#vandevens

fem!reader x michael olise (france)

where michael gets jealous of the way désiré talks to you.

day 12 of my world cup 2026 series ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

recovery day rolled around again. this time, michael, désiré, kylian, rayan and mateta invited you along to a little cafe hangout.

des had been one of your good friends for a while, longer than you and michael had been together.

well, together was a stretch. it was more of a situationship-talking stage thing. neither of you wanted to put a label on it just yet.

at the cafe, you sat beside michael and across des. the latter had made a joke about your drink choice which caused you two to laugh. michael, however, was confused.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, looking at you before looking at des.

after a couple of giggles, you explained that it was some inside joke you’d had from a while ago.

he nodded but didn’t look too content with that explanation. inside joke. why wasn’t he involved?

he wasn’t too fond of how you guys were looking at each other too. des had a look of love in his eyes. at least in michael’s eyes; maybe he was just blinded by his jealousy.

as the table continued to converse about anything and everything, you felt michael’s leg brushing yours every time désiré would direct his conversation at you.

the first time he did it, you brushed it off. maybe it was an accident. the second time was a little more obvious, his hand also moving to rest on your knee. the third time, though? you fully picked up on what he was trying to do. his hand even went up towards your thigh. thrice is a pattern after all.

you shot a glance towards michael and he just maintained his stoic expression.

‘what is your problem?’ you mouthed, and instead of giving you an explanation, he just shrugged.

your eyes basically rolled to the back of your head before you rejoined the table.

*

after the meal, the 6 of you guys decided to walk around the city more. you and michael lingered at the back and that was when you decided to ask him about just now.

“what was that about?” you ask softly, folding your arms while staring at him.

michael let out a snort. “so this is what this is about?”

you glared at him hard, in turn causing him to raise his hands up in surrender.

“fine, okay. sorry. i just didn’t like how des was staring at you so intently. like he wanted to eat you up or something,” relented michael with a small smirk on his face.

you groaned, giving him a light smack on his shoulder. “is that all? seriously? i didn’t peg you for the jealous type y’know…”

“hm. now you know.”

you rolled your eyes again but you went to hold his hand and give it a squeeze.

“if it makes you feel any better,” you started, arms swinging along with his as you two walked, “des has a girlfriend who he loves very much. we’re just good friends.”

he squeezes your hand back and smiles. not a smug kind of smile, this one was a genuine smile smile.

“yeah. your ‘jealous type’ man feels assured.”

two-nil ;;

fem!reader x michael olise

where he fucks you to forget.

a/n: more people voted h/c but i had more people telling me angry sex in my inbox sooooo… why not both [v1]

world cup 2026 series: semifinal 1 v2 ~

cw smut mdni

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the silence was going to suffocate you.

you’d already taken your bath and changed up, wearing nothing at all except his kit. a cruel reminder of the night’s happenings.

the tv was off, you didn’t want to hear it again. you didn’t want to relive it.

you were deep in thought til you weren’t. the door slammed open and in came michael. michael who looked like he wanted to punch something.

after kicking the door shut and getting his shoes off, he stormed into the main room to find you, sitting cross-legged, in his jersey. only his jersey.

a new wave of a mix of something — anger, frustration, lust? — crashed over him.

“fucking hell,” he grunted, voice low and rough. like it was reserved for you. “i ghosted. again.”

well… not ghosted, per se. maybe he didn’t live up to his expectations but not ghosted.

“michael…” you said cautiously, getting up off the bed and getting a little closer to him.

before you knew it, michael’s arms were wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you into him hard. you let out a soft gasp as you planted a hand onto his chest for support.

he unraveled one arm to cup your cheek, pulling you in for a rough, hungry kiss. it was angry. it was desperate. you could basically taste the fury on his tongue.

he pulled away, his hands now resting on your lower back as he buried his face into your neck, leaving marks (that people would definitely ask about in the morning) almost everywhere.

your head fell back as one of your arms instinctively braced yourself against the bed. he pushed you up against it, still leaving love bites wherever he wanted.

“let me… i’ll fuck you so hard we both forget about the game.”

michael’s hands slid under your shirt, resting on your bare waist as he breathed into your neck. you nodded, basically giving him the jurisdiction to do whatever he wanted now.

he flipped you around, leaving your ass up, before his hand came down and gave it a spank. you let out an unexpected gasp at that, squirming a little in the bed.

he then got on his knees, the carpet fabric rubbing against his sore knees. his hands grabbed your ass and spread you a little wider, to the point you could feel the cool air of the ac against you. but it was soon replaced by his warmth — his nose was almost inside you and so was his tongue.

“you’re so wet already,” he commented.

michael then licked a stripe before suddenly plunging his tongue into you. your eyes squeezed shut at the feeling while your hands gripped onto the bedsheet for support. you adjusted a little before you naturally fell into his rhythm, your hips rocking back against his face to feel more of him (and his nose).

before you could even fully process this, he pulled away. you clenched around nothing, feeling the loss of something inside you. your head craned back to look at him and now he was back on his feet. he fumbled with his france sweat shorts, pulling them down alongside his briefs and letting his cock spring free.

he roughly grabbed your hips again, pulling you up in the bed so it was an easier position.

he lined himself up, looking back at you to see whether you were still alright. you gave another nod when you felt his gaze on you.

without warning, he thrust himself into you in one deep stroke. he felt your warmth enveloping him and he swears he could come just from that.

meanwhile you — your eyes rolled back as your head buried deeper into the pillow. “fuck yes,” you whined into the pillow, hoping it muffled well.

michael didn’t give you any time to adjust before he started fucking into you. hard, brutal, punishing — yet not painful.

with every thrust was a soft, involuntary grunt that escaped from his throat.

“two-nil,” he groaned, pressing you further into the mattress. “i was shit out there. fuckin’ invisible.”

your hips instinctively rocked back to meet his, meeting his every thrust.

he groaned again, one of his hands sliding up your back and threading into your hair and pulling you closer as he drove deeper and harder.

you felt michael’s warmth yet again as he leaned down to be closer to you. despite his tangible anger, this was strangely intimate.

“you’re the only good thing ‘bout tonight.”

before you could even fully register his words, you felt your release pooling in your belly as you clenched around him.

“gonna come,” you exclaimed, your back arching as you felt your orgasm crash over you.

michael didn’t stop. he fucked you through it, his pace becoming noticeably frantic, chasing his own release.

with a final, loud and guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you, his hips twitching slightly as his orgasm rocked him.

it was sticky. it was messy. but it helped him and that was what mattered.

the only sound in the room at that moment was both of your panting and heavy breaths.

slowly, he pulled out of you and watched as the mix of juices flowed out. he grabbed a box of tissues off the nightstand and wiped you off, before wiping himself off and disappearing into the bathroom.

he reemerged with a damp towel, using it to clean you and himself up quietly. he then collapsed onto the bed beside you, turning towards you and pulling you closer.

“sorry…” he mumbled, nuzzling into your marked-up neck. “didn’t mean to be that… rough.”

you let out a light chuckle, turning around to face him back. “‘s alright. you feel better now?”

he nodded. you could tell he was on the brink of falling asleep by the way his blinks turned slow.

“just… stay here. i don’t wanna be alone. not after that shitshow.”

you snuggled closer, your arms and legs intertwined with his. “sleep well, michael.”

fem!reader x michael olise

where you can see how bad france’s loss affected michael.

a/n: this one’s kinda long lmao enjoy [v2]

world cup 2026 series: semifinal 1 v1 ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the door didn’t slam like you’d expected it to. you were expecting michael to be all angry about the loss. but he wasn’t. his entry was so quiet you could barely hear it over the hum of the air conditioning.

he just stood there for a moment before sliding his shoes off and walking into the room.

“hey,” you greet, looking up at him from where you sat on the bed.

“hey,” michael muttered back, not even sparing you a glance before he slips into the ensuite bathroom.

a painfully long period of silence — save for the faucet running, he must’ve been washing his face or something — passed. that’s fine, you told yourself, maybe he just didn’t feel like talking. that’s okay.

he re-entered the main room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. not at you, the carpeted hotel room floor. his feet shuffle a little before he speaks up.

“you eat?” he asks, gaze still stuck on the floor.

“michael.”

“they have room service here. i remember seeing a menu—“

“michael.”

you scooted closer to him. not so close that you’d touch, but close enough that you didn’t have to yell to talk to him.

“i texted you lots. and you replied back with an ‘ok’. an ‘ok’, michael.” you almost laughed.

“was busy.”

“doing nothing?”

“yeah,” he admits. now he was contradicting himself. nice one.

“that’s not an answer,” you replied, your legs going up onto the bed, your arms curling around them.

“what you want me to say? we lost. end of story.”

you wanted to sigh. sigh sooo loudly the room next door would hear. “i know we lost. i was there.”

michael glances at you for a moment before immediately fixing his gaze onto something else in the room. “yeah. nothing to say then. you saw it.”

“no, there’s lots to talk about, you just don’t want to.”

“tired.”

you knew he wasn’t a man of many words, at least for interviews or media or whatnot, but it was killing you. never ever did he give you such short and emotionless responses.

“no. you’re avoiding me.”

“i’m not— i’m not avoiding you. i just don’t feel like talking about it right now, is all.”

your feet fall back onto the ground as your posture relaxes slightly. “we don’t have to, then. i’ll just sit here.”

silence passes.

more silence.

and more silence.

before michael finally let out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. “they keep… chatting.”

they? they who? what? what you mean chatting?

“about yamal. and me. same shit every time. but they can do whatever they want, actually. they can compare.”

apparently not because you could tell this was really bothering him. he was so tense that if he tipped over he’d be stuck in the same position.

“that’s not what your body is saying,” you point out.

“can you stop—“ michael catches himself before he could say anything he’d regret. his palm went up to his face and he gave it a hard scrub before sighing again. “sorry. i don’t know what— what you want me to even say.”

“you don’t have to say anything. just stop putting up this facade of not being hurt when i know you are. you’re upset, stop hiding it.”

“it’s my fault,” he groans, his head buried in both his hands now.

on one hand you wanted to hug him. on the other, you wanted to slap some sense into him. no, it wasn’t his fault. what?

“no it’s not. the whole team was off—“

“it doesn’t matter. ousmane— or lucas— whoever the hell being shit tonight doesn’t change the fact that i’m getting compared to yamal. doesn’t change the headlines.”

you let his words marinate a bit. they needed time.

“you have five assists throughout the campaign.”

“so?”

you shrug. “that’s pretty impressive for your first world cup. five.” you take michael’s hand — he flinches slightly, but lets you — before counting it on his fingers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

“i know it doesn’t change anything. this loss, or whatever. i know it won’t magically make you forget about the pain of losing this game.”

“then why bother?”

“because it’s still the truth. you didn’t let the team down. even if you don’t want to accept it right now.”

he lets out another shaky sigh, his fingers lacing with yours before giving it a firm squeeze.

“i thought we’d win it. the whole thing.”

“so did i. so did everyone else.”

“feels stupid now. dunno why i’d actually believe that.”

“it’s not,” you whisper, your thumb grazing his knuckles as he held you tight.

“mm… whatever. let’s stop talking about it for tonight.”

was michael fully okay now? obviously not. but you weren’t expecting him to be. if he recovered from that loss in just one night you’d be a little concerned. but he was definitely more… relaxed now. like you lifted most of the weight off his shoulders.

“just… stay awake with me a little longer. lie beside me,” he admits softly.

“i’ll be here as long as you need me.”

nsfw alphabet (michael’s version) ;;

fem!reader x michael olise (bayern munich)

headcanons on michael olise during sex.

cw smut mdni

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

will definitely clean you up & take care of you. he knows what he did to you so the least he can do is let you sleep (if it’s at night) comfortably, not sticky or sweaty. he’ll also watch you fall asleep in his arms before sleeping himself

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves his abs. they look as if they were shaped and carved out. he loves flexing them when he’s pressed up against you or when you’re grinding on his torso.

as for you, he loves your ass. maybe your legs in general. but if he had to choose it would be your butt. whenever you’re in public with him he has to force himself to not touch it and keep his hand on your back. when he’s fucking you from behind he loves watching it ripple and loves hearing that sound of your skin making contaxt with his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he would love to dump his cum in you but he knows you’re not really ready for a baby yet. so right now he pulls out and cums either on your face, back, or belly. anywhere he can see it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s jerked off on call with you once. it was a voice call while he was away in paris for the ucl semi. you were calling him to tell him about your day but as you talked, he was secrelty stroking himself to the sound of your sweet voice.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he was kind of a manwhore before he met you (as footballers usually are) so he’s pretty experienced. but you don’t mind it because he makes up for it by being so good in bed. he KNOWS what he’s doing for sure.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggystyle. he loves your ass, so if he has the chance to stare and grab at it of course he would.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s more on the serious side though sometimes he makes a dirty joke which makes you both laugh. but other than that he’s fully focused on the pleasure element.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he’s slightly trimmed but still relatively hairy. like he trims it every so often so it’s neat, but it’s not fully cut. just trimmed enough to keep it well-groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

very intimate save for quickies. he will spend hours on end making sure the experience is intimate, like setting the mood with lights and playlists, or his pace etc. but when it has to be quick he doesn’t bother with intimacy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

does it a lot only because he’s away a lot. going to both domestic away games and champions league away games separates you two a lot. unless it’s a big game, you don’t follow him to other cities or countries. that means that he has to jack off kind of often, more than he’d like to admit.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

quite vanilla. but sometimes he finds himself a little turned on when you praise him. he also has the slightest exhibitionism kink but would never fully actually act on it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bedroom. he has the chance to light candles, put on a playlist, change the room lighting. you can’t do that elsewhere in the house. and also fucking you into the bed was kind of hot. despite this, sometimes he will opt for bayern’s empty locker room. post-match, after everyone already left.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he gets turned on every time you wear his jersey (or any of his clothes for that matter). he thinks it’s hot to see his name on your back. when you fuck he won’t take the jersey off. why would he? it’s hot.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he would never ever hurt you in a way you don’t want. you’ve drawn a clear line and he would never think of crossing it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers receiving but he’s good at giving as well. he’d rather have you on your knees sucking the soul out of him, but if you wanted him to eat you out he would do it with no hesitation.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

depends. if he’s getting frustrations out or trying to be quick, probably fast and rough. if he as all the time in the world, it’s slow and sensual. he wants to make sure you both are fully enjoying it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

does it only when he has to. right before training he’ll maybe ask you to blow him because he doesn’t want anything intense that atfects his training. before you go for a dinner date he’ll fuck you in your dress that just looks so damn good on you. but he makes sure the dress stays clean.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s open to (almost) anything you want him to do. whenever you want to experiment it’s usually somewhat vanilla still so he’s not too worried. as for taking risks, it’s kinda situational. he would fuck you on a balcony where people could possibly see, but he would never risk anything that would get you pregnant. not for now at least.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

as many rounds as you please. will usually wait til you’re spent til he stops. lasts quite long as well; perks of dating a footballer.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

no toys himself but he knows you have a vibrator. doesn’t use it on you as he prefers to fuck you himself but he knows you use it when he’s away. he teases that it’s not as good as the real thing and you say the same thing about his tendency to jerk off when you’re not around.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

some days he’ll have enough energy or self-restraint to tease. other days he simply can’t wait and cuts right to the chase. he usually doesn’t tease though, he can’t hold himself back either.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

considering how shy, quiet or reserved he is to the public eye, he’s surprisingly loud/talkative in bed. he groans and grunts a lot as well as muttering praises and dirty talk a lot.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

when you first started dating, there was one time he couldn’t stop thinking about you during training and had to sneak off to the bathroom to calm himself down.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s BIG. all french strikers are, technically. look at mbappe or ekitike. but it took you months to adjust to his size and fully accommodate him and til now you’re still not 100% used to it yet.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

super high. he’s like a dog in heat sometimes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if he’s not too tired he will wait for you to fall asleep before he does. if he’s spent he’ll fall asleep alongside you.

rainy night ;;

fem!reader x jobe bellingham (borussia dortmund)

where instead of going out, you stay home and enjoy the rain from indoors.

a/n: thank you for the request & the message 🤍 a little short but i hope you don’t mind too much

cw smut mdni

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the two of you were supposed to go on a date. you were both prepared to leave the house, but then it started raining. and raining like crazy. you wanted to wait it out a bit, maybe it’d clear up a little, you thought. clear up it did not. even after 45 minutes of waiting around, it was still pouring.

so, you made a mutual decision: spend the night at home. there was no point going for dinner when it was so miserable out.

you’d just been watching a movie, cuddled up together under a fluffy blanket. it was peaceful for a while, the sound of the rain hitting the ground and the windows, the buzz of the tv, the darkly lit room contributing to the overall atmosphere.

but he started becoming more touchy. jobe’s hands were wrapped around you, and initially they just stayed there. then they moved towards your hips, tracing circles on them mindlessly.

you thought nothing of it at first as you leaned your head back onto his shoulder. until one of his hands slowly crept towards your thigh, his large hand managing to cup the inner side as well.

now you couldn’t focus on the movie anymore. you turned to face jobe, placing your hand on his chest.

“what are you being so touchy for?” you asked, tracing small hearts over his heart.

“no reason.”

*

eventually that “no reason” became him fucking you slow into the couch. the movie had been paused and now the room was purely the sounds of your passion and the rain.

“fuck, jobe,” you moaned as he leaned down, leaving love bites on the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hair lightly brushing your cheek. one of your hands went up to support the back of his neck as he continued sucking.

he was really good at multitasking apparently, because he was still able to thrust at the same speed.

the two of you were a tangled mess under the blanket and at some point jobe just shrugged it off so you two were fully exposed. it was a little cold because of the rain, but since he was on top of you, all that coldness melted away. you were basically enveloped by his warmth.

“shit, i’m gonna cum, babe,” he groaned, nipping that sensitive spot on your neck.

before you realised, he came into you with one last powerful thrust and moan of your name.

when you felt him inside you, you came as well, arms wrapped around him to pull him closer while you shuddered.

he pulled out, panting and all, resting his softened and cum-coated dick on your stomach.

“i’m glad we decided to stay home,” jobe muttered while collapsing beside you.

“we would’ve done this anyway.”

spotlight ;;

f!model!reader x ferran torres (spain)

where you and him are like victoria and david beckham… just 20 years later.

a/n: loved this request but i didn’t know how to go about writing it so sorry it took a while </3 i tweaked it a little as well hope you don’t mind!

a/n 2: i don’t know spanish & i wasn’t even gonna TRY 💀 so everything is in english & if you know spanish just pretend the convos are in spanish

day 11 of my world cup 2026 series ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you managed to make it to ferran’s game in spite of your busy schedule. hell, you cancelled a shoot for this. he should be grateful.

during one of the slower parts of the game, the cameras panned to you in the crowd: unbothered and looking chic as ever. although when do you not?

you were watching from the closest seats to the pitch along with one of the other wags.

“y/n l/n in attendance,” one of the sky sports commentators muttered as the other let out a soft laugh.

“quite surprising to see her here… she’s pretty lowkey outside of her modelling career, no?”

the camera did a slow zoom in on you texting someone. you were suited up in chunky glasses, a spain-themed tank top, low-rise denim minishorts, and boots. of course you had your accessories as well but they weren’t super visible from where the commentators were.

“have you heard the rumours, actually? she’s been seen with ferran torres back in barcelona a couple of times.”

“really?” the other commentator asked in slight disbelief. after a moment of silence though, it made sense to him.

you finally felt the camera on you which caused you to look at its direction and flash it a small yet elegant smile. one of unbotheredness yet excitement to be here.

“reminds me of posh spice and beckham in 2006. she has that original wag aura.”

the other commentator let out a sound of agreement.

then the match ended 4-0. ferran almost got his goal but it was ruled offside. unfortunate, but you saw it coming. you then quietly made your way to their hotel.

*

back in his room, he lied on his bed while you sat beside him, the both of you knowing you weren’t supposed to be there. his head was in your lap while he texted pedri about something.

you suddenly received a text from one of your closest friends — “look at twitter rn”.

confused, you opened up the app and it was right in your face. the first post on your feed was tagged “ferranandy/n” along with a picture of the two of you after the game.

you let out a soft snicker as you turned your phone towards him. “we look so cute together.”

he laughed. “there were commentators talking about us, you know. apparently we’re like posh spice and david beckham. i’m half the player he is though.”

you gave him a small frown before you put down your phone and put a hand on his cheek.

“don’t say that. you’re good too,” you reassured.

“i know i’m good,” he started, to which you scoffed, “i’m just saying he’s better. at least in his day.”

can’t argue with that.

you hummed as you continued scrolling twitter. “we’re like, viral, you know.”

“i don’t care about the rumours. let it be known that i love you. and that i’m yours and you’re mine.”

you laughed before finally turning your phone off and deciding to lay beside him. “how possessive.”

the room went quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. “they were comparing me to posh spice? i must have a great fashion sense then,” you thought out loud.

ferran laughed. a hearty one, at that. “you’re literally a model.”

“hey, sorry, i’m just trying to accept the compliment.”

he rolled his eyes before slinking his arms around your waist. “are the ones i give you not enough, posh?”

“they’re more than enough, david beckham.”

showin u off ;;

fem!reader x djed spence (england)

where he’s not afraid to show you off in public.

a/n: you’re so right this world needs more djed fics. also icl this is inspired by those pics of him w his girlfriend they both look so good 🤭🤭 also maybe i’ll make a part 2 if england win 👀

day 7 of my world cup series ~

cw suggestive? somewhat

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you’d stayed back a little longer to wait for djed in the stands.

he made his world cup debut today, and though people were saying that trent should’ve been the one, you defended him every step of the way.

eventually after waiting for a while you spotted his silhouette coming up the stands. he was wearing the blue nike tech fleece jacket and shorts, along with a pair of shades that looked great on him. you also noticed his accessories: his usual diamond studs and the chain you’d gifted him.

once he reached your section he greeted you with a smile, walking over to the empty seat beside you and sinking down into it. a couple of fans noticed him and asked for photos, autographs and whatnot before he could even say a word to you. you laughed it off as you watched him hit the same pose over and over.

once they left, he dragged you into his lap and rested his head against your chin. “i’m so tired,” he sighed, resting his eyes for a moment.

you were sat in between his legs while he was practicing nuzzling into you. “you played well, though.”

he gave an appreciative smile which you felt against your neck. “love you,” murmured djed before turning around to chat with somebody who started talking to him.

you were sure someone was going to notice you two, the media was sharp. but djed didn’t really seem to care, you were in his lap for fuck’s sake.

he finished up his conversation with the other guy before turning his attention back to you.

“you said i played well?” he asks before puckering his lips. you laughed but leaned down and gave him a kiss. your lips were soft against his and it lasted a while before you pulled away.

he let out a groan when you did, to which you jokingly shoved him.

“when the world cup is over… shit, i can’t wait for the things i’m gonna do to you,” mumbled djed before squeezing your right thigh.

in private it was pretty normal of him to do something like that. but in public? having you in his lap was already a lot, let alone this.

“really? tell me then,” you poked, shifting in his lap while adjusting your sunnies.

“eh… it can wait.”

you scoffed and shoved him again, causing him to let out a snort. “you’re no fun. like actually.”

he cocked one of his eyebrows, looking at you from behind his shades. “and yet you’re still in my lap.” he emphasised by squeezing your thigh again, this time the left.

“you’re so annoying! you’re squeezing my thigh and keeping me in your lap but you refuse to tell me what you want to do.”

“i just like showin’ you off. ‘cause i loooove you,” he teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“whatever. i love you too, i guess.”

fem!reader x michael olise (france)

where michael admits to something sweet.

day 6 of my world cup series ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

it was recovery day, and you were just with michael, getting a drink at one of the cafes nearby.

you’d gotten an iced coffee and he got something similar. something simple.

when the barista called yours and his name, he got up to get both drinks. just as he was about to thank the barista and sit back down with you, he was stopped by some fan who wanted to take a photo. he entertained the request before returning to you.

despite being in america, a place where they called football soccer, you felt like there were constantly eyes on the two of you wherever you went.

even as you tried to ignore it, you knew it was there. he knew it was there — the cameras, the stares. he was probably used to it though.

the two of you left before either of you could finish your drink. the first person to ask for a photo caused a domino effect of sorts; people kept staring and taking photos from afar.

“you know…” started michael, taking a sip of his drink, “i appreciate you.”

i appreciate you? what was that even supposed to mean?

“thanks… but a bit random don’t you think?”

“nah, nah. not random. i’m just appreciative of the fact you don’t like, put me on a pedestal just because i’m famous,” he replied, taking another sip of his drink. he sloshed it around a little before giving you a soft smile. “like i’m normal, you know? it’s nice. grounding.”

wow. that was actually really sweet.

“well you’re not that famous anyway,” you joked, giving him a nudge.

michael rolled his eyes before jokingly picking up his pace. “of course you’d ruin the moment. bye.”

you snickered before breaking into a jog to catch up with him. “you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

though you may not have told him, you were actually really moved by his words. he didn’t say things like that much so it was especially touching. especially amidst all this pressure on him, it was heartwarming to see his real emotions. not the facade he gave to the media.

“you’re right,” he huffs, slowing down again with a defeated smile, “i wouldn’t dare.”