Pairing: Bunny Iglesias x Female Reader
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.
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.
"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?"
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
“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!"
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?"
"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.
"Actually, 'Prozac' was the password."
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