#Jamal musiala x Florian Wirtz

[gavirae]

Their height difference has me thinking… Do u think flo has to tip toe to kiss him or does Jamal bend down ??

[andtheywerefootballers]

Lord what would I do without weibo?

[starkykartoffeln]

He wants that cookie so bad

[dontexpectmuch]

masterlist:

generally, my requests are always open, however i do not write any smut, please respect this rule. thank you for reading :)

jude bellingham

the first „i love you“ pt.2

relationship habits pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

gossip queen judeth

road-trip

skincare time

break up

kisses all over you

after an argument with your parents

partner in crime, apple to my pie

silent treatment

dating someone that’s older pt.2

late night work

stay at home nurse

first snow

couple’s tattoo

sick judeth

moving on pt.2

a crush that isn’t you

after practice things

clingy judeth pt.2

sleep struggles

your own family

himbo bee eff

tea time

make out sesh

annoying jude

barbie time

sleepy s/o

bio lesson

kpop concert

rollercoaster

boba date

fair games

touches w jude

dance class

so sick

lego bouquet

exams

jungkook

calvin klein ad

jobes match

la liga campeones

f1 baddie

true crime

champions league winner

cooking buddy

lost in madrid - mini series

rúben dias

neighbors part two

flo wirtz

general hc

first loss

jamal musiala

couple’s yoga

clingy jamal

attending his game

crushing on each other but not being able to confess pt.2

dating someone that’s older

long distance relationship

studying for an exam

catching feelings

confessions

pedri gonzalez

meeting the family

cheater

pablo gavira

liking his arms

others

benjamin pavard - late night cuddles

benjamin pavard - late night dancing

erling haaland - relationship habits

mason mount - relationship habits

[wusiiala]

uhmm hello, excuse me, I just read your soulmate au wusiala fic you shared and it was so so good??? I was wondering if you have a masterpost or something with all of your fics? 👉🏽👈🏽 or something like that idk? pretty please?

I shall provide...

💌 wusiialaʼs fics

-> Jamal Musiala x Florian Wirtz ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

★ this shit feels like teenage fever (858 words)

★ think of me once in a while, take care (1807 words, mild smut)

★ I wanna be the one you think about at night (5561 words)

★ “What was the first question again?” (1927 words)

★ bleach. (1315 words)

★ everything is blue / everything is gray (3285 words)

★ ℓet me breathe you in (1831 words)

★ I told the moon about you (6789 words, includes mild smut)

★ it's out love (359 words, no plot)

★

...

-> Jude Bellingham x Pablo Gavi ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

❀ way too in deep (1160 words)

...

More to come :)

[spursjude]

im starving for wusiala and judavi fics

[andtheywerefootballers]

Tysm user dailywusiala 😭😭🙏

just saw this on twt. did a reverse image search because why did I not see this yet??? it's from facebook. why am I so shocked you may ask? well, I just realised that the dfb social media team posts different content on different platforms. twitter, both instagram accounts, threads, tiktok, youtube and facebook contain different uploads. we may have been missing out before. I now am following dfb on literally every platform to send any wusiala content I can find your guys' way.

[p1astories]

# 𝐏𝟏𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 — navigation.

free palestine. — bookworm history nerd / swimmer | bisexual | asian-british | she / her | 🧺🌺🪿🪭

— #ALT ACCOUNTS !

# @f1-and-shiz

— formula one blog | #🍒🪩🍾

— #WORKS !

#OCs

nothing here yet !

#READER INSERT

# PG8 —

IMAGINES :

nothing here yet !

BLURBS :

# — 6:15 AM. work in progress ! will be out soon.

— #GUIDELINES !

# absolutely no — smut ( not yet ) , racism , homophobia , transphobia , disrespect or anything of the sort — you will be immediately blocked and reported.

# i write — x gender neutral ! reader and x female ! reader , smau , imagine , blurb , series.

# i write for — ( # — FOOTBALL :: pedri , gavi , ferran torres , joao felix , marc guiu , lamine yamal , hector fort , jamal musiala , florian wirtz , kai havertz , joshua kimmich , ruben dias , pau cubarsi , cole palmer , robin le normand , pablo torre , lena oberdorf , alexia putellas , manuel neuer , alessia russo , julian alvarez , fermin lopez , marc bernal , martin odegaard , jule brand , federico chiesa , scott mctominay , kenan yildiz , son heung - min , jude bellingham , riccardo calafiori , leah williamson , lucas bergvall , rasmus hojlund , pablo torre , thomas muller , mason mount , alejandro garnacho , bukayo saka , arda guler , ona batlle , aitana bonmati

( # — FORMULA ONE :: franco colapinto , oscar piastri , paul aron , jack doohan , max verstappen , arthur leclerc , kimi antonelli , ollie bearman , rbr ! sebastian vettel , jenson button

( # — OLYMPICS :: keegan palmer , leon marchand ,

( # — FICTIONAL :: conrad oxford , eggsy unwin , percy jackson , jason grace ,

( # — ACTORS / SINGERS :: nicholas alexander chavez ,

( # — KEEP AN EYE ON THIS LIST ( above ) :: this list may be added onto a lot , as i very quickly find new people to obsess over ( lol ) or i just might not feel like writing for them anymore. also, keep in mind that this list only contains who i feel the most comfortable abt writing, but i like to be pushed out of my comfortzone once in a while :) — you may suggest someone that isn’t on this list in my ask box , and i’ll decide if i want to write them :).

# warning — probs inconsistent posting , swearing , slightly mature themes , possible violence or anything trauma inducing — i will be adding a trigger warning.

# taglist — ( if you want to be tagged when i post a fic , write ‘ # ’ under this post <3 )

c. #P1ASTORIES — 2024.

[gavirae]

"I desire violently— and I wait." • wusiala

Synopsis: quiet aches, poppies and distance.

A tabby cat to the left and a coffee shop next door.

These were things that Jamal loved, and Flo knew it.

Flo bent down, yesterdays training still thrumming in his muscles a small wince leaving his lips, hand outstretched to pet the tabby cat sitting quietly by the door, his fingers grazing the soft fur atop its head. The cat, a boy, looked up at him with curious green eyes body subtly purring with content. Fumbling for a moment he pulled out his phone, wanting to capture the moment, but before he could press the shutter, the cat darted away, leaving only a blur in the frame. A small sigh escaped Flo’s as he watched the cat disappear into the distance.

“Jamu would’ve loved to see a close-up photo of that cat,” he murmured to himself.

He straightened up and turned toward the café next door. The scent of freshly baked pastries greeted him as he stepped inside. He ordered the prettiest pastries he could find, along with two separate beverages—one for himself, and one for Jamal—as if somehow it would bring him closer. It wasn’t his proudest moment and he felt stupid for breaking his special diet to fill a lovesick craving he had. But oh well.

Taking a seat by the window, he felt the warmth of the setting sun on his skin. The golden light cast a gentle glow over the room, but it did little to ease the ache in his chest.

The ache had been there for months now, sitting heavy in his ribs, dull and persistent. Sometimes it was worse—after matches or late at night, when the reality of Jamal’s absence hit him the hardest.

Flo missed him.

So. Very. Much.

The media didn’t help. Fans speculated about them constantly, and news articles painted their relationship as effortless—two players balancing “friendship” and football with ease, always finding time to be together. “Jamal and Flo: Germanys future” one headline had read just a few weeks ago. Flo remembered staring at it bitterly, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. If only they knew.

In truth, the absences stretched over long, unforgiving periods. There were no cozy evenings together after matches, no early morning coffees before training. Their schedules were relentless, pulling them apart just when they needed each other most. Flo wished the media’s stories were true—that they lived in a world where their days were intertwined as closely as the articles suggested. But they didn’t. Time was cruel, stretching and bending as if mocking them for daring to miss each other.

Flo sipped his drink slowly, feeling the ache intensify and run the blood in his veins cold.

It wasn’t just the distance; it was everything the distance stole from them. Jamal was in Munich, playing for Bayern. Flo was in Leverkusen. Two cities apart, but it felt like an entire ocean stretched between them. Jamal’s days were packed—training, press, matches—his schedule woven into the demands of one of Europe’s biggest clubs. Flo’s life was no different; his days in Leverkusen were spent chasing fitness, perfection, and form, leaving them only scraps of time to snatch what little of each other they could.

Calls were brief, texts sporadic. Flo had memorized the exact tone of Jamal’s voice over the phone, the hum of background noise whenever Jamal was on the bus after an away game or walking back to the flat from training. “You’re so quiet today, Flo,” Jamal would say, teasingly. Flo could never tell him it wasn’t silence—it was listening. Listening to Jamal breathe, talk, exist in a moment Flo couldn’t share.

And then there were the international breaks. Flo had once held onto them like lifelines, but they weren’t enough. A few days back together felt like a trick—a fleeting taste of what they used to have before it was ripped away again. He remembered the last break vividly: Jamal waiting for him by the arrivals gate at the airport, his grin lighting up the entire room. They spent three perfect days in each other’s arms, laughing quietly over late breakfasts and holding hands like teenagers on walks where no one would recognize them.

And then Jamal was gone. Back to Munich, back to Bayern. Flo had cried for the first time in months that night, curling into his empty bed with Jamal’s hoodie pressed to his face.

The ache never really left.

Flo’s phone buzzed against the table, pulling him back to reality. Jamal’s name lit up the screen.

Flo couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he quickly grabbed his phone, glancing at the flower shop as he walked home. Without thinking, he stepped inside, unable to resist the pull of its warm glow. He bought a bouquet of pink and red poppies—Jamal’s favorite colors. The florist handed him the flowers with a smile, and Flo managed a quiet “thank you” before his phone buzzed again.

He quickly pulled his phone out and saw Jamal’s name on the screen, asking about his day. Without skipping a beat, he sent Jamal the photos he had taken throughout the day—pictures from work, the cat, and the coffee he had. Seconds later, his phone began to ring—a video call.

“Hey, looks like you had a great day, baby,” Jamal’s voice was warm, comforting.

“I did. I really wish you were here though,” Flo replied, his voice tinged with longing.

He turned the camera to show the bouquet of pink poppies in his hand. “Look, I just got these.”

“How pretty,” Jamal said, his voice softening.

“They reminded me of you.”

“Aw. How cheesy, you miss me a lot, don’t you?”

“More than words can explain.”

Jamal chuckled, but it was followed by a sigh. “I wish I could talk to you longer, but I have to go. I gotta catch the train.”

Flo forced a smile, trying to hide his disappointment. “It’s alright! I’ll call you when you get home, then?”

“I can’t make any promises you know how late kompany makes us stay,” Jamal pouted at the screen. “I’ll talk to you some other time. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Flo whispered, his heart swelling as he watched Jamal’s face light up with a smile before disappearing when the call-ended message appeared on the screen.

Another clash. More moments wasted. Training schedules. Matches. Managers. How annoying.

Flo slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued his walk home. The weather was perfect, but the emptiness inside him felt almost nauseating. He didn’t want to return to the apartment, knowing it would only remind him of Jamal’s absence. Missing his boyfriend so deeply made his feet feel heavy, and he found himself dragging them home.

Without even realizing it, the bouquet in his hand and the coffee cup he was holding were already on the floor; and the sidewalk was now marked with the coffee’s scent and dark stain.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of it all.

He picked up the bouquet and the coffee cup, quickly disposing of them in the nearest bin.

When he arrived home, he immediately lay down on the sofa, so exhausted from a long day at work, but somehow, his boyfriend being miles away was far more devastating than the number of reports he needed to get done.

He found himself sighing as he stared at their photo hanging on the apartment wall. It was taken during preseason—Flo still in his Leverkusen training kit, Jamal in his Bayern tracksuit, both grinning like fools. And now the overwhelming silence of his apartment is flooding into his awareness and everything starts to feel a little bit too real. He was so depleted, and not having Jamal next to him to reassure him that things would be alright made it even worse. A simple pat on the back from his boyfriend was enough to wash away all his tiredness.

But there he sat, in their living room, alone.

Within seconds, his exhaustion got the best of him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

[bbtoni]

Damn I crush on a couple of footballers just like Florian wirtz, Bart Verbruggen, Jude Bellingham, Jamal Musiala and some more

I'm not sure if I should post for them or if I should go with Joost and sometimes F1 drivers

Please give me some feedback or help, would you like it?

Love ya! 🩵

:3

[andtheywerefootballers]

leaked snap after Flo has heard of Jamal's injury

[gavirae]

#nooticing

[andtheywerefootballers]

WIRTZIALA University AU ficlet!

prompt by @disastrouscarrots

Word Count: 681

Synopsis: University AU in which Jamal's an architecture major whose biggest enemy is math and Flo happens to be his math tutor.

A/N: Idk how it works abroad, so putting a lil context just in case, but next to some lectures you have tutorials (Tutorium) where a tutor (sometimes a fellow student in an advanced semester) teaches the course. And @disastrouscarrots told me Flo slayed his math exams during hs so 💅. Flo doesn't have to be a math major to teach the course btw, ig just be in a math-involving major (engineering, cs, ...your headcanons can go wild here).

(ficlet below cut)

Jamal stares back at the weather app, then switches to his messages. Leroy isn't answering. The hallway is mostly empty with some steps echoing from afar. He stands before the seminar door: First one to show up like an overeager, innocent freshman. 

Leroy promised to tag along for their first math tutorial, he knows Jamal's a lost case who stopped going to the math lecture after the first week. He quit the 500 pages powerpoints filled with confusing equations, a professor who's supposed to speak German, but talks in mathematical lingo and theoretical messes and decided to have a mental breakdown at home rather than in a lecture hall instead. 

So. Leroy knows Jamal needs both academic and mental support after being betrayed by the fact that he has to take a theoretical math class.  For architecture. Like, huh? He didn't sign up for engineering, or administration or whatever. He signed up for architecture: construction, design, creativity…not exactly numbers. The uni counseling didn't brief him on this. 

He hears the door fall shut across the hall, glancing up in hope but finds only a handful of students he doesn't recognize. Coming towards him. Straight in his direction. There's a guy leading the group in front. He has a bag slung over his shoulder, wears baggy jeans and an oversized dress shirt. Silver rings flash around his fingers, a denim chain dangles from his waistband. Appears to be a chill dude. Judging by his short, slightly disheveled ash blonde to brown hair and darting eyes, he seems as lost as Jamal feels. 

Maybe he can bond over their fashionable sense of style and shared hatred over maths… because man doesn't look motivated but quite in the motions.  Quite I don't want to be here, but I have to be. Because I also have to practice this exasperating nerve-wracking subject called maths. Then the stranger meets his eyes— Jamal's heart stumbles and he quickly averts his gaze back at his phone. At Leroy's incoming, 'Sorry, won't make it.'

He doesn't roll his eyes. No. It's fine. Maybe Jamal can make a friend today instead. 

And then the guy passes him by and pulls out keys and unlocks the door, the door to the seminar room, like he's some teacher, like-

he's the teaching assistant, the tutor. 

It swooshes in his mind, any remaining thoughts flying away. He feels stupid for reasons he can't really put into words. And then he feels embarrassed, the back of his neck heating up as he realizes this is the guy who will try to teach you and see you're made of straw and empty space. He peeks down the hall, the urge to run away, hide, pay Leroy to take his math exam overbearingly strong. But then he mentally slaps himself, inhales, rolls his shoulders and braces himself for a challenge. Walks through the door to a medium-sized classroom with tables and chairs arranged in an U-form.  He takes a seat by the side, not immediately at the front, not too far at the back. Just right for an incognito plan to talk and interact as little as possible. 

But his classmates ruin his plan because they sit in groups at the end of the U, or parallel to him and he curses and wishes Leroy was here after all. Because now he's sitting on his own, sticking out like a sore thumb. And he feels the tutor's eyes on him. 

He introduces himself as Florian but he's fine being addressed as Flo as he's "only a semester above you guys, so no need to be formal and all." 

He takes his time to talk, mumbling and correcting himself a lot of times, sometimes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, biting his lips. It's…a little endearing. He's scatterbrained but clear when answering questions, even though there are a grand total of like two being asked for the whole lesson. 

From an outside perspective, Jamal may seem focused: furrowed brows, nodding along, taking notes. 

The notes in question are only doodles though, and his eyes are not following equations, but something else. 

[andtheywerefootballers]

🤨🏳️‍🌈❓

[gavirae]

X marks the spot ; wusiala post break up drabble

Synopsis awkward conversations in a quiet hotel room

“My mom really misses you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s always asking about you and talking about how I train too much now I don’t spend my days with you now. Didn’t realise she kept up with us so much”

“I think she just misses having someone sensible around her thick skulled son”

“Maybe,” Flo says, but there’s something in his voice that hints his focus is shifting away from the current discussion. The words come out too easily, like he’s trying to sound light-hearted, but a flicker of doubt is obvious. He knows it isn’t the real reason, and so does Jamal. The silence that follows feels heavier now, charged with a tension neither of them wants to acknowledge.

Jamal’s fingers still hover over his phone, but he isn’t looking at it anymore. Instead, his eyes drift to Flo, just for a moment, sharp and calculating, before quickly flicking away. It’s as if he’s waiting for something—something unsaid. Flo feels his chest tighten, but he forces himself not to react. He knows better than to give in to the pull of whatever it is that’s brewing between them.

“My mom misses you too.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Flo’s heart skips, but he doesn’t let it show. He forces his expression to stay neutral, masking the sudden flutter of hope. “Really?” he asks, his voice almost too calm.

“No,” Jamal says, deadpans. The reply stings more than it should. But it’s the silence that follows—thick, drawn out—that cuts deeper. Neither of them move. Neither of them speaks. The hotel room they’re staying in seems to shrink, and Flo can almost feel the weight of Jamal’s gaze, even though he’s looking away now, tapping distractedly at his phone. But his posture is different—slightly stiff, like he’s holding something back.

They both laugh after realising it’s been a few seconds since they both said anything at all, but it’s hollow, forced. The sound echoes in the stillness, and Flo feels it like an ache in his bones. It used to be easy between them—effortless, even. But now, something has shifted. He can’t ignore it. He knew he’d never make it into Mrs. Musiala’s good graces she was a tough critic. But this… this feels different. Jamal’s words hang in the air like a puzzle he’s still trying to piece together.

The laughter dies too quickly, and the weight of their shared silence presses down on Flo forming a kaleidoscope of pains that will blossom into bruises that will show after he releases his forearm from the self inflicted grip it’s held under.

They both laugh, but it’s not real anymore. The sound fades, and in the space between them, Flo is suddenly acutely aware of how much he wants to ask Jamal: What about you? Do you miss me? The words are there, pressing against his chest, but he doesn’t speak them. Not yet. Instead, he just watches Jamal, waiting for the next move, the next shift in the silence. And for the first time, he wonders if Jamal feels it too.

…..

[andtheywerefootballers]