۶ৎ Riding Boyfriend’s Brother!mattheo In Your Room

is this my new girlfriend???? give her to me rn

Stripper!Reader

Stripper!reader who has never felt or seen love besides being in the spotlight. The attention, the dancing, to her it was always a form of self love. A woman who would never take shit and knows her worth. Others are always jealous, envious. But she thrives on it. She exudes confidence and sex appeal like no other…Especially when a certain pimp finally meets her.

Welcome to a new AU my loves! I’m too too too excited for this one and if you haven’t guessed it yet….this will also play a part in a collab with @nottswitch pimp!theo

Divider linked in my masterlist🌙

Love my smut sluts💋

I WANT TO DELETE THAT SHIT OMFG

I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO EAT, AND I WAS FUCKING RIGHT!!! everything about this just screams perfection, and i’ll say it to anyone who’ll listen!!!

to snow, this was a disaster. he could feel his ticket to that plinth prize slowly slipping through his fingers- he had to do something.

the scenario, the imagery, and the fact that he’s nervous about losing his precious prize?!? THIS IS SO GOOD, HELLO??? that’s snow for me 🙂‍↕️

but snow was selfish. he didn't really care about your survival - he cared about what your survival meant to him.

this is perfection. the fact that he said this after falsely sweet-talking her to get what he wanted—holly shit, this is insanely accurate, and you’re writing him so well

snow wasn't going to let you ruin his life any further.

eyes, snow momentarily saw you as a human rather than a project- as someone just like him. but he quickly shook the ridiculous thoughts from his head.

and you were worried about not writing him accurately?! stfu, this is coriolanus snow in flesh and bones

by the way, I LOVED the detail that he saw her as human for just a moment, only to quickly dismiss the idea because she’s from the districts—she’s nothing more than an animal to him

arina you’re a fucking genius !!!!

you gasped when his fingers unexpectedly touched you between your legs, causing you to furrow your brows. snow reassuringly nodded at you, non-verbally letting you know that it was okay.

ok sooooo… now i have the permission to be a slut? yes? very well 🤭🤭

his fingers gently rubbed your cunt over your underwear, movements slow and careful, as if afraid to scare you away. when he noticed you gradually melting under his touch, he slid your panties to the side, his signature smirk growing when he felt just how wet you already were.

no thoughts… just this 💦💦💦💦 literally you write smut so vividly, i love your writing style so much

i’m imagining one of the other tributes pretending to be asleep and seeing this, lmaooo—it’s still hot tho 🤌🏻

pause, because i need to say—her emotions are so well-written that i feel like i can experience the same things as her: the nervousness for the games and the reassurance from coryo’s fake promises 😖😖 i’m aushhshs

his lips hearing the exact words he wanted you to say. he had you under his control now — you were his.

FUCKING YES, i love possessive coriolanus jsjsjsj

this was so, so good, and i’m really glad you wrote this 🤭

i’m wet

hi pretty girl idk if zoya already sent this in but in case she didn’t, here’s a little coryo request 😇

coryo fingers reader through the bars while she’s locked in the cage and all the other tributes are sleeping… super sweet cute innocent request!!!

thank u angel 💋🫂

coryo fingering you through the bars of the zoo cage while the other tributes are sleeping…

“one more day until the games. are you ready?” snow, your mentor, didn’t know why he was even asking— clearly, you weren’t ready. you couldn’t even meet his gaze through the metal bars in the zoo, trembling as you fidgeted with your fingers. to snow, this was a disaster. he could feel his ticket to that plinth prize slowly slipping through his fingers— he had to do something.

“hey, look at me. it’ll be alright, i promise. i’ll do everything i possibly can to make sure you’ll survive.” but snow was selfish. he didn’t really care about your survival— he cared about what your survival meant to him. his mind was working overtime, scrambling for ways to calm you down.

“come closer.” he then ordered, seeing only one possible way to make you relax. it was tricky, but it had to be done. snow wasn’t going to let you ruin his life any further. you hesitantly approached him, settling onto your knees as close to the bars as possible, gazing up at him with a puzzled expression.

seeing the shimmering in your eyes, snow momentarily saw you as a human rather than a project— as someone just like him. but he quickly shook the ridiculous thoughts from his head. he wasn’t like you, and he never would be.

“do not make a noise. i’m here to help, okay? we need you to calm down if you want to win tomorrow.” you nodded, having no other choice but to let your mentor take control. after all, he knew what was best for you. oh, how lucky snow was to have such a naive girl as his tribute.

his hand carefully moved towards you through the bars, his eyes sharply glancing at the sleeping tributes, making sure they wouldn’t suspect a thing. you gasped when his fingers unexpectedly touched you between your legs, causing you to furrow your brows. snow reassuringly nodded at you, non-verbally letting you know that it was okay.

his fingers gently rubbed your cunt over your underwear, movements slow and careful, as if afraid to scare you away. when he noticed you gradually melting under his touch, he slid your panties to the side, his signature smirk growing when he felt just how wet you already were.

with a focused expression on his face, his digits carefully slipped into your dripping entrance, stretching you out. your first instinct was to close your legs at the foreign intrusion by your mentor, out of all people. it felt wrong, your heart pounding in your chest as you worried about the other tributes hearing you. but when his fingers quickly found your sweet spot, your legs widened, craving for more.

“promise me you’ll do your best tomorrow.” he demanded, blue eyes fixed on your expression, feeling satisfaction as he watched you relax more and more. unlike you, snow didn’t feel that same sense of depravity. as always, he found ways to justify his actions, to make him sleep better at night. he was simply taking care of his tribute. isn’t that what he was supposed to do?

“i need you to say it.” he urged once more, his eyes narrowing as his fingers came to a halt and pulled out. you whined at the sudden loss of contact, your nearing orgasm slowly ebbing away as your eyes shot wide open. snow’s expression grew more stern this time, his usual charming and caring facade slipping for a split second.

“i will— i will do whatever it takes to survive! i promise i’ll do anything you tell me to!” you whispered desperately, eyes pleading for him to continue, hips helplessly wiggling. a satisfied, sly smile danced on his lips hearing the exact words he wanted you to say. he had you under his control now— you were his.

for my loves @riddleshire and @leona-hawthorne <3

Stroke of Midnight

12 Days of Dickmas - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theo and Mattheo help you get over your fear of heights in very fun ways 👀🎁

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18+, modern au, dom!theo, dom!mattheo, threesome, new years hook up, DP, spitroast, rough sex, anal, creampies, PIV, semi public sex, pussy eating, throat fucking, choking, spitting, nipple play, degrading, dirty talk, dom&sub, mattheodore ruining us👀

All morning the two guys who you had come to know as Theo and Mattheo, constantly flirted with you in the small ski lodge cafe where you worked. You found it cute. Endearing. The way they practically fought over on who could out flirt you.

Not expecting to see them again, especially so close to the cafe closing time. It was New Year’s Eve and not like you had plans or anything but you wanted to be home in your bed. That’s when two sets of snowy legs wandered in.

You were met with the two attractive males from earlier and laughed as you shook your head. “Can I help you two?” You asked them in a teasing tone. They both glanced at each other with smirks before facing your gaze.

“Well, you’re closing up right?” Mattheo asked lowly, stalking toward you as he ran a hand through his fluffy curls, Theodore’s smirk only growing wider. “Yeah- why?” Confusion plastered over you.

But Theodore and Mattheo had other plans in mind. “Come to the peak with us…” Theo’s accent rolled off his tongue, making you shudder while he took a step toward you. “Oh…I uh…I can’t-“

How do I even explain this without looking like a total wimp? Fuck. “Why not?” Matt cocked an eyebrow to you, the both of them crossing their toned arms over their chests. “Well….”

You began, the lights slowly shutting off in the cafe as you sighed. Your gaze flickered back and forth between the two men. “I’m terrified of heights- okay? Ski lifts and whatever are not my thing.”

Explaining yourself, Theodore gave you a sympathetic look but Mattheo continued to smirk, clicking his tongue against his cheek. “Come on pretty girl…You have us…” the curly-haired one started and your heart raced.

“Yeah…We’ll take real good care of you, Tesoro…” The Italian said lowly and you swore your heart would be bursting from your chest. Your face flushing up from the two attractive guys. How could I say no?

“I….I don’t know…I guess?” Almost questioning if this was even the right decision, the boys smiled from ear to ear as they started to walk out and you followed. “Don’t worry, Bella— we can take the gondola…It’s enclosed so you’ll feel safer”

Theodore seemed sweet, kind, and thoughtful. Your already cherried face turned even more red as you grabbed your coat and headed into the snowy night with them.

Next in line for the gondola were the three of you. Half an hour until midnight. You shivered a bit and felt the anxiety rise. “Ah— come on now doll, nothing to be nervous about. You have us!” Matt exclaimed, causing Theo to chuckle.

“Mattheo can be an idiot— regardless we’ll be with you. Seems like we’ll be ringing in the new year together-“

New years. With strangers. Hot strangers. Not too bad. You just nodded your head. The coldness getting to you but Theodore threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “Cold, Cara Mia?”

Nodding your head, your nose felt numb, reddened from the brisk air. “Just a little…” The cloud of your breath in the air had you shudder but then the bars opened and all three of you waltzed into the gondola.

At first, you sat across from the two of them. Anxiously fidgeting with the rings on your fingers as you glanced from each window. “Relax…Breath…It’ll be okay” Mattheo reassured with a chuckle.

“Are you sure?” You questioned the both of them softly as Theo hit you with yet another sympathetic gaze before quickly plopping next to you. Giving Mattheo a challenging grin. Throwing his arm around you. “Very sure—“

The Italians strong arm wrapped around you helped the nerves you felt as the gondola started to rise. The metal whirred as you ascended up the mountain. However, you stayed quiet.

Ten minutes or so had passed of silence and Theo and Mattheo messing with each other. But you were in your own head. Suddenly you heard a loud screech, the gondola coming to a halt.

“W-what’s happening?!”

Practically shouting your words, panic started to form inside of you. Your vision getting blurry and Mattheo instantly stood up to come sit on the other side of you. “I’m not sure…” He mumbled to himself as Theo tried to look down below.

That’s when an alarm went off on the speakers before a voice spoke through. “Due to maintenance, we have come to a quick stop! Don’t worry we will be back up and running shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Fuck. Me. Just my luck huh? You must’ve looked pretty shaken up because now Matt’s arm was also around you and it was taking everything in you to not break down in tears.

“Hey- hey- hey! It’ll be okay— hey! Look at me!” Theodore grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. Those inviting ocean eyes. “S-sorry…I’m just….Scared” You admitted quietly, feeling Mattheo’s fingers dance through your lush locks soothingly.

“I know…But it’ll be alright…We just need a distraction!” Mattheo chuckled but your eyes remained glued to Theo’s. You noticed him glance at your lips and your heart flipped.

He seemed to inch closer and closer, your breath getting hitched in your throat. “You’re right, riddle…And I think I know just the thing-“ Before you could even process everything, Theo slammed his lips to yours.

You didn’t even try to fight it, he tasted fucking amazing and he was right- this was a distraction. Hearing Mattheo scoff, he gripped your hair tightly, his free hand going to your thigh.

The kiss between you and Theo only deepened, Mattheo grazing his lips across the side of your neck ever so softly, causing a soft moan to whimper from you. But you didn’t stop it. Not in the least.

“If I wasn’t mistaken…”

Mattheo’s voice was low and raspy against your flesh as he teasingly bit along it, surely leaving little love marks as he went on.

“…You’re fucking loving this…You wanna take us both, Angel?”

He muttered against your collarbone, Theo groaning into the kiss as your hand went down to his pants. Feeling the throbbing boner in between his snow pants.

Mattheo growled, opening up your jacket and kneeling between your legs. Slowly working your own pants and panties off. “Fuckin hell Nott- She has one pretty fucking pussy…”

The vulgarity of his words caused you to whimper between the steamy make out of you and Theodore. The Italian chuckled at Matt’s response as one hand went to your shirt, tugging it down along with your bra to scoop up a breast of yours.

All of the sensations surely were making you forget about your fear of heights. Lost in the bliss of both of the men. Suddenly, a gasp emitted from your throat as Mattheo buried himself between your thighs.

“Feels good does it, Tesoro?”

Theodore asked, purring teasingly against your swollen lips, your foreheads now touching as your submissive gaze flickered between his own. “—Mhhhhmmm…” You managed to mumble out while Mattheo’s tongue worked in indescribable circles along your clit.

With a swift movement, Theo stole a quick peck from you before standing up and wiggling down his pants. Grabbing a fistful of your silky locks. “Good girl- now choke on my cock—“

With a growl, you barely parted your lips as he shoved his massive length down your throat. Slamming his hips against your face while he throat fucked you— Mattheo’s tongue flicking and licking as fast as he could.

Tears pricked your eyes as you fought to keep your glossed-over gaze up on the Italian- a smirk painting over his chiseled face. “You’re close aren’t you?”

You knew your muffled moans vibrating along his dick was probably giving it away and you nodded your head through his plunges in your mouth. “No— Riddle stop,” Theo demanded and Matt shot up, your juices dripping off of his chin.

“The first time I want her to cum…”

Theo shifted over next to Mattheo as he stood up and wiped his mouth. Smirking to each other, Matt moved over to where Theo stood before.

“…I want it to soak my cock—“ Theodore growled, his ocean eyes darkening into a sea of black. With a swift movement, he positioned himself between your legs, teasing his sensitive tip along your leaky slit.

“Y-yes…Fuck—“ Stuttering to yourself, your eyes dashed between the two men, feeling the gondola swing ever so slightly as they shifted over to new positions. “Beg for it-“

Theodore’s domineering tone sent a shiver down your spine- “Please-“ However before you could finish any begging, Matt shoved his cock between your lips, thrusting slowly.

“Keep going—“ The Italian said through gritted teeth, still teasing his throbbing length across your pussy. “P-please…God…Please fuck me- Please!” You spoke over Mattheo’s cock.

Theo hung his head back and let out an animalistic growl before slamming deep inside of your needy cunt. “Cazzo— So fuckin’ wet for us, huh?” He taunted you, Mattheo shooting him a shit-eating grin.

“She loves being spit roasted—“ Mattheo mumbled out deeply, fucking your throat even harder. But you? You were a fucking blissful mess between the two of them. Feeling your eyes already start to roll in the back of your head.

You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly, and your body starting to tremble with euphoric pleasure. “I think she’s getting close, Nott—“ Matt said through a low groan, turned on by the simple sexual aura of you.

“Is that so, Cara mia?”

The question had your submissive stare dancing over to Theo’s. Giving him a subtle head nod through Mattheo’s plows down your throat. Surely you’d have no voice tomorrow.

Theodore slammed his cock faster inside of you, snaking down his hand to apply pressure with his thumb around your clit. Swirling it around in tiny little circles. “Release for me—“

His demand along with all of the other sensations your body was experiencing, Sent you into an earth-shattering orgasm. Your wetness flowed freely down his throbbing length.

“Good fuckin’ girl— Cazzo-“

Theodore slowed down his thrusts, letting the afterglow wash over you while Mattheo pulled out of your mouth. The drool dripping from between your lips. “Fuck— I need to fuck her- feel her…”

Matt sounded hungry, something rumbling within him. However, you noticed the way Theo’s lips curled In a sinister manner. “How do you feel ‘bout anal, pretty girl?” He asked you, Mattheo letting a low chuckle rasp from his throat.

With widened eyes, you could feel your heart thump loudly against your chest. “I-I don’t mind it— I haven’t done it in a while though—“ Speaking shyly, Theodore raised his brows. “What about tonight…Could we both…Fill up those pretty holes of yours?”

With his question, excitement gleamed within Mattheo’s eyes and you swallowed. Fuck it. Why not right? “Y-yes…fuck- please do.” You practically begged the two men and Theo sat down on the seat across, stroking his cock while waiting for you.

Stumbling over, your legs shook with sensitivity, another taunting chuckle escaping Mattheo as he stalked behind you. “We will ease into it- yeah, Tesoro?” Theo murmured across your cheek as you turned around.

Theo’s hands spread your ass cheeks, spitting right onto your little hole before rubbing his thumb over it. He helped lower you onto his length, hissing from the foreign sensation. “Relax—“

Your head shot up to Mattheo’s eager voice, jerking himself off as Theo eased himself into your ass. You obliged, relaxing your body as Theodore slowly pumped himself inside of you.

“Fuck!— Little asshole is so fuckin’ tight-“

Moaning through his words, you didn’t feel pain or pressure…Just pleasure as he fully entered inside of you. Matt now walking up to your spread legs. “You’re such a hot little slut—“

Riddle complimented you but not wasting any time as he pushed his needy cock inside of your already stretched cunt, pounding into you mercilessly. One of his hands going around your throat and gripping hard.

Theo took this time to grab both of your breasts, pinching your nipples to a feeling of ecstasy. You felt so incredibly full and your mind was fuzzy with the immense amount of pleasure soaring within you.

“You weren’t wrong, Nott— She has a damn good pussy-“

The Italian just smirked over at his friend while he helped you move on his cock. You couldn’t even speak, get your raunchy thoughts out. But suddenly you felt that familiar feeling.

“I-I— don’t stop!— Fuck!- I’m gonna cum!”

Screaming with pleasure, you saw fucking stars as you hit yet another climax, this time even more intense than the first. Squirting out onto Matt’s length you swore you physically saw his eyes darken.

“Good girl— feeling so good and full, huh?” Theo spoke right against your ear, but judging by his groans he was close himself. Mattheo’s grip around your throat only tightened. “Such a good girl— gonna make me cum in this pretty cunt-“

You nodded your head, feeling Theo tugging on your nipples harder as they both seemed to fuck you harder. “Give me your cum— both of you— I want it— Fuck!- I want it inside of me— please!”

Crying out your beg, Theodore started pounding deeper inside of your hole, hearing a low growl emitting from his chest before Mattheo fucked your cunt like it was a damn need. His head shot back as he groaned loudly.

Feeling the both of them reach their own orgasm, their cocks throbbed within your walls with the sticky seed they both filled you up with. The three of you caught in haggard breaths.

You were about to speak, to say something. Anything. But you just simply relaxed against Theodore who wrapped his arms around you, his dick still balls deep in your ass while Mattheo pulled out of your cum filled cunt.

Theo leaned up to press a soft yet lingering kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t have believed you had done this but fuck- you weren’t upset about it in the least. Just as you found your words the speakers roared.

“Happy New Year to all of our guests! The lifts will be running here shortly!”

On the 12th day of Dickmas we get… Mattheo and Theodore destroying us🫦🎁

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

I can’t believe it’s the end of Dickmas! I hope all my smut sluts and naughty nymphs have enjoyed coming on this wild ride with me! Happy new years, I love you all bunches!💋

—he loves her!

↪ rin is a private lover, not a secret one. but unfortunately for him, yoichi isagi still manages to figure out that his grumpy teammate has a girlfriend!

pairing: itoshi rin x fem!reader

if there was one thing all the teenage boys at blue lock were able to collectively share (besides their obsession for soccer) it would be the fact that none of them had a girlfriend. as talented as they were with soccer, their dating life wasn't exactly...on par.

at least, that's what they thought. it's late one night after practice when isagi is coming back from the showers, a towel wrapped around his hips and another thrown over his shoulders. he's yawning loudly—expecting to return to an empty room all to himself. but as he's shuffling around in the dark to find a shirt to slip into, he hears it.

the sound is soft and muffled, so quiet he almost misses it completely at first. he's not sure if his ears are playing some sort of a trick on him or what—but then he hears it again

a giggle.

albeit a little scared, isagi turns towards the direction of the sound. rin's bed is tucked into the corner of the room, and his back is facing isagi as he lays curled up under his blankets. they were draped loosely over his shoulders, and there's a dim light shining on the other side of him. isagi realizes he's on a call a second later when he hears rin speak

"i miss you."

isagi freezes, his body rigid with horror as he hears rin's tone—one he has never heard before. it was so sweet and so soft that he wondered if maybe it was someone else laying in rin's bed instead. perhaps an alien pretending to be his stoic teammate? that had to be it, right? since when did rin itoshi sound so sappy?

"i miss you too, rinnie. i still can't believe they won't let me visit you! maybe it's because they know you won't have enough space for all the gifts i want to bring you."

rin's response is quiet enough where isagi can't hear from his spot across the room—but he hears you laugh again. you have a pretty laugh, and isagi's lips twitch at the sound of it.

huh. out of all the people he deemed able to score a girlfriend, the last person he actually expected it to be was rin. the boy seemed more emotionally constipated than everyone else at blue lock combined—but you sound happy talking to him, and rin's back is relaxed from where isagi can see. curiously, he takes a step closer to rin's bed.

"soo! tell me about your new roommates! and the new guys on your team—i can't keep up with them now. anyone you like?" he hears you ask, and rin scoffs. isagi can't see rin's face, but he can imagine he's rolling his eyes. he doesn't want to admit it, but he does want to hear rin's response. praying he doesn't accidentally make a sound, isagi takes a tentative step closer to rin's bed.

"no. everyone is pissing me off—especially isagi. he has such a kickable face, y/n. you'll understand what i mean when you see him at the u-20 match." rin grumbles, and isagi doesn't even have the time to be offended by rin's words before he mistakingly perks up

"you're inviting her to the u-20 match?!"

isagi's eyes widen, and he slaps a hand over his mouth—mortified—as if he could pluck the words out of the air and quickly push them back down his throat. rin's back has gone absolutely stiff now, every muscle tensing up within a split second. he looked about a moment away from turning around before he hears your curious voice speak up

"rinnie, who is that?!" you question, and isagi can hear rin counting under his breath—a tactic he uses to calm himself down whenever shidou tries picking a fight with him—before he gently bid you goodbye.

"i have to go, y/n. i'll call you later, okay?" rin says, his voice scarily calm as you hum in response

"promise? i won't go to sleep until you do, rinnie! that bowl headed guy said i got at least an hour a day with you! who knew spamming him with so many emails a day would—"

"y/n."

"...yeah?"

"i love you. please hang up."

"...i'll be waiting patiently for your next call! please don't kill the guy who interrupted you. bye bye, rinnie!"

isagi hears the gentle ping! of the facetime call ending. rin sits up slowly from where he was once comfortably laying down, and he turns off the ipad before placing it on his bedside table. he turns to meet his teammate's gaze, and isagi swallows the lump in his throat at the sight of rin's face—holy shit he's so dead.

isagi most definitely wasn't supposed to interrupt rin's call with you—but he'd clearly intruded. honestly, he felt bad, but it was an honest mistake!

maybe it was just the sound of rin's voice that threw him off so much—isagi's never heard him talk like that. rin sounded....sad, saying he missed you. it was a moment of vulnerability for him, and the light pink dusting rin's cheekbones gave isagi a clear indicator that he was embarrassed.

"i'm going to count to five, isagi." rin says calmly, standing up slowly as isagi's eyes widen. as composed as rin was trying to appear, it looked like the vein on his forehead was about to pop with how hard he was clenching his jaw and burning a hole into isagi with nothing but his angry eyes

"h-huh?! wait—what happens when you get to five?!"

"i'm going to kill you."

"okay—if you're afraid i'm going to tell anyone about her, you're wrong! i won't, your secret's safe with me!" isagi laughs nervously, holding up his hands in surrender as rin blinks owlishly—before picking up the soccerball that had been resting idly by the foot of his bed

"i was counting to five in my head by the way."

the resounding sound of the ball bouncing off of isagi's skull and ricocheting off the walls was near comical. that night, rin doesn't try too hard to hide his ipad from isagi as he recounts the whole story for you, ignoring isagi's chirps in the background of that's not true! and how he took the soccer ball to the head like a champ!

regardless, isagi kept true to his word and kept rin's secret safe. sure, now he'd pop up behind rin every now and then in the middle of your calls, waving enthusiastically before promptly getting shoved out of frame by rin—his cameos were short lived, but pretty funny to you.

"—i'm hiding under my blankets. i wish the utensils in the cafeteria weren't plastic, otherwise i would've stabbed half the lukewarm idiots here already." rin grumbles as you laugh, watching him shuffle around in the dark

"so gory. ah, that reminds me! remember that horror game you were talking about rin-rin? right before you left? it's out! we can play together when you finish your training, okay? we can pull an all nighter on the weekend when you aren't busy—it'll be a blast!"

rin allows the smallest of smiles to grace his face. he pulls the blankets around him closer, thankful bachira had whisked away isagi for the night so he could talk to you freely once again—that idiot really liked popping into his calls, but rin managed to make a bunch more while unsuspecting isagi was out and about the facility.

"okay." rin says softly, blinking back the water building up in his eyes as he turns up the brightness of his ipad in the dark—your face shows up more clearer and brighter on the screen, and he listens to you talk about your day while you get ready for bed.

you're too busy putting on some sort of a face mask to see the hearts for eyes rin has while he watches you—he'll ruin his eyesight and gladly go blind if it means he can watch you through his screen like this. it was one of the reasons he called you on his ipad rather than his phone—so your face could be projected on a bigger screen for him to admire.

"rinnie? are you tired?"

rin yawns quietly with a nod, rubbing his eyes with a hum

"yeah. but don't hang up, we can just..."

"stay on call again?"

he nods quietly, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. he hears you shuffling around before you're all tucked into bed too. you hold your phone close to your face—and rin bites the inside of his cheek at the sight.

no one knew it, but rin had trouble falling asleep at the blue lock facility the first night he arrived. the beds weren't too his liking and he was having trouble finding his way around the hundreds of halls that surrounded him—it was a maze, and his body would be tense with unease just about all the time.

the moment he scored enough goals to get electronic privileges, he ignored the weird stares he got and opted for his ipad rather than his phone—the first night he fell asleep soundly was when he fell asleep on a facetime call with you. while it was purely accidental, it worked out for both of you—and now it was your new mini ritual until he was out of here

"night, rinnie. dream of world domination and me, 'kay?" you whisper, and rin smiles with his eyes closed

"goodnight."

isagi wanders back into the shared room an hour later, quietly kicking off his cleats and slipping into his pajamas. he's about to go to sleep when he sees the telltale sign of the dim ipad light glowing from rin's side—he'd fallen asleep on call with you. again.

with a grin, isagi taps the end call button on the dark screen and carefully plugs rin's ipad into the charger, making sure not to wake his sleeping teammate. once that's done, he crawls into his own bed on the other side of the room with a yawn.

isagi was definitely going to tease rin about this in the morning, no doubt. but...it was nice to know his teammate wasn't as heartless as he once thought.

blue lock masterlist :P

𐙚 ˙ ⋆.˚ BOYS OF TOMMEN MASTERLIST

➳ navigation. main masterlist.

➳ GERARD GIBSON;

[…]

➳ PATRICK FEELY;

[…]

➳ JOHNNY KAVANAGH;

[…]

➳ JOEY LYNCH;

[…]

➳ AOIFE MOLLOY;

[…]

➳ HUGHIE BIGGS;

[…]

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FICMAS #4— SLOW DOWN! / mattheo riddle

december 15th

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you!

warnings: smut, unprotected piv, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood

words: 3.9k

a/n: i’m very very sorry for pushing this back so much—i’ve been really busy, plus i just procrastinated this one a lot. next one will be posted tomorrow so i can get back on schedule. anyways, enjoy!

navigation ficmas masterlist

The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of parchment or the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the sanctuary of the library. The cold December air seeping through the ancient castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.  

You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @enchantingpatrolharmony @iamaconfusedpan

(comment or dm to be added to the taglist)

— current blog aesthetic;

— “𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒, 𝗍𝗈𝗈, 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖻—𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍.”

drummer mattheo fingering reader after she said he was not good with his fingers

⋆˙⟡ drummer!mattheo shows you he’s good with his fingers

on a drummer!mattheo brainrot right now, and damn, he is so fucking good with his fingers

warnings: 18+ mdni, fingering, cursing, smoking, slight smoke exchange

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; drummer!mattheo

you didn’t know the exact intention behind you saying that. maybe you just wanted to rile mattheo up, maybe you thought his ego had been getting awfully huge lately and decided to bring it down a notch. in any case, you couldn’t complain now, spread out on the couch in his dressing room as his fingers pumped in and out of your dripping cunt.

"f-fuck, matty, s-so–"

you were cut off as his digits curled inside of you, pressing into your clenching walls, into that exact spot. although, to be fair, with mattheo every single spot was that spot – he was so damn good with his… everything, including his fucking fingers. his fucking drummer fingers, skilled to throw drumsticks around like it was nothing, and also skilled to make you a complete moaning and whimpering mess.

"so what, pretty girl?" he drawled, looking down at your flushed, sweaty face with quite a devilish smirk. he was sitting on the couch next to you, legs spread in a casual manner, betrayed only by the tent at the front of his sweatpants, where his rock-solid cock was throbbing with arousal. his demeanor was as nonchalant as ever, though – a cigarette dangling in his left hand as his right one fucked you into a frenzy.

"you were saying?" mattheo teasingly prompted, his movements slowing down a bit as he watched you trying to babble something incoherent. he took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke wafting from his mouth in your direction, very much on purpose. the bitter scent hit your nostrils, but in your current state, it didn’t seem as acrid as it usually did. and mattheo knew, watching with amusement as your lips parted, inhaling the bits of smoke that reached you.

"s-so good…" you somehow managed to whimper out, thighs clenching together as the pace of his fingers picked up again. it was impressive, really, how he still had this much strength in his arm even after a two-hour show. sweat glistened on his biceps and bare chest, nearly making you drool as you took in the sight of his slumped over form with your eyes half-closed.

"yeah? s-so good?" he parroted your mess of a sentence, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. "i don’t know, baby, i don’t believe you. didn’t you say, quote unquote, ‘you don’t know what to do with those fingers’?"

"’m sorry…" you mumbled, a high-pitched moan escaping as he scissored you open, pressing on multiple sweet spots at the same time. you couldn’t string words together anymore, and mattheo still smoked with a smirk on his face, as if he wasn’t cancelling all your brain functions using just the power of his hand.

"oh, you are, baby," he murmured as his fingers plunged even deeper, the sloppy sounds of your pussy making his cock throb harder. "i know you are. and you’re gonna prove it, yeah?”

you managed half a nod, your hands gripping the couch, making the old leather squeak under their grip.

"go on then. cum all over my fingers, pretty girl."

mattheo took another drag from the cigarette, the grey cloud swirling in waves around his smug face. his eyes darkened as he watched you lose yourself, the orgasm crashing over you in waves. as your legs trembled, nearly crumpling on the couch and mattheo’s lap, he pulled his fingers out, completely coated in your slickness. he licked it all off, moaning when the taste of you hit his tongue, mixing with the lingering bitterness of tobacco.

"oh, baby, we’re not done." he chuckled, noticing how the heaving of your chest was gradually slowing down, the high slowly clearing out from your mind. his hand moved to the front of his pants, firmly palming his straining cock. "i’m not too sure you’re sorry yet.”

literally need a man like them

how would bllk react to reader making them lunch for their practice?? would love to see it <3

Making Them Lunch For Practice

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] bllk 11 . isagi . rin . nagi . bachira . reo . barou . yukimiya . otoya . karasu . niko . aryu . chigiri . gagamaru . raichi . hiori . nanase .

- [𝐩:𝐬] long writing . cute headcanons . boyfriend blue lock >>>>

Note: These stories came out much cuter than I had expected 😭Also I LOVE the idea of giving the boys food before/after practice. And they honestly deserve it so much too!!

Isagi Yoichi

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window in soft golden rays as you packed up the final touches of Isagi’s lunch. The bento box was filled with all his favorites—grilled teriyaki chicken with sesame seeds, a neat pile of tamagoyaki, sticky white rice shaped into little soccer balls with nori patterns, and even a tiny corner for strawberries you’d carved into roses. You’d woken up extra early to get it all just right.

The moment he shuffled into the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, your heart gave that little flutter it always did when he looked at you like you were his whole world.

"Good morning, Yoichi!" you chirped, hiding the bento behind your back.

He blinked blearily, then smiled when he saw you. “Morning, babe. You’re up early... whatcha hiding?” His tone was playful, suspicious.

You pulled the bento out like a magician revealing their final trick. "Ta-da! Lunch for my star striker."

His eyes widened, then softened into the kind of expression that made you melt—a warm, slightly crooked smile, the kind he wore only when he was overflowing with affection.

“No way,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You made that… for me?”

You nodded. “You’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to make sure you had something homemade today. Fuel for the future World Cup hero.”

He looked at the bento, then at you. Then again at the bento. “This looks… insane. It’s so perfect I almost don’t wanna eat it. Almost.”

You handed it to him, and he cradled it like it was something precious. He leaned in, kissed your forehead, then your cheek. “You’re the best, you know that? I’m gonna score today with this energy. For you.”

Later that afternoon, when the team took a break, Isagi sat down, popped open the lid, and was immediately the target of jealous stares.

“No way—Isagi, that’s homemade?” Bachira peered over his shoulder like a curious raccoon. “Can I marry them too?”

Isagi shielded the lunch protectively, cheeks red but proud. “Back off. This is power-up food. You don’t mess with power-up food.”

As he ate, he took slow, thoughtful bites, tasting every little effort you'd poured into it. In that quiet moment, surrounded by teammates yelling and the distant thud of soccer balls, he felt grounded, loved. Reinvigorated. Every bite reminded him what he was fighting for.

That night, he sent you a selfie with a thumbs up and grass in his hair.

“Scored twice today. Guess who I was thinking about every time I aimed?”

Rin Itoshi

Rin wasn’t the kind of boyfriend who asked for much. He was quiet, intense, and fully immersed in his obsession with becoming the best striker in the world. But you saw the cracks in the armor—the subtle signs of stress, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jaw clenched after practice when he thought no one was watching.

So, today, you decided to do something for him.

You made his bento with a quiet kind of love. Rin liked clean, balanced flavors—nothing too heavy. So you cooked salmon with lemon and herbs, roasted vegetables on the side, and soba noodles with a light sesame dressing. You added two little onigiri with umeboshi, shaped into tiny hearts. He would roll his eyes at that… but not really. Deep down, he’d like it.

You made your way to the training facility just as the sun started to climb. The field was already buzzing with movement. You found Rin stretching on the sidelines, alone, headphones in, brows drawn tight. Even in the chaos, he always seemed a little apart—untouchable.

You approached slowly and tapped his shoulder.

He turned, pulling out an earbud, and his expression shifted instantly from stern focus to a more relaxed surprise. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled, holding up the lunch bag. “Thought I’d drop something off before practice.”

His eyes flicked to the bag, then back to you. “You made that?”

You nodded. “Didn’t want you running on vending machine sandwiches again.”

He reached out for the lunch, fingers brushing yours just slightly longer than necessary. His voice was low. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said. “But I wanted to.”

For a second, Rin didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, the corners of his eyes softening. He wasn't good with words, but this was one of those moments where the silence between you both said everything.

At break time, when he sat down alone near the bench and opened the bento, he actually paused.

Heart-shaped onigiri.

He gave the tiniest huff of a laugh, barely audible. Anyone else would’ve thought he was annoyed. But he wasn’t. It made his chest feel warm in a way that almost hurt.

He ate in peace, thinking about you. Thinking about how much steadier he felt today. How the food reminded him of something he didn’t often let himself dwell on: comfort, and care, and a sense of home. You were becoming all of that to him.

Later, when he got back to his apartment, you were already there, curled up on the couch.

He placed the empty bento box beside you and sat wordlessly next to you, his arm sliding around your waist.

After a while, he said quietly, “You made me feel... full today. Not just the food.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Good. That was the point.”

And in the rare warmth of his post-practice peace, Rin didn’t need to say he loved you. It was in the way he leaned into your touch, relaxed for once, just breathing you in.

Nagi Seishiro

Practice was brutal today. The sun loomed high, scorching the field, and sweat clung to every player's skin like a second layer. Nagi was sprawled lazily across the grass during break, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the light.

Everything felt like such a hassle — running drills, playing scrimmages, even standing up felt like climbing a mountain.

Until he heard the soft crunch of shoes against the grass nearby.

Peeking from under his arm, he saw you, standing there awkwardly, a shy smile on your face and a small, neatly packed bento box cradled in your hands. You knelt down next to him, the scent of something warm and savory immediately teasing his senses.

“Sei… I made you lunch for practice,” you murmured, holding it out toward him.

For a second, he just stared. His silver hair clung slightly to his forehead, and his golden eyes widened — not dramatically, but enough that you caught the rare flicker of surprise there.

"You made this... for me?" he said, voice low and lazy as always, but laced with something different — a softness that made your heart flip.

He sat up slowly, as if in a daze, and accepted the box from your hands. His fingers brushed yours — clumsy, warm, and lingering longer than necessary.

He opened the lid and blinked.

Inside, it wasn’t anything fancy: rice shaped into little onigiri, some grilled chicken, rolled omelet slices, and even a few heart-shaped carrot pieces tucked carefully at the side.

"...Such a hassle," he muttered under his breath — but there was no bite to it. None at all.

In fact, he looked at the lunch as if it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

Nagi leaned back against the grass, pulling you with him so you sat between his legs. He rested his chin lazily on your shoulder, poking at the food with his chopsticks.

"You're... really nice to me," he mumbled, a bit drowsily, "Too nice."

He fed himself a bite, and his eyes closed immediately as he savored it. A low, pleased hum rumbled from his throat, like a cat curling into sunlight.

“Mm… tastes better ‘cause it’s from you.”

He tilted his head against yours, letting his heavy body lean almost completely on you, as if he trusted you to hold him up.

Nagi didn't need grand words. His affection lived in small things — the way he fed you a bite next, murmuring "open," or the way he let you steal his water bottle later, pretending not to notice how his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

That lunch break, you weren't just his s/o.

You were his comfort, his peace, his favorite kind of "not a hassle."

And he made sure you knew it, even if it was only through the lazy way his hand never left yours for the rest of the day.

Bachira Meguru

The training grounds buzzed with energy — players laughing, balls thudding against nets, coaches barking instructions. Bachira was, as always, a chaotic blur, weaving between players during scrimmage with that wild, fearless grin that made him seem half-dream, half-nightmare to anyone trying to block him.

When the break whistle finally sounded, he jogged toward the benches, sweat sticking his messy hair to his forehead. He looked around immediately, almost instinctively searching for you.

When he spotted you standing there — lunch bag dangling from your fingers, eyes bright and excited — his face lit up instantly.

"Y/N!!!" he called, waving his arms dramatically over his head as he sprinted toward you, practically knocking over a cone on the way. A few of his teammates chuckled at his antics.

You barely had time to brace yourself before Bachira threw his arms around you, spinning you in a little circle before setting you down, laughing.

"You brought me something??" he asked, eyes gleaming with pure childlike wonder.

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless from his enthusiasm. You held out the bag. "I thought you might need some fuel!"

Bachira gasped as if you'd handed him a treasure chest.

"You’re the best! The BEST best!!" he sang, bouncing on his toes as he grabbed the bag. He dropped to the grass immediately, cross-legged, unpacking it with all the care of a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

Inside was a box packed with fun, colorful foods — little sandwiches with funny faces drawn on them with seaweed, mini skewers of fruit, tiny octopus-shaped sausages. A lunch full of surprises, just like him.

"Woaaah!! Look!! They’re smiling!!!" he giggled, showing off one of the sandwich faces to his teammate as if it were a trophy. "Y/N made it!!!"

He grabbed a sandwich, took a huge bite, and immediately threw his head back with a loud, delighted groan.

"SO GOOD!!! IT'S Y/N-FLAVORED!!!" he shouted.

You nearly choked on your own spit. "That's not — that’s not how you say it—!"

But Bachira just laughed and patted the grass next to him until you sat down too.

As he ate, he kept sneaking glances at you, eyes soft and glittering, lips curled into the most genuine, easy smile. Every few bites, he'd lean against your shoulder, humming happily.

After he finished nearly the whole box in record time, he turned to you, sandwich crumbs still stuck to his cheek.

"You know," he said, voice softer now, "when you do stuff like this... it makes my monster real happy."

You blinked. "Your monster?"

He nodded seriously, tapping his chest. "The part of me that wants to play, that wants to keep moving forward — it gets even louder when you're around. 'Cause you're my favorite person. You're the one who sees me."

You didn't even have time to respond before he tackled you into a messy hug, knocking you both into the grass, laughing.

The afternoon sun burned golden above you. And in that moment, in Bachira’s arms, hearing his laughter rumble through your back, you realized something:

You hadn’t just given him food.

You’d given him joy. You'd become part of the very thing that made him run so fearlessly across the field.

Reo Mikage

At first, Reo hadn’t even noticed you arriving. He was too busy — barking plays at teammates, that sharp glint in his eye, moving with a natural grace that made it clear: Reo Mikage didn’t just play soccer, he commanded it.

But when his gaze swept across the field mid-break and landed on you — standing there in casual clothes, holding a sleek, pastel-colored lunch box in your hands — everything else faded into static.

He immediately jogged over, ignoring the coach's call for a quick team huddle, towel slung over his neck, sweat shining on his forehead. His violet hair was messy, sticking to his skin in a way that made him look both devastatingly handsome and ridiculously approachable at the same time.

"You... came?" he said, breathless, a tiny, rare note of uncertainty in his voice.

"I made you lunch," you said simply, lifting the box.

Reo stared at it, blinking once. Twice.

"You made it yourself?"

You nodded, a little shy. "Yeah. Thought it might help you out."

He exhaled a low, almost disbelieving laugh — like he couldn’t believe someone would choose to do something so earnest for him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured under his breath, before taking the box from your hands like it was made of glass.

He led you to a bench in the shade, wiping his hands with his towel before peeling open the lid. His eyes widened — you had packed everything meticulously: truffle rice balls (you remembered he liked a little luxury), grilled teriyaki chicken, pickled vegetables, and a few tiny sweets tucked into the corner for afters.

"You… remembered all my favorites," he said, voice thick with something heavier than gratitude. "You’re gonna spoil me."

He picked up a bite with his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully. As the flavors melted on his tongue, his head tilted back slightly, and he let out the softest, most genuine sound you’d ever heard from him — a sound of complete bliss.

Then he turned that dazzling, megawatt grin on you.

"You’re dangerous," he said, resting his elbow on his knee and leaning toward you with lazy, flirtatious ease. "If you keep doing stuff like this, I’ll have to marry you."

He was joking — kind of. But you caught the way his cheeks flushed slightly pink under the midday sun.

Before you could answer, Reo leaned in, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Thank you, princess. I’ll make it up to you after practice.”

Later that night, he sent you dozens of texts planning your next date, determined to outdo your thoughtfulness with something that would leave you speechless instead.

Because Mikage Reo didn’t just receive love. He matched it, multiplied it, and sent it back tenfold.

Barou Shoei

Barou was the picture of intensity on the field — a storm wrapped in a man’s body, every move sharp and decisive. His presence was so overwhelming, sometimes people flinched just trying to meet his gaze.

You stood at the edge of the practice grounds, lunch bag clutched to your chest, heart hammering. How would he react? Would he even accept it?

When break was called, Barou stalked toward the sidelines, towel over his shoulder, glaring at the ground as if daring it to challenge him. He barely noticed you at first — until he caught your familiar scent carried on the breeze.

He stopped dead in his tracks, lifting his head.

You stepped forward nervously. "Shouei... I made you lunch."

The entire world seemed to go silent.

He stared. His red eyes locked onto yours — intense, unblinking — and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d made a mistake.

Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance between you.

His hand — big, calloused, and impossibly gentle — took the lunch bag from yours.

He opened it without a word, revealing a sturdy bento box filled with hearty food: thick-cut beef with rice, roasted vegetables, a miso soup flask on the side, and a small, clumsy hand-written note tucked between the layers.

"Eat up, King. You deserve it."

Barou’s brows twitched. He picked up the note, holding it like it was made of precious metal.

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention, before sitting heavily on the bench nearby. You hesitated, but he shot you a glare — not a mean one, but the kind that said: Don’t even think about leaving.

He dug into the food without fanfare, biting into the beef first.

A beat of silence.

Then a low, pleased rumble vibrated from deep in his chest, almost like a growl.

"This is... good," he muttered gruffly, eyes lowered like he didn’t want you to see the way they softened.

You smiled, cheeks burning.

Barou ate quickly, efficiently, every so often glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you had taken the time to do this for him. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up, and loomed over you.

"You got guts, bringin’ somethin’ like this to me," he said, tone rough. But you could hear the pride underneath. "Good guts."

Then, awkwardly — very awkwardly — he ruffled your hair, so clumsily it almost knocked you backward.

"You’re mine," he said bluntly. "You got that?"

And before you could answer, Barou stalked off toward practice again, chest puffed out, moving like he had just scored a hat-trick — because deep down, he knew: no victory on the field could ever compare to winning your heart.

Yukimiya Kenyu

The sharp click of cleats on pavement echoed across the training center as Yukimiya wiped the sweat from his brow. Everything he did, he did with precision — from the clean dribble of his feet to the way he tied his hair up neatly after a scrimmage.

He moved with that serious, almost elegant grace that always made you want to watch him a little longer than you should.

And today, he was extra focused — his practices had been getting longer and harder, and you knew better than anyone that he pushed himself beyond exhaustion sometimes. That’s why you stood near the benches, holding a slim, stylish bento box — something you knew he would appreciate.

When Yukimiya spotted you, his steps faltered. His sharp, almost guarded eyes softened in an instant.

He approached, towel slung around his neck, posture still straight even as exhaustion weighed on him. His voice was low, a little surprised:

"You came all this way?"

You smiled and held out the bento.

"I made you something. Thought you could use a little break... and a little love."

The tips of Yukimiya’s ears turned pink — a detail so small, so fleeting, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching closely.

He accepted the box with a kind of reverence, like it was something priceless. Sitting down gracefully on the bench, he opened it carefully.

Inside, you had packed it beautifully: fresh salads with vinaigrette on the side, grilled fish, brown rice, slices of colorful fruit arranged like a painting. It looked healthy, but still indulgent — exactly what you knew he'd prefer.

Yukimiya set his chopsticks down for a moment, simply staring at it.

"You're... incredible," he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself. "Even the presentation is beautiful."

You sat beside him, a little shy.

Without a word, he picked up a piece of melon and held it up toward you.

"Say ah," he murmured, his lips curving in a soft, rare smile.

You blinked, heat rushing to your face, but you obeyed — and he laughed under his breath, his shoulders relaxing in a way that rarely happened during the tense, grueling days of training.

As he ate, he never once took his eyes off you — as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

Between bites, he said softly:

"You're the only one who sees me like this... not as a player, not as a product... just me."

And when practice ended later, Yukimiya didn’t rush to leave. Instead, he pulled you gently into a hug, resting his forehead against yours, whispering:

"Stay close to me... okay?"

Because to him, you weren't just a break from reality. You were the only part of it he wanted to keep forever.

Otoya Eita

Otoya had been flirting shamelessly with his teammates during practice again — smirking, teasing, tossing careless winks like candy. It was part of his charm: that smooth, effortless charisma that could melt through defenses faster than any soccer tactic.

But the moment he caught sight of you standing near the fence, a small lunch bag in your hand, that playful mask slipped.

For just a heartbeat, his smile softened into something real.

He jogged over, running a hand through his tousled hair, his black earrings glinting under the sun.

"Yo, babe~" he drawled, flashing you that signature lazy grin. "Did you come just to watch me show off?"

You rolled your eyes, heart fluttering anyway.

"No, Eita," you said, holding up the bag. "I made you lunch."

That caught him off guard. His eyebrows shot up, a genuine, boyish surprise lighting up his whole face.

"For me?"

You nodded, pushing it into his hands. "Yeah. Thought you might need a little extra energy."

He stared at the bag, as if unsure he deserved it.

Otoya quickly masked the flicker of emotion with a smirk, but you saw it — the way his fingers clutched the handles tighter, how his gaze lingered on you with a rare intensity.

He pulled you into a quick, sneaky hug, murmuring into your hair:

"You're way too good to me, you know that?"

Otoya dragged you to sit with him on the grass, unwrapping the lunch like a kid unwrapping a birthday gift.

Inside, you had packed a bunch of fun, easy-to-eat foods: sandwiches cut into triangles, juicy karaage chicken bites, spicy mayo dip, and a few cookies you'd decorated sloppily with little hearts.

He laughed — this big, beautiful, real laugh — when he saw the cookies.

"You made these for me?" he said, mock-offended. "What if I get cavities, huh? Gonna pay my dental bills?"

But he popped one into his mouth without hesitation, chewing happily.

You sat next to him, basking in the late afternoon sun, the noise of practice fading into background static.

After a few bites, he leaned in close, bumping his forehead against yours.

"You're dangerous, babe," he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Make me start thinking about things that aren't soccer."

His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear:

"Like how good you'd look sitting in my kitchen, making me breakfast in the morning."

You laughed, pushing him away playfully, cheeks burning — and he laughed too, catching your hand mid-air and bringing it to his lips for a quick, teasing kiss.

But behind all the flirting, you knew something real was blooming there — something a little scary, a little thrilling.

Because Otoya Eita was used to running.

And somehow, you were the one person he was sprinting toward.

Karasu Tabito

Training had been relentless today. Karasu’s shirt clung to him, black hair messy and sticking to his forehead, dark eyes sharp as ever as he lazily dribbled the ball between his feet even during breaks.

He was sharp, cocky — the kind of guy whose whole aura screamed "I don’t need anyone." And yet, the second he caught sight of you waiting by the benches, arms behind your back and a little nervous bounce to your step, something in him faltered.

He kicked the ball aside with casual precision and started walking toward you, every step slow, deliberate — the smirk playing at his lips giving nothing away.

"Yo," he said, voice low, almost teasing. "Came to see me break ankles, sweetheart?"

You rolled your eyes and held up a sleek black lunch box, matching his aesthetic a little too perfectly.

"I brought you lunch. Thought you could use it... since you're out here pretending you're invincible or whatever."

For a split second — and it was so fast you almost missed it — Karasu's cocky front slipped. His eyes widened, blinking once. Then he chuckled under his breath, that deep, rough sound you loved so much.

"You're dangerous," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He sat down right there on the grass, patting the spot beside him without a word. When you sat, he immediately pulled the box open.

Inside, you'd packed some high-protein onigiri, grilled chicken, pickled sides, and a few extra things you knew he liked — even tucked in a mini dessert. Nothing too flashy, but thoughtful. Personal.

Karasu stared at the food, silent.

Then he said, quietly:

"You know me too well."

He ate slowly at first, savoring it — and every once in a while, he'd glance sideways at you, like he couldn't believe you were real.

"You didn't have to do this," he murmured between bites. "I mean... I can take care of myself."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I want to take care of you sometimes."

That shut him up fast.

For once, Karasu didn't have a smartass comment ready. He just stared at you, mouth slightly open, chopsticks frozen mid-air.

Finally, he set them down, turned fully toward you, and leaned in — not smirking, not teasing — just... looking at you with this rare, intense sincerity.

"You’re lucky I’m crazy about you," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Otherwise, I'd never let anyone see me this soft."

And when practice resumed, Karasu played sharper, faster — like he had something more precious to protect now. Because he did. He had you.

Niko Ikki

Niko wasn't flashy. Where others shouted, flexed, and demanded attention, he operated like a ghost on the field — quiet, tactical, always watching.

Which made him pretty good at noticing things others missed. Like you, standing by the fence, nervously adjusting the strap of the small cooler bag you brought.

His green eyes caught yours almost instantly. He hesitated, brushing the hair from his face awkwardly, then jogged over, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Y/N?" he asked, voice soft, a little breathless.

You held up the bag, heart hammering. "I... made you lunch. For after practice. If you want it."

Niko froze. Like, actually froze.

You could see the gears turning in his head, short-circuiting. Was this some dream? A prank? Did he accidentally hit his head during drills?

"You made this... for me?"

You nodded.

Slowly — so slowly, it was almost shy — Niko reached out and took the bag from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, and his ears immediately turned a vivid pink.

He led you over to the edge of the field, sitting on the grass cross-legged, handling the bag like it was fragile.

Opening it carefully, he found a simple, cozy meal: Tamago (egg) sandwiches, some homemade rice crackers, a few veggie sticks, and a neatly wrapped banana muffin for dessert. Nothing extravagant — but every part of it screamed "I know you."

Niko stared at the food. Then at you. Then back at the food.

You watched him, worried.

"Is it okay? I didn't know what you usually eat for practice days, so I kinda guessed—"

"It's perfect," he interrupted, voice so soft it almost got swallowed by the breeze.

He took a small, careful bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly.

And then — The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Fleeting. But real.

"This... feels like a dream," he muttered, half to himself. "No one's ever done something like this for me before."

You blinked. "Really?"

He shook his head, still smiling that barely-there smile that made your chest ache a little.

"...You're special," he said simply. "You always make me feel like I'm worth noticing."

And as the other players called him back to drills, Niko stood slowly, setting the box aside for later, but not before gently — awkwardly — patting your head in thanks.

He jogged back onto the field with a little more spring in his step. Like somehow, your lunch had fueled more than just his body. It had fueled his heart.

Aryu Jyubei

Even in the middle of grueling practice, Aryu was… well, Aryu. Perfect posture. Every movement clean, elegant, as if he were modeling instead of sprinting drills.

You stood off to the side, nervously holding a gorgeous, ribbon-wrapped bento box you had painstakingly designed to look good — because you knew, with Aryu, it was always about beauty.

When he finally caught sight of you, his silver hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his entire demeanor shifted.

He slowed down, almost like he was gliding across the field rather than walking.

When he reached you, he smiled — dazzling, flawless — brushing imaginary dust off his jersey before he spoke.

"My lovely," he said smoothly, voice like honey. "Is this a gift for me?"

You nodded, a little breathless, and held out the lunchbox.

"I made you lunch. I tried to make it... you know... aesthetically pleasing, too."

Aryu's lavender eyes widened ever so slightly — a flicker of real surprise. He took the box from your hands with exaggerated care, like it was an ancient artifact, holding it delicately between long fingers.

"You tailored it... for my beauty standards," he said softly, his voice dropping a few octaves. "You're too perfect."

He moved to a shaded bench and beckoned you to join him with a graceful tilt of his head. Sitting with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, he opened the box slowly.

Inside? You had arranged everything meticulously: — Color-coordinated vegetables, — Heart-shaped tamagoyaki, — Rice balls with edible flower petals pressed into them, — Grilled salmon cut into neat, symmetrical strips.

It looked like something out of a high-end magazine shoot.

Aryu's lips parted slightly in amazement.

"This..." he whispered. "This is art."

You sat down beside him, heart hammering.

He took a bite, still poised and elegant — and then he actually closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. When he opened them again, his gaze locked onto you with something deeper than gratitude — something raw, real.

"You nourish my soul," he said seriously, resting a hand lightly over his heart. "You nourish my beauty."

Then — and you swear your heart actually stopped — Aryu reached out and gently, so gently, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Perfect," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

From that day on, he posted about your lunches online (with your permission) — captioning them with things like, "True beauty is made with love. #Blessed #LunchGoals."

And every time he practiced, he pushed himself a little harder — because how could he not? The most beautiful thing in his life was already cheering for him.

Chigiri Hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma was a storm bottled inside a porcelain frame. Fast, sharp, and achingly beautiful — like something that wasn’t meant for this world.

You stood near the track where he was finishing his sprints, heart pounding, clutching the small thermos and bento box you'd packed just for him.

His long crimson hair streamed behind him like a banner as he raced past — so fast it took your breath away.

And then — As if sensing your gaze — Chigiri skidded to a graceful stop, turning his head slightly, strands of hair framing his delicate, sharp-edged face.

When he saw you, something subtle shifted in his expression — a softening that few ever got to witness.

He jogged over, light on his feet, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Hey," he said, voice low and a little surprised. "You’re here?"

You nodded, shy but determined, holding out the food.

"I made you lunch. For after practice."

Chigiri blinked. His gaze flickered from your face to the lunch, and back to your face again.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

You saw it — the walls he kept so carefully built up wobbling ever so slightly.

"You made this for me?" he asked, voice dropping even softer, like he was almost afraid to say it too loud and scare the moment away.

"Yeah," you said, smiling. "I figured you'd need something good after training so hard."

Slowly — hesitantly — Chigiri reached out and took the bento box from you. His fingers brushed yours, and you felt how slightly his hand was trembling.

He led you over to a quiet corner where he could open it away from the others. Sitting on the grass, he peeled open the lid — and his eyes widened slightly.

You had packed light but hearty food — udon noodles with fresh vegetables, marinated tofu, slices of sweet rolled omelet, and fresh strawberries, knowing he loved them. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was everything he needed.

He looked at it. Then at you.

"...You know me better than anyone," he said quietly.

He took a bite, chewing slowly — and for the first time in a long time, you saw it: The way his entire body relaxed, the way his shoulders dropped from their usual tense coil.

When he finished eating, Chigiri set the box aside and leaned back on his hands, face tilted toward the sky, crimson hair catching the breeze.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, he said:

"You're my favorite reason to run."

And when he looked at you, eyes shining like rubies, you knew: He wasn’t just running for himself anymore.

He was running toward you.

Gagamaru Gin

Practice was brutal today — the kind where even the air feels heavy, and the turf sticks stubbornly to the soles of your shoes. Gagamaru had thrown himself at every shot, dove at impossible angles, muscles aching in ways he didn't even realize possible. The coach finally blew the whistle for a break, and the players scattered to catch their breath.

Gagamaru wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt and wandered toward the benches, his mind already halfway gone to food — anything, at this point. Maybe the vending machines still had something halfway edible.

But then he saw you.

Standing awkwardly near the sidelines, clutching a lunchbox like it was some kind of sacred artifact, you waved the moment he noticed you. His eyes lit up instantly — not in a loud, dramatic way, but in that quiet, stunned Gagamaru way, like a puppy realizing its favorite person was in the room.

He jogged over to you, hair bouncing slightly with each step, a rare grin spreading across his flushed face.

"You… made me lunch?" he asked, voice rough from shouting during drills, but so, so soft when speaking to you.

You nodded shyly, handing it over. It wasn't anything crazy — just simple food you knew he liked: grilled onigiri, karaage, some tamagoyaki, and fresh fruits tucked in the corners like tiny bursts of color. You had even slipped a tiny handwritten note between the compartments ("Eat well, dummy! ❤️").

Gagamaru took the box in both hands like he was afraid he'd crush it if he wasn't careful. He dropped onto the bench right there and ripped off the lid with boyish excitement, inhaling the scent.

"Whoa... it smells so good," he mumbled, practically bouncing on his seat. Without hesitation, he popped a rice ball into his mouth, his eyes going wide mid-bite.

"Thish ish... amazhing," he said, voice muffled through a full mouth.

You laughed, sitting beside him. He offered you a bite like it was instinct — holding out a piece of chicken with his chopsticks toward your mouth, utterly earnest.

"Eat with me," he said, grinning in that slightly dopey, infinitely sweet way only Gagamaru could.

And for the rest of the break, the two of you sat side by side, sharing bites, his knee bumping against yours every so often. He kept sneaking glances at you, a quiet, contented look on his face that said more than words ever could: Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for caring.

He even insisted on carrying the empty box himself after, carefully tucking it into his duffel like it was treasure.

Before jogging back to practice, he paused, turned, and with a sudden rush of boldness pressed a quick, clumsy kiss against your temple.

"I’ll score one for you today," he promised, eyes bright with the kind of simple, fierce devotion only Gagamaru knew how to give.

Raichi Jingo

The locker room still smelled like sweat and metal, even with half the windows cracked open. Raichi Jingo slammed his locker shut, his foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the tile floor.

Today’s drills had been intense — too many scrimmages, too many chances for him to lose his temper at some idiot who didn't pass when they should’ve. He was on edge, frustration bubbling under his skin, needing an outlet.

So when he stepped outside and saw you waiting by the field gates — holding a lunch bag, looking nervous but hopeful — it almost didn't register at first. He blinked, a scowl still half-formed on his face, until it clicked.

You. Lunch. For him.

He stomped over, face flushing a deep red not from the heat, but from the unfamiliar cocktail of emotions tangling in his chest.

"W-what the hell are you doing here?!" he barked instinctively — too loud, too harsh. But then he caught the slight falter in your smile and cursed himself mentally.

You lifted the bag toward him. "I, um… thought you might want something homemade before the next scrimmage?"

He stood there for a second, hands balled into fists at his sides, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him. Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the bag from you — not roughly, but like he didn’t trust himself to be gentler.

He turned his back for a second, breathing out hard, before plopping down right on the grass. He cracked open the bag and froze.

Inside was his favorite: katsudon, hot and fragrant, with the egg perfectly runny and the pork golden-crispy. You had even packed a side of miso soup in a thermos, and a small pudding cup (with a stupid little smiley face sticker on the lid).

Raichi swallowed hard. His throat felt too tight for some reason.

"You're... really trying to kill me, huh," he muttered, not looking at you. But when you laughed — that soft, genuine laugh — he peeked up, ears red, and finally cracked a small, crooked smile.

He ate like he was starving, shoving spoonfuls into his mouth, muttering how "this was the only good thing that happened today" under his breath. Every now and then he’d glance sideways at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably, cheeks tinted pink.

After finishing, he set the empty container down carefully. He didn't say thank you — not in words — but he shifted closer to you, bumped his shoulder into yours roughly, like a kid asking for attention.

"Tch. Next time... bring two portions," he grumbled. "You barely get any if you just sit there watching me, dumbass."

It wasn’t the smoothest thanks. It wasn’t even close. But from the way Raichi sat a little closer after that, from the way he picked at the grass nervously while sneaking glances at you — it was clear:

He was grateful. So, so much more grateful than he could ever put into words.

And when he got up to head back to practice, he ruffled your hair — quick, rough, affectionate — before stomping off, barking at his teammates like usual. But his voice had a little more warmth to it now. And every now and then, he’d shoot a cocky, almost-boyish grin back at you from across the field.

Hiori Yo

The sun barely peeked through the heavy gray clouds overhead. It felt like the whole world was weighed down, sluggish and quiet — matching the mood inside Hiori Yo’s chest.

Practice today was grueling, but it wasn’t just the drills that exhausted him. It was the constant gnawing voice in the back of his mind, whispering that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t moving fast enough, wasn’t shining the way he should. He hated that voice. He hated that it still had power over him sometimes.

As he trudged off the field toward the benches, his head low, he saw a small figure waiting for him. You. Standing there, shifting your weight nervously from foot to foot, holding a lunch bag decorated with little blue stars — the color you knew he liked.

At first, Hiori thought he was hallucinating out of exhaustion. But when you lifted the bag shyly and waved at him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"You... came here for me?" he asked quietly, disbelief plain in his voice.

You nodded, smiling a little, though your hands trembled just enough for him to notice. "I thought… maybe you could use a break. A good one."

For a long moment, Hiori just stared, his usually guarded expression slipping away. And then — like a dam breaking — the softest smile curled onto his lips. A real one. The kind that was rare, precious, like sunlight after a long rain.

He walked over, taking the bag almost reverently from your hands.

Sitting beside you on the bench, he opened it carefully — and when he saw the neat little arrangement inside, his throat tightened. You had packed everything he loved without being over-the-top: a homemade sandwich with fresh, crisp veggies and chicken, his favorite kind of potato salad, and even a tiny matcha-flavored sweet tucked in the corner.

You even remembered to include a tiny packet of hand wipes — because you knew how meticulous he was about not feeling "sticky" when he ate.

"You…" he started, then stopped. His voice cracked embarrassingly.

Instead, he set the lunch down, leaned toward you, and pressed his forehead gently against your shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered, so soft you almost missed it under the breeze.

He ate slowly, savoring every bite, and he kept glancing at you — like he couldn’t believe you were real, sitting there next to him, just for him. When he finished, he carefully tucked everything back into the bag, his movements almost tender.

Then, without warning, he turned to you fully, his ocean-blue eyes clear and steady.

"When I’m on the field today," he said, voice steady, "I’ll remember this feeling. I’ll remember that someone believes in me."

And he said it like a promise — not just to you, but to himself.

Before heading back to practice, he surprised you by reaching out and taking your hand — fingers sliding between yours, gentle but sure — and giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

Nanase Nijiro

The energy on the field was electric today — shouts, laughter, the slap of cleats against the turf. Nanase Nijiro was everywhere, darting around like a bright bolt of energy, even as sweat soaked through his practice jersey.

Still, there was a tiredness under his smile. The kind you only saw if you knew him well — the kind where he pushed himself harder than he should, afraid of falling behind.

As the whistle blew for a break, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, heart hammering in his chest. He was about to make a beeline for his water bottle when he saw you standing just beyond the field.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up.

"(Y/N)!!" he shouted, waving both arms above his head like an overexcited kid. He sprinted toward you, practically skidding to a stop in front of you, his grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.

"What’re you doing here?!" he beamed. Then he noticed the lunch bag in your hands.

His eyes widened comically. "Wait. Is that... is that for me??"

You laughed, handing it to him. "Yeah. Thought you might be hungry."

"Hungry?? I'm starving!" he groaned dramatically, clutching the bag to his chest like it was a lifeline.

Without any hesitation — like it was the most natural thing in the world — he plopped down cross-legged right there on the grass, pulling you down beside him with a happy tug on your wrist.

He opened the bag with the kind of reverence most people reserved for opening presents on Christmas morning. Inside was a bento box you had carefully arranged: fluffy rice topped with sesame seeds, grilled fish, sautéed vegetables, and a few carefully cut fruit slices in the shape of little hearts. You had even tucked in a tiny note that said, "For my favorite striker!" with a doodle of a tiny soccer ball.

Nanase stared at it for a second, then looked up at you, his green eyes wide and glassy.

"You made this? Like, actually??" he said, voice cracking slightly.

When you nodded, he clutched the bento to his chest again dramatically. "This is... the greatest day of my life," he announced solemnly, making you burst into laughter.

He dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days — humming happily at every bite, practically bouncing in place. Every now and then he would pause, shove a piece of fruit toward your mouth, insisting you eat too.

"This is insane," he said between bites. "You're insane. You're amazing. I'm gonna score a hat trick today, I swear on this lunch."

After he finished (and licked the lid of the bento clean, because Nanase was nothing if not shameless when it came to food you made), he turned to you, practically vibrating with energy.

"Stay and watch, okay?" he pleaded, cheeks flushing. "I’m gonna play my heart out. For you."

He looked so earnest, so absolutely bright, you couldn't help but promise you would.

And when he ran back onto the field, he turned around once — just once — to shoot you a grin so dazzling it could’ve powered the floodlights on its own.