word count: 835 / Happy Birthdayy beautiful ♡ / I need more content with him
Vivien Hugo and the way he reacts when you try to get him to eat avocado. Looking at the green fruit with a look of pure betrayal, as if you insulted his whole family. He will gently push your hand away, rambling about how it has no taste before leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose and whispering that he'd much rather taste something sweeter—you.
Vivien Hugo and the way he uses his blank pages to admire you. Catching him staring intently at an open book with absolutely nothing printed on the pages, his chin resting in his hand. When you ask him what he's doing, a soft, adoring smile will break across his face as he looks up through his pretty lashes, murmuring that he's just visualizing the exact chapter where his destiny finally walked into his life.
Vivien Hugo and the way his lashes brush your skin during a kiss. Closing his eyes tightly as he pulls you into a slow, deep kiss, the tips of his lashes tickling your cheekbone with every flutter. It's a tiny, delicate sensation that feels so intimate and real.
Vivien Hugo and the way he talks you through it. Whispering a constant, breathless stream of French and English right against your ear. Praise and unfiltered devotion pouring from his lips in a low vibration because he needs you to know how much you consume his mind.
Vivien Hugo and the way he reacts when you kiss him to interrupt his yapping. Eyes widening in sudden surprise before his lips immediately soften into a proud smile against yours, wrapping his fingers around your neck and humming happily into the kiss.
Vivien Hugo and the way he looks at you when you're just being yourself. Watching you do something mundane across the room, a look of pure, quiet realization crossing his face as he walks over to wrap his arms around you for no reason, whispering how lucky he is that the universe chose him to love you.
Vivien Hugo and the way he kisses your temple when you're busy. Not demanding your attention, just needing to touch you. Lingering there with his eyes closed, breathing you in with a soft smile because even when you're not paying attention to him, you're his entire world.
Vivien Hugo and the way he sleeps beside you. Tangling his long legs completely with yours, burying his face directly into your neck with his arm locked around your waist. Sleepily whispering soft, incoherent French endearments against your skin every time you shift.
Vivien Hugo and the way he loves seeing you in the front row of his games. Catching your eye across the pitch to give you a small wink. His entire performance becoming a silent love letter to his destiny.
Vivien Hugo and the way he whispers to you in the early morning. Waking up first to admire you and murmur the sweetest thoughts right against your temple while you're half-asleep, letting his voice be the first thing that wakes you.
Vivien Hugo and the way he looks at you when you wear something he bought, eyes softening into a warm gaze as a proud smile spreads across his lips.
Vivien Hugo and the way he comforts you when you've had a bad day. Pulling you into his lap and resting his chin on your head. Not pushing you to talk, just holding you close while softly rambling about a silly training detail to shield you from your sadness.
Vivien Hugo and the way he kisses your hands. Catching your wrist while you're talking to bring your hand to his lips, pressing slow kisses to your knuckles, palm, and wrist. Looking up through his pretty lashes with a soft gaze, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.
Vivien Hugo and the way he uses his wealth to show his devotion. Spending hours tracking rare, custom-made pieces that perfectly match you. Tossing the luxury boxes into your lap with a casual laugh, pretending it's not a big deal when he actually spent weeks perfecting it for his muse.
Vivien Hugo and the way he worships you, taking his time to press soft kisses from your collarbone all the way to your lips. Romantically narrating every reaction you have, whispering how much he adores the way your breath hitches when he touches you.
Vivien Hugo and the way he loves your laugh. Being intentionally dramatic or ridiculous just to catch that specific spark in your eyes. Going entirely quiet for a second just to listen to the sound, smiling as he whispers that your laugh is the only thing that makes him feel at home.
Vivien Hugo and the way he pulls you into his lap to talk about your future together. Chin on your shoulder, long arms holding you tight as he murmurs about a house in the French countryside. Speaking as if it's already a reality because he cannot visualize a future without you in the center of it.
♡ to say that hugo is obsessed with you would be a bit dramatic, you think? but no, this man is undeniably obsessed with you. he worships the ground you walk on and he treats you with so much care that you might think you're a real-life princess.
and he is soooo clingy!!!! everywhere you go, he is right behind you. going to get a glass of water, hugo is there with you incase you need help. plus cuddling can be such a nightmare because, oh, how he loves to put his entire weight on you. he doesn't see it as crushing you, he sees it as a way to pour all his love into your body.
but on the softer side, whenever he looks at you, he as the most lovesick expression on his face, no matter what you are doing. you could be eating, rambling, watching tv or reading a book and he will look at you like you hung the moon and the stars. his love for you has to be destiny, why else would he be so in love? he believes, no, he knows that you were made just for him as he was made just for you.
today is a special day.
it's the day of you and hugo's one year anniversary! so he the best thing he decided to do with you on this special day was take you to a carnival. it was perfect, he believes. nothing is more fun than playing games, riding rides, and trying all sorts of yummy foods with the love of you life.
the day went out perfectly, you rode rides and with hugo's luck won so many prizes! but there was one last thing you wanted to do, there was a food stall that served all sorts of desserts and you just couldn't resist. and as the whipped man hugo is, he got you whatever you wanted, no matter the price.
"oooh, baby, you have to try this one!" you tell hugo, giving him a spoonful of chocolate and strawberry ice cream with little chunks of white chocolate chips. he takes the spoon and puts it into his mouth. it's good, he thinks.
"it's good," he says as he looks at you, "it's very sweet." you giggle at the expression on his face, he has such a serious face for only just trying some ice cream.
you look down to your carton of ice cream, you face started to heat up, "thank you, vivian, for today," you look up back at him, with a sweet smile upon you face, "i had so much fun."
he smiles back at you, "of course, ma chérie, it's the least i can do for you." that is when he noticed a small bit of melted ice cream on you lip. he reaches over with his hand and wipes it off with his finger.
the two of you lock eyes. you felt you face get even hotter as his face was so close to yours.
"vivian..." you say in a hushed tone.
"you're so pretty, you know that?" hugo rubs his finger over the outer part of your lips. you both stare at each other for a moment, before he leans over and kisses you mouth.
you didn't waste any time and deepened the kiss with him, putting you arms around his shoulders, accidentally knocking over the rest of you ice cream, but you didn't care. all you cared about right now as kissing your boyfriend.
hugo pulls away and notices how you knocked your ice over. "ma chérie, you knocked you ice cream over, you silly girl."
if there is one thing to know about vivian hugo, is that he is totally and disgustingly in love with you ♡
Ive been wanting to right something with hugoooo ! I hope you guys love this—I’m also going to start making banners for my stories!! | CONTAINS FLUFF & SMUT
The shrill beep of your alarm clock pierced the quiet of your room, but in your groggy haze, you must have hit snooze one too many times. When your eyes finally snapped open to the harsh glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, panic hit you like a freight train. The digital clock on your nightstand which read 8:45 AM. School started at 8:00, and calculus was your first period. With a strangled yelp, you tumbled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.
Your uniform lay crumpled on the chair from the night before—a white blouse with the school emblem embroidered on the collar, a pleated navy skirt that fell just above your knees, knee-high socks, and a red tie that you always struggled to knot properly. There was no time for ironing or precision, you yanked on the blouse, fumbling with the buttons until two were slightly askew, giving the fabric a rumpled look.
The skirt zipped up crookedly, and your hair was a disaster. You raked a brush through it hastily, settling for a loose hairstyle that left stray strands framing your face like a halo of chaos. Grabbing your backpack, you dashed out the door, the screen slamming behind you as you sprinted down the tree-lined street.
The three-block run to school felt eternal, your lungs burning with every gasp of crisp morning air. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk in the autumn breeze, and you dodged a group of early birds chatting by the gates. By the time you reached the calculus classroom door, sweat trickled down your back, and your face was flushed a deep red. Your hand trembled as you gripped the knob, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding. With a deep breath, you shoved the door open.
The bang reverberated through the room like a gunshot. Students jolted in their seats, pencils clattering to desks, and a chorus of whispers erupted. Mr. Hargrove, the stern calculus teacher with his wire-rimmed glasses and perpetual frown, froze mid-sentence, his marker hovering over the whiteboard where he'd been scribbling derivatives. The equation—a tangled mess of x's and integrals—stared back at you accusingly.
“I-I’m so sorry—for being late!” you stammered, bowing so deeply that your hair swung forward. Your voice cracked, already thick with the threat of tears.
Mr. Hargrove's face reddened, his mustache twitching with irritation. “Ms. Y/n! This is unacceptable. How many times must I remind you that punctuality is not optional in my class? You're disrupting everyone—again!” His voice rose, booming off the walls, and he slammed the marker down for emphasis. “No more excuses. Sit down and open your book to page 147. Try to keep up if you can.”
The class tittered—soft laughs from the back, where the popular kids sat, and sympathetic glances from a few kinder souls. But it was the stares that undid you. Twenty five pairs of eyes, judging, amused and pitying. Your chest tightened, a familiar lump forming in your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room.
You were too sensitive, always had been—a bad grade, a sharp word, even a misplaced comment could send you spiraling. Mumbling a final “Sorry, sir,” you hurried to your seat, head down, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.
Your desk mate, of course, was Hugo. The transfer student from France, with his striking red hair that caught the fluorescent lights like fire and long lashes. He'd arrived mid-semester, his presence turning heads with that effortless charisma and the thick accent that rolled off his tongue like music—or mockery, depending on the day. For you, it was always the latter. He lounged in his chair, uniform impeccable, tie straight, shirt untucked, a faint smirk playing on his lips as you slid into the seat beside him.
You kept your eyes glued to your notebook, scribbling nonsense to avoid looking at him, but his gaze burned into you. The scent of his cologne—something spicy and masculine, like cedar and smoke—invaded your space, making your stomach twist.
“Ah, don’t cry now, ma chérie,” he drawled softly, his voice a low rumble with that French lilt that made every syllable dance. “It’s not your fault you’re such a dumb girl, running late like always, no?” The words dripped with tease, but to your ears, they were venomous, laced with condescension.
Dumb girl. It stung deeper than the teacher's yell. Why did he always target you? You'd never crossed him, never even initiated a conversation beyond polite nods. Tears welled up fully now, spilling over as you bit your lip to stifle a whimper. The classroom closed in—the whispers growing louder “She's crying already? Over being late?”, Mr. Hargrove's ongoing lecture a distant drone, Hugo's amused stare. It was unbearable. You surged to your feet, chair scraping shrilly against the tile, and fled the room, sobs bursting free as you ran down the echoing hallway.
Hugo watched you go, a soft scoff escaping his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms, that smirk deepening into something almost fond. “Can’t handle a joke? Quelle fille stupide,” he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk in idle rhythm.
To him, your sensitivity was adorable—a rare spark of genuine emotion in the monotonous grind of high school. The way your eyes shimmered with tears? It stirred something primal, a thrill that quickened his pulse. But you saw only rudeness, another reason to weave through crowds to avoid the red-haired guy who seemed to haunt your days.
Months had passed in this pattern, his teasing barbs flying your way no matter how you dodged. In the cafeteria, he'd slide into the seat across from you uninvited. “Hey dummy, that sandwich looks as sad as your grades.”
During group projects in history, he'd lean over. “Let me explain it simply, okay? For the sensitive one.”
Even in the library, burying yourself in books, he'd appear. “Hiding again? Afraid of a little chat?”
Each time, his accent softened the blow just enough to confuse you—was it malice or playfulness? But the tears came anyway, and you'd retreat, leaving him chuckling in your wake.
The breaking point, or turning point, came on a Thursday afternoon after school. The final bell had chimed like freedom, and the hallways buzzed with students eager for the weekend. You lingered at your locker, methodically stacking textbooks, your mind replaying the day's minor disasters. A skipped lunch, a confusing pop quiz in biology. In your distraction, you turned too sharply, your water bottle slipping from your grasp. It tumbled, cap loose, and splashed across Rei's pristine khaki pants—the star midfielder of the soccer team, surrounded by his rowdy crew.
The dark stain spread like ink, and Rei’s face contorted in fury. “What the hell? Are you blind or just stupid?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the chatter. His friends hooted, egging him on as he stepped closer, towering over you.
“I-I'm so sorry!” you gasped, dropping to your knees to blot at the mess with a napkin from your bag. Your hands shook, heart hammering. “It was an accident—I’ll pay for it, I swear!”
Rei wasn't having it. He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back sharply enough to make you yelp. The pain shot through your scalp, tears instant and flooding. “Do you know how much these cost? Fucking idiot—apologize like you mean it!” He raised his free hand, as if to strike, his buddies laughter turning darker.
You froze, puffy eyes streaming, accepting the humiliation because fighting back felt impossible. “Please, I'm sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking.
Then, a voice sliced through the chaos: “I think that’s enough. Are you really going to hit a girl over some water? Pathetic.” The accent was unmistakable and commanding.
You blinked through your tears to see Hugo materializing from the crowd, his hand clamped firmly on Rei’s wrist. His red hair was tousled from the day's wind, uniform jacket open to reveal the white shirt beneath, and his eyes narrowed in quiet threat.
Rei wrenched free, rubbing his arm with a scowl. “Mind your business, Frenchie. This doesn't concern you.” But his bravado faltered under Hugo's steady gaze—rumors of the transfer student's no-nonsense attitude had circulated, and Rei’s crew shifted uneasily.
“Fuck off,” Hugo said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rei muttered a curse, shoving past his friends as they dispersed, the hallway emptying around you.
You stayed kneeling, sniffling, mortified that Hugo out of all people had intervened. Wiping your face, you avoided his eyes, the embarrassment burning hotter than the scalp tug.
“Hey, dumb girl,” he said, crouching down, his voice gentler than usual. He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Tear tracks streaked your cheeks, and he studied them with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Stop the crying. Everyone’s staring now. Makes you look even more... pathetic.” Before you could respond, he pulled you up and into his chest, arms encircling you in a hug that was surprisingly tender. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, a contrast to your ragged sobs.
The embrace broke something in you. You clung to his shirt, crying harder, the rough afternoon pouring out in hiccuping waves. Rei’s anger, the stares, the constant feeling of being too much, it all crashed down.
Hugo sighed, his hand stroking your back in slow, awkward circles. “Quelle honte... Viens, on rentre chez toi.” The words rumbled softly, meaningless but comforting.
You lifted your head, confusion mingling with the tears. “...What?”
He exhaled sharply, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but his hold didn't loosen. “I said, let’s get you home, dumb girl. We can’t stay like this in the hall.”
Numbly, you nodded, letting him guide you out of the school. The twenty-minute walk to your house unfolded like a dream, the autumn sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the suburban streets. Hugo matched your pace, his presence a solid anchor beside you. At first, silence hung heavy, broken only by your occasional sniffles. Then he started talking, his teasing light but persistent.
“So, what happened there? You always finding trouble, huh? Dumb girl can’t even hold a bottle straight.” He nudged your elbow, a playful glint in his eye.
You shot him a watery glare, but it lacked heat. “It was an accident. And stop calling me that—I’m not dumb.” Your voice wobbled, but the walk's rhythm soothed you, the crisp air clearing your head.
He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the houses. “Not dumb? Thats debatable. But... it’s cute, how you react. Like a little kitten, all claws and no bite.” His accent wrapped the words in warmth. Making you wonder if there was affection beneath the jokes.
The conversation meandered from there. He shared snippets of France. The crowded Paris metros the smell of fresh corner bakeries, how he'd left behind a big family that argued loudly but loved fiercely. “My mother would say you need toughening up. But you’re lucky I like you soft.” He glanced at you sideways, his expression unreadable.
Emboldened, you opened up too. About your parents high expectations, how a single harsh word from a teacher could leave you reeling for hours. “I know it's silly, crying over everything. I just... can't help it.” You kicked at a fallen leaf, watching it skitter away.
Hugo's teasing paused, his voice turning serious. “Not silly. Rare, thats what. After all you’re human.” He bumped your shoulder again, lingering this time. “And maybe a bit adorable, even if you’re a dumb girl.”
By the time you reached your porch, the awkwardness had eased into something companionable. The house was quiet due to your parents at work—and you fumbled with your keys, hyper-aware of him behind you.
“Thanks for walking me,” you murmured, turning to face him. “And for... earlier. With Rei.”
He shrugged, but his eyes darkened, roaming over your tear-streaked face with new intensity. “If you’re still feeling horrible... I could make it better. Take your mind off it all.” His voice lowered, voice thickening like honey.
Unsure but trusting the odd comfort he'd shown, you nodded. “Okay.”
Time blurred in a haze until you found yourself on the bed, positioned on all fours, skirt hiked up around your waist, blouse clinging to your skin. Hugo knelt behind you, his pants shoved down just enough, his thick cock pressing insistently at your entrance. With a firm grip on your hips, he thrust in without warning—filling you completely in one deep push.
You cried out, the sudden stretch overwhelming, tears springing to your eyes as your body adjusted to his size. He was too big, the burn intense, but slickness eased the way as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward relentlessly. His hand fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the pillow to stifle your loud sobs, the fabric muffling your whimpers into desperate, choked sounds.
“Thaaats it,” Hugo groaned, his voice husky with pleasure, accent slurring as ecstasy twisted his features. Your tears soaked the pillowcase, and even without seeing, he knew the knowledge alone made his cock twitch inside you, arousal spiking at your vulnerability. He pounded harder, the bed frame creaking in protest, his uniform tie swinging like a pendulum with each brutal thrust. “Such a sensitive little thing, taking my cock like you were made for it. So tight, so wet... you love being my dumb girl, don’t you?”
The roughness bordered on pain, his girth stretching you to the brink, but pleasure coiled deep in your core, building with every drag and slam. You clawed at the sheets, body rocking forward, tears streaming freely now as sobs wracked you. He didn't relent, one hand pinning your hip while the other kept your head down, silencing the cries that fueled his desire. Him imagining your puffy, tear-filled eyes only drove him wilder, his pace erratic, breaths coming in harsh pants.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of sensation, the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your muffled pleas blending with his teasing growls. “Look at you, whimpering into the pillow. Can’t even handle a real man, huh? But you take it so well—” He shifted angles slightly, hitting deeper, grinding against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Sweat beaded on his forehead, red hair sticking to his skin, uniform shirt untucked and damp as he rutted into you.
Your body trembled, overwhelmed, the mix of hurt and bliss pushing you toward the edge. But Hugo wasn't done. With a low curse in French, he pulled out abruptly, the loss making you whine into the pillow. His hands flipped you onto your back, skirt splaying out, blouse riding up to expose your stomach. He loomed over you, eyes locking onto your face—sobbing, red-rimmed, and utterly wrecked. The sight hit him like lightning; tears tracked down your cheeks, lips parted in gasps, and it shattered his control.
“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he rasped, sliding back in with a single, forceful thrust that buried him to the hilt. You arched, fresh tears spilling as he resumed his brutal pace, now face-to-face. He watched every sob, every flutter of your lashes, the vulnerability amplifying his pleasure. “Thats why I call you dumb girl—look at you, falling apart on my cock. Makes me want to ruin you more.”
His thrusts grew frantic, hips pistoning as he chased release, the bed shaking violently. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, body coiling tighter under the onslaught. The friction built unbearably, his thickness dragging along your walls, hitting every sensitive point. “Please—Hugo—” you sobbed, the words garbled through tears.
Seeing your crying face up close undid him completely. With a guttural moan, he pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock to spill hot ropes of cum across your stomach, painting your exposed skin and the hem of your blouse in sticky white. His body shuddered, pleasure etching lines of bliss on his face as he milked every drop, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked one.
But he wasn't finished with you. Panting, he pushed back inside, the slick mix of your arousal and his cum easing the way. “Not yet, you still need to cum.” His fingers descended to your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles as he fucked you steadily, drawing out your peak. The overstimulation was intense. His cock still throbbing, filling you again and again, combined with the targeted pressure, it hurled you over the edge.
You shattered, back bowing off the bed, a wail tearing from your throat as orgasm crashed through you. Waves of ecstasy pulsed around him, tears flooding anew as your body clenched and released in rhythmic spasms. Hugo groaned, riding it out, his movements slowing to gentle rocks until you went limp, spent and sobbing softly.
“See? Feel better now?” His voice was soft and teasing as it faded to tenderness. He wiped away the last of your tears, smiling.
ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ taking care of you ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ꒱ 〜 ♯ ⋮ 𝄞 new gen 11 × pregnant wife reader ༉ .ᐟ ★
𑣲 michael kaiser
ever since your stomach started showing, michael kaiser acted like he had been given the most important responsibility in the world.
the same man who loved calling himself an emperor suddenly spent more time reading pregnancy books than football articles, making notes in the margins and insisting he knew exactly what every week meant.
if you even sighed a little too hard from across the room, his head would snap up immediately. "what was that?" he'd ask before you could even answer, already walking over with that serious look on his face.
"does something hurt? are you hungry? tired?" and nine times out of ten you were only stretching, but that never stopped him from checking anyway.
he would grumble under his breath whenever people teased him for fussing over you so much, pretending it annoyed him, yet he never once slowed down.
if anything, he only became worse, refusing to let you carry grocery bags, reaching things from high shelves before you even looked at them, and quietly taking over chores you normally did because, in his words, "i'm the one with a perfectly healthy body right now. let me use it."
his training schedule never disappeared, but somehow you always came first.
after every practice he came home carrying something in his hands, sometimes your favorite pastries, sometimes fresh fruit, sometimes flowers because he remembered reading that seeing beautiful things could improve someone's mood.
the moment he walked through the door, he'd kiss your forehead before crouching in front of your stomach with a softness nobody else ever got to see. his hand rested there so naturally, gently rubbing little circles as he talked about his day, telling the baby how he scored in training or how everyone else was too slow to keep up with him. then he'd smirk proudly.
"obviously your father is still the best." a second later, the baby would kick, making his eyes widen every single time without fail. "did... did you see that?" he'd whisper in complete disbelief, looking at you like it was the greatest goal he'd ever witnessed.
no matter how many kicks he felt over the months, he reacted with that same amazed expression every single time.
the nights were when he became the most protective.
if your back hurt, he learned exactly how to massage it without pressing too hard. if you couldn't sleep because the baby kept moving, he'd stay awake with you instead of telling you to rest alone.
sometimes the two of you would sit by the window while the city lights glowed outside, your head resting against his shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. he'd quietly admit things he never told anyone else, how becoming a father scared him more than any football match ever could because he knew what it was like to grow up without kindness.
he promised himself long before the baby was born that your child would never question whether they were loved, never wonder if they were enough, and never experience the loneliness he carried as a boy.
he'd press a careful kiss to your stomach before resting his forehead there, speaking softly enough that only you and the baby could hear. "you'll have everything i never did. i'll make sure of it."
his ego never really disappeared, but it changed in funny ways. instead of bragging about himself, he'd confidently tell everyone your baby was obviously going to be beautiful because they had your features and his genes.
he'd already planned which tiny football jerseys to buy, despite you reminding him the baby couldn't even walk yet. when you rolled your eyes, he'd simply shrug with complete confidence. "it's called preparing for greatness." but the second you mentioned feeling nervous about labor, all that playful confidence melted away.
he held your face between his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he looked at you with complete sincerity. "you don't have to be strong every second," he murmured. "i'll stay with you through all of it. every contraction, every tear, every moment. you won't face any of it alone."
and for someone who spent so much of his life believing only in himself, staying beside you without hesitation became the promise he valued more than any victory on the field.
𑣲 sae itoshi
pregnancy brought out a side of sae that almost nobody believed existed.
he wasn't loud about how much he cared, and he wasn't the type to constantly ask if you were okay every five minutes, but he noticed everything before you even had the chance to mention it.
if you shifted uncomfortably on the couch, he'd already be grabbing another pillow for your back. if your water bottle was empty, he'd quietly refill it without saying a word. when your feet started hurting after standing for too long, he'd guide you back to the couch with a gentle hand on your waist before kneeling in front of you to rub away the soreness.
if you tried telling him you could do it yourself, he'd only glance up at you with that calm look of his. "i know you can," he'd say simply. "but you don't have to."
his routine slowly changed around yours without you even realizing it. he made sure he was home whenever he could be, cooked meals you could actually keep down, and kept track of every doctor's appointment like it was part of his own schedule.
his phone ended up filled with reminders about vitamins, checkups, and things you mentioned wanting days before. he never made a big deal out of it either.
he'd just quietly remember.
whenever you woke up in the middle of the night because you couldn't get comfortable anymore, he'd wake up too, helping you sit up before fixing the blankets around you and staying awake until you finally drifted back to sleep. even if he had training the next morning, he never complained once.
sae didn't talk to your stomach very often, mostly because he felt a little embarrassed, but whenever the baby kicked while his hand happened to be resting there, the serious look on his face softened without him even noticing.
he'd stay completely still for a moment before letting out the smallest smile, one that only ever seemed to appear around you. sometimes he'd quietly tell the baby about his day, speaking so softly it almost sounded like he was talking to himself.
"don't make your mom work too hard today, okay?" he'd mumble, gently rubbing your stomach with his thumb before leaning down to press a light kiss against it. every time the baby responded with another kick, he'd look at you with quiet amazement, like he still couldn't believe there was a little life growing between the two of you.
whenever people crowded around you or offered too many opinions about your pregnancy, sae became quietly protective. he didn't need to raise his voice or argue. one look from him was usually enough to make people step back.
if someone stressed you out or kept touching your stomach without asking, he'd calmly move between the two of you, resting a hand against your back as he guided you somewhere quieter. "she needs space," he'd say, leaving no room for discussion before walking away with you.
once the two of you were alone again, he'd check on you first instead of talking about the situation. "you alright?" he'd ask, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. if you nodded, he'd simply squeeze your hand and stay beside you until you felt better.
the closer your due date came, the more he found himself thinking about the future.
one evening, while the two of you sat together in the nursery after finishing the last few decorations, he rested his head against yours as the room fell quiet. after a long silence, he reached over to lace his fingers with yours.
"i don't know everything about being a dad," he admitted honestly, his voice low enough that it almost blended into the silence around you. "but i'll learn." he looked over at you before gently smiling. "i'll learn for you... and for our baby."
it wasn't a dramatic promise or a grand speech, but somehow hearing those simple words from someone as reserved as sae meant more than anything else ever could.
𑣲 vivan hugo
the moment hugo found out you were pregnant, he started treating the months leading up to the baby's arrival like something the two of you had to get through together instead of something you had to carry alone.
he never wanted you to feel like the pregnancy was only your responsibility, so he naturally slipped himself into every little part of it.
every appointment became "our appointment," every milestone became something he celebrated just as much as you did, and every difficult day ended with him reminding you that you didn't have to hide how you were feeling around him.
whenever you apologized for being emotional or tired, he'd lightly shake his head before pulling you into his arms. "you're growing our baby," he'd mumble against your hair. "you never have to apologize for that."
he became surprisingly observant, picking up on the smallest habits you didn't even notice yourself. if he saw you rubbing your lower back while making breakfast, he'd quietly take over cooking before gently steering you toward a chair.
if you had one of those days where nothing sounded good to eat, he'd spend the afternoon trying different recipes until he found something you could stomach without feeling sick. he never acted like it was a burden either. seeing you finish even a small meal always made him smile to himself because, in his mind, that meant both you and the baby were taken care of.
hugo loved spending quiet afternoons with you more than anything. instead of filling every moment with conversation, he'd sit beside you while you watched movies, read a book, or simply rested with your legs across his lap.
his fingers would absentmindedly trace slow circles over your stomach whenever the baby started moving, and before long he'd start talking to them like they were already sitting beside him.
he'd tell funny stories about his day, make little jokes he hoped would earn a kick, and laugh every time one actually came. "see?" he'd grin while looking at you. "they already think i'm funny." even when you rolled your eyes, you couldn't stop yourself from laughing with him.
there were moments when the pregnancy became overwhelming, especially as your due date got closer and the nerves slowly settled in. on those nights, hugo never tried to fix everything with the perfect words.
he'd sit beside you, letting you lean into him while his hand gently rubbed your back. he'd listen to every fear you had without interrupting, only speaking once you had gotten everything off your chest. "we're going to figure it out together," he'd say quietly, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "i'm not expecting you to know everything, and you don't have to expect that from yourself either."
as the nursery slowly came together, he found himself stopping in the doorway more often than he'd admit, imagining what life would be like once the room was finally filled with tiny cries and sleepy smiles instead of silence.
after finishing the last piece of furniture, he wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder while the two of you looked around the room.
"it's starting to feel real," he whispered with a soft laugh. after a moment, he lowered one hand to your stomach, giving it a gentle pat before smiling to himself. "i can't wait to meet you," he said to the baby. "but don't rush. your mom and i will be right here whenever you're ready."
𑣲 bunny iglesias
bunny never realized how much someone could become his entire world until you became pregnant.
from that day on, taking care of you became second nature, never something he felt forced to do. he'd wake up before you just to make breakfast, leaving little notes beside your plate reminding you to eat everything because "our little family needs it."
if you wandered into the kitchen insisting you could've made it yourself, he'd gently nudge you toward a chair with an amused smile. "that's my job this morning," he'd tell you. "your job is letting me spoil you."
he quickly learned that some days weren't about fixing anything. there were afternoons where your body ached, your emotions felt all over the place, and nothing seemed to make you feel better.
instead of searching for the perfect words, bunny would quietly crawl into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist while the two of you stayed under the blankets for hours. he'd put on one of your favorite movies, play with your hair, or simply let you complain about everything without interrupting.
whenever you apologized for being "too much," he'd look at you like the thought had never crossed his mind. "you're carrying our baby," he'd say softly. "if you want to complain all day, i'll listen all day."
he also became oddly excited about preparing the house. one weekend you walked into the spare room only to find him sitting on the floor surrounded by tiny baby clothes, carefully folding every little onesie even though half of them ended up looking messier than before.
he looked so focused that you couldn't help but laugh, earning a confused look from him before he held up one impossibly tiny sock between his fingers. "how is someone's foot supposed to fit in this?" he asked with complete seriousness. the room quickly filled with your laughter, and he couldn't stop smiling after hearing it.
whenever you struggled with the changes pregnancy brought, bunny always found a way to remind you that nothing about you had become less beautiful.
if your favorite clothes no longer fit or you felt frustrated looking in the mirror, he'd stand behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder while your eyes met in the reflection. "all i see is the woman i love," he'd murmur, gently taking your hand into his.
"you're giving us the greatest gift i'll ever receive. i don't think i've ever looked at you and loved you more than i do now."
late at night, after the house had gone quiet, the two of you often found yourselves talking about everything the future might hold.
you'd sit together on the couch with your head against his shoulder while he absentmindedly traced shapes over your hand, wondering what your child's laugh would sound like, whose habits they'd inherit, or what kind of parents the two of you would become.
bunny never claimed to have all the answers, but every time the conversation drifted toward uncertainty, he'd smile and squeeze your hand. "whatever happens," he'd whisper, "we'll learn together. that's what families do."
𑣲 julian loki
when loki learned you were pregnant, he somehow became both calmer and even more energetic at the same time.
he still had his endless amount of energy and couldn't sit still for very long, but whenever it came to you, he slowed himself down without thinking about it. if he noticed you were walking behind him, he'd immediately match your pace instead of rushing ahead.
if the two of you were out together, he'd always make sure there was somewhere nearby for you to sit and rest whenever you needed a break. he never wanted you to feel like you had to keep up with him, so instead, he happily kept up with you.
he loved turning ordinary days into something fun because he hated seeing you bored while you were stuck resting. he'd show up with board games, puzzles, snacks, or some random hobby he found online that he insisted the two of you should try together.
sometimes the activity lasted hours, other times it ended with the two of you laughing because neither of you had any idea what you were doing. he didn't care if the final result looked terrible. if you were smiling, then he'd call the day a success.
loki was also the first person to notice when your energy started running low. before you could even say anything, he'd already be pulling a blanket over your legs, handing you your favorite drink, or asking if you wanted to lie down for a while.
he never made it sound like you were fragile. instead, he'd smile and say, "you're doing enough already." hearing those words always made the guilt disappear whenever you felt bad for needing extra rest.
as your due date slowly got closer, he became surprisingly curious about everything that came after.
he'd ask endless questions while the two of you put together the nursery, wondering what your baby's first word might be, whether they'd like sports, music, drawing, or something completely different.
whenever someone joked that your child had to become a football player because of him, loki would laugh before shaking his head. "they don't have to be anything except happy," he'd say. "whatever they love, i'll be cheering louder than everyone else."
one day, after finishing the last few things around the house, the two of you ended up sitting on the living room floor surrounded by unopened gifts and tiny baby blankets.
the room was quiet for once as loki leaned his head against your shoulder with a content sigh. after a long moment, he reached over and intertwined your fingers with his, smiling to himself. "our life is about to change completely," he murmured. "and honestly..." he looked at you with the same bright smile that always made your heart race.
"i don't think i've ever been this excited for anything before."
𑣲 don lorenzo
when lorenzo found out you were pregnant, the excitement hit him almost immediately, but so did the fear. it wasn't something he admitted out loud at first.
instead, it showed itself in the quiet moments, when he'd stare a little too long at the tiny clothes in store windows or stop talking whenever someone mentioned what made a "good parent."
growing up with almost nothing left him wondering if he'd know how to give your child the kind of childhood he never had. every now and then he'd ask you questions that seemed to come out of nowhere.
"do you think i'll be enough?" he'd mumble one evening, avoiding your eyes. "i don't want them growing up the way i did."
those worries never stopped him from taking care of you. if anything, they made him try even harder.
he'd proudly carry every shopping bag before you could reach for one, constantly remind you to sit down whenever you looked tired, and somehow always remember the little things you mentioned in passing.
if you casually said you wanted strawberries three days ago, he'd come home holding a carton with the biggest grin with his grills showing on his face like he'd just completed the world's greatest mission. because seeing you smile because of something so small always made him feel like he was doing at least one thing right.
lorenzo also had a habit of making you laugh whenever pregnancy started feeling overwhelming.
if you became frustrated because your body was sore or you were exhausted, he'd immediately start making ridiculous faces, dramatic impressions of people you both knew, or tell exaggerated stories that became more unbelievable with every sentence.
he'd celebrate every laugh he managed to get out of you like he'd won a trophy. "there it is," he'd say with a satisfied smile. "that's the one i've been waiting for."
sometimes, though, the cheerful act slipped away.
late at night, after you'd both gotten ready for bed, he'd quietly rest beside you with his fingers loosely intertwined with yours. those were the moments when he'd finally admit what was sitting in the back of his mind. "i keep thinking about when i was little," he'd confess softly.
"i remember what it felt like to be hungry... to wonder if anyone cared where i was." his voice would grow quieter before he looked over at you. "i never want our kid to feel that. not even for a second." you'd remind him that the very fact he worried so much already showed how deeply he cared, and hearing that always seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders.
the nursery became something deeply personal to him. every shelf he built, every toy he carefully placed, every blanket he folded was his way of creating the kind of home he'd always wished for as a child.
one afternoon, after the room was finally finished, he stood in the doorway looking around in complete silence.
you walked over and slipped your hand into his, and after a long pause, he smiled—a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "they're never going to wonder if they're loved," he whispered. "they're going to wake up every day knowing they have a family waiting for them."
then he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gently kissed your temple. "that's the childhood i want to give them... one that's nothing like mine."
Vivian needs to touch grass but he’d rather touch you!
Vivian Hugo x Reader Fluff (for once)
The villa’s sat on the French Rivera. It’s 5pm, stupidly quiet, no press, no football fields, just you and Vivian. He’s half in your lap on the outdoor sofa, his head resting on your chest, still in an Arsenal polo and sweats, phone open to some player tracking data he swore he’d stop looking at today.
You’ve got a book open (a real one with words) resting it atop his shoulder blades. You’re not paying much attention to it though, how can you, with your big hunk of a boyfriend sprawled on top of you like this.
“You’re supposed to be off,” you say, stealing his glasses and tossing them onto the table. He doesn’t really need the glasses, but you don’t bug him about it. At least they were blue light, protecting his pretty, onyx eyes that seemed to only soften when he looked at you.
Vivian blinks up at you, that same dead stare boring into you for a second before it turns soft. “I am off. This is recovery. Destiny requires it mon cœur”
You straddle his thighs, throwing your book on the table and tangling your hands in his hair. “Vivi. Touch grass.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush, nose brushing your jaw. “I’m touching you. Waayy better than grass.” He mumbles.
You kiss him. He’s warm and smells like sunscreen and that expensive French cologne he pretends he doesn’t like. For once his mind isn’t racing, thinking about football or destiny. It’s just... slow. Safe. All yours.
Later there’ll be pasta, book debates, a nap in the sun, and a heated tennis battle that’ll really test your relationship. But, right now it’s just this. The pressure to win four World Cups gone. Radio silence on. Just you, him, and zero reason to leave.
i need him so bad he’s so big omg I need him like biblically baadddd holy fuck.
pls pls pls pls pls if the universe answers only one of my prayers
chat is it vivian or vivien. i thought it was vivien but everyone is saying vivian…
first time writing fluff lowkey nervous but im kind of tired of being a pervert.
i shall write smut later but also i feel like a pervert cause i love him sm but also #ineedthatsobad
should i do smaus guys
will work on requests in a bit and do other characters as well! requests, messages, asks are open so don’t be shy!
