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 gonzales

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

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: your boyfriend has a baby fever

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.

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

request open!

You had said yes out of courtesy. An afternoon taking care of your cousin’s baby. A simple couple task: changing diapers, heating up bottles, watching cartoons.

But what you didn’t know… was what it would do to Dean.

Dean sat on the living room floor, the eight-month-old baby between his legs, gently stroking his head — the baby wearing a Real Madrid jersey Dean himself had bought.

“Míralo. Es que me lo como, ¿eh?” (“Look at him. I could eat him up, seriously.”)

You approached with a little smile, already shaking your head at the way he was melting. “Sí, amor, sí lo vi. No te encariñes.” (“Yes, love, I saw him. Don’t get too attached.”)

Dean looked up at you and grinned, completely soft. “Demasiado tarde, cariño. Estoy completamente vendido.” (“Too late, love. I’m completely gone.”)

He shifted the baby on his chest, holding him like he belonged there, his hand rubbing circles on the tiny back. Then he said it.

“Yo ya estoy pensando en el nombre del nuestro.” (“I’m already thinking about the name of ours.”)

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious or just playing around. “¿Nuestro qué…?” (“Ours what…?”)

Dean’s eyes didn’t waver. “Nuestro bebé.” (“Our baby.”)

You sat down on the floor in front of him, watching how the baby slowly drifted to sleep against his chest.

“Dean…”

He looked at you with that soft smile that always undid you.

“Lo digo en serio, amor. No ahora, no mañana, no te asustes. Pero un día, sí. Quiero tener un bebé contigo.” (“I mean it, love. Not now, not tomorrow, don’t panic. But one day, yes. I want to have a baby with you.”)

You felt a knot tighten in your throat. You bit your lip, trying to process the weight of what he’d just said. “¿Y si no estoy lista nunca?” (“And what if I’m never ready?”)

Dean leaned toward you slowly, careful not to wake the baby, and cupped your face.

“Entonces no pasa nada, cielo. Te tengo a ti, y eso ya es más que suficiente.” (“Then it’s okay, my love. I have you, and that’s already more than enough.”)

You leaned your cheek against his hand, your eyes locking. “¿Y cómo sería? ¿Nuestro bebé?” (“And what would they be like? Our baby?”)

Dean chuckled, looking down again at the tiny boy sleeping on his chest. “Quiero una niña, igual de guapa que tú.” (“I want a little girl, just as beautiful as you.”)

“¿Una niña, eh?” you murmured with a smirk. (“A girl, huh?”)

He nodded, still stroking the baby’s soft hair.

“Sí, con tus ojitos. Que me llame ‘papá’ y me tenga comiendo de su mano desde el primer día.”(“Yes, with your eyes. Calling me ‘daddy’ and having me wrapped around her finger from day one.”)

Your chest tightened in the best way. You knew him. Once Dean wanted something, he meant it.

“¿Y si es un niño?” (“And what if it’s a boy?”)

“Pue’ lo voy a amar igual.” (“Then I’ll love him just the same.”)

You let out a quiet laugh and reached out to touch his cheek.

“Estás enamorado de un bebé que aún no existe.” (“You’re in love with a baby that doesn’t even exist yet.”)

Dean raised his eyebrows, his tone certain.

“AÚN no existe… pero va a existir.” (“Doesn’t exist YET… but they will.”)

“Dean…”

“¿Mhm?”

You smiled softly, eyes watery without meaning to. “¿Tú te das cuenta de lo mucho que te quiero?” (“Do you even realize how much I love you?”)

He tilted his head and returned the smile.

“No más que yo a ti.” (“Not more than I love you.”)

“Eso es imposible.” (“That’s impossible.”)

Dean glanced down at the sleeping baby again, adjusting him with the gentlest touch.

“… el día que sea padre… ese día me hago el hombre más feliz del planeta.” (“…the day I become a dad… that’ll be the day I become the happiest man on Earth.”)

You grinned.

“¿Aunque llore toda la noche tu bebé?” (“Even if your baby cries all night?”)

Dean nodded without hesitation.

“Aunque grite, vomite, y no me deje dormir.” (“Even if they scream, throw up, and don’t let me sleep.”)

“¿Y si sale rebelde?” (“And what if they turn out rebellious?”)

He winked. “Tú lo educas y haces de mamá mala y yo quedo como papá bueno.” (“You’ll be the tough mom and I’ll be the cool dad.”)

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh.

“Tonto. Voy a buscar la forma de que tú quedes como malo.” (“Idiot. I’ll make sure you’re the bad one.”)

You both laughed in a whisper, careful not to wake the baby.

“¿Y si no quiere saber nada de fútbol?” (“And what if they want nothing to do with football?”)

Dean shrugged with a soft smile.

“Pue’ será pianista, actor, astronauta o lo que le dé la gana… pero va a saber que lo esperábamos con amor desde antes de existir.” (“Then they’ll be a pianist, actor, astronaut — whatever they want… but they’ll know we loved them before they even existed.”)

You rested your head against his shoulder, your voice barely a whisper. “Estoy segura, cariño.” (“I’m sure of that, love.”)

© justageekk, 2025

[justageekk]

[justageekk]

Jude bellingham nsfw alphabet

IN WHERE: jude nsfw alphabet

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x jude bellingham

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

w: so much smut

request open

A = Aftercare

After sex, Jude helps you clean up and then cuddles with you in bed. He strokes your back, kisses your forehead, whispers “you did amazing”, and runs his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep.

B = Body part

He’s obsessed with your thighs. Completely addicted to how they tremble when he’s eating you out or how you squeeze his head with them. He also bites them, leaves marks, and loves watching his fingers sink into that soft part of you.

C = Cum

He loves finishing inside. Nothing drives him crazier than feeling you clench around him when he cums. But if he can’t, his second favorite spot is your stomach or your tits.

D = Dirty Secret

Jude doesn’t keep secrets — he’s a freak. He likes telling you everything and doing everything to you.

E = Experience

He’s got experience, but with you, he’s really let go. He lets you explore, suggest, play. You can tell he knows what he’s doing, but what makes him so good is how much he enjoys watching you fall apart.

F = Favorite Position

Face to face, with your legs wrapped around his waist. He wants to see you, hear you, have you close.

G = Goofy

Not much during sex, but before and after he’s all cuddly and sweet. Laughs at how nervous you get, cracks dumb jokes to relax you, and sometimes grabs you from behind in the kitchen saying, “mmm, you smell so good… should I fuck you here or on the couch?”

H = Hair

He likes to keep it clean, but natural. No fully shaved look — just trimmed and neat enough to feel good.

I = Intimacy

Very intense. Slow, fast, rough, gentle — however you need it, Jude will give it to you.

J = Jack off

He does it when he hasn’t seen you in days… and he always thinks of you. Your videos, your voice notes, even your texts.

K = Kink

He’s got a control kink. Loves dominating, but never in a rude way, he guides you, orders you, makes you talk. Jude loves hearing dirty things from you, so when you can speak, he’s hooked.

L = Location

He’s obsessed with the couch. Something about having you naked in the middle of the living room, fully exposed, drives him mad. But he’s also into forbidden places: hotel bathrooms, the backseat of a car with tinted windows, even a fitting room.

M = Motivation

He gets off on pleasing you, so when you’re stressed, it turns him on. If he sees you frustrated, his first instinct is to make you forget everything. Hearing you moan after a bad day is his reward.

N = No

He’s not into humiliation or pain. He never wants to see you cry — unless it’s from pleasure. And he would never touch you without consent, especially not if you’re drunk or out of it.

O = Oral

He loves receiving, but going down on you drives him insane. Loves seeing you on your knees, looking up at him with your mouth full. The way you tie your hair back, how you tease with slow licks or take it all to make him moan. He bites his lip while watching, sometimes guiding your head gently with his hand.

If he had to choose, though, he prefers receiving. Nothing turns him on more than your wet, desperate mouth around him. He loves cumming on your tongue, watching you swallow, seeing you wipe the corner of your mouth and ask, “did you like that?” like you don’t know the power you have.

P = Pace

He starts slow, then picks up the speed and gets rough. If you’re on top, he lets you ride at your pace… until he gets impatient and takes over.

Q = Quickie

Yes — and he loves them. Before events, in party bathrooms, when you show up for a visit. He pushes you against the wall, lifts your skirt or pulls your pants down, and doesn’t even undress fully. They’re fast, dirty, desperate.

R = Risk

Very down for it. Gets turned on by risky places, semi-public sex (without being seen, but close). Loves playing with the danger of getting caught, how fast it has to be, how you don’t even have time to think.

S = Stamina

He’s got too much energy. Can go one, two, three rounds — especially if you’re still needy. Sometimes he lets you rest while he keeps touching you until you’re ready for more.

T = Toys

He doesn’t need them, but if you want to use one, he’s in. He’s used vibrators and soft restraints with you — but he’s always the one holding the controls.

U = Unfair

Such a tease sometimes. Loves making you beg, edging you, stopping right when you’re about to come. “Are you ready yet?” “No, not yet… just hold on a little longer…” And he smirks at how desperate you get.

V = Volume

Low moans, but deep. Says your name, growls through his teeth when he cums, sometimes whispers rough things in your ear while thrusting deeper. He’s quieter during quickies, but in long sessions? He doesn’t hold back.

W = Wild Card

One time, right after a fight. Nothing serious, just that tense silence after an argument. You were in the kitchen ignoring him, and he walked up, pushed you against the counter, pulled your panties down, and fucked you right there. No words, just rough, needy sex until neither of you remembered what the fight was about.

X = X-ray

He’s packing and he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning

He can control himself, he’s not always horny… but if it’s you? He’s always ready in seconds.

Z = Zzz

After sex and after helping you clean up, he waits for you to fall asleep first and then finally lets himself rest.

© justageekk, 2025.

[justageekk]

IN WHERE: balde is your boyfriend

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x alejandro balde

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

w: none!

request open

bf!balde who steals your headphones to play his music and “educate” you on his musical taste.

bf!balde who’s only contribution while you cook is blasting music on the radio and singing along.

bf!balde who sends you selfies making weird faces while he’s on club trips, flying on planes.

bf!balde who sits with you to watch your shows even if he doesn’t understand them.

bf!balde who pretends to be mad when you don’t wake him up with kisses.

bf!balde who plays FIFA with you and does not let you win. Zero empathy.

bf!balde who fights you with spoons for the last bite of food, but always lets you have it in the end.

bf!balde who strokes your hair while you watch videos on his chest, but if you ask him about it, he’s like: “nah, you had a knot and it was triggering my… AHH!”

bf!balde who can’t stand the silence, so he narrates whatever you’re doing like you’re a Disney princess.

bf!balde who always smells amazing on purpose so you can enjoy his scent.

bf!balde who writes your name with ketchup on your food.

bf!balde who gives you forehead kisses every time you’re mad.

bf!balde who comes up with silly excuses to stay longer with you: “I mean, if I leave now… it might rain and I’ll get soaked and catch a cold and…”

bf!balde who gets all nervous when it comes to your family.

bf!balde who holds your hand even at home — in the hallway, the living room, anywhere really — any place is good for physical touch.

bf!balde who tries to teach you ball tricks but really just wants to make you laugh when he messes up and the ball rolls away.

© justageekk, 2025.

[justageekk]

[justageekk]

Acabo de leer todas tus historias de Hector Fort y me han encantado.

Con las de futbolistas a veces se me hace raro leer los diálogos en inglés, entonces tus historias me cuadran genial.

Estoy super contenta de haber encontrado tu cuenta!

¡Muchísimas gracias! De verdad me hace mucha ilusión saber que a algunas personas les gustan los diálogos en español 💕

[justageekk]

I NEED more request for Lamine Yamal, I have many and none of HIMM 😭😭😭 SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LAMINEE

[justageekk]

would u write about richard rios? and if you do can you write bf head canons please?? ❤️

IN WHERE : richard rios is your boyfriend

THIS ONE SHOT IS : fem!reader

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

ty fort the request, i love rios 🤭

w: none!

request open!

bf!rios who holds you by the waist when you’re walking through crowded places just to keep you close.

bf!rios who calls you amor and mami even when you’re fighting.

bf!rios who plays football with you in the backyard, but always “accidentally” lets you win because he loves seeing you happy.

bf!rios who sends you sweaty selfies after training just so you’ll tell him how good he looks.

bf!rios who gets jealous silently: he stays closer, hugs you tighter, kisses you slower.

bf!rios who cooks you arepas or arroz con pollo when you’re having a bad day and brings them to bed.

bf!rios who plays with your hands while you’re talking.

bf!rios who gives you his Palmeiras or national team jerseys with his name on the back just to see you wear them.

bf!rios who laughs softly when you get mad, then apologizes for laughing.

bf!rios who sends you silly videos at 3AM and gets offended if you don’t watch them.

bf!rios who lets you paint his nails while watching movies, but only if it’s black or clear “porque tiene que cuidar la estética.”

bf!rios who hugs you tightly from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder while you’re cooking.

bf!rios who plays reggaetón and pulls you to dance in the kitchen like you’re at a party.

bf!rios who texts “ya comiste?” as his first message of the day because he’s always looking out for you.

bf!rios who introduces you as mi mujer with a proud smile that barely fits on his face.

bf!rios who stares at your old pictures and says “¿cómo es que cada día estás más bonita?” in a low voice.

bf!rios who sets you as his phone wallpaper.

bf!rios who always offers to pick you up, even if you’re far away and he’s exhausted.

bf!rios who dedicates every goal to you with a specific signal only you understand.

bf!rios who loves giving you flowers—just because.

❝ justageekk, 2025 ❞