#ugly shirt for ugly teams

[eekonis]

To the birthday boy!

[hermywolf]

oh so now i have to like this fugly ass kit. because of woke

[muirneach]

people oft like to make reference to having ‘tennis merch’. i dont think that exists. you mean that one nike court shirt? a slam hat? copping the same nike kit as rafa or something?those r basically our only three options as afar as merch goes and lets be real they all suck

[25-centz]

i deserve more eddy merch.    

[m--rtyr]

I hate how Pdh uniforms are blue when it’s so clearly O’Khasis that is blue-coded.

The Ro’Meaves to start with

[jerswayman]

there is not a single sportsman, outside of lewis hamilton, with even an ounce of fashion sense. not one. not a single man who knows how to look good in anything other than sweat and a jersey.

[stxrmstained-a]

[canirove]

Fermín just did all the celebrations with that (really nice) goal 😅

[bi-writes]

What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide

I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit

he's not moving fast enough for you.

you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.

"repeat that for me?"

"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."

you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.

"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.

the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.

"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"

"save it."

you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.

you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.

you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.

you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.

you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.

"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"

the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.

"we? i don't got a problem."

his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.

you're sure of that.

"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."

"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"

"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."

"simon."

at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.

"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.

"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.

"simon, this is my wife."

simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.

"love, this is my lieutenant."

"the lieutenant."

"quite right."

you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.

this time at least.

when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.

fuck.

"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."

"mhm. i understand."

"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."

"of course, sweetheart."

he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.

you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.

"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."

"won't be late."

his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.

"your office? got ten minutes?"

"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."

"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"

john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.

"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."

"olright."

simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.

"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."

"'ow long?"

"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."

"'n why's tha'?"

"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."

you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.

the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.

[maruflix]

MEA CULPA #oneshot #squidgame #therecruiter #thesalesman

The Salesman knows that love is truly the most dangerous game of all, and there is penance in yearning for someone who can never be yours. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

feat. the salesman / the recruiter　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.4k

cw: female reader, recruiter!reader, cheater!reader, language, the salesman is probably ooc, unreciprocated crush, one sided love, friends with benefits, cheating, kissing, choking, face-fucking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, slight frontman x reader, no beta we die like gi-hun’s mom

I.

Busan is so hot this time around.

You plop down with a sigh. Thankfully, having met your daily quota, you can go home early tonight. There are lots of desperate people nowadays, so finding ten people to join a game with a prize of 45.6 billion won isn’t really that difficult.

The clacking of shoes snaps you from your trance.

Without having to look up, you immediately figure out who it is. The scent of expensive cologne comes first, followed by the rustling. You grumble and slam your briefcase down, using it as a wall to separate the two of you. “Hey, not-so-friendly reminder: you’re on my turf.”

The Salesman blinks at you, feigning surprise. “Oh? I was under the impression that this was a team effort.”

His innocent tone makes you want to hurl, so you choose to ignore him completely. Instead, you stare at him in annoyance and wonder how he’s able to look so perfect in that cashmere suit of his. Not a single hair out of place, his tie straight and his shoes laced.

“You’re done for the day, aren’t you?” Your colleague tilts his head to look at you, a smile adorning his features, “Let’s play a game.”

You scoff.

He ignores your obvious displeasure and inches his whole body to face you, one arm shooting forward to grip the side of your bench. “Say, should we play ddakji? I’m in a good mood today.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of smacking paper squares?” It’s hard to keep a straight face when his handsome face keeps getting closer to you, “Get your ugly face away from me.”

The Salesman doesn’t budge. “Not until you say yes.”

He has a certain charm to him, you had to admit— he is so assertive, with just the right amount of pushy but not to the point of being obtrusive.

“Fine,” you exhale, “what do I get?”

II.

When you agreed to play a game with your fellow Recruiter (specifically, the totally unhinged one you’ve grown to dub as ‘The Salesman’), you didn’t expect this to happen.

Your colleague’s body pressed on top of yours, both your suit jackets thrown away somewhere in his fancy condo—he doesn’t even bother to wait for you to finish unbuttoning your shirt before he captures your hands and pins them on top of your head.

“Fuck,” you rasp out when he pushes himself into you agonizingly slow, savoring the way you tighten around him, “s-slow down—”

He chuckles breathily. “Darling, I’m barely moving. Besides,” eyes clouded with lust, he revels in how defenseless you look under him, “you lost our game, so you’re in no position to tell me what to do.”

With that, he sloowly drags himself out before slamming his full length into you, causing you to moan loudly. Greedily, he drinks in the sight of you, sprawled on his bed, legs open, taking all of him like a good, good girl.

“Who knew you were hiding all this underneath that suit of yours?” He teases, running a hand over your breasts, “I should’ve done this sooner.”

“I can, ngh,” Pushing yourself up on one elbow, you use your other hand to grip his chin, yanking him closer to you, “say the same about you.”

His smirk widens. “Always has to get the last word.”

He grips your throat, pushing you back down to the bed as he picks up his pace, thrusting in and out of you mercilessly while you mewl in pleasure.

“F-fuck-” you struggle, clawing on the hand that lodges itself around your throat like a serpent, “ngh,”

Your panic excites him like no other. “What’s wrong, darling? Having trouble breathing?” straightening his back, he keeps his hand securely wrapped around your neck, eyeing you down as he continues drilling into you, “Do you realize how wet you are?”

You wanted to look away, but his strong hand firmly keeps you in place. It’s not like you can hide yourself away, not when the sounds of plap! plap! plap! keeps echoing around the room—a testament of how much your cunt is drooling, soaking the bedsheets. His constant pace feels so good, and the way he gazes at you makes you feel lightheaded.

“You’re- haah, so tight,” he feels how you’re spasming around him and groans, “enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he’s all out of breath now—you feel so good when you clamp down on him like that, so right, like the two of you are made for each other.

“Fuck! Yes!” You whine, your nails digging into his back, delicious jolts of electricity running along your spine when his girthy cock hits your sweet spot over and over, “Don’t stop, I’m, ugh, close-”

He doesn’t miss the way your legs wrap around his waist, preventing him from pulling away. Raising an eyebrow, he loosens his grip on your neck to bend down to your eye level, “What’s this? You want me to fill you up?”

His thrusts never decelerates and you’re too fucked out to even muster a reply, your moans nearly drowned out by the sloppy sounds of skin slapping against skin.

“You want that, huh?” Although his voice drips with arrogance, he’s also reaching his limit—the sight of you with your cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open drives him to the edge of insanity. He throws his head back, groaning, shooting his load deep into your womb.

You’re still shaking when he lets go of your neck, falling on top of you. Before you can think about the consequences of your actions, the fatigue catches up with you. Your body feels heavy, like it’s being pulled to the center of the earth—and your world goes dark.

Sensing that you’re not moving, The Salesman takes a glance at you and finds out that he’s quite literally fucked you unconscious. “Hey.” he shakes your shoulders a bit, but you’re unresponsive, your chest heaving up and down.

He huffs and rolls down to your side, studying your sleeping figure with a smirk. You look so beautiful in your afterglow, your hair framing your face like a halo. Like a man possessed, he moves to your ear, mumbling—

“I like you.”

III.

You groan loudly when the scent of your colleague’s cologne invades your nostrils again, ignoring the weird looks you got from strangers boarding the oncoming train.

The Salesman bats his eyelashes at you innocently.

“No, I don’t want to play with you again.”

“Aw,” he straightens his tie, “even though you told me that you had such a good time?”

At a loss for words, you can only stare at him.

The motherfucker has the audacity to cross his arms over his chest, gasping, “Stop ogling me!”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on,” He scoots closer to rub the back of your hand sensually, “I know you want me.”

It’s always a game with him. You just don’t know what kind of game it is right now, and why he’s so hell-bent on having you as player two.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two bags of groceries to carry home, so good bye.”

The Salesman keeps a trained smile on his face, but his heart clenches—he doesn’t know when he started to view you differently. It was fun to pick on you at first, but he’s slowly started to feel weird around you.

Like watching an oncoming crash, he can’t bring himself to stop.

“Wait! Let me help!”

IV.

Looking back, you probably should’ve stood your ground. But it’s hard to say no to his stupidly handsome face.

Your groceries are forgotten, your apartment still dark. You probably should start cooking dinner, but instead you’re on your knees, your back pressed against the wall.

“Open up,” his eyes are as cold as ever, his lips pulled up to form a victorious smirk as he guides his leaking cock to rest on your mouth.

You find yourself obeying, allowing him to fill your mouth full of his cock. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, already thrusting his hips, making you gag almost immediately.

“Just like that, baby,” he takes hold of the hands that’s trying to push him away and pins them against the wall, quickening, smirking down at you as you struggle to wrap your mouth around him, “You feel so good.”

Meanwhile, you’ve finally adjusted to his throbbing length. In an act of protest, you hollow your cheeks, deciding that it was your turn to dominate this man. You move your head to his pace and even quicker, your eyelashes wet with tears when you look up to glare at him.

He feels like he’s going to explode—your adorable defiance is so cute and your crying face—oh, don’t get him started on your crying face.

“Mmngh?!”

He jerks his hips sharply, moaning at how good it feels when the muscles of your cheeks tightens at the wide stretch of his cock. Oh, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you—

“Mmfh—?!”

Your muffled exclaim makes him halt and he looks down at your shocked face. Only now does the realization dawns on him that he’s accidentally said his thoughts out loud.

IV.

You no longer look up when you sense a presence sitting down next to you.

“This was a mistake.”

He’s silent, so you turn to look at him. The Salesman has a poker face on, but you can tell that he’s thinking. Contemplating.

“Honestly, stop it. I... I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You sigh in frustration. “Look, I..” squirming in your seat, you finally confess, “I’m already in a relationship.”

“So?”

The genuine confusion in his tone makes you look at him in incredulousness. He doesn’t back down, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you to love me, I’m asking you to let me love you. I don’t care if you’re married—hell, I don’t care if you have kids.”

“Wha-” You flinch away from his touch, shocked, “W-well, I care!”

“Do you?” He shoots back, his gaze sardonic, you felt like you might crumble underneath it. “Is that why you begged me to cum inside you?”

“I-”

“I know you want me.” His smile is confident, “so stop acting. You suck at it.”

You tremble, but lets him guide you away.

V.

You’re whimpering, your hands shakily unbuttoning his dress shirt. In front of you, he chuckles, bringing his hands up to grip your waist and pushing them up and down.

“Wait, fuck,”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he murmurs, rocking you back and forth, “a purely physical relationship?”

The Salesman keeps his grudges, and right now he’s punishing you by rutting into you, sending you gasping and moaning, but he’s unrelenting—one of his arm circles your waist as he pulls you closer, his thumb starting to circle the nub of your clit.

“Fuck, please, please-”

“You want to cum?” He stops touching you and you whine in despair, leaning on his broad chest.

“Yes, yes, touch me-” you grab his hand and aligns it to your sopping wet hole, but he easily yanks his hand away.

“Say it.”

You’re close to crying now—your nerves are ablaze, but he refuses to let you reach your climax. “W-what?”

“Say you love me.” his hand hovers above your clit, “Say it.”

You know what you’re doing is wrong—but right now, all you wanted was release.

“I love you, fuck-” your body quivers when he instantly rewards you by a sharp thrust followed by his finger deliciously circling your sensitive nub, “I love you, I love you-”

He’s moaning with you now, shutting you up by kissing you sloppily on the lips, his free hand reaching to grab your hair, pulling it. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, tasting you fervently.

“‘m gonna-” Before you can finish, your orgasm shakes your whole body. You can feel your walls clenching and unclenching around his length, trying to milk him dry. He groans in response and buries his face on your neck, pushing his hips up and down to chase his own high. He fucks you through your orgasm, making you scream, pounding into you raw until he shoots his load. It trickles down your pussy onto his own shaft, coating it with a thin layer of cum.

He kisses the top of your head and lays you down on the bed, your body shuddering in his arms. “Now, was that so hard?”

You look away as he wraps an arm over your naked body, pulling you close to him.

The first ray of sunlight peeks through the curtains and you realize that you only have about four hours to sleep.

VI.

It’s unusual, but you were a special case: recruiters work on the outside world so there’s really no need for them to visit the game venue, but you’ve received a special invitation.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floors as you pass by the guards. The Salesman follows you closely, ignoring the stares that he got.

“Ah, you’re finally here.”

The Salesman stops in his tracks when he sees a man in a black mask standing several steps away. The masked man puts away his mask to reveal his face and his heart drops.

“Oh, you’re here too. Have you come to watch 456 play?”

The Salesman stays silent when you smile and walk away from him to the direction of his boss, thinking— ‘so you weren’t lying after all.’

The Front Man instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, his lips claiming yours. “Long time no see,” your lover smiles as you rest your head on his chest. “I’ve been busy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mumble. You miss having him by your side—so much so that you let another man hold you in his absence.

“Come on, the games are going to start.” None the wiser to your actions, he guides you away, taking one last look at his other subordinate, “Don’t stick around too long, the VIP’s are going to arrive soon.”

The Salesman smiles and nods, watching as you disappear behind the double doors with your lover in tow. His heart feels like it’s being stabbed and ripped to shreds—deep inside, he has held out hope that you’re lying; making up excuses to ignore the obvious chemistry between the two of you.

Now, when he closes his eyes, all he can see is the image of you kissing another man—but can he blame you? You told him the truth, he was the one who chose to keep loving you like a fool; dancing to the beat of your rhythm, losing himself in the process—

You are not to blame, he is. He’s the one at fault; he’s the one to blame.

As he turns away and walks to the direction of the exit, all he can think about is this: Your lover may have you now, but when the games are over—oh, his turn will come.

Patience. Patience. Your turn will come. He repeats it like a mantra.

Patience.

note: ok this is probably the most self indulgent fic i’ve written. first time writing smut i hope i did okay 😭 anyway english is not my first language so please be gentle with me 😭

[bitchface24-7]

COYOTE UGLY - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: When you’re not at the lab researching and developing Hextech, you’re in Zaun at the BDSM club Coyote Ugly as the bartender. Having this job ensures your team has enough money to continue working without any headaches. Well you’re in for a massive migraine since the man you’ve been in love with since you were kids is gonna find out about your dirty little secret.

warnings: secrets, bdsm etiquette, dom!viktor, love confessions, abelist comments (Viktor refers to himself in a negative light twice, referencing what others have called him) traffic light system, spanking, afab terms used for the smut section, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, squirting, I’m gonna write this as a 5 + 1 kinda deal. Ok? Ok. Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f

p.s. This fic very obviously references Coyote Ugly (2000), and I know it is a bar in the movie but I didn't want to do a whole plotline on The Last Drop vs Coyote Ugly; and I didn't have the energy to write and characterize Silco LMAO. So I hope none of y'all are mad I tweaked it to be a BDSM club/bar instead. I've loved this movie ever since I was a kid. Now I'm tempted to do a Practical Magic (1998) fic too 😭😭

The Five Times Viktor Gets a Clue About You, and the One Time His Suspicions are Confirmed

One.

Viktor’s known you for almost two decades by this point. You’re well into your twenties and can do whatever you please. But Viktor’s got suspicions regarding you. Your excuses, your secrets. He knows you better than he knows himself.

So when you walk into the lab one day with a stack of cash, both Jayce and Viktor can’t help but look at you as if you were a project they were working on. You’ve peaked their curiosity and suspicion.

“So,” Viktor starts as you give the money to Jayce, and walk back to your desk, “Where did that money come from?”

You lightly scoff, “Don’t worry about it, V.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it! That’s a lot of money miláček! Please tell me you got it legally.”

You whip around with a snort, “Don’t worry Viktor, it’s all legal. I just got paid from my second job. I already took a cut for myself; the rest I’m donating to the lab for our research.”

Viktor’s lips thin at that. You already took a cut for yourself and still had that much money to just… give away?

“Whatever you say, miláček.”

You’re gonna regret that. You’ve just peaked Viktor’s curiosity; and what’s the saying?

Curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought it back.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two.

Viktor’s curiosity is peaked once more when he sees a glimmer of sparkle at your navel as your shirt rises, as you try to get something off the shelf for him.

Viktor hums as he puts his pen on the hem of your shirt to lift it a bit more. You gasp as a fresh breeze brushes against your abdomen.

“Whats this, hmm?”

You sputter a bit before dropping your arms and tugging your shirt down quickly, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Your belly button is magical and shimmers on its own?”

You sarcastically hum, “How’d you know?” you add a dramatic gasp, just because you can. Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you, “You can just admit you got a piercing. Its quite common down in Zaun.”

“Whats the fun in that.” You pout, “I got it forever ago, a bit before we left for the Academy actually.”

“You got your navel pierced when you were seventeen, and I never found out about it until you were twenty-six and I was twenty-eight?”

You playfully shrug, “Guess you aren't as observant as you think you are.”

Viktor clenches his jaw, “Don’t tease me miláček. You won't like where you end up.”

“Try me.”

With that, you walk away with a sway to your hips as Viktor's grip on his pen tightens to the point he thinks it's going to snap in half.

You're going to regret that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Three.

“What is that?!” Jayce exclaims as you lounge on the couch, taking a small nap. “What? What! What're you screeching about Jayce?”

“That!” he squeaks, “On your lower back! Is that a…”

Viktor finishes the thought, “A tattoo?”

You twist your torso and look down. There's the perpetrator, a small tramp stamp that kind of looks like the Hexcores magic, and in the centre is a heart.

“Yeah.” you casually state as you go back to nap.

“Why does it look like the Hexcore?”

You take a quick peek over to Viktor before muttering, “Why not? I care about you guys and decided to get a tattoo to commemorate it.”

Jayce awes a bit but Viktor just narrows his eyes at you. There's more to it than just that. Because if not, then why did you put it in such a… risque place? Unless you wear low-rise pants or extremely cropped shirts; no one would ever see it.

Unless you're completely naked.

Viktor rubs his nose as you reposition yourself, your hip jutting out as your top rises even farther.

Viktor casually stands up and walks over to where you're resting on the labs couch. Lightly touching your lower back, he feels you flinch as he presses his hand harder onto the fully healed tattoo, “You must be cold, here. Let me fix that.”

And with that, Viktor pulls up the fleece blanket to cover your torso.

You look to Viktor and your eyes have darkened, your lids slightly narrowed. Your lips are lightly pursed as you examine Viktor. Viktor just smirks at you.

The longer this goes on, the more clues Viktor gets.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Four.

Jayce keeps pacing in the lab. Back and forth, back and forth. Viktor is worried Jayce is going to wear the floor down to the baseboards.

“Are you okay?” Viktor quietly asks, looking at Jayce in concern. He's never seen him so… frazzled before.

“No. There's a small gathering happening later today with the council members and high-level individuals. There was supposed to be a bartender to make the meeting not as mind numbing but the one Mel booked previously is sick. Now we need to find a replacement for…”

Jayce looks at his watch and runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours from now.”

Before Viktor can put his two cents in, you pipe in, “I can do it.”

Jayce whips around to look at you, a manic gleam in his eyes, “You’re not joking, right? You can actually bartend.”

You nod once, “I can actually bartend.”

“Shes not lying Jayce. She was a part-time bartender at the Last Drop when… when Vander was the owner.

Both you and Viktor look down, Vander was a good man. He took care of everyone as if they were his own kids.

Jayce clears his throat, trying to dissipate the mournful aura in the lab, “Wow, you're like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Many hidden talents.”

You snort, “More like a coyote prowling in the forest. Challenge brings mastery, dear Jayce.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you. That's an… odd choice of words. No one ever refers to themselves as a coyote unless they frequent…

Oh.

Oh.

Everything is slowly piecing together, he just needs one more piece of proof before he pounces. Viktor almost feels like he's insane; he's a frequent member of the well-established BDSM club down in Zaun; Coyote Ugly. He's sure he would’ve seen you before. But there's the off chance you work when he's not there. He only goes on Saturdays, on a bi-weekly schedule.

Maybe you knew that and planned your schedule around Viktor's desires.

For this last bit of proof, Viktor’s gonna bring his attitude from Coyote Ugly to the lab. Hopefully, he doesn't traumatize Jayce (or you if he's wrong.)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Five.

Viktor is good at what he does. Many people look at him and assume he's a virgin due to his disabilities. They think he's submissive due to the fact he's more lean and lithe as a man.

He's not.

He can get anyone down to their knees. He can get anyone to listen to him. He doesn't typically use this power in his day-to-day life, but he's going to bring it to the lab today. Luckily for him, Jayce had a mandated meeting to go to and couldn't weasel his way out of it.

He sees his target in the corner of his eye.

You.

You're standing by the blackboard, wobbling in place. Viktor isn't sure how well you've slept, if you've eaten anything today, or if you've even taken a break.

Viktor gets up from his own spot, and makes his way to the small kitchenette in the lab and prepares a basic sandwich and sweet milk for you. He places the items onto your desk and you're none the wiser.

Its not until Viktor clears his throat do you look away from the blackboard.

“You can barely stand straight. Here, come take a small break. Eat something.”

You smile lightly at the care, “Oh Viktor, I’d love to but I can't. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough; I can feel it! If I stop now, I wont ever complete this runic sequence!”

“I insist.”

“No, I really can't—”

“Sit.”

With that, you sat down at your desk immediately. You've never heard Viktor's voice go like that. So dark, so commanding, so… sensual.

You feel almost ashamed. Here Viktor is, making you food, a drink, and worrying about your health. And you were too much of a brat to see it.

You take half the sandwich and bite into it as your stomach growls at you. Shit, he's right. You haven't eaten in several hours and now your body’s catching up to you.

Viktor tilts his head, observing you.

“You were right, thank you.”

Viktor puts his hand on the nape of your neck and squeezes. You shiver and lean into the touch.

“You’re welcome. Don't make me have to do that again.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. Your lips pouted lightly. Viktor's grip tightens on your nape and you somewhat successfully suppress a whine.

That's the final puzzle piece.

“I wont.”

“Good girl.��

And with that, Viktor can see you blue screen.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Plus One.

Viktor's changing up his routine, visiting Coyote Ugly on a Friday rather than his usual Saturday. The trek down to Zaun wasn't too bad, but the difference is air quality was highly noticeable.

Slowly but surely, Viktor makes his way to the club. He's in his usual outfit for this scene, an all-black ensemble with the buttons of his shirt undone almost dangerously low. He can feel the looks of desire shot his way. He's always on the top of the submissive’s lists at Coyote Ugly. And every coyote he's taken has been incredibly satisfied.

But ever since this theory of his sprouted, he's been hyper-focusing on it. On you. So he hasn't been able to take any of the coyotes to bed. They're desperate.

But there's a certain coyote that's already caught his eye.

He sees you working the bar as if it were second nature. Mixing drinks, pouring shots, opening beers, and chatting up the patrons. You seem so at home here.

Viktor gets a lovely eyeful of your outfit when you hope up on the bar with a megaphone, “Same shit, new day! We follow the rules and—”

All the patrons echo your words back to you, “We don't touch your girls!”

You smirk, “And with that, let the party begin!” a bell is heard ringing in the background but all Viktor can do is appreciate your sexiness.

You're in an all-black outfit as well, but its all leather. Your top is closed by a single button, so Viktor damn near gets an eyeful of your breasts. He can see your abdomen down to the top of your navel, your belly button piercing glittering in the club's lights.

Your leather pants are skin tight and low enough that Viktor's worried you can't bend over in them without flashing someone. He sees you turn around to hop off the bar and there it is. Your hexcore inspired tattoo.

Viktor feels his pants tighten at that. Its almost like a branding in his mind. Look at that. She's mine.

A few girls get up onto the bar and dance to the songs playing on the jukebox. With a distraction in place, he makes his way to the bar to order a drink.

Your back is to the bar as you clean some glasses, “What can I getcha?”

Viktor ensures his voice is loud enough so that you can hear him, “A whiskey sour, miláček.”

The sounds of cups almost breaking puts a smile on Viktor’s face. He's got you just where he wants you. You whip around with a deer-in-the-headlights look, “Vi—Viktor! What're you doing here?! You usually come on—”

“Saturdays. Yes, I know. But I've heard wonderful things about a certain bartender and wanted to see her for myself. The only bartender I've ever met is Thomas.”

You inhale sharply, “What gave me away?”

“Little things. The money, your body modifications, referring to yourself as a coyote.”

You hit your forehead with the palm of your hand, “I'm an idiot.”

Viktor shakes his head, “No, you just got too comfortable. Besides how you reacted a few days ago when given an order sealed the deal.”

Your face feels hot, almost unbearably so. Goddamn it.

“Does this… ruin anything between us?”

Viktor scoffs, “Absolutely not! Do you know how long I've fantasized about a scenario like this happening?”

“I have an idea…” your tone is breathless as your eyes are as wide as saucers. No way is this happening. No way are your dreams coming true.

Before anything else can happen, you do a special knock on the bar. Thomas whips his head over to look at you and seems shocked.

“This is officially a Code V. I need you to man the bar tonight.”

Thomas just smiles and takes over no problem, you hop over the bar and stand next to Viktor, a beaming smile on your face.

“A Code V?”

“When I officially get the man of my dreams, I get to have a shift off. No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Viktor smiles sweetly at that.

“So…” you add before your confidence dissipates, “Wanna go upstairs?”

Viktor knows that private rooms are located upstairs if you want to… have some fun. He just nods, a sly smirk on his face, “Lead the way, miláček.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and Viktor rush up as best you can to one of the private rooms. Before anything happens, Viktor enquires if you know about the stoplight system. You do. And with that, you two touch each other in a way you’ve been dreaming about since you both started puberty.

A bit of kissing here, a bit of groping there. Before you know it, Viktor’s fingering open your pussy as you whine and pant at the pleasure Viktor is presenting your body with.

It’s wet, slick, and so hot. Viktor’s hand is slapping against your clit, causing a loud schlick sound that makes your ears burn in embarrassment. Viktor just revels in the sounds and faces you make; he never thought you could get any prettier. Looks like he was wrong.

“Please… Please… Put it in.” You beg, your eyes watery at the constant assault Viktor is giving your g-spot. Viktor kisses his teeth, “Put what in?” He cockily asks.

“Y-your cock. I want your cock in me. I want to fuck you into the bed. Please Viktor, please? I want it so bad… I need it…” You beg, your voice wobbly in your desire. Viktor growls low in his chest as removes his fingers from your pussy. “You're such a good girl, begging for me. C'mon sweetheart, I'm all yours.” With that, you ensure Viktor is comfortable as he sits up against the headboard, you saddle him and slowly sink onto his wonderful cock.

You gasp out a long drown out moan at the feeling. Viktor’s pushed right up against your g-spot, he’s stretching you out. Your pussy is moulding itself to Viktors cock, nothing else in this world will satisfy you now. One hand holds your waist as the other rubs your back.

“C’mon.” In a low, throaty voice, you moan. As if you had to use additional effort to get the words past your parted lips. Your voice is whiney and breathy. As if putting Viktors cock in you knocked all the air out of your lungs. When you lower yourself more, Viktor, who is rubbing your back with his free hand, feels something deep inside his gut tighten up a little more as you persistently try to fit the final few inches of his cock inside. You feel dizzy at that, you're so stuffed… and there’s a few inches more.

Needy. You're so fucking needy; and Viktor loves it.

He squeezes, quickly prickling your flesh beneath his fingertips into a supple hue. Viktor wishes he could mark you like that for good, wishes that squeezing hard enough would leave bruises and indents to last a lifetime. Last several lifetimes. Even if you aren't aware of it, you still attract admiring looks from other people, which irritates Viktor. Ever since you two were teens, people would look lecherously at you. And you never noticed. But at the mere thought of everyone seeing you so marked up, something wild, primal, and almost startlingly possessive gets hold of him. Even though Viktor would know who did it, they wouldn't.

They would question who defiled you so throughly; and not once in their tiny minds would they think Viktor “The Cripple” “The Weirdo” fucked you so good you're bow-legged for days. With a trail of hickeys down your neck and chest, red marks on your wrists and a glazed look in your eyes. Viktor needs to calm down, he’s getting ahead of himself.

Before he can stop himself, Viktor tangles his fingers into your sweaty, untidy hair. You shiver at the feeling. His hands are so strong, so beautiful to look at.

“Viktor! Please! Please let me move! I need it…”You beg. You've needed this since you were fifteen and you noticed how handsome Viktor was becoming.

You lean closer to Viktor, your tits close enough to his face he can easily suck a nipple into mouth. This small shift caused his cock to press even harder into your g-spot; making a long whine and a few tears to slip out of you. Seeing that causes Viktor to freeze a bit before asking, “Colour?” At that you desperately cry out a pathetic, “Green! Please!”

If Viktor had shown even a tiny bit less restraint, the pitiful little "please" that slips from your mouth might have killed him right there.

You start to bounce, a nipple still firmly in Viktor's mouth. One hand stays on your hip as the other tweaks your other nipple. You use the headboard as support to ride Viktor to your heart's content. Fuck his cock is huge, you swear you feel it in your lungs. You could've been doing this for ages. You pitifully whine at that thought; so much time wasted.

“You look so pretty like this, you know,” Viktor mumbles appraisingly as he lets your nipple go, rocking back and forth at an almost painfully slow pace, trying to give you even more pleasure. Your thighs are trembling, splattered with lube, sweat, and an unprecedented amount of wetness from your arousal. You make a tiny, barely there noise in response, pushing weakly back against him. Viktor holds you still. “So fucked out, just for me. So cock-drunk aren’t you? My little fucktoy. My good girl. My prettiest girl” Viktor showers praise on you, who just groans at the sweet attack.

You pull up as far as you can against Viktor’s strength, the head of his cock catching on the entrance to your pussy, before dropping back down aggressively and picking up a steady rhythm. Viktor lets out an appreciative moan at that. Fuck you feel so good. He's gonna become obsessed with your pussy after this. Viktor's head tilts back to rest against the headboard as he moans, you pepper hickeys all across his pale neck. He's not the only one with possessive tendencies.

You go faster and faster, rougher and harder with each bounce, but you still take into account Viktors weaker leg. You're both moaning, yours goes up a pitch when Viktor starts to rub your clit.

Viktor whispers into your ear as he ravages your pussy, “You like that? You slut. Do you like having my big cock stretch you out? Do you like me abusing your g-spot, moulding your pussy into the shape of my dick? Nothing else will ever satisfy you again, will it Pretty Girl? No. It won’t. You’ll be desperate to have my dick rearranging your guts again.”

You just moan and starts to cry at the whispered words alongside the pounding your pussy is getting. The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter, you instinctively know you can’t cum without permission. So you ask,

“Viktor… Can I cum? Please? Can I cum?

Viktor just snarls at that, nipping your ear and slapping your ass with a heavy groan, “Oh fuck… you’re such a good girl aren’t you? Asking for permission to cum without me even having to telling you. Cum. Cum right fucking now.”

And you do. With a gush of liquid, you cum hard. Your body jerking, eyes rolling into the back of your head, with your mouth ajar in a silent moan that trickles down to a pleased whine. Viktor starts to fuck into you, wanting to cum too. You start to overstimulate yourself, desperate to feel Viktor cum.

Little “Uhs.” are punched out of you at each thrust due to the painful pleasure. In no time, Viktor cums too. His hips pressed flush against yours; his sharp hipbones causing a nice bruise to form. You both simultaneously moan at the feeling of Viktor pumping you full of his cum. The two lose their strength and flop down onto the bed.

You're cuddled up, now efficiently cockwarming Viktor. You're both our of breath, and immensely pleased.

“We should clean up.” Viktor pants, you giggle breathlessly, “I don't think I can move.”

The silence is comfortable, enjoyable. You’ve almost fallen asleep when Viktor casually states, “I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him and give him a sweet smile, before pressing your lips together in a loving, passionate kiss, “and I've loved you since I was thirteen. Looks like I've got you beat.”

Viktor just chuckles as he runs a hand through your hair, “I'm exhausted. We’ll get cleaned up when we wake up.”

“I couldn't agree more. But I want a round two before that.”

“Seriously?!”

You slap Viktor's chest playfully, “We could've been doing this for a little over a decade. I'm making up for lost time!”

Viktor kisses your forehead and contently sighs, “Can’t argue with that miláček. Can't argue with that.”

With how vigorously you two went, it’s no surprise you fell asleep in a few minutes. Wrapped up together, as content as can be.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That's a wrap! Please be nice to me, I haven't written smut since like 2022-2023. Hope y'all liked it!

For the tattoo, search up “cybersigilism heart tramp stamp tattoo” on pinterest to see what kind of tramp stamp you got LMAO

[tache-noire]

"junglehook lots of love for you guys lately"

me when i lie

[bunny-jpeg]

team principal

max verstappen - team principal au

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, team principal!max, age gap (20/45), power dynamic, (slight) bratty behavior, groping, driver's room sex, oral sex (max receives)

as requested by anon: Driver!reader asking team principal max verstappen for a custom line of all pink and feminine merch because the orange just “washes her out” so he does. And he goes ALL out, bright pink Verstappen Racing flare leggings, and baby tee’s with the MV logo plastered on the chest bc what she wants she gets.

like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! <3

being part of verstappen racing meant wearing their logo. it had been the logo that max verstappen himself raced with. the 'm' and the 'v' were known prior to the establishment of the f1 team. every team had their logo from ferrari's stallion to red bull's, well, bulls. even teams like hamilton motorsports had their logo.

the problem with max verstappen's merch wasn't the logo, it was how god awful ugly it was. you had a selection of some of the ugliest merch on the planet. why was it all orange?

you had been convinced that your team principal, your boss, only saw the world through orange hues. that was everything was a shade of orange so awful that it would make mclaren blush!

"this is ugly. this is ugly. this is somehow worse! this looks like a halloween collection rather than actual merch. mister verstappen you make more money than anyone i know, hire someone with design sense!" you shook the shirts in your hand.

you knew that almost every driver on the grid couldn't talk to their boss like that. but it was an poorly kept secret that max verstappen had a soft spot for you. he also fucked you two ways to sunday on a weekly, if not daily basis.

max chuckled and leaned back a little in his office chair, "brand integrity is important, schat. a recognizable brand is important to its value."

you made a face, "well, your brand looks like spirit halloween threw up all over the place." then put the items down forcefully. you put your hands on your hips, "and shouldn't brands take risks? try something new? all of you use the same colours, cuts and styles. it's boring!"

max asked, "then what do you have in mind? since you know so much about a brand. i've been doing this since i was seventeen. almost thirty years, schat. longer than you've known how to walk let alone drive." he raised his eyebrows, "since you know so much, dazzle me with your proposal."

max would let his precious driver bark like a yapping dog. but he knew how to keep you quiet. he watched you cower for a moment, realizing that you took it a step too far. max smiled with his face rested against his fist.

you swallowed, "maybe something a little more... feminine.. pink. something cute." you leaned forward at his desk a little, the shirt you wore was his and was a little big on you. your movements revealed the start of a hickey he left on your shoulder the night prior, "mister verstappen, you have the first female driver in a long time. we... could lean into that a little. make it cute!"

max leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on his desk, "cute? verstappen racing is supposed to imposing. strength on the track, and you want pink." he chuckled a little, "the alternate logo besides the initials is a lion. lions aren't cute."

you looked at him, "what about that lion stuffed animal you got me? that's cute. i sleep with it every night." you then pouted a little, a look that always made max weak. you shrugged your shoulders a little as you had your hands behind your back. you swayed a little and suggested, "plus, i could model it as well."

max may have known how to shut you up, but you knew how to make the older man weak in the knees. he sighed and kept his gaze on you, his expression a little softer, "fine. we'll see what we can do, schat. maybe you're right about needing to do something a little different. but i hope you know, whatever item we end up with. you have to show off for me."

your pout dropped and was replaced with a smile. you leaned over the desk to be closer to him and kissed him on the mouth. you held his face and smiled against the kiss. when you eventually pulled away, max watched your turn around to skip out of his office. you said to him as you looked over your shoulder, "thank you, mister verstappen."

-

max verstappen had seen enough in his over forty years on this planet. he had seen many beautiful women over the years, but when he walked into your driver's room and saw you in the newest verstappen merch, he almost fell on his ass. he had seen the line of merch before it got into your hands, but to see you in them was another story.

you were in a pink skirt from home that was almost the exact colour of the baby pink of the baby tee that you were wearing. laid out on the couch of the room was the rest of the merch. the flare leggings, the bucket hat, the baseball cap, a form fitting tank top and even an oversized button up.

all in sickening baby pink.

so much for verstappen being predators on the track. not when you were sickeningly beautiful in the clothing. max held onto the door to the room for a moment to compose himself before he stepped in and shut the door loudly behind him.

"oh!" you perked up as you turned away from the mirror to look at your boss. you smiled at him, "hello, sir." seeing the logo of the team across your tits made his eyes go wide.

"hi." he said as he swallowed, "did they give you the wrong size?" he stepped forward and reached out for you, "and where did you get this skirt?"

you smiled, "oh! this is supposed to be my right size. that's just how the tee are!" he could see your curves and a bit of your stomach. you then added, "and the skirt is from home. i bought it for a matching outfit thing." you swayed your hips from side to side.

this was supposed to be your outfit for media day. something to show off the brand. max scratched the back of his neck and stepped forward. he placed his hands on your hips and gazed at you.

"you're not going out like this. no, no. there has to be something else to wear." he approved all of the items. he saw them from concept to final product. and now you were in the driver's room looking like a whore.

"what about it?" you pouted.

he pulled at the bottom of your shirt and you yelped as it was taken over your head. he made a small disappointed noise as he tossed the shirt to the side. he licked his lips at the sight of your breasts. this was beyond any code violation. if you two got caught. but it was better than you walking around the media section in that shirt.

"you look like you're selling sex rather than the brand! you look like a whore." he said as he held onto your hips. he could feel the leap in his chest at the sight of your breasts on full display for him. only for him.

"doesn't sex sell, mister verstappen?" you said as you pouted a little and you were pulled up against him. your hands on the front of his button up, with his logo on it. you spread your hand across his chest, he noticed that your nails were painted the same pretty pink as the merch. you held onto him as he took you by the ass to press up against him.

"not this kind of sex. this is an invitation for you to cause problems. what if that skirt flips up? what if your nipples poke through the shirt. what is the press got the wrong idea and thought you were a slut." he explained. he spoke like you were a bratty girl who needed to be scolded. to be taught the right way.

you pouted further, "i'm not a slut."

max pushed up your pink tennis skirt over your ass and grabbed handfuls of your ass. it made you yelp and max closed in the space between your lips. before he kissed he said, "i know you're not. but, when you dress like this, you look like one." then kissed you deeply.

his strong hands groped your ass as you felt his cock up against your middle. you shuddered at the feeling of it. you knew that max was quite big. you squirmed a little against him and kissed him deeper.

when he pulled away, he got you down on the couch roughly. you bounced a little and looked up at him. you stuck your chest out a little more and max looked down at you as he rubbed his cock through his slacks. for one of the top racers in the world, you sure looked beautiful below him.

"mister verstappen." you said before you were met with his cock in your face. you didn't say much else but rather wrapped your lips around his cock and let him hold the back of your head. you placed your hands on his strong thighs for support as you took his cock as deep as you could take it.

max shuddered at the feeling of you. you felt like a dream in his grasp. a beauty beyond all others. despite the age gap and the power dynamics, max knew that he could make you top of the grid. you'd be winning championships that would make other drivers jealous.

as you sucked his cock, max saw your future. world champion of formula one. pretty trophies in your apartment in monaco. he already had you in a multi-year contract and no clause to get out of it. first wear the verstappen racing logo then have the verstappen last name. only fitting for a champion after all.

a strong driver needs a strong last name. and as you looked up at him with that soft gaze of yours he panted a little heavier. all dolled up for him, in his merch. you were right about the need for cuter clothes, that orange washed you out. you looked cuter in the soft pinks.

"you look good like this." he said as he tapped your nose and you made a playful noise. too precious, too beautiful for him. he loved the sight of you seated with his cock in your mouth.

you continued to suck him off and max got both hands in your hair. he pressed you up against him a little tighter and let your throat clench around his cock. he remembered the first time you sputtered and coughed when he came in your mouth. but now you took it all like the champion he knew you were.

"you're going to do so well for the press." he said, "answer all their questions. be a good girl. you know you will be. just like you are now, taking me so beautifully." he patted your cheek lovingly before he pulled you further onto his cock once more.

he watched you shudder against him as you tried to take his entire length. you could almost feel his pubic hair against your nose as you whined against him. you whined a little bit from the back of your throat and continued to suck him off. you brought him pleasure that made the team principal see stars.

he cupped your face in those large hands for a moment, "you like that don't you? having me in your throat, you're so beautiful. i don't know if anyone told you about the bidding war to get you on my team." your eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, "had to play dirty."

you whimpered in response. you didn't know about the bidding war for you a year earlier. you knew that you had a few offers when you ended up in formula one.

those blue eyes looked down at you and max licked his lips. you could feel his gaze on you as he continued to rock up into your throat. he panted a little, he could feel his shirt cling to his toned back from the sweat. "not easy to get under hamilton's skin. but i got him to back off, the same with red bull. i only wanted the best and i got it. now she's sucking my cock and wearing my logo."

you whined a little bit and it was music to max's ears. you were his prize. your teammate was good too, but max didn't hear church bells when he was around. you were max's pet project, that he just simply happened to fuck often.

he'd make you a champion. team principals played favourites all the time, and max in a way was no better than them. at least max got something else out of it. those pretty soft lips around his cock. he held onto you tightly as he continued to thrust into your mouth.

you clung to him as you could feel the ache in your throat. you kept your eyes closed and you were wet between the thighs. max briefly got more aggressive with his thrusts before he finished in your mouth. you whimpered and swallowed it eagerly.

the salty taste in your mouth was familiar and you opened your eyes to look at your boss. when you pulled your mouth off of his cock. you kissed the tip and smiled at him a little.

if max had more time, he'd be making a full mess of you. but the press would want to see the star of the track soon enough. he rubbed his cock up against your lips and nose before he said, "i want you to wear the merch next time i fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you nodded softly and said, "yes, mister verstappen. always."

when you did the interview, you still wore the outfit. despite protests from your boss. you were all smiles for the camera, but max lingered close by. just in case someone got the wrong idea. as if max's name and logo weren't plastered across your pretty tits. but, it did get the older man thinking as he watched from a short distance.

max's mind wandered to other ways to have you wear his logo. he wondered if collars and chokers were still popular with young women. he wondered if he could get you in something with a tag with his name on it. maybe it wouldn't be sold as merch for the public, but he wouldn't mind if his star driver wore it. <3

[metyouinthehallway]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Holy fuck…” Matt groans, throwing himself face down on his bed, right next to where you lay. He’d been out at meetings for new merch ideas all day while you sat at home worry free.

“What’s goin’ on?” You didn’t even have to ask, poor boy was stressed out. You shift your weight on the mattress, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“Stupid people, never listening to us.” He mumbles into the plush surface. The three of them left at 10am and it was now 5pm. Seven whole hours of meetings. Not only was he stressed but most definitely exhausted too.

Matt rolls onto his back, closing his eyes and letting you soothingly scratch at his scalp. “We deadass told them we didn’t want that design but the team insisted! And it’s god awful ugly y/n. Horrific.” He rolls his eyes at the memory, voice laced with frustration.

“I’m sorry baby… anything I can do to help?” you offer, as if going to the building downtown and telling off their management would be any help.

He thinks for a moment before speaking up. “Yeah, actually…” Matt turns his head to you, a devilish smirk painted on his face. You raise a brow at him, having an idea of what could come of this whole situation. “Strip for me.” He states, moving to the edge of the bed.

Without a fight, you stand in front of Matt, undressing yourself piece by piece. His eyes glued to your body as you do so.

“So fuckin’ sexy…” Matt growls, pulling you onto his lap. Wrapping your manicured nails around his neck, he wastes no time attacking your lips in a searing kiss. His hands roaming down to cup your ass, he begins to rock you against his denim clad thigh.

“M-Matt…” you whine against his lips, your bare pussy leaving a wet spot on the fabric beneath you. Matt only hums in response, trailing harsh kisses down your jaw and right behind your ear.

“Gonna let me take my stress out on you?” He purrs in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. Matt bucks his hips up, letting you feel just how aroused he is.

You intensify your grinding, searching for any sort of friction you can. The feeling of his jeans against your clit being pure ecstasy. He doesn’t let you continue for too long though.

Flipping you over, he climbs on top of you. Simultaneously pulling his shirt off and tossing it on the floor. Continuing to place wet kisses on your bare skin, he’s slowly making his way down to your heat, his nails gripping your thighs with vulgar intent.

“Mhm, so wet f’me already…” Matt’s voice tantalizing as he runs his index finger through your folds. He peers up at you, almost as if he’s seeking approval from you. When you meet his eyes with desperation, Matt doesn’t waver.

His tongue darts out, licking at your clit which causes you to arch your back off of the mattress. When he notices, he decides to add a finger into your sopping wet pussy, slowly stretching you out for his cock.

With vigorous flits of the tongue and his digits pumping in and out of you, you’re nearly already there. Your fingers grasping at his brunette strands in attempt to strengthen the pleasure.

“F-fuck…! Need your cock Matt…” your words are strung together in broken moans, Matt laps at your clit once more before hovering above you again. He fumbles with his jeans, speedily unzipping them, he wiggles the denim off of his body, followed by his briefs.

“How bad you need it, princess?” He teases, one hand stroking his already hard dick in preparation. The other hand holding him up above you.

“Don’t make me beg,” you pout, despite you words, you find yourself spreading your legs further apart. Matt chuckles, running his dick through your slick, eliciting a whimper from you.

Finally, he pushes himself inside of you, slowly stretching out your gummy walls at which you both moan. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, sure to leave crescent shaped imprints later.

“Shit- so perfect… pussy was made for me.” Matt croaks, his thrusts starting off slow, allowing you to adjust to his size. He leans down, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before he quickens his pace. Now standing on the hardwood floor, his rough hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as Matt fucks himself into you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and your echoed moans bounce off of the walls of Matt’s bedroom. Your eyes pinch shut from pleasure, Matt taking in the sight of you spread out on his silk sheets.

“Look at you, my girl…” he continues to praise you, talk you through it. You’re a babbling mess beneath him, his cock ghosting your cervix with each brutal thrust. He pulls out, hastily flipping you over.

Instinctually, you arch your back, showing off your ass as your face is buried into one of his few pillows. It doesn’t take long for Matt to slip himself back inside of you. Now, his pace even faster than before— if even possible. Matt snakes a hand around your throat, gripping onto it as if to steady himself.

“Gonna- gonna cum!” You yelp, now squeezing your palms around his pillow. Matt doesn’t verbally respond to your words, instead, his hips move with vigor. Long, deep thrusts into your pussy. He can feel you tightening around him he knows you’re approaching your limit, though, he doesn’t care.

Your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him tight. You can feel the knot in your stomach— it’s about to snap in half. Your lewd moans are muffled by his pillow as your body shudders with each of your boyfriends thrusts.

Your body falls weak against his bed. Matt still slamming into you and he didn’t plan on stopping until he got his fix. He looks down at where the two of you are connected, his now cum coated base disappearing inside of you as slams your hips back toward his.

“Fuck- I can’t… sh-shit,” you mumble into the plush fabric. You could most definitely go for another round, maybe even two more rounds. It felt so fucking good. You didn’t want him to stop.

“Yes you can, I’ve- mm… fuck- I’ve seen you go longer.” He grunts between moans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Matt continues his intense thrusts, not once slowing down.

Matt had rendered you speechless. The euphoric high from your previous orgasm still washing over you, the few coherent words you’re able to speak are nonsense.

“Got you fucked dumb? Look at you, all stupid on my dick. You love it baby.” Matt snickered, his own climax approaching. “Talk t’me, angel. Feel good?” He continues, in response, you reach behind you, grasping his wrists. “Feels fucking perfect for me- shit, you want me to cum in you?”

Given your current state, you’re shocked at the fact that Matt is even able to form complete sentences. Your grip on his wrists tightens and you whimper out a weak ‘yes’. Matt pulls you upward so you’re kneeling on the bed, your back against his chest.

He forces your head toward his own, connecting the two of you with a kiss. Matt whimpers against your lips, both of you feeling his cock twitch inside of you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and inconsistent.

“Gonna fill you up so…fucking good…” he moans into your mouth. Prodding himself as deep as he can, you feel thick ropes of his cum shoot inside of you. The both of you panting and breathless from your interaction.

“Shit…” you sigh, Matt’s now softening cock still buried in your hole. He leans down, placing a sweet kiss on your shoulder.

“Always so good for me.” Matt chirps, his hands resting on your hips. You pull off of him, your juices and his dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“C’mon, gonna get you cleaned up.” Matt stands, offering his hand for you. “Feel much, much better now. Just letting you know.” He smirks, slapping your ass when you get off the bed.

“Mhm… glad I could help ‘ya.” You giggle, leaning up on your toes for yet another kiss.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[angstandhappiness]

VERY NEAT

So how bout that new Nezha design

[mingumis]

a list of the known | kmg

lastly, mingyu might kind of be in love with you. this, by far, is the trickiest on his list.

pairing: gryffindor kim mingyu x slytherin f!reader genre: fluff, very pg! tags: school bully calls reader a derivation of mudblood :/ mention of death in the scope of an ethics dilemma a/n: my hp hyper-fixation has returned full force these past few days, so i just had to crank this one out to get it out of my system... pls indulge me <3 wc: 3.5k

Mingyu finds you fascinating. In fact, the Gryffindor has been determined to figure out the mystery that is you, ever since the first day of first year, when you quietly, shyly slipped into the seat beside him in Transfiguration. Here’s everything that he has gathered about you and compiled into a list (mentally, of course, he wouldn’t ever write this down and risk coming off like a creep): 

First, you’re a perfect student. That one’s the easiest.

Even in fifth year, you wear your green and white trimmed sweater over the neatly pressed collared shirt and knotted striped tie, as properly as you did on your first ever day at Hogwarts. The “P” for prefect shines silver from your lapel, though it carries no more authority than the stern, icy look you give to students who toe the line of good behavior. Mingyu himself has been on the receiving end of that glare once or twice, when he and his teammates accidentally tracked mud into the halls from the Quidditch field. He shudders from time to time at the recollection of the chill that crept down his spine as he stammered over his words and promised that his team would clean up their mess. 

Mingyu thinks that you wear the badge more like a brand, rather than an honor. You’ve always been on top of things, never a toe out of line, always the first or the best, or both, to do something. Ever since you were selected as one of two Slytherin prefects, he doesn’t know if he’s seen you take a single breath of relief. Whenever he sees you guiding a lost first-year up the shifting staircases or tugging a third-year rascal by the hood of his robe to the infirmary, Mingyu then wonders why the Headmaster ever selected him as a prefect, too. 

It worries him that you seem to be headed in a straight trajectory towards the Head Girl position in a few years, whether you intend for it to happen or not. 

Second, you hail from a Muggle family. That part took him a few days to figure out. 

It had been strange, the way that you chose to sit next to him, a Gryffindor, rather than with the cluster of your housemates in the back of the classroom, where they giggled and whispered. Mingyu, thrilled at the idea of making friends across house alliances, had excitedly thrust his hand over to you, introducing himself with a big grin. Your eyes had widened as you stared back at him in silence for a few minutes, before returning the handshake with the slide of a tiny, soft palm against his and a mumble of your own name. He must’ve missed the tittering coming from the serpents in the back corner that day. 

Mingyu really didn’t notice anything amiss until one day, you didn’t show up to History. Maybe you woke up late (though he never once saw you not in your seat, exactly five minutes before class started), no biggie. It starts to become a biggie when you miss Herbology, on a Mandrake repotting day, and then Charms, which he knows is your favorite class. Anxiety gnaws at the edges of his stomach until he pulls aside a boy with a green-and-white scarf and asks about you. 

“Who?” is the snarl that comes from the boy, who wrinkles his nose as if disgusted to even be in the presence of a Gryffindor. 

Mingyu frowns, but he won’t be deterred until he figures out where you are. He repeats your name and then starts describing you, though it gets him nowhere. 

The Slytherin’s ugly scowl transforms into an uglier smirk. “Oh, Muddy? Probably off somewhere sniveling about being shoved down the stairs–” 

Mingyu sees red, and his ears won’t stop ringing. When his vision and his hearing return to him, the Slytherin boy wails on the ground before him, lip split and nostrils dripping blood. A professor yells, subtracting points from both houses, and firm hands hold him back by the shoulders. 

It’s a nasty, nasty thing to call someone who comes from a non-wizarding family. Blood prejudice was one of the first things Mingyu had been taught to abhor by his own parents in childhood. There is no space in the Kims’ world for the terrible thoughts that some pureblooded wizards hold toward those who came from Muggle roots. In fact, he'd grown up being taught that Muggle-born wizards and witches are more admirable for it, as they must learn and adapt to a whole new universe that they hadn’t grown up in. 

Mingyu respects, marvels at how you, quietly but surely, know all of the answers to the questions the professors ask. Every question, in every subject. He couldn’t imagine ever thinking any lesser of you for your origins of birth, when you were performing lightyears ahead of your pureblooded classmates. 

The following day, when he walks into Potions, you’re already setting up your cauldron, meticulously tending to the low fire. Mingyu drops his bag onto the bench beside yours, carefully assessing a tiny scratch on your cheek, a bruise on your elbow peeking out from where you’ve neatly folded up sleeves up to. 

You glance up at his arrival, eyes latching onto the tiny bandage plastered to his eyebrow, where the Slytherin boy’s nail had sliced into him as he flailed. “What happened to you?” Your voice wisps out, nearly inaudible. 

“Nothing. What happened to you?” 

Something flickers across your gaze as you look away for a moment, pretending to check on your bubbling cauldron. Then, with the tiniest quirk to your mouth, you shrug, “Nothing.”

He grins. 

Third, you’re a Slytherin, through and through. This took him a few years, surprisingly.

With your whip-smart mind, Mingyu wonders why the Sorting Hat hadn’t placed you in Ravenclaw instead. After all, it seemed a bit cruel to send a Muggle-born child into a house teeming with pureblood supremacists. 

In fact, you had taken to Wonwoo quite easily when Mingyu introduced you to the half-Muggle Ravenclaw. The way that the two of you discussed wizarding and Muggle books, conversations flowing seamlessly from one topic to another without losing each other to any lapse of thought, both fascinated Mingyu and made his head hurt. Once in a while, he can't help but feel left out, but most of the time, he’s happy that you seem to have found another friend in Wonwoo. 

Mingyu finally came to understand your placement only in fourth year. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, there had been a duelling unit, and you had been pitted up against Hoon, the Slytherin boy who Mingyu had pummeled a few years back. As far as he could tell, Hoon hadn’t learned his lesson, still bullying you with his group of cronies, still calling you those mean, awful names. 

As you clambered onto the duelling platform, his stomach had twisted anxiously, frightened that Hoon would use this chance to cause some actual harm to you. You had merely taken your stance, wand an effortless extension of your arm. 

Hoon had sneered that ugly grin of his, and you met it, cheek dimpling. Then, the professor had called the start, and it was over in an instant. 

With a flourish of your wrist, you called out a quick succession of charms in that calm, even voice of yours, “Expelliarmus, Levioso, Depulso.” Within seconds, Hoon had been disarmed, lifted, and then shoved backwards and off of the platform, crashing and landing onto the stone floor. He had bemoaned and complained that you’d gotten a false start, but the professor was already calling the match. 

You, however, seemed not to notice that the duel was over, shoulders a taut line, wand still readied. Your smile no longer curled at your mouth, lips instead twitching with the beginnings of another charm. Diffin–

Mingyu leapt up to the platform, grabbing you by the elbow and tugging you back. “Hey,” he murmured, pressing his face into your view until the awareness returned and cleared your gaze. “You won. It’s over.” 

You let yourself be pulled down from the platform, the easy confidence that you wore during the duel instantly vanishing and the usual tension returning to your body. Mingyu hadn’t said anything more and neither of you spoke about the class ever again, but both had understood exactly what the moment could have led to. 

It doesn’t make Mingyu think any worse of you; he doesn’t think that much in the world could. He doesn’t equate what happened to be the streak of evil that everyone seems to associate Slytherin House with. His parents had always told him that there are awful people in Slytherin, yes, but there are bullies in Hufflepuff, too. It does, however, make his heart ache at the thought that you had only been lashing out in defense, as a wounded wild animal might when backed into a corner. 

Fourth. You’re not one for Quidditch or anything sporty, but he always seems to spot you in the bleachers during matches.

It’s easy to find you, especially from the air, since you’re always sitting with Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Junhui, down on land where you’re keen on being. You hadn’t taken to a broomstick ever since the mandatory Flying lessons in first year, claiming a deathly fear of heights. Mingyu himself suffers from the same affliction, but oddly enough, he finds that flying is the one time he doesn’t mind the height, never mind the fact that he would never be able to give Quidditch up.  

The mingling of red and green and blue and yellow heartens Mingyu as he soars overhead. His group is what all of Hogwarts should be like, and it makes him smile. Head fuzzy with the thought, he barely registers the Quaffle sailing past his head and yelps, dipping sharply to dive for it. 

From behind, Seokmin hollers, “You’re distracted, Kim Mingyu!”

Quaffle safely tucked into his elbow, Mingyu comes up and levels his broomstick off, sneaking a glance over to Seungcheol, their Keeper and Captain, who hasn’t seemed to notice the blunder. “Keep your voice down,” he hisses at his friend, tossing the ball back over. 

Seokmin chortles and easily receives it. “Stop looking for your girlfriend during practices, then. You know what Seungcheol always says, the habits you make in practice show up during the real thing.” 

“Girlfriend?” Chan settles nearby in the midst of zipping by. His head tilts curiously, lips quirking up already. 

Mingyu groans. His friends have always been too nosy for his liking. “She’s not my girlfriend. We’ve been great friends since first year.”

“So have we, but I don’t see you ogling me every chance you get.”

He pretends that he doesn’t hear Seokmin’s quip, craning his neck down to glance back at his friends. There’s a green and blue beanie leaned into each other; no doubt you and Wonwoo are huddled against the cold, poring over another book together. The thought of that makes his stomach hurt, and he briefly wonders if he should feign sickness and return to his friends on the field below. 

Chan has inched closer, following his line of vision. “Oh, you mean Sparky?” The younger Seeker’s gaze lingers for a moment on you. 

Mingyu’s stomach warms at the sound of the nickname that he’s given you, endlessly pleased that his friends have picked it up. 

It’s a little dumb, the way it came to be. Back in third year, you’d shown him a children's picture book that you brought with you from the Muggle world. It had been your favorite growing up, you’d explained patiently, as he flipped through the pages that depicted a tiny but determined brown puppy named Sparky who ventured through an unexplored alien world. 

Then, during the next Charms class, you had nearly fallen asleep at your desk, as a result of staying up for a particularly difficult Arithmancy exam. When the Charms Master had abruptly called on you to demonstrate, you had shot to your feet and conjured up an excitable Lumos out of your fluster, leading to a few stray sparks spilling from your wand tip. The professor had nodded approvingly, commenting on your fiery interpretation of the spell, but Mingyu had spied the tips of your ears burning as you slowly sank back into your seat. 

“Nice one, Sparky,” he’d said, watching as your ears flared redder. 

The memory makes him smile again. It’s dumb, the origins of it, but it works, he thinks. He likes brown puppies, since it reminds him of his grandmother’s old pet, and he likes you. You may be reserved and unruffled most of the time, but he sees the sparks fly from you every so often. When you’re raising your hand in class to succinctly debate a classmate’s point (often a fellow Slytherin’s) and prove them wrong. When you rush past him at the end of Potions class with a quick greeting to make it to Arithmancy because you’ve taken up two more electives than is required.

“Look at this goof grinning like a fool again,” Seokmin groans, leaning back to toss the Quaffle at passing teammate when Seungcheol blows the whistle to signal the end of practice. “If we lose the Cup this year because of your little crush, I’m gonna go and tell Sparky myself.” 

They make their descent back towards the pitch, as Mingyu hisses, “You wouldn’t.”

The Beater merely shrugs, “I would.”  

Lastly, Mingyu might kind of be in love with you. This, by far, is the trickiest on his list. 

He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to call it that quite yet. 

You really are a wonderful friend of his, one of his closest friends at Hogwarts. That’s how it started, but somewhere along the years, the lines might have gotten blurred. Honestly, Mingyu thinks that it’s only natural to treat your best friends with kindness and generosity. He thinks that it’s normal to want to learn about the world that you come from, to better understand who you are as a person. 

Seokmin thinks that it’s not normal for friends to take Muggle Studies as an elective to achieve that. 

Mingyu thinks that it’s normal to give you little gifts of the things that he knows that you like and need. 

Seungcheol thinks that it’s not normal to bring back strawberry pies that his father baked and gloves that his mother knit for you from home after Christmas break. 

“Mingyu, how are you doing on your Muggle Studies paper?” 

He glances up at the sound of your voice, violently pulled from his thoughts and back to the library, where you and he have been laboring away at homework for hours. His cheeks prickle hot as if he’s been caught red handed, and he has to take a moment to convince himself that he hasn’t been thinking out loud, that you have no clue what’s been running inside of his head, that you can’t hear the rapid thudding of his heart against his chest. 

“Huh?” He says dumbly, before glancing down at the stack of his nearly completed assignment. The top of his first page reads The Trolley Problem: A Consideration in Muggle Ethics. “Umm, almost done, I think.”

“I’ll take a look.”

You’re already tugging his paper from his hands, pushing away your own homework assignments to properly place it before you. 

Mingyu watches carefully as your brow furrows in concentration and your eyes jump from word to word. He can’t pull his gaze away from you, focusing on every movement, every habit of yours as you read through his essay. He loves the way that your mouth twists this way and that as you think, the way you fork a bite of strawberry pie without even looking away from the parchment, the way you twirl a quill in your left hand. 

“Mm,” you nod and set the papers down, “It’s well written, and you’ve certainly done the research. Just need a conclusion, right?” 

He flushes, pleased from the compliments. “Yeah, I’m just having a bit of trouble coming up with one.” 

Your forehead creases. “Okay, what are you struggling with?” 

“It’s just–” Mingyu frowns, grasping for the right words. Taking this class has reframed his thinking in a way. He finds himself pausing a lot more often before he speaks on Muggle topics, pondering whether it could come off as offensive or ignorant to you, especially. “Well, I have trouble envisioning this as a dilemma at all, when a simple Levitating Charm could solve it.” 

His nerves melt away a bit when you smile. You smile, but there’s a strain to your eyes when you knead at them with a knuckle. 

“Right,” you say, amused. “Don’t worry, Muggles haven’t quite figured this one out either. But there’s also a number of ways you can set this problem up, so maybe we can play around with it to help you understand better?”

Mingyu eyes the stack of textbooks beside you that you’re neglecting to help him. Astutely, you pick up his reservation and shrug it off, “I desperately need a break from History of Magic. I’m going to lose my mind if I have to recall one more Minister of Magic in order of ‘Most Renovations Made to their Office’. Please.”

How could he ever deny? 

“Okay, Sparks,” he nods and leans in closer to listen attentively, “Have at it.” 

“Think of it like this.” You pull a blank sheet of paper and begin scratching lines of ink onto it. When a rough sketch of the trolly problem has been created, you draw stick figures onto the track. “Muggles can’t use magic, so it’s life or death for them, right? The lever is in your hands; you’re playing God in their lives.”

Mingyu balks at the idea of it. You never mince your words, so the unrestrained explanation does help drive the point in a little better than his professor had. “And it’s either I let the trolley run over the group of people, or I save them by making it so that one person dies.”

“Right. Exactly. In any sane person’s mind, you’d pull the lever and sacrifice one person for the sake of five others.” You draw an X over the singular stick figure and scribble a happy face onto the group of five. “So where does the dilemma come in?”

He contemplates the question. “It’d be blood on my hands. I’d be purposefully choosing to let the one person die, rather than being complicit into letting the train continue on and killing the group.” 

You hum in approval. “But it’d be one life over five. The greater good and all that. Now, what if the one person was a child, while the group was elderly? The child has barely been given a chance to live, while the elderly have achieved long, somewhat fulfilled lives. Or what if the one person tied to the other side of the tracks wasn’t a stranger? What if it was a friend or a relative? How does the 'one versus many' question change then?” 

Mingyu squirms in his seat. “That would never happen,” he insists, squeamish at even imagining all such scenarios. “No wizard or witch in my life would find themselves in this dumb situation.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s say that we’re all home for the summer. I get to King’s Cross, and instead of getting onto Nine and Three-Quarters, silly ol’ Muggle-born me, I make the wrong right turn and find myself tied to the tracks. Somehow, you’re there at the lever, and it’s either me or five strangers. Choose.”

He fully shivers. “Saving you, of course.” Mingyu pauses and then frowns, “Are the five people Muggles? Am I allowed to use magic?” 

Delighted, you laugh, and he wishes he could bottle it up in a vial like Felix Felicis. He thinks it would glitter gold, just the same. 

“No, Gyu, you can’t use magic. And yes, they’re Muggles.” 

“Still you.”

“Alright, now what if those five people were your Quidditch teammates?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes light up in surprise. “Me over Seokmin, Seungcheol, and Chan? You’d let them die?” 

Mingyu clicks his tongue, pretending not to notice the way that his face heats a bit at your genuine wonder. “If they’re stupid enough to get into this predicament, maybe they’d deserve it.” 

You huff out a quiet chuckle before handing his papers back over. “Does that help you come to a conclusion?” 

Mingyu nods firmly. He notices that there’s been a dollop of strawberry pie filling on the corner of your lips all this time, and without even thinking, he leans over the desk and thumbs it off of your mouth. 

“You would never be stupid enough to find yourself tied to the train tracks, though.” He assures, more to himself than to you. 

You blink owlishly at him and then rub at your eyes again. You try to hide your face behind your palms, but he can see the pink flush through the spaces between your fingers. 

Yeah, he supposes he can call it love.

"bonus":

hijacking my own post to yap about hogwarts!au svt :> i know they/dokyeom sorted themselves into houses already, but this is how i think they'd be sorted and if/what positions they'd play in quidditch:

gryffindor: seungcheol (keeper), junhui, mingyu (chaser), seokmin (beater), chan (seeker)

slytherin: jeonghan (beater), jihoon, soonyoung

ravenclaw: wonwoo, minghao, hansol

hufflepuff: joshua, seungkwan (chaser)

hehehehehe pls chat with me more if you have thoughts i could go on and on about this