#whole chicken leg quarters

[sacharinee]

thinking ab peter having a bad tiring day and reader giving him face massages and body massages after they take a bath ‼️

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader

w/c: 780

a/n: hi anon!! i loved writing for this request sm so thank u for sending it <3 i did, however, completely forget to write abt the part about them taking the bath together. im so sorry 😭 but i hope u still enjoy :(( about one spider-man kiss and a ton of domestic!peter

peter knows exactly what he needs right now after a long day. 

there’s only one thing in the world that could make up for having a shitty day and that’s you. 

but unfortunately for peter, when he patters into your shared apartment, you’re nowhere to be found.

“babe?” he calls out. 

he strips himself of his shoes and walks down the short hall to your bedroom, only to find the closet open and your work clothes missing. peter skrinks at your absence and pouts, “great.”

he ponders about taking a nap, but it’s a quarter to nine and he’d rather be awake when you arrive home. 

when his stomach growls, he realizes he’s gone almost an entire day without a proper meal, save for the granola bar you shoved in his hand before he kissed you goodbye. 

as he enters the kitchen, he finds a note left on the counter, scribbled in your handwriting,

“emergency shift at the hospital, back by 9 tonite. food in the fridge, love you!”

peter frowns at your note, sticks it onto the fridge, and pulls out the meal you prepared for him.

he heats up the food and chews the stale chicken slowly. he really misses you. even with your bland food and lack of seasoning, he still enjoys anything from you. you try your best for him. 

when he’s finished cleaning his dishes, peter debates on showering. he wants to wait for you, to take a nice hot shower with you, and clean each other’s stress away. but he’s really stinky from work, and he’d rather just go to bed with you. so he undresses and takes a long shower alone.

—

peter’s prayers are answered when he reenters the shared bedroom dressed in pajamas. 

“hi baby,” you chirp. you take off your glasses and set the book you were reading aside. 

peter’s heart swells at the sight. you’re laying on your side of the bed, hair in a bun, away from your face. you’re dressed in your boyfriend’s plaid boxers and a geeky t-shirt you stole from his dresser.

the tv is playing some rerun of your favorite tv show as he crawls himself across the bed and plops himself in between your open legs. 

peter nests his heavy head upon your pelvis and lets out a deep sigh. your palms run down his clad back, kneading the tense muscles.

“did you eat yet?” he tries to nod his head, “yea, chicken was good, super tasty, thanks, y/n/n” he replies.

he may or not be telling you the whole truth. you’re cooking wasn’t amazing, but he would never tell you that. 

peter flips himself over, staring at you adoringly upside down. your soft hands trace his buff arms, comfort spreading throughout his skin from your touch, “what happened today, petey?”

he exhales, furrowing his brows, and squeezes his eyes shut. he juts his bottom lip out while you weave your fingers and pull through his damps locks. 

“everything went wrong today. everything,” he takes a deep breath, “i was late for biochem, had a pop quiz for psych. not that it was hard but still. i forgot i had tutoring today too, so i'm out fifteen bucks. and we were understaffed for work, so that was a bust. so many mean customers in queens,” he takes a look at you, “we should move somewhere else.”

you snicker at his comment and slide your fingers over his funky left eyebrow, smoothing out the knit and massaging his temples, “yea, like where?” 

you love all versions of peter, but you think this is your favorite. relaxed at your touch, devoting himself wholeheartedly to you. he’s embraced and fully engulfed by you, like putty in your hands. 

“like,” your boyfriend seems distracted, voice deep, staring at you with nothing but affection, “sunnyside? maybe?” peter licks his lips and clears his throat, “just somewhere safer, nicer. for you.”

you’re beaming down at his face; your warm hands cup his cheeks while you land a long and overdue tender kiss upside down. you feel peter smile into the kiss, exhaling through his nose in contentment. 

you keep your hands on his face and gently caress the soft skin as you pull away.

“that sounds nice,” your heart squeezes at the thought as he continues, “we could settle down there, have a family, you know? white picket fence and all. ‘m picturing you in your hot scrubs, bringin’ home the bacon. and i’ll be at home, taking care of the kids.” 

you’re giggling at the scene as you chime in, “and we could have family dinners every saturday night, or- ooh! i could take yoga classes sunday mornings and-”

peter snickers at you, “what you need are some cooking classes.”

gasping, you flick his forehead, “you said you loved my cooking!”

[tossawary]

You know, the more I think about it, the funnier I find the concept of Monkey D. Luffy /& Boa Hancock (especially paired with Aro-Ace spectrum Luffy and Aro-Ace spectrum Hancock) just for what it must look like from an outsider's POV.

For the record, personally, my favorite Luffy ship is Zoro/Luffy - also with Aro-Ace spectrum Luffy, that's basically non-negotiable for me, I don't care whether he's sex-favorable or sex-repulsed, but he's definitely ace. It is so funny to me to think about Luffy's incredible pull with aro-ace spectrum folks. People who once thought "sucks for you fuckers obsessed with sex and/or romance, I'm built different" (Roronoa Zoro, Koby, Trafalgar Law, Boa Hancock, Bartolomeo, etc.) find themselves fascinated by this little rubber man, who regularly declares war on the government and can swallow a roast chicken whole. Some of them are happier about this than others. Some of them WISH they just wanted to fuck or marry him, that would make more sense than this shit.

But, okay, back to Luffy and Hancock (as a friendship or queerplatonic situationship, whatever, doesn't matter). Like, let's pretend this is some kind of Modern College AU (Luffy is probably not IN college, tbh, he's just there to hang out with his friends and for any food anyone makes the mistake of leaving out). You are on your way to class and you see this woman walking down the street and she is - hands down - the Most Beautiful Woman In The World.

Super tall, with incredibly long, muscular legs in shockingly high red heels, a short skirt, artful cleavage, a waterfall of sleek black hair, beautiful face, striking makeup, gorgeous jewelry. Looks too old to be an undergrad student. She looks like if a martial artist became a supermodel. Walks like that too. The phrase "please step on me" comes to mind, but not to the lips, because that's sexual harassment, and also this woman looks like she could stab you through the heart with a kick and her shoe heel, killing you instantly.

She sees someone and her entire face lights up. She runs forward (how is she running in those shoes) squealing in excitement and embraces this guy you didn't even notice before, shouting about how much she missed him, and kisses him on the lips. He is... uh... three-quarters of her height at the tallest. A real Mr. Short King.

Wow, he has a babyface. And a scar on his cheek and on his chest, which you can see because he's wearing an open button-up, in eye-searing rainbow colors and decorated with monkeys, and jorts with fur at the cuffs. And mismatched flip-flops on the wrong feet. And a straw hat on a string around his neck. It looks like he hasn't brushed his hair today. It is impossible to judge his looks because his outfit is too distracting. Now the Most Beautiful Woman in the World is blushing bright pink as she clasps one of his hands in both of hers. Mr. Short King is using his other hand to pick his nose as she talks.

They walk hand in hand together over to where an incredibly expensive-looking bright red car is parked. Mr. Short King opens the driver's door for the Most Beautiful Woman and she apparently nearly swoons at this chivalry. She climbs into the driver's seat and he gets into the passenger's side (Luffy cannot legally drive and also cannot actually drive). They drive off together. What the fuck kind of Roger-and-Jessica-Rabbit-ass Sugar Mama relationship did you just witness?

Boa Hancock keeps a photograph of Luffy as her phone background and also on her desk at work. Everyone is always like, "Is that your... son?" And Hancock is like, "No, that's my number one choice of future fiancé! Isn't he sooooo handsome?" And people can only be like, "...Okay, but why are there police lights in the background? And something is on fire? It kind of looks like he's in the process of being arrested..." And Hancock responds dreamily, "They didn't catch him! He climbed into my exercise duffel bag and I carried him out."

[mrk236547789]

A servant boy to a rich family has been the Eldest's son's little toy ever since he was hired, he would bring him to his own room for some 'privet cleaning' and he would be up there for hours. After one cleaning the servant becomes pregnant and the son find out and wants to help him, one night he goes into labor but survives until his shift is over. The son drags him to the living room thinking his parents are going upstairs to bed, to their horror the parents come down and they have to hide in the closets. The Son uses his phone as light and they pull down the servants pants to find the heading crowning, The son has to cup his hands over the crowning head to keep it from coming out and his parents finding out in fear that they'll punish both of them. They have to stay like that for another 2 hours until his parents finally leave and go to bed. The whole time the servant is pushing, unable to stop himself and the son has to was him suffer as he hold the head in place to keep it from being born.

In the bustling kitchen of the grand estate, the servant boy, Jasper, scrubbed pots with a brisk rhythm, his thoughts drifting to the quiet solace of his tiny room above the stables. It had been a long day of polishing silverware and dusting chandeliers, and his hands ached with the promise of a blister. The rich aroma of roasting chicken wafted through the air, a stark reminder that his meal would be the cold, leftover scraps from the Eldest son's plate.

The Eldest, Charles, had always treated Jasper with a peculiar mix of entitlement and affection, often inviting him to his private quarters for "special" cleaning duties. Jasper had learned to dread those moments, his stomach tightening as he approached the opulent chamber. But tonight, a strange sensation grew within him, a heaviness that was more than mere exhaustion.

As Jasper finished up the dishes, the kitchen staff had already retreated for the night. He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, the burgeoning secret in his belly feeling heavier with each step. Upon reaching Charles' room, he found the door ajar, the light within casting a sliver of yellow across the hallway's gleaming floor.

Charles looked up from his desk, his eyes widening in surprise. "Jasper, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. Jasper swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I... I think it's time," Jasper managed to croak out. "The... the baby."

Charles' expression shifted from confusion to horror as realization dawned. He had noticed Jasper's changing shape over the past few months, but he had hoped the servant would find a way to deal with it without his interference. Now, it was staring him in the face—or rather, about to emerge from between Jasper's trembling legs.

"Ok let’s go to the living room my parents are sleeping now," Charles whispered urgently, his eyes darting to the staircase that led to the family's private quarters. He knew they couldn’t risk his mother and father discovering Jasper in such a compromising state. The living room was a safer bet, with its plush couches and thick curtains that could muffle any sounds of distress.

The journey was an eternity, Jasper's painful steps echoing through the silent corridors as he leaned heavily on Charles for support. The chandeliers cast dramatic shadows on the walls, making the grand paintings seem like silent judges watching their frantic passage. They reached the living room and Jasper collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his cries.

Then they heard Charles parents coming into the living room, their voices muffled but unmistakable. Jasper's eyes widened with panic as he gripped the edge of the couch, his body convulsing with the effort of keeping his baby inside. "Quick, into the closet," Charles hissed, his own heart racing. They stumbled towards the large mahogany wardrobe, the Eldest son's collection of fine coats and tailored suits hanging like a barrier between them and discovery.

Jasper's water broke with a soft gush as they tumbled in, the cold floorboards against his bare skin offering no comfort. Charles fumbled in the dark, his hand brushing against Jasper's distended belly, feeling the baby's head pressing against the world. He cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone, the screen casting a bluish glow over the cramped space. The servant's pants were soaked and he knew they had to act fast.

"We can't stay here," Jasper whispered, his voice strained. "The baby's coming now."

“Wait till hey leave, okay?" Charles pleaded, his voice strained with fear. He knew his parents’ wrath would be severe if they found Jasper like this. With trembling hands, he shone the phone light on Jasper’s exposed hole, the baby’s dark hair peeking out. Jasper nodded, gritting his teeth as another contraction hit.

“Stop pushing," Charles whispered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just hold it in."

Jasper's eyes squeezed shut as he bore down, the pain unlike anything he had ever felt before. The pressure was unbearable, and his body seemed to have a will of its own. Each contraction felt like a monstrous wave trying to drag him under.

“I can’t," Jasper whimpered, his knuckles white as he gripped the edges of the closet. The pain was too intense to ignore.

Charles put his hand on the bay’s head to hold it there the best he could, his heart racing as he felt the warmth of the baby’s skin and the sticky wetness of Jasper’s body. Jasper's cries grew more desperate with each contraction, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The light from the phone cast eerie shadows on their faces, highlighting the sweat that beaded on their foreheads.

Outside the closet, the muffled sounds of Jasper's labor were almost drowned out by the ticking grandfather clock. The plush carpet muffled the occasional thump against the closet door as Jasper's body protested his confinement. They could hear the murmur of his parents' voices, the clink of ice in their drinks as they settled in for a night of leisurely conversation.

Charles rubbed Jasper's back in a clumsy attempt to soothe him, his mind racing with the gravity of the situation. He had to think of something, anything to help Jasper without alerting his parents to their secret. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent scream trapped in the confines of the closet.

Finally 2 hours later the parents went to bed. Jasper felt the last wave of contraction subside and took a deep, shuddering breath. The relief was momentary as the next wave began to build, and he knew he couldn't wait any longer. With trembling hands, Charles helped Jasper out of the cramped space, his own legs feeling like jelly from the strain of the last two hours.

They moved quickly to the couch, the soft cushions offering a modest reprieve from the cold floor. Jasper lay down, his body already pushing the baby out. "You're doing great," Charles whispered, trying to keep his voice steady as he hovered over Jasper, the phone still casting its pale light. "Just a bit more."

Jasper's face contorted with pain as the baby's head began to emerge. The sight of his son, born in the quiet secrecy of the night, filled Charles with a mix of fear and a strange, protective love. He knew he couldn't let Jasper go through this alone. "You can do this," he murmured, his hand hovering above Jasper's trembling thighs, ready to offer support or comfort where needed.

The baby's cry pierced the quiet of the night, echoing through the cavernous room. Jasper's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with the effort. "It's a boy," Charles said softly, awe in his voice as he caught the tiny, slippery body. He quickly cut the umbilical cord with a piece of string and a knife from his pocket, tying it off with trembling hands.

Jasper collapsed back onto the couch, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The baby squalled, a healthy sound that filled the room with life. "We have to clean up," Charles said, his mind racing. They couldn't leave any evidence of the birth. With swift, efficient movements, he gathered up the dirty towels and the afterbirth, stuffing them into a plastic bag he had brought from his room.

Jasper's eyes met Charles' in the dim light, a silent plea for help. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll take him to your room," Charles decided, his mind racing with the logistics. "I'll bring some blankets and hot water." He placed the squalling baby in Jasper's arms and rushed out of the room. Jasper held the newborn tightly, his heart swelling with a love that washed away the pain. The baby's tiny fists waved in the air, and Jasper couldn't help but smile through his tears.

When Charles returned, Jasper had managed to sit up, cradling the baby against his chest. His eyes searched Charles' face for some sign of what to do next. "We'll figure this out," Charles assured him, placing a gentle hand on Jasper's shoulder. "But for now, let's get you cleaned up."

They moved quickly and quietly, Charles supporting Jasper as they climbed the stairs to his small room above the stables. The cold night air hit them like a slap as they stepped outside, but the urgency of the situation kept them moving. Jasper's room was sparse, with a single bed and a wooden cradle that had been hastily assembled from a pile of discarded crates. The clean, soft blankets Charles brought were a stark contrast to the rough wooden floor.

The moon cast a silver glow through the small, dusty window, illuminating Jasper's exhausted face as he lay back on the bed, the baby still in his arms. Charles hovered over them, a mix of emotions playing across his features—fear, excitement, and a fierce determination to keep this secret safe. "What do we do now?" Jasper asked again, his voice weaker than before.

"We can't let anyone know," Charles said, his voice low and serious. "We'll say you fell ill and I brought you to your room. We'll have to keep the baby hidden." He glanced at the cradle, knowing it was hardly suitable for a child born into such a precarious situation. "We need to think of a plan, Jasper. One that keeps you both safe."

[hachama]

Matzo Ball Soup

Start with the broth.

In a cheesecloth, add whatever herbs and seasonings you like.  I’ve used ground nutmeg, herbs de Provence, cracked black pepper, and peeled ginger.

In a large stock pot, combine about a pound of carrots, one bunch of celery, and several onions. Halve the onions, cut the carrots in half, break apart the celery and cut the stalks in half.

To the vegetables, add chicken. I used leg quarters, because I like a lot of good yellow schmaltz, but a whole chicken or split breasts also work. The key is to get bone-in and skin-on.

Fill the pot with enough water to just cover the ingredients. Add salt. More salt. You’re seasoning everything that comes after this.

Tie off the herbs in the cheesecloth, toss the sachet in the pot, and put a lid on.

Over medium high heat, bring the water to a boil, then turn down to low and simmer forever. When you can’t stand it anymore, get a mug to taste test. Adjust your salt. Once you’re satisfied, strain out your chicken and veggies. Discard the veggies, bones, and skin. Shred the chicken and add it back to the pot. Cut and peel carrots into bite size pieces, drop them in the pot to soften up over low heat.

Matzo balls are dead simple.

Combine eggs and vegetable oil. Add matzo meal. Stir until well combined. Add some of your broth and stir until smooth again. Refrigerate the mixture for at least 30 minutes to allow the matzo meal time to absorb the moisture. Once the mix is chilled, get a pot of water boiling. Form the mix into balls, about ping pong ball sized. Add your balls to the boiling water, cover the pot with a lid, and cook for 20 minutes. Move the balls to the pot with the broth. Give them at least another 20 minutes to really soak in the flavors.

Now you should have a good size batch of matzo ball soup. It keeps decently in the fridge, but it tastes best shared.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Rewriting what was the old chapter 22 of TBBW (1920s Dance, Woo Woo!) and the last half, the klaroline half, has become a chapter all on its own. It's really building up to be one of my favourite chapters in the entire fic, and it's partly because I read @kirythestitchwitch's Crash Course which made me crave a cheeseburger so badly I wrote it into this fic. So here's a sneak peak --- don't let the fluff fool you, this chapter has its fair share of angst hehehe

“You know, I’m really surprised you didn’t insist on paying,” Caroline commented, unwrapping the paper around her cheeseburger as she settled back on the bonnet of Klaus’ car.

Klaus sat beside her, unwrapping his own burger as he stretched his legs out in front of him, one leg hanging off the side and resting on the upwards curve of the rim that snaked above the front wheels. Caroline leant back against the glass of the windscreen, relaxing into her spot as the sweet, steaming smell of the burger hit her — two seasoned patties topped with melted slices of creamy, cheesy goodness calling out to her from their package in a perfectly toasted, soft sesame seed bun, stuffed with crisp, curly lettuce and slices of fresh tomato. Up above, the light pollution from Mystic Falls was less intense so far away from the town, parked outside a quiet diner just off the Jackson highway. The stars were beginning to peak out from behind the clouds, the moon a quarter-full and shining down on them from the night sky above. Behind them, the warm glow of the diner spilled out onto the parking lot, employees wiping down tables and serving the odd exhausted truck driver behind the glass, like one gigantic, square-shaped fish bowl. The neon lights of the diner’s name, Wayback Burgers, flashed and flickered in the dark, reflecting red and blue light onto the wet pavement. 

“And why’s that?” Klaus asked, licking his thumb where the various condiments and sauces had leaked out of his large, triple stacked bacon cheeseburger and onto his hand. She’d felt weird ordering him nothing at the drive thru after she’d asked for the cheeseburger and fries, impulsively buying a milkshake to wash it all down with too. So she’d turned to him and asked if he’d wanted anything, and with some hesitancy, he’d ordered one of the meatiest burgers on the menu.

It was weird. The choice prodded something in her brain, seeming familiar. It was only when they got their burgers, Klaus eyeing his with a hunger that looked out of place on a vampire, that she realised why.

Tyler always ordered the meatiest thing on the menu too. Burgers, ribs, steak, chicken wings — it didn’t matter where they bought lunch, if there was an option to eat like a hungry pack of hyenas, he’d take it. Klaus had slightly more decorum, but the look was exactly the same.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be ancient?” she shot at him, setting the wrapping in her lap and taking her first bite of her burger. She sighed in bliss the moment the taste hit her tongue — it was truly a magnificent burger. The patties were seasoned to perfection, falling apart in her mouth, cheese melted onto them. The tomatoes and lettuce were fresh but not soggy, and the pickles buried beneath it all had an acid tang that balanced the whole thing out. “Old people are always moaning chivalry is dead,” she finished, holding a hand up to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food.

“And I seemed like the type?” he asked, glancing at her with a raised brow. His voice dropped to a dry drawl. “Why? Because I’m old or because I’m dead?”

She grinned, cheeks full of food. “Both,” she informed him happily, before chewing the last of it and swallowing. Klaus grunted, finally taking a bite out of his burger. Like her, he seemed to melt into the taste, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. She shrugged, eyeing him consideringly before turning her gaze back to her burger, folding down the wrapping. “Most guys get weird when I offer to pay.”

Tyler normally did. Matt had. Since both boys were on opposite sides of the financial spectrum, she kinda figured it wasn’t because of the money.

He looked at her then, searching her face for something. He swallowed his food before he spoke. “Did you want me to pay?”

She shook her head. “No. It was my idea to drag you out here. And you’re giving me a lift home after my car broke down even though I’ve rejected you like, a bajillion times. Least I could do was buy you a burger,” she teased, smile strained.

They hadn’t spoken about it, on the drive here. This thing between them; his jealousy towards Tyler and cruel actions earlier that night; the dozens of hesitant advances, if unwanted on her part. They weren’t friends.

Problem was, Caroline wasn’t sure if they were enemies either. 

Enemies didn’t show each other their personal artwork or unfinished sketches that were hidden away from even their family’s prying eyes. Enemies didn’t sit on a public bench and discuss lost dreams. And they certainly didn’t buy burgers at drive-thrus and eat them together under the starlit sky.

Klaus sighed, but didn’t seem offended. “I don’t think it was quite a bajillion times.”

“Yet,” she corrected cheekily, taking a big bite into her burger.

Instead of the scowl she expected, Klaus smiled fondly, following her lead and taking a bite too.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Story Of Us|| John Shelby x Reader

Summary: Love is not always ideal. It comes hand on hand with grief

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Infant/maternal death, grief, teen pregnancy, angst

Author’s note: Nothin to see here, move forward to the story. This took me 2 hours to write and I didn’t proofread one bit

John had always lived in a dilemma. Ever since his dad walked out on them, he tried to get approval from his family, the one thing he never received as a child.. But he only ended up being scolded. When he had to crack the news that he had knocked up Martha, both being just fifteen years of age, Polly hit him across the head with a wooden spoon, and Arthur had to hide him from Martha’s father, who had come for him with a musket.

John and Martha knew they were too young, but they were in love the way only teenagers can be, and the only way they would be allowed together was this. With a baby and the obligation to marry to preserve Martha’s honour. They were wed three months after the musket incident, Martha dressed in a borrowed white dress which did little to hide her rounded bump, and John stuffed in one of his father’s old suits, hastily tailored by Polly. Only the groom’s family was in attendance, since Martha’s father had kicked her out of the house.  

Four months later a boy had been born in John’s own bed; a squirming, chubby thing with the most powerful lungs in the whole of Birmingham. Two more babies came in quick succession, another boy and another girl.

And then came the war.

In the time between their rushed marriage and 1914, John had managed to make more or less a living for himself. He had gotten his own home, being able at last to move Martha and the kids out of the cramped quarters of the family home. And they had a young girl from the area helping Martha rear the kids. Life seemed as perfect as it could get until the war struck and the war office came looking for them. Even though the conscription was voluntary at first, it would only be a matter of time before they came and dragged them out of their homes by their feet. John tested his luck as much as he could, even after Tommy and Arthur had already joined the front. But he had started to get dirty looks whenever he left the house, and one morning he woke up to his doorstep filled with chicken feathers. So he went, and left Martha with the kids and the nanny to hold up the fort in his absence.

None of them could know for certain how long they would be away, and it was worrisome to think it could be years before they returned, if they ever did, while the women in their lives were left to fend for themselves. Being granted leave to go home was a privilege mostly reserved for officers, and with John’s explosive nature and cockiness, he spent many months penalised without leave. The first time he managed to go home, in the second half of 1915, Martha and the kids had thrown themselves at his legs and his neck, unwilling to let him go.

In the two weeks he spent in Birmingham, he left Martha with child yet again. The news arrived with delay, as they do when you receive mail in the battlefield, and even more when said letters are heavily monitored by the officers. The letter had been sent a month and a day before it made it into his hands, but the news were not any less joyous, although tinted with a pang of guilt of not being there to support his wife. But John played his part, behaving like a good soldier for once in order to receive leave in time to see his newborn. They estimated the date for the first half of May 1916, a glorious spring.

But the thing is, letters carrying bad news move just as slow and delayed as the good ones. Even slower so, since the war office ordered anything that could tamper with the soldiers’ morale and spirits to be suppressed. John made the entire journey home, on truck, ship and train, only to find Martha had passed 4 weeks before his arrival, alongside their newborn girl. Polly had intercepted him on the train station, having seen him descend from the platform on her way from the market. The toothy grin tugging on his lips slowly fell into a frown as Pol grabbed his arm and practically tugged him into an alley to give him a resumed version of the events, but John didn’t want to hear. He didn’t care how, or why, or when. He only knew, as the ground swayed beneath his feet, that his sweet, lovely wife had left this world without him by his side, and had taken their babe with her to not be alone. Leaving John, aged 22, with a broken heart and 3 young children in the middle of a never ending war.

Polly and Tommy, who also happened to be on leave at that time, had made arrangements for everything after Martha’s passing. Polly had wanted to take in the children herself, to keep them under her wing. But when she even tried to take them out of the house, they clung to their nanny’s skirts like a lifeline, refusing to even step an inch away. Pol understood quickly that having just lost their mother and being in permanent threat of also losing their father, she couldn’t rip them away from the only stable person in their lives. So the girl, having grown deeply fond of her wards, moved into the home full time to look after them in every way a mother would, since the children had grown to love her like one.

When John returned home, he expected to find a gloomy and deserted place, with the hearth cold and empty and lamps out, much like he felt inside his own head. But of course reality rarely matches the expectations, whether good or bad. The children were laughing, playing with some wooden figurines on the carpet. Aged seven, five and three, they were already a force to be reckoned with, being able to mess a room in the blink of an eye. Yet here they were, playing happily under the caring gaze of their nanny. The four of them were startled by his arrival, with the kids scrambling over each other to jump into his arms, knocking over a chair and a side table, sending a vase with daisies crashing down. Home sweet home.

~

That night, after the kids were put to bed, John sat near the fireplace, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hands. Martha always warned him when the drinks began piling up on the table and his head; her voice whispering in his mind kept him from bringing the liquid to his lips, no matter how desperately he craved the numbness only spirits can provide.

You walked out of the kitchen, untying the apron from your waist. Most of the house chores were neglected during the day, since every waking hour was filled with rearing the little Shelbys. The oldest, David, would be starting school very soon, but you didn’t see how that would come to be, since he refused to be away from you for long. The youngest, Sarah, spent most of her day perched on your hip, although at 2 years of age she was already getting too heavy to carry. Theo, who had just turned five, acted as middle children often do, keeping mostly to himself and showing himself to be independent.

You hadn’t noticed John sitting there, since he was slumped on the floor, his head propped on the sofa and his legs splayed before him. His boots were nowhere to be found and his shirt discarded aside, leaving him only in undershirt. You would have just walked past him if he hadn’t called your name.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes Mr. Shelby?”

“Sit here for a little bit”

Perplexity was not quite the word to describe what you felt, but it came close enough. You had never been afraid of your boss; he and Martha had offered you a job when you most needed it, and they even treated you as a friend, since you were only a year younger than them. You were the one who mediated between them when things got tense, as often happened when very young people were thrusted abruptly into adult life; resentment inevitably building up on the grave of robbed childhood and dreams. And you were the one who took the kids out of the house when they inevitably made peace with each other.

But the situation had changed; the wife dead, the husband away, and you had basically become owner and lady of the home in the meantime, forced to step up for the babies you had known nearly since the cradle. Perhaps taking attributions that didn’t belong to you, but everything done with the best intentions in your heart.

You sat in the armchair farthest away from him, your body perched on the very edge of the seat and your legs laced at the ankles.

John doubted his words, still swirling the whiskey in the glass. Not a tear had left track on his cheeks, but the corners of his eyes were reddened, like those of a man who had learned, either willingly or by force, to hold back emotions.

“Were you here when…when Martha…” The phrase was left hanging in the air

“Yes I was. I had been staying full time already, in case the baby came at night”

Silence. Words slowly dawning on his mind fogged by barely contained grief.

He swallowed thickly “What happened?”

You closed your eyes and breathed in slowly. You knew he would eventually ask, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you. The desire to know something could turn almost morbid the longer the answer was denied, but you didn’t want to give the grisly details with the wound so fresh, so you hoped he would content with the shortened version.

“The baby came too early, more than a month. And then it got stuck, and the labour dragged on for too long. The girl was….born sleeping. She named her Katie. And then Mrs Shelby caught an infection” You stopped there, hoping the vague narration would be enough explanation so you could avoid the more sensible details.

John nodded slowly, his gaze only fixated in his whiskey glass “Did she…did she say anything? Before she…”

“Mr. Shelby…” You protested, not believing him ready to hear it all

“Just say it!” The words came a lot more harshly than he intended, but they had been dropped and couldn’t be taken back.

You nodded and looked down at your lap, fidgeting with your apron “She told me to look after her babies. And to look after you. She told me we should not be sad for long, because she hated sad faces and life was sad enough as it was and her loved ones had to live happy lives on her behalf. She only asked…she asked that we made sure her kids never forgot about her” Your lower lip trembled. Holding her hand as life slipped away from her had been traumatic for you as well; like watching your own older sister die under your watch.

Your last words broke something inside John. At first, barely perceptible, his lower lip trembled and his eyes glazed while he pondered over his wife’s last words. Then all of a sudden the floodgates opened, tears coursing freely down his cheeks as sobs racked his body. The glass fell and shattered, and you, always acting on maternal instinct, tried to pull him away from the carpet so he wouldn’t land his hand on the shards. But in the brief second your hands touched him, John clung to your waist in the same fashion his eldest son did when he had a nightmare. The force of his embrace pulled you down on the floor, his head burrowed on your lap and his fingers digging on the fabric of your blouse. You had no words to console him, for sometimes, there is no real consolation. So you did the best you could, which was letting him cry out his sorrow and anger in the same apron that had wiped his children’s tears; while you rubbed soothing circles in his back. John cried it all out until his tears had run dry and his frantic heartbeat stilled. Crying is usually followed by drowsiness, and before you knew it your boss had fallen asleep on your lap, soothed by the faint scent of lavender on your clothes. You didn’t want to move him and disrupt the feeble stillness of peace, so you sat there all night, your head perched on the sofa and your hand on his back, dwelling on the creaking of the fire in the hearth.

~

It couldn’t be helped, the way the bond you and John had of mere friendship morphed into something else. Ever since Martha’s passing, John had managed to squeeze pity out of the war office, being granted leave more often than others to see his children. In the meantime, you took marvellous care of them, and they loved you maybe even more than they loved him.

The way he became drawn to you may seem rushed, but it came from a place of grief. A man with his heart in tatters, finding comfort in the arms that hugged and cuddled his children. Every time he returned home on leave, his barely retained sorrow spilled out the second he crossed the threshold of his home and the memories came crashing like an avalanche. Instead of getting better, he seemed to slowly grow worse. Could it be the grief, could it be the war, seeing his children more grown and mature every time he came, or a mixture of everything, but each leave it became harder to enter his home, and at the end it became harder to return to the front.

John spent many hours of his day locked in his bedroom, splayed on his bed accompanied by a whiskey, inhaling the fading scent of lotion on Martha’s nightgown. More than once you had to threaten to break in through the window in order to coax John into coming out and eating. The children barely noticed his behaviour, far too accustomed to his absence by now, but it pained you to see him miss out on every precious second he could spend with his family, knowing well it could be the last. Not wanting to be mindless of his pain, you gave him a few days to settle and then forced him out of the shell. No one would be called to dine until he came to sit with you all; you would go out to shop alone, making him watch the kids; if one of them had a nightmare at night, you knocked on his door and made him go and lull them back to sleep. You knew it was hard for him, but this is what Martha would have wanted. She wanted John to carry on living, and that he would do, with you behind to support him.

But you never expected to catch feelings in the process. Never had you thought about him as any more than your boss and friend, not before Martha and certainly not after. But looking after him, being his strength at home, even more so than his blood family, it is hard for feelings to not get tangled in the middle. You were the one who saw him sob his eyes out over a picture in the middle of the night: the one who bandaged his hands when he beat the wall in a fit of rage over the unfairness of life, and the one who kept that little family up and running.

On one of his last leaves, in October of 1918, he had, for the first time, sat with all of you for dinner on his first back home without threats or begging. As you served the stew, John cleared his throat to call attention “Tomorrow we are going out. It is a little surprise, but I promise we will have fun”

The children jumped in excitement. It had been far too long since they had all gone out as family, and the prospect of a day out with dad was the best outlook ever. You smiled as you poured a glass for John “What time do you need the kids ready, Mr Shelby?”

“Everyone ready at 10, and I mean everyone. You are coming with us of course, it is a family day”

Your breath hitched in your throat and heat rose to your cheeks, but you just nodded, hiding your shyness behind your glass. The next day the five of you went to an apple orchard, right on time as the sweetest fruits were being harvested. The children ran rampant across the field with wicker baskets, collecting dropped fruits which they would be able to exchange at the end of the day for candy. John and you followed closely behind, both in silence but enjoying the sounds of nature and the laughter of the kids. The autumn leaves crunched beneath your feet making a most delicious sound. For a day, you could all pretend that war had never happened and life was more or less normal. At the end, the children dropped the apples in big wooden troughs, and in exchange were given toffee apples. John bought you two pints of cider which you drank together, sitting under a tree while watching the children play with other kids and trying to sneak more candied apples from the stand

“Look at that, David stole an apple” Far from being outraged, you found the situation amusing “He is your son alright”

John chuckled “Are you insinuating I am a thief, Miss (Y/N)”

“Martha told me all the tales of your youth, Mr. Shelby. Stealing candy is one thing, but stealing liquor from a bar is an extraordinary prowess” You smirked

John’s demeanour dropped ever so slightly at the name, but he was quick to pick himself up “I miss her. She should be here watching the children grow. There should be a toddler here with us, and another baby on the way”

“Missing is part of grieving” You patted his hand “It means you lived and loved. Even if you stop grieving you’ll never stop missing”

John pondered over your words, staring at the bottom of his pint “Thank you for being here…if you hadn’t been here, we would all have fallen apart. I would have fallen apart but you glued me back together out of your pure stubbornness so I would be there for me kids” John squeezed your hand “You have saved us all”

You chuckled “Saviour is a bit too far I’d say. But I am glad I could be of help. You are a good man John, and you deserve good things” It dawned on you a second too late that you had called him by his first name. The apologies were already piling in your tongue but John laughed it out “Seven bloody years it took you to call me John”

You could only join in on his infectious laughter, feeling the worries flutter away. It had been a while since he last laughed, and you took it as a sign of his healing. The rest of the evening went in a blissful blur, with you two sharing bites of an apple while he picked fallen leaves off your hair, and having to haul all three kids home in your arms, them too tired to walk. John surprised you with having stuffed his coat’s wide pockets with apples, and you surprised him in return with a homemade apple pie.

You enjoyed every day of his leave, dreading the moment he would once more part. The children had, now that they were older, come to resent his absences, and it always broke them a little to have him return only to leave, perhaps forever, over and over and over again. But one the last day, right before being due to leave, John arrived back after being out all morning, loaded with parcels and gifts. He had received news from the war office to not return to his post, for truce would be called in less than a week. The men would return home and the nightmare would be over.

“Tonight we celebrate like never before!”

Everyone received presents that day. The children received toys, John sent gifts for his aunt and siblings, and he even bought you a new dress. That night you feasted like you had never before, the evening topped with a marvellous store bought cake and the children falling asleep earlier than usual, stuffed with turkey and cake. After they were put to bed, it was only John and you before the fire, passing back and forth a bottle of champagne. The day was for joy and celebration and all boundaries had been torn down. You two were laughing just for the sake of laughter and the relief of having survived hell.

“So what happens now, once the Shelbys are back on track?” You inquired curiously “Business as usual?”

“I reckon men will be eager to vent off steam and enjoy the things they missed out. I promise the den will be up to the beams with patrons. Future is looking bright” He took a swing of the bottle, foam trickling down the side of his lip. You reached up to wipe the liquid with the back of your hand. John eyed you curiously before bringing up a far different topic.

“Have you thought about getting married?”

You did very poorly in hiding your surprise “Me? Married? Why do you ask?”

He simply shrugged “You are a lovely young lady, in the prime of your life. Surely don’t you plan on spending the rest of your days taking care of other people’s kiddos?”

A smirk tugged on your lips “Are you planning on firing me, Mr. Shelby?”

“Wouldn’t dare to, love. Just wanting to know if someone is knocking at your heart”

Oh someone was knocking at your heart at the very moment. Your heartbeat hammered your ribs, ready to escape off your chest out of your mouth. “No one is, Mr. Shelby”

Those words had barely made it out when his lips came crashing into yours, his warm hand cradling your jaw, the other placed in the middle of your back and pulling you close. His lips were soft and gentle, and his hands kept a firm grip on you. Your own hands came to lay on his chest, feeling his fluttering heartbeat under your touch. The kiss seemed to last forever and nothing at the same time. When he pulled away you were out of breath, but also wanted to keep going until time ended. When John broke the kiss, he remained close enough to lean his forehead on yours.

“I didn’t screw it up, did I?” A boyish grin played on his lips.

“Not one bit, not at all” Your index traced the side of his jaw, feeling the muscles tense as his smile widened

“So you won’t mind it I test my luck again” And just like that, his lips once more came onto yours, this time both hands on your waist as your arms came around his neck. It was funny, but in that moment you knew, after just one kiss, that you never wanted to kiss any other lips but his, nor feel any other hands’ on your waist or your hair.

You knew his grieving had not come to an end, and he would continue to love his first wife to the end of his days. But that did not mean he did not have space in his heart for you, nor that he would feel for you any less. It only meant he had lived, and would continue to do so with you.

[alovesreading]

Quarter Past Midnight

Summary: Thanks to your best mate, you’ve found yourself welcoming the New Year at a party one of her bosses is throwing at her new house. Since you stepped foot in the place, your only plan has been to spend the night dancing and drinking with your friends. But it all changes when you find a certain bassist looking at you from across the room. And as the night progresses, and a few kisses are shared, you seem to agree on the fact that you’re leaving the party together.

Word Count: 19.4k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, lots of cursing, suggestive dialogue and smut.

A/N: Hello!!! I'm so excited to finally be posting this one shot since the idea for it was born back when we were writing Chicken Shop Date chapter 6! You know, when Ross disappeared most of the night to socialise... So this is basically the spin off of that part of the story. I'm sorry it took me so long but, then again, it had always been the plan to post it today because it's the one and only @imagine-that-100s birthday and I thought a filthy Ross one shot was the perfect gift for Mrs. MacDonald herself. I hope you all enjoy it loads and remember: keep both hands on the phone!!

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You really fucking love the holidays. It’s probably your favorite time of the year and every gathering that is thrown during this time makes you the happiest.

It’s so much fun spending Christmas and boxing day with your family, but it’s even better to spend New Year’s Eve with your friends.

When you were a teenager, you had adopted the tradition of welcoming the new year in company of your mates and that had stayed with you despite your friendships coming and going as time went by.

Every New Year party was a different crowd and you love thinking about the differences between them, from who was attending to the theme—if there was one.

You would’ve attended your co-worker’s party this year if it wasn’t for the fact that you had gone to it the previous year and it had been horribly boring so you had opted to accept the invitation to a party that one of your best mates from university sent your way.

Cecilia worked for a creative agency that designed many artists' stages for their tours and she even went on to help the promotional aspect of said tours, so through her you had met many people that had left you quite starstruck. That’s why when you found out this was going to be a party thrown by Charli XCX, one of the artists that she works with, you accepted in a heartbeat.

And now here you are, sipping on a vodka cranberry soda and swaying your hips softly to the beat of the music playing through the speakers as you listen to one of Cecilia’s co-worker’s stories.

You’ve been keeping to your mates ever since you arrived at the big house a few hours ago and now that it’s a little over an hour until midnight, you find yourself a bit tipsy from all of the drinks you’ve been nursing the whole time.

You feel bad for tuning out whatever story is being told and choosing to people watch over the girl’s shoulder, nodding absentmindedly as if you’re listening but your eyes are swimming around the place and looking for something interesting to latch onto so at least you have some entertainment as you waste your time waiting for midnight.

What you aren’t expecting is to see someone already looking at you, and you raise an eyebrow with a smirk on your face when he doesn’t let the fact that you’ve caught him staring steer his gaze away from you.

Instead, the bearded man looks you up and down slowly, tongue swiping across his bottom lip teasingly as he takes you in and you would be lying if you said his shameless behavior didn’t make your stomach flutter with a hint of want.

It shows on your face just how much you’re enjoying the attention and it makes him more smug when he sees you smirking at him after he’s drank in your appearance. You’re wearing a tight black dress that falls down to your ankles but there’s a slit on the side that lets the skin of your left leg show smoothly up to your mid-thigh; the velvet material hugs your body beautifully, accentuating every curve of yours and the square scoop neck of it held by two thick straps on your shoulders allows for your tits to be perfectly hugged and showcased.

All he’s thinking about at the moment is how fucking gorgeous you are and he can’t peel his eyes off you.

“Hi.” You mouth at him, the slightest bit shyly and it’s pathetic how easily he gets your smile to grow on your face when he reciprocates with the same mouthed word and a bright grin.

You roll your eyes at yourself mentally when you feel the heat coming up to your face and just because you can’t keep up with the eye contact, you turn back to your friends and tune back into their conversation. Thankfully, they had been too engrossed in it to notice your lack of attention.

Jumping back into the conversation, you’re aware of every minute that passes by and so when you realize it’s been at least ten, you turn back to where the tall man had been and smile when he catches your eyes on him after a mere few seconds. He looks incredibly handsome in the black on black outfit he has on: black button up with its long sleeves rolled up just below his elbows and it’s tucked into black trousers that fit him perfectly.

It’s a game of who can keep up with the eye contact the longest from then on, and maybe there’s an underlying message to every look which is probably you both daring each other to go up to the other first. You’re also trying to think about where you find him so familiar from but your brain is a mush at the moment so you can’t really come to a conclusion fast.

Stolen glances and cheeky smiles is all you share for the next fifteen minutes, and you sigh to yourself when you find your glass empty and he’s still not made his way over to you.

Softly, you excuse yourself from the conversation and make your way to the kitchen where you know the drinks are and when you get there, you smile at the people around and silently get yourself a refill.

You’re about to pick up your glass when a deep voice startles you but you’re quite pleased to see the man you’ve spent a while looking at when you turn around. He’s standing right in front of you and since the kitchen is a bit crowded, it would take for him to lean into the marble of the kitchen counter to have you trapped in between it and his tall frame.

He smiles down at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes and starts his chat with you by asking, “What are you drinking tonight?”

“Vodka cranberry soda.” You reply factually, your lipstick smudge showing prominently against the rim of the glass after the shy sip you take of your drink.

“You’ve got a sweet tooth.” He scowls like he disapproves and it makes you roll your eyes in amusement.

“Do I? What are you having then? A beer?” Your tone is sassy and it sparks up something inside him.

He purses his lips briefly, like he’s trying not to laugh and eventually says, “Whiskey.”

You’re just trying to wind him up a bit when you say, “Can’t say I’m a fan, prefer rum.” accompanied by a clearly forced smile.

“Course you do.” His eyebrows raise and he puts on an unimpressed face but inside he’s just thinking, I like her.

Your scoff is loud enough for only him to hear, “Okay stop trying to make assumptions, you know nothing about me.”

He gives you a good surprise when he straightens as you say that and swiftly answers, “Which is exactly the problem.” You pretend that has just not made your knees go a bit weak and accept the handshake he offers you as he introduces himself, “I’m Ross, you are?”

“Y/N, nice to meet you Ross.” His grip on your hand is delicate but you know he’s holding back, though the brief feeling of the roughness on his fingers makes your mind go places it shouldn’t.

“Lovely name. Y/N. I like it.” It makes you laugh how he nods his head in approval, and at the sound of your giggles he smiles at you.

He’s definitely a sight and you just can’t waste the opportunity to shamelessly flirt so you chat back with a suggestive, “Rolls off the tongue quite easily doesn’t it.”

Which he gets straight away because a smirk breaks on his face and he quite explicitly quips back with, “Sure it does in more ways than one.”

“Oh we’re going there?” You try to act innocent as if you weren’t trying to go to that place with your words.

But Ross is quick to act just the same with an airy and faux confused, “Where?”

“Don’t play dumb now.” You take a sip of your drink with your eyes sternly on him like you’re warning him not to.

“M’not, love.” Feigning honesty he places his free hand on his chest but leans in to whisper in your ear, “But if there’s somewhere you want us to go then let me know.”

When Ross leans back, he gives you a subtle wink and suddenly you feel a bit out of control because of everything that you’re feeling inside. Especially how his words, which sounded like a dirty little secret when he dropped his voice an octave, went directly down between your legs.

“You northerners are so cheeky, aren’t you?” You had caught the accent from the very first second he spoke to you and you cannot say it didn’t fall on your ears like warm honey. It was thick and sultry, you kinda wanted him to whisper in your ear again because it felt way too nice.

It seems that it filled him with pride that you had caught onto that fact but now he was curious, “And where are you from?”

“West London.”

“Makes sense then.” He snorted out in laughter and it had your jaw falling in amusement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You have to force yourself not to laugh because you know exactly what it meant, you’re well aware of your posh accent and you’re completely used to people taking the piss out of you for it.

But Ross shakes his head as he giggles, “Nothing, I’m just fucking with you.”

His answer gives you the perfect opportunity to turn it flirty and you like the way his eyes go dark when you say, “Yeah you wish you were, you div.”

He smirks hearing you use the insult lightheartedly but loving how you keep flirting with him, so he lays it on thick, puffing his chest out as he agrees with your words, “Maybe I do.”

You steer the conversation away from the topic then, unsure if you’d be able to function if he keeps saying things like that to you, and you ask him how he’s managed to end up at this party. You blush like an idiot when he tells you it’s his best mate’s house you’re in and that’s when it clicks that he’s in the band that George is in.

He asks how you’ve ended up there but before you could properly tell him about your best friend working for Charli XCX, he asks if you want to go outside so you can properly talk without all the noise.

Soon enough, you manage to weave your way through the crowd, with his hand placed on your lower back which makes your skin feel like it’s being lit up under his touch. And when you finally get outside, he offers you a cigarette which you turn down.

You’re not really a smoker but god does he look good as he takes the first drag of the cigarette while waiting on you to tell him the story of how you’ve ended up in this party.

Ross listens intently as you tell him how Cecilia and you met in fresher’s week in uni and ever since then you’ve been inseparable. He laughs when you tell him you work at a law firm as a paralegal and just as anyone would expect, the holiday parties your co-workers would throw were dire and you had learned that the hard way the previous year.

He admits he thinks he’s heard of your best friend through Charli and he hints at having seen her at Leeds fest earlier that year. You confirm that she was indeed there for Charli’s set in Leeds and you manage to get him laughing again when you refer to the band he’s in as the one where the lead singer eats the raw meat and gets himself off on stage.

“Yeah, that’s us in a nutshell.” He laughs a bit more, and you cackle loudly before clarifying that you actually did know them.

“I’m joking. Though, that is all I really know about yous lately. But yes, I’ve heard your music before. Your first album remains my favorite.” You’re being entirely honest about it now and it elicits a sweet smile from him before he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Was it Robbers?” He asks with a smirk, as if he’s clearly reading you.

But you shake your head, “It was actually The City. Heard it once and I was sold.”

Ross hums at her answer, it settles in him the fact that he likes you and without really knowing, his eyes fall on your lips as he continues to silently smoke. Your stomach flips at the clear cue, and you have to let your eyes wander somewhere else before you can continue with the conversation.

The tension is growing heavy over you so in an attempt to lighten up the mood a bit just for your own sake, you joke, “That Matty guy really likes kissing people doesn’t he?”

“He does.” Ross apprehensively replies, taking one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

You bite your bottom lip as you watch him and hesitantly steer the conversation into a territory you’re intrigued about, “He kissed you didn’t he? I think I saw that the other day.”

“Yeah, he did.” The bassist has no idea where this is going, but he’s taken over by the feeling that this will be one of those times someone goes to him to get to Matty.

And when you cheekily say, “Quite jealous of that actually.” a heavy weight comes to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry to say he’s got a date tonight.” He says rather dryly, and you notice instantly the way his behavior shifts. He avoids looking at you, his attention suddenly taken by the tumultuous party inside, taking his glass up to his lips to down the last of his whiskey like he was in a hurry.

You find it rather funny, but also you’d hate to miss a chance with this gorgeous man thanks to a misunderstood comment so you clear up with a soft smile, “Not jealous of you, jealous of him.”

That blank look on his face changes in a split second the moment your words reach his ears, and you watch that smirk you’d been growing used to seeing the past few minutes make a comeback.

Ross takes a step closer to you and it makes you have to look up at him. Even with the high heels you’ve got on, he’s still taller than you and you quite like that. Smoothly, he wraps an arm around your waist so he can pull you flush against his chest, “Should’ve mentioned that before, love.”

The pet name does to you the same as his lips trapping yours does—your knees buckle a bit and you instantly are wrapping your arms over his shoulders to keep him in place. The contrast between his soft lips and his rough beard drives you mad, your mouth falling open in a gasp that he swallows at the feeling of it all. And his tongue coming to meet yours has you dizzier than all the vodka you’ve had so far.

He tastes like whiskey and tobacco, and his tongue is diligent as it goes against your own. Your thoughts go straight to a lustful place, wondering if he’d be just as intent between your legs and adding what his beard might feel like against your thighs has you letting out a breathy moan in the kiss.

His fingers dig into the clothed skin of your waist possessively, like he wants to leave his mark on you and it only grows the need you feel running through your veins.

Your free hand goes up his neck and digs into his hair, which is annoyingly tied in a low bun that you end up pulling as if to say you wanna undo it and have his long hair fall freely so you can pull on it just how you want to.

A groan comes from deep in his chest and you swallow it proudly. You just cannot fight how much you enjoy the sound you’ve gotten out of him and it shows in your smile that interrupts the kiss, as he’s left half pecking your teeth.

You pull back slightly, looking down at his swollen lips which have a bit of your lipstick smudged on them and bring your thumb to clean them as you conclude, “That was good.”

“Very good.” Ross mumbles against your finger, biting the pad of it in the middle of your task which has you giggling like an idiot.

You stay silent and focused on his lips when you continue wiping them and once you’re done, you ask quietly, “Have you got anywhere to be first thing next year?”

“Like after midnight.” He asks back a bit puzzled by your wording.

“You’re so smart.” The sarcasm in your voice has him rolling his eyes in fake annoyance, but inside he’s excited and intrigued about what it is that you’re trying to do.

Your hand leaves his face to fall on his chest, and he notes how he likes this proximity with you as he says, “No, I don’t. Why?”

You pray he can’t see how nervous you are when you bravely ask, “Wanna come over to mine?”

In all honesty, Ross hadn’t expected that to be your inquiry but it’s the best surprise, “I would like that, yeah.” He would more than like that, he would love that but he plays it cool to not throw you off.

You’re trying to act cool as well, shrugging your shoulders and giving an alternative as if it didn’t matter where you went, “Or back to yours, I don’t mind.”

And it didn’t really matter where you ended up at, you both know where this is going and you couldn’t be more excited about it. No better way to start the new year.

“I’m fifteen minutes away.” Ross tells you in all honesty and seeing the sparkle in his eye at the last minute planning makes you incredibly giddy.

It shows just as clear in your smile when you say you’re “Thirty.” minutes away.

And the answer to where you’re taking this later is clear, only Ross settles it in stone when he says, “Mine then.”

You hum, looking down to his lips again and stealing one last peck from him before you nod and nonchalantly reply with, “Alright.” as if you’re not mentally begging time to go faster so you can leave with him.

“Shall we go back inside?” Ross asks with a smirk on his face, you can see how clearly smug he is about this going the way it is and it excites you.

So you nod, letting him take your hand and guide you inside. You walk past a large group of people and stumble into George, who’s at the decks queuing up some songs for everyone’s enjoyment.

You greet him and congratulate him on his stunning house and the brilliant party, pointing out how much you love the disco ball hanging from their ceiling, and he gives you a smile and a wholehearted thank you in return. You’d met George a fair few times when you got to go to Charli’s gigs as Cecilia put you in the guestlist, and he’d been an absolute sweetheart from the moment you met. You hadn’t even recognized him from his band then, and it had been rather refreshing to him that someone he met was being nice to him just for the sake of being it and not because of his job and who he was.

Of course the drummer tells Ross about it right then, very briefly how you had apologized for ten minutes straight for not recognizing him back then and you’d promised him you’d listen to his music again soon.

Ross pinches your waist as he laughs and he tells George how you hadn’t recognized him either until he’d said he was in the band with the drummer. Adding a paraphrased recount of you only knowing about Matty wanking on stage and eating raw meat.

You fully feel yourself burning up and you shake your head at them. “Yous are the worst.” You say with narrowed eyes and scoff before you’re excusing yourself, “I’m gonna get myself another drink, please continue taking the piss.”

Their laughter is what you hear behind you as you try to make your way through the crowd until the music drowns you and you get to the kitchen. There you fan your face and you smile like a fool to yourself.

However, suddenly, a squeal slips past your lips and it isn’t because of you thinking back to what has happened in the past twenty minutes, but because Cecilia pokes your ribs before she complains about you disappearing.

“Where have you been? It’s been almost half an hour and you still haven’t gotten another drink?”

You press your lips together and then turn back to your glass so you can make yourself your drink, “Sorry, I sort of got carried away talking to this guy…”

The loud gasp that she lets out manages to make you giggle shyly, “Who?!”

“Ross…” You quietly let her know and you leave her frozen in her place while you pour some vodka in your glass.

Silence engulfs you until you’re done making your cocktail and when you look back up to your best friend, you laugh at her agape mouth.

“As in–” She starts saying in shock and you nod.

“As in George’s best mate.” You bring your glass up to your lips and take a long sip, the sweet drink refreshing your throat but you can’t help but think back to how much you’d like to taste Ross again.

Before you can go back to the bassist though, Cecilia is dragging you back to the rest of the group you’d been with at the start of the party and squealing like a high schooler, she makes you tell her all about what’s happened.

You keep it brief, not really wanting to get in too much detail and ruin this for yourself but it seems like the simple knowledge that you’ve kissed him outside has them screeching and asking questions about it for what feels like an age.

It’s a miracle they let you go to the kitchen to get one of those little Patron bottles you’d seen laying around so that you could do shots together but what you aren’t expecting is for Ross to be leaning by the door of the kitchen seemingly waiting for you to come around.

“Where’d you go?” He asks curiously once you walk up to him, his arm snaking around your waist to bring you closer and it makes you smile.

You sigh, free hand coming up to his shoulder and you smooth the fabric of his black shirt there before you look up at him to say, “My friends found me and complained about me disappearing.” You watch as he analyzes every inch of your face and hums at your excuse, “They’re waiting for me now to bring them some tequila so…”

The silence that comes over you two after you drift off is nice, it’s not really that much silence because the music is still loudly shaking the walls but it’s peaceful enough to have you enjoying each other’s company.

He breaks it when he leans into your ear to say, “You better have not promised anyone a midnight kiss.”

You wait until he leans back and is looking at you for you to shake your head, “I haven’t.”

A simple, “Good.” is what you get back and you roll your eyes in amusement at the fact that this is clearly him wanting to have you say the words.

“Why? You wanna kiss me again?” All inhibitions are slowly being pushed out of the window the more time you spend with him and it feels thrilling.

“You know I do.” Ross says almost pained at the fact that he has to wait more time to get to that moment.

But you relieve him when you assure him, “You don’t need to wait until midnight to do it, babe.”

There is nothing more to say to have him pouncing on your lips and the hint of desperation in his actions makes you moan softly in his mouth. Ross has both of his arms wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you against him in such way that you’re dreaming about the moment you get to feel him like this without your clothing in between. Your hands come up to cup his jaw, his beard tickling the palms of your hands and you’re the one to tease his mouth open when your tongue comes to lick at his bottom lip.

The meeting of your tongues heats up the kiss, tasting each other makes you both hungry to take everything the other can give. As one of your hands comes to cradle the back of his neck, he lets his free hand slowly drop down your lower back until it’s resting over your ass and a gasp slips past your lips when his fingers dig in your clothed flesh.

You certainly love the way he kneads your ass, cupping it and squeezing it with no mercy and you’re left wondering if he’s just like that in bed. Everything is so promising so far, you can feel the wetness starting to pool between your legs and ruining your underwear.

Instinctively you clench your thighs together and he chuckles into the kiss when he notices. Shy is not a word that has ever been used to describe you and Ross learns that by the way you seem smug about him catching onto you trying to relieve yourself even a little bit.

You pull back with a massive smirk on your face, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath and a subtle grind of your hips on his. The heavy exhale he lets out hits your parted mouth and you have to bite on your bottom lip to at least conceal in the slightest how that feeds into your ego.

His hand which was still on your ass confidently, squeezes it harshly and you drown the mewl it elicits out of you by pressing your lips together. Ross stares at you, eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips to your chest and then back up to your eyes so he can breathlessly ask, “How fast after midnight can we leave?”

“That eager?” It’s so hypocritical of you to tease him for it when you’re just as eager to go but you will never pass on the opportunity to have a man show you how much they want you first.

And Ross doesn’t let up exactly what’s going through his head, “You look stunning and I really don’t know if I can kiss you again and not want to take you in the middle of the room.”

Those words are enough for you to fully make up your mind about it all, if you had been sure you wanted this earlier then you’re entirely convinced there’s nothing else you want to do now.

It’s quickly that you think about the best time frame for you to go, you come to the conclusion, “Half past. I need to spend a bit of time with my friends so they don’t say I ditched them for some guy later.” You don’t necessarily want him to know you’ve told them who you had been talking to and kissing just in case that could put him off.

But it’s the way he narrows his eyes at you and pinches your ass as he repeats, “Some guy…” that makes you think maybe he wants you to tell them.

“Does it hurt your ego, Mr. Rockstar?” You can’t help but tease, there’s a darkness that shadows the brown of his eyes when you push at his buttons and you enjoy trying to find out what it is that could happen when he snaps.

Ross shakes his head at you, a soft chuckle managing to escape while he tells you to, “Shut up.” before he’s doing it himself.

Kissing him is something that you’re finding yourself to really enjoy and so you relish in the feeling for as long as you can. Your hands are in charge of keeping the other as close as possible, clutching onto each other tightly as if there was the possibility of being taken away. Nothing else is in your minds, wanting to take each other to the limit and that is until your lungs beg you to offer some oxygen to them and your lips separate from his with a smack.

“Okay, go on.” Ross instructs, a hint of satisfaction filling his insides after kissing you again, his hand patting your ass softly, “Back to them now, love. I’ll come get you at midnight.” There was only less than twenty minutes to wait until then so he was fine with seeing you go, knowing he was gonna have you back with him in a bit.

You nod with mischief written all over your face and he winks at you when you peel yourself off him. Out of the corner of your eye you watch how he walks off back into the crowd of the party, leaving you a flustered mess looking for one of those damn little Patron bottles for your friends.

The task gets pathetically hard with your mind still stuck on the thought of the bassist, the feeling of his touch on you and his presence right next to you. Eventually, you manage to get one of the bottles and you all but run back to your friends, as if rushing back to them would help time move faster until you got to see Ross again.

It’s so pathetic but you blame your hormones and the lack of action in your life the past few months thanks to your job.

The shots you do with your friends loosen you up a bit. And you find your hazy mind easier to get lost in the conversation and laugh more at your friend’s jokes because of the way you lose any grasp on time.

And that is the reason why you don’t notice him walking up to you until he’s right beside you and his hand is coming to delicately hold onto your waist.

“Ladies…” Ross clears his throat as his eyes go to every one of the five girls in the group, offering them a smile that teases a glance of the dimples on his cheeks, “Mind if I steal her from you?”

You look up at him through half lidded eyes, your smile so big it reaches your eyes in such way that it almost closes them and, god, does he melt at the sight.

“Go ahead.” Cecilia smirks knowingly and just to taunt you both, she asks, “Is she coming back for the countdown or shall we say happy New Year already?”

You groan and roll your eyes at her because she sounds like your mum, which has her laughing to herself and the rest of the girls are trying not to giggle at your behavior.

Ross nods though, a smile plastered on his face as if permanently, “I’ll have her back with you afterwards, don't worry.”

“Enjoy it then.” Cecilia cheers with a tilt of her glass and Ross nods at the gesture.

“Happy New Year.” The bassist wishes them as he brings his hands from your waist to your hand, intertwining your fingers before starting to walk away from your group of friends.

A chorus of “Happy New Year!” is heard right as you’re turning around and you wave comically at your friends as you walk beside Ross.

When you had gotten to the party, Charli had told you to leave your coats and bags in a room somewhere in the house so you didn’t have your phone on you to look at the time. You did have a small watch on your right wrist though, and when you catch a glance of the time while Ross guides you back to his friends, you giggle.

“Five minutes early. Aren’t you impatient?” Your smile is big on your face and just thinking about how he has had to be looking for you for a bit makes your stomach flip.

His hands drop yours to bring it around your waist and guide you to walk in front of him, you bite your bottom lip when you feel him press himself flush against your back as you continue walking into the crowd.

“I think that’s being punctual.” Ross quips back easily, leaning down to say the words in your ear.

Just when you manage to walk past a large group of people dancing and you get to spot a bit far away from the center of the room, you stop in your tracks and turn around to face him.

Purposely, your arms go over his shoulders and wrap around his neck. He leans in, thinking you’re about to give him the opportunity to taste your mouth again but you skip past his lips and lean further until your lips graze his ear.

Whispering, you deem his behavior, “A bit desperate.” and he instantly reacts to it by digging his fingers into your waist and pushing his hips forwards to press on yours.

“You wouldn’t have come in time.” He explains breathlessly once you pull back so you can see his eyes again.

By pressing your lips together you avoid smiling too much at his words, humming before you play in on his train of thought, “So you were just making sure I kept to my word?”

“Exactly.” He nods with a serious expression on his face like you understanding his point was a pressing matter.

You roll your eyes with a snort of laughter and sarcastically note, “How kind of you.”

But before he can add something else in his defense, someone comes from behind you and Ross lets go of you to hug them. You watch with a soft smile and your cheeks burning up because of how they had found you and Ross and it seemed like these people were Ross’ long time friends.

“Y/N, this is John and his fiance, Lilly.” Ross introduces them to you and you shake their hands with a sweet smile on your face, “Lilly, John, this is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you!” You say kindly, and you’re so relieved to see the genuine smiles on their faces as they reciprocate the sentiment.

You expect Ross to start the conversation but he’s got an empty glass in hand and your hands are completely empty so he asks you, “Do you want another drink?”

“Oh, sure. Please.”

Ross nods and excuses himself quickly, the three of you watch as he walks in direction to the kitchen and when he disappears from your sights, you turn back to each other and start small talk.

In the few minutes it takes Ross to come back, you find that John plays the sax for the band and his fiance works in the medical field as a nutritional therapist and biomedical practitioner. They ask you how you know Ross and you honestly tell them about how you’d ended up at the party and met Ross an hour before.

The bassist appears behind you just when you’re sharing how you hadn’t recognized him at first until he said he was best mates with George, letting his presence be known with an amused, “Oh yeah, she had no idea who I was.”

You scoff, and you try to defend yourself by pointing out, “You looked familiar!” but he raises his eyebrows at you and tilts his head slightly at you like he’s saying wordlessly that he doesn’t believe you and all you can do is sigh in defeat. He hands you the drink he got for you and you say a soft, “Thank you.” before he comes to stand beside you, an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you pressed to his side.

There’s something possessive about his touch and you find yourself enjoying it far too much, your head going places it shouldn’t and continuing to build on the anticipation inside you. It’s like a tower of wooden blocks that keeps growing taller and you know there’s only so much you can go without feeling more of him—or all of him, if you’re able.

Your conversation gets interrupted when you hear there’s only a minute left until midnight and after that, you’re all just warily letting your words out as if being careful not to miss the moment midnight strikes.

But it’s impossible to miss it when the countdown starts from ten and Ross swiftly turns you around with a smirk on his face that grows as you hear, “Five, four, three, two, one… Happy New Year!”

You meet in the middle, your hand cupping his jaw while his holds your waist. It is quite delicate in comparison to the previous kisses you’ve shared and you can’t help but think if it has anything to do with the fact that his friends are right beside you. Not that they’re paying you two any attention though, as they’re both lost in each other’s lips too.

The heat between your bodies grows when his tongue teases your open mouth but he lets you be the one to deepen the kiss. You really enjoy being the one to take control but soon it’s like he fights back to be the one to direct the kiss and the kiss elongates and becomes more intent until you just have to pull back to catch your breath.

“Happy New Year.” Ross wishes you with his pupils blown out, his gaze hungry looking down at you and his fingers resting tightly on your waist like he’s holding himself back from pouncing on your lips again.

With a quiet, “Happy New Year.” you reciprocate before being the one to grant his silent wish, and you’re really glad he’s holding you because your legs weaken when hearing him groan into your open mouth the second you crash your lips together again.

When you break the second kiss, it seems like he doesn’t want to let you go��his hand on your waist still holding you close to him and he dips his head to leave pecks on your lips that he’s trying to turn into a proper kiss again.

The giggles that escape you make him smile, your thumb rubs over one of his dimples matching his grin and you playfully remind him, “You promised I’d be back after midnight.”

“Did I?” He plays dumb, pressing another chaste kiss on your lips that makes you whine.

You shake your head at him, narrowed eyes like you’re really surveilling his every move and you press, “You did.”

The sudden announcement that comes from Charli through the speakers distracts you and when the song she’s announced being a remix she and George did for a Caroline Polachek song comes on, you forget you should be going back. You’re jaw dropped at the song, not only because of how fucking good it is but from the rather hot lyrics and you can’t help but think good for her about Charli when the song is over.

Turning back to the bearded man who still has a tight grip around your waist to keep you close, you make sure to give him a challenging look. Ross sighs in defeat and says, “You’ve got thirty minutes now.” not without cheekily letting his hand fall to your ass and squeezing it before you can go.

“Keep an eye on the clock for me then.” You say after you giggle, tapping on his chest and stealing one last peck before you’re off to hug John and Lilly to wish them a happy new year and finally excuse yourself to go back to your friends.

It’s not really like you want to go but you’re enjoying the tension building up and maybe you really want to squeal about it to your friends. You’re far too elated about it all and it’s hard to keep your composure in front of him with the lingering touches and the kisses he gives you, especially under the influence of the drinks you’ve had all night.

That’s why it’s not really a surprise you keep checking your watch when you’ve finally found your friends and you can’t go more than ten minutes with them before you’re hugging them all goodbye and saying you’re going back home.

Cecilia is the one who narrows her eyes at you, your eagerness shining through you and she has a feeling home is not really where you’re heading but she reckons if anything happens, you’ll be telling her soon enough—you’d just told them how you and Ross had shared a New Year’s kiss and had gone into a bit of detail about it.

There is almost a skip in your step as you go to the kitchen to leave your glass behind and then off to get your coat and bag, miraculously stumbling into the right door when you look for the room everyone had left their stuff at. And with growing excitement, you walk back to where you remember leaving Ross behind.

Ross is the one who gets surprised when he sees you walking in his direction from across the room. He pulls out his phone from the pocket of his black trousers and checks the time, frowning in curiosity when seeing that it’s merely a quarter past midnight.

“You’ve still got fifteen minutes.” He points out when he meets you in the middle, having excused himself from a conversation with some lads, pocketing his phone again.

You shrug nonchalantly, praying he can’t see the way you just can’t wait anymore written on your face, “Yeah well, I think we can use those to be on our way to yours.”

He smirks, downing the rest of his drink and using your words from before on you, “That eager?”

You just stare at him, your tongue poking on your cheek and you end up sighing to say, “You’re not getting an answer to that.”

Something shifts in him, dark eyes looking intently at you through his lashes and he leans closer to your face so he can mumble against your lips, “Oh I will, love.”

There is something about it, a hidden message—maybe a promise masked as a threat—and it makes every atom in your body buzz in anticipation. In your head you’re speculating all about what this could mean, picturing if he’s going to be the type to kiss you until you get to his room and then push you face down on his bed to fuck you into the matress or if he will be one of those who can barely make it to their settee before the need for release takes over and has you ride him with your tits pressed all over his face so he can suck bruises as you milk him dry.

You clench around nothing, getting flustered again and your arousal wetting your underwear. So you don’t waste another second to ask, “Are you ready to go?”

“Definitely.” He nods, grabbing your hand delicately and he smiles seeing your coat hanging on the crook of your elbow, your bag hanging off your shoulder. Yet, he still inquires, “Are you?” and you only hum in response.

That’s the green light he needs to pull out his phone from his pocket and order you two an Uber back to his place. Fortunately, it’s only about eight minutes that you have to wait for it to arrive since it’s not that late yet and you watch as he places the device back in his pocket before grabbing your hand so you can go outside.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your mates?” You ask quite puzzled, but he shrugs it off like it’s really not important.

“They’ll survive.”

It makes you laugh softly but you follow as he leads you to the front door. Someone opens it before he can and, of course, the quite tipsy girl who walks in seems to be his friend because they hug very briefly.

Comically though, Ross says hello and goodbye in the same sentence and you have to swallow a cackle when the girl’s face contorts in confusion. But she comes to an understanding when Ross pulls on your hand and you walk a step closer, almost pressed to his back.

“Hi.” You smile at her and wave amicably, your insides warm when you see her smile and wave back, about to say something to you but then Ross is a little shit and pulls you away as he walks through the threshold of the main door, taking you with him.

A mouthed apology is all you can manage before you’re closing the door behind you. “Taxi’s not even here.” You call him out for taking you away, but he nods like it’s knowledge that really doesn’t change anything.

Instead, he takes out his packet of cigarettes from one of his pockets and lights one up in between his lips, his cheeks hollowing slightly and the smoke coming out of his nose and his parted mouth.

His hand extends to offer you one but you once again turn him down, this time explaining further with, “I don’t smoke, Ross.”

To which he coos as if you’re a child, and his mocking, “Awh, aren’t you cute?” makes you roll your eyes.

It’s quite cold outside, so you put your coat on and cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep warm as you wait. He notices that regardless of that, you’re still shaking so he takes a stride towards you and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him—your cheek resting on his chest comfortably, taking advantage of the moment to inhale his scent and smile at the feeling of his chest hair tickling at your face.

He continues smoking as he cradles you into him and, despite having to breathe a bit of the smoke he’s exhaling, you enjoy the feeling of being held by him in silence.

It’s only a minute after he’s dropped the bud to the ground and stepped on it that the taxi comes around, greeting you with a lovely “Happy New Year.” that you both reciprocate. You’re the one to rush to open the door, but you don’t go in, instead you make Ross go first and, at first, he’s trying to get you get in before him but you stubbornly stand your ground and he begrudgingly enters the vehicle.

Ross is about to scoot to the side so you can sit to his left when you get in but his breath hitches in his throat when you let yourself land on his lap and you purposely squirm over him before you’re actually taking a seat to his right.

His head whips to the side to look at you but you act like you can’t feel it, your gaze stuck straight ahead but a smirk managing to tug at the corners of your lips against your will.

The taxi starts moving once Ross closes the door and the driver makes light conversation as he goes. You’re answering enthusiastically, letting him know a brief summary of the party you were at and giving him a little white lie about how you two were so tired that you decided to go back home early.

The smile on your face falters when you feel Ross’ big hand coming to rest on your thigh before he’s clutching it tightly and squeezing it to make you squirm in your seat.

“It’s been a long day mate. We’re going home and heading straight to bed.” He adds into the conversation, a blank expression on his face as if he wasn’t letting his hand slowly trail up further up your thigh, making your skin break out on goosebumps at the touch.

The leg slit of your dress has allowed for it to go further up and the skin of your thighs show dangerously close to where your underwear hugs your hips. And Ross is taking full advantage of the access he has to make your heart rate speed up. His fingers are rubbing circles on your skin, slowly inching closer to your inner thigh and you really have to bite your tongue not to shiver and make any noise.

He smirks when he hears your breathing getting heavier the more his fingers get closer to your heat and he annoyingly continues the conversation with the driver like he isn’t doing what he’s doing.

You jolt in your place when his pinky finger moves up and grazes your cunt, and you hear him hum to himself in satisfaction when he feels your wetness soaking the material of your underwear.

It’s a sadistic conflict that goes inside your head when he lets his hand trail downwards on your thigh again, feeling every inch of distance between his fingers and your center. You want him back touching you where you need him most but you also don’t know if you can keep quiet with how desperate you are for some friction.

The relief you get when he takes his hand up again is unreal, your mouth parting slightly in anticipation but you have to close it tightly not to let out a gasp when his pinky grazes you again but instead of leaving this time, he rubs it up and down your clothed core until he finds your clit.

Ross feels it pulsating under the pad of his finger and he smirks to himself when he starts drawing circles on it and your legs twitch.

You’re so incredibly turned on by him and the intent behind his actions, the high chance of you getting caught fills you with a rush of adrenaline that morphs into pleasure that’s making your head spin.

He’s so relentless at trying to get a proper reaction out of you that could get you caught that he presses a bit harder on your swollen clit and he’s victorious when you can’t hide the soft gasp that leaves you and you let your head pathetically fall down on his shoulder. Your hair coming to cover your face which is contorted in a frown induced by pleasure.

“Oh, is she falling asleep?” The driver asks, seeing your sudden movement through the rearview mirror and you’re half mortified hearing that, though Ross’ skilled finger moving on you takes over most of your thoughts.

Your walls are fluttering around nothing, and you feel like you’re so fucking close to the edge when suddenly, Ross’ hand is gone. He robs you of his touch in a fleeting second, hand coming to rest on your knee instead and he pats on it awkwardly in comparison to the teasing touches he had been leaving on you since the start of the drive.

“Yeah, bless her. She’s really tired.” He replies with a faux pity, you can hear the laughter stuck in his throat. “We’ll get to bed soon, love.” His words are now directed at you and you really want to glare at him and mockingly recite them back to him but you stay in your place and silent instead.

The driver, blissfully unaware of what had actually happened, kept quiet for the rest of the drive so he could let you sleep. Bless that old man. If he only knew you wanted to throw a tantrum over the pleasure that had been stolen from you.

It’s about seven minutes later that you stop at your destination and the sweetness you offer the driver when you bid him farewell and thank him is gone when you’re walking into the building with Ross.

His eyes are stuck on you when you’re walking next to each other, because instead of being close to him, you make it a show of inching away from him as you walk towards the lifts. He wants to laugh, his amused grin showing the dimples on his cheeks and the wrinkles by his eyes.

“You’re grumpy.” He points out when the lift doors close behind you, clicking on the button for the sixth floor.

Your scoff is telling enough but it becomes even clearer how annoyed you are when you spout, “You’re a fucking tease.”

The bassist coos at you, clear mockery of your inability to take it and it’s a contrast to the meek, “That’s nothing.” he lets out right after.

You’re huffing and puffing as you follow him through the halls but when you walk into his flat, you shed your coat with a pout on your face. Your tantrum melts into your best try at puppy eyes so he has some mercy on you and resumes what he was doing as soon as possible.

He looks at you entirely amused but he lets a bit of sweetness seep into his actions and words when he grabs your coat from your hands, “Let me get that for you.” He gets your bag next and hangs it right next to it.

Your skin tingles at the change of temperature from outside and you hum and close your eyes in bliss, mumbling a happy, “Oh, it’s warm in here.”

But he quickly points out how “You’re still shaking.” and you sigh because it’s a bit embarrassing he notices just how poorly you do in the cold.

“I know.” Your arms cross over your chest again and his gaze falls straight down to your tits, you’re pushing them up by doing that and he just wants to bite on the flesh of them.

You take one step forward and he comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle. When he dips his head down, you feel the hair in the back of your neck rising and you almost shiver when he whispers, “Lucky for you, I know just how to get you warm very quickly.”

“Do you, now?” You mischievously quip back as you turn around, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively, as if you know exactly what he’s going to do.

Except, Ross hums deeply and leans down onto you just enough for his hands to get ahold of the back of your thighs and with incredible strength, he picks you up like it’s nothing. It elicits a squeak to fall past your lips and your legs go around his waist instantly, you thought he was going to kiss you but him picking you up like this has just the same effect.

Like this, you’re the one to look down at him and you really like the way his eyes are drinking you in this way. It feels like ages but it’s barely half a minute. He bounces you up and catches you again, but it’s all so his hands could be holding you from your ass and it makes you laugh.

Your fingers go up his neck until they disappear in his hair and you softly pull on it as you say, “You think you’re smooth, don’t you?”

He cocks his head and he grips your ass as he starts walking, “Am I not?”

“I haven’t made my mind up about it yet.” Your answer is teasing like all of them before, and he’s already thinking about whether or not you’ll be a brat when you’re under him in bed.

Ross rolls his eyes playfully at you and you take the lack of witty comeback from him as the opportunity to pounce on his lips. He freely lets himself hum into the kiss, it’s hungry from the second your lips touch and your tongues taste each other desperately. It’s like you both agree there’s no time to be wasted here, not more than has been wasted already tonight, and the sound of your heels thudding on the floor after you toe them off is the confirmation of it.

You gotta say you find his ability to multitask impressive because before you know it, he’s kicking his door open without breaking the kiss and still holding you up.

His steps come to a stop when his knees hit the edge of his bed and you hold him tightly as he leans in so he can lie you on it softly. His right arm goes around your waist so he can help you up the bed, his left hand keeps your leg around him as he kneels on the bed and crawls up until you both can comfortably fit on it. Not that it’d be uncomfortable when you break the kiss and you catch a glimpse of the king sized bed you’re laying on.

In a blink of an eye, his lips have gone down to your jaw to start attacking the rest of your skin and you shudder under him when he licks from your collarbone up the side of your neck until his nose hits your ear.

His teeth catch your earlobe and it makes you gasp, he tugs on it softly and when he lets it free, he asks, “How about now?”

You try to suppress every reaction your body is begging to show, but letting a shaky breath before you conclude, “I reckon I need some more convincing.” A devilish grin shows on your face and he takes it in the view of you beneath him like this: hair splayed over the covers, pupils blown out and dark in lust, lips red and swollen from the kiss you’ve just shared, tits wanting to spill out of your dress.

He leans closer to your mouth, noses barely touching, “You’re greedy.” He mumbles against your lips and your first instinct is to lick his bottom lip.

The wetness of your tongue suddenly swiping across his mouth makes his hips buck into yours and you take your tongue back inside your mouth to show a toothy grin and agree, “I am.”

Ross is completely taken aback, and there is certainly not a thing he’s not thinking about doing to you, with you and on you. “Fucking hell, Y/N/N.” He curses in a low voice, his chest vibrates against you and you’re the one to grab the back of his neck to have his lips back against yours.

Your tongue laps at his and all that’s heard in the room is the loud smacking of your lips as the kiss grows fervent. Your hands go down his shoulders to the front of his chest and your quick nimble fingers undo each button of his shirt. You can feel his heaving chest under your hands once the shirt is completely open and you push it off him messily, wordlessly saying you want it off.

He breaks the kiss, a heavy breath hitting your parted mouth before he pushes off the bed and takes the shirt off the quickest he can. The second he throws it somewhere behind him, he comes back down to hover over you but this time he goes straight down to attack your neck.

His beard feels coarse on your skin but his swollen lips feel warm and he glides his wet tongue over the skin he bruises, and the combination of it all drives you crazy. He doesn’t relent on his actions, only making you moan and mewl louder as he goes.

You’re a whimpering mess when his hands start bunching your dress up until he reveals your stomach and he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on every inch of the skin he’s just uncovered.

The tips of his nose ghosts a trail down from your sternum to your belly button and further down until it hits the edge of your underwear, sitting just on your mound. His teeth grapes at the fabric and he tugs it a little only to let it spring free and snap against your skin.

You jolt in your place, a gasp coming from your throat out into the air and getting lost when he runs his tongue flat along the edge of the lace of your underwear and a moan gets stuck in the back of your throat.

“Are you gonna be good and do as I say?” He mumbles against the skin of your lower stomach, his beard tickling you and the feeling rushing straight down between your legs.

“Yes…” You nod fervently, your eyes closing tightly when he starts kissing over your clothed heat and when he licks a strip up your folds, you’re letting out a strangled, “Oh, fuck, yes!”

His cock twitches in his pants, and he feels himself starting to harden. “That’s a good girl.” Ross praises with one last kiss to you clit, his warm breath feels further away a second later and it has you opening your eyes to see where he’s gone.

He’s just staring at your ruined underwear, willing the image of you at his mercy to brand its place in his mind. His hands are on your thighs, so close to where your underwear sits on your hips and you have to plead with a pathetic and breathy, “Ross…” to snap him out of his trance.

“Yes, love?” The bassist asks, leaving a soft kiss on your inner thigh and looking up at you through his lashes.

“Please.” You lift your hips up to show him exactly what you’re asking for and he smiles sweetly at you, taking pity in your desperation.

“I know, I know.” He nods and his fingers finally hook on the sides of your underwear, but it’s at an agonizing speed that he peels it off you. He pulls back to take it fully off, throwing it mindlessly as he’s far much more interested in watching your glistening cunt finally on show for him. “Look at this sweet cunt.” He coos and his mouth water seeing your arousal making a mess of you, “So wet for me.” He lays on his front again, head between your legs and he hooks his arms under your thighs so his hands come clutching you in place over them. His hips buck forward and he groans at the friction relieving him in the slightest.

You take a deep breath which leaves you almost immediately when his tongue finally makes contact with your heat. He laps at you like a starved man, groaning from the depths of his chest at your taste, “So sweet for me.”

Your legs close around his head subconsciously and your hand comes to his head so your fingers can tangle in his hair as he continues lapping at you. His tongue starts flicking at your clit and it’s impossible for you to control your moans. His beard tickles the inside of your thighs and once again, it’s the contrast between the roughness of his beard and his wet tongue skillfully going quickly at your swollen clit that’s beginning to send you into overdrive.

“Fuck, Ross.” Your back arches off the bed and your fingers pull harshly on his hair making him groan against you, his hips writhe against the mattress and he’s sure he could cum just hearing you like this and dry humping the bed.

You’re just about able to catch a breath when he pulls back slightly but a loud whiny, “Shit!” leaves you when his lips wrap around your clit and he starts sucking on it with intent.

Your hips write against his face, looking for even more from him because you’re feeling the hints of an orgasm start to build up in your lower stomach. But then he pulls back, letting go of your clit with a pop and you whine at the loss.

His index and middle fingers come to take over and he rubs quick circles on your bundle of nerves. Your hips roll against his digits to aid in the friction and you really try to look at him but it feels so good that you can’t pick your head up from the mattress.

“Look at you clenching around nothing.” He points out, marveled at your dripping throbbing cunt.

A loud whine from your mouth bounces on the walls of his room, echoing out the hallway. Your mind is gone, all you can see is stars behind your eyelids and your only constant thought is him and getting to cum so you stupidly reply a desperate, “Yes, please!”

“Please.” Ross mocks with a laugh, his fingers stopping their attack on your clit to rub up and down between your folds, gathering your arousal, “Greedy girl. What do you want now? My fingers?”

An attempt of a hum comes from you but it sounds more like a moan, “Yes, anything. Please.”

“So well mannered.” Ross calls out, dropping kisses on your inner thighs, first the left and then the right and before he can wrap his lips around your clit again, he snorts, “Please, she says.” He sucks on your sensitive clit harshly and you yell out, legs starting to tremble.

He pulls back once again, earning him another whine in complaint but he dismisses it and asks, “Are you gonna be good and listen if I stuff you with my fingers?”

You nod eagerly, humming too so your confirmation is clear but he doesn’t accept it. With a slap to your clit, he makes you jolt and a high pitch moan comes out of you at the same time as he calls out, “Words, Y/N.”

“Yes, I will be good.” You reply breathlessly, “Please. I promise. Promise.” If he asked you to beg, you would. You couldn’t care less anymore.

Without a warning he dips one finger, your jaw going slack at the feeling of his long finger inside you but since you’re so wet, he knows you can take another one.

“Ohhhhh fuckkkk…” You breath out at the stretch, your walls clenching around him tightly and a shiver runs down your spine. Your toes curl when he drags them out slowly, almost all the way out to them dips them back inside you and just like that he sets a slow pace.

“Tight sweet cunt.” He says as he watches your cunt swallow his fingers, welcoming him warmly and drenching his hand as he goes. His mouth falls when he starts going faster and you meet him in the middle when you start bucking your hips into his hand, “All mine.”

Despite being knuckle deep inside you, he’s almost drooling, wanting more of you so he brings his tongue back on you, flicking at your clit again. You squirm and call out his name in sweet moans that he’s getting drunk on, but he wants you loud and begging so he goes back to sucking your clit and it makes him want to smile when you respond just how he wanted to the second he does that.

“Ross! Ross! Oh fuck yes!” You scream, nails digging into his scalp desperately while your other hand comes to claw at the duvet on his bed, white knuckle grip that serves as the only hint of grounding you have right now.

But any trace of sanity leaves you when he starts shaking his head, lips still wrapped around your clit and sucking. It makes you scream, your thighs fully closing around his head to keep him there, fighting the strength of his one hand trying to pin your right leg back down on the bed. His beard feels so fucking good, and you’re sure the beard burn will be worth enduring tomorrow because now every single one of your nerve endings is tingling at the feeling of it all.

He pulls back again, your legs falling limp on the bed again for a second before they’re shaking again but you’re being good and trying to keep them open.

Your arousal is glistening all over his beard and a mess of his spit and your wetness trailing down the corners of his mouth. His eyes don’t leave your cunt, looking intently at how he’s fucking into you, scissoring you open so you’re ready for him later.

His other hand comes to tease your clit, slowly this time. You had been so close just then, about to give in and fall off the edge when he took it from you. It’s torturous and you have no idea how much of that you can take.

Soon he feels you clenching around him, your orgasm building up faster now so he hums, “Just like that.” Ross rubs on your clit faster and you feel it coming at any second, the coil in your stomach about to snap so you get louder, pure gibberish as your thighs shake and they start to close again.

“So– So fucking good!” You manage out, your hips writhing against his hands again, the friction being incredibly perfect and you know there’s only a bit more left for you to let go, “Oh f-fuck, m’gonna cum.”

His fingers thrust into you. Once, twice.

And then, they’re gone.

“No, no, no, no.” Your eyes are wide, your chest heaving and a thin coat of sweat makes your skin glisten. The surprise has your grip on his hair and the duvet loosening so he kneels back on the bed and watches your reaction with a wicked grin.

You try to sit yourself up but you’re so frustrated, your body is exhausted and it doesn’t cooperate so you have to wait for him to crawl back up to you to see what he’s doing.

“You taste so good, love.” The cheeky fucker says before sucking his fingers clean, your arousal coating his tongue and he groans around his digits as he tastes you.

Your legs wrap around his waist and your push on his ass with your heels so he hovers over you. Desperately, you cup his jaw and start begging, “No, Ross. Baby, please. Please. Please.”

“Is it baby now?” One of his eyebrows raise and you nod stupidly. “You’re cute.” He replies with a chuckle and you whine in frustration.

You hate that he’s finding this entertaining, “Why would you do that? I was so close!” Another whine comes from you, making his grin impossibly bigger, “That’s not fair!”

His laughter is about to make you angry so before you actually snap at him, you bring your hand down to rub at your clit yourself. But before you’re even past your belly button, his fingers wrap around your wrist and he pins your hand on bed over your head.

A darkness shadows the brown in his eyes as he utters a curt, “No.”

“But–” You try to fight him but he interrupts with another, “No.”

Your mouth opens to complain some more but he kisses you to shut you up. His mouth presses harshly on yours and you whine in annoyance, you don’t want him to have control if he’s gonna play with you like this.

In an attempt to get him back, your hand goes to the back of his neck and to his hair, pulling on his man bun harshly so his head tilts back slightly with a gasp falling from his lips. Some strands of his hair fall free and tickle the sides of your face. You smile in satisfaction.

A fire sparks within him at your sudden defiance and with just the same strength, he grabs your other wrist and pins it over your head too.

He attacks your lips again, his hips pressing viciously into your sensitive core and you writhe against him in response, he’s so hard in his trousers and it makes you want to win control over so bad. You’re trying to fight who’s in charge here and god it’s turning you on even more.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth clashing, heavy breaths and groans, moans and spit dribbling down the corners of your mouths. But then he deprives you of yet again another pleasure when he pulls back. Yet this time he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, digging onto your delicate flesh, tugging on it as you pull back.

Wetness pools between your legs at his actions and you arch into him in pleasure, whining for him and because of him again.

He lets go of your bottom lip and you stare at him with your mouth agape, heavy breaths to get some oxygen back in your lungs and the ache between your legs almost hurting at this point.

That’s why, your eyes roll into your skull when he has one of his hands gripping both of your wrists in place over your head so his other hand comes to get ahold of your face and he seriously spouts, “Are you gonna be a brat and keep complaining? Or are you gonna be a good girl and take it?”

You don’t wanna give him an answer but you know exactly what you’re choosing and your pride takes a blow at it.

Alternatively, you figure there isn’t any better way to forget about words than clashing your lips together again but when you lift your head to capture his mouth in yours, he pulls back and demands, “Answer.”

You huff when he pies you off, rolling your eyes and clenching your fists, a long few beats of silence go by before you begrudgingly reply, “I’m gonna be good.”

“I know you will be.” Ross says with a wicked smile on his face, his ego getting a fill at you submitting yourself to him.

That’s when he finally gives you the pleasure of another kiss, this time more mindful than the last and he lets go of his hold on your wrists so you can touch him how you want, silently telling you this isn’t just about what he wants.

One of his hands delicately holds your face as his lips move on yours and his other hand is on your waist, fingers digging into your skin and lighting a fire under his touch. He goes up but finds your ribs still being covered by the velvet material of your dress so he tries to push it up, failing to move it even an inch.

You let go of his lips to offer him some guidance but you barely manage to tell him, “Zip’s on the back.” because his lips keep pressing wet kisses on your mouth.

Ross hums into your mouth when your lips interlock again but he only lets the kiss keep going for a few more seconds, a smack sounding inside the room when he pulls back slightly and then he mumbles against your lips, “Turn around for me, love.”

He says that but he actually helps you flip around so you’re laying on your stomach beneath him, his weight comes to softly press on you when he hovers over you again. His right hand pushes your hair to the side so he can uncover the skin on the back of your neck and he starts a trail of kisses from there.

His mouth leaves patches of wetness as he presses a kiss on every exposed inch of skin on your back, and you let out a few giggles when his beard tickles you on a sensitive spot.

The tension dawns heavily on you when his hand finally goes to grasp at the zipper and, very slowly, he starts pulling it down. You feel it reach its limit and his breath hits the newly exposed skin of your lower back.

The bed dips slightly when he crawls down so he can wrap his arm around your middle and pull you up to your knees on the bed, just like he is. You don’t argue, the anticipation makes you grow hotter and you quite like letting him handle you. With those big strong calloused hands of his.

A shiver runs down your spine when his ghostly touch comes over your shoulders and his fingers push on the straps on your shoulders swiftly. With the straps no longer holding the front of the dress up, the fabric falls flimsily to pool around your waist and your breasts are finally exposed, your hard nipples finally on show for him.

Ross props his chin on your shoulder and a heavy breath comes from him, hitting the side of your neck as he catches a glimpse of your beauty. His hands come back down to bunch the skirt of the dress up to your waist and he drops a kiss or two on your shoulder before he’s pulling the dress up your body and finally taking it off you.

The silence that has taken over the room is deafening, that’s why when he throws your dress on the floor you hear it land with a soft thud on his wooden floors. And when his hands hold onto the sides of your waist and pull you flush against his front, the gasp you let out rings loudly in your ears. You can feel his hard length pressed on your ass and you’re not sure how you’re gonna take him later, your cunt throbs at the idea of him splitting you open.

But he’s cruel about his touch, keeping it slow as his fingers trail up the sides of your waist, feeling every ridge of your ribs, coming down your abdomen to your thighs before he can even get to your tits. But when he does, you’re shattering the bubble of silence like a hammer to a mirror.

His hands come up to cup your tits and he’s gentle at first, gracing them like he’s trying to memorize how they feel in his hands. Your breathing grows heavy, and you’re baffled by the fact of how much you’re feeling from his touch on your breasts—attributing the fact that you’re feeling so affected by it because of him edging you.

But then Ross gives your nipples attention and you all but lose it with everything he does.

He starts by flicking them and bolts of electricity run down every nerve ending of your body. He stops and his hands start kneading on your tits harshly, making you whimper and lose stability. It’s like you’re drunk for a moment when his fingers dig into your breasts like he’s trying to mold them to his pleasure but then he shocks you awake when he pinches your nipples with his thumbs and index fingers.

“Fuckkkk.” You curse loudly as he continues to use that pattern, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder as you moan out into the air, your ass rubbing on his hard cock as you clench your thighs together.

You know he enjoys seeing you like this. You know it from the way his breathy laugh hits your neck, from the way his teeth sink into the flesh at the side of the base of your neck and you shiver in his arms, from the way he hums in approval of your every reaction.

And you honestly should’ve expected him to stop.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

So you’re left whining again, at the loss of yet another form of pleasure. But this time he doesn’t laugh at your needy behavior, instead he places soft kisses on your shoulder rubbing circles on your waist where he’s holding you.

He plants a string of kisses up your neck and when he reaches your ear, he whispers, “Can you lay on your front for me, love?”

There is no negotiation to be had anymore, nothing to be discussed within yourself because all you want is to reach your orgasm, so you nod desperately, spouting a rush, “Yeah, yes.” before you slowly lay back down on your front.

“You’re so good aren’t you?” His hands come to rest on your hips, rubbing circles on your skin as he admires the view.

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement, only softly because you don’t want to push it anymore. You don’t wanna fight him, you just want Ross to make you cum.

His hands pull your ass up and even with your hazy mind you understand what he wants, so you arch your back so your ass is up for him, your cunt on full show just for him and your face pressed on its side on the mattress.

“Poor little cunt, left it a mess didn’t I?” His words fall slowly from his lips, his tone lowering as he brings a finger down to your wetness and he bites his bottom lip when he runs it up and down your folds. He watches the slight tremble of your legs and he smiles to himself when you press your face straight into the mattress so a cry is muffled against the duvet, “Does it hurt?”

You turn your head to watch him out of the corner of your eye, over your shoulder and you pout, another pathetic cry leaving you as you say, “Yes.”

“Should I help you relieve the ache?” He asks this time, his finger leaving your cunt alone to come grasp at the flesh of your ass and roughly knead it until you’re squirming and moving your hips in the air in search of something, anything.

“Yes, please, yes.” You plead desperately, not a sign of embarrassment in sight at how pathetic you sound.

“Should I?” Ross taunts you by asking, and you close your eyes trying not to cry so you don’t see him lowering down.

Your hands grip onto the duvet hard when you feel him start biting softly on the backs of your thighs and your legs start to shake instantly. He enjoys seeing the effect he has on you, and you feel the smile on his face when his lips graze up your skin and then back down, only to lick a stripe up your leg before he’s switching that for open mouthed kisses which come back around to soft bites.

Whimpers and begging is all that comes from you, your legs shaking and your mind going haywire from the sensory overdrive. It’s his beard combined with his wet tongue and his plush lips and his teeth biting on your flesh. You’re going mad.

You lose track of time entirely, drunk on every sensation he brings you until he finally goes back to where you’re aching for him—throbbing for him.

“Fucking dripping, babe” He points out, almost drooling at the sight but instead of tasting you again, he brings his fingers up and slides two in easily. “Look at you, taking me so well.” His fingers drag out of you and when he sinks them back in, he growls. “Think you can take a third, love?” He’s already daydreaming about stuffing you with his cock in a bit, hitting your hilt every time he thrusts into you.

Despite his mind being busy making up a scenario based on his current views, he notices you haven’t answered. You have your face pressed on the bed, almost suffocating yourself because you’re feeling so much pleasure, every moan is stuck in your throat.

His big hand strikes mercilessly on one of your ass cheeks, letting loose every noise you’d been holding and coming out in a yelp as you jolt forward. You clench around his fingers at the hit, and he smirks looking at the print of his hand becoming a darker pink as the seconds go by.

“Answer.” He demands with another loud hit on your ass, which earns him a pornographic moan from you. It goes straight to his cock, his hand coming to adjust himself in his trousers as if that could help in any way.

“Yes, I can take it.” You whine in an obnoxious high pitch. If you could see yourself now, you’d roll your eyes at yourself, sounding like a bitch in heat. But you don’t care right now, because he gives you what he’s promising.

With your approval, Ross slowly dips a third finger inside you and he hears your loud mewl as you stretch around him. Your walls adjust to the new digit after a few seconds and once he feels you relaxed again, he starts pumping them in and out of you at a decent pace.

The bassist is completely entranced by the sight, the squelching sounds of his fingers coming in and out of your dripping wet cunt fill the room along with the lewd noises you’re letting out and isn’t it a fucking scene.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the print of his hand red on your ass cheek and he can’t help himself from smacking it once more. But this time, it’s all too much and your knees lose strength so you’re falling limp on bed, his fingers slipping out of you and you gasp at the loss.

“No!” You cry out but before you can actually start crying this time, his left arm snakes underneath you so he can prop your ass up again and with no time to waste, he’s slipping three fingers inside you again.

This time though, Ross has some mercy on you and he makes up his mind about finally letting you cum. So his thumb skillfully starts rubbing circles on your clit as he continues fucking into you and you’re left clawing at the sheets in pleasure.

Your cheek presses on the mattress as you turn your face to the side to loudly gasp when he curls his fingers and he hits that spot that has you seeing stars, “Fuck, yes, just like that Ross!”

“Like this?” He puts on a naive tone in his voice before he curls his fingers again, and all you’re able to give back is a bunch of pornographic sounds that make him grow impossibly harder in his pants.

You’re panting with your face pressed on the bed, eyes shut tightly as pleasure bathes you, but he asks you to, “Play with your tits for me, love.” and he’s glad to see you’re listening when you do just as he says.

Your fingers are weak from the tight hold you had on the sheets so you’re very soft with the way you try to copy what he was doing on them before.

“Come on, love. You can do better than that.” He says as he purposely goes faster with his actions and you moan loudly at the increase in his pace. Wanting to appease him, you knead harshly on your tits and he hums in approval, “Yes, just like that. Now, pinch your nipples.” He instructs, his mouth going dry when you do it but he’s not feeling you squeezing his fingers with your cunt yet so he knows you’re not being deliberate about it.

“Hard.” He demands and when you do, your eyes tear up at the amount of pleasure running through you. You clench around his fingers tightly and he smiles to himself, “There we go. Don’t stop.” And you nod, entirely willing to do whatever he wants you to.

But you’re not sure you can continue with much intent when his thumb leaves your clit and instead, he brings his mouth to your clit to suck on it harshly again as he continues to relentlessly fuck three fingers in and out of you.

“Oh Ross! Fu– Fuck! Fuckkkk!” You chant as you feel incredibly close to the edge and a tear falls down the corner of your eye when he moans around your clit and the vibration of it is what tips you over.

Your legs shake uncontrollably as you cum, his left arm having to keep you propped up so he can fuck you through it but you’re cumming so hard, you yell his name over and over until you go limp and collapse in bed, completely exhausted.

“Such a good girl.” He praises you, dropping kisses on your back and rubbing circles on your ass cheek to soothe the soreness he left after spanking you that hard.

“Let me turn you around, yeah?” He softly speaks in a whisper in your ear and, in your completely fucked out state, you can only mumble incoherently and nod.

You don’t even register the way he giggles when you groan and call him mean as he turns you around, your ears only stop ringing almost a minute later, which he’s spent kissing all over your flushed skin, you hear him say, “You did so well, babe.”

Your eyes are lost, looking all over his face and a stupid smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you remember how you’ve gotten here.

He smiles back at you, and he leans in closer to your face so he can whisper, “You wanna taste yourself?” as if it was a little secret of yours.

The erotism of the offer makes you perk up and you nod, biting on your bottom lip as his hand dips down to gather your arousal with two fingers by dragging them up your folds.

“Suck.” He tells you once his hand comes up before your mouth and his slick covered fingers are entirely at your disposal.

You part your mouth for him to slip his fingers inside it and you moan around him the second you get a taste of yourself. He continues pushing his long fingers into your mouth until you gag when he hits the back of your throat, your eyes filling up with tears as you look up at him.

“So fucking perfect.” He praises you and he’s about to pull back but you bob your head up and down his digits and he curses under his breath. His fingers slip out of your mouth to cup your jaw, fingers digging on your cheeks as he says, “Fucking come here.” before he smashes your lips together hungrily.

Your head is still a bit gone after that orgasm, but you manage to keep up the pace he sets on the kiss, and you both can’t stop moaning when you taste your arousal on each other’s tongues. Your hands cup his jaw and you’re massively turned on by the mess your wetness has left on his beard.

After everything, you have almost forgotten about how he’s not gotten any relief yet, until his hips buck forwards and press into your sensitive core and you feel him rock hard against you.

Ross swallows a whimper you let out when his hard on presses on your overstimulated clit again but then his hips still for a second when one of your hands comes down between you and you start palming him over his trousers.

A guttural groan rumbles from the depths of his chest when your fingers wrap around his length over the fabric and he really has no self restraint left in him anymore so he starts thrusting up into your hand in search of relief.

You apply more pressure around him with your fingers and he stops kissing you, so he can let moans out against your mouth.

“Shit…” He mutters under his breath, the veins on his neck popping as he continues to buck his hips into your touch, meeting your strokes in the middle.

You hum in approval of his action, pecking his parted lips as you quicken your pace but that’s when he comes back around his senses and he stops moving.

Seeing that he stops, you slow down and a frown starts to show on your face. Thankfully, he looks at you through half lidded eyes and panting, he explains, “If you keep doing that I'm gonna cum in my pants.”

You clench around nothing at the prospect of him cumming inside you, so your hand leaves his cock alone to cup his jaw again and, fluttering your lashes at him, you plead, “Fill me up. Please.”

It’s animalistic, the growl he lets out and you gasp when he’s on your mouth again. Desperation, lust, need, is all you can think of when his lips move roughly against yours, his tongue almost fighting yours from how intent he moves.

And it has you speechless when he pulls back, struggling to catch your breath as he leaves you in bed to go over his bedside table and dig in the drawers for a condom. You tilt your head back to watch him finish undressing himself and your mouth goes dry when seeing the size of him.

Fuck me, is all you can think when you see him in all his glory.

He’s painfully hard, so swollen you can imagine the heaviness of him on your tongue. You almost start drooling thinking about how he might taste like, his tip already waking precum and you swear you would offer him to use your mouth as a mere hole so he can relieve himself after giving you the orgasm he did.

The muscles in his arms flex when he rolls the latex down his length, a groan of his ringing in the room and it travels right down between your legs.

When he’s back in bed, he kneels in front of you so the front of his thighs are flush against the back of yours and from that you were expecting him to take you in missionary but a split second later, you’re gasping when he twists your lower half to the side so one of your legs rests on its side right next to his and your other leg he lifts up when he hooks it on the crook of his arm.

With his left hand, Ross wraps his fingers around himself and brings his cock down to run down your folds, teasing your hole with a faint push of his tip.

“Ross…” You beg without the proper words, and he takes pity on you by dragging himself up again until he gets to your clit and he taps on it with the tip, making you gasp in pleasure.

It feels like ages pass when he keeps doing all of that, a cycle that makes your head dizzy but then he sees you flutter around nothing and he can’t wait anymore to sink himself inside you.

So he aligns himself and slowly, sinks an inch of his inside your cunt. “Fuck me, you’re so tight Y/N/N.” He curses loudly as inch by inch you welcome him but, not even with how wet you are, it’s a struggle to push himself deep inside you.

One of your hands grips tightly at the duvet while the other comes to grab ahold of the arm with which he’s lifting your leg up. He’s stretching you out so good, you’re tearing up again and your jaw goes slack, “Oh Ross!”

“You feel like fucking heaven, love.” His words sound strangled as he pushes the last of himself in and when he bottoms out, he stills. Hips flush against your ass, his pubic hair tickling you when he adjusts his standing on his knees and it earns him a loud whine from you when he moves inside you slightly from that.

You curse and pant, relaxing slowly and when he feels your walls finally accepting his girth and size, he kisses your calf so he can have your attention and get an answer when he asks, “Can I move?”

“Mhm.” You hum as you nod, eyes screwed shut at the feeling of him. But that means you don’t see as he lifts your leg further up until he props it on his shoulder and it’s when he leans into you the slightest bit that your eyes open wide at the angle.

“Ross, fuck! Move, please, move.” You desperately spit out, loudly so he doesn’t have a chance to mishear you.

And he does as you say, slowly dragging himself out of you a few inches before sinking back in. Your toes curl and your grip on the duvet and his arm grows tighter when he gives you a few more slow thrusts, a loud moan ripping out of your throat when he increases his pace a little.

The sounds in the room are lewd but they start getting pornographic when he leans forward further until his left hand comes to rest on the mattress right by your waist and his right hand presses your leg against his chest so it stays propped up on his shoulder.

From this angle, you feel him everywhere and you’re almost sure that if you looked down you could see him poking out into your belly when he pounds particularly harder on you.

“Like you were fucking made for me.” Ross says out into the air as he easily glides in and out of you, your wetness allowing him to increase his speed little by little and you’re gasping and moaning as his hips slam into you.

In between gasps, which he draws out of you with every snap of his hips, you manage to beg, “Don’t stop baby, please.”

“I won’t, I won’t” He promises, there’s not even a hint of stopping this in his mind, not when your walls hug him so perfectly and you clench around him when his pubic bone presses on your clit as he pounds into you.

“Can you take it harder, babe?” He asks sweetly, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses on your calf as if to offer some soothing in comparison to the way he has you folded.

Through half lidded eyes you look up at him, brows furrowed in pleasure, and you chant, “I can, yes, I can.”

The tone in your voice encourages him and he calls you, “Perfect girl.” before he draws almost completely out of you only to slam back inside you harshly.

“Fuckkkkk!!!” You yell, your back arching into him as he fucks you hard. His cock fills you up and stretches you out deliciously but the harshness of every thrusts feels like he’s splitting you open just like you had imagined, and you truly can’t think of anything better happening to you right now.

You're so close to your orgasm, your walls are closing tightly around him and Ross groaning and moaning like a mad man over you at the tightness of your cunt. And at the sight of it all, your skin glistening with sweat, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you, your pretty lips wet and parted with a string of spit dribbling down the corner of your mouth. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, but he doesn’t want to hurt you by folding you more than you are right now.

But you’re squeezing his cock so tight, it’s driving him insane.

“M’gonna cum Y/N.” He lets you know with a strangled moan, his fingers clutching onto your leg tightly and you feel him desperately speeding up in chase of his release.

You whine loudly and agree, “Me too, I’m so close.” nails digging in the flesh of his arm, and the hint of pain is what sends him over.

It’s a mess of grunts and moans as he cums, his cock twitching inside you as he spills into the condom and it’s the raw filth of the scene that snaps the coil that had been forming in your lower stomach.

You cum all over his cock, your name being the only cohesive word coming out of your mouth and turning into moans as he continues slamming his hips into you.

You’re too sensitive now but Ross has been holding back for so long, he feels like he hasn’t fully let go yet so he picks up his pace again and fucks fast and hard into your cunt, making you scream his name along with a string of curses.

He wants you milking every single drop out of him so he lets go of your leg, trusting that it’ll stay up on his shoulder and brings his hand down to your heat so he can play with your clit. The fast circles he rubs on it earn him high pitch cries from you but you squeeze his cock impossibly tighter and he growls as he continues to cum.

It’s all so much, and you’re soon feeling a second orgasm looming on you with the speed of the fastest roller coaster you could imagine until you can’t hold onto your sanity any longer and you just let go.

“Ross! Fuck!” Your scream bounces on the walls of the room as you cum, your release so intense you squirt all over his hand, wetting his thighs and drenching the duvet.

“That’s it! That’s it!” He chants as his thrusts falter, his fingers still rapidly flicking at your clit and you give him all that you’ve got.

He feels dizzy when he stops, almost like you’ve sucked even the life out of him with your cunt and he has to take a few deep breaths before he can gather his thoughts. Though his one and only thought right now is “Fuck, Y/N/N, you’re so hot.”

Ross allows you both a few seconds to catch your breaths before he pulls out of you, and you whine at the loss of him. You find your hazy mind managing to conjure the thought that you would do anything to feel him like that again and again and again.

Very carefully, he grabs your leg and brings it down on the bed, and he chuckles softly when you’re just laying there limply like a rag doll. Your skin is flushed and sweaty, and your chest heaves as you collect yourself.

The bassist crawls on the bed and hovers over you to start dropping kisses all over your face, brushing the hair that’s sticking to your skin back and watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the touch with adoration.

“Are you okay, love?” He makes sure to ask you, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek sweetly.

“Mhm.” It’s the only thing you can trust yourself uttering right now, simple and easy to understand unlike the knot of thoughts in your brain at the moment.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says genuinely, drinking in every detail of your face in the state you’re in. You smile softly at him, your eyes struggling to open since you’re so spent.

But you’re not surprised when he adds with a hint of awe in his voice, “Milking me dry and drenching me like that? Such a good girl.”

You giggle at his words, shaking your head in amusement at him. He’s such a boy.

He dips his head to capture your lips in a sweet brief kiss and then he’s pulling back, whispering “I’ll be right back okay?” against your lips.

He waits for you to give him an answer, which is just a simple nod since you’re still trying to gather your wits, and then he’s off the bed walking out of his room.

There aren't any clues about where he’s off to circling your mind, instead you’re trying to get your brain to work again. And of course, the second you find yourself coming back to reality, the first thing that flashes to the forefront of your mind is the image of him relentlessly pounding into you.

His brows furrowed and accentuating the wrinkles on his forehead and by his eyes, his mouth parted and letting his beautiful moans escape, strands of his hair sticking to his sweaty face.

You find yourself heating up head to toe again, and you know right then that you’ll be thinking of him on lonely nights when all you have at your disposal is your vibrator and your fingers to bring you pleasure.

Ross coming back into his room startles you out of your filthy memories of merely a few minutes before. He’s got a rag in hand that you find has been wet with warm water once it makes contact with your sensitive core.

“Sorry.” He says softly when you flinch as he wipes you clean and it makes you smile like an idiot.

You bite your bottom lip and hold your breath when he grazes your clit again so you don’t react badly and once he’s back on your inner thighs, you breathe out, “S’alright. Thank you.”

When he deems his work done, he offers you his hand so he can help you up and you thank him yet again when you’re up on wobbly legs. His hand doesn’t leave yours and instead of just telling you where the bathroom is, he guides you to it, kissing you before you can close the door behind you.

It doesn’t take you that long to do everything you have to do in the bathroom, feeling refreshed when you throw some water on your face and pat it dry. You run your fingers through your hair to try and tame it, you bite your bottom lip thinking about him waiting for you in his room and without more time to waste, you’re out of the bathroom and walking back to him.

The first thing you notice when you’re back in his room is that he’s taken the duvet somewhere else, which you expect to be to the wash since you drenched it as you came the last time.

Ross looks at you expectantly, patting the empty side of the bed while lays on his side with his head propped on the palm of his hand.

You giggle at him, raising a brow as you question him, “What? You like cuddles after sex?”

“I do so come here.” He demands lifting the sheets up for you to get under them and you comply. As soon as you come to rest on the mattress, he snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you in so you’re pressed flush against him, turning you around slightly so you can spoon.

A warmth coats your insides and seeps through your pores, and a hum of bliss manages to slip past your lips against your wishes. You like the contrast in his behavior, you find it so fucking sexy that he can get you to oblige to every one of his words during sex but be a sweetheart afterwards.

You’re relishing in the feeling for a bit, your eyes growing heavy when suddenly you remember where you have to go tomorrow morning—or later in the morning, more like since it’s already past one in the morning.

“I have to be home early by the way.” Your words are soft, more like you’re just letting him know instead of a warning.

You feel the way he cranes his neck up as if to look at you over your shoulder, “You’re gonna try to sneak out on me?”

In all honesty, you’re gutted you even promised your sister you’d go to your parents’ house around eleven in the morning so you could go out for brunch to spend the first day of the year around your family, but he doesn’t have to know you’re kinda considering bailing on your family so you shrug, “I might.”

He groans and pulls you impossibly closer to him, almost like he’s trying to cage you and trap you so you don’t go. And it makes you open your eyes to giggle when he doesn’t budge or say anything for a whole minute so you find yourself reiterating, “I mean it when I say I have plans early tomorrow.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say, maybe a ‘Alright, I had fun with you, let’s sleep and you can leave whenever you want but I’m gonna stay asleep.’ or ‘Sure, but let me know before you leave so I know you’ve gone and I can lock the door behind you’, anything along those lines.

However, the words coming out of his mouth are sassy and definitive, “Yeah, you can reschedule that.”

And you’re scoffing at the confidence he has at saying that. It’s hot, you think but god, the nerve.

“Bold of you to assume I wanna.” You play with him. You do want to reschedule, though it’s more leaning towards canceling on your family at this point.

“Would it help if I said please?” He bargains efficiently, a sweetness laced around his words that you know it’s just to get you to twist your arm.

Suddenly, he’s no longer pressed on your back. He hovers over you and without much of a warning, traps you in a needy kiss, almost like he’s pleading for you to do what he’s saying.

One of his legs weaves in the middle of yours and with how he’s leaning into you, his thigh presses on your cunt, the friction of his thigh on your overstimulated clit elicits a moan out of you that he takes as a good sign.

So he pulls back, stealing one last peck from your lips to ask, “Can you reschedule whatever tomorrow morning is? Please?” He puts on his best puppy eyes, a pout forming on his lips and it’s so hard trying not to fold instantly.

You force yourself to appear nonchalant, smirking up at him to challenge him, “Keep this up and I might consider it.”

No more words are needed for him to continue, his next strategy being kissing down your neck onto your collarbone. “Greedy,” He starts saying planting another kiss on your collarbone, “Greedy,” He mumbles against your skin but this time pressing a kiss between your breasts, and he moves to the side slowly, tip of his nose and beard tickling you as he moves, “Girl” He finishes his sentence before biting on the top of your right breast making you gasp.

The moment his teeth leave your skin free, his tongue licks over the bite mark he’s left one you and, weakly, you admit, “Maybe I can reschedule.”

“I can work with a maybe.” He mutters smugly, his tongue flicking on your nipple once, his right hand holding your hip tightly.

You shiver beneath him, your eyes closing as he flicks it once more, “Sure you can.” Your words are laced with sarcasm as you try your best to act cool about it but he’s watching you through his lashes and he’s certainly happy with himself for making you crumble like this so easily.

His hold on your hips loosens up and it slowly inches closer to your core, you’re almost shaking in anticipation at the ghostly touch of his fingers over your mound and you barely hear him say, “I can,” just as he dips a finger inside you.

“Fuck…” You moan in response, feeling his fingers inside you again threatening to have you stupid all over again.

He watches the way your face contorts in pleasure with his lips parting agape, his cock twitching at the sight. He drags his finger slowly in and out of you a few times before curling it inside you, smirking when a loud mewl comes from you and your hands come to grip on his shoulders tightly.

“That good?” He’s taunting you and you know it, and you’re expecting him to continue doing just that. It’s no surprise to you that just to push you further into giving into him, he adds a second finger.

“Oh fuck, Ross.” You breathe out, your nails digging into his back, “Feels so good.” You finally answer, one of your hands coming up the back of his neck to grab at his hair and pull on it.

He hums, continuing to patiently fuck you with his fingers and due to how overly sensitive you still are, that familiar knot has started to tighten in your lower stomach.

You’re practically holding him in place, so he doesn’t even think of pulling away just when you’re about to come but this time, Ross thinks about just having fun with your overstimulation and he wonders how fast you’d cum if he wrapped his lips around your nipples at the same time as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you.

The second he catches your nipple in his mouth, your back arches off the bed, goosebumps breaking on your skin as he sucks on it. It’s dizzying when he lets it go to flick on it with the tip of his tongue and then bites on it mercilessly.

“Ross! Fuck!” You don’t think you’ll last much longer if he continues what he’s doing, and he knows it from how you’re squirming beneath him and the way you’re clenching around his fingers.

So he moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process and it’s that, along with his hand picking up its pace that you convulse under him as you cum yet again tonight.

“Yes, Y/N/N. Just like that, babe.” Your ears barely register him saying sweet nothings into your ear as you come down from you high, his fingers slowly riding you out of it.

Until you can’t take it anymore and you’re pushing his hand away from you. Ross hears your silent plea to stop and he slowly drags his fingers out of your cunt. You manage to peel your eyes open just when he’s licking his fingers clean, lapping at every drop of your cum on his hand intently.

“Is it rescheduled now?” He asks you as if you’re not completely fucked out again, and he’s so smug seeing you this way, it makes you want to scream.

Yet he’s got you so stupefied that you don’t even find yourself able to keep playing along with him, instead you pant and nod, “It is. It definitely is.”

That’s all he wanted and he lets you know with the shit eating grin he has on his face, along with the sultry, “Good girl.” he offers you as praise.

He kisses you again, almost like a thank you but the meaning is lost on you when you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into his mouth, pulling on his hair once again and this time managing to let his hair fall down freely when you tug off the hairband that kept it in its bun.

Of course, Ross complains, with a groan that you ignore being one to call you out for what you’ve done. But then your hands are both lost in his hair, soft and long strands of jet black hair tangled between your fingers and you pull on it harshly like you’d been dying to do all night.

His groans are like music to your ears, but then you realize what’s just happened again and you pull on his hair, only this time is so that you can break the kiss and scorn him, “You’re such a prick, now I gotta go back to the bathroom.”

You’re too lazy to pick yourself up from the warm bed to clean yourself up again and pee, you roll your eyes just thinking about having to do all that when you’re exhausted after all your activities tonight.

Your complaint falls on deaf ears, since he only focuses on what you’ve called him and he warns you, “Call me that again and you’ll see what happens.”

A scoff is the only answer you given him, before you’re pushing him off you—he doesn’t even budge when you do so, you have to whine and ask him to move with a please added by the end for him to let you go—and going to the bathroom to freshen yourself up yet again.

When you come back, you snort seeing the same thing happen as the first time around but this time you just silently go along with his wishes. He holds you tightly against his front with one of his arms around your waist, one of his legs comes to tangle between yours and he presses a bunch of kisses to the back of your neck before nuzzling into it and willing himself to get some sleep.

“I ain’t quite done with you yet.” Ross whispers against your skin, drinking in your scent.

Your eyes are heavy and his limbs over your body come to feel like a weighted blanket that has you more sleep than awake at this point, yet you still manage to let out a bubbly giggle and you whisper back, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Definitely a promise, love.” He replies breathily, the hair in the back of your neck rises in goosebumps at the prospect of it all and a tingly feeling starts bubbling in your stomach.

You’re not sure what awaits you when you wake up in the morning, but if it’s anything like what’s happened so far then…

It’s a very Happy New Year to you.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: I'm not even sure what to say other than I hope you enjoyed lol. Now I'm off to drown myself in a tub full of holy water to cleanse my soul and repent for days on end, I think you lot should do so too. I'm incredibly excited to see your reactions, they are always so great and they make me giggle and kick my feet. Thanks a million for reading as always my darlings, and I hope you have a lovely week! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @red---moon @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @better--oblivions @kennedy-brooke @faveficz @indierockgirrl @nikisfwn @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars @toomuchracket @llangelsrolltheireyes06ll @megs5678 @theoriginalwhatsername @findmeincorneliastreet @therossmacdonaldeffect @butyou-callmewhenyourebored​ 

[vulpixisananimal]

Hunger: Carrion!Sif

The smell of cooking meat was tantalizing. It made Siffrin’s insides squirm and ache in hunger. It’d been a while since they’d had any good meat on their journey. The last stretch of rocky cliff sides had already frozen in time, any animals that hadn’t escaped had already been picked up by passing birds. Anything that had escaped was smart enough to hide. The group made so on wild berries and dried rations, but the strips of jerky weren’t enough.

He needed fresh meat.

He needed it, craved it, was tempted to shove the chef aside and burn themselves to get it that much faster, but there was no sense in hurting himself, so he waited.

Not a moment too soon, the chicken was served. There were vegetables and stuff on the sides, but those were just garnish so far as he was concerned, flavoring at most. It was put in front of him, a chicken leg quarter, bone-in dark meat, and any remaining decorum was used to keep inside your host’s skin, was used not to bring forth an inner pair of teeth to tear at it directly, was used to keep deluding yourself and everyone else into thinking you were human was forgotten.

Salted umami danced on his tongue, tender flesh giving away easily between teeth. Odile admonished him, but it fell on deaf ears. Isabeau apologized and a chef laughed it off as a compliment. Another chunk of flesh slid down his throat, barely chewed. It’d get dissolved, used, broken down, added to mass. Please, no more waiting, no more. It was enough to not crack your jaw open, to not shove it all in at once. Hungry teeth stripped the bulk of meat from bone in only a few minutes.

“Do you need more chicken, Siffrin?” Isabeau said.

“When I finish this one.” Grease dribbled down his chin only to be reclaimed by finger and tongue. Waste not, want not! And stars, he wanted so desperately.

“Are you not?” Odile said. “There’s basically only bone lef-“

CRUNCH

They spit out cartilage end of the drumstick, a small groan escaping as the soft bone beneath gave way. This was the best part of freshly cooked chicken, it made the bones tender, at least at the edges. Marrow filled his mouth, calcium crunching away better than why fried potato could dream. The inner bone was harder to bite through, but it could be splintered, bent, anything to get at the copper-sweet paste of fresh marrow. The drumstick lasted longer than easily cut flesh, but soon only the hardest potions remained. It was strangely tempting to try to swallow that whole, but it was commonly known chicken bone would scratch up your throat. Best to leave it.

There was still more.

Small bones, cartilage, and gristle all lined the inner thigh. Most was more trouble than it was worth, but there were places where blood had once pooled, dark pockets of rich iron. It was even more tender than flesh proper, only solidified by heat; a treat saved for last.

With only the barely-edible at best parts of chicken left on the plate and vegetables untouched, Siffrin looked up to find the rest of the group staring, their food barely touched. His innards squirmed uncomfortably. “Um… sorry. I, uh…” He squeaked, hiding under his hat. “I was hungry.”

“We can see that!” Isabeau said, trying to say it playfully, but clearly unsettled.

Mirabelle’s expression was hard to read. Nervous, certainly, but almost in the way one would be while watching a tense moment in a show. Enraptured, but horrified all the same.

Odile gave him a long stare and then sighed. “You are awfully pale, and you don’t take hits too well, and seeing you go after those bones… Gems, are you anemic? Here.” She handed her his plate, moving the chicken with a fork—a utensil he’d forgotten to use. “Too much fat is bad for someone my age anyways, and I’d rather you not end up fainting. But gems alive, use the cutlery.”

“Yes madame.”

He reeled it in better for the second course, sneaking his vegetables to everyone else’s plates. For however long it would last, he was not hungry.

This is AMAZING!!! Thank you so much for this, like, genuinely!! I haven't thought about pre-Dormont era at ALL and WOW!!! I'm defiantly tagging @traumaboyexo with this for Carrion stuff!!

[meshyjournalofinterests]

Okay, so, what have we gathered?

Apparently, Wally can sing, good for him, good for him.

Julie hibernate in the winter, has toe beans, and what I thought were here leggings are actually her legs.

Sally is just. . .on a WHOLE other level.

If it's only a quarter of a wiggle, I could only the entire tree of wiggles (Me 🤝 Howdy = Having a big ass family)

Puppets can't really eat, which explains their insane meals.

Barnaby and Frank have beef (unless that's just specifically reserved for the holidays)

Poppy has no problem cooking chicken, even in the most asinine way.

Eddie saw. .something.

But the biggest question I have is about that singular pea. (That pea that I fucking hate)

In conclusion, it's a pretty nice update!

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello,

I need help. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I need someone to tell me to stop worrying? Oh let’s be honest I have no idea what I need, that’s why I’m writing in.

See, I have a perfectly ordinary job during the week. I work in an office. It’s nice. Spreadsheets, cake on birthdays, quarterlies. It’s a boring existence but my afternoons and evenings are my own and the pay’s good. Sapio-Liminal relations are improving, but by bit. Honestly I’m just impressed my coworker got the time off when they wound up expecting in two of their three dimensional shifts.

So that’s during the week and you’d be forgiven for thinking I’m just about the most sapio a sapio can be. My liminal properties tend to activate on Friday afternoons, when I- travel.

Teleport?

Move. I move. To the same general area of a whole new plane of existence. It’s a known family trait- I’ve got a grandfather who became king of a small nation in my secondary plane, and my sister’s the apothecary for the capital city. She sells the really good potions, by the way, so if you’re in the area of Spirits and Sundries or someone gives you a radiant quest to bring ingredients to Amaranthia in the Bronze Quarter, just be polite and she’ll fix you right up.

Ah, but this isn’t about my sister’s business, it’s about me and what I do. See, this shift is so regular that I went and got myself a weekend job, just to have something to do. So if you’re sent to the Caves of Madness just north of the Foresaken Forest, be ready for the Riddle Master!

I’m in the first room of the dungeon, just after you pass the initial key puzzle. I keep my uniform in a chest in there, and there’ s a nice break room off the back. I like the work a lot! I see lots of new people and I’m always gathering riddles- there are some chat standards but I like to mix it up sometimes. They aren’t supposed to be hard, or else what’s the point of trying to conquer a dungeon? So sometimes, I admit, I give hints. There’s always the rude adventurer who attacks me first but when you take a job like this you don’t die, it’s in the fine print. I don’t like cleaning the blood off my stuff, though. Takes ages.

Anyway now that we’ve walked halfway around the block, my point.

I look very plain. Humanoid, two arms, two legs, a beard. It’s never bothered me but I am very distinctly ordinary which tends to be recognizable and last weekend I was in the village during my break and I saw a coworker. Not from this side, not from the Caves of Madness, no. It was Tina, from accounting. She was picking up a quest by the stocks.

And I realized, she might wind up at the Caves of Madness. She might make it through the puzzle door and be faced with the Riddle Master only to realize this Riddle Master is Jeff. From the office.

I don’t have hangups about my two worlds meeting- it’s hard to, when your sister pops in for Christmas still dressed for the Winterscratch Festival, or your brother’s filing out taxes for a whole kingdom over lunch. I just really like my job in the Caves, and I like to think I do it well. Our rating as a starter dungeon’s quite high, and I’m proud of that. What if my transdimensional adventurer coworkers encounter me and just- aren’t impressed? That’s not the Riddle Master, that’s Jeff. He has a rubber band launcher on his desk. His mug says ‘party naked’ with a balding chicken on it and he won’t let HR throw it away.

I don’t want to disappoint adventurers, especially not ones who work with me in my primary plane. I also don’t want to cause harm to my dungeon’s reputation. But aside from the whole ‘moving planes’ thing I am utterly dull. What do I do if my performance isn’t enough to make up for not being fantastical like Mordrath the end room boss or Reyala the sidequest kobold queen?

Is it okay to just be Jeff the Riddle Master?

Thank you for writing in, reader. Your letter serves as an excellent example of quite a common genre of letter we get through the inbox here at the Nightfolk Network and I think it might be rather illustrative for other followers.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but what you've done here is make up a scenario in your head based on the worst possible interpretations of everyone involved, and then worried yourself sick about that scenario coming to pass.

This may sound a little blunt, but please understand, I don't mean that dismissively. I only hope to offer you a little perspective, and to help you come to a more accurate understanding of the situation as it actually stands.

You enjoy your work in the dungeon, and are clearly doing a good enough job to keep your managers happy. None of your previous visitors have expressed any disappointment at your relatively mundane appearance, and it hasn't been an obstacle in the job so far.

Perhaps your co-worker will end up in your dungeon. Perhaps she'll make it to your section, and perhaps she'll recognise you. So what? I don't see any reason why she should be any more likely to be disappointed by you than any of your other visitors.

And even if she is disappointed, that doesn't have to mean anything to you. She's a co-worker, not a treasured friend whose opinion could make or break your self-esteem. You owe it to her to be a conscientious, respectful colleague. That's all. What you get up to outside of work, and whether she enjoys your efforts, is irrelevant.

You haven't let down your dungeon so far, and I see no reason to believe you will in the future. Stop borrowing trouble from the future, and concentrate on having fun and being the same old Jeff the Riddle Master you've always been. He seems plenty interesting to me.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[clatterbane]

A few other things I am kinda plotting to throw together in the near future, using stuff from the latest grocery haul:

Some amalgamation of these, following that basic slow cooker approach in the Instant Pot that won't seal right (what I've got available now), but without the kraut and following closer to my mom's recipe for sauce and seasoning. Sour cream is involved at the end.

(That particular recipe was originally picked up from a Coalfields Hungarian lady who married into the family, via her immigrant granny. May REALLY not bear much resemblance to anything ever seen in Hungary, by the time we're done with it--and I try chucking it in the slow cooker instead of the oven. Certainly a Hillbilly Melting Pot version thereof, but probably at least as "Hungarian Style" as the other one.)

Also a rather loose take on this, which I have eaten many times out of a Crock Pot. It needs some red wine. We've got some leg quarters, and I plan to chuck in a couple of breast filets for Mr. C partway through cooking. He's the kind of picky eater who doesn't particularly like bone-in chicken, and prefers light meat to begin with. Saves me from cutting up a whole chicken, and him from needing to carefully dissect very saucy bird on his plate.

For some already cut-up stew meat I caught on sale, it's a tossup between these two:

But made with the local "oat rice" instead, for a GF version. I really like the stuff, and the texture ends up a lot more like barley than brown rice ever would.

Or there's also:

Actually tempted to try throwing some carrots in that one too, because why not.

I do feel sort of like a one-trick pony here. What can I say? I really like tomatoes, and when the weather turns colder I start wanting meat-heavy stewed stuff. I'm also low on spoons, and it's extra tempting to either pressure cook things (not equipped for that at the moment), or just stick them in the Crock Pot for a while. And I'm trying to get back into the habit of doing more cooking again anyway.

We used to half-laugh about how, if my uncle was making supper? You were probably going to get a big pot of chili, spaghetti, or vegetable beef soup or stew made with tomatoes. Those he can do really well, but it seemed to be all he wanted to cook. (And we got a fair amount of things following that general pattern at our house too.)

It's apparently not just the good old "channel those Family OCD anxieties straight into ranting" pattern where I am following the man's lead as an adult. You can find me over here, stewing up my meat and tomato concoctions.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #316

Today's letter might be a bit short; my focus is scattered all over the place, and my legs are screaming at me from a long walk in the woods today. I don't have any profound thought to share or anything insightful to write about today, because it is late and my brain is the consistency of soup.

…And it's not even some kind of soup with a thick consistency, either - like a bisque or a chowder. No, this is more like a thin soup with sad, scraggly little noodles, and maybe a small piece of carrot floating around aimlessly.

Still, I had fun today, even if I'm tired now. 😁

I got up early today to pick up my friend, BB, from a car shop; she had to leave hers there to get it inspected and all that. But M needed his car for an appointment today, so I couldn't go on my own because she wanted hangouts afterwards. So M and I both went, and we picked her up, and M dropped BB and I off at her house for hangouts and then he went home.

BB and I did all sorts of fun stuff together!! She showed me some of the music from Final Fantasy 14, and then we watched some kitboga on YouTube (the guy who scams scammers), and then… I gathered up a bunch of their bottles and cans.

In my world, bottles and cans can be recycled. Where I live, one can get money for this if you use special recycling places. You insert the cans or bottles into a special machine, one by one, and in the end, you get a receipt that you can redeem for money - 5 cents per can or bottle turned in this way.

For reference, 100 cents makes up a dollar. It takes about 4 dollars to purchase one gallon of milk. It takes about 3 dollars to purchase a carton of 12 chicken eggs. I don't know how much gil these things cost in your world, or what the economics are that influence the price of these things in your world, though, so I can't say how many gil a dollar is worth. Sorry about that.

Normally, we of my house just put our cans and bottles into the recycling bin at home and some folks take it away, and we do not get any money for it. But at my job, they want to host some kind of potluck, and the people setting it up are accepting the receipts from those special machines to pay for the potluck. BB and her husband N go through a lot of bottles and cans, so with their help, I gathered up everything they have, and managed to fill up a giant trash bag about halfway! I should get at least a couple dollars for it, and then I'll give it to the folks organizing the potluck!

I helped to clean up N's study a little, too, in the process! And from there, BB's car's inspection was done, so M returned, and we drove BB to the place where her car was so she could pick it up. And then M and I went home, and we got some candy for tomorrow on the way. It feels good to be able to help my friends! And I even got a nice picture of the sky on the way home, too...

After I got home, I finally got around to cooking some rice in the leftover juices from those chicken leg quarters I made before. I know that it's been sitting in my fridge for a while now, but chicken juices tend to be pretty stable, especially if they're put into the jar hot and the fat rises to the surface and solidifies to prevent bacterial growth. It still won't keep forever, but still, it's usually good for about a week or two, as long as it doesn't smell weird.

But then, I forgot that tonight, J and I were supposed to do a night walk in our nearby nature trails with a group of hikers! So I put the rice in and set it to cook in the chicken juices (I added a little water to it, to make up for the volume taken up by the fat), and then we left the house pretty much right after that; I asked M to unplug the rice cooker when it beeped, so that the rice wouldn't get dried out and weird; that's what happens if you let it sit in the "keep warm" setting for too long.

The walk was done at night; it was dark. I couldn't get a whole lot of pictures, but I did get a couple…

...I feel really lucky to have been able to snag these, even with my silly little cellphone camera!

The walk was two hours long, though. And the people we walked with were nice enough, but... my body hasn't engaged in lengthy activity for some time now, so even though we got back at like 8:30pm and it is now 12:30am, my legs are still kinda yelling at me, haha...

The rice was ready by the time I got back! By J's request, I had put the steamer basket in there, too; he had cut up some carrots and broccoli ahead of time and left it in the fridge inside the steamer basket. The veggies were maybe a little over-steamed, but they were still good. I put it in a bowl with the rice and the leftover salmon and mushrooms; it was very good!

...Want some...?

I had intended to go to bed sooner than this, but like I said, my focus was scattered everywhere. But, as a happy result of my lack of focus, I got to have a very heartwarming conversation with one of my readers today, and I hope it leads to a nice friendship! We seem to have similar views on a variety of things, and she has told me a little about herself and her world, and I was really impressed by the upbeat attitude she maintains despite the various challenges she faces; I'm sure I could learn a lot by interacting with her, and I feel really lucky that she reached out!

...I wonder if I should make more effort to reach out more often. I'm generally afraid of making the first move when it comes to that sort of thing, though - even with people I know well. I feel like this attitude is rather limiting; maybe I'll talk about figuring out how to change it with my therapist on Tuesday...

Well anyway. My soup brain is getting the better of me. So I'm gonna stop writing now and go to bed.

I love you. Please stay safe out there so you can read tomorrow's letter, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

[nochearecipebook]

Celebrating Fried Chicken

The first time that I tried it was in the early 70s at the McCrory's department store in old Downtown Miami when it was alive with people. I remember that the ladies that worked the cafeteria counter would display the pieces of fried chicken inside two large metal containers behind a glass. At lunch time, they would have to keep frying chicken so they wouldn't run out, and I couldn't get enough.

There's something special about the pleasantness felt when eating fried chicken, especially on a lazy Sunday afternoon in some small town USA while sipping some corn (Bourbon.) There's a gas station in Camden, Alabama where I hunt which makes one of the best I have ever tried, but here is my own recipe.

I quarter a whole chicken first and then cut the thighs and breasts in half. I place all the pieces including legs, wings, and the halfed breasts and thighs in a large bowl and sprinkle them with salt, ground black pepper, garlic powder, and some paprika. I then pour a beaten egg into the chicken and using my hands, rub everything together.

In a separate bowl, pour a package of seasoned flour, and in a deep steel pot heat some canola or vegetable oil. Once the oil begins to smoke, pass one piece of chicken at a time through the flour bowl, shaking off excess flour and carefully place them in the hot oil. Once the chicken begins to fry, control the temperature of the oil to a slow rolling fry in order to not burn the chicken on the outside, and so it will be cooked on the inside. Cook each batch for 20 minutes turning the chicken pieces over half way through. Once the chicken is cooked, place them in an aluminum tray that has been lined with paper towels and let the chicken rest at room temperature for at least 30 minutes before eating it, enjoy!

[jehanne-gaudet]

Authentic Louisiana Gumbo

Cooking time: 90 minutes

Growing up in South Louisiana I always heard about my family's older generations living in New Orleans. My mom moved to Baton Rouge in her 20s, but we're New Orleanian through and through– we have our roots traced back to Acadia, Gaudet is our family name. In highschool my mom taught me how she and her mom and her nana made their gumbo, but a few conversations will tell you that there's more "right ways" to make Gumbo than there are creole people. Here's my right way.

GATHER YOUR INGREDIENTS: I always heard that your mom was my mom's midwife when I was born, but we didn't know each other really until highschool because you lived in Lafayette. I changed my name to Johanna Gaudet during my transition, which I guess you learned through Facebook. You also chose your name when you transitioned: Marcus. Marcus Gaston. (Not like the Disney villain, it's pronounced like "GA-stun", not "ga-STAWN".) When you transitioned at 17 your parents kicked you out of their house. I transitioned while I was away for college but I guess that was around the same time, me being older.

PREP THE INGREDIENTS: In February I got a call from you. You were crying in the parking lot of the Rouse's because you'd bought some random things hoping to make gumbo based on the Emeril Legasse cookbook, but the more you grabbed the more you realized it wasn't right. You couldn't even articulate what was wrong, because your mom never taught you her gumbo recipe before she kicked you out and stopped talking to you. You tell me you feel like your whole childhood was taken from you. You tell me you hate this fucking state and can't wait to move out to Seattle. All words I've said or thought before. My dad is from Texas, he used to forbid my mom from cooking Creole food or even taking us to New Orleans where she grew up. He wanted us to grow up as his perfect white American status symbol children, and our actual heritage would have made us dirty. Joke's on him, he never expected gay and transgender kids. My mom taught me how to make gumbo after the divorce, and after I stopped talking to him. And talking about my mom's recipe some, we decide I'll come over to teach it to you. It's not your childhood or your family, but at least it's a childhood to make up for what was taken from you, the way it made up for what was taken from me.

GETTING STARTED: At your apartment, I do tell you that you won't need the shrimp. It's a chicken and sausage gumbo my mom taught me. There's other kinds, black Creoles brought over Okra gumbo, native Creoles adapted it to Filé gumbo, and my people (the formerly-French Acadian Creoles) adapted it to be made with a roux. Seafood gumbo usually is done with okra, at least in my family. I don't know where we got that recipe from– Creole people have been all mixed together so long– but pairing seafood with okra is how we do it.

PROCESSING THE CHICKEN: You'll want to start with taking out your WHOLE CHICKEN. Not leg quarters or breasts, a WHOLE chicken, WITH giblets. Just from memory, this is how to process it. You'll start by pulling the wings up and cutting along the white line of fat, and then between the bones. Next you'll pop the legs out of their hip sockets by bending the thighs opposite from how they're supposed to sit, and cutting along the fat line between the thigh bone and the hip socket there too. Next is the part I never totally remember, I think you pull the torso as open as it goes and try to cut along the fat lines on the side of the torso, starting opposite the ribs and going forward? But at some point you'll hit ribs, and I always just try to go around them. Maybe there's an easier way, I don't remember. Anyway at some point you'll get to the clavicles at the front of the chicken, and you just have to break those. My mom taught me to do it by setting the knife blade on one and just hitting the back of it with your hand until it breaks. Finally, try to cut the breast meat out of the breast bone. This is a huge pain to do, tbh. I think there's a way to split the chest bone in half and leave some bone and cartilage on there, but I just try to cut out the meat as close to the bone as I can. It's imperfect, whatever.

BROTH: Go ahead and put the breasts and leg quarters aside, but set the rest of it (mostly just wings and bones) in a big pot with the giblets. Cover it all with water and set it to boil on a low heat. By the time you need broth, this will have turned into broth. You can also supplement with even more broth from the store, if that's your inclination. I do it sometimes for no particular reason.

THE HOLY TRINITY: Anyway then we gotta cut the vegetables. Onions, green bell pepper, and celery. This is called the Holy Trinity. Actually, there's a 4th one, and it's garlic? My mom used to say that the Holy Trinity is those 3 vegetables, but the Whole God is Garlic. To me that reads hilariously like the Heresy of Partialism, but it's fine, she converted out of Catholicism as a teenager. She only pretends to be Catholic now. Anyway how much of each of the Trinity veggies? Idk, I always kind of eyeball it. I'd say like equal-ish parts of all 3, but it should be 2 or 3 cups all together? Maybe more onion than the other 2? And you definitely want a lot of veggies, because they can disappear in a gumbo. But again, just eyeball it. This part also takes the longest, it's so annoying. My mom would make me do this part when I was young so that she didn't have to, and I sometimes make my wife do it. But also you can get store-bought trinity that's already cut. As a rule I don't like store-bought stuff when I can do it myself, but I still do it sometimes.

SEASONING THE CHICKEN: Okay assuming that's done, time to season your chicken. The ones you set aside, the breasts and leg quarters. Try to get the seasoning under AND over the skin if you can. Idk if that makes a difference, but I always heard it does. I keep the seasoning here simple. Salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and cayenne. Eyeball the quantities, but know a lot of this gets cooked off into the roux, so too much won't hurt you at this stage. You'll want to get a big gumbo pot and cook the outside of the seasoned chicken. Oh, you used your only big pot for the broth. No worries I brought mine. I'll get it from my car. It's one of those dark blue pots with the white speckles on it. Dirt cheap, thin metal, but it's big and does the job. Anyway, put some olive oil in there and cook the outsides of the chicken on a high heat. Doesn't need to be cooked all the way through yet, you can take it out after a minute or so.

THE ROUX: Now we get to the actual hard part. Roux is easy to burn, and my family does it dark. Advice online often says not to do it too dark to make sure it can thicken the gumbo more, and that makes sense, I've heard that before. But my family does it dark. Like Dark Chocolate dark. I also do a LOT of roux. Roux tastes good in the final gumbo, so don't skimp. I empty your bottle of olive oil into the pot, and I bring out my bottle from home too to add some more. I brought it because I knew I'd feel bad using all of yours. You want probably like 1/2 an inch of standing olive oil at the bottom of the pot, at med-high heat. Then the flour, we want enough of that to make the roux thick. It's gonna seem too thick at first, but don't worry, it thins out. And you're gonna sit yourself over that pot in the high heat with your bamboo spatula and scrape the bottom of that pot as it gradually gets darker. Keep going until you can barely tell through the steam that it's not totally black, but you're getting afraid you've burned it. I want to be clear though, you are scraping every inch of the bottom of that pot. If you ignore one part too long you'll notice that the flour settles real low in the oil and starts to burn. So you scrape every part off, and you scrape fast. Early on you can scrape slow, but as it gets dark you gotta speed up. Probably wear a mitt too, because the oil is gonna splash and that hurts. As it gets darker I get a little nervous and drop the heat to med.

ADD THE HOLY TRINITY: While you're doing that I'm getting all the Holy Trinity we chopped together in a big bowl. Once it hits dark chocolate brown, I tell you to scooch over in a panicked voice, and then I dump in the holy trinity. Then I ask you to keep mixing it up while I get a glass of water to dump in there to cool it down so the roux doesn't burn in the residual heat. I don't get the glass glass, I get a Mardi Gras glass, obvi. I also lower the heat to med-low. At this step you notice the roux has lightened a lot. It's milk chocolate brown, now that the Trinity is in there. I add another glass or two of water as it cooks down, just to make sure the texture stays like a paste that clings to the vegetables. I tell you to keep mixing it while the Trinity vegetables cook and the onions turn clear. I add a whole mess of minced garlic too.

PUT IT ALL TOGETHER: Anyway now we add that broth. You're really supposed to skim off the foam at the top of it, but I don't always. But you should. I do it in front of you, to set a good example. And then we pour the broth over the trinity and roux trying to keep the chicken scraps from falling into the gumbo. We mix it until the roux disappears into the broth. I realize we forgot to cut up the Andouille. I tell you how annoying it was to try to find Andouille while I was in Alabama for college. There was one brand, Savannah, which was pretty good though if I could find it. People were so weird about Creole stuff in Alabama. I never fully "got" cultural appropriation until I heard rural Alabamians at a crawfish boil talk about my home all while exclusively calling me anti-Creole slurs. We use Kiolbassa's Andouille though, which has a special nostalgia for both of us. I used to wake up at 2am and cook an Andouille sausage to eat as a snack or on bread. It's like the ultimate comfort food. We cut them up into discs and toss them in the gumbo. I've heard that the sausage can soak up some of the extra olive oil from the roux, but I don't really know. Maybe you have to do something special for that to work. We toss the chicken pieces in too. They'll need to cook in the gumbo to soak up the flavor, but also to cook the insides of the chicken. Remember we just cooked the outsides.

SEASON TO TASTE: We also toss in some seasoning. A couple bay leaves, salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, cayenne. You add paprika because you're suspicious of ONLY cayenne. Like won't that just have a front of mouth burn? Some paprika would help to push it backwards. Balance it more, you think. It's sound logic, I might have to do that from now on. Then we leave it to cook for a while. It already smells awesome…

RICE: Wait, shit, we forgot the rice!! Okay, we make the rice. You know the trick right? Like about measuring rice? You can measure the correct amount of water by sticking your knuckle into the water down to the top of the rice. The water should cover the entire thickness of the middle section of your finger. Which is all good and well but you have a fancy Japanese rice cooker so you just use the measuring cup that came with it. I tell you my family used to have a rice pot. Like a normal sauce pan, but we used it specifically for making rice and we sometimes left it on the stove (with a lid on it) in case we needed to reheat the rice for something. I have since heard that this was very unsanitary, but it was tradition in my family, and I just think it was cool. Anyway, we start the rice. The wait is fine honestly, this will force us to let the gumbo stew for a bit. One time, during the 3 week power outage after Gustav, my sibling learned how to make rice on a propane stove. They were so good at it, never burned a single pot. Crazy, right?

LET IT STEW: We start talking about this childhood thing. The heritage thing. You should check out Butterfly Soup, it's this queer visual novel by Brianna Lei. Or, specifically the sequel. It's about being Asian American, and like I would never want to try to claim that experience (esp as a white Creole) but there's a lot in there I think you'd like. It's like, y'know our heritage, our culture... it's not just something we're just given and have to accept. How much did we lose when we transitioned, and our families cut us off? It feels sometimes like if we want to be queer the "right way" then we have to move to the PNW, or San Francisco, or New York and work in tech and act like those terminally-online people on Discord. And if we want to be Creole then we have to be cis and straight and conservative, like your Nana who posts Q-Anon shit on Facebook. But the thing is, we don't JUST inherit our heritage. We are active participants in it. We create our culture as much as we experience it. It doesn't need to be transphobic, y'know. It doesn't need to be racist. We don't need to let ourselves become southern Americans and we don't need to accept creoleness as it was. Ain't WE Creole? It's like the gumbo, y'know, like we got our recipe from our families, but it's OUR recipe now. Our parents passed it to us, but it's our culture and our recipe to pass on. We can decide what it means to be "authentic" gumbo. And we can decide what it means to be "authentically" Creole. And that can mean trans, or gay, or whatever. And you can put the tomatoes from your garden in your gumbo if you fucking want to, it's your gumbo. It's our culture, and that's who we are, isn't it? The culture is us. The rice maker starts singing its beeping rendition of twinkle twinkle little star.

ENJOY: God this gumbo really is so fucking good. My mom really knew what she was talking about, like, sometimes.

[sludgewolf]

Can you do a jade x reader where it's their first kiss in the reader was shocked and left star struck

Here you go! I tried to explore what they were doing during the 3 years trip into the fourth wall, hope you enjoy it ^-^

Warnings: none, just fluff

Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Masterlist

Jade Harley x Reader - Like Bubblegum

You're not sure how long it's been since the scratch, in the start it was fine, after all you'd be traveling at light speed, it'll be over soon but as soon as Jade explained further you started to actually worry for her

you worry for her, constantly using her powers for that long must really be not all that healthy but there isn't much you can personally do to help her, it's not as if you also were a witch of space to take the burden off her shoulders

not even Davesprite seems to be able to help with making this journey go along faster

And as the trip stretched on everyone felt it more and more

The fact is, you're all bored, bored out of your minds. You already messed around with everything on the ship so many times you've lost count and things were getting really stale

Johns birthday was coming over again and as the oldest by timetravel rules Davesprite took the responsibility of preparing the party

this, unfortunately, included playing those cliche party games you saw teens playing in movies as there wasn't any games or movies themselves in the ship

This time you were forced to participate on truth or dare or wear a chicken hat for the rest of the night, huffing you take your place on the floor

the little birthday boy starts by daring Davesprite, who after chugging a whole bottle of mystery juice Egbert mixed for him, he then challenged Jaspersprite, who admitted to still licking himself to bathe.

he ignores everyones discomfort on the subject and with his signature smile he turns to Jade

jade hunches her shoulders thinking it through, she ends up choosing dare

Jaspersprite smirks, promptly daring Jade to drink a mystery blend he would make w anything and everything in the room

she quickly turns her nose at the thought, glancing at the sweaty socks thrown under the table w the half eaten party food and the already warm sodas

she then huffs and chooses truth for the sake of her own gut health

"have you ever..." the feline smirks seemingly already knowing the answer but still wanting to tease her anyways " kissed anyone?" he closes his shinning eyes, going back to his usual bright and cheerful demeanor

Jade blushes bright red and remembers everyone she was stuck over in Hell Murder Island her whole life w her Grandpa and her dog

a few of the guests turns to Jaspers disapprovingly while others snicker under their breath not really understanding her situation

Davesprite tries to make a half assed joke about Jaspers taking tongue baths again and after it fails you try to quickly move things along to take the attention off Jade

The rest of the party when on relatively smoothly, not long after people grow tired and decide to call it a night, leaving you players to clean up after the party

cleaning it all up was relatively quick, disposing of the trash off into a black-hole, courtesy of your dear witch of space

Once it was all done Davesprite and John excused themselves off to their quarters, leaving you and Jade alone on the empty ship's deck

You approach her nervously, hesitant to bring it back up but knowing that if you didn't now you'd never talk about it again and it'd keep eating her up inside

"what Jaspers did was a real dick move you know?" you try, fidgeting with your fingers

"yeah... we never really got along i guess" she sits down and swings her legs through the rails of the forecastle deck "with him being a cat and me being part dog now you know."

" still," you sit by her " I mean, we're only 14, it's normal for us to not have ... you know"

the dead air stretches between you for an uncomfortable long time, scrambling for something to say you blurt out "I mean, I haven't either"

the silence you tried to avoid settles back in, you awkwardly stare at your feet dangling down, regretting having ever opened your mouth

"I uh, you - would you like to... to try?"

her question takes you by surprise but you nod excitedly as your hands shake at your sides, she shyly leans foward with you following suit

your lips meet and goosebumps run up your skin as butterflies bubble in your stomach

the moment is quick and fleeting, she pulls back clearly flustered, incapable of keeping herself from giggling

the taste of bubblegum lingers on your lips, your cheeks are burning bright red and you can't stop smiling

your eyes meet again and you quickly look away giggling amonst yourselves

Jade is finally able to pull herself together enough to speak between giggles "it's more awkward than I thought... but it's not bad" she smiles at you with her cheeks still flustered

you still can't find it in yourself to form a coherent sentence, your heart beating hard in your chest and your hands still tingly from the adrenaline

you can only will yourself to nod along with her, interlacing your fingers with hers and already dreaming of a next time

If you liked this pls reblog and comment so I know to write more like it