Julia

pairing : william saliba x f!black!reader

synopsis : you own a cute boutique and william saliba decides to shop there

tw : none

a/n : english isn’t my first language so sorry if there is any mistake 😔

now playing : fashion killa - a$ap rocky

✯ word count: 6,720

✯ amirah: finally another relationship side but Wilo edition, i fear that this might have topped my Ibou one, like share repost and make sure to leave notes!!!. i have been thinking about him for a long while now so this was bound to happen. enjoy!!

Morning Kisses: Wilo’s favourite way to start the day is with a soft kiss on your forehead. He’s always gentle, making sure to wake you up slowly. When you open your eyes, he’s already smiling at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

⭐︎

' The first rays of sunlight would filter softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You were nestled under the covers, still tangled in the soft sheets, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Wilo’s chest beside you. His steady breathing was a quiet rhythm, one that always lulled you into the most peaceful sleep.

But then, as the morning grew a little brighter, you’d feel a soft touch—one that made your heart flutter every time. Wilo’s lips, warm and tender, would press a light kiss to your forehead. He did it so gently, as though he was trying to wake you without disturbing the calm that surrounded you both.

It was always the same kiss. Always on your forehead, always soft, and always filled with so much love. He would pull back just a little, enough for you to open your eyes slowly, adjusting to the morning light. And when you did, you were met with the most beautiful sight: William, smiling at you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

His smile was a mix of adoration and tenderness, and it made your heart swell every time. You could feel his gaze on you, soft and full of affection, as if nothing else in the world mattered but the two of you, right there in that moment.

“Good morning, ma chérie,” Wilo’s voice was always low and smooth, like a melody you could never get tired of hearing. He loved waking you up this way, taking his time to let you come into the day at your own pace, to make sure you knew how much he cared for you from the very first moment of your morning.

You let out a sleepy sigh, stretching just a little before your hand reached up to gently touch his cheek. His stubble was still a little rough, but that didn’t matter to you. What mattered was the way he made you feel—like you were cherished, like you were the one thing in the world that mattered most to him.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

Wilo chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair, his touch tender and loving. “I love waking up to you,” he said, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips as his gaze never left yours. "Every morning, it’s like a new chance to remind myself how lucky I am."

You smiled back at him, feeling your heart race as it always did when he looked at you that way—like you were everything. “You make mornings so much better,” you whispered.

Wilo leaned down again, placing another soft kiss on your forehead, lingering there for just a moment longer. “I could do this forever,” he murmured, his voice warm and full of affection.'

⭐︎

His Voice Gets Even Deeper: When he's alone with you, that deep French accent gets even sultrier. When he's close, you swear it’s like he’s whispering straight into your soul. The way he says your name? damn.

⭐︎

You knew Wilo’s voice was deep. Everyone did.

That rich, baritone rumble, laced with his smooth French accent, was already enough to make heads turn whenever he spoke.

But when it was just you and him?

Alone, in the quiet of your apartment, no cameras, no teammates—just his body close, his lips by your ear, his voice meant only for you?

It was something else entirely.

You’re standing in the kitchen when you first hear it tonight.

Wilo walks in behind you, fresh out of the shower, smelling like his woodsy cologne and warm skin. His presence alone is commanding, and before you can react, his arms slip around your waist from behind.

His breath grazes your neck, and then—

"Ma belle…”

Oh. Oh.

Your fingers tighten around the counter.

It’s that voice.

Lower than usual. Richer, deeper. The French lilt thicker, like honey dripped over every syllable.

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of his chest pressed against your back, the way his fingertips lazily skim over your hips.

"You didn’t hear me come in?” he murmurs, lips just barely brushing your ear.

Your pulse spikes. No, because you were too busy existing in peace before he decided to ruin you with his voice.

“I—” You clear your throat. “You were quiet.”

Wilo hums—a low, amused sound, vibrating against your skin.

"You’re distracted."

He’s right. And he knows it.

The corner of his mouth ghosts over your jaw, and then—

"Tell me, ma chérie…”

You physically shiver.

The way he says your name? It shouldn’t sound that good. That seductive. That intimate.

You press your lips together, refusing to let him win, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

Wilo, however, is patient.

His hands slide up your waist, slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing under the hem of your sweater. His lips hover over the shell of your ear, breath warm, teasing.

"You like when I speak to you like this?"

Your stomach flips.

You want to tell him off, play it cool—but then he leans in even closer, his mouth right by your ear, voice dropping to a sinful whisper—

"Or is it the way I say your name?"

You lose. Completely.

Because yes, it is the way he says your name. The way it rolls off his tongue, the way it sounds deep and intimate and possessive, like it was meant only for him to say.

Wilo chuckles when he feels your body tense.

He knows.

His lips graze your neck—just enough to tease.

"I’ll take that as a yes."

⭐︎

He’s a Tease: Wilo knows exactly how to make you blush. He’ll casually slide his hand around your waist or brush your cheek, and before you know it, your heart’s racing, and you're already lost in him. His touch is always lingering just a bit longer than it should.

Whispers Before Sleep: He loves whispering sweet things in French while you’re both drifting off. Sometimes, it’s sweet things, sometimes, it’s a little more naughty—his voice making everything sound way too seductive for you to handle.

⭐︎

Nights with William always felt different.

It wasn’t just the warmth of his body, the solid weight of him beside you, or the way he always pulled you just a little closer before you fell asleep.

It was the way he whispered to you.

Low, deep, French words laced with sleep and something even softer.

And right now?

His voice was dangerous.

You’re lying in bed, tangled in the sheets, wrapped in William’s warmth.

Your head rests against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as his arms stay locked around your waist.

You’re barely awake, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, but William?

William is still awake.

And he’s whispering.

"Tu es si belle, ma chérie…"

His voice is so deep—that slow, sleepy rumble that makes your breath hitch.

He’s not even trying to do anything.

Not really.

But the way the French drips off his tongue so smoothly, so effortlessly?

It’s too much.

You shift slightly, and his arms tighten around you.

"Toujours aussi magnifique… même comme ça." (Still so beautiful… even like this.)

Your heart stutters.

His lips brush against your temple, soft, warm, lingering.

"Tu sais que je t’aime, hein?" (You know that I love you, right?)

You swallow, nodding against his chest.

He hums—a deep, content sound, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your hip.

You should be asleep.

But his voice—his damn voice—is keeping you wide awake.

And then—

"Tu es à moi, bébé." (You are mine, baby.)

Oh.

Your breath hitches.

Because this time—his voice is different.

Softer. Slower. Lower.

It’s not just sweet.

It’s something else.

Something possessive.

Something dangerous.

Your fingers tighten against his chest. You don’t dare move.

But Wilo? He knows.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. His hand slides up your thigh, warm fingers skimming over your skin. And then, right by your ear—his voice drops to a sinful whisper.

"Dors bien, ma belle..." (Sleep well, my beautiful.)

A pause.

And then—

"Pendant que tu le peux encore." (While you still can.)

Your entire body heats up. Wilo just smirks, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair before closing his eyes.

He’s not asleep. Not yet. But he knows you won’t be able to, either.

Not after that.

Not after his voice, his touch, his words.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

⭐︎

The Way He Looks at You: When you catch him staring at you, it’s not the kind of look that says "I’m just admiring you." Nah. It’s the kind of look that says I’m imagining every little thing we could do together right now. And when you notice, he smirks, not even trying to hide his thoughts.

Unpredictable Passion: Sometimes, Wilo likes to catch you off guard. One minute he’s being playful and sweet, and the next minute, he’s pulling you into him for a kiss so intense, it makes you forget everything around you. You never know when the switch will flip, but you know it’ll be worth it.

Quiet Nights In: Sometimes, after a long day, all Wilo wants is to snuggle up with you on the couch. He’ll put on your favourite movie, making sure to have your favourite snacks ready. It’s the kind of simple evening that feels like pure bliss.

⭐︎

The living room is dimly lit, a warm glow from the lamp in the corner. The air smells faintly of popcorn and your favorite candles, and outside, the city hums softly, muted through the windows.

Wilo is already on the couch, stretched out, his arm resting on the back of the cushions—waiting for you.

When you walk in, you pause.

There’s a blanket. There are your favorite snacks, perfectly arranged on the coffee table. And on the screen?

Your favorite movie, queued up and ready to go.

Your heart squeezes.

“You planned this?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

Wilo just shrugs, eyes soft, lips curved into that lazy, knowing smirk.

"Tu as eu une longue journée, non?"

(You had a long day, didn’t you?)

You exhale, shaking your head, but you can’t stop smiling.

Because he had a long day, too. Training. Meetings. More training.

But instead of crashing into bed, he’d come home and thought about you.

You don’t even hesitate before climbing onto the couch and into his arms.

He shifts instantly, pulling you against his chest, wrapping you up in his warmth. His chin rests against the top of your head, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your back.

The movie starts, but neither of you really pay attention.

You feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and soothing. His breathing is slow, deep, like he could fall asleep at any moment.

And then—

"Ça va, mon amour?"(You okay, my love?) he murmurs, voice low and soft. You nod, sinking further into his warmth.

Wilo hums, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"Je t’aime," he whispers.

(I love you.)

You smile against his chest, fingers curling into his hoodie.

"I love you too."

And in that moment—with the movie playing, the world quiet, and William’s arms wrapped securely around you—everything feels perfect.

⭐︎

The Softest Whispered “I Love You”: Wilo’s “I love you” is soft and sincere. He’ll say it when you’re cuddling, when you’re laughing together, or even when you’re both just looking out the window, enjoying each other’s presence. Every time he says it, it feels like a warm hug for your heart.

⭐︎

It’s late. You’re both exhausted, lying in bed, your head resting on his chest.

The room is quiet, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

Wilo’s fingers lazily trace patterns against your back, his other hand resting over yours.

And then—

He sighs.

Deep, content, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

"Je t’aime."

He says it so quietly, like it’s not even meant to be spoken—just felt. Like it’s his first thought before falling asleep. Like he’s reminding himself, not just you.

Your throat tightens. You squeeze his hand. "I love you too."

Wilo hums, pressing a soft, sleepy kiss to your forehead.

And then—

"I know."

His voice is warm, certain.

Because with him?

You’ll never have to doubt it.

⭐︎

Supporting Your Dreams: Wilo is always there to encourage you in everything you do. He listens patiently when you talk about your ambitions and dreams, and he always reassures you that you’re capable of anything. He believes in you even when you doubt yourself.

Late-Night Conversations: There’s something special about staying up late, just talking to Wilo. The world feels quieter at night, and he’ll listen to you talk about anything and everything. Whether it’s your dreams, your fears, or your favourite memories, he’s always there to listen and comfort you.

⭐︎

You’re lying in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the streetlights outside.

Wilo is beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily draped across your waist.

Neither of you are tired. Not really.

So you talk.

You tell him about your childhood dreams, the things you wanted to be when you were younger.

You tell him about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of a celebrity, about how you still cringe thinking about it.

You tell him about your biggest fears, the ones you don’t say out loud too often.

And Wilo?

He listens.

Really listens.

Nodding, humming softly, his fingers tracing lazy shapes against your hip.

He never rushes you. Never interrupts.

Just lets you unravel.

And when you pause, when your words slow and your thoughts get heavier, he speaks—

Soft. Deep. Reassuring.

"Tu n’as pas à t’inquiéter, mon amour." (You don’t have to worry, my love.) His voice is like a warm blanket, wrapping around you, making you feel safe.

"Je suis là." (I’m here.)

You look at him, eyes meeting in the dim light.

And there’s something in the way he looks at you. Like he’d listen to you talk for a thousand years. Like nothing you say is ever too much.

You smile, shifting closer, tucking yourself against his chest. "Promise?" you murmur.

Wilo’s lips brush your forehead, soft, lingering. "Always".

And with that, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter.

Because with him, you never have to hold anything in.

With him, you’re always heard.

⭐︎

Watching Arsenal Together when he is not playing/injured : Watching Arsenal games together is one of Wilo’s favorite things. But what he loves more than the match itself is watching your reactions when the team scores. He gets this soft, proud look in his eyes, knowing that his heart belongs to someone who supports him, both on and off the field.

⭐︎

Wilo should be on the pitch.

He should be out there, in the thick of it—defending, controlling the game, doing what he loves.

But instead, he’s here.

Sitting next to you in the players’ box, a warm coat wrapped around his broad shoulders, watching Arsenal fight for three points without him.

And he hates it.

Hates the way his leg bounces with restless energy, hates the way his fingers clench into fists whenever the defense is tested.

But what he doesn’t hate?

Watching you.

Because if there’s anything keeping him sane right now, it’s you.

“Babe, chill,” you murmur, resting a hand over his.

Wilo exhales sharply, loosening his grip, letting you intertwine your fingers with his.

“I can’t help it,” he mutters. “I should be out there.”

Your heart tugs at the frustration in his voice.

You know how much this kills him. How much he hates sitting out, watching instead of playing.

But if there’s one thing you know?

He’s still Arsenal.

Still part of the team.

And you’re going to remind him of that.

So when Arsenal scores, and the entire stadium erupts, you don’t just celebrate—

You turn to him first.

Grabbing his jacket, shaking him excitedly. “Wilo! Look! They did it!”

And for the first time that night, his frustration cracks.

Because he sees you.

Eyes sparkling, fully invested, fully in love with the club he plays for.

And suddenly, all the bitterness of not being on the pitch? It’s drowned out by how much you care.

Wilo chuckles, finally letting himself enjoy the moment.

His free arm wraps around you, pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Tu es incroyable, mon amour." (You’re incredible, my love.)

And when you turn, confused, he just shakes his head, smiling.

Because maybe he’s not playing today but as long as you’re next to him—

He still wins.

⭐︎

Cooking Together: Wilo loves cooking for you, but he loves cooking with you even more. You two will team up in the kitchen, laughing as you both try to make a perfect meal. It’s messy, fun, and filled with little moments of joy.

Tight hugs after matches: After an intense game, when he finally finds you in the crowd or in the tunnel, he doesn’t care who’s around—he grabs you in a tight hug, holding you for a long moment as if you’re the only thing that matters. Sometimes he buries his face in your neck, whispering a soft “I missed you.”

Taking random photos of you: His phone is full of random pictures of you—laughing, eating, even just reading a book. He loves capturing little moments when you’re not paying attention because, in his eyes, you’re the most beautiful when you’re just being yourself.

⭐︎

Wilo’s camera roll? It’s 90% you.

Not the posed, picture-perfect shots where you actually know he’s taking a photo. No, those aren’t his favorites.

His favorites?

The random ones.

The ones where you don’t even know he’s looking. Because to him, that’s when you’re the most beautiful.

You notice it one day, scrolling through his phone while he’s resting beside you on the couch. Your face fills the screen again and again.

Laughing mid-conversation. Frowning in concentration while reading. Holding a fork with food halfway to your mouth. Even one of you, fast asleep, curled up in his hoodie.

You blink. “Wilo… what is this?”

He barely looks up from his book, lips curving slightly. “My gallery.”

You roll your eyes. “I can see that. But why do you have—this many photos of me?”. Wilo finally glances at you, eyes warm and completely unapologetic.

"Parce que tu es magnifique." (Because you’re beautiful.)

Your breath catches. He says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there’s nothing strange about having hundreds of random, blurry, silly, and candid photos of you.

Like he just wants to keep every version of you—

The ones you don’t even notice. The ones that make his heart ache with how much he loves you.

And really—

How are you supposed to argue with that?

⭐︎

Loves when you watch his games: He pretends to be all cool and focused before a match, but the second he spots you in the stands, his whole mood lifts. After the game, he’ll walk over, all sweaty and out of breath, and the first thing he does is kiss your forehead before saying, “Did I play good for you?

⭐︎

When the final whistle blows, when Arsenal secures the win, Wilo should be celebrating with his teammates—

And he does, for a second.

But then, his first thought?

You.

So he barely even thinks, just walks straight toward where you’re waiting near the tunnel, still slightly out of breath, still covered in sweat.

And without hesitation, he cups your face gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You giggle, scrunching your nose. “Wilo, you’re sweaty.” He grins, not caring at all.

"Did I play good for you?"

Your heart melts instantly.

Because the way he says it?

Like your opinion is the only one that matters. Like all the praise in the world means nothing if you’re not proud of him.

You shake your head fondly, reaching up to brush damp curls from his forehead.

“You were amazing, baby,” you murmur, eyes soft.

And just like that—

William Saliba, big, strong, unshakable center-back—

Blushes.

Because nothing feels better than knowing he played well.

But knowing he played well for you?

That’s everything.

⭐︎

You guys have inside jokes : You and Wilo have so many inside jokes that his teammates are constantly confused. He’ll say something random mid-conversation, and you’ll both burst out laughing while everyone else just looks at you like, “…Okay?”

⭐︎

It happens during a team dinner.

You’re sitting next to Wilo, scrolling through your phone when he leans over and casually whispers,

"its brown"

And just like that—

You lose it. Choking on your drink, slapping a hand over your mouth as you start laughing way too hard.

Wilo?

He’s already grinning like an idiot. Because he knows exactly what he just did. The two of you are dying while the rest of the Arsenal squad just sits there, staring.

Bukayo frowns. “What—what’s funny?”

You try to explain, wiping tears from your eyes. “It’s—it’s from this one video—”

“No, no,” William interjects, shaking his head dramatically. “They won’t get it.”

And the thing is—

He’s right.

Because the second you try to explain, it just sounds so dumb. But that’s the best part.

You and Wilo have so many of these little things—stupid memes, random phrases, weirdly specific jokes that have built up over time. And he loves it.

Loves that no matter where he is, no matter how serious football gets— With you, there’s always laughter.

Always this.

And as you both keep giggling, ignoring his teammates’ looks of pure annoyance , Wilo just leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "you're the best"

And honestly?

He wouldn’t trade this for anything. Not even if it meant his teammates finally understood what the hell you were laughing about.

⭐︎

Building IKEA Furniture Together: One time, you two tried assembling IKEA furniture, and it was chaos. Wilo insisted he didn’t need the instructions (he did), and at one point, you had to take over because he was so confused. Now, every time you see an IKEA store, he just groans and says, “Never again.”

Calls You Cute Nicknames in French: Wilo loves using little French nicknames for you, like mon amour (my love), ma belle (my beautiful), or mon ange (my angel). And if he really wants to fluster you, he’ll say them in that deep voice of his, smirking when he sees you blush.

Puppy-Dog Eyes When He Wants Cuddles: If you’re busy and he wants attention, Wilo will literally just stare at you with the softest puppy-dog eyes. He won’t say anything—just pouts slightly until you sigh and cuddle up to him. Then he grins like he knew you wouldn’t resist.

Visiting His Childhood Neighborhood in France: One day, he takes you to Bondy, the place where he grew up. He shows you the streets he used to play football in, the little shops he’d visit as a kid, and even introduces you to old friends and coaches.

Watching Horror Movies Together : You say you can handle horror movies, but Wilo knows the truth. The second something jumps out, you jump into his arms, and he just chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. He’s completely unfazed. No reactions, no fear—just casually eating snacks while demons are crawling out of TVs. “You okay?” he asks, smirking when you clutch his arm even tighter. If you get too scared, he immediately suggests switching to a rom-com, pressing soft kisses to your hair as he says, “I like when you watch cute movies with me better.”

Rainy Day Movie Marathons : If it’s pouring outside, expect a cozy day in. Hoodies, blankets, snacks—the works. He lets you pick the movie, but if he finds it boring, he turns his attention to you instead. Kissing your shoulder, playing with your fingers, whispering in your ear until you’re like, “Are you even watching?” If you fall asleep on his chest, he won’t move. He just smiles, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “Sleep well, baby.”

Surprise Date Nights : Wilo loves surprising you with dates. He’ll just text, “Be ready by 7,” and when you ask where you’re going, he just smirks. It could be a rooftop dinner, a late-night picnic, or even a surprise weekend trip. But the best part? The way he looks at you the entire time, like he’s the luckiest man in the world.

The Way He Uses His Height to His Advantage : Wilo loves hovering over you. Backing you up against a wall, trapping you under his gaze with that lazy smirk. Sometimes, he’ll purposely make you reach for things just so he can step behind you and grab it instead, pressing up against you in the process.

⭐︎

You’re reaching for the box of pasta in the cupboard, your fingers just shy of it when you feel that familiar presence behind you. Wilo’s voice, low and teasing, drifts into your ear.

“Need some help, mon amour?”

Before you can reply, his hand slides past yours, brushing your arm as he effortlessly grabs the box, his chest pressing against your back. You try not to let the closeness get to you, but it’s hard when he’s right there, so close you can feel the heat from his body.

He leans in slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it for you.”

His height is impossible to ignore now. He steps in closer, trapping you between him and the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. You try to step away, but he’s already following your every movement, his body nearly enclosing you in his space.

“You’re making me work harder for it now, huh?” he says with that teasing grin, making you feel small beneath him.

You roll your eyes, but the way his gaze stays locked on yours, full of mischief, makes your heart race. You can’t help but feel the heat between you, his presence so overwhelming you can barely think straight.

“You look so cute when you’re frustrated,” he murmurs, leaning in even closer, his body pressing into yours.

With nowhere to go, you give in to the moment, unable to resist his magnetic charm. You might be frustrated, but you’re also completely lost in him.

⭐︎

The Way He Kisses You :Wilo is a slow, deep kisser—the kind that leaves you breathless and clinging onto him for more. If he’s frustrated or jealous? Ohhh, that kiss is rougher, more possessive, like he’s making sure you feel who you belong to. He loves teasing, too. Brushing his lips against yours but not quite kissing you, just to see you get impatient before he finally pulls you in with no escape.

⭐︎

You’re standing there, arms crossed, eyes locking with Wilo’s across the room. He’s been a little off lately, and you can sense something in the air—a tension, thick and palpable.

You know something’s up, but neither of you has said a word about it. That is, until he walks up to you, his gaze intense, like he’s trying to read you.

Before you can say anything, he’s there—closer than you expected. His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a split second, you swear you can feel the heat between you two.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours lightly, teasing you, but just barely—enough to make you crave more. You try to close the gap, but he pulls away, smirking at your frustration.

“Wilo…” you whisper, voice catching in your throat.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmurs, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours but never quite making contact.

You feel your breath quicken, and he knows it. He’s doing it on purpose, pushing you to the edge of sanity. The way he teases you, brushing against your lips just enough to make you ache for more, is almost too much to handle.

Finally, when you can’t take it any longer, he closes the distance between you. And when his lips capture yours, it’s nothing like before. There’s no gentleness, no playfulness. It’s raw, a kiss filled with frustration and need. It’s a kiss that demand your attention, that makes you feel every inch of him.

He pulls you in so tightly you’re almost breathless, his hands finding your waist as if he’s claiming you. It’s possessive, almost as if he’s reminding you just who you belong to. He deepens the kiss, the intensity increasing with every moment, as if he can’t get enough.

When he finally pulls back, he’s breathless too, his chest rising and falling against yours. His eyes are dark, filled with something you can’t quite read but know you love.

“I Love you,” he whispers, his voice smooth, like he’s reminding himself just as much as you.

⭐︎

The Way He Looks at You Like You Hung the Stars : Wilo is not subtle when he’s in love. His eyes soften every time he looks at you, and even in a room full of people, he’s only focused on you. He has this lazy, love-drunk smile whenever you’re talking—completely mesmerized, like he could listen to you forever. Sometimes, he just stares at you for a little too long, and when you catch him, he just shrugs and says, “I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

He Remembers Everything About You : Wilo takes notes—he knows exactly how you like your coffee, your favorite perfume, the little things that make you happy. If you mention wanting something, even casually? Boom, he surprises you with it weeks later, acting all nonchalant like, “You said you liked this, no?” You think he’s not listening? Oh, he is. He brings up small details from conversations you forgot about, just to prove how much he pays attention.

⭐︎

It’s a lazy Sunday morning, and you’re lounging on the couch, sipping your coffee while scrolling through your phone. Wilo is nearby, stretched out on the floor, idly playing with his phone, but his attention is only half on it. You can feel his gaze on you, a constant presence, even though he isn’t directly looking at you.

You sip your coffee, noticing that something about it feels just… perfect today. The temperature is just right, not too hot, not too cold. It’s sweet, but not overly so. It’s exactly how you like it. You glance over at William, who’s now watching you with a soft smile on his face.

“Mm, this is perfect,” you mutter to yourself, half-joking.

Wilo’s lips curl into that signature smirk. “I know,” he says nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just perfectly nailed your coffee order once again. You raise an eyebrow, setting the cup down. “How did you—”

“I take notes,” he says casually, his voice smooth, as if it’s no big deal. “I pay attention to the little things.”

You laugh, thinking he’s just messing with you, but you know him too well—he’s serious.

“I remember you said you liked it with just a little extra cinnamon and not too much milk,” he continues, his voice playful yet sincere. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Wait… You actually remember that?”

“Of course.” He grins. “You talk about things, and I listen. You’d be surprised how much you share without even realizing it.”

Later that week, you’re walking through a shopping district with him when you casually mention, “I’ve been wanting to try that perfume, the one with the vanilla and rose scent. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

William nods, only offering a half smile, and you think nothing of it. But when you get home that evening, a small box is sitting on your bed, wrapped neatly with a bow. You open it to find the exact perfume you mentioned, the one you’d forgotten about almost immediately.

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief, then text him, “You’re impossible.”

He responds in an instant: “You said you wanted it, didn’t you? Thought I’d surprise you.”

He’s done this before—surprised you with things you’ve barely even mentioned. That’s just how he is. He remembers your favorite colors, the songs you hum when you’re in a good mood, even the books you love that you haven’t picked up in ages.

It’s one of the things you adore most about him—his quiet attentiveness, his way of making you feel like the most important person in the world.

You smile softly at him, your heart full. “You really do remember everything, don’t you?”

“I do,” he says, his voice sincere. “And I’ll keep remembering, as long as you’ll let me.”

You pull him into a gentle kiss, grateful for his thoughtfulness, and for a love that’s built on all the little things.

⭐︎

The Way He Talks About You to Others : If someone brings you up in conversation, he immediately starts smiling. He glows when talking about you. His teammates? Tired of him. They’ll ask about Arsenal, and somehow, he brings you up.

He Drops Hints About Marriage All the Time: It starts subtle—playing with your fingers, randomly asking “Do you like gold or silver rings?” or If you’re watching a wedding scene in a movie, he casually says, “Ours would be better." or “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could.” Dead serious. No hesitation. And if someone calls you “Mrs. Saliba” by accident? He just grins and says, “Sounds nice, no?”

⭐︎

You’re sitting at a café, Wilo beside you, enjoying the peaceful afternoon. The two of you are laughing, chatting about nothing in particular when the waiter approaches to take your order.

He smiles at you both, taking a quick glance at your intertwined hands on the table, and then he accidentally blurts out, “So, what can I get for you two, Mrs. Saliba?”

You freeze for a second, a slight blush creeping up your neck as the word hangs in the air.

Wilo looks over at you with a sly grin, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. You catch a glimpse of his smirk before he turns his attention back to the waiter.

"Sounds nice, no?" he teases, his voice smooth and low, clearly enjoying the moment.

Your heart skips, and you try to play it off, but the way he’s looking at you with that mischievous glint makes it impossible to hide your smile. “You’re not gonna let that slide, are you?” you say, nudging his shoulder.

Wilo just laughs softly, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I don’t see why not. ‘Mrs. Saliba’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too much, but you can’t help it—your stomach flutters at the thought. It’s silly, you know, but the way he says it, with that teasing edge, makes everything feel just a little more real.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he adds with a wink, clearly reveling in the way he’s got you flustered.

The waiter, who’s clearly confused by the exchange, chuckles awkwardly and nods, before taking your orders and walking away.

You glance at Wilo, who’s still grinning at you, obviously enjoying every second of your reaction.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter under your breath, but your smile betrays you. “I’m just getting started,” he says with a wink, squeezing your hand.

And as he pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, you can’t help but feel like maybe—just maybe—“Mrs. Saliba” wouldn’t be so bad after all.

⭐︎

He’s Serious About Building a Home With You : Even before you officially move in together, his place slowly starts feeling like yours. Your stuff is already there—your favorite snacks in the kitchen, your clothes in his closet, your perfume lingering everywhere.

⭐︎

It starts with something small—your favorite snack tucked into the kitchen pantry, where it didn’t use to be. You spot it one day, the familiar brand of chips you always crave during movie nights, and you can’t help but smile. You’d casually mentioned it a few weeks ago while you were over, joking that you could always eat them, and now, there they are.

But it’s more than just the snacks.

You open the closet to grab your jacket, and your eyes flicker to the corner where your clothes now hang, neatly folded, alongside his. The shirts you didn’t realize you left behind after the last sleepover. A sweater you thought you forgot about, but now it’s here, just like it’s always been.

When you wake up in the morning, the faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, carried by the soft fabric of the pillows you’ve claimed as your own. It’s as though his penthouse is slowly becoming a blend of both of you.

You walk into the bathroom, reaching for your toothpaste, and there it is—right next to his—just like you’ve always used it. Your things are becoming a natural part of his space, and it’s not just about the physical objects. It’s the way the place feels. It feels more like home every time you walk through the door.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when you finally notice it. You’re sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, when Wilo walks in, his usual easy smile on his face. But this time, there’s something in his eyes, something soft and sure.

“You left your hair tie in the bathroom,” he says casually, holding it up as he walks over.

You laugh, grabbing it from him. “I didn’t realize I was taking over your place,” you tease.

He grins, sitting down beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “I don’t mind,” he says, his voice gentle. “I like it. It feels right, you know?"

Your heart skips at the way he says it, the sincerity in his voice. He doesn’t have to say more. His words speak volumes. The idea of a future, of a shared space—it's not just a passing thought. It’s happening.

“I like it too,” you whisper back, your voice a little softer than you intended. “I like being here… with you.”

Wilo’s fingers gently brush against your hand, squeezing it. “I know,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “I want this to be home. With you. All of this—your things, your laugh,—it makes this place feel real. Feels like it’s ours.”

You sit there for a moment, taking in everything around you—the cozy warmth of the room, the quiet hum of everyday life, and the simple fact that you’re both building something together. Slowly, piece by piece.

It’s not about grand gestures or big promises. It’s in the little things—the way your shoes are now next to his by the door, the way he remembers the little details about you, like how you prefer the couch pillows arranged just so.

You smile at him, feeling more at home than ever before. “Yeah, it does feel like ours.”

“Good,” he says with a soft chuckle, pulling you closer. “Because I’m serious about this. I want to keep building it, piece by piece, with you.”

And as you rest your head on his shoulder, you realise that this is more than just the beginning of living together. It’s the start of something deeper. Something permanent. A future with him.

⭐︎

He Has a List of Baby Names in His Notes App : You accidentally see it one day, and he just shrugs, totally unbothered. “What? Can’t be unprepared.” There are French names, English names, even a few inspired by your favorite things. If you ask, “You really thought about this?” He just smiles and kisses your forehead. “Of course. It’s with you.”

⭐︎

William Saliba isn’t just thinking about the present with you—he’s thinking about forever. And the best part? He already knows it’s you. Always has, always will.

jamal musiala x reader

synopsis : jamal's dream move to bayern munich forces the two of you to navigate love from opposite sides of europe. 

content warning : long distance relationship, separation, emotional farewell, crying, mild emotional distress

when the phone rang, you didn't think much of it.

jamal always got calls from coaches, scouts, or teammates. when he glanced at the screen and excused himself to answer in the kitchen, you just paused the film and grabbed more popcorn. you'd been on the sofa all afternoon at his parents' house, enjoying one of his few quiet days before pre-season.

from the living room, you could hear the occasional murmur of his voice, but not enough to make out the conversation. now and then, he'd reply with a quiet, "yeah," or "thank you," before falling silent again. it lasted no more than five minutes.

when he finally walked back into the room, the atmosphere grew tense. a subtle heaviness seemed to press down on both of you, and you could feel the cold edge of anticipation settling in your chest.

his shoulders, once relaxed, now straightened and stiffened—a clear sign that something was wrong.

his familiar smile had faded, replaced instead by a distant, troubled expression.

you searched for the usual excitement that followed good football news, but found only something heavier.

he lingered in the doorway, meeting your gaze with an expression that made your stomach tighten.

"babe..."

you immediately muted the television.

"what happened?"

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than looking at you.

"i got a call..."

"okay..."

"i..." he let out a nervous laugh that carried no amusement whatsoever. "i didn't get called up to england."

your heart sank.

"oh..."

you knew representing england meant everything to him. since childhood, he'd always dreamed of wearing the three lions. you saw disappointment in his face—and before you could comfort him, he spoke again.

"but..."

he finally looked up.

"you know my mum's german."

you frowned.

"yeah?"

"they've called me up."

you blinked.

"the german national team?"

he nodded.

"and..."

he swallowed nervously.

"bayern want to sign me."

for a moment, the room felt completely silent.

you were incredibly proud of him. you truly were. playing for bayern munich and representing germany was something most footballers could only dream about. pride lingered, warm but quickly clouded by a creeping unease. the realisation that came next felt heavy and conflicted, mixing your joy with an unmistakable pang of loss.

not england, but germany. munich.

it was an entirely different country—one you had only visited, never lived in.

a life that, at least for now, felt impossibly far from your own.

wouldn't include you.

you mustered a smile, though a heavy lump formed in your throat and a dull ache began to build in your chest, the threat of tears hovering just beneath the surface as you struggled to show your support.

"jamal..."

"i'm sorry."

your eyebrows knitted together. "what are you apologising for?"

"i'm supposed to be happy." he sighed, sitting down beside you. "i am happy. this is everything i've worked for, but every time i think about saying yes..." his voice faltered as he reached for your hand. "...i think about leaving you."

you squeezed his hand gently. "don't apologise for chasing your dream."

"i don't want my dream to cost me you."

"it won't."

he searched your face, worry etched in his features, as if weighing your every word for reassurance, desperately wanting to believe you but unable to fully shake his fear.

"babe..."

"no." you smiled softly, even though your chest ached. "you've worked too hard for this opportunity. you can't turn it down because of me."

"i'd ask you to come with me..." his words trailed off before he continued quietly. "...but i know how much you love it here."

he wasn't wrong.

england had always been home: your family, friends, university, and future were all there. leaving wasn't as simple as packing a suitcase.

"i don't want you to have to choose between me and your career," you admitted.

"i don't want you to choose either."

silence stretched between you.

neither dared mention what loomed between you.

eventually, jamal spoke again.

"can we at least try long distance?"

you looked into his eyes—they were hopeful, scared, desperate.

worry shadowed his hope.

scared.

desperate.

he looked scared. desperation showed on his face. never even crossed your mind.

you reached up and cupped his cheek before smiling through the tears threatening to fall.

"of course we can."

relief washed over his face almost instantly.

"really?"

you nodded.

"i love you, jamal. a few hundred miles aren't going to change that."

he wrapped his arms around you immediately, burying his face against your shoulder as though he never wanted to let go.

"i love you too."

you closed your eyes, holding him just as tightly.

neither of you said it aloud.

but deep down...

deep down, you both feared that this embrace could be a goodbye.

the weeks that followed passed by far too quickly.

one minute, the two of you were making the most of every spare second together, and the next, you were helping jamal fold the last few clothes into his suitcase. neither of you mentioned what came after tomorrow. you both pretended this was just another trip away for football, even though you knew it wasn't.

his room was unusually quiet as you zipped up the final suitcase and leaned against the edge of his bed.

"i think that's everything," you murmured.

jamal glanced around the room before letting out a small sigh.

"yeah..."

both of you stayed rooted in place, unmoving.

neither of you wanted to be the one to acknowledge that once those suitcases left the room, everything would change.

later that evening, you joined his family for dinner. everyone tried their best to keep the mood light, laughing over old stories and teasing jamal about his terrible attempts at cooking, but now and then the conversation would fall quiet. his parents were proud of him, of course, they were, but they were also watching their son leave home for another country.

after dinner, you found yourselves sitting outside in the garden together.

jamal reached for your hand without thinking.

"i'm going to miss this."

you looked over at him.

"the garden?"

he laughed softly.

"no."

"you."

a fleeting smile touched your lips, but it vanished just as quickly.

"i'm going to miss you too."

"i wish bayern were in london."

"i don't think football works like that."

"i know."

"i'd definitely have fewer complaints if it did."

he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"what if long distance changes us?"

"it won't."

"you don't know that."

"no." you turned to face him properly. "i don't. but i do know us."

he stayed quiet.

"you've been my best friend since we were kids, jamal. before we were boyfriend and girlfriend, before football became your whole life... it was always us."

he nodded slowly.

"i don't think a different country can change that."

he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours.

"i hope you're right."

"i know i'm right."

the following morning arrived far sooner than either of you wanted.

the drive to the airport was almost painfully silent. jamal sat beside you in the back seat, your fingers intertwined the entire journey. every so often, he'd absentmindedly rub circles over the back of your hand, almost as if he was trying to memorise it.

when the airport finally came into view, neither of you spoke.

you weren't ready.

truthfully, no one ever really is.

after checking his bags, the four of you stood near security. his parents gave him one last hug, while you stayed a few steps behind, trying your hardest not to cry.

then his mum gently smiled at you.

"i think someone wants to say goodbye."

jamal turned around immediately.

the moment your eyes met, the brave face you'd been wearing all morning disappeared.

he crossed the distance between you in seconds.

without saying a word, he wrapped his arms tightly around you.

you hugged him back just as firmly.

"i don't want to go," he admitted quietly into your hair. "i want to stay here with you."

you pulled back just enough to look at him.

"and miss out on everything you've worked for?"

"i'd miss you more."

your heart ached.

"you'll still have me."

"just through a phone."

"for now."

he looked at you, hopefully.

"so you still think we can do this?"

you smiled.

"we're stronger than a bit of distance."

he let out a shaky laugh.

"i've got training tomorrow."

"and?"

"i already know i'm going to spend the whole session checking my phone."

"you'll get shouted at."

"i probably deserve it."

you reached up, smoothing a strand of curls away from his forehead.

"i'll call you when you land."

"you promise?"

"i promise."

his parents called his name from the security gate.

it was time.

jamal closed his eyes briefly before leaning down and pressing a slow kiss to your lips, trying to make it last for as long as he could. when you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours one last time.

"come and see me at christmas?"

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"i'll do everything i can."

"i'll be counting down the days."

"so will i."

he smiled sadly before picking up his backpack.

"i love you."

"i love you more."

he took a few steps backwards before turning towards security. halfway through the queue, he looked back. you were still standing exactly where he'd left you. you smiled and gave him a small wave.

he returned it.

then he disappeared.

for the first time in years...

the two of you were no longer in the same country.

the first few weeks were the hardest.

you'd spent so many years seeing jamal whenever you wanted that suddenly having to schedule phone calls around training sessions, lectures and time zones felt painfully unfamiliar. at first, you'd catch yourself reaching for your phone to tell him something small—a funny video, a story from university or even something as simple as what you'd had for lunch—before remembering he was either asleep or in training. it was an adjustment neither of you had been prepared for.

still, you made it work.

every evening, without fail, one of you would call the other.

sometimes the conversations lasted hours. other times, they barely reached ten minutes because one of you was exhausted, but neither of you ever skipped a call.

you watched him slowly settle into life in munich through a screen.

he'd excitedly show you his apartment, complaining that he'd somehow managed to burn toast on his very first morning. he'd introduce you to teammates whenever they wandered into the background of a facetime call, and he'd grin every time he spoke about training.

"the facilities are insane," he said one evening, practically bouncing with excitement. "you'd love it here."

"i probably would."

"you'd definitely laugh at me getting lost every day."

"you? lost?"

"i've walked into the wrong room three times this week."

you burst into laughter.

"i'd pay to see that."

"i knew you'd say that."

"you deserve it."

"i miss having someone to laugh at me in person."

"i'll laugh at you over facetime instead."

"it isn't the same."

"no?"

he smiled softly.

"no."

despite the distance, you never missed one of his matches. if bayern kicked off at an awkward time in england, you'd stay awake. if you had lectures the next morning, you'd survive on coffee. if he lost, you'd call him before anyone else could. if he won, you'd be the first person to congratulate him.

one evening after a difficult defeat, your phone rang long before you'd expected it to.

you answered immediately. "hey."

silence.

then...

"we were awful."

your heart broke at the sound of his defeat.

"it was one match."

"i should've done better."

"you did everything you could."

"i lost the ball too many times."

you sighed softly. "jamal."

"what?"

"do you remember when you were fifteen and missed an open goal?"

he groaned immediately. "don't remind me."

"you cried for two days."

"i was dramatic."

"you were."

"and you still dated me."

"i’m still dating you."

a small laugh escaped him. "i love you."

"i know."

"no." his voice softened. "i really do."

"i know."

the call lasted another hour.

by the time you finally hung up, he'd gone from picking apart every mistake he'd made to laughing over a story about leroy accidentally stealing someone else's water bottle. moments like that reminded you why the distance was worth it. months turned into a year before either of you realised just how much time had passed.

you watched jamal establish himself at bayern. every match, he looked more confident. in every interview, he seemed more comfortable speaking german. every goal felt like another step towards the future he'd dreamed about since he was a little boy.

you couldn't have been prouder. he never forgot to mention you, either. whenever he had a free weekend, he'd spend most of it on facetime with you. whenever you had a difficult assignment at university, he'd stay awake far later than he should have just to keep you company while you worked.

sometimes neither of you even spoke. you'd simply leave the call running.

he'd be playing video games while you typed away at your laptop, both of you finding comfort in simply existing together despite being hundreds of miles apart.

"i wish i could hug you," he admitted quietly one evening.

you smiled sadly. "me too."

"i've forgotten what it feels like."

"you have not."

"i haven't." he looked at you through the screen. "but i'd like a reminder."

you laughed softly. "soon."

"you always say soon."

"because one day it'll be true."

he smiled. "i'll hold you to that."

neither of you realised just how close that day actually was.

the second year of long distance felt different.

the constant ache of missing him never disappeared, but it stopped feeling like an open wound and became something you carried with you quietly. jamal was no longer the nervous teenager who had left england with a suitcase and a dream. he had become a bayern player through and through—confident on the pitch, comfortable in front of the media and adored by fans who chanted his name every weekend.

and you were no longer the girl waiting by her phone for updates from another country.

you were graduating.

when your final results came through, your hands were shaking so badly that you almost dropped your laptop. the second you saw the word passed, you burst into tears and called jamal before you’d even told your parents.

he answered on the second ring, still in training gear.

“hey, baby— i passed.”

he blinked. then grinned. then started shouting. “you passed? you actually passed?”

you laughed through your tears. “yes!”

the next thing you knew, he was sprinting across what looked suspiciously like bayern’s training complex, phone bouncing in his hand.

“jamal, where are you going?”

“i don’t know!” he yelled, laughing breathlessly. “i’m just celebrating!”

in the background, you could hear someone shout, “musiala! training isn’t over!”

“that sounds like kimmich,” you said between laughs.

“it is kimmich.”

“go back before you get fined.”

“worth it. my girlfriend has a degree.”

the pride in his voice hit you harder than the actual result.

“you watched me cry over every assignment,” you murmured.

“and now i get to watch you graduate.”

he paused for a second, his smile softening.

“even if it’s through a screen.”

that sentence stayed with you long after the call ended. because that was the hardest part of long distance. he saw every milestone. just not in person.

he watched your graduation ceremony from a hotel room in germany while you sat in a cap and gown surrounded by friends and family. when your name was called, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a message from him.

jamal 🤍

that’s my girl

you smiled so hard the lecturer probably thought you were losing your mind.

after the ceremony, you stepped outside into the summer sun and immediately answered his facetime call. the first thing you saw was him standing in front of a mirror wearing a suit.

“why are you dressed like that?” you laughed.

“because if i couldn’t be there, i was at least going to look like i belonged there.”

your heart melted. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re officially a graduate.” he held up a bottle of sparkling water as if it were champagne. “to the smartest person i know.”

you pretended to clink your drink against the screen. “to the footballer who somehow survived my assignment breakdowns.”

he grinned. “barely.”

the call lasted nearly two hours.

by the end of it, you were both lying in bed in different countries, talking about nothing and everything the way you always did when neither of you wanted to hang up first.

“come visit me,” he said quietly.

“i will.”

“when?”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t want to.

because you’d been keeping a secret.

for the past few months, you’d been researching postgraduate programmes in germany. at first, it had been a passing thought, then a possibility, then something you couldn’t stop thinking about. the more you looked into it, the more it made sense. the course you wanted was offered in munich. the university was excellent. and, admittedly, the idea of waking up in the same country as jamal no longer felt impossible.

but you hadn’t told him. not yet.

“i might be coming sooner than you think,” you said carefully.

his eyebrows lifted immediately.

“what does that mean?”

“you’ll find out.”

“y/n.”

you smiled innocently. “nope.”

“please?”

“patience.”

he groaned dramatically. “you know i hate surprises.”

“good.”

“you’re evil.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

you laughed, and for the first time in a long time, the distance between you didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

because for the first time since he’d left england…

you had a plan.

and if everything went right, the next time you saw jamal musiala, you wouldn’t be saying goodbye at an airport.

you’d be coming home to him.

three months later, you found yourself sitting on a plane with your headphones on, staring out of the window as england slowly disappeared beneath the clouds.

your passport sat safely inside your backpack.

so, did you receive your acceptance letter from the university in munich?

you still couldn't quite believe it.

after months of applications, interviews and endless paperwork, you'd finally been accepted onto the postgraduate course you'd wanted. the move wasn't just because of jamal anymore—it was for your future too. you'd built a life for yourself in england, but now it was time to build another one in germany.

the only person who didn't know...

was jamal.

keeping the secret had been one of the hardest things you'd ever done. every time he complained about missing you, you wanted to tell him. every time he said he wished you were there after a match, you wanted to tell him. every time he joked about counting down the days until he could see you again, you wanted to tell him.

instead, you'd smiled through the screen and promised he'd see you soon. his parents had been the only people helping you pull the surprise together. his mum had insisted on collecting you from the airport, while his younger siblings had spent the past week sending you voice notes about how excited they were.

the moment your plane landed in munich, your heart started racing.

you were actually here. this wasn't a holiday. this wasn't a weekend visit. you were moving.

as you walked through arrivals with your suitcase trailing behind you, you immediately spotted jamal's mum waiting near the entrance.

the second she saw you, her face lit up. "there she is!"

you barely had time to let go of your suitcase before she wrapped you in the biggest hug imaginable.

"oh, we've missed you so much."

"i've missed you, too."

she pulled back, holding your shoulders as she looked at you. "he has absolutely no idea."

you laughed. "i know."

"he still thinks you're watching today's match from england."

"i almost felt bad lying."

"almost?"

"...maybe not."

the two of you laughed before loading your luggage into the car. the drive to the stadium flew by. you spent most of it catching up, talking about university, jamal and everything you'd missed over the last two years.

"he talks about you every day," his mum admitted with a smile.

"does he?"

"he still leaves his phone on loud at night in case you call."

your heart squeezed. "he does?"

"he says he never wants to miss you."

you looked down at your hands, trying not to smile too much. "i've missed him."

"we know."

a comfortable silence settled between you before she glanced over. "you're really staying this time?"

you nodded. "i am."

"no more airports?"

you smiled. "no more airports."

by the time you reached the stadium, your nerves had completely taken over. this was the first time you'd seen jamal in person in almost two years. you wondered whether he'd changed. whether he'd seem different.,whether he'd hug you the same way.

his family led you through the vip entrance before handing you your ticket.

"you'll sit with us," his dad said. "he'll never suspect a thing."

you thanked him before following everyone upstairs.

the moment you stepped into the lounge, a familiar voice squealed your name.

"oh, my god!"

you turned just in time to see latisha sprinting towards you.

she threw her arms around you so quickly that you almost lost your balance. "i've missed you!"

"i've missed you, too."

she stepped back, looking you up and down. "you're actually here!"

"i am."

"and you're staying?"

you nodded. "i'm staying."

his younger brother wandered over a moment later before wrapping his arms around your waist without saying a word.

you smiled, gently ruffling his hair. "hi."

he simply hugged you tighter. "i missed you, too."

his parents exchanged a knowing smile. it felt like you'd never left. soon enough, everyone made their way towards the seats. you sat between latisha and his mum, your heart beating faster with every passing minute. the stadium gradually filled. the lights grew brighter. music echoed around the arena.

then...

the players emerged from the tunnel. your eyes immediately found him. jamal. he looked older. more confident. more comfortable wearing bayern's colours than you'd ever imagined.

yet somehow...

he was still the same boy you'd fallen in love with all those years ago. he looked up towards the stands for a brief second. your breath caught.

thankfully...

he looked straight past you. the surprise was still safe.

now all you had to do was wait until the final whistle. ninety minutes had never felt so long.

you'd spent the entire match trying to focus on the football, but every time jamal touched the ball, your eyes followed him instinctively. it didn't matter that you'd watched every bayern match from england over the past two years—seeing him play in person again was completely different.

he looked happy. confident. like he belonged.

every successful dribble, every clever pass and every burst of pace had the bayern supporters rising to their feet, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

"he's gotten even better," you whispered.

his mum smiled knowingly. "he never stopped working."

you believed it.

even from another country, you'd watched him pour everything into becoming the player he'd dreamed of being.

the final whistle echoed around the stadium.

bayern had won 4-0.

jamal hadn't found the back of the net, but he'd been one of the best players on the pitch, earning a standing ovation as he applauded the travelling supporters.

"he'll probably be disappointed he didn't score," you laughed.

"he always is," his dad replied.

the family made their way downstairs once they were allowed onto the pitch, and you followed closely behind, your heart pounding so loudly you were convinced everyone around you could hear it. players were hugging one another, swapping shirts and thanking the fans while cameras captured every celebration.

jamal wandered across the pitch, smiling politely as teammates spoke to him, before reaching into his pocket.

his phone.

you couldn't help smiling. "he still does that?"

his mum laughed. "you're always the first person he calls."

you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. you looked down.

jamal 🤍

without thinking, you answered. "hello?"

"hi." his voice immediately softened. "i miss you."

you laughed quietly. "you've only just finished playing."

"i know, but i wanted to hear your voice."

you watched him from across the pitch as he absentmindedly looked around while speaking.

"i wish you were here."

"i might be closer than you think."

"hm?"

at that exact moment, your ringtone echoed faintly through the stadium. jamal frowned. he lowered his phone from his ear. the sound wasn't coming through the speaker anymore.

it was... behind him.

slowly, he turned around. his eyes scanned the pitch. past the photographers. past his teammates.until they landed on you.

for a second... he didn't move.

his brain seemed to stop working entirely.

"y..." he blinked once. then twice. "...y/n?"

you smiled. "hi."

his phone slipped from his hand onto the grass.he didn't even notice. instead, he broke into a sprint.

you barely had time to brace yourself before he crashed into you, wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you clean off the ground. the force of the hug made you laugh as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

"i've got you," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"i know."

"i've got you."

his face buried itself into the crook of your neck as he held you tighter than he'd ever held you before.

you could feel his shoulders trembling.

"jamal..."

"i missed you."

"i missed you, too."

"no..." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes already glassy. "you don't understand."

a small laugh escaped him through the emotion.

"i missed you every single day."

your own eyes filled with tears. "i know."

"i kept imagining this." he shook his head in disbelief. "but i didn't think it would actually happen."

you gently cupped his face. "i'm here."

he leaned into your touch immediately.

"how?"

"plane."

despite everything, he laughed. "you've still got the same terrible jokes."

"i had years to practise them."

"you should've practised harder."

you rolled your eyes. "i've just surprised my boyfriend after years apart, and that's the first thing you say?"

"i've missed teasing you." his forehead rested against yours. "so..." he smiled softly. "...how long are you staying?"

you looked at him for a moment before answering. "i don't have a return flight."

his eyebrows knitted together. "what?"

"i'm staying."

"...for a few weeks?"

you shook your head. "i'm moving to munich."

silence. "i got accepted into university here."

his lips parted, but no words came out.

"and..." you smiled. "...if you'll still have me..."

his eyes widened even further.

"...you'll never have to do long distance with me again."

for a heartbeat, he simply stared at you. then he laughed. not a chuckle. a full, breathless laugh of complete disbelief.

before kissing you. it wasn't rushed. it wasn't dramatic. it was simply years' worth of missed kisses poured into one. when you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling so widely your cheeks hurt.

"you've just made me the happiest man in germany."

you laughed. "i haven't even told you everything yet."

he tilted his head. "what else is there?"

"i've already accepted a job."

"you have?"

you nodded. "i'll be working with your media team."

he frowned, confused.

"as..." you smiled. "...your new pr manager."

for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, jamal was completely speechless. then he wrapped you in another hug. "i never have to say goodbye to you at an airport again."

you buried your face into his shoulder, smiling as tears pricked your eyes.

"no." you held him just a little tighter. "never again."

life in munich settled into a rhythm much faster than either of you expected.

the first few weeks were spent unpacking boxes, learning tram routes and getting used to hearing german spoken everywhere you went. thankfully, jamal's family were only a short drive away, and they refused to let you spend a weekend alone. whether it was dinner at their house or latisha dragging you out for coffee, they made sure munich felt like home before you even realised it had.

university kept you busy during the day, while your new role with bayern's media team slowly became second nature. you'd expected to feel intimidated walking into one of the biggest football clubs in the world, but everyone welcomed you warmly. it didn't take long before people stopped introducing you as jamal's girlfriend and started recognising you for your own work, something you were quietly grateful for.

the only downside?

seeing jamal at work, but having to act professionally.

"you ignored me today," he complained one evening as the two of you walked home hand in hand.

"i was working."

"you walked straight past me."

"there were cameras."

"you couldn't even smile?"

"i did smile."

"barely."

you laughed, bumping your shoulder against his. "if i keep stopping to talk to my boyfriend during work hours, people are going to think i'm biased."

"you are biased."

"i am not."

"you definitely are."

"i'm professional."

he gasped dramatically. "so i'm just another player now?"

"you said it, not me."

he stopped walking altogether.

you turned around to find him standing in the middle of the pavement with his arms folded across his chest.

"you're joking."

"i don't know..."

he raised an eyebrow.

"...am i?" you walked back over to him, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "you are such a child."

"so i've been told."

"you've survived years of long distance, moved me to germany and now you're sulking because i didn't wave at you during work?"

"i wanted attention."

"you get attention."

"not enough."

you reached up and kissed his cheek. "there."

he smiled immediately. "better."

"i knew that would work."

he slipped his fingers between yours again as the two of you continued walking. "i still can't believe you're actually here."

"you've only said that about fifty times."

"i'll probably say it another fifty."

"you can."

he glanced over at you, a soft smile spreading across his face. "you know what my favourite part of the day is?"

"what?"

"coming home."

you frowned. "really?"

he nodded. "before, whenever i walked through my front door, it was just... quiet. i'd call you, we'd talk for hours, and then we'd hang up because one of us had work in the morning."

his thumb absentmindedly traced circles over the back of your hand. "now i get to come home..." he looked at you. "...and you're already there."

your heart melted. "i've missed that too."

he stopped outside your apartment building before pulling you into another hug. "you know..."

"what?"

"i don't think i've properly thanked you."

"for what?"

"for taking a chance."

you looked at him curiously.

"you didn't move here just because of me. you came here for yourself, too."

"i did."

"but..." he smiled. "...you still chose to build your future with me in it."

you reached up and tucked one of his curls behind his ear.

"there was never anyone else i'd rather build it with."

his forehead rested against yours. "i love you."

"i love you too."

he smiled for a moment before speaking again.

"so..."

you narrowed your eyes.

"what?"

"now that we don't have long distance anymore..."

you already knew that tone.

"...can i finally steal all your hoodies without feeling guilty?"

you burst into laughter. "you already do that."

"i know."

"so why are you asking?"

"i just wanted official permission."

"you'll never get official permission."

he grinned. "guess i'll keep stealing them then."

you rolled your eyes affectionately before slipping your arm around his waist.

somehow, after years of airport goodbyes, tearful facetime calls and counting down the days until you could see one another again...

life had become wonderfully ordinary.

and neither of you would have traded that ordinary life for anything in the world.

hehe ofcc!! tysm for this req🫶

- 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 - jamal musiala

pairing: jamal musiala x student!reader

summary: jamal wakes up in the middle of the night to find you still buried in textbooks, and he’s determined to get you to rest.

warnings ! fluff, light angst, exam stress, sleep deprivation. <<not proofread!!>>

The blue light of your laptop screen felt like hot needles against the back of your eyelids, but you couldn't bring yourself to close them.

It was 5:14 AM.

Your desk was a crime scene of neon highlighters, half-scribbled flashcards, and three empty mugs of coffee that had gone cold hours ago. Your head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that sat right behind your forehead, but every time you thought about closing your eyes, panic spiked through your chest. Just one more chapter. Just ten more flashcards. If you fail this, everything goes down the drain.

Behind you, the duvet rustled.

You froze, holding your breath as a soft, sleepy groan echoed from the bed. You heard the heavy sound of a hand reaching out across the mattress, feeling around for a warmth that wasn't there.

A moment later, the blankets shifted again. Bare feet padded quietly across the hardwood floor.

"Y/N?"

Jamal’s voice was thick with sleep, deep and raspy in a way that usually made your heart skip a beat. But right now, you just felt a wave of guilt.

You didn't turn around. "Hey," you said softly, your voice dry from lack of use. "Go back to sleep, babe. I'm almost done."

You weren't almost done. You had at least three modules left to review.

Before you could say anything else, jamal’s heavy arms wrapped gently around your shoulders from behind. Jamal buried his face into the crook of your neck, his soft curls tickling your jaw. He smelled like clean laundry, and a mix of your favorite vanilla body mist.

"You haven't come to bed at all," he murmured softly against your skin, his chest rising and falling slowly against your back. "Baby... it's past five in the morning."

"I know, I know," you said, your fingers hovering helplessly over the keyboard. "I just... the exam is in two days, Jamal, and I feel like I don't know anything. I can't sleep yet."

Jamal didn't argue. He just sighed softly, reaching around you to gently press the Save button on your document before clicking your laptop lid shut.

"Hey—wait, Jamal, I'm using that—"

"No more," he whispered softly, but with a firmness that left no room for debate.

Before you could protest, his hands slipped under your knees and behind your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted you out of your desk chair. You let out a tiny gasp, reflexively clinging to his shoulders, your legs dangling as he carried you the few steps toward the bed.

"Jamal, please, I really need to finish—"

"You need to sleep," he said gently, setting you down on the mattress and pulling the thick duvet up over your shoulders before crawling in right beside you.

He pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and resting his chin on top of your head. He was so warm, so steady, exactly what you needed.

And that was all it took.

The moment your head hit the pillow, the weight of your exhaustion slammed into you. All the pressure, the late nights, the fear of failing, and the overwhelming burn out you'd been bottling up for weeks suddenly broke through.

A choked sob escaped your throat.

Jamal shifted instantly, his heart beating a steady rhythm against your cheek. "Oh, my love..."

"I'm so tired," you hiccuped, tears spilling over your eyelashes and soaking into the front of his t-shirt. You buried your face into his chest, your hands clutching at his back as the sob racked your entire frame. "I'm so tired, Jamal, and I'm scared I'm gonna fail, and I can't focus, and my head hurts so bad..."

"Shh, I know, I know," Jamal whispered, his voice overflowing with tender affection. He stroked your hair with long, soothing movements, kissing the crown of your head again and again. "You're okay. I've got you, baby. You're doing so well."

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," you sobbed softly, pressing closer into his warmth.

"You're not losing your mind, you're just exhausted," he murmured, his hand moving in calm circles over your back. "You've been working so hard, Y/N. Harder than anyone I know. But you can't run on no sleep. Let your brain rest for a few hours, okay? The notes will still be there tomorrow."

He pulled the blanket higher, tucking it snugly around your neck, completely cocooning you against him. One of his large hands slid up to gently cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling softly in your hair.

"Just breathe with me, yeah? In... and out."

You tried to match his slow, deep breaths. Little by little, as his thumb gently smoothed over your cheek to wipe away the stray tears, the loud pounding in your chest began to quiet down. The heavy weight behind your eyes started to pull you under.

"I've got you," Jamal whispered into the quiet room, his warm breath fanning across your temple. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up later, I promise."

You let out one final, shaky exhale, burying your nose into his neck. Surrounded by his scent and held tightly in his arms, your brain went quiet for the first time in weeks.

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

hugo ekitike x f!skinny!reader.

dating.

note: comme on dit skinny femme de milliardaire 🤭 cuz skinny girls have not much credits here 🤞🏼🤞🏼

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: hugo had always found it funny how easily he could pick you up and how small you waist is. actually no, not funny... he just loves it.

william saliba x black original character, angst

synopsis : the pottery date brought wilo some old memories

wc : 739

équipe de france masterlist

One where you and your daughter are at home dancing to some music and he gets home from practice and even though he’s very tired your daughter asks him to join you guys so he does bc he can never say no

Just Dance

William Saliba x Reader

William Saliba Masterlist

‎·༻𐫱༺·

‎·༻𐫱༺·

The music had been playing for long enough that you had completely lost track of how many times you and Alaia had danced around the living room. It had started with Alaia just feeling really hyper all of a sudden and was in the mood to dance so now the two of you were in the middle of the living room barefoot and laughing as Alaia’s little hands attempted to copy the moves that were made on screen on the TV. You had went onto YouTube to search up Just Dance videos for the two of you to follow.

“You have to do it like this Mama!” she insisted as she demonstrated a move.

You burst out laughing trying your best to imitate her. “Like this?”

“No!” Alaia giggled, “Like this!” She grabbed your hands again pulling you into another ridiculous little routine and you were still laughing when you heard the front door open.

Wilo ppeared in the doorway a few seconds later wearing his training clothes, he walked straight into a living room where his wife and daughter were dancing like nobody was watching. He stopped and started for a second until you turned around to meet his gaze

You smiled at him. “Hi my love.” As you went to kiss him.

“Hi,” he replied with his voice tired but amused.

Alaia immediately spotted him. “Papa!”she came running towards him as he bent down catching her as she threw herself into his arms and even though he looked exhausted, his entire expression softened.

“Hello my princess,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

“We’re dancing!”

“I can see that.” He chuckled.

“Come dance with us!”

Wilo glanced towards you and you were already smiling because you knew exactly what was about to happen. He looked back at Alaia. “Papa is tired.”

Alaia’s expression immediately fell. “Please?”

Wilo sighed.

You laughed quietly. “Come on Wilo it might be good for you”

“Good for me how?”

“You know like loosening up those joints.”

“Baby, I just had training, don’t you think my joints are loosens up enough?” He shook his head.

“Hm maybe, but you could still do with releasing the tension.” You giggled.

He looked at you with the faintest smile before turning back to Alaia who was still staring at him with those hopeful little eyes. “Okay.”

Her face lit up instantly. “Yayy!!” She threw her hands up

You shook your head. “You’re too soft.”

“I know.”

Alaia grabbed his hand before he could change his mind and dragged him towards the middle of the living room. Wilo was still wearing his training clothes with his movements slow at first as he tried to find the energy to participate but Alaia wasn’t accepting half hearted dancing because she wanted him fully involved. “Papa you have to dance properly!”

“I am dancing properly!” He defended himself.

“No you’re not!”

You covered your mouth trying not to laugh as Wilo looked at you for help. “You heard her,” you teased. “Apparently you’re not doing it properly Saliba”

He gave you a look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side… normally, but unfortunately tonight she’s the boss.”

Alaia nodded proudly. “I am the boss.”

Wilo laughed shaking his head before finally giving in. He started copying Alaia’s movements and exaggerating them just enough to make her laugh. Within seconds the exhaustion on his face had been replaced by a genuine smile as his attention completely focused on the little girl dancing beside him.

You watched them with your heart feeling full, this was one of those ordinary moments that you knew you would remember. Wilo had probably imagined coming home and resting after training bit tonight he found himself dancing with his daughter.

Alaia suddenly grabbed both of your hands. “Now all three of us!”

You laughed as she pulled you closer putting one of your hands into Wilo’s and grabbing the other herself. Wilo looked at you and you looked back at him with amusement and so the three of you continued dancing.

Wilo’s movements were still slightly lazy from exhaustion and you were laughing too much to follow the routine properly and Alaia was in the centre of it all completely delighted with herself. She spun around and threw herself against William’s legs. “Papa you did it!”

“I did it?”

“Yes! You’re a dancer now.”

William crouched down smiling at her. “Really?”

She nodded seriously. “Yes.”

He looked over at you. “You hear that? I’m a dancer.”

“You should quit football and start a new career.” You joked

He laughed. “Absolutely not.”

Alaia giggled wrapping her arms around his neck when he picked her up. Wilo kissed her cheek repeatedly until she squealed and tried to push his face away. “Papa!”

“What?”

“It tickles! Stop!”

“You don’t like kisses?”

“No!”

“Okay.” He immediately kissed her cheek again as Alaia bursts into laughter and you couldn’t help smiling as you watched them. Wilo came over to you with Alaia still in his arms and he leaned down pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek briefly against yours. “You two have too much energy,” he murmured.

You smiled. “And yet you joined us.”

He glanced at Alaia who was now resting comfortably against his shoulder. “I can’t say no to her.”

“I know.”

“And you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me too?”

He gave you a tired little smile. “Especially you.”

You smiled reaching up to kiss his lips while Alaia rested peacefully in his arms.

The living room flashes bright colours in the background as the Just Dance musics video is were still playing behind you with the volume turned down. Playing just dance wasn’t something Wilo returned to every time he came back from training but yet every time he returns to his girls it always feels like home.

synopsis — spider-man keeps interrupting your dates. does he know you from somewhere?

# series warnings: faint angst. fluff. not bnd spoilers but bnd peter. yearning peter. reader forgets him.

# wc: 2,4k

# mia’s note: this is the introduction okay. i know it isn’t SUPER but it’s the intro and i wrote this when i was sad and it was literally my only inspiration. i love you all. with sooo much love, mia.

part 1/6

football masterlist peter parker masterlist

“i am not going.”

you were standing in front of your bedroom mirror, one earring in and the other still sitting on the dresser, while your phone was propped against a stack of books on speaker.

“you said that yesterday.”

“i meant it yesterday.”

“and you’re going tonight.”

you stared at your reflection. you were wearing a simple black dress, nothing too formal. your hair was pinned back loosely, leaving a few strands around your face. you had spent twenty minutes telling yourself that you weren’t trying. which, unfortunately, meant you had spent twenty minutes trying not to look like you were trying.

“i don’t understand why you care so much.”

“because you’re lonely.”

you frowned. “i am not lonely.”

“you ate takeout alone three nights this week.”

“that is called dinner.”

“you watched six episodes of the same show.”

you sighed and reached for your other earring.

lily softened. “look, i’m not trying to force you into a relationship. just go. have dinner. talk to someone new. if you hate him, you can leave.”

“you always say that.”

she smiled, fixing your hair. “because it’s true.”

“and if he’s awful?”

“text me.”

“and if he’s boring?”

“text me.”

“and if he starts talking about cryptocurrency?”

“run.”

you laughed despite yourself. “fine.”

there was a victorious little noise from the other end of the phone. “thank you.”

“one hour.”

“perfect.”

peter parker had spent the last few months learning how to live with ghosts. not literal ghosts, because those would have been easier.

ghosts didn’t laugh in grocery stores. they didn’t walk past him on the sidewalk wearing the perfume he’d once loved. they didn’t exist in photographs he’d hidden at the bottom of a drawer. they didn’t have your face.

peter had gotten very good at looking away. he’d learned to keep his eyes on the ground when he passed familiar places. he’d stopped taking certain streets, stopped visiting certain coffee shops and stopped letting himself wonder what you were doing.

it was better this way. the spell had worked and everyone had forgotten him including you.

that had been the point. peter was supposed to be grateful.

and he was. he was, because he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt because of the beasts and monsters that were his and his to fight only.

until he saw you. during one of his night patrols by the grocery store. you were walking down the sidewalk with your phone in one hand and your purse hanging from your shoulder.

he recognized you instantly because of course he did. the familiar sway of your hips and your smell. he could have recognized you from a hundred rooftops.

you were wearing black and your hair was pinned back and you were smiling at something on your phone.

and you looked so incredibly beautiful. like all of the times he’d seen you before.

he would watch you. from far away always, of course. sometimes, after a really hard day, he would sleep two or three hours in your fire escape after watching you by the sliver of your window.

peter stopped moving. he was halfway through changing direction when his brain caught up with his heart.

he turned away. he had no right; you didn’t know him. you didn’t remember him. that was the deal. he had promised himself he wouldn’t interfere.

he took one step and then another, but then a voice behind him caught his attention. “hey!”

peter turned instinctively. a man came sprinting around the corner carrying a duffel bag. two police cars were turning onto the street behind him.

peter’s body moved before his brain did.

he sighed. “of course.”

he pulled his mask over his face. then he ran.

you were three blocks from the restaurant when you heard shouting and saw people scattered across the sidewalk.

a man shoved past you just before a red-and-blue blur swung between two buildings.

you looked up. “oh.”

spider-man landed on the hood of a parked car.

the impact made the alarm go off and he immediately jumped down. “sorry!”

you stared.

he looked around, a bit stunned by what was going on, then directly at you.

you weren’t sure why, but he froze.

it was brief. a fraction of a second. yet you didn’t miss it.

the masked superhero seemed to forget what he was doing.

he looked away. “hi.”

you blinked. “hi?”

“sorry,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you kind of landed on a car.”

“yeah,” he looked at the dent. “that’s probably going to be expensive.”

she gulped. she couldn’t believe it. it was spider-man, whom she saw faintly when she walked outside of work or in the news. he was right in front of her, speaking to her too. “you’re spider-man.”

he let out a breathy laugh. slightly nervous. “yeah.”

“and i can see that.”

“right,” he glanced over his shoulder.

the police were getting closer. the thief was gone and the street was slowly settling.

you checked your phone. 7:21 pm. your date was at 7:30.

you had only nine minutes to get there and you were feet rooted in place fangirling over the town’s superhero.

you took a deep breath, trying to regulate your nervous system and lower the cortisol that you were so sure was over the roof. and with that, you started walking again.

spider-man watched you.

then, “wait.”

you stopped, hairs rising as your turned to him.

he jogged after you.

you forced a smile in your stunned state. “yes?”

“you’re going somewhere?”

you looked at him. “dinner.”

he nodded. “with friends?”

“a date.”

something about his posture changed. it was subtle. his shoulders dropped. his head tilted down. “right.”

you raised an eyebrow. “what?”

“nothing.”

“you looked disappointed.”

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

“i just…” he gestured vaguely. “dates.”

“what about them?”

“nothing.”

you smiled. “you don’t like dates?”

“i have complicated feelings about them.”

you laughed. “why?”

“long story.”

you glanced down at your phone. “i have nine minutes.”

he stared at you for a few seconds. then, unexpectedly, laughed. the sound warm and familiar enough to make your smile falter.

something about that laugh tugged at you, but you didn’t know why. perhaps your fangirling was taking one more step and you needed to put a stop to it. he was only a man after all.

spider-man noticed the change in your expression. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you looked at him for another second. “just…”

“what?”

you shook your head slightly. “you sound familiar.”

his entire body went still. “what?”

“your laugh,” you shrugged. “i don’t know. never mind.”

peter’s heart was pounding so hard he was certain you could hear it.

you couldn’t. and thankfully, because if you had, you would have heard the sound of a man realizing that the person he’d loved most in the world had recognized something without knowing what it was.

he felt a pain on his chest so sharp that he didn’t know what to do. nothing felt sharper than feeling so helpless, because there was nothing that he could do. he couldn’t help you remember.

he forced himself to move. “you should go.”

you glanced at your phone. “probably.”

he nodded. “have a good date.”

you looked at him and smiled softly. “you too.”

peter paused for a second to then realize what you’d said.

“right.”

you started walking without looking back and he watched you go. every instinct told him to follow, but every memory told him not to. so he stayed where he was.

for approximately four seconds. just after, he heard someone shout from behind him.

he turned and a delivery truck had lost control at the intersection.

he sighed. “seriously?”

you never made it to the restaurant. approximately forty-five seconds after you left spider-man standing behind you, the entire street erupted into chaos.

a truck skidded through the intersection.

you heard screaming. your body reacted before you could.

you backed toward the building and a web shot past your face.

a hand caught your waist as you were pulled backward.

the world blurred for a second. you closed your eyes forcefully as if getting ready for some kind of impact, but you felt yourself standing safely against the wall.

you opened your eyes slowly and spider-man was between you and the street. “you okay?”

you stared at him. “you just—”

“yeah,” he looked over his shoulder. “sorry.”

“you keep apologizing.”

he glanced back at you. “i do that.”

you stared. there was something about the way he said it. casual and a bit sheepish as if someone had teased him about it before.

you frowned. “have we met?”

peter’s heart stopped. “no.”

again, too quickly. you noticed because he was not slick and he knew you noticed because he wasn’t stupid.

you narrowed your eyes. “are you sure?”

“pretty sure,” he looked away.

you laughed softly. “okay.”

the truck was stopped now and police were rushing toward the scene. he could go now. do whatever the night urged him to do.

spider-man turned to leave.

“wait,” you called out.

he looked back.

“you’re not going to make sure i’m okay?”

his shoulders visibly relaxed and you could tell that he took a breath.

“yeah,” a smile crept into his voice. “i can do that.”

you sat on the steps of a closed storefront while spider-man stood a few feet away, watching the street.

the date was officially ruined. there was nothing reason to go to it if the universe kept going everything in its power to stop you from getting there. it was a sign.

your phone buzzed.

hey, i’m here

table near the window

you replied.

i’m sorry. something came up.

spider-man looked over. “you okay?”

“yeah.”

“you sure?”

you shrugged. “my date thinks i’m standing him up.”

“you are.”

you looked at him. “that sounded a bit judgmental.”

“it didn’t.”

“it did.”

“i’m not judging.”

“good.”

“i’m just saying…” he shrugged. “maybe he deserves better than someone who cancels because a truck crashed.”

he didn’t mean to belittle you in any way or make it seem like you were not enough for your date. but he needed to find a way to keep you from going to him every day.

you stared at him. “you’re the reason i had to cancel.”

he pointed at himself. “me?”

“yes.”

he shook his head. “i saved your life.”

“you interrupted my date.”

“i saved your life and interrupted your date.”

“that doesn’t make it better.”

he laughed again. that laugh.

you looked at him. “you really do sound familiar.”

peter’s smile faded. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you couldn’t explain it. there was something strange about him.

not just his voice but also the way he moved. the way he kept his hands tucked close to his body when he was uncomfortable. the tilt of his head when you talked. the way he apologized.

the way he looked at you. almost like… no. you shook the thought away.

“never mind.”

he sat beside you. close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

“so,” he said, “was it going to be bad date?”

“well yes. but i never met him.”

“then how do you know it’s bad?”

“because my friend chose him.”

peter laughed. “that doesn’t mean anything.”

you glanced at him. “you’re not very mysterious for someone wearing a mask.”

peter cleared his throat. “i am mysterious.”

“you told me you don’t like dates.”

“i have secrets.”

“such as?”

he looked at you to then look away quickly. “just secrets.”

you smiled. “okay.”

a quiet settled between you. it wasn’t uncomfortable and you should have been nervous. you were sitting beside a masked vigilante on a sidewalk in new york after missing a date with a complete stranger.

instead, you felt strangely calm. almost comfortable.

you looked at the time. 8:03.

“wow.”

he hummed absentmindedly. “what?”

“we’ve been sitting here for forty minutes.”

he looked at you. “really?”

“yeah.”

“i thought it was five.”

you smiled. “so did i.”

for a moment, the mask felt too small. he wanted to tell you. he wanted to tell you that he would swing you around when the night felt too uncomfortable. that most nights he picked you up and helped you sneak out so you could sleep at his before school.

he wanted to rip the mask off. he wanted to say your name the way he used to, and wanted to hear you say his.

but he couldn’t. not yet. maybe never. because you didn’t deserve to be pulled into his world. kind and sweet y/n. he couldn’t.

so he stood. “i should go.”

you looked up. “already?”

peter hesitated. that single word almost broke him. he wanted nothing more than to stay with you. talking to you and seeing your pretty face.

“yeah.”

you nodded. “okay.”

he stepped backward. “hey.”

you looked at him. “yeah?”

“don’t let your friend pick the next guy.”

you laughed. “i’ll try.”

“and…” he hesitated. “maybe next time, pick somewhere with fewer trucks.”

you smiled. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

“goodnight.”

“goodnight, spider-man.”

he swung away. you watched until he disappeared.

peter landed three rooftops away. he tore his mask off and the cold air hit his face.

he bent forward, hands on his knees, trying to breathe.

he’d spent months telling himself that seeing you again wouldn’t matter. that he could survive knowing you were happy without him. he’d rather have you safe and unaware than risk pulling you back into a life you hadn’t chosen.

he’d believed all of that. until tonight. because you’d looked at him. and for one tiny second—you’d almost recognized him.

peter sat down on the edge of the roof.

he pulled his mask into his lap.

his eyes closed.

“she heard my laugh.”

a shaky smile appeared.

it was pathetic. he knew it was. but he couldn’t stop smiling.

you’d heard his laugh. you’d noticed the way he apologized. you’d looked at him like something about him belonged to you even if you didn’t know why.

peter looked out over the city. then, very quietly, he said your name, the same way he’d said it a thousand times before.

softly.

he knew he couldn’t keep doing this. he knew he should stay away. but as he pulled his mask back over his face, one thought slipped through all the reasons he had carefully built around himself.

maybe next time.

and somewhere below him, completely unaware of what she was feeling, you were walking home with the strangest smile on your face.

you couldn’t explain why the evening hadn’t felt like a ruined date. why you’d enjoyed sitting on a sidewalk with a masked stranger and why his laugh had felt familiar. you couldn’t explain any of it.

🕸️ synopsis: moving into your new nyc apartment a few months ago came with one unexpected perk: djed, the quiet neighbor two doors down. he’s soft-spoken, wears oversized hoodies, and always smells ridiculously good. you’ve had a massive crush on him since day one, but his constant exhaustion and sneak outs at the most bizarre hours of the night leave you with more questions than answers.

pairing: spidey!djed spence x reader(afab) genre: spider-man au, smut, NSFW warnings: tipsy reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, creampie, light praise, wrist bondage wc: 8.3k a/n: guys don’t yell at me but i’ve never watched a spider-man movie in my life..