#Ross MacDonald one shot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adore-healy · 2 months

Text

Talk!

Warnings: Brief mentions of body confidence (insecure reader); alcohol (mentions of vomit); drugs (mentions of rehab); very descriptive illegal drug use and overdose (injecting/needles, vomit, seizures, and mentions of death), sexual scenes and references; and bad language. Please read at your own risk!

Talk!

Swaying ever so slightly, thanks to the glass of wine you’d downed upon your arrival at the party for some liquid confidence, you cross your legs and pray that whoever is taking so long in the bathroom will speed things along because you’re not sure how much longer your bladder can hold out for.

Leaning against the wall for support, you find yourself immersed in people watching as a form of distraction. It seems as though the landing area of the house was the most ideal make out spot for couples tonight — and you assume that the bedrooms are already taken; so you dare not risk using any of the en suites attached in fear of disturbing someone’s mid-fuck.

A group of lads are sat in a circle on the other side of the landing, engrossed in a card game which heavily involves alcohol as you hear them egg each other on with chants galore. One girl sits on the carpeted stairs, only two down from where you’re standing, and she drunkenly sobs into her phone, desperately apologising to whoever is on the other end — presumably an ex partner — as she begs them to take her back.

Your eyes wander observantly over to a group of girls huddled in a corner and despite your innocence in the drug scene at parties, you know that they are abusing a substance as they take turns to dramatically snort white powder off a car key. You’re instantly drawn to them; each of them dressed in clothing that accentuates their stunning figures, paired with high heels that you’d surely break an ankle in.

Self-consciousness suddenly becomes your most prominent feeling as you look down at the loose-fitting floral playsuit you’d chosen to wear this evening, along with your white low top converse. Wrapping your arms protectively around yourself, you wait as patiently as you possibly can.

As though your silent prayers had been answered, the lock of the door clicks, indicating that somebody is finally exiting the bathroom — although you’re hardly surprised when a girl stumbles out of the doorway and balances herself against the doorframe, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

“Steady, love,” a voice sounds from behind her.

Even in your tipsy haze, you’d know that northern accent anywhere — and as his hand comes to rest on the girls’ hip to support her in her drunken state, there’s no mistaking the recognisable box tattoo inked on the inside of his forearm.

Tears pool in your eyes and cloud your vision as you drink in the girls demeanour. Despite having full awareness that it’s not her fault, you can’t help but feel incredibly bitter towards her.

She’s hot.

Her brunette hair frames her face and the luscious curls fall to halfway down her back; fake tan and make up seemed to have been applied in excess but she was able to pull it off with ease; her lips — clearly injected with filler — were ruby red (although the smeared lipstick across her face doesn’t go unnoticed by you); and her waist is adorned by a matching black leather co-ord, her knee high boots giving prominence to her stature.

She’s really hot. Something that you’re not.

And …

… Matty.

The amount of times you’d spoken his name aloud; shouted it during an argument; whispered it in your sleep; whined it each time he would bring you close to the edge with his fingers, or tongue, or sometimes both, only to deny you of the orgasm you desperately craved; moaned it when he did finally let you come around him.

You wonder if his name would roll off your tongue so easily now.

He looks, dare you jinx it, healthy; adorned in a simplistic but dressy pair of black slacks paired with a plain white shirt (because he thinks it makes him appear ethereal — note: it does) and the outfit is completed with black patent shoes. He looks every inch the award winning successful pop star — and you liked it — until you remembered the girl he was keeping company with.

You hadn’t expected this situation to arise tonight; hadn’t prepared yourself for an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend; let alone seeing him clinging to a girl — a girl who isn’t you.

Upon handing out her birthday party invites this summer, Charli had confidently assured you that Matty wouldn’t be attending. You’re now realising it had perhaps been a ploy to get you here in the first place. Charli knew you wouldn’t miss her birthday, you’d promised her that yourself; but you would have preferred to have done something different between the two of you — or your group of shared girlfriends — to celebrate; a spa day; a bottomless brunch; a trip to the theatre; anything that didn’t require much social interaction (such as the disorderly house party currently taking place).

Dazed and slightly unsteady, you’re at a loss for words as you look up at Matty and the brunette — but your heart need not race with anxiety, your body need not shake with trepidation, your mind need not be perplexed — as the pair wade past you, not bothering to acknowledge your existence.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch the couple shuffle down the stairs and dodge past the sea of people loitering. Matty keeps the girl close to him, her back pressed against his chest, as his fingertips dance on her skin, his nails biting into her flesh as though he fears letting her go.

The urge to vomit overwhelms you — and you don’t think it’s tonight’s consumption of alcohol. Stumbling into the bathroom, you’re sure to lock the door behind you, before grabbing the porcelain basin for stability. Steadying your breaths and grounding yourself with a few ‘you’re okay’s,’you’re able to calm yourself down enough to remember why you’re in here in the first place; your bladder is about to explode.

Seating yourself on the toilet, your body slightly swaying in your intoxicated state, you close your eyes to ground yourself, drifting off in a daydream where times were different.

You were never Matty’s type — not typically. Fans often reminded you of that across various social media platforms, although not all comments were nasty. Some simply stated that you were far too innocent to be dragged into Matty’s world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll; whilst other opinions were cruel, leaving you to question your existence in Matty’s life altogether.

Their bitterness was laughable — until it wasn’t. Your rockstar boyfriend would often come home to you - a shell of your former self - locked away in the bathroom; tearfully obsessing over your looks (although not narcissistically); picking yourself apart; and somehow managing to find non-existent faults.

But ever the charming boyfriend, Matty loved on you every day of your relationship. You were continually reminded of his affection towards you with lavish bouquets of flowers, luxurious gifts, romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and general expressive gestures — often intimate.

However, in spite of Matty’s adoration of you, it was his weakness that had come between you and ultimately resulted in the end of your relationship.

Although grateful for Matty overcoming his heroin addiction, his reliance on drugs had acted as a permanent barrier to a potential future together. You wanted forever with Matty; yearned for him to get down on one knee during an idyllic getaway to pop the question; desired to raise a family with him and experience the highs and lows of parenthood; and eventually grow old together (the only argument being who would be the first to go, because neither of you could live without the other).

It was an unrealistic scenario; you were unable to bring a child; Matty’s child; into a world where his substance abuse was coming first again; and before you. You didn’t condone it but you had accepted his use of recreational drugs — your boyfriend was in a band, after all, and smoking marijuana, snorting lines and popping pills was normalised in his world where creativity was key.

But Matty getting high once a month had soon turned into once a week, and coming home from a writing session in the studio with red eyes which rolled into the back of his head soon became once a day; and spending your evenings alone in your shared apartment whilst you awaited his arrival was proving difficult as you succumbed to the loneliness. Along with the lack of intimacy and the diminished romance, it felt as though you were living separate lives, passing ships in the night.

Late nights, drug dependencies and an obvious lack of appreciation often resulted in slanging matches between the two of you; harsh words thrown around and reverberating off the walls, both viciously biting back and mocking insecurities just to one up each other and instantly regretting it but both too stubborn to apologise. Arguments between you would conclude with slamming doors and estranged sleeping arrangements.

You’d remain in the apartment, clutching the teddy bear he’d won you at a Christmas fair one year — one that held a photo frame which housed a nostalgic photograph of the two of you together after the band had performed their self-titled album in full ten years after it’s release. You’d eventually sob yourself to sleep.

Matty would be cursing to himself and running a frustrated hand through his hair as he’d roam the streets, angrily kicking the ground and scuffing his shoes all whilst contemplating who to call at ungodly hours — before ultimately heading off to find his next fix to alleviate the pain he was causing to himself and everyone around him.

You were both hurting.

“Please y/n, let me come in,” a female voice begs.

You frown, adjusting your eyes as you rewire your drunken brain to return to Planet Earth. You wonder how long you had disassociated for; how long someone was calling your name from outside the bathroom before you finally noticed their presence.

It takes a minute to sort yourself out before you open the door to reveal Charli on the other side. She gives you a solemn but albeit reassuring smile before pulling you in for a hug.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you whisper into her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Charli sighs sadly as she draws back from you to close the door behind her, locking it securely and leaving you both with some privacy.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that y/n, please believe me,” she urges. “George …” she trails off, before explaining how the misunderstanding had occurred.

She doesn’t mean to throw her own boyfriend under the bus and shift the blame. It had been an accidental slip of the tongue during a recording session between the two band members, which resulted in Matty assuming he was already invited — and George didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

“’s fine, ’s not your fault,” you mumble in an attempt to reassure your friend. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him,” you add with a shrug as you sit yourself on the edge of bath.

Charli kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own. It’s a silent comfort, a gesture to say that she’s here for you, one that you’re grateful for.

“Is he —” you begin, sighing heavily as your eyes find the ceiling, struggling to vocalise the words. Charli understands and gives you time to figure out what it is that you want to express. A tear rolls down your cheek and you finally whimper, “Is he clean?”

Charli sighs heavily, the pads of her thumbs gently rubbing reassuring circles on your knuckles.

“He’ll always have a problem with drugs, y/n,” integrity is laced in her voice. “But it’s mostly weed nowadays. He hasn’t touched heroin since rehab, you know that,” she reminds you. “He occasionally does coke, but it’s for creativity, and he’s never alone.”

You nod in understanding. You’re fully aware of the demands of his rockstar lifestyle and how the use of substances heavily influence his song writing and record producing; and using it in the company of the other band members wasn’t really the issue; it was when Matty used it alone and vowed to himself to keep it a secret that it became a problem, lying becoming a huge factor in the breakdown of your relationship.

“He realised,” she pauses, taking an in-breath before revealing, “after losing you, he needed to get his act together. He knew he couldn’t build a life with someone if he was always off his face.”

“Looks like he’s building a life with someone else just fine,” you sigh sadly, your eyes averting towards the bathroom door.

The thought of Matty’s arms around another girl especially in front of you makes you feel incredibly uneasy; your heart physically hurting as though somebody was continuously puncturing it and putting you through consistent pain; your stomach turning at the idea of their hands roaming each other’s bodies.

“Oh babe,” she whispers sadly.

“It’s ok,” you tell her with a small nod. Wiping the tears away from your face, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m ok,” you say, a little more convincingly paired with a smile. “I’ll be fine; it was just a bit of a shock, you know.”

Charli nods in understanding. “You were together for a long time, babe. You’re bound to be upset at seeing him move on with someone else … although,” her speech becomes slurred slightly due to her alcohol consumption and she’s suddenly whispering as though she’s about to reveal a sacred secret, “between you and me, I think he’s just looking for a quick shag.”

Her words, surprisingly, don’t cut deep, and you realise it’s perhaps because she’s drunk and she doesn’t really know she’s saying; or maybe it’s because you know it’s true. There had been no sign of another girl after you; no dating rumours maliciously spread online or in the media, no mention of a female name whenever you met with the rest of the band members and their other halves. Perhaps Matty was in need a good shag — and this girl was the first person willing to provide it for him.

“C’mon,” Charli gives you an encouraging nudge, breaking you out of your own drunken trance. “There’s more vodka and tequila and wine downstairs,” she lists the various alcohol options begging to be consumed. “Let’s get wrecked,” she finishes with a smirk.

It’s a mystery to you how both yourself and Charli have made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece; not once stumbling or losing your balance despite your intoxicated state. Although, you weren’t complaining. Nobody needed to end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or broken leg, especially on Charli’s birthday.

“There’s my girl,” a male voice can barely be heard over the deafening beat of music that pulsates throughout the house. Emerging through the sea of people and heading towards you both is George, his arms outstretched as he makes a beeline for his girlfriend.

“Baby!” Charli yells dramatically as she stumbles into his open arms, nuzzling into his broad chest. She takes a few moments to regain her composure, inhaling his scent; the strong cologne smothering his plain white t-shirt.

“Someone’s having fun!” George exclaims over the music that reverberates around the house. He glances down and presses a kiss to Charli’s head, running a hand comfortingly across her back as they look ever the disgustingly in love couple.

“We are!” she slurs, smirking up at her fiancé, before loudly declaring, “I’m going … that way!” She points theatrically towards the kitchen as she suddenly steps out from George’s embrace to meet his gaze.

“And why’s that, baby?” he asks, pressing his hands gently to her cheeks, cupping her face.

“Because … that’s where the vodka is, silly!” she giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, as she feels as though she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world before she starts swaying on the spot.

“Whoa,” George murmurs softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “‘m not sure you need anymore vodka, babe,” he sniggers at his girlfriend’s drunkenness, although already dreading the raging hangover she’ll experience in the morning. “I best get this one some water,” he tells you, when Charli once again drunkenly collapses against his chest. “Will you be alright?” he asks, peering over her head to meet your gaze, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah … go on, you look after her. I’ll be fine,” you nod in reply, waving him off.

Taking a step down the corridor, Charli flings her arms around George’s neck, causing them both to stumble down the hallway and out of sight into the kitchen, leaving you alone. You watch them for a while, noting the interaction between them — physical touch clearly their love language as they can’t keep they hands off of each other — and despite your happiness for them in their relationship, you can’t help but feel immensely jealous of the love they have for each other.

Taking in your surroundings, you’re indecisiveness would normally kick in around now, unsure of where to go and who to spend your time with, but thanks to the many shots you’d manage to knock back this evening, your anxiety is currently kept at bay as you head into the lounge.

Drunken revellers are scattered all around the room — some making out with each other on the sofas, hips grinding against each other and moans of pleasure filling the air; others are in large gatherings and engaged in booming conversations about anything and everything; party goers sit on the floor playing drinking games; whilst a couple of guests are sprawled, uncomfortably looking, across the sofa clearly sleeping off the early hangover that’s already kicked in.

Panic threatens to rear it’s ugly head as you suddenly become hyperaware of the scenario you now find yourself in currently playing out — and you mentally scold yourself for ever thinking that the alcohol you'd consumed this evening could ever give you enough liquid confidence to mingle at such a social event.

You’re in a room full of people; yet you’re alone. None of these people are your friends, and you’re not looking for a quick fuck, either. You don’t have anyone to talk to; anyone to interact with. Desperately seeking a solution, your eyes dart around the room, yet in only a matter of seconds they seem to find a problem in a darkened corner, and you’re forced to watch an intense interaction unfold.

How was it possible to feel everything and nothing at the same time?

Your heart stops beating within your chest, whilst simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. Dizziness consumes your entire body as though you could collapse at any given moment, but your feet are planted firmly to the ground. Your palms start to sweat and your cheeks glow red, your body’s way of telling you you’re overheating, yet your blood runs cold within your veins.

The scene in front of you burns into your eyes, as though it’s a movie that you must involuntarily watch repeatedly; experiencing the trauma over and over again; because you’re adamant that even when you close your eyes, the image will be etched in your brain, one that you’ll see in your nightmares every night from now on.

Matty’s hands are snaked around the brunette’s waist, his fingertips digging into the fleshiest part of her as his larger, overpowering frame keeps her in place against the magnolia wall. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned three from the top, his inked skin exposed as the woman’s palms rest atop his chest, her digits occasionally finding themselves dancing upon the artwork that adorns his body.

You can’t help your eyes wandering below as it becomes increasingly apparent that Matty’s erection is straining within his trousers, his well-endowed manhood threatening to break free of the material. As he becomes progressively turned on, he thrusts his hips towards her body, and one of his hands comes to rest on her inner thigh.

Based on your previous experiences in make out sessions with Matty, you know his fingers will soon find their way up the leather skirt that clings to the girl’s body, before they seek out her sweet spot and have her coming all over them.

You watch his tongue battle against hers for dominance; and you’re surprised at how easily you play into your own imagination as you’re plagued with thoughts about his mouth; because you know you would have submitted by now, granting Matty permission to take full control of the situation.

The affectionate act would be reassuring, your comfort absolutely paramount to him. With your arms around his neck and your bodies desperately pressing together as though intertwining, Matty would trail sloppy wet kisses along your jawline. One hand resting upon your hip and the other placed on the wall of the darkened corner behind you, you would be trapped, pleasantly, in his company.

As his head lowers towards your neck, he’d pull the strap of your playsuit down, exposing your clavicle. He would greedily eye up your collarbone, before allowing his lips to linger for longer than necessary as he gently sucked at your skin, surely leaving a bruise as a reminder. Expressing your pleasure through a small moan would have his lips crashing against yours instantly, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his breath, his lungs full of tar as you inhaled the tobacco second hand.

However, it wouldn’t be long before your insecurities during intimate acts would rear their ugly heads, getting the better of you, and a small whimper against Matty’s plump lips, as you desperately seek solace, has his hands cupping your face, his confidence blooming as he guides you throughout.

“Doin’ so well for me, love,” he would murmur against your lips. The conviction in his voice soothed you, the passionate kisses made you feel secure, and the tenderness of his touches made you feel safe; as though you have a place, with him, in this world.

“Matty,” is all you’d manage to whimper against him, your body quivering at the slightest touch, his words of praise turning you on.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d encourage more moans to escape you, desperate to hear how good he makes you feel. “Gonna let me touch you?” he always had the gentlemanly habit of asking for your consent, despite you both already knowing the answer.

With his hot breath fanning over your blush cheeks, you’d nod against him, responding with a mumbled, “mmhmm,” and granting him permission to do so, unable to form a coherent response.

Wasting no time, his fingers would brush past you intimately, and he’d be so grateful that the playsuit you chose to wear tonight was loose fitting around your thighs, giving him the easiest access to the ever growing wet patch on your underwear.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, darling,” he would express his approval at the dampness between your legs. “Good girl,” came the praise as he’d edge you, his digits rubbing hard against you.

You would flinch as his thumb circles your sensitivity in repetitive motions. His kisses become wetter and sloppier as you moan into his mouth, his lips smirking at the hushed moans leaving your lips.

Bucking his hips towards you and pushing you further into the corner, ensuring to maintain your dignity and leaving no space between you, would have him breathless against your body.

“Can you feel that, darling? That’s what you do to me.” He’d be hard; only for you.

His thumb and forefinger work in tandem against your bundle of nerves, and with the increased pressure to the circular motion he inflicts upon you, you would be so responsive for him, whimpering and quivering against him, desperate for release.

“Come on darling, you gonna come for me?” he’d ask, rhetorically, because he knows you will. “That’s it, love, give me a good one,” he talks you through it, and you don’t take much more coaxing before you come undone around him, soaking his fingers and coming over the cotton material.

He’d gaze intently, the sight of you post-orgasm incredibly mesmerising to him. He’d allow you a few moments to regain your composure; you regulate your breathing simultaneously with his whispers of encouragement, words of praise, and affectionate touches guaranteed to soothe you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come back to me,” he would press a kiss to your cheek, bringing you down from your high and back to reality, his admiration for you soaring. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people at the house party, Matty somehow had the ability to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

He anchored you.

But you drowned anyway.

“Come on, darling,” a soft voice from behind you whispers.

A tentative pair of hands come to rest on your hips, fearful of startling you. Normally, despite your timid personality, you would react to unwanted male attention, uninvited hands touching your body, but it’s Ross, and you know you’re safe with him.

“Come on,” he repeats. “You don’t need to see this.”

He manages to guide you out of the lounge and into the hallway; although you’re not quite sure how your brain and limbs are working in tandem. It’s as though your feet won’t move; stuck to the spot and unable to drag yourself away from the torment unfolding before your eyes; yet you can’t move quick enough, your body urging you to leave the horror behind.

Alcohol courses through your veins and you wish the depressant had acted as a sedative but instead it’s dramatically heightened your feelings. Your stomach is turning at the sight of Matty passionately making out with the brunette as though they were a couple of horny teenagers, desperate to get their end away.

Music thumps around you, drum and bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room and you’re pretty sure that your pounding heart is simultaneous with the fast breakbeats, both working in unison.

Your knees begin to buckle beneath you, unable to support yourself as adrenaline pulses through your body. Desperately trying to swallow air into your lungs, your breath hitches around the tears that flow freely down your blush cheeks.

The oxymoron of your emotions is terrifying and there’s too much to contend with; it’s as though you’re in a dream like state — a nightmare — and a passing thought of, “Is this the equivalent to being high?” crosses your mind.

“Breathe, y/n,” Ross gently encourages as he steadies your body against his own. “Just breathe.”

You can feel people staring, eyes watching intently as they nosily observe your demeanour. They probably assume you're drunk or high; you don’t really care; you’re unable to concentrate on anything other than Matty at the moment.

“’s loud,” you whimper.

Cigarette smoke and marijuana fills the air, hustle and bustle continuing around you as Ross comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the party guests loitering in the hallway, as he attempts to protect you, maintaining your dignity in your vulnerable state.

“What was that, love?” he asks, lowering his ear to your mouth in an attempt to hear you around the electronic dance music that blares through the speakers.

“It’s loud!” you cry out again, shaking your head vigorously as though to rid the noise around you; the chatter amongst friends, the laughter between guests; the deafening music; your own thoughts. At the risk of looking as if having a breakdown, your place your hands over your ears, covering them.

Your eyes dart towards two figures fast approaching and even through your tears you instantly recognise them to be Carly and Adam.

“What’s happened?” Carly asks, obvious concern lacing her voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fiercely shake your head once more. “It’s too loud!” you sob this time because why does nobody understand?! Why is everybody talking so loud?

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Carly reassures you, gently placing a supportive hand on the small of your back.

You’re too in your own head to realise that the other two men in your presence exchange a glance, Ross pulling Adam aside to fill him in on Matty’s antics tonight.

Pulling you close, Carly attempts to protect you from the continuous stares of the other party goers, and upon overhearing the conversation taking place behind you between her husband and his friend, simultaneous with her reassuring words of, “It’s ok, darling, just breathe,” she makes an efficient decision to take you into the kitchen.

Carly understands, completely, and takes control of the situation. Leading you towards the corner counter, she encourages you to rest your swaying body against the unit for some sort of stability. The kitchen, filled with pop-stars, is almost like a safe haven for you — these people were important, and you weren’t, so they had no time to focus on you and your breakdown. They didn’t care.

“Here,” a voice murmurs softly, a glass of water offered to you in an outstretched hand. It takes you a few seconds for your blurry eyes to focus, your body swaying slightly, before you realise that it’s Adam.

You reach forward, tentatively taking the glass of liquid between both of your hands, attempting to steady your hold on the object which proves to be difficult with your shaking frame. You bring the water to your lips and start to sip it, before increasing the pace in which you drink and taking larger gulps.

“Slowly,” Carly whispers, placing her hand over yours on the glass and encouraging you to take your time. “That’s it, y/n. Nice and slowly,” she praises you as you take smaller sips once again.

You finally regain yourself, tears no longer freely flowing — but your cheeks are stained with track marks where you’d previously been crying. The reverberating music doesn’t seem quite as harsh against the walls in the kitchen; and it’s perhaps the most peaceful room in the house, despite there being plenty of celebrities surrounded by cigarette smoke and noisy chatter amongst friends.

Placing the glass down on the kitchen counter, you turn to Carly and Adam. “He … there was …” you attempt to explain yourself but you’re unable to vocalise the horror that you had witnessed — Matty making out with another girl.

“’s ok,” Carly intervenes, recognising your struggle.

Your bottom lip trembles again and it shatters Carly’s heart that you feel this way, your emotions heightened and running away with you — upset; angry; distressed; inferior; betrayed. She gives Adam a knowing look, and he too is burning with rage.

“Just … wait here,” Carly tells you softly, her hands coming to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, ok?” she assures you, softly cupping your face in her hands as she wipes away the remnants of salty tears.

You don’t really comprehend what she’s saying to you; everything is a surreal blur — but you nod anyway. As you stare into space, you hear Adam whisper hiss, “I’ll kill him,” under his breath, as he and Carly head off, presumably back to the lounge.

And just like that, you’re alone, again.

With alcohol increasing your sensitivity to everything, the lingering taste of tequila is still prominent on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke — once a comforting scent when it came to Matty — and marijuana fills the air, making you feel lightheaded, and you know it will take at least three hair wash routines before you get the smell out.

Your eyes avert around the room as though you’re in a dream-like state. In body, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere. You observe the other pop-stars who are loitering and talking, not giving a fuck about you — and you also note the amount of bottles that clutter the countertops; some beverages opened and half drank, the sides inundated with empty ones, and a few completely untouched.

“You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”

In your dazed state, you’re not sure who is talking to who right now. You lazily turn your head in the direction of where the voice had come from, to see a young man sitting on the kitchen island opposite you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that he’d aimed his comment at you.

He was alone, too.

He’s cute, you note. Dressed in a moth-bitten black knitted jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, he mirrors Matty’s iconic grunge look and it’s enough to make you want to fuck him on the kitchen counter in front of everyone; and vomit at the sight of him; at exactly the same time.

His dangling legs are swinging beneath him as he fidgets atop of the counter to get comfortable, his fingers drumming against the granite surface.

Ignoring your initial liking to him looking every inch the boyfriend, you reach forward, opting for the bottle of wine sat next to the him, shrugging off his comment and not once acknowledging his existence. You didn’t have the time of day for any man right now.

Taking a swig from the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio in your hand, you close your eyes, still trying to rid yourself of the image of Matty embracing another girl.

“Seriously, babe,” he tries again, “You look upset … and wine definitely won’t help you,” he tries again.

You lower the bottle, although it’s still close enough to your lips that it’s practically dancing against them, as you get ready to down another mouthful of the alcohol once this conversation concludes.

“And what will?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him.

“Something stronger … if you get my drift,” he raises an eyebrow.

You know what he’s implying, but you choose to ignore him. You raise the bottle back to your lips, but something stops you — the guy before you wraps his hand around your wrist, preventing you from drowning your sorrows further.

“Drugs?” you ask rhetorically, mirroring his raised eyebrow at his obviousness.

He shrugs at you although you can tell he becomes slightly shifty, his eyes wandering to make sure nobody had heard you. Delving into his pocket, he pulls out a small packet containing a white powdery substance and throws it down onto the island in front of you.

“’s your call,” he murmurs with a nod. “You can have this one on the house,” his eyes flit between the package and you.

Anxiousness is your forefront emotion as you gaze down at the illegal substance. You weren’t naive to the reality of drug-dealing. The first batch this guy had just offered to you for free was a ploy to get you hooked; to keep you coming back for more as a regular client.

But in turn, it meant addiction; an illness. Being with Matty had shown you an ugly side of drugs that you could have only ever imagined. At the time of being your boyfriend, Matty had fallen into a world of lies and deceit, ultimately resulting in a failed relationship.

You shake your head, “No, thank you though.”

The man opposite you furrows his brows.

“Are you sure? I have plenty and … well, it’s just you seem pretty upset and it will make you feel better. I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s boy trouble?” he asks, almost knowingly.

You don’t respond; you didn’t want this man — a complete stranger who you'd known less than five minutes — psychoanalysing you.

“You know, everyone here is doing drugs,” he informs you in a whisper, stating it matter of factly. “These people; they might seem like they’re put together and better than everyone else, but the truth is, they need to take their pain away, too. Trust me, I can help you.”

Registering his words, your eyes avert back to the package.

“What … what is it?” you ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Smack,” he answers without hesitation. “Looks like you need it to work pretty quick as well,” he adds, before taking another object out of his pocket and placing it on the counter beside the drug. “The quickest way to get your high is by cooking it, and then injecting it, preferably into a vein,” he tells you as you look down at the syringe now on the kitchen side.

It would be plain to anyone watching this interaction that you’re unknowledgeable; possessed by innocence in this life. Sure, you’d experimented with the socially accepted substances; alcohol (many of nights had ended with you retching into a toilet bowl and nursing a hangover into the next day), and smoking tobacco cigarettes; but otherwise, you’d lead a pretty sheltered life, for which you were grateful for.

“How?” you ask, before clarifying, “How do I cook it?”

The attractive guy smirks back at you. Perhaps he thought you were cute? Or maybe he was lonely and wanted the company? Then again, it could be because he was grooming a young, vulnerable girl into taking an illegal substance which would hopefully have her hooked and coming back for more.

You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague your mind, your anxiety levels peaking as you realise just how unsure you are of this; and how alone you are at the moment.

Matty was too busy trying to get fucked by a pretty model; Ross, Adam and Carly had all left you to go God knows where; and knowing them, George and Charli were probably shagging in the flowerbed at the end of the garden.

But ultimately, you were alone.

“’s easy,” he mumbles, jumping down from the side and walking over to the kitchen counter where you were stood, cornering you between the units.

He’s confident, but not cocky or threatening, and right now you feel seen; heard; and maybe even safe in this man’s presence right now. He reaches towards the cutlery drawer next to you, pulling out a silver spoon.

“Firstly, we need a cooker and a heat source,” he shows you the cutlery in his hand, although you already know it’s a slightly amateur move when he hasn’t provided his own equipment in his drug sharing ritual — but you’ll let him off since you’re no expert either.

With his back turned towards everyone else in the kitchen, he’s left to secretly pour the contents of the plastic bag onto the spoon. He steadies his hand, before delving into his pocket with the other and reaching for a lighter. Placing it underneath the spoon, he begins to melt the heroin, and you watch on, fascinated as the powder gradually turns into a liquid.

“Take it for me,” he gestures towards the spoon.

You do as he says, trying your best to steady your grip on the handle of the cutlery.

The man turns to discretely observe the other party goers in the kitchen and he’s satisfied when some of the guests had filtered out of the room — a few of them having decided to go into the garden — and those who were remaining were still just as uninterested in you both.

“We can put it in this now,” he tells you, and he draws the liquidated substance into the syringe, filling it with the drug. “I need your shoe lace,” he nods down to your fresh white converse.

“Why?” you ask.

He smirks — although you’re not sure if it’s his way of flirting or if he’s amused by your lack of knowledge and obvious inexperience. It’s probably the latter, you think.

“Because …” he begins, placing the needle on the kitchen counter top before kneeling down in front of you and continuing, “We need a tie off.”

His words don’t make much sense to you as he makes light work of untying your shoe, removing the lace through the eyelets with ease. It seems almost affectionate; but then again, you were able to romanticise most things in your life. Perhaps it’s fate that you and the guy who’s teaching you to inject heroin had met this evening. Everything happens for a reason.

He stands up again, towering over your frame, the shoe lace held loose within his hand.

“I need to tie this around your arm,” he tells you, brushing the material across your skin.

Tying the shoe lace tightly around your arm, he then uses his two forefingers to tap against your skin a few times, encouraging the blood flow to make a vein become more prominent.

“If you inject into a vein, you’ll feel the effects quicker,” he whispers to you, as he runs his fingers across a protruding blue blood vessel. “You’ll get high before you even realise it.” Taking the needle from the kitchen counter, he holds it towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asks gently, an eyebrow slightly raised as he observes your nervous features.

Were you ready?

You think back to the series of events that had occurred throughout the course of the night. Seeing Matty with another girl — a hot brunette that was totally his type — had destroyed you. It made your heart physically ache; shattering into millions of tiny pieces; and he just didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t even noticed you all evening.

Despite his friends rallying around you, you knew it was perhaps out of guilt and pity. Did they really love you, or did they see you as a weak and vulnerable ex-girlfriend who needs babysitting because she can’t control her emotions?

Heroin had been a welcomed escape for Matty throughout his time of using — it distracted his brain from everything bad that was happening around him — the drug was there, begging for him to use it to ease his pain and make life more bearable.

What had only ever meant to start off as experimenting, part and parcel of being a rockstar, soon turned into a severe dependence on the drug; an addiction; resulting in constantly lying to those he loved, relationship breakdowns, arguments between family and friends and ultimately, losing you.

But heroin relieved Matty of his emotional pain and torment, even if only temporary and perhaps you needed a distraction tonight, something to take away your pain — even if only temporary.

One time wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m ready.”

Matty’s moans are soft and delicate as his back arches into the fabric sofa, the hot woman’s lips nipping at his neck as she straddles his thighs, clearly turning him on. She grinds her hips against him and he bucks himself towards her, cursing the clothing that gets in the way of his ever growing erection.

“Fuck,” he groans softly.

He doesn’t care who hears him, other drunken revellers finding themselves in similar positions around the house, and for those who aren’t looking for a quick fuck tonight are too drunk or high to get laid anyway. He seems to be the least important pop star in the room — and for once, he thinks he likes it.

“Fuck,” he moans again, when she sucks at his neck. “Fuck, yeah,” he bucks his hips towards her again as her tequila tasting lips no doubt leave a harsh love bite on his pale skin, a bruise already forming with the intensity of her actions.

“Can’t,” she suddenly groans against him.

Matty understands, immediately.

“Upstairs?” he questions.

He’s sure — so certain — that she wants to take this further but can’t because they’re in the living room — able to be gawked at by others; which is odd, he thinks, because she hasn’t been shy about where their make out sessions have been taking place so far. She hasn’t cared who has been watching.

“Stop,” she whisper hisses, before making her voice more firm. “Stop, Matty. Need … need t’ … stop,” she tells him, before pulling herself away. She can barely look him in the eye as she runs a hand through her tangled hair.

“‘s wrong?” he asks.

She shrugs before removing herself from his lap. There’s not much dignity for Matty as his erection strains against the black tailored trousers he’d chosen for this evening — and there’s no cushion or throw to cover his embarrassing situation.

“You ok?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I … I need to get home … to … my …” she stutters, almost embarrassed as reality hits hard.

“To your what?” he asks breathlessly, giving a deathly stare as his patience is beginning to wear thin and his nostrils flare because he has a horrible feeling where this conversation is heading.

“To my … partner,” she adds, finally allowing the words to leave her lips. She smooths the black leather skirt down her legs properly, the material having ridden up her thighs to expose her hips during the steamy session.

“You … you have … have a boyfriend?” Matty splutters, as they make eye contact with each other; the first time since the woman had pulled away from his embrace.

“Husband,” the younger girl corrects him, the disco lights suddenly reflecting off the wedding band that adorned her ring finger — a harsh reminder to him that he was being used. Biting her lip mischievously, she cruelly tells him, “Just because you’re a rockstar, doesn’t mean I was going to let you take me home. It was just a few kisses here and a few touches there. ’s no big deal. I … we had an argument and I did … things … this … in the heat of the moment.”

“No big deal?” he repeats her words, shaking his head and furrowing his brows in disbelief.

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs unapologetically, pulling her bra strap back over her shoulder before standing up from her position on the sofa and heading towards the doorway of the lounge. She doesn’t even turn back as she leaves and Matty emits a breathy laugh, almost shocked that he, Matty Healy, would be leaving the party tonight without a girl to fuck.

It’s humiliating for him — and his dick is still relatively hard, the tip surely leaking with his salty pre-come. He sighs heavily, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to ignore the twitching in his pants.

He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, before reaching towards his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighter. Taking a drag, he leans back against the sofa again, finally satisfied as his erection eventually begins to soften.

“No less than you deserve,” George suddenly mutters as he pushes himself away from the wall where he had watched the scene unfold. He draws in a deep breath from his own cigarette as he approaches Matty.

“Fuck sake,” Matty groans, embarrassed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before taking another drag. It had been degrading enough for Matty to experience being mugged off by the younger girl, let alone one of his best friends having watched the interaction.

“Dick,” George murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, before flicking some ash from the cigarette still held loosely between his first and middle fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Matty looks puzzled at his friend.

“What did you call me?” he asks breathily, in disbelief.

“I said,” George inhales, stepping closer, standing over his friend, and giving him a sarcastic smile, “You’re a dick.”

“Oh fuck off,” Matty quickly brushes it off as banter.

“’s a dick move,” George repeats once again with a shrug, although his tone is serious and filled with sincerity. He backs away slightly, standing upright once again as he drinks in Matty’s pathetic demeanour, shaking his head once again.

With the attitude and lack of humour, Matty realises that George is being serious. He’s upset about something, clearly pissed off — and now he’s worried.

“You knew she’d be here,” George tells him, pointing his forefinger towards Matty. “You fucking knew!” he grits his teeth, angrily, before turning around and running a hand over his face.

Matty stands up, prepared to square up to his best friend. Despite the fact that the boys never really argued much — and nothing was ever too serious between them — alcohol consumption and the fact that Matty’s really pissed off would be motive enough for them to have a few harsh words between each other.

“She saw you, Matty!” George yells, turning to face the other man again before grabbing at the collar of his white shirt. There’s no opportunity for Matty to react or defend himself as George shouts at him once again, pushing him against the wall and backing him into the corner.

The feeble one sided brawl earns a few concerned looks from the other party-goers as some guests slyly watch the commotion between the two men unfold, whilst others are more obvious, eager in their observations as they gossip amongst each other.

“She fucking saw you with another girl and it’s breaking her heart! Everything she ever did for you … she stood by you when everyone else fucked off and left you!” George shouts into Matty’s face, harshly reminding him who was there for him during his time of need.

“Who?” Matty asks, aghast. “Who saw me?”

George shakes his head in disbelief, loosening the grip on the collar of Matty’s shirt.

Inhaling another drag from his cigarette, George looks Matty up and down, regaining his composure.

“Who, George?” Matty repeats his question. “Who saw me?”

“She saw everything; y/n saw everything,” George closes his eyes as he speaks, almost pained on your behalf.

“She … she saw …” Matty stutters, releasing an in-breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The mere mention of your name has his heart pounding within his chest, his palms sweating from anxiousness, his knees almost buckling beneath him.

So many questions were whizzing around his head right now.

He didn’t even know you’d be here; was none the wiser that you’d been invited.

Were you here alone or did you have company?

Why hadn’t you made it clear to him that you were here?

He hadn’t already seen you — had he?

Matty knew you — he fucking knew you. A party like this — this wasn’t your scene. Or had he just lacked so much attention this evening that you were able to bypass him at any given opportunity?

Because if he had have seen you, he would have made it his priority to have had you straddling his hips; your mouth suckling his prominent collarbones and leaving a permanent reminder, your cunt he’d be edging with his fingers, before your pretty lips would be begging to be wrapped around his cock.

Not the woman he can’t even remember the name of.

Guilt is his forefront emotion; a horrific feeling of shame overcoming him as he can only sympathise with how you must be feeling — you’d seen him in the company of another girl — a girl that wasn't you. Granted; it was a terrible context but it was still one that he could not excuse or condone — but the only reason he’d had a sleazy make out session was to distract himself from you. He had to find you and tell you.

Arriving at the party tonight, Matty had felt lonely — all of his friends were coupled up.

Ross and Chloe.

George and Charli.

Adam and Carly.

Matty and … nobody.

“She … she’s … here?” Matty finally chokes out.

George nods slowly, finally having calmed himself down as he seeks out the ash tray that stands on the coffee table behind him.

“Where … where is she?” Matty asks urgently, mirroring George’s actions and following suit as he too, stubs out his own cigarette.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you, mate,” George tells him regrettably.

“I need to talk to her! I need to …” he shouts desperately, making a beeline for the door of the lounge, but George’s broad frame comes to stand in front of him and is able to stop him from going any further.

“You need to calm down first, yeah,” he begins, placing a hand on his chest, but Matty quickly interrupts.

“I am calm!” his tone contradicts him — although George knows his raised voice isn’t from a place of anger at you — but more so frustration towards himself.

“You’re angry,” George clarifies; it’s a statement, not a question.

Matty nods in agreement, knowing there’s no denying his emotions, before reassuring his friend, “Not at her, though.”

“I know,” George sighs, his eyes finding the ceiling as he contemplates allowing Matty to find you — but he’s really not sure that’s a good idea right now considering you had been having a breakdown no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m not … don’t want t’ churn out any drama,” Matty runs his hand frustratedly through his hair, clearly at a loss. His eyes wander intensely around the room, unsure of how to approach the situation. “I just … want to make it right, ’s all,” he adds, desperation evident in his voice.

Matty knows — he fucking knows — he has to make this right. He doesn’t want to be finding a meaningless fuck at a party. It’s you — and only you — that he wants — and despite the breakdown of your relationship that was his fault, the history between you, the chemistry; it’s always you.

“Ok,” George sighs, defeated. He steps aside, allowing Matty the freedom he desires to find you, but he’s stopped instantly when Carly appears at the door frame, her cheeks blush and her features panicked as she catches her breath.

“Carly?” George questions, mirroring the concern etched on her face.

“What?” Matty’s husky voice asks. “What’s happened?” he repeats, urgency evident in his tone when he drinks in Carly’s solemn expression.

Time stands still for a few moments — George’s expression is full of confusion, his brows furrowed, and Matty’s stomach drops, his palms beginning to sweat and he’s worried — because he knows whatever she’s about to reveal isn’t good news.

Carly sighs heavily, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she finally utters the words, “It’s y/n.”

“Get out the fuckin’ way!” Matty’s voice can be heard as he forces his way through the sea of onlookers before he’s eventually pushed himself to stand at the forefront of the crowd, George and Carly hot on his heels as they both come to stand behind him.

The sight that greets Matty is one that he never, ever, thought he would see; and he wishes, so desperately, that this is a nightmare and he’s about to wake up any second now; but not all things were possible.

He’s certain, one hundred percent, that his heart stops beating once he claps eyes on you; fear and anxiety consuming his entire being as he suddenly feels nauseous, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and his legs wobbling like jelly.

Your body is passed out on the kitchen floor; limp and lifeless.

“No,” a strangled cry leaves Matty’s lips, as George’s hand comes to firmly rest on his shoulder.

It takes a moment before his brain can signal for his legs to move, shock taking over him as he looks down towards your unconscious body placed in the recovery position against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no, no,” he continues breathlessly as he lowers himself beside you. “She … is she …” he chokes on a sob, grabbing for your wrist. Placing two fingers on your pulse point, he sobs frantically once again, “I can’t … she hasn’t …”

“She has a pulse,” a voice sounds from the other side of your body.

Ross.

“She …” Matty stutters.

“It’s faint but that ambulance needs to hurry up,” Ross speaks more to himself — but it’s a hint to Adam as well — who Matty now realises is on the phone to a call handler. Adam rests a palm on the kitchen countertop, remaining calm as he passes on the crucial information to whoever is on the other end of his mobile, to ensure help arrives as soon as possible for you.

“What’s happened?” Matty cries out, not even attempting to compose himself in front of the onlookers as his eyes scan your features for any sign of visible injury.

There’s nothing upon his initial inspection; his eyes wandering briefly over your body — no bruises or bleeding; nothing that would indicate any valid reason as to why you’re passed out on the kitchen floor and unresponsive to everything going on around you.

“She’s …” Ross begins, “She collapsed. She’s taken …” he gulps nervously, unable to continue.

“What? What has she …” Matty begins, but he’s unable to vocalise the rest of his question as his eyes avert around the room, looking for any clues as to what substance you had abused.

Much to his horror, he notices the needle, spoon and empty packet that lays only a meter away from your unconscious body. The last straw for Matty is seeing the tie-off around your arm, and quickly recognising it as a shoe lace, he confirms his suspicions as his gaze wanders over your converse with the missing lace.

He shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of the thought of you injecting an illegal substance to numb the pain that he caused tonight. George was right; this was his fault.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, running an agitated hand through his hair.

It’s Ross who takes the lead on trying to stir you as he gently rolls you onto your back and applies a harsh stimulus, rubbing his knuckles along your sternum. “Come on, y/n,” he encourages. Adrenaline coursing through his own veins, he increasingly adds more pressure, no doubt leaving bruises along your chest.

“Come on, darling,” Matty whimpers, focusing his attention entirely on you as he instead runs a hand through your hair. It’s a reassuring gesture, one to let you know that you’re not alone, despite Matty knowing you’re completely unaware of your surroundings and the situation you’re currently in.

“Do you have any Naloxone?” Ross is confident he already knows the answer now that Matty himself is clean of heroin, but he clutches at straws anyway in any attempt to revive you, not once stopping applying the stimulus to your chest.

Matty shakes his head.

“No,” he swallows, his hand still stroking your hair affectionately.

If only it had been that simple. For once, he curses himself for no longer possessing the cruel and life changing heroin addiction he’d once been a victim to; maybe then he could provide an antidote that would reverse the opioid overdose.

“Alright everyone, out!” a voice suddenly yells.

Carly.

Despite her smaller frame and her sobriety, she’s forceful in her words.

“Come on, we don’t need an audience!” she speaks again, encouraging the guests to leave — although not giving them much of a choice as Charli and George come to her aid to create a barrier, ushering them away from the kitchen.

“We’ll keep them away and … entertained,” George murmurs, considering a choice of words, although he’s not sure either Matty or Ross are taking on board what he’s saying, understandably preoccupied with helping you. Together, the three of them ensure they maintain your dignity as much as possible.

There’s a few groans, some of the party goers wishing to be nosy at the scene unfolding. If Matty wasn’t so consumed by your unconscious state, terrified of your fate, he thinks he would have been physically violent towards some of these people, prepared to start a brawl with anyone who was revelling at your position and the drama unfolding.

“s ok, love,” Matty whispers softly, although he’s not sure if he’s attempting to reassure you or himself when there’s still no inkling of you coming round just yet.

“Fuck sake,” Ross mutters, as he observes the equipment sprawled across the floor nearby. His eyes averting to the shoe lace around your arm, he shakes his head, before saying, “Someone’s helped her to do this. She wouldn’t know where to start.” He gestures towards the equipment before returning to rubbing your sternum once again.

Matty whimpers, knowingly.

It was true; respectfully, you had no idea how to administer any form of illegal drug or how to even get hold of any such substance. Even when Matty himself was actively using, he made sure you were nowhere near heroin — or any other drug for that matter. The fact that the equipment littered around your unconscious body had indicated that you’d cooked a drug before injecting it made both Matty and Ross feel uneasy — another person had played a part in this.

“C’mon y/n,” Ross repeats.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime before any success comes of the stimulus Ross applies but a sudden choked splutter indicates your regain of consciousness.

However, there’s no time to waste as the two men kneeling at your frame quickly realise they need to roll you into the recovery position again. You emit a small whinge at the action, taking a dislike to being moved so suddenly before you vomit violently on the cold tiles beneath you.

“’s it darling, there we go,” Matty comforts you, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He shuffles himself as close to you as he can possibly be, as though his presence alone could make you better, and not once fazed by the sick that you eject.

“That’s it baby, let it all out,” he encourages, brushing your hair away from your face as Ross rests his hand gently atop of your back as you uncontrollably empty the contents of your stomach.

“Ambulance will be another twenty minutes or so,” Adam murmurs softly as he comes to kneel beside you as well.

Keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he looks between Ross and Matty as they try to deal with the copious amount of vomit. Adam shakes his head, knowing just how touch and go this situation could be for you now, and swooping in with one hand full of kitchen roll, he wordlessly begins cleaning up around you.

Your bout of sickness seems never ending and it’s obvious that the alcohol you’d consumed in high volume has also played a huge part in why your reaction to the heroin you’d injected was so severe, your body rejecting the liquids you’d downed that night.

“That’s it, good girl,” Matty praises you softly, once you finally stop being sick, gently resting his palm on your face, skimming your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, how much have you taken?” Ross speaks next, hoping for some sort of response from you, although as he’d expected; nothing.

Instead, you let out a whimper, softly beginning to cry.

“’s alright darlin’,” Matty assures you, continuing to stroke your hair. “I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Did you take all of it, y/n?” Ross tries a different approach, reaching out for the empty syringe that had previously contained the contents of the illegal drug. There was no knowing just how much you had taken but Ross realised he had to consider the worst case scenario — that the syringe had been full.

There’s no answer once again. Unbeknown to what is happening to you at the moment, all you can do is express your dislike at the situation you’re in through a cry and an agitated moan; but at least you’re conscious. You’re alive.

“Hey, ’s ok,” Ross attempts to calm you down. “We’re gonna help you.”

The relief that both the men had felt over you being awake — although not alert — is short lived, however, when your cold and pale body goes limp once more, your breathing shallow as you fade back into unconsciousness against the tiles.

“No,” Matty raises his voice slightly in an attempt to keep you awake. “No, no. Stay with me y/n,” he encourages, gently shaking your frame.

Adam stands from his kneeling position on the floor, talking to the call handler with urgency to make them aware you’d once again slipped into a state of unconsciousness, leaving only the other two men towering over you.

Your lifeless body suddenly goes stiff before your limbs starting jerking and your eyes begin rolling into the back of your head and it takes Matty a few seconds to realise you’re having a seizure. Understanding completely, both Matty and Ross allow your body to move freely, not once restricting your uncontrollable movements.

‘Hann!” Matty shouts.

With Adam acutely aware of the severity of the situation, he passes on the vital information to the call handler once more, explaining that you’re experiencing a seizure. Ross’s eyes flit between everyone in the room; panic being the forefront emotion as your body continues to shake; compassion for Matty as he watches this nightmare unfold; all whilst wishing he could intercept the phone call mid-air to hear what is being said.

“That’s it darling, ride it out,” Matty reassures you. “‘m here, sweetheart, ‘m right here.”

“Fuck,” Ross mutters underneath his breath.

He removes the jacket he had been wearing throughout the course of the evening and places it carefully beneath your head, supporting you against the cold, hard tiles.

“Where’s that bloody ambulance?!” he shouts to Adam, as he checks his watch.

“ETA of ten minutes,” Adam responds without a beat.

“Ten minutes?” Ross questions rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief, as he notes the time of your continuing seizure by tapping away aggressively on his phone.

“She needs them now!” Matty yells, a sob escaping his lips.

After three minutes, your body begins to regulate itself, your flailing limbs slowing as your previously tense body begins to relax, indicating your seizure had finally come to an end.

“That’s it darling, good girl,” Matty encourages once again. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comb through your hair once again, soothing you as you shiver and whimper against the cold tiles. “‘m right here, darling, ‘m not going anywhere.”

It feels like a lifetime, but after another seven minutes and true to their word, the distant sound of sirens can be heard — but Matty still can’t bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

Since arriving at the hospital, you’d been cruelly snatched away from Matty, wheeled to your own private room where you received the treatment needed for a heroin overdose, leaving Matty, Ross and Adam in the family waiting area, none of them able to seek solace amongst the lacklustre slate walls, or the strong smell of disinfectant in the air.

The scene continues to play in Matty’s mind, all too easy to remember. When the paramedics had arrived, they quickly tended to your lifeless body, as the other three men watched on.

The hushed begs of, “Please help her,” and whispered prayers of, “Please please please,” had escaped Matty’s lips as the older female paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose to help your breathing.

She was a seemingly maternal lady, no judgement passed despite it being quickly obvious that you’d taken an illegal substance tonight, and she kindly told Matty, “We’re going to do everything we can to help your girlfriend.”

He didn’t correct her — although if it were different circumstances, he would have taken pride in people assuming you were a couple; as though it was obvious to the outside world that you both have an unbreakable connection to each other.

The younger male paramedic calmly asked questions — some unanswerable — as he began injecting your body with a substance — which Matty assumes is Naloxone; to reverse the effects of the opioid overdose.

What was your name? Which drug had you taken? How much of the drug had you taken? How much alcohol had you had to drink over the course of the evening? Did you have any allergies? How long did your seizure last? How much had you vomited?

Matty could barely think straight as he was being quizzed by the ambulance crew, although it almost felt as though it was an interrogation. The finger of suspicion would probably be pointed at him as to where you’d acquired an illegal drug, but he didn’t care about that right now; his priority was you.

When the paramedics were able to move you to the ambulance, they did, and Matty accompanied you all the way to the the nearest Accident and Emergency Department who would be more equipped to help you, whilst Adam drove himself and Ross to the hospital, following closely behind.

It had been agreed that Charli, George and Carly would stay at home on the understanding that they would be contacted if there was any change to your condition — and having ushered the guests away from the party, sending them elsewhere to continue their celebrations, the three of them were on hand if they were needed at short notice.

“Matty, just … just calm down, yeah?” Ross murmurs.

Matty emits a sarcastic, breathy laugh, continuing to pace aimlessly around the room, having done so since arriving. Running a hand through his curls, something that signals his distress, he repeats the words in a murmur.

“Calm down?” he scoffs, scuffing his shoes against the light grey flooring. “Calm down?!” he raises his voice, turning on his heel to see the other two men sat on the blue cushioned chairs.

“She’s strong, mate,” Adam reassures him, his knee bouncing and indicating his own nervousness at the situation. “She’ll be ok,” he adds, although even he’s having difficulty at being optimistic at this given moment.

“She overdosed,” Matty’s voice cracks, the image of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor, vomit surrounding you, your body seizing, cruelly plaguing his mind. “She … I thought she was …” he can’t vocalise the word, unable to finish his sentence in fear of it ringing true. “Fuck!” he swears angrily, his bawled fist making contact with the wall.

“Come ‘ere!” Ross yells, using all of his strength to pull Matty away, preventing him from punching the wall a second time. Despite Matty’s pathetic attempt to fight against his friend, fists hammering into his chest, Ross’s large hands come to rest on his face, forcing eye contact between them. “Listen … listen to me!” he encourages in a raised tone. “You need to be strong for her, Matty, y’hear me?” Ross’s own voice is thick with emotion.

Ross embraces Matty as another sob escapes his lips, and not once does he attempt to hide the intense emotions he was battling tonight — fear, worry, and anxiety all at the forefront.

“I shouldn’t …” he breaks off. “She shouldn’t … shouldn’t even … be here,” he chokes out, his obvious distress preventing him from forming a coherent sentence. “’s my fault, ’s all my fault,” he cries into Ross’s shoulder. “All the times I’ve used and I’m still here and she …” but he’s stopped when Ross pulls away from him, resting his hands on Matty’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” he warns, unwilling to comprehend the turn in conversation. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is not your fault! She was … unlucky,” he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, trying to shake the thought. “She went to the wrong person … people …” he furrows his brows, realisation suddenly dawning on him that someone at Charli’s party had taken full advantage of you — your distressed state having seen Matty’s make out session; praying on you and your vulnerability, providing you with an illegal substance you’d never even seen before, let alone experimented with.

It makes him — all of them — feel uneasy that someone had targeted you.

“s not your fault, Matty,” Adam softly pipes up with his reassurances. “Come on, mate. There’s no point in blaming yourself or getting angry, it’s not going to help anyone,” he speaks matter of factly, the voice of reason amongst them, as he anxiously drums his fingertips against his thigh.

“Come on,” Ross encourages him, nodding towards the cushioned chairs and coaxing him to take a seat. Matty does so before Ross offers, “Do you want a coffee?” as he sits beside him.

Matty shakes his head and whisper breathes a quiet, “No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees before placing his head in his hands. His quiet sobs begin to subside as he finally regains his composure and regulates his breathing. “Fucking hate hospital coffee,” he murmurs in addition, and it’s the first lighthearted comment he’s made all evening.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Ross tells him again, placing a supportive arm around him.

“Thank you,” Matty breathes softly as he looks up and averts his gaze towards Ross next to him, sincerity laced in his tone. “To both of you,” he clarifies, looking between both Ross and Adam.

“What for?” Ross frowns.

“You were there … already helping her,” Matty shrugs, placing his palms against his thighs. “What happened?” he dares to ask, against his better judgement.

Licking his lips, Ross begins, “I’d gone to check on her. She’d been upset and … well, I know George told you,” he tells him, nervously shuffling in his chair. Ross knew better than anyone that Matty would be feeling incredibly guilty right now and to soften the blow, he’d decided to choose his words wisely.

“She saw me,” Matty confirms.

Ross nods his reply.

“She’d seen you in the lounge with … well, whoever it was,” he acknowledges the existence of the brunette woman. “I managed to get y/n out of there. Carly and Adam took her to the kitchen to calm her down. I caught up with George and Charli. The next thing I knew, I went to kitchen to find her again but she was alone.”

Ross shakes his head, and runs an agitated hand over his face, a feeble attempt at ridding himself of the horrific memory that vividly replays in his mind.

“She was stumbling around, trying to steady her balance against the kitchen side. She was muttering away, talking to herself … she didn’t make any sense,” Ross takes an in-breath before continuing. “I asked her if she was alright. I thought maybe she’d been drinking more, you know? She kept saying your name, said she needed to find you. That’s when she collapsed,” he clarifies. “I couldn’t wake her. At first I thought it was the alcohol that had affected her; made her paralytic. Everyone was looking so I wanted to move her to somewhere more comfortable. That’s when you came in,” he nods towards Adam.

“I saw it straight away,” Adam sighs regrettably, before clarifying his statement and briefly describing the events that had occurred. “The needle was on the kitchen side, the bag was empty, and there was a spoon and lighter next to it. We realised then what she’d done, so I phoned the ambulance. They said it was safer to keep her on the ground where she was, put her in the recovery position and not to move her. We made her as comfortable as we could … and that’s when Carly came and got you.”

Matty’s eyes begin to pool with tears again, his vision clouded as he can only imagine all too easily how the scene had played out. He feels sick with worry over you; guilty and ashamed at his own actions which had acted as a catalyst; and intense rage at whoever dealt the drug to you tonight.

“If she’d injected, it meant she’d cooked it …” Adam speaks aloud.

“I’ve never shown her how …” Matty trails off as he defends himself. “I never had that stuff around her.”

“We know, mate,” Ross reassures him. “You would never do anything to put her in harms way.”

“What if she gets addicted now?” Matty asks in a whisper, fear evident in his voice.

“She won’t,” Ross replies confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“You know her, mate. Just this once would have terrified her enough to never touch it again. She never used anything before and tonight would have been a one off. She probably met the wrong bastard tonight who took advantage. She probably thought that one time wouldn’t hurt her; that she’d be lucky,” he bases his assumption on how well he knows you.

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall, Matty closes his eyes. Bouncing his knee nervously, he draws a deep in-breath before murmuring, “I don’t want her going through the same thing as me. All I ever wanted to do was protect her from it. It was … different for me, I guess. It’s like I fell down a rabbit hole — the first time I took it and could disassociate from life — it was like a release. And I know it put a lot of pressure on us as a band, but …”

“Mate, you had an addiction. You were ill,” Adam intervenes, comforting his friend as whole new can of worms is about to be exposed about one of the worst times they’d experienced in their career as a band; but first and foremost, within their friendship.

“Didn’t mean I had to push her away, though,” Matty whispers. “I was so lucky when I went to rehab. Some people in that place had nothing; they’d lost their family and friends, their homes, their jobs, their money. I had everything; my family, you guys, I had her. But I still left rehab and scored other drugs and fucked everything up anyway,” he sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate,” Ross pipes up, resting a hand on Matty’s knee.

“She was always there for me,” Matty continues. “I just couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed me to be, but if I could go back and do it all again, I would do things so differently,” he whispers. “I should never have let her go.”

“Sounds like we’re not the ones you should be saying this to,” Adam half smiles.

Matty bites his lip, his thoughts running away with him as a comfortable silence fills the room.

He notes that his white dress shirt is still unbuttoned three from the top and the memory of the sordid make out session he had encountered earlier that night makes him feel queasy, a harsh reminder of the tragedy.

“How … how did you know what to do anyway?” Matty stutters as he clears his throat, breaking the quietness that had temporarily engulfed them.

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair before replying.

“I guess … well … we all kind of wanted to learn how to respond in that … situation … incase it was ever … you,” he’s careful with his words. Whilst Matty’s addiction had never been an attempt on his own life, the idea of an accidental overdose had spurred the rest of the band on recognising the signs, as well as the basics in how to respond to any such situation.

Although honesty was a crucial part of their friendship, talking about Matty’s heroin addiction had always been a difficult subject to approach. The illness had taken a toll on his physical and mental health, had destructed his relationships, and had negatively impacted his song writing. Rehab helped him get back to the person he once was before the addiction.

“I fucking love you guys,” Matty manages to choke out around the lump that formed in his throat at the turn in conversation, and for the first time this evening, he smiles a genuine smile.

With the small distance between the two of them sitting opposite each other, Adam, with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, gently taps his foot against Matty’s — and it’s a minor physical touch that would usually result in a game of footsies between the pair — only this time, it’s a reassuring nudge that would normally be a wordless indication of their feelings; but Adam finds it within him to vocalise an emotional, “We love you too, mate.”

As quickly as the three men succumb to another comfortable silence, it’s broken once again, with Ross not wanting to give Matty the opportunity to get too into his head with the lack of conversation between them, understanding his friend well enough to know he’d be imagining all sorts of scenarios — none of which likely to be positive.

“Do you need to go for a cig?” Ross asks.

“No,” Matty shakes his head — and it’s a shock to both the other men in the room. Someone who seemingly can’t go five minutes without a cigarette during a live performance actively turning down the vice he uses each day. “Don’t want t’ leave her,” he adds.

Almost as if on cue, a doctor donning a white coat and firmly gripping a clipboard with important documents attached in his large hands, enters the family room and introduces himself to all three men.

He shakes hands with Matty, who is the first to approach him.

Matty quickly fires questions at the medical professional, not once missing a beat as he barely catches his breath in between the queries about your health.

“How is she? Is she ok? Can I see her?”

Ross comes to stand behind him and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, to remind him of his friends’ presence — and that he’s not alone.

The doctor gives a reassuring smile, the first giveaway that your outcome is a positive one.

“I am sorry to tell you that y/n did in fact overdose on heroin; we’re yet to determine if that was intentional or accidental. The paramedics on scene administered Naloxone to reverse the effect of the opioid but another dose was required since fentanyl was also present. That combined with the level of alcohol in her system caused the severe reaction tonight, making it much easier to overdose, which is why it took her longer to respond to treatment.”

Matty groans at the information. The thought of you having mixed three substances together, although likely unknowingly, has him feeling physically sick at your vulnerability; and someone else’s cruelty.

“Fuck,” he shakily mutters under his breath, knowing just how severe this is. Shaking his head, he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry,” before allowing the doctor to continue with his medical findings.

“Since there’s no medical history of y/n experiencing seizures, it’s more than likely that it was brought on by the drug itself. Taking that into account, there doesn’t seem to be any reason as to why y/n won’t make a full recovery so overall I’d say she’s very lucky,” he pauses, before looking between the three men. “She’s awake, but is still a little drowsy, which is to be expected. I’d still like to keep her in for observation overnight, just as a precaution,” he says.

Whilst Matty understands the importance and necessity of this monologue, it seems to take forever for the doctor to spiel medical jargon, before he finally speaks aloud the words that Matty longs to hear.

“You can go and see her.”

It takes a few minutes for Matty to pluck up the courage to enter your hospital room to see you, his palms beginning to sweat out of anxiousness and his heart occasionally skipping a beat. He’d been desperate to remain by your side since arriving at the hospital, a strong desire to interfere with the doctors and nurses that had tended to your lifeless body, almost as though he could be the one to cure you.

Questions plague his mind as he runs through several scenarios.

Would you even want to see him after the events that had built up to your accidental overdose tonight? After all, if he hadn’t been so concerned with getting his end away with a random, then you wouldn’t have felt the need to find a vice to cope with your feelings. He was the reason you were here — and he’s probably the last person you want to see.

What would he say to you? No words in the English language could be vocalised to condone his behaviour this evening. Sadly, your latest memory of him was a sordid, dirty, not-so-secret make out session in the corner of a room — not very classy, and not in the least bit romantic. Sorry seemed false; even though he was undeniably apologetic, but no amount of regret could rewind the clock, no matter how much he wished for it.

Running a hand over his face, he rids himself of any negative thoughts, composing himself. He had to stop being selfish; to remove any egotistical notion of himself. This wasn't about him anymore. This was about you.

He takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorknob. He pushes it gently so that the door is fractionally ajar, so as not to startle you, and then, almost impatiently, he extends his arm, opening the door fully to reveal you to him.

His eyes find you immediately. Your fragile figure lays still in the hospital bed, looking almost helpless and it saddens Matty to see because he knows how much you would hate that. He avoids reacting to your demeanour, not wishing to alarm you.

Still, you were conscious.

“Hey,” he whisper breathes a sigh of relief, giving you a small smile. “You look better than when I last saw you,” Matty tells you softly, as he comes to stand at the end of your hospital bed, his patent shoes clicking against the tiles when he halts.

Hands in his pockets, he looks rough; you note; as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. The stubble around his jawline denotes he hasn't shaved in the last couple of weeks at least, most likely due to tour commitments. His dishevelled hair is a solid indicator that he’s run his hand through it many times — or someone else has — and perhaps it's because you haven’t seen him in a while — or maybe it’s because he’s mid-thirties — but the grey strands are becoming more prominent atop of his head.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously, although attentively, observing your surroundings. Monitors bleep around you, screens recording your vitals — numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him — but the consistency that the machines offer indicates that you must be within healthy ranges. Bags of liquid are hanging on a drip stand and IV’s are inserted into your veins pumping unknown substances into your body.

Removing a hand from his pocket, he nervously clears his throat as he slowly makes his way around the bed and towards you, before finally stopping beside you. Tentatively, he lowers himself and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Even in your drowsy state, lethargy consuming your entire body, you roll your eyes at his comment and Matty’s never been happier to hear a breathy laugh escape your lips. Reaching for the oxygen mask, you attempt to remove it, but Matty’s hand is quickly placed over yours, stopping you from doing so.

“No, no, keep it on darling,” he whispers delicately.

Your lack of energy, consumed by tiredness, as well as the the throbbing pain across your forehead ensures you don’t fight him on this one, instantly giving up, your hand going slack underneath his. Satisfied that you won’t oppose his actions any further, he rests his hand against his thigh.

Matty’s eyes avert to your other hand which rests atop of the hospital blanket. He’s somewhat hesitant before deciding to reach towards you, his fingertips brushing against your skin, careful not to dislodge the drip inserted into a prominent vein. When you don’t flinch at the physical contact, he encloses your hand within his own.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, as though his admission will be more bearable to speak aloud if he can’t see your reaction.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

He opens his eyes again, drinking in your exhausted demeanour.

“I was so fucking scared,” he repeats, with equally as much conviction as the first time.

“Matty,” you whisper tearfully at his words, your tone apologetic.

“Never wan’ to see you like that ever again, you hear me? You … you don’t get to do that,” his words are a firm warning but he lacks any threat with a soft tone, an oxymoron of emotions engulfing him as his voice wavers, his thumb skimming the upside of your hand. “You don’t get to do that to me. Can’t lose you darling.”

He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. Metaphorically, he’d already lost you in the midst of a relationship breakdown — but the mere thought of you losing your life to the same substance he had battled an addiction with for several years would literally break him.

You reach for your oxygen mask once again, and when Matty attempts to prevent you from doing so a second time, you swat his hand away — albeit pathetically — removing it from your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you desperately try to convince him. “It was an accident,” you tell him, tears pooling in your eyes.

One of the machines begins to beep harshly, the numbers displayed on the screen increasing rapidly, and Matty immediately realises that your heart rate has spiked.

Determined to soothe you, Matty reassuringly squeezes your hand.

“I know, darling. I know. Just calm down for me, yeah?” he encourages, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You offer a small nod in response although his words seem to have no positive effect as the bleeping continues with the same level of consistency, numbers incessantly and hastily increasing.

“Listen to me, y/n,” his tone is firmer this time, obvious desperation laced in his words. “I need you to calm down for me. Take a deep breath,” he models it himself, inhaling air deeply into his lungs through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips.

You copy him, mirroring his actions a few times.

“If you need this again,” he gestures towards the oxygen mask but you shake your head as your breathing begins to regulate a little and the numbers on the heart rate monitor gradually decrease once more.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him.

He nods, understanding, but encourages you to continue, “Deep breaths, love.”

You compose yourself relatively quickly, almost surprised at your own resilience as you inhale and exhale a few more times, steadying your breaths and repeating the action until you’re fully calm.

“That’s it,” he praises, stroking your hand with his own, whilst his other hand finds its fingers twirling through your hair, stroking loose strands out of your face.

He takes a few moments, allowing you to succumb to the peace that surrounds you both — but he has questions and he yearns for answers.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened tonight?” he practically dares to ask.

You shift uncomfortably beneath the thin blanket that covers you, barely keeping you warm. Taking a deep breath, you nod, nervousness consuming you as you brace yourself, preparing to inform Matty about the events that had occurred earlier that evening.

“I saw you,” you state matter of factly, although it’s not news to him. “You were with someone … another girl,” you clarify.

Your gaze subconsciously averts away from Matty’s but out of the corner of your eye, you’re hyperaware that he also follows suit, unable to make eye contact with each other at the harsh admission. Your cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, whilst his features are full of guilt.

“I saw you coming out of the bathroom together at first. I didn’t realise it was serious, not until … well, I came down to the lounge and you were … the two of you were …” you trail off, fiddling with the hospital admission band around your wrist that suddenly becomes interesting.

The pads of Matty’s thumbs gently massage your skin, encouraging you to continue. Raising his head and meeting your gaze, you’re able to find the strength to carry on.

“I was upset and didn’t want to feel anything. I’d had a lot to drink but that wasn’t numbing the pain. So when I was offered heroin,” you shrug. “It never affected you that way so I thought … I thought I’d be ok,” you whimper, your bottom lip trembling.

“Darling,” Matty whispers, his thumb gently soothing your skin as your hand remains enveloped in his. “It affects everyone differently. There’s so many factors that affect someone’s reaction to drugs — the amount you’ve taken, it’s purity, what it’s cut with, the method of using …” he begins to list.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head, cutting him off.

You already felt foolish enough for ever trusting the guy you’d met tonight in the kitchen — felt embarrassed that many people had seen you unconscious against the cold tiles, vomiting and experiencing a seizure. Whilst you know it’s not Matty’s intention, the last thing you want — or need — is a lecture.

Instantly understanding, Matty drops the topic as quick as he'd raised it, and instead, decides to pass on the good news.

“The doctor says you’re lucky; reckons you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to rest,” he breathes a sigh of relief himself as his sentence rolls effortlessly off of his tongue.

Your ears prick up at his words and you give him a hopeful smile.

“Does that mean I can go home?” you ask, suddenly sitting yourself upright, ignoring the pounding in your head accompanied by the dizziness, in turn making you feel a little nauseous.

Home.

Matty wonders where home is for you now.

In an ideal world, Matty would want you living with him again — reliving your favourite memories that you experienced as the couple you once were when you were unconditionally in love with each other, as well as making new ones together.

You’d be waking up in his bed each morning; sometimes to sex, always to coffee, with mundane household chores threatening to be completed as adulthood entailed cooking, cleaning, tag teaming washing the dishes, and starting petty arguments over whose turn it was to dispose of the rubbish on bin day (it was his turn every week).

He would give the world and more to have you telling him that you don’t mind what film you watched together — even though you did — only for you to fall asleep within minutes of putting it on. He would ensure that you have warm, fluffy towels for after your bubble bath, and you’d be welcomed into the kitchen with the inviting aromas of your favourite dishes that he’d cook for you.

Matty would keep you safe — always — keeping a watchful eye over you so as something like this could never occur again, giving not one single soul the opportunity to hurt his girl — and the realisation dawns on him that perhaps one of his downfalls was that no matter how hard he tried in this lifetime, he couldn’t protect you from everything.

“They want to keep you in overnight,” he breaks the bad news to you, regrettably.

“No,” you whine, emitting a groan as you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“‘m sorry, love,” his tone is apologetic, “But they want to monitor you.”

“Please, Matty. I’m fine! Please see if they will discharge me tonight,” you beg, your doe-eyes pleading with him.

“Darling,” he murmurs softly, stroking your hand reassuringly once again. “You overdosed on heroin, which was cut with fentanyl, by the way,” he informs you, before continuing matter of factly, “Your alcohol levels were through the roof, you had a seizure and you were sick. You’re in the best place right now.”

There was truth behind Matty’s words and you know it. Admitting defeat, you know there’s no arguing against the doctor’s decision to monitor you overnight.

Instead, you ask, “Stay?” your tone nervous, as you softly plead with Matty. “Will you stay with me?”

Matty exhales a shaky breath, offering a small smile as relief washes over him that you want him; need him.

“Of course I’ll stay, ‘m not going anywhere.”

There’s not much time to succumb to the silence that threatens to engulf the two of you as a hesitant knock, accompanied by a throat-clearing cough, can be heard against the grey door to your hospital room. Straining your neck and peering towards the entrance, you notice two figures lingering in the doorway, one of which is leaning against the doorframe.

Matty whips his head around to see who the disruption is, before turning back to meet your gaze and announcing with a small smile, “I think someone want to say hello.”

As if on cue, Ross and Adam enter your hospital bay and approach you. Coming to stand beside you, Ross acknowledges you with a small kiss to your temple and Adam rests a hand atop of your hospital blanket, reassuringly squeezing your leg.

“How’re doing?” Adam is the first to ask, as they each take a seat in the grey plastic chairs beside your bed.

You give a small nod and shrug in tandem.

“I’m ok,” you tell them — although even you know that they know that you’re not being entirely truthful so you decide to elaborate on your answer further, providing them with some honesty at least. “I’m tired and have a headache, but other than that I’m alright.”

“You scared us back there,” Ross pipes up, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes avert to your hand enveloped in Matty’s.

“Don’t be,” Ross softly murmurs, shaking his head and resting a hand atop of your arm.

You shake your head in protest.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you tell them apologetically, sincerely adding, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with me like that.” You shake your head slightly, closing your eyes for a brief second as embarrassment consumes you.

“’s not your fault,” Ross tells you. “We’re just glad you’re ok.”

“Thank you,” your eyes flit between the three of them this time, acutely aware of the vital role they had all played tonight in getting you the help you needed from the emergency services. You can only imagine how terrifying and surreal the ordeal must have been for them as well.

“Don’t need to thank us,” Matty furrows his brows.

“If you hadn’t …” you begin. “I’d be dead,” you state it so matter of factly, that Matty feels physically ill.

“Don’t, y/n,” he gently warns, unable to fathom any other outcome.

Silence fills the room, further accentuating the bleeping sounds of the machines that whir around you. For the first time, it’s an awkward quietness, seemingly uncomfortable between the four of you once the discussion had taken a darker turn.

However, there’s still one more topic of conversation dancing on the lips of the three men amongst you but nobody has seemed willing to take the lead in voicing their thoughts just yet — that is until Ross clears his throat, less confident than he actually appears as he delivers his question.

“Who gave it to you?” he asks, a strong desire to know who dealt you the drug.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Please, y/n,” Matty begs breathlessly, his eyes finding the ceiling. “Please don’t protect anyone,” he pleads, the pad of his thumb continuously circling itself against your hand.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Honestly. It was a random guy who got talking to me. I didn’t even ask his name.”

Your earnest tone is all that’s needed for them to know you’re telling the truth; you’d just been unfortunate enough for your vulnerable self to fall victim to the dealer this evening, him cruelly having taken full advantage of your distressed state.

"If I ever find out who it was," Matty begins, using his free hand to clench his fist out of anger.

“Don’t,” you practically beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t. It was my own fault. I should never have listened to him or trusted him in the first place. It was a bad idea and I knew it. I just went against my own judgement in the heat of the moment and acted on impulse.”

Whilst you knew how it appeared, you really weren’t defending the dealer who had provided you with the substance and tools that could have resulted in you ending your life tonight — but the last thing you wanted was violence. Neither Matty, Ross or Adam had fighting tendencies and that wasn’t about to change because of you and your one mistake.

Ross sniggers slightly, before raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and Matty.

“Impulse? You two really are perfect for each other,” he laughs.

You roll your eyes at the humour implied in his light hearted comment. It was public knowledge that Matty would often find himself in hot water due to acting on impulse, often through the portrayal of an online persona, or through expressing controversies during live performance and interviews.

You had often scolded him during your relationship, heavily reminded him of his role model status to many young and impressionable fans, because his words had consequences, often resulting in him being ‘cancelled.’

Before you can respond, another small knock at the door indicates an interruption for the second time — saddened when the nurse on call entered the room and informed you that only one person could be at your bedside for the remainder of the night.

Adam emits a groan, admitting defeat once the nurse bids you farewell for the night, although not before reminding both you and Matty that she’s on duty throughout the course of the early hours and until sunrise, so if you needed anything, she was your go-to.

“Suppose we best be off then,” Adam rolls his eyes.

“You take care,” Ross offers you a smile and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “See you soon, mate,” he reaches forwards and offers Matty a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You look after her,” he finishes his goodbyes.

Once the hustle and bustle of them leaving your hospital room subsides, you and Matty are left only in each other's company, surrounded by a comfortable silence once more.

Your eyes avert to the window of your hospital room as you observe the outside world, nothing but darkness consuming everything at this ungodly hour, with the exception of the few street lamps that light up the hospital car park that your room overlooks.

With your hand still enveloped within Matty’s, you can feel his eyes focussing on you — and you alone.

“I’m ok,” you whisper softly, turning to Matty, distracting him from his own thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hums, indicating that he had been out of touch with reality. Your statement had grounded him, bringing him mentally back into the room with you as he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I said I’m ok,” you repeat, and it’s your turn to massage the palm of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him you are physically well — and alive.

He nods in acknowledgement but it’s clear he has a lot plaguing his mind. You decide not to push him just yet, knowing him well enough that he’ll communicate his thoughts and feelings on his terms, although you're surprised when his response comes almost immediately.

“I thought …,” Matty exhales a shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, your bottom lip trembles, the heightened emotions you’re both feeling needing to be addressed with each other properly. There was still so much to say, so many things you had to discuss, questions that had to be asked, answers that needed clarifying.

Matty shakes his head vigorously, stopping you from continuing your apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” his tone is full of sincerity. “I just need you to know that … if I’d lost you … I don’t know what I’d do.”

He chokes on a sob, the memory of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor still haunting him — and he fears that your lifeless frame will appear in his nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he presses a soft and tender kiss against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“Matty,” you breathe, comprehending his words immediately.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, barely missing a beat.

He knew it were true; you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry if I ever … that I let you down,” he adds — and it’s not a comment out of guilt or pity for himself. It’s an apology to you — an earnest admission, honest and sincere, as he recalls the times when he hadn’t been the boyfriend he should have been for you.

“You haven’t,” you whimper, choking on a sob, emotion overcoming you at the sudden change in dynamic of the conversation. “Matty, you never let me down. You had an addiction! I know that you came off the heroin after rehab but you were still battling a drug addiction. You still needed something to get through life, a vice to help you cope. If anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise the signs sooner and get you help.”

“Darling,” Matty gently warns.

Whilst he understands the importance of this much needed conversation between the two of you, it’s a topic he doesn’t want to explore too deeply just yet — there’s plenty of time to discuss everything that had contributed to the breakdown of your relationship but right now, you needed to focus on your own recovery from tonight.

“Not now, eh?” it’s a rhetorical comment.

Before he can stop himself, he leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your own. It’s the closest he’s been all night and you can still smell the smoke that lingers on his clothes; the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks each time he softly exhales. He feels like home. His eyes avert downwards towards his hand intertwined with your own in his lap — and it feels right.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, breaking the silence, your lips a hairs breadth from his.

Nervously gulping, as though an in love, giddy teenager, Matty agrees.

“Yeah, we do. But it can wait, darling. You need to rest.”

You shake your head, a feeble attempt at protesting against his suggestion.

“Rest, sweetheart,” he reiterates. “We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?”

You both know you won’t. Matty will still want to give you time to recover, waiting on you hand and foot, treating you as though you’re made of glass for at least the next month — but you don’t actually think you’d mind.

“I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reaches forwards, resting his palm gently against your cheek.

Muscle memory, instinct, and habit amalgamate and you tilt your head towards his hand, leaning into his soft touch on your face. The welcomed familiarity makes your heart swell as he cradles your cheek. Inching forwards ever so slightly, Matty presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his soft, plush lips lingering against your skin for longer than necessary — but you weren't complaining.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he repeats quietly, emotion thick in his voice as he swallows the small lump that has formed in his throat, his brain in overdrive as he contemplates the magnitude of events that had occurred tonight.

“You promise?” you question, as you raise your hand to cover his own, your fingers intertwining with his against your blush cheeks.

“I promise.”

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lovefoolholland · 5 months

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santa doesn’t know you like i do

summary: in which matty tells you you are everything he wants.

warnings: angst, but honestly not much.

a/n: felt inspired by sabrina’s fruitcake. hopefully a first of many christmas’ short one shots.

English is not my first language !

The moment Matty had started growing facial hair, everyone knew. They just knew, it was obvious, that you finally had him entranced and with no sign of turning back.

“You would look really good with a beard” and just a man in love would follow through and through to show you how much he listens to you.

But how come— when he looks at you from afar all lovey-dovey, takes you by the waist when talking to other people, and tells everyone he wrote songs about you mid-concert— the two of you hadn’t made it official?

And here you stand, in the middle of a Christmas Eve party at Charli’s and George’s, taking a sip of eggnog while Matty is lively talking to his bandmates, and you’re just there. Alone.

Maybe it’s your boring white Rory Gilmore sweater. Maybe it’s your blurred lipstick from earlier, after you kissed Matty’s tears away from his cheeks right after he told you about Pitchfork naming him Villain of the Year. Or maybe it’s the eggnog that’s making you a little dizzy.

You put the glass down and take a glass of water from the kitchen. That is when you feel a pair of familiar hands around your waist, making you put the glass on the counter and whip your head to the side with a smile.

“Hey gorgeous” Matty says with his usual raspy, (goddamn) sexy voice tone.

“Hi,” you say in response “what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how my girl was doing,” he tells you, kissing your cheek and making your face grow hot “let’s go talk to the guys, okay?”

“Okay” you answer softly.

He guides you back to his circle and this time around things go more swiftly than before. You have always gotten along with Matty’s friends, but it was just that situationship factor that didn’t make you feel good around them. Like, why was Matty keeping you there if you weren’t, at least officially, his girlfriend? He’d never asked you the question, he’d never hinted at it at least, he just introduced you to new people as ‘Y/N, my friend.’

“Can I go home with you after the party?”

Matty scrunched up his nose at your question.

“Of course. Why are you asking? You always stay at mine, right?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded.

“Yeah… Just needed to get sure.”

Matty immediately noted the way you weren’t comfortable at all, you saw it in the way his eyes shifted from confused to harshness.

“Come on, let’s just go now.”

“What? No, you’re having a great time now.”

“But clearly you’re not,” Matty says a little louder than expected, and you lift your head from his to look around with a small frown “why do you care if someone hears us?”

“I don’t– Just, come on, let’s go talk somewhere more private.”

Taking his hand on yours, you drag him to one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind you with a sigh.

“I’d be making a joke about you wanting to get me alone and shit, but honestly you’re scaring me a bit” Matty commented, furrowing his brow as he took your other hand in his.

“I’m okay just…” you sighed “Matty, what are we?”

There it was, the question that would probably scare him away. For good or for bad, it had to be asked.

“What do you mean?” Matty asked, even more confused.

“I mean… Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Friends that sometimes hook up?”

Matty put his lips in a thin line before answering.

“Y/N, we started this because you wanted just to fuck.”

That makes your heart drop, and you have to fight the urge to sigh in defeat.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s been almost a year, and… I mean… I like being with you.” you explain to him, biting your lip slightly before continuing talking “We go on dates and we have clothes at each other’s apartments. We’re close. We’re not just a couple of people that want to fuck anymore!”

Matty was startled by the way your voice had risen and your cheeks were starting to get red from frustration. And so were you, but you didn’t care, this needed to be finally solved.

“Babe, breathe.”

“Breathe? How do you want me to breathe?!” you asked him, slipping your hands off his to put them in your head “I think I have the right to say that out of the people in that room, I know you better than anyone. We’ve been through each other’s good and bad Matty, why… Can’t I be the one to give you everything you want?”

Matty immediately steps up to you and takes your hands off your head, placing them on his chest so you can feel just how warm he is. His eyes pierce into yours and then you feel it. His heartbeat, going a hundred times a minute. It makes you flustered that just like that, he can calm you down, but once more, it perfectly shows how good he knows you.

One or two curls fall onto his forehead as he looks straight into you and starts talking. You curse in your head that even in this time and place he looks freaking gorgeous.

“Y/N, I didn’t make anything official because you never told me you wanted to make it official,” you open your mouth to argue but he doesn’t let you speak “no, don’t argue against that. Communication is the key if we want something formal between the two of us, and God knows I’ve been craving to be with you and brag about you ever since you asked me to be your fuckfriend, but I didn’t do it because I thought you didn’t want to.”

You gulp and frown. It is true, the two of you didn’t communicate clearly with one another.

“Yeah, you are… Right,” you say with a sigh, squeezing his hands in yours for reassurance. He does the same in response and that makes you blush in a soft manner “why didn’t you say anything though?”

Matty raises an eyebrow.

“Did you just see yourself? You were almost breaking this off.”

“What?! No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were,” Matty said, a small smile on his lips “you’re neurotic sometimes babe.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”

In a swift and quick move, you land a kiss on his lips, and when you pull back with a smirk, he puts a hand on your neck and pulls you in to devour your lips fervently, but quickly, leaving you dizzy as he pulls back.

“There,” he says, smiling widely now as he watches your eyes blurry with love and happiness “happy?”

“Very much.”

Matty smiles and grabs you in a hug, squeezing your body against his as you huff out a ‘I hate you’ and he murmurs a ‘And I love you’. After pulling back you hook your arms on his neck and he puts his hands on your waist.

“Oh and Y/N?” he asks in a whisper.

“What?”

Matty leans in, kisses your cheek and says to your ear:

“You are the one that can give me everything I want.”

#matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy one shot #matty healy drabble #matty healy fic #the 1975 angst #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 fic #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 fanfic #matty the 1975

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justlikemebutsixfootthree · 1 year

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married life w/ ross

pairing: ross macdonald x f!reader

content: fluff, smut under the cut

this blog is 18+. minors, do not interact. this blog is a safe space. no hate or disrespect of any kind will be tolerated. all work is my own. do not reupload my work on any other site without my consent.

a/n: smut under the cut cause i’m a whore at heart <3 also this is my first time doing hcs bear with me!!

ross is the type to be really serious about coffee. he’ll be the one guy that critiques random cafés quietly for making his coffee too sweet, or not sweet enough.

you step into the kitchen and he’s got a fancy espresso machine, a french press, and even his own grinder.

type of guy who imports fancy coffee beans from all over the world.

lots of - “this coffee is brazilian, babe! how’d you like it?”

the first thing he does in the morning is (loudly) stretch and make his side of the bed, but he's nice enough to not wake you up.

on weekends and days off, he’ll for sure make you breakfast.

i bet he can secretly cook.

omg the view of him with his hair up in a bun while he’s clattering around in the kitchen

wears an apron.

like one of those barista ones??

the first time you see the white - and tight - fabric around your husband’s torso you hid a laugh, and he, while pouting, explained that he couldn’t find one in a size big enough.

it’s become tradition for you to tie his tie before any kind of event. the first time you did it, you were just trying to be sweet, and now, everytime he needs to be at his best, he insists you go on your tip-toes and tie his tie.

on the rare occasions you take public transport together, he’ll let you sleep on his arm or shoulder, and will wake you up a stop or two before you get off.

he's a homebody. introverted and reserved, you and ross would probably live in a small neighbourhood with a few local storefronts.

if you like napping, he sets up throw blankets around the house where you like to sleep.

kisses your hands, knuckles, and your ring finger.

if he can’t sleep, he’ll go to another room and play bass. he always makes sure to keep the amp’s volume as low as possible, but there’s been nights where you’ve woken up and curled up near him, letting him play you back to sleep.

HE SMELLS REALLY GOOD

super masculine, and kinda woodsy?

steal his sweaters i beg

because he's a hulking giant, his sweaters are huge, and swamp you

he loves it though, as much as he protests when you steal his nice sweaters

tbh i pin ross as a hickey + scratching guy. he ALWAYS wants to mark you up, show people how much fun you two had the night before, yk?

obviously, nobody expects that from mister “keeps to himself, no attention on me, please” but when someone sees you like that, it draws all the attention back to him.

a little bit of the jealous type. when he catches people looking at you in a way they shouldn’t, he just wants to mark you!!

he’s not above jealous sex. ross isn’t a super jealous person, but if he sees someone, usually a very drunk matty, coming onto you? it lights a unique flame within him, and you’ve - on more than one occasion - fucked in bathroom stalls at parties, and in his dressing room after a show.

ross has ZERO self-control. expect it to be rough and fairly feverish. the man fucks like he’s going to lose you any day now or as if you’ll disappear beneath his fingertips unless he rams his hips into yours.

he loves being squeezed by your thighs. the man is huge and will use it to his advantage to pin your hips down.

will fuck you in front of a mirror. maybe you’re getting ready for a party, or a fancy dinner, and seeing you all dressed up is just too much. he’ll bend you over the counter and hold your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror, muttering shit like “my gorgeous wife, look at you.”

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all-things-fic · 7 months

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#Ross #ross macdonald #this is giving dad vibes who sees you trying to get *the shot*#and you’re stressed out and worried for no reason #and he just wants you to chill out #so he does this and you see him from the corner of your eye #and suddenly you just laugh #cause it’s not that deep getting the shot of your baby at their birthday or whatever #live in the moment yada Yada #which one of us is grace on Twitter #cause thanks for stealing this babes #lol

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icbmil · 10 months

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tinyraindropphotography: Part 1 of @/the1975 at Finsbury Park

#had to share these gorgeous shots #a few of my favorites #the ross one especially i mean MY GOD #the 1975 #ross macdonald #adam hann #matty healy #george daniel #john waugh #photo set #instagram #icbmil*

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kizzywh · 1 year

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You Are My Addiction- Matty Healy x Reader

You and Matty meet for the first time... But are you going to be able to deal with him at his darkest?

THIS IS A ONE SHOT AND IS SEPARATE FROM THE SERIES I AM WRITING ABOUT MATTY HEALY WHICH I PROMISE I WILL GET ROUND TO WRITING AFTER I’VE PUBLISHED ALL MY DRAFTS.

ask to be added to the taglist <3

TWS: drug misuse, rehab mentions, alcohol use, Angst w happy ending

You've been a fan of The 1975 for years, and you've always had a soft spot for lead singer Matty Healy. His music, his lyrics, his personality, everything about him just captivates you. One day, you're lucky enough to get tickets to one of their shows, and you're absolutely ecstatic.

The concert is amazing, and Matty's performance is everything you've ever dreamed of. After the show, you're hanging around outside the venue, hoping to catch a glimpse of the band as they leave. As you're waiting, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and find yourself face to face with Matty Healy himself. He is shy, almost awkward, and taller than you expected.

"Hey there," he says with a smile. "I saw you in the crowd tonight. You were really getting into it, you were the girl with the sign, the one that said, ‘Matty Healy is a rat?’” He laughs softly, and you flush with embarrassment.

You can feel your face turning red as you stutter out a reply. Matty laughs and takes your hand, leading you away from the crowds and into a quiet alley. “Don’t worry, Y/N, it was amusing. George pointed it out to me over the headset and I had to try not to laugh” He giggled then, and the sound was adorable, before he continued.

"I just wanted to say thanks for coming to the show," he says, his eyes locking onto yours. "And I was wondering if you'd like to grab a drink with me?"

You can hardly believe what's happening. This is your ultimate dream come true. You nod eagerly, and Matty grins and leads you to a nearby bar. You don’t care that he is a stranger, this is Matty Healy, the lead singer of a band you adore more than anything itself. The bar itself is a quiet place, with dimly lit lighting, and private booths of brown leather, it smells like cigarettes and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. He pulls you gently into a booth and starts to talk to you, asking about your life, interjecting every now and again with anecdotes about him and his friends, which make you almost cry with laughter as he recounts their childhood antics.

As you sit and talk, you find that Matty is even more charming and funny in person than you ever imagined. Just the way he treats you, like you are an old friend, when really, you are just a lucky fan, with a funny sign. You can't help but feel like you're falling for him, and when he leans in to kiss you, his brown eyes hesitant, but warm, you don't hesitate to kiss him back.

From that moment on, you and Matty are inseparable. You travel with the band on their tour, spending long nights talking and laughing with Matty, and sharing intimate moments that you'll never forget. You become firm friends with the rest of the band, in particular, growing close to Ross, finding him a soothing presence after Matty being hyper after a show.

Despite the distance and the chaos of life on the road, your love for each other only grows stronger. You can't imagine your life without Matty, and you know that he feels the same way about you.

As the tour comes to an end, Matty takes you aside and looks into your eyes. "I know this is crazy, but I love you," he says. "I want to be with you forever." You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you nod, knowing that you feel the same way. You and Matty embrace, knowing that you've found the love of your life in each other. It all feels so right, you know that he is more than just this persona he puts on while on stage, you listen to him explaining about it being meta art, or some sort of metaphor, but you know HIM. The real him.

However, things aren't always smooth sailing in your relationship. Matty's addiction rears its ugly head from time to time, causing friction and tension between the two of you. There are nights when he disappears and you're left wondering where he is, or days when he's too hungover to function. It's a constant struggle, but you're determined to stand by Matty's side no matter what. You attend support group meetings with him, hold his hand through rehab, and try to understand what he's going through. You know he’s struggling, and how hard he is trying to become healthier, and you know how grateful he is for you being by his side when things become particularly bad for him.

But there are moments when it feels like you're fighting a losing battle. Matty's addiction seems to consume him, and you feel like you're being pushed away. You try to talk to him about it, but he just shuts down and withdraws even more.

One night, after a particularly bad argument, you find yourself alone in your hotel room, crying yourself to sleep. You love Matty with all your heart, but you don't know how much more you can take.

The next morning, you wake up to find a note from Matty on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry," it reads. "I need some time to figure things out. Please don't give up on me."

You try to hold back your tears as you read the note over and over again. It's not the first time that Matty has disappeared, but this time it feels different. You can sense that something has shifted in him, and it scares you. You feel like, for the first time, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

Days turn into weeks, and you're left with nothing but radio silence from Matty. You try to distract yourself with work and friends, but your mind keeps going back to him. You can't help but wonder where he is, what he's doing, and if he's okay. Ross tries to reassure you, but both him and the rest of the band, have no idea where he is, or how he is, and he is giving them the silent treatment too.

One night, you're scrolling through social media when you see a photo of Matty with another woman. Your heart sinks as you realize that he's moved on. You feel betrayed and hurt, but at the same time, you can't blame him. You know that you couldn't handle his addiction anymore, and you couldn't give him the support that he needed.

Weeks turn into months, and you try to move on with your life. You start seeing other people, but no one can compare to Matty. You still listen to his music, still follow him on social media, still wonder what could have been. Sometimes you question whether it was all just for show. Whether Matty needed you as a crutch, and not as someone he loved.

Three months later, you're at your favourite coffee shop in Manchester, ordering your usual caramel oat milk latte, when you hear someone call your name. You turn around to find Matty standing there, looking tired and worn out. You can feel your heart racing as you take in his appearance. He's lost weight, his hair is unkempt, and his eyes are sunken in. He looks exhausted, and your heart almost breaks for him.

"Hi," he says softly. "I didn't think I'd run into you here."

You try to keep your composure as you ask him how he's been. He tells you that he's been struggling with his addiction, that he's lost a lot of friends and fans, and that he's been feeling lost and alone. You want to reach out and hug him, to tell him that you're still here for him, but you can't find the words. Instead, you just sit there, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. You wish you could connect with him the way you used to, to help him feel better, make him feel alright, the way things used to be...

After a few minutes of small talk, Matty says that he has to go. You watch him walk away, feeling like you've missed your chance to reconnect with him.

Months pass again, and you're left with nothing but regret. You wish that you had told Matty how you feel, that you had reached out and tried to help him. You wonder if things could have been different if you had been there for him. You become closer with Ross, him providing the ice cream when you needed to cry. You felt like you’d never get over him. He was just so larger than life, and seeing him like that in Manchester had made you feel so sad, like you hadn’t tried hard enough, but you knew that you had given all you could possibly give to him, it just hadn’t been enough.

But then, out of the blue, you receive a message from Matty. Seeing his name flash on your phone, sends your heart fluttering, you still have feelings for him, even after all he has done. He apologizes for the way he's been acting, for disappearing without a word, for hurting you. He tells you that he's been clean for several months now, that he's been going to therapy, that he's been trying to get his life back on track.

You can feel your heart racing as you read his message. You want to believe him, to give him another chance, but at the same time, you're scared. You don't know if you can handle the ups and downs of being with someone who's battled addiction. But then you remember all the good times you had with Matty, all the laughter and the love. You realize that you still care for him, that you still have feelings for him, that you want to give him another chance.

You reply to his message, telling him that you're happy for him, that you're proud of him, that you're willing to give him another chance.

Weeks turn into months, and you and Matty start dating again. It's not easy, but it's worth it. You go to therapy together, you talk about your feelings, you support each other through the ups and downs. He stops being so closed off, and begins to understand that you can both work together through this, that it doesn’t just have to be him, against everyone else. And as you sit on the couch with him, in your new, rented apartment, and he rests his head on your shoulder, his soft, brown curls falling in front of his face; you know, this is where you need to be. Times could get tough, but you knew that the both of you could heal, together.

Tag List:

@mothymunson @twilightlover2007

#the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #Matt Healy #matty the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #Ross Macdonald #one shot

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abiiors · 3 months

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chocolate // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 2: love potion

a/n: this is about abiior ross specifically hehe (short hair, shot beard etc) cw: use of aphrodisiacs against their knowledge (lets suspend our belief there), masturbation (f), implied voyeurism, unprotected sex oops (they're too horny to think it through) wc: 4k

sweet taste of chocolate dissolves on your tongue as elena continues to recount her latest holiday to belgium. she has that “just back from holiday” tan on her and you laugh along to her stories, popping another square of chocolate in your mouth while sorting through the pile of gifts she’s brought for everyone.

a heap of chocolate wrappers sits between the two of you and you’re certain you have enough sugar in you to feed a small village—still, the sweetness lingers on your tongue and makes you sigh wistfully every time you think about it.

“i’m seeing ross later,” you slip in quietly when she takes a breath between her rambling and elena’s eyes go round.

“seeing him seeing him? you finally asked him out?”

your head hangs in shame at the question and you can’t help the wince that leaves you. elena tsks. “oh babe, come on! he’s such a sweet guy and he clearly likes you back.”

“you don’t know that!”

several seconds pass and elena arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. she’s right, you know she’s right. you’ve had this silly, desparate crush for six months now and you should have done the mature adult thing of asking him out. but your heart races every time he’s near and every single word in your head disappears along with all sane and rational thoughts.

“well,” you shrug, “can i take some chocolate for him? he’s got a sweet tooth.”

elena smirks and flicks your hand away before you can reach for one.

“only if you promise to ask him out. a coffee date. that’s as casual as it gets!”

you blanch at her but she stands her ground forcing you to at least mull it over in your head.

once again, she is right. you can ask him out for a coffee and pretend it’s just a friendly little thing if the vibes seem purely platonic. you’ll figure it out. you know you will.

scrunching your eyes shut, you give in. “fine… fine, i’ll do it.”

elena squeals, pulling you into a tight hug. you giggle at her excitement but let the butterflies take flight in your stomach. once she lets go, she points behind her.

“the fridge has a better selection. go take as many as you want.”

you’re out of the chair and halfway to the kitchen before she’s even done speaking, big goofy grin on your face at the thought of meeting him later and teasing him when he inhales the chocolates faster than humanly possible.

the fridge is messy as usual—half empty bottles of milk, some past their expiry date, opened bags of cheese and old chinese takeout. you ignore all of it and dig your way to the back to find the rest of them (in elena’s little hidden space in the fridge to keep it away from her boyfriend).

most of them are the usual ones and you take a few to put it in your bag. a new one catches your eye—it’s just a simple black square with a golden heart embossed on the cover, not one you’ve tried yet and it instantly piques your interest so you take two of them and put the bag back in its place.

then you close the fridge and make your way back to the living room.

the backstage at the band’s practice show is chaos incarnate. everyone’s in a rush to set up things in their proper place. the props are strewn on the stage, waiting for their permanent place, the instruments are neatly arranged in a corner and ross is leaning against the wall, cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. his thumb scrolls on his screen. a second later, he snorts, types something on his phone and you feel yours buzzing in your pocket with an incoming text.

it makes your silly heart skip a beat.

his head snaps up when you clear your throat. a warm smile spreads across his face, and he quickly stubs out his cigarette, tossing it into a nearby bin.

“didn't expect to see you here so bright and early," he says, pushing off the wall to approach you. at his full height, ross is nearly a head taller. on top of that, he’s been working out and staying fit, his beard’s sparser than it was before, his hair neatly cut and gelled back perfectly.

ross looks devastatingly handsome, a proper rockstar. you look like… you.

“wanted to see you–uh, see what you were getting up to,” you hope the breathlessness stays out of your voice, you hope he hasn’t noticed you blatantly checking him out.

all that goes flying out the window the moment he gathers you into a hug. his body is warm and solid, his t-shirt soft and familiar. the scent of his aftershave surrounds you thoroughly, invades all your senses until you just debate throwing all caution to the wind and jumping him right here.

the hug lasts longer than you would have expected.

when he pulls back there’s a faint flush on his cheeks (probably the heating, you rationalise) and a wide grin on his face.

“are you excited?”

“to watch you play? always!”

you cringe at how eager it sounds, how desperate. fortunately, ross giggles and offers you his arm.

“come on, let me give you a tour.”

twenty minutes later, you’re back where you started, arm in arm and excited about the concept of the new show, about their new setlist and the live debuts of some new tracks. ross is already beaming with excitement and his eyes crinkle in they way they do only when he’s genuinely happy. it’s infectious. more often than not you find yourself staring at him and giving him a loopy smile.

utterly fucking love-sick.

“jamie’s gone all out too,” he continues. “there’s a whole dressing arena for us even though this isn’t a real show. we wanted to try out a couple styles i guess.”

“oh, you’re a fashion icon now?” you tease and he rolls his eyes fondly.

“let me show you what patti’s got for us,” he offers and once again, you take his arm and follow him to some corner of the arena.

the dressing room is pretty much what you’d expected—a room full of mirrors and closet doors. there’s a sofa in the corner and bottles of water on the table. clothes are scattered across chairs and hanging on racks, each outfit carefully selected for the show, each outfit a statement aesthetic for every member on stage.

and that’s pretty much it.

you plop onto the sofa. moments later ross does the same, slinging an arm around your shoulder that’s almost-a-cuddle-but-not-really. you desperately pray he can’t hear your hammering heart that’s almost in your throat now. he’s so cool and casual, so comfortable in the silence. you on the other hand, desperately feel the need to fill it.

“elena’s back from her holiday. stole some chocolates from her stache for you.”

his playful grin returns and ross straightens eagerly. “you really are a sweetheart.”

the word does funny things to your insides, almost like there’s an entire flock of birds going haywire in there until his hands comes to rest on your knee and every thought in your head goes quiet.

“go on then, show us what you got.”

one by one you pull them out—bonbons and candy and silly little heart-shaped sweets that were everywhere in preparation for valentine’s day. his face lights up like a kid at christmas, he unravels the nearest sweet, moaning at its sweetness dissolving on his tongue just like you had.

you stare at him unabashedly.

“i got this too,” you pull out the two black squares, handing him one. “dunno what they are but they looked fancy enough. i haven’t tried them yet though.”

together, you unwrap them and look at the dark square inside. they look nothing special, they smell like regular dark chocolate too. perhaps they’re a little richer than the ones before, slightly better but he shrugs and moves on to the next bonbon.

you do the same.

if the arena was chaotic before, it’s damn near cocophonous now. somewhere, someone’s yelling for all the instruments to be moved. jamie and matty are in a heated discussion with a few other creative consultants. adam has his headphones in and he’s plucking something on the guitar. george is nowhere to be seen and ross is on stage making sure his bass is tuned just the way he wants it.

you take the moment to stare at him while he’s busy. a stubborn strand of hair escapes onto his forehead, falling into his eyes while he focuses on the bass in his hands. his mouth is parted in concentration, eyebrows scrunched together with an adorable little crease in between.

a quick thought flashes in your brain—what would it be like to walk up to him and straddle him right now? to set his bass aside and demand his attention in a way you’ve never even imagined before. to kiss away his frown until everyone and everything in the room fades away into the background.

the butterflies in your stomach come back with a vengeance. ross shifts in his seat.

“will you settle a debate for us, love?” matty’s voice startles you enough that you almost stumble back but he’s already passionately begun explaining the dilemma.

you try to focus on him, you really do. usually, it’s fun to give your input on things, fun to listen to his everchanging and eccentric ideas as he tries to explain his vision in a cohesive way. but your attention can’t stop drifting to the man on stage.

your eyes can’t seem to move away from his fingers as they pick string after string.

heat simmers under your skin at the sight of them. interestingly enough, ross fidgets with the collar of his t-shirt and wipes a few beads of sweat off his forehead.

“are you… listening?” matty snaps his fingers, his face contorted in a puzzled look while jamie looks on impatiently.

“sorry, i—”

before you have the chance to finish again, they’re back at each other’s throats, bickering like an old married couple. you don’t even notice when they walk away and their voices peter out. you keep your eyes trained on ross and the hollow of his throat and his hands. subconsciously, you clench your thighs together.

what the fuck is wrong with you.

this isn’t the time or place to be horny. and yet the more strings he plucks, they more it reverberates through your entire body and makes your head spin with lust and heat. this is getting out of control and you cannot fucking figure out the reason behind it.

hurriedly, you make your way back to the dressing room. it’s deserted by now—everyone including the band and the crew are by the stage. it’s your luck that the room isn’t locked, that not a single person seems to be in this part of the arena.

you chest heaves as you slam the door shut, beelining to the sofa in a fucking daze. the chocolate wrappers from before sit innocently in the bin in the corner. you struggle with a bottle of water, gulping in down in hopes that it would cool you just a little. some of it spills down your top, the cotton sticks to your skin and the feel of it against your nipples feels overwhelming. electric, if you are being honest.

curses spil from your lips as you throw yourself on the sofa, on the left side of it, where ross had sat before. your mind conjures up the scent of his aftershave again, the feel of his hand on your knee, and you imagine it trailing up—fingers testing and taunting until they’re at the waistband of your jeans. until they’re dipping inside your underwear and swiping through your slick folds.

your breath catches and your hand drifts to the crotch of your jeans.

maybe if you could just take the edge off a bit. maybe if you could just do this and then never think of it again and then go back to to your day and never look ross in the eye ever again. your cunt pulses in rhythm with your heartbeat, which is already racing faster than it should be.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of him then. his body hovering on top of yours, pressing down on top of you until he sinks into you so deep that you feel him in your gut. you think of his lips, fucking perfect and so out of your leage. you think of the calloused pad of his fingers tracing your lip, your cupid’s bow.

against your better judgment, you sink further into the sofa, running your hands on your breasts, stomach, the insides of your thighs, all the while imagining how ross’ calloused fingers felt on your back and waist the countless times you'd hugged before. how they would feel in other places.

it’s fucking depraved but the thrill of it feels so sinfully good that you can’t stop your fingers from tracing circles over your clit—languid and loose.

your fingers feels too small, too soft. this isn’t what your body wants. it desperately craves him but he’s busy doing his actual job. your ears ring with the bloodrush and every touch against your skin feels like a zap of electricity passing through you.

one hand buried deep between your legs and the other kneading and massaging your nipples, you are on cloud nine. once or twice, you bite your lip to keep the moans down but what’s the point? the solid concrete walls would keep all the sounds inside anyway.

your pants fill the room, sweat gathers on your forehead and you feel it drawing closer, some semblance of a release at least. through the haze you see ross standing by the door, still as a statue, his mouth slightly open.

“ross…” you moan softly, willing this hallucination to come closer, to replace your hands with his, and finish what you started, but he doesn’t move.

a second passed by and then another, and then as if you’ve been doused with cold water, your entire body goes numb and cold.

he’s here. he’s not a hallucination or a figment of your lust-filled imagination, he is really. fucking. here.

you go cold and then hot again, sure that your entire face—hell, your entire body—has gone beetroot red. helplessly, you scramble to get your hands away from you, as if that would salvage anything at this point. as if that would wipe his memory of the last five minutes.

how did he even get here without you hearing so much as a creak? and you’d just moaned his name for fuck’s sake. the blood drains from your face, your heart stutters—this time for all the wrong reasons.

‘ross…’ your voice sounds all high-pitched and thin. all wrong and panicked.

ross only stalks toward you, deliberately slow and graceful, and stops a few inches away from the sofa. too far, the pervy part of your brain chimes in, he’s still standing a bit too far away. his eyes look dark and stormy, his face utterly fucking calm.

you try to suppress the tremor in your limbs, try to look anywhere but at him. (ideally, you try to look for something sharp to stab yourself with) and it’s then that your body betrays your entirely. slowly, as if against your will, your eyes slide down his body and linger on the bulge in his trousers. hard and prominent and fucking big enough to make you salivate despite the current situation.

“what are you doing here?” the words comes out as a weak whisper.

“watching you.”

his voice sounds deep and husky, with a dangerous edge to it. his eyes roam all over your body, or whatever’s visible of it—over your stomach and a sliver of underboob—and heat, more intense than you felt just minutes before, floods your entire body.

and yet, you still can’t look him in the eye.

“you are fucking stunning,” he breathes.

the words make your brain short-circuit. hastily, you try to cover your face, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole and spit you out into some parallel universe where ross just doesn’t exist anymore.

“oh, baby,” he tuts, moving closer until you’re face-to-face, and even now it isn’t enough. inspite of your humiliation, you want him closer, on top of you, and under your skin, and inside you, pounding into you until you are dumb and drooling.

he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting it up so that you have no choice but to look him in the eye. your mouth goes dry at the sight of them. his pupils are dilated to the point where his hazel eyes are almost completely black.

“don’t–don’t hide from me… you have no idea how long, i…” the rest of it dies on his lips when you whimper. your body feels liquid, blood flowing through your veins like molten lava, searing every inch of skin that’s begging for his touch.

“so touch me then,” the voice that comes out of you is pathetic, needy, but you can’t care less right now. if you had to stay in this state of limbo anymore the flimsy little thread holding the last of your sanity together would snap.

agonisingly slow, he pulls his t-shirt over his head. his chest gleams with sweat, tattoos starkly visible against his pale skin and you want to trace each and every one of them with your tongue, memorise all the grooves of his body with your fingers, fill up his scent into your lungs until it’s all you can smell.

just in his trousers now, he settles over you, knee pressed between your wide-open legs, brushing against your clothed clit. you hiss at the barest of touches. ross looking down at you is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, enough that you moan his name again. and again when he kisses you, softly at first and then harder, urgent and feverish.

his hands toy with the hem of your top and you nod fervently, eager to be rid of it. his tongue traces every inch of your mouth.

“just how i imagined you would taste,” he breathes in between kisses, and the words spear through the haze in your brain, burrowing themselves deep in there.

“you thought about how i’d taste?”

tenderly, he kisses your jaw, peppers a few more kisses on your cheek. “every moment of these last few months.”

you say something unintelligible, dumbstruck by how fucking sweet he sounds in the middle of everything. his hand trails up and down your spine, raising goosebumps in their wake, while his mouth continues to kiss your jaw, your neck, your cleavage. all you can do is tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him as close as you possibly can. unable to take it any longer, you fumble with the buckle of his belt, undoing the button and unzipping his trousers till you can palm him through his boxers. in spite of them still covering him, you moan at how big he feels, how deliciously thick and hard.

something in him snaps at the sound. it’s as if he’d been holding back until now, but now he grabs the hem of your top and slips it clean off you. his discarded trousers join the small heap on the floor and he takes one of your nipples in his mouth while pinching the other between his fingers.

“i need you inside me. please ross…”

“ride me,” he says instantly and you nod, flipping until he’s on the sofa and you’re on his lap, fumbling to get out of your jeans and underwear while he pulls his boxers down.

with one hand around your waist, ross lifts you up until his tip’s grazing your cunt. “go on darling, you can take me,” his voice trembles with barely controlled restraint. and you might as well be his puppet because you obey instantly, sinking onto him until he’s deep inside you, until you feel the delicious stretch and burn.

your gasp makes him groan.

his fingers grip your face gently, moving it to make you look at the giant mirrors next to you, at your bodies locked together.

“look at you…” he moans and thrusts up into you. you mewl at the suddenness of it, but it’s impossible to look away from the image in the mirror. you bouncing on his cock, rutting and moving your hips, shamelessly chasing ecstasy. his face slack with pleasure, his eyes roaming all over your body, taking in every inch of it while you take in every inch of him.

his thrusts are slow in the beginning, punishing almost and you try to increase the pace, digging your nails into his shoulders, until he’s smiling smugly at all the desperately written so clearly all over your face.

“faster,” you almost beg and he obliges instantly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. his fingers work at your clit again; pinching and rubbing, until you can no longer look at the mirror, can’t look at anything as your eyes roll back into your head and stars wink on the insides of your lids.

filthy words fill the room mixed with groans and moans from both of you. it almost feels like a trance—to feel him so deep inside you that your head buzzes, pleasure coild in your belly and you squirm and writhe, trying to feel more of him, greedy and insatiable.

heat builds in your stomach, the feeling from before starts at the base of your spine again, travelling up until it’s spreading throughout your body, to your fingertips. from the way ross’ thrusts turn wild and erratic, you know he’s close too.

“you feel so good, so–so fucking perfect,” you tell him, trying to get the words out in between moans and gasps.

“oh baby,” he coos, “we are fucking perfect together, aren’t we.”

frantically, you nod, capturing his mouth in another feverish hot kiss. “yes, yes.”

because that’s what you’ve been dying to hear for months now, dying to know that he felt the same want and yearning you did.

when the orgasm finally hits, you almost black out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. your loud moans fill the room, overshadowing any sounds he makes, but you’re too far gone to care. the sound undoes him within moments and ross thrusts hard into you, cumming with a loud groan. you feel the cum spilling in you and running down your thighs, sticky and wet.

vaguely, you’re aware if slumping forward and pressing your face into his chest. ross strokes your hair softly until you can get your breathing back to normal.

you giggle in his chest when the conversation with elena springs back into your mind. it feels so far away now, like it happened days ago instead of hours ago.

“what?” ross asks, sounding a bit amused.

“i was supposed to ask you out for coffee. elena dared me, in exchange for the chocolate.”

he giggles at your answer, pressing a quick kiss on your head, which instantly makes your heart melt.

“those chocolates were… something.”

you snort. that’s one way to put it. finally, you pull away, looking at him properly for the first time. his face is flushed and coated in sweat but he looks… happy. more than you’ve seen him before.

“so… coffee?” you bite your lip, irrationally shy now of all times.

ross kisses you in response, sweet and slow, a proper chaste kiss as if you’re not sat on his lap, still naked and dripping with his cum. but you kiss him back equally slow, giggling like a teenager.

“like you have to ask.”

lemme know what you think <33

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#valentine75 #valentine's week #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald smut #minors dni #the 1975 fanfic

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hypersonic04 · 8 months

Text

'Tis The Damn Season

I know it's only september, but i just love writing christmas one shots so much lol. i hope you all love this because it was so comforting and cosy to write!!

word count: 3,574

Your boots crunch in the snow, muffled in the emptiness of the path you were dragging your suitcase down. You check your watch - half past two. You'd promised to be there by 1 o'clock, but work had kept you at your desk in London for an extra couple of hours.

If only they hadn't chosen a cottage in the middle of nowhere to be the family Christmas destination.

It was tradition: every year, on the 24th of December, everyone descended on your mother's best friends' cottage, hidden out in the snowy countryside. Fond memories of opening presents with your brothers and her sons, building their newly gifted race car tracks and trying to fit your Barbie dolls in their monster trucks. Now, though, things are different, evenings spent drinking wine and listening to how successful your brother's business is, rather than playing Monopoly and falling asleep on a 15 year old Ross Macdonald's shoulder. You cringe to yourself even now as you remember how clumsy and awkward you were - he was a couple of years older than you, and you vividly remember listening to him shyly talk about his band at the Christmas dinner table, cheeks turning pink and yours even pinker when he met your graceless, 14-year-old-crush gaze. You'd seen his success, and you were immeasurably proud of him, but there was always something that made your heart ache, seeing him on magazines and at awards shows, and knowing that your distant childhood memories were that, really: distant.

You almost cry with happiness when you spot the house in the distance. Your pace quickens, dragging the hefty suitcase along behind you. The sky is unbelievably clear and blue, the air crisp with December cold, a scarf wrapped around your neck and tucked into your coat. Your boots are rubbing at your ankles, your nose red and freezing - opening the door to the cottage you've been to every Christmas of your life has never felt as joyous as it does right now.

A room full of warm, lit up faces.

"She's here!"

The room glows with love. You're engulfed in hugs, kisses to your rosy, cold cheeks, your mum taking your scarf from you and a glass of mulled wine shoved into your hand. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, familiar ornaments hanging there like they'd been up since the previous year. You were the last person to arrive, one of your brothers sat on the sofa, Ross' brother attempting to kindle the fire, your other brother having an in depth chat with Ross' dad about Formula 1.

"You're freezing cold, my girl," Bella, your mother's friend, holds your hands in hers, "how have you been?"

She moves to hold you at arms length, looking at you like she did when you were a little girl. A fondness in her eyes, warm and homely, a sense of knowing.

"I'm okay! You know, busy with work and everything." Smiling at her, you squeeze her hands gently. Her eyes linger on you for a few seconds, lips forming a line.

"Well, you look as gorgeous as ever, darling." She tucks a curl behind your ear, tilting her head a little.

The creak of the stairs is what draws you away from her indistinguishable expression.

He's wearing a maroon knit sweater, dark wash, blue jeans, white socks padding down the staircase. His hair is what makes you swallow heavily, pulled back into a bun and his beard seemingly darker and a little longer than last time. He ducks his head under the beam when he reaches the last step.

"I've sorted the spare room, Mum-"

His face softens when he sees you. His mouth agape a little, stopping mid-sentence, the corners of his mouth curling upwards softly. He stutters over his words for a second before a string of 'hello's' and 'didn't know you'd got here's tumbled out of his mouth.

You can't hold back the smile that graces your face at the sight of him. It's Ross.

His mum steps to the side for a second as he makes his way over, raising her eyebrows at your mum like gossiping teenagers. You know exactly what they're insinuating, the same thing they've insinuated every year since you were about 13.

He smiles at you so softly, eyes creasing in the corner as he leans down to give you a hug. One arm wrapped around you shoulders, the other around your back, yours around his waist. The fabric of his sweater is so soft under your touch, his aftershave pleasant as you inhale gently. Closing your eyes for a second, you allow yourself to slot into his hold, the familiar pair of arms around you warming you up more than any fireplace or red wine ever could.

"What time did you get here?" He says, pulling away from you and shoving a hand into his pocket, the other coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

"About five minutes ago, I was running late anyway, but then the taxi driver wouldn't drive any further down the footpath." You laugh lightly.

"I'd have come to give you a hand if I'd have known, sorry, I-" He has an apologetic expression, eyebrows raising a little.

"No, it's fine!" You frown a little with a shake of your head, "I had no signal anyway, wouldn't have been able to ring you."

He nods in agreement, rolling his eyes, "I ask them all the time why they picked to live in the middle of a field." He laughs.

"Ross, did you take the turkey out of the freezer earlier?" His mum calls to him, the sound of her in the kitchen filling both your ears and nostrils, the delicious smell of Bella's famous Christmas Eve feast filling the room. He purses his lips, eyes going wide and a giggle escaping your lips, hand coming over your mouth.

"Shit." He laughs boyishly, "Didn't you ask Dad to do that?" He calls after her, walking off into the kitchen.

You stand there for a second, the grin on your face immovable, arms folded over your stomach.

"What are you smiling at, hm?" Your eldest brother raises his eyebrows at you teasingly, picking up your suitcase for you.

"Shut up." You huff, rolling your eyes in classic younger sister fashion.

The teasing about your crush on Ross had been a constant in your life. You'd never explicitly told anyone about it, but the way you reacted when they'd bring him up in conversation was enough.

"He's single, you know?" He mumbles as you follow him upstairs, into your spare room.

"Who's single?" You play dumb, keeping your eyes on the floor as he turns his head to you, scoffing.

"Oh, give it a rest. You bloody know who."

Setting your suitcase on the bed, he leaves you to unpack and get settled. It's the same room you stayed in every year - a singular, rectangular window overlooking the front garden, flowered wallpaper at Bella's persistence, her excuse being that she never had girls. The light blue bedspread brings back memories of Christmas mornings gone by, the boys waking you up because you were always the last one awake. Your mind wanders as you unpack, setting sweaters and mini skirts and sparkly New Years' dresses on the bed, so the tap at the door takes you by surprise.

"Sorry, 'didn't mean to make you jump." Ross stands in the doorway, greeting you with a creased grin.

"Oh, it's fine." You laugh softly, awkwardly even, playing with the hem of the pyjama bottoms in your hand. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you fancied going to the pub later? Rob said it's a pub quiz or something, thought you'd like it."

"Sure, yeah. I'll come." You nod with a sweet smile, watching as he nods back at you with pursed lips.

"We're leaving in about an hour, so..." His voice trails off a little, and you notice how his eyes move up and down your figure, blinking profusely. You suddenly feel conscious, standing there in a pair of old mom jeans and the most basic of t shirts, something you'd thrown on in a hurry. Christ knows what your hair looks like.

His eyes linger for a second, dropping down to the suitcase laid out flat on the bed. A smirk graces his lips, before turning on his heel and heading back downstairs, his footsteps light on the wooden floorboards. Your cheeks flush bright red when you turn back to the open suitcase - a pair of your laciest knickers, black with little frills on the sides, placed almost perfectly in his eye line, right next to a matching red pair. You stand for a second with your lips pulled inwards, closing your eyes. That did not just happen.

Post-unpacking, you head back downstairs and try to pretend that Ross seeing your underwear isn't the only thing consuming your mind. Everyone's sat around the living room, some Christmas special on the television, the faintest falling of snow like a picture through the window. It's getting darker, the warm glow of Bella's fairy lights in every nook and cranny bathing the cottage in the most festive light. It's freezing outside, but the company in the house makes it the warmest it's been all year.

Coats and scarves are donned, boots pulled on and hats on heads. It's the five of us, and the familiarity and nostalgia of it makes me feel warm. I look at their faces for a second, older yet the memories of our youth peeking through their boyish smiles and loud laughs.

"Be careful, you lot, it's really coming down now." Your mum looks through the kitchen window.

"And remember your key, Ross. I don't want you waking us up at God knows what time."

"Mum, I'm 34 years old, I've got my key." He rolls his eyes with a laugh, his mum fondly hitting his fleece-covered arm.

Your mum was right, the snow was really coming down now.

"Shit." You mumble as you stumble down the path a little, boots sticking in the snow.

The boys are a bit further ahead, as per usual, but Ross hangs back when he sees you struggling. He looks to them for a second, like he wants to tell them to wait for you both, but he decides against it.

"Shouldn't have worn those boots, you know. Docs are rubbish in the snow." He says, holding his hand out to you as you near him. You take it gladly, the material of your gloves sticking together. His hold is firm, keeping you stable.

"Alright, 'dad', bloody hell." You tease, the sound of his laugh heavenly.

"Sorry, sorry." He smiles, glancing down at you. He grins at the way the snowflakes settle in your hair, watching as you brush them off your eyelashes. "Always walking off and leaving us." He gestures to the three of them ahead.

"Some things never change, hm?"

"Yeah, I guess not."

He looks down at you for a second and you meet his gaze. There's something unspoken there, some ulterior meaning. He runs his thumb over your gloved hand, and you rest your head on his arm affectionately, feeling him squeeze your hand. There's a smile on both of your faces, knowing, just like his mum earlier.

"How's things with the band?" You ask after lifting your head from his bicep, looking up at him.

"Good, yeah. Really good." There's a look on his face that you don't always see when you're all sat around talking about work. He seems truly content, proud. "You should come and see us play. We're on tour in February."

Your face lights up at the suggestion and his stomach twists, the way your eyes widen and lips curve upwards making him toasty in the cold of the snow. It's darker now, street lamps lighting the path as you all trundle down it, but the glow that seems to exist when you're together is brighter than any of them.

"That would be wonderful." You smile sweetly and hold his arm with your other hand.

The boys wait up for you, and you find yourselves suddenly letting go of each other. They roll their eyes, surprised that the two of you are still keeping up with the 'we're totally not in love with each other' act.

The pub is bustling when you get there. Groups of friends who have evidently been day drinking laughing loudly, couples stood in dimly lit corners, music playing over the speakers. It's trimmed up with garlands and wreaths on every door, candles lit at every table. Ross heads to the bar whilst the rest of you find a table to sit at. You take the booth seat, as does Ross when he returns with five pints and a packet of peanuts, your favourite.

You do the quiz, and despite not winning, you treat yourself to a shot in the excuse of it being Christmas. Time passes on, people recommending songs and the night slowly turning into karaoke. You laugh into Ross' arm, slowly getting closer and closer to each other throughout the night until you're pressed into each other's side.

"I think I might go back, I'm shattered." Ross' brother yawns, your own nodding in agreement. You frown a little, looking at your still half full pint from the round that you'd payed for.

"We can stay, if you want." Ross nudges your side, your faces inches apart. "We're going to stay until y/n's finished her pint, lads."

They look between each other for a second before nodding in agreement, exchanging hugs with you and a brief "get back safe" before leaving. Your youngest brother pushes the door open with his back, giving you a thumbs up as he leaves, immediately making you roll your eyes at him.

"Do you want to stay for one more?" Ross asks as he watches you drink your current pint. You open your mouth and close it again, nodding perhaps a little too eagerly.

You never want the night to end. The rest of the evening is spent giggling together like teenagers over things that happened years ago, talking about past failed relationships, and everything in between. His arm is around you, the occasional kiss to your forehead or a hold of his hand.

"He didn't deserve you, y/n." He looks down at you with raised eyebrows and lips pulled inwards. "I knew it from the second I met him."

"Did you really?" You wince at the thought of everyone around you being able to see that your boyfriend is a dickhead, but you.

"Mhm, hated him. That was the worst Christmas of my life."

"Jesus Christ, Ross. I don't think he was that bad!" You laugh loudly and he shakes his head.

"What, watching him all over you for a week? Torture."

It takes you by surprise, and you can tell he's shocked at his bravery when he tales a rather large gulp of beer. You analyse his face for a second, a look of what might be panic on his face. He meets your gaze for a second before averting his eyes back to the dodgy singer doing a rendition of Last Christmas.

"Well, I never really liked any of your girlfriends, either." You quip, watching as he relaxes a little, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh, really? Which one?" He cocks his head upwards, looking at you with intrigue.

"What was she called, the really tall one? She pretended I didn't exist the whole time I was here, Ross."

"Oh, yeah..." He scrunches his nose up, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, it was ages ago." You shrug.

You sit in silence for a few seconds, both of you pretending to watch karaoke, but rather pondering what the other had just said.

"I don't think I'd like any of your boyfriends, y/n." He says suddenly, looking at you intensely. You try to read his mind, to see if he's actually just said what you'd heard.

"Why's that?" You frown.

"You know why." He scoffs. Your eye contact is intense, immovable, the brown of his eyes almost like a honey colour in the light of the pub. Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. You've been close to things like this before with him, sat perhaps a little too close together on the sofa on Boxing Day, or sharing a cigarette outside on the seat swing when everyone else is asleep, but never like this.

"I don't know why, Ross." You play dumb, the faintest smirk forming on your lips. He watches your mouth as it curves, his own mirroring you.

"Don't be like this." He laughs airily, his arm along the back of your seat, body tilted towards you.

The call for last orders takes you both out of your moment, almost like coming back down to Earth.

"We should probably go home."

"Yeah, you're right."

You stumble out of the pub, the snow still falling gently, your bellies warm from the alcohol and company.

"Come on, you." He teases, hooking his arm through yours.

"If I remember right, I think it was you that nearly decked it last time we went out, so I should be looking after you, really." You giggle, watching as he groans a bit, shaking his head.

"Why are you bringing that up, seriously?" He laughs, admiring how funny you find the memory.

"Wasn't it about here, as well?" You point at the street.

"Oh, give it a rest." He holds the hand that's hooked through his arm.

The walk back seems to take forever, the two of you laughing loudly and being silly, the smile on your face the biggest all year. The lights are still on when you get home, the cottage glowing like a beacon in the dark, white-covered field.

"Do you ever miss being at home? You know, when it looks so pretty, like this." You ask, walking hand in hand, a little drunkenly.

"I mean, sometimes. I think it's more about missing the people and what being at home usually means. Y'know, being with my mum and dad, and you and everyone."

You come to a halt on the path leading up to the house, turning to him for a second. He's illuminated by the warmth of the house, his coat zipped up right around his neck, cheeks rosy and eyes drowsy.

"Can't we just pretend for the weekend, Ross?" You look at him pleadingly and he frowns.

"Pretend what?"

"Like we're not terrified of ruining everything. Just for one Christmas, can't we just pretend that we're not scared of what might happen?"

He looks at you for a second, his eyes scanning over your face for some kind of secret, hidden message.

"Are you sure?"

You nod, your brow down-turned for a second as you worry that you have, in fact, ruined everything.

The kiss he places on your lips proves that wrong. He holds your face in both hands, yours firmly wrapped around his wrists, leaning into his kiss. It's even better than you ever dreamed of. It's warm, and gentle, and perfect. His eyes are starry when he pulls away, dazed even, and your heart feels as though it could burst.

"Can we stay together tonight?" He says lowly, faces inches apart and still resting in the tenderness of his hands. You hum with a nod, following him onto the porch and into the house. Bella must've left the lights on, because everyone's asleep. It's silent, TV off and bedroom doors shut, and it's like you're teenagers sneaking around.

You head upstairs and change into the checked pyjamas you'd bought especially for Christmas Eve. Looking in the mirror, your cheeks are full and aglow, curls soaked from the snow that'd melted.

The familiar knock at your door doesn't startle you this time. He's wearing a t-shirt and plaid bottoms, his hands on your hips already comfortable. He walks you back towards the bed, the backs of your legs hitting it and his hold keeping you steady. You can feel him smiling as he kisses you, pulling away for a second.

"I can't even tell you how much I've thought about this." He whispers, looking down at your lips. You run your hands through his hair, now down and making your stomach twist in ways you didn't know it could.

"Me too." You whisper back.

The opening of a bedroom door and feet in the hallway makes you freeze on the spot. Your eyes widen when the bathroom door opens, the room next to your bedroom, whilst his crease in muffled laughter. You hit his shoulder, hiding your face in his chest. The two of you stand silence until the footsteps have gone back the way they came and doors are closed.

"Oh my god." You sigh, shaking your head with a laugh.

The two of you settle in the single bed in your room, his warm hands under your pyjama top, calloused and rough fingertips against your smooth skin. It feels like making up for lost time, lost touches, nights when you've slept in an empty bed and wondered whether he's thinking of you too.

And although it's the same room you've always slept in for Christmas, the same bed sheets, its the warmest bed you've ever known that evening.

#ross macdonald #the 1975 #1975 band #fanfic #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #matty the 1975 #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald imagine

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tonguepiercedanyway75 · 7 days

Text

Farmers market // Ross Macdonald x Reader

summary: you spend a lovely morning with Ross, slowly waking up together and then going to the farmers market

warning: smut in the beginning, MDNI 18+

based on this request

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As the first rays of sunlight gently kiss your eyelids, coaxing you out of your slumber, you feel a familiar warmth spread across your face. Slowly, you blink open your eyes, greeting the soft, golden glow that fills the room. The warmth of the sun seeps into your bones, your skin almost burning.

It’s finally summer and it’s finally so hot that the sun is urging you to get up.

Turning your gaze to the sleeping form beside you, you can’t help but admire the peaceful expression on his face. His tousled hair falls gently across his forehead and the rise and fall of his chest match the rhythm of his deep, steady breaths.

You trace the curve of his jawline with your fingertip, marveling at the way his features seem to come alive in the morning light. His lashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks, and the faintest hint of a smile play at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he hums, moving his arm from your leg to your back to pull you against him. He has no intention of getting up.

“Morning Ross,” you smile against his chest, his head resting on yours. Your hands find its way to his side, trailing your fingers up and down.

“It’s already 9,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he groans, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, “don’t have to get up now though.”

Since tour’s over, you want to make up for the lost time. Ross didn’t leave your side at all on the first day and the following days it was you who appreciated the closeness.

“No but we wanted to be at the farmers market at 10:30 at latest, remember?” You ask and let out a giggle when Ross groans. He then rolls himself on top of you and you bend your knees to let him settle his legs between yours.

He doesn’t kiss you but he trails his beard from your right collarbone to your left, knowing that it tickles you. “Plenty of time then,” he says, his nose brushing up at yours now before leaning down to kiss you.

“Ross,” you object, pushing his head away from you slowly, “we have so much to do,” you say but he swats your hands away from him and punches your side.

“C’mon relax, don’t have to do anything besides snog,” he’s serious but you hate that word and he knows it. You giggle and throw your head back when he finally kisses your stomach properly.

“Love don’t worry, we’re always on time right?” You nod and smile when Ross comes up to give you a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I want to give you a proper good morning,” His buttoned up shirt hangs loosely around your body and it takes only one movement to throw it down your bed.

Normally the cold air hitting your chest gives you goosebumps, but now it’s refreshing cause of the hot temperature in your room.

You’re not wearing a bra and Ross is delighted at the sight. “I love your tits,” the comment makes you smile which is quickly replaced by a gasp when Ross started to lap at your nipple.

“There we go,” he mumbles, feeling your body finally relax under his touch. Your hand finds its way to his hair, slowly tugging at it. He switched boobs, not wanting to neglect some parts of your body.

He stops when he feels your hands cup his face, you don’t need to tell him anything in that moment, you missed him so much. Ross turns his head only a bit, to kiss the palm of your hand.

He moves his lips to your breastbone, resting his lips there before coming up to kiss you again. More passionate and hot this time.

You wrap your legs around him, keeping him close but all those clothes on him are making it hard to feel him properly. You lift his shirt over his head and immediately kiss his collarbone and bite down softly. Ross hisses and chuckles, “easy love.”

You eye him shamelessly, so sexy as he removes the rest of his clothing. The space between you two doesn’t satisfy you, so you pull his body down again.

You feel his body moving downwards but you stop him, “no,” you say firmly, “need you like this.” You grind your hips on his cock, letting him feel your wetness.

“Christ,” He rests his forehead to yours, swallowing your needy gasp as he presses into you. “you’re so wet,” his voice is so desperate, soft and husky with desire but most of all love.

“My girl,” he says, pushing himself deeper, circling your clit with his right hand. You clench around him when the praise slips from his mouth.

Ross’ pace is slow, trying to feel every movement and very touch intense. While his hips try to keep the slow motion, he doesn’t stop kissing you, his tongue teasing your lips and when you moan out his name, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

“Ross,” you moan out, the new rhythm catching you off guard. His arm moves under your head, holding him up to reach the right angle.

“I know,” he groans, “god- I know.” He can’t help himself to buck up in you harder, making you moan out loud. He understands by the way you are choking up moans and scratching up his back that this is the perfect pace that makes you go over the edge, voice catching in your throat as your head flung back in ecstasy.

“Ross,” You whine breathlessly, your grip on his shoulders tightened. You’re sure Ross is leaving multiple hickeys on your neck because he doesn’t remove his lips from you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whined, your brain too far gone to think of anything else to say.

Your walls constrict around him, your body tense and he knows you are close. “Cum with me, c’mon.” You come undone in seconds, powerful waves of pleasure washing through you and against him. He manages a few more thrusts before he sinks himself in you, painting your walls with his spend.

He holds you close, not pulling out immediately, “I love you,” he says, kissing every spot on your head making you smile. “You are perfect.”

Ross takes his time pulling out. You whimper at the empty feeling but he kisses you gently as if to combat the feeling. “You feeling alright?”

“More than alright,” Ross hums at your answer, kisses your lips one more time before standing up to get dressed again.

You lay back and pull his flannel shirt over your head and watch him pulling his hair back to make a man bun. You keep a smile on your face, him still being without a shirt you notice the scratch marks on his back. You giggle which makes him turn around to look at you.

“You think you’re so funny,” he chuckles walking towards you to squeeze your hip, making you yelp. “S’ ten after ten, if you get dressed now we’re on time.” You lean forward to kiss him but he pulls back teasingly. “Earn it,” he jokes. You smack his chest, before walking to his drawer to pull a green flannel shirt over your head.

While you put on the rest of your clothes, Ross desperately tries to find his sunglasses. “Found ‘em.”

He’s wearing a white shirt, and grey jeans, looking absolutely handsome and you don’t hold back to tell him.

“Ready to go?” He asks and stretches out his hand for you to take it. You intertwine your fingers, Ross immediately lifting your hands to kiss your knuckles. It’s 10:27 when you leave the house, you shake your head laughing.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair when you leave the house.

You have to walk good 15 minutes to the farmers market and when you arrive the streets are filled with people’s talks and laughs.

The streets are golden from the sun, people wearing dresses, skirts and colorful tops. You being here with Ross is making you even happier.

“Can you look for those sick pink fruits?” He says, “let’s meet each other back here in 5 minutes,” before you can object he walks down the street.

You buy the dragon fruit Ross wanted you to buy. It was a fast action. When you walk back, Ross is nowhere to be seen.

You watch people, some kids running around, a really old couple shopping for vegetables and some teenage kids, hanging around. Then it’s dark and you feel a hand covering your eyes.

You turn around and meet Ross’ grin and a basket of flowers. Your favorites. Tulips. Orange, yellow, pink and red tulips fill the bunch of flowers.

Your eyes widen and smile, “Ross you shouldn’t have,” you take the flowers and pull him in for a kiss.

“Nonsense, you deserve flowers every day.” You pout your lips at his cuteness and take his hand again, strolling through the different stalls.

“I’m so glad we have all the time in the world right now,” you admit, looking at him, breathing in all his features.

“Have all the time to do this now,” he stops walking to let his lips brush against yours with a softness that speaks of tenderness.

You feel the tickle of his beard against your skin, adding a layer of sensation that heighten the intimacy. When you pull back, you just look at each other, happy to have each other.

“C’mon, let’s keep looking.”

You spend the morning enjoying each others company, telling each other how much you’ve missed the other and being blessed that you can spend all the mornings like today.

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

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tillthelandslide · 2 months

Text

Same For You (14) : Can't Get Enough

Series Masterlist

(13) Take Me Higher

A/n: a huge thank you to my love @achangeofheartx ilysm, thank you for reading this for me, i miss you. Heads up everyone, its a long one and im not entirely sure when the next part will be out so enjoy this for a while hehe. Love you all - Lou

The Uber drops her off at Matty's house 15 minutes later. She had texted him a few times and tried to call him but didn't get a reply. She thinks maybe he's fallen asleep but her worry had truly started to set in so she had to at least try to see if he was okay. It was unlike Matty to leave through a session, sure they were nearly done but he was usually the last to leave and if he did he never left without saying goodbye and a hug or two. She politely knocks on the door twice, waiting for some kind of sound from inside. She can hear a low mumbling sound so she knocks again, hoping he’d be close enough to hear her now. The house falls silent for a few moments before she hears shuffling again. Her hand finds the door and she knocks once more, deciding if he didn't answer this time she'd give in and head home.

She hears someone swear inside and a few moments later someone is fumbling with the door handle. Inch by inch she sees him and her throat dries. Her eyes rake slowly down his form but to him it’s quicker than a blink of an eye, he still notices though, and if he was in his usual ‘Matty state of mind’: the Matty that fancies her like mad and whose heart would pick up with so much as a single look from her; he’d smirk. He stands before her, his hair a mess on top of his head, trousers undone and hardly on, a clear sign he had just put them on. He is shirtless and he looks a mess. But not an 'im sick and you've just woke me up" kind of a look, but a "you've just caught me after I've been fucking" kind of look.

One tell-tell sign is the red lipstick stains covering his neck. She immediately takes a step back, distancing herself from him. Her chest constricts, her throat dries, she swallows but that doesn’t help, she looks him up and down again, attempting to see this from a new angle, one in which doesn’t make her feel this way. She hates this, she hates that she stands there with a mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water, she hates that it's him standing there, topless and looking like that. More than anything she hates how she finds herself feeling jealous, all whilst she can still feel the ghost of another man’s lips on her skin - on her lips. Her eyes fall to his lips and they move, he speaks. His voice is sudden and it has her stepping back more.

Walls back up but they’re weak but at least they’re there, whether they protect her at all is yet to be seen. She tries to push down the sicky feeling that makes its way into her stomach and the sudden nausea she feels is off putting.

"Y/n…" his voice trails off and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. She hears a noise coming from further in the house and her eyes flick towards it, hearing a woman speak before she sees her. A high pitch and entirely fake "babe, come back to bed" before she sees a blond girl wearing his shirt and a pair of panties standing at the middle of his stairs. She steps back again, another step back, more distance, it doesn’t stop the pain in her chest and it definitely does not stop her feeling sick.

"Y/n wait!!!" He says, she turns and starts walking down the street. She doesn't look back but he follows. He watches her chest as she walks, rising and falling rapidly, he hates it.

"Wait, I can explain!" Matty shouts, despite jogging alongside her now.

"Matty it's fine you don't have to explain… it's pretty obvious what's going on" she says her voice is slightly snappy and she scolds herself for sounding like that. He stops her with a hand to her shoulder.

"You can't seriously be annoyed?" He asks and she sighs. She closes her eyes for a second or two before they’re opening. Glazed and glistening orbs finding his.

"I'm not annoyed Matty" she doesn’t sound like her and Matty really doesn’t like that. It feels odd, like he’s talking to a version of her that he doesn’t know, it feels formal and way too unfamiliar.

"Tell that to your face" his eyes flick around her features, despising the way his heart picks up as he looks at her.

“Go home Matty, you’ll freeze out here” she says, stepping back again until his hand falls from her shoulder.

“Y/n talk to me please”

"Sorry, George told us you weren't feeling well so I thought I'd come check on you but it's fine… I see you're preoccupied" her eyes flick back down the street to where his door can just about be seen.

"You're so annoyed" he says with a smirk, taking a step back, running a hand through his hair cockily. He can’t deny that he enjoys the fact he’s gotten under her skin and how she's trying to hide it but failing miserably.

"I was worried about you Matty! I thought you were sick! So I come to check on you only to find out you're not sick at all" she laughs "actually you're so ‘unsick’ that you're fucking some girl' she says, she looks away from him but he turns her face back to look at him. She cringes at how jealous she sounds.

"Y/n you were with Ross…." He says and she freezes. Shit… he heard. She's silent.

"You were with Ross… you are with Ross" he raises his hands in the air before they fall to his sides. His chest matches hers now, rising and falling harshly but in tandem with one another.

"Me and Ross… we're not… with each other" Matty rolls his eyes. He takes a step towards her and she takes one back, needing the distance.

"But you want to be and so does he"

"Matty we can't… we work together" she lies again and she hates that she does. She hates that she can't seem to tell him the truth.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me… and stop! Stop saying that! Just be an adult and admit you want to be with him… it would save a lot of trouble"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks, raising her voice slightly.

"It means… maybe if you'd grow up a little and admit you like him that it would save us all a lot of time" he says, venom laced in his words. Their age gap was something that both of them agreed was something trivial, a fact that didn't really matter. But now he's bringing it up and using it to spite her. And it's horrible.

"Fuck you Matty' she spits back, turning and walking away from him again. He catches her quickly, pushing against her until her back is against the wall of a building. One hand rests against the brick next to her hand whilst the other anchors her to him with a firm grip on her hip. She’s breathless.

"Tell me you don't want Ross… tell me and I'll go tell that girl to fuck off…" he says, his hand moves to her waist and it feels electric - it feels like fire and ice combined. It burns against her skin and she has to close her eyes to push the feeling away. She can’t keep them closed for too long though, not wanting to miss a single moment.

"Matty…" she opens her eyes, she can feel him against her, really feel him. His chest against hers, soft but toned, so close that she can feel his erratic heartbeat against her chest. She can feel their breath combining, beginning to move in tandem, riding and falling together, against each other.

"I know you feel something here" one gentle hand presses against her chest between them, right over her heart.

"Matty stop" she clamps her eyes shut again, making him disappear. But the feelings she's been trying so hard to push away don't disappear either. And she hates that.

"Say it" he leans in closer, so much closer. She can feel his lips graze hers. She wants to move away from him, but that would make her seem bothered by his movements.

“Tell me you don't want me too” she feels his words against her lips. It's a featherlight touch, a graze, a barely-there connection but she feels it in her soul.

She breathes a heavy breath before her eyes flutter open, they cover his face, landing on his lips and one of her hands comes to rest against his cheek, soothing over the stubble covered skin. He watches as her eyes gloss over slightly, before she's whispering the two words that he has to pretend don't completely derail his world.

"I can't"

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to” he says, begging her one last time, to change her mind, to tell him what he wants to hear, what he so desperately wants her to say.

“I can't” she repeats.

"Exactly" he pulls away and starts walking back to his house again.

"Matty! Wait" she says, halting him, he turns again. She wants to say that she does want Ross but she wants him too. But she can't.

"Whether you admit it or not.. Ross likes you and you were with him. I heard you… so as long as you keep denying how you feel… I'm going to go back up to my house" he says, pointing behind him "and I'm going to be with someone who can actually admit they want me" he walks two steps before he turns again.

"And preferably someone who doesn't also like my best friend" he leaves her standing there breathless and speechless.

She walks home in an attempt to clear her head, but Matty's words keep ringing around her mind. It makes her heartbeat quicken and she finds herself walking twice as quickly.

She showers - a long, hot shower and another attempt to rid the thoughts from her mind. It fails. She tries to sleep but she can't. She tosses and turns, getting more tired by the minute but still failing to sleep. She hates that he was right. She hates that once again he saw straight through her. She hates herself even more for the whole ordeal… for falling for someone so quickly and even more so for the feelings she bore towards Matty.

She almost wishes she never met them, it would make things easier, she wouldn't have come in and fucked up both their lives.

But selfishly (or not so, knowing they'd feel the same) she knows this, complicated and kind of fucked up situation is a thousand times better than not having them in her life.

She hates that she can’t stop thinking about his words, about that girl standing at the top of his stairs. She was nothing like that girl… is that why he picked her? To distract himself with something different, someone different. Someone who wasn't her. She feels her eyes flutter and she thinks she might, finally, fall asleep. But then her phone is blaring on her nightstand and she reaches far too quickly to retrieve it.

“Hi” she says sadly, knowing who was calling.

“Hi…” he says, his voice is quiet and unsure.

“I was trying to sleep… trying so goddamn hard to not call you… but I made a promise” he explains and she sighs.

“Maybe you should've broken it” her voice sounds bitter and she hates it. She hates that she's mad at him, because she doesn't really have the right. She brought this all in herself.

“Y/n/n…” his voice trails off, she hears the flick of his lighter and the soft exhale. She imagines the smoke piling out between his lips and once again she has to close her eyes to get the image out of her mind.

She feels her breath quicken, her eyes water and her lip shakes.

“Matty” his name slips out, the word wavering. He immediately knows she's crying and his heart twists in chest, as if someone's thrust a hand through the skin, grabbed hold and squeezed with all their strength.

“Do you not understand how hard this is for me?” She asks, each word is so quiet he nearly misses them.

Matty doesn't reply for a few moments, listening to the way she was breathing on the other side of the line. Bated and harsh, occasionally she'd inhale and it would be shaky. He made her cry. He swore he wouldn't do that again.

“It's hard for me too y/n/n…” she nods although she knows he can't see her.

“Do you wish you never met me? It would be easier that way”

“No y/n. No. Never” he says.

“Why do you not hate me Matty?” her voice shakes and he hears the sob that tears through her at the end of her words.

“I could never hate you”

“But why? I deserve it…” she wants to continue, to say, "I'm stringing you along, I'm falling for your best friend faster than I should be, I'm allowing myself to be with him but denying you and you should hate me for it” But she doesn't say that.

“No matter what you did… no matter what you will do… I don't think I could ever hate you”

“I don't think that's how it should be Matty” she rolls onto her back, looking up at the pictures hanging across her room. She both loves and hates how many there are of both men now. They’re there, always there, demanding that her heart belongs to them and she doesn’t have the power to say no, to either of them and that’s the problem.

“Who says?” She shrugs. They're silent for a second before she lets her intrusive side ask the question that's been on her lips from the moment he called.

“How was she?” He chuckles and it makes her smile. Why was she smiling?

“She wasn't you”

The date is perfect, exactly like a dream, every detail is etched in her brain and she's sure it will stay there forever, marked as the best date she had ever been on.

He arrived with a huge bouquet of lilies and tulips, so big that she couldn't see his face when she opened the door. He lowered them slowly, making her giggle and reach for his collar, tugging him inside her flat. She felt freer this morning, hellbent on just focusing on the man in front of her. The man who, with one more tug from her, is lowering the flowers to the little table she has by the door and taking her waist into his large hands.

He lowers his mouth to hers gently, they both sigh in tandem. Bliss. This was bliss.

“I missed you” he murmurs against her mouth. She doesn't say it's been less than a day, she doesn't say that despite barely having a minute to think about anything but Matty and his words, and the phone call, she missed him too. She didn't even have to think about Ross to miss him, she didn't have to think at all. Her body and the way it longed for his touch, longed to see those dimples appear at his cheeks and the way his eyes glistened as he looked down at her. Her body and her mind missed him without even having to try.

“I missed you too” she says, slowly pulling away, she reaches for the flowers behind him, smiling widely down at them.

“Thank you, they're beautiful”

“Just like you” his words make her giggle and blush.

“Let me go put these in some water and then we can go” he nods, and follows her into her kitchen. She retrieves a vase from one of her cupboards, filling it with tap water before unwrapping the flowers and putting them in.

She turns to him and smiles, watching the way his fingers traced over a new photo attached to her fridge - One she took of Ross and June at the studio. His smile is so big and it makes her heart swell every time she looks at it, only worsened by the way her nephew is looking up at the bassist.

“What’s the plan Macdonald”? She asks, loving the way he blushes slightly and the way he smirks down at her and especially the way he nibbles his bottom lip slightly.

“Well…” he says, turning to her and opening his arms, she steps into them freely, loving the way his large arms wrapped around her frame. She instantly felt safe. She felt at home.

“There's this record shop I wanted to show you” she smiles and nods excitedly “and then I booked a table at this restaurant” he says and her eyebrows raise.

“Aren't I a bit underdressed for that?” She asks, eyes flicking down to her clothes.

“Love you could turn up in a bin bag and still look better than everyone in there” it makes her giggle again which makes him smile widely, pecking her lips briefly.

“Besides…” his hand that's around her waist slips slightly, resting against her hip and squeezing.

“You could be…” his hand slips further, rounding the side of her hip, taking a handful of her arse and squeezing until she's gasping.

“More, underdressed” his words make her cheeks coat a deep red but she doesn't hide from him. Darker eyes boring into hers as he smirks an evil smirk.

“I like these jeans” he says, squeezing her arse again. She wore them on purpose, loving the way they accentuated her bottom. She was glad he liked them too.

“You're going to make it really difficult to leave this house, you know that?” She asks, her hands drifting up to his jumper cladded chest, eyes wandering south from his eyes until they land on his lips.

He leans forward until his lips are barely touching hers as he mumbles a “mhmm”. He's tortuously slow as he presses his lips to hers. Giving her a firm kiss, his tongue only slightly peaking out, grazing her lip before he's suddenly pulling back.

“We should go” he delivers a quick smack to her bum which makes her gasp and then he's gone. Walking to the door and turning to her at the last moment, smirking at her playfully.

“You're mean Macdonald”

“Now you know how I've felt every single day since meeting you”

They walk hand in hand as they walk the streets, searching for the store Ross mentioned. They talk and laugh as they walk and sometimes Ross can't resist the urge to pull her close with an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to the side of her head, even leaning down and capturing her lips with his occasionally.

They eventually stumble into the record store, Ross shushing Y/n with his lips as she giggles at something he says. It's quaint and quiet, an oldish man rounding the corner with a huge smile on his face when he sees them.

“Ross” the man says, making the bassist step forward to greet the man with his hand still on her waist. Ross extends his hand and they shake hands before the man's eyes are on her.

“You must be Y/n” he says and she smiles and nods.

“I am” she says, looking up at Ross who smiles at her before looking at the man again.

“Ross here talks a lot about you” he says before he slips round the back of the counter. He disappears for a moment.

“Is that so?” she asks the bassist who smirks down at her, rolling his eyes and pinching her hip lightly making her yelp.

“Don’t get cocky” he warns and she almost has to stop herself from falling to her knees.

The man appears again with several records in his hands all of which she recognises immediately. She slips from Ross’ grasp and meets the man at the counter as he places the records in front of her.

“Now these are really special and not for sale unfortunately but Ross here told me you were a big fan so I pulled them out especially for you” he says making her smile. Her eyes flick back to Ross who is already watching her intently, watching the way her face lights up. She turns away from him but her hand reaches out behind her - reaching for him. He comes to stand next to her, his right arm resting around her waist, holding her hip against him.

The man shows her his Fleetwood Mac collection, many of them limited edition vinyl's and even a few test pressings. She's overwhelmed with gratitude, not just for the records, but for the effort Ross put into making this day so special for her. As they browse through the collection, his fingers gently trace patterns on her hip, and she can't help but steal glances at him, realising how lucky she is to have him by her side.

They finish exploring the record store, revelling in their shared joy of music, they leave hand in hand, her bag a few records heavier, their laughter echoing through the quiet streets and Ross can’t help but want to hear nothing but the beautiful symphony he draws from her, forever more. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow of orange and pink over the city. As they approach the restaurant y/n looks up at Ross excitedly. Inside Ross takes over her coat, his fingers grazing her bare shoulders, setting her skin ablaze.

“Trying to undress me already, Macdonald?” she asks, her voice low, purposefully trying to get him hot under the collar. He coughs lightly, pushing away the lump in his throat and the way his stomach flips. He hands his coats to a waiter who instantly recognises him, leading them to a secluded corner table with flickering candles.

“Do you know everyone?” she asks as he holds out the chair for her, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek as he tucks her in.

“I’ve got my links” he says into her ear, making her giggle. She takes in the bouquet of pink roses at the centre of the table, the scent of the flowers mingling with the cuisine, creating an intoxicating atmosphere, although they both knew even without them it would be intoxicating. The low thrum of conversation and gentle melodies from the live pianist create a tender atmosphere.

They each pursue the menu, Ross suggesting they share a variety of dishes, talking with the waiter and taking suggestions for the best dishes. She watches as he interacts with the man, confident and sure. She looks at him with her chin placed in the palm of her hand, eyes flicking around all of his features, practically drinking him in. They begin to share stories about their childhood and their love for music and their friends and everything they can think of, wanting to know every single detail about each other.

The waiter arrives with a bottle of red wine and they clink their glasses together, Ross watching intently as she brings the glass to her lips, obsessed with the way her lipstick leaves a mark on the rim. They savour their meal in contented silence but Ross can't help but gaze at Y/n, truly captivated by her beauty. Between bites, their fingers brush against each other, sparks striking and electricity flowing freely between them. Each graze feels charged with so much more, with longing and desire and love : a magnetic pull which makes it impossible to break away from each other.

The soft glow of candlelight accentuates Ross’ soft browns and she feels the way he gazes at her, in every part of her body, feeling like she’s the only person in the room, the only person on earth.

The night deepens, the sky outside turning dark and stars beginning to show - a rare feat for London. They share a dessert, the sweetness coating their tongues. Ross leans in, his lips grazing her ear as he whispers words that make her heart (and core) flutter.

“Nothing is as sweet as you love” his words are laced with lust and desire, a deep crimson coating her cheeks as she smirks. She brings her spoon up to his mouth, coating his lips with chocolate, closing her mouth around his before he can lick it off.

Everything fades into the background when his tongue grazes hers, they become engrossed in each other, no one and nothing else mattered in that moment. He begins to pull away but her finger hooks underneath his chain, halting his movements as she places one more firm kiss to his lips.

They pull back, Y/n giddily smiling at him, he can't help but tuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone to capture a snap of her. She plucks a rose from the vase in the centre of the table, carefully threading in-between her teeth, smiling. It makes Ross swoon, his stomach dipping and then soaring, she looked completely ethereal. He gently pulls the rose from her teeth, smearing his lips against hers with a hand cradling her jaw, controlling their movements until she's sighing blissfully into his mouth again.

As they leave the restaurant, the night sky twinkles, mimicking the sparkle in their eyes. Ross pulls her close, wrapping her up in his warmth and they stroll through the streets. They make their way back to her apartment, the bassist halting at her bottom step, making her turn to face him with a frown.

“I’m not going to come up tonight love” he says, making her frown deeper, her hands finding the lapels of his jacket, smoothing over the fabric of his chest.

“Okay…” she says, doubt setting in her mind, did he not want her? He silences the doubt in her mind with his next words.

“Trust me I want to…” his hand finds her waist, tugging her until she’s in his arms, lips finding hers in a passionate kiss, his tongue moving against hers and she loves the way he kisses now, sure and determined, moving against hers the way he’s worked out she likes. The way that has her breath accelerating and her hands gripping him tightly.

“You’re making it hard for me” she says against his lips. She smiles when he groans, throwing his head back, forcing their lips apart.

“I want do this properly, take you on another date, be a gentleman” he says, squeezing her waist as he groans again, eyes falling to her lips that are just too tempting “but you make it so hard” his lips are on hers again, hands practically clamping around her waist, lifting her up the steps until he’s pressing her against the door.

“Impressive” she chuckles against his lips, hands threading through his hair. He indulges the both of them for a few minutes before he’s pulling away again, placing his head against her chest as he breathes in and out heavily.

“Okay you should go before I beg you to stay” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He pulls back to look at her, his right hand resting against her cheek, swiping across the soft flesh gently.

“Now that’s something I’m willing to wait for” there’s a softness to his words, it makes her smile and lean forward for one more, gentle kiss. It’s a brief one, a thank you for a perfect date, a thank you for being so amazing.

“Today was perfect Ross, truly” she says, playing with the chain resting around his neck.

“Good enough to warrant another date?” he asks and she nods as she smiles.

“Definitely”.

He pulls her into a brief hug before he’s pulling away to walk down the steps. She hates the way she instantly feels his absence. He tries so hard not to glance back and he immediately regrets it when he does.

She watches as his eyes darken, the way his eyes fall back to her lips. She doesn’t realise she does it, but when her teeth close around her bottom lip he’s there again, he lunges up the step and he’s pressing his lips back to hers, hands greedily grabbing her waist.

She leans into him, sighing into his mouth as he greedily takes what he wants from her. He pulls away but instantly finds the skin at her neck, tongue gliding across the flesh, teeth biting and grazing and god does it feel good. His lips graze her ear and his movements stop.

“You are the subject of all my deepest desires. I want you, your mind, your soul and body so badly Y/n” his words are hushed and she can’t quite believe they’re coming from him. It was too surreal. She can feel her heartbeat grow erratic just like her breath.

“I’d take you up to that room of yours and make you forget every other man you’ve ever been with… every man you’ve ever wanted… I’d put them to shame I swear Y/n'' she's speechless, back arching into him as pleasure courses through her body. He’s not even doing anything now but his words have her flying. She knows they’re true, if the time he was buried in between her thighs was any indication, he’d be everything.

“I’d make you scream my name so loud until it's the only word you can comprehend” his lips graze her neck again, moving round until they’re back against her lips.

“Ross” she sighs, he pauses his attack against her lips, tongue grazing her lips one last time before he pulls away fully. His hands let go of her waist, grip loosening until they fully disappear.

“I’m not going to do anything to you until I’ve spoken to Matty” the mention of the other man has her mouth flying open, even more speechless before.

He gently closes her mouth with two fingers and he places one more peck to her mouth.

“I want this Y/n, believe me I want this, don’t think I don’t, I know what you’re like, you get in that pretty head of yours and I can’t have you thinking i don't want you in every way possible okay?” he asks and she nods slowly.

“You’re everything I have ever wanted and more” he says smiling down at her, hands smoothing out her hair softly “but I can’t do anything until I speak to Matty, I’ll never forgive myself” it's the first time he’s spoken about Matty as if he wanted her. Of course he did, but Ross usually tiptoed around the subject of his best friend.

“I’m going to go now okay? Don’t get into that pretty head of yours okay?” she doesn't speak but nods, leaning up to kiss him once more before he leaves. She opens her door silently, her back finding the other side before she slides down the wood.

“Jesus christ” she says, running a hand through her hair. That was so hot she couldn't help but think. But also what the fuck? She asks herself.

She draws out her phone from her jacket, opening Matty’s number and typing out a message.

“Fuck you” she types. She can't help but think if Matty wasn’t an issue, she would’ve had Ross in the way she wanted. She quickly deletes the message. Pulling up Ross’ contact instead.

“Thank you for today, it was perfect. Perfect”

The bar is empty, the lights that are usually low are bright and her eyes flick around the room as they practise, noticing things she usually wouldn’t have. The space looks huge without all the people, the stools resting upside down against the tables, the absence of glasses, the smell of smoke and the noise of the people makes it calm. The bar manager was kind enough to let them use the space for free, they usually would’ve met at the studio but Jamie wanted to see them in a live setting (that and she was trying to ignore a certain lead singer).

Jamie is set at the back of the bar, glasses perched at the bridge of his nose as he drinks a dark liquid - likely whisky. He sits with papers covering the table and his phone is flat against the wood, he occasionally picks it up to answer an email or text but his focus is usually on them.

They’ve practised a few songs now and he smiles and nods at her before requesting another one. He had given them free reign of choosing their setlist, the show they had planned an important one. He only makes a few suggestions here and there, mostly here to hear their full repertoire.

“Hey Jamie” she says, she watches as his eyes flick up to her and the way he smiles as he nods. Lots of people didn’t like Jamie, she knew this from being in the fandom for years. But she didn’t receive that side of him, he was always kind to her and treated her with respect - valuing her opinion above all else.

“Can we try something new?” she asks, and he nods again.

“Of course… original or cover?” he asks, his pen resting against his lips.

“Cover” she asks, wondering if that would be a problem, she knew he eventually wanted them to just do originals but for now she thinks he might be fine with it.

“Okay… go for it” he says. Her eyes flick around to the band and they all nod.

They begin playing a familiar tune and it's not long before her voice rings out across the room. He hears the door open slightly and his eyes flick to the noise.

The rain is pouring down outside, hitting the pavement harshly. Matty stands there, wet curls clinging to his forehead and small droplets fall, landing on his cheek and slowly trailing down his face. He looks out at the stage, watching as her eyes flutter shut the minute she begins to sing.

He feels his heart tighten in his chest. He feels a pit at his stomach, recognising the song and wondering who she was singing it for.

“If you, if you could return, Don't let it burn, Don't let it fade, I'm sure I'm not being rude, But it's just your attitude, It's tearing me apart, It's ruining every day” she sings. Jamie beckons him over with a finger to his lips, not wanting to disturb her or the band.

She sounded beautiful, she always did. Jamie was impressed again, wondering if there would ever be a time where he wasn’t. Matty feels his breath getting rapid, she sung this song with such pain, it was hauntingly beautiful. But where was it coming from? Who was it about?

“I swore, I swore I would be true, And honey so did you, So why were you holding her hand?, Is that the way we stand?, Were you lying all the time?, Was it just a game to you?” her eyes open and find him and he half expects her to stop singing and storm off the stage, he expects her to look anywhere but at him. And he hates that she doesn’t.

They hadn’t spoke since he called her that night, but he knew, he knew looking at her now, those eyes that he could stare into for eternity, the way they bore into his soul, they way they look broken but hopeful… he knows he needs her and he knows she needs him just as much.

“But I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” her voice is beautiful, she’s beautiful. Her eyes soften looking at him and he sees the twitch of her lips, she almost smiles, almost.

Matty can't do this, he can't sit here and pretend anymore. But he can't move now, entranced, enthralled, captivated. Always captivated by her.

“Oh, I thought the world of you, I thought nothing could go wrong, But I was wrong, I was wrong, If you, if you could get by, Trying not to lie, Things wouldn't be so confused, And I wouldn't feel so used, But you always really knew I just want to be with you” her eyes flutter shut again. Who was she thinking of? Was it him? Was it Ross?

“And I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” she sings the words again. She pictures him in her mind, she feels horrible, convinced she’s the worst person to ever walk this earth.

The date with Ross was perfect and she knew… she knew she was falling for him, hard and fast the exact way she was terrified off. But he made it so easy. So why was she having these feelings towards his best friend? Why did she want them both so much? And why was she so terrified of losing both of them?

The singer. Why did she know that if she opened her eyes again, he’d be there, so close to slipping from her life?

“And I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” her eyes open again and find his own immediately.

She looks across his features and she knows. He’s here, but he won't be for long. She knows the furrow of his eyebrows, she knows the lines in between his brows, she knows the way his lip quivers slightly… he couldn't do this anymore. She was losing him.

“You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

He watches as the tear falls down her cheek, she quickly wipes it before her fingers are back at her guitar, finishing the song.

He stands abruptly, walking out the venue. The rain soaks him but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything but her. It's not long before she’s standing with him, drenched, tears falling just as quickly as the rain. He’s facing away from her when she finds him but he quickly turns to face her when he hears his name.

He steps towards her quickly and she throws her arms over his shoulders as his wrap around her waist pulls her towards him.

“I'm sorry” he murmurs against the top of her head. He shakes as he speaks and she wonders if he’s crying. She knows what his words mean. They mean, I'm sorry I'm leaving, they mean I'm sorry you’ve broken me, they’re sorry I love you, they’re sorry you love him more.

She shakes her head against his chest, placing her head there, silently saying “no, don’t leave, don’t give in”. Neither of them speak. The silence is suddenly broken but she doesn't like it when the words that break it are his.

"You said we couldn't because we're working together... You said it wasn't because of Ross, but then I heard you and-" he lets go of her, stepping back and turning around briefly. His hand covers his face, and he sighs heavily against his hand before he’s facing her again. She sees the heartbreak and it hurts her more than anything else ever had. His eyes are red and she sees tears she wishes she never would see.

"Matty I'm so-"

"Don't say you're sorry" he interrupts her and her tears fall faster.

"I thought you'd never lie to me" his words are sad.

"I didn't mean to Matty... I swear... I wanted to tell you…. But" he stops her again, a sharp turn towards her, she takes one look at the angry look on his face and her voice fails her.

"But you what? What's the poor excuse you're going to come up with!" He's shouting now.

"I didn't want to hurt you Matty!" She shouts back, not because she wanted to but because she was afraid he wouldn't listen if she didn't.

"Don't do that! Don't pity me..." Neither of them say it. Neither of them mention that the fact she didn't tell him about Ross was because it was obvious he liked her too.

"You knew I liked you... You knew it.. and you still got with my best mate" it's the first time he's admitting it out loud, and it shakes her to the core.

"Matty please... As soon as I had the slight inclination that you liked me, I tried to put an end to it .. I really did. But Ross..." Her tears fall faster now and she tries to grip onto him, to pull him so he's looking at her, listening to her.

"Ross what? Ross made you?"

"No... I really like him, Matty... I tried to stop it I did but I-"

"you just couldn't" he's facing her now, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer to him. It's a weird move but she allows him. His fingertips graze her cheek, catching the tears.

"And here I was thinking... Hoping... That you'd like me just a little bit... That you'd choose me over him... But who am I? Who am I compared to Ross? He's my best friend... He deserves you" his words are sad and she frowns up at him, shaking her head.

"Don't say that... You're everything Matty" she truly believes it's why the situation has been so god damn difficult for her.

"Don't say that just to be nice to me..."

"I'm not Matty... You have to know, this hasn't been easy for me. In fact it's been really fucking difficult" she chuckles at herself before her hand clasps his face gently.

"How?" He can't see how it would've been difficult for her.

"Because... I like you too" the confession knocks the breath from him, and her too. It was the first time she had admitted it out loud.

"But you like him more right?" She shakes her head.

"It's not like that...It's- it's both. You're both so different..." She tries her best to explain. She doesn't mention that Ross was real, whilst Matty represented a fantasy, someone who reflected parts of her soul. Whilst Ross was her soul. Ross had her heart, she knew that, and secretly so did he.

“Ross told me you went on a date…” he doesn’t look into her eyes and she doesn’t look into his actively avoiding each other, not wanting to see her reaction, hoping she’d speak and hide her true emotions. His thumb runs along the side of her face, hooking under her chin and raising it until she’s looking into his eyes. She nods.

“How was it?” he asks, eyes silently begging her not to lie. She breathes deeply, she wouldn’t lie, not this time, she couldn’t.

“It was almost perfect” the ‘almost’ accidentally slips and she’s quick to squeeze her eyes shut, wanting to avoid the question she knew he’d ask now.

“Almost?” he says. She nods but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Open your eyes Y/n” he pleads, “please” he knew she wouldn’t tell him what the singular word meant, but they both knew, one look into his eyes and he’d be able to read her like a book. She opens them slowly, finding his glistening brown orbs.

They tell him everything he needs to know. Her eyes don’t hide the secret like she’s trying to. His mind flicks back to the conversation with Ross, he knew what Ross said, that he wouldn’t do anything without Matty’s permission, that he didn’t want to hurt his best friend but that he wanted her more than anything in the world: he wanted her soul and her body and wanted her to be his. Matty didn’t quite believe him when he said it, wondering how well his friend actually managed to resist her. But looking into her eyes now, he knows it's true.

And what hurts more than anything, what completely destroys him, is the fact he can tell she wants Ross just as badly.

"I can't do this," he steps away from her.

"Matty please..."

"no I can't do this y/n... I can't watch you fall in love with my best friend... Who I know is falling just as hard... And he deserves you he truly does... But I can't do that, it will break me"

"Matty please" she begs "I can't lose you..."

"It's not enough... I can't do this" he gestures between them "I just can't, it's too hard"

Right then and there, looking into his sad eyes which are coated with tears, she knows, if she didn't do something, she'd lose him.

"Matty" her voice is the clearest it's been all night and it makes him turn to her again. "I want you to kiss me" she says and his mouth falls open, despite what his brain tells him, that he can't, that it was obvious she was Ross', he steps towards her.

"we can't..." His hand holds her waist as hers fall to his shoulders.

"Please Matty... Kiss me" his eyes search hers, seeing no lie or uncertainty. She wanted this, and so did he. So he slowly lowers his mouth to hers, the initial graze sets her soul ablaze. This one graze redefined everything she ever thought. It was fireworks. It touched part of her soul which she thought was dead. But only part.

It didn't light up all of her, it didn't completely overwhelm her, they didn't merge into one being as they kissed. It was beautiful and loving and it was spectacular... But it wasn't Ross. It could never be Ross. Matty felt it too. He pulls away with a silent sob.

"You're never going to love me like you love him" he murmurs into her mouth. Her tears fall again, sad ones, ones in which tell her and him that he's right.

"I want to .. I can't lose you Matty"

"you won't, losing you would destroy me completely" he presses their lips together again. They move against each other but not easily, it’s the hardest kiss either of them have shared with anyone. Even now, it's full of we-can't, it’s full of we-shouldn’t, it's full of hurt and heartbreak. Her hands grasp his shirt harshly, not wanting him to leave just yet. They needed this, if not only for a moment.

“Matty” she sighs against his mouth. His tongue peaks through his lips and through hers, finding hers and intertwining. He feels a wet tear fall to his cheek but it's not his and he pulls back.

"I'm truly a shitty friend" he thinks. He didn't deserve her and he most certainly didn't deserve a friend like Ross.

Fuck... Ross they both think they had well truly messed this whole thing up. She pulls away, gasping as the realisation settles in.

"I just kissed Ross' best friend .... Twice" she’s gone before he can stop her. She runs faster than her feet allow, but she still runs.

"Shit. shit!" He shouts.

She doesn’t know where she’s running. But she runs and she doesn’t stop.

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toomuchracket · 4 months

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little idea for the 3rd part (in the event you decide to make one)

maybe mrs mac and ross are doing one of those cute anniversary vow renewal things. for a 5 year anniversary or something. matty and girlie both go after not seeing each other for a couple of months and they both figure out the other one has broken up with their partners. (or to make it more angsty, matty and taylor broke up but girlie is still with her bf and maybe he came with, but she still misses matty a lot.) either way maybe girlie ends up going home with matty (after breaking up with her bf if she still had one.) and he spends the whole night making it up to her (a little arguing beforehand though.)

i edited this slightly, and the making up is still yet to come... but this part has a happy ending, i promise. hope you enjoy <3

gone four weeks, part 3 (d word matty x reader angst/fluff)

the breeze lifts your hair from the nape of your neck as you check your phone one final time, just to make sure you're at the right address. it's nice, the warm early summer wind, but you quickly make your way inside the restaurant and follow the signs towards the function room and your friends.

music - billy joel, you think - spills out of your destination through the half-open door; you can see ross swaying to it with baby keir in his arms, smiling at his wife cooing at the little boy. you smile, too, speeding up and hurrying over to join them. “hi! happy anniversary, you two! you look amazing!”

mrs mac cheers when you appear, hugging you and kissing your forehead in an extremely big-sisterly way. “thank you, beautiful girl! god, look at you,” she tugs the floaty skirt of your dress gently, face wondrous. “look at this dress! gorgeous.”

“thank you, lovely. hi, ross,” you hug him quickly before diverting your attention to keir. “and hello to you, sweetheart. oh, i've missed you! well,” you grin at his parents. “i've missed all of you while i've been away, but you and your sister most of all, keir, definitely.”

“speaking of,” mrs mac scans the room, while her son giggles at you adorably. “where is eilidh?”

ross tilts his head towards the back of the room. “busy teaming up with her cousin to terrorise hann.”

you turn, giggling when you see adam sandwiched between his son and eilidh at one of the tables, the two toddlers having an animated conversation across him. he smiles and waves when he sees you, though. so does carly, half-standing with an almost empty aperol spritz in one hand; she raises her eyebrows, pointing at you and then the glass, and smiles again when you nod and mouth a “thank you”. after briefly scanning the half-full room, you turn back to the macdonalds. “nobody else here yet?”

“nah,” ross shakes his head. “surprised you're here by yourself, actually.”

“what?” your brow furrows. “but i told you nothing developed between me and mi-”

“no, no, we know that. just figured you and matty might get a lift in together, you know? since he'd have to go past yours to get here and all.”

your stomach tenses involuntarily at the mention of him. “oh. no. i haven't spoken to him in couple of weeks, actually.”

thought about him every day, though. been wracked with guilt at the memory of him crying as you drove off. cried at it yourself, too.

you dig your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of it - he'll be here soon, after all - and try to focus on what mrs mac is saying. “you fell out, or something?”

“something like that, yeah.”

“about him mugging you off and flaunting his relationship with taylor in front of you? or something else?”

did he tell them? no. he can't have. he wouldn't even tell them - his best friends - that you were together. fuck, you are so confused. you must look it, too, because she keeps speaking. “well, we all thought that after new year, you and matty might… become something.”

“especially after the body shots you did off each other,” ross interjects. you give a small smile at the memory, tinged with sadness like all of your old ones involving matty are.

“the body shots, yeah. christ,” his wife shakes her head. “but seriously - we thought he was really into you. i felt a bit blindsided when he just started seeing taylor, to be honest. didn't want you to feel like he'd led you on, you know?”

bless her. “it's not that, no,” you hug her. well, you suppose, it kind of is. but your friends don’t need to know that. “we just have, um, opposing ideas about stuff, let's say.”

ross smiles. “which is code for he was an arsehole and had a tantrum, isn't it?”

his wife sighs. “ross, the baby.”

“sorry, sorry - he was a not very nice person and had a tantrum.”

“better. thank you.”

“i was trying to be diplomatic,” you giggle, covering keir's little ears. “but yeah, basically. although, in fairness, i was a bit of a bitch to him in return.”

“you? never,” carly slots into the conversation, handing you your drink and kissing your cheek in greeting. “who's the him in question, by the way? that american boy?”

ross shakes his head. “matty. who could do with people being bitch- brutally honest with him, sometimes, actually.”

you suck air in through your teeth. “i made him cry, though.”

carly blinks in surprise, then waves insouciantly. “he's been crying a lot lately, i wouldn't worry about it.”

of course, you do. “he has?”

“yeah. moping about everywhere since he got home two weeks ago,” she sighs. “he says it isn’t the breakup with taylor, he's adamant about it, and i actually believe him. but he's definitely sad about something, something that he can't bring himself to talk about.”

shit. you take a long drink of your cocktail. and then another, for good measure.

“well, i'm sure we'll find out soon. or he'll get over it,” mrs mac shrugs. “you're all back to work next week, anyway. he'll feel better then.”

her husband and carly murmur in agreement, but you keep your mouth shut. months of international flights and hotel stays with you in tow? feeling better isn’t a likely thing for either of you. you wince at the thought.

carly notices; thankfully, she mistakes it for something else. “i know, darling, sorry for reminding you about work at a party! come on, we'll sit down and you can tell us all about what you got up to in new york.”

“yeah, ok.”

and that's exactly what you do - omitting the sections about matty and the breakup and the tears and the arguing, and doing your best to field eilidh's many questions about the horses in central park, you tell them everything. about orla's show, your apartment, taylor’s party (which stings a little, you have to admit), the shows you saw on and off-broadway, the food you ate, the people you met.

unfortunately, it's during the latter section that matty appears at the table, preceded by george and charli, who slots herself in beside you and hugs you as tight as she can without injuring eilidh on your lap. george reaches behind her to ruffle your hair and tell you how happy he is to see you. matty stays silent, diagonally opposite you, his only indication of you a curt nod which you respond to with a weak smile. you do your best to ignore him while you talk, which proves nigh on impossible; you've never been able to resist sneaking glances at him as it is, and he looks good in the slightly flowier than usual white shirt he's wearing. depressed, admittedly, but - as he does with anything and everything - somehow managing to make that look ridiculously sexy.

you can feel his eyes on you, too, but his gaze is always elsewhere whenever you look his way. and you know you shouldn't care, you know, but something inside you wonders if and hopes that he thinks you look good. it's nice to think that at least one of his opinions or thoughts about you might be a positive one.

still, matty doesn't give any indication of how he feels about you; that is, until you mention that you stopped things with michael before they could even develop, and his head shoots up to look at you so quickly you fear for his neck. “wait, really?”

you meet his eyes for the first time. something funny happens to your heart when you do. “yeah.”

“so, when you left the studio to go to that bar…” matty’s voice trails off, almost like he can't bring himself to finish the sentence.

you understand. it's a painful memory for you, too. shaking your head, you reply. “i didn't go. went back to the apartment, told him i wasn't in the headspace for the date,” you smile faintly. “or any date, actually.”

something seems to flicker in matty's eyes, an emotion you can't quite name. “and that was it? done?”

you nod.

matty nods too; he looks… satisfied. “well. i'm glad you made the right decision. for you and your wellbeing, i mean.”

“thank you,” your smile falters. “he was a bit miffed, to be honest. got quite angry over the phone, called me a selfish, cold, ungrateful… well, i won't say, because of eilidh. but i was glad i was going home the following night.”

“did he threaten you?” adam leans across to look at you, his pleasant face set into a stern expression. “he better not have.”

“no, it was just,” you look down at the table, busying yourself with fixing eilidh's pigtails and trying not to focus on the sight of matty's knuckles, white from how tightly he's holding his pint. “i didn't want to think about the fact that he was right.”

your friends clamour into conversation all at once, overlapping voices disputing your statement and reassuring you and berating michael. nothing really takes hold in your bowed head, until a specific voice cuts through. “darling, look at me, please.”

there he goes with that fucking pet name again. and there you go, reacting to it out of nothing more than muscle memory and something emotional you'd rather not address (again); your breath catches in your throat when you look up to see matty looking softly at you for the first time in months.

he smiles - really smiles - and your brain turns to mush. “those things he said… none of them are right about you, yeah? he got you all wrong. remember that, alright?”

thank fuck. thank fuck he's on the same page as you again.

you nod, smiling shyly (but genuinely) at matty. “okay,” you exhale. “now, can we please talk about something else?”

thankfully, george takes over the conversation with a mention of the next gig in dundee, and soon enough the chat devolves into ranking scottish bands from best to worst, which in turn devolves into ross having to mediate an argument between his wife and his best friend about the merits of cocteau twins and the blue nile. since you kinda-sorta made up with matty, the tension is dissipating from both your body and the atmosphere, but some of your anxiety remains; you think he might be feeling the same, because neither of you make any attempts to instigate conversation with the other. but it's better than it was - you can at least make eye contact with and smile at each other, and you're content enough with that, for the time being, at least.

eilidh, though, has other ideas. she sits bolt upright on your lap when the intro to atomic kitten's cover of the tide is high plays, wriggling - uncomfortably, but you'd never admit that to her - to sit on her knees on yours. “oh! matty?”

he leans across to his goddaughter. “yeah, bean?”

“dance with me?”

he grimaces. “to this?”

“uh huh,” her little pigtails bounce as she nods. “i like it.”

“well, alright then,” he stands, holding out a hand. “come on!”

you unclasp your hands so eilidh can climb off your knee. she grabs one of them once she's safely on the floor. “you dance too!”

your jaw drops. “me? really?”

eilidh nods very seriously. matty catches your eye and shrugs behind her.

“well, i did really like this song,” you sigh, standing up and letting the toddler pull you onto the dancefloor. “think i was about your age when it came out, actually, eilidh.”

“it's that old?” matty shakes his head. “christ. i feel ancient.”

eilidh smiles at him. “you are.”

despite the weirdness of the situation, you giggle. matty smiles knowingly at you, before turning his attention back to eilidh. “alright, miss. show us what to do, then.”

“okay!” eilidh starts doing a little toddler two-step thing that makes you and matty giggle; she grabs each of you again and frowns. “you too!”

“alright, we're doing it,” you grin, copying her and giggling again when matty does the same. “like this?”

she tilts her head exactly like her mum. “you hold hands too.”

you blanch, and open your mouth to protest - matty grabs your hand before you can, sending shockwaves up your arm to your brain. he brushes his thumb feather-lightly over your skin, and you relax immediately. “like this, bean?”

“yeah.”

“alright,” he turns to you, face placid. “you alright?”

“i'm alright,” you smile at him, then at eilidh. “means i don't have my hands free to teach you the dance from the music video, but whatever.”

matty throws his head back and laughs loudly at that; you quickly glance over at the table of your friends, all visibly dumbfounded by his change in mood. “you learnt the official choreography? at what age?”

“four, i think,” you shrug. “mum might still have the video.”

“i hope she does,” he squeezes your hand. “i bet it's adorable. you were so cute in those photos you showed me at your gran's.”

you look for the sadness in his eyes when he says that. but there's none, just… fondness. it makes you smile, lower your guard a smidge more, and reply with a joke. “cute past tense? god, i picked out the swishy dress so i'd match the most adorable person in the room and everything,” you shake eilidh’s hand, making her giggle. “but there's no catching up to you in those stakes, bean, is there?”

“nah,” eilidh shakes her head, grinning when you and matty all but collapse into giggles.

“i like the dress. it's very, well, you,” matty looks at you almost shyly; your stomach erupts into butterflies at the sight. “don’t think i'd describe you as cute, though.”

you deflate slightly. “no?

he shakes his head. “no. but i do think you're gorgeous.”

there he is.

“thank you,” your cheeks burn as you smile at him. “i think you look really handsome today, by the way. like the shirt a lot.”

“oh, thanks. got it in a vintage shop last week,” matty’s cheeks go pink, too. “you'd have liked it in there, i think.”

you nod. “maybe you can show me when we stop there for tour?” your voice is small, tentative.

he smiles, squeezing your hand again. “of course, darling. whatever you want.”

a wave of emotion washes over you at the familiar phrase - not a negative, painful one, though, rather something… reassuring. the weirdness still lingers between the two of you, but you know that your matty, the man who loved and cared for and about you so deeply, is still in there somewhere.

and, as proved seconds later, when the song changes to something slow and eilidh drops your hands with an “ugh, this is boring. daaaaaaad!” and runs off… your matty is closer to the surface than you originally thought.

he huffs out a laugh as he watches his goddaughter speed off, then turns to you. his eyes, those beautiful eyes, look at your still-conjoined hands and then trail up to meet your own. with another squeeze, he speaks. “considering she's left us out here on the dancefloor like this - shall we dance? i know you like this song, too.”

nostalgia floods your senses as you recognise the paolo nutini song playing. memories of sharing it with matty for the first time flash into your brain: the way the evening sun hit off the glass door in his living room, the welcome coolness of the concrete floor under your too-warm body, the unmistakable smell and hazy happiness from the joint the two of you passed back and forth, the adoration on matty's face as you sang and mime-played along and told him it was one of your favourites.

you zone out, lost in all of that, only coming to when matty nervously speaks again. “you can say no, of course, i just thought it might be nice. but no hard feelings if you don't want to.”

“i do,” you take his other hand comfortingly. “i just got distracted thinking about the first time i put this song on at yours.”

relief crosses matty's face, followed by wistful happiness. “that was a good day. wanted to dance with you then, too,” he blushes again. “but i was too high to move.”

you laugh. “you've got full range of movement today?”

“yeah. look,” he twirls you, grinning. “i won't let you fall.”

too late.

“right, then,” you clasp your hands behind his neck, and his slowly, tentatively make their way onto your waist; the contact sends sparks through your entire nervous system, making you stand up straighter and forcing you to look up into matty's eyes with a nervous smile. “lead the way.”

matty smiles back. “alright.”

with that, he starts to move, swaying softly from side to side, eyes still locked on yours. the old adoration is faint within them, growing as you blush and giggle nervously. “why are you looking at me like that?”

he shrugs. “can't help it. maybe you're just too gorgeous.”

“oh, stop it, please,” you hide your face in the crook of his neck on sheer instinct, and feel the terror building when you realise what you've done.

it dissipates before it even starts, though, because matty only laughs and pulls you closer to him - pulls you home. a content silence falls over both of you, both of you happy to listen to paolo and continue swaying; matty breaks it with a happy hum. “this is nice.”

“yeah.” you aren't lying.

“i miss this, you know,” matty moves his arms, so they're hugging you rather than holding you. a beat passes. “i miss you.”

your heart aches. you open your mouth to reply; matty, feeling your jaw move against his body, keeps talking before you can. “i know you'll have things to say, too, and i want to hear them, i really do, but please let me just say what i need to say first. please?”

you nod against him.

matty exhales. “thank you, darling. alright. well, first, i want to apologise,” his fingers trace little patterns into your dress, the way you know he does when he's scared. “i’ve been nothing but a cunt to you lately, and i'm truly, truly sorry for both just being that and for not realising it sooner…”

you quirk your eyebrows in agreement.

“...and i know you probably hate me, now - to be honest, i wouldn't blame you - but,” he sighs, and sniffles. “i love you. i really, really love you, darling, and i know this is going to sound silly and out of touch or whatever, because i know i made you feel like it was the opposite, but i do want you. just you, as you are, nothing else. that's my actual dream, you being with me and in love with me. always has been. i just didn't properly realise it, and i am so incredibly sorry that i thought and made you think it was anything else, and for the damage i caused in that.”

fuck. your jaw shakes as you speak, still trying to comprehend matty's words. “but you were just so adamant about the kids thing. and so quick to-”

“i know, darling, i know,” one of matty's hands comes up to stroke your hair. “i think i only reacted that way because, well, that was only my dream because i was dreaming about having them with you. so when it seemed like you were doubting it…”

“...you were scared i was going to end it, so you just, sort-of, sped up the process?”

he sighs. “yeah. it's a fucking stupid defence mechanism. but i'm working on it, in two hour-and-a-half-long sessions a week,” he laughs uncomfortably. “m'not trying to make you feel guilty, or anything, by the way. just wanna be honest with you.”

“i know, matty,” you gently pat his back. “thank you for telling me. and i'm sorry i ever made you doubt me, and worry, you know?” you sigh. “i wish i hadn't freaked out so much initially. then we wouldn't be in this mess.”

“no, darling, you were right in what you said to me in new york,” matty all but coos. “it’s a big conversation, the starting a family chat, and i did spring it on you - you weren't wrong reacting in the way you did. honest. and like i said,” he clears his throat. “that wasn't the real dream. you were - are, still. everything else is just, like, add-ons.”

you kiss his cheek, turning your head so it rests more on his chest and bringing your hand up to rest beside it. his heart is beating quite quickly, matching yours beat for beat. “it's a nice dream, though, with the add-ons. i had it recently, actually. when i got home from new york. dreamt we had a baby girl,” you say. you're so close to matty that you can see his chest tattoo through the fabric of his shirt, and you begin tracing it out of habit. “i'm not upsetting you by telling you this, am i? i can stop if you like.”

matty kisses your hair. “no. tell me about it, please.”

“well, she was perfect. your hair, my face, little chunky baby legs,” you smile, but your eyes are filling with tears. “it was so tangible i could actually feel her when i lifted her from her crib, and feel your head on my shoulder when you were talking to her and making her laugh,” your voice breaks. “and then i woke up, and neither of you were there. and it hurt. i forgot i couldn't just roll over and tell you about it excitedly; when i remembered, i couldn't stop crying. and thinking about the fact she wasn't real just made it worse,” your tears are turning matty's shirt transparent, and you do your best to compose yourself. “i love you, too, and i want you, us, again - that's basically what i'm trying to say. but i'm also trying to say that i’d happily start a family with you, if you still wanted that. i'm sorry it took me so long to realise.”

matty exhales shakily. you look up and meet his gaze, just as teary as yours. he smiles at you, though. “i want whatever you want, darling. but,” he carefully wipes the pooling tears from your lashline. “i really would like it if that baby girl from your dreams was real. at some point, that is. whenever we feel like we're ready. we can figure that out later, yeah?”

“absolutely. we'll take our time. that said, though,” you whisper, suddenly shy. “will you please, um, come home with me tonight? not like that, necessarily - i just, you know, sleep a lot better when you're beside me. haven't slept very well for the past few months, to be honest.”

he hugs you as tight as he can. “of course i will.”

#mads muses #matty asks #d word matty #angst asks #fluff asks #mads does writing #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy angst #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #eilidh #keir

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64yrsold · 9 months

Note

Can you write something for the Ross girlies 👀I would give you a big smooch xx

ok! ;)

play with me ross macdonald x reader

“You can’t outdrink me,” he stated, the words carved in stone. He wasn’t challenging me, teasing me, or insulting me. He was making the facts clear.

“I can try,” I shrugged, fingers wrapped around the vodka between us.

“You shouldn’t,” his eyes followed my fingertips, pressed into the bottle. He was trying to hide behind the shadows on his face, to settle into the dark of the empty bar. I wasn’t supposed to catch him, drinking to soothe himself into the end of the day. And I wasn’t supposed to tell him that I was here to do the same thing.

“Fine,” I reached behind the bar for a shot glass, filling it, “I can drink alone.”

He inhaled a little deeper, watching me let the liquor burn down my throat. Watching my lips, stoic and wet, my tongue licking the vodka off of them. He looked back at the bottle quickly when I tried to meet his eyes.

I poured another. He cleared his throat.

“I prefer it, actually,” I took my shot with a grin, cheeks heating already.

He buried his chin in his hand, “You’re the one who came in here.”

“Didn’t know you were here,” I ground the glass into the wood countertop. I reached for the bottle, each drink making me thirstier. “The bar is closed, you know.”

“I’d slow down,” he grumbled, fist now curling under his chin. I watched the muscles flex down the back of his arm.

“You would?” I laughed with disbelief, filling my glass again. When I brought it to my lips, his hand caught my wrist.

“I would.” He took the glass from my hand, my wrist tingling. He took the shot, his lips smudging against my lipstick stain on the rim. He set the glass down, bored.

“I’m winning,” I whispered, my knee brushing his. He laughed, more of a sustained grunt than anything actually jovial. I reached for the vodka, but he pulled it away. He dragged it along the bar, frowning, pointedly placing it behind him.

I liked the idea of going through him for a drink.

I pouted, planting my palm above his knee, “Come on. Play with me.”

“You were always a fucking lightweight,” He glanced down at my hand on his leg, as if it were a fly that had landed on him.

“Just have another drink. For me,” I smiled, sliding my hand off his leg.

“You’re starting to piss me off,” he groaned, but grabbed the bottle and brought it to his lips. A quick swallow, then the sound of the bottle hitting the bar. He raised an eyebrow, happy?

“That’s against regulation,” I pushed the shot glass closer to him. “I can’t monitor your intake.”

He smirked, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I shrugged, “Just use the glass next time.”

He pointed at the shot glass, head tilted, “This one?”

I frowned. I nodded slowly.

He swept up the glass with his fingers, and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall on impact, glass trickling to the floor.

I covered my mouth, “What the fuck?”

“Was that against the rules?” He asked, unable to hide his stupid grin.

“Asshole,” I couldn’t help but laugh, his stifled giggles infectious. “You’re a sore loser, anyways.”

“You’re deluded if you think you would have won,” he muttered, his smile melting off his face. His elbow guarded the liquor behind him.

“Well,” I tapped my nails against the bar, “I hoped you might let me win.”

“You hoped?” His shoulders stiffened as he breathed. His eyes kept jumping to my nails.

I nodded, leaning in, “I hoped you’d get drunk with me.”

He clasped his hands together, roughly entangling his fingers.

“Is that what you hoped?” He spoke slowly. My heart tripped, scattering ahead of me and chanting; yes, yes, yes!

My temple brushed his cheek, “Maybe.”

“Is that all you hoped?”

“No,” I breathed, lips on the stubbly edge of his beard. He was unnaturally still, barely breathing. The bottle scraped against the bar, the sound of vodka rushing to his lips in my ear. He pulled back, looking down at me as he took another sip.

“You need a drink?” He asked slowly, letting his right hand hover by my jaw. I leaned into it, the heat of his fingers connecting to my cheek. I had missed it, his calloused fingertips on my skin, pretending to be gentle as long as he could.

“Badly,” I whispered. His fingers crawled up the back of my jaw, barely there. He was so close, I couldn’t look at him. I watched his collarbones, the tides of them, rising and falling.

His thumb moved to my chin, pressing just below my lip. His palm tilted my head back. My pulse ran up my neck, my vision blue and blurring with the rush of blood. I thought I might slip through the spaces between his fingers, the way my blood slurred and my skin heated. He slipped his thumb between my lips, dragging it into my mouth. His knuckle caught on my teeth. My jaw relaxed for him, and he brought the bottle to my open lips. I watched him through the haze of my lashes, his lips parted as the liquor pooled on my tongue.

I struggled to swallow, his thumb still holding my mouth agape. He sighed, a sort of laugh, watching my throat try to pull the liquor down. He loosened his grip, letting my lips wrap around his thumb, finally letting me swallow.

“How’s it taste?” He tilted his head to the side, setting the bottle aside. He kept his thumb in my mouth, wrapping his other hand behind my neck.

“Like shit,” I replied, muffled. His thumb was on the center of my tongue. I wanted to lick at it, or wrap my lips around it and suck, anything to elicit some reaction in him. Anything to get him to blush. But I was nervous to lose the moment, and let his thumb melt on my tongue like a cough drop.

“I meant me,” he said, lips in my ear. “How do I taste?”

My thoughts stalled in my skull.

I could taste his heartbeat on his thumb, and I let a sigh slip as he popped it out of my mouth. He cradled my face, stroking my cheeks. Looking into me, forcing me to look back. He glanced between my eyes and lips, breathing deeply, a quick sip of air. How he did before he kissed me.

He brought his lips to mine, feather-like and careful. He kissed me slowly, drinking in my lip gloss and liquored tongue. If I listened carefully, I could hear the moans catching in his throat. I waited for his hands to move, to slip a strap off my shoulder, to grasp at my neck or grip the bone at my hip.

“How do I taste?” He repeated, speaking into my mouth. I gasped, thrill crowding my head and scrambling my confidence.

“Like you always did,” I mumbled, and he pulled back. He took his hands off of me, sitting back in his chair. He held the liquor instead.

“I don’t want to be mean,” he frowned. I watched his throat pulse as he took three long swallows.

I shook my head, “I don’t mind.”

He winced, “You do mind.”

“Be mean,” I whispered. “I’ll forgive you tomorrow.”

His face was twisted, his hand curled under his chin. He rubbed at his forehead, between his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You shouldn’t,” he murmured.

I nodded, and reached for his wrist, “Kiss me again.”

“Maybe you’re not good for me,” he laughed quietly, returning my grip on his wrist and pulling me in.

“I don’t care,” I grinned. He picked me up, setting me on the bar counter. I liked how he stood between my thighs, his nose on mine. I liked how he battered kisses into my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, and brought his lips down on mine again.

part 2

#ask64 #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #ross macdonald #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald fanfiction

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alovesreading · 10 months

Text

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

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