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fille blonde à paris

description: guinevere beck isn’t looking for relationships. she’s enjoying france, too busy with writing. basking in the glory of her insanely successful pieces of literature. then she finds you, and you’re such a beautiful distraction.

warnings: a claustrophobic amount of fluffy fluff, an american’s horrible attempt at france living and french translation, a plethora of kissing, brief masturbation

pairings: guinevere beck x fem!reader

word count: 5001

a/n: i’ve had my hands on this little fic for a while, let’s see how ms. guinevere beck does! beck train, choo choo!

reblogging and liking is greatly appreciated!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you’d met beck in paris at the local coffee shop across the street from the bookstore she’d occupied herself in with book signing.

the local shop happened to just be a coffee shop you owned.

after her long day and afternoon beck walked into the shop in hopes of some relaxation and more writing, or typing as she would do.

funnily enough, you had no clue who the girl was. simply thinking she was a pretty girl that looked completely out of place in the popular but comfy café shop.

in hopes of not disturbing the hard-working blonde, who hadn’t ordered a single thing since she walked into the shop about an hour ago; you walk up to her calmly with a subtle lavender macaron in hand.

something peacefully sweet as she appeared, if that was something you could even say.

you had evidently startled her as the preoccupied girl grasps at her chest, exhaling a little gasp.

nonetheless, she beams dazzlingly with relaxed eyes, a small hint of drear hazing inside her blue irises.

she looked truly exhausted.

"i apologize, you’ve been here for a while and haven’t ordered anything. so i thought i might bring a little something?"

you hand the small brown bag over and she takes it gently. her hold on the bag was almost as soft as the sound of her delicate voice.

"thank you, that’s kind of you! i’m sorry are you about to close up? i don’t want to be a bother."

you're quick to reassure.

"we’re 24 hours, you’re welcome here. stay for as long as you need."

guinevere beck shines one of her heartwarming smiles, eyes twinkling.

with that you walk away, leaving the pretty girl on her own accord. occasionally, fellow customers walk into the shop and leave out with their orders in hand.

but she’s still sitting there.

with quite a strange look on her face, as if she’s thinking, or puzzled about something.

just as you turn to clean off the counter and look back there she is standing in front of you. her attention on the menu perched high above your head.

she appears even more stumped than earlier.

you realize momentarily that the entire menu is completely in french.

"ugh, i’m so sorry. i come to your country and can’t even speak nor understand the language."

the girl speaks in an expressive whisper.

the frustrated look on her face is quite adorable. you don’t think about that for long, not wanting to be outlandish.

"it’s fine! i have a translated one. i wasn’t aware you were a foreigner, you seem so comfortable here."

that is a lie, but you’d rather make her feel better about the unfamiliar area.

"really? i feel so misplaced. i’ve come here to vacation but my manager managed to sneak a book signing up on me."

you laugh and the girl sends a playful gaze over your way.

about three hours have passed of endless conversation with the girl who you recently found out is named guinevere.

like the legendary queen consort.

although she makes it very clear that she prefers beck.

“just beck, please.”

she huffs and you could only imagine why.

“i mean, my parents were assholes with the naming. everyone just calls me beck.”

her distraught explanation is entertaining to you, you’ve never met someone with such a unique name that despises it as deeply as she does.

"so yeah! i’m here for six months to grab inspiration for my next book. i like it here, everyone is so kind."

that makes you smile, hopefully, she thinks you’re kind too.

against your better judgment, you lock up the coffee shop with a simple note of arrival later.

beck’s words flow intricately yet in a way that doesn’t make her sound too profesoresqe.

she talks of all things but to you, they sound of only the most interesting of things.

beck grew up absolutely adoring poems, she’d write small ones and reminisced how her innocent mind pondered in every moving and living creature.

the american blonde spends her time searching all places for inspiration, even you can see that her attention to her surroundings has paid off greatly.

she’s filled with beliefs, bringing you to the actualization of things you never needed to think about.

the two of you even get into a playful argument about whether orange juice or apple juice is preferable. eventually, you give in to the competitive girl.

you’re too caught up in your conversation with guinevere beck to stop and it’s come to some point when you finally realize you’ve both stopped at a cute studio downtown.

assumingly, this is where beck is staying.

you can’t help but feel anguished. this means goodbye, your conversation must end now.

"well, this is me."

beck sways with the cool late paris air, strands of her blonde hair blowing prettily against the evening breeze.

"it was nice to meet you, ms. guinevere beck."

the blonde blushes, but hopes you’ll blame it on the extra blow of wind.

you don’t.

"it was nice to meet you too."

you wave goodbye, with not a single swap of contacts from one another. only her name and the small pieces of information you do know about her.

beck gladly opposes the way the entire exchange is inevitably ending, so she takes matters into her own hands.

calling out to you, while clutching her body nervously. she feels a sudden emptiness that she isn’t quite used to as you make a move to walk your own separate way.

beck was here to sign books and vacation, not to flirt with strangers. she has to remind herself, but she’s glad when you turn her way; hearing the small whisper as she says your name.

almost as if you were waiting for her to call you over.

you’re a complete stranger, no matter how friendly you may seem. beck doesn’t think about all of the dangers, just the swarm in her heart at the conversation the two of you shared.

she wants more.

for some reason you didn’t feel so strange, not when she’d told you her childhood stories and awkward teen problems.

beck can’t let you go now, she’s gotten too attached and you’re the perfect distraction.

"why don’t you come in? i’d love to show off some of my work. i can’t have you walking back all alone and lonely either."

you’re nearly jumping for joys as beck allows you in.

her studio is cute and tiny in a cozy way. your eyes immediately settle on the living room couch with cute beige throw pillows, a single green one lays awkwardly.

the lights are dimmed perfectly and your eyes bounce off of all the many furnishings that adorn the place.

"i thought why not make it like home, i’ll be here for some time anyways."

beck is clearly a reader from not only what you’ve both talked about but the books neatly tucked in dark oak bookcases.

"it’s cushy, i love it."

your fingers trail the spines of each colorful book and beck observes you curiously.

"any of your favorites in there?"

beck questions, two fingers pressed against her lips while she leans against the couch.

your response follows immediately.

"you have all of shirley jackson’s most notable works here."

"oh, you’re familiar with her. is she popular here?"

you turn to a very inquisitive beck, she’s sat on her couch now.

"i’m originally from paris, but i moved to california throughout my tween years for junior high. then, i decided to move back. i guess i felt homesick-”

“my middle school teacher forced us to read the lottery, it was so morbid and strange to me then that i fell in love with her works."

beck grins, biting her lip.

you wish to bite her lip too.

“so would you say you’re an avid shirley jackson fan?”

you smile, looking away to hide your absurd content of beck.

“yeah, something like that.”

there’s a silence in the room that causes you to look back at beck. she’s holding a copy of the lottery in her hand, scribbling words into it.

you hadn’t even heard her get up from the sofa through all your staring at her collection of books.

beck saunters over to you slowly, book in hand. she slides it into your open satchel. it fits nice and snugly, like it belongs there.

"keep that, and don’t look at it until you’re at home."

the pretty blonde stands so close that you’re able to see each freckle that stamps over her features. you count each one, in hopes that your heart stops beating so quickly.

involuntarily, your eyes slip to her pink lips after a couple of late seconds they finally flicker back up. you can tell beck notices but she doesn’t seem to care, you watch her do the same thing.

eyes at your lips then back to your eyes, repeating that process twice more.

beck is the first to lean in. her blue eyes subtly turning to a more greenish-blue hue that you find yourself easily getting lost in.

you take the time to gauge her reaction, even with everything happening so fast. she gives you one last look before closing the small space between the two of you, and relief washes over you as her soft lips touch yours.

a subtle shutter rakes through beck’s body, you can feel it, listening closely to the desperate sounds she makes with your lips on hers.

while beck does look innocent, she holds her weight. it’s like the two of you are fighting for the crown of dominance, you can’t tell who is winning.

beck’s teeth gently bite at your lips, and her confidence reels you in. your hands wander to deepen the kiss in your own way.

her waist fits comfortably in your hold as if she belongs like this, in this exact space and time.

beck’s lips hover slightly over yours, as she pulls away for a small breather. you can feel her warm breath, she tastes sweet on your tongue.

not candy-sweet, not pastry-sweet, and not even syrup sweet. she has her own taste, something exotic that you can’t put your finger on.

just as you anticipated.

when things seem to go farther than you prefer at the time, you slowly pull away.

turning beck down the nicest way you can, no matter how dissatisfied you feel when her lips are gone.

you leave your hand resting on her red-tinted cheeks, beck peers at you. you’re relieved when she doesn’t look offended.

“i’m sorry-“

beck tries to say but you’re already apologizing.

“no, it’s not you. i just don’t want to take advantage of you. can i maybe take you out to a bar? get to know you?”

“i’d like that.”

two fingers are again pressed against beck’s lips, a habit you’re learning that she does often. for extra measure, you lips are back on beck’s for a quick peck.

a gesture that should be inappropriate for people who’ve only just met, but you feel some odd connection to the american blonde.

it’s late, very late by the time you and beck make it to the bar. you’re familiar with the owner, so without reservations, the two of you slip right in.

it wouldn’t have been a problem anyways, the bar isn’t filled with many people and you can comfortably hear beck over the music.

“i feel underdressed.”

the pretty girl frowns and while you can agree with her, both of you are quite underdressed. you’re wearing a black shirt that happens to look the slightest bit dressy, and the first pair of pants you could bother putting on before work.

while beck looks wonderfully herself in a black shirt fitted underneath a clean red blazer, alongside a matching pencil skirt which brings out the rosy color of her cheeks and the sultry red of the lipstick prodded on her lips.

now that you analyze the girl fully, you realize she doesn’t look underdressed much at all.

her care for her appearance makes you smile.

“you look beautiful, and besides no one will care. enjoy yourself, you need it.”

beck grins at your genuine compliment, lifting a glass of dark wine to her lips. you watch the deep red liquid trickle at her lips as she purses them to drink.

“you’re too kind for your own good.”

you’re not surprised even for a second when the conversation changes to one of beck’s life, as if it wasn’t something the two of you were talking about for the past few hours in your bakery.

truly, you are intrigued by the american girl.

“do you live far from your bakery?”

beck questions, you’ve quickly realized how much eye contact she holds when conversing with you. like she’s hanging onto every word carefully as you speak.

“i actually live above it.”

“oh! so a duplex?”

“yes, yes. a duplex.”

beck is excited at her correct guess.

the two of you are a little over tipsy by the time it’s decided to leave the bar. what was supposed to only be one, or two glasses of wine turned into much more than you’d like to think about.

you feel as though you could talk to beck forever, and although that could honestly be the buzz of the alcohol talking you’d like to think it’s not.

beck thinks the same as she invites you into her studio once again.

you sit on her couch and she sits with you, after about a minute or two you find beck’s legs resting on top of your lap. you don’t mind at all, just focusing on the conversation at hand and the way her lips meet when she chats.

or how her eyes twinkle from the dim lighting of the minimal darkness.

beck is pretty, but you’ve known that for some time now.

“he thought i was bluffing and unfortunately for him, i wasn’t.”

beck recalls, cackling about an unfortunate circumstance with a past professor. you find amusement in her words too, with how flawlessly they fall from her tongue.

there’s a warm silence but after a while, you finally respond.

“i’m happy you’ve found your place in this world.”

you say randomly and you don’t miss the crook of beck’s eyebrow as she eyes you with confusion.

“you’re doing what you love, you didn’t let creepy professors stop you. it’s inspiring.”

you add, staring at beck’s hefty book collection and zoning out just a little.

“is everyone from france such a sweet talker or is that just you?”

the blonde tilts her head to the side, curled strands of hair falling into her face. beck’s eyebrows raise in a playful, flirtatious gesture.

“just me.”

“i should’ve known.”

beck finds her place in your lap, you don’t push her away this time. you’re a little more confident, and you want this even more badly than the first time.

you cup beck’s cheek in your hand, and she sighs deeply into your mouth when your lips connect.

soft and delicate.

you allow her tongue to roam into your mouth when she’s ready.

beck wastes no time and admittedly, you’re not mad about it. she’s very handsy, her fingers reach to pull at your collar and she’s moving your hands to rest on her sheer tight covered legs.

“i like you a lot.”

beck mumbles over your lips, licking over her slightly swollen ones.

“i like you too.”

“are you sure you’re not just saying that to spare my feelings?”

“no never.”

it’s like the two of you are playing tag, with flickering eyes darting to each other’s lips and back. one waiting for the other to submit to their desire of the other first.

your hand remains caressing beck’s thigh and her arms wrap around your neck to bring herself closer.

you meet her halfway but beck is already on your lips first, pressing her mouth against yours in a soft yet heated embrace.

just as quickly as beck had pulled in, you grow intoxicated in her kiss and only wanting more. just as you begin to deepen the kiss, grasping beck’s fabric-covered skin in your delicate touch, she pulls away.

a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“gotcha.”

beck teases, her blue-green eyes sparkling with amusement.

you can only muster up a defeated laugh, shaking your head in dazed disbelief.

“such a tease.”

you say, already leaning in for her sweet taste again.

beck snickers, her cheeks pinched, and eyes locked on yours in a passionate tension-filled gaze.

“I know,”

she shrugs.

“but it's more fun that way.”

With that, she pulls in for another kiss, this time holding on a little longer before pulling away again, a playful glint in her eye.

but before she’s able to say anything more you’ve already got her entrapped.

the tension between you two only grows thicker. you listen closely for those perfect sounds that come from out of her lips.

she moans softly, beck’s hands caressing your face as you deepen the kiss. you wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer as your tongues dance together in a heated embrace.

for just a moment, the two of you lose yourselves in the pure intensity of the kiss, bodies pressed together in passion.

you taste her sweet taste, cloudy with the bittersweet wine. beck moans softly against your lips, a sound that only fuels your want for her.

as the kiss comes to an end, you pull away slowly.

with a coy smile, you whisper;

“your turn.”

leaving beck hanging just as she’d left you, desperate and wanting more while she toyed with you.

beck settles back onto your lap, eyes locked on yours like she’s still not ready to let up the lip-lock wars.

surprisingly after that, you don’t end up in beck’s bed.

that doesn’t mean she doesn’t heavily insist.

“it’s a king-sized bed, i don’t want you to be uncomfortable in here.”

beck pleads, hugging herself over her white hotel robe. curled blonde hair tossed from the earlier movements, her cheeks and nose haven’t yet simmered of their color.

through the night, beck and you have gotten relatively close. you feel content with her, and based on the fact that the blonde is naked under her robe you can assume the same goes for her.

beck saunters over to you, standing above as you sit on her couch with a light blanket in hand.

“i’ll be fine, i promise. get some sleep.”

“you can always crawl in if you change your mind, i’ll leave the door open.”

“okay, goodnight beck.”

you miss the disappointed look on beck’s face as she bites her lip out of frustration. she’d kissed you over a thousand times yet you won’t step foot in her room.

beck understands your boundaries are solely out of respect as you’ve said, but she wants nothing more than for you to disrespect her.

no matter what that may consist of.

it’s not your intention to leave beck frustrated but supposedly you do. you’re fast asleep, whiles she’s giving herself muffled climax after muffled climax.

you don’t hear beck in her bedroom riding the little green pillow she’d stolen from the couch, with bangs sticking to her forehead from exertion.

her pleas of pleasure like desperate whimpers as she rocks back in forth, chasing something that she believes you should be giving her.

beck covers her mouth with one hand, the other fisting at her blankets for stability. underwear left on and sticky, a feeling she craved of the extra friction.

whine after whine, gasp after gasp.

it wasn’t like she was waiting for you to fuck her into the mattress, that wasn’t the case. but it’s been some while since she’s had an intimate touch, and the shadow of your lips from earlier was not helping to damper that need.

the pleasure beck gives herself knocks her right into slumber, it’s easily one of the best naps she’s gotten in a while.

beck knows it’s because she has company but the girl would never admit that, not even to herself.

church bells ring, birds begin singing their songs, and the city awakens with the chatter of people commuting their way to work and school.

the smell of croque madam floods the senses of your nose; awakening you and as your eyes fall open, beck’s pretty eyes are the first thing to unblur in your sight.

she speaks softly to the point where hearing her voice is like hearing the gentle seine river and its delicate lapping.

“i’m not really a good cook, not really a good cook at all actually. i tried researching french breakfast, i didn’t want to get all stereotypical but i think i ended up just confusing myself.”

beck rants, sipping out of a cute little green mug. nearly the same shade as the pillow she quickly snatched from the couch.

you’re handed the plate of delicious-smelling food, nothing appears to be wrong with it. nothing besides the fact that it looks homemade, the touch of some sloppiness is cute to you.

you can tell the blonde tried and that warms your heart.

“you don’t have to eat it, i thought you might be hungry.”

the fork is already inside of your mouth as beck speaks, you chew, savoring her use of flavors.

“it’s great, thank you. really beck, taste amazing.”

“i realized halfway through cooking that you literally own a bakery. you could work more magic than i think i ever could in the kitchen.”

you take another forkful of the familiar dish, getting a mouthful of the lightly toasted brioche bread followed by slightly overdone eggs and savory ham.

the food is still warm like you’d woken up at just the perfect time. it’s good and you silently finish the portion beck had given you.

“you should be more confident with your cooking beck.”

you throw her a piece of advice and she smiles.

silence fills the living room and you’re suddenly made aware of your bareness.

hardened nipples pressed against your white undershirt, made visible by the thin material. you’d forgotten to put your bra back on, finding it too uncomfortable at some point throughout the night.

your phone rest on a little stand, a charger plugged into the device. you smile up at beck, she’s already looking at you.

“thank you.”

“no problem.”

you’re checking the time on your phone, you’ve woken up earlier than usual.

6:37

which is a pleasant surprise considering how late you’d fallen asleep last night after bar-partying and lip-locking with beck, watching half a movie smushed somewhere through the time.

feeling like you’ve overstayed your welcome, you frown.

reality sets in, you have to get back to work at some point. your workers can’t cover for you forever, and you can’t take beck away from her endless writing for too much longer.

it’s like she’s read your mind, but your emotions are evident and beck is good at putting two and two together.

“have to get back?”

“i’m afraid so, i’ve got like thirty missed calls.”

you muster up a sad laugh.

“well, i’ll walk you over.”

beck says, as if you’re unfamiliar with the town but in all actuality you know it like the back of your hand.

you return your missed calls on the way back to the bakery, your hand finding beck’s at some point so she doesn’t feel too ignored.

“oui papa, i know…d’accord, i’m on my way.”

you huff as you hang up your phone. beck looks over at you, neglecting the scenery her eyes were once fixated on.

“everything okay?”

beck questions, trying to not intrude. you’ve known her long enough to not take it that way.

“just my parents. i think they thought i’d gotten kidnapped.”

“i stole you away.”

beck hums.

“you did.”

you smile, playfully.

the trees sway as the harsh winds push past them, awaiting the rain that will eventually fall sooner or later. leaving a muggy and wet paris day meaning more customers will welcome themselves into your bakery.

seldom heavy rain, not particularly weather you care for but weather you’ve grown accustomed to.

“does your accent always change when you speak to others?”

beck questions, pointing out randomly.

“maybe a little, i think. my parents have been saying i’ve been americanized, so i try to speak french more with them. they pick on me.”

you laugh, giving beck’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“tell me some words.”

beck requests curiously.

the rest of the walk to your bakery is spent teaching beck some much-needed french terminology. her pronunciation is not great, but it’s cute and you find amusement in teasing her about it.

you open the doors for beck, allowing her in first. not realizing your parents are standing near the counter, staring at the girl you’ve brought inside their bakery.

your mother is the first to speak up.

beck can’t understand a thing your parents are saying, and you’re glad because your father spends a good five minutes scolding you.

as if you were a child.

then your mother’s eyes land on beck.

she reverts to english immediately, skipping to address the daughter that they’d just spoken to. it’s obvious to her too how out of place beck looks in france.

“hello love, are you a friend of our daughter?”

our daughter? is that any way to address your child?

beck glances at you, then steps over to shake the hand of your mother.

“hello, yes. i’m guinevere, nice to meet you.”

the drag of every other word is amusing enough to put a smile on your face. she nearly sings her hello.

“such a pretty american girl.”

your mother says, more to you and your father than beck.

“mère s'il te plaît.”

you plead, pulling beck away from your overbearing mother.

“oh, hush. i’m just being kind. save the extremities, no need for the french. let the girl understand what you’re saying.”

of course, your mother is one to scold you for something she’d done not even five minutes ago.

you look at your father, a silent plea for him to take your mother and leave.

“okay, we know she’s alive. everything is all good here.”

with a gentle kiss on beck’s, and your cheek. your overbearing mother is out of the bakery, which you’re glad about.

“i’m so sorry.”

you apologize, wiping the kiss your mother pecked upon beck’s cheek.

beck finds this incredibly funny.

“it’s fine, they love you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

you don’t bring up much more about your family, considering beck’s situation with her parents in fear that she’ll feel the shocks of grief that any rational person would experience.

“i have my mom, but we don’t talk anymore.”

“my dad is dead.”

two things she’s told you over her own volition of drinking at the bar.

the poor girl is practically an orphan.

“can i grab you anything? tea, coffee, hot chocolate?”

beck’s face lights up.

“oh! i know that one, i’ll have the…chocolat chaud.”

she overly enunciates her last words carefully with bright blue eyes that twinkle with the sharpest tinge of grey.

“good girl, you catch on fast!”

you utter absentmindedly, working behind the counter. not catching the hitch in beck’s breath at the nickname.

at expert speed, you whip up a full mug of thick, rich french hot chocolate.

“looks so good.”

beck says, eying the cup of hot chocolate. skimming over each little swirl of whipped cream and a handful of marshmallows.

you click your tongue with disapproval as beck picks up the mug with two hands. she quickly puts the dish down, her eyes on yours.

peering at you like a child that had gotten into trouble.

“use the spoon, i promise it’ll taste better.”

beck obeys, scooping the thick liquid into her mouth.

a moan leaves her lips.

you feel rightfully accomplished.

“good?”

you question, as a boost for your ego.

“it’s amazing.”

while beck downs her french hot chocolate you speak, allowing her to fully delve into the warm treat you’d given her. she hangs onto each and every one of your words, holding her familiar deep eye contact.

she’s finished in a short matter of time, leaving her lips tasting of rich chocolate.

which you’re more than eager to kiss, but you let the temptation subside.

“okay, i desperately want to get out of these clothes. want to stay here? or come with?”

beck follows you into your duplex without even as little as a second. her hand in yours, and for a good while she’s completely at a loss for words as she looks around.

you place your satchel down on your couch, opening it to fish out the book beck had given you.

she’s laughing at you, and your enthusiasm.

“that’s pretty much useless now.”

beck says, watching as you flip through the first few pages.

a neon pink sticky note plastered on the fifth blank page. beck’s phone number written on it.

“xxx-xxx-xxxx call me ;)”

is all it says, and you’re grabbing your phone to dial the numbers into it. it’s difficult for beck to contain her amusement, she’s hanging on a thread to contain her laughter.

she plays along as you dial in her number, beck’s phone chimes with your contact and she picks up.

you hold your phone to your ear and beck does the same.

“thank you for the number, ms. guinevere beck.”

then you’re hanging up and walking over to the american blonde, you can’t tell if she’s speechless or simply isn’t bothering to talk.

you press your lips against hers, and it’s a delight how smoothly her lips move with yours.

like a puzzle piece that adores clichés.

you really do like guinevere beck.

and she really likes you too.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*