Anything in the teacher Ross universe that I’ve written is under the tag ‘teacher Ross’ (creative, I know.)!
My Favourite Teacher Ross Blurbs:
Prom! (my all time favourite)
Bumping into each other at the pub!
Jealous Ross
Meeting his friends!
His love language is acts of service
Talking about baby names!
School Residential
Christmas Party
Your first fight :(
Breaking up for Christmas!
Moving in together
The first date that ends up back at theirs
Last day of term, picking your babies up from school!
Ross Series:
Part One Part Two Part Three
Part Four Part Five Part Six
Part Seven
Ross One Shots:
part two to Sweet Nothing!
Cosy Sunday
Cosy Sunday Prologue
Heaven In Your Eyes
Taylor Swift Inspired Ross One Shots:
This is a little series of one shots I've decided to write, all coinciding and titled with a Taylor Swift song. Feel free to suggest a song you would like if you're a fellow swiftie! Best read accompanied by said TS song, fyi ;)
Sweet Nothing (the previously untitled one shot!)
You Are In Love
All Of The Girls You've Loved Before
Maroon
Call It What You Want
‘Tis The Damn Season
Gold Rush
New Year’s Day
Fresh Out The Slammer Series:
this is a series I've written inspired by the song from ttpd! parts two and three are still to be uploaded.
hello!!! I know I’ve been a bit M.I.A as of late but I’ve been thinking (daydreaming) about teacher ross this afternoon, and so if anyone has any little lovely ideas or asks or just anything really, I would love to hear them <3
can we just circle back to bridgerton ross for a sec. I have so many thoughts. the balls and glances across a room. you in one of the beautiful dresses. him in the ruffle-y shirts and his hair and beard all gorgeous and the carriage scene. need I say more. taking a turn around the grounds with him and laughing loudly at each other and everyone staring but you’re besotted with each other. touches of hands and him being speechless when he sees you at the top of the stairs at a ball. and he comes to call on you and you spend hours talking about books and music and it’s SO BRIDGERTON!! and also really sexy. imagine him all shirtless in one of those big 1800s beds in a morning all tangled together and your curls draped over him and UGH MY BRAIN IS GOING TO EXPLODE.
mind you it's the season 1 plot so it's "pretend" at first (you do find the other devastatingly gorgeous, though), but then when neither of you are paying attention it somehow becomes... real? like you go for a promenade with someone else one morning, as is the plan, and when you see ross that afternoon he jokes like "did you miss me?" and rather than snarking back you automatically and honestly say "a lot". an emotionally charged moment where he tells you he's going to ask for blessing to propose to you because he really truly has fallen in love with you, followed by a kiss that leaves you dizzy... yeah. and do not get me or @abiiors started on the bedroom activities because dear god even the thought of it is insane. him unlacing your corset? more like lace me into a fucking straitjacket. gorgeous ask thank you so much for sending <3
Not so much girl dad Ross but I suppose kinda girl dad Ross, I can really picture him in blue jeans and like one of those plastic flashing wands you get a concerts being shoved into his back pocket of his jeans to free his hands as he holds your youngest who has fallen asleep and that’s her flashing wand which he’s keeping safe for when she wakes up. Definitely holds the youngest when she’s asleep, swaying from side to side, cheek resting on the top of her head as she’s tucked under his chin. Definitely mumbling “darling don’t you ever grow, stay this little”
oh my goodness YES. tiniest girl is about three when you go and see taylor, so i think she's fallen asleep by the time it gets to the surprise songs. her cheek is smushed against his shoulder, arms around his neck and the sparkly wand and friendship bracelets have long since been discarded. i think you're still dancing away with the girls and when taylor starts to play never grow up as her guitar surprise song, the two of you just look at each other with teary eyes because of course this would happen when your girls are at the perfect ages and you're the happiest you've ever been and ross has just finished the tour and you are just so in love! because you really don't want the babies to grow up, you don't want this to end, this period of your life. he's brushing baby's hair from her face, swaying side to side, singing along and he gets very emotional. the wand is flashing away in his back pocket, he's surrounded by little girls in sparkly dresses and he's listened to more taylor swift in the past week than he ever has in his life, but he is so happy when he looks over at you and you're teary and you look so beautiful and happy, too. just very wholesome. i think when you get back to the hotel that night and you've put three very tired girls to bed, you have a drink on the balcony of your room and a cuddle and it's so sweet, you tucked into his side and a kiss pressed to your temple.
baby girl macdonalds pre-show colouring in pictures backstage and getting SO EXCITED when the show starts and ross has stuck their artwork up in the house set!! <3
omg this is so cute. despite the previous blurb, i do only imagine them having the three girls, so i think that's maybe an hypothetical fourth baby.
baby girl macdonalds are having the times of their LIVES backstage! it's a bit like a creche, what with adam and carly's kids now, so lots of loud giggles and, like you said, colouring pages and crayons and fruit shoots and a few barbies the girls brought with them.
they proudly present their drawings to ross when he comes to spend some time with the girls after sound check, which he of course does the classic 'you've drawn these?! my girls are artists! has mummy seen these?'. he promises to put them up on stage, which he does, specifically in his corner of the set. they look so cute, and you stand off to the side with all three baby girl macdonalds wearing their ear defenders and they get so excited when they see their drawings, ross pointing to them so they can see where they are. i think you both just feel very lucky when you see them dancing and singing at the side of the stage, smiling at each other and still feeling all fluttery and blushy after all this time and three babies later.
Dad of three girls Ross, finally having a fourth and it being a little boy. Imagine him being so so soft because it’s his only son (without leaving the girls out) and he’s telling the girls who are a little rowdy to be gentle with their little brother
Oh my GOD. This is so perfect.
Imagine you've just had baby boy, and you get to leave the hospital today! ross is in full protective husband/dad mode, making sure baby's seat is secure and double, triple checking that you're comfy and not in pain or anything. you made the decision to introduce the girls to baby boy at home with their being three of them. nearly a 5 a side team, a joke he'd made one night when you'd been laid in bed after having your first baby.
the girls had been looked after at home by george and charlie i think, just for cuteness purposes. tea parties and the eras tour movie (controversial queens, even at 3, 6 and 8.) and just enjoying how fun their auntie and uncle are. when you get home, they're in their pyjamas and their dark curls are all over and wide chocolate button eyes so excited to meet their baby brother! ross immediately gets choked up because he had to spend a night away from his girls, and they are just so excited to see you both, immediately cuddling their daddy. george and charli are obviously so happy to see you both too, asking if you're okay and admiring baby boy. he takes them into the living room and gets them comfy, sat in a little row and brushing littlest girl's curls from her face. like you said, they are very giddy and a bit too excited, so he just reminds them, 'you have to be quiet when you meet baby. and also remember to be gentle with mummy'.
they are just SO cute when they finally meet him! you place him across their laps, middle baby girl supporting his head and little baby stunned by how tiny his hands and feet are. he's got a head full of dark hair, a little button nose, and you and ross can't quite believe that you've made 4 baby humans! all sat together and cheesy grins when you take pictures of them.
can’t stop thinking about dad of 3 girls Ross now. their family vaycays. you with the babies at their shows. birthdays. christmases (have to stay on brand obviously). PLZ SEND UR ASKS IM GOING TO EXPLODE.
just had a really cute thought about girl dad Ross. I was listening to taylor (obvs) and thought about if you had kids and they were baby swifties. 3 girls, all obsessed and dressed up and singing and dancing at her concert in the VIP tent, and Ross embracing it fully. recording them, dancing with them to love story, maybe when the littlest gets tired he holds her and sways with her to the slower ones to keep her in a good mood and awake. all the while you’re just admiring him in full girl dad mode with ur three little girls and it’s the cutest thing ever. maybe he wears a swiftie dad t-shirt maybe he doesn’t u decide. he definitely dances with u to lover. his girls! his princesses!
hey guys! I’m just letting u know that whilst I finish up part two of fresh out the slammer, I am taking requests because I fear my creative juices might be a little run dry after this mini series. give me all you’ve got ross girlies.
Summary: When Steve is lonely, and can’t sleep, he thinks about his girl, and everything he loves about her. Though a late night visit from his favorite girl always makes things better.
Warnings: none I think? Like one mention of a strip tease as a joke, one curse word I think, it’s literally just fluff. Overbearing and tooth rotting fluff. Literally sick to my stomach while posting this cause I want it so bad.
1.5k words ☻
Steve’s favorite place to receive her kisses were right under his ear, on the tender malleable skin that always felt oh-so sensitive. He loved how her lips molded into it, the way it sent tingles up his jaw, the way each of the kisses were long and thought out.
He knew she loved them too, but definitely no more than him.
He wished he could take that feeling, preserve it, hold it close to himself on the nights he couldn’t see her. He’d keep it tight in a Mason Jar, in Tupperware, between pages of a book like pressed flowers, if it meant he got to pull it out and have it on nights like these.
His fingers itch to grab his phone.
He loved the way she loved his voice. Talking, singing, whispering. He knew she wished she could record everything he said and replay it back in her Walkman, she’d told him herself.
She’d stare at him with these dopey lovesick eyes when he sang, heart squeezing satisfactorily when he’d lazily look down at her. He wouldn’t normally sing, but when his girl asks for a song, she’s getting a song. They’d lay in bed and she’d feed his ego these big bites he didn’t know if it could swallow.
“Your rasp changed my life.” She’d said, and he believed her.
He loved the nights, like last night, where she’d beg him to drive her outside Hawkins city, to somewhere the blinding streetlights couldn’t reach. She’d show him the constellations she saw through the misty morning air, on her walk to the bus that morning. Steve doesn’t care that he can almost never see them, he’ll let her grab his outstretched arm and guide his pointed index finger where she wants him to look.
“Do you see those dots?”
“Yes.” He’d been lying.
“Those make up Orion’s Belt.”
“Who’s Orion?” He’d pushed. It was his way of begging her to keep talking.
“Orion was a huntsman who-“
He loved the little notes she would slip into his lunch bag. He’d pretend he didn’t see her sneak it in there before she had to leave for school.
“Nancy’s driving me to school today!” She’d yelled by the front doors, and he gave it a moment before he came into the foyer, giving her time to stuff the colored paper into the bag.
They were often no more creative than the greeting cards he’d see at Melvald’s general store, but they were greater by far. He’d make himself wait till lunch to read them, give himself something to look forward to, but he’d be itching to read them all day.
I love you!
Have a good day Stevie!
Don’t get on Robins bad side, I love you!
He’d keep them in his pocket for the rest of the day, thumbing at it. The message staying in the forefront of his brain until he saw her next. He kept them in a spare brown bag up in his closet hiding away, he could never find the strength to throw them into the family video bin.
He wished she were here now, laying in bed with him. Nothing dirty, he needs to clarify. He wants her to push his hair back and to beg him to keep scissors away, to tell him for the millionth time don’t shave the mustache.
He grabs the phone quickly, split decision before he can change his mind, dialing in her number. It rings 3 times before he checks the time. 12:34 blinks at him brightly. Shit, he should’ve-
“Hello?” His girlfriends groggy voice comes from the other side.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up, sweetheart?”
“Good morning, Stevie.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
He hears the click of her lamp. “Why’re you calling so late?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Could I help?”
“This is helping.” He tells her honestly.
“Could I come over and help in person?”
“You can’t walk here at midnight, because your dickhead boyfriend cant sleep.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” He can hear her shuffling around her room, “We live two houses away from each other.”
He huffs, giving up the small argument — this is what he had wanted. “I’m gonna wait outside for you.”
“You can if you want.”
“I do.”
He hangs up, jogging downstairs quickly so he can be outside before she leaves her house. The cool night air nips at his skin, settling a chill of goosebumps over his arms and thighs. He really should’ve put a shirt on. Or pants.
“Is this strip tease for me?”
He turns, watching her hop down her front porch steps. She giggles at his horrified face.
“We have neighbors!”
She shrugs, pulling her coat closer as she checks the empty street for cars. “The Wilsons are on vacation.”
“And the Clifton’s?”
“On vacation with the Wilson’s.”
Steve gasps, “And we weren’t invited?”
She walks into his outstretched arms, letting him wrap himself around her. “I’d hope not, they’re weird.”
“They are weird.” He agrees.
She leans up on her tip toes, grabbing his jaw in both her hands so she could kiss under his ear. He leans into her touch, gripping her waist tighter as he fights to bottle the feeling, so he can remember it later.
They’ve never talked about it. The ear kisses. It wasn’t something you needed to talk about, something you needed to discuss. They were uniquely them.
His eyes droop sleepily and he stressfully rubs at them, hoping she didn’t see the way his blinking stalled.
“What’re we doing tonight?” He bends down and nips at her jaw.
“Getting you to sleep?”
“The fun way?” He murmurs into the kisses he just worked down her neck.
She draws from his touch, pushing him away, though she can’t hide the giddy smile from his affection. He looks down at her, pulling her closer by her forearms. His smile is saccharine sweet as he watches her abashed nose wrinkle.
“Was it something I said?” He muses, chasing her eyes. When she doesn’t answer Steve, he pokes her sides. “Hm?”
She giggles, peels of them getting lost in the dark night. “Nothing you said.”
“Oh, okay, I was getting worried.”
She shakes her head, bubbly giggles dying down. It’s cold out here, so cold, and Steve is still in his boxers. He pulls her in again, wrapping his arms around her and nosing at the juncture where her neck meets her shoulder. She smells like her chamomile body wash.
“I’m cold.”
“Baby,” She wraps her arms around his back flatter, willing her warmth to transfer to him, “You’re freezing. Lets go get under your covers.”
He takes her up on that offer, chasing her up his stairs and into his room, pulling her close to him and relishing in her whines as he tumbles onto his bed with her. He’d affectionately called it their bed once, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it more often. The way she nuzzled her head in his chest, abashed, had him dizzy for a week.
She struggles against him, whining something that goes in one ear and out the other.
“I need to take off my pants, Steve.”
He drops his arms from around her, enthusiastically helping her up so she can peel off her pants. She laughs at him, pushing his hands away when he tries to help.
“Sicko.”
She climbs into bed with him, pants newly gone. They adjust and settle, getting comfortable for the night. Limbs tangle, breathing settles out, loud unapologetic voices calm to whispers, and eyelids droop. He wraps his arms tighter around her, each movement languid.
“I missed you.” Steve murmurs into the darkness of his room. The calm has settled over them like thick blanket, hushing them and tucking their conjoined bodies into sleep. He half isn’t expecting a response.
“I missed you in my sleep.” Her sleepy voice whispers.
He cracks a smile, closing his eyes as her lips press to his chest. “I wasn’t in your dream?”
“You’re in all my dreams.”
“Oh, okay, just checking.”
Her shoulders shake with a short laugh, like sleep is weighing them down too much for anymore movement.
“I’m so tired.” He murmurs again.
“So sleep.”
He’s too embarrassed to tell her he doesn’t want to. That he’s fighting it off so he can have this memory forever. He stares at the ceiling trying to memorize the way his arms feel around her, the way he doesn’t know which leg is his and which is hers, the way he can feel her warm breath fanning across his chest. He wants something to cling to on another lonely night, where she can’t just walk down to his house and make him feel better.
How can you get a memory in a mason jar? How can you wrangle it into Tupperware, or stick it in between book pages like flowers?
He turns towards her, pulling her flush up against his chest, and she lets him, too asleep to fight.
“More comfortable?”
“Mhm.” He grumbles.
He tries to memorize the way the smell of her body wash still hasn’t worn off, how she sighs when he presses a kiss to her hair, the way she hugs his arm close to her.
I just want to say thank you so much for all of the lovely reposts and likes on my last fic. I definitely had posting fear due to not writing in so long and I feel very thankful for your kindness <3 parts two and three should be up at some point this week!
circa 2019. ross is 29, its the notes era. imagine graham norton ross. there's a lot of waffling because I feel like I need to get back into the swing of writing, and also set the scene because this is going to be three parts! so apologies for that. i've missed you all so much and i'm just glad to be posting something for the first time in ages. i hope you're all okay i would love to hear what you've been up to in the, like, five months i've disappeared into the abyss for. I'M WAFFLING AGAIN. sorry. okay. fresh out the slammer! enjoy. i'm nervous. okay.
Word Count: 2,848
Part One: 'Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you.'
Who were you supposed to call on nights like this? The question seemed to be the only thing your brain circled back to as tears streamed down your face, a sob caught in your throat, heels harsh and loud on the pavement, even over the chaos of muffled bars. Your 28th birthday, stood outside a club that you were probably too old to be at in the first place, phone vibrating with 'where r u???' - who were you supposed to call?
Your birthday didn't feel very worth celebrating when you looked back on the year you'd had, your freshly shattered heart stinging as a very raw memory of being walked out on a week earlier seared itself through your memory. He'd always been a dickhead, the kind of boyfriend who'd told you that he was the best thing to ever happen to you, or that the whole writing thing wouldn't work out, but what did you have if you didn't have him? He'd been a pillar in your life since, well, forever. He'd shown you your favourite holiday destination, your favourite wine, your favourite book - were you just a product of him? The thought panicked you. No, you were cool. You had loads of interests, and friends, and hobbies.
The one thing he'd not shown you was something you'd kept a secret from him.
Your favourite band.
Even now, your stomach twisted as you recalled him and your youth, nights tangled up in bed sheets and clumsy hands on sticky dance floors, the mere thought of his recurring aftershave sending a wave of nostalgia over you as you perched on the ledge, lighting up a cigarette. It'd been years since you'd spoken to Ross. Now that you thought about it, it was probably around the same time Charlie had come on the scene, private-schooled, 5'9, biology-studying Charlie. You'd ignored Ross' messages inviting you to their gigs out of guilt for Charlie (his ego would have been well and truly tarnished), reluctantly un-followed him on Instagram when there'd been questions asked about him, tried to pretend that there wasn't an invisible tattoo of his hand prints at your waist, the memory of his fingertips forever stained in your hair, remnants of his kisses on your starving lips. Nothing has ever come close to Ross, and you'd be lying if you said that when Charlie had been away for work, you'd replayed the reels of your nights together in your mind.
You looked at the time - 3:17.
His number probably wasn't even the same as the one you had in your phone.
You leaned your head back, looked up at the sky, squeezed your eyes shut. There's no way you were about to do this. He probably thinks you're a weirdo anyway, cutting contact like he'd been a random one-time snog in a club. He might not even be in the country, for all you knew, with his world-famous band and world-famous records and most likely world-famous girlfriend. You'd not thought about that up until now - his girlfriend. Perhaps non-existent, probably existent. Jealous curled up your spine, a sick feeling settling in your stomach.
It was like your hands weren't your own as you scrolled through your contacts, brain on auto-pilot and suddenly feeling 20 again, stood outside a bar at university, ringing him to come and get you. The picture you'd set all those years ago was still the same somehow, and it made you swallow heavily - his head pressed next to yours, hair swooped to one side and probably wearing a Hollister polo. You both looked so young. It stopped you in your tracks, almost. You thought of how different things could have been if you hadn't ran away from everything, panicked and settled down like you thought you'd wanted, let him go on tour with the band and forever have the 'what if' hanging in the windows of your newly-purchased house with Charlie. What a success that was.
You pressed it and waited. It rang. And it rang.
As if you'd thought he'd pick up. It probably came up as an unknown number. You felt daft as you held the phone to your ear, tears stinging at your eyes again. The only person you'd thought to call.
Your stomach dropped when the ringing came to a halt and you could hear crackling.
And then his voice. Sleepy, low, tired.
Familiar. Warm.
"Y/n? Can you hear me?" he repeated as you stood in silence, lips pressed together at the sound of his name down the line.
"Ross," you managed to choke out, running a hand through your hair.
"Is everything okay?" he sounded concerned and you could hear his footsteps across what sounded like a hardwood floor, pacing.
"I just..." You looked up again, swallowing. "I'm so sorry."
"Y/n/n? What's going on?" Coming to a halt, his voice softened.
"I'm in Manchester, and I guess I'm kind of lost? I don't know, it looks different than it used to, and I'm on my own. I don't know why I called, you're probably not even here, are you?"
There was silence from across the line for a second and you squeezed your eyes shut. If he didn't think you were crazy before, he definitely did now.
"No, I'm here. I'm in my flat." He said softly.
"Oh, right," Your head was spinning. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I just-"
"Whereabouts are you?"
You breathed in sharply.
"I'm not sure, it used to be that bar we went to every week, but it's changed now, it's a kebab shop, I think." You glance at the neon sign, voice shaky.
"Are you staying in a hotel or anything? I can order you an Uber, or-"
His voice crackled down the line.
"I was, but I've lost my friends, and I've had a drink and I can't call Charlie and I don't know what to do." Your throat feels tighter when you say it all out loud. "I don't know, I called you because it was the only thing I could think of, but it's fine, I can-"
"Stay there," you can hear him moving around, "I'm leaving now."
It felt like an eternity between him hanging up the phone and arriving, perhaps because all you could do was think about how you've ended up here.
The car pulled up slowly and your stomach dropped, the window rolling down and his smile visible as he ducked his head.
It was like your feet were frozen to the ground for a second. His lips curved at the sides, hair messy and just as dark as you remembered it, but his eyes were older. They creased at the corners a little, slightly darker, a bit more tired. It wasn't just you who'd been trying to figure things out since you graduated, exhausted by the demands of post-graduate existence.
"Just move that, sorry." he mumbled as you opened the car door, throwing an empty water bottle onto the backseats. His eyes seemed immovable for a second, like he was having the same thought process as you. You felt intensely vulnerable for a second, and suddenly remembered the ladder in your tights and the mascara stained cheeks that faced him.
"God, it's been so-"
"I've missed you-"
You both started at the same time, an airy laugh escaping as you let the silence consume you.
He started the car without another word. It took everything in you not to stare, or cry, or say how much you'd missed him and how sorry you were that you'd abandoned it all. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, drinking in the streets you'd traipsed as a student.
"We're here." he glanced at you, pulling up outside an apartment block.
"Oh, you didn't need to bring me here, it's okay, I think there's a Premier Inn up the road." You furrowed your brows at him, shaking your head and starting to rifle through your bag. "I've got my card, it's fine, I-"
"It's fine." He said with a slight smile, shaking his head. "You can stay at mine. 'Will be nice to have the company."
You smiled at him softly, in the way you might smile at a cashier or your boss. It felt strange, transactional, like maybe there was a void between the two of you. You'd put it there.
"Thank you." You said quietly, following him out of the car and up the steps.
The lift was creaky and you closed your eyes for a second, the tiredness hitting you. The past two weeks had been a lot, and you'd thought a night out might fix everything.
His flat was just as you'd expected it to be. Records and CDs and books on every available surface, a scattering of guitar picks, some empty mugs, a weeks' worth of unopened post.
"Is it just you that lives here?" You asked as you stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him as he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs. A Macclesfield FC one, and a souvenir one from Germany, it seemed.
He nodded with a hum, glancing at you. "You can get comfy, it's fine."
The fluorescent kitchen light felt exposing as you slid your heels off, placing them neatly by the door with your bag. He handed you the cup of tea promptly after and you followed him into the living room. It was spacious, yet the sheer amount of stuff everywhere made it feel lived in.
"Why couldn't you ring Charlie?" he asked after at least five minutes of the two of you pretending to watch whatever random Top of the Pops repeat that BBC 2 had shoved on for the 4am slot. He looked at you intently, but his tone was calm, simply wondering.
"We've split up." You looked down at the mug, mouth drying out. "About a week ago."
"I'm sorry to hear it." He said after a beat, looking back to the TV.
"Don't be." I shook my head, lips pursed. "Wasn't as good as it seemed, all that house-owner, engaged shit."
His gaze softened, but you could sense his sadness for you.
It's strange, to sit in a room with someone you once slept with on the regular, thought you were going to marry, like people do when they're 19, and feel like you know nothing about them. You could mentally draw him, the identical placement of the birthmark on his right hip, the exact colour of his eyes, yet you couldn't identify which bedroom was his in this flat, or what he'd had for tea the night before.
"I'm sorry for calling you at this time." You said meekly, looking back at the TV.
"I was awake anyway, it's okay." He glanced at you. "It was nice to see your name on my phone."
"I'm sorry for not calling sooner, then." You corrected your earlier statement, watching as his lips tilted into the oh-so-familiar smile your fingers had traced over countless times.
"I missed hearing from you."
"I missed hearing from you, too."
The silence was deafening, almost claustrophobic as you inhaled deeply. His eye contact faltered, skitting back to the TV, blinking heavily. You wondered what he was thinking, whether memories of you under him were also still as fresh in his mind as if they'd happened yesterday.
He downed the last of his tea, sitting forward.
"There's a spare room across from mine, down the hallway. Feel free to get a shower, use some of the clothes in those drawers, whatever you need."
"Thanks." You placed the half empty mug next to his on the coffee table. "Do you have any paracetamol or anything? I can't really hack hangovers anymore, even if it is just a couple of cocktails."
"Could you ever hack hangovers?" He teased as he stood up, walking into the kitchen. You blushed - so he was thinking about those mornings, too.
He handed you the box to take to bed with you, showing you the bedroom.
"There's a clean towel in the bathroom," he pointed to the on-suite, "I'm just in here if you need anything." His neck craned to look into the bedroom behind you, pointing to the bathroom and drawers, but you could only look at him. His tan skin, his tousled hair, neat, tidy beard, the chest hair that poked from the top of his t shirt.
Standing across from each other in the hallway, you could see into his bedroom. Light green sheets, a book next to his bed, a pair of jeans thrown over the end of the bed-frame. You wanted to know him again. To know him, and his life, and his body. Charlie was superficial - his lavish proposals, extravagant holidays, Instagram posts declaring you as 'the love of his life' and lonely nights spent waiting for him to get back from a boys night out. Ross was everything. He was 'picking you up at 3am', remembering how you liked your tea after 7 years apart, dark eyes and curls and haphazardly strewn clothes and empty beer cans on bedsides and you.
"Thank you, again, for letting me stay over." you looked up at him, his gaze already fixed on you.
"It's not a problem."
A second passed before you turned on your heel, a shaky nervous hand reaching for the doorknob.
"Night," You said, with a small smile.
"Night."
You closed the door and watched his turn away, broad shoulders disappearing into the opposite room.
The shower was hot, steaming up the bathroom, as you turned it on. You'd dug out a stripy t-shirt and some joggers you could roll up from the back of the wardrobe.
You tipped your head back in the shower, letting the hot water run over you. The shower gel lathered against your skin, and it felt symbolic, to be washing away the day, the thoughts of Charlie, the fake smiles of your fake friends in fake, pose-y bars. Ross had always felt real to you, the realest thing in this city. He'd been brutally honest with you when you'd needed it, soft with you when he knew he had to be. The memory of your fight flashed into your mind - the last day before you went back home after graduation, tears in his eyes, down your cheeks, raised voices and a final, slammed door. Your eyes opened quickly as you remembered how you'd told him you wanted stability, not to follow his 'silly band around the world'. You hated yourself for it, even now. He's been hurt, like it had meant nothing to either of you, the way you'd got into your car and drove back to your parents with blurred vision, Car Seat Headrest blasting through the stereo as you fled the scene.
You thought about him laid across the hall. Was he wide awake? You tossed over onto your side, duvet pulled up to your neck. It must've been about 5am. You willed yourself to just fall asleep. The sound of floorboards creaking forced your eyes open, but they hushed as soon as they'd chorused through the flat.
The smell of coffee was the thing that roused you from your sleep. So I did sleep, you thought.
His back was to you as you entered the kitchen, the rustle of the TV and clanging of utensils echoing off the walls.
"Morning," You yawned, smiling as he jumped and turned to you. His gaze trailed up and then back down for a second, the sight of you in his clothes clearly taking him by surprise.
"Did you sleep okay?" He smiled. His hair was flat on one side, sleepy eyes, crinkled t-shirt. You nodded, heat rushing to your stomach at the sight of him. "Did you?". He just hummed in reply, pouring water in the mugs.
You sat and ate scrambled eggs on toast. You talked about work. You discussed the rugby, each other's siblings, old uni friends. It felt comfortable, and right, and you had to catch yourself when you stared at him for too long and began to picture doing this every morning.
"We leave soon, though."
"Leave?" You asked, sipping your orange juice.
"Yeah, for tour." He looked up at you from his plate. "Next Wednesday."
Next Wednesday, for tour.
You felt silly for thinking your lives would be sewn together seamlessly, that you would fit into his world like you'd never left.
There wasn't much conversation after that, and it was like you could read his mind for a second. He'd said that to warn you, to prepare you, because he too was imagining this as a constant. This wasn't going to work, and you both knew it. You wanted it to, desperately, and when you left his flat that morning, your eyes welled like they had that fateful day in 2011.
You'd hugged him tightly before you'd left, his arms around your waist firmly, yours around his neck. He was going away for a year, touring the world, and you were going back to your mum and dad's, because where else could you go?
I mean, do I really have to say how I feel about The Tortured Poets Department? that’s my brand, quite literally. would anyone be mad if I made ross one shots with their titles? do they hit too close to home? like, fresh out the slammer just has my head overflowing with ideas.
I'm going to answer a few asks that have been sat in my inbox for a while to get my into the swing of writing again, feel free to send any thoughts or requests or literally just anything you would like to read <3
Beer pong with Ross would be so bloody cute. I'm picturing that you're already in a relationship, maybe you're back at Matty's after a night out, a celebration of some sorts. The drinks are flowing, the music is great, you've somehow ended up in a pair of pyjama bottoms and your going out top (courtesy of Gab and the fact you kept complaining about how itchy your skirt was). George finds the old beer pong set you used to get out every week in your uni house, and it sends a ripple of nostalgia and fondness around the room, so much so that it's hastily set up and chairs are pulled away from the dining table.
"Do you remember how good you were at this?" Ross mumbles against your cheek, arms around your waist and thumbs rubbing at the exposed skin at your hip. His soft laughs rumble against you and you shake your head at his sarcasm. You were, in fact, not very good at beer pong, and memories of the boys taking the piss out of you were fresh in your mind as if they happened yesterday.
"Come on, y/n/n, you're up first!" Matty raises his eyebrows at you and you groan, taking the ball from him and facing Gab, both of you giggling at the way the boys are so into it. You turn to glance at Ross and he tilts his head at you, lips pulled inwards and the corners tilted upwards. In his head, all he can think about is how cute you look, hair a mess and pjs on and the straps of the top falling down your shoulders, every so often pulled up by clumsy hands.
You actually play really well, and when you finally get the ball into the last cup and win the game, there's cheers like you've just won Olympic gold. You're giggly and six shots drunker, and the way Ross scoops you off your feet like you're celebrating something major makes you laugh out loud. It's essentially just very wholesome, giggles and drunken kisses, and you jokingly showing him how to improve his beer pong technique when it comes to his turn.
