#glass onion fanfiction

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Sinking My Claws Into You ~Dark!Claire Debella xFem Younger!Wealthy!Reader

Summary— A darker fic, set after Claire gets back from Miles’ private island, and she now has to deal with the reality of basically going bankrupt. Luckily, Claire has got her hooks in you, a young, wealthy enthusiast from New York…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: dark fic, lightly implied smut, age gap (all legal), teasing, taunting, manipulation, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, little bit of gold digging behavior, praise, flustering, wealth, yucky men, flirting, little bit of sugar mommy behavior, etc.

Enjoy (;

Ever since Claire had backed away from her friendship with Miles, she had hit nothing but impossible obstacles one after another. Without Miles’ endorsement and backing for her campaign for the U.S. Senate, the middle aged woman was facing a fate worse than death. She would have happily rode on the back of Miles’ wealth all the way, but she couldn’t ignore the events that had come to pass. However, her decision now left the woman desperate.

Miles was an eccentric prick whom Claire had met more than 20 years ago. Back then, he had charmed her. And being the young, naive woman that she was, Claire had fallen for his persuasive nature. Not to mention how easy it was considering he was loaded. But Miles never wanted anything more than a friendship from Claire, and Claire eventually was forced to accept this by the amount of pretty models and talented girls that he always had in rotation and the overtly harsh rejection he gave her, which the snob was always happy to remind her of. Over the years, the only reason Claire put up with Miles was for the money. Miles had endorsed her when she ran for mayor, and then now for governor as well.

Miles was always there to dole out a check for whatever the woman needed. And Claire took full advantage of that. The price she paid over the years was well worth the bank she raked in. Miles would compare her to others and batter Claire all the time, she was his favorite plaything. But she always took it with a stoic face, telling herself that it would be worth it, that the amount of money she was getting leveled out the fact that he was a knee-faced jerk.

But then she and Claire had had a falling out. Claire had gone behind her back and stabbed a mutual friend in the back. And if there was one thing that Claire could not stand, it was betrayal. In the heat of the moment, Claire let emotions get the best of her and she broke it off. God she kicked herself for being friends with Miles for as long as she had been… It had been over 2 decades of unhealthy friendship, but in her eyes, the money had made it all worth it. But now, without Miles’ money… She was through. Finished. Done.

That was until she met you.

Claire had met you at an art benefit, one of those fancy events where the rich and wealthy got together, socialized, and gave away millions of dollars like it was nothing. Claire had been there campaigning for more funding and endorsements. She had already talked with three or twelve basic, filthy rich white guys, the kind that flashed toothy smiles while heavily and shamelessly flirting with her. She would indulge these men as little as possible, before moving past them. Those guys weren’t the type she was looking for. They weren't a Miles or a Y/N Astor… Claire rolled her eyes and shrugged off her disgust at the idea of what those rich guys wanted from her.

After a particularly gagging interaction with a young bachelor (at least half her age and nonetheless just as gross as the rest of them who only wanted her body and willing to give nothing in return), Claire had looked around the room, champagne glass in hand, when her gaze had landed on you at the bar. She immediately noticed how the woman carried herself with youthful elegance, and that she was the type of lady who could make anything look good. She could also tell that the woman had money, she was not the type of lady that flattered and flirted with filthy rich men to get into their pockets. She wasn’t a part of the common folk. No, this woman was in the one percent. Her clothing and accessories were not loud, but Claire could read the nicheness of the fashion and knew that she was wearing thousands of dollars: her Manolo pumps, the Cartier watch, the small Dolce purse, etc. This was the type of girl she needed, and she knew this woman could replace Miles and his money. Claire finished her glass, gave it to a server, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and then sauntered over to the stunning lady.

“I would buy you a drink, ‘hun, but it is an open bar…” Claire hummed, glancing over to the wealthy woman with a sly smirk.

You blushed just a smidge, and Claire immediately took that as her first win of the night. This girl was young. Not young enough to not be able to handle commitment, but definitely young enough to fall for Claire’s charm and to agree to hand over her money without a second thought. Again, the perfect mark. While Claire waited for you to make your move, she ordered herself a red wine from the open bar.

“You’re too kind…” you lightly retorted, swirling the expensive amber liquid in your glass.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving my kindness to today…?” Claire cooed widening her smirk as she now turned her body from the bar to face you.

You slowly swiveled towards the older woman. Claire allowed her eyes to wander and take in the younger woman in front of her. You took a swig of her whiskey, before humming lightly.

“I’m Y/N.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction, taking the glass of red from the bartender when it was ready for her. Her eyes shimmered with predatory intent. She could tell this woman was book smart. But she was confident that she could outplay you in this game.

“I’m Claire Debella. My colleagues call me Debella, you can call me Claire…” the older woman hummed, with a teasing tone.

You sucked in a breath, your face flushing some more, before you nodded lightly.

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Claire cooed, playing with the younger woman’s name in her mouth.

“New York. I went to Harvard, have family in Connecticut” You breathed out, lightly fidgeting with your fingers and your glass while struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Smart girl…” the older brunette cooed, sending a sly wink your way.

Another blush rippled through the wealthy woman’s face. Claire could tell this girl was shy. That was also good, it spoke to her privacy and naivety.

“What about you…?” You softly asked.

“Connecticut.” Peggy promptly responded, before taking control of the conversation once more,

“Are you here alone, Y/N?”

Claire could tell that her words were having an effect on the young, wealthy woman. You nearly choked on her drink at her last words, as well as flushed, fidgeting, struggling to hold eye contact… But not in an uncomfortable way, in a flustered way. In a way where you looked adorable while you were trying to cover her ruby red cheeks in embarrassment. And that was exactly what Claire was going for.

“I am…” you breathed out.

“Really?” Claire cooed, quirking her brow dramatically accompanied by a sip of red, “A stunning girl like you…? I’m surprised that a cute guy or girl hasn’t snatched you up yet…”

Now your face was beet red, and she was desperately trying to swallow all of her liquid courage, overwhelmed from all the praise that the older woman was showering her with. Now the your glass was empty.

“Why don’t we ditch this open bar and go somewhere that has some nice, expensive whiskey for you? Hmmmmm, ‘hun?” Claire purred, leaning in close to the woman’s personal space.

You gulped and nodded mindlessly.

“I’d like that…” you breathed out nervously.

“Good girl…” Claire hummed out in delight.

She placed her glass along with the younger woman’s on the bar, signaling to the bartender that the two of you were done. She then linked her arm with yours with ease and guided you, the clueless, naive, wealthy, young woman out of the expensive, testosterone filled event, getting in the back of your Maserati and heading into a future filled with good fortune for the one and only Claire Debella.

~~~

Claire Debella Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[whovian378]

Vital question

Did Phillip take Benoit’s last name so he’s Phillip Blanc, or did he keep his own? And if so, what is it?

Or did Benoit take Phillip’s last name?

[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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[shesthejukeboxhero]

More miles bron headcanons please!!💗🫶

Here’s a part 2 of headcanons!

-Miles definitely would serenade you. Sometimes, when you get back home from shopping or a trip, he’ll be inside, strumming the chords to your guys’ song (which would totally be Glass Onion by the Beatles.)

-Long walks on the beach, barefoot.

-All for skinny dipping, especially at night. Either in the pool or on the beach, he enjoys both.

-Once you tell him you think him wearing that necklace is attractive, rest assured knowing it’s never leaving his neck.

-LOVES PLAYING WITH YOUR HAIR! If he’s anxious, angry, or just in a clingy mood, you already know he’s going to be combing his fingers through your hair.

-Off the island, it’s date night every night. He will take you to every different kind of restaurant in town.

-With you, he learns to stop and smell the roses. He takes everything slower, making sure to enjoy every moment.

-Movie night at least once a week, but it happens more often than you think. Sometimes he’ll sacrifice his sanity and let you watch a cheesy rom-com, and you’ll reward him by letting him pick the next movie, usually some sort of action or horror movie, which he watches just to have you bury your face into his chest during the scary parts.

-First fight? You calmly leave the room, grab a bag and pack some clothes. By the time you were done packing, he’s already begging for you to stay and apologizing.

-He wants to involve you in his company. He’ll ask your thoughts on plans for what’s next, and how to improve what’s already been done. You’re kind of his reality check, saying “Well, realistically…”

-He makes sure to keep your relationship as far out of the public eye as he can, because he knows you get nervous when people start vicious rumors about you.

-If you have to go out in public together, disguises are in place. Usually large sunglasses, hats, and sweatshirts work well.

-If you’re ever in public and Miles notices you’re starting to get nervous, he moves his hand to your lower back to provide a sense of safety for you.

[thebrownssociety]

The Final Layer

Hi! This is my first fanfic for the Benoit Blanc series. [Can we call it a series? I know they say it's a 'Knives Out' mysery, but the only things they have in common besides being a mystery, is Benoit Blanc.]

I hope you enjoy. I own nothing from either movies.

"Well, it's nice to see that you're out the bath at last." Was the first thing Angela said. Always direct, was Angie.

Benoit smiled. "Good to see you to, Angie." He said, raising his glass of strong tea. Good lord had he missed tea.

"So, don't keep us in suspense." Sondheim pressed. "What happened with the box?"

"Ah, well..." And with that Blanc launched into an explanation of the last 24 hours. Of course they already knew some stuff. The box mainly and that he was going to Miles Bron's island. Everything else he had deliberately kept under wraps. Even though he would trust this lot with his life, he couldn't risk anything leaking. "...And then the building exploded." He said, shaking his head. "Shame in one way, it was a beautiful place."

"Hey, why haven't we heard about this?" Sondheim asked. "I mean, the Mona Lisa!?"

"Well..." Blanc debated, but reasoned the news would come out soon anyway. "...You have to keep this under your hats, so to speak, but there's a chance it may not have been the Mona Lisa after all."

Angie and Sondheim both gave exclamations of disbelief. Understandable. Both he and Phillip had reacted exactly the same when they were told.

Talking of which, Phillip now appeared behind him with another cup of tea for him. Seeing that he hadn't finished the first one, his husband gave him a slightly annoyed look.

Blanc smiled and raised the mug. "I'm savouring it."

Rolling his eyes fondly, Phillip sat down next to him and took over. "Apparently when they looked at the remains - not that there was much - they were able to work out that it was painted on canvas-"

"-And the real one was painted on wood." Lansbury finished for him.

"-Exactly."

"It's not official." Blanc warned. "They're talking to France and trying to figure out what's happened, so keep it under wraps."

"Blanc, don't insult us." Sondheim said, sounding more tired than angry. "Have we ever spilled anything before?"

Blanc held his hands up. Okay, that was fair enough.

After his friends had hung up, he put an arm round Phillip, who relaxed against him.

"Do you think we'll get a heads up on the Mona Lisa?" Phillip asked.

Blanc laughed. "Nah. We'll hear it in the news like everyone else."

Phillip chuckled and took a sip of his tea. "Of course." And with that they sat in comfortable silence.

[theenbynightingale]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Knives Out (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Peg Characters: Marta Cabrera, Peg (Knives Out), Benoit Blanc (Knives Out), Mrs. Cabrera (Knives Out), Alice Cabrera (Knives Out), Helen Brand, Birdie Jay, Miles Bron, Whiskey (Knives Out), Claire Debella, Lionel Toussaint, Joni Thrombey, Meg Thrombey, Original Characters Additional Tags: Romantic Comedy, First Meetings, Boss/Employee Relationship, Slow Burn, Racism, Homophobia, Guilt, In Which Peg Escapes a Toxic Relationship with Birdie Jay, You Got Me In Love Again Summary:

Peg finally stands up to Birdie Jay and the others and quits. Now she's out of a job. Marta is struggling to step up to the plate as Harlan's successor while juggling this new job with her family life. She can't do this by herself. It doesn't take the world's greatest detective to figure out what happens next but he did have a hand in the events.

First chapter in a fanfic set after the events of Glass Onion where Peg finds herself out of a job, only to be presented with a golden opportunity in the form of one Marta Cabrera. This first chapter belongs to Peg with Marta coming in later down the line. It expands on her character as well as the line in the film about her being stuck in a toxic relationship with Birdie Jay. I hope you all enjoy and justice for Peg.

[the-saltwaterselkie-writer]

so... remember that post-Knives Out oneshot I wrote for Marta Cabrera in 2020? turns out if the Knives Out Cinematic Universe keeps coming out with good movies, I’ll keep being inspired by them.

They Didn't Start the Fire (but she sure as hell did), a oneshot Glass Onion fanfic about Helen Brand in the aftermath of the events of the movie, is done and posted on ao3 :)

[broken-lycan]

Rating: Explicit Fandom: Knives Out Glass Onion Relationship: Benoit Blanc/Phillip (Knives Out) Additional Tags: Smut, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, (only a little), Kissing, Sappy Ending, this might be the mildest smut I've ever written Wordcount: 1802

Summary: When Benoit comes back from the events of Knives Out Glass Onion, his husband Phillip has missed him quite a lot. In more ways than one.

hi tumblr benoit blanc fans this one’s for you!

[sunshine304]

FTH: second translation for saltwaterselkie

Here’s the second of two fics I’ve translated for @the-saltwaterselkie-writer for @fandomtrumpshate!

This is a really great post-canon fic for Glass Onion.

Fandom: Benoit Blanc Mysteries/Knives Out Characters: Helen Brand-centric Rating: T Word count: 3.3k

The original fic is linked in my translation so give saltwaterselkie some love!

Their fics are archive-locked. @the-saltwaterselkie-writer please let me know if you want me to lock the translation as well.

Thank you again for participating in FTH!♥

[timetravelingsherlockian]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Glass Onion (2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Phillip (Knives Out), Duke Cody (Knives Out)/Whiskey (Knives Out; Background) Characters: Benoit Blanc (Knives Out), Helen Brand, Phillip (Knives Out), Whiskey (Knives Out), Duke Cody (Knives Out; mentioned), Duke Cody's Mother (Knives Out; briefly) Additional Tags: One Shot Collection, Past Character Death, I wrote this for me but you can read them too, I tried writing the first one in the style of nicholson baker, You Have Been Warned, no beta we die like cassandra Summary:

A set of oneshots for Glass Onion. May be added to as the Muse dictates.

Chapter 1: Eternal Triangle—Phillip contemplates his bookshelf while Benoit prepares for Greece.

Chapter 2: Angels Share—Helen and Whiskey return to the docks. Whiskey makes a call.

[jay-wasstuff]

Fanfic authors after seeing the 10 second cameo

[winterrrnight]

could i request something with a fem reader that’s of another cast from a different show of your choice, & she meets drew through madelyn. maybe they hit it off on their first meet and start texting one another almost every night. basically a mutual pine and by the end they admit their feelings. make it real fluffy!!

love your writing btw 🖤

thank you for the request anon!! The idea sparked a huge inspiration in me and I loved writing this! I definitely got carried away while writing so this is longer than most of my stuff. I added a small twist of my own and made the reader gender neutral :)

love affair

PAIRING: drew starkey x actor!gn!reader

SUMMARY: the reader and madelyn cline are co stars on glass onion. on being invited to madelyn's birthday party, the reader meets a certain someone.

WARNINGS: small mentions of anxiety, alcohol consumption, getting sick

EDITH SPEAKS: my first request! this is LONG, and this is GOOD and I LOVE how it came out!! I hope you like it too! I wasn't able to come up with a title so I decided to go with a song based title, love affair is such a good song i definitely recommend listening to it :)

Please like and/or reblog if you enjoy it 💌 feedback is always appreciated!

navigation || join my taglist || requests

It's your co star Madelyn's birthday today, and she is throwing a massive party. She's invited her friends from all the shows or movies she's been casted in before, and it's safe to say you're excited yet nervous at the same time.

You haven't been in the film industry for as long as Madelyn, you did a few minor roles here and there before you landed your major role in Glass Onion alongside Madelyn. That's where you met her for the first time, and you both hit it off really well. Glass Onion is your first project which got you a lot of exposure, so before Glass Onion you hadn't been to many parties thrown by big celebrities. This is the first one you're going to, and you're determined to make it one of the best nights of your life.

You quickly get ready, wearing an outfit which looks absolutely gorgeous on you and gives you loads of self confidence. You prepare yourself to socialise with many new people and to try to make new friends. There are going to be so many other people in the film industry; who knows, you may land a deal in another blockbuster project.

Your cab pulls outside of your house and you get inside it. You direct the driver to Madelyn's house and he takes you there in under 20 minutes. Before you can even reach the party, you can hear the music a distance away from her house, which tends to overpower your nervousness over your excitement.

The cab driver drops you outside her house. You walk up to the closed door and take in a deep breathe before ringing the bell. You can hear the chattering of the people inside. The door opens and you see Madelyn on the other side. You grin widely upon her presence.

"Happy birthday beautiful!" You say ecstatically, hugging her and kissing both her cheeks.

"Thank you darling!" She says laughing. She beckons you to come inside. You walk in to see the biggest crowd of people you've seen together in a house.

You turn to Madelyn and hand her her gift. "Oh my god you didn't have to bring me one!" She says, taking it from you and hugging you again.

"Nonsense! It's your birthday, you definitely deserve to get one."

"Thank you so much. Come on, let's get you some drinks and I'll introduce you to some people." You follow her lead to the kitchen, where she gives you a drink. You thank her and take the cup from her.

"Hey Madison!" She yells out. Madison turns around and sees the both of you. She comes up to you rushing.

"Oh my god hi!" She says, smiling widely as you hug her. "It's so nice to finally meet you!"

"You too!" You say, smiling just as widely as her.

"You were so good in Glass Onion, like, come on. That's some Emmy level acting right there." You feel your cheeks slightly warm up at her compliments.

"Thank you girl, but let's talk about Kiara! She's amazing and you're so talented!"

"Oh stop it," Madison says, laughing. You take a sip of your drink as you make some more small talk with her.

"Look there's everyone else," Madelyn says suddenly, looking across the room. You see she's looking at the group of the cast of Outer Banks. You recognise all of them. Madelyn takes you by your hand and you three make your way to the bigger group.

"Hey guys!" says Madelyn, and everyone replies with a varied version of 'hello'. Madelyn introduces you to everyone, and you hug all of them one by one and make small talk with them.

You and Madelyn now walk to the only person in the group who you haven't met yet: Drew Starkey. You may or may not have found him attractive in the show.

"Hi Drew, it's so nice to meet you!" You smile, and give him a hug.

"You too! I finally got around watching Glass Onion some time ago and you were out of this world," Drew compliments. You feel flattered from all the compliments you've been receiving today.

"Oh my god, thank you! But you as Rafe is just something else. I really cannot imagine anyone else playing him. You embodied his character so well."

"Thank you so much," he smiles. You feel your heart flutter at the small motion. You both join the group, and watch everyone talk and laugh among themselves. You look on your side at Drew, and take in how pretty he looks in the suit he's wearing. You notice the earring dangling from his ear and the rings he's wearing. You feel yourself almost swooning.

Drew whips his head in your direction but before you both can make an eye contact you turn your head away. You feel your cheeks heat up when you hear him chuckle. He totally caught you staring. You down the entire drink in your cup.

"Do you need some more?" Drew asks you. "I've run out of mine too."

"Oh... yeah sure." You both excuse yourself from the group and walk to the kitchen. Drew fills both your cups and you thank him for it. You start to feel your head slightly throbbing from the loud music playing from the speakers which are right next to you and Drew.

"Hey uh Drew?" You call him out. He hums in response. "Would you like to go out in the garden?"

"Are you okay?" He asks, slightly worried.

"Yes, yes I'm fine, it's just, the music is too loud and I'm starting to get a little overwhelmed by the number of people here," you say honestly.

"Yes of course," he says. "You'll feel better if you get some fresh air." You both leave the house and go to the garden. There is a small fountain set up in the centre of the massive garden, so you and Drew sit next to each other on the edge of the fountain.

"Thank you for coming out with me," You say, feeling grateful there's someone with you to help you feel more relaxed.

"You don't have to thank me sweets, it's all fine. I'm guessing big crowds aren't your thing?"

"No, they really aren't. I haven't been around in the industry to be used to such a huge amount of people in one room. It does make me anxious."

"Don't worry about it," Drew says softly. "It takes time to get used to it all, the big crowds of people, the paparazzi on the streets, the overwhelming number of events to attend. Your mind will slowly start to feel relaxed as you spend more time in this industry. Becoming famous comes at a price." He laughs.

"Oh it definitely does," you giggle with him. You both sit in silence, the sound of the music muffled. You have already starting to feel more relaxed, and you think it's because of Drew's presence next to you.

You like this feeling.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

"Okay now I have to try this casserole, you've mentioned it atleast five times already." You laugh. Your and Drew's position has changed from the edge of the fountain to the grass on the ground. You both sit in the grass, your legs crossed as you play 20 questions.

"What can I do, it's just that good," He says proudly. To every food related question you asked him, Drew managed to give "my famous chicken casserole" as the answer.

What you both have not realised is that it's been over two hours since you both have been sitting out here and chatting. The party had started to die down in the last half hour. So many people had left, and the music was now playing at a low volume. You feel your phone vibrate, so you pull it out to see Madelyn calling you.

"Hello?" You say.

"Where are you? Did you leave?" You hear Madelyn on the other end. She sounds frantic.

"Oh no I'm outside with Drew, we're in the garden," You reply. There is a silence on the other end of the phone. In a few seconds you are met with the constant beeping, signalling Madelyn ended the call.

You hear the door open and watch Madelyn walk out to you both. "Way to go guys, you could've atleast told me you're here! I was worried when I couldn't find you inside. You aren't the kind of people who leave without saying goodbye so I knew you hadn't left for your homes, which made me a lot more nervous when I couldn't find you inside." She rambles, and then starts to breathe heavily after she finishes.

"We're so sorry Madelyn," you say, getting up from the ground. "Me and Drew got so lost in conversation that we didn't even realise where the time passed."

"Yeah, it's also getting late now, so I think we both will just leave now," adds Drew, as he stands from the ground too. You nod along his words.

"Unless you need any help inside?" You ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about that." Madelyn is quick to connect two and two together. She sees the spark between you two, and starts to feel all giddy upon the possibility of you both getting closer. "I hope you had a fun time." She smiles at you both.

You turn to look at Drew who looks at you back, both of you just softly staring into each other's eyes.

Oh you definitely had fun.

And so did he.

"We did," you say, turning back to look at Madelyn. "We'll just leave now. I'll book a cab."

"Oh no, I'll drop you," Drew pipes in.

"No it's okay, it'll be such a hassle for you. It'll only take me a few seconds to book one."

"No no, I insist. It can be unsafe to be alone with an unknown cab driver this late at night."

"He's right, he can drop you. It's best you don't go home alone." Madelyn adds.

You look at the both of them, and give in. "Okay, thank you Drew."

You both exchange your last goodbyes with Madelyn and wish her a happy birthday again before you leave her house together. Drew's car isn't parked that far from her house. You reach the passenger door but before you can open it for yourself, Drew opens it for you.

"Oh, why thank you kind sir," you say in a posh accent as you sit down. He just giggles at your reply and walks around the car to sit in the driver's seat. He starts the car and begins to drive.

You connect your phone to his Bluetooth speakers to put on some music. After searching around your playlist for a few seconds, you find your favorite song.

"Oh my god I love this one!" Drew says, bobbing his head to the beat.

"You do?" You say happily.

"Yes! Their recent album is just simply a work of art."

"Right! It's my all time favorite album! It's everything." On the drive to your house, you and Drew vibe to music and surprisingly, you both have a lot of common music taste.

Drew drives up to your house, but he just doesn't want you to leave. Not yet. This is too soon. He wants to spend more time with you, get to know you better.

But it's getting late at night. And as much as you don't want to leave either, you know you have to go.

"Drew, could we exchange numbers?" You ask, shyly. He just nods his head with a smile and gives you his phone. You put in your number and ask him to text you so you can get his.

"Thank you for the drive Drew," you say softly. You stare into his eyes yet again. There is so much you have to explore, so much more you need to know about him. He's lived a different life before you came in it, and you want to know about it all. You want to know every single thread that's been woven together to create this beautiful man in front of you.

"You're welcome," his voice just as soft as yours. You want him to stop you. You want him to tell you that he doesn't want you to leave. You want to stay with him and talk some more.

But he doesn't say anything.

You give him another smile and step out of the car and walk to your house.

Drew is controlling himself from calling your name out. Why are you getting distant from him by each passing second? Why aren't you staying? He doesn't want you to leave.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You freshen up in your washroom and change in some comfortable clothes before lying in your bed. You hear your phone vibrate so you pick it up to see it's a text from an unknown number.

unknown number: hey it's Drew :)

You smile at the text. You quickly save his number and shoot him a text back.

you: hey :)

drew: oh you haven't slept yet?

you: nope, not sure if I'll be able to fall asleep tho, my insomnia keeps on kicking in

drew: ugh same, insomnia gets the best of me

And you both kick it off again. It's almost 3 am at night, but you're up texting Drew. You feel like you are 13 years old, and you are getting to text your first ever crush. The nerves, the skipping of your heartbeat each time Drew uses a heart in his texts all make you feel like a little teenager again.

And you love it.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It's been almost three weeks since you met Drew, and all you have to say about this is that your life has changed for the better. He's there for you every single moment you need him; when you need someone to celebrate your small successes with, when you need a shoulder to rest your head on when you're sad, when you need someone to just listen about what's been bothering you.

In return, you love to be by Drew's side as much as you can. You try your best to reciprocate every little thing he does for you.

But one of the biggest things Drew has done for you is get in contact with one of the directors he has worked in the past, who now has casted you in his upcoming movie. The script impressed you a lot, and you're super excited to start working on it. And you just don't know how you can thank Drew for it.

"Sweets it's the fifth time today you've thanked me for it and it's only 9 am! I swear, I've done nothing, all I did was just call him up." He smiles at you, as he hands you a plate of the pancakes he made.

"But now I'm getting to act in this big movie Drew! You really don't know how grateful I am for that," you say, digging into the pancakes.

You were over at Drew's home last night to watch some Netflix together. You ended up falling asleep in between the show, so Drew carried you to his room carefully. When you woke up this morning, it took you a few seconds to realise where you are.

"I have to do something for you in return, otherwise I'll just feel guilty." You tell him.

"What? There is nothing to feel guilty about. No more talks about this okay? You and me, we're close friends, we do things for each other without expecting a thank you in return."

Friends. He didn't intend to say that, but what else can he do? He doesn't want to risk what you both have created so lovingly by admitting his feelings for you. What if you don't like him back?

Friends. Why do you feel a pang in your chest upon hearing this word? But, that's what you are right? You haven't told him how you feel about him, so that makes you friends, right?

An awkward silence falls over you two which only involves the sound of the forks and knives scratching against the plate and of you both chewing. Once you're done eating, Drew takes your plates and puts them in the dishwasher. Meanwhile you gather all your stuff and get ready to leave. You say nothing except a simple goodbye and leave his home.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You're sitting in your room with your script in your hand as you read it and try to memorise your lines along with it. The sound of your phone ringing makes you lift your head up from your script. You see it's Drew calling you. You get slightly worried because he doesn't call you very often, you both usually prefer texting but when he does call you, it's something urgent.

"Hello?" You say after accepting the call.

"Uh... are you free?" You hear Drew's voice on the other end. Except, he doesn't sound the same. He sounds sick.

"Oh my god Drew are you okay?" You ask worriedly, getting up from your bed and finding your shoes and other things you'll need if you have to leave the house.

"Just a little sick," he then coughs, which definitely doesn't indicate to a 'little sickness'.

"I'm coming okay? Just give me a few minutes." You cut the call and quickly pop on your shoes, pick up all your stuff and leave your house.

You reach his place really quickly and rush inside. You realise you didn't ring the bell but then you remembered he's alone and sick so it's best to not disturb him from his bed.

You enter his room to see the lights switched off, the curtains drawn, and Drew's body lying under the covers. You walk up to him and carefully lift the duvet from his head. You softly gasp at how pale he looks. There are loads of scrunched up tissues lying around on his bed.

"Hey," he says, his voice hoarse as he tries to smile at you.

"Drew, bub," you say nothing else. You feel so bad for him, he must be feeling so sick. He notices your frown and lifts one of his hands up to your hand.

"Hey I'll be fine, now that you're here to take care of me," you softly chuckle at his words, as you caress the back of his palm. You lean in to press your forehead against his to see if he has a temperature. At that moment, Drew feels his cheeks heat up, and not only because of the high temperature he has.

When you feel his forehead scorching hot against yours, you quickly rush to his medicine cabinet and find the pills you need. You then get a glass of water for him. You carefully wrap your arms around his body and help him sit up in his bed. You hand him the water and a pill.

He takes the pill and you tell him you're going to make some vegetable soup for him. You go to his kitchen, find all the ingredients you need in his fridge and start to whip up the soup. You work quicker than usual, because you know you need to get this to him as quick as you can. When the soup is simmering away on the stove, you go back to his room. He's still sitting in the same position, his head leaned back against the headboard and his eyes closed.

You drag one of the chairs in Drew's room closer to him and sit down. He opens his eyes and looks at you.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you, I really didn't know who to call." He says.

"You don't have to apologise, I'm here for you always," you say softly, taking his hand in yours again and rubbing his skin just as you did before. He seems a lot more relaxed upon this gesture from you.

"You are sweets, you are always there for me. You're there for me when I need someone to talk to, you're there for me when I need someone to tell my dad jokes to."

"And you are always there for me Drew," you add. "You're there for me when I need someone to listen to my crazy theories about the movies I watch."

Drew gives you a soft smile, and you both look into each other's eyes just the way you always do, and you find yourself getting lost in them again. It's like you've found a home in those striking blue eyes.

"Sweets?" He calls you out. Your heart flutters each time he calls you that. "Can I tell you something?" Maybe it's the high temperature that he has that's making him do this, or maybe he's just tired of being just friends with you. Whatever it is, he is ready to tell it to you.

"Yes?" Your heart starting to beat faster. You have a small hunch of what he might say, but you don't want to get your hopes up just to get hurt.

"I think... I think I've fallen for you." He whispers. You look at him with your eyes wide, his hand still in yours.

You can't believe your ears. He said what you had the slightest hunch he'd say. But you didn't think you would have guessed right.

The person you fell for because he told you he will always be there for you no matter what has also fallen for you.

On the other end, Drew looks at you and tries his best to read your expression. Are you going to tell him the same, or are you about to reject him? He can't tell what's going on in your mind. He breathes deeply as he watches you look at him with wide eyes.

"I'd never thought I'd hear this but Drew, I fell for you too, so fast, so hard." You whisper back. He lets out a sigh of relief.

The person he fell for because they told him taking care of him is one of their topmost priorities has fallen for him.

You lean in and press a soft kiss on his forehead and another one on his cheek. "I'll give you a real one when you get well." You say, smiling so widely.

That night, you stay over at his place. You sleep next to Drew, his head resting on your chest as you rake your fingers softly through his hair and occasionally press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his temple, his chin, his nose.

He's yours, and you're his.

The world has finally fallen in place.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @ragingsammie

[shesthejukeboxhero]

hi, i have a miles bron request if you don't mind!

so, the reader works as a bartender in glass onion and when she meets miles for the first time he tries to impress her with his Genius Future Entrepreneur Ideas™. she's not very into it since none of them seem all that original and she tells him as much. and the dude gets SO pissed that he keeps coming back with notebooks upon notebooks of projects because it's a matter of principle and totally not because he likes her and wants her to respect him. and the reader keeps listening to his rants since she wants to see how far miles can go and totally not because she starts to fall for him. you know no romantic tension here whatsoever 👀👀👀

is it too much? too specific?? idk thanks for reading either way your hcs are fire💗💞💓

LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!

Midnights become our Afternoons

Miles Bron x Bartender!fem!reader

Warnings: Alcohol (obviously), angst if you squint

Summary: Working at the Glass Onion during it’s prime, you’re bound to meet some pretty interesting people. One of which is Miles Bron.

You fumble through the keys on your keychain as you approach the door to the back entrance of the Glass Onion, your family friend’s bar that he hired you to work at as a bartender the minute you turned 18. Once the door is opened, you slip your jacket off and grab your apron off the hook. Then, you go out front and open the front door. As the first few customers roll in you take their orders for what seems like hours. You stand at the bar polishing glasses at the cusp of midnight when a new guy takes a seat in front of you.

“I’ll take a Bulliet on the rocks, please.” He says with a smile as you set the glass down.

“Sure thing.” You turn your back to the bar to pour his drink for him.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome…” you struggle to think of his name.

“Miles. Miles Bron.”

“You’re welcome, Miles.” Setting it down in front of him, you then walk to the end of the bar to serve your other customers.

Miles then spots a napkin and starts scribbling on it. Making your way back down to where he’s sitting, you spot him writing on the napkin.

“What are you writing?”

“Just some ideas.” He says, finishing what he’s writing. He then holds the napkin out to you, which you read what it says.

“Portable cell phone? Isn’t that already a thing?”

“Yeah, but this one will be more compact. It will actually fit into your pocket.”

You hand the napkin back to him. “It’s not very original. Apple’s had that idea for years with Samsung right behind them.”

“Fine then.” He frowns, stuffing the napkin in his pocket. He then pulls a $20 bill out of his wallet and sets it on the bar before leaving.

The next night, at the same time, he comes in again, along with a whole notebook. Smirking, you walk over to his part of the bar.

“Back again so soon?”

He grumbles in response and pushes the pile of notebooks towards you as you fix his drink.

“What’s this?” You say, flipping open the first notebook.

“Ideas. I want your thoughts.”

Reading the first page, you chuckle to yourself. “Half of these ideas are just ripoffs of existing products. If you want a good idea, it has to be original.”

“Well what would you suggest then?” He says, watching you read his notebook as he sips his bourbon.

“I don’t know, maybe something actually helpful to society, like a faster way to get stuff. Maybe order it from a website or something.”

She grabs a napkin, taking the pen from him and scribbles the idea on a napkin and labels it “Y/N’s Big Idea” and hands it to him. “Add this to your pile of ideas.”

The two of you sit at the bar that night way past closing, just bouncing ideas off eachother.

“Why don’t you like any ideas of mine?”

“Because they’re all ripping off another idea.”

“Well that’s how most products are made!”

“But it’s not how they sell.” You say, looking him directly in the eye.

He nods softly, closing his notebooks and finishing his drink.

This repeats itself over many weeks, the two of you arguing over if an idea would work or not, and even if the two of you don’t realize it, but you really enjoy the other’s company. So that’s why you keep the bar open late, midnights becoming your afternoons, just sitting with this guy and listening for when he has a great idea.

“I put more thought into your idea, by the way.” He suddenly says.

“Really?” You say, resting your chin in you hand as you lean on the bar.

“Yeah, I think it might work. Imagine how easy it would be to order ANYTHING from a website and get it to your house in a few days. Its revolutionary.”

“And original!” You with a smirk, and you swear you can see a little smile peak through his lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Original.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Not sure. I’ll have to speak to investors but I think we might have a hit here.”

“We?” You say, shocked.

“Well yeah, of course. You came up with the idea after all.”

“I have no experience in business, Miles.”

“Yeah, but you have customer service skills. You’re the best damn bartender I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks.”

Miles grabs a napkin from the counter holder and scribbles his number on it, passing it to you. “It’s about time we talked outside of this bar. Let me take you out to dinner sometime, where we could talk about our business more.” He says with a smile, and a little bit of redness showing on his cheeks.

“If this is you trying to ask me on a date the answer is yes.”

“Tomorrow afternoon then? I’m sure your nights are filled.”

“I can take a day off.” You say with a smile.

People say it takes a spark to light a fire, and that spark just happens to be named Miles Bron.

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

"Ben, you can't just stay in the tub all day and play games on the laptop. It's not healthy for you." Phillip looked around at the mess that was their bathroom. Filled out crossword puzzles and mystery books solves were scattered everywhere. A pile of books that continued to accumulate by the day were sat next to the tub and a pile of wet towels. "Again? What did I tell you about leaving the towels on the ground? At least hang them up. "

"What's the point?" His detective moaned from his position in the bath. Head just above the water as their rubber duck, Elton, floated past Benoit's head. "I tried baking, sewing, blogging, gaming, there's nothing for me to do!'

This was true. The mess that was their flat was littered with half started hobbies and the messes that came with them. A seemingly impossible to remove red stain now decorated the wall just under the cabinets in the kitchen, courtesy of his husband's experimentation in fermenting kimchi.

"Yes, well, you could at least play somewhere that isn't so dark and depressing." As Phillip knelt down to gather the papers, he leaned over the tub's rim and pressed a quick kiss onto the detective's forehead. "Come on, Ms. Fletcher sent me this lovely pudding recipe to try, and I'm sure you'll enjoy it in the kitchen."

"That does sound mighty fine." The detective hummed, emerging from the lukewarm prison that was their tub. Phillip grabbed their last remaining clean towel and quickly handed it to his partner. "Speaking of, I was just talking to Jessica the other day, and she mentioned this new fangled game called Among Us...."

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐭 || 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

IMPORTANT! This fic was written with ONLY Knives Out as it’s source material, I haven’t yet seen Glass Onion. I have since been made aware 1000+ words into this fic that Benoit is gay as of the second film. I didn’t want what I had to go to waste. This is the only time I will write for him in a m x f relationship.

Summary: You introduce Private Investigator Benoit to Cluedo

Word Count: 3.1K

CW: FEMALE READER. Please see explanation above. sassy Benoit. Vague references to a mild age gap relationship, easter egg references to Knives Out film 🤭 Nylon Kink. A bit of knife play. Oral, f receiving.

Tease: “On the contrary,” he answers you with a playful lilt to his drawl, slowly sinking to his knees before you, “I intend to stay right here.”

“You’ve never played Cluedo?!”

Shock permeates each syllable of your parroted sentence, your jaw slack as you stare at your partner with complete incredulity. Benoit, in turn, peers vacantly at you like you’ve said something ridiculously dense.

“Ain’t that what I just said?” He asks you, his monotonous voice lacking any true irritation as he taps the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray on the coffee table between you.

“Nah, we’ve gotta fix that,” you insist, slapping your palms on your knees before raising from your armchair. Benoit peers over the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses, and his icy-blue eyes follow your body across the room.

“Now— Dear, you’ve worked a long shift; you can’t be runnin’ around playin’ detective with me,” he tries to reason with you, attempts to talk you down from the inevitable shitshow that was no doubt about to unfold in the shape of solution cards and miniature murder weapon props. It’s all fruitless, though, because you’re sweeping aside Benoit’s beloved ashtray and ignoring his protestations as you drop the board game’s box onto the coffee table.

Yes, you’d slogged a nine-hour shift and hadn’t had time to change into less formal attire. Your pencil skirt bunches up your thighs, and the button-down blouse collar lies taut against your throat. Hell, your nude tights are beginning to itch too, but you’re far too invested in this ridiculous adventure and refuse to turn back at the sound of Benoit’s listless objections.

“Here we go,” you mumble to yourself, sliding the lid off the cardboard box and electing to ignore the heavy sigh that Benoit hopelessly attempts to conceal. He leans forward to put out his cigar in the ashtray you had unceremoniously discarded on the wooden floor, eyeing you as you set out the board game items and distribute each piece evenly.

“Who would you like to play as?” You ask, offering out the coloured tokens in your outstretched palm.

Benoit peers at each of the six shades of plastic pawn figurines, his expression betraying his evident discontent. “You know I do this for a livin’, don’t you, Dear?”

Your scowl in retaliation to his query has Benoit snatching up the green token from your hand and setting it on his end of the table. Again you smile as though he’d never spoken and choose red for yourself. Reverend Green and Miss Scarlett.

Carefully, you shuffle the weapon, suspect, and room card decks. Then, as discreetly as possible, take the top card from each pile and put them into the murder envelope without peeking at the details on the other side.

Finally, ignoring the obnoxious sighs rattling in Benoit’s chest, you hand out the Clue cards. Five cards each for you and Benoit, four apiece for the pair of ghost hands; purple and blue. You pinch the dice between your forefinger and thumb, holding it in front of your lover's face. “Odd for purple, even for blue. Got it?”

“Got it,” he responds, clearly finding the process tedious already but suffering through for you. Your eyes are alight with excitement, a grin permanently fixed on your lips. How was he to say no? In fact, he found himself amused by your enthusiasm to understand his line of work— even if it was through juvenile means.

“Alright!” You giggle, rolling the dice to move your scarlet pawn token forward. “Let’s begin!”

-✩-

Chimes sound from the mahogany grandfather clock situated in the corner of Benoit’s living room. They’re almost deafening in the silence that has befallen the coffee table. Although it feels like moments, you realise the minute hand has completed a revolution of the face of the timepiece — You’ve been playing for an hour. You’re no closer to identifying the killer than you were sixty minutes ago.

Benoit appears bored to tears, chain-smoking cigars and even leaves his seat at one point to obtain a glass of whiskey. To the amusement of both of you, you hadn’t noticed his absence, too wrapped up in the game to realise he’d gone AWOL.

“Now, Darlin’,” he begins, cutting both the stillness of the room and your acute concentration with his southern drawl. “Don’t you think it’s time we called it a night? It’s gettin’ awfully late—“

“Benoit,” you whine petulantly, noting the wince it earns you from the older man. He certainly looks like he’d acquired a few more silver hairs since you began this wretched game. “I want to finish it.”

“Mhmm…” Benoit pushes his spectacles up his nose, glancing over the board with mirth, “I knew a man who wouldn’t admit defeat in a board game. Know what happened?”

You glance up at him, eyebrow raised in question.

“He died.”

“Benoit!”

Exasperated, Benoit turns his black cards over, revealing his weapon, room and character. He raises his hands in defeat, settling back in his seat and officially ruling himself out of the game. “There, you only gotta look at two suspects… You're not much of a detective, are you?”

“You‘ve solved it already, haven’t you?!” You gasp, looking up at him with wide doe-eyes and dismay. He answers with a firm nod of his head. Perhaps it was foolish of you, but you really thought you’d established egalitarianism with a board game. “Well, go on, how did you know?”

Benoit inhales, opening his mouth to speak and finally put an end to this ridiculousness. “Well, now, I—“

“Wait!” you shout out, holding a hand up as though it would physically restrain the syllables of his deduction from leaving his lips. “I’ll figure it out myself!”

Sullenly, Benoit sinks back into his armchair, admitting defeat and allowing you to play out your inspector fantasy. He pouts for a few moments, watching you furiously exert your mind with the evidence before dragging his gaze over your uniform.

A quiet man, reticent in nature, Benoit rarely discussed his appreciation for your work apparel. Yes, the pencil skirt was lovely and hugged your body well, and the blouse accentuated your bodily aesthetics, but it was the tights that really captured his imagination.

In truth, Benoit was fascinated with your nylon wardrobe and could go so far as to say it was somewhat of a sexual preference. A kink. He enjoyed the sleek look they gave your legs, their shine underneath lights. Once, the feel of your stockings in his hand as he held your foot up to aid in fastening one of your heels had set him alight.

Gazing at your legs, folded over one another as you attempted to piece each clue together resentfully, Benoit felt heat rise under his collar. The nude tights you were wearing are perfect, sheen delicate beneath the faux-candelabra light fixtures. There’s not a tear, ladder or hole in sight.

He planned to amend that.

Benoit lifts himself from his seat, skirting the coffee table easily and approaching you with long strides. You momentarily glance up from the clue card in your hand, scowling to yourself as he advances. “So embarrassed with my detective work that you’re retreating to bed, Mr Blanc?”

“On the contrary,” he answers you with a playful lilt to his drawl, slowly sinking to his knees before you, “I intend to stay right here.”

Momentarily, your mind works like an old television with a crooked aerial antenna. Static fizzles between your synapses, and you cannot come up with a retort to Benoit’s cheeky inference.

“Best keep your mind on the case, detective,” he murmurs, palms settling on your ankles and tracing up the sides of your calves, “We wouldn’t want the killer gettin’ away now, would we?”

You swallow thickly, holding the cards with shaking hands as you feel Benoit place a lingering kiss on the inside of your knee. He skirts the tip of his nose up the inside of your thigh, humming softly as he squeezes the meat of your calves in his hands.

Focus. Focus. It couldn’t have been Benoit; he’s rescinded his cards. So, it was one of the Ghost Hands. Blue was suspicious, and you’d already discovered she was carrying a wrench. However, she had a decent alibi… Meanwhile, you had barely anything on Purple.

You roll the dice again, the face showing a two rather than the hand glass you had been hoping for. Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rake over the evidence, only to be interrupted by your vision swimming suddenly.

Benoit’s nose notches against your clit through your tights, his head practically buried beneath the fabric of your skirt. He groans softly, inhaling the scent of your sex. You whimper, the edges of his glasses pressing against the junction of your thigh as he presses a delicate kiss to your slit through your panties.

“Do me a favour, Dear,” he breathes against your thigh, pressing kisses to the nylon fabric. He doesn’t have to state what he wants from you explicitly. Fumbling with clumsy hands, you set the cards down quickly on the armrest and pull the hem of your skirt over your hips to give Benoit better access.

“Much obliged,” he whispers to you, and you can hear the gratuitous smirk playing on his lips. Attempting to ignore him and focus on the cards, you endeavour to read the clue, which is written in plain English. You haven’t yet fully deciphered it, thanks to Benoit’s tinkering.

He has other plans, though, nipping at your skin through the fabric of your tights. You jolt slightly with each bite he gives you, and you can hear him chuckle beneath you.

“Anythin’?” Benoit teases you with a combination of kisses and nibbles trailing up your thigh. It takes a moment for your answer to form on your tongue, toes curling in your heels.

“Mhm- N-Not yet,” you stumble over your words despite your attempt to conceal your evident appreciation for his affections.

“Hmm,” he hums, the rumble in his chest setting your hair on end as he, once again, presses lingering kisses over your panties. “I feel a noose tightenin’.”

Everything inside you freezes, and you’re quick to glance at the miniature weapon icons. The rope lays dead centre of the pile, and you’re forced to reconsider everything. Was Benoit giving you a hint?

Admittedly, you don’t have time to contemplate. As you open your mouth to question him, Benoit sucks on your clit through your panties. Your line of questioning dies in your throat, instead coming out as a strangled ‘Ahhh~’.

As quickly as he offers you the blissful sensation, he’s stealing it away. He pulls back, sitting on his haunches, and you’re blinking back your arousal to see him clearly. “W-Why did you…?”

Benoit hushes you gently with a wicked smile. “I think you should focus on the case.”

Smug bastard.

Filled with the desire for retribution, you cast your eyes back to the clue cards in your hand. They’re slightly creased now due to the tight grip you’re holding them with. You manage to make out the words ‘Name One…’ before a clicking sound pulls your attention away yet again.

The glint of light reflecting off the blade in his hand had your heart seizing. Not in fear, no, but exhilaration. See, Benoit carried the flip knife on his person always. It was less of a weapon for self-defence than a family heirloom, and Benoit never took it out without good reason. Simply asking to see it would not gain you access to the elusive dagger.

Your breath hitches, adrenaline buzzing down your spine.

“Now, hold still,” Benoit insists, impossibly blue eyes gazing up at your face through the lenses of his glasses. You nod quickly, both showing him you are listening and urging him forward with his plan.

You watch as he leans forward, slipping the knife's point into the nylon at your crotch. Utterly motionless, you whimper as your lover pulls the handle upwards and slices through the fragile material with ease.

“Been wantin’ you to keep these fine stockin’s on …” Benoit whispers against your thigh, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh there as he closes the knife with a click and slips it back into his pocket.

“H-Huh?” You tremble beneath his affections, his lips travelling further up the inside of your legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Case, Detective,” he replies flatly, sliding the pad of his index finger against your slit through the cotton of your panties, “You’re deducin’ a murder weapon— it’s in plain sight.”

“Right,” you nod dumbly, swallowing back your arousal and glancing at the board. The box said the game was suitable for ages eight and up; surely it shouldn’t be this difficult. There had to be evidence you had overlooked. Your notes are settled on the coffee table, and you venture to decipher the evidence as you take up the booklet with trembling hands.

But then Benoit is hooking his finger inside the crotch of your panties, pulling the fabric to the side and exposing your sex. You almost drop the notepad on his head. “How ‘bout you take me through your notes, Dear Detective?”

You would, God, you absolutely would if you could. However, Benoit’s tongue drags against your slit, and your mind goes numb, buzzing as though it has a pins-and-needles sensation. He hums, amusement lilting his voice as he watches you struggle.

Overwhelmed, you completely forget about the game of Cluedo, tilting your head over the back of the chair and sliding your fingers through the greying man’s hair. The notebook falls from your hand, clattering against the wooden floor but you’re already too far gone to care.

Eager to please you further, Benoit is gripping your thighs, lifting them so they settle on his shoulders. The nylon tights rub against his neck this way, and you’re sure it spurs him on because he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit. It jolts your body forward, and that maddening chuckle sounds between your legs again.

“Now, Darlin’,” he croons, and you’re whining due to the lack of friction already, “You be careful. The killer’ll be gettin’ away.”

You choke on an apology, Benoit burying his face into your cunt and sucking at your clit keenly. He’s swirling your clit with the tip of his tongue, one, two, three times, and then dragging over the seam of your sex to lap up your slick.

Not only was the man eloquent, but he was also persuasive with his tongue. Trembling in your seat, you sob out as your muscles tense against it. Your legs twitch against the shoulders of his suit, and you arch your hips up to grind against his face.

“Detective,” he prompts you, and you suck in a breath like you’re coming up for air after being suspended in water. Your eyes roll back, and you try to focus hard on what it is he’s requesting of you.

“Hngg- B-Blue has a go-good alibi—” you let out an obscene whine, the wet noises of his tongue dragging against your soaked pussy diverting you from the task at hand.

“Mhmm?” He hums, and the vibration has you bucking against his face again, sobbing out his name in a broken whimper.

“A-And I’m not sure about Purple!” You squeak out. God, it’s so messy. You’re soaking his face, and you’re sure you can see your slick glossing up his nose and chin. If you stained the seat, you’re not even sure he’d mind; the blues of his eyes engulfed by the black of his pupils.

It’s a wave of pleasure building, teasing at your abdomen and throbbing through you with each pulse of your heart. You inhale deeply, feeling it tease at the edges of your skin. You’re devastated, overpowered by the ecstasy clawing at the base of your spine— you don’t even notice what it is you’re saying.

"I-I-It was the- ohhhh fuck, Benny~" you sob out, tears rolling down your cheeks, “It’s you— Hgnn fuck!-!”

"Hm? Use your words, dear. You're makin' an accusation, you know. Don't want to slip your words now." He’s entertained by your bewilderment, “Especially when the person you’re accusin’ has given you a damn good alibi.”

You’re so far gone that you’re not even embarrassed that you’d just implicated the one person you could be sure wasn’t the killer. Swallowing sobs, you watch as Benoit circles your clit repeatedly with his tongue, eyes staring straight up at you and watching you come apart.

It all happens so fast. Your toes are curling in your shoes as the cramping sensation of your oncoming orgasm takes hold. One of your shoes falls off and clatters to the floor, and Benoit places the flat of his palm against your pubic bone.

“Oh God-!” You choke out, whining as he continues with the devastating pattern he’s drawing. “I’m gonna— Shit, Benny, it’s—“

He’s nodding without removing his mouth from you as though he’s telling you ’I know’. It’s shoving you right off the edge, those beautiful blue eyes blinking slowly and taking in every inch of the image of ecstasy on your face.

It pulses right between your legs, throbbing against his tongue like a pulse. You scream out his name, all of the muscles in your body tensing so hard that you’re cramping. Your vision goes white, and you’re gripping Benoit’s hair so tightly that you’re surprised you don’t rip any out.

You’re suspended for a moment, and then everything melts away, every inch of your body melting against the plush of the seat. Distantly, you recognise the smile against his lips, pressed to your skin.

“… Who was it?” You slur like you’re drunk on the dopamine he’s just overdosed you on. He laughs heartily, and you can’t help but smile with him.

“Blue.”

“Fuck!” You gasp out, palms covering your face and digging your nails into your hairline. As if! “When on earth did you figure that out, Benny?”

He sits back on his knees, pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping his chin and nose to remove the slick you had rubbed onto him. “Mhmm… Why, I figured it out the moment you laid out the cards.”

You scoff now, disjointedly sitting up in your chair. The muscles of your arms are like jelly, and you struggle to raise yourself. “Are you that good that you could tell at first glance?”

Again, a smug smile plays at the edge of Benoit’s lips, his eyes flicking up to your face.

“No… I simply saw the cards you drew.”

END

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[octoberobserver]

Aprons and Ascots - Benoit Blanc/Phillip Fic

(Read on ao3)

“Is that one of the tie-dye aprons Helen’s third graders made you?”

Phillip froze, left foot suspended over their notoriously creaky floorboard.

“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he teased before turning on the spot to finish up the breakfast tray he had been surreptitiously preparing (or so he thought) for his husband before he was unceremoniously interrupted.

“One for every day of the week,” he continued as Blanc crossed to the coffee maker. “They meticulously chose the colours and patterns for all seven of them. Being back in their classroom, even on a staggered basis has done them the world of good, it seems. They’re a very nice payment for my legal fees.”

All of Andi’s assets had been released to Helen months ago, but neither Blanc nor Phillip had accepted a cent for their detective or lawyer services. Watching that shithead Bron suffer under the weight of his own idiocy had been payment enough as far as they were concerned. Well, that and Helen’s sugar cookies. Those too. Not all baking had halted when lockdown lifted, thank God. Though he could admit, his own kitchen endeavours probably had, for the greater good of his tastebuds and waistline.

“I will say, I’m glad it was an open and shut case, to be sure, for our dear Ms. Brand’s sake,” Blanc murmured between sips of his coffee, coming up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. “But I’d also be remiss if I didn’t admit that I rather mourned your very delectable lawyerin’ theatrics during the trial.”

“Says the most dramatic man in the world,” Phillip scoffed back, slapping his hand away when he attempted to reach toward the buttered toast.

Blanc wasn’t easily deterred, however, merely stepping closer and leaning his chin on his shoulder.

“Watching you tear down the Thrombeys’ revolving door of rabid dogs was very sexy and debonair, Mr. Thacker. I have missed the spectacle.”

Phillip chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for the orange juice.

“You just like my courtroom voice, Mr. Blanc.”

“Lord help me, I do.”

Their eyes met.

“Hmm. Well, aren’t I ever so glad a certain private detective convinced me to leave my bustling London law firm and spend the next two decades setting up sticks Stateside?” Phillip replied cheekily, hip-checking him out of the way and carrying the laden tray over to their breakfast nook.

It was all true, of course—he had fallen for the (Texan? Louisianan? He hadn’t been sure at the time) foreigner whom he met when he had been under suspicion of the murder of his boss, of all things, near Westminster Abbey, in 1998. Benoit, who was reluctantly brought there at the behest of Phillip’s other, very rich, very powerful boss, had ruled him out immediately, but somehow still found a way to keep questioning him, much to Phillip’s baffled delight and to Scotland Yard’s continued annoyance.

It had been the meek personal assistant who had done his boss in, in the end. And once the guilty party had been stuffed into the back of a patrol car, Blanc had turned to him, with his mesmerizing gaze and in his famous Southern drawl, set his heart racing with words he would never forget.

“I confess, Mr. Thacker, but I feel a type of connection with you. As if we’ve known each other all our lives. I cannot make any sense of it…compels me, though.”

They had dinner that night.

And almost every night since.

For twenty-three years today, Phillip Thacker had spent his life with the whirlwind that was world-renowned, private-detective, Benoit Blanc, and he wouldn’t give up one single second of it.

Well. Maybe the lockdown sulk baths. They could stay firmly in the past, thank you very much.

“Oh, speaking of those wretched Thrombeys, Marta wants us over for dinner at six pm on Friday. Her mum is making that delicious Ropa Vieja again. Natasha wants us to save her some leftovers.”

He could feel Blanc’s steely blue eyes follow him as he set himself up at the nook.

“Those leftovers stand no chance against your midnight munchies,” he smoothly retorted, joining him, taking his usual seat opposite, newspaper folded under his arm.

“I already told her that,” Phillip smirked.

They tucked into their cheese omelets, toast, tea, and coffee, respectively.

“A package arrived for you earlier,” he piped up after a few minutes, as innocently as he could, knowing there was absolutely no way he was getting anything past his husband and loving him anyway.

“Oh?”

Those gorgeous eyes locked onto him like a beacon.

“Another mysterious box,” he added, trying and failing to hide his smile behind his cup of tea.

“Well now,” Blanc smiled back, “that’ll be somethin’ for after this very nice meal. Thank you,” he raised his glass of orange juice in a toast. “Happy Anniversary, mon chéri.”

“Happy Annivesary, love,” Phillip echoed, clinking their glasses before gesturing out to the hallway. “I did try to get it closer to the bed for actual breakfast in bed this time. But you caught me, as always.”

Blanc gave a half-shrug.

“You have as many tells as you have talents.”

“Of course I do, dear. And you know every single one.”

Blanc narrowed his piercing eyes, pensive.

“Not every single one. For example, I had no earthly idea that you brushed up on your art law to help bury Bron deeper than a groundhog in December.”

“Miles Bron is an insufferable, murderous twat and he’ll get everything he deserves,” Phillip sipped his tea before lowering his cup and clasping his hand. “But I am glad I can still surprise you, even after all these years.”

“Compel me,” Blanc murmured, squeezing his hand back and leaning in to peck his lips, humming into it when Phillip deepened it, turning it just a little devious, as was his wont.

Once they finished breakfast, Blanc filled the dishwasher and made his way out to the living room, calling over his shoulder.

“I have a new movie we can watch.”

“As long as it’s not another one of your blasted rom-coms, Ben,” Phillip yelled back, head deep in their pantry, searching for the chocolate biscuits his mother shipped over for his birthday. They were perfect for dipping in his tea, much to Benoit’s disgust. “You know I loath them more than you loath Cluedo.”

“We call it, ‘Clue’ here, darlin’,” Blanc retorted same as always, edging closer to the large, dark box sitting pretty by their front door.

Phillip emerged, biscuits in hand, just as he was grinning down at the familiar handwriting, tearing the cardboard open with zeal and laughing in delight at what it revealed.

“Tie-dye ascots! Seven of them! Just look at these beauties. Helen’s students are marvels.”

Phillip chuckled as Blanc tied the ascot more like a neckerchief in his haste and began inspecting himself in the mirror.

“You look as handsome as ever.”

He made a mental note to send a card of thanks for the extra anniversary present. Helen Brand and her clever third graders truly were a godsend.