tgrs10

[tgrs10]

Hi!! I might be a bit delayed with posting since finals are coming up, but I’ll try to schedule some of the req/ posts I have so there’s still something being posted while I’m away just for a few days!But for now requests are closed! 🤍😋

[tgrs10]

First | PEDRI GONZALEZ⁸ [006]

MASTERLIST

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 1,593

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| You finally tell Pedri you're ready to take the next step, and the two of you share your first time together. (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+!!! First time, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, focus on aftercare and emotional intimacy

The living room was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the TV screen, some half-forgotten movie murmuring in the background. You were curled up against Pedri’s side, your legs tucked over his lap, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing against your back. His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the ends of your hair, his other hand tracing gentle, lazy circles along your thigh over the fabric of your shorts. The air between you was warm, familiar, the kind of closeness that had built up slowly over months of stolen kisses and shy glances, but tonight there was something different than before.

When you turned your face up to him, Pedri was already looking at you, his brown eyes soft, adoring, like you were the only thing that existed in his whole world. You smiled shyly, heart thudding unevenly in your chest, and when you leaned up to kiss him, he met you halfway, slow, tender.

The kiss deepened naturally, the way it sometimes did, but tonight it didn’t stop. His lips moved against yours with more need, more urgency, and his hand drifted from your thigh to your waist, tugging you closer, until you were practically straddling him. You gasped quietly into his mouth when his fingers skimmed under the hem of your shirt, brushing the bare skin of your stomach. It wasn’t rushed, nothing with Pedri ever was, but it was more, much more than either of you had done before. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped you, and you felt a heat blossoming low in your belly, sweet and aching. But it didn’t last long until he pulled away.

Pedri’s hands dropped from your body like you had burned him, and he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard. His eyes squeezed shut, his voice low and wrecked with guilt when he spoke. "Lo siento, mi vida," he rasped. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you... I don’t want to rush you." Your heart squeezed painfully at the raw worry in his voice, at how much he cared about not hurting you. You cupped his face between your hands, guiding him to look at you. His eyes were wide, scared, like he thought he had ruined something fragile.

"You didn’t," you whispered, smiling softly. "Pedri... I'm ready. I want this" For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he needed to be absolutely sure you meant it. Then something in him cracked, a low, shuddering breath escaping him, and he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to pour everything he felt into your mouth. He stood up, lifting you easily into his arms, carrying you down the short hallway to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.

He set you down on the bed so gently, like you were something precious, and knelt in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees. His thumbs traced small circles on your bare skin, grounding you, and he searched your face one more time for any sign of hesitation. "Tell me to stop," he said softly, "if you even feel a little unsure." You nodded, your heart thudding in your ears, but deep down you knew, you were sure.

Pedri kissed you again, deeper, as he slid your shirt over your head, his hands lingering reverently on your newly exposed skin. He peeled your shorts and underwear down your legs with slow, trembling fingers, like he was unwrapping the most delicate gift. When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, the way his eyes darkened made you feel beautiful, powerful, and utterly adored.

He shed his own clothes quickly but without hurry, every move careful, deliberate, showing you that nothing about this was rushed. Then he joined you on the bed again, covering your body with his own without putting any weight on you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was achingly tender.

Pedri's hand slid between your thighs, coaxing them open with a touch so gentle it almost made you cry. His fingers brushed along your folds, finding you already wet and aching, and he made a broken sound deep in his throat, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "You’re ready for me, mi amor," he whispered against your skin, voice thick with emotion.

He took his time, more careful than you ever thought possible, easing one finger into you. The stretch was unfamiliar, a slow burn that made you whimper and tense, but Pedri was there immediately, kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw, whispering soft encouragements in Spanish so softly."That’s it, preciosa," he soothed, his free hand stroking your hip. "You’re doing so good for me."

He worked you open with agonizing patience, curling his finger inside you, letting you adjust before he added another. It felt overwhelming, the fullness, the pressure, but it was Pedri’s voice, his touch, his endless patience that kept you grounded, that made you relax into it.

When he finally pulled his hand away, you whined softly at the loss, already feeling empty without him. But he was there, kissing you, murmuring, "I’ve got you, baby," as he positioned himself between your thighs, his cock thick and flushed, the head nudging gently at your entrance. He didn’t move yet. He waited, watching your face, his hand cradling your cheek. "You still sure, mi vida?" he asked, voice shaking slightly. "Yes," you whispered, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you.

Pedri kissed you again, deep and slow, and then he started to push in, carefully, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was sharp, a burning fullness that made you gasp and clutch at his arms, and he froze immediately, peppering your face with kisses, whispering soft, desperate apologies. "Sshh, you’re okay," he whispered against your ear. "You’re so tight, hermosa. I’ll go slow, I promise."

You nodded, biting your lip, and he resumed the slow, careful slide inside you. It felt like forever before he was fully seated, his cock buried deep inside your tight, fluttering pussy. He stayed still, trembling with restraint, letting you adjust, his hands stroking soothingly over your body.

When you shifted your hips experimentally, the feeling was intense, raw and full and impossibly intimate, but there was no more sharp pain, just an overwhelming sense of being filled in a way you never had before. You nodded breathlessly, and Pedri groaned low in his throat, beginning to move.

His thrusts were shallow at first, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock against your walls, building a pleasure so deep and all-consuming it left you gasping. Every time he moved, you felt him everywhere, your body molding around him, your heart pounding in your chest, your soul clinging to him. "You’re perfect," he whispered brokenly, "made for me."

The burn faded quickly, replaced by a blooming pleasure that had you whimpering his name, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth. His pace stayed slow, measured, like he wanted to savor every second, like he never wanted it to end.

When you finally came, it hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you in a rush of pleasure and overwhelming emotion. Your body tightening around him in desperate, helpless pulses. Pedri followed moments after, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, groaning your name into your neck. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, whispering, "Lo hiciste tan bien, mi vida." (you did so good), over and over between kisses, like he needed you to know, to believe it.

He didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he stayed there, buried deep inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily against your skin, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go yet. His arms caged you in, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other stroking your side with trembling fingers.

When he finally moved, it was with heartbreaking tenderness. Slowly, carefully, he slipped out of you, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity. Pedri’s heart twisted at the sound. "I'm sorry, cariño," he whispered immediately, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. "I’ve got you. I’ve got you." 

He was off the bed fast, pulling on his boxers, and then disappearing briefly, only to return with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up so delicately it almost made you cry, his touch feather-light as he wiped between your thighs, murmuring soft apologies every time you flinched. "Sshh, I know, I know... you're so sensitive, my sweet girl," he crooned, pressing kisses to your knees and thighs between strokes. "Almost done, preciosa."

When he was sure you were comfortable, he tossed the cloth aside and slipped back into bed, immediately gathering you into his arms. You ended up half sprawled across his chest, your legs tangled together under the sheets, your ear pressed right above his rapidly beating heart.

Pedri tucked you back against his chest, pulling the covers higher around you both, one hand stroking your hair in slow, soothing motions. Even when your breathing evened out, even when you finally started to drift into sleep, he stayed awake, just holding you, pressing little kisses to the crown of your head, whispering soft Spanish endearments into the dark, like he was promising, over and over, that you would always be safe in his arms.

[tgrs10]

can u write a story with first time with pedri and he’s super gentle and romantic and aftercare is 10/10

Hi!! Thank you for the request! Should be posted soon.😋

[tgrs10]

🥀🥀

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

[tgrs10]

TGRS10 MASTERLIST

(♡= Smut 18+) (✧= Angst) (✼= Fluff)

FC BARCELONA

Ferran Torres

♡ Sealed In

Fermin Lopez

♡ Tides

Hector Fort

♡ Claimed

♡ Reflections

Pedri Gonzalez

✧ Two Choices

✼, ✧ 2 Choices

♡ Steam And Tension

✼ Worn Out

♡ Patience

AC MILAN

Joao Felix

♡ Midnight Calls

[tgrs10]

Reflections | HECTOR FORT³²[002]

MASTERLIST (N/A)

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 1,987

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| Héctor asks to record an intimate moment w you to keep while he's away (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+!!, soft sex, Unprotected, Slight Angst.

It was quiet in the apartment, the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the city outside had dulled to a hush and the lights inside cast a warm, sleepy glow across the walls. The bathroom fan hummed faintly above you as you stood at the sink, fresh from the shower, a white towel wrapped around your body, your skin still damp and warm. The mirror was half fogged, but you could still make out your reflection as you gently pressed a cotton pad soaked in toner across your cheeks. Your wet hair hung over your shoulders, and the familiar scent of your skincare filled the room, something clean and light, the kind of scent that always made Héctor lean in a little closer when he kissed your neck.

You were mid-way through your routine, patting serum into your skin with slow, practiced movements, when you heard the quiet sound of footsteps behind you. The door creaked open just a little, and then you felt it, his presence, calm and heavy like a blanket settling around your shoulders. He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up behind you in silence, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into the crook of your neck. The soft fabric of his hoodie brushed against your bare back, the contrast between his warmth and your still-cool skin making you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed quietly, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he exhaled. “You always smell so good after a shower…” You smiled faintly in the mirror, the corners of your lips curling up. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice rough and low from sleep, or maybe just the kind of quiet intimacy that came with moments like this. “Didn’t mean to. Just wanted to be close to you.” His arms tightened a little around your waist as he kissed the side of your neck again, slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. You felt the curve of his smile against your skin, the way his body molded against yours like he needed to memorize the way you felt before letting go.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were tired, but still fixed on you with that familiar, almost reverent look, the one he only gave you when he thought you weren’t looking. He nodded slowly, the motion gentle. “Yeah. Just… I leave tomorrow.”

Your hands stilled for a moment, the small jar of moisturizer forgotten on the counter as you turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “I know,” you said softly, your voice a little quieter now. “I was trying not to think about it.”

You’d been through this before countless of times, the travel, the away games, the days where your only contact was a blurry FaceTime call squeezed in between training and press. You were used to the rhythm of it. But that didn’t make it any easier. Not when it meant sleeping alone in the bed you shared, missing the way his hand would always find yours in the middle of the night, even in his sleep.

He kissed your shoulder again, then the curve of your neck, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not for long. Just a few away games. We’ll be back before the end of the month.” You nodded slowly. “I know. Just sucks.” His reflection looked down at your shirt, then back up to your eyes. He was quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that made your heart beat a little faster because you could tell he was thinking hard about something.

Then he leaned in, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder, his mouth right next to your ear. “Can I ask you something?” You glanced at him again, brushing some hair out of your face. “Yeah?” His voice was soft, low, like he was treading carefully. “Would you ever… let me film us?” Your brows lifted slightly, surprised. “Film us?”

“Just us,” he said quickly, rubbing his thumb over your stomach like he was trying to calm you. “Not for anything. Just for me. Just to have something while I’m gone. Something real.” The way he said it made your heart ache in your chest. Not in a sad way, but in that overwhelming, full kind of way that only happened when you were deeply in love. His voice didn’t sound cocky or demanding. Just honest. Nervous, even. Like it was something he’d thought about for a while, but wasn’t sure he’d ever be brave enough to ask.

“You’d wanna watch that?” you asked, a little breathless. His eyes were still locked on yours in the mirror, intense but soft. “You have no idea how much.” You looked at your reflection for a few seconds, trying to process the weight of his words. Your wet hair dripping lightly on your tank top, your skin glowing under the warm bathroom light, your chest rising and falling just a little faster now. And when you finally nodded, you saw the way his shoulders relaxed behind you like he’d been holding his breath. “Okay,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “Yeah… we can.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just buried his face in your neck again and held you tighter, like he couldn’t believe you’d just agreed. His hands were warm against your hips, his mouth pressing slow kisses into your skin that made your knees a little weak.

You hadn’t even noticed how quiet he’d gotten until you caught the look in the mirror, his eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment. You were standing at the sink in nothing but a thin white tank top, soft and clinging slightly to your damp skin, with no bra beneath it. The subtle outline of your nipples was visible through the fabric, and below that, just a pair of plain underwear that curved snug around your hips. The room felt warmer now, like his gaze alone was enough to heat you from the inside out.

His hands, rough from hours on the pitch but so gentle now, reached for your waist, wrapping around you slowly like he couldn’t bear to let the sight of you pass too quickly. You felt the quiet breath he released, right at your nape, his lips brushing your skin with it. He didn’t speak for a moment, just watched. Watched the way your nipples pressed against the soft, thin fabric of the top still clinging to your skin. Watched the way your thighs shifted subtly as you adjusted your stance, slightly uncertain under his gaze but not shying away.

Then he stepped closer, the heat of his chest pressing into your back, his hips fitting snug behind yours. His palm flattened across your stomach, holding you to him as he leaned down and murmured into your neck, his voice lower than ever now. “I’m not going to see you like this for a while,” he said, letting his hand drift lower, just barely grazing over the tops of your thighs. “Want to remember you exactly like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding now, not just from nerves, but from the weight of the intimacy in his words. It wasn’t about control or lust. It was about needing you, and needing something to hold onto when he was far away.  He brought out his phone, propped it carefully on the little ledge beside the sink, angled just enough to capture the both of you. But even as he did, his eyes never really left you in the mirror.

You caught the shift in his expression as he looked at the reflection. The way his gaze darkened as he saw your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the quiet vulnerability in your eyes as you leaned slightly forward on the counter to brace yourself. It was subtle, but you knew him, knew what that hunger in his eyes meant. One of his hands moved to your lower back, pressing lightly. “Arch for me,” he whispered, voice so soft it felt like it melted into your spine. “Just a little.”

You did as he asked, lowering your chest a little, pushing your hips back until your ass met the solid heat of his front. The shift in position made you feel completely exposed, bare in every way. And judging by the way his breath caught, he liked exactly what he saw. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, letting his hand drift from your back down over your ass, grabbing a handful before sliding it lower. “You look so fucking good like this, it’s gonna drive me insane when I’m gone.”

His hand stroked the inside of your thigh slowly, just barely brushing against where you were already warm for him, and it made your thighs twitch slightly in response. But still, he didn’t rush. He gripped your hips instead, pulling you back toward him firmly, grinding against you so you could feel the thick outline of his cock pressed through his sweatpants. “I’m gonna make this last,” he said, looking you dead in the eyes through the mirror. “You’ll let me take my time, yeah?” You nodded, chest rising and falling faster now as you held his gaze.

Then you felt him shift behind you, the sound of fabric being pushed down, his pants, his boxers, quick and quiet, urgency humming beneath his control. His hands slid down over your hips, fingertips hooking into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down slowly, letting them fall just below your knees. The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hands, the way they gripped your bare hips a second later. And then came the unmistakable press of his cock, hot and bare, settling against the curve of your ass. You pushed back instinctively, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he rubbed himself along your folds, slow and deliberate, teasing without slipping inside, drawing out the moment like he never wanted it to end.

“You ready?” he murmured, one hand sliding around your waist again, the other guiding himself to your entrance. “Yes,” you whispered, nearly breathless. “Please…” And with one slow, controlled movement, he pushed into you. The stretch made you grip the edge of the sink, your brows pulling together, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second, but the mirror was still there, and when you opened them again, the sight took your breath away.

You could see all of it. The way he held you so close, his hips snug against yours, his chest rising and falling as he sank deeper inside. The way your mouth opened in a silent moan, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded with the fullness of him. “Look at you,” he groaned, watching the mirror like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “You take me so good every time.”

He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in with more force this time, and the wet sound of it filled the space between your soft whimpers. His hands clutched your hips tighter, and the rhythm he set was deep and steady, each thrust making you jolt slightly forward, your body caught between the sink and his hips, but you didn’t want him to stop.

Every movement of his hips was deliberate, the pressure just right, his grip unrelenting as he drove into you again and again. The reflection in the mirror was overwhelming—the sight of his broad frame behind you, the way your body took him with every slow, powerful thrust. You couldn’t look away, even as your legs trembled and your fingers dug into the porcelain for support. “You see how perfect you are?” he asked between gritted teeth, sweat starting to bead at his temple. “This right here, this is mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice lit something in your belly. Your whole body pulsed with the way he held you, the way he watched you. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through your core, and you could feel the pressure building with each second, the knot tightening low in your stomach. He shifted his hand from your waist to the front of your body, his fingers brushing over your stomach, then lower, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Want you to come like this,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Right here in front of the mirror, while I’m deep in you. So I can watch your face when you fall apart.” You whimpered his name, almost broken now, the pressure nearly unbearable. You tried to say something, to warn him you were close, but the only sound that came out was a moan that cracked halfway through, your thighs shaking under the intensity of it all. 

And he felt the way you clenched around him, how your body trembled. He didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked you harder, groaning behind you as his own control started to slip. “Come for me, baby,” he rasped, panting against your ear. “Let me feel you.” And just like that, you did.

The orgasm hit you fast and hard, washing over you in a rush of heat and pressure and helpless sound. Your entire body tensed, your mouth falling open, your eyes locked with your reflection as you watched yourself unravel completely. The way your body shook, the way you pushed back onto him like you couldn’t get enough.

He followed you seconds later, burying himself as deep as he could go with a guttural groan, his grip bruising on your hips. You felt him spill inside you, warm and thick, and the sensation only sent aftershocks through your already-sensitized body. His body collapsed against yours for a moment, both of you panting, foreheads damp, your hands braced against the sink to keep yourself steady. His lips brushed your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

And then, finally, he reached forward and turned off the recording with a quiet tap, leaving just the flickering candlelight behind. He didn’t say anything right away. Just held you. Stayed inside you. Let the silence settle again.

Then, in the softest voice you’d ever heard from him, he whispered, "I’m gonna miss you so much."

[tgrs10]

You have such a beautiful and realistic way of writing and I just really wanted to share that with you <3 I have reread your fics so many times in the last few days!

Aww! Thank you so much, this seriously means a lot! I’m glad u enjoy them🤍🤍

[tgrs10]

hi, love your stories btw! would you ever consider writing some smut with Gavi?

Hi! Yess, I’m definitely thinking about writing for Gavi (and other football players) but I’ve been trying to get the request out first. Very soon tho! 🤍🤍

[tgrs10]

Sealed In| FERRAN TORRES⁷ [001]

MASTERLIST (N/A)

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 1,056

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| You and Ferran celebrate your wedding night the only way you know how. (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+!!, Unprotected, Oral sex (Female receiving), praise kink.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the two of you into a perfect little world of silence and soft candlelight. Ferran didn’t speak at first, he just looked at you, taking you in like he still couldn’t believe you were real. His hair was messy from hours of dancing, his shirt half-untucked, the top buttons undone to reveal warm, golden skin. He looked devastatingly handsome, but it was the way he was looking at you that melted your heart, like you were something precious.

"Mi esposa," Ferran said after a beat, voice rough and low, and you couldn’t help but laugh, breathless, disbelieving. "You’re going to say that every five minutes, aren’t you?" you teased, stepping into him. His hands found your waist immediately, pulling you flush against him. "Get used to it, cariño," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’m not gonna stop reminding you." You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, your chest tightening at the softness there. "I love you so much."

"I love you," Ferran said fiercely, like he needed you to know it, like it wasn’t enough to just say it once. His hands slid down your back, his thumbs tracing slow circles through the thin material of your dress. "And tonight," he whispered softly "I’m gonna show you just how much."

You barely had time to respond before his mouth was on yours, kissing you slow, deep, thorough, like he had all the time in the world. You clutched at him, fingers digging into his shoulders, the silk and weight of him grounding you, every touch careful and reverent, making your heart ache in the sweetest way. "You’re so beautiful," he whispered against your lips. "My wife." You laughed against his mouth, feeling drunk on him, something you had been feeling for years.

Ferran groaned softly, pulling back just enough to unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor with a whisper of silk. You stood before him in nothing but delicate lace, and the way he looked at you, like he was starving, made your whole body heat under his gaze. "You’re never getting this off me," Ferran said hoarsely, his fingers skimming over the straps of your lingerie. "Never. Fuck."

He scooped you up easily, carrying you the few steps to the bed. "No more standing," he murmured as he laid you down like something precious. "I’m taking care of everything tonight."

You watched, your chest heaving, as he stripped down, first his shirt, then his pants, until he was gloriously naked in the low light. His body was all sleek muscle, his cock heavy and flushed against his stomach, and you whimpered at the sight of him. He leaned down, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re making it hard to think straight."

His mouth crashed onto yours again, urgent now, devouring. His hands moved everywhere,  cupping your breasts, sliding down your stomach, parting your thighs with commanding ease. He kissed down your body, his lips hot, his touch possessive, as if every inch of you belonged to him. When his mouth finally found you between your legs, you cried out, your hands flying into his hair.

He groaned against your slick folds, his tongue laving slow, cruel circles around your clit, making you writhe under him. Two fingers slid inside you easily, curling perfectly as he worked you with precision, forcing your body to arch in response.

"You taste so fucking good," Ferran muttered, his voice thick and dark between licks. "Could spend the whole night right here." He didn’t slow down, working you relentlessly, his pace steady and unforgiving until your thighs trembled and your body shattered, the pleasure crashing through you in waves. You screamed his name, your fingers tightening in his hair, your body helpless beneath him.

When you collapsed against the sheets, boneless and gasping, Ferran kissed his way back up your body, his cock dragging heavily against your thigh. "Need you," you gasped, nails digging into his back. "Please, Ferran."

"You have me," he whispered fiercely, his voice laced with desire. He didn’t make you wait. Lining himself up, he thrust into you with a slow, devastating stroke, filling you completely. You gasped, the stretch delicious, Ferran groaning low in his throat as he bottomed out. "So fucking tight," he muttered against your neck, beginning to move, slow, deep thrusts that hit you just right, dragging desperate sounds from your throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting more, needing more. He shifted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making the bed creak under you both. The rhythm he set was punishing, deep, relentless, his body heavy and hot over yours, his mouth leaving hungry kisses along your neck, your jaw, your lips.

"Taking me so good, cariño," he panted into your ear. "So perfect. My perfect girl." You were close again, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, your nails clawing at his shoulders as you chased it. "Come with me," Ferran growled, thrusting harder, deeper. "Want to feel you when I come inside you."

The filthy words tipped you over the edge, you shattered again with a cry, your pussy clenching down hard around him. Ferran cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. With a few more rough, frantic strokes, he came deep inside you, groaning your name, filling you with hot, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, you were just tangled up together, sweaty, gasping, Ferran's full weight pressing you deliciously into the bed. His face was buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured after a beat, voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. You nodded weakly, still trying to catch your breath, a lazy, blissful smile curving your lips. Ferran shifted just slightly, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead, looking down at you with a gleam in his eye.

"Another round?" he asked, grinning wickedly. You huffed a breathless laugh, feeling his cock still semi-hard, twitching inside you. "Give me two minutes," you whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around his back. Ferran laughed low in his chest, kissing you deeply, and you knew he fully intended to do exactly that.

[tgrs10]

you write the best smut! would you ever write for hector fort? maybe one where they’re doing doggy infront of a mirror and they record

Hiii! Thank you for the request🤍 you can find this one here!!

[tgrs10]

Claimed| HECTOR FORT³² [001]

MASTERLIST (N/A)

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 1,987

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| Hector and you were over, or supposed to be. But one jealous night at the club proves he never really let go. (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+!!, Rough Sex, Unprotected, Slight Angst, jealous sex.

You and Hector had history, like real history. Not just some months-long fling or a situationship gone stale. You’d both grown up together, part of the same tight-knit friend group that had seen every version of you both. You’d been together for years, years first as friends, then as more. Everyone in the group had known you as a unit, a given, a forever-thing, until you suddenly weren’t.

When you broke up, it hadn’t been explosive. No screaming or slamming doors. It was quiet and slow and painful in the way long relationships sometimes are, the kind where you’re not even sure when the beginning of the end started, but only that it did. And even though the relationship ended, the friend group didn’t. You didn’t split off, didn’t drift. That meant seeing Hector at every hangout, every birthday dinner, every movie night. And now tonight, at the club.

It was supposed to be a group thing. Just everyone letting loose for once, with no drama, no awkwardness. You told yourself it wouldn’t be weird. You even dressed up like you meant it, tried to feel like someone new in the mirror. But the second you walked into the pulsing neon haze of the club and saw Hector standing by the bar with the other guys, hands in his pockets, that same unreadable expression on his face, your stomach turned traitor.

You didn’t speak. Just walked past him, the way strained exes do when too much has been said and not enough at all. And maybe that’s why you ended up talking to someone else. He was harmless, really. Just some guy from the crowd who asked you what you were drinking and said something stupid but sweet enough to make you laugh.

You weren’t trying to flirt. You weren’t looking for anything. You were just tired of missing something you weren’t allowed to want anymore. Tired of the ache that bloomed in your chest every time you caught Hector looking at you like he didn’t know whether to pull you back or walk away for good.

You felt him before you saw him, almost like the shift in the air when a storm rolls in. One second, you were half-smiling at something a guy you'd just met was saying, nodding politely, a solo cup cradled in your fingers more out of habit than interest. The music thumped through your ribs, too loud for real conversation, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t really listening anyway.

You were too aware of the weight of your own loneliness, trying to convince yourself you were okay, that you were fine, that coming here hadn’t been a mistake.

The moment your new acquaintance leaned in, closer than necessary, his hand brushing your hip in that casual way that said he thought he could, the storm hit. Hector. His presence slammed into your senses before he even touched you, the kind of gravity you never stopped orbiting no matter how hard you tried.

One look at his face, jaw tight, eyes dark and locked onto yours with a heat that burned hotter than the club lights, and you knew. You knew he wasn’t just watching. Suddenly, he was right there, cutting through the space between you like it didn’t exist, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around your wrist, not hard, but with a certainty that made your breath catch.

The other guy blinked, confused, backing off like instinct told him this wasn’t his fight. “Come with me,” Hector said, voice low enough to make your heart stumble, rough in the way that told you he was barely holding it together. Not a plea. Not a suggestion. Almost a command, wrapped in heartbreak and heat.

His grip on your wrist wasn’t bruising, but it was firm enough to make your pulse stutter. He hadn’t said anything else, just led you through the thumping bass and flashing lights until you were tucked away in a hallway near the back of the club, somewhere between the staff entrance and the bathrooms, where the music was muffled but your heartbeat wasn’t. His eyes were burning. Yours were too.

“What the hell are you doing, Hector?” you snapped, yanking your hand from his like it burned. “You don’t get to do that. We’re not together anymore, remember?” He didn’t speak back, not at first. Just stood there, jaw tight with something he wasn’t saying. “You think I don’t remember?” he said, low. “Then act like it,” you shot back, voice sharp. “You don’t get to pull me away like I’m still yours when you were the one who let me go.” This time, he flinched, subtle, just a flicker in his eyes, but you saw it, and God, you hated that it still hit you that hard. “You were out there,” he said, voice rough, “touching some random guy like he could give you anything real, like he could give you something-”

“Oh, and now you suddenly get to decide what’s real?” you snapped, the scoff leaving your throat sharper than you meant, your hands trembling with rage you didn’t want him to see. “You don’t talk to me. You don’t call. You show up with the guys and act like we’re just two people who happen to orbit the same damn group, and the second I so much as talk to someone else, you lose your mind like I’ve betrayed you.” He didn’t hesitate. “Because it is a betrayal,” he growled, stepping in like he couldn’t stand the distance between you. “It is to me.” Your mouth opened, to fire back, to say something cruel, something final, but you didn’t get the chance. Because Hector was on you. Mouth crashing into yours, hard and hungry and devastating, like kissing you was the only thing keeping him alive. 

His hands were in your hair before you could even think, pulling you closer, his mouth hot and bruising against yours, and you hated how quickly you melted into it, how familiar it felt, how easy it was to fall. And then, like he couldn’t wait, like the time apart had built into something sharp and hungry, he pulled back just long enough to breathe, to look at you, his voice low and wrecked. “Come with me,” he said again, and this time it wasn’t a request, It was a demand.

You didn’t ask where. Didn’t need to. His hand found yours like it never forgot the way your fingers used to fit, and you followed without hesitation, heart thudding in your chest harder than the bass vibrating through the floor. The club was dark, flashing with reds and violets, bodies pressed together in a blur of sweat and sound, but the two of you moved through it like nothing else existed, like the gravity between you was stronger than the noise, than the past, than the people who might’ve seen. You felt the burn of his stare even as he led you, the possessiveness in the grip he had on your wrist, guiding you toward the back where the single-stall restrooms were tucked into the corner, barely lit, barely noticed.

The second the door clicked shut, Hector was on you like a storm, mouth crashing into yours, hands rough and desperate, like he’d been dying to touch you and couldn’t hold back anymore. He slammed you back against the door, one hand curling in your hair, the other already sliding up your waist, slipping under your top to palm bare skin. The chill of the metal behind you contrasted with the fire of him in front of you, and it made your head spin. He kissed you like he hated the space between you. Like he was trying to erase every second he hadn’t had you in his arms, in his bed, on his cock.

Your breath caught when his hand slid higher, fingers brushing the underside of your bra, thumb teasing the swell of your breast like he already knew exactly what would make you fall apart. Because he did. Hector had always known your body like it was a song he’d memorized, every note, every rhythm. “You think I could just stand there?” he rasped against your mouth, dragging your top off over your head, eyes devouring the way your bra hugged your chest. “Watching you talk to some random?” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when his hands were back on your skin, rough and reverent all at once.

“You don’t get to say that,” you gasped, even as you yanked his shirt up, needing it off, needing him closer. “You broke up with me.” “I fucked up,” he snapped, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. “But I never stopped wanting you.” And then he kissed you again, slower now, deeper. His tongue slid into your mouth like he was trying to reclaim it, like he was trying to brand you all over again. When he broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting softly at your pulse, your knees buckled.

He caught you easily, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding down against the hard length straining against his jeans, and fuck, the groan he let out sent heat shooting through you. “You feel that?” he murmured, grinding up into you. “That’s what you do to me. No one else, only you.” His hands shoved your panties aside, rough fingers sliding between your folds, finding how wet you already were. You gasped, head falling back, body aching.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured against your throat, voice rough and almost disbelieving, like the heat he felt between your thighs was driving him insane. His fingers pressed harder, teasing, testing, and you gasped, hips twitching toward his hand like your body had a mind of its own. “Just from this?” he asked, low and wrecked. “Just from me pulling you in, touching you like this?” “Yes,” you breathed, shameless, your voice breaking on the word. “I’ve wanted you. I still, fuck, Hector, I need it.” The confession spilled out raw and desperate, your need for him clinging to every syllable.

He groaned like he was in pain, like hearing that undid something inside him. One hand fumbled with his belt, and then he was freeing his cock, already hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. When he rubbed the thick head against your pussy, just enough to tease, your hips bucked into him, chasing the pressure. He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt with a groan so filthy it made your stomach flip. You cried out, nails digging into his back, your pussy clenching around his cock, almost missing this feeling “Fuck,” he hissed, gripping your hips, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel like fucking heaven. Tight as ever. Still mine.”

He started to move, hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust slammed you against the door, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the small space, mixing with your moans and his curses. He was fucking you like he meant it, like he needed you to feel it, to remember exactly who you belonged to. Your pussy clenched around him, and he felt it, grinned through gritted teeth as he drove into you harder, faster.

“I’m gonna cum,” he bit out, hips stuttering. “Cum with me. Let me feel you.” And you did, shattering around him, pussy squeezing his cock as you came hard, gasping his name. He followed with a deep, wrecked groan, spilling inside you, holding you to him like if he let go, the whole world would fall apart. For a long moment, the only sound was your breathing,heavy, uneven, desperate against each other. And then his lips brushed your ear. “This wasn’t a one-time thing.” You didn’t answer, because you’d be lying if you said no.

[tgrs10]

🏆!!

COPA DEL REY | FC BARCELONA v REAL MADRID april 26, 2025

[tgrs10]

hiiii could u do a ferran torres wedding night smut where he gets possessive calling her his wife and her being completely fucked out and submissive

Hiii! Thank you for the request🤍 you can find this one here!!

[tgrs10]

Hector fort smu where they've broken up but he gets super jealous seeing her w some other guy and can't bear it so he reminds her who she belongs to

Hiii! Thank you for the request! You can find this one here! 🤍

[tgrs10]

Patience | PEDRI GONZALEZ⁸ [005]

MASTERLIST (N/A)

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 2,516

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| After a game, you and Pedri share a private and intimate moment in the empty locker room. (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+!!! Public setting, unprotected sex, shower sex.

You were starting to think he’d take longer. The stadium had gone quiet some time ago, the chants, the camera shutters, the shrill whistle marking the final minute, all of it now softened into memory, hanging faintly in the air. The celebration had moved on. The crowd had emptied. What remained were echoes, the low murmur of distant voices, and the occasional scuff of a shoe against concrete somewhere inside the tunnel.

You sat on the empty player bench, arms loosely on top of your legs, phone resting untouched beside you. You weren’t upset. Not at all. Just a little tired. A little heavy from the buzz of adrenaline that wasn’t yours, the kind of stillness that only comes after a night too full of noise, lights, and emotion. Pedri was still on the field, still doing interviews, still smiling for the press, still being pulled in every direction except yours. But you learned that it came with being in a relationship with him.

This was part of almost a deal, and you understood that and loved him anyway. No bitterness, no resentment, just a quiet patience, steady and sure. A small ache behind your ribs, maybe, not from hurt, but from want. You hadn’t been able to give him his celebration hug before they pulled him aside for interviews.

You kept your eyes on Pedri as he stood on the field, finishing what had to be his fifth interview of the night. You expected him to move on to another one, just like he’d been doing this whole time. But to your surprise, he glanced your way. And instead of turning back to another reporter, he started walking toward you across the field, a small smile pulling at his lips. His hair was still damp, clinging slightly to his forehead from the post-match splash of water. His jersey stuck to his skin with perspiration, and his cleats pressed into the grass with that lazy, worn-out rhythm you knew so well. There was a looseness to his walk, the post-match kind, part exhaustion, part adrenaline still humming in his veins.

“Lo siento,” he said as he reached you, his voice low and hoarse from the interviews and shouting on the pitch. “They wouldn’t let me go.” You rose from the bench slowly, legs a little stiff, brushing your hands over your jeans out of habit. He was right in front of you now, damp hair still dripping a bit from his temples, jersey clinging to his frame, eyes searching yours with that quiet, familiar guilt.

“It’s okay,” you said, stepping into him without hesitation. Your arms wrapped around his waist, and his came around your shoulders like second nature. “You were incredible tonight.” You buried your face into his chest for a moment, breathing him in, sweat, grass, that faint sharp cologne he always wore on game days. “I’m proud of you. You did amazing’’ 

He held you a beat longer, his hand rubbing lightly along your back before he pulled away just enough to see your face. There was a quiet kind of softness in his eyes, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the time to earlier. “Thank you,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, gentle, full of things he didn’t have the words for. He looked down, a little sheepish, then flicked his gaze back up with a faint tilt of his head toward the tunnel. “Walk with me to the lockers?” His voice was gentler now, threaded with something almost shy, like even after everything, he still needed to ask.

You walked with him, leaving the quiet of the bench behind as your footsteps met the edge of the pitch. Your fingers brushed his for just a second, a silent kind of closeness that didn’t need much more. The air inside the tunnel was cooler, echoing with the hum of the stadium winding down. Lights flickered overhead, casting soft shadows as you walked. His cleats clicked rhythmically on the concrete, grounding the silence between you. When you reached the locker room doors, the spot where you usually stopped and waited while he showered and changed after games, he didn’t let go of your hand. “Come in,” he said softly, almost cautiously. “No one’s here.” You blinked, your steps faltering. “You’re sure?”

He nodded once, gaze steady. “Gone. I’m sure.” You hesitated, not because you didn’t know what he meant. You did. And it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. Usually, you said no. Not out of coldness, but out of fear, of being caught in a place you shouldn’t be in. But tonight something was different, maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he needed you closer. “Pedri…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure. He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, steady, familiar, and opened the door, his hand never leaving yours. “It’s just us,” he said. And this time, you gave in and believed him.

The space was dim and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after everyone else has gone. The air held the tension of the match, thick with leftover adrenaline and locker-room heat, cleats were kicked off in corners, shirts slung over benches, and a few water bottles left behind like afterthoughts. It felt more personal than you'd imagined. Like stepping into something you were never meant to see, and being let in any way.

Pedri let go of your hand only to push the door shut behind you, the soft click echoing against tile like a line being drawn. He didn’t say anything just looked at you. Eyes shadowed in the low light, lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but didn’t want to rush it. You stood still, arms loosely crossed, not because you were unsure of him, it was never him, but because this space wasn’t yours. Pedri moved first as he peeled off his jersey top in one smooth motion, muscles shifting under skin still damp from the match. The sharp scent of sweat and grass clung to him, the heat of adrenaline still faint on his skin. You looked away without meaning to, the moment too full, too raw, and too late for him not to catch it. But he noticed, “You’re nervous,” he said gently, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to be. No one is going to walk in, trust me.” 

You let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, and finally dropped your arms. “I’m not nervous,” you said, barely louder than the hum of the lights above. Your eyes lingered on the scattered cleats, the half-zipped bags, the pieces of a world that had never really been yours, until now. Pedri didn’t say anything right away. He just stepped closer, slow and certain, until the air between you was shared. His hand brushed your wrist, then curled around your waist with a kind of reverence, like he was still asking even now. And then he kissed you without any rush. It deepened easily, the kind of kiss that took its time, until your fingers found the hem of his shirt and his hands slid beneath yours like muscle memory.

Somewhere between breath and heat, he lifted you, just like that, and carried you across the quiet space. You didn’t say anything, just held on, the soft thud of his cleats on tile the only sound. He set you down gently by the showers, eyes on you the whole time, waiting. You paused, breath shallow, heart loud in your chest. This was still unfamiliar, not him, but the space, the echo of it all.

But when his hand found yours again, grounding and warm, you nodded. Slowly, piece by piece, the layers came off. Jerseys. Shorts. Every barrier undone with care. He turned the knob, and the water rushed to life, steam curling upward as he pulled you in with him, close, skin to skin, the quiet turning into something else entirely.

You stepped out of your shoes, peeling off your layers slowly, half in a daze, half in anticipation,  until there was nothing between you but the wet air and your pulse roaring in your ears. You crossed the threshold, stepping into the stream beside him, and the warmth hit you like a sigh. Steam wrapped around your bodies, and water slid down your spine in lazy rivulets.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he’d been holding his breath since the final whistle, waiting for this exact moment. Then he touched you, hands tentative at first, thumbs brushing softly against your hips, fingers trailing slow, reverent lines down your arms like he was rediscovering you piece by piece. The warmth of the water paled compared to the heat of his touch. You reached up without thinking, your palms pressing flat against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your hand, calm, certain, like he wasn’t nervous at all. But the second your mouth hovered close to his, his breath hitched. “I missed you,” you whispered, your lips brushing his like a secret. His answer was a low, broken sound, more breath than voice, and then he kissed you. Not rushed, not greedy, just deep and full, like he needed you to feel it in your bones.

And you did. Every nerve sparked to life as his hands slid down your waist, then lower, pulling you flush against him, warmth lingered in every breath between you. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet urgency, like he wanted everything but was still letting you set the pace, still holding back just enough for you to decide where this went. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, giving the slightest tug, and that was all it took to unravel the last thread of his restraint. He pressed you gently but firmly back against the cool tile, his mouth trailing from yours to your jaw, then lower, down the line of your neck to your collarbone, each kiss a spark catching fire under your skin. The soft sounds he drew from you only fed his hunger, made his hands grip tighter, made his mouth linger longer.

“I’ve wanted this all night,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick and unsteady. You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. But you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your chest, you didn’t want to be anywhere else. The steam wrapped around you both like a second skin, heat clinging to every inch of bare flesh, blurring everything but the way his hands held you, the way his lips found you again and again. 

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes searching. “Still okay?” he whispered. And though your breath came quick, your answer was steady. “Yes” you said, voice barely above a breath. “I want you.” That was all it took. His hand trailed down your side, deliberate, slow, until it curled under your thigh and hitched it up around his hip. The shift brought you even closer, chest to chest, heat pressed tight, slick and flushed and needy. You gasped softly, one arm winding around his neck, holding on as his hips rolled once testing, teasing.

The thick, wet slide of him between your thighs made your head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud. He groaned, the sound low and wrecked, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rocked against you again. “I can’t wait anymore,” he muttered, voice rough with restraint. “Please, mi amor… I need to be inside you.” You whimpered at the way he said it, all breath and ache, all please, like you were the only thing he needed in the world. And maybe you were. Right now, it felt like it. You guided him with trembling fingers, breath catching when the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He paused, just for a second, just to look at you, and when you nodded again, he pushed in slowly, carefully, stretching you open inch by inch until you were full.

Until there was no space left between you, you clung to him as a moan slipped past your lips, and he gritted his teeth, trying to stay still, to give you time. But you couldn’t stop the roll of your hips. Couldn’t stop the way your body welcomed him, tight and hot around him, already fluttering. “You feel so good,” he breathed, voice almost a whisper. “Fuck… you’re perfect.”

He started to move then, slow, grinding thrusts that made you feel every single inch of him. He didn’t rush, didn’t slam into you. He devoured. Kissed your shoulder, sucked gently at the curve of your neck. His hand cupped your ass, adjusting your angle so he could hit deeper, better. And when he found that spot, your head fell forward against his chest with a strangled gasp. “Right there?” he asked, already doing it again. You nodded against his skin, unable to speak, legs shaking from the pressure building inside you. He was so deep, so thick, the stretch so overwhelming, every grind of his hips sending sparks up your spine. “I missed you,” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of a moan. He pressed closer, whispering into your hair, “Say it.” Your breath hitched. “I needed you.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, fucking you a little harder now, water slapping faintly against your skin. “You gonna come for me, baby?” Your answer was the arch of your back, the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the whimper that spilled from your lips as the wave crested inside you. He felt it, the way you clenched around him, fluttering, gasping, coming hard and fast, eyes squeezed shut as it all rushed through you. He didn’t last much longer. Your walls still pulsing around him, your legs shaking, the sound of your moans echoing off the tiles, it was too much. He gripped your hips with both hands, pulling you tighter, hips stuttering as he spilled into you with a deep, guttural groan, forehead pressed to yours as he breathed through it.

Silence settled again, just the hiss of the water and the crash of your breathing, tangled together, still holding on. Pedri didn’t let you go. Even after he softened, even after his breathing slowed. His arms were around you, lips brushing your wet temple, whispering things you could barely catch. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed.  You looked up, and he kissed you again, slow and sweet. No urgency now. Just warmth. Intimacy. The kind that lingered longer than any match, any press conference, any moment out there on the pitch. “Still scared?” he murmured, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You just laughed softly and rolled your eyes at him, still breathless. 

[tgrs10]

We need more Pedri shower sex 🤗🤗🙏 only if you are up for it.

Hii thank youuu for the request!! You can find this req here! 🤍

[tgrs10]

Tides | FERMÍN LÓPEZ¹⁶ [001]

MASTERLIST (N/A)

⤑ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩| 3,611

⤑ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮| You and Fermín finally escape on a quiet beach vacation, from anything involving football. (REQ)

⤑ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | SMUT 18+, Spanish (translated)

The beach house was still, wrapped in that kind of quiet that feels sacred. Not awkward, just full. The kind that made you breathe softer, like sound itself might shatter it. The sun was sinking fast now, casting its last ribbons of gold over the ocean, the sky streaked in dusky pinks and melting orange. The waves rolled in gentle and slow, a steady rhythm that sounded more like a lullaby than anything else. Warm, salted air drifted through the open sliding doors, curling the sheer curtains like lazy fingers over bare skin.

You were perched at the kitchen island, legs folded beneath you, bare thighs pressed to cool wood, wearing one of Fermín’s worn t-shirts. It hung loose, stretched at the collar, damp from your shower and the sea, clinging where it shouldn’t in the softest ways. Your hair was wet, skin still tasting faintly of salt, but you didn’t care. You were relaxed in a way you hadn’t been in months. He’d promised this vacation, and now it was real, quiet, sun-kissed, just the two of you.

Fermín was at the counter, barefoot, shirtless, the softest gray shorts slung low on his hips. Every now and then he’d brush his hair back absently as he sliced into something bright and sweet, which you figured was mango, from the smell. The muscles in his back flexed with each careful movement, his skin golden and warm from the day spent in the sun. He looked like he belonged there, soft and solid in the golden light. You didn’t say anything. Just watched him like you had all the time in the world.

He brought the plate over, the mango sliced perfectly, sticky-sweet and glowing in the last bit of sun. He set it in front of you without a word and leaned down to kiss your forehead, slow, warm, like he’d been waiting to do that all day. He smelled like the ocean, your body wash, and something else that was just him. You picked up a slice, biting into the fruit as the juice dripped down your hand.

“Está bueno, ¿no?” (It’s good, isn’t it?) he murmured, eyes on your mouth as you chewed. You nodded, licking the juice from your lips. “Mhm… está muy dulce.” (Mhm… it's very sweet)

He grinned softly, then reached out to swipe a drop from your chin with his thumb. “You always make it look better than it is.” There was something in his tone, low, fond, that curled warm in your chest. The way his hand drifted down, slow and easy, brushing over your bare thigh like he had nowhere else to be. No rush. It was never about taking with him. Just touching. Noticing. “Fer, no me mires así.” (Fer, don't look at me like that) You laughed, nerves stirring in your stomach, because somehow, even after all this time, the way he looked at you still got under your skin. Soft. Focused. Like you were the only thing that existed.

“No me canso,”(I don’t get tired of it) he said, mouth curving just slightly. He leaned in, kissed just beneath your ear. “Especially like this.” His fingers traced a little higher beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging heat along your skin. You were still slightly damp from earlier, salt clinging to you, your body cool and flushed. He noticed. He always did.

You tilted your head without thinking, offering more of your neck, and he took the invitation with quiet ease, lips brushing over your skin with a kind of patience that made your heart skip. His tongue flicked gently at the spot just below your pulse, warm breath skating over it, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek, the other holding you steady like you might drift away.

“Quiero ir despacio esta noche,” (I want to go slow tonight) he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “Nada de prisa. Sólo tú y yo.” (No rush. Just you and me) And you nodded, already softening into him, into this, his voice, his touch, the way the rest of the world faded when he was close.

Then he kissed you, really kissed you. Deep and slow, like he had nothing else to do but learn the shape of your mouth, the way you tasted. His tongue moved against yours with that quiet, practiced confidence that always made your stomach flutter. He tasted like mango, sea salt, and something warm and familiar, something that was entirely him. It made your chest ache. It made your whole body feel like it was tilting toward him.

His hand slipped beneath the shirt, palm meeting bare skin. The touch was reverent, soft, slow, like he was reading you with his fingertips. He brushed along your waist, your ribs, the delicate curve beneath your breast, and paused. His breath hitched just slightly, just enough to make your smile pull at the corner of your lips.

“You’re not wearing anything under this…” he said against your mouth, voice rougher now. You met his eyes, heartbeat skipping. “I didn’t think I needed to.” He looked at you for a long second, gaze flicking over your face, then down. There was something unspoken in the way his eyes darkened. “No,” he breathed. “You don’t.”

He kissed you again, this time deeper, with more urgency, more want. Like tasting you had only sparked something bigger, something harder to hold back. His hands slid under your thighs without warning, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you. You gasped, startled, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, legs hooking around his waist. The shirt rode high up your hips, breath catching in your throat as you felt the solid press of him between your legs.

He carried you through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before, like you belonged there, in his arms, weight tucked close to him. Like there was nowhere else either of you was meant to be. His mouth never left yours, not until he reached the bedroom, a quiet space just off the living room, the one with linen sheets and the wide open window that faced the sea. He set you down carefully, like he was afraid of waking you from something, like the moment was too soft to rush.

The ocean murmured just beyond the glass, rhythmic and endless. And inside, there was only your breathing. The heat of his body over yours. The feeling of his name on your lips, quiet, reverent, like a prayer you didn’t realize you’d whispered.

The room felt like a dream suspended in the hush of night, bathed in the pale, silver glow spilling through the open window. The only sound was the slow, steady crash of the waves, like the earth itself was breathing with you. Fermín hovered above you, close but not yet touching, his curls casting shadows across his forehead, eyes dark and heavy with something that made your chest ache. That look, soft and intense, full of unspoken things, settled over you like a blanket of warmth. Your fingers found his hair, brushing it gently from his face, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Te ves tan guapo así…” (You look so handsome like this)

Color bloomed on his cheeks instantly, faint but unmistakable. Even now, even after everything, he was still shy beneath your praise, still that boy who looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers curling beneath the fabric as he tugged it upward with quiet care. He moved like he was unwrapping something fragile, like he wanted to savor every second. The shirt peeled away slowly, baring skin to the cool night air, and his eyes followed, slow, reverent, drinking you in like he could touch you just by looking.

His gaze moved over you like a whisper. Like worship. And when he finally spoke, it was almost a breath. “Dios mío… eres perfecta.”(You’re so perfect) His hands mapped you slowly, memorizing the rise and fall of your body, his touch soft but certain, steady as it slid over your ribs, across your stomach, and down to your hips. Then he leaned in, warm lips brushing over your chest, his breath curling against your skin. He took one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and circling with aching gentleness, while his hand teased the other in slow, patient movements.

You arched toward him instinctively, hands fisting in the sheets, breath catching as the sensation rippled through you, warm and pulsing, deep in your belly. He moved lower, trailing kisses down your stomach, each one softer than the last. His mouth left a path of heat in its wake, every kiss deliberate, almost reverent. And when he finally settled between your thighs, he paused, looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world. “¿Puedo?” (can I?)

His voice was velvet and heat and something tender beneath it all, like the question was sacred. Your breath stuttered, your heart a wild thing in your chest. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling around the edges. “Please.” His mouth moved with an aching kind of patience, lips wet and warm as they pressed soft kisses over your inner thighs, closer, then closer still, until he was exactly where you needed him most. And when his tongue finally dragged through your folds, slow, deliberate, you felt your entire body jolt like it had been waiting forever for that single touch.

He groaned low against your pussy, the sound muffled but rough. His tongue slid through you again, firmer this time, savoring the way your slick clung to his mouth, the way your body trembled beneath him. He was unhurried, so intentional, licking you like he had all night, like the only thing he cared about was making you fall apart. You gasped, your hips instinctively lifting into him, chasing every flick of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, steady, as he buried his face deeper, nose brushing your clit as his tongue circled your entrance. Every movement was slow, practiced, devoted, like he was letting himself drown in the mess of you.

“Fuck, Fermín,” you whimpered, the sound barely a breath. One hand tangled in his hair, the other scrabbling at the sheets, your thighs trembling around his head as he sucked softly on your clit, then flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe through your pussy.

He hummed, satisfied, the vibration making you cry out. It felt too good, too much, perfect. And when he finally slipped two fingers inside you, curling them slow and deep, your whole body arched off the bed. His tongue kept its rhythm, circling your clit with soft, measured pressure, while his fingers worked you open, coaxing wave after wave of heat through your core.

You were soaked, your pussy gripping his fingers tight, your thighs shaking, breath catching hard in your throat. The sounds between you were messy now, your moans, his soft groans, the wet, obscene rhythm of his mouth working between your legs. It was intimate. Wild. Like he was unraveling you with nothing but his mouth and the kind of love that came from knowing you so well.

His dark eyes stayed on you the whole time, half-lidded, thick with want, but sharp with focus. He didn’t look away, not even once. And that did something to you. The way he watched, drinking in every reaction, every twitch of your hips, every shaky breath, every sound that slipped from your lips, it felt like being worshipped. Like he wasn’t just giving you pleasure, he was memorizing it. The way you opened for him, the way your body pulsed under his mouth, the way your eyes fluttered shut before snapping open again, dazed and desperate, all of it mattered to him. You were his whole world in that moment, and he was devoted to pulling every ounce of pleasure from your body.

And when you came, it wasn’t sharp or sudden, it was slow, all-consuming. A rush of heat that started deep in your belly and bloomed outward until you were trembling. Your thighs clamped around his head, fingers tangled tight in his hair, trying to ground yourself through the intensity of it. You cried out his name, voice breaking on a gasp, your whole body seizing in his hands as the orgasm rolled over you in thick, unrelenting waves. But Fermín didn’t stop.

He stayed right there, mouth still working your pussy with slow, reverent licks, even as your body shuddered beneath him. He dragged you through every last ripple of it, through the aftershocks that made you twitch and whimper, too sensitive, too full of feeling. Your hands went slack in his hair, body boneless, overwhelmed. And still, he kept kissing you like he couldn’t bear to let go, like this was where he belonged. Right there, between your thighs, tasting every last bit of you.

He kissed his way back up your body slowly, with purpose, as if he needed to feel every inch of you against his lips, like the softness of your skin could ground him, anchor him in this moment. Each kiss was a gentle press of warmth, a trail that made your breath catch, your spine arch slightly with each one. He took his time. The dip of your navel. The slope of your ribs. The curve beneath your breast. He didn’t rush any of it.

When he finally reached your mouth, he settled over you fully, the weight of his body grounding you, chest to chest, skin against skin, his thigh slipping between yours. You could feel the hardness of him, hot and heavy where it pressed against your hip, and still, he kissed you softly first. Like he was asking permission again, like he needed to feel you say yes with your whole body.

The taste of yourself on his lips made your cheeks burn, your breath stuttering as that low, familiar ache stirred to life again between your legs, deeper now, more desperate. He held your face so gently, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, his fingers tucked into your hair like you were something breakable, sacred.

“Estás temblando,” (You’re shaking) he murmured, his voice thick with affection and heat. He looked down at you like you were the only thing he saw, like you were glowing from the inside out. You felt his thumb drift down to your jaw, brushing slow, like he was memorizing the shape of you all over again.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, barely holding yourself together. A small smile ghosted across his lips, pleased, a little shy, but full of something deeper. It was the kind of smile that said he’d never get tired of hearing that. Then he leaned in and kissed you again, deeper this time, mouth open and warm, tongue sliding against yours with slow hunger. He let you taste yourself on him again, and you moaned softly into it, your fingers tightening around his shoulders.

When he pulled back, his lips were pink and glistening, his eyes dark and blown wide with want. His voice came out rough, reverent. “¿Quieres más?” (Do you want more?) Your whole body answered before your mouth could. Your hips shifted, rolling into him, needing the weight of him closer, needing him inside. You could barely breathe, the yes trembling on your lips, but all you could do was nod. Numb with want, pulsing with it, eyes locked on his.

And that look he gave you then, soft, tender, like he was already halfway undone, made your heart ache and your thighs part instinctively. Because you knew. You knew he’d give you more. Not just the touch, not just the sex, but all of him. Fermín grinned, a flash of something darker in his eyes. He undressed slowly, carefully, his hands steady as they pulled down his shorts and boxers, revealing himself. His cock was already hard, flushed at the tip, the sight of him so raw and vulnerable made your stomach tighten in anticipation. He was so beautiful like this, naked and exposed, every inch of him craving your touch. The vulnerability, the need in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

He moved to the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a condom from the traveling bag with practiced ease. For a moment, he paused, just a beat, as if checking in with you. His eyes locked onto yours, his expression soft but intense, as if he were asking you a question without words. He slid the condom on slowly, his hands steady as he worked the latex down, taking his time, savoring the anticipation between you both. Once it was in place, he settled between your thighs, his tip brushing gently against you. The sensation made you gasp, but he didn’t rush. He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on yours, as if waiting for some unspoken cue. Then, without a word, he kissed you again, soft, slow, his lips tasting like promises and whispered desires.

His kiss deepened, lingering, and when he pulled away just enough to look at you, there was a flicker of something raw, something tender in his gaze. Slowly, he guided himself forward, easing in inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, to stretch around him, your body trembling with the depth of the connection. His hands were on your hips, holding you gently, guiding you as he moved inside you.

You both gasped at the first full thrust, slow and deep, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, holding you, allowing the wave of sensation to settle. It was perfect. The pressure of his body, the fullness of him inside you, made you feel like you were floating, suspended in a moment where nothing existed but the two of you.

His movements were measured, unhurried, like the tide, slow, rhythmic, and relentless in its pull. He rocked into you with a kind of reverence, each movement deliberate, as though every inch of your body deserved the utmost care. The gentle friction of him sliding in and out of you, paired with the intensity of his gaze, made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t put into words. His forehead pressed against yours, every shared breath mingling between you both, your chests rising and falling in perfect sync. His hand rested firmly on your waist, grounding you, while his other hand intertwined with yours, the touch possessive, intimate, as if he never wanted to let you go.

“Eres tan perfecta,” (You’re so perfect) he whispered into your skin, his breath hot against your neck, voice low and steady. A shiver ran through you at the words, and you couldn’t help the way your hips lifted instinctively to meet each of his thrusts. Your body was consumed with him, his presence, his scent, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. You couldn’t keep the small gasps and moans from escaping as he filled you, each movement making you feel more and more lost in him.

His kisses trailed across your skin, gentle and reverent, as though worshipping every inch of you. His lips brushed your cheeks, your eyelids, your collarbone, every spot he could reach, marking you with his touch. The passion between you both grew steadily, like a wave building beneath the surface, impossible to stop, only growing more powerful with every movement. It was slow, deliberate, and it felt like time itself had stretched to accommodate the intensity of the moment. The wave of pleasure began to rise inside you, every inch of your body responding to his gentle, but persistent rhythm. And when it finally hit, when the orgasm crashed through you, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your body trembled with the force of it, your hands clutching his as you cried out his name, overwhelmed by the depth of the release.

Tears welled in your eyes as he held you, his touch never faltering. He was with you in every second, supporting you, his movements never once losing their tenderness as you rode the waves of pleasure. He whispered your name over and over, grounding you as you gasped for breath.

He followed soon after, his body trembling as he groaned into your neck, the tension in his muscles giving way to a release of his own. He emptied into the condom with a deep, guttural sound, his body shaking from the intensity of it, and then he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His breathing was ragged, but there was a softness in the way he wrapped himself around you, like he was unwilling to let you go.

The world outside was quiet, save for the gentle sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It was like the night itself had paused, leaving the two of you to bask in the afterglow of the connection you had just shared. His heartbeat was steady against your chest, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as though he never wanted to let go.

He kissed your temple, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Te amo,” he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. You smiled softly, your eyes heavy with sleep and the lingering sensation of his touch. “I love you too,” you whispered back, the words barely escaping you as you drifted into the warmth of his embrace, feeling as though everything was right in the world.