#sergio

There were two things certain in life ...

The sun rises from the east every day and,

Y/N Y/L/N and Sergio Ramos were sworn enemies.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡

The ballroom shimmered in gold and silver, chandeliers dripping crystals onto the crowd like stardust. Laughter echoed, champagne flutes clinked, and cameras flashed as though the night was its own kind of battlefield, image over truth, appearances over reality, a charade she had to endure as part of Real Madrid's women team, Y/N couldn't be more disgusted with it.

Her shoulders stayed taut, jaw clenching rather tight, even as she stood surrounded by familiar faces she saw more than once, but nights like this felt like a performance she had never signed up for, as they paled in comparsion to the rush she got from playing on the pitch.

And of course, he was here.

Sergio Ramos.

The name alone was enough to sour the champagne bubbles on her tongue. Across the room, he was magnetic, dressed in a midnight suit cut to perfection, surrounded by club officials and former teammates. He looked every bit the legend Madrid wanted him to be, effortlessly charming, as though the years of blood and grit on the pitch had only polished his edges sharper.

His laugh carried across the ballroom, low and self-assured. And she loathed the fact that she recognized it instantly.

Misa nudged her again, this time whispering, “He hasn’t even looked your way yet.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “He’s waiting. That’s what he does. Always waits until the last possible moment to strike.”

It wasn’t paranoia. It was history. He had perfected the art of cornering her with sly remarks just when she thought she could escape a shared event unscathed.

And tonight, they had to walk onto that stage together. Side by side. Smile for the cameras, hand over the award, act as though the history between them wasn’t a battlefield littered with grudges and unspoken words.

Her palms itched at the thought.

The crowd shifted, and suddenly his gaze found hers across the room. It was quick, sharp, deliberate, like the clash of steel against steel. His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile, the one that wasn’t quite friendly but wasn’t cruel either. The kind that said, I see you, and I know exactly what you’re thinking.

Her chest tightened.

Misa muttered, “He’s coming over.”

Y/N didn’t even turn to confirm it, but she felt it, the ripple in the air as his presence cut through the crowd. People parted for him like he commanded the space without trying. Typical Sergio.

And then he was there.

“Ladies.” His voice was smooth, dipped in confidence, and when his eyes finally settled on Y/N, there was that glint she despised, challenge wrapped in warmth, as though the two were one and the same. “Y/N.”

She lifted her chin, masking the sudden rush in her chest with ice. “Ramos.”

The corner of his mouth ticked upward, almost imperceptible. “Looking forward to sharing the stage tonight?”

“About as much as I look forward to root canal surgery,” she shot back, her tone sharp but steady.

Misa choked on a laugh behind her. Rocío didn’t even bother hiding her smirk.

Sergio’s eyes flickered with something dangerous, amused. “Careful,” he said quietly, just for her. “The cameras love a good spark between rivals.”

Y/N felt her skin prickle, the weight of his words coiling tight in her stomach. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t quite a tease. It was something heavier, something she refused to name.

Her pulse drummed in her ears.

This was the problem with Sergio. He wasn’t just an enemy. He was a storm, loud, inescapable, and impossible to ignore. And for all her years of hating him, she had never once figured out how to walk away without feeling his gravity pull her back in.

“Then let’s give them a show,” she said finally, matching his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.

And for the briefest moment, his smile faltered, like she had just thrown him off balance.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his expression, surprise, maybe, or respect, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. He stepped aside with infuriating grace, gesturing toward the crowd as though he’d been the gentleman all along.

Her spine stiffened. He thought he could unsettle her. That smug confidence, that effortless charm, he wielded them like weapons, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of landing a hit.

So she smiled, cold, professional. “Don’t worry, Ramos. I’ll make sure not to outshine you too badly.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating between them, warm and taunting. “You’ve been trying for years.”

The words landed like a challenge. Not cruel, they were pointed. And in the way his eyes glinted, she could tell he wanted a reaction.

But Y/N knew better. She turned on her heel, leaving him standing there, and joined Rocío and Misa near the edge of the ballroom again.

“You’re playing with fire,” Rocío muttered, watching him retreat to the opposite end of the room.

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Good. Let him burn.”

The minutes slipped by too quickly, and before long, an usher appeared at her elbow. “Señorita Y/L/N, Señor Ramos, you’re needed backstage.”

Her stomach tightened.

The air behind the stage felt heavier, quieter, similar to the calm before a storm. The applause of the audience rolled in muffled waves from the other side of the curtain, but all she could focus on was the man standing a few feet away, adjusting his cufflinks as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Of course he looked composed, untouchable even.

“Try not to trip on your way out,” he said casually, eyes still on his sleeve.

She inhaled sharply through her nose. “Funny. I was about to tell you the same thing. Wouldn’t want the mighty Sergio Ramos to stumble in front of his adoring crowd.”

His gaze finally cut to hers, sharp as the edge of a blade. “You think too much about me, Y/N.”

Her throat went dry, but she refused to flinch. “I don’t think about you at all.”

His smirk was infuriating. “Then why do you look like you’re about to sprint onto the pitch instead of a stage?”

Her heartbeat betrayed her. Fast. Too fast. She folded her arms, masking it with bravado. “Because unlike you, Ramos, I actually care about doing this right.”

The stage manager poked their head in, signaling for them to get ready.

And just like that, it was time.

They fell into step side by side, the narrow hallway funneling them toward the blinding lights beyond the curtain. His shoulder brushed hers once, an accident, maybe, maybe not, but it was enough to send a jolt down her arm.

When the announcer’s voice rang out, “Please welcome Sergio Ramos and Y/N Y/L/N to present the Legend Award” the curtain lifted.

They stepped onto the stage together.

Side by side. Rivals. Co-conspirators. A storm waiting to break.

The applause swelled as the two of them emerged, bathed in the spotlight’s glow.

Sergio’s stride was confident, steady, like he had walked this stage a hundred times before. Y/N matched his pace, refusing to let her nerves show, though her stomach twisted at the sight of the sea of flashing cameras.

They stopped at the podium, their names echoing in the announcer’s introduction. For the crowd, it was a perfect picture, Real Madrid’s legend and one of its brightest defenders, united for a night of celebration.

But beneath that glittering illusion, the storm between them roared.

Sergio leaned just slightly closer, his lips still shaped in that award-winning smile. “Try not to look too miserable. People will think I forced you up here.”

Her own smile didn’t falter. “Trust me, Ramos, no one would ever believe you could force me into anything.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief, even as he kept his gaze on the audience. “You’d be surprised what people believe.”

Her fingers tightened subtly around the cue cards, nails pressing into the glossy paper. She kept her head high, voice smooth as she addressed the crowd. “Tonight, we honor a name that has defined an era for this club ... ”

Her words were steady, practiced, but in the corner of her vision she saw him watching her, studying her, as though every syllable out of her mouth was some kind of duel.

When it was his turn, Sergio took the mic, his deep voice resonating with the ease of someone who had been on this stage too many times to count. The crowd adored him. They always had.

And yet, as he spoke, he angled the paper ever so slightly toward her, as if daring her to lean in, to share the same space.

She did. Because to back down would be worse than the burn of proximity. His cologne was maddeningly sharp, his voice steady, and though she hated it, hated him, her chest betrayed her with the uneven rhythm of her heartbeat.

The applause returned as the recipient was called to the stage. Cameras flashed. The spotlight seemed hotter, brighter.

Their hands brushed as they both reached for the award. A spark, sharp, undeniable, shot up her arm.

She flinched almost imperceptibly, but his smile deepened, and his eyes caught hers for the briefest second.

“You felt that too,” he whispered, so low that only she could hear.

She tilted her head, still smiling for the cameras, still perfectly composed. “In your dreams, Ramos.”

And just like that, they handed the award off, the crowd oblivious, the applause thundering around them.

But beneath the lights, beneath the smiles, something had shifted.

And Y/N knew, this war between them was far from over.

The roar of the audience faded the second they slipped behind the curtain. Out there, the world saw perfection, polished smiles, seamless speeches, two professionals honoring a legend.

Back here, it was quieter. Tighter. The kind of silence that pressed against skin like a bruise waiting to form.

Y/N handed the empty cue cards to the stage manager with a polite nod before pivoting away, desperate for air. But of course, he was already there. Sergio Ramos had a talent for being exactly where she didn’t want him.

“You did well,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm.

She spun to face him, arms folding defensively. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

His mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “I’m not. You’ve always thrived under pressure. Even when you hated every second of it.”

The words landed heavier than she expected. They weren’t an insult, they were… observant. Personal.

Her jaw tightened. “You think you know me, Ramos?”

“I don’t think,” he said simply, taking a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know.”

She hated how steady his voice was. Hated how the heat from the stage lights still clung to her skin, making her pulse race. Most of all, she hated that he looked at her the way no one else did, not as a teammate, not as a rival, but as someone worth studying.

“Then you know I can’t stand you,” she snapped, though her voice came out softer than she meant it to.

He tilted his head, and that damned smirk crept back onto his lips. “Funny. You don’t look at me like you hate me.”

Her chest constricted.

“Careful,” she warned, low and sharp. “You’re starting to sound delusional.”

“Am I?” His tone was maddeningly casual, but his eyes were locked on hers, burning with a quiet intensity that made it hard to breathe.

The space between them felt charged, like the seconds before a whistle blows, like the split moment before boot meets ball. Something was about to happen. Something she couldn’t name.

Then Rocío’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“There you two are!” She swept into the backstage area, Misa in tow, both of them oblivious to the storm they’d just interrupted. “You missed the champagne toast.”

Y/N blinked, the spell breaking. She stepped back quickly, her composure snapping back into place like armor.

“Good,” she muttered, brushing past them. “I need something stronger than champagne after this.”

But even as she walked away, heart hammering in her chest, she felt his eyes on her, steady, relentless, daring her to turn around.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

The ballroom had shifted since the ceremony.

What once was a polished awards presentation had unraveled into something looser, music pulsing through the speakers, glasses clinking, the low hum of laughter and chatter filling every corner. Players past and present mingled with executives, journalists, and guests, while waiters floated between them with silver trays stacked high with champagne.

Y/N lingered near the edge of the room again, nursing a glass of something stronger than champagne just as she’d promised. Rocío and Misa were at her side, deep in conversation with a group of younger players, but Y/N’s eyes had a habit of wandering, traitorous, restless.

And every time, they found him.

Sergio Ramos stood across the room, surrounded by a crowd of old teammates, his laughter carrying easily even above the music. He looked completely at ease, the life of the party without even trying. Cameras flashed every now and then as fans and guests tried to snag a photo with him.

But she noticed something else.

Every so often, his gaze drifted back to her.

Not long, not obvious, but enough to make her skin prickle every time their eyes met before he looked away again.

“Stop staring,” Misa whispered under her breath, leaning close enough that only Y/N could hear.

“I’m not staring,” Y/N shot back, eyes snapping to her glass.

Misa smirked knowingly. “Sure you’re not.”

Before Y/N could defend herself further, Rocío appeared with a wicked grin, dragging her toward the dance floor. “Come on. You’ve sulked enough for one night. Live a little.”

She protested, but Rocío didn’t listen, and soon Y/N was swallowed by the music and crowd, forced to loosen her grip on the glass in her hand.

She was halfway through rolling her eyes when she felt it—the shift in the air.

He was there.

Sergio moved through the crowd like it parted just for him, his gaze locked on her. Not her friends. Not anyone else. Just her.

“Looks like you survived the stage,” he said, close enough now that she could hear him over the beat of the music. His tone was light, but his eyes held that same sharpness they always did—like every word between them was more than just small talk.

“I told you I would,” she replied coolly, even as her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs.

“True.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “But you didn’t tell me you’d look that good doing it.”

Her breath caught, but she masked it quickly with a scoff. “You’ve been drinking.”

He smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Not enough to imagine that.”

She wanted to step back, to put space between them, but Rocío’s sudden smirk from over her shoulder kept her rooted in place. Her teammates were watching, enjoying this far too much.

So she stayed. She lifted her chin, letting her words cut sharper than her heartbeat felt. “You’ll need a stronger line than that, Ramos.”

His grin widened, like she’d just handed him a challenge. “Good. I like a defender who doesn’t make things easy.”

And just like that, the music swelled, the lights spun across the room, and the storm between them only grew louder.

Sergio's eyes never left Y/N's as the music pulsed around them, the heat of his gaze burning into her skin. She could feel the weight of it, the way he seemed to see right through her, past the cool exterior she tried to project. It was unnerving, and yet, she couldn't look away.

"I've noticed you staring at me all night," he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. "You must have something to say."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his words, and she took a sip of her drink to buy herself some time. "I'm not sure what you mean," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. But her heart was racing, and she could feel the heat radiating off his body, even though they weren't touching.

Sergio took a step closer, invading her personal space. "Come on, Y/N. We both know there's something between us. You can't hide it forever."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as he spoke her name, and she could feel the electricity crackling in the air between them. She knew she should push him away, tell him to back off. But she couldn't seem to move, paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, but even to her own ears, she sounded unconvincing.

Sergio reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingertips grazing her cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it sent shivers down Y/N's spine. "Don't play coy with me," he murmured. "I know you want me as much as I want you."

Y/N's heart was pounding now, and she could feel the heat pooling in her core. She knew she shouldn't give in, that she should keep up the charade of indifference. But the temptation was too strong, the pull between them too powerful to resist.

Without thinking, she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I...I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thumping beat of the music.

Sergio smiled, slow and seductive. "Say yes," he breathed, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Say you want me as much as I want you."

Y/N's heart was racing now, and she could feel the heat building between her thighs. She knew she should say no, that this was a terrible idea. But the temptation was too strong, the pull between them too powerful to resist.

"Fuck it," she breathed, before closing the distance between them and pressing her lips to his in a searing kiss.

Sergio deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into Y/N's mouth to taste her fully. She moaned softly against him, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he pulled her flush against his body. He could feel her nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her dress, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach down and palm them right there on the dance floor.

"Come with me," he growled against her lips, his voice rough with desire. "We can't do this here."

Y/N nodded, panting softly as she pulled back from the kiss. "Okay. Let's go."

Sergio took her hand and led her out of the ballroom, ignoring the curious looks and whispers that followed them. He didn't care what anyone else thought. All that mattered was getting Y/N alone, getting his hands on her soft skin and curves.

They made it back to his house in record time, their hands roaming and groping in the back of the taxi. The moment they were inside, Sergio backed Y/N up against the door, his lips finding hers in a bruising kiss.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he panted against her mouth. "Wanted you."

Y/N gasped as he nipped at her bottom lip, arching her back to press her breasts against his chest. "Then take me," she breathed, her hands sliding down to palm the thick bulge in his pants. "Take me now."

With a low growl, Sergio hoisted Y/N up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom. He laid her out on the bed, drinking in the sight of her splayed out beneath him like a feast.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed, trailing his fingers down her sides, over the swell of her breasts. "I'm going to worship every inch of you."

Y/N shivered at his touch, her skin tingling with anticipation. She watched as he slowly peeled off his clothes, revealing his toned, muscular body inch by inch. Her mouth watered at the sight of him, all hard planes and sinewy strength.

When he finally crawled onto the bed, covering her body with his own, she couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her lips. He felt so good, so warm and solid and real.

"Please," she whimpered, arching up into him. "I need you."

Sergio grinned down at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Patience, love," he purred, trailing his lips down her neck, over her collarbone. "I'm going to take my time with you."

He continued his slow descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach. When he reached the hem of her dress, he hooked his fingers under the fabric and slowly, torturously, tugged it up and off.

Y/N lay naked beneath him now, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Sergio took a moment to drink in the sight of her, from her full, round breasts to the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

"Perfection," he breathed, before ducking his head and trailing his tongue along her slit.

Y/N cried out at the contact, her hips bucking up into his face. Sergio grinned against her flesh, before diving in with renewed fervor. He licked and sucked and teased, his fingers joining in to stroke her inner walls.

It didn't take long before Y/N was writhing beneath him, her thighs clamping around his head as she rode his face. He could feel her getting closer and closer to the edge, her cries growing louder and more desperate.

"Sergio!" she wailed, as he curled his fingers just right. "Oh fuck, Sergio!"

With a final flick of his tongue against her clit, Y/N came undone, her body shaking and spasming beneath him as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

Sergio gave her a moment to catch her breath before crawling back up her body, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it only served to reignite the fire burning in her veins.

"I need you inside me," she panted against his mouth. "Please, Sergio."

He didn't need to be told twice. With one smooth thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in Y/N's warm walls, groaning at the exquisite feel of her surrounding him.

They moved together like they'd been doing this forever, their bodies finding a rhythm as old as time. Y/N wrapped her legs around Sergio's waist, urging him deeper, harder.

"Fuck," he grunted, his hips snapping forward with increasing force. "You feel so good, Y/N. So fucking perfect."

She could only moan in response, lost in the sensation of him moving inside her, stretching and filling her so completely. She could feel another orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

"Come for me," Sergio growled, angling his hips just right to hit that spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids. "Let me feel you come around my cock."

Y/N did as he commanded, screaming his name as she came apart beneath him, her inner walls clamping down around him like a vice.

With a final thrust, Sergio followed her over the edge, spilling himself deep inside her with a guttural groan.

They collapsed together onto the bed, chests heaving and sweat-soaked skin pressed close. Y/N nestled into the crook of Sergio's arm, feeling sated and content in a way she hadn't in a long time.

"Wow," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest. "That was..."

"Amazing," Sergio finished for her, running his fingers through her hair. "You're amazing."

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart feeling full in a way she didn't want to examine too closely. For now, she just wanted to bask in the afterglow, in the feel of Sergio's strong arms around her.