Footbollfics

Warning:smut 🚫⚠️

The ceiling fan clicks on its fifth rotation,a tiny mechanical stutter she’s memorized over the past hour. Sweat trails between her shoulder blades, tracing a path down the dip of her spine before it meets the slick heat where her body joins his.

“Look at me,” she breathes.

Jamal’s eyes are glassy, the brown of them nearly swallowed by pupils blown wide. A tear clings to the corner of his left eye, trembling with each downward roll of her hips but refusing to fall. His hands grip her waist,his fingers pressing divots into the soft flesh above her hipbones.Not guiding her simple only holding her.

She rolls forward, then back.

His mouth opens. No sound comes out.

“There you go.” The words slide off her tongue like honey off a spoon, slow and golden,just the way Jamal liked it. Her knees tighten against his ribs as she lifts herself, thighs burning with the kind of ache that begs to be pushed through. Droplets of sweat race down her sternum and disappear into the dark lace still clinging beneath her breasts. The bra’s underwire digs in with every bounce, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, spreading pressure radiating upward each time she sinks back down.

The mattress creaks, its tired springs protesting beneath the weight.

She braces one hand on his chest. His heartbeat pounds beneath her palm, fast and uneven, until it starts to match her own .The gold chain around his neck has gone crooked, the pendant sliding toward his collarbone. She watches it shift as his breathing goes shallow.

"You're crying," she says. It's not a question. It isn't sympathy, either.

His lips part further. A sound escapes his swollen lips ,something between a gasp and a whimper when she changes the angle, leaning back just enough. The shift makes her feel him deeper, a sudden fullness that punches the air from her own lungs. Her hair swings behind her, the ends of her hair brushing against her back where sweat has gathered.

Do you like it?" A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips.

She speeds up.

His gasp catches in his throat, and his mouth stays open and vulnerable, waiting. The ceiling fan clicks again. Her reflection in the dark window across the room shows a woman mid-motion, back arched, skin glistening. She looks away from it and down at him.

His eyes are begging. For what, he probably couldn’t say.

She can.

Her palm leaves his chest and cups his jaw. The stubble there is rough against her thumb as she presses down, guiding his chin higher, parting his lips just a fraction more. A bead of sweat rolls from her hairline, down her temple, and lands on his cheek, mixing with the tear that’s finally spilled.

“Such a good boy for me ”

She reaches for his hands, still anchored to her waist like he’d forgotten they existed. Her fingers wrap around his wrists,she traces the warmth of skin over bone before moving higher. Places them on her breasts. The lace is damp now, clinging transparent in patches where sweat has soaked through.

“Hold them,” she instructs.

His palms cup her through the fabric, thumbs brushing over the swell above the cups. She reaches behind her back and unclasps the bra with practiced ease. The straps slide down her shoulders. She pulls the lace away and tosses it aside, not caring whether it lands on the floor or the chair.

His hands return immediately.They are warm and shaking slightly.

She covers them with her own and squeezes, pressing his fingers into the soft weight of her breasts. A low sound escapes him before he can stop it.

“Slap.”

The word is barely a whisper, but he hears it. His right hand leaves her breast, hovers in the air beside her face.

She nods.

The slap lands light—too light for her liking . It feels like tap. She laughs, warm but teasing. "You can do better than that."

His second attempt connects. Her head turns with the impact, cheek stinging, skin flushing hot where his palm made contact. She turns back to him slowly, and the grin is still there,much wider now.

“Again.”

This one leaves her mouth tingling. She spits into her own hand this time, rubs the moisture across the reddening skin of her cheek, and brings the same hand down on his chest with a crack that makes him flinch.

Her free hand cups his jaw again. The stubble rasps against her palm as she tilts his chin upward, opening his mouth a fraction wider. His pupils are dark pools now, the brown of his irises reduced to thin rings. Tears have carved clean tracks through the sweat on his temples.

"There you go," she murmurs. "Stay just like that."

Her jaw works gathering the spit.

The spit arcs clean from her mouth to his leaving no strings or hesitation. It lands on his tongue, and she watches his throat bob as he swallows. His eyes flutter but don't close. He's learned better than to look away.

"Good boy."

The rhythm hasn’t stopped. Her hips keep circling, lifting, dropping.Her tempo gradually increasing , each minute climbing toward something that makes the air in the room feel thinner. The sweat between them has turned into a faint and slick sound with every movement

His breath starts coming in stutters. Short bursts matched to her pace. She recognizes the signs—the way his fingers curl into her skin, the frantic search in his eyes, the muscle jumping along his jaw.

“Not yet,” she says.

A whine escapes him. Actual sound, high and needy.

She grabs his chin again. Harder this time. “I said not yet.”

This time she takes her time. Lets him watch her gather the moisture. Lets him anticipate. The spit lands on his lower lip, and she smears it across his mouth with her thumb before pushing the digit inside. His tongue meets her skin, warm and eager.

"My good boy," she says. Lower now. Just for him.

The hand not holding his face slides down her own stomach, past the damp curls at the center of her, to where their bodies join.

She traces the stretched skin there with one fingertip,the place where he disappears inside her and watches his eyes roll back.

“You feel that?” Her voice has gone husky. “You feel how full I am?”

His nod is frantic.

She removes her finger and brings it to his lips. Presses until they part. The taste of them mixed together coats his tongue, and he groans around her finger like she’s given him something sacred.

The ceiling fan clicks. Fourteen rotations now. Or fifteen. She’s lost count.

Her thighs begin to tremble.Not from exhaustion but from the effort of holding back. The pressure has built into something sharp-edged, something that demands release but also demands control. She wants both. She wants to feel him break first, to watch his face when it happens, to memorize the exact shape his mouth makes.

“I’m going to speed up now,” she tells him calmly “And you’re going to stay exactly where you are.”

His hands find her waist again as she leans forward, changing the angle, pressing her breasts against his face. Her mouth finds his ear.

The pace doubles.

The sound he makes is muffled against her shoulder,his teeth grazing her skin, breath hot and uneven. Her hair swings wild now, ends flicking sweat across his shoulders , his cheeks, his fingers gripping the sheets . The mattress shudders. Something in the room,maybe a glass on the nightstand rattles with the motion.

“Look at me,” she commands again.

He lifts his head, and his eyes are streaming now. Tears track down his face , into the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t try to wipe them away.

Her hand slides to his throat,not squeezing but just resting there, feeling the jump of his pulse beneath her palm. The other hand finds her own breast, fingers rolling the nipple to a stiff peak, and his eyes drop to watch. She squeezes the flesh, kneads it, and his hips buck up into her involuntarily.

“You want to finish.”

It’s not a question, but he answers anyway. “Please.” The word cracks in the middle.

She slows then stops. Hovers with him still inside her, the tip of him barely there, and the loss of fullness makes them both gasp.

“Please what?”

His chest heaves. Sweat pools in the hollow of his throat. “Please let me.”

She considers this.

Tilts her head. The pause lingers. One heartbeat, then another, then a third. His expression softens into something uncertain.

Then she smiles.

3 months

Note:I tried to stick to your suggestion.But I felt like I went astray,so sorry!😭🥲

Warning:smut

October had settled over Munich without anyone really noticing.

The trees lining the streets had traded their summer greens for deep shades of amber, rust and burnt orange, their leaves gathering in messy piles along the pavements. Every now and then a gust of wind would sweep through, lifting them into the air before scattering them across the road again. Rain had been falling since dawn, light enough to be soothing, leaving the city wrapped in a quiet grey haze.

Y/N had always loved days like this.

Everything felt slower and softer.

People hurried beneath umbrellas, cafés filled with the smell of fresh coffee, and the sound of rain against windows somehow made the whole city feel calmer.

It also happened to be her day off.

One of the things she appreciated most about being a prosthodontist was the balance it gave her. Working four days a week had taken years to achieve, but now that she had it, Fridays had become hers. She could wake up without an alarm, spend as long as she liked getting ready, browse bookshops, wander through cafés or simply stay indoors if the weather gave her an excuse.

Jamal, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as lucky.

Training didn't care whether it was raining, snowing or sunny.

He'd left long before the sun had come up.

As she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, blending the last bit of concealer beneath her eyes, she couldn't help smiling to herself as the image of him drifted into her mind.

She could picture his entire morning without even being there.

Dragging himself out of bed with his eyes barely open.

Padding across the apartment with his curls sticking up in every direction.

Standing in front of the coffee machine while it brewed, looking like he was questioning every decision that had led him to becoming a professional footballer.

The thought made her laugh quietly.

She knew his routine almost as well as her own now.

He always brushed his teeth before washing his face. He never remembered where he'd left his phone until he'd already searched half the house for it. Before leaving the house, he'd pat every pocket twice, sometimes three times, convinced he'd forgotten his keys.

He never had.

The habit never changed.

It probably wasn't surprising that she'd picked up on those little things. Over the past few months she'd spent more and more evenings at his house, and before either of them realised it, staying over had started to feel normal.

Still...

Three months wasn't a long time.

Not really.

They were still learning each other. Still discovering the little habits that only appeared once the excitement of a new relationship settled into something quieter.

Neither of them seemed interested in rushing ahead.

There was something comforting about letting everything happen at its own pace.

She liked that.

After finishing her makeup, she reached for her favourite lipstick, carefully tracing the deep wine-red colour across her lips before stepping back to inspect herself.

Simple.

Exactly how she liked it.

"That'll do."

Her bedroom was still warm from the heating, but outside the rain continued to drum steadily against the windows.

Opening her wardrobe, she pulled out a cream knit jumper, dark straight-leg jeans and a pair of brown ankle boots. Comfortable enough for the weather without looking like she'd made no effort.

As she packed an overnight bag, she folded her silk nightdress neatly on top of everything else.

Just in case.

Although, if she was being honest with herself, she already knew there was a good chance she wouldn't be coming home tonight.

Not because anyone had asked.

It had simply become one of those unspoken things.

Sometimes she'd stay.

Sometimes she wouldn't.

Neither of them ever felt the need to make a big deal out of it.

Once she'd checked that every light was off and every appliance switched off, she slipped her keys into her bag, locked the apartment behind her and headed downstairs.

The cold greeted her almost immediately.

She opened her umbrella as the drizzle settled against the fabric overhead and began the short walk towards the station.

She'd always preferred taking the train.

There was something peaceful about it.

The platform wasn't particularly busy that morning. People stood wrapped in coats, hands tucked into pockets, coffee cups warming their fingers while they waited.

When the train arrived, she found a seat beside the window and rested her head lightly against the glass.

Munich drifted past outside.

Rows of apartment buildings blurred together between streaks of rain. Cyclists pedalled carefully along slick roads while children splashed through puddles in brightly coloured wellies, laughing despite the weather. An elderly couple walked hand in hand beneath one umbrella, stopping every few steps as though they had nowhere important to be.

Watching them made her smile.

She didn't even realise how quickly the journey had passed until the familiar announcement echoed through the carriage.

Her stop.

By the time she climbed the steps out of the underground station, the rain had eased to little more than a mist.

Jamal's neighbourhood was quiet, the kind of quiet that only seemed to exist on rainy mornings.

She checked the time on her phone.

Still early.

He'd probably only just finished training.

Reaching his front door, she pulled the spare key from her bag.

The first time he'd handed it to her, he'd done it so casually she almost hadn't realised what he was doing.

"For whenever," he'd said with a small shrug, as though giving someone a key to your home wasn't something that usually meant a lot more than he was willing to admit.

She remembered staring at the little silver key sitting in her palm after he'd gone back inside.

It had made her chest feel strangely warm.

Even now, sliding it into the lock brought that same feeling back.

The house welcomed her with familiar warmth the moment she stepped inside.

She kicked off her boots, leaving them neatly beside the door before hanging her coat on its usual hook.

It smelled faintly of fresh laundry and coffee.

She smiled to herself.

Home.Well...Almost.Making her way into the kitchen, she opened one of the cupboards without much thought.

A half-open bag of salted crisps sat tucked behind a box of cereal.

Her eyes lit up."Jackpot."She stole a handful before leaning comfortably against the kitchen island, phone in one hand, crisps in the other as she absentmindedly scrolled through her messages.The rain outside had picked up again, tapping softly against the windows.It was peaceful enough that she never heard the front door open.

She didn't hear footsteps crossing the hallway.She only realised someone was behind her when two familiar arms slipped gently around her waist.

A smile spread across her face before she'd even turned around."Hi."

She felt him smile against the side of her neck.

"Hallo," he murmured, his voice still rough from the cold outside.

She turned in his arms until she was facing him properly.

His curls had been flattened by the beanie he'd clearly worn home from training, escaping in messy twists around his forehead. A grey hoodie hung loosely over matching sweats, and the tips of his ears were still pink from the autumn air.

He looked tired.Not exhausted.Just soft.The version of Jamal she loved most.

Without saying anything else, she reached up and cupped his face between her hands.His skin was cool beneath her fingertips.She leaned in and kissed him slowly.Not rushed.Just long enough to make the corners of his mouth lift into that familiar smile he always wore afterwards.She noticed it every single time.

He never seemed to realise he was doing it."How was training?" she asked quietly once they pulled apart.

He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still comfortably around her waist.

"Long."She laughed."That doesn't sound very enthusiastic."

"It wasn't."His answer made her laugh again."I'm off today."She lifted two fingers in a tiny peace sign, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

He looked at her for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh.

A proper one this time.The kind that made his eyes disappear."Lucky.""I know."

"I had double training."She winced."Ouch.""You could've come."

She pulled a dramatic face."I would've retired after the warm-up."

"I know."She narrowed her eyes."You're so mean."He only laughed harder before dropping his head onto her shoulder, hiding another smile against the side of her neck.

Neither of them moved for a while.

The kitchen was quiet except for the steady rain outside and the faint hum of the fridge. Jamal stayed exactly where he was, his arms loosely around her waist, breathing slowly as though he was finally allowing himself to switch off after the day he'd had.She reached up and ran her fingers through the curls ."You look exhausted.""I am.""You've been home for less than two minutes.""I know.""And you're already using me as a pillow.""I know."

"You could at least pretend you're hugging me because you missed me."

He lifted his head just enough to look at her."I did miss you."

The words came so simply that they caught her off guard.

He wasn't the type to fill every silence with affection or throw compliments around without thinking. When he said something like that, he meant it.Her smile softened.

"I missed you too."For a moment neither of them spoke again.

He simply looked at her.

Not intensely.Not in a way that made her nervous.

Just quietly, like he was taking in the familiar sight of her standing in his kitchen with slightly windswept hair and a packet of crisps she'd clearly helped herself to.

His eyes dropped to the bag still tucked under her arm.

"You're eating my crisps.""Our crisps.""My crisps.""Our relationship has progressed beyond ownership."He gave the smallest shake of his head."I don't remember agreeing to that.""You didn't have to.”She reached into the bag, took another crisp and held it up towards him."Peace offering?"

He leaned forward and took it straight from her fingers."No hands?"

He only smiled while chewing."That's lazy.""I'm tired."

"You've used that excuse three times already.""It's still true."She laughed under her breath."I'll allow it."Lunch somehow took twice as long to make as it should have.

Mostly because Jamal kept wandering over to steal ingredients every time she looked away.She turned around to find half a sliced pepper missing from the chopping board."Seriously?"He looked up from where he was chewing, completely unbothered.

"What?""You just stole my pepper.""I was hungry.""We're making lunch because you're hungry.""I know.""So why are you eating the ingredients?"He considered the question for a second before giving the smallest shrug."I couldn't wait."She stared at him."You have the patience of a toddler."

"I'm aware."

A few minutes later she reached for the bowl of grated cheese.

Half of it had disappeared.She slowly looked over her shoulder.

Jamal was leaning against the opposite counter, trying very hard to look innocent.

He failed."You are unbelievable.""I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've literally got cheese in your hand."He glanced down."...Right."

She burst into soft giggles."You are the worst person to cook with.""I think I'm quite helpful.""You've eaten half the meal.""I was quality testing."

She picked up the tea towel draped over her shoulder and lightly swatted him with it.

He gasped dramatically."Violence?""You deserved it.""I disagree.""You stole the cheese.""I sampled the cheese.""Stole.""Sampled."She shook her head, unable to stop smiling."You are just impossible.""I've been told."When lunch was finally ready, they carried their plates into the living room and settled onto the sofa.Rain continued to fall outside, tapping steadily against the windows while the room glowed with the soft warmth of table lamps.It felt cosy.The sort of afternoon people wished for when autumn arrived.After they'd finished eating, Y/N carried the plates back into the kitchen while Jamal insisted he'd tidy up.She knew exactly how that would end.He'd rinse two plates.Forget why he'd walked into the kitchen.Start scrolling through his phone.Then wander back into the living room.Sure enough, when she returned a few minutes later, he was standing in front of the open fridge looking thoughtful."What are you doing?""I forgot.""You opened the fridge.""I know.""To get...?""I don't remember.""You've got the memory of a goldfish.""It's the training.""Mhm.

"It is.""I don't believe you."He closed the fridge without taking anything."I'll remember later.""I doubt it.""I probably won't."She shook her head, smiling to herself as she picked up a cloth and began wiping down the worktops.It didn't take long before she noticed the feeling of being watched.She glanced up.Jamal was sitting on one of the stools by the kitchen island, elbows resting on the counter, chin balanced in his hands.

He was looking straight at her."What?""Nothing.""You've been staring.""I know."She waited.He didn't say anything else."So...?"He gave a tiny shrug."I like looking at you."

She stopped wiping the counter."...That's all?""Yeah.""You were staring like you'd forgotten how people work.""I nearly did."Heat crept into her cheeks despite herself.

She looked back down at the counter, pretending to focus very hard on wiping away a mark that had already disappeared."You make me nervous.""I do?"

"You know you do.""I didn't."She looked over at him.He still hadn't looked away.

There wasn't anything intense about the way he watched her.He wasn't trying to impress her.Wasn't trying to make her blush.He simply looked completely content sitting there, following her around the kitchen with the same quiet smile he'd been wearing for the last few minutes.It was enough.

She walked over until she was standing between his knees.He looked up at her."What?""Come here.""I'm already here."

She rolled her eyes before slipping her arms around his shoulders.

He immediately wrapped his own around her waist, resting his cheek against her jumper."There.""Better?""Much."

"I knew you'd cave eventually.""I was never resisting."They stayed like that for longer than either of them realised.No phones.No television.

Just the sound of rain outside and the quiet comfort of standing in each other's arms.

Sometimes she wondered if this was her favourite part of loving him.

Not the big moments.Not expensive dates or surprises.Just this.The ordinary afternoons that somehow became the memories she knew she'd hold onto the longest.By the time evening settled over Munich, the rain had grown heavier.

The windows had fogged slightly from the warmth inside the house, making the outside world look soft around the edges.They ordered dessert they definitely didn't need.

Jamal claimed they should share.He ended up eating most of it."I knew this would happen.""I don't know what you mean.""You've had at least seventy percent.""That's a very specific estimate.""I'm being generous."He smiled around another spoonful."Do you still love me?."She sighed dramatically."Unfortunately.""Liar."

They settled onto the sofa afterwards, pulling a thick blanket over themselves before starting a film neither of them had paid much attention to by the halfway point.

She rested comfortably against his side, one hand absentmindedly tracing little circles over the sleeve of his hoodie while his fingers lazily played with the ends of her hair.Every now and then one of them would point at the screen and ask what was happening.Neither of them knew.Neither of them particularly cared.

The room felt too peaceful to worry about following the plot.Outside, rain continued to fall without stopping, the soft rhythm against the windows blending with the quiet voices from the television until it became little more than background noise.

Time slipped away almost unnoticed.By the time the credits rolled, another film had already started.Then another.When Y/N finally reached for her phone to check the time, her eyebrows lifted."Jam.""Hm?""It's midnight."He blinked down at the screen before looking back at her."Oh.""How did that happen?""No idea."She smiled to herself.Neither of them had noticed the hours passing.

Silence settled between them again.Not the awkward kind.

The comfortable kind that had slowly found its place in their relationship. The sort of silence where neither of them felt the need to fill every second with conversation just because they were together.Y/N continued absentmindedly tracing little circles against the sleeve of his hoodie."Jam...""Hm?"She tilted her head just enough to look up at him."Do you think I should stay... or go home?"His head lifted almost immediately."What?"The question seemed to catch him completely off guard.

She watched the faint crease appear between his eyebrows as he searched her face, trying to work out where it had come from."No, baby," he said softly. "Stay."

His voice carried a hint of concern now.He shifted so he could see her properly, one hand coming up to brush a loose strand away from her face."Do you want to go?"

She smiled and shook her head."No.""Then why are you asking?"

She looked down at the blanket for a second before answering.

"I just wanted to make sure you actually wanted me here."

The confession came out quieter than she'd meant it to.

He stared at her for a moment, almost as though he couldn't quite believe she'd questioned it.Then he sighed, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without saying anything, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer until there wasn't even a hand's width separating them.

"I always want you here."

There wasn't anything dramatic about the way he said it.With no grand declaration.

No attempt to make the moment bigger than it was.Just a quiet truth spoken into the space between them.

It settled somewhere deep inside her chest, warming her from the inside out.

She looked at him for a second before leaning forward and pressing another kiss to his lips."Okay."He smiled against her mouth.

"Okay?"

"Okay.""Good."

A little while later they wandered upstairs together, neither of them in any rush.

Y/N disappeared into the bathroom first, tying her hair back while she washed her face. Jamal stood beside her brushing his teeth, occasionally catching her eye in the mirror and making a face just to earn a laugh."You've got toothpaste on your chin."

He looked at his reflection."...Where?""There."He rubbed the completely wrong side of his face.She laughed."The other side.""This one?""No."He frowned at himself.

"I can't see it.""Move."She stepped closer, dampening the corner of a towel before gently wiping the little spot away herself."There."He looked back in the mirror.

"Oh.""You would've gone to bed like that.""I would've.""I know."

He smiled sheepishly before nudging her shoulder with his own.

By the time they finished getting ready, the rain outside had become little more than a soft murmur against the windows.

Y/N opened her overnight bag and carefully unfolded the black silk nightdress she'd packed that morning.

Jamal was already sitting against the headboard by the time she came back into the bedroom.He looked up from his phone the second she walked in.

His eyes lingered for a moment before he quickly looked away again.

A smile tugged at her lips."What?""Nothing.""You looked.""I did.""And?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You look nice.""Just nice?"He thought for a second."Really nice."

She laughed."I'll take it."

Sliding beneath the duvet, she settled onto her side facing him.

The bedroom was dim . Rain still clung to the windows, catching the light every now and then as tiny droplets slipped slowly down the glass."Night, Jam."

He turned his head immediately.There it was.That tiny blush.It always happened.

No matter how many times she called him that nickname, his cheeks warmed just enough for her to notice.He let out a quiet groan, burying half his face in the pillow.

"You know...""What?"

"You're never going to stop calling me that, are you?"She grinned."No."

"I was hoping you'd grow out of it.""Never.""I feared that answer."

"You secretly love it.""I tolerate it.""Mhm.""I'm serious.""Liar."

He gave her a look that only made her smile wider.

"You think everything's cute.""Because you are."His ears somehow turned even pinker."I'm going to ignore that.""You can't.""I can try."

She reached over and gently poked his cheek."No, you can't."

He caught her hand before she could pull it away, lacing his fingers through hers without thinking.For a while they simply lay there, talking about whatever happened to come to mind.Training.The film they'd barely watched downstairs.

A bakery Y/N wanted to try the following week.Whether they'd remembered to lock the back door.It wasn't an especially important conversation.That was probably why she liked it so much.Eventually another thought wandered into her head."So..."

"Hm?"

"Did you know worms have five hearts?"Jamal blinked.

"...What?"She nodded enthusiastically."They do."

"No, they don't.""They actually do."He stared at her for a second."Five?""Five."

He looked genuinely concerned now."Why do you know that?"She shrugged."I just do.""No, seriously.""I like random facts.""You've definitely been researching worms.""I have not.""I don't believe you."

She laughed before continuing anyway.

"They also breathe through their skin.""I'm sorry?"

"They don't have lungs."He slowly turned to face her.

"Who told you this?""The internet.""The internet also says pigeons work for the government."She laughed so hard she had to hide her face in the pillow.

"They don't."

"I don't know anymore."

"I'm serious.""They absorb oxygen through their skin, which is why they have to stay moist."He stared at her with complete disbelief.

She carried on as though she were giving a university lecture.

"And some species can regenerate parts of their bodies depending on where they're injured.""Oh no."She ignored him."They don't even have eyes, but they can still sense light through special cells in their skin."He slowly reached over and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.She frowned."What are you doing?""Checking if you've got a fever."She laughed, pushing his hand away."I'm educating you.""I think you're terrifying me.""I've got more."

"I knew you were going to say that."She sat up slightly, already preparing another fact.He watched her with a smile he couldn't quite hide.

She was talking with her hands now, completely invested in explaining the fascinating lives of earthworms.

He wasn't listening to half of what she was saying anymore.

Instead, he found himself watching the way her eyes lit up whenever she got excited about something, how easily she smiled, how animated she became over the most unexpected subjects.He didn't need to understand worm biology.He just liked listening to her.Eventually she noticed.

"...You're not listening."

"I am.""What did I just say?"He thought for a long moment.

"Worms..."She waited."...are interesting?"She laughed so hard she fell sideways into him.Hopeless.Absolutely hopeless.

The quiet settled over them like a held breath.

Jamal looked up at her from where he lay, his head resting near her hip, those soft brown eyes tracing the line of her collarbone, the curve of her throat, the way her chest rose and fell beneath her thin silk dress. Something about the way he looked at her, so gentle and so present, made her heart soften in her chest.

Her Flo app had pinged her phone an hour ago. Ovulation day. She had not needed the reminder. Not with the way her body was responding to him now, a slick heat gathering between her thighs, her panties growing damp against her skin.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. Jamal noticed everything.

"You okay, love?"

His voice carried that specific worry he reserved for her, the slight furrow between his brows deepening. She didn't answer with words. Instead, her fingers found the short, rough hairs of his beard, stroking along his jawline as she bent her head down. She kissed along the path her fingers had traced.His chin, the corner of his mouth, the hinge of his jaw.

Jamal shifted, using his elbow to push himself upward until his torso rose to meet hers, face to face. His lower body stayed kneeling beside her on the bed.

"You okay?" he asked again, the question softer this time.

She answered by pressing her mouth to his.

He leaned in, his mouth crashing against hers in a dirty, desperate kiss. This wasn't the gentle exploration from before; his tongue forced its way inside, swirling against hers with a greedy intensity. He tasted of desire, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, pulling it sharply enough to make her whimper into his mouth.

When she pulled back, his eyes were searching her face.

"Jam?"

"Mhm."

"Could we, like, y'know—" The words came out small, nearly swallowed by the quiet of the bedroom.

His eyebrows pulled together. He hated misinterpreting things, always needed clarity, always needed to be sure. "Y'know means what, babe?"

She looked down at her fingers, twisting together in her lap. The heat of embarrassment washed up her throat and into her cheeks. Even though it was just the two of them in the house,even though the door was closed and the world outside had gone dark, she whispered it like a secret.

"Have sex."

The words hung there.

Jamal's expression shifted. The furrow smoothed. His eyes went impossibly tender. He leaned forward, closing the small distance between them. "You want to have sex?" He repeated it not because he hadn't heard her, but because he needed her to say it again. He needed her consent.

"Yes," she said. Her voice steady now.

"Then we'll have sex, baby”He spoke in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

She caught his wrist before he could move closer. "Jamal, I have to tell you something." His gaze locked onto her face, focus narrowing. "I've never done this before. I've never had sex."

His palm found her cheek, thumb stroking across the heated skin there, and something in his expression told her that he'd suspected, had maybe always known on some level, and had simply been waiting for her to tell him when she was ready.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle. You can tell me to stop anytime, alright?" He paused. "Do you want a safe word?"

She thought for a second, something absurd and unmistakable floating to the surface of her mind. "Eggplant," she said, a stutter catching the edge of the word.

His smile was small and genuine. "You want eggplant?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. That's our safe word."

---

He repositioned himself, body settling between her legs. His hands found the hem of her dress and she lifted her arms to help him slide it upward and over her head. She returned the motion, her fingers curling into the fabric of his white cotton sleeping shirt, pulling it off and letting it fall somewhere on the floor.

She lay back against the mattress, and his breath caught.

Black lace panties hugged her hips. A belly button piercing glittered against the soft plane of her stomach, a small silver charm catching the lamplight. Her breasts were bare now, and each nipple carried a delicate butterfly piercing, the jewelry ornating against her dark areolas.

They earned a stare from Jamal.

He'd never expected this. Not from her at least . She came across so reserved, so quietly innocent in her sundresses and her soft smiles. And underneath all that—

"You're full of surprises," he said, his voice gone slightly rough.

Before she could feel self-conscious, his mouth descended. His bottom lip sealed around her right nipple and he sucked, gentle but deliberate, the butterfly jewelry cool against his tongue.

She gasped.

The sensation sent a shiver through her , shooting from her breast straight down to the heat between her legs. A sound escaped her.A soft, surprised moan that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat.

"You like that, baby?" His voice vibrated against her skin.

She nodded, her head bobbing up and down, words were temporarily unavailable.

---

His hands mapped her. That was the only word for it. He moved along her body like he was learning its geography—the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, the sensitive place just below her ribs that made her squirm. His mouth followed his hands. Kissing her throat. The hollow of her collarbone. Down, down, until he reached her left breast.

This time when he sucked, when his tongue flicked against the piercing, the moan that tore from her was loud and unrestrained. Her back arched off the mattress, her hair falling backward as she sank into the sensation.

She felt him smile against her skin.

This one's sensitive, he noted to himself. This is the one.

"It feels so good, Jamal." The words came out on a deep inhale, her hands finding his hair, fingers twisting into the short strands.

He pulled back just enough to brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He needed to see her. Every flutter of her eyelids. Every part of her lips. Every whimper and moan and gasp. He traced each one with his eyes, quietly admiring them all.

"Okay, baby." His voice was hoarse now, barely controlled. "Now I'm gonna go in."

His boxers came off. Her eyes dropped to his length, thick and hard, and something flickered in her expression, a blend of anticipation and nervousness that he picked up on straight away.

He lowered himself over her, spreading her legs wider with his knee. Her panties slid down her thighs, "You're so fucking wet for me, baby," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust. "Her panty joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. She looked soft everywhere. Soft and open and his.

He positioned his thick, pulsing cock at her entrance, the head rubbing against her soaking wet folds,his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, hauling her legs up and over his shoulders.

Leaned down. Took her left nipple back into his mouth.

He paused for a heartbeat, looking into her eyes, his own gaze dark and predatory.

"You're so fucking wet for me, baby," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust. "Take all of me."

He buried himself inside her with a thrust.

She screamed, her back arching violently off the mattress, her spine curving into a bow as her body stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was overwhelming—a blunt, filling pressure that seemed to reach her very core. Jamal groaned, a deep, sound that vibrated through both of them. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, his muscles locking tight.

"You can take it," he said, the words rough against her breast, his body trembling with the effort of holding still, of letting her adjust to the stretch of him. "You can take it, baby."

She moaned. A fast-paced, staccato sound that filled the room and went straight to his groin.

He began to move, pulling back until he was almost out before slamming back home. The sound of their skin slapping together:the wet, gentle smack of his hips hitting her ass,filled the room. Jamal’s body was built from years of discipline, all lean muscle. As he pounded into her, his back curved, his shoulder blades flexing with every thrust.

"Take it," he said again, kissing the corner of her mouth. "That's it. Taking me so well."

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails pressing into his skin. Every time she cried out his name, every time a moan broke loose from her throat, he answered her.

Thrust.

"Feel how deep I am?"

Thrust.

"You're so tight around me, baby."

Thrust.

"Look at me. I want to see your face when I—"

His pace quickened. The careful rhythm dissolved into something harder, something driven by the sounds she was making and the way her hips were rising to meet him. She was so wet now, the slick sound of their joining obscene and perfect in the quiet room.

Sweat began to bead on his skin, dripping off his chin and chest, splashing onto her breasts. She reached up, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer, wanting more of the friction.

"You like that?" He was nearly pounding into her now, the headboard tapping against the wall in a steady beat. "You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes—Jamal—yes—"

"That's my girl. Taking every inch. Doing so good for me."

The friction became unbearable, a white-hot tension building in her lower belly. She felt her internal muscles begin to clench and ripple around him. Her gasps turned into short, sharp shrieks as her orgasm hit, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a series of violent spasms.

He followed her over the edge seconds later, his hips stuttering, his groan buried against her throat.

---

In the aftermath, he didn't leave her.

He disappeared only long enough to return with a warm, damp cloth, cleaning her with a tenderness that made her eyes sting. He ran the bath himself, tested the temperature with his wrist, and guided her into the water before climbing in behind her. She leaned back against his chest, the heat soaking into her muscles, his arms wrapped around her middle.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Then: "You okay, love?"

She smiled, that same question he'd asked before everything changed. "Yeah." A pause. "More than okay."

He pressed a kiss to her damp temple.

Later, in bed, he held her the way she'd always wanted someone to hold her—fully, without reservation, one arm tucked beneath her and the other draped across her waist, his chest warm against her back. His breath was slowing into the rhythm of approaching sleep.

"Jamal?"

"Mhm."

"That was" She didn't have the words.

His arm tightened around her. "Go to sleep, baby. I've got you."

Her eyes were drifting closed when his voice came again, low and rough and just at the edge of her hearing.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to take my time with you. Every inch. Every single sound I can pull from that pretty mouth."

Her eyes snapped open.

His chuckle was a vibration against her spine.

Warning:smut ⚠️

The drive from the airport had slowly traded bustling streets for winding roads lined with olive trees, pale stone walls and bursts of bougainvillea that spilled over whitewashed fences. Every now and then the blue sea flashed between the hills, catching the afternoon sun brightly it almost hurt to look at. The windows were down just enough for the warm Mediterranean breeze to drift into the car, carrying the faint scent of salt, citrus and wild herbs.

Y/N rested her cheek against the window, watching Greece unfold around her. She had spent the entire semester buried beneath lecture notes, assignments and deadlines, barely giving herself permission to stop. When Michael had quietly mentioned weeks ago that he'd "sorted something for the summer," she had assumed it meant a few nights away somewhere nearby.

Not... this.

Michael sat beside her in the back seat, one arm resting lazily along the door. His sunglasses hid his eyes, though his attention wandered between the passing scenery and her reactions every so often. True to himself, he wasn't filling the silence with conversation. He never felt the need to. The quiet between them had always been comfortable.

Football had consumed almost every part of his year. Training sessions, travelling, media duties, recovery, expectations. Every day had belonged to someone else in one way or another. This holiday had been his idea entirely.

"You've worked hard," he'd simply told her when he'd surprised her with the plane tickets. "Thought you'd deserve a proper break."

He hadn't admitted it aloud, but he needed one too.

The car slowed as it climbed a gentle hill before turning through a set of tall black iron gates.

Y/N frowned slightly.

"This can't be..."

The driver continued forward.

The driveway curved through perfectly kept gardens where lavender bushes swayed gently in the breeze beside rows of olive trees. Palm trees framed the path, their leaves dancing softly overhead. Beyond them stood the villa.

It almost didn't look real.

Built from creamy white stone that glowed beneath the Greek sun, the villa stretched across two levels with clean Mediterranean architecture softened by natural textures. Floor to ceiling windows reflected the sea beyond.

Several balconies overlooked the coastline, each with woven chairs and linen cushions. Bougainvillea climbed along sections of the walls, their bright pink flowers contrasting against the pale stone. Terracotta pots filled with herbs and citrus trees decorated the entrance.

To one side sat an infinity pool that seemed to melt directly into the Aegean Sea below. Wooden loungers lined the terrace beneath large cream umbrellas while sheer white curtains drifted lazily around an outdoor seating area. Further down, a stone pathway disappeared towards a private viewpoint overlooking the water where the cliffs met the sea in shades of turquoise and blue.

The entire place looked peaceful.

Private.

Like the rest of the world had been left somewhere beyond the gates.

The driver continued towards the entrance.

Y/N slowly turned towards Michael.

"...Michael."

"Hm?"

She looked back outside before looking at him again.

"This is where we're staying?"

He gave the smallest nod.

"Mhm."

She stared at him for a few seconds before looking back out the window, unable to disguise the complete disbelief written across her face.

Her mouth parted slightly.

Her eyebrows lifted.

Her eyes wandered over every detail again as though maybe she'd imagined half of it.

Beside her, Michael let out a quiet laugh.

It was the kind that always escaped before he could stop it.

Small.

Breathy.

Almost hidden.

She looked back at him just in time to catch the familiar smile spreading across his face.

It never arrived dramatically.

Instead, one corner of his mouth lifted first before the other followed naturally, creating that soft, grin she adored. His usually composed expression loosened completely, and tiny creases formed around the corners of his eyes. Those gentle eye wrinkles always appeared whenever he was genuinely amused, making his dark eyes look warmer somehow. They narrowed ever so slightly beneath long lashes.

"You look shocked," he murmured.

"I am shocked."

Another quiet chuckle escaped him.

"I thought it'd be nice."

"Nice?" she repeated, almost laughing herself. "Michael, this looks like somewhere celebrities disappear to."

He shrugged as though she'd commented on the weather.

"You are here."

She stared at him.

"You do realise how ridiculous you are?"

"I've heard."

The car rolled to a stop outside the entrance.

The driver stepped out first before opening their doors.

As soon as they thanked him, Michael moved naturally towards the boot without hesitation.

Y/N followed behind.

"I'll get mine."

She reached for the handle of her suitcase.

Before she could lift it, another hand settled over it first.

"It's okay."

His voice remained calm, almost absentminded.

"I got it."

"You already have yours."

"I know."

"You don't have to carry both."

"I know."

His answers stayed as effortless as ever.

He simply lifted both suitcases as though the conversation had already been settled.

She watched him for a second.

"You are stubborn."

He glanced sideways at her.

"So I've been told."

There wasn't even the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.

Just quiet certainty.

Eventually she smiled to herself before falling into step beside him.

The gravel crunched beneath their shoes as they walked towards the front door.

Michael entered the code before pushing it open.

Cool air immediately greeted them.

The inside somehow felt even more beautiful than the exterior.

Sunlight poured through enormous windows, illuminating polished limestone floors that reflected the afternoon light. The space felt open yet incredibly warm, with high wooden ceilings crossed by exposed oak beams that added character without making the rooms feel heavy.

The living room flowed effortlessly into the dining area, furnished with oversized linen sofas scattered with textured cushions in soft sand and cream tones. A stone fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, while shelves carved into the walls displayed handmade ceramics and woven baskets that gave the villa an authentic Greek charm.

The kitchen looked as though it belonged in a design magazine.

White marble countertops curved around sleek oak cabinets with almost no visible handles. Brass fixtures caught the sunlight each time it shifted through the windows. Fresh lemons sat in a large ceramic bowl beside bundles of herbs and locally baked bread left as part of a welcome basket. Glass doors folded completely away to connect the kitchen directly to the terrace outside, allowing the sea breeze to drift gently through the house.

Further inside, wide hallways led towards several bedrooms, each decorated with soft neutral colours, flowing linen curtains and natural wood furniture. Every room seemed to frame another breathtaking view of either the sea, the cliffs or the gardens.

Y/N wandered slowly through the villa almost in disbelief.

Every room seemed better than the last.

"Oh my..."

She stepped onto one of the balconies.

The ocean stretched endlessly before her.

The water shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, changing from crystal turquoise near the shore to deep sapphire further out. White yachts drifted peacefully in the distance while tiny waves rolled lazily against the rocks below. Somewhere nearby she could hear cicadas singing beneath the warmth of the evening.

Behind her, she never noticed Michael quietly disappearing upstairs.

Their bedroom overlooked the sea from an entire wall of glass.

He unzipped both suitcases and began unpacking with the same calm efficiency he approached almost everything with.

Her dresses were carefully hung rather than folded.

Her toiletries found their place beside his in the bathroom without a second thought.

Her books were stacked neatly on the bedside table closest to where she usually slept.

He even placed her charger beside the bed because he already knew she'd forget where she'd packed it.

By the time he'd finished, the room looked lived in.

Like they'd belonged there longer than twenty minutes.

The house had fallen unusually quiet.

He wandered downstairs, expecting to find her somewhere near the pool.

Instead, the gentle sound of music floated through the hallway.

Soft.

Barely audible.

He followed it until he reached the kitchen.

Y/N stood at the marble island wearing one of his oversized T shirts over a pair of shorts, her hair loosely gathered away from her face. The windows had been pushed open, allowing the evening breeze to drift through the room while she quietly stirred something in a saucepan.

She swayed absentmindedly to the music playing from her phone.

Completely unaware that he was there.

Michael leaned silently against the doorway for a moment.

Just watching.

She looked peaceful.

Happy.

Lighter than she had in weeks.

A small smile found its way onto his face again.

Without saying anything, he crossed the kitchen.

His footsteps were almost soundless against the stone floor.

Only when he was directly behind her did she begin to realise someone was close.

Before she could turn around, two familiar arms slipped carefully around her waist.

His chest rested lightly against her back.

His chin brushed near her shoulder.

She smiled instantly.

"You scared me."

"Mmm."

His answer was barely more than a hum.

One of his hands settled comfortably against her stomach while the other remained around her waist, gently pulling her a fraction closer.

She could actually feel him relaxing against her.

Not rushing.

Not thinking.

Simply existing.

Then, without warning, he pressed a slow kiss against the side of her neck.

Another just beneath her jaw.

Then one against her cheek.

Each kiss lingered for just a second longer than the last.

She laughed softly.

"What has gotten into you?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, another kiss landed near the corner of her smile as he remained wrapped around her from behind.

The kisses felt different today.

Not the usual quick pecks Michael gave her when he was distracted or the half-interested ones when his phone buzzed. These were slower. Deliberate. His lips lingered on the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then that spot just below her ear that made her breath catch.

All day it had been like this. His hands finding her hips while she made a sandwich . Fingers grazing her lower back as she reached for a bowl. A palm spreading across her thigh under the dinner table, warm and heavy, staying there while he continued talking about some producer who’d been blowing up his phone.

Y/N stirred the pasta and tried to act normal.

They’d never had sex. The relationship was new enough that the word itself still felt fragile. And the distance—those long stretches of FaceTime calls and I miss you texts—meant they hadn’t really figured out the physical part yet. Tonight would be their first night sharing a bed.

The thought sat in her chest like a stone.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror now, working moisturizer into her skin in slow circles. The door was open. She could see him reflected in the glass—Michael, stretched across the bed, one leg bent up, his head propped on his arm. The TV murmured something neither of them was watching.

His expression was unreadable.

She’d never seen this particular look before. His eyes tracked her movements without shame, without looking away when she caught him. One finger traced his bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth. That tic. She’d noticed it months ago, the first time they met. It meant he was thinking hard about something.

Her hands trembled as she capped the moisturizer.

The satin nightgown hugged her body. Black. Lace trim along the hem that hit mid-thigh. She hadn’t packed it intentionally—or maybe she had. Maybe she’d folded it into her suitcase weeks ago knowing exactly what she hoped would happen.

She walked toward the bed.

“You look good.”

His voice came out soft, almost reverent. The kind of tone that made her stomach flip.

“Thanks.” Her own voice sounded sheepish, smaller than she meant it to.

She climbed under the covers while he stood up. The bathroom light clicked on. She heard water running, the familiar rustle of his routine—brushing teeth, the spritz of rose water on his dreads, the quiet sounds of someone making themselves ready for something.

By the time he emerged, she’d fixed her eyes on the television screen. A cooking competition. Someone was crying over a fallen soufflé.

The lights went out.

His body slid under the sheets, and before she could register the movement, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her attention away from the screen, pulling her toward him.

The television light flickered across his face.

“Michael—”

His head dipped. Dreads brushed across her collarbone, cool against her skin. Small kisses peppered her neck—light, barely-there things that made her toes curl under the sheets.

“You look so good,” he whispered again, the words vibrating against her throat.

His mouth traveled. Neck to jaw. Jaw to cheek. Cheek to the corner of her lips. Each kiss unhurried, like he was learning her topograghy.

Then he was climbing over her.

One leg swung across her hips. His weight settled, forearms bracketing her shoulders, his face hovering inches from hers.

The eye contact was suffocating in the best way.

She felt the dampness between her thighs, the strange sensation of her panties clinging uncomfortably. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Tell me if you wanna stop.” His head tilted slightly. “Yeah?”

“Keep going, Michael.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended.

He undressed her slowly. The nightgown slid up and over her head. His fingers hooked into her panties, dragging them down her legs with a patience that made her dizzy.

When he opened her thighs, his eyes changed.

Something sparked in them. Wonder, maybe. Like he’d just discovered something precious.

His boxers came off. She pressed both palms against his chest.

“You okay?” His eyebrows drew together.

She couldn’t look at him. The embarrassment burned across her face, hot and undeniable.

“I’ve never, like… done something like this before.”

The words hung between them. Stupid. She sounded stupid, beating around the bush instead of just saying it.

“Whatchu mean you’ve never done something like this before?” The furrow in his brow deepened. Michael hated vagueness.

“I’m a virgin.”

Her face was on fire. The confession sat in the air while she tried desperately to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the window, the dresser—anywhere but his eyes.

He leaned closer.

“Do you wanna continue?” His voice dropped. Softer now. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

The tension in her shoulders melted. He felt it. He saw it.

“Okay, Michael.”

He kissed her forehead first.

Then her eyelids. The bridge of her nose. The bow of her upper lip. Slow, featherlight kisses that seemed designed to quiet the noise in her head.

His hips shifted.

The pressure came gradually—not an invasion, but an arrival. He watched her face the entire time, eyes scanning for any flicker of discomfort.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” A breath. “Keep going.”

He pushed deeper.

A small sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a whimper, barely audible. He buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, the words damp against her skin.

Her body adjusted around him. The initial discomfort faded, replaced by a fullness that felt impossibly intimate.

He moved slowly. Each thrust measured, careful. Every few moments his eyes would find hers, checking in without words.

A moan slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Make more sounds for me.”

His pace built by increments. Her fingers found his back, nails pressing crescents into his shoulder blades.

“Good girl.”

The words hit her somewhere deep. She felt herself tightening around him involuntarily.

Michael groaned. Low. Guttural. Directly into her ear.

Her body responded before her brain could catch up. The pressure built—not in one spot, but everywhere. A tension that spread from her core outward, making her legs shake, her breath stutter.

“Michael, I think I’m—”

“Hold it for me, good girl. Just a minute, yeah?”

She whimpered. Every muscle locked down.

He thrust again. And again. Building her up to a precipice she wasn’t sure she could stay on.

Then something broke.

Wetness. Too much wetness, sudden and uncontrollable, and she realized with horror what was happening.

“Oh my god—” She tried to close her legs, tried to hide, but his body was in the way.

“No, no, no.” His rhythm slowed but didn’t stop. A grin spread across his face. “That’s so hot, baby.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize.” He kissed her hard, swallowing her protests. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”

The embarrassment didn’t fully recede, but it quieted. Especially when he started moving faster, when his breathing went ragged, when his hips began to lose their careful rhythm.

“Where?” The word strained out of him.

She knew what he was asking.

“On my stomach.”

He pulled out. His hand moved between them, slick sounds filling the room, and then warmth splashed across her belly in thick pulses. A broken groan tore from his chest.

He collapsed beside her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The television still flickered in the corner. Someone on the cooking show had fixed their soufflé.

Michael’s hand found hers under the covers. His thumb traced circles across her knuckles.

“Hey.” His voice was hoarse.

She turned her head. His face was half-lit, half-shadow, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes had that same unreadable quality from before—but different now. Softer at the edges.

“Yeah?”

He opened his mouth to say something.

Then stopped. His jaw tightened. His head turned toward the bedroom door.

“Did you hear that?”

The front door of the apartment creaked open.

Do you guys want part 2?

The roar of the Allianz Arena still rang in my ears, a vibration beneath my skin. Down on the pitch, I'd watched Jamal weave through Dortmund's defense like a man possessed, every touch precise.The final whistle. 4-0. His name chanted from the stands, a wave of sound. My boyfriend. The MVP.

Then there was silence.

Not the awkward kind. Not the empty kind.

The quiet that only ever seemed to exist in places like this—high above the city, tucked away in a hotel suite built for people who wanted the rest of the world locked outside.

The door clicked shut behind us.

The sound carried for a second before everything settled again.

He didn't say anything. Just stood there in the middle of the living room, still wearing the suit he'd left the stadium in. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone, sleeves pushed back enough to show the veins in his forearms. The lights from the city spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching his shadow across the wooden floor until it almost reached my feet.

He looked... tired.

Not the kind that came from running ninety minutes. It was deeper than that. The adrenaline from the win was still there—you could see it in the way his chest rose a little quicker than usual—but beneath it sat something heavier. The sort of exhaustion that settled into your bones after weeks of never really slowing down.

It softened him somehow.

Smoothed out the usual sharpness in his expression until, for a moment, he looked less like the player everyone watched from the stands and more like just... Jamal.

I didn't say a word.

My heels were soundless on the plush rug as I crossed the space between us. His eyes tracked me, dark and a little curious. He started to smile, that boyish, brilliant smile that made stadiums erupt.

"Quite a view," he said, gesturing toward the window.

"I'm not interested in the view."

My hands found his chest. The fine wool of his jacket was smooth under my palms. I slid them upward, over his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the fabric. His breath hitched, the smile fading into something more focused. More hungry.

"You were spectacular tonight," I murmured, pushing the jacket off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a soft, heavy thud. "Every single minute."

His hands moved to my waist, a reflex. "We played as a team—"

"No." I silenced him with a finger against his lips. "You. I'm talking about you. What you did out there…" My finger trailed down, over his chin. You always know where everyone's going before they do. Watching you play is... kind of unreal."

His throat worked as he swallowed. The exhaustion in his eyes was burning off, replaced by the heat of my gaze. "Y/N..."

I stepped closer, my fingers finding the knot of his tie.

"Hold still," I murmured, smiling when he huffed out a quiet laugh.

Slowly, I worked it loose. The tension gave way beneath my hands until the silk slipped free, sliding from around his neck and falling somewhere by our feet.

"You've been carrying everyone all night," I said, smoothing down the collar of his shirt. "Running yourself into the ground. Thinking about everyone else."

My hand lingered against his chest for a second before I looked back up at him.

"You don't have to do that in here."

I brushed a thumb along his jaw, gentle enough that his shoulders finally seemed to loosen.

"Come on," I whispered. "Just lie down for a bit."

"Let me look after you tonight."

A tremor went through him, a visible shudder that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. He let me guide him, my hand in his, toward the bedroom. The bed was massive, dressed in white linens that glowed faintly in the ambient light. He sat on the edge, his eyes never leaving mine as I knelt and slipped off his shoes and socks, my touch lingering on the arch of each foot.

I rose, and his hands instinctively reached for the hem of my dress. A silent question. I nodded, and he lifted it over my head, the fabric a soft sigh against my skin. But when he moved to undo his shirt, I caught his wrists.

"Not yet," I whispered. "Let me."

One button at a time.

My fingers were deliberate, grazing the warm skin revealed with each small release. The hollow of his throat. The hard plane of his sternum. I pushed the shirt open, pressing my lips to the base of his neck where his pulse drummed a hard.He smelled of grass and exertion and a clean, soft cologne that was just him.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, not quite a moan, but close.A whine.His hands fisted on the sides of my hips.

I kissed a slow path down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, my tongue darting out to taste the faint salt on his skin. Each kiss was a word left unsaid. His breathing grew shallower, his ab muscles tensing under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his trousers, I looked up. His head was bowed, his gaze locked on me, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of dark brown remained.

"This is for the assist," I murmured, unbuckling his belt. The metal clinked, unnaturally loud.

"And the run in the 73rd minute." I pulled the belt free.

"And for every time you got knocked down and got back up again." The button of his trousers gave way. The zipper followed, a sharp, metallic rasp.

He lifted his hips so I could pull them off, along with his boxer-briefs, finally freeing him. His cock, already hard, rested thick and heavy against his lower stomach. The sight of him—all of him, naked and vulnerable and so utterly pretty—stopped my breath for a second. This wasn't the footballer. This was Jamal. Just Jamal. My Jamal.

"Lie back," I breathed, pressing a hand to the center of his chest.

He obeyed, sinking into the white pillows.

I climbed onto the bed beside him but didn't touch where he most wanted. Not yet. Instead, I started with his feet. I massaged the arch of his left foot, my thumbs digging into the tight muscles, releasing the tension from hours of explosive sprints. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that came from somewhere primal. My hands worked their way up, over the corded muscle of his calves, the powerful sweep of his thighs. I could feel the fine tremor in his legs, the lingering echoes of his game.

"Turn over," I instructed, my voice soft but firm.

He rolled onto his stomach, and a new landscape of muscle and tendon was laid out before me. My palms slicked with a lavender-scented oil I'd found in the bathroom, I began the real work. I straddled his lower back and leaned into his shoulders, where the knots of stress and physical trauma were knotted like oak. The heels of my hands found a particularly stubborn spot near his shoulder blade, and I pressed my entire body weight into it.

A sound escaped him, half-pain, half-ecstasy. "Right there... fuck, Y/N."

"My MVP," I cooed, working the knot until it surrendered, dissolving under the pressure. "You carry so much. Let it all go. Just feel my hands."

Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. Time turned to honey, slow and golden. I worked every inch of his back, from the wings of his lats to the twin dimples just above his ass. With each long, gliding stroke, his body sank deeper into the mattress, every last coil of tension unwinding. His breathing became a deep rhythm.

When he was completely, utterly pliant, I leaned down, my bare breasts pressing against his oiled skin. I kissed the nape of his neck, a whisper of a touch.

"Turn over for me, baby."

He was heavy-limbed, moving like a man in a dream. When he was on his back again, his eyes were half-closed, a small, blissed-out smile playing on his lips. His cock was still fiercely erect, a stark contrast to his relaxed body.

I reached for the oil again, pouring a cool stream directly onto his chest. He hissed, a sharp intake of air, as I began to spread it. My hands glided over his pecs, down his ribcage, tracing the ladder of his obliques. I deliberately avoided his achingly hard length, circling it, teasing the tight skin of his inner thighs. A bead of pre-cum welled at the tip, a single, glistening pearl.

"Please," he finally whispered, the word a ragged crack in the perfect silence. His hips bucked, seeking friction I wouldn't give. "Please, I need..."

I silenced him by finally, finally, wrapping my oil-slicked hand around his shaft.

The cry he made was a masterpiece. A desperate, choked-off thing of pure relief. I stroked him with a torturous slowness, a tight, twisting rhythm that made his back arch and his head thrash against the pillows. My thumb swirled over the sensitive head, spreading the moisture there, making the glide slick and soundless.

This was my reward. Watching him come undone piece by piece. "To everyone else, he was Jamal Musiala. To me, he was just my boyfriend, too exhausted to keep his eyes open." trembling sensation under my touch.

"Look at me," I commanded, speeding up my strokes.

His eyes flew open, locking onto mine. He was panting, his jaw slack.

"I'm so proud of you," I said, my voice thick with love. "So unbelievably proud. And right now, I don't want you to think about anything. Not the game, not the score, not the press. Just this. Just my hand. Just my body. Just us."

I shifted my position, swinging my leg over him to reverse our positions. I pressed my slick, aching core against his thigh, a silent testament to my own need, as I lowered my mouth.

His whole body went rigid.

"Wait—" he choked out, a moment before my lips made contact. "I'm not going to—I can't—"

I didn't wait. My mouth enveloped the swollen head of his cock, my tongue flatting against the sensitive underside. The salty-sweet taste of him flooded my senses as I took him deep, my lips meeting the tight circle of my fingers. A strangled shout ripped from his throat, his hands flying to my hair, not pulling, just holding on, as if I was the only fixed point in a universe that was rapidly dissolving.

I hollowed my cheeks and moved, a slow, worshipful rhythm that matched the strokes of my hand. Up, a gentle, sucking pressure. Down, taking him until his tip brushed the back of my throat. His thighs trembled violently beneath me, the muscles so taut they seemed carved from stone.

"I'm close—Y/N, I'm so close—" The words were a desperate, broken warning.

As his hips began to lift, as I felt that first, powerful contraction at the base of his spine, I pulled away. A single, wet strand connected my lip to him. He stared at me, chest heaving, a feral mix of shock and desperation contorting his beautiful face.

I crawled up his body, my own desire a throbbing ache, positioning my hips over his. My arousal dripped onto his rigid length as I held him steady. I met his wild, questioning gaze, a slow, wicked smile curving my lips.

"I lied," I confessed, the head of him nudging at my entrance. "We're not done yet. "This is my way of saying I'm proud of you. So let me have this."

A spark lit behind Jamal's eyes as he carefully shifted their positions, easing Y/N onto her back.

He pushed in deep in one smooth thrust, burying herself to the hilt in her pulsing heat. Missionary position let him watch every expression cross her face as he started to fuck her hard. His hips snapped forward, driving his thick cock in and out of her dripping pussy while her legs locked around his waist. Each thrust made wet sounds fill the room. She reached down and rubbed her clit in tight circles, and soon another rush of liquid sprayed out around his shaft, soaking his balls and the bed.

Jamal groaned at the sight and the feeling, his cock throbbing inside her. He pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, then helped her climb on top in reverse cowgirl. She sank down onto his cock again, taking every inch until her ass rested against his pelvis. She leaned forward, hands braced on his thighs, and started riding him. Her pussy gripped him tight as she bounced, the view of her stretched around his shaft making his head spin. He reached around and rubbed her clit again, and she squirted once more, the warm rush running down his cock and over his balls.

Her movements grew frantic. She slammed down harder, taking him deep, until Jamal's hands clamped on her hips and he thrust up hard from below. His cock pulsed and he came with a low growl, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her. She kept riding through his orgasm, milking every drop until he was spent and panting beneath her.

Finally she lifted off him slowly. Cum leaked from her well-fucked pussy in thick white strands. She turned around, lay back on the pillows, and spread her legs wide so he could see everything. Her swollen lips parted, and more of his load oozed out, sliding down toward her ass. Jamal watched, breathing hard, his cock twitching at the sight of her displaying herself like that, filled and dripping with his cum.

She held the pose, thighs open, letting him look his fill while the last of his seed continued to trickle out of her.

“I like your way of saying you’re proud of me” he spoke lowly as a slight smirk painted his face ,as he proceeded to smack her ass as she stood up from the bed.

The apartment was almost completely silent.

Not an awkward silence.

The comfortable kind.

The sort that had settled naturally into their relationship over the last two years.

Rain tapped softly against the bedroom windows while the warm glow from the bedside lamp reflected off the mirror in front of you.

Wednesday was wash day.

It always had been.

Michael had learned that months into dating you, and without ever being asked, he never made plans for Wednesday evenings anymore.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, sections of your hair neatly clipped away while a small bowl of warmed amla oil rested beside bottles of amla, rosemary and jojoba oil.

Behind you, Michael leaned against the headboard, one knee bent, quietly reading on his iPad. Every so often his eyes drifted away from the screen.

Not because he had anything to say.

Simply because he liked watching you.

---

Some hours later, training had left Michael physically tired, but the moment he stepped through the apartment door he noticed the blender in the sink.

Avocado skin.

Two eggs.

Half a banana.

Honey.

Olive oil.

A smile almost found its way onto his face.

Wash day.

He followed the music upstairs...

---

After your shower, the two of you settled in the living room while you layered your leave-in conditioner, cream and oil.

Michael sat beside you, occasionally passing you the next product before you even reached for it.

"You've memorised the order."

"I've seen this enough times."

"You've been paying attention."

"I usually do."

There was no pride in his voice.

No expectation that you'd praise him.

Simply a quiet statement of fact.

To him, remembering the little things about you wasn't extraordinary.

It was just part of loving you.

You spent the rest of the evening twisting each section into heatless curls while Michael watched an old film in the background, every now and then looking over to see your progress.

When you finally climbed into bed wearing your satin bonnet, he reached over without a word, adjusted it where it had slipped slightly over your forehead and switched off the lamp.

"Night."

"Night."

---

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as you carefully removed each heatless curler.

One by one.

Your curls sprang back effortlessly, soft, glossy and full of movement.

Michael was lacing up his trainers when he glanced over.

He stopped.

Without realising it, he'd been watching for nearly a minute.

"You've done them differently."

"I separated them more."

He nodded slowly.

"It suits you."

You smiled to yourself before finishing your makeup.

A little later, you disappeared upstairs to get changed while Michael waited downstairs with a cup of coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through something on his phone.

A few minutes passed.

Then he heard your footsteps.

He looked up.

And forgot entirely what he'd been reading.

You descended the staircase slowly, smoothing the skirt of your ivory dress.

Delicate silver embellishments caught the morning light with every step, shimmering like tiny stars stitched into the fabric. The soft ivory hugged your figure before flowing gently past your knees, and against your rich chocolate skin, the colour seemed to glow even more beautifully. The gold jewellery around your neck and wrists caught the light in warm flashes, tying everything together effortlessly.

Michael simply watched.

His expression barely changed.

Anyone else would've assumed he wasn't thinking much at all.

But you knew him.

The way his eyes lingered.

The way he forgot to blink for a second.

The almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

Those were the giveaways.

You reached the bottom step.

"Well?"

He looked at you for another moment before answering.

"You look..."

He paused, searching for the right word instead of settling for the first one.

"...Beautiful."

It was simple.

Quiet.

Entirely sincere.

You smiled.

"That's all?"

"I don't think I need more."

He stepped closer, gently smoothing an imaginary crease near your waist before brushing a curl away from your face.

"The dress suits you."

You teased, "Or I suit the dress?"

His lips twitched ever so slightly.

"You make it look expensive."

You laughed.

"It ‘was’ expensive."

"I believe it."

His fingers lingered for just a second on your hand before letting go.

"I was supposed to leave five minutes ago," you admitted.

"Mhm."

"But?"

"I've accepted your friends are borrowing you today."

You laughed softly.

"I'll be back later."

"I know."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before opening the front door for you.

As you walked towards your car, he stayed in the doorway a moment longer than usual, quietly watching until you disappeared from sight.

If anyone had asked him later what he was thinking, he'd probably have answered with one word.

"Nothing."

But if they knew him as well as you did, they'd know that silence had always been where he felt things the most.

Jamal had barely finished tying his boots before he was looking for her.

"You still going to the mall?" he asked, grabbing his car keys from the kitchen counter.

Y/N looked up as she slipped on her shoes. She was wearing a fitted black Abercrombie tee tucked into a pair of low-rise black bootcut jeans, a silver necklace resting against her collarbone.

"Mhm. Thought I'd have a look around."

He smiled. "Don't spend all your money."

She rolled her eyes. "You literally buy football boots every other month."

"That's an investment."

"It's consumerism."

He laughed, stepping over to pull her into a quick hug before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Alright, future lawyer."

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Future lawyer."

She couldn't help smiling.

They left the house together, Jamal dropping her outside the shopping centre before heading off to Bayern's training ground.

"Text me when you're heading home," he reminded her.

"I will."

"And don't disappear."

She grinned.

"No promises."

The first hour went exactly as planned. She wandered through a few clothing shops, bought herself a vanilla iced coffee, tried on a jacket she definitely didn't need and spent far too long browsing a bookstore before eventually realising she wasn't actually interested in buying anything.

After another twenty minutes of aimlessly walking around the centre, she sighed.

She was bored.

Really bored.

As she headed towards the exit, planning to just go home, something across the street caught her eye.

A piercing studio.

She stopped walking.

She'd wanted back dermals for months.

Her eyes flicked to the time on her phone.

Jamal would still be at training.

She stared at the sign for another few seconds before shrugging to herself.

*Why not?*

Forty minutes later, she found herself standing in front of the studio mirror with the biggest smile on her face.

Two tiny silver gems sat perfectly on the small of her back, one on either side of her spine. They were subtle enough to stay hidden beneath most clothes, but caught the light beautifully whenever they were visible.

They looked even prettier than she'd imagined.

The piercer carefully went through the aftercare instructions once more before she thanked him, pulled her t-shirt back down carefully and finally headed home.

By the time she unlocked the front door, the house was already quiet.

"Hello?" Jamal called from somewhere inside.

"So much for sneaking in," she muttered to herself.

A few seconds later he rounded the corner, his face immediately lighting up.

"There you are."

He crossed the room without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"You were gone forever."

She laughed into his shoulder.

"I got distracted."

"I noticed."

He pulled back just enough to study her face.

"So..."

"So?"

"What did you buy?"

She hesitated.

"...Stuff."

His eyes narrowed instantly.

"That's suspicious."

"It's not."

"It definitely is."

Trying not to smile, she slipped out of his arms and walked towards the kitchen.

"I'm hungry."

"You're changing the subject."

"No, I'm actually starving."

He followed after her anyway.

"What did you buy?"

"Clothes."

"You already left wearing clothes."

She looked over her shoulder with a grin.

"Very observant."

"I try."

Dinner ended up distracting him long enough for her to think she'd gotten away with it.

They spent the next hour curled up on the sofa watching random videos, Jamal occasionally reaching over to steal popcorn from her bowl despite having his own.

Eventually she stretched.

"I'm gonna shower."

"Okay."

She disappeared upstairs, smiling to herself.

When she came back down about twenty minutes later, her hair was still slightly damp from the shower. She'd changed into one of Jamal's oversized Bayern shirts that slipped lazily off one shoulder.

She barely made it into the living room before Jamal looked up from his phone.

"...Come here."

"What?"

"Turn around."

She frowned.

"Why?"

"Just turn around."

Confused, she slowly did as he asked.

The oversized shirt shifted as she turned, exposing the small of her back.

Jamal froze.

"...Baby?"

"Mhm?"

"...What is that?"

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

He instinctively reached out before stopping himself a few centimetres away.

"Can I touch it?"

"No!"

His hand shot back immediately.

"Sorry!"

She turned around, laughing.

"They're fresh."

His eyes widened.

"You got pierced?"

"Mhm."

"When?"

"Today."

"...Today?"

"After shopping."

He blinked several times.

"You just... decided to get piercings?"

"I got bored."

He stared at her.

"You got bored..."

"Mhm."

"...and your solution was letting someone put jewellery in your back?"

She shrugged innocently.

"It seemed like a good idea."

He let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're actually unbelievable."

She stepped a little closer.

"So..."

"So?"

"Do you like them?"

His eyes drifted back to the tiny silver gems catching the light.

They were delicate.

Simple.

Somehow they suited her perfectly.

A smile spread across his face despite himself.

"...Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"They're really pretty."

"I knew you'd like them."

"I never said I approved."

"You basically did."

"I absolutely didn't."

"You literally said they were pretty."

"I said *they* were pretty."

"And?"

He sighed dramatically.

"...And you."

Her grin only grew wider.

Without another word, he leaned down and pressed a careful kiss against her forehead instead.

"I still can't believe you got body piercings because shopping was boring."

She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I could've gotten a tattoo."

His eyes widened.

"Please don't say things like that."

She giggled.

"I won't."

A pause.

"...Probably."

Jamal groaned, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm never letting you go shopping alone again."

"You say that now."

"I mean it."

"You'll forget by tomorrow."

He thought about it for a second before laughing.

"...You're probably right."

She smiled softly before resting her head against his chest, his arms instinctively settling around her waist—careful not to brush against her new piercings.

After a comfortable silence, he quietly admitted, "I really did miss you today."

She looked up at him.

"It was only a few hours."

"I know."

He smiled sheepishly.

"...Still missed you."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I missed you too."

His smile only widened.

"Next time you get bored..."

"Mhm?"

"...Come watch training instead."

She laughed, intertwining her fingers with his.

"No promises."