#. SURPRISE OR MAYBE NOT ?
featuring 𝗯𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝗶𝗴𝗹𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗮𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
fluff + suggestive. no matter how much you hide it and keep it a secret, the truth always comes out.
ooc bunny + suggestive themes, sexual references, "morning after" implications. not intended for readers under 16. proceed at your risk.
“You sleep like you just lost a Champions League final.”
Groaning into the pillow that you were about to throw at his head, but instead, you chose peace. “Good morning to you too, asshole.” There was a rustle beside you and a toned arm sliding over your waist, warm and annoyingly clingy. Then came the kiss, not a romantic one, of course. It was a stupid, lazy peck to your shoulder, followed by the sound of him stifling a laugh against your skin, and he was doing an awful job about it.
“You moaned my name like five times last night,” Bunny said proudly, eyes still closed because he was just enjoying your warmth, or wrath, either way, he was happy. “Might get it tattooed and mimic Kaiser, no?”
“Shut up.”
“No~,” he drawled, “I can’t believe I managed to make a Re Al fangirl say ‘I love you’.”
Your eyes shot open. “I did not—!”
“You did,” he grinned against your neck. “Right when you came the second time. ‘I love you, Bunny,’ like a sweet little badge of shame.”
You launched a pillow at his head, and he dodged. Stupid athlete reflexes. The young prodigy was laughing so hard he had to fall back onto the bed. “Honestly, I should win a Ballon d’Or just for that. Turning a Re Al fan into my personal cheerleader? That’s got to be peak enemies-to-lovers achievement.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t set your jersey on fire.”
Bunny turned his head toward you, smirking, knowing damn well you want to burn it or put it in the trashbin. “You’ll be wearing it by next week.”
You narrowed your eyes, too tired to even deal with his nonsense this early in the morning. Not that you minded that much because his voice is so soft right now, a little annoying, but still so lovely. “Dream about it.”
“I do, actually,” he said. “Had one last night where you were begging to wear my jersey and you swore to love Barca forever.” He tapped your thigh, then pointed at himself. The audacity. “And then I bent you over the stadium seats. A dream to die for.”
You chuckled despite yourself, imagining how good you would look wearing something of his that was not his team jersey. “I will never swear to love something, even if it's to cover a big lie. Also, why are you so talkative at 7 am?”
“Why are you still in my bed?”
“I was too tired to leave,” you countered, rolling just enough to take a good look at him, because he is known to be quite the handful, pretty little liar. But not with you, not in this vulnerable moment. His gaze, with those eyes that told you more than enough, because they were more than gentle and sincere.
Yes, he could mask things with sweet nothings, but you're like a lie detector that he can't escape, not that he wants to. A gentle smile adorned his beautiful, scarred face, making him look so angelic, even if he was a little devil.
And there was a silence, finally a calmness in which you could fall asleep, nestled in his arms. “So, what now? Do we keep this friends with benefits until someone proposes with a football?”
You hesitated to say anything, and he was staring at the ceiling, lips curved into that same half-smile he always wore when he was pretending not to care too much.
“I guess we could just… be together?” you offered, more in the form of a question than a statement. He blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him in a form that simple.
“Even if I wear a Barcha scarf to your dad’s house?” You kicked him lightly under the covers. “We are not bringing Barcha to my family’s home.”
“I’ll wear it to the wedding.”
“There’s no wedding, Iglesias.”
You buried your face into your hands with a groan. But then he kissed your cheek. Genuinely with no sarcasm, no bite, no lies. Just warm lips and soft breath with how you said his last name, and he will make sure you have it in the future.
“Okay,” he said simply. “We’re together now.”
And that was it. Just two idiots, tangled in sheets after a very intimate night spent together, with him humming Careless Whisper because yesterday night the music was too loud, or was that you screaming?
Bunny stretched with a satisfied sigh, grinning like he won a very prestigious sports award for real. “So I get to call you mi amor now?”
“If that’s what's going to make you a better player on the pitch.”
“Mi princesa?”
“Sure, spoil me rotten then.”
“Mi conejita?”
You froze, and he felt your body tense, but then relax, because the irony of what he said was that it was sweet. “Knew you liked being my bunny.”
You reached over and smacked him with the pillow again. God, he was so annoying. God, you were so in love with your dumbass boyfriend now.
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