#gold towel ring

[keshascult]

Industrial Powder Room - Powder Room Idea for a small, industrial-style powder room with a brown floor and brown tile, furniture-like cabinets, a two-piece toilet, brown walls, an undermount sink, and quartzite countertops.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

gold ring

words: 1.3k

warnings: brief suspicion of cheating, established relationship, soft!rafe, proposal, fluffy

“rafe!” you groan out, tired of hearing his phone constantly dinging for the past ten minutes. 

when rafe doesn't answer, you slap your laptop closed, frown on your face as you head up the stairs, muttering to yourself about him interrupting your work that he KNOWS is important.

“rafe!” you shout, entering his bedroom. you can finally hear the spray of the shower, explaining why he was letting his phone go off.

you grab it from his bedside table, yanking the charger free as you go to silence it, but upon trying to stop the dinging, you skim over the notifications.

you don't believe it at first. it must be some kind of mistake, you're sure.

you click on the name of rafes ex girlfriend, opening up the text message thread.

rafe: when can we meet?

ex: whenever works for you 🥺

ex: i miss you a lot btw

ex: this friday at 6pm? we can meet at the country club like we always used to. maybe get dinner? can't wait to see you xxx

you frown at the messages, quickly locking the phone and setting it down when you hear the shower turn off.

rafe steps out with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“hey princess.” he smiles. “how's the essay going?”

“fine.” your tone is cold, surprising rafe. “your phone was ringing so i silenced it.”

you walk out of the room without another word, needing to return to your homework, but when you sit back down at what has become your desk, you can't concentrate on the words on the screen, your anger bubbling over.

you want to confront rafe, but you need time to breathe otherwise the entire conversation will be unintelligible as you simply sob.

you head upstairs, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder as rafe emerges from the closet, fully dressed.

“where you going babe? got study group?” he questions, glancing at the clock on the wall, realizing there's no way study group would be meeting this late.

“going home.” you mumble, making sure everything you usually leave at rafes is stuffed in your bag.

“you are home?” rafe questions, his expression turning sad when he sees you're not joking.

“no, im not rafe.” you sigh. “i want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

truth is, you've practically moved into tanneyhill since you started dating rafe, but technically you still live at your parents house, only a few doors down from rafes.

“is everything alright?” rafe asks, trying to reach out for you. “what did i do wrong?”

you can't help it anymore, his obvious disrespect for your relationship, something you put years of work into only for him to go back to his ex girlfriend.

“how about you ask your ex?” you question, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“my ex? what are you talking about?” rafe asks, again trying to hold you by your shoulders, but you take a step back before his palms can land on you.

rafe: ive asked you a million times to give that ring back. you never should have taken it in the first place. it was my grandmother's and now it belongs to y/n, not you.

“i saw your texts, rafe. when can we meet? are you fucking kidding me!?” you shout the last sentence.

“baby, wait.” he says softly, grabbing his phone. he opens up the messages, scrolling up so you can see the full context.

ex: i don't know where it is 

rafe: bullshit. give it back or ill call the cops

ex: fine. 

rafe: when can we meet?

“see, baby?” rafe places a soft hand on your shoulder. “i was just trying to get my shit back. i have no interest in my ex at all. i love you.”

“oh, rafe!” you coo out, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “im so sorry i doubted you.”

“it's okay, id also be pissed if you were texting your ex. i didn't tell you just because i wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“keep what a surprise?” you furrow your brows together.

“what do you?- ohhh.” rafe finally catches on, letting out a chuckle. “i see what you're doing.”

you giggle, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes soft lips. 

“now let's get back to work on that essay, yeah?” rafe says. “i can help you.”

“and what do you know about microbiology that could possibly help me?” you snicker.

rafe rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, but i can at least be there for moral support.”

--

you've been expecting it for months now, wondering when rafe will pop the question. you know he got the ring back, and while he's taken you on romantic dates and moonlit walks on the beach, you're not sure when he will actually drop to one knee.

“what are you thinking for your nails this week?” your girlfriend asks.

originally, you were doing all white and plain, but recently for summer you've been branching out to bright colors again.

“why, is there a certain color i should get?” you raise your eyebrow at her. 

“well i was gonna get a sparkly white, maybe we could match.” she shrugs. it's no discredit to your friend, but her acting isn't good enough to fool you, and you're sure that rafe asked her to make sure you get something appropriate and properly bridal.

you of course get simple nails that you hope will compliment a silver ring on your finger.

you look at the calendar hanging on the wall, reading through your events for the upcoming week, trying to figure out when rafe may ask the question.

you ultimately give up on trying to figure it out as you head further into the house, calling out for rafe. 

“baby? where are you?” you shout, surprised when you don't get a response. you head up to your bedroom, figuring he must be in the shower, but the bathroom door is wide open when you enter.

you almost miss it, so set on finding rafe, but the dress laying on the edge of the bed ends up catching your attention.

put this on and meet me outside.

you recognize rafes handwriting instantly. you set the paper to the side and look at the dress. its a soft light pink material, nearly white.

you are quick to undress and put on the flowy dress, admiring yourself in the mirror before touching up your hair and makeup next. rafe knows how you like to prepare for big events in your life.

your steps are slow, or at least you attempt to keep them slow, as you want to cherish this moment. your eyes light up with the glow of the backyard, string lights hanging from every tree, and on the edge of the sand, is rafe.

“oh.” you cover your mouth, feeling tears well up in your eyes. this has to be the moment. you run to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he spins you.

“baby, i haven’t even asked yet.” rafe chuckles, setting you down.

“and i’m already saying yes.” you giggle, although it’s no secret to rafe what your answer would be.

“still-” rafe places his hands on your hips, stilling you before he drops down onto one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket. he flips open the lid to reveal the most stunning ring you’ve ever seen, it’s exactly what you envisioned and somehow so much more.

“you’ve made me happier than i ever thought possible. you fixed all my broken pieces and made me whole again. there’s no one else i’d rather spend forever with.”

rafe looks up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. “will you marry me?”

“yes!” you squeal, falling to your knees alongside rafe and pressing your lips against his. “yes, yes. a million times yes.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[daily-borgia]

Powder Room Bathroom White walls, a vessel sink, wood countertops, and brown countertops are all featured in this transitional powder room idea.

[misstel]

Seattle Bathroom

With furniture-like cabinets, medium-tone wood cabinets, gray walls, an undermount sink, and gray countertops, this farmhouse powder room has a dark wood floor and a brown floor.

[tjabez]

Bathroom Powder Room Miami Elegant powder room photo with a pedestal sink and red walls

[veshkashaw]

Powder Room Bathroom

White walls, a vessel sink, wood countertops, and brown countertops are all featured in this transitional powder room idea.

[prettylittlebigliars]

Bathroom Powder Room in Sacramento Inspiration for a transitional powder room remodel with gray walls, an undermount sink and black countertops

[peachsukii]

✮ content. pro-hero!bakugo x pro-hero fem!reader. late 20 somethings + married w/ a toddler. family fluff while he’s away on a mission. slightly suggestive (aka Katsuki’s down bad for his wife). ;)

“Momma!” Your daughter shouts from the living room, the little pitter patters of her feet echoing down the hall as she sprints toward you with glee. “Phone’s ringing, pick it up, please!”

Her small hands shove the phone against your thigh, bouncing up and down in place with excitement. You tuck the folded towel in your arms into the closet and bend down to her level. When you take the phone from her, your husband’s name —💥Katsuki 👑💕— is displayed across the screen, accompanied by a photo of the three of you on your last beach trip. Clicking the “Accept” button, the visual of Katsuki in his hero costume appears, his attention focused on removing his gloves while waiting for you to answer.

“Hey handsome,” you greet, heart swelling when you catch him smirk at the compliment. “Someone’s been waiting for you to call.”

“An’ where’s my little girl at?”

Your daughter hops into view, jumping up and down with her hands waving frantically.

“Hi Daddy!” She giggles, dancing back and forth on her tip toes. “Did ya beat up the bad guys today?”

Katsuki laughs heartily, finally sitting on the bed in his hotel room. “Sure did. I’m keepin’ you and Momma safe. How’s school goin’?”

“S’good! I got a gold star today for my drawing.”

“Yeah? Proud of you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for ya to show me when I come home.”

The time on your phone reads 7:30PM, and like clockwork, your daughter begins to stretch, yawning the same way Katsuki does when he’s exhausted after a long shift.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed, sweetie?” You suggest while rubbing her back. “I know you’re tired.”

“Okaaay,” she pouts, trying to fight off her sudden sleepiness. “G’night Daddy. I miss you!”

“Only two more days. Love an’ miss you, Princess. Sweet dreams.”

With a wave and a smile, she trots off toward her bedroom to change into her PJs, leaving you with a few minutes to talk with Katsuki before tucking her into bed. You walk back into your joint bedroom, leaving the door cracked as you lay on the bed. Katsuki does the same, shifting the camera to follow his movements as he stretches out across the sheets.

“Goddamn, I miss you somethin’ fierce,” he admits, sighing into his forearm as it crosses his face to hide the soft dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You put a spell on me or some shit?”

“Not this time,” you chuckle, feet swaying in the air behind you like a giddy schoolgirl. “I miss you, too. How was your day?”

“S’alright, nothin’ crazy. Can’t wait’ta be back home, sleepin’ alone sucks.”

“Yeah, the bed is cold without you.”

There’s a short lull in the conversation before it shifts into something more sensually charged. Katsuki tends to get clingier the longer he’s stationed away from home — all the telltale signs of it are reflecting in his eyes through the camera, sparkling under the dim moonlight from his hotel room window.

“Good thing I know how to keep ya warm,” he purrs with a wink, the mischievous grin stretched over his lips telling you how he’s truly feeling. “S’how you got knocked up the first time.”

There it is, that familiar warmth flooding into your belly and heat spreading from your ears to your toes.

“Kaaats!” you whine, shyly tucking your head into your chest. “Shut up.”

“Don’t get shy on me now, Peaches,” he teases, laughing quietly at your bashfulness. “S’cute how easy ya are to rile up.”

You wave him off and roll your eyes lovingly. “I should go put her to bed. Are you gonna be up in an hour?”

His brow furrows curiously. “Prob’ly. Why?”

“Gives me time to get her settled, put away the laundry and finish the dishes. Up for a little late night date?”

Oh, Katsuki knows exactly what that means. Why was the thought of watching you doing chores around the house and taking care of your daughter making him suddenly break out in a sweat?

“Earth to Katsuki?” You call again and recollect his attention. “If you’re too tired—”

“Never too tired for you, baby. Go do what ya gotta do, I’ll be waitin’.”

“Okay, I love you!” You sweetly sing as you roll off the bed. “Get comfy, bye babe.”

“Love you too, Peach. See ya.”

The “End Call” screen flashes briefly in front of Katsuki’s eyes, the darkness of the hotel room returning once the screen dims into nothingness. He mumbles a breathless ‘fuck’ into the air before jumping off the bed to stomp toward the bathroom.

Only you can leave him hanging by a thread on simple promises, even when he’s miles away. And damn, did he love it.

[ari-sa]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto x reader. part two

cw: mdni. suggestive, masturbation, a little bit of choking?, oral (m!receiving)

a/n: got a little carried away here so it’s kind of long, also this is only my second time writing so I’m sorry if it’s bad!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto who lays in your lap as you run your nails thru his long hair, pretending to be asleep so you won't get up~

roommate!geto who catches you staring at him after he’s walked out the shower with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, beads of water clinging to his body. “like what you see princess?”

roommate!geto who listens to you vent every time you and one of your situationships don't work out "you deserve so much better baby" he says as he pulls you into a hug, planting kiss on your forehead >,<

roommate!geto who becomes more touchy since you started going out on dates again-

randomly cupping your face with one hand and squeezing it gently to make you pout mid conversation;

hugging you from behind while you cook to 'thank' you for making breakfast. "thanks for always cooking for me doll" he says as he wraps his arms around you, feeling his bare chest press against your back~

roommate!geto who when you're bored you go to his room to hang out with, but end up falling asleep on his bed-

roommate!geto who's mesmerized by your sleeping figure and doesn't have the heart to wake you up when he wants to sleep so he ends up climbing into bed with you.

suguru is hyper aware of EVERYTHING. how your hair smells, how soft your legs feel, the fact you aren’t wearing a bra- it all he can think about all night.

in the early hours of the morning when he absolutely cannot deal with his morning hard on anymore he goes to get up, but you grab his wrist, "sugu don't go" you whisper, dragging him back to bed~

roommate!geto who makes you getting ready cocktails <3

roommate!geto who you 'platonically' ask to practice kissing, because you haven't kissed anyone in a while and you don't want to disappoint this 'guy that you really like'-

roommate!geto who actually kisses you <3

as the cold metal of his piercings brushes against your lips, you lean deeper into him. his hand snakes up to wrap around your neck and you feel a wet patch forming in your underwear.

as the kiss turns into a full blown make out session, he notices you squeezing your thighs together- his hands move to cup your face and he swipes his tongue over your lips willing you to part them further. your hands begin roam, while his tangle in your freshly curled hair. instinctively you cup his erection through his pants. he let’s out a moan- almost a whimper.

he needs you so bad. he thinks about how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. how cute you’d look all messy and drooling over his length, batting your eyelashes up at him. he’d scoop all your hair up and push your head down further onto his erection. watching your makeup you spent so long on get more and more messed up eventually cumming undone in the back of your throat~

the kiss is languid, feverish and messy, but ends when the door bell rings and your date is here.

he watches you get up from the couch, tugging from at the hem of your dress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and attempting to smooth your messed up hair.

“have fun baby” he says with a smirk as you slip on your shoes~

roommate!geto who actually dies inside when you actually start dating this guy you met on tinder.

roommate!geto who just lets out a scoff when you open your birthday present from your boyfriend and it's a gold necklace- you ony wear silver.

"here princess," he says as he hands you a small jewelry box with a little bow on it. opening it to find a silver necklace~

"thank you sugu i love it!" you say leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. he doesn't miss the way your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your reaction.

roommate!geto who “borrows” your dirty panties when you’re not home~

laying in your bed, he wraps a lacy thong around his cock, slowly fucking his fist, thinking about how much better he is than your asshole boyfriend.

roommate!geto who cums in your panties and then puts them back in your laundry basket- who would ever notice?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

a/n: sorry it took so long to get this out haha, I was kinda scared to post it 😭

Im super open to feedback so please lmk if I should’ve done anything differently

I have part 3 almost ready, but it’s gonna be more of a drabble/one shot format!

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[melaniemcfarlane]

Bathroom Houston Elegant powder room photo with raised-panel cabinets, white cabinets, brown walls, an undermount sink and beige countertops

[verpuerto]

Bathroom - 3/4 Bath Bathroom remodeling ideas for a medium-sized transitional 3/4-tile bathroom with gray walls and a wall-mount sink.

[alanisinstone]

okay bluecollar!rafe but yall. can we make it MARINE!RAFE?? or more specifically MARSOC!rafe* who works for ward at cameron construction co. on leave?? like hello i need him bad guys.

cw: MDNI smut, cursing, stuff in public, food play, cum eating, military stuff, ass play, manhandling, 1 mention of fighting, recording

*marsoc: Marine Forces Special Operations Command - basically what COD men do

like he starts off as a standard private officer after enlisting when you guys graduate high school. he works his way up from private to corporal to sergeant major, and then eventually to captain, colonel, then general. i mean hes fucking unstoppable, hes blowing thru these ranks like nobodys fuckin business, and he not stopping anytime soon baby he in his primeeee.

he moves on to MARSOC and leads a small team on SPEC-OP missions in like borneo. hes literally the best of the best. his full file is like 4 pounds, full of successful recon missions, confirmed kills, successful captures of enemy targets, accurate tracking efforts, successful counterterrorism efforts, successful hostage rescue and successful direct action raids. when theres a REAL threat? they call LT Cameron. callsign? RAIDER

NOW. when baby comes home on leave he works at the family construction company ward owns, building giant beach houses for rich kooks. he eventually inherits cameron construction when ward gets too old to work and he helps ward retire bcs of the cash from being the most elite soldier in the US military. bae is tannnn bcs of construction work ofc, but also since being in the military he likes to go on runs and be in nature to clear his head. and yall alr know hes yatteddddd, both sleeves done by his boy at home on the cut, who happens to be a very talented tattoo artist (barry...)

strictly keeps a buzz for deployment but will grow out a mullet when hes home. signature gold chain is always on, and has a tat on his ring finger for you and maybe one on his forearm. does he have both ears pierced with fake diamond studs in? yes.

is currently in the blueprint stage for a beach house he wants to build you on figure 8 (and one in florida... and will probably start planning another one if he ends up having a long ship-out next deployment) even tho he despises rich fucks and is suchhhh a country boy. i mean hes like pogue!rafe but hes more of a mudding, dirt biking, bonfire, shotgunning beer, lifted truck, bar hop, football game kind of guy. and the most elite soldier in the US military ofc.

takes you on stargazing dates and fucks you in the truck bed, a big beach towel set down and his head in your neck while he ruts into you short and fast. occasionally gets into bar fights when some dick is tryna say sum to u. is such an ass man and will smack and grope that shit wheneverrrr whereverrrr - has zoned out of convos with people while feelin HIS booty up + loves to grip your pussy with his big ass paw when no one is looking.

has a super firm grip due to years of being a marine and WILL manhandle ur ass around - into various positions, onto the bed or couch or counter or etc., up over his shoulder when you gettin on his nerves. gets actually animalistic when yall fuckin, and yk that boy a munch. growls and grunts sooo loud the whole time.

will take you to the dock and fuck you on the family fishing boat. will christen any new bar yall go to by fucking you in the gross bathroom and carving both your initials in the wall with his pocket knife that ward gave him when he was 15. is kinky af but lets u bring it up bcs he feels awkward talking about it. is sooooo nasty - will eat his cum out of you with his whole mouth, eyes locked on yours, sucking your lips into his mouth. then, when it’s not enough, he drags you up to sit on his face and rubs your clit, watching you clench and letting his cum drip from you right onto his tongue.

will stick a thumb in your ass during doggy, while reaching for his phone bcs the way u throwin that ass back on him? yall bout to make another movie. loves watching you clean him up after round 5, when his dick is covered in his and your cum - will not let you miss a spot, even where it dripped down over his hefty balls to his ass. and he rarely shaves - uncut.

if it’s a hot day, he’ll turn the ac off and find you so he can lick the sweat off every crevice of your beautiful body while he’s fucking you over the counter. both of you completely butt naked bcs it’s hot. has a sweet tooth - will interrupt you while you’re baking and strip you, laying you on the counter like the dessert you are and eating the frosting off his favorite parts. get especially excited when it comes to sweets on your nipples.

honestly if that aint a FEASTTTT i dont know what issss

[ellecdc]

Things You Can Say in a Swim Lesson & Also in Bed

meet cute/ugly - swim instructor!marauders + fem!reader

find part two here!

CW: learning to swim/fear of drowning, sexual innuendos, swearing (you know what to expect from me by now)

You were excited. Really, you were. 

Your best friend in the entire world was getting married, and she wanted to be married in the Maldives. So, that’s where you were going.

It didn’t matter if you might need to take out a small loan to afford the trip and time off, and it doesn’t matter that all of the events happening before the event were just as expensive.

This was your best friend, dammit! And you were happy for her.

There was only one problem.

You can’t swim.

But that was going to change today! Or...at least in the next few weeks starting today because you were officially taking swimming lessons.

You were not going to fly to the most beautiful beaches and islands in the world and be the fall risk on bridges, docks, and boats. And for fuck’s sake, you were going to swim with the dolphins whether it killed you (literally) or not.

So, you signed up to take swimming lessons. You felt ridiculous.

You felt even more ridiculous as you stood in the changeroom of a very posh country club that your best friend’s fiancé’s parents own, in a one-piece swimsuit you bought just for these lessons (the only swimsuit’s you owned her two pieces because their main use was for tanning).

You tried to find the most modest swimsuit you could, which was very difficult and still not quite as modest as you’d like because for fuck’s sake why won’t the bum cover your entire arse cheek!?

The people leaving behind you were all middle-aged to senior couples who obviously worked in ‘the business’ whatever the fuck that meant because they can clearly afford the membership fees this place obviously charges per month if their gold and crystal chandeliers in the bathroom stalls meant anything.

You tried to readjust your poor swimsuit one last time before grabbing your towel and making your way to the pool. You just hoped you didn’t flash your tits to the other children likely attending swimming lessons.

Except...you got to the pool and there was no one else there. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. There was one sexy looking lifeguard covered in various tattoos which stood out brilliantly against his fair skin. His black hair rivaled the ink of his tattoos and was long enough to be pulled back into a messy bun behind his head – though a few stray locks seemed determined to keep their place next to his sharp jawline.

You were jealous of strands of hair.

There was also another lifeguard on the other end of the pool putting away various life rings, flutter boards and lane dividers. He was just as striking as the first lifeguard for nearly opposite reasons. His skin was a deep tan colour, and he wasn’t built like a swimmer – rather, he was built quite like a body builder. His arms and torso were lined with hard defined muscle and his thighs...

For fuck’s sake, stop staring at the man’s thighs.

He had a mop of curly dark hair and a pair of glasses that seemed foggy with the humidity of the room; he seemed no less happy about his current surroundings because of it, however.

You awkwardly looked behind you into the changeroom to see if the rest of your class was coming out. Maybe you should text your friend? Ask her to confirm with her fiancé that you got the times right?

“Here for the swim lessons, love?” a deep, lilting voice startled you from your pondering.

You turned towards the voice and were accosted by the view of a third beautiful man.

Is it, like, a requirement to be hot as hell to work here!? 

The man had honey blonde curls and eyes to match that screamed trouble, but the kind of trouble you’d far too willingly find yourself immersed in. Unlike his tanned, spectacled friend, this man was built like a swimmer; he was all long limbs and long muscles, and unfairly tall. You forgot how to speak.

“I’m Remus, I’ll be the instructor tonight. What’s your name?” He asked you like he didn’t have it in front of him on his damp clipboard.

You cleared your throat and offered it to him, and he smiled at your shyness. The smile pulled at a scar that ran through the right side of his lip, and you noticed that he had a few more scattered across his face. They didn’t make him any less handsome, however. Damn him.

“Alright, Y/N. What has motivated you to learn to swim?”

You furrowed your brows at him and looked behind yourself again. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the class?”

His smile faltered as his brows furrowed to match yours. “Class?”

“Private lessons, Dollface.” The tattooed man drawled as he made his way over to you.

“You’ve got the pool to yourself tonight.” He added with a wink.

“This is a private class.” Remus clarified.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered. You were startled by a bark of a laugh from the tattooed man and immediately flushed to realize you’d said that out loud.

“How did you not know you booked a private class?” Remus asked with a bemused smile.

You sighed, face feeling like it was about to melt off from sheer embarrassment. “I didn’t book it. My uhm, my friend’s fiancé’s family owns this place and said he’d set it up for me. I thought it was going to be a group thing.”

You felt awfully foolish as the two men nodded. “What made you want to learn?” Remus asked again.

“Uhm, that same friend – her wedding is this spring, and it’s a destination wedding.” But the tattooed man started nodding before you’d even finished. 

“You wanna swim with the fishes, but not in the mobster way. Got it.” He said as he clapped his hands together.

“Sirius.” Remus gently chided the man. “That’s fair, well, you’ve given yourself a lot of time to learn. I figured we’d start by finding out how much you already know.”

You grimaced.

“Well, that’ll be easy, seeing as I know nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Remus asked.

“Nothing.” You confirmed.

Sirius and Remus shared a glance before turning back to you with matching smiles.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

“Prongs! We got a firstie!” The tattooed man – Sirius – shouted to the tanned man across the pool as he confidently made his way to the edge of the pool. You opted to skirt around the edge – widely.

The tanned man gasped (far more dramatically than you felt the situation called for) and immediately dropped everything that had been in his arms. 

“No.” He bellowed. “Can I help?!”

Great, now you were going to be inhaling pool water whilst three of the hottest men on earth watched – no big deal.

“That’s up to our swimmer.” Remus said as he looked towards you for an answer.

“I’d relax on the use of that title until you see me in the water.” You muttered.

Sirius barked another laugh, which made the corners of your mouth lift in comradery. He had a way of making you feel funnier than you likely were, just by enjoying your banter. 

“What do you think? Me and James here can be the rest of the class you thought you would be a part of.” He offered with a smirk.

“Class?” James asked, “I thought this was a private session.”

“It is.” Remus answered with a slight edge, clearly used to the other two men getting off topic. “She had the lessons booked for her – she didn’t realize.”

“Gotcha” James said with a clap of his hands. “Okay, I’m all caught up, lets swim!” and with that, he jumped sideways and made a large splash as he landed in the water.

“You’re welcome to use the stairs like a civilized person.” Remus said to you kindly as Sirius cannonballed himself into the pool behind him. Upon hearing the splash, Remus closed his eyes in exasperation. 

You took his advice and used the stairs, wading into the pool until the water hit around your waist.

“So, you’ve never been in a pool before?” Remus asked as he placed his clipboard on a flutter board and mindlessly sent it sailing to Sirius.

“No, not like this.”

“Okay. Do you know how to float?” He continued

You shook your head and looked down to the water.

“That’s alright. That’s perfect, that’s where we’ll start, alright?” He offered you, bending to try and catch your eyes. He was smiling kindly at you and his eyes oozed empathy.

“Here, Jamie and Sirius will demonstrate what we’ll do.”

Without a second though, James threw himself onto his back and brought his feet up, so he was floating on top of the water in a star-fished position. 

Sirius smiled down at him like he was the sun and placed his arm just below him to ‘support his weight’ – though you were well aware that part was just for show.

“Now, we’ll do it right here where you are now; you can touch the bottom, so even if you feel like you’re going to sink, you can just stand up.” Remus encouraged you.

Your heart fell at the ‘sink’ part.

“You also have three certified lifeguards here.” James offered sympathetically.

Yeah, three real Adonis’ here to watch me drown.

“Nothing will happen, love.” Sirius offered in the softest tone you’ve heard him speak since you met him, apparently your trepidation made itself known on your face.

“I’ll help you get into position, okay? Lean back... atta girl, just like that.” Remus coached you as he supported your back, and one of the other men grabbed your ankles to ease them up. The hands near your feet surprised you and you breathed in a gasp, which was mistaken for anxiety. 

“Hey, you’re alright, okay?” Remus said as he paused all movements, “I will not let anything happen to you.”

Jesus Christ, he was going to put you into cardiac arrest.

“Okay.” You offered instead of swearing at him and continued to lean back with his support.

Suddenly, you were suspended above the water as the hands (apparently, they were James’) let go of your ankles. Your instinct was to start kicking and tense up.

“No, you’re alright, keep your legs up and relax.” Sirius coached you from your other side.

Things you can say in a swim lesson and also in bed. 

“I’ve still got you.” Remus reminded you as you tried to do what you were told.

Your legs kept wanting to sink to the bottom, but you did your best to will them upward. 

“Try to take in a breath – the more air you have in your chest, the more buoyant you’ll be.” Remus told you.

You did as you were told, and your ears sunk just below the water.

“You can keep breathing, dollface.” Sirius said, and you felt your cheeks flush as you let out the breath you were apparently holding.

You listened to the sound of the water lapping against your head and the edge of the pool and timed seemed to slow.

This was actually quite nice – floating. You like floating, you decide. You’d like to do more of it; maybe this will be how you would spend your time at the beach in the Maldives and oh my god where is he going get back here you son of a bitch. 

Remus’ hand began to sneak away from you, and in your panic to correct yourself without his assistance, you overcompensated and ended up below the water line.

Gentle hands grabbed your forearms and hauled you above the surface again and you made terribly embarrassing choking and gasping sounds as you wrapped your arms and legs around the being like a newborn koala bear.

“Easy, easy. Hey, you’re okay! You almost had it! You did so well, look at you.” James said brightly as he pushed some of your wet hair away from your face with careful fingers, apparently unaffected by your attaching yourself to him.

Between the men, their flustering you, and the water up your nose – you decided you’ll just spend your vacation at the beach side bar.

[pseudowho]

hi haitch!! do you have any works about hiromi worried about his hair getting too grey too fast? if not... could you...? 🥺

Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #4, Silver Fox

Hiromi leant on his desk, elbows planted and face buried deeply in his palms. The stress would surely kill him. He wondered, vaguely, about making his life insurance policy more generous, in the likely event of him dying young. At least, then, you'd be looked after.

After another lost case, however, Hiromi saw it as far more likely that he'd murder the Judge and Prosecutor instead. He laughed to himself, a chuckle ringing through the empty office. As if.

Running his fingers through his hair with a groan, and gazing into his palms, Hiromi's stomach dropped. At least half of the stray hairs caught in his fingers were...grey.

Hiromi felt them in dismay, his mouth comedically downturned. Coarse. Almost wiry. Nothing like his usual silky black hair, those corvid feathers that you loved so much, now being devoured by time, and shit, I'm starting to look like an old man I can't have it she'll hate it I can barely keep up as it is fuck fuck fuck--

Hiromi stood with a groan, and stopped himself, sounding like his grandfather. He caught his own eye in the reflection of the shining gold tellers' lamp on his desk. He pointed to himself, stern.

"Get your shit together, Higuruma."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Arriving home late, you stepped straight into the other side of a striptease. A discarded black and white suit led an enticing trail to the bathroom, in the order of: shoes, suit jacket, socks, shirt, trousers. You kicked your own shoes off, following the trail with a jaunty call.

"If I get in there, and you're still wearing boxers, I'll be very disappoi--...Hiromi, what on earth are you doing?"

Hiromi sat on a kitchen chair in front of the bathroom mirror, surrounded by the sickly sweet scent of hair dye, the remnants of a box scattered around the sink. With a towel around his shoulders, and solemn eyes, Hiromi held out the prepared bottle of dye to you.

"Help me?" He begged, his voice small.

You sighed, stripping off slowly to your skirt and blouse. Hiromi waggled the bottle at you, which you took, and stepped in front of him. He would not catch your eye. You ran your fingers through Hiromi's hair, and he couldn't help but purr, leaning into your touch. Your fingernails across his scalp never failed to make his cock twitch.

"And why do you think you need this?" You asked, pressing Hiromi's forehead forwards against the plush of your belly. "I thought you loved your hair."

"Yes, quite. Loved. Past-tense." You looped your finger through the strands of silver and black, like crema on an americano.

"Well, I love it. Right now. Present-tense."

"You're just trying to make me feel better--"

"--of course I am, I'm your wife--"

"--who deserves someone not even half as decrepit as me--"

"--who deserves to see you age. And mature, like wine, or cheese, or Maggie Smith--"

Hiromi grabbed your hands, standing and pressing you backwards against the sink. His towel slid from his shoulders, leaving him in just his boxers as he glowered over you, stern and authoritative in a way you rarely got to see him. A wave of heat burst from your heart, outwards.

"Enough. I hate it. Get rid of them for me. Please, I'm...not ready yet. Not ready to get old. It feels...everything feels wrong. Something feels...wrong."

You swallowed, and allowed him to lift you onto the counter, looping your arms around his shoulders as he tried to bury himself into you. You felt an eerie disquiet trickle, cold, down the back of your neck.

"Hiromi...you're not old. Grey doesn't mean old. You've just...lived. You're beautiful. My silver fox."

Hiromi sighed, the hot puff of air from his nose against your neck. Stress rolled off him in waves. You stroked his hair again, cradling his head against you. Hiromi murmured.

"I'm sorry, it's just...what a stupid last straw." He berated himself. "My fucking hair. I knew there were a few greys, but-- just-- not that many."

Hiromi was silent again, the nuzzles of his nose growing needy, almost aggressive as they built, his lips dropping petals against your skin. You locked his hips between yours, satisfied by the shudder he rewarded you with, his cock straining against your core. He mumbled through his kisses, fragile.

"...Oe's case tomorrow. Oe Keita. I just wanted to feel...vibrant. Powerful. Not washed out, not ugly, like-- like--"

You silenced Hiromi, slipping your hand flat against the black trail of hair on his belly, your fingertips grazing the base of his cock. He swore, bucking into your touch, shoving his boxers down to free his weeping cock. You whispered to him.

"Not ugly. Yes, powerful. And you'll be amazing. You always are." Hiromi moved with urgency now, yanking your skirt up, and your panties aside. Stroking his tip between your folds, his corded shoulders heaved with the clawing need for relief.

"Even if I'm late home," Hiromi gasped, as he pressed himself inside you, gripping you before you could squirm away, "even--even if I'm late-- wait for me-- please--"

"Always." You whispered, carding your fingers through those feathers of black and grey, arching with bliss as you felt him begin to move within you. "Just...come home to me. Just as you are, now. Present-tense."

[pucksandpower]

What Happens in Vegas

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the morning after the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you wake up with one new wedding ring and zero clue about what happened … or who your husband is

You wake up with a pounding headache, the sunlight filtering through the curtains feeling like daggers in your eyes. Groaning, you roll over and glance at the clock on the nightstand.

12:37 pm.

Far later than you would normally sleep, but given the circumstances, not entirely surprising.

The night before was the Las Vegas Grand Prix and things had gotten a little out of hand afterwards. Okay, more like a lot out of hand.

The details are fuzzy but you vaguely recall dancing on a table at some point and did someone get pushed into the hotel fountain?

Ugh. You make a mental note to apologize to whoever ended up taking an unexpected late-night swim last night.

Sitting up slowly, you rub your temples, trying to ease the jackhammer currently going off in your head. Getting blackout drunk maybe wasn’t the most professional move, but hey, what happens in Vegas and all that.

You stumble into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on your face. As you reach for a towel, the glint of metal on your left hand makes you pause.

No. It can’t be.

But there it is, a simple gold band around your ring finger.

A wedding ring.

Your wedding ring, apparently.

“What the hell?” You mutter, staring at your reflection in disbelief.

You rack your brain, trying desperately to remember what happened last night. But it’s no use, the details are lost in an alcohol-induced haze.

You married someone last night. In Vegas. While ridiculously drunk.

This is bad. Really bad.

Your career, your reputation, everything is on the line here. Who knows what kind of scandal this could cause if word got out? You need to figure out who you married and do damage control, fast.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm the rising panic. Freaking out won’t solve anything right now. You need answers and sitting here panicking won’t get you any. Time to do some investigating.

You quickly throw on some clothes and head downstairs to the hotel lobby. The drivers had agreed to meet for brunch today before getting thoroughly wasted last night. Maybe one of them knows something.

As you step out of the elevator, you immediately spot a group of your friends chatting in the lobby. Max, Charles, Lando … the usual suspects.

Lando is the first to spot you. “Well good morning, Mrs. Lando Norris,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You freeze. No way. There’s no way you married Lando. The kid is like a little brother to you. An obnoxious, hyperactive little brother. But Lando just laughs at your stunned expression.

“Kidding! You should see your face right now,” he giggles. Little punk. But at least that rules out Lando as your surprise husband.

You roll your eyes and shove Lando playfully before turning to the others. “So, crazy night last night, huh?” You say, aiming for nonchalance.

Max shrugs. “I mean, it’s Vegas. Things do tend to get wild.”

“Right, wild,” you echo. Time to cut to the chase. “So wild that I ended up getting married apparently.”

You hold up your left hand, wedding ring glinting in the light. The others stare at it then at each other, puzzled.

“Wait, you actually got married last night?” Charles asks incredulously.

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Yes! And I have no idea who I married. Come on mates, you must remember something from last night that can help me figure this out.”

But their faces are blank, everyone shaking their heads. Useless, the whole lot of them.

You turn to Max, who averts his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

“Max, come on. You always know everything that happens on these nights out. Help me out here,” you plead.

Max shuffles his feet, not meeting your gaze. “I mean, it was pretty crazy. I was very drunk too,” he mumbles.

You sigh in frustration. Clearly you’re not getting anywhere with this group. You need to try someone else, someone who maybe left the party early last night.

You recall Fernando complaining about the horrible music at one point. Bingo.

“Alright, I gotta go see if I can find someone who can get me answers,” you announce. “You drunkards are no help.”

As you turn to leave, Charles calls after you, “Let us know if you find out who the unlucky guy is!” This earns snickers from Lando and Max.

You shake your head and head out to find Fernando. That Spaniard better have some useful information or there will be hell to pay.

One thing is certain, you will get to the bottom of this. You need to find out who this mystery husband is, sort out this mess, and most importantly, get this ring off your finger before the media catches wind of your drunken Vegas wedding.

This is going to be one hell of a day.

***

After leaving the unhelpful group in the lobby, you set out to find Fernando. The Spaniard has always had a keen eye for details. If anyone saw what happened last night, it would be him.

You find Fernando sitting alone at a table in the closest coffee shop, sipping an espresso. He looks irritatingly fresh-faced and put together given the wild night you all had.

“Well good morning, chiquita,” he says with a smirk as you plop down across from him. “You look like you had quite the night.”

You scowl at him. “No thanks to you. Leaving the party early again, I see.”

Fernando shrugs. “What can I say? I’m getting too old for these Vegas nights out with you crazy kids.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Oh yes, grandpa, you’re soooo old at 42. Anyway, I need your help figuring something out.”

You hold up your left hand, the wedding ring glinting under the lights. “Any idea how this might have ended up on my finger last night?”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, looking far too amused. “Well well, our little Y/N got married in Vegas. Who’s the lucky man?”

You huff in annoyance. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out! I don’t remember anything from last night. But I woke up this morning hungover as hell with this on my hand.” You waggle your finger for emphasis.

Fernando sits back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, interesting. And you say you remember nothing?”

“Nothing!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Everything after the third tequila shot is a total blank. Please tell me you saw something that can help me out here.”

You give Fernando your best pleading puppy dog eyes but the Spanish driver just shakes his head.

“Sadly, I did not witness this alleged wedding. I turned in early, unlike you wild youths.”

You groan and let your head fall to the table. “This is bad, Fernando. Really bad. I could lose my seat over this if the team finds out I pulled a stunt like this. I need to figure out who I married!"

Fernando pats your head condescendingly. “There there, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Your secret is safe with me.”

You peer up at him suspiciously. “Just how secret is this? The smirk on your face makes me think you know something.”

The smirk widens. “Maybe I know something, maybe I don’t. But I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.”

“Nando!” You smack his arm as he laughs. “This isn’t funny! Just tell me who I married!”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P obnoxiously. “It is too entertaining watching you squirm.”

You let out a frustrated growl. “You’re the worst. I don’t know why I bothered asking you for help.”

“Because you love me, that’s why,” Fernando says with a cheeky wink.

You can’t help but smile a bit at that. You’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the menace.

“Ugh fine, keep your secrets,” you concede. “I’ll figure this out without your help.”

You start to stand up but Fernando stops you. “Leaving so soon? Stay, have some breakfast with me. You’re going to need your energy today.”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food so you sink back down into your seat. “I guess I could eat something while I plot my next move.”

A waiter comes by and you order a massive plate of food to soak up the alcohol still swimming in your system. As you tuck into your meal, you notice Fernando watching you from across the table, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he says. “Whoever you ended up marrying ... they are a very lucky man. Underneath this hungover mess, you have a good heart. Don’t be too hard on yourself over one wild night, eh?”

You pause mid-bite, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Nando. That really means a lot coming from you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand briefly before returning to his coffee. The playful twinkle returns to his eye. “Even if you did get married like an idiot last night.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks. Way to ruin the moment there.”

Fernando shrugs, unrepentant. “What can I say? I live to annoy you, little sister.”

You finish up your meal, feeling slightly better with some food in you. As frustrating as that encounter was, at least you can count on Fernando to keep this quiet. Time to go gather more clues.

You stand and point an accusatory finger at Fernando. “This isn’t over. I will get to the bottom of this mystery marriage!”

Fernando just smiles enigmatically. “I have no doubt. Good luck, Mrs. Whatever Your New Last Name Is.”

You stick your tongue out at him maturely and flounce away. That man is infuriating. But the quest continues. Time to find the next driver on your interrogation list.

***

You decide to try your luck with Daniel next. The Aussie partied hard but he’s also a notorious gossip. Maybe he caught wind of something that can point you in the right direction.

You find Daniel lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, basking in the Vegas sun like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

So unfair.

“Hello there, sunshine,” he drawls as you walk up. “Don’t you look fresh as a daisy this fine day.”

You glare at him from behind your own sunglasses. “Stuff it, Ricciardo. I’m only here because I need information from you.”

Daniel gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! Here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” you roll your eyes. “When you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

“A pain in that fine ass of yours? Perish the thought!”

You smack him lightly upside the head and he chuckles. “Alright alright, what do you need from old mate Daniel?”

You plop down in the lounge chair next to him and hold up your left hand. “I need you to tell me anything you know or can remember about how this got on my finger last night.”

Daniel lets out a low whistle. “Well tickle me pink and call me Sheila, Y/N’s gone and got herself hitched in Vegas!”

You shush him frantically. “Keep your voice down! The last thing I need is for this to get out.”

Looking far too delighted by the situation, Daniel leans in conspiratorially. “Right, top secret and all that. Who’s the lucky fella then?”

You sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Everything after we moved on to OMNIA is a total blackout. Please tell me you know something.”

Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let me think here ... I may have some recollection of the night’s events.”

You perk up. “Yes? Go on then, tell me!”

“I do seem to remember ...” he pauses theatrically, “... that I was your very own ring bearer for the occasion!”

Your face falls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

Daniel grins cheekily. “What can I say, it was a beautiful ceremony. I was truly honored to be part of it.”

You smack his arm. “You’re no help at all! Come on, I’m desperate here.”

Daniel laughs and puts up his hands. “Alright, alright, I’m just having a bit of fun with ya. Truth is, I was as pissed as the rest of you lot last night. Don’t remember much myself.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Daniel must take pity on your crestfallen face because he places a hand on your shoulder. “Chin up, Y/N. So you got a little wild in Vegas, it happens. I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.”

You nod but can’t keep the worry from your face. “I know, it’s just ... this could really screw things up if anyone finds out. I don’t even know who I married!”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’ve got the Honey Badger on the case!” He proclaims cheerfully. “I may not have the details but I’ll sniff around and ask some questions on the down low.”

You smile gratefully. “I appreciate that. Hopefully someone around here knows something.”

Daniel pops to his feet and offers you a hand. “Too right! Now come on, up you get. Let’s go scrounge up some greasy food and hair of the dog for that hangover, eh?”

You let Daniel pull you to your feet, feeling bolstered by his positivity.

As you head towards the sports bar in search of a burger and fries, Daniel slings an arm around your shoulder. “Cheer up! This’ll make for one hell of a story someday. It might even become a Grill The Grid trivia question.”

Despite everything, you have to laugh. Trust Daniel to look for the bright side.

But you still can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You married someone last night. For real. It’s not just some random hookup you can laugh off. There’s a living, breathing person out there who you pledged your life to and you don’t even know their name.

What kind of person did drunk Y/N choose as a life partner? Are they worried about this too? Or are they some opportunistic sleaze looking to take advantage of you?

You shake your head, realizing Daniel is watching you with a quizzical look. No use speculating. Just keep searching for answers, one driver at a time.

***

After saying goodbye to Daniel, you set off in search of Lewis. As the life of every party, surely he has to know the details of your wild night.

You eventually track him down just outside the hotel, walking his beloved bulldog. Lewis grins when he sees you approaching.

“Ah the bride awakens at last! We were wondering when you’d emerge,” he says with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes. “News sure travels fast. I’m guessing Nando blabbed?”

Lewis shakes his head. “When you have an impromptu wedding in the middle of a rager in Vegas, people are going to talk.”

You wince, dreading how far word of this has already spread. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you need information.

“About that ...” you say. “I don’t suppose you happen to know who I ended up marrying last night?”

Lewis’ grin widens. “Now what kind of best man would I be if I spilled the beans?”

You stare at him in shock. “Best man? You were there?”

“But of course!” Lewis declares. “Had to lend my impeccable fashion sense for your dress. Pulled some strings with a stylist I know and got you all hooked up last minute.”

Your mind is reeling. You got married in an actual wedding dress? This just gets worse and worse.

You wrack your brain trying to picture it. But you have zero memory of any dress. Lewis must read the confusion on your face.

“Don’t worry, I had it safely delivered to your room after you started taking it off in the middle of the club. Though I’m guessing you were in no state to keep track of it,” he chuckles.

You shake your head, still stunned. “I didn’t see any dress in my room. What did you do with it?”

Lewis taps his chin. “You know, I did pop in this morning to check on you but you were still passed out cold. So I had the dress boxed up and sent off to be preserved and framed as a gift.”

He crouches down to scratch Roscoe behind the ears. “That’s from me and this good boy right here. Couldn’t let such a work of art go to waste!”

You’re touched in spite of yourself. “That’s really sweet, thank you. But I would really rather just know who I married right now.”

Lewis stands back up and wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, where’s the fun in that? This is the most entertainment we’ve had all season!”

You groan as Lewis laughs. “Come on, Lew. Have mercy and put me out of my misery here.”

But Lewis just zips his mouth. “My lips are sealed! Don’t you worry though, he’s a great guy. You’ve got my stamp of approval.”

You cross your arms in frustration. Of course Lewis would drag this out like a sitcom. But his clue gives you pause.

“He’s a great guy,” Lewis said. So your mystery spouse is someone Lewis personally knows and actually approves of. That narrows it down a bit.

Lewis gives you an apologetic smile and checks his watch. “I’d best be off. But don’t worry, you’ll figure this out!” He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he saunters away with Roscoe in tow.

You watch them go, mind spinning.

Lewis doesn’t just compliment anyone. So apparently drunk Y/N didn’t marry a total disaster. That’s something at least.

You absently twist the wedding band around your finger. You wish you could remember anything about him, about what happened between you.

Did you have a beautiful ceremony? Exchange heartfelt vows? Share a magical first dance as spouses?

You shake your head ruefully. If so, what a shame not to remember any of it. Here’s hoping that this “great guy” turns out to be someone who can make you fall in love all over again ...

***

You decide on a new approach — find the person who actually married you and your husband last night. Whoever officiated the ceremony must know the identity of your mystery groom.

The only problem is, you have no idea who that could be. It’s not like Vegas chapels employ actual priests or judges to perform marriages. It was probably just some random person licensed to perform marriages.

You start making the rounds of the chapels on the Strip, showing your ring and asking if anyone remembers you coming in during the night. But you have no luck — most of the chapels you try to check in with aren’t even open yet, catering to the drunk impulsive crowd that comes out after dark.

After hours of fruitless searching, you plop down on a bench in front of the Venetian, racking your brain for what to try next.

A group of women in matching Bride Tribe shirts walk by, laughing and chatting in that way only tipsy daytime bachelorettes can.

One of them pauses as they pass and calls out to you. “Hey hun, you look down. Guy trouble?” She gestures to your ring.

You debate waving her off but then reconsider. Maybe a bachelorette party would know their way around the Vegas wedding scene.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you reply. “I’m trying to find the person who married me last night but it was a bit of a ... wild impromptu thing. I don’t even know where it happened.”

The women gasp excitedly. “Oh my god, a drunk Vegas wedding? That’s epic!” Says the one in the rhinestoned Bride To Be sash.

“Epic disaster more like,” you mutter but can’t help smiling. Their enthusiasm is infectious.

The bride puts her arm around you. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll help you sort this out! I know all the best chapels.” She turns to her posse. “Ladies, let’s help her track down her mystery hubby!”

You find yourself swept up in the bachelorettes’ mission to assist you. After barraging you with questions about the wedding (“Please tell me you at least had a cute dress?” “Oooh was it Elvis themed?”), they decide that the most likely chapel was The Little Vegas Wedding Chapel off the north end of the Strip.

You all pile into their pink party bus and soon pull up at the aforementioned chapel. The receptionist greets you with a smile. “Welcome ladies! Who’s the lucky bride today?”

The girls nudge you forward. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Well actually, I’m trying to find out if I was a bride here last night.” You show her your ring. “I don’t remember much but I know I got married. I was hoping you might have a record?”

The receptionist types away on her computer, then frowns. “Hmm doesn’t look like we had any late night weddings yesterday. Our last was at 10 pm.”

You sigh but thank her anyway. So much for that idea. At least the bachelorettes are still upbeat as you climb back on their bus.

“No luck there but it was still a fun adventure!” The bride-to-be seems to have all the enthusiasm in the world.

You nod, grateful for their attempts to help. As the bus starts moving, the bride gasps.

“Wait, girls, I think I know where we need to go!” She turns to you excitedly. “There’s this little all-night chapel down on Fremont Street. Our friend Val got married there on a total whim a few years ago and she said it was fabulous!”

A chorus of squeals greets this news. You aren’t sure this is a solid lead, but hey, it’s not like you have any better ideas.

“Alright, let’s give it a shot!”

Twenty minutes later you’re climbing out of the bus in front of a small chapel with a neon 24 Hour Weddings sign. Taking a deep breath, you push through the door into the kitschy Vegas-themed space.

At the front counter is an older man in an Elvis costume that must be at least a size too small. Bingo. You hurry over and show him your ring.

“By any chance did you marry me and some guy last night?”

The Elvis impersonator peers at you for a moment before his face lights up in recognition. “Well slap me sideways, you’re the lovely lady I helped get hitched last night! What a shindig that was!”

Your heart leaps. Finally a lead! “Yes that was me! Do you by chance have a record of who I married?”

Elvis frowns. “You mean you don’t remember the young fella? He was real handsome, said some mighty sweet vows if I recall correctly.”

You shake your head in frustration. So close and yet so far.

Elvis pats your arm. “No worries darling, old Elvis remembers. I gotcha hitched to ...”

You lean forward eagerly as Elvis taps his chin, racking his memory.

“Now let’s see ... young fella you married. He was oh ... a bit taller than you I’d say. Had one of them European accents — German, Swedish, or somethin’ like that. Brown hair I think. A pretty good lookin’ chap. Dressed real sharp too.”

Your heart sinks as Elvis delivers the extremely vague description. Brown hair and a little over your height? Well that only narrows it down to about half of the paddock!

You groan and smack your forehead in frustration. So close! Elvis gives you an apologetic look.

“Aw shucks, wish I could tell ya more little lady. But I was croonin’ so many love songs last night that all you couples started to blend together.”

You force a smile, knowing he did try his best. “That’s alright, I appreciate you checking for me.”

Back outside, you fill in the eager bachelorettes on Elvis’ less than helpful clues. Their excitement deflates a bit.

“Dang, that could be like, anyone!” One says, voicing your thoughts exactly.

The bride-to-be squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t worry hun, we’ll keep thinking! Your mystery man is out there somewhere.”

You give her a grateful hug. “Thanks ladies, for all your help today. I should probably get back to my hotel and keep investigating.”

The gaggle of girls walks you back to the bus, firing off more wild theories about your potential groom.

“Oooh what if it’s that sexy Spanish driver … Alfonso?” Suggests the bridesmaid named Amy.

“It’s Alonso,” you correct with a laugh. She may be way off but you appreciate the enthusiasm.

As you say goodbye to your new friends, your mind is spinning once again. So Elvis confirmed this wedding really happened, though his clues weren’t particularly enlightening.

But he did say one thing — whoever you married gave sweet vows. So apparently in your drunken state, you picked someone who could be sincere and romantic.

That has to count for something, right?

You glance down at the wedding ring on your finger, the physical reminder of the huge secret you’re unraveling. Did you really promise to spend your life with someone here of all places? And do they plan on holding you to that promise?

Your gut twists with anxiety but also a trace of curiosity. Who is this mystery man who can make drunken Elvis shed a sentimental tear?

Whoever he is, you’re going to find him.

***

Exhausted after a day of fruitless searching, you decide to head back to your hotel to regroup. You slump down onto one of the plush couches in the crowded lobby, mind still spinning over the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in.

Who exactly did you end up pledging eternal devotion to in your drunken stupor last night? So far your quest to unravel this mystery marriage has led nowhere.

But you can’t rest yet. You need answers.

As you sit there contemplating your next move, your phone starts blowing up with Twitter notifications. You blink in surprise. Must be big news dropping for this much activity.

You open the app and nearly swallow your tongue when you see the top trending hashtag: #Y/NMaxWedding.

Your stomach drops to your feet.

No no no, this cannot be happening!

But with a sense of impending doom, you click on the hashtag. Immediately you see the bombshell that has sent your world into a tailspin.

It’s a tweet from a fan account, featuring photos they somehow obtained of a Clark County Nevada marriage certificate between you ... and Max Verstappen. Your teammate.

You stare slack-jawed at the images of the official document signed by you and Max as spouses, clear as day. Your drunken Vegas escapade isn’t a secret anymore. It’s public record, blasted all over social media.

Numb with shock, you scroll through countless tweets analyzing, freaking out over, and cracking jokes about you and Max’s surprise nuptials. Some fans are outraged. Others seem delighted at this bombshell gossip.

You groan, head in your hands. This is an absolute disaster. What was merely a drunken mistake is now immortalized online. There’s no hiding it or hoping it will blow over quietly.

You married Max freaking Verstappen in Vegas. The sometimes arrogant and standoffish but always crazy talented driver you’re teammates with. No wonder he was acting so squirrelly this morning when you asked about the wedding.

Some logical part of your brain knows you need to talk to Max, start figuring out what to do for damage control. But the overwhelmed emotional side just wants to crawl under a rock and hide.

In a daze, you make your way up to your suite. Once inside, you toss your phone onto the bed, not even bothering to read the likely hundreds of texts blowing it up. You are in no state of mind to talk to your manager or team right now.

Collapsing onto the couch, you stare blankly at the wall, feeling numb. Despite all your investigating, a part of you still hoped that maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe the ring and certificate were just part of some elaborate prank.

But there’s no denying it now. You’re well and truly married to Max Verstappen.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. Of all the drivers, of course you had end up with him. Max, your fiercest rival, constantly pushing you to be better. The teammate who drives you crazy but also loves to compete with you and rile you up.

God, your friends are never going to let you live this down. Married to Max. It’s like some cheesy fanfiction brought to life.

You glance over at your silent phone. The logical part of your brain knows you need to call him. You’re going to have to talk about this and figure out what the hell to do next.

But the overwhelmed part wants to put that conversation off indefinitely. You need time to process the bombshell that just upended your life before you can face Max.

Your inner debate is interrupted by a knock at your door. You freeze. No doubt it’s the Red Bull PR team come to scold you or paparazzi looking for a comment on your no-longer-a-secret marriage. Well you have nothing to say to them!

“Go away!” You yell but the knocking persists. With an irritated huff, you wrench open the door, fully prepared to give whoever’s there a piece of your mind.

Instead, you come face to face with the person you least expected but probably most needed to see. Max stands in your doorway, sheepish and awkward.

For several tense beats, you just stare at each other, the weight of this life-altering moment hanging between you.

Finally Max breaks the silence. “So ... quite a day, huh?” He gives an uneasy chuckle.

You continue gaping at him, stunned into silence. Max shuffles his feet, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Can I uh, come in? I think maybe we should talk.”

Wordlessly, you step aside and let him enter the suite. Max perches on the edge of an armchair while you sink onto the couch. More tense silence.

Max clears his throat. “So I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

You nod mutely. Max sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, Y/N ... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But I woke up just as confused as you this morning. Wasn’t totally sure it was even real.”

He hesitates then continues softly. “You were pretty out of it last night. We all were. Getting hitched was obviously crazy but I guess it seemed fun in the moment.”

You shake your head, finding your voice at last. “This goes way beyond fun, Max! We’re married! Actually married!" Your voice edges up hysterically on the last word.

“Yes it was a ... crazy night,” Max laughs nervously.

You scoff bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. I’d say a drunken Vegas wedding to my teammate counts as more than just crazy!"

Max winces at your tone. “Look Y/N, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. But we were all wasted last night. I didn’t even remember at first—”

You cut him off sharply. “Well I don’t remember any of it! As far as I’m concerned, this so-called marriage never even happened.”

You begin pacing. “We need to get this annulled immediately before things get worse. It was clearly an idiotic mistake.”

Max frowns, looking hurt. “Whoa, no need to be so harsh. It may have been drunken impulse but ... maybe it was also fate.”

You stop pacing and stare at him incredulously. “Fate? Are you insane?”

He stands and steps towards you. “Hear me out. We’ve been teammates for years now. Maybe deep down we both wanted this.”

Your jaw drops open. Max keeps going.

“I know it’s crazy but what if this marriage was meant to be? We owe it to ourselves to give this a real shot before bailing.”

You gaze at him in disbelief. Is he seriously suggesting ...

“Give this a real shot?” You repeat faintly.

Max takes your hands earnestly. “Yes! We’ve always made a great team on track. Just imagine how great we would be together off track too.”

You open your mouth to argue but Max presses on. “Plus, my children need a mother.”

You yank your hands back in shock. “Children? You have kids?”

“Well, not human kids,” Max admits sheepishly. “But my cats, Jimmy and Sassy! They need a maternal influence.”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with Max’s ramblings. Is he pranking you right now?

He fixes you with his most charming smile. “Come on, wifey. Just give it a chance! We’re clearly compatible if drunk us wanted to get married.”

You stare at him like he sprouted a second head. Max gazes back hopefully. His smile really is kind of adorable ...

No! Snap out of it! This is crazy.

But he does raise some valid points. And backing out now would cause an even bigger scandal ...

You slump down onto the couch with a groan. “Fine! We’ll stay married for now. But we explain to the team it was just drunken foolishness.”

Max pumps his fist. “Yes! See, we’re already compromising with each other. It’s like we’re meant to be husband and wife!”

That finally breaks through your haze of shock. Oh god ... you have to tell Christian Horner that you married Max Verstappen.

***

You take a deep breath as you stand outside Christian’s hotel suite, arm raised to knock. “Ready for this?” You ask Max.

He grimaces. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

You steel your nerves and rap sharply on the door. After a moment, it swings open to reveal Christian mid-yawn.

“Y/N, Max, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks curiously.

You shuffle your feet, not sure how to start. “Uh, hey Christian. Max and I have something we need to discuss with you. Mind if we come in for a minute?”

Christian narrows his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. “What’s this about? I just got off a conference call with the factory team in Milton Keynes and I was finally planning to try my luck with the slots downstairs.”

You perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair while Max stands next to you stiffly.

How do you even begin to break this kind of news to your boss?

“So Christian, funny story ...” you start lamely.

Max jumps in, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. “We got married last night.”

Christian’s eyes widen comically. For a long moment he just looks between you two like you each have three heads. Then he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

“Good one guys, you almost had me there! Trying to pull one over on your poor old team principal, very funny,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes.

You give a weak smile. “No uh, we’re actually being serious. We got married for real last night.”

Max nods. “It just sort of ... happened.”

Christian collapses onto the sectional, looking between you in shock. “This would be a great time for you to stop with the prank.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Max says solemnly. “We were drunk and it was all really quite fast ...”

“No no, this must be some kind of joke!" Christian protests, though he’s starting to look uncertain. He grabs his phone off the coffee table. “Let me just check online, there’s no way ...”

His voice trails off as he scans his phone screen, eyes going wide at the headlines. With a low groan, he collapses back into his armchair.

“It’s true? You two actually ...” He drags a hand down his face. “Please tell me this is all some elaborate hoax the internet cooked up. Please tell me that two other people named Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N happened to get married in Vegas last night.”

You shake your head helplessly.

Christian drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Unbelievable. Two of my drivers running off and eloping in Vegas! The media is going to have an absolute field day with this.”

He fixes you both with a stern glare. “Do either of you have any idea the position this puts the team in? The scandal it could cause?”

You hang your head, properly chastised. Max speaks up tentatively. “We’re really sorry, Christian, it was incredibly stupid of us. But it’s done now so we just have to deal with it.”

Christian sighs heavily. “You’re not wrong. The last thing we need is more media drama so we will have to get out in front of this.”

He pauses, regarding you both shrewdly. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll pursue an annulment right away and we can pretend this never happened?”

You glance at Max, who takes your hand and shakes his head. “We’ve talked it over and want to make this work. It happened for a reason.”

Christian makes a strangled noise. “Make this work? You plan on staying married??” His voice rises in pitch, verging on hysterical.

“We want to try,” you confirm, squeezing Max’s hand.

Christian looks desperately between you two once more before his eyes roll back and he slumps over in a dead faint.

You and Max rush over in concern. “Christian!" Max taps his face urgently. “C’mon, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, Christian’s eyes flutter open. “Wha ... what happened?” He mumbles.

“You passed out when we told you we’re staying married,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian groans, covering his face with his arm. “God help me, this is a nightmare ...”

You have to bite back an inappropriate laugh. Seeing your usually unflappable team principal so flustered would be funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Max helps Christian sit up and hands him a glass of water. “Sorry for springing this on you. But we’re going to make the best of it.”

Christian fixes Max with a weary look. “Just promise me no more reckless surprises from you two.”

You and Max raise your right hands in unison. “We promise!”

Taking a deep breath, Christian straightens his shirt and smooths his hair, regaining his composure. “Right. Well this is certainly an unexpected development. But the show must go on.”

He adopts his usual businesslike tone. “We’ll need to draft a press release announcing this immediately and get ahead of the media cycle. No commenting publicly until we strategize.”

You both nod obediently. Christian checks his watch. “I needed to get our PR team on the phone five minutes ago. You two, order room service and lay low until you hear from me.”

He ushers you politely but firmly out the door. As it shuts behind you, you turn to Max with wide eyes. “Well ... that could’ve gone worse?”

Max winces. “I thought Christian was going to burst a blood vessel at first. But it seems he’s taking it in stride.”

You both burst into slightly hysterical laughter, the stress melting away.

Looks like you have a marriage to figure out how to actually make work.

***

One year later

You take a deep breath as you knock on the door to Christian’s office, Max by your side. It’s time to break some more big news to your team principal.

“Come in!” Christian calls.

You enter to find him sitting at his desk surrounded by the usual organized chaos of strategy plans and data analysis.

He looks up, blinking in surprise. “Y/N, Max, what brings you by?”

You glance at Max, who gives you an encouraging nod and tentative smile. Turning back to Christian, you clasp your hands together nervously.

“Hey Christian. So, remember last year in Vegas when we promised no more reckless surprises?”

Christian’s eyes narrow warily. “Yeeesss ...” he draws out.

You look at Max again who blurts out, “Well we have another surprise coming your way. You’re going to be a grandpa!”

Christian’s jaw drops. His gaze darts down to your still flat midsection then back up to your nodding, beaming faces.

“You ... you’re ...” Christian stammers, looking like all the blood has drained from his face.

You take pity and confirm it for him. “Pregnant, yes. Surprise!” You add with an awkward chuckle.

For a few long moments Christian just sits there, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. Then, his eyes roll back and he topples forward, head thunking down on his desk.

You and Max rush forward. “Uh no, I think we broke him again,” Max winces, gently shaking Christian’s shoulder.

After a few tense seconds, Christian stirs with a groan. “Oww, my head ...”

“You passed out when we told you about the baby,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian blinks blearily up at you both hovering over him anxiously. “The baby ... so it’s really true then?”

You place a hand on your stomach. “Yep! There’s going to be a little Verstappen running around in around seven and a half months.”

Despite his obvious shock, Christian manages a weak smile. “Well how about that ... we’re expanding the Red Bull family.”

Max claps him on the back. “I know it seems a bit crazy but we’re thrilled.” He squeezes your hand and smiles softly.

Christian lets out a long breath, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Well, I appreciate you both coming to me first this time. We’ll need to strategize how to share the happy news.”

You can’t resist teasing him gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our best to avoid making you faint again in the future.”

Christian levels a stern finger at you both. “See that you do. My heart can only take so much.” But his mock glare melts into a warm smile.

You exchange a grin with Max.

It turns out that sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas … but neither of you is going to complain about that.