#Alejandro balde

[snowseasonmademe]

I need some compassion

word count: 2,812

pairing: alejandro balde x black female reader

summary: things between you and alejandro aren’t how they used to be and you don’t know what could’ve changed.

warning ‼️: angst. mentions of sex but no full out smut.

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@amirawrah

note: here’s my first alejandro fic! and it’s angst, sorry guys lol. i’ll write a fun, nice one for him soon but i wanted to experiment a bit. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alejandro had always been the romantic type.

But not in the shallow, performative way that most people toss the word around. He didn’t just show up with flowers because it was expected. He didn’t take you out to dinner because it was what boyfriends were “supposed” to do. No, Alejandro moved through romance like it was instinct. Like it was something etched into the marrow of his bones. His love wasn’t a series of gestures—it was an atmosphere. A way of being. A gravitational pull that swept you into orbit before you even realized you’d left the ground.

He loved with his whole self. Not just his hands and his mouth, but his silences. His timing. His patience. He listened like each word you said was a delicate string he didn’t want to snap. He remembered things. Small things. Things most people would let slide into the background. He’d recall how you once mentioned loving the smell of rain on hot pavement—and a month later, he drove you through backroads in a summer storm with the windows down just so you could breathe it in.

His kind of love wasn’t just romantic—it was transformative.

It changed the air around you. The way your body moved through space. The way you held yourself, like maybe you really were the sun in someone’s sky, the steady pulse at the center of a world built just for you. When Alejandro looked at you—really looked—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t passing. It was stillness. Arresting. Like you were something sacred. Like you were a living prayer, and he had just remembered how to kneel.

You could still remember the exact way he used to hold your face when he kissed you.

His palms weren’t soft—he was an athlete, after all—but when they cupped your cheeks, they felt reverent. Like he was holding something fragile, something holy. His thumbs would brush just under your eyes, slow and careful, like he thought you might vanish if he touched too hard. He would trace your cheekbone with such aching gentleness it felt like he was reading braille, like your skin was telling him secrets only he could hear.

He had this habit of tucking your hair behind your ear, not just to tidy it or to see you better, but because it gave him a reason to be close. To touch. To linger. There was something grounding in it for him—like the silk of your hair between his fingers reminded him of what was real, what mattered. He noticed things others missed: the way your back responded best to slow, clockwise circles when you couldn’t sleep, or how you always left the last sip of your coffee untouched unless it had oat milk in it.

In the beginning, being with him felt like stepping into sunlight after years of shadow.

It wasn’t a grand revelation, not a fireworks-and-fanfare moment—but something quieter. Truer. Like breath, or gravity. Like the two of you had always been orbiting, and finally, finally, you’d collided in the softest kind of miracle.

But now?

Now you weren’t even sure he saw you.

Not really.

His eyes still landed on you—but they didn’t linger. They didn’t see. Not in that soul-cradling, heart-stopping way that used to make you feel like the most alive thing in any room. The motions were all still there—the gestures, the habits—but they were stripped of meaning, like a song played on mute.

The dinners still happened.

You still sat across from each other in dimly lit restaurants that smelled of roasted garlic and candle wax. The tables were dressed in crisp linen. The wine glasses were tall and thin, filled with something French and expensive. The waiters wore pressed shirts and shoes that clicked softly against hardwood floors. From the outside, it looked perfect. A couple in love, living well.

But from your side of the table, it felt like theater.

You said your lines. He said his.

The conversation was a script neither of you had the heart to rewrite, so you kept performing it. The roles you once inhabited so fully—lover, partner, confidant—felt like costumes now. Heavy and ill-fitting.

“How was training?” you’d ask, twirling your fork like it mattered.

“Fine. We ran tactics for Saturday.”

“Oh. That sounds intense.”

“No really. Just repetitive.”

That was it. That was the scene.

The scrape of your fork against the ceramic plate sounded louder than his voice. You’d nod, swallow some overpriced Cabernet, and offer him a practiced smile. The kind of smile you might give to a neighbor in an elevator. Not the man who had kissed you breathless just three days ago after a fight. Not the man whose body had curled instinctively toward yours that morning in bed, even in sleep.

You missed him. God, you missed him.

But maybe worse—you missed yourself in his love.

You missed the version of you that bloomed under the warmth of his gaze. The woman who felt easy in her skin, held, seen, known. The version of you who didn’t have to earn affection or translate silences or decode sighs.

You missed the way his touch used to speak.

He used to rest his hand on your thigh during car rides, fingers splayed like they belonged there, like they were always meant to be there. He used to kiss the curve of your shoulder while you stirred dinner, his lips brushing your skin like punctuation marks in a language only he could write.

Now, when he touched you, it felt...dutiful. Or worse—automatic.

The easy, unconscious intimacy had calcified into muscle memory. Something rehearsed. Something fading.

And the fighting? That had changed too.

You fought more now. Not loud, slam-the-door fights. But slow, painful ones. Heavy and sharp. The kind that didn’t clear the air but poisoned it. Words came out barbed and jagged, slicing deep before either of you realized what you were even trying to say. You didn’t argue to resolve—you argued to survive. And somewhere in the chaos, you forgot how to speak each other’s language.

Still—after the fights, when the dust of your anger hadn’t even settled yet, he would reach for you.

And you would let him.

You always let him.

His mouth would crash against yours like a man starving, like the fight hadn’t cracked something open but cracked something loose. And your body—traitorous, aching, hungry—would answer. Would open. Would respond like it still remembered everything even your mind tried to forget.

He would hold you like a man lost in a storm. Not tenderly, not gently—but like a drowning man clutching a rope. His hands would grip, his breath would catch, and his forehead would fall against yours with a desperate kind of pressure that said: Please.

He never said the words.

He never said I’m sorry.

But in those moments—in the trembling press of his hands, in the way he breathed your name like a prayer—it almost felt like he meant it.

Like maybe, just maybe, this was his version of an apology.

A wordless, frantic, clumsy kind of love that still didn’t know how to stop choosing you.

Even if everything else had already started to let go.

And you hated that.

Hated the twisted ritual of it all.

How the closest you ever felt to him now came not in the lightness of laughter or the comfort of everyday touches, but in the ashes of your worst arguments. After the yelling. After the silence. After you’d both stood there, wounded and raw, having thrown knives shaped like words. That was when he touched you like he still remembered. Like his skin ached without yours. Like he could undo the wreckage with the heat of his mouth and the desperation of his hands.

You hated that pain had become the precursor to passion. That intimacy now arrived hand-in-hand with suffering. That your body still opened for him—hungry, responsive, needy—while your heart cowered in the corner, whispering pull away, please, pull away.

You were split in two: the version of you that still loved him so deeply it hurt, and the version that was tired of bleeding for that love.

And the worst part? You knew he noticed.

You saw it in the quiet moments. The ones he didn’t think you were watching.

Like the way his gaze would drift to you and then quickly away, like he was afraid of what he might see reflected in your eyes. Not wonder. Not the awe he once wore like second skin around you. But guilt. Maybe shame. Confusion.

You caught him lingering in the hallway sometimes, paused mid-step like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or retreat. You saw the way he held his phone, scrolling slowly through old photos of you together when he thought you were asleep—his thumb brushing over the screen like a prayer, eyes glassy in the dim blue light.

There was one night—3:12 a.m.—you’d padded into the living room for water and found him sitting there, hunched over, elbows on knees, phone lit up with that same photo album. Your playlist—the one you used to make love to, the one that played during lazy Sunday breakfasts and long, tangled mornings—was playing faintly through the speakers. It was like he was trying to summon a ghost. Trying to remember what it felt like to be close without the aftermath of a storm.

He was searching. Always searching. For a cure. A quick fix. A lifeline.

But that was the problem. Alejandro kept looking outside himself.

He acted like love was a riddle to solve. A game with hidden clues. Like if he just found the right podcast episode, if he bookmarked the right advice meme on Instagram, if he could just piece together enough romantic gestures—a surprise dinner here, a hotel room with rose petals there—it would all click. The connection would return. The love would flow again. The warmth would come back like water from a turned tap.

But love doesn’t work like that.

Love doesn’t live in checklists.

It’s not a problem to be fixed. It’s a presence. A choice. A quiet, continuous offering.

And the truth was: no getaway could replace what had gone missing. No luxury could fill the vacancy of being emotionally abandoned. No Pinterest-perfect date could make up for the fact that you hadn’t felt seen by him in weeks.

You didn’t want more effort if it wasn’t honest. You didn’t want bigger gestures if they were just smokescreens for absence.

You needed presence. Consistency. The unsexy, unglamorous kind.

You needed to feel him in the room. In the moment. In the ordinary.

You didn’t need more flowers. You needed to not feel like a stranger sitting across from someone who used to trace galaxies into your spine.

You didn’t want to feel like a task on his to-do list.

You wanted to feel like his.

And if he couldn’t offer that—if he couldn’t meet you where you were, couldn’t choose you on the hard days, in the silence, in the slow spaces—then you’d have to walk away.

Not because you stopped loving him.

But because you finally loved yourself enough not to stay where you were slowly fading.

You both knew the end wasn’t what either of you wanted. Not truly. Not yet.

Too many pieces of your shared life still whispered of love.

His hoodie, crumpled in the laundry basket, still carried the scent of him—warm sandalwood and sweet caramel.

Your silk scarf still hung from the back of a dining chair, left there the last time he undressed you with frantic hands and aching want.

The photo booth strip still clung to the fridge by a single magnet—his smile wide, face pressed to your cheek, your mouth mid-laugh, joy radiating off the print. Neither of you had moved it. Neither of you could.

But nostalgia wasn’t enough.

Love couldn’t breathe in memories alone.

So now, you sat on opposite ends of the couch—two familiar strangers in a home you once built together.

The space between you was thick. Dense with everything unsaid. With every swallowed apology, every unmet need, every moment you’d both pulled back when you should’ve leaned in.

Your arms were folded. Legs curled up beneath you like a shield. Your gaze fixed on nothing, because eye contact felt like too much.

Alejandro leaned forward.

His elbows balanced on his knees, fingers raking restlessly through his curls—longer now than they used to be, messier.

His knee bounced, jittery with nerves.

“I don’t want to break up” you said, voice hushed but heavy, like the words might shatter if you spoke them too loud.

His head snapped up instantly. “No. Yo tampoco.” (No. Me neither)

His accent—thicker now, untouched by translation—carried the weight of truth. He never softened it when he was being vulnerable. When he was speaking from the deepest part of himself.

You watched him closely. The way his jaw flexed. The flicker of fear behind his eyes. He looked like someone teetering at the edge, unsure if the next step was going to bring him back to you or send him spiraling further away.

“I just…” you hesitated, swallowed, pushed past the knot in your throat. “I feel like we’re fading. We’re both watching it happen in real time and just… hoping the other person will do something.”

His exhale was sharp. Painful. He pressed his palms into his face, fingers curled like claws.

“I know.”

When he looked at you again, his eyes were rimmed red. Raw. Wide open.

“I’m—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. Tried again. “I’m trying. I swear. But it’s…” he shook his head, voice barely above a whisper, “Joder. It’s like I forgot how to move. How to feel.” (Fuck)

He touched his temple. Then his chest.

“In here. And in here.”

You said nothing. You just let him speak. Spill. Unravel.

“I feel frozen” he confessed. “The man who loved you—he’s still in me. But he’s… buried. Quiet. Waiting for me to let him speak again.”

Your arms tightened around your knees.

“I want to love you right” he went on. “I want to kiss you like I mean it. Not like a routine. I want to hold you because I need to, no because I feel like I should. But I get scared. And then I freeze. And then you pull back. And I panic. Then we fight.”

His voice broke again. “Lo odio, joder.” (I fucking hate it)

“I hate it too” you whispered, eyes stinging. “And I hate that the only time we’re close now is when we’re making up. Not even apologizing.”

He flinched like you’d hit him.

“No” he said quickly. “No, that’s not it. That’s not true. I always want you. I still see you.”

“But you don’t show it”

“I know” He blinked hard. “And I hate that even more”

He looked wrecked. Like someone standing in the rubble of something sacred, unsure where to begin the rebuild.

“I’ve been lost” he said. “Been living in my own silence. But you were always the thing that bring me back to life.”

You bit down on your trembling lip.

“I don’t need perfection” you said. “I just need presence. I need to trust that I’m still loved… not as a duty, not as a memory. But now. As I am.”

“I do love you. Muchisimo” he said, with a force that made your breath catch. “Even when I don’t say it right. Te lo juro. Every time you walk into a room. Every time I hear you laugh, even when it’s not for me. When you’re angry. I look at you and I still think, Dios… how did I get this lucky?” (A lot) (I swear to you)

A tear slid down your cheek, uninvited. You wiped it with the back of your hand, smiling through the ache.

“I want to turn the page” you said. “Not pretend the rest of the book doesn’t exist. I want to grow from it. With you.”

He nodded, slowly. Like he understood for the first time.

“I want that too. Contigo. Real this time. Honest.” (With you)

You sniffled. “Can you show up for me? Even on the numb days? Even when it’s hard?”

He moved closer—just enough for his knee to touch yours. His hand slid gently to your thigh. Not urgent. Not possessive. Just warm. Steady. Seeking.

“I promise” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Even if it come out messy. Even if I don’t always get the right word. Tú eres mi corazón. Always.” (You are my heart)

And no—maybe this wouldn’t be easy.

But in that moment, with his hand on your leg, his eyes open and pleading, his voice cracking beneath the weight of it all—you believed him.

And for now…

That was enough.

[pdriesta]

balde injured 😭

okay call my crazy but i think he’ll be back sooner. they are still running tests but it’s like a grade 1 hamstring strain. obviously, he shouldn’t rush himself when he isn’t ready but i think intesive rehab will shorten the recovery time

[ikram1909]

THE VIDEO LALIGA POSTED WITH THE LEGANES MASCOT CUBA TORRE AND BALDE BRO I'M CRYING

Not even mascots are immune to our kids' mischief 😭😭

[bukayo-saka]

Alejandro Balde I'm 👀👀👀

[strawberryblue-blog]

Kisses —FC BARCELONA.

summary: What are their kisses like or how do they like to kiss you?

warnings: none. cute, soft, fluff, headcanon.

—Pedri Gonzalez.

His kisses are too long and affectionate. He likes the sensation of feeling you close to him, he thinks it is intimate and the most tender way to show love.

He could spend hours kissing your lips, soft and delicate, showing you how much he likes your lips. He is very shy at times but if you kiss him first, he will not be able to stop.

Your soft and full lips are like an addiction for Pedri, he loves the sensation of feeling them on his skin at any time. Whether on his cheeks or forehead. During sex, he also kisses your lips a lot, especially to silence his squeals and to make you feel loved. Because he really loves you and your lips a lot.

—Pablo Gavi.

One of the most amateur kissers in history, not of your lips but of your neck and jaw. He likes your lips but is obsessed with the soft, supple skin of your neck.

Especially because he likes to mark his trails, so when his lips are on your neck, he will play with you until you turn red. He loves the sensation of hearing you gasp and laugh at the same time.

During sex, he prefers not so much to kiss as to watch. Watching you is more his thing, but, after the action he is very affectionate and caring. Maybe there he kisses you too much to make up for what he couldn't kiss you before.

—Ferran Torres.

Ferran knows what a good kisser he is, he always received compliments about it and you always remind him of it. So when he is with you he likes to kiss you all the time because he knows how much you like his kisses.

He kisses you anywhere, no matter where it is, he knows how to make your skin bristle with so little. On your lips, neck and shoulders. Your shoulders are his weakness.

When you are having sex he doesn't kiss so much because he likes to concentrate on you but from time to time he seeks your lips. His kisses are very long and seductive.

—Fermin López.

Fermín loves kissing, loves kissing you and loves to be kissed by you. An exchange of mutual love which, for Fermín, is heaven itself. He loves to feel your lips on his, short or long, he doesn't care.

He could kiss you all day long, on your lips, your thighs, your belly, your neck or your face. He's super cheesy and tender. He knows you like it and he will take advantage of it to feel you.

Not necessarily during sex, because sometimes he can't hold back the moans and has to let them out but after he's done, he'll be a ball of love. He will kiss you so much, until you fall asleep. Just like the next morning, he will wake you up with his kisses.

—Alejandro Balde.

Although he loves to kiss your lips, his lips always find your hands to kiss them delicately. He is so tender and delicate, he loves to make you feel like a princess.

Although your lips are his favorite, he will kiss them whenever you can. Every now and then he will give you a peck on your lips. He finds it fun and romantic. He is obsessed with your mouth, so lips and tongue for him.

When you are having sex, he likes to kiss you even more. It's a different kind of connection and he loves to feel your warm lips on his.

—Hector Fort.

He's definitely a kisser, a lot. Too much. And not only that, he kisses like the gods. Hector has a gift and he knows how to use it on you.

Kissing your neck, chest and shoulders is his favorite pastime while you're together. No matter what you do he will come and take his time with you. He concentrates on you, kissing your skin delicately with that seductive and haughty touch he has.

During sex he kisses much more your breasts or shoulders than your lips. But when you're done, he'll take care of leaving you with lungs and lips asleep.

—Lamine Yamal.

He is overconfident and despite being young, he has a certain amount of experience. He loves to kiss you either on the lips or on your forehead, he finds it protective and tender.

He likes to kiss your nose too, as a little detail he has with you. But sometimes he plays rough and wants you to kiss him and take the initiative.

In sex he is a little kisser but not so much, maybe more your neck or bite your shoulders but he will definitely do it when he finishes and kiss you for a while afterwards.

—Pau Cubarsí.

He is not a big fan of kissing on the lips because he thinks he doesn't give them correctly. He's still young and just learning, he's also a bit insecure.

Clearly he doesn't agree with that, Pau is a good kisser and when he kisses you he is intense and fiery. But he likes it when you kiss him long and deep.

He prefers to kiss your face how, forehead, nose, cheeks and ears. He finds it tender and that is his way of showing his love. In bed he may be a little more kissy to show his love for you, he likes to be gentle and soft with you.

[archivingbarca]

alejandrobalde

(ig story, 14/04/25)

[hersidekick]

hearing my baby came off injured :/ safe recovery to him. Hopefully it’s not a long one ❤️💙

[cutesoccerguys]

[shimjk]

god pls take all of balde's pain, double it and give it to florentino perez 💔

[littlebeluu]

needy for him

marc guiu × female reader

warnings: smut

He looked so hot. He looked so hot laying in that couch wearing only a pair of boxers that you couldn't help but clench your thighs. He was used to doing that, walking around the house in underwear, pretending he didn't know it provoked you. You've never been so attracted to anyone like you were towards Marc. His back and arms were huge although his sport didn't involve having a big upper body. But he trained hard, he was probably the most disciplined person you knew. His abs weren't that marked but his v-line was what made you go feral. It made such a good contrast with his small waist that you couldn't help but constantly imagine wrapping your legs around him. But the cherry on top for you was his happy trail. You find it so sexy that you'd actually get mad whenever he shaved it. Your face dropping when you noticed, and him laughing at you for being so dramatic.

And there he sat, on the couch of your apartment where he would sleep at almost every day. His legs spread and his arms outstretched while he watched some old game that he missed due to training. You walked towards him and looked him in the eyes trying to catch his attention. All you ever wanted was his attention. He kept his eyes on the TV as if he didn't know what you wanted. So you softly caressed his huge thighs and proceeded to sit on his lap. God you loved snuggling on top of him, it would make you feel so tiny.

"Love, you know I'm trying to watch the game" he said barely making eye contact with you. You didn't answer. Instead you began to leave wet kisses on his neck while slowly caressing the back of his hair. You felt him sigh and move a little under you. You knew you had him wrapped around your finger. Marc put his hands on your waist and slowly lifted his big hand under your shirt, lovingly brushing your shoulders with his finger tips. He unclasped your bra and then took your shirt and the bra off, leaving you wearing only your blue undies. You started to grind against him, so horny that all you wanted was to soothe all that desire that has been building in your lower tummy. Marc loved when you dry humped him. He knew that it meant you needed him and he loved to feel needed. The whimpers that he left out were making that funny feeling in your pussy even stronger. The wetness on your panties were staining his boxers. You could see the outline of his cock. His tip was out, and his happy trail was glistening due to his pre-cum and your juices. Sexiest sight ever.

"You're going to kill me one of these days baby"

You looked at him lovingly, there was nothing hotter than the words and sounds he left out whenever he was aroused. You pulled his underwear down and grabbed his shaft, slowly stroking him. He was wet from your mixed juices. You bit your lip looking at it and Marc swears he could have cum just from that look. While lifting your hips you drag his tip in between your folds and whine when it brushes your swollen clit. Marc impatiently thrusts his hips and pushes his cock inside you and you both can't help but moan loudly. It feels like you were made for each other. He grabs your hips with the kind of pressure that you know is going to leave marks tomorrow, but you don't care because it hurts so good. He guides your movements while he sucks your tits, sometimes licking and sometimes biting gently. Your clit would constantly brush over his trimmed pubic hair and you knew you were getting closer and closer.

"I can feel you clenching around me, so needy for me. F-fucking gorgeous"

And he was right, you needed him all the time, at all hours, one right move and he'll have you clenching your thighs while looking at him. You could tell he was about to cum too, he would sometimes shut his eyes and his grip on your hips would be even harder while he quietly cussed. You move your hips faster, with one hand holding onto his shoulder and the other resting on his thigh. The pleasure was so intense that you moved forward, pressing your chest against him and screaming loudly, your orgasm always being better than the previous one, your legs shaking while you feel his spurts of cum fill you up so deep. He groans loudly as his hips uncontrollably thrust into you. You loved that he was so vocal while fucking, never saved a sound to himself.

"I love you Marc" You said while looking into his eyes. His eyes were so beautiful. They were sometimes brown and sometimes amber, and they would wrinkle when he smiled. And right now he was smirking while holding eye contact, his forehead and chest sweaty and his breath heavy.

"I love you even more baby"

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER ONE

“tripping, falling with no safety net”

pairings —balde x black!barçafemeni player

summary — solana munõz, barça’s newest midfield star, seems fearless on the pitch but struggles with anxiety and homesickness off it. after a rocky first meeting, alejandro balde becomes an unexpected source of support, determined to help her navigate a new city and career. as their bond deepens, late-night talks and shared vulnerabilities blur the lines of friendship, but one thing remains certain—alejandro is determined to make barçelona home for her.

word count — 10.5k

an — NOW NOW NOW. not too much on my wc. i am trying out longer chapters instead of breaking them up into more chapters. let me know your thoughts

masterlist

don’t meet your idols, or anyone you’re a fan of—they’ll just break your phone and tell you that you don’t belong.

the words spun around solana’s mind, stinging each time they echoed. she’d grown up idolizing players like balde, believing they represented something strong and unshakable, that they’d be welcoming to anyone who dared to dream of standing beside them. now, she felt foolish, her childhood wonder clouded by his harsh words and dismissive stare. maybe he was right; maybe she didn’t belong.

her first week in barcelona blurred by, a flurry of training drills, introductory meetings, and her daily battles to keep her chronic anxiety in check. her new teammates were polite, but most of them looked at her like she was a novelty, a stranger who’d stumbled into their world. they were seasoned players, confident in a way that made her feel small. back home, she’d been loved and celebrated—her hometown had practically thrown a parade when she got called up to the USWNT. here, she felt like she was being observed, assessed, and it made her nerves buzz constantly, tightening like a vise around her chest.

as part of the club’s standard procedure, she’d been scheduled to meet with the team psychologist, dr. lucia hernandez, a warm, middle-aged woman with kind eyes that seemed to see right through her. they sat in a cozy office at the training, the walls lined with framed inspirational quotes and photos of famous athletes. it was supposed to feel welcoming, but solana’’s stomach twisted as she perched on the edge of the couch, feeling too exposed.

“so, solana, how’s it all been so far?” dr. hernandez asked, her voice gentle, as if she already sensed the weight solana was carrying.

“it’s… been a lot,” solana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. she hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “i thought i’d be able to adjust faster, but…” she trailed off, a lump forming in her throat as she tried to gather her thoughts.

“take your time,” dr. hernandez prompted softly.

solana sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i keep wondering if i made the right choice coming here,” she confessed. “everyone at home was so proud, like i’d made it. i thought it would feel… different. like a dream. but now, i just feel out of place. and i miss home so much that it hurts.”

she hesitated, the rawness of her confession making her feel vulnerable. “back home, i had my routines, my support system. people looked up to me, you know? and here… no one knows me. i’m just the new girl from america who can’t seem to keep up with everyone else.”

dr. hernandez nodded, her expression thoughtful. “it’s completely natural to feel this way. you’ve left behind everything familiar and jumped into a world that’s vastly different from what you know. anyone would feel lost.”

solana clenched her fists, feeling the anxiety bubbling up again. “it’s more than just being lost. it’s like… like i’m trying to breathe underwater. my anxiety makes it hard to do basic things without overthinking them a hundred times. every time i make a mistake in training, i feel like i’m confirming to everyone that i don’t belong.”

dr. hernandez studied her, her gaze compassionate. “moving across the world, away from your home, is already a huge adjustment. when you add the pressure of being in a high-profile team, plus your anxiety… it’s no wonder you’re feeling overwhelmed. have you tried reaching out to anyone on the team?”

solana looked away, chewing on her lip. “they’re nice, don’t get me wrong. but they’ve all known each other for years, and i can tell they see me as an outsider. they’re polite, but it’s like they’re waiting to see if i’ll stick around long enough to be worth their time.” she let out a humorless laugh. “at my last club, i felt like i was part of a family. here, i feel like… i don’t know, an alien.”

“that’s a common feeling in situations like this,” dr. hernandez assured her. “but remember, you don’t have to become best friends with everyone immediately. give yourself time. building relationships takes patience, and the right ones will come.”

solana nodded, but deep down, she wondered if she’d ever find her footing here. every morning when she woke up, she’d lie in bed and count the hours until she could call her family, hear the comforting voices that reminded her of home.

training each day was a struggle; every time she stepped onto the field, her mind raced with worries. she could sense her teammates’ eyes on her, measuring, judging, even if they weren’t. her anxiety whispered that every misplaced pass, every minor slip-up, was proof she was out of her depth. it was exhausting, the constant tightness in her chest, the feeling that everyone could see right through her, that they’d soon realize she didn’t deserve to be here.

even in moments when she tried to lose herself in the game, her thoughts would drift back to southern california. the open fields, the cool, quiet nights, her friends who’d gather after games to celebrate at the local diner. she could almost hear their voices cheering for her, their laughter echoing as they’d talk about the future, as if their lives were already written in the stars. barcelona wasn’t part of those plans—it was something she’d dreamed of, not something she’d imagined she’d actually have to face.

and then there was alejandro, his face burned into her memory, reminding her that this world she’d idolized was far harsher than she’d expected. he was supposed to be a hero, someone who represented all the things she loved about the game. instead, he’d treated her like an inconvenience, a stranger who had no place in his orbit.

“i don’t know,” she whispered, almost to herself. “sometimes i think… maybe i should go back home. maybe i’m not cut out for this.”

dr. hernandez leaned forward, her gaze steady. “solana, it’s okay to feel scared, to feel homesick. you’ve made a huge step, and sometimes bravery doesn’t feel like bravery. sometimes it just feels like trying to make it through one more day.”

solana blinked, absorbing the words, letting them settle over her like a fragile comfort. she didn’t feel brave—she felt terrified, more than she ever had in her life. but maybe there was a small victory in the fact that she was still here, still trying.

as she left the office, her heart felt a fraction lighter, though the weight of her homesickness and anxiety lingered, heavy and persistent.

alejandro grunted as he pushed through another rep, the bar trembling in his grip. the burn in his muscles was familiar, grounding—but it couldn’t distract him from the weight in his chest. it wasn’t the lift that made him feel heavy. it was the memory of her.

solana. the girl from the hallway.

her face haunted him—wide eyes brimming with unshed tears, her shoulders drawn in like she was trying to disappear. he hadn’t meant to snap at her. it wasn’t about her, not really. but she’d caught him on a bad day, and she didn’t deserve to carry the sharp edge of his mood.

since then, he’d caught himself looking for her. not obviously, but enough. in the corridors where the women’s team passed by, in the shared stretches on the training pitch. some of the girls gave him nods. others, sharper glances. but not her. she was always just… gone. like a ghost he’d conjured out of guilt.

today was no different. between sets, he scanned the hallway again. players walked in groups, laughing softly, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. he spotted a few familiar faces—salma, vicky. nods exchanged, moments passed. still no sign of her.

then, out of the corner of his eye, someone appeared. not her. worse.

rosalie.

her presence cut through his focus like a knife. she walked toward him with that smug little smile—one he used to find charming. now it just made his jaw tighten.

their history wasn’t messy so much as it was drawn out—familiar in a way that had once been easy. they’d known each other for years, fallen into something casual when proximity blurred the lines. it worked for a while. no expectations. no strings. until she started asking questions. where he was going. who he was with. posting photos of him on socials—just the back of his head, but still recognizable to those who knew.

he should’ve shut it down then. he thought he had. until now.

“alejandro,” she cooed, drawing out his name like it tasted sweet on her tongue. her fingers brushed his arm, light and deliberate. “long time no see. haven’t noticed you around the women’s side lately.”

he shifted away from her touch, forcing a half-smile. “been busy.”

she didn’t move. didn’t get the hint. instead, she stepped closer, flicking her hair over her shoulder in that deliberate way that used to work on him. once.

but not anymore.

rosalie had always been… convenient. accessible in the way a closed door might still be pushed open. but now, there was nothing behind it. no curiosity. no pull.

“we should catch up,” she said with a slow smile. “grab coffee or something.”

he didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. “i’m good, rosalie.”

the words were firm, final. but she didn’t budge. not right away.

then, just as he was about to move past her, he saw her.

standing just beyond the far doorway, training bag slung over one shoulder, curls haloing her face. she looked caught in a thought, brows slightly furrowed, mouth pressed in a soft line. she wore the full training kit—the blaugrana clinging to her form, highlighting strong legs and quiet grace. there was something about the way she moved. cautious. like she wasn’t sure she belonged here.

his chest clenched at the memory.

“you know her?” rosalie’s voice snapped him back, acidic and sharp.

“nah,” he muttered. “don’t know her yet.”

and it was true. he didn’t know as much as he liked. but he knew what he’d done. and he knew he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

she looked up, right at him.

for a heartbeat, their eyes met. and then—gone. she dipped her head and turned into the locker room without a word.

he didn’t even get the chance.

“she’s new, right?” rosalie pressed, stepping closer, as if reclaiming space that wasn’t hers to begin with.

he let out a soft breath, tearing his gaze away from the now-empty doorway. none of this was rosalie’s business, but he could already feel her trying to spin a narrative in her head. she always had a way of making things about her.

“you seem… distracted,” she said, tone syrupy sweet, eyes watching him too closely.

he shrugged. “long day.”

she didn’t buy it. “you’re sure that’s all it is?” her glance flicked back toward the locker room, and the shift in her voice was subtle, but there. jealousy.

alejandro scoffed lightly, forcing a smirk. “didn’t realize there was anything worth noticing.”

he hoped it sounded indifferent. but even as he said it, he hated how hollow it felt.

rosalie wasn’t done. she stepped in front of him, blocking his view, voice dropping to a whisper.

“maybe you just forgot what you’re missing.”

he met her eyes then, flat and unreadable. “there’s nothing i’m missing, rosalie. we were… nothing serious. you know that.”

she flinched, just barely, and masked it with a tight smile. “sure. just don’t go getting attached to the new ones. they’re not worth it.”

he didn’t respond. didn’t give her the satisfaction. he stepped around her, not looking back.

the truth was, he wasn’t attached.

but he was haunted.

haunted by the look in that girl’s eyes. by the way she’d vanished before he could make it right. he didn’t know her name. didn’t know her story. but he knew he owed her something.

even if it was just an apology.

as he returned to the weights, he braced himself. not just for the next set, but for the moment he’d finally cross paths with her again—and for the words that might never be enough.

the top floor of the ciutat esportiva had quickly become solana’s refuge. she’d discovered the tucked-away corner on her first day, after wandering off during her lunch break, hoping to escape the overwhelming buzz of her new team. now, she settled into her favorite spot by a tall, slim window, where the sunlight pooled just right, making it feel far cozier than any training center had the right to be. here, she felt the comfort of solitude, the way the quiet could settle her racing mind and give her space to breathe.

she’d pulled out her battered copy of little women, a book she’d read so many times the cover was worn and creased, the pages slightly dog-eared. it was her comfort read, a tether to home, to her younger self who used to disappear into these pages to drown out the chaos in her mind. reading here, with no one around to judge or interrupt, felt like the only familiar thing she had.

her parents had known about her anxiety since she was young, the first signs showing up in little ways—small fears, persistent worries. when they took her to a specialist, they received the diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder, coupled with severe social anxiety. the label made her feel strange, different, like there was something intrinsically wrong with her. her parents, desperate to help, put her into football, hoping that being part of a team, with other girls around her, might give her a sense of community, of belonging. and for a while, it worked. she found friends, her world expanding with each new team, each new place.

but the anxiety never really left. it lingered beneath the surface, bubbling up when she least expected it, making even the simplest interactions feel like insurmountable tasks. friends drifted in and out of her life, never staying long enough to truly know her. relationships were a step too far; just the idea of opening herself up like that was enough to make her retreat. football had become her shield, a way to interact without truly exposing herself, a place where the structure and rhythm made it easier to cope.

now, here she was—miles away from home, in a new country, surrounded by strangers who already had their bonds, their inside jokes. she felt the gnawing loneliness more intensely than ever, the weight of isolation pressing down on her like an anchor. she’d traded her old team for a place where she didn’t feel she belonged, and no amount of familiar pages in little women could shake that fear.

her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps, too heavy to belong to any of her teammates. she tensed instinctively, shrinking into herself, her heart rate spiking. she looked up, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably when she saw who it was.

alejandro balde stood a few feet away, looking at her with something she couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t the same cool, dismissive expression he’d worn when they’d first met. this was… softer, almost hesitant. but the memory of his harsh words, the way he’d looked at her like she was just another annoying fan, flashed in her mind. her fingers tightened around the edge of her book, and she felt herself pull back, just the sight of him making her feel unsettled, vulnerable.

“hey,” he said, his voice quiet, as if he were afraid of scaring her off.

she didn’t respond, her gaze dropping to her lap, hoping he’d just leave if she didn’t engage. her anxiety was already flaring, making her feel small and exposed.

he cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly. “look… i wanted to apologize for the other day. i was out of line, and… i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

she finally glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the briefest second before looking away again. she didn’t know what to say, the apology catching her off guard. she’d spent so long convinced he was as harsh as he seemed that hearing this side of him felt strange, almost disorienting.

alejandro took a step closer, then paused, gauging her reaction. he seemed to sense her discomfort and stopped, settling a few feet away on a bench nearby. “i… don’t usually do this, to be honest,” he admitted, a faint laugh escaping him. “apologizing, i mean. but… you just looked so upset, and i realized i was being a total… well, i was being an asshole.”

she swallowed, forcing herself to take a breath, to ease the tension in her shoulders. her fingers traced the cover of her book as a way to ground herself, but her mind was still racing, still reeling from his sudden appearance. he wasn’t some distant idol or childhood obsession—he was her age, really—but that didn’t stop her from feeling a kind of quiet admiration for him. he’d already solidified his place in the team, in the world, while she was still fumbling in the dark, trying to find her footing. it wasn’t about fanfare. it was about presence. he had it. she didn’t.

and now he was sitting there, not towering or aloof like he’d been the first time, but oddly unsure, like he wasn’t quite used to being the one making amends. her heart beat a little faster—not from excitement, but from that familiar, crawling unease that came whenever she felt attention pressing down on her. every part of her screamed to retreat, to throw up her defenses, to not let him in. not even a little.

she nodded once, tightly. “okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, more like a reflex than a decision. she didn’t even know if she meant it.

“okay” he echoed, but he came out more like a question. his eyes flicked toward her, trying to read her, but she didn’t give him much to work with. she kept her expression blank, neutral. it was easier that way. safer.

inside, though, everything was too loud. her brain scrambled through every possible interpretation of the moment—why he was here, what he wanted, whether this was a setup or a test or just another fleeting interaction that would mean more to her than it ever would to him. anxiety had a cruel way of making her second-guess even kindness. nothing ever felt simple. nothing ever was simple.

“i saw your introductory interview,” he added after a beat. "some of us watched it together."

her eyes shot up to his for a second before dropping again. oh. so he had known who she was all along. a weird twist of something uncomfortable knowing she was being perceived by the infamous members of the senior team settled in her chest—not quite betrayal, not quite embarrassment. just the sharp sting of being seen only when convenient. it made her feel exposed, like her guard hadn’t been enough after all.

“uh- thank you,” she said, and again, it came out quiet, almost rehearsed. like she was trying to play a version of herself that knew how to navigate this without crumbling.

but she didn’t. not really.

she hated how easily her thoughts spiraled. how one unexpected interaction could unravel the entire day. already, her stomach was turning, a slow churn of nerves and overanalysis. she wondered if she’d looked weird sitting here, if her posture was off, if she’d sounded cold or dismissive or just plain rude. maybe he regretted coming over now. maybe he thought she was too strange. too uptight. too—

“i just… wanted to say that,” he said, cutting into her spiral like a thread tugging at a fraying edge. “you didn’t deserve how i acted before.”

but her hands were trembling. and she hated that they were.

she didn’t know what to make of him. or this moment. or the uneasy stir in her chest that lingered long after he disappeared from view.

so she did the only thing she knew how to do—buried her nose back in the pages of little women and pretended none of it had shaken her.

even if, deep down, it had.

she didn’t expect him to linger. but he did.

instead of walking away like he said he would, he hesitated, rocking back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to summon the right words out of thin air.

“i’m alejandro, by the way,” he said after a pause, voice soft. “most people just call me balde.”

like she didn’t already know that. like his name wasn’t stitched into the back of one of the most iconic kits in the world. still, something about the way he said it—genuine, maybe even a little sheepish—made her glance up again. his expression was open. unsure. like he wasn’t sure if she’d care.

“solana,” she murmured.

“solana,” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size, like he wanted to remember. “pretty name.”

she blinked, unsure what to do with that. compliments were dangerous—they triggered all her inner alarms, set off every worst-case scenario her brain could conjure. was he just being polite? did he mean it? was this pity?

he cleared his throat again, trying to bridge the space between them with something light. “so… you like little women, huh? the book, i mean. not like—uh. not like literally—just, the book.”

she stared at him, confused for a second, and then ducked her head, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of her lips before disappearing. she didn’t answer, though. too nervous. too unsure.

“right,” he said, scratching his jaw. “that was dumb. ignore that.”

he looked around, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto. that’s when his gaze dropped to her phone, sitting on the bench beside her. the screen was cracked nearly from edge to edge, a web of fractures slicing through the faint glow of unread notifications.

he winced. “shit. is that from… when i—?”

she didn’t say anything, but her fingers twitched, moving to shield it instinctively, like she was embarrassed.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath. “look, let me pay for that. seriously.”

her head snapped up, alarmed. “no, it’s fine. i—i dropped it before. it wasn’t you.”

he didn’t believe her. it was obvious. she could tell by the way his mouth pressed into a thin line, guilt tugging at the edges of his face like a shadow. but she couldn’t take his money. she couldn’t owe him anything. she hated the idea of it, hated what it might imply or suggest.

“please,” she said, quieter this time. “it’s fine.”

he looked like he wanted to argue. like he wanted to say something else, fix something, anything. but she was already pulling her arms around herself again, the silent signal that she was retreating. shutting down. not because she didn’t want to talk, but because she didn’t know how to, not in the way people expected.

he nodded slowly. once. “okay. but if you change your mind…”

he hesitated, shifting on his feet, his gaze lingering on her for a second longer. then, with a sigh that barely reached his lips, he added quietly, “i’ll leave you alone now.”

it wasn’t bitter or cold—just honest. almost reluctant. like he didn’t want to leave, but he could tell she needed him to. he gave her one last glance—hesitant, almost apologetic—and then turned to go, his steps slower this time, like his feet didn’t really want to carry him away.

he didn’t finish the sentence. didn’t really need to. he gave her one last glance—hesitant, almost apologetic—and then turned to leave, his steps slower this time, like his feet didn’t really want to carry him away.

and solana watched him go, heart hammering in her chest for reasons she didn’t want to name. she felt exposed, like he’d walked into her bubble and seen too much—even if she’d barely said a thing. it was always like this. one awkward conversation and her mind would dissect it for hours. replay every word. analyze every silence.

and alejandro? he walked out of that quiet corner of the ciutat esportiva feeling like he’d just kicked an innocent puppy. guilt gnawed at him, low and constant. he didn’t know why he cared so much—maybe it was the way her voice had trembled, or how she kept folding into herself like she wanted to disappear. maybe it was the cracked screen. or maybe it was just… her. soft-spoken, unreadable, a little closed-off in a way that made him want to try again.

next time, maybe he’d bring something to fix. even if it was just the silence.

alejandro tried to leave her alone.

he told himself that was the right thing to do. she hadn’t exactly welcomed the conversation—barely spoke, barely looked at him. just held her broken phone like a fragile secret, muttering that it was fine, even when he offered to cover the repair. he left the locker room feeling like he’d kicked an innocent pup. awkward. out of place. clumsy in the way only guilt can make you feel.

he promised himself he’d let it go.

but that night, he couldn’t stop thinking.

it started small. a flicker of memory—her face, the way her braids framed her expression when she looked up at him, startled and unreadable. then the curiosity grew. her name floated back to him in the dark like an itch he couldn’t scratch. solana muñoz. washington spirit. midfielder. called up at fourteen.

he reached for his phone like it was instinct.

there wasn’t much in terms of flashy content. no headlines screaming her name, no viral montages or loud declarations. what he found instead were match summaries. quiet praise. short clips buried in corners of old game footage. the kind of player you had to really look to see.

and when he watched her, he understood.

she wasn’t playing to be seen. she was playing to understand. her style was subtle—sharp passes made not for show but for necessity. the way she moved off the ball, eyes always shifting, head turning, checking her shoulder before the space even opened. there was a calmness to her game that stood out. she was precise. unbothered by chaos. the kind of player who didn’t need to dribble past five people to prove she was thinking two steps ahead.

he respected that.

as a defender, his job was to read. to intercept. to anticipate what others missed. and somehow, she already seemed to be on the other side of that anticipation—already moved, already passed, already gone. she didn’t play like a kid. she played like someone who knew things others hadn’t even begun to ask.

by the time he put his phone down, it was nearly 3 a.m.

the ache behind his eyes set in as he laid back on the pillow, one arm flung over his forehead. the guilt twisted low in his chest. not because he had embarrassed her—but because he had dismissed her. like she was just another player. another new face in the training grounds. and she wasn’t.

morning hit hard.

he woke up groggy, disoriented, muscles tight with fatigue. everything felt like it was happening half a second too fast—pulling on his training jacket, drinking lukewarm coffee, slipping into the back seat of the car that would take them to the stadium. his eyes burned. but he didn’t complain.

he went through the motions. laced his boots. stretched on autopilot. nodded when the coaches spoke, gave half-smiles when teammates cracked jokes. ferran was louder than usual. someone had music playing off a phone. and still, alejandro couldn’t shake the image of her—sharp-eyed, quiet, moving through space like she already knew where danger lived.

by the time the bus pulled up to camp nou, his stomach had settled. the nerves were still there, of course—they always were—but something about being back here steadied him. this place didn’t ask questions. it only expected answers. and alejandro liked giving them.

the routine grounded him—training tops, pep talks, playlists echoing through the bus—but the fog didn’t really lift until he stepped into the tunnel.

then he heard it.

the crowd. his crowd. the vibration in his chest. the swell of voices, rising like a wave, crashing over the turf.

when he emerged onto the pitch at camp nou, everything clicked back into place.

the hum of adrenaline in his veins. the stretch of green beneath his boots. the chants, the drums, the flags. this was his element. his calm.

he took a deep breath, let it steady him.

and even then—even when the world narrowed into ninety minutes and white lines—he still thought about her. the quiet girl from washington. the one who never raised her voice but played like a surgeon. the one with a cracked phone and a soft “it’s fine” and a mind that, maybe, worked like his.

he didn’t know what he wanted from her. maybe nothing. maybe just to say something better than what he’d managed before. but he knew one thing for sure.

“whatever happens,” he though to himself as he jogged toward the touchline, “i’m gonna make it right.”

and then the whistle blew. and he let the game carry him.

solana had been here for weeks, but still, the feeling hadn’t changed. the feeling of being around the group, but never truly in it. she was there, on the pitch, sweat beading on her forehead, her feet moving almost mechanically as the drills ran on around her. but her mind? it felt miles away. she was part of the routine, yes, but not a part of the dynamic.

when the coach split them into pairs, solana fell into the pattern she’d learned long ago—lingering at the edges, looking for a place to fit, but never quite finding one. when she was younger, it was different. it wasn’t just the team; it was school, too. the pang of being the last picked for any group activity. the whispered laughter, the feeling of being overlooked. it was an ache that had followed her through childhood, carried into her teenage years, and somehow, even here. with people who knew how to smile in her direction and nod, but never really see her.

she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like part of something. not really. her role, the quiet observer, was something she’d gotten good at. when people were busy laughing or planning something, she’d stand a little further back, watching, trying to figure out what they saw that she couldn’t grasp.

it was easier that way. less painful.

she exhaled slowly, a strand of her braid falling loose and brushing against her cheek. practice was moving faster than she anticipated. the team split into their smaller groups, pairs, trios. and once again, solana was left to her own thoughts. no one actively ignored her, but she didn’t need to be invisible to feel it. she was. a face in the crowd, like always.

just when the silence in her mind began to stretch too long, a voice broke through.

“hey, solana! you okay?”

she blinked, startled. turning to see rosalie standing just a few feet away, a wide smile on her face. the usual cheerfulness was in her eyes, the same easy confidence that seemed to radiate from her. she wasn’t asking in the way people sometimes do when they feel obligated to check on someone—no, rosalie was genuine. she wanted to know.

“hi, rosalie,” solana replied, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. her throat felt dry, but she pushed the words out anyway. “yeah, i’m good. just, uh...thinking.”

rosalie tilted her head slightly, an amused glint in her eyes. “thinking, huh? well, thinking’s good. but you’re definitely not getting out of this one. come join vicky, salma, and i for the drill today. we need a fourth. you in?”

solana hesitated for a second, looking between rosalie, and the duo that had already paired off—vicky and salma, always a laugh, always in sync. their energy was a contrast to the quiet that lingered around solana. she could see the bond, the way they’d naturally clicked from the start, and it reminded her just how not in sync she was with anyone here.

“are you sure?” she trailed off, unsure if she was invited because rosalie genuinely wanted her to join, or if it was just out of politeness. the thought made her stomach knot. sometimes, she couldn’t tell the difference between real acceptance and just being included because there was no one else left.

rosalie’s expression softened, as if she could sense the hesitance in solana. “hey, we’re all just figuring it out. no pressure, okay? we can use your energy on the field. i am sure you're way more fun than you give yourself credit for.”

the words felt genuine enough, but solana still found herself stepping back, the weight of her own discomfort sitting on her chest. but rosalie’s smile—so easy and welcoming—pulled her in, a quiet invitation she felt she couldn’t refuse. she nodded slowly, trying not to show how unsure she was.

“yeah, of course...i’ll join.”

“great!” rosalie beamed, giving her an encouraging nod before turning toward vicky and salma, already bouncing in place, their energy infectious. solana followed, stepping onto the pitch with them, trying to remind herself it was just a drill, just another part of the day.

still, as she settled into her spot between vicky and salma, her thoughts buzzed. she watched the way vicky’s goofy comments made salma laugh, how the two of them didn’t need to say much to communicate, just a look or a smile. it was effortless, fluid.

solana felt a sharp ache in her chest, like something was missing. she wanted to laugh like that. to belong like that.

but she couldn’t make herself be like them, not in the way they made it seem so easy. so she focused. focused on the drills, the ball, the pattern of movement. just let her feet take over, moving faster than her thoughts.

she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel like she was one of them, but she could still play. and in the game, that was enough.

but even as she tried to center herself, to give herself to the drill and the moment, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still standing outside, just a little too far from the group.

solana watched the way vicky and salma fell into a rhythm as they moved through the drill. it wasn’t just about the ball or the positioning—it was the way they interacted. there was something so natural about the way they played off each other, their banter effortless as they worked together. vicky would throw in a cheeky comment, and salma would shoot back with a sarcastic quip, the kind of back-and-forth that didn’t need explanation. it was like a language all its own, built on years of familiarity.

as they passed the ball between them, laughing when vicky made an overly dramatic slide to intercept it, solana found herself watching a little too closely. the dynamic was so easy. salma would roll her eyes in mock annoyance before nudging vicky with her elbow, then they’d switch roles, laughing all over again. their voices bounced off each other in a way that felt like second nature. the teasing, the jokes—it wasn’t forced or awkward. it was just them, and solana couldn’t help but admire how at ease they seemed with each other.

they weren’t just teammates, she realized. they were friends, deeply comfortable with each other in a way she hadn’t felt in years. their banter wasn’t just the friendly teasing of teammates; it was the kind of back-and-forth that came from real connection, from knowing each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies.

she felt an odd mix of awe and sadness stir within her. it was a different kind of bond than the one she had with the ball, with the field. a bond she hadn’t figured out how to form. she wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t fit, or if it was because she was still too guarded to let herself be part of it. she didn’t know how to be that easy, to let the walls down and just be with people like vicky and salma did.

as the drill progressed, vicky made a cheeky move, sending the ball spinning past salma, who dramatically threw her hands in the air, feigning frustration.

“oh, come on! you can’t keep doing that to me, vicky,” salma laughed, shaking her head as she jogged to retrieve the ball. her voice was light, teasing, but there was warmth in it too.

vicky threw her hands up in mock innocence. “what? i’m just too good for you, salma. maybe you need a new training partner.”

salma shot her a playful glare. “try me, vicky. you’re not getting past me next time.”

they kept up their friendly back-and-forth as the drill continued, and solana found herself watching it, studying it in a way she hadn’t expected to. there was something so comforting about the ease they shared. they didn’t think about it. they didn’t need to. it just flowed between them, effortless and unspoken.

it made her wonder, for a moment, what it would be like to have that. to have someone to banter with, to joke around with, and know that there was no judgment—just a connection that was real, deep.

as the drill came to a close and the coach called for a break, vicky and salma were still laughing, still tossing the ball back and forth between them. solana, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. maybe she wasn’t ready for the jokes or the camaraderie, but the quiet ache in her chest reminded her that she did want to be part of it.

"you good?" salma asked as she jogged up to solana, her breath still coming in short bursts from the drill. "you’ve been a bit quiet today."

solana blinked, the sudden attention making her nervous. "yeah, just... getting used to the pace, i guess."

vicky, who had come up beside salma, gave her a playful shove. “don’t worry, we’ll break you in. get you laughing like one of us.”

solana offered a small smile, the kind she always gave when trying to mask how much she wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the words. “thanks,” she said quietly. “i appreciate it.”

salma grinned, tossing the ball to her. “just remember, we’re all in this together, yeah? don’t be shy about jumping in. we’re not scary.”

"unless vicky's trying to steal your passes," salma added with a wink, making solana chuckle despite herself.

“no promises,” vicky teased, flicking the ball between her feet.

solana’s smile lingered as the two of them returned to their joking, salma tugging at vicky’s jersey as they started to head off to the water station. solana stood there for a second, a little more grounded than she had been before. still on the outside, still hesitant, but maybe, just maybe, the door to something was starting to crack open.

solana sat at the small table in the cafeteria, her eyes scanning the bustling room, the noise of laughter, conversations, and clinking cutlery rising up around her. she’d promised herself she would sit down, eat something, and try to not let the anxiety get to her. but the moment she stepped in and saw the crowded tables, the chatter, the cliques forming effortlessly, her stomach twisted. all her resolve to sit and eat disappeared in an instant.

with a deep breath, she turned on her heel, her tray of food forgotten. it wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry—she was starving, actually—but the thought of sitting among all the people, having to make small talk, having to be part of something she couldn’t seem to connect to, made her stomach churn even more. she pushed her tray onto a counter and slipped out the back door, quietly walking away.

there was a part of her that longed to be in the center of things, to have friends who pulled her into their conversations and made her laugh without effort. but the louder the room got, the smaller she felt, like a girl left behind in the chaos of people who knew how to be at ease, how to be themselves.

her thoughts spiraled, as they often did when she found herself alone. she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here, that no one really saw her. at the club, she was just a name on a roster, someone to watch in drills, someone to work with. but outside of that, she was invisible.

her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. it could wait. the manager had already told her to meet after lunch, and the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of it. the feeling of being in trouble, or being scrutinized—it made her skin crawl.

so, instead of confronting the chaos inside, solana sought refuge in the quiet upstairs corner she had claimed as her own. the top floor was always quiet, far from the main hustle of the cafeteria. she sank into the corner, the worn pages of little women offering a temporary escape. she took a slow bite of the apple the chef had coaxed her into, trying to focus on the words on the page, but the uncertainty gnawed at her mind.

alejandro stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching solana disappear into the quiet upstairs corner of the cafeteria. the sight of her leaving the bustle of the dining hall, her small figure retreating into solitude, tugged at something inside him. he didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but seek her out again and again throughout the week. he kept finding himself watching for her—waiting to see if she’d show up in the gym, or grab a coffee in the hallway.

there was something about her, something he hadn’t quite been able to figure out. her quiet demeanor, the way she kept to herself—it both intrigued and worried him. he didn’t know her well enough to know if she had forgiven him for bumping into her and breaking her phone, but he felt guilty. he hadn’t meant to do that; he just hadn’t been paying attention. but the way she’d looked at him that day, the way she’d so quickly closed herself off, made him wonder if she was still upset, or if there was more to it.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling that had started to build up. all he wanted was to make it right somehow. and maybe this—this small gesture of bringing her food—would be enough.

he moved quickly through the cafeteria, pushing aside any hesitation. grabbing a plate from the chef, he remembered what he’d seen her pick before—something simple, nothing too fancy. as the chef assembled the meal, alejandro felt a strange pressure in his chest. what if she thinks this is too much? he didn’t even know if she wanted anything from him, but still, the idea of her sitting alone, skipping lunch for a book, gnawed at him.

when the plate was ready, he didn’t waste any time. his legs moved quickly, as if pulling him toward her. and sure enough, he found her, perched in her usual spot on the top floor, buried in little women, her apple almost forgotten in her hand. the sight of her, curled into herself, lost in the world of the book, made him feel a mix of things—protectiveness, curiosity, guilt.

he approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her.

“it must be a hell of a book for you to skip out on lunch,” he said, his voice light, trying to make her feel less isolated in her corner.

she jumped at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide with surprise. alejandro noticed the way she seemed to stiffen, as if ready to retreat further into herself.

“i… wasn’t really hungry,” she said softly, closing her book as if it were a shield, clutching it to her chest. the vulnerability in her tone caught him off guard.

he held up the plate, offering it to her, trying to keep his tone casual despite the nerves building inside him. “yeah? well, i thought i’d come up here and prove you wrong. figured you might like some real food.”

her eyes flickered to the plate, then back to him, a wariness in her expression. “why… why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice small and cautious, as if she didn’t quite trust the gesture.

alejandro paused, the question hanging in the air between them. he had to admit, he didn’t have a clear answer. maybe it was the guilt from earlier in the week, or maybe it was just something about her, about the way she seemed so out of place here, so alone.

he shrugged, trying to play it off. “i don’t know,” he said, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. “i just thought you could use something more than an apple. it’s not a big deal.”

she looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to figure out his intentions. when she didn’t respond immediately, he slid onto the bench beside her, keeping a comfortable distance but still wanting to be there, in case she decided to take the food after all.

“thanks,” she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. “for the food, i mean. it’s nice of you.”

alejandro couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief at her words, but it was tempered by the lingering uncertainty. did she really mean that? he watched her as she picked at the apple again, her attention still divided between him and the book. he wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, but he wanted her to know that this was more than just a gesture for the sake of being polite. there was something about her that made him want to make things right.

“so… you really like that book, huh?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

she looked up at him for the first time, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the cover. “it’s… one of my favorites,” she admitted, her voice soft, but there was a vulnerability there that he hadn’t expected.

he smiled, his curiosity piqued. “you ever think about reading something else? might help with… you know, your mood.” he tried to make it sound playful, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words.

she blinked, clearly caught off guard by his suggestion. “i… guess i never thought of it like that,” she said quietly, almost surprised by the idea.

alejandro studied her for a moment, noting how she seemed to pull inward again, retreating into herself. it was a defense mechanism, he could tell, but it made him want to break through the wall she’d put up, if only a little.

“well, i think it’s cute,” he said without thinking. the words surprised both of them, and for a moment, it felt like the air between them shifted. there was a softness in his tone, a genuineness that he couldn’t quite hide.

her eyes met his, and for a moment, it seemed like there was something there—something more than just casual conversation. but then, as if the connection was too much for her to handle, she quickly shifted the subject.

“how are you liking the club?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back, though it felt more forced now.

the moment was gone, replaced by a tightness in her expression. she closed herself off again, her walls returning with startling speed. “it’s fine,” she said, her voice cool and distant.

alejandro felt a pang of frustration. he wanted to understand her, to find a way to get through to her, but she was so guarded, so unwilling to open up.

“look, i’ve been there,” he said, leaning forward slightly, trying to offer some comfort. “starting out isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. just takes time, that’s all.”

but instead of the reassurance he expected, she simply shook her head. “thank you, alejandro. but… i don’t think it’s the same.”

his words hung in the air, and before he could say anything else, she stood up, clutching the book to her chest like a shield once again. “thanks for the food,” she murmured, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

with that, she turned and walked away, leaving alejandro behind, his chest heavy with the weight of her departure. he watched her disappear into the distance, unsure of what had just happened but feeling like he hadn’t done enough. why is it so hard to reach her? he wondered, feeling a strange mix of guilt and yearning.

alejandro was halfway through the morning training session when he found himself making his way toward the locker room with a purpose. he hadn’t been able to get solana off his mind, and the guilt from their first encounter still weighed on him. he had no idea what to do about it, but he figured asking for advice might help. and who better than her teammates, salma and vicky?

he had watched them during training—he couldn’t help but notice how easily they connected with people, especially the quieter ones. if anyone could give him the insight he needed, it was them. so, after changing out of his gear and grabbing a quick snack, he found them sitting together at a small table, laughing as they flicked through their phones.

he cleared his throat, sliding into the chair beside them, and immediately their laughter quieted down, both girls eyeing him curiously.

“you okay, alejandro?” salma asked, her brow raised as she casually took a sip of water.

“yeah, i just—” alejandro hesitated, not sure how to start. “i’ve meaning to ask about solana.”

at the mention of her name, vicky’s eyes lit up. “solana? what about her?”

salma shot vicky a side glance, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “don’t act like you’re not curious too.”

alejandro felt a heat rise to his cheeks. great, now they’re both intrigued. “i don’t know, i just—i don’t really know her that well. she’s always so... quiet, you know?”

salma nodded, leaning back in her chair. “yeah, she’s pretty reserved. keeps to herself most of the time.”

“so, what do you want to know?” vicky asked, raising an eyebrow. “you’re not exactly subtle, alejandro. we can tell you’re looking for her.”

alejandro groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “i’m not—i’m not trying to make it obvious. i just don’t know how to get through to her. i tried talking to her the other day, and it didn’t go too well. i think i might’ve messed things up even more.”

the two girls exchanged knowing looks, and salma crossed her arms, a teasing glint in her eyes. “you messed up? what kind of damage we are talking about, balde?.”

vicky leaned in closer, her voice dropping a little. “what exactly did you do?”

alejandro looked away, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks once more. “well... the first time we met, i accidentally bumped into her. and i—uh—broke her phone.”

salma blinked in disbelief, her eyebrows shooting up. “you did what? you broke her phone?”

“yeah,” alejandro mumbled, looking at the table in embarrassment. “it wasn’t on purpose, but... yeah, i didn’t handle it very well. she wasn’t exactly thrilled with me.”

vicky let out an exasperated sigh. “oh, alejandro. you can’t be serious. that’s not exactly the best way to make a first impression.”

salma shook her head, her lips curling into a disappointed but amused smile. “you’re lucky solana isn't a demon. if it was me i'd push you into ongoing traffic. how could you yell at innocent solana. poor girl forced to feel your wrath on her first day.”

alejandro groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “i know. i feel terrible. i’m trying to make it right, but she seems... distant. like she’s closed herself off from me completely.”

vicky raised an eyebrow. “and you think that’s because of you?”

he nodded, looking up at them in frustration. “i don’t know. maybe. i mean, she barely looks at me now. i don’t think she wants anything to do with me.”

salma and vicky exchanged another look, this time one filled with a mix of pity and mild exasperation. salma spoke first, her tone softer now. “look, alejandro, i get it. she’s a bit reserved . but that’s probably because she thinks everyone’s like you.”

“like me?” he repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. “what do you mean?”

vicky leaned forward, her tone serious. “you’re the one who accidentally broke her phone, alejandro. and you’re the one who didn’t handle it well. she probably thinks that we’re all just like you—oblivious and careless.”

alejandro’s face dropped as he absorbed the gravity of their words. “you really think she sees me like that?” he asked quietly, his guilt resurfacing.

“of course she does!” salma scolded, her voice light but firm. “she doesn’t know you well enough to know you’re not like that all the time. you did mess up.”

“and now she’s probably thinking she can’t trust any of us,” vicky added, her tone softening a little. “that’s why she’s keeping to herself. she doesn’t want to risk it.”

alejandro stared at them, feeling like he was sinking lower and lower into the ground. what have i done? he thought to himself. i didn’t mean for it to be like this.

he covered his face with his hands again, groaning in frustration. “so, what should i do? how do i fix this?”

salma and vicky exchanged a glance before salma leaned in, her voice a little gentler now. “you can try being her friend. i don’t think she has many people here yet, so maybe that’ll help. she’s not the type to just open up to anyone, but if you show her that you’re genuinely trying to be there for her, maybe she’ll let you in.”

alejandro nodded slowly, taking in what they were saying. “so, you think i should just... be there for her?”

vicky gave him a small, encouraging smile. “exactly. maybe she’ll warm up to you. but you’ve got to be patient. she’s not going to just let you waltz in after one nice gesture, no matter how much you want it.”

“yeah,” salma chimed in, “she’s been through enough with moving away fro. home to not let anyone in easily. but if you show her you’re different, it might be enough to get through.”

alejandro sat back, letting their words sink in. patience, he thought. that’s all it would take?

he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “i’m not sure she even wants anything to do with me, though. i messed up so badly.”

salma and vicky both leaned back, their faces softening with understanding. vicky’s voice was calm as she spoke. “it’ll take time, alejandro. but that’s all you can do. keep trying. be a friend. don’t push her, but just be there. maybe she’ll come around.”

he groaned again, covering his face with both hands now, clearly frustrated. “i don’t know if i can be that patient.”

salma chuckled, a lightheartedness returning to her voice. “well, you’ve got no choice. don't come crying to us about your guilty conscious. all i am saying is start small and see where it goes.”

he nodded, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. but with a final sigh, he gave a small, resigned smile. “alright. i’ll try. thanks, you two.”

vicky grinned, giving him a playful nudge. “just don’t break anything else, alright?”

salma added, “and don’t mess it up again. or we’ll have to intervene.”

alejandro rolled his eyes but smiled at their teasing, grateful for the advice. now, he just had to figure out how to fix things with solana. one step at a time, he thought. one step at a time.

solana sat across from her manager in the small, sterile office of the training facility, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt. it had been a whirlwind since the move to liverpool, and she still wasn’t used to how much everything had shifted. her family had called earlier in the day, as they did every other day, and while they reassured her they were proud of her, she couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation. this wasn’t home.

“so, how’s everything been, solana?” her manager,  asked, his tone almost too casual, but his eyes were sharp. “how’s the transition been? how’s your family handling it?”

she swallowed, trying to find her voice. “it’s… it’s been okay,” she replied, a little too quickly. “i miss them, of course, but they’re doing fine. my mom’s… worried. but she says it’s good for me.”

he nodded, his gaze softening. “it’s a big change, i get that. a big step. but i think you’ll settle in just fine.”

solana wasn’t so sure. she wanted to believe that, but there was still a weight in her chest that wouldn’t go away. i don’t fit here.

“let’s talk football,” her manager continued, shifting in his chair. “we’ve been watching you, and we think it’s time to start you for the upcoming matches.”

solana froze. start? the words hung in the air, and she felt a mix of excitement and dread settle over her. she’d dreamed of starting for a top-tier team like this, but the pressure was crushing.

“that’s… great,” she said, though her voice didn’t betray the anxiety swirling inside her. “i’ll… i’ll be ready.”

her manager didn’t seem convinced. he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he continued. “listen, solana, there’s just one thing i want to address first. we’ve noticed that you’re a bit distant from the rest of the midfielders, especially in training. you’re incredibly talented, but there’s an obvious divide between you and the others. now, i know it’s tough, and i want to know—how do you think you’re fitting in with the team?”

solana felt the heat of his question hit her like a wave. her stomach twisted, and she looked down at her hands, suddenly unsure of how to respond. they don’t like me. they don’t want me here.

“i know. i’ve noticed it too,” she said quietly, guilt creeping in. “i can do better. i know i can. it’s just… i don’t know how to… connect with them. i’m trying, but it’s hard.”

her manager’s eyes softened. “i get it. it’s tough being the new person, especially when everyone’s already formed their bonds. but that’s what we need from you now—find a way to connect. i want you to start, but i need to know you’ll make the effort with the others.”

solana nodded, though she still felt a gnawing unease at the pit of her stomach. what if they don’t want me there?

“how’s everything with your psychologist appointments?” her manager asked, his voice taking on a gentler tone.

the question caught her completely off guard. solana blinked, her head snapping up. “w-what?”

“i know about your anxiety disorder,” he continued, not a hint of judgment in his voice. “i wanted to make sure you’re getting the support you need. we’re a team here, and if there’s something that might be affecting your game, i want to know about it.”

solana was stunned. she hadn’t told anyone at the club about her diagnosis—hell, she barely told her teammates that she had a therapist. the fact that her manager knew made her feel exposed, raw, but there was no malice in his eyes. just understanding.

“i didn’t—i didn’t think you knew,” solana stammered, suddenly feeling like a weight was lifting off her chest. “i… i’ve been seeing someone. it helps, but i still struggle, especially with… people. and the team. it’s hard sometimes.”

he nodded slowly. “i get that, and that’s why we’re going to give you space to breathe. but i also need to know that you’re mentally ready to start. i think you are, solana. i really do. you’re an amazing talent. that’s why we signed you. but this is about more than just football—it’s about you finding your place here.”

solana let his words settle over her. find your place—it sounded so simple when he said it, but she wasn’t sure how to even begin.

“i’ll try,” she whispered, her voice a little stronger now. “i’ll make it work.”

“i know you will,” he said with a reassuring smile. “just remember—football’s a team sport, on and off the pitch. try to connect with the others. ask them about themselves and grow bonds. we’re all here for you. take it one step at a time.”

as she stood up to leave, the weight of the conversation still pressing on her shoulders, solana felt the thin thread of hope fluttering inside her chest. maybe, just maybe, she could make this work.

© PDRIESTA 2025

[ikram1909]

Gavi getting mad really is this club's favourite source of entertainment 😭😭

[messfcbi]

balde we need you back nowwww

[insidekatmind]

Bet-Alejandro Balde

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It was a fiery night in Jeddah, the city vibrating with the clamor of the Clásico. Real Madrid against Barcelona, the most anticipated match of the season. The tension in the air was palpable, but for you, y/n, it was much more: it was a personal matter.

"Y/n, are you ready to lost this bet?" Alejandro Balde had said to you a few days before, with an arrogant smile painted on his face.

"Don't count on it, Balde. Real will win, and then you will be the one to swallow your words" you had replied, with a confidence that now seemed to waver.

But now you were there. The match was over. 5-2 for Barcelona. And, as if that wasn't enough, Balde had scored one of the decisive goals.

You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, still wearing your Real Madrid jersey, your hands crossed on your knees. He, leaning on the kitchen counter, was staring at you with an amused expression.

“I thought you’d take that shirt off as soon as you came in,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of mischief.

“Don’t count on it, Balde,” you replied, staring at him with challenging eyes.

He approached slowly, like a predator studying his prey. Each step felt like a blow to your pride. He stopped in front of you, his gaze piercing.

“You remember our bet, right?”

“Yes, I do,” you replied through gritted teeth.

“So, y/n… are you ready to keep your word?”

“I didn’t mean to lose,” you admitted, trying to keep your composure.

“But you lost,” he replied with a triumphant smile. “And now you’re here.”

There was a moment of silence. Then he sat down next to you, moving just close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin.

He reached for your shirt and ran his hands along the fabric, feeling the soft texture of the fabric.

"This shirt is beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "But it would look better on my bedroom floor, don't you think?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you tried to remain impassive.

"You're not serious," you replied, trying to keep your cool.

"Oh, I am," he said, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "You lost the bet, y/n. You promised you'd do whatever I wanted."

you look at him badly "I will not go to bed with a dirty culers" you say angry.

Alejandro laughed, a low, husky sound that sent goosebumps across your skin.

"Oh, y/n," he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh. "You don't know what you're missing. But don't worry, we don't have to go to bed yet. There's so much we can do right here, on this couch."

At his words you look at him badly again.He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "You know, I've always had a thing for feisty girls like you," he murmured, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"You're so tough, but I know how to bring out your more submissive side."

Alejandro lifted you from the couch and placed you in his lap, his arms encircling your waist. You tried to resist, but he held you firmly, his gaze piercing yours. "You can fight it all you want, y/n, but deep down, you know you're already mine."

His hands roamed over you slowly, exploring every inch of your body. "Just give in," he whispered, kissing your neck. "Let me make you feel what you truly crave."

"fuck you, I'm not yours and I never will be" you say confidently but in the meantime you try to move your neck more to give him more space.

Alejandro chuckled, his teeth grazing against your skin. "Oh, y/n," he murmured between kisses. "You can lie to yourself, but your body doesn't lie. It knows that it needs me."

His hands caressed your thighs, teasingly inching closer and closer to their center.

You tried to resist, to push him away, but his touch was too persuasive. Your breath was coming in short gasps now, and the warmth spreading through you was undeniable.

"Shh," he whispered. "Just be a good girl and give in. I promise you'll enjoy it immensely"

His fingers traced the edge of your panties, teasing you with their feather-like caress. You felt yourself weakening, the tension of the game forgotten as his touch ignited a fire within you. He watched your reaction with a cocky smile, knowing he was slowly breaking down your defenses.

"That's it, y/n," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "Stop fighting it. You know you want this as much as I do."

His hands continued their exploration, their touch growing more confident as they found their way beneath your underwear. A low moan escaped your lips as his fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot.

"See? You can't resist," he purred, his fingers slowly stroking your most intimate place. "Just let go, y/n. Give in to me."

You tried to hold on, to fight the growing heat within you, but the sensations were too powerful. The way he touched you, the way he whispered in your ear - it was all too much. You gasped and arched against him, your body surrendering uncontrollably to his touch.

"That's a good girl," he praised, his lips capturing yours in a fierce kiss. His fingers kept moving, teasing and pleasuring with skillful precision. His other hand wandered up the hem of your t- shirt, pushing the fabric up to reveal your trembling body.

You moan into the kiss, and start to move closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and deepening the kiss

"Mmm," he murmured against your lips, his hands now roaming your bare skin. "I knew you'd come around, y/n."

Alejandro lifted you and placed you on his lap, the evidence of his own desire pressing against you as he continued to kiss you deeply.

You moan as you feel his erection against you and you grind against him as you deepen the kiss.

He groaned in pleasure, his hands gripping your hips and encouraging your movements. "Gods, y/n," he muttered, breaking the kiss and nipping at your neck. "You're driving me insane."

He moved against you, creating a delicious friction that made both of you gasp.

You were completely in his control now, surrendering to the sensations that rocked through you. His touch was electric, his kisses hungry, and the way he held you, possessive.

"You're mine," he whispered fiercely, his hands gripping your hips harder as he rocked against you. "Mine."

With a swift move, he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the nearby bed, laying your body down against the soft covers. His eyes, darker with desire, roamed over you, drinking in the sight of your flushed skin and parted lips.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his hands gently parting your legs to give him better access. His touch was both teasing and assertive as his fingers traced the inner side of your thighs.

Alejandro quickly undresses you, smiling at the sight of you naked "so sexy' he muttered.Then, his face was between your legs, his tongue delving into your most intimate center, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. You cry out, your fingers gripping the sheets as he worked his magic, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy.

He added two fingers inside you while sucking your clit sending you to the limit.You moaned loudly and blocked his head by putting your hands on his hair and your legs resting on his neck. You moaned loudly "shit, keep going I'm coming" you moan as you push your pussy harder on his face.

Alejandro moans and moves his fingers faster and licking, sucking and kissing your pussy more making you come. "You taste so good baby" he whispers licking his fingers.

Slowly, he positioned himself above you, looking down at you with a mix of desire and dominance. "Now," he said, his voice a husky murmur, "Tell me who owns you."

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind clouded with pleasure, but you know what he wants.

"You," you manage to gasp out, your body still quivering from your release. "I belong to you."

He smiles, satisfied with your answer, and then he leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. "Good girl," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, his touch both possessive and tender. "All mine."

Alejandro smiles as he sucks and nibbles your nipples making you moan. Then he gently pulls away from your nipple and begins to undress and flips you over onto all fours.

He positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. "You're all mine," he reiterates, his voice husky with desire. "Every inch of this body is mine."

His hands caress your skin, tracing patterns along your spine before his lips follow, kissing every inch of skin he can reach.

You can feel his breath against your skin, his lips warm and soft, sending shivers of anticipation through you. His hands continue to roam your body, exploring every curve and contour, claiming every inch of you as his own.

Alejandro starts rubbing himself on your ass and then enters you making you scream with pleasure.

"Mmm, you're so tight," he murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear. "You feel so good around me."

He starts moving slowly, his hands still roaming your body, his touch both possessive and gentle. The sensations are overwhelming, the sounds and pleasure mixing together in a heady cocktail. You cry out, your body responding to him passionately, arching more towards him.

Alejandro smiles and grabs your ass and moves you towards him to make you arch better. "That's right, take it all like the good girl you are for me" he murmurs in your ear nibbling making you moan.

"That's it," he praises, his voice husky with pleasure. "Let go. Give yourself to me completely."

His movements become faster, more urgent, as he completely takes control of your body. He whispers praises and dirty words into your ear, his mouth hot against your skin, his teeth nipping lightly at your neck.

With each thrust, you feel yourself slipping deeper into the storm of pleasure. Your body is no longer your own, surrendering completely to the rhythm he sets. You cry out, lost in the sensations, the world around you fading away until all that remains is his touch, his voice, and the overwhelming pleasure that washes over you like a wave.

Alejandro slaps your ass and fucks you faster. You scream with pleasure and Alejandro smiles "You like getting fucked by a Barcelona player, eh Madridista?" he teases you by pushing harder

You can barely respond, your mind clouded by the sensations coursing through you. You manage to gasp out a response, your voice thick with desire. "Shut up, you dirty culer," you choke out, your words slightly slurred by the pleasure that consumes you. "You're just a cocky bastard, that's all."

Alejandro laughs and pushes himself harder into you. "I don't understand, repeat madridista" he teases.

You glare at him turning your head to look at him and Alejandro grabs you by the neck , the effect is lost in the haze of pleasure that surrounds you. "You know damn well what I said, you arrogant bastard," you grumble, your words laced with irritation.He just laughs, clearly enjoying your feisty attitude. "No manners, madridista," he says, his voice thick with amusement. "I'll have to teach you some."

He pushes himself in deeper, his hand gripping your hip tightly. "Are you ready to admit I'm the superior player?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "That Madrid is nothing compared to Barcelona?"

You moan at his strong thrusts "never, you had any luck on the field" you blurt out.

He laughs at your defiance, clearly enjoying your fiery spirit. "Luck, you say?" he murmurs, his voice a low purr against your skin. "You really believe that, little madridista?"

He thrusts harder, making you gasp and arch your back, his movements slow and deliberate.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck. "Let me show you the real power of a Barcelona player," he whispers, his voice low and laced with arrogance. "I'm going to make you scream my name, madridista, and you'll never forget who owns this game."

With that, he picks up the pace, his body moving with powerful, purposeful strokes, each one claiming you completely. You can feel yourself slipping into a haze of pleasure, all thoughts of rivalry and competition fading away beneath the intoxicating rhythm of his movements.

You find yourself gasping and moaning, unable to form coherent thoughts or words, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations that ripple through you. The only sound that escapes your lips is his name, echoing softly in the air around you.

"Yes, that's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Say my name, madridista. Admit who owns you now."

You barely register the words, lost in the storm of pleasure, but somehow, you manage to choke out his name, your voice broken and shaky.

"Alejandro" you moan loudly arching to take more "so big" you hum in pleasure "so good" you continue to moan, almost whimpering with pleasure.

He's encouraged by your response, his movements growing rougher, more possessive. "My little madridista," he purrs, his voice husky and full of dominance. "You feel so good around me. All mine."

Each word sends a shiver down your spine, adding to the growing tension within you.

You're completely swept up in the moment, your body responding to his touch like a puppet to its master. He controls everything - the rhythm, the pace, the pleasure - and you're completely helpless beneath him, surrendering every inch of yourself to him.

Your mind is a storm of emotions and sensations, your body a battlefield for his touch. You can feel your climax building, growing in intensity, a slow burn that builds and builds until it finally explodes in a rush of pleasure and release. You cry out his name, the sound swallowed up by the waves of ecstasy that crash over you, your body shuddering beneath his.

Alejandro grabs your hair to push himself deeper into you.

You moan at his rough, possessive touch, the slight edge of pain adding to the overwhelming pleasure that engulfs you. "Yes," you gasp out, your voice hoarse and low. "God, yes, deeper."

His movements become rougher, more demanding, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, your mind lost in a haze of ecstasy.

He growls into your ear, his voice thick with possession. "Mine," he grunts, his words punctuated by deep, powerful thrusts. "You're all mine, madridista. Only mine."

You can feel yourself slipping deeper into the abyss of pleasure, your body responding to his every movement, every word, every touch. There's nothing left now but the storm of passion and dominance that surrounds you, the world outside fading away until all that remains is the two of you and the explosive connection that binds you together.

"Come for me," he groans into your ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Scream my name, madridista. Show me who owns you now."

You're helpless against his command, your body and soul completely under his control. You cry out his name, your voice hoarse and broken, as the waves of ecstasy wash over you, consuming you completely. Your body shudders and twitches beneath him, your mind a dizzying whirlwind of pleasure and surrender.

He holds you close, your bodies locked together in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and pleasure. He whispers soft, possessive words in your ear, the sound of his voice a soothing balm to your racing heart. Slowly, slowly, the storm of passion begins to subside, leaving you both gasping for breath and blissfully exhausted.

You gasp as you feel him release inside of you, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. You cling to him, your body still trembling from the force of your climax, your mind blissfully blank and free of all thoughts except the sweet, bone-deep satisfaction that envelops you both.

"You're mine," he whispers into your ear, his voice a possessive purr. "Mine. Always mine."

You can only respond with a soft sigh, your body and mind too exhausted to form a coherent thought. You feel him pull you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle, yet firm embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in his scent, letting yourself bask in the afterglow of pleasure and connection.

[archivingbarca]

FCBarcelona: Tests carried out on Sunday morning on the first team player Alejandro Balde confirm that he has a distal injury to his left hamstring. His return to action with the first team will depend on his recovery.

(twitter, 13/04/25)

[strawberryblue-blog]

Please can u do barca boys being clingy with the reader? (add hector fort plss!)

Super clingy —FC Barcelona.

summary: request.

warnings: none. cute, soft, excess of romanticism.

words count: +1.1k

💌: Masterlist.

Pedri González.

Endless hugs.

He always finds an excuse to hug or touch you, even when there is no apparent reason. If you're sitting on the couch, he settles in behind you, wrapping his arms around you while resting his head on your shoulder.

"It's just that I'm more comfortable here" he tells you, even though you know he just wants to feel you close.

If you move, he adjusts his embrace without complaint, as if you are a puzzle piece that needs to fit perfectly with him. If you walk the other way around the house, he will follow you, trying to catch you again.

Ferran Torres.

Kisses all the time.

Not an hour goes by without him giving you a kiss. Whether on the forehead, on the cheek, on the tip of the nose or on the lips, his gestures are constant. He approaches without a word and leans in to kiss you anyway.

"I just can't help it, you're too cute" he says whenever you protest.

Even in public, he finds ways to drop you a quick kiss, if only to remind you how much he adores you. Sometimes it's accompanied by a hug from behind and he'll linger for a while until you ask him to move (in a good way)

Pablo Gavi.

Sticky hands.

If they're watching a movie, their fingers gently run up and down your arm, drawing little circles without you noticing. If you have loose hair, he takes it between his fingers and caresses it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Sometimes, he touches your face, gently tracing the line of your jaw or your nose.

"I just like to memorize you" he tells you when you ask what he's doing. His hands don't hold back and will touch you for as long as he has the chance.

Fermín López.

Enchanted words.

He tells you "I love you" with a frequency that seems exaggerated, but it never feels forced. "Did you know you're the best thing that ever happened to me?" he asks you at least once a day.

"Did I tell you already that you look beautiful today? Because you are. Always" Even when you're disheveled or in your pajamas, he finds a way to remind you how much you mean to him.

He chases you with compliments, anywhere, any time, he is tender and delicate, telling you how much he loves and appreciates you.

Alejandro Balde.

Faithful companion.

No matter what you are doing, he wants to be with you. If you are cooking, he stays in the kitchen, even if it's just to lean on the counter and watch you. If you're studying, he's your moral support by your side, never leaving you alone.

If you have to go out shopping, he insists on going with you, if you visit the doctor, if you have dinner with your parents, even if you do something simple like go to the bathroom.

"I don't want to miss a second with you" he says with a smile, as if it really is a luxury to be by your side even in the most mundane tasks.

Hector Fort.

Annoying romantic.

Suddenly, without warning, he takes you by the hand and starts dancing with you, even though there is no music.

"Listen, there's a song in my head and it's perfect for us" he says as he guides you with awkward steps around the room.

He hugs you, lifts you up, throws you on the couch to tickle you, undoes your hair,olesta practically but romantically. Even if you laugh at his witticism, you can't help but feel special as he's obsessed with you.

Lamine Yamal.

Personal protector.

If you're tired, he carries your bag without you asking. If you're in a crowded place, he holds your hand firmly, as if he wants to make sure you don't get lost.

If someone speaks to you in a way he considers inappropriate, he discreetly places you behind him. "Don't worry, I'm here" he says with a security that makes you feel completely protected that even seeing seems annoying but isn't.

He takes care of you in front of others and gets extremely affectionate to protect you from anything.

Pau Cubarsí.

Deep glances.

Maybe he is the least annoying in terms of affection. But he loves mirartc When you fall asleep, how peacefully you rest next to him, while he admires you in love.

"You look so peaceful like that" he says when you wake up and find him looking at you with a smile.

If you move, he arranges the blanket over you, making sure you don't get cold. If you come up, he carefully pulls it down, if your hair gets out of place, Pau rearranges it. Sometimes, he even leaves you little notes that you find when you wake up.