a/n: I promise the title will make sense once you get to the end
The back garden of Williams' new home wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't great either. William and Y/N had been so focused on the house that they had completly neglected the back garden.
The area was quite bleak with only a small table and two chairs sitting on the patio. The harsh winter weather had left what little furniture they had in poor condition and the lack of upkeep resulted in the garden becoming overgrown. So, as soon as spring began to make its first appearances, Y/N set out to fix this.
She was a woman on a mission as she pulled on her gardening gloves and began removing the dead flowers and weeds. It didn't take long for William to walk outside and look down at her disapprovingly.
“What are you doing?” “I'm gardening, what does it look like?” Y/N replied sassily. “But I don't pay you to garden for me.” “Yeah and you don't pay me to suck your dick either but I do it anyway,” she said with a teasing grin.
William chuckled and shook his head as she continued with her weeding. “I want to eat outside a lot this summer. This is the perfect space to have a nice dining table, we just have to make it look-” Y/N grunted as she tugged on a stubborn weed, “a little-” *tug* ”less-” *tug* “dead.” Y/N gave the weed one last pull and screamed when it gave way, causing her to fall backwards onto her ass.
William chuckled a little as Y/N glared up at him and huffed while resisting a giggle. William bent down and helped her up while still laughing. “Come on, I'll call a gardener.” “But I’ve almost got it,” Y/N said with a pout. William used his hand to dust the dead leaves and dirt off her butt before giving it a pat.
“I know but I don't want you to hurt yourself doing work that you don't have to do.” William reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Here, take my credit card. I'll call the gardener, you pick furniture. Okay?” Y/N sighed but accepted the card and a kiss before going inside to clean herself up.
William had the garden redone from top to bottom with new plants and flowers of Y/N’s choice. The bushes were trimmed and the grass was cut, leaving his backyard looking fresh and bright.
William also had the walkway pavers replaced and the pool serviced in hopes of watching Y/N go for an afternoon swim in one of those tiny bikinis William saw when he snooped around her bedroom. Soon after, the new outdoor furniture arrived and was set up on the patio to complete their project.
With the new and certainly improved outdoor dining area now complete, William felt compelled to host a dinner party for a few of his friends. When he approached Y/N about the idea, she immediately pulled out her notebook and started planning dishes.
“What about grilled lamb shanks? Or steak?” “Mmh, both. We’ll go buy you a grill tomorrow,” William said as he slipped his fingers beneath her shirt to caress her skin.
“And then we can do something light and refreshing. Maybe a fruit salad? What about honey roasted carrots? Oh! And I could make ice cream too!” William smiled at her excitement and kissed her cheek.
“Whatever you think is best.” Y/N quickly scribbled down a few more ideas before looking over her page. “This is gonna be a lot of food. I might need to call one of my old coworkers for help. We’ll need to do a trial run for a few of these recipes. Jules is really good at grilling.”
William rubbed her back and hummed mindlessly. “Whatever you need, mon coeur,” he agreed without giving it a second thought. A decision he would soon regret.
Y/N spent every waking minute of the next week preparing for Williams' dinner party. She researched recipes and ingredients, constantly asking William for his opinion despite receiving the same answer each time: "Whatever you think is best, Bebe.”
At first, William admired how much attention she was putting in this but then began to worry when he found her looking at Pinterest boards instead of sleeping.
“Y/N, you're going to overwork yourself,” William chided as he climbed into bed one night and found Y/N scrolling for ideas on her IPad. Y/N looked up at William in disbelief. “I’m looking at tablecloths. I am not going to overwork myself Willo, trust me.”
William kissed his teeth and grabbed the waist band of her shorts to pull her towards him. “I just don't want you to feel like you have to do this. I appreciate your effort but you don't have to work so hard on this. It's just a casual dinner party, it doesn't have to be perfect.”
Y/N closed her IPad and set it aside before placing her hands on WIlliams chest. “I know it doesn't have to be perfect. I want to make it perfect because I’m bored out of my mind,” she confessed.
“At my old job, I used to feed over a hundred people every day and now I only cook for you and myself. I love working for you but I am so damn bored! That's why I wanted to work on the garden. I need something to do with my hands.”
William frowned at her before smirking and leaning in closer. “I know how to keep you busy,” he whispered suggestively. Y/N smacked his shoulder making William chuckle as he kissed her jaw and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, mon coeur. I didn't realize. You can do whatever you want to do.”
“Good because Jules is coming over next week to help me pick dishes.” William hummed and closed his eyes, completely oblivious to what was coming.
“Sounds good to me.”
Y/N had informed William that she was going to try a few dishes for his dinner party and that one of her friends would be coming over to help. He had never met this friend before but Y/N raved about how talented Jules was so William had no doubt that she would be perfect for the job.
Y/N had spent all morning at the market and was still rinsing off produce when the door bell rang. When William answered the door he wasn’t sure who he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.
A man not quite as tall as himself with a smile that was a little too bright was standing on his front steps. He greeted William politely in a smooth Spanish accent.
William was getting ready to tell him that he had the wrong address when he heard Y/N squeal from behind him. “Julian!” Y/N shouted excitedly as she rushed past William and embraced the man in a tight hug. “I missed you so much! You have to tell me all about Japan,” Y/N gushed as she pulled him inside.
“Speaking of which, I got you a present.” Julian unzipped his bag and pulled out a leather case, smiling as he presented it to Y/N who was vibrating with excitement. “Seriously?!” Julian grinned and unzipped the case to reveal the shiny knife set inside.
Y/N gasped and squealed at the sight. “They're so gorgeous,” she gushed in awe. “I knew you would like them.” "Thank you so much! I can't wait to use them.”
William looked between the two of them with a clenched jaw, his stomach churning with discomfort as the scene before him unfolded. Y/N hugged Julian again, making William’s jaw tick.
They pulled away and Y/N realized that William was still standing there, waiting to be introduced to her friend. Y/N took Williams arm and pressed into his side with a grin as she looked up at him. “Baby, this is Julian. We went to culinary school together.”
“Julian,” William repeated as he came to a gut wrenching realization. Jules was short for Julian not Julia.
“It's nice to finally meet you, William. Y/N has told me a lot about you.” William attempted a polite smile. “Nice to meet you too,” William gritted out as he shook Julian’s hand firmly.
“Come look at the kitchen. It's the most beautiful kitchen I've ever worked in,” Y/N gushed as she hooked her arm in Julian's and pulled him down the hallway eagerly.
“This is much nicer than Fallows kitchen,” Julian complimented as he looked around. “I know, right? And we barely had to change anything except for the refrigerator and the sink. Look at the sink Willo bought me, isn't it perfect?”
Julian smiled and nodded approvingly at the double basin farmhouse sink. “Very nice. So does he just buy you whatever you want?” “Pretty much, yeah.” Julian chuckled and looked over at William with an amused expression.
“It’s hard to say no to her isn't it?” Williams' eyes twitched. “Yes, she's very convincing.” “Yes she is,” Julian agreed smiling down at Y/N who grinned right back at him. “Come on. Let's get to work, Linda.”
William was no language expert but he was pretty sure that Julian had just called his girlfriend cute in Spanish. This couldn't be happening. It was all just a bad dream, right? Any moment now he'd be waking up with Y/N laying on his chest, snoring softly while he played with her hair.
Only this wasn't a bad dream, it was real life and there was no escaping the scene that was unfolding before him. Y/N giggled and bumped Julian with her hip playfully before grabbing an apron.
William clenched his fists and bit the tip of his tongue as his jealousy grew stronger. He had known Julian for less than five minutes and he already hated him.
He watched as they got to work, prepping meats and vegetables while Julian told Y/N about his trip to Japan. The two of them operated in tandem, working around each other so smoothly that it looked like they were dancing. They silently coordinated their movements as if they were telepathically connected. It was horrifying.
William’s eyes hardened with disdain as Julian fed Y/N a spoonful of a marinade. “More paprika.” “I thought so,” he agreed and placed the spoon in the sink before glancing up at William.
“So does he always stare at you while you cook?” Julian asked curiously as he grabbed the paprika and added more to the bowl. William snapped out of his jealousy-induced daze, his eyes softening as Y/N giggled and smiled at him.
“Yeah, he usually sits with me while I cook.” “That’s so cute. How long have you two been together now?”
“6 months,” William answered before Y/N even had time to think about it. “Has it been six months already? Wow, time flies, doesn't it?" “It sure does,” Julian agreed.
“Weve been friends for almost 5 years now.” William wanted to scream. Five years. Five years Julian had known her, worked with her, and did God only knows what else with the woman that William called the love of his life.
“Do you remember when we first met?” Y/N burst into a fit of giggles as she recalled the memory. They both laughed as they recounted several memories from culinary school until WIlliam couldn't take it anymore.
As much as he didn't want to leave them alone, he couldn't bear to listen to them talk and laugh together. “I’m gonna watch TV,” William said stiffly and then left the kitchen.
William retreated to the living room and attempted to watch one of his favorite series but found his attention always drifting back to the kitchen. William nearly shot out of his chair when he heard Y/N call his name.
She grinned at him as he entered the kitchen eagerly. “Hey Baby! You hungry?” “Yes.” “Good. We're almost finished. We’re just waiting on the tartin but you can go ahead and sit down, Julian already set the table.”
William felt his eye twitch again. He was supposed to set the table, that was his job.
He wordlessly turned around and walked outside to sit at the table as the jealousy in his heart began to swell. He stood outside with his arms crossed, glaring at a bed of flowers until he heard the sliding glass door open. He turned around hoping that Y/N would be joining him but instead found Julian walking towards him with a warm smile.
“This is a beautiful garden,” he complimented as he looked around and admired the area. “This is Y/N’s project, she did most of the work.” Julian chuckled and nodded. “That makes sense. Y/N loves a project, doesn't she?”
William didn't respond. He walked over to the table and took a seat, waiting patiently for Y/N to emerge from the house.
“You know, I called Y/N a few weeks before you two finally got together and all she could talk about was you.” William turned and looked at Julian with an expression of surprise. “Really?” “Mhm. She told me about buying your new house and your trip to France. She was so happy.”
William's heart warmed a little and for a moment he thought that maybe Julian wasn't so bad.
“I hope her sleep talking has gotten better. We went to Tenerife after we graduated from culinary school and she talked in her sleep. It was terrifying.”
Nevermind. William still hated him.
Y/N joined them before William could jump across the table and strangle Julian, much to his dismay. She placed the tartin on the table as she looked between the two of them with a suspicious expression. “Are you two talking about me?”
“Only about the good stuff,” Julian assured her sweetly. Y/N settled into the chair next to William, kissing his cheek when he reached one hand over to squeeze her thigh.
Y/N and Julian's reunion continued on through dinner as William gripped his fork hard enough to bend it. The more they talked, the more he realized how close their friendship really was. William liked to think that he understood Y/N on an intimate level but he barely knew her in comparison to Julian.
“Oh, I meant to ask you: do you think you can make a birthday cake for my mom?” Julian asked as he took another sip of his drink. “When?” “Next month. Sometime around the 12th.” “Yeah I can do that. Just text me what she wants.”
“You bake cakes?” William said as he rejoined the conversation. “Oh yeah! Y/N bakes amazing cakes,” Julian confirmed enthusiastically.
“I didn’t know that,” William admitted almost shamefully. “Y/N has baked birthday cakes for me and my family members for years. She made the gender reveal cake for my sister's baby shower too. Here, I'll show you.”
Julian pulled his phone from his pocket and found a picture of the cake from his sister's baby shower to show William. Willo's eyes widened as he looked at the cake. It was a two tier cake with baby blue butter cream frosting and a detailed design that was only achievable by someone with an immense amount of talent.
William thought for a moment. Obviously Y/N was an amazing chef but he’d never explored her baking capabilities beyond bread and muffins. “That’s amazing. Why don’t you bake cakes here?” “Because you don’t own any cake pans, Baby.”
“I don’t?” Y/N laughed at Williams' confused expression. “You’ve never asked me to bake you a cake before so I’ve never needed any.”
To be quite honest, William didn’t know what was in the kitchen except for Y/N and good food. The kitchen was her domain and he respected that. When she wasn’t there, he steered clear of her carefully organized tools and ingredients so he had no idea if he owned any cake pans or not.
“I’ll buy you new cake pans and then you can bake here.” Y/N smiled and reached over to take William's hand, calming him down just a little as his mind raced. “Thank you, Baby.”
Dinner ended shortly after and Julian helped Y/N put away leftovers and tidy up the kitchen before bidding them goodbye. William waved with a bright smile, eager to get this guy out of his house as Y/N gave him one last hug and promised to call him soon.
The front door had barely closed when William turned towards Y/N and broke the news to her. “I don’t want to hire him for the party.” Y/N looked at him in a mixture of surprise and disappointment. “Really? Why? You didn’t like the food?” “No, he’s a good chef but I don’t like the way he treats you.”
“What do you mean?” “He likes you.” “Well I hope he does, we’ve been friends since culinary school.” “I mean more than a friend,” WIlliam clarified. Y/N’s eyebrows raised slightly. William knew that sometimes she was a little oblivious at times but even a blind person could see that Julian had romantic feelings for her.
“He clearly wants you.” Y/N burst into a fit of giggles leaving William with narrowed eyes.
“Oh no no no! He wants you more than me,” Y/N assured him.
"What?” “He’s gay.” Williams face fell and his fists unclenched. “He is?” “Extremely.” “Oh…” Y/N giggled some more, leaning into Williams chest as she hugged him tight. “You couldn’t tell?”
Now that William wasn’t blinded by his jealousy, it was kind of obvious but he wouldn't admit that he let his emotions keep him from thinking straight.
“And even if he wasn't gay, he's still not my type. I prefer French men,” Y/N whispered as she grabbed William’s face and stood on her tip toes to kiss him. William pulled her closer as he melted into the kiss, finally calm for the first time in hours.
“You prefer French men?” He questioned quietly as his hands drifted down to her ass. “Just one in particular,” Y/N specified in a sultry tone. William hummed then quickly scooped her up making Y/N giggle as he carried her to the couch and dropped her on the cushions.
summary: wilo had a hard day and he couldn’t miss this opportunity to release his stress
tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner
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note: sorry this took kind of long. i got carried away but on the bright side its long and very entertaining ;) as always, enjoy and tell me what you think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wilo had a hard day.
The game against PSG had stripped the spirit from his body in the cruel way only football can—slowly, then all at once. The locker room was too quiet afterward, filled with heads hung low and the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, just numb. He sat toward the back of the team bus, slouched in his seat, headphones on but no music playing. His fingers toyed absently with the edge of his jersey. Defeat clung to him like sweat. It wasn’t just the loss—it was knowing that the season’s hopes had come undone with it. That it was over.
“Maybe next year” he muttered under his breath, not believing it.
But then—buzz. His phone lit up in his palm. He glanced down, expecting some team update or sponsor message, but instead his heart caught fire at your name.
11:56 PM
you – katrina needs you
Katrina.
His lips quirked despite the weight in his chest. That name—your name for her, your little inside joke—hit him like a memory in full surround. You’d dubbed your pussy “Katrina” after that first night together, when he’d made you come so hard and so fast, you’d nearly cried. “She’s dangerous” you’d said between giggles, sweat-slicked and high off the release. “Natural disaster levels.” he said back
He hadn’t forgotten. Couldn’t.
The name stuck. Not just because it was funny—but because it was true. You were the storm, and he? He drowned in you willingly every time.
He stared at the message, thumb hovering. His whole body tensed. He wanted you, badly—but sometimes, you liked to play. Tease him. Make him jump through hoops before you let him taste what you both knew belonged to him. Tonight though, he wasn’t in the mood for riddles. He didn’t want to earn it—he needed to lose himself in you. Quiet the ache in his chest, the buzzing in his head. You were the only one who could silence everything.
He tapped out a reply anyway.
12:00 AM
wilo – tell her no games.
A minute later:
12:02 AM
you – she said why would she play games when you know she has needs and you’re the only one who can please them.
His throat went dry.
His dick twitched under his sweats.
It wasn’t just about sex. It never was.
The way you texted him, matched his heat with yours, said what you said without hesitation—it wasn’t just lust. It was alignment. Shared hunger. He needed to feel that again, even if only for tonight.
And time was never on your side. Your tour schedule, his travel demands, the constant cameras, the necessary secrecy. You lived in fragments, stolen moments behind closed doors. When you had the chance to see each other—really see—you took it. Because the rest of the world didn’t give you much.
He couldn’t miss this. Not tonight.
12:12 AM
wilo – will be there in one hour. send me location.
12:14 AM
you – don’t be late. we’re waiting.
You tossed your phone onto your chest and let a smirk rise to your lips, body already pulsing with anticipation.
A soft laugh escaped you as you pressed your thighs together, trying to trap the ache that was growing between them. He had that effect on you—Wilo didn’t just fuck you. He touched something deeper. And when he was gone, you swore your body remembered him.
Your girls used to joke:
“Y’all don’t be fuckin’, y’all be screwin’.”
And they had proof. That one time they walked in on you two mid-session—they never recovered. The sounds, the sweat, the headboard slamming, the cries that echoed down the hall. Wilo moaning loud, your voice breaking like you were being murdered. They still brought it up with raised eyebrows and fake concern.
“I don’t know how your pelvis is still intact” one of them had said last week.
You didn’t care. You liked it that way.
You wanted to scream. To feel him inside you so deep it changed your anatomy. You wanted to shake and cry and forget your own name. You wanted to feel that stretch in your lower stomach where his tip pushed so deep, it felt like pressure on your soul.
You were lost in those thoughts, fingertips tracing the hem of your shorts, when your phone buzzed again. His ringtone.
You answered instantly.
“Y/N,” he said. His voice was a low growl, dipped in that thick, beautiful accent that made your stomach flip.
“Mmm?” you hummed, coy and soft.
“I’m trying to hurry but there’s traffic. Don’t touch yourself. I will do it. Just wait. I be there in a few minutes.”
A sharp breath escaped you. Your fingers froze.
“I’ll wait,” you whispered. “I love fucking you too much to do it myself.”
He audibly exhaled, like he’d just been punched in the chest.
“I will crash if you talk like this chérie,” he said tightly, voice shaking with need.
You giggled, teasing but not. “Oh we can’t have that. You have to eat me first, then you can crash your car.”
He laughed, really laughed—and it lightened the air between you. The tension, though, still pulsed underneath like a drumbeat.
“Okay. I will see you soon” he said, and hung up quickly—before you could tempt him into veering off the road entirely.
As soon as Wilo hung up the phone, you tossed it onto the couch and headed straight to your room. You moved with purpose—slow, sultry, almost ritualistic. Tonight wasn’t about trying too hard or dressing up for show. This wasn’t new. Even with how rare your meetups had become, there was something sacred in the routine. Familiar. Intimate. Raw. You knew what he wanted. You knew what you wanted. That was all that mattered.
You slipped into something barely-there: a loose black sleep shirt and matching shorts, the kind that clung only where they wanted to but swayed easy with every step. No panties. No bra. You weren’t in the mood for clothes to get in the way. Tonight was about access, about urgency. You considered shaving for a second—not out of shame, but habit. The hair between your thighs had grown out just a little, but honestly? This wasn’t a night for vanity. He didn’t care. You could show up with a full, wild bush and he’d still bury himself in you like he was starving. He wanted in. He always did.
You walked back out to the foyer, checking each blind to make sure the world couldn’t peek in. Privacy was survival in your world. Your fingers tugged the last blind into place—and that’s when you heard the knock. Three firm thuds. You froze. Your heart paused. Then—an excited grin spread across your face. You gave yourself a quick, silent twerk of celebration—pure instinct, pure joy—before smoothing your shirt and gliding to the door.
When you opened it, there he was.
Big. Broad. Towering. His presence filled the doorway before he even crossed it. He radiated this primal confidence—the kind that came from knowing he was wanted, needed. Big dick energy if you will. His gaze landed on you like he already knew what was waiting for him, and his whole body was humming with intent. His hands were clenched, jaw tight, like he was trying to hold himself back out of respect. But the fire was right there—behind his eyes, in the heat radiating off his skin. This wasn’t just desire. This was need.
He knew he’d satisfy you. Knew that once he got his hands on you, there’d be no doubt. Because your pleasure was his pleasure. Watching you unravel, hearing you moan, feeling you clench around him—that was what got him off the most. He didn’t just enjoy your reactions; he craved them. Needed them. And you? You weren’t afraid of that hunger. You leaned into it.
But he also knew that pain made you sing. The right kind, at the right time. The sharp slap to your ass while he drilled into you from behind. His hand yanking your hair back while you cried out his name, bent over the kitchen counter. You didn’t want gentle all the time. You wanted that fine line between too much and just enough—where it almost hurts, but it feels so fucking good that you beg for more. You wanted him to ruin you lovingly, to bruise you where only you and he would know. And Wilo? He lived for that balance. He took pride in it.
“Can I come in?” he asked, towering over you like a shadow you never wanted to outrun.
You turned, walking deeper into your apartment as you tossed over your shoulder, “You’re not gonna bite me, are you?”
“If you want, I will” he said, stepping in and closing the door behind him. His arms slid around your waist with ease, his chest pressing into your back, his hips firm against your ass. That heat—his heat—wrapped around you, soothing and maddening all at once. The scent of his cologne mixed with the natural musk of a long day. You inhaled it like oxygen and tilted your head back onto his shoulder.
He moved your hair to the side, his lips brushing against the soft skin behind your ear, trailing down your neck, your jaw. His hands roamed your body slowly, reverently.
“I was late,” he murmured into your ear, his voice low, thick with desire. “I make up for it now.”
You barely noticed that he was walking you until your back met the wall. His hips ground into you, pressing his hardness against your ass. You whimpered, hips arching back to meet him, eager to feel more. You rocked against him, creating friction that made you both exhale.
“Fuck me, Wilo. Right now” you whispered, cheek resting against the wall, your voice breathy and begging.
“I will, chérie,” he murmured, turning you around. “Let me make up for being late.”
But as he spun you, his strength underestimated the moment—your head bumped the wall. “Ahhh, shit,” you hissed, clutching the back of your skull.
“Oh—I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry,” he said immediately, kissing your cheeks with urgency, his eyes wide and soft with guilt.
“I can’t fuck if I have a concussion, William,” you said through a wince, voice dry.
“Is okay. I’m doing the fucking” he replied with a half-laugh, brushing kisses down your face and neck, trying to soothe your annoyance. You rolled your eyes, but let it slide. You were too hungry for him to care.
He sank to his knees, his palms running down your sides. He hooked one of your legs up over his shoulder with ease, positioning you perfectly against the wall. His hands were firm, grounding you there. Your fingers tangled into his curls, bracing yourself.
His lips ghosted over your inner thigh—open-mouthed, wet, messy. He knew you liked it filthy, liked to feel it all. You gasped when he groaned into your skin, tongue tracing slow patterns that only teased what you knew was coming.
He licked up the inside of your thigh, pausing to admire you. The loose shirt you wore barely covered anything. There was nothing between you and him but the humid air.
He looked up at you, eyes low, voice thick. “My Katrina… so good for me” he whispered, lips grazing your folds. His breath made your knees weak.
Then, he devoured you.
There was no slow build-up. He latched onto your clit like he’d been waiting his whole life to taste you again. His tongue moved with confidence—pressure perfect, rhythm locked in from memory. You cried out, head falling back against the wall.
Your grip on his hair tightened, legs trembling already. He wasn’t eating you out. He was feasting. Like you were the last meal he’d ever have, and he was determined to make it count.
When he slipped his middle finger inside you, you nearly lost it. You were already dripping—soaking. He moved inside you with purpose, curving up, stroking that spot he knew would have you unraveling.
“Fuck—Wilo” you gasped.
He didn’t stop. He hummed against your clit, the vibration making your hips buck. When he felt you twitch, he pushed another finger inside and started pumping harder, tongue relentless.
You were undone.
You cried out, thighs spasming as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your free leg gave out, but before you could fall, he hooked it up too. Now he was holding you—both legs over his shoulders—as he continued devouring every drop of your release. His tongue never wavered. His arms locked you in place. He wanted all of it. Needed all of it.
He didn’t stop until he was sure you were empty—and even then, he gave you one last, slow lick, like he was savoring you. Your hands slipped from his hair, your whole body trembling.
And when he finally looked up at you, his lips and chin glistening, his eyes were glazed with lust—but also pride. He looked like a man who’d just worshipped at the altar of your body.
Because for Wilo, making you cum wasn’t just about satisfaction—it was about power. Connection. It was about giving you exactly what you needed… and being the only one who could.
He let go of your legs one at a time—slowly, carefully, like you were something sacred and fragile. His hands gripped your thighs gently, lowering them as if he didn’t trust gravity to treat you the way he did. Your body was trembling, spent, soaked. You clung to his shoulders as he rose to his full height, your head resting briefly on his chest like you needed help staying grounded.
Your eyes were glazed, unfocused, wandering off into the blissful haze of your orgasm. Everything was warm and distant, like you were still floating in the pleasure he’d given you. You barely noticed the wetness seeping through your shorts—your own cum dripping down your inner thighs, clinging to your skin, staining the fabric. You’d soaked yourself for him. You didn’t care. You wanted to stay in this fog.
“Are you here bébé?” he asked, voice low, mouth close to yours.
You could smell yourself on his breath. Tangy, raw, earthy. That alone made your thighs clench again, made your lips part in instinct. He’d eaten you like a man possessed—and now the proof of that was on his tongue, in his beard, and in the air between you.
You wanted to taste it too.
So you kissed him.
Messy. Sloppy. Greedy. There was no finesse to it—just heat. Your lips collided, opened, moved with a hunger neither of you could control. His hands slipped down to your ass and gripped. Not soft, not gentle—hard, like he needed to mark you, to claim you again. You moaned into his mouth, tongue tangling with his as you tasted yourself, as you shared yourself with him. That primal mess of saliva, breath, and sex between your lips made your head spin.
You could feel his dick pressing into your stomach—hard, hot, throbbing. The length of it rested against you like a promise. You knew it was ready. Ready to stretch you, drag against your walls, fill you until the only thing you could do was take it. It twitched against your skin like it was aching to be inside you. You wanted that too.
You pulled away and looked up at him. His pupils were blown—huge and black, swallowing the brown of his irises. His lips were slick, swollen, parted. His whole body was tight with restraint, like he was hanging on by the thinnest thread. He needed you now.
Just like you needed him.
“Go to my bedroom and wait for me there,” you said, smirking against his lips. “I have to get something real quick, okay?”
He nodded once. Then he leaned in, breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “I will have no clothes when you come back.”
He pulled back to look at you, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like he was daring you to take too long. His control was hanging by a thread. You giggled, pecked his lips one more time, and turned away.
You could hear the way he rushed off to your room. Could practically feel his urgency in the way his feet hit the floor, quick and heavy. It made your stomach flutter.
You walked calmly to the back closet of your apartment—the one that held your real secret. You reached up onto the highest shelf and pulled down the camera. Your camera. His camera. The camera.
The one he bought for the two of you in Milan—the trip that was supposed to be innocent, but ended up changing everything. The one that had seen you in every angle, every position, every orgasm. The one you used to satisfy yourself when he wasn’t around. When your fingers weren’t enough and only the sight of him fucking you open could make you cum.
You clutched it to your chest and, just before walking back, decided to strip. You needed to match his energy. His greed. His need. You took off your shirt, your shorts, everything—your skin already tingling from the thought of his hands back on it. You walked slowly to the bedroom, completely bare.
And there he was.
Laid out across your bed like he belonged there. Hands behind his head like a king, relaxed—but his dick was anything but calm. It was angry, needy, pointing straight up toward the ceiling. Higher than Travis Scott. The tip was flushed, red and leaking. The veins stood out, thick and pulsing, running down the length like maps toward your ruin. You licked your lips.
His dick was made for you. To fill you. To drag against every nerve ending inside you. To make you scream, cry, beg. To make you come back to life again and again.
“Finally you come back. Thought you left me,” he said, voice low and teasing as you closed the door behind you.
“No,” you purred, holding the camera up in your hand. “I was just looking for our friend.”
You saw the recognition flash across his face immediately. The memory. The hunger. The camera was a symbol—of all the dirty, beautiful, wild things you’d done together. His eyes darkened.
“Let’s record again,” you said.
“Are you asking?” he asked, sitting up and scooting toward the edge of the bed.
“Do I really have to ask? I know you want to.”
You straddled him slowly, one knee on either side of his hips, your heat hovering just over his length. His dick twitched between you, hungry for your body.
“I do,” he said, reaching for the camera. “Lemme see.”
He turned it on and pointed it toward your face. “Hi, camera,” he said, grinning.
You turned your head, shy at first, laughing softly.
“Non,” he said, voice stern. “Don’t be shy. You want this. Say hi to camera.”
You turned back, smiled wide, and said, “Hi, camera,” with a soft giggle. But he wasn’t here for giggles. He wanted a performance. He needed it. You always performed for him—and tonight, he was ready to devour the show.
He propped the camera on a pillow at the end corner of the bed, angling it perfectly. You both knew what was coming. He leaned back against the headboard, spreading his legs just a bit.
“Crawl to me, bébé.”
You obeyed immediately. Crawling slowly, deliberately. Your ass swayed with every movement, hips rolling with intent. You knew the camera had a perfect view—and you wanted to watch it back later, when he wasn’t around. You wanted to relive every second.
You crawled between his legs and positioned yourself close to his dick. No hands this time. Just your mouth. You licked long, slow stripes from base to tip, letting your tongue explore him. He groaned deep in his throat.
His hand gripped your hair—not to force, but to guide. You were in control. He was just the canvas.
With your back arched and your ass high, you moved your mouth over him, lips wrapping around the tip, tongue swirling. You moaned softly—just enough to let him feel the vibration. He threw his head back.
This was more than pleasure—it was release. For both of you.
You added your hands, twisting as you sucked. You didn’t want him to cum yet—not until he was buried inside you—but you needed to taste him. Just a little. Just enough to satisfy that hunger you’d been nursing for weeks.
Your eyes locked with his as you sucked harder, your mouth stretching around him. You wanted him to see it. To feel how much you wanted him. He was right there.
“Stop, stop. Let me fuck you now,” he said suddenly, voice rough but tender.
You popped off him and sat up, waiting.
He leaned forward, moving behind you with a grace that was almost terrifying. He turned you so that your body was stretched across the bed—your profile in full view of the camera. He pressed your back down until your ass was high in the air—his favorite angle. You were open. Exposed. Busted wide just for him.
His. His ass. His pussy.
He grabbed the camera and aimed it right where his hips hovered behind you.
“Look at thiz,” he said in that thick, hungry accent. “So sexy.”
He jiggled your ass with one hand, and you caught the hint—so you started to twerk back on him. Just enough to make him groan.
“Mmmhm… there you go bébé,” he whispered, utterly satisfied.
You glanced over your shoulder and smiled at him—mischievous, filthy, and completely gone.
Then he took his dick and ran the tip up and down your slit. Teasing. Spreading your slick across your folds and over your clit.
“So wet… Katrina miss me, hm?”
“She said she doesn’t wanna be empty anymore,” you said, voice thick with lust, eyes locked with his. “I think you should help her out Wilo.”
He grinned, cocky and crazed with lust.
Then—finally—he pushed in.
Only the tip.
And it was already perfect.
“Yessssss… ughhhh,” you sighed, pure relief leaking from every syllable as your head dropped.
“Ughhhh,” he groaned low and deep behind you, voice rich and full of satisfaction. The camera sat in full view, capturing every inch as his swollen, flushed tip slowly disappeared inside your soaked pussy, his other hand wrapped tightly around your hips like he was steadying himself just to survive the feel of you.
You were already clenching—around him, around the sheets, around the wild heat spreading through your limbs. You didn’t know how many times you were going to cum tonight. You just knew it would be too much. Maybe not enough. Either way, you needed it. You craved every drop of what this night had to offer.
He started slow. Shallow strokes. Just the tip. In and out. In and out. You could hear how wet you were, the obscene sound of your arousal echoing off the walls. You moaned without thinking, your swollen walls tightening with each pass of his head over your most sensitive spots.
“You said no games Wilo,” you huffed, breath hitching as you turned your head back to look at him, brows furrowed.
He locked eyes with you. “You’re right bébé,” he said—then with zero warning, he pushed all the way in.
You screamed, “Ahhhhhh—fuck!” as your hands clawed at the sheets, back arching uncontrollably. Your face buried into the mattress like it could soften the impact of how deep he was.
Wilo set the camera down, knowing this wasn’t going to be a one-hand moment. He needed both. Both to handle you. To control this. To lose himself.
He grabbed your head, angling it toward the camera so it could see the wrecked expression on your face. And then—he started to really fuck you.
Long, heavy strokes. Thick. Intentional. Every thrust sank into you like he wanted to leave a permanent mark. His hips slapped against your ass, his balls landing with perfect rhythm. The sound alone had your eyes rolling back.
“Oh—” he moaned, deep and heady, “you feel so fucking good. So good.” His head dropped back.
You could feel it. Another orgasm creeping up like fire licking your spine. He didn’t stop. His hand lifted in the air and came down hard on your ass.
The slap stung—but in the best way.
“Again baby,” you begged, pushing your hips back onto him, needing more.
He smacked it again. Harder this time.
You moaned like a prayer. Like a promise. It hurt—but god, it felt so fucking good.
You looked right into the camera. But it wasn’t close enough. It needed to see this. Needed to catch it all. So you reached beside you and grabbed it, angling it perfectly beneath where his thick dick was disappearing inside you.
“So nasty for me bébé,” he said with a smirk, completely turned on by your boldness. This was what he loved—when you let go, when you stopped pretending and just gave in to the chaos between you.
His grip tightened around your hips. He started slamming into you, faster, harder, your pussy stretched and soaked, your moans almost turning into sobs.
This was the screwin’ your friends joked about.
The headboard knocked against the wall.
Your whole body jolted forward with every powerful thrust.
“Fuck—Wilo—oh my God, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum!” you cried out.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, unrelenting, and just like that, you came around him with a scream.
“Ughhh—oh yesssss!” you shouted.
The camera captured it all. Your pussy spasming violently, gripping him like a vice. Slick and creamy, your release clung to the base of his dick.
Your arms gave out, and your knees buckled as you collapsed flat on your stomach, panting and dazed.
Wilo slowly pulled out and grabbed the camera, angling it downward to show his wet, glistening dick.
“Made a mess all over me,” he said, voice thick, pride swelling behind every word. Then he spread your cheeks, exposing your glistening, dripping entrance.
“And look at this… I love fucking this pussy,” he whispered. His tone made your spine tremble.
He placed the camera on your nightstand, carefully adjusting it so it captured both of you fully. He wasn’t planning to pick it up again until he was watching his cum leak out of you.
Wilo laid down beside you and whispered, “Sit here” gesturing toward his face.
You didn’t think you had the strength left in you—but you moved anyway. Straddled his hips and scooted forward, inch by inch until your wet core hovered above his mouth.
He didn’t wait. His arms locked around your thighs, and he pulled you down.
You hissed at the sharp sting of his mouth on your oversensitive clit. He sucked it in like he missed it. Like he needed it.
His big brown eyes stared up at you—soft, unblinking, almost innocent—while his tongue worked filthily between your folds.
You started grinding. Slow, needy. His nose bumped your clit as his tongue dove deeper. You gasped.
“Oh fuck, William, I’m gonna cum again. Please…”
You didn’t know why you begged. You never had to. He always gave you everything.
He hummed against your clit, the vibration forcing your hips to rock harder. You were close again. So close. And then—
Something shifted. Sharp. Sudden.
Before you could process it, clear liquid burst from between your thighs and into his open mouth.
You screamed.
Your body shook with the force of it, legs trembling, thighs clamping around his face.
“Oh my God, oh my God—fuck!” you wailed.
He never looked away. Even with his face soaked, even as your eyes clamped shut from the force of it all, his gaze was locked on you.
He was hypnotized—by the way your chest bounced, by the pleasure shaking your entire frame.
When your body finally stilled, you tried to slide back down his chest. Shaky, dazed, breathless.
“Katrina almost got me that time” he laughed, his voice ragged.
You couldn’t even speak. He didn’t mind.
He just pulled you in and kissed you—messy, wet, raw—just like how you kissed him after he ate you the first time.
His face glistened with your release. His neck, his beard, his lips.
You loved how he smelled with you on him.
If you could bottle it and make him wear it, you would.
He laid between your legs like he belonged there—because he did. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, legs hooked over his hips as if your body refused to let him go. He kissed you slow, deep, until your lungs forgot how to work without his breath in them. His hands mapped you like he was rediscovering you—gripping your thighs, palming your waist, squeezing your breasts. When he slid one of your legs higher, propping it up just right so the camera on the nightstand could catch every second of him stretching you open, you shivered. You knew what he was doing. He wanted a memory—full view of the way your pussy welcomed him in.
“I’m happy I came,” he whispered, pressing kisses over your cheeks, your jaw, the soft skin under your eye. “Missed you.”
Your heart tugged in your chest. The sincerity in his voice hit different when it was between strokes and moans.
“I missed you too, William,” you replied honestly, voice small but sure. You pulled him in again, and just like that, he sank inside you.
The stretch was immediate. The burn and the fullness took your breath away. You moaned into his mouth, arms clenching around his shoulders. Your nails scraped lightly down his back as he began to thrust—deep, not soft, not slow. He wasn’t being careful now. He was fucking you. Giving you the ache you craved. The bed creaked violently beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall in a stuttering rhythm. The side table trembled, a glass toppling over and hitting the floor with a dull thud, ignored. The pillows fell off the bed completely. None of it mattered. You were consumed.
He grunted into your ear, hot breath brushing your neck. “Don’t pull it out. You better fucking leave it in.”
Your back arched at that. “Wilo—fuck, please—” you whimpered, and that only made him go harder.
This was the rhythm your body begged for when he was gone. The kind of pace that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. Just rough enough to leave you sore, but never enough to make you want it to stop. Your pussy pulsed around him with every thrust. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form words—just moan and scream, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.
“Can you hear it?” he growled into your ear. “How wet you are for me chérie.”
You could. It was obscene. The slick, messy squelch of your bodies meeting, again and again. It sounded like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper. Like it didn’t want to let him go either. It sounded like fresh mac and cheese. Like soggy cereal. Like heaven.
You were soaked. The kind of soaked that made the sheets damp beneath you. The kind of soaked that had your thighs and his glistening. The kind of soaked that meant your laundry would be a whole different battle tomorrow.
Then he hit a spot—one he hadn’t touched before tonight—and your eyes snapped open. That was it. That was the trigger. A tidal wave of pleasure surged through your belly, and your mouth fell open in a silent scream.
“Oh—fuck! Wilo!” you cried out as your orgasm slammed into you, unstoppable. And just like that, he followed.
“Bébé,” he groaned against your neck, voice strained as his hips stuttered.
You both came, bodies jerking in unison, sweat mixing with cum, breath catching like you’d both run a marathon. He filled you up completely, spilling deep inside you with long, guttural moans, hips twitching as your pussy milked every drop from him. You swore you could feel him throb as he emptied himself.
He laid there a while, just breathing. Listening to your soft gasps. One of your legs still hung limply over his shoulder, trembling with the aftershocks. He lowered it gently and pressed soft kisses all over your face, still whispering your name like a prayer.
“You alright? How you feel?” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face.
“I’m good,” you nodded with a slow smile. “I’m good Wilo.”
He sat up, slowly pulling out of you with a deep breath. He grabbed the camera quickly, eager to capture what he knew would be his favorite part. He pointed it down between your legs just as his thick, warm cum began to spill out of you. It dripped over your folds, creamy and heavy, a glistening reminder of how much you took from him. He dipped two fingers inside you, gathering a bit of the mess and dragging it back out slowly, then raised the camera to your flushed, glowing face.
“Open” he said lowly.
You looked right into his eyes as you opened your mouth, and he slid those fingers between your lips. You sucked them clean without breaking eye contact, moaning softly as you did.
He groaned. “Mmm.”
Then he leaned in to kiss you again—wet, messy, unhurried. His face and neck were still slick with your scent. You could smell yourself on him, and you loved it. If you could bottle that scent and make him wear it every day, you would.
Still holding the camera steady, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Bye,” with a cheeky little wave and soft giggle.
You laughed too, flushed and breathless as the screen faded to black.
He tossed the camera somewhere on the bed, not caring where it landed. All he wanted was you in his arms. He pulled you close, cradling your back to his chest, his chin resting gently on your shoulder as his breath tickled your neck.
“Thanks for letting me come over” he murmured, his voice quieter now, gentler. The rough edge of lust was gone, replaced by something softer. “I really need this.”
You let out a little hum, barely able to speak through the haze of exhaustion. “I needed you too… missed you a lot,” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly, lips heavy with sleep.
He smiled against your skin, rubbing slow circles into your stomach. “I’ll see you more now. Season’s over. I can come to you, we can keep doing this… if you like.”
You loved that he said it like that. No pressure. No awkward questions. No trying to make it something it wasn’t. He got it. He always got it. This wasn’t about love or promises—it was about the space you two created when you were together. Fucking. Laughing. Touching. Talking sometimes. Just two people doing what felt good with no expectations. And you loved that.
“Mhmm,” you replied, smiling faintly. “I want that. I wanna do this with you. More.”
He kissed the back of your shoulder in response. You both lay there in silence for a while, your breathing syncing up. The heat of his body behind you, the soft weight of his arm across your waist, the occasional brush of his lips against your back—it was perfect.
Eventually, he stirred, voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the comfort you’d settled into. “I will clean up and shower. Have to go back before coach finds out I’m not there. I will be in big trouble.”
You nodded sleepily, barely opening your eyes.
He slipped out of bed and padded softly to the bathroom. You heard the water run, the sound of drawers opening. A few minutes later, he returned with warm clothes for himself and a handful of wet wipes for you. He moved gently, cleaning between your thighs with such care it almost made you emotional. Like you weren’t just someone he fucked. Like you were someone he wanted to care for.
After he wiped you clean, he scooped you up into his arms without a word and carried you to the couch. He knew you loved sleeping here sometimes, wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket with the soft light from the kitchen glowing nearby. He laid you down, covered you carefully, then stroked your head with a tenderness that made your heart ache a little.
“Rest,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”
And you did. You drifted off right there on the couch, warm, clean, and satisfied. Not just from the sex—but from the feeling of being understood. Held. Wanted, in the way that mattered to you.
“alrighty” you smile tapping Trossard’s chest “you’re good to go”
that morning the media team had been briefed on a new concept for some content, mic’ing the players up for the new kit photoshoot. At first it sounded like a good idea, you would get the rawest version of Arsenal FC, until your work friend Naomi reminded you of how unfiltered Wilo tended to be when you were in his vicinity
“i’m working backstage today, listening in on the mic feeds” you responded with a shrug “he won’t see much of me”
“okay girl, but don’t say i didn’t warn you” she shrugged
and warn you she did.
as you sat at the mic station, headphones in and alternating between the feeds of Saliba, Gabriel and Trossard, is when you settled on listening to Wilo when you heard him
"God it was so hard getting up this morning, she looked so pretty in my jersey, messy haired and just" Wilo breathes out dreamily "fuck"
"alright man, you're just about to pop a boner in your pants" Gabriel laughs
“at least she’s here to fix it” Wilo joked to which Gabriel made fake gag noises
Lord knows if you were fair skinned you’d flush red, Naomi looked over at you with a smirk, having heard Wilo’s words herself
“i told you so” she mouthed at you
throwing her a look, you took the headphones off and walked over to the backdrop where Wilo was standing next to Gabriel
“sorry, just need to fix the mic” you say to the photographer
“missed me?” Wilo teases as you fiddle with his collar
“no” you say “but you might wanna watch your words, half the production company heard what you just said”
“aahhh” Wilo says with realisation before smirking at you “am i embarrassing you?”
“you’re enjoying this you asshole” you say slapping his chest
“maybe just a little bit” Wilo giggles
“nothing is going to be funny when they fire me for your comments” you say to him
“okay okay, fine, i’ll stop” he says putting his hands up in defeat
you shoot him a look of warning before backing up to your station again
