#musiala x reader

[cher-rei]

Heyy girlll, loved your last Musiala drabble. Could you maybe write another one where reader gets really jealous and Jamal eventually notice and just teases her ?

the boy is mine– jamal musiala [ J.M ]

the boy is mine, I can't wait to try him [the boy is mine– ariana grande]

pairing: jamal musiala x fem!reader

summary: the new intern seemed a little touchy and you felt the need to put her in her place.

genre(s): take a guess... (fluff!)

[w.c: 1.4k] masterlist

notes: *giggles*

jamal was having one of his best practices yet as you watched from your spot in the stands. you wore a proud smile as he deftly maneuvered the ball past the defenders and scored, looking to you with a puppy-like smile to see if you noticed.

when you called to say that your lecture ended early and that you'd be joining him for practice today, he was ecstatic. he loved the opportunity to show off whenever he could and you were more than happy to cheer him on in whatever he did.

you always said that watching jamal play was a privilege and that it was an experience like no other, and were filled with pride knowing that you got to experience it first hand. however, your pride was mixed with annoyance today as you noticed hannah, one of the new physio interns, being a bit too enthusiastic every time he did something impressive.

you noticed how she would stand a bit closer to him than everyone else, giving him pats on the back, high fives, and once, even a playful shove. your annoyance grew with each interaction and you tried to brush it off, but it was hard when hannah was hovering over jamal like a bee around honey.

perhaps she was the main reason you showed up to practice... for the past two weeks jamal had mentioned her a few times, saying that she was so helpful and always offered to help when he needed. to you it was obvious what her objective was, but your boyfriend was oblivious. so instead of calling it out, you decided to see her in action.

with your jaw clenched you sat back in your seat, your attention on the girl who was well aware of your presence and who you were. she even had the gull to smile at you, but there was nothing genuine about it or her competitive glare.

eventually, jamal jogged up to you, his face glowing in excitement. "baby! did you see that last goal?"

the annoyance still evident in your demeanor, you forced a smile with your arms crossed. "yeah, you're doing amazing, sweetheart."

jamal wasn't an idiot, he noticed your tense posture and uninterested look immediately. he leant over on the barricade to get closer to you, a look of worry on his face. "is everything okay? wh--"

he was abruptly cut off by the call of his name. an annoyed groan left his lips at his coach calling him over but he made sure to reassure you that he'd be back. you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips and nodded, watching as he hurried over to his coach, once again leaving you alone.

it wasn't long before that empty presence was filled by none other than hannah herself. she leisurely made her way over to the barricade near you but didn't say anything, instead her attention was on jamal. you couldn't help but look at the back of her head in confusion, wondering what she was trying to do.

eventually, she turned to look at you, her smile in place but her eyes evaluating every inch of you. "hi, I'm hannah. you must be jamal's friend."

it took every single nerve and muscle in your body to stop you from jumping over the barricade and gauging her eyes out. she knew what she was doing, and at some point that annoyance died down and was replaced with shock. you wondered where the hell she got the audacity from to be so blatantly idiotic.

you poked your tongue into the corner of your cheek and nodded. "girlfriend. I'm his girlfriend."

with that, she didn't say anything and just laughed. what the hell was she laughing for??the two of you held your gazes, but all you could think of was how she thought this was a competition. you couldn't blame her for her little crush on jamal, it was understandable. but it was the fact that she thought that she had even a slight chance.

bless him for not having any idea that she was hitting on him. it genuinely made you feel better, knowing that he couldn't care less but this girl was stubborn by the look in her eyes. but she didn't know who you were— not in the slightest and you were more than open to watch her shoot her shot.

you wanted to see how far she could get, but you knew that jamal only had eyes for you. he was yours. and you planned on having it that way for the rest of your lives.

when jamal came back, you didn't even spare him a glance and instead watched how hannah's eyes lit up as he got closer. she straighted her posture and fixed her hair, causing your lips to part in shock.

jamal glanced between the two of you with a sweet smile. "I see the two of you have met." his attention turned to you immediately, your look of utter shock causing him to worry but he couldn't even address it because hannah decided that she had the right to speak.

you remained silent and watched the exchange between the two of them carefully, mentally urging her to test her limits.

"you know if you ever need someone to help you cool down after practice, I'm available. I could use the extra practice anyway."

oh, so she wasn't embarrassed at all? her lack of shame had your mind running in circles and you wanted to laugh so badly. all you did was lightly scoff, a smirk on your lips. "he's got me for that."

hannah looked to you with a challenging gaze which you happily returned, the smile not leaving your lips. this was pure entertainment right here.

"yeah but seeing as I'm an actual physio, I know more when it comes to that," hannah said with the fakes laugh you'd ever heard. you wanted to wipe that smug smile off her face and bury her six feet under.

from the corner of your eye you noticed jamal's more than confused look but brushed him off. "and seeing that I'm his actual girlfriend, I know just how to help him relax."

jamal quickly interjected when he sensed the tension, knowing just how far you were willing to take this. "thanks hannah, but I think my girlfriend has it covered."

hannah shrugged, her eyes lingering on jamal. "well, the offer still stands." she smiled and sent you one final look. "it was lovely meeting you."

there was a boastful smile on your face as you waved her off, the annoyance slowly dripping away the further away she got. just how you liked it.

when she was gone, jamal looked to you, trying to stifle his laugh. "is that why you were upset earlier, hm?"

you shrugged, eyes darting over to hannah who was gathering equipment nearby. "just wondering how often your intern friend gets all handsy during practice."

with a teasing smile jamal rested his head on his arms, eyeing you up and down. he loved how overprotective you were over him, it made him feel special. "hannah, is just really enthusiastic about her job."

"enthusiastic, huh?" you mimicked, voice dripping in sarcasm.

jamal decided to play along for the fun of it. "yeah, she's like a cheerleader, always there to boost morale. she even asked if I needed a personal watter bottle carrier."

your jaw ticked. "did she now?"

"yep. and she said that I have the 'perfect shoulders for pats'. very specific compliment, don't you think?"

you rolled your eyes, trying to contain your jealousy and got up from your seat to stand against the barrier to be closer to your boyfriend. "she does realise that you're my boyfriend right?" you pointed towards yourself and jamal smiled. "you're mine. nobody else's."

a scoff left your lips. "the audacity."

jamal couldn't contain his laughter anymore and reached over to pull you closer to him, his hand resting on your cheek as he looked into your eyes with a softened gaze. "you're adorable when you're jealous, you know that?"

instinctively, you melted at his touch. "just wait until I'm burying her body then."

with that, he laughed again and kissed your cheek. "I only care about your shoulder pats, baby."

your annoyance melted away once again and you looked up at him with a pout. "really?"

he grinned and nodded. "absolutely. you're the only cheerleader I want. nobody else."

with that, you got up on your tippy toes and gave him a short but meaningful kiss on the lips, squishing his cheeks when you pulled away. "yes, because you're mine. are you mine?"

jamal couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks and simply nodded, an excited chuckle leaving his lips and you could swear that he was jumping in place. "nobody else's. just yours, love."

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ timeless whispers; 

              jamal musiala ────── 

    A friendship so tight, the lines between love and loyalty blur—but what happens when what's been unsaid for years is finally revealed?

⭑  wordcount : four thousand four hundred thirty-seven.

⭑  notes : sorry its a bit long but it took me a hot minute to edit this down to under 5k ;-;

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Jamal Musiala had always been a thread woven into the fabric of your life, stitched so tightly that you couldn’t remember a time before him. He was in every memory that mattered, his laughter tangled up with yours, his presence as constant as the grey English skies overhead.

There's the summer when you were eight, when the humidity was unbearable, the kind that made the pavements soft and sticky beneath your trainers. You’d both tried to build a den at the bottom of your garden using old bedsheets and bits of wood from the shed. It had been going well—until Jamal decided it needed a second floor. The entire thing collapsed within minutes, sending you both sprawling into the grass, sheets tangled around your limbs. You’d groaned dramatically, but Jamal just lay there laughing, the sun catching in his dark curls.

Later his mum brought out ice lollies, you both sat cross-legged on the patio, the melted juice running down your wrists, arguing over who would win the Premier League that season. He was convinced it would be Chelsea. You, just to wind him up, would say Manchester United. It was the same argument every summer, neither of you ever backing down.

But football wasn’t just something you talked about—it was everything. You played until the street lights flickered on, your school shoes scuffed from kicking the ball. The small pitch by the park became your second home, the place where Jamal’s feet moved like magic, where his skill made even the older kids stop and stare. It never surprised you—watching him play had always felt like watching something special, something bigger than just kickabouts in the park.

“One day, I’m going to be out there!” He’d said, lying on his bedroom floor, his head resting on his folded arms. The TV was on, the blue glow of the screen flickering across his face.

You’d snorted, flicking a crisp at him. “Yeah? Don’t forget about me when you’re off being famous?”

Jamal caught the crisp mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. “Hey, you could always come along. Be my agent? Or my personal bodyguard. You’re proper scary when you’re mad.” Causing you to nudge him with your foot. 

So, when Chelsea’s academy did call, it felt inevitable. 

You still remember those afternoons at the academy. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the tang of sweat and the distant hum of whistles from other pitches. You’d sometimes tag along, a book in your lap you barely paid attention to, as your eyes followed Jamal’s every move. He was mesmerizing. The way he weaved through defenders, his deft touches on the ball, the way he’d glance your way after scoring.

And then there were the stolen moments after his training sessions. The two of you would walk to the corner shop, sharing a single bag of crisps as he recounted every highlight, every frustration, every dream.

“You’re going to be a superstar one day,” You’d say, half-teasing but mostly proud.

He’d laugh, shrugging it off. “Guess that would make you my number one fan.”

And just like that, your heart would betray you.

Skipping beats and filling your chest with a warmth you couldn’t explain. But you never told him. How could you? You couldn’t even admit it to yourself at first.

He was your best friend. The boy who let you do his hair when you were younger, who stayed up all night watching horror films with you despite hating them, who always made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

You lived in a world of denial until one match day. The crowd roared as Jamal dribbled past a defender and chipped the ball effortlessly into the net. He turned, grinning, his gaze scanning the stands until it landed on you. That smile—bright, unguarded, like it was meant just for you—unraveled something deep inside. You clapped along with everyone else, but your heart ached with the weight of what you now knew. You liked him. Not in the casual, childish way, but in a way that terrified you.

For months, you kept it to yourself. The fear of ruining everything paralyzed you. But as summer stretched on and your time together grew quieter, more comfortable, the words pressed against your lips, desperate to be spoken.

-

One sunny afternoon, you decided you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The two of you were in the park near your neighborhood, sitting on the old splintering bench that had been “yours” for as long as you could remember. Jamal was bouncing a football absentmindedly against his foot, the rhythmic thud blending with the chatter of children playing nearby. You’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times in your head, but now that it was here, your palms were clammy, and your chest felt too tight.

“Jamal,” you said, barely recognizing your own voice. He looked up, his dark eyes curious and a little concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle but laced with worry. He always knew when something was on your mind.

You hesitated, the words clawing at your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He straightened, the football rolling away as he gave you his full attention. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I think… No, I know I’ve been feeling this way for a while,” you said, stumbling over your words. “I like you, Jamal. More than a friend.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unpolished, a fragile offering. You dared to glance at him, hoping for… something. A smile, a laugh, a spark of recognition. But his expression was unreadable. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“Say something,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of his silence.

He dropped his gaze, his jaw tightening. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his fingers tugging at the loose threads on his shorts. The silence stretched, unbearable and suffocating. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place—guilt, regret, maybe both. But still, he said nothing.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave. He wasn’t going to respond. The truth of your feelings lay bare between you, and he couldn’t even give you the courtesy of an answer. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, tears threatening to spill as your chest tightened with the weight of his rejection.

“I should go.” you said abruptly, standing before he could stop you. Your vision blurred, and you turned away, your legs carrying you far from the bench, from the park, from him. The tears came as soon as you were out of sight, hot and unrelenting, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the scene replayed in your mind on an endless loop. You felt foolish—foolish for thinking he might feel the same, foolish for risking your friendship, foolish for believing you could ever be enough for someone like him. 

But even then, as your chest ached with regret and humiliation, you couldn’t bring yourself to wish for anything different. Because falling for Jamal, as painful as it was, still felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But the bleeding didn’t stop there. The following days were a haze of misery. You replayed every moment between you and Jamal, analyzing every laugh, every touch, every shared glance for something—anything—to suggest he might have felt the same. Each memory only deepened the sting. His silence had spoken louder than words ever could.

You ignored his texts, his calls, his attempts to reach out. Seeing his name light up your phone was a dagger to your chest, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost. You couldn’t bear to face him, to hear whatever excuse he’d offer. It wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t chosen you.

And then, a week later, the universe delivered its final blow. 

You were scrolling through social media when a mutual friend posted a photo. Jamal, surrounded by suitcases, standing in what was unmistakably an airport terminal. The caption was simple: “Good luck in Germany, Jamal! We’ll miss you.”

Your world stopped. 

You stared at the image, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. He was leaving? He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t said goodbye. He’d just… left. You ignored the tiny voice in your head saying he would have told you if you had picked up any of his calls.

You dropped your phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streamed down your face. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, a weight pressing down on you, suffocating you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to forget. But no matter how hard you tried, the memories of him wouldn’t leave you. His laugh, his smile, the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—they haunted you, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

-

When you applied for the study abroad program in Munich, part of you hoped this would be your escape—your chance to move forward, away from everything tied to him. Munich had always been a dream of yours. The cobblestone streets, the imposing architecture, the vibrant culture, the language—it was all part of a vision you’d long nurtured. This was supposed to be your new beginning, a fresh chapter far from the old hurts. You knew Jamal was here, but that was the last thing you cared to focus on. This time, you weren’t looking to be haunted by the past. You were determined to leave him behind.

This chapter is about what’s best for you. 

It’s hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since you arrived in Munich. In that short time, everything seems to be falling into place. Classes are going better than you anticipated—your professors are engaging, and though the workload is intense, it challenges you in all the right ways. There’s a rhythm to it now, a routine that feels both natural and reassuring. Late-night study sessions at the library, once dreaded, have become a habit—one you’ve come to find unexpectedly rewarding. It’s as if you’re finally settling into the life you’ve always envisioned, building something uniquely yours from the ground up.

Weekends are reserved for exploration, and Munich has proven to be everything you hoped for—and more. Every corner offers something new, from the irresistible food near Marienplatz to shopping the streets of Sendlinger Strasse. You find yourself captivated by the architecture at the Deutsches Museum, losing track of time as you wander through its wonders. It’s as if each day is its own small triumph, a quiet reminder that you’re actively creating the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Thankfully you're not doing it alone. You made some friends around Munich, one being Teni, your roommate. You spend nearly every day together, with study sessions inevitably turning into long, animated conversations about everything from the peculiarities of German grammar to the latest news. Teni, from the UK as well, is here for a study abroad program, pursuing her deep passion for sports reporting. 

In fact, she has Bayern games on all the time, and at first, you tune it out, not really invested in the familiar hum of a sport you once followed closely. But before long, you find yourself checking in more often—not because you’re particularly interested, but because you feel an unexpected pull to stay in the loop. And then, on nights when you’re distracted by the game, you can’t help but notice Jamal on the pitch. But you quickly submerge yourself with something else before you can ponder on him too long.

So, when Teni asked you to come to the game, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. She loved the sport and you two had spent so much time together on numerous escapades, that it would’ve been weird to say no. 

And that’s how you end up here, right in the heart of the Allianz Arena—way too close to the pitch. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the hum of anticipation hanging in the air. It’s all a little overwhelming, and for a second, you debate staging an exit. But it’s too late now. You’re here, surrounded by the chaos and excitement, and for some reason, it feels like the past is trying to crawl up from the depths of your mind.

Teni is already snapping pictures for an article she’s working on. You, on the other hand, are content to blend into the background, quietly absorbing it all. And then, as the players jog onto the pitch, your world stops.

Jamal.

You know he’d be here. After all, the lineups have been announced, but no amount of mental preparation can shield you from the rush of emotions that hit the moment the teams take the field. Your heart skips, your breath catches, and for a split second, everything blurs—the arena, the noise, the faces around you—until all you can focus on is him. His presence hits you like an electric current, jolting every nerve in your body.

He’s still the same, yet not—the boy you last saw through teary eyes now stands before you, older, sharper, more refined. Time stretches, and you feel as though the past has pulled you back in, wrapping its arms around you, refusing to let go. You try to shake it off, but it clings tighter.

Your eyes dart to how the Bayern players move with fluid precision, warming up with stretches and sprints, their bodies sharp and focused. The sound of their feet hitting the turf is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as the intensity builds with each passing minute. The crowd's chants vibrate through the air, and you can feel it in your chest, yet you’re strangely disconnected, caught somewhere between the present and the past.

As the players finish their warm-up, they smile for the cameras, posing with exaggerated ease as they head back inside. You stand just off the pitch, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders as Teni snaps away, capturing the energy of the scene for her article. The flashes from her camera light up the field, but your focus is elsewhere—on Jamal, standing in the midst of his teammates. They pull him into their group shots, laughing and teasing, their camaraderie effortlessly on display. The smiles are bright, wide, but there's a distance in Jamal, something quiet behind his grin. 

His gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then—almost imperceptibly—his eyes meet yours. Thanks to fate, all you can feel is the weight of his stare, heavy and familiar. For a split second, it’s like nothing has changed—like the years between you don’t exist. His expression falters, just a glimpse of something real. 

Then, just as quickly, he looks away, his attention snapping back to his teammates. The game’s starting soon, and there’s no room for sentimentality. He jogs toward the tunnel, his figure swallowed by the bustle of the stadium, the noise picking up again as the crowd shifts with anticipation. 

You try to focus on the match, the fast pace of the players darting across the pitch, but your mind keeps circling back to him. How? Out of everyone in this stadium, he makes eye contact with you? The thought almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it. It feels like some strange twist of fate, like destiny had a sick sense of humor. You try to brush it off, but the knot in your chest refuses to loosen, and no matter how much you tell yourself to move on, his presence is still there, hovering in the background.

As the game goes on, you can’t escape the pull of your own thoughts. Teni, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, too focused on her notes to notice the way you’re fidgeting, how your attention keeps slipping. It’s not until halftime that she finally raises an eyebrow, sensing something’s off.

“So,” she says, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re really not paying attention to the game, huh?”

You try to ignore her, shifting in your seat and glancing at the scoreboard, hoping she’ll drop it. “I’m just… processing,” you mutter, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her.

But Teni is persistent. “Processing what? You’ve been out of it the whole time. You’re not really watching the game.” Her eyes narrow, a knowing look creeping into her expression. “What’s going on? You look like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

You wave her off, trying to brush off the tension. “I’m just hungry,” you say. “That’s all. Just need a snack or something.”

Teni gives you a skeptical look, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh, sure,” she says, but then she shrugs, turning her attention back to the game. “Well, I have to stay here and take pictures, but while you’re at it—grab me a pretzel or something. A good one, okay? Not the stuff they sell at the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you the best pretzel in the stadium.” you tease, standing up to leave.

“Make it extra salty,” she calls after you, her focus already back on her work.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head. A simple request, but it’s enough to pull you back into the present. As you walk away, you can feel the buzz of the stadium around you, the weight of Jamal's gaze still lingering, but it’s easier to ignore now—at least for the moment.

You groan in your head as you realize how long the line is. Taking out your phone to scroll through, half-heartedly checking messages, when a new DM pops up on Instagram. You glance at the notification and your heart stops.

You blink, trying to process. It’s not a name you ever expected to reach out again and the message is so vague it almost feels like a prank. 

“Is it really you?” It asks—simple, almost too casual for someone you haven't spoken to in years.

You stare at the screen, unsure of what to make of it, and just as you're about to put the phone down, a second message follows. 

“Meet me after? Please.” You read the message about ten times as if it was incorrect. The directions of where to meet him popping up seconds later.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a strange mix of disbelief and excitement floods over you. It’s him. After all this time, after everything that’s happened, here he is, reaching out like it’s nothing. Your fingers hover over your phone, unsure of what to do. On one hand, you don’t want to see him. Why is he even texting you during halftime? It feels so odd. But on the other hand, you know you can’t just ignore it. There are too many loose ends between you two, too many questions left unanswered. You can't abandon the ship completely without addressing this, without facing whatever it is that still lingers between the two of you.

-

The stadium was still humming with the energy of the game, the final whistle's echo lingering in the cool night air. The crowd thinned, voices blending into a distant murmur, but you barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through you—not just from the match, but from something else.

Teni hadn’t suspected a thing when you made up an excuse to slip away. She’d been too focused on getting post-match interviews, flipping through her notes, already mapping out her next move.

“I’ll meet you later,” she had said, barely glancing up, her mind occupied with work. “I have to talk to a few people after the game.”

And now, here you were.

When you finally spot him, your steps falter. 

He stands a few paces away, the stadium lights casting a soft glow on his damp curls. His jersey is gone, replaced by a simple hoodie, but he’s still him. The past and present collide in an instant, a heartbeat stretching into eternity.

He turns, as if sensing you, and your eyes meet.

“Hey…” He says, his voice quiet, uncertain.

“Hey.” You echo, gripping the ends of your sleeves, fingers curling into the fabric as you try to steady yourself. “Long time.”

A short laugh escapes him, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes rake over you, searching for something—recognition, maybe. An opening. “Yeah, it has been.”

A pause. A shift in the air between you—charged, heavy. The weight of unspoken words presses against your ribs.

“How long have you been in Munich?” he asks, voice careful, measured.

“A month.”

His brows lift. “A month?” A sharp exhale, a bitter laugh. “And I had no idea.”

You hesitate. You could explain, but would it even matter? Before you can decide, he steps closer. The space between you shrinks, the air between you electric, weighted.

“I’m sorry I never got to clarify everything,” he says, voice dipping lower. “Why I never told you I was leaving.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your arms tighten around yourself, a shield against the memories clawing their way to the surface. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” Your voice is sharp, bitter. “You disappeared”

His jaw tightens. “I know.”

“You don’t just get to say sorry and expect me to forget.” Your voice wavers, despite the anger simmering beneath it. “You left me with nothing. No explanation. No closure.”

His hands flex at his sides like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how.” he admits, eyes dark with something unreadable.

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know,” he says, almost pleading now. “I realized. But I thought—” He stops, swallows. “I assumed you hated me. That you moved on. That forgetting me was the best thing you ever did.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I do hate you.” But the words sound hollow, empty, the anger laced with something far more painful.

His lips curl in to an apologetic smile. “I also never told you how I felt.” He continues, his voice growing even more hesitant. 

You start rolling your eyes as you turn away. "Let’s not do this right now. Just let it be."

But before you can step back, his hand catches your wrist—not forceful, just enough to stop you. When you glance at him, his eyes are pleading, raw with emotion.

"Please," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve waited years to tell you what I need to say right now. I don’t deserve for you to listen, but… please."

Your breath stutters.

He swallows hard. “I didn’t respond back then because I knew it wouldn’t be fair. Not when I was about to leave.”

The silence stretches between you. The world feels distant, the noise of the city fading as everything shifts around the weight of his words. 

“You don’t get to do that to me.” you snap, voice sharp, shaking.

“I know,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know it’s been years. And maybe I don’t have the right to say this now. But seeing you tonight... it felt like the world stopped. Like it always did when you were around.”

Your chest tightens. It’s the same feeling you’ve carried for years—the ache, the unanswered questions, the part of you that never stopped caring. You try to keep your guard up, but the pull of him, of this moment, is undeniable.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Even when I tried, you were always there. In every city, every match, every late night when I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if you were okay, if you ever thought about me, if you hated me.”

You blink, fighting back the sting in your eyes.

“I should’ve told you back then,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I said it out loud, leaving would hurt even more. And I was right.”

You press your lips together, trying to hold back everything threatening to spill over.

He exhales, stepping even closer. “If you feel nothing for me, I’ll walk away. Right now.”

Stillness spreads across the night sky. He takes another step saying “If there’s no world where I can fix my mistakes, let me know.” He’s so close now, his warmth seeping into you, his eyes desperate for an answer. 

“Tell me to go.” His gaze flickers to your lips. 

 You inhale sharply, the sound barely audible, but he catches it. His name slips from your lips in a whisper. “Jamal.”

You lock eyes with him, and the universe halts. In the depth of his gaze, you see everything—the years, the silence, the regrets—and yet, all that matters is right here, right now. You feel the familiar weight of his presence, the way his gaze pulls you in, a magnetic force that makes everything else vanish. The tears fall before you even realize they’ve started, tracing paths down your cheeks.

Without thinking, you step into him, your hands trembling as you grip his hoodie, pulling him closer, as if you could erase all the distance between you with that one movement. His arms encircle you, holding you tight, steadying you as you bury your face against him. You’re not sure who’s shaking more, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls you close—so close it steals your breath. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, as if he’s afraid to let you go again. Your arms tighten around him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as the years collapse into this single, trembling moment.

He exhales into your hair, his body shaking slightly. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the dampness of his curls against you, the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

It won’t be easy. You both know that. The wounds, the past, the things that need healing—they won’t disappear overnight. But somehow, in each other's arms, there is no doubt. Together, you can overcome the time lost, the mistakes made, and everything that’s stood in your way. Because this was never meant to be forgotten. Just waiting, tucked away, until it was the correct time to fight. And this time, no one’s wanting to let go.

Neither of you speak. There are no words for this. Just the quiet hum of the world around you, soft and steady, as if time itself is holding its breath.

Maybe it never was.

© gul4bjamoons 

[writtingsomestuff]

imagine for musiala where you work as a physio for bayern, and jamal has a crush on her and all the guys tease him about it

🩷🩷 love you

OMG you're so sweet!!!! 🩷 love you too! I'm very sorry for being late. I've been busy this past month with my job and college.

More than just a crush - Jamal Musiala

Jamal Musiala x fem!reader Warnings: none ig

Jamal was not very expressive with his emotions, he was rather shy and introverted. He was not very communicative about his feelings or thoughts, but these last few days his teammates, and even his coach, observed how often he visited the physio. The new physio, who was the new intern at Bayern Munich. This was one of the greatest opportunities that were ever offered to her; it is true that it made her feel insecure at the beginning as she was going to directly treat professional football players, and that scared her, but after she met them and saw how close they made her feel, she started to feel more comfortable.

Jamal shyly knocked at her door, “come in” he heard her beautiful voice and he blushed. Jamal cursed himself as he did not want her to notice how red he was.

“Hi” he said quietly, and made his way into the room

“Jamal?” She gave him a small smile as she approached the bed where he was going to sit soon, “What happened this time?” She asked with her eyebrow raised, trying not to laugh as she knew that nothing happened to him

“My left foot” Jamal simply said as he pointed at his right foot

“Right or left?” She asked again

Jamal quickly changed his hand to indicate his left as he heavily blushed, even more, “Left, left”

“Alright, I think a soft message will do – you can sit down” She said as she observed the player sitting down on the massage table “How did you get hurt this time?” The same question was asked every time he entered the room, however, their conversations progressed. No one could deny the attraction between both of them, not even them. The players, the whole staff and even the coach could sense it; it was so obvious.

“Müller stepped on my foot,” He said as he started to undo his shoes. She knew he was lying, little did he know that she watched the training and nothing like that happened. She started to watch them after Jamal caught her attention only three days after starting to work. “I tried to wait a bit but still hurts”

“Oh, really?” She asked with a small smirk that intimidated the footballer, he was ready to lay down but remained sat. She crossed her arms and approached him, Jamal felt his stomach drop and his knees tremble; she was too close. He could see her deep (y/c) eyes, her soft skin he wished he could caress, her cute nose and her unique lips. He closed his eyes and let her famous perfume dominate him. She took all her courage together and for the first time in her life, she shoot her shot. “And, when did that happen?” She whispered as she got closer to the man in front of her, “during the small match, or the running session at the beginning?” Jamal looked at her surprised, she watched the training session.

“No… I mean…” He started to say, but nothing came out. “Is just that-” He tried again but nothing, she raised her eyebrows still waiting for a valid excuse. She held her smirk until the situation in front of her caused her to laugh; all that false confidence soon left her body.

Jamal was confused and embarrassed, he could not understand if she was laughing at him or at the situation. 

“I am joking Jamal, I just find funny the excuses you come with to come here” She told him with her normal tone, “You could have just asked, you know?”

“Yeah… I just did not want to bother you.” He said shyly, “I like you a lot. You are so nice and kind with everyone, you are so soft, and also incredibly beautiful. You make me feel nervous when you are around and I feel like I am not worthy of asking you for even a date -” He was interrupted by a pair of soft lips on him, Jamal was in shock but soon continued with the kiss

“A date tonight?” She asked once they separated, and he nodded. “At 9pm it is” She smiled softly. Jamal kissed her cheek softly before he said goodbye and left the room. Without his shoes.

[winqzr]

[thatmusialasgirl]

Playing with fire.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jamal musiala x fem¡reader.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: it contains some sexual connotations, but that's about it.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: english is not my first language, so I can make mistakes.

⚠️I DON'T SEXUALIZE ANYONE!⚠️

A few days ago, I went out partying and started drinking too much alcohol. I ended up confessing that I would like to kiss Jamal, the heaviest person I have ever met and my brother's best friend. What I didn't know was that my words were going to reach the ears of my brother, Oliver.

I was sitting on the sofa reading a book, until suddenly I heard someone ring the doorbell. I went to open the door and saw that it was Jamal, I huffed and opened it.

-Hi, what do you want?-I said annoyed since I didn't want to see someone as unbearable as him.

J.M: -Hi, is your brother here? We had arranged to play FIFA.-

-Yes, come in.-

Jamal came in and my brother came down with the Play controls. They sat together and while they started playing, I tried to read.

I didn't concentrate because they were screaming.

-Can you shut up now?! I'm trying to read and you don't shut up!- I said angrily.

O: -We are not going to shut up, why are you screaming like crazy?

-I am not screaming like crazy.

O: -Yes you are doing it.-after he said that, we started arguing.

-No, and at least my feet don't smell like rotten cheese.-I said angrily.

O: -At least I don't get drunk every time I go out to a party.-Oliver said, starting to warm up in the furious situation.

- At least I don't look like a monkey.

O: -At least I don't want to kiss the person I've hated my whole life and he'll never notice me!-said my brother looking at his best friend before walking out the door and going to the bathroom.

I turned red instantly, I hated my brother like I never had before. I didn't know how he found out about that.

J.M: -Did you really want to kiss me?-he said with a smile.

-Of course not!-I exclaimed.

However, he came to me. He sat next to me, very close.

J.M: -If you didn't want to kiss me, why are you be so red?-he laughed and moved a little closer.

-It's just I'm so hot-.

J.M: -It’s not that hot and you know it.-

The fact that he was so close to me made me very nervous, which he realized.

J.M: -Are you nervous?-he looked me in the eyes after he said it.

-I am not.-I looked away because I couldn't keep eye contact.

J.M: -Yes you are.-he said-Why does it make you so nervous to have me near you if you hate me?.-

I didn't respond and turned my head away, trying to avoid talking to him; but Jamal grabbed me by the jaw and turned my head.

J.M: -Honey, admit you're nervous and I'll leave you alone.-he said this because he knew perfectly well how stubborn I am and how difficult it is for me to agree with another person.

-I'm going to tell you two things, don't call me that, and get the hell away from me.-after saying that, I slapped his hand away from my jaw.

J.M: -Force me.-he moved his hand towards my waist, the bastard, I knew he was doing it so that I would say that I was nervous.

The only thing I could think of was to sit on top of him and start moving slowly, and that's what I did. I watched s Jamal is surprised because he didn't expect me to do this and he tensed up. I felt him start breathing harder.

-What's happening? Are you getting nervous?-I looked at him mockingly.

J.M: -You are playing with fire. He grabbed me by the waist after saying that.

After a while I started moving faster, he gripped my waist tighter and his cock rose. Obviously I noticed it. The fact that his cock was rising and the rubbing of our private parts made me a little horny and I started breathing faster. I moved closer to his ear so he could hear my rapid breathing and almost immediately his cock got harder.

My plan was that when my brother came back from the bathroom or wherever he was because he was running late, I would grab all the pillows so that Jamal couldn't cover his excited erection. The moment I thought that, my brother appeared at the door, I got up from my brother's best friend, grabbed all the pillows and Jamal looked at me, annoyed by what I had just done. I sat on the couch, calm, with a mocking smile and my brother approached us.

O: -Bro, why is your dick up?-he told him, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed and headed to the living room door with a victorious smile, but before I left, I remembered one thing.

-Make sure you don't play with fire, Jamal.-I winked at him and left.

Something short but interesting hahaha

This is my first time posting anything on Tumblr, so if anyone wants me to make a Jamal Musiala fanfiction, let me know!

I leave you my tiktok account in case you want to ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ follow me :)

↓

thatmusialasgirl

[cyor]

Jamal Musiala ideal type reading

General

•

He likes someone that is embraced in their femininity in all traditional aspects: loving, careful, understanding, and responsible. A very loving and passionate individual that has a lot of love to give to him. Someone that has a lot of depth, emotionality and nurturing. Someone that thinks with their heart but also uses their intuition always. Someone that wants to commit to him right away. Someone that gives their all to him. He likes to feel those movie-like feelings and romances with someone 24/7. Someone mysterious and melancholic.

Turn on’s

•

Someone very espiritual, that feels what others don’t feel at first. Someone compassionate, selfless and that thinks about others first. Stable. Again, very intuitive. Sees what others don’t see and feels what others don’t. Someone positive and self-sufficient emotionally. Someone that shows him how much they love him, irrationally. Someone a bit stubborn as well. Nothing changes their mind when it comes to what they believe. Someone very jealous (romantically wise). A Fenix that is always rising from its ashes. Individualist with very different looks.

Turn off’s

•

Unmotivated individuals. When someone can’t move on. When they show negative patterns that he also has. When they refuse to assume their responsibilities. A show off. Someone that forgets who they are and who helped them every time they achieve a goal. Someone too full of themselves. Too head in the clouds. Too self centered and doesn’t think about others’ (and his) feelings. He doesn’t like it if the person looks bad or has a bad reputation in the media.

[insidekatmind]

Early morning-Jamal Musiala

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It was still so early.

As soon as Jamal Musiala woke up, he started shifting in bed, trying to sit up as he always did, not wasting a single minute.But a hand slid around his bare waist. Your hand.You didn’t want him to get up so early. It was the weekend, and all you wanted was to spend a bit more lazy time next to him.

He froze for a few seconds, thinking about what to do, before gently falling back onto the mattress with a sigh.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you close and holding you against his chest.

The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat were all you needed in that moment. There were no training sessions, matches, or obligations to disturb that little pocket of shared happiness.

His fingers began to brush through your hair, tracing invisible lines with a slowness that seemed meant to keep you there, safe in his arms.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked in a quiet voice, still tinged with sleep.

You nodded against his chest, smiling. “And you?”

“I do now,” he replied, his relaxed smile hidden in your hair.

You smile softly and cling to him, kissing his lips. He closed his eyes as you kissed him, humming softly with pleasure and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

When the kiss ended, he nuzzled his face against your skin, enjoying being so close to you, your scent and touch.“Mm, I love you,” he murmured, his words a bit husky from sleep.

“me too baby” you murmur into kisses as you caress his hair softly with your hands. He leaned into your touch, his eyes still half-closed as he let out a satisfied moan, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.

“I don’t know why I even considered getting out of bed,” he said, his voice a low rumble next to your ear. “This is much better.”He shifted, turning slightly so he could pull you even closer, his bare chest pressed against your body.

Jamal planted messy kisses to your neck, his lips hot against your sensitive skin, making you shiver with pleasure."You're so warm," he whispered, his hand slowly running up and down your back. "And you smell so good..."

His legs entwined with yours, holding you so close that you could feel the heat of him everywhere. He pressed his face against your shoulder, his breath warm and a little ragged as his lips found your earlobe and nipped at it tenderly. Each touch of his mouth on your skin sent a jolt of desire through you, making your heart beat faster and your body grow hotter

You moan softly and arch towards him. He felt your reaction, your body pressing against his, and it only fueled his need for you. He ran his hand down your side, tracing the contour of your hip and thigh, his touch soft yet possessive. Jamal lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I want you, now," he said with a low growl, his voice filled with need.

You smile and climb on top of him, straddling yourself as you enter him, since you were both naked. He breathed heavily, his hands immediately going to your hips, holding you on top of him, his fingers digging into your skin. He stared at you, his eyes darkened with lust and something else, something deeper."God, you feel so good," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, his lips parted as he panted."I love you."

You moan as he enters you and close your eyes for a moment trying to adjust. “I love you too,” you whisper softly and sweetly. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze intense and filled with raw desire. He could feel your body adjust to him, and it was driving him wild.

He ran his hands up your torso, his fingers trailing across your skin, before cupping your face softly in his palms. He pulled you down, kissing you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine."You're beautiful," he said between kisses, his voice almost a whisper. "Mine."

You smile softly, opening your eyes and start moving slowly on him, rubbing yourself. “Yours,” you say, groaning and gripping onto his shoulders. He kept his eyes on you as you began to move, his hands holding onto your hips, guiding your motions, his touch firm yet gentle.

"That's it," he encouraged in a low voice, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Just like that. Baby, you feel so good."He ran his hand up your back, his fingers tracing the line of your spine as you continued to move on top of him, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

"I love seeing you like this," he said, his voice a growl. "So beautiful, so responsive just for me."He watched your face as you pleasured yourself, his hands roaming over your body, his touches growing more and more demanding as his own need grew.

"I need you," he groaned, his hips jerking upwards to meet your movements. "I need to feel you, all of you." He sat up suddenly, pulling you even closer, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in your neck. He started to kiss and bite the tender skin there, his mouth hot and hungry, leaving marks you'd discover later.

"I can't...I can't get enough of you," he panted, his voice hoarse and broken with desire. He began to move with you, his hips now pushing upwards with a needy, desperate rhythm. You moan loudly at his movements against yours. “so good” you say longingly as you bite your lip looking at him.

He looked back at you, his eyes dark and intense. "You drive me crazy," he said through clenched teeth. "The sounds you make, the faces you make, it's all I can think about, every waking second."Jamal reached up, his hands burying in your hair as he pulled your mouth down to his, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. He kissed you with so much passion, so much need, that you felt like you were drowning in him.

You moan into the kiss as you feel his thrusts get stronger and stronger. He began to move faster, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more primal. He was completely lost in the moment, completely focused on the sensations coursing through his body, the feel of your body against his, the sound of your moans in his ears.

Jamal broke the kiss, his head falling back against the pillow as he groaned loudly. "I can't hold on much longer," he panted, his words broken by ragged breaths. "I'm so close."

“me too baby” you say moaning hiding your face in the crook of his neck, nibbling on it. He shivered at your touch, his grip on you tightening as your mouth traced the lines of his neck, your teeth leaving marks that he'd wear like a badge of honor.

"Please, please," he gasped. "I can't... I need... I need you to come with me."He was getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense that it was almost painful. He needed release and he needed you to be there with him. He held you tight against him, his hands roaming over your body, touching you everywhere he could. He was so close, so close...

"Look at me," he said in a voice rough with need. "Open your eyes, look at me."When you finally managed to focus your eyes on him, you could see the raw, intense need in his gaze. He was teetering on the edge, holding back until he could know that you were right, right there with him.

"I love you," he managed to say, the words getting caught in his chest, his breathing coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "I love you so much." Jamal was close, so, so close... He just needed to hear those words from you now.

You moan as you come on top of him, feeling his thrusts getting harder and harder. “I love you too Jamal” you whisper softly. The moment he heard your words, that you were there with him, he let go.

He arched against you, a guttural moan ripping from his throat as he reached the peak, his body shuddering with release. He held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as if he never wanted to let you go, as he rode out the waves of pleasure."I love you," he repeated again, his voice low and hoarse, filled with emotion.

You smiled and lay on top of him and with one hand you stroked his hair while giving him sweet kisses on his cheek.

He held you close to him, his arms still wrapped around you like a protective cocoon. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his body slowly relaxing as the last tremors of his release faded. Jamal turned his face towards you, his lips finding your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Everywhere he could reach.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice still a little shaky. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

[httpsdana]

Hiiii!!! can you write a jamal story with promt 107 where they're having an argument (he's at fault 🤭) with like HEAVY angst where jamal is lowkey being a meanie and not trying to understand readers side but ends in the cutest fluff tho (cuz can't accept sad endings 😭)

Btw FREAKING INLOVEE WITH UR WRITING UR LITERALLY SAVING THE JAMAL GIRLIES I SWEAR!!! 🙏🏻🙏🏻💗💗

Also thank you in advance!!!!! 😽🩷🤍

Lost In Translation~Jamal Musiala

THANK YOU SM FOR UR SWEET MESSAGE. i hope u enjoy this one 😙🫶🏻

request from here

master list

players/drivers I write for

107-"please stop. you're scaring me."

She felt it from the start of the season. Jamal had said he was going to give his best this season and push himself to his limits. He promised to avoid any distractions and focus solely on football, fully committing himself. What she didn’t expect was for him to avoid her too. It made her feel like she was the distraction, rather than the support he needed.

y/n woke up every morning without Jamal by her side. Every day, she rushed to the kitchen, hoping to see him and wish him a good day.

All she wanted was to hear those three words she felt like she hadn’t heard in forever. But every morning, she was disappointed to find that he had already left without even a "good morning."

When she returned from work, Jamal still wouldn’t be home. She knew his training sessions were intense, but she also knew he couldn’t possibly be training from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

She made him dinner every night, hoping they could share a moment together when he came home exhausted from practice. Instead, he’d arrive late at night, claiming he had been at the gym after training.

He no longer wrapped his arms around her at night. He hadn’t touched or kissed her in over two months. It felt like she was invisible to him, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to tell him how she felt, or she would have no choice but to let him go.

y/n sat in their living room, waiting for Jamal to come home. It was 10 p.m. After what felt like 100 episodes of her show, she finally heard his keys and the door opening. She remained seated on the couch, waiting for him. He walked into the living room, seeing her sitting there, watching TV.

“Hey,” he mumbled, dropping his bag on the couch and sitting down, keeping his distance from her.

She wanted to ask him about his day. She wanted to ask how he was feeling about the start of the season, especially given his incredible performance. But she didn’t. She just wanted to know what was going on and why he was avoiding her.

“We need to talk,” she said, looking at him intently, her voice blank and direct.

Jamal sighed, running his hands over his face, exhaustion clear in his features. “y/n, I’m tired. I just want to shower and go to sleep,” he said, already standing up to leave the room.

That’s what he always did, avoiding any conversation with her.

“No, Jamal. You’re not running away this time. We need to have a serious conversation, and you need to listen to me for once,” she said, standing up too, her voice tense with all the frustration she had been holding inside for so long.

He turned around, surprised by her outburst but clearly annoyed that he was going to have to talk. “What is it now?” he said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice weak and hurt.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? You’re the one who said we need to talk, and now you’re asking me what’s wrong?” he snapped, his voice getting louder with each word.

“What’s wrong with us? What happened? Did I do something to upset you? Why are you avoiding me and acting like I don’t even exist in this house?” she said, her voice trembling as she fought back tears.

“Oh my god. You’re always so needy, constantly craving attention. I can’t have you clinging onto me all day, y/n. I come home every night exhausted, and all I want is to sleep. But you’re there, nagging me because you can’t survive without attention. What am I supposed to do?” he shouted bitterly, stepping closer to her.

“I’m not asking for anything crazy! Just acknowledge me. Say good morning, make me coffee before you leave, tell me you love me at least!” she yelled back, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat.

Jamal was fuming, his face red with anger. She had never seen him like this before, and it scared her. He paced around the room, his steps heavy, before kicking a vase, shattering it to pieces. y/n flinched at the sound, stepping back slightly as Jamal moved closer.

“Please stop. You’re scaring me” she whispered as he stood in front of her, his face inches from hers. It was the closest he had been to her in weeks. She could feel the heat radiating from him, but his cold expression sent chills down her spine.

Jamal didn’t seem to hear her or care. Instead, he continued hurling hurtful words.

“I come home to rest. I don’t need anyone ruining my mood before I leave for training. I don’t need anyone distracting me from having my best season. So stop with the attention-seeking and deal with it. It’s not like I’m treating you as if you’re dead,” he spat, his words cutting deep into Y/N’s heart like knives.

She fought back the tears that threatened to fall, refusing to let him see her break.

“But you are, Jamal! You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t remember anything. You’ve forgotten our date nights, and we haven’t had a Sunday date in weeks. Sunday is your rest day, but instead of spending it with me, you choose to hang out with your friends, friends you see every day at training. Why can’t you acknowledge your girlfriend, who’s doing her best to stay calm and deal with the consequences of dating a footballer?” she cried, finally letting out all the words she had been holding inside for months.

“For fuck’s sake. You just don’t get it, do you? I’m going to shower and then go to sleep. I better not hear about this childish problem you’ve made up in your head again,” he said coldly, leaving the room and heading to their bedroom.

y/n collapsed on the couch, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. She pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed into them, her heart aching.

She didn’t understand how Jamal had changed so much, why he had become like this. They had been dating for years, and every year he wanted to have a great season, but this was the first time he had acted this way. She felt their relationship slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

After crying for a while, exhaustion overtook her, and she wanted to sleep. But she couldn’t bring herself to sleep next to Jamal after the hurtful things he had said. She began walking to the guest room when she heard his voice behind her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, making her turn to look at him. He stood there shirtless, fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and dressed in the shorts he always wore to bed.

“To sleep in the guest room,” she replied, turning away.

“Fine, be like that,” he scoffed, and she heard the bedroom door slam behind her.

She sighed and entered the cold, empty guest room, with only a bed in the middle. Lying down, she felt as though she were on a rock.

She closed her eyes, hoping for some rest, but after tossing and turning for hours, she gave up. She sat up, running a hand over her face, wondering if Jamal was struggling to sleep too.

A part of her hoped he was awake, thinking about her, just as she was about him. But she knew he was probably fast asleep, after using "needing sleep" as an excuse to avoid their argument.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. She looked up and saw Jamal peeking his head in to see if she was asleep. When he saw her sitting up, he entered the room slowly, standing awkwardly by the door.

“Can I... sleep next to you?” he asked nervously, avoiding her gaze and looking at the floor. When she didn’t reply, he looked up, seeing the hesitation in her eyes.

“I won’t touch you or anything. I’ll stay as far as I can,” he pleaded, his eyes begging for some rest.

y/n thought about it. She couldn’t sleep without him next to her either. “Please,” he said softly, and she finally gave in, nodding her head and moving to the far side of the bed, turning her back to him.

She felt the bed dip as Jamal lay down next to her. Even with the distance, she could feel the warmth of his body close to hers. y/n closed her eyes, hoping to finally get some sleep. As she drifted off, she felt his arm drape over her body, a small smile forming on her lips as she welcomed his warmth. She knew they would need to talk about their fight in the morning, but for now, they could rest.

Next morning, y/n had woken up by the sun that was shining in the guest room. She turned around, hoping Jamal was still next to her, but as usual, he had already left the room.

She let out a sigh, knowing he probably left to training too. She hoped he would stay and explain his hurtful words, but it seemed as if nothing happen to him last night. y/n entered the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth, before going to the kitchen.

She was surprised when she saw Jamal there, his shirtless back to her as he was making breakfast. When he noticed her, he smiled at her, making her more confused. "good morning darling. I made you coffee" he pointed to the cup of coffee that was next to the coffee machine.

Jamal moves quietly around the kitchen, the sound of eggs sizzling and toast popping up from the toaster filling the silence. y/n sat on the counter, the cup of coffee next to her, arms folded, watching him, her heart heavy with the weight of the argument that’s still fresh in her mind.

He seems to be gathering his thoughts, carefully plating the breakfast before he turns to her, his expression soft but full of regret.

“I’m really sorry,” he starts, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about everything, and I know I shouldn’t be trying to explain why I acted the way I did, because none of it excuses what I said or how I treated you. It was wrong, and I wasn’t supposed to do any of that.” He takes a deep breath, looking down at the floor before meeting your eyes again.

“But with the new coach and the new season, there’s been so much pressure. The coach has been really strict about us not getting distracted, and I... I let that get into my head.” he said, his voice weak and unstable.

y/n doesn’t respond right away, waiting for him to continue, her gaze steady as she takes in his words.

"I thought that maybe you were a distraction," he says, shaking his head at himself.

"But that was so wrong of me. All you’ve ever done is support me. You’ve been there through everything, my ups and downs, every game, every challenge, and instead of seeing that, I pushed you away. I don’t even know why I said the things I did... I just... I took my stress out on you, and I’m so sorry for that. I know it hurt you, and I regret it more than I can say.” he stuttered, seeming nervous

Her chest tightens, emotions swirling inside her as she thinks back to how hurt she felt. But she remains silent, waiting for him to finish.

“I shouldn’t have acted like football was more important than you," he continues, stepping closer.

"Because it’s not. You’re so important to me. Honestly, most of my success, it’s because of you. You keep me grounded, and your support means everything. It’s not just my talent that’s gotten me where I am, it’s you. And I was stupid for not seeing that." he said confidently, stepping closer to her

He looks at her, his eyes full of sincerity, waiting for some kind of response. She hesitates, his words slowly sinking in.

"You really hurt me, Jamal," she says softly. "It wasn’t just about football. It was about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was in the way." she said, her voice filled with pain.

He nods, a look of guilt flashing across his face.

"I know, and I’m going to spend every day trying to make up for it. I want to fix this. I don’t want you to ever feel that way again." he said honestly

There’s a pause before he speaks again, his voice even softer.

"I took the day off today. I thought maybe we could go for a walk, spend some time together, and get some ice cream, if you want? I just... I want to make it up to you." he hesitated, waiting for her to speak

She tries to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

"You got me with the ice cream. I can’t say no to free ice cream." she jokes

He chuckles, though there’s still a seriousness in his gaze.

"I really am sorry. I swear to you, nothing like that will ever happen again. Football’s important, but so are you. More than that, you’re more important." he said, grabbing her hands in his

"i believe you Jamal. I hope you don't break your promise this time" she said, giving him a small smile.

He smiled back, squeezing her hands in his.

"you won't regret it i promise" he said

After breakfast, they walk side by side, hand in hand, talking and catching up on everything that’s happened since the argument.

Slowly, the tension between them begins to ease. As they sit on a park bench, ice creams in hand, y/n leans her head on his shoulder, the warmth of the moment filling the space between them.

"I missed this," she says softly, closing her eyes as she let the comfort of his presence wash over her.

"I missed it too," he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on her head before resting his against hers.

Everything was fine now.

[meazalykov]

bayern drama

sydney lohmann x platonic!jamal musiala x bayern!reader

summary: your girlfriend doesn't like what she sees

warnings: jealousy

you take a deep breath, glancing at the crisp, beige, newly released bayern munich kits you're about to wear for the first time. 

it’s a mix of excitement and nerves, your fingers running over the fabric on your body as you sit in the lounge area. the room is filled with energy, players milling around, chatting, waiting for their turn in front of the cameras. 

the men's and women’s teams are mixing today, and for some reason, that makes the anticipation more intense.

“you look fascinated, do you like the new kits?” jamal asks, sinking into the seat next to you, grinning like the goofy friend he always is. 

you’ve known jamal for a while, both on and off the field. not just because you share a team connection, but because of kyla, your cousin—his girlfriend. 

the two of them had been together for over a year now, and it was still a little surreal to think about how small the world was. kyla and jamal? the shy football star and your wildly outgoing cousin? who would’ve thought?

“yeah,” you nod, offering a small smile. “just don’t let me outshine you in front of the camera, musiala.”

he laughs. “we’ll see about that.”

you lean back, watching as some of the others are called for their shoots. sydney is across the room, deep in conversation with some of her teammates, her blonde hair shining under the lights. 

she glances your way, a quick smile passing between the two of you before she turns back to talking. 

you've been with sydney for about eight months now, and despite being teammates, it’s never felt like too much—if anything, it feels right. 

the shared routines, the chemistry on and off the pitch, the little moments between training sessions. you two just fit.

still, today feels different. maybe it’s the mingling of the men's and women's teams, the unfamiliar setup. it’s not every day you get thrown into a photoshoot with jamal musiala, of all people. 

it should be fun. light. nothing serious.

"so," you start, leaning your elbows on your knees as you look at jamal, "how’s kyla been?"

he smiles at the mention of your cousin. "she's good. busy with school and all, but you know her—she never slows down."

"yeah, she really doesn’t," you say, shaking his head with a fond smile. 

"she keeps me on my toes." he laughs. 

"as she should," you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "you're lucky to have her."

jamal grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "trust me, i know."

before you can say anything else, sydney’s voice cuts through the conversation. 

“hey, what are you two talking about?” her tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it that you can’t quite place.

you glance up at her, and she’s standing there with a hand on her hip, eyes flicking between you and jamal. she walks over and plops herself down next to you, closer than necessary, her hand sliding onto your thigh. 

it’s subtle, but you notice. the way she’s suddenly more... present.

“just talking about kyla, my cousin on my mom’s side of the family” you say, giving sydney a reassuring smile. 

“jamal’s still somehow managing to keep up with her.”

jamal chuckles and jokes, “barely. she’s a handful.”

sydney hums, but doesn’t say much else. her fingers drum against your leg, her body leaning into yours just a little more than usual. 

you glance at her out of the corner of your eye, sensing something off. it’s not like her to be this... clingy. possessive, even.

jamal seems to notice it too because he raises an eyebrow, shooting you a questioning look. 

you shake your head slightly, hoping he’ll get the hint to just ignore it.

"so, are you two doing anything special this weekend?" you ask, trying to shift the focus away from whatever weird vibe sydney’s giving off.

jamal opens his mouth to answer, but sydney cuts in, her voice a little too sweet. "oh, i'm sure they’ll be busy. right, jamal?" her arm tightens around your waist as she speaks, her gaze locking on jamal like she’s challenging him.

jamal’s eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a nervous laugh. "uh, yeah, we’ve got a few things planned." he glances at you again, clearly picking up on the tension. 

"you know how it is. always something going on."

you bite your lip, trying to keep the situation from getting too awkward. but it’s hard not to notice the way sydney’s holding onto you, the way her body language is practically screaming insecurity. 

it hits you then—she’s jealous. of jamal. of your conversation with him. it would be almost funny if it wasn’t so out of character for her.

"babe," you say softly, leaning closer to her, "what's going on?"

"nothing," she says quickly, but you can tell by the way her hand tightens on your thigh that it’s anything but nothing.

you exchange a glance with jamal, who’s trying his best to stifle a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he gets it now too. the fact that you both know what’s happening seems to make it even funnier.

"you're jealous, aren’t you?" you ask, teasing her lightly, but there’s a gentleness to your tone.

sydney scoffs, but her cheeks turn pink. "of course not. why would i be jealous?"

"oh, i don’t know," you say, grinning now. "maybe because you think jamal and i are getting too chummy?"

"please," sydney rolls her eyes, but there’s a playful smile tugging at her lips. "i wasn’t worried about you."

you raise an eyebrow. "oh?"

she smirks. "i was worried about him."

jamal lets out a bark of laughter at that, throwing his head back. "me? seriously?"

"you’re too pretty for your own good, musiala," sydney says with a shrug, but the playful glint in her eyes tells you she’s not actually serious.

you laugh, shaking your head as you wrap an arm around sydney, pulling her closer. 

"you don’t have to worry about either of us, babe. jamal’s with kyla, and you know i don’t swing his way. or any guy’s way, for that matter."

sydney pouts a little, but you can tell she’s already starting to relax. "i know. i just... didn’t like how cozy you two looked."

"we’re just friends," you say softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "and besides, you’re the only one i’ve got eyes for."

sydney smiles at that, leaning into your embrace. "good. because you’re mine."

jamal shakes his head, still laughing as he stands up. "i’m gonna leave you two lovebirds alone and talk to michael before i get caught in the middle of something."

"smart move," you call after him, watching as he heads off to join olise by the snack stand. 

you turn back to sydney, your fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "you okay?"

she nods, but there’s a sheepish look on her face. "i’m sorry. i don’t know what got into me."

"it’s okay," you say softly, squeezing her hand. "but you don’t have to worry. ever. i’m all yours."

sydney looks up at you, her eyes softening as she leans in for a kiss. "i know. and i’m sorry for being weird. it’s just... i love you, and sometimes i get scared that someone else will see what i see and try to take you away."

you smile against her lips, pulling her closer. 

"no one’s taking me away from you, syd. i love you too much."

sydney smiles, her hand resting on your cheek as she kisses you again, deeper this time. 

"good. because i plan on keeping you forever."

you laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the woman in your arms. 

"forever sounds pretty good to me."

masterlist

[cher-rei]

Girlfriend!Reader does the Tiktok Trend where she calls her boyfriend Jamal musiala husband and he reacts all cute and excited like “damn yeah, I’m her husband”

husband material— jamal musiala [ J.M ]

and even after all the butterflies, I'm into you [still into you– paramore]

pairings: jamal musiala x fem!reader

summary: crumble cookie and a cute boyfriend.

genre(s): flufffffff

[w.c: 615] masterlist

notes: I've arrived!!!

if there was one thing that you loved more than your boyfriend then it was how flustered he got whenever you complimented him. (or when you did anything really)

and today just happened to be one of those days where you couldn't just scroll past a tiktok, not when you had jamal in all his oblivious perfection. so when you guys got back from the mall you rushed to the kitchen to set up your little scheme.

you called him over with the intent to film a cute but simple tiktok while you guys tried crumble cookie since the store just opened in munich. everyone was going crazy over it so the cover up was good enough for jamal to believe, and if you wanted to do something then sure as hell he was going to be there.

trying best to suppress the smile on your face you hit the record button and ushered him into the frame. the box of cookies was in front of you on the kitchen island, jamal's eyes glued to it in curiosity which made you giggle.

“hey guys, so crumble cookie dropped in munich a few days ago so obviously I have to try it.” you tapped the pink box lightly, your lips tugging into smile as he was still so focused on it.

“so my husband and I got–”

jamal’s head snapped to look at you instantly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “what?”

bingo.

you licked your lips and gave him a hum, trying to play it off as cool as possible.

he blinked down at you a few times, a smile etched onto his face but he wasn't sure if he heard you properly or not. he was sure that his brain was messing with him, blaming it on the exhaustion and hunger. “what?”

you let out an awkward laugh at his repeated question, the look on his face making your heart swell. “baby, you can't just say “what”. I'm confused.”

it was jamal's turn to laugh and he turned to look at you fully. “yeah me too.” he watched as you pulled a face at him. “did you not hear what you called me?”

in need of reassurance his hand found yours, the urge to pull you closer itching at him but he held himself back and prompted to question you properly. because maybe he was hearing things.

“my husband?”

your repetition of the title made his heart pound, the clarification sending a rush of warmth to his cheeks. he stared at you for a bit without anything to say as your smile only grew. you laughed playfully and lessened the space between the two of you, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

you looked up at him with a glint in your eyes. “are you not my husband? do you not like it?”

almost immediately jamal had his hands wrapped around your waist. “no shut up, why wouldn't I?”

your hands found their way around his neck. “exactly, so you're my husband.”

“hell yeah I am!” he looked at the camera, the cookies completely out of the question because since when was that ever important. “she's here with her husband. I'm her husband.” he pointed to himself proudly and let go of you and somehow found himself pacing around the kitchen.

you couldn't contain your laughter, not when he was chanting “I'm your husband” over and over to the point where he was giddily hopping around until he was back in frame and cupped your cheeks.

“that makes you my wife, oh my god, I love it here!”

“I'm your wife!” you screamed back in realisation and his smile grew.

“yes, baby I'm your husband!”

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ threads of patience; 

                    jamal musiala ────── 

when a footballer is sidelined due to an injury, the last thing he expects is to find solace in a fashion designer’s studio.

⭑  wordcount : three thousand one hundred seventy-eight.

⭑  notes : just a heads up the main character is of south asian descent !!

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

“Musiala, you need to sit this one out.” The words pierced his ears, yet his mind unable to grasp the meaning.

Jamal pouted, his arms folded tightly across his chest, a storm brewing behind his dark eyes. He leaned against the cold steel of the bench, the texture digging into his back as if mocking his inactivity. The training pitch buzzed with the rhythmic thud of cleats on grass, but Jamal’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. His coach, Vincent Kompany, stood before him, unshaken by the young midfielder’s silent rebellion.

“We’ve talked about this Jamal…” Kompany’s voice was steady, a calm tide against Jamal’s turbulent sea. “Your ankle���s not ready, and if you keep trying to push yourself, you will make things worse.”

“I’m not.” Jamal shot back, his voice edged with defiance, though it trembled ever so slightly. “I just want to be part of the team.”

“You are part of the team,” Kompany replied, his tone softening but losing none of its firmness. “But right now, the best thing you can do is recover. We can’t afford to lose you long-term.”

Jamal muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl, barely audible but carrying the weight of his frustration. The coach’s eyes narrowed, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire.

“And for that to happen,” Kompany continued, his gaze sharpening, “you need to stay off the pitch during practice. You’re distracting the others.”

Jamal’s jaw tightened, his scowl deepening. He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the strain of every muscle as if the tension could somehow mask the sting of his manager’s words. 

He didn’t argue, though. 

Deep down, he knew the coach was right. His irritation had spilled over onto his teammates all morning, sniping and snapping at every mistake. Even Manuel Neuer had joked about how Jamal seemed more intense on the sidelines than on the pitch. The laughs that followed the comment had only fueled the young boy’s anger.

Being benched wasn’t just a frustration—it was a simmering rage bubbling just beneath the surface. The UCL semi-finals loomed, and the Bundesliga points were precious, each one like a lifeline. Every second on the sidelines felt like an eternity, a punishment that gnawed at his resolve, whispering that he was letting everyone down.

“Why don’t you take the day to clear your head?” Kompany’s voice cut through Jamal’s thoughts. The head coach approached with a measured pace, a faint smile curling his lips. “Actually, scratch that—I have a job for you.”

Jamal’s eyes flicked up, suspicion shading his expression. “A job?”

“Yes.” Kompany’s smirk widened, as if savoring the surprise he was about to unveil. “You’re going to help review the kit designs for next season. The design team needs player feedback, and you’re not doing much else right now.”

Jamal blinked, his face a canvas of disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Jamal opened his mouth, ready to protest, but the glint in his manager’s eye silenced him. The words died on his lips, replaced by a muttered, half-hearted complaint about it being a waste of time. He turned away, limping toward the club offices, each step echoing with the dull thud of reluctance. His mind swirled with frustration, the sting of the coach’s directive gnawing at his pride.

-

The design studio was nothing like Jamal expected.

He had been here once before, years ago, when Bayern was unveiling a retro-inspired kit. Back then, the studio had an austere atmosphere, commanded by an older man whose stoic demeanor matched the cold, minimalist decor. Every surface had gleamed with an almost clinical precision, and Jamal had felt as though even a misplaced breath might disturb the fragile order. Now, as he stepped inside, he braced for a similar encounter, but the scene that unfolded before him was a stark contrast.

Colors danced across the room, a vivid array that immediately drew his eyes. Deep maroons and rich yellows blended seamlessly with earthy greens and serene blues, each hue carefully chosen to evoke a sense of warmth and creativity. The textures added another layer of depth—soft, flowing fabrics with intricate patterns that hinted at something more, their delicate weaves resembling motifs from distant, storied traditions.

Meanwhile your focus was intense as you studied sketches and swatches spread before you. The air around you was infused with an energy that felt both welcoming and vibrant. A faint scent of jasmine lingered across the room.

You were younger than Jamal had expected, and your presence exuded a natural warmth that softened the sharp edges of the room. The soft lighting caressed your rich, radiant brown skin, creating a subtle glow that harmonized with the gleaming gold jhumkas—traditional earrings—framing your face, their gentle swing punctuating each of your movements.

“Jamal Musiala, right?” you greeted him with a smile that was as genuine as it was disarming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m the lead designer for Bayern’s kits this season.”

The boy offered a curt nod, his expression guarded. “Nice to meet you.”

You could sense the tension simmering beneath his cool exterior, but it didn’t deter you. You’d navigated the emotional landscapes of many high-profile clients before—athletes, actors, politicians—and you understood the art of balancing egos with empathy.

“I’ve laid out the initial concepts for next season’s kits,” you said, motioning toward the table. Your voice was steady, a quiet assurance in your tone as you gestured toward the designs. “Home, away, and third. We’ll go through each, and I’d love your input on the colors, patterns, and overall feel.” As you extended your hand, the gold bangles on your wrist caught the light, their soft jingle adding a touch of elegance to the moment.

Jamal nodded stiffly, the weight of his discontent evident in his posture.

You picked up the first sketch—a sleek red jersey with various shades subtly layered to create depth without overwhelming the classic color. “For the home kit, we wanted something timeless yet modern. It’s bold but not overpowering.”

Jamal barely spared it a glance. “Looks fine.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge dancing in your eyes. “‘Fine’ is not exactly helpful feedback.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. It looks… red.”

You refused to let his mood dampen your enthusiasm. “It’s supposed to be red. It’s Bayern’s home color.”

“I know that,” he retorted, his tone defensive.

“Then what do you think about the gradient? The collar style? The texture of the cloth?”

He shrugged, a reluctant surrender. “It’s good.”

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself to stay patient. You sensed that his irritation wasn’t truly with the designs but stemmed from elsewhere—a storm cloud hanging over his day.

“Okay,” you said, your voice calm and steady as you set the sketch aside. “Let’s move on to the away kit.”

You presented the next design—a sleek black jersey accented with light green and dusty orange, a tribute to the statue of Bavaria. You handed him a fabric swatch, your fingers brushing lightly against the sample.

“This material is lightweight and moisture-wicking,” you explained, your voice taking on a soothing cadence. “It’s designed for optimal performance in hot weather.”

He took the swatch with the air of someone carrying a burden, barely glancing at it before setting it down. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Alright?” you repeated, your voice laced with a measured calm that barely concealed your waning patience. 

Your eyes locked on Jamal’s, searching for a flicker of engagement beyond the wall of frustration he had built. “Jamal, I need actual feedback. These kits represent the team. They’re not just about how they look; they’re about how they feel on the pitch, how they move with you, how they make you feel when you’re wearing them, leading the charge.”

For a brief moment, his hardened expression softened. His gaze met yours, and you could see the flicker of understanding—an acknowledgment of the care and passion you poured into every stitch, every thread of the kits. But it was fleeting. The weight of his frustration shadowed his features. He shook his head, the tension returning to his posture.

“Look, I get that this is important,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “But all I want is to get back to the pitch as soon as possible.”

You sighed deeply, the weight of his words pressing against your resolve as you gently set the fabric swatch down on the table. “I understand,” you said, your tone softening but holding firm. “But right now, this is part of your role. You’re still part of the team, even if you’re not playing. And this does matter—to the club, to the fans, to your teammates. What you wear represents who you are and what you stand for.”

He stared at you, his jaw tight, eyes reflecting the internal battle waging within him. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken frustrations. Finally, he sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate the tension in his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of weariness, perhaps even apology.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… not in the best headspace.”

You softened, offering him a small smile, the kind that spoke of patience tempered with understanding. “Let’s go over the third kit,” you said, lifting a sleek sketch from the table. It was a collared beige jersey with dashes of red uniformed across the shirt, like an artist’s deliberate brushstrokes. The design was a departure from the traditional, and though it exuded a quiet elegance, you couldn’t shake the nagging worry that the players might resist something so unconventional.

“This one’s inspired by the club’s heritage, but with a modern twist,” you explained, holding the fabric swatch closer for Jamal to feel. “The beige is subtle, but the red is fierce.”

Jamal’s brow furrowed, not in frustration this time, but in concentration. He ran his fingers over the fabric, his touch lingering as though weighing its texture against his experiences on the pitch.

“I see what you mean,” he said, his tone softer, more reflective. “It’s different, but... it might grow on people.” He paused, glancing at you. “Maybe the collar could be a bit more structured?”

You nodded, appreciating the thoughtful critique. He was more engaged now, though you could tell he wasn’t entirely present—his mind likely still half on the field, half on his current situation. You sighed inwardly but maintained your composed demeanor. "Thank you, Jamal. I’ll take that into consideration."

This wasn’t the best day for either of you, but you held onto the hope that his next visit—or even his feedback later—would be more fruitful. Perhaps this was just an off day, a temporary fog clouding his usually sharp instincts.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the little things about him—the way his brow knitted when he delved into thought, the almost imperceptible way his fingers tested the fabric’s resilience, as if searching for its strength. Despite his earlier reluctance, there was a latent attention to detail in Jamal, an unspoken connection to the subtleties of design, even if he didn’t yet see it himself.

-

Jamal entered the design studio again, but this time, there was no scowl on his face, no frustrated dragging of feet. Instead, a calm acceptance settled into his posture, though a trace of disappointment remained in his eyes—a reminder of the three-week recovery dictated by the gaffer.

He knew better now, knew that defiance wouldn’t hasten his return. The idleness still gnawed at him, but he was determined to channel his energy differently this time.

When he stepped into the studio, he found you at the same spot as last time, perched gracefully on a stool by one of the long drafting tables. Your head was bent over your tablet, fingers gliding over the screen with practiced ease. The sunlight streaming through the window caught your hair, thick the luscious intricate braid that fell over your shoulder, a few wisps escaping to frame your face.

You looked up briefly, your smile polite but genuine. “Jamal. Back again?”

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. “Coach’s orders.”

Your smile tightened slightly, and you went back to your sketching, the awkwardness between you two still lingering from your first meeting. Jamal couldn’t blame you. He hadn’t exactly been easy to work with.

He wandered over to the table where you’d laid out an array of patches and test prints. They were vibrant and varied—bold reds, deep blues, intricate geometric patterns, and minimalist monochromes. For a moment, he forgot his frustration and found himself running his fingers over the fabrics, appreciating their textures.

You glanced up, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He seemed… calmer this time. Less tense. Maybe even a little curious.

“What are you working on?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh, just some drafts.” you said vaguely.

He nodded, his gaze wandering to the device in your hand. “Can I see?”

You hesitated for a moment before turning the screen toward him. Instead of a jersey design, the sketch on the screen was of a stunning red lehenga—a traditional South Asian wedding outfit. The skirt was adorned with intricate gold embroidery, and the blouse featured delicate, hand-drawn floral motifs. It was breathtakingly detailed, a testament to your passion and skill.

Jamal tilted his head, intrigued by the vibrant sketch before him. “That’s not for Bayern, is it?”

You giggled softly, the sound light and melodic. “No, definitely not. It’s for my cousin’s wedding coming up. She asked me to design something special for her. Weddings are a huge deal in my culture. The outfits, the colors, the jewelry… everything has to be perfect. And red is the traditional color for brides.”

Jamal leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued by the richness of your explanation. “How long does it take to make something like this?”

“It depends,” you said, your enthusiasm evident as you spoke. “A custom piece like this can take weeks, even months, especially with all the fitting sessions. Every stitch has to be just right.”

He watched you closely, captivated by the way your eyes sparkled with passion. You weren’t just describing a task; you were sharing a part of yourself, bringing the design to life with each word. The vibrant reds and intricate gold details in the sketch seemed to glow under the soft lighting, mirroring the energy in your voice.

“And the details,” you continued, your fingers hovering over the screen to highlight different elements. “See this gold embroidery at the bottom? I’ve been experimenting with different floral patterns. And the red fabric is silk, which has this beautiful sheen under the light. It’s not just about how it looks—it’s about how it feels when you wear it.”

Jamal nodded slowly, though his attention was no longer entirely on the sketch. He was mesmerized by you—the way your brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the gentle curve of your lips forming a small smile as you spoke with such fervor. There was something endearing about your devotion, a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist.

“You’re really into this,” he said softly, his voice carrying a newfound respect.

You looked up, slightly startled by the sincerity in his tone. “Well… yeah. It’s what I love to do.”

A faint smile played on his lips, the tension between you two easing like the first warmth after a long winter. The weight of the morning’s frustrations seemed to lift, replaced by a quiet understanding.

And as the morning progressed, you shifted your focus back to the Bayern kit designs, presenting Jamal with updated concepts. This time, he was more engaged, offering thoughtful input as you refined the details together. His earlier hesitation had given way to a genuine interest.

At one point, you reached for a tape measure to take his measurements for a prototype jersey. “I’ll need you to try this on,” you said, holding up a tester design.

Jamal complied, slipping the jersey over his training top. You stepped closer, your hands moving with practiced precision as you adjusted the fit around his shoulders and arms. “Hold still,” you murmured, the gentle command softened by the proximity between you.

He froze, his breath catching slightly as your fingers brushed against his arm, smoothing out the fabric. He could feel the focus radiating from you, the way your kajal had framed your eyes as they darted over each adjustment with meticulous care.

“Does it feel too tight around the chest?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied quickly, though his voice was quieter than he intended, tinged with a subtle vulnerability.

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, the air charged with an unspoken connection. 

The silence stretched, delicate and electric.

You cleared your throat, stepping back slightly to regain composure. “Okay, let me just check the length.”

Jamal nodded, his ears turning red as he looked away.

As the session went on, the awkwardness from earlier seemed to dissolve entirely. You found yourselves chatting about everything from football to fashion, discovering that you had more in common than you expected.

“Do you ever get nervous before a big game?” you asked as you adjusted the hem of the jersey he was wearing.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it’s more like… excitement, you know? Once you’re on the pitch, it all kind of fades away.”

You nodded, understanding the feeling. “That’s how I feel before a big presentation. The nerves are there, but once I start talking, I forget about everything else.”

He smiled, his admiration for you growing with every passing minute.

As you finished up the adjustments, you stepped back to view your work. “Looks good,” you said, nodding in approval.

Jamal glanced down at the jersey, then back at you. “You’re really good at this,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks,” you said, fidgeting with your necklace.

Before he could hesitate, the words rolled out of his tongue. “So… uh… do you want to maybe, I don’t know… grab coffee sometime?”

You blinked, surprised by the question.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought—”

“I’d like that.” you said as your chocolate colored eyes looked up at him.

His face lit up, a boyish grin spreading across his features. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you said, feeling your own smile widen.

Later, as you packed up your materials for the day, a soft smile played on your lips. You couldn’t help but replay the moments shared, the quiet exchanges and the unspoken understanding that seemed to bloom between you and Jamal. The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by a comforting ease that felt special. Your thoughts wandered, anticipation bubbling up as you glanced at the time, looking forward to the future. It wasn’t just the designs that had you excited anymore.

© gul4bjamoons 

[writtingsomestuff]

Hii I have a request for Jamal Musiala, maybe him and the reader get into an argument and he makes her cry and she leaves the house and his all worried and goes out and looks for her (ending in fluff? )

Loved your last Jamal fic 💓

A day to forget - Jamal Musiala

Jamal Musiala x fem!reader

Warnings: None, I guess

Hello! I am so sorry for being late but I am in the middle of my finals.

Hope you like it tho! xx

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” at this point, he lost the number of times he apologized, “Look, I didn’t mean that, at all. I swear I didn’t-”

“You didn’t? Why did you say it, then?” Your eyes were red of how much you cried. Both of you were in the middle of the salon, of your best friend’s apartment.

(Earlier this morning)

Jamal was angry and furious about everything. The team wasn’t at the best moment and he couldn’t do anything about it, he was distracted and every little thing could irritate him, every single one. Months have passed since you started to live together, however, you were stressed and occupied with your finals.

He just finished cleaning your bedroom, the bathroom and the guest room when he made his way to the living room. He cleaned to distract himself from overthinking, a tip recommended by Goretzka.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he arrived there. You were sitting on the floor, in front of the table. The computer was in the middle of the table, millions of sheets everywhere; in the sofas, some under the chairs, others in the big table, and two of the were even next to the TV. Moreover, there were two bowls of food next to the computer.

“What’s this?” He asked trying to maintain his calm

“Oh babe, I’m so sorry but I just need to finish this assignment by tonight and I am so stressed, but I promise that I will clean once I finish” You quickly got up and made your way to him

“It seems as if a hurricane has passed” He said in a cold tone

You let out a small laugh as you thought he was kidding, “I promise” you approached him to put soft kiss his cheek, but he quickly turned away from you. It hurt, really, it felt like a stake in your heart, he never refused your hugs, nor your cuddles let alone your kisses

“Jamal...” your voice sounded weak, you hated it but you couldn’t hide it. True, you were occupied, busy and stressed but you weren’t dumb and you knew that he was distancing himself not only from you, from the whole world.

“Why do you have to be so messy? I mean you could study in a more proper way” he said without looking at you.

“Jamal I said I’ll clean it”

“You’re always a mess y/n, you could- I don’t know be more polite, study like a normal person, no need to throw your things everywhere” he still didn’t look at your eyes

You could feel your anger heating up. You weren’t very patient and that’s own of your flaws, however, he was being unfair and irrational.

“Jamal, stop I-” you started to say calmly

“No y/n, you need to be more polite, you are enough old to act like this!” he let out, and you couldn’t believe it

“Jamal seriously you either calm down or this is not going to end well” you tried to look at him in his eyes but no, he didn’t

“I really regret living with you”

That was it. That. Those six words, six damned words.

“I honestly- I don’t even know what to say!” you started and there was no turning back, “if you are going through a bad moment well, I am sorry but I can’t do anything about it! I tried to give you some space and time for you because I knew you needed it, but now, you fucked up so bad… so bad. You don’t have the right to come at me and relief your stress over me, alright? I don’t deserve this… I really don’t!” you screamed releasing the anger from your body “I am leaving to Claire’s, you can clean up this and live with your tidy house” you kicked the sheets on your way and quickly made your way to you shared bedroom

(Now)

“I didn’t want to, okay?” he tried to touch your arm, but you immediately refused “I am just so… I am a mess and I really shouldn’t have said you didn’t deserve it, I was an idiot and I am very sorry”

You looked at him, in his eyes. There he was, there was Jamal, his eyes were full of honesty and repentance

“Forgive me?” he asked with a small smile, and you couldn’t stop yours

“Yes” you hugged him tightly as he kissed your head and your cheeks repeatedly.

“Please, don't cry anymore” he wiped softly your tears

Any comments about my writing are welcome. Thanks for reading!

[starlitmelanin]

Hey, can you write smut with Musiala, when you are friends and one day reader asks him to teach her do blowj and then it turns to sx🤭 if you can’t I will understand

private lessons | jamal musiala

pairing - jamal x fem!reader

word count - 1.4k

warnings - contains smut (18+, mdni)

jamal was your guy.

he was the one who always knew what to say, the one you could talk to about absolutely anything. you and him quite literally shared everything with each other, from your dreams right down to your weirdest experiences. there was a kind of comfort in your friendship that made sharing easy, sometimes maybe too easy. so, when the topic of sex came up one day, it really wasn't a big deal.

you admitted, somewhat shyly, that you'd never gone down on a guy. and maybe you were reading too much into it, you probably were, but you could have sworn that you saw jamal's eyes darken for a moment, a flash of something you couldn't quite place, as he responded with a casual, "i could teach you, you know. just say the word."

it was lighthearted, disguised as a playful quip, a throwaway comment, and you both laughed it off, but the idea lingered in your mind longer than you cared to admit.

weeks later, you found yourself at his place, a couple of drinks in hand, the evening winding down into that comfortable silence that always felt like home.

maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way jamal would occasionally look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, but boldness crept in, and you blurted out something you'd only ever thought about in the privacy of your own mind.

the words tasted almost sinful on your tongue, and when you asked him to teach you how to do it, jamal's expression was something you wanted to memorise. his eyes widened just a fraction before a slow, suggestive smile spread across his face.

he didn't seem thrown off, and why would he be? although he'd never voiced it, he'd always been attracted to you. sure, this was new territory for both of you, but the prospect excited him more than he was willing to admit.

"you're serious?" he asked, his gaze softening but still holding an intensity that made your stomach flip.

you nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline mixed with a hint embarrassment. you and jamal were tight, sure, but this was still unconventional, so naturally, you'd feel a bit embarrassed. "yeah, i mean, only if you're okay with it. i've just... never done it before, and i trust you."

the way you were looking at him — so willing, so eager. it was satisfying in a way he couldn't quite describe. how could he refuse you?

it started off lighthearted, the two of you laughing awkwardly as you settled into a comfortable position. and when you finally got on your knees in front of him, the carpet soft beneath you, the atmosphere immediately shifted.

"okay, first of all, relax," he said, his voice soothing. "no pressure, yeah?" he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "it's just me."

you took a deep breath and nodded. "just you," you repeated, more to convince yourself than anything.

jamal started to unbutton his pants, and you watched, feeling a rush of nerves and anticipation. and when he freed himself, you couldn't help but stare. he was already hard, and the sight made your mouth water.

jamal noticed your reaction and chuckled softly, stroking your cheek. "open up," he instructed, his voice gentle but authoritative.

you did as he said, your mouth parting obediently. there was something incredibly satisfying about him teaching you, about being the first guy to have you like this. he revelled in it, and you could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at you, like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen — too innocent.

he guided you with his hands, showing you how to position your lips, and you took him into your mouth, your movements awkward at first. it was an unfamiliar sensation, the taste of him, the feel of him against your tongue.

you were inexperienced, unsure of yourself, but jamal was patient. he guided you, his hands tangled in your hair as he set the pace, showing you what he liked. as he began to slowly thrust, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, the expression on his face one of pure bliss.

the more you relaxed into it, the more you found yourself enjoying it. the taste of him, the sound of his moans, the way his hips jerked involuntarily when you did something right. you felt powerful, in control in a way you hadn't expected. you loved the way he responded to you, the way his eyes darkened with lust as he looked down at you.

"good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal, and you felt a strange sense of pride as he groaned louder, his fingers tightening in your hair. "just like that."

you gagged a little as he pushed farther into your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you didn't stop. you didn't want to.

jamal groaned above you, his grip growing tighter as you took him deeper. "fuck, you're doing so good, y/n," he praised, his voice strained.

the sound of his approval sent a thrill through you, spurring you on. you wanted to keep making him feel good, wanted to show him how much potential you had. you craved his validation.

you could feel him throbbing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. when he released into your throat, the sensation was overwhelming. the warmth, the taste, the sheer intimacy of it all. it was intoxicating.

you could feel the slickness of your saliva mixing with your tears, your makeup smeared, as you swallowed, savouring the last taste of him. it was messy, raw, and so unlike anything you had ever experienced. but it was perfect, so euphoric it made your head spin.

you looked up at him, your eyes still watery and your cheeks flushed. you loved it. you loved the way he made you feel, the way he took control.

you needed more.

"please," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "i want more."

jamal's eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. he bent to your level, cupping your face in his hands.

"you sure?" he asked, his thumb brushing over your glistening lips.

you nodded, your pulse quickening at the thought of going all the way with him. you wanted this, wanted him. "yeah, i'm sure."

he kissed you then, his lips gentle but insistent. it was a stark contrast to the fervent intensity of moments before, but it was no less overwhelming. you melted into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt as he pulled you to your feet.

he guided you to his bed, his movements slow and deliberate. he wanted to savour this, to make sure you felt every moment, every touch.

undressing you carefully, his hands explored your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. he took his time, kissing and caressing every inch of you until you were a trembling, needy mess beneath him. and when he finally entered you, it was like coming home. he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was almost too much, but you didn't want it to stop.

the passion between you was almost hypnotic, too beautiful. he was gentle but demanding, his touch both comforting and electrifying. he knew this was your first time, and he catered to you, making sure you felt nothing but pleasure.

you were lost in him, in the way he made you feel. it was everything you had never known you wanted. clinging to him, your nails dug into his back as he took you until you were a quivering, moaning mess beneath him.

and when you finally came, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, a wave of bliss that crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. he followed soon after, his release perfectly blending with yours.

you lay there together, your bodies intertwined, your breath warm against his chest. but as the euphoria began to fade, reality started to creep back in.

how could you return to merely being friends after this? how could you look at jamal and not remember the way he just made you feel, the way he just took you apart and put you back together?

you were screwed, and you knew it. but as you lay there in his arms, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. you had trusted him, and he had given you something so lovely — something unparalleled.

things would definitely be tricky, going forward. but you and jamal would figure it out. you always did.

[joaosnovia]

❦ - the alchemy

summary:: jamal wins bundesliga with his girl by his side.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: expect this series to be done today!! bc these are concerningly easy to write esp when you have the idea clear in your mind! i was gonna make it that he won ucl as per @hearts4musiala request but i’m a culer so that doesn’t work w me.. 😔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana ; lmk if u wanna be added !!

The stadium was alive with chaos, golden confetti falling like a storm, the roar of fans echoing through the Allianz Arena. Jamal Musiala stood in the middle of it all, his hands clutching the Bundesliga trophy, the weight of it almost surreal. This moment had been everything he’d worked for, dreamed of, but somehow it felt even better because you were here.

You watched him from the sidelines, beaming, your chest swelling with pride. He’d worked so hard for this. You’d seen every late night, every self-doubt he barely let himself voice, and every time he pushed himself beyond what you thought was possible. Now, as he stood at the center of glory, you could see it in his eyes, the quiet disbelief, the golden glow of triumph.

He found you instantly in the crowd. His eyes softened in the way they always did when he looked at you, like you were the only thing grounding him in the chaos. Without thinking, you pushed through the barriers, weaving past teammates and staff who barely noticed your presence in the delirium of celebration.

When you reached him, Jamal didn’t say a word. He pulled you in, one hand still clutching the trophy while the other found your waist, holding you tightly against him. His forehead fell to yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, the noise of the world fading into the background.

‘You did it,’ you whispered, your voice catching.

‘We did it,’ he murmured back, his voice low and soft.

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. ‘This was all you.’

He laughed under his breath, pressing a kiss to your temple. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

You knew he meant it. The nights he’d called you after a bad game, the moments he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders; you’d been there. But this wasn’t about you. It was about him, about the magic he created every time he stepped onto the pitch.

‘Proud of you, Jam,’ you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

His smile grew, but there was something else in his eyes, something tender and unspoken. ‘Feels like alchemy, doesn’t it?’ he said.

You blinked at him, confused.

‘All the doubt, the pain; turning it into this,’ he explained, lifting the trophy slightly. ‘It’s like gold. It’s like… us.’

Your chest ached at the way he said it. At how easily he compared this golden moment to the love you’d built together.

You kissed him then, soft and fleeting, the kind of kiss that didn’t need words. The world cheered around you, but Jamal only kissed you back, as if this was the real win of the night.

And maybe it was.

[pedriache]

Ur so pretty — Jamal Musiala.

Pairing: Jamal Musiala x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jamal was your first love and with that came the fear of abandonment. But, Jamal was here to stay and he made sure you knew that.

Word count: 890+

Disclaimer/s: light angst , comfort , and mostly fluff !

A/N: this is my literal wife like im in love w him also listened to a lot of ‘ur so pretty’ by waisa project when i was writing this so. yeah.

When you and Jamal met for the first time, you were accompanying your friend on a double date. You weren’t looking for love or anything close to that but your friend was nervous and needed the comfort of your presence.

The problem lied in the fact that you had never dated before. Sure, you’d been on dates, but nothing had ever surpassed that singular date.

Jamal had swept you off your feet—literally. He wasn’t looking where he was going and tripped you. You’d nearly fallen on your face when he caught you, arms wrapping around your waist so he could hoist you back up.

The moment your eyes met you felt an unfamiliar warmth gather in the pit of your stomach, nerves rattling your body. He made you nervous in a weird way you’d never felt before.

It had taken two weeks for him to contact you again, and you were waiting.

Now, six and a half months later, you were dating—had been for four months now.

Sitting on the couch in his living room, you patiently waited for him to get home. He was training late today, so you’d opted for making dinner and sticking it in the fridge for him to heat up when he got home. The TV played a show you recently started; ‘Scandal’, which you were so engrossed in you didn’t realize Jamal had arrived.

He stood in the entry way, watching you curiously with a grin. He liked to watch you when you weren’t aware of him—not in a creepy way, he just loved to see you when you weren’t conscious of people and relaxed.

He’d been standing there for too long so he knew the second he spoke you’d spook. So instead he slips back out the door as quietly as possible, opening it and calling out for you, “i’m home!”

You turned around with a wide smile, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. “Hey! Hi, how was practice? Dinner is in the fridge!”

“Practice was fine, exhausted though. What’d you make?” Jamal asks, wondering into the kitchen where you meet him. He pulls you into a hug, pressing his lips to yours.

Smiling into the kiss, you mumble, “some healthy crap, your dietician would be very pleased with it.”

Jamal pulls away with a breathy laugh, “you can just make something we both like, i’ll just hit the gym extra hard later on.”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. I already made my own delicious food. That healthy stuff, that is only for you.”

Moving to the fridge you open it, taking out the food, and placing it on the counter. “You may heat it up while I make myself a smoothie.”

Jamal’s arms wrap around your waist, your back pressing against his as he places a few kisses on your shoulder. One thing about your boyfriend was that he was very affectionate. He hadn’t always been so touchy, but he made more of an effort when he learned about your doubts in your relationship.

Although those concerns had dwindled, he hadn’t strayed an inch. He comforted you with everything, he said the sweetest things. Essentially, he went above and beyond to prove that what he felt for you was not going away and time soon—if ever.

“Go make your food.” You giggle, wiggling out of his grasp. “I need my smoothie.”

“You and your smoothies.” Your boyfriend tittered. “Is it Strawberry or—“ You give him a look that has his lips twitching, “right. Why do I even bother asking.”

Reaching for strawberries in the freezer, you smirk. “Exactly. Have I ever told you how much I love and adore your full fridge and freezer? You always have everything.”

“Yeah, well, I try.”

As the microwave hums while heating up Jamal’s food, you prepare to make your smoothie. Conversations flow between the two of you even as he eats and the whirring of the blender—which you stop every few moments to add to the conversation.

“How’s your show? By the way?”

Your face lightens up, “so good. I’m on season two right now. When I finish the whole show, i’m forcing you to watch it.” Your finger points in his direction with a teasing tip of your lip.

Jamal’s eyebrows raise, “oh? Well, anything for you.” His words brings a prideful smile to your face.

“And this is why I love you!” You quip, your smug look falling the second you comprehend what you said. Too early. Too—

Jamal’s expression doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes flicker up to you. “I love you, too.”

Oh! Thats a comfort. Sort of?

“Was that too early? I should’ve waited.” You swallow thickly. You watch as he slips off the stool he was sitting on, wiping his hands on his pants, and walks around the counter to reach your side.

“It’s perfect timing, actually.” He assures, his hands cupping your jaw to pull you into a loving kiss. “I. Love. You.” He mumbles each time he pulled away.

A dreamy sigh leaves your lips, “you are so fortunately—for me, perfect.”

The taller man smiles, “and i’m so fortunately, your boyfriend.” Your heart grows three sizes as you meet his eyes. Any lingering doubt or insecurity you held about the future of your relationship died with that kiss and his words.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any of my future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @sakashq @joaoflms @hrts4havertz @spidybaby

[s6lars]

dress.

a harmless prank leaves jamal acting unexpectedly and you're determind to find out why — even if it forces you to get dangerously close. (wc: 7.5k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jm42 x reader, ft. mathys tel

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut — mdni! with a good chunk of plot, jealous brother’s bsf jamal.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering + more

𝐀/𝐍. requested here, thank you for waiting patiently anon !! this is also my first time writing in months, i'm so terribly sorry that i'm rusty and it might not be my greatest work. but i hope you enjoy ! (also this is not proofread lol)

“Fuck!” you groan, examining the plastic bag in your hands.

“What? What’s wrong?” You chew on on your bottom lip, setting the bag on your thighs where you kneeled on the floor. You pick up your phone, flipping the camera so your friend could see on Facetime.

“They sent me the wrong one.”

Nothing destresses you quite as much as online shopping, and with your finals finished a few days ago, you’d gone crazy on the internet — fitting as much as your cart would allow it. The stack of boxes in your room began to pile as the orders came in one by one, and once they all did, you treated yourself to your own version of Christmas.

“Which one did you get originally?” your friend, Andrea, asks. You’ve been giving her an unboxing of everything you’d bought for yourself, opening packages on your bedroom floor with your speaker blasting Drake in the back.

“I ordered this in green, they gave it to me in black.” 

“Oh. Well, at least it’s the same dress right?” Andrea takes a bite out of the donut she’s eating. “I still think it looks nice.” “Yeah, me too. But I already have, like, 3 other black dresses,” you sigh.

“I think you should still try it on.” “You think?” “Yeah, why not? It’s just in a different color anyway.” Andrea’s right. You’re not really in the mood to go through the hassle of online returns and back-and-forth conversations with the seller. 

You leave your phone on your bedroom floor to get changed off-camera, standing in front of your mirror. The dress feels promising as you pull it out of the bag — it’s strapless, jet black in color with a few cutouts on the side joined by metal rings, exposing your sides. It feels smooth as you slide it on, the stretchy material hugging your curves and the hem stopping on your mid thighs.

“So…” You pick up your phone, showing the dress off to Andrea. “How does it look?”

Andrea gasps in awe, making you giggle at her reaction. “Oh my god, I think I’m liking this one the most so far,” she raves, and you look to the pile of the other dresses you’d bought on your floor.

You adjust the dress, smoothing it out, pulling the hem lower. The dress is gorgeous, hugging you in all the right places. You check yourself out in the mirror, feeling more confident the longer you have it on.

“This is so nice, actually. Who even cares about the color anymore, I’m obsessed,” you gush.

“Mhm. And you can wear it with that purse you bought, and with the gold jewelry as well,” Andrea suggests, and you hum in agreement. As she’s talking, you reach for your water bottle on your nightstand, disappointed when you realize it’s empty. “Hey, I’m gonna fill up my water, give me a sec,” you state, muting yourself and tossing your phone on your bed.

You waltz in the kitchen, bringing your speaker with you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re home alone. You incoherently hum along to SZA, waiting for your bottle to be filled — and a loud noise erupts from behind where you stood.

“BOO!” 

You shriek, body jolting forward, causing some of the water to spill on your dress and your speaker to almost fall loose from your grip.

“What the fu— Oh my god, J.” You’re met with familiar brown eyes as you turned around, seeing Jamal with his hands flat on the kitchen island where he’d slammed them. He giggles at your annoyance. 

To most, Jamal is Bayern’s starboy, a young player dazzling in the world of football. To you, he’s your brother’s best friend, and someone who shows up unannounced to your house a lot. Your older brother Noah works in the industry as an agent, and the two of them met many years ago as teenagers. Now, they’re close as ever — so close, that Noah trusts him enough to give him a spare keycard to your shared apartment.

You met Jamal not long after they hit it off, and you can safely say you’ve also become friends with him now.

Just friends. That’s all you’ll ever be.

Like Noah has stressed multiple times before.

You grab a towel, dabbing the wet spot on your dress. “What do you want, J?”

“Is Noah home?” “No. He went to the gym,” you respond, groaning, making sure your dissatisfaction is heard loud and clear. Once you do, you turn off the obnoxiously loud speaker that prevented you from hearing his entrance. 

“Without me?”

“Yeah, he needed the time alone, clearly,” you snap back, circling around the kitchen island to face him. As you do, Jamal’s eyes trail down your body, your dress now revealed, his face twisting in a mix of confusion and awe. 

“Bit early for a night out, no?” He says, clearly referencing to your dress. He’d be right, it’s only the early evening.

You look down at your dress before meeting his eyes again, seeing him shift uncomfortably. “Who said this was for a night out?”

He cocks his head to the side. “It’s not?”

The devil on your shoulder is telling you to get back at him for almost ruining your dress and breaking your speaker. If he can show up unannounced, why can’t you lie and pull a few strings? “No… it’s for a date.”

You lie straight through your teeth, making up a story as you go. Jamal’s jaw falls slack, like he’s about to say something, but then it closes before he does.

“A… date?” He heard you the first time. He just wants to know if you’re being serious.

And you keep pretending that you are. “Yeah, a date. Why’s that so shocking?” You fold your arms, leaning against the kitchen island.

Jamal pauses. “With who?” While you’re biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing, he’s having none of it. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw tense as he questions you.

“With this guy from uni. He’s just so sweet,” you sigh dreamily for dramatic effect, dragging the gimmick as long as you could. “We’ve been talking for a while and now he wants to get serious.” “Serious?” 

“...Yeah. I really think we could be a thing.” Your face falters at Jamal’s deadpan response. You’re only joking with him, but even if you weren’t, why is the mention of a date getting him like this?

You succesfully pulled his strings— but you don’t know if you should be happy or not. Jamal looks at you, almost in offense, and you can practically see the steam coming off of his ears. You’ve known him for a while, and yet this is the first you’ve seen of him like this.

“Tell Noah I’m not hanging out today.” Jamal storms out the kitchen, your mouth falling agape at his reaction. You trail behind him, worried that you took it too far.

“What? No, Jamal wait—” He doesn’t spare a single glance as he marches out the door, slamming it in your face, sending the hinges rattling. You’re frozen in your spot, unable to move or even process what just happened for a few moments before you’re dragging yourself back to your room, still slightly shaken.

You grab your phone and unmute yourself, still seeing Andrea on the line.

“Hey.” 

“Hey, what took you so long?” She notices the startled look in your eyes, sitting up in her bed.

“Sorry. Jamal … came over earlier. It was weird,” you say, slumping against your headboard.

“Weird? Isn’t he your friend? Or a friend of your brother?”

“Yeah, but… well, I—” you exhale, taking the time to string your words properly. “I was joking around, but then he got really upset and stormed out,” you explain.

“What the hell?” “I know. I’ve never seen him that pissed off. Not because of me at least.”

“That’s so weird. All over a joke?” “Yeah.” “What a prick,” Andrea sneers.

“No, don’t say that.” You’re not sure why, but you don’t really want to tell Andrea that the joke in question involved you lying about going on a date. “Hey, I gotta go. Bye.” 

You abruptly end the call carelessly tossing your phone aside. Now that you’re alone, you stare at the ceiling, finally having the time to process the interaction. The mood has shifted now. An inkling creeps into your thoughts as to why Jamal got so defensive, but you shrug it off, terrified of its consequences, terrified it would manifest.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble to yourself. But is it? You’re tossing and turning in bed because something is telling you that it’s not just nothing, and you have to find out for yourself.

You have to talk to Jamal.

“You’re up early.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to see Noah splayed on the living room couch, working on his laptop.

You take a sip from your mug, setting it down on the coffee table before replying. “And you’re home for once.”

Noah gets exceptionally busy during the transfer window. You’ve been getting used to spending weeks home alone, or only catching him in the early mornings or coming in late at night, but almost never when the sun was out. Part of you thinks it’s not just work that’s been holding up, though.

“You know how busy I get in January,” Noah says. He squints as he watches you sit adjacent to him, putting on your socks and shoes. “And where are you headed?”

You pause. “Just going on a walk.”

Noah doesn’t need to know that the walk in question is en route to Jamal’s house.

Last night, you went to bed uneasy, hoping you could sleep it off. You woke up this morning and nothing had changed, and that’s when you decided you had to talk to Jamal immediately or you’d explode by midday. Noah being home wasn’t part of your plans.

He’s always been a little protective, as all older brothers are to their sisters. You vividly recall when you first met Jamal at one of his infamous house parties— alone in the kitchen, getting drinks for your friends when he strolled in, starting a conversation. It was an instant connection, with you finding yourself taking your sweet time just to keep talking to him.

Of course, Noah barged in at one point, throwing his arm around you and escorting you out of the kitchen himself, not before interrogating you on your conversation with Jamal.

Although he’s loosened up since, you know Noah would start getting skeptical if you told him you were headed to Jamal’s place first thing in the morning. But what Noah doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Right, bye.” Just as you stand up to leave, Noah interrupts.

“Wait! Can you get some sandwiches from the café when you come back? Thanks!” 

“As long as you pay me back!” you chime, already halfway out the door.

The walk to Jamal’s place is a rare but not unfamiliar one. You live not too far away, and there have been countless times where you had to pick Noah up after a night out, so you knew the way well. You could’ve taken your car, but you decided you need the extra time for yourself, deciding on a walk.

You’re not really sure what you’re getting out of this. Your mind fluctuates between feeling like this is the right thing to do and the urge to turn back and buy those sandwiches Noah was talking about earlier.

But you never do, and now you’re standing in front of his doorway.

Unlike with your house, Jamal’s never given you a spare set of keys so you can waltz into his at any given moment. You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, your heart beating out of your chest as you do.

Silence. You ring the doorbell a few more times, hearing the soft pattering of footsteps behind the door. 

You fix your hair and adjust your clothes, awaiting Jamal’s arrival. 

Instead, you’re met with the sight of a woman when the door swings open.

A half-naked woman.

She looks slightly older than you, dressed in only a sports bra and sweats, her hair tussled like she just woke up. You’re both looking at each other up and down, confused. This is the first you two have seen of each other.

“Can I help you?” She’s the first to break the silence. You reluctantly meet her gaze. There’s a weird territorial atmosphere lingering between you two, like the person standing before you shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, I’m looking for Jamal,” you say, your voice coming out a lot shakier than you anticipated. A pit continues to grow in your stomach. You probably should have turned back home when you had the chance.

“Oh, he’s in the shower.”

Your heart drops. You’re not an idiot, and you’re no child— you can put two and two together. Neither is Jamal, and you know he probably hooks up with someone whenever he gets the chance. But why does that bother you so much? And why are you only feeling this way now?

You’re lost in your thoughts, and the woman waves a hand in front of your face, trying to pull you back to reality.. “Did you need anything? He’ll probably take a while.”

You shake your head, already getting ready to take off. “Just tell him I was joking yesterday.”

“Huh?” Turning around on your heels, you leave the woman hanging, walking away from the door. Whatever you were expecting to happen when you got to Jamal’s place, it surely isn’t this.

You glare straight ahead, not caring for whoever you bumped into. All you knew was just in that moment, you had to get as far away as possible from Jamal’s house. And so you did, marching as far as your legs would take you, until beads of sweat ran down your temples and your breathing turned heavy.

Maybe Noah was right in trying to put some distance between you two.

Meanwhile, Jamal dries himself off with a towel as he leaves his bathroom. He walks into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, passing by his front door, seeing the girl he picked up last night standing by.

She hears his footsteps as he comes down the stairs, turning to face him. “Morning, baby,” she coos, putting on the best lovey-dovey voice she could muster.

Jamal winces at the remark. “I’ll get you a taxi after you shower,” he replies, walking right past her and into the kitchen. The girl rolls her eyes, groaning silently. She doesn’t know why she keeps trying to get closer to him when all they’re doing this for is sex.

“Some girl came over while you were in the shower, by the way,” she brazenly states, hoping to get his attention for once. 

“Who?” “Like I know. She just came by and asked if you were here, and then told me to tell you that she was just joking yesterday?”

It works. Jamal stops dead in his tracks. “And what did she look like?” The girl starts describing how you looked from the short appearance you made earlier. The more she speaks, she sees the gears turning in Jamal’s head as he puts two and two together, ultimately realizing that you had gone all the way to his house just to talk to him.

He looks at the girl before him. She came all the way to his house, probably to apologize, just to be met with one of his random hookups who he barely even spoke to outside his bedroom.

Jamal’s eyes widen in realization at how horribly he’d fucked up, abandoning his breakfast and rushing back up the stairs.

“Where are you going? Who is she?” The girl asks, waving her hand to get his attention, though all her calls are ignored as he shoves his way into his room to go looking for his phone, unplugging it from where it was charging on his nightstand.

His fingers rapidly dart across the screen as he types out a message, a desperate attempt at reaching you before it was too late.

[07:42] jamal: did you come over earlier? [07:43] jamal: i promise it’s not what it looks like [07:43] jamal: we can talk if you want to [07:43] jamal: just the two of us

Your phone buzzes four seperate times as you stand in line at the café down the street from your apartment building. Sometime during your walk, Noah had transferred some money into your account for both breakfast and you figured you needed the distraction.

It didn’t last long as you pulled your phone from your pocket, seeing the notifications from Jamal poured in. You shut your eyes, collecting your emotions before you shoved it back in, fixing your hair in frustration.

Out of sight, out of mind. Jamal got his chance when you were at his doorstep, willing, and he you weren’t about to give him a second. The fact that he thinks you would sets something off in you.

He watches as his texts stay on delivered. Deep down, he knows you read them through your lockscreen, and now you were choosing to deliberately ignore him. He stares at the screen in defeat, before another text comes in.

[08:01] noah: you’re coming over tomorrow night yeah?

The party. Noah had invited him and some other players to hang out before the season started, a tradition that’s persisted in the friend group for years. It’s hosted at his place this time around, a golden oppportunity.

Jamal has to talk to you.

For the first time in his life, Jamal regrets going to a party.

He’s used to having a blast, used to being the man in any room he walks into, instantly greeted by faces both familiar and unfamiliar, desperate to show him around— desperate to be seen with him.

Now, he throws his head back agains the wall of Noah’s living room, drink in hand, asking himself why he even left the house today.

Jamal arrived extra early to his friend’s place, hoping to catch you in a moment alone before it got busy. To his dismay, Noah informed him that you’d been out since the morning. Then he had to help him clean. A total nightmare.

He’s not so sure if you knew he was coming today, or just so happened to not be at home. Whatever the reasoning, he’d rather not have turned up altogether had you not been here.

While he’s drinking away his sorrows, you’re pushing him out of your mind as you spent the day with your friends. Shopping, going to the spa, more shopping, bar hopping— it was a perfect day.

Your smile quickly faded when you came home and was greeted with a crowd of men in your living room.

“Hey! You’re home,” Noah greets, pulling you into a hug. He gives you a look of guilt as he sees your eyes squint in confusion, knowing he didn’t tell you he was inviting people over.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I figured you’d be out the whole day!” he reasons. 

“You’re so fucking annoying, I hope you know that,” you sneer, and Noah can’t fight back. You scan the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces. If it wasn’t for them, you would have cussed him out right then and there.

He knows you’re tired from going out all day, he knows you just want to rest. “Okay, listen, this isn’t anything crazy, we’re just gonna drink and talk, no loud music or inviting more people. It’s just my friends.”

Friends. You scan the crowd once more. If Noah ever mentions anything about friends, one person is almost always involved.

Jamal. You lock eyes with him, he’s been staring at you from across the room since you walked in the door. There’s a mix of anger, frustration and yearning brewing in your chest. You want to shove him down a flight of stairs. You also want to run into his arms. It’s complicated.

Noah shoves a can of beer in your hands, and you finally look away from Jamal. “Here, take this. Loosen up,” he says before leaving. You sip away your unwanted emotions and wince like it stings going down. 

Knowing Jamal is here and with the intention of talking to you sparks an idea in your brain, washing a boost of confidence over your body. He can’t look away from you and you know it, and you had to take this chance in sending him a message.

Your message comes in the form of a youngster sitting on the living room couch.

“Mathys!” You approach him, arms wide to pull him in for a hug that seems a little too friendly in Jamal’s eyes. He grips his glass harder.

“Hey! When did you come in?” he asks, and you sit next to him, grazing your thigh against his. You take a big swig from the can, needing the extra tenacity.

“Not too long ago.” You start talking to Mathys about your day, striking up a normal conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch glimpses of Jamal glancing at you from time to time. It’s not enough. You want him to feel the way you did when you showed up on his doorstep the other day.

Mathys was happily recounting his encounter with some rapper he’d crossed paths with when you put your hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh up and down. You leaned in to his ear, covering your mouth to avoid Jamal from reading your lips. He jumps slightly at the motion, you’re never this close to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He nods, scared but intrigued.

“I’m trying to piss Jamal off. Will you help me?” Similarly to Jamal, you and Mathys have always been close friends. He’s younger than you, so you’ve always viewed him like a little brother more than anything, but that’s not to say you don’t appreciate his company. You knew he would definitely be down to help you tonight.

Mathys pulls away, searching deep in your eyes for certainty. He discovers you’re serious.

A smirk plays on his face as he nods slowly to himself. He’s not stupid, he quickly pieces things together. If he’s being honest, he’s always known something was going on between you and Jamal anyway. “Alright, alright. Deal.” “Deal, yeah? If anything I do gets too far, just tell me,” you assure.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be worth it in the end. Do what you must,” he says, winking.

It didn’t take long for the ball to start rolling. It starts off innocent — you laugh just a little too loud at one of his jokes, planting your palm on his chest as you do, playing with your hair. The small gesture has Jamal shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

It wasn’t enough.

You pull out your phone, asking Mathys if he wants a picture. He extends one arm behind you on the couch, leaning into you. Wrapping his shoulders with your free arm, you pushed your heads together, scooting closer to him, to the point where your legs were folded over his thighs. Jamal knows what you’re doing now, and it’s driving him to insanity. Yet, he stands there, unmoving.

It wasn’t enough.

The final straw came from Mathys. You tipped your drink as far back as you could, trying to get the last few sips from the can. A few stray drops landed on the corner of your mouth instead, dribbling down your chin as you raised your hand below it to make it stop. 

He reaches over to catch the beer with his thumb, cupping your face, gently swiping your lips.

Jamal storms out of the living room.

Mathys takes his hand off of you immediately afterwards, and you two share a laugh, feeling achieved. “Well, he’s really pissed now,” he remarks.

“Good.”

He glances at you in curiousity at your deadpan, sly response. He had fun doing this whole tidbit with you, but he doesn’t even know why you’re doing it in the first place. “What’d he even do to you for you to do this?”

“Long story,” you say it in a way that lets him know you’re not going to go into further detail. You stand up from the couch, bag in hand. “I’ll be in my room. Thanks Mathys, that was fun.” He winks at you, clicking his tongue in response.

You made the walk to you room with your head held high in victory. The message you were delivering was definitely heard by Jamal, loud and clear. He’s not the only one that gets to mess around with whoever he wants. 

You kick your heels off, throwing your bag on the floor and plopping down on the bed, scrolling on your phone. Tossing and turning, you ended up curled with your back facing the door, and that’s when it barges open.

“Hey.” You turn around, it’s Noah. You go back to scrolling on your phone.

“What do you want?” “I’m not gonna be at home tonight, yeah? Most of the guys already left anyway. Just wanted to let you know,” he says, rambling. “It’s just, work stuff…” You roll your eyes. Noah’s always been bad at keeping secrets, especially when it involves girls.

“Yes Noah, I’ll be fine alone while you go spend the night with that girl you met in Berlin. We all know you like her.” You don’t even have to look at Noah to know his mouth had fallen slack, the words being ripped from his throat.

“Man. That bad, huh?” Noah chuckles. “Alright, I’m leaving. Bye,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

A few minutes pass as you lied there unmoving. still scrolling through your feed when the door opens a second time. You hear the hinge creak open and the click of the knob as the person enters your room without saying a word.

You sit up straight, looking behind you. “Mathys? Is that y—” It’s Jamal. Daggers shoot from his eyes, watching you roll your eyes and go back to using your phone.

“What do you want, Jamal?” you groan. The fact that you’re not calling him by his usual nickname, not bothering to even spare a glance has his face contorting.

“Since when have you and Mathys been that close?” His voice is deep, interrogative, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t tense up at his tone, chills arising through your body.

You build up the courage to face him properly, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Why should I tell you about the people I’m hanging out with?”

“Hanging out?” he spits in disbelief, vitriol laced in his words.

“Yeah! Hanging out, Jamal, what’s so wrong about that? Huh?” you exclaim. You can’t believe the sheer hypocrisy in his words. “You’re one to judge, at least I was only talking to Mathys anyway.” “He had his hand around your neck and he was just gawking at your body the whole time, don’t act stupid!” he snaps back, raising his hands and dropping them to his sides.

You jump onto your feet. “At least I don’t go around fucking other girls as soon as one of them stops giving me attention!” Jamal’s eyes widen, offended. You both know what you were referring to.

“You told me you were going on a date with someone! You said he was the one — how the fuck was I supposed to know you were joking?!” He takes a few steps closer.

You struggle to find the right response, your mouth periodically opening and closing. He’s got a point. You hate that he does. “You didn’t even give me the chance to explain myself! You just stormed out of the house!”

“Yeah, of course! After hearing you say that, of course I did!” “Why?!” you ask, watching his eyes go wide, his mouth shut, unable (or maybe not wanting) to respond. “Tell me why.” Now it’s you who takes a step closer, and Jamal’s at arms length, causing you to look up at him as you speak.

He says nothing back. 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought,” you mumble. You move past him, lightly bumping your shoulders together as you do to convey your anger. You need to get a drink from the kitchen, and hopefully by the time you come back, Jamal will be gone.

Just as your fingers graze the doorknob, a strong grip gets a hold of your arm. It all happened so fast. One second you were facing the door, the next — your back hit the wall, and Jamal’s lips were on yours.

The kiss was hungry, one of Jamal’s hands on the back of your head, tilting it to kiss you deeper, the other on your waist. Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, scratching the back of his head, pulling him closer.

One of Jamal’s knees slipped between your legs, rubbing against your crotch. A breathy moan escaped your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It was a messy, desperate kiss — a clash of teeth and tongue, Jamal making up with his lips what he can’t with his voice.

Jamal runs his hands up and down your dress. Your dress — it’s the same one you wore a few days ago, when you first got into the argument. It’s driving him crazy and you know it, it’s evident in the way he trails his mouth lower to your neck and down to your exposed cleavage.

“Jl,” you whine, teetering on a plea. He presses his forehead against yours, watching your eyes trained on him, your lipstick smeared and loose strands flying from your hair. He don’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“This dress looks so good on you.” It’s all he can say before he’s kissing you again, a lot softer this time around.

“Mhm. Wore it just for you,” you breathe in between kisses. “Now take it off, please.” Your voice, your words, they rush straight to his cock. 

“Jump,” he instructs, and you do. Jamal walks over to your bed, plopping you on the soft pillows, his lips moulding against yours the whole time. He presses kisses lower on your neck, sucking, biting, being sure to leave a trail of purple marks for to blossom tomorrow morning.

Jamal takes the cut of your dress in his hands, pulling the fabric down, groaning at the sight of you without a bra. He wastes no time in swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, causing you to throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sucks and pulls with his teeth, moulding the other with his hands before switching, grinding down on your clothed core.

Once he’s satisified, he takes one last look at your tits — now glossy with his spit and marked purple, before climbing lower down your body. He bunches the material of your dress up your waist, exposing your panties to him.

Jamal takes hold of your legs, pressing a kiss to your crotch, smirking when your back arches, whining at the contact. 

“Fuck, don’t tease, please.” Your hand pushes his head closer to where you’re dripping, where you want him the most.

Jamal chuckles at your desperation, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them carelessly aside. He spreads your lips, cursing under his breath when he sees the string of wetness that’s accumulated.

“You’re soaked,” he says, planting delicate kisses to the inside of your thighs, intently watching how you jolt at each one.

“Jamal, please.” He loves it when you beg. 

“Shh, I know, baby.” And he finally licks one long strip up your pussy, relishing in the way a moan is punched from your lips. You’re lucky your brother is out for the night, because he’s certain it can be heard through the walls.

He plants a few more kisses before spreading your lips, delving his tongue in your hole. Your thighs clamp shut around his head, but his strength pries them open. He alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking your clit, swirling figure-eights on it.

You’re a writhing mess, your throat dry from moaning and calling his name over and over. Jamal never wants to stop hearing the pretty noises you make.

He continues to push his tongue in your cunt, using his thumb to circle your clit, doubling the pleasure. He explores your walls, finding the spongy spot that punches a particularly loud moan from your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, and Jamal is happy to oblige. He moans into your pussy, the vibrations rushing through your body. He feels you get wetter by the second, your juices coating his mouth and running down the sheets.

Your breathing is short and erratic, your fingers tugging at his hair as your orgasm washes over you, cumming all over Jamal’s mouth. He licks the slick running down your inner thighs, pressing some final few kisses to your clit before hovering over you, meeting your eyes.

The sight of Jamal above you is nothing short of glorious — his chin glossy from your juices, his eyes blown out and his lips plump and swollen. He can say the same for you below him, once snappy and sarcastic now panting and ruined.

You cup his cheek, adorlingly gazing into his eyes before tasting yourself on his tongue. He takes your wrists, one by one, pinning them above your head with one hand.

“Need to make sure you can take me, baby,” he coos. “Is that okay?” You nod rapidly. You’d say yes to anything if he asked.

Jamal chuckles, his free hand trailing lower down your body and finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from your last orgasm, bucking up into his hand when he does.

“J—oh.” He slips a finger into your cunt, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and your jaw falls agape as you do. He pumps slowly at first, feeling your pinned hands try to escape his grip, but he pushes them down harder.

After a few moments, he slips another one in, filling you with two digits. “Shit,” you whine, closing your eyes shut.

“You can take it, yeah?” he asks. 

“Mhm, I can take more, a lot more.” Jamal feels his cock throb in his pants, desperate to be freed. He picks up the pace, and you squirm beneath him, taking your bottom lip in your teeth.

Jamal pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside your walls. Every time he fucks into you, his palm rubs against your clit, only adding to the pleasure. Once he finds your sweet spot, he relentlessly goes faster, chasing your second orgasm.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you blabber, unable to focus on anything else than the feeling of Jamal’s fingers.

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs, and eyes shoot open on instinct, seeing his brown eyes bore into yours.

“Want to see how you look when you cum.” 

You struggle in keeping your eyes open but do so to the best of your ability, your chest heaving up and down as your moans get more sporadic. Jamal is lost in your eyes, his wrist starting to tire from his movements. After one rough push of his hands, shockwaves rippling through your body as your second orgasm washes over you.

Slick runs down your thighs, onto the bedsheets and on Jamal’s wrist. He pulls out, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact before he licks them clean, tasting every last drop. Jamal sits up on his heels and you follow suit, kneeling in front of him. You grab the hem of his shirt, quickly pushing it up and over his head, exposing his torso. You’re entranced by his physique, trailing your nails down his chest and abs. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss.

“Fuck me, J,” you plead in between kisses, and how could he say no?

“Get on all fours.” You flip over, arching your back, hanging your ass in the air for him. You hear the clink of his belt as he pulls down his trousers, watching from over your shoulder.

“I told you to take my dress off,” you remind him, lightening the mood a bit. You have to stifle back a moan as he spreads your ass, pulling you flush against the shape of his bulge, lowly moaning when he does. 

Jamal pauses for a moment. “Nah.” He pulls his boxers down, taking his cock in his hands, hard and throbbing, jerking himself off before aligning the tip with your pussy.

“Wanna fuck you in it.” 

He slides his cock up and down your slit before pushing into you in one long stroke. A long moan is drawn from your throat as your head drops, feeling him slowly stretch you out, stopping until his pelvis was flush with your ass. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, hearing Jamal whisper soft praises as he grips your hips, rolling his slowly to help. Once you do, he pulls back out, only living the tip in your cunt, before slamming back in and finding a rhythm.

“Shit,” you spit through a mix of moans and curses, feeling him push into you over, and over, and over. After a particulary rough snap of his hips, your elbows give out under you, causing you to bury your face in the sheets, arching your back harder.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” You hear Jamal breathe from behind you. His eyes are trained on where you’re taking him raw, seeing the glossy sheen coat his shaft, glowing underneath your bedroom lights.

His hands are rough where he gropes, alternating between bunching your dress up higher, spreading your ass and gripping your hips, slamming you against him harder. 

Jamal pulls you up to his chest, one hand loosely hanging around your neck. You can barely process the change of position until you feel his bare chest flush against your back.

His lips curl into a smirk, watching your mouth slightly open, the filthiest of sounds pouring out into his ears, spit welling in its corners. Your eyes struggle to stay open, your head lulling on his shoulder.

“Don’t—ah—don’t stop, please,” you blabber, drunk on his hips snapping up into you. 

Jamal plants a featherlight kiss on your temple. “Never.” He plants another. “So good, so good for me.”

He moulds his lips against yours, a messy clash of teeth and tongue. You struggle to kiss back, only whining into his mouth.

The knot in your stomach grows tighter by the second, your moans getting increasingly higher pitched by the second, your face contorting in pleasure. You’re close, Jamal knows it too.

“I’m close, fuck.” You reach out to him behind you, trying to lock him in place so he doesn’t stop. Not like he was planning on it, anyway.

Jamal twitches inside you, and you know he’s close too. His thrusts get sloppier, more sporadic, chasing your high before his own.  “Cum for me, go on,” he coos, lips ghosting over your earlobe. 

He reaches around your torso, his fingers finding your clit, circling figure-eights. It’s all it takes for your orgasm to wash over you in waves, sending your thighs shaking. Jamal doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it all, pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder, fingers still trained between your thighs. Jamal pulls out, causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of being empty. You’re spent, chest heaving and sticky with sweat, but you still find the energy to turn around, facing him. He’s jerking himself off in his hands, his cock red and throbbing, begging for a release.

You look up at him with mischievous eyes, his own watching your every move. You pull your dress up and over your head, leaving yourself bare in front of him, sitting on your heels.

Jamal kneels high above you, groaning when he watches you push your tits together, inviting him closer. His head tips back when you stick your tongue out, kitten licking the tip of his cock, tasting the precum dripping from its head.

Strings of white liquid are painted across your chest as Jamal cums, shuddering. You feel some hit your chin, darting your tongue to get a taste, never breaking eye contact.

He cups your chin, pressing his lips onto yours, leaving chaste kisses. You both stay like that for a while, lazily making out, smiling against each other’s lips.

Jamal plants one final kiss before pulling away. “Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He walks in your bathroom, leaving with a towel and a water bottle he’d found somewhere not long after. 

You let him gently swipe the towel against your chest, his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin. While you two sat in silence, it wasn’t an awkward one, far from it. It was comforting. It felt familiar, this domesticity. It felt natural.

You don’t say anything when he pulls you to lay on his chest. You don’t say anything when he pulls the blanket over you two, turning off the lights. You just focus on his heartbeat.

A throbbing headache has been your alarm these past few mornings, and today is no different.

The sunlight spills through the cracks in your curtains, bleeding through your shut eyelids. You slowly ease into consciousness, sitting up and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. A shiver runs through your body, instinctively pulling the blanket closer to you.

The second thing that hits you is your lack of clothes. You blink away the drowsiness, examining yourself, completely bare. Peculiar, but not unfamiliar.

The third thing that hits you is the weight on the opposite side of your bed when you yank the comforter. Your eyes widen at the sight of an undressed Jamal, blanket only covering so much, stirring awake next to you. His toned abs in full display, glowing golden in the sunlight.

It doesn’t take long for your brain to floor your memories of recollections from last night. You wince, face scrunching in disbelief as the images flashed in your head one by one.  What were you thinking?

You bend down to grab the first article of clothing you could find — Jamal’s shirt. Not ideal but it’ll do. You put it on to cover yourself, standing up with the plan of getting as far away from him as possible.

A strong grip on your arm stops your plans. 

Jamal calls your name, voice gruff and thick with the early morning. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sound.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, adoringly.

No. This is wrong. You can’t think of him that way, someone who’s supposed to be irrevocably off-limits — so you get right to the point.

“Jamal.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of you calling his full name. You’re never in a good mood when you do. “This, this cant… we can’t…” You watch him look up at you like he was expecting this from a mile away. 

With one pull, he tugs you back in bed, causing you to sit on his lap, albeit not fully. You don’t want to run away from him, deep down you know you don’t, and he knows that too. 

“Why? You scared of Noah?” 

You’re not sure how to respond.

“This isn’t even, I mean, we’re not even…” you struggle to string the right words together.

Jamal cups your cheek and you melt into his touch. Your words say one thing but your body suggests another. 

“I like you, I really do. I know I didn’t get the chance to say it last night,” he assures. You feel your cheeks heat at the sudden confession. “I don’t want to see you with someone else. I don’t want to act like I’m perfectly fine when you bring up some other guy.” You look deep into his eyes with a look that says, me too. After last night you knew you and Jamal would never be the same, for better or for worse. You pick the former.

“And especially not Mathys, Jesus.” You chuckle, finally lightening up. “Out of all the people you wanted to use to make me jealous, you chose him. Blegh.”

The giggles leaving your chest are unabashed the second time around. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Jamal’s palm lets go of your face, dropping down to take your hand in his. He resumes to his original point. “I want this, okay? I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to see you in my shirt every day,” he says while fumbling with the hem of his shirt hanging off your frame. 

“I want you.” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer, this time properly sitting on his lap. “Never took you for such a romantic, J.” 

He stifles in a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours before closing the gap. You’re finally his.