jusqu'à ce que je meurs

Olivier Fontaine Thirty-eight. St. Clair Defender. Rutherford affiliate. "And what of those who protect and defend? Those who save lives by taking lives?"

[olivier--fontaine]

eleanor--shipley​:

Eleanor shook her head. “No. Honestly, this is all I wanted to do for my birthday. Just let loose and have a little fun that I will have to spend the entirety of tomorrow recovering from.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why? Do you think I should be doing more?”

“Water, water, water,” he said as he shook a finger. “I used to spend a lot of time with people who suffered a lot of hangovers, and water is always the answer to prevent it and cure it.” Now, he had the brilliant luxury of being able to get trashed himself. “Not at all. It’s your birthday, isn’t it? You should do only what you want. Are there any other famous people here, though? I’m afraid I’m suddenly underdressed to accidentally crash it.”

[olivier--fontaine]

william-robathan​:

“Here, have ten quids, buy yourself a warm meal, mate. Please don’t get dirt on the floor, this is a nice restaurant.”

Olivier looked over at the man he didn’t recognize and raised an eyebrow. “Was that directed at me?” 

[olivier--fontaine]

erdogan-nevra​:

~

The place was moderately packed and even though Nev had only ordered a deli sandwich, it was taking longer than it should have. She wasn’t bothered though. There was no where she had to be for the next few hours and taking it slow was kind of nice for a change. A patron a few feet away from her didn’t seem to have the same idea. He looked and sounded rather dismissive. 

Jeez, give them a break. People who judged in such a way usually had never experienced working in customer service. Any other day Nevra would have let it go and minded her own business but something about the man annoyed her. 

“They’re obviously a little swamped. Why don’t you relax a little bit.”

“There’s a difference between being busy and shit at your job,” Olivier said with a shake of his head. “One can be both, apparently.”

[olivier--fontaine]

ohhophelie​:

when: march 15, late evening where: ophélie’s flat  who: @olivier–fontaine​ 

Ophélie was at least self-aware enough to recognize that she was getting dangerously close to spiraling. She wasn’t sure if this awareness made her continually reckless choices better or worse - but being aware didn’t mean that she particularly cared. And, she reasoned as he responded nearly instantly to her text telling him to come over, Olivier was a familiar type of reckless - she could certainly make far more dangerous choices. 

His hands traced her skin with ease, coaxing her back into her body and out of the bitter web she’d woven from regret and anger and all those other sticky emotions she dared not name. Sex and coke, attention and champagne. Ophélie chased distractions far more often than was healthy, anything to avoid the empty numbness that’d taken up residence in her chest. And Olivier was a very good distraction. 

Later, the blonde reached for the bottle of champagne sweating in an ice bucket next to the too large and likely too hot bath in which they soaked, still somewhat tangled up in eachother. Before his betrayal, Olivier had made regular appearances in her bed; and now he tasted just enough like danger to make it fun. She drummed her nails on his chest, absently tracing a scar as she sighed and drank. 

“Tell me a story?”

Olivier missed the French. They were his family, just as much as the brother he now stuck to at every chance. He was growing nervous. It’d been some time, but did anyone really trust him? One wrong move and he could be killed. Another wrong move and his brother would be the next one in the Fontaine plot. He barely slept at night. And these once occasional distractions were growing more frequent when the only other thought tugging at his mind was to make a desperate call to Varden or Laurent that he wanted to come home. He was not a child terrified at a sleep-away camp. So he got drunk and he fucked Ophélie.

The water was searing at his skin. Why did women always prefer the water so hot? But the coolness of the occasional sip of champagne helped. “About what?” he asked, absent only because his mind was already churning. He didn’t need a response, he always had a tale at his fingertips. “When I first moved to Paris, I started taking classes. It’s typical, to do that. You can’t mess with geopolitics if you don’t understand them, hm?” He chuckled to himself, as if he’d made a good joke. “So, I took some classes in geography. I thought it’d be easy to understand, just memorizing maps. It required a little more research, so I really decided to dedicate my time to watching the news and reading papers and books.” He lifted a hand to tap at his skull, as if to signal how much thought he put into the class. “But, I forgot there’s apparently a state called Georgia in the United States, and it has nothing to do with the country of Georgia. My first paper got horrible marks.”

[olivier--fontaine]

eleanor--shipley​:

“Do you really think I’m enough of a heathen to offer you room temperature or luke warm wine? Yes, it’s cold.”  Eleanor offered him a smile as she sipped at her own wine glass. “It’s my birthday party,” she admitted. “How are you? Doing well, I hope.”

“Of course I wouldn’t think that,” he defended with a grin. “I just can’t seem to get enough of a cold drink right now.” He lifted his eyebrows, though obviously it made clear sense why a bunch of people celebrating would be here for a birthday. “I’m doing well, but not nearly as well as I’d be doing if it was my birthday. Is this all you’re doing to celebrate? Any other plans?”

[felixrodriguez]

Location: The Underground

Date: March 10th, 2021

With how 2021 was going, Eleanor wasn't sure she wanted a birthday party, or if it was even wise to have one. But Charlie was insistent that her thirtieth birthday wouldn't pass unmarked, and so Eleanor agreed to a small gathering at The Underground. As long as no whiskey was served.

The bar was buzzing as Eleanor made the rounds, greeting each guest with a smile. The perks of being friends with the owner meant that it was closed to the public and completely private for their event. Swinging by the bar, she grabbed a glass of wine for herself and her guest and handed the second glass to the person beside her. "It's so good to see you, I'm glad you could make it but your hands are looking very empty right now."

[olivier--fontaine]

eleanor--shipley​:

Location: The Underground

Date: March 10th, 2021

With how 2021 was going, Eleanor wasn’t sure she wanted a birthday party, or if it was even wise to have one. But Charlie was insistent that her thirtieth birthday wouldn’t pass unmarked, and so Eleanor agreed to a small gathering at The Underground. As long as no whiskey was served.

The bar was buzzing as Eleanor made the rounds, greeting each guest with a smile. The perks of being friends with the owner meant that it was closed to the public and completely private for their event. Swinging by the bar, she grabbed a glass of wine for herself and her guest and handed the second glass to the person beside her. “It’s so good to see you, I’m glad you could make it but your hands are looking very empty right now.”

Originally posted by beautiful-side-of-somewhere

Olivier just happened to show up for a drink when there was a party. He’d spent the afternoon helping his mother rearrange his old family home for the first time in years, and he was in need of a cold beer. He didn’t even realize how late it was until he recognized the party happening nearby. He’d just finished his beer, when a glass of wine was only inches away. “I hope it’s cold,” he admitted as he took it up. “Is this whole party for you, Eleanor?” He recognized her quickly - the one pleasant date that led to nothing, but she was still memorable. He couldn’t remember how to spell for shit most days, but he remembered faces.

[olivier--fontaine]

azra-yavuz​:

.

One word out of the giraffe’s mouth and she was instantly annoyed. His whole persona screamed an ‘obnoxious asshole’. “No, I just like to order drinks that I don’t enjoy, for no apparent reason whatsoever.” Azra shrugged and took a demonstrative sip of her Negroni. The man looked vaguely familiar, but she didn’t bother enough to strain her brain and try to remember exactly why. “Any other Earth-shattering observations you need to share?”

Olivier smiled, taking a sip of the cocktail. “I don’t know, since I don’t know you,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve ordered things I’ve hated just to get drunker quicker, or to test if my taste buds might’ve changed. For instance, I was just reminded I still hate gin. I had to try it once, by chance when I was trying to order someone else a drink.” He tapped the side of his glass, still smiling confidently. “I did hope the bartender wouldn’t screw me over if he realized we were drinking the same thing, but here we are, and I’m sure he’s laughing.”

[rob-pattinson]

[rob-pattinson]

[stevenrogered]

[olivier--fontaine]

@mobscene-starters

It was an open kitchen. A curse to any chef who liked to curse, but that was of no concern as Olivier too eagerly craned his neck over the half-wall to see what the cooks were up to . “What in the...” he muttered as he watched one cook add far too much garlic to a sauté. “Is this place hiring?”

​

[dianaofthemyscira]

[olivier--fontaine]

azra-yavuz​:

@mobscene-starters

Despite it being the same city, the differences between Haringey and central London never seized to amaze Azra. She was a confident woman, quite confident even, but something about being in places like Westminster and Kensington made her feel a bit… less. Never in a million years she’d let it show, but there was a level of discomfort that came with being in the same room as the posh assholes who resided the area.

Sat at the bar, nursing her overpriced Negroni, Azra’s eyes wondered from one patron to another, these people who looked like they had jumped out of Made in Chelsea episode – and she wondered what problems could they possibly have? They had their every whim catered, the world at their feet with as little as a snap of a finger.

Azra, wondered, briefly, what it would be like to live like Lara Rutherford, or Nora Berkeley…

But no, she wouldn’t trade her band of idiots for all the riches of the world. Her inner thoughts were manifested with an eye roll and a small smile.

“Wait, I didn’t order this,” Azra’s brows tied in a confused knot, at the sight of a drink placed in front of her, but the bartender informed that someone else had bought it for her, “Oh, well, thanks. Who am I to turn down a free Negroni?” 

Olivier didn’t hesitate. He reached out to place his fingers at the stem of the glass and pull it toward himself. “This is for me,” he said, as if he was being reassuring. He took a sip of the drink, cocky as ever even in such a simplistic movement. “Lapse in communication with the waiter. I only said I wanted to buy your drink. Negroni? Is that your preference?”

[olivier--fontaine]

ohhophelie​:

~

Locked away in that overly ornate bathroom, warm hands on her legs, tequila and cocaine on her tongue - Ophélie felt for perhaps the first time since Halloween like her old self. No, she hadn’t let his hands wander too far under her dress as to find the scars marring her chest and back. But Olivier and this kind of reckless dialiance - that was familiar and all too welcome. Afterwards, she lingered atop the marble counter where he’d placed her, catching her breath and watching with amusement as he struggled with his tie. 

“Do you need help?” She cocked a brow, but he seemed to have it under control. There was more she could say, more to tease, more to catch his attention and bring his hands back to her body. A playful squeeze on her thigh, she swung out her leg and hooked an ankle around his knee, pulling him back to settle between her legs. Ophélie draped her arms over his shoulders to focus his attention where it belonged. 

“That’s what the cocaine is for, dear sweet Olivier,” she nearly sang his name in an all too intimate way. “What will you do? Go hide in the pub across the street? Won’t mother dearest be disappointed…”

Olivier didn’t protest when he was pulled closer again. He grinned as he let his hands fall away from adjusting his clothes to settle on her waist again. He chuckled at the mention of cocaine, but shook his head soon after. “No, I don’t run away,” he said with too much arrogance over a simple statement. He could’ve left then, walked out the door a more than satisfied man. But there was something lately that left him feeling an itch at the back of his neck if he didn’t get more out of any situation. 

“Where have you been every other time I’ve been dragged here?” he asked as he tilted his head down to place his lips to her shoulder. “Having fun without me?” he asked, slipping into French with purpose. 

[olivier--fontaine]

ohhophelie​:

~

Had she known, from the moment he intruded on her chemical laced solitude, that she’d end up in his arms? It was a good bet. Ophélie had been reckless as of late, even more so than usual, on the rare times she ventured out or let in whomever was lurking outside her flat. But, she reasoned, this was Olivier - been there done that. And yes, he may have jumped ship to become a tragic lakey to the Wicked Witch of Westminster, but he wasn’t going to hurt her. If he did - did she actually care anymore? 

The knocking on the door startled her, but she laughed as he pulled away just slightly to pound back. Even the slightest distance from him left a void, the bit of warmth and life her cold fingers had leached from his neck, the intoxicating utterly addictive feeling of being wanted. “Lock it,” Ophélie smirked, taking another sip of tequila before he came back to her. An errant hand drifted up to tug at his tie, pulling him forward until her back hit the marble countertop. Fuck - she needed this, something physical and familiar. Someone who didn’t touch her like she was glass ready to shatter, a delicate flower instead of the damaged, feral creature she’d become. Ophélie tugged harder, pulling the tie off and teasing at the buttons on his shirt. 

...

The door was lock. He was warm. She was cold. It all worked out, did it not? It wasn’t his usual traipse, but nothing of the past year had been usual. It was more fun this way, admittedly. Maybe they were both different. Whatever. It didn’t matter in the moment; didn’t matter until he was looking in the mirror, trying to redo the tie she’d pulled off. “You should be more careful with other people’s things,” he teased, and he was already reaching out for more. A hand on her leg, in a playful squeeze. He wasn’t ready for more, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it.

“Gonna be able to find another reason to stay awake?”

[ohhophelie]

EVERY FRIEND GROUP HAS ….. team frenchie edition

(from this tiktok )

@mariaazenha @olivier–fontaine @varden-lefebvre @sofiedekker @evelyne-mercier @theo-chaussard @delphine-st-clair @elainahalevy @noa-halevy @laurent–stpierre 

[olivier--fontaine]

ohhophelie​:

~

“My father fell asleep during the overture, and my brothers don’t care enough to worry,” that was only a partial truth, Gaël would care. But also he knew enough about Ophélie’s current mental state to not pry when she went missing like this. She liked the way it felt to have his eyes on her, familiar and satisfying - like the old part of her that’d once been. Olivier leaned closer, bending almost to her level and Ophélie felt his breath on her ear, saw the tequila in his smile. The blonde joined in with his light laughter, the burn of his fingers against the chill of her own. 

“Whatever I want.” Maybe it was the drugs running through her system, or maybe it was her recent, reckless disregard for her own well being, or perhaps it was just the familiarity of someone who wanted her. Ophélie wasn’t really in the mood to dissect her own actions. Instead, she closed the distance between them, catching his bottom lip between her own in an urgent kiss, the hand not grasping his flask slipped up behind his neck to pull him closer.

Olivier nodded. He didn’t, frankly, give a shit as long as no one was about to come knocking looking for the woman so close he thought he heard her heartbeat. No, that was the blood starting to rush through his veins. It was pounding in his ears as he leaned closer. He wanted to tease her just a moment longer, but the drugs and alcohol didn’t allow for anything so patient.

Cold hands, but that was it. Nothing she did sent a chill down his spine, and there was a sudden heat on his skin. There was a knock at the door, and Olivier thought he’d kill whoever was on the other side. He hadn’t been this close to someone from his old life in months. No one was taking that from him. He knocked back, maybe a bit too aggressively, from the inside of the door, as he tried not to stray too far from Ophélie. He’d always been a physical person. Even a few inches lost was egregious in a moment like this, in his eyes. He made sure the gap was closed quickly.