Steddie Week 2024
July 5th Prompt: Reunion
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 6 | Day 7
@steddie-week
“Babe,” Eddie calls from the kitchen. Steve’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, so he garbles out an unintelligible one minute! before quickly finishing.
He walks into the kitchen, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “What’s up?”
Eddie’s eyes are dancing with mirth as he helps Steve fix his collar. “You’ll never guess what just came in the mail.”
Steve raises a brow. “You’re acting like my parents are groveling at the door right now.”
Eddie barks out a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, no. I’d very much be laughing in their faces if that’s what was happening.” He grabs Steve’s glasses from the counter he’d forgotten them on last night, unfolds them, and carefully slides them on Steve’s face. “No migraines,” he murmurs, and Steve’s hit with a rush of love so big he just has to tell Eddie.
“I love you.”
Eddie smiles softly; a small, disbelieving, hopeful thing that’s never changed from the first time Steve said it. “And I, my love,” he murmurs back. “But no, it’s not your parents.” His grin grows into a giggle. “It’s fuckin’ Hawkins High.”
Steve makes a face. “It’s still standing?”
Eddie snorts. “Apparently-fucking-ly.” He grabs two letters; one with Steve’s name, one with Eddie’s. “One letter for each of us. I already opened mine. It’s a reunion.”
Steve furrows his brows, rips into the envelope, pulls the paper out. “Hawkins High School… forty-year reunion… de-” he frowns up at Eddie. “Decennial?”
Eddie hums, nods. “Every ten years. God knows where our other ones went.”
Steve hums. “Guess we can throw these in the trash, huh?”
Eddie shifts. “You don’t want to go?”
Steve stares at him incredulously. “You do? You, Eddie Munson, want to go back to the place where—and these are your words, here—apart from our group of friends, only the- the backwoods of inbreeding resides?”
Eddie cackles. “Oh yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” He’s delighted. Steve’s finding it hard not to smile in the face of that joy.
“So you want to go back?”
Eddie shrugs. “Think about it,” he requests. “I don’t want to go to see how anyone else is doing. Frankly, I don’t have the time to give two shits about them. But you know I’ll always jump at the chance to show you off.”
Steve raises both eyebrows this time. “You want to show me off? In fucking Hawkins?”
Eddie deflates. “You don’t want to go.”
Steve shakes his head. “No, babe, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that even though it’s legal, even though we’re officially married now, if there’s one place that isn’t gonna be accepting…” he trails off, lets Eddie finish the thought for himself.
“What if I convince Nancy to come?”
“Well, she’ll have to come if we go, won’t she? Cause you know she’ll go anywhere Robin does, and Robin’s gonna follow me, so…”
Eddie snickers. “Okay, yeah, fair enough. But babe, we’ll have Nancy and Robin on our side. The three of you took on Vecna, I think you can take on some overweight, washed-up, balding fifty-something-year-old.” He squeezes at Steve’s biceps, and Steve tries not to preen.
He’s proud of the care he’s shown his body, he’s proud of the way he looks, he’s proud that Eddie likes the way he looks. He can feel his resolve waning, is about to tell Eddie fuck it, let’s go, when his phone rings.
He pats his pockets, looks around for it. “Room,” Eddie supplies, and Steve gratefully peck his cheek before jogging to their room, where it’s laying on his nightstand. Eddie walks in as he answers it, having followed at a more sedate pace. “Hello?”
“Are you going to the reunion?”
“Hey, Robbie,” Steve chuckles, meets Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah, we are.”
“Yes!” She cheers. “You’re the best, we’re getting joint hotel rooms, right?”
He laughs and sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s Hawkins, Robs, I don’t think it has anything quite that fancy.”
Robin groans, loud and long enough that both Steve and Eddie have to stifle their giggles. “But I haven’t seen you in forever!”
“It’s been barely a week, Robbie.”
“That’s what I said!”
He relents. “I know. I miss you too. We’ll see you there?”
“Yeah,” she agrees, and hangs up.
Steve looks at Eddie, amused. “I guess we’d better pack. And you should tell the guys, don’t you have something going on that day?”
“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, and runs to the living room for his phone.
Steve surveys their room and sighs. He calls out to Eddie, “bring me a notepad on your way back, please!”
Eddie does, so he sets to work making a list for everything they need to pack while Eddie types away, postponing his plans.
While they might not get joint hotel rooms, Steve, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy are carpooling back to Hawkins in Robin’s van. She’s driving, Nancy’s in the passenger seat, Steve’s right behind Robin and Eddie’s right behind Nancy. Their luggage is piled precariously in the back, meaning every time Robin turns, the luggage slides from one side of the van to the other. Steve, with his mostly-undiagnosed OCD, flinches every time. And every time, Eddie pats his hand.
Besides the shifting suitcases, it’s a nice ride, even if Steve does grab Eddie’s hand and squeeze, just a hair tightly, whenever they pass the Welcome to Hawkins! sign.
Everyone gets a little quiet, after that. Robin fumbles with the radio, and Eddie perks up. “This song,” he says, practically bouncing in his seat.
Steve snorts. “Iron Maiden,” he tells her.
“The fact that you know that-”
“It gets worse,” he tells her, grinning. “The song is called Wasted Years. I know all the words.”
Robin grins, turns the volume up.
The joke’s really on her, though, because she’s always been good at music, patterns, and she’s singing the chorus with him and Eddie by the time they get to the end of the song, Nancy laughing at them. “So understand,” they sing, Robin glancing in the rearview mirror, Steve looking from her to Eddie and back again. “Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years. Face up, make this stand. And realize you’re living in the golden years!”
Steve and Eddie are practically screaming it at each other by the last line. Robin’s given up to join Nancy in laughing at them. Steve joins in as Eddie plays air guitar to the end of the song, collapsing in a laugh when it’s finally over.
“Okay,” Eddie says, grinning. “I think I could take on anything now.”
“Yeah?” Nancy asks, pointing ahead. “You’re ready for the reunion?”
They’d decided, since the last time they took a proper road trip had been too many years ago, they could do it the same day as the reunion.
They’d forgotten how getting old, coupled with the problems every one of them still has from the Upside Down, means they’re all very much sore from sitting in a car for upwards of five hours.
The plan was drive the five-something hours, go to the reunion, crash in the hotel, and drive back home the next day.
Steve hates the plan now and wants to go to the hotel to rest like the old man he’s letting himself be.
However unfortunate it may be, the reunion is today, which means Steve gets to suck it up, say hi to people he probably doesn’t even remember anymore, and then leave.
He hops out of the car and stretches a little, laughing when Eddie attempts the same hop out of the car and almost eats asphalt. “Dumbass,” he mutters. Eddie shoots him a Cheshire grin.
Before long they’re ready to walk inside. Steve takes a breath as he passes through the doors. The hallways are the same, but the lockers are new. It still smells like teenagers and feet, he notices, wrinkling his nose. The things you’ll get nose-blind to, he supposes.
The letters they’d gotten said the reunion was to be held in the gym, so that’s where they head.
Steve didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t a few snack tables along the edge of the room and a single Reunion of ‘85 banner. “Goddamn,” Eddie says from beside him, “depressing much?”
Steve snorts in agreement and walks over to the drink table. If he’s going to talk to people, he’s at least going to have questionable-looking punch while he does.
When he turns after getting punch, he nearly runs into someone. He quickly steps back. “Oh, sorry!” He looks up into the shocked face of Tommy Hagan. He blinks. “Tommy?”
“Steve.”
Steve smiles. “How’ve you been?”
Tommy blinks, like he can’t believe Steve’s being nice to him right now, and that’s when Steve remembers they’d parted on not-so-nice terms. Oh well, he would’ve feigned politeness even if he’d remembered. “I’m good, yeah, uh, how- how’re you?”
“I’m good,” Steve agrees. “Really good. Last I remember you and Carol were dancing around each other, yeah? What happened there?”
“We got married,” Tommy nods.
“Congratulations!”
“And then divorced two years later,” Tommy adds, smirking. Steve winces. “How about you? Last I knew, it was you and Wheeler, ‘cept she cheated on you with Byers, yeah?”
“God,” Steve laughs, “that was so long ago. Yeah, that happened. We talked it through and Nance and I are really good friends now. She’s married to someone else, as am I, but we both keep in touch with Jon, thought he’s out in California now.”
Tommy’s brow raises. “Married? Who’s the lucky girl?”
A presence beside him makes Steve turn to see Eddie grinning at him. “My ears are burning.”
“They should be,” he laughs. “Tommy, you remember Eddie?”
“Munson,” Tommy nods, then does a double take. “Wait, you’re married?”
“As of three years ago now,” Eddie says proudly. “But together for…”
“Thirty-seven years,” Steve provides, smiling at his husband before turning back to Tommy. “Did you ever get remarried after Carol?” Tommy shakes his head.
Eddie whispers in Steve’s ear, “You know he totally had the hots for you, right?”
Steve winces at the blast of static from his hearing aid and quickly shuts it off. “Ow,” he mutters, grinning crookedly at Eddie, who looks apologetic. He quickly signs what he’d whispered, and Steve laughs. “Don’t you remember my initial panic?”
Eddie thinks, back to when Steve had asked him what’s gay versus friendly, becoming increasingly confused when most of the things Eddie ticked off in the gay category were things Steve and Tommy had done that Steve had thought firmly resided in the friendly category. “Oh, yeah.”
Steve snorts, shakes his head, pushes him away. “Go talk to someone else. Rescue Robin, she looks like she needs it.”
“Nah,” Eddie says, “she can hold her own,” but goes anyways after a quick peck to Steve’s cheek. Steve turns the hearing aid back on.
“Man,” Tommy says wonderingly, “what happened to you?”
“Concussions,” Steve answers flatly. “Three of ‘em. Then I grew up.” He sighs, looks down at his cup, then up at Tommy. “Listen, man, about what we used to do-”
Tommy winces. “I know. I had that revelation a while ago, actually, but it was definitely shitty of me.”
Steve smiles, shrugs. “You had a crush on me. It’s not an excuse, but it does make a certain kind of sense you’d react that way, especially considering the kind of home life you had.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Feel free to stop listening if the therapist side of me comes out. I swear I’m not trying to, like, diagnose you with anything.”
Tommy’s brows raise. “You’re a therapist?”
Steve hums affirmatively. “Started as a school counselor, if you can believe that.”
Tommy fixes him with a wondering grin. “Y’know? I think I can see it.”
“Do my eyes deceive me,” someone says from their side, draping their arms across Steve and Tommy’s shoulders, pulling them into a hug.
Steve comes face-to-face with Carol. He grins. “Hey, Carol.”
“Hey, you,” she says, raking her eyes over him. “Time’s been good to you.”
“You’re one to talk,” Steve says happily, but its true; she doesn’t look a day over forty, instead of the fifty-odd she is now. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” she agrees.
They go through the same song-and-dance, but this time when she asks who he’s married to, he sees Eddie juggling water bottles, talking to a couple of people. “Oh, for-” he mutters, then louder, “Eddie, what in the everloving fuck are you doing?”
Eddie drops a bottle, puts the other two on the table behind him, and jogs over to throw his weight onto Steve. “Making friends.”
Steve snorts, elbows him off. “Say hi to Carol, babe.”
Carol clocks it immediately, based on the twitch of her eyebrow, but only says, “I didn’t peg you two as a couple.”
“Well, yeah,” Eddie snorts, “it was Bumfuck, Indiana in the 80’s.”
Carol tilts her head in agreement, then turns to Tommy and says coolly, “Tommy.”
“Carol,” he replies, tips of his ears red.
Eddie looks between them, then turns a raised eyebrow on Steve, who quickly signs, “Married for two years a while ago. I don’t know any details.”
“He clearly is still into her.”
“I refuse to be a part of whatever you’re planning.”
Eddie pouts. “You’re no fun.”
Carol clears her throat. “Sign language?”
Steve snorts. “Turns out brains aren’t supposed to get banged around. You’ve got a real good chance of messing something up that way.”
Eddie pokes his cheek. “‘S not your fault.”
“Never said it was,” Steve placates.
Carol shakes her head. “How many concussions do you have?”
Steve hums. “Three? Four?”
“Three,” Eddie corrects. “Not that we need to get into it right now.” He gives Carol a tight smile, and Steve hip-checks him.
“Down, boy,” he murmurs with a smile. “I’m alright.” He turns to Carol with a wider smile. “Long story short, the concussions caused irreparable hearing loss. I’m almost completely deaf in my left ear, but I get by.”
“Damn,” Carol says lightly, “life, huh?”
Steve snorts. “You can say that again.” He tilts his head. “How are you?” He asks. “Really?”
She gives him a crooked smile. “Let’s walk and talk.” Steve offers her his arm, which she takes with a laugh.
“How am I,” she muses. “Well I thought I found love, but we imploded two years later. Thank god for prenups, I guess, but at the same time, that made it feel like we were doomed from the start.”
Steve hums. “Eddie and I have been legally married for three years,” he tells her. “Together for thirty-seven. We’ve got prenups. Not because we think we won’t work, but because we want the people we care about to not have to worry about any of that.” He’s silent for a few steps. “I used to think love is out of our control. That we don’t get to decide who we fall for. And maybe, to a certain extent, that’s true. But love is also a choice you make every day. Eddie and I are still in love because we choose to be.”
“You look at each other like you’re on your honeymoon.”
Steve giggles. “And to think we didn’t even have a honeymoon!”
Carol laughs, too, then sobers. “You always were more fortunate in love,” she says. “What do you think? Do we have a chance?”
Steve hums. “I think it’s obvious, just by looking at him, that he’s still into you.”
“No shit.”
“So what’s important is how you feel. Marriage is work, I’m not gonna lie and say it’s not. So are you ready, and I mean really ready, to work for it?”
She works her lower lip. “I think so,” she admits. “But I- I’m also not completely sure I’m straight.”
“Okay,” Steve shrugs. “Do you know what he and I used to get up to?” He shrugs at her look. “I’m just saying, neither is he.”
“I mean, I definitely still like guys.”
“Well duh, you’ve taken more dick than I have and I’m married to a man.”
She snorts. “But women…”
“I know,” Steve says sympathetically. “It’s hard, isn’t it.” He pats her hand. “If you’re ready to try, though, you need to talk to him.” He turns her around, gestures toward Tommy, who quickly looks away, cheeks burning. They both laugh softly.
Carol leans up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Steve. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Let’s actually keep in touch,” he agrees, handing her his phone. “Where do you live?”
“Columbus for now, but he’s in Dayton.”
Steve hums. “We’re in Detroit.”
“We’ll do phone calls,” Carol decides, laughing.
Steve chuckles, saves her number. “Plan to meet up-”
“Never actually do-”
“Oh, Carol, it’s been so long-”
They both break off into giggles. “You’re fun,” she decides. “I wish we’d kept in touch.”
“To be fair, we competed for title of bitchiest.”
“To be fair, I don’t think we ever grew out of that,” Carol retorted, and Steve snorts, gently shoving her.
“Alright, go get your man, and send mine over here.”
She gently steps on his shoe as she leaves, impish smile in place, and Steve turns only to run into Nancy and Robin. “Hey, guys,” he smiles.
Nancy gives him a look. “Making nice with Carol?”
Steve shrugs, grins at her. “Turns out we were just kids. Who knew, right?”
Just then, Eddie comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “What’re we talking about?”
Nancy smiles at him, wraps an arm around Robin’s waist. “Being kids.”
“That so?” He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, pushes back to look at him. “You look lighter.”
Steve hums. “‘S cause I love you.”
“Charmer,” Eddie mutters, turning bright red. “C’mon, seriously.”
“Seriously,” Steve agrees. “I was talking with Carol about her and Tommy, and I told her that why we work is because we work at it.”
“Very true.”
From behind them, someone cautiously asks, “Eddie Munson?”
They both turn, and suddenly Eddie’s scooping her up in a hug. “Ronnie! What the hell are you doin’ here, huh?”
She laughs and hugs him back just as hard. “Did you ever know a Jackson Starnes?”
Eddie’s brow furrows for a second, then smooths out. “Oh, Jackie! Yeah, he was cool.”
“Mhm. He’s my husband.”
“No shit? I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” she laughs, then nods at everyone else. “Who’s the hunk you were hangin’ off of?”
Eddie chuckles. “Ronnie, meet my husband, Steve.”
She turns an eyebrow on him. “You got married?”
“He proposed,” Steve corrects her, grinning.
“To the preppiest of jocks,” Robin adds.
Eddie laughs. “What can I say? It’s love.” He swoons, placing a hand over his chest, almost pulling Ronnie over with the arm still over her shoulder.
She laughs and dumps him off of her. Steve swoops in before he can fall, hoisting him up with a quick kiss.
“I’m Nancy,” she says, extending her hand to Ronnie. “And this is my wife Robin.”
“Oh!” Eddie says, literally jumping back into the conversation. “Robin and Steve are like how we were.”
“Platonic soulmates,” Steve agrees.
“With a capital P,” Robin emphasizes.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Ronnie says.
“How’s Wayne?” She asks Eddie.
“Dead.” He snickers at her face. “‘S alright, Ronnie. It’s been years.”
“Still. I can be sorry.”
“You can,” he agrees. “It won’t help anything, but you can.” He digs his phone out of his pockets, opens his contacts app. “Here, lemme get your number, yeah?”
“Fuck yeah,” Ronnie says, “let’s hang out, just lemme know when so I can get a sitter.”
Eddie chokes on nothing. “You have a kid?”
Ronnie grins, a shit-eating thing as she hands his phone back. “Three.”
“Goddamn,” he says, “you got pictures?”
Ronnie rolls her eyes, grabs her phone. “What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t? Here, this is Cassie, Alex, and… that’s Elijah.”
“Oh, man, Alex looks just like Jackie, doesn’t he?”
“I carry him for nine months,” Ronnie bitches good-naturedly. “‘Nough about me, though, how’re you? Corroded Coffin ever take off?”
Eddie snorts. “You hear about the psychopath in ‘86?”
“I remember something about it.”
“Yeah. I got caught in the crossfires, wrongfully blamed, and spent…” he looks at Steve. “A year?”
“Almost.”
He turns back to Ronnie. “Almost a year hiding out. Corroded Coffin was officially disbanded after I was allowed out of hiding.”
“Fuck,” Ronnie says, “there goes my entire foot in my mouth, I guess. What’re you doing now, then?”
He chuckles. “A little bit of everything, honestly. A little music, a little writing, a little D&D. Nothing that’s made me a household name, but enough that I’m kept busy and we’re comfortable.”
Ronnie nods. “And how about you?” She asks Steve.
“Oh, nothing as fun as that,” Steve chuckles. “I’m a therapist.”
Ronnie tilts her head. “Any specialties?”
“C-PTSD, mainly.”
“Damn, I know about eight people who could use someone like you.”
Steve snorts. “That’s usually the way it goes, yeah.”
“Well it was great seeing you, Eddie,” Ronnie says. “And meeting all the rest of you. But I’ve got to find my husband and get back home, so we’ll have to continue this later.”
“Of course,” Steve says. “See you later?”
“Absolutely,” Ronnie nods, then turns and walks off.
They decide to leave not too much later. They’re all tired, so the drive to the hotel is filled with only the sound of the radio, turned almost all the way down.
“Y’know,” Eddie murmurs, tracing the ring on Steve’s finger, “she was my first kiss.”
Steve snorts, an explosive thing that he definitely learned from Robin. “She what?”
“Yup,” Eddie nods. “I knew I liked girls, but she’s the only one I got close enough to to actually know. We got stupid one night and decided to kiss and it basically went how it would if you and Robin were to kiss.”
“Ew,” Steve says on reflex. Eddie snorts.
Robin slaps at him from her seat, then yells when he slaps back, “Don’t distract the driver!”
“Bitch,” he tells her, “you slapped first!”
“You said ew about kissing me!”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Hell no!”
“That’s why I said it!”
Eddie leans up to murmur to Nancy, “should we break it up?”
“Eh, give it a minute. Once they resort to cursing their lineages we can break it up.”
He chuckles. “Always the wise one, Wheeler.”
“You’d best believe it,” she nods smugly.
“Nancy!” Robin says. “Baby! Defend me!”
“About kissing Steve? Who I’ve kissed before?”
“Oh, no,” Robin says, horrified. “I’m stuck in the car with the two people who are experts on Steve kissing.”
“Why’d you make it sound like a bad thing?” Steve demands.
And… yeah. Eddie’s glad they got separate hotel rooms.
Based on the look Nancy throws his way when they part, she’s glad, too.
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I need to be perfect
Hi. So I kinda don't like this, but I kinda do at the same time, and I wasn't quite sure how to end it. It was also a really good request so I might use the prompt again in another way. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
Barca Femeni x Reader ; Alexia Putellas x Reader (Platonic)
Description: R needs to be perfect and doesn't know how to stop.
Word Count: 2.4k
“When I say ‘jump’, you say ‘how high, coach?’ Got it?” The overweight, middle-aged man with an awful comb-over had shouted to you when you were just 9 years old. His methods were basically abuse, but he produced superstars. And that is what you were going to be. A superstar. It didn’t help that you already had perfectionist tendencies, and your parents were pushy – always expecting brilliance. No, not even brilliance. The best, you had to be the best. Perfect. Flawless. Faultless. Textbook. There was no other choice.
It was no surprise that Barca had come knocking when you were barely 16. You had mixed emotions: elation that Barcelona wanted you, happiness that you could leave the cruel atmosphere you lived in, fear that you weren’t as good as they may have thought, and nervousness that you needed the horrendous conditions to thrive.
Again. More. That wasn’t good enough. You’re not trying. You need to be better. Again. Again. Again.
You had seen the media asking how Barcelona could have signed a 16-year-old rising young talent from a lower league club. The world expected you to be great, Barca expected you to be great, and your parents expected you to be great.
But you didn’t feel great. Not at first. You had turned up to pre-season and noticed how far behind you were from your teammates. You hadn’t considered that it was because they were almost double your age and had been at the club or other high-level ones for years. You were struggling slightly to get the drills – Catalan was the preferred language, and you were still barely competent in Spanish. When the season started, you weren’t used as a sub very much, making your debut in November about 85 minutes into the match. You didn’t get your first start of the season until February. You had gone from being the best in the team at your old club to being a mere blip on the team sheet.
You are useless. You can’t even make it as a sub? You are a waste of time and money. All the effort we spent on you.
Your parents weren’t helping the situation. You already had the voice in your head telling you you weren’t good enough, and the constant barrage of texts, voicemails, and phone calls after another match where you weren’t used was starting to get to you.
So, you started to push yourself. After a season of being on the sidelines too much, you knew you needed to start working harder. You didn’t realise that Jonatan had been hoping to use this first year to let you get accustomed to Spain, the style of play and build your fitness. At first, it was nothing major. You stayed late a few days a week to work on drills, set pieces and technical skills. But then it was staying late every day you had training. And then coming in early. And then you began to run to training, leaving your bags in the locker room overnight for you to go and get changed. And then you began to run back from training, too. And then you added extra at-home workouts (nothing too crazy in the beginning; mainly yoga that turned into Pilates, which turned into an additional 2 hours of bodyweight exercises). For some strange reason, you had been allowed to live by yourself. You think that it was because so many of the girls lived nearby. Ingrid and Mapi lived in the same building as you. Lucy lived on the same road as you, as did Keira, Ona and Aitana. Alexia lived less than a ten-minute walk away, and you were within easy driving distance of everyone else. But because you lived alone, no one noticed how much you were putting your body through, even on your days off and mid-season breaks.
But the hard work was paying off. You started the next season well; pre-season had gone fantastically, and your name appeared on the Starting XI for the first match of the season. It stayed there throughout the year. You had also broken into a constant starter for your national team.
Again. Again. Again. Be better. Do better. Worthless. Poor. Again. Again
You couldn’t see a problem with it. You were fast, strong, technical, good, and great. You were going on two years at Barca, thriving, and playing your best football. You were barely 18, yet you had already been nominated for the Ballon d’Or. Everything was brilliant football-wise. You had to keep going. You couldn’t stop.
Do better. Awful. Again. Be better. Shocking. Rubbish. Useless. Horrible. Again
It was your day off after an intense few weeks when the truth came crashing to the ground. The Champions League had started up again, and a series of away games took place in a short space of time. It was hard with long days away from the comfort of your own home, and your daily routine was not helping the situation. Everyone could tell you weren’t ok – but they assumed it was from the travel. Lucy had picked up a cold or something, Keira was tired, Aitana and Pina were a little achy, and Alexia and Frido were more vigilant over the needs of their bodies. Everyone was exhausted. But you had to keep going. You couldn’t stop.
In your constant pressure to improve, you failed to notice Alexia’s troubled stares, Marta’s questioning looks, Patri’s concerned glances, and Irene’s worried gazes. They knew how hard you pushed yourself … almost. They knew you stayed every day after training, and they were a little concerned. But they didn’t know the extent of it. Not in the slightest.
It was El Clasico. Real Madrid vs Barcelona. A historic rivalry. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep until May, but that wasn’t an option. Everything was fine. You were on the score sheet, winning and playing great football. And then Athenea slid in for a tackle, catching you on your ankle in precisely the wrong spot. You tried (successfully) not to cry, but you couldn’t help the pained gasp that escaped your mouth. Alexia had been by your side instantly, ushering the medics over and holding you in place with her Captain’s stare.
“It’s your ankle, sí?” Alexia knew it was a matter of time before an injury came for you. If only she had stepped in sooner and helped you from overworking yourself. She helped you to your feet and walked you to the dugout.
“What? No! Ale, I’m fine. See,” You stood on your sore foot to prove your point. It hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, but it was fine; you just needed to walk it off.
“No, you sit the rest of this game out, get re-assessed back home and then we see if you can play.” She said with a note of finality as you huffed, turning around and walking off before you could comment.
Terrible. Awful. Be better. Dreadful. Terrible. Hopeless. Incompetent.
You knew it was silly. Your ankle was not ok, but you needed to train. It had been 2 days since El Clasico, and you were forced not to train yesterday, but it had been a travel day, so there wasn’t much you could do. It would be fine; you had trained on injuries before. You had waited until you knew the team would be out on the pitch as you snuck into the gym. Your ankle was heavily taped, but that was fine. You could put some pressure on it – that was all you needed.
You were determined to get at least a little run in. Just a gentle jog, really, barely above walking. Just a quick 5km. Nothing too crazy. You couldn’t afford to stop training, not after everything you have worked for. With your face in a determined expression and the idiocy of a terrified teenager, you got to work. You started on the bike. The movement was a little painful, but it raised your heart rate and got blood flowing. As you moved across the equipment, the door to the gym flew open.
“Qué crees que estás haciendo?” Alexia roared, making you jump out of your skin. Your first thought was that you hadn’t spent enough time on the bike, that she was angry at you for not working hard enough. For stopping. For taking a breather. “You are injured! Why the fuck are you not resting?” Alexia stormed over to you – she seemed angry. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes were dark and stormy, and her mouth was a hard line. She was angry at you. Why was she telling you to rest? Rest? You couldn’t rest. You had to be better. Keep working harder. Push yourself to be the best.
“I …” You couldn’t answer her, you couldn’t make her angrier. You couldn’t disappoint her. “I’m sorry. I just needed some water. I’m starting again in a minute.” You rushed to get your explanation to her. She needed to know you weren’t stopping. You were just moving to a different exercise. You weren’t slacking.
“Again? What have you done already?” She wasn’t calming down. If anything, you were making her angry. With the lack of sleep, the mental exhaustion, the injury, it was becoming too much for you. Tears clouded your vision, Alexia becoming foggy as you tried to stop the emotions from bubbling up.
“I was just moving from the bike. I’ll start running now. I’m sorry. I’m not stopping, I promise.” You were a mess as you moved to start the treadmill.
Alexia stopped to look at you. Really, look at you. Your tired eyes, your dark circles and your sickly skin. The fatigue was evident in the way you stood; your body seemed too heavy for you to hold up. You also looked terrified. She couldn’t work out why, though. Yes, she was angry. A trainer had come into the medical room wondering who had cleared you for exercise. Alexia knew no one had done so; they had told her after the match that it would be 2 weeks or so before you could rejoin training at any level (after the string of injuries, the medical staff were also over-cautious in their assessments of minor injuries). So, she knew you were doing this against their advice. And that made her mad; it was one thing to push yourself in training despite coaches telling you not to overdo it but another to actively go against medical advice. But looking at you, she knew you hadn't asked for medical clearance. You were just a scared little girl.
“No, Chiquita. No, running.” Alexia was a lot calmer now, seeing your lip wobble and your eyes blink rapidly—clearly holding back tears.
“I have to. I can’t stop. I need to be better.” You whispered, ashamed of your perceived weaknesses.
“Cariño,” she cooed, reaching out to you. You flinched, not used to kind touches. Any touches you had received from coaches or captains were ones that would push you into running more, doing more drills, and practicing more set pieces. “Pequeña. You’re injured. You need to rest, mi amor.”
“I can’t rest. I need to train. I need to be better, do better.”
“No, Chiquita. You don’t. You need rest; you need to get well again.” Alexia stepped forward. She could see the war raging in your head – the desire to stop but the need to keep going. “Cariño?” Her kindness made you break. You launched yourself at her, arms wrapping around her neck as you cried into her. “Oh, amor. You’re ok. Está bien. Todo está bien. Prometo. Usted puede parar.” You sobbed into her shoulder, tears dampening her shirt as you howled. Everything was too much. You hurt, you needed to sleep, you wanted to stop, and yet you couldn’t. The voice in your head told you to keep going. Your parents and old coaches told you you weren’t allowed to stop. It was far, far, far too much for you.
“Neña, deep breaths. In … and out … vamos … in … and out.” Alexia instructed as you were becoming hysterical. She made her breaths exaggerated, slow and obvious, helping you to match hers. “Bien hecho, pequeña,” she pressed gentle kisses to your head as she eventually slowed down. “Y/N, I am not angry at you; no one is. But I need to know why you are in here and not at home resting.” Alexia implored, her hazel eyes looking directly at yours.
“I can’t stop,” you said meekly, slightly ashamed of your outburst.
“No entiendo. You can’t stop what?” She spoke slowly, like you would to a child or a scared animal.
“I can’t stop training. I need to be better. I need to do more,” you said, getting agitated—at her lack of understanding or at yourself. You weren’t quite sure.
“Amor, why do you need to be better?” Alexia was truly at a loss. You were so talented; you didn’t need to be better.
“Because everyone says so. They say so.” You looked so fragile and nervous, eyes darting around the room, your fingers twisting around each other.
“Who is ‘they’?”
“My parents … my old coaches.”
“Chiquita, listen to me. You do not need to be better. You are more than enough. You are so, so talented. You work so hard. But pushing yourself will not be good for you, the team, or anyone else. You need to rest, slow down, and allow your body to heal.”
With Alexia’s kind questioning, she soon got to the bottom of everything. You had told her about the harshness you had experienced from a young age, the disappointment and anger your parents had expressed during your first season at Barcelona, and the voice in your head telling you to keep pushing. She knew you had a way to go, but with gentle reminders and constant check-ins, you learnt how to quieten the voices. Training became easier, your home was no longer a place to get more workouts in, and you finally stopped listening to the devils in your life and started paying attention to the angels.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And that was all they could hope for.
I hope you enjoyed it. It was kinda short and I don't know if I really like the ending but yeh.
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How JJK men react to different insecurities part 3
Pairings: Nanami x overweight fem! reader (requested by @deegausserr)
Choso x fem!reader with big breasts (requested by anon)
Yuji/Todo x tall/curvy fem!reader (requested by @sitarawrites, @hitori979, @sophyr05 and anon, I see y'all my tall queens)
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: not 100% proofread, as usual don't read if you feel triggered by those topics, listen I literally have no boobs so I'm beyond sorry if Choso's part is shit, overweight and big breast parts contain insults (please note that this is definetely not the way I feel about it!) but also so much comfort from your favorite characters, you are beautiful just the way you are 🤍
Part 1: Nanami x reader with facial scars; Megumi x reader with small breasts; Sukuna x reader with acne (click here to read)
Part 2: Nanami x reader who doesn't want kids; Gojo x reader who gained weight; Megumi x reader with hooked nose (click here to read)
Nanami with an overweight reader
(Imaging him grabbing those ass bully girls like this okay)
You cover yourself up the minute he enters the room. He, the man who caught your eye since the beginning. He, who looks so effortlessly good in that suit. He, a well-trained man with a body like the statues in ancient Greek.
“Hey, the same as usual?”
“Thank you, (y/n).”
Just him, Kento Nanami. And you? Well, you have nothing in common with all those things. To be exact, you aren’t even sure if he ever noticed you. Why would he? You are nothing but a worker in a coffee shop, average-looking and…
You swallow. You are overweight. Not that it would bother you this much. After all, you work hard for your money each and every day, you do your best to keep your head above the water. You never really felt the urge to lose weight until reality, or rather other people, hit you.
“Oh, look who’s working again!”
“Did you already eat all those muffins? How is it possible that when you’re working, all the food is gone around this time?”
There they are again. Breathe in, breathe out. Everything is alright. Just suffering a few minutes, just letting their words hit you a little longer and they’ll be gone again. You just have to get through this. It’s not like you haven’t heard those group of actual grown-ups say those nasty things to you over a hundred times already.
But no. Today, it isn’t that easy. Because on the table in front of you sits none other than Kento Nanami who reads his paper and sips on his cup of coffee like he always does. Why do you suddenly feel the urge to defend yourself, to make them stop talking to you like that?
“Can you guys just leave me alone? I’m doing my job here, okay? Would you like to drink or eat something-“
“Fat pig”, one of the blonde girls suddenly spits at you.
This is nothing new. You should be used to it by know, all the countless insults especially that group of four girls always spits at you are too much to even count. Then why…Why do your eyes roam to his perfectly trimmed blonde undercut, why do you ball your fist in an instant?
What a dumb mistake. One of the girls follows the direction of your sight, breaking out in hysterical laughing when realizing that you were looking at Kento Nanami. No, please don’t make a stupid comment, please just grab a coffee and leave this place. Even though it hurts to get reminded of the stinging fact that you are overweight almost every single day, what hurts even most is…
“I can’t believe you! Why would a fatass like you even look in his direction? Can’t you see that he’s out of your league? God, you are so pathetic it makes my wanna cry. I mean, don’t you have a mirror at home, can’t you see that you are nothing but a fat fuck? Nobody will ever want you, (y/n). Especially not a handsome man like him.”
It’s hard for Nanami to contain his temper, hand already trembling threatful. Who do these girls think they are to talk to you in such a nasty way? You are breathtakingly stunning with eyes that radiate nothing but kindness, you work so hard each and every day. You…
You don’t deserve this.
“Leave me alone”, you mumble again.
And for the first time in forever, your throat starts to burn as well as your eyes. At this point you were so used to getting picked on that you didn’t even cry about it anymore after some time. But this…this isn’t about your weight anymore. This hits you right where it hurts.
Kento Nanami.
You don’t even dare to look his direction, eyes pierced to the ground while their venomous laughs fill the room with hatred. The urge to just get out of here, to leave this place and never return becomes almost unbearable. Maybe…maybe you should really lose some weight. Your eyes dart towards the counter in whose glass your figure is reflected.
You feel absolutely horrible and disgusting. A silent sob escapes your lips. Yes, why would someone like Kento Nanami ever want someone like you?
“Awww look at her, now she’s crying!”
You can’t take the shame anymore. Without thinking twice, you storm out of the coffee shop, ignoring your co-worker calling out your name behind. It began to rain in waterfalls, your tears now mixing with the drops from above.
There was probably never a moment in your life where you hated yourself as much as now. What where you even thinking, getting all excited every morning because of that force of a man? Were you really too dumb to realize that Kento Nanami would never fall for a girl like you?
A fat pig, a person so undisciplined that it shows, a girl that could never wear his t-shirts as a dress. You are a nobody, an ugly figure in a world full of skinny models-
“(y/n)!”
That voice makes your guts turn in an instinct, heart pounding against your chest. You pick up your pace immediately, almost running down the rainy streets of Tokyo into an alley. Of course, he followed you. After all, Kento Nanami is a gentleman out of romance books, the perfect man. But you’d rather die that let him comfort you. No, you don’t want to hear that he’s sorry about their cruel words, you don’t want him to look down at you with his pity-filled eyes.
You simply can’t take it.
“Hey, (y/n). Please look at me.”
With a swift motion, he grabs your wrist and turns you around. You feel like dying right here and now, his chocolate brown eyes seem to pierce right through your soul.
But then…
He pushes you against the wall and just kisses you. His lips collapse onto yours with so much passion that it simply takes your breath away, his eyes roaming around your body hungrily. You stare at him in sheer disbelief. Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? Countless lonely night, you imagined what it would feel like to have him this close, to feel his body against yours. And now…And now that gorgeous man pinned you against a wall.
“Don’t you dare to believe a single word they said. I promise you that they’ll never speak to you like this again. I made sure of that.”
It feels so surreal, almost too good to be true. Is he only doing this out of pity, because he doesn’t want you to feel bad? Your heart sinks painfully. Is that what this is about?
“You don’t have to do that so I’m feeling better”, you mumble against his lips.
Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest, hiding you like you always do around him.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel better”, he replies in an instant, hands gently untucking your arms to place his own around your waist.
“I’m saying this because I can’t take my eyes off you since I saw you the first time I stepped into this café. You have to be the most beautiful person I have ever seen, (y/n). I adore your delicate curves, your inviting smile, your unshakable character. I love the way your hair falls and how you prepare my coffee. I adore you just the way you are. Did you really think I’m there because of the coffee? It’s not that good if you’re asking me.”
His comment makes you giggle your tears away and shaking your head at the same time.
“Yeah, the coffee isn’t that great to be honest”, you comment.
“But you are.”
He looks down at you all serious again, his intense gaze making your knees go weak in an instant.
“And I want nothing more than to take you out to a nice restaurant.”
Choso with a reader who has big breasts
You were never keen to meet new people, especially men. Not because you aren’t talkative or enjoy others company. No, it’s because you never know how they’ll react when seeing you for the first time.
Even though especially other women are jealous of you because of how big your breasts are, you truly hate them. It seems like the second you meet someone, all they have eyes for is your cleavage. No matter if you wear a baggy shirt, your uniform or one of the dresses you normally adore so much, your boobs come first. And you fucking hate it.
“Hey, why are you so nervous, (y/n)? I’m sure you and Choso will get along just fine!”, Yuji tries to cheer you up with a kind smile.
“And probably your-“
“Shut up right now, moron”, Megumi mumbles instinctively.
You sign to yourself. It’s clear that he’s just trying to be nice and funny, but to be honest you want to cry. Since puberty hit you, no one ever saw you like an individual anymore. No, you are either sexualized or body-shamed.
“Would you crush me with your melons for some money? C’mon (y/n).”
“There she is again. Look at her tits!”
“She’s just showing off. What a slut.”
“I bet those would be a good ass pillow.”
You are so damn tired of it. Tired of all the people talking about you behind your back, tired of being nothing but a sex object, tired of having no character. Even though here at Jujutsu High, people seem to finally get that you are indeed a human being all by yourself and would never talk badly about you, you can feel their looks.
“Oh, there he is! Come on, (y/n)!”
No, no, no. Is it too late to just turn around and leave this place? Maybe Maki is still free, you should go and grab a drink with her. Or even better, barricade yourself into your dorm and return when this man is gone.
“You must be (y/n). My little brother told me a lot about you”, a dark voice introduces itself.
Your eyes dart up in panic. Oh, you just know how this goes. First of all, he’ll look down at your breasts. If he’s having at least a spark of decency, his eyes will dart back to your face and roam around when he thinks you’re not paying any attention. And maybe, just maybe, he won’t mention your cleavage for quite some time.
“Nice to meet you”, you mumble annoyed already.
Huh, his eyes rest right on your face, a small smile forming itself on his lips. You tilt your head to the side, squint your eyes in confusion. Well, this is definitely new. He didn’t even look at them, not a single glimpse onto your body.
“Is it true that you have a thing for blood manipulation? Yuji told me you are interested in learning more about that technique.”
“Well, yeah…”
You have to blink a few times. He is so…different from everyone else. Not even Megumi resisted the urge to look down at you, you even heard him talking about it with Yuji someday. But this man…what was his name again? Choso? He seems to be curious about…
You. Nothing but you.
“I am quite skilled when it comes to blood manipulation. If you want, I will gladly show you a few things.”
“Y-yeah…I mean…That would be nice. Like, today?”, you stutter awkwardly, completely caught off guard by this unexpected change of scenery.
“If you have time, of course.”
“Okay, then…I’ll change now.”
“I’ll meet you at the training field.”
“Yeah…”, you mutter.
As soon as you leave the room, Yuji seems to finally regain your voice.
“And? What do you think about her?”
“I think she seems quite nice for a human being.”
“And what else?”
A big pause that makes your heart shatter for a brief moment. Maybe he isn’t as different as you thought. Maybe he’s just thinking about your cleavage like everybody else does, maybe-
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Haven’t you seen her,…y’know…Megumi?”
“He means her breasts”, Megumi clarifies.
“Why would I look at her breasts when she seems to have an interesting character?”
Your heart almost beats out of your chest, ears literally unable to comprehend what you’ve just heard. It really shouldn’t touch you like that. But oh, the second you begin to realize what that stranger just said your eyes get glossy. It might only be a little statement for him, but it surely means the world to you.
In a world that shames on you for something you can’t change, in a world in which men only took you on dates or talked to you because of your breasts and not because of your personality.
Choso seems to be the first person who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck about the way you look. And oh does it feel nice.
“Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought”, you mumble to yourself.
Yuji and Todo with a cury/tall girl
Just one look at him seems to sweep you off your feet. The way he walks, the way he talks, simply the way he carries himself. It wasn’t hard to fall for Yuji, but it was definitely rough to find out he isn’t interested in you.
“What kind of woman is Yuji actually into?”
Nobara looked at you up and down, visibly bamboozled about what you’ve just asked. There aren’t many things she doesn’t think about, but Yuji Itadori’s type is definitely one of them.
“I don’t know girl…But I guess he’s the type for rather short girls, don’t ya think?”
You hated the way your heart instantly began to ache in your ribcage. Of course he does. Aren’t all boys nowadays into petite girls with a bubbly personality? And to be honest, you are none of that.
Taller than all the other girls and even some boys around Jujutsu High, curvier than anyone else, probably uglier than the rest. You never put much thought into all of these things, but right. Why would Yuji be any different from all the guys you’ve met before?
“Who the hell is this woman, Itadori?”
Todo can’t help but shamelessly stare at you. This is too good to be true, a sight straight out of his dreams. You…You are even better than Takada-chan.
“Huh? Oh, that’s (y/n)”, he replies with a small grin, just one look at you making his heart stumble all over again.
He hasn’t seen you in quite some time now that he thinks of it.
“What kind of woman is your type, Itadori Yuji?”
The pink-haired boy has to blink a few times, eyes still set on your delicious curves and gorgeous long legs.
“I like tall woman with a big ass.”
“Is that your final answer?”, he huge boy next to him urges, grabbing him by his uniform so roughly that his eyes yank away from you.
“Yes!”, he replies immediately.
“Then get going, we need to talk to this beauty over there”, he announces, dragging Yuji behind him before he is even able to reply.
You tilt your head to the side. What the hell is going on over there? Who is that shirtless guy and…is that Yuji he drags behind him as if he’s taking out trash?
“You!”, he shouts into your direction, eyes seem to pierce right through your soul.
What the hell is this about? Should you run away, cry for help? He definitely looks pretty dangerous to you with the way his muscles seem to grow with every step he takes towards you.
“Hey, let me go! I can walk by myself!”, Yuji protests.
“Now talk to her”, Todo hisses, almost pushing him into you.
“Oh, hi (y/n)!”
“Well, hi Yuji…”, you answer rather confused.
You look even better from over here, your body lingering over his own by a few centimetres. Yes, you have to be the biggest woman Yuji has ever seen with a character so badass that no one can hold a candle to you. And those curves, those oh so delicious curves…
“Tell her what kind of woman is your type”, the guy next to him demands harshly.
“Stop being so damn loud, she hears you!”
“Oh, I definitely do. What is all of this bullshit about and what kind of freak are you exactly?”
“Itadori loves tall woman with a big ass.”
Well, that’s rather unexpected. Yuji turns as red as a tomato, not daring to shoot a single glimpse your way. But Nobara said that he likes petite girls and somehow, this always made sense to you. Still, his body doesn’t lie. And the fact that he doesn’t say anything against it tells you…
“You like tall woman with a big ass”, you repeat.
“Well, to be honest, I just like you, (y/n)”, he mutters along with scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
“I like you too. You have to be the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. Let me cherish you for the rest of our lives”, the guy named Todo purrs.
“Hey, I thought you were my wingman and now you’re trying to steal my girl away from me!”, Yuji protests.
“When did I ever say that, moron? We might be brothers, but this right here is my girl-“
“WE ARE NOT BROTHERS AND (Y/N) IS NOT YOUR GIRL!”
“I’ve been crazy about you for so long. I can’t believe you actually find me attractive, Yuji”, you interrupt their little chitchat.
Your heart feels light as a feather, so good that you are almost think about giggling out in sheer joy.
“Are you kidding? You are what dreams are made of, (y/n)! I was just too shy to admit…”
“I’d never be too shy to show my love. Pick me, (y/n)!”
“GET AWAY FROM HERE!”
“I’M NOT LEAVING MY GIRL BEHIND!”
"That's enough, I'm leaving. See you around guys", you announce with a sly grin.
"OUCH, DID YOU JUST SLAP ME TODO!?"
"JUST THE WAY YOU DESERVE IT, ITADORI!"
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