#possesive!chris

and he literally has your name tattooed at the bottom of his abs to the left of his v-line in your handwriting

and your initial on the inside of his left wrist (which matches the 'R' on yours)

and you have his name tattooed under your titty. he did it himself

so you've been having a bad week at work, and ransom hates when you're not as happy as you deserve to be, but he gladly takes on the role of your comforting support unit

he takes you out for a date night to get your mind off of your stress and ire. one of those fancy rich-people bars with private booths and dim lighting

the two of you are making a dent in a bottle of expensive champagne, the price of it almost making you cry. but by now, you're used to watching ransom throw his money away

"baby, c'mere," he mutters, patting his leg.

you're already sitting with one of your thighs on his, but it isn't close enough for his liking. he takes hold of your waist and lifts you up onto his lap

"how you feeling, kitten?" he mumbles in your ear, one of his hands slipping up your dress to stroke your thigh while the other is holding the back of your head and gently playing with your hair

"better," you reply honestly, giving him a small kiss on his jaw. "jus' wanna be like this with you forever."

he's tempted to tell you that it's possible - that you could easily quit your job and he'd happily fund your life and spoil you rotten, but the first - and last - time he did suggest such a thing, it ended with the worst argument the two of you have ever had and you didn't speak to each other for a good two days

he doesn't wanna upset you even more and ruin the small progress he has made so far in cheering you up so he bites his tongue

"you have me forever," ransom promises you, giving you an earnest look with those baby blues

"good," you mumble with a small giggle, making his heart soar. your smile has been rare this last week, your laugh even rarer, and he just wants to watch you be joyful all night

of course, nothing is ever that simple

one of the waiters walk into your private booth, making you tense up at the sudden intrusion. though you and ransom weren't doing anything sexual, it still feels like a stranger has violated your privacy by walking in on such an intimate moment

ransom feels you stiffen and his hand leaves your head to clench into a fist. with a glare, he shoots his anger at the waiter. "the fuck do you want?"

the waiter's eyes widen as he stumbles backwards slightly. "i'm sorry, sir, but you have a phone call waiting for you."

ransom tightens his jaw. who the fuck would even know he's at this bar right now?

"do i look like i wanna talk on the fucking phone right now?" he asks the waiter while you clutch onto his shirt, basking in his natural warmth and the smell of his aftershave

"sir," the waiter begins, swallowing thickly. "it's your mother."

of course. that bitch likely called his house, and when he didn't answer, she must have checked his bank records to see where he had made reservations for tonight.

you grimace at the mention of her. linda is incredibly vocal about how much she disapproves of her son's relationship with you, and just the thought of her makes all her insults and dirty looks flash through your mind

ransom is enraged. he can sense that you're uncomfortable from the way you're burying your face in his chest, so he rubs your shoulder soothingly while serving the waiter with a deathly glare. "you tell linda to go eat shit."

the waiter nods once, before making his second mistake of the night

his eyes linger on your body, particularly your bare upper thighs, unable to peel his gaze away as his adam's apple bobs

ransom has hit his limit - which isn't very high in the first place

"you fucking kidding me right now?" ransom booms, wrapping his arm around your waist. "get your fucking eyes off my girl."

the waiter looks terrified that he got caught, and quickly averts his gaze. "i'm ever so sorry, sir, i wasn't-"

"i don't give a fuck about your 'sorry'," ransom spits while you toy with his buttons. "take another glance at her and i'll cut your fucking eyes out. got it?"

the waiter nods quickly. "i got it, mr. drysdale. it won't happen again."

ransom shoots him another menacing look, while his fingers tangle in your hair. "bring us a bottle of bulleit, and then i never wanna fucking see your face again for the rest of the night."

"yes, sir," the waiter obeys before leaving the booth

once he's gone, you let out a giggle, looking up at your man. "you were so mean to him, ran."

ransom rolls his eyes before tilting his head down and giving you a heavy kiss, almost as though he feels a strong need to remind you that you're his.

"i shouldn't have let him off so easy," he grumbles. "and the next guy that tries looking at you as if you're his to look at, won't get away unscathed."

"in that case," you begin, stroking your fingers through his hair. "i probably shouldn't tell you about the new guy at work."

his face drops and his eyes darken, his grip on your waist instinctively tightening. "give me his address."

a wide smile grows on your lips and you give him a sweet peck. "let's enjoy tonight first. thank you for taking me out, baby."