#ross macdonald x reader

[whimsicalpolitical]

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

okay okay I have a few 🫨, 18+mdni

Hair pulling:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like that?” You ask giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MacDonald, discover a new kink?”

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

“Was that a yes?”

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

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

“You’re a nightmare.”

Mutual Masturbation:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask away, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ross laughs, “I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” you joke.

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

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

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

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

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

“A bad weird?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Public quickies:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you- right there,” you moan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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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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.

[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.

[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.”

[whimsicalpolitical]

Flannel Shirt - Ross MacDonald x Reader

day 11 of promptober 🍁

ross wants you to leave his flannel on

Content warning: 18+ mdni, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, riding, dirty talk, spanking (twice)

The window in Ross’ old childhood room is tilted, the rain not able to penetrate into the room, the wind is though.

You wonder how your boyfriend can still sleep half naked without freezing, because you are.

The time on your left says 7:49 and so it’s not totally bright outside.

Ross’ white blue flannel shirt on the floor catches your eye.

You carefully slip out of bed, mindful not to wake Ross, and quietly pad over to where his flannel shirt lay crumpled on the floor. The cool morning air pricks your skin, sending goosebumps across your bare legs and arms. You shiver slightly but smile; the crispness in the air is part of what makes autumn your favorite season.

Grabbing the flannel, you pull it on over your underwear. It’s large, the sleeves dangling past your wrists, and it smells like him—like woodsy cologne mixed with a faint trace of the bonfire from last night. Buttoning the first four buttons, you stop just above your chest, letting the fabric hang loosely around your waist. The warmth of the flannel quickly settles on your skin, comforting you.

Ross’ dark hair, usually neatly tied back, now spills messily over the pillow. He looks peaceful, his face relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted. You smile again, admiring how cute he looks, his bare back half-covered by the rumpled blanket.

Deciding to let him rest a little longer, you glance at the half-open suitcase by the closet.

You arrived late last night, exhausted from the long drive to his parents' house, and didn't have the energy to unpack. Now seems as good a time as any. Quietly, you begin folding your clothes and placing them into the drawers and closet, moving carefully to avoid disturbing Ross.

You only spend 20 minutes until you hear a soft groan behind you.

You glance over your shoulder and see Ross stirring, his arm stretching out languidly across the bed. His face is still pressed into the pillow, his messy hair spilling across his forehead, and he squints groggily against the soft morning light filtering through the window.

“Mmm, what’re you doing?” he mumbles, his voice low and groggy, still heavy with sleep.

“Just unpacking,” you reply softly, trying to keep your voice down. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

He stretches out, groaning again, but then there’s a beat of silence. When you sneak another glance over at him, you catch him staring—eyes a bit wider now, and his face tinged with a slight flush. His gaze lingers on you, and a teasing smirk starts to form on his lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he states.

You shrug, pretending not to notice how intently he’s looking at you. “It was on the floor, and I was cold.”

Ross lifts himself onto one elbow, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Cold, were you? And you thought the best solution was to nick my flannel?”

“You weren’t using it,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant as you fold another shirt, though you can feel the warmth of his gaze on your back.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Not sure how I’m meant to go back to sleep now, with you walking around in nothing but that.” His voice drops slightly, making it hard to ignore the teasing edge.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin tugging at your lips. “Well, you’ll have to figure it out,” you say lightly, folding the last pair of jeans and placing them in the drawer. “Unless you want to get up and help me unpack.”

Ross groans dramatically, collapsing back onto the bed. “Absolutely not. Too early for that nonsense.” He pauses, then adds with a mischievous smile, “Although, I’d happily just lie here and watch you prance about in my clothes.”

You shake your head, fighting back the laugh bubbling up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I? Or am I just a man appreciating his girlfriend?” He stretches out lazily, grinning. “Quite the view I’ve woken up to, I must say.”

“Ross,” you shyly say.

Ross laughs, a low, warm chuckle that sends a shiver through you. “Come on, don’t get shy now, love,” he teases. “C’mere.”

You bite your lip, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.“I mean it. Come over here.”

You hesitate for just a second before slowly walking over to him, the flannel brushing against your legs with each step. As soon as you’re close enough, he reaches out, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you gently onto the bed beside him.

“Much better,” he murmurs, his voice soft now as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Sweet girl.." he rasps, tugging you tight against him, beaming down at you and presses a kiss to your forehead, "good morning."

"Good morning." You grin

Ross smiles, eyes trailing the line of his flannel.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

Ross sighs, shaking his head, and rolling you under him by your waist. You bite back a squeal, and he silences you further when he takes you by your radiant cheek and pulls you in to kiss him.

It's not gentle, but not feverish either - someplace desperate but full of adoration, passionate. He breaks away because he can't stop smiling, and continues to press open-mouthed kisses to your dew-dropped throat.

"Ross..."

"Darling..."

"What are you doing?"

Ross’ heart flutters.

"You look gorgeous."

His hands run up from your knees to your thighs, dragging the loose shirt with it until it's tucked up by your waist.

"Stop." you chuckle, turning bashful at such comments - the way he says it always make it sound important.

"So gorgeous." he gazes at you, "Like an angel."

"Really?"

"Always look pretty. Lay back for me, love." Your brows raise at him.

"Why?" you taunt, one leg wrapping around his hip, tugging him closer to you.

"Because, smart-mouth," he chuckles, taking your other leg and pushing it aside, exposing your black panties, "when you are as charming-." your eyes roll, "and as stunning as this... there's only one thing on my mind."

"And on weekends... I can take my time with you."

His lips take to your neck then, kissing away at your jaw and collarbone until you're perfectly placid and quiet.

"Is that okay with you?" he asks then, tongue dragging along your jaw before kissing the spot just below your ear.

Your face burns and your cheeks ache from smiling.

"More than okay..." you mumble, tongue suddenly heavy.

Your fingers lace his hair as he navigates your skin, then reaches your thighs.

Kisses and tenderness part them for him, and you hum contently as his fingers glide the fabric aside.

He slides down the bed, propping himself up comfortably.

When his tongue first makes contact against your clit in a light, testing lick, your hips buck and you let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a laugh, and Ross’ arm slides around one thigh to rest his hand on your lower stomach, keeping you steady.

“Thank you for doin’ all that,” he says, his finger pointing to his closet.

You murmur, fingers streaming through his hair as he drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one flat, weighted line that has your hips grinding against him.

On any other day, he might've chastised you for such impatience, but weekends are special - they're for you.

Ross tightens his hold on your thighs, drawing a line and a circle, over and over, until he's satisfied your entrance has been teased enough. Carving loops into your nerves, your desperate fingers loop and bunch in the length of his hair, taming your hold to be as gentle as your pent-up arousal will allow.

Already hazy, the morning light dances along the curve of his clothed back and your legs hook over his shoulders as he lowers further down, settling, devouring you.

“Rob-,” you whisper.

Ross stops and grins at you, “love, that’s my brothers name, not mine. Should I be concerned?”

You roll your eyes at his comment.

“Ross I know- but weren’t we supposed to have breakfast with him and the kids?”

Ross attaches his lips to your clit again, humming at the taste of you. You throw your head back and let out a quiet whimper.

“At nine, darling. We have more then an hour, now would you just relax.”

One hand comes to ground itself against the sheets, head turning as you murmur your prayers to him - dear lord- fuck Ross- god.

Sucking against your clit, gently at first in second-only intervals, your heels dig into his shoulder blades and your ribs expand around a sudden breath.

"Ross..." you whine, charmed, and he smirks against your skin - the whining is his favourite part.

"Darling..." he murmurs, "you alright up there?"

"Uh..." you stumble for words - for something smart or bold or just coherent - and end up settling for a simple, "mhm."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah... mhm, m’alright.”

"Those aren't words."

"One was..."

He shakes his head at your stubbornness but settles for your response, returning to his work - his praising of you - and your words return to hums and moans and whimpers for more. You wonder what he thinks with his head between your legs.

The truth is he's thinking you taste and sound and feel perfect.

Ross continues to lap at you as you grow wetter, as your legs tremble, as your pitch raises and he utilises his hand over your stomach to keep you against the bed.

As your thighs tighten around his head, he groans.

Ross leans in closer between your legs and wastes no energy in drawing circles on your clit, marking the same pathway he has a hundred times before. Whimpering, your hips raise, and Ross senses your release.

He eases off and steadily flicks against you instead.

You whine, murmuring nothing but sounding displeased all the same.

"Little longer, love." he rasps.

Worked up and clenching around air, your head shakes, but Ross has you in the cold waves of pliancy, soft in the way you listen so well. Arching into his mouth, tugging on his hair and reminding yourself to be gentle, you drift into your own little world of please, please, please, Ross, I'm close, need more, I need more, just,

"I know, I know..." he mumbles, barely letting up, beard brushing your inner thighs.

His sudden softness leaves you fluttering around air and Ross smiles as your discontentment.

Two fingers drag across your entrance and you grind down, hoping to catch them, but failing by smug design.

"Desperate girl." he tsks.

"Cruel boyfriend." your head shakes.

"Cruel?"

Just to prove a point, he gently - slowly, making you wait for it - pushes his fingers inside you, giving you time to adjust.

"I'm not cruel, darling , I just want to- savor you.”

Ross takes his time in opening you up around his fingers. Your hips fall against the bed and just let him do what he wants to do to you, soft sighs and whimpers leaving your parted lips.

"Look at that..." he smiles, lazily working at you.

When he's satisfied you've waited enough, Ross drags a heavy line from your entrance to your clit once more and sucks hard, rolling his tongue over it.

Combined with his fingers curling inside you, Ross has you right where he wants you.

You cry out, like he'd wounded you, glowing from the inside out - it burns, you're sure, from the pit of your stomach to the morning light. Your head shakes - too much, too much, Ross.

"Mm- almost there, you’re alright, princess.”

Fucked by Ross’ fingers, obliterated by his tongue, your orgasm creeps up on you and you swallow hard, forcing air into your lungs. Tightening around him and growing dizzier, you search the desert of your mind for the word Ross always wants to hear about now.

"Please.."

"Please?" he repeats, "You gonna come for me?"

You nod.

"Hm?"

"Yeah,please, Ross, please..."

"Course, polite girl.”

Sinful as ever, the moan that clambers your throat as your orgasm builds is panted and loud, restless and unyielding, and Ross’ cue to hold you tighter as you no doubt start bucking your hips. Your body takes over your mind and you whine and shiver and Ross, oh my God, Ross, Ross... until you're back to planet Earth, with Ross still licking and lapping at you for his own enjoyment.

Your thighs tense around his head and your hips twitch again, this time writhing away from him.

"Too much..."

He kisses the insides of your thighs, biting and nipping as you come down from your sublime high.

It’s one fast time when Ross ruts into the mattress, biting down onto his bottom lip.

“God, you’re hot.” You say, removing your legs from his shoulders and gripping his bicep to show him that you want him.

Ross chuckles, “you are.”

Your fingers try to find the buttons of your flannel, eager to give him all of you but he’s quick to grip your wrists.

“Leave it on,” he says, “it’s- you’re so fucking hot in this.”

You giggle, resting your hands on his cheeks as you pull him in for a kiss.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back.

You groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He's hard.

"Ross..." you mewl into the room, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

"You don’t have to do that- I can do all the work.”

"No- want to- wanna ride you.”

His eyes snap open. "Yeah? Fuck- alright.”

You drag your hips again. If anything, he's harder than he was when you first sat down on him.

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“You’re everything, Ross.”

His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn't stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Ross breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he's not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

"Go on," he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

"Uhuh," you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Ross is humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

His hands come to you flannel practically ripping up the clothes.

“Thought you wanted me to leave it on,” you giggle, watching as his fingers sneak his way around your back unclasping your bra in one move.

“I do and you will. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy these ones.”

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, in his shirt.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. "Move, darling.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Ross hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Ross groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

Joel's eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Ross’ chest now for balance. You're whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good.

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl," Ross moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. "Just like that, love.”

"Ross..." you cry, letting him bottom out each time,

"You’re doing amazing,” he praises, “giving me the best morning.”

"So-good, Ross.”

"Yeah? You deserve it.”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you're directly above him now. One of Ross’ hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Ross speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

"Like this position, yeah? Like the way it feels?"

"Mhm," you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. "Fuck..."

"Such a perfect cunt.”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that Ross has to shut you up by pushing his thumb past your lips.

“Darling, it’s almost nine, look at the time.”

You can’t. Your hips can’t stop moving, you’re biting back moans around his thumb.

Ross laughs, “if they are already hear I don’t want them to hear you, as lovely as you sound, ‘right?”

“Mhm.”

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

"Ross- im gonna, fuck-“

"That's it, love, let me have it.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Ross lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That's my girl, doin' so good, love, as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can't take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you're not sure you can sit up straight on top of Ross.

But he's always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

"Ross,” you whimper pathetically. "Can’t-“

"That's okay, love, we're gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?"

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn't shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You're overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Ross makes you feel so good that it's impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

"that’s it, love, you’re amazing, going to spoil you so much today.”

When it all becomes too much to take - Ross’ hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open - you push him back down onto the bed.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Ross’ dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high.

“Perfect, so perfect.”

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Ross’ mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

"Fuck- Ross, you’re so big," you slur and Ross moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he's there. He's just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Ross’ groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

"Fuck, darlin’."

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his.

"Good?"

"So good, love, did so well. You're gonna be the death of me," he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

“Should’ve woken up way earlier,” you say, knowing that you’ll have trouble eating with his family later.

“I’ll remember that for the next time, you alright?”

Ross’ gaze is genuine, hands rubbing smooth circles into your thighs.

“Yeah.”

“Hold on,” Ross gets up and wanders over to his little bathroom, slipping a pair of boxers on, on the way.

He runs a washcloth under the faucet and makes his way over to you.

“There,” he sits down at the edge of the bed.

Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

"Feel nice?" he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he's being, how tender.

He continues cleaning you up. Surprisingly you’re not as tired as you’d think.

You slip clothes on, sadly getting rid of Ross’ flannel, putting on earrings while standing in front of a mirror.

Ross sneaks up behind you and puts his arms around your waist, prepping kisses along your neck lovingly.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You can’t hide your grin.

“I love you more.”

Ross sighs as he looks at the time.

“Ready for my family, love?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

[abiiors]

cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified. 

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds. 

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips. 

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon. 

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye. 

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard. 

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him. 

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off. 

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh. 

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip. 

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head. 

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview. 

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek. 

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly. 

and so he follows suit. 

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes. 

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in. 

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing. 

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her. 

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone. 

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest. 

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward. 

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.” 

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him. 

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside. 

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare. 

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside. 

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things. 

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her. 

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do. 

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room. 

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning. 

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs. 

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before. 

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust. 

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts. 

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands. 

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan. 

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl. 

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room. 

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it. 

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue. 

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride. 

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system. 

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after. 

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do. 

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again. 

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort. 

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him. 

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder. 

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows. 

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan. 

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy. 

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them. 

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly. 

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback. 

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.  

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him. 

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder. 

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again. 

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is. 

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option) 

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it. 

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious! 

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance. 

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs. 

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth. 

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest. 

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size. 

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest. 

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes. 

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug. 

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak. 

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless. 

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend. 

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much. 

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him. 

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones. 

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?” 

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting. 

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid. 

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.” 

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself. 

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.” 

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat. 

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes. 

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”  

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him” 

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.” 

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.” 

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days. 

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?” 

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.” 

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.” 

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt. 

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass. 

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out. 

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode. 

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully. 

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest. 

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue. 

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest. 

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.  

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow. 

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest. 

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before. 

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined. 

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her. 

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag. 

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind. 

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again. 

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing. 

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold. 

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside. 

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side. 

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss. 

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet. 

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch. 

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth. 

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers. 

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again. 

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again. 

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again. 

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear. 

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it. 

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss. 

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name. 

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now. 

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there. 

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable. 

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks. 

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever. 

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his. 

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places. 

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before. 

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her. 

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth. 

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice. 

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there. 

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all. 

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva. 

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly. 

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[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)

[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.

[writingchalamet]

You meet Ross when he's on a brief break from tour, and hit it off straight away. You agree that it's only going to be a bit of fun, nothing serious, just sex and adventures until he has to go away again. Except it doesn't work out like that and by the time he goes away for the second leg, he's really fallen for you. You feel the same but you both stick to the plan, neither of you aware of the other's true feelings. You keep in touch on tour, casual at first but the flirting ramps up and it soon becomes very apparent that you're mad about each. May or not end up with Matty sending you plane tickets 😆

Just a fling

Warnings: smut, swearing, use of good girl bc I can’t help myself! minors DNI

Loud music pumped through the speakers, drinks flowed through your veins, you and your friends laughed and chatted across the table in the bar together, sinking more and more drinks, you were happily buzzed. Ross was on the other side of the bar, sipping on his whiskey, eyes dragging across various faces in the bar as he half listens to what his friends are saying to him. Taking in the space, when his eyes land on you, his eyes narrowed slightly as he stood for a moment just watching you across the room as you laughed with friends, occasionally sipping your drink, eyes eventually leaving the group when you feel a heavy gaze burning into your skin. Your eyes find his and you see a subtle smirk settle on his face, a smirk that almost read ‘you’re mine, if only for tonight.’

You hesitantly return your gaze back to your group of friends having missed what they said “huh?” You draw out, eyes still lingering back and forth between your friends and the tall, dark haired, handsome stranger. “We said it’s your turn to buy a round” one of your friends practically shouts across the table at you, finally regaining your full attention. “Oh, uh, okay, same again for everyone?” They all nod as you grab your bag heading towards the bar, you place your order with the barman and wait patiently, about to turn around to look at your friends when a broad chest blocks your vision. You raise your head to meet the eyeline of the man an entire foot taller than you, to find the same brown eyes you had met across the room moments ago, only now they were right in front of you, and the warm lights of the bar were glistening in his eyes making them shine, and making your heart race. You gasp when you realise how close he is and that he is in fact real, not a figment of your imagination. “Sorry love, didn’t mean to make you jump” his voice is deeper than you had expected, but he smiles and his dimples pop out making your shocked gaze soften. “It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, which is silly really because this place is packed…” your voice trails off, eyes leaving his to look at the floor for a moment, out of embarrassment.

“No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been standing so close, but you caught my eye earlier and I thought I’d catch you while you’re alone” your eyes widen slightly as he speaks. “Wow didn’t mean for that to come out as predatory as it sounded” he jokes making you laugh, easing the tension, the barman hands over your tray of drinks and your about to pick it up when the kind stranger takes it for you, you give him a strange look but he nods his head for you to follow him. He walks over to your table, your friends all go quiet and stare wide eyed at the incredibly good looking man stood next to you carrying their drinks, he places the tray down and the girls fly to their cocktails like vultures, all needing a drink in their systems for whatever was about to happen next. “Hello ladies, I’m Ross, I was wondering if I could borrow your friend for a little while?” He speaks to them so politely you want to die, the girls all gawk at you until your friend hannah “babe take her, she’s been away with the fairies all night anyway” they laugh and you shake your head whispering a thanks to her as you lean down to grab your drink. Following who you now know to be Ross, across the bar and to an empty table.

“So, you know my name but I’m yet to learn yours, would you enlighten me?” He smirks once more as he sips his drink. You roll your eyes own drink burning down your throat, “Y/n” he smiles and reaches across the table, fingers grazing your knuckles as your hold your glass. “Y/n, beautiful, I like it, it suits you” you feel yourself blushing at his forwardness. “Thank you" you breathe. The night carried on, more questions asked, learning the ins and outs of each other, you learn he's in a band, a successful one, which has you surprised as to what he's doing in a little bar like this, in the middle of nowhere. He learns that you're a writer and write a column reviewing films and Tv series, for a notable news blog. You were both successful in your line of works which was something he liked. He also hated to admit it, but he liked that you didn't immediately know who he was, only recognising him once he told you who his band mates were. "We nearly met once actually" he raises an eyebrow at you as you speak. "I was asked to be one of the journalists reporting at the brits a few years ago, but I had to pass up on the offer" you admit, raising your glass to your lips, as his eyes widen, "and what was more important than a night at the brits?" Ross smirks as he talks, edging himself closer towards you, "I prefer to do my reporting behind my screen, never really been one to get out in front of a camera, besides, couldn't have you fawning all over me when you were supposed be answering questions about your award" You wink a the man, earning a blush and snigger.

You don't know how you ended up here. Back pressed against the elevator wall, as Ross peppered hot, wet kisses along your neck, jaw, biting your earlobe. You're not sure a what point in the night, the soft touches of your hands turned into kisses, but it didn't take much after that for you to get your coat and follow Ross back to his hotel. You hear the ding of the lift doors opening signalling you'd reached his floor, Ross practically dragging you down the hallway, hand struggling to swipe the card through the reader to unlock his door, you stand behind him, hugging him, hands roaming across his chest, dragging them down his front to rest above his belt buckle. You chuckle into his back as you hear him groan tapping recklessly as the door lock trying to get it open. It finally clicks open, Ross turning in your arms, taking you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss as he pushes through the door.

Hands sliding up his stomach, past his chest to land on his broad shoulders, giving them a squeeze, pulling him closer to you as his lips press firmly against yours, tongue begging for entrance as it glides along your bottom lip, you grant him access, colliding the muscles together, his fingers digging into your waist, bunching your dress up, you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his lips pressing harder against yours, Ross pulls away from you briefly to close the door, backing you up against it again once it's closed. "Do you wanna go over to the bed for me?" Ross lowers his mouth to your ear, lips brushing against the joining of your neck and jaw as he whispers the words to you. You don't trust your voice, settling for a nod of the head, slipping off your heals, making Ross tower over you even more, he can't help himself but raise one of his hands to caress your cheek, leaning down to peck you, the new height difference fuelling something inside him, he felt the need to hold and protect you. You pull apart and walk over to his neatly made bed, feeling bad for the maid who would inevitably have to clean up your mess the next day. You sit down in the middle of the bed, hands pawing at the soft fabric of the duvet beneath you. Ross comes to stand in front of you, kneeling on the, shuffling closer to you, out of instinct your legs parted for him, making him smirk. His rough hands hind their way to either sides of your legs, stopping under your knees, he feels the silky skin of your thighs under his finger tips, running them up and down the length of your bent legs. Your eyes bore into his from your seated position, hands leaving the mattress to find the top button of his dress shirt, beginning to un pop each button, his eyes watch your fingers carefully as they move along each button, slowly and skilfully undoing each one, until you reach the bottom, hands making their way back up his now uncovered stomach, hairy chest, to land on his shoulders, gently pushing the fabric down his back so it hung off him loosely.

You notice the small gold chain that laid flat around his neck, one of your hands reaching round, fingers delicately playing with the metal, you take a hold of it between your fingers and gently tug him towards yourself, stretching your top half up to meet him in a hungry kiss, he moans into your mouth at the feeling of the cold metal digging into his skin, and the way your fingers clench at his shoulder, as if to feel him closer. His grip on the back of your legs tightens, he manoeuvres himself to settle fully between your legs, resting a hand on your back as he pushes the two of you back until you reach the mattress. Your lips moving together in sync, drawing moans and gasps form one another as he pressed you further into the mattress, lowering himself on top of you, your hand reaches behind his head, gripping onto the bun, tugging at the strands, feeling the soft hair wrap around your fingers, and loving the sound the sound that falls from his lips when you deliver a particularly harsh pull. His tongue traces your bottom lip, drawing a line, from your lips and licking down your neck, your head rolls to the side, at the tingly feeling surging through you.

Ross's hands skim over the fabric of your dress, stopping at the bottom, where it had bunched up at your waist, lifting it up further revealing the lace of your underwear, his breath hitching noticing the wet patch gathering, he continues to drag the fabric up, you sitting up to help him rid you of the barrier, he throws the garment to the floor, the second it's off your body, admiring your bare chest, loving the fact you opted out of wearing a bra for the night. Feeling like a teenage boy seeing boobs for the first time, absolutely mesmerised, a hand reaches up to cup your left breast, palming at the soft skin, running his thumb across your nipple, feeling it pebble beneath his touch, he squeezes again earning a breathy moan, and your back arching, practically falling into his hand. His other hand grazes your jaw, thumb running along your bottom lip, watching the way your eyes close briefly in pleasure under his actions. "Does that feel good darlin?" his words come out an octave lower than before, making you putty in his hands (quite literally) "yes" you whisper the words out not trusting your voice. He lays you down once more, leaning forwards sprinkling kisses along your chest, down your abdomen, nipping at your hipbone, and kissing along your inner thigh, placing a kiss to your clothed core, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He continues kissing over the soft spot, laying his tongue out flat licking up the wetness that had gathered on the front of your underwear, groaning to himself at the taste, his fingers dig into the sides of your knickers dragging them down your legs, revealing perhaps the most obscene view he had ever laid his eyes upon, you laid back, head tilted up to the ceiling, tits perky, back arched up, legs spread and pussy dripping, all for him.

"You look fucking divine darling, tell me what you want" his hands are all over your body, unable to settle on one spot, occasionally squeezing in a spot he finds particularly tantalizing. "You... your fingers, anything I just need to feel you" You grab at one of his hands bringing it to your entrance, watching a sly smile absorb his face as you guide two of his fingers inside you, mouth falling open and whining as he pushes them in fully to his knuckles, hooking them upwards, feeling you tighten around him. He pumps rhythmically, other hand grasping onto your hip, hooking your leg around his waist in his seated position. Your eyes meet, and you swear you could fall apart right there from just the look alone, his big brown eyes boring into yours, scanning your face intently for traces of pleasure, as he works away below you. Your eyes roll back as his actions speed up setting a new thunderous pace, feeling your walls contracting around him each time he thrust his fingers inside you, his thumb reached up and began rubbing circles on your clit, gaining a lewd moan of his name, which he would die to hear again, circling the bud with more ferocity, to match the pace of the fingers inside you, the tense feeling building in the pit of your stomach, begging for release. "Are you gonna cum for me like a good girl?" your nails claw at his wrist, the other hand clinging onto the duvet for dear life. Your head nodding, turning to the side and lulling back all at once, too far gone to comprehend your actions. You feel his fingers hitting and curling upwards one last time sending you spiralling, your legs clench around his waist, walls contracting around his fingers as he continues to pump you through your orgasm, "Ross, need you" you moan out, tugging on his arm until he was close enough to crash his lips back to yours, the connection feeling warm and passionate, he withdraws his fingers from you lifting them between the pair of you, licking one finger himself, slipping the other past your lips, allowing you so suck the juices off from the digit, moaning as your tongue swirls around, keeping heavy eye contact as you suck his digit clean, he pulls his finger from your lips, hand moving around the back of your neck, attaching his lips to yours again.

"Do you wanna carry on?" Ross mumbles against your lips, feeling himself painfully hard in his trousers, "God please don't stop" clutching his shoulders you sit up, flipping the two of you so you were straddling his lap. You wanted to burn this sight into your brain for the rest of your life. His hair messy and falling out of his bun, shirt undone, dick hard in his trousers pressing against you. He raised an arm to lay under his head as he watches you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You fingers trace over the top of his trousers, stopping at the button, looking up at him through your lashes to ask permission, his head nods slowly, enjoying the sight of you taking control, knowing fully well he could take it back any moment. You popped the button undone and slid the zipper down, pulling them down slightly, along with his boxers to reveal himself to you. Your mouth watering at the sight of his cock leaking with precum and throbbing in your hand.

You pumped him a few times, listening as his breath goes rigid when you raise yourself upwards, sinking down onto him in one swift motion. His eyes rolling back, large hands making their home on your hips, digging into the skin as you start to bounce up and down on his shaft. He loves every little moan and gasp that leaves your mouth as you fuck you self on him, hands firmly placed on his stomach to balance yourself. “You feel so good Ross” you gasp arching your back, hair cascading down, becoming sticky with sweat. Ross thrusts up inside you, encouraging you to set a faster pace, “come on baby, you can do better than that, I wanna feel you cum for me again, be a good girl” the words are lost to your deaf ears, only caring about the groan that leaves his lips when you fuck yourself even harder on him, pulling him up by his shoulders and finally ridding him of his shirt, your fingers claw at his back as he continues to thrust up into you, you circle your hips, feeling your clit rub against his pubic bone, you continue the action feeling your walls clench and the knot tighten in the pit of your stomach. Ross’s hands trace a pattern up your back, one hand clutching your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, wet, sloppy and still tasting the remains of your juices on his tongue. You can’t help but to moan his name over and over into his mouth like a mantra. “I can feel you’re close, let go for me” his words are spoken between broken kisses and hushed moans, feeling you clenching around him.

All you can do is nod, forehead leaning against his as he holds your hips down delivering a particularly harsh thrust, he feels the spasm of your walls crashing around him, and your legs shake as what feels like the most earth shattering orgasm hits your system. “Good girl” he whispers, planting a kiss to the side of your head. Suddenly you’re being flipped again, onto your stomach, ass up in the air and Ross is between your legs once more. You’re not sure you’re ready for what’s to come when you feel him slam his length back inside you. Hand making contact with your right cheek as you pull away slightly, unintentionally awakening something in you, at the all but pornographic moan you emit. Your head flicks back to make eye contact with Ross, who was wearing the most sinister smirk you think you may have ever seen. All at once his hips are roughly pounding into your arse as, hands holding them in place while he fucks you roughly and thoroughly. Your top half falls limp feeling exhausted from exerting yourself as you cling onto the quilt, knuckles turning white. The sound in the room was obscene, anyone walking in the hallway would know what was going on, the bed was rocking, slamming into the wall, Ross was grunting and moaning away above you while you gasped and screamed out his praises, you could only pray that the people in the room next to you were out. His dick pounded into the sweet spongy spot inside you repeatedly building that all familiar knot once more, not sure you could handle much more you cry out for him, eyes watering, pressing the tears away into the pillows. “Ross…please..I” your brain can’t comprehend words too fucked out to form any real sentence. “You can take it, be a good girl, one more, then you’re done okay?” His hand sweetly moved some hair out your face to check you’re okay, a sweet juxtaposition to the actions of his hips pounding away at you. He leant forward placing a kiss at the top of your back as he continued to hit away that spot inside you, “well done, good girl” you feel the fire ignite in your belly once, clenching around his dick feeling your juices flowing, you could feel him pulsating inside you knowing what was about to happen, you contact your walls around him once more milking him for everything he had, hearing him moan your name loudly for all to hear, he stilled inside you as he emptied his load before pulling out slowly flopping down next to you on the bed with a humph.

You roll onto your back turning your head to face him, his fingers brush away the hair that had fallen into your face, admiring your beauty once more. You smile at him and lean in to peck his lips, fingers softly running though his beard. “That has to be the best sex I’ve ever had” you sigh and giggle looking away from his eyes at your confession. “Mmm me too, I can die happy now” you laugh as he slings an arm over your stomach pulling you into his side, you look up at his face and can’t contain your smile. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, and settles back on the bed, expecting you to lean back with him, but you don’t, you sit up, looking around on the floor to reach for your clothes, Ross frowns. “I should probably get going” you turn to Ross once you’ve slipped your dress over your head. He finds his hand reaching out for you “oh okay, um sure…” it was the first time you had seen him at a loss for words, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom” you give him a awkward smile, crossing the room to the bathroom and closing the door, you freshen yourself up and notice your flushed cheeks and messy hair in the mirror, you look well and truly fucked. Well you had been.

You run your fingers through your hair, splashing some cold water on your face before exiting the room, seeing Ross now standing in the middle of the room, his trousers are done back up and he now has on a T-shirt instead of his button down. You walk over to him, unsure of either of your next moves. “You can stay if you’d like, I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave because you don’t” his words trail off, eyes glued to the ground almost as if he was afraid of your answer. “I uh, I’ve never done this before, I assumed you’d want me to leave” you take a step closer to him, head tilting so you can meet his eyes. “No, I want you to stay, if you want to that is, don’t feel like yo-“ you take another step forwards and attach your lips to his once more, feeling him relax under your touch.

That’s how it all started. Ross was in town visiting friends for a few weeks on a break from tour before going back to America. So you two agreed that while he was in town the two of you would meet up and have some casual fun, however what was supposed to be just a fling, or hanging out a couple of times turned into every night huddled up in each others arms after hours of exhausting sex, exploring each others bodies, learning how to make each other feel good, and learning everything about one another. It was like Ross had a fixation with her, the second they were apart, he wanted her close again. They had spent their time doing novice things like visiting garden centres and book stores, hiding from friends when they saw them crossing the street, then giggling like school children if they nearly got caught, but they promised each other just until tour restarts so no one gets hurt.

The day did finally come for Ross to leave and you’d spent the night before in his arms telling him how much you’ll miss him and begging him to promise to stay friends with you, to which he kissed you so hard it knocked the air out your lungs. And you thought in your mind that when he left that would be it, just a bittersweet memory of your time spent with the bass player, but when your phone wouldn’t stop dinging with the back and forth text messages every day you couldn’t help but feel hopeful. He’d been gone a month, the both of you never failing to message everyday and call when you can when Matty noticed something was up. The once sociable Ross kept hiding himself away, quieter than usual, always staring at phone, and when it did finally ring or buzz, he couldn’t help but notice the smile that reached his best friends face, he looked like a Cheshire Cat. But there was one day where Ross just moped around, not saying a word to anyone, barely eating, and he hardly interacted with the crowd when they performed that night. The band were in their dressing room after the show having a drink all chatting and praising each other feeling the after show high, bar one, Ross was skunked in the corner on a sofa staring at his phone, Matty watched as the taller man shook his head and made his way out the room, leaving his phone behind on the sofa. He knew it was wrong but the way he’s been staring at his phone for weeks has given Matty his suspicions, walking across the room sitting where Ross once occupied the seat. Seeing Ross had left his phone unlocked he took a quick glance, instantly tapping on his text messages, seeing the first name that popped up being an unfamiliar name, he clicked on the messages, and clearly he had found the source of Ross’s discontentment that day.

Y/n 🖤 - I hope the tours going well I miss you xx

Ross - it’s going great, would be better if you were here tho, I miss that beautiful face xx

Y/n🖤 - I wish lol xx

Ross - please come, I’ll send you ticket, I really wanna see you babe xx

Y/n 🖤- Ross, you know what we said, besides what would everyone think of you bringing a random girl on tour with you! Xx

Ross - I know we said it was just a fling but I want you, I miss you too much, and the guys would love you, please just think about it? Xxx

- message read

Matty looked at the name and the photo attached in his friends phone, feeling giddy at the thought of his friend having a secret girlfriend, he sneakily puts your number in his phone dropping the phone back to the arm of the sofa before standing to join the other boys.

———

Another week passes and you dodge the topic tour all together when you speak on the phone, at least you try your hardest. It’s another late night for him, early morning for you spending as time talking to each other, wanting to hear each others voices. Ross can’t help but feel how deeply he missed seeing the way your lips would move with each word you would annunciate. He missed watching your smile light up until it reached your eyes and he missed the pretty sounds you made, just for him. He would give anything to have you close again.

“Sorry what did you say, babe?” His voice relaxed finally hearing the soothing tones of your voice in his ears he forgot to listen to what you were saying. “ I said I saw some videos of you the other night, you looked really good, like you’re having fun” he waits a few seconds before replying knowing he’ll get reprimanded for it. “I’d be having a lot more fun, if a certain someone I know would come along” he sighs dramatically, head resting back on his pillow as he daydreams about the girl on the other end of the phone. He just hears you chuckling, picturing you shaking your head, “I have to get ready for work soon” you wished you didn’t. “Don’t go, come back to bed, we’ll cuddle a bit longer” Ross sighs eyes shutting at the thought of you being with him in his bed. “You know, I cuddle your jumper every night, it’s starting to smell like me instead of you though, it’s making me sad” you admit, pouting as if he can see it through the phone. “God I would give anything to touch you right now” you gasp at his words he can hear you biting your lip through the phone and it drives him wild. “Not even like that, I just miss holding you, feeling your skin on mine, I don’t think you realise how much I miss you, I really care about you y/n”

————

After that night Ross finds himself in a bit of a slump, he had tried his best to push his feelings down but the more he did that the more they grew. And even though you were both making the effort, the calls and the messages just weren’t enough. He longed to be near you and didn’t realise that being without you was bringing him down. He was messing up on stage, missing cues and looking miserable and the band noticed, trying to cheer him up onstage to no avail. The person that would cheer him up was thousands of miles away blissfully unaware of the affect she had on him. After 3 consecutive nights of fluffing up on stage Matty confronted the tall bearded man, much to his surprise.

“Hey man, what’s going on?” He decided to keep things simple, afraid he’d aggravate the man. “Nothin, just missing someone I guess” he draws out, taking a sip of his drink, subconsciously tapping his phone while he thinks about you, Matty notices, “anyone in particular?” He pushes, tilting his head to the side hoping his friend would finally open up to him about the mystery girl he has been messaging. “It’s uh…” he sighs shaking his head thinking for a moment “no one, just family, you know how it is” Ross stands from his place on the sofa, clutching his phone in his hand tightly, nodding his head to Matty, before walking off out the room, head in is phone.

You were asleep when your phone began ringing on top your beside table, you groan as it carries on ringing, the caller relentless to speak to you apparently, you click the green button before seeing it was an unknown number calling giving them a very groggy “hello” down the line. “Is this y/n” you hear the other person speak, “yeah, uh who is this? And why are you calling me at 3am?” You question flinching as your phone screen brightens to find out the time. “Oh shit sorry about that, I always forget about time zones, it’s Matty, Ross’s friend, from the band…” it takes your tired brain a second to comprehend what he’s saying before it clicks. “Oh right, hello Matty” he laughs, a bit too loud for your liking, you wince pulling the phone away from your ear. “Uh basically I’m calling because Ross has been super down the last couple of weeks, and really isn’t himself, and I think he really misses you” you almost jump up in your bed, “he’s spoken about me?!” Matty chuckles shaking his head, if she was as mushy about him as his friend was they were a match made in heaven. “Indirectly, he just keeps moping around waiting for his phone to go off all day and if it doesn’t he looks like he could cry…anyway I was wondering if I could sort you out a plane ticket and get you out here to surprise him?” You could feel your heart beating fast in your chest at the thought, and before your brain could say no your mouth was saying “yes!”

-

Matty had picked you up at the airport telling the guys he had some ‘business to attend to’ then not really caring what that meant to question it. Ross had been messaging all day but had received no response, making him worry. And when he tired to call it went straight to voicemail, had something happened or were you angry with him about something, his head was reeling and he felt like he could pass out. They were performing a few shows at the same venue, opting to stay in a hotel for the week instead of the usual bus, which you had been glad to hear about, not liking your chances with squeezing into a bunk with your giant of a man. Ross was sitting impatiently on his bed in his hotel room staring at his phone, waiting for the read receipts to appear next to his text messages when there’s a knock on his door. He huffs and drops his phone reaching the door in a matter of seconds. Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he spots you behind the door. In the flesh. “Hi” he doesn’t respond or acknowledge Matty standing next to you holding your bags, he lurches forwards lifting you into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands find their way to his hair and beard, combing through the locks, noticing both had gotten a bit longer. “Hi” he finally says, lips pressing to yours with so much passion. His arms around you squeezed you as you kissed making sure you were really there. Matty stood awkwardly before dropping your bag walking down the hallway muttering “so much for thank you Matty” shaking his head laughing. Ross pulls away to laugh resting his head back against the door frame “thanks Matt, appreciate it” he shouts to his friend, who in return waves the pair of you off, entering another room on the floor. Ross sets you back on the ground, hands flying to your face, brushing hairs out the way, and caressing your cheeks. “I’m not even gonna ask why, or how, just gonna thank god because I’ve missed you so much” he kisses you once more and you feel everything he gives you in the kiss, all the hurt he’s been feeling, all the joy he feels now, and you want to feel everything. “Come on Mrs, let me show you how much I lov- miss you” you’re eyes widen, biting your lip as you excitedly follow him into his room.