#lavinho

Snuffy let out a breath of relief once he made it to his front porch. Bag in hand as he unlocked the door and walked in. Immediately being hit with the familiar smell of home.

“Cuore mio?” He called softly, his eyes looking around mindlessly. His body became more sluggish due to being in the comfort of his home.

You peaked your head out from the kitchen and smiled. Walking over to him after folding your apron and placing it aside.

Snuffy was quick to embrace you, burying his face into your hair, taking in your smell as if he had been away for years and needed a refresher.

“Welcome home honey.” You greeted with a bright smile, your eyes softening at the sight of exhaustion on your husband’s face. “The team worked you over time huh?” You hummed as Snuffy sighed.

“Yeah- hey what’s that smell?” He took notice of the familiar smell once more. Realizing quickly it wasn’t just the normal smell of their home.

He watched your eyes brighten and take his hand in your own, dragging him to the dining room.

“Take a seat, I’ll be right back!”

Snuffy sat at the table, curiously watching you run into the kitchen. Not even a minute passed before you came back, a bowl in hand walking carefully to the table.

“Huh, what did you make?” He questioned looking up at you curiously. You smiled and placed the food on the table, his eyes widening at the nostalgic sight.

“Cuore mio you didn’t…” He muttered as you let out a giggle.

In front of Snuffy was a bowl of stuffat tal-fenek, a dish that was often served back in his childhood home.

You left once more before coming back with unopened wine and a basket of bread to complete the dinner display.

You sat down beside him as he took your hand in his. Raising your knuckles to his lips, keeping eye contact as he looked at you lovingly.

“I love you…” He whispered as your heart melted from his words. His lips grazed over your wedding ring, the same ring he slipped onto your finger only ten years ago.

“Ma chérie, I’m home.”

You turned just finishing with setting the dinner table hearing your husband’s words. Loki had followed the sound of your footsteps, walking into the room and noticing the dinner you had made.

“Ah Julian.” You breathed walking to him and looping your arms around his neck. Your husband’s exhausted eyes looked over the food, taking in the sight of a familiar dish from his home country.

“Boeuf Bourguignon?” he questioned–mainly to himself as you smiled, pulling back from the small embrace, keeping your arms around him. “Your favorite right?”

You thought it would be nice to make the dish considering the two of you hadn’t had it since your wedding night.

Loki turned his attention back to you and kissed you slowly yet lovingly. You melted into the kiss as he pulled you closer to him, your bodies melting together where you stood.

“It must’ve taken you all day… did you rest?” He questioned looking you over as his hand came to rest against your cheek.

Leaning into his touch you nodded, “Yes Julian, I rested. Let’s eat so you can rest as well.”

Listening to your words he brought you to the table, splitting apart to sit in separate seats. Comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you ate dinner. Loki kept his hand on your thigh, caressing your skin gently as he used his free hand to eat.

“This is delicious…” He complimented wiping his face with a napkin as his dish was empty. His wine glass only had around two or three sips left.

“I’m glad, there is plenty left if you want seconds.” You replied with a sweet smile, still eating your first bowl. “I’m good for now, thank you.”

Your husband walked through the door, duffel bag in hand as he slipped his shoes off silently. Soft hums danced through his ears as the smell of food was drawn in by his nose.

The white-haired man walked further into the shared home, his eyes catching sight of you preparing dinner with a warm smile.

He let out a soft sigh, the smell registering in his mind as his heart skipped realizing what dish you were currently making.

“Coq au Vin Blanc…” Noel murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His lips left kisses in their wake around your neck. Being slightly ticklish you laughed and tilt your head to look at him slightly.

“Welcome home Noel.” You greet sweetly as he hummed and pulled you closer to him. Even though he wasn’t much of a people person, the fact he could come home after a tiring day to the sight of his wife cooking for him and waiting for him made most days worth it.

“You did all of this for me?” He whispered as you nodded, your breath hitching from his touch on your hips–the sound of his husky voice echoing in your mind.

“Of course, you’ve been working so hard as of late. I thought you needed a nice meal.”

Your response made the male groan, his grip tightening. He wasn’t sure he would be able to make it through dinner. He needed you so bad already.

You turned looking up at him with innocent, willing love that made it even harder for him to hold back.

“Let’s eat dinner quickly…”

You laughed and just went along with his words not entirely sure what the gleam in his eyes was coming from.

“I’m home!”

You heard your husband’s exclaim making a smile grow on your features. Calling back that you were in the kitchen, Lavinho quickly made his way to you. His long arms slinking around your body as he hugged you tightly.

Rocking the two of you back and forth before he paused, noticing the meal you had made.

“Ah, no way!” He happily stated a smirk forming on his face. He lifted you into the air and spun you around.

“You’re the best.” He groaned as you laughed from his actions. Lavinho and you had quite an energetic relationship. Almost fast pace some would say considering you were childhood sweethearts and got married two years ago.

“So when did you learn how to make feijoada?” Lavinho questioned setting you down on the ground as you plated the food. “I’ve been taking some classes–there’s still so many dishes I haven’t learned yet.”

Lavinho loved you and your passion for cooking. The wedding was small and you made all the food for it. Even though he tried to have you rest and relax on your special day. But he knew the food probably wouldn’t have been as good if you weren’t the one making it.

After dinner Lavinho helped clean up the kitchen and then quickly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom.

You giggled knowing exactly what was about to happen. Your husband loved expressing his affection for you physically. And you knew that was exactly what he was about to do.

update log:

07/07/25 - added the rest of the top23 and other characters I thought might be useful, however I made Kaiser too young, so I fixed that. updated the in universe date to my estimate from the 310 leaks

08/07/25 - thankfully the leaks did not mislead me, so fewer changes today! added Igaguri and updated the irl date to today. I'm holding off on @/rinji-k's suggestion to shift Isagi's DOB to 2001 as both the bllk wiki and @/bluelocksource's egoist bible translation have him starting blue lock at 16. Given that November 20th is after his birthday, if he was 16 when he entered then he'd be born in '02. I also decided to be less lukewarm (ha) about Bunny's age.

14/07/25 - updated in universe date to my assumption from the 311 leaks. Finally shifted column three to "age upon introduction", but I might've missed a fix. Spent way too long working out what those introduction dates are. Most importantly, I added all the DOBs the lovely @hoozukis left in the comments! I might add a timeline for reference purposes, but I am heavily relying on @/blue-lock-rocky's timeline, so go check that out!

22/07/25 - Fixed Nishioka since if he was born in May ’03 he’d be in jr high when the manga started lol, also we’ve passed through his birthday so he’s at least 17 by now. I updated the irl date to today. I also made a vague timeline for comparison to what the blue lock wiki has the dates as. The bllk wiki claims it's date for the start of the NEL is from the character book (vol 1 I think) and since I don't speak japanese or french I can't fact check that... I'm hoping they're wrong though because I've been relying heavily on the real life events in blue lock for my dates.

15/08/25, 06/09/25, 30/11/25, 03/12/25, 02/04/26 - just updated the irl date to today!

08/01/26 - new year, new day! (educated guess! 328 is still the 23rd, 329 is presumably a new day, and 330 is the one after. So I just used the time between the first two matches of the group stage in the irl 2019 U20 WC.)

translation; (german) liebling;darling, meine liebe;my love, (italian) marito;husband, miele;honey, (french), chérie;dear, je t’aime;i love you, mon amour; my love. correct me if these are wrong!

noel noa.

lavinho.

chris prince.

marc snuffy.

julian loki.

Chris Prince

You marry: Noel Noa

Three years.

That’s how long it’s been since Chris told you, in his typical, rehearsed calmness, that you deserved someone who could love you more than he loved himself.

He said it with a smile — the kind that hid the cracks forming under his skin. You had laughed, softly, like you didn’t quite believe it either.

But you left anyway.

And now, under the warm gold light of the chapel, he sees you again.

In white.

Radiant.

Beautiful — unbearably so.

And standing beside you, with quiet strength and composure, is Noel Noa.

The world’s “King of Football.”

The only man Chris ever admitted might be better than him.

He laughs to himself — quietly, bitterly — the sound swallowed by the organ music.

Of course it’s Noa.

Of course the man who beat him on the field would beat him in love, too.

He stands at the back, sunglasses hiding the tears he refuses to acknowledge, a mask of elegance barely holding.

His mind won’t stop whispering what ifs.

What if he hadn’t pushed you away because he couldn’t stand you seeing him imperfect?

What if he’d let you in — past the perfect smile, the sculpted muscles, the “Prince” persona — to the trembling man underneath?

But he hadn’t.

He’d chosen beauty over vulnerability.

Perfection over honesty.

And now you were someone else’s masterpiece.

Chris forces a smirk, even as his throat tightens.

“You look divine, angel,” he whispers to himself. “Even more than I remember.”

He adjusts his suit jacket, pretending it doesn’t feel like armor against his own regret.

He tells himself that he’s happy for you — that you deserve peace, that you look radiant beside Noa.

But deep down, something inside him shatters.

Because the way Noa’s hand fits against yours, the way you smile — soft, serene, content — it’s the one thing Chris never managed to give you.

You turn once, catching sight of him across the crowd — a flicker of surprise, then a gentle smile.

Not longing. Not bitterness. Just warmth.

You’d forgiven him long ago.

That hurts the most.

He exhales slowly, watching as Noa lifts your hand, kisses it tenderly, and the crowd erupts in applause.

Chris’s jaw tightens; his heart feels like a thousand paparazzi flashes, blinding, relentless.

He had spent his whole life chasing beauty — sculpting it, living it, breathing it — but in that moment, watching you promise eternity to another man,

he finally understands:

He never needed a mirror to see perfection.

He’d had it, once, standing right beside him — and he let it go.

The applause fades, but the echo doesn’t.

Chris walks out before the music ends — smooth, composed, sunglasses on — the picture of elegance.

No one sees how tightly his hands are shaking.

He makes it to his car. The door shuts. Silence.

And then the mask falls.

His breath catches, sharp and broken, a sound he hasn’t made in years. He leans forward, palms pressed to his face, the perfect image of control unraveling into quiet, desperate sobs.

He’d told himself he could handle it — that he was happy for you, that he’d moved on.

But in the empty car, surrounded by the ghost of your laughter, he realizes the truth:

He could sculpt his body into a god’s…

but he could never rebuild the part of him that loved you.

And for the first time, Chris Prince doesn’t look beautiful.

He just looks human.

Julien Loki

You marry: Michael Kaiser

Julien Loki leaned against the railing of the balcony, the crisp autumn air doing nothing to cool the fire in his chest. From here, he could see you—your figure radiant in white, laughing at something Michael Kaiser whispered, completely at ease. Seven years.

Seven years since he had walked away, using some clumsy excuse about priorities, ambition, about “not being ready.”

Seven years of telling himself it was for the best. And now, seeing you like this… he felt like a part of him had been ripped out and left behind.

His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. He hated that he still cared. He hated that he remembered every detail of the last day you two had spent together.

The way your eyes had pleaded for him to stay. The way his own ego and fear had convinced him to leave.

He’d thought distance would make him stronger, make him the unstoppable force he always tried to be on the pitch. But now, watching you radiant in another’s arms, he realized what he’d lost was stronger than any speed or skill he could ever wield.

Julien’s breath caught. Michael Kaiser. Of all people, you had married him. The very person he had considered a rival, someone he had trained to outpace, outthink, outplay. And here you were, happy—truly happy—with him.

Loki’s chest tightened as jealousy, regret, and guilt collided violently inside him. He should feel nothing. He should walk away, preserve his pride, like he always did. But the truth was searing: he still loved you. Still wanted you. Still imagined what it would have been like if he hadn’t let his fear and pride win.

He turned away from the balcony, stumbling down the stairwell, trying to choke back the raw, choking ache in his chest.

Alone in the shadowed park nearby, the lights reflecting faintly on the wet pavement, he sank onto a bench. His head fell into his hands as the tears he had sworn off came anyway.

Seven years—he had spent seven years convincing himself that leaving was the right choice, and for seven years, he had carried the quiet hope that somehow, somehow, you’d circle back.

But seeing you today… that hope was gone.

Erased by the sight of you smiling in the arms of someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

Loki whispered your name like a prayer that wouldn’t reach you, a curse against the cruel timing of life.

“I was supposed to be the one,” he muttered through trembling lips. “I was supposed to make you happy… not leave you behind.”

The wind tore through the park, carrying with it the sound of distant laughter, a sound he now associated with all that he’d lost. And for the first time in his life, the fastest sprinter on any field felt utterly, impossibly slow.

He remained on that bench long after the sky darkened, alone with his regrets, the echo of your laughter haunting him.

There would be no redemption, no second chance.

Only the memory of what he had abandoned—and the agony of watching it flourish without him.

Lavinho

You marry: Mark Snuffy

Six years.

Six long, bright, colorless years.

Lavinho used to think time healed everything — that new matches, new faces, and new dances on the pitch would drown out the ache. But tonight, standing at the back of the golden-lit hall, watching you in white, laughing in Mark Snuffy’s arms, he realized time doesn’t heal.

It just paints over the cracks, until something — or someone — tears it open again.

You.

He used to call you his muse. His “sunlight, his samba, his heartbeat between each dribble.” You’d smile and roll your eyes when he’d speak like that, saying he was too dramatic — but you loved it anyway. You loved him anyway.

Until he left.

Until he said, “I can’t give you a future. Only a dream.”

He’d walked away that day with his chest puffed out, pretending to be noble — convincing himself he was sparing you from the chaos of his life. A man who lived for art couldn’t be tied down. A man who danced with football couldn’t promise stillness.

He told himself you deserved stability.

Someone like Mark Snuffy.

Practical. Steady. Reliable.

The man who, six years later, waits for you at the end of the aisle with soft eyes and a smile that never wavers.

Lavinho watches you walk down that aisle, and the world around him blurs into watercolor — sound fading, motion melting — until it’s just you in his vision. You, radiant and calm, the same warmth he used to chase like a lost melody.

He laughs under his breath, though his voice cracks halfway through.

“Six years, and she still steals the spotlight. Magnificent, meu amor.”

But his hands tremble.

He hides them in his pockets, like a coward pretending to be composed.

For once, he doesn’t want to be the artist. He doesn’t want to perform. He just wants to be the man who stayed.

When you and Snuffy exchange vows, he feels something break inside — quiet, like the last note of a love song played too softly to hear.

You look happy.

That’s what kills him the most.

Not that you moved on.

Not that you found someone else.

But that the joy you used to share with him — the light, the laughter, the endless dancing — now belongs to someone steadier, someone who stayed when he ran.

He can’t hate Snuffy for it. The man earned what Lavinho threw away.

After the ceremony, he doesn’t say a word to anyone.

He walks out before the first dance, head tilted up to the night sky, tears glimmering like stars in his eyes.

He whispers to himself, in a voice only the wind can hear:

“I told her I was an artist, not a husband. I painted her smile a thousand times… but I never thought she’d paint her happiness without me.”

And when he reaches his car, he sits there in silence — no music, no theatrics, no words left to disguise the hollow inside him.

Just Lavinho, alone with the cruel masterpiece of his own making:

You, smiling in someone else’s arms.

The wedding lights fade behind him, replaced by the cold silver of the moon.

Lavinho walks aimlessly until he finds himself in a quiet park, the kind where shadows curl around the benches and the wind whispers through the trees.

He sits on the damp grass, head in his hands, body trembling in ways he never allows in front of anyone.

For six years, he thought he could outrun this — the memory of your laugh, the warmth of your hand in his. But tonight, seeing you in white, so undeniably happy with Mark Snuffy, the truth crashes down like a wave he can’t swim against.

Tears streak down his face, unchecked, a rare surrender for the flamboyant, chaotic man who always wore a mask of confidence.

“I… I was supposed to protect you from me,” he whispers into the darkness. “I was supposed to be your art, not your pain… and now… now you’ve found someone who stayed. Someone I couldn’t be.”

His chest heaves as sobs wrack him quietly, broken and ragged. He wishes, for just a heartbeat, that time could rewind, that six years could vanish, that he could step into the wedding hall and catch your smile, your hand…

But it’s gone.

The park holds him, silent and indifferent, while Lavinho cries for the life he threw away, for the love he left behind, and for the haunting, impossible ache of watching you truly happy without him.

He stays there until the moon dips low, until the cold seeps into his bones, and only then does he rise, shoulders stiff, heart shattered, walking away — carrying the memory of your smile like a song he’ll never play again.

Mark Snuffy

You marry: Chris Prince

Mark stood at the edge of the garden, the sun catching the white lace of your dress as you laughed, entwined in Chris Prince’s arms.

Five years. Five long, unbearable years since he’d let you go with that excuse—something about needing to “focus on his career,” something he’d thought you’d understand. He had told himself that, over and over, but none of it had prepared him for this.

He should have felt pride, relief even, that you had found happiness. But all he felt was a hollow ache gnawing at his chest, a quiet fury he couldn’t name. How could you glow like that, radiant and untouchable, in a life that had no room for him anymore?

Chris’s laughter mingled with yours, and it stabbed at him, a cruel reminder that he had failed—not on the pitch, but in keeping the person he had never been able to forget.

Mark’s fingers dug into his coat pockets, his mind running in silent loops, calculating every “what if,” every move he hadn’t made, every word he had left unsaid.

He was always strategic, always thinking two steps ahead—but this… this was uncharted. No formula, no tactic could fix this.

Watching you happy with someone else felt like watching a goal he had trained his entire life to score slip past the line at the last second.

He wanted to shout, to call out your name, to tear down the distance between him and the life you now shared with Chris. But he didn’t.

Mark Snuffy, calm and collected, stood frozen, forcing himself to look away as the officiant pronounced you married.

Later that night, he was alone in the quiet of his apartment, his shoes kicked off and his head pressed to the cool glass of the window.

The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white. He should have been numb, methodical—but the emptiness inside him throbbed.

He had lost not just you, but the version of himself that could have fought harder, loved louder.

He let the tears come quietly, silently. No one could see the breakdown of a man who had always been the master of control, the strategist, the untouchable forward. And in the stillness, he whispered your name, barely audible, a prayer and a curse all at once:

“I’m sorry… I should have never let you go.”

And for the first time in years, Mark Snuffy felt like nothing.

----<3----

[I swear these are just getting longer]

[REQUESTS OPEN!!!!<3]