#alejandro garnacho

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It’s a cold evening in Manchester and the rain is pounding against the windows. You’re in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket as you wait for Alejandro to return from the game. You know it didn’t go well; you saw it on TV, and the result was a bitter defeat.

Finally you hear the door open. Alejandro walks in, his face tense and his eyes dark with frustration. He doesn’t say a word as he takes off his jacket and lets his bag fall to the floor with a tired gesture.

“Hey,” you say softly, moving closer to him. But he doesn’t look at you, staring at the floor as if he’s trying to will his bad mood away.

Alejandro's gaze snaps up to meet yours, his eyes flashing with anger and frustration. "What?" he snaps, his voice sharp and biting. "What do you want, huh? Come to rub salt in the wound?"

He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you. "You saw the game, didn't you? You saw how badly we lost. How I fucked up." His hands clench into fists at his sides. "So go ahead, say it. Tell me what a disappointment I am."

His chest heaves with each breath, his face flushed with rage and embarrassment. "Or maybe you'd rather just leave. Find someone else who can actually win a fucking match."

You look at him softly and take his hand. “Love” you whispered softly.

Alejandro's anger falters for a moment at the gentle touch and soft word. He looks down at your hand in his, his grip tightening possessively. "Don't," he growls, but there's less heat behind it now. "Don't try to comfort me. I don't deserve it."

He pulls you closer, his other hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are still dark, but now there's a hint of vulnerability in their depths. "You should hate me," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "I let you down. I let the team down. I'm useless."

His grip on your chin tightens, his face inches from yours. "Tell me you hate me," he demands, his voice low and rough. "Shout at me, slap me, something. Anything but this...this pity."

"I don't hate you and you haven't let me down" you said softly, caressing his cheek. "And you haven't let your team down either, everyone can have a bad time" you said softly.

Alejandro's eyes widen at your words, a flicker of surprise and something softer passing through them. His grip on your chin loosens, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek instead. "You're too good to me," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Too kind."

He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. "I don't deserve you," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "But fuck, I need you. I need you so badly right now."

His other hand slides down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles. "Let me forget," he pleads, his lips brushing against yours. "Let me lose myself in you. Please."

You smiled and kissed him. Alejandro responds to your kiss with a desperate intensity, his lips moving against yours hungrily. He kisses you like a man starved, pouring all his frustration, his anger, his need into the kiss. His hands roam your body, gripping and squeezing as if trying to anchor himself to you.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "You taste so fucking good," he groans against your throat. "So perfect."

His hands slip under your shirt, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on your skin. He pushes you back towards the couch, his intentions clear. "I'm going to fuck you," he murmurs darkly. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name. You'll only remember mine."

He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His eyes burn with lust as he takes in the sight of you.

“Yes love, use me to take out your frustration” you said touching his chest.

Alejandro's eyes darken at your words, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, I'll use you alright," he promises, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll use every inch of you."

He pushes you down onto the couch, covering your body with his own. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, caressing your skin. "You're mine," he growls possessively. "Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to use."

He tears off his own shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and abs. You can see the tension in his muscles, the way he's barely holding himself back. "Tell me you're mine," he demands, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Say it."

"Yours baby, only yours," you say.

Alejandro's eyes flash with primal satisfaction at your declaration. "Fuck yes, you are," he growls, his hand slipping between your legs. "And I'm going to remind you of that. Every. Single. Inch."

He tears off your pants and underwear in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him. His fingers find your center, stroking and teasing. "So wet already," he murmurs approvingly. "You love this, don't you? Love being used, being fucked hard."

He unbuckles his belt with his free hand, shoving his pants down just enough to free his hard, throbbing erection. "Beg for it," he commands, his fingers circling your entrance but not yet entering. "Beg me to fuck you."

You moaned. “Please baby, fuck me,” you murmured, touching his chest.

Alejandro's eyes gleam with triumph at your plea. "Good girl," he praises darkly, rewarding you by pushing two fingers inside you. "So tight. So perfect."

He pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your clit. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling me for days," he promises, his voice thick with lust. "I'll fill you up, mark you, claim you as mine."

He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to suck your juices off. "Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You moaned and brought your hands to his back scratching it. "Alejandro" you moaned.

Alejandro groans at the feeling of your nails digging into his back, the slight pain only fueling his desire. "Fuck, say my name again," he demands, pulling out only to slam back into you. "I want to hear you scream it."

He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts. "You feel so fucking good," he pants, his face buried in your neck. "So tight, so wet. Like you were made for me."

“Alejandro,” you moaned again, stroking his hair and kissing him.

Alejandro kisses you back fiercely, his tongue dominating yours. He swallows your moans, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his peak. "Come for me," he orders, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit. "Come on my cock like a good little slut."

He bites down on your neck, marking you, claiming you. "I'm going to fill you up," he growls against your skin. "I'm going to pump you full of my cum and make sure everyone knows you're mine."

His words, his touch, his brutal pace push you over the edge. You scream his name as you come, your inner walls clamping down around him. Alejandro follows soon after, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, marking you from the inside out.

You pull him into a hug while Alejandro is still buried inside you.

Alejandro melts into your embrace, his body relaxing as the adrenaline and frustration of the day drain away. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. "I needed that. I needed you."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole earlier," he admits, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I just...I hate losing. I hate feeling like I've let everyone down."

You kiss his jaw as you stroke his hair. “Win or lose, you’re still my champion,” you whisper softly.

Alejandro's eyes soften at your words, a rare vulnerability flashing across his face. He captures your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his gratitude and affection into it. "And you're my rock," he murmurs against your mouth. "My safe haven. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He pulls you closer, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. "I love you," he whispers, the words a precious gift. "So fucking much. You make everything better."

He sighs contentedly, his body relaxing further as he stays buried inside you. "Let's stay like this," he suggests, his voice muffled against your skin. "Just you and me, no football, no pressure. Just us."

You nodded and stroked his back as you felt how his cock was buried inside you.

Alejandro hums happily at your touch, his eyes drifting shut as he savors the feeling of being inside you, of being held by you. "Perfect," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "You're always so perfect."

He shifts slightly, his hips rolling gently against yours. Even though he's spent, his body responds to your closeness, to the warmth of your embrace. "I could stay like this forever," he says dreamily, his voice heavy with contentment.

Pairing: Alejandro Garnacho x Reader

Word Count:959

Request open!

Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II

The stadium is already breathing when you arrive.

It’s not kickoff yet, but Old Trafford hums low and constant, like a chest full of air waiting to be released. Floodlights bleach the sky. Staff move with purpose. Somewhere above you, seats creak as fans settle in, scarves looped around wrists, voices rising and falling in waves.

You clutch the lanyard they gave you at the gate like it might disappear if you let go.

“Stay pitch-side only,” the security guard had said. “Five minutes. Then you move.”

Five minutes feels like a lifetime when your heart is already racing.

You step onto the edge of the pitch, trainers sinking slightly into the grass, and for a moment you forget to breathe. The field looks unreal this close,too green, too perfect. The kind of place where everything important happens.

You don’t expect him to find you.

That’s the thing.

You’re standing near the tunnel, half-hidden behind a camera rig, telling yourself you’re just here to watch, when you hear your name.

Soft. Familiar. Almost swallowed by the noise.

“Hey.”

You turn.

Alejandro stands a few steps away, kit already on, red shirt clinging to his shoulders, hair still damp from warm-up. His hands are wrapped in white tape, fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then he exhales, sharp and shaky.

“There you are,” he says, like he’s been searching.

Your smile comes easily. “Hi.”

He walks closer, and immediately you notice it,the tension. The way his jaw is tight, the way his shoulders sit too high, the way his breath never quite reaches his lungs.

“You okay?” you ask.

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. Sure. Totally.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He huffs. “Okay, no.”

You step closer, lowering your voice instinctively. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, but it’s careless, unconvincing. “Big match. Big crowd. Everyone’s watching. You know.”

“I know,” you say gently. “But talk to me.”

He hesitates, eyes flicking toward the tunnel, where teammates are starting to gather, boots thudding against concrete, voices echoing. Then back to you.

“I feel it in my hands,” he admits quietly. “Like they won’t stop shaking.”

You glance down. He hasn’t noticed how obvious it is,but you have. The way his fingers tremble just slightly, the way he keeps clenching and unclenching them.

“You want me to hold them?” you ask.

His eyes snap back to yours. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. He steps into your space, close enough that the noise fades into background static. You take his hands in yours, warm and rough and familiar, thumbs pressing lightly into his palms.

“Breathe with me,” you say. “Okay?”

He swallows. “Okay.”

“In through your nose,” you murmur. “Slow.”

He follows, chest rising under your gaze.

“And out through your mouth.”

His breath ghosts over your knuckles.

Again.

His grip loosens a little.

Again.

“You’re here,” you say softly. “Not out there yet. Just here.”

He nods, eyes dropping to where your hands are joined. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make everything quiet.”

You smile faintly. “It’s kind of my thing.”

He lets out a small laugh, then looks up at you again, serious now. “I hate that I get like this.”

“You’re human,” you reply. “You care. That’s not something to hate.”

He tilts his head. “What if I mess up?”

You squeeze his hands. “Then you mess up. And the world keeps spinning.”

He searches your face. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

A shout echoes from the tunnel. Someone calling his name.

Alejandro flinches.

You step closer without thinking, forehead nearly touching his chest. “Hey. Look at me.”

He does.

Dark eyes. Focused. Vulnerable.

“You’ve done this a hundred times,” you say. “You know the pitch. You know the ball. You know yourself.”

He nods slowly.

“And,” you add, softer, “you’re not alone.”

His jaw tightens again, but this time it’s different. Emotion, not fear.

“I always play better when you’re here,” he says.

You smile. “That’s because I yell the loudest.”

He snorts. “I hear you, you know. Even with all of them.”

“Good,” you tease. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Another call. Louder this time.

Alejandro glances back, then returns his attention to you like he’s trying to memorize your face.

“Come here,” he says.

You barely have time to react before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. It’s brief, almost chaste, but it sends a warmth through you that settles deep in your chest.

He rests his forehead against yours for a second longer than necessary.

“This is my lucky ritual,” he whispers.

You laugh quietly. “That and your left boot first?”

He grins. “Don’t expose me.”

“You’re adorable.”

He pulls back, reluctantly, but his hands linger, thumbs brushing over your knuckles one last time.

“Wait,” you say.

He pauses. “Yeah?”

You reach up, adjusting the collar of his shirt, smoothing it down like a nervous habit of your own. “Go be brilliant.”

His smile softens. “For you?”

“For you,” you correct.

He nods, breath steady now. “Okay.”

He turns toward the tunnel, then stops again, glancing back over his shoulder.

“You’ll be watching?”

“Always.”

That seems to do it.

He disappears into the tunnel, swallowed by red shirts and noise and anticipation. The stadium roars as the teams line up, sound crashing over you in a wave that steals your breath.

You step back as instructed, heart still racing, hands tingling where his had been.

When the whistle blows and the match begins, you spot him immediately,moving faster now, lighter, fearless. And when he glances toward the stands for just a split second, you swear he’s looking right at you.

Grounded.

Ready.