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whimsicalpolitical · 21 hours ago

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what are your thoughts on Ross and reader telling each other their kinks and maybe trying a few? new content of Ross has me going crazyyy

okay okay I have a few 🫨, 18+mdni

Hair pulling:

To start with. Ross’ hair is really fucking long right? That means you can properly pull it and he’s soo fucking into it.

He’s lazily thrusting into you, his hand clutching yours next to your head and his mouth is somewhere in between your neck, sucking, biting and groaning against your skin when you clench around him.

When he repeatedly hits the spot that makes you go weak you can’t help but move your hand from his lower back to the nape of his neck, your fingertips digging into his scull before tugging at his dark hair.

“Jesus fucking christ,” is his first reaction, his hips faltering and his teeth on his bottom lip, needing to focus before finishing too soon.

“Sorry-“ you apologize out of breath, thinking you hurt him.

Ross shakes his head though and swallows, “don’t apologize,” he groans, grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his back, “do that again?”

Your fingers are hovering near his head and Ross hums in permission. You stroke his hair for a moment before tugging, just as hard as the last time.

“Oh, fuckin hell,” he groans, your move pulling the same reaction out of him as it did a minute ago.

Ross’ pace increases, moving in and out of you, holding your leg in place while your hand never leaves his hair again.

“Like that?” You ask giggling.

He rolls his eyes, catching the look on your face. “Don’t look so bloody pleased with yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you say, but you’re obviously lying, and he knows it. You lean in, fingers tugging at his hair just slightly, testing, and his breath catches. His eyes flutter closed, and the sight of it, the way his lips part with a soft sigh, does something to you.

“Thought you said you liked it,” you say, pulling back just enough to whisper it against his jaw.

“Didn’t say to take the piss, did I?” he mutters, but he’s already leaning into you, clearly not as annoyed as he sounds. You laugh, pulling his hair a little harder, and he lets out this low, involuntary moan that makes your stomach twist.

“Ross,” you say, pretending to be stern, even though your own voice is breathless.

You kiss him hard, fingers curling tighter in his hair. He makes another one of those sounds, this time more desperate, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

“MacDonald, discover a new kink?”

“Don’t—” he tries to catch his breath, and you can tell you’re driving him a little mad. “You- bloody hell.” He’s laughing now, but it’s shaky, almost nervous, and you love it.

“Was that a yes?”

“Yes, it’s—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut. “Shit, yes, alright?”

“‘Alright?’” you mock, loving how undone he sounds. “Sounds like you more than like it.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

Mutual Masturbation:

One of your biggest fucking turn ons, kind of teasing for yourself, is watching Ross touch himself.

You’re both absolutely drunk after a night out and when you grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen he’s man spreading on the couch, wearing black jeans and a black sweater which is not covering his stomach.

Your eyes drop to his happy trail that disappears in his pants.

You gulp, smirking and watching him lock eyes with you.

“Alright there?” He asks, one of his hands smoothing the sides of his hair.

“Mhm,” you hum, taking a sip of your glass.

You stride towards him but instead of sitting as close to him as possible you sit at the end of the couch, draping a blanket over your lap.

Ross is scoffing trying to pull you over, “what are you doing?”

You giggle into your glass and push him back with your foot.

“Can I ask you to do something?” You ask innocently.

“Ask away, love.”

He leans back again, his hand still grasping your ankle and watching your every move.

You press your foot down lightly against his crotch, feeling the heat of him through the denim. Ross’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth curving up in a slow grin, one that’s equal parts warning and promise.

“That’s dangerous, love,” he says, his voice dropping low, almost a growl. He catches your ankle with one firm hand, holding you in place.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down. “Can you touch yourself?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, the teasing look fading, replaced by something more intense.

Ross laughs, “you’re pissed, are you not?”

You lean your head forward to attach your lips to his jawline and then his neck. You leave wet kisses there before you pull back again.

“Perfectly fine, Ross. It was just a request I-,” you sigh, “if you’re not in the mood we can-.”

“Piss off,” he chuckles, “can’t just make me hard and then pretend that I don’t want this. Elaborate though, darling, how’d you want me to touch myself.”

“Uh,” you blush, smiling and already feeling tingles in your lower stomach, “just- please, make yourself feel good, for me?”

Slowly, he lets go of your foot, guiding it off his lap, his fingers lingering a moment too long as they slide down your calf. His own hand moves to the waistband of his jeans, fingers playing casually with the button, but he’s still watching you—waiting.

“Bold request,” he says raising his eyebrows, “I’ll do anything you want me to do though, d’you know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod, glancing up at his face for a split second before your eyes drop to his fingers who are slowly unzipping his fly.

Ross laughs, “I see.”

He doesn’t stop looking at you. He doesn’t stop when his hand sneaks inside his pants, brushing his fingers across his bulge over his boxers. You can’t see though- but that’s exactly what he wants.

He doesn’t lose his composure yet, smiling when you pout and kick your foot against his thigh, “you’re unfair.”

“Am I?” He asks, squeezing his cock, hissing while doing so, “got to tell me exactly what you want then.”

“Wanna watch,” you reply instantly, “please.”

You lean forward again, sliding his hand out of his pants and he lets you. He’s stronger than you but he’s enjoying this.

You slip your hand beneath his boxers, connecting your hand with his hard cock and slowly stroking him.

“I so badly want to watch, Ross,” you pout, your face as close as possible to his. Like this, you notice his eyes going darker.

“Hands off then and move to the end of the couch.“

You eagerly nod and move back to your spot, licking your lips when your boyfriend finally lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down to his ankles and then sliding them off completely.

Now, he's only in his boxers, the outline of him clear beneath the fabric, and you catch a glimpse of wetness where he's already leaking. He notices the way your eyes dart down, and a wicked smile spreads across his lips.

“Didn’t know you were into something like this.”

“Me neither,” you joke.

It doesn’t take long until Ross needs more than little touches over his boxers. When he tugs himself out he groans and immediately wraps his fist around himself.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, his hand in a slow, deliberate movement.

“Yes,” you breathe out, unable to look away.

Ross laughs softly but it’s quickly replaced by his breath hitching when he squeezes his tip.

“Feels a bit weird, though, just you, watching.”

“A bad weird?”

“No,” he says quickly, “not bad at all, just different, a good different.”

The first time he breaks eye contact is when he throws his head back as he starts to speed up, his cock glistening with his pre cum.

“Fuckin’ christ,” he groans, “didn’t think I’d be doing this tonight.”

You bite your lip and watch every move while you open your the buttons of your blouse.

Ross’ eyes drop down to your breasts and can’t help but let a groan slip again.

“Take it off,” he orders, pointing to your black lace bra.

You do as he says, your body completely in his control.

“Absolutely gorgeous, love, want you to feel good as well.”

He tilts his head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and you take the opportunity to lean in closer, your lips parting as you drink in the sight of him. When his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s a wildness there that sends a thrill down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice ragged. “You’re too good at this, love.” He’s starting to lose control, you can see it in the way his hips jerk up into his hand, the way his brows draw together as he struggles to keep his composure.

Your breath catches, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. His eyes widen, dark and burning with desire, and he swears softly under his breath.

“Touch yourself,” he orders suddenly, his voice rough with urgency. “Wanna see you, too.”

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, his eyes raking over you with undisguised hunger. His hand falters for just a moment before he picks up the pace, his gaze fixed on the way you move.

You copy his moves from earlier, your hands opening the fly of your jeans and pulling them down.

You can feel the flush spreading over your skin, but you don’t look away, not even when your own hand dips down, pressing against the ache between your legs. He’s watching every movement, his eyes hungry and desperate, and you can tell he’s close—so close to the edge.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice almost reverent, and you can feel the sincerity in his words.

“You too,” you manage to say, your voice shaky but genuine. “I... I love watching you.”

His lips twitch into a shy smile, his eyes softening. “Yeah?” he asks, almost disbelieving. You nod quickly, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you.

“Yeah,” you echo, and he chuckles quietly.

For a while, there’s no sound but the shaky breaths you’re both taking. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, but he opens them again almost immediately, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of you.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Want to see you like this, keep going, love.”

You shudder at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the warmth pool low in your belly as you move in time with him. He’s letting himself go now, completely caught up in the moment, and you can see the tension building in his body.

Suddenly, his breath hitches, and he stares at you, eyes wide and desperate.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mumbles, “I’m close-“

“Me too,” you whisper, your hand trembling slightly as you match his pace.

His eyes flick to your hand, watching every movement with a kind of reverence that makes your heart flutter.

“That’s perfect, just like that, love. Do it like I would, that’s right.”

He talks you through it, making sure you feel as good as he does.

“Oh fuck-“ he groans, hips thrusting up and his hand moving faster than ever, “jesus.”

Finally, he lets out a low, shaky groan, his movements growing frantic as he reaches the edge. He doesn’t look away from you, not even for a second, his gaze holding yours with a kind of intensity that takes your breath away. And then he’s gone, shuddering with the release as his eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping his lips.

You follow right after, the sound of his voice and the sight of him enough to send you over the edge, your own quiet gasps mingling with his. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of the shared moment wrapping around you like a cocoon.

When it’s over, you both sit there, breathing heavily and staring at each other with a kind of wonder. There’s a long, quiet beat before he lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“That was... something,” he says, his voice rough but gentle, like he’s still catching his breath. There’s a faint smile on his lips, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah,” you say, a little dazed. “Something.”

He reaches for you then, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. It’s not about anything physical anymore—it’s just the warmth and comfort of being close. You curl into him, resting your head on his chest, and he lets out a contented sigh, his fingers playing with your hair.

Public quickies:

Especially when Ross was on tour and you’ve been accompanying him in the small tourbus the lack of intimacy is getting to you.

One time after a concert you immediately pull him aside and into some random storage room.

You don’t waste another second and attach your lips to his, your hand pulling his bun and swallowing the groan he lets out.

The both of you pull back when you can’t breathe anymore.

“Alright, m’ not complaining, love, but that’s not really comfortable in here, no?”

You stare at him and roll your eyes playfully, “where else, Ross. We literally don’t have any private time.”

“I know,” he breathes out, his hand rubbing over his forehead, “not long from here, remember? And we’re in a hotel next week.”

“That’s good but still, need you now.”

You press your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath mingling with yours. His eyes are half-lidded, filled with a kind of yearning that matches your own. You move your hands down, fingers finding the buckle of his belt. You’re not wasting time, your hands trembling slightly with urgency. Ross is breathing heavier now, his lips hovering inches from yours, teasing and tantalizing. He lets out a low chuckle.

"Impatient, are we?" he whispers, but there's a rasp to his voice that betrays his own need.

"Ross," you say, your voice a mix of frustration and longing. You tug at his belt until it gives way, loosening the leather strap and unbuttoning his jeans. He’s still grinning, but his breath hitches when your hand slips below his waistband, the teasing smirk dropping for a second.

You’re desperate now, fumbling to push your panties down, the soft fabric sliding past your thighs. He catches your wrist, his touch gentle but firm.

"Darling," he murmurs, "slow down a second, yeah? It’ll hurt if we don’t—"

"I'm fine, Ross," you interrupt, pressing your lips to his to stop him from saying anything else. "I’m okay, I promise."

But he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead, he pauses, staring at you as if weighing his options. The air is thick between you, your heart thudding against your ribcage. Then he cups your face with one hand, the other moving to slide beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

“Just... let me,” he says, softer now, but with a hint of command that sends shivers down your spine. His thumb brushes over your cheek, grounding you for just a second. “I want to take care of you.”

The gentleness in his eyes tugs at something inside you, but the heat bubbling between you both is relentless. You bite back a groan, arching closer, pressing yourself against him. He’s hard beneath the fabric of his jeans, and you can tell he’s holding himself back, wanting to draw this out just a bit longer. It’s maddening.

"Ross, please," you manage, voice catching.

That does it. With a groan of his own, Ross’s restraint snaps. He’s kissing you back harder now, urgent and hungry. His hands move quickly, pushing your panties all the way down.

Ross’s fingers trace the inside of your thigh, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, and you’re almost dizzy with want. He’s everywhere at once, lips on your neck, hands sliding up your sides, his hips pressing closer until there’s no space left between you.

You reach for him again, pulling his jeans down over his hips, your hands desperate and eager. The denim catches, and he laughs softly against your ear.

“Would you just let me take care of you. You’re absolutely needy today.”

But you don’t care. You need him, need this, and it shows in the way you slide your hand down, gripping him through his boxers. He hisses, biting down gently on your shoulder as his own hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing just where you need them most.

“God, you’re drenched,” he mutters, voice reverent, as if the realization floors him. His thumb circles your clit just enough to make your breath hitch, and he’s grinning again, the teasing bastard.

“Ross,” you gasp, your hips moving instinctively against his hand. He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, and it’s almost too much to bear.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, lips finding yours once more as his fingers slip inside, and you’re lost to the sensation.

You barely register your own moan as he moves, his touch skilled and knowing, each stroke sending you spiraling. He’s watching you, his gaze unwavering, as if memorizing every expression on your face. You can tell he’s getting off on it—the way you’re falling apart beneath his touch, and it only makes you want him more.

“Now,” you whisper, almost desperately, tugging at his waistband, needing more, needing him inside you, “please, Ross, now.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he’s moving with you, his own breaths ragged. His belt drops to the floor, and then there’s nothing between you but heat and want and the closeness you’ve both been craving.

When he pushes inside, there’s a moment of perfect stillness—a pause, just to feel, just to breathe. He’s gentle, despite the urgency, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Okay?” he asks, his voice barely more than a breath, lips brushing against yours, his hands cradling you like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

“More than okay,” you murmur, kissing him fiercely, rocking your hips in response.

And then it’s all heat and movement, the sounds of hurried breaths and gasps filling the cramped space, your bodies finding a rhythm that’s frantic and desperate. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he responds in kind, his own groans mixing with yours, holding you closer as if you might disappear.

“Christ, I love you,” he breathes against your mouth, and you can’t think, can’t do anything but feel as the pressure builds, white-hot and overwhelming. You cling to him, fingers tangled in his hair, his body moving against yours until the world shatters and you’re both lost, falling, together.

“Love you- right there,” you moan.

His hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him as he thrusts deeper, his rhythm becoming a little more urgent. You’re breathless, barely able to keep up with the way he’s looking at you, as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

He moves his hand down, his thumb finding your clit, and he presses down in slow, firm circles. The added sensation is almost too much, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips, your hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“God, Ross,” you gasp, clinging to him like he’s your lifeline, your body arching into his touch. “Please, I— I’m so close.”

“I know, darling,” he says, his own voice strained, his breathing heavy as he presses his forehead against yours. His thumb moves in perfect rhythm with his hips, applying just the right amount of pressure, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come on, love. Let go for me, yeah? I want to feel you fallin’ apart.”

You’re right there, teetering on the edge, every nerve ending aflame, and then his hips stutter slightly, his restraint faltering as he feels you clenching around him, tight and desperate.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his grip on you tightening. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, love. Keep goin’—just like that.”

Your body responds to his words, your muscles tightening around him as you feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter. You’re trembling now, your hands gripping his shoulders so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks. His thumb is relentless, his hips snapping into you with a delicious roughness, and his breathing is uneven, his control barely holding.

“Ross,” you cry out, unable to hold back, “I— I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling,” he encourages, his voice low and coaxing, his thumb pressing down just a bit harder, his hips faltering as he loses himself in the feeling of you. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

His words are all it takes. You break, your entire body going taut as the pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave, leaving you breathless and gasping. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, and he lets out a low, guttural groan, his own restraint finally snapping.

“God, love,” he mutters, his voice tight as he thrusts into you one last time, his own release hitting him hard as he shudders, his grip on you fierce. “Bloody perfect, you are.”

You’re both clinging to each other, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high, hearts pounding in sync. His fingers trace gentle circles along your back, grounding you as the haze of pleasure slowly begins to fade.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, a satisfied smile on his face.

“You alright, love?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek softly, his voice warm and tender.

You let out a shaky laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips. “More than all right,” you say, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him close again. “I’d say that was... well worth the wait.”

“Yeah, but next time, we’re findin’ somewhere a bit more comfortable, yeah?” He glances around at the storage room, smirking. “As romantic as this… ‘ambiance’ is.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder playfully. “Oh, hush. It’s not like we had many options, Ross.”

He pulls you close again, arms wrapping around you, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Well, I’d say this was the best ‘quickie’ I’ve ever had, love.”

You both laugh, still tangled together, and in that cramped little room, you feel like the world outside could disappear, and you’d still be perfectly content.

#ross macdonald #ross macdonald smut #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald blurb #ross macdonald one shot #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic

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