which you can sneak out through".

While he's speaking another figure appears beside him. "Bambi?" Then looks over at Y/n. "Who is this?".

Musiala looks panicked that Y/m has to bite the insides of her cheek not to laugh. "My date, phonzy".

You smile at him. "If she's your date, then what about me?" Michael asks as he appears by her side.

"both of you have the same date?" Phonzy asked confused.

He quickly gets distracted by someone else and ventures into the crowd.

"why didn't you say anything?" Jamal now looks upset. "I was ready to have your back but you made me look...foolish".

Y/n did not take it seriously, laughing. "Sorry but you looked so anxious I didn't know whether to cut you off or say nothing".

"Jamal, this is my friend Y/n" Micheal introduced. "I see you both have met, my two besties in one place".

Jamal shrugs. "I guess" before docking to meet the others.

Micheal and y/n take their seats, beside Jamal who keeps sneaking looks at Y/n all night for some reason. At one point, their eyes meet for a prolonged period of time that a joke made by Muller escaped their years, they were that engrossed.

By the time it was time to go, Harry had decided to drop them home. Michael, Y/n and Jamal had occupied the back seats while Kimmich and th rest were at front.

"where are you going to?" Jamal suddenly asked Olise.

"y/n house" Olise says casually which makes him have a double take.

"is there a problem?" Y/n raised an eyebrow noticing his looks.

"never said it was" musiala says. "now your reaching".

"you did not have to say what you thought, your face spoke for you" y/n insist. "it was a mix of something between shock and something else I can't put my hand on, why don't you think he could like me that way?".

Jamal laughs, though his face reddens deeper. "Now, why would I think he could- he doesn't- you two are just friends".

"but we're both very attractive people" she says, "it could happen".

"yeah, you are attractive but he doesn't see you that way". He argues.

Y/n tries not to let her heart flutter at the thought that Jamal saw her attractive, she and Micheal got home safely. But before then she'd already fought on 12 more topics that were completely unrelated with Jamal, it was funny because the other members in the car kept trying to tear them apart with each refusing to be defeated.

She was making her daily evening tea, when suddenly there were eyes on her. "What?".

"Jamal musiala" Micheal says with no further addition.

She turns around to see him staring into her soul deeply. "If this was a horror show, I'd already be out that door" she said while faking chills. "Your look is intense".

"you only ever used to bicker with me when we first met" he tells her. "in my knowledge of you, you wouldn't normally talk to anyone unless you were comfortable with them".

"so?" Y/n asked.

"you've fought or flirted with Jamal since you met him and this is only one day".

She stopped. "I- yes, but that's only because he was being annoying and everything, and besides aren't you supposed to be sleeping by now? with you having training and all?".

He nodded and was going to the guest bedroom when suddenly he froze. "You'd tell me if you had feelings for him right?".

She gulped. "Yes, but not sure if it'll ever get to that".

**

The next time they met, was when she went to the stadium to watch a Bayern match. She opted not to stay at the family area, not wanting to bring attention to herself. The match was against a visibly week team, so she was sure they'd win.

And they did.

The first goal was in the 15th minute by Harry Kane and assisted by Kimmich, the next was at the 22nd minute assisted by Olise to Jamal, then finally at the 35th minute Micheal finally scored. The first half of the game was fairly easy as the team was left with defending those goals, which they did with Jamal even netting his second goal of the night, loud screams throughout the stadium as the fans excitedly chanted.

Michael went to her and handed his shirt. "Hold it, I'll be right back" He said as y/n held onto the shirt. Y/n felt a piercing gaze at her back only to turn and find Jamal staring at Olise shirt with a strange look, while he was holding he's out.

Jamal made eye contact with her and then at the shirt she was holding in her hand, both sceptical looks. She rolled her eyes and extended her hand, they both looked at each other in shock and even greater shock when he dropped the shirt in her hands and turned to work away.

'Had he meant to give me his shirt?' She asked herself, still uncertain if it was only because she stretched her hands out.

**

One time after training, Micheal and her were eating out at a restaurant which was strange for them because they'd always prefer eating in doors and away from crowds but they were just too hungry to go home. That'd when Jamal saw them.

"Hey" He shook hands with Michael and then turned to Y/n and stood there stunned, she also did not know whether to bring her hand out or not, so they just nodded at each other.

"You too are very close huh?" Jamal said while taking his seat. "Having lunch together, exchanging shirts, watching matches and being each others dates...".

That's when Y/n became aware she was wearing Micheal's shirt. "Oh, these" She waved. "He borrows my jackets all the time too, it's something we friends do".

"not all friends" He said while picking her fries to eat. "would you wear my shirt?".

"no, why would I?" Y/n says still eyeing the fries that he was stealing from her, she squats his hands away. "and neither would I steal your fries".

Jamal smiles, bringing his hands back to fries. "Not even a little?" He said taking three in his hands and shoving it down his throat, Y/n rolls her eyes at him but shifts her plate closer so he could have access.

"are you two flirting right now?" Micheal asked which startled them both.

"bro" Jamal even said with a fake offensive tone. "you can't sneak in on me like that".

Micheal puts his hand on his heart. "This is my lunch which you snuck into, it's actually you who is at fault" he says snapping his hand from where he's now trying to steal his own drink. "why don't you just order?".

Y/n laughs. "You two are so childish".

Jamal looks stunned. "So you do laugh" he says. "I thought your only expression was that thing you do" he makes the worse upset/angry looking face, which makes Y/n laughs the more.

"I have a testing b*tch face" She tells him, while laughing. "I don't look like that, also it's not like me to let people in easily so I might look guarded at times".

Jamal stops to access her. "Oh...".

**

This time when Y/n met Jamal, they were alone. Micheal was actually supposed to join them but he cancelled last minute, and so they were left alone to pick out an outfit that she would wear for an upcoming dinner party to celebrate the opening of one of her friends new store.

To her surprise, Jamal did not look upset that they would be spending more time together or that he would have to help her, only a bit nervous. But she did not know why that might be the case.

The first dress she saw was a red gown, that flowed to the ground. She shook her head, she didn't like having to carry anything when she should be having fun. The second dress was slightly shorter but they didn't have it in blue, so she refused.

"I don't get it" Jamal groaned. "It's just a dress or no? Pick anyone,don't you design clothes? Choose one from your collection.".

Y/n startled. "You know about...that?".

Which in turn makes him startle. "Yeah, who doesn't?" He says as he avoids eye contact. "But my points still stands".

"Not many people, the other players at Bayern didn't" Y/n raises an eyebrow. "Micheal didn't when we first met, and it's not like I'm that well known so the only way you'd know is if you googled me".

He looks at the ground, the ceiling , everywhere she was not, which made her laugh. "You look like a kid caught stealing candy, so much guilt. I'm not accusing you of anything just making conversation".

"I don't look like that" Jamal defended.

"you must definitely do" She insisted.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with Y/n teasing him, dress shopping long forgotten as watching Jamal be in misery or his cheeks becoming pink, was now the order of the day. Only when it was getting late did they go to the cashier.

"I don't want to wear something from my brand because I don't want to look prideful or too into myself" She tells him. "I just want to celebrate my friend and let her have her moment".

He nods in understanding. Y/n finally picks a short white dress with ribbons on the front, and a cute heart at the back.

After that day, their bickering was more profound. But it wasn't out of anger, just a friendly one, he also collected her number and they exchanged pictures of their day and would even talk to each other when Michael was calling him. They were in a comfortable start of their friendship.

When Micheal had brought her as a plus one again, Jamal had offered she'd seat with him while he went to talk to the others. She accepted when a random guy she hadn't seen before, and she was sure it wasn't a footballer, suddenly appeared in front of her and started conversation.

"want to go out for a while?" He suddenly asked despite not hearing a word from her since he sat there. She had just been nodding, and keeping to herself while monitoring when Micheal would be back.

"no thank you" She pushed him aside.

"promise it would be fun" He tells her, grabbing hold of her hand.

"the lady said no" A familiar voice came to her side. Jamal, she confirmed when she looked up. "let her go".

"what are you, her boyfriend?" the man insisted refusing to let go.

"yeah, so what if I am?" He stated. "And I'm about to become a very very angry one if you don't let her hand go".

The man contemplated his situation, then slowly let her hand go, it already had red marks on it, and when Jamal saw it he tried to jump on said man only for Y/n to hold him back, this further made the man to run quicker and out of the place.

"thanks" She said.

"How's your hand?" He said grabbing it and rubbing over the red mark. It was the first time they had held hands, Y/n could not stop her heart from fluttering at the sudden contact of their skin.

"your heart..its beating fast" Jamal said making eye contact with her, her eyes went to her pulse and back to him, then she immediately took her hands away like she was being burnt and rushed outside.

She didn't know what she was even running from. Maybe she needed air, or maybe it was getting hlt inside. All she knew was that if she had not left, she would have ended up doing something she'd regret, something like kissing Jamal musiala.

"are you alright?" His voice suddenly startled her. "You didn't look well so I came to check on you".

"I'm fine" Y/n insists.

"did I do something wrong?"

"no"

"them why did you run?"

"because I-"

Jamal took a step forward. "Because?".

"I-"

"You?".

Jamal sighed. "I'll say it for you, you got uncomfortable right? Because you know that I have feelings for you, I don't know how you found out but you did and now you don't want to be near me".

Y/n shook her head, unaware of the things he was telling her. "Your feelings?".

"I like you, Y/n" He says. "Very much, but I couldn't say it because of Micheal, I was not sure if you two were together or not-"

"we aren't" Y/n says. "we aren't together".

"really? You are so alike then, you even share clothes and have each other as dates" He diverted his heart. "then I thought you hated or disliked me for some reason for some time, that you just tolerated me" He says.

Y/n steps forward crowding his space. "I also thought you just tolerated me," She says. "I ran away because if I didn't, I'd have kissed you and I didn't want to make things awkward after that".

They stand and stare at each other. "Would you kiss me now?"

Y/n smiles and nods. He takes another step closer, closing the gap and kisses her, it was just for a moment or so but they both separate looking pleased with themselves.

"what do we tell Micheal?" Jamal asked as they walk back in.

"I knew it!" He says looking at the both of them. "I knew you liked him".

Y/n rolls her eyes. "Fine, you and your little speculations were right".

Jamal turns around and gives her another kiss. "I can't believe you like me".

"neither can I"

THE END

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ Healing looks like this

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: After getting injured during a match, Michael Olise is grumpy, restless, and hates being babied—by everyone except you. You turn into his personal nurse, from snacks and Netflix to hair twists and painted nails. He’s sulking with the world but melts the second you walk in. Because if anyone’s gonna baby him, it’s gotta be you. @muglermami

It happened fast.

One bad tackle, a twist of the knee, and suddenly Michael was on the pitch, flat on his back, jaw clenched and pain written across his usually unreadable face. You were watching from home, phone already halfway to your ear before the medics even reached him.

The next few hours were a blur—MRIs, the club doctor saying something about a few weeks out, maybe more depending on how rehab went. Michael didn’t say much. He never really did. But you could see the frustration brewing beneath the surface.

He hated this. The attention, the fuss, the idea of being stuck in one place.

And he especially hated being babied.

Well… by everyone except you.

You showed up to his house that night, already knowing he’d refuse help if it came with pity. So you didn’t pity him.

You kissed his forehead, plopped a bag of snacks on the couch, and said, “Hi, I’m your nurse for the next two weeks. No refunds.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re injured,” you replied sweetly. “So shut up and eat these apple slices I cut into hearts.”

That earned you a tiny smile.

It became a routine.

You came by every day after work, sometimes before. He’d pretend he was fine, but the second he saw you, he visibly softened. His brows relaxed. His shoulders dropped. He’d never admit it out loud, but the sound of your keys jingling at the door? Comfort.

You set him up on the couch like a king. Blankets. Pillows. The remote always within reach. His favorite lemon-lime sports drink in the fridge. You’d scroll Netflix while he leaned back, leg elevated, head tipped toward you.

He’d grumble whenever anyone else checked on him. His teammates? “Too loud.” Physios? “Too nosy.” Nutritionist bringing food? “I said I didn’t want that.”

But when you walked in?

“Hey,” he’d mumble, voice low and warm.

“Hey, baby,” you’d smile back, setting down your tote bag. “Pain level?”

“Less when you’re here.”

You’d roll your eyes, even as you smiled.

One lazy afternoon, you sat on the floor between his legs, twisting his locs while a nature doc played quietly in the background. He was nearly asleep, head tilted, lips slightly parted.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

“What, twisting hair or tolerating your grumpiness?”

“Both.”

You smirked. “You like when I baby you. Just admit it.”

He scoffed. “I don’t.”

“You literally pouted when I was ten minutes late yesterday.”

“I didn’t pout.”

“You did. Even the doorman said so.”

Silence.

Then

“…Maybe.”

Later that week, you caught him staring at your nails—freshly painted burgundy.

“You want me to do yours?” you joked.

He shrugged. “Kinda bored, innit.”

And that’s how you ended up painting Michael Olise’s nails. He sat still, legs stretched out, a bowl of popcorn in his lap while you carefully brushed his nails.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said when you were done.

“Michael, you literally let me paint little stars on your ring fingers.”

“Still. Don’t.”

But he didn’t stop you when you took a picture of his hand next to yours. And when you posted it on your story—no tags, no faces, just the two sets of matching nails—he reshared it to his close friends.

The injury sucked. Rehab sucked. Not playing sucked.

But having you?

The late nights, the snacks, the hair-twisting, the quiet giggles, the way you kissed his temple after icing his knee, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even asked?

That made everything softer. Lighter.

Easier.

You weren’t just his nurse.

You were his peace.

One night, he pulled you into his chest while the credits of Shrek 2 rolled.

“You know I’d let you do this even if I wasn’t injured, right?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“This. All of it.” He kissed your hair. “I like being babied by you.”

You smiled into his hoodie.

“Good. ’Cause I’m never clocking out.”

And he held you tighter, thinking— Yeah. I hope you never do.

[amirawrah]

i'm alivee and ready to start..

Men why no one write about michael olise !!!?

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Caught mid-laugh

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: To the public, Michael Olise barely speaks. But when Bayern’s training vlog accidentally captures him giggling at you on FaceTime—soft voice, dimples out fans go feral. Turns out, behind all that mystery is a man hopelessly in love… and now the whole world knows. @muglermami

The thing about you and Michael is… people think they know him.

They see the stone-cold game face. The media-trained, one-word press answers. The serious glare that never cracks unless he’s scoring or assisting. Fans have memes about how he probably blinks once a day and only talks to pass the ball.

And then there’s you.

Animated. Loud. Laughs with your whole chest. You speak with your hands. You’ve never been able to hide what you feel, and honestly? You don’t want to.

You’d once asked him, “Do I embarrass you?”

He blinked slow—his signature move—and said, “Nah. You just talk enough for both of us.”

You threw a pillow at his head, and he caught it one-handed, smirking like he wasn’t completely in love.

That’s the thing. Michael Olise in public? Mysterious. Cold. Emotionally unavailable.

Michael Olise with you?

An absolute simp.

He listens to you rant about TikTok drama like it's a tactical team talk. He ties your shoes if he sees they’re loose. He reads the books you recommend and acts like he hated them, but then quotes them back to you during random convos. He sends you voice notes with sleepy “good morning” mumbles, and “love you, be safe” before every shoot you do.

But no one knows.

Because Michael’s private. Has always been. You two post the occasional soft-launch—photos of feet, a mutual blurry selfie, a shadow. Nothing ever too on-the-nose. You were cool with that.

Until the day “The Clip” dropped.

It was meant to be a regular behind-the-scenes clip—pre-training vibes for Bayren's tiktok, just casual footage of the boys arriving, stretching, messing around in the locker room. Classic background music, subtitles, fun energy.

Then came your moment—unintended, barely three seconds long, but enough to end the internet.

The camera had panned past a few players before pausing briefly on Michael, who was leaned against the wall, in full kit, hood up, phone to his ear. He hadn’t noticed the camera yet.

And just in time, the mic caught it

A soft laugh. His laugh.

And then—clear as day, in that low, boyish voice of his,“You’re such an idiot… you know that?”

And he giggled.

Not just a smirk. Not the subtle nose-exhale. A giggle. Full dimples, head-tilt, “I-like-you-more-than-I-admit” kind of giggle.

Then he clocked the camera, side-eyed it, pulled the phone slightly lower and shook his head like don’t even start.

But it was too late.

The comment section? Unhinged.

“WHO IS HE GIGGLING FOR???”

“Michael Olise?? Said that?? With EMOTION??”

“I’ve never heard him speak above a whisper and now he’s in love??”

“Y’all… he said ‘you’re such an idiot’ and laughed like it was the cutest thing ever i’m sick”

“Okay whoever that girl is—protect her at all costs she has a superpower”

“Nah. I can’t even get a guy to double-text back and she’s got Olise giggling???”

Your phone blew up within the hour. Friends sent you the video. Even your coworkers were texting like: “Hey um. Isn’t this your man?”

At first, you were nervous. You asked Michael, “Are you mad?”

He shrugged, laying with his head in your lap while you scrolled through the memes. “Nah. I think they needed to know.”

“Know what?”

He looked up at you with that soft, unreadable expression.

“That I’m happy.”

Your heart thudded.

You bent down to kiss his forehead, and he sighed into your touch like it was home then you laughed.

“They caught you slipping.”

He blinked at you through the screen, all mock-annoyed. “Why do you sound proud?”

“Because I’ve been trying to prove you’re soft for months. Bayern did it for me in HD.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You are an idiot though.”

You grinned, and he added quietly, “Yeah your favorite one.”

When the next day reached, by then the clip was everywhere.

The FaceTime. The giggle. The “you’re such an idiot” line that had fans writing fanfic and over-analyzing your nonexistent social media presence.

Bayern hadn’t posted anything since, but the damage was already done.

Michael Olise was officially a taken man—and the world was obsessed.

So of course, when Bayern did a sit-down player interview a week later, it was one of the first questions the host brought up.

She smiled innocently. “So, Michael… the fans have been asking—who made you giggle like that in training?”

Michael looked up from adjusting his sleeves. Pause. Blink. The classic Olise hesitation.

The smirk twitched.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t… giggle.”

The host laughed. “You did, though. We’ve all seen it.”

He bit his lip, looked down like he was debating whether to lie or deflect. But then?

He smiled.

Not the usual little half-smirk. A real one. Dimples and all.

“…Just someone who makes me laugh,” he said simply.

“A girlfriend?” the interviewer prompted.

He paused, then nodded. “Yeah.”

The host grinned. “Is she as funny as you looked in that clip?”

Michael chuckled under his breath. “Funnier. Way too dramatic. But yeah… she’s funny.”

The internet? Screamed.

“‘Too dramatic’ is boyfriend language. I KNOW IT WHEN I SEE IT.”

“I need that girl to run a TED Talk on how she got Michael Olise to be soft.”

“We better never find her. She deserves peace and a lifetime of giggles.”

You watched the clip on your phone while walking to his place, smiling to yourself the whole way.

You: they asked about me lol Michael: u watched it? You: yeah. you were nervous 😭 Michael: u would be too if the whole world knew how soft i am You: but you are 🥹 Michael: stfu❤️

When he got home that night, he found you in his hoodie, curled up on the couch, watching a movie with popcorn in your lap.

He dropped his bag, walked over, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“People know now,” you teased, tilting your head back to look up at him.

He shrugged. “Let them.”

And with that, Michael Olise sat down next to you, laced his fingers with yours, and quietly let the world see the side of him that only you ever got to see.

The one who giggled.

The one who loved.

The one who’d always been yours.

[amirawrah]

✩The Softest Victory

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

synopsis: Michael wins the Bundesliga, but the real victory is celebrating it with you—first at home, then with the team, and finally in a quiet hotel room where it all sinks in.

You found him on the edge of the couch, hoodie half-off one shoulder, thumb between his teeth.

He’d barely said a word in the last ten minutes.

The Bayer Leverkusen match was playing on the TV, volume slightly too high. Michael’s eyes didn’t leave the screen—every pass, every foul, every whistle made him flinch. Bayern had already played their match earlier in the day. Handled business. But the math still came down to this. A Leverkusen draw, or loss, would hand Bayern the title.

You padded into the room with a bowl of popcorn you knew he wouldn’t touch and nudged his knee.

“Babe,” you said softly. “You’re biting your nails.”

He didn’t respond. Just let out a shaky sigh and leaned forward like getting closer to the screen would somehow will the match in Bayern’s favor.

You dropped the popcorn on the table and slid onto the couch beside him, curling your legs under yourself. His knee was bouncing. The nerves were practically vibrating off of him.

“Michael.” You nudged him again, this time resting your head against his shoulder. “You do realize you already did your part, right?”

He exhaled again. “I know. But still... if they score now... it’s over.”

“You’ll still have more chances—”

“I want it tonight.”

That made you smile.

You’d watched him grind all season—travel, training, pressure, adjustment. The move to Bayern had been huge, and he didn’t talk about it much, but you knew how badly he wanted to prove himself. How hard he worked. How much he wanted to lift that trophy.

You reached up, threading your fingers through his locs, grounding him a little. “So if they draw?”

He glanced sideways at you, eyes flickering with hope. “We win the league.”

You tilted your head. “And if they lose?”

He smirked faintly, eyes flicking back to the screen. “We really win the league.”

You snuggled into his side, whispering, “Then I’m manifesting the driest, most boring nil-nil ending possible.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I’ll take it.”

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Leverkusen missed a big chance and Michael clutched his head, falling back against the couch like he’d just been shot.

“Why are they attacking like they need the three points?” he groaned.

You kissed his shoulder. “Deep breaths, champ.”

The word champ made his lips twitch, but he didn’t argue.

The final whistle blew after what felt like a lifetime.

Draw. 1-1.

You sat up first.

Michael blinked at the screen, stunned. Then slowly turned to look at you, mouth slightly open.

“…That’s it,” you whispered.

“Wait—” He grabbed the remote, flicking through post-match stats like he needed triple confirmation. The “Live Table” updated right before your eyes.

Bayern: Champions.

You tackled him before he could even react.

“YOU DID IT!” you screamed, half-laughing, half-crying. “Oh my God, Michael!”

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, burying his face in your neck as his breath hitched. “I can’t believe it,” he mumbled.

You pulled back, hands cupping his face. “Believe it. Bundesliga champ, right here in my living room.”

He let out a breathy laugh, leaning in to kiss you. “We need champagne.”

You grinned. “You’re lucky I already put a bottle in the fridge this morning. Just in case.”

He blinked. “Really?”

You shrugged, smug. “I had a feeling.”

Michael stared at you for a second, then shook his head and pulled you into his lap. “I love you.”

You kissed his jaw. “I love you more, champion.”

Your quiet little living room turned into the most important trophy celebration in the world.

The champagne cork had barely popped before Michael’s phone started buzzing.

FaceTime from Jamal. Then Serge. Then Phonzy. Then the team group chat lit up with voice notes, emojis, and wild celebration videos from every corner of Munich.

You’d barely gotten dressed when Michael pulled you into the closet, grinning wide. “They’re throwing a party tonight. Whole team. Wags too. You coming, right?”

You blinked, halfway through applying lip gloss. “You really think I’d miss your title party?”

He kissed your shoulder. “Didn’t wanna assume.”

An hour later, you were stepping out of a black car into the soft, golden glow of the venue. Music pulsed low in the background, tables were draped in red and gold, and a massive “CHAMPIONS” banner waved against the skyline.

The second Michael stepped in, all hell broke loose.

“AYYYYEEE—CHAMP IS HERE!” Alphonso yelled, pulling him into a bear hug so hard his backwards cap flew off. Kimmich poured him a shot before he even finished shaking hands with Thomas Müller. The DJ shouted his name over the mic and cheers erupted as the champagne bottles popped like confetti.

You stood to the side for a second, watching it all with your heart full. Your boyfriend—quiet, intense, private—was beaming. Laughing. Letting his teammates slap his back and pull him into photos.

Then his eyes found yours across the room.

That familiar softness flickered.

He excused himself from the crowd and walked over to you, tucking a curl behind your ear. “You look perfect.”

You smirked, leaning into him. “And you look like a title winner.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s because I am.”

The night went on in waves: toasts, dancing, speeches, photos. You fed him a strawberry off the dessert bar and the table behind you whooped like it was a goal celebration. Somewhere around midnight, Michael pulled you to dance with him.

You weren’t a flashy dancer. Neither was he. But the way his hands slid to your waist, the way he looked at you like the party blurred into silence—it made the whole room disappear. You pressed your forehead to his and swayed while confetti rained down like snow.

“Still feels a little unreal,” he murmured in your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “You earned every second of this.”

He kissed you then. Not rushed or showy, just slow and full. Like he was remembering the quiet living room moment from hours before. Like he was dancing with his best friend, his girl, the one who watched him hope, worry, and win.

And in the middle of the music and champagne and roaring teammates, you whispered the truth into his shoulder:

“I’ve never been prouder of you.”

The hotel room he had booked - cause it was too late to go home - was quiet except for the soft rustle of your dress as you stepped out of your heels. Your feet ached, your throat was dry from laughing, and your cheeks still burned from all the pictures. But none of it mattered.

Because he was sitting at the edge of the bed, hoodie on now, locs a little damp from the champagne shower earlier. Michael glanced over his shoulder at you, a lazy, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You walked over and slid into his lap, the room smelling faintly of his cologne and confetti still stuck to the back of his neck.

“Did you have fun?” you whispered, your arms draped around his shoulders.

He nodded, resting his forehead against your chest. “Yeah. But this is the best part.”

You smiled softly, fingers brushing through his damp locs. “What, sitting in a dark hotel room with sore legs?”

“Sitting here with you,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “Everything feels right when I’m with you.”

You leaned back a little, your nose scrunching in amusement. “You always get so soft after wins.”

He smiled. “Only with you.”

The room went quiet again. You could still hear faint music from the streets below—honking, cheering, someone blasting Bayern chants—but it all felt like background noise now. He curled his arms around your waist, holding you like he didn’t want the night to end. Like winning wasn’t real until he shared the stillness with you.

You kissed the top of his head. “You know what I loved most tonight?”

“Hm?”

“Watching you let go. Be celebrated. You deserve that.”

He looked up at you then, eyes a little glossy but calm. “You know what I loved most?”

You blinked. “What?”

He tugged you closer, like it was obvious. “That every time I looked around, you were there.”

Your heart thudded a little louder.

You cupped his jaw, brushed your thumb across the curve of his cheekbone, and kissed him. Not rushed or urgent—just soft and certain. He sighed into it, the kind of sigh that came from peace.

The medals, the lights, the chants—they were beautiful.

But this? This was everything.

[annahala]

earth to you

michael olise x reader

୨ৎ

you asked for it.

“hey. don’t hold back tonight,” you whispered against his mouth. giggled softly. “i want to feel you. all of you. rough.”

he froze for half a second, eyes searching yours like he needed to be sure. you nodded, breath shaky but certain. “i can take it, olise. i want to.”

and so he gave it to you.

olise pressed your face-first into the mattress, one hand gripping your wrists behind your back, the other guiding himself into you with a low, guttural groan. your body jolted, the stretch sharp, shocking, perfect. he didn’t wait. thrust into you hard, again and again, hips slapping against skin, his hand moving to fist in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to hear the porn graphic sounds you made.

you moaned—loud, unfiltered, spine arching under him. every slap of skin against skin, every breathless command growled into your ear sent you further down, deeper into that place only he could take you.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice rough. “taking it so fucking well.”

you whimpered, incoherent now, drooling against the pillow, you felt your legs trembling. “fuck, olise. ah— hah,”

he didn’t let up.

his hand found your throat, not squeezing, just resting.

“stop. olise. fuck. i’m coming—”

and you came undone, eyes rolling back, toes curling, your body convulsing around him.

he pulled out gently, breathing ragged.

he then looked at you. crumpled against the sheets, panting, dazed. his heart clenched.

“baby?” he said softly.

you couldn’t answer yet. just hummed, your limbs like jelly, skin flushed and glistening with sweat. you were floating. somewhere not here.

he moved fast but carefully. scooped you into his arms, sat back against the headboard.

“you did so good,” he whispered into your hair, brushing your arms gently. “you were perfect. but you’re way up there now, yeah?”

you gave him a small, shaky nod.

“okay. come back to me.”

he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. his voice stayed soft, low, like he was speaking to your soul.

“you’re safe. you’re with me. right here.”

his hand stroked your thigh slowly, grounding you with his touch. the other rested over your chest, feeling the rhythm of your heart, syncing his breath with yours.

“match me, baby. in… out… just like that.”

you followed. shaky at first, then steadier.

he reached for the water bottle at the side table, helped you sip. brushed your damp hair from your face. he then moved slow, grabbed a warm towel and cleaned between your legs gently, whispering praise as he moved.

“i’m proud of you. thank you for trusting me. thank you for letting me see you like that.”

tears slipped down your cheeks, but they weren’t sad. just overwhelmed. open.

he held you closer. wrapped the blanket around both of you. didn’t let go.

“you’re back?” he asked softly, after a while.

your voice came quiet, worn thin: “yeah… i’m here.”

“good girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “i’ve got you.”

and he did.

all night. all the way through.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Five minutes

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: At a beach party under the stars, you and Michael sneak away for five stolen minutes that turn into something deeper.

The bonfire crackles behind you. Laughter echoes down the beach, bass thudding from a Bluetooth speaker half-buried in the sand. People dance barefoot under string lights, beer bottles clinking, waves crashing in the distance.

But none of it matters.

Because Michael is looking at you like he’s already somewhere else—and he wants you there with him.

Your fingers brush under the table once, then twice. By the third time, he grabs your hand and leans in, voice low near your ear. “Come with me.”

You don’t ask where. You just go.

He leads you past the palms, away from the lights. Past the coolers and the fire and the eyes. Past the music and noise, deeper into the dark. The sand is cool now, soft under your feet. The only light is from the sliver of moon overhead, the dull gold from distant tiki torches.

He stops when it’s quiet. When you’re hidden.

A little pocket of silence just for the two of you.

Before you can say anything, his lips are on yours.

Urgent. Desperate. Like he’d been counting down the minutes.

You gasp against his mouth, and he shushes you gently, grinning as he presses you against a tree trunk. “Keep it down,” he whispers, hands already gripping your waist.

Your laugh is breathy, teasing. “You dragged me out here, remember?”

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth moving to your jaw. “Couldn’t wait.”

You pull him closer, fingers through his locs, tugging just enough to hear him breathe harder. His hands explore like they know you by memory—which they do. Every curve. Every sound. Every weakness.

And then—

He groans your name.

Low. Drawn out. His head buried in your neck like he’s trying to anchor himself.

Your breath catches.

“You told me to keep it down,” you remind him, half-laughing, half-melting.

His voice is muffled. “I lied.”

You lose track of time. The stars blink overhead. Your bodies pressed together in the dark, breaths shallow, the space between you barely there.

The party still rages in the distance. But this? This is where the night actually lives.

In whispers. In fingers curling into fabric. In the way he says your name like a confession.

In five stolen minutes that feel like everything.

The sand clings to your legs. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder. Your pulse is still racing like you’re on the edge of something.

Michael exhales hard against your neck, skin warm, locs damp from the humidity and you.

"Come back with me," he murmurs, barely pulling away.

You blink at him. "To the party?"

He gives you that low, lazy smirk. "To the villa. Obviously."

You want to act like you need to think about it, like you’re not completely undone by his voice right now, but the way his fingers lace through yours already answers for you.

The walk back is quiet—his thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand, like he’s grounding himself again after unraveling. When you get close to the bonfire again, the music's louder, the air warmer, voices sharper.

You're two steps away from blending in when someone spots you.

“Yo, Olise!” one of the guys from the team calls out, lifting a cup. “Where’ve you been?”

Michael doesn’t even flinch. “Bathroom,” he says casually, and everyone buys it, like he wasn’t just whispering your name into the stars ten minutes ago.

You? You're trying to wipe the dazed look off your face.

But as you pass the drinks table, your best friend narrows her eyes at you.

You avoid eye contact.

Michael squeezes your hand behind his back before letting go and murmuring, “Villa in ten. Don’t be late.”

You almost choke.

Ten minutes later, you sneak up the villa stairs barefoot, heart pounding in your ears. He’s already inside. The door creaks when you push it open, and he's leaning against the kitchen counter, water bottle in one hand, gaze on you like you're dessert.

“You always show up when I need you,” he says quietly, like it’s the only truth that matters tonight.

You smile, stepping closer, heart full and skin buzzing. "That’s because you always want me."

He sets the bottle down, moves in slow, and this time, it’s not urgent. It’s reverent. Like five minutes wasn’t enough. Like this is the part he wants to take his time with.

You know the night is young.

But here, in this villa where the air smells like salt and sugar, where your skin is sun-kissed and your heart is full—

You don’t need the party.

Just him. Only him.

The villa feels too quiet after the beach—just the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant crash of waves outside.

Michael kisses you like he has all the time in the world now.

His hands find your waist, your back, your jaw, anchoring you to him. No more stolen touches. No more quick glances. Just you, wrapped up in each other, slow and sweet under the dim villa lights.

The glass doors are open to the balcony; you can hear the ocean rolling in and the soft strum of music still playing from the beach. It feels like another world out there—loud and reckless—but here inside? It's just you and him. Quiet. Heated.

He leads you to the bed without breaking the kiss, tugging you gently until your knees hit the mattress. His hoodie slips fully off your shoulder now, and he leans back just enough to look at you properly—like he’s memorizing you.

The night blurs into the feeling of his weight over you, the press of his body, the brush of his curls against your skin. Every touch is slower now. Every kiss sinks deeper.

And when he finally whispers your name again, it’s not rushed, not desperate, just pure love.

You wake up tangled in sheets that smell like coconut and him.

Sunlight spills across the room. The sounds of breakfast—the clink of plates, someone laughing way too loud—float up from the kitchen downstairs.

You stretch lazily, still sore in the best way, and Michael grunts into the pillow beside you.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles.

“You said that last night,” you tease, flicking his locs.

He grins against the pillow but doesn’t open his eyes.

Eventually, you both drag yourselves downstairs, trying to look normal. Trying.

But the second you step into the kitchen, it’s over.

Your best friend spots you first, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “Oh, there they are. Took y’all long enough.”

Someone else snickers into their coffee. “Bathroom break? That what we’re calling it now?”

You bury your face in your mug, cheeks flaming. Michael? Cool as ever. He just leans casually against the counter, sipping orange juice like he didn’t completely wreck you against a mattress six hours ago.

Your best friend fake-coughs: "Villa in ten, don’t be late."

You nearly choke on your drink.

Michael only smirks at you from across the room—eyes dark, mouth twitching like he’s so not sorry.

And honestly?

Neither are you.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎In Every Lifetime, It’s You

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: In the soft glow of a slow morning, Michael shows his love the way he always does—quiet glances, gentle hands, no words wasted.

You always knew he wasn’t the loud type.

Michael didn’t make grand speeches or throw out sweet nothings over FaceTime. He wasn’t one to shout his feelings across a room or drown you in compliments. He was reserved. Soft-spoken. Almost unreadable if you didn’t know where to look.

But you knew. You always knew.

It was in the way he tied your shoelace when it came undone—wordlessly crouching down, double-knotting it without a second glance, like it was muscle memory. It was in the way he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk, swapping sides with his hand gently grazing the small of your back. In the playlists that mysteriously updated each week with your comfort songs—tracks you had only mentioned once in passing, lyrics he must’ve held onto without saying a thing.

Michael loved you in the quietest ways.

And you never asked for more.

But some days… some days, your heart wanted to hear it out loud. Just once.

It was a slow Sunday when the ache crept in again.

Your best friend had sent a voice note. “So he still hasn’t said it yet? I mean, babe, I know he loves you, but what is he waiting for?”

You laughed it off, answering something breezy. “It’s Michael. He says things differently.”

And it was true.

But that night, as the rain tapped against the windows and you lay curled up on the sofa beside him—your head on his chest, his fingers stroking idle shapes on your arm—you whispered, “You ever think it’s weird how some people say ‘I love you’ like… all the time?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just hummed.

Pressed a kiss into your hair.

And you let it go. Because that’s how it always was.

Still, the ache stayed. Just a little.

The moment it changed didn’t come like a movie. No swelling music, no teary arguments, no dramatic declarations.

It was Tuesday. You had just washed your hair and were towel-drying it when he came up behind you. Quietly, he took the towel from your hands and gently ran it over the strands, careful not to pull. Neither of you spoke. The moment was still. Easy.

Then he looked at you—eyes soft, expression unreadable—and tucked a curl behind your ear. You looked at him, heart skipping, and asked without thinking:

“Why do you do that?”

He blinked. “Do what?”

“These things.”

He was quiet for a moment. So quiet you almost filled in the silence yourself. Then:

“Because I love you.”

You froze. The world did too.

He said it like he’d been holding it in for a while. Like it had lived in his chest forever, slowly blooming with each unspoken gesture. And now, finally, it had found its voice.

You stared at him, lips parted. “You—what?”

He shrugged a little. Eyes on yours. “I love you. Always have. I just… needed you to know before I ever said it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any romantic speech ever could.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t squeal. You just reached out, placed your hand on his cheek, and kissed him slow.

And that was all he needed.

The next morning was just like any other.

You were brushing your teeth. He wandered in with sleep still in his eyes and your bonnet on crooked from the night before.

He tugged on your shirt as he passed, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and whispered, “Morning, baby.”

You smiled into the mirror.

Because now, even in his silences, you could hear it echoing.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

In the way he handed you your mug without being asked. In the way his fingers found yours during quiet walks. In the way his playlists still updated every week.

He still wasn’t loud.

But now, his love was.

And it was everywhere.

The kettle whistled, steam curling toward the kitchen ceiling in lazy spirals. Your socks slid across the tiles as you moved from cupboard to counter, pulling down two mugs—his usual dark grey one, and yours with the little cartoon peaches.

You were humming something low, soft. It wasn’t really a song, more like a half-thought melody stuck in your head.

He watched you from the doorway.

Still shirtless, his hair a little wild from sleep, chain glinting faintly in the morning light. He leaned against the frame like he had nowhere to be—not today, not ever—hands in his sweats, gaze quiet but unwavering.

“What?” you asked, not turning fully, but feeling his eyes like sunlight on your back.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled. A slow, sleepy kind of smile that started at the corner of his lips and tugged all the way to his eyes.

You walked over, slid the mug into his hands.

“Extra honey. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

He took it wordlessly. Still smiling. Still looking.

“Michael,” you said through a laugh. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Okay,” he murmured, gaze never leaving your face. “So what if I am?”

You tried to play it cool, like your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels.

“Then I’ll start charging you.”

He stepped closer, arms looping around your waist like instinct. His mug, still warm, pressed gently into the small of your back as he leaned down to kiss your shoulder.

Then your cheek.

Then finally, just below your jaw, where your pulse thudded loudest.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly. Almost like he was telling you a secret.

Your breath caught. Not because you didn’t know, but because even now—especially now—it still hit you like the first time.

“I’m not doing this with you,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his neck, the laughter creeping into your voice. “It’s too early.”

“Too bad.”

You felt his smile against your skin.

And then, without another word, he picked up your playlist on his phone—the one labeled her hands smell like peaches—and let it play through the kitchen speaker as you danced around the kitchen like you hadn’t heard the words I love you just days ago.

Because now, you didn’t just know he loved you.

You felt it, every day.

In the silence. In the glances.

In the way he looked at you now.

The music floated around you both—gentle, soulful, laced with bass. Something from the playlist he never let anyone else hear.

He kissed your neck again. A little lower this time.

You stilled. Not because you were nervous—but because you knew that shift. The way his hands settled heavier on your hips, fingertips sliding under your oversized tee. His breath slowed. His grip firmed. The calm before the fire.

Your voice was a whisper, teasing. “Thought you wanted tea.”

He kissed beneath your jaw, lips dragging warm across your skin.

“I did.”

You rolled your eyes, but your body betrayed you—leaning in, tilting your head just enough to let him keep going.

His hands moved up under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your waist. He didn’t rush. Michael was never rushed when it came to you.

Instead, he lifted the hem, pausing only to meet your eyes with that unreadable look—the one he always gave you before pulling you under.

“Take it off,” he said lowly.

You did. Slowly. Letting the fabric fall to the floor with no drama, no theatrics—just trust. Familiarity. Heat curling under your skin.

His gaze traveled over you, slow and deliberate, his tongue running across his bottom lip like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

“I swear,” he muttered, voice hoarse, “you ruin me.”

Before you could make a snarky remark, he had you up on the kitchen counter—hands firm around your thighs, parting them with a quiet authority that made your breath hitch.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and his mouth was on yours before the thought even registered.

It wasn’t soft now. Not like before.

This kiss was heat and hunger and everything unsaid between the hours of sunrise and now. You tasted your name in the way he groaned into your mouth, felt the way he needed you in the press of his body, hard and hot against yours.

The ceramic mugs clinked as he slid them aside, clearing space like it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

“I’m not gentle today,” he warned, voice all gravel and want.

You just smirked, fingers tangling in his locs.

“Then don’t be.”

Hours later, your empty mugs were cold, your kitchen was a mess, and your voice was wrecked from the way he kept making you say his name like a prayer.

But when he brought you tea in bed, wearing nothing but his chain and your peach-print bonnet, you realized—

Love didn’t always have to be loud.

Sometimes, it just had to be felt.

Again and again and again.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎My Grad Girl

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

⭐︎synopsis: Your graduation marks more than just the end of university. You celebrate with your family and Michael is there for you but it slowly unfolds into a unforgettable night as well.

The May heat sat like a soft blanket over the university quad, the air buzzing with camera clicks, laughter, and the rustle of graduation gowns. Your cap tilted slightly to one side, but you were too busy scanning the crowd to fix it. You’d just crossed the stage, diploma folder in hand, and your heart was still racing—not from nerves, but from anticipation.

You spotted him before he saw you. Michael was sitting next to your brother, tucked in with your family in the neat rows of white folding chairs. Sunglasses perched on his nose, but the second you saw the crinkle near his eyes, you knew he was smiling.

Your brother nudged him. Michael looked up. And then that smile spread wide across his face, his head tipping slightly like he couldn’t believe you were real. The moment you walked across the stage, your brother let out a loud, celebratory whistle, and Michael?

He stood.

Actually stood.

He clapped — once, slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to be the centre of attention. But his smile stretched wide and full and proud. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second you could tell he wanted to run up and spin you in a circle.

When the ceremony ended, it was chaos. Everyone spilling onto the grass, hugging, posing for photos. You made your way through the crowd, ignoring a classmate calling your name.

He got to you first.

"There she is," Michael said, arms wide.

You melted into him, the noise of the crowd fading like background static. His arms wrapped around your waist, grounding you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"You’re gonna crush my cap," you mumbled into his chest.

He pulled back just enough to lift it off gently. "There. Better?"

You nodded, beaming up at him. "You made it."

"Course I did. Couldn’t miss this."

Your brother wandered over with your parents in tow, and Michael straightened up, sliding an arm around your back like second nature.

“Graduate!” your brother shouted, pulling you into a hug.

Photos happened next. So many. Your mom made you stand with every aunt and cousin. Your brother kept taking out of proportion pictures, sticking his tongue out behind you. And Michael?

He never left your side.

He didn’t hog the camera or make it about him — he just blended in, slipping an arm around your waist here, passing you a water bottle there. Every so often, he leaned in to say something that only you could hear, and every time, you laughed.

“Man,” your brother muttered at one point. “Look at you all smiley.”

Michael looked over. “She’s got a degree now. I’m trying to keep up.”

“You're in deep,” your brother said, grinning.

Michael didn’t even flinch. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I am.”

You almost dropped your phone.

Later, when the crowd thinned and the sun dipped lower, you sat on a patch of grass with Michael, your shoes kicked off beside you.

He laid back on one elbow, watching you sip water like he wasn’t slowly losing his mind over how good you looked in that gown.

“So, now that you’re officially smarter than me, what’s next?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “Rest. Think. Maybe sleep for a week.”

“Deserved.”

You looked at him. “Thanks for coming. Seriously.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

You felt it again — the quiet weight of his words. The way he looked at you when no one else was around.

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He caught your chin gently before you could pull away, eyes searching yours. “Not even close.”

And then he kissed you. Soft, steady, unhurried. Like you had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he murmured against your lips, “Wanna come back to mine?”

You smiled. “Yeah, lets go.”

The car ride to the hotel was quiet in the sweetest way. Your graduation gown sat bunched beneath you, heels off, your head resting on Michael's shoulder as the streetlights of the city flickered through the windows. His fingers were gently tracing circles on your thigh, and every now and then, you felt the press of his lips against your temple. He didn’t speak much, but his presence filled every space—every heartbeat, every breath.

"You good?" he murmured.

You nodded. "Best day of my life."

"Good."

He kissed your cheek as the car pulled up to the hotel. The driver came around to open your door, and Michael slipped out first, offering you his hand like it was second nature. The front desk greeted him like they knew him—which they probably did, given the way he slipped the concierge a tip and murmured something that made the man nod with a smile.

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent again, but charged. Your fingers laced with his. You were tired, but your skin buzzed with anticipation. Something about the way he kept glancing down at you, lips twitching like he was hiding something, told you he had a surprise.

He unlocked the suite and held the door open. "Go on."

You stepped in and gasped.

The entire suite was covered in soft gold and white balloons, a bouquet of red roses and roses sitting on the marble counter. A bottle of champagne rested in a silver chiller. There was a red velvet cake on the table with a gold script that read, "My Grad Girl." Gifts stacked in the corner. The skyline of the city glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You turned back to him, mouth open.

Michael shrugged like it was nothing. "Thought you deserved a little extra."

"Michael."

"You like it?"

"Like it? I love it," you breathed.

You threw your arms around his neck, and he caught you with ease, laughing quietly as you buried your face into his shoulder.

"You're unreal."

"You did the hard part. I just showed up."

"You booked a penthouse suite, you got balloons, you got me a whole cake—"

"Which I plan on eating half of."

You smacked his chest and pulled back, eyes soft. He looked at you like he was memorising you, like every moment was a photo he was trying to keep.

"Come on," he said, leading you to the couch. "Sit down, open stuff."

You went through the gifts—a dainty gold bracelet with a tiny book charm for your love of writing, a pair of heels you’d been eyeing for months, and a framed photo of the two of you when you were just awkward teens.

"This is so embarrassing," you laughed.

"Nah. Look how I was already looking at you back then."

Your breath caught a little. He smiled, clearly proud of himself, and leaned in to kiss your forehead. You relaxed into him, curling into his side as you took another bite of cake.

"I can't believe you were sitting next to my brother today. You two were like best friends."

"He's alright. Protective as hell, though."

"Of course he is."

"He told me if I ever mess this up, he'd fly to Germany and break my legs."

You burst out laughing. "Sounds like him."

"I'm not planning to mess it up."

The room got quieter. Not in a heavy way, but in that way where the truth sits between two people, and neither of them runs from it.

You turned to face him. "I love you."

Michael blinked once, twice. Then his hand came up to cup your face.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or overly sweet. It was deep, like he needed to feel it all to believe it. Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, his locs soft against your skin. He pulled you into his lap without a word, his hands resting on your waist, firm but reverent.

The cake sat forgotten. The skyline blurred. The only thing real was the heat building between you.

You broke the kiss first, only to look at him. His lips were already a little swollen, his eyes darker than before.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, hands sliding up under the hem of your dress. You exhaled sharply, and he looked up at you, expression serious.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don’t. Please. Don’t stop."

His lips curved into the faintest smirk, and then he lifted you effortlessly, walking you both toward the bedroom without missing a beat.

The room was lit only by the city lights and the soft flicker of candles on the table. He set you down gently, like you were precious, and then leaned down, kissing you again—slow, thorough, like he had all the time in the world.

His hands slid beneath the zipper of your dress, and he paused when it pooled around your waist.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered.

You reached for him, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, and your eyes traced every familiar line, every muscle you used to see under jerseys and shirts. But here? It was just for you.

You lay back against the pillows as he kissed down your stomach, his hands gripping your thighs.

"Michael..."

He hummed against your skin.

"You’re taking your time."

"You deserve that."

Every touch was slow, every glance filled with something heavy, something real. And when he finally pressed into you, it wasn’t rushed. It was reverent.

You held on to him like he was the anchor and the wave all at once, both of you moving in perfect rhythm. Moans filled the space between kisses, your nails dragging down his back as his name slipped from your lips again and again.

He whispered things against your skin—how proud he was, how much he wanted you, how he’d never looked at anyone the way he looked at you.

It built slowly. It always did with Michael. And when the wave finally crashed, you clung to him, breathless, spent, full of him in every possible way.

After, he didn’t move far. Just enough to tuck you into his side, the sheet pulled lazily over both of you. He kissed your temple.

"Love you too," he murmured.

And then, even softer:

"Proud of you. Always."

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ BREAKING: They're Fine.

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis : When breakup rumors about you and Michael Olise spiral online, fans go into meltdown mode. But instead of a statement, you drop a blurry mirror selfie. @muglermami

You don’t even know how it started.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t posted each other in a minute. Maybe it was the fact that you didnt show up ar a Bayern event with Michael where he was photographed solo. Maybe someone noticed he unliked a fan edit from three months ago. (Weirdos, the lot of them.)

Whatever it was, Twitter clocked in at 8AM sharp with the bold headline: BREAKING: Michael Olise and longtime girlfriend reportedly split, sources say “they’ve unfollowed each other and haven’t been seen together in weeks.”

You saw it while brushing your teeth.

Mouth full of foam, you looked up at the man in question—standing shirtless in your bathroom, trying to figure out how your niacinamide serum worked.

You pointed your toothbrush at him. “Apparently we broke up.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, twisting the serum bottle.

“Damn,” he said, “that sucks.”

Then he smirked.

You spit your toothpaste out. “Should we… I don’t know. Say something?”

He shrugged. “Up to you. Or we could let them keep crying.”

You flicked water at him.

He flicked toner back.

By noon, “Michael and Y/N” was trending.

People were in shambles.

“no. no. they were IT. they were PEACE.”

“she introduced him to matcha. that’s WIFE BEHAVIOR.”

“WHY!!!????”

Fan edits slowed down. TikTokers filmed teary reaction videos. Even Bayern fans were posting candlelight vigils over highlight clips of him smiling after looking at his phone.

Dramatic. Every last one of them.

So, naturally, you posted nothing. Until 6:13PM.

A blurry mirror selfie hit your Instagram story. The lighting was bad. You were in an old hoodie. The main focus was your face mask-covered cheeks and your freshly retwisted hair.

But in the background?

Michael. Crouched in front of your skincare shelf. Shirtless. Holding your toner like it owed him money.

Caption: [ He’s literally stealing my toner right now. Relax. ]

And the crowd was relieved.

“YOU HAD US CRYING OVER A LIE???”

“HE’S STEALING HER TONER. THEY’RE STRONGER THAN EVER.”

“y’all i was genuinely grieving like this wasn’t a pr relationship 😭”

“if my man isn’t deep into my skincare like this i don’t want him.”

You tossed your phone on the bed as it buzzed nonstop.

Michael, now halfway through your nighttime routine, rubbed moisturizer between his palms like a pro.

“You’re welcome for the clout,” he said casually.

“You’re welcome for the glass skin.”

He grinned. “So we’re still together?”

You rolled your eyes. “Unfortunately.”

He kissed your cheek, smudging your serum. “Lucky me.”

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Subtle

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

synopsis: Old friends. New tension. And a reunion that feels a little too good.

The knock on Michael's apartment door echoed quietly down the Munich hallway. He wasn’t expecting anyone—training had ended a little late, and he was still in his sweats, hair damp from a rushed shower. When he opened the door, a familiar face stood there, framed by the hallway light, grinning like you belonged there.

"You’re not serious," he said, stunned.

You dropped your weekend bag and threw your arms around his neck. "Surprise."

Michael didn’t hug a lot of people. He didn’t have to—you always said he showed his love in glances, not grabs. But when he held you that night, his arms stayed wrapped around your waist just a few seconds longer than they used to when you were teenagers sneaking out to corner stores past curfew.

"You flew to Germany?" he mumbled, muffled by the way your face was tucked into his hoodie.

You pulled back to look up at him. "I missed my best friend."

Michael shook his head, smiling now, his eyes softer than you’d seen in months. "You’re a madwoman."

"And you love it."

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

The thing about growing up with Michael was that he was never just your friend. Not really. Not when your childhood memories were laced with stolen looks, inside jokes, and long summer walks where your hands sometimes brushed and neither of you mentioned it.

Not when he came to your prom—not with you, technically, but you spent the whole night together anyway. Not when he texted you after every match, and only you, and always with something like, "Should’ve seen this shit, you’d cry from secondhand embarrassment.”

The world saw him as reserved, almost stoic. But you? You knew he talked in facial expressions. In the way he’d bump his knee against yours during movies or let you steal the last fry even when he claimed he was starving.

Now, standing in his apartment, you felt all of that flood back like no time had passed.

"How long are you here for?" he asked as he moved your bag inside.

"Four days."

"Not long enough."

You glanced at him.

"You could always stay longer," he added casually, like it didn’t just send a flurry through your chest.

You grinned. "Convince me."

That night, he ordered food from the Thai place he knew you liked and queued up a random movie you’d both pretend to watch. You sat curled up on opposite ends of the couch, but your legs tangled somewhere in the middle.

"You’re still terrible at using chopsticks," he said, laughing as you dropped a piece of tofu.

"And you’re still rude. Some things don’t change."

"Some things do."

He said it quietly, eyes not on you, but you heard the weight of it. Felt it.

The flirty undertone had always been there, but lately it felt like a thread you both kept tugging—gently, persistently, as if daring the other to unravel it.

"You’ve changed," you murmured.

Michael glanced up.

"In a good way," you clarified. "You’re... more sure of yourself now. You like know who you are."

His eyes lingered on yours. "Make it easy to feel like that."

The silence between you pulsed.

You looked away first. The next day, he made you promise to come to his match. You teased him about finally wanting to show you off.

And when you showed up he spotted you from the pitch and his whole demeanor shifted. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he did that little half-wave he reserved for people he actually cared about.

The game was electric. He played well, sharp and focused. But it was post-match where everything came undone.

You were waiting by the team’s private area when he jogged over, still in his kit, sweat-damp curls clinging to his forehead. "Did you see that pass in the second half?"

"You mean the one that almost became a goal? Incredible," you said, deadpan.

He rolled his eyes. "Wow. Tough crowd."

And then you both laughed.

Loud, unfiltered, yours tilting into a snort as his head dipped, eyes crinkling in amusement. He leaned close, muttering something you couldn’t catch, his hand brushing the small of your back.

From the side, a few teammates watched.

"Oi, Olise!" one of them called out.

Another chimed in, "Man’s been hiding a whole girlfriend this whole time."

Michael didn’t deny it. He didn’t even try. Just shot them a lazy smirk, pulled up his finger and turned to you like they weren’t even there.

Later, in the locker room changing his ,Jamal grinned as he passed him. "She’s cute, you act different around her."

Michael just shrugged, but his ears burned. "Yeah. She’s always been different."

That night, back at his place, you wore his hoodie. This time, it felt more intentional.

You were curled up next to him, scrolling through photos someone had taken of the two of you at the match. In one, you were mid-laugh, and Michael was looking at you like the world didn’t exist beyond that moment.

"You looked happy today," you said softly.

"I was."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Full of tension neither of you had dared touch until now.

You shifted to look at him, noticing the way his jaw flexed as his eyes flicked from your face to your bare legs tucked beneath you. You hadn’t meant to tease. But the hoodie hit your thighs just right. And Michael—he wasn’t looking away.

“Why are you staring?” you asked, half-smiling, breath catching.

“I’m trying not to do something stupid.”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer. He just leaned forward, slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. Your breath hitched as his hand slid along your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

The kiss was soft. At first.

Then it wasn’t.

His hoodie bunched in his fists as he tugged you closer, your knees sliding over his thighs as you climbed into his lap. All those years of friendship, of almosts, poured into the way his mouth moved with yours—hungry, deep, reverent.

The kiss grew urgent, hungry. Your legs wrapped around his waist and he groaned quietly into your mouth when you shifted just right.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, eyes dark now, voice wrecked with want.

You shook your head. "Don’t. Please."

His hoodie slid off you, fabric whispering across your skin. He took his time, fingers tracing every curve, every inch of skin like he was memorizing it. Like he’d waited years for this—and maybe he had.

You gasped when his lips found the hollow of your throat, when his hands dipped beneath the hem of your underwear. He whispered your name like it was something devine.

And when he finally—finally—was fully against you, inside you, around you, it felt like everything made sense.

There were no declarations, no dramatic confessions.

Just the press of your foreheads.

The quiet moans and groans that slipped from his lips.

And the soft, broken way he said your name like a promise against your skin.

You didn’t need the words.

You already knew.

And now, finally, so did he.