life’s too short to make people guess how much you love them so i'm throwing i love yous to everyone and i think everyone should do the same because why tf does there be a specific moment to say i love you to someone?
note: arrêtez votre propagande de nonchalance j'suis sûr que michael c'est un gros bébé 🤚🏼
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after the loss to spain in the world cup semi-finals, he became strangely clingy with you.
if people can describe michael olise in one word, they would have said nonchalant. but he was not, and you knew it but not at this point.
he was never overly affectionate in public, wasn’t the type to constantly ask for hugs or follow you around the apartment for no reason. he loved physical affection of course, but in his own quiet little ways like a hand resting on your thigh during dinner or his fingers intertwined with yours while watching a movie.
that was precisely why the past week had completely confused you.
france had lost the world cup semi-final a week ago, yes and you knew how much it had hurt him, even if michael had hidden it better than most people.
but the second he had returned to munich, he had practically attached himself to you like a very tall and sad koala.
when you were at the airport, the moment he saw you waiting for him, he hugged you for almost two whole minutes without saying a single word.
during the car ride home, he held your hand the entire time, when you got home, he followed you everywhere but like... literally everywhere.
if you went to the kitchen, he was standing beside you. if you sat on the couch? he immediately laid down with his head on your lap and if you went to brush your teeth, he was leaning against the bathroom doorframe waiting for you.
at first, you thought it was sweet but day two happened, day three... and day seven.
“baby?”
“hm?”
“why are you following me?”
you looked over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway of the laundry room.
“i’m not,” he shrugged slightly.
“i’m putting towels away.”
“yeah.”
“so why are you here?”
he looked around the room for a few seconds and didn't answer.
he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, and when the pre-saison training had started a few days ago, his teammates had immediately noticed something was different.
“you going home after this?” jamal asked. “we wanted to eat together.”
“yeah... can’t.”
“why?”
michael had looked down while putting his things away. “she’s waiting for me.”
to be honest, you were not.
“okay...”
you had genuinely started wondering whether he had developed separation anxiety overnight because this was getting out of hands.
one evening, you decided to take a shower before bed and when you walked back into your shared bedroom twenty minutes later, you found michael laying across your side of the bed hugging your pillow.
“that’s my pillow.”
“yeah.”
“why are you hugging it?”
“i'm waiting for you.”
you sat beside him. “baby.”
he immediately sat up before wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his face against your stomach.
“are you okay?” you asked softly.
“yeah.”
“you’ve been glued to me for an entire week and yesterday you asked me to come sit in the bathroom because you didn’t want to be alone while taking a bath.”
“that’s reasonable.”
“no it’s not.”
you gently ran your fingers through his locks while waiting for him to speak.
“i don’t really feel good,” he quietly admitted.
your expression immediately softened, he rarely admitted things like that.
“because of the world cup?”
he nodded against your shoulder. “i know it’s stupid.”
“it’s not.”
“everyone keeps telling me we’ll have another opportunity in four years.”
“you will.”
“i know but i wanted this one.”
you smiled sadly.
that suddenly explained everything. he wasn’t being clingy because he suddenly became a different person, he was simply allowing himself to feel miserable.
“i’m sorry, i’ve been following you around like a puppy.”
“a little,” you laughed softly.
“just a little?”
“a very sad puppy. and you’re allowed to have bad weeks, michael.”
“thank you, because i’m probably going to continue being clingy for another week.”
note: do i have to talk? j'ai un peu sous estimé le temps que ça prenait d'écrire un truc qui me DÉCHIRAIT le coeur finalement. j'ai épuisé mon stock de larmes pour un mois 💔
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the world cup dream is over and you're comforting désiré (and you at the same time) after france lost to spain.
the world cup was over for france.
the stadium was still loud around désiré, spanish supporters celebrating while french fans sat in stunned silence. his chest felt heavy, his throat hurt from holding back tears for the last ten minutes of the match and he hated how helpless he had felt when the clock kept ticking down.
he had dreamed about this moment his entire life but not this ending.
the moment he saw you waiting for him in the tunnel, something inside him broke.
his face immediately crumpled as he wrapped his arms around you without even saying hi, just buried his face in your shoulder and cried.
it was real, ugly tears that he had been trying so hard to hide in front of millions of people only a few seconds earlier.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i’m so sorry.”
your own tears had already started falling the second you saw his red eyes and you wrapped both arms around him, gently running your fingers through his curls as if that alone could make the pain disappear.
“you have nothing to apologize for.”
“we lost,” his voice cracked completely on the last word.
“i know.”
“i wanted this so badly.”
you closed your eyes as tears slipped down your own cheeks. you wanted it too, you had imagined the final, celebrating with him and watching him lift the trophy.
instead, here you were, crying together in a stadium tunnel.
“i know, baby,” you kissed his neck.
he cried even harder at the nickname. it sounded so unfair for him, how could you still be comforting him when you were hurting too?
he pulled away slightly to look at you and immediately frowned when he noticed your tears.
“why are you crying?”
“because you’re crying?” you laughed.
he shook his head, wiping one of your tears away with his thumb before another one rolled down his own face.
“don’t cry because of me.”
“that’s impossible.”
the tunnel around you was strangely quiet despite the chaos happening outside.
“i feel like i disappointed everyone.”
“you didn’t.”
“i disappointed myself.”
“you could lose every match for the rest of your career and i’d still be proud of you,” you gently took his face in your hands as his eyes immediately filled with tears again.
you smiled sadly when you saw him crying again, somehow louder.
“next time, cutie,” you whispered.
“yeah next time,” he murmured still crying.
this wouldn’t be the last world cup of his career and you know it, one day, when the tears will be replaced by smiles and gold medals, you’d still be waiting for him in the tunnel exactly like you were now.
Warnings: french stereotypes, clothes-on sex, mentions of oral sex (male receiving), feet on mouth (just kisses), thigh fucking (i love those thighs so much it's not fair)
Author's notes: Ugh, that smile completely melts me, I need to make him suffer.
“You’re just teasing me, you’re not going to suck me off.” He says above you, sprawled out on your bed, looking down just enough to meet your gaze when you look up, smiling.
“I’m not.” You say simply, turning your attention back to his thighs—muscular, ridiculously big, and glossy, which really caught your attention. To tell the truth, you were even jealous; they were much more appetizing to you than his cock, which is why you’d been biting, sucking, and licking them up until now, delighting in running your tongue over the salty skin. Even if there isn't exactly any pleasure in it for him, Desiré still let out small gasps when your teeth grazed the inside of his thighs, showing just how sensitive the skin is there. Again, absurdly delicious.
“It’s cruel.” He limits himself to saying, knowing he shouldn't insist that you suck him; you’d already made it very clear that you aren't a fan of oral sex and that you wouldn't easily change your mind with him. One day, maybe, you’d give him a blowjob, but that would have to wait, and he’d have to behave very well to deserve it.
You take a little longer licking his legs, feeling the muscle against your tongue, the musk getting stronger every time you went dangerously close to the bulge in his underwear. Desiré shows annoyance, running his hands through your hair, massaging it at the same time he pulls; he knows he’s looking down, waiting for you to at least do something for him.
“If you close your eyes, you can imagine that I’m sucking you.”
“I don’t want to imagine.” He makes you laugh and look up once more, seeking his face. It’s arousing, the way he looks at you from below, staring at you.
It’s so arousing, in fact, that you decide to tease him a little.
“I’d take it out with my teeth.” You simulate pulling the waistband of his underwear like that, dragging the fabric between your teeth. “I’d pull it out and start with the head.” You let the elastic snap back against his skin, smiling at his exasperated gasp. “I’d kiss it, look at you.” You move up slowly, staring at him, observing how his mouth is slightly open, almost drooling.
“Fuck. Don’t talk like that.” He says while helping you get settled on his lap, running his hands over your thighs, moving down to squeeze your ass.
“I could, but honestly, I wouldn't even take your cock out.” He furrows his brows, confused by what you said.
You tell him to lie down, settled into your sheets, sprawled out on your bed. Your palm goes firm against his chest to steady yourself as you mount him, making your knees resist a little, leaving your vagina perfectly centered over the head of his cock, which is erect, poking through his underwear. It makes contact with your clitoris and you summon the courage to move, squatting on top of him and rubbing yourself against the front of your panties, right over the head of your clit, savoring the contact it makes with your sensitive spot.
“This is good… I just want you like this.” You say, whispering very close to his face. You smile at his expression—almost one of pain, his eyebrows arched and a hint of a pout on his lips.
“This is cruel. You’re mean, mon cœur..”
You laugh even more at that, letting his hand venture into your hair, interlacing his fingers at the roots and pulling lightly; his hot tongue against the sensitive skin of your neck makes you moan, speeding up the rhythm of your hips.
“I can cum like this, can’t you?” You ask all innocent, pretending to see how Doué’s face fills with disbelief, and even a little panic at the thought that he won't be able to fuck you tonight. Hesitant, he nods negatively, showing he can't cum just from this.
It’s a pity, then.
“You should. You should cum just from me grinding on your lap.” Looking at him, you think a quiet ‘please’ might escape his lips, but you don't give him time to repeat it. “So few can have me like this… and you aren't satisfied with what I give you?”
You move your hand to squeeze his chin, holding his gaze fixed on yours, admiring how it starts to cloud over, accepting your dominance. Stuttering, he begins: “Let me— Please.”
“What?”
Believing it to be almost a permission, he turns you over calmly, climbing on top of you between your legs.
“Desiré…” You warn in a severe tone; he should know well that he shouldn't disobey you, don't try to get on top when you clearly don't want him like that.
“Relax.” He gives you that mischievous smile, the one that brought you both here. “I just want to make you feel good, that’s all I’m here for, right?” The malicious tone doesn't convince you at all, still full of confidence, of arrogance.
“Good thing you know.” You say, going with your hand to his brown nape, scratching and hearing almost a purr from him.
Once positioned above you, he spreads your legs and puts himself between them, with his covered cock right in front of your naked vagina. Imitating what you did before, he starts to rub, taking advantage of the springy waist he has to do a slow and delicious grind.
“It’s good, isn't it?” He speaks, and you don't have the courage to deny it. You prefer to moan sweetly, looking into his brown eyes and giving a closed-mouth smile. His large hand takes your foot, placing it on his shoulder and giving it kisses, scraping his tongue lightly. And you, who were never really interested in that, like it; you like the sight of that beautiful man kissing your feet, making an effort to give you pleasure.
“If you make me cum like this, I’ll let you fuck me afterwards.” It comes out as a whisper from your mouth, like a promise, and you smile once more as his rhythm increases, humping against you even though there’s little pleasure in it for him. The sensitive fabric against your clitoris is divine and enough, his anxiety and determination turn you on too, and soon you cum, moaning loudly and making every face possible, looking to drive him crazy.
As soon as you come down from the high, his anxious hands already go for your panties, looking to remove them before your foot, which was previously being kissed, now pushes his chest away, denying him permission.
“But you said—” Desiré has that abandoned puppy look that just makes you want to mess with his head even more.
“Give me a little time, go take a shower first.” You say, being mean to him once again. You don't need time to recover, no. But just thinking about him perfumed, clean, already makes up for the time you'll have to wait. “It turns me on, a man fresh out of the shower, with a wet back, smelling like soap.”
He laughs, incredulous, not believing it. “Isn't it just because I'm French?”
The joke doesn't go unnoticed; you yourself have made many jokes about him; even though Desiré distances himself quite a bit from that stereotype, it's still fun to see the indignation on his face.
“No… Of course not…” You speak playfully, shaking your head and pushing him even further off the bed.
His head seems to light up with an idea, that same smile spreading across his mouth. “Come with me.”
You pause for a moment, consider the idea, and to convince you, he massages your foot, moving his hand up to your calf where he also gives it a squeeze. He adds: “I’ll behave.”
Alright, you’re easily convinced. A good Frenchman always makes you go weak.
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