— summary; you thought you could handle hugo in bed. spoiler alert: YOU COULDN'T.
— notes; im back from the dead and y'all can thank this beautiful french man. im down so bad for him it's not even funny. reblogs are appreciated and pls donate to my Ko-Fi if you like my stuff!
❋ It's almost humiliating, really, how quickly everyone in the French U20 team notices that something is deeply, deeply wrong with you.
❋ Because normally, you'd be bouncing around the sidelines with way too much energy.
❋ But today?
❋ Today, you're walk into practice with the dead-eyed look of a soldier returning from war.
❋ Your movements are slow. Careful. Visibly painful.
❋ Stairs are now your mortal enemy.
❋ So is walking.
❋ And so is breathing.
❋ Meanwhile, beside you, Vivian Hugo looks completely normal.
❋ Same messy burgundy hair.
❋ Cool black eyes.
❋ Holding onto that stupid blank notebook of his.
❋ Which, in your opinion, is terribly unfair considering how worn out you look.
❋ And, as though to put a cherry on top of your ice cream cone of humiliation —
❋ The ENTIRE room goes pin-drop silent when you try to sit, slowly and carefully like an 89-year-old war veteran, and the most miserable, wounded sound leaves your lips as soon as your rear end makes contact with the hardwood bench.
❋ Oh.
❋ OH.
❋ Charles' eyes nearly pop out of his head; he's staring so hard.
❋ “OH MY GOD.”
❋ “Shut UP,” you hiss immediately, face burning.
❋ And he starts laughing, not even the polite kind of laughter that would be socially acceptable.
❋ He's practically hunched over at the waist, tears in his eyes, rolling on the floor laughing because your misery is apparently hilarious and so is the fact that Hugo apparently got laid last night.
❋ “NO, WAY, DID YOU AND —”
❋ And Hugo, calm and unflappable as ever, actually has the nerve to say, “Yes.”
❋ Why.
❋ You can only stare at him in horror as the room EXPLODES.
❋ One: That’s an insane answer.
❋ Two: He says it with absolutely no shame whatsoever while you’re silently praying for the ground to swallow you whole.
❋ You can almost feel the collective wave of sympathy emanating from the team, because now everyone and their mother knows why you’re moving like your bones are made of glass.
❋ The worst part is that you had been SO confident beforehand.
❋ You'd taken one look at this beautiful, 187cm midfielder and actually thought:
❋ How bad could it possibly be?
❋ The answer:
❋ Very.
❋ Because, apparently, Hugo does everything with absurd commitment.
❋ Football.
❋ Training.
❋ And apparently —
❋ That too.
❋ Which also brings you back to the present, and the consequences of your actions:
❋ Glaring absolute murder at Vivian Hugo while he calmly adjusts his gloves like he didn’t personally press you into the mattress twelve hours ago.
❋ “She said she could handle the physical exertion.”
❋ In the distance, someone chokes on water.
❋ “That was before I knew you were a monster, Hugo!”
❋ And that is when the screaming starts.
❋ And even Loki buries his face in his hands because this really wasn't how he pictured his morning going.
❋ “You are NEVER doing that again.”
❋ Hugo looks at you for exactly two seconds before calmly saying, “That statement is untrue."
❋ Charles makes a sound like a dying animal.
❋ And tragically . . .
❋ There's really nothing you can say to dispute him because you would absolutely let that man rail you again in a heartbeat.
— summary; drunk! you tries (and fails) to hit on a handsome guy at a fancy party.
— notes; reblogs are appreciated and pls donate to my Ko-Fi if you like my stuff!
You’ve been to so many of these galas, and each time, they never cease to amaze you with how boring they are.
Rich people.
Rich people pretending not to compare net worths.
Rich people talking about football while clearly never having touched a ball.
Rich people asking your parents questions.
Rich people asking you questions.
“Oh, how you’ve grown!”
“So, what university are you planning to attend?”
“A pretty thing such as yourself must surely have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”
Your parents are thriving.
They're famous football consultants, the kind that clubs and managers pay through their noses to engage.
It’s like they’ve come home.
On the other hand, you are this close to throwing yourself into one of the fancy crystal centrepieces.
But because you are good and decent, you do not.
You do, however, find the champagne.
In your defence, you hadn’t meant to get drunk.
You only took a glass because you were bored.
Then another, because someone hands you one.
Then another, because apparently, the very nice waiters like to refill your drink every five seconds.
By glass three, you’re tolerating the event.
By glass four, everyone is suddenly hilarious.
By glass five, you’re pretty sure that you’re having the time of your life in this ballroom.
You’re halfway through glass six — or was it glass seven? — when you look up and see —
Him.
Tall.
Burgundy hair.
Long eyelashes.
Dark eyes.
Expensive suit.
The sort of face Renaissance painters would start brawling over.
Standing alone while reading.
Because apparently, even at parties, Vivian Hugo is doing Just Vivian Hugo things.
Reading.
What kind of psychopath reads at a party?
And not even a book with words.
It’s completely blank.
You immediately become fascinated.
You don't even know his name.
You only know that he's ridiculously attractive.
And French.
And French.
(This bears repeating.)
Which somehow makes him even more attractive to your alcohol-soaked brain.
A terrible development.
For Hugo, that is.
He isn’t particularly interested in events like these.
Too much pointless conversation.
Too many people pretending that status is more important than results.
But, unfortunately for him, France’s football federation expects their rising young talents to make public appearances before the U-20 World Cup.
He's standing in a quiet hallway, reading his blank book.
There are approximately eighty-seven attendees.
Investors.
Scouts.
Former players.
Opportunists.
Journalists.
Eighty-eight attendees when he sees you — marching towards him with all the determination of a heat-seeking missile.
Not gracefully.
Slightly unsteady.
Wobbling, really.
Eyes locked directly onto him.
Stopping directly in front of him.
Stare.
He stares back.
Silence.
More silence.
More staring.
For a very long time.
Then . . .
“You're really hot.”
Hugo blinks.
Once.
“Thank you.”
“No, like, really hot.”
“Understood.”
“Unfairly hot . . . Like — Like an angel on the walls of Versailles.”
(You literally stole this from an Olivia Rodrigo song.)
(It is not an original thought.)
(But drunk you thinks that you are a poet.)
(The second coming of William Shakespeare.)
“. . . Thank you.”
“Hic — Do you know . . . You are the prettiest?”
“Yes. Statistically, I have received numerous positive comments regarding my appearance before.”
“You’re so hot when you talk all smart like that . . .”
“. . . Thank you?”
". . . Use more big words on me. It turns me on."
". . ."
Hugo isn’t even flustered.
Not even after you’ve called him hot about ten times in the past minute.
He's just analyzing the situation.
Like you’re a particularly interesting opponent in a particularly tricky football match.
Drunk female.
No apparent malicious intent.
Currently attempting courtship.
Methodology ineffective.
Fascinating.
“I like your eyelashes.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your hair.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your face.”
“. . . Thank you."
“I think we should make out.”
“Why?”
“Because you're — hic! — hot.”
“Those two concepts do not appear to be directly related —”
"Shhhh, angel boy. Less talky, more smoochy.”
Hugo has spent his life around football prodigies, world-class athletes, and tactical geniuses.
Nothing could have prepared him for someone with all the confidence and bad decision-making of a drunk raccoon.
What is the protocol for this?
Answer: None.
There is none.
Apparently taking his silence as consent, you grab his tie.
And try to kiss him.
Hugo tries to lean backwards.
You try to go in again.
Again, he quickly steps back.
Unfortunately, you are drunk and determined, and your last brain cell has deserted you about five glasses of champagne ago.
Hugo is now proving to everyone in the room just why he’s considered part of the New Generation Eleven when he starts performing defensive footwork and evasive manoeuvres in dress shoes.
(He is extremely lucky Charles is not here. Charles would have been rolling on the floor laughing, seeing this.)
Finally, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to stop your advances.
“I believe you've had too much champagne."
“. . . Eh.”
“. . . Therefore, this is unsuitable.”
“You know what else is unsuitable? How horny I —”
Thankfully, your parents discover you hanging off Hugo’s arm before a) the paparazzi can see this and have a field day or b) the French PR team sees this and decides to file a harassment lawsuit.
Whichever one comes first.
The next morning, sober, you will wake up, remember exactly what happened last night, and scream into the nearest pillow for 20 consecutive minutes.
Until your brain cell returns to comfort you with exactly one (1) beautiful thought.
You don’t know his name.
He doesn't know yours.
You’ll never see him again.
Problem solved.
Except no.
Not really.
Because two weeks later, your parents have negotiated yet another contract deal.
This time with France, for the duration of the U20 world cup.
You're dragged along.
And when you step into the conference room —
You see him.
The exact same burgundy hair.
The exact same eyelashes.
The exact same blank expression.
And that’s when your soul leaves your body.
Because Hugo recognizes you immediately.
Immediately.
With no hesitation.
And kills you on the spot where you stand when he opens his mouth and says, “Statistically speaking, meeting again was unlikely.”
“Please stop talking.”
“Interesting.”
“Stop.”
And that's the exact moment you realize you're going to be working with him.
— summary; you thought you could handle nagi in bed. spoiler alert: YOU COULDN'T.
— notes; reblogs are appreciated and pls donate to my Ko-Fi if you like my stuff!
❋ Everyone clocks it the second you walk into the training room with Nagi.
❋ Not because he’s acting any differently.
❋ He's still slouched over, posture terrible, casually unbothered, hands shoved in his pockets like he’d rather be in bed.
❋ Which is typical Nagi behaviour.
❋ Fine.
❋ The problem, therein, lies with you.
❋ You’re walking as though your bones are made of glass and your skin is made of paper.
❋ Exhaustion radiates from every pore.
❋ The dead-eyed stare of a traumatised soldier returning from war.
❋ And most tellingly -
❋ You stop to glare at Nagi every few moments, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.
❋ (Ineffective. He is unbothered. Moisturised. Happy. In his lane. Focused. Flourishing.)
❋ Reo looks at you.
❋ Really looks.
❋ And almost drops his bottle.
❋ “. . . Oh my God.”
❋ Bachira perks up.
❋ “Hey, did you guys finally -”
❋ You flinch as though you’ve just been shot.
❋ Nagi just scratches the back of his head, and, without missing a beat, says, “Mmm. Yeah.”
❋ No shame.
❋ Just casual confirmation for all the Blue Lockers in a five-foot radius.
❋ And that’s when the room goes silent.
❋ DEAD SILENT.
❋ You would throw your clipboard at his face, except . . .
❋ It’s too far away, and you’d have to get up from the bench.
❋ And you . . .
❋ Literally can’t.
❋ Your legs haven’t recovered just yet.
❋ So you settle for glaring at Nagi. Again.
“Don’t say that in public!!”
“Why not? ‘S true . . .”
❋ And then, perhaps to add insult to injury, Nagi adds:
❋ “You said you could take it.”
❋ Somewhere in the distance, you hear someone choke on water.
❋ “. . .”
❋ You have no answer to that, because he’s technically right.
❋ You had been young.
❋ Cocky.
❋ Self-assured.
❋ And stupid.
❋ Because you’d taken one look at Nagi, at 190cm of a professional striker with absurd stamina and body control, and dared to think:
❋ Wow, Nagi's lazy and sleepy all the time. I can do this!
❋ Wrong.
❋ WRONG.
❋ Unfortunately for you, you’ve since learned that once he actually gets interested in something, he commits.
❋ You had to learn that the hard way.
❋ Several times.
❋ And that isn’t even the worst part.
❋ No.
❋ That would be how Nagi keeps wandering over to you in the middle of practice, all warm and clingy like an oversized cat.
❋ Arms looped around your waist.
❋ Fingers curling around your wrist.
❋ Resting his chin on your shoulder from behind while you’re trying to work.
❋ And -
❋ He keeps absentmindedly saying the filthiest things that make it painfully obvious to everyone in the vicinity just how thoroughly he’d managed to ruin your motor functions for 24-48 business hours.
“Did your hips stop hurting yet?”
“Are the bruises gone?”
“You were whining my name louder last night.”
“Wanna come over again later?”
❋ And every single time, the nearby Blue Lockers look like they just got flashbanged.
❋ Isagi especially suffers because he keeps accidentally overhearing things no man should ever have to hear.
❋ All he wants to do is focus on football, and suddenly he's hearing Nagi murmur:
❋ “You looked cute crying, though.”
❋ The poor guy can't catch a break.
❋ Even Rin looks disturbed.
❋ RIN.
❋ Which is saying a lot.
❋ And even though you're still mad at Nagi for temporarily ruining your ability to sit, stand, and bend over...
❋ Unfortunately . . .
❋ You’d absolutely let him fold you like his laundry again.
— summary; in which you and sae argue over who should hang up first, and ego, very helpfully, settles the issue. set in the blue lock manager au.
— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.
❋ You and Sae are oceans away; while he’s off living the glamorous football life in Spain, you’re back in Japan managing the chaos that is Blue Lock, which means that, more often than not, your relationship thrives on stolen moments and late-night phone calls.
❋ Sae’s schedule is hectic, and yours isn’t any better, but the two of you somehow manage to make it work.
❋ You usually call Sae during your break, when the boys are scattered about the field, guzzling water and catching their breaths after a gruelling training session. Now that everyone’s preoccupied, you quickly pull out your phone, beaming as you call Sae, who picks up after just one ring (he totally wasn’t waiting for your call or anything).
❋ You can hear the faint sound of bustling streets in the background as the two of you fall back into your usual rhythm, alternating between banter and soft exchanges.
“You sound tired.”
“Blame Ego and the boys. It’s like herding cats over here.”
“Who did what now?”
“I miss you.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Are you eating well? Sleeping enough?”
❋ Your alarm beeps, reminding you that the break is over and you should technically be getting back to work, but you figure that the boys will survive on their own for a few more minutes.
“You hang up first.”
“No, you hang up.”
“I’m serious. You hang up.”
“Stop being annoying and hang up.”
❋ Enter: Ego Jinpachi, the mastermind of Blue Lock, and your very exasperated boss, who regrets ever hiring you, even if your parents are funding the programme.
❋ He’s been silently watching as you waste precious training minutes in favour of your sappy teenage romance with Sae, and promptly decides that enough is enough.
❋ You don’t notice Ego approaching until he’s literally looming over you, a vein throbbing in his temple. Without missing a beat, Ego snatches the phone from your hands, his voice dryer than the Sahara. “Goodbye, Itoshi.” Then, with a swift press of the button, he ends the call.
❋ He hands your phone back to you while still maintaining eye contact with you. “There you go,” he says sarcastically, and you’re mortified as he stalks off without looking back.
— summary; in which itoshi rin’s mother and brother assume that you’re dating after the events of the u-20 match. set in the blue lock manager au.
— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs and comments are appreciated !!
❋ You’ll do many things, but admitting to your parents that you’re cold when they’d told you to dress warmly isn’t one of them.
❋ Certainly, it’s not so bad when you’re running about, but the wet cold seeps into your thin shirt the moment you sit down to take a breather.
❋ Your body is tingling, going numb, and you realize then how chilly it is.
❋ And when it’s time for you to talk strategy with the team, your teeth are chattering so badly that you can’t even speak.
❋ Ego’s staring at you as though you’ve lost your mind, and as you find yourself wilting under the weight of his stare, a jacket hits you square in the face, and its owner is staring at you, his face as impassive as ever.
❋ “Hurry up.”
❋ You can’t quite tell if it’s “hurry up and wear this” or “hurry up and start talking”, but you don’t have it in you to ask.
❋ In fact, you could almost weep in gratitude as you pull on Rin’s jacket.
❋ Of course, it’s much too big for you. In fact, it looks as though you’re practically swimming in the voluminous fabric, and you have to roll up the sleeves so that you can use your hands, but the relief it provides you with is immediate.
❋ Your shivering stops, and wonder of wonders, you can even speak clearly.
❋ There’s a spring to your step as you walk out onto the field with everyone. Bundled up in Rin’s jacket, you’re warm and toasty, shielded from the frigid air. More than that, it smells like him too; something pleasantly light and cool.
❋ It suits him, you think, a smile playing across your lips.
❋ You do find it odd how Rin’s older brother is eyeing you critically from across the field, but you don’t think much about it.
❋ It’s your team against his, after all, and there’s bound to be some tensions here and there.
❋ But the final nail in the coffin happens when a reporter plucks up the courage to ask you about the ITOSHI emblazoned across the back of your jacket.
❋ “Rin gave it to me because I looked cold!” You say brightly, and you even point at him for emphasis.
❋ The flashing cameras going off just about blind him.
❋ Rin swears up and down to murder you.
❋ Later.
❋ When there are no cameras.
❋ No, wait.
❋ His mother is up in the stands, and she’s staring at you like the stars are hanging from your eyes, probably thrilled that her youngest son is being nice and making friends.
❋ She even flashes him a very unsubtle thumbs up, a sure sign of her approval.
❋ So he settles for silently seething and glaring at you instead.
❋ Though if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the floor by now.
— summary; in which nagi seishiro’s parents assume that you’re dating after the events of the u-20 match. set in the blue lock manager au.
— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs are appreciated !!
❋ Where do they get their energy from, you wonder, staring at the rowdy boys under your care.
❋ Most of them are running around the field like headless chickens, and you’re fairly sure that some of them have stripped in their excitement.
❋ Great.
❋ You just hope that they know their reactions are being filmed on national television.
❋ Yeah, they’ve probably forgotten about that part.
❋ You wish that you could share some of their excitement, but you’re exhausted from running around all day, and with Ego and Anri off dealing with all the press and sponsors, it means that you’re effectively in charge of these boys.
❋ And getting them back to the training centre will be about as easy as herding cats.
❋ You have to resist the urge to scream.
❋ But the only one not joining in the festivities would be Nagi, draped over you like a lazy cat. It seems as though all the exertion and excitement has just about done him in.
❋ His face is buried into the crown of your hair, and his arms are looped around your waist. He’s a warm and comfortable ─ if slightly damp ─ weight against your back.
❋ “C’mon, Nagi.”
❋ Because while you can move around and do your tasks just fine, you’d rather not do it with a limpet clinging stubbornly to your back.
❋ “Please?”
❋ And he’s looking at you so pitifully that you cave almost immediately.
❋ “Fine.”
❋ You suppose that he’s earned a rest after going all out, you think, petting his hair with an absent-minded affection. And as Nagi sighs in contentment, you think that you could stay like this ─ stay with him ─ for a little while longer.
❋ You’d thought that the press would only be interested in the players losing their minds on the field, but it turns out that you were wrong.
❋ Pictures of you and Nagi are splashed across the gossip magazines the next day, and as you’re hoping and praying that everything will eventually boil over ─ your phone vibrates.
❋ It’s a text from Nagi, and for a second you think that he wants to talk about doing damage control.
— summary; in which you accidentally propose to one nagi seishiro, part 2 here. set in the blue lock manager au.
— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs are appreciated !!
❋ It’s Chigiri who comes to find you as you’re getting started on your list of chores for the day, and the look on his face is so grim that you’re gripped with an instant sense of fear.
❋ “There’s been an emergency,” is all he says, and you follow him to the Manshine stratum without question.
❋ Your pace is fast, since Chigiri’s legs are twice the length of yours, and the urgency of the unnamed situation carries the both of you forwards briskly.
❋ And, well, you’ve imagined all kinds of horrible scenarios, but nothing could have prepared you for this; seeing Nagi looking dejectedly at the palm of his hand, his usual emotionless face twisted up into a (rather adorable) pout.
❋ “What’s wrong?” You ask quickly, because it rather looks as though Reo’s going to pick up a soccer ball and brain Nagi with it.
❋ When Reo speaks up, it sounds as though he’s dangerously close to losing what little sanity he has left. “He broke his ring while playing.”
❋ “Ring?” You blink once, then twice, before your gaze lands on the pieces of broken plastic sitting sadly on the palm of Nagi’s outstretched hand and realisation dawns. “Oh, that ring!”
❋ You’d gotten it out of a gashapon in one of Shibuya’s many arcades, and had given the heart-shaped ring to Nagi without much thought. In fact, you had no idea that he would see it as something that precious, something to be kept safe at all costs.
❋ You grope about for words to try and comfort Nagi. “It was just a cheap thing, don’t worry about it.”
❋ Instantly, you realise that you’ve made a mistake when his shoulders droop, bringing to mind a flower wilting at dusk. If it’s even possible, it looks as though his expression grows even more clouded over.
❋ Your breath catches, and sadness washes over you. You don’t like seeing the clouds returning to Nagi’s eyes, along with knowing that you’re the one who put them there.
❋ “Look,” you say slowly, wanting to chase the sadness away from his face. “Since Blue Lock’s taken off, and I’m actually getting paid now, I’ll get you a better one, okay? One that won’t break so easily.”
❋ Nagi brightens almost instantly. “Can we get matching rings?”
❋ “Sure?” You say, though it comes out as more of a question, as utterly confused as you are by Nagi’s sudden change in attitude.
❋ “Oh my god,” someone says in the background, and you aren’t quite sure if it’s Chigiri or Reo who’s said it, only that they sound thoroughly exasperated.
❋ “I didn’t know you two were engaged!” And of course, Chris Prince would choose this exact moment to speak up, causing your embarrassment to run even wilder.
❋ But Nagi’s eyes are still trained upon you, and ah, he isn’t going to be forgetting about your promise to get him a ring any time soon, either.
— summary; in which chigiri hyoma’s mother and sister assume that you’re dating after the events of the u-20 match. set in the blue lock manager au.
— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs are appreciated !!
❋ You’re already running up to him the minute he’s been sent off the field, a towel in one hand and a sports drink in the other.
❋ “Here,” You say breathlessly, because even that short jog has tired you out ─ your stamina is a joke, you’re not a monster like the boys under your care. “Wipe your face and drink this.”
❋ You can see the upset still written over Chigiri’s face, and you release a quiet sigh. Nothing you say will take away his disappointment, you know, and maybe it will be easier on the both of you if you don’t say anything at all.
❋ But you can’t stand seeing that expression on his face.
❋ And, mindful of the cameras surely trained upon the both of you, you drape the towel over his head so that it hides him from view.
❋ “Go and get dry,” You say gently. “I’ll go and get your jacket and the first aid kit for your knee.”
❋ And you run off before he can say anything else.
❋ Your back is to him, so you don’t see how his features soften as he watches you sprint away, how a small and reluctant smile tugs up the corners of his lips.
❋ But his mother and sister do.
❋ Chigiri glances up when he hears his sister’s voice screeching out high alarm.
❋ She’s pointing at him, and then at you, and then back to him again in a manner that spells out trouble.
❋ That, and the shit eating grin on her face.
❋ Chigiri knows that his family’s gotten the wrong idea about the two of you, and immediately resolves to keep you far, far away from his mother and sister.
❋ Spoiler alert: It doesn’t work.
❋ They ambush you after the match.
❋ And you can only turn a confused gaze onto Chigiri when the two women start asking you how long the two of you have been dating.
