･ ༝ ･ Jammy. MINOR. Fluff & Angst. ･ ༝ ･

Vivien hugo always tells you the most cheesiest pick up lines known to man, just to make you laugh, this resulted into a week long silent treatment, however vivien took this to a whole new level as you going against destiny.

Gender nuetral reader, idk how to write him but I was bored so I just spun a wheel…and it landed on him…I rarely proof read by the way—we ball.

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Enjoy Reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)!!

You and Vivien hadn't been talking at all.

Well... more accurately, you hadn't been talking to him. And you were utterly determined to keep it that way until you could finally make him stop.

The silent treatment was entirely justified. Maybe, maybe not—but in your mind, it absolutely was!

You couldn't afford to fold so easily under the his terrible pickup lines.

You seriously needed him to stop, mostly because you found yourself questioning your own sanity every time you cracked a laugh or smile.

Genuinely, you could not stop laughing at every single horrible line he threw your way.

Vivien had spent the last seven days telling you the cheesiest lines known to humanity. They were so unbelievably, painfully bad, but they still managed to make you laugh.

Your only hope of getting him to stop was to completely erase his existence from your reality.

Absolutely no eye contact and no responses.

You will not laugh.

A silent treatment, should work…well— that’s what you thought.

But Vivien, being Vivien, just kept r on talking, oblivious to the fact that he was receiving the silent treatment. Or worse, he took it as a personal challenge—a sign that you were trying to fight against the very hand of fate.

Your mind drifted back to how this ridiculous week had actually started. You remembered sitting together on the couch, the afternoon sunlight catching the soft fabric of his shirt. Before the onslaught had begun, he was absentmindedly playing with your fingers, intertwining them with his own. A bright, eager smile had been plastered across his face.

"I've been learning a new attribute," he had announced, confidently.

Your eyes had dropped to the worn, leather-bound book resting on his lap. He always carried it around, claiming it helped him organize his chaotic thoughts.

At this point, you didn't question the book anymore.

You didnt mind seeing him have it around and if it helped him, then you didn’t really find anything bad about it—it was just weird…but also cute to see how ridiculous it is!

You had simply watched him crack it open, tap his fingers against his chin, and stare at the empty page.

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Back in the present, the room was quiet only the slow, rustle of pages being turned one by one. You peeked out of the corner of your eye and saw him leaning in closer to you.

Clearing his throat, preparing whatever dumb pick up line he’ll say just to shatter your silence.

You braced yourself for whatever phrase he was about to leave his mouth.

It was cute, the way he acted. There was absolutely no doubt about it—Vivien was ridiculously attractive beautiful and funny—Lucky you.

He opened his mouth and the words that came out of his mouth was“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber” he said that, in the most deadpanned expression , while just staring at you.

Making you go silent while you were thinking about what the heck was going on.

"Making you laugh is my new attribute for making you happy," Vivien announced proudly, breaking the silence.

The line left you completely speechless. Then, the sheer absurdity of it hit you, and a laugh slipped right through your teeth.

"Ma chérie..." He looked at you with total, unblinking sincerity. "I'm serious." He lunged forward, dramatically clasping both of your hands in his. "Destiny is us. Don't you agree? Nous sommes faits l'un pour l'autre."

You blinked, staring at his earnest expression.

Slowly, the reality sank in, he was absolutely not joking.

The next day he texted you another failed flirtatious message.

And that had to be the most aggressively French sentence you had ever heard in your life.

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The second time you met him, he proposed that your love was eternal and fated.

"Destiny is us," you repeated under your breath, before bursting into a proper, unfiltered laugh.

Vivien's face immediately brightened. "There! You smiled!"

"That was the dumbest thing I've heard all day."

"It made you laugh." He beamed, looking completely successful.

"...Unfortunately," you mumbled, trying to pull your hands back from his grip.

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And when you were first getting to know him, he had proudly declared that football had been his destiny ever since he was a toddler. You had just stared at him in disbelief.

"Vivien."

"What?"

"You were two years old."

"Oui, et?"

"You could barely walk straight."

"But I was already kicking balls," he had countered with a deadpan look, completely serious. "Football found me because we were destined. Just like you and me. Honestly, I think I was destined for the sport before I was even born."

"You don't hear yourself, do you?"

"I do," he had smiled, practically glowing.

He was impossible. Snapping back to the present, you had to admit that—his ridiculous charm was exactly what you liked most about him.

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Vivien was funny, it was a private side reserved only for the people closest to him. To the rest of the world, the young, promising French midfielder was a machine and an intimidating opponent.

He came off as a bit strange to the media, but underneath that tough, professional exterior, he was just a hopeless romantic.

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His family only made things worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

During your first dinner at their house, his mother had warmly welcomed you before immediately pulling out the embarrassing childhood archives.

"Oh, he's always been this dramatic," she laughed, mimicking a tiny voice. "'Maman! Football! Football! Football! Look at me!' It was all he ever thought about." Vivien had tried to hide his burning face in his hands, groaning, "Maman, please stop." You had laughed so hard your stomach ached.

Remembering all of this, made it significantly harder to maintain your current silent treatment, which was clearly driving him insane.

Because he was going nonstop with his pick up lines ever since you started and have been constantly trying to cling to you.

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He was currently sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor after a grueling training session, watching you pretend to read a book.

Earlier that day, he had begged you to buy éclairs on your way home. You had bought them, but as a punishment for a week of terrible pickup lines, you refused to hand them over.

They sat on your desk, an agonizing foot out of his reach.

"Ma chérie..." he pleaded.

Silence.

"Why won't you look at me?"

Nothing.

"Are you mad?"

You deliberately turned another page of your book. While he let out a long, dramatic sigh.

You felt a tiny prickle of guilt. Stalling for time, you pulled out your phone and quietly texted Julian Loki, Vivien's teammate. Vivien went on and on about how wonderful Loki was, how Loki would be number one, and how as number two, they would conquer the football world together.

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My bf football destiny guy ( Julian Loki )

Has Vivien been acting weird at practice?

Julian Loki : Wdym? Like does he start flirting?

Yesss, He won't shut up. It’s cute…but still…

Julian Loki : Yeah, he won't shut up about you. He even practiced his pickup lines on me.

Please help me and tell him to stop..

Julian Loki: Lol can't help you. I had to deal with him for an entire two weeks of him flirting with ME.

Julian Loki: Good luck with him, lol

You groaned internally. Out of pure pettiness, you fired back a well known meme picture of Julian wearing a fluffy, pink bunny hat while doing a ridiculous, forced aegyo-sal smile.

A few seconds later, Julian reacted to the photo with a prompt thumbs-down emoji.

Setting the phone face-down on the mattress, you noticed the room had gone completely quiet. Vivien had stopped pleading.

You glanced up and saw him staring blankly at the empty pages of his notebook for a moment before closing it with an exaggerated, heavy thud.

When that didn't make you stand up , he stood up and strolled over to your bookshelf. He began pulling books off the shelves one by one, carefully examining the spines. Finally, he lined up a selection of titles face-out on the ledge.

He held up the first one: Why.

The second: Are.

The third: You.

The fourth: Ignoring.

The last one: Me.

He gestured to the makeshift sentence, pointing at it with an arched brow. You blinked. He stood there, eagerly waiting for your reaction. Sighing, you stood up, walked over to the shelf, and grabbed a couple of heavy textbooks. You held them up in sequence: Leave. Me.

Vivien studied your response, chin in his hand. He scanned the remaining shelves, pulled down another novel, and covered a part of the title with his palm so only the first word showed: No.

Then, he rapidly grabbed four more books, stacking them all the way up to his chin: I. Miss. You. Please.

He lowered the stack just enough so you could see his eyes. He was pulling the most ridiculously pathetic, puppy-dog expression he could muster. Unfortunately, it was working.

You let out a long, defeated sigh. He peered over the top of the books.

"...Is it working?"

"..Maybe."

His eyes lit up instantly. "I knew it.”

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The tension finally broke. You dragged the box of slightly squished éclairs from the desk onto the bed, and the two of you lay down together, sharing the pastry as the afternoon light softened across the blankets.

Chewing thoughtfully, Vivien glanced over at you. "Ma chérie..."

You swallowed a bite of chocolate. "What now?"

"If beauty were a crime..."

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact.

"...You'd be completely innocent."

You paused, your eyebrows knitting together in total confusion. "...What? Vivien, that’s an insult."

"No, think about it," he said, entirely deadpan. "Because you're too good and beautiful to ever commit a crime."

You stared at him, genuinely trying to follow the broken, convoluted logic of his brain. "...That makes zero sense, Vivien."

Despite the sheer stupidity of the line, a genuine laugh slipped past your lips.

"There it is.” he cheered, pointing a triumphant, pastry-covered finger at you.

"You are incredibly lucky you're cute," you grumbled, lightly swatting his arm.

He laughed, wrapping his arms securely around your waist, and tumbled backward onto the mattress, pulling you down with him.

"Vivien!"

"Mhm?" he murmured, completely unbothered by your protest. He shifted, resting his chin comfortably on top of your head and tightening his grip around your waist.

You buried your face against his shoulder, letting a real, genuine smile finally show. The two of you just stayed there, completely tangled together under the warm afternoon sunlight, quietly finishing the last of the chocolate treats.

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Another day, another psychological toll for Julian Loki, who had to endure Vivien’s endless ramblings on the pitch. Vivien walked around the locker room in a complete daze, a goofy, love-struck smile permanently plastered across his face.

"We hugged all day yesterday," Vivien announced to the room.

Julian, who was busy chugging water from his sports bottle, didn't look up. "That's good, Hugo," he muttered, using Vivien's last name while absentmindedly patting his teammate's back.

"No, Julian, you do not comprehend," Vivien said, sitting up abruptly and grabbing Julian firmly by both shoulders.

He looked completely unhinged by romance, his eyes wide with the dramatic gravity of his own emotions. "I love ma chérie so dearly, Julian. It is a cosmic alignment."

Julian sighed deeply and slowly pulled his shoulders away, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. He had heard variations of this exact speech every ten minutes since warm-ups had started.

Vivien Hugo was, without a single shred of doubt, the most pathetic, hopeless lover boy in all of France.

Thanks for reading٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ !!

| Synopsis: you genuinely cannot cook for your own life and your boyfriend is Osamu Miya. the owner of Miya Onigiri and a certified D1 food addict, Osamu literally lives to eat. Then there is you. who can’t cook at all , but hey—at least you try!

| Notes: Gender Neutral Reader , Time-skip Osumu, I got this idea base on my experience when I was beginning to learn how to cook and my mom kept on crashing out…because I didn’t know how to properly cut the carrots..

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Enjoy Reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)!!

For the life of you, you had never been able to cook independently. Emphasis on independently.

You were taught to cook—it was a basic human life skill, after all…but those lessons always happened with your mom or dad.

Eventually, they would lose their patience, snap, and take over. They knew you meant well but you were genuinely horrible at the kitchen and because of that you never really grew out of it.

you never learned how to actually cook and make the food or measure ingredients properly on your own.

You tried learning by yourself—You kept pushing yourself to try harder, even your parents did but no matter what, you somehow always failed.

You just had bad luck…I guess?

But it didn’t stop you, especially after you started dating Osamu.

Yet, every single dish you made turned into a disaster. The savory meals somehow became sickeningly sweet, and other dishes turned out so salty they tasted like seawater.

It was infuriating.

Yes, you could fry food but whenever it got to chopping, seasoning and cooking you’d fail.

You followed every recipe line by line and tried your absolute best. Still, every lunch or dinner ended in total failure, with you throwing the ruined food into the trash.

Which pained you to waste food and your hard work.

Out of options, you just resorted to ordering takeout or buying pre-made convenience store meals, replating them, and confidently claiming you cooked them yourself.

It sucked admitting that. Dating Osamu made the guilt ten times worse. You had lied straight to his face once, confidently laughing and bragging that you knew how to cook during one of your dates when you started going out—when you absolutely didn't.

You’d genuinely did not want to fumble this man at all, if you did you would be mourning and grieving.

So you panicked when he asked you that question—leading you to tell him a little white lie…to save your own dignity.

it was selfish but you didn’t want him to know how incompetent you were, especially since he owned HIS own restaurant and he told you he liked eating.

You were sweating balls and really really wanted him badly , and you bagged that.

You have no idea how you kept this up and him not finding out, but you were glad. After all—you just wanted to see was his happy face when he was eating!

Now, you had to face the consequences of that lie you told him when you first started dating . Because you can’t keep it up anymore.

Your chest tightened with a heavy mix of guilt and utter embarrassment. You were dating Osamu Miya—the person who could swallow an entire tray of onigiri in one single go and ran a highly successful food business

“Osamu,” you blurted out, taking a deep breath. You looked him dead in the eye. “I have somethin’ to tell you.”

He paused, a single gray eyebrow twitching upward. “You look like you're confessin' to a crime. Did ya eat the leftover spicy tuna onigiri in the fridge?”

“No! Not at all—it's just...” You threw your hands up in defeat, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I can’t cook. At all—I lied when I said I made that bento last month. I bought it, Samumu.”

The room went dead silent. You braced yourself for the heartbreak. Most boyfriends would go crazy or mock their partners for not knowing how to cook a basic meal.

You genuinely feared an immediate breakup.

Osamu stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, his shoulders dropped, and a soft, breathless chuckle escaped his lips.

“Babe,” Osamu said, his voice dripping with fond amusement. “I know.”

Your jaw dropped. “What? How?”

“I've seen ya try to cut carrots before,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his warm, calloused palms.

“You were heavily strugglin' just to chop 'em. I had to step in before ya took off a whole finger.”

“I didn't say anythin' at the time because I didn't wanna crush your spirit. So yeah, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you point it out!” you whined, burying your burning face in his chest. His chest rumbled as he laughed, wrapping his arms securely around your waist.

“Didn’t want to make ya feel bad,” he murmured, nudging your chin up until you were looking at him again.

His grey eyes were soft, completely devoid of any judgment from your incompetence and long time secret. “You don't need to cook. That’s my job—I live to eat, and I cook to fill my appetite—and yours.” He then gave you a reassuring pat. “Besides, you try really hard. I’ve seen the food you tried makin' before ya threw it away, so I know ya still try.”

Your eyes widened against his chest, the warmth of his embrace suddenly feeling a little too exposing.

You pushed back just an inch, looking up at him with a mix of horror and utter confusion.

“You... you saw that?” you whispered, while your throat was tight.

The image of your shared apartment kitchen trash can—filled with charred chicken and ruined dishes—flashed through your mind.

You had spent hours weeping over those recipes, meticulously measuring things out, only for the food to betray you the moment you tasted it.

Osamu gave a soft, sympathetic sigh, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

“Yeah, I saw,” he admitted gently. “A few times, actually…”

He then laughed.

“Walked in to surprise ya after work and saw ya dumpin’ a whole tray of croquettes into the bin and throwing that curry you made—You looked so miserable, babe.“

“It did!” you wailed, the frustration finally bubbling over as you gripped the fabric of his apron.

“Osamu, I swear I followed the recipes! I used the spoons! But it always turns out too salty, or the savory food tastes like dessert, and I just—I can’t do it”

You lowered your head, your voice dropping to a shameful whisper. “And then I lied to you. You are an amazing boyfriend, plus you like to eat a lot, and everyone loves your food. I wanted so badly to be able to make something good for you. I felt like such a failure of a partner.”

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his grip tightening to pull you firmly back against him. “I knew why ya did it. You wanted to make me happy. Though, I gotta admit, I was wonderin' how you magically mastered the exact curry of the convenience store down the street.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, your face burning as you swatted his chest.

“I'm serious,” he smiled, tilting your face up again so you could see the absolute sincerity in his eyes. “If you want to learn, you’ve got me.”

He booped your forehead and a playful smirk returned to his face. “Besides, I can’t have you throwin' away perfectly good ingredients. It breaks my heart to see food go to waste. So, from now on, we cook together. Deal?”

You stared at him, still a little worried. “Even if I keep making mistakes and you lose your mind?”

Osamu chuckled, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your forehead. “Then I’ll just have to adjust to your pace, won't I? We'll start slow.”

After that, he did lose his mind a bit—but he quickly calmed himself down. This was just another way to look at your relationship, you know?

Thank you for reading٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶!!

| Characters: Hinata Shoyo, Kōtarō Bokuto , Tooru Oikawa , Kei Tsukishima

| Notes: I was just bored as heck, and they might be out of character , I don't know. Also, is it just me who likes SMAU??? Like, I love all SMAU creators and content , y’all are tuffff! Also I’m pretty sure Haikiyu!! was the og chat fic fandom, I remember binge watching so many videos….I still do it…

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Hinata Shoyo

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Kōtarō Bokuto

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Tooru Oikawa

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Kei Tsukishima

| Notes: I got bored and I rewatched Death note again and now it got me thinking, so i indulge in this thought of mine ig. I’m pretty sure we all thought of this, idk. I’m just bored…lemme know if i should do more

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Imagine being the most painfully average high school student imaginable. Your grades were perfectly decent, you had a normal family life, and your biggest concerns were simply passing your next test or avoiding the chores your parents would dump on you.

But then, one night, your entire world vanished when your house was targeted in a brutal mass murder. The news broke the following morning, interrupting every television station with flashing headlines: "Tragic Mass Murder Claims Entire Family."

It was a big deal since it was a brutal massacre. Your house was completely surrounded by bright yellow police tape, patrol cars blocked the street, and forensic investigators carried evidence boxes in and out of the front door.

On the broadcast, your neighbors cried into the cameras, describing your family as kind, polite people who never bothered anyone. And your friends of yours were shocked and stunned in silence with what had happened.

The only problem was that the police never found your body, which left the public deeply disturbed and questioning what had truly happened to you.

The authorities eventually announced that no one could have survived the severe injuries inflicted at the scene, officially declaring you dead alongside your parents.

The case quickly became national news because of its brutality, and detectives desperately hunted for leads.

They eventually captured the killers, who turned out to be a group of local teenagers. and because of a deeply flawed juvenile justice system, they didn't end up in prison for life; instead, they were sentenced to just a couple of years before being released right back into society.

But, you weren't dead at all. Hours after the incident , you woke up in a forest with your body screaming in agony.

The only thing you can remember was memories of that horrific night.

You remembered a group of teenagers breaking into your home and took your body to a forest to do a ritual. They were obsessed with the occult and convinced they had found instructions that promised unimaginable wealth and immortality. They were just cruel kids who believed that by offering lives believing they could receive power.

None of them actually expected it to work, and when nothing happened, they grew frustrated and did something to conceal your body leaving you alone in the forest.

The police searched every where and surrounding areas for weeks, but your body was never found.

Eventually, your legal status changed from "deceased" to "missing remains," though the world firmly believed those teenagers had done something horrifying to conceal your body.

When you finally stumbled out of the woods you went into a nearby convenience store, the television above the cashier nearly made collapse seeing you.

Your school picture was on the screen as a reporter spoke with absolute certainty, confirming that sixteen-year-old, you had been pronounced dead at the scene, despite your missing remains. Customers in the store began staring at you in shock, whispering about how identical you looked to the person on the television screen.

Being desperate and confused, you walked straight into the nearest police station to report that you were alive.

When you gave the officer your name, he frowned heavily, typed it into the database, and looked at you with deep suspicion, stating coldly that the person you claimed to be was officially deceased.

You tried proving your identity everywhere—undergoing fingerprinting, requesting medical examinations, and visiting government administrative offices—but every single attempt ended the same way, because you didn’t have anything to prove that you were that dead-body and afterwards they found your other remains in a deteriorated state.

The bureaucrats and officers just stared at you and believed you were using a poor kid to commit identity fraud, and without anything, you were truly a nobody.

Then, you decided that if you couldn't live properly, you would at least try to die, but every single attempt at ending your existence resulted in the exact same reality that you felt absolutely no pain, and you would simply wake up completely intact a few hours later.

Sometimes, bystanders would discover your motionless body and call the police, convinced they had stumbled upon a fresh corpse who died by committing.

But whenever you "died," the face of that physical shell would rapidly deteriorate into an unidentifiable state, ensuring the authorities could never tie it back to you.

Meanwhile, you’d simply wake up in a different location and completely unharmed.

You had no money, no legal name, no home, and no friends; every legal document tied to your existence listed you as dead, meaning you literally did not exist to the rest of the world.

Years passed and you lived in limbo, but your face never changed, and your body never aged a single day.

Then, the day arrived when the teenagers who destroyed your life were finally released.

They had grown older, some entering university and others securing corporate jobs, they even had families acting like they hadn't caused such a tragedy for a cheap thrill.

They certainly remembered you, though.

The exact moment one of them accidentally locked eyes with you on a crowded sidewalk, the color drained entirely from his face.

You began interfering in their lives, always hovering just at the edge of their vision, ensuring they caught glimpses of your unchanging sixteen-year-old face wherever they went.

At first, they convinced themselves they were suffering from guilt-induced hallucinations, forcing them to call a reunion.

Frantically questioning one another, completely unable to explain why the person they had attacked kept appearing in places they shouldn't be. And saying: “Shouldn’t they be dead?”

So the torment and pure paranoia consumed them, destroying their relationships and driving them to quit their jobs . One of them even ran into a police station, screaming and begging for help, but the officers simply dismissed him as someone just suffering from guilt, even if he had taken pictures of you, they dismissed it.

You continuously taunted them one by one, until they succumbed to their own despair.

Because this occurred during the Kira timeline, the public assumed Kira had passed judgment on the murderers, executing them for their past crimes.

Only two people in the entire world knew something was wrong with that narrative: you, and Light Yagami.

This completely infuriates Light. While he sits in his bedroom, staring at the television, his composure was slipping.

He knows exactly who he has killed, and he definitely did not kill these men. He already planned to kill them in advance so , why did they die so early?

To Light, this means one thing either, there was a killer on the loose for revenge and needed to be judge by Kira.

So he used Soichiro police login credentials, and pulls up the autopsy and investigative files for the dead .

In the official police reports, the ppl who were interrogated before their deaths all babbled the exact same, insane story to the detectives.

They were claiming to be stalked by a ghost—specifically, the sixteen-year-old they had killed and sacrificed in the woods years ago.

The police dismissed it as drug-induced guilt, but Light notes that one of the terrified men actually managed to snap a blurry, frantic photo on his flip-phone before he died.

Then the more he looked through the files, the official report from years ago documented how an identical teen was claiming to be alive, as the victim of the infamous family massacre.

Light zooms in on the phone picture. Standing in the background of a rainy street, staring directly at the camera, is a person who looks entirely identical to the "missing remains" victim from the old news archives.

He refuses to believe in ghosts like, yeah, Shinigami exists but he genuinely did not believe in ghosts.

To find you, Light just used the National Police Agency's vast network of street and subway security cameras.

And inputs your sixteen-year-old face from the archives and sets the program to scan for any matches.

Because you spend your days wandering around Tokyo city and interacting with passersby, it only takes twenty-four hours for the system to ping. Flagging a live match at a specific intersection in Shinjuku and multiple various locations all over the city.

Light immediately closes his laptop, grabs his jacket, and began searching the city until he finally spotted you wandering the streets , looking exactly like the sixteen-year-old in the old news archives.

As Light watched you from afar, Ryuk hovered beside him, unnerved and questioning why his Shinigami eyes couldn't see your lifespan.

Ryuk warned Light that while your name was visible, your timeline was completely blurred out, admitting that he felt something deeply off about your presence. He genuinely didn’t know what to feel like but he was entertained by the presence. But it confused and creeped him out.

This only made Light intrigued and annoyed, furthermore , he viewed you now as an actual threat to his new world and became determined to find out.

He began following you for hours, but you absolutely did nothing. When he was stalking you.

Eventually, you grew incredibly irritated by his constant stalking. Knowing you were being followed, you intentionally turned down a dark, isolated alleyway to lead him into a confrontation.

When you freely gave him your name, Light didn't hesitate; he covertly wrote it down on a hidden scrap of the Death Note and turned away as the forty seconds ticked down.

Ryuk watched in visible discomfort, feeling an eerie sensation that you could see him, right before the heart attack struck, Light heard your body collapse onto the pavement.

Light thought the issue was finally taken care of, but his triumph was short-lived

Because the next day you came back and you were waiting for him at his outside door.