Summary: A one night stand is never meant to get serious. Because when it gets, it’s messy and chaotic. Turn your back on him and you’ll look down to meet his eyes. "Treat me mean, keep me keen."
Tag/Warning: You play hard to get, unrequited love, love confession, crossposted on TikTok.
a/n: There’s no story, I don’t know what I wrote.
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He looked for you in every person he’d met.
Hoping to see you on every street corner.
Longing to lay his eyes on your face, just once.
Fantasising of your face in his dreams.
He wished all of this even if that face of yours he only saw it one time.
Swallowed by darkness, engulfed by the uncertainty of your very name. He knew both everything and nothing about you.
Yet for there was no doubt: he had found the only person he could put on a pedestal. Even higher than his passion for football.
Once again, one too many time, he didn't come home after his game ended.
Wandering through the deserted streets of a town he couldn’t even name. All alone, and so desperate, he tried with all his will to forget your eyes.
That gaze that felt so delightfully good and warm on him. Tried to let go of those lips that had kissed him so gently, your flesh sweet on his.
His money, his fame—all of that could have brought him hundreds like you, but he wanted no one but you.
Because your voice sounded so gentle when you spoke his name. Better than fans singing his name.
Your fingers cupping his face, holding it close to yours. Greater than medals dangling from his neck.
All he wanted was to forget everything about you. Your memory, so short, so brief, was hurting him like no one else had ever harmed him before.
Head low, full of a barely concealed shame, he just wanted to see you more time, begging to grasp your name.
Wanting to feel it rolling down his tongue.
Streets were empty, the distant voices of the drunkards replaced by something gentler.
Something that made him look up, forcing him out of his reverie.
There was that voice, a tone that made his heart tighten in his chest. One that dried up his throat, and made his head spin.
A voice he last heard in his dreams.
Hastily, he craned his neck back, glancing over his shoulder in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
Yet even from behind, even completely wasted, with his eyes closed, he’d recognize you a mile away.
Past him you walked, completely oblivious to the storm your mere existence had caused.
As if unable to control his own mind, his limbs moving on their own, he turned around, the distance you had created far too great for him to bear.
A step, then two—the gap between you and him was now enough for his fingers to curl around your wrist.
As absurd as his hidden obsession with you, you stopped, looking back, glancing at him.
You seemed lost between terror and incomprehension. And he wanted to ease your fear, make you understand that misunderstanding.
"I looked everywhere for you. Where were you? Why did you left so quickly that morning?"
As if scared that you could vanish at the slightest heartbeat, he spoke, hurried, jumbled words.
Words that were only a tenth of everything he would have wanted to tell you at this precise instant.
A nervous, almost embarrassed smile on his lips, his hand still clutching your wrist, he studied you.
Analysing that expression on your face as you looked for words, as if you tried to recall something.
His heart sank with fear when your lips parted, your gaze avoiding his.
"Excuse me, do we know each other?"
It would be a huge lie not to admit that sentence didn't affect him at all.
But coming from you—the person who has moved him in ways he never imagined—there’s nothing he won’t forgive.
You don’t remember his face? He’ll invite you to all his games so that you can see him on the stadium’s screen.
Is his name unfamiliar to you? He’ll make sure you remember it by writing it on every card that comes with your gifts.
Every problem has a solution, even the most expensive ones.
"It doesn’t matter. Give me your name, it’s all I need. Grant me a date, it’s all I want."
Offering a puzzled look at your friend, your eyebrows furrowed at such a bizarre situation.
But he just couldn't bring himself to give up on his dream just yet; not after growing far too attached to the little he knew about you.
"I’ll pay you, if it’s what you want."
"I don’t want your money. You know what? Let’s just meet tomorrow."
Such a simple sentence sealed a rather uncertain fate.
From that meeting, he learned much more than just your name; memorising every detail about you.
And probably out of pity, even if he swore for a single moment together, you granted him more.
More than simple romantic rendezvous.
In stadiums, on rooftops, in his many houses. Here and there, nowhere and everywhere you kept meeting each other.
But one day you didn’t show up.
Letting his calls go to voicemail, leaving his messages on read, he tossed around in his sheets, petrified to have lost you once again.
And he was right to be so afraid.
"I don't love you."
And just like that, you’d become out of reach again. If money could buy anything and everything—then the cost of love was out of his own finance.
You, who smelled of paradise and reeked of perfection, had left your everlasting scent lingering on his cold sheets.
Yet, when he saw you from the distance, he could clearly see the glances you’d cast over your shoulder.
The way you walked with more confidence, how you laughed a bit louder when he was in the room. You were showing off, and he loved it now.
Treat him mean, keep him keen.
Even when you looked away from him, all you had to do was looking down. Even there would you meet his piercing gaze.
He was still in your line of sight, inviting you to a "final date" to cut ties—on the face, a stern expression as deceptive as the words coming from his mouth.
"Maybe I love you just a little bit"
He adored this game.
He, who thought he’d never see you again, found himself enjoying a game where you both pretended not to love each other.
Risking that one wrong word might undo everything between you two.
More money spent on you. More secretive dates. More of a feigned ignorance on both sides. Those were the cards he was dealt, and the reward was well worth it.
Months of running after you, lying just to get a smile, a laugh at his jokes—and now he finally had you.
"I love you, Reo."
You played well, but he played with even more passion.
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Summary: Babysitting in your spare time, you would have never guessed that a child barely five years old would become your boyfriend's greatest enemy. "You're not jealous, are you?"
Tag/Warning: Fluff, jealous boyfriend, established relationship, silly and not serious.
a/n: Root for Morocco in the World Cup or no part 2. I said ROOT FOR MOROCCO OR NO PART 2.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Isagi ⋆˚꩜｡
"Smile for the camera!"
Send button pressed, and your cute selfie was delivered to Isagi.
A candid photo of you and the young boy you babysit, his little arms wrapped around your neck and his lips pressed against your cheek.
Despite the many times you told him you were too old for him, he persevered in his cute attempt to win your–already taken heart.
Before you even had a chance to pick up your colored pencils again to finish the drawing of you and him, your phone buzzed.
Multiple times. Too much.
Flipping it around, you were not even that surprised to find out that it was Isagi, spamming you.
Well, correcting his hasty messages over and over. Adding exclamation point at the end of each text.
He was upset. Like a child throwing a tantrum.
And it didn’t took long before he called you. Visibly struggling to deal with you while also trying to keep Bachira under control.
"Why is he kissing you?! We already discussed this matter!"
You gasped, before bursting into laughter—a mischievous laugh.
"I can’t believe it. Japan number one football player’s jealous of a five year old," you sneered. "It's going to make headlines."
He stammered, perhaps realizing how silly he was being, a really cute spectacle to hear.
"Jealous? Hell no. I just don’t like when other men are getting physical with my girl."
Never mind, he was beyond redemption.
Rin ⋆˚꩜｡
Scrolling through your photo gallery, you were looking for a picture of you and Rin for a super cheesy, sappy couple project.
Exactly the kind of thing that would bug him.
"Wait, scroll back."
You jumped of fear when you heard his voice behind you, way too serious for you.
Since when was he lurking on you?
"Give me your phone, I saw something really upsetting."
"I haven't cheated on you yet—next question."
Snapping your phone from your grasp, he looked down at you with annoyance, perhaps disgust.
"Dumbass, what’s that? What did I tell you about him?"
You were prepared for anything and everything, but certainly didn’t expect him to shove that photo of you and the boy you’re babysitting right in your face.
"Rin, are you being serious? Like for real?"
In fact, he couldn't have looked any more serious, his face wearing a very stern expression. All the while, his finger was tapping away at the screen.
"You know I hate him. So why he’s kissing you?"
"It’s unbelievable! Rin Itoshi is being jealous of a…five years old boy."
He tossed your phone away, probably vexed by your very baseless accusation.
"Stop playing around. I swear that’s the last time I see him cuddling you."
And he left as you giggled uncontrollably, realizing that he had erased that evidence of your "infidelity."
Bachira ⋆˚꩜｡
You naively believed that taking the boy you were babysitting to play soccer with Bachira was a good idea.
An excellent way for them to bond over their shared interest.
But no, it failed miserably. It even brought out a very dark side of your boyfriend.
"You're the goalkeeper of your club, and you can't even stop my ground balls?"
He was talking very seriously and condescendingly to a child half his size—like, very seriously.
"Are you out of your mind? A five-year-old kid can't stop a ball coming at him at 50 mph right in the face!"
The latter ran into your arms, his eyes misty and his voice trembling. He was petrified and so were you, totally ashamed by his behaviour.
"Your friend is so mean! I don’t want to play with him anymore."
He cried out, his arms curling around your legs. Ruffling the top of his head to bring some sort of comfort, you knew he’ll see Bachira in his nightmares for the rest of his life.
"First of all, it's 'boyfriend'! And second, get your hands off her."
You lifted your gaze towards him, lost between the need of laying him down or laughing at his foolishness.
"Your jealousy is going to make you sick. Next weekend I'll go watch his game instead of yours."
You snapped at him, taking the child by the hand and walking away from that madman—for there was no other word to describe him.
"We'll see who concedes five goals and who scores five!"
He really didn't want to give up. But he needed to think about his actions and his priorities.
Summary: Today is his birthday and you’re not even awake to wish him. Guess he’ll have to go to work without a kiss. "Stop daydreaming and come open your gift."
Tag/Warning: Implied (no descriptive at all) smut, domestic fluff, you’re married to him, crossposted on TikTok. Not proofread.
a/n: Since my exams are going to kick my ass tomorrow, I might as well treat you to some of my nonsense. Very late birthday present.
────୨ৎ────
For the first time since you two got married, you slept through your shared morning routine.
Worse, you didn’t wake up to kiss him happy birthday.
Something that, until this very moment, had been completely unimaginable.
You had always been the first to wish him. Slowly kissing him good morning as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as ever to his imposing figure.
And it certainly seems that today, he'll have to satisfy himself by being reminiscent of this shared memory.
Bitterness swallowing him a bit more as he analysed your chest rising and falling mechanically.
While putting on his T-shirt, he watched you from the doorway, your body motionless under the unmade sheets.
As he was brushing his teeth, his gaze fell on your silhouette outlined by the light in the bathroom.
He was torn between stealing a kiss before leaving for a long day of training or letting you sleep peacefully.
Last night, you went to bed a little later than usual and he didn’t get to kiss you. Could he truly go a whole day without having felt your lips on him? He himself had his doubts.
Eyebrows furrowed, he weighed up each of these decisions but ultimately decided it was better to have a bad day without a kiss than to bother you.
Which, for a man of his kind, was a betrayal of his own principles.
Sparing you one last glance, as if he was leaving for war, he closed the door and continued to get ready.
Still debating on whether he should return to you.
Sliding his coat over his shoulders, he grabbed his keys and, once again, closed a door on you.
Even as he turned the key into the keyhole, he had that urge to drop everything and run by your side, but he resisted.
Pulling his mind together, he reassured himself that he could easily get through a day without a kiss, couldn't he?
Smoothing back a strand of hair, he walked away, unable to resist glancing over his shoulder.
Hoping to see you half awake and calling him over for a belated happy birthday.
At that moment, he wished his birthday wish would come true.
He was really upset. Not against you, never, but rather against how much this routine meant to him. A little too much perhaps.
Except that it wasn't a routine workout at the gym, he had to get used to the idea that you couldn't indulge all his whims.
As he approached the elevator, pushing onto the button, he glanced toward the door at the end of the hallway, expecting to see nothing but the automatic lights turning off one by one.
Yet what he saw was the silhouette of someone standing by his door.
And it took him less than a second to recognize you. To discern your beauty even from that distance.
"So, don't you want your birthday present, handsome?"
You voice echoed from where you stood, straight into his heart. The way your tongue clicked on that last word gave him goosebumps.
With your arms crossed over your chest, head tilted and eyes full of mischief, it was clear that there was never any question of sleeping in.
You had tricked him.
As usual, you were perfect, as if you had carefully prepared yourself before revealing yourself to the public. A very secluded audience.
"Weren't you asleep?"
The elevator doors opened, but no one got in, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he approached.
Had he woken you up by accident? He would feel guilty about it all day.
"Of course not, I know how much you love this little ritual... even though today I wanted to add something new."
He stopped short, even though he wanted to jump on you.
"Something new, you say?"
A smile flashed across your lips, lustful and sinful, just like the impure sparkle in your eyes.
Intently, he watched as your fingers slid down to the knot that held your satin robe closed.
Mesmerized, he held his breath, knowing that even blinking could cause him to miss this fabulous moment.
Gently, you pulled on the bow, each side of the robe parting to reveal something that even his wildest dreams could not have imagined.
In that hallway, in full view of everyone, you revealed a lingerie you had consciously chosen for the occasion.
To spoil him, the man who pampered you all year round.
He swallowed hard, feeling weak, the air suffocating him, begging him to remove the extra layer of clothing that covered him.
"I had to reward my very own champion. A winner from the bed to the field, that's what you always say, isn't it?"
A nervous laugh escaped him. Only you knew how to bring out this side of him, your mere presence putting him under pressure.
But even more so when you put him in such a position of weakness.
That's right, you were his greatest weakness, bringing him to his knees every time you revealed a little bit of your skin to his impure eyes.
But in a moment like this, he prayed with all his heart that there were no cameras in this hallway, that this spectacle was just for him.
"So? You coming? You need to unwrap your gift or you'll be late."
One step, then two, as he moved forward, he saw you disappear into the darkness that enveloped the apartment, a smile urging him to join you.
It was no longer just a matter of waking you up; the whole building was on the verge of being roused from its slumber.
・・・・・
Needless to say that he was very, very late to training this morning.
Disheveled and out of breath even though he hadn't even started a single workout.
Pairing: [high schooler] Hugo Vivian x Female Reader
Summary: Whenever World War II comes up, Hugo is already at your door. Ready to spend the whole day polishing a presentation that isn't even his. "I'm out of pink ink..."
Tag/Warning: Teenage romance, fluff, friends/lovers, established relationship (or not), Hugo is a WW2 nerd.
a/n: It’s so hot in my apartment, so here’s some fluff to refresh you and make you smile.
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"Hugo, what are you doing here?"
"I came to help you with your presentation on World War II."
"Hugo," you paused, your gaze shifting between the clock and him, eyes barely open, still half asleep. "It's seven in the morning."
"But…I’ve brought croissants."
In french culture, there's this unspoken rule that bringing home croissants for breakfast excuses everything.
Even forgives unexpected wake-ups.
"Come on in."
The fridge hummed, the ticking of the clock sounding louder than usual as you gazed into each other’s eyes.
Sitting across from each other with cups of hot cocoa, crumbs scattered on the Vichy-check tablecloth, he ate like a rabbit munching on hay.
Cute and adorable, if only the circumstances weren’t what they were.
"Have you already outlined your plan with an introduction and conclusion?" he asked, stirring the cocoa residue at the bottom of his cup.
As if he were trying to lighten the mood, to make you feel just a tiny bit less sour.
"I've got a couple of ideas," a yawn escaped your lips, your face—not even washed yet—still bearing the marks of your pillow. "But let me guess, you've already done it?"
As if caught red-handed, he shifted his gaze to his school bag. And even though you didn’t know what was inside, you could still guess everything he had in there.
Probably colored paper, photos carefully cut out from his war magazines, and glitter pens. The ones you’d ironically gifted him one day.
And to which he seemed strangely attached.
You sighed, but not the kind of sigh that showed ingratitude or irritation.
"You shouldn't have. I could have managed on my own, you know."
"I don't doubt your abilities," he explained, getting up to put away the cups in the sink, before wiping up the crumbs. "But we're talking about World War II. I want you to get a perfect score."
He had this annoyingly perfect habit of doing things without even being asked.
"Okay, but I'll make it up to you."
Your room was a mess—the bed wasn’t even made, and the window hadn’t been opened to air out the room. But after coming over so often and hanging out at your desk, he didn’t even notice it anymore.
He was right at home now, shoving aside a pile of clean laundry to make room and get his supplies ready like a young PhD student in 20th-century history.
"Hugo, that big encyclopedia of yours really wasn’t necessary."
You’d already been at it for three hours, and you’d learned that Japan had created kamikaze submarines called Kaiten. That 14,903 pilots and crew members had died throughout the war—not in combat, but in simple accidents and during training.
And your favorite: Poland had had a bear who served in the army.
He wasn’t just repeating that after reading it—it was coming straight out of his little head.
And that ability amazed you. Even more so when he explained things to you, looking at you with that unique gaze of his, repeating himself when you hadn’t quite grasped a detail.
But when you sat so close that your knees touched, it gave you a strange feeling in your stomach.
Looking out the window was considered taking a break, according to him, but he hadn’t said anything about staring at the ceiling being a way to avoid work.
Lying on your bed, watching the smoke detector light up every 40 seconds, you could hear him muttering things under his breath.
"Stop talking to yourself—you’re distracting me."
Distracting you from counting to exactly 40 seconds.
In the end, you got up and helped him neatly rewrite his little colored boxes and highlight the important names.
Even though he had to correct a careless mistake that bothered him more than your ineffectiveness on this project.
“The war ended on September 2, 1945, not the 3rd.”
“Sorry, Mr. Perfect.”
But it wasn't his feigned sharp gaze that had caught your attention—it was the pen he was holding, which he used to gently tap the top of your head. A punishment that wouldn't have hurt a fly.
"Hugo, why do you still have these pens?" you asked, pointing at them; the little cat-shaped charm at the end of each one contrasting with the man holding them. "I bet they’re out of ink by now."
"I just forgot to take them out of my pencil case."
"Liar. You even bring them with you to practice."
"Because it was the first time anyone had ever gifted me something."
An “oh” escaped you at this revelation that came out of nowhere. Your eyebrows furrowed as if he’d turned into a little bunny right before your incredulous eyes.
Straightening up just enough to wrap your arms around his stoic figure, you stroked and ruffled the top of his head while he remained completely silent.
"My beloved Hugo has a big heart," you cooed, cradling him like a big baby. "I’ll gift you more of them."
"I’m running low on the pink one."
When the time came, you made it up to him for goûter.
"Chocolate éclairs. Your favorites!"
"That settles the debt."
・・・・・
And when he left, glancing one last time at your presentation poster, he read his name next to yours at the bottom of the page.
A little heart colored burgundy drawn at the edge, just like his hair.
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Summary: You two are perhaps more than just friends. That’s why one question and a three-word answer can solve so much heartache. "But…what are we?"
Tag/Warnings: friend to lover, fluff, unintentional confession of love, crossposted on TikTok, not proofread.
a/n: based on age ain’t none but a number by Aaliyah. Sorry for the poor writing, I’m like a monkey who’ve just learned how to put words together.
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Hiori was the kind of friend you could hang out with even when there wasn't anything exciting going on.
Sitting on a bench in a park, sipping a juice you bought at the convenience store with your last few cents, all while putting the world back in order.
Playing soccer at a community sports field—or rather, making a fool of yourself with some disastrous saves.
Or, simply laying on his bed, scrolling on your phone while he played video games.
You, secretly, longed for those moments when he would ramble about loosing his game. Spinning around on his chair and tossing away his headset to explain to you how his opponent was cheating.
As for him, he quietly savoured those moments when he’d look over his shoulder, discreetly analysing your facial expressions.
And often will his heart skip a beat when you’d look up.
Yet, you two still blurted deaf and blind how you were indeed just two really good friends. Nothing more.
Today was no different from any other lazy Wednesday afternoon. A message was sent to his first pinned contact, and you were invited to his place.
Claiming he had bought a new game and wanted you to try it.
"Your game better be chill. Last one was a bit too scary."
He closed the door behind you, only to get launched into a long, hushed tirade to explain just how wrong you were about Resident Evil 7.
As usual, your bag got tossed at the foot of the bed, the jacket slipped off your shoulders and sheets crinkled as you flopped down on the mattress.
Breathing in that scent that reminded you of the boy you held the dearest in your heart, and, perhaps, brought you some sort of comfort.
A quasi-military routine, repeated every time.
You picked up your phone, but paused for a moment, holding it away from your view when you sensed that something was off.
Hiori. Motionless. Before you.
He stood there, looking down at you with nothing gleaming in his eyes. And it lasted, dragging heavy seconds of a strange silence.
"What?"
You finally asked, kind of confused by his attitude and sudden bizarreness.
But your voice snapped him out of his reverie, and without missing a beat, his lips stammered out a reply that made your cheeks flush.
"I just never noticed that you were still wearing my sweater."
Finally did he noticed that subtle detail of yours; wearing that piece of clothing that once smelled like him.
A habit that goes back to the day he lent it to you, on a freezing cold evening. That night, he helped you put it on while confessing how guilty he would feel if you ever got sick because of him.
Something you remember as the trigger for that shameful and misplaced emotion that emerged inside you.
"Yeah…I can give it back…I mean, if you want…you know?"
He chuckled, but even your fleeting gaze caught how sweetly rosy his cheeks had turned.
"Forget about it."
Sparing you one last glance full of something you couldn’t possibly describe, he turned around to took a seat away from you, probably to set up his console.
Whatever he was doing, you couldn’t focus on because of how embarrassed you were.
Even your phone wasn’t enough of a distraction to ignore just how wildly your heart was pounding beneath your flesh.
After what felt like an eternity of living with that awkwardness in your chest, your name was softly uttered.
"Come. I’m gonna show you how to play."
Perhaps you were both deaf to the accusations of others. After all, why would a mere friend pat his knees to invite you to sit on them?
There were clearly plenty of other ways to do it, right?
Not the least bit bothered by this situation, he taught you the basics. Basic you already knew, given the numerous explanations he offered you.
"Got it? Now do it on your own."
His voice, almost whispered against your ear, made your skin crawl, but left your mind still oblivious to this strange sensibility.
As you shifted into a more comfortable position, resting your back against his chest just for a brief moment, his whole body went rigid.
Nails digging into the armchairs and lips crushed under his teeth, but he’d still swore up and down that you were just friends.
You played for quite a bit, Hiori sliding his hands on top of yours to help you get the hang of the controller when things got tough.
But as you usual, you ended up crawling back to your favorite spot, the one from which you could secretly observe him.
"Wanna stay here for dinner tonight?"
Still focused on the screen, he concluded the silence that had settled in, but for once you didn’t answer him—far too busy reflecting over a message from a friend.
A message that left you questioning years of relationship that maybe wasn’t what you thought it was.
'What do you mean to each other?'
Your friend had always tried to convince you that you both were more. More than childhood friends. More than simple memories shared.
So often would she ask you this question.
A question you always avoided. A question you were petrified to even think about.
Reading over and over this singular line, you hadn’t even noticed how Hiori had paused his game. How he was watching you turn livid.
He couldn't make sense of your silence—you, who teased him all day long, seemed so upset that it tugged at his heartstrings.
Amid your silence, he made his way to his bed. And under the lack of answers, he crawled over your immobile figure.
His face now mere inches from yours, he stood there, trapping you between his arms, and worried eyes trying to meet your fleeting gaze.
"Is everything alright? You seem upset."
You could hear how concerned he was, that his confusion wanted to sort out all of your problems.
Gathering all your strength, all of your confidence, you finally managed to look back at him, to ultimately meet his soft eyes.
So close to you. So close to doing something so wrong—and yet so right.
"Yo?"
"Yes?"
"What are we?"
Without even thinking about the consequences—about how it might end your cherished friendship—you blurted out that question.
A question that tasted of freedom but left the lingering impression of bitterness on your tongue.
Slightly, you saw his eyes widened under the unexpected ask, his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something heavy on his chest.
"What-What do you mean? We’re friends. Don’t you love me like I love you?"
He cut himself off mid-sentence; he, who had wanted to reassure you, had just made a careless mistake.
The unexpected revelation of his feelings had betrayed him, he who had only wanted to comfort you.
"Yo, are you serious?"
Too hasty you asked, his closeness refraining you from getting up, yet allowing you to observe how his whole attitude shifted.
It took a few more seconds for his evasive gaze to find you again, as if he had finally come to terms with his unfortunate mistake.
The features of his face, tense just a few seconds ago, relaxed, revealing the gentle expression you loved so much.
"I love you. I’m so sorry."
He admitted, he pulled away.
Why would he apologise? Why did he appeared so upset? Why was he trying to put distance between you when you wanted him close to you?
As you pulled on his T-shirt to hold him back, all your uncertainty vanished.
Summary: A little corner of paradise by the sea, far away from all the hassle of stadiums. All this for a boyfriend who’s just a big kid. “I can’t touch the bottom!”
Tag/Warning: Reader doesn’t like deep water, Bunny is a rascal, fluff, domestic fluff, cute, bunny loves you very hard, beach day, pet names.
a/n: The only way I can stand this heat wave is with my fan and by imagining my husband Bunny shirtless at the beach.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
On the surface, Bunny seemed like a quiet, calm boyfriend. Almost docile.
And it was pretty much the same old story on the international stage.
On the field, he scored his hat trick and then slipped away quietly. No press conferences, no media gaffes, and—most importantly—no controversy.
An international star who surprised people on the street when hordes of fans stopped him, whispering discreetly to each others, “Who on earth is this man?”
A quiet life he was proud of.
But, when you two were alone, he’d transforms into a whole different person—a little devil who forgot to wear sunscreen.
Around you, he was loud, clingy and—a little bit more—cheerful.
The type of boyfriend who physically couldn’t keep his mouth shut, nor leave your side. Always glued to you like misery on the world.
Yet, he was the only kind of misery you appreciated, one that didn't make you miserable.
Whether asking absurd questions about your day, sometimes begging you to come play football or wondering if you’d like to go to the beach with him.
And if he asked, he was nevertheless inclined to accept only a positive answer.
Even if you were busy, he always found some excuse to delegate your task off to someone else and put you in the car.
Always taking you to the same place: a private beach with a sandbar as dazzlingly white as his hair, where the sun glinted breathtakingly off the blue sea.
Two deckchairs and one beach umbrella already planted in the sand waiting for you. As if planned ahead before he even told you about.
And every single time, he’d look at you, pretending to be as much surprised as you.
Astonished that your favorite drink was sitting next to your towel, the glass still damp—a silent clue that it had all been carefully arranged before your grand arrival.
"You see that," his hand slithered over your shoulder, pulling you closer to walk down the few stairs. "Someone accidentally left this glass filled with your favorite drink."
"That's not funny—you always make the same joke."
"And you smile every time."
He was right, very much indeed. Because every time he’d put on his little show, you smiled like a child and showered him with kisses.
And today was no exception to the rule
"Thanks Bunny," again, you planted a kiss on his cheek.
At the beach, he loved digging big holes, filling them with water, and asking you to come take a look.
Seemingly very proud when you’d get in and tilt your head to look up at him, a bright smile plastered on your lips.
"What do you think?"
"It's bigger, deeper, and more spacious than the last one."
Even prouder when you’d compliment his creations.
While he might not ask for your opinion on whether you're available before taking you on impromptu dates, he really valued your opinion—what you think of anything and everything.
Even when you were simply building a sandcastle.
"Do you think we should add columns at the top of the stairs?"
He took his newly acquired role of architect very seriously, proposing designs as spectacular as the Sagrada Família.
"Yeah, that’ll look nice. But for now, we need to figure out an irrigation system for the water that runs underneath."
He immediately jotted down your ideas, a far too serious expression etched on his face. He was incredibly handsome when he was focused like that.
The kind of perfect photo you saved for when he was far away from you.
Plastic shovels bought in the kids’ section, sand all over his hair, a few dozen trips back and forth to the water—and your creation was complete.
"May the rightful queen of this castle strike a pose for me."
Either lying next to it like a mermaid, or standing like a conquistador on a quest for a new kingdom, he certainly didn’t hold back when it came to taking photos of you.
And there was something grand and warm that sparkled deep in his eyes when he looked at you through the lens of his camera. Something that gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
"They're going to be damn jealous in the locker room."
"Wait, Bunny," you took off your sunglasses, lips slightly parting. "Don’t tell me you’re showing these photos to anyone?"
"What? No?"
You looked at him, a mixture of puzzlement and perplexity in your eyes, decided for good to set a trap for him.
"I don't even look pretty in these photos."
"Are you kidding? You're the kind of woman you find in soldiers' lockets," he said, nodding to emphasize his point and crossing his arms as if he were making a convincing argument. "Plus, they're always saying our castles are fire.
"Ha! Gotcha!"
You threw a handful of sand at him, a childish laugh escaping him as he realized his folly.
There was also that moment when you watched in silence as your castle was being swept away by the waves. Swallowed like a mere pile of sand and seashells.
A leaden silence hanging in the air, broken only by the sound of the water lapping back and forth, its gentle touch felt on your ankles.
"It’s your fault—you weakened the castle’s foundations."
He sounded like a kid, defeated and sad.
"Bunny," you looked at him, his disappointed gaze meeting yours, and patted his, already tanned, back. "It’s the cycle of life."
Before dramatically walking away, head down, and taking a seat on your lounge chair. Pushing your shades up like a grieving mother.
From there, you watched him while sipping your drink, discreetly amused by his reaction to this loss.
He also liked shaking his sand-covered towel right in your face and acting surprised when you’d tell him to stop.
"Stop that," you snapped, putting your book aside, and trying to get the handful of sand—or so it seemed—that had gotten inside your mouth out.
"Stop that," he repeated, a nasty and sassy tone as if trying to imitate you.
"Bunny, I’m serious."
"Bunny, I’m serious."
Again. Once again he provoked you.
He was playing a game you hated—one he was unfortunately very good at. And he was fully capable of spending the rest of the afternoon repeating everything you say—down to every breath.
You stood up and looked him straight in the empty red of his eyes. A sly smile played on the corners of his lips; a few grains of sand mixed with sunscreen dotted his face, and the wind ruffled his hair slightly.
A postcard all by himself, handsome man. Such a pleasure to look at—almost like candy for the sore eye. Water for the thirsty throat.
Too bad he had such a terrible temper.
"You’re so not-"
Yet, before you could finish your sentence, his large, steady hands lifted you off the ground. And in the blink of an eye, he tossed you onto his shoulder.
"I’m so not what? Strong? Handsome? Funny?"
"Bunny, get me down, please."
"What’s the password?"
The way he asked it was undoubtedly far too serious—and yet so immature. You could tell that had that big, silly smile on his face.
He chuckled as he tightened his grip around your thighs, ensuring there was no way you could escape the fate he held in his hands for you.
Looking back, almost breaking your neck in the effort, you saw just how close the water was. He was dragging you dangerously toward it.
The turquoise water was beautiful only when you could touch the bottom—not when the unknown lay beneath.
“Bunny! Put me down!"
“Password?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!”
“Then I’m afraid you’re not going down, mi sirena.”
His strides radiated determination, water splashing everywhere, and the waves hardly an obstacle to his goal.
Then, just as the water threatened to literally drown you, he slid you into his arms. Trapping you in an embrace filled with mischief and love.
All too quickly, the water rose from his waist to the top of his chest, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.
As if he were your human lifebuoy.
"Bunny, I don't like this," you stammered, looking ahead, where the water was far too dark blue and the sky blended so seamlessly with it. "Please take me back to the sand."
"Don’t worry, cariño, I’ve got you."
"Please, please don’t let go of me!"
"Never."
And Bunny was a man of his word. He never let go of you.
Not even when you yelped in his ears about how scared you were, or when you nearly strangled him when a strand of seaweed brushed against your skin.
Behind you, the shore seemed so far away, and yet he could still touch the ground.
"Alright, Bunny. Stop now, please," you begged and he obeyed.
And for once, it was you who didn't want to leave his side. Clinging to him like a mussel to a rock.
"Want to swim a bit," around your waist, you could feel his fingers slip away until only your embrace held you back from drifting away.
"No-No, no. Please, please wait."
"It's okay, I'm right here," he reassured you, whispering in a voice that would have made your knees go wobbly if they weren't already. "I won't let go of you, cariño."
"You promise you'll take me back to the beach after, right? Right?"
"I promise," gently, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, sending a rush of thrill as intense as the cold water had.
Slowly, already regretting your decision, your legs straightened out and your hands slipped to find his, finally facing him. Finally catching that look on his face, one you didn’t see very often.
Tender, filled with a mixture of pride and fascination, he gazed at you like one would gaze at the moon.
Reserved only for those moments of intimacy in the heart of the unknown.
When he took you with him to the various new stadiums where he played, where the fans chanted his name, he had that look in his eyes.
When he showed you the streets where he grew up—the very ones he seemed to hate—he had that look in his eyes.
A look that sealed the rekindling of that spark between him and you.
"Bunny! Bunny! I can’t touch the bottom!"
"Me neither," he admitted, and you felt like you were going to faint. "Do you know how to swim?"
"Shut up! Tell me you’re lying," you swallowed water, the end of your sentence probably sounding like gibberish to him. "Please, say it."
"Say what? That I love you?"
"Tell me you’re lying!"
"I’m not lying—I do love you," the smirk on his lips suggested he was actually quite amused by the whole mix-up, but the hands holding you told a different story.
He was just teasing you. After all, he had promised you, and it would be a great loss for him to let you be swept away by a wave.
He could have even braved the five oceans to find you. But for now, he just wanted to have fun.
"What about you? Do you love me?"
"I love you too, Bunny," you gave him a doe-like stare to try to win him over; and you saw how weak he was. Very weak.
"Come, cariño," he gave up very easily when it came to you, finding it hard to bear seeing a glimmer of fear in your eyes.
However, nature had other plans.
A wave slightly taller than the others crashed over you, and for just a split second, you found yourself completely submerged.
One second too long. He saw it on your face when you resurfaced, an expression of terror etched across your features.
And seeing it—that face that usually looked so calm—he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Teasing you gently as he pulled you toward him, taking the opportunity to brush the seaweed off your head.
And he couldn’t stop—his laughter echoing louder than the waves crashing on the sand. Even louder than the seagulls screeching overhead.
He was laughing in a way that made you forget your mishap, your stomach tightening with a strange feeling.
"It’s not funny, Bunny… I could have drowned…" you stammered, unable to shake off the fondness that seeing him so joyful gave you.
Free as the breeze, you could feel it reverberating through your whole body.
“Then why are you always playing mermaid?”
Basically, at the beach, he was pretty much just like a 5-year-old—just a little bigger and more muscular.
Summary: He never wanted to see you marry someone else, nor did he want to read his name on your lips. “You liked me? You should have put a ring on it then.”
Tag/Warning: -angst, reader is a rascal, wedding, Speak now or forever hold your peace, hard to get. Not proofread.
a/n: Based on Single Ladies by Beyoncé. Sequel of Dirty Diana.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
Isagi ⋆˚꩜｡
His grip thighened a bit more around the phone, practically praying that his eyes were deceiving him.
A thousand times or so he had watched this video. Replaying it with a forced mechanism every time it ended.
And yet, his eyes were fixed on the truth: you, wearing that bright white dress that symbolized one thing—your wedding.
You were stunning, as always, but your beauty wasn’t the only thing bewitching him.
It was the song playing in the background, your manners, the way you glanced at the camera, your lips pronouncing his name.
Proudly, you were displaying the huge diamond on your finger, everybody surrounding you shouting the lyrics of this cursed song.
He wasn’t turning crazy. The name he could read on your snickery lips was clearly his. Only to conclude the video by blowing a kiss at the camera, a sort of farewell.
The unknown sender knew what they were doing, proving to him one last time how petty you could be.
Cruel, certainly, but hypotonic.
And he wasn't going to let it slide, he was coming and settling it personally.
Rin ⋆˚꩜｡
It was six in the morning and his mind was still groggy, eyes barely open.
And yet, all his tiredness vanished the moment he opened this video.
He propped himself up so tightly just to make sure he wasn’t stuck in a nightmare.
He had to zoom, to pause every frame. He had to realise this video of you getting ready was far worse than what he thought.
Sat on a chair surrounded by dozens of hands busy on your makeup and dress, he only noticed how your lips were lip syncing along this music.
Your gaze meeting the camera to pronounce…his name?
He could read it so easily on your smiling lips, this doe-eyed look he knew oh so well.
You looked innocent, way too much for someone who knew full well that this provocation would hit its target right in the middle.
He hated how breathtaking you looked. How you were about the say "Yes" to someone else that wasn’t him.
And there wasn't a single solar system where he would let this marriage happen.
Whether you liked it or not, he was going to come and change your mind.
Make you say yes to him.
Bachira ⋆˚꩜｡
It would be the biggest lie ever told not to say that he had tried everything possible to prevent this wedding from taking place.
And yet, that awful video of you still found its way to him.
Clinging tightly to the man you were about to marry, you both were sitting on the back of a car that was taking you to the town hall.
Taking you a step further from him.
It seemed, much to his regret, that the video was taken just minutes before the "I do".
Knowing this fact, he couldn't sit still watching the video, even worse when he heard the music blaring so loudly inside the vehicle.
Noticing, almost immediately, how your lips pronounced his name before kissing your fiancé.
Your lips curling into a devilish smile, as you glanced back at camera to deal one last fatal blow to this other man who had been unable to marry you.
Well, this very man was on his way to cancel everything.
Your "I do" will never reach the ears of any man other than him.
Chigiri ⋆˚꩜｡
He loved you—but apparently not enough, since you were about to marry someone else.
It had been a well kept secret, one he had learned about the very morning of all those unfortunate events.
One he learned from to a video of you, half dressed up in your white gown, your bare back facing the camera.
You were kind enough to allow him to admire your side profile, barely glancing over your shoulder as you mumbled the lyrics to the quiet song playing in the background.
Piercing was your gaze when you lifted it, your lips bearing a discreet smile as you gently pressed your lips to pronounce his name.
Quiet and inaudible, a secret between you two so intense.
But even if he didn't take into account the fact that you were about to say "yes" and that you knew exactly what you were doing, he found this video absolutely captivating.
So captivating that he couldn't let this rare gem slip through his fingers; he had to get you back.
Kunigami ⋆˚꩜｡
For someone who had dumped you to focus on his life with pride and egoism, he was rather calm watching this video.
A forced stoicism, as his eyes analysed every bit of you on that video.
In a bedroom, he knew so well, you were sitting on your bed, a dazzling pride shining in the depths of your eyes, as your lips moved along the song he hated so deeply.
Yet, even when everyone else continued to sing along, you alone stopped, a playful smirk spreading across your face.
Only for his eyes to widen under the realisation that you indeed pronounced his name, not out loud, not even whispered, he could just read it.
The whole scene was screaming "See? I can be as petty as you."
And it would be a shame not to understand that all of it was a well played act, that you were daring him to come.
Who was he to decline your invitation? A personal invitation from the bride to come and ruin everything dramatically.
No one would complain if he just came to claim the bride, right?
Reo ⋆˚꩜｡
If he had wanted to, he would have ruined your marriage from the beginning.
Buying only to cancel the venue’s reservation. Bankrupting the dress shop so as not to find the dress of your life.
If he had wanted to, he could have bought your future husband outright.
But he found it so amusing to watch you play with his feelings, to watch you try.
Yet, it's true that his heart tightened—just a little bit—when he saw that video, thinking for a second how he might have been too late to come and get you.
He swallowed his pride when he saw how the video exuded wealth and luxury.
That your dress probably cost more than five figures and that diamond could serve as a lifetime pension.
But above all, how your lips were saying something other than the words of the song. How he could read his name there with such simplicity.
While nothing had been calculated for the wedding expenses, this entire video had been thought out down to the last detail.
He loved this little game, he wanted to play too.
And he was going to come and get his favorite player back.
Nagi ⋆˚꩜｡
No efforts in the relationship, no will to win your heart back and still, when he woke up to this video, he suddenly could have moved mountains for you.
He was speechless, lost in your radiant beauty, and catching himself staring at your lips moving to the rhythm of the music.
A perfect silhouette in a dress that was so undeniably wonderful.
You were so perfect—almost like an angel—and yet, when he noticed that small detail, nothing was the same.
He could read his name on your rosy and glossy lips and he couldn't get out of his head how you were so, so much naughty.
How you purred the words just to tease him, how you reminded him of everything he had lost, how he had misplaced perfection itself.
And for once, a bit too late perhaps, he too wanted to say "I do."
He wanted to do something other than rot away in his bed.
It's weird to make a move at the last minute, but he knew this video was the last call.
The last invitation to come and get you.
Shidou ⋆˚꩜｡
It was very simple to understand: the wedding never took place.
He came to get you, making a dramatic entrance into the town hall, shouting how much he opposed the marriage.
Taking you by the hand and leading you away from a future in which he did not played the leading role.
To speak the truth, this wedding was just another provocation, a dirty trick you had thought up to make him jealous.
And it had been a success.
In a dress that took up far too much space on the passenger seat, you watched him, amused, noticing he was unable to stop glancing at you.
"That took you long enough, you crazy fool."
And since your idea for the video seemed excellent, he took the initiative to recreate it in his own way.
Half lying in the hotel bed, he filmed you undoing your dress, music blasting in the background.
And the video ended just as the white dress slipped off your figure.
Glancing over your shoulder and smiling at the man behind the camera.
Yukimiya ⋆˚꩜｡
For the first time, he prayed to become blind and never see this kind of thing again.
He thought that if he removed his glasses, he will not be able to discern your silhouette anymore.
That he could remain in the ignorance of this video in which you were about to get married.
If the circumstances surrounding this video weren't so detestable, it would clearly be defined as a masterpiece.
As usual, you were so beautiful that you made heads turn, making anyone you overshadowed roll their eyes.
Everything about you was perfect, even the way you pronounced his name...?
It wasn't a hallucination, a matter of whether or not he had seen it: it was crystal clear.
The way your lips didn't match the lyrics of the song, or how your smile widened when you whispered his name, nothing could help him get it out of his head.
He wanted you all to himself, he wanted you to be the first and last thing he saw, he had to get you back by any means possible.
Hiori ⋆˚꩜｡
He, who was usually so calm, lost all his temper the moment his eyes landed on this video.
His eyes locked up on you, on your lips so puffy, he didn’t even noticed they weren’t even matching the lyrics.
Clenching his fist a little stronger when he noticed how your dress was taking the whole frame.
Everything about you was so precious, even more that blue necklace surrounding your neck.
As blue as his eyes.
Your whole attitude made him tense, and he knew full well that you were the one behind this mischief.
Before you left him, you promised him he would regret it his whole life.
And, rewatching it more closely, it was clear that you were holding back from exposing all of wickedness, especially when you spoke his name.
A smile crossed his face at this revelation, you were inviting him.
Well, you weren't inviting him to attend the ceremony, you were summoning him so that he could take the husband's place.
Karasu ⋆˚꩜｡
Usually, he was the one who made you hate him.
Parading around with supermodels, influencers, or some other superficial personality.
He, who loved to see your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, swallowed his pride down to his gut the moment his eyes fell on this video.
Stunning, breathtaking, in that dress you were a thousand times sweeter, a treat for the eyes.
Even more so were those lips he knew by heart, plump and rosy, singing the lyrics of a song he hated.
It was as if everything that came near you became wonderful.
So why could he discern his name on them? Why was he able to see that revenge shining in your eyes as you looked at the ring on your finger?
But above all, why did he loved this bizarre spectacle so much?
He wanted to be part of it, he wanted to make you say his name until you lost your mind and your memory.
Sae ⋆˚꩜｡
For a long time, you had been trying to get him to react, to force him to show how he cared about you, even just a little.
And even after you left him, you kept sending him jibes, discreet but always there.
And he never, ever reacted or said anything.
So why, after all this time, was he upset when he saw that video?
Maybe because it had been a long time since you last bothered him, daring to reach out to him.
And that video, taken on the fly, where you were barely recognizable, brought together everything he hated.
The presence of another man, music that was aimed at him, you cutting ties for good.
Or maybe not.
At the very end, as you turned to talk to a bridesmaid, he could read his name on your lips, your eyes narrowing beneath your malicious smile.
Everything was calculated, even his reaction.
You knew full well that he couldn't let it go, something he himself didn't know about himself.
Oliver ⋆˚꩜｡
He would have found it so much easier—and way more fun—to become the affair your husband would have hated.
He had given himself two days to become that person. To bring a little excitement into your life.
But apparently, your provocation was too tempting to resist right here and now.
At first, he laughed when he opened that message.
But quickly, he found himself analysing every single expression on your face. From every smiles to each of your glances at the camera.
That video was everything he had once loved about you.
The way you teased him with pettiness, how he could so easily guess your silhouette in that dress, or how everything was an excuse to openly mock him.
It's true that his body stiffened a little more when he finally noticed the killer detail, that of your lips pronouncing his name, wetting your lips just before saying it.
All of this was enough to give him a heart attack on the spot, but dying was still less entertaining than ruining a wedding in front of dozens of guests.
He absolutely had to come and get you back, to bring you back to a life without plans by his side.
Kaiser ⋆˚꩜｡
He hated the mere idea that you had been the one who dumped him, ranting and raving about it at every given opportunity.
But then, you dared to get married two months later.
Never in his life had he insulted anyone so much, going so far as to swear on his career you’d be the one crawling at his feet soon.
That certainly what would have happened if he had never received that video of you.
Sitting on the lap of a football player who played for a more prestigious club than him, dressed up in a dress of immaculate white.
His blood boiled, not even taking into account the music playing in the background, too busy analyzing that smile he hated on your face.
One he hated when he wasn't the reason for it.
But just before kissing your soon to be husband, you looked at the camera and mimed his name.
A gesture so petty, but one that he himself had shaped.
Watching you do it, mischievously humming the lyrics to the music, he was almost jealous.
He wanted that controlled malice for himself, he wanted to see you say another man's name before leaning in to kiss him.
And only then would he be satisfied.
He wanted to be the concern of your affair, and he was going to make it happen.
Ness ⋆˚꩜｡
He thought he’d die of rage when he saw you dressed in that awfully white dress, held by the arms of another man.
Biting his lip so hard that blood ran down his throat, its taste less bitter than the betrayal he had just suffered at your hands.
He had to stop himself from paying too much attention to the wandering hands of that scumbag who was going to be your husband.
Too hard to bear.
Simply contenting himself with analyzing your every gesture, every blink of eyelashes.
He wished those lips, moving to the rhythm of the music, would say only his name until the end of time.
He would have killed to read it on that part of your body that he knew so well.
That's why his heart skipped a beat when his wish came true, filling his heart with immoral joy.
The way your lips twisted into an evil smile as you said the forbidden name, full of slyness, you knew exactly what you were doing.
Kissing a man to make the other jealous.
Marrying a man to make the other jealous.
And he understood it too, he saw through your game and was going to play by the rules.
Chris ⋆˚꩜｡
Whatever wasn’t feeding his ego was good for the trash, so was this video he opened by mistake.
As you knew so well how to do, this video was a twisted production created with the sole purpose of making him jealous one last time.
You wanted him to go crazy over your meanness, over your nasty behaviours.
But above all, you wanted him mad over this white dress.
While singing the lyrics a song you knew he hated, a bright smile plastered on your angelic face, your soon to be husband's arms were curled around your waist, head buried in your neck.
It was a disgrace.
How could he be associated with someone like you?
Marrying a man much less muscular than him?
Less blond?
Less perfect?
It was as if you had taken the first man who came along, and yet he couldn't deny how his ego had taken a hit.
Because in the end, it was this man, less than him, who would find your body under the sheets tonight.
Just when he thought about giving up on you, he read his own name on your lips with a disconcerting ease, as if you dared him to come.
Bunny ⋆˚꩜｡
¿Qué tenía él que no tengo yo?
As a matter of fact, it was obvious to him that he was handsomer than the man you had chosen.
More important.
More buff.
More of everything you loved.
He couldn’t care less that you seemed to take pleasure in making him suffer.
Because the sole fact you sent him that video meant you still had him in your mind.
You could strut around in all the wedding dress you wanted, as a simple guest, he’d take pleasure watching you from afar.
Sneaking you in the bathroom mid reception to seal the affair.
The bigger issue was his dislike for the way that man touched you, or even the way you played a song he didn't approve of.
But worse still, why could he read his name on your smiling lips?
You, who had sworn to never utter it again, was breaking your own promise.
It was so sinful of you and it had to be remedied.
Because in the end, you were indeed inviting him into this whole mess.
Almost demanding that he come and ruin this whole charade.
Hugo ⋆˚꩜｡
Tu me rends fou, et pourtant je te courrai toujours après.
Everything about that video was detestable, from the guests screaming lyrics they didn't understand to the frustrating realization that you were the one we saw the least.
You were barely visible, discreet as a mouse, with a devilish smile plastered on your luscious lips.
He knew it, he knew you so well after all.
He could tell, even seeing you from behind, that your smile must be as big as your pettiness.
You promised him one last gift before leaving him, forgetting to mention that you would make him hate you until the end of his career.
So that he’d remember and regret what he had neglected.
He lost a little of his composure when he saw you looking at the camera, saying something that didn't match the rest.
His name.
You were saying the name of the man you hated the most, mocking him a little too much for his liking.
This video was so grotesque, it was so laughable he had to tell it to your face.
Summary: Les Grandes Vacances—heaven for French children, hell for parents. But a tradition born from your childhood for him and you. "I would have devoted all my letters to you."
Tag/Warnings: WW2 nerd, Hugo actually reads, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, Hugo lives in France, reader comes to France for vacation.
a/n: Hugo’s French, I’m French. He’s in love, I make him fall in love.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⋆˚꩜｡
"This means that, to gather information on beaches suitable for D-Day, they pored over vacation photos taken on French beaches."
You knew he was a WWII’s nerd.
The dozens of book in his room hard to miss when you were visiting him. And the replicas difficult to ignore when you tried to sleep in the guest room.
However, you also knew what he enjoyed most was standing on the Normandy coast facing the English Channel.
Hair swirling in the wind and eyes gazing toward the horizon—it had always been that way during summer vacation.
There, where waves crash gently against the remnants of a cruel war, and where seagulls squawk high above you, that sweet memory repeated itself year after year.
"Hugo, how many books have you read since last time?"
"53. But did you know that only 15% of paratroopers landed in the right place?"
Huge clouds drifted across the endless sky as you gazed at him, a feigned look of annoyance etched over your features.
A glimmer of amusement flashed for a moment in the depths of his eyes, immediately washed away as his lips parted to likely share another piece of knowledge.
From the top of your head, you’ll always remember the first time you two met.
It was during the summer of 2007, on one of the D-Day beach.
Feet submerged in the cold water, pants rolled up just enough to keep them from getting wet, you stood there without a shred of enjoyment in this activity.
And that’s when you saw him. Crouched in the murky water, almost on all fours, a boy of scarlet hair digging his whole arms into the unpleasant mixture of thick, wet sand.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away, probably too absorbed by a task that intrigued you more than you’d like to admit.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
“I’m looking for rifle cartridges.”
So he had heard you the first time after all, ignoring you the way one ignores a personal nuisance.
"Why?"
"Hobby."
"Where are you from?"
"Lyon."
"What’s your name?"
"Hugo."
"Do you know how to form sentences?"
"Yes."
That’s pretty much how your first encounter went. A boy who didn’t talk much and a girl who was curious.
Each other’s worst nightmare.
And then when you left, leaving him fiddling with his mud all alone, you turned around anyway.
“See you tomorrow, Hugo!”
Perhaps was the wind howling a bit too loud that morning, as he never turned around to wave back.
Over the course of the week, you observed from your house perched on the hill for the exact moments when Hugo would appear on the sandbar.
A bucket clumsily dangling from the tip of his fingers and a yellow hat firmly planted on his head, he was consistent in his routine. Always at the same time, always after breakfast.
So, always after breakfast, you ran down to meet him. To join him in his strange activity. Even if he never invited you to take part of it in the first place.
You’d dig, you’d get dirty, and you didn’t really know what you were looking for, but every time you showed him something, with just a glance, he’d tell you to put it in the bucket.
And you felt proud—a little, it’s true.
In silence, as always, you searched until the tide came in.
Then your paths would part. But this time, even as his footprints in the sand had already been washed away by the waves, you called out his name.
“Hey Hugo, do you like World War II?”
“Yes.”
“If you want, I have lots of books about it at my house.”
For the first time, he turned around and there was almost something shining in his eyes. A sense of wonder and excitement.
And it didn’t take lot of convincing to bring him home with you.
That day, he stayed until dinner. And you opened so many books that you forgot it was vacation.
But in the end, it paid off, as he asked you if he could come back the next day. After the beach trip, because he never broke his routine.
And throughout the rest of that month, that brief moment away from life's worries forged a friendship between two opposites. One who did all the talking and the other one who listened.
Kind of like a summer fling, but with a friend. A summer adventure that has been repeated over the past 13 summers.
And even though afternoons spent sipping water with grenadine and reading about WWII have been replaced by game analyses and tactical discussions about football, the tradition has lived on.
"Do you want to go pick up some cartridges," you asked, sinking your feet a little deeper into the sand.
"I think we've already found them all."
Hushed but sweet, you chuckled while nodding your head; after all this time, he was probably right. There was nothing new left at the bottom of the sea.
If not for that relationship growing stronger each years.
"Want to do some reading at my place?"
"I think we’ve already read everything," he cut himself off, thought for a few seconds. "At least three times."
“We’re going to have to get creative for the next sisxty summers,” you sighed, already disheartened by a future that didn't look as fun as the past decade.
He nodded, but quickly broke the eye contact, crouching down to pick up a seashell.
Delicate on the rough surface, his fingers brushed off the sand before quietly slipping it into your pocket, a smile as subtle as the yellow hat from his childhood etched on his lips.
A smile you’ve learned to decipher.
“Your favorites when you were little, right?”
But instead of answering, you grabbed the hem of his blue parka. Pulling him against his will toward the water.
The sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and the sea foam had dissipated—the perfect moment to take a dip, just like in the good old days.
He didn’t resist, not even when you dragged him into the icy water. Not even when you kicked up a splash of water on him.
He simply looked at you, something strange shimmering far, very far in the black of his pupils.
“Tell me something I don’t know about the war,” your hand slid down his sleeve until it met his.
And his grip too tightened a little more around yours, pulling you toward him before a strand of seaweed could touch your leg.
"The average soldier could write up to six letters a week."
"If you had been a soldier, who would you have written letters to?"
Summary: The affair, the secret meetings, the sloppy kiss…All of this mess is yours and yours alone. "You only love me when night falls."
Tag/Warning: unfaithful characters, twisted love, cross-posted on TikTok. Not proofread
a/n: Based on Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Isagi ⋆˚꩜｡
First love, first kiss and yet, you still were his second choice.
Even less than his second choice to be honest, you were just the warm arms to which he could crawl to after tiring days. The door he never found closed, even late at night. The unmade sheets under which he slipped to find your body.
"Hi, babe. Did you have a good day?"
You sighed, sensing the mattress sinking under his weight as his arms curled around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
"Sorry for coming so late, my wife was driving me crazy."
He whispered in your ear, slowly kissing your temple. A sort of twisted apology you hated.
Amid your silence, he kissed you over and over, almost like he expected you to react at his touch when the first word his tongue uttered was the woman waiting for him at home.
At his real home.
"You mad at me?"
Innocent he sounded, devilish he was.
Rin ⋆˚꩜｡
Sometimes, it felt like he barely acknowledged your existence.
As if, in the end, you were just one of his many fans, almost begging for a smidge of his attention.
Yet, on some rare occasions, rare as the sight of moon and sun merging in one, he would nearly creep to you, eyes filled with a gentleness he normally lacked.
His hands, usually so cold and unlovable on your flesh, would intertwine with yours, like a desperate attempt to seek the warmth he needed.
"I lied to my wife to come here. I missed you."
Even rarer were his words of weakness, only coming to light when he knew he had messed up with you.
When his silence had been too loud. When his words had been too harsh.
When his marriage was no longer enough for him, you were the backup plan, the one we rarely bring out when we don't need to.
"Don’t be mad at me."
Of course you were angry, you were just a toy he used as he pleased.
But how could you refuse him anything when his sweet words were the thing you lived for?
Bachira ⋆˚꩜｡
He was a rascal, a man who was almost never serious.
And his marriage wasn’t an exception, just one more occasion for him to enjoy life on an other level.
Right down to his fingertips, this affair with you was some sort of a bizarre game.
A game with no established rules, with just the two of you as players.
And sometimes, you hated how he played.
"Our affair might have leaked to the media."
Your body tensed up at the thought of your life shattering before your eyes. Incredulous eyes reading your name written in red in the gossip columns.
As for him, he seemed amused, feeling his lips curl into a smile on the bare of your neck.
"Or not. You’re my little secret. You know that, don’t you?"
From highs to lows, great fears to mixture of serenity, this relationship was a mixed bag of everything humans were capable of doing at their worst.
His embrace burned your skin but refreshed your heart.
Chigiri ⋆˚꩜｡
Of all the trophies he had won, you were his favorite.
The one he could keep hidden. The one he could cherish without rushing everything, without being in the spotlight.
And even if your presence was meant to be savoured behind closed doors, where shutters were drawn for sneaky camera flash, he’ll never deny how your arms brought him peace.
How he waited for you kisses all day long, even when his wife gently kissed him good morning.
And when the door opened to reveal your figure, he could never remain a second more without wrapping you in all this excess love.
"God, I missed you so much."
He sounded so vulnerable, opening up his heart to the wrong partner.
It hurts so much to think you weren’t the one to whom he had promised fidelity until death do you part, you wanted him just for yourself.
"I’m so sorry that our love can only survive like this. That our first everything’s has to remain in the past."
Kunigami ⋆˚꩜｡
Violent was his love, even more brutal was the way he ignored you.
It had you wondering if you even existed in his world, if you weren’t just an extra in the bed of those countless hotel rooms.
That night, when the affair, the pact, had been sealed with a simple glimpse of your body in the crinkly sheets, you held him back and asked why.
Why was he so cold?
Why did his touch bring you more pain than pleasure?
Why did he seem to hate every second spent next to you?
“When are you going to realise that I'm here to have fun?”
And you fought back, you demanded answers, cried out all your bitterness, your incomprehension at this love he denied you.
As expected, his response made you sink a little deeper into the aversion you felt for his utterly empty gaze.
“Arguing with me won't add anything to this relationship, it’s doomed to exist only between these four walls.”
And for once, you would have preferred silence as an answer.
Reo ⋆˚꩜｡
Only you could procure him a thrill his money couldn’t buy.
None of the sums laid out on the table could compete with this fear of being caught committing the sin of unfaithfulness.
With you, he was defying prohibitions, breaking rules while shattering his wife's heart.
Yet you couldn’t tell if you hated this role he placed on your shoulders, or if longed for those moments when he promised you the world.
"I swear, I'll leave her and give you the life you deserve."
Whispering in the hollow of your ear sweet words filled with deception.
And as to make you forget, as if to redeem a little of your love, he would spoil you, showering you with gift of all kinds.
"After my divorce, I’ll offer you the world."
You sighed under his devious gaze, breaking free from his grasp. Setting free from this embrace which felt like another lie.
"I’m not lying, believe me."
Even his heartbeat seemed like a played act.
Nagi ⋆˚꩜｡
Life would be so boring without the jolt he got from seeing you.
A sensation that apparently his marriage could not satisfy. A union as bland as his life.
Countless times he had told you about the twisted joy he felt when he was with you, an illegitimate pleasure born of deception.
Of unfaithfulness.
"We don’t have a lot of time, my wife can be back any time."
A joy rushed, shoddy even. A urgency that weighed heavily on your shoulders.
With him, tenderness wasn’t a thing enjoyed little by little, it was like a waterfall that almost break spine.
"She’s forcing me to take her out tonight."
A joy punctuated by flashes of reality, a reality he seemed to hate.
Still he made no attempt to change this reality, you felt it every time he held you close.
He was too complacent in this taboo relationship, and he didn't want that to change a bit.
And sometimes, it felt like he insisted on seeing you simply because it was the only thing that excited him.
The only experience that made him feel alive.
Shidou ⋆˚꩜｡
Only with him was the affair louder than the actual marriage.
You sometimes caught yourself searching for his name alongside the words "marital drama" on internet.
An unhealthy habit of making sure his lips hadn't said more than they should have.
"You don’t trust me?"
Dangling it in front of your bewildered face, your phone was hanging from the tip of his fingers.
It appeared his eyes had read your little secret. One that ashamed you more than the actual affair.
Of course you trusted him, he was your partner in deception after all, but he often was too loose-lipped.
"Come on, we trick the world together. And, it’s so petty of you to only worry about yourself. I'm the star, aren't I?"
Rolling your eyes to the sky, you despised when he displayed that false pride, a sneaky stratagem set up by himself excite himself even more.
Yet, even when his words annoyed you, you’d still adore those forbidden moments together when only a door concealed you from the scandal.
With or without a wife waiting for him in bed at home, you’d still thrive on his gaze.
Yukimiya ⋆˚꩜｡
Sometimes, you wondered if he saw her in you.
If his eyes deceived him to the point of mistaking you for her when he held you in his arms. Stammering on your name, almost pronouncing hers.
You knew you were just an extend of his love for her, that he melted in your arms to forget how his wife was drifting away from him.
"My wife told me she needs time. Do you think she doesn't love me anymore?"
If you’d knew having an affair came with a degree in marital psychology, you would have never signed up.
But you couldn’t be fooled, his kisses, perhaps sloppy, lingered more discreetly, quietly on your cheeks when everything was going well at home.
He wouldn’t whimper how his wife hated him, how a divorce was the only way out.
He took advantage of this brief moment when two women loved him, without whining.
"But I know you’ll never stop loving me, you."
Hiori ⋆˚꩜｡
His angelic face shouldn’t trick you, and yet…
His “I love you” echoed way too hard in your mind, as if in an empty room.
His gaze felt so warm on your body, like a balmy summer afternoon.
His kisses carried you so far away that the way back to reality was like a slap in the face.
And yet, even if you knew…you hated how you were not the only one.
What had started out as a weird way to have fun was now making you envious of the woman waiting for him at home.
“I can stay with you for the night, but my wife expects me for breakfast.”
Once again, one too many time, he reminded you that his love wasn’t exclusive.
That his touch was destined to be shared. To be savoured by someone else that wasn’t you.
You wanted more than those cold and unlovable sheet as a symbol of your forbidden love, but it was impossible.
Not now, not after all those whispered, hidden confessions…
“I love you, you know that.”
You hated how he loved you.
Sae ⋆˚꩜｡
Even meeting up with you was a formality, a burden rather than a rendezvous.
Cheating on his wife was a task born out of simplicity, just like his dream.
It had always been easier to seek refuge in the arms of another rather than going through a long and costly divorce.
Yet, his attention came at a price; that of a cruel lack of affection.
Never did an "I love you," even played out of compassion, brushed his lips.
Love wasn’t something to be earned, even deserved, it was just some fantasy that slowed him down more than it helped him.
And he never felt the need to display that fake emotion when he was with you.
"My wife is getting suspicious of you."
His tone carried more annoyance that fear, he truly hated both aspects of this relationship.
"We need to cut ties for a while or she won’t stop mentioning it."
And yet, his solutions were always temporary, never permanent, almost as if he enjoyed that life he complicated for himself.
Oliver ⋆˚꩜｡
The pleasure that made your spine curl had long since disappeared.
Because if he wasn’t faithful to his own wife, you'd be damned to believe he was with you.
Fame, money and a lovely face could attract all kinds of groupies, like those sneaking into fancy hotels through back doors.
And in the end, there wasn't much that set you apart from the others.
Maybe his lips lingered a little longer on your cheek when he felt remorseful after days of silence.
Or that his smooth voice was filled with a little less mischief when he spoke to you.
But you knew how very little was differentiating you from them, how you were just another fan.
Another bed to warm up.
"Sorry, babe, a fan wouldn't leave me alone."
A lock on the door, muffled footsteps, a jacket slipping from his shoulders and there he stood before you, a strange light shimmering in his eyes.
"Did you miss me?"
Of course you missed his touch, electric and forbidden, on your skin.
Kaiser ⋆˚꩜｡
If he hated his own wife, who were you to believe he’d love you?
His gaze was so heavy on you, just like the wind near the shore.
The one that throws you off balance, the one you can even feel in your bones.
Sitting on that cursed chair facing the bed, he watched your half naked silhouette, stripped of this embrace that was meant on your skin.
His.
"You’re fucking boring, today."
Head tilted on his fist, he spoke, he ordered to bend over the king’s demands, you the fool.
He was so reckless it got you wondering if he ever appreciated being in the same room as you.
Your heart, after such harsh words, begged you to abandon him.
But you couldn’t.
Because late at night, when he had long since left the room, you found yourself wanting to help him, to pull him out of the darkness.
"You’re the only thing that knows how to entertain me."
And sometimes, even his twisted confessions reassured your heart.
Ness ⋆˚꩜｡
He admired you, you could see it gleaming in his bright eyes.
Even when he was far away, playing on a pitch under the gaze of hundreds of fans, all you’d recall was the way his arms wrapped around you from behind.
Whispering in your ear how much he missed you.
Sensing his presence on your soul itself.
Even if you were a secret, he’d demand your presence in all the hotels he visited, as if you were a must in his insipid life.
He was always telling you that if his wife was the gentle warmth of summer, then you were the breeze that blew on stifling days.
A dubious comparison, certainly, but a statement that made your heart race, moved by such honesty.
"Please promise me you'll never leave me."
His gentle kiss on your skin made you shiver, even more than his soft voice. He sounded beggy, nearly pleading for your love to remain forever, delicate as a feather on his heart.
"Follow me to the ends of the earth. Stay hidden in my shadow so that I alone can enjoy you."
A relationship as twisted as his demands.
Chris ⋆˚꩜｡
Loud and proud, but quiet as a mouse when it came to you.
You had him, tall and wide as a fridge, begging for a smooch, the most sloppy he said.
"Please, one last kiss before I go back to…"
He was hesitant, seemingly unable to pronounce the forbidden word. That of the wife waiting for him to come back to her.
He was always so ashamed to mention it in front of you and he was right. As if he knew that strange feeling you repressed whenever he hinted it.
You had this kind of misplaced jealousy, the kind that was illegitimate, born of a bitterness that you should hide from his gaze.
You knew how you were the second, the one he crawled to for a little more love late at night, the one who grants his dreams whispered breathlessly.
Not the one for the whole world to see.
"I’ll be away for a while, I need to feel your warmth on my flesh one last time."
And you complied to his wish, landing your lips right on the mole beneath his lips, sealing one more time that twisted and hushed invitation to meet again.
Bunny ⋆˚꩜｡
Amar y querer were not the same thing, everyone knew it.
A subtlety hidden at the tip of his tongue, in the way he smiled when he’d promise you his own life.
It’s not that his marriage wasn’t enough, it was just the constant search of a fleeting rush that would be strong enough to force him to live.
Like that burning sensation swirling around in his mind whenever your body would lay beside him, in the very same bed he slept with his wife.
Clouding his soul with a temporary solution to his endless emptiness.
"Te quiero, much more than what you can think."
Because even when he was lying, he longed for that precise moment when he’d observe how your eyes didn’t know where to look under his teasing tone.
He adored when you nestled your face in the crook of his neck, burying him under dozens of kisses.
"You bring so much in this dull life that maybe one day I'll tell you te amo."
He was wicked to make you believe in that fantasy.
Dreams only happen at night when you cling to him with all your forbidden love.
Hugo ⋆˚꩜｡
French, the language of love…the language of trickery.
Every time he would slip into the bed marking adultery, as he wrapped you in all of his tenderness, he’d murmur words you couldn’t grasp the meaning of in the hollow of your ear.
Words seemingly sweet to the heart, ones you adored to hear, but words hiding sneaky meaning.
He revelled in the expression on your face when his lips purred those compliments, what you naively thought were silly nicknames.
He longed for that precise moment when your eyes didn’t know where to look under his teasing gaze, cheeks heating up.
"Ma malédiction, you know my wife is waiting for me in bed at home."
There he stood, in all his splendor, his imposing silhouette enveloping you with such a suffocating aura.
"Crois-tu naïvement en quelque chose qui nous reliera plus que cette infidélité?"
He whispered against your neck, lips burning your skin.
"Ta candeur me fait sourire, mais parfois tes baisers me font me demander laquelle de vous deux je préfère."
Behind his eyes gleamed no sparkle, like those insipid words to the ear, what did they meant?
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Summary: Your assistant has gotten you into quite a mess. But how on earth is America’s sweetheart going to get out of this? By throwing herself, half-naked, into the arms of the man who just returned from the dead, of course.
Tag/Warnings: Ben is a shitty man, forced nudity, heavy use of petnames, non-descriptive (apart from his remarks on breast and butt), whole lot of swear, reader is also kinda shitty
a/n: I don’t know wtf is this but I’ll like to clarify that I, very much obviously, don't endorse the things I had Ben say. Also it’s not proofread, it’s straight up pulled from notes app and I don’t have anything against anyone shoving stick in their behind…
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
No matter how much you turned the pages or read the sentences backward, the words written in black and white were crystal clear and precise.
Pissed off wasn’t even strong enough to describe the state of your mind at the moment. Those papers you were clutching in your sweaty hands went beyond mere provocation; they bordered on propaganda.
Propaganda from a bygone century. His century.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tossed that file on your vanity, sheets flying everywhere, but the picture of the outfit we expected you to wear comically ended up on top of it. Some twisted provocation or your damn luck. With a flick of your wrist, you swept that filth in a corner of the room, your whole body sinking deeper into your chair.
Very hard, you were refraining yourself from lashing out on your manager who—you knew full well—looked at you with one of her puppy gaze, so you simply sighed. Long, loud, the kind you do on purpose just to make it clear that you're dealing with an idiot.
Finally, you gathered enough peace with yourself and turned your gaze. For a few seconds—too long for her, apparently—you looked at her, tilting your head just enough to make her understand she had fucked up.
"Are you kidding me? Or is that really the script?"
As if your voice alone terrified her, she stiffened, clutching against her hideous suit—which she only had been able to buy thanks to the salary you paid her—her clipboard.
"You’re absolutely right, madam. But look, I had no choice but to accept-"
"Yes. We always have the choice."
You cut her off, not wanting to hear a single more excuse. Especially when you knew full well that she fucked anything and everyone just so her name would be attached to everything you had to go through, with no one to lean on.
And you didn't even want to know what she had to do to get her damn name printed in tiny letters on those soft-core porn posters she had signed you for.
"But-but, it would be a boost for your career! Lot of money! Fame! We’re talking about America’s sweetheart and Soldier-"
You slammed your fist down on the table; that was the last straw.
"Listen," you approached her, but she only distanced herself from you, her back soon hitting the wall of this tiny room, "You’re gonna go apologize to Soldier Boy—kiss his ass if you want. And you’re gonna take responsibility: a sexist remark, a spanking—who knows, maybe both if you’re lucky—but I’m not leaving this room."
In one swoop, you pressed your finger against her chest, forcing her to look you straight in the eye without looking away.
"Was I clear?"
"But, I-"
"Was. I. Clear?"
This time, you insisted more on your words, pressing deeper and harder into her torso.
"Yes, ma’am." She whispered, out of breath.
"See, you can be smart. Now out of my sight. Go tell them I'm not getting out of this trailer."
Like a scared rabbit, she practically runs toward the door, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't even turn the doorknob
"And don't you dare say it's for the fame! I don't want to be some 60-year-old guy's fantasy!"
You shouted at her before she slammed the door shut, leaving you alone. Finally.
It was clear that we were talking about abuse of power and that some HR would have been appalled to see how you spoke to your employee, but that woman had nothing in her head. And yet, even with no brain, she was always the one getting you into crazy situations.
Just last month, after your popularity took a dip, she insisted that you should pose for a magazine. Imagine your surprise when you found out that it was basically a hardcore version of Playboy aimed at crazy folks who had some gory sexual fantasies.
She never did anything to polish up your image as a superhero. Which is what you were in the first place.
The press could call you whatever they wanted, giving you nicknames tied to your missteps and gaffes, but it seemed that the people had rallied behind the idea that you were the one who represented them. Like a sort of standard-bearer who took more photos than you saved people.
Lowering your head, you looked down at your feet, that voice in the back of your mind constantly asking if you liked this role that had been forced upon you.
Of course, you adored it even. Who wouldn’t love having an entire country at their feet?
You loved the camera flashes, the screams, the popularity—all of it. It suited you so well. At least it suited you when they weren’t asking you to take nearly naked photos with a man we thought was dead just a few months ago.
You were a gossip; we weren’t asking you to be completely naked, come on. Two big red bows were going to serve as your outfit. Wide enough to hide your nipples and your butt, but certainly not enough to cover them if you bent over.
And as you began to get to know the guy you were supposed to work with, it was obvious he would have made you bend over for any and every reason. At that thought, as if you could already feel his rough hands on your butt, your lips twisted, teeth biting them so hard it cleared all your worries.
What was the point of worrying? You weren't going to take those photos anyway.
At last, feeling relieved, you shrugged and snatched up a magazine lying on your table before flopping onto your bed with a thud. Really curious to see what the tabloids had to say about you.
A little bit of nonsense, a whole lot of exaggeration, and a dash of sugar-coated sentimentality—your name sounded so good in these pages. The fame had certainly gone to your head, but you’d managed to keep your feet on the ground, having always promised yourself not to cross that mental red line. And not even Soldier Boy himself could make you change your mind.
Just as you were about to turn the page, you heard a knock at the door. There was no way she was done yet; not enough time had passed for her to finish her long-winded, stuttering filled sentences.
"Go away! I don't want to see anyone!"
Without even looking up from your book, you yelled at the person behind the door, still far too angry to listen to any pleas.
Once again, a little harder and with more force, your door shook under the knocks. Whoever was holding on to it didn't seem willing to let go.
"Get lost! I don't wanna see no-fucking-body!"
Now so angry that you could no longer concentrate on your magazine, you throw it aside before getting up. Eager to find out if there was another door that could get you out of there.
You hadn't even taken a single step when a loud crash echoed through the room, catching you by surprise just like the giant mass hurtling toward you. All of a sudden, you were flung onto your bed, the slats creaking one by one under the force used to pin you down.
Kicking out with your knees, trying by any means to pry his hands off your neck, you struggled until your vision began to darken from lack of oxygen.
Then, in a deafening mess, the entire structure collapsed—a laughable indicator of the individual you were fighting so fiercely. But it finally freed you from this dangerous psychopath who sorely lacked manners.
In other words: Soldier Boy.
In one go, you rose back, still in shock, still trying to process why on earth was he throwing hands on you. As you tried to catch your breath, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him step back and rotate his wrist, as if he’d just finished a simple workout at the gym.
"In my day," he started, practically forcing you to look up, to meet his flashy green eyes, before eyeballing you as if you were the ugliest woman on the continent, "If a woman got beaten and tried to escape, it meant she was guilty of what her husband accused her of."
He left the sentence hanging in the air. His mocking, sarcastic tone whistling in your ear some cheap moral that had long since lost its relevance. Was he implying that a real woman, one respectable, wasn’t meant to fight back?
"Go fuck yourself and your prehistoric era!"
Out of breath, your fingers trying to ease the pain on your neck, you cursed at him. Some dumb move considering the fact he could slice your head open, but that bastard got beyond limit.
Heavy, radiating a silent threat that he could do far worse to you, he turned toward you, stepping forward just enough so that your neck would snap just from looking at him. Oh, he loved looking down on you.
"Careful there, you might break a nail if you fight back."
"You're a total piece of shit. Can’t believe America loves you." Since that wasn't enough for you, you kept grumbling.
"But you're the one who sent your assistant to tell me that you had to take responsibility, right? A spanking or a scolding, remember?"
He pointed the door like he was clueless.
"Oh my God, I'm going to kill that bitch." Defeated at your own game, you murmured to yourself, bowing your head, humiliated by this man much stronger than you.
"Come on, dolly, the world is waiting to see you butt-naked. And I’m all bricked up, just thinking about it." He hummed, gross, while lowering himself, a savage snicker playing at the corner of his lips. "So? What about you putting on your brightest smile, all while wearing that stupid outfit and follow me? Sounds great, nah?"
As if realisation brutally struck you, you furrowed your eyebrows, a discreet smile flashing across your face as you stood up, practically chest to chest with that giant.
"You know what? Go to hell, I’m quitting. I'm not gonna walk all naked just because you want to be turned on from morning till night. Fuck that company. Fuck yourself. Fuck your horny self. Stick it in deep, I'm not gonna act like a slut for you."
As if to drive home a point that was already crystal clear, you pressed your index finger against his chest every time you told him to go to hell. Your gaze never leaving his, oh mister The Man Of America.
Maybe that was the thing too much, as you saw pure rage gleaming in the back of his eyes.
A rage that drove him to grab you by the wrist, flinging you across the room with such ease that the realization of it was more painful than feeling all the glassware shatter under you.
A gasp of pain escaped your throat, as you fell back to your knees, struggling to regain your senses. What to do? Run away, or fight this raving madman? Well, you didn’t even have time to think about it, because in a flash, pulling you by the arm, he yanked you back to your feet.
"Swearing is ugly as hell in your mouth. Keep it tight shut, like your ass."
A help as precious as it was vicious, for without warning, he slammed you against the wall, again and again. His strength growing with every new blow. Then, completely dazed, your vision wavering, you felt him slow down before pinning you against the wall, his face merely a few centimeters from yours. That smell of cannabis and cheap cologne filling your nose.
"You don’t have a choice," he drew his face even closer, his grips around your neck tightening so hard it was the only thing supporting your body, "You do what I tell you without complaining or arguing. If you have to play my slut, then you’ll play my slut."
Your nail digging in the flesh of his hands, you tried desperately to free yourself from this deathbed that was his grip. But that was impossible—not when that blazing fury burned in his eyes, the only thing you could see.
The air was getting harder and harder to breathe in your throat; your head was spinning so violently that you saw flashes of light every time you blinked. If you didn’t do something right away, you would undoubtedly die. So, gasping for breath and barely audible, you spat one last insult in his face.
"Fuck you, fatherless pussy."
And for once, you were right to curse at him, because almost immediately he let go of you, your body falling heavily to the ground, crashing into shards of glass that tore your skin.
For barely a second, you were able to catch your breath. Before your numb body was caught by that madman. Swiftly, easily, he flipped you onto your back and straddled you.
You were as good as dead.
"Consider yourself lucky I’m not doing worse to you, sugar."
He growled, his deep, smug voice echoing as his hands slid toward your cleavage. His fingers clenched around the fabric, ready to rip it apart but stopping short. Once again, he stared at you, an expression of loathing flowing from his eyes to his lips.
"Put that smile back on your face. It turns me off when women pull a face."
"So now I’m supposed to feel happy that some crazy jerk is attacking me because I don’t want to shoot a porn movie with him?! What’s your problem?"
"Your ugly, sullen face. Smile, I’ll help you put your outfit on. Unless you’re avoiding it ‘cause it doesn’t fit you?"
"Go fuck yourself—"
Without warning or even waiting for you to finish insulting him, he ripped your top off, wasting no time cutting away the tiny bit of fabric holding your bra in place with his knife.
Clean and neat, there you were, breasts exposed in front of this dirty old man. It was too much for you. Shame filling you whole, as you sensed his lewd eyes on every exposed part of your body.
To avoid meeting his disapproving gaze on your body, his expression of disgust plastered religiously on his face, but above all to keep those tears from spilling over the rims of your eyes, you looked away.
"So what? Playing the prude now? Or are you just embarrassed by your saggy boobs?"
Of course, if it wasn’t his gaze, it would be his voice.
"Tell me, cheesecake. I’m waiting for an answer so that I know how I’m supposed to wrap you in those bows."
"Stop with the nicknames, you asshole."
It was clear that you weren’t the type of person to learn from your mistakes. But so defeated as you were, how could you fight back?
"Is hating on men a new thing? Some sort of trippy girl’s power? If so, lemme tell ya’, it’s ridiculous, darling."
The way he purposefully insisted on the last word made your blood boil. Yet, you simply huffed, gulping down your tongue as not to take any more blows that might turn you paralysed for the rest of your life.
"See, you can be a good girl. An obedient kitten." He leaned over you, a raspy laugh that screamed "I’m strong, I’m America."
Hoping he’d hurry up and put that ridiculous outfit on for you, you felt him tighten the knot more than necessary, making you moan in pain without meaning to.
"The cameras aren't even on yet, and you're already all wet? God, you women are so easy."
Ignoring his disgusting words, you finally felt him get off you, as if you could breathe again without a knife to your throat. Not particularly happy about it, you followed suit, getting up, and realizing at the same time just how ridiculous your outfit looked.
"Take off your pants. Unless you need help with that, too."
He practically spat at you, giving you orders like you would to a dog, except that in this case we weren't talking about one or two treats.
His tone, a mix of narcissism and some oversized ego that had no place in a sentence like that to begin with, made you shiver. Even more the way it seemed so natural to him, how shaming was engraved in his every word.
"Get the hell out of the room, I’ll do it myself."
"We take off the leash and suddenly you think you’re a wild animal? Your brain is an embarrassment to the rest of your species."
You let out a sigh and rolled your eyes so hard you could have popped them right out of their sockets.
"I’m talking ‘bout women, obviously."
He felt compelled to add, treating you like the biggest moron.
"Get out or I’ll slit your throat."
You saw him stiffen, jaw clenching in a way a blood vessel could easily be seen on his forehead. For a second, just enough to make you regret your threat, he looked at you before silently darting his gaze at the door laying on the floor because of him. He huffed a forced laugh that sounded as fake as his barely concealed desire to make your threat a reality.
“Look at yourself, all bark and no bite.”
Scanning your body one last time, his gaze lingering on your hips, he moved toward you, but stepped around. To your greatest relief, he headed for the exit.
"You’ve got 10 minutes before I come and get you myself."
As you watched him walk away, frustrated at having lost the battle, you saw him come to a stop at the doorway before turning around. Was he coming back for more?That’s when you saw that smirk as despicable as every word he’d uttered since he arrived, barely ten minutes prior. He had forgotten the final blow.
“Hurry up. You've got your work cut out for you with those hips. But hey, lucky girl, I did half the job for you."
He was taunting you with every fiber of his being, and he relieved in your reactions. For him, those were probably words of sympathy. His twisted and deranged way to encourage you. But that was the one too many sentences.
"Go get a broom shoved deep in your ass, and we'll see who's the lucky one! Bitch."
If you didn’t realize how serious your words were until after you’d spoken them, then they probably shouldn’t have been said in the first place. Because no one who had thought through their words would cover their mouth and back away in fear.
But as he said, you were a lucky little brat who hasn’t had to face the consequences of your actions as he simply left, not without offering one last sharp gaze. His way of saying "it’s the last time."
"Put on some deodorant, you smell like ragged pussy."
You heard him shout in a cheerful voice, probably throbbing in his pant for having the last word. Oh. You hated that nasty bastard.
—
"Alright, we gonna do one last photo where Soldier Boy carries you on his shoulder. A great way to show his strength and…your submission, I guess!"
The director, who clearly didn’t need to yell in that megaphone nor adding that last sentence, urged you to take off your satin robe. Probably in a hurry to go take his lunch break.
Discouraged, you shot a pleading look at the rest of the production team. But none of these cowards answered that blatant call for help. Fine. You knew what you had to do.
Moving to the middle of the set, you tossed away the only thing covering you, your arms firmly wrapping themselves around your almost naked body. Walking in that attire was as absurd as it was impossible to stay where they were supposed to stay.
Soldier Boy was already there, waiting for you, his body language letting you know that he loved every second of your torment.
He scrutinized your body as if it were nothing more than a piece of meat, whistling like some bricked-up cowboy; his gaze, as heavy as it was lewd, was nothing compared to the way he stooped down to your level. Seizing the opportunity, he grabbed your waist with both hands, dragging you like a mere pine-up in his embrace. Not like a superhero an the same level as him.
"Don’t be ashamed of your weight, I’m strong enough to carry you anyway."
"And I’m strong enough to kick your ball so hard they won’t grow back."
You whispered back into his ear. But soon heard in your back camera taking dozens of pictures, their flash smudging everywhere on the reflective surfaces.
What could be better than photos in the style of "I'm pouting at my tall, burly husband while wearing a ridiculous outfit that shows I have no brain"?
Come on, a photo where that same husband throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while flashing a beaming smile, as you comically struggle against him.
Don’t get the wrong idea—we haven’t suddenly gone back 50 years in time. It’s the very symbol of that era that has come back to life.
You yelped as soon as your feet lifted off the ground—you hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly. Unlike those misogynistic war posters, your struggle against him was real.
And you surely didn't want to know what the cameras were seeing, or even consider that there must have been some weirdo in this whole mess who was getting a kick out of watching your butt.
Flashing lights, shouted instructions, praise for Soldier Boy’s greatness—none of it was for you. It all made your head spin. At that point, it wasn't even your bare ass that bothered you anymore, but the way he took malicious pleasure in prolonging your punishment.
A hand to your ass, burning and stinging, made you bite your tongue, nails digging into your palm as to repress this ignominious feeling that formed in your gut. Humiliation. Disgrace. You had to endure all of it for the sick pleasure of a creep.
"Come on babe, don’t squirt on me."
That remark, that snickers, that gesture, set off a wave of laughter in the room. They were laughing at you, feeding his ego behind your back. How on earth could you ever recover from that?
But finally, the ordeal was over. As you slipped into your robe, rushing toward the door, and as you tried to ignore all those stares fixed on you, you felt a hand slither up to your shoulder. Him again.
"I'd really like to fuck you. You know what I mean? You might be a pain in the ass, but you've still got a pussy."
His heavy, almost forced, accent ringed so loudly in your ears you could have turned deaf on the spot. And his wandering hand, sliding quietly down to your cleavage, made you wonder if he ever respected boundaries once in his shitty life.
"Tell me, would you fuck a cow if she had a vagina and blonde hair?"
"Yeah, anything with a hole—"
"Shut your mouth."
You ordered him, disgusted by all the obscenities coming out of his mouth, before you turned around and forced both of you to stop.
"You know what, maybe it’ll take my mind off things, and make me like you. So yeah, I’m in."
"Smart girl. I know plenty of women who would have killed to be in your shoes. Follow me, dolly."
He winked, like some sex symbol, making you want to throw up.
But come on, you were going to sleep with the most sought-after man in the country. What a wonderful gift for the nation: the country's daughter has finally found her sexist macho man who's not afraid to throw a few punches.
—
Now pinned to that bed, completely naked this time, there was no way out.
As his fingers anchored deeper into your hips, throwing you back and forth, you looked over your shoulder, not the less perturbed by his pace growing faster. A smirk playing at the corner of your lips, he knew you were about to say something annoying.
That you were about to remind him that you still were a pain in the ass.
"You know what, at first I hated every second of it. But then, I told myself that maybe, just maybe, it would help you feel better."
"Well, attagirl’s finally using her brain." He growled back, barely able to hide his lecherous grin, his breath heavy.
But you weren’t done, you wanted to crawl under his skin the same way he did to you.
"That your desperate need for validation would be fulfilled as soon as you filled me. And that maybe this time, you’d fell loved, unlike your father did to you. Because you wanna know something? Lacking love is not a crime."
Speaking in a nasty tone—the same kind used by the popular girls who bully the kids at the back of the classroom—your lips twisted into a grimace of disgust, making it clear to him that you still hated him just as much.
Despite your hateful words, but mainly because at such a point in the act he couldn’t retract himself, the climax reached its peak, and he finished the job with you. Completely fed up with being humiliated like that by a mere mortal.
"You’re a dead woman."
"Just in time for the climax, lucky me."
Applause rang out behind him, a tone just as cheerful as the one he knew to be… wait, what?
Turning abruptly, as he violently pulled away from you, he found himself face to face with you. Another you. The real you. Holding your phone to capture the whole scene.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a long sigh that said it all escaped from his lips, no longer sporting their usual sneer. You were delighted by that look of regret that slowly crept on his face.
"You did a spectacular job, ShapeShifty! I think you earned a well deserved tip since he came inside you."
You stepped closer before tossing a wad of bills onto the bed, just few inches from his figure draped in the sheets, as if you were paying for a prostitution service. But unlike them other, you didn't believe the stripper loved you. Because the stripper was your fool.
"As for you, Soldier Boy, that's gonna be quite a shock for your fanbase. But what shocks me most is that you thought I would lower myself to your pathetic level."
Behind him, he heard the disgusting sound of the thing he’d just fucked transforming, before feeling the bed shift and catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a man running away with his tail between his legs.
“I really fucked you. And I mean it in both senses of the word, no less."
You stepped closer, wanting to savor every last moment of that sweet victory over that jerk. But to your surprise, he still had the nerve—or maybe just a lack of self-respect—to look at you as if he could kill you right then and there. As if he was the one having the upper hand right now.
Those beautiful eyes of his locked onto yours.
"Who's the easy girl now?"
One last rhetorical question filled with malice and perversity before you turned your back on him, heading back towards the door to leave him think about his defeat, bitter on his tongue. But you hadn’t forgotten the last blow.
A proud smile flashing across your angelic face, you turned around.
"Same time, next week, honey? This time I’ll directly shove a stick deep in your ass. Bye!"
You waved at him, chanting your goodbye as to provoke him, to make him realize that you had him wrapped around your little finger.
Your last 'normal' interaction before he started a literal war against you. Your relationship a competition to see who could be worse than the other. Who will push the other to the limit with their gestures, their words, their below the belt.
Silence fell upon the crowd, everyone turning to see this pitiful sight.
A man, soaked in water but whose eyes were even wetter, blurred by tears, clinging to the poor railing who separated their two worlds and screaming the name of someone none of them could recognise.
All of them were looking at him, except for one.
She.
The only person involved in this story. The only person whose face he wanted to see most was turning her back on him.
Depriving him of a simple glance.
"I’m begging you! Please look at me!"
Clinging even harder to the railing, he didn't know what was stopping him from jumping over.
The fear of not respecting her boundaries leading to her hating him even more?
For him , the scene was indescribable. He couldn't put his feelings into words.
"I’m so sorry for everything! I swear I’ll change! For you and only you, I’ll become the man you want!", he shouted, nearly ripping his shirt off by how hard he was pulling on it, "I’ll change everything about me if it’s what you want! But, please…I’m so sorry for everything…"
His last sentence was pronounced out of breath, whispering it while whipping out his tears.
"Siguiente."
(Next.)
The man at the office spoke, asking her to come forward and proceed to her boarding.
So, that’s how their story will end?
His eyes widened, trying desperately to get a sound out of his mouth.
Say anything.
Even the most stupid sentence.
One word.
Just one.
That's all he wanted, but he couldn't do it.
Even that was beyond his reach.
Just like their first encounter, he witnessed her slowly making her way to the officer.
Incredulous, his eyes watched her increasing the distance separating him from her. Echoing through the terminal, he counted her steps. Every of them reminding him that he was about to lose her. And when she stopped, reached for her passport and made it slide over the table, he knew it was the end.
That would be the end if he didn't intervene immediately, at least.
At the very same time he jumped over the fence and felt two hands grabbing him, he heard the man at the office speak.
"Señora, ¿no es ese el nombre que el joven ha estado gritando desde hace un rato? ¿Estaba hablando de usted desde el principio?"
(Madam, isn't that the name that the young man has been shouting for a while? Was he talking about you from the beginning?)
His monotonous tone revealed a certain degree of inappropriate questioning.
As Oikawa was being held by a security guard, he rose with fear his head.
Would she answer?
Would she remain silent?
"Sí, señor."
(Yes, sir.)
Like a machine, she responded.
Tilting his head and frowning, the agent opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, before closing it.
Silently, he pulled the passport towards him and opened it, analysing the woman before him. Switching back and forth, he took the time to press some keys on the keyboard before returning the passport to its owner.
Still in a silence that would have killed anyone.
"Les deseo un buen viaje."
(I wish you a good trip.)
Everyone watched the scene, each of them holding their breath and refraining from blinking, as if anything could happen in the blink of an eye.
He tried to undo the grip of the guard but, his strength had left his body.
She was leaving, she was heading closer and closer towards the hallway that would definitely separate them and something had to be done.
In such a situation, his voice was his only weapon.
"No! You’re wrong, I wanted to hear your voice one more time. I wanted it to last forever, as long as I was able to breathe! I was the one who wasn’t good enough for someone like you! You’re perfect in every way! Please, come back to me! I’ll change! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll become someone else just for you to stay by my side! Your love is my will to live! When you told me yes, a part of yourself was absorbed within my soul! You made life worth it! I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I’ll love you tomorrow! Even if you give up on me, my love for you will remain! In this life and in the others, I’ll always search for you and only you! I’m sorry for everything!"
In one breath, and out of breath, he blurted out everything they had never been able to say to each other.
"Please…you’re all I have in this life…"
Despair was written all over his face, so much so that he could no longer hold his head high. Ashamed of having lost his most precious treasure, only his eyes followed her departure, crushed by the weight of grief of their dead love.
Surrounded by a world that no longer mattered to him, the ringing in his ears grew so loud he had trouble keeping up breathing.
She didn't stop. Her footsteps echoed again and again in the emptiness that was his body.
As if a hammer were pounding his body, she walked behind the agent's small booth, and just losing sight of her for a second made him forget how to breathe. This enigma that even the greatest of men could not solve, that of living without a heart.
And when she reappeared in his field of vision, he noticed how her head was bowed, her eyes probably fixed on the ground, avoiding his gaze.
He could barely make out her silhouette, but if he could ask for one thing, it would be for her to look at him.
Even the most pitiful of glances would suffice.
His head, filled with thoughts each crazier than the last, was spinning so fast that he thought dreaming when he saw her eyes.
Hidden like the greatest of treasures behind strands of tousled hair, he saw it.
A single tear.
Rolling down her cheek.
And not a word uttered from her mouth.
He would have killed to read something on her lips.
She only offered him a glimpse of her face.
A glimpse of their past life behind her eyes.
Powerless.
Drained of all strength.
Drained of life itself.
He watched her leave.
Moving further and further away.
Until…
Disappearing into the wickedness of a tunnel that pulled her out of his reach.
A part of himself fading away with her in this dark place.
There, held by two hands, he collapsed on his knees.
His heart.
His love.
His only family.
His best friend.
His sole purpose on earth.
His wife.
His life.
Without granting him any last chance, she left.
She vanished into the vastness of the world.
Oh, he hated the idea of her leaving.
But the idea of living without her was even worse.
It was deadly.
The sole idea of returning home to an empty bed was…
No.
Now, home was just a house.
His tears burned his eyes as he screamed one last time her name.
"How could you do this to me! I loved you more than love itself!"
He took it for granted, and it had been his greatest mistake.
As darkness swallowed her whole, so did his heart and soul.
———————————-
'It’s been a year since you left.
She dried my tears, tried to erases this mistake from my heart and attempted to pick up the pieces.
But…
I don’t love her like you.
I’m begging you to answer me.
Please…answer me.
Why do you remain in my mind ?
Why is your face the only thing I see at night?
Why are your eyes the ones I see glowing in the morning?
Why are you hairs the ones I smell?
Why is your heart the one I hear beating?
Why are you not here?
Why are you not her?
I tried to forget you with someone else.
I tried to.
Hard.
But I simply can’t do it
I counted the minutes that kept me tied to her, as if I were my own prisoner.
As if you were the key of my prison.
I don’t love her like I loved you.
I tried to heal my wounds with her but only you could heal them.
You had no right leaving me like this…
I know, it’s selfish.
But, the only thing I never wanted to share was you.
I loved you yesterday,
I love you today,
I’ll love you tomorrow.
Forever and ever, my love for you will never wither away.
When my body is buried underground, the insects will taste only the love I had for you.
You, the only one who ever tasted my love.
You, the only one who made me feel loved.
Happy third wedding anniversary to our once beautiful love.
Silence fell upon the crowd, everyone turning to see this pitiful sight.
A man, soaked in water but whose eyes were even wetter, blurred by tears, clinging to the poor railing who separated their two worlds and screaming the name of someone none of them could recognise.
All of them were looking at him, except for one.
She.
The only person involved in this story. The only person whose face he wanted to see most was turning her back on him.
Depriving him of a simple glance.
"I’m begging you! Please look at me!"
Clinging even harder to the railing, he didn't know what was stopping him from jumping over.
The fear of not respecting her boundaries leading to her hating him even more?
For him , the scene was indescribable. He couldn't put his feelings into words.
"I’m so sorry for everything! I swear I’ll change! For you and only you, I’ll become the man you want!", he shouted, nearly ripping his shirt off by how hard he was pulling on it, "I’ll change everything about me if it’s what you want! But, please…I’m so sorry for everything…"
His last sentence was pronounced out of breath, whispering it while whipping out his tears.
"Siguiente."
(Next.)
The man at the office spoke, asking her to come forward and proceed to her boarding.
So, that’s how their story will end?
His eyes widened, trying desperately to get a sound out of his mouth.
Say anything.
Even the most stupid sentence.
One word.
Just one.
That's all he wanted, but he couldn't do it.
Even that was beyond his reach.
Just like their first encounter, he witnessed her slowly making her way to the officer.
Incredulous, his eyes watched her increasing the distance separating him from her. Echoing through the terminal, he counted her steps. Every of them reminding him that he was about to lose her. And when she stopped, reached for her passport and made it slide over the table, he knew it was the end.
That would be the end if he didn't intervene immediately, at least.
At the very same time he jumped over the fence and felt two hands grabbing him, he heard the man at the office speak.
"Señora, ¿no es ese el nombre que el joven ha estado gritando desde hace un rato? ¿Estaba hablando de usted desde el principio?"
(Madam, isn't that the name that the young man has been shouting for a while? Was he talking about you from the beginning?)
His monotonous tone revealed a certain degree of inappropriate questioning.
As Oikawa was being held by a security guard, he rose with fear his head.
Would she answer?
Would she remain silent?
"Sí, señor."
(Yes, sir.)
Like a machine, she responded.
Tilting his head and frowning, the agent opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, before closing it.
Silently, he pulled the passport towards him and opened it, analysing the woman before him. Switching back and forth, he took the time to press some keys on the keyboard before returning the passport to its owner.
Still in a silence that would have killed anyone.
"Les deseo un buen viaje."
(I wish you a good trip.)
Everyone watched the scene, each of them holding their breath and refraining from blinking, as if anything could happen in the blink of an eye.
He tried to undo the grip of the guard but, his strength had left his body.
She was leaving, she was heading closer and closer towards the hallway that would definitely separate them and something had to be done.
In such a situation, his voice was his only weapon.
"No! You’re wrong, I wanted to hear your voice one more time. I wanted it to last forever, as long as I was able to breathe! I was the one who wasn’t good enough for someone like you! You’re perfect in every way! Please, come back to me! I’ll change! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll become someone else just for you to stay by my side! Your love is my will to live! When you told me yes, a part of yourself was absorbed within my soul! You made life worth it! I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I’ll love you tomorrow! Even if you give up on me, my love for you will remain! In this life and in the others, I’ll always search for you and only you! I’m sorry for everything!"
In one breath, and out of breath, he blurted out everything they had never been able to say to each other.
"Please…you’re all I have in this life…"
Despair was written all over his face, so much so that he could no longer hold his head high. Ashamed of having lost his most precious treasure, he hung his head, crushed by the weight of grief of their dead love.
Surrounded by a world that no longer mattered to him, the ringing in his ears grew so loud he had trouble keeping up breathing.
However, just when he thought he had lost everything with her, he felt warmth on his cheek.
Delicately fondled by a hand that was as gentle as a dove’s feather, his tears were smoothed away. As she always did.
The hand then reached the top of his head, stroking the wet hair who blocked his view back. As she always did.
Slowly sliding down to his chin, delicate fingers traced all of his features before grasping it from the hem of her digits. As she always did.
In a soft manner, she lifted his head and allowed him to finally grasp the object of all his pain. Still, to finally grasp the light of his life.
Her face bored a gentle smile, the same he proudly displayed on his wallpaper. And her tears, as discreet as they were, gave the tip of her nose that pink color he loved so much about her.
Under her grasp, he held his breath, scared that she might leave.
But the gentle peck she gave him on the tips of his lips was enough for him to understand.
Understand that she will no longer leave.
"Tooru,"he couldn’t resist but to think how beautiful she looked, her voice tender like he dreamed about, "today you showed me how wrong I was. I apologise for everything. For the way I left you with little to no reason nor information. For the way I made you feel. For everything, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be the one kneeling and apologising, it should be me. I was blind to your love and my own stupidity…"
He hated to interrupt her, but he couldn't listen to her spouting lies about herself.
"You’re not stupid! I should have known better! I should have seen the signs! I was blind. And for that, I’m sorry! So, so, sorry…"
Breaking free from the guard's grip, his arms took no more than a heartbeat to wrap around her figure, her head resting against his chest she could hear his heart pumping blood. He felt the need to hold her as if she might fly away.
"Don’t walk away from me please…"
He whispered his dearest words in her ear, and as if giving birth to a mutual promise, she smiled against his chest.
"I promise you. I’ll love you forever, Tooru…"
——- 1 year later
"Happy weeding anniversary to the only person who made me feel loved. I love you…"
Waking her up with thousands of kisses, he couldn't believe that such a woman could love him.
The phone number you are trying to reach is currently disconnected. Dial 1 if-
His fist clenched around the electronic device indicated everything you needed to know.
As if his fingers were grasping onto the last hold of a slope wall, his balance slowly started to fail him.
The perfect picture of their lives, who had once been so bright and beautiful, started to burn at its corners. And the crackling sound grew deafening as the whole thing became a giant bonfire.
Suddenly, the grasp who had been so terrified to give up on his phone broke up in a loud thunder.
Now laying on the cold and uneven floor of their, once shared, bedroom, his phone’s wallpaper illuminated the whole room.
His gaze, who hadn’t been able to detach from the blue-ish wall, was called by this bright light emanating from his cellular device.
He, also, was dying to lower his eyes on the ground.
Yet, the tears creeping up in his eyes were a clue on what was meant to happen next.
His torso rose and fell faster and faster, his rib cage contracting under the effect of the expelled air.
Oh, he hated the idea of taking another breath. If only, now, here and there he could die on the spot.
Eyes wide open and itchy from the lack of blinking, he resigned himself to finally looking at the ground.
Tilting his head to the side, his eyes unconsciously shifted to the other direction, refusing to face his own reality. The silence which filled the room was worse than any silence he had ever heard.
Even the ones accompanying the shameful walk to the changing rooms after loosing a game weren’t that close to what he experienced at this level of life.
He, who always had seemed like the cocky, proud, noisy and full of himself type of person, was, however, familiar with the idea of having a weak point.
And this weak point was the center of his own world. From early morning till late afternoon, this weak point was his first and last thoughts.
The first person he saw in the morning when tossing away in the warm sheets. When looking at his phone. When passing the door after a long day of training. When sharing a meal. When messing around to get a little bit more of attention. When covering her with sloppy kisses.
She was more than anything for him.
For her, and only her, he could have abandoned all of his passion.
For her, and only her, he would have given up on everything.
Even his own life.
His wife, his own flesh and blood.
The one to whom he had promised to have and to hold from that day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death did them part.
Yet, he couldn’t deny reality no more. He had to face it.
Gulping down his fear, his eyes slowly started to drag the path of light. The air seemed unbreathable, his lungs aching from each breath he was forced to take.
And after what seemed like an eternity in his mind, his gaze finally found the source of all these troubles.
As his neck’s muscles adjusted from the pain, his heart began racing faster than usual, tears rolling down his swollen cheeks.
On the ground, mere inches from his feet, was his unlocked phone. Perched high on his legs, he couldn’t quite read what the recent notifications were saying, but still, he was perfectly able to see the wallpaper.
On full brightness, extending from a corner to an other, was proudly displayed his favourite picture of her. The most beautiful picture of her, in his eyes.
Even if it was one of the many, if not thousands, he had of her.
Taken two years ago, in just a couple of days, this photo meant the world for Oikawa.
The subject of the photo, which was so dear to him, was smiling at the camera, teeth showing and eyes squinting under the pressure of her faintly tinged cheeks. Raised high next to her lovely face, was her left hand mounted with a shiny but sharp ring.
Yet, she wasn’t wearing her usual office uniform. As the snow, the dress she sported was immaculate white. Sparkling from head to bottom, her weeding dress had been, for him, the proudest moment he had witnessed in his short life.
Far from the formal and strict rules of weeding pictures, this caught on the fly portrait was his most cherished piece of memory from that day.
Certainly, the picture was poorly framed, the sun was bright in her back and the whole thing was blurry. But still, the whole frame was pure genuineness, living the present moment without looking forward, nor backward. For him, she was like an angel who had fallen from heaven.
When did he failed as a husband?
What have she learned he wasn’t aware of?
Why had he been so oblivious to her?
Reading it for the hundredth time since finding it, he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing on that piece of paper.
Leaning on the counter of the kitchen island, he could barely remember how many times his eyes wandered through the sentence. Hoping, perhaps, to read a double meaning phrase.
But if he couldn't turn the page and move on, the sun wouldn't wait for him to make way for the whitish light of the moon.
Filtering through the blinds, the rays of light could barely allow him to lay his eyes on the words anymore.
"Fuck…"
He almost muttered this word of frustration, as he slicked his hair back. A purely parasitic movement he couldn't help performing mechanically.
The silence was so loud his inner voice sounded quieter than usual.
As if unexpectedly snapped out of his torpor, a noise of key made him turn around on his heels, his fingers still intertwined with the piece of paper. His face, pale in fear, exaggerated the pain he felt in his chest.
Passing the kitchen door, he eagerly grabbed its frame as he impatiently watched the entrance door’s knob.
His heart only wanted to see her get trough the gate, wondering why was her husband so stressed and worried.
Yet, as the seconds passed, he gradually began to understand no one would pass the door tonight.
The sound of keys? The upstairs neighbour.
Oh, he hated himself for jumping on such hasty conclusions.
Letting his entire body sink into the cold sheets of their bed, he looked at the left side of the mattress before raising his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. His mind wandering through countless layers of memories, desperately searching for an explanation, a hint at the best.
Yet, it seemed the yellow-ish light emanating from the bedside lamp refused to cooperate and help him think clearly.
Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh of defeat as he reached into his pocket, clutching the folded paper.
He had promised himself he wouldn't read it no more today, but the temptation was too strong, as if the piece of paper was calling out to him.
Unfolding it in a gasp of despair, he mechanically brushed his fingers against the back of the letter. His fingertips tracing each letter’s relief. Tired as he was, words hadn’t the same effect on him as they had hours earlier, tiredness gradually causing him to lose all judgment.
Ironically, the first words read,
'Tooru, don’t wait me to sleep.
I would like to apologise in the first place. I know it’s cowardly of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to utter these words out loud. Moreover, I knew I couldn’t pronounce them in front of you without bawling my eyes out. You meant the world to me, and I know how stubborn your love is.
You and I shared almost everything together, and just like we promised in our weeding vows, we were meant to die hand in hand. Yet here I am, writing you a selfish goodbye letter.
Every day, you would say how lucky you were to have married me, complimenting insignificant details of our shared life.
At first, I wouldn’t mind them because I knew how expressive of a person you were. But, as time passed, these small moments would hurt me more than anything.
It’s not that I don’t love you anymore. It’s just that I don’t deserve you and your love anymore. Each morning, when you were still asleep, I would wonder if you hadn’t done a mistake marrying someone like me. Wasting your precious time with someone who couldn’t give you back a penny for all the love you've poured out. Wasting your time for someone who didn't deserve to be loved by someone like you. And for these reasons, I’m deeply sorry.
Please, Tooru, don’t wait me to sleep. Go on and enjoy life like it’s meant to be.
Goodbye, [name].'
"Silly girl, I’m the one who wasn’t good enough for someone like you…"
A silent tear rolled down his cheek as he pressed the letter to his heart, closing his eyes to perhaps find peace.
"¡Qué pasa contigo! ¡Devuelve la pelota, caray!"
(What's wrong with you! Return the ball, damn it!)
Brutally pulled of his distraction, he shifted his focus back to the loud teammate, Sebastian, who had yelled at him.
Offering him a confused look, Oikawa took a few seconds to process what was happening around him.
"¡La pelota! ¡La pelota! ¿Qué es lo complicado de entender? ¡Devuelve. La. Maldita. Pelota!"
(The ball! The ball! What’s so hard to understand? Just return the damn ball!)
Insisting on each words and moving his arms to the sky, Sebastian couldn’t maintain his calm any longer.
"Ah, sí."
(Oh, yeah.)
His casual, but unusual, tone surprised his friend, frowning as he analysed Oikawa walking toward the forsaken ball.
Almost whispering, he called out another teammates to come and see this strange show. And just like that, the whole team gathered in a matter of seconds.
It was so hard to focus on serving while your mind was elsewhere, worrying about your wife.
Grabbing the ball from the ground, he stayed there, aimlessly staring at the torn net in the corner of the room. Dozen of questions ran through his mind, wondering sometimes if she had left because volleyball took up too much of their lives, sometimes if it was because her love had faded over the years they had spent together.
At this thought, his heart sank a little bit more.
Cursing at these incongruous thoughts,, he turned around, maintaining his eyes low on the shiny orange-ish floor.
"Oye, ya recuperé la pelota. Podemos seguir con la práctica."
(Hey, I already got the ball back. We can continue with the practice.)
As he raised his head slightly toward his teammate, he was taken aback when he noticed a sea of people in front him. Eventually, he noticed how each of them were giving him a questioning and confused look.
"¿Qué te pasa? Hoy estás actuando de manera extraña."
Sebastian said, as the crowd nodded in agreement.
(What's wrong with you? You're acting weird today.)
"Nada. Estoy perfectamente bien, no sé de qué están hablando."
(Nothing. I'm perfectly fine, I don't know what you're talking about.)
He shrugged as if he hadn’t just said the biggest lie of his career.
"Entonces, ¿por qué están todos callados y tranquilos?"
(Then why are you all quiet and calm?)
"Tiene razón, algo no va bien, señor arrogante está muy discreto hoy."
(He's right, something's not going well, Mr. Arrogant is very discreet today.)
"¿Ya no tengo derecho a estar cansado? Y, además, ¿qué es este interrogatorio?"
He couldn't hide the irritation in his tone.
(Do I have no right to be tired anymore? And, besides, what is this interrogation?)
"Parece que tu jefa te ha dado la espalda, o capaz está en su período. Dale, suéltalo."
(It seems that your boss has turned her back on you, or maybe she's on her period. Come on, let it on.)
Shouted from the back of the small group, this sentence silenced everyone, each of them exchanging glances to see who had said too much.
"¿Quién te crees que eres para faltarle al respeto al nombre de mi esposa de esta manera?," smashing the ball at their feet, he practically yelled out his rage at whoever had pronounced this, "¿Qué mierda les pasa a todos ustedes? Me han enojado, me voy."
(Who do you think you are to disrespect my wife's name in this way? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? You pissed me off, I'm leaving.)
Seeing that no one seemed bothered to turn themselves in, he walked away to the changing room. While he stuffed his bag, his coach interrupted his momentum.
¿A dónde crees que vas? ¡Si te vas, no te dejaré jugar los próximos cinco partidos!
(Where do you think you're going? If you leave, I won't let you play the next five games!)
He nearly died of frustrations hearing this sentence, yet his wife was much more important than these games. Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he hurried out of the gymnasium.
But his coach wasn’t done with him yet so he followed him into the hallway, where the rest of the team also gathered.
"¡Por Dios, ya te he dicho que vuelvas aquí inmediatamente o te suspenderé!"
(For God's sake, I've already told you to come back here immediately or I'll suspend you!)
"Hazlo entonces, tengo cosas más importantes que hacer."
(Do it then, I have more important things to do.)
Oikawa didn’t even turned around at his threat, walking straight to the exit.
"Diablo, ¿qué es más importante que el honor del país en los Juegos Olímpicos? ¿Eh? ¡Dímelo!"
(Hell, what is more important than the honour of the country in the Olympic Games? Huh? Tell me!)
"Encontrar a mi esposa."
(Finding my wife.)
The phone number you are trying to reach is currently disconnected. Dial 1 if-
For the fifth time, he pressed the red "hang up" button. While stuffing his phone in his pockets, he resumed his aimless walk through the crowded streets of Buenos Aires.
The last 24 hours had been a nightmare. A nightmare from which he couldn’t escape by just waking up.
The worse part of it was that he didn’t even have a single clue on where she went, or if she was safe. But, even if life was against him today, he wouldn’t give up on her. Because even though she had given up, as long as he would live, he would stay by her side.
He didn't wanted to find her to selfishly ask for "answers", display his frustration or anything else. He just wanted to find her to apologise. Apologising for the way he made her feel and not being trustworthy enough to talk about certain topics within their couple.
This walk alone was not just any walk, it was the very same street where both of them jostled into each other’s lives.
——— 6 years ago
It was Oikawa first month in Argentina, discovering the country and its streets.
It was also her first month in Argentina, being part of an international internship program.
Occurring on a late balmy summer evening. The kind of day where warm breezes would gently caress your skin, the setting sun shining in your back.
The kind of moment that would appear casual from an external perspective.
Yet, for them this moment had nothing casual.
As the night slowly started rolling around, she decided it was enough of studying for today. Grabbing her handbag from the table, she put books of all kinds into it before leaving for home.
Argentina still wasn’t really home for her. It was just a place to live in for a few months before going back home. For real this time.
She was prepared to invest a lot of effort in integrating, but she always kept in the back of her mind that Argentina was not a permanent destination.
She couldn’t see herself here forever.
Her phone in one hand, her bag in the other, she tried her best not to bump into the people rushing all around her on the sidewalk. The ambiant hubbub buzzed in her ears, as passer by walked out of buildings of all kinds.
She was texting a friend who had planned a night out with the whole group, not sure if she wanted to go. Mentally weighing the pros and cons, she hadn’t heard the voice behind her back calling her out.
"¡Señora!, ¡Señora! ¡Tu cuaderno! ¡Te olvidaste tu cuaderno!"
(Ma’am! Ma’am! Your notebook! You forgot your notebook!)
Processing this information in a fraction of seconds, she abruptly turned around.
Just like a staged scene from a soap opera, her clothing and hair emphasised the soul of the moment. And as if the whole scene was in slow motion, her sudden reaction caused her to bump into the torso of someone whose height towered above her.
However, so as not to make her stumble any further, he unconsciously pulled her closer, placing his hand on her back.
It couldn't be more cliché.
They were in such proximity, she could hear the sound of his heart pumping blood. It sounded fast and hasty, unlike the fading echo of the crowd surrounding them.
The scene lasted longer than both expected, her ‘saviour' seemingly unwilling to let her go.
Breaking free from his embrace, she backed away. Taking a few steps to escape from this very awkward situation, she didn’t dare look up at him.
"I’m sorry! [in your mother tongue]"
"すみません! [I’m sorry!]"
In a perfect harmony, they both uttered.
Both of them raised their heads, confused by the lack of Spanish in the conversation. The once awkward situation turned into a laughable mess, leaving these two people completely lost.
For the first time, she finally grasped the face of the international man facing her, noticing he was kind of handsome.
For the first time, he finally grasped the face of the international woman facing him, noticing she was kind of breathtaking.
As if each could read the other's mind, they eagerly looked away, embarrassed by what their minds were saying.
Two idiots had just fallen in love.
Who on earth wouldn't have believed in love at first sight if they had seen them?
What was the point of being reminiscent of a bygone time? What would his memory change about it all? Nothing will ever bring her back. Every inch of his body screamed at him for being such a useless human.
"Tooru, you failed me."
Her voice, her scent, her hair, her eyes, her skin, her lips, her beauty marks, her…
She was there, mere inches away from him. But he couldn’t grasp her. She was so far away, yet so close.
Like a mirage, she vanished the moment he struggled to open his eyes. Because facing him wasn’t his wife but the red neon lights of a clock announcing two in the morning.
Drenched in sweat, he ran his hands over his face, trying to get back consciousness from that dream. Another night when he couldn’t sleep. The fourth night since she last slept in his arms.
Oh, madness was slowly creeping up in his mind.
But there were no place for insanity, his wife was perhaps closer than he thought. Any way to console himself was good to take.
Outside, the weather was gloomy, violent gusts of wind amplifying the raindrops falling from the sky. The moon’s bluish tint reverberated across the whole room, marking with despair her empty spot.
As if to feel her warmth, to feel her deep within his soul, he slugged his hand against her cold pillow. Savouring a tasteless physical touch, his eyes, yet, were drawn to something else.
Her bedside table.
Despite the mess his search had caused, it had never crossed his mind to dig deeper, to turn everything upside down.
But what if? There was always a if.
Tossing away the bedsheets from his half-asleep body, he nearly threw himself in front the small wooden box, opening it with a sweeping motion he pulled the drawer toward him, almost pulling it off its hinges.
He had already searched in it, all of this was just pure speculation, just a way to reassure himself, to protect himself from reality.
His finger erratically pressed against the lampshade switch, desperately looking for something he had missed.
Rummaging through the mess his wife had accumulated over the years in such a cloistered space, he could no longer keep up his calm facade; as completely transfixed by the contents of this drawer. His leg couldn't stop shaking due to lack of sleep, compounded by his blood pressure, which would undoubtedly have made anyone of normal constitution faint.
The contents now completely spilled onto the floor, he looked down with spite at his unsuccessful attempt to move forward her. His bed sunk under his weight as he sat back on it, returning to the starting point of it all.
Silence filled the room, only the distant sound of siren echoing in the calm city.
Yet, casting a glance that begged 'give me one last hope to cling to', he noticed a dark mass at the bottom of the drawer. A sort of small, almost imperceptible relief.
His sleeve folded under the movement of his arm’s extending toward the object. Delicately, his fingers pressed against it, as if he were testing the waters before taking the plunge, he ended up by grabbing it in the palm of his hand.
It was a small notebook, brown leather covering it, hence the fact he hadn’t seen it before. All the more intrigued he opened it, but his excitement deflated after realising it was what she called a 'phone notebook'.
In other words, a book where she would write about incoming events, professional email, phone numbers and sometimes even some doodles, drawn by the hand of a bored woman while on boring phone calls.
A faint smile creeping up on his face, he recalled with enthusiasm her silly habits.
"Well, maybe I…"
He didn't even have time to finish his sentence that he stumbled upon the last page, almost completely blank except for a phone number and a last name he didn't recognise at first.
A brief comment accompanied the two lines.
"Call her by July 7th."
July 7? Their wedding anniversary?
There was no doubt allowed now, this unexpected phone number was the solution. And the solution certainly wasn’t going to come at him all done.
Focused as never before, he analysed with a great sense of urgency the phone number as he clicked the digits on his device. However, the last three numbers were missing, dissolved under a drop of water.
"Fuck me!"
He really was damned.
He hadn’t time to speculate over the possible combinations so he just went for the unknown name. Pinched under his fingers, the bridge of his nose crinkled as he tried to remember where he had seen this name before.
This name didn't belong to a friend; he knew them all. An ex-boyfriend, then? Impossible; the last one was back in middle school. A coworker? Plausible, but her relationship with them was strictly professional.
And when the thunderstorm struck outside, he remembered.
This last name belonged to the mother of her host family when she first landed in Argentina. Memories slowly lingered in his mind, she had told him weeks prior how happy she was to have reconnected with her family of choice. He, also, remembered her, as a guest to their wedding.
That’s it, she, maybe, knew about her plan.
He hoped.
As he stood up from his bed, full of hope and ready to go to her house, a small detail emerged in his head. He didn't know the address. At least, not in detail. He could roughly point it out on a map, but without much precision.
World really was against him.
Almost leaping out of the room, he walked along the darkened hallway, making his way within their office, where the computer was located.
The piece of paper still clenched in his fist, he sat down in front of the screen, pressed the button and waited.
Patient at first, his finger didn’t wait long before unconsciously drumming to see the screen lighting up. And when finally he got to type down the password, his breath resumed.
The cursor dragged to the searching bar, he pressed down the keyboard, the screen slowly displaying the letters of a name. A name who, seemingly, wasn’t that unfamiliar with.
Dozens of results showed up, but his eyes knew which one was the one.
Lucia Álvarez- member of the 'Buenos Aires Host Family Association', located on Cabildo Avenue.
Cabildo Avenue?
The same area as the National Team training facility.
Gosh, he cringed at the thought of the possibility his career might end soon.
But that wasn’t the point, he finally had figured out how to reach his wife. And, perhaps, a way to apologise for being such a shity husband.
Nothing compared to his prior slackness, he eagerly stood up from his seat and almost run to the closet to find a jacket, a hoodie or whatever he found first.
Yet, even stressed, he still acted as the dramatic person he was. Throwing on his shoulders the training jacket of a club he had given up on, he wasted no time leaning onto the wall and slide into his shoes.
And, as he was about to storm out of the office, he heard the sound of a notification coming from his abandoned cell phone.
A notification? At this point in night?
Nearly jumping off the doorway, he grabbed the phone and turned on his heels to finally get out of this cursed and lifeless place.
In his heart, he already saw himself coming back from this excursion with her by his side, bundled up together, as two teenagers.
Outside, the weather situation had worsened, as if it was announcing something was going to change.
Tumbling down the stairs to the underground garage, his key turned on the headlights of his car. As his steps echoed through the empty parking lot, his heart raced even faster than his own car could run.
Slamming the door shut, he turned on the ignition, shifted into first gear, released the handbrake, and in the blink of an eye he was already out of the parking lot.
Driving above the speed limit, the raindrops on his windshield no longer even bothered his vision. Red lights were only a concept, a road sign that did not concern him. His driver license would probably be revoked in a couple of days but no speed was fast enough for his wife.
Marking the last turn, he pressed the accelerator one last time before neatly immobilising his car before an apartment complex. He unbuckled his belt in a swift breeze before storming out of the vehicle.
His clothes and hair were blown away by the wind, becoming heavier under the weight of the falling water. There was no time.
No time at all!
The whole street was quiet and empty, but in the darkness you could see a man running towards a building. Even a blind person could have notice how he was’t running to avoid wetness. His face, serious as never, bored a sadness that deepened his dark circles.
He kicked in the front door and didn't hesitate to climb the stairs to the apartment. There, on the fourth floor he now stood in front a closed door. He hated himself for distrusting the peace of residents but he had to.
Filling his lungs with air, he rose his hand up and knocked on the door. He couldn’t hold still as he paced back and forth on the doorstep.
"Please, please, please! Hurry up!!"
Whispering these words were the most painful thing he had ever to endure.
Oh, he hated this idea,but he knew no one will answer him. But just in case, he knocked a second time.
To his surprise, he heard the subtle sound of muffled footsteps coming towards him, before a woman's voice rose into the air.
"¿Quién está ahí?"
(Who’s there?)
It was so unexpected for him that he struggled to get the words out.
"Eh... soy yo. Soy Tooru. ¡El esposo de nombre]!"
(I-Uhm…it’s me. It’s Tooru. [name]´s husband!)
She didn’t even took time to answer, directly opening the door. When he saw her, he felt bad for disrespecting an old woman sleep.
"Tooru, ¿qué haces aquí?"
(Tooru, what are you doing here?)
Her monotonous tone betrayed a certain sense of urgency, as if she awaited him.
"Lo siento, sé que es tarde, pero creo que usted sabe algo sobre la partida de mi esposa. ¿No es así? Por favor, dígame que sí. No sé qué voy a hacer sin ella."
(I’m sorry, I know it’s late but I think you know something about my wife’s departure. Isn’t it? Please, tell me that you do. I don’t know what am I supposed to do without her.)
Sniffling, he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, flushed by the sudden rush of heat.
Pressure was too heavy on his shoulders his legs couldn’t handle it anymore, in a crash, he fell to the ground, his knees as his only support.
Taken aback by his sudden loss of balance, Lucia kneeled down at eyes level and grabbed his hand in hers.
"Tooru, hijo mío, por favor, no llores. Puedo ayudarte, no te preocupes.."
(Tooru, my son, please don’t cry. I can help you don’t worry about that.)
Between two sobs, he glanced up at the wise woman, his vision troubled by tears.
"¿En serio? ¿Harías eso por mí?"
(Really? You would do that for me?)
"Sí, pero tienes que darte prisa porque... porque..."
(Yes, but you have to hurry because... because...)
She seemed reluctant to say the second part of her sentence.
"¿Por qué? Dime. ¿Está a salvo?"
(Why? Tell me. Is she safe?)
Unwillingly, he pressed harder her hand in his.
"Porque está a punto de irse del país, Tooru. Me pidió que le comprara un boleto para su país natal."
(Because she’s about to leave the country, Tooru. She asked me to buy her a ticket to her home country.)
For the second time, his world collapsed. Was it really over?
"¿Qué? ¿Cuándo se fue? ¿Sigue en Argentina?"
(What? When did she leave? Is she still in Argentina?)
"Creo que su avión saldrá en menos de una hora."
(I believe her plane will leave in less than one hour.)
Getting up at breakneck speed, he took the old lady by surprise, almost causing her to fall. He reached out for his phone in his pocket and read the time.
2:50 a.m.
One unheard message on your voicemail.
"¡El aeropuerto está a una hora de aquí! ¡Lamento tener que irme! ¡Gracias!"
(The airport is an hour away! I’m sorry I have to go! Thank you!)
He probably should have thanked her better, but in the heat of the moment his own thoughts were unclear. He made his way back to his car and wasted no time to turn on the engine.
Now speeding for his life, he grabbed his phone to look at something who had perturbed him earlier.
The unread notification.
Unlocking his phone, his eyes balanced between the road and the device. The phone’s battery was about to die, he knew he just had a single chance to unravel the mystery. Hastily, he clicked on the phone icon and immediately went to the 'voicemails' section. Here, there was only one message.
Reluctantly, he pressed the phone against his ear. Ready to hear his coach insulting him.
However, when he catches discreet sobs, he instantly knew.
Preparing himself to hear the voice of his wife.
"Hi, Tooru, it’s me," she marked a brief moment of silence, "you probably hate me now, and you will surely always have this resentment against me…but I just wanted to hear your voice one last time before leaving. I guess you’re right for not responding to me…I’m sorry…I have to go."
His trembling fingers brought the phone to his heart, as if to tell it to keep beating, that there was hope.
Passing the streets of their once shared love, he replayed again and again her memo, until his phone died.
And when finally, he saw the sign indicating the airport at the highway exit, the stress within him grew worse.
The supposedly one hour long drive only lasted 45 minutes, but for him it was as if the same landscape repeated again and again through his window.
Speeding across the parking lot, his car roared under the effect of accelerations. He didn't even take the time to park his car properly, leaving the keys in the ignition, he started running in the pouring rain.
Beating as if it were about to burst out of its cage, his whole heart moved to the rhythm of his ragged breathing.
Even though he thought he would die of sadness, he would resist and ward off death itself if necessary.
Resist!
Prove that you want it. That you're doing it for her.
Seek your happiness through her!
Reject this selfish world.
Follow your heart's insistence.
This world is not yours, Tooru, it belongs to both of you!
Fight for her soul!
Running trough the entrance, he immediately spotted the departure board and began frantically searching for the country’s name she was heading to. Faster than his brain could process, his legs began to move, to run.
Terminal C.
Passing by people glaring at him, he couldn’t care less.
His wife was on the verge of slipping through his fingers.
Fast. He should be faster.
Terminal C, he could see it written on the wall. As he arrived, the loudspeakers crackled; an announcement was about to be made.
"Estimados pasajeros con destino a [nombre del país], el embarque está a punto de cerrarse. Les recomendamos que se dirijan a sus puertas de embarque para garantizar el buen funcionamiento de su viaje. Les deseamos un maravilloso viaje."
(Dear passengers traveling to [country name], boarding is about to close. We advise you to proceed to the gates to ensure your journey runs smoothly. We wish you a pleasant experience.)
His blood run cold.
Pushing himself beyond his limits, the world surrounding him was merely a supporting actor in his own story.
The climax finally came when his eyes fell inexorably on the silhouette of a woman he knew only too well. She was standing in a line, her hand resting on her suitcase, ready to head for the gates.
Only one person was separating her from the immigration officer. Only one person stood between them. His body flinched at this sight, he almost stumbled, but the finish line was there, he couldn't lose now.
Before his eyes flashed everything they had shared, everything she had ever whispered to him, every time she had surprised him by coming to his games, every physical moment they shared in the intimacy of their relationship.
Every promises they had sworn to live up.
His heart was heavy of it all, yet, his lungs ached as he spoke her name.
Shout her name.
"[name]! Please, wait!"
———- 2 alternatives ending down below!
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · OIKAWA X READER (angsty ending) · Silence fell upon the crowd, everyone turning to see this pitiful sight.
A man, soaked
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · OIKAWA X READER (happy ending) · Silence fell upon the crowd, everyone turning to see this pitiful sight.
A man, soaked
Cross posted on Ao3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A bottle had been thrown in the endless stream of their lives.
Yet, that night, this bottle seemed to have reached the other’s one soul.
The way they learned so much about an another life’s perspective as the seconds passed seemed to be a fairytale.
That night, they learned to know each other better.
She learned so well, she had forgotten everything about her own troubles.
As the minutes passed next to each other, she was slowly becoming fond of him and his way of being.
Everything about him attracted her.
And when she lingered her eyes on him and saw nothing but the light of her heart, she knew she would never leave his side.
The way he looked at her. His compliments filled with shyness. His attitude towards her. The way he was him.
The manner in which they had so much in common yet so much differences forced her to believe they were connected in some way.
Or that they were destined to meet on that balmy summer's evening.
"I fear you are right on this point but the destiny is quite awful."
She knew he was talking about the events that occurred earlier in the evening so she laughed.
"The destiny is the destiny, we can do no worse nor better…"
She was not able to finish her sentence as she yawned, tiny tears forming at the corner of her eyes.
"I do think it’s getting late and it may be time to take you home. Can I ?"
"No need, as I told you, I live quite away from your home and It would be an unnecessary detour for a warrior who has to get to the training camps at dawn."
"I simply cannot leave the woman I have spent the whole evening with. I owe it to you."
She looked at him with a dubious expression as an answer to his sentence. "The phrasing is certainly strange but I do accept your proposal." She gathered the few belongings she had brings with her and tried to get up from the grass which had long since cooled off.
Yet, the now embarrassed man, stood up quicker than she could and offered his hand to help her to her feet.
When she reached for him, she was not expecting to be swiftly shoved into his arms.
The sudden warm sensation she felt on his chest was the most intense sensation she had ever experienced in her young life.
Put this way, it sounds like the words of a woman of virtue who has never had physical contact with a man.
Indeed, it was the case.
Never in her life did she took the time to write letters to a man or simply talk with one of them.
Her dad was, since the day he had learnt he would be the father of a daughter, a protective one.
Since her early years she was not allowed to have male friends or even talking with one of them.
Her father was deeply concerned about her and could not bring himself to think about a possible relationship for her.
She was his only child, his only baby.
"I’m so sorry, I did not measured my force to pull you. Sorry for the inconvenience."
He sounded as embarrassed as a child.
The right side of her head, which layed on him, could hear his heart pounding faster than the usual as he was starting to stutter and mumble nonsense.
She slowly, but surely, pulled out her head out of his chest and looked up at him. However he was tall enough for her to not grasp the sight of his eyes. She untied her arms and took small steps backward.
"I would be concerned if a warrior had no force… it’s indeed a good sign!"
As to tease him, she pointed her finger at him and smirked eyes closed. The man was still flustered by all his embarrassing actions and could not manage to look at her.
As to notify him it was time to leave, she turned around and walked away.
Well, she did not have to walk too long before hearing him speak.
"…please excuse my lack of manners…it’s so lame of me…"
He finally said on a defeated tone.
As she did minutes earlier, she turned around in a rapid momentum.
The way she did was like out of a romance novel.
Her hairs got blown up in the air by the wind.
Her skirt followed her moving.
And her face sported a serious look.
She dangerously stepped forward him and stopped when she was standing not far from him.
"I’m no army, you just don’t have to be so rigid about your feelings and I bet everything will go on smoothly!"
She used her hands to emphasise her sentence.
"I know it’s hard to do so but if you do it for yourself and only you then I’m sure you will not struggle anymore."
"I know but why is it so difficult to feel part of something then? Why is it hard to understand how the others feel? I’m only doing things because I think it’s what they wait from me."
His head was still low, his fist was tight and she could see him slightly shaking.
She was taken aback by his sudden behaviour towards himself.
During the whole time they spent together, he seemed to have so much confidence, yet something was weighing heavily on his consciousness.
Tender face to his open heart, she steadily moved to his side. And it’s only when she arrived close enough to hear him heavily breathing she stopped.
In a attempt to show him she understood him, she reached for his hand in a gentle gesture. When she felt his warmth between her small palms, she tightened it a little. Just enough for him to finally open his eyes and look at the figure beneath him.
She had a soft smile on her face as she looked up at him.
"I have heard you. I will learn you how to feel better about your own self okay ?"
Her thumb gently caressed the back of his hand. "You don’t have to worry about opening yourself to me, I will never judge you for it. I think for now you only need to rest a bit!"
He didn't seem to want to answer but he wanted to talk to her.
"Have you ever done something for yourself?"
She was amused by his words and giggled just thinking about her answer.
"Of course, live!"
She said it with so much enthusiasm, he had to forget for a moment about his own troubles.
How could you live for yourself and not just to live up to expectations? This question, he was so used to asking it himself he had forgotten people could answer.
"I see… please…don’t change the way you think [reader]."
"Never will I Zeke, now it’s time to take you home! Come on! Follow me!"
She pulled him gently so that he finally moved from his immobility.
"Thank you…[reader]."
He whispered to her his gratitude. Yet the whole world could have heard but she seemed to be the only one who couldn’t grasp his words.
That night, he was the one grabbing the bottle from the stream. And he promised himself he would never put it back in the water.
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And as he had promised, he accompanied her to the place where she initially wanted to rest her mind for an evening.
Night had already fallen over the town of Mahr when they took their places on the still-warm grass facing the river.
They had made their way here in pleasant silence, a silence that sealed their future relationship.
He was the first to sit down and as he did so he patted the empty space beside him. However she was still really timid, so she kept a polite space between the two of them in order not to invade his personal space.
"So what is your occupation?"
He was the one to break the silence.
"It depends on the situation, I sometimes work as a nurse when the hospital is understaffed but most of the time I work as a secretary for the army…"
"So you work for the army and still don’t know my name?"
He laughed.
"I’m really bad with names, sorry!"
She gave him a puppy look to make him forget about her failing memory.
"I’m teasing you, don’t mind it."
He shifted his gaze back to the scenery in front of him and so did she.
"How is the job of a warrior? Are you not scared to die all the time? It must be terrifying."
Just thinking about it, she was feeling sorry for all these young men and women who had died on the battlefield.
She brought her legs up to her chest and buried her head in them.
"When you are 6, yes you are scared I would even say terrified. But when you turn 20 and you spent all your life there, you are no longer afraid."
After a few seconds' thought, he turned his head and, in a questioning tone, asked her a question.
"Are you scared to die for your nation?"
Caught off guard by the his sudden seriousness, she immediately raised her head.
What if he didn't like her answer and reported it to the authorities ?
"No, no I never said I would not die for it but I just find it sad. I am grate-"
She spoke quickly, was stuttering and couldn’t keep her eyes on him so he cut her in her momentum.
"Calm down, I will not repeat anything you say. It’s normal to be scared and it doesn’t question your attachment to the homeland."
The way he looked at her was intended to calm her down. She saw it when she finally shifted her gaze to his eyes.
"I know but… we never know."
"Sorry, I made the things awkward, let’s forget about it. Where do you live on the camp, I think I never saw you there?"
"I live quite far away from the Main Street and I don’t really go out often. I leave early in the morning and come back late in the evening so it might be the reason we never crossed paths."
She resumed the position in which she was sitting a few minutes before.
"So I presume today was your day off?"
"That’s it, I managed to get 2 days and had planned to rest but here I am in a very unfortunate situation…"
She sighed, her expression was still slightly irritated by her beating.
"It’s alright now, I could accompany you if you need to go out."
"I don't want to take advantage of your kindness. But I have to admit you are indeed really kind, your parents raised you well sir Yeager."
"Don’t be that formal, Zeke is just enough. But I return you the compliment, you are well mannered even in such circumstances…"
He shifted his stare back to the river below.
"…and you’re quite beautiful."
He mumbled this last compliment and looked away again, so embarrassed was he by what he had just said.
She, who was still looking at him could see the tips of his ears turning red, it was cute she thought to herself.
She laughed softly while covering her mouth with her hand.
"Thank you for your compliment."
Her ribs were hurting when she laughed but she didn’t want to ruin the moment so she kept it for her.
The scene was as sweet as two teenagers who were flirting clumsily.
The streets were nicer, the buildings were clean and bright and the people were always draped in their most beautiful clothes
In the middle of the paved road, she stood out in complete contrast with the reality surrounding her.
Tears were still flowing down and she, repeatedly and unintentionally, jostled passers-by.
Few said nothing, some violently pushed her away and a lot shouted insults at her.
She was just trying to make her way to the shore but the animal instinct of the man pushed some of them to heavily flirt with her.
Yet when these drunken men saw her armband, they immediately removed their wandering fingers.
"Hello there pretty girl, how can a beautiful woman like you can be alone in the dangerous side of the city ?"
Without her consent, he wrapped his arms around her neck. An action which allowed her to smell the vile odor escaping from his mouth.
"Leave me alone…please…"
She cried out this sentence, unable to hold any longer her trembling voice.
"My,my you sure are a dominant one…"
A sudden silence filled the air.
This silence was indeed nothing more but the realisation the woman he was hitting on was one of these dogs from the slums.
His reaction was swift, he violently thrusted her. Hard enough she lost her balance and fell backwards on the ground.
She was scared for her life.
And when she raised her eyes, filled with fear, to meet his face she was taken aback by the look he gave her.
Pure rage and anger.
"I am so sorry! Please forgive me !"
With an outward eye the scene seemed surreal, a woman kneeling on the floor desperately trying to escape but no one to help.
"Shut it ! You don’t even deserve to be there."
The disdain of his voice echoed in the crowd-less avenue.
The action that followed was nothing near
justifiable.
While she was trying to stand up and running away she felt a violent kicking sensation on her ribs.
And the gesture was reiterated a number she herself could not count.
The pain prevented her from doing anything other than protecting herself from the stomping.
Just when she thought she was going to die under such a miserable circumstance, the assault unexpectedly began to attenuate itself.
The man seemed to have been stopped by someone stronger than himself.
Never in this lifetime you would have witnessed his kind of people stopping by themselves.
Never.
These cowards were easily scared by some towering height.
This was indeed the case in the current event. The aggressor was being towered over by a man behind him. The street light, however, made it impossible to grasp the face of the newcomer.
"May I ask what is happening ?"
The stranger finally spoke.
The aggressor, taken aback by the sudden appearance of one’s much stronger than him, mumbled few insults and inconsistencies before leaving the both of them not without spitting at their feet.
The calm of the street had finally returned.
After making sure the assailant would not come back, the tall man got a little more closer to the woman on the ground.
"My lady, are you alright? Do you find it difficult to breathe? Allow me to take a look at your injuries please."
The unknown man spoke again but she was still unable to look at him, her pitiful condition was probably a sight for sore eyes.
Yet, at the hearing of his many questions she was able to hear a hint of nervousness in his voice.
Her eyes, still focused on her hands grasping the hem of her long skirt, dared to throw a discreet glance at him.
Thus, she could see him lower himself to her level putting a knee down on the dirt.
"My lady, is everything alright?"
Once again his voice betrayed a certain panic and concern.
"…y-yes… I’m doing fine…"
Was all she could think as an answer.
After giving him this unconventional response, she finally raised her head to meet the individual.
The young man in front of her was a good looking man who sported short blond hair and whose eyes were a light gray.
His imposing build contrasted sharply with the gentle expression on his face.
Despite his delicate features, on his knees, he appeared much taller than she was.
But, soon afterward, her full attention shifted to the clothing he was wearing. The typical high white collar uniform; his clothes spoke for him, he was a warrior who had dedicated his life in the service of the nation.
And when she shifted her gaze to his left arm, she saw on it a small red tissue which signified he was probably a titans shifter.
So, he was one of them ?
As she was still lingering her stare on his imposing figure, she felt the warmth and softness of fingers on her chin. He was examining her with a great attention, slightly tilting her head from right to left.
However this gesture forced her to met his eyes as they were only mere centimetre away.
Behind his silvery glasses, she could see eyes filled with nothing but tenderness.
"It seems your face is fine, on the other hand, I don't think I'll say the same for your ribs."
As if relieved, he sighed this sentence.
"I’m fine, don’t worry. And I’m pretty sure you have better things to do than worrying about me."
She weakly said this while lowering her head again. The forced proximity suddenly embarrassed her.
Unexpectedly, he grabbed her by the shoulders in both his hands, forcing her to look up at him.
"I really I’m concerned about your safety because what better thing could I do than helping someone in danger? Are you sure everything is alright?"
For a moment, she was frozen in the face of all this attention. She couldn’t manage to formulate a coherent sentence that would make sense. So in great silence she looked at the stranger who had saved her life.
The man titled his head, as if to tell her he was waiting for an additional answer.
"Thank you for your kindness but I reassure I’m alright.”
As to prove her point, she tried to get up and so did the man.
However, she could feel an intense pain in her upper body. The pain was so severe it made her take small steps backward and in fraction of seconds, she tripped.
Thankfully, the man was able to grab her before she could totally fall to the ground. He was now holding her standing, almost against his own torso.
"I’m not sure your statement is true, my dear."
This sentence that gently mocked the woman's stubbornness was followed by a giggle he was trying his best to repress.
Besides how the woman was now embarrassed, she couldn’t manage to not laugh at the situation too.
The towering man could see the tips of her ears turning red, it was cute he thought to himself.
When she felt ready, she broke free of the man's grip and, this time, managed to stay on her feet without staggering.
She dusted off her skirt, recomed her hair and finally looked at the man in front of her.
"So…what are you doing out there as it getting late?"
The man, who seemed embarrassed by his question, awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
She sighed, maybe the idea of sitting by the shore wasn’t that great in the end.
"Initially, I wanted to walk to the river but I might just go back home now."
"Let me accompany you there!"
His spontaneous request caught her off guard, but after what he had done for her she couldn’t bring herself to simply walk away without an ounce of recognition.
"Are you sure? It’s getting late and you may want to go home."
His smile was his honest response.
"I am sure, don’t worry about it. May I ask your name my dear ?"
"Name/last name."
However, she did not immediately asked for his name, she tried as hard as she could to look for the name of this man she had already seen on the army training camps.
"It may sounds rude as you are probably one of those titans holder who protects the nation but what is your name please? I’m so sorry, it is so rude of me."
"Zeke Jeager. You don’t have to be sorry, not everybody has to know my name."
Once more, the smile he gave her was just so pure and beautiful she felt her cheeks turning red under his gaze.
