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lovebugism · 3 months

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Smut request idea: Eddie worshipping reader's tits, who is insecure about their small size (lol totally not projecting 😅)

ty for requesting :D — eddie 'heart eyes' munson sees your boobs for the first time (cw for nudity, but no real smut, 18+ mdni, 1.1k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

On a rainy, post-show night, in the back of Eddie Munson’s van, you decide to be brave.

Buzzing with alcohol, adrenaline, and adoration — a wild concoction rushing like fire through your veins — you take your shirt off for the very first time in front of him. Mostly because your sweater was getting itchy, so you’re not entirely sure how brave that makes you. But your skin burns still, empty like a blank sky, yearning for a warmer touch to fall over you like stars.

In the simplest, most human way, you need Eddie to touch you like you need to breathe air.

So, when you tugged the fuzzy sweater up and over your head, you hadn’t thought much about doing it. You were too full of need, too unthinking. Head clouded with longing until you developed something short of tunnel vision for the boy underneath you.

It wasn’t that big a deal, right? Isn’t this what girlfriends do with boyfriends?

Eddie’s silence is not reassuring. It feels more like a knife lodged in the very center of your sternum.

You lay the sweater beside you and cross your arms slowly over yourself. Equal parts to hide what you’d just revealed to him and to shield your bleeding, stinging heart.

Eddie’s face twists, pained features swirling like a hurt puppy. “Wait— What are you doing?” he asks in an unabashed whine. His less-than-subtle pout deepens as his chocolate-button eyes flit up to yours.

You keep curling in on yourself, but from where you straddle his thighs, he’s impossible to run away from. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” you wonder in a tiny voice, distantly fearful of the answer.

You don’t have the kind of chest people put on magazines. Maybe you should’ve just kept the shirt on.

Eddie’s ringed fingers smooth around your bare waist. He realizes he’s holding you there for the very first time without any fabric covering you. His chest starts to sparkle. His thumbs rub gently at your ribcage, just below the arms still concealing yourself.

“‘Cause I’m too busy enjoying the view, honey,” he answers with a plush pink and crooked smile. His words are slightly slurred, weighed down by fatigue and desire. “How am I supposed to think when I’m looking at you, huh?”

You make a faint, grumbly noise, features scrunching in disdain at his compliment.

He smiles wider and curls his fingers around the wrists you hold over yourself. There is little force behind his touch, no eagerness to tug your hands away. Instead he just holds you, in a distinctly quiet embrace, telling you silently that you can let your guard down whenever you’re ready.

“So you don’t think they’re weird?”

He answers with an immediate scoff. “No, I don’t think they’re weird— I think they’re beautiful! I think every part of you is beautiful.”

You grow less and less tense in his hold. Your hands start to slip. You let them.

Bare again in front of him, the boyish glimmer in Eddie’s dark eyes returns.

The wild cadence of rain on the rusted tin roof resembles the rapid patter of his pounding heart as he ogles at you. And, with his back propped against the driver’s seat, he has the most perfect view of you.

The pale hands along your ribcage slowly start to rise. His warm touch leaves sparkling goosebumps in its wake. He doesn’t stop until his thumbs are settled neatly beneath your breasts.

“I mean— I always knew they’d be pretty, you know?” he mumbles, getting lost in you all over again. You don’t know if he’s talking to you, or if he even knows he’s rambling. “‘Cause when you’d let me feel you up, you know, over the shirt— I always imagined what you’d look like under it…”

He trails off then, forgets how to make words when his thumb rubs over your soft nipple. The gentle stimulation makes it stiffen beneath his touch. Eddie smiles to himself, all boyishly giddy.

“…But I couldn’t’ve, in my wildest imagination, expected this.”

Your chest warms with his affection. You scoff about it, anyway. “You’re such a boy,” you laugh.

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty…”

Still cupping your chest, Eddie leans down to kiss you there. A chaste, open-mouthed peck to your pebbled nipple. His heart swells when he hears you moan above him — your nose buried in the strands of his wild hair, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Eddie licks his rosy lips when he pulls back from you.

“See? You’re gonna kill me one day, doll— I swear,” he teases in a joking tone, but means every bit of it. He loves you so much it makes his chest ache. You’ll give him a goddamn heart attack one day if he’s not careful. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me this whole time…”

You’re not sure either, now.

“I was just scared that… I don’t know,” you stammer, clammy hands fidgetting with his intentionally tattered Corroded Coffin t-shirt. You’d helped him cut rips into the white fabric before the show. You distract yourself with the pink lipstick smudge you’d pressed along the neck of it, rubbing hopelessly at a stain that’ll never come off.

“I was scared that you’d think I was less pretty or something. I don’t know.”

“No,” Eddie recoils immediately, face twisting in abhorrence of the thought. He shakes his wild head at you. “No way. That’s not possible. I think you’re fucking— perfect. And I think that…”

His eyes fall to your chest again. He loses the rest of his words.

A smile blossoms on your face. You don’t think you’ve ever felt prettier than you do right now.

“You think that what?” you tease, hands rising again to twist in his deep brown curls.

Eddie’s button eyes flit back up to you. His ringed hands lift to cup your breasts in his wide palms. They fit just perfect in his hands — like he was made to hold you there. The width of his beam rivals your own.

“That I just found Corroded Coffin’s next album cover,” he answers.

The sound of your laughter fills the van. Sunshine compared to the rolling rain outside.

“No. No way. That’s not happening,” you refuse, still smiling, as Eddie leans into you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck when he puts his mouth on you. He buries his own laughter against the plush of your breast — along with so many little kisses.

He doesn’t mind your light-hearted rejection. The only thing Eddie likes more than showing you off is keeping you totally to himself.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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trashbaget · 2 years

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#just spent a good 40some minutes hanging around the cafe talking to him until he got off work #(after already dropping by for a hello twice earlier in his shift)#fuck i really really like him #my heart is racing and my stomach’s twisting and my hands are shaking and god i like him #i’m pretty sure his coworkers thought there was Something Happening but that also might just be me romanticising life yknow #he’s just some guy #but i really fucking care about him and not just in That Way because we’ve been friends over a year #hardcore yearning is difficult guys it's distracting and ugly and painful and damn am i feeling its full effects right now #who the fuck knows if homework is going to get done because all i want to do is think about him and write this poem and ache #fucking hell i am so.....i am so far fucking gone right now yall it is EXHAUSTING !#ah shit i forgot i let an irl on here lmao hi irl if you see this No You Absolutely Do Not! :)#anyway if you need me i will be intensely buzzing in the corner trying not to sob about the existence of some guy (:

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

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lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art.

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #movie!mike #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #abby schmidt #abby schmidt platonic #mike schmidt angst #hurt/comfort #josh hutcherson

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sporadicbeans82 · 8 days

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Pain || Alexia Putellas x Reader

Requested here

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of fighting, gross men doing gross things, blood and injury, unedited

Word count: 3.8k words

Throughout the years that you’d been with Alexia Putellas, you’d given up the vast majority of your nightlife. As you sat next to your girlfriend of three years, her hand warm against the top of your thigh, you remembered just why.

It was late, almost so late that one would probably consider it to be “early morning”. Anyway, it was way past your bedtime, and you found yourself having to fight back yawns every few minutes.

It probably didn’t help that you’d played a full 90 minutes of football a few hours earlier. Each movement you made was met with a protest from your muscles, and you feared that something would cramp if you moved too much.

The deep base of whatever fast-paced Spanish song played so loudly around you that you could barely keep up with the very people who had brought you there. Claudia, Pina, and Cata, the three although mostly Patri, had convinced you and Alexia to come for a night out with them, to celebrate your win for the day.

After a lot of whining and pleading, and a promise from Jana to introduce you to Fletcher at the concert she planned on going to, you and Alexia had agreed.

And so, that was how you found yourself at a bar in Barcelona, slightly intoxicated and more-than-slightly ready to go home.

It wasn’t as though you were a “party pooper”, you and your girlfriend simply preferred a calm night in rather than a rambunctious night out. The both of you were very passionate about football, and about your careers, which meant the two of you were often going to bed early and avoiding distractions to your goals. It made you a good couple, deemed a “power couple” by most of the womens’ football community, as you’d seen on Twitter. However, it also meant that the team could rarely drag the two of you out.

Someone stumbled into the table you and several of your teammates sat at, and you recognized the figure as a very, very drunk Pina. The brunette used both of her hands to grip onto the table and regain her balance, and Alexia leaned over to pull the girl down into a seat.

“Hola. You will sit here now. Estás bien?” Your girlfriend spoke softly to her younger teammate, stroking some of her hair back from her sweaty face. Claudia fixed her brown eyes on you and Alexia and gave the both of you a huge, mindless grin, one which had you smirking to yourself.

“Hola Ale,” Claudia slurred. “Estoy muy bien.”

The younger girl giggled, leaning on Alexia, and Alexia turned her gaze towards you to give you a measured look. Leaning in so that you could hear her, Alexia spoke.

“I will go get la idiota water. You stay here, con ella.” The mix of spanglish which left Alexia’s mouth had, at the beginning of your relationship, been hard to decipher. Now that you’d been together for so long, you were able to understand her much better, making sense of the faster-paced Spanish and the random slew of English, Catalan, and Spanish that the girl used to communicate.

At first, Alexia had clearly had a preference for Spanish. For you, she’d changed that, out of her yearning to communicate and to find common ground, which you’d appreciated. In return, you had learned Spanish and Catalan.

And so, you nodded at Alexia, allowing her to slip out of the booth and for Pina to slip in further, leaning onto your shoulder. Her body was warm against yours, uncomfortably so, but you could say you were used to it, given your occupation as a footballer.

As Claudia babbled incoherently in your ear, you kept an eye out for your girlfriend as she strode up to the bar. You were watching out of a mix of protectiveness and interest. You couldn’t deny the little flutter in your chest as Alexia leaned against the counter of the bar, waiting for someone to address her. As she did so, she caught your eye and smiled shyly at you, a look which made your fluttering chest explode.

You smiled back, and Claudia poked your cheek with a giggle of her own.

“You are in loveeee.” Claudia said, the alcohol in her system making her thick Spanish accent ever-thicker. You smiled gently, keeping your eyes on Alexia even as you spoke to the younger woman.

“Si. I am very in love.” You confessed. They were words that you’d said a million times, but they never failed to make you blush whenever they left your lips. Even now, your smile grew and the warmth in your chest persevered.

Your smile fell just a second later as a tall, blonde man strode up to your girlfriend. He was sweating, which you could see from where you sat as his hair stuck to his forehead, and the way at which he stumbled told you that he was heavily intoxicated. He leaned up against the counter, entirely too close to your girlfriend for either of you to be okay with, and slanted over towards Alexia in order to speak into her ear. Immediately, you could tell that his presence wasn’t welcomed.

Alexia tensed, her smile turning downward into an annoyed frown as she looked at the man. She’d shaken her head at him, a motion to decline whatever he had offered her. She’d turned sideways, trying to put a little bit of room between the two, and you saw the way her shoulders seemed to turn inward.

You watched, brows furrowed, as the man continued to try to talk to Alexia. The girl continued to try to lean away from the man and to create space, but the man continued to push forward. You nearly lost your cool when the man put his hand on her lower back.

You tried not to be overprotective of Alexia, as you knew the other girl was an incredibly independent person. You both were, in fact, which sometimes caused arguments between the two of you. You knew that Alexia could handle whatever came at her, and you knew that she prided herself on being able to handle anything and everything.

And so, you were slower to get up, hoping that Alexia did, in fact, have it handled. You did, however, gently move Claudia so that she was no longer leaning on you. Then, you got up, your eyes still carefully surveying Alexia and her facial expressions.

You began to make your way over to them, and that was when you noticed the mans’ hand, which was still firmly planted on your girlfriends’ lower back. It was then that the man made his move, sliding the appendage lower to grope her ass.

You swore you saw red, and any ounce of control that you had over yourself was gone in a flash. One second, you were making your way over, and the next had you grabbing a fistful of the mans’ shirt, pulling him away from Alexia harshly.

You tried to put as much space between Alexia and the man as you could, angling yourself so that you were in between the two as you confronted the man. The man was shouting, his voice drunkenly thick and agitated, a spattering of words which you couldn’t have understood even if they were spoken in your mother tongue.

You shoved the man backward, your own shouts meeting him in a clash of loud voices. You weren’t nearly as drunk, but you were pissed off and the alcohol was making you bolder than usual.

“Fuck off, you douchebag. Can’t you see that she’s uncomfortable?” The man simply continued to shout, making a rude gesture at you. “Even if she weren’t, why would she wanna go home with someone looking like their ballsack hasn’t seen soap and water in a month? Wash up, buddy, you’re disgusting.”

Your words were lewd, and some of your teammates around you shared looks– Paños chortled at your insult, as did Patri, Mapi, and a few of the other girls. The more responsible ones, such as Ingrid and Alexia, were sure that this was going to end badly.

Alexia reached forward to try to grab your shoulder, attempting to pull you back as she saw the man step towards you. The movement was probably what saved you, altering the point of contact between the mans’ fist and your face.

It was a glancing blow, the mans’ knuckles smashing into your cheekbone. It sent you into the corner of the bar all the same, your forehead connecting with the wooden countertop. Your vision blackened as your body connected with the floor, the last thing you were able to make out being several pairs of shoes moving around.

Alexia, however, was out of her mind. One moment, you were standing and angry, and the next you were on the ground, limp and bleeding from God knew where.

Before she knew it, security was restraining the man, leading him out of the bar. They were going to grab Alexia and some of the other girls, but the bartender who had witnessed the entire situation stopped him.

Alexia didn’t really see any of that. As soon as the man had been escorted out, she’d crouched down next to your fallen body. To her relief, you’d already awoken and were trying to get up.

As you tried to sit up, however, your entire body seemed to sway. Everything around you was spinning, and you didn’t know whether it was the intense pain in your head or the alcohol in your system which had you leaning to the side, trying not to vomit.

“Ale-” You whined, sure that your girlfriend was near. You felt someones’ hands on your shoulders, but you couldn’t hear anything over the loud music. Speaking of, the bass of the song which was playing in the bar was cacophonous and painful to what you would have considered to be an intolerable degree. It was, quite frankly, the worst nightmare of someone with a concussion.

Your pain was only doubled as lights flashed within the bar, and you tried to close your eyes tightly to block out the sight. Your face hurt, and so did your shoulder, where you had slammed against the floor after hitting the counter after… being hit in the face.

As soon as you began to remember what happened, your anger and concern returned in full force. Was Alexia okay? Was the rest of the team okay? Was the man still there? Your eyes opened as you tried to check, but immediately closed as the lights in the bar assaulted you. You groaned out in pain, and heard someone try to hush you.

Alexia wasn’t sure what to do to help you, afraid that you’d somehow broken your neck, or suffered a brain bleed during your fall, or that you had broken a bone. Her mind had jumped to all of the worst possible things, and she couldn’t help but worry over each of them.

Alexia couldn’t remember ever being so worried before. Sure, she’d watched her teammates get injured and had been concerned, but she couldn’t remember ever being scared like she was right now. Perhaps it was because she couldn’t control the environment, couldn’t control the fact that you had gotten hurt– that you had gotten hurt because of her. She felt terrible, and her stomach seemed to flip upside down as she watched you try to take in your surroundings, as your nose and eyes scrunched in pain.

Blood was everywhere– were you supposed to be bleeding this much? It was coming from the cut on your forehead, a cut so small that it shouldn’t have been bleeding this much. Why were you bleeding so much? Alexia could feel her panic taking over, unable to do anything to control it as she knelt by your side, helpless to do anything but watch. She felt like she was having an out of body experience– this couldn’t be her, and that couldn’t be you.

She’d never seen you so still before, so pale and small. She’d never been so panicked before, she was supposed to be stronger than this. However, in the face of uncontrollably scary circumstances, Alexia was doomed to do nothing else but freeze.

It was Ingrid who came to your aid, kneeling down beside you and your girlfriend. Her hand was soft as she grabbed your chin, taking note of the small cut on your forehead and the bruising which had already begun to form below your eye.

“Alexia,” Ingrid tried not to shout, but she had to get her captains’ attention somehow. “We need to get her out of here. It’s too loud and too bright, and I think that she has a concussion.”

“No, I’m okay, I don’t want to ruin your fun!” You argued, clearly more than a little bit out of it. Despite that, the two were glad to know that you could understand them and speak in response.

Alexia nodded, pursing her lips as she took you in. She wanted to take you to get you checked out, as you clearly had been injured. However, she knew that they needed to get you out of here first.

As gently as she could, Alexia put her hand under your arm and waited for Ingrid to do the same on your other side. Together, the two stood up with you carefully supported between them.

Slowly, the two brought you through the bar, surrounded by the rest of your teammates. Other people made room for you all to get to the door, as you had caused quite the scene.

Alexia was concerned by just how much of your weight was being carried by herself and Ingrid. You seemed almost slumped over and still out of it, you seemed to become more aware of yourself as they carried on. Slowly, you began to walk by yourself, taking more of your weight on shaky legs. Even still, Ingrid and Alexia stayed by your side, mostly to ensure that aforementioned shaky legs didn’t fail on you and cause you to fall back to the ground.

Your teammates began to drift away, to their own vehicles, as Alexia and Ingrid carried you towards Alexia’s car. They whispered quiet goodnights to each other, and to you, and many told Alexia to call them if they needed anything.

Finally, it was just you, Alexia, Ingrid, and Mapi. They stood in front of Alexia’s car, with you buckled into the back seat while the other three stood talking amongst themselves. Alexia had positioned herself so that she could keep you within eyesight, her eyes never once straying from your form, and the way that your head had slumped against the window.

They knew that you had to go to the hospital, to at the very least check that you hadn’t hurt anything else in your fall.

“Ale, estás segura de que estás bien para conducir? Are you ok to drive?” Mapi questioned Alexia, sounding pensive. Between the couple, Alexia seemed to be a shaky mess. Her hands quaked as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Noticing this, Ingrid slowly brought her hand up to Alexia’s shoulder, rubbing it softly in order to try to comfort the clearly distressed woman.

“Sí. Estoy bien. I can drive.” Alexia nodded, almost seeming to be speaking more to herself than to the other two.

Ingrid didn’t seem quite as convinced, however, and shook her head.

“No, I will drive. Hop in the backseat with your girlfriend, Ale. We’ll help you, okay? YOu do not have to do this alone.” Her voice dripped with sweetness, portraying a calm that seemed to seep into Alexia’s very being.

Slowly, Alexia nodded, clearly relieved over not having to do this alone. Mapi opened the back door for her, closing it behind Alexia once the captain had gotten into the backseat beside you. Mapi and Ingrid climbed into the front, with Ingrid driving due to the fact that Mapi was still recovering from injury.

As the two started the car and made sure the radio had been turned off, Alexia gently checked on you.

“Ay, mi amor. Mantente despierto por mí. There you go, stay awake, good.” The girl allowed you to rest your head on her shoulder, making sure that your eyes stayed open. They continued to droop, and it was obvious that you were exhausted.

Alexia leaned her head over and gently placed a kiss on your forehead, making sure not to jostle you as she did so.

“Ale,” you groaned, as the car drove over a bump. You winced in pain, and Alexia hushed you gently.

“I know, mi alma. It is okay, it will be okay.” You’d never heard Alexia speak so gently to you, her fear and concern seeping into every word that left her lips. She’d managed to calm the tremors in her hand and used her free hand to wrap it around your upper body. Her hand pressed gently into the side of your head, making sure that you weren’t jostled any more than you already had been. The pressure on your face had you whimpering in pain, and Alexia apologized ever-so-quietly, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead.

“Almost there, just a little bit longer.” Ingrid promised from the front seat, and Alexia whispered a thank you to the dark haired woman.

Alexia’s cool palm against your injured cheek was calming you down. So much so that you felt yourself being lulled to sleep. As your eyes closed and opened repeatedly, you felt them becoming heavier and heavier. Every part of you yearned for sleep, for rest, and for a break from the intense, splintering pain in your head.

You could feel yourself losing your battle to sleep, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. As your eyes closed one final time, you heard Alexia trying to urge you to stay awake, but it quickly turned to begging.

Your last cognisant thought before you fell into a dark, fitful rest was that Alexia smelled really, really pretty.

-----

Four hours later found you being discharged from the hospital with nothing more serious than a concussion.

Alexia had been beside herself with fear when you’d been wheeled to a room just a few minutes after you’d arrived. She’d been forced to sit in a waiting room, with nothing but the company of Ingrid, Mapi, and her panicked thoughts.

Alexia had been incredibly relieved when the doctors had come to get her just an hour later, telling her that you were fine, save for your concussion and a few stitches that you’d needed for your forehead.

She’d been allowed to see you, to sit by your side as the doctors did some last minute check-ins with you. By then, you had been more lucid and had been able to have quiet conversations with your girlfriend.

Ingrid and Mapi had joined you a short time later, and had stayed by your side as Alexia had wheeled you out. They’d helped you back into the car, and had driven the two of you back to Alexia’s.

The couple had tried to leave, but Alexia had ushered them inside her home. She’d made them sleep in her guest room, stating that it was entirely too late for them to be driving home, and that she had more than enough space for them.

As Mapi and Ingrid had settled in, Alexia had left them to go check on you. She’d placed you in your shared bedroom, with the lights off and a small ice pack on your forehead to deal with the swelling from the cut. You already looked awful, with the mark below your eye darkening and the white gauze on your forehead sticking out starkly against your skin.

Still, with your eyes closed and your lips open, making little snoring noises, Alexia couldn’t help but think that you were still beautiful. At one point during that night, she had considered what would happen if she had lost you, and she couldn’t bring it upon herself to consider a life without you.

You were the light in a gloomy day to her. When Alexia called you her love, her heart, her soul, she wasn’t kidding. You were everything and more to her. If she didn’t have football, if she didn’t have a house, a car, a respectable career, she would still have you, and that was enough to make her happy.

She would have given up everything she had and more to make sure that you were safe.

Slowly, Alexia made her way over to you and sat down on the other side of the bed. Gently, she stroked your hair back from where it stuck out against your forehead. Again, she found her pressing a gentle kiss against the skin there, her lips lingering as she fought back the emotions which threatened to break from her.

“Ale?” Your voice broke her from her thoughts, the dreadful “what-if’s” which had crossed her mind more times than she could count throughout this entire experience.

“Yes, mi amor?” Alexia asked, voice so quiet that you could barely hear her. Her breaths brushed against your skin, lips still close to you.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and you heard Alexia chuckle a little bit at that.

“Should it not be me who asks that?” Alexia questioned, but you could hear the humor breaking through her voice.

“No. Are you okay?” You repeated your question, stubborn as ever. You needed an answer, always one to look out for your girlfriend, even when you could barely “look out” of one eye.

“Yes, I am okay. You are okay. It will be okay,” Alexia’s answer confused you, and it would only be later, when you were able to look back on the events of that night, that you would understand her. “Go back to sleep, mi alma.”

You didn’t need any more convincing as your eyes fluttered back closed, sleep coming back to claim you once more.

Alexia laid down beside you, pressing her nose against your neck and taking a deep breath. As your familiar scent flooded through her, she felt herself calming further. She had doubted that she would be able to sleep that night.

However, your skin against hers, in combination with the sound of your soft breaths, managed to calm her down enough to lull her back to a sleep as deep as your own.

-----

You were given the week off by Jona, and Alexia had also taken off so that she could care for you. Throughout the rest of your week, you also had a number of visitors– from Claudia, Patri, and Cata to Ingrid and Mapi, to many, many more of your teammates.

They all showered you with gifts, although Pina, Patri, and Cata had been kicked out when Alexia had caught them obsessing over how “cool you had looked” when you had punched the “gross looking man”.

For the rest of the week, Alexia treated you like glass. It only took a few days for you to grow tired of the treatment. However, knowing how scared Alexia had been, you never once complained.

Despite the pain in your head and the ache in your bones, you knew that you would have done it all again an infinite number of times for the girl that you loved.

#woso imagine #woso one shot #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #harper writes

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