Saeswife1

Requests are open!!

[okqdmn]

Master list

A little spill never hurt anyone (Sae itoshi x single mom reader)

2. General head canons(Julian Loki, Charles Chevalier, Shidou Ryusei, and Vivien Hugo)

3. Boys with crushhh(Bunny Iglesias, Vivian Hugo, Leonardo Luna)

4. Fine ahhh (Sae Itoshi x fem professional soccer player)

5. Nonchalant dreadhead(Sae Itoshi x nonchalant reader)

6. Get pegged!(Julian Loki x Strapped Reader)

Inbox open!!!

Rules: I am open to writing about practically anything EXCEPT for the following: 1. Incest 2. S/A 3. beastiality 4. kinks that include absorbing human body waste Everything else is up for grabs! I also loveee femlock so feel free to make requests for reader x femlock

About me: Will always be a Blue Lock girl!!! I'm a Sae girl and a Julian girl. Mainly femlock though(I'm a proud girl kisser <3)

[sevarchive]

જ⁀➴ Charles and Hugo storms Loki’s apartment uninvited, only to find out about his secret girlfriend ♡

˚₊‧꒰ა Unbeknownst to many, JULIEN LOKI had exactly three rules when it came to visitors. Well, it wasn't because he had a deep-seated dislike for people or hated having company around. To put it simply, he just valued his privacy more than most. His apartment was one of the few places where he could escape the noise of his everyday life; It was quiet and entirely his, which was precisely why he preferred people not disturb that peace.

The first term to his rule was simple: do not show up unannounced. And then the second was even simpler: do not touch his things.

The third existed solely because of Charles Chevalier. If Charles was involved, assume the first two rules had already been broken.

For years, those rules had served him well. Today, however, they had been utterly, spectacularly obliterated.

“LOKI, I REALLY HAVE TO PEE.”

“No, you don't.”

“YES, I DO.”

“Charles, we literally passed three public bathrooms before landing here.” The moment the words left Loki's mouth, Charles immediately looked offended.

“And?”

“Why didn’t you use one of those three?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they're gross.”

“He's right,” Hugo chimed in and Loki let out a long, suffering groan, suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd found himself trapped in a conversation like this.

“Of course you'd say that.”

“I'm hungry and now I require sustenance,” Hugo replied calmly. “Today’s practice was inefficiently exhausting.”

“There it is.”

“I'm just saying,” Hugo shrugged. “If Charles happens to need a bathroom and your apartment happens to contain food, who are we to fight fate?”

“You two are unbelievable.”

“LOKIII!” Charles yelled, already trying to push past him. “STOP GATEKEEPING THE BATHROOM AND LET US IN! I'M ABOUT TO DIE!”

“I'm not gatekeeping the bathroom.”

“You literally are.”

“I'm gatekeeping my apartment.”

“Same thing!”

“Not even remotely the same thing.”

“LOKI—”

Loki pointed at both of them.

“Neither of you are getting in.”

“Wow,” Charles gasped, clutching his chest like he'd just been personally betrayed. “After everything we've been through.”

Loki rolled his eyes with the statement. But that was all it took. The moment his attention slipped for even a second, Charles darted past him.

“THANKS LOVE YOU—” He ducked under Loki's arm and sprinted inside.

“OH YOU LITTLE—!”

“SORRY CAN'T HEAR YOU—EMERGENCY.”

Before Loki could grab him, Charles bolted up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around, only to find Hugo calmly stepping inside as if none of that had just happened.

“I’m glad you didn’t overreact,” Hugo jokingly said, glancing toward the stairs, “now could you point me to the kitchen?”

And in his head, the thought came in right away. This is the worst decision I have ever made in my entire life. Why did I open the door. Now there's two unsolicited guests on my apartment.

“No.”

“I’m going to the kitchen.”

“You’re not.”

Hugo kept walking.

“Destiny has led me to your refrigerator.”

“You’re just hungry.”

“That's what the refrigerator wants you to think.”

Loki was already preparing himself to physically drag Hugo away from his kitchen when Hugo suddenly stopped.

"...Oh."

Loki immediately knew that tone.

It was the tone people used when they found something unexpected. Or better yet, someone. And while following Hugo's line of sight, Loki looked toward the living room.

And there, sitting on the couch, was you.

Curled up comfortably beneath a blanket, completely unaware of the chaos that had just barged through the front door, you glanced up from your phone at the sound of voices.

“Oh, you’re back—”

You paused when you noticed Hugo standing there.

“Oh. Hi.” Hugo blinked. Then, after a brief pause, cleared his throat to ask the most important question.

“Do you know where Loki keeps the snacks?”

Loki sighed.

“Hugo.”

You looked between the two of them, immediately sensing that you had walked into the middle of something.

“Uh...” Your gaze landed on Hugo. “Am I missing context here?”

Hugo looked completely serious.

“Yes,” he said. “The location of the snacks.”

“Sorry?”

A small crease formed between your brows. Hugo blinked once.

“...Aren't you the maid?” he asked. “I thought you'd know where they were.”

Loki closed his eyes, already refusing to engage with whatever direction this conversation was about to take. He genuinely didn’t have the energy to unpack it.

Before Hugo could add anything else and somehow make everything worse, a new voice suddenly echoed from upstairs.

“LOKIII!” Charles shouted. “WHERE DO YOU KEEP THE GOOD TOWELS?” His voice cut off abruptly, pausing to reassess his surroundings. Then his eyes landed on you.

“OHHHH. LOKI HAS A MAID?”

“NO—THE TWO OF YOU LISTEN.” Loki snapped, pointing between Charles and Hugo. “You are both completely misunderstanding the situation.”

He gestured toward you, clearly offended now, like the assumption itself was the real problem. A pause hung in the air, just long enough for the tension to build, Loki’s jaw tightening as he tried to find the right words without making things worse.

“…She is actually my girlfriend.”

The room short-circuited. Charles blinked once. Twice. Then made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a malfunction.

“YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

“Yes,” Loki said immediately, like it was the most obvious fact in the world, then added with a flat look, “she is standing right there. Do I need to start pointing things out for you, or are we good?”  

“YOU’RE LYING!”

“I’m literally not.”

Charles slowly turned toward you, as if you were the only stable point left in a suddenly collapsing reality. “Please tell me he’s joking—”

“He isn’t.”

Hugo, meanwhile, looked genuinely distressed, like reality had failed a basic verification check.

“I calculated the absence of your love life,” Hugo said calmly, as if he were stating a weather report. “Up until now, the model consistently predicted solitude as your long-term outcome.”

Loki slowly turned his head toward him.

“…I’m sorry?”

Hugo blinked, unbothered. “It was the most stable projection.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the statement to sink in. Charles immediately dropped onto the couch like his bones had decided they were no longer participating in reality.

“Now, now,” Charles said, pointing between the two of you like he was assembling evidence. “How did you two even meet? What was Loki like back then? And more importantly,” he gestured at Loki like this was the biggest mystery of all, “HOW DID HE PULL YOU?”

You then proceeded to tell Charles and Hugo bits of details like how you first kept running into Loki as kids in the same neighborhood, always at odd times and quieter corners of the city. How he never really talked much back then, just noticed things in passing, starting with small “hello”s whenever you passed each other, then slowing down just a little so those hellos turned into short conversations about nothing important. After that, it became walking the same way home on purpose, sharing snacks sometimes, and waiting a few extra minutes just in case the other showed up. Over time, it turned into something soft and unspoken, until it just felt natural to stay by each other’s side.

As you spoke, Charles kept reacting dramatically at every small detail, while Hugo went quietly still, staring at Loki like he was trying to reconcile the version he had built in his head with the very normal fact that he had apparently been in a long, steady relationship this entire time without anyone noticing.

You were still talking like it was just another part of the story when you added, “…We got engaged recently, actually.”

The room stopped instantly.

Charles jolted so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT LIKE IT’S A SIDE NOTE!”

You just continued smoothly, unfazed. “It felt right, though. We’ve known each other for so long that it didn’t really feel like a big decision. We just didn’t see the point in waiting forever to make it official.” As you spoke, your hand found Loki’s without hesitation, fingers slipping between his like it had always been the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t react, already used to it, only tightening his hold on yours in quiet ease, as if it had always been that way.

For a rare moment, even Charles and Hugo fell quiet, their chaos softening as they watched the two of you with something that almost resembled fondness, like they’d accidentally walked into something too soft to interrupt.

It lasted all of three seconds.

Then Charles leaned forward again. “Okay,” he said, pointing between you and Loki. “One more question. How did you even put up with Mr. Sonic over here?

Loki frowned, clearly offended. “Why is everyone acting like I’m difficult?”

All three of them turned to look at him at once, unblinking, and the weight of it made Loki’s frown deepen as he huffed a quiet, “…Continue.”

You only smiled at him, completely unbothered by the collective staring. “Honestly? He’s actually very easy.”

Loki visibly relaxed a fraction. “See?”

“—Because he’s terrified of me.”

The room detonated instantly. Charles nearly fell off the couch, Hugo made a choked sound into his cup, and Loki went still, turning slowly toward you like he had just been personally betrayed.

“I am not terrified.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m not.”

You only raised an eyebrow. And just like that, Loki looked away, exhaling through his nose like he had already lost the argument before it even started.

“…This is unfair,” he muttered under his breath, low and resigned, still not looking at you, like he already knew you had him wrapped around your fingers and there was no point pretending otherwise.

Charles snapped upright, pointing with shocking intensity. “OH MY GOD. HUGO DID YOU SEE THAT?”

“I saw it.”

“HE FOLDED. SPEEDY MCFEETFACE ACTUALLY FOLDED TO HIS GIRLFRIEND!”

“I hate both of you,” Loki said flatly, though it lacked any real heat.

Charles leaned back, satisfied. “Yeah yeah, say that now. We’re still coming to the wedding. Hey Hugo!” he suddenly perked up again, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something life-changing. “Dibs on best man!”

“…Sure,” Hugo added a second later, already looking mildly uninterested again. “I do not particularly care, but I am claiming it to prevent further discussion.”

Loki opened his mouth like he was about to shut the entire conversation down again, but you were faster. You gently squeezed his hand, leaned in close, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before brushing your lips near his ear.

“Sweetheart,” you whispered, soft enough that only he could hear, “we should definitely invite them. You won’t regret it. It’ll be fun… in a very loud, very chaotic way. But I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Loki paused, breath catching for half a second, then slowly exhaled like all his objections had just lost their momentum at once.

And just like that, Loki didn’t just gain two unexpected house visitors for the afternoon, but two equally unexpected wedding attendees who had already appointed themselves roles he absolutely did not approve of.

© sevarchive ➵ masterlist ʚɞ like/reblogs are appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[sevarchive]

content . . ৎ → in which you get possessive over them and they secretly love seeing you claim them ☆

ft. vivien hugo, sae itoshi, michael kaiser, julien loki, and bunny iglesias ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

˚₊‧꒰ა VIVIEN HUGO

The little bell above the sweets shop chimed as the two of you stepped out into the cool evening.

A paper bag full of pastries swung from your wrist while Hugo casually walked beside you, one hand tucked into his pocket. Even after dessert, the ridiculously tall midfielder somehow looked composed enough to be walking into a press conference instead of down a crowded street.

"You've been smiling ever since we left the café," you pointed out, glancing up at him with a teasing grin. "Something must've put you in a really good mood."

"Hm."

You nudged his arm lightly. "Is it because you're spending the afternoon with me..."

You watched him pause, as if he were genuinely considering your question.

"...Or because you finally got your favorite éclair?"

"The éclair made me happy."

You frowned dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him.

"And what about me?"

He turned his head to look at you, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

"You made today worth remembering."

You stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

"...You really have a talent for saying the sweetest things with the most unreadable face possible, don't you?"

"So I've been told."

Before either of you could continue walking, a wave of hushed squeals erupted a few feet away.

"Oh my gosh—that's Vivian Hugo!"

"He's even taller in person!"

"And he's so much more handsome than on TV..."

The group huddled together, practically vibrating with excitement as they debated who would approach him first. And after a brief round of panicked whispering, one of the girls finally stepped forward, her friends hiding behind her as moral support.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hugo?" she asked, trying not to stumble over her words. "We're really huge fans! We watched all of your matches, and... um... would it be alright if we got a picture with you?"

Hugo nodded once.

"Of course."

The girls immediately erupted into delighted squeals.

"I told you he'd say yes!"

"Oh my gosh, look at him..."

One of the girls clasped her hands together before blurting out, "This is so embarrassing to ask, but... do you happen to have a girlfriend?"

Her friends immediately gasped.

"Oh my god!"

"I'm so sorry—we tried to stop her!"

"I just had to know! He's ridiculously handsome!"

Before Hugo could answer, you slipped in beside him wearing a look that was clearly meant to be intimidating. To Hugo, however, it looked more like a cat proudly guarding its favorite sunspot.

"Sorry, everyone." You gestured toward him with your free hand. "This absurdly tall guy with an unhealthy addiction to éclairs is already spoken for."

You smiled brightly.

"By yours truly."

The girls stared for a beat.

"...Oh."

"Oh my gosh."

"Wait, that's actually so cute."

One of them laughed sheepishly, nudging her friend.

"Girls, let's give them some space."

"Yeah, we already got our picture. Let's not interrupt their date."

"Sorry for bothering you two!"

With a chorus of embarrassed giggles and quick apologies, they waved goodbye before disappearing down the street.

Hugo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh là là... Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You marched over, wrapped yourself around my arm, and looked at them like a cat proudly marking its territory."

You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "I was not marking my territory!”

"You looked incredibly pleased with yourself though. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were silently celebrating because you'd scared off the competition."

"...Well," you admitted after a brief pause, "they did leave. I'd call that a successful operation."

He studied your face for another second before quietly chuckling.

"...Come here."

Before you could ask why, both of his hands found your cheeks.

"V-Vivi! What are you doing?"

"I've been trying not to do this ever since you called me your absurdly tall sweet tooth."

"You can't just squish my cheeks because I embarrassed myself!"

"I'm doing it because you were adorable." Hugo said softly, finally letting go. "I just think you're unbearably cute whenever you get possessive over me."

You rubbed your warm cheeks, refusing to meet his eyes.

"...I'm never doing that again."

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"I sincerely hope that's not true."

˚₊‧꒰ა SAE ITOSHI

The little bell above the teahouse door chimed as Sae stepped inside, his gaze briefly sweeping across the familiar wooden interior. For the first time in years...Nothing had changed.

The elderly shop owner looked up from behind the counter before her eyes widened in recognition.

"...Sae-chan?"

Sae gave a small nod.

"It's been a while."

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, hurrying around the counter with a bright smile. "Look at you! You used to come in here with your little brother after practice, and now you're all over television." She clasped her hands together, looking him over proudly. "You've grown into such a fine young man."

"I've gotten taller."

"You certainly have." She laughed before suddenly narrowing her eyes. "Now, tell me... are you married yet?"

"...No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"A girlfriend, then?"

Sae sighed almost imperceptibly.

"...Why does every visit home turn into this conversation?"

"Because you're handsome!" she replied as though the answer were obvious. "If you don't have anyone, I know a lovely young lady whose mother comes here every Thursday. She's sweet, polite, and she's been asking if I'd ever met that football player from Kamakura—"

Before she could finish, you quietly stepped beside Sae, slipping your hand into his before intertwining your fingers.

You offered the shop owner a warm smile.

"I'm afraid your matchmaking services won't be needed today."

The elderly woman blinked.

"Oh?"

You glanced up at Sae before smiling just a little wider.

"This hometown celebrity has already been claimed."

The shop owner gasped, both hands flying to her cheeks.

"Oh! So that's why you came back looking so much happier!"

The shop owner disappeared into the kitchen with a cheerful hum, leaving the two of you by the counter.

A moment later, you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

"...Sae?"

He rested his chin lightly atop your head, his voice as calm as ever.

"Thank you. I was starting to think I'd have to sit through another round of matchmaking proposals."

You let out a soft laugh, relaxing against him.

"So that's why you let me interrupt? I was wondering why you looked so unbothered while I practically claimed you in front of her."

"I was hoping you'd do exactly that," he admitted without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "It's considerably more effective than rejecting every recommendation she has."

You tilted your head just enough to look back at him.

"So I'm your official anti-matchmaking strategy now?"

"The only one I need," Sae replied. "Besides... you looked rather cute getting possessive over me."

Your face immediately warmed.

"...Don't get used to it."

˚₊‧꒰ა MICHAEL KAISER

The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as you wandered past rows of freshly baked pastries, the warm scent of butter and sugar filling the air.

"I still can't believe this place is open," you murmured, eyeing the display case. "You talked about these rusks so much I was convinced they only existed in your memories."

Kaiser slipped his hands into his coat pockets, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"I have excellent taste, Liebling. Some things simply survive the test of time."

Just then, one of the bakery employees approached carrying a tray of neatly cut sample pieces.

"Good afternoon!" she greeted warmly before her eyes landed on Kaiser. There was a brief pause.

"...Oh."

Recognition flickered across her face.

"You're Michael Kaiser, aren't you?"

"The one and only."

Her smile widened almost instantly.

"I knew it! Welcome back!" She laughed nervously before holding the tray toward him. "We're handing out samples of our new honey rusks today. Please, have one—it's on the house."

You waited beside him, expecting the employee to extend the tray your way after offering Kaiser a sample.

She didn't.

Instead, she lingered in front of him with an eager smile, her entire attention fixed on the famous footballer standing before her.

"I really hope you like it," she said. "It's one of our newest recipes, and we've been recommending it to everyone today."

You glanced from the tray to her, then back again.

...I guess I'm invisible.

The faint pout that settled on your face didn't escape Kaiser.

His eyes flickered toward you for the briefest moment before a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He plucked a honey rusk from the tray, turned toward you without the slightest hesitation, and held it just beneath your lips.

"Open, Schatz."

You looked up at him, momentarily caught off guard.

"...You're feeding me?"

"I don't see anyone else I'd rather share it with."

Your cheeks warmed instantly. Aware of the employee still standing there, you hesitated for only a second before leaning in to take a bite. Kaiser watched with quiet satisfaction, then popped the remaining half into his own mouth as if the gesture required no explanation at all.

The employee blinked several times before an embarrassed laugh slipped past her lips.

"Oh... I'm so sorry." She pressed a hand to her forehead, mortified. "I completely misunderstood. I thought you were here alone—I didn't realize you two were together."

"It's alright," you replied with a reassuring smile as your hand naturally found Kaiser's forearm. "Don't take it personally. He has a habit of collecting attention wherever he goes."

The employee disappeared behind the counter with another apologetic smile, leaving the two of you alone beside the shelves lined with warm loaves and pastries.

No sooner had she walked away than Kaiser's arm found its way around your waist, drawing you effortlessly against his side. His shoulders gave the slightest shake as a quiet laugh escaped him.

"So..." He glanced down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Were you genuinely jealous over a complimentary bakery sample, Liebling?"

You looked up at him with an offended gasp. "I wasn't jealous. I was simply wondering why I was standing there like decorative furniture while you were being treated to free food."

"Oh?" He arched a brow, the corners of his lips lifting. "Then why did you cling to my arm the second she realized we were together?"

"Because she looked embarrassed," you defended, trying your best to sound convincing. "I was helping her recover from the awkwardness."

"How noble of you." His thumb absentmindedly traced small circles against your waist. "And here I was thinking you were reminding everyone that I'm your boyfriend."

"You already know you're my boyfriend. Everyone else was just... receiving the same information."

A satisfied grin spread across his face as he leaned down to press a quick kiss against your temple.

"My beautiful, sweet Liebling..." His blue eyes met yours, sparkling with unmistakable amusement. "Getting jealous over a complimentary bakery sample... I do hope you realize you've just made my day."

˚₊‧꒰ა JULIEN LOKI

The morning air carried just enough of a chill to make jogging pleasant. Beside you, Julien matched your pace with effortless ease, his breathing so steady it was almost insulting.

"You know," you said between breaths, "I refuse to believe you're actually running."

He glanced over with a faint smile. "I am."

"You passed three cyclists in the last five minutes."

"They were going rather slowly."

"They were on bicycles, Julien."

"They'll recover."

You laughed, giving his arm a light bump as the two of you rounded the next corner.

Just then, a young woman stepped out of a nearby café with a cardboard tray balancing two coffees in one hand and a paper bag of pastries tucked beneath the other. She looked up at the same moment Julien noticed her, both of them reacting a fraction too late.

"Oh!"

Before the drinks could topple, Julien was already moving. He caught the sliding coffee with one hand, steadied the paper bag with the other, and instinctively reached for the woman's arm to keep her from stumbling.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said at once, releasing her as soon as she regained her footing. "Are you alright?"

The woman blinked up at him, still trying to process what had happened.

"...Julien Loki?"

A small chorus of delighted gasps came from the nearby bench.

The elderly ladies who had been chatting moments ago were now watching the scene unfold with unconcealed interest.

"Oh, look at that..."

"He caught her before she fell."

"Mon Dieu, it's just like one of those romance dramas."

The poor girl's face turned scarlet.

You could practically see the imaginary opening credits rolling.

Absolutely not.

Suppressing a laugh, you walked over and slipped comfortably beside Julien, your hand finding his forearm as naturally as if it belonged there.

"I'm so sorry about that," you said with an apologetic smile. "My boyfriend has this unfortunate habit of forgetting that normal people can't react as quickly as he can. He was only trying to save your coffee."

The woman looked from your hand resting on Julien's arm to his face before letting out an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh! I... I'm sorry. I completely misunderstood."

"No harm done," you assured her. "I'm just glad nothing spilled."

One of the grandmothers smiled knowingly.

"So that's the girlfriend."

"I was wondering when she'd make her entrance."

After another round of apologies and relieved laughter, the woman excused herself, leaving the two of you to continue your jog as though nothing had happened.

You barely made it half a block.

"Eh bien..." Julien's voice was soft with amusement. "You were very quick to clarify that I was your boyfriend."

You kept your eyes ahead, pretending the conversation didn't interest you.

"I was preventing a misunderstanding."

"Were you?" He glanced at you, a knowing smile forming. "Because you repeated it with such confidence, darling. Almost as if you wanted to make certain everyone heard."

"They were already deciding who you should marry."

Julien let out a quiet laugh, his fingers slipping between yours as you walked. "So you saved me from a future arranged by strangers?"

"Exactly."

"How fortunate I am, then." His smile grew. "Saved from an imaginary marriage by my very devoted girlfriend. I should probably thank you, non?"

As if on cue, he brought your joined hands closer, pressing a small, affectionate squeeze as the two of you continued along the path.

˚₊‧꒰ა BUNNY IGLESIAS

The cameras were still flashing when Bunny Iglesias stepped out of the stadium corridor, his lavender hair slightly messy from the match and his expression as calm as ever.

A few reporters gathered around him almost immediately.

It wasn't unusual. Bunny had become someone everyone wanted a piece of—the young Spanish forward who had taken the football world by storm, the New Generation World XI player everyone expected to become one of the faces of the sport.

But tonight, they weren't asking about his goals. They were asking about her.

"So, Bunny, there has been a lot of discussion online recently regarding the rumors about you and Valeria Cruz," one reporter said, raising his microphone. "Many fans believe the two of you are more than friends. Would you like to address those rumors?"

Bunny blinked once.

"Valeria Cruz?"

The reporter nodded. "Yes. The photos of you together have caused quite a reaction. People are saying she might be the person you're dating."

For a moment, Bunny simply stared. Then a small, almost amused smile appeared.

"People seem to be very good at creating stories."

The reporters laughed softly.

"So you're saying there is nothing between you?"

"I am saying that people often see two people standing near each other and decide they already know the entire story."

"And what is the real story?"

Bunny looked thoughtful, his fingers adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.

"The real story is that I played a football match today, and I am more interested in discussing that."

A few reporters smiled, but they clearly weren't ready to let the topic go.

"But you understand why fans are curious. You're one of Spain's biggest young stars. Everyone wants to know about your personal life."

"I understand," Bunny replied calmly. "But curiosity does not always mean people are correct."

Before another question could be asked, Bunny noticed you making your way through the crowd toward him, your expression calm but familiar enough for him to recognize your quiet determination.

You didn't interrupt the interview or draw attention to yourself; you simply reached him, took hold of his arm, and gently guided him away from the reporters. The sudden movement left the media team staring as the cameras quickly followed the two of you.

Bunny allowed himself to be pulled along without protest, a small smile forming as he looked down at you.

"I believe they have their answer now."

You looked back toward the reporters and the cameras, finally realizing the conclusion everyone had reached. The rumors, the speculation, the endless guesses about Bunny's supposed girlfriend—it was no longer a mystery.

Bunny, however, seemed far more entertained than bothered. He glanced at you as the two of you continued walking away from the crowd.

"You know, cariño, I think that was the fastest way anyone has ever ended one of my interviews."

"I didn't want to wait until they finished making assumptions."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "Ah, so that was the plan? Walk in, steal me away, and let everyone figure it out themselves?"

"It seemed easier."

Bunny nodded thoughtfully, a small smile appearing. "I have to admit, mi amor, I respect the confidence. Walking into a crowd of reporters like that was bold."

"You think I was brave?"

"Very." He looked amused. "I spend my life in front of cameras, and even I don't enjoy that many people staring at me."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because you looked completely serious while doing it." His smile widened slightly. "It was cute."

He stopped walking for a moment, gently taking your hand in his before lowering himself slightly until he was at your eye level. The teasing expression on his face faded into something warmer as he looked at you.

Then he turned your hand over and pressed a quiet kiss against your palm, holding it there for a brief moment.

"Qué suerte la mía, cariño."

© sevarchive ➵ masterlist ʚɞ like/reblogs are appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[okqdmn]

JULIANNNNN MY BBY🙂‍↕️

[rhindou]

Hellooo, I would like to join your match up event. I go by female pronouns and a currently a University student who’s majoring in Psychology. I’m very introverted so most of my free time is spent doing things on my own. I like reading(have my own mini library at home), history, and I even write too. I understand football somewhat, my little nephew plays it so we do talk about it sometimes.(we watched the World Cup together lolol). Mexico(our ethnicity) is sadly out—so with that, I would like someone who is open minded when it comes different cultures and someone who is able to give me space when I need it. I don’t mind physical touch but sometimes I want to be alone or simply do something with the other person simply in the room(conversations don’t have to happen). Please and thank you!

your match is... bachira meguru ♡

as soon as you mentioned someone that would appreciate learning more about foreign cultures my mind immediately went to bachira — the curious and creative dribbling master of bllk.

this might be a little unpopular, but i think he would love to have a partner like you! i feel he would appreciate someone more introverted that is able to make him slow down sometimes.

another thing that made me think about him is that he has always been shown as a very curious person who is always amazed when someone shows him something cool. due to this fact, i think he would be an extremely open person when learning about new cultures such as yours! i also feel like he would ask a lot of questions about traditional food, dresses and festivals.

we already knew that he doesn't like being alone, so i think he wouldn't mind sharing the same space with you while you're doing your own things. he would probably spend the time with you drawing (since his mum is an artist i can really see him painting in his free time), playing with his soccer ball or napping around.

the last thing of this match is that it has been confirmed by himself that he loves receiving little gifts, so i think that physical touch would not be his number one priority in a relationship. however, he really loves hugs, so please give him some!

he has been shown to be really good with kids, he would love to play football with your nephew and show him how to do some cool dribbling tricks. he will also ask you to join them.

bachira fell in love with your Mexican culture! he admires the sense of family, the bright colours and the traditions. he will always ask you if he can be invited when you are celebrating cultural events or festivities

he's very fascinated by your psychology studies and he will talk to you about the "monster". plus he will ask you questions regarding his personality as a child because this boy (and his child-self) desperately needs to feel heard and understood

he will give you books as a gift for your birthday or personal accomplishments!

he is very respectful of what you feel like doing: if you're not in the mood to go out, he will be the first to suggest to stay at home and do something more chill, such as watching a movie or nap.

@rhindou's matchup event | 11072026

[rhindou]

Hellooo, I would like to join your match up event. I go by female pronouns and a currently a University student who’s majoring in Psychology. I’m very introverted so most of my free time is spent doing things on my own. I like reading(have my own mini library at home), history, and I even write too. I understand football somewhat, my little nephew plays it so we do talk about it sometimes.(we watched the World Cup together lolol). Mexico(our ethnicity) is sadly out—so with that, I would like someone who is open minded when it comes different cultures and someone who is able to give me space when I need it. I don’t mind physical touch but sometimes I want to be alone or simply do something with the other person simply in the room(conversations don’t have to happen). Please and thank you!

your match is... bachira meguru ♡

as soon as you mentioned someone that would appreciate learning more about foreign cultures my mind immediately went to bachira — the curious and creative dribbling master of bllk.

this might be a little unpopular, but i think he would love to have a partner like you! i feel he would appreciate someone more introverted that is able to make him slow down sometimes.

another thing that made me think about him is that he has always been shown as a very curious person who is always amazed when someone shows him something cool. due to this fact, i think he would be an extremely open person when learning about new cultures such as yours! i also feel like he would ask a lot of questions about traditional food, dresses and festivals.

we already knew that he doesn't like being alone, so i think he wouldn't mind sharing the same space with you while you're doing your own things. he would probably spend the time with you drawing (since his mum is an artist i can really see him painting in his free time), playing with his soccer ball or napping around.

the last thing of this match is that it has been confirmed by himself that he loves receiving little gifts, so i think that physical touch would not be his number one priority in a relationship. however, he really loves hugs, so please give him some!

he has been shown to be really good with kids, he would love to play football with your nephew and show him how to do some cool dribbling tricks. he will also ask you to join them.

bachira fell in love with your Mexican culture! he admires the sense of family, the bright colours and the traditions. he will always ask you if he can be invited when you are celebrating cultural events or festivities

he's very fascinated by your psychology studies and he will talk to you about the "monster". plus he will ask you questions regarding his personality as a child because this boy (and his child-self) desperately needs to feel heard and understood

he will give you books as a gift for your birthday or personal accomplishments!

he is very respectful of what you feel like doing: if you're not in the mood to go out, he will be the first to suggest to stay at home and do something more chill, such as watching a movie or nap.

@rhindou's matchup event | 11072026

[lauve-laise]

— “ *:・ﾟmon petit désastre // julien loki

a/n: lads, its pissing me off how much fun i had writing this + reader being drunk is based on me being drunk

"julien!" you chimed, stumbling forward. he caught you instantly, his reflexes as sharp as ever. his arms wrapped securely around your waist, steadying you before you could crash face-first into the doorframe.

julien was only 18, but between his skyrocketing football career and his naturally grounded personality, he somehow always ended up being the responsible one. right now, looking down at his girlfriend who was practically vibrating with tipsy energy, he felt mentally about 30.

"what is this?" julien asked, a faint, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he plucked the bottle from your hands and set it on the counter. "tu es ivre?" [are you drunk?]

"noooo," you whined, burying your face into his chest until your voice was muffled by his hoodie. "not drunk. just... un petit...tipsy. very sophisticated."

"right. very sophisticated," he hummed, rubbing slow circles over your back as he guided you toward the couch. he took your shoes off without a second thought, completely focused on his very lightweight girlfriend. "let's get you some water, ma chérie."

you let out the most dramatic groan imaginable, immediately latching onto the front of his shirt so he couldn't escape. now that you were living in france with him, you'd been trying so hard to improve your french.

unfortunately, the moment alcohol entered your bloodstream, so did every grammar mistake known to mankind. you looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes overflowing with drunken admiration before grabbing both of his cheeks and squishing his face.

"julien..."

you paused dramatically, brow furrowed in concentration.

"je..." you mumbled, desperately digging through the five french words your brain still remembered. "je t'aime... beaucoup. très beaucoup."

julien bit the inside of his cheek.

"très beaucoup isn't grammatically correct, mon ange."

"silence, i'm talking!" you giggled, weakly smacking his shoulder. "tu es... très beau. like... very pretty boy." you poked his chest with a single finger. "and... and mon cœur?" you pressed your hand dramatically over your own heart. "..it goes boum-boum for you."

you gasped, suddenly remembering something.

"je t'aime grande comme la tour eiffel!" [i love you big like the eiffel tower]

a soft, breathless laugh escaped before he let you tug him down beside you on the couch, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as you curled into his lap.

you were an absolute disaster. your french was somewhere between adorable and a crime against linguistics, but to him, it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard.

"ah, oui?" he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "your heart goes boum-boum?"

"oui!" you beamed. "very boum-boum."

your eyelids were already drooping as the warmth of the apartment—and julien's embrace—slowly lulled you toward sleep. you snuggled deeper into the crook of his neck with a content little sigh.

"je t'aime, julien."

"moi aussi, je t'aime," he whispered, tightening his hold around his favorite lightweight. "but tomorrow, we're practicing your grammar."

he paused "...and absolutely no more buying liquor by yourself."

the sweet, romantic atmosphere survived for approximately five minutes before your stomach declared war. julien felt it the second your sleepy cuddles turned rigid, a pitiful little whimper escaped you before you buried your face into his neck—not out of affection this time, but sheer misery.

"julien..." you groaned, clutching desperately at his hoodie. "mon estomac..." you swallowed hard. "it's doing... like... bicycle kicks." his protective instincts kicked in immediately. thankfully, you were still coherent enough to warn him.

"bathroom?" he asked, already sliding one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back.

you nodded miserably.

"oui... vite..." another tiny whine escaped you. "julien... i'm gonna vomir..."

"j'ai compris, i've got you."

he lifted you effortlessly and hurried down the hallway and barely got you to the toilet in time. the moment you dropped to your knees, he was already beside you, gathering your hair into one hand while the other rubbed slow, reassuring circles over your back.

between miserable little whimpers and bouts of sickness, you kept trying to apologize through your slurred french.

"désolée... julien... i'm so.. désolée..."

you sniffled "i ruined the... mmmn...un romance"

"chut..." julien murmured, leaning over to kiss the side of your head. "arrête. don't worry about any of that right now." his hand never stopped moving against your back.

"just let it all out, chérie...you're okay."

after a few rough minutes, you finally sagged backward against his chest, completely exhausted. your face had gone pale and your eyes were watery, you looked like you regretted every life decision that had led you to this moment.

julien flushed the toilet before grabbing a cool, damp washcloth, carefully wiping your face and the corners of your mouth.

"better?" he asked softly.

you answered with the weakest little nod imaginable, resting your cheek against his shoulder. "never drinking l'alcool again," you mumbled. "promise."

a quiet laugh escaped him.

"good."

he rested his chin lightly atop your head.

"because next time, i'm buying you juice boxes instead."

he carried you back to the couch, tucked a blanket beneath your chin, and kissed your forehead. you looked so small, so fragile, and so thoroughly defeated by a handful of sips that he figured the crisis was finally over.

"stay here, mon ange," he said, gently patting your cheek. "i'll get you some water... and something salty for that poor stomach of yours." he wandered into the kitchen, letting out a long, tired sigh.

right now, he genuinely felt like the exhausted father of a particularly chaotic toddler and somehow he found it adorable.

a fond smile lingered on his face as he poured you a tall glass of water and grabbed a bag of savory crackers from the cupboard. he was gone for maybe ninety seconds, ninety seconds of pure, uninterrupted peace.

then he walked back into the living room, julien stopped dead in his tracks, the glass nearly slipped from his fingers.

...

oh, mais non.

there you were, sitting cross-legged on the couch. blanket? gone. dignity? who tf is that?

your head was tipped all the way back, eyes squeezed shut in complete defiance of both god and basic survival instincts, as you enthusiastically chugged the remaining liquor straight from the bottle.

"hé! non, non, non—qu'est-ce que tu fais?!" [hey! no, no, no—what are you doing?!]

he launched himself across the room, dropping the crackers onto the coffee table before snatching the bottle from your hands with football-player reflexes. he stared down at it in horror, at least two more very generous swigs were gone.

julien slowly looked back at you.

...

what, exactly, was happening inside that beautiful, wonderfully empty head of yours?

"pourquoi?!" he gasped, looking between you and the bottle like he'd just witnessed an actual felony. "you just threw up! tu es folle?!"

you blinked up at him, entirely unbothered by his rapidly deteriorating mental state. your lips smacked together proudly, then the alcohol hit. your entire body shuddered so violently it looked like your soul briefly considered evacuating.

"i had to..." you whined, words melting together into one long, defensive pout. "juli, listen..."

you pointed solemnly at your mouth.

"the taste..was yucky...because of the..." you scrunched your nose "...vomir."

you made the weakest little gagging motion imaginable.

"so i washed it away."

julien stared, then he pinched the bridge of his nose, he could physically feel a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes.

"...you washed away the taste of vomit...with the exact thing that made you vomit?"

"oui! problem solved!"

you looked absurdly proud of yourself, like you'd just cured a disease. three seconds later, you flopped sideways into the couch cushions with a pitiful groan.

"oh..."

you squeezed your eyes shut.

"mon dieu..."

another miserable groan.

"the room is spinning again..." "of course it is," julien groaned, sounding like he was only half joking. he tossed the bottle in the trash bin; before sitting beside you again, without a word, he scooped your limp, giggling self back into his lap.

pressing the glass of water against your lips.

"drink."

you took one reluctant sip.

"all of it."

another tiny sip.

"don't negotiate with me."

"you're bossy," you mumbled, pouting as you obediently kept drinking.

he tightened his arms around your waist before you could suddenly remember another brilliant idea.

"no more l'alcool for you. ever."

after a few gulps, you turned your head away from the glass with all the stubborn determination of an overtired 5 year old.

"no more water..."

you whined dramatically.

"i want..."

you blinked slowly.

"...manger...food...s'il te plaît."

julien sighed, looking down at your flushed face, your eyelids were heavy, your logic had completely dipped but your stomach was very clearly demanding something substantial to absorb the second wave of liquor you'd geniusly inhaled.

"fine."

he pointed a stern finger directly at your face.

"sit." "do. not. move."

you nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

"...oui, chef."

julien wasn't convinced for a single second, still, he hurried to the fridge. crackers weren't going to cut it anymore, luckily, his mother had sent him home yesterday with a container of homemade coq au vin.

rich, slow-braised chicken, mushrooms, lardons... exactly the sort of comforting meal your poor stomach desperately needed. he heated up a generous portion, and within moments the apartment was filled with the warm, savory smell.

when he returned, he nearly sighed with relief. you were exactly where he'd left you, although... you did appear to be glaring at the room as if you could intimidate it into stopping its spinning.

"alright, princesse," julien murmured, settling beside you before gently pulling you back against his chest so you wouldn't tip over. he cut off a small piece of chicken, coated it in the rich sauce, blew on it carefully, then held it to your lips.

you accepted the bite immediately, your eyes grew comically wide.

"...oh my dieu."

you froze mid-chew.

"julien...c'est magnifique."

your face lit up.

"the chicken.. is so soft."

you rested your head against his shoulder.

"...like eating a cloud."

a proud little smile tugged at his lips.

"it's my maman's coq au vin."

he gently wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. "it'll settle your stomach." then he offered another bite.

"here."

you happily opened your mouth again. halfway through chewing though, you suddenly stopped, your eyes widened. very slowly...you looked up at him.

"...wait."

julien immediately recognized that look. it was the expression that always appeared exactly three seconds before you said something completely ridiculous.

"...julien."

you whispered dramatically.

"...coq au...vin."

pause.

"...vin...that's wine."

julien closed his eyes "...yes" he already knew where this was going.

"it's cooked in wine, but the alcohol burns off wh—"

"MORE ALCOHOL?!"

you gasped so loudly he nearly dropped the fork. you pointed accusingly at him. "you're feeding me more booze! you're helping it!" you slapped a hand over your mouth then leaned closer like you were revealing classified government info.

"...you're an accomplice...un criminel."

julien completely lost the battle to stay serious.

"it's literal chicken."

he laughed, gently pressing another forkful against your lips before you could accuse him of any more crimes.

"eat."

you obediently accepted the bite.

"and stop yelling."

another bite.

"i'm trying to save your life."

"...merci."

you mumbled around a mouthful of chicken. you didn't just eat, you absolutely annihilated that coq. every piece of chicken, every mushroom, every last drop of sauce, gone.

julien was fairly certain you would've licked the porcelain clean if he hadn't taken it away first, now you were sprawled dramatically across his lap, flat on your back, looking like a particularly overstuffed plush toy.

"...je suis une boule," [i am a ball]

you groaned, patting your stomach with immense sorrow "a very tragic boule." you sighed.

"like..."

your hand hovered thoughtfully in the air.

"...a beach ball... eh, non... perhaps a bowling ball."

you slapped your tummy again.

"julien."

your voice dropped to a whisper.

"...i am...un ballon de foot." [a football]

you puffed out your cheeks to demonstrate.

"...or...une poule enceinte." [a pregnant hen]

julien broke, he laughed so hard he had to duck his head "a pregnant hen?" he wheezed. "vraiment, chérie? that's what we're going with?"

you nodded solemnly.

"oui..full of chicken...and feelings."

he laughed even harder "alright." he slipped an arm beneath your back.

"time for bed, my little chicken. you need to sleep off... whatever this is."

"non!"

you immediately began kicking your legs in protest.

"attends!"

you flailed so dramatically anyone would've thought he was dragging you toward a medieval execution.

"i can't sleep! je suis sale...and full!" [i am dirty...]

you clutched your chest.

"sleeping dirty and full is..."

you searched the ceiling for the word.

"...un péché!"

julien looked toward the clock then back at you, then back at the clock. it was late and he had training tomorrow but he knew, there was, unfortunately and absolutely no winning this argument. if he carried you to bed now, you'd spend the next three hours dramatically announcing every inconvenience your body experienced.

"...fine."

he surrendered.

"we'll stay here for a bit."

he leaned back against the couch before gently pulling you upright until you were sitting across his lap, your head tucked comfortably beneath his chin. apparently your brain interpreted can't sleep as time to confess every thought you've ever had.

whatever language skills you possessed had officially dissolved into a beautiful, catastrophic bowl of franglais.

"julien..."

you sighed dreamily against his neck, your fingertips wandered aimlessly across his jaw.

"tu es..."

you squinted.

"...le roi...of my heart." [the king...]

you smiled proudly.

"my heart...is a little biscuit."

julien already knew this sentence wasn't ending anywhere reasonable.

"...and you're...the hot milk."

you nodded to yourself.

"you melt me."

julien bit his lip.

"...i'm hot milk?"

"oui."

you giggled. "très chaud." [very hot]

he laughed quietly through his nose.

"good to know." "and your eyes..."

you leaned in until your noses were nearly touching.

"...tes yeux..." [your eyes]

you stared directly into them.

"...they're like...two very big chocolates."

julien blinked.

"...i want to eat them."

he blinked again.

"...but then you'd be blind...so i won't."

"...thank you for not eating my eyes." you continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"je t'aime...beaucoup de beaucoup." [i love you…so, so much]

you pointed dramatically at him.

"if you were a football..."

"...i would never kick you..never...i would hug you."

before he could react, you threw your arms around his neck and squeezed hard, very hard.

"like this." "mmph—"

julien made a very dignified choking noise.

"tu..."

you mumbled happily into his shoulder.

"...es mon pamplemousse."

he froze.

"...your grapefruit?"

"oui!"

you beamed.

"my grapefruit."

"sweet...but a little sour...when you say no more liquor...that's bars.."

then, without warning, your entire expression became deadly serious. you grabbed both of his cheeks. again.

"listen to me. julien loki."

he already knew he was about to hear the most ridiculous sentence of his life.

"if the world ended tomorrow..."

"...si c'était la fin du monde..." [if it was the end of the world...]

you poked him square in the chest.

"...i would find you...even if..i'm a pregnant hen... mhm."

you nodded firmly.

"...i will fly."

julien's heart physically hurt from how much he adored you.

"...hens can't fly, mon ange."

you thought about that. for a surprisingly long time.

"...i'll learn."

you declared proudly, then silence. your eyelids fluttered once, twice then your head slowly tipped onto his shoulder.

"...je t'aime..."

you murmured sleepily.

"...my pretty boy..."

julien smiled to himself, gently rubbing slow circles across your back as your breathing finally settled into a peaceful rhythm "...i love you too."

he kissed the top of your head "...my beautiful, pea-brained little hen."

for the next twenty minutes, there was peace. your breathing stayed slow and even, your tiny "pregnant hen" stomach rose and fell against his chest. julien was convinced the battle had finally been won. very carefully, he started shifting to carry you to bed, then—your eyes snapped open.

you shot upright like a vampire rising from a coffin, he barely dodged getting headbutted.

"julien!"

you gasped, grabbing both his shoulders, he immediately straightened.

"what? are you going to throw up again?"

"...non."

you whispered, completely serious.

"...the football..."

you patted your stomach.

"...is gone."

another pat.

"...regarde...no more football."

julien blinked.

"no longer full?" "oui." "...that's good."

"...but..."

your face crumpled. utter devastation.

"...i'm sticky."

you looked seconds away from tears.

"...je suis sale." [i am dirty]

you grabbed his hoodie.

"...julien."

"...i'm...unbathed."

julien slowly turned toward the clock, 11:00 p.m.

"...chérie."

he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch.

"...it's eleven at night, you can shower tomorrow. i'll put you in one of my shirts and—"

"NON."

you launched yourself out of his lap, though your legs immediately betrayed you. you wobbled so violently he'd instinctively reached out to catch you. still, you pointed a trembling finger at him with every ounce of royal dignity you could muster.

"jamais...i cannot sleep."

you gestured vaguely toward yourself.

"...with...paris grime...and liquor germs."

you looked utterly horrified.

"...je suis une princesse." [i am a princess]

you pressed both hands to your chest.

"princesses...do not sleep dirty."

julien looked at you, your hair resembled a bird's nest. your cheeks were bright pink and you were demanding a ceremonial midnight bath with complete sincerity...he didn't have the heart to refuse.

"...alright." he laughed quietly, pushing himself off the couch.

"come along, your majesty."

before you could topple over your own feet, he caught you securely around the waist. guiding you into the bathroom, adjusting the tap until the bath was the perfect warm temperature. while it filled, he carefully helped you out of your clothes with the patience of someone handling delicate glass. you, meanwhile, had become approximately ninety-five percent dead weight.

when he finally helped you into the tub, you practically melted.

"...ohhh..."

you sighed blissfully, sinking deeper beneath the bubbles.

"...oui...water..."

you pointed sleepily at julien.

"...you are...a very good boy."

you considered this carefully.

"...promotion."

"what an honor." julien deadpanned, lowering himself onto the closed toilet seat beside the tub. he grabbed the loofah, gently working soap across your shoulders.

"my coach is going to ask why i have bags under my eyes tomorrow."

he smiled to himself "...and i'm going to have to explain that i spent the night running a luxury spa for one extremely drunk princess."

without warning— your wet, soapy hand landed directly on his cheek.

plap.

a mountain of bubbles decorated his face.

"...tell him...you love me...très beaucoup."

julien snorted.

"...tell him..."

your eyes drifted closed.

"...your girlfriend...is la plus belle poule en france." [the most beautiful hen in france]

he gently wiped the bubbles from his cheek before leaning down to kiss the top of your damp head "...yeah" his smile softened into something impossibly fond.

"...i'll tell him exactly that."

━━━━

by the time julien finally coaxed you out of the bath, wrapped you in a fluffy towel, and wrestled you into one of his biggest, softest t-shirts... you were barely conscious, the bath had completely defeated whatever drunk gremlin had possessed you earlier.

you were clean. you smelled faintly of his lavender body wash and your stomach had finally stopped plotting against humanity.

"...bed," you whimpered, eyelids barely staying open as you reached toward him without looking.

"...lit..."

your hand flopped uselessly through the air.

"...julien...s'il te plaît..."

his expression softened instantly. then he scooped you into his arms for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "j'ai compris."

he carried you back into the bedroom, where the cool sheets waited beneath the heavy duvet. the second your head touched the pillow...

"...mmm..."

you made the happiest sound he'd heard all evening and within seconds, you had cocooned yourself beneath the blankets, curling into the tiniest little ball imaginable. julien let out a quiet sigh of relief, mission accomplished. he walked around to his side of the bed before finally collapsing onto the mattress.

he glanced toward the clock.

11:57 p.m.

he was exhausted and the moment his head hit the pillow, two warm arms immediately reached across the bed.

"...hm?"

before he could even react, you had already dragged yourself across the mattress, one leg thrown over his thigh, your face buried itself directly into his chest, like an exceptionally clingy koala.

"...julien."

your voice was barely more than a sleepy breath.

"hm?"

his hand automatically settled against your lower back, rubbing slow circles like it had developed muscle memory.

"...je t'aime..."

you mumbled.

"...no more..."

a tiny yawn interrupted you.

"...l'alcool...only you."

a quiet laugh escaped him. he pulled you impossibly closer until there wasn't even the slightest gap between your bodies.

"bonne nuit, mon ange."

he pressed a lingering kiss against your hair.

"sleep well."

another kiss.

"we have a lot of grammar to practice tomorrow."

there was no response, you were already asleep. the loud, chaotic, franglais-speaking pregnant hen had officially powered down.

━━━━

julien's body operated with the precision of an alarm clock. years of elite football had trained him to wake before sunrise without fail.

usually sometime around 4:30 a.m. today, his eyes opened at exactly 3:14 a.m. he frowned because something felt wrong, he shifted slightly. arm meeting nothing but cold sheets.

...

his eyes opened all the way, you were gone. he sat upright immediately. had you gotten sick again? were you currently losing another battle with the ghost of the coq au vin? without making a sound, he slipped out of bed and padded into the hallway. bathroom first. empty.

"...huh."

he wandered toward the living room instead and the second he stepped through the doorway, every ounce of tension left his shoulders, a helpless little laugh escaped him.

of course.

there you were.

back on the couch.

apparently sometime during the night, your half-asleep brain had decided that hydration was the single most important mission on earth. perched precariously on the coffee table sat an enormous pitcher of water beside a half-empty glass.

judging by the evidence...you had attempted to drink approximately the entire atlantic ocean but you hadn't gotten very far.

somewhere between glass number who-knows and don't die of dehydration, exhaustion had claimed another victim. you were curled sideways beneath a tangled mountain of blankets, absolutely unconscious, and from your adorable little nose came the tiniest rhythmic snores.

pffff... shhhh...

pffff... shhhh...

julien quietly stepped around the pitcher before kneeling beside the couch. he rested his chin in his hand, for a minute...he simply watched you. your cheeks were still faintly pink, your hair looked like you'd wrestled a tornado and lost. you looked impossibly peaceful.

"...you really are a menace." his voice was barely above a whisper, he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead and your only response was a slightly louder snore. your nose twitched, then...

pffff... shhhh...

"...yeah. that's about what i expected."

the water pitcher had done its job. now you were just sleeping off the final consequences of that cheap l'alcool you found. julien sighed, surely there wasn't a chance he was going back to sleep without you. carefully, he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other beneath your shoulders, you barely stirred.

only a tiny sleepy grunt escaped you as your face instinctively buried itself against his neck. even half-asleep... you still found him. he carried you back into the bedroom before tucking you beneath the duvet where you belonged.

the second he climbed in beside you, you latched onto him again, immediately, like a barnacle.

he chuckled quietly, within seconds, your breathing evened out once more. julien closed his eyes and somewhere between your sleepy little snores and the comforting weight of you curled against his chest...he fell asleep too.

━━━━

the sun wasn't simply shining through the curtains. it'd chosen to absolutely violate the shit out of you as every stray beam landed directly on your eyeballs with the precision of a military operation.

"...augh."

your head felt like a football julien had personally volleyed into the top corner. your mouth was drier than the sahara. your stomach was staging a peaceful protest, and somewhere behind your eyes, a tiny construction crew had apparently decided to start jackhammering.

you rolled over with the world's most pitiful groan, reaching blindly for your emotional support boyfriend. your personal pillow. your human weighted blanket. your hot milk.

…but it was empty and cold, so you opened one eye.

"..."

he wasn't there.

the betrayal was immediate and devastating.

how could he? you were fragile, and still recovering. you deserved to be gently cradled, fed water through a tiny straw, tucked into about sixteen blankets, told everything would be okay in a soothing french accent until the room stopped spinning.

instead...you were abandoned, left alone, left to perish. with the last of your strength, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, squinting through the blinding sunlight before furiously opening your messages.

to: juliboobs 🔥🔥🔥

julien loki u r a monster. where r u. i am dying of death. and u left me. i hate u. its over. its jover. were thru. do not contact my lawyer. do not come to my town. i am moving back across the ocean. ITS OVER!!!!!!!!

with one final, exhausted huff, you tossed your phone onto the mattress. if julien refused to nurse you back to health...then you'd simply drag your own corpse to the kitchen. wrapped tightly in his oversized hoodie like the world's saddest burrito, you shuffled down the hallway with all the grace of an elderly penguin.

you rounded the corner and froze. the kitchen was empty but the counter, however...looked like something out of a breakfast commercial.

a huge plate of eggs. thick slices of toast. fresh fruit arranged so neatly it almost felt illegal to touch and beside it sat a steaming mug of honey-lemon tea, the citrus scent immediately making your poor little hangover brain sigh with relief. propped carefully against the mug was a folded note.

written in julien's neat, elegant handwriting.

bonjour, mon ange. i had to leave early for training and had a feeling you'd wake up feeling like a broken football ball. eat all of this. drink the honey lemon, it'll help your stomach and don't even think about touching any more liquor today. i love you. see you this afternoon, my pretty little hen. —julien

...

your heart went boum-boum, very hard. the guilt hit almost instantly. mon dieu.

you were the monster.

he had made you breakfast and left you medicine and written you a note, he'd even remembered your stupid "football ball" comparison.

he was an actual saint. you fumbled for your phone with the urgency of someone attempting to undo several crimes at once. your fingers flew across the keyboard.

to: juliboobs 🔥🔥🔥

WAIT WAIT IGNORE THOSE FIRST MESSAGES OLMGGGGGG the food looks so good i cry 😭 u are the best franceboy in french i love u bercoup very much!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ grande comme la tour eiffel!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

nearly a mile away. julien's phone buzzed quietly inside his gear bag, he didn't check it until water break and the moment he unlocked his screen, he stared then a helpless laugh escaped him. he lowered his head, shaking it fondly.

"...bercoup."

he muttered to himself.

"close enough."

he slipped his phone back into the bag, still smiling. yeah, his beautiful, franglais-speaking, pea-brained little hen...was definitely going to be just fine.

‘

‘

‘

© 2026 lauvelaise

[kxsagi]

“𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠”

a/n: hear me out… them as boy dads! 

synopsis: them doing a post-match interview after winning a big match and they do this interview with their 9-month old baby boy because i have severe baby fever. 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

isagi had fully intended to give your son back before the interview started, but the second your little boy buried his face into his dad's neck, wrapped those tiny arms around his jersey, and let out the saddest, most offended little whine imaginable when you reached for him, he immediately folded. 

"… yeah, sorry," he laughed sheepishly, already bouncing him on one hip. "he's... not negotiating today." 

the reporter found the whole thing adorable before the interview even began because here stood japan's match-winning striker, sweat still dripping down his face, medal hanging crookedly around his neck, while absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles into the baby's back like he'd done it a thousand times. 

every answer somehow included multitasking. "yeah, we adjusted the press during the seco– buddy, don't eat dad's medal... okay... during the second half we– hey, that's not food?” 

your son spent the first 2 minutes completely fascinated by the microphone. every time the reporter lifted it toward isagi, two tiny hands immediately reached for it with the determination of a man trying to win the world cup himself. 

eventually... success. the baby yanked the microphone straight out of the reporter's hand. 

"bababababaaaa!!! dada!!! bthhhhhhhhh!!" 

he then aggressively blew spit directly into the microphone. 

the speakers echoed every single wet raspberry throughout the stadium. 

complete silence… followed by 40,000 people laughing. 

isagi completely froze before immediately losing it himself, head dropping onto your son's little shoulder because he was laughing too hard to breathe. 

"bro..." he wheezed. "he really wanted to say something..." 

the reporter – absolute professional for approximately 3 seconds – burst out laughing too before dramatically holding the microphone back toward your son. 

"would you like to comment on your father's performance today?" 

"DADADADADAAAAAA." 

"yes, that’s a powerful statement." 

the internet immediately declared that your son had just delivered "the greatest post-match analysis of all time." 

clips of isagi trying to conduct a serious interview while wrestling a baby for possession of the microphone collected 20 million views overnight. 

the comments absolutely killed him: "he inherited isagi's field vision because he saw that mic from ten centimeters away." "first assist of his career." "his media training starts early." "bro already has more interview aura than half the league." 

isagi reposted one edit with the caption: "he's banned from media day until further notice 😭💙" 

itoshi rin

rin genuinely believed this interview would go smoothly because your son had been suspiciously well-behaved ever since the final whistle blew, happily resting against his shoulder while lazily playing with the collar of his jersey, and after you made 3 separate attempts to take him back only for your baby to cling even tighter with a tiny pout and watery eyes, rin simply looked at you, gave the smallest shrug, and muttered, "he doesn't want to," as if that settled the matter, which admittedly, it did. 

by the time he walked over to the interview area, every camera had already shifted from celebrating japan's victory to zooming in on the sight of one of the most intimidating strikers in the world absentmindedly rubbing little circles across his son's back while adjusting the baby's tiny socks with one hand, completely unfazed by the dozens of reporters surrounding him despite looking like he'd been carrying him like this for hours. 

the interview actually started surprisingly normally because rin answered every question in his usual short, matter-of-fact way while your son remained perfectly content against his chest, occasionally patting the gold medal hanging around his neck or trying to pull on the collar of his jersey, making it seem like everyone had worried over nothing. 

"he's behaving today," the reporter commented with a smile. 

"usually does," rin replied without a second thought. 

the moment those words left his mouth, your son locked eyes with the microphone. 

every parent watching immediately knew exactly what was about to happen. 

the reporter raised the microphone closer so rin could answer the next question, only for two tiny hands to suddenly shoot forward with shocking speed, grabbing it with both hands before anyone had time to react. 

"ba." 

the entire interview area fell silent. 

your son blinked once. then– "bababababababAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" 

it wasn't crying. it wasn't babbling. it was an impressively loud, victorious yell delivered directly into the microphone, which echoed throughout the entire stadium loud enough for nearby players to physically turn around and see what had just happened. 

the reporter jumped so hard she nearly dropped her cue cards while photographers immediately lowered their cameras because they were laughing too much to keep them steady. 

rin simply stared at his son for a few quiet seconds before sighing almost imperceptibly. "... loud." 

that single word made everyone laugh even harder. 

your son, incredibly proud of himself, immediately tried to scream into the microphone a second time, but rin calmly removed it from his tiny hands with the practiced patience of someone who had apparently dealt with this exact situation more than once before. 

"... finished?" 

"... da." 

"... good." 

then he continued answering the reporter's question as though absolutely nothing unusual had happened, while your son happily resumed playing with the medal around his father's neck instead. 

the internet completely forgot about the match because every trending topic became some variation of "RIN ITOSHI'S BABY SON JUST JUMP-SCARED THE ENTIRE STADIUM," while countless edits slowed down the exact moment your son leaned forward to yell into the microphone with meme audios playing over it. 

what truly broke the internet, however, wasn't the screaming – it was the brief moment immediately afterward when your son reached up with both hands, accidentally squished rin's cheeks together, and caused the tiniest, weakest, most reluctant smile to appear before rin realized cameras were still rolling and immediately returned to his usual cold expression. 

within minutes, fans had declared your son the only person on earth capable of making rin itoshi smile on command, with thousands joking that japan’s soccer team should stop recruiting strikers and simply hire the baby instead. 

itoshi sae

sae somehow managed to make carrying a 9-month-old baby through a post-match interview look effortlessly elegant, standing there with his medal around his neck and his jacket draped neatly over one shoulder while your son sat comfortably on his hip, absentmindedly chewing on the zipper of his jacket with complete satisfaction as though this were simply another ordinary afternoon rather than an international broadcast watched by millions. 

before the interview even began, you reached over with open arms, quietly asking if your son wanted to come back to mama, only for him to immediately shake his tiny head, bury his face into sae's shoulder, and cling tighter with a little whine that made the nearby reporters collectively let out an audible "aww." 

sae simply glanced at you. "guess he's staying." 

he didn't sound annoyed. if anything… he sounded quietly pleased. 

throughout the interview, sae answered every question with his usual calm, composed demeanor while simultaneously multitasking in ways nobody expected, casually fixing your son's tiny jersey’s collar after it slipped off, catching his pacifier before it hit the floor without even looking, adjusting the little sneaker that kept slipping off his foot, and gently bouncing him every few seconds whenever he grew restless, all without interrupting a single answer. 

the reporter eventually smiled before crouching slightly so she was closer to your son's eye level. "do you think he'd like to say something, too?" 

sae looked down at him. "you have something to say?" 

your son immediately reached toward the microphone with absolute confidence. the reporter happily held it closer. 

"gagagagagaga..." a fat pause. "dadadada..." another pause. "mmmmmmmm." 

everyone waited. then without warning… he leaned forward and licked the microphone. completely. absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. not a single thought in his tiny brain. 

the reporter froze for a second before laughing so hard she had to lower her clipboard because she physically couldn't continue the interview. 

sae calmly took the microphone back, reached for the towel around his own neck, wiped it clean with practiced efficiency, handed it back to her, and simply said, "sorry." 

"it's okay." 

“he does that." 

somehow, the fact that sae said those three words with complete seriousness – as though babies licking expensive broadcasting equipment was a perfectly ordinary occurrence – became funnier than the actual licking itself. 

the interview continued, except your son had now decided the microphone was the greatest invention in human history, leaning toward it every single time it came within arm's reach while sae quietly shifted him away at the last possible second before another attempted lick could happen. 

fans later counted… it happened 6 separate times. 

the internet edited the clip like it was an action movie, like dramatic slow motion, suspenseful music choices, and captions reading "TARGET LOCKED" every time the microphone entered the frame before cutting to sae calmly redirecting your son at the final moment. 

thousands of comments joked that the true battle of the evening hadn't been the football match at all – it had been sae spending 5 uninterrupted minutes defending a microphone from his own baby. 

nagi seishiro

nagi had completely forgotten there was supposed to be a post-match interview because, after the final whistle, he'd spent almost 20 minutes wandering around the pitch with your son comfortably resting against his shoulder, absentmindedly pointing at the stadium lights and occasionally trying to steal the gold medal hanging around nagi's neck, making the media staff chase him down just to remind him that he still had obligations to fulfill. 

when they finally caught him, he simply blinked. "oh." he looked down at your son. looked back at the staff. "guess he's coming, too." 

nobody argued. 

by the time he reached the interview area, your son had fully decided that his father's medal belonged to him and repeatedly reached for it with determined little grabby hands, causing nagi to lazily lift it out of reach every few seconds while continuing to walk without putting in even the slightest extra effort. 

"hey. mine." 

tiny hands reached higher. 

"... no." 

another reach. 

"it’s daddy’s.” 

louder baby noises followed immediately. 

after a full minute of this extremely one-sided argument, nagi finally sighed. "fine..." 

he let your son hold the medal. instant peace. 

the interview began with the reporter congratulating him on today's win, only for your son to enthusiastically babble right over the top of her introduction as though he had been personally waiting for his turn to speak all evening. 

"congratulations on today's vic–" 

"BAAAAAAA!" 

the reporter burst into laughter. "and congratulations to you, too." 

your son nodded. everyone around him completely lost it. 

halfway through another question, your son noticed the microphone for the first time. 

nagi noticed him noticing it. "don't." 

tiny hands reached. 

"don't, buddy." 

they stretched farther. 

"too troublesome…” 

your son ignored every warning. and somehow, despite nagi technically being one of the fastest athletes in the world… the baby still won. he proudly grabbed the microphone with both hands before immediately announcing to the entire stadium, "dadadadadadadadadabthhhhhhhhhhh." 

the loudest raspberry imaginable echoed through the speakers. 

nagi stared at him for several long seconds before quietly looking back at the reporter. "wow. that was a long answer." 

the reporter folded over laughing so hard she couldn't even ask another question because she kept trying to compose herself only to remember the raspberry echoing around the stadium all over again. 

the internet immediately clipped nagi's completely deadpan response, turning "that was a long answer" into the newest reaction meme overnight, while thousands of fans jokingly translated the baby's speech into detailed tactical analyses, transfer rumors, and complaints about bedtime schedules. 

reo even commented underneath one viral clip, "he definitely inherited nagi's interview skills," only for nagi to casually reply, "he talks way more than i do," which somehow made the entire interaction even funnier because everyone agreed he wasn't exaggerating. 

mikage reo

reo had shown up to the interview looking as polished as ever despite having just played 90 exhausting minutes, somehow still managing to keep his hair neat while carrying your son comfortably on one arm, who was wearing the tiniest little pair of noise-canceling headphones because reo had insisted before kickoff that the celebrations afterward might be too loud for sensitive little ears. 

fans immediately zoomed in. "of course, reo bought luxury baby headphones." "those probably cost more than my rent." 

before the interview even began, you walked over with open arms to take your son back for a little while, only for him to dramatically bury his face into reo's shoulder with the most pitiful little whimper imaginable, clutching onto the front of his jersey with both fists as though someone had just informed him he was being separated forever. 

even nagi held his arms out with a lazy, "come here." 

your son looked at him. then immediately turned back around and hugged reo even tighter. 

reo looked far too pleased with himself. "guess i'm his favorite today." 

you rolled your eyes. "don't let it get to your head." 

throughout the interview, reo somehow answered every question while gently bouncing your son whenever he became fussy, absentmindedly fixing his tiny headphones whenever they slipped sideways, wiping a little bit of drool from his chin with a towel without missing a beat, making every parent watching collectively smile because it was obvious none of these little habits were rehearsed – they were simply second nature by now. 

halfway through the interview, your son spotted the microphone. he stared at it with complete focus. reached once. missed. reached again. success. with both tiny hands wrapped proudly around the microphone, he lifted it toward his own face like a seasoned professional before confidently announcing, "dadadadada..." 

everyone waited. 

"... GOOOOOOO." 

the entire interview area exploded into laughter. 

nobody actually knew whether he'd been trying to say "goal" or if it was simply another happy baby noise, but the timing couldn't have been more perfect considering reo had just scored the match winner. 

reo gasped loud. "did you guys hear that?!” 

he looked between the reporter and the nearby cameras with mock seriousness. 

"i think that's his first official post-match interview." 

the reporter immediately joined in. "would you say today's victory belongs to your father?" 

your son stared at her. "babababa." 

the reporter nodded thoughtfully. "mhm. interesting analysis." 

reo sighed. "he disagrees." 

your son then lightly bonked the microphone against reo's chest before happily giggling to himself. 

"okay, okay," reo laughed. "i'm getting absolutely cooked by my own son on live." 

by the end of the night, the internet had collectively decided your son held a higher position in the club hierarchy than anyone else, with edits introducing him as assistant coach, sporting director, club president, and even reo's toughest post-match critic, while countless fans joked that his "GOOOOO" celebration deserved its own commentary replay. 

the sweetest moment happened after the interview had officially ended, when your son suddenly leaned forward all on his own, gave reo the tiniest little kiss on his sweaty cheek, rested his head against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh, and closed his eyes as if the excitement had finally caught up to him. 

reo visibly melted. 

he completely forgot there were still cameras following him as he gently rubbed your son's back and whispered, "yeah? all done? let's go find mama," before carrying him across the pitch with the softest smile on his face, making everyone watching quietly agree that, as incredible as his winning goal had been, nothing compared to the way he looked carrying his little boy afterward. 

bachira meguru

bachira had absolutely no intention of bringing your son into the interview at first, but the second you reached out to take him back, your little boy immediately wrapped himself around bachira's neck like the world's tiniest koala and let out the most dramatic, heartbroken whine imaginable, making bachira laugh so hard he nearly dropped the medal hanging around his own neck before grinning at you apologetically. 

"sorry, honey," he said, gently patting your son's back. "he picked his favorite parent for the next 5 minutes... don't worry, it'll be you again after i accidentally tell him he can't eat grass." 

the interview was pure chaos before anyone even asked the first question because bachira kept making funny faces every time your son looked even remotely close to getting fussy, causing the baby to burst into loud giggles that echoed through the microphones while reporters repeatedly had to pause because they couldn't stop smiling at the sight of one of the world's best forwards entertaining a baby between every answer. 

your son found the microphone absolutely fascinating from the moment the interview started, repeatedly reaching toward it every time the reporter lifted it closer, only for bachira to gently redirect those little hands somewhere else while whispering, "nope... that's not your toy... well, technically it could be your toy, but i think she'd be sad." 

eventually, the reporter laughed and simply held the microphone toward your son instead. "maybe he has something he'd like to say?" 

your son's entire face lit up. he grabbed the microphone with both hands. "bababababa... DADA!!" 

everyone smiled. 

then he leaned closer. "BTHHHHHHHHHH." 

the loudest raspberry imaginable exploded through the stadium speakers. 

bachira physically doubled over laughing, nearly losing his balance because he couldn't stop wheezing into your son's shoulder. 

"HE PRACTICED THAT!" he laughed. "i swear he does that every time i call his grandma!" 

the reporter was laughing too hard to continue. "do... do you think he has any thoughts on today's match?" 

your son immediately smacked the microphone with one tiny palm. "DA!" 

bachira nodded dramatically. "exactly! i couldn't have said it better myself." 

the internet instantly declared the baby the funniest post-match interview guest in football history, while edits comparing bachira's nonstop energy to your son's chaotic little personality flooded everyone's timelines, with thousands of comments joking that bachira hadn't raised a son – he'd simply cloned himself in miniature. 

shidou ryusei

nobody – not the reporters, not the camera crew, not even you – expected shidou to show up carrying a baby with the same confidence he'd just celebrated scoring 2 goals, casually strolling into the interview area with your son perched comfortably on one hip while excitedly pointing at every bright stadium light he could see, looking completely content in the safest place he knew. 

"you sure you don't want me to take him?" you asked one last time. 

your son answered by grabbing a fistful of shidou's jersey. 

shidou grinned. "sorry, babe. he has excellent taste." 

the interview started surprisingly well because your son was completely distracted by shidou's medal, repeatedly lifting it up to inspect it before trying to chew on it while shidou absentmindedly let him, only occasionally stopping him with an amused, "hey little dude, dad kinda needs that." 

everything changed the second the microphone entered the baby's line of sight. 

he froze. stared. reached. somehow succeeded on the very first try. 

"BAAAA!" 

shidou immediately pointed at him. "THAT'S MY BOY!" 

the baby squealed louder. "DADADADADADAAAAAA!" 

the stadium speakers practically shook. 

shidou threw his head back laughing. "YEAHHHH! LET HIM COOK!" 

the reporter was crying laughing by this point. "would you say he inherited your confidence?" 

"confidence?" shidou laughed. "nah." he proudly bounced your son a little higher. "he inherited greatness." 

your son immediately celebrated by grabbing the microphone again and aggressively blowing another raspberry into it. 

the internet completely lost whatever composure remained. 

"THEY SHARE THE SAME ENERGY." 

"THIS ISN'T A FATHER AND SON." 

"THIS IS A DUO." 

fans joked that shidou was encouraging his son's press conference debut like he'd just scored the winning goal himself, while countless edits paired every loud baby scream with one of shidou's goal celebrations because, somehow, the energy genuinely matched perfectly. 

karasu tabito

karasu walked into the interview already smiling because he'd spent the last 15 minutes listening to your son happily babble complete nonsense into his shoulder while absentmindedly playing with the little hairs at the back of his neck, and after watching your baby stubbornly refuse to leave his dad's arms despite multiple attempts from you, the coaching staff, and even a very bribable bachira holding out a plush mascot, karasu simply chuckled. "well," he said. "he's made his decision." 

unlike most players, karasu somehow managed to keep the interview flowing naturally while carrying a baby, casually answering questions with one hand tucked into his pocket while gently bouncing your son with the other, occasionally pausing just long enough to fix his little jersey after it rode up or quietly wipe away a bit of drool before continuing exactly where he'd left off. 

the reporter eventually laughed. "he's been eyeing the microphone this entire time." 

"yeah," karasu sighed. "i've noticed." 

your son finally made his move. tiny hands grabbed the microphone. "... dadadadada..." 

everyone leaned in. 

"... GOO..." 

pause. 

"BABABABABABA!!" followed immediately by a delighted squeal. 

karasu pinched the bridge of his nose while trying (and failing) not to laugh. 

"... great. he's discovered public speakin’." 

"do you think he has your personality?" the reporter teased. 

karasu looked down at your son, who was now trying to eat the fuzzy windscreen covering the microphone. "not really… he's louder." 

your son looked up at him and giggled. 

karasu's entire expression softened. "yeah, yeah. yer funny." 

the internet adored how naturally fatherhood seemed to fit him, with countless fans pointing out that every time your son reached for something he wasn't supposed to have, karasu never scolded him or looked stressed – he simply redirected him with the patience of someone who had already mastered the art of negotiating with a tiny human who couldn't even speak yet. 

kaiser michael 

kaiser had every intention of doing the interview alone because he genuinely believed it would be easier that way, but the moment you tried taking your son back, the baby immediately buried his face into his father's shoulder and clung to him with surprising strength, refusing to let go despite your gentle coaxing, causing kaiser to glance down for a brief second before quietly saying, "he's comfortable," with such calm certainty that even you couldn't help smiling before waving them both toward the interview area. 

somehow, kaiser looked impossibly composed standing beneath dozens of flashing cameras with your son balanced securely against his chest, occasionally adjusting the baby's tiny jacket whenever it slipped off one shoulder or gently brushing sweaty little blond strands of hair away from his forehead between answering questions, all while speaking with the same composed confidence he always carried after a victory. 

every so often, your son reached up just to touch his father's face, gently patting his cheek or absentmindedly playing with the damp strands of his blond hair falling into his eyes, and every single time, kaiser instinctively leaned down just enough to make it easier for those tiny hands to reach him without interrupting whatever answer he was giving. 

halfway through the interview, the inevitable happened – your son spotted the microphone. his eyes widened. tiny fingers stretched toward it. 

the reporter smiled knowingly. "would you like to let him answer one?" 

kaiser gave the smallest nod. 

the microphone was placed in front of your son. "...babababa..." 

everyone waited. 

"DADA!" 

kaiser's lips twitched. 

then your son enthusiastically leaned forward and planted the wettest little kiss imaginable directly onto the microphone before giggling to himself. 

the reporter completely broke character. the camera crew laughed. even several photographers lowered their cameras because they were laughing too hard to keep shooting. 

kaiser simply accepted the microphone back, wiped it clean with the towel around his neck, and quietly apologized before looking down at your son. 

"was that your interview?" 

"... da." 

"... i see." 

by the next morning, the internet had fallen hopelessly in love with the contrast between kaiser's composed, almost regal demeanor and the tiny baby enthusiastically covering expensive broadcasting equipment in drool every chance he got, with thousands joking that the only person capable of making michael kaiser patiently sanitize microphones on live television was his own son. 

ness alexis

ness had spent the entire walk to the interview softly talking to your son about absolutely everything that had just happened during the match, pointing toward the cheering supporters, waving his tiny hand toward the cameras, and proudly showing him the medal around his neck as though your 9-month-old genuinely understood every tactical decision that had led to today's victory. 

by the time you reached them, your son had become so content listening to his father's voice that the second you reached over to carry him instead, he immediately leaned right back into ness's chest with the sweetest little sigh, making ness smile so brightly it almost rivaled the stadium lights. 

"sorry," he laughed sheepishly. "i think... i might be trapped." 

throughout the interview, ness somehow answered every question while instinctively rocking your son in slow, gentle motions, occasionally kissing the top of his little head whenever he grew sleepy before quietly adjusting the tiny blanket draped around his shoulders because the evening air had started getting colder. 

reporters quickly noticed that your son hadn't taken his eyes off the microphone once. "i think someone has something important to contribute." 

ness laughed. “i think you're right." 

the microphone was lowered. your son reached forward with both hands. 

"... dadadadada..." 

pause. 

"... MAMAMAMAMA..." 

everyone collectively went quiet. 

ness blinked and looked toward you standing just off camera. "... did–" 

before he could finish speaking– 

"BTHHHHHHHHH." 

another enormous raspberry echoed through the speakers. 

the entire interview dissolved into laughter. 

ness laughed so hard he actually had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes before gently taking the microphone back from your son. 

"that..." he smiled down at him. "that was a wonderful speech, little guy.” 

the reporter grinned. "care to translate?" 

ness nodded with complete seriousness. "he said..." he pretended to think very hard. "that i'm the greatest midfielder in the world.” 

your son immediately smacked him on the cheek with one tiny hand. everyone burst into laughter again. 

"or," ness corrected himself through a grin, "maybe he disagrees." 

the internet absolutely adored the entire exchange, especially the way ness looked at your son with so much open affection that it almost made people forget they were watching an elite footballer and not simply an impossibly proud first-time dad, with thousands of comments insisting the baby had fact-checked his father live on international television for the whole world to see. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[sevarchive]

˚₊‧꒰ა LOCAL MAN CONVICED BY ORANGE CAT?

summary . . ৎ → in which BASTARD MÜNCHEN spends an entire afternoon trying to explain artificial intelligence to NOEL NOA and fails miserably OR Noel Noa thinks Cat AI videos are real?!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n: me and @lushbunsss had to spread the propaganda that noel noa absolutely falls for cat ai videos. this was such a random hc BUT ENJOY READING LMAOO

જ⁀➴ content: profanity :: crackfic:: mass gaslighting :: kaiser losing his mind :: SMAU

© sevarchive ➵ masterlist ʚɞ like/reblogs are appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[sevarchive]

˚₊‧꒰ა LOCAL MAN CONVICED BY ORANGE CAT?

summary . . ৎ → in which BASTARD MÜNCHEN spends an entire afternoon trying to explain artificial intelligence to NOEL NOA and fails miserably OR Noel Noa thinks Cat AI videos are real?!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n: me and @lushbunsss had to spread the propaganda that noel noa absolutely falls for cat ai videos. this was such a random hc BUT ENJOY READING LMAOO

જ⁀➴ content: profanity :: crackfic:: mass gaslighting :: kaiser losing his mind :: SMAU

© sevarchive ➵ masterlist ʚɞ like/reblogs are appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[mysoupi]

world ccup x blue lock doodles

[okqdmn]

JULIANNNN💕💕

[norettepamphlet]

My moon, my woman

being in a relationship with fem! hugo

warnings: made with afab reader in mind. Hugo is named Vivienne here. some NSFW scenarios, cunnilingus, bondage, skin marking, mentions of pussy, breasts, and overall nakedness. overall, just normal scenarios

a/n: decided to try a new format 🙏 the gorgeous fem hugo fanart is not mine!! credits: @vellistq on Twitter/X

  ★ being with Vivienne means moving in with her a day after confessing to one another, because you both were certain it was the right decision

  ★ being with Vivienne means being showered with French terms of endearment, ranging from “mon amor” and “ma chérie” to “ma belle” and “ma femme” (she especially loves calling you her wife)

 ★ being with Vivienne means going on park, cafe, and library dates, where you spend most of your time sitting close to each other and enjoying each other’s presence

  ★ (NSFW) being with Vivienne means making you sit on her face, tongue lapping over your glistening, pulsating pussy, hands gripping your thighs until her knuckles turned white, trying not to cum in her panties from the sheer sound of your praises or the feeling of your nails scratching her scalp!

  ★ being with Vivienne means having to listen to her yap about destiny, the errors other players have made during matches that she noticed, and how she will make Loki the best striker in the world by being her number 2, while all you wanted to do was sleep

  ★ being with Vivienne means attempting (and failing miserably) to make eclairs, only to end up with them oozing with cream or with the shells burnt!   ★ being with Vivienne means her noticing you in the stands each time, no matter how intense the game is or where you stand. her eyes will always automatically find yours, every time

  ★ (NSFW) being with Vivienne means tying her wrists to the bed after a successful match and covering her body in lip marks of your favorite lip gloss/lipstick, hickeys, and gentle bites to celebrate her victory! 

  ★ being with Vivienne means doing her makeup for her before going out! you’re the only one allowed to mess with her eyelashes. plus, she adores the way you look, all concentrated

  ★ being with Vivienne means resting your hand under her tank top, over her gorgeous breast, while watching movies

  ★ being with Vivienne means receiving full body mirror selfies from her while she’s training (you asked her to)

  ★ (NSFW) being with Vivienne means being the only one who gets to see her all flustered and desperate, strong thighs trembling, chest heaving, dark eyes watching you with need, mascara running down to her flushed cheeks, lipstick smudged! all devoted to you

  ★ being with Vivienne means waking up after a heated night with her naked body pressed tightly against yours, toned arms wrapped around your waist, legs thrown over yours, practically suffocating you 

  ★ being with Vivienne means a fixed future where she puts a ring on it! you are her destiny, after all

thank you sm for reading! all likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated! okay, Norette OUT

[okqdmn]

FEMLOCKKK(we all cheered)

[sevarchive]

˚₊‧꒰ა THIS GUY IS SUS, I SWEAR!

summary . . ৎ → in which JULIEN LOKI and VIVIEN HUGO join a jubilee-style game where 6 kids try to find 2 hidden adults OR two football players struggle to survive in the game harder than any football match they’ve ever played.

જ⁀➴ content: gameshow au :: crackfic :: 2.6K WORDS

THE CAMERAS ROLLED as eight contestants stood in a line.

Six of them were children. Two of them were secretly adults. Today's challenge was simple: could the kids figure out who didn't belong?

The rules were straightforward. Everyone would introduce themselves and answer questions through multiple rounds. After each round, the group would vote for the person they believed was an adult. The contestant with the most votes would be eliminated.

If both secret adults were identified before the final round, the kids would win. If even one adult managed to reach the end without being discovered, the adults would win.

For most people, the challenge sounded easy.

But for professional football players Julien Loki and Vivien Hugo, who had been strongly encouraged by their management team to participate for publicity purposes, it sounded like a complete waste of an afternoon.

Unfortunately for them, contracts had already been signed.

And somewhere backstage, several producers were about to discover that placing two football prodigies in a room full of children was either an excellent idea—

or a catastrophic one.

Loki looked completely unbothered by the challenge.

“I think I'll be pretty good at this,” he said. “People usually underestimate me, which is great for me and terrible for them. The plan is simple: act normal, survive every round, and prove I'm smarter than everyone else here.”

He shrugged.

“Honestly, I don't see myself getting eliminated.”

Meanwhile, Hugo's approach was considerably less ambitious.

“My strategy is to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself,” he said. “The fewer people remember I exist, the better.”

A pause.

“Unfortunately, Loki is here.”

Another pause.

“Which lowers my confidence significantly.”

The contestants kept a straight line formation, each wearing a blindfold and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

A voice changer distorted every voice in the room, making it impossible to identify anyone by sound alone. The producer smiled at the camera.

“Let's begin in three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Go!”

For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then a small voice broke the silence.

"Okay, everybody introduce yourselves."

"Yeah."

"Let's see who's sus."

"Good idea."

The introductions started making their way around the circle.

"I'm Ava. I'm seven and I have a bunny."

"I'm Noah. I'm eight and I can do a cartwheel."

"I'm Liam. I'm nine and I like dinosaurs."

The others reacted with the appropriate level of amazement. Then it was Loki's turn.

"I'm Jules. I'm nine and I play football."

A few kids immediately perked up.

"Ooo."

"Football kid."

"Who's your favorite player?"

Loki nearly answered automatically. Thankfully, he remembered he wasn't supposed to be Julien Loki. So instead, he decided to redirect.

"Well, who are your favorites?"

The answer came so quickly it was almost concerning.

"Isagi!"

"Mine's Isagi too."

"He's the GOAT."

The agreement spread around the circle instantly. One kid declared him the greatest striker ever. Another insisted his aura was unmatched. Someone proudly admitted to spending an entire weekend watching Isagi edits. Within seconds, the group had somehow convinced itself that Isagi could beat every football player on Earth.

"I think he's the best striker ever."

"Yeah! I bet he could beat anybody."

Loki sat in complete silence at first. Then a child confidently announced that Isagi would definitely win against any pro player in the world.

Something inside Loki snapped.

"Well," Loki said politely, "I don't know if I'd go that far."

Somewhere backstage, a producer quietly lowered their face into their hands. Because they knew exactly what was about to happen. The children immediately latched onto the response.

"Why not?"

"Isagi is an excellent player. His awareness of the field is exceptional, and his ability to adapt during matches is probably his greatest weapon. But football isn't decided by one quality alone."

The kids stared blankly, and encouraged by the silence, Loki continued.

"His decision-making is impressive, sure. But every time he wins something, people suddenly forget there are players who are faster than him, stronger than him, and better than him in individual areas. And half the conversations about him aren't even objective anymore. It's just, 'Isagi did this,' 'Isagi did that,' 'Isagi's the greatest striker ever.' That's ridiculous."

One kid whispered,

"I think bro's a hater."

"I am not."

"You sound like one."

"I'm being realistic."

The child immediately responded,

"That's what haters say."

Meanwhile, Loki was getting increasingly irritated.

"I'm just saying that if you're ranking strikers, there are plenty of players who deserve to be in that conversation."

"Like who?"

Loki answered instantly.

"Julien Loki."

Across the circle, Hugo nearly laughed. He was fairly certain Loki had completely forgotten he was supposed to be pretending to be nine years old.

All they knew was that "Jules" had somehow gone from sounding like a kid to sounding like a football pundit trapped in a child's body. And judging by the increasingly confused silence around the circle, the others were starting to notice it too.

Hugo, meanwhile, had reached a simple conclusion:

Loki was cooked.

After all the raging silence, one of the kids finally spoke.

"Who's Julien Loki?"

"No clue! I’ve never heard of him."

"...Did you make him up?"

"Maybe he's his imaginary friend." Loki was beginning to regret every decision he'd made in the last five minutes.

"He's real."

The children immediately pounced.

"How do you know him?"

Loki answered without thinking.

"Because he's famous."

Then one kid snorted.

"If he's so famous, then why don't we know him?"

The entire group collectively went,

"OHHHHHHHH."

The reaction was immediate and merciless.

"He got cooked."

"Actually cooked!"

"Burned—"

"—Deep fried—"

"—Air fried—"

"—EXTRA CRISPY!"

Then, just as the laughter started dying down, one kid suddenly gasped.

"WAIT."

Everyone turned.

"What?"

"Remember earlier when Jules was talking about Isagi? He sounded like an adult."

"WAIT, HE DID!"

"He was saying all those weird football words."

"And he got super mad."

"Like REALLY mad."

"He sounded like my dad watching sports."

The accusations immediately returned.

"SUS."

"SUPER SUS."

"MEGA SUS."

Before Loki could respond, Hugo immediately joined in.

"ULTRA SUS."

The kids lost it.

"YEAHHHH!"

Loki opened his mouth.

"That doesn't even—"

BUZZ!

"TIME'S UP!"

"HE'S COOKED!"

"VOTE HIM!"

Hugo shook his head dramatically.

"Sorry, Jules. The allegations won."

Loki had never been eliminated this fast before. One by one, the kids raised their fingers to vote, each holding up the number they thought belonged to the imposter, and by the time the last kid pointed, Loki had been unanimously eliminated. He rose from his seat, shooting Hugo a long look that somehow translated perfectly into, I am never letting you forget this. Hugo had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop laughing. As Loki walked off, the producer stepped forward with a smile. "Interesting choice. But the imposter is still among you."

The room exploded.

"WHAT?"

"NO WAY."

"WE GOT THE WRONG GUY?!"

Eventually, the producer called for the next round to begin, and the circle settled down again. For about five seconds. Then one kid suddenly spoke up.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Number Eight hasn't introduced himself yet."

A few heads turned instinctively despite the blindfolds.

"That's true."

"Yeah, he's been super quiet."

"Bro's an NPC this whole time."

He paused for a second before finally speaking.

"Oh. Right."

A small laugh escaped him.

"I'm Hugo. I'm nine."

The introduction was simple enough. Unfortunately, it only made everyone more interested.

"Why were you so quiet?"

"I was listening."

"That's kinda sus."

"Not really," Hugo replied. "You guys were already doing enough talking for everybody."

A few kids laughed.

"Okay, fair."

Hugo tilted his head slightly, and under the blindfold, his expression went unreadable as he quietly reorganized his approach: match their language, lower perceived age signals, avoid structured phrasing, keep responses short, mirror slang without overusing it.

He adjusted his tone, softer now, less formal. “So… what games do you guys play?”

“Roblox.”

“Roblox!”

“Roblox and like… rage games.”

Hugo nodded slowly, absorbing the situation. “Roblox. Yeah. Cool. I know that.”

Inside his head, however, everything was carefully arranged like a tactical board: Common ground established. Shared reference point: Roblox. High probability of success in blending in if he mirrors familiarity without overcommitting technical detail.

“So Roblox,” he added, then immediately realized that sounded too formal and corrected himself mid-breath, “I mean—Roblox… which ones you guys like?”

“Brookhaven.”

“Doors.”

“Adopt Me.”

“Steal a Brainrot.”

Hugo nodded again, a little too intensely. “Yeah. Yeah. I play that.”

A kid suddenly leaned forward. “What do YOU play then?”

However, Hugo had never touched Roblox a day in his life. His entire knowledge of it came from eavesdropping on children who sounded increasingly unhinged the longer they talked. He immediately started digging through old memories from the kids he'd babysat.

Come on. Think. There was a plant game. Or a brainrot game. Maybe both. One of them had seeds. One of them had something screaming. That's close enough. Use that.

"Uh... Plants vs Brainrot."

"No way."

"I play that!"

"That's actually so fun."

Perhaps this is easier than expected. Hugo thought to himself. Perhaps children simply accept information at face value. Perhaps I worried for no reason. Perhaps—

"Oh, cool. Then what rarity is the Shroomblno Seed?"

Never mind.

The question caught him completely off guard. Up until now, he'd been operating under the assumption that saying the game's name would be enough. Apparently, there were follow-up questions. Detailed follow-up questions. Damn, that kid seemed to have dedicated an alarming amount of time to play Roblox.

"Uh... Mythic?" Hugo guessed.

"No."

"Divine?"

"No."

Hugo cleared his throat. "Okay, then how much does it cost?"

"You're the one who's supposed to know."

"Right."

"...Three thousand?"

The entire circle erupted.

"THREE THOUSAND?"

"No way!"

"What are you buying?"

Hugo immediately backtracked.

"One thousand."

"No."

"Five hundred."

"No."

"Eight hundred?"

"849."

Hugo nodded as if that had been exactly where he was headed all along.

"Yeah. That's what I meant."

Then the Roblox nerd kid blurted out,

"You're lying, you've never played Roblox! Guys, he's a fraud!"

The accusation immediately sent the circle into laughter.

"No, seriously," the kid continued. "He's an unc."

"HE IS!"

"Bro's an unc!"

"That's why he doesn't know anything!"

Hugo frowned.

"What's an unc?"

The reaction was immediate.

"SEE?"

"HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW!"

"UNC CONFIRMED!"

For a moment, Hugo said nothing. Then, somewhere inside his head, a completely different strategy formed. If logic wasn't working, perhaps public perception would, Hugo thought to himself. A few seconds passed. Then Hugo quietly sniffed.

"...What was that?"

"Oh, come on."

"I did not expect this kind of environment," Hugo declared, voice wobbling dramatically. "I came here to play a simple guessing game, and instead I am being emotionally attacked."

"YOU ANSWERED WRONG!"

"YES!" Hugo said, almost offended at the interruption. "Because my tiny kid brain forgot!"

"I forget things sometimes," he added more theatrically, "It is part of who i am. I cannot help it."

The kid groaned.

"Stop acting like that!"

"I am not acting," Hugo said instantly, then sniffed. "I am expressing my feelings."

"THAT’S NOT HOW KIDS TALK!"

"Well maybe I am just… a sensitive kid."

"...He does sound kinda sad though."

The kid immediately snapped.

"GUYS, NO! HE’S DOING IT ON PURPOSE!"

Hugo pressed a hand to his chest dramatically.

"I feel unsafe."

"STOP SAYING THAT!"

"I feel targeted by older kids."

"YOU ARE THE OLDER KID!"

Hugo gasped softly.

"That is a very hurtful accusation."

"YOU’RE AN UNC—YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW BASIC ROBLOX!"

"...You’re being very mean."

"GOOD!"

Hugo sniffed in a way that was dramatic, completely dry, and entirely unconvincing.

"I’m going to tell my mummy."

"Okay, stop being mean… I think he’s actually upset."

Another chimed in quickly.

"Yeah like he’s literally going to tell his mum."

The kid threw his hands up.

"OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS ARE FALLING FOR IT! HE’S ACTING ALL SAD AND CONFUSED SO YOU GUYS FEEL BAD FOR HIM, BUT HE’S NOT CONFUSED—"

And just like that, the buzzer cut him off. The producer’s voice came in, calm and neutral, announcing it was time to vote. One by one, the kids voted who they thought was the adult. The earlier certainty had completely dissolved into confusion, with Hugo’s “breakdown” still lingering in half their minds, and the Roblox nerd’s accusations still echoing in the other half.

“The vote has been counted,” the producer said after the final signal. “It’s a tie—between Number 8 and 5. Now the two of you will get a turn to explain why you should stay, and then everyone will vote again. We will start with Number 8.”

Hugo went still as the instructions landed. They were children, so consistency mattered more than correctness. If he sounded too precise, he’d read as older. If he sounded too defensive, he’d look guilty. He needed to let them feel like keeping him was the easier option. Then, he exhaled slowly, then nodded once.

“Um… I think I should stay because I’m not doing anything bad, I just get a bit confused sometimes and I take longer to answer, and I’m trying my best to follow along and not mess anything up, so I don’t really know what else to say, I’m just… trying to be normal like everyone else.”

He paused for half a beat, then added quietly,

“Well… I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m a kid.”

From somewhere in the line, a small, almost satisfied hiss slipped out.

“...he’s an unc.”

Now it was the other kid’s turn, his voice was sharp and annoyed, words spilling out in one breath.

“Guys guys, I just wanted to say that he’s obviously the imposter and I can prove it with three things—first, he doesn’t even know basic Roblox stuff and keeps guessing, second, he keeps switching between sounding normal and then doing that fake quiet sad voice every time people start suspecting him, and third, he literally turned a simple question into a whole emotional speech so you’d all feel bad for him instead of focusing on what I’m saying!”

He took a breath, shoulders tense but not backing down.

“I’m not trying to be mean… I just think we need to be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Remember who the REAL enemy is.”

“Time to vote again,” the producer said.

One by one, fingers lifted in the line of blindfolded contestants, pointing with uncertain hesitation. When the last vote was counted, the producer nodded.

“Now, everyone remove your blindfolds.”

Hands immediately went up along the line, fumbling as blindfolds were pulled off one by one. Light hit their faces all at once, and the room slowly came into focus again.

The kids blinked, adjusting—then their attention snapped straight to Number 8.

“I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT!” the Roblox kid shouted, pointing hard like he’d just won a championship.

“I CALLED IT! I CALLED EVERYTHING!”

A few kids gasped, some laughing, some still processing it all.

And then, from the side, a small girl tilted her head at Hugo for a moment longer than the others.

“…he’s so handsome.”

Hugo exhaled slowly.“I admit it. You caught me. And before anyone asks what I do for a living… I play football.”

“FOOTBALL??”

“LIKE PRO??”

Then, almost casually, Hugo added, “And the guy who got eliminated first, the one who kept going on about Isagi and acting like he couldn’t stand him…”

A pause.

“…is actually Julien Loki himself.”

A slow clap echoed from the side of the stage.

“Finally.”

Loki stepped forward, stretching his arms like he’d been taking a nap the entire time.

“Anyway… no matter what you say,” he added lazily, eyes half-lidded with boredom, “or who you’re rooting for… I’ll beat Japan anyway.”

And as the cameras kept rolling, the two “kids” who had endured purely through logic, improvisation, and the world’s worst emotional acting stood side by side. And well… it seemed what Loki stated was no exaggeration.

It was simply a fact that would, eventually, prove itself true.

© sevarchive ➵ masterlist ʚɞ like/reblogs are appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[okqdmn]

Julian Loki..... AJAIJDNSJSJAJAAKAKAKKAKAA THE MAN YOU ARE 😳😳😳 uhm...

Hey... I wanna order uhm dom reader and sub Julian Loki pretty please with a chicken on top

Julian Loki x Reader that's strapped

A/n: Haven't written smut in a while so I hope I'm not too rusty! Using a laptop is so much better than my phone. I'm locking innn. Requests will be responded to faster now! N: Thank you for the request! It was a little vague so I free balled it. I don't know if this is what you meant but please enjoy nonetheless! I made it a mixture of crack and actual pegging lolol Rated: Mature contains:strap, anal, and aftercare

"Mon Amour, are you sure about this?"

"I don't think it'll fi—"

Your poor handsome prince is unable to finish his sentence as you bottom out in his sweet little hole, his face shoved in the pillow as your pelvis meets his lubed up ass. Truly, you never thought that your confident boyfriend with his little God complex would have ever agreed to being pegged by his girlfriend. Then again, your charming boyfriend rarely ever denied you anything. With how tight he was gripping the blanket you truly wished that your strap wasn't just a toy so you could feel him gripping you with his warm soft insides. Out of the kindness of your heart you pause for a moment, gently stroking his hip as you bent down to leave soft kisses on his back.

"You were saying Julie?"

You tease, unable to hold back a slight snicker at the full out shiver that ripples down his lightly coated sweated body from all your previous teasing and prepping.

"You truly play unfair Mon amour…say, is this how it feels when the roles are reversed?"

You pause your light kisses down his back and the gentle strokes on his hip, blinking. You process his question in this very much sexually tensed moment before bursting out into fits of laughter. Your very confused Julian turning his head back as much as he could while on his stomach, blinking at your sudden fit.

"You're fully deep into my ass and having a GIGGLE fit."

"Because who the hell asks THAT while his girlfriend is PEGGING him."

"Its a fair question—"

"Julian if this strap was real I would be going soft right now."

"Damn okay—but the answer—"

You sigh—not out of frustration but out of the ridiculously comedic turn this was taking.

"Describe it to me Julie"

"Well…I feel very full and this throbbing feel from the stretch."

"and…is that description a positive thing or negative thing?"

"Definitely positive…I'm a little upset we didn't try this earlier—"

"—So if you're rambling does this mean its okay for me to move now?"

Julian pouts—POUTS! Your spoiled prince, before giving a nod.

"Words Julie, consent is sexy babe, express it"

"…Please move now, slow."

You obey his plea, your hands gripping his hips again to steady yourself as you start moving. Your pelvis starts meeting Julian's ass with your slow thrusts, the heavy plap plap plaps! echoing in the dimly lit room with a mixture of your pants and Julian's attempted concealed moans. You let out a huff before pulling out for a moment, guiding Julian's shaky body onto his back and placing his legs over your shoulders for a deepppp mating press. One of your hands move to grip his thigh for stability while the other moves down to wrap around his cock, the strokes matching your thrusts.

"Come on Julie, where are those vocals when the roles are reversed? I wanna hear you baby"

"ngh…Mon coeur…please—faster—"

plap!plap!plap!plap

You don't need him to ask you twice, you're moving before he can even finish his sentence. You coo down at him, the new position making it difficult for him to hide his moans

"Look at you…doing so good my pampered prince"

"please—Mon Amor keep that pace—"

"I'm gonna—"

You giggle, giving a couple more deep thrusts and strokes on his shaft before strings of cum shoot out his cock. You help your poor mess of a boyfriend ride out his high, your movement slowing down as soon as he finishes. You can't hide the grin on your face as Julian covers his face with his arm, his chest moving up and down as you allow him a mere moment to catch hid breathe, placing soft kisses down his neck as you stroke his thigh.

"So? How was it Julie?"

You move his arm from his face. pecking his forehead as you extracted the strap out of him.

"I still can't believe I said yes to this."

He huffs out, gently cupping your face, his golden eyes meeting yours.

"I can't believe you said yes either—but back to my question."

"It…It was good. I WOULD like more praising next time though."

"Really? That's what you want to focus on?"

"Shut up and CUDDLE with me woman—"

You roll your eyes affectionately, pecking his lips.

"You don't want water or—"

"I told you what I wanted, that can all wait."

You huff, before you allowed Julian to shift you beside him, his face buried in your hair. Your head rests on his chest, your arms moving around him and lightly stroking his back. Because of course he still wanted to be big spoon for after care despite being pegged. You go along with his wishes—knowing full well that just as Julian was unable to deny you your desires, you were truly unable to deny him his.

A/N: You CANNOT tell me that Julian is not vocal or sassy in bed. He wants to be treated like royalty and you WILL do so.

[okqdmn]

Uhmmm could you do sae x reader (smau) but reader is really nonchalant. like they’re both nonchalant 🥹🫰

Authors note: Hey guys, sorry for being late. I've been busy getting ready for college after finishing high school this summer. I have time to post now. I also got a laptop so I'll be able to finally organize my blog. I'll get to my other requests soon, trustt

Sae Itoshi x Nonchalant Reader

Note: I'm not that good at writing nonchalant characters but I tried my best. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy, sorry for the waiting again!

[lauve-laise]

— “ *:・ﾟcaught at dawn // julien loki

╰──—> slight breath play + public sex

a/n: late fic for papi i was too busy jerking it on his bday im sorr + half asleep writing oh nos

you should've known better than to go with loki to his morning workout. you thought it would only be a few quiet hours spent watching your boyfriend sweat, but it was only 5 a.m.─how was a gym even open this early? no matter. right now, you were wishing you'd stayed home, because the sight before you was just pure, unmitigated trouble

julien was mid-set, his muscles coiled and strained beneath a thin tank that hugged him perfectly. his arms were tense and already glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. the harsh overhead lights caught the deep grooves of his forearms, veins standing out as he gripped the iron, each lift earned a deep groan.

you sat on a bench across from him, swaddled in one of his oversized hoodies. you let out a yawn, and the sound caught his attention. he had just finished a set, sitting up as he caught your gaze through the floor to ceiling mirror.

“are you sleepy, ma puce? you should've stayed at home.” julien says it so sweetly as he grabs a towel and drapes it over his neck—the same towel he's always used, and the same towel you've somehow grown envious of

you shook your head slowly. you were deadass sleepy, but watching him workout? was worth losing a few hours of slumberland. “s'okay.. i wanted to keep you company... or maybe work out myself, but... figured i could just help myself to free eye-candy ~”

weary as you were, you couldn't help being cheeky. he let out an airy chuckle, standing up from the bench. julien picked up his water bottle, popping the lid before taking a long, thirsty swig. you watched closely as his adam's apple bobbed, the sweat tracing the line of his throat making him look even more hot.

when he finished, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and stepped onto the treadmill. he looked at you, and you looked back; his eyes weren't the soft, sleepy eyes you usually saw first thing in the morning. they were dark, blown wide with adrenaline.

“y'know... it's just us here, jules...” you say, crossing your legs as you await his response “hm? qu’est-ce que tu insinues?”

you chuckled softly, stretching your arms above your head, your back arching in a slow, deliberate bow. a soft sigh escaped your lips as you motioned for him to come closer. “what?” he asked. “c’mere, we've got the place to ourselves~”

julien stepped off the treadmill, his purposeful strides eating up the distance between you. the squeaks of his shoes against the polished floor felt like a countdown. before you could even swallow the dry lump in your throat, he was there

tall before your slouched frame, your doll like eyes peered through lashes you’d had done with his money. looking up at him this way, you knew he loved it. your arms wrapped around his hips, your face pressing against his crotch. “baby... i said... it’s just us here~” you mouthed against the heavy bulge of his cock through his shorts.

he rasped, “you’re gonna be the death of me, love...” a sharp, frustrated huff escaped him. his fingers constricted in your hair not enough to hurt, but enough to let you feel the sheer tension radiating off him. “mon dieu, you’re so shameless,” he scolded, though the reprimand lacked any real bite. “so lewd, at this hour, too?”

his eyes stayed glued to yours as he watched you dirty his shorts. now that he was fully erect, you were licking the prominent shape of his shaft through the fabric. julien’s chest was heaving, his hips bucking instinctively into your face. “fine,” he hissed, a smirk finally breaking through the scolding. “have at it. i can’t say no to you ~"

a frantic staccato filled the quiet room. you stared up at him, your breath shallow and your eyes dark with the very hunger he had just called you out for. slowly, with hands that trembled just enough to betray you, you reached out. your fingers grazed the waistband of his gym shorts, the fabric warm from his skin. with a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled him free. his cock sprang forward, twitching in the cool air. as he slid out, the sight of him thick, weeping a bead of pre, and pulsing with a life of its own made your mouth water.

as you leaned in, the scent of him strong, hot and sex was a drug, making your head swim. you could feel him hot against your palms, licking at his cocktip painfully slow, his eyes locked onto yours. his hand was ironclad on your head, his grip tightening as he whispered, “don’t worry about who might walk in… let them see. now, mon chou… open up”

julien’s other hand rose to caress your cheek, encouraging you to open your mouth wider. a soft, needy whine escaped you, a flicker of hesitation, but the desire to have him inside you outweighed any desire to tease.

as he gently eased into your hot mouth, the world shrank until nothing remained but the sensation of him. the first inch was a slow, torturous glide; his thick length stretched your lips, making your eyes flutter shut as your throat instinctively tried to accommodate him. he was so large, so impossibly hot that your head spun and your ankles crossed against the gym floor, searching for purchase.

but the gentleness was a lie, a fleeting mercy before the storm. the moment he felt you melt around him, heard that muffled whimpering catch in your throat, julien’s fingers stiffened in your hair. he anchored you with an unyielding grip, his knuckles white.

with a sudden, powerful thrust, he drove deep, burying himself in the heat of your throat. the air vanished from your lungs in a choked, desperate gasp as he begun a relentless, rhythmic pace. he fucked you with unbridled intensity, his hips snapping forward with a force that tilted your head back, your eyes leaking tears from the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him.

each time julien bottomed out, hitting the very back of your throat, a low, dark groan tore from his chest a sound of pure, possessive triumph. he gave you no moment to recover, no second to breathe before he was driving into you again. his pace became frantic, a brutal pounding that echoed through the gym.

glk ! glk ! glk ! again and again, you drowned in him, lost in the pungent scent of his skin, your hands clutching his thighs just to keep yourself upright. you could hear the animalistic sounds ripping from his throat, the guttural “ugh─fuck!… ” and the way his breath hitched as he raced toward the precipice. he was close, so close.

suddenly, his grip on your hair shifted. as julien delivered one final, devastatingly deep lunge, his free hand flew up, thumb and forefinger clamping firmly over your nose and sealing your airway. the sudden loss of breath sent a jolt of delicious panic through your chest; your eyes flew wide and your throat constricted around him even tighter.

with your breath held captive, he let out a long, guttural moan. his entire body shuddered as he came deep inside you, a hot, pulsing deluge that flooded your mouth and throat, forcing you to swallow every drop.

the silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of salt and his ragged, waning pants. julien didn't pull away immediately. instead, he watched the mess he’d made, the glistening strings of cum connecting your lips to his cock, the stray drops shining on your chin. his eyes were hazy, his expression unreadable, as he watched you for a long moment.

finally, he released your nose. you gasped, half choking on his cum. julien reached down, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence of the last few minutes.

──────────────────

the gym echoes with the heavy, rhythmic slap of skin on skin as he pounds against the edge of the weight bench, the sound sharp and unapologetic in the vast, empty space. he had already come once, a violent explosion that left him buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gasped for air.

but he didn’t stop. his hands dug into your hips, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate, as if he were trying to pour his very soul into you. after a few more sloppy thrusts, he came a second time, deeper, you sounded absolutely broken, your cries muffled by the towel he had shoved into your face earlier to steal your sweetness

julien’s voice broke into a dry, ragged rasp as he ground his cock inside you. a string of curses spilled from his lips as he felt his body tightening once more. “fils de─!” he grunted into the nape of your neck, his arms wrapping like iron bands around your waist as he rocked his hips in tight, punishing circles

“mgh…ju-.. ffffuuuck..~” you whimpered, clamping harder around him as you feel another load, a third one. finally, he slumped against you, his chest hot against your bare back. you could still feel him spurting what little cum he had left, his heart hammering against your spine

he pulled his towel away from your face, letting you finally catch your breath. his lips hovered just inches from your ear, his voice silken and teasing “regarde l’heure…” he whispered "it’s almost morning, petite bête. the sun is rising. the cleaners will be here soon… the regulars will be walking through those doors any minute…~”

as he spoke, his hips continued to grind in time, his hand reaching down to rub slow, torturous circles against your overstimulated bud. “imagine,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, “if they walk in right now… and see you like this? wrecked, trembling, and so full of me? ça me rend dur à nouveau…~”

the thought hit you like a physical blow. the sheer, scandalous audacity of it, the idea of the world intruding on this sacred, filthy moment sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. “please, julien…” you choked out “please what, chérie?” he teased, his voice dark with mischief. “do you want them to see? do you want them to know exactly what i did to you?”

your vision blurred, your breath hitched in a silent, desperate sob, and as he delivered one last, thrust, you came so hard it left you sobbing on the leather seat, your body arching in a final surrender to the terror and the ecstasy of being his

‘

‘

‘

happy brithday lokipoki

[vivyianzaki]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐗𝐈 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: this is my first time making p*rn links oneshots, MINORS DNI!!!, visual sexual content, ignore this if you uncomfortable in videos, sorry the grammar, ALL THE CHARACTERS IN HERE ARE 19, except sae and loki they're 18, all videos are belongs to twitter

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: p and v sex, fetishes, moody sex (sae and hugo), sucking tits, cunnilingus, backshoting, rough sex (kaiser/lorenzo) etc.

𝜗ৎ 𝐒𝐚𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐮 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐬

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲

𝜗ৎ 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐬

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

𝜗ৎ 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝜗ৎ 𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱!! 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐬

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝜗ৎ 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐈𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱

𝜗ৎ 𝐃𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝜗ৎ

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐠

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ 𐙚 ̊ 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭

𝕰𝕹𝕯

[if-loves]

(don't) come to me!

// vivien hugo x fem! reader

syn: as the intern assistant manager in blue lock, your responsibilities are endless and your salary is low. as if that wasn't already bad enough, you wind up drawing the distaste of new gen 11 player vivien hugo, and you don't even know what you did!

or in which, hugo falls in love with you at first sight, but you think he absolutely hates you.

wc: 814

notes: fem pronouns / fluff / no y/n used / ooc hugo / miscommunication-ish / they're both stupid your honor / reader is an intern assistant manager (is that a role probably not but who cares) / don't think too hard about how you got to bllk,,, just know that you are there

a/n: this is that idea i posted a little while ago, unfortunately i can't promise this is any good but if people like it enough i might do a little series with them since i do think it's the kind of idea that is better presented over multiple writings (i also realised that hugo's part sounds slightly... ominous/overtly serious (?) but at the same time it is hugo so.) enjoy!

it was supposed to be routine, just another part of your duties as an intern assistant manager to blue lock. helping the foreign teams accommodate, guiding them to training areas and other similar facilities, but how did it end up with france's vivien hugo basically breathing down your neck?!

to put the timeline into place, it started with ego ordering you to help some france players around the blue lock facility. you did ask why loki and charles couldn't just help themselves since, you know, they were here just awhile ago, but he ignored you. such is the life of an intern, you suppose…

anyhow, you greeted loki, charles, and the new member hugo when they arrived. you flowed into an easy conversation with charles, who was as excitable as always, but you couldn't shake the feeling of hugo's eyes piercing into your back, and for some reason it put your body into some form of fight-or-flight. maybe his tall and intimidating stature and blank face had something to do with it…

you could only smile with a slightly strained look as you showed them to one of the training grounds, already set with water bottles and towels for their use. you were more than eager to run away as soon as you could, lest you melt into a puddle of nerves thanks to hugo.

but before you could leave, a hand grabbed your wrist, cornering you, and you knew for a fact that neither loki nor charles was to blame. so, with a bated breath and a short prayer, you turned around to meet hugo's face, that was scarily close to yours.

"you didn't give me your name." his eyes, the pair of black holes that they are, threatened to swallow you whole. you can only hope that your gulp wasn't audible or noticeable.

stuttering out your name, you shook your hand free and effectively ran away with a flimsy excuse that ego had some work for you to finish. were all the new gens this intimidatingly weird?!

vivian hugo didn't expect to fall in love in japan, let alone in the blue lock facility.

he had seen some clips of the neo egoist league, mostly the pxg matches, but he swears you were never in them. because if you were, he would've gone to japan much, much earlier. hell, he might've even asked to transfer to pxg temporarily just to see you!

but destiny has a funny way of working, so hugo supposes there's no point lamenting something out of his control. it's more important that he gets to meet you now, isn't it?

everything about you has enraptured him at just the first glance. the way you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes, the tone of your voice… hugo knew in an instant that you were his other half, just as he is yours.

while you entertained charles in the front, hugo walked behind you next to loki. his eyes couldn't leave your figure even if he wanted to, not that he ever would. loki, seemingly noticing this laser focus, leaned over to him.

"what's with you?" loki asks him, low enough that charles's yapping could cover it perfectly.

"she's my soulmate." hugo replies with complete seriousness, that even loki stares at him with disbelief.

"sometimes i worry about you, hugo…"

when you later tried to run away like a skittish kitten, hugo couldn't let you go without at least knowing your name. he could ask loki or charles, but if he wanted to properly court you, he needs to hear it from you! besides, it's more attractive if a man is assertive, if his sister's favourite romance novels are anything to go by.

that's why hugo took your arm and cornered just like he's seen in all those popular movies, because this is the move that girls usually swoon over, right?

seeing you look up at him, wide-eyed and stuttering out your name, hugo felt like he could already hear the chiming of bells and a scenic place — maybe somewhere in france or japan, wherever you liked — decorated in white. his own heart stuttered, warmth blooming in his chest as he watched you run away. damn, he already hates to see you go, but he might just be in love with watching you leave.

"hugo, what was that?!" charles gawks, eyes as wide as saucers and jaw hanging open. said man was still staring at where you were just a minute ago, soaking in the feeling of being in such close proximity to you, before blinking and snapping himself out of the trance you had him in.

charles's question goes unanswered as hugo sets his bag down and slips off his jacket, preparing his warm-ups, now with a new dream in his mind.

by the end of the world cup, you will be his. it's your shared destiny, after all.

[okqdmn]

The Hugo romcom agenda is growingggg🤭