Synopsis:- in which hugo is by your side through the thick and thin and would love you enough for the both of you.
ᰔ pairings :- v. hugo x reader
ᰔ genre :- slight angst w happy ending, reader has seasonal depression !
Lifeless eyes that tell a depressing story. Placid expression that makes everyone believe you're okay, but only you know the reality. It was just so hard being happy, you wanted to, truly but these day's you just couldn't ,life was too hard too gray , the blues of your life were never ending.
You just couldn't bring yourself to care about anything, even if it was something you had worked and wanted your whole life , it was just too tiring, everything was , sometimes you'd envy people online who could smile so carelessly. Everything that you ever liked had lost it's charm , a identity crisis striking at every dawn.
Endless cycle of tears that told a story of you wanting to get better, to be normal. Life is unfair isn't it.
The funny thing was you could act normal and people who should care and notice it were too easy to fool with your half hearted smiles or maybe they never cared enough.
Alone is a physical state lonely is a feeling.
The truth was no once cares about you unless you're pretty, genius, rich or dead and you just couldn't find yourself fitting any of those, but every rule has a acception this does too people care about you if they are in love with you . That's why hugo noticed.
"Please eat something mon chou" . His eyes looked so pathetic that you just had to not let him down.
You sat up from your woman cave wrapped in blanket even tho it's scorching hot , in hopes it would provide some comfort.
Hugo rushed to your side kneeling at your feet , one hand on your thigh, one hand holding a warm bowl of soup . He looks up at your face his own face etched with worry. You couldn't meet his eyes . How could you ???
"Just open your mouth I'll feed you."
You just noded in aggreement.
The soup was warm unlike how your heart felt right now.
Three spoons in and the inconvenience of your life struck back again and you couldn't stop your self from crying.
Hugo kept the bowl beside you and hugged so deep in his chest that it was mufflin his voice. His big arms doing their best to caress your back and occ strocking your head and rocking you in slow pendulum like motions.
"It'll be okay cherie. Whatever it is I'll be there. You want to quit your job and stay at home??? Do that, I'm with you on your every step , I'll be the shield you can rely on even if the whole world turns their back on you. I'll never leave your side , just tell me what to do to make you feel better."
You sobbed even harder as if he had unleashed something you were trying to contain in yourself.
"Mon chou, do you want me to make a scribble drawing on my face hmm?? you laughed a lot when you did that. For you I can wear that everyday, to every match, to every event if that's what it takes to make you happy. Just hang in there. I'll do anything i can to bring you joy , whatever you want but most of all if you want I can listen."
You don't really remember when you drifted to sleep after hearing those words , the first good sleep you got in a fortnight. Hugo never slept a wink instead he kept tracing circle patterns on your back and kept caressing your hair effectively lulling you off to sleep.
"I will never give on you ma cherie so please don't give up on yourself."
Cause love is never giving up on your beloved even when they doubt themselves.
"Oh my gosh! These are so good! Did you make them?!" You cheer as you shove another pastry in your mouth.
The two of you were sitting down on a bench in a park, trying some sweets Isagi brought.
He lets out a light laugh, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks. "Oh, no! My mom made them. She was trying out a new recipe, and I figured I would have them with you."
You beam with happiness as you listen to him. "Your moms amazing! You have to let me thank her sometime."
But as soon as Isagi was about to open up his mouth, he hears a familiar voice from behind him."
"Tch. Lukewarm."
Both of your eyes traced the source of the voice, to which you saw Rin, holding a box of his own share of pastries.
"Hi Rin! What are you doing here?" You wave, voice laced with enthusiasm.
Rin's eyes meet yours. "I was passing by."
Isagi stiffens at the sight of you two interacting. "Well, its nice t-"
"Shut up. Don't talk to me, you npc."
Isagi opens his mouth to say something. Then closes it.
Theres a silence between the three of you for a brief moment, before Rin's gaze falls on you, happily enjoying the last of your pastry.
"Do you like pastries?" He questions, his tone flat like normal.
"Love 'em!"
Isagi cuts into the conversation, a hint of jealousy seeping through his voice. "They especially love the ones my mom mak-"
Plop.
Rin takes an eclair from his box and puts it in to your mouth, ultimately hand feeding it to you.
The colour drains from Isagi's face, and it takes all his power to not allow his jaw drop to the floor.
Rin watches as you eat the last of the pastry from his hand, mumbling something about making a mess.
"They're so good! Where'd you get them?"
"I made them."
Isagi swears that you've never looked at someone with more adoration than you did with Rin at that moment.
Desperate to recieve your full undivided attention once more, Isagi takes your chin in his hand and turns it so its facing you, a competitive grin plastered on his face.
"Shame on you Rin, everyone knows you should never put food in someones mouth without a heads up first."
Isagi takes a profiterole and holds it against your lips, to which you open your mouth and accept happily, munching on yet another delicious pastry. He shoots Rin a cocky look. He huffs out of irritation.
Rin looks like he's about to give up, taking his eclair and sinking his teeth halfway of it, watching you chew.
Isagi huffs, about to open his mouth and make a snarky comment, until all of his pride collapses before him.
The moment you swallowed, Rin's mouth was on yours, feeding the eclair to you once more.
With his mouth.
Isagi's soul leaves his body completely.
He stares in horror at the interaction. How Rin tastes you, how when when pulls back, a visible string of saliva that connected the two of you drips down. How it all looked so natural to him.
He frantically searches for the right words, his gaze darting between you and Rin.
"Ch....Cheater!" He accuses the teal haired boy.
"Huh? Not my fault your game is half-baked."
And with that, Rin moves along, walking away. Leaving you with a frozen Isagi, whilst he listens to the faint sounds of you trying to snap him back to life.
isagi's love letters are never intentionally long. he just keeps remembering more things he wants to thank you for, more memories he forgot to include, more little observations that suddenly feel too important to leave out, so what was supposed to be a single page inevitably becomes three, complete with arrows squeezed into the margins that read "wait, one more thing" because his heart simply refuses to end the conversation.
his handwriting is okay, like tidy and careful, though the lines become smaller toward the bottom of each page because he'd rather shrink his writing than admit he needs another sheet of paper. every letter is written with the same black gel pen, folded neatly, and hidden somewhere you'll stumble upon naturally – inside the novel you're reading, tucked into your work bag, or slipped beneath your pillow before an away match.
there are no elaborate doodles besides the occasional tiny soccer ball or absentminded stars and hearts he draws whenever he gets embarrassed by what he's writing.
every letter ends with the exact date and time because he likes the idea that years later you'll know the precise moment he loved you enough to sit down and write.
my favorite part of every day isn't training anymore. i didn't realize that until someone asked me what i was looking forward to tomorrow. i almost said "practice" lol.
but instead, i thought about coming home. i thought about you opening the front door before i even reached for the handle because somehow you always know it's me. i thought about the way you ask if i've eaten before you ask if i won. i thought about your laugh from the kitchen before i even take my shoes off.
and i realized... somewhere along the way, home stopped being a place. it became a person.
there are days when i score and the stadium is louder than anything i've ever heard. but the first thing i want after every goal is still you. the first face i look for isn't on the field. it's yours.
if i ever become someone people remember... i hope they know it only happened because someone loved me quietly and gently enough to make me believe i could.
i love you. thank you for waiting for me. thank you for coming home with me. thank you for becoming my favorite tomorrow.
itoshi rin
rin's letters are painfully short because he erases every sentence that feels unnecessary until only the truth remains. no crossed-out words, no decorations, no fluff – only dark green fountain pen on thick cream paper folded into perfect thirds.
he never hands them to you himself. you'll simply find one resting on your desk, tucked beneath your phone, or waiting on your nightstand after he's already left the room.
the only thing that gives him away before you even unfold it is the impossibly precise fold and your name written in immaculate handwriting.
people think i don't notice much. they're wrong.
i notice when you pretend you're not tired. i notice when you smile differently because it's real. i notice that you always reach for my hand without looking. you've done it so many times that you already know where i'll be.
i wonder if that's what trust feels like. like when we're apart, i keep reaching anyway. it's embarrassing. i've never told anyone that before.
i don't pray. i don't make wishes. i don't even believe life gives people what they deserve. but every morning i wake up beside you, it feels like someone made a mistake in my favor.
if there is another lifetime, find me again. i don't want to learn how to live without you twice.
itoshi sae
sae writes on expensive cream stationery with this deep teal ink that matches the pools of his irises. his handwriting belongs in a museum – clean, graceful, so impossibly composed.
no doodles. no unnecessary embellishments. the only indulgence is a small pink-red wax seal pressed onto the envelope because he likes beautiful things, and like so, you have become one of them.
he never gives the letter to you directly. instead, it waits in your hotel room after one of his matches, tucked beneath your pillow or inside the book you packed for the flight.
his letters don't feel like confessions. they feel like pieces of himself he'd never let anyone else hold.
i've stood in cities people spend their entire lives dreaming about. i've watched the sun rise in places so beautiful they don't seem real. i've collected passport stamps. trophies. hotel keys. boarding passes. the list goes on.
and yet… none of them have stayed with me the way one ordinary afternoon on the sofa with you has.
isn't that strange? the world keeps offering me extraordinary things. but the memory i return to most is your head on my shoulder while neither of us said anything.
you changed my definition of enough. i used to think fulfillment was something you earned. now i know sometimes it merely sits beside you, steals your blanket, and falls asleep halfway through a movie.
if i lose everything one day… i don't think i'll be afraid. i already know what i'd spend the rest of my life trying to find again.
you.
nagi seishiro
nagi complains the entire time he's writing because his hand hurts after half a page, yet somehow, he always ends up filling both sides anyway. his handwriting is messy, slanted, abbreviated, and occasionally unreadable, with random doodles of sleepy cats, game controllers, clouds, and tiny versions of the two of you scattered between paragraphs.
he writes with whatever blue pen happens to be closest and probably steals the paper from reo because buying stationery sounds like too much work.
you'll find the letter somewhere ridiculous – inside your pocket, tucked into the snack cupboard, or hidden inside the game case you were about to use.
it reads exactly like talking to him: sleepy, funny, scattered... until one sentence quietly breaks your heart.
i thought love would've been louder tbh. cuz everyone talks abt fireworks + music + all that dramatic stuff. mine was quieter tho.
it sounded like ur keys unlocking the front door. it sounded like u asking if i wanted dinner. it sounded like u telling me to move over bc i was taking up the whole couch.
i don't think u noticed… but i started making room before u even asked. i don't really make room for people. u js... became part of where i wanted to be.
yk i've won games, slept for 16 hours, finally beaten levels i've been stuck on 4ever. but none of that feels as good as hearing u laugh from another room and realizing ur here.
if home is supposed to be a place u don't wanna leave… i think mine learned how to smile. it looks a lot like u :x
mikage reo
reo treats every love letter as though it's a gift you'll treasure forever. lavender stationery edged in gold, matching envelopes sealed with dark wax bearing his initials, deep violet ink, pressed flowers tucked inside, and the faintest trace of his cologne on the paper because he secretly hopes years from now you'll unfold the letter and remember exactly what it felt like to hug him.
he leaves them where you'll discover them first thing in the morning – on your breakfast tray, beside your coffee, resting against your pillow before he leaves for an away match.
every letter starts polished and composed before slowly becoming more vulnerable than he ever intended.
i've been given almost everything i've ever asked for. that's the funny thing. people assume that means i never learned how to want. then i met you. now i want ridiculous things.
i want ordinary thursdays (where we be chuds in the house all day).
i want grocery shopping with you arguing over which cereal to buy (because one is always healthier than the other, but doesn’t taste as good).
i want to hear you complain that i'm humming too loudly while i cook (i sing good, okay?).
i want wrinkles beside your eyes because i've spent decades making you laugh (dw i’ll buy whatever expensive eye cream you want).
i want our grandchildren to roll their eyes when i tell them, for the hundredth time, about how beautiful you looked the day i realized i loved you (they’ll be sooo sick of me).
i used to dream about becoming someone unforgettable. now my greatest dream is much smaller.
i hope that when you're 80… and someone asks you if you lived a happy life… your first thought is still us.
if that's selfish… i'll spend the rest of my life being selfish. after all, there has never been a future i want more than the one where i grow old enough to forget everything... except the sound of you saying my name.
bachira meguru
bachira cannot commit to one ink color to save his life. the first paragraph is orange, the next is green, then purple, then back to yellow because "it felt happier." every margin is covered in doodles – little bees, flowers, smiling clouds, soccer balls with tiny faces, and cartoon versions of the two of you holding hands.
the envelope has stickers on it before you've even opened it. sometimes there's a smiley face beside your name. sometimes he draws a tiny bee wearing a crown because he thought it looked cute.
he hides his letters like little treasures – inside your lunchbox, tucked into your shoe, folded into your sketchbook, or slipped into your jacket pocket before you leave. he wants you to discover them when you least expect it.
they always begin lightheartedly before quietly unraveling into something that makes your chest ache.
today, i saw a butterfly with one wing that was a little smaller than the other. it still flew. it just looked different doing it.
i think people are like that, too. everyone thinks love is supposed to fix the broken parts. you never tried to fix mine. you kissed them. you laughed with them. you made space for them. i didn't know someone could look at every strange little piece of me and decide they wanted all of it.
do you know what my favorite sound is? it's not the crowd after i score. it's not the ball hitting the net. it's you laughing so hard you accidentally lean into me. i wish i could keep that sound in my pocket. then i'd never have to worry about lonely days.
if there's another universe somewhere… i hope i still find you. even if you're a stranger. no, scratch that, ESPECIALLY if you’re a stranger. i think i'd recognize your smile before i remembered my own name.
shidou ryusei
the envelope is bright red. or neon pink. or electric orange. there's absolutely nothing subtle about it. you know it's from him before you've even picked it up. he’s the only one that would pick colors so loud.
his handwriting is all over the place – big, bold, messy, with words underlined 3 times because apparently every sentence is the most important sentence he's ever written lmao.
there are stars, lightning bolts, badly drawn hearts, and random doodles squeezed between paragraphs because sitting still long enough to write a letter is already asking a lot of him.
he shoves it into your hands with a grin, immediately tells you not to read it in front of him, then spends the next 10 minutes hovering behind you because he's dying to know your reaction.
you're gonna laugh at me for writing this. don't. i already know it's embarrassing.
but what i wanna say is: i've broken bones before. i've split my lip open. i've walked off the field covered in blood. none of that scared me as much as realizing one day… you could leave.
i think that's when i knew. because all of a sudden, every goodbye felt too long. every hug ended too soon. every time you smiled at someone else, my heart got all stupid and weird.
i hate that you can do that to me. i hate that i love it, too.
basically, if the whole world disappeared tomorrow… i wouldn't be thinking about football. i'd be looking for your hand.
because i've learned something: everything feels alive when you're looking at me. everything else just feels loud.
karasu tabito
he’s all matte black stationery with silver gel ink because he thinks it looks cooler than regular paper, and annoyingly... he's right.
his handwriting is clean, slightly slanted, confident. he rarely crosses anything out because he knows what he wants to say before the pen touches the page.
there are no hearts or flowers, but tiny crows somehow end up doodled in the corners every single time. he claims he doesn't notice he's doing it.
he slips his letters into your notebook, your tote bag, or under your windshield wiper before driving away. he'd rather let the letter speak than stand there awkwardly while you read it.
don't start smilin’ just because i wrote ya a letter. actually… never mind. smile. i like when ya do that.
ya know what's funny? i've spent most of my life thinkin’ love had to be excitin’, loud, and complicated. then ya showed up and somehow made silence feel interestin’.
i've never been good at sitting still. except beside ya. with ya… i've watched rain hit windows for hours. i've finished cold cups of coffee because i forgot to drink them while listenin’ to ya talk. i've missed green lights because i was lookin’ at ya instead (terrible, i know).
ya slowed me down. and still… i've never felt more alive.
if anyone ever asks me what peace looks like… i'm probably just gonna show them a picture of ya <3
kaiser michael
kaiser adores using heavy cream paper with a navy border, folded with impossible precision and sealed with dark blue wax pressed into the shape of a rose. one dried blue rose petal always slips out when you unfold the letter.
he writes in elegant cursive with a fountain pen in deep navy ink. not a single correction. if he made a mistake, he rewrote the entire page. he’s a perfectionist like that.
the paper smells faintly of his cologne because he kept it in the drawer beside his watches for days before deciding it was worthy to meet you.
he never hands it to you. you'll find it tucked inside the novel you were reading, waiting in your hotel room after one of his matches, or hidden in your coat pocket before winter.
before you… i measured my life by applause. how loud. how long. how many people stood when i entered a room or a field. it turns out applause echoes. it fills the room. then it leaves.
you didn't. you stayed after the lights were gone. after the interviews and all the goals that no longer mattered. you loved the version of me that nobody clapped for. the tired one. the frightened one. the little boy who spent years believing affection was something people earned through perfection.
you looked at every flaw i tried to bury beneath trophies… and loved me there.
if i spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you… i still don't think i'll succeed. but i hope you'll let me keep trying.
because every beautiful thing i've ever touched has eventually slipped through my fingers. i don't know what i'd become if you did, too.
ness alexis
ness’s love letter signatures include magenta stationery with silver stars pressed into the border, tied shut with a pale ribbon because folding it plainly somehow feels too ordinary for something meant for you.
beautiful looping handwriting that almost looks printed, every sentence perfectly spaced, every letter written slowly as though he's afraid rushing would somehow make the words less sincere.
tiny sparkles, stars, moons, flowers, and little constellations fill the empty spaces around the page.
he leaves the letter beneath your pillow before leaving for training or tucked inside your favorite novel because he's far too nervous to watch you read it.
sometimes i wonder if people know they've changed someone's life while they're doing it. i don't think you knew. you smiled at me the same way you smiled at everyone else. you asked if i was alright like it was the most ordinary question in the world. it became the question that saved me.
i've spent so much of my life trying to become someone worth choosing. someone useful, impressive, impossible to leave behind. then you loved me on days when i had nothing to offer except my company.
do you know what that does to a person? it teaches them that maybe they were lovable before they started performing.
i still have days where i wake up afraid you'll realize you've made a mistake. then you reach for my hand before you're fully awake… and every fear goes quiet.
if one day i forget every match i've ever played… every trophy… every city… every face… i hope my heart remembers yours. i think it learned your name long before i ever wrote it down.
yukimiya kenyu
yukimiya's letters are written on soft ivory paper with the faintest embossed border, always in dark brown fountain pen because he thinks black feels too harsh for something as gentle as love. his handwriting is elegant and fashion-magazine perfect, every line evenly spaced as if he spent hours making sure the page looked as beautiful as the words.
tucked inside the envelope is almost always something tiny – a pressed flower from a walk you took together, a movie ticket he secretly kept, or a polaroid where you're laughing so hard your face is blurry. he treasures ordinary moments more than grand gestures.
he leaves his letters somewhere they'll find you during a quiet moment – inside your journal, beneath your pillow before an away match, or folded into the sweater he knows you'll steal from him.
there's always one sentence written smaller than the rest near the bottom, something he almost didn't have the courage to admit.
people always tell me to keep looking ahead. keep chasing the next goal. the next dream. the next version of myself. i've spent so much of my life afraid that if i stopped moving, i'd lose everything.
then i met you. and for the first time... i wanted to slow down.
i wanted mornings that didn't belong to anyone except us. i wanted rainy afternoons where we forgot to check the time. i wanted to memorize the freckles on your body instead of another stadium.
i've seen sunsets from airplanes, city lights from hotel balconies, fireworks after championships. they were beautiful. but beauty has never looked back at me. beauty has never laughed because i accidentally burned breakfast. beauty has never reached across the bed in its sleep just to make sure i was still there. you have.
people ask me what i see when i picture the future. i never tell them the truth. it isn't another trophy. it isn't another headline. it's the light spilling through our bedroom curtains while you complain that i woke up too early again. it's growing old enough that the lines on your face become familiar to my fingertips.
if i lose my sight one day… i don't think the world will become dark. i've spent so long learning the shape of your hands. i could find my way back to you with my eyes closed.
barou shoei
barou refuses to buy "cute stationery." it's thick black paper with crisp white lettering because it's practical, clean, and gets the job done. his handwriting is sharp, blocky, and ridiculously neat, almost intimidating until you remember whose hands wrote every word.
there are no decorations. no hearts. no perfume. no ribbons.
the only thing that makes it unmistakably his is the envelope sealed with a small gold sticker because he doesn't trust the flap to stay shut.
he'll never hand it to you directly. instead, you'll find it perfectly centered on the kitchen counter after he's already left for training, right beside the breakfast he made.
every letter begins stiffly... and then somewhere along the way, the king forgets he's supposed to be guarding his heart.
i've never understood people who say love changes you. it doesn't. it reveals you.
before i met you, i thought strength meant never depending on anyone. never waiting, never needing, like a true king.
then you started leaving your mug beside mine in the sink. your shoes by the front door. your shampoo in the shower. your laugh in every room of the house.
and one day, the realization finally hit me. none of those things annoyed me. i started expecting them. looking for them. missing them.
i've built my entire life on discipline. everything has a place. everything has a routine. you ruined all of it.
now dinner feels wrong if you're working late. the bed feels too big when you're away. i catch myself cooking enough for two even when you're not home. that's your fault.
don't apologize for it though. keep ruining my routines. keep leaving hair ties on the bathroom counter. keep stealing my clothes. keep reaching for my hand before we cross the street.
i've conquered a lot of things. you're the only thing i've ever happily surrendered to.
if being your home is considered weakness, then i'll spend the rest of my life refusing to become strong again.
chigiri hyoma
chigiri loves to use pale pink stationery with cream envelopes, written in wine-red ink that somehow matches the color of his hair. his handwriting is delicate, flowing, and impossibly graceful, every letter curved so beautifully it almost looks painted instead of written.
he presses tiny dried cherry blossom petals into the envelope during spring, and in winter, he'll tuck in a ribbon from a gift you once gave him because he's sentimental in ways very few people get to see.
you'll usually find his letters tucked inside your skincare bag before a trip or resting against the mirror where you'll see them while getting ready in the morning.
they read like quiet conversations whispered long after midnight.
there was a time when i thought my life had already become smaller than i wanted it to be. every dream felt fragile. every step felt borrowed. i remember wondering if i'd spend the rest of my life mourning the version of myself i almost became.
then you smiled at me. that was the day my future stopped feeling frightening.
isn't that strange? you never promised to fix anything. you never asked me to become someone else. you simply loved the person standing in front of you. the one who was still afraid and healing.
you made patience feel beautiful. you taught me that slowing down doesn't mean you've stopped living.
sometimes… i watch you brushing your hair in the morning. or reading beside me while rain taps against the window. and i have to remind myself not to cry. happiness used to feel temporary. now it looks so ordinary.
it stays in the warmth your side of the bed keeps after you've gotten up. it waits for me in the mug you've already filled because you knew i'd forget. it lives in all the ordinary moments that would've slipped past the version of me who only knew how to keep running away.
i think that's why i love watching you when you don't know i'm looking. you're never doing anything extraordinary. you're just existing.
so i hope that years from now, when my hair is even longer, our faces are softer, and the house is filled with little reminders that we've lived a life together... i'll still catch myself looking at you the same way, like i can't quite believe i was lucky enough to find someone who made staying still feel like the greatest adventure i'd ever have.
iglesias bunny
bunny's letters are effortlessly pretty without trying too hard – soft cream stationery edged with muted gold, written in dark red ink because black "feels too corporate." his handwriting is smooth and stylish, the kind that somehow reflects his confidence, though every now and then one word slants awkwardly where he paused to think too long.
he always tucks a pressed flower, a concert wristband, or a tiny candid photo inside because he likes the idea of every letter becoming a little time capsule.
he doesn't hide them. instead, he'll casually leave one inside the tote bag he knows you're taking that day, pretending it wasn't completely intentional.
his trademark is that he always signs the envelope with a tiny bunny silhouette instead of his name.
i think people assume loving someone like me must be exciting. that it must be glamorous filled with flights, cameras, late nights, beautiful cities. they're only half right though. the exciting part has never been any of that.
it's hearing your sleepy voice answer the phone after i've landed. it's watching you steal fries off my plate after insisting you weren't hungry. it's feeling your foot brush against mine beneath the blankets while you're already asleep. those are the moments i replay. not the headlines or the applause.
i've met people who knew my face before they knew my name. people who thought they loved me without ever speaking to me. then you came along and loved me so quietly that sometimes i forget i was ever lonely.
you've never asked me to perform for you. you've never needed me to be impressive. you just wanted me. i don't think i'll ever fully understand how lucky that makes me.
if the whole world stopped recognizing me tomorrow… i'd still know exactly who i am. why? every time you look at me… i feel seen in a way fame could never teach.
hugo vivian
hugo's stationery is understated, but expensive – thick cream paper with burgundy edging, written in deep charcoal ink. his handwriting is clean and confident, though a little more relaxed than you'd expect, with the occasional ink smudge where he rested his hand for too long while thinking.
every envelope is tied shut with dark red ribbon instead of sealed because he likes old-fashioned romance more than he'll ever admit.
he leaves his letters somewhere deeply personal – tucked inside the book on your bedside table, slipped into your suitcase before an away trip, or beneath your pillow before leaving for training.
every single one ends with his initial instead of his full name because somehow that feels more intimate.
before you… i thought love was measured by grand gestures. movies always show us the expensive dinners. the vacations. the surprises people post online so strangers can admire them.
then you thanked me for making your coffee exactly the way you liked it.
boop.
just like that, my whole understanding of love changed.
you smiled because i remembered which side of the bed you preferred. you laughed when i tucked your freezing feet against my legs during a movie.
ding.
another moment i accidentally locked away forever.
i've started collecting those little sounds in my head. the click of the front door when you come home. the shuffle shuffle of your slippers across the floor. the tiny hum you make while you're deciding what snack you want. the soft "hm?" when i say your name and you're distracted. they're my favorite sounds.
people ask me what success feels like. i don't think i'd describe it with trophies anymore. success is hearing your keys in the door going jingle jingle and catching myself smiling before i even realize i'm doing it. success is your toothbrush next to mine. success is you stealing a bite off my plate and pretending you asked first.
chomp.
liar. i let you get away with it every time.
some nights, you're already asleep before i am. i'll look over, brush your hair away from your face and think… "wow."
out of the billions of people who exist in this enormous world… i somehow get to love you.
… ba-dump.
ah, there it goes again. my heart still hasn't learned how to act normal around you.
a/n: inspired by that one audio of toji in the dub where he’s like “i’m not a zenin anymore. i took my wife’s name. it’s fushiguro now” GOOD GAWDDD (even my coworker loves that line lolol)
synopsis: when they take YOUR last name instead of the other way around. everyone’s going crazy because this means the name on their jersey changes, too!!!
isagi doesn’t make it a dramatic announcement. he just… does it. one day, paperwork comes back finalized and suddenly it’s yoichi [your last name] printed clean and official and he stares at it for a good thirty seconds like he just won a world cup.
when people ask why, he scratches the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. says something like, “it just felt right. she’s been my anchor since the beginning.” says it so sincerely that no one can even tease him properly.
his parents are surprised at first, but immediately supportive. his mom is emotional about it, honestly. she keeps saying how proud she is that he chose love so confidently, and his dad jokes that he “married up” anyway.
the team finds out because bachira sees the new name on a document and loses his mind. suddenly everyone’s asking questions and isagi’s ears are bright red the entire time.
kunigami gives him a quiet nod of approval. chigiri thinks it’s romantic. rin pretends not to care, but respects the decision deep down.
the media reaction is… unexpectedly soft. headlines talk about “isagi yoichi’s quiet declaration of devotion” and fans eat it UP. edits everywhere. discourse everywhere.
isagi takes pride in it in the calmest way possible. he signs autographs with his new name carefully, like it means something sacred. because it does.
privately, he tells you it reminds him every day of why he plays so hard. says carrying your name feels like carrying home with him, even onto the field.
itoshi rin
rin doesn’t explain himself. ever.
he files the paperwork without telling anyone. not you, not sae, not the press. it’s just done.
when the announcement drops, everyone is confused. the itoshi name is huge. legacy-level huge. people assume it’s a mistake.
rin shuts it down with one sentence. flat voice, zero hesitation: “i chose my wife’s name. that’s all.”
sae notices immediately and is… weirdly quiet about it. no teasing. no sarcasm. just a long look that says he understands more than he lets on.
their parents are furious at first. rin doesn’t argue. doesn’t raise his voice. just says he made his decision and won’t discuss it further.
teammates are lowkey scared to ask, but they notice how rin straightens whenever he hears his new name announced. how he never corrects anyone. how he never once looks uncertain.
the media spirals. debates about legacy, masculinity, tradition. rin ignores all of it.
but then there are photos. rin wearing his wedding ring during interviews. rin standing a little closer to you than usual. rin introducing himself with your last name like it’s always been his.
his pride is quiet, but unshakeable. taking your name is rin cutting his own path, choosing something that’s his. and for once, it isn’t about proving anything to anyone else.
itoshi sae
sae treats it like a business decision at first. very calm. very intentional.
when asked why, he says, “because i wanted to.” that’s it. doesn’t elaborate unless pushed.
behind closed doors, though? he thought about it for a long time. the itoshi name is heavy. expectations, comparisons, history.
taking your name feels like choosing peace.
his family reaction is… tense, but controlled. they don’t like it, but sae has been living life on his own terms for years now. this just confirms it.
rin takes it as sae making a clean break. doesn’t comment, but there’s mutual understanding there.
teammates joke that he’s “whipped.” sae just smirks and says nothing, which somehow makes it worse for them.
the media frames it as a power move. “sae rejects tradition,” “sae itoshi redefines masculinity.” sae couldn’t care less.
what he does care about is the way your name sounds when announcers say it. how it feels when he signs contracts with it. how it ties his future to yours instead of his past.
he takes pride in it quietly, confidently. no defensiveness. no regret. just certainty.
nagi seishiro
nagi agrees immediately.
not because he didn’t think about it, but because to him it’s simple. you’re his person. so why wouldn’t he take your name?
when reo asks him if he’s sure, nagi just blinks and goes, “yeah. it’s easier.”
the public loses their mind. everyone assumes reo convinced him or that he doesn’t understand the significance.
but nagi understands. he just doesn’t care.
his family is mostly confused, but chill about it. as long as he’s happy and still eating properly, they’re fine.
teammates tease him relentlessly. nagi just shrugs and says he likes how your last name sounds better.
the pride comes later. when he realizes how permanent it is. how it means he chose you over convenience, over expectations.
he starts correcting people when they get it wrong. gently, but firmly. that’s when everyone knows he’s serious.
sometimes he stares at his jersey with the new name and feels… warm. doesn’t have words for it. just knows he made the right choice.
mikage reo
reo makes it a statement.
he announces it with a smile, hand laced with yours, fully aware of how shocking it’ll be. the mikage name is massive.
his parents are stunned. not angry, just genuinely surprised. they expect him to pass on the family name, the legacy.
reo handles it gracefully. explains that legacy isn’t just inheritance, it’s what you build. and he’s building his life with you.
nagi is completely unfazed. says it suits him. reo almost cries.
the media explodes. rich boy takes wife’s name? feminists love him. traditionalists hate him. reo thrives in the chaos.
he’s openly proud of it. posts about it. corrects reporters. laughs when people act shocked.
but in private, he admits it felt scary. letting go of something so ingrained. trusting that love is enough.
taking your name feels like choosing authenticity over expectation. like proving he’s more than a heir.
every time he introduces himself with your last name, there’s a softness in his smile that wasn’t there before. because for once, he chose something purely for himself.
bachira meguru
bachira thinks it’s the coolest thing ever. like genuinely. the second you jokingly ask, “what if you took my last name?” he lights up like you just suggested finger painting on the moon.
he tells people with zero hesitation. “oh yeah! i’m meguru [your last name] now!” like it’s a new art project he’s obsessed with.
his mom absolutely adores it. she says names are meant to change and grow, just like people, and bachira eats that up. suddenly he’s framing it as something poetic.
teammates are confused because bachira didn’t even pause before agreeing. isagi asks if he thought about it. bachira tilts his head and goes, “yeah. it made me happy.”
the media spins it as “bachira rejects tradition for love,” but bachira doesn’t even read the articles. he’s too busy doodling your shared initials everywhere.
he takes pride in it in the most bachira way: saying your last name out loud just because he likes how it feels in his mouth.
he says it makes him feel more connected to you, like you’re creating something colorful and weird and uniquely yours together.
sometimes he jokes that he joined your team now. he’s not joking as much as he pretends to be.
shidou ryusei
shidou does it because he wants to. full stop.
when people ask why, he laughs loud and sharp and says, “because i married her. she’s mine.”
he doesn’t care about tradition, legacy, or public opinion. the only thing that matters is that the name ties him to you permanently.
his family (what little contact there is) barely reacts. shidou never cared what they thought anyway.
teammates are half-shocked, half-terrified by how intense he is about it. he gets aggressive if anyone implies it makes him “less of a man.”
“you ever loved someone hard enough to rewrite yourself?” is the closest thing to an explanation he gives.
the media goes feral. shidou ryusei taking his wife’s name is treated like some radical, rebellious act. shidou eats it up.
he takes pride in it loudly. introduces himself with your last name like a challenge.
to him, it’s not submission. it’s possession and devotion all wrapped together. he chose you, and he wants the world to choke on that fact.
karasu tabito
karasu pretends it’s not a big deal, which means it’s a huge deal.
he’s very casual when he brings it up. “yeah, i’m taking her name. makes sense.”
people think there’s some hidden motive. there isn’t. he just hates outdated traditions and loves annoying people who cling to them.
his family is surprised, but not upset. they know karasu doesn’t do anything without thinking it through.
teammates try to tease him, but karasu shuts it down with logic so sharp it hurts. points out how arbitrary last names are anyway.
the media frames him as “progressive” and “intellectual.” karasu rolls his eyes.
what he doesn’t say out loud is that taking your name feels like choosing partnership over ego.
he takes pride in it quietly, smugly. loves correcting people when they assume otherwise.
sometimes he smirks and says, “she kept hers. i upgraded.” and leaves everyone speechless.
kaiser michael
kaiser makes it a spectacle.
he announces it himself, fully aware of how insane it sounds. the kaiser name is iconic, feared, worshipped.
ness nearly short-circuits. “you’re… giving up the name?” kaiser just smiles.
the media explodes. people assume it’s a power play, a psychological move, a manipulation tactic.
in truth? it’s control, but not in the way they think.
kaiser chooses your name because he chose it. because it was his decision, free of the past that hurt him.
his dad is furious. kaiser could care less (it’s not like he talks to him anymore anyway). he’s already built himself into something untouchable.
teammates are confused by how calm and certain he is about it. no arrogance, just confidence.
he takes pride in it like a trophy he earned. signs it with flourish. wears it like armor.
in private, he admits your name feels like a rebirth. like proof that he isn’t owned by his past anymore.
ness notices the difference immediately. he respects you even more for it.
ness alexis
ness is terrified at first. he worries people will laugh, that they’ll think he’s weak.
but when you smile at him and say you want him to choose what makes him happy, something in his chest loosens.
he takes your name carefully, reverently. like it’s fragile.
his family is shocked, but gentle about it. they ask if he’s sure. ness says yes, for once without hesitation.
the media barely pays attention compared to kaiser, which honestly suits him.
teammates don’t tease him much. there’s something sincere about the way he holds onto the decision.
he takes pride in it softly. corrects people politely. smiles every time he hears it.
being your husband, sharing your name, makes him feel chosen instead of useful.
kaiser notices. says nothing. but the respect is there, too.
I CANT STOP LOOKING AT HER TI-TI-TI— FACE！ft. rin itoshi
suggestive themes. established relationship. shy rinrin.
rin itoshi was many things. he was a horror addict. a fantastic football player. a brother. he’s beyond that of many, but.. there was one thing he wasn’t. there wasn’t many things he couldn’t find himself talented at, but that doesn’t mean that he’s perfect. there’s a good few things he could think of that just weren’t suited for him—one of them was being a boyfriend.
he was completely, and quite obviously new at this factor of life. never once had the infamous younger brother of the football prodigy ever been in a relationship. his life revolved around football, of being the best—of beating his elder brother. he told himself plenty of times before that he had no time to have a relationship, no time to take on the burden. he couldn’t escape from it’s grasp, however, as love found it’s way to his heart painfully sooner than he’d expected, nor wanted.
and it was you. it was you who had him flushing at the tips of his ears, you who had his heart hammering out of his chest, you who had him stuttering over his words when all he wanted to do was give you back your pencil you’d dropped in the middle of class. it was you who made him hopelessly fall in the warm blossoms of young love.
and unfortunately for him, he was facing new problems that he couldn’t find solutions for. one of them being his self control. he always thought he had spectacular self control before you came along.
but now that you’re here, he can’t seem to stop himself from these urges he keeps getting. these urges that gives him the need to constantly have his hands on your body, to constantly check up on you, to constantly be near you. he tried to push them away, but god, these feelings were fatal.
the more he pushed them away, the more the back of his head muttered for him to text you, to suddenly show up at your house with flowers, to give you his spare jersey so he can have the pleasure of watching you cheer for him in his jersey in his games.
one of his main problems at the current moment was staring. he had a bad habit of pathetically staring and acting innocent, as if you don’t know where his eyes keep traveling. he’ll deny it with his life, but you saw the way his cheeks flushed as he tried to keep his eyes off of your chest when he saw your cleavage in that pretty, low cut tube top.
he did everything, he tried working out, playing with fidget toys, taking a nap, but god his brain wouldn’t shut off. it was like it engineered itself all of a sudden to think solely about you and your body and it just wouldn’t shut off.
getting up from where he was pathetically staring at the ceiling on the couch, he tried redirecting his mind to anything other than you once again, his mind racing with—
“rinnie!”
oh just kill him already— make the suffering end.
“what’re you doinggg? it feels like you’ve been avoiding me all day..”
“nothing. trying to nap.” but his jaw was tight, his fists were clenching at his trousers, and his eyes were averting to anywhere but you.
you knew this man too well. scarily well.
“rin. what’s so interesting on the other side of this room that’s making you look at it and not me?”
...
silence. he was so fucked.
the clock on the wall ticking repeatedly was louder than the silence the both of you shared, sweat building on rin’s forehead as he tried desperately to keep his cool, to cling to what was left of his dignity.
and, suddenly—like clockwork, he spoke up just as his head snapped in your direction, his head tilted up to look at you from where he was sitting, as if to avoid seeing what was below.
“...nothing. i’m not looking at the wall—”
“...rin— i’m slouching and leaning against the couch, that you’re sitting on, and your tall ass is looking up. are there birds flying above me that i don’t know about?”
“...”
then a loud gulp.
it was then that you noticed how he was blinking incessantly, his pupils going from down to up with each blink, trying to hide the way he kept looking.
oh. so that’s what it was.
“..rinrin, you’re not acting like yourself.. is something bothering you?” your voice suddenly found itself expressing your words in a new tone, a small smile gracing your lips.
“w-well, it’s.. it’s not really—”
“no, no, don’t worry— come here!”
your smile grew wider as you’d wrapped your arms around his neck, one hand reaching up to pet him and toy with his hair as you’d pushed his face into your chest. completely on purpose.
his brain short-circuited. it was safe to say he needed a reboot. maybe a repair.
his body was rigid, his breathing shallow and coming out in short, slow huffs. he didn’t move, didn’t say a word—but wrapped his arms around you in return. smothering his face into your cleavage like a needy child seeking affection from their mother.
“...yeah. something is wrong actually. i just need a stay like this— for a little while..”
pushing his face more into your chest, you patted him on the head with a cheeky smile, mumbling back in that sugar-sweet tone, “for a little while, hmm.. anything to make you feel better, rinnie.”
he was doomed.
૮(ྀི∩˃ ˕ ˂∩)ྀིაㅤㅤwant to be tagged in more content like this？then please consider joining my taglist！
starring — Vivien Hugo, Shidou Ryusei, Godwin Kuso, Michael Kaiser, Julien Loki, Bunny Iglesias, Alexis Ness
content + warnings — smau. crack. very suggestive. mentions of sex. fem reader implied in most of them. probably ooc cus i made this only for fun. — bllk! boys send you a video of them hip thrusting your weight while at the gym
an — i did this half asleep (plus im nawt english) so if you see any mistakes, dont mention it........ty....
the shuffling of sheets is the first thing you hear as you wake up. then, you can feel a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you tightly against a firm body, caging you in a secure hold.
"vivian..." you groan groggily, your body weakly protesting at the change of position.
as you try to roll back into your previous one, vivian whimpers petulantly and tightens his grip, squeezing you against him. his face is buried into your chest, his legs intertwining with yours in order to make it impossible for you to escape his hold.
"why would you move away from me...?" your clingy boyfriend mumbles sleepily. "you stopped hugging me when you were sleeping. do you hate me?"
a sigh escapes your lips at his childish behavior. when vivian feels your body relax between his arms, signaling that you have given up on fighting against his hug, he puts great effort into the task of erasing every single space between your bodies, almost like he is trying to merge you two together.
"how can one be so clingy?" you sigh softly, though your fingers move to thread his hair in a soothing motion.
"i'm not clingy", vivian denies immediately. "we're just bound to be together. accept your fate".
"there is a difference between being together and trying to break my ribs".
"you really have no willingness whatsoever", he mumbles against the skin of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of sleepy kisses there until they reach your collarbone. "you should not remain that unbothered by the man destined to be with you showering you with affection".
"the thing is, i'm not" you reply. "you bother me a lot".
vivan lets out a humorless huff before pulling back and glaring at you. his eyes are two big orbs, two deep pools of black ink that look like they'd swallow you whole if you blink. a small crease appears between his brows, his unfairly long eyelashes curling upwards out of displeasure.
"that is not true", your boyfriend states, his lips frowning into a half pout. though, his eyes search yours, a hint of uncertainty simmering just under the surface of his confident act. "i know that's not true".
you can feel your heart melt as vivian stares at you longer with his puppy eyes, his fingers loosening their hold on you.
"i mean" he shrugs, "if you have enough of me, go ahead and defy your destiny".
his eyes dart away from yours and he pulls his hands back, his legs leaving yours in order to roll onto his other side, his back facing you now. and here he is: your dramatic and childish boyfriend.
"are you ignoring me?" you ask, failing to hold back a chuckle as you do so.
"no", vivian grumbles. "i'm finally giving you the space that you wanted so badly".
"come on, you're ridiculous".
no answer.
then, he turns back around and comes back between your arms, whimpering like a baby. "i can't go against fate. please hug me, name..."
"caving in already?" you grin at his pathetic, needy act. "i thought you were giving me space?"
vivian's lips curve downward and he buries his face in your chest, his large hands holding your waist tenderly, careful not to break your ribs, as you put it. "i'm not anymore. give me affection or i die".
you barely stifle a laugh at his antics, but hug him back anyway. you can feel his steady breath against your upper chest, his soft hair tingling your chin, the muscles of his arm comfortably settled around your waist, cradling you close.
"you don't get to move anymore", vivian states sulkily as he pins your legs between his.
"what if i want to get up?" you hum, hands getting lost in his thick hair again.
"why would you want to get up?"
"to go to the bathroom?"
your boyfriend thinks about it for a moment, before pulling you closer to his warm body. "just don't".
the sigh you let out is not even registered by vivian, who proceeds to close his eyes and rest his cheek against your chest with a satisfied groan. you can't even be mad at him. his angel face while he sleeps has always been your weakness.
"i love you, you big, big baby" you mutter against the top of his head, your lips leaving a kiss there as your arms wrap comfortably around his neck. he snuggles closer, effectively getting rid of whatever space there was between your bodies.
"je t'aime", vivian whispers back, lips grazing your collarbone as he drifts back to sleep.
and you just lay there in the early morning, cradled in the arms of the big, clingy mess that is the love of your life.
Summary: Mourning dove hidden under the leaves and singing cricket in the tall grass. French countryside in the morning and Hugo. That mix well. "Can you hear my heart?"
Tag/Warning: Fluff, fluff and fluff.
a/n: Morocco is playing against France tonight, I’m shaking. Here 'Et si tu n’existais pas' by Joe Dassin.
──── ୨୧ ────
"Can you hear the mourning dove moping?"
Feet crushing the grass dried up by the blazing summer sun, the gentle morning breeze rustling the trees’ leaves in bewitching synchrony.
In the vastness of the meadows, sheltered under the timid shadows, cows were resting peacefully. Their tails swinging from time to time.
Lost in that fragment of tranquility, you didn’t answered his question right away.
Etching that seemingly insignificant moment into your memory simply because he stood behind you.
"I usually enjoy them from my bed," you admitted, turning around only to find him looking at you rather than at the cows.
Devoid of everything and yet radiant with everything, his dark gaze bore the traces of something unmistakable.
Something that changed every time his gaze fell upon you. A different love for every time he looked at you.
With his hiking backpack filled with all kind of stuff, he looked like a little schoolboy on a field trip.
His eyes squinting because of the rising sunshine and his skin still bearing the trace of the sunscreen he insisted upon wearing.
"At least now you're fully awake," he teased, knowing well he had to pull you out of bed this morning. "Aren’t you?"
Yesterday on the phone, half asleep, you promised him you’d go with him on his little trip to the countryside.
The kind of thing he loved to do when he had a day off and knew you didn’t have anything planned.
"Hugo," warning him not to go too far by simply saying his name.
You still were groggy after all.
The French countryside was a blend of colors that came together in almost perfect harmony.
The blue of the sky mingled so well with the thousands of stars that carpeted the ground. Flowers as far as the eye could see, in colors you wouldn’t even believe were natural.
Like a painter who saw the colors of the day come to life beneath his fingers, he would always pick some out for you.
The most beautiful ones, only the kinds that reminded him most of you, before gently tucking them into your hair.
"You’re beautiful," he breathed, arranging them from the tip of his fingers. Delicate and tender.
This man was ridiculously romantic; even his most mundane gestures turned into declarations of love that transcended the very concept of love itself.
"If you didn't exist, I'm not even sure I'd know what love is," whispered as if a secret, yet making your heart pound as if being seared with a red-hot iron.
"Wait. Are you quoting Joe Dassin?"
"No," he looked away. He was guilty.
But you'd never hold it against him: he was just a lovesick fool in his own way.
The chaotic shapes of the farm fields were dotted here and there with old buildings. Ruins he loved to visit, each of them carrying a story that was carved in its stone.
Holding your hand, he looked over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t stepped on the shards of glass.
"Be careful," he advised, as if you ever wanted to mount pile of gravel in the first place.
"Hugo, what are we doing anyway?"
"You’ll see."
You hated it when he acted so mysterious, because the result was always worth it, and you inevitably felt guilty for not trusting him.
"I bet it has something to do with World War Two."
Again, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes carrying that glimmer of fierceness, as if he were offended that you could read him so easily.
And pretending nothing was wrong in the face of your perceptive remark was easier than admitting that he loved the way you saw him.
"Watch out… I spotted a grass snake slithering through the rubble," he huffed, feeling your hand tighten around his arm.
Yelping at the slightest suspicious noise, he also secretly loved it when you cried out for him to come save you. It was his twisted destiny, in a way.
"Why would you say that?!"
Climbing to the second floor was certainly not a good idea, given the condition of the beams.
But if the floor gave way beneath your feet, all you had to do was pull him in your fall. And as you watched him lead the way, you smiled to yourself at the thought.
Before you could mention your plan out loud, he stopped, stepping aside to let you admire for yourself.
A dilapidated room that still carried the scars of a war that should never have invaded these four walls.
A rusty wrought-iron bed stood in a corner, faded wallpaper hung weary on the walls, but a bright light that didn’t belong here shone through.
Those weathered bricks, which had seen better days and once encapsulated a story, were marred by a gaping hole.
A makeshift balcony overlooking a sparkling river, its water meandering quietly among the few rocks jutting from the earth.
The only sound echoing across the grove a chorus of chirping crickets. Deafening at moments, yet comforting.
"Paratroopers had been given 'cricket toys' to communicate with each other, but there were so many real crickets in the area that the soldiers couldn't tell whether there were other troops on the ground or if it was just a swarm of insects."
His explanation aligns with the culprits of these hallucinations. So ironically that it made your lips curl into a smile.
Through the foliage, the sun’s rays pushed their way timidly through, their irregular patterns coating the water with thousands of tiny diamonds.
It was mesmerising, the grass stalks bending over the water just as a child would.
"It was a stronghold of allies," he explained and you finally figured out why he'd brought you here. "A vast majority of the 82nd Airborne 507h missed their drop zone in Amfreville and landed in the bushes."
His voice sounded gentler than usual when he offered you bit of his knowledge, his hand softly sliding to the small of your back, keeping it close just in case.
"How can you learn all those facts when you spend your days staring at blank pages?"
You glanced back, noticing once again that he wasn't even looking at the landscape in front of him. Seemingly unable to tear himself away from staring at your back.
"Sometimes I read—you know, real words that form sentences."
"I’m impressed, Hugo. Really."
"Look," your gaze followed the tip of his finger as he pointed to the other bank, all the way to a clearing.
There, in the light that had now broken through more clearly, on the lookout for the slightest movement in the foliage, stood a fawn.
Her size didn’t quite convey all the wonder she stole from you; her frail legs just as delicate as the attention you’d given her from afar.
Your eyes overflowed with the same sparkle you’d have when you looked at him. Exactly the same as on those lazy mornings when you’d tug at him so he would stay in bed.
"A fawn," you whispered in awe, your hand slipping into his without you even realizing it.
And when she ran away, leaving you brooding in cathedral-like silence, he gently took you by the hand.
Descending the stone stairs that plunged into the river like a confession of time’s relentless passage. The thick, velvety moss submerged beneath the crystal-clear water vaguely reminded you of the way his hair stirred when he swam.
"Hugo, I’m going to ruin my pants."
He hadn't wasted any time; his silhouette already reflected on the water, broken up by the ripples on the surface. His socks already soaked by the icy water.
"Climb on my back," and he didn't think twice—to him, it was only natural to offer you a solution to each of your problems.
His backpack slid down onto his stomach, and you were the one who replace it. Shyly, a little embarrassed, you climbed up, barely daring to adjust your position.
Terrified that because of you, he might slip and fall. You were anything but calm when his hands slid beneath your thighs—warm and soft even through the fabric.
"I'm sorry, Hugo," you whispered to him, your forehead resting against his back. "I really am a burden."
He breathed in sharply, his fingers anchored in your flesh. Impregnating it with a warmth equal to that of the sun.
"Tell me, can you hear my heart?"
And his heart—that was all you could hear.
Pounding so hard that it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if it were to burst free from its bony cage.
In the crook of your ear, it echoed so loudly that, all on its own, it was shouting its love to you.
"Yes, Hugo, I can," you straightened up slightly, just enough to press your lips against the nape of his neck. "I love you, too."
Even if the cows’ mooing softened your soul. That the chirping crickets delighted you. And that the wind whistling through the leaves soothed you.
Your favorite sound in the morning was, without the slightest bit of doubt, the beating of his heart.
⭑ TAGS/WARNINGS: x reader (romantic), smau, crack, swear words, sex/suicide jokes, relationship up to interpretation, cringe, reader is a little harsh, ooc
⭑ WORD COUNT: x
notes at the end
!! PLEASE DON’T COPY OR FEED MY WORK TO AI !!
𖦹°‧ ALEXIS NESS
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𖦹°‧ EITA OTOYA
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── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𖦹°‧ TABITO KARASU
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𖦹°‧ MICHAEL KAISER
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𖦹°‧ VIVIAN HUGO
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𖦹°‧ BUNNY IGLESIAS
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
⭑ DIVIDERS: by @/huraxy-dividers
⭑ JUNII’S NOTES: i’m gonna spam some bllk smaus for a while, at least till my writing block goes away, then i will finally post longer formats, pls bear with me 😞
If you had known coming to watch your boyfriend’s game would lead to this, then you seriously would’ve thought twice about coming.
You see, Sae really liked it when you went to his games, but he never asked you out loud – all he ever did was throw a (his) jersey your way or message you with the info about the match, like he was expecting you to already know what he wanted without him needing to say it – and it always worked. You always understood what he meant, and how important it was for him to have you in all the matches you were able to attend.
So, to have him actually ask you to come – with a very tight hug from behind while you cooked breakfast and a groggy “You coming, right Amor?” – you should’ve known something different from the normal was happening.
“And Itoshi Sae gets a red card! He’s expelled from the match!”
You wanted to disappear. To turn into smoke. Because how else were you supposed to react to your boyfriend and your ex fighting because of you in the middle of a game with sold out tickets?
“And it seems Bunny Iglesias, who Sae just punched in the face, just got one too! It’s an ‘El Classico’, ladies and gentlemen! Everybody is on the edge!”
The commentators were not helping your case. Of course, you knew Real Madrid x Barcelona was one of the most heated rivalries in Spanish football, but Bunny and Sae were making everything pretty damn worse!
You could clearly see Bunny looking at you in the stands and smirking, while Sae was being held back by his teammates every time your ex said anything. You couldn’t really hear what they were saying from your seat, but judging from Sae’s expression, it wasn’t really a polite or friendly conversation.
Thankfully, Sae was able to calm down – after lots of begging from Luna and his other teammates – and was already exiting the stadium. You quickly got up to meet him in the dressing room, only to stop when Bunny screamed your name. In that moment, all the eyes were on you – especially Bunny’s and Sae’s – but all you could feel was your own face burning up from the utter shame you were experiencing. Then, like the little prick he is, Bunny Iglesias lifted up his hand, put it near his ear in a telephone shape and mouthed “Call me.”
When Sae ran back towards the field and punched Bunny in the face again after what he said, you really wished you had never dated a football player.
haiii, ik ur trying to clear drafts and such so pls take ur time and get to this whenever u can <33 i loved ur fic on bllk boys seeing ur sh scars and reassuring/loving on reader, i was wondering if youd be comfortable doing smth similar but with ng11 + scars on their thighs rather than their wrists (yes teddy can come too) tyy ml
❥ ּ֯ ┆ ꒰ the beauty of scars ꒱┆new gen 11 x fem! reader┆tw; sh scars mentioned
michael kaiser 𝜗ৎ
michael wasn’t the type to pretend something did not exist just to make someone feel better.
if he noticed something, he noticed it, and if it mattered to the person he loved, then it mattered to him too. the first time he caught a glimpse of the faint scars stretching across your thighs, there wasn't any surprise on his face, no awkward silence, and definitely no pity.
his gaze simply lingered for a brief second before returning to you as if nothing about you had changed.
because to him, nothing had. you, however, had been so used to hiding them that even wearing shorts around him made your stomach twist with worry.
every time you sat beside him, your hands would unconsciously tug the fabric lower, trying to cover as much skin as possible before he could look.
michael noticed that habit almost immediately. he noticed how your smile became smaller whenever your scars were visible, how your shoulders stiffened if his hand rested a little too close to them, and how you'd subtly shift away whenever you caught him glancing in that direction, convinced he was silently judging every line left behind.
instead of pointing it out right away, he gave you time. michael wasn't always patient with the rest of the world, but with you, he found himself slowing down without even realizing it.
one lazy afternoon while the two of you were stretched across the couch together, your legs resting over his lap as he absentmindedly played with your fingers, the blanket slipped just enough to expose your thighs. before you could panic and pull it back into place, one of his hands gently settled against your leg, warm and steady.
he didn't rush after you when your muscles instinctively tensed beneath his touch. instead, his thumb slowly traced over the skin, barely brushing across one of the faded marks with such unbelievable gentleness that it almost made your chest ache.
there was no hesitation in him, no discomfort, only quiet affection, like he was memorizing every part of you without separating the pieces you loved from the ones you struggled to accept.
he tilted his head slightly when he noticed you refusing to meet his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against one of the scars without making a show of it.
then another, and another, until you couldn't stop staring at him with wide, watery eyes. michael looked back up at you almost amused by your expression, lifting an eyebrow as if he couldn't understand why you looked so shocked.
to him, these weren't flaws that needed to be ignored or hidden away. they were simply a part of your body, and your body was someone he adored with all the selfish devotion he was capable of giving.
"you always try to hide them," he murmured quietly, his voice unusually soft compared to his usual teasing tone.
"why?" when you mumbled something about them being ugly, his smile disappeared almost instantly, replaced with a look that was surprisingly serious. he gently cupped your face, making sure you couldn't look away this time. "don't decide what's ugly for me."
his words stayed with you long after that moment.
whenever you apologized for them, he'd stop you before you could even finish the sentence, almost looking offended that you thought he wanted an apology in the first place. sometimes, while the two of you watched movies or simply laid together after long days apart, his fingers would absentmindedly draw lazy circles over your thighs without avoiding the scars once.
every now and then he'd press another small kiss against them simply because he could, treating them no differently than kissing your forehead or your hands.
eventually, without either of you realizing when it happened, you stopped pulling your shorts down every few minutes. you stopped covering yourself with blankets whenever you sat beside him. you stopped flinching whenever his eyes wandered. not because the scars disappeared, but because michael had spent so much time showing you they never changed the way he looked at you.
in his eyes, they had never taken away your beauty, never made you any less deserving of affection, and never became something he had to overlook in order to love you.
they were simply yours, and because they were a part of you, he accepted them with the same unwavering confidence he accepted everything else, making it impossible not to slowly believe him when he reminded you, over and over again, that there had never been anything wrong with you to begin with.
sae itoshi 𝜗ৎ
he wasn't overly expressive, nor was he the type to shower someone with constant reassurance through endless words.
instead, everything he felt showed through the small things he did without thinking, the quiet habits that became impossible to miss once someone knew him well enough.
that was why, when you constantly adjusted the hem of your shorts whenever the two of you were together, or chose oversized clothes even on warm days, sae noticed long before you ever mentioned it.
he noticed the way your hands lingered over the fabric, how you instinctively crossed your legs whenever he looked in your direction, and how conversations became just a little quieter whenever the faded scars scattered across your thighs were visible.
he never asked about them immediately. if they were something difficult to talk about, then forcing the conversation would only make you retreat further, and sae had never believed trust could be rushed.
it wasn't until one day while the two of you were relaxing at home that the topic finally found its way between you.
the two of you sat together on the couch after a long day, neither paying much attention to the tv quietly playing in the background. you had absentmindedly tucked one leg beneath the other, forgetting for just a moment to keep the faded marks hidden. the second you realized, you immediately reached for the blanket to pull it over yourself.
before you could finish, sae's hand gently rested against your knee, stopping the movement without using any force. he didn't say anything at first. he simply looked at you with the same calm expression he always carried, almost as though he couldn't understand why there was such a desperate need to hide.
when you quietly admitted that the scars weren't something worth looking at, sae's expression softened in a way only those closest to him would ever notice.
he let out a small sigh before lightly brushing his thumb across your knee, never making an effort to avoid the faded lines beneath his touch.
"you're acting like they change something," he said simply. "they don't." there wasn't any dramatic speech behind those words, no attempt to say exactly what you wanted to hear. it was simply the truth as he saw it.
to sae, they were another part of the person he loved, no different from your smile, your hands he had held countless times, or your quiet presence beside him after a long day. pretending the scars didn't exist would only make them seem shameful, and he refused to treat them that way.
after that conversation, little moments began happening naturally. whenever the two of you sat together, his hand would rest comfortably against your thigh while the two of you talked, his thumb absentmindedly moving back and forth without avoiding the scars once.
whenever you instinctively tried to tug your shorts lower, sae would quietly catch your wrist for a brief second before letting go, meeting your eyes with the same calm, unwavering expression. "stop hiding," he'd murmur. "you don't have to."
he never made your scars the center of every conversation, nor did he constantly remind you that you were beautiful.
instead, he treated them with complete normalcy. there were no lingering stares filled with pity, no awkward pauses, and no careful avoidance whenever they happened to be visible. eventually, afternoons passed without you thinking to cover them anymore.
the two of you would sit together on the couch exactly as you always had, your legs stretched out comfortably while sae quietly read whatever book happened to be in his hands, absentmindedly resting one hand against your thigh as though nothing about those old marks had ever deserved a second thought.
and somehow, that quiet certainty accomplished what endless reassurance never could. without realizing it, you slowly began to feel more comfortable in your own skin—not because the scars disappeared, but because someone who rarely wasted words had made it clear through every small action that they had never changed the way he looked at you.
bunny iglesias 𝜗ৎ
it didn't take long for him to realize there was always a moment of hesitation whenever you wore shorts during warm weather, or how a blanket somehow found its way over your legs even when the room wasn't cold.
every time attention drifted a little too close to the faded scars scattered across your thighs, your smile would grow noticeably smaller. bunny never teased you, never asked questions in front of anyone else, and never acted as though he hadn't noticed.
he simply waited until the right moment, wanting the conversation to happen because it felt safe instead of forced.
that moment arrived one quiet afternoon while the two of you were relaxing together after a long day. music played softly in the background as the two of you sat on the floor of the living room, talking about nothing important while sharing snacks between yourselves.
somewhere in the middle of the conversation, you absentmindedly tried pulling your shorts lower over the faded marks before even realizing it. bunny noticed the movement almost immediately. instead of pretending not to see it, he gently reached over and rested a hand against your knee, stopping the nervous habit before you could continue.
there wasn't pity in his expression or concern that felt overwhelming.
there was only quiet understanding. "you don't have to do that around me," he said with a small smile, his voice softer than usual. "i've never looked at you any differently."
when you quietly admitted that the scars felt embarrassing, bunny looked genuinely confused for a second before letting out the smallest laugh, not because he found your feelings funny, but because he couldn't understand why someone he cared about so deeply believed there was something to hide.
he slowly brushed his thumb across the faded lines without hesitation, treating them no differently than the rest of your skin beneath his fingertips. "they're part of you," he murmured. "and i already decided i liked all of you a long time ago."
the words were simple, spoken without trying to sound poetic, yet they carried an honesty that was impossible to question. he wasn't trying to convince you that the scars were beautiful. he simply didn't believe they took anything away from you in the first place.
after that day, nothing dramatically changed between the two of you, and that was what made the biggest difference. bunny never turned your scars into a sensitive topic that needed constant reassurance. if they were visible, they were visible.
if they weren't, he never thought about them. whenever the two of you sat together watching movies or spending quiet afternoons doing absolutely nothing, his hand would naturally find its way to rest across your thigh, absentmindedly tracing slow circles while he listened to whatever story you were telling.
there was no hesitation in his touch, no careful effort to avoid the old marks, and no moment where he looked uncomfortable. every small action carried the same quiet message without needing to repeat it out loud.
over time, those little moments began to matter more than any speech ever could. you stopped instinctively pulling blankets over your legs, shorts no longer felt impossible to wear around him, and the nervous habit of trying to hide slowly faded until you barely noticed yourself doing it anymore. bunny never pointed those changes out or made a big deal about them.
he simply smiled whenever he noticed them, happy that you looked more comfortable than before. to him, your scars had never been something that needed fixing or ignoring. they were simply another part of you, and loving someone had never meant choosing only the easiest parts.
it meant accepting every piece without making them feel like they had to earn that acceptance, and bunny did exactly that every single day without expecting anything in return.
vivian hugo 𝜗ৎ
it had started out as something so small, almost unnoticeable, just your hand moving on its own whenever you sat beside hugo, always pulling at the hem of your shorts or making sure a blanket stayed over your lap even though the room wasn't cold, always finding little ways to keep your thighs hidden without thinking twice about it.
but hugo noticed because he noticed everything about you, especially the habits you never realized you had. he never brought it up right away, never asked questions that would make you feel cornered.
and he definitely wasn't the type to force conversations before you were ready, so instead he simply stayed patient, waiting until you were comfortable enough to let those walls down yourself.
the first time you stopped hiding was completely by accident. you had been curled up beside him after a long day, too tired to think about how you were sitting, and your shorts had ridden up enough for the faded scars across your thighs to finally be seen.
the second you realized, your whole body stiffened, your hands immediately moving to cover them before you could even think, embarrassment settling into your chest so quickly it almost hurt, but before you could apologize or move away.
hugo's hand gently caught your wrist, stopping you without using any force, his touch careful enough that it almost felt like he was asking for permission instead of taking it.
he didn't stare, didn't let his expression change into pity or surprise, and that alone made something inside you loosen. his thumb slowly brushed over the back of your hand before his eyes drifted down for only a moment, treating the scars with the same quiet normalcy he treated every other part of you, as though they weren't something ugly or shameful, but simply another piece of the person he loved.
with the smallest smile, he reached out, his fingertips barely grazing over the healed lines, so gentle that it almost tickled, as if he were afraid of making you uncomfortable even though they no longer hurt.
"these are still yours," he murmured softly, his voice calm enough to quiet every anxious thought racing through your head. "and you're still you."
there wasn't a single hint of disgust in his eyes, only warmth, only the same affection he always looked at you with. his hand rested against your thigh for a moment before he leaned forward, pressing the lightest kiss over the scars, not because he believed a kiss could erase them, but because he wanted you to know they had never changed the way he saw you.
he thought they weren't flaws to ignore or imperfections to pretend didn't exist. they were simply proof that you had lived through things you never should have had to, and somehow you were still here beside him.
when you looked away, unable to meet his eyes, hugo gently cupped your face until you finally glanced back at him, watching as he smiled in that quiet, reassuring way that always made everything feel a little less heavy.
he reminded you that you never had to hide around him, never had to apologize for parts of yourself that had already carried enough weight, and if there were days when you forgot that, then he would remind you as many times as it took.
whether those scars were visible or hidden beneath your clothes made no difference to him, because he had never fallen in love with perfect skin.
he had fallen in love with you, every part of you, and there would never be a version of you that he could love more than the one sitting beside him now.
teddy knight 𝜗ৎ
teddy had noticed the faint lines on your thighs long before you ever brought them up, but he never stared, never asked questions you clearly weren't ready to answer.
he never made you feel like you had to explain something so personal.
to him, they were simply another part of you, no different from the freckles on your face or the little habits he had grown so used to over time.
he understood that some things were carried quietly, and if you ever wanted to tell him the story behind them, he would listen without interrupting, without judging, and without trying to fix something that wasn't his to fix.
the first time you nervously tried to pull your clothes down to hide them after noticing his eyes drift in that direction, teddy gently stopped you before you could disappear into your own embarrassment. his expression stayed calm, warm, and completely free of pity, because pity was the last thing he wanted you to feel.
instead, he reminded you that you never had to hide from him, that nothing about those scars changed the way he saw you, and that they didn't erase everything else that made you who you were. if anything, he admired how much strength it must have taken to keep moving forward, even on the days when it felt impossible.
from that moment on, he made it his quiet mission to help you feel comfortable in your own skin again, never forcing confidence onto you, but patiently helping you find it yourself.
if you caught yourself covering your legs out of habit, he would gently remind you that you didn't owe anyone perfection.
if you became quiet after noticing someone glance your way, he'd naturally shift your attention somewhere else until the worry faded from your face. every small step forward felt like something worth celebrating to him, whether it was wearing shorts around the house or simply letting yourself exist without constantly thinking about your scars.
teddy never acted like they were something beautiful just for the sake of saying it, because he knew empty words didn't help.
instead, he loved you in ways that proved they never changed how much you meant to him, showing through every patient smile, every reassuring touch to your hand, and every quiet moment together that you were always enough exactly as you were.
julian loki 𝜗ৎ
julian had always been observant, noticing the smallest changes in your mood before you even realized they had become visible yourself, so it wasn't surprising that he had quietly noticed the scars on your thighs long ago.
he never brought them up out of curiosity, never let his eyes linger long enough to make you uncomfortable, and never treated them like they were something unusual.
they were simply a part of your story, one that belonged to you alone, and he respected that enough to wait until you were ready to let him into it instead of trying to force the conversation.
the day you hesitantly admitted how embarrassed you felt about them, expecting him to see you differently, julian's expression barely changed.
there was no shock, no awkward silence, and certainly no disappointment. he simply looked at you with the same calm warmth he always had, gently reminding you that nothing about those marks could change the way he cared for you.
he wasn't interested in pretending they didn't exist, because he knew ignoring them wouldn't make your feelings disappear, but he also refused to let them become the first thing you thought about whenever you looked at yourself.
after that, he became quietly reassuring in ways only someone as patient as julian could be.
whenever you instinctively reached to cover your legs, he'd casually rest a hand over yours before you could pull the fabric down, silently reminding you that you didn't have to hide around him.
if you became nervous before going somewhere that meant wearing clothes that showed your thighs, he never pressured you to be brave all at once.
he just encouraged every small step at your own pace, making sure you knew that confidence wasn't something you had to force overnight. on the days when your insecurities became louder than anything he could say, he stayed close without overwhelming you, letting his steady presence do most of the comforting.
over time, you realized he never loved you despite your scars, because that would mean they were something that needed forgiving.
he loved all of you without separating the easy parts from the difficult ones, and that simple, unwavering acceptance slowly became enough to quiet the voice in your head that insisted you had to hide yourself away.
don lorenzo 𝜗ৎ
at first, don lorenzo didn't think much about the scars on your thighs, not because he hadn't noticed them, but because he never understood why they should change anything between the two of you.
after everything he had been through growing up, after being treated like he was worthless simply because of how he looked and where he came from, scars had never been something that made a person less valuable in his eyes.
if anything, he knew better than most that the world could leave marks on people, and that surviving it was something to be respected, not hidden away.
he only realized how much they bothered you when you started pulling away anytime your legs were visible, quickly covering yourself the second you noticed him nearby, almost like you were expecting him to react with disgust. instead, he simply frowned, confused that you thought he ever could.
with that familiar grin returning to his face, he casually reminded you that if he thought a few scars were enough to change the way he saw someone, then he would've hated looking in the mirror years ago.
there wasn't a trace of mockery in his voice, only quiet honesty hidden beneath his usual carefree attitude, making it impossible to mistake his words as empty comfort.
from then on, he made sure you never felt like you had to shrink yourself around him.
whenever you started apologizing for your appearance or comparing yourself to people without scars, he'd immediately interrupt before those thoughts could grow any louder, refusing to let you speak about yourself so harshly.
he never acted like your scars were something magical or beautiful just to make you smile, because he knew that wasn't what you needed. instead, he treated them with complete normalcy, the same way he treated every other part of you, showing through his actions that they had never once affected how much he cared.
little by little, his effortless acceptance began rubbing off on you, and without even realizing it, you stopped reaching to hide your thighs every single time he walked into the room.
around lorenzo, there was never any pressure to be perfect, because he understood better than anyone that people weren't meant to be loved only after all their wounds had disappeared.
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