#Benoit blanc fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

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

Taglist 🏷️: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @inklore

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc x you #benoit blanc x reader #Benoit blanc x y/n #Benoit blanc x f!reader #benoit blanc imagine #Benoit blanc fanfic #Benoit blanc fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #knives out fanfic #knives out #knives out 2 #glass onion #Daniel Craig

362 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 1 year

Note

Hey I’m a new knives out/glass onion/Benoit blanc enthusiast and I noticed your requests were open. I was thinking about Benoit being very easily flustered around his s/o (always blushing, being at loss of word) and maybe how others around him react to THE Benoit blanc just turning into mush whenever his little human is around 🙃 you can do whatever you want with that, I just thought it was a fun idea

lovestruck detective ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Hey I’m a new knives out/glass onion/Benoit blanc enthusiast and I noticed your requests were open. I was thinking about Benoit being very easily flustered around his s/o (always blushing, being at loss of word) and maybe how others around him react to THE Benoit blanc just turning into mush whenever his little human is around 🙃 you can do whatever you want with that, I just thought it was a fun idea - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

word count: 457

warnings?: fluff, not proofread

it was almost comical, how flustered blanc got around you. how the usually calm, collected man would trip over his words. how his face would burn red. how he’d forget what he was doing the moment he laid eyes on you.

in your not-so-humble opinion, that was the true marker of someone being in love. your mother had always told you, don’t trust a man who’s suave and can sweet-talk you into anything. those kind of men don’t care about you. those kind of men only care about what you’ll for them. no, no, she’d say, fall for the man who’ll trip over their own feet when they see you. fall for the man who can’t think straight because you occupy his mind. fall for the man who’d move the heavens and the earth just to see you smile.

when you first met blanc, it was at some stuffy party. a friend of his invited him, apparently in an effort to get the stoic man to lighten up a little. you had gone to network. both of you ended up bored out of your minds at the open bar. you caught his eye as you flagged down a bartender. he spilled his bourbon straight down his shirt. you laughed so hard you snorted. that night, you left with his number and a promise that he wouldn’t make another mess like that again.

except, well, he did. he took you out to dinner, a real nice restaurant with a menu of foods you could hardly fathom the pronunciation of. he offered to order something for you, and you agreed. but when the waiter came, blanc was too busy staring at you to notice. when he finally did order, he stammered his entire way through until he was red in the face. he was so flustered that, when the food arrived, he ended up dropping his entire plate on his lap. you still didn’t understand how he managed to do that.

people hardly understood how a man like benoit blanc could get so tongue-tied and starry-eyed around you. they’d always comment to you that he wasn’t what they expected. that they expected someone like james bond or batman. someone who didn’t let their feelings show very often. and, to be honest, that was usually true. blanc wouldn’t have the career he did if he wore his heart on his sleeve. but you brought out a side of him that he couldn’t hide—that he didn’t want to hide.

so, yeah, blanc became something of a lovestruck full around you. he’d turn completely to mush the second he was with you. but you loved every second. because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the exact same around him.

#benoit blanc x y/n #benoit blanc x male!reader #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc x you #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc fan fiction #benoit blanc fanfiction #benoit blanc fic #benoit blanc fanfic #starrywrites #starryevermore

52 notes · View notes

aprettyspy · 1 year

Text

@fluffbruary Day 2 for the prompt 'trace'. Benoit Blanc comes home to his husband Phillip after his weekend at the Thrombeys

Voracious Mind

Phillip stared at the envelope of cash occupying the exact center point of his kitchen island. Two days ago he had dug out a tape measure from the depths of the hallway cupboard, finding it buried between a pair of en point shoes and a broken tennis racket. The wad of cash was exactly 2 ¾ " high and had been delivered three days previously. It remained sat in its unmarked, plain brown envelope. Benoit had opened it, read the accompanying note and thrown it all down where it still rested.

Not given to superstition as a general rule, something about this mysterious wad of cash made Phillip nervous. It was too much of a coincidence that it's delivery had occurred just 45 minutes after their ancient and dilapidated water heating system had finally given up with an impressive explosion that had brought with it a portion of their kitchen ceiling. As much as they both loved this apartment, it was bloody expensive to maintain.

Given that his husband had dashed out the door only a few hours later, and had sent exactly one text message since (It seems this case revolves around the name Hugh, my darling, but what a terrible name!), Phillip's hackles were well and truly risen.

His best attempts to distract himself with work, walks and a very long call to his daughter back in England had not worked. He was on guard, expecting something. He just couldn't pinpoint what.

He decided to assuage his building anxiety through the tried and tested medium of vigorous cleaning. He was head down, scrubbing the bath (when he did get home, Benoit would want to use it) and, yet again, resolved to replace these dark tiles when he heard the door slam.

"Darlin? Phil, darlin, you home?"

Phillip whipped off his cleaning pinny and tried to smooth his hair as he dashed down the hall in relief to have Benoit home safely.

"There you are my beautiful boy! My God but I've had some weekend!"

Phillip helped Benoit ease off his heavy wool coat and headed for the kettle.

Already down to his braces (twenty years in America and Phillip would never call them 'suspenders') and shirt sleeves, Benoit paced, pulling the braces down off his shoulders

"They were just the most terrible people, that Thrombey family, just awful. They were so rude to Marta - oh, did I tell you about Marta? Just the loveliest creature, you would adore her, we must invite her up, oh thank you-" Benoit took the tea Phillip handed him, "and just awful to one another." He shuddered at the memory.

Phillip took up his customary spot on the middle of the sofa. It was always like this after a case. Benoit's head processed and stored everything he had learned and he liked to do his expounding while on the move. His monologue continued uninterrupted, except by sips of tea. When that was finished, Benoit began to undo his shirt buttons. Phillip watched, knowing it was nearly his moment to step in. He had learned long ago that this exposition could wind his husband up even more, leading to a night of sleepless tossing and turning in the bed, followed by pacing and eventually a cigar on the terrace.

"Benoit." Phillip called softy. It went unheeded and the pacing continued, shirt now thrown to the sofa.

"- not one word of their Mother, not a single photograph in all that clutter-"

"Blanc!" Louder and more commanding. Benoit stopped and looked at his husband, eyebrows raised.

"Sit." Phillip ordered, indicating the floor between his legs where he sat on the sofa.

Benoit sat, relaxed back against the sofa and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, darlin', they did infuriate me so."

"I know, but shush now." Phillip began to knead at his husband's tense shoulders. His strong musculature resisted the massage at first but Phillip persisted. He pushed Benoit to sit forward slightly and began working systematically down the muscles on either side of his husband's spine. As he worked, he listened to the evening out of breath, sensed the quieting of that extraordinary, voracious mind. Phillip used his index finger to trace back up Benoit's spine from lower back to the base of his skull and returned to work on the shoulders. Benoit's huge sigh let out all the stresses of the case. Phillip's own, private Benoit was back home with him again.

Phillip rested his forehead on his husband's now pliable broad shoulder.

"We need to go and buy a new water heater, love."

#fluffbruary 2023 #daniel craig #queer benoit blanc #benoit blanc/phillip #benoit blanc fanfic #fluff #knives out

59 notes · View notes

miercoooles · 1 year

Text

I’m back to my Daniel Craig phase and I’m itching to write a fluff where the reader forces either Benoit Blanc or James Bond to unwind and go on a picnic date under a tree while viewing the sunset then just watch the stars like the hopeless romantic I am.

#james bond x reader #james bond imagines #benoit blanc fanfic #benoit blanc x you #benoit blanc imagines #benoit blanc x reader #james bond x you #007 james bond #james bond x y/n #benoit blanc x y/n #reader insert #fanfiction

53 notes · View notes

broken-lycan · 1 year

Link

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!

#benoit blanc #knives out glass onion #benoit blanc/phillip #glass onion fanfiction #benoit blanc fanfic #benoit blanc/phillip fanfic #brokenart

4 notes · View notes

jay-wasstuff · 1 year

Text

Fanfic authors after seeing the 10 second cameo

#50-100K words with fluff smut and mystery gonna come soon i can feel it #glass onion #knives out #daniel craig #benoit blanc #rian johnson #no because his husband is hot asf #they said they had THEE actor and were not lying!#gay #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #hugh grant

2K notes · View notes

beenoverthinkingwithmyheart · 1 year

Text

I really hope a lot of you write fanfiction about benoit blanc and his husband phillip 'cause I'm kinda obsessed with them

#really crossing my fingers #benoit blanc #phillip #benoit x phillip #knives out #glass onion #glass onion knives out #btw happy new year guys!!#it's really just 1:15 am #on January 1st #and all i can think about is fanfics huh #fanfics about the silly gays #i love them

238 notes · View notes

mysticmaimai · 1 year

Text

I just got an ad for a game where Pedro Pascal is a detective trying to solve a mystery.

And my brain immediately made up a fake scenario where Pedro Pascals detective character is part of the Knives Out universe. So there is this mystery with two opposing / interested parties, who would like the case to be resolved for their own motives. One side hires Benoit Blanc and the other side hires another private investigator (Pedro Pascal!). They are constantly running into each other. But they both try to solve the mystery on their own, because they both would like to be the first one to solve it before the other does so. Funny banter ensues.

Can someone write this? In my mind, it would be hilarious.

Or is there already fanfiction like this? Does anyone have recs?

#english is not my first language #knives out #benoit blanc #pedro pascal #detectives #detective #detective fiction #mystery #crime solving #i should be studying #fanfic #fanfiction #daniel craig #who done it #plot idea #investigation #private investigator

128 notes · View notes

benoits-neckerchieves · 3 months

Text

Reading a fic rn & this line took me out lmaoo

061828 on AO3

#this writer uses a lot of very strange similes that describe things so perfectly #also i have to commend them for using the excellent word ‘thwapped��#doesn’t get used often enough #benoit blanc #ao3 #fanfic #knives out #daniel craig

15 notes · View notes

crewman-penelope · 1 year

Text

#Benoit blanc/ phillip #benoit blanc x phillip #benoit blanc #daniel craig #hugh grant #glass onion #Knives out #Murder mystery #James bond #James Bond's husband #My silly gif idea #my gifset #Filmedit #Fanfic edit

131 notes · View notes

here-there-everyfuckenwhere · 1 year

Text

Do people write fanfics about Benoit Blanc..?

I wanna read about that guy getting into Situations

#ray rants and junk #personal #knives out #glass onion #fanfiction #fanfic #fix #Benoit Blanc #Benoit x Phillip #Phillip Blanc #I honestly just want more Benoit content #preferably stuff about him solving mysteries but honestly #I just wanna see this guy Getting Into Situations some more #side note; is there gonna be a third knives out movie..?

135 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 1 year

Text

sweet memories ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Either 3 separate ideas or all together into one: (for Knives out/Glass onion. Any character but probs best for detective Blanc)

● Getting drunk/tipsy and reminiscing their time in their training

● Blanc (?) and reader on a case and one of them gets severely hurt and it’s a choice of whether they continue to chase suspect or help the other

● one of them trying to re-enact what theoretically could have happened on a case, person b paying no attention to this, and suddenly person A is in front of them trying different death methods. Someone walking in and being horrified. Person B saying sorry, person A saying it’s normal. - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

summary: you and benoit reminisce on your relationship.

word count: 1,613

warnings?: minor spoilers for glass onion, maybe slightly out of character benoit, established relationship, fluff, gunshot wound, mention of murder, not proofread

Benoit Blanc had not changed much since you had last seen him, you mused. Still had his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Still had a brain that run a million miles a minute. Still managed to impress you with every single thing he does. It was almost unfair, how perfect the man sitting across from you was. At least he had one fault that you knew of. At least you could still pull out the fact that you’ve beat him at every single game of Clue you played against him. He always hated when you did that, arguing that he wasn’t good at dumb games so it wasn’t fair to keep holding that over his head. But with that sparkling twinkle in his eyes, you knew he didn’t really mean it. Benoit was a teasing man—around you, at least. To the rest of the world, he was the world’s greatest detective. But to you, he was ole Benny, an awkward fella who was a far shout from the greatest at anything.

“Ain’t seen you in a while,” he said, looking at you over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip of his drink. He set the glass down, smacking his lips. “You solve any good mysteries lately?”

“Nothing as great as you,” you said. “I mean, showing the world that Miles Brown is a complete nitwit? You’re really taking that whole eat-the-rich thing to heart.”

Benoit waved you off, shaking his head. “It was dumber than a game of Clue. Man didn’t even have the ability to come up with an original murder. Stole all his ideas from everyone.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least you finally won a game of Clue,” you teased, leaning forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Never thought I’d see the day. Someone should put that in the history books, you know. Benoit Blanc: World’s Greatest Detective, Bested by Clue Except for that One Time.”

“That’s a terrible title for a book. Nobody’d pick it up.”

“I would.”

“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one writin’ it.”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink. “Someone’s gotta expose you as the dork you truly are. Everyone acts like you’re some James Bond type o’ figure. They deserve to know you’re more of…I don’t know. Who’s the silliest character you can think of?”

Benoit hummed. “Clark Kent?”

“I said silliest character, not the character you’ve got the hots for!” you laughed.

“Oh, come on! The whole glasses disguise? Seriously? No one ever thought, hey this guy looks kinda sorta similar to Superman? I refuse to believe that!”

“Not everyone is as brilliant as you, Benny boy,” you said. You took another sip of your drink. “God, I hate Superman. Remember that one time, when we were working a case together? The jewelry heist case?”

Benoit’s face turned red. He probably didn’t like thinking of that case very much. You couldn’t blame him, if you were being honest. You didn’t like to think of it, either. “You know I could never forget that case.”

“All I really remember of it is bein’ in the hospital. They had stupid Superman movie playing all the time. Man of Steel, or somethin’? I used to like it before, but god, a guy can only watch that shit so many times before it gets annoyin’. I swear, if I see Henry Cavill put on that super suit again, it’d be too soon.”

“I’d prefer to remember it as the day I realized I love you,” Benoit said.

You let out a laugh. “What, it took me being on my death bed to realize you loved me?”

It had been a complete and utter disaster. It wasn’t often that you and Benoit worked together on a case. But this was a tough nut to crack, so Benoit invited you along, telling the client that if she wanted the case to be solved, it was imperative you be there, too. The client hadn’t really been willing, but recognized she had no real choice in the matter so she bit her tongue. After all, she wanted to make sure she was not the victim in the jewelry heist.

Things had gone well enough, if you were being honest. After a few false starts and some misleading clues, you and Benoit were close to triumphant. But neither of you could have expected the suspect to have a gun, much less use it.

He’d been aiming at Benoit. You panicked, your blood running cold. Before you could even think about what you were doing, you jumped and positioned yourself between Benoit and the bullet. It struck you, lodging itself in your side. You screamed as you fell, hitting the floor, hard.

Pain practically blinded you as you reached up, touching your wound. When you pulled your hand away, it was sticky with blood. You lifted your head, seeing Benoit falling to his knees, his hand covering your wound, applying pressure. You twisted your head the best you could, watching as the suspect ran.

“Go,” you whispered. You couldn’t manage to make your voice any louder. Took too much energy. “You’re gonna lose him. We won’t get another chance like this.”

“I can’t lose you,” Benoit said.

“I’ll be fine, go get him.”

“Don’t make me leave you,” Benoit whispered, leaning over you, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

“It was an emotional moment!” Benoit argued. “It ain’t strange for things to be revealed in times of high stress, you know.”

“I know,” you said. You reached over, grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I just hate that it took you so long. To think we might have gotten together a lot sooner if I told you I loved you when I realized.”

Benoit let out a laugh so loud it practically shook the walls of the kitchen. “Oh, come on. At least when I realized, it had a sort of morbid romantic edge. Yours was just me being an idiot!”

“Well, I love when you’re an idiot.”

It was the early days in your friendship. You and Benoit had often worked together back then, honing your detective skills, bouncing ideas off each other. It felt less like a job that way. It felt more like playing a game of Clue (despite Benny’s aversion to the game). In any case, it was more fun that way. Plus, it gave you and Benoit a chance to develop some more unconventional methods of solving cases. Which is exactly what you were doing.

You and Benoit were working out how the victim may have died. You had narrowed down to a few different murder weapons that might have been it, but you and Benoit couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened. So, it was only natural that the two of you ran through some different scenarios in an effort to narrow some the possibilities.

That was how you ended up straddling Benoit, who laid on his back on the floor, his hands above his head as if he were surrendering. Your breath caught in your throat at the position. You liked it—you like it a lot. But you forced yourself to ignore the thought about what it may be like if you were in this same position with a little less clothes. You had to remain professional. You had to.

You raised your hand holding the prop knife, acting like you were going to drive it through Benoit’s chest. As you brought it down, the fake blade pushing itself into the handle, you frowned. This didn’t make sense. The victim had been fighting back, and this position didn’t give much opportunity to do it. “No, I don’t think it was like this. Here, trade places with me.”

You lifted yourself off of Benoit and laid on the floor. Benoit straddled you now. Your breath hitched as he reached down, his hands closing around your throat.

“The victim had injuries on her hands, like someone’d been tryin’ to pry her hands off of ‘em,” Benoit said.

“When the killer couldn’t do that, they kneed her in the stomach,” you continued, bring your leg up, pressing your knee into Benoit’s stomach.

“And then—”

The door opened. There was a shout. Benoit lifted his head, his face tinted red as he looked at the person who walked inside.

“Oh, god!” the person said. It was your client. Fuck. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t-to see anything!”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Benoit said. “We’re just tryin’ to act out the murder!”

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your head to look at her. “Totally normal. All the professionals do it.”

“I-I’ll leave you it then…”

She left as quick as she came, shutting the door behind you. As you and Benoit looked at each other again, you felt like your face was burning.

“Um, so that seems like it was the way it happened…” you mumbled.

“Right, right,” Benoit said, getting off of you. “Uh, with that done, we should start narrowing down the suspects, then.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

Because, holy fuck, how could you be in a position like this and just expect to continue on as normal?

“If you love your idiot so much then, how ‘bout you join me in the bath, then?” Benoit asked. “Gets a bit lonely in there, you know.”

Your snorted. “Fine. But we’re not staying there for a week, alright?”

“I’m sure I could convince you otherwise.”

“We’ll see.”

Oh, how you loved your silly little detective.

#benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc x male!reader #benoit blanc x you #benoit blanc x y/n #benoit blanc fic #benoit blanc fanfiction #benoit blanc fan fiction #benoit blanc fanfic #benoit blanc fan fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

126 notes · View notes

calvincell · 1 year

Text

In the wake of Glass Onion (Knives Out 2) **SLIGHT SPOILERS**, as others are rightfully clamoring for Philip x Blanc domestic & romantic fanfics, I myself am rooting for some sapphic fic with Peg. Either Peg x “Andi” or (in spite of her ignorance & toxicity) some Peg x Birdie fics lol

#glass onion #knives out #knives out 2 #benoit blanc #cassandra brand #fanfic #birdie jay #peg #queer solidarity

52 notes · View notes

babydin · 7 months

Text

Night Crawling

- The CRACKSHIP you didn't know you needed - Benoit Blanc of the Knives Out mysteries and Tim Rockford of the Merge Manson franchise. - 18+, minors DNI! - Old queers solve murder as foreplay. Mentions of murder, descriptions of violence, MLM, swearing, Lovers to enemies to lovers - 1238 words - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! A/N: Do I need to apologize for this? I won't. I can't promise I won't forget about the plot and just make this all about old queers This is part 1 of until I say it's over.

A sleepwalking man thinks he is in love with his best friend’s wife. One day he phones the police on himself because he wakes up covered in blood and his best friend’s wife is missing. He also hires a private detective to prove his innocence. What he doesn't know is the Gentleman Sleuth he called and the detective assigned to his case were lovers once, and tensions are high.

ONE: STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED AT SEA

“Explain this to me one more time.” Detective Tim Rockford rubbed his index finger over his lips as he pulled the car up to the crime scene. He had seen his fair share of strange cases in his career, but this one had to have taken the lead for the weirdest one yet, so far at least. “The suspect sleepwalks,” his partner explained, tying her hair up into a tight pony, “he believes he’s in love with his best friend’s girl… now she’s missing and he just woke up covered in blood.” “And he called 911 himself?” Tim started to get out of the car after popping a tab of nicotine gum for a habit he told himself he was going to quit but never quite could. “Uh, yeah, he did – Tim, there’s something else…” Tim didn’t listen, he was already on the path up to the house. One thing about Detective Rockford, in the years Katie had known him, is that he marched to the beat of his own drum. Often because he was right. He was a good detective, a great detective in fact, but sometimes people weren’t his forte. She often wondered if that was why she had been partnered up with him, she was incredibly empathic, she was gentle, and Tim was rough around the edges, he thought in facts and logic. He still called her Rookie despite her coming up to a decade on the force, sometimes she thought it was his way of expressing affection.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Tim’s interjection when he saw someone on the scene who didn’t belong had the room filling with silence. Forensics staff paused briefly before continuing on, the suspect who was trembling in the corner looked between Tim and the other male. Benoit Blanc was not dressed for a crime scene, he very rarely was, he looked like he had just stepped off of a boat in Miami, with his linen pants and pastel pink shirt that was slightly open to make room for a neckerchief. He looked at Tim with eyes that were greeting an old friend who had just returned home from the war. “What is that Kentucky-fried chicken shit doing at my crime scene?” “I tried to tell you.” Katie whispered under her breath, at the same time Benoit pushed his round, tortoise-shell spectacles up his nose and said “Well, come on now Detective Rockford, I was invited.” Tim’s eyes flew to the suspect, his eyes burned into him like lasers and he silently demanded answers, but he did not give the man time to answer before he barked at his colleagues, “Why is he not in handcuffs? Get him out of here. Blanc, a word?”

Benoit knew Tim well enough to know when he was demanding and when he was asking, and that was a demand, he watched him slip away into a room with nobody in it and politely nodded at Tim’s partner before following behind him. The door closed. They were alone.

It wasn’t just that the private detective and the NYPD detective had worked together and didn’t get along, this wasn’t a clash of personalities or Tim thinking he was doing real detective work and Benoit was just a hobbyist. They were lovers once. They had met on a case almost 15 years ago, and their passion for solving a puzzle was almost like foreplay; they’d stay up until the smallest hours of the night, eating Chinese take out and trying to look for clues, the way Benoit would slip out of his suspenders and let them hang down by his thighs would drive Tim insane, then he’d bite into a spring roll and curse a stray splash of soy sauce and he’d suddenly see something they’d both missed and there’d be a sudden clash of teeth and egg fried rice spilled on the floor and race to see who could get the other’s pants off the quickest. Benoit always got a kick out of how gruff Tim was, how rough he was, but he was surprisingly gentle in the afterglow. But Tim’s edges got a little too rough, the long nights got too long, and Tim started to prefer solving cases alone, and when Benoit asked him why he couldn’t give him a reason, he just shrugged coldly and told him he had to go. Benoit told him he wouldn’t be there when he got back, the implication that he meant in their house that they had laughed in and loved in, that Benoit had filled with antiques and Tim had filled with books. And it wouldn’t just be for one night. He was telling him, without saying it, that their relationship was over. And Tim just looked over his shoulder without looking him in the eye and said “Fine.”

7 years later they were together again, and the tension was thicker than gravy.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” Tim barked, placing his hands on his hips, his fingers lucid as if that might make him appear more intimidating. Benoit leaned his rear against a nearby table and stretched out his legs to cross them, his arms folding across his chest, both men trying to appear as unapproachable as possible to hide the fact they wanted nothing more than to embrace, “A man sleepwalks, every night for 25 years, not only that, he also seems to have himself convinced he’s in love with his best friend’s wife–” “Blanc–” “--Now our suspect wakes up from his nighttime stroll, spattered with blood–” “Blanc–” “--best friend brayin’ on his door hollin’ about his wife not bein’ in bed when he woke up this mornin’--” “Benny!”

The nickname stopped him in his tracks. His face softened and he looked at Tim as if he was sorry for something; he had missed hearing him call him that, he didn’t know until that moment. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Despite the harshness of the words, the question was a lot softer this time,and somewhere Benoit knew that in his own Rockford way it was him asking where he had been, how he had been, how he managed to land this case. “I was invited.” Benoit echoed his previous words firmly, in that accent that just melted the ice around Tim’s heart. “I’m not stalkin’ you, I’m not here to dig up old ghost, or rekindle any flames. I’m here ‘cause I was asked. That delightful man you just put in handcuffs called me. I haven’t quite figured out why you and I must always end in handcuffs–” Tim was already frowning, although Benoit had learned not to take it personally. Tim’s brow creased a lot, he had a permanently concerned expression on his face, his forehead always so heavy, he often wondered if it was a con of the job. “The suspect called you?” Benoit nodded, “I have heralded quite the reputation for my detective work, don’t sound so surprised Timothy.” “He called 911 himself.. Too.. Is that not odd?” The Southerner’s lips twitched into a smile, and he shrugged his shoulders in a ‘kind of’ manner, “Stranger things have happened at sea. Admit it.” “What? I’ve never been to sea.” “No… You missed this. Didn't you?” Tim was stubborn as a mule but Benoit knew all his tells and the way the left side of his upper lip twitched upwards just a little, was a reluctant yes.

#( tim rockford: babydin )#tim rockford fanfic #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford crackship #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #benoit blanc fanfiction #tim rockford x benoit blanc #( rockblanc ; babydin ship )

17 notes · View notes