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itsthestutterforme · 5 months ago

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CATER 2 U

synopsis. rafe knew you weren’t a hardcore partygoer. but every once in a while, you’d indulge him and come along. pairing. rafe cameron x reader content. lowkey fluffy. dotting boyfriend (mans down bad). slight jealousy. word count. 1.1k

the moment you walked in, rafe was already in protector mode. he found you a comfortable spot to sit, clearing the area like a professional bodyguard.

‘here, baby,’ he said, handing you your kindle, which he’d thoughtfully grabbed from the car. ‘brought this just in case you needed it.’ he crouched down in front of you, his hand brushing against your knee as he smiled softly. ‘water or soda? unless you’re planning on drinking tonight. your choice, sweetheart.’

you shook your head, amused at how seriously he was taking this. but you knew it was just his way of making sure you were comfortable in a space that wasn’t naturally yours.

throughout the night, rafe’s eyes would drift to you, even while he was in conversation with his friends. he’d glance your way, mouthing a quick ‘you good?’ from across the room.

you’d nod, and he’d give you a satisfied little smile before turning back to whoever had his attention.

at one point, he returned with a big bag of chips, setting it in your lap. ‘here, sweetheart. the kitchen’s packed, wouldn’t want you to get caught in a stampede.’ you couldn’t help but laugh at how thoughtful he was, even in the middle of chaos.

when you needed to use the restroom, he was right there, following close behind and standing outside the door like a loyal guard dog. he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. he didn’t care if anyone teased him.

he knew how unpredictable parties could get, and he wasn’t about to take any risks when it came to your safety.

when someone drunkenly stumbled too close to the door, he stepped forward, his broad frame blocking their path entirely. ‘keep walking,’ he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

and when you emerged from the restroom, his eyes immediately softened. ‘all good?’ he asked, one hand instinctively brushing against your back as he guided you back toward the main party.

it was little things like this that reminded you why you felt so safe with him.

as the night wore on, rafe found himself caught in a lengthy business interaction outside. but even then, he wasn’t about to leave you unattended.

‘lover boy’s doing business,’ topper announced as he plopped down in the armchair near you, a playful smirk on his face. ‘hi, doll.’

you looked up from your kindle, surprised but grateful for the company. ‘he sent you over?’

‘of course,’ topper said, crossing his arms and leaning back as if settling in for the long haul. ‘can’t let you fend for yourself, can we?’

you chuckled softly, pushing your undrunk beer toward him. one of the many drinks rafe had brought for you earlier. ‘want this? i’m not gonna finish it.’

topper waved it off with mock seriousness. ‘no, ma’am. i’m on duty.’

you raised an eyebrow, amused. ‘duty?’

‘yep,’ he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone teasing but good-natured. ‘rafe made it clear—keep an eye on you. so,’ he gestured toward your kindle with a grin, ‘what are we reading tonight?’

you laughed, appreciating how even his friends were roped into rafe’s overprotective tendencies. but that was just rafe, always making sure you were cared for, even when he wasn’t by your side.

as night blurred into morning, rafe wandered over to you, his steps slow and deliberate. you glanced up at him with a soft smile as he crouched slightly in front of you, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray hair out of your face.

‘you good, sweetheart?’ he asked, his voice quiet, almost lost in the muffled bass of the party music.

you nodded, though the faint yawn you tried to stifle didn’t go unnoticed.

his lips quirked up into a knowing smile, his thumb grazing your cheek for just a second. ‘just say the word, and we’re out of here, alright? we don’t have to stay if you’re tired.’

you shook your head lightly, touched by his attentiveness. ‘i’m fine, rafe. really.’

but he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes just a bit. ‘no need to be polite, baby. you know i’d rather be with you anyway.’

rafe’s sharp eyes caught sight of you across the room, and he froze mid-conversation. there you were, sitting on the couch, your usual spot.

but this time, someone else was next to you.

a guy.

he was leaning in, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch, too close for rafe’s liking. worse, you were laughing at something he said. you were laughing, completely unaware of the tension building across the room.

rafe’s jaw tightened, the edges of his calm facade slipping as a flush of irritation rose to his cheeks. his friends followed his line of sight, their chatter dying out.

topper raised a brow, muttering, ‘uh-oh.’

rafe didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. he was already moving, cutting through the crowd with purpose, his broad frame towering over anyone who didn’t step aside quickly enough.

reaching the couch, rafe didn’t say a word to the guy. instead, he dropped onto the arm of the chair beside you, his movement sharp and intentional. as he sat, his hand brushed against the guy’s arm, deliberately shoving it off the back of the couch.

the guy flinched, looking up at rafe, only to be met with an icy glare that sent him reeling.

‘hey, baby,’ rafe said, turning to you with a smile that was a little too tight.

‘hey!’ completely oblivious, you beamed up at him. ‘we were just talking about books. turns out we’ve read a lot of the same ones.’

rafe let out a low, unimpressed hum, his arm moving to rest on the couch behind you, claiming the space the guy had just occupied. ‘is that so?’

the guy stammered something about needing another drink, his confidence wilting under rafe’s glare as he quickly stood and disappeared into the crowd.

you blinked, glancing at rafe. ‘did you scare him off?’

rafe tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smirk as he looked down at you. ‘nah, baby. he just realized he wasn’t needed here.’

you furrowed your brows but let it go, leaning back into rafe’s arm as he relaxed against the chair.

after a moment, rafe glanced down at you, his voice softening. ‘let’s go home.’

you smiled, nodding as rafe helped you up, his hand steady on your waist.

and as you left the party together, rafe cast one last glance at the guy from across the room—a silent warning that needed no words.

after a beat, rafe tilted his head down toward you. ‘you don’t need anyone else to talk books with, baby,’ he murmured, leaning in close, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. ‘you’ve got me.’

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

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Suffocating

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader Word Count: 4,881 Summary: Ransom is willing to play dirty–and use your fears against you–to make you his, for good. Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft!dark Ransom. Obsession. Stalking. Kidnapping & basement "wifing." Mentions of claustrophobia and being triggered into a panic attack. Possessiveness. Dub con. Unprotected sex. Breeding kink.

A/N: This is for the Horny Hoes Hootenanny Challenge hosted by @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork ❤️ Thank you so much for hosting such a fun fall event! I hope you enjoy this fic, it’s actually an expansion on this hoe thought that I riffed on for one of your daily Spooktacular questions 😊My prompts are below.

Prompts: "You gonna be good for me?" + "Tell me you're mine." + “God, you love this, don’t you?” + the villain/monster has feelings (or thots) for you + breeding kink (non-pregnancy version) + possessive kink + wearing an oversized sweater + Bonus trick-or-treat wheel of potential doom prompt: A surprise forehead kiss

P.S. Also be sure to read my author’s note at the end of this story, because I have a little surprise for you 😘

It was happening again - you were being followed.

Only this time, it wasn’t just the sense of being watched from afar by someone you couldn’t see or pinpoint, you could actually hear their footfalls behind you as you quickened your pace along the dark street toward your apartment building at the corner, just a short block away.

You should have had your friends walk you home after dinner, but since it wasn’t far from the restaurant, and they had carpooled and parked in the other direction, you didn’t want to be a pain.

It seems as if you might just pay for hating to be a bother.

Feeling your heart pound in your chest, so hard that it was all you could hear, you reached into your purse for your keys. You gripped them in your fist as you pulled them free, making sure the keys were sticking out between your fingers, a makeshift weapon that, any other time, you’d feel silly for wielding, but not right now.

Not when you heard the footsteps behind you pick up to match your own increased speed.

Just as your building came into view, you were grabbed from behind. A big, warm hand covered your mouth to muffle your scream, and a moment later, you were pinned to the brick wall in the alley so very close to your home.

When your tear-filled eyes focused on the familiar face looming just above your own, you actually felt a wave of relief wash over you, some of the tension easing from your trembling frame as you sank back against the wall and met Ransom Drysdale’s piercing gaze.

Although you and Ransom had ended things on not great terms a couple of months ago, your fear of being murdered and left to rot in the alley so close to home seemed silly now as you blinked at him as his hand fell away from your mouth.

It took your frazzled brain a moment to realize that there was a wild, foreign gleam in Ransom’s eyes as he gazed at you, drinking in the fear that still colored your features and the way your chest was heaving with frightened, shallow breaths.

Despite the fact that you had been the one to break up with him, your body still prickled with awareness at the way his dark gaze lingered on your lips, the way his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, like he was breathing in the soft scent of you.

A moment later, your suspicions were confirmed as Ransom groaned and sank against you, inhaling once more as his nose skimmed your forehead and one of his hands lifted to cradle the side of your throat.

“Ransom,” you trembled, trying to ignore the way your body was igniting with warmth–and excitement–at his touch. “What are you doing?”

He just blinked at you, that wild gleam still lighting his eyes, and it suddenly clicked for you, out of nowhere, and you spoke your realization aloud.

“It was you. You’ve been watching me? Following me?”

The very idea seemed preposterous, because Ransom Drysdale could have anyone he wanted. He certainly had no reason to pine over you.

To stalk you.

He was rich, his family was famous, he was gorgeous, and you knew that before he detoured to be exclusive with you for just over six months, he used to tout being a shameless trust fund playboy who could get any woman he wanted.

“It’s your own fucking fault,” he snapped, his grip on your wrist tightening hard enough to make you whine in pain.

Ransom instantly eased his hold on you, taking a breath to try to calm himself as his long fingers twitched against the side of your throat. He was so tense you could see that tic popping in his smooth jaw, his cheeks rosy from the cold evening air, his hair a wild mess flopping over his forehead as he dipped his head closer to you.

“I tried to get over you, to let you go like you wanted,” he spoke softly, his dark gaze boring into your own as he drew closer and closer with each passing breath. “But you aren’t like all the others. I can’t forget you, kitten. Not you.”

“Ransom—“ you started, and then squeaked against the palm of his hand as he pressed it over your mouth once more.

“No, you’ve said your peace already, and I don’t want to hear it again,” Ransom gritted.

You recalled the day you broke up with him two months ago, how stony his face had been when you finally snapped at how possessive he was becoming–how controlling–the way he was trying to isolate you from your friends and family like he wanted to hoard you away, all for himself.

Over the following weeks, you couldn’t help but remember the flash of something scary that you couldn’t quite place in Ransom’s eyes when you had told him that your relationship–that being with him–was suffocating.

You shook back to reality when Ransom touched his forehead to yours, that wildness in his eyes–so similar to that moment you had just recalled–sparking brighter as he stared at you.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he murmured. “The only one of us who’s getting what they want here is me.”

Before you could even process his words, Ransom dropped his hold on you and pulled a cloth and a small bottle of chloroform from his coat pockets.

So stunned by what was happening, you didn’t even think to scream, and a moment later, it didn’t matter anyway, because as you breathed in the overly sweet scent that was forced upon you, everything started to go dark.

As the world faded to black and your body grew heavy, Ransom’s soft cooing words rang in your ears, “Time to come back home with me, kitten, where you belong, and this time? This time I’m never letting you go.”

Waking up felt like your mind was trying to surface through a sea of molasses.

You felt so tired, your body heavy and lethargic. Your head was throbbing, and it took you a solid few minutes to finally open your eyes. When you did, you winced at the soft amber glow of the lamp on the bedside table.

When you realized that it wasn’t your lamp or bedside table beside you, you suddenly felt more alert, groaning as you pressed yourself up into a seated position so that you could take proper inventory of your surroundings.

You seemed to be in some sort of small basement studio apartment, if the low ceilings were any indication. You were currently in the bedroom area, but directly across from you was a small seating area. Parallel to that was a kitchenette, and a few feet away from the bed stood a bathroom door, slightly ajar. The decor was beautiful and expensive, if not a little modern for your tastes.

That alone had your tired brain suddenly flashing to Ransom–because your surroundings so screamed his tastes–and you gasped as you remembered him cornering you in the alley, the chloroform, how he had been stalking you for weeks.

Before your mind could spin out entirely on the insane circumstances you found yourself in, your brain suddenly registered something. Something that had your breath hitching in terror as your heart rate skyrocketed.

There were no windows in this basement.

Panic began to prickle all along your skin as you staggered from the bed and shoved open the bathroom door. Your breathing grew more shallow as you realized the small room was windowless as well.

Whimpering, you stumbled back out into the main room, past the bed and toward the living room, spinning in a circle as your frantic gaze bounced from one wall to the next, each and every one of them closed off, windowless, with no view to the outside.

Sweat was beginning to dot your forehead as your knees buckled. As you collapsed to the floor, you clutched at your chest. It became nearly impossible to breathe as terror clawed at you from the inside out.

You genuinely couldn’t remember the last time your claustrophobia had been triggered.

You’d been so good at handling it the past few years after years and years of intense and dedicated therapy. You knew that you needed to be in open spaces with views to the outside, because it was the only way that you felt safe and at ease.

In those stray moments when your phobia did kick up, you could just step outside, maybe go for a walk, focus on the spaciousness around you and your freedom to navigate it at your own will.

But here? Right now?

It was like you were suffocating.

Like the walls were slowly closing in on you.

You started to cry, hysteria washing over you as your breaths became harder and harder to catch, as your chest tightened and you swore your heart was ready to explode right through your rib cage.

Just as black spots began to dance along the periphery of your vision, a door you hadn’t noticed before opened with a whoosh and a quiet beep.

You watched with wide eyes streaming with tears as Ransom stepped into the room. He was carrying a tray with food and a bottle of water on it, but he quickly shut the door behind him and set it down on the kitchen counter before moving toward you.

“I figured this place may not be your cup of tea,” he cooed as he crouched beside you. A flash of malice lit his gaze as he murmured, “You probably find it suffocating, huh?”

“Ransom,” you wheezed, reaching for him out of desperation. “Please, I can’t…can’t breathe.” You clutched at your chest as you gasped through your panicked whimpers.

“Sure you can,” he replied as he seated himself on the floor beside you.

He gathered you close, pressing your palm to his chest so you could feel him breathe as you sank against him in your terror, seeking safety in the only familiar thing–the only familiar person–you had access to.

Ransom tucked his face against yours–cheek to cheek–his lips warming your ear as he instructed you to, “Inhale nice and slow for me, kitten - one, two, three, four, good,” he praised you as you did what he said–albeit shakily–as he rubbed your back and hummed, “Now exhale even slower for me - one, two, three, four, five, six.”

He patiently led you through a few more rounds of breathing until your own breaths grew more normal–and easier to catch–as your panic attack finally receded.

Your body trembled hard as you sank against Ransom even more, completely exhausted. It felt like every single one of your nerve endings was frayed, your body and mind still on high alert as you tried your best to focus on breathing slowly, and being grateful for the now fairly normal rate of your heart.

Ransom, for his part, continued to press close, remaining as quiet as you as he gently rubbed your back and nosed along your hairline.

“Please,” you quavered, once you felt like you could think straight. “Where are we? Why am I here?”

Straightening, Ransom pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin before he sat upright. His gaze met yours, and that wild gleam was still present in his beautiful blue eyes. It had you wondering if maybe it was just a part of him now, and if it was somehow your fault.

“We’re in the basement of my house,” he answered. Glancing around, his lips curled with a pleased smirk. “I refinished it just for you.”

“Why?” you asked tearfully, shuddering as you kept your gaze on him, refusing to look around, to once again experience how closed off you were, how secluded, how suffocated.

“So I can keep you.”

A different kind of horror bloomed within you now, starting at the base of your spine and trickling up the length of your back, making you shudder hard as all of your hair stood on end.

“Ransom,” you swallowed, shaking your head at him. “You can’t keep me against my will.”

“Sure I can, I am right now.” His look was smug and unapologetic.

“People will notice I’m missing,” you sputtered, looking at him like he was out of his mind.

Something about the way you were looking at him had his eyes going steely, his jaw clenching, and a rosiness rising up in his pale cheeks. Before you could speak another word, Ransom’s hand shot out and gripped your throat hard. Not hard enough to impede your breathing, but hard enough to make you startle and squeak in fear.

He slowly reeled you closer, until his nose was touching yours. “You’re mine,” he enunciated slowly. “I already made the mistake of letting you go once, I won’t do it again.”

Between one blink and the next, the fury washed away from his handsome features, and he was shooting you a boyish grin.

“As for people noticing your relocation, well, I’ve taken care of that.” Ransom pulled your phone from his back pocket, tapping and scrolling away before holding it up so you could see the screen.

You stared in horror at the social media post on your account. It was an old selfie of you and Ransom that you had never shared before. Your faces were pressed close and you both were laughing, looking so happy. The caption was short and sweet:

Reunited and it feels so good. #meantobe #impromptuvacationtime #sorrynotsorry #donotdisturbmodeactivated😘

You could feel your blood run cold as you stared at the message, at how many likes it had, at the way your friends were squeeing in the comments and congratulating you and promising not to bother you while you were “away.”

Because you hadn’t told any of them the full truth about why you broke up with Ransom, just that it felt like it was what was best for you at the time. You’d felt so bad by how hurt he had been, and you didn’t want to paint him as a villain, because–at the time–you didn’t think he was one, just not right for you.

Apparently, you had been wrong, so fucking wrong.

“Now,” Ransom hummed, locking your phone and tucking it back into his pocket. “Here’s how this is going to work. I don’t want to keep you down here, but you need to earn the right to come upstairs, so,” he leaned close, grinning as he booped your nose. “You have some groveling to do, kitten.”

It felt like your mind had gone blank from shock. You didn’t even know what to say, let alone what to do. So you just sat there, silently staring at him in horror.

Sighing, Ransom rose to his feet. “I brought you some food,” he gestured to the tray on the kitchen counter. “The place is stocked with everything you should need, but if you think of anything you want, just let me know.”

When he turned on his heel, ready to retreat–to leave you down here, all alone, in a room that was like your worst nightmare come to life–your brain suddenly rebooted. You felt the telltale signs of another panic attack lapping at you at the thought of staying locked in this small, windowless room.

“Wait, please!” You staggered to your feet, grabbing the back of Ransom’s sweater. “Ransom, please! Please don’t leave me down here. I can’t…you know I can’t stay down here, please.”

He turned to face you, lips tilting but not quite forming into a full smirk as you clung to him with both hands now. “Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t jive well with your pesky claustrophobia.”

Your lower lip wobbled as you stared at him in disbelief as another horrifying realization clicked in your brain. “You made it this way on purpose.”

He faux pouted at your hurt look, gently chucking you beneath the chin. “You know I play dirty when I need to, kitten. Being suffocating isn’t my only flaw,” his eyes glittered meanly, making you flinch as he threw your words back in your face. “And just think of it this way - the sooner you start groveling and be good for me, the sooner you’ll be upstairs, by my side, where you belong. Until then…”

He kissed the tip of your nose, winking at you before turning and moving toward the reinforced door he had entered through just moments ago.

“No, please!” A tinge of hysteria colored your voice as you scrambled around him to block his way. “Please, don’t leave me down here. Just..take me upstairs and we can talk about this–”

“I’m fucking done listening to you talk about what you want and need,” Ransom snarled.

You recoiled at his tone, at the sudden change in his demeanor. Swallowing nervously as he backed you into the very door you were blocking, your breath hitched as he swooped close and met your frightened gaze.

“There is no talking about this,” he enunciated slowly. “You’re fucking mine, and you’re not leaving, end of story.”

“You could have anyone you want,” you whispered, “Why me?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else, I want you,” Ransom gritted, shifting closer. “I love you.”

Your breath hitched at his fierce declaration. His words were like a gut punch, because you knew the true weight of them, especially for Ransom. Ransom, who had never loved anyone, who had never experienced real love himself, until you.

It seems you had made a bigger impact on him than you ever thought possible, and now you found yourself on the receiving end of his warped, possessive brand of love.

“Ransom,” you spoke hesitantly, your eyes flickering between his. You couldn't help but reach for him, gently pressing a hand to his chest–over his heart–as you continued, “This isn’t love, it’s possession.”

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel, especially about this,” he scoffed. He stared at you for a long, tense moment, his eyes boring into your own. You could see the way a flicker of yearning shadowed his gaze, his voice quiet as he pleaded with you, “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you want to be with me, too. That’s all I want.”

When you remained quiet, he huffed. Shoving you out of the way, he reached for the thumbprint pad beside the door.

The thought of him leaving you down here had terror lancing up your spine, and you reached for him again, shimmying yourself between him and the door as you fisted the front of his sweater and stared up at him with a pleading eyes.

“Please, don’t leave me down here. It’s cruel,” you voice broke, your fear and heart-ache that this was even happening overwhelming you. Sagging against Ransom’s chest, you clung to him, refusing to let go, to let him leave. “Please, Ransom, I was always so good to you, wasn’t I? I loved you!”

“Love me now,” he murmured. His hands touched your shoulders, his fingers dancing up either side of your throat to caress along either side of your jaw as he gently pulled you away so he could meet your gaze. “Those kinds of feelings don’t just go away, right?”

This time it was his gaze that was pleading, his touch so soft as he framed your face in his grip, his eyes shining with an alarming kind of desperation as he watched you, yearning for you before your very eyes.

“Show me how much you love me, kitten,” Ransom purred. “And I’ll let you come upstairs.”

You shivered at his seductive tone, your body still affected by it–and so instantly–after months apart. Even after everything–being a captive in this windowless box–your body was thrumming at the dark, sinful look in Ransom’s gaze, at the way his fingers were so gently teasing along your skin, the way his body was crowding you against the door, pressing flush along your front.

He must have been able to read his effect on you all over your face, because his lips twitched into an almost smirk as his head dipped lower. You saw a flash of victory in Ransom’s eyes a second before he kissed you.

The feel of his lips against yours was electric. It was like your body had been dwelling in darkness since the day you left him, and now that his mouth was touching yours–his flavor bursting along your taste buds–each and every one of your nerve endings were lighting up for the first time in months.

Perhaps it was a cocktail of muscle memory and desperation to not be locked down in this room, whatever it was, you went with it, surrendered to it, because anything was better than descending into the dark, terrifying depths of your claustrophobia.

You pressed closer to Ransom of your own accord, feeling him groan in satisfaction as you touched your tongue to his and twined your arms around his neck. Your kisses were frantic, your breaths between each one gasping and desperate.

When Ransom hitched your leg around his waist and grinded against your core, you gave a startled cry of pleasure, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders as your body writhed against him, chasing more of that exquisite friction.

“See,” Ransom panted against your lips, nipping at the bottom one and grinning when you moaned in response. “Do you see how good we are together? How much I fucking want you?”

He grunted as he rutted against your panty-covered cunt, the hardness bulging the front of his pants impossible to miss. When he reached beneath your dress and tore your panties off, you didn’t object, instead clinging to him tightly as he scrambled to undo the front of his pants.

Ransom’s mouth was back on yours–frantic and hungry–as he shoved his way between your legs and lined his cock up with your traitorously drippy, fluttering hole. Your eyes flew to his as you felt the head of his cock catch along your entrance, and a beat later, you were keening long and loud as he shoved into you hard and to the hilt.

“Fuck,” Ransom panted against your mouth. He licked at your parted lips, his cock throbbing deep inside you. “God, I’ve been dreaming about this cunt for months.”

Moaning, he retreated almost all the way before plunging back into you, grunting as you gasped his name as your head fell back against the door, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as Ransom began to fuck you.

Your coupling was hard and fast–frenzied–as Ransom tucked his face against the crook of your neck and pounded into you. Each one of his moans and grunts made your pussy flutter, and your face burned at how wet you were, how you could both hear it as he relentlessly rutted into you.

“God, you love it like this, don’t you?” Ransom breathed against your neck, grinding his hips and laughing as you mewled and clung to him harder. “Tell me how good it feels, how good I feel.”

“So good,” you moaned, your mind slow and staticy with the desperate need to cum. “You feel so good.”

It was all you could focus on - how good Ransom felt inside you. Where you were and why seemed like distant memories now, driven further and further from your consciousness with each hard, eager thrust of Ransom’s cock deep inside your pussy.

“M’gonna cum inside you,” Ransom panted against your ear, giving your lobe a nip. “Gonna fill you up with my cream, show you how much you belong to me.”

Your pussy fluttered wildly at his threat, and in the deep, deep recesses of your mind, there was a small, logical voice trying to speak up, trying to remind you that this was the first time you had ever had unprotected sex with Ransom, with anyone for that matter.

But in the moment, it didn’t seem like a bad idea at all, the thought of him fucking you without protection, the thought of his cum flooding your insides, it just turned you on even more.

You wanted it. You wanted to be his, to be filled with and leaking his seed.

You wanted it so bad, you whined his name and begged for it as your fingers curled in his hair and you frantically rocked against him without shame, urging the drive of his cock deeper and deeper until you came with a throaty keen of delight.

“Fuck,” Ransom groaned as your pussy went wild, fluttering and clamping around him as you writhed against him, riding out your orgasm.

Shoving into you hard, he went still as he reached his own release. As Ransom panted against the side of your neck, you could feel his cock throb inside of you, twitching as he spilled his cum, his hips giving shallow little ruts as he pumped you full of it, pushing it as deep inside of you as it could go.

A moment later, his body sank against yours. You were both quiet and clinging to each other as you struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern.

“I knew it,” Ransom murmured, cradling your cheek with one hand as his lips touched your forehead. “I knew you still loved me.”

You didn’t try to correct him, or speak at all, you just let him kiss you enthusiastically. You were too tired to argue anymore, to try to plead with him and talk some sense into him.

All you wanted right now, was to get out of this fucking basement prison.

So you kissed Ransom back, just a little.

You didn’t object when he pulled out of you and sank to his knees, spreading your legs wide with his big hands on your inner thighs so he could watch his cum trickle from your pussy for the first time.

You didn’t push him away when he started to eat you out, lapping up the proof of his pleasure, along with your own. You just sank against him as he buried his face in your cunt and eagerly drank from you until you were cumming again, and this time on his tongue.

But you did feel a staggering sense of relief when Ransom finally opened the reinforced door and ushered you through it. You cried against his sweater, so grateful to be out of that windowless tomb, as he guided you upstairs to the main floor of his home.

It was dark now, looming shadows of the woods surrounding Ransom’s modern glass home lingering just outside in the blessedly open air. Just knowing freedom and space was on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows soothed your frazzled nerves.

Beyond exhausted–and still in shock, a tiny voice whispered through your mind–you just went along with Ransom as he took you upstairs to his bedroom and through to the ensuite.

He was gentle and thorough as he washed you, and soon you were standing at the foot of his king-sized bed, naked and shivering as he tugged your favorite sweater of his over your head.

His smile was deceptively sweet as he drank in the sight of you in his clothes once more. He watched you blinked up at him in a daze before leaning in and kissing the tip of your nose.

“I have something for you,” he murmured before stepping away.

You hugged yourself as you watched him reach into the top drawer of the nearby dresser. He fiddled with something, and a moment later he was turning to you, a beautiful necklace with a type of closure you had never seen before carefully cradled in his hands. You got a glimpse of the “RD” initials on the little heart pendant before he moved around you and fastened it around your neck.

He turned you to him, his smile more of a smirk as he gently touched the necklace before tipping your face up to his. “Only I can take it off,” he told you. “Literally, and it’s paired with this,” he held up his left hand to show you the signet ring on his left pinky, so similar to the one he always wore on his right hand. “If you get too far away from me, I’ll know, and it has a tracker built in, so I’ll always find you.”

Something inside of you wilted as you shuddered, your vision blurring with tears as you realized the lengths he was willing to go to to keep you as his.

“But I don’t think I have to worry about you being bad, right?” Ransom purred as he gathered you close. "You gonna be good for me?"

The unspoken threat of the windowless basement just two floors beneath you hung heavy in the air. You trembled at the mere thought of it, meeting Ransom’s gaze as he pulled away and looked at you with his brows arched in expectation.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you whispered.

“I know you will,” Ransom cooed. Gently caressing the side of your face, he pressed a kiss to your lips, and then leaned in close, his mouth finding your ear as he murmured, “Because we both know what will happen, and where you’ll end up, if you’re bad.”

Eeeeeep! Hoe’kay so! If you had a stray thought of Deprivation while reading this, you’ll be happy to know that this story exists in the same verse, and I am officially starting a Fruit Loops™️ & Phobias verse 😳So, we’ll have more kooky babes and their phobia ridden!Readers coming and cumming eventually!

—

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

Text

Lovedddd this 🙌🏾

Call me crazy, hold me down

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you met ransom in college, working as harlan's intern. when he sees you again 10 years later, this time with an engagement ring on your hand, he’s hell-bent on finding out more. he's always had a way of getting under your skin, but this time, it’s different. times have changed—and so have you.

warnings: 18+ SMUT, power play, implied cheating, jealousy, history of FWB, degradation, light breath play, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight age difference, canon divergence, porn w/ plot, plot twists

word count: 3.4k

“Ransom? Ransom Drysdale?”

With a velvety swoosh of his overcoat, he turns to face you, sharp blue eyes landing on yours.

Standing in the gilded glow of the country club, Ransom Drysdale wore tradition like a second skin—rich cashmere sweater, perfectly tailored chinos, and the kind of bone-deep confidence that only old money could bestow.

Yet he wore it all with a touch of recklessness, a lazy defiance that set him apart even as he fit right in.

The burgundy scarf draped around his neck—a vibrant, unruly splash against the muted palette of the room.

And, of course, the Gucci loafers.

With the heels stamped down flat and soles scuffed to oblivion, they made it clear that, among the desperate sea of elites clinging to pedigree, Ransom was both one of them, and something entirely another.

Soft, pink lips part, exhaling your name.

“Shit.” The incredulity in his eyes replaced just as quickly with an unmistakable hunger, raking over your frame with no remote attempt at decency or subtlety. But then again, neither had ever been his style.

“…is that really you, Sunshine?”

Sunshine. As soon as the nickname glides off his tongue, a memory flashes into your mind - the shock of cold metal against your bare skin, warm hands gripped around your hips as they hoist you up onto a library cart, rucking up the hem of your yellow sundress.

You blink in quick succession, chasing the thought away.

“In the flesh.” You nod, flashing him an innocent smile.

Head cocked in disbelief, he steps in, arms outstretched for a hug. His palm skims your lower back, the other cradling a glass of whiskey.

A heavy whiff of cologne envelops you, that familiar scent of rich vanilla and cedarwood, and it’s all the confirmation you need to know that nothing has changed.

Harvard class of ’11 and '15, side-by-side members of Phi Beta Kappa honor society.

You’d earned it through countless late nights and waitressing shifts, scrimping and saving just to make ends meet. And him? Well, a shiny new literature building bearing the Thrombey name may have tipped the scales.

For a moment, you let your nose brush against the soft fabric of his cable-knit sweater, whiter than the streaks of cocaine that marked his habits at Harvard’s exclusive club meetings.

As you start to pull back, you catch a flash of your reflection in his aviators, hanging from his collar—a spitting image of the Hamptons elite, you know you’ve never looked better.

Knows he knows it too, evident in the way his fingers linger over your arm as he pulls back.

“Whatcha been up to?”

“Oh, you know, just making ends meet.”

You sigh, twirling your fingers around the empty glass in your hand.

“…how’s Harlan doing?”

Hand-picked by the infamous novelist for a summer internship your freshman year, it was Harlan who had introduced you to his other intern. Ransom was a senior then, neither grateful nor interested in the opportunity you had to fight tooth and nail for.

“Well, old man hasn’t kicked it yet.”

Ransom sighs, shoulders sagging with an undeniable air of annoyance as his hand leaves your side, stepping back to down sixty dollars worth of whiskey in one go. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, eyes wandering down to the empty martini glass by your hip. He glances back up, licking his lips and pointing a signet ring-clad finger in your direction.

“Espresso?”

You shake your head, eyes darting down to your glass.

“Vodka.”

He chuckles, nodding his head.

“Of course. Classic.”

You don’t dwell on his words, nor the suggestive wink he shoots your way as he heads in the direction of the bar, about to fetch you both another round.

You wince, reaching forward to stop him in his tracks.

“Oh no, Ran, you don’t have to.”

With a raised brow, his gaze drops to where your hand rests on his forearm. You pull your hand back abruptly, as if singed by his stare.

A flicker of something possessive crosses his features, new interest lighting up his eyes.

Jaw unclenching as he settles on that familiar smirk, though it’s a little stiffer this time.

He raises his chin, cocking his head to the side, and the bridge of his nose catches the lighting of the overhead chandelier.

A small twitch in his brow as he murmurs:

“Married, huh?”

You nod softly, pursing your lips as you glance down at the glistening stone on your ring finger.

“Engaged.”

“Huh.” He murmurs, blinking.

His gaze falters for a moment before they find yours again. Eyes narrowed as he leans in, voice dropping two pegs:

“You know, between us, I always thought I’d be the one to get married first.”

You let out a soft laugh, amusement lighting up your eyes.

“Meaning you thought I’d never get married.”

He shrugs, mirroring the smile on your face.

“Can you blame me? I mean let’s face it…”

Lips inches away from yours, a devilish grin splitting his face wide open.

“….neither of us were really the marriage type.”

And your heart skips a beat, a raw memory edging its way into your mind.

Coarse upholstery scraping against your cheek, the quiet creaks of wooden furniture ringing across the dorm common room—he’s got you bent over a worn-out couch, holding you down by the neck as he sneers in your ear.

‘Does your little boyfriend fuck you like this?’

You blink slowly, raising your brows with a quiet breath.

“That was over 10 years ago, Ransom. I’ve changed.”

He chuckles loudly, head cocking in a silent challenge.

“Is that right?”

Leans in even closer to your ear, close enough to feel his warm, whiskey-soaked breath.

“Because by the way you’ve been staring at my lips, I’d disagree.”

Pink lips curl around a set of bright, sharp teeth as he grins, the edges of his wool coat dancing around your frame.

You freeze, breath hitching in your throat as he leans down, his lips grazing your ear and leaving a searing mark—like the red-hot tip of a cigarette against your skin.

“…tell me, Sunshine, you think you can keep your hands off me all night?”

“Who is it?”

“Hmm?” You mumble, mind half gone from the way his hands were gripping your hips, ass pressed against the cold marble of the bathroom sink as he rucks your tennis skirt around your waist.

The scent of expensive liquor and mint fill your senses as he grumbles against your pulse point, voice coarse and low.

“That schmuck you’re marrying.”

He pulls back from the space below your jaw and in the split second your eyes meet his—a viridescent streak of emerald amidst all that smug blue. And you know.

An electric jolt rips through your stomach, equal parts thrill and disbelief, and you throw your head back, letting out an incredulous laugh.

“Drysdale, are you seriously jealous?”

He scoffs, but his hand tightens around the swell of your hips, his ring digging into the soft flesh. Suddenly yanks you to the edge of the marble counter as you gasp, grasping at his sweater-clad chest for balance.

“You really think I’m the jealous type, Sunshine?” he murmurs, nose brushing against yours as he splays his hand over your exposed knee, warming up the skin.

Then, with deliberate slowness, drags the blunt tips of his nails up the inside of your thigh, making you visibly shudder.

“Still a fan of that move, huh?” He grins, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

Ignoring your half-assed attempts to push him away, he continues to trail his fingers upward until they find their way to your core, thumbing the outline of your sex through the damp fabric of your panties.

“…so who is he?” He taunts, gripping you in closer, lips pressed against the corner of your mouth.

“Ransom…” you murmur, scalding under his hungry gaze as it swallows your every reaction—a sarcastic eye roll turning into a genuine show of pleasure once he shoves the flimsy lace to the side, fingertips dipping in between your folds.

And although you had no plans of humoring his question, Ransom’s other hand flies up to clasp over your mouth, trapping the pathetic whimpers slipping off your tongue.

He shakes his head feverishly, crooning into your ear:

“Shh, wait, wait, you know what? Lemme guess.”

You only let out a muffled groan in response, eyes rolling back into your head at the way two of his thick fingers enter your sopping cunt, agonizingly slow.

“Let’s see… does he have a J.D.? 5 years at daddy’s law firm, promoted to senior partner before you could say nepo baby?”

His fingertips find that plush spot deep inside you and you gasp, his palm muffling broken syllables of his name. His hand clasps tighter against your mouth, wholly ignoring you as you claw at his wrist:

“.. or, or, Wallstreet, maybe? You living out your dreams of being a little trophy wife, sweetheart?”

Pulls out only to add a third finger, shoving his hand deeper between your legs, forcing your knees further apart. You groan at the added stretch and he only smirks, continuing to pump his fingers in and out while ignoring your desperate gaze.

“Ok, and this might be my personal favorite….”

A feral flash of teeth as he grins, curling his fingers upward. You can't help but arch your back, your gasp still muffled by his hand over your mouth.

“…is he one of those self-made, go-getter types? Daddy ditched mommy without a dime so he had to scholarship his way through some shitty state college?”

Faster now, dragging his palm against your clit, hand soaked with your arousal.

“Turned his life around with dedication and work ethic. Is that what you’re telling yourself, Sunshine?”

Eyes squeezed shut, you cling onto the fabric of his coat for dear life as his fingers stroke your g-spot over and over.

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Bachelor number 1, 2, or 3?”

He whispers, releasing his grip from around your mouth as you gasp for air, his now-free hand dropping down to his belt buckle.

“F-fuck you, Ransom, He’s…ah, shit—“

A clink of designer metal is all the warning you get before he’s burying himself in you, replacing his fingers with the head of his fat cock. The words dissolve on your tongue as he pushes inside at a glacial pace, prolonging the ache of the stretch. Drags it out just as slowly, delivering a sharp slap against your clit, before sinking back in.

Your eyes flutter shut at the obscenity of it all, the shameless lick of his lips as he smirks at your obvious embarrassment.

“Fuck, look at you.” He murmurs to himself as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a searing kiss, his tongue pushing past your teeth as he sets out on a relentless rhythm.

Pulls back with a wet smack to raise his free hand up to your mouth, coated thoroughly with your slick. Pushes three fingers past your lips, thrusting them down your throat, deep enough to make you gag. Your eyes roll back, clenching around his cock as you arch your back, sucking feverishly.

“That’s it, show me how much you want it.”

And with his fingers still shoved down your throat, he smirks, tugging your head down to meet his gaze.

“Bet he doesn’t fuck you this good, huh?”

The glare you manage to give him as you gurgle around his fingers is just the edge he needs, letting out a loud groan as he snaps his hips into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing across the bathroom tiles.

Your climax arrives with a strangled cry as your eyes squeeze shut, legs trembling as waves of ecstasy crash over you, your core spasming around his cock.

While you struggle to catch your breath, Ransom’s thrusts become erratic, grunts growing deeper in an all-too-familiar way. He pulls out with a shudder, guiding your left hand between your thighs to wrap around his slick cock. The engagement ring glints under the dim lighting as you stroke him in quick, firm pulses. Ransom hisses, eyes zeroing in on the hand wrapped around him as he finishes with a throaty groan, streaking your inner thigh with his release.

A soft jangle of his belt as he slides the buckle into place, while you carefully slide off the marble surface, steadying yourself.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Sunshine. Don’t I deserve to know what kind of loser managed to tie you down?”

You’re still breathing heavy, light-headed and buzzing, yet you manage to choke out:

“… fuck off, Drysdale, he’s a bigger man than you’ll ever be.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, hand flying up to grab your chin, smearing spit and remnants of your arousal over your lips.

Gives you a bruising kiss, teeth and all, just because he can.

Pulls back with a wet smack, flashing you a smirk that chills you to the bone.

“Yeah? Is that why I just fucked his fiancée in a country club bathroom?”

Three days later...

“Ransom Drysdale, you’re under arrest for attempted murder of the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot—“

Ransom’s sharp chuckle interrupts the arresting officer mid-sentence. His gaze snaps over to you, standing in the corner of the living room, arms crossed and watching intently.

He barks out your name, laced with disdain.

“You’re a cop? You gotta be shitting me.”

You take slow, deliberate steps toward him as the officer finishes reciting his Miranda rights, yanking Ransom’s balled-up fists into a set of cuffs. Ransom’s not foolish enough to resist, but he squares his shoulders, holding his ground as you approach him. When you’re close enough, he leans in, his voice dropping to a low growl, face inches from yours.

“You slut.” He spits, all nine circles of Hell swirling in his eyes. “You think you can fuck me over like this and get away with it?”

He huffs out a breath, nostrils flaring. Glances up past your shoulder at Benoit Blanc, standing in the archway of the foyer.

“… this isn’t over. I’ll see all your asses in court. You hear me?”

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you glance black at the arresting officer, silently signaling for one last moment.

“You know, it’s so funny you mention that, Ransom.”

Crimson lips raised into sharp peaks as you smile, taking another step forward.

“Can I share a secret?” You lean in, voice barely a whisper.

“Guess who’s leading the prosecution on your trial?”

You watch as his scowl falters, a flicker of confusion that douses the fire in his gaze.

4 years of shitty undergrad, putting up with entitled assholes like Ransom Drysdale, all so you could graduate at the top of your class and land a full ride to Yale Law. Youngest prosecutor in the state of Massachusetts to hold the title of Attorney General, just freshly appointed last week, and with a perfect record to boot.

Just one look at your first case—a claim filed by Harlan’s home care nurse who suspected foul play, that someone had switched the labels on her med vials, nearly forcing her to administer a fatal dosage—and you knew who had dunnit.

Pulled a few strings to get on the shortlist for the exclusive country club that Ransom frequented, and a flash of your left hand plus a couple drinks back at his place was all it took.

Inebriated from the whiskey and drunk off his arrogance—anything for his sweet, innocent ray of sunshine, lapping up tales of his grandiose plans with wide-eyed admiration.

How he had swapped the labels, how he managed to cover his tracks.

How a damn Brazilian nurse foiled it all with her selfless resolve, getting Harlan to the ER even after administering the correct medication.

It was everything you needed to build a complete case against him.

You living out your dreams of being a little trophy wife, sweetheart?

Eat shit, Drysdale.

“So what.” Ransom spits, rolling his eyes, but the mask slips just another inch further.

“You don’t think my lawyers can get me out of this? It’s attempted murder, for fucks sake.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You step in closer, cocking your head to the side.

“You know, Ran, first-degree attempted murder is punishable for life in prison in Massachusetts.”

Even closer now, his face just inches from yours, breath hot and jagged against your lips.

“Hire all the fucking lawyers you want — I don’t lose, asshole.”

A silence that feels like forever as his eyes dart furiously between yours, nostrils flaring.

And when he fails to find the familiar submission in your eyes, his smug, devil-may-care bravado is broken with a quick twitch in his brow—a brief flicker of realization, concealed just as quickly under a mask of rage. He lunges forward, looking just about ready to break out of his cuffs and wring both his hands around your neck. The officer yanks back on his arms in warning.

You don’t so much as flinch.

“You vile. fucking. bitch.” He hisses, gritting through his teeth.

“Hmm, takes one to know one.”

You smile, promptly stepping back as the arresting officer hauls Ransom away.

“You slut! I’m gonna ruin your life, you hear me?” The sound of jangling metal cuffs rings out in the foyer as he’s dragged out of his grandfather's estate, past Blanc who simply sidesteps Ransom’s loud tirade.

“… get the fuck off me!”

“See you in court, Mr. Drysdale!”

You call, waving from the front door of the Thrombey mansion, watching the outline of Ransom’s designer sweater get shoved unceremoniously into the back of a police vehicle.

Through the tinted windows of the back seat, you catch the glimpse of a man stripped of his mask, a ghost from your past, face twisted in fury and defeat.

“Miss, didn’t nobody tell you that gloatin’s in poor taste?”

A low, southern drawl croons from beside you.

You flash a smile at Benoit Blanc, who’s watching the police car pull out of the driveway behind a lit cigar, an equally satisfied expression on his face.

“Oh, I think a little gloating may be warranted.”

"Ya know... the way you’ve pieced this all together is mighty impressive. You sure I can't convince you of a career as a private investigator?”

You laugh, watching the police car disappear through the dense woods.

“That’s kind of you, detective, but the courtroom’s where I belong.”

You purse your lips, thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the band on your ring finger.

“Plus, I… may have cheated my way in a little with this one.”

Blanc shrugs, smiling around his cigar.

“I figured as much, seeing as how you and Mr. Drysdale were on a first-name basis.”

You let out a small sigh, turning to face Blanc as you extend a hand.

“It’s been a pleasure, detective. Couldn’t have done it without your insight.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine.”

Cigar hanging from his lips, Blanc shakes your hand with a firm grip, before the shiny stone on your finger catches his eye, glinting in the afternoon sun.

“…that’s a nice ring you got there, ma’am. Must be a lucky fella.”

He flashes you a wink, and you have to fight the urge to smile, realizing why this strange character of a man was heralded as the world’s greatest P.I.

After Blanc leaves you with a tip of his hat, you take a few steps out into the sprawling yard of the Thrombey mansion, turning around to take in the full view of the estate.

‘Playing life like a game without consequence…’

Harlan’s words echo in your head—one of the many nights you’d stayed over late, helping him finalize manuscripts while Ransom was out partying.

‘….untill you can't tell the difference between a stage prop and a real knife.’

Lucky you that Ransom couldn’t tell 10-dollar cubic zirconia from a real diamond, either.

After taking one final glance at the estate, you start your descent down the hill of the Thrombey estate, twisting the ring off your finger and tossing it into the dense shrubbery where it vanishes from view.

“So long, Drysdale.”

A/N: so uhm... this might be the filthiest thing I've ever written? hope you enjoyed the little reveals in the story, had to stay true to the og genre. title credit to fiona apple

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

Text

Between the Lines

Characters/Pairings: Ransom Drysdale x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Summary: When presented with a deal you can't resist, you agree to to create an illusion so you can achieve your actual dreams.

Content/Warnings: masturbation, slow burn, forced proximity, fake engagement, annoyed/disgusted to lovers

Notes: This takes place after the events of Knives Out. Yes, all of the movie. No exclusions. Dividers by @vesearartistry and @saradika. My humble offering for week seven of my Countdown to Chris-mas. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 and @biteofcherry for both indulging some of my plot-talking for this fic!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat nervously in the lobby of Blood Like Wine Publishing watching the gears behind the glass display on the elegant clock above the reception desk.

Up until the death of Harlan Thrombey, the publishing house had published his works exclusively with a new murder mystery being produced and translated into dozens of languages each year like clockwork, the gears and cogs a well-tested as the antique clock on display.

With no Harlan, the publishing house had opened to submissions and you and your agent had made it through the initial rounds of querying and contract negotiations.

But now, only a year and a half after the prolific genius’s death and transfer of ownership to his nurse and friend Marta Cabrera, Marta had sold to a new owner - yet to go public in name, and they had asked for a meeting before finalizing the contract.

You tried not to fidget as you gripped the leather armrests of the chair, willing the minutes to pass faster. The lobby was eerily quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers and the soft clacking of the keyboard from the receptionist's desk. The walls were adorned with framed book covers, each one a testament to Harlan Thrombey's literary legacy. You couldn't help but wonder if your own work would ever grace these halls.

As you waited, your mind raced with possibilities. Who was this mysterious new owner? What did they want? Your agent had assured you that this was just a formality, but the knot in your stomach suggested otherwise. You found yourself studying the intricate patterns in the marble floor, tracing the veins of gold and silver that snaked through the stone like the plot twists in one of Thrombey's novels.

Just as the clock struck ten, the elevator dinged, and a tall woman with perfectly coiffed short white hair strode out, her heels clicking authoritatively on the polished marble floor. She paused at the receptionist's desk, speaking in hushed tones before turning her piercing gaze towards you.

"I assume you’re my ten o’clock?" she questioned, her voice sharp and commanding.

You suppressed a gasp and abruptly stood, smoothing your clothes nervously as you approached none other than Linda Drysdale - the legendary daughter of Harlan.

"Yes, that's me.”

She gave you a once-over, then nodded. “Come with me.”

You followed Linda into the elevator, your heart pounding in your chest. The mirrored walls reflected your nervous expression back at you, and you tried to school your features into something more confident. Linda stood beside you, her posture perfect. In contrast to you, she seemed entirely at ease, tapping away at her phone with manicured nails.

When the doors opened, you stepped out into a hallway lined with dark wood paneling and more framed book covers. Linda's office was at the end, a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The room was dominated by an imposing desk made of rich mahogany, its surface neat and organized.

"Please, sit," Linda said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. As you settled in, she moved to a small bar cart in the corner. "Can I offer you a drink? Perhaps some whiskey? A gin and tonic? Coffee? Tea?"

You shook your head, politely declining. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

Linda shrugged, pouring herself a generous measure of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. "Suit yourself," she said, returning to her desk and settling into her high-backed leather chair. She took a sip, savoring the whiskey before fixing you with her piercing gaze once more.

"I've read your manuscript," she began, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk's polished surface. "It's intriguing. You have potential, there's no denying that."

Your heart swelled with pride at her words, but you remained silent, sensing there was more to come.

Linda leaned forward, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm prepared to offer you a book deal. A three-book contract, to be precise. The advance is generous, and the royalties - well, let's just say they're enough to make even my father's ghost smile."

You felt a surge of excitement, but something in Linda's tone made you hesitate. There was a glint in her eye, a slight curl to her lip that suggested there was more to this offer than met the eye.

"However," she continued, swirling the whiskey in her glass, "there is one small condition."

The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "What kind of condition?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You see, my father liked to play games. In his will, he left us with one final trick. I don’t know how much of this you heard or followed in the news, but he left us nothing - his cash and assets, our home, and this publishing house all went to Marta Cabrera, his nurse at the time of his death.”

You would have been hard-pressed to have missed the news because it had spilled over into scandal.

“I don’t expect to see the sixty million, and that’s tough, but I can live with that - I’ve made my own fortune, and neither Walt and his family nor my sister-in-law and her daughter need to continue suckling off the teat of dad’s treasury. The house still hurts, but I’ll get it back - I can bide my time. But this? It only took me eighteen months of patience and strategy, working through subsidiaries and intermediaries, to close the deal on getting Blood Like Wine back in the family where it belongs.”

“I will go public with my ownership by the end of the week,” she continued, “but for better and for worse, the acquisition has ended up coinciding with my son’s pending release from prison.”

“Ransom?”

Linda nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before disappearing behind her composed facade. "Yes, Ransom. As you can imagine, his... indiscretions have caused quite a stir in our family and social circles."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure where this was leading.

"My son made mistakes, grievous ones. But he's served enough time, and now he needs a chance to redeem himself. That's where you come in."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand, Mrs. Drysdale. What does this have to do with my book deal?"

"The condition," she explained, her voice taking on a steely edge, "is that you convincingly pose as his sweet-as-a-peach fiancé for two years.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Ransom Drysdale, the man who had attempted to murder Marta Cabrera and frame her for Harlan's death, and she expected you to agree to this? You stared at Linda in disbelief, and the silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock on the bookshelf behind her.

"I... I don't know what to say," you finally managed, voice a little weak in your shock.

Linda leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of whiskey. "It's quite simple, really. You play the role of Ransom's devoted fiancée, help rehabilitate his image, and in return, you get your book deal. Three books, a substantial advance, and the backing of one of the most prestigious publishing houses in the industry.”

"But... Ransom... he tried to kill someone. He went to prison. How could I possibly-"

"Details," Linda waved her hand dismissively. "The public has a short memory. With the right narrative, we can reshape Ransom's image. A reformed bad boy, humbled by his time in prison, now devoted to his charming fiancée and ready to contribute positively to society. We both know the power of a well-crafted story. People will believe anything."

You felt your head spinning. This was so far beyond what you had expected when you'd nervously entered the building this morning. "And what does Ransom think about this plan?" you asked, grasping for any semblance of normalcy in this surreal situation.

Linda's lips curved into a tight smile. "Ransom will do as he's told if he wants to maintain his lifestyle and eventually inherit his share of the family fortune. He knows the stakes."

You sat there, stunned. The offer was tempting - a three-book deal with Blood Like Wine Publishing was beyond your wildest dreams. But to fake an engagement with a convicted criminal? It seemed insane.

"I understand your hesitation," Linda said, her voice softening slightly. "But consider this: you'd have unprecedented access to our family. Think of the material for your future novels. The inside scoop on one of America's most infamous families. Isn't that what every mystery writer dreams of?"

You had to admit, she had a point. The Thrombey-Drysdale saga was the stuff of legend in literary circles. To be on the inside, to see how they really lived and interacted? That alone could draw readers in if they thought there was any chance you’d pull threads and weave it into your future novels.

And besides, this was your dream: a multi-book deal with a prestigious publisher, the chance to see your work in print, and to potentially become not only a published author but one who with Blood Like Wine’s name and marketing department could be a truly successful author. How could you pass it all up?

“What would you say to four books?”

You blinked, taken aback by Linda's sudden offer. "Four books?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda nodded, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Four books. And we'll double the advance. Consider it... hazard pay." She chuckled softly at her own joke.

Your breath caught in your throat. Four books? The offer was even more tempting now, dangling before you like a golden carrot. You found yourself leaning in, drawn into Linda's web despite your better judgment.

"I... I don't know," you stammered, your mind racing. "This is all so sudden. What exactly would be expected of me?"

Linda's smile widened, sensing your wavering resolve. "Nothing too taxing, I assure you. Attend some charity galas, be seen at upscale restaurants, perhaps a carefully orchestrated paparazzi shot or two. We'll craft a beautiful love story for the press - how Ransom found redemption through your unwavering support and love."

You nodded slowly, uncertainty swirling more strongly, gut churning because you were actually considering this. You could do public appearances…

“A year and a half,” you countered.

Linda shook her head firmly. “No, I won’t budge on the time commitment. Two years is a bankable amount of time to make sure we turn enough pages to fully close this chapter. But I’ll give you six books.”

Your heart leapt at that, and even though your gut was uneasy, your brain was shouting that this kind of deal was something you could not refuse. “Six books, and the first two released before the engagement period is over.”

“Deal,” Linda agreed.

You took a deep breath, your mind reeling from the enormity of what you had just agreed to. Six books. A multi-million dollar deal. And all you had to do was pretend to be engaged to a convicted criminal for two years. It seemed surreal, like something out of one of - well not one of Harlan's novels, but whatever romance author was currently trending.

"I think I will have that drink now," you said, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

Linda's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I find a good whiskey helps smooth over even the most unusual of business deals."

You nodded, watching as she selected a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. The soft clink of glass on glass filled the room as she poured a generous measure into a tumbler. The rich, peaty aroma of the whiskey wafted towards you, promising warmth and liquid courage.

Linda returned, extending the glass to you. Your fingers wrapped around the cool crystal and your eyes met Linda's. There was a moment of silent understanding between you - a recognition of the Faustian bargain you had just crafted and agreed to.

As you raised the glass to your lips, Linda's voice cut through the silence. "One more thing," she said, her tone casual but her gaze intense. "I'll up the advance to five million if you agree to move in with Ransom."

Your GPS led you to the top of a cul-de-sac in the Brown’s Wood neighborhood of Lincoln, Massachusetts. Beautiful trees and a typical New England landscape ushered you up the drive to the midcentury modern home owned by Hugh Ransom Drysdale. It didn’t scream home, but there was no denying it was a stunning feat of architecture - white walls and black roofing framing a structure of mostly floor-to-ceiling windows.

You sat in your car for a moment, gathering your courage. The enormity of what you had agreed to in Linda’s office had been sinking in all week, but this was it. Five million dollars. Six books. And two years of your life pretending to be engaged to - and now living with - a man who had attempted murder.

Maybe approaching all of this as if it was one big plot so of course it had to all work out was a ridiculous coping strategy, but it’s the one you had adopted.

But when the seven-figure advance had appeared in your bank account, giving you more money than you had earned in your entire life, you didn’t have it in you to back out.

If he murdered you, at least you would have paid off your student loans, credit card debts, provided for your parents’ retirement, and put away enough money in a trust for your nephew’s college fund.

The house loomed before you, a monument to wealth and taste that felt utterly alien. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bags from the passenger seat and made your way to the front door.

Before you could even ring the bell, the door swung open, revealing Ransom Drysdale himself.

He was taller than you expected, his presence filling the doorway. His piercing blue eyes scanned you from head to toe, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, you're the lucky lady my mother's picked out for me," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at his tone but forced a smile. "And you must be the charming ex-convict I've agreed to shackle myself to," you replied, matching his sarcasm with your own. "Can we consider the awkward introductions done now?"

Ransom's smirk widened into a grin, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, I like you already. Come on in, darling," he said, stepping aside to let you in. "Welcome to Hill House Drysdale. Try not to get too attached - I hear it's only a two-year lease."

You stepped into the house, immediately struck by the minimalist decor and open floor plan. The entire back wall was glass, offering a stunning view of the surrounding woods. It was beautiful, but cold - much like its owner, you mused.

The house was a stark contrast to the warmth of the Thrombey mansion you'd seen in news reports. This place was all clean lines, minimalist furniture, and an abundance of glass and steel.

"Nice place," you commented, setting your bags down. "I half expected to see crime scene tape and chalk outlines."

Ransom's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Sorry to disappoint. I save all my murdering for the family estate. This is my sanctuary."

You couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at his dark humor. At least he wasn't trying to pretend this was anything other than what it was - a business arrangement.

"So, where should I put my things?" you asked, gesturing to your bags. Some of your things had been sent off to a storage unit, but the things a moving consultant had determined would come here with you had been packed up and moved earlier in the day.

"The master suite is upstairs," Ransom said, closing the door behind you. "Stay out unless you’re embarking on a conjugal visit.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

He winked at you, then began to take you through the house. “Other than that, you’re free to roam the house, and I’ll stay out of your space. Living room here,” he gestured around, then walked to the right, and you followed him into a sleek, modern kitchen. “Two Bosch ovens, a six-burner range, your choice of pretty much any appliance in one of these cupboards.”

“You cook?”

It was his turn to scoff. “God, no.”

He walked you through the length of it, coming out on the other end of the living room, and then walking through a dining room with a long black table and another two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ransom didn’t strike you as one for entertaining dinner parties, making this more of a feature room than anything else.

At the other end, you came to a new wing of the house.

“This is you,” he said simply. “First door office, second is your bedroom and bathroom.”

You hesitated at the transition point from the dining room to the other side of the house.

“What is it?” Ransom asked, turning and putting his hands on his hips impatiently.

“Linda said a contractor would be brought in to install a door and security system.”

“She said could, and you’ve got locks installed, but I own this house, installing a wall and door here is more invasive than I was willing to agree to, and since she’s a real estate mogul she conceded it would altar the property value.”

“I…”

“You can relax. I’m not likely to try to murder you - the memory of the inconvenience of being incarcerated will probably last for twenty-four to thirty-six months, putting you in the clear.”

You frowned.

“They’re nice rooms, state of the art locks, you’ll be fine,” he reiterated, rolling his eyes. “Digital reinforced with an analog component that you’ll have the only keys to.”

He tossed you a keychain with three keys, which you were quick to catch.

“Downstairs there’s another living room that’ll be for you exclusively and a laundry room.”

“So, you’ll be coming through here to do laundry then?” you asked.

“Cute of you to think I do my own laundry.”

Now it was you who had an eye roll to give.

"Speaking of, all your stuff was delivered safe and sound, but I took the liberty of having some clothes delivered for you. Can't have my fiancée looking like a struggling writer when we're out in public."

You bristled at his comment. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Ransom's eyes raked over you, his gaze lingering a bit too long for comfort. "Let's just say they don't exactly scream 'trophy wife of a reformed bad boy billionaire.'"

You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself of the substantial paycheck waiting for you at the end of this charade. "Fine. When is the first public outing?"

Ransom checked his watch, a sleek, expensive-looking timepiece that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. "We have a charity gala tomorrow night. My dear mother thought it would be the perfect opportunity to debut our 'relationship' to society."

Your stomach twisted with anxiety. Tomorrow night? That was so soon. You weren't prepared for this.

“Last thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s your ring.”

Ransom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. As he opened it, your breath caught in your throat. Nestled inside was a ring that could only be described as breathtaking.

The center stone was a flawless oval-cut diamond, easily 3 carats, that seemed to capture and refract every bit of light in the room. It was held in place by a delicate setting adorned with two smaller diamonds on either side. Each facet of the ring sparkled with an intensity that was almost hypnotic.

"This," Ransom said, his voice uncharacteristically warm, "is a family heirloom. It belonged to my great-grandmother, passed down through the generations. My mother insisted I give it to you."

He carefully removed the ring from its velvet nest and held it out.

You reached for it, holding it delicately and studying it more closely.

“And I am going to insist that you wear it continually,” he added, tone back to its normal bite, “none of this on and off business. We’re engaged and there’s no reason to risk a slip up forgetting to put it on before you leave the house.”

The weight of it in your hand felt significant, both physically and metaphorically. This wasn't just any engagement ring - it was a piece of Thrombey family history.

"It's... stunning," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ransom's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something - pride? nostalgia? - passing across his face. "It is, isn't it?" he said, his sarcastic tone momentarily abandoned again. "My great-grandfather proposed with that ring after returning from the war. It's seen its fair share of family drama."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I bet it has."

Ransom cleared his throat, his mask of indifference sliding back into place. "Well, go on then. Put it on.”

"Are you sure about this?" you asked cautiously. "Shouldn't a family heirloom go to someone real?"

Ransom's expression hardened slightly. "I’m hardly that sentimental. This arrangement is real enough for my mother, and it's real enough for me. Besides," he added with a sardonic smile, "you're as close to family as I'm likely to get these days."

With a deep breath, you slipped it onto your left ring finger. The final symbol of the elaborate charade you had chosen to undertake.

It was near midnight, and you were worn out and nearly ready to collapse into your bed. The movers had done most of the work, but you still had had some unpacking to take care of and moved the furniture around in your bedroom and the room that would be your office. After giving you the engagement ring, Ransom had left you alone the rest of the day.

You padded quietly through the dining room that connected the two halves of the house to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle before bed.

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way through the darkened rooms. Moonlight filtered through the expansive windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. You tried to move silently, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night or alert Ransom to your presence.

As you entered the kitchen, the cool tile against your bare feet sent a small shiver up your spine. You fumbled for a moment, searching for the light switch, but decided against it. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and the soft glow from the windows was enough to navigate by.

You had just placed your water bottle under the refrigerator's filtered, letting the cool water splash into your bottle, when another sound caught your attention.

At first, it was barely perceptible - a faint, rhythmic creaking from upstairs. You froze, straining your ears. The sound grew clearer: a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of skin moving over skin.

Frozen in place, your cheeks flushed hot as realization dawned. Ransom was fisting his cock and unabashedly enjoying it.

Part of you wanted to flee back to your room immediately, but you were paralyzed, afraid any sound of movement might alert him to your presence.

Your breath caught in your throat as Ransom's moans intensified, echoing through the quiet house. The rhythmic creaking of his bed frame quickened, punctuated by deep, guttural groans that sent shivers down your spine. You stood frozen in the kitchen, your water bottle forgotten as you listened, captivated against your will.

Your body betrayed you, responding to the primal sounds drifting down from above. Heat bloomed in your core, your skin tingling with unwanted arousal. You could almost picture him - his muscular body taut with tension, head thrown back in ecstasy, those piercing blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Your imagination filled in the details - the flex of his biceps as he stroked himself, the sheen of sweat on his chest, the way his abs would clench with each thrust into his fist.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to quell the ache building between them.

"Fuck," Ransom's voice drifted down, rough with need.

The raw intensity in his voice sent a jolt through you. Your breath quickened, matching the frantic pace of his movements above. You knew you should leave, retreat to the safety of your room, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

The sounds grew more urgent, building to a crescendo. Ransom's groans became deeper, more primal. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the need for release. Your own body thrummed with sympathetic tension, your nipples hardening beneath your thin sleep shirt.

Suddenly, Ransom let out a long, guttural moan. The sound of it vibrated through you, igniting every nerve ending. You imagined him arching off the bed, his body taut as a bowstring as he found his release.

The house fell silent once more, save for the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Realizing you were still clutching your water bottle, you turned and tip-toed back to your room as quickly as possible.

You slipped quietly back into your room, closing and locking the door behind you with trembling hands. Your heart was still racing, your body flushed with unwanted arousal. You leaned against the door, trying to steady your breathing.

What had just happened? You'd come to get water and ended up an unwitting eavesdropper to your fake fiancé's private moment. The memory of Ransom's deep groans echoed in your mind, sending another shiver through you.

You shook your head, trying to clear the vivid mental images. This was ridiculous. Ransom was arrogant, infuriating, and had literally tried to murder someone. You shouldn't be affected by him like this.

And yet, the memory of his moans lingered, making your skin tingle and your core ache with need.

When you crawled into bed, you brought a book with you instead of your vibrator, refusing to sate the lust that had been kindled because you didn’t want to risk thinking of him. If you couldn’t resist him the first night living under the same roof, there would be no hope for you to make it two years.

And so you read until your eyes drooped and you were finally succumbed to sleep.

HAPPY KNIVES OUT NOVEMBER! It seemed like an appropriate point during the Countdown to Chris-mas to finally buckle down and write my first Ransom fic!

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

Text

Touch Starved (Best!Friend!Ari x black!reader)

Summary: It’s been a year since your boyfriend, Steve, passed away. You chose to stay celibate ever since his passing, and you’ve accepted the fact you were touch starved. But when there’s a lesson on it in your psychology class, you learned more about yourself than you realized. You learned a little bit about your best friend, Ari, too.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, sexual themes (oral sex, shower sex, allusions to sex, overstimulation, touch starvation), MINORS DNI!!

Folding your arm at an awkward angle, you rested your chin on the back of your forearm as wrote your notes with your IPad stylus for your PSY 101 class.

“That can’t possibly be comfortable,” your best friend Ari stated, looking at you as if you grew two heads.

“First of all, fix your face.” You gave him a side eye before you continued writing.

“And secondly?” He sparks.

“And secondly- it is very comfortable.”

The professor continued, “Touch starvation. While it is a prognosis disclaimed from medicine, there is trace evidence of its existence. In most cases, it initiates from a long duration of abstinence. In some cases, it can be as short as six months.”

Ari glances over at you calmly writing your notes, hoping that he isn’t somehow giving himself away. He hasn’t been with anyone for the past seven months.

He didn’t find a point. No one could distract him from the fact that he was in love with you.

The boys in his frat thinks he spends the weekend hooking up with random chicks in his classes.

When really, he spends his weekends binge watching Love Island and doing spa days with you.

He would never live it down if his frat brother knew. But truthfully, he could care less if they find out.

“Touch Starvation tests the fine line between desperation and overstimulation. When you’re touch starved, it drives you to become desperate for human touch and connection,”

Ari noticed you stopped writing and looked up at the professor as he continued. Your slowed blinking tells Ari that you were dissociating.

“But if a connection is a second too long, it overstimulates your sense pushing you to escape. Which still doesn’t change one fact: you still want that connection. It truly does push your psyche to its breaking point, which segways into tonight’s homework,”

Ari touches your hand gingerly, snapping you out of your thoughts. He takes note that you don’t move your hand away from his.

“Are you alright?” He questions.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.. did you write the homework down?”

“It’s right here,” he pushes his agenda towards you so you could write down the homework assignment.

A writing prompt entailing which areas you are touch starved.

Just perfect, you thought to yourself.

Ari waits patiently for you to start packing up first before he did. You bit your lip as you slid your iPad into your backpack, a tell sign that you were overthinking.

He lets you in front of him as the two of you wait in line to leave the classroom.

The two of you didn’t talk much the entire five minutes it took to get to your dorm room.

“Okay, spill.” Ari states, tossing his backpack on the ground and flipping your chair backwards to sit down in one fluid motion.

“There’s nothing to spill,” you said, still biting your lip as you attempted to take your IPad from your backpack.

Standing from the chair, he took your backpack from your hands and set it on the ground.

“You know you can at least try to make it sound convincing,” He retorts, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

“Do you think you’re touch starved?” He asked after a few moments of silence, causing you to sigh.

“I know I am. But it’s my choice to be this way.” You sat on your bed, folding your hands in your lap.

“Your choice?” Ari repeats as he joins you on the bed.

“I know I’m never going to find a love like I had with Steve. I’m lucky to even experience a love like that in the first place. Men like you and Steve are rare. Believing that I’ll find something like that again is just setting myself up for disappointment.”

“What, so you’re just going to give up on finding love?” He wanted to kick himself for getting riled up.

“Honestly? Yeah, I have.” You start, Ari’s heart clenches in his chest.

Maybe he didn’t have a chance after all.

“It‘s not necessarily a bad thing. Being single seems to be the end of the world for some people. But for me, it’s liberating.”

“It’s not liberating if you’re touch starved though, right?” Ari says cautiously.

“It’s better than hopping from relationship to relationship, trying to fill a void that I know I won’t fill.” You said with a sigh, leaning your back agains the bed.

Ari lays down next to you with a sigh of his own. “Can I.. tell you something?” You hesitate, turning your head to face him.

“Anything,”

“Every night, I would hold my face the way Steve used to. It helps me fall asleep.”

“How did Steve used to hold your face?”

You sat up and looked at him a moment. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for, you guess you to see if he was joking or not.

He slowly sits up, waiting for you to say something. Say anything.

When you don’t, he says, “You don’t have to. Sorry I-“

You lifted your hand and gently pressed your palm to the side of Ari’s face, his beard felt soft against your skin.

Caressing the apple of his cheek, Ari wanted to shut his eyes and relish in the feeling of this intimate moment.

But his eyes remained set on you. Adjusting your hand on his face, a breath hitched in his throat when you moved closer to cradle the other side of his face in your hands.

You let out a shaky sigh when you gently ghost your thumb over his smooth lips.

“That’s how he used to hold me.”

You had to pull away. You needed to. But you couldn’t. And neither could Ari.

“I.. need to tell you something, Y/N/N.” He starts, pulling your hands away from his face and taking them into his warm hands.

But before he could say anything else, the door jiggled. Something that your roommate did to give you a warning before barging in.

Although you told her you had no interest in bringing a guy home, she still did it.

You suppose this time, you appreciated it. Jumping up from the bed, you brushed a few curls out of your face.

Unable to meet his gaze, you grabbed your backpack from the floor and scrambled to look as normal as possible.

Ari took your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His soft gaze made your heart skip a beat.

“We should have a talk,”

“We should,” you agreed.

“You feeling okay?” Ari questions when he walks into your dorm room shirtless with his black sweatpants hanging low on his waist, his V line peeking from his waist band.

You heard a few girls giggling in the hall but Ari didn’t pay them any mind. “Hey, Ari. There’s a-“

“Not interested,” Ari closes the door before they had a chance to get closer.

You pressed your lips together to hold back your smirk. You had no idea why you were smirking in the first place.

“Y/N,” “Hm?” “I said were you feeling okay?” Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you see Ari removing his towel from his shoulder and exposing his bare chest.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine. Help me pick a movie, Aladdin or Princess and the Frog?” You said, changing the subject.

“Princess and the Frog,” he determines, climbing into bed with you. You pressed play on the movie and sat up against the window sill.

“You know they were probably going to invite you to a party,” “I don’t care about parties,” he said with a sigh, cocking his head as he sat up on his elbow.

“You’re in a fraternity. You’re supposed to care about parties,” “Fraternities are over rated,”

“Then why did you even join one?” “I thought it would add enough charisma to get you to fall in love with me,”

You thought he was serious at first but when he cracked a smile, you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“You’re such a dick,” you said, shoving his shoulder. The A/C unit on the ceiling kicks on and blows consistently cold air directly onto of you.

You slide under the covers and Ari wrapped an arm around you, pulling your body directly into his chest.

You sucked in a breath when his hand finds your stomach. His warmth radiating off of him felt like a furnace.

The movie continued to play and neither of you said anything. This wasn’t the first time he’s come over and held you.

The two of you came to an agreement a week ago and now, every day after his rugby practice, Ari came over.

But you couldn’t help your heart racing in your chest. Especially since you could feel Ari looking at you as you watched the movie.

“How long are we going to pretend there’s nothing here?” Ari finally questions and you slowly stir in his arms.

You didn’t miss his gaze flicker from your eyes down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m not pretending,”

You’re lying through your teeth, and he knows that. “Oh yeah? Then why is your heart racing?”

“Because of that,” you stated, motioning to his shirtless glory. “And why would this make you nervous unless you were attracted to it?”

“God, would you stop asking valid questions, please?” Ari chuckles at your nervousness, causing you to huff.

“This isn’t funny,” you added softly, covering your face as you lay back down on the bed.

He pulls your hands away from your face and took your face into his hands.

He rested his forehead against yours and waited for you to exhibit anything that showed him you didn’t want this.

He was surprised when you closed the gap between you and pressed your lips to his.

He tangles his fingers into your hair to pull you closer and you gasped when he nipped at your bottom lip, giving his tongue access.

He brings one of his hands away from your face and gripped the edge of your bed.

Your lips fell into sync with his, you could still taste the toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth moments before.

You find yourself pulling away from him a moment and his eyes searched yours. “I-I’m.. Do you want me to leave?”

His eyes darken when your hands trailed up his arms and down his toned back muscles.

“No, I don’t want you to leave.” “What do you want* me to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

He looked at you for a few seconds before looking down at your waist. He looked back up at you, asking a silent question.

“Are you.. asking if you can eat me out?”

“Yes,” he lets out a breath.

“Is that something you think about often?” “I think about it every day, yes.”

“Every day?”

“Please,”

Is he begging right now?

“Okay,” you lifted your hips up and pulled your shorts down your legs. You moved to take off your panties but he stopped you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You nodded and he parted your legs, sliding between them.

He gripped your chin and pressed a long kiss on your lips, gasping into your mouth when you scratched down his back.

“You keep doing that and I won’t be able to contain myself.” So you did it again, harder this time.

Before he could stop himself, he wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you close so you were nose to nose.

“Sorry,” you gasped out, wetness stained through your panties. He taps your cheek with his index finger as a warning before pulling away and leveling himself with your core.

Looking to you one last time, you nod and he pulls them down your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room.

He kisses the swell of your thighs, propping your legs over his shoulders before he flattens his tongue between your folds.

He laps at your clit each time he licks up your stripe. Your legs were already starting to shake as you quickly neared your orgasm.

It was to be expected, considering you didn’t have sex for over a year. But it was still embarrassing nonetheless.

You clenched your stomach muscles as an attempted to hold back your orgasm and closed your legs around his head.

He groans in annoyance, spreading your legs all the way and roughly suck at your clit until you were convulsing.

“Ari,” you whimpered, pushing at his head when he continued to lap up your juices once you’ve came down from your orgasm.

He pulls away from you, finally giving you a chance to breathe. Sitting up on his knees, he watches your chest move with deep heaves and his gaze fell back to your pussy.

And suddenly he felt the impulse to go back down.

Readjusting himself in his sweatpants, he licks his lips to reminisce your taste.

“You okay?” He questions.

“I can’t believe I came that fast,” you said, looking up at the ceiling.

“I mean, that’s normal considering.” He responds.

His voice was an octave lower than usual and it made a gush of wetness made its way down your thighs.

Your body was responsive. Responsive to him. And Ari loved every bit of that.

“Dude where have you been?” Trent asks, sitting down next to Ari in the dining hall.

“I’ve been at practice dude,” “And what? They have overnight practices now?” Trent prods.

When Ari doesn’t respond, Trent huffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever dude. There’s a meeting tonight at 6:30, and if you’re not there, Sam will have your ass.”

“I’ll be there. Relax, man.” Ari states, pretending to read a textbook he had open when he was really watching some guy come up to you at the salad bar.

Once Trent leaves, Ari goes back to watching the entire interaction.

“Hey, you’re one of the supervisors for the training center, right?” The man asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I am.”

You picked up a bowl and used the prong to put lettuce on the bottom.

“Alright, so I’m failing CHEM 212. A buddy of mine said that you helped bump his grade up like 10 points. So I was wondering if you could do the same for me.” He explained, taking a step closer to you which made Ari’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, I don’t tutor anymore. I’m a supervisor now, so I just oversee the tutors that currently work at the center. I can make a suggestion, if you want.”

“No, I don’t want a suggestion. I want you.”

Once Ari sees you take a step back from the man, he jumps from his seat and weaves through the tables until he reached you.

When he got close enough to you, he heard the man say, “Look, why can’t you just make an exception and tutor me?”

“Because she made it clear that she didn’t want to. No means no, dick.” Ari says from behind you.

“What the fuck did you just say?” The man says.

You use the counter top to stabilize yourself. You’re not sure how you’re walking around right now. Not after Ari had his way with you in the shower, not caring if anyone could walk in.

Only to carry you back to your dorm and flipped you over so he could eat it from the back. All before your PSY 101 class.

“You heard what I said the first time,” Ari closes the gap between him and the guy.

He waits until they were chest to chest.

“That’s my girlfriend. Show some fucking respect.” He adds.

“My bad bro, I really need to pass the semester.”

“You should have thought about that before you were an asshole,” Ari states, taking your hand into his and walking the two of you back to the table.

“What?” Ari says when he catches you looking at him once the two of you sat down.

“You called me your girlfriend,” you said, popping a cherry tomato in your mouth.

“Let’s be honest, sweetheart. You became my girlfriend the minute l found out how you tasted,” he eyes you as he takes a swig of his Coke.

He didn’t miss the way you pressed your legs together when he licks his lips after sipping his drink.

He leans closely to ask, “Did you want to take the salad to go?”

#ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #black!reader

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

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History Repeating 2/2

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, sexual themes (oral sex, fingering, public sex)

Rafe’s eyes never left you as you get called to and fro the minute you stepped foot at the fundraiser event.

He’s always respected your career as an event coordinator. It’s not for everyone to be bombarded with questions and problems all day like and still expected to hold your composure.

You do it all with such grace. You barely broke a sweat. He waited patiently at a standing table by the bar with your purse slung over his shoulder proudly.

Once things mellowed down, you glided over to Rafe and he greets you with a quick peck. “Hey, Miss Problem Solver,” he teases.

“Hey,” you said with a satisfied sigh, looking around at your work finally paying off before your very eyes.

“Looks like you’ll need a celebratory drink.” “I can’t drink when I’m on the job, Rafe.”

“Well technically your job is over. Everything is planned out and everyone is drinking and having a good time…” he trails off.

You waited for him to continue and when he doesn’t, you look to find him staring at you. His gaze darkened a little and your mouth felt super dry all of a sudden.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think it’s time you start enjoying yourself,” “But I am enjoying myself,” you defend and he holds your stubborn gaze.

He continues to look at you without saying anything else, his eyes slowly dilated to the size of saucers and the tips of his ears turned red.

Oh.

“Rafe, we’re gonna get caught.” You whispered against his lips as he mindlessly locks the door of the conference room behind the two of you.

“We’ll only get caught if you’re loud,” he mumbles into your neck, tugging at the neckline of your dress for more access.

His warm lips grazed your skin as he kissed up the base of your neck until he reached your lips, placing a long kiss on them.

“You know I’m loud, Rafe.”

“I know,” he says with a proud smile, lifting you on the conference table and pushed your dress up over your waist.

“Rafe,” you warned but it came out as a whimper.

Pulling your panties down your legs and stuffed it into his back pocket.

Going down on his knees, he pulls you to the very edge of the table and your hands found the back of his head as he parts your folds with his tongue.

He flattens his tongue over your bundle nerves, making eye contact with you as he sinks two of his fingers inside of you and curled them upwards. Your legs clenched when the tip of his fingers prodded a gspot.

“Fuck,” you groaned, leaning your head against the table.

Only closing your eyes for a moment, Rafe grumbles against you, sucking at your clit harshly.

“Look at me,” he states, waiting until you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructs, increasing the pace of his fingers as he alternated between kitten licking your clit and sucking at it.

Moving your hips against his face, you feel a knot rapidly building in your stomach. His usual blue, ogate eyes were now a crystal green under the dim lighting.

“M’close, Rafe.” You whimpered and the beautiful man that he was kept the exact pace he was doing your orgasm finally came over you.

You closed your legs around his head in an attempt to push him away but he buckled down, twisting his finger downward making you yelp out.

He laughs against you. “Can never stay quiet can you,” he taunts, pulling away from your overstimulated clit.

Your core throbbed when you see your juices drenching everything from his cheeks on down. Moving up your body, he kisses between your breasts as he twists his fingers inside of you.

Ambitious to pull another orgasm for you, he rubs quick circles on your clit with his thumb while continued to finger fuck you. He knew you were close from how your walls were suctioning in his fingers.

Rafe’s dick was painfully throbbing in his pants at the sounds of your soft moans and wet squelching that echoed through the room.

The band in your stomach broke and you went limp in his arms once your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

A loud moan left your lips once you reached your peak and Rafe concealed the sounds by putting a hand over your mouth.

“Goddamn, Y/N. Shut the fuck up,” he whispers into your ear.

“Sorry,” you mumbled into his hand, sighing when he finally pulled his fingers out of you and sucked them dry.

“You couldn’t have waited until we got home?” you croaked when he took his hand away from your mouth.

Not wanting to leave a mess, Rafe leans back down to lick up you juices from your thighs causing you to whine.

“Nope,” he finally answers after relishing in the way you taste.

He brought you to your feet and pulled your dress down so it covered everything.

When he pulled away from you, your legs gave out on you and you fell back into his chest.

Blinking owlishly at him, your grew frustrated at how incoherent you suddenly became.

This is exactly how Rafe wanted you. Brain fuzzy. Slow blinking. Unable to form sentences. Completely fucked out.

“Let’s go home,”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, lifting you in his arms effortlessly and carrying you outside as you thought of an excuse for you to leave.

#black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #outterbanks

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itsthestutterforme · 7 months ago

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History Repeating 1/2 (Rafe x black!reader)

Summary: You get jealous that Rafe is spending more time with his bros than with you, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, some angst, some fluff

Your face grew hot as you watch the clock turn 7 p.m. A full two hours after what Rafe had promised.

Letting out a long huff, you stood from your chair and took your wristlet in your hand as you made your way to the front to pay for your appetizer and drink.

“No need, madam.” The waitress stated, holding her hand out when you tried to open your wallet.

“I don’t understand,” your eyebrows knitted together.

Before the waitress could further explain, Rafe walks through the door, guilt weighing on his shoulders. You knew exactly what had happened.

“He paid for your meal over the phone,”

“Yeah, I figured.. Thanks.” You gave her a polite smile before walking directly past Rafe and out of the door.

He tried to talk to you as you walked out but you merely held up a hand and continued out of the door anyway.

“Y/N. Come on,” Rafe starts, watching as you opened your wristlet and took out your car keys. “Y/N,” he repeats and you ignored him once again.

When you tried to open the car door, the keys slipped out of your hand and fell to the floor.

You let out an exasperated sigh and crouched down to get the keys but Rafe beat you to it. Taking the keys into his large hand, he offered the keys to you and you snatched them from him.

“Baby, don’t be like this.” You practically stabbed the key hole and unlocked the car door. “Baby-“

“Once- just for once, I wanted you to show up for me and just be here.”

“I know, okay? I fucked up. I lost track of time-“

“I don’t care, Rafe. I genuinely don’t care anymore.” Tears of anger blurred your vision as you sat in the drivers seat.

Rafe catches the door before you had a chance to close it. “You don’t mean that,” he starts, blocking the door from closing with his toned abdomen.

“I do mean it,” you tried your best to seem as angry as you could, but your body betrayed you.

“If you did, you wouldn’t be crying.” He adds, holding the right side of your face with his hand. He wiped away the waterfall of tears that fell when you closed your eyes.

“Let me make it up to you,” “Please,” he begs when you shook your head no.

“I think I need some space for a little while, Rafe.” He slowly dropped his hand from your face, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Is that something you really want?” You took a long pause to compose yourself.

“Yes,”

“For how long?” His heart sank to the pit of his stomach when you shrugged. “Until I’m ready to have this conversation again,” you finally spoke after a long silence.

“I’ll give you a week.” He loosens his grip on the door as he hesitates for a moment.

He dips his head into the car and leans in an inch from your face. His ogate eyes found yours for a few seconds before he examined the rest of your features.

It was like he was trying to memorize as much as he could. “I love you,” he glances down at your lips and steals a kiss from you before you could react.

Once he sees you don’t pull away from him, he holds the sides of your face and kissed you again, this time more passionately. His tongue caressing yours.

A groan turned into a whimper when he bit down harshly on your bottom lip. Your hands took in the collar of his tshirt and balled up the fabric.

When he finally pulled away, he traced your bottom lip with his thumb.

You hated that how quickly you were falling under his spell. A part of you wanted to push him away and shut the door in his face and drive away. Unfortunately, you were not that kind of person.

“I love you too, Rafe. But I mean it- I need a week of space. If you call, I won’t answer.”

“Okay,” he says, hesitantly pulling away from you and closing the door.

You spared him a single look before shifting the car into drive, watching Rafe’s shrink look smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

It’s been five days consecutively that you haven’t been answering Rafe’s texts or calls. You really did mean it when you said you wouldn’t answer his calls.

All his calls went straight to voicemail. His messages were left on delivered.

He had lost digital access to you. You even stopped sharing your location with him.

Most of the day, your phone is on Do Not Disturb unless it’s 9 am. That’s when your Mom typically wakes up and she’ll most likely need you for something.

Did she ghost me? Rafe would ask himself.

Did I go too far this time?

Realistically, he could drive by your house and wait there until you get back home. But that wouldn’t change anything.

If you weren’t anything else, you were true to your word. When you say something, you mean it.

It’s one of the many reasons why Rafe fell in love with you. You were real.

“Hello? Earth to Rafe Cameron.” Topper says, waving his hand in front Rafe’s face.

“What, dude.” He spits at him, annoyed that he was pulled out of his thoughts of you.

“The red head by the bar has been staring at you since we got here. You going to get her number or should I get it for you?” Topper asks, making Rafe roll his eyes.

“I don’t know how many times I need to say this. Me and Y/N aren’t broken up yet.”

“If a chick doesn’t speak to you for five days. It’s a wrap, dude. Come on, you have the be realistic.”

“She’s not just some chick, douche.” Rafe stands from his chair at the sports bar.

“I’m out of here,” he takes a twenty out of his wallet and sets it on the table before leaving the group.

“Their break up is going to hit him hard,” Kelce tells Topper as Rafe walks away.

“Yeah, man. All we can do is wait.”

When Rafe finally leaves the bar, he piles on his dirt bike and slid his helmet on. A thought rattles around in his head.

Sure the tequila shots were partially to blame, but what’s wrong with a little liquid courage?

Before he knew it, he was pulling up into your driveway to find only your car there. Your mom must have left for her vacation already. Which made what he was about to do that much easier.

Taking his helmet off, he shuts off his bike and walks up your driveway. Just as he was about to knock, the door flies open and you rushed out with your portfolio pad in hand and your purse and car keys in the other.

You gasped when you nearly run into Rafe’s chest. Neither of you say anything initially, you just stared at one another.

Rafe thought you looked different. You looked.. stoic, which was something he’s never seen before.

And to you, he looked defeated. Something you’ve never seen before. Both are reactions to the same emotion: hurt. So it looks like you’re learning a new side of each other.

“I’m running late, Rafe. I have to go.” You finally spoke, your voice was leveled and strong.

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just looked at you.

You stepped out of the door way and turned to lock the door. Side stepping around him, you advance down the stairs.

His window of opportunity was closing. He had to do something.

Come on, Rafe. Open up your fucking mouth.

“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he blurts out, causing you to stop in your tracks. Rafe’s chest heaves with frantic breaths.

“Look, I-I want to make this work. My idiot friends want me to find someone else because they think this,” he motions between the two of you. “Is replaceable. And I don’t know much. But one thing I do know is that this is something you only find once.”

He walks down the stairs and around you to stand in front of you.

“Why don’t you want to be like your dad?” You pressed, accepting the fact that you’re going to be late for your event as the event planner.

“Because my dad met the love of his life when he was in college. But he didn’t fight for her. He let her slip through his fingers and years later, she married someone else and built her own family. And the thought of ‘what would have happened if we’ve stayed together’ is always running through his head. He never let it go.” He starts.

“He still says her name every time he gets drunk. She’ll always be the one who got away. I don’t want that to be me- I don’t want that to be us.” He adds, taking another step toward you and you released a shaky breath.

“This is the most you’ve talk about anything,”

His gaze softened at your words, his own eyes searching yours as he contemplated his response.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Five days worth.”

He caressed the apple of your cheek as he held your face in his hands. “I miss you, Y/N. Alright? I miss you so fucking much. I don’t want to start over with anyone else. I want to fix things with you.”

“What was her name? The one your father let get away?” “Y/M/N. Y/M/N Y/L/N.” “What?” You said, a little baffled by the new information.

“My mom was..” you trailed off and Rafe nods. “Did you know about this before we started dating?”

“No, I didn’t. I found out like five months in.”

“It’s like history is repeating itself.” You said. “It’s exactly what’s happening. Except this time, I won’t let you slip away. Because even after my dad met my mom and Rose, nothing compared to your mom.”

“I love you,” you whispered, bringing your hands up to hold his wrists. “I love you too,” he rests his forehead against yours and tears swelled in your eyes.

You silently cursed yourself because you didn’t want to ruin the make up you worked so hard on.

It’s the reason why you were late for the event in the first place- shit.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe questions, watching the gears turning behind your eyes. “I’m so late to my event right now. Um..” you trailed off when you looked into his eyes, slowly getting lost in them.

Snap out of it, Y/N. Damn.

“I have to go to this or else my client will have my ass. But, you’re more than welcome to stay until I come back.” You added.

“I’ll come with. Do you need the help?” “You want to help me coordinate an event?”

“Any time spent with you is time well spent. Where’s it at? I’ll drive you.” He said, taking your car keys in his hands.

#black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #outterbanks

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itsthestutterforme · 8 months ago

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Lovelies, I'm exhausted and in a mood. Indulge with me, if you will.

Warnings: Steve Rogers, explicit sexual content, dry humping, grinding

banner by the talented @cafekitsune

We all know Steve Rogers can fuck for hours, right? Peak condition and all, but can we talk about the flip side and how sensitive he is some days? Just hard for absolutely no reason and he feels like he'll blow his load if you even look in his direction?

So, naturally, you decide to be a little bratty when you see him on the couch trying to hide the massive hard-on he’s sporting. And why wouldn't you play a little? The thought of the commanding, blonde, sculpted super soldier about to burst because of you is just too hot to ignore.

“Aww. Poor Steve. Hard in your pants just because I walked into the room,” you tease as you straddle him, the outline of his cock making you shiver. He's strong enough to push you away, but doesn't. So you take it as an invitation to shove your hips down in a slow, dirty grind. “Let me take care of that for you.”

He grunts, his pretty blue eyes fluttering as you roll your hips. You arch your back when he grips them hard enough that you can feel it in your bones. Other than that, he doesn't move. In fact, he hardly breathes. Because he doesn't want to lose it so quickly.

“Keep doing that and I'll come in my pants,” he grits.

And that makes you double your efforts.

You tug at his hair, biting at his soft lower lip. His eyes are hazy, his breathing heavy. “All the panties you've made me ruin. Only fair I return the favor just this once.” You smirk when his head falls back. “Can you smell how wet I am? Bet you wish you were fucking me. Too bad. You owe me an orgasm first.”

“Sweetheart.” He warns, his voice a bit hoarse, his cheeks flushed. He's beautiful. He’s yours.

“It's okay. You can come. I want you to. Make a mess for me.” Your lips move to his ear to breathe out, “Captain.”

Steve moans your name when you shove your hips down once more and he finally moves. His body shudders and you can't help but smile when you feel the wet patch through the fabric. You made Steve Rogers, Captain America, come in his pants. God, he even whimpers when he’s finally spent.

“Think you can get it up again, old man?” You tease.

Steve may spank you when he bends you over the arm of the couch and makes another mess.

This time inside you.

Nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business! ❤️

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itsthestutterforme · 9 months ago

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Hey guys-

First off, I want to thank each and every one of my followers. All 1,618 of you.

Tbh, this is the largest platform among all of my social media and I’m 1000% happy and content with it.

You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for the feedback and requests.

But long story short- I used writing as a coping mechanism for most of my life. I used to escape from my current life and into whatever reality I wanted. And from there I made stories.

And years later, not only did I start therapy but I met the man of my dreams. I’m in a much better place and I know my younger self would be proud of where I’m at now.

So if you’ve read this far into my little rant, I want you to know that if no one has said it already:

All it takes is one person to start believing in you for you to start believing in yourself. And once that happens, the sky is the limit.

#btwimnotsigningoffofthisapp #imjustgoinginactive #ill still be here #likingandrepostingismainlywhatiwilldo #thanks for coming to my ted talk #byeeeeee

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itsthestutterforme · 9 months ago

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The Jealous Type (Jack Reacher x bartender!reader)

Summary: Reacher isn’t a fan of your job as a bartender. And he has no problem expressing it.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, Reacher is such a simp for reader in this one

Prompt credit @creativepromptsforwriting :“I’m not jealous, I’m being absolutely reasonable,”

O’Donnel watches in amusement as Reacher watches a man lean over the bar as you worked. Every move the man made, Reacher’s eyes followed.

You kept the conversation short and sweet but the guy was hell bent on getting as much information from you as he could.

“Why don’t you just go over there already?” O’Donnel asks, his eyes falling to the glass in Reacher’s hand on the verge of breaking.

He quickly realizes this and set the glass down. The last night he needed was you being upset for breaking one of your glasses.

“Because she didn’t signal me yet,” he responds, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his neck.

“What, are you at her beck and call or something?” O’Donnel teases, earning a glare from Reacher.

“What did Meat Head do now?” Dixon asks as her and Neagley joined the group.

“I’m telling the Big Guy why doesn’t he just go over there and handle it,” O’Donnel explains.

“You guys forget that Y/N was doing just fine before the Big Guy stepped into the picture. She can take care of herself.” Neagley comments.

“Yeah, that was before. She doesn’t need to take care of herself when she’s with me,”

When you and Reacher first started talking, he hoped you were joking when you said you were a bartender.

Once he realized you were serious, he went to your bar as soon as he left his job. He waited around the last fifteen minutes of your shift and drove you home.

As much as you fought it in the beginning, it quickly became a routine for you. Sometimes the special investigators crew would join and other times they wouldn’t.

Regardless, he would be there waiting for you.

The rest of their conversation faded out when you finally looked up from cleaning a glass to meet Reacher’s gaze.

He linked his hands together in front of him while he adjusted in his seat. He was antsy and you knew it but you still shook your head no.

“Who are you shaking your head at, gorgeous?” The man questions, desperately wanting any sliver of attention that he can get.

“My boyfriend,” “Yeah right, you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re just saying that to make me go away,” the man retorts, the bourbon in his breath making you a little nauseous.

“Turn around then tough guy,” you taunt, setting down the glass as an amused smile made its way on to your face.

“Go on,” you encourage, quickly watching the smirk leave the man’s face when he makes eye contact with Reacher’s stone cold gaze.

Reacher stands from his chair and made his way over to the bar. He towers over the man, who says, “What. The. Fuck.”

Reacher doesn’t say a word in response. He didn’t need to.

Watching the beads of sweat trickling down the man’s face, Reacher took it upon himself to flinch at the man, making him cry out and slip out of his chair.

He watched unamused as the man fell flat on the side of his face and struggled to bring himself to his feet.

The regular crowd barely turned their heads at the loud thud as they were used to Reacher running guys out of your bar.

If anything, they knew better than to question it.

Reacher’s shoulders unconsciously relaxed when he heard your giggle.

“What?” He smiles at you, leaning over the bar like the man was doing before.

Leaning in slowly for a kiss, you nearly melt at the touch of his lips grazing your skin.

“You were jealous,” you tease, turning off the TV which were the first sign to your regulars that you were closing.

“I’m not jealous, I’m being absolutely reasonable,” “Reasonable?”

You quirked a brow at him and the two of you looked over the bar at the man who was now passed out on the floor.

You didn’t give him that much to drink so he probably pregamed before he got there.

But he was your problem nonetheless. “I’ll call him a cab,” you said with a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it, Peach. O’Donnel will handle it.”

“Hey! Why am I always the one being volunteered for shit?”

“Because you’re always the one talking shit. Now move it. One foot in front of the other, there you go.” Reacher barks, smiling once again when he hears you laughing.

#jack reacher x black!reader #jack reacher x fem!reader #jack reacher x reader #jack reacher x you #black!reader

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itsthestutterforme · 9 months ago

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Glad You Called 2/2

Summary: Reacher kept something hidden from you for those two years. And it was right under your nose the entire time.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, here’s the part 2 you guys asked for :) @cookiemonsterboss

Any tips for writers block anyone??

Part One

Blowing a long, satisfied breath, you descend down the stairs pressing your locs dry with your towel. You were about to watch an episode of Supernatural when someone sitting on the couch caught your attention.

“What are you still doing up, Reacher?” You said with an annoyed sigh.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said, looking up from the computer he borrowed from Neagley.

“I’m going to watch my show,” you sat down and the couch across from him and took the remote into your hands.

Signing onto Netflix, you scroll down and click on Supernatural, making sure to lower the volume.

You secured your locs tightly in your bonnet you had brought with you when you catch Reacher staring.

He pretends to scroll on the laptop as if you didn’t catch him staring at you seconds before.

It took you all of five minutes of him looking at you through your peripheral for you to speak up.

“Oh my God, just say what you want to say, Reacher.” You finally say, breaking the silence.

“I.. don’t have anything to say,”

“Your eyes are telling me something different.”

“I missed looking at you,” he confessed after a moment of silence.

“Should have thought about that before you ghosted me,” you state, not even bothering to look away from the TV screen.

“It was my choice and I have to live with the consequences. But I never meant to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Bullshit,”

“It’s not bullshit. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving-“

“No, you took the easy way out. I’ve been in enough of these situations to know. But what really burns me to the core?” You finally look away from the TV to glare at Reacher.

“Is that I told you everything about my fear of people leaving. I told you how deep rooted the pain was, and you left anyway.”

“There’s nothing I can do to fix what I broke. I know that.”

“I’m done convincing people that I’m loveable. I’m at point in my life where I prefer to be alone than to have bad company.”

“I know,”

“Then why did you come back?”

“You know why,” he says.

“I know you won’t say it,” you say, standing from your place on the couch.

You crossed over to where Reacher was, barely towering over him even when he’s sitting down.

“I hate you,” you seethe. Hurt flashed across his face and for a moment, you felt guilt nipping at you.

“I could never hate you, Y/N.” He confesses softly, his hazel green eyes searching your Y/E/C ones.

Your face grew hot the longer he stared at you and you finally realize your proximity.

Damn it, why was your heart racing? Why was your body betraying you like this?

“When this is over, I never want to see you again.”

“I respect it,”

You didn’t know how to feel about this. A part of you wanted him to fight back like he did before.

Because at least you wouldn’t feel bad for treating him this way.

Especially since he more than deserved it. The air grew thick with tension and you held his gaze when he slowly stands from the couch, standing in front of you at full height.

You catch him bringing a hand up to caress the side of your face with his thumb.

“You don’t get to come over here talking all soft and think you’re somehow forgiven,” you whisper, your heart skipping a beat when he leans in closer.

“Would you forgive me if I gave you an apology?” He leans in an inch away from your face.

“No,” you body tenses under his touch and your eyes fluttered closed.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” His breath fans against your lips. You could feel a heart racing pattering in your chest.

Everything stood still for a moment. The show playing in background was long forgotten.

Just as your lips were about to connect, you said, “I can’t do this.”

He lets you pull away from him, watching as your legs rushed you up the stairs and into your room.

The door creaks closed and you linked your hands above your head, consequently pacing in your bedroom.

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell were you thinking?

Deciding to give Reacher a piece of your mind, you pulled the door open to find him standing before you, raising a hand to knock on your door.

Turning your walk back inside your room, Reacher took that as an invitation to come in. He closes the door behind him and starts, “I want to confess something.”

Your ears perk at his words, that was a phrase you’ve never heard him say before.

“Okay,” “I’m tired. Tired of being the leader. Tired of needing to fix things all the time. Tired of being strong for everyone else. I haven’t met anyone who really understood that besides you.”

He comes around the bed to where you were, dragging a chair over and spun it around to sit down.

“Aren’t you tired, Y/N?”

“You want to know what I’m tired of?” “I’m tired of the influence you still have on me after all these years. I hate it. But at least it taught me one thing. Never let a man get too close.” You added before he had a chance to answer.

“You think you don’t have an influence over me?” He challenges. “Obviously not, Jack. You left me. That’s as crystal clear of an answer you can get.” You state, noticing the visible wince when you call him by his given name.

He presses his lips together as he contemplates something. You lift a brow, daring him to challenge what you had just said.

He stands up from the chair and took his pocket knife from his boot. Flicking the knife open, he knelt down to and popped out a piece from the wooden leg of your vanity.

He slid his hand into the opening, your heart sank when he took out a navy blue, velvet box.He drops the box into your hand and you brushed off the dust that had collected on the top.

You spared him a glance and he merely crossed his arms, waiting for you to open it. Opening the box, a periodt pear cut diamond ring winked at you under the dim lighting.

“Reacher, don’t tell me this is-“ “I planned an entire getaway trip to New York City where I would have asked you to marry me with that ring.” He interrupts and suddenly your mouth felt dry.

This was your dream ring. This was your dream man. So where did it all go wrong?

“What made you change your mind?” You asked after a brief silence.

“I watched my father deteriorate when my Mom died. I knew that.. one day that would be a possibility. Reacher men have terrible luck,”

“So.. let me get this straight. You left me because you’re worried I might die?” “Yes. And I know how it sounds, but-“

“That’s your first mistake right there, Reacher. You were too caught up in the what ifs that you missed what was right in front of you the whole time: a home- our home.”

“I know,” his your gaze fell back down to the ring in your hands. “You should try it on,” he suggests and you find yourself taking the ring out of the box, hesitantly sliding the band on your ring finger. It even fits perfectly.

“How did you know I wouldn’t throw the vanity away?”

Without a second thought, he closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a warm kiss. His massive hands covered your face as he continued to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you get lost in the way his lips felt against yours. He pulls away just enough for the two of you to get air, resting your forehead against his.

“Because I know you,” he says, caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

#black!reader #jack reacher x black!reader #jack reacher x fem!reader #jack reacher x reader #jack reacher x you

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