your boyfriend gets pretty clingy when you’re on his lap, bouncing up and down on his cock. he’s unlike those guys who prefer to lean back, arms behind their head as they watch their lover do all the work. instead, he prefers to wrap his arms around your waist, holding your body close against his, just so he can feel the way you’re shaking from how good it feels.
“feels good?” he murmurs. he’s not exactly asking, since he already knows the answer. he can feel it just from the way your body keeps tightening around him, clenching with every slow bounce, alongside that dumb, fucked out expression you have on your face. “so warm around me, baby… keep going, yeah? jus’ like that…”
your thighs are trembling, struggling to keep up with the rhythm, but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he’s whispering things to you right against your ear, causing you to collapse onto his chest as you desperately try to lift yourself up and down. he’s not even thrusting up, just holding you there and letting you use him to your heart’s content.
“mm—‘s too much,” you whimper into his shoulder, burying your face there as your pace falters. but his hands slide to your hips, guiding them again. “no it’s not,” he mumbles, lips brushing your ear. “you can take it. you always do. look how good you’re doing for me.”
when you let out another shaky moan and sink fully onto him, he hugs you tighter, arms locked around you like he needs you to breathe. he loves this position, because he gets to be so close to you, never having to let go.
"stay right here," he sighs, burying his nose in your hair, breath ragged. "don’t go anywhere… not till i finish inside you, ‘kay?"
he didn’t really mean to take it out on you! through the whole car ride home, he had a deathly tight grip on the steering wheel, his veins looking like they were going to pop if his grip tightened anymore. you didn’t dare to open your mouth or speak to him the whole way, just avoiding his figure by looking out the window. all of a sudden the view was so lovely.. haha..
however, your peace was torn the moment you stepped into your shared apartment. he dropped his things onto the floor without any care and dragged you into the bedroom and pushed you onto the bed.
currently, you had your head pressed onto the pillow, back arched with a deep inward curve. tears slowly pooled and escaped from your tear ducts, burning up from the constant pain pleasure.
“a-ah, fuckk..” he moaned out in between his breaths. both of his hands were gripped on your hips so tightly that you were sure that they would leave marks on it. he kept you in place, occasionally slapping your ass, giving it a light squeeze when he felt like it.
his thrusts kept hitting the same damn spot. he closed his eyes, tilted his head upwards with his pace increasing. you made noises that were borderline-pornographic, surely going to get a complaint from your neighbour— but that was the least of your worries for now. he groaned, feeling you tighten around him.
“you’re so fuckin’ tight— bet you were waiting f’ me to lose that game so you could get a piece of this, stupid slut..” the bed creaked loudly with his thrusts hitting harder and deeper, chasing his own climax. you weren’t holding up well either. you wanted to come so badly. but you knew if you did, he wouldn’t let you rest until the next morning.
“baby please–!” your moans were muffled by the pillows against your face, but it was loud enough for him to hear. your body was trembling with overstimulation, clenching hard on him.
he groaned loudly in response. after another thrust, he swiftly pulled out all the way. you whined at the loss, the emptiness. you weren’t able to say anything fast enough as he flipped you over onto your back but due to the change in distance, he grabbed your legs and dragged you towards his dick. he place both your legs on his shoulders and without warning, he shoved his cock right back into you.
with the convenient position you were both in, he smashed his lips against yours. you wrap your arms around his neck as his tongue slipped into your mouth. it was only until you were out of breath did he break away. “just a little longer, hold it out f’ me baby.” he breathed out, his warm breath hitting your neck.
after pushing you with the same cruel pace, he finally reached his climax. spilling into you with the last couple of thrusts, filling you up with his warm release. you came nearly instantly after he did, your nails scratching his back deep enough for him to hiss lightly.
the both of you spent a few minutes catching your breaths. he had long let go of holding your legs in such a tight position, letting them rest while he laid face flat on your chest boobs. you felt your eyes falling shut, but before you could finally drift away into slumber, his words woke you up with a hint of mischief.
“already tired? i’m sure you could go for a few more rounds right?”
i hate mischaracterizing characters, so for anyone who wants these, here are some facts/implied info about characters:
isagi is a loner and often skips out on parties and social events. this is because of how shy and awkward he is around other people and loud environments. (light novel, implied in the manga)
it’s impossible for nagi to hate anyone. even if someone is constantly making him work hard or taking his phone and games away, he is always calm and a pacifist. (egoist bible, implied in the manga)
rin is extremely kind and emotional under his stoic and emo exterior. he gives foreign tourists extremely detailed directions and is implied to be a good captain. (light novel, implied in the manga)
rin is also academically stupid in everything other than english. this is because he’s dead set on being a soccer player and therefore sees no point in any class other than english. (light novel)
karasu loves anything he finds special. he thinks that even rin and isagi are mediocre even though their blue lock’s number one, but he had a childhood crush on the only person he found special, a girl named marissa. (egoist bible)
sae doesn’t realize that he’s rude or has any malicious intent when he’s being an asshole. he just says what’s on his mind, no matter how mean or blunt. it’s confirmed that he does have friends, so he’s probably not always like this. (egoist bible, manga)
Blue Lock men who fuck to get you off //suggestive/smut
interact at your own risk
。Bunny Iglesias
He’s such a damn good lover, always making sure to make you cum first before pumping you full of his seed in a desperate hope to get you (accidentally) pregnant. He spends hours with your legs around his shoulder, face buried between your thighs, tongue circling your clit and plunging his tongue inside you, making you cum for the nth time. Long Story, short; Bunny knows how to treat a woman. He is attentive, passionate and loving, always open to everything you want to try and down to get as filthy and not filthy as you wanna get. Bunny not only has a big dick, he also knows how to use it.
。Yukimiya Kenyu
He is a gentleman through and through. He loves sex and he loves getting off, but nothing is better than seeing you finishing on his dick, tongue or fingers. Yukimiya takes pride in making you finish and as a consequence, he sees it as an insult if you don’t (even if it’s normal). His personal favorite is obviously fucking you into oblivion and feeling the tight squeeze of your inner walls clamping down on his cock, while you cum with his name on your lips, but Yukimiya loves exploring everything that could possibly get you off. You’re truly his priority and you can feel that every time he looks at you, talks to you and makes love to you.
。Karasu Tobito
Karasu is a good guy, pretending to be an asshole. So, every time he talks about fucking you with Otoya, he acts as if he prides himself with ‘having hoes’ etc, but once he gets home to you, he gives everything to make you and only you cum. He works overtime, using everything he has to push you over the edge. Karasu is probably out of these four the biggest eater, so buckle up for some real nasty, sloppy, life changing head. Worth mentioning is also that he expects praise for making you cum; he knows that it’s not a priority for most men, so he likes to feel special doing the bare minimum.
。Alexis Ness
Okay, I hate to break it to you, but I think that Alexis has a relatively small dick. He’s always been pretty insecure about that, especially when showering with Kaiser and the others, but as we all know, size doesn’t matter that much. And Alexis definetly knows how to use it. He does everything to please you, no matter what you’re into, he’s down to try it and it’s not a pride thing for him either, it’s just because he so desperately needs you to be happy with him and his performance. Alexis is also the best at taking criticism, listening intently to everything negative and positive, to please you way better the next time. Alexis fucks you good because you are you and you’re special to him, everyone else views it as a duty to their masculinity and women to get you off. Decide what you like better.
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a/n: English isn’t my first language, criticism is welcomed but please be nice. Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Do not steal or copy my work in any way nor feed it to ai.
n: I’m so biased towards Bunny, I love Bunny, Bunny Bunny Bunny, so big and beefy 🤤
if you score, you can have it ft. multiple blue lock men
・❥・smut mdni he wanted a kiss for a goal, but you know he deserves far more than that ;)
ft. shidou, kaiser, karasu, bunny
there's a particular kind of chaos that comes with dating a footballer whose ego is already astronomical before they've even laced their boots.
it starts the way it always does. pregame. him stretching, half-dressed, shooting you that look across the room like he's already decided how the night ends. and you, sitting there with your legs crossed and a coffee going cold in your hand, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"if i score today," he says, casual as breathing, "i want a kiss."
you don't even look up. "cute."
"i'm serious."
"i know." you take a sip. "the answer's still no."
a beat. he shifts closer. you can feel him watching you now, that particular brand of attention that's more pressure than patience.
"what do i have to do, then."
not a question. more like he's already negotiating terms, already assuming there are terms. you set your cup down, finally look at him, and let the silence stretch just long enough that he starts to think you might actually shut him down completely.
"score," you say, "and you can hit it from behind."
whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. something shifts in his expression, sharpens. the pregame adrenaline that was already simmering in him finds a new target.
"yeah?"
"yeah." you pick your cup back up. "if."
the emphasis on that word does something to him you'll feel later.
he scores.
of course he does.
ryusei shidou
he texts you from the pitch. while the game is still going. second half, 73rd minute, one goal up, and your phone buzzes with a message that just reads told u with three of those stupid cat-face emojis.
by the time the final whistle blows he's already abandoned his teammates mid-celebration to find you.
you're barely through the tunnel before his hand wraps around your wrist, that sneaky grin stretched across his face, slitted pink eyes lit up like something feral got fed. he smells like sweat and grass and he doesn't care even a little bit. neither do you, though you'd die before admitting it.
"locker room." not a suggestion.
"ryusei, the others are still—"
"don't care." he's already pulling you. "made a deal."
the locker room is half-empty, a few guys filtering out, and he walks you past all of them like they're furniture, like there's only one thing in his field of vision right now and it has your face. someone wolf-whistles. he flips them off without turning around.
he pushes you into the back corner, tiles cold against your front, and his body against your back is the opposite. hot. solid. built like he was designed to be difficult to escape from, which, honestly.
"scored twice, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, breath warm, voice dropped to something rougher than his usual sharp-edged energy. "so technically i get it twice."
"that's not how the deal—"
"shhh." his hands find your hips, grip them, fingers pressing in hard enough that you'll feel it tomorrow. "made the deal. scored the goals. now be good and let me collect."
he gets your pants down quick and efficient like he's done this a thousand times in his head already, which, he has (but thats not the point). he doesn't tease. teasing requires patience and patience is somewhere else's problem. he just lines himself up, kicks your feet a little wider apart, and pushes in.
"hah—" the sound comes out of you before you can swallow it, fingers scrambling against the tile. he's thick and he doesn't ease into it, just fills you in one slow drag that makes your legs want to buckle and then he laughs, quiet and delighted, at the sound you made.
"there it is." he presses his mouth to the back of your neck. "that's what i wanted."
he fucks you like he plays. instinctive, aggressive, no wasted movement. each thrust snaps your hips forward against the wall, the tile cold on your palms, his hands keeping you exactly where he wants you, one gripping your hip and the other sliding around your front to press flat against your stomach, keeping you pinned against him on the pull-back.
"feels good, yeah?" he's grinning, you can hear it. "say it feels good."
"you're so annoy— fuck—"
"that's not what i asked." he angles up, hits something that makes your knees genuinely try to give out, and catches you. holds you up. like he's done this before, like he knew exactly what was going to happen when he pushed there. "try again."
"it feels— god, it feels—"
"say my name," he murmurs against the back of your neck, grinding in deep, grinding the words into you. "ryusei. when i'm inside you."
you say it. you say it twice. his grip tightens like a reward.
he comes with his face pressed into your shoulder and both hands locked around your hips so hard the bruises will last a week, jerking into you through it, making this low rough sound that you'll be thinking about at the most inconvenient possible times for the foreseeable future. you follow him down not long after, shaking against the tile, completely wrung out.
he stays pressed against your back afterward, breathing hard, and then, very casually, says: "gonna score a hat trick next game."
you laugh despite yourself. he feels it and grins against your skin.
michael kaiser
he doesn't text you. he doesn't need to. you were in the box seats and you watched him score, watched him turn to the camera right after with those light blue eyes and that insufferable golden smirk like the goal was addressed personally to you.
and then he winked.
the man actually winked at a camera in a professional stadium because he knew you were watching.
by the time you reach him in the tunnel he's already separated from the post-match cluster, leaning against the wall with his arms loose at his sides, wet-haired from a quick rinse, rose tattoo dark against his skin. he looks like he was put together specifically to be impossible to look away from. he knows this. intimately.
"i scored," he says, simple, like he's remarking on the weather.
"i saw."
"so." he pushes off the wall, tips your chin up with two fingers. "you know what that means."
he takes you to the car. his car, which is obscene and he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh just above the knee the entire way, not moving it higher, just keeping it there. possessive and patient. the patience is the worst part because his patience has teeth.
the parking garage of his building is quiet. he turns the engine off and doesn't move, and neither do you, and then he says: "climb over."
you know what he means. you move to the back seat, he follows, and the confined space makes everything immediate, makes his height and the breadth of his shoulders suddenly pressing.
he takes your wrists in one hand, pins them behind your back, and uses the other to get you arranged exactly how he wants you. face down, knees on the leather, his chest against your spine.
"i want to hear you say i earned it," he says into your ear, voice smooth as cut glass, quiet in the way that's somehow louder than shouting.
"michael—"
"say it." the correction is patient. territorial.
"you…" you swallow. "you earned it."
"good girl." he rewards that with his hand sliding between your thighs and you stop thinking about much else.
he fingers you open slowly, deliberately, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing to prove, two fingers curled and working until you're trembling and he has extracted several sounds from you that you're choosing not to reflect on. then and only then does he pull his hand back, and you hear him, the breath, the shift of fabric.
when he pushes inside you it's a long, controlled slide that feels intentional in a way that none of your exes could manage. he means every inch of it. means the grip on your wrists and the tilt of his hips and the way he pulls back just far enough before driving back in, making each thrust land with enough force that your breath stutters.
"you feel that?" he asks, not rhetorically. he actually wants an answer.
"yes, god, yes—"
"good." satisfied. almost academic about it. "so do i."
he fucks you with a kind of deliberate precision that should be clinical but isn't, because underneath the control there's something genuinely hungry, something that surfaces in the way his grip tightens every time you make a sound, in the way his composure develops cracks around the edges the longer this goes on.
"mine," he says, near the end. not loud. just factual.
you come with your cheek against cold leather, his name dragged out of you and he follows with his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing hard for the first time all night, the composure finally, entirely, gone.
he keeps you close after. doesn't say anything. just keeps one hand curled around your hip like he's not ready to let the moment dissolve yet, fingers tracing absently over the jut of bone.
possessive even in the quiet. maybe especially in the quiet.
tabito karasu
karasu, predictably, acts like the deal was already a foregone conclusion.
he'd told you before the game, with the particular flat certainty he uses for things he considers obvious, that the opposing team's left defender had a weak right ankle and would be over-compensating by the 30th minute and that he'd exploit it for an assist by the second half. what he didn't tell you was that he'd also time the actual goal himself, sliding into the box at precisely the moment nobody was watching him.
tactical. infuriating. completely him.
he finds you after, still in his kit, gloves still on, and he has that look on his face that he gets when something goes exactly according to his calculations. not smug, exactly. more like… vindicated.
"i scored," he says.
"you assisted twice and then snuck in a tap-in."
"still counts."
you laugh before you can stop yourself. he watches you do it with something shifting in his expression, something quieter underneath the usual sharpness. you've learned to notice that thing. it doesn't come out often.
"car," he says. then, after a pause: "please." the word sounds like it costs him something. you take it anyway.
his car is less flashy than his personality suggests, which is very him. clean interior, no nonsense. he drives you back to his apartment without discussion, because there was never really any question.
he gets you upstairs, gets the door locked behind you and then doesn't rush. stands in the hallway for a moment just looking at you with those blue eyes doing that thing where they're taking inventory, cataloguing, noticing everything.
"you look pleased with yourself," you say.
"i am." he peels one glove off. then the other. sets them down carefully. "you look flustered."
"i'm not—"
"you are." he steps close, tilts his head slightly. "but i can work with flustered."
he gets you to the bedroom with minimal theatrics, which is also very him. no posturing, no extended performance. he just knows what he wants and moves toward it with the same economy he applies to everything. he turns you around, unhooks, unzips, works through each piece of clothing like a problem being solved. by the time you're face-down on the bed with a pillow pulled under your hips you feel like you've been systematically taken apart and laid out.
"you're going to tell me when it's good," he says and it's not bossiness, exactly. more like he's establishing terms. collecting data. even now.
"tabito—" and something about saying his name like that, easy and familiar, makes something in his jaw shift.
when he enters you it pulls a broken exhale out of both of you, his breath stuttering just once, barely audible, before he steadies. starts to move. his hands are precise and attentive, one on your hip and one flat between your shoulder blades, adjusting the angle by small degrees until you make a specific sound, and then he keeps it exactly there, relentless and measured.
"there," he says, mostly to himself. "that's the one."
he's quiet during, mostly, which makes the sounds he does make matter more. a rough exhale when you clench. a low, involuntary sound he immediately tries to suppress when you reach back and find his hand. he lets you hold it. threads his fingers through yours.
you come first, undone by the precision of him, the way he never stops paying attention, and he follows close behind with his face in your hair and that quiet, controlled exterior finally, briefly, completely unraveled.
afterward he lies beside you and doesn't speak for a long moment. then: "your reaction time for goal number two was better than i expected."
you turn your head to stare at him.
"the pun," he clarifies, and his mouth does that almost-smile thing.
you throw his pillow at his face.
he catches it. still almost-smiling.
bunny inglesias
he doesn't tell you before the game that he's going to score. he just does.
and afterward, in the slow drift of the post-match hour, he finds you in one of the corridor spaces outside the locker room and he's wearing that gentle closed-mouth smile and his cap with the rabbit face, hair loose and a little damp, and he says, very softly:
"i scored."
"i know."
"so." the smile stays exactly where it is. "you said."
"i know what i said."
"okay." he tilts his head. "are you going to make me ask, amor?"
the thing about him is that he's calm in a way that doesn't read as passive. there's something underneath it, something attentive and patient and quietly certain. he's not demanding. he's not performing. he's just… waiting, with the full confidence of someone who already knows the answer and is giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.
you take him back to the apartment. his. it has very little in it, which you've noticed before and never quite asked about. clean lines. practical. like someone who hasn't decided yet whether they're staying.
he takes off his cap, sets it on the table, and looks at you across the small space.
"how do you want me?" he asks.
which is not what you expected. you blink. he laughs, soft and brief, the most unguarded sound he makes.
"i'm asking," he says, stepping closer, "because i want to do it right."
he's gentle in a way that feels considered rather than careful, if that distinction makes sense. like gentleness is something he chooses rather than something that's just the absence of roughness. his hands move over you slowly, unhurried, taking stock, and when you finally get horizontal his body settles over yours like he was measuring the exact weight to apply.
he flips you over, easy and unhurried, your cheek finding the pillow, and he presses a single kiss to the back of your neck before he lines himself up.
when he pushes in he goes slow, slow enough that you feel every increment of the stretch, slow enough to hear his breath change, and you exhale the tension out of your spine all at once.
"okay?" he asks.
"yeah," you breathe. "yeah, it's—"
"good." he starts to move.
he rolls his hips with a rhythm that builds and doesn't rush, deep and patient, and he keeps his weight on one forearm beside your head with his other hand finding yours and pressing your palm to the mattress with his over it. not pinning. just covering. it's unbearably tender for something supposed to be a reward.
his mouth finds the curve of your neck, your shoulder, the soft place behind your ear. he doesn't say much, he rarely does, but once, quiet enough that you almost miss it: "you're so warm."
you don't know what to do with that. you hold it anyway.
he builds you up slowly, methodically, like he's reading something in your breathing and adjusting, and when you finally come it's with his name muffled into the pillow and his hand tightening over yours, lacing your fingers together. he follows with his face pressed to the back of your neck, a long shuddering breath, his whole body going still and then carefully, slowly, soft.
he doesn't move right away. stays draped over you, heavy and warm, and the room is very quiet.
then: "next game i'll score two."
you're so wrecked you barely process it. "bunny…"
"just letting you know," he says, and you can hear the smile in it, small and private and pointed entirely at you, "what you have to look forward to."
Rin Itoshi is too busy training hard to suppress his big brother but he will make an exception when it comes to getting the frustration of the day out on you. His favorite position is standing up, stealing some time in between practice or in the halftime of a match in the locker room and holding you up in the air with your back against a wall as he drives his dick in and out of you as fast as he can. Quickies are his favorite because he doesn't have to take all his clothes off, just slide his shorts and boxers down and bend you over any available surface until he can clear his mind and focus better on the game. Rin doesn't know how to dirty talk but he talks. A lot. Groans curses, praises for you, shit-talks Isagi or Sae when he is balls deep inside of you because oh, if only they could see you right now getting it so good by him. He even evaluates himself after and if he thinks his performance was lukewarm he just moves to round two, to “perfect his skill”.
Sae Itoshi is an ass guy. Under that stoic demeanor he is secretly a pervert that is obsessed with watching you walk away just to catch a glimpse of the way your ass wiggles. Thus his favorite position is reverse cowgirl where he has the best view of your ass and back while you ride him. Laying on his back with one arm stretched behind his head while the other leaves handprints on your skin from slapping the plumb flesh to watch it jiggle some more. Occasionally he will spread your ass cheeks, swiping a thumb over the hole that isn't busy being filled by his girth and mutter something about getting you an ass plug. Sae loves to eat you out from behind so his face is literally buried between your asscheeks. If you ever try to confront him about his fetish he will call you crazy and then ask you to wear a thong for him. And he will proceed to take it off with his teeth, hello.
Michael Kaiser's fetish is faces of despair meaning he loves being the reason for your agony. Don't get me wrong, he loves you desperately and doesn't want to see you hurt unless of course he is the reason and the cure for it. Teases you endlessly, pulling out his dick before you can cum and denying you orgasm after orgasm. Flicking your clit, rolling your nipples between his fingers and toying with you while spitting out literal filth in German. He wants to see you fall apart for him and from all angles too and that is why he loves to fuck you in front of mirrors. He is holding you in a full nelson position while he is standing up in front of his full body mirror, every part of you revealed to him as you struggle to hold yourself together. And you know that man is so strong, his grip strength is 80 kg, he will hold you like that for hours until he grants you your first orgasm. When you inevitably pass out from exhaustion he will tuck you to bed and he may not kiss you or cuddle you but he will have a fresh bouquet of roses by your nightstand table the next morning, a tub full of warm aromatic water and painkillers for you.
Alexis Ness has a fetish for sad and lonely faces and that is the most sadistic thing coming from the most masochist person in the world, like bro pick a side. He loves watching you struggle to take him all inside after he has teased so many orgasms out of you that you became lightheaded, watching with a sick and twisted satisfaction as more tears slide down your face from overstimulation. He will kiss and lick those tears later, hugging you close to his chest and whispering shy praises after he has completely destroyed your prospects of walking in a straight line for two days. Not exactly a position but he is into bondage. Just watching you arch your back, arms and legs bound on the bedpost while he holds a vibrator against your clit, torturing you by not touching you directly. Alexis needs you to need him and the look on your face while you beg him to touch you reassures him that you love him.
Yukimiya Kenyu loves ephemeral things, all things beautiful and cute and that of course includes you. Because he is a true gentleman he will prioritize your needs over his but there is a particular position that gets him going. You laying on your back with your legs hiked up on his shoulders. Yukimiya wants to get to see every single feeling that flashes through your eyes as he fucks you gently, murmuring how beautiful you are and sweet reassurances as he holds your ankles. On rough days, where his eyesight feels sore and he fears it has worsened he will turn rougher and for that a comfortable pillow will be placed on your back so he doesn't hurt you as he slams his hips into you. He will be talking just as sweetly, talking you through your orgasm and afterwards kissing your whole face. Also glasses stay on, he wants to see everything.
Karasu Tabito has a voice kink. Your voice, your laughter, every little noise you make keeps him going. It turns him on to no end, especially when you get on your tiptoes and whisper right in his ear. Now imagine how feral the man will get over your moans. Asks for recordings of you moaning and listens to them back to back while he fists his cock. Wants you to talk him through his orgasm and he does the same for you. Phone sex is his absolutely favorite thing. Whenever he is away for a game, he will call you from his hotel room and make you describe what you're wearing, how many fingers you have inside of you and how much you wish it was his dick instead. Karasu's favorite position is fucking you in a chokehold, his arm around your neck, bicep flexing as he squeezes your wind pipes just barely so you will get loud for him. Might even record that too and listen to it like an ambience later.
Next part is going to feature my husband Shidou, I'm shaking while writing this. Comment which else you want to see too! Also guys sorry for the late update, I got a job and I recently passed the university entrance exams yay!
