#Knives Out x Reader

[munsster]

take me to church

A/N: i am down ASTRONOMICALLY for big men who are also whiny babies (gif creds: @mulderscully)

Pairing: Hugh “Ransom” Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Drysdale heir gets on his knees for his darling goddess. 3.0k words

Warnings: smut mdni, switch!ransom, switch!reader, degrading, worship, slapping, pet names (princess, puppy, sweetheart, honey, baby, angel), gentle slapping, religious references (mainly catholic), overuse of italics xoxo

"You should know your place by now, Drysdale."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't whine, you sound like a baby," you groan. Just a moment ago, you had slammed his bedroom door shut tight, and all six feet of him had whipped around with the meanest scowl on his face. He's big, sure, but you've got leverage on his heart. It kills him the way you snap into place between his ribs with, god, the prettiest laugh he's ever heard. He'd never admit it, though. Least of all to you.

And he knows he's nothing but an insect under your heel, yours to shatter and reconstruct. He gets a rush in your presence. He has never been so intimidated by someone with such a sweet smile. Such a gentle soul but the worst sadist he's ever held close. Worse than himself.

"You think you stand a chance, don't you?"

You're like a roman candle with how unpredictably fiery you are. Yesterday, it was being stuck in traffic down the ninety-five. Tomorrow, it'll probably be some coworker's silly mistake. Tonight, you simply came home angry. That's it. You need a release, and there he is. Dark hair ungelled and messy but pushed back and flawless still, standing like a statue and at your mercy. You're set off, the wild look in your eye setting him off.

"I'm all yours, princess, tell me what you want," he coos so sweetly you could melt, but you never ever would. It'd boost his ego and splinter his edges. He'd get worse. And what you give him is discipline. Patience for his inner child. Medicine for his deepest wounds.

"On your knees, puppy."

He does. Without one single thought. Every iota devoted to your demands. With a thud, he's at your feet, lamenting his own devotion when your hands preen through his hair.

You're his heaven and hell and all the bits in between. He's a shrine to your love, a glimmering reflection in the pool of your heart. And he's grown oh-so-narcissistic these past few months.

"What to do with my poor boy," you whisper because he pouts, not a single change to his expression, but he sinks in on his own body, deflating at the core. You coddle him. "Oh, I know."

He hates your mystery. Because it's no secret what you're up to. It's no longer mystery with a grin like that. He shifts and settles his big hands onto your thighs, pushing up to hold your waist tentatively.

"Please, sweetheart, anything."

"Hugh, you know exactly how I feel about begging." You hold his chin and lean close. So close blood pumps through his ears and drowns out his panic. Yeah, his cock is hard, but it's no rival to his blown pupils and needy hands that tug the waistband of your slacks.

"Keep going," you say against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip and sucking until he whines and digs his fingertips into your skin. The heat of your palm blows over his cheek as you strike him. Gently, though. Just a kiss of your fingers on his skin, and he blushes. No way in hell would you hit him—harm him without permission. He has to admit though: he'd like the sting if it was your doing. For it would be his unraveling and a blessing all the same.

"Princess, sweetheart, come on, I can give you everything," he huffs, grasping desperately for you, at anything within his insatiable reach, "Just say the word, please, honey, you gotta understand: I worship you."

"Oh, I understand plenty, pet. Why don't you prove it?"

He stands from the floor like a ghost fulfilling his final purpose in your hands. His body is so ardently belonging it's sickening. To be yours is a rite amongst the holy and yet you bring the sin out of him. All seven, splayed out like a deck of cards across his thieving brain.

"You Boston boys think you're so scary. All that east coast charm just pourin' outta you. You couldn't scare a newborn. What makes you so special, huh?"

"You."

Your breath seizes. Every nerve alight with his warm hands crawling over your torso and his cheeks pink. Your boy has never been so forward. Not like this. Not ever. His eyes gleam like he's never witnessed such beauty and wickedness up close. Like he's never seen a mirror.

You stare at him, incredulous of his charisma, his grace. He is sure of one thing though: whatever you are will kill him, but wouldn't that be the best poison?

"You have no idea," Ransom whispers. He tosses your shirt aside and unbuttons your pants. And you let him. Sincerely, you are taken aback and breathing in awe. He is filled to the bones with your light, blood replaced by lust. He needs nothing else besides your soul. Your wicked hands.

Then he kisses you. Like he could lose you to the abyss if he let go for even one moment. With saliva spun from his tongue and delving into yours, but soft and kind and to feel the familiarity of your warmth. He becomes pliant, knowing with clear certainty he is a lonely boat and you are a raging sea only lying in wait to rip him to shreds.

And yet he sails willingly. Blissfully.

"You know," you mumble against his fervent mouth. "You'd be so handsome if you weren't desperate." Though, he doesn't stop to listen. He's too dissatisfied. He needs the taste of you and the half-glass of wine you downed in the kitchen. It tingles in his mouth, bitter and recherché, the best he could find. For his goddess, he'd pay with his life.

If you truly meant the things you said to him out of frustration, he would still promise you every ounce of starlight in the sky. If you truly meant every insult, he would still beg and pine and bleed to be called yours. He'll be a disgrace as long as he is your disgrace.

And he knows you're lying when you tell him things like that. As if someone so lovely as you would consider some lowlife like him if he weren't the finest looking asshole in northern Massachusetts. Worship is an exchange of grace. It's not a one way street, no. It's an intersection. God must love his mortals or they would not be his.

"Hugh."

He pulls back and squints. You call him that when: one, you're pissed off, or two, you're about to fuck the living daylights out of him and leave him destitute and longing for days. Either way, he wins.

"My angel... my beloved... my one. What can I do for you?"

Each endearment peppered with kisses along your throat. He sweetens it up because he's smitten and wants what you give him every time: pain.

"If only I could use you like the poor beggar you are," you say, condescending in that way he goes mad for. And he grins.

"Please?"

Say no more, you tug his hair without any sense of remorse and no gauge for his pain. Anyway, his tolerance is boundless when he's with you. He tilts his head back, neck bare and Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. Out of fear or pleasure, he can't tell. But he gives you that cheshire smirk, and it all dissolves down into his affinity for your touch.

You trace the column of his throat and press your tongue to his jaw, sucking at the skin to mark him. And he wishes you would do it all over and everyday. He is nothing if not yours. When you leave little bruises, he gets to be told even when you're away.

"You're incorrigible," you pant against his warm skin that pulses with cold blood. "Look at you, so so needy. Trust-fund-fuck-toy, little no good dolly, hmm? Need someone to tell you what to do so you don't rot away."

Something like a growl blooms in his chest, though it feels like a purr when he goes slack and leans into your touch. You're always taken aback by his antics, but you've never let on about it until now. With eyes wide, you're spoon feeding him abuse, and he's taking it without the airplane noises. He slips easily into your submission, and you're stunned. Even now, after all you've put him through.

"Ransom," you whisper into the little indentation at the base of his neck. He hums. Your fingers comb through his hair, and he shivers with delight. We create false gods to pass time and worship them all the same. He is yours, and you are his, and it will be that way until the end of time.

"On the bed. Now."

He jitters with excitement, only still under your scrutiny, and manages to drop his sweatpants into a crumpled pile at his feet. You dare not look down. You don't have to. You know he's not wearing his usual briefs: crisp white and snug around the muscle of his thighs. You know because he hisses when the cold, autumn air sidles along his cock. Doesn't matter. He'll warm up nicely once he gets inside you.

For now, he sloppily kisses the bow of your lips and slumps to the bed, breathing heavy with his back to the headboard. He's loud and yet untouched. You'd think he ran a marathon. Or six.

"Join me," he grumbles, scratching his knee before slowly dragging his blunt nails up and up and—then his fingers are wrapped around his cock. Nothing in comparison to any ounce of what you've given him before. The best sex of his life stands clad in panties with her arms crossed. Brooding over his weak body. "Princess?"

"Shut up. Let me get a good look at you, pretty boy." You hold his chin between thumb and forefinger. Between head and heart, he lies steadfast and boyish in the wake of your warmth. His strength is drained by your every touch. You render him incapable, but he's the one built far above and toned like the shaft of a power drill. You can fit your fingers perfectly into his divots, and all is restored. Turn his house into a home so long as you keep looking at him like he's a work of art.

"Ransom, what're you thinking about?"

And then again, you hold him so so gently, he'd think he was precious. Beyond value, even. What is value anyway. His gauge will always be whether you want him or not. His value is subjective to you. Forever and always, he may be a dreadful Catholic, but he’s well-versed in your scripture.

"What do I ever think about? Other than your sweet pussy," he mumbles and cups his palm between your legs, fingertips slow and circuitous around your covered clit. "Come on, princess, I know you want it. I can tell she needs me. Give in."

You've gotten good at being angry with Ransom, so good it's hard to remember his softness. The assailant of his soul often outsmarts the gentleman. But once in a while, he shines through the cracks beside his eyes when he smiles. So genuine, it's hard to deny. Not now, though.

Now, he reads troublemaker loud and clear.

You straddle his hips, and he gargles down a throat-clawing moan. Oh, you're horrible. A fist around his cock, you tug the crotch of your underwear to the side and slick his tip between your folds. You manhandle and taunt him, and yet he's never been this hard. He's gonna need painkillers for the headache you rattle him with.

"Who needs who again?"

He could cum. In fact, he would burst if he wasn't clenching his fingers through the sheets: tight enough to draw blood between the linen and from the heel of his palm. He's withholding because of your withholding. He won't last like this. And he's going fucking crazy.

"God—fuckin' damnit—gorgeous, baby, you're killin' me. Huh—fuck—'s that what you want?" He groans, head thrown back against the headboard.

"Be careful, Hugh. I can be a lot less nice if you want," you grumble with teeth scraping the edge of his jaw when you kiss his skin. And he wants. Oh, he wants you—with every fiber of his wicked being—to be mean. But he'd also die every which way to be your good boy. He slips his fingertips beneath the underwire of your bra, weaseling his palm to cup your supple breast.

"I'm being careful," he says, "so careful. Wouldn't wanna hurt my babygirl." You grab his jaw hard as he pinches the bud of your nipple with a grin.

"You're the worst, Drysdale."

"You love me."

"I love using you."

He stills. Then lifts his head. Of course. Of course. He suspected it, sure, but never has he wanted you to take back what you said like he does now. His body aches for you nonetheless. He shatters into pieces for you. Of course you love it. But not him.

"Take it back," he mutters.

"Hmm? I can't hear you—"

Ransom wraps his arms flush around your waist to hold you against him like a crime. Your smirk melts away hot and fast at the frown on his pretty face.

"You love me. Say it, princess, you love me." A sinner in every degree, he's begging. His repentance is you. If only you'd forgive his wounded pride. You press the pad of your forefinger to his chin and look down on him like a god. Like he's a sacrifice.

"Oh, Hugh. You don't know the first thing about love."

"But you do. And you love me. Please, love me," he huffs. You lick his wet bottom lip like a cat, stray and rabid and curling into his warmth with the sun long gone.

"I'll show you love, pretty boy. Like you've never felt it before."

And you sink onto him; he nearly loses all control beneath you, squirming and grabbing at anything he can reach. Needy as babies often are, only he is fully grown and you both know it. Though his whining might prove otherwise. 

"Jesus—Jesus Christ, that's—that's—keep going." His hips jerk up off of the mattress with every pulse of your walls clamping around his shaft. His body is so limp and yet so tense, he could explode. He wants nothing more than to make you his: to fill you so deeply he's there for months. Nine, maybe.

You mewl. Holy shit, the prettiest noise he has every heard, you mewl. Like a newborn fawn, ever fair and fragile, only graced by sweat and heavy breaths. His eyes snap open to see your back arched, palming at his wrists with your eyes fluttered closed. He licks his lips, then kissing your navel wetly, he watches you coyly through his lashes.

Your fingers scratch at his scalp while he bounces you on his pulsing cock. Every vein, every subtle undulation, you feel slipping out of you just to slip back in. Yanking his hair, he pants, and you purr again at his body's rough reaction. His hips jolt, and you grin with your lip content between your teeth.

His hands are so big, and you're so soft, and there's nothing he can do but worship and sanctify your hallowed and celestial body. Ethereal. You are of literature, written as an angel, halo and all. A blade of light piercing a thick blanket of clouds, shedding calm on his broken heart. And he's a pagan of your beauty. 

At this point, he accepts it. He wouldn't mind being nothing more than a doll to you. Because you still chose him. He's still your doll, once all is said and done. And his pulse steadies from a raging pounding to a heavy beat in his ears, rushing through his bloodstream like narcotics.

"Feel so good, princess, all tight 'n warm for me. All mine," he groans. Eyes shut, you breathe in the soft slapping of damp skin, and he savors the way you drip down his inner thigh. "My little vice, all wrapped 'round my cock. So good to me, aren't you? Atta girl."

You crane your neck forward and clench your jaw. Your thrusts grow slow and deep and reaching as the warmth drains from your head and you clench his shoulder with eager fingers.

"C'mon, we both know how bad she want it. Fuckin'—can feel you squeezing me, angel." He pats your thigh, and the vein on his neck goes red hot about to burst.

Then you go weak in his palms. It's your turn to be used while he lets you wring his cock for dear life. He glides you in slow up down, up down strokes and spills into you, plugging you tight as you keep him struggling for air.

You nudge the tip of your nose against the soft part of neck beneath his chin. The softest part of Ransom Drysdale—besides the spot reserved in his little heart for you, his dove. You press, and he swallows and syncs to your every movement. From the bat of your eyelashes to the ample exhales of your parted lips.

"I love you, Ransom."

He goes dizzy.

"What?"

"I love you."

You lift your head, dead serious with fingers ticking along his expanding chest. He grins, dopey and elfish and needy. And shifts his hip. You gasp at the blood flowing hard into his cock once more.

"Say it again," he grumbles.

"I love you."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do. Now you're gonna scream it till the neighbors do, too." You're sure of one thing and one thing alone. Ransom Drysdale has always been true to his word. That's how you end up with his hand around your throat and your fingers in his mouth.

masterlist

[untilnextchapter]

Monthly Fanfictions Recommandation: October'23

Here are my best discoveries from the last weeks:

🍬 The Authors

@astonishment : First thing first, I love this Author so much. Mal is so sweet and always there to answer to Anon and followers. If you have any question or thought, don't hesitate to tell. About the stories, you will love them. Even if all stories aren't my thing (I love your writing sweetie but Time Turner is really not my thing), You're Losing Me is a masterpiece, like really. I can't stop reading it and your style is just so sweet and fluid. It's always a pleasure to read from you. Keep on the hard work, and really don't hesitate to check this amazing Human Being.

@astrophileous : You're looking for a great and unique Criminal Minds writer? I think you would enjoy Zara. She's so sweet and adorable. And her story Love Bugs is so sweet. It's pretty rare to find good Derek Morgan stories, and even more series. Gosh I love you and your writing style so much. And you're always so quick to reply and tag your fans.

@secretswiftymarvelfan : Okay, so I discovered I'm just so weak for Chris Evans and his characters (as I'm writing this I'm watching "Knives Out", again). And with this blog and author, my thirst is satisfied. I haven't read all your works, there're so much of them (bless you). Your style is pure and it's always a pleasure to read anything from you. You write with your heart and thank you for sharing it with us!

@once-upon-an-imagine : Ooookay, here we are. As we do say in French, c'est mon petit bonbon! My new comfort blog and author. I love them. I could spend hours to read Harry Potter stories, I won't be able to share all my favourite because I loved every single one I read. It's just perfect, one shots like series. I wish I could have more breaks to read more from them. If you love Harry Potter, Marauders Era like Golden Era, you won't be disappointed I promise you! Thank you for sharing you stories with us, it's always a pleasure!

@pagesoflauren : Lauren is a wonderful author. Hear me out, her writing is flawless and her ideas are really original. I could spend hours on this blog too. Another wonderful temple of Chris Evans characters. I won't say a lot, just go and check her amazing works and tell her how brillant she is. Like really.

@supernatural-jackles : My Supernatural daily dose~ My lastest Supernatural discovery and I wasn't disappointed. Much more stories for Dean but the Sam ones were cute too. I melt with "Fake Yours". My God. It was perfect. Like really. And mostly, if you just want a little Dean one shot, just go check Jen's masterlist, you will have a good time.

🍭 The Stories

* = Smut (Minors DNI) || 🦋 = Series || Beware of the TW please

You’re Losing Me 🦋 || @astonishment (J𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 P𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗑 R𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, R𝖾𝗆𝗎𝗌 L𝗎𝗉𝗂𝗇 𝗑 R𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, Hanahaki AU, 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽…𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋? 𝖮𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽?)

Why Didn’t We Work Out? || @/astonishment (James Potter x Reader, 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴. 𝘠/𝘕 𝘠/𝘓/𝘕, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴; 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘌𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘴, 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰’𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴…)

At Arms Length 🦋 || @/astonishment (Remus Lupin x Reader, 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝗆𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇. 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗍𝗁.)

Love Bugs * 🦋 || @astrophileous (Derek Morgan x Reader, You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?)

Best Friend’s Brother * 🦋 || @secretswiftymarvelfan (Chris Evans x Reader, You and Scott have been best friends ever since you were 10, meeting at summer camp. Being best friends with Scott means you know his family very well, especially his older brother. After a failed attempt at dating Chris when you were 18, when you move to LA for a job will you and Chris grow close again. What would the world think? and most importantly what would Scott think?)

evermore 🦋 || @/secretswiftymarvelfan (Steve Rogers x Reader, Stuck in a marriage that seems to have dried what happens when you meet a down to earth painter at a party. Will you allow yourself to fall in love even though your heart is promised to another?)

Memory Served * 🦋 || @/secretswiftymarvelfan (Ransom Drysdale x Reader, Following a terrible accident, every memory you ever made was gone leaving you to try to piece together what happened) (Val's note: beware the TW for this one, really well written but ask Niamh if you have any question)

Dear Prudence || @once-upon-an-imagine (Remus Lupin x Potter!Reader, You have always lived in your brother’s shadow. You have never really minded but Remus does. So he always does whatever he can to show you that to him, you will always be number one.)

Some Kind Of Wonderful || @/once-upon-an-imagine (James Potter x Reader, You and James have been friends since you were born. Over the years, the friendship grew to love on your side. However, you know that he only has his eyes and heart set on someone else; Lily Evans.)

What Was I Made For? || @/once-upon-an-imagine (James Potter x Black!Reader, Growing up in your home as a Hufflepuff was even worse than when your older brother was placed in Gryffindor, making your parents not even acknowledge your existence anymore. Or your birthday. So, when James promised to change that, you try to not get your hopes up because you knew he would also forget it. And he does)

Hanging By A Moment 🦋 || @/once-upon-an-imagine (Charlie Weasley x Reader, Your best friend Percy convinces you to go home with him for the holidays and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend since he’s not out to his family. You accept, wanting to help your friend and thinking it shouldn’t be hard, right? That is until you meet his very much attractive, older brother, Charlie)

Thank You For Loving Me || @/once-upon-an-imagine (Spencer Reid, There were three little words that you and Spencer had yet to say. For five months, the two of you still hadn’t found the right moment to say it. And now, Spencer fears it might be too late)

Ride & Prejudice * 🦋 || @pagesoflauren (Steve Rogers x Reader Cowboy AU, A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job)

The Highest Bidder * 🦋 || @/pagesoflauren (Ransom Drysdale x Reader, A graduate-level education is a costly pursuit. When you move out of state to study in Boston, expenses pile up, leading you to auction off what is apparently your most valuable asset: your virginity. It goes to the highest bidder…who happens to be Ransom Drysdale)

Fake Yours * 🦋 || @supernatural-jackles (Dean Winchester x Reader AU, Your brother is getting married to one of your best friends, and you’re the maid of honour. Your horrible mother is on your case about showing up with a date, as you ex, the best man, has moved on. Your only option is to beg the stranger who took you home, to pretend to be your boyfriend until the wedding is over. How much pretending did you really have to do to convince them all it was real?)

Wrong Number * 🦋 || @/supernatural-jackles (Dean Winchester x Reader,  Taking a break from studying, your best friend Jess and her boyfriend Sam give you the number the bartender left for you. You decide to take a chance and give them a call, not expecting who’s number it is)

She’s Quiet and I Love It || @/supernatural-jackles (Sam Winchester x Reader, Sam falls for the quiet reader, she helps patch him up and she finally speaks)

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

Take It Out On Me

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Wife!Reader

Summary: After Ransom finds out that he’s been cut from Harlan’s will, you offer to let him take out his frustrations on you. 

Warnings: SMUT, consensual somnophilia (reader leaves a note giving consent), some anal play, rough unprotected sex, facefucking, oral (male receiving), degrading language, mentions of murder. 

A/N: I just got around to watching Knives Out and Ransom totally stole the show for me. I’ve never been much of a Chris Evans girl until this movie. Now I am all in. Hope you enjoy lovelies!

“That’s why I smoke weed!” Fran finishes her story with an obnoxious laugh to which you simply force a smile and nod. As your eyes flick around the room you plot your escape. You suddenly spot Richard and Linda standing across the parlor looking bored. Surely they would offer some safety from this drag of a conversation. 

“Well, it’s always good to chat with you Fran. I’m gonna go bother my in laws for a few.” You add with a chuckle, trying to maintain the humor as you step away. The moment you do you can feel your face drop into a scowl. It would be an understatement to say that you didn’t enjoy spending time with your husband’s family. These were the most disingenuous people you had ever had the displeasure of spending time with. The only reason you put up pretenses was for the sake of your husband and even he didn’t like them all that much.

“Richard. Linda.” You greet them formally. As you do you extend a hand to them which they reluctantly take. It was no secret that they weren’t your number one fans. When Ransom brought you home to meet them it had been awkward to say the least. See, you didn’t come from money like Ransom did. Your family had always been poor. Therefore his parents felt you were “wrong” for him. Snobs. You thanked your lucky stars that Ransom didn’t give a shit what his family thought or else you might never have gotten married.

“How are things, Y/N?” Linda asked with false interest. Before you could answer her half hearted inquiry you were interrupted by the sound of your husband’s booming voice coming from the study. 

“Are you goddamn insane?” Everyone in the room stopped, turning in the direction of the yelling. Shortly after, the door to the study came flying open and you saw Ransom grab his coat and storm for the front door. He was out of the house before you could blink. 

“Well, thank you for a lovely party. Excuse me.” You said to them both before rushing to the front hallway, snatching your coat off the rack, and following your husband out of the house. When you stepped onto the porch Ransom was already in his Beemer, impatiently waiting. You ran down the front steps and flung the car door open, quickly fastening yourself into your seat as he sped out of the driveway. He drove way too fast, completely silent. It wasn’t difficult to tell he was absolutely seething. Ransom had always been prone to anger but whatever his grandfather told him really had him pissed off. 

“Are you gonna tell me what just happened?” 

“No.” He said frankly, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

“Maybe I should drive.” You suggested. 

“I’ve got it.” He said, brushing off your concern. It felt like it only took half the time it normally did before the two of you were home. Ransom didn’t wait up for you as he made his way inside, leaving you standing outside by yourself. You followed him into the house, dropping off your things in the doorway. When you found him he was sitting on the couch in the living room, bouncing his leg rapidly.

More than anything, you just wanted to make him feel better. You hated seeing him like this. However, you knew he needed time. With a deep sigh you walk over to stand in front of him before leaning down to give his cheek a small peck. As you start to walk away he catches your wrist in his hand, stopping your movements.

"I'm gonna make this right. I promise." You didn't know what he was referring to since you had only caught the tail end of his and Harlan's conversation. However, you knew that he always kept his promises.

"I know you will." You reassure him before walking away, heading back for the bedroom. After his heartfelt words you half expected him to follow you but he didn't. He stayed seated on the couch, folding his hands in his lap. He watched you leave the room. As soon as you were gone, he headed for the front door. It wouldn’t be the first time he had left the house without a word. He was sure that you would hear the door opening and closing but he couldn’t let that stop him. What he had to do next was essential. 

The plan had formulated in his head on the drive home. There was an overwhelming sense of clarity in his mind as he realized what he must do to reverse his grandfather’s actions. He had to, not just for himself but for you. Without that inheritance he wouldn’t be able to keep you in comfort and luxury. Therefore, he was going to do what was necessary to make sure that money ended up in his hands. 

It felt like it took forever for him to arrive at his grandfather’s home. He had parked his car out of sight of the security cameras and hiked up towards the house, making sure to avoid the muddy paths along the way. Everything fell into place like clockwork. When he had finally reached the trellis on the side of the house he scaled it effortlessly, sneaking in through the secret passage in the hall. His grandfather’s study wasn’t far from there. As soon as he stepped inside he searched for Marta’s medical bag. It wasn’t hard to find, as she just left it next to the door. Setting the bag on the floor he rummaged through it to find his grandfather’s medications. This was the easy part. All he had to do was switch the liqiud in each of the bottles and he would be home free. Once he had finished he snuck out back the way he had come. Just as he was about to leave he spotted his great grandmother through the window. “Ransom? Are you back?” She inquired, eyes glazed over. He didn’t answer her, running back down the path towards his car. As soon as he was settled in his seat he peeled out of the woods and back down the road. 

His heart pounded and he was heaving with the adrenaline as he made his way back home. Home to you. His loving wife. As he thought of you he wasn’t able to help the stirring in his pants. His cock twitched as he thought about pressing you down into the mattress and fucking you within an inch of your life. On nights like this when his blood boiled with anger, all he ever wanted was to fuck you relentlessly. It was one of the only things that could calm him. Both of you knew this. It was almost like tradition. Whenever you saw him steaming in rage you would know to drop to your knees and start sucking his cock like a good girl. He wondered if you would do the same for him tonight or if you’d be asleep when he got home. After carrying out his devious plan it had gotten pretty late. He wouldn’t be surprised if you’d already made your way to bed. However, he hoped that you would be waiting up for him. He needed to feel your tight pussy wrapped around him right now more than anything. 

Soon enough he was pulling into the driveway. When he made his way into the house it was pitch black, save for a single hallway light. The light led him towards the bedroom where he optimistically opened the door. However, to his dismay, you were in bed. This only served to stoke the flames of his frustration as he closed the door behind him. There was a lamp still on beside the bed. You must have been too tired to remember to turn it off. He went to do so for you when something caught his eye. There was a note on the night stand. He picked it up, holding it in the lamplight so that he could read it.

“I know it’s been a hard day. I wanted to make sure you were well taken care of. I know I fell asleep before you got home but don’t let that stop you from getting what you need. All that frustration ... take it out on me. My body is yours to use as you see fit. Check under the blanket for a surprise. Love, Y/N.” 

Ransom furrows his brow for a brief moment, unsure if he should take the bait or not. You’re facing away from him on the bed, completely covered in your large warm comforter. With a tentative hand, he pulls the blanket off of you. When he does his eyes widen and a breath catches in his throat. You’re totally naked underneath. What’s more, he spots something else that captures his attention. With a wicked grin, he notices that there is a butt plug secured inside your tight little asshole. The sight of you like this causes his cock to harden instantly. He’s nearly busting out of his pants as he takes a step closer to the bed, thoroughly enjoying the view. 

Reaching out towards you he runs a hand down your back and over the curve of your ass. Your skin is so soft beneath his hands and it causes him to groan lowly as he hikes your leg a little higher to get a good look at your sweet pussy. It glistens in the lamplight, already so creamy and wet from the dirty dreams you’re probably having right now. “God you are so fucking good to me.” He mumbles. 

With two fingers he traces a line through your slick folds, gathering up some of your wetness. Unable to contain himself, he lifts his fingers to his lips and sucks on them. The taste of you makes his cock twitch. He lowers his hand to your cunt, dragging his fingers through your pussy lips again. Your wet fuckhole weeps, begging for his attention. Who was he to deny you? Nudging at your entrance he eases his two fingers inside of you, fucking you gently. That’s when he curls his digits upwards, finding your g-spot. He knows how much you love it when he massages the soft spongey flesh there. If you were awake he knew you’d be arching your back and whining loudly. Instead, you whimper lightly as he strokes your insides. 

“Do you like that? You like it when I love on your special spot baby?” He mocks you, knowing the answer. That’s when the glint of the lamplight catches on the shiny butt plug, stealing his attention. The button on the end was a cute pink heart jewel. The two of you had picked it out together. You only used it for special occasions. Even if you were oblivious to the fact, tonight was just such a night. Within the next few days the two of you would have more money than you would know what to do with. That was cause for celebration. And he was going to celebrate by abusing all of your tight holes. 

Taking a firm hold of the end of the butt plug he begins pulling, watching the bulbous tip stretch open your hole. This tears a whine from your lips as he pushes it back inside of you. He continues that movement slowly, in and out of your tight asshole. All the while he continues to fingerfuck your tight cunt. Feeling a sudden surge of cruelty he yanks the butt plug out of you with a pop. This is enough to make your eyes snap open, a hard gasp ripping through your chest as you take in all the sensations of waking up like this. 

“Good morning my darling wife. How did you sleep?” He asks however you are not able to respond, overwhelmed by the feelings of his fingers and the plug moving in and out of you at the same pace. Now that you’ve opened your eyes he doesn’t hesitate to be rougher, fucking you in earnest. As much as you love what he can do with his fingers you crave more. You need his cock inside of you. 

“Ransom--” He cuts you off with another harsh yank of the plug. 

“What’s the matter baby? Am I fucking you too good? Can’t finish your sentence? That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I know what you want. And you’re gonna get it. Of course, how can I say no to that sweet little face?” He says, dripping with condescension. However, you couldn’t care less. All you want is the feeling of him inside you. 

“Please.” Is the only word you’re able to get out. Ransom doesn’t need to hear anymore though. He’s happy to oblige you.

“Why don’t you get comfy baby?” He asks as he begins peeling off layers of clothing. You do as he says, scooching onto your back and laying in the middle of the bed. As soon as he’s completely naked he climbs up onto the bed, nestling himself between your legs. Taking his cock into his hand he rubs the head up and down through your folds. The feeling of your slickness makes him groan deeply as he nudges up against your entrance. “God, you’re going to feel so good wrapped around my cock. I’m gonna take out all my frustrations on this little pussy baby. Do you want that? You want my cock?” 

“Yes. Please.” You whimper, squirming closer to him. 

“Don’t worry baby girl. You’re gonna fucking get it.” With that he pushes the tip inside of you, easing his fat cock into your tight wet hole. “Oh fuck. That’s it. Such a good girl.” He praises you as he shoves himself in the rest of the way, burying himself balls deep inside of you. The fullness that you feel makes your mouth gape as you take him. Your back arches as you try to work your hips further into him. No matter how good he fucks you, you always want more. 

“Harder please.” This makes a wicked grin spread across his face. 

“Oh, you want me to fuck you harder baby? I should have fucking known, you being the little slut that you are. Don’t you worry your dumb little head. I’m just getting started.” He doesn’t move any faster, content to take his time and move at his own pace. This causes you to whimper loudly as you try to get his attention, begging him for what you want. However, it’s all to no avail. 

“If you keep whining like that I’m gonna stop fucking you altogether. Is that what you want? Huh? Do you want me to stop?” 

“No!” You burst out and he nods his head. 

“That’s what I fucking thought. So shut your mouth and take what I give you.” To this you give small sheepish nod and simply lay back against the pillows, letting Ransom go as slowly as he pleases. With each thrust you feel more and more full, feeling the head of his cock easing against your cervix. Your back arches off the bed when he indulges you with a particularly hard thrust. He begins to shift his hips, moving in just the right way so that he hits your sweet spot with his tip each time he thrusts in and out. This causes you to moan loudly, unable to control yourself when he’s digging into the perfect spot which makes you explode with pleasure. As he pushes into your g-spot over and over again you feel a familiar coil building in your stomach. Just as you feel the coil ready to snap and send you over the edge, he pulls out of you. You whimper shamelessly and in response, he clamps a hand over your mouth to stop your noises. 

“I told you to shut up. Since you don’t know how to follow a simple order, I’m gonna help you.” Taking his hand away from your mouth, he scoots up the bed until his thick heavy cock is resting against your face. “Go on sweetheart. Put my big fat dick in your mouth. That’ll shut you up.” You obediently open your mouth, starting by licking the tip. A bead of precum leaks out onto your tongue and you swallow it greedily. Ransom’s eyes stay concentrated on you as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it as you swirl your tongue around him. “Come on, you can fucking take more than that.” He says, prompting you to open wider and take more of him into your mouth. Your tongue licks lazy patterns on the underside of his cock as you bob your head up and down. A deep groan leaves his lips as you push your head as far down on his dick as you can, feeling him against the back of your throat. Pulling off with a pop you catch your breath before quickly returning to suck his cock. You push him down your throat each time, nuzzling your nose into his lower stomach. 

“God, that’s good. All the way down, just like that. You’re such a good little cocksucker baby.” Ransom praises. He holds your head still with one hand and begins thrusting into your throat, fucking your mouth. You gag and splutter as he fucks you relentlessly, not giving you a moment to breathe. After a moment he pulls out of your mouth completely, moving back down your body until he’s hovering over your pussy again. “Alright baby, get on your hands and knees.” 

You oblige him quickly, wide awake now as you position yourself right where he wants you. As soon as you’re in place he lines his cock up with your wet little fuckhole. He doesn’t hesitate, pushing in balls deep the moment that he’s ready. You moan softly as you feel him fill you up. Somehow you feel even more full when he’s fucking you from behind. Ransom pounds in and out of you, your head jolting forward into the pillow every time his cock goes crashing into you. 

“Fuck yes. Do you like that? Like the way my dick stuffs you? Jesus you’re so fucking tight. I’m gonna bust pretty soon sweetheart.” He tells you, his hips beginning to stutter as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. You scream, feeling every inch of him rubbing your insides raw. His hand threads through your hair, pulling your head off the pillows so he can look at you. “That’s it. Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck you stupid.” He says, jutting upwards so that he’s hitting your sweet spot again. This causes that familiar pressure to build in your stomach. He immediately knows that your close, pulling your body flush against his own so that he can rub your pretty clit. A few rough strokes of his fingers on your clit is enough to send you flying over the edge. You convulse, shaking on his cock as you cum for him. The feeling of you clenching around him brings him close to his own orgasm. He pushes you back into the bed and pulls out, giving his cock a few long strokes before he unloads all over your back. Thick hot ropes of cum shoot out over your skin as he grunts and groans, milking every drop of seed out of himself. When he’s down he collapses beside you, eyes closed as he pants. 

“Jesus that was so good Y/N. You’re so good to me.”

“I certainly try.” 

“You do more than try. You’re everything to me. I’m always gonna keep you safe, you hear me? I’m gonna make sure you’re well taken care of as long as we both shall live. I promise.” You didn’t know what was on his mind but you could tell he was deep in thought. 

“I know Ransom. I know.” You assure him, scooting closer and draping an arm over him. After a few minutes of catching your breaths together he hops up, grabbing a towel to wipe the cum off your back. He lays back down, pulling you close in his arms. 

“I will do whatever it takes to make sure my baby is safe and happy.” As he says this he sees flashes of what he did tonight in his mind. He really would do anything for you. Even murder. Not that you needed to know that. He watches you patiently until you fall asleep before he himself drifts off, falling into a deep and dreamless slumber. 

Tags: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @readsalot73​ @runa-falls @sheerfreesia007​ @hansensgirl @cloudystevie​ @royalsweetteaa @inklore @shotgunbunny @imyourbratzdoll @sstan-hoe @diordrysdale @rubynationwins @syntheticavenger @comfortcap​ @onsunnyside @boxofbonesfic @wildestdreamsblog @balenciagabucky​

[bonkwosher]

Drunk Benoit Blanc Headcanons

GIF By: my-sleepy-mind-in-the-stars

Warnings: Characters being drunk, very little suggestive content

Inspired By: @jasminesfury "Drunk Prompts"

Drunk Benoit Blanc Headcanons

Warnings: Characters being drunk, very little suggestive content

Heavily Drunk Benoit (Once in a blue moon)

Benoit Blanc is totally a loud & proud affectionate drunk. On the rare occasion, he gets really drunk at a get-together you have to stop him from sharing classified case information.

"Now the police think that it's Madelyn, but I KNOW-" "Benoit!" you shout, standing right next to him with his arm wrapped around your waist. "Did someone call my name?"

When he's not rambling to his close friends about his career he is holding you tight & letting you & everyone in the city know how great of a partner you are.

"Marta! Marta, did you meet my boyfriendddddd?" Benoit drags his words & pulls your back to his chest & chuckles. "Benoit you sound like a schoolgirl." "I have met Y/N, you introduced me to them earlier."

When you sit at the dinner table (Benoit would never allow himself to get this drunk in public, gotta protect his image) among all your friends, Benoit keeps a hand rested on your thigh. Occasionally he'll give you a big squeeze & quickly turn his head to you, wearing the most childish, smug grin.

Within twenty seconds of being left by himself he'll have a group of people surrounding him, listening to him ramble like toddlers at story time. It's not the most coherent thing but you can't say it isn't adorable.

When he notices you're watching he points at you & yells "There he is! Y/N helped me solve this case actually, come here, come tell them how amazing you are!"

Benoit returns his arm to its place around your hips & pulls you close, you quickly take whatever alcohol he got into while you were away. Humoring him, you continue his story where you were a fresh pair of eyes on his case.

As soon as you leave the party Benoit crashes & becomes super cuddly. You have to practically drag him to the bedroom & throw him on the bed. You climb in next to him & he spoons you, murmuring random praises.

Buzzed Benoit

That being the extreme, the usual is the two of you sharing a glass of wine after he successfully solves a case. Sometimes he'll be so caught up in the idea of celebrating with you that he forgets to tell you he's coming home.

Benoit knocks on your shared home's front door, managing to surprise you every time with a glass of wine from wherever his case was & a travel bag in hand. After sharing loving embraces Benoit turns on some classical music & pops open the bottle of wine, pouring you each a glass.

"Tell me everything!" makes his lips curl into a huge smile.

A couple glasses in & deep down the rabbit hole that was his case, the feeling of finally being home again sets in. His smile softens & he looks down to your hands, that rest on the table as you lean in to listen to his wonderful rambling.

"Benoit, are you okay?"

He doesn't respond, simply getting up & offering you his hand. You take it & he pulls you into a wordless waltz, the both of you just enjoying each other's presence.

As you pull away from each other, much to both of your chagrin, Benoit peacefully states, "I'm absolutely wonderful, Y/N."

[bi-bard]

Christmas Day - Benoit Blanc Imagine (Knives Out)

Title: Christmas Day

Pairing: Benoit Blanc X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 621 words

Warning(s): not having family/friends

Summary: (Y/n) had started working with Benoit Blanc more and more. When he finds out that (Y/n) doesn't have anyone to visit for the holidays, he decides to reach out and try to make their holiday season a little bit better.

Author's Note: Happy Holidays! I am not one who usually writes Christmas stories, but I thought that this would be cute.

--------------------------

I was never expecting to work with Benoit Blanc.

He was one of the best detectives in the world. He always seemed like a one-man team that may have been forced to work with others in certain situations. I didn't think that he had any interest in recruiting someone to work with him.

But after working one case with him, he started reaching out more and more.

Slowly, I started to feel like an actual partner. Like we both saw each other as equals.

Which probably wasn't close to true. He was pretty much my boss.

He was a nice guy. A little excitable when there was a mystery, but otherwise nice and honest. A good person.

I don't know how Benoit found out that I didn't have anyone to spend the holidays with. I'm sure that if I asked then I would get some long-winded explanation about how some small thing that I did or said.

I only found out that he knew when he asked me to join him on Christmas.

"What?" I replied, thinking that I must've misheard him.

"I want you to join Phillip and me for Christmas," Benoit repeated.

I was silent for a few moments before I finally got myself to shake my head. "No, no. I can't do that. I don't want to intrude-"

"Nonsense," he cut me off. "Phillip and I would be happy to have you."

I took a deep breath.

"I don't want you spending Christmas alone," he continued. "Please?"

I sighed. "Fine."

"Good," he grinned.

Christmas day, I found myself walking up to Benoit's place and knocking on the door.

"There they are," Benoit cheered as he pulled the door open. I chuckled at him.

He pulled me into a hug. I barely avoided hitting him in the back with the bag that I had brought for him and Phillip.

"Merry Christmas," he stepped back. I said the phrase back to him.

Phillip stepped around him and gave me a softer hug. "It's nice to see you, (Y/n)."

"Thank you for inviting me," I said. I held the bag out to him. "I brought a gift."

"Oh, you didn't need to do this."

"It's the least I could do," I waved him off.

"Well, it's good that you mentioned gifts," Benoit walked over to another part of the room, coming back with a wrapped gift. "Open it."

I chuckled before pulling the wrapping paper off.

It was a collection of pens. Nice pens. I traced my thumb over the case.

"You mentioned enjoying having good pens to take notes with," he explained. "There are the best that money can buy."

"You... You didn't have to-"

"Yes, I did."

"I can't accept-"

"You can and you will."

I stammered for a moment before looking down at them again.

After a few moments, I moved to hug Benoit again. He chuckled before hugging me back.

"Thank you," I muttered. "For everything. It's more than I deserve."

"That's not true," he mumbled back to me before stepping out of the hug. "Now, come on, Phillip is quite the entertaining cook."

"Only because Benoit burns everything that he touches," Phillip added.

I laughed before hopping onto the barstool next to the kitchen island.

The night was spent chatting, watching Phillip do most of the cooking, and eating.

They were both so kind to me. It didn't feel like I was a burden or that I was in the way. I felt like a part of the family. It was a new feeling for me, but I really enjoyed it. I could get used to feeling like that.

All I could hope was that I could somehow show them how much that meant to me.

--------------------------

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[heliads]

hi again !! person who asked about part 2 4 the benoit blanc fic here !! thank u 4 agreeing 2 write it !!

k so here's my request : it's like half a year after part 1 , and benny n the reader r solving crimes together but they're like ... super awkward with each other . they don't dislike each other , in fact they want to be closer , but r really wants a parental figure but isn't sure how to verbalize that and benoit jus does NOT know how 2 parent.

but then when they r on a case , r gets hurt ( not 2 serious , but enough 2 be scary ) , and benoit realizes how much he actually cares about this kid . n then they have a really sweet moment n decide 2 try n get closer ?

thank you so much !! i'm super excited 2 read this !!

anything for benny

part one / masterlist

Benoit Blanc is lost. Usually, this is not enough to trouble him. Problems are only worthwhile if they take some time to parse out. Benoit has no fondness for pointless mysteries, games in which the end is clear from the beginning and the middle has no value at all. He has always preferred to amble along and seek out clues. That is his best method of solving, it always has been.

It is a confounded issue, then, that Benoit is lost now. He is not in the midst of a crime, nor locked within the confines of a good hoax. He is between jobs at the moment, which usually means that his problem-solving fingers should cease to twitch at his sides, that he would no longer be ready to reach for a hint that will let him catch a killer.

Benoit’s problem at the moment regards his apprentice. He took on a teenager to help him with his cases about six months back, Y/N L/N. They’ve been an excellent aid, no cause for concern there, but Benoit’s judgment is faulty in where he is meant to draw the line between work friend and real friend. Typically, he never runs into this problem because he keeps each case to itself with no overlap whatsoever. By bringing Y/N with him, he now has someone closer than an acquaintance.

The issue is that Benoit would like to go about making their dynamic a little less stilted but he has absolutely no idea how to do it. There are moments when he’s certain that Y/N would appreciate a little parental guidance, for a lack of a better word, but Benoit is few things and one of them is certainly not a father. Thus, he is left grappling with how to indicate that he would like to try having a more central role in Y/N’s life with absolutely no idea how to do it.

Benoit took the idea to Phillip a month or so back to limited success. His partner had been focused on the intricacies of some blasted sourdough starter, his attention more in line with tossing flour to the heavens and whatnot. Benoit had posed the concern of what to do with the L/N kid. Phillip had allowed him to ramble on during the feeding time of the sourdough starter, which was consistently scheduled as if it were some kind of beast in need of a kilogram or ten of raw meat.

Benoit cannot fault his partner for the importance of the sourdough, however. They all need a task, some project in which to throw their focus and only withdraw some time later, wholly spent and perhaps a different man. Phillip finds his outlet with baking. Benoit does so with the lives of other people. 

Some would consider that to be a sign of their true characters, but Benoit tries to prioritize the people above the thrill of the hunt. That, in the end, is what he feels separates him from the gaudy treasure-seekers of podcasts and true crime shows. Although he does feel that he would make a superb advice host if the chance ever came along. Phillip has yet to catch on to the idea, but Benoit is giving it time.

The conversation was brief but sincere. Phillip had dashed about a cup of flour into the ominous bowl of starter, then turned to him with a sigh.

“You’re getting in your own way,” he had said simply.

Benoit had spread his hands. “Obviously, but how do I get out of my own way? It is difficult, sometimes, to find one’s path long enough to step aside and let the truth rush forward. Sort of like a child who’s just taken off their training wheels. They can go fast, of course, and wreak havoc throughout the suburbs, but, Lord, they should not be allowed to do so.”

Phillip raised a weary brow. “In this case, I don’t think the issue is that you shouldn’t be able to go fast. You just are afraid to let go of your inhibitions. They’re a kid, Blanc, not a piranha. Although God knows you’d rather investigate a piranha than deal with this.”

“It would be interesting to figure out how a piranha had managed to cross my path,” Benoit had mused. “That isn’t the point, though.”

“No,” Phillip said around another sigh, “it isn’t. You need to find the proper time, then tell Y/N what you expect, plain and simple. There’s no other way around there.”

Phillip was right, as expected. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the advice Benoit had wanted to hear. He would have preferred something along the lines of ‘don’t worry about it, how about you go take another case’ or even ‘wait for them to come to you,’ but life is hardly fair.

“Thank you,” Benoit had said at last, “and for goodness’ sake, stop pointing that spatula at me. I’m going to do it. No threatening necessary.”

Phillip had disagreed on that point, but that was hardly a surprise. Benoit had gone to bed that night wondering how he was going to find the right chance to explain his expectations for the situation between himself and Y/N. In the morning, he woke with a blessing.

Handwritten letters have long been Benoit’s favorite way of hearing about a new case. Typically, he can figure out half the evidence just from studying the correspondence. Is the information scribbled in a hasty scrawl or typed out to avoid giving anything away? Do they mention his prior cases from the papers, and if so, which ones? Are the stamps perfectly organized, the product of a great time for leisure, or slapped on the envelope just before the mailman came?

This letter is no exception. Already, Benoit has a few ideas percolating in his brain even before he starts reading the message. This is a call to arms, to be certain. A murder. A weapon. Several innocents all in the line of fire. An inheritance, ready to fall into the wrong hands. Yes, this is a case for him without a doubt.

Benoit explains the situation to Y/N when she comes back from school in the evening. They discuss initial motives, then agree to respond back in a most reasonable fashion. The police investigations start Saturday, so they’ll arrive early in the morning in the hopes of reaching the family before too much has happened.

The car is studiously quiet on the drive over to the crime scene. A few times, Benoit or Y/N will attempt to bring up a casual source of conversation, but they always seem to lose their nerve before true discourse can occur. Something will happen to make them hesitate, and then the ball is dropped and they’re back to silence.

Benoit is grateful to see the address of the crime scene before long, sparing them from another few unsuccessful endeavors. Half an hour later, they’re so lost in the tangled threads of this particular mystery that they don’t have much time to trouble themselves over small things like whether or not this whole apprenticeship deal was worth it.

By Saturday evening, Benoit feels that he’s got a pretty good hold on the case itself. It seems to be your typical run-of-the-mill inheritance snatch. A primary character is established, the man who would receive the largest cut of a will. They’re then framed for murder, thus ensuring that the bounty will instead fall to the second-in-line, a brother-in-law who only married into the family in the hopes of collecting this sort of bloody check. Very satisfying.

Sunday morning rolls around. After a final late night check with Y/N to make sure their facts are in order, the pair feels ready to present their findings to the police and distraught family. Benoit, always excited at the possibility of an audience, leads with his theory and watches the brother-in-law’s face twist with horror as he realizes he’s been exposed.

All is going according to plan, or at least it has been until the brother-in-law stands up and announces that he isn’t going quietly. The money has already been transferred to his account, much of it withdrawn, and he can live off of it for quite some time. The murderer moves to flee, but when the police start to block his path, he does the unthinkable and grabs Y/N as a hostage.

Benoit has no choice but to watch as the murderer leaves the house, gun pressed to Y/N’s temple as a guarantee that he’s going to remain untroubled. Benoit has been involved in quite a few murder cases over his time, and is no stranger to danger, but this is something altogether different. He is terrified, plain and simple. Terrified that he’ll lose his crime-solving partner before even a year has passed. Terrified that he’ll never get that chance Phillip was talking about.

It occurs to him now that Benoit needs that chance more than anything. If he does not speak with Y/N about the fact that he wants them to be better friends, to rely on each other more than the stilted dynamic they have going on right now, he will carry that regret to his grave.

It is good, then, that Benoit and Y/N had factored in the fact that the murderer would try to run and planned accordingly. The brother-in-law’s car only makes it halfway down the street before the tires abruptly give out and the vehicle screeches to a stop. Y/N was evidently waiting for that moment, because they fling open the door and dive out without a second’s hesitation.

Benoit sprints to their side, pulling them away from the car and towards safety. The police surround the car, and after a few tense seconds the brother-in-law comes out with his hands raised. Benoit only starts to relax once the killer is in handcuffs and he knows for certain that the situation is in the hands of the law.

He turns to Y/N at last, checking for signs of damage. “Are you hurt?” He asks, frantic.

Y/N shakes their head. “No, I’m alright. Just startled, that’s all.”

“You’re a brave kid,” Benoit manages, “I don’t know that many people who would be this unruffled after being taken as a hostage. It speaks to your character. It also reminds me how affected I would be if something worse had happened. You’re not a stranger, Y/N, you’re a friend. I’d like for us to believe in that.”

Y/N starts to smile. “More than normal?”

“Far more than normal,” Benoit confirms, “millions of miles beyond that point. The best partnerships are based on trust. I trust you, Y/N.”

“I trust you,” they respond, “that’s why I was alright. I knew that no matter what happened, even if the tire thing didn’t work out, you’d look for me.”

“You didn’t need me, though,” Benoit argues, “you had the situation handled just fine. You were courageous all by yourself and I am quite impressed by that.”

Y/N shakes their head. “I could be brave because I knew you were there. I trust you.”

“Alright,” Benoit says at last, “we’re good, then.”

“We’re great,” Y/N confirms.

Benoit thinks that he’s going to have to talk to Phillip about this. The plan has gone quite well indeed.

part one requested by @starlit-epiphany, your ideas are very popular around here

knives out taglist: empty for now!

[jjsmaybank20]

Hey, I hope you are having a wonderful day/week! I really don't know if I am doing this right since this is the first time I ever request something. I read some of your stories and I really liked them. I was wondering if you could right a fluff from Marta Cabrera x female reader (an author if that's okay), maybe after the events from Knives Out, there isn't enough content from her. She is so precious! If you can't that's alright too. Lots of love!

Always and Forever

Marta Cabrera x GN!Reader

Summary: Marta Cabrera is the woman for you.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of smut, L-bomb, otherwise just fluff!

Word Count: 972

A/N: I'm baaaack! Enjoy this fluffy fic to mark my return.

navigation misc. masterlist

---

Harlan Thrombey was your mentor, Go partner, and close confidant. You were an aspiring mystery writer, and he took you in and taught you his secret and wonderful ways with words. He helped you through some of the toughest times of your life, and quickly became something of a father figure to you. Because of this, you grew closer to the Thrombey family.

Over time, Harlan grew older, and he hired Marta Cabrera to assist him. At first, you weren’t a huge fan of hers. She became one of his Go partners, he would confide in her, and they became very close friends. You felt jealous, missing the times when it was just you and Harlan. Soon though, she grew on you just as she had on the rest of the Thrombeys.

Soon you realized that you had developed feelings for her. Not knowing what to do, you went to Meg for help. With her assistance, you awkwardly asked Marta out. She thankfully said yes, and you took her on a wonderful date. That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. 

You two were in love, it was clear to see, but it wasn’t without it’s hardships. You struggled when Harlan passed, but you were quick to reassure your girlfriend that you didn’t blame her at all. You helped her to fool Detective Benoit, and stuck by her side throughout the entire ordeal.

You were there for her at the will reading, and when the Thrombeys got violent, you turned against your found family and held them off while Ransom drove Marta away. 

Not trusting Ransom, as you had known him for years and you knew what he was like, you were quick to join her when they were headed to the DNA Lab. Seeing that it was on fire, the three of you fled, leading to the dumbest car chase in the history of car chases.

Finally, you and Marta discovered Fran in the abandoned shop, and called 911 to attempt to save her. Detective Blanc soon collected the two of you, and brought you to the hospital, and then the Thrombey house. 

Knowing that Marta was going to confess, you stood close by her so that you could protect her from anybody who would try to attack her. As she was about to begin, Blanc interrupted her and then pulled her away.

You quickly followed after them. When you heard Marta lie about Fran’s survival, you were quick to call her bluff silently. You could always tell when your girlfriend was lying, even when she didn’t puke right away. 

Upon hearing the confession of Ransom, you knew he would attempt to go out with a bang. When Marta puked in his face, you were quick to push her out of the way as you saw him go to lunch for a knife. 

Ending up on the floor with him on top of you, you let out a massive sigh of relief, feeling that the knife was a trick. Sort of like Harlan’s final punishment for the now imprisoned Drysdale. It was only fair.

---

Two months after the whole ordeal, you, Marta, and Marta’s mother and sister were comfortably moved into the former Thrombey house. With how much time you spent there, it already felt like it was your home, so it was only fit that your girlfriend owned it.

Waking up one morning, you see that Marta isn’t in bed with you. You begin to search around the large house for her, finally finding her out on the balcony that overlooks a fair amount of the property. 

Coming up behind her, you wrap your arms around her much smaller body. You feel her lean back into you, and the sensation makes you realize that you wouldn’t want to ever be anywhere but here, with your girlfriend in your arms, staring out over her beautiful land.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’re you doing up?” She asks you softly. You grin at the pet name, never getting over the butterflies that explode when she calls you it. You press soft kisses to her hickey covered neck, a product of the many long nights before. 

“I could ask you the same, love. Couldn’t sleep?” She shudders lightly, your morning voice always having some kind of affect on her. 

She shakes her head. You snuggle back into her before realizing what you have to do. You quickly tell her to stay where she is, then you run inside and grab the little black velvet box that you have been waiting to present to her.

When you come back, you have it hidden behind your back. Marta looks at you, confused. You smile at her before getting down on one knee. She gasps.

“Marta, I didn’t like you very much when I first met you. I thought you were stealing Harlan’s attention away from me. Over time, you slowly won me over. You just have that ability. You help me write my books when I’m stuck, and you know exactly what to say when I’m nervous about a release. We have been through hell and back together, and I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. So, Marta Cabrera, would you make me the happiest person alive and marry me?”

By this point, tears are streaming down both of your cheeks. Marta quickly gasps out a yes, and you jump up and pull her into a passionate kiss. 

“Oh my god, I love you so much!” She breathes against your lips. You laugh before saying, “I love you too. Now, we have to go tell your mom and sister. Marta Y/L/N, I like the sound of that.”

Marta smacks you playfully while you walk off to go tell your families the wonderful news. You couldn’t wait to marry this wonderful woman before you.

---

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[donutholehole]

A Murder, A Nurse, A Case.[B.Blanc/Reader]

Part 1 of A Murder and A Motive

Summary: World’s greatest Detective and his second pair of eyes take on a difficult murder case of secrecy, disguise and revenge.

Pairing: Benoit Blanc [Knives out]/Reader. He/Him pronouns used.

Warnings: Descriptions of death, blood and wounds, abandonment.

Word Count: 1,946

Note: I am aware Benoit Blanc is canonically married but I am ignoring Hugh Grant in this story (rare for me - Paddington 2 is one of my favourite films because of him). Also! I am very not American so if words are off and it ruins the immersion, very sorry!

Not my gif!!

It was a remote farmhouse, far from any major roads and cities. Surrounded by seemingly endless fields and woods, though you could detect a small town nearby from the road signs. Usually, you would never notice a house like this. You would typically drive passed, but with the addition of four police cars, an ambulance, and P.I.‘s on the property, it was hard to ignore. It was a beautiful house still, architecturally stunning.

A chubby, older woman sat on the doorsteps of the house, unable to compose herself though police attempted to calm her. You closed the door to Blanc’s car and took in the stunning scenery and chaotic atmosphere. Another car pulled up swiftly after you, a young woman rushed out of the vehicle as soon as she stopped it and ran to talk to the police and comfort the woman on the steps.

“Blanc, good to see you.” A cop said. Officer West, she was present during a few cases throughout your time with Blanc. “Y/N…nice to see you again.” She said, a smirk on her face. Blanc had stated many times that she was utterly obsessed with you however you chose to ignore him.

“Officer West.” You nodded, and she nodded in return. You walked towards the house door where the two women sat consoling each other. Both women cried now.

“This is Marlene Edwards, James Lee’s primary nurse. She contacted us and told us of his death when she arrived this morning. This is Joanna Lee, the victim's only living relative.” Officer West introduced you to the women, who were obviously beside themselves but staying strong. Marlene Edwards was in her late 60's, she had her dark hair in a neat bun and wore her scrubs just as she usually would. She had dark circles around her eyes, perhaps from crying, perhaps from being an overworked medical worker. Nonetheless, she looked kind.

The other woman, Joanna Lee, was frankly the opposite. She had long ginger hair, which was in a messy ponytail. Her clothes seemed to be the first she picked out, it was only 7:15 A.M. anyway. Pain lined her tearstained face.

“Pleasure to meet the two of you. I’m Detective Benoit Blanc, and this is my assistant Y/N L/N. Perhaps we go inside and talk to you both?” He asked as he shook their hands. They nodded, opening the door and guiding you both through the house.

The house was even more beautiful inside. Each wall was an aged brown with lightly gold details on each corner, and the floor was a dark wood that had a slight creak in some places. It was traditional, simple but not too simple, and obviously an inherited home.

The two women sat in the lounge together, and you sat opposite them with Blanc. The couches were made of dark leather with sage green feather pillows. You enjoyed noticing the small details of the locations of murders, it showed some repeating patterns.

“Now, Marlene, is it? Tell me, when did you arrive here this morning?” Blanc asked her, the victim's daughter held the older woman’s hand tightly to comfort her. You opened your notepad and took a sleek black pen Blanc had gotten you for your birthday from your pocket.

“6:30 A.M, just like every mornin'.” She managed to choke out, Joanna rubbed her back. You scribbled that down in your notebook.

“What time did you find his body, would you say?” He asked, she took a moment to answer.

“Around 6:55 A.M, I don’t remember. I always spruce the place up a bit, make him a coffee and breakfast before he wakes up, then I give him his medicine.” She replied, thinking particularly hard to remember. "I hit a bookshelf when I went to the phone, it's a mess up there."

You wrote carefully and quickly so as to not miss any information. “And what medications was your patient on?” Blanc inquired. You loved the way he was so meticulous about what questions he asked, when to ask them, everything. He was incredibly talented in his work and took great care of the victim's family and friends.

“Lisinopril, a blood pressure medication. Hydrocodone, a pain medication. He’s diabetic, so I test his blood every 2-3 hours and inject insulin when needed.” She told you, she was cooperating perfectly. You wrote down what she had said.

“How many nurses or caretakers have been here in the passed few days?”

“There’s always 2 of us on sight in a day, Sarah, she comes and takes care of his bathing needs and everything like that around 4:30 P.M. Yesterday there was a trainee nurse, his name was, uh, Clark?” That was intriguing. You’d had some background information on the case beforehand and only two caretakers were noted. Marlene Edwards and Sarah-Jane Matthews.

“Tell me more of this Clark," He leaned forward, clearly compelled by this mysterious character.

"He was a young feller, fresh out of school, maybe late 20's? He said he was new and still partly training to care for the elderly. He showed me his work I.D...I didn't even question he could be lyin'. Oh, sweet Jesus." She covered her mouth and realised it was likely to be him, she couldn't help but blame herself for allowing him into his home.

"Don't blame yourself, love. You couldn't have known." You reassured her, sending her a warm smile before returning to your notepad and writing down a possible suspect.

"Thank you, Mrs Edwards. This information could be crucial. I'd like to speak to Miss. Lee alone if that would be okay?" He informed her, she nodded and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Lee. I know it is a horrible situation. You’re strong." You prefaced before Blanc could begin. Blanc glared at you and gave you a smile. You took after him in supporting the victim's family members and friends.

“What was your and your father's relationship like?” Blanc asked, she composed herself and thought for a few moments.

“Strong, I’d say. We loved each other and talked every day after I finished work. We’d always have a game of Clue with Marlene and Sarah when I was there, I bet you’re really good at that game.” She laughed slightly, reminiscing on good times with her father.

“He’s terrible.” You mimed at her, and she smiled at that. Talking to people casually was a psychological trick you’d picked up. You used standard English, made jokes when acceptable and spoke to them like you would a friend. They open up and become more comfortable talking.

“Your mother, is sh-” Benoit began before he was cut off my Joanna.

“Margaret Lee. She died when I was 14. Car accident. It took a real toll on Dad. He had Survivor’s Guilt since that day. Always blaming himself. It hurt to watch. He was on Antidepressants for 3 years,” She said. She looked down at her hands for a moment. You sent her an empathetic look, your head bowed down and your eyes closed.

"That must've been very difficult," Blanc said. "Y/N, would you investigate that Trainee Nurse while I talk to Miss Lee?" He asked, you nodded, standing from the couch.

"It was lovely to meet you, Joanna. You're powerful." You shook the woman's hand before she left and gave her kind eyes. You wandered through the house, taking time to indulge in your surroundings. Though the gruesome smell of death lingered through the house, you doubted it was unfamiliar to it. It was aged, and the paint on the walls chipped away from where furniture and frames once were. You saw Officer West and headed towards her.

"Y/N! You alright?" She turned around quickly, two cups of coffee in her hand. "Here, I know it's cold out." She handed you one.

"Thank you. We need to get in contact with whoever is distributing carers here. We have a suspect." You ordered, she gasped slightly. "Clark, no other details other than a young, late 20’s, trainee nurse. He was here yesterday."

"I will get that info for you!"

After 10 minutes of waiting by the door, the tips of your fingers turning blue, Officer West approached you. "There is a Clark, trainee nurse, but he's 45. He was reported in an old folks home yesterday. But get this, when asked, he couldn't find his I.D.!" She told you enthusiastically with a smile. You smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Officer." You stormed inside, finally feeling warmth against your skin again. "Blanc!" You yelled towards the lounge room, which he was already leaving. "Bad news, the Clark that Mrs Edwards described isn't registered. But, the real Clark is a 45-year-old man whose I.D. is absent from his person. It was stolen."

"My, so we're on a hunt for an unknown individual?" He questioned, you took a pause before nodding uncomfortably. "No leads, nothing."

"Well, we haven't snooped around yet. That's my favourite part," You smiled, walking back towards the stairs. "Shall we?" You raised your hand as you stepped onto the first step. Blanc looked down at your hand and laughed, not taking your hand but walking up the stairs with you still.

"We're not snoopin', Y/N. We're looking for evidence," He reminded you, shooting you disapproving, teasing eyes.

"We're kinda snooping," You mumbled before getting to the upper floor. It was a slight mess, with books scattered across the floor from when Marlene ran to the phone. You kicked some out of the way to make a clear path. You knew which room was James Lee's. The metallic stench of recently shed blood and the linger of death surrounded the doorway. You entered the room.

His sheets were still painted with his blood. You couldn't help but uncomfortably cover your mouth at the horrific sight. It was clear the killer wasn't well-skilled. The walls and floor were splattered with blood. It was a horrific sight to witness. "My lord, they really wanted him dead," You heard Blanc mutter under his breath.

"Seems so. Get to looking," You ordered him, you weren't usually as clear and demanding to Blanc, but after seeing this you couldn't help but be angry.

"I thought I gave orders," He huffed before he put a pair of gloves on. You followed after him and began the search for something, anything that gave you enough evidence to have a lead.

You found nothing. There were pictures of his family, vacations, books, empty medicine bottles, clothes. That was typical for any room, you didn't doubt that they were there well before the murder had occurred. You looked at high shelves when you noticed a camera.

It was old. Clearly a valuable item for display only. You picked it carefully from its place. You coughed as dust entered your throat. Checking if it had film, you were met with nothing. You sighed, placing it back on the shelf.

A case. There was a case hidden behind the camera. It was sleek and untouched for many years, covered in dust. As Blanc searched under the bed. You slowly opened it. "Blanc. Look." He raised his head from under the bed.

"What? What've you got?" He asked, hitting his head as he tried to get from under the bed and yelping. Once he'd composed himself and stood, he dusted himself off and looked at the case. "Joanna's baby book? That's all? Did your parents not do that?" He asked. It was a small book, with a photo of a newborn baby on the front with the name Joanna Haf Lee written on the front in gold lettering.

"Blanc, there's two."

Part 2 <-

[edgessunflower]

Marta Cabrera Masterlist

Move in with me

[untilnextchapter]

Monthly Fanfictions Recommandation:

September'23 (Criminal Minds, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Supernatural, Teen Wolf)

October'23 (Chris Evans, Criminal Minds, Harry Potter, Knives Out, Marvel, Supernatural)

More coming soon

[fcthots]

Jason Todd with sharp canines that he accidentally nips you with all the time. At some point you kinda just have to shove your hand in his mouth to take a look and find out what the fuck he has in there that could possibly be doing this shit. He just sort of lets you without question and complains in muffled gibberish around your hand.

He does apologize profusely every time he knicks you though (and depending on what he was trying to do, he’ll lick or kiss it better). Unfortunately he refuses to do it on purpose.

But if you distract him enough with your hands tugging on the roots of his hair while he’s trying to leave a hickey… let’s just say he has a hard time focusing on being careful.

[levans44]

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

[bi-bard]

Oh, by the way, Knives Out fanfiction is going to be written

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 1

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

The clink of the spoon against the teacup echoed in the room. Your father, Tom, stared down at the tea, trying to keep his composure, but his heart ached for you.

He looked up at you sitting across from him. You could see the worry in his eyes, yet he seemed more concerned about you thinking he needed support, when it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Eat the cookies. You need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of weight,” Tom said, pushing the plate of cookies closer to you. His voice was gentle but firm.

The cold plate touched your skin, jolting you back to reality. You couldn’t believe that you had once promised never to come back home. Your father looked so much older than the last time you saw him, seven years ago.

As you watched him, you could see the lines on his face, the graying hair, the tiredness in his eyes. He looked fragile, contrasting to the robust and indifferent man you remembered.

He used to be so distant and reserved, his eyes always seeming to look through you rather than at you. His mind was always elsewhere, consumed by his work. You remember feeling invisible as if you were never a priority in his life.

He doesn’t know that you were an outcast and bullied the whole time you grew up in this town. It was all because of his job and the house you lived in.

Flashback Starts

In this town, there was only one mortician—your dad. And the funeral home was connected to your house.

Kids your age made fun of you relentlessly. They called your father the angel of death and labeled your home as hell. The bullying started early and only intensified as you got older. By high school, it felt like there was no escape.

But then, a glimmer of hope arrived when a new kid from the city transferred to your school.

His name was Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey. He was sent to this small-town school because he was a troublemaker. The principal asked you to help Ransom, hoping you could help him.

At first, it was tough. Ransom was resistant, and his rough exterior matched the rumors about him. But you stayed patient and persistent.

Over time, Ransom began to open up to you. His academic performance started to improve, and slowly, a bond formed between you.

Because of Ransom’s improvement, you met his family for the first time. It turned out that Drysdale was a mighty name. His family owned a big bank.

This was the turning point. Ransom introduced you to his grandfather, Harlan Drysdale. “Grandpa, my friend here is a genius. She’s the one who solved the issues you’ve been stressing about. I just showed it to her to ask her opinion, and she solved it.”

Harlan, the patriarch of the company, exuded a charisma you had never seen before. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

You felt nervous, your hands trembling slightly as you stood there. Harlan’s presence was intimidating, but there was a kindness in his eyes that put you at ease.

“Is that so?” Harlan said, a smile spreading across his face. “I’d like to hear more about this solution of yours.”

Ransom beamed with pride as he gestured for you to explain. You took a deep breath and started to talk about your idea, feeling a strange sense of confidence growing inside you. Harlan listened intently, nodding along, his expression thoughtful.

When you finished, Harlan leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You have a remarkable mind,” he said. “Ransom is lucky to have you as a friend.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt seen and appreciated. You glanced at Ransom, who gave you an encouraging nod.

Meeting Harlan and the Drysdale family marked the beginning of a new chapter. You were no longer just the mortician’s kid. You were someone with potential, someone who could make a difference.

The years of bullying and isolation started to feel like a distant memory, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and possibility.

He looked at you and slowly nodded. “For a high school student to solve a credit issue is amazing. I’m glad my grandson found a hidden talent.”

Your heart felt warm. You had never received such a compliment in your life.

“You will be a valuable asset in the future. Dear, are you interested in working with me?” Harlan asked.

“Yes, sir!” you replied quickly.

This was your golden ticket to leaving this town, having a better life, and succeeding.

After graduating high school, you packed your bags, said goodbye to your dad, and jumped into Ransom's car. As the car started moving, you didn’t glance back even once.

You had made your decision to leave everything behind.

You received a scholarship for college from the Drysdale charity, supported by a glowing recommendation letter from Harlan himself. You studied hard, like a person possessed, determined to graduate quickly and start working at the Drysdale company.

You graduated in two years and fulfilled your promise to work with Harlan. You gave it your all, becoming a workaholic to prove yourself.

Your hard work paid off, and you made a name for yourself in the finance world. They called you the “female Midas” because every company's stock you bought saw its price soar.

Harlan was proud of you; you could see it in his eyes.

Then everything changed after Harlan died.

The company's business structure changed too, with Ransom in charge. You tried to talk to him, but he didn’t listen.

One day, the FBI raided your office and accused you of insider trading. You hadn’t done it, but the accusation hit hard. Even without proof, you lost friends, and your trading and financial licenses were revoked.

You called Ransom, but he didn’t pick up. You tried contacting the other Drysdales, but nobody wanted to help.

You had spent seven years celebrating Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with them, but they still hadn’t accepted you.

You had poured your sweat, blood, and tears into this company, only to be thrown away. After everything, they still hadn’t accepted you. The way they made you feel like family, only to discard you, was a sick joke.

Even a wolf would accept a dog into its pack.

You sat alone in your empty apartment, your hands trembling with anger and betrayal. The silence was deafening, starkly contrasting to the lively gatherings you once shared with the Drysdales. The warmth you once felt from their acceptance had turned cold and hollow.

You looked at the framed photo on your desk, a picture of you and Harlan on the day you graduated. His proud smile felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your present.

You picked up your phone one last time, scrolling through the countless unanswered messages to Ransom and the Drysdales. Each one felt like a dagger, a reminder of the trust and loyalty you had given, only to be met with silence and abandonment.

You have lost everything. The court has taken your apartment, your car, and blocked your bank account until the investigation is done.

You feel ashamed and don’t have any close friends to turn to.

Your last hope is your hometown. With your small amount of cash, you pack your laptop and a few outfits and take the last train home.

When you call your dad, his voice sounds uncertain when he hears you’re coming home and ask if he can pick you up.

It’s late at night when you arrive. It’s just you and your dad. You’re grateful no one else is around to see you.

Tom looks nervous. He tries to ask you on the car ride home, “Did something happen?”

You close your eyes and lean your head against the window. “I’m tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow morning.”

“Ah. Right. You must be tired,” Tom says, his voice shaky.

The silence in the car is heavy, filled with unspoken words. Tom glances at you occasionally, his worry evident in the rearview mirror. You can feel the weight of his concern, but you can’t bring yourself to talk about it yet.

When you finally pull up to the house, it looks the same as when you left. The familiarity is both comforting and painful. Tom helps you with your bags, his hands trembling slightly.

You only brought one bag, but he wanted to carry it, as if carrying your burden. He could feel that you were going through something.

Inside, the house is quiet. You head straight to your old room, which hasn’t changed much. The sight of it brings a lump to your throat.

You drop your bags and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling exhausted and defeated.

Tom lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do. “If you need anything, just let me know,” he says softly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, managing a weak smile. He nods and gently closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. The weight of your situation presses down on you, but at least here, in this small room, you feel a glimmer of safety.

Flashback End

*******

The next morning, you woke up with no desire to move on. But seeing your dad already waiting for you, you couldn’t make him wait for an answer.

So you told him about the struggle you're facing right now.

Tom wasn’t ready for this. He thought you returned because your heart was broken by Ransom or you missed home. Or, you missed him.

After hearing every word that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t believe it. His only daughter had been betrayed like this.

“I need to stay here for a while,” you said. You would stay until you heard from the court. You had sent them evidence proving your innocence.

"Why did you say that like you're asking for permission? This is your home," Tom replied. He didn’t care if you were a criminal or a murderer. If you needed a place to hide, he would provide it for you.

"Thanks, Dad," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

'Knock. Knock.'

You and Tom looked at the door. Only he stood up. It seemed like he was already expecting someone.

He opened the door. "You're here early," he said.

You sipped your tea, assuming the newcomer was just another guest of your dad's.

"Nothing ever goes wrong when you do things early," the voice said cheerfully and friendly.

You almost choked on your tea. The voice sounded all too familiar, and you prayed it wasn't who you thought it was.

"Thanks. I'll meet you at the morgue in 5 minutes," said Tom as he moved to close the door.

"Are you having a guest?" the person asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom replied, his voice a little tense.

"Why are you nervous? Do you have a special friend?" The teasing tone drew closer.

You closed your eyes and clenched your fists. You knew your dad, short and not as physically imposing, wouldn't be able to stop the tall, athletic man approaching.

"Y/N?" the voice said, confirming your worst fears.

You opened your eyes and saw the new guest. Locking gazes with him, you felt a surge of apprehension and dread. He was Bucky Barnes, the embodiment of your past torment.

You, the quiet, bookish nerd, and he, the charismatic, popular guy—Bucky represented everything you had once dreaded in high school. His group of friends constantly tormented you.

Crossing your arms tightly, you couldn't mask the edge in your voice. "What is he doing here?"

Tom's hesitant introduction only added fuel to the fire. "He's my apprentice," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"What does that mean?" you asked, your tone sharp.

Tom cleared his throat nervously. "Um, well... after I retire, I'll be passing the business on to Bucky."

You raised your eyebrows, not saying anything. Tom seemed nervous, perhaps worried that you were angry he hadn’t told you about this sooner.

Meanwhile, Bucky still looked stunned to see you standing there.

Leaning forward, you couldn't contain the resentment in your voice. "Him? Are you sure? He and his group made a mockery of this business every single day, taunting me whenever I set foot in school!"

The room fell silent, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

You had hoped to find refuge here, but now you were having second thoughts. The person who had bullied you was now working with your father and set to inherit the business. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[kining-the-evil]

Im now accepting age regression fics request for the following fandoms!(only sfw)

House md

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Scream

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Knives Out

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