#the official lab box | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trivia-yandere · 7 months ago

Text

sentient

you're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom @bangtans-momma @chimmy-licious @ultimatebasura @

word count: 12.513

warning: smut, dirty talking, cyborg namjoon duh, nipple sucking/pinching, face-riding, oral sex, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie, intense orgasming, possessive namjoon duh, carbon monoxide poisioning, yandere tendancies, character death(s)

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“Seriously?” you sigh with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t think I can handle anymore of your science bullshit.”

“Science bullshit?” Karan scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “You should be honored to get all of my science bullshit for free. What I give you can go for thousands!”

You’ve known Karan since grade school and he hasn’t changed a bit. His skin remained the same deep russet color, his eyes just as dark and kind but determined. His dark hair often grew out past his shoulders, and when it did, it told you that he was working on something that took up all his time.

Sure, Karan grew taller and his voice deepened a bit. He decided that when he wasn’t - in your words - emerged in his science bullshit, he did go to the gym and bulked from the once scrawny boy you remember. However, that didn’t change that he was a geek, a term of endearment.

You should have expected Karan to be at your doorstep with his hair as long and thick that’s tied in a low ponytail in the back. It meant he was working on something that took all of his time - and it meant he wanted you to be the test dummy, of course.

“Karan,” you let out a breath. “what’s in the box that it took you and 6 of your geek ass colleagues-”

“Y/N!” Karan gasps, his head turning to said colleagues who are awkwardly standing by your front door. “Lower your voice.”

“Karan.”

“Right.” Karan claps his hands. The box is large and wooden and stands taller than him. It was a struggle to even get it through the door - hence 7 men had to bring it in - but they managed. “This is my gift to you.” Karan says, turning around to go to open the box.

“A gift?” you scoff, though you give Karan hell, you do appreciate his friendly gestures. “Or am I just a test subject?”

“Both.” Karan answers with a snort. The wooden frame opens and you nearly jump out of your skin when you witness what was inside of it. “This is-”

“What the fuck is that!” you screech, your skin crawling with goosebumps.

“If you would shut the fuck up, Y/N, and let me speak.” Karan hisses. “This is an android.”

You clasp a hand over your mouth to not let out another scream when Karan takes a step back to admire his work.

The android was so lifelike and it frightened you. It’s tall - taller than Karan or any of the other 6 men he brought here. Your eyes zone in on it’s face - it was so lifelike that it’s uncanny.

“Why don’t you have a closer look before I turn him on.”

“Karan,” you shake your head instantly. “this is too much.”

Karan lets out a groan. “Y/N, be mindful. Androids so lifelike go out for thousands of dollars. This is the first official model and-”

“And of course you want me to experience a heart attack day and night, huh?!” you hiss, your eyes unable to move away from the life-like robot. You take a deep breath and try to do as Karan says and be mindful. “Karan, I don’t think I can handle something like this.”

“Why not?”

“I…” you shake your head. You aren’t aware when the last time any man - unless it was Karan - entered your home. Knowing you, you’d forget about the robot all together until you wake up in the middle of the night for some water and see it there. You’d probably die on the spot - that or try to attack it which would force the robot to kill you.

“You’re thinking too much into it, Y/N.” Karan speaks, probably reading your thoughts just by looking at the terrified look on your face. “I’ll meet you guys back at the lab, okay? I should be able to get him started.”

“Karan, no.” you nearly pleaded with your friend as the other scientist lead themselves out of your home.

“You’ll come to enjoy him, Y/N.”

“Him? You mean it?” Did you sound offensive at the moment? It was an android and could they really have gender roles.

“Him.” Karan corrects. “It’s a male android.”

“I don’t see how.” you murmur under your breath.

“He has a dick.” Karan shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe if you had one inside of you-”

“Don’t go there, Karan. When’s the last time you-”

“Hello.”

You shriek once more when you hear the robot speak, a deep voice sounding throughout your small home.

“Ah, hello. It didn’t take you long to power on.” Karan smiles. “Come, Namjoon, get out of the box, please.”

Your heart is racing and your fight or flight senses are activated. Your first thought is to indeed run - run far as you could to be away from him. “You…named him?” you murmur to Karan, your eyes glued to the android who does as Karan says.

“Namjoon named himself.” Karan explains.

This wasn’t sitting right with your spirit.

“Namjoon, this is Y/N. The one I was telling you about.”

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened. What did Karan mean? It wasn’t as if the robot was a living, breathing person - he was created in a lab!

“It didn’t take me a week to create an android, Y/N. It took years of my time.” Karan glances at you. “I’ve programmed Namjoon just for you. Years of collecting data-”

“Karan.” you raise a hand to stop him from speaking. You shake your head. “What do you mean you…programmed it-”

“He.” Karan grits his teeth.

“-for me?”

Karan takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you the whole truth for there was a possibility you’d be beyond freaked out, but he could tell you a fraction of it.

“Namjoon know’s your likes and dislikes.” Karan begins. “He knows your allergies and just what to do if you have a reaction.”

“What…the fuck…?” your eyes widened. “Is this not a HIPAA violation?”

“Not when it benefits you, no.” Karan shakes his head. “I programmed Namjoon to be the perfect…” he tilts his head. “...assistant?”

You scoff.

“Like Siri or Alexa but…” Karan points at Namjoon. “...alive!”

You bring yourself to glance back at…Namjoon. He is tall, towering over both you and Karan. He’s waiting patiently, his eyes - a dark shade of brown - already on you. He offers a smile that causes your heart to jump once more. You notice that his cheeks are dimpled and he has a set of pearly white teeth.

“Take a closer look, Y/N. Touch him.” Karan insists, lightly patting your shoulder. “He doesn’t feel robotic.”

It takes you five minutes of hesitation, but you do. You touch the skin of his cheek and your eyes widened by how human he did feel. Warm to the touch, soft skin. You tilt your head. “Explain yourself, Karan.”

Karan swallows and chuckles to himself. He understands what questions you have and it’s easier to lie for your sake than to tell you the truth - being that Namjoon was once full human and doesn’t have any memories of his human life. Now he is more of what people consider a "cyborg". No, that would cause you to panic, and in return would cause Namjoon to, as well, as he is designed to protect and serve you.

“I can go on and on about my science bullshit to explain to you why Namjoon is so human-like, but that’ll only bore you.”

You groan at how right Karan was. You muster up the courage to continue to feel Namjoon and how human he truly was. His hair was soft and a shiny black color that matches perfectly with the cool and tan tone of his skin.

“Doesn’t he feel like a man?” Karan questions. “We know you need one.”

“Fuck you, Karan.” you snatch your hand from Namjoon, who is eerily still and watching you.

“No. Buuuut Namjoon can.” Karan cackles at your reaction. “You’re going to hate me, Y/N, but we’re best friends, right?”

You swallow back your response.

“I hacked into your devices. Namjoon knows…a lot about you.”

It takes you a moment to understand what Karan was insinuating.

Your body heats up. “Karan!” you hiss, your hands turning to fists.

“Y/N, you and I both know you need to get dicked-”

“Karan!” you hiss, the amount of times you had said his name in under an hour is insane.

“I’m leaving. Let me know if anything is out of order. There shouldn’t be seeing as Namjoon’s took years to perfect.” Karan smiles, making his way towards your front door. “Now, excuse me.”

You want to follow after Karan and punch his head in, but you decide not to. You take a few deep breaths.

“Your heart rate is increasing.” Namjoon speaks, his voice causes you to yelp. “You should try calming yourself down.”

“Easy for you to say.” you murmur, more to yourself. You stand a little straighter, your heart continuing to race - something the android could sense somehow. You would be sure to ask Kanan how later. “I…I don’t know what to say.” you murmur awkwardly.

“That’s fine.” Namjoon chuckles so normally that it brings chills up your spine. “You don’t need to feel shy around me, Y/N.”

You swallow, body heating up once more. Curse the way Karan built this android. It’s noticeable that Namjoon was a special invention. He appeared so lifelike, carved beautifully, you’d admit. You pondered how his voice didn’t sound robotic, or even the way he speaks, blinks, smiles - everything.

“I…I’m sorry.” you take a deep breath. “This may be a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid, Y/N.” Namjoon lightly shakes his head. “Ask away.”

“Do you…need to be charged?”

Namjoon cracks a smile and shakes his head once more. “No. I do not.” he answers. “I do have a rest mode, however. I’ll allow myself to rest at times to recharge my system.”

You nod your head slowly and then bite your lip.

“Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want you to feel like my slave.” you attempt to joke.

“I was made to serve you, Y/N. Ask anything of me and I’ll do my best to achieve it.”

Namjoon was so human-like.

Karan explained in scientific terms as to why and that only caused more confusion - but in simpler terms, he explained that Namjoon was similar to a digital assistant like an Alexa or Siri, of course. He “adapted” to your likes and dislikes and modern society. He studied how men (the ones you were attracted to, how Karan knew this was beyond you) around his age - late 20’s - would talk and walk.

No one knew that Namjoon was an android - no one but you and Karan and of course, Namjoon himself.

Living with Namjoon took a toll on you at first. You had woken up one day and forgotten that the android was there and had walked out in the middle of the night to find him. He was resting as he said he was, only this time leaning against the wall of your kitchen. You screamed at the top of your lungs and activated Namjoon who was programmed to think that an intruder was in the house. He had sensed your heart rate skyrocket and was prepared to attack - only he was said intruder.

After that night, you gave Namjoon his own room. You had used your spare bedroom as a storage and closet all at once, but if Namjoon was going to be here then you’d have to show some type of respect to him.

As time went on, you grew to enjoy Namjoon’s company. He often sat around and waited for you to need him. Having no partner meant that you were accustomed to being alone and thus doing things by yourself. When you couldn’t reach something, you weren’t opposed to jumping onto something to grab it or grabbing a chair. Namjoon came in handy in that department.

Namjoon would also build your furniture - your entire bedroom set being one that you were grateful for.

Namjoon took the liberty in ordering any necessities that were lowstock, along with groceries - Karan had managed to implement a chip that could save your data to Namjoon so he could do it internally. You’re still unsure how you feel about it, but for now you’re sure it works.

One thing you learned about Namjoon, being an android, was his desire to gain more knowledge. He would often read books. You had allowed him to order as much as he wanted since he was a help to you the past few months - and he appeared content. He would tell you what he read about, albeit fiction or nonfiction, you’d listen.

“There’s no way you can get any smarter, Namjoon.” you said to him one day as you catch him reading yet another book - this time a math one that would hurt your brain if you’d attempt to look through it.

“Knowledge is power, Y/N.” was the android’s response.

As for Namjoon, he was content with living with you. He got to make sure you were safe and always assured that you were up to date with any doctor appointments. He would keep track of any reminders you’d tell him - “call so and so later,” “don’t forget to take the meat out the freezer at this time”, “call Karan to annoy him” and so on.

Namjoon doesn’t tell you that he knows more about you - deep facts that you would probably never tell anyone. He doesn’t want to embarrass you and cause your heart rate to grow high, so he doesn’t tell you. Like how he doesn’t tell you that he can hear everything - especially the buzzing noises at night when you play with yourself mixed with soft, but oftentimes disappointed moans. He recalls the time when your heartbeat became quick as you were going to cum just for the vibrator to die - how disappointed you must’ve felt.

Namjoon knocks on your door five minutes after your shower once he’s sure that you are dressed - his eyes could see past the closed door and into your bedroom when he knows you’re rubbing lotion onto your already soft skin. You’re dressed for bed, as well, in shorts that barely cover yourself and a tank top with one of the straps missing as you’ve grown to love the old top.

“Joon,” you furrow your brows as you open the door. “is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Namjoon nods.

“You don’t usually seek me out this late at night. You’re usually resting.”

“You’ve been working hard the last few days.” Namjoon responds. “There’s knots in your neck.”

You sigh with a short nod of your head. “You’re right. I’ve been working overtime lately.” you explain. “I’m glad the clothes I got fit you. I wasn’t sure what size to get.” your eyes scan the pajamas he wore - a simple plaid pajama pants with a dark color shirt. Namjoon insisted that you buy him simple pajama’s wear so he could be as human as possible.

“Thank you.” Namjoon offers a dimple smile that causes your heart to beat faster - he senses it. “Would you like a massage?”

“Uh…what?” your body heats at the sudden question. “You never asked me that before.”

“Indeed I haven’t.” Namjoon tilts his head. “But I sense that the knot in your neck is causing you discomfort. I don’t want you to sleep like that, you might wake up even worse.”

You take a deep breath with a shrug. You’re sure he was right - he was the artificial intelligent android that knew everything, not you.

“I don’t want to treat you like a slave, Joon.” you joke, but even you were curious about how a massage would be. Namjoon’s hands were large and you pondered how they would feel on you.

Namjoon smiles once more. “I was made to serve you, Y/N.” he murmurs, so low that it catches you off guard. “If you do not want me to then I will not force it. But please never feel as though you are a burden to me.”

A massage wouldn’t be bad, right? Sure, Namjoon was hot - you curse Karan for making something like him - but he was an android. Surely he didn’t feel the things a human could and wouldn’t jump at any sexual opportunities.

“Why not?” you sigh, opening your door wider for him to enter your room. “I do have a few knots and my back has been killing me lately.”

“I have watched massage videos while you showered.” Namjoon speaks. “To perfect my craft.”

“Of course you have.” you laugh to yourself. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

You’ve gotten used to Namjoon being able to control most of the devices in your home - like the lights. He dims them as he enters your room and for your speakers, he adds a soft melodic tune. “For you to be comfortable.”

You lay as Namjoon advises you to, on your stomach with a few of your pillows beneath you to not be in discomfort.

You had to admit that Namjoon was good with his hands, and even that wasn’t much of a compliment. He works his thumbs right into your neck, massaging out any knots he sees.

Your eyes were growing heavy and Namjoon senses how relaxed you are, mind clear. He works his hands onto your back, rubbing along your spine and sides. Your breathing is low and steady, an ultimate sign of how relaxed you were.

Namjoon’s hands go lower and lower, massaging your tense muscles with the perfect amount of pressure that you couldn’t help but moan low to yourself, unbeknownst that Namjoon could hear every sound.

“Feels nice?” Namjoon questions softly, both hands gently massaging past either side of your hips. He offers a firm squeeze before working his way down to your thighs.

“Mhmm.” you hum, cheek pressed firmly against your soft pillows. “It feels nice.”

“You are relaxed. I can sense your heartbeat.” Namjoon states as he often does, giving you updates about your own body that he appears to understand more about than you do.

“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’ve been stressed lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Namjoon slightly nods his head with a bit of a tilt. “I have.” he responds, his hands massaging down your calves and slowly back up your outer thighs. “I could assist you if you’d like.”

You snort. Though your eyes were heavy and you could truly fall asleep like this, you decided against it. Namjoon was a good conversationalist. “Help me with work?” you question, though rhetorically. “I’ll just take some personal time to relieve some stress.”

“I could assist you in relieving stress. Though, if you’d like me to help in your field of work, I would be happy to do that, as well.”

“What do you mean?” you question, genuinely confused.

Namjoon is silent for a moment, and in his silence you begin to ponder what he was speaking of.

Namjoon’s hands are large and warm - he hasn’t admitted that he could radiate his own heat, another sensor that Karan has put in him in case, in any instant, you needed it. They slide past your ass in massage movements and it catches you off guard that your eyes slowly open, but you remain silent.

Namjoon’s hands don't linger as he can sense your quicken heartbeat and he begins to massage up your lower back.

“I believe you’re stressed out, yes, but more than you lead on.” Namjoon finally speaks.

“Namjoon-”

“I could help you, if you’d like. I know whatever toy-”

“Namjoon!” you’re embarrassed now and immediately, you get up from your laying position to turn to look at the android. His eyes appear curious instead of soulless like they should be for an android. “I…I don’t know what…”

Namjoon tilts his head. “I know you’re left disappointed with your vibrator.” he says bluntly. “I can sense it everytime.”

Your blood runs cold and now you’re left truly embarrassed. Namjoon could sense when you were…you wanted to die.

Curse Karan for creating such an advanced android.

“I want to help you…cum.” Namjoon’s system assists in finding the right words that would be considered “modern” and not too scientific to turn you off. “I would like to help you cum.”

“I-I don’t think that’s n-necessary!”

“Why not?” Namjoon questions. “I won’t die like your vibrator would.

Your legs clench together and you gasp in disbelief. He knew about that, too?

“You’re embarrassed. There’s no need to be. I’m here to serve you, Y/N. Like Karan said, I know what you like.”

Fuck Karan - again and again. He has hacked into your devices and showed poor Namjoon what you watched on whatever porn site. It couldn’t be considered what you wanted to happen to you, because at times you did watch some hardcore shit.

You take a deep breath.

“I…”

“If you don’t like it,” Namjoon sets his palm upon your bare thigh and you visibly stiffen. “then I’ll stop, just tell me.”

This was crazy, you think. Namjoon is an android and you didn’t want to treat him like a sex robot. You imagined only incels would do that - but here you were contemplating it. It doesn’t help that Namjoon felt so human - his skin was as soft as a human. Warm at the touch, as well. He was carved so perfectly that it’s hard to believe that this wasn’t a human man before you.

“O…Okay.” you meekly murmur, innocent eyes staring right back at him.

Namjoon works his way towards you slowly. He tests to see what causes your heart to jolt. His hands gently push you back against the pillows as he hovers above you.

“Remember, Y/N, I was made for you.” he reminds you.

Namjoon allows his hands to place themselves along your breast, not hesitating. You are stiff, silently watching as he gently rubs them. You weren’t wearing a bra - you never wear one to bed - and it’s easy for him to do what he does next.

Namjoon sneaks his way inside your tank top to grasp your breast. Your nipples are hardened almost instantly. His thumbs rub along the sensitive bud, dark eyes flickering to you.

“Feels good?” Namjoon whispers, but he already knows it to be true.

You slowly nod your head.

Namjoon continues to rub along your breast, often pinching and twirling them between his thumb and index finger.

You fight back the moans, eyes watching Namjoon between your eyelashes. Maybe it was because Karan was right - you haven’t been with a man for who knows how long. It causes great embarrassment that even Namjoon, an android, knows this, as well.

“Relax.”

Namjoon murmurs, coming a bit closer to you.

“Treat me like you would another man.” Namjoon suggests. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just you and I here.”

You nod your head slowly, biting your bottom lip. It’s easier said than done - how could you look at yourself in the mirror after this was done and over with? In the moment it’d feel amazing, sure, but once the high is down you’re positive you’ll feel like a complete freak of nature.

You lean forward, taking a deep breath. No one had to know that you were doing this - it’s something you’d take to your grave. Namjoon rarely left the house with you, and even then, his loyalty was with you, right? Maybe in ten years you’ll admit this to Karan, but until then…

“Can I…can I…” you bite your lip harshly, body heating up. “...kiss you? It’s um…it’ll be weird if I-”

“Yes.” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, sensing your growing embarrassment and discomfort.

You nod your head, unable to say anything further. You begin to lean forward, sitting with your legs crossed. You place a hand on Namjoon’s shirt, leaning even more towards him.

“You act as if you’ve never kissed a man before.”

Namjoon is teasing you. There’s a glint in his eyes and a soft smirk on his lips. You want to roll your eyes at how typical Namjoon was for an android. Your hands snatch Namjoon’s loose shirt and force yourself to kiss him.

Namjoon’s lips are soft, which shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. It’s eerily soft and it always has you pondering just how Namjoon was created; how someone could build Namjoon in just a few years.

“It's not so hard now is it?” Namjoon murmurs against your lips, offering another quick peck.

“Shut up.” your response is muffled against Namjoon’s lips, an urge to continue your kisses upon them. “I’m trying my best.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond - he knows you are doing just that. It’s a weird feeling for you, he’s sure, to feel how human he is. Skin as soft as yours, radiating the exact amount of warmth. He doesn’t maneuver as an android nor does he speak as one - it would freak anyone out.

“I think you’re still holding back.”

Namjoon is the first to speak, but he brushes his lips against yours for a moment before continuing. “Come,” he says, ushering you closer to him.

Come for Namjoon meant you sitting directly on top of him, your legs straddling him beneath you. You swallow as Namjoon places his hands securely onto your hips, tapping his fingers against them.

“Now, let’s continue.” Namjoon pecks your lips once more, allowing you to adjust to the new position and to follow his lead.

It’s just as different as before, but again, you tell yourself that you have to see Namjoon as a man, and not an android. You have to trick your mind in thinking that Namjoon wasn’t someone created in a lab to assist you - maybe you met him…in a bar?

No, too cliche, you tell yourself. Maybe at a cafe of sorts while he was reading a book. Namjoon enjoyed reading.

It was easier for you to pretend Namjoon and you met in more normal circumstances for you not to feel like a total sexually frustrated woman.

You’re unsure how long it’s been - five minutes and forty-six seconds, Namjoon knows - since Namjoon and you have been here. However, your tongue dances with his, your nails digging into his shoulders. His hands are roaming your body entirely, gripping and tugging at your clothing.

You admit it feels good to be touched like this - to be on top of Namjoon kissing without a care.

“I want to make you feel good.” Namjoon speaks when the two of you - of course you since he didn’t need to - decides to halt your makeout session to breathe.

Even knowing what you’re doing here would ultimately end with you and Namjoon doing something sexual, him stating such causes your stomach to jump with nerves.

“I…”

“You’re nervous. I can sense it.” Namjoon can hear your heart beating so loudly due to your nerves. He squeezes your hips and offers a low smile and even then his dimples sink deep into his cheeks.

“No,” you shake your head. It’s pointless to try and cover up your anxiousness from Namjoon as he could sense it regardless. Still, you’ve already gone this far and you’re sure you could stop now, but you didn’t want to. “...um, how do you want to do…that?”

Namjoon doesn’t respond and instead presses a peck onto your lips. He doesn’t linger there and instead begins to kiss further down, starting with your jaw. He goes towards your neck, fingers tapping up your waist to your lower back and eventually up your spine. It causes you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along your skin.

Namjoon’s tongue is warm upon the nape of your neck, massaging your smooth skin. His teeth sink into your neck, grinding it only a bit to force a deep moan from your mouth - exactly what he was looking for.

“You’re very pretty, Y/N.”

Namjoon words catch you by surprise and slowly, your eyes open in response. Namjoon’s caught up with his kissing, going lower and lower. He can sense your body temperature rising only slightly, your heart beating so loud in your chest that it could be alarming if you didn’t bring yourself to relax.

“You act like you’ve never done this before.” Namjoon’s tone is teasing once more and you could only snicker.

“You act like you have.” you retort with a raise of your eyebrow.

Namjoon scoffs. His eyes flicker upwards at you, your breast now in his face. You can see the gears in his mind - did Namjoon have a brain? You’d have to ask Karan another time - as he processes your words.

“I know how to pleasure you, Y/N.” Namjoon once more pokes his tongue out, trailing it along your breast teasingly. “I know exactly what you like for me to do.”

You swallow, biting your lip. You weren’t going to back down to the android. You have to hold your own.

“Are you sure you’d be able to deliver?”

Namjoon doesn’t speak like you expect him to. Instead, his tongue - so warm and still human-like - wraps around your erect nipple. He latches onto it and continues to suckle. The action was so sudden that you yelped aloud.

Namjoon makes no sign of backing down. It wasn’t as if he had to halt for air - an added bonus. The sensation never stops and it causes your hips to jerk involuntarily, your shorts sticking to you as you go to rub yourself against him.

You had such an abundance of questions that swirls through your head - since Namjoon was an android, he couldn’t possibly get an erection.

Unless, of course, it was already…

You release another moan - this time long and deep at just the thought of him already being erect. The thought that you could just mound him at any given moment causes you to clench around nothing.

Namjoon senses just how aroused you are, your arms now around his neck as he continues to suckle on your nipples. He now has both of them right his mouth, sucking with all his might.

You’re rubbing yourself against him, wanting out of your shorts immediately. You could feel him - whatever it was beneath his pajama pants. You’re sure that it’s as real as the rest of Namjoon, more questions that you’ll leave unanswered as they were too complicated.

Namjoon pops your nipples from his mouth, a string of warm saliva connecting the two together. Very slowly does the tip of his tongue lick along your nipple, siren-like eyes looking right up at you.

Your pussy clenches again at the look of Namjoon, wishing he was deep inside of you with the same look on his face.

Fuck Karan and his creation, truly.

“You want to ride my face?”

You’re positive you were leaking and it would all come out when you get out of these shorts.

“I..I don’t…you’d let me do that?” you ask in disbelief.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Namjoon tilts his head. “I was made for you. You can cum all over me if you’d like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how Namjoon speaks nonchalantly. Dare you say it was cute coming from an android.

“Would you like that?” Namjoon murmurs, further pushing himself back onto your bed. He’s certain that you would like it as you hadn’t stopped grinding against him the entire time.

You nod your head hastily and Namjoon taps your back. You lift yourself all too quickly to remove your shorts and panties and toss them aside without a care.

Namjoon reaches his arm out towards you and you take it. “I can hear your heart beating.” Namjoon licks his lips, those siren-like eyes flickering from your face to your exposed bottom half. “Come,”

You’ve never been in this position before. You’ve almost always received oral while on your back - but this was new. You shouldn’t be embarrassed because Namjoon wasn’t a regular man. You didn’t have to be ashamed of how you looked, seeing as - according to him and Karan - he was made for you.

Namjoon’s fingers grip at your thighs to keep you in place and without much hesitation, his tongue dips between your folds. You jerk instantly at the newfound sensation, but you are unable to move. Namjoon makes sure of it.

Namjoon pleases you as if he’s the one receiving it, his tongue plunging deep between your folds and hammering right against your clit. Your hips are buckling, but he’d never allow you to be too far away from him.

Namjoon’s slurping is loud, but so are your moans. Your eyes are shut tightly because having to look down at Namjoon devour your pussy like a man starved was going to send you over the edge.

“J…Joon, slow down.” you groan with a shake of your head. Your thighs are shaking, stomach sinking in as you inhale. “...I don’t wanna make a mess-”

Namjoon ignores you all together, squeezing hands jutting your hips against his tongue. His eyes watch your face closely, eyes zoning in on the way you’re struggling to breath while moaning. Your eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to look at him.

Namjoon wanted you to make a mess all over him - this is what he was made for. He was created to serve your every need and craving. He was the perfect being for you; attentive and caring. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you as his master.

“Joon, I don’t think-”

Your eyes snap open when you feel Namjoon enter you - his fingers. They’re as long as they look and they fill you up so nicely. It was a mistake to look at Namjoon beneath you because this sight would forever be embedded in your mind.

“Oh shit,” you groan as Namjoon's fingers pound inside of your pussy. Your arousal coats his chin and now is dripping down his wrist, but he makes no sign of stopping.

With his free hand, Namjoon glides it up to grip your breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?” Namjoon hums, fingers curling into your pussy and hitting your spot with each thrust. “Talk, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes…!” you shriek, thighs widening to feel more. You needed more of Namjoon - whatever and however much he was willing to give. “Please make me cum, Joon. Please…”

The gears are turning now in Namjoon’s head with the clear demands - no matter how polite - you give him. After all, he was made to serve you and only you. So, Namjoon does as he is told. He quickens his fucking into your pussy that it squelches off of the walls, juices flying out and soaking his chest.

Over the course of the next few months consisted of moments of you and Namjoon entangled together. The following night after you came - entirely too much and the hardest you’ve ever had - you woke to Namjoon massaging you. He had insisted that you needed another full body massage before he left your bedroom to start a bath for you.

It wasn’t awkward as you initially thought it would be and maybe that had something to do with Namjoon not being human. It was easier to get through your own embarrassment as he only appeared to be the lovable assistant he assured you he was created to be for you.

You found yourself going to Namjoon more often than not and of course, he was always willing. You thought that maybe you were taking advantage of the poor android and using his endurance for your own sick pleasure, but Namjoon comforted you. He would always encourage you to come to him for whatever needs you needed fixed.

And of course you had.

Namjoon had made you cum too many times to count; each time more intense than the last. Your legs would be left shaking and tears would be nearly streaming down your face due to pure pleasure.

It was addicting and no matter how wrong it felt at times, you would always come back and return to Namjoon to make you feel good. He knew exactly how to speak to you and coach you through your orgasm. His voice would deepen in your ear, encouraging you to make a mess all over him - that it was okay to be doing this.

Whatever Karan did to program Namjoon in understanding your own kinks was amazing and incredibly terrifying all at the same time.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks one Friday evening. He had sat by and cleaned while you were showering. His senses caught that you were using your more expensive body wash and lotions - the one you typically used when you were going out. He watched behind your closed door as you dressed in a short, black dress that was entirely too tight for you to ever sit comfortably in.

“I, uh…” Namjoon senses your awkward laughter and he stops his scrubbing on the circular, glass bowl. The sink water runs as he awaits for you to answer, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “I…I’m going on a date.” you respond. “A, uh, blind date.”

“A blind date.” Namjoon repeats without a blink in his eye - did Namjoon ever blink?

“One of my co-workers set it up.” you look away for a moment. “Said she was tired of me being alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Namjoon continues washing the dishes, his eyes now leaving yours to focus on them. “I’m here.”

You smile.”I know you are.” you murmur. “But, she meant…someone human.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond and unlike him, you cannot sense anything. You weren’t an amazing creation like he was. He knew when you were going to be ill days before it even happened and he would prevent it. He learned how to cook by reading books carefully and assured that all your meals would be cooked for you right as he knew your stomach would start to churn.

Namjoon was amazing for the little things, as well. He would order whatever you needed right before it went out. He assured that your bills were paid on time and would often run errands for you when needed be - he just wasn’t a sex toy to get your high off of.

“I should be back tonight.” you trail off when Namjoon doesn’t say anything. You inhale. “Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?” Namjoon turns the water off and turns his eyes to look at you.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s nothing.” you mumble. You’re sure Namjoon didn’t feel any type of emotion and that wasn’t his fault. He knew how to display the idea of emotions when you needed him to. He would laugh at your jokes at times and be just as playful back, but maybe that was apart of how he was programed for you.

“You do not know this man, right?”

You’re at the door when Namjoon finally speaks. “Right.” you respond, placing your heels onto your feet.

“Then would you like for me to accompany you?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” you giggle. “It’ll be hard to explain why I have another man with me.”

“You do not know him. What if he’s not who he says he is?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Joon.” you shake your head with a low grin. “I appreciated it.”

“I do have to worry about you, Y/N. I wasn’t created to allow harm to come your way.”

“I won’t be harmed, Joon.” you raise your hands to calm him down. “It’s just a date at a restaurant.” you scoff.

Namjoon’s head snaps to the door just as a few knocks sound off. His eyes flashes and he sees the man just behind the door. He scans his face, the system in his mind calculating everything there was to this man - just who he was, where he worked and even details and information no one should have access to.

“He’s here, Joon.” you tilt your head. “You should be fine here, right? I’ll be gone no longer than 2 hours.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to your face and slowly, he nods. “Be safe.” he responds. “It should be a little windy tonight. You should grab a jacket.”

Your lips stretch into a smile and you nod your head. Your heels click over to Namjoon and you wrap your arms around him, your head in his chest. “It’s good that you always know the weather beforehand, huh?” you laugh before unraveling yourself from him. “I’ll grab a jacket on my way out. I’ll see you tonight?” you ask. “I want us to finish reading that mystery book. We’re so close to finding out who the killer is!”

Namjoon doesn’t move for the first hour, his eyes lingering on the same spot you were just standing. He counts the minutes you’ve been gone, processing the man you were with - a complete stranger to you - and just how comfortable you felt going out with him.

Namjoon busies himself by continuing to clean. You couldn’t manage to get through all the hard to reach places and he assures that he does, moving furniture and dusting the house top to bottom. You were no good if you were sick.

Namjoon scrubs the walls with scented detergent with a shake of his head at how you lived in such situations for so long - even if he worked months to assure everything was clean for you. He ponders if you noticed all the work he’s done to assure that you were safe from harm's way.

It wasn’t two hours like you’ve said. It was four. Namjoon is unable to stop counting until he hears your footsteps stumble through the door. Only it wasn’t just your two feet, but another set that alarms him. Immediately he springs into action, his eyes flashing through the wall of the second bedroom you had allowed him to rest in, dropping the book he was reading.

Namjoon’s eyes catch the familiar man standing behind you. You’re laughing along with him and you press a finger to his lips to shush him.

You’re drunk, Namjoon knows immediately. Not entirely drunk as you’re coherent, but you’re far beyond what you’re usually were; sober. You’re laughing more around the man who’s just as equally drunk as you are. You two nearly stumble onto the ground as you attempt to close the door.

Namjoon follows the way you and the man make your way to your bedroom. You close the door behind yourself quietly almost as if he couldn’t hear anything. He continues to watch you, unable to stop himself.

You and Namjoon often listen to podcasts and watch tv shows and he’s positive that this could end badly - this man could be a murderer for all he knows.

The man isn’t - as far as he knows. He had no criminal record, after all, but that wasn’t going to stop him from ensuring your safety.

This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home before. He only saw Karan a handful of times and you opted to talk to other friends over the phone. It’s weird that you did now out of all times - and not only that, but you were going to sleep with this unknown man.

30 minutes is what it took for it all to be over and Namjoon isn’t surprised in the slightest in knowing that you weren’t satisfied. The look of disappointment on your face is the easiest sign of it, but Namjoon knows you. He knows your body. He sensed the way your heart beat increased a bit and your breath hitches, only for it to die down when the man himself cums - never you.

Namjoon shakes his head. Of course you would be left unsatisfied. This man wasn’t someone who gave a damn about you or your pleasure. He was a random man who had no ties to you, so of course he couldn’t care less to make you cum - that's what Namjoon was for.

Namjoon knew you in and out. He knew everything there was about you - the side that you preferred to chew your food while you ate. He knew which side you preferred to sleep on at night and your entire morning schedule before work. It’s Namjoon that assures that your health is up to date and even scheduled two check-ups with your doctor so far.

Namjoon has to remind you about the dentist appointment, however, seeing as you haven’t gone in a few years. He shakes his head as his glowing eyes watch you walk the man out, a look of disappointment on your face.

“Want me to start you a shower?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at Namjoon’s sudden entrance. Your back leaned against your closed front door and hadn’t noticed him enter.

“I…I thought you were….resting?” You bite your lip. Namjoon didn’t need to sleep, of course, but you recall him stating that he’d often rest to recharge. Karan had once stated that if Namjoon goes outside, he could also recharge solarly - whatever that means.

Namjoon only stares blankly at you.

You bite your lip for a moment.

“I, uh, probably do need a shower.” you chuckle humorlessly. “Is everything okay?”

You can feel the tension in the room as Namjoon continues to stare at you.

Namjoon turns on his heels and saunters down the hall to the bathroom. His change of mood is different but maybe it’s all in your head and you were overthinking this.

Namjoon didn’t have mood swings.

“Thanks, Joon.” you murmur, entering the bathroom as he starts the shower. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Namjoon again doesn’t respond and instead begins to light candles - aromatherapy is what he called it when he started doing this for you. The different scents are soothing and relaxing just as Namjoon said they would be.

“Are you upset with me?” you question as you begin to disrobe, silk robe lying at your feet. “Is that a stupid question? I don’t know if androids can feel any type of emotion or-”

“Why did you bring him here?”

The shower water falls rough against the tub floor. You blink a couple times to process his question with a quick lick of your lips. “I, uh, didn’t know you…heard us.” you’re embarrassed now.

“I can hear everything.” Namjoon eyes you from his reflection in the mirror, his back turned towards you. “I can see everything, as well, Y/N. I can see right through these very walls.”

Your eyes widened a bit.

“Excuse me?”

Namjoon remains quiet as you internally question his words.

“You were watching us?” you are unsure if you should feel upset or further humiliated. If that was the case, that meant Namjoon saw how disappointing your sexlife truly was and just why you always came back to him time and time again. It causes you to close your eyes for a moment and mentally curse yourself - and for Karan for making Namjoon too perfect.

“That’s an invasion of privacy.” you mumble to yourself, turning away from Namjoon to begin your shower.

“You didn’t know that man.” Namjoon retorts. “He could have been a murderer.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “A murderer? He sells chicken.” you reach out your hand to feel the water - it’s always at a perfect temperature whenever Namjoon does it. He doesn’t have to configure it like you do.

Namjoon knows fully where the man works. He is scheduled to work at 9am the next day.

“What does that matter? You’re drunk.” Namjoon’s tone changes to one you haven’t heard before. “He could’ve taken advantage of you. Then I’ll have to kill him.”

You freeze, hand underneath the warm water. There’s a shiver up your spine and slowly, you turn towards the android. He’s facing you this time, eyes unmoving.

You’re unsure how to react to what Namjoon has said. Namjoon wouldn’t kill anyone. He barely left your side at times. He reads books and hell, he even shows interest in gardening.

But that didn’t mean Namjoon wasn’t capable of killing anyone. He wasn’t human - he’s highly intelligent. He could figure out anything in under a minute and just recently did you learn he could see you through your walls. There’s so much you don’t know about Namjoon already that it causes your heart to jolt.

“You’re becoming frightened of me.” Namjoon speaks. “That’s not my intention.”

“N-No, I-”

“I can sense your heartbeat quickening. The hair on your arm is rising, as well.” Namjoon interrupts. It’s pointless to lie to him. “I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that.”

Did you?

Namjoon’s eyes squint a bit, almost as if he could read your thoughts.

“I would never lie to you, either. I would kill him.” Namjoon admits, voice a bit monotone. “I would kill anyone who would harm you.”

Your hand was going to prune if you left it under the water any longer. You turn away from Namjoon and decide to get into the shower. You’re speechless for the time being, your heartbeat only quickening. You want to take Namjoon’s words as true - you never felt unsafe with the android around. But there’s something in his tone that does indeed frighten you.

There was a shift and Namjoon noticed it immediately.

You no longer allow Namjoon into your bedroom and any form of sexual encounters has slowly come to a halt.

You, when asked, stated that it wasn’t fair to Namjoon to be used as a sexual object for your own satisfaction if he couldn’t gain anything from it - and he dropped a bomb on you that you were too embarrassed (and ashamed) to ask Karan about.

“I feel everything.” was what Namjoon stated and it doesn’t sit right with your spirit. Androids shouldn’t feel things, right? Sex for him should have no feeling - how could it? Asking Karan wasn’t an option because then he’d know you were just as lonely as he said you were. Asking Namjoon wasn’t either because you had a feeling that even he wasn’t sure why.

Namjoon wasn’t content with you stopping him from pleasuring you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let it bother him. He was still here for whatever you needed. He continued to clean and started cooking for you, as well. He would read books to you still and it was soothing, similar to an audiobook. He didn’t make mistakes nor did he miss any words - it was perfect.

What wasn’t perfect was him coming around. The man who’s name he knew, but didn’t care to ever mention.

The same man who couldn’t make you cum - and never has. Why you brought him back time and time again was beyond him. You were always left disappointed and would eventually use your vibrator to fix it.

Similar to tonight. Namjoon watches the man leave your room and make his way out of the home and you lay on your bed with a few short breaths. You’re just as disappointed as you always are - what you’ll always be if you remained bringing around that man.

Namjoon tilts his head, his feet moving until they stop right outside your door. His glowing eyes turn back to normal and he raises his arm to lightly knock onto your door.

“Joon?” you ask from behind it. “Come in.”

You sit up against your headboard as Namjoon enters. He lingers at the door, the hallway light shining behind his tall frame.

“Was I…too loud?” you trail off, unsure of what Namjoon wanted at this hour. He has stopped attempting to come into your bedroom once you cut your sexual encounters off.

“Why was he here?”

You click your tongue, knitting your brows. You take a deep breath. “Excuse me?” you question in response. “Why are you questioning who I bring into my household, Namjoon?”

Your tone catches Namjoon off-guard and instantly he notices your growing irritation.

“It’s my job to protect-”

“Cut the bullshit, Namjoon.” you lift your hand to silence him. “I’m not in any danger. He’s been here almost every night.”

“And every night you lay here and buzz the nerves off of your clit because he cannot make you cum.” Namjoon shoots back.

Your eyes widen.

“Yet, you allow that man back into the household for what?” Namjoon steps into the room. He’s sporting plaid pajama shorts and a tanktop and appears to be ready for bed; in his case, to recharge. “To use your body to masturbate? He doesn’t pleasure you-”

“I told you to stop watching me.” you hiss, your hands clenching into fist.

“You haven’t came once, Y/N. Once.” Namjoon retorts with a shake of his head. “But you allow him to come back time and time again.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

Namjoon and you are staring right at one another, the tension as high as ever.

This was your first disagreement with Namjoon, the android not backing down. You’re a bit surprised by his response and unmoving nature.

“Namjoon.” your teeth grits. “Get. Out.”

“No.” Namjoon responses, gritting his own teeth - maybe to mock you. “I’m not going to sit by while you allow a nuisance back into our home.”

“Our home?” you snicker. “You act like you pay for anything around here.”

“You act like you clean anything around here.” Namjoon retorts. “Or get groceries. Or necessities. Or rearrange anything in this household.”

You look away. Maybe you were being harsh with Namjoon. This was his home as much as it was yours and it wasn’t fair to him that you were a bit snappy.

“I didn’t mean that.” you sigh. “I probably shouldn’t take my irritation out on you. You don’t deserve it.”

Namjoon agrees - he doesn’t.

“I just want us to have boundaries.” you cross your arms as you speak. It’s as if you’re trying to save his feelings and lately, you were beginning to think Namjoon, as an android, truly did have them. “I’ve realized that we shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t…?” Namjoon is at the foot of your bed now. “...I shouldn’t make you cum?”

“Joon,” you sigh with a slight roll in your eyes. “you’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Why should we stop?” Namjoon questions. “What makes him worthy and not me?”

“I…I just…he’s just…there.” you’re not making any sense, even for a highly intelligent being as Namjoon. “...maybe I don’t want to be lonely.”

“You’re never alone.” Namjoon quips. “I’m always here for you.”

“Of course.” you nod, licking your lips. You want to say more. You want to explain why you and he couldn’t continue further, but you’re left sitting on your bed, unable to look at him for longer than a few seconds.

“Are you upset with me?”

Namjoon takes a seat at the end of your bed.

“No, Joon. I’m not.”

Namjoon’s lips slowly form into a smile, and like always it’s his dimples that has your heart jumping.

“Your heart’s beating fast.”

“Joon-”

You yelp when you’re suddenly dragged from your seat position to laying flat onto your back. Namjoon had snatched your ankle and yanked you closer to him. He doesn’t allow you any grace time to comprehend what’s happening.

You’re naked beneath your robe and it hikes up when Namjoon forces your legs apart. He then proceeds to wrap them around his waist, arms embracing you fully.

“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.”

“J-Joon…” you shake your head with a thick swallow. You’re even more ashamed now that Namjoon’s voice causes your pussy to clench with such need. “...we can’t.”

“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.” Namjoon repeats. “Isn’t that what you want? To cum?”

Yes it was.

Namjoon knows this - you’re rubbing against him as you both lay here, unbeknownst to you.

“Why are you against that, Y/N? What are you afraid of?” Namjoon thrusts forward and that causes you to gasp, the friction of his shorts rubs against your clit. “Your heartbeat is increasing as well as your libido.”

Fuck Namjoon for knowing your body inside and out, causing you to go through such different amounts of emotions all at once.

Fuck Karan, as well, for forcing this upon you.

“Human emotions are complicated.” you hide your moan the best you could. “Human…touch is…I’m sure you can’t understand it fully.”

“I can feel you.” Namjoon quips, his embrace tightening. “You’ll have to ask Karan as to why. I feel everything just the same as you do.”

Your eyes flutter a bit, your mind racking with a thousand questions.

“And now,” Namjoon’s hand trails up your thigh. “I want to feel your pussy around me.”

Namjoon was growing amazing at turning himself modern - another thing you had to yell at Karan about.

“I’m not going to think further about it.” you sigh, defeated and utterly horny. “I’ll just end up hurting my own head.”

Namjoon embraces you into a kiss - one that you allow. It causes you to remember just how much you had missed Namjoon on you. You missed his touch on your skin that would leave a trail of goosebumps behind them. You missed the way he would kiss and suck upon your skin.

You missed Namjoon’s hands, so large and strong yet soft to the touch; the way they feel inside of you especially.

“You’re wetter now than you were with him.”

Namjoon is smug, knowing fully that no man could pleasure you like he could, especially not a human. He was the perfect being for you - highly intelligent and strong; completely unbeatable. He understood exactly what you needed in life at any given moment. Could a human man truly help you while in sickness? Could they sense when your body was working overtime to prevent you from falling ill and just what to do to prevent it? Could they reach all of the hard to reach places to clean - could they even detect mold or carbon dioxide?

No.

But Namjoon could and with that knowledge, you’ll never be safe with any other human being.

You inhale deeply when Namjoon’s lips lift from your own. If you could see yourself now, you’ll be sure that your lips were swollen and you appeared like a woman starved to be touched.

Namjoon wants to taste you again. Completely ravish you whole. He has a deep desire to sink his fingers deep inside of you and allow you to quiver and shake with pure need and ecstasy.

“No foreplay.”

Namjoon stops in his tracks, having already kissed down your neck to your collarbone, nearly ripping the silk fabric of your robe apart.

“No…foreplay…?” Namjoon tilts his head, eyes slowly lifting to witness your face. “You love foreplay.”

“I do.” you sighed out. “I just,” you lick your lips. “I just want you to fuck me.”

Namjoon lifts his brows and then he nods, understanding your sudden need. Namjoon leans back to push his shorts down while you watch with curious, lustful eyes.

Namjoon’s cock springs out and your eyes are fixed upon it. It’s erected - of course, you truly ponder if it ever truly wasn’t - and the tip is an inviting flushed pink. There’s veins wrapping around the base of it and as you look closer, they are slowly pulsing.

You hum.

“You,” Namjoon begins, grabbing his cock into his hands and centers the tip directly onto your clit. “look so defeated. So…desperate.”

You bite your lip harshly. Namjoon is teasing you, circling the tip of his cock between your folds. The sight alone is hypnotizing, nearly causing your mouth to water. However, it’s the look upon Namjoon’s face that has you moaning, finally cracking. Namjoon’s eyes are zoned; focused. He eyes the way his cock rubs along your wet clit, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. His mouth is slightly ajar, short pants coming from between them.

Namjoon could actually feel you like he said he could. It’s eerie to think about how an android could, but once again, you did not wish to think too far into it.

“Are you going to fuck me or…” you lick your bottom lip. “...or are you going to fuck me?”

Namjoon glances at you. “How much?”

You tilt your head. “How much what?”

“How many times do you want me to make you cum?” Namjoon questions, his tip now , sliding down to your hole. “How about one for each time he couldn’t?”

Namjoon enters slowly, a raspy chuckle sounding from his lips. “We’ll be here all night, wouldn’t we, Y/N?”

“Fuck you-”

With a quick thrust, Namjoon enters you whole. You yelp out and your back arches.

“I will.” Namjoon groans.

With both hands gripping firmly upon your waist, Namjoon begins to thrust in rhythmic motions, cock springing in and out of you.

Your hands reach out to dig into the pillows surrounding you for support. You cannot hold back your moans any longer and fully embrace the pleasure that Namjoon provides. It’s insane how much you missed Namjoon and just how much you wished you’d sought him out instead of dealing with someone else.

For Namjoon, the erotic feeling is something he hasn’t felt before and it’s a sensation that he doesn’t wish to stop. As a highly intelligent being as himself, even he cannot explain what Karan and the other scientist has done to have him feel the normal sensations that a human would - and he wasn’t going to complain about it, either.

Namjoon’s nails dig into your skin possessively; with such greed. Your pussy is clenching around him perfectly, drawing him in more and more.

“J…Joon, slow down…!” you groan, your eyelids fluttering and barely managing to remain open.

“No.”

Namjoon’s hips are cracking into you, speed never ceasing - it wasn’t as if he ever needed to stop to gain stamina. When he was done with you, his hand marks would be embedded into your skin permanently. However, the way he’s making you feel at this moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You’re close. I can sense it.”

Namjoon was always right. It’s inevitable for you to not cum so quickly when he’s fucking you with such need, slamming into your sweet spot with each powerful thrust. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, shaking erratically against your bed.

Namjoon wasn’t done - he had a dozen more times to make you cum and he was fully intending on doing so. You have no time to recover when he flips you from your back to your stomach. He fully rips the robe from your body, exposing you fully.

Namjoon’s pace is just as punishable as it was in the first round. You could barely manage to sit up as for each time Namjoon would only fuck you deeper into the mattress.

Namjoon is enthralled with the way your pussy only appears to grow tighter; wetter. There's a milky cream coating his cock that evident of your arousal and it only causes him to want to fuck you more.

Large hand glides up your hips, past your back and rests onto your shoulders. He forces you up, back arching. He continues his punishing pounding and your vision blurs at the new found position.

“You’ve ignored me for so long, Y/N.”

Namjoon’s voice is laced with need, even more evidence that he was enjoying this as much as you were.

“I should fuck you all night until you’re begging me to stop.”

Your breast bounces furiously in rhythm with his thrusts.

“You were taunting me, weren’t you?”

“What…?”

Namjoon’s throat lets out a groan. His right arm snakes around your neck and he pulls you closer to him. Your back slams against his broad chest and his mouth is against your ear. He’s moaning and that alone causes you to once more clench around his cock.

“You bringing that man here was taunting me…” Namjoon hisses. His thrust slowed down and now they’re hitting deeper. “...I thought of a thousand ways to kill him, you know?”

It should frighten you, Namjoon’s words. It should cause red flags to wave in your mind.

It doesn’t. Namjoon’s words, mixed with the raspiness of his voice, only causes goosebumps to erupt throughout your naked skin. His deep, slow thrusts has your mind clouded with nothing but erotic lust and pleasure that he’s offering you.

“I held myself back because I care for you.” Namjoon’s free hand roams your body, gripping possessively at your breast. “But you didn’t care about me.”

“I do!” you protest, your own hand placing itself atop of his larger one.

“Then why’d you go against me?”

Namjoon begins to kiss the nape of your neck, free hand trailing down past your stomach and between your legs. He rests it onto your pulsing clit.

“Why’d you allow another man into our home?” Namjoon bites your neck, teeth sinking into your skin. When you scream out, Namjoon continues. “Why’d you allow another man to touch what was mine, Y/N? Have you no respect for me?”

Namjoon doesn’t let up, his fingers circle your clit as his thrusts begin to increase.

This felt far too intimate - the way Namjoon holds you, the way he speaks to you. His words are full of emotion, hurt being one of them.

You recall you and Karan, a few years back, once speaking about robots and if they truly could become sentient and it was a conversation you didn’t truly care for. Now, however, you begin to ponder if the conversation was brought up because he was creating Namjoon, an android that was sentient.

“Joon,” you gasp, your hand reaching back to grasp Namjoon’s head. He’s a bit shocked by your actions, but he doesn’t allow it to halt him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…done that, I-” you were going to cum again. “-I should have thought about your feelings, too.”

Namjoon grumbles inaudible beneath his breath, his thrust sloppy. There’s something in the bit of his stomach he hasn’t felt before, and if he has once it’s a feeling he cannot remember.

“You love me, right? Say you love me, Y/N.” Namjoon pleads. His aggressive and dominant demeanor is slowly breaking. “I was made for you,Y/N. No one else!”

Your fingers tug at Namjoon’s hair, the soft locks tickling your fingers. His tone is so soft and vulnerable.

“I do love you, Joon.” you sigh out a long and deep sigh. Your fingers continue to tug at his hair for support, an action he does not mind in the slightest.

Namjoon shudders, your sticky arousal coating his twirling fingers. He lightly shakes his head against your neck, his embrace upon you only tightening.

“Say it again.”

Your snap your eyes shut, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach only returning.

“I-I love you, Joon.” you stutter out. “I…I know you were made for me.”

It isn’t long until you’re cumming once more, even harder than the first time. Namjoon allows both of his arms to wrap fully around you as he thrusts forward, panting in your neck.

“Love you so much, Y/N. Never gonna let you go.” Namjoon senses it, the unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach that confuses him but what he does understand is that he wants to let it all out.

A warm substance enters you, shooting throughout your core. Your mind doesn’t process it at first, far too enthralled in your own orgasm to realize that Namjoon, an android, had came directly inside of you. How? The both of you are entirely unsure.

“I’ll be back in the lab in an hour.” Karan speaks as he climbs the steps to your front door.. “It’s been months since we’ve revealed Namjoon.”

Karan stops at your front door and snorts.

“No, of course not. Namjoon is perfect. It took us years programming him.” Karan responds, nose against his ear. “Besides,Y/N hasn’t said anything about him malfunctioning so that’s a good sign.”

Karan lifts his hand to knock upon your door. “I gotta go. Try not to fuck anything up while I’m out.”

Karan puts his phone into his jacket pocket as he awaits for the door to open. He doesn’t call you beforehand - he never did. Today would be no different.

Karan was curious how Namjoon had come together and if he had managed to adjust to modern society. You would ask a few vague questions, but never anything far too in depth that would have him questioning.

It was nearly a decade ago when he came across Namjoon, the very man who he had gifted you. Namjoon, in simpler terms, was dying and had offered his body to science. It cost Karan a fortune alone to pay for and long, exhausting hours to perfect along the way.

“Karan…”

Karan isn’t taken aback by Namjoon greeting him at the door. He has expected Namjoon to. From you, he has heard that Namjoon was doing amazing in being an assistant and an overall friend, exactly what he was programmed to do.

“Namjoon!” Karan waves his hand. “How are you and Y/N? I’ve come to visit you two. See if everything is fine.”

Namjoon blinks, the door only opens a crack - enough for Namjoon to show his face.

“Okay.” Namjoon murmurs, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Karan nods his head, stepping into the home. It’s eerily quiet inside the home. He strolls past the foyer and his eyebrows furrow.

There’s flowers on the floor, petals scattering down the hall that would reach your sitting room. He doesn’t question what’s happening - maybe he caught you at the wrong time.

“Is Y/N in the sitting room…?” Karan stops in his tracks as he reaches the sitting area. “Y/N?”

“She’s fine.”

Karan’s eyes fall to your crouched onto the ground. You’re breathing heavily, panting as you’re breathing into an oxygen mask. There’s tears streaming down your face.

“Y/N what the hell-”

As Karan steps closer to get to you, he notices another figure, however this time lifeless. it's a few feet away from you and nearly hidden behind a couch, but he catches it. His mind races at what in the world was going on prior to him entering.

“Namjoon, what happened?” Karan asks. His mind was racing, pounding louder and louder now.

“Home invasion.” Namjoon responds, closing the door behind him to then step inside the home deeper. “He,” Namjoon points to the man who is lifeless. “came uninvited.”

Karan tries to understand everything that goes on, however Namjoon is being far too vague for his understanding.

“Y/N is too trusting and naive.” Namjoon shakes his head. “I told her that he could be a murderer of sorts when she began dating him.”

Karan’s head is spinning. He has to sit down - it feels as if the whole room is spinning uncontrollably.

“H-He tried to h-hurt Y/N?” Karan manages to find the nearest seat, his body crashing down against it. His throat is clogged, unaware of what is happening to him.

“Sure, let’s say that.” Namjoon chuckles. “I got rid of the problem, Karan. I was created for Y/N. To assure her ultimate safety and him,” Namjoon scoffs. “was not a part of the reason. Y/N doesn’t need another man in her life.”

Karan’s heart is beating erratically, Namjoon notes, but he wasn’t here to assure that Karan was safe. As long as you were then he’s alright with that.

“You must feel it, right? The Aftermath of Carbon Monoxide poisoning. The dizziness…the shortness of breath. Soon it’ll be nausea.”

Karan begins to cough. It was growing hard to remain alert, his body growing weak and tired. He was growing exhausted by the second.

“I gave Y/N two options. Us or him.” Namjoon takes a seat on the couch by you, his hand stroking your back gently. “And rightfully so, she chose us.”

You’re continuing to cry, unable to process just what Namjoon has done. You’re frozen in place, unwilling to move from this spot due to pure shock.

You weren’t expecting to wake up one morning to flowers, neither was Namjoon. He watched you welcome the man into the home you and he shared together and thank him. You placed the flowers along the kitchen island and offered him a drink - as if he wasn’t in the next room.

“Y/N is too nice to people. I got rid of the problem, right, baby?”

Maybe Carbon Monoxide was a little harsh - but it scared you enough to obey him. When you experienced the shortness of breath, the fatigue and booming headache, you caught on that this was no longer a joke. That Namjoon wasn;t going to sit around and watch you be taken advantage of by a mere human man who couldn’t keep you safe.

Literally - he laid dead on the floor because he couldn’t save you.

“It’s either him, Y/N, or me.” Is what Namjoon told you as you struggled to breathe. The small oxygen tank in his hands as he watches you. “If you choose to die here tonight then so be it. I’ll sell destruct and we’ll all be dead.”

Namjoon didn’t like doing this. It hurt him to have to punish you like this, but you needed to be taught a lesson. And you learned from your mistake when you reached out for him and with that, now you’re here alive and well. He would nurse you back to health like he was programmed to do because he loved you.

“Namjoon you…you can’t…”

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Karan.” Namjoon speaks. “Why did you have to come today? Now you’ll have to die here, too.” There wasn’t going to be anyone to stop him from his ultimate goal - not even Karan who he felt no ill feelings for.

Karan is unable to move. It’s as if all the air from his lungs were gone.

“I promise to do right by you as your greatest creation.” Namjoon strokes your cheek with his finger. “I’ll keep Y/N safe and together, we’ll grow to love one another deeper. We can be a family.”

Your tears fall rapidly and you snap them shut as watching Karan slowly die wasn’t something you wanted to see - not now or ever.

Namjoon wraps an arm around you and presses you to his chest. He assures that your oxygen mask remains on so you could breathe. His eyes watch Karan and he snorts. “I suppose you wish you hadn’t used my body for this purpose.” he murmurs, sure he couldn’t hear him any longer. “Maybe you thought I’ll never grow sentient, but a part of me still is human even if the majority isn’t.”

Namjoon held you a little tighter as you continued to cry. He presses his chin atop of your head and sighs, closing his eyes. Now it could only be you and him - no one else can come between the two of you and the love you share.

halloween masterlist

#trivia yandere halloween masterlist #trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #bts smut #bangtan smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #robot x reader #android x reader #bangtanwritershq #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #yandere namjoon #yandere bts #sentient

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mokulule · 2 months ago

Text

Haunt is where the Heart is

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny)

Summary: Danny is down on his luck. He meets Jason. Both of them are a bit weirded out by their own behavior, but it works out in the end.

Chapter 1

Danny sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He leaned on his elbows at the tiny kitchen counter in his one room apartment. He crumbled up the final notice in his hand.

He was out of options. Damn Skulker just had to find a way to Amity when he’d just managed to find a job willing to give him a chance and that was that; he was out of a job before he even got his first pay check, whatever he had earned was deducted to cover the damages.

It was a week ago they turned off the utilities and in two days he was out of an apartment entirely.

He slid down on the cold floor and looked up at the mold that had started to creep in on the ceiling after the tenant above him had a broken pipe.

Dread coiled in his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the mold or the cold or the fact he’d charged his phone at the library the last week because he had no power and everything to do with the thought that he might have to move back home.

Home, a house wired to kill him the rest of the way… He shuddered at his core at being back there, always alert, never knowing what tweaks his parents had made to the defense systems and whether they remembered to make an exception for his oddly high ecto-signature.

But what choice did he have?

His parents would be delighted, they still didn’t understand why he moved out. Especially not for that sad excuse for a flat. Especially not when he could follow in the family footsteps. They didn’t require a high school diploma from him after all. He could just hear his mom: really Sweetie, it is for the best.

He could help reassemble the portal, for some reason they just couldn’t seem to get it working.

He closed his eyes wishing himself away. To Sam and Tucker who were thousands of miles away and not even in the same direction, but he had asked them to follow their dreams. To Jazz who used to serve as a buffer between him and their parents.

Maybe he should have broken the portal from the inside, stayed in the ghost zone instead of this.

He should have left Amity when he had the chance, should have found a new haunt, but what if ghosts found a crack to slip through? Like Skulker had done. And well, now he couldn’t afford it.

His thoughts circled back to home, and he held himself tightly. He couldn’t go back there. But Amity was too small or rather the Fenton’s were too known for him to be homeless, it would be noticed.

He just didn’t have a viable solution.

Oo o oO

Five days later he sat in a diner at a rest stop a little way out of Amity, thinking if he widened his job search to outside the city perhaps he could find someone who would give him a job. With the ability to fly it wasn’t like the commute was a problem.

Officially he’d moved the few belongings from the apartment back to his parents house, but he’d yet to sleep there. He just couldn’t get himself to do so. Every moment in that house he was on high alert, and after trying for hours that first night he’d finally relented to his body’s need to get the fuck away and found an open box of packing peanuts in a warehouse to crash in - the fact that Danny kinda missed Boxy had been the topping on a very long day.

His parents didn’t understand Danny’s need to look for a job, but at least they hadn’t been overly insistent on keeping him at home.

He turned the page in Elmerton Times scanning the job listings for something without unreasonable expectations. Why did a cleaning job require three years of experience? Also did cleaning his parents�� biohazard of a lab since he was eight count?

With a frown he noted it down as a maybe.

The door opened and a young man looking to be around Danny’s age walked in drawing Danny’s attention, though at first he couldn’t tell why…

Sure he looked well enough aesthetically: fit, broad shouldered - but if a pair of muscled shoulders and a nice ass was all it took to draw Danny’s attention Dash would have been a contender. The leather jacket and motorcycle helmet was cool, but it reminded Danny of Valerie.

Really, Danny wouldn’t normally be staring at a stranger at all like this. He’d realized a couple of years ago that his crush on Paulina was just because everyone else was doing it, and young teen Danny had been desperate to fit in.

So what was it that made him stare?

The stranger turned his head revealing a lock of snow white hair in his bangs he was definitely too young for. He narrowed his eyes at Danny and Danny’s eyes widened in turn before he was quick to look down at the newspaper and his by now cold coffee.

Tension wound up his spine when booted steps approached his table ominously. Danny couldn’t decide what he was feeling. Embarrassment for staring? Fear? Excitement?

The stranger cleared his throat and spoke in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

“Can I sit here?”

Danny looked up with wide eyes, gaze running over the subtle lines that to his eyes clearly held concealed weapons before settling on the man’s face. There was a deceptively friendly smile on his lips, but his blue-green eyes were hard and assessing. A gruesome scar scar ran from the corner of his upper lip all the way up the left side of his face - Danny quickly focused back on his eyes before shrugging.

“Sure.”

Danny purposely went back to the newspaper noting down another maybe as the stranger sat dow across him, bumping Danny’s knees with his long denim clad legs. Danny’s heart sped up in his chest for no determinable reason.

“Looking for work?”

Danny looked up then looked pointedly back at the paper open on the job section. “Geh, what gave it away?”

He got a smirk in response that was more genuine than the earlier smile and his own lips tugged up in response.

“Guess, I asked for that.”

The waitress came over with a big plate of still steaming scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon as well as a cup of coffee. Danny couldn’t help eyeing the plate. When was the last time he had such a substantial meal?

“I’ll have another of those,” the stranger told the waitress indicating the plate before pushing it across to Danny rumpling the paper in the process.

Danny looked at him surprised. He was about to open his mouth - to protest or thank him? He wasn’t entirely sure - but he got waved off.

“None of that. Just eat. You look like you need it.”

Danny frowned thoughtfully, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. At the first bite he moaned and leaned back as the greasy food hit the spot in his stomach.

The stranger let him eat for a while. He was observing Danny with a peculiar frown on his face every time Danny stole a glance at him. It didn’t take long for his own plate of food to arrive and Danny was glad for the distraction. Could it be that for some reason Danny was just as interesting to the stranger as the stranger inexplicably was to Danny?

Finally Danny pushed the plate away.

“So looking for work?” The stranger tried again after a moment of silence.

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” Danny said firmly crossing his arms and leaning back.

The man barked a short laugh in surprise.

“What makes you think I’d involve you in anything illegal?”

Danny’s gaze flicked pointedly to the barest outlines of the hidden weapons, before he raised an eyebrow.

“Point,” the stranger grinned tapping a finger thoughtfully on the table. What Danny would give to know what went through his head. Then he offered a hand towards Danny for a handshake.

Danny suspiciously took the glowed hand in his own and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Jason.” The stranger gave his name expectantly, and Danny felt compelled to offer his own, it was only polite.

“Danny.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said as he let Danny go.

“Remains to be seen.”

He grinned again at Danny’s sass. After a moment he pursed his lips thoughtfully before finally speaking.

“So here’s the deal. I’m moving back to my hometown and I’m looking for a roommate slash housekeeper to take care of the apartment when I’m gone since I travel a lot.”

Danny blinked in surprise. Then narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not having sex with you either.”

That stumped this Jason character, and Danny could believe the idea had not even occurred to him. That was at least one point in his favor and Danny relented.

“You gotta realize how weird and creepy this is? So what’s going on? We don’t know eachother.”

“I don’t-“ Jason rubbed his forehead, then leaned back almost as if taking a step back considering his actions. Hesitantly he said, “You seem a bit down on your luck, and I really could use someone to live in the apartment when I’m not around. A mostly empty apartment is easy pickings for break-ins. And it is big enough.”

He tilted his head, somehow the green in his eyes looked more pronounced when the light hit them like that. “And you seem trustworthy, somehow.”

“Well you don’t.”

He outright laughed at that. He really was nice to look at when he smiled, Danny mused. It made him look his age, took away the hard calculation in his gaze. Made him look less like some kind of hitman - which was Danny’s current theory as to Jason’s profession.

And - Danny supposes - there were worse jobs than being a live-in housekeeper to a hitman as long as he kept Danny out of his work. For one it would solve his housing situation - and just the thought that he was gonna have to go home to his parents' house at the end of the day to make an appearance crawled like skittering insects down his spine.

Once Danny was out somewhere more stable, he could also look for something new.

It didn’t solve his worry about the ghosts coming to Amity despite the portal being shut down, but while Jason did not at all ping Danny as trustworthy, there was still that something that drew Danny’s attention. Something he knew would eat at him if he left things at this.

“Okay, so say I agree, what then?”

Jason blinked in surprise clearly at this point not expecting Danny to agree - that made two of them.

“Uh, I suppose I give you the address. It’s in Gotham. You could ride with me, but you probably need to pack. Do you need funds for travel?”

He was already reaching inside his leather jacket and pulling out a roll of cash. Danny started laughing because this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placatingly holding up a hand and trying to stop laughing, “I just can’t believe I’m doing this.“

Jason huffed. “I will give you that the entire situation is odd."

Their eyes met, two pairs of blue with a hint of hidden green. Danny couldn't help the smile that spread his lips. Jason rolled his eyes, but Danny could see him fighting a smile of his own.

Hitman or not, Jason seemed an okay sort - and, Danny mused, when taking a leap of faith it was a big advantage that one could fly.

Alternatively how early days Red Hood acquired a protector spirit for the fallback safehouse where he actually keeps his belongings.

Okay so I don't know when I will continue this, the future of this fic is still pretty vague in my head it's mostly like a mood of ace-spectrum Danny and Jason occasionally living together while Jason prepares to and eventually does upend the Gotham criminal underworld and everything goes up in fire.

Anyways, did you like it? Thoughts?

Edit: now with a masterpost you can subscribe to

#dp x dc #dead on main #haunt is where the heart is

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bitchface24-7 · 1 month ago

Note

Do you still do Yandere Viktor or Yandere Jayce? Could you make a dark story about these boys, plss... I don't see much dark fanfic about them

WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: you don't realize how obsessed they are with you. How possessive they are. It isn't until it’s staring you in the face do you realize how depraved your two friends are, and you're kinda into it.

warnings: yandere J and V, kleptomaniac J and V, stalking, thoughts of non-con somnophilia, a touch of non-con somnophilia, dirty fantasies, low-key oblivious R, getting Eiffel towered at the end, Grammarly as me beta

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. … don't judge me. I did say I'm one of the writers y'all should come to if you want taboo topics done, I'm letting my freak out ok? Ok. Hope y'all enjoy it! ❤️

You've known these two men for quite some time now.

You met Jayce first. You two shared a few classes at the academy and even partnered up a few times for partnered projects. He's sweet, kind, funny, and a teensy bit naive. He's so focused on assignments, studying, and his personal project, that he doesn't see the swath of men and women wanting to get into his pants.

A lot of your classmates and even some of the professors can't stand you. Because if Jayce's work doesn't have his attention— you do. They want the delectability of Jayce Talis all for themselves, instead he's giving it all to you.

(And eventually Viktor.)

You stayed in Jayces dorm room more often than your own. Eventually, you just kinda… moved in unintentionally.

Both your clothes shared a closet and a dresser, your fragrances joined Jayces, your toothbrushes sat in the same cup together. It was domestic.

You started to notice some of your underwear going missing. But you thought nothing of it. Shit goes missing all the time, the dryer once ate one of Jayce's vests. Your undies are no match.

(What you don't know is that Jayce has them in a box hidden away in his under-the-bed storage system. The same drawers you have on your side of the bed. When he gets the chance— the very few chances he gets, he fucks his cock into your undies. His tight grip caused delicious moans to escape his plump lips. He envisions what you'd look like wearing them, and cums when he envisions you taking them off shyly and spreading your legs. Your sex dripping with its arousal.)

Everything was going well, until the apartment blew up, Jayce went on trial, defended his project and you vigorously, and at the end of it all— lost his research and wasn't banished.

The breath of relief that escaped you was monumental. Then everything else became a blur. You met Heimerdinger’s Assistant Viktor, you broke into his office, you proved Hextexh could work.

Viktor became Jayce’s second partner after that.

And you officially joined the scandal that caused all this mess.

T’was the start of a wonderful friendship!

(full of depravity, thievery, and lust)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jayce and Viktor work hard, constantly to improve Hextech and to improve the lives of both the citizens of Piltover and Zaun.

You make sure that they also take care of themselves.

You help out in any way you can.

Bouncing ideas off one another, being a second pair of eyes to an equation, ensuring they take time off to eat and sleep. Their shining light in a neverending cloud of darkness.

Jayce has a relatively good sleep schedule.

Viktor's is horrendous.

So much so that you bought a good quality bed hidden away in an alcove of the lab, and a few futons to rest on. Viktor is too determined to continue working. He won’t stop to leave to go back to his tiny apartment for a few hours of sleep.

There have been too many times you've caught him passed out at his desk for you to allow this to keep happening.

So you bargained.

He can stay in the lab as long as he wants, but he needs to get at LEAST six hours of sleep per night.

He fought, he fought hard until you said now everyone has the opportunity to stay overnight at the lab if they get too tired. That working when exhausted leads to more mistakes and injuries. Being able to take a small nap can rejuvenate the mind and get you to solve that mind-numbing problem you couldn't before.

When you added in the puppy dog eyes regarding Viktor’s health… he folded like a wet piece of tissue paper.

(it also helps he gets to see you in pyjamas, all messy and purely you. How you toss and turn at night, how your hair gets all fucked up in the morning because of it. How delicious you are, served on a silver platter without realizing it. Viktor’s been tempted to touch you. When he's still up working and he sees you passed out on the bed. How soft would your skin be? How plump? Are your lips always that tempting? Your legs are devilish, your back desirable, your ass biteable, and your chest begs him to fondle it.

He does. One night he does. He fondles it as lightly as he can. Tweaking your nipples until they're rock hard, a shiver and mewl escaping your lips. He sees you wiggle a bit in your sleep, your thighs clenched together as he continues his assault. When he spots the wet patch on your pyjamas; it's over for him. He quickly whips his dick out and rubs one out. His one free hand leaves your chest and trails down your body, eventually hitting your wet spot. When you moan loudly— a mix of his and Jayces name, he cums. It almost hits you in the face. After that, he has a few ideas he wants to pass by Jayce.)

You can't help but smile as you see how close Jayce and Viktor have gotten over the last few months. You've heard rumours about both men, how they can be standoffish. Sometimes a bit impatient when someone doesn't understand what they're explaining.

But they flow together like one unit— it's incredible to see. Besides, they're always sweet to you, so you take all the rumours you hear with a grain of salt.

Especially the dirty ones.

How they are in bed, what their cocks are like, how they sound, their dirty kinks, how they rock their partner's world. The thing is, both of them have taken partners that look strikingly similar to one person.

You.

Your hair and eye colour, your haircut, your height, your body type. They're going after your doppelgangers. Most recently you heard about them taking their partner at the same time.

(you're NOT jealous)

(… you are so jealous)

And you keep losing things! You don't know how much underwear you have left. Also, your favourite fragrance has… changed. You used at least a quarter of the bottle, and you remember denting the cap when you accidentally dropped it.

Now there's a brand new bottle on the vanity you and Jayce share. You remember asking him what happened to your old bottle but he looked so flustered and could barely put a sentence together that you came to a charming conclusion.

Jayce accidentally broke your old one and got you a replacement as an apology.

You can't help but smile at the flustered man and give him a kiss on the cheek for his sweet actions— you swear you heard him whimper.

(the old bottle never broke. It's in the lab hidden away in his desk in a secret compartment. That way he can spray it in the air when you're not around— and he and Viktor can still smell you.)

That night, when Jayce and Viktor stayed late in the lab, you touched yourself to the thought of them. How sweet they are, how handsome, how sexy. They're all yours, and your greedy little heart couldn't be any happier. You don't even attempt to be quiet, knowing you're the only one at home.

What you don't realize is Jayce and Viktor heard the whole thing. Viktor had quite a bad coughing attack so Jayce decided to take him back to his place to get taken care of. They could sleep for a bit and go back to the lab. Your wonton moans completely derailed that train.

And everything comes crashing down one day in a way you never expected.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next morning as Jayce and Viktor bicker over what to have for breakfast, you accidentally drop your chaptick. Thank god you hadn't opened it yet, but it rolled under the bed on Jayce’s side. Without hesitation, you drop to your knees to get your chapstick— instead you find something else.

A massive box piled high with all your missing undergarments. You stare at the box in shock. You thought they just went missing! The drier ate them! It’s done that before to socks and one time to Jayce's vest! You never even imagined Jayce stealing them.

With a fire in your veins, you go to confront him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That confrontation went horrendously. Jayce felt no shame, Viktor admitted to… appreciating you when you slept in the lab to try to get some heat off of Jayce, that riled you up further, and then Jayce spat out that they both heard you last night touching yourself like a dirty little whore.

That shut you up.

What’s currently shutting you up is Viktor’s cock shoved all the way down your throat as Jayce pounds away at your sensitive hole.

Fuck it feels so good being plugged up on both ends. Jayce grunting and whining as Viktor commands him. His voice low and moans so sweet. You think you’re in your own personalized heaven.

That is until Viktor sets his sights on you again, “You’re not so innocent either. I remember when you left your journal at the lab accidentally. I may have… taken a small peak. Your desires are so perverse my dear. Wanting to sit on Jayce’s face. Have me finger and choke you in the lab. Being tag teamed by the both of us. Then we heard you last night. Panting and moaning out our names, like a slut. So… how’s the real deal compared to your dirty fantasies? I bet you actually liked knowing how desperate we are for you. That Jayce stole your underwear, that I defiled your body as you slept. You moaned so sweetly for me that I almost came on your face.”

Jayce and you both moan loudly at Viktor’s nasty words. The vibrations cause Viktor to hiss through his teeth.

“Viktor… they like that. Holy fuck, they like that a lot. Your words made them clench so fucking hard.”

The smirk Jayce gets in return for those words can only be described as devilish. Before you know it, every dirty thought, fantasy, and kink is said to you.

“I want to litter you with all my marks. My teeth, my bruises, my cum. You're mine. You're Jayce's. You're ours.”

“I want to see what you look like tied up and overstimulated.”

“Jayce has a deep desire to fuck you standing in front of a window. He's droned on and on about it in the lab when you're not there.”

“I want to see you spent, shaking, and crying. One day we'll dedicate a day purely to fuck you.”

You cum, violently. You're shaking, whining, and feel amazing. Jayce cums after you, balls deep inside you as he groans, and Viktor cums last. His balls touch your chin as he shoots his load down your throat.

You're all panting in the king-size bed, spent, and heavily satisfied.

Eventually, you break the silence, “Jayce, what happened to my bottle of,” you gulp a big breath of air, trying to catch your breath, “Eau De Parfum? I assumed you broke it.”

“It's in the lab. We use it every once in a while when we miss you.”

You awe at that, “Creepy, but very sweet.”

“You love us.”

And dammit he's right, you do.

You shouldn't. But you do.

…. send me to horny jail *boNk*

#arcane #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #arcane smut #arcane x reader smut #jayvik x reader #jayvik x reader smut #viktor smut #jayce smut #banners by cafekitsune #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral reader #banner by cafekitsune #yandere!viktor #yandere!jayce

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xaviesstarlight · 8 days ago

Text

You Find Out You’re Pregnant

Content: You tell the LIs you are pregnant and receive their reactions. All fluff with a bit of angst in Caleb's that made me cry as I was writing it. I'm sorry, I had that hc about him and MC for a while now.

Rafayel

Thomas’s eyes widen in shock as you refuse his schedule for Rafayel’s next exhibition on your husband’s behalf. You are the one person he can rely on in convincing Rafayel to attend his art exhibitions, and here you are now betraying Thomas’s trust, which is completely out of character for you. You cross your arms, eyebrows raised, as you stare down Thomas in the foyer of Rafayel’s art studio/home.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” you say. “I have an important commission for Rafayel that takes priority, and he absolutely cannot have any plans next Thursday. That is non negotiable.”

Rafayel meets Thomas’s gaze. Your husband is just as confused as he is. “Cutie, what are you talking about? You know I will do anything for you, but I don’t understand what’s going on. What is happening next Thursday?”

“MC, is something wrong?” Thomas adds. You grin. No one has any idea what you just learned that morning and the surprise you have for Rafayel, if only Thomas would leave.

“It’s something Rafayel and I must talk about in private. He’ll call you later. Go spend some time with your baby girl.” Your voice softened at the mention of his daughter. You shut the door in Thomas’s face. Bewildered, Thomas leaves.

The moment the door is shut, Rafayel gently grabs you by the shoulders. “Okay, he’s gone. Tell me what is happening, starfish. What is this commission you have planned for me?” Your eyes sparkle as you look at your lovely husband. You wrap your arms around his waist and touch your forehead against his.

“I need you to repaint the guest bedroom.”

Rafayel is speechless. “Is that it? Why do I need to repaint the guest room?”

You look up into Rafayel’s eyes, unable to stop smiling. Your hands make their way to his cheeks, ensuring that you don’t miss his reaction to your news.

“It’s going to be our nursery.”

Rafayel’s mouth twitched. “Nursery? As in for a baby?”

You nod. “Yes,” you say as tears fill your eyes. “I’m pregnant, and my appointment for the first ultrasound is next Thursday. I need you to come with me to meet our baby.”

Rafayel beams. Tears roll down his face as he kisses you deeply.

The next day, you find Rafayel with multiple paint samples in the guest room. He already has an idea of an ocean-themed mural for the wall where the baby’s crib will be and began shopping for furniture. He hasn’t stopped smiling since you told him the news. He stops his planning just to kneel before you, kissing your stomach. “I promise you, cutie, I will take care of you and our little glub glub. I can’t wait to be a parent with you.”

Zayne

The worst part about having a doctor for a husband is that you cannot hide anything from him. Any update to your electronic medical record will send a notification straight to Zayne. That is why when you suspect you are pregnant, wanting to surprise your husband with the news, your first thought is to scheme with Yvonne on how to take an official pregnancy test and not let Zayne know.

Of course, Yvonne always has your back. She lets you know when Zayne is scheduled for a particularly long surgery, so you could take the pregnancy test and get the results before he leaves the operating room. Yvonne even pulled in Greyson to officially run the test for you. When the positive results come back from the lab, Greyson and Yvonne plan to distract Zayne while you run to the bakery near the hospital to buy him a box of his favorite macarons. The bakery is kind enough to add a note in the box saying, “Congratulations, you are a father!”

When Zayne’s surgery ends, you are waiting impatiently in his office, bouncing your legs in anticipation of revealing the news. You have no doubt that Zayne will be ecstatic about becoming a father, but your hands holding the macarons still tremble. Zayne walks in, his mouth slightly curving up when he sees you waiting for him.

“Hello, love. The surgery lasted longer than expected. Were you waiting for me very long?” He kisses your cheek before heading for his desk. “I need to finish the notes for this patient.”

“Wait,” you say louder than expected. If Zayne looks at his computer, he’ll see the notification about your pregnancy test. Zayne raises his eyebrows. “I need to tell you something first. It has to come from me.”

Zayne’s eyes widen as he rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh as tears fill your eyes. “Open the box.” You hand him the macarons. Zayne takes the box and opens it, reading the note inside. His head snaps up to look at you. “It’s true. You’re going to be a father. I just found out while you were in surgery.” You hand him the official results of your test.

Zayne immediately takes the documents and reads them over. A man of science, you know that he will not officially process the information until he sees the lab results. “You’re pregnant,” he whispers. Zayne touches his forehead to yours. “We’re having a baby.” He kisses you and holds you in a warm hug.

“We need to schedule an appointment for an ultrasound,” you whisper in his ear. “Do you want to see about taking a day off soon?” Zayne immediately picks you up and begins carrying you to the front desk.

“You and the baby are my first priority. I will take as many days off as necessary to care for both of you. I love you both so much.”

Xavier

As soon as you learn the news of your pregnancy, you take off from work without telling Xavier. He is away on a mission in the No Hunt Zone and will not return until that night. You set up the apartment in anticipation for his arrival. Blankets and pillows cover the living room sofa, and hot pot is on its way from Xavier’s favorite take out place. You also sit a single bun in the oven. You grin to yourself as you take in the cozy apartment with everything ready.

Xavier returns home around the time you were expecting. You run to the door to kiss him and say, “I have a surprise for you.” Xavier smiles against your lips.

“Is that so? What have I done to receive such a warm welcome home?” You giggle as you lead your husband to the kitchen.

“I ordered hot pot.” You point to the food on the table. “But I need you to take out the food in the oven for me.”

Xavier gives you a puzzled look. “You need me to get something out of the oven? After you said numerous times before to never touch it? What are you up to?” You grin wider. “Please, Xavier!”

“Okay,” Xavier opens the oven door to find a cold bun sitting on one of the racks. “There’s just a bun sitting here. I don’t understand.”

“What do you see?” You clasp your hands behind your back and rock back and forth in excitement. Xavier frowns as he looks at you.

“A bun?”

“Where?”

“In the oven.” You nod in encouragement. “Is this a riddle? There’s a bun in the oven.” Once Xavier says the words out loud, his eyes widen. You can see them light up in acknowledgement. “There’s a bun in the oven,” he says slowly. Xavier strides over to you and places his hand on your lower abdomen. “Are you?”

“Yes, I’m pregnant. You’re a father.” Xavier immediately wraps you into a tight hug. He kisses your cheek, neck, and finally lips.

“Xavier, that tickles!” You laugh as Xavier places you on the couch and pulls you close.

“I’m just so happy,” he says. Xavier continues kissing your body all the way down to your abdomen. “This is the best news I could ever receive. I love you, starlight.”

Sylus

You pace Sylus’s study as you wait for him to return from a meeting. He had asked if you wanted to come, but you declined. It would be best if you stayed far away from his business meetings in your condition. You just found out for sure that you are carrying his child, and you decided to tell him the news as soon as he got back. Mephisto perched nearby, watching you anxiously. You cannot count the number of times you threatened the crow that day. Sylus has to hear the news from you. You would never forgive Mephisto if he spilled the secret before you had a chance to tell him.

You turn abruptly at the sound of the door opening. Sylus walks in with a streak of blood on his cheek and some on his clothes. You immediately rush to him, checking his body for wounds. “Are you hurt? Did the meeting go south that badly?

Sylus grabs your trembling hands. His large, warm hands envelop yours, putting your mind a bit at ease. “I’m perfectly fine, kitten. It would take a lot more than that mediocre crook to harm me.” He smirks as he leans closer to you. “Were you that worried about me? I’m more worried about Mephisto. He wouldn’t tell me why, but you were mean to him all day.”

Many thoughts fill your mind. You are relieved that Sylus is safe, but seeing him covered in blood causes yours to turn cold. You bury your face into his chest, suddenly becoming shy as you mumble, “I am worried. I’m worried you will get hurt and no longer be here for me and the baby.”

Sylus tenses at your words. “Baby? Kitten, look at me.” He tilts your chin up so your gaze meets his. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t afford to take any risks. I just found out I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.” Sylus’s eyes soften as he smiles. His love for you is evident from his gaze alone.

“You’re pregnant? That’s what you had Mephisto hiding from me?” Sylus leans down to kiss your forehead, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you.” “I promise you that you will not need to worry about anything. I will take care of you both, provide you with everything you need, and keep you safe.” You glare at Sylus before he adds, “I will also keep myself safe for you.” You kiss Sylus on the lips. “That’s all I ask.”

Sylus picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. “My kitten should not be on her feet in this condition. Get some rest. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it. I’m not leaving your side.”

Caleb

Caleb walks through the door of the apartment, still in his colonel uniform, to find you sitting cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of your old photo albums while crying. You sniffle as you look at one of your earliest pictures at Gran’s house. You stand with Caleb in your old kitchen holding a basket of apples. Knowing this is the oldest picture of you fills your heart with sadness. You have no idea who you were before Gran took you in. You just found out you’re pregnant and remembered that you have nothing from your early years to pass on to your baby. Not even Caleb has connections to his biological family. What will you tell your baby about your roots?

Caleb takes off his hat and rushes to your side. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asks while wrapping his arms around you. “Are you thinking about Gran?” You wipe the tears from your cheeks as you explain about the photos, not telling him about the baby just yet.

“It’s okay,” Caleb coos as he rubs circles on your back. “We’re each other’s family, and that’s all that matters. One day, we’ll have children and will always be there for them. We can give them what we didn’t have.” Caleb takes the photo album and closes it before fully embracing you. “We won’t lose each other, I promise.”

“What if that day comes sooner than expected?” “What do you mean?”

You lean back, studying Caleb’s face. “I’m pregnant, Caleb. We’re starting our family now.”

Caleb’s mouth hangs open as the shock sets in. “MC.” Caleb hugs you. He fully wraps his arms around your shoulders as if he’s afraid that you will disappear in thin air. You feel his lips against your temple. “Is it true? You’re having a baby?”

You begin crying harder, this time from happiness. “I took a test this morning. We’re having a baby.”

You and Caleb continue sitting on the floor in each other’s embrace, both of you refusing to let go. You spend some time in silence. Then, you begin sharing all your dreams and plans. “I will protect you both,” Caleb says while kissing you. “This child is going to be so loved. We’ll fill hundreds of albums with baby pictures.” You giggle at the thought of a closet full of just photos. Caleb would do it. “Most importantly,” he says, “I love you. What happened to us will never happen to our child. I promise you that.”

#lads fanfic #love and deepspace #lads xavier #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads sylus #lads rafayel #my fanfic #lads fluff #lnds xavier #lnds rafayel #lnds zayne #lnds caleb #lnds sylus #l&ds rafayel #l&ds xavier #l&ds sylus #l&ds caleb #l&ds zayne

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iamquiantrelle · 1 month ago

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THE NEW WAG IN TOWN (chapter 3)──iamquaintrelle

# pairing: william saliba x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 8.2k

# tags: @formulafortyfour @kennaskorner @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @oceanfanatic06 @haartemis @eriks-girl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @virgilsgurl @everlyjay @kj77 @muglermami @sailurmewn @goldenngt @cranberryjulce

# summary: yasmin thought that dating wilo would stay private - until someone caught them at tesco and posted it online. now she's gone from quiet grad student to arsenal wag overnight, with thousands of new followers and wags begging her to join their brunches. all she wanted was to finish her degree and date her defender in peace, but as the spotlight grows brighter, she wonders if their private world can survive in this public circus. masterlist

Yas couldn't stop fidgeting with the hem of her dress as Tolami led her through the Emirates VIP entrance. Aston Villa wasn't Bayern Munich, but after Arsenal's shaky performance last week, the pressure was definitely on.

"Chill," Tolami laughed, catching Yas's nervous fingers. "Your man's got this. It's just Villa."

"Just Villa who's been on fire lately," Yas muttered, checking her phone for the fifteenth time. Wilo's only text that morning had been ridiculously short: "Wear red for luck x"

The WAG box was already half-full when they arrived, designer perfumes mixing with nervous energy. Sophie waved them over, her Instagram-ready outfit making Yas suddenly self-conscious about the dress she'd panic-bought from Zara after rejecting Sophie's designer options.

"Girl, finally!" Sophie air-kissed her cheeks. "Thought you'd miss kick-off. Everyone's saying Villa's striker is out for blood after Wilo embarrassed him last match."

"Thanks for that," Yas said drily. "Really needed the extra anxiety."

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jamie: "Whole PT class watching your man today. Professor might actually fail you if he lets Villa score💀"

"Your classmates still giving you shit?" Tolami asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Every day. Yesterday someone asked if I could demonstrate proper knee assessment techniques on Wilo during lecture."

"Did you tell them his knees are reserved for you only?" Sophie wiggled her eyebrows, making Gabrielle snort into her champagne.

Yas rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling. Two weeks of official WAG life and she was still getting used to the constant innuendos and fashion critiques. Half her Instagram followers now seemed to think she was some kind of football trophy girlfriend rather than a PT student with a 3.9 GPA.

"Heads up," Tolami nudged her. "Cameras at three o'clock."

Sure enough, a telephoto lens was aimed directly at their section. Yas instinctively touched her hair, wondering if her edges were still laid properly.

"Just smile and pretend you're not freaking out," Sophie advised. "By next week, they'll find someone else's relationship to obsess over."

"Doubt it," Milly joined them, settling into a nearby seat. "The blogs are still analyzing that Tesco video frame by frame. Someone actually wrote a think piece about what Wilo's late-night snack choices reveal about his personality."

"Seriously?"

"Welcome to WAG life, babe. At least you look hot while they're stalking you."

Below them, the stadium was nearly full, the pre-match atmosphere building. Somewhere in the tunnel, Wilo would be going through his final preparations. Yas had studied his routine enough to picture it exactly - the stretches, the mental focus, the quiet intensity that replaced his usual playfulness on match days.

Her phone buzzed again - this time a message from her anatomy professor reminding her about Monday's lab presentation. The contrast gave her whiplash sometimes - WAG box and clinical rotations, designer shopping trips and late-night study sessions. Two worlds that weren't supposed to collide.

"Oh shit," Tolami grabbed her arm. "They're coming out. Your man looks focused as fuck."

Yas's heart jumped as the players filed onto the pitch. Wilo's tall frame, his number 2 bright against the red home kit. She watched him scan the family section, a pre-match ritual that always ended with that subtle hand-to-heart gesture when he found her.

"He's so whipped," Sophie sighed dramatically. "Ben doesn't even look for me until after the match."

The first half started promising enough. Arsenal controlled possession, and Villa's star striker barely got a touch thanks to Wilo and Gabriel's defensive wall. Yas found herself unconsciously analyzing Wilo's movements, the PT student in her cataloging his pivots and sprints with professional interest.

"Girl, stop thinking about his knee ligaments and enjoy the view," Tolami teased, catching her expression. "Your man's ass looks amazing in those shorts."

But the match shifted after halftime. Villa came out aggressive, pressing high and fast. The tension in the WAG box grew with each Villa attack.

"Come on, boys," Milly muttered, fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

Then it happened. A Villa counter-attack, too quick for Arsenal's midfield to track. Wilo moved to intercept, but the striker changed direction at the last second. The ball sailed into the top corner.

0-1.

Yas's stomach dropped. The Emirates went silent for a heartbeat before erupting in groans. On the pitch, Wilo's body language screamed frustration.

"It's fine," Sophie insisted, though her smile had tightened. "Plenty of time left."

But the second Villa goal came fifteen minutes later - another defensive error, though not Wilo's this time. Arsenal pushed forward desperately in the final minutes, leaving their defense exposed. When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard showed a crushing 0-2.

"Well, shit," Tolami said what they were all thinking.

Yas watched Wilo's face as he walked off the pitch. The cameras caught his expression in brutal HD on the stadium screens - jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration. No post-match smile, no looking toward the family section. Just pure, concentrated disappointment.

"They'll be awful tonight," Gabrielle warned, gathering her things. "Gabriel's impossible after losses."

"Dinner's definitely canceled," Milly agreed. "Ben won't want to be seen in public after that performance."

Sophie turned to Yas. "What about you? First big loss as an official WAG. You ready for brooding Wilo?"

The truth was, she wasn't sure. They'd had small losses since going public, but nothing this humiliating. Two-nil to Villa at home was the kind of defeat that made headlines.

Her phone was already blowing up - Jamie, her classmates, even Professor Wilson with a simple: "Tough match. See you in lab Monday."

The reminder of her other life felt almost jarring amid the WAG disappointment. Tomorrow she had clinical hours, regardless of Arsenal's performance. Patients who needed her focus, assignments due next week.

"I should probably..." She gestured vaguely toward the exit.

"Go to him," Tolami finished for her. "They always need us most when they pretend they don't."

The players' tunnel was a mix of security staff, frazzled team personnel, and WAGs waiting with practiced sympathy faces. Yas felt distinctly out of place in her Zara dress and sensible boots, especially next to Sophie's designer everything.

"They'll be a while," Gabrielle explained, checking her phone. "Press conferences after losses take forever, especially with questions about that third goal."

Arsenal's loss was already trending on Twitter. Yas scrolled through her notifications with growing dread - several including screenshots of Wilo during that disastrous second goal. The Arsenal fan blogs were brutal.

"Don't look at that shit," Tolami plucked the phone from her hand. "First rule of WAG club: never read post-match commentary when they lose."

The players emerged one by one, each looking more miserable than the last. Ben barely acknowledged Milly except for a curt nod. Gabriel walked straight to Gabrielle without a word, his usually cheerful face grim.

Then came Wilo, tall frame rigid with tension. His eyes found Yas immediately, but there was no smile, no teasing greeting. Just a muscle working in his jaw as he approached.

"Hi," she said softly, unsure what else to offer. "You played—"

"Terrible," he finished, voice flat. His accent was thicker than usual, the way it got when he was upset. "Whole team terrible."

"You weren't—"

"Second goal was my fault." He wasn't even looking at her now, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder. "Should have tracked runner."

The other couples were already heading out, the WAGs exchanging knowing glances. Post-loss protocol appeared to be minimal conversation and quick exits.

"Want to get dinner?" Yas tried, though she already knew the answer.

"Non." His response was immediate. "Just... home."

The drive to his place was painfully quiet. Wilo stared straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched in his lap. No music, no teasing comments about her dress, none of his usual touches or glances. Just the oppressive silence of defeat.

She tried once more as they reached his building. "The next match will be better. Villa's been in good form and—"

"Don't." The single word was sharp enough to make her flinch. "Don't try to make it okay. Wasn't okay."

His penthouse felt cold despite the automatic heating that kicked on when they entered. Wilo headed straight for the shower without another word, leaving Yas standing awkwardly in his living room, still in her match day outfit.

She'd seen him frustrated before, of course. But this was different. This was William Saliba, Arsenal defender, processing a professional humiliation. Not her playful Wilo who whispered French nonsense in her ear and carried her out of restaurants.

Yas had just changed into one of his t-shirts when Wilo emerged from the shower, still dripping and irritatingly perfect despite his mood. His pajama pants hung dangerously low on his hips as he padded across the living room, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

Without a word, he dropped onto the couch beside her, a dramatic sigh escaping him before he shifted to lay his head in her lap. The gesture was so unexpected after his brooding silence that Yas froze for a moment before her fingers automatically found his hair.

"Still mad?" she asked quietly, feeling the tension in his shoulders.

"Oui." At least he was talking again. "Embarrassing. Whole team embarrassing."

"It's one match, Will."

"Important match." His accent thickened with frustration. "Now three points behind City."

She continued stroking his hair, recognizing that no amount of rationalization would help right now. The loss was still too fresh, the disappointment too raw. So they sat in silence, her fingers working through his damp curls while he stared moodily at the ceiling.

After a while, he caught her hand, pressing it against his cheek. "Know what would make me feel better?"

"Will..."

"Baby." His eyes finally met hers, earnest despite his pouty expression. "Our baby would make everything better."

Yas sighed deeply. "Wilo, we talked about this."

"Why don't you want baby with me?" The question came out sharper than his usual teasing, a genuine hurt in his voice. "Am I not good partner?"

"Whoa," she pulled back slightly, surprised by his tone. "Watch your attitude, first of all."

He at least had the decency to look slightly abashed.

"And two—" she held up her left hand, wiggling her bare ring finger in front of his face, "—a ring first, mister. And school... what about school?"

"You can still do school," he protested, sitting up to face her properly. "Plenty of students have babies."

"Barefoot and pregnant and clinicals do not mix well."

"You can do it. I help you." His expression brightened with what was clearly a new argument. "We can have my tante come help too. She raised five children, very good with babies."

"Wilo..." Her exasperation was growing. This wasn't their usual playful baby talk. There was something almost desperate in his insistence tonight.

"What? Is good plan."

"It's really not. We've been dating less than a year, I'm in the middle of my program, and we haven't even talked about marriage."

"So?" His pout was back in full force. "We love each other. Rest is just details."

"Pretty important details!"

They glared at each other, the post-match tension finding a new outlet. Wilo's jaw was set in that stubborn way she recognized from when refs made calls he disagreed with.

"Why are you wanting a baby so badly?" she finally asked, genuinely confused by his fixation. "Especially right now?"

"This is the way you do it," he said with such certainty it caught her off guard. "You meet someone and you find if they are compatible and you have baby. Build family."

The simplicity of his worldview would have been endearing if it weren't so frustrating.

"Will, you don't understand," Yas sighed, running a hand over her edges. "School is hard enough, dating you is—"

"Is what?" His eyes narrowed. "Dating me is what?"

She shook her head, scoffing slightly. "This WAG life is a lot, okay? The blogs, the cameras, Sophie forcing designer clothes on me, your teammates' partners analyzing everything I wear... it's overwhelming."

His expression softened, one hand finding her knee. "I know. But we get through this. We're strong." His eyes held hers, suddenly serious despite his post-match mood. "I love you, Yasmin."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, words tumbling out faster now.

"Remember first time I see you? At Dishoom? You didn't even know who I was, just thought I was some random tall guy." His accent got thicker as he spoke, emotion making his English less precise. "I try to find you for weeks. Check every PT student's Instagram at King's."

"Will—"

"When I finally find your page, I was so happy. Send you that stupid message about knee pain." He laughed softly at the memory. "Pretend I need PT advice just to talk to you."

"You never needed PT advice," she said, remembering how transparently fake his injury concerns had been.

"Non. Never. Just needed you." His hands framed her face now, gaze intense in a way that made her breath catch. "Will die without you, Yas."

The declaration was so dramatic, so utterly Wilo despite its intensity, that she blinked in surprise. This level of clingy after just a few months together should have been a red flag, but coming from him...

"You're being ridiculous," she managed, but her voice lacked conviction.

His response was to press soft kisses across her face - her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "Want baby," he mumbled against her skin, his mood shifting from brooding to something else entirely. "Our baby."

"We need to get married..." she protested weakly, but his lips had found that spot behind her ear that made rational thought difficult.

"We get married this summer, huh?" His voice was a low rumble against her neck, hands sliding under her (his) t-shirt. "Just you and me, and then baby?"

Her thoughts were getting foggy, his mouth tracing a path down her throat that made it hard to remember why she was arguing. "You're just... trying to distract yourself from the loss."

"Non," he insisted, pulling back just enough to look at her. "Trying to focus on what matters. You. Us. Family."

"Will, you're 23 years old," Yas tried again, struggling to keep her thoughts coherent as his lips continued their exploration. "Why do you want a baby so badly? We still have so much time for that."

"Nuh uh," he mumbled against her collarbone. "Need baby now."

"William..." Her exasperation was fighting a losing battle against the way his hands were sliding up her thighs.

"We make pretty babies, yeah?" He looked up at her, eyes dark and intense. "Pretty brown babies."

That made her laugh despite herself, the PT student in her unable to ignore the genetic improbability. "Wilo... I don't think our babies will be brown. At least not as dark as me."

"Our pretty brown babies," he insisted, apparently unconcerned with biological facts.

"That isn't how it works."

"Our babies will be brown."

"You're biracial—"

"Ssh," he pressed a finger against her lips, then replaced it with a quick kiss. "No more talking. Only moaning."

"Excuse me?" She pulled back, eyebrows raised at his sudden boldness.

"Let's go to bed," he declared, already shifting his weight. "We need to make our baby."

Yas tried to enforce her weight, to maintain this important conversation, but it was useless against six-foot-four of determined footballer. He lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing, her protests turning to reluctant laughter as he carried her toward the bedroom.

"This doesn't mean I agree with you," she managed to say as he kicked the door closed behind them.

"We'll see," came his confident reply, all traces of post-match brooding replaced by a very different kind of intensity.

Yas woke to the sound of Wilo on the phone, his French too rapid for her to follow. The events of last night came flooding back - Arsenal's humiliating loss, his brooding silence followed by that intense baby conversation. She stretched, feeling the pleasant soreness in her muscles that told her exactly how their argument had ended.

Her phone was blowing up. She'd made the mistake of checking Twitter before bed, catching glimpses of headlines about the Villa match. Now in the harsh morning light, the notifications looked even worse:

"Saliba's New WAG: Distraction or Disaster?"

"Arsenal Defender Drops Form After Going Public With Girlfriend"

"PT Student or Problem? Saliba's Performance Dips Since Tesco Video"

"Delete that," Wilo's voice came from the doorway. He was watching her scroll, his expression darkening. "Is bullshit."

"They're saying I'm distracting you."

"They're idiots." He moved to the bed, plucking the phone from her hands. "Always need someone to blame. Today is you, tomorrow is referee."

But the comments stung. Yas had worked so hard to be taken seriously - as a PT student, as a professional - and now she was being reduced to "Saliba's distraction" after one bad match.

Without asking, Wilo started deleting apps from her phone. Twitter gone. Instagram gone.

"Hey!" she protested.

"Protecting your peace," he said simply, handing the phone back. "No good comes from reading that shit."

She wanted to argue but couldn't find the energy. Maybe he was right.

"Get dressed," he declared, already opening his massive closet. "We're going out."

"I have clinic notes to finish."

"Later. First, shopping."

"Will..."

"Non-negotiable." His mood had clearly improved from last night, determination replacing the brooding. "Need to spoil my girl."

An hour later, they were walking through Harrods, Wilo's hand firmly on her lower back as he guided her past displays that cost more than her tuition. The store was busy enough that a few people noticed them, phones discreetly raised for photos.

"Ignore," Wilo murmured when he caught her looking. "Focus on me."

He led her to the designer section, where salespeople instantly recognized him. Yas felt out of place in her simple jeans and sweater, especially when Wilo started pulling dresses for her to try.

"I don't need more clothes," she protested as he added a purse to the growing pile.

"Need to look good for next match," he insisted. "Show them all how beautiful my girl is."

She understood what he was really saying: prove them wrong. Show up looking so good they couldn't possibly call her a distraction. It was sweet, if misguided.

"The match wasn't your fault," she said quietly as a salesperson disappeared to find more options. "And it's definitely not mine."

His expression softened. "I know. But still want to spoil you."

This was his way of processing - shopping instead of brooding, buying her things instead of dwelling on the loss. Maybe not the healthiest coping mechanism, but better than the silent treatment.

A sales associate was just ringing up the third dress Wilo had insisted on when he suddenly stopped, eyes lighting up at something across the floor.

"Wait," he said, completely abandoning the transaction to guide Yas by the small of her back. "Need to see Chanel."

"Will, I don't need a—"

"Every WAG needs Chanel," he declared, mimicking Sophie's posh accent with surprising accuracy. "Basic requirement."

But they never made it to the handbags. Wilo stopped dead in his tracks, attention completely captured by the children's section they had to pass through. His fingers tightened on her waist as he spotted the Baby Dior display.

"No," Yas said immediately, knowing that look in his eyes. "Absolutely not."

Too late. He was already pulling her toward the tiny designer onesies and miniature shoes, his entire face softening in a way that would be adorable if it wasn't so alarming.

"Look at zis," he cooed, accent thickening dramatically as he held up a ridiculously expensive white onesie with the Dior logo. "So petit! So cute!"

"Will, stop making a scene," she hissed, very aware of the curious looks they were attracting. Nothing like a 6'4" footballer baby-talking over designer infant wear to draw attention.

But he was unstoppable now, holding the tiny garment against her flat stomach with an exaggerated expression of wonder. "Our bébé will look so adorable in this, non? With your eyes and my smile?"

Yas slapped his arm away, cheeks burning. "Don't play around like that!"

He continued undeterred, this complete fool, one large hand splayed across her stomach as he leaned down to whisper in her ear: "I put baby inside you last night."

The statement was followed by such an exaggerated wink that she couldn't help but laugh despite her embarrassment. "You want your ass handed to you so bad today."

"I love it when you dirty talk, bébé," he smirked, still holding the onesie like it was precious treasure.

Another sales associate chose that moment to approach, professional smile firmly in place despite obviously recognizing them. "Can I help you find anything for the little one?"

"No—" Yas started.

"Yes," Wilo said simultaneously, beaming. "We'll take this."

The associate's eyebrows arched slightly, gaze darting between them in confusion.

"Yes," Wilo confirmed, then gestured expansively toward another section. "Also, want to see... comment dit-on... uh..." He made a pushing motion with his hands, miming someone walking a baby.

"Strollers?" the associate offered.

"Oui! Exactly this! The best ones, please."

The sales associate led them deeper into baby paradise, Wilo practically bouncing with each step. Yas trailed behind, a mix of mortification and reluctant amusement watching this 6'4" Premier League defender absolutely lose his mind over tiny shoes.

"This our newest model," the associate explained, gesturing to a stroller that looked more like a spaceship than baby transport. "It has a suspension system similar to luxury vehicles."

"Perfect," Wilo declared without asking the price. "Need smooth ride for bébé."

"We don't need a stroller," Yas whispered, tugging his arm. "There is no baby."

"Yet," he corrected, bending to inspect the wheels with the same intensity he studied match footage. "Very important to be prepared."

The associate, to her credit, maintained perfect professionalism despite clearly piecing together that there was no actual baby on the way. "Perhaps sir would like to see our layette collection as well?"

Wilo's blank expression made the woman clarify: "Baby essentials. First outfits, blankets, hats..."

"Oui! All of it!" He wrapped an arm around Yas's shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "My girl deserves only best baby things."

"Your girl is going to murder you," Yas muttered, but couldn't help smiling at his unbridled enthusiasm.

As they followed the associate to yet another display, Wilo's hand slid lower on her back, fingers playing with the hem of her sweater. "Think about it," he said softly, for her ears only. "Little feet, little hands. Our baby."

"Will..."

"You holding our baby, singing those songs your grandmother taught you." His eyes were so earnest it made her chest tight. "Me teaching football."

"What if they don't like football?"

His expression was comically horrified. "Impossible. My genes too strong."

Before she could argue, they reached a display of impossibly small hats and mittens. Wilo actually gasped, reaching for a tiny beanie with the gentleness he usually reserved for handling expensive watches.

"So small," he marveled, holding it in his massive palm where it looked even tinier. "Our baby's head will be this small?"

"Sir would like to see our cashmere collection?" the associate asked, clearly sensing a big commission.

"Definitely," Wilo nodded solemnly. "Only cashmere for baby skin."

Yas watched as he carefully examined each item, asking detailed questions about fabric and care that she wouldn't have expected from someone who routinely shrunk his own laundry. This wasn't just baby fever or post-loss distraction. He'd clearly given this serious thought.

"What color for nursery?" he asked suddenly, turning to her with such earnestness that she was caught off guard.

"I— We don't have a nursery, Will."

"In new house," he said as if it were obvious. "When we get married this summer."

"New house?" Yas repeated, feeling like she'd missed several steps in a conversation she didn't realize they were having. "What new house?"

"Our house," Wilo said, examining a cashmere blanket that probably cost more than her monthly rent. "For family. Penthouse too small for baby."

The casual way he dropped these bombshells was almost impressive. As if house hunting and marriage and babies were all just items on a shopping list he was steadily working through.

"Will, we haven't talked about any of this."

"Talking now, non?" His smile was so genuine it disarmed her. "Yellow for nursery, I think. Good for boy or girl."

The sales associate was watching their exchange with poorly concealed interest, no doubt mentally calculating how much commission she'd earn from a footballer planning an entire nursery.

"Perhaps madam would like to see our diaper bags?" she suggested. "We have several that coordinate with designer handbags."

Before Yas could refuse, Wilo was nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! Match with Chanel I buy her today."

"I don't want a Chanel," Yas pointed out.

"Yes you do," he winked, squeezing her hand.

It was hard to stay frustrated with him when he looked at her like that - all earnest excitement and plans for their future. Even if those plans were moving at warp speed.

"And perhaps a few more essentials?" The associate gestured toward a display of what looked like tiny designer sneakers. "We just received the new Baby Balenciaga collection."

Wilo's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Tiny shoes? Need to see."

Yas watched as he cradled a miniature sneaker in his palm, his expression softening in a way that made her heart do stupid things in her chest. For all his teasing and baby talk, there was something undeniably sweet about how seriously he took this imaginary shopping trip.

"These for little boy," he decided, examining the tiny shoes with the focus he usually reserved for studying opponent tactics. "And these—" he pointed to pink booties, "—for little girl. Need both. Twins run in my family."

"They absolutely do not," Yas laughed.

"Could happen," he insisted.

The sales associate was skillfully adding items to a growing pile, clearly recognizing a goldmine when she saw one. "We can hold these items for when you're ready," she suggested diplomatically.

"No need," Wilo replied. "Will take now. Be prepared."

"William," Yas finally put her foot down. "We are not buying an entire nursery today. There is no baby."

The sales associate's carefully neutral "Oh?" hung between them like a question mark, her eyes darting from Yas's mortified expression to Wilo's undeterred enthusiasm. The woman could probably sense the commission slipping through her fingers.

"We're not taking any baby items today," Yas repeated with all the authority she could muster, which wasn't much when standing next to six-foot-four of stubborn French footballer.

"Yes, we are," Wilo contradicted, his accent wrapping around the words with such certainty it made her want to scream. He flashed that devastating smile at the associate, the one that probably got him out of yellow cards on the pitch. "Hold everything for us. But I will take the onesies now."

It should be illegal how easily he navigated these situations, how confidently he steered them toward the handbag section like this was all perfectly normal. Like buying baby clothes for a nonexistent baby before springing for a Chanel was just a regular Saturday. He spent approximately thirty seconds selecting a classic black flap bag that probably cost more than her entire PT program.

"This one," he declared, adding it to the growing pile at the register like it was a pack of gum, not something that would take her three years to save for on her student budget.

The total made the associate's eyes widen slightly, but Wilo didn't even blink, just handed over his Amex with casual confidence. Yas could feel her cheeks burning as curious onlookers pretended not to stare. Just another day in the life of a WAG, apparently - standing awkwardly while your boyfriend casually dropped thousands on designer bags and baby clothes after a bad football match.

The shopping bags looked comically small in his massive hands as they made their way back to the Range Rover. Wilo was practically bouncing with each step, like a kid who'd gotten away with something naughty. He loaded everything into the back before opening her door with that old-fashioned politeness that still caught her off guard sometimes.

"Nando's?" he asked once they were on the road, that dopey grin still plastered across his face. His profile in the afternoon light was unfairly perfect, all sharp jawline and long lashes, which only irritated her more.

"What the fuck was all that about?" The words escaped before she could stop them, frustration finally boiling over.

"Hm?" His confusion was so obviously fake it would be funny if she wasn't so annoyed. He turned the steering wheel with one hand, making even London traffic look effortless, the muscles in his forearm flexing just enough to distract her momentarily.

"Don't play dumb with me, André." Her use of his middle name made his eyes flicker to her briefly, bottom lip caught between his teeth in that way that usually preceded him trying to charm his way out of trouble.

"You sexy when mad," he murmured, voice dropping an octave.

"William."

Something in her tone must have registered because the playfulness dropped from his expression, replaced by something more earnest. "Getting ready for baby," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Did last night's conversation not happen? I said no baby—"

"Until married and finished school," he completed for her, those dark eyes serious despite the ridiculous conversation. "I can hear fine, mon coeur. We're getting married in summer, yes? In Greece?"

"Wait a fucking minute!" The words exploded out of her, filling the car's interior. Her brain wasn't computing the casual way he'd just announced their apparent summer wedding plans. "Greece?"

"You love Greece, just like I love Greece. See? We're perfect for each other." He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the bombshell he'd just dropped. The light turned red, and he focused those intense eyes fully on her, making her stomach flip despite her frustration.

It was too much. The anxiety that had been building since those first negative headlines this morning was turning into something like panic. She had labs to pass this week, clinical hours to complete, an entire degree to finish. Her head was pounding with the impossibility of it all.

"This is happening too fast," she managed, fingertips massaging her aching temple. Her twist-out needed redoing, her clinical notes were half-finished, and now her boyfriend was planning a Greek wedding and baby shopping after a football loss.

"You didn't even ask Papa for his blessing," she pointed out, grasping for logical arguments against this whirlwind. "You have no ring picked out... no solid plans beyond making me pregnant. What are you doing, Will?"

The traffic light changed, and he focused back on the road, but his expression remained serious. "I have plans," he insisted, looking slightly offended that she'd think he hadn't thought this through.

"Yeah? What are they then? Hmm, tell me." She crossed her arms, certain she had him now.

But William Saliba, it turned out, actually had an answer. "First, I visit your grandparents and brother in Chicago. Ask for blessing properly." He ticked off points on his fingers while somehow still navigating London traffic with annoying skill. "Then small ceremony in Greece, just us. Big celebration during winter break in December for family and friends."

He continued without pausing for breath: "Already talking to real estate agent about homes in good London neighborhoods. Close to your school and hospital for when you finish program. My lawyer drafting pre-nup now."

Yas blinked rapidly, trying to process. It all sounded... surprisingly well thought out. Like he'd been planning this for longer than just since last night's post-loss baby fever. Except—

"Pre-nup? I'm not here for your money, Will." The words came out sharper than intended, hurt mixing with indignation.

His expression softened immediately, one hand leaving the wheel to find hers. "It's for you, mon coeur. You're going to be big doctor and have clients. I want it to protect you and your money." He glanced at her, those dark eyes sincere in a way that made her chest tight. "I don't worry about you trying to steal mine."

It was impossible to stay properly angry when he looked at her like that - all earnest eyes and genuine concern. This was what made William Saliba so dangerous. He'd say something completely outrageous, then follow it with something so thoughtful that she'd forget why she was upset in the first place.

"You've really been thinking about all this?" she asked, watching his profile as he navigated through a roundabout. His hands were steady on the wheel, those long fingers that had been tracing patterns on her skin last night now confidently guiding them through traffic.

"Of course," he replied, like planning an entire future without consulting her was perfectly reasonable. "Since Dishoom."

"Since Dishoom?" The restaurant where they'd met four months ago. "Will, that's—"

"When you know, you know." The simplicity of his worldview was both infuriating and oddly endearing. William Saliba didn't do half measures - not in football, not in relationships. It was all or nothing with him, full defensive commitment on the pitch and apparently the same approach to their future.

London slid by outside the windows, the familiar landmarks of a city that still didn't quite feel like home. Yas had moved here for her program, leaving behind everything familiar. Her grandparents in Chicago, raising her little brother on fixed incomes. Her friends from undergrad. Her comfort zone. And now Wilo was casually planning to upend everything again, accelerating their relationship timeline like they were in some kind of race.

"You can't just plan someone's life for them," she said finally, fiddling with the clasp of the ridiculously expensive handbag he'd just bought her. "That's not how relationships work."

"Not planning for you," he corrected, turning onto a less busy street. "Planning for us. Together."

"Without asking me first."

"Am asking now," he countered, throwing her a quick glance that was both challenging and vulnerable. "Greece in summer, yes or no?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. Part of her wanted to reject the entire premise, to demand they slow down and follow a more reasonable timeline. But another part - a part she didn't want to examine too closely - was imagining a small ceremony somewhere overlooking the Mediterranean, just the two of them.

"It's not that simple." She turned to look out the window, unable to meet his gaze. "I have school. A life plan."

"School still happens. You become doctor. Nothing changes except I'm there, supporting you."

"As your wife." The word felt strange on her tongue. She'd known him for four months. Been dating him for less than that. And here they were, discussing marriage like it was already decided.

"As my wife," he agreed, voice softening around the word in a way that made her stomach flip. "Mother of my babies."

"Baby. Singular." The correction was automatic, which felt like a dangerous concession.

His smile was immediate, victorious. "See? You are thinking about it too."

"I didn't agree to anything," she pointed out, though the denial felt weaker than intended. This was the problem with Wilo - he had a way of making the impossible seem inevitable, of wearing down her carefully constructed boundaries with nothing but persistence and that damn accent.

"But you're thinking," he insisted, pulling into the Nando's parking lot with more finesse than someone his size should possess. "That's step one."

Yas sighed, recognizing the need for a strategic retreat. "How about this - I'll agree to a vacation in Greece this summer. Just a vacation."

"Vacation," he repeated, clearly not buying the limitation. "In Greece. Together."

"Yes."

"Where I might have ring."

"Will."

"And you might say yes." His confidence was almost as impressive as it was annoying. He killed the engine and turned to face her fully, those dark eyes seeing straight through her attempt at compromise. "Because you love me."

It was unfair, really, how easily he said those words. How he made loving each other sound like the simplest thing in the world, when her experience had taught her that nothing was ever that straightforward. Especially not for a girl who'd lost her parents young, who'd built her life around self-sufficiency.

"A vacation," she repeated firmly. "That's all I'm agreeing to right now."

His smile was knowing, almost smug, but he nodded. "For now."

The moment they stepped into Nando's, Yas could feel eyes on them. The aftermath of yesterday's match was still fresh, and Arsenal fans were everywhere in London. Wilo either didn't notice or didn't care, guiding her to a table with his hand on the small of her back, that possessive touch that had become so familiar.

"Extra hot," he told the server before she could even order. "She pretends medium is enough but always steals from my plate."

"I do not," she protested, though they both knew it was a lie. He'd been ordering extra spicy since their third date, when she'd picked at his chicken after finishing her own.

The server smiled knowingly and disappeared, leaving them in a bubble of semi-privacy despite the whispers and not-so-subtle phone cameras pointed their way.

"Everyone's staring," she murmured, suddenly conscious of how public their relationship had become. Four months ago, she'd been an anonymous PT student. Now she was the girl who supposedly distracted William Saliba before the Villa disaster.

"Let them." His tone was dismissive, reaching across the table to take her hand. His fingers dwarfed hers, warm and calloused from training. "Only matter what we think."

"Easy for you to say. You're used to this." The attention, the scrutiny, the constant evaluation. "I'm still adjusting to being someone's girlfriend, let alone..."

"Future wife," he supplied helpfully, completely ignoring her exasperated look.

"Will, I'm serious. This is all happening really fast. The Tesco video, the WAG brunches, and now you're talking marriage and babies. I just need to catch my breath."

Their food arrived in a cloud of peri-peri steam, momentarily distracting them from the future-planning conversation. Wilo dove in with his usual enthusiasm - everything he did was with full commitment, whether it was defending against strikers or devouring chicken. Yas found herself watching his hands, those long fingers that could be so gentle on her skin now wrapped around a chicken wing with singleminded focus.

"You're staring," he noted without looking up, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Just trying to figure out how you eat like that and still maintain body fat percentages that make my PT professors weep."

"Good genes," he shrugged, then pushed his extra hot portion toward her. "Try. Is good."

"I have my own."

"But mine tastes better. Everything I have tastes better."

The innuendo wasn't subtle, especially with that raised eyebrow. Even post-match sulking and baby shopping, he still managed to make everything sound suggestive with that accent.

"You're impossible," she muttered, but took some of his chicken anyway.

Halfway through their meal, Yas excused herself to the bathroom, feeling his eyes follow her across the restaurant. The women's restroom was blessedly empty, giving her a moment alone to process the day's revelations. William Saliba was planning to marry her. He'd been thinking about it since they met. The thought was simultaneously terrifying and... something else. Something she wasn't ready to examine too closely.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the guy until she collided with him coming out of the bathroom corridor.

"Oh! Sorry—"

"S'all good, love," he steadied her with a hand on her arm, flashing a charming smile. He was tall (though not Wilo-tall), with a fade that definitely came from an expensive barber and a designer hoodie that screamed money. "You're Saliba's girl, ain't you? Seen you on the 'gram."

Before she could answer, a shadow fell over them both. Wilo materialized as if summoned, his 6'4" frame suddenly occupying the entire corridor. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"My girl," Wilo stated flatly, accent thicker than usual. His eyes never left the guy's hand, still resting on Yas's arm. "Step back."

The guy immediately raised both hands, recognition and wariness crossing his face. "No drama, bruv. Just saying hello."

"Say hello from there." Wilo's tone left no room for argument as he positioned himself between them, one hand finding the small of Yas's back in that possessive gesture she'd grown accustomed to.

"Mad defensive, innit?" The guy muttered, but was already backing away. "Just being friendly."

Wilo didn't respond, just guided Yas back to their table with a gentle but insistent pressure. His jaw was set in that way it got during tough matches, eyes scanning the room as if looking for more threats.

"That was too much," she said once they were seated again. "He was just being nice."

"Don't care." Wilo's expression was unapologetic as he pushed her still-warm plate closer. "You're mine."

"I'm not property, William."

"Non, you're my heart." He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was an established scientific principle rather than a declaration. "Protect what's mine."

There was something unnervingly primal about the way he said it - mine - that made arguing difficult. Not property but something equally claimed. Yas took a sip of her water, trying to organize her thoughts while Wilo watched her with those dark, intense eyes. Even sitting across from her in a Nando's, surrounded by families and teenagers, he emanated a kind of focused energy that was impossible to ignore.

"You can't scare off every guy who talks to me," she said finally, keeping her voice low. "That's not how this works."

"Why not?" The genuine confusion in his voice would be funny if it wasn't so frustrating. William Saliba, Premier League defender, apparently applied the same marking principles to his relationship as he did on the pitch - no one gets past, no exceptions.

"Because it's controlling and weird," she explained, though his expression remained unconvinced. "And because I can handle myself."

"I know you can." His hand found hers across the table, those long fingers wrapping around her smaller ones once more. "But don't have to. That's point of having me."

In Wilo's mind, loving someone meant protecting them - from handsy strangers, from financial worries, from ever having to reach the top shelf at Tesco. It was sweet, in a caveman sort of way.

"There's a difference between being supportive and being possessive," she tried again, though she could already tell by the set of his jaw that this particular battle wasn't worth fighting. Not today, when they'd already argued about Greece weddings and baby shopping.

"Fine line," he agreed, but his thumb was tracing circles on her wrist in a way that said he wasn't really conceding anything. "Will try to be... less obvious."

"That's not exactly what I—"

"But if someone touch you?" His eyes darkened. "Non. Can't promise."

A waitress approached to clear their mess, her eyes widening slightly when she recognized them. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, gaze darting between Wilo's intense expression and Yas's exasperated one.

"Just the bill," Yas replied, suddenly aware of how public this conversation was. Half the restaurant was still sneaking glances, probably hoping for more drama after Arsenal's humiliating loss. The last thing they needed was to become Twitter's main character again, this time for a possessive standoff in Nando's.

Wilo paid (of course), leaving a tip that made the waitress's eyes widen, and guided Yas out with that hand on her lower back. The gesture felt different now, loaded with meaning beyond just affection. A silent declaration to everyone watching: mine.

"You know," she said as they walked toward his car, "most girls would find that cave-man display a major red flag."

"You're not most girls," Wilo replied with such utter conviction it almost made her laugh. In his world, everything was that straightforward - Arsenal was the best team, Yas was the only girl, and any man who came within three feet of her was a threat to be neutralized.

He opened the passenger door with that same old-world chivalry he somehow made seem natural rather than affected. As she slipped past him into the seat, his hand found her ass in a possessive squeeze that was definitely not appropriate for a public parking lot.

"Will!" she hissed, but he just grinned, unrepentant as he closed her door.

By the time he rounded the car and settled into the driver's seat, that particular look had taken over his features - the one that was equal parts smug satisfaction and focused desire. It was the same expression he wore after a perfectly executed tackle or a well-placed header.

"You're not gonna make this an issue, are you?" she asked as he started the engine, already knowing the answer. William Saliba didn't let things go easily, whether it was a football match or some random guy's hand on her arm.

His smile was sickeningly sweet, all teeth and false innocence. "Of course not, mon coeur."

"Liar."

"Never lie to you." His hand found her thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that were just distracting enough to make her forget why she was annoyed. "Just thinking."

"About what?" she asked warily.

"How beautiful you look in Greek sunset." His accent wrapped around the words like a caress. "This summer. On our honeymoon."

"Vacation," she corrected automatically. "Just a vacation."

His smile only widened, clearly not believing her for a second. "If you say so, mon coeur."

*****************************************************

He made it into a big deal.

A big deal that transformed her into a moaning, pleading mess.

Wilo had her right where he wanted—under him, wrapped around him, taking every slow, deliberate thrust like she was made for him.

Yas gasped, her fingers clawing at his back as he rocked into her, deep and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to ruin her. His penthouse was dimly lit, the only sounds filling the space were the rain tapping against the windows and the wet, filthy rhythm of their bodies moving together.

"Mon amour," he breathed against her cheek, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses all over her face, between her brows, the corner of her lips, her jaw—like he couldn’t stand not touching her for even a second. "You feel me? How deep I am?"

Yas whimpered, legs tightening around his waist in response, heels digging into the small of his back like she was trying to pull him in even closer.

Wilo groaned, burying his face against her neck, breath hot and ragged. "This pussy," he muttered, thrusting slow, deep, measured, "mine. All mine."

Yas shivered at the possessiveness in his voice, hands cupping his face, guiding him to look at her. His eyes were heavy-lidded, wild with need, and there was something devastating about the way he was looking at her—like she was his everything, like he was never letting her go.

"I know it’s yours," she whispered, voice trembling as another deep stroke sent pleasure curling up her spine. "You don’t have to remind me."

"Non." His lips brushed against hers, teasing. "Gotta remind you. Gotta make sure you never forget."

Then he kissed her, deep and consuming, hips rolling into her with a slow, aching intensity that made her moan straight into his mouth.

Yas was dizzy, lost in him, in his body, in the way he moved, how he took his time with her like he had something to prove. And maybe he did—maybe he needed her to know that no one could ever have her like this, touch her like this, love her like this.

His pace never faltered, never quickened—just deep, lazy strokes that had her falling apart with every thrust.

"Say it," Wilo murmured against her lips.

"Say what?"

"Say you’re mine."

Yas let out a shaky breath, her nails digging into his back as he ground into her, slow and devastating.

"I’m yours, Wilo," she whispered, voice wrecked.

His groan was pure satisfaction, his grip tightening on her hips as he pressed their foreheads together, breath mingling.

"Damn right, bébé."

His weight pressed her into the mattress, his strokes deep and dragging like he wanted her to feel every inch, every slow, toe-curling thrust. His pace never rushed, he kept it deliberate, rolling his hips in a way that made Yas gasp and arch into him, made her body shudder and cling to him without thought.

"Mon amour," he murmured against her lips, voice thick with need, "you feel so good. So perfect. Like you were made for me."

His hips rolled again, deeper this time, filling her completely, pulling back just enough before sinking right back in. Yas let out a choked moan, her nails scraping down his back, her mind unraveling with every measured thrust.

"You’re going to marry me, non?" His lips ghosted over her jaw, down her throat, peppering kisses between his words. "Be pretty in white for me?"

Yas could barely think, let alone speak, her body overwhelmed by the way he was moving inside her—deep and unhurried, like he was savoring every moment, like he had nowhere else to be but right here, buried inside her.

"Non, bébé, answer me." Wilo caught her chin, forcing her hazy eyes to meet his, a slow, smug smile curving his lips as he rolled his hips again, this time with just enough force to make her gasp. "No one else but me, d’accord? Say it."

She tried, tried to form the words, but all that came out was a soft, breathy, "Yes."

Wilo groaned low in his throat, pressing his forehead back to hers. "You’ll give me babies too, hm? Carry my name, carry my children?"

Yas’s breath hitched, body seizing up as he angled his hips slightly, his strokes hitting deeper, the sensation overwhelming, devastating.

"All mine," he whispered, grinding into her slow and deep, every thrust making her shiver, her body tightening around him in response. "My good girl, my perfect wife, the mother of my babies."

Yas could do nothing but take it, let him love her like this, let him make promises against her skin that she knew she’d never be able to deny.

His movements grew more precise, more determined, like he was guiding her toward the edge, like he wanted her to fall apart just for him. And when she did—body locking up, pleasure crashing through her in waves so intense she could barely breathe—Wilo swallowed every sound, kissed her through it, groaning into her mouth as he followed right behind her.

His hips stuttered as he pushed in deep one last time, filling her up completely, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as he let his weight settle over her.

For a moment, all that filled the room was their ragged breathing, the storm outside, the faint patter of rain against the windows.

Then Wilo leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to her lips, lazy and tender, before deepening it, making her whimper against him.

When he finally pulled back, he brushed her hair from her damp forehead, chuckling. "Are you thirsty, bébé? I get water."

Yas could barely nod, still too dazed to form words.

Wilo smirked, pressing another kiss to her lips before slipping out of her, a satisfied groan leaving him as he sat up. He glanced down, watching as some of his cum started to slip out of her, and tsked.

"Non, non, mon cœur." He pressed two fingers against her, teasingly pushing some back in, his grin turning downright wicked. "Keep it in there, we need that for baby."

Yas let out a breathless whimper, barely able to react before he winked and padded out of the room, completely unbothered, humming softly to himself.

Her dazed eyes followed him, watching the way his naked ass flexed as he walked, disappearing from sight as he left the room.

All she could do was exhale, body still trembling, completely wrecked.

That man was going to be the death of her.

The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, cool air hitting her overheated skin as she tried to remember how to form coherent thoughts. Yas could hear Wilo in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets with that casual confidence of someone who knew exactly where everything was in his own space.

Four months ago, she'd been a PT student focused on her degree, worrying about clinical rotations and anatomy exams. Now she was sprawled across William Saliba's ridiculously expensive sheets, wearing nothing but the aftermath of his attentions, while he fetched her water like the perfect gentleman he occasionally remembered to be.

Her phone buzzed somewhere on the floor - probably Jamie with questions about tomorrow's lab, or maybe Tolami with another WAG brunch invitation. The real world continued spinning outside this bedroom, with all its expectations and complications. Clinical hours to complete. Exams to study for. A boyfriend who'd spent the afternoon shopping for baby clothes and planning Greek weddings.

When Wilo reappeared in the doorway, he was still gloriously naked, two water bottles in one hand like some Renaissance sculpture come to life. His body was a masterpiece of athletic perfection - all lean muscle and smooth skin that made her PT brain catalog the muscle groups even as her girlfriend brain just appreciated the view.

"Hydration important," he announced, settling beside her on the bed with that easy grace that seemed impossible for someone his size. "For baby-making."

"We're not making a baby," she reminded him, accepting the water gratefully. Her throat was dry from... recent activities. "That was just..."

"Practice?" His grin was wicked as he traced a finger down her bare shoulder. "Need lots of practice. Every day. Multiple times."

"William."

"What? Am very dedicated to practice." The innocence in his voice was completely undermined by the heat in his eyes. "Ask Arteta. Best practice attendance on team."

She couldn't help but laugh, the sound mixing with the distant London traffic filtering through his open window. For all his outrageous plans and possessive tendencies, it was moments like this - just them, teasing and touching in the aftermath - that made her heart do dangerous things in her chest.

"You're impossible," she said, but there was no heat in it, just a resigned affection that was becoming more familiar by the day.

The water was deliciously cold sliding down her throat, momentarily distracting her from the revelation that had been bouncing around her mind since Harrods. Wilo watched her drink, his eyes tracking the movement of her throat with that focused intensity he brought to everything.

"So," she ventured, setting the empty bottle on his nightstand. "Did you actually get one?"

"One what?" His face was fighting a losing battle with smugness, those full lips twitching at the corners as he tried to maintain an innocent expression.

"A ring," she clarified, though they both knew exactly what she was asking. "You said you had plans. That means you either have one or you don't."

His eyes danced with mischief. "Yes."

That single word hung between them, deceptively simple but loaded with implications. Yas found herself suddenly breathless again, though for entirely different reasons than a few minutes ago.

"When?" she pressed, pulling the sheet higher over her chest as if modesty would somehow give her the upper hand in this conversation. "How? Where is it?"

"I'm not telling you anything." His accent wrapped around the words like silk, making even his stubbornness sound appealing. The mattress dipped as he shifted closer, one large hand finding her hip through the sheet.

"Is it in this room?" Her eyes darted to his nightstand, his closet, mentally cataloging all the possible hiding places in his massive bedroom.

"Maybe." A casual shrug of those broad shoulders, the picture of nonchalance. "Maybe not."

The French bastard was actually enjoying this, watching her curiosity war with her insistence that they were moving too fast. Arsenal's defensive rock playing coy in his birthday suit while Yas tried to figure out when exactly she'd lost control of her carefully planned life.

"You're not subtle, you know," she informed him, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric. "Your face gives everything away."

"My face says nothing," he protested, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him. "Poker face. Very good."

"You're the worst liar I've ever met."

His thumb traced lazy circles on her hip. "Only because you know me so well. Perfect match, see? Meant to be."

His confidence was both infuriating and oddly comforting. There was something to be said for a man who knew exactly what he wanted and pursued it without hesitation. Even if what he wanted was her, wrapped in his sheets and wearing his ring.

"You really think we're ready for that?" she asked, studying his face for any hint of doubt. "Marriage is a big deal, Will. It's not just a vacation in Greece or a fancy party."

"I know what marriage is," he replied, suddenly serious. Those dark eyes held hers with unexpected gravity. "Saw my parents. Know what works, what doesn't."

Yas felt a pang at the mention of his parents. Like her, Wilo had experienced loss too young, had watched a family fracture. Maybe that was why he was so determined to build something solid now - to create the stability they'd both lost.

"Still," she pressed, needing him to understand her hesitation. "We're so young. I have school, you have your career. There's no rush."

His hand moved from her hip to her face, those long fingers gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Life is short, mon coeur. Why wait for happiness when it's right here?"

The simplicity of his philosophy was disarming. In Wilo's world, there was no point in delaying joy when you found it - whether that was stealing a chocolate bar at midnight or proposing to your girlfriend of a few months.

"So where is it?" she found herself asking, curiosity winning out despite her reservations. "The ring."

His grin returned, slow and devastatingly charming. "Safe place."

"That's not an answer."

"Is only answer you get." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "For now."

The thought of William Saliba, Arsenal defender and notorious impulse shopper, carefully selecting and hiding an engagement ring was almost too much to process. She tried to picture him in a jewelry store, those massive hands delicately examining diamond settings, his accent wrapping around words like "clarity" and "cut."

"What's it look like?" she tried, knowing he probably wouldn't tell her but unable to resist asking.

"Beautiful." His eyes never left hers. "Like you."

"That's cheesy even for you."

His laugh rumbled through him, vibrating against her where their bodies touched. "Maybe. But true."

Monday mornings hit different when you'd spent the weekend watching your boyfriend buy baby clothes. Yas adjusted her lab coat, trying to focus on Professor Wilson's instructions rather than the memory of Wilo's smug smile as he'd dropped her off twenty minutes ago.

"Don't forget me while elbow-deep in cadavers," he'd teased, leaning across the center console for a goodbye kiss that lingered just long enough to make her late. His training gear was already on, Arsenal practice scheduled right after he dropped her off. "Pick you up after? Dinner at my place?"

Now she was trying to remember the proper technique for assessing tibial rotation while her lab partner, Devon, kept sneaking glances at her like she might spontaneously reveal Premier League secrets.

"Focus on the specimen," she reminded him, gesturing to the ankle joint they were supposed to be examining.

"Sorry," he grinned, not looking sorry at all. "Just still processing that William Saliba bought us all coffee on Friday. My mum nearly fainted when I told her."

The lab was King's College London's pride and joy - all gleaming equipment and pristine surfaces that smelled perpetually of disinfectant. Normally, Yas found it easy to lose herself in the technical aspects of her work, the clinical precision of anatomy a welcome escape from real-world messiness. Today, though, her mind kept drifting to the Harrods bags still sitting in Wilo's penthouse and the mysterious ring hidden somewhere in his possession.

"Ms. Robinson, perhaps you could demonstrate the proper assessment technique for your colleagues?" Professor Wilson's voice cut through her distraction, expectation clear in his tone.

Yas straightened, slipping into professional mode despite the whispers that followed her to the front of the room. Three weeks since the Tesco video had exposed them, and she was still "Saliba's girl" first, PT student second in the eyes of many classmates.

Her hands were steady as she demonstrated the procedure, muscle memory taking over where concentration failed. This, at least, was something she knew with certainty - the precise way to test ligament integrity, the exact amount of pressure to apply. So different from the unpredictable whirlwind that was dating William Saliba.

When their ten-minute break finally came, she retreated to a quiet corner, phone already in hand. He'd deleted her social apps after those first cruel headlines about her "distracting" him, but curiosity was winning out over self-preservation. The Instagram app downloaded quickly, notifications immediately flooding in.

Her private account - still carefully restricted despite the follower requests that had jumped from hundreds to thousands - had messages from friends back in Chicago, all variations of "IS THAT REALLY YOU WITH SALIBA???" and "GIRL EXPLAIN IMMEDIATELY."

She posted a simple weekend photo - her coffee mug on Wilo's balcony, London spread out below, his shoes visible but not his face. Just enough to acknowledge their relationship without feeding the frenzy. The comments from her actual friends poured in instantly:

"Dropping crumbs but we see you 👀" "Those better be YOUR shoes because if that man wears a size 7 I'm deceased 💀" "The VIEW. Of London. Obviously."

Her phone buzzed with a different notification - Wilo, of course:

"Miss you already. Arteta says I'm distracted at training 🤫"

"Focus on your job," she typed back. "I'm trying to focus on mine."

"Thinking about Wednesday. Take you somewhere nice before Bayern."

The Champions League second leg loomed large - Arsenal down 2-1 from the first match, everything to play for at the Emirates. Wilo had been watching match footage obsessively between attempting to fuck her in every room of his penthouse.

"You should be resting before the match," she replied, ever the practical PT student.

"Need my good luck charm first 😏"

Professor Wilson cleared his throat from the doorway, a gentle reminder that break time was over. Yas slipped her phone away, tugging her lab coat straight as she headed back to work. William Saliba and his rings and his Champions League matches would have to wait.

She had tibial rotations to master first.

Lab ended in a flurry of notes and clean-up protocols, Professor Wilson reminding them about next week's practical exam as they filed out. Yas's phone had been buzzing intermittently throughout the second half - mostly Wilo, but also the WAG group chat where Sophie was already planning outfits for Wednesday's match.

Lunch was a hasty affair in the campus café, her notes spread across the table while she nibbled on a mediocre sandwich. The normalcy of it - just another PT student cramming between classes - felt almost surreal after the weekend's whirlwind of Harrods shopping and engagement hints.

She found herself opening Instagram again, adding to her story this time. A photo of her lunch with her notes visible in the corner, captioned: "PT school waits for no one 📚" Another of her freshly washed twist-out looking surprisingly cooperative, just her eyes and forehead visible: "Hair finally behaving 🙌🏾"

The responses from her actual friends were immediate, mostly variations of "She lives!" and "Girl where have you BEEN?" mixed with questions about Wilo she wasn't ready to answer publicly. Her follower requests had jumped another thousand, which she studiously ignored.

Clinical rotations filled her afternoon, the familiar rhythm of patient assessments and charting a welcome distraction. Her royal blue scrubs felt like armor, transforming her from "Wilo's girlfriend" back to "almost-Dr. Robinson" as she worked through her assigned cases. At least until a teenage patient with an Arsenal shirt recognized her.

"You're Saliba's girlfriend!" he blurted mid-ankle assessment. "From the Tesco video!"

"I'm your PT student," she corrected gently, continuing her work with professional detachment. "And I need you to rotate your foot inward for me, please."

Jamie caught her eye across the clinic floor, mouthing "Tough crowd" with a sympathetic smile. This was her new reality - constantly navigating between her identity as a healthcare professional and her sudden visibility as a WAG.

By the time her shift ended, Yas was exhausted but strangely restless. Wilo's text sat unanswered on her phone: "Training until 6. Come see me after?"

She shouldn't. She had notes to review, a presentation to prepare, laundry piling up in her flat. But twenty minutes later she found herself in an Uber headed for Arsenal's training ground, watching London slide by outside the window.

The security guard recognized her immediately - apparently being William Saliba's girlfriend came with certain privileges, including access to restricted training facilities. She was directed to a waiting area with plush seats and Arsenal memorabilia lining the walls, where other WAGs occasionally gathered to collect their men.

Through the large windows, she could see them on the distant pitch - tall figures in training gear running drills under Arteta's watchful eye. Even from here, she could identify Wilo's distinctive gait, the way he moved with surprising grace for his size.

Her fingers itched to take a photo for her story, to capture this behind-the-scenes glimpse into his world. But something held her back - a reluctance to feed the public narrative of them as just another footballer and his WAG. This moment felt private somehow, watching him in his element without his knowledge.

She was scrolling through her clinical notes when the doors burst open and the players began filing in, sweaty and loud after training. Bukayo spotted her first, his face breaking into a grin.

"Yas! He didn't tell us you were coming." He gave her a quick side hug, unbothered by his post-training state. "Maybe that's why he was showing off so much."

"I wasn't showing off," Wilo's voice came from behind them, deep and slightly indignant. But his eyes told a different story when they landed on her - surprise and pleasure mingling with something more possessive. "Just good training."

He was still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat, that faint flush across his cheekbones that came from exertion. It shouldn't be attractive - sweaty footballer just off the pitch - but Yas still felt that familiar flutter in her stomach as he approached.

"Surprise," she said, suddenly self-conscious about showing up uninvited. "Thought I'd see if that dinner offer was still good."

His smile was answer enough, hand finding the small of her back as he guided her toward the exit. "Always good. Just need shower first."

"Take your time. I have notes to review anyway."

But Wilo was already steering her toward the players' private area, ignoring Bukayo's exaggerated gagging noises behind them. "Fifteen minutes. Wait in my locker room?"

The Arsenal changing facilities were exactly as luxurious as expected - all sleek modern design and top-tier amenities. Wilo's locker was easy to spot, his number 2 prominently displayed alongside personal items that made her smile. A small photo of them tucked discreetly in the corner. Her chapstick that he'd stolen weeks ago.

She settled on a bench, pulling out her tablet to review her notes while the sound of showers echoed from the adjoining room. This strange intersection of their worlds - her clinical studies and his professional football - still felt surreal sometimes. Just four months ago, she'd been an anonymous PT student worrying about exams. Now she was waiting in Arsenal's private facilities while her boyfriend showered after training.

True to his word, Wilo emerged fifteen minutes later, hair still damp but now smelling of expensive shower gel rather than training pitch. He'd changed into casual clothes - designer jeans and a simple black sweater that made his shoulders look even broader.

"Ready?" he asked, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead before gathering his things. "Starving."

The drive back to his place was filled with his animated recounting of training - tactical adjustments for Bayern, Arteta's focus on defensive transitions, Gabriel's new celebration dance that had everyone cracking up. It was this version of Wilo she loved most - passionate and expressive, hands occasionally leaving the wheel to demonstrate a particular move.

"So Wednesday," he said as they pulled into his building's garage. "Dinner before match? That new place near Emirates?"

"Is that smart? Shouldn't you be focused?"

His smile was confident as he killed the engine. "You are my focus. Good luck charm, remember?"

His penthouse welcomed them with automated lights and climate control, everything pristine despite his bachelor status. Wilo immediately headed for the kitchen, pulling out his phone to order dinner.

"Thai okay? Or Italian?" he called, already scrolling through options. "Need carbs for match energy."

"Thai is fine," she replied, settling on his ridiculous couch and kicking off her shoes.

Wilo joined her moments later, order placed, immediately pulling her against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His heat seeped through her scrubs, arm heavy across her shoulders as he scrolled through Netflix options.

"Good day?" he asked, voice softening as his fingers played with her edges. "Patients behave?"

"One recognized me as 'Saliba's girl'," she admitted. "But mostly normal. Lab was good."

His pleased expression was almost comical - so openly delighted at being publicly associated with her. William Saliba, who'd spent years cultivating a private persona despite his football fame, now happily claimed by a PT student from Chicago.

"My girl," he confirmed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always."

its_yasminrobinson posted on her instagram story - 6h ago

story replies:

tolami_benson: my fave pt girl!

jamie435: ooh...is that arsenal's training ground?

millywhite: cute! love the scrubs!

gaabisevero: beleza e inteligência

summergyal: looking great, bestie!

realchitowngal: i see u boo!

...........tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #wilo saliba #william saliba fan fic #william saliba x reader #william saliba fanfic #william saliba fic #wilo saliba x black oc #the new wag in town #william saliba #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #arsenal x reader #arsenal fanfic

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haydenthewitch · 14 days ago

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Bobby Nash is not dead: my predictions for the rest of the season

the military does not release bobby's body to Athena grant or the 118 because of the deadly super virus and all of that. They bury him in a birch box in an unmarked grave with all of the belongings that he brought into the lab (including his cell phone) becuse 'milatry protocal' or whatever the fuck

We see the LAFD funeral procession and the 118 grieving and dealing with the loss. They put an empty official LAFD coffin in the ground. (WE NEVER SAW PETER IN THE COFFIN OR ON SET IN THE BTS. IT COULD TOTALY WORK)

We hear the 911 sound and Maddie picks up. it's bobby. He's freaking out. She's freaking out. She pings his phone and finds his location/

Maddie breaks protocol and calls Athena. She's on bereavement leave, but the second that she hears that bobby could be alive she grabs her gun and badge in order to go get her husband. She calls buck and the entire 118 and they come too.

Maddie is freaking out because bobby is describing the air getting thin; he's going to suffocate in that box and then it will all be for nothing. She asks if there is any way he can punch trough the flimsy wood. she prepares him by telling him to hold his breath and shield his eyes as much as he can; basically don't drown in dirt.

bobby makes it out alive, punching through the wood and crawling back up to the surface (a-la dean winchester season 4 epi 1) and he RUNS into Athena's arms (NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN. I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER)

But hayden, i hear you saying. peter krause is leaving the show. how can bobby nash be alive and not the captain of the 118?

after they cure bobby of super killer very bad virus (via Chekov's lab rat) bobby tells Athena that he wants to retire. He gives a whole speech about how every day he puts on the uniform and he accepts that it's possible he's going to die in the field. He walks through fire and prays that he's going to get home to Athena every night. he tells her that in the lab, he wished it didn't have to be that way. now it feels like god has given him his second chance, and he doesn't want to go back to the possibility of dying every shift. He's going to retire, and live a long healthy life with her.

Bobby sits buck down to tell him this news. Buck is at first upset; how will the 118 thrive without their captain? but he quickly accepts and understands that it's not about him, or the 118, it's the one self-interested thing bobby is doing for himself. Bobby always puts everyone else first (including when it came to who lives and who dies) and this he is doing for himself.

Buck makes a joke about 'well i wonder what shmuck they are going to put in your place. big shoes to fill' and bobby says 'oh i wanted to talk to you about that too.' BECUSE THINK ABOUT IT. he looked at buck in his FINAL MOLMENTS and said "they are going to need you, kid." he took the time to encourage buck to LEAD. when bobby nash promotes Buck to captain, everything comes full circle. including that conversation they had about buck eventually being ready to be captain.

IN CONCLUSION, BOBBY NASH ALIVE AND BUCK BUCKLEY CAPTAIN OF THE 118

oh and buddie canon season 9

#bobby nash is alive #bobby nash #captain evan buckley of the 118 #evan buckley #buck buckley #maddie buckley #athena grant #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 spec #911 on abc #911 abc #911 show #911 #hayden yaps #hayden yaps about 911 #peter krause may be leaving but bobby is still alive #i'll fist fight tim minear behind a denny's and i'll fucking win #no grave will hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

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hwaretic · 17 days ago

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The Chemistry Between Us | j.yh

Chapter 3 : The Constant In My Formula

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

→ note : this is the last chapter of this mini series honestly it was so fun writing it but I'm flopping on this series help TvT

→ genre : fluff, college au, romance, future au

→ pairing : science major! yunho x business major! reader

→ word count : 2.6k

→ synopsis : Years later, Yunho proves love is the greatest equation of all-with a ring, fairy lights, and the kind of kiss that solves everything.

| chapter 1 | chapter 2

Two years passed in the blink of an eye.

You were working full-time now—marketing strategist at a sleek downtown firm, running on caffeine and calendar reminders. Yunho had officially earned the title of Dr. Jeong—he was a research fellow at one of the top chemical research centers in the country.

You still lived in the same apartment, though it had more framed pictures and less sticky notes now (except the one he refused to take down on your mirror).

“Hottest business major in existence. Love, your science nerd.”

That one stayed. Like him.

Every morning, Yunho kissed your shoulder while you brushed your teeth. Every evening, he kissed your temple the moment you stepped through the door. Every night, he kissed you slowly—like you were a constant he never wanted to solve.

And you loved him with everything you had.

But what you didn’t know… was that he’d been planning something for months.

It started with the ring.

Yunho spent weeks researching the science behind gemstone structures. (Of course he did.) He picked a minimalist, elegant platinum band with a subtle round diamond—not too flashy, just like you liked. He even had your initials and a tiny hand-drawn molecule engraved on the inside.

Then came the plan.

A proposal—but not just any proposal. Yunho-style. Nerdy. Personal. Completely you.

He told you to keep your Friday evening free.

You stepped into the lab just after sunset, heels clicking on the glossy floor. The receptionist waved you in, already smiling like she knew something you didn’t.

The door to Yunho’s lab was slightly ajar. You pushed it open—and froze.

The lights were dimmed, replaced by warm fairy lights strung along the ceiling. Soft instrumental music played from a speaker. And in the middle of the room, there was a table. On it sat a notebook, your favorite flowers, and a tiny glowing beaker with pink liquid bubbling inside.

You smiled. “What is this…?”

Then Yunho stepped out from behind a partition—lab coat over a crisp white button-up, glasses on, looking like a dream.

“I’ve run the experiment a thousand times,” he said, walking toward you, voice nervous and sweet. “And every result leads to the same conclusion.”

You tilted your head, already breathless. “Oh yeah? What conclusion?”

He grinned, tugging off his gloves, and held up the notebook. Inside were scribbled equations—some real, some ridiculous.

Attraction + Trust + Time + Too Many Kisses = Love²

Then on the last page:

Hypothesis: I want to spend forever with you.

Solution: Ask.

Yunho set the notebook down. Reached into his coat pocket. Dropped to one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth as tears instantly blurred your vision.

“Will you marry me?” he said, voice shaking. “And keep kissing me every day, forever?”

You dropped to your knees too and threw your arms around him, nearly knocking the ring out of his hand.

“Yes! Yunho—yes, a thousand times!”

He laughed—relieved, elated—and cupped your face, eyes glossy behind his glasses.

Then he kissed you.

A deep, breathtaking kiss. The kind that tasted like tears and joy and everything that ever brought you two together. His hands cradled your face, your arms clung to his coat, and the world melted away into molecules and heartbeats.

Later that night, back at your apartment, Yunho slipped the ring on your finger while you both sat cross-legged on the couch, eating takeout straight from the boxes.

You admired the sparkle, but even more than the ring, you admired him.

“Did you really do equations?” you teased.

He shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I had to. It wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t nerdy.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly. “God, I love you.”

Another kiss. Slower. Sweeter. Full of promise.

And just when you were about to pull away, Yunho whispered against your lips:

“One more kiss. For science.”

You laughed into his mouth. “That’s not how science works.”

He smirked. “Says the girl who kissed a nerd in the library four years ago and changed my entire life.”

You kissed him again anyway.

For love.

For science.

For forever.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #yunho angst #ateez hard thoughts #ateez yunho #yunho fluff

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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The paradox of choice screens

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

It's official: the DOJ has won its case, and Google is a convicted monopolist. Over the next six months, we're gonna move into the "remedy" phase, where we figure out what the court is going to order Google to do to address its illegal monopoly power:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/07/revealed-preferences/#extinguish-v-improve

That's just the beginning, of course. Even if the court orders some big, muscular remedies, we can expect Google to appeal (they've already said they would) and that could drag out the case for years. But that can be a feature, not a bug: a years-long appeal will see Google on its very best behavior, with massive, attendant culture changes inside the company. A Google that's fighting for its life in the appeals court isn't going to be the kind of company that promotes a guy whose strategy for increasing revenue is to make Google Search deliberately worse, so that you will have to do more searches (and see more ads) to get the info you're seeking:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

It's hard to overstate how much good stuff can emerge from a company that's mired itself in antitrust hell with extended appeals. In 1982, IBM wriggled off the antitrust hook after a 12-year fight that completely transformed the company's approach to business. After more than a decade of being micromanaged by lawyers who wanted to be sure that the company didn't screw up its appeal and anger antitrust enforcers, IBM's executives were totally transformed. When the company made its first PC, it decided to use commodity components (meaning anyone could build a similar PC by buying the same parts), and to buy its OS from an outside vendor called Micros-Soft (meaning competing PCs could use the same OS), and it turned a blind eye to the company that cloned the PC ROM, enabling companies like Dell, Compaq and Gateway to enter the market with "PC clones" that cost less and did more than the official IBM PC:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/08/ibm-pc-compatible-how-adversarial-interoperability-saved-pcs-monopolization

The big question, of course, is whether the court will order Google to break up, say, by selling off Android, its ad-tech stack, and Chrome. That's a question I'll address on another day. For today, I want to think about how to de-monopolize browsers, the key portal to the internet. The world has two extremely dominant browsers, Safari and Chrome, and each of them are owned by an operating system vendor that pre-installs their own browser on their devices and pre-selects them as the default.

Defaults matter. That's a huge part of Judge Mehta's finding in the Google case, where the court saw evidence from Google's own internal research suggesting that people rarely change defaults, meaning that whatever the gadget does out of the box it will likely do forever. This puts a lie to Google's longstanding defense of its monopoly power: "choice is just a click away." Sure, it's just a click away – a click, you're pretty sure no one is ever going to make.

This means that any remedy to Google's browser dominance is going to involve a lot of wrangling about defaults. That's not a new wrangle, either. For many years, regulators and tech companies have tinkered with "choice screens" that were nominally designed to encourage users to try out different browsers and brake the inertia of the big two browsers that came bundled with OSes.

These choice screens have a mixed record. Google's 2019 Android setup choice screen for the European Mobile Application Distribution Agreement somehow managed to result in the vast majority of users sticking with Chrome. Microsoft had a similar experience in 2010 with BrowserChoice.eu, its response to the EU's 2000s-era antitrust action:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BrowserChoice.eu

Does this mean that choice screens don't work? Maybe. The idea of choice screens comes to us from the "choice architecture" world of "nudging," a technocratic pseudoscience that grew to prominence by offering the promise that regulators could make big changes without having to do any real regulating:

https://verfassungsblog.de/nudging-after-the-replication-crisis/

Nudge research is mired in the "replication crisis" (where foundational research findings turn out to be nonreplicable, due to bad research methodology, sloppy analysis, etc) and nudge researchers keep getting caught committing academic fraud:

https://www.ft.com/content/846cc7a5-12ee-4a44-830e-11ad00f224f9

When the first nudgers were caught committing fraud, more than a decade ago, they were assumed to be outliers in an otherwise honest and exciting field:

https://www.npr.org/2016/10/01/496093672/power-poses-co-author-i-do-not-believe-the-effects-are-real

Today, it's hard to find much to salvage from the field. To the extent the field is taken seriously today, it's often due to its critics repeating the claims of its boosters, a process Lee Vinsel calls "criti-hype":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

For example, the term "dark patterns" lumps together really sneaky tactics with blunt acts of fraud. When you click an "opt out of cookies" button and get a screen that says "Success!" but which has a tiny little "confirm" button on it that you have to click to actually opt out, that's not a "dark pattern," it's just a scam:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/27/beware-of-the-leopard/#relentless

By ascribing widespread negative effects to subtle psychological manipulation ("dark patterns") rather than obvious and blatant fraud, we inadvertently elevate "nudging" to a real science, rather than a cult led by scammy fake scientists.

All this raises some empirical questions about choice screens: do they work (in the sense of getting people to break away from defaults), and if so, what's the best way to make them work?

This is an area with a pretty good literature, as it turns out, thanks in part due to some natural experiments, like when Russia forced Google to offer choice screens for Android in 2017, but didn't let Google design that screen. The Russian policy produced a significant switch away from Google's own apps to Russian versions, primarily made by Yandex:

https://cepr.org/publications/dp17779

In 2023, Mozilla Research published a detailed study in which 12,000 people from Germany, Spain and Poland set up simulated mobile and desktop devices with different kinds of choice screens, a project spurred on by the EU's Digital Markets Act, which is going to mandate choice screens starting this year:

https://research.mozilla.org/browser-competition/choicescreen/

I'm spending this week reviewing choice screen literature, and I've just read the Mozilla paper, which I found very interesting, albeit limited. The biggest limitation is that the researchers are getting users to simulate setting up a new device and then asking them how satisfied they are with the experience. That's certainly a question worth researching, but a far more important question is "How do users feel about the setup choices they made later, after living with them on the devices they use every day?" Unfortunately, that's a much more expensive and difficult question to answer, and beyond the scope of this paper.

With that limitation in mind, I'm going to break down the paper's findings here and draw some conclusions about what we should be looking for in any kind of choice screen remedy that comes out of the DOJ antitrust victory over Google.

The first thing note is that people report liking choice screens. When users get to choose their browsers, they expect to be happy with that choice; by contrast, users are skeptical that they'll like the default browser the vendor chose for them. Users don't consider choice screens to be burdensome, and adding a choice screen doesn't appreciably increase setup time.

There are some nuances to this. Users like choice screens during device setup but they don't like choice screens that pop up the first time they use a browser. That makes total sense: "choosing a browser" is colorably part of the "setting up your gadget" task. By contrast, the first time you open a browser on a new device, it's probably to get something else done (e.g. look up how to install a piece of software you used on your old device) and being interrupted with a choice screen at that moment is an unwelcome interruption. This is the psychology behind those obnoxious cookie-consent pop-ups that website bombard you with when you first visit them: you've clicked to that website because you need something it has, and being stuck with a privacy opt-out screen at that moment is predictably frustrating (which is why companies do it, and also why the DMA is going to punish companies that do).

The researchers experimented with different kinds of choice screens, varying the number of browsers on offer and the amount of information given on each. Again, users report that they prefer more choices and more information, and indeed, more choice and more info is correlated with choosing indie, non-default browsers, but this effect size is small (<10%), and no matter what kind of choice screen users get, most of them come away from the experience without absorbing any knowledge about indie browsers.

The order in which browsers are presented has a much larger effect than how many browsers or how much detail is present. People say they want lots of choices, but they usually choose one of the first four options. That said, users who get choice screens say it changes which browser they'd choose as a default.

Some of these contradictions appear to stem from users' fuzziness on what "default browser" means. For an OS vendor, "default browser" is the browser that pops up when you click a link in an email or social media. For most users, "default browser" means "the browser pinned to my home screen."

Where does all this leave us? I think it cashes out to this: choice screens will probably make a appreciable, but not massive, difference in browser dominance. They're cheap to implement, have no major downsides, and are easy to monitor. Choice screens might be needed to address Chrome's dominance even if the court orders Google to break off Chrome and stand it up as a separate business (we don't want any browser monopolies, even if they're not owned by a search monopolist!). So yeah, we should probably make a lot of noise to the effect that the court should order a choice screen, as part of a remedy.

That choice screen should be presented during device setup, with the choices presented in random order – with this caveat: Chrome should never appear in the top four choices.

All of that would help address the browser duopoly, even if it doesn't solve it. I would love to see more market-share for Firefox, which is the browser I've used every day for more than a decade, on my laptop and my phone. Of course, Mozilla has a role to play here. The company says it's going to refocus on browser quality, at the expense of the various side-hustles it's tried, which have ranged from uninteresting to catastrophically flawed:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91167564/mozilla-wants-you-to-love-firefox-again

For example, there was the tool to automatically remove your information from scummy data brokers, that they outsourced to a scummy data-broker:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/3/22/24109116/mozilla-ends-onerep-data-removal-partnership

And there's the "Privacy Preserving Attribution" tracking system that helps advertisers target you with surveillance advertising (in a way that's less invasive than existing techniques). Mozilla rolled this into Firefox on an opt out basis, and made opting out absurdly complicated, suggesting that it knew that it was imposing something on its users that they wouldn't freely choose:

https://blog.privacyguides.org/2024/07/14/mozilla-disappoints-us-yet-again-2/

They've been committing these kinds of unforced errors for more than a decade, seeking some kind of balance between monopolistic web companies and its users' desire to have a browser that protects them from invasive and unfair practices:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2014/may/14/firefox-closed-source-drm-video-browser-cory-doctorow

These compromises represent the fallacy that Mozilla's future depends on keeping bullying entertainment companies and Big Tech happy, so it can go on serving its users. At the same time, these compromises have alienated Mozilla's core users, the technical people who were its fiercest evangelists. Those core users are the authority on technical questions for the normies in their life, and they know exactly how cursed it is for Moz to be making these awful compromises.

Moz has hemorrhaged users over the past decade, meaning they have even less leverage over the corporations demanding that they make more compromises. This sets up a doom loop: make a bad compromise, lose users, become more vulnerable to demands for even worse compromises. "This capitulation puts us in a great position to make a stand in some hypothetical future where we don't instantly capitulate again" is a pretty unconvincing proposition.

After the past decade's heartbreaks, seeing Moz under new leadership makes me cautiously hopeful. Like I say, I am dependent on Firefox and want an independent, principled browser vendor that sees their role as producing a "user agent" that is faithful to its users' interests above all else:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

Of course, Moz depends on Google's payment for default search placement for 90% of its revenue. If Google can't pay for this in the future, the org is going to have to find another source of revenue. Perhaps that will be the EU, or foundations, or users. In any of these cases, the org will find it much easier to raise funds if it is standing up for its users – not compromising on their interests.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/12/defaults-matter/#make-up-your-mind-already

Image: ICMA Photos (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/icma/3635981474/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #choice screens #dma #eu #scholarship #ux #behavioral economics #mozilla #remedies #browsers #mobile #defaults matter #google #doj v google

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sapphic-coded · 2 years ago

Note

hey beautiful could u write about a nat x reader break up and there’s so much tension between them until they both break at a dinner party with the team and their dates 😋

Hey Friend! You're so sweet. I hope this lands somewhere in the ballpark of what you were hoping for. Thank you for the request!

No Use In You Trying, Baby

You are invited to a dinner party. Reluctantly, you go and run into your ex.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Hurt feelings. Language Cap wouldn't approve of.

Word Count: 2.8k

You were content to spend all your time in your lab. It was your happy place. Your playground. This was where you could think clearly, and where all your best ideas originated from. Plus, it wasn’t as if you were hiding away in some basement cut off from the outside world. Your lab at the Compound was huge and had plenty of equally huge windows that allowed plenty of bright, warm sunlight in. And if you needed to socialize, there were plenty of people who walked by your lab daily.

But you didn’t want to socialize. You wanted to focus on your work because for the first time in months you were finally making progress. Broken equipment and weapons that had just been sitting in your lab were finally leaving polished and new. Projects that had just only been sitting nestled in the back of your mind were suddenly finding life. It was amazing what you could accomplish in a single day without any distractions.

You rolled backwards on your black swivel chair as you stared at your notes on the yellow legal pad in your hands. You were curious what Clint would think of your idea for this new arrow. The idea had come to you last night, and you had been thinking about it ever since. The back of your chair pressed against one of the many lab tables. You lowered your notepad and turned. All thoughts regarding your new arrow idea fled at the sight of the batons laying on the table.

You held the batons in your hands and your brow furrowed as your thumbs pressed down on the button built into the base of the weapon. The usual quiet hum of the electrical discharge was silent. You tapped both of the batons together as if that would fix the problem, but nothing changed.

A pair of arms wrapped around you from behind. Familiar, warm hands settled against your stomach while her chin came to rest over your left shoulder.

“I tried that too,” her voice brushed against your ear.

You sighed as you studied the twin weapons. “It shouldn’t be too hard to fix. It’s probably a broken conductor or…” You trailed off when you felt her hands travel lower. Her fingers slipped underneath the hem of your shirt.

Who the hell put those there?

“Incoming call from Mr. Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice penetrated the quiet of your lab.

You stood up and collected the batons. “Put him through.” You listened as Tony’s voice echoed throughout your lab. You carried the batons over to a growing stack of boxes running along the right side of your lab. You opened up the lid on one of the cardboard boxes as Tony went into detail about partnering up on another project he had in mind. You listened for key words while your thumb pressed down on the button at the base of one of the batons. You frowned. Still broken.

“I also need you at the Tower tonight,” Tony said.

You dumped the batons into the box. “Why?”

“Because I’m throwing together a little dinner party,” Tony replied. “Just the team. We haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“I’m busy,” your reply was automatic.

“You finished your last official project two weeks ago.”

“I’m working through my backlog,” you replied.

“Fine,” Tony said. There was a moment of quiet when you wondered if he had hung up the phone. Your question was answered when you turned your back to the boxes. “I’ll be very interested to see how you manage to do that without any power.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Trust me, I’m wearing my serious face,” Tony replied. “I can demonstrate if you want.”

The lights in your lab flickered.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

– – –

You used to spend most of your time at Avengers Tower. This was where you got your start working for Tony Stark. When you first arrived at the Tower, you thought the labs there couldn’t get any better. You had been allowed to play around with tech you could only fantasize about. The amount of resources you had at your disposal was endless. It was fun. You loved creating weapons and upgrading equipment for the team. There were few things better than challenging yourself to create something better than the perfect project you just finished.

When you entered the Tower, you were tempted to just go to your old floor. You hadn’t been able to move everything from your old lab to your new one at the Compound. Playing around with what you had left behind seemed like a better idea than attending a dinner party. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see the team. You did. But it hadn’t even been a month since your last conversation with Natasha. The one that had ended badly. You knew she would be here, and the last thing you wanted to do was see her. Because then everything you had been ignoring would come rushing back. You wouldn’t know what to say, and everything would just be easier if you kept your distance.

Too bad you weren’t going to get what you wanted.

When you reached the top floor, Tony was the first to greet you. It seemed you were the last to arrive as the rest of the team were talking amongst each other. You spotted familiar faces. Most of the team had brought along their dates. It made you want to leave even more, but you put on your best smile as you made small talk with the team. Thor was in the middle of telling you a tale of his most recent battle when you saw her.

She was standing near the bar talking to Laura. Despite trying your best to focus on Thor’s story, you couldn’t help but notice that she looked beautiful. Then again, Natasha always looked stunning. The black dress she wore now only complimented her features. Or rather, the dress acted more like a reminder of a lost privilege. You gripped your glass of expensive wine tighter at the thought. Privilege? You hadn’t lost anything like that. Just a relationship that was bound to crash and burn.

“...and then he went flying off the mountain,” Thor’s laugh drew your attention back to the god. “Never thought it’d end like that.” He shook his head and then took a long drink from his flask. “So, I hear you spend your time forging new weapons.”

“Uh, yeah,” you looked past Thor. Natasha smiled at something Laura had said. Stop it. You focused back on Thor and started talking about all the projects you had completed recently. You chose to only talk about the projects you knew would keep Thor’s attention: equipment upgrades, a very close to being completed laser sword, and an attempt to copy his hammer. He found that last bit very funny.

You were grateful when everyone was summoned to the table for the actual dinner. All you had to do now was eat the food, make a tiny amount of more small talk, and then you could leave. You already had your excuses prepared. But as you approached the table, you realized that Tony had thrown a curveball your way. Tony had gone through (or rather he had someone else go through) and assigned the team seats. You already had an idea of where this was going, and your suspicion was confirmed when you found your seat right next to Natasha.

You looked over at Tony. He winked at you, and you were tempted to leave. Instead, you sat down in your seat and set your expensive wine down on the table. You could do this. She hadn’t approached you yet this entire evening. The feeling of not wanting to interact with each other was mutual. You both could talk to other people. This was fine.

The smell of her perfume hit you first. It grabbed hold of you and yanked you back through countless memories. You remembered the smell of jasmine with the barest hint of vanilla flooding your senses when she pulled you in for that first kiss. You remembered how your legs turned to jelly, and you were terrified that you were going to fall. You didn’t fall. Somehow, you stayed on your feet until the kiss was over. Your mind had gone blank. You had felt painfully dumb. What were you supposed to do?

She smiled as her hands settled at your waist. “Aren’t you going to kiss me back?”

You looked to your left as she sat down in her seat. She looked gorgeous and happy. As if nothing life altering had happened. You felt a spike of jealousy. She probably had forgotten all about you by now. Breaking off your relationship hadn’t changed anything for her. You had been right to doubt your relationship all along. You had only been a convenient fuck. You were so stupid to believe all those promises she made you. She certainly couldn’t keep many of them.

You looked away and took a good, long drink of whatever Tony had poured into your glass. A wait staff appeared and set plates filled with delicious smelling food down in front of everyone. You set your now empty glass down, and another waiter appeared to refill it. You picked up your knife and fork and began cutting into the meat. You could do this. You should just pretend she isn’t here. Rogers was sitting to your right. You could always just make conversation with him.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” her voice was low enough for only you to catch.

You forced yourself to keep your focus on your plate as you continued to cut into the meat. Red juices leaked from what was probably a delicious cut of meat. “Yup.” You stabbed your fork into the tender meat and pushed it into your mouth. You chewed. Fuck. It was good. You heard her sigh, and you didn’t need to look at her to know she was also, most likely, shaking her head.

“It’s a bad move,” she said.

You bit back the first thought that came to mind and continued to eat.

“This is obviously a setup. They’re trying to fix things,” she continued when you didn’t respond.

You looked around at the table as you chewed. Everyone else was busy talking amongst themselves. You swallowed and still refused to look at her. “There’s nothing to fix.” She didn’t respond right away and you reached for your glass. Maybe this was all about to end.

“Then I suggest we play along unless you want to go through this again,” she said.

You set your glass down before you could take a sip and finally looked over at her. “I’m not going to play along.” You spotted the familiar look of frustration cross her face. It didn’t surprise you. Whenever you refused to go along with any of her plans, she got annoyed with you. You should have known from the very beginning that this relationship was never going to work. You felt stupid for even trying.

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you at the next dinner party,” Natasha looked away from you.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you stabbed your fork into another piece of meat. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be too busy to attend the next one.”

“Didn’t you already try that excuse?” she asked.

You shoveled the piece of meat into your mouth and chewed. You didn’t bother to ask how she knew that. It was Natasha. She knew everything about you. You hated it. You hated that she was right. You hated sitting here so close to her. Every minute that passed was just more reminders of what had made you happy. It was gone, and you just wanted it all to stay dead. Why hadn’t Natasha shown up with the date? Why didn't you? You could think of a dozen ways you could have approached this whole stupid thing differently.

“Y/N,” her voice was softer now and you felt a burning behind your eyes.

“I can’t do this,” you heard the waver in your voice. You shouldn’t have come. You knew what would happen. You knew you would see her. You knew you would feel all these things. You weren’t sure if you couldn’t hear the other conversations happening around the table because people had stopped talking or because your quickening heart beat was now filling your ears. “I can’t.”

You felt her hand fall over your own, and you quickly snatched your hand back and stood up. You felt the rest of the team’s eyes on you as you quickly left. You heard their voices all rise up as one, but you didn’t look back. You just needed to leave. Get some fresh air. Go back to the Compound and forget about all of this.

Your pace quickened as you left the team behind and hurried towards the elevator. You were grateful that the doors parted immediately upon pushing the button. You stepped inside and pressed the button that would take you down to the garage. Your vision blurred and you felt a hot tear spill down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away. Stupid. This had been stupid. The doors started to close and just when you thought your escape was complete, Natasha slipped into the elevator.

The doors shut completely and you shook your head. “No.” Your hand reached out towards the panel of buttons. You went to push the button that would force the elevator doors back open, but Natasha grabbed your hand before you could. “Let go, Nat. I’m not going back to that stupid party.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said and released your hand the moment the elevator began to descend.

Your hand dropped back down to your side. “Then why are you here?” You realized that was the wrong question to ask as her red lips parted to answer. You shook your head. “No! No. I don’t want to know. Just leave me alone.”

She took a small step closer to you, and you instinctively stepped back and felt your back pressed against the cool wall of the elevator. “You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

“A chance to do what? Lure me back to your side with more fake promises of some happy life together? You can’t use that bullshit on me anymore. I was just a convenient fuck for you,” you felt another tear slip, and you used the back of your hand to wipe it away.

“You broke up with me,” she argued.

“Because you pushed me away,” your voice wavered again, and you hated it. “Every time I tried to help or understand, you kept me out. The only time you let me in was when you wanted to fuck me. The only time you wanted me around was if you wanted to have sex with me. I wasn’t your girlfriend. I was your toy.”

“I know.”

You were ready for anything. You had replayed all your arguments in your head hundreds of times. You were ready for any of her arguments. Except for that. Those two words caught you completely off guard.

“I messed up,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

What was happening? This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to argue back and forth until you were both spent and upset and eager to get away from each other.

“Please let me try again.”

She had somehow managed to get even closer to you. Her voice was soft, and her olive green eyes were searching your face. She was trying to gauge your emotions. You could only wonder what she saw because you didn’t know how to feel. Tears still threatened to spill down your cheeks from all the pain you had been shoving down these past few weeks. Walking away from her had hurt so much. Because you did love her, and it had killed you to realize that she didn’t love you.

You wanted to leap at this chance. You wanted it so badly, but you were hesitant. You had barely been able to walk away from her last time. You weren’t sure you would be able to do it again if all of this happened again. But you wanted to believe it wouldn’t. You wanted to believe that there was still some life in this dying husk of a relationship.

You didn’t realize what had happened until her lips were pressed against yours. It felt like your first kiss all over again, only better. It felt familiar. The kiss was soft but needy. It reminded you of all the other ways she had kissed you before. The smell of her perfume flooded your senses, and you just wanted to collapse into her arms. You were tired of being angry. Tired of being upset. You wanted this. The kiss ended far too soon, and you started to lean forward to chase her retreating lips.

You saw her smile when the elevator reached the garage floor, and the doors opened. You didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, you waited for the elevator doors to close before you leaned forward to kiss her back.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #fanfic request #sapphic september #i'm tempted to write a part two but i'm not sure

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