#bundesliga oneshot

[n0vazsq]

Every glance | Jamal Musiala x Reader

pairing . . . jamal musiala x dortmund!academy!player!reader

summary . . . Ever since you met each other, you and Jamal become rivals. It was bound to be; Dortmund's golden girl and Bayern's star boy. But as the weeks pass, you rivalry blurs into something more, the tension increasing more than ever. And before you knew it, you two were confessing to each other in the bleachers

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 4.7k+

warnings . . . shit ton of tension, slowburn and rivalry but romance too!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . didnt proof read this but who cares!!!!! i hope this mad sense bc ilike idk i wasnt entirely paying attention when writing this. I HOPE YOU LIKE I EVE!!!!! as you can asee i YAPPED. my longest fic ever omg anyhow yeah the smau grind will be here soon!!

. . . The annual interschool sports tournament wasn’t just a competition; it was a battlefield. A week long war of football, academics, and extracurriculars that tested every student’s strength.

For your high school, it meant putting their trust in you, their star midfielder. Your name was associated with victory; the pride of your school, the one who never cracked under pressure, Dortmund Academy's golden girl.

This year, though, was different. Bayern Academy, Dortmund’s biggest rival, had brought their star boy, Jamal Musiala, into the pitch.

Jamal Musiala, the name everyone seemed to drool about. He wasn’t just good; he was annoyingly perfect. Flawless footwork, an effortless smile, and that annoyingly calm composure.

It was as if the universe had handcrafted him to be your nemesis. You’d only seen clips of him online, but even through a screen, he made your nerves crawl. Now he was here, in the flesh, and he was already stealing the spotlight.

The opening ceremony was full with energy as schools from all over the country gathered in the massive sports complex. You stood with your team, donning Dortmund’s signature yellow and black, as the Bayern squad entered.

They moved as a unit, their red jackets gleaming under the lights. At the center of their group was Jamal, his gaze scanning the room like he owned it.

And then, as if the universe demanded it, his eyes locked on yours.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your blood boil.

"Is that Musiala?" Ida, your teammate, whispered beside you.

"Yeah," you muttered, forcing yourself to look away before your irritation became too obvious. "Doesn’t look like much."

"He’s supposed to be amazing," she said, clearly impressed.

"We’ll see about that," you replied, though your words felt more like a promise to yourself.

The first day of matches solidified what you’d feared; Jamal was as good as everyone said. Bayern’s game was a masterclass, and he was its centerpiece.

Every touch of the ball exuded cheers, every pass seemed calculated, and his goa, a curling shot from outside the box, was met with loud applause. You hated how your chest tightened watching him, not with admiration but with the burning desire to prove you could do better.

When it was your team’s turn to play, you poured every ounce of frustration into the game. You commanded the midfield, intercepting passes and setting up plays with precision.

When you scored, a long range strike that shook the net, you allowed yourself a flicker of satisfaction, knowing Jamal was watching from the sidelines.

But as the match ended, you glanced toward Bayern’s bench. Jamal’s eyes were on you, and when he caught you looking, he gave a slow, deliberate clap. It wasn’t the sarcastic kind, it was worse. Genuine. The kind that almost felt like a challenge.

Later that evening, during a skills challenge, your rivalry came to life.

Players from all schools were testing their dribbling, shooting, and agility. You signed up without hesitation, eager to show your worth. As you approached the dribbling course, you caught sight of Jamal standing nearby, arms crossed and smirking.

"Good luck," he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm.

"I don’t need it," you shot back. "Watch and learn."

You tackled the course with striking precision, weaving through cones and finishing with a shot that hit the top corner of the net. The crowd’s cheers echoed in your ears as you walked off, head held high.

But Jamal was next, and his performance was… flawless. Effortless. Annoying. When he broke your time record, he walked past you, grinning.

"Anything you can do, I can do better," he said.

"Keep dreaming," you snapped, glaring at him.

From that moment, the rivalry consumed you. Every match, every skill test, every interaction became a battle. You pushed yourself harder, determined to outshine him, and he matched you step for step.

The sight of him alone was enough to ruin your day. He didn’t even have to say anything; his presence carried this unbearable arrogance, like he owned the air you breathed.

Every time he walked into a room, that stupid smirk of his plastered across his face, you could feel your patience thinning. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he went out of his way to find you, just so he could look at you like you were beneath him.

It wasn’t just the way he spoke, all smug and self assured, but the way he looked at you; like you were a puzzle he’d already solved and thrown away. The kind of look that made your skin crawl and your hands clench into fists.

You didn’t need his pity, his judgment, or whatever game he thought he was playing. He was your rival, nothing more. And yet, there was something about him, about the way he lingered just long enough to get under your skin, that made it impossible to ignore him.

There was a storm in every conversation you had with him, a brewing tornado in every exchange of words. No matter how civil you tried to be, it always ended with raised voices and sharp stares, each of you unwilling to back down.

If you called him insufferable, he called you predictable. If you accused him of being self absorbed, he’d laugh and say you were obsessed with him. It was infuriating. It was exhausting. And yet, some part of you almost welcomed it, the way sparring with him made you feel so alive.

It wasn’t enough for him to win; he had to rub it in, too. Every goal he scored, every point he earned, he made sure you knew it. He didn’t gloat outright, no, that would’ve been too obvious.

Instead, he’d give you this infuriating little glance, like you were in on some private joke. As if to say, See? You’re no match for me. It made your blood boil every single time.

You’d thought you could avoid him outside of matches, but somehow, he was everywhere.

At the library, leaning against a shelf with that annoying air of ease. At the cafeteria, stealing your favorite spot by the window. Even in the hallway, you could feel his gaze on you, like a weight you couldn’t shake.

It was like the universe was conspiring to throw you together, just to see which one of you would snap first.

But the tension between you wasn’t just competitive, it was electric.

You hated to admit it, but there were moments, brief and unwelcome, where you couldn’t help but notice things about him.

The way his brows furrowed in concentration, how his shoulders relaxed after a perfect play, or the rare laugh that escaped when one of his teammates made a joke.

And then there were the stolen glances, quick, almost unnoticeable moments when you’d catch his eye and immediately look away, heat rising to your cheeks.

It didn’t help that he seemed to notice.

"What is going on with you and Musiala?" Ida asked after a game. "You’re like magnets… but an angry bad kind."

"He’s just… infuriating," you muttered. "Thinks he’s better than everyone."

"Maybe he is better," she teased, grinning when you scowled. "Relax, I’m kidding. But honestly? I’ve never seen you this fired up."

"He brings out the worst in me," you said, though deep down, you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Yes, he infuriated you, but he also pushed you to be better. The rivalry was exhausting, but it was also exhilarating.

One afternoon, during a rare break, you sat alone in the cafeteria, replaying the week’s events in your mind. You didn’t notice Jamal until he sat across from you, sliding his tray onto the table.

"Do you mind?" he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer.

You raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Eating," he said, biting into an apple. "Relax, I’m not here to fight you. Yet."

"Gee, thanks," you replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Coming from you, that means so much."

He laughed, unbothered. "You’re not bad, you know," he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Don’t talk down to me, Musiala," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "I don’t need your validation."

He smirked, his eyes holding yours longer than you expected. "I’m just saying, it’s fun having someone who can keep up."

The words lingered longer than they should have, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The week continued, each interaction only adding to the storm brewing between you. During a trivia night, you were forced onto the same team by random selection. Every whispered argument, every accidental brush of hands as you reached for the answer sheet, set your nerves on edge.

When your team won, Jamal leaned close, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "We make a good team, don’t we?"

"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, though your heart raced at the closeness.

By the time the tournament neared its end, the tension between you and Jamal had reached a heated point. Every interaction was lit with unspoken words, every glance lingered just a second too long.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore. It was about proving something to each other, though you weren’t sure what. it was no longer about school pride or trophies.

It was personal. And neither of you was ready to admit how deep it ran.

After a particularly heated game, where both your teams had narrowly secured victories, Jamal caught up with you as you headed off the field.

"You’re really something, you know that?" he said, falling into step beside you.

"Don’t tell me you’re just figuring that out," you replied, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"No," he said, his tone unusually serious. "I’ve known it from the start."

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, the rivalry fell away, leaving only two people who understood each other in a way no one else could. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Jamal’s smirk returned, and he nodded toward the exit.

"See you in the finals," he said, his voice light again.

"You’d better bring your A game," you called after him, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to examine.

The finals were looming, and with them, the promise of one last battle. But somewhere amidst the rivalry, something deeper was starting to take place.

Neither of you was ready to admit it, but the lines between competition and connection were beginning to blur.

The finals came faster than you anticipated. One moment, you were preparing, training with everything you had, and the next, you were standing at the threshold of the biggest match of your life.

The weight of the competition, the constant back and forth with Jamal, the pressure to perform; it all sat heavy on your shoulders. But in the chaos, in the swirl of anticipation and adrenaline, what lingered in your mind wasn’t the game, the plays, or even the cheers of the crowd.

It was Jamal.

Every interaction, every glance, every smirk, every perfectly timed subtle teasing left its mark on you. It wasn’t even the words themselves, no, it was the way his presence seemed to stir something in you that you couldn’t put a name to.

The rivalry, intense and sharp, had gradually started to feel like something else. Something more.

And yet, you didn’t want to admit it. How could you? Jamal had always been your rival. The one person you couldn't beat, the one you always wanted to outdo.

But now, when you really thought about it, the competition felt…different. You had stopped seeing him as merely an opponent. Somewhere, between the victories and defeats, he had become something else entirely, someone else.

The finals arrived, and the game was everything you expected it to be. Intense, fast paced, each team clawing for every inch of ground, every goal, every point. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you as the final seconds ticked down.

Your team pulled through, victorious, the trophy now gleaming in your hands as your teammates crowded around, lifting you up in celebration. Cheers and excitement filled the air, but your eyes instinctively sought him out.

And there he was, standing off to the side, his figure sharp against the blur of victory. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade.

His face was unreadable, a blank canvas, but his eyes; there was something in them. Something dark and intense, something you couldn’t quite decipher. The air between you crackled with a tension you hadn’t expected to feel.

You wanted to look away, to return to the celebration, but you couldn’t. And when he broke the gaze, turning away without a word, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest sting of disappointment.

Later, when the stadium emptied out and the noise faded into quiet, you found yourself walking the halls alone. The adrenaline from the win still pulsed in your veins, but so did something else.

It gnawed at you, lingering in the back of your mind. Without meaning to, your feet carried you toward the bleachers, where you found him sitting alone, his head tilted back as he stared up at the sky.

"You know, you’re supposed to sulk after a loss," you said, the words almost automatic as you approached.

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was that smirk. The one that made everything inside you tighten. "And you’re supposed to celebrate after a win," he replied, his voice smooth, teasing.

You climbed the steps and sat beside him, your heart hammering in your chest. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, not exactly. But it wasn’t comfortable either.

It was loaded, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, everything that neither of you was brave enough to voice. The space between you felt like an abyss, but you didn’t know whether you wanted to close it or leave it as it was.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. "You played well today," he said quietly.

"I know," you replied, your voice lacking its usual sharpness. You didn’t have the energy for the usual banter, not now. Not with him.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’re a tough, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you both. "Coming from you? I’ll take that as a compliment."

He smiled, the cocky edge in his expression blunted, replaced by something far more… uncertain. Hesitant, almost. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you wondered, for the briefest of seconds, if he was seeing something you hadn’t noticed before.

"You really are something," he added, his tone softer now, less mocking. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t far from one.

The conversation rambled after that, going onto topics without really settling on any one thing. The tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling at both of you, never quite severed.

There was something magnetic about him, something about the way he looked at you, the way he saw you; not just as a rival but as an equal. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.

The weeks that followed were a blur of practices, interviews, and games, each day blending into the next. But Jamal was never far from your thoughts.

You couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

The rivalry, at first so intense, had grown into something far deeper. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the words you didn’t say.

Every time you crossed paths, the air between you seemed to thrum with energy. Every interaction, no matter how small, felt charged, as if the tension was simmering just below the surface, ready to explode.

Then one day, it happened. You found him waiting for you outside the locker room after a particularly tough game. His back was pressed against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was studying you, as if waiting for something.

"You just can’t stay away, can you?" you teased, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the small shift in his expression, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction.

"I could say the same about you," he shot back, his voice low and deliberate.

There it was again. That crackling energy between you, pulling you in. You swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to take a step back, but your feet were rooted to the ground. His gaze never wavered, and you felt a heat creep up your neck.

"Why do you always have to make everything a competition?" you asked, though you knew the answer before he even spoke.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The distance between you closed, leaving you acutely aware of every detail; the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes glinted in the dim light.

His words were low, almost intimate. "Because you make me want to be better. And I think I do the same for you."

You hated that he was right. Hated how easily he saw through you. You hated that you couldn’t look away, couldn’t even bring yourself to fight back.

"You’re insufferable," you muttered, but your words lacked the bite they usually had. It felt more like a feeble attempt to cover up something else, something deeper.

He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "And you love it."

You should have argued, should have pushed him away. But instead, you stood there, frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was changing. Slowly. Relentlessly.

The realization hit you in a moment of silence, one that caught you completely off guard. You had gone to watch one of his games, just to pass the time, to distract yourself from the constant pull between you. But as you watched him on the field, it hit you like a train.

It wasn’t just the way he played, it was the way you felt when you watched him. There was admiration there, sure. But it was more than that. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge.

When he scored the winning goal and looked up, his eyes scanning the stands before landing on you, everything inside you froze. The crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was the rush of your own blood in your ears. He knew you were there.

And when his eyes locked with yours, it wasn’t just a brief glance. It was something intentional, something deliberate. It made your heart race, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were proud or…something else.

That night, as you lay awake in your bed, the weight of everything pressed in on you. The rivalry, the competition, the slow, inevitable shift that had taken place between you and Jamal. You didn’t know what it was or where it was heading, but one thing was clear; it was no longer just a game.

It was something much more dangerous.

The next time you saw him, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. Neither of you could pretend anymore. Every glance, every word, every touch seemed to linger just a little longer than it should. The line between competition and connection had blurred, leaving you both on the edge of something you couldn’t name. Something neither of you was brave enough to confront.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to win… or lose.

The tension between you and Jamal had grown unbearable. Every glance, every word, every charged moment felt like a string being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. And when it did, it was bound to be explosive.

It happened on a rainy Friday evening. You’d just wrapped up a practice session, the field slippery with mud and your teammates’ laughter echoing in the distance. You thought you were alone until you heard footsteps behind you.

"Can’t stay away, can you?" Jamal’s voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to find him standing there, his hair damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, though you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer.

"Watching and learning," he said, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes held something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes. "You could use the practice."

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm despite the cold rain. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," you shot back, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, and suddenly the air felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could ignore. The teasing, the rivalry, the constant push and pull; it all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the rain.

"Why do we do this?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"Do what?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

"This," he said, gesturing between you. "The arguing, the competition, the… pretending."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe it’s easier that way."

"Easier," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he shook his head. "It’s not easier. It’s torture."

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn’t the confident, cocky Jamal you were used to. This was someone raw, someone honest.

"Jamal…" you started, but he cut you off.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care, like you don’t drive me absolutely insane in the best and worst ways."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back into the safety of your rivalry and banter. But another part, the part that had been growing bigger with each passing day, wanted to stay.

"You’re not the only one," you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the drops of rain clinging to his lashes. "Then stop fighting it," he said, his voice almost pleading.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then he reached out, his hand brushing yours, and all the walls you’d built came crashing down.

The kiss was unavoidable, as much a peak as it was a beginning. His lips were warm despite the cold rain, his touch firm but gentle. It was everything you’d both been denying, all the tension and frustration melting away into something softer, something real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, a small, disbelieving smile on his lips.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted.

"Probably as long as I have," you replied, your voice shaky but light.

The rain continued to fall, but neither of you moved. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the newfound understanding between you.

From that moment on, everything changed. The rivalry didn’t disappear, but it softened, became something playful rather than competitive. You still challenged each other, still pushed each other to be better.

But now, there was something more. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you; it all added up to something you couldn’t ignore.

You found yourself craving his presence, his voice, his laugh. And he felt the same. The time you spent apart felt like an eternity, and when you were together, it was never enough.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship had become the foundation of something much deeper, something that neither of you could deny.

One night, as you lay together under the stars, he turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this isn’t going to be easy," he said.

"I know," you replied.

"But it’s worth it," he said, his voice firm.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "It’s always been worth it."

And for the first time, you both let yourselves believe it.

The connection between you and Jamal had become an unstoppable force. No matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime, and the longing grew unbearable. It wasn’t just desire; it was a need, an aching pull that neither of you could resist.

It started small, a text here, a call there. But soon, it spiraled into something neither of you could control. Late night phone calls that stretched until dawn, whispered confessions that left you both breathless.

Even when you were apart, you were never really alone; your thoughts were consumed by him, and you knew it was the same for him.

One evening, after an exhausting match, you collapsed onto your bed, exhausted but restless. Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t even need to check the screen to know who it was.

Are you awake?

You smiled, your fingers gliding across the screen.

Always for you.

A moment later, his name lit up your screen. You answered without hesitation.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice low and filled with longing. "It’s driving me crazy."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Join the club," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re all I think about, Jamal."

There was a pause, and you could hear his breathing, steady but heavy. "I hate this," he said finally. "I hate being away from you."

"Then don’t be," you whispered, your words bold but honest. "Come over."

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Less than an hour later, he was at your door, his hair tousled and his eyes filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

You barely had time to step aside before he was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate.

"I can’t do this anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I need you. All the time. Every second of every day."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face. "I need you too," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I don’t know how to be without you anymore."

He smiled then, a soft, disbelieving smile that made your heart ache. "Good," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not letting you go."

From that moment on, the walls between you crumbled completely. There was no more acting, no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing else mattered. You spent every possible moment together, your lives intertwined in ways you’d never thought possible.

He started showing up at your matches, cheering louder than anyone else. You did the same for him, your voice hoarse and non existent by the end of his games.

When you weren’t on the pitch, you were together, whether it was curled up on the couch, wandering the city hand in hand, or simply lying in bed, talking about everything and nothing.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship was still there, but it had transformed into something playful, something that pushed you both to be better. You still challenged each other, still teased and competed, but now it was with a smile and a kiss waiting at the end.

One night, as you lay tangled together under a blanket of stars, Jamal turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this is it, right?" he said, his voice soft but steady. "You and me. There’s no going back."

You nodded, your heart swelling. "I wouldn’t want to," you said.

He smiled, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "Good," he said. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And neither were you. For the first time, you both let yourselves believe in forever, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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[danielxricciardo]

promt 35 angst with julian brandt please? he rarely gets blurbs on tumblr :(

35. "What will you do if we break up?"

Falling into a void? This is a pretty good description of the last few months of their relationship.

Although the relationship had become toxic and no one was happy, they had been together for 8 years. Who could give up on that thing? The thought of taking it from the beginning scared them both.

They always hoped that it was just a phase and they will recover but that phase started a little over a year ago.

It started with little lies that they told each other that were painful at first, because they never lied to each other, then slowly they didn't care what the other person was telling, even if they knew the truth.

Julian spent more and more time with his teammates, sleeping at their place and going home just to get some clean clothes.

She stayed in the apartment they shared, not because she wanted to, but because she had nowhere to go. Her friends were actually his friends. The girls she went out with for coffee were the girlfriends and wives of his friends. Her parents were in another city and she could not leave all the life she had built there to run in the arms of her parents. Although that life was sad and toxic, she still wanted to fight for the boy that she once saw as the father of her children.

Even though they no longer beared each other, she still went to all his games and hugged him after each one. Yes, he upsets her, he was the reason she cried more than five times a day, but she still loved him.

It was after such a game in which Borussia Dortmund lost when she went to to hug him. Julian sat alone in the corner of the pitch after the game was over.

"Hey, I'm sorry for the result. You did everything you could." she says, stretching out her arms to embrace him.

Julian avoided her hug and stares at her as if she was the reason they lost. His eyes, which were once blue, had turned black.

"What are you talking about? I played horrible. Do you even hear yourself?"

She had taken a step back when she heard Julian's hateful words.

"What do you want me to say? That it would have been better if Edin wouldn't have put you onto the field and you're the reason the team lost? You only played 25 minutes and the score was already 3 to 0."

"Just shut up! Shut the fuck up, I can't stand to hear you now." he yelled at her.

"Sure thing, Julian. Can't stand hearing me come to comfort you after a lost game, but you can bear to hear yourself spitting poison around you? How much longer do you think I can last? I just want the boy I fell in love with and been with for 8 years to come back."

Julian snorts and looks at her.

"Take a good look at me. That's me now. You're ok with it, fine. No? Goodbye."

She laughs even though she has tears in her eyes.

"No, I am not ok with this."

"Fine by me." he says, shrugging.

"Then that was it, wasn't it?"

"That was it? What will you do if we break up?" he asks curiously.

"Damn it, I'd be happy! Maybe I'd be with someone who loves me! Someone who appreciates me and doesn't make me unhappy every day. It hurts my soul to say this."

Julian nods. "Maybe you'll find someone like that. I can't."

[penguintransporter]

Hey everyone! This was not requested, but it was a long time promise for the great @quack-and-yellow. She’s amazing writer, and even more amazing friend, and she’s the one that encouraged me to start sharing my stories. Hope you enjoy it - Niklas Stark for you...

Big, white, and eerily silent.

That's how Niklas Stark, if asked about it, would describe the Berlinische Galerie.

And lots of stairs; definitely, lots of stairs.

Niklas has never been an art enthusiast, and if he were completely honest, he didn't really understand it. Obviously, he had some common art knowledge, thanks to Frau Nowak classes during his gymnasium days, but he never bothered to learn more than he had to. As far as he knew, he could confidently distinguish Picasso from Da Vinci, and Pollock from Van Gogh, but that was about it. Art just wasn't his thing, and he was positive that it won't ever be.

And maybe, he would have never stepped into this big, white, and eerily silent building willingly, if it wasn't for her. It was all Mia's fault.

Out of the corner of his eye, Niklas glanced down at her for split of a second before returning his gaze back to the wall.

They stood in front of a medium-sized, squared piece of art, and Niklas has never been more confused in his life. Next to him, Mia let out a string of 'aww's' and 'ooh's', and he, for the lack of reaction, tilted his head to his right, trying to decipher what she was seeing, but it was in vain. As far as he could tell, there was lots of red paint involved, thin swirls of black, white and blue, and something that resembled a squashed bug in the corner of it. Apparently, the technique used was in oil on canvas, and it carried the name 'Loss, Love, and Forgiveness'.

Not that Niklas knew any of it – he just read the small print next to it.

"This one is so cool, no?" Mia breathed out, and he glanced at her yet again. She was smiling one of her cute, little smiles that he grew to like over time. "There is so much emotion in it, it's insane."

Niklas hummed, sticking both of his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, pulling it slightly forward. He wanted desperately to say something smart to impress her, but he was positive that she wouldn't be wowed by his squashed bug theory, so he kept quiet. She seemed to like these things – art, galleries, museums and weird sculptures, and as long as he could spend time with her, he would keep buying tickets, and asking her to join him.

The echo of her shoes clicking against the white floor shook Niklas out of his thoughts, and he, realizing that Mia had already moved on the next piece of art, quickly strode towards her, shaking his head a little.

She looks so pretty in that forest green jumper of hers.

They met almost five months ago through some mutual friends on a random Thursday night. One of his best friends started casually dating one of her best friends, and as expected, they all met up at his place, sharing food, drinks, and a good laugh. At first, Niklas had no special opinion about her – she was just another face in his life, another passer-by, but a week or two later, after she beat him at FIFA, Niklas found himself thinking more, and more about her.

In the beginning, he was blaming his bruised ego. He let a girl beat him in a game that he, if he was allowed to say so, played as a professional – both on the screen, and in real life. But, with time, what began as a frustration thoughts, soon enough became something more. The memories about her teasing him on his poor game skills became all about her eyes, her smile and her laugh, and before he knew it, he was smitten with Mia.

"So—" Niklas cleared his throat, shaking his head again. He took a step back and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. The painting in front of him had two squashed bugs on a dark-blue background. "What do you think about this one?"

Mia turned slightly on her heel, folding her hands across her chest – a big smile forming on her face.

"I think…" she started, "you didn't listen what I was talking about," she jokingly glanced at her watch on her wrist, "just thirty seconds ago."

Niklas' eyes widened at the realization, and he felt the uncomfortable tickle inside his throat.

"It's not that—"

"—You're really not into this, right?" she asked with a grin as one of her eyebrows rose in a comical way.

Niklas swallowed, feeling his cheeks growing hotter. He gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"No, no, no—" he spoke hurriedly, "—it's very interesting. And I am sorry if I didn't listen what you said earlier. I was really into," he waved his hand at the painting in front of him, "this."

"Okay, if you say so," Mia whispered in a singsong voice before turning around to look at the art piece once again. Niklas felt a wave of relief wash over him, so he stepped closer to her – just for the sake of it – bowing a little to read the small print. "What is the name of the artist?" she suddenly asked.

"—Huh?" Niklas looked at her without straightening his back.

"What is the name of the artists?" she repeated with humor in her voice.

Scheiße!

His brain went blank.

For the love of Jesus, you literally bought the tickets last night. What was it? Was it Joh—no!

Niklas let a sigh slip through his mouth, feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Mia was still looking at the painting in front of them, but he could see the knowing smirk on her face, and he knew that he messed up. He didn't know what to say – he obviously couldn't care less about whoever the artist was or what each of the squashed bugs represented. The only thing he knew was that he had overheard Mia saying that she wanted to see it, so he bought the tickets, and asked her to join him. Was he guilty for wanting to spend more time with her?

"Mia, I—" he started, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Yeah?" she turned around to look at him, and once again, he felt like a truck of emotions hit him.

He looked down at his sneakers, words 'I like you' almost tumbling down from his lips, but he stopped himself.

"Do you want to grab something to eat after we finish here?"

**

The path along the Landwherkanal was nearly empty, except for few mothers pushing the baby trolleys with tired faces, and several sport-enthusiasts running their hearts out. Niklas and Mia walked slowly – his croissant finished a while ago, while Mia was still munching on the last bits of hers.

He was nervous, more than before, but determined to tell her how he feels. It was a matter of now or never, and the text message he received from his best friend, calling him a 'Warmduscher' and 'Hosenscheißer', only fuelled his decision to be honest with Mia.

"I need to tell you something," he started, looking awkwardly between his coffee cup, Mia, and the jogger who was stretching next to a bench as they walked by. His choice of wearing fluorescent yellow outfit hurt Niklas' eyes. Quickly, he looked away from the man, rubbing the side of his face nervously – his pulse quickening.

"You want to buy one of those paintings, no?" Mia grinned up at him.

"No! I mean yes—I mean, I need to decorate my walls, but that's not the point here, Mia."

"What is it then?" she asked, taking a small sip of her own beverage, glancing at him again.

"Do you mind if we sit down?" he asked, and Mia, giving him a confused look, nodded, following him towards the first empty bench before they sat down.

"What's up, Nik?"

"I…" Niklas began with a small sigh. "I am not good at this," he admitted, breathing out nervously.

"You're not good at FIFA either, and we both survived it," she teased, and he fought back the groan – he was still deeply wounded by it, and as soon he spills his heart out, and she decides not to run away, he will ask for a rematch.

"No, look, stop, listen—" he demanded, and Mia's face changed from teasing to serious. "The thing is, I think you're lovely, smart, and I like spending time with you, even if it means going to weirdest art places in Berlin. I guess, what I trying to say is, I—" he suddenly stopped, looking at Mia's wide eyes. Shit, she doesn't feel the same. "—you know what, nevermind," he muttered, shaking his head in his own disappointment. The silence fell upon them, and Niklas looked around, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. "What do you say we just keep walking?" he quickly got up, stretching as he did so. "Do you want another croiss—"

"—I like you, Niklas," Mia whispered, and for a second, he thought that his brain was playing games with him, but when he looked at her, he was positive that her voice wasn't just a fiction of his mind. Realizing what she just said, Mia quickly covered her face, dropping her head on her lap. "Shit, shit, shit," she muffled. "I shouldn't have said that."

Niklas smiled to himself, a feeling of his own confidence rushing through his body, pumping like adrenaline after scoring a goal.

Quickly, he crouched in front of her, wanting to be an eye-level with her.

"Hey, look at me," he whispered, and Mia shook her head, refusing to do so. Niklas chuckled, gently touching her shoulder, and this time, she obeyed, looking at him through a curtain of hair covering her face. He grinned at her, brushing away some of the locks, and she timidly returned his smile. "You're right, Mia," Niklas said softly, "I like you."

Who do you call hosenscheißer?

"Really?" she whispered, and Niklas nodded, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Reaching out a hand, he pulled her up, lacing his fingers with hers.

"Actually, I like you a lot," he answered as they started walking again. He felt Mia move closer, so that their arms were completely touching, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning in triumph.

"Even more than the exhibition at Berlinische Galerie?"

"Even more than that."

"And what about when I beat you at FIFA?"

Niklas didn't answer, but chuckled, sneaking his arm around her waist, and pulling her into him before planting a small kiss against her temple.

Thank you for reading! ♥

[lovelybrandt]

(REUPLOAD) I Saw This Private Wattpad From VamosBareclona Roses Julian Brandt Football Oneshots Stories 💗😍🌹End Of The Year February Valentines Day 2024

[danielxricciardo]

76. “I wanna meet your girlfriend, she sounds nice.” with halaand pls

76. “I wanna meet your girlfriend, she sounds nice.”

You loved adrenaline, and the fact that you were now in the same room with your older brother, your secret boyfriend and his teammates delights you to the fullest.

You had a pint of beer in your hand from which you took a mouthful from time to time. You could feel Erling's gaze on you, but you didn't notice him. You liked to keep him tense.

"I spoke to my girlfriend earlier and she said that at Haaland's goal in the 63rd minute, it was seen on TV how he fell and started swearing." says Marco.

Erling rolls his eyes and pulls his hair back.

"I was hoping it wouldn't show me swearing. My girlfriend doesn't like it when I talk like that."

Everyone turned their heads towards him, including you. You could feel your cheeks start to burn and you bit your lip.

"Oh? That girlfriend you've been with for almost half a year but never introduced to us? I'm beginning to doubt it exists." says Julian, your brother.

Everyone laughs and you decide it's a good time to get involved and distract any boys' attention from you.

"You know, Erling, it's completely normal not to have a girlfriend. Especially in your case. You're a 4-year-old in the body of a 20-year-old boy, it would basically be pedophilia."

Everyone laughs and you smile victoriously at Erling.

"I have a girlfriend, thank you very much. I didn't introduce her to you guys because we still want to enjoy each other's company before you know who she is. I can only tell you that she is the most wonderful person I know, when I'm with her I forget about everyone and everything and I want to get drunk on her. Every little gesture she makes fascinates me and I don't think there's anything in this world that she can't do. And I love her." at the last words he looked at you then took a mouthful of his beer.

“I wanna meet your girlfriend, she sounds nice.” Julian says and you choked with the beer.

The boys laughed at the gesture you made and then returned to their normal conversations.

You turned to Erling and mouthed "I love you too."

[danielxricciardo]

Erling getting handsy in front of your friend and her teasing you

You and Erling have decided that when the season is over you will go to your home country to meet your family and friends. Said and done. Your parents adored him from the moment they saw him, your father immediately took him to talk about football and different footballers and your mother served him with some of his favorite foods (she called you to ask what he likes to eat so that she can prepare a tasty meal for him). It was your friends' turn to meet him and you had already scheduled an outing to the restaurant, but your best friend could not attend because she was leaving the city for a few days and would return only after you two left, so you went to her house to meet her.

You knew your best friend already liked him, so you didn't worry too much, this was just a meeting for them to get to know each other officially.

Abbie had gone to the kitchen to bring something to eat and drink, leaving you two alone in the living room on the couch. Erling immediately jumps on you and kisses you passionately.

"What are you doing? What happened to you all of a sudden?"

"Did something have to happen in order to love my girlfriend?" he asks and puts his hands on your ass.

"Wow, how that sounded so romantic. Abbie is in the other room, calm down, please. We'll get home and do what you want." you say and roll your eyes.

"Mmm" he puts a hand to your breasts. "Whatever I want you say?"

"Hey, hey, hey, get a room, please. Not on my couch, though." Abbie says and you get away from each other very quickly

"Sorry, Abbie, I don't know what happened to Erling." you say and look at him. His face was completely red and you giggle.

"Do you want me to leave to continue your thing or...? My bedroom is on the left, I'll leave you for half an hour?" she teases you.

[danielxricciardo]

90 (from the songs) with jadon please <3 i forgot to say it

90. "And then I got you off your knees, put you right back on your feet, just so you can take advantage of me."

“I hate you so much right now! How can you be so selfish? Are you thinking about me at all?” you scream at your boyfriend and you move as far away from him as you can.

"What the hell? Are you serious? Me? Selfish?" You bite your lip to stop your tears from falling.

You and Jadon were two very strong and competitive people and when you fight you no longer care about the love between you. Most of the time, the quarrels ended as soon as you both said what you had to say. But not now.

Jadon did everything on his own, without asking you beforehand, and that made you angry. Although you have told him countless times that this bothers you, he continues to do so. And when he told you he was getting ready to go out for coffee with his ex-girlfriend, you felt your blood boil in your veins. You weren't a jealous person, but honestly, he didn't give you a reason to be. Ever.

"Yeah, you, selfish. Did you really forget what she did to you? She's a manipulative, thirsty for money who only cares about her bitch! How can you tell me you're going for coffee with her?"

"It's just a coffee, for God's sake! It's not like I'm going to fuck her! Why are you exaggerating so much?"

You started laughing. If you hadn't laughed, you're sure you'd have a nervous breakdown.

"I'm exaggerating. Me! Because I'm thinking of your well-being. After she broke up with you, you were no longer human! You didn't sleep, you didn't eat, you didn't leave the house, you missed three months of games due to depression. Then the boys sent me to get you out of your miserable condition. And then I got you off your knees, put you right back on your feet, for what? Just so you can take advantage of me?"

You let your tears run down your face. You noticed Jadon's facial expression soften and you bit your lip hard.

"You're right... I'm so sorry, I know how hard it was for you at that time." he says and hugs you.

You started to cry even harder when you felt his body warmth.

"Please don't meet her. I don't think I can see you in that state again."

"Shh, shh, shh, I'm not leaving, calm down, please." he says and strokes your hair, hugging you tighter.