Literally Need A Man Like Them
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.
More Posts from Giibsieclaire and Others
i love getting free meals 🙂↕️
⊹ ࣪ ˖ introducing ballerina!reader… ⊹ ࣪ ˖
ballerina!reader… is dedicated and disciplined. she’ll do whatever it takes to claim the role she desires, staying up late to practice. as a perfectionist, she pushes herself past exhaustion—again and again—until her aching feet are raw and bleeding. because to her, anything less than flawless is failure.
“it has to be perfect. it has to be perfect. it has to be perfect.”
ballerina!reader… appears to be a fragile, innocent and soft-spoken girl. but don’t be fooled; it’s merely a facade. beneath the surface, she is fierce, powerful and unafraid to put someone in their place when necessary. with envious, bitter girls watching her every move, she knows exactly how to bite back.
“for so long, i danced for them. now, i dance for me.”
ballerina!reader… has a desire deep down to break free from the control, pressure and expectations she puts on herself. she craves something more— something deeper, wilder and darker. this yearning brings out her seductive, bold and intoxicating side.
“i was never fragile. i was only waiting to break free.”
ballerina!reader… doesn’t let people close easily— her walls are high, and trust is something she gives hesitantly. when she finally allows herself to love someone, it’s with an unforgettable intensity. her love is possessive, consuming, and fierce, yet also protective, constantly fearing rejection or abandonment.
“if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did.” — cinnamon girl by lana del rey
🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭
https://x.com/sensualarchives/status/1892277877170696505?s=46
peacekeeper coryo
🔗 (plink)
mmmm peacekeeper!coryo who’s obsessed with his pretty slut from district 12. he’d make fun of the way you practically beg for it, pleading snow—that’s how he orders you to address him, never by his first name—to make you feel good. he didn’t expect anything else from district scum, though. you’re useless anyway, except when it comes to giving him pleasure. the way he degrades you, fucks you and slaps you until you’re all bruised up and sore causes him to relish the power it gives him. you’re his. his toy to use whenever he wants to. and he won’t hesitate to hurt, or maybe even kill, whoever touches what’s his. “you’re mine now, you understand? mine to kiss, mine to touch, mine to use.”
𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍
mattheo riddle x fem reader
SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K (ups). english is not my first language.
WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.
navigation -> masterlist
He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.
He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.
Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.
It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.
Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.
Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his.
Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.
But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.
You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.
Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.
If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.
Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.
After all, you were friends.
You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.
And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.
The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.
Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.
The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.
In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.
The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.
He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.
Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.
No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.
He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.
And for him, that was awful enough.
He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.
Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.
Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.
He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.
Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.
This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not.
This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.
“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge.
You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.
But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.
Stupid curiosity.
“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time.
“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.
“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.
Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.
He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.
Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.
Sometimes you wanted to punch him.
As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.
“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.
His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.
“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself.
Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.
You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one.
After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.
“Take off your shirt.”
You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”
Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation.
“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.
You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth.
His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer.
“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.
Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.
“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”
The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?”
Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both.
“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off.
The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.
Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you.
“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it.
Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery.
“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you didn’t have your bra on.
The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.
The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show.
You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.
You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.
“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.
You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.
But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention.
Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”
His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?
You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.
This was going to be fun, at least.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness.
Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words.
He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up.
Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him.
You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.
After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had.
You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.
Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.
With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response.
It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.
Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before.
“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.
His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.
“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand.
Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you.
“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you.
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt.
Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area.
You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body.
“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.”
He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you.
Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed.
Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth.
You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you.
You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.
“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.
You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel.
“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.
“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.
The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.
Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so.
“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation.
Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.
The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.
You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.
You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.
Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.
He was about to lose his mind.
Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.
You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you.
Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.
Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his.
Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”
Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.
He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.
He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole.
Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.
Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again.
“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted.
“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.
Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.
You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.
He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.
“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.
Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.
“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.
Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear.
He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.
“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.
You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.
Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.
The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, the connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes intense. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again.
“We didn’t finish the ritual,” your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you took control of Mattheo, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.
Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”
He was right; after all, friends helped each other.
© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.
— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!
likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻
also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever
venting: i hate english bc my hard lines in portuguese didn’t make sense :(
“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!
good fucking morning to me and everyone else reading this masterpiece, because my humor is already on point after this 😼
theo and mattheo were sprawled on the couch next to each other, passing a joint between them. mattheo was completely naked and theo only had his concert tank top on - a tight and cropped little black thing that perfectly showed off the lean muscles of his torso. their legs were spread, mattheo's right one thrown over theo's left thigh, and their hands were on each other's cocks.
first of all, i’m imagining this and let me tell you, what a good image my brain made me see, thank you for that. second of all, i was expecting everything but not this (kinda surprised, but i’m not complaining at all). in fact, this just made more 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ than anything I NEED TO SEE THIS
"baaaaby," mattheo drawled, giving you a stupidly adorable grin and extending an arm towards you, making a grabby hand in your direction.
i just came to the conclusion that this reader lives my dream life, and now i’m proud of her but jealous :( i want mattheo to call me baby while he’s being taking care off :’)
they exchanged a look and simultaneously dropped their hands from their cocks.
theo's lips were parted, and mattheo was wetting his, taking shallow breaths through his mouth.
you write so well that i could totally see everything happening in my mind. please, this is so so so well executed 😫
your tongue swirled around, gathering his slickness, and you pulled away enough to spit it back, your fingers spreading the liquid along his entire length before diving back in.
she’s having her best meal and i’m here rotting in my bed, reading about her while she executes my dream, but it’s okay because it’s kira’s writing, so i can experience a part of it myself 😤
— pause because i need to talk about the smut; genuinely, i forgot to take screenshots of my favorite parts because everything was so fucking good. i was reading and squeezing my legs the entire time. the way they grabbed the reader’s hair and squeezed her throat had me BAWLING MY EYES OUT, and i was drooling because fuck you, the imagery is fucking perfect. i need both so bad
they were now lazily and sloppily making out, catching their own breaths after their intense orgasms.
his thumb rubbing soft circles on the flushed skin. they were adorable like that, and truthfully, you could watch them for hours.
they’re adorable, but i lowkey need to be included 👩💼
but you still had your arousal unattended to. both of them shifted their attention when you cleared your throat, identical smirks appearing on their lips when they saw your raised eyebrow. you definitely weren't leaving the dressing room any time soon.
kira, you CANNOT leave and leave me here. you better do something right NOW.
anyway (i’m mad) BUT THIS WAS SO GOOD, need them need them need them need them need them need them need them 😔😡
⋆౨ৎ bassist!reader helps drummer!mattheo and lead singer!theo unwind after a show
nav // aus / band au // more
finally writing for this au. couldn’t get this out of my head for a while now, and it’s also my first time properly writing a threesome of any kind, so hopefully you enjoy <3
warnings: 18+ mdni, drug use, oral threesome, blowjob turned rough, throat bulge, gagging, some spitting, masturbation (m receiving), mutual masturbation (m x m), bi mattheodore, praise, cursing
lorenzo went off somewhere again – probably to the tour bus to have fun with another groupie. you were just a little miffed about that, because you wanted to get some, enzo was the first to volunteer before the other two could get a word in, and now he was nowhere to be seen. you couldn’t be too mad at him, though – he’d always been a lighthead, in more ways than one.
you walked into your shared dressing room and were immediately greeted by a sight that wasn’t a surprise, yet never failed to amuse you. theo and mattheo were sprawled on the couch next to each other, passing a joint between them. mattheo was completely naked and theo only had his concert tank top on – a tight and cropped little black thing that perfectly showed off the lean muscles of his torso. their legs were spread, mattheo’s right one thrown over theo’s left thigh, and their hands were on each other’s cocks.
they lazily jerked each other off, unhurried and completely relaxed, the weed seemingly taking effect by that point. once the door behind you closed, both of them looked at you with cheeky, knowing smirks on their faces. theo blew out a small whiff of smoke and put out the joint against the table next to the couch, leaning further back into the plush surface.
"baaaaby," mattheo drawled, giving you a stupidly adorable grin and extending an arm towards you, making a grabby hand in your direction. you chuckled, shaking your head, and made a few slow steps towards the boys. they didn’t even think of stopping what they were doing, their hands still moving up and down on each other’s hard and, as you could notice under the dim lighting of the room, dripping cocks. you knew that they got especially horny under the influence, which amused you even more, but also gave you a perfect idea.
without a word, you knelt on the floor in front of them, and they perked up a bit, though their poses were still as relaxed as ever. they exchanged a look and simultaneously dropped their hands from their cocks. mattheo put his by his sides on the couch, and theo rested one on his stomach, the other one ending up on mattheo’s thigh. both of them gazed at you with as much hunger as their glassy eyes and widened pupils allowed; theo’s lips were parted, and mattheo was wetting his, taking shallow breaths through his mouth.
"cazzo, principessa… come sei dolce," theo murmured, a content smile quirking up his lips as your hands started kneading their thighs, approaching their aching cocks inch by inch. mattheo hummed in agreement, all of you having gotten used to theo’s italian by now and even starting to understand some stuff.
"you’re dolce," you answered, a teasing lilt to your voice, and theo chuckled in response, undoubtedly at your accent. his chuckle stuttered, turning into a low moan as your hands finally wrapped around their lengths, mattheo’s grunt joining him with more volume.
you didn’t spend too much time jerking them off since they did a pretty good job on that themselves – by the amount of precum leaking from their tips you could tell it wouldn’t take them too long to cum, and you wanted a taste before that happened. you scooted a bit to the right, mattheo being the first whose cock ended up in your mouth. your tongue swirled around, gathering his slickness, and you pulled away enough to spit it back, your fingers spreading the liquid along his entire length before diving back in.
"fuck," he breathed out, his hand loosely clutching the edge of the couch as his half-lidded eyes roamed over your face, fixated on your lips wrapped around him in the most enticing way. slowly, you started sucking, hollowing out your cheeks to provide more friction, while stroking theo’s dick at the same time. both of them were moaning above you, their hips twitching up every other second, and theo still had some sense in his hazy mind to caress mattheo’s thigh, which only made the latter’s pleasure more intense.
a couple of minutes later, when you started feeling theo getting restless, the movements of his hips growing a bit more sloppy, you pulled away from mattheo. he barely noticed, too lost in the world of bliss, especially since the stimulation never stopped, your hand coming in to take the place of your lips. you switched to the other side, finally taking theo’s cock into your mouth, which made him groan and impatiently grab your hair. you giggled but decided not to tease, since it was painfully obvious just how eager he was. you head started bobbing up and down as you sucked theo off, the sounds getting wetter and wetter from the amount of drool you produced due to theo being deliciously big. you choked a bit when his tip slipped into your throat, but you quickly adjusted – you were pretty used to his size already.
when you felt his cock starting to throb, you took it as a sign of him getting close, which prompted you to switch to mattheo again. a low, needy growl rumbled in his chest as he caught the sight of your pretty lips wrapped around him, his hips instantly rutting up, pushing his entire length right down your throat. you gagged again as you felt his thick cock stretching out your walls, and you were pretty sure that if you placed a hand on your throat, you’d feel his tip grinding against it from the inside. mattheo was very clearly impatient, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair as he started shoving you up and down. he had always had a thing for throatfucking, and you didn’t mind at all, eagerly allowing him to use you as a means to get off.
theo was watching the scene through his thick eyelashes, moaning louder from time to time when your hand squeezed him just a bit tighter. when mattheo started getting close, he immediately caught that. without a word, his head turned to the side, and his hand made its way up mattheo’s body to the back of his head. theo pulled him into a messy kiss, his fingers getting tangled in mattheo’s curls, both of them groaning against each other’s lips. when you looked up, met by the sight of your boys passionately making out, you felt the heat that had been building up in your stomach increase tenfold, and you knew right that moment that you had to make them finish as soon as possible to take care of your needs too. you picked up the pace under mattheo’s insistent hand, and soon, he was loudly panting against theo, string after string of his cum releasing into your mouth.
you quickly lapped up the remnants and switched to theo, who was already on the very edge. as your lips closed around him, his hips pushed up, and you knew you’d be hoarse as hell the next day when his tip roughly hit the back of your throat. theo desperately licked into mattheo’s mouth, the latter’s jaw still hanging slack as he came down from his high, and in a matter of seconds, his cum was also dripping down your throat, hot and slightly bitter from his constant smoking.
you were breathless when you pulled away, and your throat was already starting to hurt, but a smile spread on your face at the sight of the guys on the couch. they were now lazily and sloppily making out, catching their own breaths after their intense orgasms. theo’s hand was carding through mattheo’s hair, making him let out quiet little moans into theo’s mouth, while mattheo’s hand cradled the other boy’s cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the flushed skin. they were adorable like that, and truthfully, you could watch them for hours. but you still had your arousal unattended to. both of them shifted their attention when you cleared your throat, identical smirks appearing on their lips when they saw your raised eyebrow. you definitely weren’t leaving the dressing room any time soon.
A Lucky Christmas
A seemingly innocent and thoughtful gift turns out to have an unexpected surprise.
heheh more fluff! (Can you tell its my fav to write?), love triangle, lots of impulsivity, slight(?) drugging, mattheo and theo being absolutely whipped, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, theo nott x fem!reder
w/c: 1k
masterlist
a/n: so sorry this took forever to post! got sick and barely got time to sleep between puking sessions, much less write.... ANYWAY, shout out to @leona-hawthorne for proof reading for me!
Mattheo didn’t know how he got himself into this situation. He knew he and Y/n were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. He stayed at school simply to avoid his father, but she refused to give her reason why she decided to stay. The whole thing was weird, especially because she usually looked forward to going home and spending time with her family.
A few days into break, Y/n wanted to help the house elves decorate the Great Hall, and somehow she and her irresistible smile got him to come with her. So imagine his surprise when Theo, of all people, walks into the hall, ready to help her out too. Mattheo didn’t even know that the Italian was staying as well. Did she ask him to help too?
This girl just has the two of them wrapped around her little finger, and she’s so oblivious to that fact that it’s almost infuriating.
So now, the three are scurrying around the huge room, hanging tinsel and putting ornaments on the huge tree. Y/n is occupied with draping garland made of popcorn and cranberries across the evergreen’s branches, with the help of some house elves. Mattheo and Theo got stuck with the job of sorting through old ornaments, with the instructions to throw away any broken baubles they might find. However, a wooden one caught Mattheo’s eye. It was engraved with y/n’s favorite flower, and it was just the perfect gift to give to the girl.
“Psst, Theo,” the brunette hissed, looking around to make sure no one else was within ear shot. Theo turned around, an eyebrow raised. He hummed inquisitively. “You think we can give this to Y/n? She would like this, right?” Mattheo asked, passing the trinket. “You’re better at all the sentimental stuff than me.”
Theo inspected the ornament, nodding. “I think she would. Good find.” He nudged the brunette’s shoulder before waving a house elf over.
The elf assured the two boys that they never use the ornament anyways, and so Theo shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll go put this in our dorm. We’re almost done here anyway, so you guys shouldn’t miss me much. If Y/n asks, just tell her that I’ll see her at dinner, yeah?”
Mattheo noded, and the rest of the time spent decorating flew by. He ended up regretting his decision to help, solely because he didn’t get many chances to be with Y/n. He figured the elves must’ve loved torturing him.
By the time Mattheo got back to his dorm, Theo was pacing around. The Italian had the wooden trinket in his hand, holding it in a vice-like grip.
“You good?” Mattheo asked him, to which Theo responded, “Yeah. Fine. Just jittery. Where's Y/n?”
The brunette gave him a questioning look, but responded nonetheless. “Don’t know for sure, but I would assume her dorm. She said she was tired when we left.” Theo nodded in response, and set the ornament he was holding down, quickly racing out of the shared space. He looked jittery and oddly excited, uncharacteristic of the Italian.
However, Mattheo decided to shrug it off. He picked up the trinket, turning it over in his hands to examine it. This compulsive curiosity began to morph into a full-blown exploration, his mind focused on the girl this gift was meant for. Suddenly, an abrupt wave of confidence washed over him, making him feel unusually warm and tingly.
He set the bauble down, eyes flitting toward the door. Maybe he would go and talk to Y/n too, just to have a little chat. Or better yet, he could admit how he feels. He’s had a thing for her for forever, his mind never failing to wander to more romantic places when in her presence.
His feet moved on his own, carrying him through the castle and to her dorm; and before he knew it, his fist was knocking on her door. It swung open, and he was greeted by a fond smile spreading on her lips when she saw him. He stepped inside, and wasn’t surprised when he saw Theo standing in the room as well.
“Are you here for what I think you are?” Mattheo asked the other boy, to which Theo nodded. “Mhm. I just told her I love her.”
The other boy’s bluntness surprised Mattheo a bit, since indelicate and direct comments were usually the brunette’s forte. It must just be an odd day.
“Well,” Mattheo gently took Y/n’s hand, getting her attention, “I feel the same way about you that Theo does. I love you, darling. You’ve been such a bright light in my life.”
Her eyes went wide with surprise, and she went still. Mouth floundering a bit, the girl struggled to form a response. The boys noticed and chuckled, Theo reassuring her. “I'm not sure about Mattheo, but I know I’m not going to make you choose. I just want a chance.”
Mattheo nodded in agreement. “God no, I wouldn’t dream of putting you through that stress.” Y/n relaxed a bit at that comment, but she was still a bit weary, due to their odd and overly impulsive behavior.
“You guys are always a bit reckless, Mattheo especially.” She gives him a little nudge. “But what’s up with you two?”
They both shrug. “Dunno. Just got you this present, which made me think about you a ton. I guess thinking about you so much made me want to tell you?” Theo guesses. “I felt the same way. Hey- did you get that weird rush when you held it too?” Mattheo queried, now invested.
“Weird rush? What, was it laced with liquid luck?” Y/n asks with a laugh, albeit a slightly apprehensive one. Her comment earned shocked looks from the boys, quickly followed by laughter.
“That’s it! I didn’t think much of the weird giddiness, though I should have,” Theo said between laughs.
“Nor of the sudden rush of confidence,” Mattheo agrees, his shoulders shaking with amusement. “We should get her a new gift, huh?”
Theo nodded in agreement, and the group laughed about it for a while. The boys certainly didn’t hear the end of their accidental potion mishap for quite some time, Y/n teasing them about it relentlessly.
Thank you all for your patience while I've been sick! I'm not too happy with this, but I needed to get it out lollll <3
tag list: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink
©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!
ʀᴇꜱᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ.
Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, swearing, dirty talk, sofa sex, quickie that became a longie, making-out, dry humping, Jace is desperate and he needs to take his frustrations out somehow, theres a brief pussy slap bc it felt right, cream-pie at the end, fully clothed raw dogging; They’re betrothed and this takes place at the start of the DoD, I didn’t make any other specifications cause they were too busy fucking. This is very heavily inspired by his scene in the season finale :3
Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
He’d been pacing in his chambers for the better part of an hour with only his thoughts as company. Jacaerys felt useless, to say the least. Useless, needlessly coddled, suffocating between the walls of Dragonstone. He wanted to be of help to his Queen, to fight for the realm on dragonback against the Greens as was his destiny. His calling. Instead, he was made to spectate at council meetings and wait endlessly for a moment that would never come, it seemed. The ‘what ifs’ kept him spiraling, uncomfortable in his own mind, and he found his feet moving before he could consider a destination. He knew where to go. It was too easy not to. And she wouldn’t mind. His hesitance sent a bit of doubt down to his stomach on whether or not he really wanted to bother her, but she would’ve figured out his sour mood anyway. It was better to face up to himself than keep it locked away inside. The hastening of his footsteps echoed off the spacious corridors, and as if she had sensed he was on his way to her, the doors to her chambers were left ajar—just enough for him to see her peaceful face trained down on her book.
His knuckles gently tapped against the threshold, announcing his presence as he entered. His betrothed glances up, looking twice as she realizes who her visitor is. “Good morrow.” She hummed, legs tucked up and under her comfortably on the divan. His pretty brown eyes took in her room, a place he found himself in considerably often. Depending on the circumstances, obviously. And the hour. Everything was kept neat and tidied, but he could still see the traces of her, where she’d made a sort of home for herself. Books and tomes stacked three or four each on various surfaces, the tea she’d left nearly untouched on the nightstand. He loved it. “Good morrow.” Jace responded, gently shutting the door behind him, head tilted back against it for a moment, unable to hide the frustration that had grown in his own chambers. He said nothing. Unsurprisingly, the words caught in his throat on the way out.
She pats the spot beside her on the divan, the book not yet closed, but her attention had shifted from the pages to his furrowed brows. He obeys, crossing the room to sit by her without second thought. His mind had quieted, at least. Their shoulders brush together lightly as he finally manages to say something else. “What are you reading?” She could tell already that something was off with him, but still indulges in his question, turning it over to show him the cover. Something vaguely historic, he catches, but he was too distracted by her soft hands clutching the book to see much else. “I figured I’d better read a bit more to catch up with the talk of war. This one isn’t entirely as dull as I thought it was going to be, thankfully.” With that, she closes it shut, putting it down on the stand beside the divan, shifting her body just enough to face him. “How are you faring, Jace?”
“I’m well enough.” He muttered, leaning back slightly. It was a lie and she saw right through him without much else. “I just…my mother is worried. She’s trying to hide it behind orders but it's catching up to us now. All this.” He was gesturing to the war, of course, fingers tapping in his lap anxiously. “And I can’t help her. She won’t let me help. I don’t know what to do. I’d much rather be out there, making a real difference to tip the scales, and instead I’m stuck here at Dragonstone doing nothing but waiting.” His betrothed nodded along as she listened, digesting his admittance before considering her own words. “You’re restless, dragon.” There was a truth to it, despite the statement mostly being a gentle tease. The corners of his lips lift just a little at the nickname. “I can’t help it. I feel antsy knowing I have the capabilities to do something, and I’m not allowed to.”
“We’re still in the beginning of this war—and you’re the heir, Jace. Even if there was a battle taking place just outside of Dragonstone, you and the Queen must stay here.” He’d heard that a thousand times before from his mother and the members of her small council, and a thousand times he felt undignified—but hearing it from the lips of his bride-to-be, there was no malice or taunt or scold behind her tone. She was reminding him of a painful candor. His safety mattered. “I feel powerless.” He admits, frustration accompanying the embarrassment that came with the insecurity. “I feel like a little boy begging to add his opinion during council meetings. They respect me because I’m the Prince of Dragonstone, her son, not because I’m good at my responsibilities. What good am I in this war if I can’t help my mother get her throne back?” The last few words exited his mouth with bite, self-loathing and irritation cutting him like a double-edge sword.
“You’re wrong about that.” She reaches out to take his arm, her hand wrapping around his bicep as she intertwines their fingers with the other. “Your living and breathing is the strongest power of all. You’re strengthening your mother’s claim by doing just that. I know you want to fight, to do something that matters. But true power is not just grandiose displays of strength or victories in battle, it's also purpose. The meanings behind our choices. People are raising the Queen’s banners—and those are your banners too. They want to fight for you as much as they do for her, because the two of you are the rightful heirs to the throne. The Greens can try as they wish to Usurp what belongs to the Queen, but their actions are unjustified. King Viserys made his choice and he stuck to it until his passing. That is power.”
“All this book reading is making you wiser than me.” He grumbled, although there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I’d still rather be swinging a sword at some idiot knight instead of sitting within these walls looking pretty—but I understand that you’re right.” He concedes, a small smile gracing his handsome face. She chuckles at that. “I’m sure you’d be pretty no matter what, even muddied and bloodied on the battlefield.” She sighs though, glancing out at the daylight swarming into the room through the window, hand still nestled in his. The gentle touch sent goosebumps up his neck, tightening his trousers with every second her warmth continued to seep into his leather doublet. “The meeting is likely starting soon.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts of nipping at the supple flesh at her neck.
Jace groaned aloud, head dropping back against the divan in pure annoyance, good mood spoiled at the reminder. “I’d honestly rather get swallowed by dragonfire than sit in that room for the next three hours, listening to those old fools drabble on about who knows what.” He turns his body—not unlike a roll—to shield his face on her shoulder, unwilling to part from her. “I want to stay here with you, alone and in peace as we were.” She snorts lightly as he inhales deeply, arm snaking around her waist in want. “The Queen will be expecting us, my prince.” She looks down at his dark curls, twirling one around her finger. His breeches certainly tighten now. “...My interests are elsewhere.” He murmurs, annoyed at the thought of being pulled away, face inching closer to her neck until his lips press against her smooth skin. “Jace.” She warned, although there wasn’t as much resistance in her tone as he’d expected, and a quiet sigh flows past her lips. “We can’t be late. That’s disrespectful to the council members.”
“The denial of devouring you because of those ancient rats only serves to make me want to go even less.” He shifts in place, head still dipped by her jugular, hands bracing the back of the divan with newfound purpose, trapping her between the corner of it and his own scalding body. She gasps as his teeth sink into her skin, earning a low sound of pleasure from his throat. “We can be quick if the meeting matters to you that much.” He mutters against her, a slight tease as he nips at her harder this time, his nose nudged into her jaw. “I don’t need to wait until nightfall to make you see the stars, my Lady.” Her remaining restraint crumbles at that, hands coming to undo the lacings of his breeches. “..Fine. But you can’t touch my hair.” He seemed like he wanted to protest at the idea of limited touching, but that gleam in her eye meant she was serious, and it was likely they’d miss the meeting as a whole trying to figure out how to braid her hair that way again. “Okay. Deal.”
His mouth returns to her throat, biting and sucking greedily with reverence, his hands finding purchase at her hips to start bunching her skirts up. “Jace..” She exhales, shuddering at the way he was marking her skin—he wasn’t leaving any stones unturned, and they were going to show. Her fingers plucked at the lacings with success, tugging him closer to her now by the waistline of his breeches. His fists clench around the fabric of her gown, a deep grunt echoing from his chest as his clothed cock pressed into her plush inner thigh. “Gods—I need more.” Jace retracts himself from her neck, pulling her body down the divan, just enough to lay her flat on her back. She wraps her thighs around his hips, a strangled moan failing to come out as he kisses her, pushing himself against her core. He rolled his hips down with a fury, nothing deliberate about it—just to feel something, to get out the pent up desperation he’d felt for weeks since his return.
His tongue explores her mouth with an eagerness that made them both flush, using her skirts as purchase to buck himself harder into her cunt. “You make me this way.” He grunts against her lips. His stomach was already tightening with every bit of friction they could get. “Do you understand? You’re just so pretty and you smell divine—fuck.” Jace grits his teeth, biting at her lower lip. She was a panting mess beneath him, unable to do anything other than take it, digging her nails into his shoulders to cope with how good it felt. His weight pinned her down deliciously, hips still incessant and rubbing against her with enough force to make the divan squeak. It was like music to his ears. “I’m already close just feeling your sweet cunt, my love.” Jace pulls up her gown a bit more, almost up to her ribs, to watch the tent in his pants glide up her glistening folds like a man bewitched. “You need to see it–” He grunts, bracing himself on the armrest behind her head, lifting himself just enough to make a space between their bodies. The sight was a wicked one.
“Look at the way you take me.” He urges, voice hoarse this time, eyes meeting hers from above. “Soaked enough to wet my breeches—and I’m not even inside of you yet.” Her nails dig harder into him, a breathless whine at the disbelief of it all. “Please Jace!” She mewls, shivering, and he grins, snapping his hips against hers with reverence. “Please what, my love? Use your words.” His tone was mocking, teasing, and eager to make her squirm. The quiet shuffling of their clothes was driving her to insanity—and she wanted more than anything to pull it all off, but they had places to be very soon. “I need—Gods! I need you, Jace!” He was more than pleased by that, and he somehow carries enough restraint to stop himself from finishing right there. Jacaerys pulls himself back to tug down his breeches down just enough, his cock momentarily springing back to hit his stomach.
She melts at the sight of his tip—red and leaking shiny precum back toward his shaft. He was the perfect size for her; not too big or too small, and pretty just like the rest of him. Jace hisses quietly as the sensitivity hits him, dipping himself between her folds just to savor the moment. “Mmm look at your pretty cunt, my love. So beautiful.” He murmurs, his own thighs trembling as he slides his shaft through your slick. “Thighs up, sweet girl.” Her eyes roll back as his tip presses into her little bud, the motion agonizingly slow, and she nearly hadn't heard him. She braces her thighs to her chest as much as her bunched up gown would allow, gaze locked on Jace's angled face that was furrowed in concentration. She watches, face reddened, as he spits down onto himself, lubricating the way even though it probably wasn't needed with how soaked she was. Suddenly, his palm comes down on her clit, surprising her with equal amounts of pain and pleasure—she nearly came with a meek gasp of his name, inadvertently yanking his hair. “Jace!”
“Sorry. Couldn't help myself.” He grins, lips meeting hers in a sweet peck. “I want you to look at me when I slip it, love—look nowhere else but right here.” As he guides his tip inside, her breath hitches, captivated by the stretch of him and the glossy brown eyes staring down at her, hazed with lust. A growl erupts from his throat, feeling suffocated now by her walls, and he couldn't get enough. Jace wasn't one to swear often in front of his wife-to-be, but the obscenities flew from his mouth like she was his prayer, sinking himself slowly inch-by-inch. Not that his betrothed was in any better condition. She was clawing at him now, whining and squirming uncontrollably at the delectable sting that came with taking Jace. It hurt so good, and she was sure she'd throw a fit if he dared to pull out for whatever reason. Meeting be damned. Seated fully in her hot cunt, Jacaerys grips the back of her right thigh, pacing himself to allow her to adjust first.
They wait in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, no noise in the room other than their soft pants, and a few breathless giggles as Jace shields her eyes from the attacking sunlight. Silently, she cues him to continue. “Good girl.” He murmurs, starting slowly with gentle strokes that make her stomach warm. “Taking me so well, my love.” He hovered over her still, his other hand braced against the armrest as he watched himself disappear inside of her, a shiver rolling down his spine. “So good.” She mewls, leaking around his cock. Jace leans his head down to connect their lips again, tongue darting into her mouth like he owned her, his free hand taking a greedy handful of her breast through the gown. Moans swallowed down between kissing and breathing, the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping birds and the vulgar slapping of skin as the pace quickened. She could only hope no one would come looking for them—or walk down the corridor even. She couldn't recall Jace locking the door behind him. “I'm close—” He grunts, pulling back from her lips to rock his hips with fervor. “I'm so fucking close, love.”
The divan beneath them was far more noisy now than it had been when they were grinding. Jace had half a mind to let the damned thing break, especially with how tight she squeezed around him, sucking up every inch he provided. Outside, the bells of Dragonstone rang, signaling high noon was upon them—Gods, the meeting. “We need to hurry up!” She pants, thigh hooking around him, just as eager to come. “You promised this would be quick!” Irritation bubbles up in his stomach, and Jace gathers her in his arms, fed up with the thought of having to sit through yet another council meeting. “You want me to hurry up?” He grunts, although it came out as a hiss more than anything, his left foot planting firmly on the floor beside the divan. “Fine.” She couldn't make herself regret her demand even if she tried. Jace stood up straight as a board, his sweet girl being gripped by her gown as he fucked up into her with reckless abandon. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to breathe when her release came, senses flooding with pleasure like she'd been numb her entire life. His cock was hitting that spot like a bullseye, not stopping even after she started yanking on his hair from the overstimulation.
“Do you like it when I hurry, love?” He rasped breathlessly by her ear, one arm around her middle now while his right hand cradled the back of her neck. “You certainly like when I take out all my frustrations on your pretty cunt—Gods, I'm coming. I'm fucking coming sweet girl.” Jace chokes, exhaling sharply through his nose as his hips began to stutter, losing his brutal pace. “Can I come inside of you? Please?!” The beg falling from his plush lips sent a thrill down her spine, and she moaned out her agreement even after he asked twice for confirmation. That's all it takes for Jace to press her into the divan again, fucking her hard, fast, and sloppy, his body laying over hers in the desperation of chasing his release. He buries himself against her chest, coming deep within her as a long, drawn out groan escapes him. The relief was instantaneous; anxiety gone, frustration fucked out of him, and only bliss was left behind. Balls deep, he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. Silence. Rapid breaths. Stilled hips, other than an occasional twitch as they reeled from their orgasms. He lifts his face from her chest weakly, a lazy, sated smile gracing his handsome features. “Sweet girl..” He starts. Her eyes flick up to look at him, equally as spent and satisfied. “Mmhm?”
“I think we're late for the council meeting.”
i know i’m biased when it comes to this au (aka my favorite ever), but this was so fucking amazing i’m gagged (in a good way). like always, how can you be so good at everything? 😡
"hey, you gotta sit still f'me or you won't survive this, a'ight?" the masked man holding a gun in front of you hisses through his teeth, his deep, intense voice muffled as he spreads your legs.
this has barely begun and i’m already crying on the floor. the imagery is so real, plus i would be like a dog in heat if he said this to me (even more with a gun in his hand) 👩🦯
"not that i care."
i’m sorry but i actually love mean mattheo 😔
under the mask
he’s wearing a mask??????? bye %#*%#^ and *%$@
he then unexpectedly pushes the gun into your soaked hole, the action anything but gentle-
one more time—the imaginary is amazing
i really want to talk about this, because it’s so real. i love that he’s everything but gentle during sex, plus THE GUN. i would 💦💦💦💦 so fast, he would hit me (amen)
"poor thing, your heart is beating so fast... don't worry. i'll be careful, princess."
"but uh, i just can't control these shaky hands sometimes... what a shame it would be if my finger slipped and accidentally pulled the trigger."
son. of. a. bitch. idk if i want to fuck him or kill him—maybe BOTH.
also i’m curious to know what would happen—so i might let him 🦭 ari you’re the best when it comes to dialogue during sex
before you can protest, he roughly drags the gun nearly out of your cunt,
"ah ah ah; be a good girl f'me and keep those pretty legs spread, yeah?" he orders, shaking his masked head in disapproval as his hand increases its pace.
for a moment, i was sad, but then the sadness ran away from my body and boom, i was back to being a bitch in heat—still can’t get over that he’s wearing a mask—my legs don’t approve of this, but you know what else does 🤲🏻
anyways, final review: 5 ⭐️ like always, because i genuinely can’t point out anything bad. i was hooked from the beginning until the end
i’m a purge au truther 🦭
FIFTEEN. gunplay — the purge au mattheo riddle
warnings — smut 18+. dubcon. gunplay (mattheo fucks reader with his gun). mask kink. purge night. you are responsible for your own media consumption.
kinkmas mlist. moodboard. more.
“hey, you gotta sit still f’me or you won’t survive this, a’ight?” the masked man holding a gun in front of you hisses through his teeth, his deep, intense voice muffled as he spreads your legs. you’re unsure what he wants from you after breaking into your house on purge night, but you fear the worst as you tremble beneath him, gazing up at him through eyelashes with fat tears threatening to fall from your waterline.
“not that i care.” he mutters under his breath, raking the barrel over your exposed cunt, your ripped panties already tossed to the floor. you’re trembling in fear, your brows furrowed in nervousness, yet, you still can’t help but feel somewhat turned on? and he notices it too, chuckling lowly under the mask as his brown eyes are drawn to your dripping pussy.
he then unexpectedly pushes the gun into your soaked hole, the action anything but gentle— the sharp edges of the hard metal make you instinctively clench even tighter around it, as you scream out in both pain and pleasure. you don’t have to see his face to know that he’s smirking behind the mask, relishing in the fear and pain radiating off you.
his head dips closer, the heavy, muffled breaths through the mask only frightening you more.
“poor thing, your heart is beating so fast… don’t worry. i’ll be careful, princess.” you feel a sense of relief at his unexpectedly caring words, spoken in such a soothing manner— but that false sense of relief doesn’t last long.
“but uh, i just can’t control these shaky hands sometimes… what a shame it would be if my finger slipped and accidentally pulled the trigger.”
your eyes widen as the masked man chuckles wickedly. you can see his erection clearly now, and it’s almost as if he’s getting harder the more fear he sees on your pretty face.
before you can protest, he roughly drags the gun nearly out of your cunt, before pushing it back inside, causing you to whimper uncomfortably at the unusual feeling. you instinctively try to close your legs, but he catches on immediately, grabbing your inner thigh and pushing it open until your muscles ache from the stretch.
“ah ah ah; be a good girl f’me and keep those pretty legs spread, yeah?” he orders, shaking his masked head in disapproval as his hand increases its pace. the gun painfully drags against your walls, but still, your wetness drips down the cold metal and all over his hands, the slick sounds of your wet pussy echoing through your ominously dark room.
“tsk… such a dirty fuckin’ slut, huh? turns out i broke into the right house tonight. and if you’re lucky, i might just return next year…”
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡
just making a pause to finish last kingdom eheh
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