Dior was described as many things: scary, merciless, unempathetic, hot as fuck. one thing she would never be described as was awkward and like hell was she going to start.

she saw you when you were out shopping, a couple bags next to you as you sat on a bench, sipping a cup of coffee. you were everything she wasn't—you looked so sweet, so precious, utterly beautiful. she had to look away for a moment to just register it fully. you were gorgeous. she just had to talk to you.

she moved to sit next to you on the otherside of the bench in the smoothest way possible, giving you plenty of room so she didn't come off as creepy.

she looked forward for a moment—seeing you give a brisk sideways glance at her for then return your focus to the coffee—before trying to think of a good line to start with. she was so sure she had one when she came over but it seemed to have completely evaporated into the air.

"you know.." she starts, looking back at you with a smile. "I've killed way bigger guys than you, I could probably break your arm like a toothpick." and it was at that moment she knew she fucked up.