this is vaguely going off a comment someone left about yor paying loid a compliment but this comic just kind of went in a totally different direction lol. it is very messy even by my standards tbh but we're gettin back into the swing of it... Slowly
Never knowing that this came from project moon and the guy being Ayin is so crazy to me, but after learning the story in lobcorp, there is genuinely no other way to encapsulate how to feel about him. Like yeah... this is the only correct way to feel about him
His fuckass face in the 2nd part too. Brother, fuck you
1st pic by muteiharada originally on twt but has apparenlty since then changed/deleted their account
2nd pic, as it turns out, is made by someone else/still unknown!!!
The lore drops that 1) HJ is LaVonte’s sire and 2) LaVonte is homophobically repressed have quickly and decisively turned LaVonte into my favourite PC of this season
A/N: I love that the fandom has collectively decided he’s the clingiest man alive. Also, hopefully, the months-long debate of what Hugo’s hair color actually is gets settled tomorrow because I genuinely need answers.
Sometimes, you didn’t fully understand Hugo’s logic. Or rather, how he arrived at certain conclusions with such unwavering certainty that arguing against them felt almost pointless.
When it came to football, it made sense. Hugo saw the game differently than most people, as if he were reading a script the rest of the world hadn’t been given yet. His talk of logical destiny sounded ridiculous the first few times you heard it, but the thing about Hugo was that he always proved himself right.
Time and time again on the field, the plays he predicted unfolded exactly as he said they would. The goals, the timing, the positioning, every piece sliding neatly into place as if the match had been written in advance.
But Hugo carried that same absolute belief into the rest of his life, too.
More specifically, into you.
He spoke about it with the same calm certainty he used when discussing football strategy. That meeting you in that quiet café in France during the early weeks of autumn had simply been part of the path. As inevitable as the dream he carried of winning four World Cups. As if the universe itself had laid the two of you on intersecting lines and Hugo had merely recognized the moment they crossed.
Distance didn’t shake that belief. Arguments didn’t either. Not the frustrating stretches of time where neither of you could talk because your schedules were so completely out of sync that even a five-minute phone call felt impossible. Hugo treated those things like temporary inconveniences in a larger equation whose outcome had already been decided.
The relationship would work.
Because logically, it had to.
And looking at him now, sprawled across the unfamiliar hotel bed with his face half buried in the pillow, you couldn’t deny that his certainty had slowly, stubbornly seeped into you too.
Hugo looked almost unfairly peaceful when he slept. His expression softened in a way it rarely did when he was awake, the intense focus he carried during the day completely gone. Long lashes rested against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even as the early morning light slipped through the curtains and brushed across the room.
He’d barely moved when you slipped out of bed.
The cool air against your bare skin made goosebumps rise along your arms as you quietly crossed the room, grabbing one of Hugo’s discarded shirts from the back of a chair and pulling it over your head. It hung loose on your frame, the fabric cold and faintly carrying the clean scent of his detergent.
The bathroom door clicked softly shut behind you.
You had barely gotten halfway through brushing your hair when the door creaked open again.
For a moment you assumed it was the air pressure shifting in the room.
Then a pair of arms wrapped around your waist.
The movement was slow and sleepy, but firm, Hugo’s hold tightening until your back was pressed against his chest like he had no intention of letting you escape.
You caught his reflection in the mirror.
His hair was a little messy from sleep, eyes still half-lidded, but the moment he saw you looking at him he simply leaned forward and buried his face into the crook of your neck.
Like that was the only place he had been trying to reach.
“Vivian,” you murmured, laughing softly as his grip tightened.
He hummed in response, the sound muffled against your skin.
For someone who carried himself with such quiet composure in public, Hugo could be incredibly (almost aggressively) affectionate when the two of you were alone. Especially after long stretches apart like this.
His arms slid higher around you, locking together across your stomach as if securing you there. Then he leaned his full weight forward.
You braced your hands on the sink immediately.
“Are you trying to crush me?” you asked.
Another hum, this one sounding suspiciously pleased.
Hugo pressed his face deeper into your neck, breathing in slowly like he was memorizing the feeling again. His nose brushed against your skin, and you could practically feel the way the tension that had been sitting in his shoulders since arriving yesterday was slowly melting away.
“You disappeared,” he mumbled eventually.
“I went to brush my hair.”
“You left.”
“You were asleep.”
“That doesn’t matter.” His voice carried that same detached confidence it always did, even when it came out muffled against your skin.
Hugo tightened his arms again, pulling you impossibly closer. To the point that exhaling might become a struggle
It had been weeks since you’d seen him in person. Weeks of messages and short calls squeezed between training sessions and travel schedules. You’d known Hugo missed you, he wasn’t subtle about that, but seeing the way he clung to you now made the reality of it sink in.
You shifted slightly in his hold, tilting your head enough to look at him in the mirror again.
“Did you wake up and panic when I wasn’t there?”
“No.”
You raised a brow.
“…Maybe.”
That at least earned a quiet laugh from you.
Hugo finally lifted his head slightly, though he didn’t let go. His chin rested on your shoulder now, his arms still firmly looped around your waist like they had been magnetized there.
“You should have stayed,” he said simply.
“You were exhausted.”
“I would have slept better.”
You turned your head a little, meeting his gaze in the reflection. “Because I was there?”
Hugo blinked slowly, like the answer should have been obvious. “Yes.”
Then, without another word, he leaned forward again and tucked his face back into the curve of your neck, like he was determined to make up for every second the two of you had spent apart.
And judging by the way his grip tightened once more, you had a feeling Hugo wasn’t planning on letting you out of his reach anytime soon.
Fun fact: if you scrolls down far enough in “my art” tag you’ll find witch hat atelier olufrey fanart from like… 3 years ago? In the Kiss pose too. And here I thought I would redraw them. Shame d3rking beat them to it…
Bonus doodles down below Vv
These r like lowkey almost a month old including the finished art piece cuz I wanted to redraw some of these sketches but never had the push to do so
