MY NEW GIRLFRIEND Y’ALL, STAY BACK

— current blog aesthetic;

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

I’M SO READY FOR THIS, a hot man with uniform 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

⊹ ࣪ ˖ MILITARY!MATTHEO

₊⊹ military!mattheo ; the battle-hardened soldier with calloused hands and a voice like gravel, always carrying the scent of gunpowder and pine. his uniform is pressed, his posture straight, but the second he’s through the door, he’s on you—starved, desperate, whispering how fucking beautiful you are between rough kisses. he’s spent months dreaming about this, about you—about the way your soft little body fits beneath his, about how sweet you sound when he fucks you open, stretching you until you’re trembling. you’re his gentle girl, his soft thing, and he swears he’ll never let the world touch you—only him. and when he folds you in half, pressing your knees to your chest as he buries himself deep, murmuring how much he loves you, how much he missed you—you believe him.

₊⊹ works

— coming soon…

₊⊹ navigation ; military!mattheo ; au’s ; m.list

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

my girl @nottsangel has a military!theo au as well, so if you like this, definitely check that out!!

just making a pause to finish last kingdom eheh

i’m so lonely it’s not even funny bye 😞

i like you, i do, from vi

ᰔ pairing . . . m. townsend !

ᰔ in which . . vi shows you random chats between the emotion reader & his partner

ᰔ . . . michael townsend + bf texts !

ᰔ category . . . fluff , smau , requested!

ᰔ tags . . . emotionally unreadable but secretly soft. sarcastic flirting. established relationship. smug boyfriend lol. reader being done™ but smitten. cereal is not soup discourse. emotionally intelligent teasing. chaotic texting. “shut up” means “i love you”. michael knows your tells. flustered!reader agenda. late-night banter. slowburn energy but post-burn. michael being annoying in love. use of "and" because "&" did not look good.

ᰔ look around . . . m. list && the naturals m. list

────── vi whispers . . . ᰔ

001. i only made four bc it's three in the morning rn💔💔

002. the naturals girlies... wake up... your uh. idk. mommy is back

003. tbh lercyswlrd is the mom

004. but let's pretend it's me..

005. im sorry for leaving y'all... i bought wine..

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

“i hope you like it”—and oh, i definitely did. teena, this was such a cute one-shot, i’m genuinely blushing so hard right now. i loved everything about it! the way he still had his flirty side, even in a fluffy setting, was truly a 🧑🏻‍🍳💋 masterpiece.

He was really good at that, too good.He gave you a soft smirk and you felt your heart start to beat hard against your chest.

girl that’s so real, bc if he smirked at me, y’all would have to call the doctor or worse.

"Any time, any place, Bambi." He whispered back as he leaned forward a bit more. You could feel your breath shuddering while he grew closer and closer to you.

watch me fall 24/7 until my leg falls out 🤠

THE FINAL LINE, THEY HAD 526362 children after that and pow pow

as an ice skater i was giggling the hold time love this, jsjsjshshsh so good

Crashed | Mattheo Riddle

Summary: While skating with your friends, you meet someone in the most unexpected way. It's a meet that will warm up your cold winter season.

TW: Tension, slight blood mention, chars 18+, mdni

Word count: 1.7k

“Come on! It’s not that difficult. One foot in front of the other.” Your friend said as she skated in front of you. She had a grace about her, something that made it seem as if this was the easiest thing in the world to do.

You, however, did not have grace. You looked like a newborn baby deer trying to walk and that was putting it nicely. Your arms flailed out at your sides as you tried to balance yourself on the slippery ice. 

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem.” You said with your eyes glued to your feet. Your friend had already lapped you once, going around the wink with ease. She stopped beside you and let out a sigh. There were a few other people on the skating rink but not many. It was the perfect time to learn, or so you thought. 

“Seriously? You’re making it harder by being so scared.” Your friend said, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look up at her. She gave you a soft smile as she started to skate backward. You could hardly move and she was going backward. Show off.

“Keep your eyes on me and one foot…in front…of the other.” She said with slow pauses as you pushed one foot then the next. You did this a few times, slowly swaying your body side to side as you pushed against the ice. 

“I-I’m doing it!” You said excitedly with the softest giggle. Your friend let go of your hands and you felt that slight wobble but only for a second. You continued pushing one foot in front of the other and skating around the rink. 

“Look at you, go pro!” Your friend shouted from the other side of the rink as she took off. Was she embarrassing? Sure. But she was your friend. You couldn’t help but laugh as you continued skating around the rink. 

The more you moved, the easier it got. You were learning how to turn corners, moving a bit faster than you could. The soft wind brushed through your hair and, for just a moment, everything felt magical. 

There was a sense of wonder in the air as you skated around the rink. The twinkling lights that strung above you sparkled against the night sky. There was a dusting of snow on the ground outside the rink. Everything felt perfect.

Everything was perfect until you decided to go a tiny bit faster. You pushed your feet some more, trying to balance your body when your skate hit the tiniest bit of ice that had clumped up near the side. 

You started to wobble and reached for the first thing you could feel. You fell to the ground, going backward as you pulled the thing you reached for down with you. Except it wasn’t a thing. Not at all. It was a person. A man, to be exact. 

“Fuck!” He shouted as you fell to the ice. He crashed down with you while your heads bumped together. The pain shot through you instantly. Your hand reached up for the back of your head that had pounded against the ice while your other one held onto the man's arm.

“I am so sorry. Are you okay?” You groaned through the pain before finally opening your eyes. This wasn’t just any man. This man was…fuck. He was something else.

You met his chocolate-brown gaze and felt your heart skip a beat for a moment. You noticed how the corners of his lips seemed to naturally upturn so that even though he was wincing from pain, he still looked as if he was smiling. 

“I’m fine.” He groaned but that’s when you saw it. A trail of blood slowly fell down the side of his head. Your eyes widened and you felt even worse now. Not only had you busted your ass on the ice, you just injured another person. 

Great fucking job.

“Oh God, you’re bleeding.” You said as you pointed towards his head. He reached up, his hand grazing against the scarlet liquid that was near his cheekbones at this point. He pressed his finger into it, pulling it back just a touch to see the bit of blood that rested against his fingerprint. 

“That’s wonderful.” He muttered and you felt terrible for it. He seemed annoyed and you couldn’t exactly blame him. You used him as a human shield except he shielded nothing and only injured himself somehow. 

“I’m so sorry. I can help you clean it up.” You said softly and that’s when he finally looked at you. For the first time, his eyes met yours. He seemed to concentrate a bit more. His face turned from a scour to one of interest. 

“Shit, here. Let me help you up.” He said before finally lifting his body off of you. He reached down and pulled your hand with such strength that it actually shocked you. The sudden force of being pulled up caused your head to spin. You wobbled, feeling yourself start to fall again.

What the fuck?

“Whoa! No need to do that again.” The man said as he carefully caught you in a dipped position. He held you that for a moment and the two of you made eye contact again. He was really good at that, too good. He gave you a soft smirk and you felt your heart start to beat hard against your chest. 

“Thanks. Sorry.” You mumbled as he stood you back up. He took your hand in his and nodded his head to the exit of the rink. 

“Come on, Bambi. Let's get you off this ice before you fall again.” He said through a charming tone. Who the hell was this guy? You had hurt him and he was acting as if the two of you were close personal friends. 

Something about him exuded confidence. Your eyes were glued to his features as he slowly skated the two of you off the rink. You took notice of the way his hair curled perfectly. The chiseled feature of his jaw, the way his brows lifted just a touch when he looked back at you with that smirk again. 

Once you were finally off the rink, you shuffled to the nearest bench where your bag was resting. You opened it up, pulling out some wipes and a bandaid that you always kept in there. 

“You’ve come prepared.” The guy said and you felt a giggle escape your lips. There was a natural charm about him when he wasn’t wincing in pain from smashing his head of course. 

“I had these to use for myself. I wasn’t exactly planning on injuring anyone but me.” You said a bit jokingly as you reached up and started to dab the wipes against his skin. You were so focused on the cut that you didn’t notice the way his eyes were observing you.

You couldn’t have known it, but he was tracing every inch of your body with his eyes. He was making a map of all the places he could mark you up for injuring him. And fuck, he was going to have a great time doing it too. 

“I’m Matt, by the way. Mattheo but you can call me Matt.” He spoke out as you wiped up the blood, cleaning it down to the single source of the crimson liquid. 

You told him your name before taking the bandaid and placing it over the cut. Once you were done, your hands dropped to your lap. It suddenly hit you how close the two of you were sitting. Your breath was visible against the cold air as you stared up at him. 

“Sorry again, for crashing into you.” You spoke out through the softest tone. Matt leaned forward just a touch and gave you that charming smirk you were growing to know all too well with this absolute stranger. 

“It’s alright. Not exactly complaining that a pretty little thing like you took me down.” He spoke out and you could feel your body shivering. He was coming on and strong. It took you by surprise but you liked it. You really liked it. 

“Maybe I’ll crash into you again sometime then.” You whispered back, surprised you could even muster up a line like that. It was a bit awkward but hell, you were trying. And Matt really liked that. He chuckled a bit, letting his eyes wander over your body once more but this time with your knowledge. 

“Any time, any place, Bambi.” He whispered back as he leaned forward a bit more. You could feel your breath shuddering while he grew closer and closer to you. He took one finger and placed it under your chin, tilting your face just a touch. 

“Just give me your number first and we can make it happen.” He spoke out flirtatiously while his warm breath danced across your lips. Oh, he was good. Really fucking good. You simply nodded your head, giving him a little ‘mmhmm’ before closing your eyes.

You were anticipating a kiss. His lips were right there, you could practically feel them. Matt looked at your now-closed eyes before going to your lips and he thought about it. He thought long about kissing you. But then his friends called his name. 

He pulled away and you felt the disappointment as you opened your eyes. Your heart was racing now, the air stuck in your throat as you stared up at him. He dropped his hand and pulled out his phone, handing it to you.

“I’ll text you.” He said as you quickly entered your number. You handed him the phone back and he gave you a wink before standing up. He made it back to the rink, turning to look back at you one more time before skating off. 

As you sat there, you thought about the interaction you just had. What started as bumpy and wincing turned into flirting and an almost kiss. What the hell was that? You sat there for a little while longer until finally heading home with your friend.

Part of you thought perhaps you’d never see him again. Maybe Matt would forget about you, forget he had your number, forget to ever even text you. You were laying in bed, going over these thoughts, when suddenly your phone went off with a text message. 

“Hey, Bambi.”

As always, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank-you for reading!

Can i pls request some face sitting headcanons for bllk guys? Specifically Sae, Rin, Shido, Oliver and Bachira solely because i think they're the nastiest 😆🫣 thank God!

𝐒𝐈𝐓.

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ face sitting with blue lock boys! ~

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐒𝐀𝐄 & 𝐑𝐈𝐍. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔. 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑. 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀.

cw — gn!reader. afab!reader. so much oral sex. edging. overstimulation. spanking. spitting. squirting. full on tongue fucking. denied orgasms. pervy behavior. shidou being an animal.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : FUCK—this too me way too long to finish, but here it is! apologies nonnie for taking forever ;-;

₊˚ෆ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

slow n steady always wins the race. a motto sae keeps firm when it comes to sex, no matter what he’s doing. when it comes to oral though..god. the agonizing drag of his tongue while he holds you by your hips, moving them against his mouth as he kissed your sensative clit before prodding his tongue against your hole. everytime you try to speed up your pace, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips and waist to keep you in your place. he might as well be edging the fuck out of you until you finally feel the knot snap in two and gush all over your boyfriend’s mouth. sae, bedroom eyes and all, would admire your fucked out face and trembling body before flipping you onto your back and continuing where he left off. safe to say, you aren’t getting out of his grip until you squirted every last drop.

“s-sae..quit being a tease..” you stuttered, trying your hardest not to buck your hips. if it wasn’t for sae’s strength, you would’ve gone wild and full on rode his face like a madman. his whole arms wrapped around your thighs, gripping tighter then usual while he switched from your clit to your sensitive pussy. sae’s sharp, jade eyes staring up at yours. his pupils were blown with a burning desire all too clear to you, as if his tongue movements didn’t say enough. god, he was a patient one and it was getting on your last nerves. a thought he promptly smacked you out of with a simple strike to the ass.

“paitience, darling. or i’ll leave you like this, i can’t stand whiny whores who get greedy.”

₊˚ෆ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

rin is more needier then his older brother, encouraging your carnal desires and egging you on as you rode his face as fast n hard as you please. the guy was basically making out with your cunt, open mouthed kisses and his tongue prying through your pussy had you gripping on the headboards or his hair. his hands roamed your body as he pleased, tracing his fingers against your stomach up to your sensitive nipples where he pinched and squeezed between his fingertips. don't think he'll stop either! long after you squirt all over his mouth, he'll only pull away just to take one long look at your fucked out face before he dives right back in again. rin gets pussydrunk a bit too easily, but why complain?

“rin..m-more, please..! i need more!” you begged and pleaded with a whine ripped straight from the jugular as you grinding your pussy against your boyfriend’s mouth. rin cracked open his eyes, through the blurred chaos, he admired your fucked out expression as you clung onto the wooden headboard for dear fuckin’ life. it was all too addictive to simple get off, how desperate and downright pussydrunk this man was, it’d be too cruel to pull away now! your thought process only strengthened when rin began to tug away at your sensative and soaked nipples from when he was mouthing at them earlier. he simply couldn’t get enough.

“stay with me..please, fuck! jus’ a little more, you can do that for me? please..?”

₊˚ෆ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈

so much of a sloppy eater, it’s downright disgusting. shidou’s hands are unpredictable, switching from caressing and squishing the soft flesh of your ass to swatting away at it with quick strikes. don’t get me started on his oral anticts. this man is fucking eating away at your poor pussy, flicking his tongue against your sore clit while suckin’ n kissing at your abused hole. you couldn’t even move your hips with how much he’d just forced you down onto his mouth again, thus you had to sit there and simply take what he gives you, and god, the noises. besides your own moans and sobs for him to slow down, shidou’s downright animalistic growls and groans fill your ears and go straight into your cunt. don’t think he’s done either after you squirt into his mouth, oh no no! he’ll only push you onto your back with the hopes of you crushing his head with your thighs. he can’t get enough of you.

“haah..ah..r-ryu..” was all you could mutter out of your sore throat. after much whining and sobbing from the overstimulation, you could only make small noises of pleasure while shidou ate away like a man on death row. lapping up the remains of your last orgasm, he pried and pried at your hole until you swore he was tongue fucking you. grabbing fist fulls of his blonde hair only fueled the maniac to fuckin’ nip at your clit, an action that forced another intense orgasm out of your abused cunny and soaked his face even more then before. you could feel a smirk form of his lips before he landed a barrage of sharp slaps onto the flesh of your ass, dragging you out of your euphoric afterglow in time to feel his tongue pushing itself back in.

“c’mon sugar, don’t lose me now! we’re just getting started..! now, keep those pretty legs open..”

₊˚ෆ 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔

mister aiku here pays attention to both puss and ass with glee. when he told you to sit on his face, he meant it. there's nowhere that his mouth didn't touch, meaning you couldn't run from this man either. similar to shidou, he eats like a starved animal in front of a piece of meat. fingers pumping you full while he pays special attention to your poor clit with the occasional nips that would have you mewling and whining like a bitch in heat. but sadly, he's a greedy bastard when it comes to sex, pulling away right before you could have you sweet orgasm. heterochrome eyes staring daggers at your fucked out face while you pleaded for him to let you cum. you were almost in tears when oliver finally stuffed your twitching cunt with his fingers once again and went to town on your clit again. did i mention he pays attention to ass? that poor thing was covered in handprints and crecent shaped dents from how hard he was grabbing it. maybe, even a little bite mark for good measure.

“oliverrrr!” you whined out. "let me cum already! pleasee!" through tears, you could still see that bastard's shit eating grin. he was fucking enjoying this, getting off at your desperation while you bucked your hips at nothing. down there, oliver was enjoying the show he put together for himself and himself alone. his thumb ghosting over your neglected clit, his eyes flicking up to your own, pleading ones. you looked like a kicked puppy who didn’t get it’s owner’s attention, just like how oliver liked you. a shit eating grin stretched across his lips as he promptly gave your ass a hard slap before finger fucking your cunny at a furious pace. the noises it made sounded straight out of a porno as the pro player flicked his tongue around your clitty. it was all too much to handle at once, or so you claimed. you knew damn well oliver could see right through your teary eyes, and sniff out your disgusting, whorish fantasy.

“keep cryin’ like that and i’ll stop again, you hear me? i know you can pretty thing..i fuckin’ know you can.”

₊˚ෆ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

what a pervert, a proud one at that too! he couldn’t keep his grabby hands to himself all day, something the grew more and more dangerously obvious as the day went on. sneaky hands up your skirt or down your pants, gentle squeezes on your inner thighs inching too close to your wet cunt. the final straw was when you caught him trying to look up your skirt/down your loose pants. dragging him all the way home where he couldn’t even wait to get to the bed and pushed you against the wall, kneeling in front of you while patting his cheek eagerly. clinging onto whatever door frame or counter was nearby as bachira pressed open mouthed, tongue heavy kisses against your spread pussy. he was a messy eater as well, going as far as to even spit on your cunny before diving back in with the intention of drowning in your juices. bachira was full on obsessed. nothing could tear him away from your cunny, no matter how hard you yanked his hair or tried to push his head away. he’ll always come back for more!

“o-oh god..bachira, baby..!” you sighed, clasping a hand over your mouth in a feeble attempt to not alarm the neighbors. bachira quickly noticed and yanked your hand away, staring up at you with the same crazed look he had all day. he didn’t tear his eyes off of you, forcing to maintain eye contact with him as he licked and macked with your ruined cunt. your knees felt weaker and weaker, probably because of the last orgasms your monster of a boyfriend gave you, yet he just refuses to quit! not the stinging pain of you gripping his hair or even your efforts to straight up push him away so he doesn’t suffocate to death in your pussy. bachira, in retaliation, forced your wrists against the wall and gives your cunt a mean spat. you flinched in shock, watching as he simply goes back to eating you out like a madman. fuck, thank god you made it home in time.

“don’t shy away from me! i’m only getting started, my love..don’t you want me to please you? hm?”

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

SHE DID IT SHE JUST DID IT, hope y’all have therapy bc i’m sure we will need it

— moondust ; series

there’s nothing that i can do…

summary: mattheo has always had only one person in the world to care for – himself. when he suddenly realizes that it’s not the case anymore, and his fucked up life can actually fuck up someone else, he doesn’t have a choice but to bury his feelings as deeply as humanly and inhumanly possible.

pairing: mattheo riddle x ravenclaw!reader

cw: 18+ mdni, angst, war, death, violence, torture, physical injuries, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, extreme slowburn, very heavy pining, cursing, drinking, smoking, smut (read warnings for each part)

a/n: this series is going to be a tough pill to swallow emotionally, so read responsibly. no heavy topics mentioned are romanticized. the entire thing is inspired by moondust by jaymes young, the most mattheo song in existence.

…except bury my love for you

PART I

coming soon…

PART II

PART III

PART IV

PART V

PART VI

PART VII

PART VIII

PART IX

PART X

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list

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.

this is so cute jsjsjsjs i loved this

Old letters and cheesy nicknames. — mattheo riddle

SUMMARY: Mattheo finds old letters you've sent to him over the years and remembers how they cherished him up through tough times. You find him on your bed and end up cuddling after teasing him with a nickname you used to tease him with when you were younger.

word count: 1,662

genre: fluff | no specified reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: it's quite cheesy i think, it's mentioned that reader has parents and that they decorated a christmas tree, english is not my first language, slightly proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i don't know how to feel about this but i needed to write some fluff for mattheo. i hope you enjoy it reading <3 reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed! ♡

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

golden divider by saradika-graphics

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Mattheo knelt on the wooden floor of your shared bedroom and went through an old box that was hidden in your closet. A chuckle left his lips as he found the letters he had kept over the years, some of them included different pictures of you or anything you wanted to share with him. He slowly got up and took the box with him; the floor creaked as he walked over to your bed. He sat down on the mattress, which slightly dipped because of his body. He turned on the lamp that was on his nightstand and opened the first envelope. A smile made its way to his lips as he started reading the first lines, it was a letter you sent him years ago when you were in your early years of being friends, back when you two were still students at Hogwarts and used to call him with those weird and cheesy nicknames, only to tease him. He used to pretend to hate them, but he secretly enjoyed every moment you came up with a new one. He cherished them, and combined with your playful and dramatic side? It made everything better for him within seconds.

“Hello, my dearest cutie pie,

how are you doing on this fine, sweet day? I just ate waaaay too many muffins. My mother made those moist muffins I told you about a few weeks ago, and they were sooo good. I wish you could smell and get a taste of them, but I may have eaten all of them already. :p I couldn’t resist them, don’t blame me.

We just decorated the Christmas tree. I even hung up the ornament you gifted me before we left. My parents love it (they really do!!!), so you know, it will be a part of the tree every year from now on. Oh, and they’d love to meet the guy I’ve told them about, maybe it can happen someday? Unless you can’t deal with my wonderful magical being anymore. That would be fine. (I would kick your ass ♡)

How are your holidays so far? Are your parents having a better time this year, or is it not going so well… I hope it’s the first option. As soon as we’re back in school, I’ll hug you anyway, even if you don’t want to.

I’m sending you much love, my cutie pie. I hope you miss me as much as I miss you.

Your sexy best friend :p”

It was one of many letters you’ve sent to Mattheo, most of the times you wrote to him were about updating him about your life during each holiday and how much you missed him, trying to cheer him up with each written word. Sometimes, you sent him a letter while you were in school, especially when you noticed that he wasn’t having a good day – you wanted to cheer him up.

Back then, you were just friends. Best friends if you want to be clearer. The bond between you became stronger over the years, some of your friends were surprised that you’d voluntarily spend time with the former Slytherin boy. Given his reputation, some people used to stay as far away from him as possible – you used to do the same in your first two years in school. Your friendship started in quietly acknowledging each other whenever you passed ways in the halls or saw him in the library. Somewhere, he was barely seen until you two started hanging out more. You often spent your afternoons with him, sometimes in Hogsmeade, sometimes in the library or outside.

Something you’ve noticed over time was that he wasn’t like the guy everyone told you or talked about in the halls of Hogwarts. Sure, there were reasons why he had his reputation, but Mattheo was acting differently in your presence. The more time you spent with each other and the more you grew closer, the more he let his walls down and opened up to you. Talking with you about his family and what it was like living with them – that it wasn’t the easiest time most of the days. You never judged him for the way he was and appreciated him even more after he told you all these things and trusted you enough to open up to you. You started to care for him and appreciate every time he was talking about the things he had on his heart and mind.

It wasn’t easy for him; he was scared that you’d find something one day that would make you hate him, but this day never came. Even today, he finds himself being worried that you might leave him. Especially if he fucked something up and you had an argument about it, he was scared. But unless he deeply hurts you, you’d never leave him. You couldn’t. You loved him too much for you to end up leaving him out of nowhere.

He opened another letter, and his smile grew, it was a letter you sent him after your graduation. It was a time when both of you had realised for a while that you had feelings for the other one but were too afraid to admit them.

“To my dearest friend Mattheo,

whom I will cherish for the rest of my life and who’ll never get rid of me.

I’m sitting in my bedroom right now, and it’s weird living alone now. I still haven’t unpacked most of my boxes, and I honestly don’t know where to fucking start. It’s weird to think about living alone now… After having shared my dorm with other students and knowing that there was always someone nearby. You weren’t alone, but now? I barely know anyone here where I live, only Hermione and Ron. Hopefully, Theo and Enzo are treating you well from now on. They better are, or else….. I’ll find something to threaten them.

Have I told you that I have an elderly lady living next to my flat? She seems nice, and kind of reminds me of Professor McGonagall in some ways. She always bakes me something and leaves it in front of my door. I think I’ll make her a gift to thank her. But other than that, I barely know anyone here. :(

I wish you could live here, so we could spend time together. Even if you think this place wouldn’t fit you, I know it would. You’ll see when you visit me!! :p

I miss you,

your smartest and hottest best friend. xx

PS.: Let me know when you plan to visit me so I can ask my mum to bake you those muffins you and I love. “

“Babe?” you called out for him as you sat on the couch in your living room. Too lazy to stand up, but you huffed and got up from your comfortable seat because Mattheo didn’t reply.

You set your book on the coffee table and walked into your bedroom. You found your boyfriend sitting on your bed with a letter in his hands. Your lips curved up into a smile as you noticed his smile and that he was rereading one of your letters.

“Oh my god, you still have them?” You chuckled and leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom, watching him with a fond expression. You didn’t know that he kept your letters, but it made you even happier that he kept them all over the years.

Mattheo hummed happily and looked up to you, “I kept each of them.” He spoke softly and patted the place next to him, moving the box with the letters aside as you sat down next to him cross-legged.

You laughed quietly as you read the letter about the Christmas tree and the muffins. Nostalgia and memories flooded your mind as you finished reading the letter. “I forgot I used to call you cutie pie,” your voice was filled with affection as you reread the first line.

He couldn’t help but chuckle and showed you a few other letters, each of them addressed with a different cheesy nickname. “Back then, I wanted to hate you for them,” he admitted, his voice filled with amusement, but even as he spoke, you both knew that he wasn’t telling the truth.

You grinned and lifted your head to look at him, “You secretly loved them, be honest,” you teased him and watched him as he rolled his eyes playfully, which earned him a hit on his chest and ended in a shared laughter. “You never told me that you kept them.”

He slowly nodded, “I did. Whenever I got them, I was happy for a moment, especially if times weren’t….” He paused for a moment and inhaled, “When times weren’t so great at home. Your letters made me feel better, even the few ones you sent to me during school.” He put the letter he was holding back into its envelope and put the box on the nightstand.

With a quick move, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him. He let himself fall back against the mattress, and you ended up facing each other while lying on your sides. A giggle left your lips, which caused him to smile. You moved your arms around his neck and left small featherlight kisses on his cheeks, his lips and the tip of his nose. A soft hum left his lips as he melted into you even more with each kiss.

“I love you so much,” he whispered and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. You returned his kiss and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. You gently traced his neck with your fingertips and slowly pulled away from him, “I love you more, my dearest cutie pie,” you grinned teasingly and yelped as he turned you over and hovered over you. “You’re the best that happened to me in my life,” he whispered and kissed you again.

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