#william saliba x reader

[iamquiantrelle]

THE NEW WAG IN TOWN (chapter 1)──iamquaintrelle

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

# wc: 11.2k

# tags: @formulafortyfour @kennasutopia @saleeba @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @snowseasonmademe @oceanfanatic06 @ibouchouchou @haartemis @judectrl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @eriks-girl

# 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

Three days had passed since a Dairy Milk craving changed everything. Three days of Yas's phone vibrating itself into oblivion, of her twist-out staying in a messy pineapple because clinical rotations were kicking her ass, of trying to pretend she wasn't all over Arsenal Twitter because she'd dragged a sleepy Wilo to Tesco at midnight. The TikTok was everywhere now - her 5'5" frame drowning in his Arsenal hoodie while his 6'4" self reached for top-shelf chocolate, both of them clearly caught up in their own little world until a fan's "Can I get a picture?" turned into way more than they'd bargained for. The original tweet sharing the TikTok already had more than 50k likes: "SALIBA GOT A GIRL?? Caught at Tesco late night shopping 👀 Who is she??" and it was only getting worse.

At least she had Jamie, her clinical partner at King's College London's PT clinic, to keep her sane through it all. Jamie, who was currently failing to hide her grin while updating patient charts.

"Your boyfriend's coming in for his knee check today, right?"

"Stop calling him that at work," Yas hissed, but couldn't help smiling. The whole thing was still wild to her - meeting Wilo four months ago at Dishoom, that Indian spot all her classmates insisted she try when she first moved from Chicago. She'd been struggling with the menu (why were British-Indian portions so different from American ones?), and this tall guy with the deepest French accent she'd ever heard offered to help. She didn't even realize who he was until her friend kicked her under the table and frantically texted "THAT'S WILLIAM SALIBA" while Yas was busy trying to understand his accent.

She was checking her schedule when Wilo appeared in the doorway, and honestly, it should be illegal how he managed to make ducking through standard-sized doors look graceful. His training gear hung perfectly on his frame, and Yas had to remind herself that she was a professional who definitely wasn't thinking about how that same frame had been pressed against her in the Tesco snack aisle three nights ago.

"Bonjour," he said softly, his accent thick as honey as he sat on the treatment table, those long legs dangling. "Comment ça va?"

"English in the clinic, remember?" she teased, going through her standard range of motion checks. Her hands stayed steady even when his skin was warm under her touch. She'd practiced these movements hundreds of times, but somehow they felt different when it was Wilo watching her with those dark eyes. "How's the knee feeling after training?"

"Better with your exercises," he replied carefully, concentrating on each word in that way he did when he wanted to make sure she understood. His accent always got thicker when he was trying his hardest with English, and god help her, but it was adorable. "But you… are you okay? These past days…"

"I'm fine," she assured him, testing his knee stability and definitely not thinking about how her tiny hands looked against his leg. "Just focusing on my patients. And trying to keep up with your accent when you talk too fast."

"Me?" he laughed, the deep sound filling the small treatment room and making her fingers tingle where they pressed against his knee. "You are the one speaking like…" he paused, reaching for his phone to translate something, and she had to bite back a smile at how predictable he was.

"No phones during treatment," she reminded him, gently pushing his hand down. "Now tell me if you feel any discomfort here…"

Jamie wasn't even pretending not to watch them from the charting station anymore. Yas could feel her friend's amused gaze as she went through the motions - professional PT student Yasmin, definitely not thinking about how this same man had sleepily followed her to Tesco just because she'd played the girlfriend card. Her hands stayed clinical and precise while Wilo watched her with that soft look he got whenever she went into healthcare mode, the one that made her heart do stupid flips in her chest.

"Flex and extend for me," she instructed, her professional tone slipping when he purposely moved extra slow, those dark eyes twinkling. "Stop being difficult."

"I am following instructions," he protested, his accent getting thicker with amusement, wrapping around the words like warm chocolate. "You say slow and controlled, non?"

"I didn't say glacial," she muttered, but her hands were gentle as she checked his range of motion, careful with this man who could body strikers on the pitch but acted like her PT sessions were torture. "How was training this morning?"

"Arteta made us…" he paused, frowning as he searched for the words, and she had to resist the urge to smooth the crease between his brows. "Comment dit-on… extra drills? Because Luton Town this weekend."

"You better not be overworking this knee before a match," she warned, pressing slightly on a tender spot that made him wince. His leg was solid muscle under her hands, a reminder that for all their playful moments, he was still one of the Premier League's top defenders. "See? Still tight here."

Jamie's poorly hidden laugh echoed from the charting station. Everyone at the clinic had seen the TikTok by now but watching them here, you'd never guess they were trending. They were just... them. Yas with her clinical precision masking how her skin tingled wherever they touched, and Wilo with his accented teasing that got thicker whenever he was trying not to smile.

"Your stability's better," Yas noted, switching to her assessment voice even as his warmth seeped through her professional walls. "But you need to ice after training, I can tell you haven't been."

"Too cold," he complained, and the way his accent wrapped around those two simple words shouldn't make her stomach flip like that.

"Too bad. Doctor's orders."

"You're not doctor yet."

"Almost. Now do your hamstring stretches and stop arguing with your PT."

Jamie's pager went off like a lifeline through the tension that was building in the small room. She threw Yas a knowing look before heading out to help with exercises in the main room, leaving them alone with all their unspoken moments.

Wilo waited until the door closed, that heavy silence settling between them. "Gabriel keep asking about you. Want to know if you're coming to dinner at his place tomorrow."

"I have clinic notes to finish," Yas said, focusing on stretching his hamstring and not on how his muscles flexed under her touch. "And that thing with your knee isn't going to document itself."

"I tell him you're busy being smart," he smiled, then winced when she hit another tight spot. "Aïe! Doucement..."

"Baby," she teased, even as her hands gentled automatically. "And here I thought defenders were supposed to be tough."

"Only on pitch. Here?" He gestured to the treatment table, his dark eyes dancing. "I am delicate patient."

Before she could process it, his arm was around her waist, pulling her between his legs where he sat on the table. Even sitting, he was nearly at eye level with her standing. "You sure you okay though? No crazy people following you to work?"

"I'm fine," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as his hands settled on her hips, warm through her scrubs. The clinic suddenly felt too small, too warm. "The school's pretty good about security."

"Mm," he hummed, accent getting thicker as he leaned closer, and god, he knew exactly what that did to her. "Maybe I should come to more... what you call them? Clinical hours?"

"Pretty sure that's not what you meant," Yas laughed, not needing any translation app to catch his tone. Her hands rested on his shoulders, forgetting all about PT protocols. "And you're supposed to be doing your exercises—"

Her words cut off in a yelp as he squeezed her ass, the sound hanging in the air just as Jamie walked back in.

"Dr. Morris wants us to– oh!" Jamie stopped short, fighting a grin as Yas jumped away from Wilo, her face burning. "She needs us to shadow her on a shoulder manipulation."

"Coming!" Yas said quickly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, straightening her scrubs with as much dignity as she could muster. "Behave yourself and ice that knee."

Wilo just grinned, all innocent eyes and devastating smile as he slid off the table. "Bye Jamie," he called out, throwing Yas one last look that promised this wasn't over before ducking out the door, taking all her professional composure with him.

"So," Jamie drawled as they headed down the corridor, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's what professional PT looks like these days?"

"Shut up," Yas muttered, adjusting her scrubs and trying to will away the heat in her cheeks. "We were just–"

"Just doing some hands-on therapy?" Jamie wiggled her eyebrows. "Very hands-on from what I saw."

"I'm not above tripping you in front of Dr. Morris."

"Worth it. Also, you've got a little…" Jamie gestured to her own lips, and Yas quickly wiped away the ghost of her goodbye kiss, shooting her friend a death glare that only made Jamie grin wider.

The rest of her clinical hours dragged by in a blur of patient assessments and charting, her phone occasionally buzzing with texts from Wilo - mostly French words she had to Google Translate, each one making her bite back a smile. By the time she finally finished her notes, the London evening had turned that particular shade of grey that meant rain was coming.

Her phone lit up just as she was packing up.

"You still at clinic?" Wilo's accent was somehow even deeper over the phone.

"Just finished. Why?"

"Look outside."

She peaked through the clinic windows to find him leaning against his Range Rover in the parking lot. A few students were trying (and failing) to subtly take photos, but he seemed focused only on watching the clinic door.

"You're supposed to be icing that knee," she said as she walked out, trying to sound stern even as her heart did that stupid flutter thing once more.

"I did ice." He pushed off the car, closing the distance between them in those long strides of his. "For ten whole minutes."

"That's not–" but her professional PT lecture was cut off as he pulled her into him, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other settled on her waist. She had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him, and his eyes were soft as they traced over her tired features.

"You look exhausted, mon cœur."

"Clinical hours are no joke." She let herself lean into him just a bit. "Not all of us get to play football all day."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where she was pressed against him. "Non? You want to try defending for Saka this weekend?"

"I'd rather do another eight hours of charting."

That earned her another laugh, and then he was bending down to press his lips to her forehead. "Come, I take you home. Maybe stop for more chocolate?"

"Don't even joke about Tesco runs right now," she groaned, but let him guide her to the passenger side, his hand warm on her lower back. "I still can't believe that girl posted the video."

"Mm," he hummed, helping her up into the seat even though they both knew she didn't need it. "But now I can do this whenever I want, non?" And he leaned in to kiss her properly, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a grin. "No more hiding in snack aisle."

"You're impossible," she muttered, but she was smiling as he closed her door and rounded the car to the driver's side.

The Range Rover hummed quietly through London's evening traffic, some French rap playing softly through the speakers. Yas had gotten used to Wilo's driving habits by now - how his huge frame somehow managed to look graceful even behind the wheel, one hand on it while the other alternated between the gear shift and her thigh. He drove like he played, confident and smooth, those long fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel to the beat.

She was half-dozing, lulled by the warmth of the heated seats and the familiar mix of his cologne with that fancy car freshener he used, when she realized they weren't heading toward her flat and was rounding the corner to his building.

"What are you doing?" She turned to find him wearing that particular expression she knew too well - the one he got when he thought he was being slick, the one that usually preceded with her scrubs ending up on his floor.

"Taking you home," he said innocently, but his accent had that particular thickness to it that had nothing to do with language barriers.

"I don't live here, Will." But they both knew she had more clothes in his drawer than she'd admit to, and her favorite coffee mug had somehow migrated to his kitchen cabinet.

"Sometimes you do…" he smirked as he pulled into his private parking spot. "And I figured we could… finish from what happened at clinic?"

"I'm still on my period, or did you forget the main reason we even visited Tesco in the first place?" The same Tesco run that had blown their private bubble wide open, though looking at him now, with that glint in his eye, she could almost laugh about it.

"A little blood–"

"Don't you even dare," she threatened, pointing her finger at him which he playfully tried to bite, earning himself a smack on the chest. "You're gross."

"I'll just put down a towel. The least I could do since you got the period," he huffed, and she realized with a start that he wasn't entirely joking. Ever since they'd made things official, he'd been more… careless. Dropping comments about knocking her up - which, okay, was hot as hell in the moment, but outside the bedroom? Major yikes.

"William, no babies until a ring is on this finger and I'm finished with my program." She waggled her bare ring finger in front of his face for emphasis, trying not to think about how his eyes tracked the movement. "We're too young to even talk about babies anyways. Like what is the reason?"

"We'll make pretty babies," he said with that devastating smile of his, the one that made her forget she was supposed to be the responsible one here.

"No shit."

"But?" His eyes were twinkling now as he killed the engine, the sudden silence making everything feel more intimate.

"But you know the rules. No more talk about this please. You're giving me a migraine."

"You know what could help with migraine?" He was fully grinning now, one hand already reaching for her seatbelt while the other played with the ends of her twist-out.

She couldn't help but scoff at him, even as her body betrayed her by leaning into his touch. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible? Non," he murmured, his accent getting impossibly thicker as he leaned across the console. "Just... what you say? Determined?"

"That's one word for it," Yas muttered, but didn't pull away when his fingers traced down her jaw. "Will..."

"We don't have to do anything," he said softly, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "Just... stay. Watch a film. Let me make you dinner."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean let me watch you struggle with UberEats for twenty minutes?"

"So mean to me," he pouted, but his eyes were dancing.

"No I’m not."

"Come on, mon coeur." His hand had moved to the back of her neck now, playing with the hairs that had escaped her pineapple. "Your flat is cold and empty."

"Because someone keeps stealing my hoodies."

"You steal mine first!"

"That's different," she protested, even as she was already reaching for her bag. "I look cute in yours. You stretch mine out with your giant... everything."

His laugh was deep and warm in the confined space. "Giant everything, eh?"

"Don't make me hurt your knee again," she threatened, but they both knew she was going to follow him upstairs. She always did, especially when he looked at her with those soft eyes that made her forget about clinical hours and Twitter drama and everything else.

"You wouldn't," he said confidently, finally pulling back to get out of the car. "Who else let you practice your PT stuff?"

"I have other patients, you know."

"Oui, but are they as pretty as me?" He was already at her door, opening it with that stupidly charming grin of his.

"You're so–" but her words cut off as he helped her down, using their height difference to pull her flush against him. Even after months, it still made her breath catch, how easily he could maneuver her smaller frame.

"So what?" he whispered, bending down so his lips brushed her ear. "Tell me, docteur."

Yas immediately stepped away. "Annoying."

The private elevator ride to his penthouse was torture - not because of the height (though Yas still wasn't used to the way London sprawled out below those floor-to-ceiling windows), but because Wilo had her pressed against the mirrored wall, one huge hand spanning her waist while the other played with her edges.

"You're messing up my hair," she complained halfheartedly, tilting her head back against his chest.

"It's already messy," he murmured, accent thick with suggestion. The elevator dinged open to his floor before she could reply, and he guided her out with that hand still firmly on her waist.

His penthouse was exactly what you'd expect from a 23-year-old footballer - all clean lines and modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city lights coming alive in the dusk.

"You really need to do your dishes," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility even as he walked her backward toward that ridiculous couch.

"Later," he promised, those dark eyes fixed on her in a way that made her forget about dirty dishes and clinical notes and everything that wasn't his hands sliding down to her hips. "First..."

"Will," she warned, but her body was already betraying her, melting into his touch. "I told you–"

"Just kissing," he assured her, but that smirk said otherwise. "Unless..."

"Don't even finish that sentence."

Her warning lost some of its effect when he stepped closer, backing her up against the back of that massive sectional. The city lights sparkled behind him through those floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows across his features that made him look unfairly gorgeous. Sometimes she still couldn't believe this was her life now - Arsenal's star defender looking at her like she hung the moon, all because she couldn't figure out Indian food portions four months ago.

His hands found her waist again, and the height difference meant she had to tilt her head all the way back to maintain eye contact. That soft smile he reserved just for her played at his lips, and really, clinical notes could wait, right?

"Fuck," Yas breathed as his lips found that spot behind her ear, his hands steady on her hips. "Will, I swear to god–"

"What?" he murmured against her skin, all fake innocence even as he guided them down onto the sectional. "I'm being good."

"You're being something," she managed, but then he was kissing her properly, and honestly, clinical notes could wait. Her fingers found their way into his hair as he settled over her, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms.

"Still have headache?" he teased between kisses, and she could feel his smile against her lips.

"Shut up," she groaned, tugging his hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying."

"Mm, but you like it."

"Sometimes I don't know why."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where it pressed against hers. "Because I'm your favorite patient."

"You're my most difficult patient," she corrected, but then his mouth was back on her neck and she lost whatever else she was going to say. Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp, earning a low sound that she felt more than heard.

"Will," she warned as his hands started wandering. "I told you–"

"I know, I know," he sighed, pulling back just enough to look at her with those dark eyes. "Just kissing. But tomorrow..."

"You're impossible."

"You keep saying this word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

She blinked up at him. "Did you just quote Princess Bride at me?"

His grin was devastating. "Maybe I pay attention when you make me watch your American films."

"Oh my god," she laughed, shoving at his chest. "Get off me, I can't believe you just–"

But he was kissing her again, swallowing her laughter, until she finally pulled back with a sigh. The look in his eyes was nearly enough to make her forget about her cramps. Nearly.

"Fine. Go get the towel."

His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Before I change my mind." She could already feel herself blushing at how eager he was about this whole situation.

"I can't wait to cum inside you," he breathed against her neck, and she actually had to pause, her hands frozen where they'd been playing with his hair.

"What the fuck, bro?" She squinted at him, torn between laughing and being genuinely concerned about his sudden breeding kink. But he was already jumping up from the couch with entirely too much enthusiasm, nearly tripping over his own long legs in his haste.

She could hear him rummaging through his linen closet, muttering in rapid French that she was pretty sure she didn't want translated. This man really was going to be the death of her - all 6'4" of pure ridiculousness, Arsenal's fearsome defender reduced to excitedly hunting for towels.

"I'm ready, sweetheart!" his voice called from somewhere down the hallway a few seconds later, accent thick with anticipation.

Yas shook her head, fighting a smile as she got up to follow him. These football boys really were something else. She started undoing her scrub top as she walked toward his bedroom, wondering how exactly this had become her life - sneaking around with William Saliba, letting him convince her into period sex just because he looked at her with those puppy dog eyes.

"The things I do for you," she muttered under her breath, but she was smiling as she pushed open his bedroom door.

The morning sun filtering through Wilo's floor-to-ceiling windows was entirely too bright, and Yas's lower back was complaining about last night's activities. She could hear him in the kitchen, his deep voice rapping along to some French song while pots clanked suspiciously.

"Never again," she groaned into his ridiculous Egyptian cotton pillows. Her scrubs from yesterday were scattered somewhere on his bedroom floor, mixed with the towel that was definitely going straight into the wash.

"Mon coeur?" His voice carried from the kitchen. "You want eggs?"

"I want ibuprofen," she called back, finally dragging herself out of bed. She pulled on the pajamas she'd left here last time after their little fun - one of his old Arsenal training shirts that hit mid-thigh and some shorts she'd had to tie extra tight to stay up.

The shower in his ensuite was heaven, hot water beating away the soreness while she tried not to think too hard about last night. The sound of Wilo's terrible singing mixed with the smell of what she hoped was breakfast and not another kitchen disaster.

His expensive body wash made her skin smell like him, and she couldn't help but smile at his array of hair products. For someone who kept his hair cropped short, he sure had a lot of opinions about conditioning.

"Is something burning?" she called out as she wrapped her hair in one of his towels.

"Non! Maybe. Come see!"

God help her, she actually loved this ridiculous man.

Yas padded into the kitchen after pulling on another one of his t-shirts and a pair of leggings, finding Wilo attempted to flip an omelette, his large frame making the spacious kitchen somehow feel smaller. He was shirtless, just wearing low-hanging sweats, still rapping along to whatever French artist was playing through his expensive sound system.

"You better not mess up my eggs," she warned, leaning against the counter.

"Non, non. I am professional." He turned to grin at her, and her breath definitely didn't catch at how his eyes darkened seeing her in his shirt. "Sleep good?"

"You're not slick. And we're never doing that again."

"But–"

"Never. Again." But she was fighting a smile as she stole a piece of bacon from the plate next to him. "I can't believe you convinced me."

"I am very convincing," he smirked, then cursed as some egg stuck to the pan. "Merde–"

"Move," she hip-checked him away from the stove. "How are you this bad at cooking when you live alone?"

"I have you now," he said simply, but the way his hands settled on her waist from behind made it sound like so much more. "And UberEats."

"William."

"Mm?" His chin rested on top of her head, and she could feel his smile.

"You're distracting me from saving your breakfast."

"Good. Maybe we can–"

"If you suggest what I think you're about to suggest, I'm burning your omelette on purpose."

"I was just going to say maybe we can have breakfast in bed," he protested, but his hands were wandering again.

"You're the worst liar." She expertly flipped the omelette with one hand while swatting his wandering fingers with the other. "Don't you have training?"

"Later." His lips found that spot behind her ear. "Arteta won't mind if I'm little late."

"Arteta absolutely will mind." But she was already tilting her head to give him better access. "Will, the eggs–"

"Let them burn."

"I'm literally holding a hot pan right now."

He reached around her to turn off the stove, then spun her to face him in one smooth motion. Sometimes she forgot how strong he actually was until moments like this.

"No more period sex," she said firmly, even as her hands settled on his chest.

"But–"

"But nothing. My back is killing me."

His grin was absolutely wicked. "Worth it."

"I hate you."

"Non, you don't." He bent down to kiss her, morning breath and all, and okay, maybe she didn't hate him that much. "You love me."

"I love when you're not burning breakfast," she corrected, pushing him away. "You're going to be late." Yas plated the rescued eggs while Wilo scrolled through his phone, still pressed against her back.

"Bukayo just texted. Practice pushed thirty minutes." His accent was muffled against her neck. "More time for–"

"More time for you to actually eat breakfast." She twisted out of his grip, grabbing both plates. "And I need to go home and change before clinicals."

"Skip them."

"Some of us can't just tell our boss we're taking a personal day." She settled at his massive kitchen island, watching him pout as he finally let her go. "Besides, don't you have that big Luton Town match this weekend?"

"Oui, which means I need my PT check today too…"

"Your knee is fine. Jamie can do your check."

The look of betrayal on his face was almost comical. "You would let another woman touch me?"

"I would let another PT student assess your perfectly healthy knee, yes." She took a bite of eggs, raising an eyebrow at him. "Unless you're saying you only come to the clinic to see me?"

"Maybe."

"That's unprofessional."

"Says girl wearing my shirt."

"Speaking of which," she glanced at her phone, "I really need to go home and change."

"Stay," he said, suddenly serious. "Just… five more minutes."

"Five minutes won't get me to clinic on time," she said softly, but shared her eggs with him anyway when he opened his mouth expectantly. "You're like a baby bird."

"Your baby bird," he grinned, then disappeared down the hall to deal with their mess from last night. She could hear him humming as he tossed the towel and her scrubs in his washer.

The drive to her flat was quiet, London morning traffic crawling by while some French podcast played softly through the speakers. His hand found its way to her thigh, thumb rubbing absent circles.

"About Gabriel's dinner…" he started.

"Will–"

"Just think about it? And maybe…" he glanced at her quickly before focusing back on traffic. "Come to match this weekend?"

"They'll take pictures," she said quietly. "I'll be all over Twitter again."

"So? Let them." His accent got thicker, more urgent. "I want you there. Want to see you in stands."

She played with his fingers on her thigh, considering. "Maybe. If I finish my coursework."

His smile was brilliant. "A year left, non? Then you're properly doctor."

"Doctor of Physical Therapy," she corrected automatically, but she was smiling too.

"Still doctor. Still proud of you." He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. "My smart girl."

The Range Rover purred to a stop outside her building, morning sun catching on the tinted windows. Wilo killed the engine but kept his hand on her thigh.

"Give daddy kiss," he grinned, waggling his eyebrows in that ridiculous way that shouldn't be attractive but somehow was.

"Don't get punched in the face today," she said, gathering her bag from where it had fallen between her feet. Her scrubs from yesterday were safely in his washing machine, which meant she'd have to see him again soon. Not that either of them was complaining.

"Kinky," he smirked, and the way his accent wrapped around the word made her cheeks heat.

She rolled her eyes but leaned over anyway, meaning to give him a quick goodbye peck. His hand caught the back of her neck though, fingers tangling in her hair as he tried to deepen the kiss. She could feel his smile against her lips when she pulled away laughing.

"Go to work, you menace."

His eyes stayed on her as she climbed out, that dark gaze following her all the way to her building's entrance. She could hear his music start up again - more French rap that she'd probably find herself humming later during clinic hours. Her face hurt from smiling as she headed inside, already thinking about his match this weekend and how public their little bubble was about to become.

The doorman pretended not to notice her obvious walk of shame, but she caught his knowing look. At least she wasn't in yesterday's scrubs - small mercies. Her phone buzzed just as she reached the elevator:

"Miss you already x"

Impossible man.

Her flat felt extra quiet after the morning at Wilo's. She pulled on her dark blue scrub set, the material still crisp from its last wash. Her hair was a mess from last night, so she opted for a slick bun, carefully laying her baby hairs with edge control before grabbing her white clinic shoes.

The kitchen was looking sad. She'd been putting off grocery shopping, caught between clinicals and trying to keep her relationship private. Fat lot of good that did now.

Her phone buzzed while she was staring into her empty fridge:

"Check your Monzo x"

She clicked the notification to find £500 from 'william s.' had landed in her account. They'd fought about this before - she hated feeling like a WAG, and he hated seeing her struggle when he could help. But right now, with three weeks until her next stipend…

"You don't have to do that," she texted back.

"Buy food. Doctor needs eat."

"*future doctor"

"Same thing. Get snacks too."

Her tube ride to the clinic was crowded as usual, London's morning rush pressing in. A teenager across the car was watching Arsenal highlights on his phone - there was Wilo, all graceful power as he tackled some striker. Hard to believe that was the same man who'd been whining about eggs this morning.

Another text:

"Think you wearing my shirt to clinic?"

"Think you should focus on training."

"Think about you instead."

Impossible man. But she was smiling as she swiped through to her grocery delivery app. Maybe she'd order something nice for dinner - she had the money now, after all.

The clinic was already buzzing when she arrived, her ID badge swinging against her dark blue scrubs as she made her way to the staff room. The dual-degree PT program at Northwestern University and King's College London was no joke - three years of intense study, clinical rotations, and practical exams. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how perfectly everything had aligned. A PT student specializing in sports medicine dating a Premier League defender? It was practically cheating when it came to understanding athletic performance and injury prevention.

Wilo's knee might be technically fine, but having access to an elite athlete's biomechanics was invaluable for her studies. She'd basically written her last case study about his post-match recovery routine (anonymized, of course). Her professors had been impressed with her detailed analysis of high-level football injuries - if only they knew she'd gathered that data between kisses and training sessions.

Her phone kept lighting up with Instagram notifications. She'd always kept her account private, just study updates and occasional selfies documenting her natural hair journey. The few photos she had with Wilo were deliberately subtle - his hand in frame during dinner, maybe, or just their shadows on a walk. Most of her posts were about PT school: her notes laid out perfectly, advocacy for more Black women in sports medicine, the occasional stress-relief dance video in her scrubs. But now everyone wanted in, wanted to see Saliba's girl, wanted to analyze every post for hints about their relationship.

"Ready for rounds?" Jamie appeared at her elbow, already pulling up their patient list on the clinic's tablet. "You look tired. Late night with tall, dark, and French?"

"Long night of studying," Yas lied, ignoring another wave of follow requests. An Arsenal fan account had somehow found her private profile and shared her handle. Her follower count was still at 900 but there was nearly 15,000 pending requests in just three days.

The Luton Town match loomed in her mind as she checked their first patient's chart. Wilo wanted her there, and part of her wanted to go - wanted to support him properly, not just catch highlights on her phone between patients. But the cameras, the attention, the scrutiny… she hadn't signed up for that part. Being a WAG meant being perceived, being judged. Her entire career could get overshadowed by who she was dating. One wrong outfit choice and she'd end up on some Daily Mail sidebar.

Her phone buzzed again - another text from Wilo, this time a photo of him pouting at training. Arteta's tactics board was visible in the background, and she quickly typed back: "Delete that before you leak the whole game plan."

His response was immediate: "Only leaking my heart to you x"

God, this man was going to be the death of her professional reputation, but as she slipped her phone away and grabbed her first patient's file, she couldn't help but smile. Let them talk - she had clinicals to focus on and a doctorate to finish.

Her first patient was an elderly man recovering from hip replacement. As Yas guided him through his exercises, she caught glimpses of people walking past the clinic windows, phones raised. Word must have gotten out about where Arsenal's new WAG worked.

"My granddaughter says you're dating that French boy," Mr. Peters said as she supported his weight during gait training. His knowing smile reminded her of her grandfather back in Chicago. "The tall one who plays defense?"

"Focus on your steps, Mr. Peters," she managed, grateful her dark skin hid most of her blush. The last thing she needed was her patients gossiping about her love life.

Jamie appeared like an angel in blue scrubs, tablet in hand. "Dr. Morris wants us in Room 3. ACL reconstruction needs assessment."

In the quiet of the hallway, her phone lit up with Wilo's name:

"Gabriel asking if you vegetarian. For dinner."

"Focus on training," she typed back, trying to ignore how her stomach flipped at the thought of meeting his teammates properly.

"Focus on answering question. He cooking."

She paused at the supply cabinet, fingers hovering over her phone. Going to Gabriel's meant officially entering the WAG circle. Dinner parties, couple photos, Sunday brunches - the whole circus she'd been avoiding. No more hiding in Wilo's kitchen or sneaking kisses in PT rooms.

"Tell him I eat anything," she finally replied, then added, "But I haven't said yes yet."

"But you will," came his immediate response, followed by that damn smirking emoji that she could picture perfectly on his actual face.

Room 3's patient was already waiting, and she tucked her phone away with a sigh. Time to be Dr. Robinson (almost), even if her Instagram kept lighting up with notification after notification.

The ACL patient turned out to be a Chelsea fan, which was almost a relief. He was more focused on his knee than trying to get Arsenal gossip, and Yas lost herself in the familiar rhythm of assessment and treatment. This was her world - proper form, careful touches, the satisfaction of watching someone heal under her guidance.

Her phone stayed quiet through lunch, which meant Wilo was probably actually focusing on training for once. She picked at her sad vending machine snacks in the break room while Jamie scrolled through Twitter.

"Oh my god," Jamie snorted, turning her phone screen. "They're trying to figure out where you got your scrubs from. Apparently you're starting a WAG fashion revolution."

"They're literally standard issue scrubs."

"Tell that to ArsenalWAGStyle. They want to know if the color is 'midnight navy' or 'classical blue'."

Yas dropped her head onto the break room table with a groan. "I have three more sets exactly like this one. They're just… blue."

"Wait till they see you at the Luton Town match."

"Who says I'm going?"

Jamie just looked at her. "Girl, your man just got exposed. You really think you can keep hiding?"

Her phone chose that moment to light up again:

"Miss your hands on my knee x"

"That's so unprofessional," she typed back, but she was smiling.

"Come inspect it at Gabriel's tonight?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Jamie was right - she couldn't keep hiding. And maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being properly part of his world.

******************************************************

Gabriel Magalhães' townhouse sat in one of those stupidly expensive London neighborhoods where every building looked like it belonged in a period drama. Yas had done her best with what she had - her curls were actually cooperating for once, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and the Meshki jumpsuit she'd scored on sale hugged her curves in all the right places. The square neckline showed just enough skin to be dinner-appropriate while still letting her feel like herself.

Clearly Wilo approved, given how his hand hadn't left her ass since they'd stepped out of his car. His fingers kneaded appreciatively as they waited at Gabriel's door.

"Mon coeur, tu es si belle ce soir," he murmured in her ear, voice dropping low. "Je veux te baiser… si serrée pour moi… faire te jouir…"

She only caught 'fuck', 'cum', and 'tight' in that string of French, and honestly, she was grateful her language skills weren't better. But before he could get any filthier, the door swung open.

Gabriel stood there grinning, all six foot three of him making Yas feel even tinier than usual. The boys did that complicated handshake thing all footballers seemed to know instinctively.

"Ayy, my brother!" Gabriel pulled Wilo in for a quick hug before his eyes landed on Yas. "She's so short!"

Yas frowned. Of course, that would be the first thing another giant footballer noticed.

"But good job Wilo, she's pretty," Gabriel continued with a wide smile. "Nice to meet you, Yasmin." He extended his hand.

"Yas is fine," she said, shaking it and trying not to feel like she was being assessed.

The living room was filled with the sound of multiple conversations in various accents - Portuguese, French, English all mixing together. Bukayo was sprawled on one of Gabriel's expensive armchairs, his girlfriend Tolami perched comfortably in his lap. She brightened when she saw Yas.

"Finally! Another normal-sized person," Tolami called out, extracting herself from Bukayo to come say hi. She was wearing the kind of outfit that probably cost more than Yas's rent, but her smile was genuine. "I'm Tolami. Please tell me you're as tired of looking up at these giants as I am."

"God, yes," Yas laughed, instantly warming to her. "My neck hurts half the time."

"You get used to it," Tolami grinned, then dropped her voice. "Saw that Tesco video. Welcome to the madness."

Wilo's hand was still possessively on her lower back as more introductions were made. Gabriel's wife kissed both her cheeks, speaking rapid Portuguese that Gabriel had to translate. Ben White's wife, Milly, gave her a knowing look that said 'we'll talk later.'

It was surreal, standing here in her sale-rack jumpsuit while these women wore designer everything. But Tolami grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen.

"Come on, help me get drinks. These boys can entertain themselves for five minutes."

Wilo's protests were drowned out by Bukayo's laugh. "Let them bond, bro. You can survive without touching her for two seconds."

Gabriel's kitchen was all sleek marble and stainless steel. Tolami hopped onto the counter like she'd done it a hundred times before, watching Yas look for wine glasses.

"Other cabinet," she pointed. "So, PT student? That's different. Most WAGs are like… influencers or something."

"I'm not a WAG," Yas said automatically, then caught Tolami's raised eyebrow. "I mean–"

"Girl, your man's hand hasn't left your ass at all. You're a WAG." She grinned. "But like, a cool one. With an actual career."

"Trying to have one, anyway." Yas found the glasses. "How do you deal with all the attention? The Tesco thing is driving me crazy."

"You get used to it. Plus, Bukayo's worth it." Her smile went soft. "Like how Wilo looks at you when you're not watching. Man's got it bad."

"We've only been together four months–"

"Please. I saw him checking his phone all through training today. Saka says he won't shut up about you."

From the living room, they could hear the boys arguing about the Luton Town match. Wilo's deep laugh carried through, followed by what sounded like Bukayo doing an impression of him.

"They're like children," Tolami rolled her eyes fondly. "But they're our children. Speaking of…" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Heard Wilo's got baby fever?"

Yas nearly dropped the wine bottle. "How do you know about that?"

"Bukayo says Wilo's been googling baby names during team lunch." Tolami swung her legs, designer heels clicking against the cabinets. "Like, French-American baby names specifically."

"I'm going to kill him."

"It's cute! Saka's the same way sometimes. Think it's the age - they're all getting to that settling down phase."

"We've barely settled into dating publicly," Yas muttered, pouring the wine maybe a little too generously. "I've got a year left of my program, I can't be thinking about–"

"Ma chérie!" Wilo's voice carried from the living room. "You get lost?"

"Your man's getting separation anxiety," Tolami grinned. "But seriously, stick with me. These WAG events can get intense, but we normal girls have to stick together."

"I heard there's like… brunches? And stuff?"

"Oh honey." Tolami hopped down, grabbing the other wine glasses. "Wait till you see the group chat. But don't worry - I'll help you navigate. Just… maybe wear something Arsenal-colored to the Luton match? The fans eat that shit up."

"I haven't said I'm going yet–"

"Your man's starting defender and you just got exposed. Trust me, you're going." She started toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and heads up - some of the other WAGs might be a bit… much. But they mean well. Usually."

They walked back into a heated debate about the Luton Town lineup, Wilo and Bukayo arguing in that mix of English and French they seemed to slip into during training. His eyes found her immediately though, that soft look crossing his face before he made grabby hands for both her and the wine.

"Come, mon coeur," he said, pulling her down next to him on the couch. She ended up practically in his lap, his arm curling possessively around her waist while Tolami resumed her position with Bukayo.

"You good?" Wilo murmured against her hair, somehow making those two words sound filthy in his accent.

"Behave," she whispered back, very aware of how his fingers were playing with the hem of her jumpsuit.

"Never."

Gabriel emerged from somewhere with plates of food that actually looked edible, his wife trailing behind him with more wine. Ben White was telling some story about training that had everyone laughing, but Yas was distracted by the way Wilo's thumb was drawing circles on her hip.

"You're not subtle," she muttered as everyone else focused on serving food.

"Don't want to be," he replied, pressing a kiss below her ear that definitely wasn't dinner-appropriate. "Want everyone to know–"

"If you two are done being horny in my living room," Gabriel called out, "food's getting cold."

Yas felt her face heat as everyone laughed, but Wilo just grinned, completely unashamed. "Can you blame me? Look at her."

"Oh my god," she groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder while Bukayo made gagging noises.

"Young love," Milly sighed dramatically. "Remember when we were that bad?"

"We still are," Ben winked, and everyone groaned.

Dinner with footballers was apparently a loud affair. Gabriel's food was surprisingly good - some Brazilian dish he'd learned from his mom - and the conversation flowed easily between match tactics and relationship gossip. Yas found herself relaxing despite Wilo's wandering hands.

"Yo Yas," Gabriel grinned over his wine glass, "did Wilo tell you how hard he was stalking your Instagram after you accepted his follow request?"

Wilo stopped mid-bite, shooting his friend a betrayed look.

"We caught him during training," Saka added. "Looking at videos of you bending people at the clinic."

"I was... researching," Wilo defended, accent thicker with embarrassment.

"Researching for what?" Tolami teased.

"For... football reasons," he muttered.

Yas raised an eyebrow at him. "Football reasons?"

"Your form is very... professional," he tried, but his hand was creeping up her thigh under the table.

"You're such a stalker," she said, but she was fighting a smile.

"Only for you, mon coeur."

"If you two start making out at my dinner table," Gabriel warned, "I'm spraying you with water like cats."

"Speaking of clinic videos," Tolami smirked, "there's a new one of you circulating."

Yas froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Some patient recorded you doing his knee assessment," Bukayo explained, scrolling through his phone. "Got like fifty thousand views already."

"That's literally against HIPAA," Yas groaned, but Wilo was already leaning over to look at Bukayo's screen.

"You look cute in this one," he said, then pouted. "But why you never touch my knee like that?"

"Because you're not actually injured."

"Could get injured. Just for you."

"William Saliba, if you deliberately hurt yourself–"

"There they go again," Gabriel sighed dramatically to his wife. "This is why I seated them at the end of the table."

"It's sweet," Milly argued. "Remember when you used to get all possessive like that?"

"I still am," Ben protested. "Just last week–"

"No sex stories at dinner!" Gabriel threw a napkin at him. "We have rules!"

"Rich coming from Mr. 'Let Me Show Everyone My New Hickey' last season," Bukayo called out.

"That was different–"

"How many strikes is that for the swear jar?" Tolami asked innocently. "Because I'm pretty sure talking about hickeys counts."

"There's a swear jar?" Yas whispered to Wilo.

"Oui. Gabriel's wife’s idea. I owe…" he paused, counting in French under his breath. "Maybe two hundred pounds?"

"How–"

"You make me curse a lot, mon coeur."

By the time they said their goodbyes, Yas had three new numbers in her phone and an invite to the WAG group chat. Tolami hugged her tight, whispering something about shopping for the next match that made Wilo's wallet probably cry in advance.

"That wasn't so bad," she admitted as they walked to his car, his hand somehow finding its way back to her ass.

"Non? Ready for more then?" His voice had that dangerous edge to it. "Starting with getting you out of this jumpsuit..."

"Will, I told you - no more period sex."

The look he gave her screamed 'challenge accepted' more than any words could, and she knew she was in trouble.

*******************************************************

Saturday felt surreal. Yas stood in front of her mirror, heart racing as she adjusted the Arsenal jersey with SALIBA stretched across her shoulders. The black jeans hugged her curves perfectly, and the heeled boots added enough height that maybe she wouldn't feel completely tiny next to the other WAGs. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she touched up her edges, making sure they laid just right.

Being at the Luton Town match meant no more hiding. No more pretending she was just another PT student. Everyone would know exactly who she was - William Saliba's girl. The thought made her stomach lurch. Her phone had been blowing up since she posted a mirror selfie that morning - her first public acknowledgment of dating Wilo. The comments were mostly supportive, but she'd already muted her notifications twice.

A knock at her door made her jump. "Ready babe?" Tolami's voice called through. "Car's waiting!"

Just seeing Tolami's familiar face helped settle her nerves. She looked effortlessly gorgeous in her own Saka jersey, designer bag hanging from her arm.

"The first match is always the scariest," Tolami assured her, linking their arms together as they headed toward the car. "Wait till you see how many blogs analyze your outfit tomorrow."

"That's not helping."

"Just wait - you'll be getting free clothes offers by Monday. Though that jersey..." Tolami grinned wickedly. "Wilo's definitely going to lose focus during warm-ups when he sees you in that."

They made their way through the VIP entrance at Emirates Stadium, past security and up to the family section. Phones turned their way, whispers following their path. Yas caught fragments of conversation - "Saliba's girlfriend" and "the one from the Tesco video" - but Tolami kept her moving, chattering about some drama with another WAG's Instagram story.

The family box was intimidatingly posh, all plush seats and champagne service. But as they found their spots, Yas couldn't help but smile at the mix of accents around them - Portuguese, French, English all blending together just like at Gabriel's dinner.

"Think it's too much?" Yas tugged at the jersey hem nervously. "The whole... branded girlfriend thing?"

"Girl, please. Watch - he's going to spot you during warm-up and completely forget about football. Plus," Tolami lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Saka says he's been insufferable all morning, checking his phone to see if you'd posted any hints about coming."

Below them, the players were starting to file out for warm-ups. Yas's heart definitely didn't skip when she spotted number 2 jogging onto the pitch, his tall frame unmistakable even from this distance.

It happened during stretches. Wilo's head turned toward the family section like he could sense her presence, and even from this distance, she could see the moment he spotted her. His whole body froze mid-stretch, those dark eyes locked on her in his jersey.

"Told you," Tolami whispered, nudging her ribs. "Look at his face."

Wilo had completely forgotten about his warm-up routine, earning a shove from Gabriel to keep moving. But his eyes kept finding her between drills, that devastating smile making her cheeks heat even from fifty yards away.

Her phone buzzed:

"You wearing my name."

"Focus on your warm-up."

"Can't. Too busy thinking about taking that jersey off later."

"Saliba!" They could hear Arteta's voice carrying across the pitch. "Less texting, more running!"

But Wilo was still grinning, jogging backward so he could keep looking up at her. He pressed his hand to his heart, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like 'mon coeur' before Gabriel physically turned him around.

"God, you two are disgusting," Tolami laughed. "I love it."

The stadium hummed with energy as Yas tried to focus on breathing. From the family section, everything felt more immediate - each tackle, each sprint, each time Wilo went up for a header. She'd watched plenty of matches on her phone between patients, but this was different. This was real.

Ben White's wife - Milly, she'd learned at dinner - leaned over during a water break. "The first match is the worst. I threw up before mine."

"I almost did," Tolami agreed, squeezing Yas's hand. "But look at our boys now."

Ødegaard broke through in the thirty-fifth minute, a beautiful shot that had the stadium exploding. She spotted Wilo lifting their captain in celebration, his smile brighter than the stadium lights.

During halftime, she checked her phone to find she'd gained another ten thousand follow requests. The camera had caught her a few times, apparently - her in Wilo's jersey, cheering with Tolami. Twitter was already analyzing her outfit, her hair, her friendship with Saka's girlfriend.

"Ignore it," Tolami advised, passing her a water bottle. "Focus on the match. Though that clip of Wilo staring at you during warm-ups is kind of cute."

When Daiki slotted in the second goal after halftime, Yas was ready for it. She screamed with Tolami as the Japanese midfielder was swarmed by his teammates. The rest of the match was a defensive masterclass - Wilo and Gabriel keeping Luton from any real chances. Her PT brain couldn't help but admire his form, the way he used his height to his advantage.

2-0. Her first match as an official WAG, and they'd won. The final whistle had barely blown before her phone started buzzing with notifications.

"He's looking for you," Tolami nudged her, and sure enough, Wilo's eyes were already on their section. That soft smile spread across his face as he tapped his heart.

Milly was saying something about celebration dinner plans, but Yas was distracted by her phone lighting up:

"Dinner to celebrate? Or straight home to take that jersey off?"

"Behave," she typed back. "You have press duties."

"Worth being late to see you in my name."

"Your man's whipped," Tolami laughed, reading over her shoulder. "But seriously, you coming to dinner? Traditional after home wins."

Before Yas could answer, another text:

"Please come? Want to show you off properly. My girl in my jersey x"

*******************************************************

The restaurant in Mayfair screamed old money, all crystal chandeliers and waiters. She felt slightly underdressed in Wilo's jersey, even after tucking it into her jeans, but the team had a regular private room here after home wins, somewhere they could be loud without bothering other diners.

Wilo hadn't stopped touching her since they sat down - hand on her thigh, playing with her curls, finding any excuse to lean into her space. The win had him buzzing with energy, though his eyes kept dropping to his name stretched across her chest.

"To clean sheets!" Gabriel raised his champagne glass, and everyone cheered. The conversation flowed between match analysis and relationship gossip, but Yas noticed Wilo getting more restless with each passing minute.

His hand crept higher on her thigh under the table. "You look so good in my jersey," he murmured in her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "Can't stop thinking about–"

"If you finish that sentence in public, I'm never wearing it again."

Across the table, Bukayo was telling some story about training, but Wilo wasn't even pretending to listen anymore. His fingers traced patterns on her leg that made it hard to focus on her own food.

"You're not even listening," Bukayo laughed, throwing a napkin at him. "Bro's too busy staring at his jersey."

"Can you blame me?" Wilo didn't even look away from Yas, his accent getting thicker the way it did when he was worked up. "Think we'll skip dessert. Need to see how that jersey looks on my floor."

The boys erupted in whistles and catcalls, Gabriel yelling something in Portuguese that made his wife laugh. Even the other WAGs were giggling now, used to these displays of footballer dramatics.

"William," Yas hissed, mortified but also fighting a smile. "I swear to god–"

But before she could finish, he'd scooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, one hand firmly on her calf to keep her steady. The champagne was definitely hitting her now, blood rushing to her head as she dangled over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

"Non." His satisfaction was clear in his voice as the team hooted louder. She could feel his laugh rumbling through his chest where she was pressed against him.

"Go make that baby, Wilo!" Saka called out, earning himself a smack in the arm from Tolami.

"I hate all of you," Yas declared to the upside-down crowd, catching glimpses of amused faces and raised champagne glasses as Wilo headed for the exit.

"No you don't," he said cheerfully, not even slightly winded from carrying her. "You're wearing my name."

The last thing she heard before they left the private room was Tolami's voice: "Twenty pounds says she's pregnant by Christmas."

Wilo finally put her down when they reached his car, but kept her pressed against the passenger door. The London night was cool against her flushed skin, his jersey riding up where his hands gripped her waist.

"You're impossible," she breathed, but tilted her face up to his anyway.

"Says girl wearing my name." His accent was thick, wrapping around the words like honey. "Know what that does to me?"

"The whole restaurant knows what it does to you."

His laugh was warm against her neck. "Don't care. Want everyone to see."

The drive back to his place was torture - his free hand on her thigh, her body still buzzing from champagne and victory celebrations. London streets blurred past as he took corners maybe a little faster than usual.

"Careful," she warned when he nearly missed a light. "I need you in one piece for your next match."

"Then stop looking like that in my jersey."

"It's just a shirt, Will."

The look he gave her clearly said it wasn't just a shirt, but he managed to get them back to his building without breaking any traffic laws. Barely.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, he had her backed against the mirrored wall, hands reverent on the number 2 stretched across her chest.

"My girl," he murmured. "In my name."

"Your girl needs to breathe," she laughed, pushing him back slightly. "And a shower."

His grin was devastating. "Can I shower with you?"

"Impossible man."

Wilo just smirked, because they both knew the answer. The elevator dinged when they got to his floor and when he unlocked his front door, he didn’t even let her step away, hands already slipping beneath the hem of his jersey to help her out of it. She let him, raising her arms so he could strip it off, leaving her in just her underwear. His fingers traced over her skin, his gaze darkening as he drank her in.

"You gonna stare all night or actually help me get clean?" she teased, though the way her breath hitched betrayed her.

"Can’t help it," he murmured, tossing the shirt aside before unclasping her bra. "You’re too damn pretty."

Her stomach fluttered at the way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was just a fact. His hands were warm as they skimmed her sides, down to her hips to pull off her underwear before he guided her toward the bathroom.

"Still on your period?" he asked, voice casual as he reached for the light.

She hummed. "Barely. It’s light."

"Great." His eyes flashed as he grinned.

The way he said it sent a rush of heat through her, but before she could respond, he was already reaching for his own clothes, stripping off his hoodie and t-shirt in one smooth motion. She had to take a second to just… appreciate.

Because, damn.

She would never get used to how fine her man was. The way his muscles flexed as he unbuckled his jeans, the sharp cut of his abs — it was almost unfair.

He caught her staring as he stepped out of his boxers, smirking as he grabbed a shower cap and pulled it over her head with practiced ease. "Like what you see?"

"Obviously," she shot back, rolling her eyes but smiling.

The shower steamed up around them as he turned on the water, the low hum of the spray filling the space. He kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. A quiet moan slipped past her lips as he squeezed, kneading them like he had all the time in the world.

"Come on," he murmured, guiding her under the stream. "Let me take care of you."

The warm spray cascaded down their bodies, steam curling around them as Wilo ran his hands down her back, over the curve of her hips, before gripping her ass. He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, his breath hot against her damp skin.

"Been thinking about this all night," he murmured, voice thick with want.

She shivered as his hands spread her apart, his fingers trailing between her thighs, teasing her entrance. Even with the shower running, she could hear how wet she was for him.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his other hand coming up to grip her waist.

"Yes," she breathed, pushing back against him, her body aching for more.

A low groan rumbled from his chest. "Yeah? Then bend over for me."

She let him guide her, turning her around, her hands pressing against the cool tile wall as he nudged her legs wider. The marble bench was just the right height, and when he ran his fingers through her folds, she gasped, arching into his touch.

"Still so tight," he muttered, positioning himself at her entrance. He dragged the tip along her slit, teasing, making her squirm. "Always so good for me."

"Will," she whined, trying to push back onto him.

"Patience, love." His voice was deep, teasing, but when he finally pushed in, it was anything but gentle.

The stretch of him burned in the best way, and her mouth fell open on a moan as he bottomed out, filling her completely. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place as he pulled back just enough before slamming back in.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel perfect, always so perfect for me."

Her nails scraped against the wall as he set a relentless pace, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through her spine. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the shower, mixing with their heavy breathing, her soft cries, his low grunts.

"Regarde-toi, bébé," he rasped, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. "Tu aimes ça, hein? You love it when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes — fuck, yes," she gasped, her thighs shaking, struggling to keep herself up as the pleasure built inside her.

Wilo let out a low, dark chuckle, his large hands gripping her hips before delivering a sharp slap to her ass. The sting sent a shudder through her, making her clench around him.

"Merde," he groaned, squeezing the flesh before giving it another slap. "Throw that ass back on me, bébé. Show me how bad you want it."

She obeyed, pressing back against him, meeting each of his thrusts with desperation. His grip tightened, one hand slipping up to wrap lightly around her throat, tilting her head back so he could press a messy kiss to her cheek.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath ragged. "Taking all of me, like a good girl, like this pussy was made for me."

Her walls fluttered around him, and he hissed through his teeth. "Fuck — you gonna cum for me?"

She nodded frantically, moaning as he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles that sent her spiraling.

"Come on," he urged, his thrusts turning erratic. "Cum for me."

With a sharp cry, she shattered, her body clenching around him, dragging him into his own release. He groaned, spilling into her, his forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady stream of the shower and their ragged breathing.

Then, Wilo chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Tolami might be onto something, you know."

She let out a breathless laugh, still coming down from the high as Wilo slipped out of her, his hands smoothing over her hips before giving her ass a playful squeeze.

"And what exactly is she onto?" she asked, turning her head slightly to look at him.

His grin was all mischief as he spun her around, pulling her into his arms. "That you might be carrying my baby by Christmas."

She rolled her eyes, resting her palms against his chest. "You really think you're that good?"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her temple before trailing his lips down to her neck. "Babe, I just fucked you so good you didn't even care if I had a condom on."

Her breath caught. He was right.

"We need—"

"Relax," he murmured, nipping at her jawline. "I'll get you Plan B later tonight."

That didn’t stop the tiny flare of panic from creeping up her spine, but when his lips found hers, soft and slow this time, it melted away just as quickly.

"I wouldn’t mind it though," he admitted against her lips. "Getting you pregnant."

Her heart stuttered at the confession, at the way he was looking at her — like he could already see it.

"Wilo, we cannot—" she started, but he just kissed her again, deep and lingering, as if sealing the thought between them.

"We can talk about it later," he said, reaching for the body wash. "For now, let me clean my girl up."

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully but let him lather her up anyway, his hands gentle as they roamed her body. His fingers traced over the bite marks on her shoulder, the bruises forming on her hips from his grip.

"Did I go too hard?" he asked, voice softer now, more careful.

She shook her head. "No. It was perfect."

His smirk returned, a little smug, a lot satisfied. "Damn right it was."

She swatted at his chest, and he just laughed, wrapping her up in his arms again as the hot water cascaded over them.

..................tbd

[insidekatmind]

Movie~William Saliba

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

You find yourself in a quiet corner of the living room, in an atmosphere that seems suspended in time. Sitting comfortably on William’s lap, your gaze is lost in the flickering glow of the screen, while the soft light gently caresses his face.

As the movie unfolds in the background, you realize that it isn’t the plot that captures your attention, but the intensity of his stare. With his eyes fixed on you, he seems almost to search your features for the story of every emotion you’ve shared. Every moment, every breath becomes a silent hymn to the passion that binds you.

You feel the warmth of his body against yours, a presence that envelops you and makes you resonate in unison. Your heart beats faster, heightening the tension of that intimate moment: the intermittent light from the movie plays with the shadows on his face, accentuating the desire and tenderness of the instant. Your mind spirals into a whirlwind of thoughts, while your souls seem to communicate without words, engaging in a dialogue of intense glances and silences laden with meaning.

In that precise moment, the external world fades away. The only reality that matters is your closeness, the way his gaze manages to tell stories of intimacy and passion, as if every detail of your encounter were destined to be a secret kept only between the two of you.

You smile sweetly and kiss his lips.The smile on your face is an invitation that he gladly accepts. As your lips meet in a kiss, a shiver of electric excitement runs through his body. His response is immediate: he pulls you closer, his arms encircling you protectively, as if to make sure you don’t disappear into thin air.His breathing quickens, his heart starts to beat in a faster rhythm. Between his lips, he murmurs your name softly, as if it were an invocation.

The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and impatient. Your bodies press against each other, trying to melt into a single entity. His eyes remain open for a few seconds, as if to memorize the features of your face in that intimate moment of union.His tongue traces the contour of your lips, seeking the entrance, asking permission to explore the sweetest secret of your mouth. His hand climbs up your back, drawing you closer and closer into his embrace.A soft moan escapes your lips, almost involuntary, and seems to fuel the fire of desire even more powerfully. He takes your lower lip between his teeth, teasing it lightly, then captures your upper lip in a more pronounced bite, as if to claim them as his own.

His mouth leaves your lips and begins to travel down your neck. His breath brushes your sensitive skin, causing a trail of gooseflesh as his lips leave kisses like fiery footprints, tracing the path of your jugular vein.You can feel him shiver when a gasp of pleasure escapes you. His teeth graze your skin, lightly marking it. The caresses of his lips become more possessive, and with them, his desire to dominate seems to grow.

His hands begin to rove over your body, like a sculptor trying to memorize every curve and contour through touch. One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, holding you in place, while the other continues to wander, stroking your thighs, climbing up under the fabric to feel the softness of your skin.His touch is electric, arousing every fiber of your being, awakening sensations that were dormant until now. Every movement of his lips and palms seems designed to tease, to tantalize, to excite and drive you crazy.

Your moan and the way you tug at his hair trigger an intense response in him, making his body tremble with arousal. The sound of his nickname on your lips ignites a wave of heat within him, and he responds by drawing you even closer, making you feel his physical desire.He whispers in your ear, his voice hoarse and sensual, “Say it again… I want to hear you say it again.”

The tone of his voice is enough to send a shiver down your spine, fueling the fire that burns within you. You can feel the hardness of his body pressing against yours, evidence of the effect your words have on him.“Baby… “ You repeat, this time louder, letting the affection sound through your trembling voice.

William takes off your shirt, leaving you in just your bra.His attention turns to your chest, as he starts to kiss it gently. Every touch of his lips is a tribute to your skin, leaving a trail of kisses that makes your senses tingle with pleasure. You can feel his breath warm, against your sensitive skin, sending a wave of heat through your body.His hands begin to explore your shoulders, massaging them with a firm and possessive touch, as if he wanted to mark every millimeter as his territory.

His kisses become more intense. His teeth graze your skin, biting softly. When he arrives at your neck, he presses his lips against the sensitive area, leaving a mark. A sigh of pleasure escapes from your lips, and your body responds involuntarily, arching in search of more of his touch.

“Please I want more” you whisper rubbing yourself against his erection.

A soft moan escapes from his lips at your movement, his body reacts immediately to your touch. He can hardly contain himself, feeling your body against his, his mind clouded with desire.He looks at you, eyes filled with an unbearable hunger. “More… I'll give you all you want... and more than you can imagine.”His hands come to caress your curves, his fingers tracing the line of your waist, then moving lower, towards your hips, holding you tight against him.

His touch is feverish, his breathing heavy with anticipation. Every muscle in his body looks like it's ready to break free, but he controls himself, letting the tension grow. He whispers your name, almost as a supplication, as he presses his lips to your skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

As William gently places you on the couch, a wave of excitement washes over you. His hands slide down your legs, each touch electrifying and possessive.

He gently takes off your jeans and starts kissing you.

His kisses follow, starting at your knees, moving slowly upwards towards your thighs. With every kiss, his touch seems to become more intense, more passionate. His lips trace the contour of your skin, their path a sequence of hot caresses that leave you trembling. He lingers on the inside of your thigh, teasing with his lips and teeth. It's as if he wants to mark you, to make it clear to whom your body belongs. His hands rest on your hips, holding you in place with a possessive grip, just like his gaze that locks into yours.

William's fingers tease the fabric of your panties. You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he slowly pulls them down, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level. He doesn't break away from your gaze even for a moment, and you can read an expression of desire, hunger, and possession in his eyes.

William's fingers tease the fabric of your panties. You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he slowly pulls them down, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level. He doesn't break away from your gaze even for a moment, and you can read an expression of desire, hunger, and possession in his eyes.He sees the stain on your underwear and smiles. "Already wet for me, my love?" William whispers, putting your underwear in his sweatpants pocket.

His words make your cheeks go flush with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. But even more powerful than the effect of his words is the way he's looking at you, the desire so palpable in his gaze that leaves no room for doubt. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his body pressing against yours.You're not about to deny it, so you reply in a slightly breathy voice, “Yes... only for you.”

William smiles and begins to kiss your pussy softly. Every kiss he delivers is like a caress, soft and gentle, each one making you shiver with pleasure. The warmth of his breath against your skin increases the sensation, and you arch your back slightly, closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost in the his sensations.

You gasp softly and he begins to put his tongue inside you and starts licking it. His tongue works deftly, exploring every fold and contour, creating waves of heat that wash over your core. He responds to your gasps, adjusting the rhythm and pressure to your reactions, as if he were playing an instrument that only he knows how to play.Each move he makes is like a delicious torture.

"William" groan.William smiles against your skin, relishing in the sound of his name on your lips. Hearing you groan his name like that sends a shiver of desire and power through his body, a confirmation that he makes you feel this way.

His tongue speeds up, the pressure and movement becoming more insistent, determined to drive you to the edge of pleasure. He wants to give you the sensations, to hear you moan and gasp and call his name.His hands start to grip your thighs. His fingers dig into your skin lightly, as if to keep you in place. And in that moment, you feel possessed, claimed, wanted.William's goal is to push you over the edge, to make you lose control completely, and he seems to be close to achieving it. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to draw out your moans and your gasps. It's like he's in total control of your body, and knows it perfectly.

You moaned, saying an unintelligible word. Your eyes were rolled up at how he was giving you pleasure. His tongue continues to work on you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You're so lost in the pleasure he's giving you that you can't even form a coherent thought, let alone words. Each moan and pant coming from your lips is a mark of how much you're enjoying this, and he takes it all in, drinking in the sounds you're making like a man dying of thirst.The moment he's waiting for is getting closer and closer, the tension rising between you, and he wants nothing more than to take you over.

Your body tenses up, the sensations becoming almost unbearable. You're hanging on a thread of pleasure, caught between wanting more and being unable to take it, your moans becoming louder and more urgent.

William senses that you're close, and his movements become more intense. He wants to drive you to the edge, to make you lose yourself completely. His hands continue to grip your thighs, holding you in place, as his tongue works in perfect harmony with your body.

"So good, so fucking good" groan loudly.

Hearing you moan and curse, he's driven on by the sound of your pleasure. It's like music to his ears, a clear signal that he's doing everything right, that he's giving you everything you want. His eyes are fixated on you with an intense gaze, watching every nuance of your face, every quiver of your trembling body.His actions become more urgent, more insistent. He wants to push you over the edge, to make you lose yourself completely in the sensations he's giving you.

“Baby, I’m coming,” you whispered between your teeth as you clung to his hair.

“Come for me, love.” he said in a low and dark voice, his eyes locked with yours. It was like a command more than a request, like he knew you didn’t have any other choice.

His movements became more intense, more demanding, as if he knew exactly what you needed to reach your climax. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was clinging to you, and you knew he wanted you to let go.

The sounds you make are loud, unrestrained. You're so close, he can feel it, and he wants nothing more than to take you there, to give you the release you need. His body is tense, his mind focused on your pleasure, and he's waiting for the moment when you'll tip over, completely undone.

You moaned and came on his face with your legs shaking. William takes in the sight of you like a man who's just found sustenance after days of hunger. He leans back, his breathing heavy, and wipes his chin with a slow smirk on his lips. You can see the satisfaction in his eyes, and the way he's looking at you, you know he's not done yet.

He moves up to you, his body pressing against you, and whispers in your ear, "I'm not finished with you yet."

[kennasutopia]

For the amount of women i see lusting over Saliba, the lack of fics about his isn't matching. He's a very private person, that's literally a blank canvas to turn fictional him into anything you want.

[saleeba]

the baby-making manual ; william saliba

summary ♡ baby fever hits the salibas full force.

pairing ♡ william saliba x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, husband!william, kissing, p in v sex, cunnilingus, reader & wilo are so broody & so in love with each other, missionary, doggystyle, riding, lotus position (yes i’m fucking depraved don’t look at me like that 🤕), soft romantic vibes, breeding kink, praise, body worship, size kink ofccc, clitoral stimulation, titplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it unless ur name is y/n and ur starring in this fic 🥸), creampie(s), a smidgen of cockwarming, blink and u miss the one french word in here, talks about having kids, aftercare included !!

a/n ♡ the title is so goofy & nobody asked for this but the concept has been eating at my mind since the end of summer + i've had this in the drafts since oct so i gotta put me first lucius 😫😩😫😩😫 anyway this is day one of converting you all into wilo girlies hehe WAKE UP WORLD‼️ pls lmk how u all find this fic btw!! ik it won’t get as much attention as my jude ones bc there prob aren’t as many fans but i rlly would appreciate anything u have to say about it !!! 🫶🏽🥰 enjoyyyy mes chéris!! 😌❤️

an unexpectedly warm spring’s saturday had given cause to an impromptu barbecue held by your parents, and you and william had found yourselves in the company of most of your relatives for the day. how your mother had convinced half the family tree to be present on such short notice you will never know but you were grateful nonetheless, extremely happy to especially see the loved ones you haven’t seen since getting married to your now-husband a couple of years ago.

it’s close to eleven in the night now, your arrival at home being so belated due to the clash between your insistence that you and william had to go home as he had training the next morning and your father’s greater insistence that the two of you stay a little longer for another cup of tea, another plate of food, even the whole night if you wanted to. in the end, you had to put a politely firm foot down, more for william’s sake who can’t say no to your parents for the life of him, and who was on his way to accepting your dad’s invitation to stay the night before you spoke up. you knew the events of last night would repeat for the morning, your parents in a tug-of-war with you to make you guys stay for breakfast but you supported your case with the argument of the long drive home and the fact that mikel wouldn’t appreciate william’s tardiness the next day, especially at such a significant time in the season. 

you’re sitting in bed by yourself right now with a novel in hand – william having gone to take a much-needed relaxing shower – inwardly laughing to yourself over your husband’s people-pleasing antics and your mind meanders to the scenes of this afternoon, the sounds of children’s laughter and adults’ gossip in the air accompanied with the smokey scent of grilled food taking over your senses. you reencounter images of william chasing your little cousins, nieces and nephews around the garden — small, sweet giggles mixed with william’s deeper chuckles as they’re all engaged in an exhilarating game of tag, little feet and large padding around the property. 

your thoughts are pulled back into reality when the ensuite door clicks open, a cloud of steam puffing into the bedroom before it reveals your husband clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, droplets of water dotted on his toned chest and abdomen. it’s a sheer sight for sore eyes and one that you will never tire of so you shamelessly watch as he smiles at you before gliding across the room, moving to his vanity to apply generous amounts of body lotion to bring back moisture to his skin, the action making his skin glow so prettily under the warm lighting of the bedroom. 

it’s these moments of silent appreciation that have you feeling like the luckiest girl in the universe; an adonis of a lover in your bedroom, one that would move heaven and earth at your beck and call, and there’s denying that you would do the same for him. 

in all your daydreaming, william’s moved on to pulling his pajamas on for bedtime, a pair of dark grey boxer shorts acting as said pajamas as he opts to go shirtless in fear of overheating on such a toasty night. you place your novel down, the previously read page distinguished with a bookmark, as william places a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking you both in under the thin sheets. 

“mum was really bad with the baby talk this time, wasn’t she?” you turn your body on its spot, head propped up by a bend of your arm as you face william who lifts his head at your rhetoric question. “i mean, you did look so fucking adorable with the kids today so i don’t know if i should say sorry on her behalf.” 

“not at all,” he only lets out a breathy laugh, now mirroring you in the shift of his own body. “i’ve had most people asking me about it now.”

“really?” 

you’re quite shocked to learn that there are indeed a lot of people who are eager to see william and yourself have a family of your own and that it’s not just pestering from your mother in particular, who has asked about when she will be seeing grandchildren from her daughter and “favourite son-in-law” from the moment the two of you had just about exchanged rings. you’ve grown accustomed to answering with the same old ‘we want to focus on us/our careers/our freedom’ response but there’s a little curious something that’s pulling the two of you to consider everyone’s requests.

“mmhm, i think i could count the number of people at the club that have asked me about it using my hands and my feet,” the pair of you laugh at this, a shake of your head over how believable that comment is despite it sounding so silly since the environment of your husband’s workplace is so close-knit and everyone is comfortable with each other. “it’s not just that, though, is it?” 

“no?” you question his tone turned serious now.

“when i see the guys and their kids, i can’t help wondering what i might be like in those sorts of situations, y’know?” you sit up at his words, heart racing a little faster with the way he looks at you; looks into you as he again copies your movements, taking your hands in his after leaning his shoulder against the headboard. “can’t help wondering what it would be like seeing you and a mini version of us in the stands during a match… wanna see our baby matching shirts with their papa, wanna hear their tiny voice cheer my name…”

you swear you feel your heart stop as soon as his lips form the words ‘our baby’. 

“oh, william,” you sigh over his thoughts spoken aloud, a slight pang of guilt hitting at your heartstrings and causing your eyes to tear up just a little. “why didn’t you tell me about all this, hm?”

you had no idea of his desire to have children, always assuming his response to everyone’s questions to be the same as yours and believing that he wanted to prioritise football over starting a family with you for at least a couple more years. 

“it’s not your fault, sweetheart, not at all.” his fingers swipe under your eyes in precaution against any spilt tears. “having a baby, hell, even wanting a baby... it’s a big deal; it’s hard to just drop it into a conversation if that makes sense.”

“of course, that makes plenty of sense,” his hands grip yours in a tight embrace, placing a kiss on the slightly trembling digits in an attempt to soothe you. “you really want to have a baby with me?”

william laughs softly at your words and the way you sit with your mouth gaping, starry-eyed with a million thoughts racing through your mind. 

“no, i want to have a baby with mrs khan next door.” he deadpans, referring to your elderly neighbour, before you shove at his shoulder, a blush overcoming your cheeks as you realise how daft your question is, disbelief over how much william wants to be a dad seeping into the way you’re thinking right now. “you’re the only woman that i want as the mother of my children, y/n, the only one.”

his eyes look even more beautiful in the peek of moonlight through the curtains and you fear your heart may give out tonight, squeezing so hard in your chest with the love that you feel for your husband.

“can i kiss you, baby?” he asks so politely, thumb running over the plumpness of your bottom lip. even after so many years together, he’s always the gentleman but still, you tell him that he doesn’t need to ask anymore — you are his to have as he is yours.

his lips descend upon yours with a gentle force, hands clasping over your waist where the black silk material of your short nightdress stops him from touching the warmth of your soft skin. instead, william decides to pick you up and place you on his lap, the urge to feel your body as close to his as possible controlling his actions, your knees dropping to either side of him as your clothed chest meets his bare one. 

as the kiss deepens on what seems like its own accord, you feel yourself growing wetter, thankful for your earlier decision to forgo underwear for the night as you grind down onto william’s lap, the cotton of his boxers creating delicious friction on where you need it the most. 

breathless sighs turn into light moans from the two of you as william tightens his grip on your waist with the same strength your core presses down onto his hardening length before he turns you both over to have you on your back, his form hovering over yours, lips ghosting over the nook where your neck meets your shoulders, leaving an eruption of goosebumps in its trail. 

in the pleasured shutting of your eyes, you can feel william’s hands pull down the loose straps of your nightdress, then a kiss on each shoulder and then the heat of his breath over your exposed breasts. 

“so beautiful, darling,” he looks up to your blushing face, the compliment painting a shy smile on it before his lips wrap around your left nipple with wasting any time. a whine is pulled from your lungs over the way william suckles on the nub, a tiny tug of it between his teeth causing you to arch your chest further into his mouth. of course, he doesn’t forget to pay attention to your right boob, taking his sweet time in kissing and swirling his tongue around the stiffness of the other side. “how did i get so lucky, hmm?”

you whimper in response as he brushes his lips down your body over your nightdress; from under your breasts, over your navel and arriving at the base of your tummy, where he places the firmest kiss of them all atop of the lustrous material. 

“william…” 

“gonna take care of you, baby, i promise.”

his hands now come down to your thighs, where the inner parts are sticky with arousal, and he hoists the hem of your dress up past your bellybutton, the pressing together of your legs to soothe the ache of your core as a light breeze hits it inciting your husband to part them and find home in the self-made gap. his head lowers to where your pussy lays nearly leaking onto the sheets and your breaths quicken, reaching an all-time rapid high when william plants a kiss on your clit, one so soft that it would’ve been deemed innocent had it not been in the midst of an action so filthy. 

in the ‘o’-shapedness of your mouth, amorous sighs escape as he starts his attack on your wetness — mouth open, tongue out, lapping at your juices as you sing his praises in the form of high-pitched moans. his tongue slips past your drenched folds to find your sopping hole, the tip of it poking past your entrance as he’s full-on eating you out now, open-mouthed moans from the simple pleasure of your pussy on his lips almost drowning out your sounds. 

there’s a particularly lusty moan from you when his thumb finds your tense clit, a couple of rubs on it releasing a string of cries out of the confines of your lips as your legs tremble from their position on his shoulders. from the very beginning of your married life, william had made it his mission to become well-acquainted with you in the bedroom, and you think he’s succeeded as the way he knows which buttons to press to get you to cum at his mercy is very telling, fingers working expertly in toying with your sensitive nub as your walls clench around nothing but the conjured-up image of cumming all over his mouth and pretty face. 

“william… i-” you start but are soon interrupted by the intense sucking of your already pounding clit between his moistened lips. the wail you let leave your body is almost pitiful, the feeling so fucking good but so sudden and unexpected that you fall head-first into your orgasm, crashing into it with a spasm of your thighs around william’s head, pawing at his dark hair for some inkling of relief and grounding since you truly believe you’re about to lose all sense of reality with how strong this orgasm has hit you. 

william doesn’t relent despite your convulsions, placing kisses over your clenching pussy and shaky abdomen. you manage to still your involuntary motions to catch a glimpse of his face in all its glory; his lips glistening wet with your release and his eyes darker than ever, impossible to distinguish the colour of his pupils from the colour of his irises, an unfolding plan of what’s to come for you both behind his soft gaze.

“did so, so good for me, my love,” he praises, kissing you through panting breaths from the both of you. “want to feel you around me, fuck, need to feel you around me, baby.” 

you go to deny him at first, nestling your hand against the bulge of his boxers but he’s quick to deny you in turn. 

“no, baby, tonight’s for you, ok? just wanna take care of everything— take care of you.” 

you nod in acceptance, knowing that arguing with him would be futile, a gentle flame in his eyes telling you of his determination to do nothing but be at your service until the sun comes up.

“how do you want me first, amour?” 

you almost swoon at the question, unable to believe that you essentially have this man at your mercy now, getting dizzy over choosing whether you want to ride him into oblivion first or save that for later and have him take you from behind to start with. either way, you know that tonight was no night for a meagre one round.  

“how about as we are right now?” you suggest, the current arrangement of you on your back and william on top proving perfectly convenient for you guys to start with your favourite position in bed.

“sounds perfect, baby,” he smiles before getting up to rid his body of those grey boxers and then almost leaning over you to pull a condom from the nightstand before he stops himself midway, the both of you realising that this is a habit that will need to be unlearnt now. a pair of giggles erupts between you and a silent agreement to forget the condom for the whole purpose of tonight is sealed with a rerouted kiss from william. he then prompts you to lift your hips so he can slot a pillow underneath them and have you as comfortable as you can get. you can’t resist biting your bottom lip at the pulsating anticipation between the two of you, the sight of his bare cock admittedly making your mouth water. 

now back on the bed and parting your legs, william resituates himself in between, this time with his cock in his hand running down your increasingly dripping slit, the occasional dip past your folds making you wince in an addictive combination of overstimulation and urgency. 

“shit, angel, i’m sorry,” his apology is sincere as he searches your eyes for signs of discomfort. “we don’t have to do this right now, we can take a break, do you want me to ge–”

“babe, i’m fine, okay?” you huff out a laugh, your husband’s honestly innocent face tickling your tummy and making your core ache even more. “j-just fuck me, will, please?” 

his answer comes in the guise of an assured smooch against your swollen lips, taking the quiet opportunity to sink into your wetness, completely raw for the first time, with a loud deep groan that makes your stomach feel like it’s gloriously folding in on itself. you revel in finally having the naked thickness of his cock inside you, experiencing every ridge, vein and inch of smoothness directly between your gummy walls with a hushed fuck before he gets to work on setting a moderate pace — slow and savouring it seems, his way of saying that he wants this to last as long as it possibly can. 

"william… so big..." no matter how many times you've been under him and how many times you say it, it will always ring true; the initial stretch and burn that his cock creates for you will always light a fire of delicious friction, tonight being a million times more special than every previous encounter put together. and no matter how many times william hears it, it will always set his mind ablaze, hips now pistoning at an unfathomable speed as he can’t hold back anymore, moaning and groaning about how good you feel uninterrupted around him, how there'll be no one else for him, how you're everything to him. it all has your pussy gushing around him to no end. 

your whimpers warn him of another impending orgasm, the tightening clasp of your cunt and the way you’re clawing at the softness of his lower tummy in sheer desperation make william’s movements falter just the slightest, a whine leaving his throat as he can feel his own climax catching up to him.

“close, baby,” he warns in sentences incomplete, brain whirring on pure pleasure and nothing else but the desire to have you cumming around him. he’s afraid that he may finish a fraction too soon and leave you disappointed so his fingers find your stiffened clit again, the caressing of his thumb a little harsher this time around as part of an effort to get you both to cum at the same time.

the pleasure you’re receiving from the touch of his thumb and the stroke of his dick is almost too much, hands willing their way to pull his off of you but the speed at which your second orgasm hits you beats any other competition to the finish line, pussy barely squeezing to trigger william’s first orgasm of the night; your lover climaxes inside of you with a sound so guttural, it has him almost collapsing against your shaking form but you invite him to do so, a tender hand on the back of his head guiding him to a safe haven in the crook of your neck as the strangely comforting feeling of thick, white liquid streams down your inner thighs. heavy breaths saturate the dimly lit room as you lay with your lover for a moment, warm bodies basking in the aftermath of a shared orgasm.

after a comfortable minute or two, william speaks up, his voice dropped to an octave so deep it relights the fire in your seeping cunt before your head can even process his words. 

“how does round two sound to you?” he’s asking amidst the plotting of a few kisses up your jawline.

you’re ready to jump his bones again on your own accord so when you hear the request fall from your husband’s lips, it’s an immediate “yes please” from you, not even bothered to feel shameful about the reeking desperation of your response.

a knowing chuckle and another kiss seal the deal, william pulling your now-creased nightdress over your outstretched arms, leaving you completely bare but free; accessible to his every touch. he asks you to turn around onto your hands and knees, setting the pillow down underneath your lower abdomen as a precaution. 

“there we go, angel,” he places a tender kiss at the bottom of your spine, running a hand up the natural curve of your back while you anticipate his next action. “gonna make my pretty girl feel so good tonight, she deserves it all.” your thighs divide instinctively in response to his voice and the sight of his cum glistening on your skin has william choking on a moan, needing to stroke his cock on the white-stained slipperiness.

“william, don’t tease,” you beg with a shake of your ass against his crotch to get him to hurry and slip his length inside of you. “can’t wait anymore.”

your husband obliges immediately, having lubricated his dick enough with his own release off your thighs, pushing into your hole with so much more ease and a filthy squelch as the realisation that the majority of his cum from the previous round is still inside of you hits him. oh, it sends william’s entire being into a lustful frenzy. 

“f-fuck, baby, listen to how well i filled you up,” he gasps out, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as the dirtiest noises he has ever heard emits from where his cock is connected to your pussy. 

you’ve done this position more times than you can count but the raw state of his dick plus the way it definitely plunges deeper from all the lubrication william has created inside you has you growing wetter beyond belief, another layer of arousal helping him reach damn near a whole new dimension of your cunt. you don’t want to lend your name to porno-fuelled incorrect biology but you swear he’s in your cervix right now, the pillow now playing its part in hoisting your bottom half up, back arching so beautifully, making it the perfect setup for william to split you in half with every thrust of his length.   

between a melody of cries of his name from your worn lips and his deeper moans, you surprisingly cum without a word of warning; it’s fast and it’s hard and it’s white-hot, almost launching your body off the bed entirely. it’s not so surprising, actually, given the speed of william’s pounding inside of your creaming pussy and the resulting splat-splat-splat noise his actions make, all of it way too much, way too depraved and addicting to try and avoid. 

“good fucking girl,” your husband grunts out at the sensation of yet another round of your pussy walls spasming around him, another round of hot cum spurting into your hole as he fills you up with an animalistic fuck! marking the round so differently from the last one, which was so full of love, this one in a tone that is much more lewd and untamed. 

you’re still on all fours, moaning softly at the flood of cum that spills out of you from around william’s dick and onto the sheets below, cunt still clenching his shaft which doesn’t seem to get any softer despite the two of you having been at it for nearly two hours without a break. your husband, sheathed still in your core, runs a series of kisses up your back, reaching the back of your ear to leave praises of how good you were for him just then and how pretty you look while he’s balls deep inside of you. eventually, he pulls out with a throaty moan, leaving you panting as you fall onto your back to look up at his fucked out expression.

william’s standing there with his hands on his hips, chest heaving, face all smiley and flushed, an image not too dissimilar to one where he’s fresh off a victory on the pitch. you wish you could take a picture of the scenery in front of you but you trust your memory to sear it into place for you instead.

“fucking hell, if i’m not pregnant by now then i don’t even know what to say!” you laugh out at the mess you’ve both made of the sheets and yourselves, and william joins in before quipping in with a “hmm, we should make sure, just in case, of course.” a cheeky tone in his voice as he snuggles his mouth against your neck, the hair on his chin tickling your skin as you squirm on the bed out of ecstatic amusement.

“okay, okay, but first we have to take a break, babe!” you manage to squeal out before william ceases his tickle attack on you, letting you go to the bathroom while he fetches a glass of water from the kitchen. 

by the time you’re finished and clean, william has the bed remade and the glass of water held out by the hand upon your return to the bedroom. you shake your head at him, bemused at this butler act he’s now performing.

“your refreshment, mrs. saliba,” he mocks what you assume to be a posh british accent, his own french one adding so much charm to it. 

“i thank you, mr. y/l/n,” you smirk back and take a sip, careful not to choke as william pushes your shoulder in jest with an oi before sitting down on the edge of the bed and watching you set the empty glass down on the nightstand. 

“so, about that making sure thing,” you pounce on his lap within a split second, settling your hands on the warmed skin of his shoulders.

william throws his head back in a hearty chuckle. “fucking hell, what was in that water?!”

“shut up and kiss me, saliba.” you command and he doesn’t dare to do anything but oblige, lips catching yours in a heated kiss that reinstalls all elements of hunger and lust inside of the pair of you. running your hands down and over the expanse of his chest has william parting his lips in a low groan, you taking the opportunity to slip your tongue inside his mouth and swallow all of his sugary sweet sounds, not wanting any ears other than your own to hear them. the resumed grinding of your naked crotch on william’s has him hardening quickly, another order from you to go lay himself down on the pillows moving scenes on as rapidly as you like. 

“good boy,” you admire the way he’s displayed himself for you, long athletic body sprawled out in all its glory, the moonlight a little brighter now that the night has really settled in. “you look so good like this, william, fuck, need to have you inside me now, baby.” a couple of tugs on his stiff cock and you’re sliding down onto it, william’s hands – slightly sweaty from excitement – holding you in place as you begin to rock and raise your body. 

there’s a harmonised whine from the two of you as you’re filled with his thickness once again, william encased in your snug, plush walls, and the swivel of your hips atop him makes his teeth grit in euphoria. seeing this spurs you on more, momentum picked up from the way william throws his head back, leaving his neck at your mercy and you of course can’t help but nip and kiss and lick over it, the sounds being pulled from his throat so saccharine and tuneful. 

he pants out with a vice-like grip on your hips, the skin white with the extreme grasp his fingers have on it. “s-slow, baby, slow…” he pleads while you rock and grind and bump into his crotch like a woman gone mad, chasing a high that is just at the tips of your fingers… just a little more. 

you whine out his name, scratching at his chest where you had previously been resting your hands for leverage, and he finds a little leeway before taking a gulp of courage and sitting up to meet the stirring of your pelvis with his, cock sputtering up into your cunt as he supports you with his large hands behind your back.

the position is possibly the most intimate you’ve been in — naked chest to naked chest, your nipples rubbing against the softness of his pecs, your knees on either side of him as his are crossed underneath you, body so much smaller than his, lips so close to touching with every jerk and bump but never really kissing, always teasing. it’s all so fucking hot and there’s nothing you want more than for him to fill you up once more. 

the knock-knock-knock of another orgasm has you pulling him so close against you, practically forcing him to shift his entire weight on top of you. you feel the need to bury him inside your skin. to be bound entirely and irrefutably. his lips, just now attached to the mounds on your chest, start rambling in his native tongue. you're not quite fluent in french but you've been with william long enough to pick up some things; the important things. through his wanton panting and sighing, he's spilling all his desires to you — telling you that he can't wait to see you swollen with his child, can’t wait to see if they’ll have his hair or your smile, can’t wait for you both to finally be the parents you had dreamed of being. there’s a fire in his words and it sets your whole body alight, scratching down his back in vicious streaks that will surely be present for the next week.

“w-william, please,” you wail, legs burning in their effort to capture your awaiting high. “put a baby in me, fuck, please, fuck a baby into me.” freshly hot tears are fully spilling down your cheeks now, the ecstasy of his cock pounding into you and the promises he’s made to you proving too much and you need relief from it all, desperately.

“gonna do just that, angel, gonna fill you up nice and good,” he moans out, pulling you in closer to his gyrating form. “gonna fill you up over and over until we get that baby.”  

and that’s the tipping point for you, your husband’s words, so sincerely sweet yet sinful, being the thing to push you over and have you cumming with a thunderous scream of his name. your pussy gushes around his rigid length, walls fluttering around it so forcefully you’re scared they’ll be stuck like this forever. william soon follows with his own orgasm, a few throaty moans that sound so pretty coming from his plump limps as they match the rhythm with which he spurts his sticky cum into you. your legs tremble in both exhaustion and bliss around william, and he’s quick to soothe them over with his hands, mouth landing kisses over your face and your chest. 

there’s only a symphony of heavy panting from you both now, and the occasional whimper or soft moan, as william lays on his back with you on top of him, large hands running up and down your back to steady your breathing, his dick still firmly in you. you're pretty sure you've forgotten what it feels like to be empty and without him.

“you okay?” he mumbles into your hair, a loving kiss left on your forehead before he tilts your chin up to look at him, your eyes weary and ready to doze off. you can only muster up an mmhmm but william is determined to end the night perfectly for you.

“hang on, baby, okay?” he requests before slowly pulling out of your heat and dashing to the bathroom where you can hear the din of him rummaging through cupboards and running the bathtub’s taps, leaving you to laze around with a pool of cum leaking out of you. the sudden crash of something metal followed by a shit! is enough to pull you out of the clasps of sleep, however.

your husband reappears swiftly, a boyishly guilty look on his face to which you raise an eyebrow. 

“everything’s fine!” he assures your silent questioning. “i want to take care of you right now, though. please?”

you flash him a tired but teasing smile in affirmation and he picks you up bridal-style, giving a quick kiss to your lips before walking you over to the bathtub and gently placing you in the comfortably warm and bubbly water where you feel your muscles instantly relax. the calmingly fragrant scent of chamomile fills your nostrils as you sigh up at your lover. 

“thank you, honey,” you speak, a slight croak to your voice from honest exhaustion. william nods at you before plotting another sweet kiss on your temple. 

“room for a little one?” he asks with a beautiful grin on his face, teeth all out in his signature style.

“always.” you scoot forwards to make room for him and he slips his much larger frame behind you, instantaneously pulling your back into his chest, hands delicately soothing over your tummy as he delivers a bunch of kisses across the plane of your shoulders. 

“sounds stupid but i already have a list of names that i wanna go over with you.” he says shyly after a moment of quiet.

you giggle and set a devoted kiss to the wedding band on his ring finger. 

“i’m all ears.” 

[williamsal8ba]

wilo as a husband headcannons

A/n: Let me know how you liked this and what fics you'd like to see for our heavily underrated pretty frenchfry. We need more wilo fics

He loves making you laugh when you're feeling down, he won't stop until he gets at least a small smile

Keeps telling you how beautiful you are in french ughh

Loves it when you kiss his ring finger

Always so attuned to your feelings and needs, you only look at him and he already knows what you need.

Admires you with that adorable smile of his when you do something ,anything really he's your biggest fan

He's always so proud of everything you accomplish and never fails to boast about it if you let him ofc

He'd rather talk about you to his friends than about him

Will drop anything if you need him

Makes sure to take you out at least once every 2 weeks ,especially after he's had many away games

Loves matching outfits no matter how corny you think it is, let him the man's in loveee

gives you the biggest kiss when he has to leave early for training and you're still asleep

loves watching your tired and confused face when you realise he kissed you

kisses you again after that

he'd rather spend time with his wife than with anyone in the world

let's you trim his hair

loves to watch you do your skincare

you've convinced him to have a skincare routine and now he loves when you apply it on him

just always has that lovey dovey smile when you're around

he always takes care of everything when you're on vacation so you literally turn of your brain when you're with him

he Lovess the height difference

strokes your hair when you can't sleep

he's just always so reassuring and he stays calm in situations you would normally panic in that you can't help but love him even more everytime

doesn't get mad at you, ever. He would never forgive himself if your tears were caused by him

unless they're happy tears yknow😉

Puts his hand on your knee when he's driving

When you're at an event and you got separated, when you're looking for him he's already looking at you with that smile of his 🫠

Brings you flowers after away games ,when you've been feeling down or just because he loves you

has extra things you might need in his car

Loves you more than life itself

[muglermami]

NEED more william saliba x reader imagines PLEASEEEE

[wslba2]

𝐅𝐈𝐗 𝐔𝐒

𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗇 , 𝗎𝗄

𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 - 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 , 𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗇𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 : 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖶𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗆 & 𝗒/𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗈𝖼 𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖺

𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 & 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

I SWITCHED OFF THE TV, it was a pretty harsh match and William had just picked up an injury. I shouldn’t care about him, he made it clear that we were nothing to each other. Usually he would come over but it’s been 3 weeks since we last seen each other or even talked.

My thought was cut off when I heard a knock on my door so I walked over looking through the peel hole to see William standing there. What the fuck is he doing here?!

Before I could even think I opened it. Our eyes met and I looked up at him. “Why are you here?” I spat bitterly “Are you still mad?” He asked earning a huff from me. “Yes.” I crossed my arms looking at him. “Can I come inside it’s freezing.” He pleaded “No. Go back home.” I rolled my eyes

“Y/n. Let me explain.” He reasoned “Then explain, we’re face to face right now.” I answered “Not in the fucking cold! You’re going to get sick.” He cursed pushing me inside and closed the door behind us. “William! This isn’t your house!” I scolded him

“Okay and? It’s yours. Plus I know every bits and corner of this house get over it.” He chuckled. him and his ego. “Okay explain.” I said impatiently. “My legs hurt I wanna sit down.” He ignored me walking over to the couch. “William! I’m being fucking serious.” I glared at him “So am I. My legs hurt, you think I’m lying?” He smirked at me. “Hug yourself to sleep, I’m leaving.” I huffed when he pulled me back. “Why would I hug myself when I can hug you?” He raised his eyebrows.

Fucking hell.

“Okay okay I’m sorry, I wanna say, I do care for you and everything that came out of my mouth during that arguement was a lie and I didn’t mean anything I said.” He said looking at me genuinely. “It doesn’t matter, we aren’t anything anyways.” I mumbled “I fucked you, I slept with you, what else-” I immediately covered his mouth “Shut it!” I yelled hiding my smile. “See your smiling!” He smiled.

“Whatever you’re so annoying.” I rolled my eyes turning around before he catched up to me. “Does that mean I get to sleep next to you?” He asked with happiness in his tone. “No you’re in the guest room.” I jokingly answered dead panned “No I’m not.” He rolled his eyes following behind me. “Does your leg hurt?” I asked looking down. “Yeah, I need to get tests done tomorrow to see how long I’ll be out for.” He replied walking into my closet grabbing some clothes walking into the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”

I picked up my phone and saw I had a few missed calls from Gabriel. I clicked on the notification and called him back. “Hello?” He answered “You called me.” I said “Ah I forgot, did William come find you?” He chuckled “Yeah he’s here.” I replied “ah okay, he just ran off with an injured leg.” He laughed.

We bid goodbyes and William came back out. “Who were you on the phone with?” He asked coming over and laid on “his side” of the bed. “Gabriel, he said you ran off with an injured leg.” I laughed “I literally told him.” He shook his head laughing. I shrugged getting up heading into the bathroom and did my night routine walking back out.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He asked turning over wrapping his arms around me. “Yeah why?” I responded as he pulled me closer “Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow.” He suggested “Is the William Saliba asking me out?!” I teased him “Yes I am.” He proudly answered kissing my temples.

I could feel my cheeks heating up as I dug my face in his chest. “Look who’s shy now.” He chuckled “Shut up!” I rolled my eyes smacking his chest.

The next day rolled by and it was currently 6pm. William had left in the morning after we both had breakfast since he had to get tests done or whatever. Our reservations was 7:30 so I had an hour in a half

I stared at closet looking for something to wear. It was cold so I needed to stay warm.

After a few minutes I decided on this black Meshki Tarna dress, I paired it with my pair of black Prada slingbacks finishing it off with my black mini Kelly. I quickly did my makeup and straighten my hair before William texted me he was outside to see his car parked.

I smiled and opened the passenger seat door. “You look beautiful.” He smiled at me “Thank you.” I grinned fastening my seatbelt. “How was your day?” He asked placing his hand on my leg. “It was alright, just laid in bed the whole day, how’s your leg?” I replied “I’m out for two games. Hopefully I’ll be fit by the time we play Girona or something.” He shrugged and I nodded.

We sat in comfortable silence with music in the background. When we arrived he parked his car then coming to my side opening the car door. “Thank you.” I sent him a smile as he closed the door grabbing my hand. “Mhm.” He hummed in response.

He was wearing all black as well and god he looked so fine.

The waitress sat us down handing us menus. “What are you gonna get?” He asked looking over my menu as if we had different ones. “Um a carbonara and I think an iced tea.” I answered flipping through the pages but nothing caught my eyes. “I’ll get a steak and water.” He said looking at the waitress who took our order then left.

“Is this a new spot?” I asked looking around “Yeah, everyone on the team says it’s good.” He shrugged and I hummed in response. Our food quickly came out and I felt my face lit up when I saw the food. “I’ve never seen you so happy.” He chuckled “Because you aren’t food.” I sassed opening my silverware.

“Wait don’t start we’re in public.” I added realizing the crazy things William would say. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He trailed off teasing me. “I swear to god.” I rolled my eyes. “Kidding, anyways, do you wanna walk around after?” He asked as we both ate. “Sure.” I smiled.

After dinner we sat for a bit chatting before deciding to leave after me and William fought over the bill. He would always win but it would be weird if I didn’t offer. “You ready?” He asked and I nodded getting up. He quickly wrapped his arms around me.

One thing I loved about London was the night life. It was beautiful here. When we reached the bridge me and William looked out enjoying the view before he came closer and hugged me. “It’s beautiful.” I mumbled lost for words. “Not as beautiful as you.” He grinned kissing my forehead. “What happened to your ego?”

I giggled hugging him back. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked as we pulled away and I looked up at him smiling. “Yes.” I answered with no hesitation. His face lit up before he came closer pulling me into a kiss.

-

I hope you enjoyed my first one shot! Sorry if everything looks funky, I'm still trying to figure things out.

[iamquiantrelle]

soon come…..soon come…. 😉 let me know if you want to be tagged

[insidekatmind]

Love at first sight~ William Saliba

Request: yes!

It was a cold winter evening in London. The Christmas lights illuminated the streets, and the city vibrated with that magic typical of the holiday season. You entered a small bar hidden among the streets of Soho, attracted by the warmth that shone through the large fogged windows.

The place was cozy, with soft lights and a jazz background that made the atmosphere perfect. You sat at the counter and ordered a hot cappuccino. As you waited, your gaze wandered around the room, until you met his.

William Saliba was sitting at a corner table, with an elegant coat over his shoulders and a cup in his hands. His gaze was magnetic, and his dark eyes rested on you with curiosity. He smiled at you. You, surprised and a little embarrassed, looked away, but you felt your heart beating fast in your chest.

After a few minutes, as you sipped your cappuccino, you saw him stand up and approach. When he stopped beside you, the scent of his aftershave made you lose your train of thought.

"Can I get you something?" he asked with a charming smile, his deep voice making you shiver.

"I'm fine, thanks. But... can we chat?" you replied with a hint of boldness you didn't even know you had.

Sitting down next to you, William began to talk about his love for London and football. When you told him you had recognized him, he laughed, pleased but not presumptuous. The conversation flowed naturally, as if you had known each other forever.

The hours flew by. You talked about everything: your passions, his experiences in the Premier League, your dreams for the future. Every word brought your worlds closer, every smile shortened the distances.

When the bartender announced closing time, William stood up and helped you put on your coat. "Can I walk with you?" he asked, and you nodded, your heart beating fast.

You walked side by side through the streets of London, while the city slept and only the streetlights framed your perfect moment.

"It's not often you meet someone who makes you feel like this..." William said, stopping under a tree decorated with lights. He looked into your eyes, slowly approaching you.

And before you could answer, his lips met yours in a sweet and intense kiss, which set off fireworks in your heart.

That night, in the streets of London, a love story was born that neither of you would ever forget.

[saleeba]

you look good in red and white ; william saliba

summary ♡ new year celebrations back home prove to be a handful but william tries his best to help you out.

pairing ♡ william saliba x bengali!fem!reader

content ♡ fluff, husband!william, reader is stresseddd and just needs a sit-down tbh, bengali words/terminology, reader is mentioned as having siblings, y/c/n = your cousin’s name, y/s/n = your sibling’s name, kissing, willo being the bestest husband ever !!!!

a/n ♡ arsenal football club are so bengali-coded pass it on 💯💯 ok so red & white are super traditional & prevalent in bengali culture + they’re ofc arsenal’s colours so i connected the dots 🤓☝🏽 (you didn’t connect shit ;-;) hehe anyway it was bengali new year this time last weekend & what better way to belatedly celebrate it than with a short and sweet wilo fic :D happy bengali new year / shubho noboborsho & i hope u all (bengali or otherwise!) enjoy this one !! ❤️🤍

“william! here, try this for us!”

no sooner than he had stepped a sandal-clad foot into the kitchen, you’re there shoving a chomchom into william’s mouth, the poor boy immediately being startled by your shouting and the manic running around of your siblings and cousins — not to mention the softly sweet intrusion his mouth experiences at the hands of his wife.

william had decided to escape the company of your dad and uncles once the mid-morning conversation turned to politics, knowing how chaotically passionate the men in your family get once the topic of current events gets brought up, in search of your comforting company in what’s the first time you’ve taken him back home in your relationship, never mind for such an important festivity. bengali new year in your motherland just hit differently and you wanted william to be fully immersed in every part of the extravagancies that your heritage brought to help pop his bengali culture cherry. unfortunately, being one of the “older younger” members of the extended family, you had taken it upon yourself to be at the forefront of all the festive tasks which meant that the new year wasn’t going to be quite the relaxed and enjoyable shared time either you or william had been thinking of. 

although, admittedly, he shouldn’t have been so surprised at the utter carnage unfolding in the kitchen since every single one of your relatives was up at the slightest sliver of dawn today, rushing about the residence to begin the pressing yet procrastinated matter of setting up decorations, preparing the food and creating the most stunning of placards for the neighbourhood’s parade; all before one in the afternoon. the hubbub was so sweeping that william had missed a good morning kiss from you — having gotten up so early to denote roles to your younger relatives in the food preparation — and he hadn’t even seen you at the brief breakfast the family had managed to slip into the schedule, making him miss your presence way too much than was allowed in his terms. it was quite definitive of your relationship that you had essentially found him before he had seen you, rushing over in an outfit that william had never seen you in — a red and white shari wrapped around your body, gold jewellery adorning nearly every possible inch of you, the tinkle-tinkle of your anklets melodically ringing in his ears as you make your way over. it all takes his breath away regardless.

“how is it, huh?” you anxiously enquire, taking a quick bite of the sweet yourself, cheeks filling with the spongey sugary goodness as it muffles your voice. “we spent forever making the mix, first it was too soft then too hard, and then y/c/n accidentally dropped it on the floor then we had to argue about what the shape was gonna be and th–”

your stressed-out rambling causes william to laugh, taking the remainder of the chomchom from you and popping it into his mouth before telling you that it’s delicious and there is no reason to worry about it.

“i can give you a hand, y’know? i’m not that bad in front of dough.” he teases, offering to take some load off you and your appointed kitchen team for the day. 

you’re quick to refuse, knowing there are quite literally hundreds of sweets and snacks needed to be made in a short amount of time to share throughout the neighbourhood and you don’t want his new year experience to be tainted with the interfamilial arguments that are sure to ensure within these here four walls over the next few hours.

“you should save yourself and rest before we set out for the parade, will, before we fully make you into our mishti guinea pig.” you usher him as best as you can towards the kitchen door and into the courtyard. “besides, i don’t want to be getting a strongly worded text from mikel for fattening you up too much for your job.” 

another chuckle from your husband, who accepts, setting off to lend his hand in something else that isn’t getting in the middle of flour and sugar being haphazardly thrown around. 

he finds himself in the company of some of your youngest cousins who assign him the role of batter in an impromptu game of cricket in the courtyard, taking the time to teach him all the techniques of a nationally beloved sport that he’s a complete novice in. after a couple of attempts of trying to understand the rules but giving up, his side nonetheless win the game and your baby cousin pipes up with the notion that william is now a “true bengali”, which makes your husband’s heart glow with affection for this new family of his.

the chattering and rushing of a group of yourself and some other cousins as you all pass through the courtyard pulls at his attention, intently watching as a number of you scramble around tables set up for the food and pace back and forth behind them and the kitchen, carrying what seems to be enough snacks to feed the whole country, never mind the neighbourhood. william can see the tension etched onto your face, brows nearly crossed over into a v-shape, and he so badly wants to step in and tell you to sit down for at least a minute but he knows the tasks at hand are more pressing and you really want to get this right for him, your family and the neighbours. he decides that he’ll have to remedy your stress once it’s actually appropriate to do so. 

another hour or two follows before the lack of you gets to william, now missing your presence by his side so much that he’s pacing around the house like a madman, dipping into every room and asking whoever he stumbles into where your whereabouts may be. william was damn near about to start shouting your name from the rooftop before an aunt of yours points him towards the direction of the garden where you’re there by yourself, hastily brushing vivid paint over the sketched-out placards for the parade very, very last-minutely. you don’t even have to look up to know that it’s your lover who’s rushing towards you.

“god, it’s all going on today, isn’t it?” you speak before he can and try to place some humour in an otherwise extremely stressful situation, not even finding the time to take your eyes off the painting to look at william while explaining what’s going on. “y/s/n cut their finger and everyone else is so busy so i have to finish these and get them dried in…” you press your phone to check the time. “... 20 minutes.” yeah, you’re somewhat fucked right now. 

“and who said you have to do it by yourself?” william rhetorically quizzes you; a mild scolding for bearing so much stress on yourself. “y/n, when’s the last time you sat down or even stopped your feet from running about the house? babe, i thought this was supposed to be a time when we both celebrated together, right? so why don’t we work together, too, yeah?”

you go to refuse him again and tell him to get ready for the parade with the rest of your family but william is having none of it.

“pass me a brush, please,” he softly demands with a sigh, hand outstretched as you eventually accept what he’s been saying to you since the morning and give him the tools he needs to help you finish the painting. you find yourselves completing it in more than half the time, leaving you plenty of time to fan them over to dry.

you turn to william, wanting to thank him for gently knocking some sense into you but getting instantly distracted when you finally allow yourself to take your husband in and appreciate him. you’re in awe of how extra handsome your husband looks in your culture’s traditional attire: a red and white panjabi set to match your shari, the golden handpainted motifs and embroidery sparkling against the rich colours of the cotton material.

“there, see, we finished it together! teamwork isn’t that bad, is it?” he teases and you respond with a tiny jab of your elbow on his side and a light laugh. “ah, hang on…” 

he turns you to fully face him and points out that your red teep is slightly off-centre between your eyebrows, raising his hand to fix it while the other rests on the side of your face. your heartbeat picks up a little faster over his warm touch that you’d been missing for so many hours and the peek of his tongue out in concentration practically has hearts swirling in your eyes. 

“there we go.” the way he smiles down at you tugs tenderly at your heartstrings and you can’t help but nearly smash your lips against his, the established habit of getting on your tiptoes to caress your alta-adorned hands along his broad shoulders helping to propel yourself into his embrace. william kisses back with all the might of a lover being starved of his wife’s touch for far too long.

a sudden call of your names quickly breaks the two of you apart, your aunt turning the corner towards you both with a camera waving in her hand and shouting something about taking a big family photo in front of the house before setting off. you and william are far too flustered to really comprehend what she’s saying before you’re wiping at your own mouths to rid yourselves of the red-stained evidence of your lipstick. your husband is about to take off behind your aunt to avoid any more time-wasting but you’re quick to grab his hand and pay him a greatly overdue compliment. 

“oi, you look good in red and white.” 

glossary of bengali terms ♡

chomchom = a milk-based bengali sweet.

shari = traditional clothing worn by bengali women; other languages may call it a "saree/sari".

mishti = bengali word for "sweet(s)".

panjabi = traditional clothing worn by bengali men.

teep = a small coloured dot/jewel worn between the eyebrows/on the forehead; you may see it being called a "bindi".

alta = red dye traditionally painted onto the hands and feet of bengali women during festivals and celebrations.

[coffeevacation]

eating this up😋😋😋😋

The beginning very much reminded me of that pottery video Nella Rose did with Craig Mitch🤣

But loved this!!!!

In your hands

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 4,991

pairing: william saliba x black female reader

summary: on a nice, innocent pottery date you can help but desire for you to be in william’s hands instead of the clay

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @whoevenisthiz @iamquiantrelle @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennasutopia @jessnotwiththemess

note: my first william fic🥳 the girls and i had a timeeeeeee with that pottery video so i had to write something because it was really making me ✨tingle✨. as always enjoy and tell me what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warm glow of the studio lights cast golden hues over the room, reflecting off the damp sheen of the spinning clay. The air smelled of earth and something faintly musky—maybe the clay, maybe the lingering scent of William’s cologne. Either way, it was intoxicating.

You had both been waiting weeks for this pottery date, but between his matches and your packed schedule, the timing never aligned. Until tonight. And now, here you were—knees touching as you both sat in front of the wheel, hands trembling slightly as you tried to center the clay.

William let out a low chuckle, watching as the mass of clay wobbled under your uncertain hands. “Let me help you, bébé” he murmured, his deep, accented voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could protest, he reached for another chair, dragging it behind yours. The scrape of wood against tile barely registered before he settled in—his long legs bracketing yours, his chest pressing flush against your back. His presence engulfed you, surrounding you in his warmth, in the scent of him—clean, rich, subtly spiced. It made your pulse stutter.

His hands found yours, covering them with ease, his fingers warm and firm as they guided your movements. The clay was soft beneath your touch, pliant, shifting under the gentle pressure of both your hands.

“Just like that baby” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. His voice was low, smooth, almost teasing. “You have to keep it steady, or it’ll fall apart.”

The words, innocent in context, settled deep in your stomach, curling like a slow-burning fire.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your focus back on the clay, but it was impossible when every breath William exhaled ghosted over your skin, sending sparks of heat straight to your core. His fingers laced with yours, guiding them up and down the spinning strangely cylindrical shaped clay. Smoothing, shaping, molding. The way the unshaped clay leaned to the side reminded you of the curvature of William. How he hits some many unknown spots inside of you.

Your mind drifted, thoughts slipping into dangerous territory. His hands were large, skilled, his grip both firm and delicate. You imagined them elsewhere, imagined those same fingers dipping inside you with the same careful precision. The way his chest molded to your back, the solid weight of him behind you, how easily he took control.

A sharp inhale betrayed you, your breathing shifting ever so slightly. William must have noticed because his grip on your hands tightened, just a little. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, slow, thoughtful.

“Faster” he murmured, instructing you to press the pedal.

You did, and the wheel spun quicker, the clay stretching, lengthening beneath your touch. But you weren’t thinking about the vase anymore. No, all you could think about was the way his voice dropped an octave when he spoke in your ear, the way his body heat seeped into yours, the way his fingers still moved over yours, teasing, coaxing, controlling.

His breath was heavy now as he tried with a small amount of strength to keep the clay in the middle of the wheel. He let out a few grunts that sent you down a spiral. Each exhale a low rumble near your ear. You weren’t sure if it was the effort of keeping your hands steady or if he could feel the same tension building thick in the air between you.

Then, his voice dipped lower, darker. “Get it wet for me”

The instruction was innocent enough—he wanted you to add more water to the clay before it dried out. But the second the words left his lips, your stomach clenched, heat rushing through you in waves.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the bowl, scooping up water and letting it drizzle over the spinning clay. But in your mind, all you could hear was the weight of those words, all you could think about was how wet he was making you.

For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself get lost in the sensation of his hands over yours, the steady rhythm, the quiet intimacy of it all. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his arms as he held you still, the way his breath stuttered ever so slightly when you shifted against him, his heartbeat steady on your back.

A low hum vibrated in his chest. “Bébé?” His voice was softer now, laced with amusement. “Baby? You can stop the wheel now—we got the shape you wanted.”

Your eyes snapped open.

The clay had transformed—what had once been a messy, phallic-shaped lump was now a perfect, smooth vase, ready to be fired and painted. You had no idea how long it had been like that, how much time had passed while you were caught up in everything else.

William was quiet for a moment, but you could feel the smirk on his lips before you even turned to look at him. His fingers lingered over yours, his chest still pressed to your back, his breath still warm at your ear.

“Alright, they said we can just leave the pieces on the wheel and they will come and pick them up” he murmured, his tone knowing, teasing, promising. “Are you ready to go?”

Your pulse thrummed.

Yes. Yes, you were.

William stayed close behind you, his chest still pressed against your back, his hands still covering yours. The wheel had stopped spinning, the clay was molded perfectly, but the tension in the air hadn’t settled—it had only thickened, stretching between you like an invisible thread ready to snap.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and controlled. “Come on bébé” he murmured, his voice deep, rough around the edges. “Let’s clean up”

His hands slid from yours, trailing lightly over your wrists before pulling away completely. The loss of contact left your skin tingling, hyperaware of the warmth that was no longer there. You swallowed and stood up, but your legs felt unsteady—whether from sitting too long or from the way his voice had been in your ear all night, you weren’t sure.

William noticed. Of course he did.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he straightened to his full height, towering over you. “You okay baby?”

The way he said it—low, teasing, laced with something smug—made your breath hitch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unaffected, but he saw right through it. He always did.

The two of you moved to the sink, side by side, hands covered in clay residue. The water ran warm over your fingers as you rinsed off the mess, but the real distraction was William—how he stood so close, how his arm brushed against yours, how he watched you with darkened eyes through the mirror above the sink.

“You did good for your first time” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “I liked watching you work.”

His gaze flickered down, slow and playfully, and the way he said it made it clear—he wasn’t talking about pottery anymore.

Your breath stuttered. “Glad I could entertain you”

William smirked, reaching for a paper towel. Instead of handing it to you, he took your wrist gently, turning your palm up as he slowly—too slowly—wiped your hands dry, his touch lingering over your fingers. His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of your wrist, pressing lightly against your pulse.

“Always do” he murmured.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

You knew you needed to leave before things spiraled right here in the studio, but every second stretched out, every movement felt drawn-out, and teasing.

Finally, you both grabbed your coats, the fabric sliding over your skin like an afterthought. He helped you with yours, pulling it over your shoulders, his fingers grazing your bare collarbone before smoothing the lapel down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hell yes. You thought.

But you nodded anyway.

As he led you toward the door, you reached out, grasping his arm—needing the connection, needing to feel him under your fingers. His muscles flexed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t say anything, just let you hold on as he opened the door and led you outside into the cool night air.

The walk to the car was slow. Tension curled between you like thick smoke, wrapping around every step, every glance. The air was crisp, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering between you.

William opened the passenger door, stepping aside to let you in. But before you could move, he leaned in close, one hand bracing against the car beside your head.

His scent wrapped around you—something rich, something warm, something distinctly him. His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he murmured, “Get in bébé”

It was a simple request. But the way he said it—commanding, full of promise—made your entire body shiver.

You swallowed hard and slid into the seat, your thighs pressing together instinctively. He closed the door with a soft click, rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with effortless grace.

The car was silent as he started the engine, but the energy between you was deafening. The air felt thick, heavy, charged. You shifted slightly, trying to find some semblance of control, but when William’s hand landed on your thigh—casual, but firm—your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers flexed slightly, his thumb brushing along the inside of your knee.

“You’re quiet” he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he pulled onto the road. “Something wrong?”

You turned to look at him, his profile sharp under the glow of the streetlights. His jaw was tight, his grip on the wheel firm. He looked composed, relaxed even—but you knew better. You could see it in the way his fingers drummed lightly against your skin, in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too calculated.

You exhaled slowly. “Just thinking about… getting home.”

William let out a soft hum, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah?” His fingers inched higher up your thigh. “What about it?”

Your pulse thrummed. “Just that I’d rather be there right now”

That did something to him. His fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening slightly. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, he broke eye contact with the road for a brief second, flicking his gaze toward you.

Dark. Heated. Possessive.

His foot pressed just a little harder on the gas.

The rest of the ride was silent, but the tension didn’t fade—it only thickened, crackling between you like static electricity. Every glance, every breath, every small shift in your seat felt loaded, stretched taut.

By the time he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, you were already reaching for the door handle. But before you could move, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

“Aye aye wait, let me get your door” he murmured, sounding slightly confused as to why you would ever reach for your door when he always does.

You turned to him, your breath catching when you saw the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, filled with all the things he hadn’t said yet.

Slowly, he reached for his own door handle, stepping out first before rounding the car. He opened your door just as slowly, offering his hand.

You took it.

The second your fingers laced together, he pulled you up—too fast, too sudden, too intentional. You barely had time to react before you were against the car, his body crowding yours, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“Still thinking about getting home?” he asked, voice a rough whisper.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding against your ribs. “Not really. No”

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. “Good”

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It was soft at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment. But then you sighed into him, pressing closer, and something in him snapped.

His hands gripped your waist, his body pressing into yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, consuming hunger. His fingers traced along your spine, his grip tightening like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed more.

By the time he pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you like this for hours” you murmured.

Your lips tingled, your whole body alight with want. “You don’t have to wait anymore.” he whispered, trailing his fingers up your arm, across your collarbone, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against you.

And with that, he led you inside and to your bedroom—where waiting was no longer an option.

A slow, heavy silence settled between you, thick with anticipation. William’s grip on your wrist lingered, his thumb stroking over the delicate skin just above your pulse, tracing slow circles that sent a ripple of heat straight through you.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His dark eyes roamed over you, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you tried to steady your breath. His own breathing was measured, deep, his broad chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt too controlled—like he was holding something back.

Your skin prickled as he finally moved, his free hand reaching up to toy with the lapel of your coat. His fingers, long and warm, ghosted over the fabric before he slipped one button free. Then another. And another.

Each movement was excruciatingly slow.

Your breath caught as the last button came undone, the heavy material sliding apart. His hands, now unhindered, spread the coat open, his fingers grazing over the thin fabric of your top beneath. The contrast of warmth against cool air sent a shiver down your spine.

William smirked. “Cold bébé?”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “No”

His smirk deepened, approval flickering in his gaze. He slid the coat off your shoulders, the weight of it disappearing as it pooled at your feet with a soft thud.

For a moment, he simply looked at you.

His gaze swept over every inch of exposed skin, dark and intense, lingering on the way your nipples strained against your top, the way your thighs pressed together like you were already trying to contain the tension thrumming through you.

Then, he sat down.

Spreading his legs, he pulled you between them, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, firm and possessive. The heat of his palms burned through your jeans, his thumbs tracing lazy circles just beneath the curve of your ass.

He leaned in.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned over your clothed stomach as his lips hovered—so close, yet refusing to touch. His hands squeezed gently, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel him, grounding you in the moment.

Then, he lifts your shirt slightly and pressed his lips to your skin.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

A sharp inhale escaped you as his mouth moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your hip bones, his tongue flicking out to taste, to tease. Each kiss lingered, warm and wet, the faintest hint of teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue.

You clenched your fingers into his hair, not pulling—just holding. Needing something to keep you tethered.

William inhaled, then exhaled against you, his voice a deep murmur vibrating against your skin. “You smell so good” he mused, pressing another kiss, this time firmer, just above your waistband.

His fingers toyed with the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a practiced ease. Then, just as slowly, he dragged the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against your lower stomach, teasing but not rushing.

“Lift” he instructed, voice low, smooth as silk.

You obeyed, shifting just enough for him to tug your jeans down your hips, dragging them over your thighs, your calves, before discarding them somewhere behind him. The cool air kissed your newly exposed skin, making every nerve stand on end.

His eyes darkened as they trailed over you, lingering on the damp spot forming on your panties. He didn’t comment, but the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands flexed against your hips, told you everything.

Then he moved again, gripping the hem of your top and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Your arms instinctively crossed over your chest, but William tsked, catching your wrists and gently pulling them away.

“Laisse-moi te voir chérie” (Let me see you darling)

The way he said it—low, reverent, like he was asking and demanding all at once—made your stomach tighten.

His fingers traced over your bare skin, the lightest touch, following the curves of your waist, up to the swell of your breasts, stopping just shy of touching where you wanted him most. His eyes flicked up to yours, gauging your reaction, watching the way your breath hitched.

He didn’t say it out loud but his eyes told you how beautiful he thinks you are. How much he admired you, in every way.

Your skin felt hot, your whole body thrumming with the weight of his attention. “William…”

He hummed, pleased by your breathlessness.

Then, swiftly, he guided you down onto the bed, following until he hovered over you, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath catch.

His lips found your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses before his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. You gasped as he sucked, harder this time, leaving behind a mark you knew would still be there in the morning.

His hands mapped your body, fingertips tracing, memorizing. His soft palms scraped lightly against your soft skin, the contrast sending a delicious shiver through you.

One hand drifted lower, teasing, testing, before slipping between your thighs. His fingers brushed over your panties, feeling the heat, the dampness, his breath hitching slightly against your neck.

“Déjà si mouillée” (Already so wet) he murmured, voice thick with approval. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet”

Before you could respond, he slid your panties down, taking his time, his fingers grazing over your thighs as he discarded them. His gaze stayed locked on you, dark, smoldering, as he traced a single fingertip along your inner thigh, moving achingly slow toward your center.

Then—finally—he pushed one finger inside.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips as he moved, slow, measured, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you still. He worked you open, thrusting in and out at an unhurried pace, watching your every reaction. You could already hear your juices drenching his finger.

“Look at you” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect for me”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your back arch, your thighs trembling around him. He curled them, pressing up—hard—against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “How does that feel mon amour?” His voice was rough, almost teasing. “Are you gonna cum for me bébé?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the way your breath hitched, your body responding to every slow, devastating movement.

Then, just as you teetered on the edge, William withdrew his fingers.

A whimper of protest left you, but he only chuckled, sitting up slightly. He lifted his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. His eyes locked on yours the entire time, as he wrapped his lips around his fingers.

Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your stomach all over again.

Then—he pressed those same fingers against your lips.

“Open”

The single word sent a shiver through you. You obeyed, parting your lips as he slid his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself on him. His gaze darkened, his smirk deepening as he watched you suck them clean.

He hummed murmured, voice thick with approval.

And then—he reached for his belt.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, his smirk promising something slow, something devastating, as he murmured, “Let’s see if you can take more bébé”

You lick your lips, anticipation thrumming through your veins as you watch him undress with a torturing slowness. His fingers grip the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing a chiseled torso adorned with tantalizing muscles and glistening skin that catches the dim light. Each ridge and contour of his abdomen flexes as he unbuttons his pants, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. His boxers follow suit, sliding down his thick, toned thighs, leaving him completely exposed. Your eyes widen as his dick springs free—thick, veined, and proud. Its light brown shaft contrasts against his skin, the pink tip flushed and needy, curving slightly to the left as it pulses with arousal. Your breath catches, and your mouth waters at the sight of him.

“I can take more” you murmur, voice trembling with desire, the words a plea that escapes your lips. “I need more”

His eyes darken, filled with an insatiable hunger that matches your own. Slowly, he lowers himself between your thighs, the warmth of his skin searing against yours as he presses your legs wide, framing his hips. His hands trail up the soft curves of your thighs, spreading you open as he dips his head to capture your lips. His kiss is deep, consuming—his lips melding with yours in a passionate dance, tongues tangling as if he’s tasting you for the first time. His mouth moves with an urgency that leaves you breathless, every kiss more demanding than the last, like you’re the only thing sustaining him.

His lips trace a scorching path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, making your pulse flutter wildly beneath his touch. When his mouth finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, he sucks gently, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. A soft moan escapes your lips, but it quickly turns into a desperate whimper as he positions himself, the head of his dick pressing insistently against your entrance. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes inside, stretching you open, inch by torturous inch, until he’s fully seated within you.

A guttural groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt. His forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, breathing ragged and heavy. “No matter how many times I’m inside you” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly, fingers threading through your hair tenderly, “it feels better every time” His eyes open, locking onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away, his gaze filled with raw, unspoken emotion.

He stays still, letting you adjust, the fullness of him sending sparks of pleasure rippling through your body. Then, he begins to move—slow, languid strokes that drag against your walls, setting every nerve ending ablaze. He moves with expert precision, each thrust deeper than the last, his hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that leaves you gasping for air. His eyes never leave yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, memorizing each soft moan and breathless sigh.

But soon, his restraint wanes. He shifts, lifting both your legs with effortless strength, draping them over his broad shoulders. The new angle sends him deeper, the thick length of him pressing against that perfect spot inside you, making your back arch off the mattress. He leans forward, folding you in half beneath him, his chest pressing against yours, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. His thrusts grow harder, more demanding—each one a powerful surge that forces desperate cries from your lips.

Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, fingers clutching desperately as he pounds into you with an unrelenting rhythm. Every stroke is deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His body is a furnace above you, his skin burning against yours, slick with sweat. You can feel the heat radiating from him, every flex of his muscles, every slight shudder of restraint in his body as he pushes deeper, stretching you to your limit.

“Oh William” you whimper, voice breaking as the intensity of his thrusts robs you of breath. Your head falls back against the pillows, but he doesn’t let you escape—his large hand cups your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes are hooded, half-lidded with lust, locked onto you with a gaze so heated it makes your stomach coil tighter. He watches every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, drinking in each gasp, each moan, each helpless whine that spills from your lips.

“This what you wanted baby?” His voice is rough, laced with desire, the deep timbre vibrating through your very core. “Me fucking you nice and hard, just like this, yes?” His words are punctuated by a sharp thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, makes your toes curl, makes your back arch into him.

“Yes” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, barely coherent through the pleasure wracking your body. Your fingers slip down his arms, nails dragging over the sculpted ridges of his forearms, gripping at anything you can hold on to. “Oh, yes—please.”

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but his expression is wrecked with need, his body trembling slightly as he tightens his grip on your thighs. His fingers sink into the soft flesh there, anchoring you beneath him as his pace quickens. His hips snap forward with a bruising force, slamming into you over and over, deeper and harder, until the pleasure borders on unbearable. The room fills with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding—wet, fevered, the slap of skin against skin mixing with his deep, husky grunts and your breathless cries.

His dick drags along your inner walls, each thrust hitting every single perfect spot inside you, making your vision go dark at the edges. But it’s the way his pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each deep stroke that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you, your body wound so tightly it feels like you might snap.

Your breath stutters, chest heaving, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure mounts higher, higher, until you’re teetering on the edge. The coil in your belly twists, tighter and tighter, heat pooling low in your stomach until you feel like you’re about to burst.

“Uhh baby—I’m cumming,” you gasp, your voice raw, trembling. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging in, desperate, as your entire body locks up beneath him. “Please don’t stop”

He groans at your words, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. His head falls forward, forehead pressing to yours as he slams into you, driving you over the edge. And then it hits—your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, white-hot and all-consuming. Your body shakes, your walls fluttering around him, gripping him so tightly that he lets out a strangled groan, his pace stuttering as he fights to hold on.

But he doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, until you’re a trembling, breathless mess beneath him. The overstimulation has you gasping, your body writhing as he wrings every last drop of pleasure from you.

A few more hard, punishing thrusts, and then he’s pulling out, scrambling up your body. His hand wraps around his dick, stroking himself furiously, his jaw clenched, his muscles glistening as he hovers over you. His breaths come in sharp, ragged pants, his eyes locked onto you—your heaving chest, your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body glows in the aftermath of your orgasm.

And then—he breaks.

A desperate moan rips from his throat as he spills himself over you, hot, thick ropes of cum painting your chest, your stomach, even reaching your neck. His entire body shudders, his hips jerking as he milks the last of his release onto your skin. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him, leaving him trembling above you.

When he finally comes down, his chest still heaving, his dark eyes meet yours once more. You hold his gaze as you dip your fingers into the sticky warm mess on your skin, gathering it up and bringing it to your lips. Slowly, you suck each finger clean, savoring the taste of him with a teasing smirk.

The sight has him groaning again, his head falling forward as he watches, utterly wrecked, utterly mesmerized. His hands drop to the bed beside you, as if he needs to brace himself, as if the sheer filth of you licking him off your fingers is enough to make his legs give out.

“Fuck” he breathes, voice hoarse, shaky, still dazed from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in a slow, languid kiss, tasting himself on your lips, his tongue sweeping across yours in a possessive, lingering claim. Finally, he pulls back, collapsing beside you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against his chest.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, and with a breathless chuckle, he murmurs, “Maybe we should do dates like this more often. You laugh shyly into his chest “I don’t think we’ll make it out of the parking lot if we go on another date like that”

The afterglow settles between you like a warm, lazy haze, your bodies tangled together beneath the soft sheets. His strong arms stay wrapped around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your bare back, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that lingers after the storm of pleasure. Your heartbeat is still erratic, your body still thrumming with the echoes of his touch, but in this moment, you feel nothing but contentment. William presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and tender, a stark contrast to the way he had just ravaged you. His scent—deep, musky, unmistakably his—surrounds you, mixing with the remnants of sex in the air, making you never want to leave this bed.

[kierantierney3]

Saliba soft launch pls xx

Thank you for your request.

Masterlist

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benwhite 😍😍😍😍😍😍 love it

[wslba2]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

𝗙𝗜𝗫 𝗨𝗦

[iamquiantrelle]

wilo baby 🥹

@williamsal8ba i have a fic for him!

wilo as a husband headcannons

A/n: Let me know how you liked this and what fics you'd like to see for our heavily underrated pretty frenchfry. We need more wilo fics

He loves making you laugh when you're feeling down, he won't stop until he gets at least a small smile

Keeps telling you how beautiful you are in french ughh

Loves it when you kiss his ring finger

Always so attuned to your feelings and needs, you only look at him and he already knows what you need.

Admires you with that adorable smile of his when you do something ,anything really he's your biggest fan

He's always so proud of everything you accomplish and never fails to boast about it if you let him ofc

He'd rather talk about you to his friends than about him

Will drop anything if you need him

Makes sure to take you out at least once every 2 weeks ,especially after he's had many away games

Loves matching outfits no matter how corny you think it is, let him the man's in loveee

gives you the biggest kiss when he has to leave early for training and you're still asleep

loves watching your tired and confused face when you realise he kissed you

kisses you again after that

he'd rather spend time with his wife than with anyone in the world

let's you trim his hair

loves to watch you do your skincare

you've convinced him to have a skincare routine and now he loves when you apply it on him

just always has that lovey dovey smile when you're around

he always takes care of everything when you're on vacation so you literally turn of your brain when you're with him

he Lovess the height difference

strokes your hair when you can't sleep

he's just always so reassuring and he stays calm in situations you would normally panic in that you can't help but love him even more everytime

doesn't get mad at you, ever. He would never forgive himself if your tears were caused by him

unless they're happy tears yknow😉

Puts his hand on your knee when he's driving

When you're at an event and you got separated, when you're looking for him he's already looking at you with that smile of his 🫠

Brings you flowers after away games ,when you've been feeling down or just because he loves you

has extra things you might need in his car

Loves you more than life itself

[iamquiantrelle]

i’ve been convinced….a wilo fic is coming 🔜

don’t worry @coffeevacation - that will be coming soon too…right after virgin territory is wrapped up (which is gonna be maybe in end of february)

[insidekatmind]

Masterlist

William Saliba

Love at first sight

Movie

Jamal Musiala

Early morning

Alejandro Garnacho

Sweet Victory