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rippersz · 4 months

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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬

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Fem!Named!Reader x Larissa Weems; (Fluffy, romantic, ships in the night, angst) (8K word count)

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Why are you here?

Why are you here if you’re so tired? So exhausted? So bored?

Why are you looking for meaning in a foreign country? And why can’t you find it? Don’t you know passion isn’t found in the street? Don’t you know it doesn’t just exist beneath the light rain and cold wind? Your shaking body won’t get you anywhere but across the cobblestone bridge - and even then, you must trudge. Wade through the distinct desire to fall asleep.

Why are you trying so hard to stay awake?

You have come here for a reason - for an escape - and yet, you are plagued with the same thing that haunted you back home. It is inescapable, this distinct feeling of emotional helplessness. You feel too much or you feel too little. You explode with desire, with sadness, with anger, or you are cool and detached. You cannot find an in between. You cannot find a warm, soothing balance. You walk the line of extremes and get upset when the grey areas cease to exist.

So you run away to France and think that you can find yourself in what? Hm? In the Eiffel? In the lights? In the love? Please. You have not felt love. You have not felt real love. You have not felt anything beyond passion and lust, and even then those feelings were artificial. Forced, almost. You have looked at men and you have seen their shoulders and you have witnessed the bobbing of their throats and the easy fluff of their hair and you have been thoroughly unimpressed. For what exists for you there? What is in their strong arms? What is in their DNA? What lies in them that cannot be discovered elsewhere? Why are you expected to view them and want them?

Why are you expected to love?

So many questions, not many answers. They swirl around inside like the milkiness of an oatmeal bath, opaque and bottomless. They swirl and you watch. Utterly mesmerized. Hypnotized until you feel the distinct desire to fall asleep. Constantly tired, you are. Always so exhausted, dragging your feet along the pavement. Blindly clutching the collar of the black coat that covers your arms and back. Its hood leaves your face bare for the elements. Wind sweeps and rain smacks and you are certain you’ll get sick from walking out so late at night in the cold.

What on Earth came over you? Who could ever be so stupid?

Shivers run the length of your body. You feel like a wet dog thrown out in the street, proving far too difficult for the family to continue dealing with. Too loud and too needy and too caked with mud everytime you walked into the house, so they had no choice but to discard you. It is better, after all, than having a defective animal. No one wants a dog who cannot love. No one wants a dog who cannot be understood. No one wants a stray. And no one-no one-wants a shivering pup walking slowly on unsteady legs. No one wants that. No one wants you.

Except for the sign in the distance, blurry and far away - past the stoplight and across the street. A golden light flickers brightly above an evergreen background, and you can just barely make out, through squinted eyes, the bold gold lettering. ‘Madame: A 1920’s Brasserie’. You can’t help but think that it’s a rather silly name. Madame. Can’t get more French than that. And, it appears, can’t get more authentic. The restaurant stands out in a way that borders on tacky. It is all dark mahogany, golden accents, and small details of matte red and green. The sconces on the walls glow like mini-fires, and you find yourself… drawn. Intrigued. It is inviting and it is late. The windows are dark; the world inside is its own. And you need an escape. A proper one. None of this wandering shit that leads you to nowhere but a random spot with aching feet and the distinct feeling of dissatisfaction. None of this waiting around emptiness.

You are cold and it looks warm and you are just an abandoned dog. How can they expect you to deny yourself some peace?

–

The very moment your boot slides over the threshold, tapping down lightly on a dark wooden floor, your body is changed. A veil of something different flows over your shoulders, draping behind you, and suddenly you feel as though you’ve stepped into another world.

Have you? Or were you just hit by a car in the middle of the road and slipped into the Afterlife?

If that had happened, and you were indeed dead, then the Afterlife was an absolute treat. It seems like a small speakeasy, with a stage at the very back of the restaurant - lit up by a few spotlights and otherwise empty aside from a single microphone stand and a piano. In the dark corner beside it, there’s a cello, a trumpet case, and a deconstructed set of drums. The lights are dimmed so intensely that only the flickers of tabletop candlelight and a few burning wicks by the bar help you squint through hazy darkness. It feels like a dream as smoky hands curl into the air and caress your lungs as you breathe, creating something intoxicating when paired with the heady scent of mixed perfumes. Mixed perfumes that all seem to belong to women. Only women. It’s not crowded but a few souls linger. Couples leaning into each other at their booths, their pupils melting into hearts. Friends sitting lazily at one of the center tables, toasting to something you can’t hear. A group of flirts. A lonely soul or two nursing martinis by the stage. A woman at the bar. The bartender. One server drawing in a notebook, tucked away from the rest of the world. All women. All… dated. Old fashioned. It feels like you’ve stepped into the 1950’s - or something like that. You’ve never been very good with time. But they are different. Wearing dresses with pulled in waists, collars, square necklines, bateau necklines, coats and hats and heels and gloves. Not a phone in sight. Some are in suits, too. Marlene Dietrich type suits. Tipping The Velvet type suits. Very dapper. Very clean. You’re overwhelmed.

Distantly, somewhere, the gentle keys of piano jazz fill the buzzing room - and you feel lightheaded. Dizzy with warmth. The rain purrs against the windows, blowing with the wind trying to get to you. But you have reached safety. Nirvana. And you find yourself itching to shrug out of your coat and disappear into a glass of something tangy and sweet.

“Amaretto sour,” you murmur to the lady behind the bar, sluggishly pushing back the hood from your head.

“Choose somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

The response is immediate. And annoying. You pause, halfway out of your coat, and look from the polished mahogany of the bar’s surface to the amused glint in the bartender’s eyes. There’s a cloth thrown over her shoulder and a dark loose vest sitting tight against her button up. White. Sleeves scrunched by the elbows. A smirk on her lips. Your gaze melts into a glare.

Stop looking at me like that. I’m just a dog. I don’t want whatever smiles you have to offer.

“I don’t know,” you growl, tugging the coat from your body so harshly it nearly tears your arms off.

But she doesn’t seem to mind your irritation, and better yet, she doesn’t really seem to care. Her eyes only track the way you throw your coat over the back of your chair and push yourself onto the high-top stool. You reason your anger is probably out of place in such a dreamy world, just like your choice of alcohol, but you’re too tired and cold to bother giving her a smile. And being kind has proven to be more and more exhausting as the days go by. It’s not like she deserves it anyway, being so casual with you. Standing so tall, with such confidence, not even the slightest bit weary or weathered from the long day. You don’t even know what time it is - only that it’s late. Past the twinkling stars kind of late. Way past sunset kind of late. So late that you think the restaurant may be closing but you’re not even sure. No one has left. The women are still happy, buzzed and delighted by the concoctions in their glasses. Still all lonely by the stage. Still knee-deep in the quiet place of Madame.

Still a silly fucking name.

“Bailey’s Colada then,” you drawl, running a hand through your messy curls. “And an extra shot of pineapple juice. I dunno.” You shrug, leaning into your hands as your elbows press into the wood of the bar. They’re cold, covering your eyes. Damp. Tense with the chill from the rain you just escaped. And eager to feel something grounding.

Too bad the bartender is still a bitch.

“I’ll give you one more try.” She thinks she’s so clever, smiling at you like that. She thinks she’s so charming.

You want to rip her happy eyes out.

You want to sleep.

“Just. Get. Me. A. Fucking. Drink.” Your gaze shoots daggers, piercing her right through the heart between the gaps of your fingers.

If you were any more aware of your surroundings, instead of just appreciative, then you’d notice that the only liquor they serve is the kind produced during the 1950’s. The popular drinks back in the day. True to the time. Devoted to the piece. Overall very good with details. But details are not something you have the energy to notice. And there’s not a damn thing on Earth that can tear you away from the drugged feeling of your eyes slowly drooping. Growing hazy with fatigue. Vision blurring. Body shivering, still dripping small beads of water from your coattails onto the floor. Distantly, you hear the bartender speak.

“Hey- are you okay?”

No, you want to say. No, fucker. Can’t you see I’m not okay? Just get me a damn drink and-

“If you don’t mind my interrupting,” a voice - deep, English, breaks through your haze. “I suggest a Tom Collins.”

Great. And I suggest you shut the Hell up.

“That work for you, princess?”

You want to reach across the bar and strangle her so bad that your cold fingers twitch, but something stops you. No- someone stops you.

“She’s exhausted, Leslie. Leave her be.”

Yeah. Finally a person who has a fucking clue.

You want to speak, and perhaps tell the person to go away, or throw your hands up in the air and yell ‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’, but before you can open your mouth, the seat next to you squeaks. It spins around, dragged lightly by a white-gloved hand, before it moves to accompany a figure. A figure with a lot of misplaced confidence and a lot of audacity. A lot of self importance and a lot of gall. A lot of… oh.

You swallow.

A lot of height, as well. A lot of height and a lot of elegance. She slips into the chair with practiced ease, placing her hands in the right places and her heels on the right rungs, tugging the chair to spin around and face- you. You. Of course you. You, who are the odd one out. You, who waltzed in from 2024. You, who are not one of them. You, an abandoned dog and you, who are cosplaying as a content human. Of course the stranger turns to face you. And of course she is beautiful. All pale skin and shining blue eyes and snowy curls pinned extravagantly atop her head. A jawline that is softer than fresh downy pillows and could cut glass if it grows tense. Long arms. Long legs. Red lips. A scar-so faint you have to squint-but a scar nonetheless. You wonder where she got it from. You wonder why you wonder.

“It’s palatable,” the stranger speaks. The tip of her nose moves with her words. It’s cute. She has a very distinct face. Sharp features. Eyes not too hooded but not too wide. They don’t look at you directly, and instead focus on a spot near your hand. On the mahogany, where it’s (thank god) clean.

The bartender turns her back to make the drink and you take that moment, away from her bastard prying eyes, to speak.

“I hope so.” It’s ruder than intended, but doesn’t seem to offend. Those red lips quirk into a smile, and she looks at you- finally- from beneath dark lashes. Her makeup is fresh. Her skin looks warm.

“The Amaretto Sour and Bailey’s Irish Cream only rose to fame in the 1970’s,” her covered fingers run along the smooth wood, “The Mai Tai, Tom Collins, and Sloe Gin Fiz, on the other hand…” She tilts her head, shrugs one shoulder, and flicks her eyes from you to the bar. It’s endearing, annoyingly enough. And you’re sure that for a second, the blush on her cheekbones is a figment of your imagination.

For some reason, you shoot her a wry smile.

“Lemme guess… popular in the 50’s?”

An auburn eyebrow ticks up, splashing feigned surprise across that pretty face.

“How did you know?” Her tone is pitched a bit too high as she gasps. A bit too hysterical. It makes you roll your eyes and look away, taking a moment to glance at the dark floor beneath your feet. You shake your head.

Maybe it’s her beauty. Maybe it’s her humor. Maybe it’s the fact that she understands you’re so tired you could fall asleep right there where you sit.

“Tom Collins,” the bartender steals your attention. The glass is full, sliding across the bar at top speed, and you can barely hope to reach out and catch it before the stranger’s white glove is stopping it from tipping right over the edge. Only a splash of the sweet drink spills onto clean leather. You watch. You get the distinct urge to lean over and lick it clean.

Just like any other mutt. Eager to lap up the scraps. Even when they’re not yours.

“Shouldn’t you be finishing up, Leslie? I thought the bar was closed.” Leathered fingers curl around the tall glass, squeaking lightly beneath the strength of her pressure.

“And why would you think that, Larissa?”

Larissa. Name fit for a dream.

The bartender doesn’t look too happy. There’s something acrid in her expression, something that pulls at her lips in a way most unpleasant. She looks sour. Jealous. Of her? No. No, not of her.

Of you?

Yes. Absolutely of you. You can see it in the way her green eyes shift- running from your face to Larissa’s and back again. Upset. Betrayed. Let down. It makes you want to smile. Larissa seems kind. The bitch behind the bar isn’t, you’ve decided. Not fucking kind at all. And you’re happy when Larissa’s pretty red lips stretch into a bright smile. The very lingerings of derision hide in the sweet lines beside her mouth.

“It’s a quarter after midnight, Leslie. And you close at-”

“11:30, yeah I know. Whatever.” And with that shit attitude, Leslie tugs the cloth from her shoulder and walks away; leaving you to your precious company.

Your precious company who takes the glass from the bar and holds it out to you, completely unphased by the cold condensation wetting her glove. It’s later than you thought it was, but you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? No. No, you don’t. So you hide your surprise and stare into Larissa’s eyes instead.

“A peace offering?”

Her smile, this time, is genuine. Wide and perfect, showing off those white teeth and the delightful little scrunch of her nose.

“Yes,” and the warmest chuckle rumbles up from her pale throat, “a peace offering.”

You nod and take the glass. It’s very cold, but you don’t feel it. Not when she’s looking at you like that. Watching you raise it in a silent toast and a quiet thanks. Her eyes follow you when you bring it to your lips, when you drink, and when you allow your expression to scrunch up only the tiniest bit. She lets out a loud laugh at the sight of that, and brings a large palm up to cover her open mouth, probably finding her exquisite joy to be too unladylike. You almost tell her to take it away, to allow herself to cackle freely, but it’s not your place. You’re just a dog. And you’re too busy swigging down more ‘zesty lemonade’ to pause and perhaps mention that her bright laugh is something to be marveled at. To be joined in.

You’ve never felt this way.

This way… what is this way? Amusement? No. You’ve felt that before. Happiness? No, because it’s not that. You’ve felt that - a long time ago. Contentment? No. You don’t feel safe. You don’t feel like you want to stay forever. In fact, you kind of want to leave. It suddenly feels too stifling. Too… romantic. Ah. That’s it. Romantic. Looking into those twinkling blue eyes and finding genuine intrigue there. Interest. She is beautiful and you want more. More conversation. More of her voice. Because there she sits, waltzing over to your spot, making your eyes widen, and giving you a drink. One that isn’t too bad either - after getting over the initial tartness that sort of stings your tongue. And she just sort of expects you to be okay with it? To not want more? And more? And more? You are a dog and you want to tell her that.

I am a dog, Larissa. I have learned to be desperate. I have known what it is to want for more. Can you give me more? Just another smile for a sweet stranger?

“I don’t mean to laugh,” her voice is gentle, becoming clearer once she takes her hand away from her mouth, “but your face was- it was…”

“What?” You lick your lips, tilting your head. “What was it like?” And you can’t help but pull another face, exaggerating it, crossing your eyes and frowning, smoldering, and sneering all at the same time. Thank goodness it seems to do the trick as in the next moment, you hear a surprised stuttering laugh fill the air. It makes for the most beautiful harmony with Madame’s soft piano music; lilting and light and gorgeous. A silver lining. A golden undertone. You follow in her beautiful steps and join her in laughing.

“Was it like that?” You grin, taking another sip. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Larissa gasps and nods, pressing a hand to her chest, “Precisely.”

Your combined chuckles eventually fade and silence falls like the rain outside. Softer, now. A light brush against the windows - like the storm decided to calm as soon as Larissa sat down beside you. But that’s a silly thought. Storms don’t bend to the actions of women.

Except, you ponder, watching Larissa pick invisible fuzzies off of her beige coat, they may make exceptions.

“Where are you from?” You say it so quickly you don’t even realize it comes from your own mouth. Just your luck that your inner thoughts betray you.

But Larissa only looks charmed, and possibly grateful for a conversation starter. She straightens up in her spot, giving you her full attention. It is excruciating. It kills the shivering you’ve been indulging in since your outside excursion - and fills you with something just short of… giddy.

“The United Kingdom originally, but Vermont is where I stay now,” she responds, resting her palms along the bar’s edge.

Vermont? Odd.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Long way from Vermont, aren’t you?”

Those red lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. True, you think she says in her head. Very true.

“Indeed,” blue eyes sparkle, “I figured I needed a holiday.” She tilts her head and you know the question is coming. “Are you a long way from home as well?” It’s a wonderful question. A good question. A perfect question, truly. You want to tell her yes but you’re not sure if that’s the truth.

“I-” Well. Abandoned dogs don’t have homes, Larissa. Can’t you see that in me? Can’t you recognize it? Don’t you know?

Apparently not. Her beautiful face is still open and inviting, unshaded by judgment. Unperturbed by your unfamiliarity. You don’t know how to react to that. How to respond to her kindness. Her patience. She is unknowingly opening a can of worms and you are knowingly staring at her, mouth flapping open and closed, trying to conjure up words that don’t sound like I have no home.

“Please don’t feel obligated to answer,” Larissa waves her hand in the air, “I understand it’s quite personal.”

Oh. How sweet you are to a stray.

“No, I just… I’m a little lost right now,” you admit with a sigh, tipping the glass back until you can swallow the rest of the liquor in one smooth gulp. Something shifts in Larissa’s expression while you lose yourself in the feeling of alcohol sitting in your throat. It’s a miniscule difference when you look at her again, but you spot it anyway. Sadness. Melancholy. Understanding. Pity. All scuttling around in the depths of her eyes and the furrow of her brows and the downturn of her lips.

Normally you hate pity. Normally you despise it. Normally you figure it isn’t for you. You don’t deserve it. You’re just a person with no wind and no destination and no path. You’re just a dog overdue. So why do you need pity? Why do you have it? Why do you get so angry at anyone who wants to give it to you? And why is Larissa any different? She’s still a stranger. Just one with a pretty face. And beautiful hair. And the most gorgeous voice…

“Doing a bit of soul searching then?” Her tone is intentionally light.

“Yeah,” the glass makes a small ‘clink’ against the bartop, “I guess so.”

Kind of. Sort of. Yes? And no. Whose soul are you searching for? Which life do you want? Why are you so lost, when they say that everyone has a place on Earth? Where is your place?

Do you have one?

“Why France?”

“Good question,” you shrug, not really knowing the answer yourself. “City of lights, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Larissa nods, drumming her fingers against the wood. “City of love, as well. In case you haven’t heard.”

Yes. She’s right. Very right. You lick your lips and nod along. City of love, indeed. City of love with the way that dress looks on her, for sure. City of love with the way she looks at you, too. City of love with the way she smells. Like vanilla and jasmine. Strong, intense, a cologne that probably costs a million dollars - for a woman that looks like a million dollars. City of love. It’s written in the piano that fills your silences. In the air that breathes between your bodies. In the bubble of privacy that lives on when Leslie disappears from behind the bar with a heavy clang of its trapped door. She throws the cloth onto the wood, shoots one last glare at the two of you from over her shoulder, and fucks off into the dark of the stage area. Probably to pick up some other sad woman that’s just as lost as you.

On any other night, I may be the person she takes home. But right now I’m with Larissa. And that’s where I’m gonna stay.

“Not for her,” you snark, watching Leslie retreat before turning back to your company.

Larissa hums, but her eyes don’t follow the bartender like yours did. Instead, they stay on you. Glued to the side of your face, then to the full of your features when you give her a small disgusted expression. You’re rewarded with a light chuckle. “Yes, except for her,” she clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Leslie has always been…”

“Rude?” You start, putting an elbow on the bar and leaning on your palm, “Annoying? Flirty? Shitty? To name a few,” you roll your eyes, flipping your hand in the air.

Larissa only closes her eyes and snorts. “She has always been… eager? I guess that’s the right word. Eager.”

You don’t like the sound of that. Eager people are desperate people. Desperate people are loose cannons. They’d do anything for- well- anything. And Larissa is not an ‘anything’. Larissa is not a reward. And you are not a desperate, eager person. You are not a loose cannon. You’re just a lost one. A rusted lost contraption that was thrown off of the side of a pirate ship. Silly loose cannon, searching for land. No reward.

“For you?” The disapproval that colors your tone does not seem to surprise Larissa. In fact, it only makes her nod.

“Yes, I’m afraid. Though I can’t imagine why,” those broad shoulders of hers shrug, “I’m not nearly as fascinating as half of the women that grace this bar.”

That’s what you think.

“I beg to differ.” It comes out so confidently you kind of want to punch yourself in the mouth. What the fuck do you mean you beg to differ? What would you like to follow that up with? What would you like to say? Oh no, Larissa. You are WAY more fascinating than the people that ‘grace this bar’. You are WAY more intriguing. Leslie has good taste, sure, but a shit attitude about it. I can imagine why she fancies you. I can imagine why anyone would. Yeah right. You can’t say that. But you’re still curious, so instead of giving her a moment to register and respond, you ask the burning question. “How long have you been on holiday if you’re so sure?” But really the question is: How often do you come here?

The pink in porcelain cheeks has deepened. You’re sure it’s from your comment, but you refuse to allow the buzzing of your heart get any worse. It’s already filling your ears, drowning out the piano, and you yearn for the safety of contentment. The same contentment you didn’t feel before. Is this still romance? Or was this never romance at all?

“About three weeks. An extended stay. Though I must admit, I’m nervous about returning to work. I fear I’ve left it too long,” she frowns, twisting her lips in a way that says ‘But what can you do?’.

“Three weeks! What do you do for work?” If there were some more drink in your mouth, you probably would’ve spat it out by accident. Three weeks? Sort of a long time. A long time to be away from work and a long time to be alone.

Unless she isn’t alone… to which you’d actually like to leave right now if that’s the case.

There's hesitance in her eyes. "I'm... a school principal," she says slowly, looking away. “But I needed it. Prolonged stress isn’t good for me. Or for anyone, really.” Her voice softens, carried away by the music as she glances down at her hands. You get the strange desire to hold them. It pops up first as a soft urge in your mind before barrelling forward and pressing hard against the front wall of your thoughts. Reach out and hold them. Hold them. They are soft. They are the kind of hands that reach out and pet the strays. Feed the strays.

But you’re too scared you’ll bite.

“Preach,” you murmur, unsure of how to continue. What are the duties of a school principal? “But- ya know. Good for you I guess. Are you returning to Vermont soon?”

“My flight leaves at seven tomorrow. I’ll get back at approximately half past five in the morning if I’m lucky.”

“Hm. And if you’re unlucky?”

Another small smile.

“Then I’ll never get back.”

You find that to be quite interesting. She’s not worried about her job in a way that speaks to severe anxiety, but in a way that speaks to nervousness regarding her passion. Regarding the children she has to look after. The parents she has to (no doubt) reassure. The world that she is important in. The oil that runs through the machine. She keeps them going - and she has been gone for three weeks. You’re rather curious about the aftermath, and about the scene she will return to upon arrival, but it’s hopeless and misplaced. You will not see what happens. You will not spot the relief on her face. You will not know how life continues for her. Because she is leaving, this beautiful stranger, and she has a home. And you are a stray dog. Abandoned. Hungry. More, more, more. She does not want. She is satiated. Larissa has lived out her dream here, her relaxation, and now it is time to turn around and face the music. Return home. And be part of the family again.

How does that feel? Family?

“How long do you plan on staying?” She asks, looking just as curious as you feel.

A sigh rattles your bones as you lean your head back and push out your chest, relishing in the pops that run down your spine. Exhaustion is creeping again. You didn’t even notice it was gone.

“Probably… forever?” It’s not the truth.

“That can’t be true.”

“No,” you groan, “it’s not. So I don’t know. Maybe forever. Maybe I’ll leave tomorrow, too. We’ll see, I guess.”

That pretty gaze burns into the side of your face. It is full of questions, even when you’re not meeting it, and you’re suddenly sort of scared to look at her again. Scared that she’ll know everything. Scared that she’ll realize what you really are. Not just lost, but hopeless. No way of being found. Because what will you do and where will you go? Nothing and nothing. That seems to be the answer these days. Nothing.

“Do you have any family you’re traveling with?”

Her voice is soft again. Colored with feeling. What is she feeling? Is it still pity? You glance at her, out of the corner of your eye, just to check. No. Yes? No. Maybe. Could be. Or it could be something else. Could be hope. Could be sadness. Could be something better. You can’t clock it, so you return with a question of your own. It stings you to say it- embarrasses you to wonder- but you can’t help yourself. You’re just a dog. You need more.

“Do you have anyone that will be waiting for you at 5 in the morning?”

Her eyebrows twitch for the smallest shade of a second. It’s barely there, but you see it anyway. You see how she frowns and recovers. Maybe that was too far. Maybe that was too blunt. Maybe you should just hold your fucking tongue and stop digging into other people’s business-

“Honestly? No. I’ll probably have to grab a taxi from the airport.”

Oh.

For some reason that’s worse. Worse than if she said yes. Worse than if she started to go on a tirade about a lover waiting for her. Worse than if she mentioned a gaggle of friends or even a coworker. How can she just have- that? That? A taxi? You can’t hide the way your face falls. You just can’t. And you can’t contain the way your heart breaks a little. Crackling like a burning fire, pounding away behind the frailness of your chest. Dropping pieces all over the floor of your innards as you see Larissa get lost staring into space. Probably looking over the different types of liquor bottles as she figures out how best to get a cab from the airport with the least amount of trouble. You kind of want to reach over and shake her shoulders. Take her out of her own head. Insist that it’ll be okay. But of course it’ll be okay - she never said it wouldn’t. She never made any indication that being alone was something she didn’t like.

However, she did walk over to you, didn’t she? And she did sit down next to you. And she was alone at the bar. So maybe the isolation is getting to her. Maybe she needs to go back home. Maybe you need to go with her.

Maybe you need to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have any family,” you respond, figuring it’s only fair. “So it’s just me.”

Larissa gives you a distracted hum before she takes her eyes away from a place over your shoulder and moves them to your face. To your eyelashes and your eyebrows and your cheeks and your nose. You don’t know what she sees. Hopefully not a dog.

“And no prior commitments? No one waiting for you either?” She seems hesitant to ask, but you know it’s just because she doesn’t want to be impolite.

Oh, Larissa. You can’t offend dogs, Larissa. Others can but not you.

“No. No roots, if that’s what you mean.”

She nods. “I see.”

“Do you?”

A long leg goes sliding up to cross over the other and for a second, you’re lost in the smooth length of them. Her calves and thighs are gorgeous. The hem of her dress falls below the knee. A little restricting but classy. She is very beautiful. And slowly, as the night progresses, you’re beginning to fear what will happen when she leaves. Which is silly, because she’s still a stranger. She doesn’t even know your name. And she has a home to return to and you’re doomed for the rest of your life.

“I believe I do, yes.” And that’s enough of an answer for you.

From that sweet point on, you fall into silence.

The ambience of Madame hasn’t shifted in the slightest. The earlier smoke only renewed itself once certain cigarettes ran out - and the piano looped into another song. Probably playing over a speaker system you couldn’t see or a record player somewhere in the dark. No one takes center stage. No one leaves. It’s still empty drinks, empty hearts, empty heads, and full laughter. Easy chatter. Women getting closer. Women holding hands. Women with their palms on each other’s thighs. Women with lipstick marks on their cheeks. Women with perfectly pinned hair, like Larissa’s, are left with loose curls and messy ends - easily destroyed by a wandering hand or a particularly heavy kiss. You refuse to blush at the sight of that when you turn around and make eye contact with a woman at a booth, but your body doesn’t listen. Your body finds it scandalous. Your body finds it exciting.

There are no threats. There are no men. No shouts, no loud drinking, no busy football games, no beer-stained tables and hugs that hit a bit too hard. There’s no gag-worthy cologne and no clumsy feet stepping on the toes of ladies and no drunken asks for a number or company home. There’s only peace. Sweet and fragile, not even broken by the wind and rain that beats and floats against the windows. You wonder when the place closes if it’s already so late.

You wonder why there’s so many women.

“There was no um-” your throat grows hoarse before you clear it, putting a hand up to your mouth while you look at Larissa. She’s waiting patiently for you to continue. “There was no… advertisement? I guess? That said this place was- is it like… a lesbian… bar? Or something?” You sound more and more childish the higher your voice goes but Larissa’s smile is gentle.

“There’s no advertisement needed. Everyone knows Madame in Paris is a place of community acceptance. However, it’s apparently more popular in the Spring. Tourist season and all that.”

“Oh.” Oh.

Larissa’s brows furrow. “Something wrong?”

Well, yes. Sort of. Kind of. Uh…

“No I just- it’s not Spring now?” You frown, lifting your elbow from the bartop and putting your arm in your lap. What does she mean?

“No,” Larissa shakes her head slowly, stopping the light drum of her fingers. “It’s Autumn. November, actually.”

November? But…

“Huh,” you blink, “must be more lost than I thought. Weird.”

The very beginnings of a frown pull at those red lips, giving away her worry; and for some reason, you’re hasty to reassure her.

“But it’s probably just the exhaustion or something,” you huff out a self-deprecating smile, “No biggie. Maybe I’m like- too buzzed to comprehend. Or too hungry. I don’t know,” you gesture to your head, waving off the concern that she was going to show you.

But it doesn’t work.

“Perhaps you need dinner then,” Larissa tilts her head, looking at you from beneath her eyelashes.

In that moment, she’s perhaps the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. Lit by low candle light. Shadowed by her own form of mystery. You kind of want to lean over and kiss her - which is weird, because her lips are just like any other person’s lips, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. But dogs change sometimes, don’t they? Just like any other creature. Dogs change. And instead of wanting for more, they want for something different.

“Yeah. Perhaps I do.”

Your company takes a moment to look behind you, running her gaze over the interior of the restaurant. You see her blue eyes flit from couple to couple and group to group and crying woman to the next crying woman. You see her nose wrinkle when she spots all of the cigarettes and you see the twitch in her kitten-heeled foot before she’s uncrossing her legs and moving to stand. Every nerve in your body jumps to stand with her. To follow her lead and let her whisk you away. But you don’t know if that’s what she wants - and you don’t want to assume just to be let down. You don’t want her to look at you like ‘What the fuck are you standing up for?’ so you stay in your seat and watch her fix up her coat, straighten her gloves, and grasp the purse on the back of her chair. Everything about her is so elegant. Smooth. Maybe you’re hallucinating and she’s only a dream.

“I know a place nearby. Do you want to join me?”

You look from her hands to her face, caught frozen by the timber of her voice. Do you want to join me?

“Is- are you sure?” Your heart is screaming.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Larissa gives you a small confused smile.

You lick your lips. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Alright. Do you want to tell me on the way?”

No one ever asks. Everyone stopped a long time ago. There’s no need to wonder, to know, when everyone understands that you’ll just disappear sooner or later. Abandoned dog with an abandoned mind. But here she is asking - and it would be rude to ignore her.

“Sure.”

—

The weather is still brisk when you step outside. The rain is not as harsh and the wind not as bad, but the chill is just as strong. It seeps through your coat rather quickly and you have to shove your hands in your pockets to hide the way they shake. Larissa seems to be faring much better, walking along at a steady pace and adding to the clicks your boots leave behind on the pavement. Despite the dreary weather and the dark sky, threatening to break with another downpour at any moment, the streetlamps are beautiful. Guiding you both through the midnight haze and the swiftly settling fog. You feel like a ghost, floating along there by your company’s side, trying to keep yourself from staring up at her. The bar’s seating apparently did her no favors as when she stood up and led the way outside, you nearly tripped over yourself upon noticing the height difference. She is… she is something extraordinary. You wonder why you’re the one there beside her. Maybe Leslie had a better chance. Maybe you’re just a placeholder until she leaves.

“Are you going to make me guess?” She says eventually, pausing mid-stride to look down at you.

There’s only a few inches difference. Maybe a near foot. You’re not sure. You haven’t asked. But you want to. Curious dog.

“Sure,” you shrug, amused by the way she sighs and continues forward. “It’s not that hard.”

“Elizabeth,” she starts.

Cute.

“No.”

“Emily.”

“No.”

“…Erin?”

“No. What’s with all the ‘E’ names?”

“Would you prefer I start at ‘A’?”

“Might make it easier.”

“Nothing will make this easier.”

The walk feels like it goes on for ages the more she speaks. One name after the other after the other. You smile at the ones that are close and snort at the ones that could never suit you. Larissa only rolls her eyes and tries again. It’s silly and fun and lighthearted and you feel something inside you lighten. Though maybe it’s the Tom Collins, finally kicking in after a day of no food and one boozy drink. Larissa doesn’t seem to mind your occasional giggles and huffs - she even joins you, especially when you almost trip over your feet walking along the curb and she has to reach out and tug you back from the street and the ground. Her coat is cold but her body feels warm. There’s a small droplet of rain that hangs off of a strand of white hair behind her ear and you’re desperate to brush it away, but you don’t. You can’t. Can’t gather the energy to reach out. Can’t gather the energy to get your hopes up. So you move away and the game continues.

Down the street, along this turn and that, through rights and lefts and around lamp posts and street lights and intersections and parks. Far far away and all over the place. You walk for so long your legs begin to twinge - and then she says it.

“Jasmine?”

“Nope.”

“Lilith.”

“No.”

You’re waiting for a stoplight to turn red, but Larissa breezes past you. Head held high. Strides long. Back straight. The world does bend for her. And so do you.

As soon as you reach her side, she takes a steadying breath.

“Iris.”

Why your heart decides to take that moment and skip multiple beats is something you’ll never understand. Maybe it’s just the way she says it. The way it tumbles off of her tongue and slides from between her teeth and disappears into the ether. Maybe it’s the look she gives you and the way she stops when you’re a bit too quiet for too long and the corners of your mouth can’t help but quirk up. You’re not proud of her - that would be silly - but she certainly looks proud of herself. If that slowly spreading grin is anything to go by.

“Iris. Is that it?”

You nod and watch as her nose scrunches up with joy and her gloved hands make little muted claps in excitement. You think you can get used to the way she says it. Like it’s something to be cherished - something delicate and soft. Iris. Eye-riss. Iris. Slow and measured. Careful. She wants to take as much caution as she can when she says it. And when she finally goes to resume your walk, she lets out a little hum and glances down at you from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s a lovely name.”

Oh, Larissa. You’re killing me here.

“Larissa is nice, too. Very… elegant,” you respond, trying desperately to take the attention off of you. It’s been so long since you last heard a compliment like that, you’re unsure how to react. How to be normal about it. How to stop yourself from circling her body and pulling her close and pushing your head against her chest to listen to her heart. To see if she’s real. Because only fake people pay attention to strays - and she’s too wonderful to be anything aside from a figment of your dear imagination.

“That’s very kind of you, Iris.” Oh say it again. Please god, say it again.

But she doesn’t. And you don’t push it. And you don’t look at her for fear of bursting into flames. And you continue your walk until you come across a park bench and you sit down - drawing her attention and luring her back over to stand while you rest your legs.

“Feels like we’ve been walking forever! Where are you taking me?” You glare at her, all playful looks and pouts.

“To my lair. Are you scared yet?” She shifts on her white heels and you can’t help but give her a small chuckle.

“Me? Scared of you? Yeah, right. In your dreams, blondie.”

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet. I can be quite terrifying when I want to be,” Larissa defends, crossing her arms and cocking out a hip.

“Yeah. To school children maybe,” you grin, spreading your arms out over the back of the bench to sit comfortably. “But not to me.”

“Hm. Not yet, anyway,” her tone is airy, making you blow air out of your nose with amusement.

“Uh huh.” You pause, close your eyes to bask in the chill that bites at your skin, and then open one to look at her. “How tall are you, anyway?”

She towers over you there - standing beside the wrought-iron arm of the bench while you sit and crane your head back. Outlined in the soft glow of the park lamps, you begin to wonder if Larissa is not an imaginary friend or a ghost but instead an angel. She certainly looks the part. You really wouldn’t be that surprised if huge ivory wings sprout from the defined lines of her shoulder blades.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” Oh, she’s teasing me now. You roll your eyes.

“Since you first stood up.” The truth is always best. And it makes her smile softly.

“Six foot, three.”

Your lips part, falling open before you catch yourself. Six feet and three inches?! Jesus, woman. You swallow around your delighted shock and push yourself off of the bench - bringing yourself to your full height on the backs of your heeled boots.

“There’s no way,” you snark, crossing your arms.

“Oh really?” Those red lips grow into a smirk and never in your life have you wanted to feel something more. Never.

“Yeah. Really.”

And of course that’s how you sign your heart away - for a split second later, there she stands. So close you can smell the old wine on her breath and see the individual lines in her face. It’s only half lit by golden light, but that doesn’t matter. You’re beginning to think your eyes were made for seeing her. And you’re beginning to think your body was made for standing so close. She smells like the rain now. Like the rain and the stars, which twinkle brightly behind her head as you resist the urge to step back and look at her. There is no backing down from this. There is only matching her height head-on, even though that’s impossible. But that’s the joke. So you move to stand on the tips of your toes and get into her personal space and only when you do, do you realize your mistake. She’s even closer. And her blue eyes have gone wide. You see a deep black abyss take over the oceans of her irises and suddenly, you think your name is very inadequate in comparison to the gorgeous cerulean of her gaze. To the way it envelopes you and electrifies you and warms you all at once. She is a vision. She is everything you want to look upon. And her eyes dart between your own, carrying shock and admiration with them. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what’s happening. This doesn’t feel like romance anymore. This isn’t contentment. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know why you want to lean into her and fall.

And you don’t know why she decides to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she says so quickly, so quietly, you think it’s just a whisper of the wind. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Her eyes are still wide, but they’ve been captured by something terrible. Something sad. You open your mouth - to say what? - you don’t know. But she’s taking a few steps back and you close it. Her hair is still perfect, but there’s one strand loose. It flits wildly in front of her ear. A sign of her loss of control, perhaps. A sign that someone got through. She’s not a guarded woman and yet she is. She’s not private and yet she is. You didn’t have the deepest talk of all time and yet you did. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say to get her to stay. So you just say her name.

“Larissa-”

“It’s been very nice to meet you, Iris,” she murmurs, interrupts, clears her throat, and adjusts the purse on her shoulder. Those blue eyes glance around madly, like she’s scared of being caught. “But I’m afraid I have to go now. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Your flight leaves at seven.” You don’t know why that’s the thing you say. You don’t know what that’s going to do - but before you can even hope to say anything else, she nods and looks at you again. With unwavering strength. With a hint of an apology.

“Yes. It does.” Her lips press together firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that whisper, softer than the distant break of your heart, she’s turning around and walking off into the rain.

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Lazily waves my hand around before walking away. - Rip x

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TAGS (please keep in mind Tumblr won't allow me to tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

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romeulusroy · 1 year

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Tenderness (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman, Logan

Word Count: 1,572

Requested: "you're so cute." "what did you just say?" " said you look like a boot." With Roman denying he’s absolutely infatuated? - anon

Inspired By: Frances Forever by Mitski

A/N: I absolutely loved your request my love, I really hope I could do it justice!! The things I would do for that boy omg I love him!!! IDC what anyone thinks, he is so Mitski coded it breaks my heart!! 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Your head rest in the crook of his neck, your face falling into his shoulder. Listening to him breathe, laugh, instigate. Taking in his scent. Summery, wooden, clean. The cool air of the city night makes you squeeze next to him harder, desperately, his coat wrapped around your shoulders. His stubble is scratchy against your forehead, a welcomed sensation. The muscles of his jaw clench and unclench. He’s focused on something you’re not seeing, hearing, something bothering him. The rest of the party hums behind the panes of glass, the after dinner drum of heartbeats fast, fatal, in need of assurance. They speak lightly of million, billion dollar deals over drinks, waiting for desert. It’s you and him braving the moon and stars beneath the clouds, needing a moment to yourselves before you can go back in. Needing a moment to breathe. The rain had stopped, leaving nothing but puddles as evidence of its entire existence. One arm around you, the other rubbing at his eyes. It’s been a long night. How desperate you are to go home, crawl into bed beside him, find your way to his chest. How desperate you are to flee. You’d take off running if he weren’t clinging to you, needy in his own right. One more hour, maybe two. You could make it. As if he were thinking the same, Roman took a shaky breathe in. Not much longer.

He feared you were desperately, unkindly unprepared to deal with them. The wolves, the monsters who bare their teeth, blood pooling in their spit. All of them ready to tear the next victim to shareds. Tear ligaments, shred tendons, spit out pieces of teeth and tongue. Nothing left but bones. Scraps. He wants to turn the car around. He wants to crawl back into bed, hide under the covers with you where it’s warm and safe and his father cannot get him. You can feel him startle at your touch, your fingers intertwined, your eyes never leaving the rainy city light of car window. He says something just as someone presses the horn of their car. You’re so cute. What was that? I said you look like a boot- fuck. You smile anyways, catching that first part. He thinks you’re cute. If he could, he would have stopped the car, the driver, stop time itself. Whatever you thought you were going into, whatever countless scenarios you’d thought of, it would never be enough. There would never be enough preparation in the world to deal with Logan Roy. He’d never introduced anyone to him before, never brought anyone home. He’d never needed to until he met you. From the very first date, he could picture it all going wrong. Catastrophize everything, then you’ll never be disappointed. You’ll never be let down. He warned you, practically begged you, but your relationship was getting serious and you wanted to meet his family. Not just his father, but his brothers and sister, too. You didn’t want to be a secret. He didn’t want you to be a secret, he just wished you were meeting a different family. That things would be different. That it wouldn't end what you had. He squeezed your hand, for the last time, he truly believed so. One last time.

Marcia kissed you as soon as the elevator doors closed. She hugged you lightly, smiling widely. Logan was nowhere to be seen, to his relief. She was kind, kind enough, asking about work, about life, how she’s been so excited to meet you. Between then and now a glass had been placed in your hand and refilled quite a bit. You were feeling airy, but not dizzy. You liked Marcia, at least this version of herself she was presenting. You’d heard more than a few things about her, though. Shiv hugged you, too, watching Roman the entire time, as if she couldn’t believe you were real. He just shrugged, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face. He was one lucky guy. Connor was the most authentic, hugging you hard, introducing you to Willa, wanting to know about your day. That kind of love, that kind of light in a room full of falsehoods, it was so endearing. Riveting. You were grateful for Connor, not just in this moment, but for being in Roman’s life. He needed someone like that. Ken was already a little drunk, introducing himself twice. It took Roman no time in order to make jokes at his expense. He seemed nice, though you saw him the least. Kendall, and others alike, kept disappearing upstairs to talk to the king himself. The others, like Gerri, Frank, Karl, all faceless names until then, stories and legends of their own, only smiled at you if you were lucky. They didn’t care that you were there nor did they pay you any attention. They wouldn’t make up their minds about you until he did. You were warned about this.

In between the greetings, the smiles, the questions and questionable looks from others, you clung to Roman, never out of reach of one another, as if the very thing keeping you alive was each other. Neither of you hungry, you stuck to the wine, the bourbon, the thing that made this night more bearable. Shared glances, smiles, the occasional kiss when no one was looking. You listened very little to the hings they said. The business aspects, everything like that, you weren’t interested in. You didn’t care that Roman was a Roy, what he came from, only that he came out of it unscathed. Alive. Whole. The stories he told you, unable to look you in the eye as he spoke, all the horror stories of his childhood, it was a miracle he’d made it this far. You didn’t like his father even before you met. Anyone with that much power, that much disregard for human lives, it sent a chill up your spine. You assured him more times than you could count that he wasn’t like him at all. That he was kind, and thoughtful, that he was sweet and funny and perfect. Just perfect.

It wasn’t until the fine China had been set and dinner was almost ready that he wanted to see you. Alone. Roman refused. He pulled you away from the stairs, a look of fear you’d never seen washing across his face. He was petrified. For you, for himself, for everyone. Please, he begged, not alone. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t keep the king waiting, you couldn’t make a bad first impression. You couldn’t show weakness, fear, by showing up with armor. This was the kind of mind game he’d warned you about. You cupped his face in your hands, telling him all of this, reminding him it would only cause Roman pain if he went up there with you, if he lead the way, if he tried to protect you. He watched you climb the stairs, holding your head up high. You were a sacrifice and he was doing nothing to stop it. You were gone a long time. You missed the first three courses. Roman had lost his appetite completely, never taking his gaze off the empty chair beside him, the empty chair at the head of the table. His hands remained in fists, as if squeezing himself down, making himself smaller, would make you magically appear, would make everything okay. Would make you stay with him after all. No one took notice of your absence. No one spoke of Logan's. You appeared together, out of nowhere, you following Logan’s lead. The second you sat down he took a breath, as if the whole time you were gone he forgot how to breathe. You didn’t look upset or mad, you certainly didn’t look like you wanted to break up with him, though you’d always known how to play nice. You knew that a discussion of that nature wasn’t suited over dinner.

It wasn’t until you were alone outside, on the desk, did you let yourself melt. Relax. Falling into him. He didn’t ask what happened, too afraid, and you didn’t tell. He was right, that man was a monster. Is now the time you tell me we’re done? His voice came out so small you barely heard it. You lift your head, wanting, no, needing to look him in the eye. Those puppy-dog eyes, all of a sudden so sad, so broken. You must’ve looked horrified, at least a little angry, because he receded back into himself. Roman Roy, you listen to me. What that man does or says will never change how I feel about you. Roman’s quiet for a while, this time it’s him leaning on you, deflated, as if everything had left him. This was your favorite part of the night. When it was you and him, against the world. You’d have to go in again, eventually. You’d have to smile at Logan and Marcia, make awkward small talk with Greg. You were happy to see Connor and Shiv and even Kendall again. You’d finally get to know just how Logan felt about you through his evil minions. But that could wait. Your Rome needed you just a little longer all to himself. He needed to know, again and again, that it wasn’t over between you. That you’d both survived this torturous night. A boot huh? Yeah, y’know, a boot. A cute boot. You’re sweet, Rome.

#requested #writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #logan roy #logan roy imagine #logan roy x reader #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 11 months

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Clerestory Rendezvous

Yoo Jimin x Reader

GENRE: bittersweet, fluff

TYPE: One Shot

Karina, her collar pulled up to shield herself from the chilly November air, hastened her steps along the stony road toward the cathedral. The drizzling rain intensified the coldness, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms beneath her thin sweater. She inwardly cursed for forgetting to bring an umbrella, but quickly adjusted her golden locks under her baseball cap and ascended the final set of stairs with determination.

Karina was in France for the week, as part of AESPA's world tour for the European leg. With Gislle's help, she managed to slip away from her manager's watchful eyes and embarked on a solo train journey from Paris to Lyon. While Karina had a genuine love for Paris, she had grown weary of the constant red carpets and the intrusive camera flashes that followed her everywhere she went. Above all, she needed some space away from Winter, her bandmate and former lover. All she longed for was a peaceful escape, where she could remain anonymous for a few days. That was why she found herself shivering in the rain, making her way towards another captivating cathedral that had caught her attention.

Standing in front of the towering wooden doors of the cathedral, Karina drew in a breath in awe.Despite the early hour, the darkness of the approaching night seemed to envelop the limestone structure, enhancing its celestial beauty. The warm glow of candlelight danced on the reflective stone walls, while hushed prayers reverberated throughout the sacred space.

Karina settled onto the smooth wooden bench at the front of the cathedral, her hands instinctively finding their place on her chest as she prepared to immerse herself in a sincere prayer. Her gaze wandered upward, drawn to the mesmerizing play of muted colors that scattered through the clerestory windows above. The ethereal light painted the stone walls, infusing the space with a captivating warmth that seemed to beckon her deeper into the sacred embrace of the cathedral.

With every ounce of her being, Karina hoped and prayed for the solace she so desperately sought, yearning to escape the clutches of heartbreak that had plagued her for far too long. As tears traced their path down her cheeks, each droplet carrying the weight of her emotions, Karina tenderly wiped them away, her touch gentle against her dampened skin. It felt as though an eternity had passed, time distorted in the depths of her inner turmoil. Gradually, she allowed her eyes to flutter open, and in that moment, she found herself captivated by a pair of soft brown eyes, gleaming with a mix of curiosity and understanding, on the bench next to hers.

Startled, the owner of those eyes quickly averted their gaze, fumbling with the contents of their backpack in a flurry of nervousness. Karina's pulse quickened, uncertainty washing over her. “Does she know who I am?” She muttered in panic.

But before Karina could rise from the bench, the girl timidly approached her, clutching something in her hand.

"I'm sorry if I'm intruding. It's just that you seemed like you needed this," the girl said softly, placing a packet of tissues in Karina's hands.

Furrowing her eyebrows, Karina scrutinized the unfamiliar girl before her. She appeared to be around the same age, her eyes wide and brown, adorned with delicate dimples that graced the corners of her mouth. Dressed in a cozy white fur coat and jeans, she had an undeniable cuteness about her. Karina couldn't help but be momentarily captivated, momentarily forgetting that she may be unintentionally staring at the stranger like a creep.

You faltered under the intense gaze of the mystery blonde, whom you happened to spot crying during your weekly visits to the town cathedral. As an art student studying in France, you often frequented this particular cathedral to capture the enchanting play of light on its walls.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," you apologized again, breaking Karina out of her trance.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for the tissues," Karina responded with a warm smile, causing your heart to skip a beat at her effortless beauty.

With her finely sculpted features, luminous eyes, and cupid's bow lips, Karina seemed like the most magnificent sight to behold in the Musée du Louvre. She appeared almost too perfect to be human, but her gentle smile and tear-stained face served as a reminder of her humanity.

You bit your tongue, feeling slightly self-conscious, and shifted your gaze to the marble floors, averting your eyes from the angelic figure before you. After a brief moment of contemplation, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper, placing it in Karina's hands. Confusion flickered across Karina's face as she gingerly unfolded the paper.

To her surprise, it revealed a sketch of her side profile, captured in the act of gazing at the clerestory windows through the lens of her film camera. Though rendered solely in pencil, the drawing was truly captivating. It skillfully portrayed the melancholic expression on Karina's face, capturing her soft features and the essence of her being. The picture seemed to convey a thousand words, telling Karina's story.

"I'm an art major," You explained awkwardly, attempting to justify yourself and prove that you weren’t just a creep but rather someone with an obsession for capturing the beauty of art.

"Usually, I focus on architectural design. Figure drawing isn't really my forte, but you are perfect for it."

Karina raised an eyebrow and playfully smiled, "I'm perfect, huh?"

Blushing, you stumbled over your words, "I m-mean, perfect for capturing in artworks. You look like you have thousands of stories to tell."

"Thank you for the compliment, Miss..." Karina trailed off, expecting you to fill in the blank.

"Y/N. My name is Y/N," you replied.

Karina found the way you said your name so effortlessly comforting. Unlike her stage name, which felt like a heavy burden, the way your name rolled off your tongue seemed light and carefree. It made her realize how much she longed for that kind of simplicity.

"Well, Miss Y/N, can you sign the picture? I'd like to brag in the future that I met one of the most famous artists in the world," Karina grinned, although her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

You laughed and signed your name on the back of the paper. "What's your name?"

Karina hesitated, unsure whether to reveal her true identity. Even though you seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't be affected by her fame, she still wanted to keep it hidden.

"Jimin," she said, opting to give her Korean name.

"Jimin," you repeated with a smile. "I like your name."

Karina had never been particularly fond of her name, considering it too ordinary. But hearing you say it, with a hint of an accent, made it sound more intimate and endearing.

Before Karina could respond, a soft buzz from your phone interrupted the comfortable silence. You checked the message, grabbed your bag, and turned your attention back to Karina.

"I have to go. It's been very nice meeting you, Jimin," you said, extending your hand.

"You too, Y/N," Karina replied, clasping your hand in hers and shaking it gently. "Thank you for the picture. I really like it."

You shyly shrugged and began to walk away. However, after a few steps, you suddenly stopped and looked back at Karina.

"I hope you find your happiness," you said sincerely. "Whoever or whatever is making you cry alone in a foreign cathedral, it will pass."

Karina sat there in silence for an hour, pondering over the words you had spoken. She knew she deserved happiness, and she understood that her journey with Winter had come to an end. The fame that came with being an idol often left her feeling isolated and detached from the world. She was unhappy and lonely, but she had to conceal her emotions behind a mask of makeup and smiles.

It was pouring by the time Karina decided to leave the cathedral. The rain fell relentlessly from the night sky, as if the heavens themselves were shedding tears for her misfortunes. She stood in front of the towering wooden doors, feeling a mix of annoyance and despair.

Finding a place to stay without ending up drenched seemed like an impossible task. Frustrated, she paced back and forth for a few minutes, attempting to call an Uber but to no avail. Just as she was about to give up, a beaten-up faded blue truck pulled up, its headlights illuminating the church courtyard like a guiding light.

You swung open the truck door, umbrella in hand, and rushed towards Karina. She was pleasantly surprised, thinking that their brief encounter earlier in the day would be the last time she would see you.

"I noticed you didn't have an umbrella with you today," you panted, brushing raindrops off your jacket as you shielded Karina from the downpour.

"The rain can get pretty heavy towards the end of the year, so it's always a good idea to have one handy."

"Thank you," Karina murmured gratefully. She was taken aback by the kindness you were showing a stranger you had just met.

"Do you need a ride?" you asked, noticing that she had the Uber app open on her phone.

"It's okay," Karina shook her head, not wanting to impose any further. "I'm trying to catch an Uber."

"Getting an Uber here can be quite difficult. It's quite far from downtown Lyon," you explained, patting her shoulder to ease her nerves.

"Come on, I'll drive you to your hotel."

"I actually haven't booked one yet," Karina admitted, shivering from the rain.

Her clothes were soaked, and water dripped from her golden locks.

"It's fine. I can lend you some dry clothes first," you said, tugging the taller girl towards your truck, hoping silently that you weren't making a terrible mistake.

"Please don't be a serial killer. Please don't be a serial killer," you prayed in your mind.

It was unlike you to offer a ride to a stranger, let alone invite them into your home. But Jimin seemed like a nice girl, albeit a sad one.

You turned up the heat in your truck and reached under the car seat for a blanket to cover Karina.

"So..." you began, trying to break the silence as you carefully maneuvered through the dark, winding country roads. The rain continued to pour relentlessly.

"What brings you to Lyon?"

"Just to rest for a few days," Karina replied vaguely.

"How many days are you planning to stay? I can recommend a few places," you offered.

"I'll be here until Saturday, then I leave for Paris," Karina replied.

"Ah, the day after tomorrow," you nodded, squinting your eyes to see the road better. "Are you traveling alone?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Karina turned her body to face you. "Are you planning on abducting me?"

"What?" you spluttered, taken aback by the unexpected remark. "No! I just wanted to make sure you'll be fine."

Karina's laughter tinkled like music, her head thrown back in a melancholic yet beautiful display. She seemed like a damsel in distress, but you knew deep down that she was not someone who needed saving.

After half an hour of driving, you finally arrived at your flat in the city. It was a small two-bedroom apartment near your university, where you spent most of your days drawing until the sun rose, often with a glass of wine in hand as you raced against deadlines.

Karina followed you as you climbed a short flight of stairs to the second floor of the building. Your flat, although small, felt cozy and inviting. Art pieces adorned the walls, and various art supplies were scattered across the kitchen island. A small TV and a gray cushioned couch were positioned near the balcony door, while a large bookshelf filled with books occupied an entire wall.

You led Karina to your room. "You can find some spare clothes in my closet. The bathroom is down the hall."

Karina flashed you a grateful smile and slipped into your room to change into dry clothes.

With a sigh, you shrugged off your jacket and made your way to the kitchen. The exhaustion on Karina's face was evident, with dark circles under her eyes and a melancholic expression whenever she fell silent. Taking a look inside your fridge, you were relieved that you had gone grocery shopping the day before.

You decided to prepare a comforting meal of Bibimbap, guessing from her accent and mannerisms that Karina might also be Korean. Hoping to alleviate any homesickness she might be feeling, you set about making a traditional Korean dinner, accompanied by a bottle of French wine for a unique experience.

"It smells really good," Karina's soft voice echoed from behind you.

Turning around, you saw the taller girl wearing your thick university hoodie and sweatpants. She had removed her makeup, and the tips of her hair were slightly damp from the shower. You couldn't help but stare, finding her adorable and warm in your clothes, creating a sense of home.

"Thanks, I thought you might appreciate something familiar," you replied with a smile. Despite her towering height, she seemed small and vulnerable. The sadness in her eyes never seemed to fade, even when she laughed.

"Feel free to look around. The food will be ready in ten minutes."

Karina nodded and squeezed your arm in gratitude before wandering off to explore the living room. Being an avid reader, she perused your extensive bookshelves until she stopped at the end.

"You listen to Taeyeon?" she exclaimed, holding up an album by Taeyeon. "I thought you'd only listen to classical music or something."

"That's a bit stereotypical," you chuckled. "I actually stumbled upon her singing on the streets of Berlin during a show a few years ago and was immediately captivated by her talent. That girl can sing."

"Yeah, she's really talented," Karina agreed, gazing at the album cover of Taeyeon's album.

It felt surreal to her that she had lunch with Taeyeon just a few days ago, and now she was on the other side of the world conversing with one of her fans.

"And pretty too, just like you," you added. "You both have a similar aura."

Karina felt her face grow warm, quickly diverting her attention back to the bookshelf.

"Yeah, our company has a particular taste," she mumbled.

"Huh? What?" you asked, not catching her words clearly.

Shaking her head dismissively, Karina replied, "Oh, it's nothing."

It was a close call for Karina. She mentally scolded herself for almost revealing her connection with Taeyeon. You seemed observant, likely due to your artistic skills, and she didn't want to inadvertently disclose too much information.

Karina helped you bring the food out to the balcony, where a wooden table and chairs were set in the middle, along with a cozy bean bag chair in the corner and string lights adding a touch of charm.

The food you had prepared was delicious, and it made Karina long for home even more. Despite being extroverted, she rarely felt comfortable opening up to people so quickly. However, in your presence, she felt a calming effect, as if you made her forget the painful things that often plagued her thoughts.

Before she knew it, after three glasses of wine, Karina found herself pouring out her troubles to you. She rambled about a failed relationship, her head resting on your shoulder as you sat together on the bean bag. She waved her glass of wine emphatically as she spoke.

"How could she leave me for someone else when I gave her everything?" Karina slurred, sniffling from both tears and the cold.

You hummed in agreement before getting up to fetch a blanket for the drunken blonde.

"No, don't leave me!" Karina pouted. "Everybody leaves me."

Chuckling, you assured her, "I'm just getting a blanket for you." Her adorableness touched your heart, and the sight of her feeling so insecure and hurt awakened your protective instincts. You couldn't fathom why anyone would intentionally break her heart.

"If you come back safely, I'll give you a kiss," she declared, nodding to herself.

"It's best to save your kisses for someone you genuinely like," you laughed nervously, your heart fluttering at her words.

"I like you. You're so pretty and nice," Karina slurred, tilting sideways and giggling at you. "I'm a very good kisser, so it's a win-win situation."

Laughing again, you bent down to gently tuck her hair behind her ears. "You will find your happiness. If someone makes you break down in front of a stranger, seeking affirmation, then they're not worth your tears."

After rummaging for a spare blanket, you returned to the balcony only to find Karina fast asleep. Her head drooped with a half-empty glass cradled in her chest, her tears glistened on her pale cheeks under the now clear night sky, and the moonlight reflected on her halo of blonde hair.

"It's unfair how someone can be this beautiful even when they're drunk," you whispered to yourself, approaching the sleeping girl and carefully carrying her to your spare room.

Karina felt the sunlight on her face when she woke up. She kept her eyes closed and hummed in satisfaction at how comfortable she felt. It had been a while since she had slept so well. As she lay there for a few seconds, she suddenly realized that this wasn't her bed, and she couldn't recall going to a hotel. Panic set in, and she sat up quickly, scanning the room for any signs of danger.

The room she found herself in was cozy, with clean white sheets on a soft bed and a fluffy pillow that bore the imprint of her drool (she was a messy sleeper). Despite its small size, the room was meticulously decorated, with a polished desk and mahogany wooden closet doors. The scent of soft flowers and oil paint lingered in the air, a scent that reminded her of you.

You.

Groaning, she buried her face in the bed at the thought of you.

Yesterday, she had lost control and unloaded all her troubles onto you. She couldn't remember much, except for the way your eyes softened and how you wiped away her tears with your warm hands. She recalled feeling a tingly sensation when your eyes met, and she couldn't shake off the memory of wanting to lean over and kiss you. Being drunk was definitely a wrong move, and now she was experiencing a pounding headache from the hangover.

A soft knock came from the door, accompanied by your gentle voice, "Jimin? Are you awake? Can I come in?"

Karina quickly composed herself, sitting up straight and fixing her hair.

"Yeah, come in," she replied, clearing her throat a few times to dispel the sleepiness in her voice.

You entered the room with a plate of food in your hands and placed it gently on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" you asked, your eyebrows furrowed with concern. "I got you some medicine for the headache."

Karina squeezed your hand gratefully as she swallowed the aspirin with the water on the tray.

"Sorry for making you uncomfortable yesterday," she fidgeted, picking at the blueberry muffin you had prepared for her. "I'm normally not such a lightweight."

"You didn't," you assured her with a smile, sitting down next to her on the bed.

"I actually quite enjoyed your impromptu performance of Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance.'"

She groaned in embarrassment, and you couldn't help but laugh at how she could look so much like a little girl at times, especially when her playful side emerged.

Karina was captivated by your laughter, with your head thrown back and the silver frames of your glasses slipping down your nose. She thought you looked incredibly beautiful with your hair tied up in a bun and wearing an oversized sweater with shorts. She enjoyed the way you treated her, so gentle and kind, without a care in the world. She knew it was likely because you didn't know who she was, and she wanted to preserve this simplicity a little longer. Her heart unexpectedly yearned for you, and it left her both confused and happy.

"Spend the day with me," Karina blurted out.

"I mean, could you take me to some good places in Lyon? I could use a tour guide."

You raised an eyebrow at her sudden invitation. "Where did the mysterious brooding stranger from yesterday go?"

She gasped playfully, feigning offense. "Excuse you, I was not brooding. And I actually just wanted you to be my Uber driver."

You pushed her playfully, causing her to fall back onto the bed.

"Finish your breakfast and get changed. Your bags are in the closet."

The two of you headed to Parc de la Tête d'Or, your first stop—a beautiful garden with a lake and a small zoo. Karina had expressed her desire to go somewhere she could practice her photography, so you thought this would be the perfect place. It was one of your favorite spots, as you had spent countless hours there during your first year of college for one of your classes.

Karina was like a kid in a candy store, excitedly exploring and jumping around, eager to see everything. She took so many photos that you worried she would use up all her film before noon. It brought you joy to see her mood lifted, no longer carrying that haunting look in her eyes. She looked even more beautiful like this, if that was even possible—carefree and happy. You knew that your friendship was temporary, as Karina would be leaving for Paris early the next morning, but you were glad that you could bring a genuine smile to her face, even if only for a little while. You cared for her, perhaps even more than you should.

"Hey Y/N!" Karina called out from behind you, her voice filled with excitement.

Turning around with a smile, you were met with the sight of Karina snapping a photo of you.

"Hey!" you protested, realizing she had been capturing moments of you throughout the morning.

"What? I like to take photos of pretty things," she replied smoothly, taking your hand in hers and tugging you toward the lake.

You couldn't help but feel your ears heat up at her comment and the sensation of her warm hand interlocked with yours. She definitely wasn't making it easy for you.

After some persistent begging, Karina managed to convince you to go on a paddle boat with her. You had always been hesitant because of your limited swimming abilities, but her pouty face was impossible to resist.

"If you fall into the water, I'll save you," she said with a wink, exuding confidence in her flirting. "You could be my Lois Lane."

Her words sent your heart racing, and you knew you had to get used to her flirty manner. True to her word, when the boat nearly tipped after hitting a rock, her arms instinctively wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you close. The combination of her breath on your neck and her ear-piercing screams sent goosebumps down your arms. You convinced yourself it was the latter that caused the reaction.

The next stop was Croix-Rousse. Karina spent nearly two hours tasting everything the market had to offer. It amazed you how someone so slim could consume so much food. You loved the way her eyes lit up with excitement when she discovered a new dish, so you ended up buying even more just to see her happy.

"Look!" Karina called out joyfully, running toward you with two bracelets in her hand. "I got one for each of us."

The bracelets were made of two threads of dark blue string, each adorned with a small silver charm. The charms had the words Le destin décide qui entre dans votre vie, mais vous décidez qui y reste engraved on them.

"Do you know what it says?" you asked, a bit confused about her choice.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "The old lady said it was perfect for us and gave it to me for free."

"What old lady?" you inquired, puzzled, as you hadn't seen any elderly women as you walked through the market.

Karina seemed equally perplexed.

"That... one," she trailed off. "Weird, she was just there."

Shrugging again, she dismissed the thought. "Never mind. Can you put this on? I want to take a picture."

You nodded and helped her put hers on before tying yours around your wrist. Karina happily snapped a photo with her phone, making it her home screen.

"I'm glad I met you," she said, her lips gently brushing against your cheek before pulling you toward the next destination. "I'll never forget this trip."

As the day progressed, you couldn't help but realize that you felt the same way. This encounter with Karina had touched your heart in ways you couldn't explain, and you knew this day would be etched in your memory forever.

After climbing the hills to see the beautiful sunset, you took Karina to one of your favorite restaurants in Lyon. As you ordered fluently in French, Karina stared at you, captivated by your presence. She couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of freedom and joy when she was with you. The pressures of being an idol and the pain of her past relationship faded away, replaced by the warmth and happiness that radiated from your companionship. She knew deep down that you were never meant to be together, but she couldn't help falling for you.

"What are you planning to do when you graduate?" Karina asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Hmm... I'm not sure yet. I'm thinking of visiting my parents back in Korea before finding a job here," you replied.

"You should! I could be your Uber driver when you visit," she suggested playfully.

"Whoa, I didn't know Yoo Jimin could drive," you teased, earning a light slap on your arm.

Unbeknownst to you, calling her by her real name caused a pang in Karina's heart. She hadn't revealed her career as an idol to you yet, and she wasn't sure if she ever could.

Throughout the dinner, Karina couldn't take her eyes off you. She wanted to capture every moment, every detail of your presence in her memory. While she knew that life would go on after she left, she cherished the time she had with you and wanted to etch those memories deep within her heart. You had unknowingly become a source of hope and positivity in her life, changing her perspective on things and erasing her negative thoughts. Above all, she didn't want to forget the warmth and reassurance she felt when your eyes met, yearning to have you in her arms every morning.

The ambiance under the lamp posts as the evening progressed created an enchanting atmosphere.

Karina's eyes sparkled as she leaned in and whispered, "I really want to kiss you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and the intensity of Karina's gaze slowly chipped away at your self-control.

"What's stopping you?" you replied, unable to resist the magnetic pull between the two of you.

In that moment, Karina leaned over the table, her lips meeting yours. The connection was electrifying, and a surge of emotions overwhelmed both of you. It was as if fireworks erupted, and the scent of her perfume intoxicated your senses. Karina deepened the kiss, pouring all her adoration for you into that single moment, fearing it might be her last chance to express her feelings.

Briefly pulling back to catch your breath, you couldn't help but let out a laugh as Karina whined and tried to pull you back for more.

"Whoa," she breathed, her voice filled with exhilaration.

"It's way better than yesterday," you said.

Confused, Karina looked at you and asked, "Yesterday?"

"Yeah," you replied with a laugh, "You actually drunkenly kissed me yesterday before throwing up. Can't believe I'm that bad at kissing."

Embarrassed, Karina hid her face in your neck, unaware of her actions from the previous night. "You're a really good kisser," she said dejectedly, feeling apologetic. “I’m so sorry.”

"I liked it," you reassured her, pressing a gentle kiss on her temple. "I'd gladly accept any kiss from you."

Karina pulled away from your embrace and looked at you with a serious expression. Her thoughts raced in her mind as she struggled to articulate them into coherent sentences

"I think I’m falling for you," Karina whispered, her voice filled with vulnerability.

You nodded, your eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "As I am for you."

"But..." Karina exhaled, struggling to find the right words.

"But we can't be together," you finished her sentence, understanding the unspoken obstacles that stood between you. A bittersweet understanding passed between the two of you.

Karina's gaze fell to the ground, her heart already aching at the thought of leaving you tomorrow.

"We can't be together," she repeated, trying to convince herself as well. "At least for now."

"It's okay," you reassured her, gently taking her hands in yours. "Even if we have to part ways here, I hope that I've made your little getaway to Lyon worthwhile."

Karina traced the bracelet on your wrist, feeling the engraved letters on the charm beneath her fingertips.

"You make me feel happy again."

"I'm glad," you whispered, your heart heavy with longing. "You deserve the world."

The drive home was filled with silence. Karina held your hand on her lap as you drove, lost in her thoughts. The idea of being separated from you, even for a short while, felt unbearable. After bidding each other goodnight, she wordlessly knocked on the door to your bedroom. Without hesitation, you let her in, holding her close in your arms until sleep eventually claimed her.

The next morning was tinged with melancholy and tearful kisses. Karina didn't want to leave, but she had a performance that night. On the platform, she pulled you into a tight embrace, closing her eyes and inhaling your scent. It was likely the last time she could hold you like this, but she hoped against hope that it wasn't.

"I know this is selfish of me, but will you meet me again?" she asked, cupping your cheek with her hands.

"What do you mean?" you inquired, your heart skipping a beat.

"I'll come back next year, to Lyon." Karina had made a promise to herself last night before drifting off to sleep. She would come back to you, no matter what.

"If you want me to."

"Of course I want you to," you replied, a flicker of hope lighting up your heart. The fact that she wanted to see you in the future lifted a weight off your shoulders.

"Promise me you'll wait for me at the cathedral where we first met," Karina requested, her gaze determined.

You nodded, your commitment unwavering. To be honest, you would gladly follow her anywhere.

"Under the clerestory windows?"

"Under the clerestory windows," she confirmed, her resolve unwavering.

With that, she pulled you in for one last kiss, savoring the taste and memorizing the shape of your mouth before boarding the train.

As Karina rummaged through her bag to find tissues to dry her tear-stricken face, her hand brushed against a rolled-up piece of paper. She unrolled it, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight. It was a drawing of her leaning on the rails, gazing at the sunset atop the Croix-Rousse hill. The beauty of the sunset was perfectly captured with oil paint, the orange streaks scattered across the paper. You had even added jewel-like flecks of gold and yellow on her face, capturing her childlike glow of joy and carefreeness. Was this how you saw her?

Her heart swelled with the feelings she had for you, her heartbeat quickening. She knew deep down that you would be waiting for her, no matter what.

Flipping the paper over, she saw your neat handwriting in the bottom left corner. It was addressed to her.

Jimin,

I hope that when life becomes overwhelming for you, you'll hold onto the memories of the sunset on your face, the echoes of the cathedral bells in Lyon's streets, and the moments we shared to bring you comfort.

You deserve boundless happiness, never doubt that. I'll immortalize you in my art, and perhaps one day you'll come across one of my works when you're feeling down. I'll paint your silhouette everywhere until you no longer feel pain or loneliness.

Le destin décide qui entre dans votre vie, mais vous décidez qui y reste.

Fate decides who enters your life, but you decide who stays.

I hope you choose to stay, Jimin.

P.S. Good luck at your concert. Spicy is my favorite song to work out to at the gym.

Karina dropped the paper in shock upon reading the last sentence. You knew who she was all along, and yet you didn't let it affect your feelings for her.

She grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message to you:

"I'll stay. Wait for me."

"See you during our rendezvous under the clerestory windows."

Jimin was finally happy.

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theylikeholdinghands · 10 months

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A ramble of major spoilery thoughts after the prime premiere screening (episodes 1+2)

Under the cut. Very big spoils, I’m warning you.

My head is jumbled after the masterpiece I witnessed and all I’ll summarise are reactions and some stuff y’all already know from other screenings

Episode 1:

CROWLEY AS AN ANGEL OH MY GOODNESS HE WAS SO HAPPY AND JOYFUL AND HIS HAIR WAS STUNNING. Aziraphale definitely had love heart eyes at him and the whole “oh look at you, gorgeous” thing was legit. Crowley said that and Aziraphale smiled thinking it was aimed at him and then turned as he realised what he meant, the whole cinema room went awwwwww.

No one told me Gabriel fucking rubs his naked self fully against Zira whilst hugging him, I actually died.

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY DOES PLAY WHEN CROWLEY IS RUSHING TO THE BOOKSHOP TO PROTECT AND APOLOGISE TO AZIRAPHALE. AAAAAAH

The whole cinema erupted in laughter when Crowley had to do an apology dance and I was screaming. He did end it with a ballerina pose I cannot. Aziraphale said he had to do that apology dance in 1650, 1793 and 1941 (so I hope we see that in the 40s minisode)

Aziraphale being all adorable listening to his records before he got interrupted by Gabriel aaaaaah

GABRIEL SAYS “I LOVE YOU” TO AZIRAPHALE AND ZIRA SAYS THANK YOU and then goes “I…hmm” SAVE IT FOR YOUR HUSBAND

Aziraphale is so sweet with Maggie but he has no fucking clue how to be a landlord i stg. Maggie also mentions the lockdowns, so the lockdown audio clip is canon.

Episode 2 Part 1 The Minisode:

The way Aziraphale enters this episode, dramatic ass bitch

I absolutely loved Azicrow’s initial argument about Crowley being evil and killing the goats and then the reveal he never killed them. ZIRA’S SMUG FACE BECAUSE HE KNEW CROWLEY WOULD NEVER HURT ANYTHING. Plus why do they look like they’re gonna kiss in that argument, I saw Zira looking at his lips… maybe his beard

Ty’s character is so camp when flirting with Zira oh my goodness

Gabriel’s long hair reveal got the crowd roaring

CROWLEY TEMPTED AZIRAPHALE INTO EATING AND HIS REACTIONS OH MY GOODNESS

The way they work together to trick the angels into thinking the kids are brand new is comedic gold

The very final scene of the episode is absolutely stunning. They’re both vulnerable and I love the line “I’m a demon, I was lying” comes back in so many ways this episode

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW EVERY REVIEWER SAID FRANCES MCDORMAND WASNT GOING TO BE BACK AND YET WE HEARD HER AND SAW HER NAME IN THE CREDITS

Episode 2 Part 2 Present Day:

CROWLEY SLEEPING IN HIS CAR, MOVE IN WITH YOUR HUSBAND DUMBASS

AZIRAPHALE CALLED THE BENTLEY “OUR CAR” and said he learned how to drive 90 years ago

Crowley’s romantic wooing involves a downpour of rain, sheltering under an awning and looking in to each others eyes to realise whats been there the entire time… ARE YOU OKAY CROWLEY

Crowley didn’t know Jane Austen wrote novels and knew her from a crime background. He picks up Pride and Prejudice in Aziraphale’s bookshop aaaaaaah

When Gabriel is alone alphabetising Zira’s books, he comes across P&P and reads the first sentence. THEN PICKS UP ANOTHER BOOK AND ITS THE FUCKING GOOD OMENS BOOK. NEIL I CANT BELIEVE YOU DID THIS

Anyway these are my initial reactions so sorry for the ramble. I hope y’all who haven’t been to a screening get to indulge and look forward to whats coming in just over a day now!

#good omens spoilers #s2 #good omens #good omens 2

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just--space · 2 years

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NGC 4651: The Umbrella Galaxy : It's raining stars. What appears to be a giant cosmic umbrella is now known to be a tidal stream of stars stripped from a small satellite galaxy. The main galaxy, spiral galaxy NGC 4651, is about the size of our Milky Way, while its stellar parasol appears to extend some 100 thousand light-years above this galaxy's bright disk. A small galaxy was likely torn apart by repeated encounters as it swept back and forth on eccentric orbits through NGC 4651. The remaining stars will surely fall back and become part of a combined larger galaxy over the next few million years. The featured image was captured by the Canada-France-Hawaii Telescope (CFHT) in Hawaii, USA. The Umbrella Galaxy lies about 50 million light-years distant toward the well-groomed northern constellation Coma Berenices. via NASA

#NASA #space #astronomy

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blackswaneuroparedux · 11 months

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C'est fou comme les gens ont de moi cette image de femme sophistiquée, glaciale. C'est une telle erreur, c'est tellement mal me connaître.

- Catherine Deneuve on herself in Belle de Jour (1967)

In anticipation of a new film this summer by Catherine Deneuve called ‘Bernadette’ where she plays Bernadette Chirac, the wife of French Jacques Chirac, I’ve been re-watching some her back catalogue of films. She’s done over 64 films and at almost 80 years old she’s still going strong. And yet out of her many films I’ve always been drawn back to one film which has become a cult classic. Watching it and re-watching it and even gorging on books on its making, new intriguing details reveal themselves about this landmark French art house classic - Belle de Jour (1967).

I once had the privilege of having dinner with her - or rather sat around the same table - through a Parisian host and his lovely wife who had gathered an eclectic group of friends across generations together. I was too self-conscious to talk about her film career directly. I was on surer ground when we indulged in small talk where she was perfectly down to earth and very pleasant. I felt it would be rude to go all fan girl on her and pepper her with questions about Belle de Jour in particular as she’s known to be very ambivalent about her experience of the film - a film that really defined her in the eyes of many people.

But it didn’t mean she didn’t recognise its cultural importance though as she was quite happy to amuse us with a funny story about Belle de Jour. A newly restored 35mm version was funded by the fashion house Saint Laurent back in 2018. Deneuve always had a close relationship with Yves Saint Laurent and also the fashion house. She was the one to introduce Buñuel to Saint Laurent. So the fashion house had a glitzy premiere in New York. But they didn’t count on many of their guests being late. Most of the guests were stuck in the New York traffic and the rain. However Martin Scorsese was the only one to get out of cab and run like a mad man through the pelting rain and huge traffic. A true cinephile, he was so desperate to see the film restored to its former glory that he would go to any lengths to see it.

In Belle de Jour, Catherine Deneuve, whose limpid beauty is capable of sustaining any interpretation, is a perfect Severine and demonstrates a remarkable control in progressing, with enormous economy of gesture and movement, from frigidity to physical warmth as the bored housewife who indulges in part time sex work.

“I felt they showed more of me than they’d said they were going to,” Catherine Deneuve remarked to Pascal Bonitzer in 2004, about the making of Luis Buñuel’s 1967 Belle de jour. “There were moments when I felt totally used. I was very unhappy.”

The story of Séverine, a deeply disenchanted haute bourgeois Paris housewife who finds erotic liberation through byzantine psycho-sexual fantasies and part-time work at an upscale brothel, Belle de jour certainly made extreme demands of Deneuve: her character is flogged, raped, and pelted with muck, among other assaults. But despite her objections to the way she was treated and her difficulties with Buñuel, Deneuve’s performance in Belle de jour turned out to be one of her most iconic.

Deneuve, who had become a star only three years earlier, as the melancholy jeune fille in Jacques Demy’s 1964 all-sung musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, was just twenty-three when Belle de jour came out; notably, Buñuel’s film was released in France less than three months after Demy’s radiant, MGM-inspired musical The Young Girls of Rochefort, starring Deneuve and her real-life sister Françoise Dorléac.

But Belle de jour, more than any other film from the first decade of her career, defined what would become one of the actress’s most notorious personae: the exquisite blank slate lost in her own masochistic fantasies and onto whom all sorts of perversions could be projected. (Deneuve as deviant tabula rasa was first seen in Roman Polanski’s 1965 Repulsion, in which she plays a damaged beauty plummeting into psychosis; but Belle de jour doesn’t portray its heroine as mad, instead remaining deliberately ambiguous about the origins of her unconventional desires - and presaging the bizarre libertines she would later play in such films as Marco Ferreri’s Liza, 1972, and Tony Scott’s The Hunger, 1983.)

Buñuel was at a very different stage of his career from his young star, but Belle de jour represented a peak for him as well, the greatest - and most successful - film of his extremely rich late period. These works, bookended by 1964’s Diary of a Chambermaid and 1977’s That Obscure Object of Desire (his final film), were made mostly in France - where Buñuel had begun his filmmaking career with the incendiary, surrealist Un chien andalou (1929) - following the exiled Spanish director’s two decades in Mexico.

Many of these late projects were cowritten with Jean-Claude Carrière and focus intensely on sexual perversion (a theme that recurs throughout Buñuel’s work). Belle de jour certainly falls into that category, and also, typically, skewers the entitled classes. Yet it stands out as the director’s most intricate character study—but of a protagonist who resists definition; the heroine, frequently trussed up and mussed up, retains an odd, opaque dignity in her debauchery.

In that same interview with Bonitzer, Deneuve was judicious enough to distinguish her experience of making Belle de jour from the final product, calling it a “wonderful film.” But her first meetings with Buñuel hinted at the duress that was to follow. According to John Baxter’s 1994 biography, Buñuel, it took time for the director to “warm to” his star: “He felt, with some justice, that she had been foisted on him, first by the Hakims [Belle de jour’s producers], then by her lover of the time, François Truffaut.” After dining with Buñuel at his house, the book recounts, Deneuve “left with little more than an impression that he disliked actors in general and was reserving his decision about her. The only advice he offered was the advice he had always given actors: ‘Don’t do anything. And above all, don’t . . . perform.’”

Though Deneuve deferred to her director, she was no puppet; Belle de jour is as much hers as Buñuel’s. The filmmaker, famously resistant to “psychological” interpretations of his work, stuffs Belle de jour with his trademarks, confounding any attempt to parse meaning: the surrealist blurring of fantasy and reality, fetishism, sexual perversion, blasphemy.

But as Séverine, Deneuve, despite operating in the nebulous realm between dream and waking, imbues the film with irresistible and very real lust - and luster. Sporting the chicest Yves Saint Laurent finery, Deneuve revels in the peculiar desires of her character while always inviting our own. As Buñuel himself acknowledges in his 1984 autobiography, My Last Sigh (published a year after his death), Belle de jour “was my biggest commercial success, which I attribute more to the marvelous whores than to my direction.” (Per Baxter, after the filming of Belle de jour, he would finally admit of his star, “She’s really a very good actress.”) Deneuve’s gift was to update the world’s oldest profession for her still-expanding résumé.

The director had some modifying to do as well. Buñuel, who adapted Joseph Kessel’s 1928 novel with Carrière, assessed the source material dryly in My Last Sigh: “The novel is very melodramatic, but well constructed, and it offered me the chance to translate Séverine’s fantasies into pictorial images as well as to draw a serious portrait of a young female bourgeois masochist. I was also able to indulge myself in the faithful description of some interesting sexual perversions.”

He wastes no time in establishing those bizarre erotic proclivities. In Belle de jour’s opening scene, Séverine and her doting husband of one year, Pierre Serizy (Jean Sorel), a handsome, dutiful surgeon, are snuggled close in a horse-drawn carriage; he interrupts the tender moment with the lament “If only you weren’t so cold.” She pulls away, defensive. The sound of horse bells, which has been increasing in volume from the film’s first shot - and will indicate Séverine’s dreams or fantasies throughout - stops. Pierre orders his wife out of the cab; when she refuses, he and the two drivers remove her by force. She is gagged, bound to a tree, and whipped by the coachmen, who are then instructed by Pierre to rape her. When one begins to ravish her, Séverine appears to be in ecstasy.

This carnal reverie is soon interrupted by the Serizys at home, preparing for their usual chaste bedtime ritual. Pierre, in white pajamas, asks his pale-pink-nightie-clad wife, under the covers in a separate bed, what she’s thinking about: “I was thinking about you . . . and us. We were out for a ride in a carriage”—a scenario Pierre has heard before.

The fantasy clearly belongs to Séverine alone; she finds erotic thrills in her secret thoughts of debasement and humiliation, her florid imagination compensating for her sterile, sexless existence. Her most private desires will soon be realized at 11, cité Jean de Saumur, the address of the boutique bordello run by Madame Anaïs (Geneviève Page), given to Séverine by Pierre’s louche friend Husson (Michel Piccoli).

At Madame Anaïs’s, Séverine - now going by the nom de pute Belle de jour, a reference to her two-to-five shift (she insists on being home when Pierre returns from his workday at the hospital) - is horrified at first but proves to be a quick study. A burly Asian client scares off her two seasoned colleagues with his mysterious, buzzing lacquered box, but she is absolutely transfixed; after the john leaves, she, lying prone on the bed, lifts her head, her luxuriant mane of blonde hair disheveled, to reveal a woman still drunk on orgasmic pleasure.

The contents of the box are one of the film’s many mysteries (when asked what is inside, Buñuel would reply, “Whatever you want there to be”). Yet the greatest enigma is Séverine herself: why does she recoil from the slightest sexual advance from her husband yet lose herself, both in fantasy and in her new line of work, in elaborate masochistic tableaux? “Pierre, it’s your fault too. I can explain everything,” Séverine insists to her husband in the opening fantasy sequence, as she’s being forcibly removed from the landau. But of course, she can’t - and won’t.

As in Repulsion, there are flashbacks to possible childhood trauma in Belle de jour. In one, a man appears to touch a young Séverine inappropriately; in another, she stubbornly refuses the Blessed Sacrament. But unlike in Repulsion, whose final, prolonged shot of a menacing family photo is offered as the root of Carole’s pathology, these scenes in Buñuel’s film are almost non sequiturs, presented not as psychological explanation but as blips in a baroque sexual surrealism.

As Séverine’s reveries and job demands become stranger and more mysterious - in one daydream, she is pelted with thick black mud by Pierre and Husson, who call her “tramp” and “slut”; a ducal client solicits her in the bois de Boulogne to perform in a necrophilic rite - Deneuve retains her porcelain, celestial inscrutability, while simultaneously transforming into an earthbound debauchee, delighting in her own defilement. Madame Anaïs (whose early, shameless flirtation with Séverine - who eventually reciprocates - is the first of the many moments in Deneuve’s filmography that would cement her status as a lesbian icon) touts her new employee’s regal bearing to prospective customers: “[She’s] a little shy, perhaps, but a real aristocrat.”

Séverine’s coworkers, Charlotte (Françoise Fabian) and Mathilde (Maria Latour), are constantly remarking on the impeccable cut and style of her ensembles. Yet what this seemingly untouchable goddess craves most is the brutality of her latest john, the thug Marcel (Pierre Clémenti), a rough with metal teeth, a walking stick that doubles as a shiv, and fetishwear (shiny boots of leather with matching overcoat) that could have been dreamed up in an atelier overseen by Kenneth Anger and Pierre Cardin.

Séverine’s relationship with Marcel will lead to Pierre’s ruin - or does it? The ambiguous ending of Belle de jour suggests that everything that preceded it may have existed only in the heroine’s cracked dreamscape. Like the buzzing box, the film’s final scene is whatever you want it to be.

Yet one thing is certain: Deneuve transcends kink. And despite her misery during the Belle de jour shoot, she would return for even more bizarre treatment three years later in Buñuel’s Tristana, losing both her virtue and a leg.

Almost 55 years after it was made Belle de Jour continues to be a compelling film. It takes on greater curiosity for me as I live in Paris and there are Séverines aplenty that I come across. But the film also speaks to a non-French audience even today as it remains a shrewd commentary on the hypocrisy of social relations and sexual politics. Buñuel invites us to ponder the transgression of a socially respectable woman secretly being a prostitute in the afternoons, but I don’t think he bothered to pose the question why a socially respectable gentleman should be secretly visiting a prostitute in the afternoons - which happens more than one might think and that behaviour is normalised. Something to think about.

#deneuve #catherine deneuve #quote #french #film #movie #cinema #belle de jour #actress #luis bunuel #bunuel #film making #arts #culture #france #scorsese #personal #paris

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mendelpalace · 29 days

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youtube

Various Artists - Ambient 4: Isolationism

KK Null & Jim Plotkin - Lost (Held Under)

Jim O'Rourke - Flat Without A Back

Ice - The Dredger

Raoul Björkenheim - Strangers

Zoviet*France - Daisy Gun

Labradford - Air Lubricated Free Axis Trainer

Techno Animal - Self Strangulation

Paul Schütze - Hallucinations (In Memory Of Reinaldo Arenas)

Scorn - Silver Rain Fell (Deep Water Mix)

Disco Inferno - Lost In Fog

Total - Six

Nijiumu - Once Again I Cast Myself Into The Flames Of Atonement

Aphex Twin - Aphex Airlines

AMM - Vandoevre

Seefeel - Lief

'O'Rang - Little Sister

E.A.R. - Hydroponic

Sufi - Desert Flower

David Toop / Max Eastley - Burial Rites (Phosphorescent Mix)

Main - Crater Scar (Adrenochrome)

Final - Hide

Lull - Thoughts

Thomas Köner - Kanon (Part One: Brohuk)

A 1994 studio album of new material by various ambient artists released on the Virgin Records label, part of its Ambient series. Notably, this compilation had a major impact on Matt Morgan's soundtrack for the original Fallout, with several tracks from the game resembling songs featured on Isolationism (along with a few from Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works, Vol.2).

#Aphex Twin #Techno Animal #Scorn #Fallout #Seefeel #Zoviet*France #Nijiumu #Dark Ambient #Ambient Music #Video

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norrisreads · 1 year

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set fire to the rain, part one #PG10

PAIRING: pierre gasly x reader! , Charles LecLerc x reader!platonic

SUMMARY: your first love is hard to forget because it leaves an 'imprint' on the sensory areas of your brain

WARNINGS: angst, will continue a part 2 soon! Listen to the song as a background music to get the feels of it!

FC: roses_are_rosie

sometimes i wake up by the door, that heart you caught, must be waiting for you

There’s a saying that goes, “your first love is hard to forget because it leaves an 'imprint' on the sensory areas of your brain” and you’ve never believed it until you’ve experienced it.

you dated a man, that would do anything for you, that would suprise you breakfast in bed, made you feel like you’ve strike a lottery every single day, made you feel like your next could never beat this man.

But, the world is cruel because a few years later you’ve lost this man to someone who’s much worth than you are.

Even now, when we’re already over, i can’t help myself from looking for you

You’ve met through a mutual friend, some one who’s still close to you.

“I promise you y/n, you’ll like him! who knows you’re gonna finally fall in love and be in a long term relationship?” Charles was convincing you to date one of the drivers from the grid.

He was literally following every footsteps you’ve taken, usually you don’t mind his existence but here you are trying to focus on the notes placed in-front of you.

“Charles, if i wanted a relationship i would have been on hundreds and thousands of blind dates, i wouldn’t even be here right now! but im here, studying this” you sounded pissed while pointing to ur thick notes that was placed on top of the cafe table.

“Look, take a breath of fresh air, make yourself look pretty on date nights, do things you’ve never done before y/n! Live your life!” Charles was literally giving you the puppy eyes.

“Charles leclerc, i’m 4 years younger than you and i’ve an important examination that determine my career, but if doing this makes you shut the hell up, fine. Once and if this guy icks me, i’m not listening to you anymore!” You rolled your eyes jokingly, and heard charles pumping the air with a whispered ‘yes’

He snatched your mobile phone that you were holding on, and key-ed in number and letters and showed you the screen.

There on the screen was the name of your first love, pierre gasly.

Pierre Gasly, was a french man who took your breath away upon the first meeting. French wasn’t really the language you’re an expert in, even when your own best friend is monegasque. You’ve learn couple of words from charles but that’s it as both of you tend to mainly converse in english.

The whole date was not awkward at all, which comes to a surprise to you knowingly you’re a huge HUGE introvert with no social skills and from one date, to once in a few weeks dates to weekly dates and to finally being together.

In the first year of being together with pierre, nothing changed, everything was the same feeling as when you’ve met the first time. He would bring you around France whenever you’re on holidays, introducing you to his family and friends. What hits the spots is when he would bring you to places that he treasured the most.

The second year was when you’ve started to notice small changes, it started from him missing your weekly dates, not answering your calls with the excuse of him being too busy. You didn’t mind it at all, knowing you’re working while studying, your time for him wasn’t that much too, your routine while he was on season would be campus, work and sleep.

Whenever its off season, you’ll have routines where pierre and you would have picnics by the beach, pottery dates and more, but as days pass by you’ve realised how less time he has for you.

You knew something was wrong, but for someone who’s too in love, you refused to say anything until Charles spoke to you.

It was just a normal weekend, you’ve not plotted yourself a shift to your part time job, so you’ve decided to settle your school works at your own comfort of home until you heard a bell. You knew it wasn’t pierre and at this point, you had no faith in both you and pierre’s relationship.

“Hey, it’s been long” charles came in the house and hugged you.

“Yeah, sorry man, i’ve just been too busy, i’ve got to keep getting good grades for you to finally see me on the grid being a reporter” you smiled and led him to your kitchen, where most of your notes, laptop, books were.

“Sorry for the mess, was kinda in the zone” charles laughed, not minding one bit knowing how focused you are once you’ve start on your work.

“Pierre’s not homed?” Charles ask confusingly

“Pierre’s moved out, it’s only me charles” you refused to talk about pierre even-though you’re still in a relationship with him.

“When did it happened, why hasn’t pierre told me? What happened between you and him, y/n?”

“We lost the spark charles, i know he has his eyes on someone else charles” you knew, you knew how he looked at her whenever she was invited to the driver gatherings, you knew but you refused to believe even-though you knew how much prettier she was than you

“y/n, i’m so sorry. I didn’t know anything, i’ve never expected pierre to have done this, mon cherie. I’ve feel fault knowing I’ve introduced both of you to each other” charles stood in-front of you and engulfed you in a hug which led you to have a breakdown.

“It’s never your fault charles, this is why i’ve told you countless times i’m not interested in the dating zone. I’d rather stay home at weekends facing my bed and tv”

you laughed, but charles knew deep down his best friend was suffering silently, and this was what charles was scared off, losing two of his best-friends and having to choose a side.

“Charles, i know you’re thinking of choosing a side but you don’t have to, pierre and you were friends way before i’ve met you. We can still be friends charles, i do not mind at the fact you’re best mates with my ex charles. If anything, i’m happy that you’re willing to be friends with me, so don’t think too much charles, you’re just gonna overthink your small brain”

both of you laughed, but you were different, for some reason the tears couldn’t stop coming down.

“Did pierre asked for it?” Charles asked, not believing his best mate had just broken the heart of his other best friend.

You shook your head and pointed at yourself, “ i did. I think he had a grasp of the situation and didn’t fight back, but it’s alright. It’s an experience for my first love” you’ve shrugged, while cleaning the mess you’ve made

Both of you have decided to not talk about pierre anymore and continue on both of your days together, with charles making sure you’re going to sleep with peace.

Months passed by, you’ve finally scored your first reporter job on the grid and it was the Monaco GP.

You had Lissie mentoring you and guiding you through everything, you knew Lissie through Lando and you’re glad for this because with out this opportunity you’ve wouldn’t be here as a reporter.

“We’re going to scuderia alphatauri team, y/n do you want me to take over?” Lissie asked you for the second time.

You gave her a smile and shook your head “Lissie it’s fine, i will be okay, i promise you.”

Lissie knew your past with the certain team member of scuderia alphatauri team and safe to say she wasn’t really happy with the personality of his but you’ve assured her that he wasn’t really a bad guy, maybe just a right person wrong timing?

What you didn’t notice was charles and pierre conversing and pierre eyes mainly focusing on you.

“Charles, you’ve never told me y/n would be here?”

carlos came and joined the conversation asking charles about your presence on the grid.

Charles was confused, why would you be here? You had decline the paddock passes he gave to you and so he followed carlos directions and saw you there right in-front of the camera interviewing George Russell and charles heart has never felt so full seeing your dream had been accomplished

Charles ignored the conversation with pierre and carlos and walked straight to you and waited for the interview to end to hug you.

“Surprise charles, i’m here, this time being paid!” You hugged back and stepped back

“I am so so proud of you, thanks Lissie for giving her this opportunity!” Charles smiled and thanked Lissie knowing how much the opportunity meant to y/n.

Lissie laughed it off and mumbled a no worries to him.

“Will you be interviewing us? Carlos and I? When will that be?”

“She’s not going to Charles, i’m sorry you’ll be seeing my face instead” Lissie broke off the news to him and laughed

Charles rolled his eyes jokingly, “for once, i thought i could get away from you, Lissie”

While Lissie, Charles and you were conversing, pierre, yuki and carlos made their way to the three of you.

“Hey y/n, long time no see” yuki greeted you

“Oh please, we met last sunday at the japanese restaurant, stop lying yuki!”

You knew the air was intense with charles and Lissie being protective of you around pierre and carlos with yuki having zero ideas of the backstory of both you and pierre parting.

“Hello Pierre, Hello Carlos! Fancy seeing both of you here too” you smiled.

“Well i fancy seeing you here, seeing you with radios and scripts attached to you is something i need to get used to looking at” Carlos touched the radio that was attached to your hip

“I’m proud of you, y/n” the sentence that would’ve broken down y/n if she wasn’t right in-front of her friends

“ oh shut up carlos, watch out for me more often in the future gps, don’t fall for me! and thank you pierre, couldn’t have done it without Lissie’s help of course!” Refusing to have the conversation mainly focusing on you, you shifted it to Lissie

After all of the catching up session, you’ve interviewed scuderia alphatauri and you’re thankful that it wasn’t as awkward as you’ve thought it’ll be. Once it was wrapped up, you excused yourself and pack things that were needed to be packed with Lissie.

Things were going smoothly for you for the weekend, avoiding pierre and focusing yourself on the task that was given. Interviews with you was widely loved by fans knowing that you’ve already formed a relationship with 20 of the drivers way before.

Soon after, Lissie and you were separated, you’ll be in charge of games and Lissie does most of the talking interviews. You were being sent to different gps than Lissie, though it bugs you off not being with Lissie, you still couldn’t be more thankful.

You’re finally at the Miami GP, this time with Lissie. God really wasn’t on your side today because, if anyone could have been stucked in a lift with you it has to be kika.

The woman that pierre had his eyes on while being in a relationship with you.

Kika knew of your existence but it takes two hands to clap so you did not really put the 100% blame on her because at the end of the day, pierre’s to be blamed too.

“Love the grey dress on you, y/n! you look really good in it” this shocked you, because this was your ever first conversation with kika herself.

you coughed and thanked her while complementing her outfit too, not really your style but for the sake of being kind, why not…? right?

“I didn’t know about you and pierre” she continued, you were really pissed off at the fact why has no one come to rescue me and her.

you really did not want to have this conversation especially after it took you almost 7 months to fully moved on.

“No worries, old story. Pierre’s much happier with you,yes?” You told her off while taking a seat on the lift floor.

she sat beside you.

“He’s not over it yet y/n, at night when i can’t find him next to the bed with me, he’s in the kitchen scrolling through pictures of you both, i’ve caught him listening to the playlist both of you’ve made too. I don’t blame him y/n, i’m sorry for telling you.”

“Kika….” you were stunned, in the 7 months it took you multiple shifts, late night studying to get rid of pierre on your mind only for it to come back right here right now

“I know you’re much more happier now y/n, but pierre was much happy with you than with me. I’ve noticed during the interview you did with him and yuki, I think that was a sign, you know? He doesn’t call me cherie, because it reminded him of you”

“kika, this is too much for me, let’s just be silent yeah?”

All you ever wanna do right now, is to get back to your hotel room and cry your lungs out

5 mins later, you hear the elevator door open and ding, and there stood in-front of you was the man of honour himself.

“Hey love, you okay?” You thought he went to kika and that was what confirmed it for you until you realised he was in-front of you.

“Pierre….? Kika’s there” you sound confused and pointed to kika

a/n : that’s all!!!!!! i hope you like part one, will post part 2 ASAP! pictures are there too let yall imagine the outfits etc!

#pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fluff #pierre gasly oneshot #f1 x you #f1 fandom #f1 x y/n #f1 reader

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daydreamingleclerc · 2 years

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quiet - charles leclerc

summary: in which, you and charles spend some alone time together while away with the boys.

warnings: switch!charles, switch!reader, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, language, choking, praise kink, nipple stimulation, i think that’s it. hasn’t been proofread.

requested: no

notes: this is kinda inspired by the scene in conversations with friends when bobbi goes skinny dipping & leaves frances and nick alone by the lake, only this isn’t a PG version, plus, charles is a complete babygirl in swim shorts and nobody can escape it <3

requests are open, please see who i write for here and my masterlist here.

“come on, charles, we’re nearly there!”

your voice was laced with a pout, fingers interlaced with your boyfriends as you walked along the narrow path to the river. pierre, george, daniel and their respective others were wandering behind by several meters. you were the only one who knew the route to the river and you were desperate to show the boys the gorgeous views.

“i’m tired,” he whined, kicking his feet along the gravel like a child. you couldn’t help but laugh at his childishness, and continued to drag him along to the river. the small car park was a fifteen minute walk from the cabin you’d booked for the evening that backed onto the river. you used to come here as a child and you’d been desperate to take charles for months.

“baby, i can see the break in the trees, stop complaining.”

he pouted behind you and you continued to walk until you hit the break in the bushes, squeezing through it and admiring the view in front of you. lo and behold, you were right, a huge wooden cabin that almost looked like a treehouse in the corner, surrounded by green grass and a beautiful river that led into a gorgeous, clear watered lake.

“woah, Y/N, you were right this is beautiful,” george hummed as he pushed through the break, “i’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“i used to come here every summer as a child, it was a lot busier then but people aren’t fans of quiet, secluded holidays anymore so it’s nowhere near as busy as it used to be,” you smiled, looking up at all the boys. daniel wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “it’s all ours for the weekend, and i thought it would be good for you guys to get away.”

charles smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. you guided the group to the cabin, walking up the wooden staircase and pushing open the door. it was in just as pristine a condition now as it was when you were twelve. the entire thing was open, one large hexagonal room with frosted double glass doors leading to each bedroom. there was a large seating area, fully decked out with games consoles and television, and a fully functional kitchen. each bedroom had its own small bathroom with a small shower, and there was even an outside shower and hot tub.

“the rooms aren’t very soundproof,” you said, pulling open one of the bedroom doors and swinging your small suitcase onto the bed, “so if you’re gonna have sex-” you directed your gaze to daniel and his girlfriend, “-don’t be too loud.”

the eight of you changed and unpacked briefly, before daniel and pierre practically raced one another to the lake, just a short distance from the river. charles and george ran off after them, and you made your way over with the towels and sun cream.

it didn’t take long for the boys to slot in, and after an hour or so more of sunbathing, you felt droplets falling onto your stomach. panic set in for a minute that it was trying to rain, until you peeled your eyes open and saw charles dripping over you with a smirk.

“what’s up, sugarplum?” you asked, pulling your sunglasses from your eyes and squinting up at him.

“fancy a dip?” he raised an eyebrow, “we can make out under the water.”

you stifled a laugh, pulling him down by his ringed fingers. he looked devilishly handsome, in baby blue swim trunks with his sunglasses covering his eyes. “as good as that sounds,” you hummed, shifting closer to his face and wiping the wet curls from his forehead, “i thought we could make out somewhere else, a little less... crowded.”

charles’ face lit up, and you waited a few moments before sneaking off without being seen. you walked the short distance back to the cabin, and lead him over a small brown bridge that took you to the back of the cabin on the outdoor seating, with the hot tub and shower to the left, and the familiar sound and smell of a waterfall in the distance.

charles spotted the duel sun lounger, and took the opportunity to drag you towards it. his swim shorts were still damp, and they left water marks on the grey fabric, but you didn’t care. he laid back, and you climbed on top of him immediately, dipping your head down and kissing him gently. his hands rested on your waist, fingers squeezing into your back muscles gently, while you had your hands braced either side of his neck.

slowly, you started moving your hips, dragging them back and forth until you felt his dick harden underneath you. the feeling of that pressed up against your clit made you pant into his mouth, which only caused him to get harder.

his fingertips dug into your hips, nails grazing the skin gently as they prodded into the skin. your hands tangled in his wet hair and dragged along his neck, giving it a gentle squeeze that made him groan into your mouth. your hips continued to roll against his, and he whimpered into your mouth when it became evident that droplets of pre-cum soaked through his swimming shorts and onto the bottoms of your bikini, and it made you hum in appreciation.

“i’ve barely even touched you, baby, is this all for me?”

you couldn’t help but smirk at charles’ reaction, the gentle nod of his head and the lump bobbing in his throat. you kissed down his neck, making sure to leave a soft pink hickey in your wake. his hands travelled ho to the top of your bikini, fumbling with the bow he’d helped you tie earlier that afternoon. you tutted,

“charles, did i say you could take it off for me?” your boyfriend shook his head. “and did you ask?” charles shook his head again, and then gulped loudly.

“c-can i please take it off?” he asked, a soft pink blush forming on his cheeks.

you were constantly in awe of his innocence. you nodded, and immediately his hands worked quickly in shedding you of your bikini top, throwing it to the side. his mouth latched onto one of your nipples while his other hand massaged the other, and you moaned loudly at the feeling, continuing to grind your hips against his crotch.

you moved just a touch so that you were now grinding over his thigh, the friction even better than before. charles’ mouth and hand worked in tandem, and he whimpered every time you praised him or tugged on his hair. “fuck, charles, please don’t stop,” you moaned, eyelids fluttering closed in the pleasure, “it feels so fuckin’ good, you’re so good to me.”

with every thrust of your hips on his thigh, your knee bumped his dick gently and he had to refocus on pleasuring you, rather than letting himself go. your hips sped up, the slick of your wet pussy making the movements much more easy and pleasurable. he interchanged his mouth between your nipples now, circling and licking at one for a few seconds before doing the same to the other, his other hand always there to pinch and flick at the free one.

“fuck, fuck, charles i’m gonna cum!”

your hands buried themselves in his hair and you rocked your hips even faster against his thigh until the knot in your stomach burst, and you came with a cry of his name. he whimpered at the sound of your moans, fighting the urge to cum himself. he pulled off of your nipple with a pop and you pulled him up to look at you, interlocking your lips and tasting your salty skin on his tongue.

it didn’t take long before the roles were reversed, and charles’ strength was put to use when he rolled you around. your back hit the pillows and he was now on top of you, separating your legs with his knee. while you kissed, his fingers looped into the bows on your bikini bottoms, and he shedded you of them almost immediately.

your hands moved to the bow on his swimming trunks drawstrings and he tutted, “Y/N, baby,” his voice was sickly sweet, imitating you, “have you not learned anything?” one of his hands wrapped around your neck softly and squeezed, “i didn’t tell you to take them off of me, and you didn’t ask, remember?”

your throat had suddenly gone dry, and when you opened your mouth, you couldn’t speak. charles chuckled dryly, “you had so much to say earlier, baby, don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy now.”

“please, charles, please fuck me,” you begged softly, his hand still wrapped around your neck, “please let me help you take them off so you can fuck me.”

he smirked, “much better.”

with that, you ridded him of his trunks, and gave a few experimental tugs of his dick, to which he grunted at. he pushed your legs open further with his spare hand, and lined himself up with your wet entrance. one of your hands wrapped around his shoulders, and he removed the hand from your neck and placed it to the side of your head, entwining your free hand with it.

he pushed himself inside of you, the stretch making you cry out. he didn’t really leave you much time to adjust, seeing as he was desperate to cum inside of you after your thigh riding stunt, but you had no complaints. you arched your back at his pace, profanities leaving your lips in short, quick pants as you did. charles’ head bowed down and he watched his dick disappear inside of you, each time coming out wetter.

he groaned when you clenched around his dick, resorting to his thrusts getting shallower and harsher so he didn’t have to leave your warmth any longer. you cried out when he hit the spot that made your toes curl, and he tilted his head back up to kiss you, swallowing your moans and biting on your lip.

“fuck, charles,” was all you could say.

“Y/N, you’re so fuckin’ - shit, you’re so fucking tight, babygirl,” he hissed, “gonna keep my cum inside you like a good girl, hm?”

you nodded, once again unable to speak as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

charles’ dick twitched inside of you and you left light scratches down his back when he picked his pace back up, fucking you through his orgasm. he groaned your name loudly, and the feeling of his cum seeping inside of you was enough to trigger your second orgasm, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and arched your back to feel the most from it.

his lips attached to your neck while you came, leaving his own light red mark on your skin so the pair of you were now even.

charles pulled out of you with a sigh, rolling over onto his back and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. he outstretched his other hand and you kissed it gently, regaining your breath as you fumbled for your swim wear.

the pair of you sheepishly made your way back to the group, unsure of how long you’d been away or even whether they’d spotted your absence. instead of going back to the lake, charles lounged beside you on the towels, and you lay your head on his chest and listened to the sound of your breathing.

“should we tell them we could hear them fucking from over here?” pierre asked george and daniel, standing up in the water with his hands on his hips.

the pair of them laughed, “nope, we’ll leave it to simmer for a few hours,” daniel said, “bring it up over dinner and watch their faces go bright red.”

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