(France X Reader)
Warning: heavy sexual themes and undertones are present throughout the entire book. Don't like, don't read. Simple as that.
22 year old physics major (Y/n) (L/n) knows all too well that relocating to a foreign country and going t...
I try to be as quiet as possible in the mornings as I leave my appartement. Marianne is a light sleeper and I have had her stumble out of her bedroom, naked, more times than I'd like to count. She is usually followed by a good looking client of either sex.
I don't so much mind seeing a stranger naked, but Marianne is a different story. I admire her too much. Seeing her naked and vulnerable is like seeing a completely different person. Instead of a headstrong seductress, I see a regular woman with nothing up her sleeve. It seems harsh, I know, but I have always envisioned Marianne as my protector in a way.
This morning, I slip out of the appartement in the most comfortable clothes I own, not an ounce of makeup on my face and my hair haphazardly pulled away from my face. I've decided to take breakfast at the café on the ground floor of our appartement. That's something I love about Paris; cafés at every turn.
"Bon matin, mademoiselle (L/n)!" A familiar voice greets me as soon as I take a seat on a petite metal chair by a window.
I turn towards Madame Langlois. She bustles towards me, a smile stretching her lips thin. "Hello Mme. Langlois." I return the greeting.
"What could I get you to drink?" She asks.
"A, um, café au lait." I pause. "If that's how you pronounce it." I laugh a little.
"Your French is improving." Mme. Langlois pats my shoulder. "I'll go prepare your drink."
There are only three other people in the café. A young couple, pouring over the menu, their phones pulled out. They switch between the menus and their phones, quickly copying the words into a translator app. Tourist, obviously. Both with dark hair and tanned skin. Most likely from one of the middle eastern countries that weren't collapsing at the moment. They were an attractive couple. The other person is a young man. He looks European with long blond hair cut off at his shoulders, pale skin and blue eyes. Well put together. He holds a French news paper on front of him so he must be from around here.
"Voilà!" Mme. Langlois reappears with my coffee. "Have you decided on something to put under your tooth?"
"Put under my tooth?" I smile up at her. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're saying."
"Ah," She laughs at herself. "Doesn't translate very well, then. The French expression 'se metter quelque chose sous la dent' means to have something to eat."
"Oh, of course!" I hand the menu back to Mme. Langlois. "I'll just have the chocolate croissant, as usual, please."
She nods and heads off to the kitchen with a smile. Does she ever stop smiling, that woman? After my meal, I pay and head back up to the apartment praying that Marianne is awake and dressed.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
