#lupe garcia reader insert

You don’t know what hit you. Quite literally. 

Unsteady, you trip and drop butt first on the hard concrete. A ball straight to the face knocks you off your feet.

You’re not very quick to think of the consequences, and so you instinctively bend your elbows to ease your fall. 

Effective. Though, not by much.  

Does it soften the impact of the fall? Maybe. Is your back spared an injury? Most likely.

But cement is merciless when it’s hit with force, nonetheless.

You try to get up but you feel heavy, giving in to your own bodyweight eventually and Lupe is immediately at your side.

Still processing what had just happened, your fingers reach to the centre of your face in an attempt to soothe the pain that shot up in the middle of your injured nose.

Blood? Huh.

The pitched ball, however soft, catches you by surprise, causing you to lose your balance and still manages to pop some blood vessels in your nostrils.

~~~

You rue the day you decided to get anywhere near a ball. 

You have watched Lupe for a while now from your balcony. Actually, you have made a habit out of it.

Every now and again you’d hear grunting and a few ‘fucks’ here and there, and every time you’d rush to your balcony and watch as Lupe threw ball after ball.

 She pitches with an impressive force. You don’t know much about baseball but you could see, her form emits confidence, the determined look on her face seems everlasting. 

You are infatuated with the Peach to say the least, it doesn’t help that she’s easy on the eyes too. You do stare. It is all but inevitable, really. 

Until, you were caught one time a month or so ago— “You’re going to hide up there forever?” She’d barked. 

“Oh, I— I was just,” you’d stumbled on your words then, being caught like that.

It was humiliating. 

“I don’t mind an audience. Just don’t be a creep.” She had told you, turned her attention back to her practice and paid you no mind.

You remember feeling a tiny bit very insulted when she waved you off. But you preserved, having other plans in mind.

You had decided that that was not going to be the last Lupe will be seeing of you. And like any sane person you were going to jump at the first opportunity to initiate contact. 

“Can you teach me?” you’d blurted out with utmost enthusiasm, surprising yourself and her at the time.

She turned to you again, looked you up and down, eyebrows raised “seriously?”

Seriously.

Lupe was feeling particularly bored that day, and frankly she was kind of over having to keep stealing glances at you all the way down from her backyard. She wanted you closer. 

“You better not waste my time.”

“Yes!” You’d cheered, jumping on your balcony’s railing nearly toppling over from excitement.

Plan in motion. 

~~~

Your graceful fall leaves you uncomfortable in all sorts of ways.

Lupe is a nervous wreck. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You look up at her, confused. She looks like she’s just accidently stepped on a little puppy's tail. You blink. 

She hovers over you, face so close you can see the panic in her eyes. “Are you okay?” Her voice sounds brittle.  

Silence.

She cups your face with both hands and slightly raises her voice as though she was calling you back from the dead, “speak, Christ’s sake!” Lupe was damn near losing it, she shouldn’t be this tense, she’s witnessed and been the perpetuator of this type of incident countless times before, during games, during practice.

But this time it was different. It was you. 

“Hey I’m not dead. That okay with you?” you groan trying to sit up straight once more.

Lupe sighs. If you’re making sick jokes moments after being hit with a leather ball to the face then your injuries can’t be that bad.

(She hopes). 

You look at your fingers, they’re dripping, on your lap, the floor, on your favourite baseball shirt Lupe had ‘lent’ you a couple of weeks ago. It’s all covered in red now.

“Am I bleeding?”

You start to freak out and Lupe is a little relieved that you’re finally making sense of your surroundings. She manages to regain whatever little composure she could, embarrassed at her little emotional outburst a minute ago. 

“Looks like it. Let’s get you inside, alright?” Lupe helps you up, one hand– her hand, on your lower back. The soft touch makes you scream internally.

The other hand holds your arm. The touch sends you screaming, literally. 

You cry out. The clumsy drop left you with many cuts and scratches of every colour and Lupe had just flared one up when her hand came in contact with your arm. 

“What is it?” she knits her brows, voice inquiring with sincere concern.

“I think I scraped my elbow” you rotate your arm to take a better look at the cut. 

“Lemme see.” She slowly traces her fingers around your cuts and your eyes are fixed on the movement. The new contact of Lupe’s skin on yours makes you feel dizzy. 

You swallow, eyes still locked on Lupe’s pretty fingers moving along your arm, the pain forgotten for a split second. 

And Lupe’s mind is racing anew, going off speed limit. Her stomach sinks, the guilt is eating at her. 

She’s always made sure her pitches were as soft as possible, she always wants you to be able to catch the ball. 

Nothing matches the proud smile you flash at her whenever you catch one of her throws. And when you get a little too excited and you jump, your hair jumps with you. Your skirt does too. Lupe lives for it. 

Was she thrown off her game? Distracted ? She’s not entirely sure what happened but she knows she hurt you and it feels like hell. 

“It’s not—” Lupe begins, stopping mid sentence when she notices the distraught look on your face. “Doesn’t look that bad.” She notes inspecting the ‘wound’.

You relax a bit, physically deflating.

Lupe is not so calm. There is a slight tremble to her moving hands, they shake just so. You can feel it as she holds your own. She’s picking at her lower lip, biting hard enough for blood to converge around the pressure added by her grinding teeth.

She is distressed, and can't stand the fact that you’re in pain. “I can bandage it for you. I have to deal with Jess’ every night after practice,” she rushes, and gives you a reassuring smile, simmering down herself.

~~~

You remember Jess, two weeks ago she had greeted you right as she was walking out the backdoor of the Peaches’ house. 

“It’s batting day.” Lupe had told you that day. She was going to teach you how to swing a bat. She’d wasted no time coming behind you the second you held your bat, to “correct your stance” you recall her instructions. 

Her arms wrapped entirely around your upper body, her hands holding your hands gripping the bat, “you’re tense.” No shit.

“Relax your shoulders.” Lupe had ordered, one hand moving to squeeze your bicep hoping it will provide you with some comfort.

No comfort was provided. 

There is no relaxing when Lupe is breathing down your neck, literally, her lips mere millimetres away from yours. 'Relax–' you could hear the smugness in her voice, you don’t see the smirk but you know it’s there and you want to slap kiss it off her face at the audacious request. 

“Hey Lu. Miss.” Jess tipped off her cap. Ever the gentleman. 

“Oh, hi. Hello” you were startled by the new presence and quickly moved to untangle yourself from your instructor. 

Lupe immediately takes offence, folds her arms frowning at the unwanted intrusion, unappreciative of the sudden lack of proximity between the two of you.

“You must be Rockford’s newest Peach” Jess joked.

You laughed abashedly toying with your bat. 

“Just Lu’s then?” She casually threw, raising her eyebrows at you.

Hm? 

She’d winked at Lupe and got a ball thrown at her from the very flustered Striker as a result.

Just Lu’s. Whatever that means. You like the sound of it, you thought. Lupe not so much though, you recall.

~~~

Lupe helps you inside the house. All tender and bloodied, you cling to her arm. 

She leads you into the kitchen and ushers you to the sink.

Lupe fetches a clean tea towel from the kitchen cupboard and wets it by the opened tap.

You watch her every move, a force of habit.

“It’s fine. I can do it myself” you move forward to grab the towel out of Lupe’s grip. 

Resting one elbow on the countertop, Lupe pulls her busy hand away from you. “Uh-uh,” she waves a finger at you. “Let me. Please.” She moves closer, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest quietly, embarrassed at the situation you led yourself into. But (not so) secretly hope that Lupe would follow through with her offer regardless. 

“Already told ya I’m good at this, your pretty face is in good hands.”

What a gloat.

“Alright, but only because you insist,” you speak softly, cheeks hot, you roll your eyes at her.

Lupe smirked, victory is hers. “Look at you being shy.”

She’s easing up. Lupe holds the piece of cloth to your face and it is all that separates you from her.

She cleans your bloodied nose so gently you close your eyes enjoying the sensation.

“Don’t die on me soldier,” she commands. 

“Hmmm this soldier doesn’t think she can keep up, Doc,” you say, eyes still closed. 

Lupe can’t help but pause her action, two fingers tilting your chin up, she stares.

God she is so into you.

She immediately stops herself in the act realising what she’s doing, she takes a step back, shaking her head as though it would shrug off the mushiness that washed all over her with your handsome face between her fingers.

“Why don’t you take a seat while I get some alcohol for your cuts.” 

She pulls out your chair for you and you sit, anticipating Lupe’s return as soon as she leaves the room.

Moments later Lupe comes back with the promised sanitising equipment. “Ready?” she asks, holding booze in one hand and a piece of cloth in the other.

You gulp.

You wrap both feet around the chair legs at the sight of the bottle, the anticipation of the stinging sensation makes you freeze in fear, you know exactly what awaits you.

Lupe seizes the chance and moves to stand in the empty space between your parted thighs, pulls the cork out of the bottle with her teeth and pours the liquid onto the cloth. 

“Gimme your hand.”

You comply, content with the renewed touch. Not for long though.

You wince the second the alcohol-drenched cloth comes in contact with your scraped arm, closing your eyes shut as though it will make the pain disappear.

“Ow, ow, ow, take it off, take it off,” you start whining.

 “You’re such a princess, you know that.” Lupe mocks you, and removes the cloth at your demand.

“Yeah well, an injured one too,” you defend yourself, rubbing around your cut to cool off the burning from the alcohol. 

“It’s not even that bad,” she teases.

“This could have been a lot worse. I could have died!”

Lupe side-eyes you as she puts the bottle away and scoffs, shaking her head at the overstatement.

“Whatever you say, princess.” 

“Hey! Don’t pretend like you weren’t about to faint out there.”

Lupe averts her eyes, still holding your arm, peevish at the accusation. She releases a deep sigh, and shifts her attention back to your injury, deciding to ignore the fun you were poking at her expense.

She was definitely busted.

“That’s right, I saw that,” you hit a nerve, you can tell that she’s embarrassed. “You were worried about me,” you beam proudly. 

“Well, how about you stay quiet,” she tightens the gauze around your arm, “and let me finish fixing you up.” She orders. 

“You’re mean,” you complain, fishing for consolation from Lupe.

She stops, raises her hands in front of her face, “Unless you want me t–”

“Fine.” You cut her off, a hint of defeat in your voice, you obey all the same. 

“There’s a good girl.” She looks you directly in the eye, all while she resumes her work on you.

Who’s about to faint now.

~~~

Fact; you scared the living shit out of her. 

Also fact; she was not about to let you know. She will not let you have it. You’ll never let her live it down. Lupe was not about to give you this kind of satisfaction. Other kinds she dreams about, yes but not this.

“Better?” she asks, tying the gauze into a perfect little bow. “Made it cute for you,” she admires her handiwork.

“Not really,” you bat your lashes at Lupe and give her a big pout, “still hurts.” You enjoy her undivided attention. You want more.

“Want me to kiss it better, your royal highness?” She offers sarcastically, brushing her thumb along your inner arm.

“Stooooooop calling me that” you half laugh half whine looking up at Lupe from your chair.

“You make it so easy.” she laughs, looking down at you, delicately holding your arm still.

“I do not!” you protest, fists clenched to your sides and feet ready to stomp. She’s so got you. The playful back and forth is driving you crazy, Lupe is driving you crazy, you look for something to fiddle with. You find yourself putting one finger through the loop of her jeans, unintentionally pulling her slightly closer. 

Lupe is pleasantly surprised by your move, she grins at you tucking a hair behind your ear, the tips of her fingers lingering on your neck.

It gets you excited. Your head tips to the side leaning into her touch, “You’re beautiful,” you mumble gazing up at her adoringly.

She chuckles, thumb still drawing circles behind your ear, “And you’re loopy from the hit.”

You hum smiling. You look so kissable Lupe thinks, but she doesn’t dare.

You think she looks so kissable. But your chair is too comfortable. You have to get creative. Get her down to kiss you with minimal effort. 

You remove her hand from your neck and lock your fingers between hers. You drop your other hand from her jeans and you hold her free one. Lupe squeezes your fingers approving of the gesture. You pull her closer by the hands, resting your chin on her stomach, you hold her gaze.

“Kiss me?” You ask innocently.

Lupe is warm all over. She likes your confidence. You’re not sure where you’d garnered that. Maybe you are a little loopy after all.

She gives you the sweetest smile, the bottoms of her teeth slightly poking out, you peel into giddy laughter and kiss the middle of her abdomen over her plaid shirt . She is breathless from the act. 

Lupe lowers herself to your level, supporting herself with one hand on the back of your chair, the other caresses your face.

“Sorry about this,” she mumbles, the pad of her thumb brushing the tip of your nose. 

You refuse to indulge. “M’no.” You shake your head, eyes fleeting shut. Lupe ducks a little, her lips barely touching yours. She lingers with her mouth open. 

She pulls away and you open your eyes, quickly squirming up in your chair chasing Lupe’s mouth. You pull her down by the pockets and catch her into an impatient, messy kiss.

You pull away and she rests her forehead on yours, her thumbs brushing the baby hairs on the sides of your face.

“Feel any better?”

You don’t answer, but your shaky release of a breath is a dead giveaway.

“That was pretty nice,” she whispers to a still-closed-eyed you.

Nice.

Nice is an understatement of course. She could totally live off of your kisses alone for the rest of her life, Lupe thinks.

“Anything else, princesa?” she offers slyly. She wants it just as much as you need it.

“More…” 

Lupe complies, her kisses tentative and gentle, and you lose your fingers in her hair. 

Safe to say that there was a lot of making up and out that night.

~~~

“How come you didn’t see the ball?” Lupe asks, tangled up in her sheets with you, pausing the trail of kisses she was leaving down your chest. 

“Mmhmm, let’s not fuss over the details.” You pull her face up to you and kiss her again with even more fervour, averting the subject alltogether.

Truth is, you got a little bored between catching and missing half the balls Lupe was pitching your way.

Amidst the boredom you decided to make your own rules, Lupe was going to catch your balls now.

You quickly grabbed a ball off the ground and threw it towards her, Lupe immediately raised her hand jumping a little to catch your stray ball. Her shirt raised a smidgeon above her waist revealing her lower torso, and you caught a glimpse of her belly.

You ate it up no doubt. Distracted, you caught a ball to the face as well.

You’re a lousy trainee. Lupe doesn’t mind, at the end of that day she got to kiss you, amongst other things.