NEZ

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐔 𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: your boyfriend is a single dad and for the first time you will see him play with his son.

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x marc bernal

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: none.

Marc always said that being a dad was the hardest job he had ever had, and that was saying something — he’d played matches where they’d made him run until he almost fainted. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to trying to get a baby to sleep when he had no intention of doing so.

From the moment you met him, you knew his life revolved around two things: football and his son. There was no in-between. There were days when the exhaustion seemed heavier than the world itself, but even then, he would get up before dawn to prepare a bottle or look for a lost pacifier between the sheets.

He told you that, at first, he felt completely lost. That when the baby’s mother decided to leave, he had no idea how to go on.

“No sabía ni cómo se calentaba la leche, y/n,” he had said on your first date. (“I didn’t even know how to warm up the milk, y/n.”)

Now, with a clumsy routine, Marc had learned to move with the child in his arms as if he’d been doing it all his life. He held him with one hand while making coffee with the other, rocking him against his chest while answering messages.

You loved seeing him like that in the mornings — messy hair, dark circles, pajama pants halfway up, and a tired smile as he said to the baby:

“¿Eh, campeón? ¿Mañana dejarás dormir a papá?” (“Hey, champ? Tomorrow will you let daddy sleep?”)

And the little one, barely ten months old, would laugh and light up his father’s face.

Sometimes you helped him. You’d prepare the milk while he tried to put the baby’s bodysuit on without losing his patience. There were mornings when the baby woke up crying, and you were the one who took him in your arms, humming softly until he calmed down. Marc always appreciated it — especially now that he was getting minutes again and had to manage his sleep schedule carefully.

Today was an important day. Not only because Barça was playing in the Champions League, but because Marc could finally get minutes again after months out.

“Dicen que me pueden meter al final,” he told you that morning while searching for a shirt among a sea of clean diapers and chewed-up toys. (“They say they might put me in at the end.”)

“Y tú no te la crees todavía,” you replied with a smile. (“And you still don’t believe it.”)

“Hasta que no esté en el césped, no,” he laughed, glancing up only when his son babbled from the crib. “Aunque creo que este enano ya confía más que yo.” (“Not until I’m on the pitch. Though I think this little guy already believes more than I do.”)

He approached and lifted him. The baby clung to his father, playing with the string on his pants. Marc kissed his forehead, whispering something you barely caught.

While he got dressed to head to the field, you stayed with the baby. It was the first time you’d take him to the stadium, and the idea both thrilled and made you nervous.

“Vamos a cambiarte,” you said, taking the baby in your hands before looking through his drawers for comfy clothes. (“Let’s get you changed.”) You rummaged until you found that Barcelona jersey with “Papá” on the back. “Mira, la de tu papi, Adri, ¿quieres esta?” you asked, shaking the shirt in front of him, and he laughed. (“Look, your daddy’s shirt, Adri — do you want this one?”) “Eso es un sí.” (“That’s a yes.”)

You started dressing the baby slowly — he was so playful it was hard.

Marc laughed, looked down at his son, and kissed him again. “Pórtate bien con mamá, ¿vale?” Marc said as he left the room. (“Behave with mommy, okay?”)

“Me ha llamado tu mamá,” you told the baby, squeezing his cheek. (“He called me your mom.”) “Eres tan mono,” you began to shower his face with kisses, overcome with love. (“You’re so cute.”)

“¡PODEIS DEJAR DE DARSE AMOR Y VENIR!” Marc shouted from the door. (“CAN YOU STOP GIVING EACH OTHER LOVE AND COME HERE!”)

“¡SII, YA VAMOS!” (“YES, WE’RE COMING!”)

You were sitting in the stands next to Bernat, Marc’s best friend, while the joyful noise of the stadium filled every corner. Barcelona was winning by a landslide.

Adri was sitting on your lap, calm for the moment, nibbling your finger while his curious eyes followed the lights of the field.

“Míralo,” Bernat said, pointing toward where your boyfriend was warming up. (“Look at him.”) “Se nota que está nervioso, ¿eh?” (“You can tell he’s nervous, huh?”)

You searched among the players and found him right away. Marc stood there, still wearing the substitute bib, hands on his hips, watching the game before starting to jog again.

“Le van a dar minutos, lo sé,” you whispered. (“They’re going to give him minutes, I know it.”)

Time passed, and with every substitution that wasn’t his, your heart tightened a little more. Until, at the 80th minute, the fourth official raised the board.

Number 8 lit up in red. Pedri off. Below it, 22 in green.

Marc.

“¡Vamos, Berni!” Bernat shouted, jumping to his feet, infecting everyone around. (“Let’s go, Berni!”)

Suddenly, the entire stadium began chanting his name.

“¡Berni! ¡Berni! ¡Berni!”

You bounced your knee with each chant, making Adri giggle. At first, he looked startled by the noise, but when he saw his father running onto the pitch, he laughed and waved his hands, babbling something that sounded too much like pa-pa.

“Sí, cariño,” you said through laughter. (“Yes, darling.”) “Ese es papá.” (“That’s daddy.”)

Marc crossed the pitch with the biggest smile you’d seen on him in weeks. He high-fived Pedri and glanced toward the stands. There was no way he could see you among thousands, but you swore he did.

Bernat nudged you and stroked the baby’s belly, murmuring: “Tu papá, Adri, tu papá.” (“Your dad, Adri, your dad.”)

You nodded, eyes fixed on the field. Marc touched his first ball, and the crowd roared again. Adri clapped his little hands, and you couldn’t help but laugh, kissing his chubby cheeks.

The rest of the match went by in a blur of emotion — you couldn’t take your eyes off Marc. Every time he touched the ball, your heart skipped.

When the referee blew the final whistle and the crowd started to leave, you took Adri in your arms and told Bernat:

“Vamos a esperar un momento. Todavía queda nuestro jugador favorito.” (“Let’s wait a bit longer. Our favorite player’s still there.”)

You went down the nearly empty stairs, dodging the last fans and staff cleaning up. At the tunnel entrance, Marc appeared among the last players leaving the pitch. His eyes found yours almost immediately.

“¡Ahí están!” Bernat shouted, already pulling out his phone for a picture. (“There they are!”)

Marc walked toward you, tired steps, and Adri, recognizing him, started flailing his arms and babbling happily. “Pa-pa… pa-pa…”

Marc bent down and took him in his arms, you steadying the baby’s back as Marc placed a long kiss on his forehead.

Of course, Bernat took a photo right before that. Cameraman instincts.

“Hola, mi niño,” Marc whispered, then turned to you. (“Hi, my boy.”) “Gracias por venir… y por cuidar de él mientras yo estaba ahí.” (“Thank you for coming… and for taking care of him while I was out there.”)

You smiled and caressed Marc’s cheek gently, feeling his exhaustion and euphoria. “Siempre, sabes que siempre,” you replied. (“Always, you know always.”)

The baby nestled between you both, and for a few seconds, everything stilled.

Bernat raised the phone, and the click of the camera broke the moment.

“Listo. La foto familiar perfecta,” he said, satisfied. (“Done. The perfect family picture.”)

“Mándamela luego,” Marc said. (“Send it to me later.”)

Bernat nodded, smiling, and patted his shoulder. “En serio, tío. Me alegra verte así. Hoy jugaste de diez.” (“Seriously, man. I’m glad to see you like this. You played a ten today.”)

“Y con el público coreando mi nombre…” Marc raised an eyebrow, pretending to be modest. (“And with the crowd chanting my name…”) “ No está mal para un papá con ojeras.” (“Not bad for a dad with eye bags.”)

You rolled your eyes, adjusting Adri on his chest. The baby yawned, exhausted, and Marc gently stroked his back.

“Creo que este ya se durmió,” you whispered. (“I think he’s asleep already.”)

[justageekk]

hector fort nsfw alphabets 🙏🙏

IN WHERE: hector alphabet

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x hector fort

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: so much smut

A = Aftercare

Héctor is extremely affectionate afterwards. He wraps you in his arms as if you were his treasure, kisses your forehead, and asks several times if you’re okay.

He likes you to tell him what you enjoyed and what you didn’t, because he wants to do it perfectly for you. He always offers you water and stays cuddled up until you fall asleep.

B = Body Part

Your face or your ass. Héctor loves both in different ways.

Your face because he adores looking at it when you’re moaning, getting lost in your expressions, seeing how your skin flushes or how you bite your lip to hold back a moan that’s too loud. He always grabs your chin so you’ll look him in the eyes.

And your ass… simply because he loves digging his fingers into it hard while he’s fucking you.

C = Cum

What turns him on the most is finishing inside. It’s not just about the physical pleasure, but because Héctor fantasizes about being a dad. Even though he knows you’re both still young and he can’t always do it, every time he gets the chance he doesn’t waste it. He knows you’re on the pill, so he allows himself to enjoy it without fear, but deep down he’s clear that when the time comes and he feels ready, he’ll be the one to ask you to stop so you can try for a baby together.

D = Dirty Secret

Héctor once jerked off to your Instagram photos, even though they were innocent and not provocative at all. You didn’t even need to be in a bikini; just a simple smile was enough for him. He felt kind of guilty, but still did it a few more times.

E = Experience

He’s not an expert, but Héctor is a pervert. Everything he hears, he keeps in his head. He doesn’t need to have done it a thousand times—if someone just mentions it or he sees it somewhere, he’s already imagining practicing it with you.

F = Favorite Position

Missionary. He can look you in the eyes, kiss you while moving, and hold your hands. It’s not boring—he changes angles, props himself up on his forearms, or lowers down to kiss your neck while still inside.

G = Goofy

Sometimes he laughs in the middle of sex because it tickles, or because he finds it cute when you call him “bebé” while panting. Sometimes he feels like he’s being too perverted and hides his face in embarrassment, and you end up laughing at him.

H = Hair

Pretty clean and well-groomed. He’s not hairless, but he keeps it tidy. He doesn’t like to let himself go because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

I = Intimacy

Depends a lot on the situation and Héctor’s mood. In general, he prefers being affectionate, but if you asked him what he personally likes, he’d probably say “aggressive.”

J = Jack Off

He doesn’t need porn, just imagining you is enough. Héctor doesn’t masturbate often—only when you’re really far apart, or when you’re fighting and he’s too stubborn to put his pride aside and ask to fuck.

K = Kink

He has a weak spot for hickeys and scratches. He wouldn’t admit it, but it turns him on when you mark him and when, the next day, someone might see where those marks came from.

L = Location

The car. Since he got his license and bought his new car, it became his favorite spot. At first, it was just kisses in the back seat, but the adrenaline of being in such a small space ended up turning him on way more than he expected.

M = Motivation

Your initiative. If you seek him out, tease him, or suddenly touch him, Héctor gets turned on right away. He loves feeling that you want him just as much as he wants you. If you sneak up behind him and whisper in his ear, he’s already lost. If you sit on his lap, even if it’s in an innocent way, you instantly wake him up.

N = No

He doesn’t have one specific “no,” but he would definitely set boundaries with toys. Héctor prefers using his own hands, mouth, and body to please you, because he enjoys too much seeing you react to just him. However, he’s not closed off—if it’s something you know excites you, he might give in from time to time.

O = Oral

He loves receiving it—a lot. When you kneel in front of him, he just stares at you like you’re the most perfect vision in the world. He can’t help but rest a hand on the back of your neck, guiding you gently, though sometimes instinct wins and he pushes you a little harder.

P = Pace

Slow at first. Then, when he can’t hold back anymore, he speeds up and gets rougher, until he loses himself in the rhythm.

Q = Quickie

Yes, but he gets nervous. It excites him to do it fast in forbidden places, but then he’s left craving a long round where he can give you all his “love.”

R = Risk

The idea of doing it in locker rooms or bathrooms turns him on. He’d never suggest it first, but if you push him, he’ll cave instantly.

S = Stamina

He’s a football player—he has energy to spare. He can last a long time and go again soon after, and even though you usually give up before he does, he always manages to convince you to keep going.

T = Toys

Not a fan, but he’s curious about handcuffs—more as a fun game/foreplay than something serious.

U = Unfair

He likes teasing you with slow thrusts right when he knows you’re desperate. He smiles innocently when you complain.

V = Volume

Héctor isn’t too loud, he just talks a lot to see how you react. But when he’s close to orgasm, his voice gets rougher or higher (depends), and he lets out your favorite nicknames.

W = Wild Card

69. You two have never tried it, but he knows it would be his favorite moment if you did.

Also, remember that in summer you wore a yellow bikini that turned into about four rounds of sex on the beach.

X = X-Ray

Well-proportioned, leaning more towards long than thick. Has some veins and a pale pink tone.

Y = Yearning

Just seeing you in shorts is enough to make him think about you in another way. It’s easy to turn him on because he feels like he can’t get you out of his head.

Z = Zzz

After sex, he usually falls asleep pretty quickly, but always seeking your closeness. He likes to curl up next to you, hold you tight, and hide his face in your neck to breathe in your scent.

[justageekk]

INTELLIGENT ft. ur favs

— KENAN YILDIZ, HÉCTOR FORT, MARC GUIU, DEAN HUIJSEN, JUDE BELLINGHAM, PABLO GAVI, PEDRI GONZÁLEZ, Eric García, Ferran Torres, Aurélien Tchouaméni, whoever you want…

S: an incredibly smart girlfriend who needs to be fucked incredibly hard

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

W: fem!reader, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, nerd kink, reader with glasses, praise + degradation kink, interrupted studying

He loves smart girls, it turns him on that while he’s burying himself in your pussy you’re still mumbling through your university assignment, as if you could concentrate on anything other than the way his cock is drilling into you.

Oh yes, nothing gets him hotter than hearing technical, scientific words spill broken from your mouth while your body tightens with every thrust.

It’s the perfect contrast between your brilliant mind trying to stay composed and your body losing control.

“Keep talking, baby”, he whispers against your ear, pushing harder just to make your voice crack every time you try to get another phrase out.

Your study glasses are already fogged up, sliding down your nose as you try to read the open notes you had taken by the bed. Your moans mix with phrases about theories and formulas.

He loves knowing he can fuck you so hard that even your perfect ideas fall apart.

In the end, the only thing clear is the thick heat filling you up, proof that his favorite way of admiring your intelligence is breaking every thread of concentration until the only thing you know how to say is his name.

It’s a reward for being so smart.

It’s admirable that you still fight to stay focused, even if the thrusts make it almost impossible. Your legs tremble, your back arches, but you still want to keep reading, keep saying out loud every damn line of your homework, as if you could prove to him you’re capable of anything.

You’re a little stubborn.

And of course, he can’t handle that. It drives him insane. The way your sentences mix with sharp moans just when he pushes deeper, he loves your academic seriousness and the obscene sound of his cock slamming into you.

“You’re so fucking smart”, he murmurs, gripping your hair.

Your glasses slip off your nose and land crooked on the desk, and he takes the chance to press you harder against the open notebook, smearing the pages with the sweat dripping from your forehead.

Every time you try to keep speaking, he punishes you with a harder thrust, and your voice turns into a choked moan.

“Say something smart while I’m breaking your pussy.”

But you can’t anymore. You can barely get a few words out before another orgasm shakes you. Your nails dig into the pages, your mouth falls open uncontrollably, and the only thing you manage to say is his name, like a desperate plea.

He smiles, satisfied for bringing you right to that limit. His cock throbs inside you, filling you again without hesitation, spilling everything he has until you feel the heat flooding through your walls again.

“See?”, he laughs softly, caressing your face while still pushing slow. “All that studying, all that intelligence… and in the end the only thing you can do is cum on my cock.”

Your eyes blur with pleasure, tears wet your cheeks, and your glasses fall to the floor, forgotten. The work doesn’t matter anymore.

When he finally stops, your whole body trembles, exhausted and drenched in sweat. The notebook is wrinkled beneath you, stained, the ink smudged by drops of sweat and tears of pleasure.

He picks the glasses up from the floor, wipes them a little with his shirt, and puts them back on your face.

“My smart, well-fucked girl”, he kisses your forehead.

[justageekk]

Kenan Yildiz

can you do a nsfw alphabet for him pls

Here babyy

[justageekk]

can you do nsfw alphabet for Kenan Yildiz?

IN WHERE: kenan alphabet

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x kenan yıldız

note: : i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: so much smut

A = Aftercare

Kenan is very protective after sex. He can’t relax if he doesn’t see you satisfied and calm. He kisses your face all over, strokes your hair, and often insists on showering with you so you can clean up together—because he loves staying close to you even after it’s over. He’s like a puppy attached to its owner.

B = Body Part

Your ass, forever. Kenan adores it in every possible way: when he’s holding it while kissing you, when he sees it moving on top of him, or simply when you walk in front of him and he bites his lip at the temptation. He never misses a chance to smack or squeeze it. He likes seeing you in tight clothes just to imagine how it would look taking them off. Sometimes he even makes you bend down on purpose, using any excuse, just to get a view from behind.

C = Cum

Kenan loves finishing on your stomach. Nothing excites him more than pulling out at the last second, moaning your name, and leaving it all over your abdomen while watching you tremble with the echo of your orgasm. Sometimes he’ll run his fingers over it and then bring them to your mouth. Other times he goes down and licks part of what he left, laughing at your reaction to his twisted little move.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s jerked off using your underwear. Once, when you stayed over and left something behind, he used it while you weren’t there. Afterwards, he just threw it away—especially if he had made it stiff with dried cum after days.

E = Experience

Kenan wasn’t a virgin the first time you two did it. He’d done it a couple of times before; he’s experienced and knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite Position

He loves spooning, holding you from behind while fucking you. That mix of sex and affection drives him crazy, because he can kiss your back, your neck, and pull you tighter against him while moving inside. Kenan likes vanilla sex—you know, kisses and affection mixed with intimacy.

G = Goofy

Sometimes he giggles between kisses because he feels so happy he can’t contain it. He might bite your nose or say something silly during sex just to make you laugh or feel comfortable with him—because in the end you’re his partner, and he wants you to feel free and pleased with him.

H = Hair

Well groomed. He trims because he doesn’t like how it looks otherwise, but he’s not into going completely bare—he leaves a little, the usual.

I = Intimacy

Kenan needs emotional connection. Sex without affection means nothing to him. So even when he’s intense, he’ll always reach to touch your face, look into your eyes, or lace your fingers together.

J = Jack Off

He doesn’t do it much because his libido is very focused on you. When he does, he fantasizes more about your reactions than your body: the sound of your moans, the trembling of your legs, the heat of your skin, or what your face would look like in that exact moment.

K = Kink

He’s turned on by soft possessiveness (from both you and him). Hearing you tell him he’s yours, that you’ll never leave him. You digging your nails into his back as if you wanted to mark him forever. You biting his neck and forcing him to moan your name.

Kenan goes crazy for that shared sense of belonging: when he grabs you tightly and says “you’re mine”, but then smiles when you answer back with “no, you’re mine.”

He’s not pathologically jealous, but he does enjoy that intimate intensity where you both claim each other.

He loves being marked—so that the next day, scratches or hickeys remind him exactly how he got them.

L = Location

The couch. He says he feels comfortable there, with space to play around, to try different positions, and besides—as Kenan puts it: “this isn’t the bed, so we can be naughtier.”

M = Motivation

Jealousy. Seeing you too attentive with another guy turns him on more than he admits. Also when you dress up to go out: makeup, dress, perfume… Kenan doesn’t know if he should hold your hand proudly or lock you away in the room with him.

N = No

He’d never allow anything that could harm you physically or emotionally. He’s not into violent games that might leave you uncomfortable, nor into forcing you into something you don’t want. Even if you asked for a slap or for sex that’s too rough, it’s not his thing. Sure, sometimes he can be a bit rough—pinning your head against the pillow or table, tugging on your hair—but beyond that… mmm, nah.

O = Oral

He’s much more fascinated by devouring your pussy than by you choking on his cock. He’ll hold your hips so you can’t escape, and he likes talking to you between licks, in Turkish—even if you don’t understand it all, the tone is enough to turn you on.

P = Pace

He likes starting soft and slow, as if he had all the time in the world, then gradually speeding up until losing control. Before anything, he always asks: “do you want it faster?”—and then delivers without mercy.

He’s a fast learner.

Q = Quickie

Yes, he likes them. Kenan is motivated by the adrenaline. Your parents’ house is his favorite place for quickies. The idea of being caught nearby excites him—the thought of someone walking down the hall or knocking at the door. He doesn’t need much: just pushing you against the bathroom wall or onto the kitchen counter, lifting your skirt, and sliding in quickly. It’s rushed, but never careless; even in a quickie he makes sure you moan—though you might have to bite your lip to keep quiet. And when it’s over, he smiles like nothing happened.

R = Risk

He’s a little daring sometimes. Not an exhibitionist, but the idea of someone suspecting excites him a lot. Especially in places like the car, dressing rooms, or empty hotel hallways.

S = Stamina

Endless. Kenan is young, with an athlete’s body, and doesn’t give up easily. He can cum, recover fast, and start again like nothing. Sometimes you’re the one asking for a break while he still wants more.

T = Toys

He’s curious: doesn’t feel he needs them, but handcuffs are his favorite. Not because he wants to dominate you violently, but because he loves the idea of limiting you a bit—having your hands trapped and watching you squirm, impatient to touch him.

He’s turned on by your pleading eyes when you can’t touch him the way you want, and even more when you try to break free without success.

Sometimes he uses them just to tease you, keeping you cuffed while he calmly explores your body, kissing you until you lose patience. For Kenan, cuffs aren’t about total power play—they’re a way to intensify desire, to force you to let go while he does what he knows you love the most.

U = Unfair

He can get playful and make you wait, especially when you’re close to orgasm and he suddenly changes the rhythm to make you beg. But he’d never leave you hanging; he enjoys teasing, not frustrating you.

V = Volume

Kenan moans, and sometimes Turkish or Italian words slip out. He’s moderately loud—enough to let you know you’re making him feel good.

W = Wild Card

He has a fantasy of fucking you in front of a big mirror. Just imagining it makes him hard. He’s obsessed with the idea of seeing you reflected from every angle: your face lost in pleasure, your body moving against his, how you cling to him in desperation.

He fantasizes about having you standing in front of the mirror, holding your waist as he thrusts, forcing you to watch yourself and see exactly what you’re doing to him.

He wants you to see what he sees: your mouth open, your breasts bouncing, and every thrust making you shake.

X = X-Ray

Well-proportioned. Thicker than long, which makes the sensation intense. The tip gets very red when he’s aroused.

Y = Yearning

He’s not always horny, but with you he doesn’t need much provocation. Just you sitting on his lap, getting too close, or cooking something for him already has him fantasizing about stripping you down.

Z = Zzz

Kenan won’t fall asleep until he knows you’re comfortable. He loves staying cuddled up with you. When he finally does fall asleep, he sticks so close you can barely move.

[justageekk]

please boyfriend headcannons for alejandro balde i beg i know you are busy but i would appreciate ittt (amazing writer btw)

TYSMM N HERE ALEJANDRO BALDE BF HEADCANONS

[justageekk]

hellooo, I just wanted to share a thought... idk what is it about Dean Huijsen but he gives me vibes that he would talk you through it, whispering in your ear in Spanish, praising u... LORD HAVE MERCY 🥵

Honestly, this is so Huijsen JAJJAAJA, but idk, I think the same. Should I write a one shot about this?

Yes

Nah

Voting ended onJul 22, 2025

[justageekk]

dean hujisen nsfw alphabet pleaseee

IN WHERE: dean huijsen nsfw alphabet

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x dean huijsen

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

I'm back, did you miss me?

w: so much smut

request open!

A = Aftercare

Honestly, if it were up to Dean, he’d be fine just lying in bed after sex. He’s kind of lazy, actually.

B = Body Part

Your lips. Dean is someone who can’t go a minute without kissing you. He loves kisses… well, he loves your kisses specifically. Especially when you wear that strawberry-flavored gloss.

C = Cum

He loves cumming on your pussy. Not inside, but all over it—he says it’s like icing. He loves watching his cum drip down slowly. Sometimes he spreads it with his fingers, just to see you shiver when you’re still sensitive. That image turns him on like nothing else.

D = Dirty Secret

He has videos of you—of course, all recorded with your consent. He has a favorite: you on top of him, moving slowly while gripping his abs and begging him not to stop. He’s watched that video so many times he could recite it.

E = Experience

Dean learned fast. He didn’t have dozens of girls, but from the very first time, he cared about real pleasure—and having that with you makes it a thousand times better.

F = Favorite Position

You on top. For Dean, there’s no better feeling than seeing you take control, moving at your rhythm while he holds your hips or runs his trembling hands along your ribs. But there’s one rule: you have to kiss while doing it. If not, it’s not real sex for him. Sometimes he grabs your neck to pull you down and kiss him between moans—he can’t stand seeing you that far from his mouth.

G = Goofy

He can be a bit silly, but it’s never with bad intent. He just wants things to feel comfortable for both of you.

H = Hair

He doesn’t care much. He trims when it gets too messy, but if you like it natural, he leaves it. He’s not obsessed with shaving or grooming.

I = Intimacy

Dean isn’t dominant or submissive, which means he won’t give you constant orders, but he also won’t let himself be fully controlled. If you want to take over, he’ll let you. If you want it rough, he adjusts. If you want it soft, he gives you that too.

J = Jack Off

He doesn’t do it often, but when he does, he’s intentional about it. Usually when he’s stressed, for example.

K = Kink

Cockwarming drives him crazy. He didn’t ask for it the first time, but once you tried it, it became one of his favorite kinks. Dean loves being inside you without moving, just feeling you. He likes when you sit on him—while watching a movie, chatting, or even while he’s gaming.

L = Location

He loves doing it against the wall, because he enjoys having you trapped between his body. The idea that you can’t escape turns him on so much.

M = Motivation

Seeing you smile at another guy? Game over. He gets turned on by soft jealousy, by the idea of competition. It excites him when others look at you—but you’re his. Also, when you wear new gloss or perfume.

N = No

He would never record without your permission. He’d never use you just to get off. And he’d never tolerate you not enjoying yourself equally—or more.

O = Oral

Dean lives to go down on you. He settles between your legs and doesn’t stop until you’re a mess. He loves taking it slow, licking long stripes and murmuring, “You like that?” as he does.

P = Pace

Whatever you ask for, he’ll give. But if he had to choose: slow and deep. Until you’re so desperate, you’re begging him to go faster.

Q = Quickie

Not really. Dean likes to take his time doing things, so a quickie would just leave him unsatisfied. It’s not that he can’t, it’s that he doesn’t want to.

R = Risk

Dean’s not into public sex, but he is into risky moments. A fitting room, a hallway, an elevator. He enjoys the tension of “we might get caught” more than actual exhibitionism.

S = Stamina

So much. He can last longer than you can. I mean, Dean loves having sex with you and he’s an athlete—of course he can go multiple rounds without feeling dizzy or worn out.

T = Toys

Mmm, no. He can do the job himself—he doesn’t need toys to please you.

U = Unfair

Dean can’t really tease you because he’s usually too needy to leave you waiting. How could he be cruel to someone who fucks him that well? He wants to make the most of every second with you. Yeah, sometimes he likes hearing you beg for more—it turns him on when you say you need him—but he’s not the type to stop just to mess with you. If you’re naked, soaked, and trembling, the last thing on his mind is making you wait.

V = Volume

Dean is not quiet. He says your name, lets out groans, swears in Spanish or Dutch when he’s close. He likes being loud because he likes expressing what he feels.

W = Wild Card

His biggest turn-on was the time he managed to get his whole cock inside you and saw the little bulge in your lower belly. But sadly, it hurt too much and after four minutes he had to pull part of it out. Ever since, that unfinished fantasy has stuck in his mind… and sooner or later, he wants to try again.

X = X-Ray

He’s a tall guy, and well-endowed—it’s obvious from the way it shows in his pants when he’s turned on. Dean can’t even fit it all inside you; there’s always a part that stays out.

His cock is pretty too: straight, with pronounced veins, and a slightly pinker tip.

Y = Yearning

If you want it, he wants it. Dean isn’t a daydreamer, doesn’t walk around horny all the time—but he can’t help wanting you when you try to provoke him with a bit of jealousy.

Z = Zzz

Dean only sleeps once you’re clean and comfortable. He wants the mess gone so he can lay down with you and rest. He’s not one to turn and snore right after; on the contrary, he makes sure you have water nearby, that you feel okay, that nothing hurts. If needed, he carries you to the bathroom, cleans you up, helps you get dressed or hands you one of his shirts. Only when you’re curled up against his chest does he allow himself to close his eyes.

© justageekk, 2025

[justageekk]

FIRST TIME, HUH? ft. ur favs

JOBE BELLINGHAM, DEAN HUIJSEN, DÉSIRÉ DOUÉ, ALEJANDRO BALDE, HECTOR FORT, PEDRI GONZALES, Jamal Musiala, Kenan Yildiz, Pablo Gavi, Jude Bellingham, Fermín Lopez, Le Normand, whatever you want

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: fem!reader, p in v, penetration, virgin reader.

request open

“Relax…”, he murmured, right before slowly pushing himself inside you.

Your back arched instantly, a moan escaped your lips, and your hands clutched the sheets tightly. It burned, it felt strange.

“Fuck”, he gasped when he noticed how tense you were. “Don’t be tense.”

He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your bare back. “Breathe with me”, he whispered, right before kissing your shoulder. His movements were slow and reached deep inside you.

“That’s it…”, he murmured when you finally let out a long sigh. He held your waist and moved again, making you moan softly. You closed your eyes, bit the pillow, trying not to focus on the sting.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little…”, you whispered.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“No. Don’t stop.”

His mouth found yours again. He kissed you, swallowing every moan, every whimper. One hand slid between your legs, and he started rubbing you with the tip of his fingers. You jolted, but he didn’t stop.

“Relax, baby. I want you to enjoy it.”

The discomfort slowly faded, pleasure starting to build deep in your thighs. You turned slightly, searching for his mouth again, and the moment he felt how tightly you clenched around him, he smiled against your lips.

“Now we’re talking… you’re so wet I’m gonna lose control”, he confessed, thrusting again, this time harder.

The moan that escaped you was different.

“You liked that, huh?”, he chuckled.

“Shut up…”, you whispered, embarrassed.

He gripped your hip with one hand and started thrusting faster. Your nails dug into his arm, his shoulder, any part of him you could reach.

“Look at you… never done this before and you’re already moaning like you love it.”

“Because you’re doing it right…”, you admitted without thinking. It felt too good, too weird to explain.

“I know”, he laughed, biting your neck softly. “And I haven’t even really started.”

Your hands clutched the sheets while your bodies collided, echoing through the room.

“Tell me if you’re gonna come”, he whispered, never stopping.

“I don’t know… it feels weird.”

“Just let go, baby. Let it happen.”

Everything was pushing you to the edge. And when that knot in your belly finally snapped, you screamed his name without thinking. He stayed inside you a few seconds more, panting, feeling your walls clench around him. Then he leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“You did amazing”, he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

And you could only lie there, breathing heavily, still feeling the heat burning deep inside your body.

by: justageekk

[justageekk]

REQUEST OPEN AGAIN !

[justageekk]

TSMY FOR ALL!!!!!!!!!!!

[justageekk]

fede smut? please 😇

IN WHERE: you fucking your husband after his workout

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x federico valverde

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: uruguayan spanish (translation at the end of each one.), p in v, creampie.

The door clicked softly shut behind him, and you turned your head from the couch to watch him walk toward you, dropping his training bag on the floor.

“Hola, mi amor…”, he said, but didn’t even finish the sentence. (“Hi, my love…”)

He reached you in two steps and leaned over you, cupping your face in both hands. He kissed you like it had been weeks since he last saw you.

A desperate kiss.

“Te extrañé todo el puto día,” he murmured between kisses. (“I missed you all fucking day.”)

You smiled breathlessly when you felt him slip between your legs on the couch.

“¿Querés que te lo haga acá?”, he asked shamelessly, whispering against your mouth. “¿O vamos a la cama?” (“You want me to do it here? Or should we go to the bed?”)

“Acá está bien,” you said, caressing his neck. (“Here is fine.”)

Fede smiled and didn’t say anything else. He just kissed you again, his hands moving slowly but deliberately down your body, removing your clothes until you were left in your underwear. His fingers were already brushing along the inside of your thigh.

“¿Estás así de mojadita por mí?”, he teased, lowering his head to kiss your neck. (“Are you this wet for me?”)

“S…sí,” you replied. (“Y…yes.”)

He looked you in the eyes as he slid your underwear off with one hand, taking his time.

When he removed it completely, he tossed it over the edge of the couch without a care in the world.

He pulled his pants down to mid-thigh, just enough to free his erection, and braced himself on the couch — one hand beside your head, the other gripping your thigh.

“¿Lista?” (“Ready?”)

You nodded without speaking, biting your lip.

And then his cock lightly brushed your clit before slowly entering you. You moaned into his neck, feeling how he filled you little by little. Fede closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours.

He started moving slowly, his hips rocking into yours, making the couch creak as you watched the tension in his abdomen, cheeks flushed and your legs wrapped around his waist.

The hand that had been on your thigh now held your hip, guiding the motion, making sure you felt all of him.

“¿Te gusta así?”, he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips. (“You like it like this?”)

“Sí…”, you gasped. “Se siente tan bien, Fede…” (“Yes… it feels so good, Fede…”)

He smiled and kissed you again.

Your nails softly dug into his back. You felt the heat building fast in your lower belly.

“¿Estás cerca?” (“Are you close?”)

You nodded slightly. He smiled against your lips.

“Dale, amor… corréte conmigo.” (“Come on, baby… come with me.”)

He brushed your clit with the tip of his fingers at the exact right moment, still thrusting into you. You came in his arms, head thrown back, moaning his name softly over and over.

Fede moaned a few seconds later, burying himself deep inside you as he came with a long, hot sigh against your neck.

He stayed on top of you, body trembling slightly, breathing hard.

“La puta madre…”, he murmured, not moving. “Así da gusto volver del entrenamiento, eh.” (“Holy fuck…Now that’s the kind of welcome I like after training.”)

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his back.

“Vas a tener que entrenar todos los días entonces.” (“Then you’re gonna have to train every day.”)

He lifted his head, kissed your nose and smiled.

“No me des ideas… porque me las tomo en serio.” (“Don’t give me ideas… I take them seriously.”)

© justageekk, 2025

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: désiré falls in love with the new physical therapist

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x désiré doué

SHORT FANFIC: part three ... coming soon (fifteen chapters) part one

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: none!

request open!

PARIS, FRANCE

PSG Campus, Poissy — 19:45 PM

The PSG boys had just finished training, and you were already in your workspace, starting to organize the massage tables, towels, and oils.

Outside, the sky was gray, and a light drizzle soaked the field. Inside, the warm air contrasted with the outside weather, fogging up the windows. One by one, the players started to enter the room, some with wet hair, laughing amongst themselves, commenting on training, and tossing towels.

From your position, you saw Hakimi spotting you among the other physiotherapists and walking in your direction. It wasn’t unusual—he was often one of the first to get attended to. He was pretty chill, liked jokes, and seemed to enjoy your hands on his back.

“Hey, hey, I’m going first today, okay?”, he said with a grin, already rolling his shoulders as he prepared to lie on the table.

But before he got even a meter away from you, someone brushed past him and gently bumped his shoulder. It wasn’t aggressive, just enough to make Hakimi take a step to the side.

“Relax”, Désiré muttered calmly, positioning himself right in front of you as he pretended to stretch his arms.

Hakimi looked at him, confused, then let out a chuckle. “What’s up, Dés? In a rush today?”

“No. I just thought maybe you could let someone else take a turn”, he replied, not even looking at him.

“Aha… I get it now”, Hakimi said, amused, raising his eyebrows before lifting his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you have it this time—but only because I like you.”

He turned around and went to another table, but not before shooting Désiré a knowing smile. Désiré, on the other hand, was already in front of you, pulling off his shirt.

“Hi”, he said simply, smiling like he hadn’t just sabotaged his teammate’s turn.

“Hi”, you replied, forcing a smile as you crouched down to open the small metal drawer beside the table. You knew exactly where the oil bottles were, but your hands fumbled like you had forgotten how to use them.

The sound of glass bottles clinking was louder than expected. A couple of bottles slipped through your fingers and clattered noisily.

“Take your time. I’m not in a hurry”, Désiré murmured from the table.

You finally managed to pull one of the bottles out without breaking anything and placed it carefully on the small side table. By then, he had already laid down, face turned to one side, watching you.

You uncapped the bottle and poured some oil into your palm, rubbing your hands together to warm it up before touching him. A few drops spilled onto the floor, but you ignored it.

You stepped forward and let a few drops fall onto his back. The liquid slid down his skin, glistening under the room’s lights.

Your hands followed.

Touching him was like trying to steady yourself on unstable ground. His muscles were tight and firm from training, and the warmth of his skin under your fingers made you swallow hard.

Your hands slid slowly over his shoulder blades, tracing long, smooth lines down his back. At first, you avoided applying too much pressure, but you noticed how he exhaled deeply, his breathing gradually becoming more relaxed.

“Your hands are cold”, he mumbled, eyes still closed.

“I know… I’m sorry”, you whispered.

“No worries”, he replied. “I’m guessing you’ll warm me up in a bit.”

Your brain went on alert for a second until you heard him chuckle, realizing he’d said it without any hidden meaning… probably.

You just laughed while your hands kept moving, now applying more pressure, tracing lines along his back and working each tense spot with circular movements. He let you work without complaint.

You were so focused on what you were doing, on not messing up, that you forgot about the small drops of oil you had spilled earlier when your hands had been shaking. You stepped sideways to change position—and your right foot slipped instantly, like stepping on ice.

“Ah!”, you gasped, your balance vanishing in less than a second.

You didn’t even have time to process what was happening before his arms moved quickly, catching you mid-air, just before you could crash onto the table.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other stopping your fall from the side.

“Are you okay?”, he asked, not moving.

Your hands were resting on the table, halfway between giving a massage and having a full-on accident. Heat rushed from your neck to your cheeks, and you only managed to nod as he slowly lowered his arms, helping you regain your balance.

“Yeah… yeah, just slipped a bit”, you said.

His hands left your body quickly, and Désiré settled back onto the table, resting his head on the pillow again.

You returned to your original position, pulled a small amount of oil between your fingers, rubbed it between your palms to warm it up again, and placed them back on Désiré’s back—more firmly now.

Your movements resumed rhythm, smooth and measured, tracing lines down his spine, moving slowly.

“Is the pressure okay?”, you asked softly.

“Yeah…”, he replied without much thought.

After a while, you stepped back a little, wiping your hands with a cloth while watching him.

“I need you to turn around”, you murmured, tossing the cloth into a small bin beneath the table.

He nodded and flipped over quickly, lying on his back on the table. His eyes met yours for a moment, and you looked away immediately, focusing on finding the peppermint oil.

“Where?”, he asked, noticing you hesitating with the bottle.

“Chest, neck, a bit of shoulders and legs”, you said quickly, trying to sound like you had it all under control.

Désiré nodded and closed his eyes calmly.

You poured a few drops into your palms and started with his shoulders. His skin was warm from being face-down, and your fingers moved easily over his collarbones.

He didn’t move. Or speak. He just let you do your job, with an expression of such relaxation it almost looked like he was asleep again. But you knew he wasn’t.

The tip of one finger accidentally pressed harder against the base of his throat as you changed direction, gliding your hands over his shoulders. His throat tightened, and he swallowed sharply. But he didn’t open his eyes or complain.

You didn’t say anything either—not even a “sorry.” You just kept going, pretending nothing happened.

Once you finished with his chest and shoulders, you stepped back, your hands still shiny with oil. You took a breath and spoke.

“I’m going to move to your legs… is that okay?”

“No”, he replied, shaking his head.

“Okay,” you murmured, grabbing the bottle again and pouring some more oil into your hands.

You could see the tension in his quads, and it made you clench your jaw. You crouched down beside the table, your hands starting to work their way down from the sides, pressing firmly.

Désiré let out a quiet sigh, clearly relieved by the pressure on his tight muscles.

“Everything okay?”, you asked, with a small smile. Your hands didn’t stop but eased up a little, moving more carefully over the already tense fibers.

“Yeah”, he replied quickly, then let out another sigh that sounded more like a whimper.

Your gaze dropped to the area you were working on, and you bit your lip softly. Sometimes players didn’t speak up out of pride or fear of seeming weak, but you didn’t want that.

“I need you to tell me if it hurts”, you insisted, more serious now, though your smile didn’t fully fade.

“Maybe a little…”

Your fingers stopped completely, gently pressing over the area you’d been treating. You looked up toward his face, but he wasn’t looking at you.

“How much is ‘a little’?”, you asked, tilting your head, raising an eyebrow.

“Tolerably little”, he murmured finally, and this time he opened one eye to look at you.

“It’ll go away soon”, you said softly to reassure him. “It’s just built-up tension. Nothing serious.”

He nodded, head resting on the table, eyes still on you.

“I trust you”, he added.

You didn’t know what to say. You just nodded, doing your best not to pause your hands, which now moved slower and with less pressure.

The warm oil glistened on his skin. Every muscle under your fingers seemed to loosen, one by one. His eyelids shut again, and for a few minutes, silence took over. Only the sound of other players getting attended to, the showers, some stray voices from the locker room, and his breathing.

After a while, you noticed his body had relaxed completely. His shoulders weren’t tense anymore, his legs stretched out on the table barely moved under your touch. He was about to fall asleep… again.

You decided that was enough.

You stepped back, wiping your hands with a towel and giving him a couple of light taps on the arm.

“We’re done”, you said. “Time to hit the showers… oil boy.”

He opened one eye, amused. He didn’t move right away but smiled.

“Was that a nickname?”

“Maybe”, you said, shrugging as you began putting away the oils and tidying up for the next player.

“Well, I like it. I earned it, didn’t I?”

“Suppose so.”

He let out a soft laugh and slowly sat up, stretching his arms behind him, his torso shining under the light.

“Thanks”, Désiré said, stepping off the table and waving before heading off to the showers.

You waved back with a small smile.

Your shift was over. After working on Désiré, you moved on to Dembélé, who joked about whether you had any energy left. Then it was Kvaratskhelia’s turn, who came in with some minor back discomfort. You finished with Barcola, who only asked for a short leg massage.

The room was starting to empty. The showers were running, steam slightly fogged the mirrors, and you focused on cleaning your workstation, organizing the oil bottles and folding the extra towels.

You sighed as you put on your jacket and slung your backpack over one shoulder, ready to catch the bus and head home. What you didn’t expect was to turn around and find Désiré standing there, already changed, hair still damp.

“Are you leaving already?”, he asked.

“There’s nothing else to do”, you said with a tired smile.

He looked at you for a few seconds, then straightened up. “Want me to give you a ride? It’s starting to rain harder.”

You hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. Plus, my car’s right there.”

“Well… if you insist and you’re being that kind.”

And he did. He didn’t say anything else, just opened the hallway door with a small tilt of his head. And you, without thinking much, followed him out to the parking lot.

Désiré’s car was clean, with a faint lavender scent. You got into the passenger seat, grateful for the warmth that enveloped you when he turned on the heater.

“Does your back hurt?”, he asked as he got into his seat.

You frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you made a weird face when you put your backpack on. Like something bothered you.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Are you evaluating me now?”

“A little, yeah.” He smiled. “It’s not fair that you take care of everyone and no one looks after you.”

“Thanks… I’m fine. Just tired.”

He nodded, and for a few moments, only the sound of rain tapping on the windshield could be heard.

You glanced sideways at him. “Do you always pay that much attention?”

“When something interests me, yeah.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked forward again and nodded. The car kept moving toward the main exit.

“Turn right at the next corner… then five more blocks”, you said softly.

He nodded silently, one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the gearshift. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to arrive.

“So you live pretty close.”

“Yeah. I moved recently, it’s convenient for the team schedule.” You shrugged.

He chuckled quietly. “Smart move. Still… I wouldn’t mind if you lived farther away.”

“No?”, you asked, letting out a small nervous laugh.

Désiré turned his head slightly toward you, though his eyes remained on the road. “I like driving at night. And… the company’s not bad.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to contain a smile that came out anyway.

“It’s here, on the corner”, you pointed.

The car stopped smoothly in front of the building. You both sat in silence for a few seconds, the engine still running.

“Thanks for the ride”, you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Anytime.”

Your fingers brushed the door handle, but you didn’t open it right away.

“Goodnight, Désiré.”

“Goodnight”, he replied. And just as you were about to step out, he added in a lower voice:

“Take care. Sleep well.”

© justageekk, 2025

[justageekk]

Ur fics are so good I’m gonna eat them for dinner tonight.

JAJSJSJ thank you so much! Enjoy your meal! 😭💕

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: désiré falls in love with the new physical therapist

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x désiré doué

SHORT FANFIC: part two … (fifteen chapters)

n: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: none!

request open!

PARIS, FRANCE

PSG Campus, Poissy – 08:36 AM

It’s your first day as a physiotherapist for Paris Saint-Germain and, to be honest, you have no idea what you’re doing here. The December cold hit your face the moment you stepped into the campus facilities.

You took a moment to breathe as a staff member escorted you to the training field. The walls were white with the club logo everywhere, the floor shining from how clean it was, and large windows at the end revealed the grass of the pitch in the distance.

“Have you worked in an environment like this before?”, the technician asked, glancing sideways at you.

“Well, I’ve worked in hospitals and clinics, but never with a team like this”, you answered, trying to sound confident, even though anxiety was creeping in. You knew this wasn’t just any job—expectations here were way higher.

The technician nodded slowly. “I figured. The level here is different, and not just because of the players—it’s everything that comes with being part of this club. It’s not like treating an ordinary patient.”

You shrugged with a slightly nervous smile. “That doesn’t scare me. I’m here to give my best. I’m good at what I do”, you tried to convince him.

He stared at you for a moment, as if analyzing your words. Then, suddenly, his expression softened and he offered a handshake. “I like your attitude. You’ll need it here. Not everything’s going to be easy, but I trust you’ll handle it.”

Nervously, you accepted the handshake. “Thanks, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s introduce you to the team”, he said, patting your shoulder as he opened one of the windows leading to the field. A gust of cold air rushed in, along with the sound of cleats on the grass and voices floating between laughter, shouts, and commands.

You followed him with slightly awkward steps along the edge of the pitch. Players were scattered around—some stretching, others jogging. But as soon as the technician blew a short whistle, everything stopped.

“Guys! One second please”, he raised his voice, turning briefly toward you. “Before we continue the session, I want you to meet someone.”

You stood beside him, feeling all eyes fall on you at once. The players gathered in a loose formation. Some looked at you curiously, others barely paid attention, and one in particular stayed in the back with his arms behind his back, staring at you without subtlety.

“She’s the new team physiotherapist. From today on, she’ll be working with us, so if you’ve got any complaints, now you know who to talk to. Her name is… well, better she introduces herself.”

It caught you off guard, but you had no choice but to step forward. Your heart pounded in your neck, but you tried to keep your tone steady.

“Hi… I’m Y/n L/n”, you said with a slightly shy smile. “I’m a physiotherapist, and I just left a clinic pretty close to here. I’ve been working with all kinds of patients for a while now, although… none with legs worth millions”, you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

A few players let out soft chuckles, which helped you relax a little.

“I’m 18, yeah, I know I’m probably younger than most of you, but I swear I know what I’m doing. I love what I do, and I’m here to help you all stay at 100%—no excuses, no avoidable injuries. So please, don’t wait until you’re limping to talk to me.”

You ended with a half-laugh and a smile, and noticed some of the players no longer looked at you with that mix of doubt and suspicion. Even the technician gave you an approving nod.

A brief silence followed until the guy in the back—Désiré Doué—raised his hand and asked:

“So, do you know how to give massages that don’t hurt?”

Laughter broke out among the players, and Vitinha added:

“What if we say everything hurts? Can we use that as an excuse to skip training?”

Bradley Barcola chimed in from the back with a grin:

“Do you have experience with guys who fake injuries every week?”

You tried to stay composed and replied with a smile. “I can perfectly tell the difference between a real injury and an attempt to skip training. So if you’re planning on being clever, forget it.”

The laughs grew louder, and you felt the ice begin to break even more. “Also,” you added, “I do know how to give pain-free massages… but only if I like you.”

Most of them burst into laughter, a few playfully nudging each other. The atmosphere didn’t feel as tense anymore. Even the technician was smiling.

The first time you had to act was after the match against Salzburg. As part of the team, you traveled with them to the Red Bull Arena.

And after the victory, you had to give massages to some of the players.

At the hotel, the staff organized post-match recovery sessions. Each physiotherapist received a list with three names to treat that night.

Your hands trembled slightly as you unfolded the paper and saw your assignments:

Nuno Mendes. Lee Kang-in. Désiré Doué.

You read the names over and over like they were part of an exam you had to memorize. There was a slight pressure in your chest—not from lack of preparation, but from that unavoidable feeling that comes with the first real step into something big. You were new, and even though you’d already had brief interactions with some players, this was your first time actually touching them… professionally.

Alright. You took a deep breath, clenched the paper in your fingers, and got to work.

The only one you really had a conversation with was Nuno, the first on your list. He greeted you with a warm smile as soon as you walked into the massage room.

“First day on the job?”, he asked like the answer wasn’t obvious, lying down on the table.

You nodded with a small nervous laugh. “Yeah. You’re my first Champions League client”, you joked, trying to break the ice while preparing the oil and your hands.

Nuno chuckled.

“What an honor, huh. Hope you don’t leave me worse than I came in.”

“Don’t worry”, you said, smiling as you started working on his tight calves. “I studied for this. But if you complain too much, I do reserve the right to ignore you.”

That made him laugh for real. From there, the conversation flowed more easily. He talked a bit about the match, about the pressure of the tournament, and how great it was to win away from home. You nodded, listened, asked just enough. You kept the balance between professional and human—neither too distant nor too familiar.

When you finished, he thanked you with a hug and even gave you a piece of advice:

“Relax. If all your massages are like this, you’ll win over the locker room in no time.”

“Thanks”, you replied with a smile.

With Lee Kang-in, it was quieter. He greeted you with a nod, thanked you when you finished, but you didn’t exchange much more beyond what was necessary.

Désiré was the last one of the night.

And not just the last on the list—literally the last to show up. You had started packing your things, thinking you were done since he hadn’t arrived. Until you heard someone slowly opening the door.

“Still time for an appointment or am I too late?”, he asked, peeking half his body inside.

You looked up and saw him leaning against the doorframe, clearly exhausted. You recognized the pose instantly. You knew what it meant: tense muscles, sore legs, neck stiff as stone. He needed the massage more than anyone.

“If you bring me a coffee, maybe I’ll squeeze you in”, you joked, already setting up the table again.

Désiré let out a soft laugh as he walked in.

The tall guy took off his shirt and tossed it into a corner. “Do you always ask for bribes?”, he asked while stretching his arms.

“Only from those who show up late”, you replied, patting the table. “Come on, lie down. You’re here now, so let’s take advantage before my hands get tired.”

He obeyed without another word, lying on his stomach and resting his head on crossed arms. The silence didn’t last long. Thanks to Nuno, you had managed to connect your phone to the room speaker and play calming music, which helped soothe your nerves and made the atmosphere more pleasant.

Your almond oil-covered hands found the tense areas with ease, and he let out a small sigh at the first touch, as if he’d been waiting hours for that relief.

“You okay?”, you asked, making sure you weren’t using too much pressure.

“Yeah, very good”, he replied, voice raspy with exhaustion. “You’ve got strong hands. Didn’t expect that.”

“Was that a compliment or a complaint?”

“A bit of both”, he joked, turning his head slightly to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

Your eyes met for a second, and you instantly looked away, nerves sparking at the eye contact.

A half-sleepy smile appeared on his lips before he closed his eyes again. The rest of the massage passed with a few casual exchanges—some jokes, small talk about the trip or hotel dinner. Nothing deep, but enough to feel a tiny spark of trust. He wasn’t cold or arrogant, and you liked that.

When you finished, you noticed his breathing had become slow and steady. His eyes remained closed, his face finally relaxed for the first time all night, and his arms hung limp off the table. Désiré had fallen fast asleep.

You stood still for a few seconds, silent, just watching. It was funny… in a place where everyone was constantly moving, loud, and alert, he had allowed himself to disconnect. To trust enough to fall asleep, even if just for a little while.

You moved quietly, packing your things.

You leaned on the desk for a second, arms crossed, still watching him with a tiny smile.

“Hey, Désiré…”, you murmured softly, still holding a towel, eyes fixed on him.

No reply. Just the soft sound of his breathing, steady, like the weight of the whole day had fallen away the moment your hands left his muscles.

He let out a faint puff, tilting his face slightly as if his body wanted to be sure it wasn’t time to wake up yet.

He was too comfortable, but unfortunately, you had to break his sleep.

You stepped closer, this time without the earlier hesitation.

“Désiré…”, you repeated, a bit more firmly, and gave his shoulder a light tap.

Nothing.

You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh. Was he really that asleep?

You tried again, giving him a little nudge with your fingers.

“Hey, we’re done. You can’t stay here all night.”

You only got another sigh and a mumbled something you couldn’t tell if it was French, sleep talk, or just a refusal to move.

You blinked, crossing your arms with a raised brow, expecting a reaction… but nothing. Still the same: closed eyes, peaceful expression, body surrendered to the table.

You sighed with a small smile, gently shaking your head.

“Don’t do this to me… I don’t want them saying I abandoned you here.”

You hesitated but finally reached out again, tapping his shoulder a few more times.

“Désiré…”, you called out more clearly. “Come on, luxury nap time’s over. Time to go.”

He frowned and let out a protesting sigh. He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips curled a little, like he’d heard your voice and was enjoying making you wait.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep”, you added with a hint of playfulness, pushing his shoulder a bit more firmly. “If you don’t get up, I’m getting cold water. And I’m not joking.”

That threat seemed to work. Désiré clicked his tongue lazily and finally cracked his eyes open, staring up with that typical disoriented post-nap look.

“We done already?” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

“Long ago. You passed out like this was a five-star spa”, you replied. “Come on, lazy. I’m not carrying you to your room.”

He smirked, still not moving much.

“I just wanted to stay a bit longer… you’re really good at this.”

Heat shot straight to your face.

Your cheeks burned without warning, as if someone had cranked up the heat in the room. You blinked a couple times, avoiding his eyes in case it made things worse, and just looked down at your own hands, suddenly unsure of where to put them.

“Thanks…”, you murmured quietly.

It wasn’t the first time someone praised your work. But there was something about the way he said it.

Maybe it was his sleepy smile. Or the fact that he said it right after falling asleep there, with you.

And that threw you off just a little more.

“I mean it”, he added, now sitting at the edge of the table, rubbing his neck with one hand. “It was… relaxing. Like my body shut down on its own.”

Your lips curled into a small smile, trying to stay composed even as the blush still warmed your cheeks.

“Well, I don’t usually leave people unconscious. But I guess that’s a good sign.”

Désiré let out a soft laugh. “Definitely is”, he said, stretching a little as he stood up slowly, feet hitting the floor without rush. He walked over to where his shirt lay and started getting dressed. “I better go before I lie back down.”

You laughed and turned around to grab your bag from the desk, along with your phone that was still playing music through the speakers.

“So… see you”, he said as he finished putting on his shirt.

You nodded, still smiling softly.

“See you.”

And just like that, you watched him leave the room. He opened the door calmly, and right before disappearing down the hallway, he raised a hand in a brief wave. Then, he was gone.

© justageekk, 2025.

[justageekk]

Thank u for feeding us Dean Huijsen girlies 🙏💋

Can u maybe do the “current bf” tiktok trend with him like we all know he’s a lil sh!t and he will tease reader

IN WHERE: playing the 'current boyfriend' joke on dean

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x dean huijsen

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

(i fucking love huijsen, tysm for the request)

w: dialogues in spanish (translation at the end of each one.

request open!

You had seen that TikTok trend where people called their boyfriends “my current boyfriend” just to see their reactions. Some were dramatic, others jealous, and some just downright funny. And you, of course, knew exactly how Dean Huijsen would react. He wasn’t the type to stay quiet when something bothered him. If anything, he’d spark up like a match. So you had it all planned.

You set your phone to record while he was lying on the couch next to you, snacking on candy and watching videos with a bored expression.

“Yo y mi novio actual…” you began, fishing for a reaction. (“Me and my current boyfriend…”)

Dean didn’t react immediately. He just lifted his gaze a little, still chewing on a gummy bear.

“…vamos a hacer este video de ‘qué harías si yo fuera una desconocida’,” you continued, smiling as you aimed the camera at yourself. (“…we’re gonna do the ‘what would you do if I were a stranger’ video.”)

At that moment, Dean turned his head to the right… then to the left… with a confused look, as if trying to locate the “current boyfriend” you were talking about. Then he locked eyes on you.

“¿Quién?” (“Who?”)

“¿Mhm?” you replied. (“Mhm?”)

Dean frowned.

“Que quién es tu novio actual.” (“I said, who is your current boyfriend?”)

“Dean, eres tú.” (“Dean, it’s you.”)

“¿Yo? Imposible. Novio actual… mmm, no sé,” he said, stroking his chin. (“Me? Impossible. Current boyfriend… hmm, I don’t know.”)

“Dean.” you said, glancing sideways at him. “Bueno, vamos a—” (“Dean. Okay, let’s—”)

“¡Epera, epera’!”, he interrupted. “Hola, eh… mi novia de ahora, que dentro de media hora no es mi novia… y yo, vamos a… ¿qué vamos a hacer?” (“Wait, wait! Hi, so… my girlfriend of right now, who won’t be my girlfriend in thirty minutes… and I are gonna… what are we gonna do again?”)

You looked at him and burst into immediate laughter.

“Dean, cállate ya.” (“Dean, shut up already.”)

“No, no, es que quiero saber pa’ organizarme, ¿vale? Porque si me vas a cambiar por tu ‘novio futuro’, mínimo dime si me toca lavar los platos antes de irme o si ya lo hace él.” (“No, no, I just need to plan myself, okay? If you’re replacing me with your ‘future boyfriend’, at least tell me if I still have to do the dishes or if he’s handling that.”)

“Eres imbécil.” (“You’re an idiot.”)

“Bueno… mi exnovia actual me va a sacar de mi propia casa,” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling. (“Well… my current ex-girlfriend is kicking me out of my own house.”)

“¡Dean, cállate!” you said between laughs, covering your face. (“Dean, shut up!”)

But he kept going, not letting you recover.

“Voy a empezar a tomar mis cosas.” (“I’m gonna start taking my things.”)

“TE VAS A CALLAR O NO.” (“ARE YOU GONNA SHUT UP OR NOT.”)

You threw the phone onto the couch, laughing uncontrollably, and he launched himself onto you, wrapping you up in a full-body hug, completely trapping you.

“Qué insoportable eres, joder. No puedo hacer una broma en paz.” (“You’re so annoying, seriously. I can’t even make one joke in peace.”)

© justageekk, 2025.

[justageekk]

hiiii can you write a smut fic with pedri where he’s angry after a bad game so he takes it on out y/n by fucking her so hard she squirts over and over again

IN WHERE: your boyfriend comes home angry after a game and now he just wants to fuck you.

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x pedri gonzalez

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

w: smut, p in v, squirts, creampie, rough sex, dialogues in spanish (translation at the end of each one).

request open!

“Pedri… por favor, joder,” you moaned as his cock slammed into that sweet spot inside your pussy. (“Pedri… please, fuck.”)

He was furious. Inter had just knocked Barcelona out of the Champions League, and Pedri was angrier than ever.

The only thing he wanted now was to let it all out — and he found no one but you, his girlfriend, to do it with.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d come. One after another. Your mind was drunk on pleasure.

Your body barely responded. Your legs were trembling, your pussy was burning, and still Pedri kept fucking you like he didn’t care about anything else.

“Mira cómo estás…” he growled through gritted teeth, his nails digging into your hips as he kept thrusting without mercy. (“Look at you…”)

“P… por favor, no puedo más…” you whimpered. (“P… please, I can’t anymore…”)

“Sí puedes. Vas a aguantar hasta que se me pase la rabia, ¿me oíste?” (“Yes, you can. You’re going to take it until I get this anger out, you hear me?”)

His tone was dry. This wasn’t the usual sweet Pedri. No — now you were getting all his frustration, all his rage… straight into your pussy.

He yanked your hair, forcing your head up so you’d look at him over your shoulder.

“¿Sabes qué me jode más? Que nadie en ese puto equipo tenga los huevos de pelear. Nadie.” He slammed into you harder, making you slam against the couch. (“You know what pisses me off the most? That no one on that fucking team has the balls to fight. No one.”) “Pero tú sí los tienes, ¿verdad? Tú sí puedes aguantar.” (“But you do, don’t you? You can take it.”)

“¡Ah! ¡Joder, Pedri!” you cried. (“Ah! Fuck, Pedri!”)

Another squirt burst out of you uncontrollably, soaking his balls, wetting your thighs.

“Otra vez. Quiero que te corras otra puta vez.” (“Again. I want you to cum one more fucking time.”)

“P… pero…” (“B… but…”)

“Te dije que me dejes vaciarme, coño. No preguntes.” (“I told you to let me empty myself, fuck. Don’t ask.”)

You had no choice. He picked you up, threw you onto the dining table, and kept fucking you without pause.

Your screams filled the apartment.

You weren’t thinking anymore. You were just body, sweat, and a wild, primal need to please him.

Pedri clenched his jaw, threw his head back, and came inside you, deep, so deep you felt the heat bloom inside your core.

“Pedri… amor,” you whispered, voice broken, tangled in your moans. (“Pedri… love.”)

“No me llames así ahora,” he muttered. “No me lo pongas difícil.” (“Don’t call me that now. Don’t make it harder for me.”)

And without warning, he lifted your right leg and propped it up on the table, changing the angle. His cock hit that exact spot — the one that made you see stars — over and over again.

“Pedri… no, si me sigues así me voy a— ¡joder!” (“Pedri… no, if you keep going like this I’m gonna— fuck!”)

Your back arched violently. A spasm shot through your spine and you exploded into an orgasm you didn’t even ask for. One that ripped a scream straight out of your throat.

Another.

Another hot squirt gushed out of you, soaking his pelvis, his abs, the whole table, and part of the floor. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, and your hands clung to the edge as if you were about to fall.

“Hostia puta…” Pedri murmured, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. (“Holy fuck…”)

You couldn’t even speak. Your breath came in broken gasps, your skin burned, and your pussy throbbed with the aftershocks of his final thrusts. He noticed. And finally fucked you three more times.

Then he came again. Another goddamn time. He spilled himself inside you with such force that his legs gave out, and he collapsed on top of you, panting. You felt his hot cum flood you, leaking down your thighs, mixing with your own juices.

At last — silence.

Your legs gave out completely, and he caught you. He lifted you into his arms without saying a word, like you were something fragile. Your eyes were half-closed, your body limp, still trembling from how hard you’d come.

He carried you to the bathroom. Turned the shower on. Warm water started running as he stepped in with you, letting your body rest against his chest.

“Lo siento, amor…” he whispered. “Me pasé. Me pasé muchísimo.” (“I’m sorry, love… I went too far. Way too far.”)

© justageekk, 2025