yuxin ⊹ 雨欣 ⊹ any prns ⊹ evanescia, yae sakura, yae miko enthusiast ⊹ formerly fvrina

꒰ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ꒱ masterlist ✦ comms

꒰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ꒱ yaenescia - writing ノ yapxin - shitposting ノ yaemail - asks

꒰ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 ꒱ block 204 row 39 seat 134 | hugo x reader

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ! sobbing crying desperate student, posts are inconsistent (im working on it ok i try to upload fortnightly) but im active on tumblr dw

blade/reader ; plot what plot ; smut ; p in v ; head lock ; implied mating press ; afab reader ; fem reader ; not proofread

“You think you can entertain other men like a slut? Hah?” Blade grunted. The merciless pace of his hips quickened, as if he were trying to mould your walls to the size of his raging cock.

You don’t know how long you two have been going, only that you’ve ultimately given up on fighting back. He has you pinned flat on the bed. Your head’s locked between his muscular bicep with just enough pressure to not hurt but to remind you you’re his. Each drag of his cock is dizzying, only tightening the coil in your lower stomach. Blade immediately clocks the sudden fluttering of your walls, his usually blank face curling into a predatory grin.

“All that just to get fucked properly?” he mused, his free hand slithering down to circle your clit. “Could’ve just asked.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh, really?”

“Really!”

Blade suddenly stops. Your body quickly betrays you with how your walls instantly pulse around him, trying to coax any movement from him, earning you an amused chuckle.

“See?” He thrusts upwards.

“Your cunt doesn't lie as much as your mouth does,” Blade teased. The torturous circles of his calloused fingers paired with his accelerating thrusts made your body tremble. Your eyes rolled in ecstasy. Any retort you had left dissolved into whines and whimpers as his fingers sped up just right. Your walls clamp onto him in response. Blade scoffed a quiet tsk as he lifted his fingers off your clit, depriving you of what you needed most—excluding the literal dick buried inside of you, how needy.

He grabbed your face to kiss your lips before you could answer properly, like he wanted you unable to rebuke him so that he had a reason to fuck you harder. Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes at that—cruel man. Blade growled against your slack mouth.

The kiss was nothing but teeth and saliva, with how Blade’s teeth clashed against yours. An unkempt fight of need. He bites your lower lip, hard, before seizing your mouth with his tongue. Blade kisses like a dehydrated man with water, drinking in your moans.

Even when you try to pull away, before you have the slightest second to recalibrate, he tightens the bicep around your neck to kiss you harder. From under your eyelashes, you see how the edges of Blade’s figure blur with the lack of air you're getting. All sense of feeling in your limbs slowly dissolves when you attempt to keep up with his rapid thrusts, along with his kisses. While you felt like you might pass out, there's no other place you’d rather be right now.

“Well? Answer me, little lady,” Blade chided, emphasising his point with a cruel drive of his hips towards your pelvis. Your body jerks at the sensation.

“Me and, ah, him, were just having a conversation. Ye—ah, conversation!“ you babble, choking on your own words when Blade pulls out till just his tip remained snuggled between your folds, before proceeding to slam his whole length to the hilt. His erratic pace quickened to frenzied ruts of his hips against yours.

“ ‘m gonna cum so deep inside you.” Blade’s words barely register with your fucked-out brain. All you can think about is the lewd sound of skin against skin and his plunging thrusts. His tip swipes over your G-spot, and immediately your body crumpled, inviting him to fuck you with even more vigour.

“Blade! I-I’m g’nna, ah, ah!”

“You’re what? Come on, use your words.”

An orgasm racks through your body before you can reply. You see white. He doesn't stop moving, though. Your nails claw at his forearm, the sheets, anything, just for the slightest bit of purchase. Your legs kick, your vision grows spotty with blossoming black dots as you fall into a dangerous balance between pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m not done.” His large hands tightened around your waist, flipping you onto your back. Blade’s not one for patience. That’s obvious with how he’s already pounding into you like he’ll die if he goes one second without being inside of you; not even letting you take a breather!

“Wait! I’m still—” Blade kisses you silent, effectively shutting you up while simultaneously placing one leg onto his shoulder; finding a deeper angle to bully your G-spot more. Whines spill out of your mouth, hips involuntarily bucking against Blade—chasing his thrusts. You can feel Blade so deeply that you think every vein of his cock has left a permanent imprint on your walls.

“That guy,” Blade snarls, “I’ll rip his eyes out, I swear. You’re all mine.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I wouldn't need to be if I weren’t in love with such a promiscuous woman.” His hand traces down to the back of your thigh, firmly gripping it to fold both of your legs to your chest. The newfound position meant that his hips only pounded into you deeper—and you could feel his length impaling you. The sensation is dizzying. Your tongue lolls out. Blade wipes away the subtle drool from your jaw. Attempting to make yourself look presentable was one of your least important concerns when you were literally being dicked down by a man with an 8.13B bounty.

“I’m not promiscuous at all,” your voice wobbled, the pillow case beneath your head crumpling between your limp hands.

“Mm, is that so, doll?” He rasped against your ear, pecking your cheek before emptying himself inside you with one last thrust.

© YAENESCIA 2025 - 2026 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work

ily

⊹ synopsis despite knowing your ex is a football player , you buy game tickets to a football match and you see him—hugo. as long as you don't make a scene he shouldn't spot you , you're in a sea of people , anyways.. right?

⊹ tags spoiler in tags; use of football instead of soccer fuck you americans; ex! hugo; possessive hugo; dubcon kiss lowk; lowk havent read the manga past the jp vs nigeria game im sorry if hes ooc; 2nd pov; gender neutral reader but use of ma cherie; french guy gives a french kiss son im crine

⊹ wc 1 258

⊹ a/n anyways why'd they make his full name vivian hugo um ok hugo vlad and vivian banshee terramog this dude also i lowk wrote hugo vlad fanfiction for my english assignment js changed the names and made the writing third person i wanna edit some of it to be second person and change the names and post it here but what if turnitin flags me guuulp also this is so self indulgent im sorry i feel like you can watch the writing slowly deviate away from how i usually write and into like super modern stuff idk

Pray tell, why did you allow a man to taint your perception of football? You had come for the match, not him; anyone could come watch a match. Anyone could buy a ticket, sit in the stands, and disappear among thousands of other fans. Yet, your mind fogged with anticipation. You were far above Hugo's reach! Yet you couldn't seem to deny the slow, bubbling feeling of anticipation as you crept through the stadium, the chance you may encounter him. You couldn't even escape him before the game! Lines of merchandisers holding up jerseys, yet only one caught your eye. A vendor had held up a blue shirt with a name sewn across the back that you had recognised immediately. Sitting down in the stadium did little to soothe the tightening of your stomach.

By every moral code, it was preordained for you to loathe him—a preponderance of you did. Howbeit, you could not stifle that breathless, surging tide of expectation that you would meet, reconcile, and relinquish the air between yours and his lips, maybe. He was a conniving man, one who weaved lies like an artisan with the cheapest of fabrics. Still, most certainly, you could not deny the ever-growing thrumming of your heart, a thrum somehow so loud it reached over the cacophonating discussion between fans. Hugo. Vivian Hugo. Such an affinity had made you feel bereft of all identity. The dichotomy between Hugo in your early relationship and his character at the end, when you separated, was astonishing.

You couldn't suppress the history you had with him, tell yourself that you just never loved him because you did, quite a lot in actuality. His love was once reminiscent of your childish, idealistic interpretation of a romantic relationship, marked by constant messaging, gifts, and dates. Seeing a football field brings tear-provoking moments. Back when you used to sit on quiet practice fields and watch Hugo dribble a ball across neon cones on empty grass, when his ambition had sounded like a career and not distance.

"No guy is busy for 5+ hours," your friends texted you. The 'seen' in your messages with Hugo stared back like a slap to the face. Since when did he ever reply with anything other than ‘can’t, got football, ma chérie’? What were you meant to do? Chide him and tell him to give up his lifelong pursuit just to keep you company? That's so selfish. You swallowed your pity, and one thing led to another; suddenly, you were single.

A thunderous boom of a microphone rattled through your ears, shaking your sulk off in a second.

The announcer began reading the lineup.

You told yourself not to listen too closely. In fact, all you did was listen closely; you knew his name would be read, yet when Vivian Hugo reverberated across the stadium, your chest only tautened. Under your lashes, you caught Hugo's striking maroon hair on the jumbotron, strands that fell in a hue that could only be described as a shade comparable to the most top-end of wines. Your stomach fell.

The interviewer pushed his mic closer to the man you had once called your boyfriend, his eyes flashing with amusement.

“Any message for the fans tonight?” Chimed the pre-game interviewer.

Hugo paused for half a second, eyes aimed towards his cleats, wetting his lips—stalling—before straightening his head and answering.

“Watch closely.”

The screen cut away. Your chest ached once more. The ball rolled down the far wing. The reporter lowered the microphone as the cameras cut. Hugo ran his hand through his hair, taking a moment to breathe. The crowd’s roar rose around you, swelling against the walls of the stadium.

By the time the first whistle blew, the first passes were already in motion. The ball rolled down the far wing. Hugo jogged lazily for a second, eyes flicking up to the stands as if hoping to spot someone familiar—you. To spot you. For a moment, everything else but him blurred, and recognition sparked between Hugo and you.

Just as you rounded the corner to head to your car, there he was. Jogging slowly, still in his kit, head tilted slightly as if scanning the near-empty carpark. Your breath hitched. The dark, cold sky loomed over, Hugo's breath blossoming before him. It was well past the game; he shouldn't have been this out of breath unless he was deliberately seeking you out.

The chaos that enclosed your mind faded out, focusing on the narrow strip of air between him and you. The man stopped in front of you. His eyes locked onto yours, and recognition more or less flickered across his face.

"Why were you there?" Hugo demanded.

"To watch a football game, what else?" Your eyes met his, refusing to crack the indifferent expression on your face. Did he always have this effect? It felt like you were being hypnotised. The next statement that left your lips was left in a tone you had not known could be so stern:

"We're broken up."

"No, we're not."

"What?"

"Unblock me."

"You need to move on," you breathed, employing a nervous chuckle out of exasperation, the atmosphere suddenly getting tenser.

His eyes narrowed, the movement punctuating. Hugo dragged in a slowed and heavy breath through his nose before letting it out again—the sort of breath someone seizes when they’ve been trying very not to lose their temper.

"What's your deal? Don't be silly, you know you're destined for me, so why are you trying so hard to deviate from the path paved for you?" Hugo snapped; the hand he had just used to manhandle the opposing football team's players grabbed your face. Pressing his forehead against yours, as if the way you felt like the world was closing in on you was a part of his intent. In any other capacity, a flicker of mirth may have escaped you, maybe you would have lowered your hand to strike your knee and say something along the lines of 'good one!'—but this man, all one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres of him, possessed an unyielding gaze with a sincerity that could only be described as absolute.

“Stop acting like you still have any right to me. Goodness, were you always this pretentious and hellbent?” Your voice rises, jaw instantly tightening as the last few words came out honed, edged with bitterness—but beneath it lingered something softer, almost intimate. His grip tightens at your words, pulling you a step closer before you can react. You lift your chin and huff, “I hadn't come for you.”

“Liar.”

“Let go—”

Your words drowned when his lips touch yours. It is not soft, nor warm; it bears no resemblance to the kisses the same man gave you during the primordial stages of naivety within your past relationship with him. The kiss is all teeth and a battle of dominance rather than a shared moment of affection. Hugo deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lower lip, though you were adamant about not entertaining whatever perverse goal he was trying to get at.

He needily nips at your lower lip, causing you to yelp and consequently open your mouth. Unhesitatingly, his tongue slips into your mouth. The suddenness was warm, overwhelming, and incredibly sultry all at the same time. Hugo's other hand threaded through your hair, roughly tilting your head back, angling your face to kiss deeper. Hugo only pulled away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting you two; you couldn't help but internally scream at the scene.

© FVRINA 2025 - 2026 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work