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a-spes · 4 months

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| THE SHOT YOU MISSED - One shot (3k).

| Summary - you're spending a day at the fair with your girlfriend, the sweetest mob boss that possibly exists and she makes sure that you've a good day.

| Tags & warnings - mob boss!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, just a fluff writing, slight angst (?), beginning of a panic attack, guns, domestic domination (kinda), Natasha is the sweetest in that.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO REQUEST

You’re taking a deep breath, trying to chase away the tension from your shoulders. There is only one cartridge left in the gun you have been given, so you already know that you won’t have a second chance: if that shot doesn’t hit its target, the mission will be a failure, and it’s not an option. The stakes are too high for you to miss that one.

You’re doing your best to ignore your surroundings, a difficult thing to do when you’re used to paying attention to everything, especially when being in a crowded place. You could hear the conversations of those around you, the screams and laughs alongside the footsteps of the children running on the asphalt. They were meters away but it was still piercing your eardrums. Even your own breathing started to be unbearable, it was fast and loud because of the anticipation and stress.

The weapon is stable, you’re maintaining it with a firm grip despite the slight trembling of your hands. You have been in this position for several minutes, and your muscles are starting to ache.

You have to do it, now.

There is nothing left to divert your attention, and you are eventually able to forget about everything else. For a moment, you can’t hear anything, you only see the target that is right in the center of your sights. A pressure from your finger, a clatter that rings in your ears, and just like that the bullet is gone, straight toward your target.

“Fuck!” you screamed, and it takes all the control you possess to not throw the plastic weapon when you see that you missed it.

You ignore the way the showman glanced at you when you screamed, a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction. You have been here for almost half an hour and you didn’t move an inch, refusing to go back to your girlfriend with empty hands. But sometimes determination isn’t enough, all you’ve managed to do is to pop a balloon or two, but you need more if you want to get that coveted prize.

When your hand reaches into your jacket’s pockets, you’re unpleasantly surprised to find nothing. The desperation with which you are now searching isn’t enough to reveal one last coin and you realize that you’ve spent everything you were given by Natasha, which means the fun is over for tonight.

It is already over and you weren’t even good enough to win a little something.

You had no other choice than going back to your girlfriend with nothing to give her, which you find embarrassing because she will obviously ask what took you so long and you didn’t want to admit your failures, not in front of the woman you love. The second she saw you, she stopped talking with the rest of the group to focus all her attention on you, noticing the way you were avoiding her gaze. As you are trying your best to get over your frustration, she is running her finger over your furrowed brows.

“What's happening, sweetie? You’re tense,” she told you, she knew something was wrong the moment she glanced at you, there is nothing that could escape her gaze.

“I lost, again,” you mumbled, not really wanting to talk more about it, especially because you knew she would react that way: you wanted nothing more than to rip that smirk off her face.

“Oh, baby … come here” she cooed, trying to hide her smile - but she just can’t help it.

She opens her arm and you wait no more than a second before throwing yourself into her embrace. The moment she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, all your frustration is gone.

She is good when it comes to ease your worries: she spent the next hour dragging you everywhere, and you’re sure you’ve tried every ride at least twice. She even bought you cotton candy despite her strict rules about sweets, just to make sure you smile again.

At some point, you were separated from her, you let go of her hand for one second, just enough time to drink some water, but also for your girlfriend to disappear. She probably told you where she was going, but you hadn’t heard because of the screams and those missed words are the reason you’re now panicking.

You are turning around again, and again, and again, but it’s useless, you are lost without her at your side. Every time you think you spotted her red hair in the crowd, it turns out that it isn’t her and the minutes start to feel like hours.

You're being manhandled by the crowd, trying to sort out your thoughts until a hand comes to rest on your shoulder and pulls you out of your torment. You turn sharply, but fear is replaced by relief when you realise it's only her.

She doesn’t like to see you like this, with tears in the corner of your eyes, and she hates it even more knowing that she caused this. She wasn't expecting you to react that way, as she only left for a few minutes and this view almost makes her feel bad. Almost, because she knows that what she has brought you will make up for her mistake.

“I got a surprise for you…,” she said, but it was not much of a surprise as you could already see the stuffed toy she was trying to hide behind her back.

It is a black dragon that is almost your size, you saw it at the stand where you were playing earlier. You’ve spent dozens of minutes and dollars in that game without winning anything so you can’t believe that it took her less than five minutes to come back with the biggest prize.

“How did you do that?! It was impossible to win anything!” you exclaimed as the woman hands you the stuffed toy.

You immediately hug it, squeezing the dragon as tight as you can. It is the fluffiest and you’re already loving it. If you are a bit surprised that Natasha got you something that big, you’re trying to not think too much about it. She always tells you no for everything that could ruin the aesthetic of her house so you want to enjoy the plushie as much as you could before she changes her mind and takes it back.

“Thank you, I love it so much,” you told her, not letting it go, which made her laugh - the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

Even her knows that she’ll eventually regret it, but for the moment the smile on your face makes it all worth it. It became even more important than her house’s décoration.

“But?” she asked, frowning when she heard your tone, knowing that something else was keeping your mind busy.

“There is not but,” you replied, and this time it is your turn to frown at her question.

“I know when you’re lying, love,” she said, her hand brushing your hair away from your face so she could admire every feature of your face.

“... god, I hate when you do that, you’re so annoying,” you mumbled, perfectly knowing that she was right. You bury your face in her shoulder, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Even when you try your hardest to keep your thoughts for yourself, you are unable to do so. There is nothing you can hide from the woman because she is too good at reading people, her eyes seeing everything.

“Then tell me what’s in your mind, and maybe I'll stop being annoying,” she said, trying to hold back a laugh. She won’t say it because she doesn’t want you to be mad at her for real, but she finds it cute when you’re angry.

“I-didn’t-want-a-stuffed-toy-I-was-trying-to-win-one-for-you,” you replied, talking as fast as you could in hope she won’t retain anything of your rambling - which was doomed to failure.

You are a bit embarrassed by the situation because she succeeded so easily where you didn’t. For once, you wanted to be the one to give her a present, something you rarely have the chance to do because she is always the one who spoils you, but somehow she managed to turn the situation around once again, and you hate it.

She chuckles, relieved that it was nothing too serious. She gently grabs your chin to lift your head up and watch your expression. The moment she saw that hint of sadness in your eyes, she understood how affected you are by the situation, and she finds it surprising how something so insignificant in her eyes could be so important to yours.

“Then I could keep it and we’ll pretend that you won it for me, what do you think?” she asked, trying to cheer you up, not wanting to see that look on your face anymore.

“But that's not the same,” you whined, starting to complain about the unfair situation.

“Oh gosh, you're such a child,” she said, rolling her eyes at your answer - but even if she acts like your attitude is annoying her, deep down you know that she loves it. “Come,” she added, pulling you by the hand to guide you through the crowd after she handed the huge dragon to one of her men.

“Where are we going?” you tried to ask, but of course you don’t get an answer from the redhead.

When you eventually get to the stand where Natasha won the dragon and you lost your money, the showman looks at you with a wry grin. He recognizes you as the one who spent dozens of dollars in his game without winning anything and he is probably hoping that you are back with more money.

But as soon as his eyes landed on the redhead at your side, his face completely changed. He knew he messed up the second he noticed how her hand is resting at the bottom of your back as she guides you toward his stand. She puts down a bill, which the man takes with caution, probably thinking that there is a trap somewhere.

“We won’t need that,” she told him the moment the man made a move to give her one of the plastic weapons.

If he is about to protest, one glance from the woman is enough for him to understand that he would better keep his mouth shut. Instead, he watches her carefully as she takes her own gun out, a real one.

You are a bit confused when she puts the gun in your hands : it is the first time it happens. She has never let you touch anything that could be dangerous, and it obviously included her weapons. It has nothing in common with the fake guns you are used to, it is heavier and more impressive.

“Go on,” she said, trying to encourage you when she noticed you still haven’t made a move.

“What? With your gun?” you asked, unsure of what you are supposed to do now, “b- but I don’t know how.. I mean, I’ve never-,” you added when she nodded as an answer to your question, but she doesn’t give you time to argue.

“I know,” she cut you, already knowing what you were about to say, “but I’ll help you, don’t worry about it,” she added, putting her hands on your shoulder to turn you around so you’re facing the targets instead of her.

She stands behind you, and if you can’t see her, you could feel her hands roaming over your body. You’re barely listening to the advice she is whispering in your ears, your mind being entirely focused on her hands. She moves your shoulders and legs in the right position, then she wraps your hands with hers to be sure that you won’t miss this time. It requires even more concentration than earlier to not let yourself get distracted by your proximity with the redhead, so close that you could feel her breath on the back of your neck.

Even if it doesn’t feel right to do that, you shot. Three times, and you didn’t miss one, all the balloons popped under your eyes, granting you the victory. She immediately snatches the weapon from your hand, not wanting to leave it to you for more time than it’s necessary, but you don’t care, too happy about your victory.

“Theirs are rigged, you never stood a chance,” she simply said as if it was obvious, but it wasn’t. If she understood what was the problem in one shot, why didn’t you after you’ve tried countless times?

You start to feel a bit stupid as the realization sinks in ; you blamed yourself for something that wasn’t even your fault, something you should've noticed on the first shot. You now understand why the showman was looking at you that way, he must have been happy to see someone that was dumb enough to spend all their money in his stand, from the beginning he knew you wouldn't win because no one that plays along the rules does.

“I am so proud of you, malyshka,” she added, the sound of her voice pulling you out of the spiral of your thoughts - a deadly one.

The lower part of your back is now pressed against the stand, she turned you around so she could admire every feature of your face.

“Stop lying,” you mumbled, the expression on your face not matching the smile on hers - she is smiling but you want to cry, fearing that you might have disappointed her because of your mistakes.

“I am serious,” she immediately said, not leaving you a chance to argue. Her hand gently grabs your chin, lifting your head until your eyes meet hers. “It even makes me want to see you try with live targets now, you must be so hot…,” she continued, her thumb brushing your cheek as she gets lost in the pleasant scene her mind is playing.

But you are not enjoying it as much as she does. A shiver of disgust shakes your body at this simple image, the one of your hands covered in the blood of your victim.

You are not a murderer, nor a monster.

Even after meeting the redhead and being dragged into her chaotic life, you’ve never done a thing that was illegal. If you know about her activities, she always makes sure that you are nothing more than a witness. She likes her women to be innocent, she used to toss them as soon as she felt their souls started to be corrupted, but she was slowly changing her mind.

For the first time, she wants to see her sweet thing with blood on her back. There is nothing that could please her more than to see the glimpse of darkness in your eyes growing until you are too deep in it to step back.

For the first time she wanted to fully introduce her girl to her reality.

She wanted to corrupt you as much as she wanted to protect your innocence. There is no word to describe how much she appreciates this oblivious expression of yours and, right now, she is not missing a thing about the one on your face. She revels in the mixture of fear and disgust she could read on your face.

“I was joking,” she sighed, “so don’t worry your pretty little head with that, okay baby?” she said and you believed her, nodding.

You couldn’t see the smirk on her face - the only hint that she was lying - because she leans forward to kiss the top of your head, her hand brushing your temple one last time before she pulls away. You immediately whine, trying to grip on her arm so she wouldn’t leave but this only makes her laugh.

“Go get your prize now, so we can get home,” she said, ignoring the pleading look you’re giving her to gesture towards the showman.

You turn around and, indeed, you see that the man was impatiently waiting for you to make your choice, he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of you and your problematic girlfriend. You immediately point to one of the biggest stuffed toys, similar to yours, but before the showman could make a move, Natasha shook her head, showing that she disagrees with your choice. She takes your arm and gently moves it so you’re now pointing at the shelf where the smallest plushies are displayed.

“It’s one of those or nothing,” she said, her stern tone leaving no room for discussion.

She obviously doesn’t care about the pout on your face. She considers that she has already been pretty nice by gifting you that giant stuffed toy, so she definitely won’t bring a second one home.

“Fine …,” you replied, frustrated that you couldn’t freely choose, but it was the perfect opportunity to make her regret her decision.

You missed nothing of her expression when the showman took the strawberry bunny that was on the shelf. She rolled her eyes, obviously you choose the most childish of all, but she decides that the smile on your face as you’re handed it to her is worth everything. She gladly takes it, and even if she tries to pretend she doesn’t like it, you don’t fall for her lies. The kisses she lays on the top of your head, then on your lips, are enough to convince you to keep your sneaky words to yourself, enjoying the moment the two of you were sharing.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO REQUEST

#a spes writing #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x reader #mob boss natasha romanoff #fluff writing

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drabblesandimagines · 6 months

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Bliss

Leon Kennedy x afab reader When I am on my period, you get period fluff

You wince as your stomach twists, jab the mascara wand into your eye rather than coat your lashes and swear, gripping the bathroom counter with your other hand.

“Great.” You hiss, closing your eye and grabbing a wet wipe, trying to salvage what you’d applied to your bottom lashes as your eye starts to water. The box of so-called express pain relief pills you’d downed greedily 30 minutes ago taunts you from the counter. They had barely touched the surface of the tormenting cramps that had started this afternoon and you wonder if you can sue the pharmaceutical company for such blatant lies.

You try and steady yourself with measured breaths, opening your eye cautiously to inspect it in the mirror. It looks a little red and you groan. You’re bloated, sore, stupidly emotional – irrationally cried at the fact that a spam email had made its way into your actual inbox at lunch - and the last thing you want to be doing right now is getting dolled up in one your classiest and form-fitting little black dresses, don high heels and socialize for the evening, no matter how much you’d been looking forward to it ahead of your visitor.

And not to mention that it’s at the bloody White House.

Leon had returned from Spain two months ago to silent fanfare - wouldn’t be good for US morale to know the President’s daughter had been kidnapped by a cult and infected with a parasite in the first place. Working as an intelligence agent for the DSO meant you’d read of the horrors from the report, comforted Leon when he awoke from nightmares of blackened veins, tentacles bursting forth from skulls, so you’re grateful that the President insisted Leon was given some time off work, though his first day back was looming on the horizon. Last week, on embossed white card with gold accents, sealed by a wax stamp came the invitation in a cursive hand to one Mr Leon S Kennedy and partner to the Presidential dining room.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door in Leon’s familiar rhythm.

“You nearly ready, sweetheart? I think the car will be here soon.”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you call back, “Final touches.” You turn back to the mirror and grab the mascara wand, cautiously covering your top lashes to even things out before frowning at your complexion. Are you breaking out too? A wave of pain rolls through your stomach once more and you grimace. Maybe you should’ve gone with a heat pad after all, but this dress is snug - it’d look bulky and weird on your stomach and the Secret Service guys will be all over it in the security checks.

You zhuzh up your hair one more time, plaster on a smile and unlock the bathroom door, finding Leon leaning up against the wall opposite. He lets out a low whistle as you emerge, hair falling into his blue eyes, and you duck your head in embarrassment at the attention. Honestly, right now you’d prefer him to look anywhere but at you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiles, looking unbelievably handsome in his best suit. He’s forgone the tie as usual – can’t stand them – but still looks appropriately smart. He stands up from the wall, slips a hand around your waist to pull you in for a kiss but you flinch at his touch, causing him to stop and frown. “You okay?”

“Mm, I’m fine.” You try and step out of his grip to head towards the stairs. “We should go keep an eye out for the car.”

His arm remains firmly in place. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m a great liar,” you retort. “Comes with the profession.” Your whole job depended on it, really – gathering intelligence was a lot of charming people into feeling comfortable around you, loosening their tongue into sharing secrets or giving you access to places you’re not meant to be.

“Not to me.” He’s got you there. “What’s the matter?”

You sigh, feeling a headache coming on to add to the list of ailments. “Can we leave it, please?”

“I don’t want to leave it – something’s wrong.” Leon is stubborn, doesn’t like to leave things hanging. He knows how precious life is, doesn’t want to leave anything to be dealt with later in case later never comes.

He stares at you - pout on his lips and those blue puppy dog eyes.

“Period.” You mumble, hoping that would suffice.

“Ah.” He nods.

“What does that mean?” You know it’s the hormones talking, even as you say it, but you’re stubborn too. It’s completely irrational, but his tone’s rubbed you the wrong way.

“It’s a sympathetic ah. Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” you grumble back. “I just want this evening over with.”

He looks confused, then. “I thought you were looking forward to it - you were excited yesterday-”

“I was,” you snap back. “But now the last thing I want to be doing is wearing this stupid tight dress and heels and get in a limo, be felt up by Secret Service agents for five minutes to make sure I’m not sneaking in a bomb between my thighs, and then go and dine with the President of the United States and his daughter, trying to remember what seven different types of silverware are meant for what course and then eating tiny bites and drinking bitter expensive wine, all when I could be at home, in my pyjamas, eating pizza and ice-cream and watching absolute trash on TV, cuddling my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Leon cups your face. “Breathe.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little winded from your rant.

“Good.” He smiles, dropping his hands and pulling his phone out of his trousers pocket. “Now, go get changed.”

You weren’t expecting that. “Sorry?”

“Get changed – go put your pyjamas on.”

“But dinner-”

“I’ll cancel, and then I’ll order us some pizza.”

You stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You can’t cancel on the President.”

“I rescued his daughter, he owes me.” Leon shrugs, as if he was just asking for a raincheck. “Besides, it’s Ashley who wanted this the most. We’ll reschedule.”

“No, I just need to tough it out.”

He raises an eyebrow at your word choice. “You do not.”

“You do it all the time – dragging yourself about the place with bullet and stab wounds.”

“Sweetheart, you have to agree that’s a little different. Us having dinner at the White House is not a life or death situation. I didn’t have a choice but to grit my teeth and get on with it, you very much do.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it tight. “Besides, you put up with enough that’s out of our control by these guys – missed anniversaries, birthdays, dinners - when they send me out on missions. I’m not going to sit and make you go through an uncomfortable evening when you don’t need or want to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, quietly.

“Positive.” He steps forwards, gives you a chaste kiss on the lips in reassurance. “Go and get comfortable – I’ll handle it.”

30 minutes later, you’re laying on the couch, head in Leon’s lap as he runs his fingers through your hair, another rubbing your back – dressed in loose pyjama shorts and one of his old sweatshirts, a hot water bottle that he’d made pressed against your stomach and one of those “so bad it’s good” reality relationship shows playing on the widescreen. One that Leon insists he detests, but remembers everyone’s names and asks what happened on previous episodes if he misses one.

“Was Ashley okay?”

“Fine. She’s already texted me three alternate dates.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “I thought they broke up.”

“Uh-uh. He proposed.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “This cannot be real.”

You sigh, content, and nuzzle into his thigh. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

The doorbell rings, announcing the pizza’s arrival. You reluctantly sit up, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach as Leon gets up off the sofa and starts to head towards the door.

“Leon.”

“Mm?” He pauses, turning slightly, removing his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“How come you’re still in your suit?”

“Well,” he resumes walking to the door, “I read how endorphins can help with period pain, and I know how happy a certain someone gets when they get to admire my ass in this particular suit…” The wallet slips from his fingers, bounces on the carpeted floor, and he bends down, slowly. “..so what kinda boyfriend would I be to hide it in sweats when they’re feeling poorly?”

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader #fluff writing

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ukit4m4 · 1 month

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★┆LIN KUEI BROTHERS FAVOURITE SPOT(S) TO KISS N BITES

warning : none, i think..? only bi han 's part have a tiny bit of smut

writer's note : HI LOL I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T POSTED IN A VERY LONG TIME 😓 I THINK THIS HAVE BEEN IN MY DRAFT FOR LIKEE IDK TWO MONTHS???? I SWEAR I'LL POST THE DARK!JOHNNY FIC SOON.. (or not idk writingblock is consuming me)

Bi-Han :

- he's probably a boobs typa guys. he'd prefer laying down with you, and rests himself under your chin, nuzzling onto your chest. Believe me, at the most random times of the day, he'll walk up to you and randomly squeeze your chest. (If you're comfortable enough with that, of course.) When having sex, he'll lean down and will definitely nuzzles onto your chest, whispering,

“You're mine, aren't you? Say it," He'd groans. "Say that you're mine." :3

Kuai Liang :

- when you guys are cuddling, his favorite position are the spooning thingy. His the big spoon, you're the small spoon. Sometimes, you guys will just cuddle in a comfortable silence and it makes him happy that you can spend time with him without words. If it is winter, he'll probably heat up his body ever so slightly so that you won't feel cold. He'll put his chin on your shoulder, then plant kisses on your cheeks until you giggle :3

Tomas Vrbada :

- Opposite of Bi Han, he loves putting YOU on HIS chest instead. Yep, you heard it right! Either when you guys are in the bedroom, or in the living room while watching TV, he'll lean to a stacked pillows, and put you on his chest, no matter if your body is big or not. Basically, your head is under his chin, so he'll plant kisses, stroke your hair, back, arms, etc. No matter what position you guys cuddle in, he just happy enough to spend time with you :3

likes, reblogs and shares are very very much appreciated !!!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#ukitama writes #bi han mk1 #tomas vrbada mk1 #kuai liang mk1 #mk fanfic #mk short fic #writing #mk writing #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #bihan mortal kombat 1 #free palestine #bi han x reader #tomas x reader #kuai liang x reader #fluff writing #cuddling #mk x reader

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ervotica · 1 month

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Ik this isn’t part of the prompt but can u plz do a eclipse Jasper x human reader whenever she can feel her anxiety worsen or even a panic attack about to start Jasper uses his ability to calm her down (since he can manipulate emotions/moods) and he usually does it by talking to her and kissing her gently🥹😭

summary; jasper eases your anxiety and kisses away all your worries.

warnings; fem!reader, reader w anxiety, soft, soft!jasper, jasper uses his gift on reader but it’s sweet, pure fluff! no use of y/n

Jasper's rasping Southern lilt pulls you out of your haze; he can feel the rushing thrum of your pulse beneath your skin, the way you tense and burrow further into the comfort of the blanket that’s loosely draped over your shoulders. You're vacant, eyes glassy and unfocused despite the lively chatter of the Cullen house, the raucous booming of Emmett’s voice and Rosalie’s quiet scolding that follows as the rest of the family talk animatedly. This upcoming fight has everyone on edge and it’s evident in your stance, the way you curl up small on the couch and wring your fingers until they flush ruby.

"Hey, sugar," Jasper murmurs, a finger hooking over your cheek to draw your gaze to his own. It's a miracle he can stand to be so close to you now, almost desensitised to your scent, the warmth of your touch, the ravenous hunger that claws at his throat when you're close. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, carving lines into the soft skin when your eyes meet his.

"Hey, Jas."

His icy lips are on your cheek and you soak up his touch, resisting the urge to lean into it as you really want to, still cautious of overwhelming him. The sense of calm that washes over you feels artificial, the only indicator that the feeling isn’t quite your own, but rather the emotion that Jasper is weaving into your frazzled nerves as the anxiety untangles like yarn and dissipates. The crushing thunderstorm is reduced to small, sweeping waves that lap at the corners of your mind but no longer engulf it.

You accept the feeling regardless of its origin, your muscles uncoiling as Jasper strokes slow lines over your cheekbone. Your eyes track the swish of his blond tresses when his head dips further, the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek, and one golden eye that watches you right back.

His mouth ventures to the corner of your lips and you feel the imprint of his smile as you giggle and your features scrunch with unbridled adoration. It’s a rare display of such emboldened affection from him and you’ll be damned if you don’t wring him for every ounce whilst he’s willing to offer it.

All background noise melts away when he catches your lips between his own. You gasp a sweet little noise into his mouth and he swallows it greedily; the feel of his cold fingers on your cheek brands you, leaving a lasting tingle that reminds you that you’re his and his only. He nips at your bottom lip, the ghost of a laugh echoing against your mouth when you whine and cant your body towards his, wanting, needing, to be close. His forehead stays anchored to your own when he draws himself away.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs. "My beautiful girl."

The cadence of his voice alone is enough to have you going soft and pliant in his grasp, tired eyes watching his every move as he nudges your chin upwards and presses another gentle peck to your mouth.

"Everything’s gonna be jus’ fine, okay?" he coos, gathering you up and into his arms in a way that has you biting your lip to suppress a whimper. "And then we’ll have forever, my darlin’."

"You promise?" He almost laughs at your question, but he hears the warble in your voice, feels the tightening of your fingers against the sleeve of his shirt, and he knows you need the reassurance. Something white-hot lights in his chest, fondness and something deep and primal all mixed into one— the urge to protect you always, no matter the cost, even if the world burns to ashes. He’ll protect you always.

"I promise." He sits back until you’re tucked beneath his arm, pushing stray curls out of your face as you nestle into the crook of his armpit. "Why don’t you sleep for a little while? You need it."

Suddenly the ruckus of the Cullen house dulls in your ears, your only focus on the blond you’re tucked against, his fingers curling around the blanket to pull it flush to your frame. The last thing you register is his arms tightening around you as you doze, and an arm hiking you into his lap when you go limp against him.

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mysmuttyy · 2 months

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REALISATION

summary: mattheo and y/n are enemies, but he has a nightmare that makes his realise he loves her.

⚠️: death, crying, confessions, fluff

Pink: y/n | Red: mattheo.

Monday Morning.

Voices echoed around the room. The voices were heard in front of him, behind him, but not beside him. For the first time in three years, her seat remained empty, chair tucked under the desk- Just like she left it. Mattheo felt odd not having her there, but slowly, he shrugged it off, convincing himself that she’d show up any second.

The class dragged on, the doors opened and closed, but she never walked in. It was like this for the rest of the day, no one had seen her.

His overthinking won and his anxiety set in, the echo of his footsteps following him down the quiet hallways. With a mumble of the password, the doors swung open, allowing him access. The curly haired boy wasted no time in hurrying up those steps, rushing toward her bedroom. His veiny hand clutches onto the handle, knees buckling once his dark eyes spot her limp body lying in a pool of her own blood.

The whole world stops, and he feels a shooting pain coarse throughout his entire body, heart shattering into a million pieces, every ounce of happiness he possessed fading away.

People arrived and he somehow gained the strength to get up, stumbling toward the phone booth, tears streaming down his face as he dialled in her mothers number. Her sweet voice was heard on the other side, sounding just like y/n’s. He felt his heart break all over again, as this mother cried on the other side of the phone, repeatedly asking for him to be joking.

Mrs Drew, y/n’s mother, choked on her cries as she informed Mattheo about y/n’s feelings for him. She was in love with him. That’s all it took for him to fully break down, knees dropping to the floor, loud sobs filling the booth.

“I’m so sorry!” The boy cried, begging for her mothers forgiveness. She cried back, telling him never to apologise.

Monday Morning.

The great hall doors sprung open, slamming into the walls. Everybody turned to look, watching as Mattheo Riddles dark eyes scanned the crowded room. Y/n stared at the man who hated her, noticing a change in his demeanour. Today, he didn’t seem unbothered like usual, he actually seemed to be very bothered.

Once their eyes locked, he smiled, a sweet, genuine smile, one that made butterflies swarm her stomach. Her cheeks flushed red, a smile she couldn’t hide forming across her nervous face. Mattheo Riddle walked down from the doors, heading toward her. She watched, eyes following his figure, melting when his hand cupped her cheek.

Mattheo pulled her up from her chair, holding her gently, leaning in until their lips smashed together. Everything changed in that moment, there was no more darkness, it was colourful. The two felt their souls had finally come together, accepting that their meant for each other.

She pulled away from his touch, quick to question what was going on. That’s when he confessed to not only her, but the whole of Hogwarts too. “Y/n, I’m so in love with you.” He told her, holding her so tightly, too afraid to let go.

The girl giggled before him, making his heart do a backflip.

A/N; this is my first fluff, no hate pls 😂😂 also, i haven’t gone over it bc I’m too lazy n half asleep so, ignore any spelling mistakes! thank you for all the support, i love you all.

ps: i need smut ideas, send them thru xoxoxo

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writersloveroe · 11 months

Text

love confession prompts

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

actions

•confessing in the rain

•confessing in an argument

•confessing before death

•confessing where they met

•confessing in front of everyone

•confessing out of frustration

•confessing with time running out

•confessing out of sadness

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

dialogue

•”i love you and i know its stupid but i really do,”

•”please don’t leave me, i love you,”

•”i love you (name), i love you more than anyone,”

•”i want to be more than just friends,”

•”i been thinking about us a lot, and i really believe you’d be the perfect fit for me,”

•”because- because i love you, (name)!”

•”i love you and i don’t care what anyone says. i want you to be mine,”

•”i love you, please be my lover,”

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thetopichot · 3 months

Text

•°♡ Swoon!~ Prompts VII ♡°•

🎶 Cause everytime we touch I get this feelingggg & everytime I kiss I swear I can flyyyy. Everytime my heart beats fast I want this to lastt. Need ya by my sideeeeeee. 🎶

CW: Suggestive

"Do a little twirl for me, sweetheart." (Suddenly, I'm a ballerina.)

"Oh, is someone feeling spicy today?"

"I love how real you are. If God gave anyone a personality, it would be you."

"Your lips are sweet like candy. I might get a sugar rush cause of ya'."

"There you are, sweetheart. I've been looking all over for you."

Parallel Bonding. Just chilling in the same room doing different things but in the presence of eachother.

Trying on lipstick just to cover the other's face with it.

Non-sexual bath time but add water guns & bubbles into it.

Prolonged Eye Contact. (Prolonged Eye Contact.)

Someone burnt their tongue & you kiss it better.

☆ミ Author's Notes Underneath 👇 ☆ミ

🩷 - We back in business & I also got some good newsss. I officially have a boyfriend! If you guys been paying attention to my posts, you guys already know that. If you haven't, now ya know! I'm so happy! Also I've noticed we getting close to February & I'm a simp blog so it's my job in participate in the romance.

Like always we're going to have a monthly poll as always & I'm going to make a February writing challenge too! So, make sure you know that because that's going to be important for later! Anyways, thank you for your time!

187 notes · View notes

abiiors · 4 months

Text

sfw alphabet ❣️ // matty healy x reader

a/n: there is one story in here that is based on true events from my life hehehe. also while we're here i'd like to say that i tried veryyyy hard to keep it strictly sfw but some innuendos did slip through lol cw: mostly fluff, very brief mentions of addiction. brief mentions of morning sickness, some angst but it's very tame overall wc: 5.6k

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

matty’s like if you fed a stray cat that one time five months ago—meaning, he’s going to be the most affectionate person ever if you show him even one act of kindness. it doesn’t matter what your relationship to him is, it’s just a given at this point that if you’re close to him, he’s going to go above and beyond for you.

you get your first taste of it when you show up to his house, on the verge of tears and a panic attack from the stress of an upcoming deadline. it’s three weeks into dating, you’re barely even sure if you should be bothering him with your silly little problems (even though later he would scold you for calling them silly little problems).

matty opens the door, takes one look at your face, and instantly pull you into a hug.

“oh, darling, what’s wrong?” his voice is full of concern and you suspect there’s a giant frown on his face.

“everything!”

a little giggle slips out of him and he has to press his mouth shut when you look up at him with a betrayed pout.

“everything? hmm, we gotta do something about that then, don’t we?”

and then that’s exactly what he does.

“should we light a fire?” matty asks once he’s got you a glass of wine (your favourite that he found out about and now always keeps on hand) “you love a good fire.”

“and we can read together?”

“anything you want, baby!”

and even though his face twists into an expression of instant regret as soon as he says it, matty still proceeds to make a fire while you set up blankets and pillows on the sofa. he knows exactly what’s coming though (no seriously, he fondly likes to call your kindle unlimited subscription the bane of his existence)

still, twenty minutes later, snuggled up next to you and cringing through every bad sex scene, he can’t complain. not when he gets to bury his head in the crook of your neck and hear you laugh at his reactions.

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

loyal to a fault!!!

you can pinpoint the actual date the two of you became friends—years and years and years ago, practically decades at this point, at the ripe old age of fourteen, you got into your first fight.

you can’t remember how the fight started or who it was with. all you know if there were a few words, someone pulling your hair and the next thing you know, you were on the ground, trying to hit any vulnerable spot you could find.

the memories after that are fuzzy—you, school uniform undone, dried blood on your split lip, toeing the grass outside your school and trying not to look nervous. what if some teacher saw it?

you didn’t throw the first punch! what if—

“you look like you could use a fag!” a voice cuts through. it’s a boy you’ve sometimes seen around school. black hair (awfully straightened), a unibrow, thick black glasses, always surrounded by the same three boys.

“i don’t smoke,” you counter and go back to torturing the poor grass.

“i didn’t ask if you smoked, just said you look like you could use one.”

what. a. fucking. twat!

still, you aren’t much in the mood for an argument. “don’t wanna get in trouble.”

the boy shrugs. “you’re already in trouble, mate. but whatever.”

he’s about to leave when you grab his arm. “no wait. why are you being nice to me?”

at that, he grins. “are you joking? we all saw what you did to sam! biggest fucking bully in class and you looked like a badass putting him in his place.”

“wait, really? you really think that?”

“ask george,” (you don’t know who george is) “or ross or adam,” (you don’t know who they are either) “we all think you’re fucking cool.”

that makes you smile too. you hiss quickly though, smiling with a split lip hurts but he extends the cigarette to you once again.

and this time, you accept it gladly.

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

clingiest man in the whole wide world!!! he has to be attached to you at all times otherwise he’s gonna have that horrendously sad little pout on his face all day.

if you’re just at home, watching something on tv then his head is on your boobs (or in your lap but boobs is preferred though) while you play with his hair. every once in a while he nuzzles his face between them and says something that suspiciously sounds like “comfy”

he’s cute though! and it’s not always sexual. you love the fact that he feels so much adoration for you.

if you’re in bed though, you end up being the little spoon because he absolutely loves to flop on you and cover you with his entire body. he’s deliciously warm and smells so incredible (and he smells like home to you). you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve fallen asleep like that—with his face buried in your neck, his stubble scratching the skin. and even when his arm falls asleep, he won’t make you move your head at the risk of waking you up.

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

he is a brilliant house-husband (and that’s a title he’s claimed on his own).

“no, go sit down babe, let me take care of that for you” or “let me cook for you tonight” or “should i do the laundry while you finish your movie?” are definitely regular matty sentences arround the house.

the few weeks when he’s just gotten back from a tour and wants to do nothing but sleep all day long are probably the only time you do all the chores while he’s also in the house. he does get huffy when he realises you didn’t wake him up and ask for help.

“i could’ve hoovered,” he pouts but it melts away quickly when you pull him into a kiss.

“i know you could have, love, but you looked so peaceful sleeping i didn’t wanna bother you!”

he isn’t very happy about that but he silently vows to stay up and help you the next time.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

he doesn’t want to let go no matter how much the relationship deteriorates. he knows he can fix this and turn back time and bring back the spark. he knows the weekly fights are just a phase, he knows you love him so much!

deep down, he also knows he’s delusional.

you’re sleeping in two different rooms again, you in the guest bedroom, and he’s in your cold, empty bed. and there’s no way he can sleep that night judging by all the tossing and turning he’s done so far. your latest fight echoes in his head—all the nasty things he said, all the vile things you responded with.

just fuck off then, and don’t bother me again! those were your last words of the night before you slammed the door shut and the loud, defining thud echoed through the whole house.

when morning finally arrives, he knows he has to do it.

he knows he owes you at least this much. to break it off with dignity. to salvage whatever shreds of friendship and love that remain between you.

“we need to talk,” he says as soon as you enter the kitchen, eyes swollen and red and surrounded by bags. lips dry and chapped.

still, you nod. and matty extends you a steaming mug of coffee for the last time.

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

he is so down to commit!

he’s started planning a proposal like a year into the relationship. he hasn’t bought the ring yet or anything! in fact, he’s not going to buy a ring at all. not when he plans on giving you his grandmother’s precious ring that she wore every single day until the day she died.

however, he knows the timing's not right. you’re both so busy and you’ve just started a new job. he has a few more tours coming up for the next two years. and well, he has his best friend’s wedding coming up soon, he’s not about to be the dickhead that proposes at someone else’s wedding.

so matty keeps the proposal contained to his day dreams.

he knows it’s going to be at home (he knows how much you despise public proposals) and he knows it’s going to be during the golden hour when you cuddle into him like a sleepy cat. he loves this routine—you, sleepy and gasping for a nap, plopping onto him when he’s just doing his own thing in the living room.

he loves how content you look in the dying light of the sun. how happy and beautiful and utterly perfect.

and matty knows, when he eventually gets down on one knee and asks you to marry him, that’s when it’s going to have to be!

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

so incredibly gentle!

you can’t remember a single time matty’s ever raised his voice at you. he used to be your pretty, dainty boy but he’s started working out now and he’s got muscles (which you find extremely hot. he’s also got a cute little bubble butt that you love to slap). it’s not that he’s unaware of his own strength but now he puts extra effort in being gentler if you two ever get into a play fight.

he makes sure to never fully pin you down (unless you ask for it 👀) or put his whole weight on you.

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

he loves them on most days.

his hugs are always the absolute best! it’s like being surrounded by all things matty—his cologne and aftershave, his arms, the softness of his shirt and the feel of his chin on top of your head. you think a hug from matty is the closest you’ll ever come to having a universal cure for every ailment ever.

on some days he gets quite overstimulated though. you can see it on his face when every single sensation becomes a bit too much and as much as you want to bundle him up, you try to give him his space. to let him calm down a bit. you can always just sit there and hold his hand if that’s all the touch he can bear for the moment.

i = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

one month in, completely on accident!

you’re sick with the bubonic plague (a cold) and rotting in bed, surrounded by used tissues, half-empty cups of lemsip, and your trusty little comfort plush. matty’s in full nurse mode, despite you telling him that it’s nothing, you’ll be fine if he left.

it’s only when george calls him for something work related that he relents.

“let me check your fever one last time before i go,” he insists and you roll your eyes. but you have no other choice but to give in. it’s a 100 degrees, exactly what it was an hour ago. not too bad at all, but matty frowns.

“i’ll be back in a few hours, darling, you have to promise to call me if you need anything okay?”

“i will!” you croak out and wince when your throat protests. “now go.”

he holds his hands up in surrender and bends down to press a kiss on your head.

“don’t wanna get you sick matty,” you try to protest weakly but even then you know it’s useless. he’s going to do whatever he wants.

“go to sleep now,” he says, “i’ll see you soon. i love you!” and then he leaves.

ten minutes later, when it finally registers in your fever addled brain, your entire body goes cold. did he—

did you hear it right? no… it’s just the fever right? you’re sick! that must be it.

little do you know, matty had to sit down outside your room for a good two minutes before he could leave the house. and now that he’s in the studio, distractedly working on producing a track, he can’t stop grinning like an idiot.

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

he used to get soooo jealous back when you were “just friends”! (he still is, he just thinks he hides it better)

the first time you really clock it is when you bring a friend to one of their shows. you know sean’s been a fan of theirs for a bit and frankly, you’re quite excited about introducing him to the band.

matty, however, is as far away from excitement as one can get.

he tries to mask his unease, and greets you with a forced smile. “heard you were our special guest, mate,” he nods in sean’s direction and puts his arm around your waist. “hope you enjoyed the show?”

if sean finds any of it weird, he doesn’t say it. he’s smiles bashfully and gushes about how much fun it’s been. you, on the other hand…

“matty…?” you say as soon as you get a moment alone with him.

he’s outside smoking a cigarette staring off into the distance. his jaw looks sharper than it usually does, his lips are pursed in a straight line. you take a deep breath, contemplating whether to address the obvious tension or let it slide. the distant city lights flicker in the background as you approach him, and he finally turns his attention towards you, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"alright?" your tone is a mix of concern and curiosity. when his eyes meet yours, for a moment, it feels like he's searching for the right words.

he shrugs, attempting a nonchalant smile. but you can see through it. so you fold your arms, giving him a knowing look.

matty sighs, stubbing out his cigarette. he leans against the venue's brick wall, avoiding direct eye contact. “thought we were going out for drinks later. just us two you know?”

ahhhh. so that’s what it is.

a tiny tendril of something shoots through your stomach, does something funny to your entire body.

“we are,” you try to stifle a smile. “do you not want to anymore?”

“what? no!” matty sputters, “i mean, yes! of course, i want to get drinks with you, i just thought…”

“you just thought?”

“well you brought a… friend.”

it becomes almost impossible to hide a smile then, and matty narrows his eyes. “you’re laughing at me,” he accuses and narrows his eyes further when you burst into a fit of giggles.

“he’s going home in a bit,” you manage to recover a bit. “you’re stuck with just me i’m afraid.”

that makes matty shake his head and you can finally see a tiny smile peaking through.

“just you… hmm,” he teases. “guess i’ll have to make do with that.”

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses always leave you a little breathless.

it doesn’t matter if it’s your first kiss of the day or if he’s been particularly affectionate or if he’s kissed you all over the face—you somehow always end up giggling like a teenager with a crush with your head spinning slightly.

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

so good, it gives you immense baby fever for the next few weeks.

it’s three months into your relationship when his mum insists you spend christmas with their family and you agree to it happily!

his entire family is there! his mum and step-father, his brother and his girlfriend, his dad, his step-brother who’s just had a baby. and that’s the moment you know you’re about to suffer from raging baby fever.

the whole weekend matty is absolutely adorable with the baby. you see him offer to take care of her and feed and change her, you see him making her laugh and smile, but it’s when you see him singing her to sleep, that’s when you truly lose it.

matty doesn’t even know you’re watching him, he's completely immersed in singing his own rendition of you are my sunshine while the baby stares at him with sleepy eyes. but it almost makes you weep when she clutches his finger in her tiny hand and starts to dose off.

the image lingers in the forefront of your mind even when you’re trying to sleep, being spooned by matty and under a cosy duvet. so much so that you have to turn around and bury your face in his chest to stop yourself from squealing at the cuteness.

he’s long asleep by then though. all he does is tighten his hold around you and you’re left to dream of a tiny baby with your eyes and matty’s curls.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

when you’re not getting off to… other things… mornings are usually very calm and chill. more often than not, one of you wakes the other with a steaming mug of coffee. if it’s a busy day and you don’t have much time to be lazy and cuddly, you just chat about your plans for the day while having coffee and some breakfast.

if it is a lazy day, however, breakfast usually turns into brunch in bed, followed by a nice, long bath full of bubbles!

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

nights are just as sweet and way more cuddly.

both of you have a little ritual of reading in bed before going to sleep if you aren’t… otherwise occupied. still, he loves to just sit there and listen to you talk about your day or your work in general.

it always makes you laugh how excited he gets about any work gossip you might have for him.

overall, your nights together are so relaxing and sweet and genuinely make you appreciate him so much more.

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

in all fairness you knew much more about matty than he knew about you. he’s always been so open about his friendships and music and all his struggles, still, you knew hearing it from him first hand was going to be different. and you also expected it to take some time.

he doesn’t reveal it all at once though, he thinks he’s trying to make it more palatable for you if he talks about stuff bit by bit.

you’re special to him. he doesn’t want to scare you away by trauma dumping outright! it takes him a bit to open up completely, even when you show him nothing but support. but the more he shares with you, the deeper he falls in love. the more it becomes clear to him that you’re here to stay.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

anger isn’t the right word for it really! mostly he just gets annoyed sometimes—like a sweet little toddler with his cheeks puffed up it’s almost funny if it wasn’t so downright adorable. he can’t stay annoyed though! one kiss from you (even though it’s usually multiple in quick succession. a strategic attack really!) his annoyance melts away like butter on toast.

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

matty’s like a walking encyclopaedia for trivia related to you and your relationship! he might not remember what he ate for dinner the night before, but he remembers exactly what earrings you wore for your music awards with him.

you do cheekily quiz him sometimes, and matty just smirks like an insufferable twat. “you can try all you want, love, you can’t best me at this game.” he grins.

“oh yeah? that’s a lot of cockiness healy!”

“go on then, quiz me!” he challenges and you smirk back.

“what did i say before i kissed you for the first time? four years ago that is! i need it verbatim, babe.”

for a moment he looks speechless and the smile on your face widens. it was four years ago after all. you’ve had infinite kisses since then, there’s no way he remembers. definitely not verbatim.

matty stalks closer. “you said…” he drawls between one long stride and the next and then he’s right there in front of you, mouth hovering over yours. so close your lips are almost touching. the air between you two feels charged with lightning.

“you said, you wanted to do this, and i quote ‘since the first time you fixed my smudged lipstick with your thumb’.” and before you have the chance to even react, he’s crashing his mouth on yours, smiling against your lips.

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

it’s been fondly dubbed as “the mayhem disaster”.

one morning you hear matty go, “no, no, no, mayhem!” you put your book aside, and sit up to listen the curses that follow.

“everything alright?” you call out, confused and curious.

“babe, can you come here a sec?” he responds, making you groan into your cosy cocoon you'd made for yourself. it rained all night before, and now the weather’s just the perfect combination of gloomy and cosy—perfect to cuddle with your boyfriend all day.

which is what you had been doing until ten minutes ago when matty had to get up to let mayhem out into the backyard.

you turn the corner into the living room only to freeze in your tracks and slap your hand on your mouth, still failing to stifle the loud gasp that leaves you.

in front of you sits matty, on the floor, his head in his hands and next to him stands mayhem. except his gorgeous black fur is now fully covered and matted with mud

behind him, you can see muddy tracks and stray leaves he's brought in.

“oh no…” you don’t know if you should laugh or cry at the scene in front of you.

“baby…” you coo softly, both at matty and mayhem, “what happened?”

“he ran straight for a puddle the second i let him out, didn’t you, you twat?” he scolds the pup making you tsk.

that makes him laugh though. shaking his head, matty gets off the floor.

“well, come on you, straight to the bathroom,” he points a finger in the vague direction.

when the two of you finally manage to get him in the tub, matty starts running a bath while you rummage through the cabinet for pet shampoo.

“be a good boy now,” you scratch mayhem behind his ear, grimacing at the mud that’s now under your fingernails.

you crouch down to his level, softly grabbing his face and about to start cleaning. but of course, he takes it as an invitation to play and begins nuzzling you with his head, trying to climb on you.

matty laughs, making absolutely no move to help you. mayhem, covered in mud, tries to climb on you as you try to set him back into the tub gently. but it’s far too late, you’re already covered in mud.

“fuck! my favourite t-shirt!” you whine, looking down at yourself in despair.

“it’s not even yours,” matty laughs while you scowl at him. “besides,” he waggles his eyebrows, “you can always take it off.”

“pervert,” you laugh at him and then proceed to take it off in one fluid motion and chuck it at his face.

your eyes widen when the t-shirt slides off his face, leaving a perfectly round muddy mark on his cheek.

“you got mud on my face, didn’t you?” he dips a hand in the tub and you know what’s coming. “didn’t you?!” he asks again before splashing a handful of water on you.

you squeal as he grabs your waist, pulling you closer, rubbing his cheek against your face, neck, chest.

“matty!” you laugh, trying to get away from him but he holds on tight. “get her, mayhem, get her,’ he giggles and the puppy covers you in wet kisses once again.

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he’s always been protective of you, especially when you’re in public. he doesn’t have to worry about the fans being rude or agressive, but the same can’t be said about random photographers and tabloids.

you thought you knew the extent of his protectiveness. all of that changed the moment you found out you were expecting.

you thought you knew his mother hen tendencies inside and out, turns out you were absolutely dead wrong! matty hovers. so. much.

he’s there, holding your hair every time you find yourself throwing up. he’s there cancelling on appointments and on the boys on days he deems the morning sickness “too serious”. most of all, he won’t let you go up or down the stairs alone. at all.

“i’m pregnant, matty, not an invalid!” you whine one evening when you feel him hovering behind you as you make your way up the stairs.

“i know,” he drags it out as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “i’m just making extra sure.”

your eye twitches. “making sure of what? that the stair monster doesn’t get me?”

you kow he’s rolling his eyes without being able to see his face. “alright, smartarse. i meant more if you got dizzy halfway up or down the stairs.”

“i’ll sit down!”

he hmphs, completely dismissing that logic.

“baby, the stairs have a railing for a reason!”

he hmphs again. “didn’t know it was a crime to make sure my girls were safe!”

that makes you sigh. this is a petty squabble—it’s not your first, it certainly won’t be your last. once you reach the top of the stairs, you turn to face him with another long sigh. “look, baby, i appreciate the concern, but i'm not made of glass. i can handle a flight of stairs without a chaperone.”

“indulge me, okay! we can have this argument every time, or you can just ignore my presence when you’re going up or down the stairs. either way, i’m going to hover.”

“matty!”

but you know it’s useless. besides, his stubbornness is almost endearing. and between that and the pampering that comes with the protectiveness, you might as well just give up your stance now…

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts in so much thought! it has been like this since date one—since he made sure to accommodate your likes and dislikes and food preferences in finding the perfect place to eat. even after all these years, he takes his time to plan out everything. even if it’s just an at home pamper day for you while he does all the chores.

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

it’s a low hanging fruit but… the excessive smoking annoys you sometimes. especially because his voice is his job. you’ve told him multiple times to tone it down a little and it’s not like he doesn’t listen. it just… doesn’t always stick.

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

depends on where he has to go and what the occasion is. he’ll be dressed to the nines if he has to accompany you to a party or an event but usually he’s fine being in soft comfy clothes that keep him cosy

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

yes!

this literally needs zero explanation.

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

pots and pans clatter; great, banging sounds first thing in the morning in an otherwise serene kitchen. it wouldn’t be like this, not really but you’re both incredibly sleepy. two figures, one tall and hunched over, the other smaller, softer. cuddled into him. the kitchen is awash in the early morning light, too early if you were to be asked but you’re okay with it. you’re happy and content as long as you get to stay stuck to matty’s side.

he cracks an egg.

“a sunny side up? still want that?” he asks and then laughs to himself. it’s an inside joke to him because, in the end, you’re going to end up stealing the eggs on his plate (a soft scramble) and accuse him of putting more care into his breakfast. which is exactly why he does it; puts more love into “his” breakfast that is. he knows you’re going to end up stealing it.

“can’t have you changing your mind again, darling.” matty ruffles your hair affectionately and tugs at the claw clip holding them together. they cascade down your shoulders; messy, frizzy and big.

this early morning everything is a bit fuzzy; your head, your thoughts. “mmm,” you respond. a sleepy little hmm. it’s quite possibly a yes, or it could be a “hold on i’m still thinking” or even a “don’t really feel like eggs anymore”. in all your years together, deciphering your hmms has been his biggest challenge.

“alright then,” a pause. you cuddle closer simply because his t-shirt is soft and he is very warm. this early in the morning you have no sense of anything else but the familiar warmth and the sizzling of the pan.

“i’ll make some coffee for us,” you volunteer and move away.

the bubbling of the kettle almost puts you back to sleep; it’s soothing, rhythmic. but you keep yourself occupied. your favourite mugs are always hung side by side. his is comically large, in the shape of a pint glass; you always tease him about not being able to finish the coffee, about always finding cold remnants at the bottom of the mug.

yours on the other hand looks more like a bowl; soft pink with tiny daisies all over it. you like holding it in both hands and cuddling it close to soak up some of the liquid’s warmth. on days that are especially cold, matty calls it your “emotional support mug”. and it is.

“okay we have to time this,” you announce and carefully pour hot water into the french press. so now he has about four minutes to finish the eggs. that’s alright, four minutes is all he needs.

“get the plates for us, would you?” he asks, bumping his hip into yours. it’s partly to wake you up some more, partly because he’s not very coordinated first thing in the morning either.

you’re about to grumble. getting the plate means leaving your comfy spot and having to open the door, dig around, close it again; so much work really. but matty is quicker. he knows this grumble is coming and he knows a tiny kiss on your nose always does wonders.

unfair really, that he should know you that well.

“hmm,” you huff and start the trek to the cabinet. matty snickers at the way you drag your feet, like a child being told to clean her room. always a grump before you’ve had some food and caffeine.

“such a grump,” he teases, “c’mere.”

when you stop in front of him, two plates in hand, he immediately sets them aside and pulls you close. your eyes are droopy, soft and sleepy. there’s no resistance when he tilts your chin and kisses you sweetly; a lingering soft kiss.

then he holds the steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

it’s as if the aroma makes you come alive; you perks up instantly, eyes finally open and hands reaching to cradle the bowl-like mug, to hold it close to your chest. you don't just drink the coffee, you indulge in it.

“right!’ you speak after a few sips, and proceed to steal his eggs.

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

snobbiness is a big no no. he really hates it when people retend like they’re better than someone else just because they have more fame or success or money.

he would absolutely despise himself if he ever turned into that person. and regardless of who he’s with at the moment, he makes sure that they don’t possess that quality.

z = zzz (what is a sleep habits of theirs?)

so erratic it’s worrying sometimes.

you tried to figure out if he was a night owl or a morning bird but it’s genuinely so unpredictable that you had to give up after a few weeks later.

one thing remains consistent though, wherever he is, he won’t go to bed without talking to you and telling you he loves you! even if he’s on the other side of the world, calling you with sleepy eyes and drooping curls while you hold your morning cup of coffee. even if he’s just got back home at 2 am and you’re already fast asleep. matty makes sure to whisper a little i love you and place a kiss on your head before he goes to bed.

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #matty healy #sfw alphabet #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you #matty healy fluff #the 1975 fluff #fluff writing

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luvmake · 9 months

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❝THINGS SAID BETWEEN KISSES.❞ PART I

part II

tag me when used! <3

— "Do that again, please."

— "I missed the way you taste."

— "Don't start something you can't finish."

— "For someone who hates me, you're not pulling away."

— "There's no one like you, darling."

— "Is that a new lip balm?"

— "Don't act so shy now."

— "Tell me you love me too."

— "You look so pretty like this."

— "Can we keep doing this?"

— "Aren't you afraid of getting seen with me?"

— "Please, don't leave this time."

— "Are you sure about this?"

— "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you deserve."

— "Take me away, please."

— "I needed this, needed you."

— "I can't let you go."

— "Ask me to stop and I will."

— "My heart is all yours, love."

— "Your lips are all stained."

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celestialwrites · 2 months

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fluffy romance prompts + dialogue [valentine’s edition<3]

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ character A waking up to roses, not just a bouquet, but roses covering every square inch of their home.

♡ character thinking their s/o forgot valentine’s but comes home to a huge surprise.

♡ “i thought you didn’t like valentines?” “i don’t like valentines, but i like you.”

♡ characters reenacting their first date/first time they met.

♡ “i don’t want you to just be my valentine, i want you to be mine forever. not just for today.”

♡ a valentine’s proposal in a field of roses.

♡ character A waking up to a burnt breakfast with a bouquet of flowers, character B being shy about burning the breakfast.

♡ a valentine’s bookstore date<3

♡ “don’t cry, i hate seeing you cry.” “how could i not cry? you got me a giant teddy bear!”

♡ “thank you for not letting me be alone on valentine’s day.”

♡ matching little dainty tattoos.

♡ characters in a secret relationship sending flowers to each other under their false names for each other.

♡ “you’re always my favourite.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS<3

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a-spes · 2 months

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| THE PLACE WE'VE BEEN DREAMING OF - Imagine (1,109 words).

| Summary - when Natasha enventually gives in, and accept her wife's demand to adopt a pet.

| Tags & warning - Men & Minors DNI, soft dark!wandanat x R, not really pet play but R is reffered to as one (stray/mutt/it), a man being mean, mentions of death, hints of (past) abuse, pure fluff/comfort.

| Author's note - I wrote that quickly because it has been on my mind for so long, and I definitely needed to share it with the world, but hope you'll enjoy it anyway! I'll definitely write a longer version of it when I've time, but for the moment, here goes the first introduction to The place we've been dreaming of alternative universe (and it's only the beginning because i've so many thoughts to share about it) <3

| MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

it was wands' idea. she had begging nat for years, talking about how good it would be to have a pet, just to bring a bit of life in the household.

and that's exactly what natasha feared. because she likes how quiet, and tidy, her house is. she likes the routine she built with her wife over the years, and she is reluctant to bring another piece in her house.

but how could she deny her wife when she begs her with those puppy eyes?

so she eventually gave in, and they went into a place that's only known by the richest persons. it's kind of a shelter, but instead of animals, human being are sold.

they walked in, wands looking in the cages while nat roll her eyes everytime she tries to have her opinion. "did you find what you want?" the seller asked, and nat looks at her wife that seems to hesitate. "what's over here?" she asked back, pointing to a noisy alley that constrats with the quiet one they've just travelled.

the sellers just dismissed her question, "they're unfit" he just replied, "they're going to be send off tomorrow". "where?" wands asked. "to be killed", he replied, but when he tried to get the conversation back on his best goods, wanda ignored him: she wanted to see these ones. nat isn't surprised, her wife always having a thing for saving broken being, but she still roll her eyes, thinking about the additionnal trouble it'll bring.

so, before the man could say anything, they walk in the alley. the ambience is different. yells, cries, and dark glances greet the women, while in the first alley, everyone's was perfect. nat cringes while her wife walk around, until she crouches in front of a cage that, at the first sight, appears to be empty.

except that, that you are here. in the back of the cage, hiding where the light can barely find you, trying to forget where you are. the noise is frightening you, but your hands covering your ears isn't enough to reduce it. the yells from the other still bugging you.

you've no idea for how long you've been here, but it felt like an eternity. you've been sent back here by your previous owner, it was your last chance, you've been told, and you don't know what's going to happen. when the door clicked, you thought your hour had come, and it only made you curl up further.

but the hand that came for you wasn't harsh. it hasn't tried to grab you. when you eventually open your eyes, your met by the sight of a woman, that's trying to get you to come to her. her voice is sweet. she doesn't yell as you thought she would when you didn't move at first.

the men had to bang against the walls to get you out, which earn him a glance from both of the women. he ignored them. "this stray has one of the worse behavior. she bites, is noisy, messy, agressive, ..." but wanda isn't listening anymore. she is just looking at you, sitting in front of her, unable to ignore the look on your eyes. the fear, and the exhaustion.

you didn't bite. you didn't made a noise. you didn't try to run away.

you only flinched when she reach out to stroke your cheek, but a second was enough for you to lean into her contact. it was so sweet. so gentle. and, for the first time, it felt genuine, and even the slap or the harsh grip you were waiting for never came. she was looking at you with pity, and something you couldn't name yet.

"... she couldn't behave even to save her life, we've tried everything. she's trouble", he adds, still talking even if none of the women is caring about his opinion, "believe me, she'll be better dead", and nat muttered something how he should be the one to die, while wanda didn't listen at all to his speech, all her attention being on you right now.

"you're sure that's the one you want, wands?" she asked, but she already knew her wife would nod, and she is definitely not going to fight her, especially when she sees how attached she already seems to be.

she looked at her while she take a biscuit out of her pocket, just to give a bit to you, but ends up giving you everything when she notices how you inhaled it. her brows furrowing together, but she doesn't say a word. she knows it would be useless to start a scene right now, this man perfectly knowing how bad he is treating you, and everyone else here. or maybe he doesn't, and doesn't realizes, thinking you deserve it, and then it would be pointless to argue with him. in that instant, she wishes she could take them all home, and if she can't, she can at least save one life.

"we didn't even bring her home yet that you're already spoiling her" nat complained, rolling her eyes. a whispered, "she deserves it", is muttered under her breath while the man seems annoyed, "if you're too lenient, you're going to regret it. you need to be firm with these things, you know." "and how would you know?" nat would ask, "apparently it didn't work well, from what you said earlier" and she smirks when she notices he starts to loose his temper, his voice being harsh when he replies, "then do not even think about taking her back when you'll realize how bad she is," just to nat to assure him that he "doesn't need to worry about that".

she isn't found of her wife's choice. she would have prefer it if she choose one of the perfect pet from the first alley. one of the one that wouldn't disturb her peace. but obviously her wife had to go for a stray, a mott, and a broken one by the way. but if there are two things she enjoys it's seeing her wife smiling, and pissing off men that thinks they know everything. if adopting that one allows to do it both at the same time, then she's all for it. a part of her wanting to prove the man that he is just wrong, and is the problem in that story.

#a spes writing #imagine #the place we've been dreaming of universe #wandanat #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #reader insert #fluff writing #soft dark wandanat

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year

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Motorcycle Rides

Pairings: Sebastian x you

Wordcount: 1623

You limped out of the mine, your pack heavy with materials. That last bunch of slimes had really taken it out of you and as you’d realized your strength was depleting, you’d turned on your heels and ran, only to twist your ankle on a rock.

You leant heavily against the wall, trying to catch your breath in the cool night air. Truth be told, you’d lost all track of time in the mines and it was now just before midnight on a Tuesday for goodness’ sake. You’d hoped to get to bed at a decent time for once, despite your endless to-do list. You’d only meant to be in the mines an hour or two tops!

After your heart had stopped pounding, you reached down and tentatively prodded at your ankle before wincing at the pain. It was already swelling and that probably wasn’t a great sign. This was a situation you hadn’t considered before embarking on your new life in Pelican Town – what exactly do you do in an emergency? There was Harvey’s clinic, but that would involve limping down there and waking him up over your own stupidity.

If you were going to be limping anywhere, you might as well limp home. Heck, the town was gossiping about you enough, you didn’t want your midnight trip to the clinic to be their next topic. You took a deep breath and took a step – there was a sharp ache that immediately dulled, but it was tolerable? It had to be tolerable, you concluded, as you took another shuffling step. It might take you all night, but you were determined to get home.

It was slow, painful progress as you found yourself walking past the carpenter’s house.

“Farmer?”

You jumped from the voice, your ankle immediately twisting on its side and you fell flat to the ground on your back, groaning.

“Sorry…” a figure appeared above you, looking down with an apologetic smile. It was the carpenter’s son… Sebastian? “I didn’t think you’d be so jumpy with being out so late and all.”

“I… I guess I just thought everyone in this town was a bed by 10pm on a week night crowd.”

“Well, the majority are. Er…” He hesitated, almost as if he was debating something in his head before he offered his hand. “Can I help you up?”

“Thanks.” Truth be told, you weren’t sure how graceful you would be at getting up without his assistance, so you happily accepted. In a combination of not expecting him to be as strong as he was and your weakened ankle, you were ill-prepared for getting back to your own two feet. You nearly went falling back down when Sebastian caught you in his arms and you threw yours around his neck. From your glow ring, you could clearly see the black-haired man’s face had flushed red.

“Sorry, that’s us city folk”, you tried to make light of the situation. “We swoon at any country man.”

That didn’t seem to help as – you didn’t think it was possible – his face had gone even more red.

“Er… here,” he tilted you upright, trying to get you to stand on your own two feet. You tried to comply, but your ankle collapsed underneath you, the sharp jolt of pain bringing tears to your eyes. You grabbed hold of his upper arm in a fierce grip. “You all right there?”

“No… I-I’ve hurt my ankle,” you swallowed, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I was in the mines and I twisted it. I thought I could limp home on it but that seems like a really dumb idea.”

“Ah…” Sebastian mumbled. “Erm, should I wake Maru? She works at the clinic part-time, she’ll probably know what to do.”

“No, please don’t. People are talking about me enough without adding this to the mix. I’ll be okay. I’ll just… I’ll take five and then it’ll be okay. You should go home.”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how things go down in Zuzu City, but I can’t exactly go to bed and leave you out here.”

“That’s exactly how things would go down in Zuzu City. You’re a natural.” You grimaced.

“Er…” Sebastian paused. “Wait, I think I’ve got an idea. Do you wanna sit?”

You blushed, before mumbling, “I don’t think I could with any sense of grace.”

“I got you,” an arm wrapped around your waist and helped you down towards the ground.

“Right, I’ll be back in a moment.” He turned and went to head back up to his house.

“Wait, Sebastian…” He spun on his heels and looked at you quizzically. “Thank you.”

He smiled shyly, before walking out of sight, swallowed by the darkness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Sebastian eventually returned. There was a brief moment when you thought he wasn’t coming back. Maybe it was some sort of Pelican Town hazing… The black-haired man eventually reappeared, wheeling along a motorcycle in tow towards you before stopping.

“So, it’s not working reliably at the moment – I’ve been working on fixing it up. But I thought you could sit on it and I can wheel it along back to the farm? Means you can take the weight off your ankle and get home and ice it, I guess? Or heat. One of those.”

“Honestly, you don’t have to do this. It’s so late.” You protested, embarrassed that your antics had led to this.

“I’ll be up for hours yet anyway. Plus, I’m curious to see what you’ve done with the land and it’ll get you home – win-win.” He put the bike’s kick stand out to balance the machine, before crouching down and offering his hand again.

You hesitated. “Only if you’re really sure.”

“I’m positive. Come on.”

You took it, allowing him to pull you up fully this time and you made sure to let your uninjured leg take all the weight. “Hop on.” He kept a tight grip on your hand as you swung your injured leg over the seat and boosted yourself up onto it.

“Cool. Right, er, probably best if you hold onto the handles too.” You followed his instructions, and he leant over, positioning his hands next to yours before kicking the stand back in place. There was a momentary wobble before you found your balance and Sebastian moved forward, pushing it along up towards the path you knew would lead back to your farm.

“What were you doing out so late? Not that I’m complaining,” you quickly rectified.

“I got wrapped up in work and forgot to get out today. I thought I’d have the night to myself,” he teased. “Was that your first trip down the mines?”

“Oh, gosh, no. The Adventure’s Guild and Marlon gave me some tips and I think that was my fifth trip. I probably went down a bit too far for the equipment I have, but to get better equipment I need money and the mine’s good for making a quick buck. Crops take their sweet time…”

“Ah, makes sense.” He nodded.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a freelance programmer. It’s okay, it means I can choose my own work hours. I’m more productive later in the day, so…”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool.”

You fell into a companionable silence. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long walk back to the farm and Sebastian let out a whistle as he admired your work so far.

“Wow, this looks different.”

“A good different?” You frowned.

“Of course. You’ve been busy – this was all weeds and rocks the last time I was out here. What are you growing?”

“Just potatoes and turnips – they’ll be out of season soon but I should get another load out… if I can keep the crows at bay.”

He wheeled the motorcycle up to the bottom of your porch, eyeing the steps. “Er, do you want a hand up the stairs?”

“If you don’t mind…” You mumbled – you weren’t convinced hopping up them would be a winning formula. Sebastian put the kick stand back down, then assisted you off his motorcycle. He hooked an arm around your back, just under your armpits to steady you as you hopped towards the stairs, and then took a big leap up the first one as he kept your balance. You were extremely grateful there were only three stairs and you exhaled in relief now safely at your front door.

“Thank you so much, Sebastian. I wish there was something I could give you in return…” You trailed off as he began to protest, but then you remembered – there was that cool-looking mineral you’d found earlier… You dug around in your satchel, leaning heavily on your front door, until your fingers found the smooth surface.

You withdrew it and Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “A frozen tear?”

“Is that what it is? Some weird creature dropped it – I think it came from deeper down in the mines. I thought it must be special. I was going to take it to Gunther tomorrow to identify, but it seems you’re a fan, so, please…”, you pushed it into his hands, “Take it.”

“No, I couldn’t…”

“I insist.” You unlocked the door behind you before he could really protest. “Goodnight, Sebastian. And, hey, every time you look at it, you can remember the time you helped the idiot farmer home.”

“Goodnight…” He continued to stare at the mineral in his hands as he heard your door open and close, “But I’m totally going to remember the time I helped the cute farmer home.” He said that a little louder than he intended and blushed, glancing up to see your door firmly closed at least.

Fortunately, your window was open and you’d definitely heard.

#sebastian stardew x reader #drabbles #fluff writing #sebastian x reader #stardew imagines #stardew valley #sdv sebastian x reader #ghostdogwrites

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all-things-fic · 7 months

Text

By The Fireplace // RM

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

***

November 23 2023.

Six hours and forty-seven minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas tree, Christmas tree, Christmas tree.

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

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

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

You couldn’t blame him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He had right of way.”

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

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

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

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

“Karma.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grateful is what you were.

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

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

“Doesn’t he have right of way?”

“No, he fucking does not.”

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

Of course, he didn’t!

(He absolutely did).

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just love it, me.”

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

“Getting really good at it.”

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

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

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

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

Those words were weighty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you want me?”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it any good for you?”

“The Weetabix? Ten out of ten.”

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

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

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

“Do I?”

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

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

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

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

Highland Fling. How predictable.

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

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

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

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

He raised his eyebrows. Touché.

“Spoilsport.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty fit too.”

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

“How fit we talking?”

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

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

“Really eloquent.”

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

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

“Behave.”

“Make me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your tits are incredible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did ya?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sexy.”

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

“You decide. Just want you.”

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

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

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

“S’yours, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, ‘m comin’.”

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

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

#promptober75 #promptober #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonal fanfic #ross x reader #ross x you #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald smut #fluff writing #smut writing

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