#glass onion fic

[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 (;

[wrathofthestag]

Phillip's

Benoit Blanc believed there was no godly reason to have five coffee shops within walking distance of one another. So when a new shop called Phillip’s opened just down the street, Benoit couldn’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. At least the name wasn’t idiotic. Also on AO3...

To be honest, Benoit Blanc thought there were too many coffee shops in the world.

Jesus wept; there was no godly reason to have five coffee shops within walking distance of one another. Macco-choco caramel this, that, and the other—a waste of real estate. And the pastries they served? Travesty. Utter travesty. So when a new shop called Phillip’s opened just down the street, Benoit couldn’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. At least the name wasn’t idiotic.

He walked past Phillip’s—it was on his way home, after all—and ignored the smells coming from within, or at least tried to. Benoit’s neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds with the very sweet basset hound named Droopy, had said Phillip’s baked goods were “quite tasty.” Quite tasty, however, wasn’t enough to tempt him to enter the establishment. That was until Phillip’s had the utter audacity to put a sign in the window declaring they had delicious fresh beignets.

Beignets? Outside of New Orleans? Benoit couldn’t help but huff. He had to investigate that surely outlandish claim.

When he pushed his way through the coffee shop door, he instantly noticed how tastefully decorated the shop was. Fresh flowers sat at each table, everything was painted a lovely pale yellow, and Ella Fitzgerald rang from the speakers. Hmm. The shop was fairly empty, with just a few patrons at one table. Benoit couldn’t tell if that was a portend or if he just came in between a rush.

He looked at the chalkboard menu above the counter and studied it for a moment until someone cleared their throat and broke into his space.

“Welcome to Phillip’s,” a voice said.

“Yes, hello, thank you. Can I--”

Benoit looked at the source of the voice, and…

Oh, shitballs.

Well, he was just Benoit’s type, now, wasn’t he? Dark hair, blue eyes, a quizzical brow, and a crooked smile that made him want to trip over himself. He wore a tie-dyed apron and a nametag that read Phillip.

“We have some cheddar bacon scones just out of the oven.”

“Uh…”

“Unless you’re a vegan or something, then scratch that,” the man, the Phillip said.

Benoit took his wits about him as he tried to ignore Phillip’s smile and floppy hair.

“Beignets?” he finally croaked out.

“Ah, a connoisseur of the beignet are you?” Phillip asked as he leaned on his elbows against the counter.

“Yes, you could say that. Absolutely.”

Phillip’s eyes widened slightly, and then he shook his head and laughed.

“Yeah, judging by that accent, you could definitely say that,” he said. “Bugger.”

Benoit smiled and shrugged.

“Beignets outside of New Orleans shows quite the braggadocio.”

This time it was Phillip who grinned and shrugged.

“I hope they’re up to snuff.”

He looked over his shoulder and shouted.

“Lou! Hey, Lou! How long on the beignets?”

“Five minutes!” a voice from out back replied.

“Well, there you go. You can let me know what you think in five minutes. Anything else?”

The two looked at each other for a beat, the ghost of a smile still lingering.

“Coffee?”

“Room for cream?”

“No, thank you.”

“Takeaway?”

“Yes, please.”

“Name.”

“Blanc. Benoit Blanc.”

Benoit wasn’t quite sure exactly why he gave his whole name like that, but he did. Phillip snorted.

“Blanc? Benoit Blanc? What are you? James Bond?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Okay, fine,” Phillip said and exhaled loudly.

“Fine?”

“Some people like to give made-up names, and at this point, I’ve stopped reacting��or at least trying to react. Especially with one as silly as this.”

“Silly?” Benoit sputtered. “Listen--”

“Is that Blanc with a ‘c’ or a ‘q-u-e’?” Phillip asked with an eyebrow raised.

“A ‘c.’”

“I see,” Phillips said as he wrote on the cup and filled it with coffee. “Here you go, Blanc-with-a-C. The beignet will be right up.”

Benoit paid, and as their fingers grazed, he couldn’t help the tiny flip his insides did.

Phillip cleared his throat again and said, “Very well then. It should only be a few minutes on the beignets.”

“Thank you.”

Benoit sat at one of the cushy corner armchairs in a very supple dark grey suede and sipped his coffee.

“Is it always this quiet in here?” he asked toward the counter.

The patrons at the one table turned to look at Benoit.

“Quiet? Hardly,” Phillip called back. “You came during a quiet pocket. It’ll pick up again in an hour.”

Benoit sat and watched as Phillip wiped down the table, his forearms strong while they worked in a circular motion. Phillip paused and looked up right at Benoit, who startled and quickly looked down at his coffee cup.

Phillip shook his head and grinned as he wiped some more.

Lou, apparently, walked out from the back with a tray full of beignets.

“Order up for Blanc,” Phillip said.

Benoit walked up to the counter and breathed an internal sigh of relief as he looked at the beignets. They were a beautiful shade of light brown and covered in powdered sugar.

“I stand ready for your judgment,” Phillip said as he shook some more powdered sugar onto one and gently put it on a plate.

Benoit pick it up and took a bite. It was yeasty and sweet, but not overpowering. It was as fragant and airy as a summer’s night in Savannah.

“Oh, my word.” He took another bite. “Oh my goodness.”

Phillip smiled.

“Good, right?”

“It's… well, yes,” Benoit said with delight.

“I know.”

Benoit put down the beignet and quickly placed a ten in the tip jar and smiled, upper lip covered in powdered sugar.

“Well! What a compliment!” Phillip said as he picked up the jar and looked at it, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” Benoit asked and gingerly wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Come on! Just an hour ago, this jar was almost full! My tip jar’s been nicked again.”

Phillip sighed, walked over to the register, took out some money, and placed it in the tip jar.

“If it were just me working here, I wouldn't care so much, but Lou and the kids all divvy up the tips. This is the second time it’s happened. I thought the first time was a fluke but I supposed it wasn’t.”

“So sorry that's happening.”

“What kind of a cretin steals tips? I need a detective to solve this nonsense!”

A detective? Benoit couldn't help but laugh.

“What? What's so funny?”

“No, it's just that--”

“What?”

“Well,” Benoit said. “I'm a detective.”

Phillip put his hands on his hips. “You are not.”

“Certified and bonafied.”

Phillip laughed. “Oh god! You’re not one of those overbearing sorts that smokes a bloody pipe, fancying themselves Sherlock fucking Holmes, who thinks they’re too smart for their own good?”

“No, I think I’m just the right amount of smart… and I smoke cigars,” Benoit said with a smile.

The two studied each other for a beat, their smiles growing wider by the second.

“You just think you're so charming, don't you?”

“I have my moments.”

Benoit felt someone watching, turned, and noticed the people sitting at the table looking at them amusedly. The woman at the table mouthed Go on to him.

“Well, all right then, Blanc. Would you like to have dinner sometime?” Phillip said. “You know, to go over the case.”

“Are you hiring me?”

Phillip moved his hand in a so-so motion.

“Not sure yet. I'll let you know after dinner.”

Benoit took another bite of the beignet and sighed.

"Flying colors.”

Phillips smiled smugly.

“Well, Blanc. Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Phillip. Phillip White.”

“Phillip White? You’re pullin’ my leg!”

“No,” Phillip laughed softly. “I promise you, I am not. My hands are nowhere near your legs.”

“Phillip,” Benoit said and stretched out his hand, “it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you, Blanc.”

The two smiled at one another, surrounded by pastries, music, and flowers. And if their handshake lasted a bit longer than it should have, well, there was no mystery as to why.

[ebp-brain]

benoit blanc/philip: homecoming

spoilers for The Glass Onion ahead!

--

“So,” says Philip.

“So,” says Benoit Blanc.

“You solved a murder on a billionaire’s private island, then encouraged your new friend to blow up virtually the entire island, causing the destruction of one of the greatest works of art in the history of humanity and the downfall of said billionaire’s massive tech company. Not to mention the billionaire himself.”

Blanc nods, looking around at the open living room-slash-kitchen area of his and Philip’s flat, suitcases at his feet and the stale smell of airplane still clinging to his clothes.

“And you,” he says, “made about fifty loaves of sourdough bread in my absence.”

“Fifty-six,” says Philip. “I ate some.”

Blanc nods slowly, looking at his husband. His husband looks back.

“My god, I love you,” Blanc says.

“I love you too. I wish I could have seen the explosion.”

“It was quite something.” Blanc steps closer and takes Philip’s face in his hands. He kisses him hard on the mouth. Philip gives a startled inhale and then kisses back, grasping at Blanc’s upper arms, pulling him in.

“There you are,” he gasps out, looking into Blanc’s eyes. “There you are.”

Blanc’s face falls a bit. “I do apologize for my…rather insufferable behavior these last few months. And for monopolizing our bathtub. I know I cannot have been much of a joy to cohabitate with.”

“Oh, Blanc,” says Philip, “mostly it was just hard to watch you suffer. I miss your…” He gestures at Blanc’s sparkling eyes, his upright posture, his bright face alive with intelligence. “This. You.”

Blanc smiles a little and kisses Philip, more softly this time. “Have you perfected the recipe yet?”

Philip beams. “Try for yourself.”

Blanc looks around at the dozens of loaves stacked on their cabinets, tables, counters, and even the occasional bookshelf. “I certainly shall,” he replies. “I certainly shall.”

[labyrinthphanlivingafacade]

boy your glass onion fanfiction killing me it's so good it's got me biting my hand and blushing and kicking my feet

damn you must really like it if you came here to say something bc i don't even think i linked my tumblr on that one

& thank you so much!!! link for anyone interested

[marlasomething]

Fandom: Knives Out Movies

(Main) Character(s): Marta Cabrera, Helen Brand, Benoit Blanc

(Main) Ship(s): Marta/Helen

Word count: 1508

Other(s): Post-Canon-compliant

[who-wants-a-muffin-official]

the glass onion fic has been posted!!

[leverage-ot3]

I need this for science

[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

[humanthatexistsrn]

there are two kinds of benoit/phillip fics:

1. phillip “”holy fucking shit my husband might’ve died in an explosion holy shit” because obviously he was worried it was AN ISLAND WIDE EXPLOSION” blanc

2. phillip “yawnnnn oh hello darling how was the trip… oh the mona lisa was burned? the island you were on exploded? mhm sounds nice” blanc

both are equally accurate

[asexualandalwaysshipping]

I just want one of the next Knives Out movies to take place in like a prestigious boarding school or something, filled to the brim of entitled rich kids whose parents are bribing the teachers, bullying, and loads of corruption going on with the staff and such. And when like the headmaster or someone eventually gets murdered, the blame is put on the scholarship student whose family pools all of their savings together to hire Benoit because that would be very special to me please and thank mr. rian johnson

[wrathofthestag]

Your Benoit/Phillip fic was so adorable 😭 TOOTH-rottingly sweet, thank you so much for writing it!

Thank you so much! I've been having a hard time writing any fic at the moment, so I'm blown away by the love that little fic is getting. Thank you so much for reaching out. Me right now: 😭😭😭

[cas-kingdom]

White Flower

A/N: Definitely a long time coming. I've been so slow in my writing since starting university but I'm glad to finally have this one done. Hopefully you all enjoy the introduction of my OC!

Set in the aftermath of Glass Onion.

Title: White Flower

Summary: Fleur Blanc, art student and only daughter of the world's greatest detective, wants to steal the Mona Lisa.

Words: 2336

Despite the alarm and the impassive yelling of “this is a smokeless garden”, Benoit Blanc believed he quite deserved this cigarette, thank you very much. Trying was one word to describe the weekend he’d had. All-round tits up was another.

Besides. The island was pretty much a raging pit of alarms, fire, and general chaos by now. One more addition didn’t make much of a difference, and there certainly was no stopping the activation of the hydrogen fuel now.

“Oh, do shut up,” he said anyway, because it felt good, and because the first yell had made him jump and squish his cigarette between two fingers.

He reached for another and let his sunglasses fall over his eyes, squinting into the distance.

The horrifically neon pink of Birdie Jay’s sunhat stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the remaining participants of the weekend’s fiasco. They were all fanned out across the beach, as far apart from each other as possible, waiting impatiently for the policeboats to arrive. Ironic, really, considering how they’d arrived, each one a suck up to the next.

Benoit lit his new cigarette and shook his head with a scoff. “Megalomaniac, Janus-faced…” He muttered the words under his breath and took a puff. The alarm and impassive yelling restarted, and the second cigarette promptly joined the one on the ground.

“For the love of...”

He was owed a proper vacation after this, at the very least.

The yelling stopped abruptly with a crackle and a robotic groan. When Benoit turned, he was met with the sight of a young woman, her feet precariously placed between the gaps of the odd white sculpture that the yelling emanated from.

No longer.

After a violent snap, she held a handful of the offending wires, a look of irritation settling on her face. A flick of long hair and a moment later she tossed the wires onto dry land and followed them down into the shallow water with a quiet splash. Benoit rose a brow and fit his third cigarette neatly between smirking lips.

“Why, thank you, my darlin’.”

Fleur Blanc, twenty-year old art student and daughter of the world’s greatest detective, offered a mock bow as she stepped out of the water. She stretched out a leg and shook her foot dry as her father turned his gaze back towards the beach.

It hadn’t been his idea to bring Fleur along on this particular adventure, and he had in fact protested against it when she and that good-for-nothing roommate of his had suggested it, remembering quite well the last time his detective business had taken him on a wild ride. Alas, lockdown had turned Fleur into a firecracker and Philip had eventually boiled Benoit’s options down to “you take her with you, or I take myself out with the shotgun in the safe.” All fun and games, of course. Of course.

He couldn’t say her presence had been unappreciated. Apart from the obvious ease in her company, and the slightest spark of feeling like they were on a proper vacation, she had helped with the investigation, too. His little detective in the making, he’d always teased, though for as much as he was sure she loved the thrill of investigation, he was certain her career path would lead her straight to the arts.

That certainty was consolidated at the unusual silence coming from Fleur. When he turned, she was standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed on what remained of the Glass Onion. The structure that had once been so…not on fire generated quite the backdrop for his obviously preoccupied daughter. Her head tilted, arms crossed, feet bare and loose hair billowing behind her in the summer breeze, one would assume she was the picture of innocence.

Benoit knew better.

The moment she glanced over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eyes and the—in this case—horrifying beginning of “Dad?” on the tip of her tongue, Benoit pulled his cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her. His own head dipped dangerously low, and his brows raised in what Fleur knew to be warning.

“No,” he said. Firm and simple. He would not deny she often found herself wrapped around his little finger, but this was one thing he’d be ridiculous to abide by.

“But—”

“My goodness, Fleur, no!”

Fleur narrowed her eyes and whipped her head back around. Benoit saw her fingers tapping rhythmically against her forearm. He remained still, waiting, ready. Because when a thought entered Fleur’s mind, she was hard-pressed to get rid of it.

With a defining nod and not a single glance back, Fleur slipped her flip-flops on and started walking with absolute intent. Benoit rushed after her. He grasped her shoulder and stopped her before she could take another step.

Fleur was ready for him. “I’m doing it,” she stated, “I’ve decided. I have to.”

“You are insane if you truly think—it’s—you are just preposterous, child!”

“But, Dad, it can’t be a crime, right? Most of it’s already destroyed!”

Benoit spluttered. He dropped the cigarette and, with a sudden distaste for the thing, squashed it under the toe of his shoe.

“Jesus, God, Satan, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath, not for the first time concerning his daughter and certainly not for the last. He grasped her by the shoulders, ensuring she couldn’t avoid his gaze, then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Fleur, sweetheart, you want to steal the Mona fudgin’ Lisa.”

“Rehome,” Fleur was quick to correct. “And it’ll have a better life with me! You really think Miles appreciated it as much as I will?” That was a given. “And—and only a small part, Dad, that’s all I want.” She suddenly hardened her stare, that familiar seriousness suddenly reappearing. “That’s all I need.”

The detective’s speechlessness after that closing statement could have been due to a number of things. One, because the pure gall of this girl never ceased to amaze him. Two, because something seemed to blow up behind them, a puff of smoke emanating from the top of what used to be the Onion. Three, the most likely contender, because the moment said explosion had him distracted, Fleur ducked under his hold and made her way intently towards it.

Like father, like daughter, was all he could think. And he wasn’t referencing himself.

Surprising, considering he followed after her with absolutely zero hesitation.

The Glass Onion’s majesty was long gone. The maddest of people would advise anyone and everyone to stay about a hundred feet from its flaming mess, armed with a hard-shell helmet and a fire extinguisher, just in case anything went even more wrong. Which, looking at it, was likely.

Still, as was typically—stupidly—the case, Benoit Blanc stood in the middle of it all.

One hand wrapped around his daughter’s, the other gripping the doorframe for easy escape, his wide eyes darted around the Onion. If he was any less focused on the state of his surroundings, he would have been more concerned at his daughter’s lack of concern. True, the fire had somewhat died down, and the structure itself looked less ready to cave in than it had done before, but safe was still not a word he would use to describe it.

Helen’s stunt had certainly done a number on poor Mona, but the world of aesthetes could decidedly remain relieved with the knowledge that some parts of her were untouched. Surrounded by what had once been her glass refuge, she sat still in the place she had done since Miles had obtained her. One eye was black, the other pristine. A side of her hair reflected the fire, the other had been destroyed by it. Needless to say, the majority of her was gone, and if Fleur had the time, Benoit had no doubt she’d be down on her hands and knees, collecting the ashes in a little pot and shamelessly risking her life in the process. Alas, he would sooner drag her out, kicking and screaming, than have her be here a moment longer than she apparently needed to be.

Benoit watched his daughter’s eyes as they scanned the room before landing on Mona. In less than a second, that tell-tale glint went from inquisition to pure delight. It seemed no amount of staring from outside of the case could prepare her for now. True, the painting was charred more than not, and his watchful eye did catch a spark of disappointment, but it only seemed to spur her determination in getting it safely within her grasp.

Parental instincts ablaze since the moment he’d stepped foot on the island, Benoit immediately tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her back when she made to move forward. “Hold your horses,” he said, waiting for her eyes to meet his before wildly gesturing around them. “There’s glass everywhere, Fleur, and you’re wearing flip-flops. Why would you bring flip-flops to this island and nothing else?”

“We’re on vacation!”

“You knew darn well this wasn’t a vacation!”

Fleur spluttered for a moment before pointing accusingly at his own choice of footwear. “Like you and your boat shoes can do any better.”

Benoit gasped. Audibly. “These have hard, glass-proof soles, I’ll thank you to notice.”

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that spurred him to his next decision. Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation. Or the very distant, but ever-closer, sound of sirens. Or, maybe, it was the pure eagerness of his daughter; eagerness of which had always softened his heart, no matter the circumstances.

Whichever it was, he tried not to think about the guilt that would remain on his conscience for the rest of his life as he turned and bent over slightly, motioning with his hands.

“Get on my back,” he said hurriedly. When Fleur stalled, shock settling quickly on her face, he motioned again. “Come, child, we haven’t got long.”

And, with that, Fleur hopped on her father’s back with as much excitement as a child. Benoit gripped her legs, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her chin on his shoulder, the biggest of grins adorning her lips.

“Look at you, Dad,” she said as he began walking, stepping carefully over large shards of glass.

“We are not to tell your father,” was his only response to her obvious insinuation that he was becoming rebellious in his old age.

“Might be a little difficult when we come home with the Mona Lisa. Ooh! Why don’t we take the Porsche home too? Just the steering wheel?”

Benoit uttered a silent apology to da Vinci.

“Do you see these grey hairs?” he said. “You are the cause.”

Needless to say, through no innate conformism, Fleur’s inner connoisseur had won over her desire to keep a piece of the Mona Lisa in her cardholder. The moment the police had finished detailing the basics of the weekend’s mess with her father and struck up the sensitive question of the possibility of either of them having seen the Mona Lisa’s remainders at all during the night—Benoit believed it was their imploring “the Louvre are simply desperate to get it back” that had swayed her—Fleur had produced the scraps she’d been able to save from her pocket. Handing them over with only the tiniest hint of reluctance, she’d smiled at the gratefulness from the police and watched them go with the bit of longing she could allow herself.

Chuckling softly, Benoit wrapped an arm around her and drew her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’m very proud of you, if it counts for something.”

Fleur breathed a deep sigh and pressed her lips in a thin smile. “It does. At least I cay say I’ve touched her, right, Dad?”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s more than most people can say, after all.”

The police were wrapping up now, gently guiding the exhausted party members onto a boat—one in particular in aptly placed handcuffs. The island itself would take mountains of work to be habitable again, he’d heard a firefighter voice in passing, and for a moment he wondered if Derol had made it onto the boat. After brief consideration, he decided Derol was probably better off here than America.

Benoit pushed his sunglasses down and steered himself and his daughter in the direction of the shore. He didn’t quite enjoy the idea of sharing a boat ride with previously-dubbed megalomaniac, Janus-faced…people, but alas, after today he would no longer experience the displeasure of seeing them again. Though, he would be glad for Helen to attend a few of his dinner parties when the pandemic allowed.

Fleur reached up to grasp her father’s hand at her shoulder as they walked slowly, stepping carefully around anything glinting in the sand. Then, quietly, “Where’re you gonna put your steering wheel?”

Ah. Benoit instinctively glanced down at the duffel bag in his free hand. True, it was heavier than it had been when he’d first arrived on the island, but he had told his daughter that he’d be much appreciated if she didn’t remind him of his rebelliousness at every given moment. Which she had.

“I’m going to lock it away in a safe, so it’s never found, and I’m never arrested for thieving,” he said, finality embedded in his tone. If anyone ever asked: no, he had not stolen the steering wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder’s wreckage. No, he did not have it in his duffel bag, blanketed by his clothes and second pair of boat shoes. And, no, once it entered the safe he would never look at it again. Except on birthdays. And maybe Christmasses.

He couldn’t say he regretted it.

But he did regret not regretting it.

“And may I just reiterate,” he said, leaning closer towards her, “your father does not need to know a thing.”

Knives Out Masterpost

[aniron48]

smoke gets in your eyes: chapter 3

oh, friends, it has been a while.

Life has been at an 11, lately, in so many ways, not least because practicing international law in a time when the world is as it is feels a lot like that gif from Community where Donald Glover walks into a room with a bunch of pizzas, only to find that the room is actively on fire. I have missed you all, and I've missed writing, and I'm hoping dearly to have more time for both in the coming days, if I can manage it.

In the meantime, here's a little something for you, with lots of love: chapter 3 of "smoke gets in your eyes" is now up on ao3.

Please imagine that when you sit down to read it, I am giving you a giant hug. I hope you enjoy 💜

[who-wants-a-muffin-official]

Cinnamon Buttered Bread deleted scene

“Please let me go, pleaaaase,” You whine, draped over the sofa.

Pop just sighs, giving you a look. “No, I said. And that’s final.”

“Aw, c’mon, let me tag along just once!” You turn to Helen, who’s looking simultaneously amused and uncomfortable. “I’d be a great distraction, don’t you think?”

“Y’ever seen a horror movie? Those poor folk they use as distractions never make it out alive.” Helen says, shooting a glance at Pop, who nods.

“Yes, I- Normally I disagree with those… Foolish, implausible movies, but Miss Brand here has a point. To use you as a distraction would be to put you directly in harm’s way, and if you didn’t die, Phillip sure would kill ya.”

[aparticularbandit]

Idk if you write yandere but if it is okay. Maybe yandere Claire and reader

Thank u

Rating: M for mature themes.

IDK if this is what you wanted, Nonnie, but I tried.

You first ran into Claire Debella during your junior year of college. Every now and again, a guest speaker would be called on for one of the upper level classes, and you'd come into college with a bunch of early credits, putting you well in range to take that class, even though you shouldn't have been able to take it until senior year. You'd thought, well, it would be nice to hear from people in the actual field more often than not and had set yourself up to take it once your junior year and once your senior year - perhaps more, if you could get your credits to align.

Claire was the first speaker, a Democrat from Connecticut on the campaign trail, stopping to encourage the next generation. To vote, primarily. Especially to vote for her.

Halfway through her speech, she asked a question, something tricky, and while she didn't call on you first, you were the one who had the correct answer. You'd seen it in her eyes then, the glimmer of approval followed by the gentle lift of her lips in the barest hint of a smile that she'd all too quickly suppressed as she continued speaking.

Afterwards, Claire stopped you. "No other student has ever answered that correctly."

"It wasn't hard," you said without thinking. "It follows logic and the patterns of the masses. Any intelligent person should have been able to come up with the answer." You smirked. "Eventually."

Claire gave you a look that you didn't notice and then one that you did, her arms crossing under her chest. "I have an opening on my team."

You glanced up at her. "An internship?"

"Paid."

Your brows raised.

"Experience on the campaign trail will do wonders for you," Claire continued, looking away from you. Or, as you realize later, pretending to do so, not wanting you to catch her at it.

You considered it. You wanted it. But--

"I can't," you said and hating yourself for saying it. "I can't miss that much school--"

"A mentorship, then." Claire's eyes flicked over to you, and as soon as you noticed her gaze, they trailed up to meet your eyes. "Zoom meetings on the trail, in person afterwards. How does that sound?"

You could arrange for that. You could make time. It would help you tremendously in the future, when you started looking for jobs after college, to say you'd been mentored by someone like Claire. Perhaps she would have that opening again next summer and you could be an intern then--

Then you gave her a slight nod. "Sounds good to me."

Claire smiled then, but you didn't notice the darkness in it until much later. "Any intelligent person would have come to that answer eventually." She met your eyes again hungrily. "We'll talk soon."

~

Claire had seemed like a normal mentor. Even more than that, she'd seemed normal over that summer when you did intern for her - and she paid you well above minimum wage, well above maybe what you should have been paid - but that hadn't seemed bad. Or wrong.

Sure, she'd never approved of any of your dates, and usually they broke up with you very, very shortly after being alone with her, but you never put two and two together until later.

Not until after you graduated.

Not until after she gave you a real job.

~

It's an event that maybe you shouldn't have been at.

No, you definitely shouldn't have been there, but Claire invited you. Said you were the best assistant she'd ever had and you deserved to go, so you had. Dressed your best, but still not quite enough to fit in with the other elites around you.

Claire rubbed shoulders with a lot of people given her influence, got invited to a lot of parties. This is just one of them - a birthday party for the not entirely well-esteemed Birdie Jay. Claire assured you she was just an old friend, but you're still not sure.

Still. Standing here among models and fashion elites, you feel...out of place. Like you shouldn't be here.

And it doesn't make you feel any better that Claire is conspicuously not paying you any attention. It's like...like she invited you, but she....

Maybe she hadn't really expected you to come.

So you end up at the open bar, drinking a little too much, feeling like Cinderella might have felt at the ball if she'd stayed past midnight, until one of Claire's other old friends - Jen Barkley, who you'd spent plenty of time with during your internship and who had frequently interrupted your Zoom meetings. Not always with very good reasons.

....

Actually, never with good reason.

If you're honest with yourself, you don't like Jen. But you're drunk, and she's...not quite drunk, actually, but close enough, and if you look at her in just the right light, she almost looks like Claire.

(You will never tell anyone that you find Claire attractive. At least not again. Your old roommate did not approve of your crush. You don't know what happened to her either. She just stopped talking to you after graduation. Which is odd because you'd thought you were really good friends.)

Which is how you end up in one of the hallways off of the main room with Jen's tongue down your throat, and to be honest, she's not that great of a kisser, but she's warm and she's there and you're definitely more than a little bit drunk and--

All of a sudden, Jen stops. You think about asking her why, but then you see the hand on her shoulder and Claire standing behind her with daggers for eyes. It doesn't matter that you're drunk; you swallow hard and find yourself saying, "Sorry, sorry, we shouldn't have," in a slur, avoiding Claire's eyes.

Claire's hand tenses on Jen's shoulder. "Jen, can I talk to you for a minute?" She guides Jen away from you, offers you something that looks halfway between a smile and halfway between bared teeth, and then says, "You should go on home. Drunk isn't a good look on you."

You bite your lower lip and nod.

Except.

You want to apologize to Claire again. You want to know that she isn't going to fire you for being so unprofessional. This might not be a professional event, but Claire invited you, and if you made her look bad, then....

This is why you don't drink at these sorts of things.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

And then people start leaving but Claire hasn't shown up again, and you're pretty certain that people can't leave down the hallway where you'd been with Jen, so Claire should be coming back this way. Or should have. And hasn't. Isn't.

Claire's your boss. You should probably go check and make sure she's okay. Not that Jen would do anything to her. Ew, gross, wait, maybe they're together and that's why Jen kept barging in on your Zoom streams while Claire was campaigning. Maybe Claire was mad at Jen because she shouldn't have been making out with you, she should have been with Claire--

All of this you think while you walk down the hallway, checking out every door you find, and then you think you see Claire, so you push open the door and--

Oh.

Oh.

"Claire?"

The room is dark, but you can tell that she's covered in something red and wet and shining, and you're drunk and really hope that isn't blood.

You also hope that isn't a body on the floor in front of her. Really hope that isn't Jen.

Claire turns to you. "You...weren't supposed to see this."

Suddenly, your heart starts beating faster. Claire just killed someone. Claire just killed someone and you walked in on it. Claire is going to kill you.

But before you can make it to the door, Claire is there, a hand on your wrist, and when you open your mouth to scream, she kisses you instead. You still scream, at first, but she muffles you, and then you kind of forget that you're supposed to be screaming because for all that Jen was a bad kisser, Claire is. well. wow. Before you know it, you're kissing her back, and then your hand is in her hair, and then her hair is sticky because blood, and then you're screaming again, but it doesn't last as long this time.

Claire parts just enough to say, "I'm not going to hurt you," and you hate it, but you're drunk, and you believe her. But that doesn't stop your heart from beating fast in your chest. She glares over her shoulder at the body. "Jen knew better than to touch you."

You should ask.

You swallow hard.

You don't ask.

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

every time i think i write a fic people are going to like it winds up being astoundingly unpopular 🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭