Elise🫀

Pairing : Rayan cherki x reader

Summary : At your doorstep after a fight

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You glance up, half asleep still, Ryan’s name flashes through the screen, your eyes drift to the time, 12:47 AM.

You sit up, clearing your throat, fear washing over your body.

masterlist

fluff

michael olise x female reader

plot summary: in which michael olise refuses to do a post match interview unless it’s with you.

note: pls lmk if you would like this to have a part two because i think it could work, also reminder that my requests are open and very dry currently so feel free to send any requests u like.

nobody noticed it the first time, after all michael olise was infamous for his post-match interviews, or therefore lack of. he kept things short, answering politely, praising teammates, thanking fans and disappearing before anyone could dare ask him another question.

so when he declined one broadcaster after a 2-1 win at the allianz arena and instead walked directly towards you, nobody thought much of it, everyone assumed it had been arranged beforehand. you too had assumed the same and it wasn’t until it happened again and again and again that people started to talk.

after almost every match, the routine was identical.

“michael! over here!”

“michael, just one question please?”

“michael, i’m with sky sports can we please have a minute?!”

the voices and desperate yells of journalists from all over the world overlapped each other, with microphones being shoved into faces, everyone wanting to talk to michael.

bayern’s media officer barely looked up from his clipboard anymore.

“…waiting for her?” he asked.

michael simply nodded, watching you from across the media zone as you finished up an interview with one of his teammates. he never complained, instead he’d lean against the wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, quietly waiting until you were free. sometimes it was five minutes, sometimes ten, once, nearly twenty.

“you know you don’t have to wait.” you laughed one evening as you hurried over after a particularly long interview, “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s alright.” michael replied, standing up straighter.

“you’ve been standing here this whole time?”

“you were busy.”

“you could’ve gone home.”

“i could have.”

“…but you didn’t.”

michael gave a small shrug.

“i wanted to talk to you.”

as the months passed, interviewing michael became easy. whilst at first every answer had been short, snippy and careful, now he actually smiled, giving detail in his answers, and occasionally he even laughed.

“you looked frustrated after that missed chance.”

“i was.”

“i was wondering if you’d admit that.”

“well, i knew you’d ask.”

another evening, after a late winner, you teased him about his celebration.

“you smiled.”

“did i?” michael replied, feigning confusion.

“you did.”

“hmm.”

“you know there are photos.” you told him coyishly causing him to break out into a reserved grin.

“that’s unfortunate.”

then came the first match you missed. you’d come down with a bad flu, and despite insisting you were well enough to travel, your producer refused to let you work.

“rest,” he had told you. “we’ll send someone else.”

after the match, as usual michael made his way into the media area, looking around the room, his eyes darting from camera crew to camera crew before stopping as the media officer droned on in his ear.

“…where is she?” he asked, completely ignoring any previous conversation.

the media officer looked up in recognition.

“oh… she’s off today.”

michael frowned.

“…off?”

“she’s ill.” the media officer clarified.

michael glanced back towards the tunnel, almost expecting you to appear anyway. you didn’t.

“they’ve sent someone else,” the media officer added, directing him towards a disturbingly striking blonde with a wide smile.

“i’ll be interviewing you tonight.” she spoke, her voice grating in his ears.

michael shook his head.

“no.”

the reporter blinked.

“…no?”

“no you won’t. i’m not doing interviews.”

“michael…”

“i’ll wait.”

bayern’s media officer couldn’t help but smile.

“she’s not running late.”

“…oh.”

and for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely disappointed.

when you missed the following midweek fixture as well, everyone already knew how it would go down as they watched the replacement reporter approach him.

“ready?” she asked.

“…is she back?”

“not yet.”

michael sighed quietly.

“i’ll pass.”

the reporter laughed sourly.

“you know, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“sorry.” he replied dryly, walking off, not sorry at all.

by the weekend, you were finally back and the moment you stepped into the tunnel, several reporters grinned.

“look who’s here.” one jeered.

“he’s been unbearable.” another nudged you.

but before you could ask what they meant, michael walked out, his eyes immediately finding yours, the tiny crease between his brows disappearing, as his body visibly relaxed.

“you came back.”

“i did.”

“you look better.”

“i feel better.”

you both smiled shyly.

“i heard you refused to speak to my replacement.” you joked.

“i did.” michael confirmed.

“…michael.”

“what?” he asked, dead serious.

“you could’ve just done the interview.”

he looked at you as though the answer was obvious.

“they weren’t you.”

heat crept up your cheeks.

“come on, that’s not exactly fair on them.”

“i know.”

“…then why?”

michael thought for a moment before answering.

“i like talking to you.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them but before you could respond one of the camera operators called from behind you.

“mate, i don’t think you’re exactly fooling anyone anymore.”

laughter echoed through the tunnel as michael looked around in confusion.

“what?”

you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

“nothing.”

“i’m fairly certain it wasn’t ‘nothing’.”

your producer shook his head, trying to hide a smile, and failing, as you looked back at michael.

“so…”

you clipped the microphone onto your jacket and passed him the handheld microphone, his fingers brushing yours in the intimacy of the moment.

“interview?” you asked.

a small, genuine smile appeared on his face, the kind that only seemed to surface around you.

“yeah, i’ve been waiting.”