isagi yoichi - he lowk has a sleeper build and his veiny ass hands can throw you around however he likes, even when your squeezing your thighs together he easily spread them apart from eachother.
shidou ryusei - uses his teeth to undress you. i don’t know how he does it but he can and he’s good at it. he’ll rip your panties off you and spit them out before shoving his face into your cunt.
sae itoshi - degrades you. he’ll kiss you neck and you bounce yourself on his cock, he whispers about “how stupid you look, fucking yourself so desperately.” and it makes you cum everytime.
julian loki - talks you through it while he ruins you. you can just say goodbye to your legs, your tits, and your vocal chords while your at it. every time he slams into you and you cry from the pain and pleasure, he smirks and kisses your neck, abusing your G-spot perfectly and softly kissing you innocently. he likes seeing you fall apart all because of him.
alexis ness - he whimpers. like, he sounds like a puppy under you while you suck on his skin, hickeys going from his neck all the way to his feet.
bachira meguru - eats both holes out when you finally say yes to sitting on his face. he eats your pussy first, swirling his tongue around until you squirt in his mouth and then licking up your asshole.
hiori yo - it hurts and he knows it. he knows exactly how bad your pussy aches when he shoves it in so mercilessly. that’s why he keeps doing it, with his stupidly innocent eyes and his sweet voice asking if you’re okay.
micheal kaiser - he treats you like a peasant. he’ll casually take away all your senses, noise cancelling ear plugs, blindfold, mouth electrical taped shut and another blindfold around it just in case, and handcuffed on your hands and feet. you don’t know what’s he’s gonna do to you.
nagi seishiro - nuts everywhere. in your cunt, in your ass, in between your tits, in your belly button, in your mouth, it even gets up your nose.
i also feel like i forgot smth but anyways i didn’t know what to write for a few of them 💔✌🏼
#-Munching on their biceps, + getting their reaction
wdc- might be Suggestive , use of language, short, and might be ooc!
Characters: Sae Itoshi, Julian Loki, Michael Kaiser, Bunny Iglesias
⟡────────⟡
Sae—୨ৎ
He was just scrolling through his phone, minding his own business , wearing a plain black shirt that left his arms exposed and muscles under his skin that looked irresistible, having the complete urge to nibble *BITE!*
"Fuck-!"
Not expecting to be bitten he hissed out in surprise, thinking of something more like cuddling or hugging his arm, but this? it hit him like a train
"Sorry , it's just an urge."
"Don't do that again—but go on.. keep nibbling, I'm yours anyway."
Loki—୨ৎ
He came back from his private gym, fine sheen of sweat glistening under the lights, gulping on water while looking for something, muscles brunching under the skin, delicious indeed... of course you had to nibble on it if it tastes good as it looks
Chomp!
"ma chérie?"
his hands paused from rummaging through his things, feeling your skin sink under and slightly forging a mark, trying to speak his mind but only a small squeak was heard
"Tastes better than chocolate."
you mumble, voice slightly muffled as he gazed at you with slight confusion and a flushed face, cheeks slightly red from the comment
"Unpredictable as ever, and here I am thinking you'd give me a back hug."
Kaiser—୨ৎ
The atmosphere felt warmer when he pressed his lips on yours, cupping your cheeks as he slightly tilted your head, deepening the kiss.
you kept seeing his muscles flex, it looked crazy delicious, biting that arm would be once in a lifetime since he wouldn't allow you anyways.
when you saw an opening, you dug in and sunk your teeth on his skin
"Scheiße! What are you doing? You g'na eat me?"
he hissed out, half shocked half tempted
Bunny—୨ৎ
He was already prepared, looking pristine in his tracksuit, hair combed properly and perfume trailing him from behind, ready to play for an important match
while you watched him get ready, debating whether you should pull him, then push him back on the bed, like the greedy thing he knows you are, you wrapped your arms around his waist
"I don't want you to go.."
A whining tone came out that you never thought you've make, revealing yourself completely vulnerable
"Cariño, you do realize you're risking the match by holding me ba-"
his teasing chuckles curved into a smirk as his skin made contact with your teeth.
"Delicious?"
"Mhmp.. Don't leave.."
Author:🤤🤤🤤
Me non non's claiming this fic as yours chugging it to ai ect kaitris3
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; you didn’t know how to label your relationship with hugo; sometimes he’s in love with you, sometimes he’s in love with his blank books, and sometimes he’s in love with loki. so you do what all smart people in a situationship do: you watch a youtube video.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; fem!reader, swearing, situationship, hugo is awkward as hell, otoya giving bad relationship advice, hugoloki mentions, loki and charles cameos, KARASU CAMEO, miscommunication (resolved at the end i promiseee), reader trying to be nonchalant, hugo loves reader so much, idiots in love, mixed signals, use of (y/n) — i’m so sorry guys i tried to keep it at a minimum😔
𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; how to lose a guy in 10 days directed by donald petrie
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; oml y’all REALLY wanted this one on my last post…and i shall deliver, trust. i just HAD to include a few hugoloki sneaks in there, y’all know that those two are my hyperfixation right now. and CHARLES SPOTTED! guys he and shidou are literally my spirit animals i love them sm.
thank you to @cursed-carmine for the lovely dividers!
the first time you realized hugo might not be what he seemed was about a month ago.
of course, when you say “what he seemed to be”, you meant his utter lack of interest in you disguised as a crush. why he bothered to even put up the persona in the first place, you didn’t know, but this guy certainly did not truly love you.
you were at a restaurant, the first to arrive among your friends to celebrate the end of finals week. coincidentally, hugo just so happened to be celebrating another successful practice with his teammates of the french u20 team.
everyone in the restaurant was staring; it wasn’t every day that you see celebrities just casually sitting in the same restaurants at you. julian loki, charles chevalier, and vivian hugo? it was a miracle.
your waiter just so happened to seat you at the table next to theirs while you waited for your friends to arrive. hugo hadn’t noticed you at first; loki was talking to him about something, and he looked incredibly invested—his chin on his hand and maintaining eye contact. he didn’t even bother with his food.
…hugo was never like that with you. when you spoke to him, he was also “reading” some stupid book that you had learned really had no words inside.
not wanting to be creepy, you simply just played on your phone while waiting for your friends. but you weren’t deaf; you still heard their conversation. loki talked about a movie he watched recently, while hugo popped in with the occasional comment or opinion.
it was clear that he was listening.
you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach as you continued to listen to their conversation, the lump in your throat not quite leaving when you took a few sips of water.
“oh my gosh, so sorry we’re late! everyone lives on campus except for you, so we all picked each other up and walked here. sorry you had to wait here for so long!”
finally, your ears perked up at the sound of your friend’s voice. but you were already so defeated that you couldn’t even voice your complaints about their tardiness. “yeah, okay. let’s just order now.”
the moment you spoke, you felt another pair of eyes snap towards you. loki’s talking in the background stopped, and another pair of eyes joined. then another. then another, until eleven pairs of eyes were just staring at you.
your friends all took seats next to and in front of you. “hasn’t the weather been crazy humid recently? i heard there’s going to be rainstorms for days, and…hey, don’t you feel like someone’s staring at us?”
your friends all turned their heads to hugo’s table, and a few of his teammates looked away with shameful rosy cheeks. “oh, hi hugo.” you managed, suddenly fidgeting with your fingers.
“how long have you been here?” he asked. a petite blonde boy behind him, who you recognized as charles chevalier, looked a bit too interested in your conversation.
“um, maybe ten minutes…” you mumbled, averting your gaze away. “it doesn’t matter. i don’t care.”
“you could’ve—“
“oh, so you’re hugo?” your friend piped up. “i think she’s mentioned you a few times before. you play soccer, right? so i’m guessing this is your team.”
you were never more thankful for someone to interrupt your conversation. hugo side eyed her. “you talk too much.” he then turned around and finally began to take a few notes of his food.
the members of his team that didn’t stop staring earlier continued with their food as well, although loki now had a teasing smile on his face. all except for charles, who waved at you with a dopey grin.
“rude,” your friend muttered, grabbing her menu furiously. “i don’t get what you see in that guy. he’s not bad looking, but not nearly hot enough to act like such an ass. plus, i’m jealous of his lashes.”
“well, maybe she’s into the tall and nonchalant guys. probably thinks that she can fix them or something. right?” your other friend patted her back. a chorus of “yeah” and “you’re right” echoed across your table.
you felt heat rush to your face. “shut up, you guys. let’s just order.”
you avoided any more glances at hugo throughout the night.
the second time you realized hugo might not be what he seemed was two weeks ago.
you were about to make breakfast, still groggy from sleep, until suddenly the doorbell rang. you opened the door to see hugo standing outside with a bag.
“it’s for you.” he said immediately. you rubbed your eyes.
“what happened to hi? hello? how are you?” you asked, voice raspy. “but thank you.” you had no idea what was in there, but if hugo went out of his way to deliver to you, the you should probably be grateful.
“uh-huh.”
you looked inside of the bag, finding about a dozen eclairs inside. “dude, seriously? that’s so nice of you. wow, thanks.” hugo loved eclairs; you knew that. he was always stuffing his face with them at bakeries.
he reached inside his pocket, pulling out that damn book again. how the fuck does a book even fit into a pocket anyway? he skimmed a few pages of nothing.
“yeah. i was at a bakery with loki and we bought too many eclairs.” he glanced at his book again. “did i wake you?”
at the mention of loki’s name, your mind went into overdrive. oh, so you were just an afterthought. okay. loki was who hugo was really thinking about.
“no, i woke up a bit ago. i was about to make breakfast, but i guess i don’t have to anymore. thanks. so um, you hang out with loki a lot.” you didn’t want to be obvious.
“yeah, we’re pretty close, i suppose.” he ran a hand through his hair. “we’ve known each other for years now. it’s hard to imagine a life without him.”
seriously?
“oh. that’s nice. um, oh, i, uh, just remembered that i have to get ready to meet my friend later. i’ll see you later, hugo. thanks for the eclairs.” without waiting for a response, you shut the door.
third time’s the charm—-which is why you didn’t bother to wait for another loki incident and do something.
computer perched in your lap, you scrolled on youtube, through hundreds of videos on relationship advice, breakup advice, and finally, situationship advice.
finally, you stumbled across a promising video.
“how to lose a guy in 10 days - tips that actually work (SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE)”
on the thumbnail was a man with narrow green eyes, white hair with a single green strand of hair, and a fairly good looking appearance. the words “10 ways to lose a guy” surrounded him on the thumbnail. he looked like a video essay youtuber.
you tapped on the video. “are you in a situationship? a failing relationship? are you with someone you don’t want to be with? someone you’ve lost your spark with ages ago?” spoken with a thick japanese accent began to play. yes, no, sort of, sort of.
“then you’ve come to the perfect video. i have had multiple girlfriends and situationships, and here are a list of 10 things they did that made me lose interest the fastest. so here are 10 ways to make a guy lose interest the quickest–how to lose a guy in 10 days.”
oh, so he’s a whore.
but that was good. if he’s had a lot of relationships before, then that meant that he knew exactly how to end one, or what ended one. “my name is otoya eita, please like and subscribe to my youtube channel, follow my tiktok and instagram, and ring the bell for notifications so you never miss a video.”
“method number one: ignore them. absence makes the heart grow fond, but ignorance makes the heart grow cold.” that was some god awful poetry. “when they speak, just reply with ‘hmm’ or ‘mhm’ or ‘yeah’ or ‘sure’ or any sort of one word response that shuts down any more opportunity for conversation. that’ll give them blue balls for sure.”
now that you thought about it, you were always the one doing the talking whenever you both conversed. hugo always replied with one word answers, which was why you were left so disappointed all the time.
say what you want about this jackass otoya, but he knew romance.
suddenly, your phone rang. you checked the caller idea, and you were met with hugo’s contact. holy shit–maybe hugo’s right; fate is real. but this was the perfect opportunity to put what you just learned to use. you picked up his call.
“hey. are you free this week?” hugo asked. your mind raced to think of a good one word answer. yep? dunno? probably? no? yes?
“not sure.” you chose. shit! that wasn’t even one word! but you didn’t add ‘why’ at the end, meaning that it’s implied that you didn’t care about his motives. nice going.
“oh. practice isn’t as strict this week cause we’ve been doing so well this month. we can hang out if you have some free time.”
“right.” and you’re probably sad that you won’t be able to see your man loki as much, you thought. were you coming off strong enough? you actually had basically no plans this entire month and would love to hang out with him, but nonchalance.
you had to un-need him.
“alright. if you have an opening in your schedule, then tell me. b–”
you hung up without warning. you swallowed the lump in your throat; was it always this hard to talk so little? did hugo really hate you so much that he could do this to you regularly? he was willing to read a blank ass book over talk to you.
but he definitely sounded a bit discouraged at the end there.
day one: success.
“method two: be seen with another guy. don’t make it obvious that you’re dating or something, but being close to them tells the person you’re avoiding that there’s someone else you like more. especially someone they know.”
“...yer kidding. are ya actually fallin’ for this shit? yer watching a video by otoya.” karasu, who wore his translation earbuds in full glory, looked at you in utter horror. he was a soccer player from abroad for pxg.
“you know him?” you asked, also placing your own earbuds in.
“know him? i roomed with this guy for months.” karasu shook his head. “he’s a manwhore through and through. has more exes than i can count on my fingers and toes.”
“and that’s all i need to know for him to be trustworthy.” you grinned. “cmon, just hang out with me for a day, that’s all i need. i’ll pay for everything.”
“i ain’t gonna let someone who earns way less money than me pay. but aint’cha goin’ a bit too far? i’ve met him before; pretty sure he’s just blunt.” karasu raised an eyebrow. you shook your head.
“that’s not the problem. i think he’s gay but scared to come out of the closet cause of me. that’s terrible of me to do.” you sighed. karasu choked, beginning to cackle.
“ya think he’s gay for loki? actually, i doubt yer far off. but damn, ya really went in on it, huh?” karasu gave you a high-five. “fine. i’m in on this.”
you both walked to the bakery that hugo and loki had gone to a few weeks ago, talking about your days and general life on the way. karasu was genuinely friendly, which made it easy to talk to him.
and made it easy to grab people’s attention.
“hey, isn’t that karasu?” loki asked. “and (y/n)’s with him too.”
hugo’s head snapped back when he heard your name. you were laughing and smiling with another guy? he wasn’t jealous. just surprised. just so surprised that his insides felt like they were burning.
“ooh, it’s been a while since i’ve seen him! hey loki, we really haven’t seen him in practice recently! we gotta reconnect with him sometime!” charles exclaimed joyfully. “hugo, we’ve gotta introduce him to you! he’s a super cool midfielder and a super cool person!’
“yes, you do.” hugo said flatly. “he’s a midfielder too? i bet none of his strikers can score a goal with his passes.”
loki stared at him blankly. charles broke out into laughter, “ooh, hugo’s jealous.” he gestured at you. “are you gonna go all ceo 6’4 alpha and yank her away and say ‘she’s mine’?” he pulled his phone out, ready to record.
“no. you’ve been on tiktok too much lately.” hugo didn’t tear his eyes away from you. karasu noticed, and he nudged you.
“yer plan’s workin’. he looks like he’s gonna kill me.” he mumbled. you linked your arm through his.
“good.”
“hi karasu!” you heard an unfamiliar, childlike voice behind you. you saw who you remembered to be charles chevalier, and behind him was hugo and loki.
“sup, charles. this is my friend, (y/n).” karasu gestured towards you.
friends don’t stand so closely. hugo thought. “yeah, i know!” charles nodded. “hi (y/n)! hugo talks about you a lot!”
“that’s true. hello, i’m julian loki. i believe we haven’t properly met yet, but i’ve heard of you often.” loki stuck out his hand, and you shook it.
karasu gave you an “i-told-you-so” look, and you responded with a glare. who knows what hugo said about you? maybe he was complaining. “how ‘bout this? charles, loki, i need to talk to ya both about some tactics. hugo, ya can talk to her?”
you were ready to punch him. karasu looked at you and shrugged. “alright, sure!” charles took both loki and karasu’s hands before you could object, and you were left standing with hugo.
alone.
“you seemed awfully close with that karasu guy.” hugo began. your eyes darted the other way.
“yeah.” one-word responses. one-word responses.
“have you been busy recently?”
“i suppose.”
“yet you have the time to spend with him.” hugo glanced at karasu. “…are you avoiding me?”
shit. your face began to turn scarlet, but you hoped hugo wouldn’t notice. “n-no.” goddamnit, why’d you stutter at the worst time?
he narrowed his eyes. “you—“
“HUGOOO! LUNCH BREAK IS OVER SOON!” charles yelled across the bakery, waving his entire arm. he garnered a few glares from other customers.
“this isn’t over.” he stated, turning back and leaving.
“okay.”
you approached karasu again. “is he always like this? charles?” your mind raced to the grinning boy.
“ya mean he sticks his nose everywhere? yep. but he’s fifteen, so ya should give him a break.” your jaw dropped.
“fifteen? okay, that changes everything. never mind then. i’ll let him live. god, that guy’s a baby…” you groaned.
at least karasu bought you some donuts.
day two: sort of success.
“loki, i think she’s mad at me.”
“yeah, i think so too.” loki was seated at a fancy restaurant, waiting for the rest of his teammates at pxg to arrive. “she seemed pretty pissed at you at the bakery.”
“what the hell do i do? i don’t think i did anything wrong, did i?” hugo asked. loki raised an eyebrow; this was the first time he had ever heard hugo so emotional, and this was on call as well.
“chill. maybe she’s just going through a hard time right now.” loki glanced at the front door when he heard it click, wondering if it was his teammate.
instead, he saw you.
“she just finished her finals, she’s still close with her friends, i’m pretty sure all of her family members are alive…it’s a me problem for sure. but what did—“
“hugo, i think i see her. like, right now. she’s seated a few tables away from me?” loki spoke all too quietly, not risking you hearing him.
“…what?”
“yeah. now some guy’s sitting across from her. she does not look comfortable.” he noted. “she’s shaking and she looks tired as hell.”
“damnit. what if that guys harassing her?” hugo spoke like rapid fire.
“i don’t know. it’s your girl. you can ask her.”
“she’s not—“
“if she’s not, then you shouldn’t be concerned about her in the first place.” loki rebutted. it came out more satisfying than he expected; he had been waiting to say this for a while now. “oh, she’s totally getting the ick.”
“just keep watching over her for me. i’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
“dude—no, you can’t just come here all of a sudden.” loki furrowed his eyebrows. “what are you thinking?”
“you said she’s getting the ick. there’s a rainstorm right now and she doesn’t have a car. you know what that means? if she leaves the restaurant, she’ll have to walk home.”
loki sighed. “alright. you do you.” he hung up the call, glancing at you once more.
“method three: go on a date with another guy. ladies, if you’re in a relationship, then this is considered cheating and gives you an automatic out. but if you’re in a situationship, then you have no loyalty towards them in the first place. just go and see if you like the person you’re on a date with.”
this was fucking terrible.
the guy in front of you reeked of axe body spray and hair gel. “and why yes, i believe that women’s rights are a lie.” he said, cutting into his steak. he was dressed like a businessman, but in reality, was an unemployed 29 year old man who still lived in his mother’s basement.
you sighed. “listen. this isn’t going to work. thank you for your time.” you tossed just enough money to pay for you meal and left.
“hey! come back, you bitch! i’m not done yet!”
you didn’t listen, walking out of the front door and being met with a rainstorm and thunder. that third tip definitely did not work. you sighed; hopefully the rain would end soon.
raindrops began to slide down your hair and face. you bit the inside of your cheek; it was freezing outside. your clothes were getting wet.
but then, the rain stopped.
“it’s not good to stand outside alone while it’s dark out, especially not when it’s raining.”
raindrops drummed against fabric as an umbrella was perched over you. “why are you here?” you asked, not bothering to meet hugo’s eyes. “are you stalking me or something?” you completely discarded your false nonchalance.
“not me. loki.” he took your hand, beginning to walk away. you slapped his hand away.
“oh, your boyfriend? how nice.” you spat, not exactly sarcastic.
hugo’s eyes widened. “what the hell are you talking about?” you looked at him with furrowed brows.
“hugo, you know it’s 2026, right? no one cares if you’re into guys. you don’t need to keep on talking to me or whatever. loki’s inside, right? so go talk to him instead.” you clenched your fists. you were pathetic, getting so mad over this.
but you really did like him.
“i don’t like loki. i never said i did.” hugo exasperated.
“you think you were destined to meet him.”
“i was destined to meet you too.”
“he’s your striker.”
“yes, but he’s not you.”
your throat began to tighten. “you listen to him talk way more than you do with me. you’re always reading some stupid blank book when i talk.”
hugo groaned. “t-that’s…that’s because reading blank books organizes my thoughts, okay? i don’t want to say the wrong things around you. but considering how pissed you are, i guess that was useless.”
he breathed. “i don’t care about what i say to loki because it’s loki. he’s just my striker. when i’m reborn and given another destiny, he won’t matter anymore. he matters for this life. you matter for all of them. all of mine.”
this was the most emotional you’ve ever seen him.
then you noticed. his magenta hair had droplets of water tangled inside. his umbrella was too small to fit two people, yet you were comfortably safe from the rain. his clothes were rumpled, as if put on in a hurry.
drops of water slid down your cheeks. it wasn’t from the rain.
“i love you.”
he wiped your tears away with his thumb, before bring your hand up to his lips and kissing each of your knuckles. “not loki. not anyone else. you. you’re my soulmate. no one else is.”
you shouldn’t have doubted him in the first place.
🎥 synopsis: Your relationship with him is already established, but fans still can’t get enough of the two of you—always wanting more crumbs. Accidental meetups, funny moments, and romantic scenes that get captured or posted by them online offers the world to see little glimpses of your dynamic with him.
🎞️ a/n: as always, I went overboard with the likes buuut it’s the finaaal part guys! ty for sticking around, enjoy 🫶
🎬 characters: julian l., chris p., lavinho., noel n. and marc s.
Julian Loki—book boyfriend irl
He was young with millions of fans all over the world—yet somehow, when the football player was seen liking relatable videos, driving to school, and attending matches like any regular guy would do, people didn’t seem too bothered when he casually mentioned having a girlfriend as well.
That changed quickly.
The very first appearance of you immediately blew up when the two of you were caught shopping—with you going around different shops, trying on dresses as he silently followed along, phone in hand and cap on.
Posted by a fan of his who was standing outside the store, the video showed you putting back a beautiful dress after checking the price tag—thinking he wasn’t paying attention, not wanting to make a scene before walking away to explore the store’s other items.
And that’s when Julian looked up, silently watched you walk away, then turned to ask the shop assistant to bring him the dress you’d just left behind while handing her his credit card.
The clip ended there, but a few days later, when photos of you wearing that exact dress at an event started circulating, fans completely lost it—jokingly flooding his account with questions about whether he had an older brother, along with a bunch of crying and heart-eyed emojis.
8.9 million likes including @just_julianloki
Chris Prince—flexing you instead of his biceps
It was a casual Sunday, and he was training for an upcoming match, doing drills with the boys while you were reading a book in the comfortable shade of the stadium, sitting on a nearby bench.
Your boyfriend was notorious for being a gymbro—half his posts containing muscle pics or reels of him doing insane shots.
Maybe that’s why he wasn’t surprised when his manager came up with such an…amazing idea for a video to the team’s page.
With his shirt already off, Chris called you over before asking you to sit on his back for him to do some push-ups.
“For the fans” he winked with a million dollar smile, nodding toward his manager who was already waving behind the camera.
You sighed, tucking the book under your arm before carefully climbing onto your boyfriend’s back. Securing your place, you adjusted your Manshine City labeled cap before continuing to read as he started going up and down while counting.
The short clip ended up on the team’s official page and surprisingly was slowly climbing its way toward becoming one of the most-viewed videos ever posted.
Liked by @the_chris_prince and 9.1 million others
Lavinho—drunk on love
He was known to be the life of every party he attended, his mutuals constantly posting pics and videos of your boyfriend celebrating and enjoying every win with a wild night out along with his team.
Some of his fans’ first impressions of Lavinho were either from his amazing shots from matches, his absolutely crazy self from after parties, or that one time he was spilling new tactics while being totally wasted.
So imagine another wave of shock he created by announcing and confirming his relationship with you via reposting a video of an FC Barcha fan.
People were tweaking out. The media was on fire and his PR team was ready to resign after a video of you two walking out of another match celebration surfaced on the internet.
Now, it would be nothing but a harmless clip except…you were drunk and walking all over the place while your lover did nothing but laugh from a freaking bush—not really helping with the situation.
Tho, seconds later it turned out that actually he was the one who was sober that night, and after cracking up, he finally stopped and actually went over to try and help you—meaning, giving you a piggyback ride to his car.
Fans officially melted when he gently tucked you into the passenger seat, silencing your tipsy rambling with a kiss.
It was romantic, chaotic and absolutely unexpected on your boyfriend’s behalf to be this responsible. But hey—love changes people, and thanks to those 54 seconds he got even more popular than before, causing him to now actively post random pics of you.
Noel Noa—gentleman of the century
The PR team was sobbing. The press and the fans were crying. So was the weather in Paris, in a video that was recently leaked by a fan.
Someone had spotted the two of you across a street as rain poured heavily from the grey sky, the soft yellow glow of the streetlights casting an oddly comforting scene. With their raincoat on and camera out, the fan hit record button.
It looked cliché—like an overly cheesy scene from a 90s rom-com.
Because it was.
And yet, the public was immediately won over when they saw how your boyfriend, noticing the lack of an umbrella, slipped off his coat and held it over your head to shield you from the rain as the two of you ran across the street to his car, completely soaked but laughing.
The video cut right as he opened the car door for you—then glanced directly into the camera making the fan panic before the clip abruptly ended.
Marc Snuffy—dancing machine
You were visiting his team in Italy, hoping to take your relationship to a more serious level.
He’d announced it a few months ago—so fans were already aware of your presence. Thankfully, they also approved of you wholeheartedly, without directing any unnecessary hate toward your boyfriend.
That’s why posting a pic or two during your holiday with him seemed natural, Marc even liking them himself.
But then, one specific video had started to gain fame over the internet, making headlines and gaining edits day by day.
Turns out during one of your night outs, after a lovely dinner and a couple glasses of red wine—made you get up, and pull your boyfriend towards the middle of the street, dancing and singing to a song that was blasting from a nearby restaurant.
People were cheering and clapping, Marc with a slightly flustered face seemingly enjoying your chaos. Just like a fan who was passing by the same place, deciding to quietly capture the sweet moment between the two of you on camera.
how about a reader with isagi, rin, bachira and loki(my underrated fav) who's childhood friends with them? bonus points if reader is quiet/subdued/passionless compared to the boys' burning ego! (totally not exposing myself)
feel free to ignore this rq! stay hydrated and warm~
⚽PASSIONLESS CHILDHOOD BESTIE⚽
hiii, I hope you'll like it! thank you for requesting!
characters: Meguru Bachira, Rin Itoshi, Julian Loki, Yoichi Isagi
MEGURU BACHIRA
• You were the first person who didn't call his Monster weird. When he was five and talking to the air, you just nodded and offered him a plastic shovel. He’s been obsessed with you ever since
• He is a golden retriever, and you are a sleepy house cat. He’ll vibrate with energy, bouncing around you, and you’ll just blink slowly at him. He finds your lack of reaction hilarious and tries even harder to make you laugh
• You are the only person who can get Bachira to sit still. He’ll crawl into your lap and fall asleep instantly because your presence is so stabilizing
• During class, he’ll reach over and draw little smiley faces or monsters on your palms with a pen. You don't stop him, and he loves the way your skin feels under his touch—cool and calm
• He "translates" for you. Since you're so subdued, people often miss what you're thinking. Bachira will always jump in like: "No, no, she doesn't want the spicy one, she wants the blue one! I just know!"
• He’ll put one of his earbuds in your ear without asking. It’s usually something loud and chaotic, but he just wants you to feel the music with him. You’ll listen for a minute, then take it out, and he’ll just pout and hug you
• He knows you don't have a burning passion like he does, and he loves that about you. He wants you to be the person he comes back to when he’s tired of running
• You were always his accomplice when he was pranking someone, because nobody ever suspected the quiet kid. You’d stand lookout while he did something ridiculous, and you’d never tell on him
• His phone lockscreen is a picture of you sleeping in the back of a classroom. He looks at it whenever he feels lonely at Blue Lock
• He is hyper-aware of your mood. Even if you're expressionless, he can tell if your aura is a little grey that day. He’ll spend the whole afternoon trying to bring the good mood back to you
RIN ITOSHI
• You were the only kid who could handle his and Sae’s competitive energy without getting overwhelmed. You’d sit in the grass picking flowers while they tried to destroy everyone else. Rin found your lack of lukewarm ego fascinatingly refreshing
• You’ve been watching horror movies together since middle school. Neither of you screams. You just sit in the dark, shoulder-to-shoulder, in a comfortable, eerie silence that would unsettle anyone else
• Rin hates useless chatter and with you, he doesn't have to speak. You can tell if he’s had a bad day by the way he sits down next to you. You’ll just offer him a cool bottle of water, and he’ll lean his head on your shoulder for five seconds before pulling away
• People think you’re as scary as he is because you’re so quiet. Rin loves the quiet aura you both project. He feels like the two of you are a fortress that the rest of the world can't enter
• He has a specific voice tone for you. It’s not sweet—Rin doesn't do sweet—but it’s lower, a little warmer and less jagged. It’s the voice he uses when he’s telling you he’ll walk you home
• In school, you were his escape. He’d find you in the back of the library, and he’d just nap with his head on the table next to yours while you read. It was the only time his brain truly went quiet
• He buys you things that are useful but secretly sentimental. A warm scarf because you always look cold, a specific pen because he saw yours was running out. He’ll just drop it on your lap and walk away without a word
• He still remembers the time a kid from his soccer team made you cry. He didn't say anything to you at the time, but that kid "mysteriously" found all his soccer balls deflated the next day
• You're the only one who can pull him back when he's lost in his head. One quiet hand on his arm and everything clears. He needs your nothingness to balance his everything
JULIAN LOKI
• You grew up together in the same neighborhood in France. While he was being hailed as a once-in-a-generation talent, you were the one who still treated him like the kid who once got his head stuck in a fence
• Loki's favorite language is the silence he shares with you. In a life full of press conferences and high-speed matches, your quiet nature is a luxury he can't buy
• He loves that you don't care about his fame. Hanging out with you is just sitting by the river or in a quiet cafe, not saying a word. He feels like he can finally take off his prodigy mask and just be Julian
• You move at a snail’s pace. He finds it charming how you never rush, even if the train is coming. He’ll just grab your hand and walk at your pace, enjoying the slow down
• He has a very "refined" way of showing affection. He’ll notice you staring at a specific book or a piece of jewelry in a window, and it will show up at your door the next day with a simple note from him
• You spent your childhood walking through the streets of Paris. He’d talk about his dreams of the World Cup, and you’d just listen, occasionally nodding. He felt like you were the only one who wasn't trying to get something from his success
• He feels like people underestimate you because you're quiet, and he loves that he's the only one who knows how observant and smart you are, even if you don't have the ego to show it off
• Now that he’s wealthy, he wants to fly you everywhere. But he knows you hate a fuss, so he’ll arrange everything to be as quiet and low-key as possible, just the way you like it
• He realized hew important you are to him when he was in a stadium with 80,000 people screaming his name, and the only thing he wanted was to be sitting in your quiet garden, listening to the wind and holding your hand
YOICHI ISAGI
• You are the only person who knows his exact post-practice cravings without him saying a word. You’ll just slide a specific drink or snack onto his desk, and he’ll look at you like you’ve performed a miracle
• You don't talk much and Isagi, who usually over-analyzes everything, finds peace in that. He doesn't have to read you, he just has to be near you
• When Blue Lock gets too intense, he closes his eyes and thinks of your quiet living room. To him, you are home. You represent a world where he doesn't have to be a soccer monster to be loved
• Because you're so subdued, he’s terrified someone will take advantage of you. He’s the first to step in if someone is being too loud or pushy toward you
• He often finds the solution to a tactical problem while just sitting in silence with you. He’ll suddenly gasp, "That's it!" and you’ll just blink at him, totally unfazed, which he finds incredibly grounding
• After every big match, you are the first person he calls. He doesn't want to talk about goals, he just wants to hear you talk about something mundane, like the weather or a cat you saw
• He keeps a blurry photo of the two of you at a 5-year-old’s birthday party in his wallet. You’re looking bored with a party hat on, and he’s covered in cake. It reminds him of where he started
• He realized how important you are to him when he couldn't imagine a future version of himself without you standing quietly next to him
in today's broadcast: julien loki can't help himself from imagining his single mom girlfriend pregnant again. with him this time (* >ω<)
MDNI CW: fem!reader, smut, loki meeting your son, reader implied to have a mom bod, breeding, unprotected piv, loki has a thing for pregnancy, some body worship (mamas deserve all the love♡)
he blinks fast a few times. before him stands a sheepish you, with a little wide-eyed boy holding your hand. the boy’s eyes are a little puffy, eyelashes wet with fresh tears.
you two were supposed to go on a date today. some quality time spent together after finally finding time within your busy schedules. he knows you’re a mom. you were very upfront about it from the get-go, trying to avoid any potential misunderstandings.
you sat him down about two weeks into seeing each other, an expression so serious he honestly expected you to break up with him already. luckily for him, who was already head over heels by that time, that wasn't the case.
what he didn’t expect is to be meeting your son so soon.
“uhm..,” you clear your throat, hesitantly introducing your 3-year-old. “he refused to stay with anyone else, i hope you don’t mind him joining.”
loki smiles gently, his chest puffing slightly with pride. you must trust him a lot if this is what you chose instead of simply calling off the date.
kneeling down to the boy’s level, he holds out his hand for a handshake, “nice to meet you, big guy!”
your son looks up to you, looking for reassurance. with a nod and a kind expression you nudge him towards loki, “go on, he’s a really nice man. i promise.”
with a tiny sniffle and a clumsy wipe at his wet eyes, your son walks up to your boyfriend and takes a few of his fingers in his hand. “who are you?”
“call me loki,” he winks, “i’m your mom’s-”
loki looks up at you, looking for permission to say what you actually are. when he sees you nod, he turns back to your boy, “-I’m your mommy’s friend. a very special one.”
the little boy’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and he lets go of loki’s hand. in a split second he’s behind your legs, warily observing your now stunned boyfriend, and you can’t help giggling at the utter silliness of the display.
the whole ‘date’ loki finds himself at a crossroads. it’s nice, knowing you trusted him enough to simply take your son with you, but also.. the kid is really damn good at preventing him from getting anywhere near you.
he wants to hold your hand? nu uh, suddenly the boy thinks you should carry him. with both hands? yes, with both hands. sorry, mister. no hands for you.
he’s unsure if a kid this small can act with malice, but the kisses he presses onto your cheek while looking him straight in the eye sure serve as solid evidence.
but he’d be lying if he said seeing you be so sweet and caring towards your son wasn’t making him feel some type of way. you’ve only been dating a few months so far, but he can already picture you with your belly round again, for him this time. he knows you’ll be such a good mama.
so when your son is finally tucked into bed for the night after a dinner of glaring daggers into him, loki’s on you.
bedroom door locked the second you step through the threshold, his lips on yours and his hands kneading your plush waist. he relishes in your sweet whimpers, your skin yielding under his touch.
all while you’re a bit confused, but no less flustered. pushing gently at his chest, you pull away from the kiss, panting, “what’s gotten into you, jules?”
his face is buried in your neck that same second, his muffled voice barely reaching your ears, “you’re such a good mama, mon cœur.”
warmth creeps up your neck, your hands fisting his shirt tightly, “s-so what?”
sucking a particularly harsh bruise right onto your pulse point, he raises his head again to look at you properly. his face sporting a smile so handsome it nearly makes your heart burst out of your chest.
“it takes a strong lady to be a mom,” he drawls, raising his hand to rub his thumb over your cheek, “let me make you a mama again, okay? i promise you won’t have to do it alone this time.”
your eyes widen, “jules, we’ve only been-”
“shh- i know,” he whispers, leaning in to press a few languid kisses to your cheek and temple. “but i’m a man who knows what he wants. and what i want, is you to be barefoot and round. just for me.”
his lips near your ear, he whispers: “not a single worry needs to plague your mind, mon amour, just being the wonderful mama you already are.”
well, how can you say no to that?
not like you would, especially not with his cock filling you up so well. your hips supported by a pillow as he pounds away at your sopping cunt, legs wrapped around his slim waist.
nails scratching marks along his back as you try your best to stay quiet.
“look at you,” loki’s voice is steady, infuriatingly so. his superhuman speed of great use as the plap! plap! plap! of slick skin against skin echoes through the room. the tears in your eyes as you bite on your fist have him cooing at you, a sound so condescending you may have been offended at any other moment. “so cute, aren’t you?”
mercifully, he replaces your fist with two of his fingers for you to suck on. which you do, eyes rolling back as his cock keeps hitting that one spongey spot over and over.
with you clenching down on him so deliciously, he doesn’t have to wonder how you got pregnant so young. damn, had he known you earlier that kid may as well have been his. together with how your body was affected by the pregnancy, the skin on your belly littered in stretchmarks, his gut twists. it must’ve been so heavy, doing this all on your own. that little boyfriend of yours at the time just dipped, the information making him see red the first time you told him. something that still greatly upsets him to this day. you’re too sweet a woman to have been abandoned like that, at your most vulnerable, no less.
that anger fuels him to go even harder, hand reaching down to rub at your clit. the little squeaks you let out in spite of his fingers nearly reaching your throat have him desperately chasing his own end together with yours. balls aching to fill you up like you deserved.
“i’ll take such good care of ya,” he forces through his teeth, abs glistening with sweat. “i’ll give you everything you could want, just be a good mama f’me, yeah?”
he can’t tell if you can hear him at all, your eyes half lidded and rolled back at the overwhelming pleasure. smirking, he angles his hips just right and with a few final thrusts he feels your cunt clenching down harshly, nearly locking him in place.
he takes his fingers out of your mouth, and kisses you instead. he swallows your moans as he fills you up with his cum, staying inside to plug you up.
both of you panting, you finally regain some form of consciousness while your body still twitches from the aftershocks of your orgasm. with a shy smile you hug him tightly, his body providing a grounding type of weight. “did you mean it?”
“mean what, mon amour?” he slides his hands under your back, hugging you just as close.
burying your face in his shoulder, you giggle, “that you want to get me pregnant again.”
with a kiss to your temple, you feel him nod, “yeah. i wouldn’t have stayed so long if i didn’t envision a future with you.”
Haha, we're falling for the French players in Blue Lock xd 🙂↕️
If I may, I would like to wish to request for Julien Loki & Charles Chevalier (separately), perhaps a short one-shot, of *attempting* to flirt in French with the Reader. The Reader pretends not to understand and acts as if they're clueless about what they're saying.
Eventually the Reader talks back in French and explains that (they also understand and speak French) and accepts their feelings back when being asked out <3 tysm
Haha YES! Although I'm going to add Noel Noa, because he's also a frenchie and I've been dying to write more about the Masters!
Flirting in French
Featuring: Charles Cavalier; Julien Loki; Noel Noa.
Warnings: Fluff; NOT PROOFREAD!!!
Words: 2396
Charles Cavalier
You met Charles Chevalier completely by accident. You didn’t play soccer — not even close — but somehow you’d found yourself surrounded by it because of a friend who dragged you to one of Paris X Gen’s practices.
That’s when you saw him. Blond hair that glimmered in the sunlight, pale eyes that looked both bored and brilliant at once. He was all elegance and chaos in motion — weaving across the field like the game was his stage and the ball, his brush.
You hadn’t expected him to notice you.
But Charles Chevalier noticed everything.
The first time he approached you, it was after practice. You were sitting quietly near the fence, scrolling through your phone.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” he greeted smoothly, wiping a bit of sweat from his neck. “Tu viens souvent me regarder jouer, hm?” Good evening, miss. Do you often come to watch me play?
You blinked up at him, pretending confusion.
“Uh... sorry? I don’t speak French.”
He smiled — slow, amused, and entirely too confident.
“Ah, dommage...” What a pity... he sighed, hand resting dramatically over his heart. “Tu ne sais pas ce que tu rates.” You don’t know what you’re missing.
You tilted your head, acting clueless. “So... are you talking about soccer?”
He laughed softly — that charming, honey-smooth laugh. “Oui, maybe. Or maybe something else.”
You shrugged. “Right. Totally didn’t get that.”
He smirked. You could see the spark in his eyes — this was a game to him now.
From then on, he made it a mission.
Every time you were near, he’d toss out little French lines, always delivered in that effortless tone that made him sound like poetry and trouble rolled into one.
When he passed by you at the café near the training grounds, he’d lean close and murmur,
“Tu es plus douce que les macarons ici...” You’re sweeter than the macarons here...
You’d blink innocently. “Did you just order something?”
He’d clutch his chest in mock despair. “You wound me, mon ange.” My angel.
“Uh-huh. Engine? Like in a car?”
Charles nearly choked on his espresso that day.
It only got worse.
At one point, he pretended to drop his notebook just to approach you, leaning down close enough that his breath brushed your ear.
“Si je te peins, tu crois que je pourrais capturer ton sourire?” If I painted you, do you think I could capture your smile?
You blinked, biting back a laugh. “That sounds... artistic?”
He straightened, squinting suspiciously.
“You are too calm. Most people blush when I say things like that.”
You tilted your head again. “Maybe I just don’t know what you said.”
“Tu mens,” he said under his breath, lips curving. You’re lying.
“Gesundheit?”
He groaned dramatically, tossing his head back. “You are impossible.”
Weeks passed, and it became his favorite chaos.
Flirting with you in French, just to watch you nod like you’d heard someone discussing the weather.
Sometimes, he’d even switch to extra fast French just to test you:
“Tu me rends fou, tu sais?” You drive me crazy, you know?
“Wow,” you’d reply, “that sounded... passionate.”
“It was,” he muttered, “and utterly wasted on you.”
But still, he never stopped. It became his habit, his daily amusement — teasing you in his mother tongue, a little spark of curiosity always flickering in his gaze.
Until one afternoon.
Practice had ended early, and Charles found you waiting by the gate again, arms folded, wearing that same calm smile that always made him want to ruin your composure. He strolled over, towel slung around his shoulders, sweat-damp blond hair messy but effortlessly pretty.
“Tu ne te lasses jamais de me regarder, hein?” You never get tired of watching me, huh?
You tilted your head. “You said something cocky again, didn’t you?”
He laughed, stepping closer. “Peut-être... mais aujourd’hui, je vais dire quelque chose d’important.” Maybe... but today, I’m going to say something important.
You smiled softly, pretending still not to understand. “Uh oh. Is this another pastry review?”
He rolled his eyes, then leaned forward slightly, voice lowering to a teasing whisper.
“Je veux t’inviter à sortir avec moi.” I want to ask you out.
You froze. For a second, your mask almost slipped.
He smiled knowingly, eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me you didn’t catch that either.”
You met his gaze — and finally broke.
“Tu veux que je traduise?” you said smoothly. You want me to translate?
His expression froze.
You smiled sweetly. “You just asked me out. Et oui, I’ll go with you.” And yes.
He blinked. “...Tu parles français depuis le début?” You’ve spoken French this whole time?
You grinned. “Maybe.”
He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair in disbelief. “You— mon dieu, I spent weeks trying to impress you—”
“Et tu as réussi,” you interrupted. And you succeeded.
That shut him up instantly. His usual composure cracked into a stunned grin.
“Tu es diabolique...” You’re devilish... he murmured, laughing softly.
“Maybe,” you teased back, “but you love a challenge, don’t you, Monsieur Midfielder?”
Charles smirked, eyes lighting up again.
“Toujours.” Always.
And just like that, he took your hand — chaos and charm wrapped in one.
Julien Loki
The café feels like your quiet corner of the world. The smell of roasted beans lingers in the air, sunlight streaming through tall windows, the hum of soft jazz floating in the background. It’s the kind of place that never rushes anyone — where time drips like honey.
You come here almost every afternoon. Sometimes for the coffee, sometimes for the calm.
That’s why you notice immediately when he walks in.
He doesn’t blend in — not at all. Broad-shouldered, athletic build, the casual confidence of someone who doesn’t need to speak loudly to be noticed. Julien Loki — the God Sprinter himself — in a hoodie, hands in his pockets, scanning the tables.
You try not to stare, but his eyes — golden-brown, sharp yet calm — sweep the room and land on you.
“Pardon,” he says with that smooth French lilt. “Is this seat free?”
Your voice betrays only a hint of surprise. “Uh… yeah, go ahead.”
He sits, offering a polite smile. “Merci.”
And just like that, the quiet returns — except now you’re painfully aware of it.
He’s quiet at first. Calm, composed. He scrolls through his phone, drinks his coffee slowly. You go back to your book — or pretend to. Because really, you can feel him there: that subtle air of focus athletes carry, even in stillness.
Then, quietly, almost to himself, he murmurs something in French.
“Tu lis comme si le monde autour n’existait plus…” You read like the world around you doesn’t exist anymore.
You glance up. “Sorry?”
He looks up too quickly, startled but smooths it over with a smile. “Ah, nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
“Mhm,” you hum, not convinced.
The next day, he’s there again.
Same café. Same table. Same polite smile.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you say.
He shrugs lightly. “Good coffee.” Then, after a pause: “And… maybe I hoped the same company would be here.”
You arch a brow. “Smooth.”
“French charm,” he replies, smirking.
You roll your eyes, trying not to smile.
That becomes the pattern.
He keeps showing up — sometimes just as you sit down, sometimes five minutes later, pretending it’s coincidence. You know better.
The rhythm grows easy — little conversations, shared jokes about the café’s too-loud milk frother, his weirdly serious opinions about croissants.
“You can’t just eat them anywhere,” he insists one afternoon. “There’s a science to it.”
You raise a brow. “You sound like a pastry philosopher.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe. But I’m right.”
He’s charming in that calm, steady way — not overbearing, not showy, but effortlessly magnetic. His eyes linger when you laugh. He listens when you talk. And every now and then…
He slips into French again.
“C’est impossible de se concentrer avec toi en face.” It’s impossible to concentrate with you in front of me.
“Tu souris trop bien, c’est suspect.” You smile too well, it’s suspicious.
“Peut-être que le destin a bon goût, non ?” Maybe fate has good taste, no?
You pretend not to understand a single word.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”
He just smiles. “Never mind.”
But each time, there’s a tiny twitch of frustration — the kind he tries to hide but doesn’t quite manage.
One afternoon, he sits down across from you, setting his cup down with just a bit more force than usual.
“You really don’t know French?” he asks suddenly, suspicious.
You blink innocently. “Not a word.”
He squints. “Not even bonjour?”
“Okay, maybe that one.”
He leans back, arms crossed, feigning deep contemplation. “Hmm. Tragic.”
You grin. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been saying some very poetic things,” he says, utterly serious. “And you’ve missed all of them.”
“Poetic, huh? That what you call trash-talk in France?”
He gasps, hand on his heart. “Ouch. You wound me.”
“Good.”
He laughs, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — mischief mixed with exasperation. You’re getting under his skin, and he doesn’t hate it.
The next time, he tries a different strategy.
You’re sitting by the window, and he drops into the seat across from you with a grin.
“Salut,” he greets.
You look up, deadpan. “Still don’t know what that means.”
He sighs dramatically. “It means hello. Which, clearly, you need lessons in.”
“Are you volunteering to teach me?”
He smiles — slow and deliberate. “Maybe I should.”
He leans a little closer, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret.
“Répète après moi. Tu es magnifique.” Repeat after me. You are magnificent.
You stare blankly. “To—uh… too…?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting a grin. “No, no, no. Tu es magnifique.”
You blink innocently. “What does it mean?”
He sighs again, shaking his head. “It means… you’re impossible.”
(You both know that’s a lie.)
By now, even the barista has noticed your routine. She smirks whenever Julien walks in — and he always does, scanning the café until he spots you.
Some days you talk about random things — travel, music, his home in France. He never brags about soccer, but when it slips into conversation, his eyes light up just enough to show what it means to him.
He listens when you talk, too — really listens, that calm attentiveness that makes you feel seen. But he can’t help himself; every so often, a French phrase slips through again.
And every time, you feign that same polite confusion, until one day, he snaps — in the softest, most charming way possible.
“Okay,” he says, mid-conversation, eyes narrowing playfully. “I have a theory.”
You raise a brow. “About?”
“You understand French.”
You sip your coffee slowly. “That’s quite the accusation.”
“Mm. But you react,” he insists. “Every time I say something. Your eyes — they move. Subtle, but I see it.”
You blink, expression perfectly neutral. “Or maybe you’re imagining things.”
He exhales, shaking his head. “Non, non. You’re too composed. Too quiet. It’s suspicious.”
You laugh, and he groans softly, leaning back, muttering in French again.
“Tu me rends fou… tu le fais exprès, je le sais.” You’re driving me crazy… you’re doing it on purpose, I know it.
You glance up, feigning innocence. “What was that?”
He covers his face with both hands, laughing in disbelief. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Flirt with someone who’s pretending not to understand it!”
You grin. “Oh, you were flirting?”
He stares at you, scandalised. “Obviously!”
You can’t hold the laughter anymore. It bubbles up, loud and bright, and his mock frustration only makes it worse.
Finally, you lean forward, chin resting on your hand.
“Julien?”
“Yes?” he says, half-pouting.
“Je comprends parfaitement le français.” I understand French perfectly.
The pause is everything.
His eyes widen, his mouth falls open slightly.
Then, quietly — “No way.”
You nod, grinning. “Way.”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You let me embarrass myself for weeks.”
“Yep.”
He stares at you for a long moment before bursting out laughing. It’s low, warm, and disbelieving. “You’re evil.”
“You like it.”
He smiles, leaning forward, voice dropping into that teasing softness again. “Maybe I do.”
The look he gives you then is different — less of the playful challenge, more of the quiet recognition that something’s shifted.
After a beat, he speaks again, softer now:
“Alors… tu veux sortir avec moi, cette fois pour de vrai ?” So… do you want to go out with me, for real this time?
You grin, pretending to think. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you promise to keep speaking French.”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Deal.”
And when he says goodbye that day, there’s that same amused sparkle in his eyes — but this time, no frustration. Just warmth.
“À demain, ma complice.” See you tomorrow, my partner in crime.
You smile back. “À demain.”
Noel Noa
You’re sitting on the edge of the training field, notebook open across your knees. The sun is bright, the faint sound of cleats scraping grass hums in the background — and yet, you feel watched.
When you glance up, you see him: Noel Noa, arms crossed, standing beyond the cones like he’s assessing a machine’s performance. White hair catching the light, sharp yellow eyes fixed on you — calculating.
“Bonjour,” he says simply, voice calm, clipped, almost mechanical.
You blink. “Uh… hi?”
He studies your face for a beat too long before speaking again. “Tu es très intéressante aujourd’hui.” You are very interesting today.
“Huh? Sorry, what?”
His brow furrows. “You do not understand French?”
“Nope. Not at all,” you say, keeping your tone bright, innocent.
He exhales quietly, as if accepting a new training challenge. “Alors… je vais traduire.” Then, I will translate.
He steps a little closer. “I mean… you are very interesting today.”
“Oh… thanks?” you say quickly, pretending to jot something down to hide your grin.
Noa tilts his head slightly. “Tu as un beau sourire.” You have a beautiful smile.
“Wait, what?”
He repeats with perfect diction, like he’s explaining a drill: “You have a beautiful smile. I am saying… you smile nicely.”
You hum, pretending to think. “Oh. Right. Thanks, I guess?”
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker in his eyes — like he’s trying to compute why you’re so calm about it.
A few days later, you’re reading in the small café near the training grounds. The quiet atmosphere is broken by the low, familiar tone behind you.
“Salut.” Hi.
You glance up. “Hey, Noa.”
He eyes the cup in your hands. “Tu sais… ton café ressemble à ton énergie… calme, mais fort.” You know, your coffee is like your energy — calm, but strong.
You blink. “Uh… I’m not sure what you mean.”
He sighs softly, patient but firm. “I said… your coffee is calm, but strong. Like you. It is… good.”
Your lips twitch. “Ah. Compliment via caffeine metaphors. Got it.”
“I am not using metaphors,” he says flatly. “It is an observation.”
You laugh quietly, but he doesn’t look away. For someone so analytical, he’s almost… fixated.
Over the next week, it becomes a pattern.
He appears without warning, his words always starting in French — you, always pretending to misunderstand.
“Ton sac est lourd. Laisse-moi le porter.” Your bag is heavy. Let me carry it.
“Oh, it’s fine, I can manage.”
“I said… it’s heavy. You should not strain your shoulders. I will help.”
“Tu manges trop lentement. C’est mauvais pour toi.” You eat too slowly. It’s bad for you.
“…Sorry?”
He sighs. “I said… you eat too slowly. It’s inefficient.”
You stare at him. “You mean unhealthy?”
He blinks. “No. Inefficient.”
And one day, during practice, when you’re watching from the sidelines:
He jogs over, sweat dripping, gaze sharp. “Ton regard est trop intense. Tu vas me perturber.” Your stare is too intense. You’ll distract me.
You nearly choke. “What?”
He gestures toward you, frowning. “You are… staring. It is distracting. Please stop.”
You cross your arms, pretending to pout. “Sorry for watching my friend play soccer.”
He looks momentarily thrown. “I am not your friend. I am your…” He pauses, like he’s calculating. “Subject of observation?”
You burst out laughing. His eyes narrow faintly, but the corners of his mouth almost twitch.
One evening, you’re walking past the empty field again. The lights are low, the grass slick with dew. You spot him alone, finishing drills even after everyone’s gone.
When he notices you, he wipes his hands on his jersey, eyes locked on you. “Tu viens souvent ici.” You come here often.
You raise a brow. “Sorry, what?”
He folds his arms, the faintest sigh escaping. “You come here often.”
“Maybe I just like watching the stars,” you tease.
He studies you silently, then says in French again, lower this time, “Tu dis ça, mais je crois que tu viens pour moi.” You say that, but I think you come for me.
You fake confusion, tilting your head. “I didn’t catch that.”
He exhales, a rare flicker of impatience showing. “You come for me, not for the stars.”
You bite your lip, fighting the smile. “That’s a bold assumption, Noa.”
“I do not assume,” he says simply. “I observe.”
The field is quiet that evening. The last players have left, and the only sound is the rhythmic thud of a ball being struck, again and again.
You spot Noel Noa where he always is — training alone under the dim floodlights, the picture of composure. You linger by the fence, watching him move with that same eerie precision that made him famous.
When he finally notices you, he stops mid-step, tilts his head slightly.
“You’re still here,” he says, voice steady.
You smile. “Guess I’m getting used to being around geniuses who don’t rest.”
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes flicker briefly with amusement. “You shouldn’t compare yourself to me.”
“I wasn’t. I’m the one doing the watching.”
He looks at you for a long, unreadable moment before speaking again — voice quieter now. “Tu sais… je t’aime bien. Beaucoup.” You know… I like you. A lot.
You blink, pretending to misunderstand. “Sorry, I missed that. Something about… soccer?”
His brows knit together just slightly. “No. I said… I like you.”
“Oh,” you say, playing up your clueless act. “Like… in a friendly ‘I tolerate you’ kind of way?”
He exhales, very softly. “No. Not tolerate. Like.”
You tilt your head, fighting a grin. “You might need to translate again, Captain Precision.”
He mutters something in French under his breath — too low to catch — then says, more clearly, “You’re… complicated.”
“So are you.”
There’s a long silence. The lights hum faintly. Then, all at once, you decide it’s time.
“By the way,” you start, tone casual. “You don’t need to translate anymore.”
His brows lift slightly. “Pardon?”
“Je comprends,” you say simply, smiling up at him. “Depuis le début.” I understand. Since the beginning.
He stares at you — and for once, the unflappable Noel Noa looks genuinely caught off guard.
“…You understood me this whole time?”
You nod. “Every word.”
There’s a pause. Then a sharp exhale — a rare, human sound of disbelief. “You made me translate everything.”
“Mm-hm.”
He’s silent for a full three seconds, eyes narrowing, as if recalculating an entire emotional strategy he didn’t know he was playing. Then, softly. “That’s… annoying.”
You grin. “You’re welcome.”
He looks at you again, and for the first time, the mask cracks — just a little. His hand moves to the back of his neck, his gaze shifting away like he’s analyzing a play he didn’t expect to lose.
“…Then I don’t need to translate this next part,” he mutters finally.
“Oh?”
He looks back at you, face calm but eyes a little too focused. “Tu… veux aller quelque part ? Avec moi.” Do you… want to go somewhere? With me.
You blink. “Like—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, tone clipped, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “A date.”
You blink again, just to make him sweat a little. “Wow. Noel Noa. The world’s number one, asking someone out. Should I feel honored?”
He gives a quiet sigh, but there’s a faint pinkness along his cheekbones now — almost invisible under the floodlights. “You should feel… responsible. You made me do this.”
You laugh. “I’ll take the blame.”
He studies you again, that same analytical look, but this time there’s something softer behind it. “Tomorrow,” he says after a moment. “After training. Dinner.”
You nod, smiling. “C’est un rendez-vous, alors.” It’s a date, then.
He blinks, the tiniest huff of disbelief escaping him. “You’re insufferable.”
“Flattered you noticed.”
There’s a flicker of a real smile — small, fleeting, but there. “Don’t make me regret it,” he murmurs, already turning back toward the field, but his steps slow just before he walks away.
“By the way,” he says without looking back, voice softer now, “I wasn’t lying. I really do like you.”
You grin, warmth spreading through your chest. “Je sais.” I know.
He glances over his shoulder at that, eyes catching the light — gold and unreadable, but warmer than before.
And just like that, Noel Noa — the world’s number one, the man who doesn’t flirt normally — manages to make a simple confession feel like something quietly extraordinary.
