nunufx.

a = aftercare
he’s surprisingly soft. michael pulls you into his chest, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand gently strokes your hair or your back. he kisses your temple and makes sure you’re okay before he gets up to bring you water or a cloth. he likes holding you until both of you drift off.

b = body part
his favorite on himself is his hands, fingers he knows exactly how to use on you. on you, it’s your ass and thighs. he’s obsessed with gripping, spreading and watching them move when he takes you from behind.

c = cum
he prefers finishing inside you, burying himself deep while he groans your name. he loves the sight of his cum leaking out of you and has a habit of pushing it back in with his fingers. he also enjoys cumming on your tongue when you’re on your knees for him.

d = dirty secret
he sometimes gets hard during training thinking about the way you sound when he fucks you against the wall. he’s had to hide it more than once when a certain memory hits him mid-drill.

e = experience
not very experienced for his age but he knows what he’s doing. he’s still very attentive and always learning what makes you lose control.

f = favorite position
doggy style. he loves the view, the way he can grip your hips hard and watch himself disappear inside you. he also enjoys you riding him so he can look up at your face and play with your chest.

g = goofy
he has a playful side. he’ll tease you with that smile mid-thrust or whisper something cocky that makes you laugh before he suddenly goes deep and wipes the smile off your face.

h = hair
neatly trimmed and well-groomed. he keeps everything clean and tidy down there.

i = intimacy
very intense eye contact. he likes foreheads pressed together, deep kisses and holding your hands above your head while he moves inside you. he makes you feel desired and sexy the entire time.

j = jack off
he masturbates regularly, especially when he’s away with the team. quick sessions in the shower while thinking about you, often after calling you.

k = kink
he’s into light choking, hair pulling and a bit of breeding kink. he also has a thing for mirror sex and loves marking your thighs and neck.

l = location
his place, hotel rooms after matches and the occasional risky car or changing room quickie when no one is here. he likes privacy but the thrill of almost getting caught turns him on.

m = motivation
your moans, the way you say his name when you’re close, seeing you in his jersey and when you get a little bratty and challenge him. your scent and the way you look at him when you're on your knees also drive him crazy.

n = no
he’s not into heavy degradation, extreme pain, or anything involving other people.

o = oral
excellent at giving. he’s got a talented tongue and uses those long fingers at the same time, eating you out. he loves receiving too, the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth makes him weak.

p = pace
he can go from slow and teasing to deep and rough very quickly. he usually builds it up sensual then fucks you hard when he can’t hold back anymore.

q = quickie
he’s a big fan of quickies, especially before or after matches when adrenaline is high. he’s very good at making them count.

r = risk
he’s open to experimenting and enjoys some risk, but he’s protective of your privacy and won’t push too far.

s = stamina
very high. young, fit and professional footballer so he can go multiple rounds and lasts a long time, easily ready again after a short break.

t = toys
he owns a few (vibrators, a plug or two) and loves using them on you. watching you fall apart with a toy while he fucks your mouth is one of his favorites.

u = unfair
extremely unfair. he loves edging you, slowing down right when you’re about to cum, and smirking while you beg. he’ll tease until you’re shaking.

v = volume
even if he's shy in real life, he’s vocal in bed: low groans, heavy breathing, whispered dirty talk and your name when he cums. he gets louder the closer he gets.

w = wild card
he once fucked you right after a match in the hotel, still sweaty in his kit, too impatient to take everything off.

x = x-ray
long with a nice thickness and a slight curve. he keeps it well-groomed and always smells fresh.

y = yearning
high sex drive. he wants you often, sometimes multiple times a day when you’re together.

z = zzz
he falls asleep fairly fast once he’s done but only after pulling you close, kissing your shoulder, and making sure you’re comfortable against him.

But you knew what the media coverage would be like. A footballer dating a model or anyone was one thing. A footballer dating a popstar was another. The scrutiny was increased, and you did not want it to impede him. Or yourself. You did not want paparazzi to chase him, inquiring about you. And you certainly did not wish to be blamed if he ever had the misfortune of losing a match.

Still, the frustration was there, bubbling up. Love was to be lived. Cherished, not hidden.

So you wrote a song. At first, it was just to get your feelings out. To pour out the love you had for Michael. Then your producer sent you a beat, you figured out a melody line, and next thing you knew, you had a new single.

And all that was needed now was the music video. The artistic direction was already set, and the director was found. The set designs were nearly done being built, the choreography mastered, and the looks agreed upon.

There was only one box left unchecked: the actor.

You were sitting on the floor of Michael's living room. When you were not tending to your popstar duties abroad, you lived with him in Munich. You'd be the first one he'd see when waking up, kissing you goodbye before leaving for practice. And you'd be the last one he'd see when going to bed, kissing you good night before falling asleep. A little, sweet, cozy routine.

Hunched over the coffee table, your braids pooling on the lacquered wood, you browsed through a file of pictures your team had sent you. Potential actors or models to star in the video. Though, truthfully, you were not quite excited about any of them. They were handsome; looks were not the problem. But you could not project yourself with any of them.

"Should I get worried that you're reviewing a file full of men's pictures?"

You let out a chuckle as the couch right behind you sank as Michael sat down. His locs were let loose, grazing slightly against his shoulder blades. He had discarded his shirt, leaving his upper body fully nude for your eyes to enjoy. The black ink of his tattoos contrasted gently against the warm brown of his skin as the lighting emphasized the sculpt of his abs and biceps. His sweatpants were low enough to give a glimpse of the black lettering on his boxers' white waistband: Calvin Klein.

The corner of his lips curled up. "Eyes are up there, babe."

"Sorry." You looked away, face flushed. It had been months since you both had been together, yet you were always rendered in awe whenever his shirt was off.

Michael leaned on his knees and gently grabbed your chin to make you look at him. Your breath hitched, your eyes blinking a little too fast, as his lips hovered ever so slightly above yours. Taunting you. His breath tickled your mouth so teasingly.

Months have passed, and yet Michael always made you feel as though it was the first day.

"Don't play coy just to distract me," he said, his low voice sending chills down your spine. "Answer the question, babe."

As enthralled by his simple presence as you were, it was still amusing how his jealousy shone through despite his trying to act all nonchalant about it.

"I'm looking for my next lover."

You purposely phrased it ambiguously and were quite satisfied when the frown on his brow deepened. You giggled and pecked his lips.

"My next music video, baby," you added, putting an end to his woes. "I'm looking for the guy who will play my love interest in my next music video. These are the profiles my team sent me."

"Mhm." He looked back at the pictures scattered on the coffee table. "What's the song again?"

"Mr. Nonchalant."

He cocked his head to the side, that same smirk back on his lips. "So you're looking for another man to play your love interest for a song about me instead of asking me?"

You stared at him, taken aback.

"You'd be down to star in my video?" You asked, eyes wide.

He nodded. "You just have to ask me."

Truth be told, Michael had been the very first one you thought of when you first imagined the music video. After all, the song literally was about him. But you were well aware of his shy nature when cameras were rolling, and the fact that he was a very private person when it came to his relationships. Especially with you. He knew how much people picked on your life and examined your every move under a microscope, so he wanted to protect what you both had.

"Well, of course, I want to, but..."

"But what?"

You rested your chin on his knee, your hand finding his calf as you gently caressed it. "Are you really okay with going public? I don't want you to regret it or to weigh on you..."

Michael's hand cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. His movements were so tender and his palm so warm that you snuggled closer into it.

"Why would I regret it?" He asked. "I'm not ashamed of you."

You relaxed against him. It had been silly to think he would ever worry about such a thing. When it came to football, he only cared about the game and despised media duty. And when it came to you, he only cared about you. He only loved you. He only breathed you. He'd ignore the media and discussions like he'd do after a match. Because what they think does not matter; only you do.

"I don't mind going public," he added. "And I usually don't care who you act with, but that song's mine. So it's gotta be me."

You laughed as you leaned back against the table.

"What? It's true." He nodded at your laptop lying in a corner. "You wrote that about me, yeah? So I star in the video."

All you could do was smile so bright that your eyes squinted. Then, you moved closer and cupped his face, pressing your lips against his. Michael's arms quickly wrapped around your waist, pulling you to sit on his lap. He pressed you against him as your arms enclosed his neck.

"And you wear my jersey too," he added against your lips.

You giggled again. "You really want everyone to know, huh?"

He smiled. "No room for confusion."

And there had been truly no room for confusion.

Truth be told, though he very happily volunteered to star in your music video, Michael was quite nervous when he got on set, all dressed up. He liked what he was wearing: a durag, a sleeveless jacket with nothing underneath showing off his toned body and tattoos, silver chains sitting on his collarbone, and baggy jeans. Very stylish. Very fashionable. Very hot.

But he was no actor, and he did not want to ruin your work that was always so perfect. Although when he saw you walking into the set, all his worries vanished, your long braids swaying behind you with every step you took.

His eyes first noticed the shirt you were wearing. His jersey. A smirk played on his lips at the sight. The bottom was tucked into your bra to make it look cropped. Then his eyes slowly moved down onto your body, lingering on your belly ring. And before he could stop himself, his tongue dragged on his lower lip, seeing the strings of your thong past your low-rise jeans, sitting nicely on your hips. The color especially caught his attention.

I like your eyes 'cause they match my thong

He remained still, observing you from afar as you conversed with the director. He kept his thoughts in check, but Michael planned on keeping you awake for most of the night.

The storyline was simple: you were trying to seduce the only man who appeared to give you no attention. And though the man appeared not to care, he was, in reality, very enthralled by you.

And Michael had no difficulty playing his part.

It was as if the cameras had disappeared, as if they did not exist. All his attention was fully on you. His attention was always on you whenever you entered a room. It was only a natural reaction for him to have his eyes immediately find you and remain on you as if his focus, his whole mind, belonged to you.

Hug on me, why you hugging up on the wall? Looking like you ain't done nothing wrong before

When you walked past him in the club, Michael maintained eye contact, then blatantly let his gaze linger on your butt as you looked at him over your shoulder with a smile. When he sat at a table while you danced on a stage, he stared shamelessly as you swayed and rolled your hips tantalizingly. When he was asked to tease you, he had too much fun pulling you by the waist, his eyes fixed on your lips, before walking away right after.

Though you both played it off as acting, Michael knew he had an actual effect on you, which placed a permanent smirk on his lips. When he hooked his finger to one of your belt hoops and pulled you closer, he knew that your breath hitch was no theatrics. When he trapped you against the wall, he knew that your clutch on his arms was performance. When he'd openly check you out, he knew that the blush on your cheeks was no pretense. It was so easy to fluster you, and it was so easy for you to make him utterly and completely lose his mind without much trying.

Hey, Mr. Nonchalant I'm Mrs. Get-Anything-I-Want

And this game of cat and mouse was even more amusing than you first imagined. You acting all frustrated when he'd ignore you, or rather purposely playing hard to get; you comically tossing your hair back or lowering your already low-rise jeans just to taunt him. It was the right amount of sensuality mingled with comedy.

The chemistry was so obvious it was almost painful for the crew to watch the two of you, sometimes feeling as though they were intruding on something. The way you looked at each other, the way you touched each other, the way you smiled at each other. If you were not already dating, rumors would have definitely spread the second the music video hit YouTube.

Brace yourself, we got time to beat Pace yourself when you're downing me

Michael hovered over you as you lay on a bed, the tip of your fingers brushing his glistening abs. He held your chin when you were both sitting in a booth, his other arm resting on the backrest behind you. His hand settled on your clothed thigh, barely hiding the fact that he was palming it as you pretended not to notice. His fingers traced up your spine as he hugged you, from your low-rise jeans to under your jersey, his name and number displayed for the camera.

The chemistry and tension were almost too unbearable.

But given the song and the lyrics, it was exactly what was needed. When you had first finished the song, you were ready to let it gather dust in the vault and never release it. It was embarrassing that you wrote about your desire for your boyfriend so shamelessly. It was not the first time you had written about real people in your life, but it was a first that you went in that direction.

And surprisingly, it was Michael who pushed you to put it in your upcoming album. Actually, it was not surprising at all. He was wearing the biggest grin when he first listened to it while you were basically hiding your face behind your hands.

"You really want me that bad, huh?" he had teased you, glancing at you dying on the couch.

"Shut up."

He laughed, looking back at the lyrics in your notebook.

"I mean, you said it yourself, right?" he had continued and read, "Pourin' heavy... All this teasing is turning me on and on... I like all kind of prints... It's you that I wanna follow home--"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" You had thrown a pillow at him, only making him double over with laughter. "My god, I'm never releasing this."

It was quite ironic as your very hand wrote these lyrics, though was now adamant to never have anyone see this or hear this song.

And it would have been the case had Michael never objected to it.

He had pulled you by the arm, then held you by the waist.

"The song's amazing, it'd be a shame to keep it in the vault," he said.

"It's embarrassing."

"It's sexy," he had corrected. "Release it, babe. You did amazing."

Michael was barely hiding his intentions. He never meddled with your career, especially your album tracklisting. But aside from it being a good song, it was a song about him. It was more than flattering that you wrote a song about your desire for him. It only spoke of the love you had for him, so burning, so strong you could not keep it in and had to turn it into art. Michael was moved. Deeply. And the thought of you claiming him in front of the whole entire world made his stomach flutter in excitement and love.

And the whole world sure got the message. As expected, the music video went viral, with all social media platforms sharing it and talking about it. Your releasing new music was already an event in itself, but having Michael star in it did add more visibility and curiosity, as well as excitement. The surprise factor brought engagement.

Y/N gifs @/YNgifs • 23h

OLISE STARING IN (Y/N)'S NEW MUSIC VIDEO WTF???

🗨 239 ⇄ 6.8k ❤︎ 110.8k

Petal out now @/Petersmiserablelife • 23h They look so good omg Aggamenon @/tpascontenttriplé • 23h "I SHIP THEM" I screamed as they dragged me back to the asylum

Best of Y/N @/bestofYN • 23h

The way I gasped

🗨 170 ⇄ 5.4k ❤︎ 80.6k

Ballon d'Or @/hesaidmuymuy • 23h She knew to slut him out in the video Y/N's Grammy Awards @/BJisnothislover • 23h Miss (Y/N), thank you for giving the people what they were craving 🤝🏾 Did we have fun here??? @/whataschmuck • 22h Ok but can we talk about how good she looks in the video???

Olise's beanie @/itfeltgood • 22h

A song called Mr. Nonchalant and Michael Olise starring, oooh (Y/N) your miiiind

🗨 307 ⇄ 6.4k ❤︎ 106.7k

For example, nothing @/annieRUokay • 22h "Fine shit, gotta look twice." I think that song is straight up about him PYTs don't do drama @/dancingqueen • 22h Who would have thought that her wearing his jersey in her Paris show last year would have brought us to this iconic moment

Y/N reactions @/YNreactions • 20h

"No special occasion, but you could wear me like a necktie" (Y/N) girl, what do you mean by that? 🤨🤨

🗨 249 ⇄ 2.9k ❤︎ 50.8k

Do you want me to apologize @/URavegetable • 20h I think it's pretty obvious 🤭 I'm too competitive @/likeacandlewax • 19h She wants to make wine with him

Olise's socks @/goatlise • 21h

Waiiiit... the tension between them is too strong to be fake

🗨 287 ⇄ 4.4k ❤︎ 81.5k

Maynard @/loveu3000 • 21h If they're dating, it might be the best hard launch in history Susie got your number @/tranquilodequoitoi • 20h Chemistry so strong I was blushing watching the video 🫣🫣

Y/Ndefender @/YNpeopleprincess • 19h

Soooo are they or are they not together because Olise was literally eating her with his eyes throughout the entire video

🗨 310 ⇄ 5.1k ❤︎ 90.8k

Apple Pie A La Mode @/11minutostarde • 19h I mean, have you seen her? I'd be looking at her like that too if I were starring in her video. I have no idea @/includingjermaine • 19h I've genuinely never seen him smile this much, and given that man can't act, it was 100% his genuine reaction to her Number 11 @/cpascarre • 18h I think the close-up on the jersey when he was touching her spine is a dead giveaway. They're 100% dating. She never acted like this with any of her male leads before. Chemistry was off the roof with Michael

Olise truther @/ladyinyourlife • 18h

You can't convince me they are not dating, look at the way he looks at her

🗨 290 ⇄ 5.2k ❤︎ 100.8k

Olise's locs @/goldenpantslover • 18h He was ready to show Shibuya a real incident Brand New Day out now @/petermjforever • 18h If I were her, I would have asked "What are we?" after that 'cause that's the look of love right there Y/N's gowns @/itsawonderfulday • 17h He has to get in line though, we were here before him

The music video crashed the internet. Nearly half a million tweets mentioned your name; another half a million mentioned Michael's; some fans celebrated as they had been wishing for the relationship for a while; others were more cautious, not wanting to put a label on what may just be a friendship.

For days, it was the topic both the football sphere and the music world were talking about. After all, such a crossover was always the most glamorous yet improbable link-up. It was not the first time a pop star dated a footballer--Victoria and David Beckham may be the blueprint. The reference. It always garnered fascination, especially as you and Michael were still young and very active in your respective fields.

It had only increased when the behind-the-scenes video was uploaded, in which you were shown sitting on his lap or fixing his clothes multiple times. Michael could barely keep his hands to himself during breaks: an arm around your waist or a hand playing with your hair. And let's not even mention that TikTok you posted to promote the song.

Actually, let's talk about it. You were dancing and lip-syncing in the forefront, then disappeared for a split second to drag Michael into the video. He had the most radiant of smiles, stretching from one ear to the other so much that his eyes were squinting. The same eyes that never left you, even just for a millisecond, as you kept dancing and singing. In fact, his smile was getting bigger, if that was even possible. And the look of pure adoration in his eyes was so potent and clear.

It was just so painfully obvious. And not so nonchalant from Mr. Nonchalant.

So, of course, both your comment sections from all social media were flooded with the same question: Are you guys really together?

And quite honestly, it was entertaining to watch unfold. With your head on his shoulder and your arms hugging his arm, you watched as Michael scrolled through Twitter on his burner account. He had a never-fading grin on his face, liking all the posts praising you, sometimes saving a screenshot of you that someone had posted. His shoulders shook as he let out a chuckle, reading a tweet of someone who had browsed every photograph ever posted online to find past hints. They noticed an instance where you had worn one of his shirts or another where you had used one of his pairs of sunglasses.

"I told you they'd love it," Michael told you, showing you an nth tweet praising you.

You kissed his bare shoulder. "But I feel like you're the one who loves it most."

His grin grew wider, and he leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. "You do look stunning in my jersey."

You rolled your eyes and rested your head back on his shoulder, your cheeks suddenly a deeper shade. As much as he loved that you claimed him to the world, he also particularly liked that the world knew you were his. There was just something so... sexy in having you wear his name on your back.

Michael loved privacy. It was something he cared about a lot. He owed nothing to the world, and neither did you. But he was also proud to love you. He was proud to be your man. He was proud you were his girl. He was well aware of the luck he had.

So of course, he had to share your post in his Instagram story. A post so telling. And it was the confirmation the internet did not really need, for it was so obvious like a fork found in the kitchen: you and Michael Olise were dating. And you both were very much in love.

🟣 yourusername_ ✔

♫ Y/N • Mr. Nonchalant

❤︎ 9.8M 🗨 48.6k ⇄ 1M ⌲ 220k

○●● Liked by m.olise, k.mbappe and others

yourusername_ (my) Mr. Nonchalant

And indeed, no room for confusion. At all.

•☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•

Taglist: @smoothcriminalgf @hitwn @watamotee33 @ynniksslirg @soobieewoobiee @moonlightx14 @taronyuhunter @severewebpanther @random34674

Whenever you were there, you both had your own little routine. One that belonged to the two of you. Home without you was not the same as if you were staying over for even just a day. Michael would find himself orbiting around you, buying your favorite snacks days before you'd arrive. Your scent lingered around his apartment; several of his scrunchies were still in the guest room; a bottle of one of your perfumes was in his bathroom cabinet.

Michael knew what it meant. He knew normal friends did not behave like that. He treated you specially; you treated him specially. The line had blurred. The label had shifted into something unclear.

More than friends, but less than lovers.

A grey zone that was both comfortable and frustrating. Michael enjoyed having the privilege of taking you out to dinner; of hugging you; of knowing that you were so comfortable with him that you'd fall asleep on his shoulder; of knowing he was the first one you'd call if anything good or bad happened. It was safe. Because he knew you cared for him, and he got to stay in your inner circle without risking losing you. Without risking ruining everything.

But it was unpleasant. Because there was a line he could never cross. Because he could not behave the way he wanted. He could not be himself fully, because loving you was now a part of who he was.

It was frustrating not being able to hug you as long as he wanted. To kiss your lips or tell you he wished he could spend more time with you. To not be able to call you whenever he wanted, fearing you'd think he was too demanding and clingy. Fearing you'd figure out he saw you differently. To watch you with your male acquaintances, fearing one of them might one day steal you away.

Kylian had told him once, "Just ask her out, man."

"It's not like that between us," Michael denied. He tossed his phone on the couch and tucked his AirPods in his ears.

Kylian scoffed on the other line.

"Yeah, right. She basically lives with you, and 'it's not like that between you'." There was ruffling on the other side, as if he was moving about his house. "Look, I know her. If she's comfortable enough to stay at your place, she doesn't see you as 'just a friend'."

Michael remained silent, filling up his plate with a meal you had once cooked for him. It would definitely not be as good as you made it, but it reminded him of you.

"If you don't," Kylian continued. "Someone else will actually ask her out, and you'll only have your eyes for crying."

"I don't cry."

"That's not the point, Michael."

He knew that. He knew that. But a part of him was not ready to make that step. Not because he was scared of rejection--well, a part of him was.

He had received your many signals.

But both your lifestyles were too demanding. Too divisive.

Most of his days were taken up by practice and touring around the country or the whole of Europe for matches, not to mention the times he was forced to participate in a relocated match across the ocean for some dumb marketing plan, and ultimately returning home too tired to do anything. And that, when he did not have to answer to sponsor duties--photoshoots, magazine covers, ad campaigns, interviews, and many others.

While you spent half the year in the U.S to work with producers and locked away in the studio to work on a new projects, feature on other artists songs, attend award ceremonies and fashion runways, appear on talk shows, occasionally act in a series or a movie, shoot cover magazines, film new ad campaigns for the luxury brands you were the face of, and when you were not, you were headlining festivals all around the world or touring. You spent half the year in your home, and the other somewhere around the world.

Where would Michael fit in your life? And where would you fit in his?

The two of you would spend more time away from each other than together. That relationship would be lived through a phone, because your jobs needed you to always be moving. And though you both understood that, Michael also knew the frustration of not being together enough would eventually take root, possibly leading to a forwarded end.

"I'm telling you, just ask her out, man," Kylian repeated.

Should he? Michael knew it was cowardly, cynical even, to think about the end before it even began. But Michael was someone who cared a lot, more than people gave him credit for. And he loved you so much he was already scared of losing you, of the pain that would follow.

And yet he could not stay away.

On his winter break, as Christmas was right around the corner, Michael decided to spend it with you in Paris. The Tuileries Fair was a temporary funfair in the Tuileries Garden set up in summer and winter with amusement rides, games of chance, and food stalls. So the perfect location for a fun outing.

You and Michael had stopped to admire the Olympic Cauldron still exposed from Paris 2024, before walking through the fair. His head was concealed under a hood, while yours was under a bucket hat--simple disguises but efficient, as no one recognized any of you.

"What?!" you exclaimed as you watched the Kuromi plushie fall back with the plethora of others. "This is rigged! I had it!"

Close behind you, his hands shoved into his hoodie's pockets, Michael let out a chuckle. You had been spending the last fifteen minutes trying to win a Sanrio plushie from a claw machine. You had claimed to 'absolutely adore' this game, although most of the time, your eyebrows were furrowed and your nose crunched with that cute pout, as you'd grunt and curse at every failure.

Michael had quickly learned that, once you were comfortable enough, your shyness would melt away and turn you into the most sociable girl ever. Much like him, though, he would still remain reserved.

You gasped again when, just when you thought you'd finally get the plushie, it fell again with the others. And it was your last attempt.

"I hate this game!"

Michael's eyes squinted as he smiled, watching you glare at the machine as if it were taunting you.

Your shoulders slumped, and you let out a sigh as you took a step back. You were about to drag Michael away when the claw machine theme song started playing again. You looked to your right, and Michael had just swiped his credit card on the payment terminal.

"Try again, you'll get it," he said.

You stared at him, then at the claw machine, and back at him.

"You don't have to, you know," you said. "I'll just buy one at the stall over there."

"But it's not fun."

"At least I'm sure I'll actually get it that way."

"Yeah, but I like watching you get mad at it." You rolled your eyes before he moved the joystick. "C'mon, the countdown started."

Your eyes flickered back and forth between him and the machine again, and he nodded toward it, urging you to hurry before losing your chance.

So you did. But you lost again. And again. And again.

You grunted. "This is not good for my blood pressure."

Michael let out a soft laugh again and moved to pay for another game, but you quickly covered the payment terminal with both your hands. He looked at you, curious.

"Let's just buy one," you said again. "This is just a cash grab; you'll lose more money than necessary."

He shrugged. "I don't mind as long as you have what you want."

You froze, and your face rapidly heated up. Michael had insisted on paying whenever you wanted something, be it a bottle of water or an expensive necklace you happened to stare at for a second too long (you convinced him not to). He did not need to, for, given your life, you could afford anything by yourself. Still, he was a bit old-school, or rather, gentlemanly.

Michael was not one to show affection in public, but he liked giving presents. He liked gifting people things they liked, as it always put a smile on their faces and made their eyes sparkle. And he loved your smile.

"Well, um." You cleared your throat, finding your composure again. "I don't wanna play anyway; it ruined my mood."

"Then I wanna try."

Well, you couldn't really argue with that, so you moved away. He swiped his card again, and the theme song played.

You expected him to lose just like you did.

But your mouth hung agape, and your eyes went wide.

"What?! How?!" You nearly shouted as you watched the Kuromi plushie you had been so desperately trying to win fall into the prize compartment. "I've literally spent the last twenty minutes trying to win it, and you just did it on the first try?!"

Michael only laughed and retrieved the plushie to hand it to you.

You took it, hugging it, though you eyed him suspiciously.

"You've played before, didn't you?"

His locks waved as he shook his head. "Never. It's my first time."

You scoffed, offended.

The smirk on his lips only grew, and he refocused on the machine as he still had two attempts left.

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

Michael secured a My Melody plushie and effortlessly dropped it in the prize box.

"You said it was hard," he taunted you, taking the plushie.

"It is!" You took it from him. "These things are super sensitive!"

He cocked his head to the side. "Or maybe you're just bad at it."

You playfully punched his shoulder, and he only chuckled in response. When he caught a Cinnamonroll plushie and won it too, all you could do was sigh, utterly exasperated.

"That's unfair," you said as he gave you the last plushie.

Michael patted your head. "Don't be a sore loser."

"I'm not."

He smiled and rested his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the claw machines section.

"You definitely are."

If a part of you was truly annoyed at how easy it had been for him, it quickly vanished as you walked back into the main alley. Thrilled screams cut through the sky from the people on the extreme rides, mingling with the chatter from the people enjoying dinner in the restaurants. Michael's hand wrapped around your waist, keeping you close so you wouldn't disappear into the thick crowd of Parisians and tourists walking back and forth between rides and stalls.

The two of you would occasionally stop to marvel at the objects displayed by the craft stalls, then continue your way. Michael even bought you churros when he noticed you staring and fed you as your arms were full of three plushies. And when the small basket was empty, his hand was back on the small of your back.

"Oh, look." You pointed at a stall with a green, fake grass carpet. "A football game."

On the other end of the carpet was a pile of plastic barrels. The point was, within three kicks of the ball, to make all the barrels fall. But Michael's eyes were fixed on the prize instead. Jerseys were hung on the side--real jerseys. PSG jerseys, Real Madrid, Barcelona, Man U, and Man City, even a Marseille one. And several from the France kit. And the away kit, the light green one inspired by the Statue of Liberty, had his name printed on the back.

Michael glanced at you, who was too busy watching a little boy attempt to knock the barrels to feel his stare on you. It was silly, and perhaps a little possessive of him, but Michael liked seeing you in a jersey with his name on it. Like telling the whole world you were his and he was yours, despite not being together.

So when the family walked away, Michael approached the stall owner. From the way the man stilled for a second, Michael knew he had recognized him and was grateful when he did not make a fuss about it. Instead, he handed the payment terminal, then the ball.

Michael made it bounce on the floor, testing it, before starting to juggle with it. The corner of his mouth curled up when you scoffed.

"Show off," you muttered.

Though you acted annoyed, he knew you were impressed. And he loved it. He loved having your attention on him.

Michael dropped the ball on the floor and controlled it with his foot. And, well, he was Michael Olise, so you were not surprised when he knocked all the barrels with only one shot.

The stall owner congratulated him, and Michael requested the France away kit before turning to you.

"Here," he said.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too much. You switched it with the plushies before removing your jacket and putting the jersey over your turtleneck top. He helped you remove your braids from the collar.

It was truly silly, but there was something in seeing you with his name on your back that made the butterfly go crazy in his stomach.

You recovered your plushies, and Michael kept your jacket, letting it hang from his forearm. It was a warm winter, so the cold was not too unbearable.

The two of you continued down the main alley. You eventually stopped being utterly flabbergasted at how good he was at everything and simply accepted the fact that Michael was an ace at whatever he endeavored. So he won you a keychain with a reversible octopus plush at a balloon pop game, a cute bunny-flapping-ears hat at a fishing game, a Labubu that would probably gather dust in one of your drawers at a ring toss game, and a Spider-Man plushie at a Hit The Bucket game.

It got to a point where you had to request a bag at a random stall, as your arms were too full. And of course, Michael insisted on carrying it for you.

The sky was dark, only the moon shining bright, with a soft breeze. Fresh enough to be comfortable, but not too cold to be chilly.

"Did you have fun?" you asked as you both left the fair.

"Yeah." He nodded. "I liked beating you at everything."

You glared at him, and he chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You leaned into him, and the ruckus from the fair gradually faded in the background as you both walked out of the Tuileries Garden.

"When are you leaving, by the way?" you then inquired.

"After New Year," he said.

You looked down. "So next week..."

The disappointment was clear in your voice. And it broke Michael's heart as much as it thrilled him. Because he didn't like it when you were sad, especially if he was the cause of it, but it also meant that you wanted to spend more time with him. It meant you wanted him around longer. It meant you cared about him so much that him being away bothered you.

You both passed Place de la Concorde, where the Obelisk stood, and stopped on the bridge. You could see the Palais Bourbon--the National Assembly--on the one side, and the glass roof of the Grand Palais in the distance, peeking from the trees of the Kyiv Garden.

"We could..." Michael stopped himself, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You looked at him. "Hm?"

His eyes were already fixed on the water below. "Nothing."

You leaned onto the balustrade, silent. Or at least what could be defined as silence in a busy city like Paris. Cars drove by, sirens in the distance, with the chatter of passers-by. Still, it was calming. It was as if time stilled, and you wished it had. So you could spend more time with Michael.

You did not want him to leave yet. Or at all. You did not want to go back to that busy life of yours either. Not now. You did not want the endless hours in the planes and thousands of cameras snapping at you or paparazzi following you, uncaring of the concept of privacy and boundaries.

You just wanted to be with him. With Michael.

You glanced at him, who was still staring at the water. Should you tell him how you felt? You looked away.

But he had seen you.

So he swerved at you. "Actually."

"Yes?" You looked up, hopeful.

Michael stared at you, thousands of emotions flashing in his pupils. Hesitation, fear, love, hope. Dating a footballer was not easy. And it often ended sooner than one would expect. Some chased the wealth and the glamour; others could not endure the busy schedules and not having him present for birthdays, or having to reschedule dates due to unexpected team meetings.

Michael did not want it to happen with you.

But, in reality, you were the only one who could understand him best. And he was the only one who could understand you best. Kindred spirits.

Therefore, Michael stopped being scared and decided to listen to Kylian's advice instead.

So, he pulled you by the waist and crashed his lips against yours. Immediately, you melted against his body and wrapped your arms around his neck. Michael embraced you tightly, relishing in finally having you the way he wanted you. Not just as a friend, but as the woman he loved.

"I'll call you every day," he breathed. "Every single day."

You cupped his face, your nose brushing against his.

"And I'll come to your games whenever I can." Michael kissed you again, breathing you in. Enjoying the taste of your lips. It was nearly impossible for you to think properly, your mind drunk on the love you had for him. Still, you managed to add, "I'll stay with you whenever I can."

Who would have thought that the first night of your world tour in Paris would have gotten the two of you here? Wearing his jersey was the best decision you ever made, and attending your show was the best he ever made.

Michael rested his forehead against yours. "We'll make it work."

You pecked his lips again. "We'll make it work."

•☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•••☆•

Taglist: @smoothcriminalgf @hitwn @watamotee33 @ynniksslirg

On the terrace of Stade de France's VIP box, Michael was leaning on the balustrade, vibing to the interlude music the live band was playing and watching the dancers move across the stage. He ignored the fans in the section below who were trying to get the smallest look from him. Not because he thought himself better than them, but simply because he did not know how to handle the attention. So ultimately, he would just stay quiet and pray the moment would pass faster.

Kylian, beside him, would occasionally wave at them or scroll on his phone, waiting for the show to start again.

After an hour of dancing and singing, you had disappeared backstage for a quick outfit change. Michael could sense the shift in the air, catching a conversation nearby of people debating which jersey you would be wearing. As Kylian was in attendance, all had already decided on the answer, which he believed in too.

Michael was not a fan per se, but a casual enjoyer of your music. He had a few of your songs in his playlist, those reminiscent of the early 2000s era, an era he was quite fond of. So when Kylian told him he had two VIP tickets and offered him a chance to accompany him, Michael seized it. After such a tedious and nerve-wracking World Cup, he needed to relax, and a concert was the best way to do it.

Screams soon cut through the sky when the lights dimmed, and the next song began. The giant screen behind you backlighted you, making only your silhouette visible. When the first verse began, the lights went on, blinding all and revealing you to the world. As you danced, Michael let his eyes trail over your new outfit, Y2K-inspired. Shades on with a cap matching your cropped varsity jacket; underneath was a sparkling bralet that went in pair with your loose fitting high heels boots. Golden chains hung from your neck, a callback to the buckle of your belt on your pleated miniskirt.

Then the chorus started.

And you appeared on the giant screen.

Michael heard Kylian let out a high-pitched laugh as the crowd screamed the loudest it had since the night began, all the while his heart missed a beat.

Michael stared at the jersey that was hanging from your hip, the top tucked into your skirt so the rest would flow like a short train--at the white lettering and number contrasting with the royal blue.

OLISE 11.

Those in the crowd who had not already taken their phones out definitely did to capture that moment.

It was only when Kylian rested his hand on his shoulder and shook him in excitement that Michael left his state of daze. People were surely filming him; he knew that, but he had to hide his face with both his hands, concealing his flustered smile. Peeking through his fingers, he felt his face heat up as you motioned to the cameraman to zoom in on the jersey, earning another wave of cheers from the crowd.

Michael's heart was beating fast in his chest, gulping at the way your braids whipped as you'd swirl, at the way you'd remove your jacket just enough to give a peek of your bare shoulders, at the way your hips moved, making his jersey wave.

You were a pretty woman; that was a fact well-known to all. And to say Michael did not think the same would be the biggest lie of the century. But on that stage, under the setting sun, with his jersey attached to your skirt--it made him feel emotions he could not quite describe yet.

The song ended, and you paced around the stage extension. "How you feelin', Saint-Denis?"

The crowd answered with a roar of cheers before chanting and stomping the floor so hard it resembled an earthquake.

"I hope you're having fun, guys," you said before turning to the VIP section in the bleachers. "Sorry, I didn't wear your jersey, Kyks. It was too obvious a choice."

The crowd laughed before it morphed into another wave of excited screams. Seeing fans in the front row pointing behind you, you turned around to the giant screen.

You froze.

Kylian was motioning to you that it was alright, but you were too busy staring at the guy beside him to even process it. Locs let loose, framing his face; a black shirt clashing with the silver chains hanging from his neck, the black ink adorning his well-toned biceps, and a pair of sunglasses hooked to his shirt's collar.

Only one thing crossed your mind: fuck.

You glanced backstage at your manager, silently asking whether you were dreaming or not, but she was laughing so hard she had a hand on the wall to stay up.

Truth be told, you decided to wear Michael's jersey because you found him pretty. Well, it was a bit reductive. He was amazing on a pitch, looking so natural it was as if he were dancing with the ball attached to his foot. And his shy personality was quite endearing.

People referred to him as nonchalant, acting as if he did not care about anything. But he was simply timid. You could see that so clearly, for you were the same. Despite having a job that required you to entertain the world, behind the scenes, you were the type to erase your presence and hide behind people, leaving parties first because you would rather be at home or making music at the studio. Which always was the root of misunderstandings, producers or fellow artists thinking of you as arrogant or conceited when, in reality, you did not know how to deal with people.

So, in a way, you felt some kind of connection with him, which prompted you to wear his jersey. He was timid but morphed into a beast on the pitch, whilst you were shy but turned into one hell of a performer on a stage. Kindred spirits.

But you would have never thought he'd be here. Kylian didn't tell you who he was bringing.

From the VIP box, Michael watched you as you pressed your hand over your mouth, turning to the crowd, before glancing at the giant screen as if to check if what you were seeing was indeed true and not a hallucination. That made a smirk tug at his lips, amused. And it seemed you noticed it as you quickly turned back to the crowd again.

Cute, he thought.

You cleared your throat. "Um, yeah, I'll wear your jersey tomorrow for Night 2, Kylian. And Ousman's on Night 3."

The mention of the 2025 Ballon d'Or earned you an instant reaction from the fans, which in turn allowed you to refocus on the task at hand. You had a show to run.

As the music was booming across the stadium again, the bassline making the walls shake at each string, Michael leaned toward Kylian.

"Did you know she'd wear my jersey?" Michael asked Kylian.

He shook his head. "Nah. I knew she wouldn't wear mine, though. I thought she'd wear Ousman's, or maybe Bradley's; she's been a huge PSG fan since she was a kid."

This made Michael's stomach twist pleasantly. He was flustered that you wore his jersey. Truthfully, he was not even certain why it moved him so much. Usually, he would not mind much. He would be flattered, but that was it. But you, it was different. Three other players came before his name on the list of jerseys you could have worn. And yet you still chose him. Before your friendship with his captain. Before your love for your favorite football club. You chose him. When you had virtually no reason to. And yet you still chose him.

Kylian chuckled. "You embarrassed?"

Michael averted his eyes, letting his locs hide his face. Kylian laughed again as he patted his back.

"I just didn't expect she'd wear mine," Michael defended.

After the show, when the sky had finally gone dark, he and Kylian were led backstage. Truth be told, Michael would have preferred to go home, but Kylian was a friend of yours, so it was only normal that he'd visit you. So, Michael stayed a step behind him and crossed the busy backstage area to get to your dressing room.

Laughter became clearer when the door opened. Still in your encore clothes, you were sitting on the vanity, joking with your team. Your oversize shirt, your own merch, hung from one shoulder and was so long it acted more as a dress than a tee, covering your bike shorts. You had abandoned high heels to stay in your knee-high socks, your feet probably sore from all the dancing. Michael had to admit, he wondered how it was possible to dance with so much energy in heels and never twist one's ankles.

Your smile brightened when you saw Kylian and shared a hug with him. Michael watched you as you caught up with his captain. You were a head shorter than him, and your makeup and edges still looked good despite the dampness of your forehead. You were even prettier up close.

You finally turned to him, and Michael stilled for a second, blinking before his eyes met the floor.

You gave a shy wave. "Hi."

Michael glanced back at you. "Hi."

He could practically see the wheels in your head turning as you tried to come up with something to say, then relaxed when Kylian said, "Doesn't look like it." He pointed at you playfully. "But she's super shy. She always clings to someone at parties."

You frowned. "I don't cling to anyone."

Kylian rolled his eyes. "You either stay in a corner or cling to someone." He turned to your manager. "Right?"

She nodded. "Definitely."

You scoffed. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

She held her hands in surrender. "Can't argue the non-arguable."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the two guests. But your heart missed a beat when you noticed that Michael's eyes were already on you. It strangely made you self-conscious, as if he could see right inside you or every little detail on your face.

You cleared your throat. "So, you guys liked the show?"

"Yeah." Kylian nodded. "Production's great; the energy was amazing. I didn't even know you could end a show with fireworks."

"It was impressive," Michael just said.

You knew he was shy, although it would be a lie to say you did not expect a little more.

"Don't worry, he's always like that," Kylian reassured, though playfully patting Michael's shoulder, causing him to scratch the back of his neck as a timid smile spread on his lips.

The conversation continued, though Michael mostly listened to it rather than participate in it. Then came time to snap a few pictures. For the first few, you stood in between the boys. Kylian rested his arm around your shoulders, while Michael kept his hands behind his back, too shy to touch you.

For the second set of pictures, you stood with Kylian, sometimes posing casually, and sometimes making funny faces.

And for the last set of pictures, you stood with Michael. The awkwardness was so palpable that Kylian couldn't help but laugh and tease you--well, mostly Michael. You both stood quite stiffly, but relaxed slightly after a few snaps.

Eventually, Kylian and Michael left, as you still had a few duties to attend to. You met up with the VIP fans, signing autographs, taking pictures, and accepting letters, before you gathered all your stuff and headed back to your hotel. It was nearly one in the morning when you finally flopped on your bed, grunting in exhaustion.

You let yourself sink onto the soft mattress before rolling onto your back. You grabbed your purse lying nearby and retrieved your phone. A bunch of notifications swarmed in, people flooding your comment sections or tagging you in posts. On Twitter, you were already trending with posts over 50k likes, one even above 100k, with pictures of you with Michael's jersey. It was the only thing people talked about.

[She wore an Olise jersey???]

[That's my niche, omg]

[Olise was so shy when he realized she wore his jersey 🤭]

[Not (Y/N) getting all shy when she saw him on the big screens lol she def thought Kylian was bringing someone else]

[Thank you dictator for bringing your general 🫡 you got us that cute moment]

That would surely follow you for a while and only increase once you'd post a photo dump for Night 1. And as you stared at the pictures backstage, you let out a heavy sigh. To think Michael was there with you, and you could barely align two coherent words... so embarrassing. Did he think you were weird? Or arrogant? No, but he definitely thought you were awkward. That was for sure.

You let out another grunt and punched the air. You could have given him a good first impression, but all you did was stand there, all stiff and mute. How frustrating.

Scrolling through your notifications, you bolted up, sitting on your bed straight, seeing Kylian's text.

Kyky:

Michael wants your number. Is it okay if I give it to him?

You smiled so hard you had to bite your lower lip to control it. And your thumbs worked at the speed of light on the keyboard.

Me:

Yeah, it's okay.

Maybe you were just overthinking stuff. Maybe Michael was interested in you, after all.

yn.ln

reply to the story!

m.olise:

yo

yn.ln:

hi baby

m.olise:

take that story down

yn.ln:

which one?

m.olise:

the one where i’m sleeping on you

yn.ln:

wdym

that’s literally my boyfriend

m.olise:

exactly

a little privacy pls

yn.ln:

mr nonchalant suddenly cares 🤣🤣

m.olise:

i was never nonchalant

yn.ln:

that’s not what tiktok says

m.olise:

idc what tiktok says

delete it

yn.ln:

make me

m.olise:

i’m serious

yn.ln:

ik

still not deleting it

yn.ln

liked by m.olise, yourbestfriend, r.olise and 102k others.

yn.ln oop 🙊

comments are turned off.

m.olise:

why’d u post that too

yn.ln:

because it’s cute

m.olise:

i’m literally glued to u in that picture

yn.ln:

exactly

everyone thinks you don’t like affection

look at you

m.olise:

you’re embarrassing me

yn.ln:

baby

you’re embarrassing yourself

cling onto me every chance u get

m.olise:

cap

yn.ln:

i have a whole camera roll saying otherwise 🙊

m.olise:

delete the evidence

yn.ln:

no 🥰

m.olise:

pls

yn.ln:

LMAOOOO

is this mr nonchalant begging

m.olise:

stop calling me that

yn.ln:

why

m.olise:

cuz now everyone knows i’m obsessed with u

yn.ln:

now???

baby when we were with ur family you literally walked over just to hug me

m.olise:

you looked comfy

yn.ln:

and you decided to become my backpack

m.olise:

felt like it

yn.ln:

see

not beating the allegations

m.olise:

delete the post before my training tmr

yn.ln:

or what

m.olise

i’m taking your phone

yn.ln:

my face id won’t open for u

m.olise:

i’ll wait until you fall asleep

yn.ln:

that’s actually crazy

m.olise:

worth a try

yn.ln:

still not deleting it

m.olise:

you’re annoying

send me the originals tho

yn.ln:

AWWWW

mr nonchalant wants the pics

that’s adorable

m.olise:

don’t start

@ priscillaaa : girlieee who's dat boy over there??? 👀👀

⤷ @ notyourangel : he’s a bit shy >_<❣️

⤷ @ kittycat : but you aren't go on drop the name bb

⤷ @ louise.mp4 : oohh someone's in love 🩷

@ fashionglow : all girl bosses should have a yearner to lay their heads on

⤷ @ vannet : where can I get mine? 😭

⤷ @ bialovergirl : manifesting this fr 🙏🏾

⤷ @ models_archive : euro summer + hot guy yep she's living the dream

@ aesthetic_life : manifesting this aesthetic for my life all year round

⤷ @ babydoll : work your ass off girl or marry some rich guy

⤷ @ bibisbia : why not both 💅🏻✨️

@ m.olise : ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

⤷ @ bayern_zone : olise what are u doing here bro????

⤷ @ footballgirls : oohh we see you mr. nonchalant 🩷

⤷ @ oliselover : ugh fr?? I thought those where just rumors guys 😭💔

⤷ @ bibisbia : ffs shut up already

@ olisefanpage : MICHAEL OLISE AND PDA ON THE SAME SENTENCE??? Y/N WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM I'M SO PROUD OF YOU GIRL

@ model.updates : Y/N pulled the most unbothered guy in football and now he’s out here dropping flame emojis on her main and holding her waist like the power she holds is insane 😭🤌🏻

@ premier_tweets : michael who used to gatekeep his entire life now is out there clinging to his girl like she's the only thing in the world dudes so down bad 👀 respect for a man in love

@ pop_culture_girl : THE HAND PLACEMENT!!!! like man chill no one is gonna take her away from you, only you get to pull such a baddie

@ oficial.angel : and she said he's shy 😒 michael dear get in the line, there's a whole lotta people here who loved your girl wayyy before you 😋🎀 anyway cutest couple ever honestly I'm obsessed

@ pop_culture_girl : ON MY KNEES IT'S NOT A DRILL GUYS MICHAEL OLISE IS SO IN LOVE 😭😭😭 and I am so single this is not fair but anyway we ball

@ footballgirls : Y/N we know you have a full album on your camera roll with pics of this date 👀✨️🎀

@ bibisbia : STOP PRETENDING TO BE SHY AND DROP THE HARD LAUNCH ALREADY I'M GOING CRAZY HERE

@ vannet : olise holding her hand olise whispering in her ear olise feeding her pasta 😭✨️ Y/N pleeeeease give us the unreleased camera roll I am BEGGING

@ model.updates : aahhh stop gatekeping!!!!! need the official dump like asap, I just know her aesthetic photos of him go crazy

@ lukeluked : LOCKED IN ON WHAT???? BRO REALLY THOUGHT WE WOULDN’T NOTICE LMAOOO

⤷ @ football_daily : bro tried to sneak a soft launch into his pre-season dump like he isn't trending on twitter 💀

⤷ @ bayern_zone : mr nonchalant hiding a whole supermodel in his pics like no big deal 😶‍🌫️

@ mrunbothered : bro was faster than his girl this time 😂 the crop isn't hiding anything tho we know that's Y/N's hand 😭🔍

@ premier_tweets : he really posted seven photos of pure aura and then dropped a blurry picture of his girl and called it a day

@ notyourangel : nice jersey

⤷ @ m.olise : [ @ notyourangel ] give it back then

⤷ @ notyourangel : [ @ m.olise ] no <3

⤷ @ kittycat : THEY ARE FLIRTING IN INSTAGRAM COMMENTS I AM SCREAMING

⤷ @ bialovergirl : "give it back then" OH HE IS GONE GONE 🫠

⤷ @ priscillaaa : why are they so cute 😭 drop the hard launch already

@ m.olise : 🤝🏾 ❤️

⤷ @ veronicas2 : BFR OLISE NOT THE HANDSHAKE EMOJI 💀

⤷ @ kittycat : bro is incapable of being normal on instagram and we love him for that

⤷ @ notyourangel : [ @ m.olise ] stop trying to look cool and leave a decent comment on my pic

⤷ @ m.olise : [ @ notyourangel ] fine MA cherie MA princesse MA puce MY gorgeous queen MY baby MY angel the love of MY life better now?

⤷ @ notyourangel : [ @ m.olise ] not really what I expected but sure mon cœur 🥰❣️ love ya too

@ fashionglow : WE WON GUYS WE FINALLY GOT THE FULL LAUNCH 🥹✨

⤷ @ aesthetic_feed : the hard launch of the century honestly you guys look so ridiculously gorgeous together

⤷ @ vannet : i'm crying she deserves this fairytale so much my girl 😭❣️

⤷ kylianmycaptain : does this mean we might see kylian and ester on a double date with michael and Y/N 👀👀

@ premier_tweets : he really went from "he's a bit shy" to insta boyfriend in less than a week 🤌🏽 the power of a good woman!!

⤷ @ priscillaaa : since the word is already out, olise we're waiting for you to take Y/N to a match day and kiss her in front of everyone 🤭

Online, he is seen as nonchalant, as shy and as reserved. He isn’t online much anyway. He doesn’t purposefully post videos on his own account. All he has are some pictures from the world cup and everyone knew he is going to delete them as soon as he could.

When he is on camera, it is because he has after-games interviews and press conferences. And just from his face, you could tell that he does not want to be there.

In team videos, he isn’t always interacting, he doesn’t even look slightly interested. Just a neutral face.

But, in real life it was another story. You could still divide that category in half. The Michael with his team, and the Michael with his girlfriend.

With his team, he is…chalant. Not the most outgoing guy, but he has more emotions than on camera. He jokes with his teammates, talks with them all the time during practice. He feels comfortable.

But, he doesn’t let everything show. He isn’t soft, nor does he open up about really personal matters. The one thing his team did surely know about was his relationship with you, his girlfriend of many years.

With you, Michael Olise is a completely different person. He is down bad for you. He is the total opposite of what people thought of him.

He is the most outgoing and outspoken with you (even though sometimes he tries to keep up the nonchalance with you, but he folds not even two minutes in). He laughs and he joke a lot. He is highkey lowkey a total manchild when it comes to your affection.

He craves for your touch every time he sees you, which is every day. He never left the house without a kiss and a hug. Hugs. He’s a sucker for them. He’s always hugging you: during his sleep, after a game (whether it was a win or a loss), when you’re cooking, when you’re literally doing anything he’ll try to give you a hug.

Now, that was in the private of you guys’ apartment. Though you guys have been together for quite some time, you and Michael have that private, but not secret relationship. So in public, he doesn’t give you much affection like he does at home.

He isn’t big on PDA. Most of the time he’ll just place his hand on the space between your back and your ass, keeping you close to him. But, most people could tell he was in love with you from the way he looks at you and cares for you.

In many videos, we see him looking around trying to find you and when he does, his face immediately softens. During games, he always looks out for you in the crowd; he says it gave him confidence. Even in some press conferences and interviews, whenever you were there, he was always distracted.

Only you were able to see Michael. Not Micheal Olise or Mr. Nonchalant. Just Michael.

That’s why one day, his teammates decided to prank him, you along with it. They wanted to catch him in the act, when he was being a big baby.

It was during this World Cup season. This was right after his game against Paraguay, which was…something. Really eventful. Even though they won, it wasn’t a really happy win for him. He got mad, got a yellow card and was literally bullied by the players for the entire game.

And, they must’ve pushed him really far, because he didn’t get mad easily. Sure, sometimes he was frustrated, but never enough to show it. Especially in public.

So after the game, all he wanted was to go to the hotel and cuddle with you. He wanted you to comfort him and baby him and kiss him. And that’s exactly what you did.

When you guys came back, you had ordered his favourite food. You prepped his shower for him and allowed him to use your vanilla scented body wash that he secretly loves. You layed down his pyjamas on the bed, along with some good scented oil and cream.

When he came out, you gave him the most moanable massage. He was almost asleep when you finished and each time your hands seemed to slow down he’d grunt and beg for a minute more..which ended up as 20 minutes more.

You really pampered him that night, he deserved it. Now, the pranking part. You had left the hotel door unlocked, just enough time so that Saliba and Upa could enter.

You texted them when you transferred to the couch, thinking that Michael was asleep. But knowing him, you knew that he’d follow you a couple of minutes later. And that’s what his teammates were trying to catch on camera.

You shot Upa and Saliba a wink as they stepped into the room, hiding themselves behind the kitchen’s counter. Not even 30 seconds later, your boyfriend stumbled in the living room, rubbing his eyes.

He then just looked at you, about 3 feet away from the couch. You looked at him and tried to not laugh; he did look slightly ridiculous, but in a cute way. “What”? You asked, smile threatening to slip away.

He just shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’d you leave?” He asked, sighing as if he had been doing taxes for 60 years. “What do you mean Micheal?” Then he gasped, taking another step back.

“Why’d you call me that?” There was disgust in his voice.

“Call you what? Michael? Isn’t that your name?” You teased him. You never called him Michael. It was either baby, babe or at the limit: Mike. But never Michael.

“Babe. That’s like…” he took a pause. “Did I do something?” His shoulders slumped.

You mentioned him to come to you and he immediately obeyed, coming to you like a lost puppy. “Come here big baby.” You laughed, gasping as he literally dropped on you, placing himself comfortably on your smaller frame.

Sometimes he forgot that even though he was only a couple of inches taller than you, his weight was much higher compared to yours because of his muscles. He underestimates his strength all the time.

“You’re such a baby.” You mumbled against him. He just hummed, squeezing your body tighter for a few seconds. He peppered some kisses against your neck before resting against the crook on your neck. And just like that, he was out. A few minutes later, his soft snores filled the room.

You coughed a bit, which was the signal for his teammates to leave. They came out of their hiding spot, literally gasping for air. They were fighting for their lives. Before they could explode in laughter and wake him up, you ushered them out of the room, snickering to yourself.

Tomorrow was going to be the absolute death of him. You softly kissed his forehead, an advance apology for tomorrow’s event.

He just twitched a bit, relaxing again against you. You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

~~~~

Hey chattt, can I have some request please?? Or recommendations, anything. I hope you liked it!! Also if there are any spelling mistakes DONT BE SHY!

The summer of 2022 was very odd, it was too hot and a strange feeling of possibility hung around. You weren’t looking for anything serious. In your 20s, the idea of forever love felt distant, different, and entirely unnecessary. You were too “young and turnt” some would say, then you met Michael.

He was still at Crystal Palace back then, quiet in general and at the time quiet in the media as well, but somehow still having an effortless aura that demanded attention without him ever really trying. 

There wasn't really a comfortable friendship phase, no agonizingly slow talking stage where you learned each other’s favorite colors. It was a sudden, intense wreck. 

One night you were strangers, and the next, you were locked into a soul-crushing, all consuming kinda love that left both of you breathless.

Every breathing second of that summer was spent together. You became permanent figures in each other’s lives, tangled up in late-night drives through South London and whispered thoughts in the dark. It was deep and terrifyingly fast.

...

"You're here for real, yeah?" 

His large hands would slide up from your waist, fingers tracing the bare skin beneath your shirt. The South London summer heat was heavy, but you were tangled in his bedsheets, completely ignorant to the world outside.

"Always Mikey," you’d whisper, pulling him down by his dreads until there was no space left between you. As if any distance would somehow break what you currently had.

He’d let out a soft breath against your lips, slow and possessive. A year in, and he had you completely under his covers and under his spell. It was a silent language of tangled limbs, bare skin, and whispered promises in the dark. Afterward, he’d pull you flush against his chest, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d drift away if he let go in the slightest.

...

He had his own ways of showing you how much you mattered outside of physical intimacy, calling you pet names and treating you like his absolute priority. Nothing nonchalant about how he treated you whatsoever.

You lived in a beautiful, romantic bubble where the rest of the world failed to exist. Yet, despite the intensity, neither of you ever put a strict label on it. You never sat down to ask "What are we?" You were just young, caught up in the moment, and letting life flow. It felt too big for words anyway.

Then, reality caught up.

Two years passed in a blur of matches, training sessions, and your own piling university deadlines. All somewhat together…kinda. The bubble began to stretch a little. 

Suddenly, it was 2024, and the football world was shifting beneath his feet. A massive move to Bayern Munich was finalized. Germany. A whole different country. Miles out from South London.

At the same time, your university workload tripled. You were drowning in exams, essays, and the terrifying realization of adulthood. Tryning to figure out what exactly you wanna do with your life. The emotional distance became a genuine reality. And instead of fighting for it, instead of having the hard but real conversation, you both stayed silent and let it drift.

You didn't break up because you were never technically really official. You guys just... stopped. The texts got shorter, the calls less frequent, until the silence completely swallowed you both whole. You didn't realize how loud that silence was until he was entirely gone.

Now, sitting on your bed in London with Olivia Dean’s "Loud" playing softly from your speakers, you stare at your phone. You haven't spoken in months. It’s total no-contact.

🎶“Here I am, two hands at the piano ...The one I let you play…”🎶

The lyrics sting, hitting a fresh wound. You had let the connection control the beat of your entire heart. You scroll back through your old chat history, your thumb pausing on messages from a year ago.

Mikey: u still awake? come over. missin you x

You: omw don't fall asleep

Mikey: never do when ik its u. hurry up

Your chest aches a lot little. You switch apps and open insta and there he is on your feed. Officially wearing his new red kit from Bayern, smiling for the cameras in Germany. He looks a little older. More mature. Somewhat unreachable.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the apartment in Munich felt too big. It was minimalist, modern, and entirely bare of the chaotic warmth Michael had grown used to back in London.

Outside, the German summer air slightly warm, but inside, the quiet felt freezing? Michael sat on the edge of his oversized sofa, his phone loosely gripped in one hand, staring blankly at the dark TV screen. 

The transition to Bayern Munich had been exactly what his career needed, intense, demanding, elite. But the moment he walked through his front door and the cameras stopped flashing, the silence hit him like a bus. Maybe a train.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as a familiar melody drifted from his speakers. He’d been listening to a playlist of British artists you made lately, just to feel a little closer to home and you, and Olivia Dean’s voice began to fill his room, too.

🎶“You sure know how to play…”🎶

Michael let out a slow, heavy breath. The lyrics twisted something tight in his chest. He wasn't usually a man of a lot words. He had always been quiet, letting his football and actions do the talking. But right now, the weight of everything left unsaid between the two of you was suffocating.

He unlocked his phone and opened your chat. It was a dead town. The last message was from months ago—a dry, polite text wishing him luck with his move, and an equally short response from him. He scrolled up, his eyes catching on the older messages from 2022 and 2023. Back when his life was simpler, and every free second belonged to you.

Mikey: u still awake? come over. missin you x

He remembered that exact night. He remembered the sound of your laugh, the way you easily fit into his space, and how he used to hold you like the world would end if he let go. 

He had called you his, whispered things in the dark that he’d never even thought to  say to anyone else, but he had never actually asked you to stay. He’d never actually laid his cards on the table and he's starting to regret it.

You were both so young, convinced that what you had was so deep it didn't need labels at the moment. He thought you just understood. He thought you knew that he belonged to you, fully.

But then life moved too fast for either of you to catch on when it mattered. The pressure of the transfer, the grueling training, your intense university schedule. It all stretched the invisible thread between you until it quietly snapped. Neither of you fought it. He had been too stubborn, too overwhelmed, assuming that if you wanted him, you’d say something. And you honestly thought the exact same thing.

Michael stared at the green dot next to your name. You were online.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to type out everything. He wanted to tell you that Germany was lonely, that the red kit felt heavy, and that he still looked for your face in the crowd after every match. He wanted to tell you that he didn't realize how loud the silence would be until he couldn't hear your voice anymore.

He typed out a single word: Hey.

With a frustrated sigh, he hit backspace, deleting the letters one by one. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the cushion beside him, rubbing his hands over his face.

The silence won again.

okey guys.. this is my third fic and this song has been stuck in my head for months and im ngl it makes me sick. but yea I love olivia dean rn and I love Michael olise so why not mix the two and why not make it angst too right..right? thx for reading 🫶🏾- tou

pt.2

🎶“I understand if you changed your mind about me... but all you had to do was say."🎶 loud - Olivia Dean

That line from Olivia Dean’s song had been playing on a loop in your head forever. You cant lie, you were bitter.

Two entire years since he packed up his life, left South London, and moved to Germany. Two years of watching him build a grand, glittering life in Munich while you were left picking up the pieces of whatever the hell 2022 had been.

Back then, you thought what you two had was deep. It felt like everything. He had you in his bed, taking up every second of your free time, holding you like you were the only thing anchored to the earth. But apparently, it wasn't that serious to him. Apparently, you were just in the right place at the right time—his little sanctuary before he leveled up and moved on to “bigger, better things”.

At least, that’s how it felt. Because a real man would have at least said goodbye. He would’ve looked you in the eye and said, ‘I don’t want this anymore.’ Instead, he chose nothing.

And now, his face was everywhere. Literally everywhere

You couldn't escape Michael if you tried. His name was plastered across sports outlets, his highlights were all over TikTok, and every other week, no fail, fan pages were posting photos of him on yachts, outside clubs, or hanging around different women. Recently, there had even been a rumor about an alleged baby mother. Ouf. Every single notification felt like a fresh slap to the face. It stung bad. It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing how easily you’d been replaced while you were still stuck analyzing every text you ever sent him.

So, you tried to move on. You really did. You threw yourself into university, secured the degree, and dated around. There were casual flings, annoying "talking stages," and even a full-blown relationship that lasted six months. But none of it worked. No one touched you the same. No one knew the flow of your voice or the way you liked your coffee the way Michael did.

Last week, you finally called it off with your boyfriend. You lied and told him everything was "too much" and that you "weren't ready for a relationship." The truth was, you were just a mess. You were still hopelessly hung up on a ghost.

Unlike Michael, who was clearly thriving. Or so you thought.

Nothing prepared you for running into him on a random Tuesday afternoon in Central London. Nothing.

You were coming out of a coffee shop, minding your own business, when you almost walked straight into a broad chest. You muttered an apology, looked up—and the world completely froze in place.

Michael looked back at you, frozen. He was taller, broader, his style sleeker…kinda, but those were the exact same eyes that used to watch you sleep. He was completely stunned to speak.

Truthfully, Michael felt like the air had been knocked straight out of his lungs. You looked gorgeous. Better than he remembered. Adulting looked incredible on you, and in a split second, two years of buried longing hit him like a train. He hadn’t forgotten you. Not for a single day. No amount of women throwing themselves at him, no amount of fame or distraction had ever wiped the memory of you from his brain.

But the last time he’d checked your socials a year ago, he saw a picture of you with another guy. He assumed you had moved on, built a life without him, and hated his guts. So, he took his loss and stayed away. He figured he deserved it for being a coward back then anyways.

The conversation that followed was... awkward as hell.

"Oh. Hey," he had muttered, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Hey. Michael. Wow. Long time," you said, your voice tight.

It was painful. This was the man you used to spend every breathing second with. The man who knew every curve of your body, every secret you’d ever whispered. And now? He didn't even know what to say to you. You exchanged stiff, polite pleasantries.

"How's Germany?"

"Good, good. Cold. How's uni?"

"Finished. Working now."

"Ah. That's..great."

You parted ways after barely touching the surface level. It was cold. It was unnatural.

Just when you thought you were finally getting over him, he was right back at the tip of your mind, wrecking your peace all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael was staying in a luxury hotel in London for a few days before Bundesliga pre-season training kicked off.

Right now, he was pacing the hardwood floor of his suite, pulling at his locs, completely spiraling. That encounter had ruined him. The stiff, polite girl on the street wasn't you. He couldn't stand the thought that the last interaction you two might ever have in this lifetime was whatever miserable, awkward “conversation” that just happened.

He opened his phone. He typed out a text. Deleted it. Typed it again. Hands sweating.

:Hey, I know this is random. But can I buy you dinner this week? Just to catch up. properly.

It took him thirty minutes of staring at his screen, pacing back and forth, before he finally hit send.

When your phone buzzed on your coffee table and his name popped up, you stared at it for a solid two minutes. WTF. What is he doing?

Your pride told you to ignore it. Your brain told you to delete his number. Never look back.

But your heart... made you dress up in a sleek black dress and meet him at a fancy restaurant in Mayfair on a Friday evening.

The first twenty minutes at the restaurant were physically painful. The silence hung heavy, choked by two years of unspoken resentment and pride.

"So... Germany's good?" you asked, taking a quick sip of your wine.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's alright. Fast football. Different culture." Michael picked at his glass. "How's... school? Life?"

"I graduated. Got the job I wanted."

"That's good. Happy for you."

Rinse. Repeat. Recycle. It was exhausting. You were about ready to ask for the bill and cut your losses when Michael accidentally knocked his fork off the table, caught it with a ridiculous, uncoordinated reflex, and almost spilled his drink in the process.

You burst out laughing—a real, loud laugh that you genuinely couldn’t hold back.

Michael looked up, a sheepish smile cracking through his serious expression. "Shut up, man. My hands are cold."

"You're a top athlete and your reflexes almost failed you over a fork," you teased, shaking your head.

"Pfft, failed?," he grinned, those dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

Just like that, the ice broke. A memory surfaced, an old joke from his Palace days about his terrible cooking, and suddenly, the real Michael was back. The conversation started to flow effortlessly and warm. The anger in your chest slowly melted into a soft, aching nostalgia.

By the time the restaurant was closing down, neither of you wanted the night to end. The two years of missing each other was a physical weight in the air.

"Come back to the hotel," Michael said softly as you stood outside waiting for an Uber. He looked down at you, his gaze intense, completely dropping the nonchalant act. "Just to talk. Please?"

You knew you shouldn't. You knew it was a terrible, stupid, dangerous idea.

"..Okay," you whispered. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His hotel suite was quiet, lit only by the low ambient lamps and the distant glow of the London skyline through the floor to ceiling windows.

You sat on the edge of the plush sofa, holding a glass of water, while Michael sat on the other side.

"so..why didn't you say anything after you left?" The question spilled out of you before you could even stop yourself. It was the question that had kept you up at night for two years. "You just... went to Germany. You didn't call. You didn't say goodbye. You just let it die."

Michael stared down at his hands, exhaling a long, shaky breath. "I was terrified, man."

"Terrified of what, Michael? Me?"

"Of everything," he admitted softly, turning to face you properly. "I was twenty-two. Moving to a new country, huge pressure, big money, everyone watching. I didn't know what we were. We never put a label on it, and I was too much of a coward to ask you if you'd wait for me. I thought... I thought if I didn't say anything, it wouldn't feel like it was actually over. But then months passed, and I felt like an actual idiot. I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you," you admitted, your voice cracking a bit. "I felt like I was just a temporary thing for you."

"You were never that," Michael said genuinely, reaching across the couch to lay his hand over yours. His skin was warm, familiar, and the sensation shot straight to your chest. "Never. You were the only real thing I had in London."

You looked up at him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. He moved closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

"I missed you," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips. "Every single day."

"Michael..."

Then, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn't fast or aggressive; it was desperate, soft, and full with two years of pent-up longing. You gasped against his mouth, pulling him closer by the neck of his top, throwing all your walls and rules right out the window.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

 You had told yourself you were over this. You had sworn to your friends you didn't care about him anymore.

His hands found your waist, lifting you effortlessly until you were in his lap. His touch was warm and reverent, retracing every curve he used to still knows by heart. The quiet intimacy of the room swallowed you completely. The slight rustle of clothes, the sound of heavy breathing, the familiar, intoxicating scent of his cologne. Every touch felt like coming home, even though you knew the facade was built on borrowed time.

...

The next morning, soft sunlight peaked through the curtains of his hotel bedroom.

You woke up entangled in his sheets, Michael’s heavy arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you against his chest even in his sleep. For a split second, it felt like you traveled back in time.

Then reality hit. ugh.

You quietly untangled yourself, grabbed his hoodie, and walked into the living space. A few minutes later, Michael emerged, rubbing his eyes, looking softly disheveled and human in a way the media never saw.

He ordered room service, and you sat together at the small dining table, eating breakfast in a comfortable, quiet haze.

"So," you said gently, pushing a piece of toast around your plate. "What now?"

Michael looked up at you, his eyes serious. "I don't want to lose you again."

You looked at him warmly, but you shook your head softly. "Michael... lets be real"

He went silent.

"You're flying back to Munich in two days," you said, your voice steady, but your chest felt tight. "Your pre-season starts. Your life is over there now. And my life is here. I just started at the dream job I worked my ass off to get. I'm not dropping my career for a man. Even if it's you."

Michael leaned back, running a hand over his face frustrated. He knew you were being logical. Moving to Bayern Munich was his big career breakthrough; he had to be 100% locked in from now on. Asking you to abandon your dreams in London to chase him around Germany would be selfish, and pretty cocky—and starting a complex long distance relationship after two years of miscommunication and trauma was a recipe built to spoil.

"It's bad timing," Michael murmured, looking at you biting his lip trying to think of some solution. "Isn't it?"

"It's terrible timing," you agreed softly.

There was no big argument. No screaming match. Just a mature, quiet understanding between two people who loved each other, but realized their lives were moving in two completely opposite directions. The love you had before was never wasted—it was real, it was beautiful, it just belonged to a different chapter.

It was time to let go. For real.

This wasn't a bitter, resentful ghosting anymore. It was a proper, conscious decision.

As you gathered your stuff and put your shoes on by the front door, Michael walked over, pulling you into one last, deep kiss. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in.

"Thank you for coming last night," he whispered into your skin.

You pulled back, looking up at his handsome face, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Cherish the couple of minutes we had"

He let out a quiet, breathless laugh, nodding. "Always."

You turned the handle, stepped out into the hallway, and walked out into the oddly crisp London morning. He was heading back to Germany in less than 48 hours, and you had a life to lock back into stat.

It was time to go back to real life. But for the first time in two years, your chest didn't feel heavy anymore.

the end

okay guys, I actually really liked writing this, it itched some part of my brain idk, but lmk what you guys think, and like comment and repost if you want 😋 - tou