#also if you speak french im sorry if google translate made me sound stupid

[discopaddock]

BIEVRE RIVER - PIERRE GASLY

PAIRING: pierre gasly x fem!reader

GENRE: angst, fluff

NOTE: english isn't my first language so im sorry for any mistakes

WARINGS: sad and heartbroken pierre :(, mentions of crying, google translated french

PART TWO

Pierre never ever had felt in his whole life that ridiculed and betrayed. The love of his life ran away from their wedding, plus with his own cousin. He looked pathetic in front of his friends and family.

It was supposed to be his day, his great day and what? And a dick.

During his great day, he was sitting with tears in his eyes and on face, with McDonald’s and a bottle of Absolut in his hands on the beach by the river Bievre.

He dropped his phone on the floor in the church, probably pulling it down, while he was running away by sacristy with face all in tears.

He had with himself a wallet, bottle of vodka, food, car and Alexander McQueen on himself.

He was feeling woefully, but still he was wealthy and handsome. She didn’t take these from him.

And when he was sitting the next hour, virtually alone on that beach, he heard a voice behind him; small, brokenly and crying a little bit.

“Sorry, mind if I sit here?” Gasly turned around and saw a girl in white shirt and long black skirt with heels and a bottle of wine in one hand and a box from one of the best bakers in Paris in the other. She had red eyes, just like him, which didn’t make him feel better.

“No, no problem” he answered, and she nodded her head in thanks and dropped the shoes on the sand.

“I’m Y/N, by the way” she said, when she finally sat down. Pierre shouldn’t have been ready at that moment for any conversation, but something attracted him to that girl, who just like him had to cry for some reason on that day. So because of that he told her his name. “Sounds nice. What brings you here, Pierre?”

“Ah, putain” he slipped out, when he was thinking for a while in silence. “Ma fiancée s'est enfuie de notre mariage” he said eventually, hoping that she didn’t speak french. Ah, fuck. My fiancée ran away from our wedding.

“Je suis vraiment désolé. Désolé de demander” the girl said quickly, which made Pierre want to hit himself on his forehead. She wasn't stupid. I mean, in his opinion, she didn't look stupid. I’m so sorry. Sorry for asking.

“D'accord. Je suppose que je devais en parler à quelqu'un” he laughed and then took a sip of vodka. “Et qu'est-ce qui vous amène ici?” It’s okay. I guess I had to tell someone. And you, what brings you here?

He was curious. Maybe it was her boyfriend? Or girlfriend. Or completely something else.

“Dure journée de travail” Y/N answered him, looking for something in her bag. A hard day at work.

“Dure journée de travail?” Where do you work?

“A l'Ambassade,” the girl said. In the embassy.

“Alors tu es intelligent” Pierre told, making her laugh. So you are clever.

“J'ai à peine réussi mes examens finaux! Je suis terriblement stupide” she announced and then took a corkscrew out of her purse. I barely graduated! I’m terribly stupid.

Pierre thought that Y/N was cute. Pretty also. Her H/C hair cascaded down her back, and her E/C eyes, freckles on her straight nose, and dimples on both cheeks gave her charm. She definitely wasn’t ugly, that was something he could tell after watching her wrestle with the wine stopper for a while.

“T'aider?” Do you need help?

The girl nodded, then handed him the bottle, taking his vodka from him so that it wouldn't spill.

“Sur quelle chanson étiez-vous censé danser la première danse?” she asked completely out of nowhere, and when she heard the title of Ed Sheeran's most popular song from him, she twisted her mouth in a grimace of disgust. “Oh God! C'est la pire première chanson de danse! Sérieusement? Il n'y en avait pas d'autre?” What song were you supposed to dance your first dance to? This is the worst song for a first dance! Seriously? There was no other?

"Je voulais quelque chose en français, mais elle a choisi Ed," he confessed, pouring wine into the glass she was holding. He had no idea where she got it from, but he liked it. I wanted something in French, but she chose Ed.

“C'est peut-être encore mieux que tu ne l'aies pas épousée. Totalement insipide de sa part," she said, sticking the bottle and glass into the wet sand before opening the box. "Aide-toi." She pushed them under his nose and he took out two yellow macaroons. Maybe it's even better that you didn't marry her. She is literally so tasteless. Help yourself.

“Merci”

Pierre thought that Y/N might have been right, that it was better that he had not married Dulcinea. Yes, she was pretty and he really felt something for her, but he wasn't bad at writing stories either.

"Je suppose que je devrais rentrer à la maison," he said, when the sun had long since sunk below the horizon and both bottles had run out of alcohol. "Mais j'ai perdu mon téléphone quelque part et je n'ai aucun moyen d'appeler Charles," he laughed at his stupidity. Drunk him told her the whole story of his life, but he regretted nothing. I should probably go home. But I lost my phone somewhere and I have no way to call Charles.

Y/N put her phone in front of his face. Already unlocked with a view of the Dune Paul Atreides wallpaper. Or Timothee Chalamet, because he played him in the last film adaptation, after all.

"Entrez l'indicatif régional devant ce long numéro” she announced as he took the smartphone from her. Enter the area code before this long number.

“Quel est l'indicatif de pays de Monaco?” What is the area code for Monaco?

“+377.”

"Comment sais-tu cela?" he asked, typing in his best friend's number. How do you know this?

"Je travaille à l'ambassade, ça doit être clair," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I work at the Embassy, that's obvious.

About five or seven minutes after Charles answered the phone, he appeared on the beach looking very worried.

“Salut Charles! Tu me manques." Pierre greeted the Monegasque, whose expression changed to a concerned one when he saw Gasly's condition. The Frenchman got up from the sand and hugged Leclerc, who also wrapped his arms around him. He had never felt so sorry for him. And he knew him most of his life and was there when they kicked him out of Red Bull and moved to Toro Rosso. Hey Charles! I miss you.

"Je te suis aussi, Pierre. Je m'inquiétais pour toi" he replied after a moment as they pulled apart. I follow you too, Pierre. I was worried about you.

"Ah j'ai oublié! C'est Y/N. Mon nouvel ami. Y/N, voici Charles, mon meilleur ami” the blue-eyed man rushed towards the girl, dragging Charles with him. The brown haired woman hastily got up and almost spilled her wine from the glass, but she extended her hand towards the newly met man, shifting. Ah, I would forget! This is Y/N. My new friend. Y/N, this is Charles, my best friend.

Leclerc thought that Y/L/N was a really pretty girl. In Pierre's type.

"Comment rentres-tu à la maison, ma douce?" Gasly turned to her as she stowed her things into her rag bag. How are you getting home, sweets?

A red light bulb went off in Charles' head at that moment. His friend never asked his possible mates for one or two nights about transportation home.

“Métro," she replied shortly, and the brunette immediately shook his head. Subway.

“Non non Non! Nous vous conduirons avec Charles. D'accord, Charles?” The green-eyed man only nodded, because that was all he had left. The girl at first did not want to agree, but under Leclerc's pleading eyes she did, because she knew that drunk Pierre would not let her go so easily. No no no! We'll drive you with Charles. Right, Charles?

And so Y/N ended up sitting between Gasly's legs in a black Ferrari 488 Pista Spider. Brunette got his phone in his hands and after seeing it, he said that the next day he would go to the salon to replace the glass.

After a while, he also took a photo of Y/L/N looking out the window and showing her left profile in the frame. Pierre then thought that he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.

He encouraged the girl to give him her phone number, which she didn't want to do at first because he wouldn't remember her the next day anyway, and Charles was looking at them strangely. I mean, he was looking pityingly at Gasly, not at her. He was the one who felt completely sorry for her being stuck with his friend in this situation.

“C'est mon domaine. Merci beaucoup pour le trajet, Charles," she said finally, and the brunette sighed in dissatisfaction. This is my estate. Thank you very much for the ride, Charles.

"Je te reverrai, n'est-ce pas?" asked the sad Frenchman, not wanting to let go of the brunette from his arms. Leclerc gave Y/N an apologetic look, and she had no option but to agree. We'll see each other again, right?

Y/L/N quickly said goodbye to the men and then got out of the car.

"Je pense que je suis amoureux, Charles," Pierre squealed as he watched the girl enter her cage. The Monegasque slapped him on the back of the head, muttering that he was an idiot. I think I'm in love, Charles.

In the meantime, the girl entered her apartment and leaned against the front door, then sat on the floor, and finally began to sob.

Her roommate, Eszter, heard her crying and immediately went to her best friend. The girl was perfectly aware of her entire afternoon and evening. She may have drunk all the wine herself, but it was almost alcohol-free, so she wasn't drunk at all (unlike Pierre).

"What's wrong, sweets?" Balog asked, crouching beside the younger girl.

“I met a guy whose wife ran away from the wedding and he was drunk as fuck and wanted my number, so I gave it to him, but it was a mistake, because he won't remember me tomorrow anyway. And at work this cunt had a problem with me and I cried and all, I'm fed up, I want to sleep." Esz barely understood anything of her friend's gibberish as she helped her up off the cold floor. She led her into the living room, then sat her down on the couch and gave her tissues.

"He was old and rich, wasn't he?" The brunette knew her platonic soulmate type very well, so she knew what to expect.

“He was maybe ten years older. And definitely rich. He showed me his Ferrari... And his friend who was driving us also had a Ferrari” Y/L/N dreamed, leaning against the back of the sofa. “But his fiancée ran away from the altar. Guess it's not that great. Or she was cheating on him. I don't know, I want to forget about it. Just like he does about me.

But Pierre did not forget. Same as Y/N about him.

#pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly #formula 1 #pg10 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n

[chilling-seavey]

AMOUREUX- Daniel doing something which makes Louisa angry (like playing a prank or smth? if that was a thing back then) and Louisa just going OFF AT HIM IN FRENCH and Daniel's absolutely TERRIFIED for his life like "oh no I'm scared, what have I done" and the children find this so amusing like, "this one's on you"

April 26, 1831

Louisa is certainly our bilingual queen (I mean technically a princess but…our queen) and as her six children grew up, they were taught and spoken to both in English and French (they also knew a bit of Latin but that’s irrelevant here). Daniel only knew English as he never paid much attention to Latin in his lessons as a boy and didn’t care for anything else until he met Louisa. Being around her so much, he certainly picked up on a few phrases – especially the few she used often – but it was never enough to where he could hold up much of a conversation yet alone understand her when she spoke quickly.

But we also know Daniel is a troublemaker at heart – a characteristic that is so strong in him that it was passed down to most of his children – and that didn’t really lessen even as he grew up into adulthood. Christian was once Daniel’s target for his pranks but once they moved out, Daniel had no one but Louisa to challenge. Now he couldn’t prank the children because that would just be cruel but they could certainly help him formulate a plan against their mother.

“Mama won’t like this.” would always be Philip’s first warning, watching as his father and his older brother stood across the room and quietly lifted the baby from her crib.

“We’re just going on a walk.” Daniel said, cooing down at the five-month-old in his arms, “Aren’t we, little one?”

“It is just fun.” Henry told his brother as they left the nursery.

The five children followed Daniel along the hallway and down the stairs like ducklings, little feet pattering after him through the palace and out into the gardens. He set baby Victoria among the flowers, shushing her softly as she let out a displeased cry.

“We’re going to play a little joke on Mummy so be a good girl and stay right there.” Daniel whispered. He asked the terribly surprised gardener to keep an eye on the baby as he ushered the rest of the children inside quickly.

He got them settled around the sitting room fireplace to look as casual as they could and he kept his eye on the clock on the wall. Louisa always woke Victoria from her afternoon nap at quarter-after-three. Any second now…

“Daniel!”

The children bit back their giggles as their mother’s heavy footsteps came rushing down the main staircase and echoed through the large hallways as she turned quickly into the sitting room, her dress billowing behind her and an unpleased expression on her face.

“Where is she?”

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Daniel asked, faking concern like he was an expert at it.

“Bon dieu, Daniel! Our daughter!” (Good God, Daniel)

“Is she not upstairs?” Daniel set the book he was holding onto the mantle and took a step towards her. “She was sleeping there mere moments ago. Right?”

He turned to the other five children who stared at him and then their mother and then just quietly looked back to their books. Their silence was the obvious answer.

“Where is she, Daniel? Je suis serieux.” Louisa demanded. (I am serious.)

Daniel bit back a cheeky smile at his wife’s obvious distress but answered to not have her lose too much of her mind, “She’s with the gardener.”

“Merde!” Louisa huffed and turned quickly out of the room towards the gardens.

Daniel and the children rushed after her and back into the cool spring air. Louisa apologized to the gardener before bending down to gently scoop up the crying baby from the bed of flowers and she turned to Daniel with an angry glare.

“Tu me dégoûtes avec ton cinéma. C'est un bébé, et vous le savez! Elle aurait pu tomber malade ou être enlevée et c’est drôle pour toi? Quand vas-tu te décider à grandir?” (You disgust me with your scenes. She is only a baby and you know that. She could have fallen ill or been taken and that’s funny to you? When are you going to grow the fuck up?)

Louisa’s obvious angry distress had Daniel’s cheeky smile falling into shock in seconds, watching as she shouted at him in rushed French as she cradled her crying baby to her chest. The exhausted frustration in her face was obvious and the fact that he had no clue what she was yelling at him only kept him quiet longer.

“Vu ête un terrible exemple pour vos enfants et j’en ai marre de tes conneries.” (You are a terrible example to your children and I am sick of your shit.) Louisa went to walk past him back into the palace but she turned back to look at him again.

“Tu manges dans ta chambre ce soir. Si tu vas agir comme un enfant, je te traiterai comme un enfant.” (You’re eating in your room tonight. If you’re going to act like a child then I’m going to treat you like one.)

Daniel swallowed thickly, knowing by her tone that she was scolding him but being too frightened to ask for clarification of what she said in a language he could actually understand. He knew ‘you’re eating in your room tonight’ from her scolding’s to their children over the prior few years but the rest was just a jumble of fast talking loud French that made absolutely no sense in his brain.

“Louisa.” Daniel tried, reaching for her.

She stepped back from him, “Ne me touche pas, Daniel James. Fils de pute.” (Do not touch me. Son of a bitch.)

He dropped his hand and pouted like a scolded puppy as he watched her walk briskly back into the palace with their youngest. The rest of the children turned back to their father with mirrored shocked faces, the youngest two of the group cowardly slightly behind Henry’s legs.

“Daddy’s in trouble.” Margret giggled softly.

“You did that to yourself.” Philip mumbled before turning and heading back inside as well.

Daniel sighed.

#hopefully the translations make sense lol #also if you speak french im sorry if google translate made me sound stupid #👑 #daniel seavey #why dont we