#ross macdonald x reader

[whimsicalpolitical]

I so need dad!Ross!! Maybe Christmas with his little babies? 🥹🥹

omg yess!!!!🥹

the snow starts falling just as ross turns into the long driveway, soft flakes landing on the windshield and melting almost instantly. in the front seat, ruben is kicking his legs excitedly in his car seat, his stuffed fox clutched tightly in one hand. he’s been quiet for most of the drive, but the sight of the familiar house has him practically vibrating with energy.

“daddy, daddy!” he shouts, his voice high-pitched and urgent. “uncle rob here?”

ross glances over, smiling softly at his son. “yeah, mate. uncle rob’s here. he’s inside, probably waiting for you.”

ruben squeals, his little feet bouncing against the edge of the seat. “out, out!“

ross chuckles as he pulls the car to a stop just outside the house. “alright, alright. but you’ve got to wait. we need to get your sister and all the stuff out first. can’t just run off, yeah?””

in the backseat, you lean over freya’s car seat, adjusting the knit blanket wrapped tightly around her. snowflakes stick to the window beside her, the faint sound of the wind outside making everything feel cozy and enclosed. freya stirs slightly, her tiny fist flexing, but she stays asleep, her little face rosy from the warmth of the car.

ross looks at you through the rearview mirror. “still asleep, that one?“

“yes,“ you say, offering him a warm smile, “out cold.“

“bless her. d’you want me to carry her and the bags or should i take ruben?”

you unbuckle your seatbelt, glancing between the two kids. “i’ll get ruben, unbuckle him though, please?”

“of course.”

ross opens ruben’s door first, crouching to unbuckle him as the wind whips through the driveway. ruben is already tugging at the straps, his boots kicking against the seat. “hold still, mate. you’ll be out in a second,” ross says, laughing under his breath.

“daddy, out!” ruben insists, holding up his arms.

you giggle and finally get out of the car as well after packing the toys, food and drinks into your rucksack.

ross frees him from the seat but hands him over to you instead. “here, love. i’ll grab freya.“

you laugh as you adjust ruben on your hip. he’s already twisting, trying to look toward the house. “uncle rob!” he shouts again.

“patience, love,” you tell him, smiling. “we’ll get there in a minute.”

ross is already moving to the other side of the car, carefully lifting freya’s maxi-cosi out. he checks the blanket once more, making sure she’s properly tucked in.

“you’ve got her?” you ask as you shift the small rucksack over your shoulder.

“yeah, I’ve got her,” ross replies, his voice soft. “you just make sure ruben doesn’t make a run for it.”

you grin as ruben starts wriggling again. “no promises.”

ross pulls one of the suitcases out of the trunk, rolling it to the front steps before going back for the other one. by the time he’s halfway there with the second case, the front door swings open, and his mum steps out, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf.

“there you are!” she exclaims, her face lighting up as she spots you all. “oh, look at them! my beautiful grandbabies!”

ruben gasps, his eyes going wide. “nana!” he shouts, pointing excitedly.

ross’s mum hurries down the steps, beaming as she reaches out to take the bag from your shoulder. “give that to me, darling. you’ve got your hands full already.”

“thank you,” you say, smiling gratefully as she takes the rucksack and ushers you toward the house.

“ross, stop standin’ about in the snow,” she calls over her shoulder. “get inside before that baby catches a chill!”

“i’m workin’ on it, mum,” ross replies, laughing as he brings the last suitcase to the steps.

his mum holds the door open for you as you step inside, the warmth of the house and the smell of cinnamon and pine wrapping around you instantly. ruben is already twisting in your arms, reaching toward the living room.

“uncle rob!” he shouts again, his voice echoing through the house.

just as ross steps in behind you, freya still asleep in the maxi-cosi, rob appears in the doorway to the living room, his grin wide and welcoming. “there’s my favorite little mate!” he calls out, crouching down and opening his arms.

ruben wriggles free as you set him down, his boots thudding on the floor as he runs straight to rob.

rob catches him easily, lifting him up and spinning him around. “you’ve gotten heavier since last time!” rob says, laughing. “and you’ve brought fox too, huh? couldn’t leave him behind?”

“fox!” ruben says proudly, holding up the toy.

ross’s mum is already fussing over freya, cooing softly as she checks the blanket. “oh, she’s just perfect,” she says, looking up at ross. “you’ve outdone yourselves again.”

ross grins, leaning the maxi-cosi carefully on the floor. “can’t take credit for her. she looks just like her mum.”

you roll your eyes, smiling as you step closer to him. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side.

“welcome to christmas chaos,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

you lean into him, letting the familiar comfort of him settle around you. “wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you reply softly.

ross presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment as the sounds of ruben’s laughter fill the house.

ross presses another kiss to your temple before his mum steps back toward you both, freya’s now out of the seat and in her arms, “right,” she says briskly, already in full grandmother mode. “you two go on and get yourselves sorted. we’ll watch the little ones for a bit.”

“are you sure?” you ask, glancing toward ruben, who’s still babbling excitedly to rob in the living room.

“oh, absolutely,” she replies, her tone leaving no room for argument. “go and unpack. we’ll keep him entertained, and this little angel won’t even notice you’re gone.” she smiles down at freya, who’s still blissfully asleep.

ross steps back toward the suitcases, brushing some snow off his coat. “alright then, just shout if he’s causing trouble.”

“don’t be daft,” his mum says, waving a hand. “we’ve got this. off you go.”

ross looks at you with a little grin, tilting his head toward the stairs. “come on, love. let’s get this lot up to the room before mum changes her mind.”

you smile back, slipping off your coat and hanging it by the door. ross grabs both suitcases while you follow with the bags.

the house feels warm and familiar as you head upstairs, the faint sound of christmas music playing in the background. the snow outside is starting to stick, dusting the window sills and the trees in the garden.

when you reach the guest room, ross sets the suitcase down by the bed with a little sigh, shaking his hands to warm them up. “christ, it’s cold out there,” he mutters, glancing at you as you set the bags down on the chair in the corner.

“come here,” you smile.

he raises a brow, but he doesn’t hesitate, crossing the room to you. as soon as he’s close enough, you rest your hands on his shoulders, your thumbs gently kneading the tight muscles there. his coat is still cold from outside, but you can feel the warmth of him underneath.

“just take this off,” you say, already taking action into your own hands and sliding the coat off and hanging it over a chair.

“yeah, s’better,” he grins, “a lot,” he jokes.

you roll your eyes but smile anyway, letting your hands drop so you can wrap your arms around his middle. you pull him into a proper hug, tucking your face against his chest. his sweater is cool against your cheek, but his arms are warm as they slide around your back.

“are you alright?,” ross asks, brushing his lips over your head.

you blink up at him, slightly surprised by the question. “yeah, of course. why?”

he shrugs, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your sides. “just makin’ sure. it’s been a long drive and with kids now i think sometimes i forget to ask.”

you smile, leaning into him. “ross, I’m absolutely happy. really. being here, with you, with the kids—it’s all I could ever want.”

he lets out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you say firmly, resting your hands on his chest. “i mean it. this—this is everything.”

ross looks at you for a moment, his expression melting into something soft and full of affection. “good,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you. his lips are warm and lingering and you could stay here forever.

“right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “should we start?”

“yeah, probably.”

“what first?” he asks, rubbing his hand over your back.

“let’s just get the basics out for now. we’ll deal with the rest later.”

ross nods, moving to the larger suitcase and pulling out your bathroom bags and a stack of neatly folded baby clothes. “you know,” he says after a moment, his voice softening, “i forgot how nice it feels to be here. like we can just... breathe for a bit.”

you glance up at him, your hands still on one of freya’s onesies. “yeah,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “it does feel good, doesn’t it?”

ross looks at you for a long moment. “it means a lot that you’re with me. you mean a lot.”

“of course,” you reply, “we’re a family.”

ross abandons his suitcase again and walks over to you.

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and warm. “i love you, you know that?”

you look up at him, smiling. “yeah, i know. love you too.”

the moment feels quiet and perfect, the sound of laughter and christmas music drifting up from downstairs as the snow continues to fall outside.

“let’s do this quick so we can go back to our little ones,” ross says.

you laugh, “you already miss them?”

ross chuckles and only shakes your head at you, “just want to enjoy christmas time with everyone.”

you walk past him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, to get to your bags and unpack the most important stuff you need today.

you always feel at home wherever he and your kids are and you’re heart is warm and full of love and you’re ready to project it onto everyone whose near you.

[abiiors]

cruel summer - ross x reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔆:✧˚.🍉⋆𖧧🐚

a/n: sufjan stevens summer?? maybe?? slightly, if you squint. cw: CHEATING (if you have problems with it, this one's really not for you), brief mentions of the death of a parent, one extremely brief mention of a slap, SMUT wc: 12.6k (wtf!)

the first day of summer is always dull at the villa. 

it’s the summer solstice—something the owner used to believe in, and so you keep the tradition, moving all your belongings to the little caretaker’s cottage for the next three months. it’s hard work, taking care of the guests, taking care of the villa, but it’s fun. there’s your seventy year old fisherman aldo who greets you with all the grandfatherly warmth in the world. he promises help should you need it. (you suspect you do, it’s your first year doing this alone after all) 

there’s marta, the cook who’s worked here since before you were even born, excited to get back to work and try out some of the new recipes she’s perfected over the course of the rest of the year. her son helps out too. enzo helps with the cleaning and the more manual tasks, helps you make sure the place is spotless. then there's the more seasonal staff, people who want to spend a summer abroad doing menial jobs and traveling. they never stay long but they're good help.

all in all by the time the villa is open for business, you’re confident that it’s going to be the perfect getaway for any couple that chooses to rent it, specifically the one who has chosen to rent it—for four whole weeks. not that you don’t get long stays from people, it’s an absolutely gorgeous property after all. but four weeks is rare. 

you suspect it’s someone on their honeymoon—high on newlywed bliss and disgustingly in love. 

mr and mrs macdonald.

“we have a booking under macdonald?” is the first thing he says to you. 

hastily you look up from your phone (which you shouldn’t have been on in the first place, but the only people you’ve seen here today are a few tourists dining at the restaurant adjacent to the villa and the locals dropping by for a catch up) and nod.

macdonald. yes. that’s a name you know. 

you stand up to your full height and come up to about his chest, craning until you can meet his eyes…or well, the sunglasses, in his case. he looks like every other tourist you’ve seen—a white linen shirt, sunglasses, suitcases, slightly pink in the face. but that’s not all. 

a chain peeks from under his collar, resting delicately around his neck. his sleeves are folded up to the elbows, forearms littered with tattoos, and you suspect there’s more of them that you can’t see. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, giving you a generous view of his chest. 

not that you should be noticing any of that. 

he is holding hands with his wife right in front of you after all�� a wife that has her eyebrow raised at you at the moment. 

“right!” you clap, putting on your best customer service voice, “the honeymoon couple.”

she makes a sound at the back of her throat, something that’s almost like an incredulous laugh. the man, however, smiles and shakes his head. 

“not honeymoon, no. just a vacation.”

inwardly you cringe. the owner would have never outright assumed something like that. the owner, incidentally, would have also had the perfect comeback. you awkwardly toe the rug under your feet.

“oh, sorry about that. let me just, uh, let me get you checked in.”

mercifully they say nothing after that. they wait, holding hands and looking around the lobby of the villa, making little comments about the decor and the vibe. from the corner of your eye you see him rub his thumb on the back of her hand, then you see her put her thumb on his, stopping his motion entirely. he doesn’t try again after that. 

“leave your bags here, i’ll send enzo to get them. he’s our helper, by the way.” you look around for any sign of enzo and find him gone, probably helping around with other things. quickly you explain some general things, let them know where to find stuff they might possibly need. 

“and do you live here?” the man asks, catching you off guard. it clearly catches his wife off guard too because she stops looking around and stares right at you. you suspect if it weren’t for her sunglasses, she’d be openly glaring daggers at you. 

“not here,” you laugh, slightly awkward, “the cottage adjacent. it’s right by the edge of the property if you take the back entrance.”

“ah! we’re neighbours.” it’s the first time the wife speaks directly to you, startling you a little. you nod dumbly. 

“i guess we are. have a good stay mr and mrs macdonald!”

the wife is about to thank you when the man waves his hand, “please! it’s ross and ava. we’re staying in your house, after all.”

“ross and ava,” you repeat weakly. any other time you would have quickly corrected him, not my house, but with all his attention on you it’s like you’re tongue-tied and on auto-pilot. only capable of nodding and smiling. 

“thank you,” the wife—ava—says softly, and then she holds her husband’s hand, pulling him along with her. ross gives you one last nod and follows her inside. 

you make your way outside, trying to find enzo, and ignore the “seriously?!” that echoes from inside. 

“handsome man,” marta side eyes you while making a breakfast spread the next morning. you sit on the counter next to her, legs swinging, swiping a fresh muffin while you wait for the coffee to brew. 

“handsome married man,” you deadpan. 

she tuts. “they don’t seem that much in love.”

“nonna!” you jump off the counter, a little flabbergasted, but she only shrugs. “none of our business, okay?”

flustered, you gather the breakfast trays, balancing one in each hand and pushing the door open with your hip. the villa has old servant's passageways, still functional albeit dimly lit, but it’s faster to use the main hallways. 

besides, it’s seven in the morning, you doubt either of them is awake. 

quickly, you make your way to the dining hall, balancing the trays at each turn and making sure to dodge furniture and other decor until you take one more turn and feel your foot getting caught up in the rug. 

fuck how did you not see that?! your eyes widen, body struggling to not flail and drop the trays—the muffins and frittatas can’t fall, there’s no time to replace them if they fall. 

panic surges in your body as you lose your balance entirely until—

“careful!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. an equally unfamiliar arm wraps around your waist, his other hand coming up to stop the trays from falling. somehow you manage to salvage the other, and quickly set it down. he follows suit and sets the other down next to it. 

“fuck, you alright?” his voice comes from right next to your ear—ross. here. with his arm around your waist. 

and like a starstruck idiot you do absolutely nothing to step away. 

“sorry! yeah, yes!” you mumble quickly, scrunching your eyes shut and taking in gulps of air. a moment later, he’s the one to step away. 

you open your eyes and smile tightly at him but the moment you look at him properly, it’s like all the air in the room vanishes. suddenly, it’s a million degrees hotter. his hair is in the same bun they were yesterday, but now there are a couple flyaways, plastered to his sweaty forehead. his t-shirt sticks to his body, damp with sweat and perfectly moulded to the contours of his chest. it’s not hard to make out the precise shape of his arms and shoulders and chest. 

the gold chain is only half visible, resting comfortably on his collarbone. 

he looks like a statue carved out of marble. 

“th-thanks,” you stutter, belatedly kicking yourself for checking him out so blatantly, something that’s definitely not gone unnoticed. his mouth curls up into a smirk, his dark eyes that you hadn’t seen yesterday, stare at you with a kind of intensity that makes you want to melt away right there on the floor. 

“you’re welcome. it would’ve been a shame to let all that go to waste.”

“it would have.”

ross points at the muffins. “you made them?”

“me? oh no, i can hardly cook much less bake. marta, our cook…”

“ah…” he nods an wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead. an errant thought enters your head—one that contains your tongue and his chest and sweaty bodies moving against each other. you cough and bite your tongue. hard. 

“i’m sure you’re hungry after…”

“my run? yeah,” he smiles, “starving. have you had breakfast yet?”

“what?”

“have you had breakfast? or do you not…?”

“no no,” you take another step back, wondering if it’s wise to stand that close to him, “i mean yes, fuck. sorry.”

he snickers, “‘s alright, love. breathe. i was only asking if you’d like to have breakfast with me if you haven’t already had it yet.”

if your jaw hadn’t dropped before, it sure does now, eyes wide and trained on him to make sure he’s not making fun of you for some reason. he wants to have breakfast with…you. 

“mrs macdonald—”

“ava won’t be up for another two hours.” his voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument. “besides, she doesn’t really have breakfast. and i think… if it’s okay with you, that is, i’d like to have company while eating.”

the cacophony of thoughts rages on in your head. this is so improper! god, what would the owner say?! but then again your job is to keep the guests happy, isn’t it? it’s not like you’re inserting yourself in other people’s businesses. he asked—

“well?”

his expectant gaze makes you realise you’ve been staring at him absently for the last minute. he’s clearly waiting for an answer.

and it should be no, you should say no. 

but when you look at his dark eyes and alluring smile somehow the ‘no’ gets lost on your tongue. all you can manage is to pick the trays back up and murmur a quiet ‘yes’.

“rome? that’s your favourite?”

“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he crosses his arms in front of him, playfully defensive. you observe more keenly than you should. the black tee stretches over his arms, emphasising the precise shape of them. satisfaction runs through you when you see the tattoos on his arms—the ones you hadn’t seen yesterday. you were right, there are so many more…

“it’s just so…cliché,” you giggle and take a sip of your coffee. it’s lukewarm now, that’s how long you’ve been sitting together. “so touristy!”

“i am a tourist!” he retorts. 

“you’re right, you’re right. i just… there’s better places, y’know? smaller, hidden gems that get overlooked so often, it’s unfair. and rome’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason it’s such a tourist destination but…”

“but?”

“it feels…synthetic? i think that’s the case with a lot of big cities though, so i can’t blame rome solely.”

ross leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. his coffee cup sits on the table, long forgotten, and his gaze is focussed solely on you, studying, curious. 

“so what feels like home then? if not rome… don’t get me wrong, i don’t mean it in a bad way but you don’t sound…italian?”

you take another sip of your coffee and set the mug aside, a little further away from his. this is not a conversation you were prepared to have, not with someone who’s virtually a stranger. not with someone you’ve known for a grand total of one day. 

“i am…italian,” you pause, feeling your way around the words you’ve just spoken. “but also not really? i have grown up all around the world essentially, whatever struck my mum’s fancy. but i’ve always spent my summers here in the villa. with her.”

“did she work here?”

you trace the rim of the mug, nodding slowly. “something like that…”

“and your dad?”

“not in the picture. never knew him really,” you interject quickly before ross can assume. “bit of a mamma mia situation. my mum had her fun, i suppose. good for her.”

he’s quiet for a bit, letting his eyes roam all over your face—not in a way that would suggest anything, but you suspect he’s thinking, ruminating over the information you just gave him. 

“you didn’t answer my question. what feels like home?”

“that’s a bit personal,” you scoff and immediately go red in the face. he’s a guest not your friend. “i’m sorry, i didn’t…that’s not…”

“‘s alright, love,” he laughs and leans back once again. “it was a bit personal. someone needs to call me out on my nosiness every once in a while.”

still, you sputter out a couple more apologies until ross places his hand on top of yours, startling you into silence. “stop with the apologies, will you? you haven’t said—”

“ross?” 

if you weren’t mortified before, you certainly feel it now. your face, red just a moment ago, pales quickly, as ava—mrs macdonald—comes into the dining room. 

her hair is in the same loose curls it was yesterday, perhaps slightly messy, and even then it looks effortless and gorgeous. her pyjamas are monogrammed with her initials. and her platinum band glints on her finger when the sunlight hits it directly. 

worst on all, she’s staring at you, at your hand under her husband’s—who looks barely fazed at the moment. all calm and collected. 

“good morning, sweetheart,” he gets up from his chair and walks up to her. your skin buzzes where his hand just was, and you look away as they kiss, mortified of intruding on them like this. she’s the first to pull away. 

“you had breakfast,” she says, her tone flat and matter of fact. 

quickly, you scramble off your seat. “let me get you something to eat, mrs macdonald.”

“no need,” she smiles at you, but it’s almost as icy as her glare—mechanical and devoid of any warmth. “i don't have any appetite.”

you nod and smile, keeping your eyes locked on a vague spot on the wall behind her. it’s only when you’re about to leave that you see him from the corner of your eye, grinding his jaw and looking nothing like he was just a few moments ago. 

“i have a favour to ask of you.” it’s ava who approaches you a week later. 

the entire week you’ve stayed away, only talking to them in the capacity of a host—making sure they’ve had all the meals they requested and given them any and all information about the town they might need. you’ve even made sure to speak directly to ava when you can help it. ross, for his part hasn’t made it any easier. 

every morning you run into him in the hallway—some days he’s in the same black tee, others he’s in a tank top that shows off his toned and (now) tanned arms. it’s the same time every day, and yet you do nothing to change your route and take the servants’ passages for once. this is easier, you tell yourself. it’s the faster route. 

fortunately, you don’t trip on the rug again. rather, you make it a point not to. 

he asks you to be his breakfast companion again, and once again the next day. you waffle off some excuse and hurry away before he can protest. on the third day he stops asking. when he passes you in the hallway, he greets you with a polite smile and a nod and then keeps walking towards his balcony. 

“a favour?” you ask, and ava nods. 

this close, she’s absolutely gorgeous, like a face straight out of a magazine. “i wanted to plan something special for ross. a nice dinner perhaps?”

“that’s…” you swallow a strange emotion, “that’s a great idea. how can i help?”

“is there a way i can rent a boat for the day?”

“for…dinner?”

“yeah, i’ve, um, i think the ocean looks quite nice out here. peaceful. ross would love to have a romantic dinner out on the ocean instead of just on the beach.”

“right, yeah.”

“oh, and money’s not an object,” she interjects quickly. “i’m willing to pay well for it.”

money is the last thing on your mind, but you nod and smile at her. 

“i’ll get you the details by tomorrow.”

she nods and smiles too, much more excited that you, granted. but you expect her to thank you and leave it at at. what you don’t expect is for her to grab your hand in hers and hold it tight. 

“thank you. this…this holiday is important to us, to me…” her smile turns mechanical once again and she nods some more. like she’s trying to convince you and herself. “i need this to be perfect.”

“it will be, mrs macdonald. i’ll make sure of it.” 

it’s only when she leaves that you have to resist the urge to bash your head through the wall. who the fuck promises something like that to a stranger, to a guest?! without even bothering to make sure you have the resources you just promised. 

there’s only one person you know who even has access to a boat. (even though it’s nowhere near the right type of boat but at this point what’s the harm?)

aldo is laughing along with the other fishermen when you reach the dock. the sky is darkening, almost dark blue with just a tinge of red and orange. aldo greets you with open arms. 

“i need a boat!” you pant, panicked and half out of breath. 

he laughs wholeheartedly. “take your pick!”

“no, not that! i need…i need a romantic boat.”

the gaggle of seventy-odd-year-old fishermen giggle like a bunch of teenagers. “we romanced our wives plenty on these boats,” one of them pipes up, another round of raucous laughter follows suit. 

you wait for it to die down before you practically beg aldo. “it’s for the guests at the villa, please. i don’t know anyone else—”

“carissima…” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “i was joking. i know what you mean and yes, i can ask a few friends if they have something available. i’m sure they do.”

relief floods through your veins, and you practically sink to your knees onto the cobblestones. instead you pull the old man into a tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“you’re handling it well,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “your mother would be proud.”

you pull away at the mention of her, giving him one last tight smile. “thank you, aldo. call me with the details please.”

once he nods you leave, trying not to dwell too much on what he said. 

that night you lie in bed, staring up at the same plain ceiling you’ve stared at every summer and you think. 

you think about ross and his wife. 

you think about ava and what this holiday means to her. 

and you think about the owner, wonder if she ever slept in this exact bed and thought of things she shouldn’t, thought of people she really shouldn’t. 

and when you do eventually fall asleep, much past your bedtime, you dream of him—on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kissing you by the candlelight. 

it’s a beautiful summer evening, perhaps the best one of the season, when you wait for the macdonalds at the beach. it’s warm but not unbearably so, the light is still golden, almost angelic, and the boat looks perfect. you hope it’s exactly what ava had imagined, hope that it won’t leave her wanting for anything. 

you check your watch. 6:37 pm…

it’s fine, really, it’s not super uncommon for guests to be running a bit behind. they’re on a holiday after all, but you would have hoped for a call or a text or something. besides, you’ve been busy enough today to not know whether ross and ava went out or stayed in—not that you should be dwelling on it too much. and yet, here you are, checking your watch once again, wondering where he—they—got caught up. 

you look out at the ocean, calm and quiet for tonight, and then up at the golden horizon. it should be beautiful, everything should be perfect. 

exactly nine minutes later there are footsteps. 

one set of them. 

eagerly, you turn, your face ready with the polite yet friendly customer service smile, but it drops the moment you see ross. 

he’s alone. the sleeves of his linen shirt are rolled up to his elbow, his hair is down too—it comes up to about his shoulders. it—

something’s wrong. you realise it about two seconds before he comes to a stop right in front of you. too close, he’s so close. and yet you don’t take a step back. you simply crane your neck up to stare at him and part your mouth, about to say something but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

his eyes are cold, flat. his mouth is pressed into a straight, unimpressed line. his hair is all over the place too—messy and tangled like he’s almost been pulling at them out of frustration. 

this is not the time to let your mind wander, but for once you let yourself imagine what he might do to get rid of his anger, his frustration. how he might…take care of things. 

“you’re alone,” you blurt out, voice barely above a whisper.

“ava’s not coming,” he swallows roughly. for one insane moment you think his gaze dips to your lips, but that’s a desperate thought. one that is strictly not real. “i want to use the boat.”

“w–what?”

“i want.” he stops between each word, “to use. the boat.”

“i thought it was—”

“a surprise? please!” he laughs, sardonic and borderline cruel. heat rises up your cheeks. “i want to go and have that dinner that was planned for me. i refuse to waste any more good evenings.”

“yeah,” you swallow roughly, “yes, of course. right this way, it’s all—”

“and i want you to join me.”

it’s like the sand beneath your feet shifts with one sentence. your jaw drops into a gape, eyebrows flying into your hairline. you imagine if ross weren’t so angry, he’d be laughing at you. still, this is wrong. on so many levels. 

“i can’t!”

“will you get in trouble for it?” he challenges, and you shake your head dumbly. no, nothing of that sort. not anymore really. “then i insist. i don’t like eating alone, love. don’t sentence me to that, not when it’s so gorgeous outside.”

the image sharpens in front of you then, ross out on the calm, peaceful ocean, watching the golden sunset, drinking straight from the bottle of champagne that’s on board. the food behind him would grow cold eventually. you don’t think he’d eat it if you sent him out there alone now. 

“your wife—”

“doesn’t care,” he says firmly. “she’d be here if she did.”

and that’s not something you can argue with really. so you nod. it’s just to keep him company, you tell yourself, it’s good service which is what you’re supposed to do. the owner would have done the same, she would have gone above and beyond.

“are you sure about this?” 

“yes.” the one word answer leaves no room for argument. 

you look down at yourself—a cotton t-shirt and a pair or breezy shorts, comfort over style for when you have to constantly run around. if ross notices this inner dilemma, he doesn’t let it on. he simply gestures for you to walk. 

“after you,” he says and gives you something that vaguely resembles a smile. on him, it’s still gorgeous, still makes his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle, and for a brief second you simply want to stand here and stare at him in the dying light of the sun. 

instead you nod and turn towards the boat, trying not to wring your hands together. 

it’s only a couple hours. it won’t change anything. 

it’s excruciatingly awkward in the beginning. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be up for a good conversation—and you’ve had those, at least once you have. a good conversation over food while he’s all sweaty and his t-shirt sticks to his body. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be here with his wife. 

“you won’t ask me what happened?” his question startles you. because of course, you want to ask! you just didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

“i didn’t want to pry…”

“you won’t,” he sighs. “you’d be doing me a favour.”

“so i’ll act as your therapist then?” you quirk and eyebrow and ross cracks a tiny smile. “breakfast companion, therapist, makeshift date, what’s next?”

you regret it as soon as the words tumble out of you. what were you fucking thinking?! this is not a date. you and ross, on a boat in the ocean, with fancy champagne and a candlelit table… it’s not a date. it’s two people having dinner so it won’t go to waste. you’ve worked too hard on it to throw it away like this. 

“i’m sorry i—” you sputter, shaking your head wildly, “that’s not what i meant, that’s—”

“we’re separating.” 

it shocks you so much that you gape at him. it’s a sudden confession, one that you would have never expected him to say out loud. not to you, a complete stranger. then again, maybe it’s better to talk to a stranger anyway. 

“but you seem so happy,” you hesitate, wondering if that’s something he’d even want to hear. 

it turns out not. ross rolls his eyes. “oh come on, darling, let’s not lie. we have been here two weeks and we’ve already fought thrice. this was supposed to be a last ditch effort, did you know that? this holiday. after this,” he swallows, looking off into the ocean, “when we go back to london… i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers.”

“oh…”

“yeah.” 

silence settles over you, uncomfortable and sticky. you wonder if he wants comfort, sympathy. if he wants you to agree with him or challenge him, if he wants you to be a sounding board and just let him vent, if he wants this to be a conversation. 

“sorry,” he shakes his head, “a lot to dump on you isn’t it?” 

“yes…” you turn to him, taking your time to look over his face. it’s so much more tanned than before, a bit more freckled too. there’s a hint of sunburn poking through his shirt collar and suddenly your mind flashes images of ross on the beach in front of you. ross, shirtless, lying in the sun with those annoyingly hot sunglasses covering his eyes, ross coming out of the water, dripping wet and fucking dreamy. “but i don’t mind.”

you clear your throat quickly, cursing in your head for sounding so breathy. 

ross raises an eyebrow. “you tell me something.” he turns and grabs a bottle of expensive champagne. you expect him to get the glasses next, instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from it.

“a secret,” he winks, “for a secret.” then he extends his hand and offers you the bottle. 

at first, you hesitate. it isn’t for you, none of this is for you. but you’re here now, aren’t you? so you grab the bottle from him, trying your hardest not to dwell on the brush of his fingers, how you both linger for just a moment too long. 

you take a sip of the champagne and think, feeling the bubbles all the way down. 

“this is my first year running the villa alone…”

“is it?” ross sounds surprised. you wonders if he means it as a compliment. 

“it was, um, it was shut, last year. my mother used to run it. she’s not…alive anymore.”

his eyes widen. “oh, that’s–i’m sor—”

“no please,” you interrupt before he’s had the chance to finish it. “i’ve heard that far too much. i’d rather not be offered condolences ever again.”

for a moment he is quiet, then he nods like he understands something. “you’re a natural at it. everything has been so good for us so far. i mean look at this fucking boat, this food. you’ve planned everything so well.”

a wave of uncharacteristic shyness floods your brain. “it’s not just me,” you smile bashfully, “the entire staff she trained still works here. they do more than i ever could, honestly. i’m just…learning the ropes.”

“and do you like it?” ross takes a sip of the champagne and leans against the railing. you mimic his pose, looking off at the horizon. 

“honestly? yes! i never thought i would and now… it’s like i know why she loved doing this. growing up, i’d always feel like a ghost haunting a mansion, and now i finally get it.”

“a ghost haunting a mansion,” he smiles and hands you the bottle, “you were pretty dramatic as a child.”

a laugh bubbles up in your throat because he’s right, you were dramatic. perhaps you still are deep down under all the grief. ross must have sensed the sudden shift in your thoughts because he expertly changes the subject. 

“have you always had the villa in your family?”

“oh that’s a funny story, if my mum is to believe anyway.”

ross turns, his back pressed to the railing and his eyes focused entirely on you. he’s so close. golden light reflects on his skin, in the hollow of his throat and over every bit of exposed skin. with his hair tied up now, you can once again see that gold chain, dainty and pretty, and you wish you could trace it with your fingertips, feel it against you somehow. you watch ross swallow some of the champagne, how his adam’s apple bobs and a drop of it clings to his lips and suddenly it’s like your cheeks, no, your whole body is on fire. you look away and continue.

“so the story goes, and mind you i don’t know how true it is, she was travelling around england. my father was, turns out, some minor aristocrat with a useless title, no one important really. but he had an estate, a whole lot of money and an ego the size of britain. 

“his mother never liked that he was with a ‘filthy commoner’ like my mother and oh she made that very known…” ross makes a face and you laugh, feeling a bit lighter than before. 

“and then she fell pregnant, my mum. she was so happy, wondering how to tell him, getting scans to show him and whatnot. somehow his mother got the news first,” you wince and ross leans forward, his face rife with interest and so much closer than before. “that woman made her a deal—leave now and never contact my father again, they will set her up with a small house and some money in any country of her choice so she won’t have to worry, as long as she stays far far away.”

“generous,” he whistles low. 

“it is, isn’t it? she didn’t take it though, she fancied herself in love. that night she told him about me. turns out he was only ‘fucking around’ and ‘did not want a child’. he told her to get rid of it, she said no and they fought. and when she raised her voice, he slapped her. my father slapped my pregnant mother…”

ross gives you his rapt attention.

“she didn’t run though. she stayed there the night, shared a bed with him even though they stuck to their corners. in the morning she went back to his mother and accepted the offer.”

ross laughs, sharp and surprised, and then clamps his mouth shut. “sorry i–it’s not funny, i know, it’s just—”

“no, it is,” you interrupt quickly, “we used to laugh about it.”

“and the house…?”

“is the villa, yes. the small ‘house’ they promised her.”

“seems like his mother had more integrity than him.” ross extends you the bottle of champagne again. gratefully, you take it. 

it’s half-empty now, gone in the flow of the conversation. you feel it too, the bubbles flowing through your blood, buzzing through your head in a way that almost feels soothing. that, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat… you close your eyes and inhale the ocean breeze, take another swig of the champagne. 

“this is nice, isn’t it?” you speak, eyes still closed and tipping your head towards the champagne.

“‘s amazing,” he murmurs. his voice surrounds you like it’s floating on the breeze, like he’s so close and so far away at the same time. his cologne, too, is suddenly so much stronger. 

your heart beats in your throat. you know what you will find when you open your eyes—ross, so close and irresistible, in the dying light of the sun, more tempting than the damned apple. an involuntary gasp escapes you when you feel his breath on your face, feel the fabric of his trousers brushes against your leg. his breath quivers. 

“if i kiss you right now, would you kiss me back?”

you swallow, wondering if it’s a yes or a no. “why don’t you find out?” 

a moment later you feel his hand on your waist, holding you just tight enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. it’s slightly cold from holding the champagne bottle, not that you particularly care. a second later, ross crashes his lips against yours. 

it’s not soft like in the movies, it’s not a kiss of love or tenderness. 

it takes you precisely one second of hesitation to give into your instincts and kiss him back—you hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt, wrinkling it, leaving your mark on him even if it’s insignificant and ephemeral. you kiss him back with just as much hunger—all tongue and teeth and roaming hands. 

ross’ hands moves from your waist and comes to rest on your ass, hitching your leg up, wrapping it around him. his hand spray across the back of your thigh, rough fingers trailing up smooth skin, it’s all too much, too much for you to hold back a moan. 

you moan into the kiss and somehow that undoes him completely. 

air whooshes out of your lungs as ross flips you both, trapping you between him and the railing. the bottle of champagne falls and rolls away, dripping the last of its contents on the floor, but it’s so insignificant, so inconsequential… not when you have this burning need coursing through you to feel him everywhere all at once. 

involuntarily your fingers fidget with his trousers just as his mouth moves to your jaw. he stops you though, lightly swats your hand away and pops open the buttons of your shorts instead. you let him, mostly because when they touch your stomach it’s like lightning exploding right under your skin, crackling, buzzing, you simply want to feel so much more of him, of his fingers. 

“ross…” you moan, not sure if you want to beg him or stop or let him take charge completely. 

“i know, darling,” he breathes, kissing you again. tentatively he dips a finger inside the waistband of your underwear, asking for permission.

“please, fuck, pl–please.”

you throw your head back, whimpering when his teeth graze your neck and his finger presses into your clit. it’s heady and intoxicating and all you want to do is be greedy and ask for more and more and more. you don’t have to ask though. his fingers work against your clit, creating a rhythm just perfect enough to weaken your knees, and you hold on to him tight, your nails digging into his back. 

would they leave crescent moon marks on his skin? just dark enough to stand out, just dark enough to be distinct. will his wife look at them and know what they are?

his wife…

and just like that all your ecstasy turns into nausea. 

you falter, a small hesitant movement. and that’s all it takes to shatter the moment entirely. 

“we can’t,” he pulls his hand away abruptly just as he’s about to push his fingers inside you. you stare at him in surprise, gripping the railing to stay upright. it’s hard not to pant and breathe hard, especially when he’s breathing heavily too, guilt written all over his face. 

his lips are swollen, wet. red enough to almost make you go back to him and kiss him all over again, thread your fingers through his hair—it looks so lovely and effortlessly messy. the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, gold chain fully on display, gleaming against tanned skin. you swallow. fuck. 

“we can’t…” he repeats, and steps away completely. 

you imagine what you must look like—t-shirt almost off your shoulder and the buttons of your shorts undone. not naked and yet so exposed and vulnerable. you wonder if his mouth left any marks against your neck. 

“what…” humiliation burns through you. what the fuck were you thinking, throwing yourself at him like this?!

ross looks like he’s trying hard not to lose control, jaw set, eyes firmly on you and pupils blown out so wide you resolve almost weakens. but the ring on his finger glints and just like that the nausea is back. the guilt, the self loathing, all of it is back with a vengeance.

“i’m married.”

and that shuts you up thoroughly. surely the captain of the boat heard everything that happened just now. surely…

you hurry as far away from ross as possible, turning around and fixing your clothes. ross stays where he is, his back towards you, hand trembling by his side.

the food stays untouched. 

the awkwardness from before is nothing compared to what you feel now, completely unable to meet his eyes or even turn around to look at him, not even to check if he’s still facing the other way. maybe throwing yourself into the ocean is the best course of action right now.

in a moment, you will gather strength again and tell the captain to take you back to the shore. in a moment you won’t have to share the space with him, you will finally be able to get a full breath into your lungs. for now you stay still, ignoring the fire still burning low under your skin and right in your belly, lust coiled like a snake. for now you simply look out into the ocean and will your body to stop shaking.

“enzo, would you set up breakfast today?” you find him in the gardens bright and early the next day. not that it matters how early it is anyway, not to you who hasn’t slept a wink the whole night. you’re sure there are dark circles under your eyes to give that away instantly. 

enzo looks down at his hands and then back up at you, slightly apologetic. they are covered in soil, of course. he’s been helping with repotting some plants. of course he can’t just leave all of that and do your job instead because you’ve fucked up and made a giant mess. of course not. 

“right…” you trail off and back away. 

“it’s okay, i can—”

“no,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended, “that’s alright. i’ll do it.”

and you will. you can act like a professional and do your fucking job. you will be in and out as quickly as possible and not look anyone in the eye. you will nod and smile and get the fuck out of there. 

absently, your hand trails over the faint hickeys on your neck. hopefully, they’re well covered by the concealer you slathered on at 5 in the morning, hopefully the collar of your shirt helps disguise it too. not like ava would be there to see it, she’s yet to be in the dining room for breakfast. and yet you don’t know what would be more mortifying, her seeing it or ross seeing it. 

“good morning,” a voice greets you the moment you step foot into the dining room. a pit opens in your stomach. 

ava sits at the head of the dining table, still in her night clothes with a dressing gown loosely wrapped around her body. it’s… she’s…

“i know i’m up early, and in here” she laughs, “not very much like me.”

her fingers are curled around a fork in a tight grip, knuckles almost white, tines digging into the place mat. it takes you a second to find your voice.

“morning, mrs macdonald.” the words burn like acid on their way out, and for the first time you look at her properly. she looks exactly how you feel—circles under her eyes, a sallowness to her face, like her skin is stretched thinly over her face. she looks like she’s been up all night, tossing and turning. “is r–mr macdonald joining you?”

“no,” her voice turns sharp. “he says he has a migraine. just me today.”

“ah…” you nod, rooted in the spot awkwardly. 

“champagne hangover, i suspect.” 

a quick hot and cold flash runs through you, like she’s caught you directly in a lie. and maybe she has…how much did ross tell her exactly? did he tell her? 

ava smiles, cold and hollow. “i’m starving, though.”

“yes, of course,” you avert your gaze, eyes firmly on the ground. fuck fuck fuck. she knows. bile churns in your stomach as you move on autopilot, doing the same thing you’ve done every day for the last three weeks. except this time there will be no joining ross for breakfast. 

through some miracle of fate, ava doesn’t bring up the boat or the dinner or the champagne again. she just thanks you and digs into her breakfast, eating like absolutely nothing is wrong. the ring on her finger is still there, just as shiny as before. 

you leave her be and get out of the dining room. there’s no air in there anymore, there’s no air in this entire villa anymore. your breaths turn into pants, footsteps echoing in your ears and the rush of blood almost drowning them out as you run run run through the corridors. you need to get out of here, out of this place but there’s nowhere private enough to go but back to your own cottage, and so that’s where you turn. 

soundlessly, you slip out of the back door and run on the little cobblestone path until you get to the door to your cottage. it’s unlocked, to your utter relief. silently, you thank your past self for forgetting to lock it because all you need right now is to shut the world out and rot in bed. 

the moment the door thuds shut, you feel your lungs filling with air again. it’s quiet here, it’s silent. 

and your bed looks cosy at least. 

you close your eyes and release a deep sigh once you settle on top of the covers. does ava know? you wonder if she’s somehow guessed it… if she somehow saw the marks you left behind… 

the memory comes back to haunt in full force—your thigh hitched around ross’ waist, your hand in his hair and his in your underwear, touching and teasing and making you taste insanity. against your better judgement you close your eyes and clench your thighs together, wondering if your hand can replicate the feel of his. it can’t, you know it can’t. nothing ever will. and yet…

slowly you hitch your dress up, bringing it up to your thigh and all the way past your hips until it’s bunched on your stomach. your pale pink underwear is next to go, discarded carelessly somewhere in the room. 

there’s not much ceremony to it, just your fingers gently pressing against the bundle of nerves as you close your eyes and think back to yesterday, to the roughness of his hand and the hardness of his body… fuck. it doesn’t feel the same, it feels nothing like it did, no matter how hard you try. the only thing you manage to do is get frustrated finding the right angle. 

fuck this, a pillow should work just fine if not your hand. 

and it does, it’s better once you have a white pillow clenched between your thighs, slowly moving your hips against it, feeling the friction, the familiar feeling. it’s a slow build, but it’s there, it’s something. 

inside your own bedroom, you barely hold back moans. unintelligible, lustful sounds, maybe his name slips out once or twice too. if anything, the thrill of it adds to the feeling. you’re sure there’s a wet spot on the pillow now, a slick little stain where you’ve been grinding onto it. your thighs tremble from the effort and it’s only just starting to feel good, feel so so good—

a sharp rap on the door scares a yelp out of you. 

shit shit shit, what were you thinking?! it’s probably enzo or marta coming to check on you, wondering why you weren’t in the villa. 

“coming!” you yell out, voice shaking, hands shaking even more. 

the person doesn’t go away. instead, another knock follows. 

cursing to yourself, you get off the bed, and smooth down your dress again. you’ll find the fucking underwear in a minute, the dress isn’t transparent. 

“what’s—” you stop abruptly, coming face to face with ross who looks like he hasn’t had a moment’s worth of peace all night. great, that’s all three of you then. 

“let me come in,” he breathes, almost urgent. “please.”

your heart's in your throat, thudding and thudding, fast enough that it might just leap out of you completely. and here you are in front of him, trying to stay cool like you weren’t just touching yourself to the thought of him mere seconds ago. 

ross’ eyes scan you, from your messy hair to your wrinkled dress. can he tell something’s wrong? 

wordlessly you step aside and he enters, closing the door behind him. 

“your wife knows.”

“she suspects.”

“and?”

“and what?” he whirls to look at you. “what if i said i no longer care if she does.”

“ross!” your voice rises. your back is pressed to the wall, as far away from his as possible even though the room feels like it’s a tiny cardboard box at the moment, “you can’t say things like that. not after–not…”

“after what i said yesterday?” he takes a steps towards you, you stay rooted in your spot. “what if i changed my mind?”

another step, he’s barely four steps away from you now. 

“what if i changed mine?” you challenge, which is perhaps not the wisest thing to do right now but…

“have you?” he asks, boldly taking two more steps.

if you had, you wouldn’t be standing there right now without any underwear on, desperately wishing he’d find out and fucking do something about it. use his hands again, use his mouth too maybe. 

you turn your face to the side, trying not to whimper as he finally closes the distance between you and stands close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his body again. 

“can i find out?”

saying no would be wise, you know it. and yet… it’s you who kisses him first. unlike last time he lets your hand roam wherever you wish. unlike last time his t-shirt is first to go—the only time you briefly break the kiss to get it off him and somewhere on the floor. his tanned skin is warm under your hands, freckled chest that you instantly touch all over. 

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of your throat, your collarbone. “you are so perfect, fuck.” 

his words, spoken in a low whisper, travel straight to your core. heat pools, or rather intensifies, as his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. ross doesn’t need much strength to hold you in place, to stop you from squirming and firmly against him, tits brushing against his naked chest.

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed to as much of your cleavage as the dress offers. 

“ross,” your fingers tighten on his shirt, “please, i need—fuck, need you.”

he can most definitely hear the blatant desperation in your voice, whiny and practically begging to be touched, to be fucked. 

“anything you want,” ross groans. “jump.”

it doesn’t take you another second before your legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping your thighs, under your ass. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck and make him groan. he really is fucking beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight streaming into your room.

you kiss again, urgent and desperate. somewhere at the back of your mind you’re aware he’s walking, taking you to the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed with how his tongue feels inside your mouth. how his tongue might feel between your legs. 

but a foot inside the room and ross comes to a stop, his eyes widening. 

he takes the room in and you wonder what he sees, craning your neck to look around as well. and there it is, your pale pink underwear dangling carelessly from the bedpost, the pillow in the middle of the bed, sheets wrinkled. it’s not that hard to guess what happened in here…

that much is confirmed when you meet his eyes again and see pure lust in them. they look so much darker than before, so much dilated. ross all but throws you on the bed, climbing up after and practically on top of you. 

“what was happening here…before?”

“does it matter?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t see the flush growing rapidly on your cheeks. the chain dangles from his neck, so close now, practically touching your skin. you hook a finger in it and tug him closer. 

“did it feel good at least?” ross smirks, and you suspect he already knows the answer. 

“not even close.”

“and what do you want now?”

everything, really. 

you want to feel his fingers like yesterday and his mouth between your legs. you need him inside you and in your mouth and everything in between. 

“why don’t you get on your knees first?”

ross raises an eyebrow. so this is how it’s going to be then… 

the anticipation of it makes your pulse raise, makes goosebumps scatter all over your body. he can definitely see you trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, nipples peaking out from the thin cotton of the dress, hair a complete mess. the room burns a million degrees hotter now or maybe it’s just you, dying to be touched.

“let me take care of you then,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words affect you immediately. your toes curls and hands fist the sheets in anticipation of the sounds you know he will draw out from you. 

“was thinking about you,” you confess as he trails a finger over your leg, starting from your ankles and up your shin and thigh until his fingers at your hip, resting where the band of your underwear should have been. 

involuntarily, you lift your hips up, making the fabric of your dress slide away a little more. 

“i could tell” ross teases, a cocky tinge to his voice. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to your stomach. "come on, darling," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and ross drags a finger through your slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing you and spreading you open while his mouth presses kisses all over. your lower stomach first, then your thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit, and just like yesterday, he works it up in a lazy rhythm. 

“shit, ross,” you whimper as a jolt goes through your spine, skin burning wherever his hands touch. the build up is a sweet torture. 

you gasp when he sucks on your clit, unexpected and quick, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. your thighs tremble under his hands, your muscles shift and ross doesn’t stop you at all when you squeeze your thighs together trapping his head between them. his hair is already a mess, all over the place, and his beard tickles the inside of your thighs. 

“oh god,” you moan loudly. “fuck, just like that…” your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while you squirm and against his face and ross takes it all. his tongue laps at your folds, his nose pushing against your clit. 

his hand pushes under your dress, pinching and squeezing your nipples at almost a bruising pace, it’s all too much. and yet there’s no way in hell you’d stop him when he meets your eyes from between your legs—eyes dark and intense, beard glistening with your slick. 

you clench around nothing then and for a moment ross looks like he’s going to come undone right there, staring at your with his mouth parted. his eyes have a little glazed-over quality to them, like he’s in a trance. 

you’re so close now, rocking your hips against his face, and your thighs squeeze his head harder. you’re so close you can almost taste your release in the air.  

“so perfect,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over your clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” your trail off and ross places a kiss on your thigh, utterly out of place from everything he’s been doing so far. in the middle of everything filthy, that one soft kiss feels chaste—a request maybe or even a way to coax you. 

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against your clit. his tongue thrusts inside you again and you mewl his name. louder than before.

“don’t stop, ross, don’t—” and you feel it then, feel yourself drenching his lips and his chin. feel the spasm of your thighs and your ragged breaths reverberating through your body. 

just like you requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop you have to over, fucks you with his tongue till you’re completely done riding out your orgasm. 

once ross straightens you’re met with the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen—his lips raw and red, his beard wet. his hair is almost out of his bun now and that damn gold chain around his neck. it’s all so beautiful, you almost beg him to come up to you. and ross obliges, his arms on either side of you and his body between your legs while he kisses you so thoroughly, you can taste all of you on his tongue—every want, every desire, down to the last drop of lust running through your blood. 

“i need to be inside you or i will die,” he says, his voice more like a growl. and yes it’s so full of want and desperation but that just eggs you on more, makes the heat in your belly flare up all over again. 

“there’s condoms in the drawer,” you moan, trying not to whine when ross gets off your for two seconds to find them, and comes back with the silver square. 

it doesn’t take another second before your legs are around his middle again and his big hands are gripping your thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you run your hand through his hair and make him groan. 

“fuck, love” he breathes on your skin and lets you pull the trousers off him. “i couldn’t think of anything else all night. just you…”

“me too,” you confess, a shameful secret, but ross tilts your chin up and kisses you all over again, slow and gentle. 

your hands trace his spine and ross shivers

“want to be inside you,” he groans, letting you hook a finger in his boxers. he wraps his hand around yours too, getting rid of them completely. 

once they’re off him you can’t hold back the shameless gawking. he’s big, fucking huge and hard and leaking with precum already, you’d die to get a taste of him but that’s not what’s important right now. right now you need him to destroy your insides until you can’t remember your own name. 

“like what you see?” he sounds smug, tearing the foil with his teeth and spitting it aside. you blush, and pry your gaze back to his face. 

“let me,” you take the condom off his hands, dying to touch him first. and he reacts just the way you want him too—a hiss when you wrap your hand around base and a moan when you twist it, run it all the way to his tip and back down. 

“stop being a tease,” he grunts, and you decide it’s enough, decide to finally roll the condom down on him. 

there’s barely any words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of your laughter when ross nips at your skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a kiss. he leaves a mark and rewards you with a kiss. he even sees the marks he left before, kisses over them like he’s appreciating his own art. 

his hand inches between your legs and finds your clit once again, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until you’re squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and ross definitely knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once you aren’t opposed to begging. 

“stop being a tease,” you whine, repeating his words from before, and he laughs at your desperation.

finally, ross decides to end this misery. for you and for him. the need is probably driving him insane too. 

when the first thrust comes, hard and fast—and without warning—your eyes roll back in your head. you whimper something, curse softly and hold onto him, legs locking around him so you can take him in deeper.

“shit baby…” he moans too. 

he’s stretching you open with his cock, thrusting into you again and again until the buzz in your head grows so loud, it drowns out any other thought. all you can focus on is his breath and the chain brushing against your chest, cold metal against sweaty bodies. 

that errant image from that first day comes back to you, your tongue against his chest, and before you can over think you do exactly that—trail kisses against his collarbone, his neck, letting your tongue roam over his skin too. you don’t dare use teeth though, you don’t dare leave a mark. no matter how tempting it is. 

your eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open any longer as his hips slam into yours, his hands grip onto your waist tighter. ross tuts.

“open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so you oblige, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting your hips to meet his and grinding your clit on his pelvis. 

the pressure inside you builds with each thrust, your entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under your skin. on top of you, he’s as electric as a live wire. 

“look at what you do to me,” he breathes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble. 

he can probably tell you’re close now; you’re certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so you don't scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, you would have liked to scream out his name though.)

your hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. you’re erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to any of your movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that you feel a wave of it run between your bodies. 

you shudder and gasp, trying to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at him still “gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he opens his mouth to speak too, about to say something but you’re already there. your body goes tense as you squeeze around ross, so tight it practically sends him into a frenzy, fucking into you faster and faster, rougher, harsher. you take it all, trying and failing to keep your voice down to a minimum. ross thrusts into you as the orgasm hits you hard. a second later you hide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling him practically emptying himself into the condom. ross doesn’t stop you, he holds you just as close, for just as long as you want him to.

it’s almost 10 in the morning when you lift your head off his chest in a sleepy haze. ross tries to protest but you kiss him quickly until all his complaints die on his lips. 

“you should go,” you bite your lip, guilty, and thumb the chain around his neck again. if he’s noted this particular fascination with it, he doesn’t mention it. 

“i don’t want to.”

“but…”

“i have to, yes, i know,” he sighs, deep and almost sad. 

it’s a silly thought to want to stop him. the cottage might feel like it’s detached from reality entirely but it’s not. once you step foot outside of it, everything will come crashing down on you. you can easily explain your disappearance away—the farmers market in town, some other errand, whatever excuse that comes to mind. what does ross plan on saying?

you don’t ask, mostly because you don’t want to manufacture and discuss one more thing and make this more morally depraved than it already is. 

wordlessly he gets up and walks around the room in search of his clothes. his nudity doesn’t bother him in the slightest, doesn’t bother you either—for one, you finally know all the tattoos on his body, something you’ve been dying to find out since day one. you let your eyes roam over them for as long as you can, try to commit them to memory before they get covered by his clothes. 

he finds his t-shirt in the living room and comes back to the bedroom wearing it, fully clothed now while you’re naked under the sheets still. 

“right then…”

you smile, a little sad. is this the first and the last time? do you want there to be more?

“let’s just…” you clear your throat, “i’m going to go use the bathroom…”

“and i’ll be gone by the time you come back…”

you nod, already getting up. the sheets fall of your body too but what’s there to care about? he’s already seen all of it now. still his breath hitches in his throat and a jolt of satisfaction run through you. 

“kiss me one last time?” you ask, and ross closes the distance between you, pulling you so close to him you’re almost crushed into his chest, held like he doesn’t want to let go. 

you try not to dwell too much on that kiss—it’s a fucking kiss, not your first and it won’t be your last, there’s no point in reading too much into it. it’s not a lovers kiss. it’s a kiss. because you asked for it. 

and yet his hands cradle your face and you can almost feel him smiling, almost, before he pulls away. then you turn around and practically beeline to the bathroom. 

by the time you’re out and ready to get dressed once again, the cottage is empty, silent. a silence that almost echoes with lingering sounds, but you stay in for the rest of the morning, only venturing out when you can’t ignore your growling stomach any longer. 

marta looks at you suspiciously before feeding you a bite of her orzo. it’s delicious; it always it, her food. but you still refuse when she offers to make you something. you just want to be alone, not in someone’s company and answer a million questions. 

to her credit marta lets you be. 

you don’t see the ross or ava at all for the rest of the day. or the day after.

it’s the end of their third week when ross finds you again, well… a handwritten note finds you, a crumpled piece of paper stuffed through the crack in the cottage door. 

meet me at the beach tomorrow at sunrise? 

the entire night you toss and turn, wondering if you should even go. you haven’t seen him in days, only glimpses of him and his wife. every time he’s in the room your eyes linger on him, stealing glances when he’s stealing them right back. it’s like an unspoken rule between you—no secret meetings. not again. 

and now he seems to want to break it. 

you know which beach he’s talking about—the one where you had a boat waiting for him. at 4 in the morning you give up on sleep completely. you should still have about an hour and a half till you’re supposed to meet him. and you still don’t have a decision. on autopilot you get up and brush your teeth, take a quick shower. no one’s awake yet. maybe marta, but she certainly won’t be out of bed this early. 

by 5, when the mug of coffee in your hands is almost empty, you decide you want to go after all. what’s the harm? it’s not like you’re going to end up fucking him again so publicly on the beach… 

and so you leave the cottage, strolling down to the ocean on the sandy path. the twilight is giving way to some light. the sun’s probably almost on the horizon. still, you reach the beach before ross, before the sun comes up. so you linger, sit in the sand and collect the little shells left there overnight. 

there’s no one here, just you and waves crashing on the beach. it’s peaceful—perhaps the first time you’ve truly felt any peace all summer. and yet somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t shake off the anticipation of meeting him. five minutes have already passed. maybe he changed his mind. 

maybe he’s not coming. 

just as the thought is about to solidify, you hear a set of footsteps. he’s here. and still you don’t turn until ross walks up all the way to you and sits next to you in the sand, his body pressed against yours, thighs touching. you lean your head onto his shoulder, taking in a deep breath. 

“is this a rendezvous?” you almost laugh. it’s a lame joke but ross cracks a smile anyway. it lasts about a second before his face falls again. 

“i’m leaving.”

“i know,” you close your eyes, “next week.”

“no. today.”

a pit opens up in your stomach and you bolt upright. “today?! what…?”

his smile turns sad, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not just because he’s leaving, it’s something else too. you look at his face, properly, at the deep lines etched onto his forehead and the hints of grey in his hair and his beard. his arms, just as gorgeous as usual. his hands, hands that you haven’t stopped thinking about, his fingers…

your eyes linger on them. there’s no ring. he’s not wearing a ring. it’s just pale skin where it used to be.

“our plans changed,” he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to happen. you remember what he’d said to you all those days ago on the boat. when we go back to london, i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers. so that’s happening then. 

“what time?”

“around 10.”

around 10… five more hours. 

“okay,” you nod and go back to how you were, resting your head on his shoulder. this time ross rests his head on yours, both of your eyes trained on the horizon where the sun rises slowly and the beach turns golden. the water shimmers, gorgeous and like it’s out of a painting. you can’t bring yourself to move. 

“will you have breakfast with me one last time?” ross breaks the silence after a while, and you wonder if it’s a good idea. what’s the point? it won’t lead anywhere, will it? 

“i don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you swallow the lump in your throat, still unable to fully look at him. 

“i see…” more silence follows. you wonder when he will decide this is enough. you wonder when he will get up and leave you here to be rooted in this spot until the sun blazes high in the sky and you can no longer sit outside. instead ross presses his warm fingers to your cheek, and gently turns your face to him. 

“can i at least kiss you one last time then?”

now that… that you can’t say no to. and so you press your lips to his. just that, no movement, nothing—just your face cradled in his hands and your lips against his until you taste salt and realise you’re crying. maybe just a little teary. only then does he properly kiss you, moves his lips against yours until it feels like the sand beneath you is shifting. but it’s going to end anyway, it has to. and so you pull apart, take a deep breath to store his scent in your lungs for as long as you can. 

“i’m going to go stare at the ocean now,” you laugh, teary-eyed. his eyes are tinged a little pink too. 

ross chuckles. “and i’ll be gone by the time you look back.”

and that’s where you leave it. no goodbyes, no hugs and promises to come back. just you staring at the blue sky while his footsteps become quieter and quieter until you can’t hear him at all. 

enzo checks them out. you don’t know if they say anything to him, and he doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary to you. just that he’ll send someone to clean the room, to which you protest, let him know that you’ll do it. 

the room isn’t unfamiliar, of course not, you’ve been in here a thousand times now and you will a thousand times more. still, something about it looks different. for one there’s a piece of paper folded on the bedside table. something that looks like a note. you hurry to it, not realising that there’s something inside in your eagerness to open it until a gold chain falls out. his gold chain… the one you’ve spent all of summer being fascinated by. and now it’s yours. then you unfold the note. 

thank you for the summer, it’s the best one i’ve had in years. 

ps: the chain is yours. don’t think i didn’t notice.

with trembling fingers, you put it around your neck. the metal is cold of course, and yet it reminds you of sun warmed skin and the sweat between your bodies. you clutch the note close, and sit on the bed. it has to be his side, it smells like him. maybe it won’t hurt to curl up there for just a moment. there’s no one to occupy it for another week after all. 

and so that’s what you do. 

a moment turns to an hour, to several hours until you decide you don’t want to strip the linen just yet. until you decide you want to sleep here for the night. for the rest of the week until you have to give up the villa again. marta raises her eyebrow when she finds out, but you wave her off. 

“it’s my house, nonna, i can sleep wherever i want to,” you say, confident in that statement even though it feels a little foreign. it is your house. it is. 

she just leaves it at that. 

the rest of the summer passes just as you’d planned. 

first there is an actual honeymoon couple—utterly in love and completely inseparable. you find them making out in all corners of the villa, in nooks and crannies like they can’t get enough of each other, like there’s no one else for them but each other. and maybe there isn’t. 

then there’s a week long bachelorette party. the girls convince you to get drunk with them too, to let loose a bit. it’s then that you’re most tempted to look up his number in his booking information and call him, wine drunk and slurring, in the middle of the night. 

what will you say?

what will he say?

it’s a terrible terrible idea. the worst one you’ve ever had. worse than sleeping with a married man and letting yourself feel something for him. maybe you even hate him a little then, just a little bit of resentment tinging the memories of your summer.

a summer that ends within the blink of an eye. 

three months gone just like that. 

and yet you stay. a ghost haunting a mansion like you’d told him all those months ago. now truly alone. none of the staff stay the rest of the year, just some locals who check up on you once in a while. aldo and his fisherman friends who call you over for dinner some days. other than that it’s just you. 

alone all over again. until…

six months later the villa’s phone rings on a cold morning. it’s rare, you think. almost as rare as it is for you to be still here this time of the year, but this year you haven’t felt the desire to go anywhere. this year it’s like you’re froze in summer, trying to chase that which is long gone. 

“hello?” you put on your best customer service voice, cheerful and vacant. 

“is this the villa?” 

the moment you hear it, your heart stops beating. the receiver almost falls. it’s one of those old-fashioned landlines, something you never thought you’d have to change. the chord wraps itself around your finger. a moment later your heart comes back to life, racing twice as fast. 

“yes…” you breathe, voice almost wobbly. 

“is it booked out for the summer yet?”

a smile blooms on your face, just as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. it’s ross. it’s his voice, it’s really his voice. all soft and lovely and already making its way around the insides of your skull. 

“not yet,” you laugh. it’s a watery sound. “you’re early. we don’t start taking reservations this early in the year.”

“oh?” the smile in his voice is clear. “i was hoping you’d make an exception for me. it’s only a party of one…”

you grab onto the chord of the receiver, tightly twisted around your fingers. 

party of one. party of one. party of one. 

“hello?”

“i’m here…”

for a few seconds, he doesn’t speak. but you imagine he’s smiling on the other end. you imagine his dimples on display and the crinkles around his eyes. “and will you let me come?”

involuntarily you clutch the gold chain around your neck, the one you wear every single day. the one you haven’t taken off since that very first day. it’s warm now, just as your skin is. just as his skin once felt under your hands. the tears you were barely holding in fall on your cheeks, and yet your face splits into a wide grin. 

“party of one, you say.”

“it could be two,” he laughs a small, secret laugh, “if you’ll allow it.”

you do a little jump in place, giddy and practically acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. then you clear your throat and clutch the receiver closer. “why don’t you come find out?”

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[carl1ghts]

heres that edit that you were all asking about, specifically for the clip of matty spitting on the camera.

MADE BY @fracturelight ON TIKTOK, NOT MINE!!

[toomuchracket]

swimming lessons (dad!ross x reader smut)

part of summer75 and a day late because i'm a busy girl. but this is fun! breeding kink haters dni. the rest of you, enjoy <3

“not to be weird or anything, babe, but your husband is looking really, really sexy to me right now.”

you snort, turning to look at your friend on the sunlounger next to you. “yours is literally right behind you right now.”

“what? she's right,” matty pipes up, kissing his wife's head. he lifts up his sunglasses, looking back towards the pool with a low whistle. “he's fit.”

to be fair, neither of them are wrong - ross does look incredible, shirtless in the pool, beads of water dripping down his body. you follow one as it travels down his bicep, flexed from holding baby alex (who, at three, isn't really a baby anymore, but you’re convinced that's what he'll be known as forever, bless him), biting your lip when the droplet falls from ross's wrist onto his stomach and disappears when it reaches his shorts. your shorts, too, are beginning to collect wetness, the sight of your husband looking delectable and dilfy turning you on to an insane level; when he strokes your sleepy nephew's curls and beams at your daughter demonstrating a front crawl, you genuinely have to squeeze your legs together.

and when he walks up the steps from the pool towards you, toddler still in his arms… it takes everything in you to hold back a moan. somehow, you manage it, and even manage a smile at the way alex beams and makes grabby arms for your friend - she takes him into her own, cooing “you did so well, munchkin! was it fun, swimming with uncle ross? it was? oh, good!” at her baby and mouthing “thank you” at ross. he winks, ruffling alex's hair another time and doing the same to his dad's with a laugh, before wandering over to you and leaning down for a kiss. “alright, love?”

“mmm, yeah,” you steal another peck, savouring the familiar feel of his lips on yours before lying back (as seductively as you can manage). “sit with me for a bit?”

“absol-”

“dad, dad!” eilidh yells. you peer over to see your daughter giving lyla a piggyback in the water, keir faffing about with one of his cousin's armbands. “we need your help to fix this, please!”

“coming, bean,” ross calls out. he turns back to you with a sigh, leaning down for another kiss that doesn't last anywhere near as long as you'd like. “sorry, babe. back soon, though, yeah?”

you nod, smiling gently. “yeah.”

as your husband makes his way over to save the day, matty reaches out to pat you on the shoulder sympathetically. “cockblocked by your own kid. been there, mate.”

“matthew, you can't say that in front of our son!” his wife hisses, holding an almost-sleeping alex even closer to her as if she can wipe away the memory of the bad word through touch; she turns to you, too, small smile on her pretty face. “sorry, though, babe. i get it, i do.”

“it's that obvious i'm feeling,” you wave your hands as you search for the right word. “... amorous? christ.”

“well… yeah, but-”

“but it's valid,” matty chips in. “very.”

“yeah, it's valid,” your friend nods. “how long has it been?”

“must be, i don't know,” you trill your lips, wracking your brain to recall the date of you and ross's latest sexcapades and coming up short. “i can't even remember, actually,” you laugh in disbelief, shaking your head. “that's awful.”

matty scoffs. “for the two of you? it’s worrying,” he sighs, wistful. “you used to be ridiculous, always sneaking off to sh- cuddle, in the way grown-ups do. was mental.”

his wife leans round to look at him, brow furrowed. “worse than us?”

“darling, nobody's as bad as us,” he kisses her nose, then turns to you. “but yeah. i think you and ross should go on a date.”

images flood your mind, images of ross in a nice shirt and you in a dress, images of gorgeous plates of pasta and glasses of wine, images of the two of you dancing and kissing, images of him above you, chain dangling and face contorted in pleasure as… 

yeah, a date sounds like a good idea. 

but the kids…

“oh, we can look after them for a night! the kids would love a sleepover, i reckon,” your friend nods eagerly when you share your thoughts. “could even take them tonight, if you fancied.”

your heart soars. “really?”

“course,” matty nods. “we still owe you for the night the little nugget my girl's holding was invented, anyway.”

you laugh, reaching over to stroke said nugget’s soft cheek; he smiles in his sleep when you do, and it makes your heart melt. “love you guys, i really do.”

“and we love you,” your friend squeezes your hand, beaming. “and we hope you have a good night.”

as it turns out, you do. everything seems to fall perfectly into place in regard to it, actually - by some miracle, the fancy restaurant down the road has a table for two available tonight; you win the fight with the humidity and leave the hotel with nice hair; the kids are borderline-offensively excited about the sleepover with the healys, hugging you and ross goodbye at the speed of light before bolting into the other suite to watch tangled. 

dinner is perfect, too, but not nearly as much as the man sitting across from you. ross looks gorgeous in a soft linen shirt, even more so than usual; he blushes slightly when you tell him as much, shaking his head and returning the compliment and making your cocktail-buzzed head spin. he keeps the sweet talking going the whole night, from the restaurant to the wine bar and back to the hotel, flirting with you like he did over a decade ago and subsequently getting you as insatiable for him as you were back then.

luckily for you, though, ross is equally as insatiable, as evidenced by the way he crashes (a cliché, but there's no other word for it) his lips onto yours the second the lift to your hotel room floor dings shut. you sigh into his mouth at the feeling, a sigh that quickly becomes a moan when his tongue finds its way between your lips and his hands find their way to your arse. ross giggles at the sound, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on yours. “fuck, i missed you. missed this.”

“so did i,” you kiss him again, pulling away when the lift dings and wandering into the hallway. ross follows a few steps behind, and you know with every fibre of your being that he's staring at your hips in the satin dress; this is confirmed when you quickly spin to face him, those pretty eyes of his flicking up to yours as you hold out your hand. “coming?”

your husband doesn't answer. instead, he crosses the space between you in one stride, scooping you bridal-style into his arms so fast you can barely react and practically running down the hall to your room. as you fumble in your handbag for the keycard, his lips meet your neck, and you momentarily forget what it is you're doing - the feeling passes quickly, though, and within thirty seconds you're in the suite and being quite literally thrown onto the king-size bed.

ross climbs atop you, kissing you again, slowly, deeply, sexily, turning your brain to goo and your core slick; his hands gently cup your face, while yours fumble to find the buttons on his shirt and begin to undo them. he smiles into you, hands travelling to your shoulders to slip the straps of your dress down and free your tits. when he touches them, rolling your nipples between calloused fingers, you whine, and he laughs. “you like that, love?”

“you know i do,” smiling, you pull the hair tie from his bun, running your fingers through his hair and savouring the satisfied moan he lets out. “god, you're hot.”

“nah, you're the hot one,” ross runs his hands down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “i mean, look at this fucking dress on you.”

you preen, crossing your legs behind his back. “wanna fuck me in it?”

“obviously,” ross scoffs. “d'you want anything else first, though?”

“nah,” you pull him close to you, whispering directly in his ear. “we've got the whole night for you to do other things to me, baby.”

ross groans into your neck, hands frantically sliding under your dress to pull your underwear down; he winks as he pockets the garment, before unbuckling his belt. you sigh happily when he pulls his boxers down just enough to free his cock, and he smirks. “condom? or are you too desperate, love?”

“you're the one who got a boner from a snog,” you fire back, smirking to match ross; you lean up to kiss him, tugging him onto you by the chain around his neck. “and no condom. wanna feel it when you fill me up.”

“god,” ross's eyes darken, fluttering closed when he sinks into you with a groan. “like that, baby?”

“yeah,” you breathe, readjusting to the feeling of your husband inside you after all this time. “fuck, ross, m’so full.”

“well, you did eat all that pasta-”

“i swear to fucking god, ross, if you don't shut up i'll-”

he cuts you off with a sharp thrust and a saccharine smile. “you’ll what, love? go on, tell me.”

bastard. he knows fine well you can't, brain completely clearing as soon as he starts fucking you - you've been doing this for fifteen years, after all. right now, all you can do is allow yourself to get lost in the bliss of fucking your husband, inching ever closer to the inevitable rush of pleasure with every movement of ross's hips. when his hand joins the party, fingers as deliberate on your clit as they are on his bass strings, you whine, and he beams. “y'having fun?”

“mhmm,” you pout your lips for a kiss, and ross obliges immediately with some filthy sloppy thing that turns your brain inside out. all the while, neither his hand or hips let up, and you can feel the shockwaves beginning in your nervous system. “y'gonna make me cum.”

“s'my favourite thing,” ross smiles against your lips, moving to tenderly rest his forehead on yours. “well, you and the kids are my favourite thing, but… you know what i mean.”

you huff out a laugh. “maybe you'll get another one tonight.”

he rolls his eyes. “don't take the piss.”

“m'not!” you kiss the side of his head, stroking his hair. “i know you want one, ‘n’ so do i - please, ross?” you move your lips onto his neck, kissing the spot at his collarbone you know drives him insane. “let's make a baby.”

ross sighs. “well, you asked for it.”

before you can even respond, he's wrapping your legs even tighter around his waist, slamming into you with reckless abandon. the sound of your bodies meeting is nothing short of depraved, all skin slapping and wet cunt and little moans leaving your lips as your husband fucks you with complete and utter determination. those shockwaves from earlier are increasing tenfold with every thrust, rocking through you every time ross hits that sweet spot inside you; when he brings his lips to your ear, beard tickling the skin, they increase again, leading you right to the edge. “cum for me, love. need to fill you before i fill you up��� oh, fuck, just like that, good girl.”

your orgasm is sudden, strong, violent - your limbs convulse, lips part, eyes roll back, and voice wails as you topple into ecstasy, ross following a beat behind. he holds himself against you as he cums with a groan, letting you feel every last drop coating your insides before face-planting into your tits with a weary sigh. breathless as you are too, you bring a shaky hand to your husband's hair, kissing his temple. “shit, i love you so much.”

“feeling's mutual,” ross responds, words muffled by your chest. he softly kisses your glowing skin, looking up at you with a smile - he looks utterly fucked, but he's so, so beautiful. “you reckon that worked, then?”

you shrug. “maybe. but we should try again, too, i think. just to be sure.”

ross laughs, snuggling back into you again. “well, give me five minutes first.”

[wrestletotheground]

snap out of it - ross macdonald x reader

your boyfriend helps ease the tension when you're feeling stressed..

cw: 18+ minors dni!! smut, dom!ross, f!sub!reader, kitchen sex, fingering, d word, unprotected sex, p in v, orgasm denial, stomach bulging, squirting, degradation, lowkey kinda toxic but in a hot way <3

wc: 2.4k

~

you're walking- no. storming around the house like a raging bull. for what reason you don't even know. maybe it's the party you're hosting tomorrow, and the fact the house is an absolute mess.

you've woken up in such a mood, feeling like you're going crazy when every little inconvenience is piling up and fuelling the fire. there was no hot water in the shower, you burnt your toast for breakfast, and you're now running around in a frenzy trying to sort everything as if you're being hunted for sport. feminine rage, if you will.

you're muttering under your breath, picking through the piles of clutter in the kitchen when you're startled by your boyfriend placing a hand on your lower back. you jump, so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear him coming.

'hi baby, whatcha doing?' he asks, wrapping his arm around your waist before you step away from him, rolling your eyes at his cheerful tone.

'ross, i'm sorry, I love you, but fuck off, I've so many things to do I don't need you distracting me, I've been cleaning all day and the place still looks the same and URGGH,' you practically scream, holding your head in your hands.

guilt washes over you, realising you've just essentially snapped at him over nothing, but you're too worked up to backtrack now. you continue what you were doing, ignoring ross' eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. you lift an empty wine bottle from the table to clear it away and start cursing under your breath when you notice it's left a stain that you're gonna have to sort out on top of everything else.

'darling you're too stressed over this, there's no need, just take a break and chill out, yeah?' rage pumps through your body. even though you know he's just trying to help, you can sense an undertone - an edge - in his voice that would usually have you on your knees already, but right now, you're in no mood for it.

'no, look, I've been putting it off it's just- there's so much to do, I'll be fine, okay?' it comes out more frantic and loud than you anticipated, making his face crease in concern. he puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

'look at me,' he orders. you sigh and turn to look up at him, heart still pounding partly from the stress and now also from the intense look in his eyes. his hands are warm and heavy on your waist now, gripping onto you like you'd float away if he let go.

'I'm gonna fuck you until you calm down and you can't think of anything else but my name, and you're gonna fucking take it'.

okay, maybe you are in the mood for it. your stomach flutters and you nod silently, feeling like a lamb under the thumb of a lion. his soft yet demanding tone always makes you so turned on you give in immediately. 'there we go darling, daddy's gonna make you feel better, hm?' he says as one hand comes up to wrap around your neck, pushing in gently.

that word sends a rush of excitement coursing through you, and you manage to get out a strangled mix between 'yes' and a moan. you'll be good for him if it's the last thing you do, and you're so riled up you're already starting to channel that rage into desire.

you go to start towards the bedroom before he grabs you roughly, stopping you in your tracks yet again. 'where do you think you're going honey? you're gonna take it here like a good pet.' his tone is stern. 'but the-,' he cuts you off by slapping his palm on the side of your jaw, grabbing your chin and forcing eye contact. you feel a pulsing heat building in your core.

'do what you're told or I'll leave you here, I know you're fucking soaked for me already, clenching your thighs when I haven't even touched you,' he smirks, and you flush when you realise you've been inadvertently squeezing your legs together in a futile attempt to relieve yourself.

the thought of him taking you right here in the kitchen drives you crazier than you'd like to admit. the big sliding glass door that leads onto the garden is only a few yards away, giving any nosy neighbours a full show, but he doesn't seem to mind and you're already too desperate to stop now.

he hooks a finger through the belt loops on either side of your jeans and uses them to pull you forward, making you stumble into him. 'take these off for me darling,' he orders, breath ghosting over the side of your face as he tries to keep his composure.

you fumble around with buttons and zips until they're pooled around your ankles, stepping out and crashing your lips onto his with one hand already gripping the hair at the back of his neck. your tongues melt together, pure lust radiating off one another.

he toys with the hem of your shirt blindly until you get the hint and break away from him to throw it behind you. his breath catches in his throat and he can't help himself from grabbing at your tits instantly, pupils dilated beyond belief as he stares at them in awe. you giggle to yourself, tracing your fingertips under his tshirt and up and down his sides.

he gives you a questioning look. 'you're such a boy,' you laugh. his stare intensifies. 'oh yeah? don't think a boy would make you feel like this, hm?' he replies, bringing a hand down between your legs to cup your pussy and dipping his index finger under the thin fabric, making you moan. 'see?' he whispers. you smile coyly and kiss him again, more passionately this time.

dripping desire pools in your underwear when he grabs you and walks you a few steps towards the kitchen counter. he turns you to face away from him and pushes down on your shoulders. you fold with his touch, straightening out your back as your chest and arms fan out over the cold marble.

with one hand pinning you onto the countertop, he uses the other to rip your wet underwear down, letting them fall to your feet before you kick them away.

goosebumps prickle across your entire body when his fingers graze over your soaked cunt. you spread your legs wider instinctively, allowing him easier access. 'so responsive for me,' he mumbles behind you. he leans over your back, moving your hair to one side to nip and suck at your neck.

without warning, he shoves two fingers inside you, making you scream out in surprise and pleasure. he instantly takes his hand away and you exhale sharply at the sudden loss of contact before it comes back to land a sharp slap on your ass. 'shut the fuck up screaming like some sort of crazy bitch, the neighbours are gonna hear you. don't want them to know how much of a little slut you are do we?' you shake your head too quickly in response, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

after a moment of letting you sit in shame, humiliation, he plunges his fingers back in; this time you know better than to make too much noise. 'good girl, I know baby, I know,' he coos, gazing down at your trembling figure as his fingers work in and out of you.

'mmplease, feel so good,' you whimper, your hips jerking into him every time his thumb swipes your aching bud. the need for release is all consuming. the effect he has on you is unparalleled by anyone else. the way he works you up so much just to watch you crumble and writhe under him is enough to make you submit to his every word.

every bend and thrust of his fingers is delicate and precise, hitting all the right spots to have you doubled over in ecstasy, leaning your whole body weight on the counter to hold yourself up. 'gonna cum, please, ross, SHIT- what the fuck,' you practically sob, your climax that was right at your fingertips being suddenly ripped away from you. the second he knew you were on the edge, he stopped, pulling out his soaked fingers and drying them on your back. your head drops downwards in frustration as the fuzzy feeling inside you dissipates.

'you don't get to cum until I fucking say so, got it?' you let out a strained 'yes' sound, more of a whimper than anything. you nod your head and let your eyes fall shut in relief when you finally hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled.

'need me to fuck you stupid so you can think straight don't you love?' he says, placing a kiss just below your ear as he pulls down the waistband of his boxers just enough to to free himself from the constraints of the tight fabric. you glance down behind you and inhale deeply at the sight of his raging erection, already leaking in his hand before he even gets you into position.

he hikes your leg up, letting it rest on his strong forearm, fingers gripping into the soft flesh inside your thigh. the air hitting your cunt makes you squirm, but you manage to keep your balance, aching for him to give you what you need.

he lines himself up and you feel yourself get wetter, dripping onto him in anticipation. he slides into you with no resistance, groaning at how wet and perfect you feel around him. the full feeling of his thick cock stretching you out makes you see stars, whining softly as he builds up to a delicious pace that practically splits you in two. 'fucking hell, so perfect, just for me,' he rambles, mind going into overdrive already. 'just for you, daddy,' you reply, knowing how feral that word makes him at the best of times.

you can slightly make out your reflection in the tiles on the wall. the distorted image shows him practically fully clothed and you bare, at his disposal to use how he wants. the sight eggs you on further, and you lean up into his chest, moaning at the new sensation of his beard tickling the side of your neck.

with the angle he's at now, he's going so deep inside you that his cock pushes out your lower stomach. you look down and nearly collapse when you see a subtle bulge just below your belly button disappear and reappear with every thrust.

ross notices it too, and trails his hand down your stomach until he feels it. something feral unlocks in his brain when he feels the bump protruding, making him groan into your ear and fuck into you harder, somehow even closer now.

'shit, you feel that? feel how well you're taking me angel?' he says, pressing in on the spot. 'fuck, yes, more, please, daddy,' you whine, gasping when he starts groping at your tits, his chin resting on your shoulder as he teeters closer and closer to the edge.

'more, huh? this not enough for you?' you shake your head, and you can feel him getting more riled up by your reaction as his cock throbs inside you.

the knot in your stomach tightens further as his right hand moves down to circle your throbbing clit. you cry out at the sensation of him all over you all at once, and it takes everything in you not to let your thighs clamp shut. his name echoes from your mouth like a prayer.

the pressure is steadily mounting inside you, and you feel like you could let go any second. 'close... mm-' he slaps his hand onto your cunt, just above where he's pumping in and out of you, making you whine. 'i told you, you're not gonna cum until I say, need to teach you some fucking manners, brat,' he punctuates the last word with another harsh tap with his fingertips before continuing agonisingly slow circles.

the sting of the slaps mixed with the soothing warmth of his touch sends you into overdrive. the cold countertop digs into your palms, using it as leverage to push yourself impossibly further into him, following his pace carefully.

'jesus christ, ross, fuck, please let me cum,' you moan through gritted teeth. you don't think you've ever been this worked up, with him denying you of your orgasm twice already. you feel wound up, like a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute, and fuck, you need to, but you'll strain yourself to the last second to please him.

your core is on fire, warmth spreading all over your body, you can nearly hear the ringing in your ears already and you're about to start begging again before he snaps you out of your head. 'go on. cum all over daddy's cock, that's it- shit,' he curses when you clench tightly around him, the coil in your stomach finally snapping. you cry out as you gush all over him, little squirts splashing from you onto the floor in time with his movements. you grab onto him, pushing his hand onto your clit harder to work you through your high, the head rush like nothing you've ever felt before. it's electric, like a static current washing over you as your whole body convulses.

when he sees the pool of your slick shining on the tiled floor, it's over for him. his groans get louder and with one final push and a 'FUCK,' he tips over the edge, pulsing inside you and painting your pussy white.

your head feels hazy as you catch your breath, slowly coming back to reality. you barely register what's happened with the euphoria lingering in your body. 'did I...' you look down at the mess you made and realise you just squirted all over the kitchen and desecrated ross' hand and jeans in the process. 'fuck, that was so hot, i'm- christ,' he laughs, his head dropping onto your shoulder in disbelief.

'thank you,' you whisper. the stress that's been weighing on your chest all day has completely disappeared, but you're so fucked out you can't find any more words. he lets out a breathy laugh and braces you as he pulls out gently, holding you upright as you stand on two feet again.

'you were right, I'm not stressed anymore,' you smile, placing a soft kiss on his lips before starting to redress. 'daddy's always right,' he teases, a cheeky grin spread across his face.

~

[tillthelandslide]

Lou's Fic Recs (new)

Matty:

piercer Matty! Part 1 & part 2 by @sugar-coat-it

does it matter by @procrastinatinglikeapro

mechanic Matty by @noacfslut

and I'm petrified of being alone, now by @heyidkyay

hot to go @noacfslut

white and gold & the nsfw alphabet by @wreckedandpolemic

George:

dancing like she way out by @toomuchracket

one for the road by @abiiors

night, midnight, lose my mind by @grocerystorelist

car head by @wreckedandpolemic

subby matty by @think0fmehigh

Ross:

bunny by @abiiors

this by @abiiors (anything she writes is gold btw)

pierced by @wrestletotheground

workout ross by @wrestletotheground

the spring curse by @abiiors

new writers ( this is a new thing im doing but everytime i'll be including some new writers -to me, that ive read, that i think you should check out <3 )

@abboutross has some great ross fics and im enjoying her new series anywhere you go

@coucous-ballad posted this recently and i hope she writes more bc i love her

[all-things-fic]

By The Fireplace // RM

A/N: First time writing Ross, could be the last time too! It's long (7k), it's smutty and it's a day late (sorry @abiiors). This is part of Promptober '23 and I'm not sure if I've written it right as it's set in November (as you can tell it's going well lads).

***

November 23 2023.

Six hours and forty-seven minutes.

It made sense for him to fly straight into Glasgow. It shaved almost two hours off the red-eye flight in comparison to London and another twelve hours in the car to get you to your destination.

This airport and this place weren’t something foreign to him either, he found himself popping up here more often than not just to get some advice. At times he knew he could pick up the phone, but nothing beat an actual, in-person conversation with his big brother in a normal pub with a cheaply priced pint without any pretence. 

As he walked to the carousel to grab his bag, he slid the second strap of his backpack onto his arm and immediately followed it with pulling up his hood. He was knackered, body achy from the cramped flight and blinking heavy from the lack of sleep.

His glasses-covered eyes silently followed the black tracking as it moved bag after bag past him. Inside his mind, he began to ridicule himself for not just flying with hand luggage. He didn’t need the extra items, only staying here for seventy-two hours before he would be back in America. 

Utah he thinks, or was it Oregon? He made a mental note to figure it out before he left.

Subliminally, he felt himself perk up when he saw his beat up silver luggage push through the black rubber flaps at the start of the carousel. Rather than waiting for it to meet him, Ross went to meet it dragging himself to the other side of the carousel. 

Plucking up the item with ease, his gaze quickly scanned the case. He made sure to spot the battered dragonfly sticker that represented one of his favourite bands, therefore knowing he was picking up the right case. Last thing he needed was to be on the phone to Glasgow Airport sorting out their mistake (or maybe it would be his).

Wheeling the case through the airport was easy, even at this hour. Hood still up, he was able to keep himself to himself as he headed towards border control. 

The queue shuffled along quite nicely, and he couldn’t help but smile as he read your texts that had been sent throughout his flight. The last one saying, “I’m standing beside the massive Christmas tree, it has mistletoe x.”

He was dying to kiss you, mistletoe or not. He didn’t need an excuse. 

Passport scanned and stamped, he softly smiled at the lady on the desk before letting his feet take him to you. His ears perked up at the sound of the accent around him, one that always filled him with the warmest of emotions. It reminded him of the soft lilt his nephew was beginning to pick up.

Walking past W H Smith’s, he weaved around what he perceived to be a couple greeting each other and let his eyes scan over the crowd milling around him.

Christmas tree, Christmas tree, Christmas tree.

He actually spotted you first, regardless of the size of the tree that you were next to. All flannel shirt (which he was sure was his), leather leggings (which he definitely knew were yours) and black boots. Ross gently smiled to himself, taking you in. 

You hadn’t noticed him, too engrossed with turning around to look at the flight board that was placed over your left shoulder and reading whether there was any delay with his flight. Truth was the stupid board wasn’t updating so it wasn’t the latest information and you couldn’t be anymore in the dark if you tried to be.

It was almost like slow motion when you turned back around, this sea of hair moving behind you as you looked through the crowd and found him. You knew your smile was megawatt, as you ran your gaze over his entire being; biting it away when you saw the way he had embraced his miserable, emo self and pulled his black hood up. 

You couldn’t blame him. 

Part of you could already see the heavy tiredness in his body, even though he was at least two yards away from you. Guilt was the heaviest emotion in you, relief was the second. You knew it should be happiness, and god it was there as a close third, but your thoughts were so strongly filled with how much he must love you to do these kinds of things for you.

Flying red eyes. Fucking his body clock up even more to see you for three days. Only to pack his shit up and do it all over again. 

Ross closed the gap between you both easily; long and strong strides making the most of his 6’4 stature. When he was in front of you, your hands found his abdomen with ease. Arms sliding underneath his hoodie, desperate to feel as much of his warmth on you now that he was here.

Your head buried itself into his neck, and his arms immediately anchored you to him; hand sliding up to gently cup at the back of your neck. Staying in silence allowed you to really breathe him in, he even smelt tired if there was a way to describe it.

“Where’s this mistletoe then?” He queried, voice wrecked from his time in the air, his lips at your temple.  

“Any excuse,” you playfully murmured, as you nudged your head back to look up at him. 

“I think you’ll find, you text it to me,” he jested, eyebrows raised as he looked down the bridge of his nose at you. You always loved when he looked at you with such a roguish expression, dimples framing his closed lipped smile. 

People often thought of him as sensible and he was, but the times that you saw his eyes light up in this way were some of the most alive times of your life. 

“Details,” you whispered, as he pulled you up to him with a know-it-all hum and a mumbled “I’ll give you details” leaning down the rest of the way to meet you. 

You’d missed his beard, that was the first musing that came to mind. It’s juxtaposing bristle and softness, always something that distracted you in the best way. 

His lips were of course a close second, especially in that moment as they tenderly plucked at yours in a way that heavenly sighed god, I’m glad to see you. 

This contented hum left you as he pulled away gently, his lips not done as they nipped at your jaw before he buried his face into your neck now. He started to sway the two of you as you hugged, your hands sliding up his back and gripping to the worn band tee that he donned. 

“How was the flight?” you asked, voice slightly strained due to your head being tilted upwards. 

The question hung around in the air for a while, before he lifted himself and pressed his lips in sponging kisses to yours once, twice and three times once more.

“Shit,” he let the word linger at your mouth as you heavily sighed, “but ‘s fine.”

With a deep breath, Ross raised to his full height once more, chest puffed out as he stretched, before asking, “Where’s the keys?”

“I’m driving,” you replied, quickly. He eyed you, right hand rubbing at his chest. You hated driving, especially in Scotland. He knew it, you knew it. The times you’d let out the girliest of screams when picking him and Rob up from Murrayfield were far too embedded into his mind to not tease you religiously about it. 

It was almost like you could hear his thoughts, reminding him of all the moments you’d panicked when on the roads up here. 

“I’m driving, Ross,” you stressed, cutting the thoughts dead. You knew he meant well but there was no way he was going to complete the almost six hour drive that you had on your hands after being sat uncomfortably on a plane for six hours himself and most likely only running off fumes. 

His lips quirked, amused at your tone which was so heavily laced with reprimand. “Alright,” he conceded. “After you, darlin’.” 

***

He had fallen asleep to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac about an hour and thirty minutes into the drive. You had assumed it to be because you had hit the A82 which was such a large stretch of road which you had to drive along for such a long period of time that it had bored him enough to nod off.

As you had slowed in traffic, you took the time to admire him while he slept. His glasses hung at the neck of the tee, never far away so that he would be able to see almost instantly when he woke rather than panic trying to find them. 

His arms were folded across his chest; his neck awkwardly propped up by his bunched up hoodie made into some makeshift pillow and placed between him and the car door. You knew he would regret it later - his body was about to remind him that he was a thirty-four year old man who needed a proper bed to rest in - but regardless you were glad that he had given in to his need to sleep. 

A soft smile lifted at your lips as you took in his slightly rounded chin, you just knew a double chin was hidden by his impressive beard and it filled you with such affection that you wondered if you needed an intervention at this point.

Eyes back on the road, you lifted your hand to turn down the music even further, not wanting anything to disturb him during his slumber, and concentrated on the journey ahead of you. 

“What a dickhead,” you muttered after a while, pressing the break harder than you liked and watching the navy car to your right almost cut you up without a care in the world.

“He had right of way.”

Turning your face to the left, you blinked in silence over at Ross, whose face was far too amused for your likening. He did not just wake up and berate your driving. How long had he been awake? 

“Easy to say when you’ve been asleep for just over four hours,” you commented, pulling off and taking the next left onto a road you didn’t catch the name of. “Must’ve needed the beauty sleep.”

The laugh that he gave you was sudden and hearty. He wasn’t afraid to let you know he was amused by your previous comment which was heavily petulant in its delivery. 

“M’necks fuckin’ killing me,” he broke the silence. 

“Karma.”

He meowed at you then, communicating he was heavily aware of your cattiness towards him. You cut your eyes to him, infuriated by the way his gaze sparkled before he winked at you to try and soften you up. 

Next his right hand moved to brush your hair behind your shoulder. He could feel the tension sitting at the back of your neck and across your shoulders without really touching you. 

“Ross,” you mithered, “I’m trying to drive.”

“Pull in ‘ere, let me do the last bit.” 

“Sweep in and take the glory, true United fan.”

“No,” he spoke, voice level. “I can feel your apprehension, and I want you to relax. Pull in.” 

Sighing, you felt your fingers reach for the indicator before you could stop them, signaling that you were moving to the curb. His belt was off him before you had actually stopped, an annoying beeping sound filling the car to signify someone wasn’t wearing their seatbelt as it was still in operation. 

You undid your seat belt slowly, watching him wait at the front of the car as traffic moved around. When it became clear, he rounded the car to your side, opening your door for you and giving you space to get out. 

“Any CDs in the glove compartment?” He asked when you were stood in front of him. “Driver's choice.”

You rolled your eyes knowing you were about to endure some scream-o band from the early noughties with heavily distorted guitar sounds and tons of drum snare.  

“On you go, Passenger Princess. I’m not changing my mind.”

You squinted your eyes up at him, as he patted twice at your backside. 

Watching him in your car, fixing the seat for his long legs always did things to you. It felt like an age since you had last seen him drive, hands moving smoothly over the steering wheel and placing the gear stick into first to pull off.

The finesse he showed was always far more attractive than it should be and you always remembered so vividly the first time he had taken you on a drive in America in this fancy old car that just wasn’t responsive. 

You had felt on edge the entire time. Ross? He was so calm. So in control. Taking it all in his stride. Not at all bothered about driving on the opposite side of the road than when you were both home. 

It weirdly comforted you. Made you feel safe, secure. Here was a man who was exactly everything you had ever wanted. A little bit geeky, a whole lot manly. Able to act the fool when he felt it, but sweep in and put the pieces back together when needed.

Grateful is what you were.

He must’ve felt it too, because as he pulled out back onto the road and got comfortable, his left hand found its spot atop your thigh. You quickly encased it with both of yours, weaving the fingers of your right hand through his before using your left to gently stroke at the top of his hand, knuckles and forearm. 

“Woah, what’s this wanker doing ‘ere?,” he broke the silence with his high pitched and incredulous tone, followed by “ya could fucking indicate, mate!”. You watched as Ross turned the wheel with his right hand alone and looked through his mirrors, almost asking himself silently if those around him could actually drive.  

“Doesn’t he have right of way?”

“No, he fucking does not.”

The delivery of his response was so deep and astute you bit back your laugh, before lifting his hand to your lips; giving in and chuckling against his skin.

Of course, he didn’t!

(He absolutely did). 

***

The Isle of Skye was renowned for its beauty. A hidden gem of sorts within the Scottish islands. Known for its rugged landscapes, picturesque fishing villages and medieval castles, the largest island in the Inner Hebrides was to be your home for the next seventy-two hours. 

The feeling you got when you drove over to the coast via the bridge that connected it to Scotland’s northwest was like no other. You heard Ross chuckle under his breath at the way you let go of his hand and clambered for your phone so you could film the scenery around you, mountains and hills that were awash of oranges and browns, with the odd bit of greenery clinging on even though you were fully in the throes of autumn. 

Panning your camera across the car, you filmed his profile as he drove with poise along the bridge, barely any cars in front of you giving an open road feel. He looked at you from the corner of his eye when he felt you filming him, this devilish grin lifting at his mouth as you watched him through the camera lift your hand to his lips then placing it against the side of his face.

“Eyes on the road, Romeo,” you replied to his non-verbal action, stroking his cheek with your thumb, before gently turning his head away to look through the windscreen. 

The rest of the drive had been quite a damp one, the heavens opening and rain battering down onto your car. With about fifteen minutes to go, you wrapped yourself up in Ross’ hoodie, glancing over at him to see him sat further forward in his seat as he wiped at the inside of the window which was misting up.

You fiddle around with the blowers to help him, blasting them up to the highest they would go and seeing the way the hot heat helped clear the windscreen slightly. 

The sat nav told him to take the next right, the car dropping down to 15mph due to the narrow streets that he was driving around and then it was the next left to take you to the cottage that was nestled in the village of Elgol. 

The beauty of Elgol was something the two of you had discovered and became captivated by over his short and sweet summer break after attending a wedding of his brother's friend. 

During those four days, you had spent time exploring the breathtaking coastline and ventured on scenic walks through the landscapes that were so often talked about when it came to Skye. 

When you had last been there, you had been able to experience the perfect balance of seclusion and adventure, which was exactly what you and he had been after for the longest time.

“We’re going to be rained off,” he mumbled, a little agitated as he pulled the car to halt outside your cottage for the next three days. 

“You say that as if there isn’t plenty for us to do inside.”

It was meant to be suggestive and you appreciated that he had picked up on it immediately, this smug smile plucking at his lips; the kind that was absolutely driven by a dirty thought or two. 

“I know how much you love a game of chess, babe.”

He glanced over at you unamused, as you laughed in such a dirty way, you were almost shocked a sound like that could leave you.

“Just love it, me.” 

His deadpan was second to none. It was definitely one of your favourite things about him: made the list of the top five favourite things ever. 

“Getting really good at it.”

“And who’s told you that?” He dropped his head back against the headrest and rolled his face to the side to look at you. He was currently on a losing streak, truth be told. 

“Hey, Waughy and I talk. Usually when I’m waiting for you to reply to my text but you’re too hungover to pick your head up off the pillow.”

“Oh, I see how it is, fraternising with the enemy. Giving him all my tricks.”

You rolled your lips into your mouth, breathing deeply through your nose. “Not all of them.”

Those words were weighty. 

There were some things John didn’t need to know about his friends. Things that were for only you and Ross. 

A silence fell over you both, filling the car. You kept your eyes on each other, Ross’ occasionally falling over your features and dropping to your lips. He’d stare at them for a while, before they’d lift and he’d start the process all over again. 

He did this a lot when he was away, sometimes in person like now after he had dared to take the flight, or other times through the phone when FaceTiming from California, or New York, or Perth. It was like he needed to memorise you in some way, just in case you changed by the time he got home.

You took him in too, his usual hair less sleek as flyaways made their presence known thanks to the damp moisture in the air. His skin wasn’t as perky as usual, a little sallow in colour but regardless he was still the most handsome man you knew. 

Under his loving gaze, you shivered. It was probably more from the cold than anything, but that didn’t stop the light blush invading.

“Best get you inside and warm,” he spoke. “Gonna have to make a run for it.”

You giggled to yourself as you opened your door, breath catching in your throat when the cold splashes of rain hit you. You turned briefly to see Ross using his long stride to his advantage, jogging to the blue front door of your cottage and moving from side to side to keep himself from going numb as the November cold whipped around him.

Car door slammed behind you, you held your bag in your hand and ran to stand next to him, both trying to cram yourself into the alcove under the thatched room.

Your hands shook as you fiddled with the keys. Trying your best to align it with the lock. He watched from the side of you as you shivered on the front door step, all-natural radiance and slightly sodden, swaying from side to side as you tried to keep warm. 

“Come ‘ere,” his deep voice chuckled, unable to watch you struggle any longer, gently taking the keys from you and pushing them into the lock. “How are you so fuckin’ freezing and you’ve even nicked my jumper?”

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to push the door open the minute he’d unlocked it and prayed that the owners had left some kindle for the open fire so that Ross would be able to sort it immediately.

***

One warm shower later, you stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge, eyes moving over the scene in front of you. Hair thrown up in a messy bun atop your head, the tartan pyjamas you had purposely packed were loose against your frame.

Ross has disappeared into the bathroom about thirty minutes ago now to wash away the travel, his rendition of And She Was muffled but still present over the sound of the shower.

You’d spent that time going through the welcome pack that was filled with freshly baked bread courtesy of the owners, a burgundy white wine which boasted buttery tastes of peaches and citrus zest, and of course a bag of coffee that sounded completely to Ross’ fancy. 

With the bottle uncorked, you poured yourself a glass, quickly placing it into the fridge to keep it chilled. Regardless of it edging closer to winter by the day, there was nothing worse than room temperature wine.

Shoulder pressed to the door jamb, you sipped at the alcohol and rested the cool glass against your lips. 

The Nest as it was known, was definitely romantic. All thatched roof and spectacular panoramic views which overlooked Knock Castle and across the Sound of Sleat to the Knoydsrt mountains. 

Inside it was all vintage French fabrics and fine linen. With its sheepskin rugs and real wood fire stove, the cottage was described as the “perfect getaway for couples looking to explore and return to comfort after a day walking in the hills and mountains”.

While your exploring had only consisted of you carrying your items from the car and into the cottage, you were definitely ready to get cosy next to the fire and relax in the lived-in space.

“Forgot my clothes,” he spoke in a hushed tone not wanting to break the serene silence when he spotted you across the room. His voice slowly tapered off as he took in the particular tartan pattern that you were donning, recognising it to be that of his own family name. 

The smirk that lifted at his lips, and the flare of his nostrils as he inhaled deeply let you know he had caught on. As tribal as it was, you didn’t mind the way his eyes ravaged you. 

Your eyes ran over him without shame in return, his hair wet and sitting against his shoulders, lines of water dripping down his hairy chest and over the tops of his broad shoulders. The delicate chain that he always wore was decorative against his neck. 

His right hand held a white towel securely at his hips, clenching at the fabric as he glistened and walked closer to you. 

“Any of that going spare?” He nudged his head towards the wine, causing you to peel your eyes away from him and down to your own glass. When you looked back at him, he was so close to you you had to tilt your head back slightly. 

“Depends,” you started, watching his eyebrow quirk up at you with intrigue. “Are you planning on sitting around in that towel, or covering yourself up?”

The crackle of the fire cut through the room and your question.

“How’d you want me?”

***

Ross opted for clothes, which meant he had to pour his own glass of wine when he came back from getting dressed. Rather than giving him a verbalised answer earlier, you’d flirtatiously tugged at his right wrist trying to get him to drop the towel. 

“Towel stays on babe,” he had whispered against your lips, wet hair moving to almost curtain around you. “This cold won’t do anything for my ego.”

You rolled your eyes at him bringing up “winter penis”, which if you recalled correctly had been a topic of conversation a few nights ago when he had called you from Toronto. A conversation that had started with the guys, and one he thought fitting to continue with you. 

It wasn’t, but you’d rolled with it. Mainly because at the time of the call you could hear the stage whisky fuelled slur and wanted to humour him. 

You had fawned over him in that moment, openly discussing the size of his dick and before you knew it you were engaged in particularly erotic dirty talk while you sat and ate your Weetabix. Time zones were fucking bizarre, but you did what you had to to survive tour. That’s just how it was. 

“You know the other morning when you phoned me and started talking about your dick,” he hummed, wanting you to continue. “I was eating breakfast-“

“Was it any good for you?”

“The Weetabix? Ten out of ten.”

He laughed, his head falling back against the cushions as he sat on the floor with his back resting against the bottom of the sofa. 

“Cheers,” he bit back in good humour, looking at you upside down. 

You let your fingers run gently across his brow, thumb stroking at his forehead as you softly smiled. “You know how I feel about your dick,” you whispered.

“Do I?”

You hummed your response of “yes”, voice light and airy.

“Why are we whispering?” He asked. You shrugged. “They deliver cocktails to this cottage, did ya know that?”

You hummed again, watching him flip through the menu he was holding. His fingers tapping at one of the cocktail names, “Reckon I’d like this one.���

Leaning down and looking over his shoulder you read the title. 

Highland Fling. How predictable.

You chose to stay silent as you read the few lines explaining it underneath its bolded title. 

The Highland Fling cocktail is a bold, robust and a slightly sweet drink with a flavour of citrus. The smoky and rich flavours of the Scotch whisky are balanced by the sweetness of Drambuie and tart lemon juice. Mixed together they create a complex and satisfying taste experience. 

The cocktail is a popular choice among whisky enthusiasts and those who appreciate the rich history of Scottish culture. 

“Technically we’re not in the Highlands,” you paused, glancing over at him and seeing his rich eyes were already on you. “For someone who likes to think they’re Scottish, you’ve fucked it there.”

He raised his eyebrows. Touché.

“Spoilsport.”

You leant forward to soothe him with a peck to the lips, whispering against his mouth, “Get four of ‘em.”

***

Before you knew it you were both a few cocktails deep, glasses lined up either side of you on the floor where you sat. 

As he looked over at you, he knew you were at the very least buzzed by the soft flush that littered your cheekbones. He had zoned out at whatever it was you were talking about, too engrossed by the way you shone as you talked to him. 

He knew he was fucked, in more ways than one. Hopefully literally, at least later on, but that thought could wait for another hour or two. Loving someone and being in love were different things, and in that moment he knew he was in love with you. He knew a lot of things actually; like he knew he needed to ask you to marry him before the tour was out. 

He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when but he knew he had to make it happen. 

Maybe he could find some time in the new year, whisk you away somewhere warm to fight away the January blues. At least that’s what he would tell you. 

With your feet in his lap, you leant back on your right hand as you sat on the floor, left holding your fifth cocktail to your lips. It was something pink and fruity - watermelon or strawberry based, he couldn’t quite remember - but the way it was staining your lips was all too satisfying.

“I actually think he has a soft spot for me now,” you spoke softly, humming and closing your eyes as you felt his hands move to massage your feet. 

“Who?”

You spoke the name of his eldest nephew, seeing the way his eyes smiled at the mention of his brother’s son, when yours fluttered open and looked back at him. 

“He’s always liked you,” he reassured, hand rubbing gently along your calf. He liked you talking about his family so breezily, even if you were showing a need to be liked by his three year old nephew in this scenario. 

You shook your head, biting down at your lip. “No one compares to Uncle Ross.”

“Uncle Ross, is really fucking cool that’s why.”

He widened his eyes to emphasise what he was saying, wondering how he wasn’t cringing at describing himself as cool. 

“Pretty fit too.”

He looked at you over the rim of his glass as he stalled his movement to drink; holding your eyes with his he let his lips encase the rim of the glass. They were dark and smouldering, never leaving your face. There was no chance he didn't know what he was doing; he didn’t need to verbalise how much he wanted you at that moment. 

“How fit we talking?”

You breathed deeply, a blissful sigh leaving you on exertion. “So fit.”

He laughed down his nose, the additional sip of his cocktail he had taken now swallowed. 

“Really eloquent.”

“I know,” you played along, voice breathy. “The most eloquent, but tell me I’m wrong.”

In goading fashion you pressed your foot gently into his stomach, feeling his hand clasp around the top from your action.

“Behave.”

“Make me.”

Ross pulled at your leg then, hand curling under your knee, needing you closer. Your joyful squeal turned into a throaty laugh as you threw your head back and somehow found yourself in his lap. 

He was back against the sofa then, hands sliding up the back of your pyjamas and gripping gently to the nape of your neck. He guided your face down and towards him. His mouth smiled against yours, the two of you too happy to engage in a proper kiss.

Giving up, he slid his lips across your cheek and underneath your chin as you tilted your head back and breathed his name. He gently nipped at your throat, tongue licking and tasting your skin which was slightly salty due to the heat within the room from the roaring fire.

Your fingers were woven into the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing upwards underneath where his hair tie sat, to try and loosen his bun. His hair was still damp from where it had been tied up after his shower hours earlier, and the cool strands felt delightful to your fingertips.

“I fucking love you in this,” he confessed, face buried in your chest as he finally acknowledged you wearing his family tartan. His right hand had a strong hold on your back, hand splayed between your shoulder blades as you leaned back.

His left was fumbling with the buttons of your pyjama top, desperate to rid you of the clothing item. Your mind was telling you to help, but you were too engrossed by the feeling of his lips suckling at your sternum. 

“Babe,” you gasped, when you felt him nudge the fabric away with his nose, mouth wet along the top of your boob before he enclosed his lips around your exposed nipple. A satisfied moan left you, as you stroked down the back of his neck and lightly grazed your nails over his skin. 

His fingers were firm, deftly plucking at the remaining buttons of your top like the strings of a bass as he grew confident. Top now sat open, his hands were quick to encourage you to move yours from around his neck, so he could slide the sleeves off. 

Ross was so immersed in you, the smell of your skin and the way your breath got caught in your throat as he lapped at your nipple.

“Your tits are incredible.”

The comment was boyish and almost lost against your skin. It made you smile, teeth biting down at your bottom lip as he switched boobs.

“I missed you too,” you replied, humour lacing your words. 

From your response you felt him lightly trace his nose against your breastbone, he tilted his face back to look up at you, his chin resting at your chest. Your hands moved to gently cup at his face, Ross turning slightly to press his lips to the inside of your palm.

His eyes were imploring as they looked up at you, silently watching you slide your top off completely and aimlessly throw it away before welcoming you back to him by sliding his hands up your bare back and applying a small amount of pressure to your shoulder blades to pull you down to him.

He had missed you. He didn’t need to voice it literally at that moment. It was in his gaze, his touch, the way his fingers dug into your skin as he held you. 

You cupped his cheeks, the sound of both your inhales mixing just before your lips met and his face became blurred to you. He started off delicately, almost allowing you to process the feeling of his beard beneath your right hand, and his lips against yours. It wasn’t long until a fervent, urgent need overtook, building from this graduation of intensity that had you clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in your ever-changing world. 

Ross’ mouth was insistent as he parted your lips and it evoked a sensuality within you that you had missed the minute he had parted from you all those months prior. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, gentle but demanding, causing a swimming giddiness to overflow your being. 

You smiled at the smacking sound of your lips audible, like two teenagers necking on. Faltering lips and a low and muffled moan omitting against your mouth from him as you curled your fingers in his hair and lightly pulled. 

Fighting a losing battle, Ross’ lips moved messily down your chin and to your neck. He paused momentarily, holding you against his body before moving to lay you back against the sheepskin rug. It felt sleek and inviting against your skin and you looked down your body at him waiting on his next move.

“Thought about you fucking me on this carpet when I booked this place,” you softly voiced like it was some lewd confession and not one you were sharing with your long term boyfriend. 

This wicked glint flickered across his gaze and the smuggest grin you had sworn he had ever worn lifted at his lips; slowly he sat back on his haunches and started to unbutton his top. His eyes were everywhere; at your bare chest, on the sea of hair that haloed above you. 

“Did ya?” 

Looking down at him, you nodded happily wearing your soft blush and lifted your hand to try and reach for the bottom of his shirt to help him remove it quicker. 

“Lured me here under the pretense of wanting a nice little getaway,” he teased. “Really just wanted to have your way with me.”

His eyes took in the way you looked at him, all doe-eyed and biting gently down on your bottom lip. You weren’t going to deny it; why would you? 

You instead reached for his hand. The heat and wetness between your legs felt all too inviting, desperate for his touch. He palmed you over the top of your underwear so easily, dexterous digits swiping at your clit in the right way. 

“Don’t start without me,” he paused, as your eyes started to close from the feel of his fingers. His lips pressed to your warm cheek when he continued, “Let me go get some condoms.”

As he rose to his feet, he quickly stripped his lower half leaving him naked, unphased and all bare bottom as he walked away. It wasn’t lost on you the use of the plural. 

Starting without him was exactly what you needed, fingers caving and picking up where he left off: gently rubbing at yourself and spreading your wetness over your clit. 

“Hands,” his chided when back in the lounge, hearing a soft whine escape you and seeing your hands move to easily rid you of your pyjama trousers. When you returned to your place on the floor, you watched the strip of condoms bounce to the carpet next to you, from his relaxed throw. 

“Someone’s confident,” you casually commented, gazing up at him through hooded eyes and taking in the open wrapper that was placed between his teeth. He smirked around it, head dropped and looking down at his hands as they adeptly rolled the latex over his erection. 

Joining you back on the floor, Ross leant over and pressed a kiss to the inside of your left knee, his eyes finding yours from under his brow. He mumbled, “Some would say prepared…”

He stalled his words, lips now at your right knee. “…. Safe.”

“Sexy.”

“How’d you want me?” He queried in return, feeling your hands pulling at him. 

“You decide. Just want you.”

He moved so effortlessly between your legs, them pliant in his hands and accommodating. His weight above you was always welcomed, comfortingly looming and imperturbably virile. 

“Put me in,” he spoke, voice low and caught in his throat as slipped his tip between your folds. You whined around your bitten lips, reaching up to pull him down closer from where he was hovering over you. 

His lips were heavy on yours once more, all tongue  and hungry. He groaned against your mouth as you stroked him over the condom that he wore, hands sliding down your waist and angling your hips. 

“S’yours, you know.”

You slowly smiled at his slurred and barely audible words, mouth dropping open and head falling further into the carpet as he slid into you with no resistance, bottoming out in one long, smooth stroke and the manliest “fuck me”. 

Humming deeply, Ross bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires. 

“More,” you craved to feel the power you knew he held. 

He listened, thrusts more measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what you wanted and needed. Undulating and determined. 

He jutted his hips forward, knocking your body with more force as you lay relaxed below him, arms above your head and boobs bouncing with each swift jolt of his thrusts as he fucked into you.

“Yes, fuck me,” you breathily moaned, head pushed back further into the floor beneath you, hands moving to the rug upon which your lay, fingers grasping at the soft material. 

To think that all those hours earlier, you thought that neither of you were going to get warm. Now you almost choked around the thick air that consumed you within the room and from the roaring fire. 

Ross’ thrusts kept their measured in pace, more forceful than before and you couldn’t help the blissful sighs and heavenly cries that left you lips as he devoured your sweaty skin, licking and sucking at the curve between where your shoulder and neck met. 

The feeling of his touch let you know how sure of himself he was. You couldn’t disagree as your body welcomed him, receptive and pliant and willing. 

He frowned along with you when he felt you begin to go taught. When you breathily gasped his name, he scooped you into him and held you against him.

Your orgasm had crept up on you, causing you to cup the back of his neck and bring his face back to yours. He was muttering words of approval into your skin, something that you couldn’t decipher that had you opening your legs wider for him. 

He knew you liked it when you couldn’t quite figure out what filthy things he was saying to try and get you there. It summed up the mystique that peppered throughout your relationship. 

As you shook, he sloppily fucked you through your release, hand tilting your hips up as you become slack.

“God, I love you,” you desperately gasped when you came to, face flushed and feeling clammy from the mixture of the heat from the naked flame to your right and pure exertion.

“‘Think you love fuckin’ me,” he roughly spoke, his right hand seeking yours and lacing your fingers together against the rug. You looked at him with desperate eyes, a shake of your head to his words. “No?” He sniggered down his nose, his own skin taking on a pink flush.

His other hand wound underneath your lower back, as you arched slightly, liking the way he wanted to drag it out; to roll his heavy hips into yours this entire time and making it so your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone on every thrust. 

He watched your eyes roll back and your chin lifted upwards, him finding your spot once more causing you to clench around him. Ross groaned your name, begging you to look at him. Your hazy eyes found his shortly after he aired his request, hips snapping forward when you silently begged him with fucked out eyes to fill you up.

“Fuck, ‘m comin’.”

The sound of his voice was watery; choked as he groaned causing you to blissfully sigh when you felt him drop down to you, your arms enveloping his body and holding it to yours.

You ran your fingertips lightly down his back, listening to his breathing even itself out, you pressed a fluttering kiss to his temple and purred, “Welcome home, baby.”

[orangeinecstasy]

ross boyfriend thoughts ฺ｡*:･

an: hey everyone! one person told me they wanted a ross bf thoughts and because i can't control myself and because i love him sm i did it! also i tried a new format, lmk what you think!

cw: fluff and smut sections

cute simple dates

i already know ross is such a big romantic and would do something super amazing, like plan a whole day for the two of you. but i just know that he loves the cute little dates that you guys do. like going to brunch or having a movie night-- he's pretty much putty in your hand at those points. even if it's something random, like the two of you being up late at night, cooking a meal together, and dancing around the kitchen.

remembers all the things you like and buys them when he sees them

once again, big romantic. if he's at the shop or even in a different country and sees something you mentioned liking or wanted to try he's, of course, buying it.

doing his hair

there have been multiple moments where you braided his hair just because you could. i'm sure he puts on a front where he doesn't want to do it but ends up loving you messing with his hair and how happy it makes you.

constantly wearing his clothes

he loves seeing you in his clothes and how comfortable and safe they make you feel. i know it just warms his heart knowing something so simple that he does indirectly can give you so much joy.

semi-frequent pet name user

i don't think he uses them a ton, like he doesn't force it but lets it happen naturally. definitely lots of "loves" and "babes". doesn't mind at all you using pet names for him.

little spoon lover

i can see him after tour is over and just wanting to be in your arms and have you play with his hair. you make him feel safe and comforted and seen and he's not ashamed about that.

cold winter mornings

on the balcony together having a smoke with a cup of coffee. his arms are wrapped around your waist and he's pressing your back closer to his chest to preserve the warmth between you. you guys chat about anything and probably end up going back to bed.

100% a he fell first and harder

you guys probably met through friends and you'd already known about him a little bit. of course your friend hyped him up before you met him and as soon as his eyes landed on you he knew you were the one.

treasures of yours with him all the time

this is more of an on-tour thing, but i feel like he keeps one of your hair ties around his wrist or a photo of you in his wallet. little things like that so that you feel close to him

smut below the pictures

size kink

he loves the innocence of it. how just because he's bigger than you he can overpower you in so many ways. how doe eyes look up at him through lashes like you don't know what you're doing. how he can grip both of your wrists as he plows into you. just everything about it makes him go crazy.

hair pulling

i think this one is pretty self explanatory. i mean how could you not when it's right there?

munch, duh

he constantly wants to eat you out to the point where it's become another food group to him. if he had a rough day or if you did. if he's bored. he could be in-between your legs for hours if you let him pulling every orgasm out of you until you're pushing his head away to stop.

pleasure/soft dom

he just wants to make you feel as good as possible as much as he can, to the point where he's accidentally overstimulating you. i have an inking that he feels a little bit guilty when he gives out punishments, but good pets have to learn how to behave, right? (once he sees how much you love it, the guilt turns into pleasure)

sir kink

i started off really simple. you asked you to do something for him and you responded with "yes, sir." and he felt something wash over him. you could feel the energy in the room thicken after that moment until he broke and fucked you over the counter until "sir" was the only thing you could say.

wax play

blindfolds you and ties you up so you can't pull away as he watches your body's reaction to him pouring small amounts of wax on your skin. especially loves pouring it over your tits so he can sloppily mouth it off.

choking

he loves seeing you sloppy and drooly and purring underneath him, and choking only allows him to see that even sooner.

possessive

this is in and out of the bedroom. though it's not in an aggressive way, he wants you to know he's yours and you're his, and he doesn't have a problem with fucking that knowledge back into you.

cockwarming

so so innocent. he just wants to be close to you. if you're doing something for work or if he's working in the studio he'll always make it an option. especially during late nights when you're both too tired to fuck but want to feel something.

[kate-the1975]

So Long, London…Pt.1 // Ross MacDonald x OC

A/N: this is a two parter, or more if people want it!!! Don’t know what made me want to destroy a relationship when I’ve barely written about them but WHOOPS 😬

C/W: Angst, heartbreak, probably not an accurate portrayal of Ross because it’s fictional so don’t get pissed off with me xoxo

W/C: 1,419

The streets of London where Evie now called home were bathed in a soft, amber glow, the kind of autumn light that made everything feel a bit more magical, but also bittersweet. Leaves skittered along the sidewalks in a scattered dance, as if nature itself was letting go of something. It was Halloween night, but the mood between Evie and Ross felt less like celebration and more like something unsettled, hanging in the air.

Evie walked beside Ross, her hand slipping into his, but even that small touch felt different. There was a distance between them, a quietness that wasn't quite the usual comfortable silence. The sound of distant laughter from a group of kids in costumes echoed behind them, and she glanced over at Ross, hoping to catch his eye.

But he was staring ahead, his jaw tight, his fingers loosely wrapped around hers. It wasn't like him to be distant, but then again, it hadn't been like him to open up much in the first place, had it?

They'd been dating for nearly a year now, but somehow, it still felt like they were on the verge of something, but never quite there. It was a slow burn, something steady but frustratingly gradual. Meanwhile, Amy and Matty seemed like they were in their own whirlwind, so open, so easy with each other. Amy had always said relationships should take their time, but it didn't stop the voice in Evie's head from comparing.

"I don't get why people love Halloween so much," Ross mumbled, his voice low as they passed a house decked out in orange lights and fake cobwebs. "I mean, it's just... weird. All the masks and costumes. Who even gets dressed up as a skeleton anymore?"

Evie tried to smile at his attempt at normalcy, but it didn't come out right. Her lips barely twitched. "You don't have to get dressed up if you don't want to," she replied, her voice a little sharper than she intended. "I'm sure Matty's probably at a party in a ridiculous outfit right now. You know how he is."

Ross laughed, but it was brief, hollow. He didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed ahead, his hand still loosely wrapped around hers.

"Matty's... well, Matty," he said, his tone distant.

The words hung in the air, heavy with something she couldn't quite place. She felt herself pulling back, just a fraction, but enough for it to sting. When was the last time he'd looked at her like he really saw her?

Evie glanced sideways at him, the warmth of his arm next to hers feeling somehow colder than it should. They continued walking through the park, their steps the only sound between them. The trees around them were ablaze with fall colours—orange, red, gold—but it felt like they were moving through a tunnel of silence, everything muted.

She tried again, her voice a little softer. "You've been... off lately, Ross."

He stopped walking, and for a moment, she thought maybe he'd say something—something that would finally clear the tension between them, something that would make the silence make sense. But instead, he just looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not off," he said, his voice too even. "Just tired, I guess."

"Really?" she pressed, her chest tightening. "Because it feels like there's something else. It feels like you're shutting me out."

Ross exhaled, his breath coming out in a low, almost irritated sound. His hand fell away from hers, and she instantly felt the space between them widen, like a crack in the ground threatening to swallow them whole.

"I'm not shutting you out," he said, a little too quickly, his words a bit defensive. But she saw it in the way he looked away, in the way his hands flexed at his sides. He was lying, and he wasn't good at it. Not to her.

Evie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Then why do I feel like you're not all in? Why does it feel like you're... not here?"

His gaze flickered over her, sharp for a moment, and then softened. "I am here," he said quietly, but the words seemed so fragile, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

Evie's heart sank as the realization hit her. "You don't have to be," she said, her voice small, almost swallowed by the night air. "But if you're here, then be here. I need you to be, Ross. Because if you're not, then what the fuck am I doing here! What are we doing?"

His eyes widened, and she could see the guilt in them. He took a step closer, reaching for her, but the space between them felt like a chasm now. The air between them seemed so heavy, she could hardly breathe.

"Evie," he said, his voice lower now, almost pleading. "It's not that simple."

"Why isn't it?" she shot back, her frustration bubbling over now. "Why is everything so complicated with you?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his face pulled tight in thought, and for the first time in a long while, she saw how truly tired he was. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. Like he was holding something so heavy inside that he couldn't even begin to let it go.

"I don't want to drag you into it," he murmured, almost like a whisper to himself. "There's... a lot going on. A lot I haven't said."

Evie stared at him, her chest aching. The words were out now, and they hung between them like a shadow.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt sharp in her throat, the pain of them too real. "What haven't you said, Ross?"

He looked down, his shoulders tense. "There are things I haven't even dealt with yet. Things from before. From when I was... I don't know. Different. I'm trying to sort through it all, and I don't want to... drag you into it. I don't want you to have to deal with the mess I'm in."

Her heart pounded, every word from him like a stab of pain. He's holding something back. She knew it. But hearing it like this, hearing the depth of his uncertainty... it was more than she could have prepared for.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Her voice cracked with hurt. "Why haven't you let me in, Ross? We're supposed to be a team. I want to be here with you through it all. But instead, I'm just standing here, waiting for you to let me in. And every time I ask, it's like I hit a wall."

He looked at her then, his face so raw, so vulnerable, it almost broke her. "I didn't want to lose you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought if I let you in, you'd see all the broken parts of me. I thought you'd leave."

Evie's heart clenched at the confession. She wanted to say something—anything—that would fix this. But she couldn't. She couldn't fix him. She couldn't fix them.

"You didn't give me a chance to stay," she said, her voice small, shaking. "You just... kept me at arm's length. And it's killing me, Ross. It really is."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. He stared at her, his face a mixture of guilt and pain, and for a moment, she thought he might say something more. But then he didn't. He just stood there, looking at her like she was something he couldn't reach.

Evie swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that had started to sting at the corners of her eyes. "I don't want to keep doing this," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't want to feel like I'm begging for you to let me in. I love you, Ross, but I don't know how much longer I can keep waiting for you to figure it out."

He didn't say anything at first. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, his face stricken with regret. He reached for her hand again, but this time, she didn't take it.

"I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice raw, but there was a distance in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

Evie closed her eyes, the tears threatening now, her chest tight with the weight of it all. "I don't know if you can keep me, Ross," she whispered.

She turned, her footsteps faltering as she walked away, the sound of the leaves crunching underfoot echoing in her mind. The cold autumn air wrapped around her, but it was nothing compared to the chill she felt deep in her heart.

[hypersonic04]

Heaven In Your Eyes

Hi everyone! I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of writing, both in terms of actually writing and also feeling mentally okay to delve back into tumblr. This is pretty basic I fear, so please bare with me lol. I’m not too sure what the word count is, but it’s not super long. I’ve missed you all so much, and really hope you enjoy <3

“I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Breathy laughter tumbles down the telephone line, your knuckles white as you grip the phone in your cold fingers. Looking both left and then right, the street is bare of taxi’s. It’s 3am, you’re stood outside a nightclub alone in the middle of London, and there’s only one address you know off by heart.

“Y/n? Are you still there?”

His voice brings you out of your panic, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to get rid of the wine-instilled haze that seems to be clouding them.

“Yeah, sorry.” You inhale sharply, quickly glancing at the gaggle of girls falling out of the club doorway in loud giggles and clicking heels. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah, is everything okay? You’re worrying me, where are you?” The sound of him shuffling to his feet - you picture him in those navy plaid pyjama pants you’d bought him last Christmas, weary eyes and a furrowed brow as he awaits your reply.

“Can I stay over?” You grimace as the words slip out of your mouth. Asking to stay over at your ex-boyfriend’s flat because you can’t remember the address of your hotel is quite possibly your lowest point yet. Your feet hurt in the strappy heels wound tight around your feet, the spaghetti straps of your dress offering no warmth to your bare shoulders. It’s November, for Christ sake.

“Course.” He responds after a few beats, “do you need me to come and pick you up?”

“No, it’s okay, I can Uber.” Licking your lips, you spot a cab making it’s way to the queue, holding your arm out for it. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay, let me know when you’re nearly here.”

With that, you hang up and jump in the cab. The address rolls off your tongue without a second thought, like it’s tattooed onto your brain. It makes your heart ache a little. You wonder if it’s the same for another girl somewhere out there, if in the three months you’ve been separated, Ross’ flat has become someone else’s drunken retreat. You find yourself picking around the edge of your nail as you picture the unidentified her in his bedsheets, the ones you used to tuck tightly around his mattress in the mornings because you knew he liked it, the very same bedsheets that once smelled like you.

The taxi driver coming to a halt surprises you, and when you look out of the window, sure enough, his apartment building looms next to you. You pay the driver, sliding out of the car and sending a quick text to him.

It’s all too familiar, the way you wait under the porch, leaning against the brick while you wait for him to come and open the door for you. You reminisce in a way that you’ve avoided for the entirety of your time apart, a way that you knew would leave you sobbing if you dared to delve into the memories of him.

You stand up from the wall when his figure approaches through the frosted glass, tall and looming. Opening the door, his eyes are exactly as you pictured them - dark, creasing slightly at the corners as he smiles softly at you, tired from touring.

And he is wearing the pyjama pants.

“Hi,” he smiles lopsidedly, standing to the side to let you in.

“Hi.” You say quietly, quieter than you anticipated. “Thank you so much.” You turn to face him as he shuts the door, swallowing heavily. He just looks so comfy, familiar, home.

“You know you’re always welcome.” He scratches the back of his neck as he stretches a little, and it takes every ounce of self discipline and control to not watch as his sweater rides up, fingers tingling with the thought of running them over the soft skin at his waist like you used to. His hair is longer, it makes your breath hitch, and you know he notices in the way his eyes trail down your throat, your neck flexing as you breath in.

“Yeah, well, I’m really grateful.” You nod, the silence all consuming.

You follow him up the stairs as he takes the lead, heels clicking on tiles and your hand clinging to the handrail. He lets you into the flat first, and the way your stomach drops at the sight of it takes you by surprise. It’s like you can see ghosts of yourself in every corner - tangled together on the sofa, dancing together in the kitchen, sharing a cigarette on the balcony.

The sound of the door clicking shut and locking fills the room. You sit on the edge of the sofa and undo your shoes, his gaze burning into you. He’s stood against the doorway, eyes following your every move.

“Why are you in London, anyway? Alone?” He asks, and you can hear the almost jealous tone in his voice.

“Someone’s party, some publisher, I don’t know.” You mumble, the free cocktails finally taking their toll. “And yes, alone. Go on, call me a loser, I know it’s on the tip of your tongue.”

He chuckles lightly and you roll your eyes. That laugh, the hold it’s had over you from the second you heard it all those years ago, makes you angry, in a way. How dare he have that power over you? How dare his slightest chuckle remind you of every Sunday morning spent together, every drunken walk home, every party where you’ve been the only two people in the room?

Walking over, he takes your heels from you and sets them in the hallway, before coming to sit next to you. You’re looking up at the ceiling, knees pulled to your chest as you lull your head back.

“This is nice.” He muses, taking the sparkly material of your dress between his fingertips, rubbing it against them.

“Do you think?” You smile sleepily, tilting your head to the side, his eyes trained on the material draped over your legs.

It’s silent in the flat, and it dawns on you that he probably just stayed up to wait for you.

“Why were you up at 3am? I didn’t think you’d answer.” You say quietly, watching as his eyes meet yours for a second, before flicking back to the ceiling.

“Can’t sleep these days.” He huffs, chest rising and falling heavily. You remember how he used to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, head nuzzled into your chest, impossible to wake up, in fact.

He turns to look at you for a second, gaze falling to your lips, over your cheeks, nose, meeting your eyes again. It’s been three months since you’ve been face to face, and it almost makes you laugh how you ever thought you could forget him. It feels like you were tracing the outline of his lips only yesterday, every inch of his existence at the forefront of your mind, like a textbook you’ve read every day, laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

“How was the rest of the tour?” You whisper, still facing him.

“It was good, really good.” A faint smile ghosts over his lips, eyes softening ever so slightly as he thinks of the band. “Missed home though.”

“Hm, I bet.” You nod.

“How’s work?”

“Shit.” You say with a sputtered laugh, smile widening as you look at him, shaking his head with a giggle.

“Seriously?” He looks at you with tilted brows, wincing almost.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, moving away from home. I don’t know, I just wanted a change after everything…” Your voice trails off. Silence consumes the room. You swear you can hear your heart beat against your chest, or maybe it’s his. “I guess I thought that if I moved away, if I changed every other area of my life, then maybe it would fix everything.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands.

“And it didn’t.” You glance at him as the words leave your mouth, wishing that you could get a glimpse into that brain of his. Cogs turning slowly, calculated, pondering over every word.

“When I heard you were moving, I assumed it was because you were going to be happier away from me. That’s why I didn’t do anything.” He runs a hand through his long hair, your eyes following as he does so, “Because you were leaving and I didn’t want to be the knobhead ex-boyfriend telling you to stay.”

“Who told you I was leaving?”

“George. He told me about the phone call.”

You inhale sharply, brow furrowing slightly as you remember that day vividly, sat in your London apartment surrounding by boxes, listening to George begging you to stay. For Ross, for the band, for Dirty Hit. How could you stay? How could you work for your ex-boyfriend’s record label, looking at pictures of him every day, his music playing constantly, surrounded by him? That’s no condition to move on. How can you pretend someone doesn’t exist when your to-do list at work revolves around him?

“If you’d have told me to stay, I would have.” You bite down on your bottom lip, glancing at him. It’s true. His shoulders rise and then fall as he listens to you. It goes quiet, the tension in the air turned to a sadness.

“I’ve missed you.” He says through a strained voice.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You smile softly, sadly almost.

His dark eyes twinkle in the dim light of the floor lamp. They’re chocolate, they’re pools of honey, they’re heavenly. Sticky and sweet and enticing, and you just know you shouldn’t have them, shouldn’t let yourself fall into them.

“Have you been seeing anyone?” He asks abruptly.

There’s a shift in the air, his eyes fixed on your lips as your tongue swipes at them, still sweet from the sugar of the mojitos you’d drank earlier. You wonder what his taste like as you stare at them, perfectly met, gravelly stubble begging to be met with your soft fingertips. You know what they taste like, and that’s the problem.

“No, have you?”

He shakes his head.

“God, we’re boring, aren’t we? No sex in three months. We’re in our prime, Ross.” You laugh loudly at yourself, his eyes crinkling as he does the same. He always loved the way you found yourself funnier than anyone else in the room, obnoxious giggles escaping your pretty lips as he watches them curve into a wide, toothy smile.

“You’re right, it’s tragic.” He huffs.

You glance at him, features soft, hazy under your gaze. He’s propped himself up with his hand, elbow leaning on the back on the sofa, looming over you ever so slightly. You watch as he brings his fingertips lower, lower, brushing a curl from your collarbone, twisting the end of it between his fingers, gentle, quiet, slow. You smile at him softly as he does so. Moving from your hair to the strap of your dress, your skin feels cold, goosebumps over every inch of you. He notices, dark eyes glancing at yours for a second.

“Ross…” you whisper.

He looks at you intently, a sense of worry in his eyes, almost. He wonders if he’s overstepped, if he’s misread the sighs.

“I’m sorry, I just…” he sighs slightly.

“No, I…” you shake your head at him lightly, “I don’t want you to feel like this is why I’m here. I didn’t come here to have sex with you, Ross. I came here because you’re all I could think of.”

He rubs at his chin, watching as your turn to face him properly.

“No matter where I am, London, Manchester, even the other side of the world, all I can think about is what would have happened if I’d not have left, if we’d have worked things out.” Tears prick at your eyes, maybe the alcohol, maybe the way he softens as you speak, as you place a hand on his knee. “I’m an idiot, and I run away when things get difficult, and this was the first time in my life I realised I’d fucked up massively.”

“You’re not an idiot.” He tucks some hair behind your ear.

“No, I am. I should have stuck it out, talked to you.”

He places his hand over yours on his knee.

“Stay, y/n.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, sighing deeply.

“You said that if I’d have asked you to stay, you would have. I’m asking you now. Stay.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in yours. His other hand is on the back of your head, pulling you to hun until your lips are slotted together. Your hands find either side of his head, leaning into him even more, feeling his fingertips brush the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

“I’m never leaving you again.” You mumble between kisses, feeling him nod as your lips meet.

[whimsicalpolitical]

Wintering- Ross MacDonald x Reader

smut, fem!reader, 18+mdni

you’re dropping some more marshmallows into the hot cocoa you’ve prepared when ross waddles into the kitchen.

“finished for today?” you ask.

ross has been in your little home studio the whole day, only taking a couple minutes breaks that he spent wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.

“for now definitely, thought i’d do another break,” he shrugs, “don’t know if i’m gonna continue a bit later tonight though.”

“Or,” you smile, “you could actually be done for today and spend the rest of the evening with your girlfriend.”

“that does sound better,” he grins, his dimples warming your heart, “what are you doing in here anyway?”

ross cocks an eyebrow and takes a glance to the cups next to you. they’re steaming lightly- obviously. your original plan was to get ross from his work and have a nice and cozy cuddle on the couch while drinking hot cocoa.

“just thought i’d embrace december and the shit weather outside with making us a little something.”

ross lets out a soft chuckle, the low rumble of it vibrating against you as he closes the distance between you two. he slides his arms around your waist and pulls you snugly into his chest, his chin brushing the top of your head.

“you’re sweet,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle warmth against your hair. one of his hands rubs soothing circles on your back, and for a moment, everything else fades away — the cold outside, the dull ache of a long day, the unfinished work lingering in his mind.

“only for you,” you mumble, pressing your cheek to the fabric of his shirt. his scent — faint cologne and something distinctively ross — wraps around you like a comfort you could never tire of.

he dips his head, placing a kiss just above your ear before whispering, “don’t know what i’d do without you, y’know.”

“probably just bury yourself in music and forget what day it is.”

he laughs, his dimples deepening. “accurate. but with you, it’s hard to forget the good stuff.”

your hands slide up to rest on his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the hair at the nape of his neck. “then let’s make tonight one of the good ones.”

he doesn’t need convincing. with a smile that melts away any remaining stress, he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss — slow, lingering, like he’s trying to etch this moment into both of your memories.

“hot cocoa and cuddles?” he grins as he pulls back, his forehead still resting against yours.

“exactly.”

he doesn’t let go just yet. instead, his fingers trace lazy patterns on your lower back, his touch so light it sends shivers down your spine. he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours again, the kiss slow and unhurried, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

when you finally pull away for air, you lean back just enough to take in his face. his cheeks are faintly flushed, his lips curled into that lazy smile of his. he looks so at ease, so yours, and it makes you want to freeze this moment forever.

ross’s gaze shifts past your shoulder, and he chuckles softly. “look at that,” he murmurs, nodding toward the window.

you turn, and there it is — the first flurry of snowflakes swirling gently past the glass, glistening in the dim glow of the streetlights. the world outside looks like something out of a dream, quiet and soft, the night draped in a blanket of white.

“it’s snowing,” you whisper, the magic of it sinking into your bones.

ross’s arms tighten around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath fans against your neck, slow and steady.

“it’s beautiful,” you breathe out, “i love winter.”

ross hums, “i like it as well, but only if i’m in the house, otherwise i hate it.”

you groan and throw your head back while giggling, “come on! you don’t love it when we’re out in the snow? remember last winter, you practically dragged me out of the house to build a snowman.”

ross laughs, the sound rich and warm, his chest vibrating against yours. “i did do that, didn’t i?” his eyes sparkle, the memory of last winter reflecting in them. the snowman, the frostbitten fingers, the way you laughed until your sides ached — it’s all there, shared between you like a secret.

he pulls you a little closer, his arms snug around your waist, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. the smell of cocoa and cinnamon lingers in the air, but it’s the scent of him that grounds you. his thumb strokes your lower back in lazy, absent-minded circles, and for a moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

his voice breaks the gentle silence. “should we move to the couch now?” he asks softly, his breath warm against your temple.

the idea of curling up there with him, wrapped in warmth and the quiet magic of the snow outside, feels perfect.

“yeah,” you whisper, a content sigh slipping from your lips.

before you move, you cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the beard on his jaw. his eyes soften, those deep brown irises looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You lean up and press your lips to his — a slow, lingering kiss, tender and sure. His hands tighten on your waist, anchoring you to him, as he returns the kiss with that same unspoken promise.

when you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his lips curling into that familiar lazy smile.

“can’t get enough?”

you laugh softly. “never,” you hand him one of the cups and take your own then.

“me neither,” he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers, and gently leads you toward the couch.

the living room area in the flat is glowing golden because of the christmas decorations you put up, it was a vibe putting all kinds of stuff up while listening to christmas hits.

“there we go,” ross mumbles, setting his cup onto the little coffee table.

he plunges down with a loud exhale and takes a blanket and gives it a good shake, letting it unfurl over the couch, the soft fabric catching the glow of the fairy lights. then he looks at you, his eyes warm and a little lazy, a smile playing at his lips.

“come here, love,” he murmurs, voice low and inviting.

you don’t need to be told twice. you sit down beside him and swing your legs over his lap, settling in like you’ve done a hundred times before, but it never gets old. the blanket falls over both of you, cocooning you in warmth.

ross’s hands find your thighs, his fingers kneading the soft flesh in slow, soothing circles.

you let your head fall back against the couch, a soft sigh escaping you as you melt into the moment. your eyes flick to his face, taking in every detail: the curve of his jaw, his beard, the way his hair falls a little messily around his face. his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, and there’s a faint crease between his brows — like he’s always thinking, even now.

you don’t even realize you’re staring until he looks up, catching your gaze. his lips twitch into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes sparkling with that familiar fondness that makes your heart flutter.

“you’re doing it again,” he teases, his voice barely above a whisper.

“what?” you ask, but your smile gives you away.

he leans in just a little, his forehead almost brushing yours. “staring at me without saying a word and your eyes get all glowy and that.” he points to your smile, “never leaves your mouth.”

your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. “you’re stunning.”

he lets out a soft laugh, his dimples deepening, and his fingers tighten just slightly on your thighs, like he can’t help but pull you closer.

“and you’re lovely,” he says, “my lovely girl who’s absolutely too sweet to me.”

“never,” you whisper back, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray of hair behind his ear. “you deserve all of it.”

he closes his eyes for a second, like he’s letting your words sink in, like he can’t quite believe them. when he opens them again, they’re softer than ever, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

you both lift your cups, the warmth of the cocoa seeping into your hands as you take a sip, the rich chocolate taste melting on your tongue. it’s perfect — sweet and comforting, just like everything else in this little bubble you’ve created together.

ross takes a deep breath, the steam from his cocoa swirling up around him, and gives you a lazy smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "yeah, you’ve done good, love," he says, his voice soft, full of that relaxed fondness that never fails to make your heart flutter. "thank you."

you grin, basking in the compliment, but before you can say anything back, your gaze flicks to his face, and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh. there’s a little streak of cocoa on his beard, just under over his lips, looking like a smudge of chocolate that he clearly didn’t notice.

you try not to giggle, but it’s impossible, and you let out a soft chuckle, your eyes lighting up as you glance up at him.

ross raises an eyebrow, looking slightly confused at first, before he realizes what’s happened. his hand comes up to touch his beard, feeling the spot, and he shakes his head with a playful smirk. "brilliant," he mutters to himself, grabbing the napkin from the coffee table.

“you look cute,” you tease, your laughter bubbling up again.

“very funny,” he says, his tone dripping with mock sarcasm. but there’s still that soft laugh tugging at the corners of his mouth. he dabs at his beard with the napkin, and you can’t help but admire the way his concentration shifts between wiping the stain and looking at you, like everything he does is an excuse to draw closer to you.

finally, he looks at you again, holding the napkin up with a little flourish. “better?” he asks, his grin wide and cheeky.

you nod, grinning back at him. "much better," you reply.

ross watches you, his eyes softening, like he’s really taking you in — the way your eyes shine when you smile, the way your cheeks flush with amusement, the way you just seem to light up everything around you.

“you’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, setting his cup back down on the coffee table. “so bloody sweet.”

you feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, your smile widening. you always feel like you’re melting when he says things like that, like he’s seen right through you, to the parts of yourself that you don’t even know how to express.

you reach up and gently brush your fingers across his jaw, feeling the softness of his skin and the stubble underneath. "you say that like it's a bad thing," you tease, your voice playful.

“never said it was a bad thing, love. i just… i can’t get over how lucky i am to have you.”

"i’m the lucky one," you reply, your voice soft but steady.

“nah," he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips. "i’m definitely the lucky one."

and then, before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, slow and sweet.

you grin against his mouth, and don’t let him leave just yet, you grab the back of his head and pull him in. ross’ tongue slides over your lip first before you open your mouth and engage.

you both hum and enjoy the closeness when you pull back.

“i cant have you that far away today,” he smiles and lifts you with his arms under your knees onto his lap, “need you close, love.”

you smile and rest your head against his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss onto his jeans shirt, “i love you so much.”

“i love you, baby,” he smiles, “so much more.”

you don’t move, not until he offers you the cup again, the warmth in your stomach is only partly due to the drink, the main reason is your lovely boyfriend.

“i can’t wait to spend christmas with your family this year,” you say, “i love being with them, seeing you happy and all.”

“i’m always happy, what do you mean?” he asks jokingly while laughing, “thank you though, for coming with me. and for the record they love you as well, especially robs little ones.”

“awww,” you say, your hand flying to your heart, “they’re the cutest.”

“yeah and alex is a proper footballer now by the way.”

ross is the best uncle for his brothers children and seeing him with kids is absolutely melting your heart. you’re a simp for him. you’ve been together for nearly two years and you both want kids eventually and you can’t wait for the day.

“and ciaran is a lovely lad as well, its crazy, seeing them grow up and learning new stuff.”

you rub his shoulder supportingly, “yeah, times flying.”

“It is indeed. It will be a great time with everyone this year, and having you with me is the most special, love.”

your fingers brush along the edge of his shirt, toying with the first button before slipping it through the hole. ross watches you, eyes flicking from your hands to your face, a lazy smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“well,” you murmur, your voice soft and playful, “i’m looking forward to spending some time with your family… maybe you can show me some of your football skills while we’re at it.”

his brows lift, his grin widening. “need to remind you how great i am, i see.”

“always,” you tease, popping open another button, the fabric parting to reveal a glimpse of his skin.

his gaze heats up just a bit, the smile lingering on his lips. “you’ve got a plan here, haven’t you?”

you meet his eyes, your own glimmering with mischief. “maybe.”

he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach flutter. you undo the last button and grin, giving his shoulders a gentle push forward. he lets you, leaning in just enough so you can slip the shirt off his arms. the denim falls away easily, pooling behind him, leaving him in just the snug white t-shirt beneath.

you pause for a moment, your gaze wandering over him — the way the shirt hugs his torso, the subtle lines of his tattoos peeking out from the sleeves.

ross leans back again, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch, that smug, knowing look on his face. “happy now?”

you smile, biting your lip. “getting there.”

“hm,” he hums, “need something else?”

you shrug, fingers brushing lightly over his forearm, tracing the ink there. “you know.”

his fingers reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “i don’t actually.”

he sips another sip of the cocoa, cleans his beard with the napkin and then takes your cup as well and sits it on the coffee table.

ross moves you, he grabs one leg and puts it on one side of his waist and adjusts the other so you’re properly straddling him.

the lines of his tattoos. the ink swirls under your touch, the intricate designs telling stories you’ve come to know well.

“they look so good on you,” you murmur, your voice soft as you trace a familiar pattern. “i love the way each one means something… like they’re little pieces of you.”

ross’s lips curl into a smile, his eyes flicking to where your fingertips roam. “glad you think so, love. took me long enough to pick ‘em all.”

you smirk, letting your fingers dance along the edge of his sleeve. “yeah? well, you chose well. they suit you.”

“you’ve got good taste then.”

your gaze snaps up to his, a playful glint in your eye. “oh, i know i do.”

he laughs lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest. “cheeky.”

before he can say anything else, you lean in, closing the distance between you. your lips brush his, soft at first, but it deepens quickly. your hand slides up to cradle his jaw, fingers threading into the scruff along his cheek. he lets out a soft groan, the vibration of it sending warmth straight through you.

his hands find your waist, fingers pressing into you, grounding you against him. you tilt your head, parting your lips just enough for his tongue to slip in, the kiss turning hotter, more desperate. it’s like neither of you can get enough.

he pulls back for a breath, your eyes are flicking over his face. his gaze is heavy, his pupils blown wide. his chest rises and falls a little quicker, and that lazy smile tugs at his lips again.

“don’t,” you say. he knows what you mean. you don’t want him to stop, to pull back or ask what you want, but that’s never going to work. he’s too much of a teaser for that.

“don’t what? m’not doing anything,” he throws his hands in the air defensively before they come back to your hips again.

“ross,” you sternly say.

“love,” he counters.

you lean your head towards his again but ross cradles your face in his hands and pecks your cheek one time.

“gorgeous girl,” he says, “the most gorgeous girl.”

he trails his kisses down your jaw to your neck, biting softly into your skin, knowing the effect it has on you. you exhale a content sigh and bend your head to the side to grant him more access.

ross hums against your skin and with his beard it tickles even more but in a good way.

you’re sure by now he’s leaving a mark but you could not care less. you want him to.

he moves to the other side of your neck, sucking and kissing in a painful slow motion, riling you up while you try not to squirm to much.

when he sinks his teeth into you a bit more harder you can’t help but grind your hips over his, you let out a soft noise and ross sucks in a sharp breath.

ross nibbles and kisses the delicate skin of your neck, grin never moving his face as he listens to the small, breathy moans that escape your lips.

“jesus,” you breathe out, your hand squeezing ross’ bun and you’re other hand is traveling down his body to the zipper of ross’ jeans.

he’s quick to stop you though.

“ross is fine” he jokes, before pulling back and looking at you’re already frustrated look. he’s slow today, too slow.

with your wrist still in his hand you try to move it again but ross shakes his head, “eager, are we? let’s go a bit slower, darling, we have all the time in the world.”

he continues before you can speak, “can i take this off of you?”

you nod, “yes.”

he doesn’t waist a second and takes the fabric of your shirt between his fingers, lifting it, “arms up then.”

it’s warm, even with your shirt gone it’s warm because ross’ hands are everywhere. he’s kissing you while moving his hands behind your back, unclasping your bra and throwing it somewhere.

his hands cover your ribcage but at some point they’re on your breasts, torturously squeezing them and his fingers rolling over your nipples that are hardening between them.

“ross,” you whine, rolling your hips again. he lets you. “need you to- need you.”

“what do you need, love?” he asks, brushing his knuckles over your cheek, “tell me.”

“you’re fully dressed,” you state, “it’s unfair.”

“unfair,” he grins, “alright, my darling, let’s fix that then. can you lay down though?”

you hum but your mind is already too foggy to act and all you can do is kiss him again and whine when he stops your hips in their track and move you over so you’re laying down, your head supported by the end of the couch.

“hurry,” you giggle, watching as he takes off his shirt and throws it to your clothing.

“quite the needy one today, aren’t you,” he mocks.

he immediately lays down on top of you, spreading your legs so he can easily settle between them, his crotch over the place where you need him the most.

he ruts against you slowly when you tangle your hand in his hair, tugging at him and breathing into his mouth, not even kissing properly.

“c’mon,” you plead, “need more.”

“greedy,” he responds, “can’t we do this a bit longer?”

with this he means torturing you, not touching you where you need him.

his mouth is on yours again.

you wrap your legs around his back, pushing your heels into his lower back to make him move, to do something.

you whimper into his mouth when his bulge grazes over your clothed clit.

you’re absolutely soaked and you know it, you can feel it and it’s a bummer he doesn’t because he would fold and give you what you want.

ross is almost panting, trying to attach his mouth to every spot on your body, his lips wrapping around your nipple while playing with the other one.

you arch your back at the stimulation, your lower stomach meeting his and it messes with your head. you’re a whiny mess, only wanting to feel good and to make him feel good.

“oh fuck, ross,” you moan, your hand clawing at his back with his mouth still around your nipple.

“mhm,” he hums, letting you breathe for a split second when he moves to the other one, continuing his circular motions over the small bud.

“fuck, please more,” you beg, “please, ross.”

ross groans and moves his lower half again, denim on denim, rubbing against you.

“alright, fine, you’ve got me.” he says, sitting up and opening the buttons of your jeans and pulling them down your legs and removing them from your body.

you stop him before he moves his body down again, you sit up as well and pull the zipper of his jeans down, ignoring the sticky feeling between your thighs.

he’s towering over you even in this position. with his lips parted he watches as you pull his pants down to his knees until he needs to stand up and get rid of them on his own.

“jesus- you’re absolutely gorgeous, love,” he squeezes himself over his boxers one time, trying to relief pressure, before laying over you again, “turn me on so bad.”

“yeah?” you ask, “you turn me on so much more, i can prove it.”

ross cocks his eyebrows and you take his large hand and lead it over your soaked lace panties.

your eyes roll to the back of your head when he only ghosts his fingers over the wet patch, so deprived of his touch there.

“jesus,” he groans out your name, “you’re drenched, s’ it feel uncomfortable?” He asks, moving them to the side and gathering your wetness before moving them over your clit.

“god,” you moan.

“that’s what you wanted? my fingers right here?”

he toys with you unintentionally, removing his finger again to pull your panties down your legs as well.

you writhe under him and moan out his name when he properly ges his fingers on you.

“don’t think you’ve ever been this wet actually,” he observes, his mouth ghosting over your neck again, “want it slow again?”

“no,” you quickly respond, your eyes rolling to the back of your neck when he slips his first finger inside of you, “need you so bad, s’torturous when you’re slow.”

“but i like it,” he hums, pressing one sweet kiss to your neck before moving to his favorite spot. your breasts. “like it when you’re desperate and writhing around because you’re too needy.”

“fuck,” you moan, his words turning you on even more and while his thumb is circling your clit he enters his second fingers, making you feel so full already cause they’re so much bigger then yours.

“feel good?” he asks while he keeps sucking on your breasts.

“yeah-,” you mange to speak, “don’t think- fuck, don’t think i can last that long.”

you can’t. he’s hitting the right spot, stimulating you in every way possible and saying all the right things. you’re so turned on and your orgasm is already building slowly.

“don’t have to, love. let me have it whenever.”

ross’ fingers curl inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle is perfect-hitting spots you never manage to reach on your own. ross groans at the sight. your body is tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers.

“ross, fuck,” you moan, “like that.”

“like that?,” he repeats, continuing his motion, “yeah, just feel good, love.”

the sounds he makes drives you crazy. each deep groan, every stuttered breath, shows you how much he enjoys making you feel good. his enjoyment only intensifies your own pleasure.

you are so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbles over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

your breathing quickens, sharp and shallow, as the pressure builds within you, pooling low in your belly.

your vision blurs, the edges of reality dissolving as you near the brink of your climax.

"baby..." you breathe, your voice a desperate whisper, barely more than a plea. you lock your eyes with ross, hoping-praying-he can see the need in yours, feel the frantic urgency building inside you.

And then, with a nod and a final twist of his fingers, you break.

“that’s it,” he praises, “just like that, love, s’perfect. you deserve it, deserve feeling good.”

he rides out your orgasm, rubbing your clit until you’re there again, kissing him, tongue gliding over his and your hips jerking when you feel overstimulated.

he moves his fingers, that are coated with your wetness, from you and to his mouth, groaning at the taste of you.

“everything alright?” he asks, looking at your droopy eyes and grin as you nod.

“perfect,” you respond, “how are you doing?” you giggle, bending your leg and grinding your naked cunt against his boxers, staining them surely.

ross’ chuckle is quickly replaced by a groan and he lets his head fall between your neck.

“want to taste you properly now,” he says, rutting against you, “fuck, you feel good, love.”

“don’t,” you say, “i need you, ross. you can have your mouth on me anytime, not now though, please.”

“yeah, alright,” he stutters.

he doesn’t argue anymore, he blindly slides off his boxers and lets his cock jump against his stomach.

he teases the both of you when he takes the tip and slides it over your cunt, without sliding it in.

“jesus ross,” you whine, “sucks that you’re so patient.”

he chuckles and kisses you without rush, just a sweet, loving kiss.

“just want to enjoy you properly, darling,” he says, “want everything to last long, you know?”

“mhm,” you nod, kissing his cheek, his dimples, the crinkles on his eyes, “we can go slow, you’re too sweet.”

“i love you,” he says, finally, slowly moving inside of you.

you bite down on his shoulder and just hold his body close to yours.

“fuckin’ hell, you feel so good,” he whispers, not moving, just waiting for you to give a signal.

you yelp into his mouth, your body tensing at the sudden intrusion, but his hand is there, sweeping under your thigh and pushing it up, opening you even more to him.

"can you lift that leg up, love?," he instructs, his voice a mix of command and coaxing as he thrusts to the hilt, groaning in pleasure as he stills there again, this time just for a few seconds.

“can feel you everywhere,” he groans.

you moan in response, the sound escaping your lips without thought.

once again, you feel completely filled, his cock just sitting inside of you, brushing against your womb. and even though the stretch is enough to practically compress your lungs, you want more - need more.

he starts moving, almost all the way out and then back in again, the slow, deliberate pace driving you mad.

his lips are everywhere on you - your lips, neck, cheeks, breasts, jaw, ears - each kiss, each touch fanning the flames inside you.

"you’re being such a good girl," he praises, his voice thick with pleasure as he can tell in what a haze you are, totally lost in the sensation of him.

he kisses your forehead tenderly and start to move a bit faster, his hips picking up a rhythm that has you gasping for breath, not completely fast, but fast-er.

“oh,” you moan, holding him while he focuses on this pace.

“ross,” you cradle his face in your hands, “please, need to feel you.”

“you already do, no? what do you need?”

“let me- can i?” you try to find your words and close your eyes, trying to not focus on the feeling between your legs, “can i go on top?”

ross’ brows furrow as to think about if he did anything wrong but you quickly kiss it away. and then his lips.

“need you closer, please,i just-“

“yeah, alright, whatever you want, love.” he interrupts.

you roll over onto ross and kiss once, he has slipped out of you but that doesn’t matter. he hums into the kiss, too whipped to pretend like he's got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.

you pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand.

“slowly, darling, yeah?”

“yeah.”

you do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. ross’ breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.

“jesus- that’s-“

that was not slow at all.

you can't think. the overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. the subtle rocking you're doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

ross’ breath is ragged, “oh fuck.”

"fuck," you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. "oh god.”

"my lovely girl," ross gasps.

"feel so good," you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. "please." You don't know what you're asking for. maybe relief from the sensation that he can't offer you. maybe more.

ross is undone by you-the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you're so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.

"baby," he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it's the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated.

"darling," he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you.

by the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, ross is lost. his head falls back against the couch and his eyes squeeze shut.

"fuck," he groans. "oh, angel, jesus.”

you do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.

"love you so much, ross," you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it's a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body.

dragging the actual sex part out for so long has got you both turned into complete messes.

"my girl. just like that. doing so well, love, just like that."

each pass of your hips has you whining. your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss-only to know that you want the contact.

"faster?” you ask.

"yeah, lovely. do whatever feels good."

you readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it's clearly more sensation than you'd been prepared for.

"oh-" you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. "ross- fucking god.”

"i know, love," he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good, “feels that good?”

"fuck, yes, feels-" you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this'll be over too soon.

"you’re so good," he breathes, "you're perfect." he hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head.

"gonna come?" he murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.

even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you.

"alright, love, come for me.”

"ross," you very nearly yell. when you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes-you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.

"such a lovely, good girl," ross murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after.

you shudder, and ross feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers.

"you’re alright, love, relax.”

and you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you're once more slack on top of him.

"you’re incredible," he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.

so clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. ross laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. he feels the way you're still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. "what do you need, lovely?"

"just you,” you slur.

ross chuckles again and his brow knits.

“you’ve got me.”

his hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.

“absolutely shaking,” he mumbles.

you squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. "ross..."

"i’m teasing, love," he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. "you’re gorgeous.”

"hm."

"look at me," he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. the look on your face is so sweet-eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. your cheek is warm to the touch. his heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. this view will never get old.

"christ. look at you, beautiful girl, kiss?”

and you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that's worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.

eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.

"are you knackered?," he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.

"don’t want to sleep.”

"but you are?”

"a bit. want to be awake with you though and spend time.”

"love,” he melts, “how about we move to the bed though? spend some time there.”

"i see what you’re doing,” you giggle.

"doing what?" he laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he's still inside of you. "what? what hurts, love?”

"you tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts," you grumble.

"shit, i’m really sorry, lovely. tylenol?"

"nah, kiss it better?" sleep stains your voice. ross smiles to himself.

"yeah?"

"mhm."

"lie down."

again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. he sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.

"ross?" you whisper as he cups the top of your knees.

"hm?"

"i love you."

he pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. "i love you. so much."

he presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don't seem to mind.

the feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. he traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier-feels the way you relax further underneath him.

“alright?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“d’you really want to stay on the couch, love?” he asks sincerely, brushing the side of your face with his knuckles, “it’s almost midnight anyway.”

you shake your head, “lets stay here.”

his smile deepens as he brushes a thumb along your cheek. “alright then, we’ll stay here. let me grab a few things first, yeah?”

you frown, clutching onto him tighter. “don’t go.”

he leans in, kissing your forehead. “I’ll be two seconds. promise.” he gently detangles himself from you and stands, running a hand through his tousled hair. the absence of his warmth makes you sigh, but you let him go, watching as he pads off, disappearing into the hallway.

left alone, you shiver slightly. you pull his denim shirt from the floor and slip it on, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a hug. the fabric is warm against your skin, and you button a few of the middle buttons before grabbing the blanket to cover your legs. you sit up slowly, tucking your knees to your chest.

true to his word, ross returns as fast as possible, dressed in a pair of black boxers and a fitted black shirt that stretches snugly across his shoulders. in one hand, he carries a glass of water, and in the other, a warm, damp towel. his gaze softens when he sees you wrapped up in his shirt and the blanket.

“cozy enough there?” he teases, walking over and setting the glass down on the coffee table.

you grin sleepily. “perfect.”

he kneels beside you, his hand brushing a stray hair away from your face before pressing the glass of water into your hand. “here.”

“thanks,” you take a sip, the cool water refreshing, and he waits patiently, watching you with that gentle, attentive look he always has in moments like this. once you’ve had enough, you hand the glass back to him, and he places it aside before holding up the towel.

“right, let’s get you sorted,” he says softly.

you let him lift the blanket just enough, your cheeks heating as he gently cleans you up. his touch is feather-light, careful, and he stays focused on his task, but his voice keeps you grounded.

“you did so well for me, y’know,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Your lips curl into a small smile. “you always say that.”

he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting. “that’s ‘cause it’s always true.”

he finishes, setting the towel aside before tucking the blanket back around you. He shifts to sit next to you on the couch, one arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“there we go. all sorted.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “d’you need anything else, love?”

you shake your head, resting against his chest. “no, thank you. you always take such good care of me.”

he hums, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “wouldn’t have it any other way.” there’s a pause, the quiet warmth of the room settling around you both.

ross laughs softly, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “knew you’d be out in no time.”

“not sleeping,” you protest weakly, snuggling closer.

“Oh, sure you’re not,” he teases. “just resting your eyes, eh?”

you nod sleepily, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. his fingers continue their gentle patterns on your back, his voice low and soothing.

“get some sleep, darling. i’ve got you.”

and you believe him. Because in his arms, you always know you’re safe.

[abiiors]

marigold's - ross x reader 🍂˚ ༘ ೀ🎃｡˚☕️

a/n: quite literally giggled and kicked my feet the entire time writing this fic!! also BAKER ROSS!!!! cw: nothing much really, just food and food related activities/conversations wc: 4.4k

it’s a crisp autumn morning when their eyes meet across the street. her heartbeat quickens, palms starting to sweat just a little. in the opposite window, ross stands still for a moment. her eyes narrow in his direction. recognition flares in them and then... hatred.

that pumpkin stealing bitch!

“you…” she seethes through her nostrils like a furious dragon. obviously, ross can’t hear her from across the street, but oh, he knows what he did. and she is sure that her face does in fact, betray all her emotions right now; anger, hatred and more anger.

ross gives her a sickly sweet smile in response and waves a cheery goodbye. then he turns around and walks away from the window, a pep in his step. it makes her brain go into emergency mode, funnily enough—anger eating away at the sane parts of it, no doubt!

the greater marigold’s is in a bit of an uproar today. suspiciously enough, everything seems to be going on normally across the street at (the inferior) marigold's. she immediately runs for her binoculars. 

a collective sigh runs through the other baristas at the sight of it, but she does not have time for these trifles. she has to get to the bottom of something. 

and there they all are, just as she suspected. big, ripe, orange, and double in quantity. the pumpkins that marigold's stole from the greater marigold's. or rather, the pumpkins that ross stole from her. 

she’s sure of it. 

she shifts her gaze to the window of the bakery. might as well get some additional spying done. and she sees him—already there—matching binoculars in hand. it’s like they are mirrors of each other. they might as well be.

for the better part of a year, she and ross have both been working hard towards being the head baker of their respective bakeries. no one has come out and said the words, but they both know it’s a race to the finish line. just like everything else. 

that’s when she realises, this is her chance to step up and take charge of the situation. she can survive another day without murdering ross, but the bakery can’t survive without pumpkins. not on a beautiful autumn day like this. 

her eyes narrow as she furiously begins to type, her coffee getting colder by the second in its cosy little mug. it can wait. this, however, cannot.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: thief! stop stealing our fucking pumpkins, you… you ghoul!!

there. that should fucking show him. with much satisfaction coursing through her veins, she reaches for her coffee, breathing in the rich aroma, dreaming of the first delicious sip when the laptop pings. 

an email pops up. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! ghoul? cute. stop stealing our recipes then and come up with your own :) 

the coffee cup stills abruptly on its way to her lips, drink sloshing precariously while she gapes at the first email of the day. the one she’s just had the misfortune of reading—first the fucking pumpkins and now this. all before a single sip of coffee. the sheer audacity!

there’s the familiar urge to glare across the street, at the all too familiar glass windows, all the way to the man inside; the familiar urge to turn him into a toad with her withering glare alone. still, she resists, takes a dainty little sip of the coffee. it tastes like shit—likely the doing of the stupid email and the stupid man. 

she huffs, fingers running angrily across the keyboard. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! seems like you’re projecting? the recipe has been in our family for decades :)) return our pumpkins.  

there. that seems sufficiently saccharine and sarcastic. and sent. 

the next sip of the coffee she takes tastes better than the last, sweeter even, until there’s another ping on the computer. another email popping up. all the warmth in her belly turns to hot, burning irritation. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! marco’s older. the recipe is his. :)))  how are they your pumpkins? we paid for them

little shit! the smiley face in the email grates on her nerves. how dare he try to turn this on her?! he’s the thief, she mutters to herself, stomping her feet to the coffee machine and prepping for the day.

it’s bound to be a long one. shitty too judging by the lack of the pumpkins.

marigold's isn’t just a bakery, it’s an institution. and its head baker-to-be does not fuck around. 

ross glances at the surplus of pumpkins in the kitchen. sure, they might not have needed that many, and sure they would have to give some away at the end of the day, but he knows the other bakery does not have any for the day. 

maybe he’ll just work on a few more autumn recipes with them. he has no doubt they’ll taste just a little sweeter now that he’s seen the pure annoyance on her face—the way her forehead scrunches up, nostrils flared and the way her eyes narrow into what she thinks is a glare. to ross it’s about as scary as a little rabbit. 

it’s adorable that she should even entertain the idea that it’s scary. 

his boss, the older (and objectively the better) of the two brothers, can be dealt with. marco loves ross, loves all his recipes and the little tricks he likes to pull on ty, the younger of the two brothers. their rivalry is an enigma to him. 

it’s not just sibling rivalry—not just healthy competition. there’s so much more to it that he’d never been told. all he knows about it is that there was a big fight, marigold's split up because of it, and now the world has the "other one".

but ross has decided, a long time ago, that he won’t be caught in the cross-fire of it. not when he can be put to much better use as marco’s right hand man. 

he can’t resist sneaking a look at the modern, sleek bakery in front of theirs. everything about it is off to him—the slightly different font spelling out “the greater marigold's” in neat, cursive letters. they’re freshly painted too. not the chipped and slightly worn but comforting look he associates with marigold's. 

she’s leaving the bakery in a hurry, ross sees. her face is arranged in a careful, determined look. he looks at the clock and smirks. nowhere on a monday morning would have enough fresh pumpkins to sustain a bakery for the day. 

there’s a pumpkin spice haze in the air, ross thinks. marco even gives him a pat on the back when he sees ty throwing a hissy fit in his office through his binoculars. 

ross thinks back to just a few months ago, during the summer—how he’d managed to sneak in to the greater marigold's when she was on her break, and purchased one of the last remaining lemon-caramel muffins that had been selling like hotcakes for the last two weeks. 

lemon and caramel, he’d scoffed before biting into the giant thing, what a stupid combination. 

and now he remembers the way his eyes had rolled in the back of his head, the involuntary moan he’d let out on the sidewalk. they were the best fucking thing he’d had all summer. 

caramel, yes. 

he’d make something with caramel. 

had she been there in the kitchen at marigold's that day, she would have described it as heaven—the smell of fresh pastry, the blend of pumpkin and caramel. there’s a hint of cloves and cinnamon in there too, she would have thought. 

mostly, though, she would have looked at the baker—at his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos peeking. at the way he kneads the dough until it’s soft and fluffy. the painstaking concentration he displays while making the pumpkin and caramel filling, his dimples on full display when he tastes his creation and finds it has exceeded expectation. 

she would have looked at him to study his technique, of course. 

alas, that’s not how it goes. 

by the time she gets back to the greater marigold's, sad little pumpkin in hand, ty is waiting for her. 

“you’re my star!” he says, gesticulating wildly, shaking his head in disappointment. “how could you let that happen? no pumpkin desserts in autumn, it’s a shame.”

and it is a shame, she thinks. there were recipes she’d thought to try. something new and exciting just like her lemon caramel muffins from summer—something that would have made ty promote her to head baker on spot!

“our suppliers deliver to marigold's first,” she mumbles, but ty is too busy cursing at marco, muttering his name under his breath. she supposes her excuses and explanations don’t matter. 

the problem isn’t the lack of pumpkins, the problem is that marco (ross) won.

“i’ll make sure it won’t happen again,” she promises. 

ty takes one long hard look at her, then looks back at marigold's. she thinks something almost nostalgic flickers on his face then, but that’s a stupid thought, right? the brothers hate each other just like she and ross hate each other. 

some gaps can never be bridged. 

a second passes and ty rubs the bridge of his nose. “no,” he says, “it won’t.”

she looks down at the ground like a little kid that just got told off. ross… is going to pay for this. oh how she wishes one of those pumpkins would blow up in his annoyingly handsome face…

the rest of the day, it seems, is well on track to going downhill. she feels herself dying a little on the inside every time she has to tell a customer that they indeed do not have pumpkin spice lattes today. 

yes, it’s not even noon yet. 

no, they haven’t ran out. 

we are so sorry ma’am. 

something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment. 

she should take that small sad pumpkin she managed to get and throw it through marigold's window, ugh! 

in an hour their new trainee gets tired of dealing with people’s questions. “you can try marigold's for pumpkin spice latte, we are currently out,” he says. 

almost in unison, a gasp runs through the other baristas. head after head turns to look at her as if she’s a volcano about to erupt. and maybe she is… the boy cowers, realising he probably said the worst thing he could have. she simply smiles at him—lips stretched over her teeth, canines visible—and turns to the customer. 

“we are sorry about the lattes, ma’am,” deep breath in. deep breath out. you need to sound human, not like a growling animal, “something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment today.”

“they ran out of PSLs! PSLs!” the customer’s voice rises an octave higher, and ross smiles from behind the divider.

he’s busy making sure the big batch of caramel doesn’t burn, and eavesdropping of course… subconsciously, his gaze flicks towards the other bakery and the girl within. he wonders if she’s so angry the tip of her nose has gone all red, he wonders if she stomped back to the oven like he’s seen her do before. 

ross stirs the caramel. it’s nice and thick now, smells delicious too, but his arms strain with the effort. there’s a thought that’s pushing around in his brain. ross wishes she could try some of the doughnuts he’s going to make. he wishes for a brief five minutes they can set the rivalry aside and he could spoon some of the filling into her mouth—watch her as she savours it, letting the sweetness linger on her tongue. 

he wonders if she’d sigh and moan like he had after that muffin. 

then he wonders if he’s lost his mind because this is a truly ridiculous line of thought. 

he curses under his breath, stirring a little more aggressively than needed. why does she have to be so... infuriating?

it’s another hour before he has to let go of the doughnut recipe he’s been working on all afternoon. all of it needs to chill in the fridge for a few hours, he can’t hurry it in his excitement. the doughnuts need to be perfect. not because of her, of course—he isn’t making them for her—but because marco expects nothing less. 

besides, the satisfaction of one-upping the greater marigold’s, of seeing that familiar look of frustration on her face when she realises her defeat, would simply be a sweet little byproduct. 

there’s a quiet little ping the moment he closes the fridge behind him.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! 1) we were going to pay for them before you hoarded them with your grubby little fingers.  2) marco can keep his stuffy old recipe, ty’s is better anyway :))))  3) you suck. 

ross blinks. then looks across the street and blinks some more. try as he might, he can’t seem to fight the smile that worms its way onto his face. try as he might he can’t stop his brain from conjuring up images—of her sitting in front of the computer, nose scrunched, fingers typing furiously. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! think about my fingers a lot do you? at least try my recipe before bashing it.

her cheeks are about as red as the apples in the kitchen, she’s sure of it. 

think about my fingers a lot do you?

no she fucking doesn’t! she never has and never will! what’s it to her if he uses his big hands with the slender fingers to knead the dough until it’s soft and fluffy? what’s it to her if he uses his toned arms to lift up heavy bags of flour and sugar and cocoa? what’s it to her if he does anything inside that stupid bakery of his?!

she huffs, ready to fire off a reply of her own, when the second line of the email finally registers in her brain. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it. 

why should she? it’s going to be rancid and possibly full of rat poison or laxatives or something. she’s sure of it. she turns her nose up at the email, primly clicking out of the tab. 

she won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected her even a little. she won’t give him any satisfaction at all. 

it works for a bit—working in the kitchen and taking up more jobs than necessary—it distracts her for a good few hours. the sun makes its slow descent west, dousing the bakery with warm golden light. 

this is one of her favourite things about the greater marigold’s—how everything turns golden at a certain time of the evening when the waning light of the sun touches it. she even likes to sit by the window for a small break then, sipping on whatever drink she fancies, munching on a small croissant maybe. 

that is until she sighs into her mug of hot chocolate, and opens her eyes to ross grinning at her from across the street. she narrows her eyes at him, his smile turns brighter, almost a laugh now. 

he has dimples, she realises for the millionth time. and just like every other time, her lungs stop working for just a second. 

ross lifts up a finger to his mouth and taps above his lip. she frowns, and then mirrors his action, mortified when the finger comes back soaked in chocolate and cream. 

shit. he saw her with a chocolate moustache like a fucking toddler!

her face flushes. ross laughs, and laughs harder when she sticks his tongue out at him. she does something wholly unfamiliar then, something that goes so much against her instincts that it feels alien for a moment; but she studies him, studies his face and the tray in his hands filled with delicious doughnuts that aren’t even baked yet and still they look so mouth-watering. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it.

should she take him up on his offer?

ross quirks an eyebrow when he catches her looking, equally as interested in her as she is in him at the moment. then his eyes slide to the door to marigold’s and back to hers. a silent invitation. he means it then—his offer is genuine. 

and try as she might, she can’t get herself to ignore the doughnuts and their maker.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: poison how do i know they’re not poisoned? 

ross laughs—no, he actually guffaws when the email comes through. two email chains in one day… anyone else might have thought there was something there. not him though. he can’t be thinking things like these…

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison if they were, would i tell you?

he looks across the street at the other bakery even though he can’t see her. the sun’s properly gone down now, the twilight giving way to the night. there are more people milling about the street—going home from work or out on an evening stroll. ross looks at the window and smiles fondly. 

the image is burned in his head now—her sitting by the window, upper lip coated in chocolate and head thrown back mid sigh. fuck, he had no business staring at her the way he had. no business teasing her about the moustache or inviting her to marigold’s again! 

and even now, ross can’t help but imagine the expression on her face—the suspicious squinting of her otherwise huge eyes, the subtle jutting-out of her bottom lip. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison at least this email thread would serve as evidence if i died

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison so you’re taking me up on my offer then

ross holds his breath as the email whooshes out of his inbox and into hers. who knows how long it will stay there? what if she just decides not to respond and leaves him hanging?! but his heart lurches in his chest when the inbox refreshes, one unread email at the top. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison my shift ends in 15

he fidgets for fourteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds of it, only getting himself together when the bells chime and he sees her looking around, a little lost. her hair is no longer in a bun, instead it hangs down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. ross clears his throat and instantly gets her attention. 

he leans against the counter, arms crossed. the stance is meant to be casual, cool and aloof, and yet he doesn’t miss the way her eyes quickly graze over his biceps, over his forearms. how interesting…

“you came,” ross says, his voice laced with more surprise than he intended.

she hums, and there’s no judgement behind it—just a hint of that exasperation that may or may not be the teasing kind. “had to check out the competition, didn’t i,” she says coolly, walking toward the tray that still sits on the counter.

ross watches her as she takes marigold’s in. has she never been in here before? granted he’s only been to the greater marigold’s only once—to sneakily eat her muffins. shit, he’d have to erase the cctv before marco realises and goes ballistic.

he watches her with baited breath, waiting for her to finish her inspection. 

“your bakery’s empty,” she notes, and ross looks around as if realising that for the first time. 

he shrugs. “we close an hour before you do.”

she nods, then gestures towards the tray on the counter. he can practically see the gears turning in her head, sense more of the questions that he’s about to be asked. 

“what’s in it?”

“caramel,” he answers without missing a beat.

“and?”

a shit-eating grin. “pumpkins…”

she falters a little, fighting the tiny smile on her face. 

“and…?”

“usual doughnut things?”

she levels her stare at ross again. it’s a bit of a shock then—of course it is. he’s never been in such close proximity to her. the closest they’ve come before this when the brothers got into a heated argument in the middle of the street and their respective staff had to drag marco and ty back to their offices. he remembers how she’d scoffed at him then, sticking her tongue out as if that were the epitome of a good burn. 

it’s also a bit of a shock to him because in the warm, golden lighting of marigold’s, ross can see the precise colour of her eyes (so much different than he’d thought), the exact shape of them and their intensity. 

he looks at her and, perhaps for the first time, realises just how much he enjoys looking at her. 

“don’t be smart with me,” she holds up a finger, threatening.

then the finger pokes him in the chest. “laxatives?” she asks. 

ross frowns. “no—”

“ooh, i get it. salt instead of sugar.”

“uh—”

“too much cinnamon? wait, wait, cayenne pepper instead of cinnamon!”

ross watches her, amused, as her brain spits out idea after idea—all outlandish, all highly improbable. she’s halfway through guessing uranium (???) when he lightly grabs her by her elbow, halting her mid-sentence, and stuffs the doughnut in her open mouth. 

his finger touches something incredibly soft then—her lip, he realises with a mix of every emotion he’s ever felt. and thrill. so much thrill. his thumb is touching her bottom lip, lingering there, even though he should have pulled his hand back moments ago. 

she’s probably thinking along the same lines because her gaze dips down—first to the doughnut, half in her mouth and half out, and then to his hand, still by her lips. and then she bites down. 

ross waits. one beat, then another, then another. 

time slows as she chews, swallows and then, just as he’s about to be impatient and demand she tell him how they are, she licks her lips. right over the spot his fingers so briefly touched. 

involuntarily, ross shivers, gripping the countertop just a little.

“so?” he asks, his voice just a little hoarser than before. “are they poisoned?”

she doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence hang thick between them. she just takes another bite, this time on her own accord, and closes her eyes as she chews, making a show of it. ross doesn’t realise he’s practically gawking until her eyes snap open, and she finally speaks.

“no,” she says slowly, dragging the word out, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “but they’re dangerous.”

he blinks. “dangerous?”

she swallows another bite and nods, stepping just a little closer, closing the distance between them. “quite addictive,” she says in a low voice, the teasing evident, as if she’s revelling in the way his face flushes ever so slightly at her proximity.

ross huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

she doesn’t bother answering that. instead, she finishes the doughnut in two more bites and then swipes another one from the tray. he tries not to notice the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“they’re inspired by you,” he admits shyly, finally allowing himself to pick up a doughnut and taste it. and yeah it’s fucking good! it’s better than when he’d tasted just the filling earlier today. 

“me?” she points to herself, voice muffled. 

“your lemon-caramel muffins from this summer.”

she ahhs in understanding, remembering the baked delights from just a few months ago, before her eyes narrow in suspicion. “when did you try them?”

ross gives her an easy smile. “i snuck in when you were on your break.”

she gasps, ever dramatic. “so you are a thief!”

ross throws his hands up. “i paid for them!”

“if i knew you were buying i would have charged double,” she challenges, standing on her toes all the way to look down his nose at him. not that it works much—he towers over her regardless. 

ross steps even closer, bending down, his voice deep and soft like he’s confessing a secret. “i sweet-talked the barista, gave her a smile, and she gave them to me for half off.” and then he erupts into laughter as her face goes slack and then indignant and then finally pouty. 

“a thief and a flirt!” she accuses.

“only one of them,” he concedes. 

for a moment, they both just stand there, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the warm light of the bakery. he’s fully aware now—how close she is, how she smells faintly of vanilla and spice, how her eyes are much more alive than he had ever realised before. and she’s watching him too, her gaze flickering between his eyes, his lips, and back again.

it’s a moment. they’re having a moment. 

but then something happens—errant noise from the traffic, or creaks of the old building, or one of the million things that could have happened—and the moment is over. she steps back. fidgeting with her hands. 

then, as if thinking twice about it, swipes another doughnut. 

“thanks for these,” she holds it up, smiling in earnest. “i’m glad i got to taste them.”

“me too,” he nods, still just a little breathless. 

“i should go,” she mentions, lingering a little. 

“mm-hmm,” he nods. she’s right, it is getting a little late. he has no idea how far away she lives or how long it would take her to get home or if she has plans she’s getting late for. 

“right then,” she slaps a hand on the counter and then turns on her heels, brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his arm as she makes her way to the door. ross’s body tingles from the touch, and he watches her go, follows her out of the bakery just because.

she looks to the right once, then left and right again, before crossing the street. halfway through though, her steps falter. ross seizes the chance. 

“oi!” he calls out and she turns, dazzling him with a brilliant smile, warm enough to stave away the late september chill in the air. “see you around?”

she swallows hard. “yeah,” she breathes out. 

it’s a crisp autumn night when their eyes meet across the street. ross’ heartbeat quickens, and his palms start to sweat just a little.

[hoziersmicrophone]

“you look so cool” - ross macdonald

warnings: suggestive comments, fluff <3

a/n: this is self insert, im just delulu. this is a very short blurb :)

ross grinned as he walked into your shared apartment and saw you sitting on the couch.

you both had just gotten back from the band’s show in london. but he had gone out for a few drinks with the guys, and you were tired, so you headed home before him.

you were wearing the green sweater he wore on stage a few hours ago and had a glass of wine in one hand, with the other resting on the arm rest of the couch.

“did you steal that from production love?” he mused as he poured himself a glass of the wine that was sitting on the coffee table next to the empty glass you had set out for him.

“hm?” you pretended to ask oblivious.

he rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in them, “don’t be daft, you know what i’m talking about.”

you grinned and looked down at the article of clothing you were wearing, “oh this old thing? is it really stealing if the lead singer of the band watched you walk out with it?”

“fuckin’ hell, matty,” ross cursed, causing you to laugh as you took a sip of your wine.

“you know i love this sweater, and seeing you play in it tonight made me love it even more.”

“oh yeah?” he asked with a grin, sitting down beside you on the couch, “tell me more.”

“bring me home that leather jacket that you wore during the second act, and i’ll tell you anything.” you responded, smirking slightly.

ross shifted his arm to wrap around you and he pulled you closer against his torso, his fingers drawing circles on your shoulder.

“i have one here, you know,”

“one what?” you asked, turning to look at his face.

he grinned down at you, “a leather jacket. not the exact one i wore earlier but it’s fairly similar,”

“and you’ve been keeping this from me?” you accused, laughter dancing in your eyes, “ross stewart macdonald-“

“oi! what’s the middle name for? do you wanna see it?”

“fuck yea!”

ross laughed as he stood up and grabbed your hand, pulling you up beside him and dragging you down the hall towards your bedroom.

you watched as he placed his wine glass down on the dresser, opened the closet and began ruffling through his side of it.

he grunted in succession as he pulled out a hanger that had a jacket similar to the one he wore during the show a few hours ago.

“see? told you i had it,”

“we’ve lived together for two years and this is the first time im seeing this?!” you crossed your arms, placing the wine glass down beside you on the vanity, “frankly, i’m hurt.”

“awh poor baby,” ross mocked, his eyes smiling, “life is so hard.”

“oh shut it.”

“make me,” he retorted, smirking.

you grabbed a throw pillow off of your bed and chucked it at him full force. using the jacket, he deflected it and stuck his tongue out at you.

“you missed.”

“fuck off,” you snapped as you stepped over to where he stood and reached for the hanger he held.

ross, being significantly taller than you, held the jacket up and out of your reach. he smirked down at you and laughed at your attempt at a jump to reach it.

“i hate you,” you mused, trying to reach for it again.

“give me a kiss and i’ll let you see it.” he stated.

you stood on your tiptoes and gave his lips a peck that could barely be considered a kiss.

“what the fuck was that?”

“a kiss, now, give me the jacket,” you crossed your arms and smirked at him.

he rolled his eyes but handed you the jacket nonetheless. you grinned and took it off the hanger, holding it for a few seconds before putting it on.

“what do you think?” you asked, doing a 360° turn for him to see.

ross smirked, “you look gorgeous as always love,”

“you flatter me,” you said smiling. you pulled him in for an actual kiss this time. he placed his hand on your lower back, holding you both there for a minute.

he pulled back and smirked, “you would look better in it with nothing else on, though.”

[toomuchracket]

day drinking (ross x girlband gf!reader smut)

first ever ross smut fic can u believe. anyway. summer75. warnings for exhibitionism and everyone being vaguely slaggy. enjoy <3

you're rinsing glasses in the kitchen when the doorbell goes. quickly wiping your hands, you weave your way through the house to the front door, scooping the cat up so she can't make a beeline for the street as soon as you open the door. when you do, you smile at the sight of gabbriette and matty, the latter holding a wine carrier in one hand. “hi, my darlings!”

“hello to you, too, gorgeous,” gabbriette pulls you into a quick hug, cooing at the kitten and taking the bag from her fiancé as she saunters towards the kitchen. “sorry we're late. one of us couldn't decide on an outfit, and it wasn't me.”

matty rolls his eyes, dropping a kiss on your head. “god forbid i wanna look good enough to keep up with the two of you - you really do look lovely, darling,” he ruffles your hair, before catching sight of the cat and beaming at her. “and who are you, baby?”

“oh, i forgot you haven't met nico yet!” you hold the cat up, and matty takes her in his arms eagerly, holding her as if she was a baby. “isn't she cute?”

“i'm literally gonna take her home with me.”

you snort, crossing the threshold to the kitchen, where gabbriette's already assembling snacks. “good luck trying to get her past ross. that's his baby you're holding right there, you know.”

gabbriette giggles. “i love that for him.”

“yeah, it's cute. now,” you clap your hands. “drinks? we've got… most things.”

“margs?”

“whatever you want, wifey, you'll get,” you kiss her nose, and she and matty both giggle; you kiss his, too, for equality, and they both laugh even harder. “ross has got a guinness surge machine outside now, matty, if you want…”

he shoves the cat into your arms and speeds out to the garden as quickly as you've ever seen him, so fast you half expect to see a looney tunes-esque trail of dust behind him. his wife-to-be sighs. “he's nuts.”

you bump your hip against hers on your way to lay the cat on her climbing tree. “and you're gonna marry him.”

“yeah,” her pretty face goes all dreamy, and it warms your heart. after a beat, though, she winks cheekily. “and then you're gonna marry his best friend.”

your cheeks burn, but still lift into a smile at the thought of tying the knot with ross; neither of you have explicitly brought it up to each other, but you hope it'll happen one day. he is the love of your life, after all. “well, maybe someday,” you busy yourself with salting the rim of two coupé glasses, and adding lime to the tequila and agave already in the cocktail shaker. “i just don't know if he wants to, y'know?”

gabbriette scoffs. “oh, please. he looks at you so intimately that we all feel like we're intruding just by being in the vicinity, and you don't know if he wants to marry you? come on, babe.”

she's got a point, to be fair. ross's gaze is so sweetly intense that it sometimes makes you weak in the knees, so overwhelming that you have to look away or bury your face into his chest to cope; you've a sneaking suspicion that's why he does it, because it gives him an excuse to hold you close and softly rub your back and whisper that he loves you into your hair.

some days, though, your boyfriend doesn't need an excuse to be affectionate with you like that, and today is seemingly one of those days. practically as soon you've stepped outside to join him and the rest of your friends, gabbriette in tow, ross is waving you over to him with a “c'mere, love, sit with me”. when you put your cocktail on the little side table and oblige, he tugs you further onto his lap, kissing your temple; you sink into his chest, warm from the afternoon sun, and take in the scene in front of you. george is deep in conversation with carly, whose son is half lying across a sunlounger and half across his aunt charli; she’s talking to matty - insouciantly draped on a beanbag next to you - and adam, who shuffles along the rattan couch so gabbriette can sit down. she takes a sip of her margarita and nods at you approvingly. “this is good, babe.”

you wink. “that's the tequila you got me for my birthday.”

“can i try?” ross's face screws up when he tries the drink - very cutely, though. “christ, that's strong.”

“maybe you're just a lightweight,” you tease, flicking his nose. “can't hack it anymore. oh my god, maybe you're getting old.”

he bites playfully at your fingers to make you laugh. “am not!”

before you can respond, baby hann chips in with all of the tact a three-year-old can have - which is, you know, none at all. “yeah you are.”

he looks pleased with himself as the grown-ups burst into laughter, cuddling into charli when she kisses his head proudly. you lean across to hi-five your nephew, while ross rolls his eyes and tries (poorly) to keep the smile from his face. “and here i thought we were pals, mate.”

“we are! but you're still old.”

the laughter increases, even ross chuckling. you love these moments, you really do, sat in the sunshine with the people you love most in the world, everyone happy and bright. the atmosphere lingers even after the sun sets and the hanns head home, the youngest asleep in his mother's arms after a day spent stroking nico and playing football with his uncles and learning snippets of spanish from auntie gabbi; you stay curled up against ross, only moving to refill your drink or take a lazy hit of the joint being passed around the remaining six of you.

at some point - you've no idea what time it is, too tipsy and high and happy to take note of such trivial things - the breeze picks up slightly, passing over your bare legs and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. you shiver, and ross looks down at you, concern in his warm eyes. “you cold, pretty girl?”

“little bit. my legs.”

he smiles, scooping you onto him and wrapping an arm around your knees. “better?”

“mhmm. thank you,” you pout, and he kisses you, slightly longer than could be considered polite amidst company. still, it's good. “love you.”

“love you too, baby.”

across from you, george pretends to retch. he giggles when you scowl at him, blowing you a kiss. “i'm taking the piss. you guys are cute.”

his other half pipes up. “and really fucking hot,” she downs the rest of her wine, and you brace yourself for her inevitable next statement. “i still maintain you'd make a killing on onlyfans, by the way.” 

the boys all shake their heads and mutter swear words in dismay, while you laugh. only gabbriette stays unaffected, taking a puff of her fiancé's cigarette and turning to charli. “oh, you wouldn't be able to handle watching them like that.”

charli cackles. “and you would?”

“maybe,” gabbriette smirks knowingly at you. “i'd happily try.”

you smirk right back. “yeah, i bet you would.”

she already has, live and in-person with her fiancé on ross's birthday, but charli and george don't need to know that. and, honestly, you don't need to be thinking about that night right now either, not when you're already slightly amorous from the drinks and the joint and just being in your boyfriend's arms. you have a sneaking suspicion that ross is aware that's how you feel; he adjusts you so you're sat more between his legs than on them, and calls a request to his friend. “matty, chuck us that blanket, will you?”

you squint up at your boyfriend as he spreads the fabric over your legs. “m'not that cold, baby.”

“no?” ross smiles, the somewhat manic glint in his eye sending shocks of anticipation through you - you know what that look means, and the way he lowers his voice to speak directly in your ear. “you don't need me to warm you up?”

heat floods through you, settling in your cheeks and underwear. “now?”

“no time like the present, love. s'your call, though.”

you glance at your friends, all four of them preoccupied in some sort of debate and getting progressively louder with each passing second, then look back at ross with a smile. “yes, please.”

“alright,” he leans down to kiss you, strategically timing it so your whimper at his hand sliding into your underwear is muffled by his lips. “not a sound, you hear me? not sharing you today, my girl.”

“mmmkay… oh, fuck,” you hiss against his mouth as two calloused fingers slip inside your needy cunt. “m'sorry, i just,” you exhale as ross gives you a second to adjust, before experimentally pulling out and beginning to slowly finger-fuck you. “feels really good.”

“i know, baby,” ross coos, centimetres from your face. “doing so well for me. keep it up, yeah? but,” he pulls back, shuffling you so it looks more like he's hugging you. “you're the hostess. don't be antisocial.”

fuck him.

but he won't let you do that if you disobey. so, instead, you take a deep breath, turning your head slightly so your friends can see more of your face. ross speeds up his movements - a test - and you feel him smile into your hair when you don't react other than clenching around him. “good girl.”

you smile softly at the praise, doing your best to focus on the conversation around you rather than what's happening inside you. for the most part, it's easy, ross's perpetual inability to fall out of rhythm working in your favour here - you quickly grow accustomed to the thrusting of his fingers and their tempo, the pleasure they're giving you firmly in the background behind the melody of your friends talking.

and then he changes angle.

you squeak, hastily turning it into a cough and praying nobody notices - unluckily, charli does, turning to look at you with concern. “you alright, babe?”

“yeah,” you manage to croak out, doing your best to trap ross's hand between your thighs so you can answer calmly. “just caught the smoke, i think. but please continue.”

you aren't sure whether that was aimed at her or ross. both oblige you, though, charli going back to yapping about a recent holiday while your boyfriend does his best to get you off. and it's working - the heel of his hand bumps against your clit with every thrust, while those long, long fingers of his hook into your g-spot and send sparks shooting through your nervous system. suddenly, george starts to look blurry as he talks across from you, and you make the executive decision to turn and snuggle into ross so nobody can see the tears in your eyes. being social be damned; you can't have your friends seeing you like this, because they'll put all the attention on you and ask what's wrong, and ross will stop. and wouldn't that be the worst thing of all, when you're as close to climax as you are?

ross knows you're about to cum, of course he does, and discreetly wipes your tears away before pressing his forehead to yours. to your friends, it would look like a tender moment, two lovers being affectionate, instead of the depravity it really is, with him murmuring “don't fight it, love. cum for me” and smiling when you obey with every muscle in your body tensed. the pleasure is almost blinding as it reaches its peak, manifesting in chattering teeth and the shaky exhale of breath that leaves your lips as you come down - despite it all, you smile into your boyfriend's chest, humming as he gently pulls his fingers from you and quickly brings them to his mouth. your eyes widen at the boldness, but ross simply giggles and whispers in your ear. “wasn't gonna waste it, was i?”

“you're an idiot,” you sigh, kissing him quickly and smiling at the faint tang of yourself on his tongue. “i love you, though. a lot.”

“love you, too,” ross kisses your nose. “wouldn't have fingered you in front of all our friends if i didn't.”

you smack him on the arm as he laughs, and you've just opened your mouth to respond when a familiar voice from the beanbag beside you cuts in, equally as quiet as you and ross. “fucking knew it. freaks.”

shit.

[wrestletotheground]

settle down - ross macdonald x reader

summary: you and ross are staying in your old house with your family for the weekend, but you find it hard to keep quiet when everyone's asleep...

wc: 1.9k

cw: 18+ minors dni!!! f!reader, angst, fluff, smut, dom!ross, 'good girl', fingering, gagging, slight degradation, choking kink, d word bc i can't help myself, spit, general filth tbh x

'i can't believe i'm actually about to sleep in the bed you grew up in,' ross says, shaking his head in disbelief as he pulls off his tshirt, climbing into bed beside you. 'I can't believe you've spent the day with my insane parents and are willing to stay here for two whole nights', you reply with a giggle.

your parents had been tormenting you to have him over for dinner ever since you moved in together a month ago, claiming you were both in need of a decent meal and a break from dirty dishes.

you'd finally agreed to go back and stay for the weekend. obviously ross got on well with your family as they'd met countless times before, but having him stay over, sleeping in your childhood room, feels daunting. as if it's the final layer he has to go through to know every part of you inside and out.

your parents are well asleep by now, having gone upstairs just before you and ross. with the emptiness in the living room, you'd straddled his lap, grinding into him softly as you littered kisses down his neck.

his heavy breathing was an indicator of how worked up he was getting, although it was less sexual and more passionate, a simple display of your love for each other. shortly after, you'd both gone up to get ready for bed, lovesick and giggly.

~

darkness floods the room with a click as you turn off the old pink lamp beside your bed.

'goodnight baby,' you say to ross as he presses a loving kiss to your temple. 'night sweetheart,' he murmurs, letting his hand fall down to your stomach as he settles his head into the pillow beside you. the warmth of his body is comforting and strong beside you, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

a wave of intense emotion starts to take over as you lie awake staring at the ceiling, your mind racing. the nostalgia of being in the room you grew up in is making your head flood with memories of long sleepless nights spent in this exact place. many a night were filled with tears and hopelessness, going through things no young girl should ever even have to think about. you're doing so much better now, having created a new life and a new home for yourself with your perfect fiancé. your eyes brim with fresh tears as you lie mourning the lost teenager that once sat here. you wish you could give her a hug and tell her that it truly does get better.

you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before shakily placing your hand over ross's, needing him close to you. the feeling of him beside you relaxes you, it always does. you can't help the flutter of arousal that runs through you at the pressure of his hand weighing down on your lower abdomen.

his eyes open suddenly, flicking up towards you. you didn't even think he was still awake with how sleepy he'd been only moments beforehand. you snap your eyes shut, as if that would trick him.

'baby, are you okay? what's wrong?' he asks sleepily. he props himself up on his elbow and brings a hand to your face to caress your cheek gently.

you turn to face him. 'yeah, I'm just- it's okay, don't worry, I'll be fine. just need you close to me'. 'darling, what's up? talk to me'. his voice is laced with concern and you silently curse his ability to read you like a book at all times.

'I was just.. thinking about how happy I am now, compared to how it was when I was younger. I used to think I was- I don't know, broken. but everything has gotten better since I met you, and not to be too sappy but I'm so glad I get to make happier memories here with the love of my life'.

'god you're making me emotional too, love,' he smiles and kisses you gently. 'I love you, and im so glad we found each other.' you look into his eyes adoringly and smile. 'i love you too', you reply.

you settle down into each other, ross lying on his side with his arm across you. the ache between your legs is still there, but you decide to close your eyes and try get some sleep.

until his hand begins to rub up and down your thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke before he rests it on your hip, fingertips rubbing in light circular motions dangerously close to where you need him.

you need him to fuck you so badly, but the risk of being heard is so high. you know you wouldn't be able to control yourself with the way you melt into him as he worships you.

'mmh ross, we can't, not here', you mumble, instinctively leaning into his touch despite your words. 'why not?' he asks, smirking up at you as he presses light kisses down your neck. 'i want to but my parents are next door, the walls in this house are like paper.'

he lifts his head up, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear. 'well you'll have to be quiet then won't you, love?' he whispers, dipping his hand under the waistband of your underwear. you exhale sharply as his fingers graze over your clit, instantly making you wet. 'fuck,' you breathe, squeezing your thighs in around his hand. 'ah ah, you're gonna take it like a good girl aren't you?' he says softly, grabbing your leg closest to him and pulling it up over his to give him more access.

you writhe under him as his two middle fingers continue to swipe lazily up and down, stopping suddenly. 'aren't you?' he says again, his eyes stern. 'yes- mmh- i'll be good,' you whimper desperately, earning a grunt of approval. 'there we go, relax darling, let me look after you', he replies.

the endless band posters and picture frames that cover the walls seem to be watching on in silent judgement, making you hyper aware of where you are. to be honest, the immorality and risk of it all is just making you more turned on, more desperate for him than ever.

he traces your soaked entrance teasingly before slipping his middle finger in to the knuckle, making you gasp, your back arching into him. 'shh, you said you'd be good,' he mutters, curling his finger inside you and stroking upwards. your eyes roll into your head at the heavenly sensation.

he doesn't waste time before adding another and you can't help the sound that spills from your throat, louder than you expected. he stills inside you, your slick dripping down his fingers. your heart pounds in your chest as you meet his eyes, looking down at you with a heavy gaze.

'if you're not quiet I'll give you something to whine about and we don't want that do we?' he's practically growling at you, making you like putty in his hands. 'n-no, please, daddy' you whine under your breath. the magic word. his breath hitches and his eyes roll back into his head. 'fuck, there's my girl', he whispers, his eyes snapping back to yours instantly.

with that, he starts moving in and out, dipping his fingers in as deep as they can go and drawing them back again in quick, fluid motions. obscene sounds break the silence of the room, barely noticeable above the haze of pleasure taking over your body.

your walls pulse around him, enhancing the feeling even more. he throws his right leg up over yours, holding your legs open for him. he curls his fingers inside you, using his thumb at the same time to press into your clit, hard. you have to hold your breath to suppress the scream that's lingering in the back of your throat, coming out in a pathetic barely audible whimper as you exhale.

his other hand creeps around the back of your head, never slowing his rhythm between your thighs. he reaches your mouth and covers it tightly with his whole palm, muffling any more noises you would've let out. suddenly he shoves three digits into your mouth, making you gag as they hit the back of your throat. you close your lips around them and start sucking, swirling your tongue around and coating him in spit, never breaking eye contact. he groans softly, flashbacks filling his mind of how your mouth feels around his cock.

your mouth hangs open as he hits the deep part inside you and your eyebrows furrow, hips bucking into his hand in time with his movements. he's fucking you hard and fast, pinning you to the mattress.

'ross, I can't - mfh- fuck, i'm -' you start, although it comes out muffled and strained around his fingers that are still deep in your mouth. the vibration of your voice goes straight through his hand, the sensation making him feral.

'one more fucking word from you and you're never going to finish do you hear me?' he whispers aggressively, eyes stern. you nod your head in silent response, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

he takes his fingers out of your mouth, dragging his soaked hand down to your neck and presses in on either side just below your jaw, all the while his fingers are working you to your core. you bite your lip as you gaze up at him, completely at his mercy and loving every second of it.

he reaches a particularly deep spot inside you that makes your stomach coil. your head is spinning, face scrunched up in excruciating pleasure, on the brink of the peak you've been desperately chasing as his strokes get quicker and more precise.

'please...' it's barely a whisper, more of a breathy plea for him to let you come. 'let go. let me fucking feel you all over me. pretty. little. slut.' each word is punctuated by a hard thrust into you, the final one sending you over the edge.

your vision turns to white and you clasp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming, your hips rolling into his hand as you ride out your high. his hand that's now drenched, warm honey dripping down onto his palm.

you exhale sharply as he pulls his fingers out, bringing them up in front of you and spreading the two middle ones that were curling inside you moments ago. a wet string of your arousal connects them at the knuckle and you watch him dazedly. he drags them almost reluctantly towards his mouth, as if he didn't want to stop looking, and runs his tongue up the wide v shape, collecting your juices into his mouth.

it's a filthy sight that leaves you awestruck. he smirks at you as you lie gazing at him, being broken out of your lustful trance when he leans in to kiss you. as soon as your lips part his mouth is hovering above yours as he taps your jaw lightly. you open your mouth wider and he takes his chance to slowly spit into your mouth. the taste of the two of you is warm and feral and addictive.

he whispers again, breath ghosting over your lips. 'good girl'. you're too flustered to respond with words, so you slide your hand up around the back of his neck and pull him into another kiss. tongues moving languidly against each other. it's loving and soft, a stark contrast to what he was like moments ago, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

~

[tillthelandslide]

Same For You - The 1975 Series Masterlist

The boys discover a new artist called Y/N, through Charli who runs in the same friendship group, they are instantly in awe of her presence on stage and her sheer talent. They know they immediately want to sign her to the Dirty Hit Label, Y/n and her band strike up a deal and she begins working with the boys on a brand new album. What will happen working so closely to the guys? Will tensions rise and new relationships and friendships be explored?

Series Warnings: slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap, complicated relationship (low-key unhealthy dynamics), eventual love..

📸: Instagram au || Smut 💦

(1) And This Is How It Starts... || Visual

(2) Your Very Own Mirror || Visual

(3) The Deal || Visual

The Love of Thieves 📸

(4) No Need To Explain || Visual

(5) Changing Roads || Visual

(6) The Dinner || Visual

(7) Hate Missing You || Visual

(8) Studio Sessions

(9) Our Secret

The Love of Thieves (2) 📸

(10) Dylan 💦

(11) Ego

(12) June

(13) Take Me Higher 💦

(14) Cant Get Enough

(15) Fight For Me (coming soon)