#in secret

[wndaswife]

genesis, awakening | thérèse raquin & fem!reader

Moving to Paris didn't present Thérèse with the life she initially expected until a young woman visits the haberdashery.

Word count: 12 107

Tags: smut, fluff, masturbation, cunnilingus, face-riding, so much on symbolism and their many thematic components, can you tell i just finished reading a certain hunger, and also, i hope you will enjoy this as much as i do: power bottom!thérèse raquin | MINORS DNI

In her earlier years, Thérèse thought quite a bit about her father. She wondered when he would come back and what he was doing and when he’d send his next letter. She imagined that all she had yet to hear from him were stories he would tell her in a near future when he would come back to collect her as he had promised, away from Madame and Camille and Vernon’s dull French countryside.

Once Thérèse turned fourteen, things began to change for her; Madame gave her more responsibility, more demanding homeschooling, and she, by Madame’s account, was now a blossoming young woman.

Initially, thoughts of Thérèse’s father remained, for she worried that once she grew out of childhood, her relationship with her father would inevitably differ immensely from when he had last seen her. After all, he had only ever known Thérèse as a child, and now that she no longer was, what made her any different from any other passing woman?

When Thérèse was given the letter from Madame notifying the family that her father had passed, it had been a few months at that point since she last thought of her father, and it had only been in briefly passing curiosity. 

Over the years, Thérèse’s responsibilities became plentiful, and she became increasingly preoccupied with the concerns of her day-to-day life with Camille and Madame. She hardly had any time for herself — even her very thoughts became overtaken with the weight dumped onto her shoulders for her, and her only, to carry for the household. 

Her life, initially only indebted towards Camille and Madame for giving her a home, soon became theirs, similar to property.

Last summer, when Thérèse was told that she, Camille, and Madame would be moving to Paris, she imagined countless different paths her life could take from then on, divulging from the monotonous countryside life she’d always been accustomed to. 

In her mind, there were thousands of different ways the move to Paris could have gone for her. For example, she imagined meeting friends and making them on her own, travelling — if the shop’s earnings became bountiful enough — and, in general, feeling like her life was truly her own, and that she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life paying anyone back for the fact that Madame had taken her in when her father could no longer care for her.

But nothing seemed to change aside from the fact that, atop of still being expected to tend to Madame’s every whim and care for Camille as both a wife and a second doting mother, Thérèse was now expected to help run the haberdashery.

Although it was both her and Madame that took part in running it, Madame was often dozing off or partaking in her own interests around their tiny, dingy Parisian home, often only coming down from the arcade when a shop patron had an inquiry or a request that Thérèse wasn’t sure how to approach on her own. But as Thérèse’s experience with running the business became increasingly comprehensive overtime, there was little to no reason for Madame to come and assist her at all.

It wasn’t necessarily that Thérèse needed Madame’s help, but rather that she didn’t want to have to run a business at all. 

In fact, Thérèse didn’t want to live the life she was living to begin with; running a haberdashery in the suffocating little alleyway of Passage du Pont Neuf was never anything she had imagined for herself once plans were made to move to Paris. 

Thérèse wished desperately for someone to blame for the way things had turned out, for if there wasn’t anyone to take the blame for what had happened, then it would become clear that the way things were was the way things were always going to be. If there was no causal reason for the life she was living, then she’d have no choice but to accept the fact that the way her life was playing out was simply its natural course.

Initially, Thérèse had even tried to blame herself for how things were, for it was her endless fantasising and romanticising that led her to be as disappointed as she ended up becoming. But even in blaming herself, there had to be some inevitable form of correction she would’ve had to uptake, and that would mean putting away her fantasies and dreams.

But without even the imagination that things could be better — and in Thérèse’s wildest fantasies, her life would not only be better, but it’d be a life that she truly enjoyed living — then she’d have nothing else but to accept the way things were. She feared that perhaps she’d grow into Madame, or even duller than she, if that were possible.

Thérèse’s life had no defining landmark, no deviating paths but the one she was placed on the moment she began living with Camille and Madame. 

Since last summer, and it was spring now, Thérèse felt entirely trapped; she felt that she didn’t belong to herself, that nothing she did would ever escape the future that was inevitably laid out for her, and that not even her thoughts could wander very far from the reality of her life.

Even the very reaches of language couldn’t very well belong to her either as she wasn’t sure if ‘miserable’ was a way to describe her life, nor ‘dull’ or ‘boring,’ for how could her life be any of those things if it had never been anything different?

She felt no different from a walking corpse, similar to the brief amount of time a chicken has before the rest of its body hits the ground even after its been decapitated, turned into an infinite stretch into the future. 

But she could not even pretend under any veil, no matter how heavy nor opaque, that she wasn’t alive. Perhaps things would’ve been easier on her if she could at least fool herself into believing that everything she did was of another’s will — anyone else’s but her own — but she felt it in the boundless pit in her chest, the weight in her stomach, the gravity pulling at her limbs each time she arose in the morning. She knew she was alive and that she did what she did willingly because she felt it.

It’d be easier, at least, if her actions were not her own; being a coward and a slave to a life she hated was perhaps her heaviest burden.

With the peak of the spring, the normally dingy suffocating Passage du Pont Neuf was especially constricting; the tiny passageway was overcome by the heat of the sun and the humidity from the past rains, the mossy faded rooftop panelings and stone walls shining dull and damp and mean and unappealing. 

Just after lunchtime, when the sun reached its peak and stretched up above the tall buildings of the alley, Thérèse could finally lay her eyes on something worth looking at through the windows of the haberdashery, sitting at the shop’s counter with François endlessly dozing in her lap.

With her chin in the palm of her hands and her fingers gently stroking the soft white fur of the quietly purring cat, Thérèse let herself bask in the warmth of the afternoon sun. She closed her eyes and let her breathing grow steady, with every second resembling more and more the mild-mannered cat sleeping in her lap.

Surrounded by the silence of the still shop and the faint purring from François, it felt as if Thérèse’s body was gently thrumming from the outside in, the stagnant hum of her surroundings blanketing her body with the gentle heat of the sun.

The chime of the bell by the door didn’t wake her from her conscious dozing — it was the approaching steps towards the counter that made Thérèse finally open her eyes. She blinked away the sunlight and quickly repositioned herself so she looked presentable.

Even François stirred awake at her body’s sudden jolt, and he lept from her lap and, with great yawning stretches of his lithe white body, headed off beyond the curtain that divided the shop from the arcade’s staircase. 

“I am sorry to have woken you and your cat,” the customer apologised in a way that seemed genuine. 

Thérèse turned her attention away from the escaping François to the customer in front of her, only for her eyes to meet the most beautiful thing she’d ever had the fortune to lay her eyes on — in fact, perhaps the more beautiful thing that’s ever found itself in Passage Pont du Neuf. 

Her cheeks immediately flushed and she looked down at the counter, initially stuttering before she finally spoke an: “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have been dozing.”

She searched, panicked, for things to say, and when her eyes ran over the small box of multicoloured buttons on the shelf under the counter, Thérèse remembered that she was running a shop — not simply talking with a beautiful stranger she met while doing errands. 

She raised her head and looked down at your arms, avoiding gazing upon your face lest she grow even more distracted, and saw that you were holding a generously-sized box in your arms, your forearms upturned with your fingers wrapped along its front-facing edge.

At the sight of the way Thérèse eyed the box, you carefully placed the case on the counter and pulled up the top to reveal a carefully-folded dress inside. “For a special occasion,” you said, “I want to have some of this dress fixed up since it has been moved around quite a bit since last spring until I stored it away to bring it here.”

Thérèse watched as you took the dress out of the box carefully; your delicate fingers tucked themselves under the folded dress, slowly unfolding it so you could lay it on the counter and display it out flat for her. Her eyes flickered up to your face occasionally, hoping that with each glance of your face, she could slowly build a detailed mental image of what you looked like without having to stare like she desperately wished she could.

She thought you were pretty, and that it was cruel that a face like yours had to suffer the backdrop of Passage Du Pont Neuf that lay beyond the confines of the constricting haberdashery. 

Suddenly Thérèse felt embarrassed, and she wondered if she herself gave off a impression alike to the rest of the old shop and the narrow passageway of damp moss and cracked stone walls and rushing crowds who wanted to do everything but spend another moment along the path they took only as a shortcut to get to where they needed to be — somewhere doubtlessly eternally more fascinating than where Thérèse currently was and would always remain.

“I was curious if I might possibly get a replacement for the lace trim,” you said and ran your finger along the underside of the trim that trailed down the sides of four pale yellow buttons that led down from the dress’ collar.

When you looked up from the dress to look at Thérèse curiously, she realised she had inadvertently begun staring at you in the way that she had kept trying to avoid while you were speaking earlier, though she couldn’t recall exactly when she started staring. She swallowed and adjusted herself then looked down at the dress to examine the lace you had pointed out.

She felt her cheeks begin to flush as her face was in the general direction of where the dress was, and from her inability to meet your eyes, it almost seemed like you were looking directly at her instead of the lace.

Absently, she started playing with the loose strands of her hair that had escaped from its braid in an attempt to both hide some of her face and adjust her appearance.

“If you are looking to maintain the original design, I do not believe we have this exact kind of lace here,” Thérèse thought aloud then leaned to the side to pull out a box of carefully-stored lace trims of different patterns, shades, and material. They were organised so one would be able to see each pattern while they were set down. “The lace on your dress seems Italian in design, and we only have one kind of lace from Italy, but even this looks too far off from what your dress has.” She pointed to the one at the left corner of the box and your eyes followed curiously.

“The only kind we have with a pattern like yours is this one,” Thérèse pointed to the different kind of lace to the right, “though it is far more dense and visibly not as expensive.”

The familiar language of the haberdasher made Thérèse forget for a moment that she was standing in front of you — whomever you were, since she had yet to officially know — until she looked back up for a response and found herself facing you again. She straightened her back and rubbed the pads of her fingers under the smooth underside of the shop’s counter, feeling anxious for a reason she could not explicate even to herself.

There was a girl who used to frequent the Seine one summer when Thérèse was younger. The girl visited the Seine regularly that summer for her father worked as a fisherman somewhere along the river’s currents and was positioned there for the season. 

When they first met, and it had been during one of the many occasions Thérèse took time for herself in the afternoon after Madame’s homeschooling lessons, a young Thérèse understood her fascination for the girl around her age to be due solely because of the girl’s tales about her father — a father she travelled with, a father who was ever present in her life.

Perhaps this might have been true at the time, for it was hours talking about her fisherman father that the two spent meeting up in the afternoons after Thérèse’s lessons and while the other girl’s father was too occupied for the girl to have any business loitering around fish and their fishermen.

But even after Thérèse saw her for the very last time, since her father was working by the Seine only for the summer, it was not her tales of her father that Thérèse thought of. In fact, Thérèse thought frequently about the girl — and the girl only. 

She thought of her hair and how it looked the perfect shade of the fireplace in Madame’s living room when it was set aflame, but only when the fire first leaps from the wood at its initial ignition, for the shade of her hair ignited something similar within Thérèse that could simply not analogise properly should it be compared to a fire that had long been burning. 

She thought of the colour of her eyes similar to the depths of the Seine that Thérèse could only see from the land’s surface and would never find herself coming close enough in order to make out a shade with her own eyes; the Seine, though beautiful, was far too dangerous to approach with proximity at that age. Though after having stared into such a vibrant shade of deep blue for nearly all of that summer, any curiosity she previously had of the Seine's deepest colours were sated and even paled in comparison to the mere recollection of her.

That was the last Thérèse had ever had her thoughts so preoccupied with another in that way until now. There were passing strangers, of course, that Thérèse glanced at more than once when she could and thought of for a few moments afterwards, and even other shop patrons that Thérèse found rather charming.

But she could not stop looking at you, and she felt silly for she did not even know your name, and you likely did not care to know hers.

“Oh,” you said, leaning over the box of lace and taking a closer look. There were some frayed parts of the lace that could not be fixed due to its original intricate stitching, and some parts that had become simply lost through the months of being moved around for space conservation and whatnot; it had to be completely redone with new lace.

Your fingernail grazed against your bottom lip and you confessed, “I am not quite sure which would look the best as a replacement. To be honest, I do not know very much about fabrics and stitching and all such things ladies ought to know.”

That made Thérèse smile, inexplicably. She thought you were endearing, and for some strange reason, your mention that you were put to the same constricting standards of being a lady in Paris as she was developed within Thérèse a certain fondness for you.

“I understand,” she told you with a friendly smile. “I could restitch the new lace for you. This dress seems rather important to you, so I would understand if you rather a stranger didn’t touch it in your place.”

You lit up at the suggestion and questioned, “Truly? I wouldn’t want to tax you with such labour.”

Thérèse promised, “It would truly be no trouble at all.”

“How much more will it cost?” you inquired and began sorting through the francs you brought.

In quick protest, Thérèse reached over the counter and brushed her fingers against your knuckles before leaning back and keeping to herself as quickly as she had reached out to touch you. “It’s alright.”

You looked at her and Thérèse felt panic rise within her, recalling that the two of you were indeed strangers, and she had no reason to do such a favour for you. She didn’t meet your eyes long enough to decipher the way in which you regarded her, for she’d soon die of humiliation if you regarded her as someone strange.

“It calls for a very simple kind of stitching, and we have been trying to gain a reputation as a tailory as well as a haberdashery; the stitching at the moment is included in the price of the lace,” Thérèse explained. “However I completely understand if you would rather a more officiated shop did the stitching for you, or even if you preferred to do it yourself.”

To Thérèse’s relief, you replied, “Ah, I see. In that case, since it isn’t too laborious for you, it would be fine.”

Thérèse was surprised — pleasantly, even — that you were so considerate of her time and effort. 

If all this for a stranger, how much more for your lovers?

The thought made her wobble.

“May I have your name?” Thérèse asked and opened a small notebook in which all the shop’s patrons were sorted and organised by their purchases. When you gave her your name, she found herself overcome with a feeling of euphoria writing each letter of it, asking for the exact spelling, and having your name stored so that you could not stray very far from the shop that you likely wouldn’t ever visit again once she was finished with your dress.

It was painfully unprofessional, what Thérèse did next, telling you that you could pick up your dress next week due to the other tailoring that had to be done before yours, which was to say that there was none, actually, since she had earlier lied about the haberdashery wanting to take up more tailoring orders. She did not want to have to see you for the last time so soon, so she withheld it for another week.

She was in an endless cycle of unprofessionalism, it seemed, for next, she told you that when you picked up your order next week, you ought to ask for Thérèse. There were two reasons she told you that — firstly, because it was unlikely that Madame would be working by the counter, there was no reason for you to need to know her name if it was she herself that was going to tend to you either way, and she wanted desperately for you to know her name as she did yours, and secondly, because if there was a chance that it was Madame out front instead of her, your asking for her would leave no room for Thérèse missing the chance to see you again.

But all her lack of professionalism’s accompanied guilt was soon disregarded when you asked, “You are Thérèse?”

Something crept up Thérèse’s spine when you said her name and made her shiver. She nodded. “Yes.”

“I like that name very much. It’s very pretty,” you told her and smiled politely. “I will remember to ask for you.”

Thérèse could almost faint.

Over the week, Thérèse did her very best carefully restitching the lace trim for you with the kind you chose from the box. She wanted to add something else to the design in the attitude of some form of a gift or something similar, but she had to maintain the dress’ original integrity and she knew when to not cross any boundaries.

After all, she was still a haberdasher, and women’s fashion was seen with high regard in Paris — this she was quick to learn once moving from Vernon to the city — so she knew quite well how to handle clothing.

When she was finished restitching the trim, she held it up by the top of its sleeves so she could see it upright and flat. She imagined you wearing it, and though she didn’t know very much about you, she imagined she got to know a little bit just by looking at the dress and knowing it was the kind and the style you would like to wear for an occasion that was special.

It was a shame you were only a visitor of the shop; she would have enjoyed getting to a woman with such exquisite taste in clothing. She still would have enjoyed getting to know you, frankly, even if you had horrendous taste in clothing. 

A week after you had visited the shop, Thérèse was waiting for your arrival with your dress carefully folded back into the box you had given it to her in. She decided to give you a small extra roll of the lace you chose as a gift in case you wanted to make any more alterations or in case you simply just liked it and wanted it for more of your garments. 

This time, when you arrived, Thérèse was completely awake and could not even think of dozing off, not even if she tried, for she’d been thinking of seeing you since the moment she awoke in the morning. 

After reassuring Madame that she could take the day off to rest, as she would have either way, Thérèse had the whole shop to herself. 

When you entered the shop, you were carrying a small basket concealed by a patterned cloth. Upon approaching Thérèse, you laid the basket onto the counter and greeted her. She was curious about the basket, and even François seemed to be too, for he rose from his place along the wall and sniffed at the basket. 

“François,” Thérèse warned and swatted him away quickly, to which he lept off from the counter and walked off. “I apologise,” she said. 

“It’s quite alright,” you reassured with a smile that Thérèse thought was just painfully charming. You reached over to the basket and uncovered it, revealing a small sealed jar of what looked to be strawberry or cherry jam, freshly sliced bread, and another jar of a medley of different berries. “This is for you — as a thank you for doing the restitching.”

Out of all the ways Thérèse fantasised about this afternoon with you — and she did, quite a bit — this was certainly not one of the ways. “Oh, please, no, it’s okay,” she told you. “Please, don’t. I was glad to do the stitching for you.”

“You are glad to do your own labour,” you slid the basket closer to her, “and I am glad to do mine.”

Thérèse searched your expression for any hint that you might be convinced to change your mind, but you seemed stubborn. She thought this was endearing too. She liked your kind heart and how eager you seemed. 

Then she looked down at the basket and sorted through it with her eyes. “This must have cost you a large sum,” she said, looking back up at you with a shy smile.

“Not at all,” you answered. You thought she looked cute when she was finally accepting your gift, the guise of the shopkeeper now pulled back to reveal the shy young woman behind it. You wondered what she was thinking. “My family owns farmland near Vernon, and I visited this past weekend and thought to bring you some of their jams and berries, but the bread I did get fresh from a bakery this morning.”

“Your family lives near Vernon?” Thérèse asked, her interest piqued. She had always regarded Vernon with such disdain and hoped that she might never have to visit again, but associating such a place with someone like you made her regard it differently. She never imagined that anything but her own resented memories could reside there. “My family and I moved from there in the summer.”

“Do you miss it very much?”

The question was almost comedic, but Thérèse thought it would be impolite to laugh. “Quite the opposite,” she answered. “I was glad to move from Vernon, but honestly, I haven’t had much chance to explore Paris aside from my walks in the mornings.”

“I understand,” you told her sympathetically. Thérèse melted. “I enjoy visiting, but I can hardly sit still in the countryside for more than a weekend.”

Before Thérèse could panic about what to say next to fill any impending silence, you said, “But you are interested in the city? Exploring more of it?”

“Exceedingly.”

“If you have a day off from the shop, I could show you around Paris,” you offered.

Thérèse felt her face flush with warmth. “Sh-Show me around?” she repeated.

The soft pink of Thérèse’s cheeks made you smile. 

You said, “If you don’t mind, then I would love to.”

Straightening and playing with the sleeves of her dress, Thérèse answered, “I wouldn’t mind at all. I would love to accompany you. Thank you.”

A brief moment of silence did indeed end up passing between the two of you, but instead, filled with a kind of warmth that made Thérèse both elated and weak in the knees. She felt that she had made her first friend in Paris, and more importantly, it seemed that you wanted to spend time with her too. 

You were grateful for Thérèse’s restitching and especially grateful for the additional lace she gave you, and you discussed which day the two of you would be able to spend time together.

Thérèse was most flexible to whichever day was best for you, for she knew Madame would be thrilled that she had made a friend — not that she would ever get the chance to meet you for a while, for she wanted you to be privy to only her for as long as possible. 

Next Tuesday was mutually decided upon.

Alike to Thérèse’s fascination with you — although you didn’t yet know how mutual the feeling was, of course — you weren’t quite sure what had come over you when you offered to show her around Paris. Initially, you told yourself it was because she used to be a resident of Vernon, and familial sentimentality led you towards the urge to show her around Paris.

But your thoughts about Thérèse, when you had them, and you often did, were very rarely if ever related to Vernon or any form of familial sentimentality.

Thérèse and how she took form in your mind started with her hair, dark brown and smooth, and immediately after came her skin, seemingly translucent in its delicate shade of porcelain cream and tinted with the pink of her flushing cheeks when you were lucky enough to see her grow bashful at your words. Then came her voice and its girlish elegant placidity, then her eyes and her lips, the slope of her nose and the curve of her chin.

You wondered, especially, how she was beyond the confines of the haberdashery and beyond the walls of Passage du Pont Neuf. Inexplicably, though it could be easily attributed to knowing her no further than within the environment of the shop, it was difficult for you to imagine Thérèse beyond the gloomy shadows of the narrow alleyway or from beyond the counter of the shop.

That was not to say anything about who she was as a person — after all, how could you presently have anything substantial to say about who she was — but rather the kinds of circumstances she was under. In the curious glints of her eyes and the lithe cat-like movements of her elegantly-moving body as if trained to maintain such composure laid something in slumber, larger than the stillness of Passage du Pont Neuf.

Over the week until the upcoming Tuesday, you steadily began to feel guilty for how often you were thinking of Thérèse, for your scrutiny of her made it seem to you that you were subconsciously treating her as a subject of some kind of personal research endeavour — but this could not be further from the truth. Truly, Thérèse interested you, and it was merely your disturbance with your own fascination in her that began manifesting into guilt in order to avoid coming to the realisation that you simply could not stop thinking about her.

One could almost label your thoughts of Thérèse as perverse, and you did not want to be labelled a predator, even by your own moral judgement.

When Tuesday arrived, Madame agreed to run the shop while Thérèse had plans elsewhere, feeling pleased, frankly, that Thérèse had finally made what she described to be a friend. 

Madame knew Thérèse to be gloomy and hollow of passion and vivacity, which was not so much a concern to Madame Raquin and it was an irritant, particularly because her niece’s sombre nature often became much too suffocating for the small confines of the shop. It was only when she scolded Thérèse for her lack of spirit in front of the shop’s patrons that she at least began making efforts towards behaving as typical girls of her age did. At the very least, she was willing to wed Camille and willing to run the haberdashery, albeit because Thérèse had very little personal reservations of her own as to have any opinion about anything at all, or at least, if she did have opinions, they weren’t ever pressing enough to escape the confines of the often critically-judgemental mind that Madame knew laid beyond the line of her motionless pale pink lips.

You had it in your plans, though you did not disclose this to Thérèse in the spirit of keeping it a surprise for her, to visit Jardin des Plantes. It was your personal favourite spot to go when you wrote and when you needed time for yourself, and when you first moved to Paris many years ago, it was also the first place you felt yourself drawn to.

In some ways, taking Thérèse there was both an invitation into how you understood Paris in its essence and an invitation into your own personal world; there was more to your interactions with Thérèse than a tourist to a newcomer, for there was a personal investment too, a personal interest in bringing yourself closer to her.

The two of you walked your way towards the botanical garden, taking the path you normally would to and from your place of work. To you, it was typical, but for Thérèse, it was as if she had only moved from Vernon the day prior. You could not believe how little of Paris she had seen, and selfishly, perhaps, you were glad and proud that it was you who was introducing her to what she had long been missing.

Conversation with Thérèse was endless.

You spoke of your occupation as a writer for a periodical, which Thérèse found fascinating and immediately wanted to know more about — What do you write about? Do you like it? How did you find yourself coming into a career of writing? Were you always a writer? — your childhood in Vernon and the rest of your years in Paris, your tastes in literature, and countless other things that Thérèse’s piqued interest never strayed far from.

You asked about Thérèse too, of course, about her arranged marriage to her cousin Camille, her aunt, her opinions on Paris, her own childhood and years in Vernon before moving away, and most interestingly to you, her ambitions and dreams.

She was an ambitious person, with hopes for herself and her future that stretched far beyond the reaches of her family or Passage du Pont Neuf. Perhaps laid to rest years prior, such hopes seemed to reawaken at the taste of freedom now that she had distance from all that she wished to move onwards from. But where she would go if she had achieved such separation, Thérèse did not know, and so she believed she could only ever dream and never accomplish.

During your walk, you discovered a vividness about Thérèse, a brilliance, an ignition of light that had its sights set far from the shadows of Passage du Pont Neuf and the Raquin family’s haberdashery. But in the gardens, there was fragility and sensitivity, and you found yourself equating her to the flowers she was immediately absorbed by.

Thérèse was gentle with the flowers and plants, careful not to disturb them from their natural paths of growth, even as she walked among them, yet all the while incredibly fascinated and captivated by them. She had never before seen so many different kinds of flowers of such vivid colours and appearances, much less the incredibly long vines that reached up the arches of the bridges over the water and up the brick walls of some buildings and such well-designed shrubs as if carved by hand.

In the Vernon, where Thérèse had seen the most plants, there was no such colour nor plant so alive, so grateful to be in the environment in which it grew.

At a particular plant, Thérèse paused and looked at it, leaning down slightly and surveying it.

“What is this?” she asked you, pointing a hesitant finger at the pink and green plant who, in its centre, was budding and growing healthy white flowers. “This one with the teeth.”

You came to her side and Thérèse straightened. When she did, she brushed your shoulder, and in response, she stepped closer so the length of her arm was pressed against yours. 

To the green and pink plant and its blossoming flowers, you answered, “Dionaea muscipula — the Venus Flytrap.”

The name sounded silly to Thérèse, and she laughed.

“It traps flies?” she asked.

“Yes,” you answered, equally as humoured. With a hand on her lower back, you encouraged her to step forward so you could demonstrate something. Blushing, Thérèse nearly missed your demonstration for how you touched her body and how she stared at your face. You started speaking again, and she forced herself to look at the plant.

Gently as to not bend the plant where it should not be, you laid a steady finger between what Thérèse described as an open mouth with its needle-shaped teeth.

“See how it closes — slowly,” you said. 

“It closes slowly,” Thérèse noted, “yet its prey is still devoured?”

You removed your finger from the plant’s trap and watched as it very steadily returned to its original open-mouthed position. “I believe the pink colour of the trap is appealing for the flies, and that it emits a certain scent that is alike to the nectar the fly seeks for nutrition. The fly believes — perhaps, anyway, I am not sure — that it is eating from the plant. The plant is slow and attractive enough to keep it from straying. The ‘teeth’ prevent its escape once it's closed enough.”

After a silent moment of thought and perhaps of admiration of the fascinating plant, Thérèse asked, “And its name, after that of Venus?”

“If I were to make a guess as to why it was named after Venus, I might be inclined to say that it is due to its appearance,” you supposed. “The pink of the inside and the white flowers, especially. It’s a beautiful plant.”

Beauty, yes — Thérèse conceded. But Venus, in her representation, was not only significant in her symbolic nature of beauty and femininity, but also desire, sex, and prosperity.

And Thérèse could not help but find that the alluring shape of the flytrap represented that of which was particularly vulvar.

When Thérèse arrived back home just before dinner, Madame and Camille were set to leave to celebrate a promotion Camille had just gotten within his place of employment. Their plans involved dinner with several of Camille’s work acquaintances and some of Madame’s friends that often came to Thursday’s dominoes games.

Her presence at this celebration had evidently not been anticipated nor planned, for both Madame and Camille seemed hesitant in what to do once she arrived slightly earlier than either of them anticipated.

Fortunately for them — and for Thérèse, too — she was in no mood to do anything but stay at home, and to this, they graciously permitted without protest.

That evening, Thérèse was restless, but a sort of restlessness that was distinct from what could typically be attributed to night terrors. From the restlessness that derived from night terrors, she would tie herself up in the mess of her bedsheets as she tossed and turned, desperate for slumber to overtake her. In trying to shut her eyes, shadows would become foes and an unsettling fear would dig its way into her stomach, paralysing her. 

But tonight was different — and exceptionally so.

There was restlessness, indeed, and a gnawing in her stomach was surely present, and a paralysis-like possession certainly overcame her, but what made this restless evening different from that of what was haunted by night terrors was that she was not overcome by any sort of fright.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

There was a thrumming in her stomach, a simmering of the blood in her veins, a greedy possession that overcame her with urgency in the likeness of paralysis, but it was not quite that either — it was not paralysis for Thérèse did not lack any ability to move. Rather, the subtle tension within the base of her stomach and the pumping of her heart and its accompanying adrenaline made Thérèse want to do everything but stay still.

But what was she to do aside from lay still and fall asleep, she did not know.

There was something awakening from a long slumber deep within her, having been so deeply-shrouded that Thérèse herself was little acquainted with it.

By God, what was this urgency that her body kept clawing towards? It was as if her very skin was an obstacle for this awakening beast, and it called for her to act on it, to move in accordance to its will.

In closing her eyes, shutting them tightly, it was not imaginary shadow foes that came to the forefront of her mind, but you. It was your face she imagined; it was your voice; it was your scent; it was your fingers. 

Her body took the form of another, and it was your perfume she smelled in her hair when she lolled her head to the side. It was your hands that pulled her nightgown up to pool around her hips, and your fingers that dipped into the slope beyond that of her smooth lower belly. Her thoughts were comprehended through the sound of your voice, telling her to release, release, release.

The tight wet velvet embrace that greeted Thérèse’s fingers when she entered herself, she understood as her own, but it was your touch that drove her to pleasure. The quickening speed of her fingers and her other hand and its wandering, a soft palm beneath the linen of her nightgown and up the expanse of her stomach, pads of her fingers pressing into the dips of her ribs and further, further until she groped her breast so harsh it made her whimper — it was your doing, and this ferocious beast that had been scratching at her skin from the inside, howling to escape, was you.

When Thérèse reached her peak and laid a sweaty panting mess atop her bed in the bedroom lit dimly by a flittering singular candlelight on the bedside table, she returned to herself. 

In the silence of her bedroom, still feeling the gentle tremors of her harsh, desperate release, Thérèse realised that what she had done was of her own doing. Where else were you but where you currently were, in your own bedroom, perhaps, dreaming and slumbering, apart from her.

There was no one else but her, and it was she who was the awoken, the desperate, the howls for recognition. 

She was this predatory beast, predating on herself.

In spite of having reached her hilt of pleasure, Thérèse felt herself aching for more, and it does no good to cannibalise oneself. 

She needed prey. 

She would take you whole.

In the morning, Thérèse wrote to you through the post you had provided her in the case that she might have wanted to reach you when you could not see each other. During the stroll back to Passage du Pont Neuf, you both expressed an interest in seeing each other again, but unfortunately, you’d be busy with the attendance and planning of your brother’s wedding for several days after that Tuesday. So she wrote in hopes that the two of you could plan the next time you might be able to see one another.

She wrote to you about the Thursday evening games of dominoes and sometimes cards, and that she would like to have you in attendance next week, for she knew you could not attend this week’s upcoming game.

The impatient days tending to the shop and awaiting next week’s evening game were painfully dull and ridden with anxiety-like compulsions. The awakening in Thérèse had arisen much too far from its place of previous resting and could not be put to bed, and it made her pace and pace, nitpick at her clothing, twirl her hair around, organise and reorganise the shop’s inventory. 

Even Madame had realised, though she was assuaged and convinced when Thérèse simply told her that with the upcoming summer and the gradually-warming weather, she had begun to feel a tinge of spryness bubble from within her as if it were out from its hibernation. 

The excuse, Thérèse thought, was rather humorous, for it was not some low bubbling of gently arising energy that had begun to form within her, but a vicious hunger so demanding and starved that it was painful. 

Her beating desire, however, was alleviated for a day or two once she received your correspondence from the post, writing back in your ever so beautiful and delicate handwriting that you would indeed be able to attend next Thursday’s game — and also that you greatly anticipated seeing her again.

Thérèse read over your letter again and again as if taking each word into her mouth and chewing it, running her tongue over every written letter and swing of your ink pen against the coarse page. But it was not enough — it was not you.

So she waited, pacing, organising and reorganising, brooding over her lack of you, until next Thursday came.

When Thursday came, you arrived, and punctually so. 

Coincidentally, you had met with one of Madame’s friends on the way to the game — never mind how you came to realise the two of you were headed to the same place for this was not of pressing concern for Thérèse — and so it was Madame who first greeted you at the door. 

From the kitchen beyond the dining room, Thérèse could hear you introducing yourself to Madame. 

It was a bit of a shame, for Thérèse had wanted to keep you to herself for as long as she could, but if she wanted you within the short span of time in which her dwindling patience would not allow for any further waiting, she had to make some sacrifice. 

As the guests filed into the dining room, Thérèse came forth from the kitchen with a serving platter of a pot of tea and several cups, and your eyes caught onto hers. She could tell that you had been curiously awaiting her arrival, wondering where it was that she had gone while you took a seat at the table. 

Your curiosity remained even as she left once more to fetch another serving plate of danishes and tarts, and remained, still, when she returned; you meant to ask why she was not taking a seat at the table. 

One of the guests had forgotten to stow away their hat along with their light coat at the entry hall, and Thérèse obediently took it for him and left the dining room to the entryway to hang the man’s hat up. 

You excused yourself and followed her. 

“Thérèse,” you called after her, your voice hushed within the silence apart from the busy dining room. 

She hung the hat from the coat hanger and turned to you. “Y/N,” she greeted and smiled. “How was your brother’s wedding?”

“A bore,” you answered immediately. Then you added quickly, “Though, I am happy for him, indeed. Many blessings to the wedded couple.”

Amused by your crassness, Thérèse’s smile widened and she nodded, “Indeed. Blessings.”

“I was hoping you might play alongside me tonight,” you confessed. “I’m no good at dominoes.”

Thérèse told you, “I do not play.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t believe she had an actual answer, frankly. Why didn’t she play? She sat to the side, primarily, by the window at the corner of the dining room, ready to serve food and drinks and open the window when requested. 

At her silence, you did away with your original question and then said instead, “You invited me to play a game in which you are not participating? I wished to spend time with you tonight.”

Your frustration excited Thérèse. She felt her hunger spike. 

“Disappointed?” she asked. 

“Rather.”

Your frustration was not that of which could be compared to critical judgement, but a state of vulnerability, an expression of a lack — a lack of her. 

Thérèse could sympathise with your dissatisfaction.

“I apologise. I invited you with the sole intention of seeing you, and I dearly wanted to, but I did not consider that past seeing you, we could do nothing else.” She stepped closer. “After the game, perhaps we might go for a walk. I’ve yet to see where you live.”

The corners of your lips pulled into a delicate smile and Thérèse swooned. “Then another walk it is,” you affirmed. 

Thérèse was unsure what had been going through her mind when she imagined that her hunger would be sated, or at least partially, once she was finally able to see you again. She sat in the corner of the dining room, sometimes getting up to serve drinks and desserts, passing by you often and meeting your eyes even more frequently. 

But she was driven mad sitting apart from you and doing nothing but watching, nothing but seeing. 

In salivation, the object of nutrition is its trigger, an anticipation that one is soon going to digest what is desired. Of course, there are further, more scientific reasons as to why the salivation begins; the brain takes part, primarily, with its neurotransmitters and its comprehension of hunger and craving. But none of it would occur without a subject in mind — the subject to devour, the subject to prey on.

And while watching you socialise and laugh and look over to her occasionally, watching your lips wrap around the rim of your teacup or swallow a bite of the tart from your plate, Thérèse was nearly drooling. 

Her fingers, unless she was imagining it, were trembling ever so slightly as she helped clean the table once the game was over. She brought the dishes to the kitchen and tucked in the dining room chairs. 

Madame encouraged Thérèse to cut her domestic duties short in order to walk you home for you hadn’t ever crossed through Passage du Pont Neuf so late into the night and knew little of where to go from the shop, and Madame had taken a liking to you and how well-mannered you were. 

“Were you amused in seeing me lose as often as I did?” you asked Thérèse after parting from the rest and down the sidewalks that led to your place. 

“I was far more amused seeing you continue to play in spite of how often you lost,” she answered. 

You laughed. “You are a sadist, I think.”

“You were not pained in losing,” Thérèse lightly contested. “I gathered you might even be less entertained if you were to have won.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

You lived in a building that housed several other residents, each with their own residential units, and yours was at the very top with two windows that stretched up close to the partially-angled ceiling. It was spacious enough to fit both your workspace, your kitchen, and your bedroom. There was little divide between these rooms aside from the floorplan in which one had to turn to get to one room or another, but generally, it was a rather open concept apartment unit.

Clearly, it was space enough for a person who lived alone, and the interior design and small fireplace and expansive windows was evident of your bountiful earnings as a writer for the periodical you worked under.

“Will you leave now?” you asked Thérèse once you were both standing in the middle of your apartment.

“You are asking me to?”

In quick specification, you clarified, “No, I mean if it is in your preference to leave. Are you planning on leaving now?”

“Is it in your preference to have me leave?”

Thérèse’s pressing of you made you slightly unsteady and your cheeks warmed. “No,” you said.

She smiled. “Then, no, I will not leave.”

The two of you talked on the couch of your workspace, as you did when you had been on your walk together several days ago. The conversation foresaw no end, and the comfort of being in a place that was privy only to the two of you only encouraged its seemingly infinite stretch. 

You were sitting across from Thérèse, her legs folded on the couch in front of her as she sat horizontally to face you, her knees pulled up and laying against the couch’s back. She had undone her hair so you could now see it in its length, which was unexpected for the way her hair was always done made it seem that it was much shorter than it really was. 

She was elegant and so ladylike.

The soft light from the fireplace across the room, about four metres from the foot of your bed, illuminated her face in a warm glow.

Suddenly, you felt the need to confess. “In the last few days, ever since I asked you to accompany me through Paris, I must admit that you have been going through my mind an awful lot.”

“This is awful?” Thérèse asked, straightening. She didn’t believe that you had truly meant to say that thinking of her was awful, but it really was amusing to see you stutter.

“N-No, I don’t mean that,” you corrected immediately. “I only meant that-that…” You searched for the words and adjusted yourself on the couch. “I felt guilty — perhaps this is the word — for thinking of you so much. To me, it felt predacious.”

To this, it seemed that Thérèse’s eyes seemed to momentarily flicker with ignition. You thought it merely a lick of the flame from the fireplace, reflecting against her eyes. “Is that so?” she inquired, pressing. “What felt… predacious to you?”

“Only that I couldn’t seem to stop thinking of you,” you explained. You shifted, uncomfortable as you exposed to her thoughts that you had been trying to avoid out of the shame that you had been having them. “But it was more so the kinds of ways I thought about you. I thought of things like your hair and… I’m not sure. Your voice, your lips. Silly things like this.” You began to speak quicker as if trying to rid yourself of the taste of your words from atop your tongue. “It felt scrutinising.”

Thérèse seemed to be contemplating something in deep thought as she looked at you. She took a small breath and spoke a confession of her own. “Y/N, I must also admit that I have been thinking similar things. Though, certainly, I would not equate my thoughts of you to scrutiny.”

“To what, then?” You wondered.

“Consumption,” Thérèse said, and the word captured you. 

Trying to understand her usage of the word, you worked through it. “Your thoughts of me… consumed you?”

The glint in Thérèse’s eyes returned and for a second longer than before, and you looked over to the fireplace, now concerned for its constant leaping, only to find it rather docile.

“You misunderstand,” Thérèse said. When you turned, she was rising from her spot on the opposite side of the couch, hair spilling from behind her shoulders, moving onto the heels of her hands as she advanced towards you. Her other hand found your thigh under your dress and the pressure her fingers applied through your clothing made it seem to you that she meant to dig right through its fabric. “It is not I who was being consumed at the thought of you.”

Your breathing quickened and Thérèse only advanced even further up your body to the point that you had to shift back with your elbow resting on the armrest behind you.

Thérèse’s delicate fingers moved their way up your stomach and your chest that was picking up pace in its rising and falling. Her fingernail hooked itself under one of the buttons of your dress and pushed it to the side. You watched as it was nearly pushed beyond its slit to unbutton itself, but Thérèse let it slip from her fingernail. Her fingers wrapped around the collar of your dress and the tips of her fingers grazed against your neck and over your collarbone, nails raking lightly against the warm skin of your chest.

With a hand placed beyond your head and positioned atop of the armrest behind you, Thérèse gave herself height so she could run her eyes down what limited skin your dress’ collar exposed.

“Thinking of you…” Thérèse’s own breath began to quicken. “It was I who was consuming you. How I’ve hungered for you in the past few days, Y/N, salivated over how the salt of the skin of your neck would taste if I were to run my tongue across it, how your body would intertwine with mine.”

Her eyes finally left your clothed body and she met your gaze. “I want you,” she said simply.

You swallowed. “I’d be most pleased if you would have me.”

Her fingers tightened around your collar and she used the leverage to pull you up, slipping herself off from the couch and having you stand along with her.

She undid the buttons on your dress and began to undress you, while you took just a moment to catch up to the realisation that you also ought to be doing the same for her. 

When your arms were free of your dress, Thérèse pushed it further down and tucked a few fingers beneath your crinoline so she could undo it and have it pool to the floor along with your skirts. 

With skilled hands that only a woman could possess, Thérèse undid your corset with precision. Though the process of completely untying a corset was tedious, there was something so delicate and delicious about the way Thérèse undid yours.

You watched as her fingers weaved through the laces and loosened it slowly, steadily. Once or twice, she even looked at you and met your eyes as she did, her eyes having ignited with something hungry and captivating. 

Once she finished with your corset and let it drop to the floor, allowing you to step out of the pool of your garments, you were now only in your chemise while you were still slowly undoing Thérèse’s corset. 

She was a haberdasher, after all, and though the two of you were both familiar with the doing and undoing of a corset, it was Thérèse who was most skilled with the handling of clothing. 

Her hands laid atop of yours and your fingers ceased their movements. She stepped towards you and laced her fingers through yours as she began to undo her own corset. You watched, down the space of her own chemise that slowly began to loosen as her corset was further untied, the rising and falling of Thérèse’s soft porcelain breasts. 

“You need not be so concerned with being seen as a predator,” she said, her voice not quite a whisper but still rather low, like a gentle hum in the tune of a bedtime story. She stepped out of her own pool of clothing on the floor now that she was in her own chemise. Her hand found your chest and as she advanced forward, she pushed you back steadily so you were forced to walk backwards. 

“Would you much rather prefer being preyed on?” she asked and ran her hands down your shoulders. “That would please me, anyhow.”

You swallowed. You didn’t quite realise how far Thérèse had been pushing you back until you had to quickly jut out your elbow to keep your weight from suddenly shifting onto your back. She raised a knee onto the edge of the bed and you watched as her chemise slid down her thigh. Her hand ran up the path between your breasts and encouraged you to continue moving backwards.

Her fingers reached the hollow base of your throat, the centre of your collarbone, and she pressed down gently, watching her fingers apply pressure to your compliant skin. Then, when your head was laid atop your pillows and her thighs were straddling your hips, Thérèse leaned down and pressed her warm lips to your neck.

“Perhaps what you had felt before was not guilt.” Her bottom lip ran up the expanse of your neck as she moved to kiss the warm space behind the lobe of your ear. “But rather a feeling of inadequacy, knowing that your desire would never take the form of that of a predator. You need not feel this way — not with me. And if not with me, then you need not ever feel it again.”

Her teeth tugged at your earlobe, let go, then pressed her a kiss again to the pulse of your neck, then down, and down further, until she could run her tongue flat against your neck, up further until the tip of her tongue pressed into the hollow space beneath your jaw bone. She bit down on the skin of your jawline then released. “You ought to know your place, and not feel compelled to take another.”

She straightened to look down upon you, fuelled deep within the warmth between her thighs by the look on your face with your flushed cheeks and lips parted to release your warm quickening breaths. 

“Would it not feel better, knowing that it is I who will prey on you?” She spoke while moving further up your body, her knees moving herself upwards and her thighs brushing up your waist, up the sides of your ribs, your breasts. “Better, knowing that you ought to simply let yourself be consumed?”

Your eyes explored the uncovered expanse of Thérèse’s smooth thighs as she sat herself on your chest, your fingers tightening around your bedsheets and repressing the urge to reach up and touch her.

“Y/N.” Thérèse said your name. You looked up and slid her fingers down your cheek, cupping it softly and tipping your head up to meet your eyes. “I will not ever let you be anyone else’s but mine.”

Her words, though possessive and dominating, seemed almost as it were a forewarning as well; Thérèse still seemed to have reservations of this part of herself, and perhaps in a way, she feared what might happen if she were to completely give into it — give into herself. She worried about what she knew were to happen if she progressed any further.

“I have no interest for anyone else but you,” you told her, meeting her eyes tenderly. You released your bedsheets and laid your hands against the sides of her smooth thighs, warm palms leaving goosebumps in their wake as your fingers pressed into the pliable flesh of Thérèse’s ass. 

Her hips buckled and she sighed through her nose, closing her eyes momentarily as she savoured your words and the first feeling of your hands on her body unobstructed by clothing. 

Thérèse, suddenly overcome by certainty and a hunger now driven to what she felt was alike to famine, took your hair into her hand and used it as leverage to move herself further up. She raised from her position on your chest and after one failed attempt at keeping her chemise around her hips, she grew impatient and pulled the garment off altogether, tossing it back to the foot of the bed. 

Finding that she did not want to face the same frustration with her underwear, she did away with that too. 

Your eyes ran over her bare body, her smooth belly and the curves and dips of her waist and her hips, how soft her thighs looked, how perfectly her breasts were shaped, and the pink tint of her hardened nipples. Brown hair cascaded down her arms and chest.

“By God, I have never seen anything so beautiful,” you remarked. Your hands, unable to keep to themselves, ran up the expanse of her stomach, fingers wrapped around her waist as they moved further up. Your hands cupped her breasts, thumbs moving across Thérèse’s nipples. 

She hummed shakily, both satisfied by your hands and words and also pleasured by them. Her hands came to the backs of yours, encouraging you to grope her rougher.

“When you came into the haberdashery,” she spoke, “I felt pity for you, that something so beautiful had to find herself amongst the rotting carcasses of that god-awful place.”

In gentle protest, you reminded her, “But there was you.”

Thérèse smiled down at you. Such consideration you had, and a kind heart. “And so there was.” She let go of one of your hands and stroked your cheek with the backs of her fingers.

She led your hands to her hips, and she wrapped her hand around the headboard of your bed. She moved herself onto her knees and settled them on either side of your head. 

The scent of Thérèse’s sex made you salivate, and your fingers pressed into her hips with anticipation. Delicate pink folds presented themselves to you as she positioned herself above your face, so inviting. 

Her other hand stroked your cheek one once more with her thumb before her fingers delved into your hair and repositioned your head. Then, she lowered herself onto your lips and you immediately opened for her. 

Your tongue ran through smooth silken petals firstly in curiosity, lips wrapped around the warm embrace of her cunt. Her flavour spread into your tongue and your hands pulled her further down against your face. 

Thérèse’s jaw was slack, her arm pressed against the wall in front of her so she could rest her forehead on her forearm. Her body was overcome with pleasure and, initially, she found it hard to do anything but moan and shut her eyes. 

But the moment your tongue became that of a starving mouth rather than a curious one, Thérèse knew she had to start moving.

The pads of her fingers pressed against the back of your head, keeping your mouth against her pussy. She rolled her hips forward and back, nudging her clit against the tip of your nose as your tongue chased her cunt hungrily. Nectar spilled down your cheeks and smeared across your chin. 

“Y/N.” Thérèse breathed your name. She let go of your hair and groped her breast, moaning in jagged rhythm as her rapid breaths meshed with her groans of pleasure. She had never felt such pleasure, and it was entirely sensical that it was you who was the first and only to give it to her. “Keep going, just like that. Don’t stop. You make me feel so good.”

You looked up at Thérèse from beneath her and felt the urge to explore her further. Your tongue dipped into her, into the slippery tang of her sweet nectar, while your one hand let go of her thigh and travelled up the curve of her ass and up her lower back, feeling where it dipped along the contour of her spine.

Her hips continued to roll against your face, thighs tightening around the side of your head as she depended less on the grip of the headboard and further on the stability of your head beneath her. 

Your hand gripped at her waist, thumb pressed into her soft cream skin.

She let out a partially-repressed squeal and let go of the headboard, both hands now gripping your head with her fingers interlaced within your hair. You supported her with your one hand on her waist and your other on the back of her thigh, and Thérèse began grinding down against you with such speed and intensity that you could hardly move your tongue. 

She took charge of her impending release, leaving you to be but an inanimate object she was merely using the tongue of. 

Her fingers pulled your head up, right against her pussy so as to achieve the friction she needed, and you kept your tongue stiff and pliable for her delicate cunt. 

“A-Ah… Y/N.” Thérèse’s voice started to become higher pitched, needier. “I’m…” Her head lolled back and her hair poured down the length of her arched back, her breasts moving in accordance to the rhythm of her hips, her neck becoming exposed. How terribly you wanted to press your lips there, where her skin was warm and smooth and scented of her perfume. 

One of Thérèse’s hands released your hair and suddenly jutted out, her palm meeting the wall as she reached her pleasure’s peak. You could watch from beneath how her eyes squeezed shut and as her head fell forward, jaw slack as she cried out. The sight was almost animalistic in how unrestrained and entirely carnal it was.

In release, she was no longer constrained by the shadowed holds of the shop or Passage du Pont Neuf or even her own personal reservations, but a being so raw in her desire and expression, and entirely without guilt. 

Thérèse’s body suddenly went lax and she leaned backwards, her other arm quick to hold herself up with her palm flat beside your hip. She caught her breath and you finally took your first full one once her cunt parted from your lips. 

In silence and in awe for several moments, you merely watched the rising and falling of her chest as she breathed, deep and drawn-out. 

Carefully so as not to disturb her balance, you arose onto your elbows and allowed Thérèse to adjust herself along your body. She opened her eyes and watched as you moved. She moved along with you so she was soon sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees bent against her chest and her hands behind her, holding herself up. 

You advanced on all fours and parted her legs, kissing up the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She welled with admiration for you as she watched you on your knees in front of her, kissing her hips and her stomach, beneath her breasts, her nipples, her neck. Your kisses became more delicate as they reached her face, one hand cupping her cheek as you kissed up to her temple and then her forehead, and finally, her lips. 

Her elbows buckled when you leaned down beside her and took her with you. She laid herself down beside you so the two of you were laying opposite of the headboard and closest to the fireplace opposite the bed, your eyes meeting tenderly with hers as you stroked her cheekbone with your thumb.

Your other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against you so her hips were pressed against yours, legs intertwined as if in their own entangled dance. 

“I am hopelessly captivated by you.” Your hand moved away from her cheek and into the soft waves of her smooth brown hair. “I’d like to never leave such a state in any foreseeable future.”

Thérèse’s tranquil expression tugged into a slight grin and she moved herself closer so her breasts were pressed against your chest. “You needn’t concern yourself with any such future in which you belong to anyone else but me.” Her gaiety tinged with charming arrogance was incredibly endearing to you.

“Every morning since the beginning of time,” you said, “the sun has risen and it has set.” Thérèse listened intently to the gentle hum of your lullaby-like voice. “And yet books upon books have been written by hand of the many poets with hearts of unfettered lovers dedicated solely to the sun’s rising and its setting, and I presume, for as long as poetry and love are to exist, that this human habit of loving even the most inevitable will stretch into the far reaches of the human future. The inevitability in a future in which I am yours and no one else’s could not, and would not, even if it could, ever cease my desire for its occurrence.”

Thérèse kissed your lips. “How lucky am I to have captured such a woman with as much prowess for the written word as she has within her heart, then.” From her grin, you could feel the evenness of her teeth brush against your lips.

“And you,” you said with a tinge of hesitancy, “foresee a future in which you have in your possession more than only me?”

Thérèse moved up onto her elbow and you kissed the top of her breast as she shifted above you. “In the time that I have known you, which, admittedly, I would say is much shorter than I wish I could say — but we have the rest of time to make up for it — I have come to realise and accept truths about myself that I could not have otherwise, and that is to mean I could not have done so without you.” She brushed hair from your forehead with delicate fingers.

“In any interaction,” Thérèse said, “there exists two irrefutable beings, one being interacting with the other in mutuality. Before you, Y/N, I was neither being nor anything truly existent. I had no form, no sense of myself, no identity. For someone who has no established understanding of who they are, it becomes impossible to have anything important, to value anything or have any possession which is truly theirs. Do you understand, or am I speaking with the tongue of a madwoman?”

“I understand,” you said.

Thérèse smiled. She knew you would. “I am only who I have become because of you.” She kissed the bridge of your nose. “I am as much yours as you are mine. Everything I am is yours, and only yours.”

Then she asked, “Are you happy to own me, Y/N?”

You took her into your arms, pulled her down close so you could kiss her while Thérèse tried her best not to laugh too hard as to disturb the way your soft lips were pressed against hers. 

She curled herself up against you and you held her close to your chest, one arm serving as a rest for her head and the other wrapped around her body. 

“I am the happiest I have ever been,” you told her honestly. 

Thérèse smiled against the warm embrace of your body, laying her head against the cushion of your breasts. She, too, was the happiest she’d ever been.

#thérèse raquin #thérèse raquin x you #thérèse raquin x reader #thérèse raquin x y/n #thérèse raquin fanfiction #thérése raquin smut #in secret #in secret fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

[jayke0]

If oscar hit me with this open-mouthed goldfish kiss, I'd be bricked in two seconds.

#oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac #in secret #the card counter #sucker punch #the promise

[wachinidad]

Robin sabe cosas.

No sabía si hacer esto con Lawlu o Zosan, tal vez haga una segunda versión...

¡OPEN COMMISSIONS! (FANFIC/FANART)

#they are in love #in secret #idiots in love #robin knows everything #trafalgar law #one piece #digital illustration #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital drawing #luffy #i love them #one piece lawlu #lawluffy #law one piece #traflagar law #lawlu fanart #lawlu #lulawlu #monkey d luffy #monkey d. luffy #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar op #trafalgar one piece #torao

[gingiesworld]

Desperate Woman (Kinktober)

Therese Raquin x Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut. Oral (T recieving) Fingering (T recieving)

Taglist: @bababaka @natashaswife4125

18+ MINORS DNI

It was no secret that Therese had hated what her life had become since she was forced the marry Camille at the order of Madam Raquin. Her days working at the shop or looking after a sick Camille all melded into one nightmare. A nightmare that was never ending, so she soon started to seek refuge at a local pub. Especially as she saw a woman stood behind the bar serving drinks whilst she wore trousers and a shirt.

While a lot of women would frown upon her choice of clothing, Therese found herself admiring the woman. Soon remaining at the bar as she remained serving drinks as the weeks went on. Although, the interactions seemed to be one sided but unbeknownst to Therese, she had always had Y/N's attention.

As the weeks went on, Therese couldn't help herself as she approached the bar, waiting on Y/N to turn around and face her. The bar was just closing as the drunk patreons had filtered from the bar.

"Do you need an escort home ma'am?" Y/N asked as she wiped down the oak surface as Therese shook her head no, her lip between her teeth as she started to unbutton her gown.

"I do need your assistance in another way my dear." Therese spoke seductively as Y/N watched her every move. Soon moving to lock the door as to stop any late night wanderers as Therese stripped to her undergarments. "I have had these sinful thoughts for weeks and I can't seem to help myself."

"Madam." Y/N's eyes trailed down the woman's form as she started to shed her undergarments.

"I have tried to imagine your fingers or tongue doing sinful but incredible things." She husked out as she soon stood bare before Y/N in the dimly lit pub. "I have wanted you since the moment I stepped foot inside this pub." She stepped closer as Y/N's eyes trailed over her perky breasts and a perfect shaved pussy. Therese grabbed her hand and held it against one of her breasts, Y/N squeezed it as if on autopilot which caused the two to sigh. The act alone sent Y/N feral as she lunged forwards and kissed the desperate woman hard.

Soon pushing her back against the wall as Y/N's hands wandered, getting to know the map of the ethereal woman's form before her as she kissed her with heated desire. Her dominant hand reached down between the apex of her thighs, the two gasped at the feeling as Y/N ran her fingers through her wet folds. Therese held onto Y/N's shoulders to stablise herself as she squeezed her eyes closed. Her lips becoming unresponsive as Y/N soon moved her kisses to the woman's neck.

Once Y/N had penetrated her with two fingers, Therese moaned wantonly as Y/N manouvered her thigh to wrap around her waist. Giving her the ability to go deeper as she curled her fingers against her g spot. Therese gasped as she felt the immense pleasure as Y/N moved her lips to her collarbone. Biting and sucking on the flesh as Therese was close to the edge.

"I'm going to." She breathed out as Y/N moved her lips back up to Therese's. Sighing as she felt her clench around her digits before she came with a scream of her name. Before Therese could think otherwise, Y/N sunk down onto her knees so she was level with Therese's intimacy, keeping eye contact as she lifted her leg over her shoulder before sge grazed her clit with her teeth before sinking her fingers back inside her puffy, dripping cunt.

"So sexy." Y/N mumbled into her, sending a wave of vibrations through her as she sucked on the woman's clit. Therese scratched Y/N's scalp as she pushed the woman's face impossibly closer to her. Wanting to feel more than she was feeling in that moment. She jumped slightly when she felt Y/N's tongue replace her fingers, exploring inside her as she soon become accustomed to the feeling.

"Oh my." Therese gasped as she felt herself getting embarrassingly closer once more before she soon came over Y/N's tongue. Y/N lapped up every last drop like it was her last meal before she kissed up the woman's body in hopes of calming her down from her high. As soon as she was back on her feet, Therese pulled her in for a sloppy kiss before resting her forehead against the other. "I will be back for more." She whispered breathlessly as Y/N just nodded with a chuckle before she helped Therese get dressed once more before offering to walk her home in the early hours of the morning.

#therese raquin x gn reader #need more therese raquin fics #therese raquin x reader #therese raquin #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen smut #in secret fan fic #in secret

[maximilfisms]

draw me like i'm one of your french girls | thérèse raquin x fem!reader

Summary: Thérèse, trapped in her unwanted marriage to Camille, seeks comfort in Y/N, the talented artist who painted her husband's portrait, in the form of an illicit rendezvous. Or a glimpse on one of those nights where Y/N would sneak into Madame Raquin's shop, fulfill Thérèse's needs, and disappear like ghosts in the air.

Word count: 2k+

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, cheating, semi-public sex? idk, but they almost got caught, bottom!thérèse, top!reader, what's proofreading?, MDNI!

this is my first fic, and i honestly don't even know what i am doing rip

The moonlight shone its faint light to the labyrinthine streets of Paris, where gaslights cast flickering shadows upon the cobblestone alleys, and the whispers of clandestine affairs lingered like the fragrance of aged wine. Thérèse found solace in the hidden corners of a city draped in secrets. The narrow passages, cloaked in the heavy scent of impending rain, and the hushed murmur of distant voices all served as the backdrop for her forbidden love. It was within this maze of dimly lit alleyways, where the echoes of the footsteps of busy Parisians harmonized with the nocturnal symphony of the city, that she navigated the complexities of their entangled destinies.

The bedroom, perched on the second floor of her aunt, Madame Raquin's shop, became their clandestine haven—a sanctuary veiled in heavy drapes, the creaking sighs of weathered floorboards, and the gaslights flickered outside, transforming her marital bedroom into a cocoon where the artistry of their passion unfolded. The ambient glow painted an intimate tapestry upon the walls, revealing the shared vulnerability of two souls seeking refuge in the shadows.

The air itself seemed to hold the whispers of lovers from eras past, a blend of the city's musky perfume and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desire. Thérèse, adorned in the trappings of societal expectations, stood before her woman with a yearning that mirrored the palpable tension of the quiet night. Y/N, the painter with fingers that could evoke emotion from pigments, gazed at Thérèse as if deciphering the poetry etched upon her soul. The dim light filtered through the bedroom's heavy drapes, casting Thérèse's silhouette in a dance of shadows that accentuated the soft curves of her vulnerability, and Y/N, a connoisseur of emotion, observed with an artist's discerning eye—a voyeur capturing the essence of clandestine passion in each subtle movement.

"Draw me like I'm one of your French girls," Thérèse whispered, her voice a soft plea that echoed in the dimly lit room, where their secret unfolded against the backdrop of Paris's clandestine allure.

Y/N, attuned to the nuances of their surroundings, nodded in silent agreement despite the subtle yet genuine smile that graced her lips. The room, a haven shrouded in the mysteries of the night, bore witness to the illicit dance of two souls—a dance painted with the strokes of desire, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of their love.

Y/N's hands moved with purpose, much like the strokes of a brush in a canvas that became an intimate exploration of Thérèse's essence. Her slender fingers brushed Thérèse's shoulders, sliding off the brunette's dress off of it, watching as the fabric fell onto her feet. Y/N's eyes glimmered with sheer affection for the woman, her point finger tracing Thérèse's prominent collarbones, down to her sternum, where the valley's of her breasts lay, waiting to be worshiped.

“You truly are a work of art, mon amour,” The artist whispered as she leaned in to place chaste kisses on her soft neck, and Y/N's hands palmed the supple flesh of Thérèse's breasts, touch as tender as the stroke of an artist's brush. Each caress of the canvas mirrored the unspoken language that flowed between them—the language of love that dared not speak its name in the harsh light of day.

Yet, the threat of discovery loomed above them like a guillotine, sharp and unforgiving. Camille, Thérèse's unsuspecting husband, engaged in games just outside, unaware of the symphony of passion that played out on the shop's second floor, on their marital bed.

"We must be cautious," Thérèse whispered, her eyes darting towards the creaking floorboards below. "Madame Raquin and Camille must not suspect."

Y/N, whose heart beat in rhythm with Thérèse's, nodded solemnly. "Our love is a secret garden, Thérèse, one that flourishes in the shadows but withers in the harsh light of judgment.” She spoke as her hands went to cradle Thérèse's cheeks. “I promise to be careful.”

The bedroom, once a marital sanctuary for Thérèse and Camille, transformed into the backdrop of an illicit affair. The fear of discovery heightened the intensity of their connection, turning stolen kisses into acts of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

Outside, the city's heartbeat continued, oblivious to the symphony of emotions that echoed within the four walls of the bedroom. Thérèse, her heart torn between duty and desire, reached out to Y/N, their fingers entwining in a silent vow that defied the constraints of their reality.

With the air thick of passion, tender affections, and fear, all that had happened went on like a blur. Both women couldn't remember who leaned in first to trap their lips into a fiery but loving embrace, and yet, the flickering candlelight cast an ethereal glow upon their entangled bodies, the shadows playing upon the tapestry of their clandestine love. Y/N dared to speak, to try and use the last of her reason, to attempt at stopping herself despite knowing that she had gone far too deep, but, Thérèse, overcome by the weight of societal expectations, pressed a trembling finger to Y/N's lips, silencing the unspoken fears that lingered between them.

No words were needed as the artist took the initiative and resumed their kiss, her lips brushing against Thérèse's as the bedroom became a cocoon, shielding them from the judgmental eyes of society. The intimacy between them, though a spark in the vast darkness, burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Y/N carefully lay the woman beneath her to the plush bed, hands exploring Thérèse's skin like a caveman threading a path in the unfamiliar wilderness. The tips of her fingertips toyed with Thérèse's hardened nipples, eliciting held back whimpers from the woman laying beneath her.

“Y/N…” Thérèse whispered, but she only gave her woman a smile in response, taking the other nipple to her mouth, and sucking on it like a newborn starved. Thérèse closed her eyes shut, body overwhelmed by the sensations of Y/N's worship, only for those brown orbs to flutter open along with her mouth as two fingers eased their way to her core.

A sly smile tugged in the corners of Y/N's pink lips, gazing up at Thérèse whose pupils were blown wide, and mouth covered with one hand, containing the noises that ought to escape her with each thrust of the artist's long and slender fingers in her tight pussy.

Thérèse's labored breathing, accompanied with the wet sloshing sounds created by her dripping entrance and Y/N's fingers, were the only sounds heard in the stillness of the night. That was before a sudden creaking of the weathered floorboards interrupted the women's intimate bubble, sending shivers down Thérèse's spine. Her eyes widened, but Y/N did not pull back even as her breath was caught in the suspense of the moment. Instead, her fingers only went faster, opting to guide the writhing woman below her to the pinnacle of her high, and the contracting of Thérèse's pussy against her fingers only served as an indication that she was on the right track.

Thérèse struggled to finish the sentence as she held back her moans in between, "Our world would crumble." Y/N hummed in approval as she leaned in to Thérèse's clit, using her tongue to stimulate the woman's bundle of nerves that only made it harder for the latter to control her sounds, more so as she came all over Y/N's face and fingers, legs trembling as the artist's fingers slowed down its thrusts, prolonging the release.

"Quiet, amour," Y/N whispered breathily, a twinge of worry in their voice amidst the obvious arousal. "If Madame Raquin or Camille were to hear—"

The bedroom, though once a haven for marital vows, now bore witness to a love that dared to defy the norms of its time. Thérèse and Y/N, in the quiet moments between heartbeats, exchanged vows that resonated with the soulful ache of a love that existed in the shadows. The night wore on, and with each passing moment, the threat of exposure intensified. Thérèse, torn between the intoxication of love and the fear of societal retribution, felt the weight of their clandestine affair like a stone pressing against her chest. The gaslights outside continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow upon the tangled sheets that bore witness to the stolen moments of Thérèse and Y/N's clandestine affair. The night, though silent, echoed with the lingering whispers of a love that dared to exist in the shadows of the city.

In the quiet aftermath of their shared passion, the room held the remnants of their intimate communion. Thérèse, her senses heightened by the mingling scents of jasmine and musk, traced her fingers along Y/N's bare chest—the contours of a lover and confidante. The air, once heavy with fear, now carried the sweet echo of their shared pleasure. Y/N, eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored Thérèse's, brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You don't know what you do to me, Thérèse," Y/N murmured, their voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. "I hear your voice in my dreams, feel the ghosts of your touch on my body, and crave you like I haven't satiated myself in years."

Thérèse, still lost in the aftermath of their intimacy, met Y/N's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and longing. The world outside, with its judgmental eyes and societal expectations, felt distant—a mere whisper in the night.

"Promise me, Y/N," Thérèse pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that our love will endure, that it will be a persevering flame against the winds of adversity."

Y/N, caressing Thérèse's cheek with a touch that bordered on reverence, responded, "I don't have to promise anything, Thérèse. Like the stars above, I know our hearts will shine even in the darkest nights."

The bedroom, once charged with the tension of secrecy, now cradled the two lovers in a post-coital embrace. Their entangled limbs spoke of a passion that transcended societal norms, a love that flourished in the clandestine corners of their shared existence.

In the silence that followed, Y/N traced circles on Thérèse's skin, each touch a reassurance of their shared vulnerability. The room, steeped in the essence of their intimacy, held the echoes of their whispered promises and the delicate symphony of their love. The shadows, once a cloak for their secret desires, now danced upon the walls like witnesses to a tale written in the language of tender glances and lingering touches.

Thérèse, her senses attuned to the lingering traces of their passion, gazed into Y/N's eyes as if searching for the permanence of their connection. Y/N, the artist who knew how to breathe life into moments, held Thérèse with a gaze that mirrored the profound depth of their shared intimacy.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink, Thérèse and Y/N lay intertwined, bodies and souls entwined in a tapestry of shared vulnerability. The air, now tinged with the promise of a new day, carried the remnants of their intimacy—a scent that lingered like a secret between them.

"Promise me you'll come when I call again," Thérèse pleaded, her gaze locking with Y/N's in a silent pact. "When I need you the most, when I feel my cage even more… promise me you'll come running.”

Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from Thérèse's face, nodded with a smile etched on her face. "I'll be here before you know it."

As the sun rose, casting its golden rays upon the city of Paris, Thérèse and Y/N knew that the world awaited their departure from the intimate cocoon they had woven together. With a final, lingering kiss, Thérèse and Y/N parted ways, slipping into the daylight as if reentering a world that demanded conformity. The bedroom, now silent and empty, held the memories of their stolen moments—a gallery of passion that defied the limitations of societal norms.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #thérèse raquin #therese raquin #wanda maximoff x female reader #smut #in secret #wlw

[melodygatesauthor]

Only thinking of this rn

Nothing like a pathetic man to get the blood flowing

#laurent leclaire #in secret #oscar isaac

[boredzillenial]

Sweet Relief

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

Themes: period sex, f!reader, reader has rough periods, fingering, pinv, a silly amount of whimpering, praise kink in full swing

Word Count: 1.1K

A.N.: this was fully self indulgent while my own uterus was trying to kill me, hope y’all can indulge as well 😘 special thank you to @ominoose for the beta read & encouragement 🥰

You were used to Laurent visiting you almost every night. But it’d been a couple weeks without a word… Worry gnawed at your gut along with wave after wave of pain. Menstruation had never been easy for you and it appeared this month would be no different.

You laid in bed, body too drained of energy to stand let alone work in the shoppe below. Another washed over your stomach and lower back as you heard footsteps approaching the door.

“I already told you I can’t work today.” Your shout twisted to a whimper. A gentle knock wrapped against the wood. “I said -“ your wrecked shout cut short as your gaze landed in the figure in the doorway. “Laurent…”

“Don’t worry I snuck in through the back.” He offered a soft smile as he locked your bedroom door. “Thought this may help.” He set a paper bag down on the edge of the bed.

You shuffled forward with a groan and opened it, “Yarrow… where did you-“

“At the market, though I think the woman who sold it to me was a witch.” He grimaced for a moment before he smirked. “Figured a lock of my hair was a fair trade, she wouldn’t do anything weird with it do you think?” His smirk turned to a grin as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Laurent what if-“ you started to protest before he leaned in again, ending your objection with the soft press of his lips.

“They don’t know I’m here. We’re fine.” He nuzzled your nose with his as he whispered against your lips. “The shoppe is very busy, lots of customers, lots of noise…” his voice trailed off as he kissed down your neck.

“Laurent, please I can’t.” You mewled despite leaning back and uncurling yourself. “It hurts.”

He adjusted, hovering his body over yours “Let me help.” He whispered against your neck as his kisses trailed back up to your lips. A groan grew in your throat, another wave of discomfort washed over. Laurent swallowed the sound slowly, tenderly. “Just trust me.”

You nodded against his lips and laid back fully against the mattress. “Sorry for the -“

“Do not,” Laurent’s voice was low and stern, “don’t you dare apologize.” He nipped your lip and slowly grazed his hand down your stomach, sliding beneath your undergarments.

His fingers circled your clit softly, pulling a whimper from you. “How’s that?” He murmured, you bit your lip and nodded in response. He leaned forward and slotted his mouth against yours again as his touch grew rougher against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

He swallowed another one of your pitiful sounds with a smile as you reached for his wrist. “Ah my love please-“ he shook his head and dipped his tongue into your mouth as his pace quickened. Before you knew it you reached your peak as you clung onto him. The euphoria washed away the painful grip your uterus held you in. “Thank you, thank you.” You groaned as you reveled in the relief.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not finished with you.” He nipped your lip with a mischievous grin as he pulled away. He picked through the pile of spare linens you had stored away for your monthly intrusion and wiped his hand clean. He picked through again and grabbed a dark thick towel, “Lift.” He instructed softly as he laid the towel under you. “Now undress…”

Anxiety roiled in your gut while you removed your garments and laid bare before him. “I’m already a mess, if we get caught…”

“We won’t - the door is locked, the shoppe is busy, and you’ve plenty of linen for us to clean up after.” He smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head, the light from your window highlighting his toned tan chest. “You my dear, are out of excuses.” His trousers dropped with a soft thud.

You sighed, he had a talent with removing your feeble reasoning. He always had from the moment you met and he made his first advances. In all the nights you’ve spent tangled together the sight of him throbbing for you never ceased to excite you.

“Now just let me do the work, I intend to draw as much pleasure from you as you can take.“ he shifted onto the bed, lining up his fat tip with your soaked folds. “Deep breath darling.” He coos as he sunk slowly into you. You winced at the stretch of him as the pleasure from your first orgasm faded and pain crept back into your belly. “I know I know, you’re doing so well.” He encouraged as he sunk to the hilt and pressed his body against yours. “I’m sorry I’ve been away - fuck, you’ve gotten so tight.” He groaned.

Your soft whimpers filled his ears as he slowly rolled his hips. “Shhh shhh, just breathe.” He sunk as deep as he could go, his soft curls pressed against your clit. He kissed across your neck and shoulder as his hips churned.

You pressed your lips against his shoulder to stifle a groan. Another wave of pain mixed with the pleasure building from his fluid motions. The fullness of having him fully seated along with the curls along his pelvis pressed against your clit sent you reeling.

You arched, your body plastered against his as he continued his motions. He smiled down at you and quickened his pace. His forehead against yours, carefully watching for any serious signs of pain. “How’s this.” His murmured and pressed harder against you.

Your brow furrowed as you held his gaze. “Good, so good.” You whimpered, the pleasure the pressure brought overwhelmed all other sensations in your exhausted body.

His tender gaze remained locked on every expression as he continued to chase away your pain. “Cum for me darling. I need you to feel good again.” He panted.

That familiar pressure built in your belly as his thrusts continued. His embrace tightened as he felt you tighten. “That’s it, right there.” His hand snaked up behind your neck. You hadn’t realized what his aim was until your climax washed over you, instinctively you bit down on his shoulder. He winced and hissed against the pain but the feeling of your channel fluttering around him sent him over the edge.

There you laid together, whimpering, sweaty, smiling messes as the afterglow washed over. You spent the rest of the afternoon like that. You, handling the waves of pain as best you could. And Laurent, doing his best to take your mind off them with mischievous smiles, his hands, and his cock.

—————-

Y’all I am SO SORRY this took so long to put out but I hope y’all enjoyed it!

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#laurent #laurent leclaire #in secret #Laurent X female reader #Laurent LeClaire X reader

[natashaslittlegirl]

Secrets - Thérèse Raquin

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI +18 ONLY.

Summary: Thérèse, you sister-in-law, always had a crush on you, one night she told you her little secret.

Innocent!Thérèse Raquin x Reader

Smut, top!reader, bottom!Thérèse, masturbation (T), dirty talk, dub-con (kind of?), vaginal fingering (both), thigh riding (T), finger sucking (both), praise kink, oral sex (T to R), overstimulation, squirting (T).

Words Count: 2400+

Wattpad Masterlist Elizabeth Olsen's Masterlist

.

You were in your room reading a book placidly, drinking herbal tea while you enjoyed your husband's trip out of town, you had never liked him anyway, rather, his sister. Your sister-in-law was the one you liked, but they would burned alive knowing that you liked a woman, for everyone it was a sin, for you the purest thing in the world, but those are just opinions.

Someone knocked on your door, so you put down the poetry book and got up to open it, cursing the dress you had to wear, why so many layers of clothes? it was very uncomfortable.

"Coming" you said before opening, "Oh, Thérèse, come in." the brunette entered, she looked beautiful today, with her white dress with brown details and her loose wavy hair.

"Hi, I wanted to know if you, if you wanted..." she bit her lip, nervous at your presence.

"If I want what, darling?" You gave her a warm look, you loved how nervous she got, you enjoyed it a lot.

"If you wanted us to drink my brother's whiskey tonight, taking advantage of the fact that he's gone for a few days and you know we're not allowed to drink, it's to take advantage of the fact that the men aren't here and I-" you silenced her babbling by putting your index finger on his soft pink lips.

"Of course, dear, come here at eleven, when everyone else is sleeping." She looked at you from below, being taller than her, what made you think of how frustrated you always left her.

"Okay, I'll see you later." Just like that, she walked out the door and you kept drinking your tea, thinking of all the ways you wanted to take Thérèse.

It was about to show eleven on the clock when two knocks resounded on the door, without asking you let the brunette in, who slipped in with a candle and a giant bottle of whiskey in her hands.

"Oh" she pant, "I thought someone would see me." she said as she took a deep breath, touching her chest with one hand.

"Don't be silly, Thérèse, they've all slept since seven." you giggled, taking the bottle from her hand to sit on the bed, inviting her to do the same.

The brunette walked slowly to sit on the bed next to you, settling down a few inches from you. This was one of the times that she got so nervous spending time with you, it's not like you didn't know each other or anything, you already spent several afternoons together, cooking, sewing, washing and doing all the housewife things. But this time is different, because she came with the idea of telling you her secret, one that she kept for months and you were involved.

"Mhm this is delicious." you said purring after taking a drink of the yellowish liquid, feeling how it burned your throat but at the same time you loved it.

You passed the bottle to Thérèse, imitating you, she let the liquor down her throat, grunting at the burn.

"Oh, you're right, it burns though." she said shyly but your smile made her feel welcome.

You continued to drink, until you reached half the bottle, both now were tipsy, laughing not too loud so that the others wouldn't wake up. You had adjusted your dress, revealing your perfectly shaped legs, which your sister-in-law could not take her eyes off.

"Oh, that was a good anecdote indeed!" She said laughing while you drank another bit of the alcohol.

"Yes, one of the best," you licked your lips, feeling a drop trickle down your chin.

"Let me," she moved closer to you, her thumb catching the drop and bringing it to her own lips, moaning at the taste.

"Tell me a secret." You told her, your look was serious, but only because the simple act of her sucking her finger had turned you on.

"I have a really good one," Thérèse was no longer nervous, the alcohol had vanished her inhibitions, "do you remember that day you went out to hang your clothes on the ropes, that later you told me that in the heat you had taken off your dress because it was it wet?"

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, you didn't understand what she meant by that day, what could there be about that day? Oh.

"Huh? And what happened that day?" you played innocent.

"Well, I was in the bushes, looking at some flowers and well, you've always seemed so beautiful to me, like no man has and like no other woman." your eyes wide "And I started to feel a tingling in my lower abdomen, the one we're supposed to feel when we're with men."

Thérèse told you this without a drop of shyness, which you appreciated since she was very inhibited, you waited for this for a long time.

"So I lowered my hips and squeezed my thighs, then I started to moved against the ground, and then my hand and,"

"Thérèse..." you sighed.

"I did that thinking of you." she said, blushing a little, her dark eyes shining with the firelight, "Actually, I had this same dress on."

"Oh yeah?" she nodded, "okay, show me, cause I can't understand you with words, darling" her eyes widened, she didn't expect this.

"S-show you w-what?" she said in a whisper, a little blush appeared in her cheeks again.

"How you touched yourself for me." you moved closer to her to bring your hands behind her, unbuttoning her piece of clothing to remove it.

Thérèse obediently lifted her arms, leaving her alone in her white nightgown. She had taken her shoes off to get on the bed.

"Lean your back against the wall," she did as you told her "now, bend your legs and spread them."

"Like that?" she said in a whisper again, showing you her position as she grabs the hem of her nightgown to lift it up and leave it and coiled on her hips.

You watched as she slowly exposed her legs, to then realize that she was not wearing panties, her arousal glistening between her thighs.

"Yes, like that, darling." you bit the inside of your cheek "now show me." Thérèse slowly moved her hips as she lowered her hand to her clit, brushing lightly against it and shuddering at the contact.

She ran her fingers freely over her wet core, as if she knew the path by heart. She e started to rub her clit a little faster your eyes couldn't take off her fingers.

"Don't oppress the sweet sounds you make, I want to hear you, dear." you had to fight the urge to rail her right there.

Thérèse let out little moans from hers lips, almost inaudible, but you would get more of it out of her later. One finger entered her and a growl tore from her throat, you had to clench your thighs, because this was all too exciting.

"You like that? You like to think that it's me who's touching you and not just your silly little fingers?" your husky voice resounded in her ears.

"Yes," she moaned as she thrust another finger inside.

"Do you want me to touch you like that, darling?" you lean over her, your face was just centimeters apart, you could feel her hot breath crashing you.

"We can't."

"Oh but we can, no one has to know," you brushed against her lips as you looked down at her body "It'll be our little secret." she looked at you with pleading eyes.

"What if someone finds out?" She was doubting, you couldn't stand it. You pressed her lower lip with your thumb.

"No one is gonna find out if you don't open that little pretty mouth of yours." you pressed your knee to her wet cunt, making her moan.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone, I promise." you pressed harder.

"Good girl, I know you were  going to be such a good girl, aren't you?" she nod desperately. "Are you gonna let me help you?"

"Yes please." she breath out as you keep pressing your knee on her.

"Move your hips to me, baby."

She began to rock her hips, grinding on your thigh and you felt her wetness from her soaking you. You know she was close, she was so worked up before you could even touch her.

"Let me know when you're close, darling." you wanted to frustrate her, to make her beg you to touch her.

"I- I'm close." she whispered in your ear.

"We're gonna do this my way, okay?" she nodded eagerly, she did not care, she wanted her release.

You moved your knee from her, leaving her rocking to nothing and before she could protest you pushed two fingers inside her mouth from her.

"Do you want to touch me too, don't you darling?" she nod, "you're gonna be good for me and make me feel good so I can make you feel good later."

You took your fingers out of her mouth covered in saliva and sat by her side with your back to the wall, you lifted your dress leaving it coiled on your hips just like her.

"Come here," you pointed in front of you as Thérèse positioned herself kneeled between your legs "I'm gonna tell you what you have to do okay?" she nod "Now put your head between my thighs."

She did as you told, leaning over you wet cunt, that was already dripping.

"You're so wet." Her hot breath crashed with your sensitive skin, sending a shiver through your spine.

"It's all for you, not even your brother can wet me like that, just you, darling." you confessed her, it was the truth, you never wanted her brother, you always wanted her.

"What do I have to do?" she looked at you, so thirsty and hungrily.

"Lick me." you lips were part as you sighd for air.

Thérèse stick out her tongue to lick the entire length of your pussy, her inexperienced turned you one, now she can be your little fucktoy, to teach her the way you like to be fuck, how and when, she's all you ever wanted.

"Now suck there," you pointed your clit, "Mhm yes, just like that, darling." you praised her and saw how she shiver at that.

She sucked and licked you with such devotion, making you weter. Your hand went to her hair, gently pulling it to you, her nose rubbing your clit as her tongue was circling your entrance.

"Yes baby, so good, now put two fingers inside, just like you did with you, okay?" you were desperate at this point, she was pretty slow to your like, but you know she would learn fast.

Thérèse enter two fingers inside you shyly, asking herself if that was okay, but she kept going in and out of you.

"Is this good?" she finally asked you, looking at you with her mouth covered in your juices, making her prettier if that was possible.

"Yes, dear, so good, your brother couldn't do that to me, not even me." she smirked proudly going faster because of her confidence.

Your head fell back, hitting the wall letting out a groan at the hit. You rock you hips at her hand, reaching another sweet spot inside you.

"Oh fuck, Thérèse?" you looked back at her.

"Yes?"

"Curl them." she furrowed her eyebrows and you make the movement with your own fingers, "fucking god, yes, like that, keep going."

You felt your walls clenching around her, you were so close, she was pretty good to be the first time she touched a women.

"I'm gonna cum, darling, suck as you did before." you told her and she went directly to your clit.

You couldn't take it the pressure on your lower stomach anymore and cummed all over her fingers, she took them out and move her head to rest it on your thigh. You were recovering, panting for air with your lips part letting out little whimpers.

"You did so good, Thérèse," you hand caresses her cheek, "give me your hand."

You hold her wrist, taking the wet fingers to your lips, licking them clean, sucking and swirling your tongue between them, she moaned at the sensation.

"Now come here," you pat your lap for her to straddle it, she was now sitting on top of you. "I'm gonna make you feel good, is that okay?"

"Yes, please, Y/N," she practically begged you.

""Mhm are you frustrated?" your hand was running her thigh, noticing the goosebumps in her skin.

"Yes,"

"And you want me to touch you like you did?" you cupped her pussy, feeling her wetness.

"Please," she grind on your hand, searching for some friction.

You shove two fingers inside her, but not moving them, watching her growing desperate.

"Ride them." you bit your lip as Thérèse began to move against your hand, her clit was rubbing with your palm.

You had to put your hand on her mouth because of her loud moans. You curled your fingers and she rolled her eyes, she'd never felt thay kind of pleasure.

You started to meet her thrust, going harder on her, looking at the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She was so overwhelmed. Her walls clenched around your fingers, knowing that she's gonna cum in any time. She looked at you with pleading eyes and you nod, giving her permission to cum.

She explode in your hand, feeling more wetness dripping onto your thighs, squirting all over you as you kept working through her climax. She opened her eyes wide as you still move your fingers.

You took your hand out of her mouth to claim her lips, a rough yet passionte kiss started, she kissed you a little sloppy because of her fuzzy state of mind. Pushing her to another orgasm, she was trembling on top of you, squeezing her thighs as you rub her clit with your thumb. Separating for the lack of air, she felt on you tired, she never felt this and now she wanted more.

"You did so good, darling." you take your fingers out of her, liking them again.

"I like our secret." she giggled.

"I do too." you were stroking her hair, "You know, I saw you that day, that's why I stay there, for you to see me." She opened her eyes wide.

"Y-you saw m-me?" she tried to cover herself.

"Yes, and I loved every second."

#therese raquin #therese raquin smut #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen smut #wanda maximoff smut #lizzie olsen #in secret #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen gifs #elizabeth olsen imagine

[reyolivier]

#macro

#nature #naturerey #naturephotography #natur #naturelovers #macrophotography #macros #macro #insecte #insects #in secret #papillon #buterfly

[paper-n-ashes]

Oscar Isaac as Laurent LeClaire

IN SECRET (2013)

#laurent leclaire #oscar isaac #in secret #oisaacedit #ashesgifs #filmedit

[wndaswife]

do i own you?

「 Thérèse Raquin x gn!Reader 」

Tags: smut, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, tribbing, praise, sub!thérèse raquin, dom!afab!reader. MINORS DNI.

Word count: 6563

Summary: As Madame Raquin searches for suitors for her niece, you claim Thérèse as your own before she is paired with another.

The sun beamed down on Passage du Pont Neuf and blanketed the narrow passageway in a dense humidity. 

You walked through the almost-bustling flow of people, eyes darting around at the small shops on either side of the stony path. It’s been three years since Thérèse moved away from the countryside, away from Vernon and into the city.

Fortunately, you didn’t live very far from Madame’s haberdashery, which was also the Raquin family’s new place of residence, meaning that you didn’t have to stop visiting Thérèse as often as you did when they lived in the country. You helped them unpack their things and go shopping for supplies, went on walks with Thérèse and explored much of Paris together.

You felt that perhaps you’d gotten even closer with her since they moved, if that was possible given that you’d known her family since childhood, because there was so much more freedom in Paris. 

When visiting, which was every day of the week besides Tuesday when you worked overtime, you’d arrive just after work in the late afternoon and take strolls with Thérèse every evening before you left. On your days off from work, you’d arrive just before the haberdashery opened and stayed until the moment after Thérèse fell asleep, listening to you read to her cuddled up by your side in her bed. 

It was always a great pain to part from her, especially when you brought her blankets up to her chin once she fell asleep and kissed her forehead on those days off, but you took solace in the fact that you’d always see her the next day, whereas if it was Monday you’d see her in two days, which was even more agonising.

Upon entry to the shop, Madame promptly led you to the kitchen where she sat you down across Thérèse and filled your plate with fruit and bread with marmalade. You looked up at Thérèse, who seemed particularly irritated. Your lips parted to whisper over to her before Madame interjected.

“Y/N, you’re rather involved in your place of work,” she began. “Are there any… worthy suitors you know of? They could come to our Thursday games, have them introduced to our dear Thérèse.”

Thérèse huffed in vexation, “Madame, do not involve Y/N, please.”

The older woman only laughed, seeing in her young niece’s expression that she was only bashful when she was instead rather exasperated. She was an innocent girl in her eyes, after all, virginal-pure and timid. 

“I am only looking out for you, Thérèse,” she teased. “Besides, you’ve come of marriageable age and you mustn’t wait even another year to find a proper suitor; a man’s attraction for women tends to decline once they become older than twenty-one, and I want to ensure a good life for my niece.”

Your childhood friend looked up at you from her half-eaten toast. A faint humoured grin formed on her lips as you exchanged an unamused look between each other. She took the last bite of her food then stood up from the table. 

“I think I ought to discuss this with Y/N in private,” she said and rounded the table to you. She looped an arm around yours and lifted you from your seat. 

Madame protested, encouraging you to finish your food before you left, but Thérèse whisked you away and up the stairs, finally locking the two of you in her bedroom.

She sighed out and immediately began dressing down to her corset and petticoat. Her constrictive clothes dropped to the floor and she fell forward onto her bed. 

“Do you have any suitors in mind?” she asked, looking over at you and grinning playfully. She laid onto her back, stretching her arms back and rolling onto her side to look at you. 

She got up and crawled over to you as you stood at the opposite edge of the bed. She got onto her knees, straightening so she could kneel in front of you and face you. She tugged at the collar of your blouse.

“I’m a young woman, Y/N, my womb is ready to bring forth an abundance of fruit, my hips are of an appropriate child-bearing width,” she continued to tease. “You must help me find a fine man to cultivate my youth.”

Finally you gave in despite the weariness you felt about Madame selling Thérèse off into marriage. “I shall search for one with urgent haste, my lady,” you jested, “for your beauty should melt away the very moment you turn twenty-two.”

Thérèse giggled and she pulled you down onto her. You fell forward onto her bed, Thérèse laughing against your chest as she forced you to lay down. Your legs hung off the bed and you laid on your back beside her. She held her head up with her cheek in her palm, knees brought up so they pressed against your thigh. 

Her long brown hair spilled down her arms, her soft skin dusted lightly in freckles and beauty marks. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her full lips pulled into a spirited grin. Eyes the shade of moss and moldavites and sparkling with girlish innocence looked down at you.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked more seriously. 

You shrugged. “I can’t imagine you married.”

She laid down, her head resting on your chest. “I can,” she said.

Your hand came up to her hair and you ran your fingers through it softly. “Truly?” 

“But not the way Madame envisions it,” she elaborated. “It’d be something different, with someone I desire to be with.”

“Do you think such a marriage is possible?” you inquired.

Thérèse rose from your body, arms laid against your chest. She laid her head back down, her cheek squished against her hand. “I think love and intimacy are always much closer than they appear,” she answered. 

The next day, a Thursday, you head to the evening game at the Raquin household with your coworker Laurent, who was also a mutual friend of Camille.

Earlier, you’d accidentally mentioned that a woman you knew was in pursuit of a suitor for her niece. It was mid-conversation and a minor detail brought up only to prove a greater point, but Laurent, ever the gluttonous woman-thirsty animal, hooked onto the mention of Thérèse.

That was how you found yourself standing in front of Madame’s haberdashery, responding to a dimwitted Laurent’s questions about Thérèse with disinterested sighs and nods. 

“You’ve been friends with the young woman for an amount of time,” said Laurent. He turned to you, hands in his pocket and looking like an ill-mannered hound. “Would you say she knows well how to pleasure a man?”

You nearly knocked him and his lopsided smile off the stone steps had it not been for Thérèse’s cousin opening the front door for the both of you. 

“Laurent!” he cheered, completely disregarding you at the sight of his friend as a man with a childlike mental capacity would. “Come in.”

You liked Camille enough to be civil, you truly did, but he had a habit of embracing horrid men like Laurent, patting them on the back and introducing them to his mother and such. He was like that, and though an underdeveloped child even in mentality, you couldn’t help but despise him, especially as you watched him help the dark-haired dunce with his jacket.

Camille wrapped an arm around the wretched man and escorted him inside. He was introduced to Madame while you took your coat off.

Thérèse looked through the huddle of people at you, smiling excitedly at your arrival. Then Camille ushered Laurent forward and a shadow of uncertainty and timidity was cast over her face.

There was an exchange between them that you did not listen to. Thérèse was led into the dining room with his hand on her lower back though she was the one who resided in the shop while he did not, and Madame thanked you for bringing home such a lovely man.

She didn’t often play dominoes with the rest of the guests, often sitting to the side and playing the role of the silent host serving tea and biscuits, opening and closing the window at the guests’ word, but tonight Thérèse played alongside Laurent. 

It was a ghastly sight, seeing her behave as his delicate wife who sat beside him, giggling at his jokes and sitting compliantly while he touched her and bathed her in compliments. 

She always beat you at the games the two of you played — chess, poker, dominoes, any game the two of you could get your hands on in the cherished privacy of her bedroom, she’d beaten you in.

That goddamned Laurent didn’t know a single thing about how she advanced her knights first and bishops last or about how she maintained a terrifyingly impeccable poker face during card games.

No one but you had ever seen her play until now and even her best gameplay of the evening was seen as complementary to Laurent’s, who praised her as if she was a child with beginner’s luck. 

You felt like storming out of the dining room each time you were subjected to the sound of his patronising.

‘Well done, Thérèse!’ he’d say. ‘What a clever little woman you are.’

Then he’d squeeze her shoulder, rub his thumb against her sleeve and Thérèse would laugh, seemingly delighted by his superficial praise.  

By the time the game had progressed nearly an hour into the evening, you could no longer tell if Thérèse’s reaction to the painfully tragic man was an act to appease her aunt. It all seemed rather convincing.

You were bitter throughout the rest of the night, feeling unconcerned with whether or not you won any of the games and refusing to laugh at any of the jokes told around the table, especially Laurent’s, whose jokes you found extraordinarily unamusing.

Caught up in the debilitating clutches of jealousy, you hadn’t noticed how Thérèse watched you from across the table. At one point she bumped her foot against your ankle, hoping to get your attention and have you meet her eyes. But you continued with the game without even so much as a glance in her direction and Thérèse felt that you were ignoring her.

Finally, the night came to an end.

It felt overdue, the same joke being told every other minute, the same boisterous laugh from Laurent and the same flattered smile from Thérèse throughout the evening.

You were preparing to leave when she ducked out of the dining room. She approached you from behind, hands rounding your head to cover your eyes with her palms. 

In a gruff voice meant to resemble a particular man, she said, “Thank you kindly for inviting me, Y/N. I would adore it if you would see me out.”

She uncovered your eyes and stepped beside you.

“Not a satisfactory impression?” she asked at the sight of your unimpressed face. “I thought it to be rather exact.”

When you only glared at her as you continued to pack your things, Thérèse straightened, a more serious expression forming on her features. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you answered.

“You seemed upset during the game,” she told you. “There is no point to be so upset over losing, Y/N. I’ve bested you countless times before.” 

Her continued teasing made you twitch. 

You looked behind your shoulder at the busy huddle of guests in the dining room, still cleaning the sprawl of dominoes and cups of tea on the table. 

Then you wrapped your arm around Thérèse’s forearm, fingernails digging through her sleeve and into her skin, making her wince. She stuttered, perhaps choosing between expressing concern or hissing something argumentative. Her eyes darted over to the dining room as you dragged her towards the metal staircase and chose to do neither.

You pushed her into her bedroom and she massaged her sore forearm as you shut the door behind you.

“What has gotten into you?” she bit.

Stepping in front of her, you snapped, “You were trying to vex me.”

Thérèse’s face contorted into sheer confusion. “What are you going on about?” she questioned. “How might’ve I angered you?”

“Do not pretend that you cannot recall the way you giggled like a schoolgirl at Laurent and his horrid jests — some of which were at your expense,” you reminded her. “Were they really so hilarious?”

You scoffed and paced around her bedroom, arms crossed in front of your chest. “Oh, touching you as if he meant to undress you right there at the dining table, how I watched the way you rejected his touch not even once.”

Thérèse watched you as you treaded the wooden floors of her bedroom, fingers tapping against your upper arm as you went mad with your recollections of Laurent. “I was expected to predispose his attraction to me and conciliate Madame’s hopes for his future as my suitor,” she explained.

“When have you ever concerned yourself with what she wants for you to do or not do?” 

“Whose instruction shall I obey then, if not Madame’s?” she inquired rhetorically. “My own?”

You turned and stopped your pacing in front of her, your faces mere inches apart. “Mine,” you answered sternly.

She looked up at you and you caught a dim hint of defiance daring herself to oppose you in her eyes. “And if that were to be plausible, what would your first instruction be, Y/N?” she asked, though her inquiry seemed more of a mockery than sincere curiosity.

For a moment it was only the sound of your heartbeat that filled your ears and the faint wavering of Thérèse’s breath. But you didn’t give yourself enough time to hear if her breath was indeed catching in her throat, for you raised your hand to her face and wrapped your fingers around her jaw, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

You shoved her backwards, fingernails prodding painfully into her skin. Then you met your lips with her own. It was a frenzied kiss; teeth knocking against each other, bottom lips nipped on, lips crashing against each other, mouths were warmed with each other’s breaths as you both panted out in desperation for more contact.

She made haste in unbuttoning her dress, nearly ripping three right out from their stitching as she tore her blouse open. You dove down into her breasts, kissing the soft swells as you undid her corset and freed her from her confines of her garments.

Your fingers looped around the collar of her slip underneath her corset while Thérèse quickly slid her arms out of her dress. She pushed her undone corset down her hips and walked forward into you, stepping out of her skirts. 

Her slip came off next, pulled over her head and snagging on the ribbon that tied her hair up. Long brown curls spilled down her arms and you wrapped your hands around her waist, squeezing her and pushing her backwards. 

A hand was placed on her shoulder and you pushed her down onto her bed. She crawled backwards and her arms buckled a handful of times as she became racked with the desperation to lay under you. The maddened kiss ceased not even for a moment as you climbed on top of her until she was sprawled vertically amongst the mess of her bed sheets.

She was bare aside from her underwear and you trailed kisses up the valley of her breasts, kneading one in your hand with your other arm looped around her waist, arching her body up against yours. 

Thérèse moaned, quiet and soft as she succumbed easily to your touch, her head lolled back onto her pillow. 

The very sound of her pleasure drove you mad.

Your every sense was filled with Thérèse, your boundless desire made your veins pulse for her, your every instinct lit aflame with her scent, the feel of her soft skin, the sound of her moans, the sight of her parted lips and the pink of her tongue.

Thérèse.

The body you’d embraced and decorated with kisses, the voice you’d favoured since childhood, the eyes you’d adored, the long hair you’ve braided and tucked flowers into, the soft ivory skin you loved to accidentally brush your knuckles against. 

Thérèse.

She gasped and her eyes fluttered open when your lips found her neck and sucked at her pulse, your greed surging when she began undressing you with clumsy hands.

Your body moved in accordance with the way Thérèse tugged your clothes off. She pushed your bottoms off your legs with her feet and kicked them onto the floor before pulling your blouse over your head.

Immediately after she tossed your blouse onto her bedroom floor, you cupped her cheek with your hand and kissed the side of her head, your face buried in her sweet-smelling hair. You pressed kisses against her temple, her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her full lips. Your kisses lowered along the slope of her jaw, nipping at her skin and making Thérèse sigh.

She wrapped her arms around your waist and ran her hands up your back. She felt with her fingers the way your shoulder blades moved with your shifting weight as you held yourself above her.

“I want to touch you,” you said, raising your head and meeting her eyes. 

“Indulging in the pleasures of the flesh outside of marriage,” she whispered. “It is selfish.”

Years ago in Vernon when the both of you were only children, Madame would tutor Thérèse at home. She would teach her of the way proper girls were expected to behave, the expectations her niece was meant to fulfil while living under her roof. 

There were times even after completing your afternoon chores and travelling from your own home to theirs on foot that Thérèse still wouldn’t have finished with her lessons. 

You’d sit by their front door, listening to the chirps of cicadas and the distant call of the Seine’s currents which were perhaps only in your head for the river was always so still it seemed stagnant. But the longer you listened to Thérèse’s dutiful repetition of her aunt’s teachings and heard the turning pages of the book in her hand, the more animated those sunny afternoons became.

Your thrumming desire to have Thérèse finally step out of that sluggish little living room and pull you up by your hand to finally join you under the beaming Parisian sun only grew as you watched the swaying of the trees and listened to the sounds of the summer from the tomato garden under her living room window.

Sometimes you had nothing else to do but listen to Madame’s teachings.

‘Keep quiet — don’t make a sound,’ she’d instruct, for obedient girls were demure and without passion, free of any temptation that averted their focus from household chores and self-discipline.

After Thérèse reached her twelfth birthday, Madame began to reiterate one teaching remarkably more than she did the others though at the time the words held very little significance: It is selfish to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh outside of marriage.

When she finally finished with her lessons she’d come forth from the shadows of her home and reach down to take your hand as she always would. She’d lift you from the grass and the two of you would run towards the Seine, not because either of you were in any particular rush, and there were many times where you’d only walked with her to the river, but some days you ran.

It always sent her into a fit of giggles when you’d crash down into any grassy meadow by the water together, limbs sprawled out every which way, entangling your bodies together in a wild embrace within the gently-swaying flowers of the summer pastures.

Thérèse was the green of the grass and the beaming rays of the yellow-white sun, she was the rays of sunshine that warmed your feet and fingertips when you outstretched your arms and legs, she was the gentle summer breeze.

“You can be selfish with me, Thérèse,” you told her. “I will give you all that you need, even your most selfish desires. I will offer myself to you, my time and my life. Be selfish with me. Take me for your pleasure, for your entertainment. I am all yours.”

Then you added, “In any case, marriage is the conjoining of hearts and souls. Is this, not in every way, marriage?”

When you leaned down to kiss Thérèse’s temple, she cupped your cheek and had you meet her eyes again. Her focus on you was undivided and deliberate. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you, Y/N,” she confessed. 

She kissed your lips without haste or desperation, but with sincere affection, an act of love.

“I have always held you close to my heart,” she said when she pulled away, your forehead pressed against yours and her eyes still pinned on your parted lips. “You are the most important person in my life. I do not know how to tell you with enough words the way you make me feel, the future I want with you.”

Her head laid back down onto her pillow and she looked into your eyes, either anticipating or searching for an answer from you.

“We need not utter even a word, my Thérèse,” you whispered and kissed her forehead.

Madame had always instilled it into her niece to be a soundless girl, raising her into a life of restriction. She intended to shape a virtuous woman who was a pristine image of submission and purity that way, but succeeded only in showing Thérèse another way of love.

Love had been planted and grown its roots between you and her though the two of you could not often find the words to express how dearly you meant to one another nor you in telling Thérèse all those years ago how you would wait hours if needed in front of the Raquin household in the sweltering heat simply to be with her after her lessons instead of the mere several minutes she’d supposed you been there waiting.

In the warm embraces of love, you stayed with Thérèse nearly every night until she fell asleep and parted with a kiss to her sleeping face. She shared with you secrets and passions that were reserved for your ears only, dreams of living far away and hopes for a different life. 

Though it was the first time words of devout affection had ever been exchanged, it was certainly not the first time either of you had confessed your love.

You sat up from Thérèse’s body, looking down at the way she was sprawled out below you, delicate and vulnerable and completely bare. 

Gentle hands ran up and squeezed her sides. Your thumbs flicked at her nipples until they hardened and Thérèse whimpered. She held your wrists while you ran your hands back down to her hips. 

Her breath hitched when your fingers looped around the band of her underwear.

You met her eyes and she looked back at you with confidence, a familiar boldness that made her green eyes glisten when she was poking fun at you or only a card or two away from beating you in poker. She squeezed your wrist then let go of you, fingers delving into the mess of the bed sheets below her. 

A kiss was pressed to her lower stomach and you looked up at her from between her hips. Wasting no time due to both your desperation to touch her and desire to bring her pleasure, you pulled her underwear down her thighs and unhooked it from her ankles. 

Thérèse reached a hand down and cupped your cheek, her fingers lacing into your hair. You parted her legs with your palms against her inner thighs and revealed her wet cunt. 

She seemed particularly nervous at this point, her bottom lip taken between her teeth and her fingers trembling against the side of your head.

You looked at her, regarding her anxiety with a supportive smile. Then you moved forward and pressed a kiss to her pussy. Her hips jerked and she exhaled sharply through her nose. Your tongue darted out from beyond your lips to lick her juices from your mouth.

She watched while you ducked your head down and raised your hand to her pussy. Two fingers parted her folds to reveal her glistening hole and Thérèse’s head lolled to the side, a breathy moan escaping her. She squeezed around nothing, her back arching and her hips bucking irregularly. 

The two fingers that were nestled within her sticky folds travelled upwards, further until the curve between your middle and index finger came into contact with her clit. Your wrist pushed forward and your palm pressed up against her pussy. 

“Oh my,” Thérèse gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

Delicate folds squelched against your hand and her fingers tightened around your hair as she moaned shakily. You closed the space between your two digits and squeezed her clit gently. The heel of your hand ground against her while you kept in mind not to apply too much pressure.

Your hand parted from her, sticky strings of her slick connecting to your hand and fingers. With a squeeze to her thigh, you brought her eyes back down to you and made her watch as you lapped up her juices, moaning at her flavour and keeping your eyes on hers.

“You taste incredible,” you told her. She blushed and hid her face from you momentarily with the back of her hand, pretending that she was pushing her hair back.

When you cleaned your hand of her cum with a gluttony that made Thérèse shiver, you ran your tongue up her cunt and she let out a long moan, her stomach tightening and her body arching from the bed. She grasped at the bed sheets with one hand and your hair with the other.

You wrapped your lips around her clit and with the pads of three fingers, rubbed circles against her pussy.

Thérèse placed both her hands on your shoulders, squeezing encouragingly. “I like that,” she sighed. You looked up at her face from between her thighs and darted your tongue into her opening. Your nose nudged at her clit while you ran your tongue through her walls.

She scratched at your shoulders and nodded rapidly. “There, there, there!” she blabbered. “Goodness, that feels…”

You reached one hand up and groped at her breast, massaging the soft swell and releasing periodically to tug at her nipple or switch to the other. With your hand no longer holding both of her thighs apart, Thérèse closed her thighs around your head, constricting your arms’ range. But you didn’t need very much as long as you could reach her tits.

Hooking your thumb around her and pulling her outer fold back, you exposed more of her to you and spread her opening apart further. Your tongue reached greater depth and you were ravenous. With a gluttony in eating her out that Thérèse only found herself becoming slicker while simply watching, you brought her orgasm.

She cried out and her other leg’s sheer strength did not allow you to keep her thighs apart any longer. She closed both around your head and you gave one of her nipples a particularly harsh tug as she came. You jerked your head to the side and flicked at her clit with the tip of your nose. You continued to thrust in and out of her with your tongue until Thérèse’s back made contact with her bed again and she released your head from the grip of her thighs.

You climbed up her body and kissed her parted lips, sliding your tongue into her mouth and spreading her flavour across her tongue. 

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked when you lifted your head to look down at her.

She nodded in response and pecked your lips. “I feel amazing,” she answered.

Then you pulled away and sat up onto your knees, moving back down her body. 

Thérèse watched you wordlessly as you parted her thighs again. You pulled one of her legs over your thigh and nestled your other one underneath hers so her ass rested against your leg and her hips were angled upwards.

“What are you doing?” she asked you.

You simply kissed your fingers then reached across her body to press them against Thérèse’s lips in response now that you couldn’t bend far enough to reach her.

When you brought your hand back, you spread Thérèse’s cunt apart, your thumb delving into her delicate petal-like folds. You ran your eyes down the beautifully flushed pussy and her sweet nectar, feeling a tight formation develop in your lower stomach.

“You’re so pretty, Thérèse,” you told her.

She replied, “So are you.” 

You looked up at her and were met with her soft smile. You melted at the sight. 

You held Thérèse’s thigh that rested on top of yours with your hand and looped your leg around the other securely. She reached down and her fingers ran along the back of your hand. You took her hand in yours and interlaced your fingers, both of your palms flat against her thigh. You straightened your back and lowered your hips before pressing your cunt down against hers. 

“Oh!” she gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Show me how you like it, Thérèse,” you panted. “Show me.”

You experimented, watching her expression intently as you used a variety of patterns of your hips to grind down against her. You tried lifting yourself up and separating yourself from her to move back down against her, then rapidly rolling your hips forward and back without parting from Thérèse’s pussy once which she seemed to like particularly. 

She squeezed your fingers, her head lolled to the side with her chin against her shoulder. 

You slid two of your fingers into the shared slick heat of your pleasures and you spread her folds apart, allowing you to roll your own clit against the sensitive bud and exposing more of her cunt for you to hump. When she was spread enough you slid your fingers out and reached your arm out.

Thérèse’s eyes opened and she looked at your outstretched arm, two of your glistening fingers mere inches from her face. Shakily, she got onto her elbows and craned her head forward, wrapping her lips around your fingers and cleaning off the juices from both you and her with her tongue.

The feeling of Thérèse’s pussy was incredible.

Your head was hung forward as you closed your eyes and focused on the immense pleasure you received from her pussy against your own. You felt her swollen cuntlips and her slick folds with every roll of your hips, the throbbing of your clits mutual as you felt her pulsate against you should you slow down enough to feel it.

She moaned around your fingers and her lips loosened from around your digits when she began to pant, her warm breath blowing down to your wrist.

You watched as Thérèse’s breasts bounced with every roll of your hips and you removed your fingers from her mouth and rubbed your wet fingers against one of her stiff nipples. Her own saliva cooled her pink bud. You groped her breast, using your grip as leverage to lean forward slightly.

You groaned her name and you met her eyes. In the exchanged wordless stare, she knew you were nearing your unravelling. The desperation you saw in the way she stared back told you that she was nearing her second orgasm.

“You feel so good, my perfect Thérèse,” you told her, releasing her breast and cupping her cheek. She looked up at you adoringly, her forehead beading with sweat and her lips parted for her melodic moans and whimpers.“Your pussy feels amazing.”

You swore you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

Thérèse began to thrust her hips up which brought you immense pleasure despite how weakly she did it. The wet sounds of your sticky pussies humping against each other was enough to get you off.

You smiled at how receptive she was to your praise.

Goodness, how you loved her.

“That’s right, baby, just like that,” you encouraged. “You’re doing so good. So good.”

You stroked her cheek with your thumb and Thérèse leaned into your touch.

“Y/N…” she mumbled.

“For years I’ve fantasised about having you as my own in this way, about being yours,” you admitted. “I’d imagined how gorgeous you’d look completely bare, how your breasts looked uncovered. I imagined in the dark of my room how you’d look between my thighs, running your tongue up my pussy and looking up at me with your pretty green eyes.

“My desperation became too much at times. I touched myself the moment I got home. I delved my fingers into my cunt thinking of the way you had bent over earlier in the day and exposed your breasts to me, the feeling of your lips against my cheek when you whispered into my ear.”

Thérèse was impassioned by your words and her breathing quickened exponentially, her hips staggering as she attempted to continue bucking her hips upwards. “Oh, Y/N,” she trembled out. “I too… I’ve hiked my skirts up my thighs… in this very bed after our outings. I’ve… Oh, I’ve tucked my fingers beyond my clothes and felt… felt how wet I was. My fingers sliding across my cunt, my trembling hand hardly delivering enough friction.”

She moaned out and turned her head to kiss your palm. “But now… O-Oh, Y/N…”

You watched her struggle with her words until she jerked her hips up harshly into you as she came. She released with a warm gush and you felt every constriction of her pussy as you rolled against her in staggering thrusts, the harsh bucking of her hips from earlier having pushed you over your own edge. 

Shared cries and shaky moans mingled, each of you listening to the way they brought pleasure to the other, your shared orgasm nothing less than sacred and holy.

You moved Thérèse’s thigh off from your leg and you released her other. You parted from her pussy and you missed the feeling the moment it happened. But any more contact would’ve been too much for the both of you. 

You laid back down beside Thérèse and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her against your chest. You laid together in silence as you caught your breaths, bathing in what you had just done together, what you had just done to each other. The realisation that you were now connected in the way you were was glorious. 

“I can’t stand being without you during the day when you’re off at work,” Thérèse mumbled against your shoulder when she was finally able to speak without taking a breath between words, “doing all that you do away from me.”

She looked up and the flash of her green eyes made you look down at her. She only stared at you for a few moments before she whispered, “What do you do when you’re away?”

“Work,” you answered. “Sleep.”

She tipped her head against the pillow inquisitively. “Friends?” she asked.

Then after a moment she asked, “Women?”

You smiled knowingly and Thérèse hid her face against your upper arm, finding that her attempts at subtlety were uncovered.

“Friends,” you affirmed finally and brushed her hair out of her face. “Women, no. I’ve always felt… otherwise preoccupied with thoughts of someone in particular.”

She rolled onto her stomach and folded her arms on top of the pillow so she could look at you. 

Moving onto your side and meeting her eyes, you had to look up at her from the angle your head was laying against her pillow. She was perched up onto her elbows, her tangled brown hair spilling down her arms. 

She moved her weight onto one elbow and raised her hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Am I only property for you to claim?” she then whispered.

White sheets wrapped her body loosely. It pooled around her waist, dipping along her hips and allowing your eyes to trail down her side all the way down to her legs left uncovered. Her back was bare aside from stray locks of hair that laid against it. Her breasts pressed against her forearm and were shrouded by her dark hair.

“No,” you answered. “Truly, Thérèse, if you did make the decision to wed another, I would find it in me to respect your choice.”

Simply imagining a future in which she did choose another over you caused you a great deal of pain. It shot through your chest and seized the base of your throat. 

She looked away from you momentarily, seemingly disappointed by your response and feeling as if though it mattered little to you if she did decide to marry another. But you spoke again and her eyes flashed up from the pillow between the two of you.

“I would love you no less if I was not yours, though the longing would make it seem to me that my anguish would have perhaps grown tenfold with each morning you woke in a set of arms that were not mine.”

“Love?” she repeated, her voice a small whisper.

“To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further.”

Something awoke in her at your reference to a quote from her favourite novelist, something sincere and touched. She whispered and tipped her head down as if to survey the validity of your reference, “Victor Hugo.”

“I do indeed pay attention when I read to you,” you told her, “though you almost always doze off no more than eight pages into the evening.”

Thérèse cupped your cheek before leaning down and kissing you. “I love you,” she said suddenly.

Words have never been the strong suit of either of you. There were other languages of love you’d mastered alongside Thérèse — the meaning of touch and longing stares, the devotion of time, secrets reserved for and exchanged only between the two of you.

“I love you too, Thérèse,” you replied without a moment’s hesitation. You wrapped your arms around her body and brought her down to you, pulling her bed sheets up to her shoulders. She moved up your body so her head was tucked under your chin and she could hug you around your chest.

Though she was always one to fall asleep within minutes simply listening to you read to her, Thérèse didn’t fall asleep for some time after you laid her on top of you. She closed her eyes, feeling the rising and falling of your chest against her cheek, and your exhales against the side of her head.

You hadn’t shared a bed with her since childhood when you slept over once in her bedroom. You still felt a childish joy sleeping with Thérèse, having your arms wrapped around your closest friend’s delicate body while she did nothing but bask in the feeling of your intimacy in comfortable silence.

You figured you’d start to place more value in saying ‘I love you’ with your words from that evening forth.

It felt damn good to finally say it.

──────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ────────

#thérèse raquin #thérèse raquin x you #thérèse raquin x reader #thérèse raquin x y/n #thérèse raquin fanfiction #in secret fanfiction #in secret #elizabeth olsen

[jayke0]

My clothes would be gone.

This scene is my roman empire fr.

#laurent leclaire #in secret #oscar isaac characters #laurent leclaire smut

[fearcanbeagift]

in secret (2013)

#oscar isaac #laurent leclaire #in secret #film #op

[ellastone-olsen]

Christmas stealer - Therese Raquin

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: One day you notice a neighbor girl who is strangely spying on you. But you don’t yet know what you will be willing to do for the sake of your happiness.

Pairing: Therese Raquin x f!reader

Warnings: homophobia, forbidden relationship, violence, dark themes, masturbation, teasing, breast play, facesitting, oral

Word count: 3.9k

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

AN: Therese is my favorite Lizzie’s character, I had to write about her

The Christmas tree softly shimmered with gold as the two of you stood in the center of the large room holding hands. “Now it’s just the two of us...” Therese’s soft whisper in your ear proved that this was reality. You two, on Christmas as you once dreamed of. Only at the cost of what? Your thoughts go to the beginning of the story.

Every day you went out to the field that belonged to your family to mow the grass, collect it and take it closer to home so that later it would become hay. As your parents said, they were not lucky to have any son, and the hard work fell on you as an old daughter. They may have loved your little sisters, spoken kind words to them and indulged them, but with you it was different. You were free labor.

But even with all this, you couldn’t say that you were completely unhappy. You were grateful for a roof over your head, food, clothes and that was the most you could wish for. Until a certain point. One day, maybe a week or a month, your desires began to spread beyond your small family farm. Strange thoughts began to creep into your head when you saw her. Therese...Oh Therese.

You could bet that your parents would kill you if they found out about your little (big) crush on the girl next door. If I tell you in order, here's how it happened.

A hot, sultry day fell on your head. Again the field, again the grass. Your forehead was covered in sweat, the fluttering of your scythe and the chirping of grasshoppers being the only sounds in the heated air. You measuredly counted out three strokes: one, two, three. One two Three. Mental arithmetic helped me not to go crazy from monotonous hard work. The thought of dinner soon was reassuring. You stopped and leaned on the scythe for a break. Looking around, your gaze noticed the same landscape that was here every day: your small family house, a couple of neighbors’ houses, a fence made of rotting wood, a large oak tree on the neighbor’s property and... a girl in the grass.

This was something new. Why was she there, like she was watching you. Her forehead is pressed to the ground and only her dark, flowing hair is visible. She moved too strangely for a person who decided to rest in the grass... oh. What is she?.. No, this is nonsense and your excited fantasies. Just keep mowing the grass. One, two...is she watching me? Three..is she touching herself or? One…

“Y/N, why aren’t you eating?” You were brought out of your trance by your sister's voice. Your sisters (there were 2 of them), unlike your parents, loved you; it was sad for them to see how they interacted with you. You looked at the youngest, who was barely 10, and smiled. “I was just thinking, honey.” Thoughts in you head revolved around this mysterious girl. Will I see her tomorrow? So you need to go to bed early so that tomorrow comes faster.

Your count to three continued again, accompanied by the chirping of grasshoppers. Out of the corner of your eye you glanced at the oak tree. The muscles were burning, there was not much left, the grass did not last forever and one day it would end. You noticed a slight movement in the same place as yesterday. I'd like to see it, but what if you scare her away? With one eye, I raise my head and immediately there is grass, grass, grass.

“Oh...” Your breath caught in your throat. She was lying on her stomach with her eyes closed, her mouth open and a grimace of pleasure visible on her face. Her body shook and her long brown hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Yes, she definitely did what you originally thought. A soft, pulsating warmth formed between your thighs and settled somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Grass, let's continue, one, two...

Your room was plunged into darkness as you lay looking at the ceiling. “Who lives in that house behind the big oak tree?” You asked the question during dinner, hoping that at least someone in your family knew. “I think the Raquin family lives there, there are three of them in total.” Your sister Eva said, she was the middle of three daughters, a month ago she turned 17. It’s not surprising that she knew this, the girl in her free time loved to talk with neighbor children and gossip. “Have you talked to any of them at least once?” Eva thought, “No, others say that they are not very friendly.” This was all the information you could find out and now in your room while others were sleeping you were thinking hard. Raquin. Her last name is Raquin. Her face expressing pure pleasure resurfaced in your memory. Maybe if just once you put your hand under the elastic band of your panties...you put your fingers inside of you...oh...so wet. Once, only once, you promise yourself.

You would have a plan, simple and reliable as you thought. In an hour or so, about the time Therese will appear again, hide behind that same huge oak tree and wait. You sat with your back resting on the rough bark, fatigue from work and the warm summer air lulled you to sleep and you began to fall asleep. Thoughts have already turned into mush, just a little more and... a rustling sound, quite real. Someone goes here. You looked out from behind the tree and lost your breath. That's her. She seems surprised by your absence from usual place, but she still lies down in the soft grass where there is already a small trace of her body. This is the perfect moment, she won’t run away.

“Hi!" You come out of your hiding place and scare her. Swearing pours out of her mouth and she tries to get up and run away, but you grab her by the arms, drag her back to the ground and pin her back, straddling her hips. “No, wait, oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sitting right on top of you, I wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” She tries to break free and accusations rain down on you, “You were following me!” Your eyes widen at that statement. “Did I follow you? You’ve been coming here for several days now and doing obscene things while looking at me!”

“I’m Therese, nice to finally meet you.” This was your beginning.

She stopped struggling and fell silent. Her cheeks also flushed in the realization that she had been noticed. “No, I don’t think it’s bad, well... that you like women... or that you’re attracted to me, if you’re definitely attracted to me... in general, I saw you and decided to get to know you. Your last name is Raquin? I’m Y/N, I live in that house.” The flow of information hit her like an avalanche. She silently looked somewhere to the side and digested what you told her. Okay, if you’re not angry to her… surveillance and preferences, then why not.

You met on neutral territory under that same oak tree. Almost every day for the rest of the summer you sat there and talked about everything you could think of. “And when are you doing your dirty things now if we’re just sitting here and talking?” You decided to make fun of her, but you weren’t prepared for her response. She crawled over to you and leaned close to your ear, “Home. I touch myself while lying in my bed and think it’s you. Do you want to know more details? Then kiss me Y/N.” Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes searched her face for another mockery, but she was serious.

“Therese...” Your soft whisper was lost between your lips and a sweet kiss connected you, hands grabbing her waist and pulling her into your lap. Soft, sweet whines slipped from her mouth as she squirmed on top of you, her full, soft breasts pressing against yours.

“I lift up my underdress, take off my panties and start stroking myself.” She whispered, pressing her center to your thigh. “I take off the straps off my shoulders and play with my tits. Do you like them? I can bet yes. Let’s touch them Y/N.” She took your hands in hers and placed them under the neckline of her dress, continuing to grind your thigh. “Mmmmmm then I use my fingers and fuck myself, and when I cum I quietly whisper Y/N ahhhh Y/N.” Her vulgar moans turned your underwear into something that you definitely can’t wear anymore.

“Therese...slow down...someone might see us..” Bits of common sense stopped you from what could happen, even though you wanted it more than anything in life. "Therese stop."

"One day we won't be afraid." She whispered and got off of you, laying her head on your shoulder. Your hand slid into hers, rubbing gently with the pad of your thumb, seeking comfort. "One day."

She pulled away in disappointment "You don't want me?" She seemed about to cry. You removed your hands from her chest and cupped her face, pressing her forehead to yours. “No no no don’t you dare even think so, just...You understand how complicated everything is. You understand the consequences if we get caught. If your aunt finds out or your brother. I'm afraid for you, for us."

Summer is over and that means you no longer have work in the field. You came up with an excuse for your family that you would go and pick berries, mushrooms and herbs in the forest nearby. Teresa seemed to have no problem sneaking out of the house.

One day at the end of October, she came to your meeting all dejected. You walked silently through the forest and you offered to sit down. She lay down with her head on your lap and curled up like a kitten. Your hands gently stroked her hair and you leaned down to kiss her cute little nose.

"Do you want to talk?" silence, somewhere a tit is singing, leaves are falling steadily to the ground, predicting winter. Small sobs come from Therese and her hands grab you, looking for salvation. “She wants to marry me to Camille.” Her sobs become louder, you somehow understand her words: “She will take me to Paris far from you and marry my worthless brother.”

Your heart stopped. Who is she? Her aunt Madame Raquin? Obviously yes. This nasty old woman wants to tear you apart. This cannot be allowed. The thought of never seeing Therese makes you furious, but now she needs comfort, so you speak. "When it will be? We will not allow this."

You kiss her face, hug her and console her, whispering “Everything will be fine, we’ll figure something out, everything will be fine.” Therese has no doubt that you are not lying.

When it became too cold to meet outside, you went to Therese's house for the first time.

In the winter there weren't many errands for you on the farm and you would sneak out of your room window to your little secret meetings.

It was Therese's idea to introduce you to her family, which you already hated. But not because she wanted it, no, all she wanted was not to die in the forest from the cold with you.

Christmas Eve seemed like the perfect time for this, with her aunt excited about the holiday and her head full of hosting guests and gifts for her precious son.

"Nice to meet you Madame Raquin." You crouched down and lowered your head, showing “respect” for the older woman. Her gaze was ready to make a hole in you, she was clearly assessing who her stupid niece was friends with. However, what difference does it make, thought Madame Raquin, they will leave here soon anyway, thought Madame Raquin, and did not even suspect how terribly wrong she was.

“Nice to meet you too Y/N, Therese didn’t say that she have friends.” The old woman spoke through her teeth. “Come in, please get settled in, we’ve just decorated the Christmas tree.” You were given the fakest smile of your life. “Therese, make us all some tea.”

There were four people sitting at the table: you and Therese. Madame Raquin and Camille. The latter seemed to you the most insignificant person you had ever met. “Y/N Teresa and I are getting married soon.” Camillle said with childish joy, as if this were some kind of game. “Mother said that after Christmas we will all go to Paris.” He continued, your teeth gritting with anger that this bastard even allowed the thought that Therese would be his wife.

“Oh she didn’t tell me about that, congratulations. Therese, I hope you will send me postcards from Paris." Under no circumstances should negative emotions be shown. Your hands clenched into fists under the table and Therese’s soft hand lay on top, calming you.

Then there was silence. Tense and dense, everyone was in their own thoughts. The gears in your head were spinning, pushing the thought of how to get rid of these two opposite. It seemed steam would come out of your ears, when Camillle’s sharp, nasty voice broke the silence, “Mother, I want to go ice skating, let’s go to the lake!” Why an adult guy talks and behaves like a child was a mystery to you. In addition, he periodically wheezed and coughed, as if he would soon go to the next world without your help.

Madame Raquin seemed glad to be rid of your company and encouraged her son. “Of course my boy, we will go now. Forgive us, skates were recently delivered to us and Camille has never skated.” You interrupted the older woman. “Don’t worry, Madame Raquin, of course, go. Therese, I think, can show me your wonderful house for now.” The dialogue full of hypocrisy did not last long and soon the front door slammed, signaling that mother and son had left the house.

Looking out the window and making sure that they were far away, you approached Therese from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Can my girlfriend show me her room mmm?” She turned around in your arms and placed a soft kiss on your chapped lips. “I love the way it sounds when you call me yours.” She took your hand and led you up the stairs.

Her room looked a little dark and gloomy, with a couple of crooked candles providing light to the space. Closer to the window was a large plush bed with several camel hair blankets on top. Your lips found hers again and a sloppy, hungry kiss became the beginning of something much more. You slowly pushed her towards the bed and when her knees hit the edge she sat up, you settled on her lap.

“Therese...” a soft whisper comes out of your mouth, teeth biting and kissing the soft skin of your neck. “Help me take off this damn dress.” She growled and pulled you to your feet with her back turned. “We don’t have much time before they come back.” Your hands handle the laces and clasps of her dress in a matter of minutes, when her “armor” falls to your feet, she kicks the hated piece of clothing somewhere to the side and turns you around with your back, almost tearing the laces of your dress.

You are both in white dresses that were worn under the main ones. Therese is on top of you like that summer day. The room is filled with the sounds of kissing and the soft crackling of the fireplace. You pull down the straps of her dress and her breasts jump out in front of your face. “They are exactly as I imagined.” You say this and take one of her nipples into your mouth, gently squeezing the other breast. She fidgets on your hips, “Oh, you pervert imagined me naked?” She laughs and moans when you bite and lick. "Look who's talking."

You kiss again, your hands never leaving her tits. Therese's panties are already ruined, you look down at your dress where she was sitting and see a small wet spot. You pull her dress down, help her take off her underwear and she is completely naked in front of you. "You are beautiful." Your hands move over her flat stomach, soft plush thighs and do not reach the place where she needs it most.

"Sit on my face." You go down and lie on your back. She sits on your stomach and looks at you uncertainly. Your hands grab her hips and pull her higher up your body. “Come on, I want to taste you.” Her wet center falls onto your mouth and you stick out your tongue, licking her entire length. Her hand slides into your hair, pressing you closer, “Oh god Y/N...so good.” You find her swollen clit and suck it into your mouth, she moves her hips towards you, the bed creaks quietly and she screams curses. “Fuck yes yes thank you thank you thank you this is so good.” Her moisture flows into your mouth and you lick everything she can give you. You stroke with your hands everything you can reach from her hips to her chest. At the moment of orgasm, Therese takes both of your hands and presses them to the bed, her nails painfully dig into the back of your palm, but this is nothing compared to the sounds she makes when she cum all over your face. While she recovers from her orgasm, you bite and kiss her thighs.

She gets off of you and lies down next to you. Her face buries at the base of your neck and she whispers, “Thank you.” The crackle of the fireplace is soothing and you almost fall asleep when she pokes you in the side. “Don’t sleep, I want to return the favor.”

You remember your own wetness between your legs and nod. "Get on all fours." and you do what she says. She lifts your dress up to your waist and pulls down your panties. Your puffy, soaked pussy appears before her, begging to be touched. “God, you’re so wet, are you sure you didn’t come while I was sitting on you?” She laughs and collects moisture with her fingers. A thread of excitement stretches from your pussy to her fingers and she puts them in her mouth. "Delicious." Two fingers stroke your entire length and then push inside.

Her kisses go down your back and she reminds you, “I would really like to stay like this with you, but we still have to deal with my brother and aunt.

Your mouth opens in a scream and she starts pounding into you hard and fast. "Oh Therese...please." She leans towards your ear and her breasts press against your back. “I had no intention of stopping.” Her fingers curl and hit that sweet spot inside you. You reach up and rub circles on your sensitive clit. Therese places one hand under your stomach and pulls you closer. Vulgar squelching sounds are heard throughout the room, she adds a third finger inside you, stretching you so well and you see stars “Come on baby cum for me.” Your legs shake as you cum on her hand. Not a single orgasm to which you brought yourself can compare with Therese.

“Camil! Come here to me!” Therese shouted to her brother from across the frozen lake. The winter day turned out to be frosty and sunny, birds were singing around and only three people were skating on the sometimes thin ice of the lake. “Camil wait! Don't go without me, you'll fall. Therese, don’t call him!”

“Therese, help! Help me! Help, call someone!” But Therese stood motionless. The girl simply watched her family drown and freeze under the ice of a huge lake. After some time, the sounds stopped and life left both bodies. A couple of tears fell from Therese's cheek in honor of the loss of people for whom she had affection, but not love. The girl went to land and, after changing her shoes, slowly walked into the empty house.

But Camil has already set himself the goal of getting to his sister. The two of them quietly drove straight to Therese. Of course, straight this is the shortest way. Now they are almost there, but from somewhere they hear a crash, a second and two of them are screaming in the icy water, floundering and trying to save their lives.

“I have an idea." Therese said as you helped each other get dressed. “You see this lake.” She points to the window and you watch as Madame Raquin and Camille are still mastering their skates. "I see." You simply nod, starting to understand where her thoughts are going. Back in the fall, when Madame Raquin’s plans for Therese became known, you agreed to get rid of these two. And given how little time was left, it was necessary to come up with something quickly.

She finished her short monologue and you tried to weigh the pros and cons. “What if the snow doesn’t fall overnight? What then? “Then we just won’t go anywhere. This plan is pure luck, but we don’t have much time and we have to take a chance.” You looked into her eyes and kissed her slowly. "OK, let's try."

“We’ll make our way to this lake at night, do you have anything sharp on your farm?” You nod “Bring it here, can you do it for me?” You nod again, “In one place over there opposite the tree we will chop up the ice, it will become thinner and with a lot of weight it will fall through. If we’re lucky and snow falls overnight, covering up the fact that some kind of manipulation was done with the ice, I’ll invite my aunt and brother to go skating again in the morning. I will remember where not to go and go around this place. And I called Camille to me, taking it weakly. Believe me, he won't refuse. But it will go in a straight line, exactly where the ice is thin. Of course, my aunt will go after him and so the two of them swim in the icy water.”

The Christmas tree softly shimmered with gold as the two of you stood in the center of the large room holding hands. “Now it’s just the two of us...” Therese’s soft whisper in your ear proved that this was reality. You two, on Christmas as you once dreamed of. You are here again, in the present. You killed two people and made it look like an accident. You killed them. Is this what you wanted? Yes. But the realization came later.

"Merry Christmas my love."

“Hey...” She takes your face in her hands. "Look at me. Everything is fine, I’m with you and we are together and no one will bother us anymore. We can stay here or move to Paris. Whatever you want." She kisses you and you respond. It really doesn't matter who's dead. The main thing is that you are with her, with Therese. And no one will steal this Christmas from you, no one will steal your whole life.

#wanda fanfic #therese raquin #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wandanat #wandanat x reader #in secret #elizabeth olsen

[didanagy]

In Secret (2013)

dir. charlie stratton

#in secret #therese raquin #emile zola #costume drama #elisabeth olsen #oscar isaac #jessica lange #tom felton

[melodygatesauthor]

Painted

Laurent LeClaire X f!Reader

Not Beta Read

Summary:

You're a woman alone at the bar and you witness an argument between a husband and wife. The wife leaves, and you're left alone with her sexually frustrated husband.

Tags/Warnings (for entire series):

NSFW, dubious consent (reader doesn't say yes to Laurent but it's clear that she's into it), smut, a tiny sprinkle of angst, pussy eating, blowjob, playing with cum, p in v creampie, sex with a stranger, unprotected sex, semi-public sex.

Word Count: 2.7k

You saw the whole argument unfold. The man shouting at his wife in the busy Paris bar. She, clearly filled with disdain for her spouse, climbed on the table and spread her legs for him. He undid his belt, pulled his thick cock out and tried to bring it to life. You wondered if he was struggling because he’d had far too much to drink, or if the couple hated each other so deeply that she didn’t pique his desires any longer.

Either way, after she left, you were the last person in the bar, and he looked right at you.

He sauntered over, wiping a bit of drool off his chin as he got closer to you. Your breath hitched in your throat and you felt your cheeks burning. He chuckled, breath stinking of alcohol as he brushed the back of his index finger over your neck.

“Your skin is soft,” he commented, biting his lip. “I’d love to paint you.”

You didn’t protest as he lifted your rear onto the table behind you. His fingertips brushed over your inner thigh, trailing along until they reached your underpants. His breath trembled as his face drew closer to yours.

“You wouldn’t tell me no, would you?” He tucked a finger into your underwear and started pulling them down your legs carefully, as if he were still waiting for you to push him away. He discarded them, putting both hands on your knees and parting your thighs wide. “You’ll always keep these legs open for me, won’t you chérie?”

“Mm,” was all you could mutter as you felt the fat tip of his cock pressing against your entrance.

It had been so long since you’d been in the company of a man, and your eagerness was made apparent by the slick arousal dripping out of you. It clearly wasn’t the drunkenness that made him flaccid, the man had no issue spearing through your tight hole like it was his. He breathed out a moaning sigh, rolling his hips at an even, lazy pace.

He leaned in, mouth closing over yours as he shoved himself deeper, hand reaching under your leg to push it back, spreading your thighs wider for him. You gasped, mouth open over his while the bar was filled with your sounds. He nipped at your bottom lip, his other hand sliding up to grab your breast which was still trapped behind the bodice of your dress.

“Your body is so beautiful, sweetheart. Such a shame I don’t have time to really admire it,” he chuckled, slipping his tongue past your lips and entangling it with yours.

He pushed you back, mouths parting before you could protest, so your spine was flat along the table. With a swift tug, he gripped where your dress concealed your breasts and pulled it downward. Both of your tits spilled out, bouncing in time with his thrusts. His flushed cheeks became more prominent with his drunken grin. A low groan emerged from his lips as he leaned down to catch one of your nipples in his mouth.

“Oh, sir, oh god!”

He sucked and bit at your nipple like he was desperate for it. His body moved faster, both hands reaching down now to hold onto your hips for leverage. You couldn’t feign modesty anymore, your pleasured screams filling the empty bar and likely spilling into the back streets of Paris.

“Oui, mon chérie, keep squeezing yourself around me like that and I shall paint your insides white,” he whispered against your breast.

You grabbed the edge of the table, spine arching backward and legs spreading wider as he drove deeper into you than before. You felt him reaching the deepest parts of your center, the tip of his cock brushing in a smooth motion against that spot inside of you that made your body tremble. You were weak, a distinct tingling pooling in the pit of your core and spreading all over every inch of your skin.

“Oh god, oh-my-oh-oh!”

In an instant you came. Your entire body gave in to the sensations around you: his mouth over your breast, his tongue flicking masterfully at your nipple, his hand holding onto your outer thigh and squeezing it tightly. You felt everything as though every nerve ending in your body had caught fire.

“Your face is perfection at the height of your pleasure,” he whined, the tone of his voice heightened as his orgasm drew nearer. “The next time we meet, I s-shall, oh-for-god’s-sake, I shall have you touch yourself so I can paint the exact moment when you…”

His hips slammed into yours one final time. A series of choked gasps filled the bar as he made good on his promise to paint your walls white with his hot spend. You liked that feeling of being filled up, even if it was just a stranger at a bar. Perhaps you enjoyed it all the more because it was just a stranger at a bar.

He remained for a moment longer with his body leaned over yours, lips peppering sweet kisses along your sternum as he worked them back up to your neck, your jaw, and then your mouth. His drunken kisses were still sloppy, but you never wanted them to stop.

“What a sweet little muse you are,” he whispered. “I’ve not felt this warmth in my heart for a woman in some time, chérie. I will come back for you every night until my legs no longer work, and you will let me paint you every time, won’t you?”

You nodded, feeling his cock fall out of your hole as it softened. The sound of cum trickling from your cunt tapped like a leaky faucet on the stone floor. With another feather soft kiss, the man stood back from you, looking down at your body with a hooded, lusty gaze. He hardly managed to button his pants, let alone replace his belt, eventually giving up on it all together. 

Without another word exchanged between either of you, he stumbled out, leaving you there on the table to wonder if he would ever come back to ‘paint you’ again.

~~~~

To your relief, he did come back, and this time when he saw you he was sober. He had an artist's satchel with him, and he led you to a back room of the dingy bar where no one wandered. The lighting was dim, and you could smell something foul, but you were happy to see the man again. You tried to kiss him, but he interrupted you with a finger to your lips.

“I want you to remove your clothes and sit in that chair for me,” he said sweetly.

Without a word you nodded, beginning to remove your clothes. You dropped your dress and undergarments in a heap on the floor. You walked over to the chair and sat as instructed.

“May I know your name, sir?” You asked.

He chuckled, “and ruin the allure that comes with such mystery? I think not, chérie.”

You had to admit that there was a bit of added appeal to the man when you didn’t know his name at all. He could be anyone, from anywhere, who had done anything, and you’d never be the wiser. There was something very exciting and tantalizing about that prospect.

He set up his kit, several brushes and pigments at the ready. You wondered if the barkeep let him paint in there regularly, as he seemed to have an easel and canvas ready to prop up and start his work. He walked over to you, kneeling down by your feet and running his fingers up your calf and to your knee. You felt your breathing grow shallow as those daring fingertips made their way between your closed legs, his other hand coming up to do the same.

“Open,” he cooed, assisting the spread of your thighs with his large hands prying between them. “Wow,” he mused, “what a wondrous beauty.”

He looked up at you, pretty brown eyes glistening in what little light the dim room afforded you both. He kept your gaze while he leaned forward, the tip of his distinguished nose brushing against your already swelling clit. Your lips parted for a wavering breath. Your hand instinctively moved to tangle in his dark locks. His hot breath melted over your folds.

A moan rolled through him as his lips made contact with your cunt. His tongue slid between your slit, and a sharp gasp punched out of your lungs. You gripped his hair tighter, your hips arching into his mouth as if what he was giving you wasn’t enough. He hummed, facial hair brushing against your thighs softly while his head moved to hit all the right spots.

“S-sir I…oh I can’t…oh-god!”

Save for your pleasured panting, the only other sound in the room was his messy slurping as your arousal coated his face. Every now and then the man would look up at you, eyes caked in a pussy-drunk hunger unlike any you’d ever seen. His grip tightened on your thighs, and his nose continued rubbing in delicious circles around your sensitive clit.

Two of his delightfully thick fingers worked between your pussy lips, sliding slowly forward until he was curling them inside of you, all the while he was working his tongue around your swollen nub. You thought you might fall over, using his hair and your grip on the chair beneath you to establish some sort of stability as your body shook.

He added another finger, somehow managing to fit all three inside you and pump them into your hole until you were nearly choking on the air that filled your lungs. It was all so much, the sensations overwhelming until they washed over your body in waves. You felt your cunt contract, juices gushing around his knuckles and coating his hand while your walls squeezed over him. You moaned, eyes rolling back and you struggled to keep yourself from falling over. 

The man looked up at you again, rising on his feet just enough to catch your mouth in his. You could taste yourself on him and after enough hungry kisses, your flavor was gone. He pulled back from you, lips swollen and glossy in the light. He stepped back, unbuckling his pants quickly.

“I bet I can make you look even prettier for your portrait, don’t you think, sweetheart?” He asked, running his fingers over your arm and down to your hand, guiding you off the chair and onto your knees.

The floor was cold and the rough surface made your knees ache, but you didn’t have much time to think about your discomfort before his cock was in your face and distracting you from your thoughts. You knew what he wanted, of course. After all, there was a reason you were on your knees. You wrapped your fingers around it as best as you could, not quite able to meet your thumb on the other side. You lapped the tip, gulping down a sweet bead of precum that had collected there.

“I know you won’t disappoint me, chérie. I’ve had enough disappointment to last a man a lifetime. Take it all for me, and don’t hold bac-k-k.”

He moaned deeply the moment your mouth wrapped around his dick, lips sliding down until you reached the base, relaxing your throat to take the entire length. The thickness of him throbbed inside you, and you felt his hand reach to the back of your head to guide you back. He started churning his hips against your face, gagging you on every inch as his length stretched and filled your throat again and again.

You felt tears start to slip down your cheeks, the salty flavor landing along his cock for you to taste while you kept going. The smell of his musk made your mind go numb with desire every time your nose brushed along his soft tuft of pubic hair.

“You’re going to make the prettiest little model for me when I’m finished aren’t you? Oh this mouth, this mouth of yours is divine.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement while he continued fucking your throat. You felt your clit burning with arousal, begging for your touch. Your fingers wandered, slipping between your thighs to quell the ache as it grew. With a gasp your lips slipped off his cock, the strings of your slick saliva connecting you to his red tip. He thrust back into your mouth, his pace even faster.

“Don’t do that again, I need to feel that sweet tongue along every inch of me, sweetheart,” he rasped, a distinct whine playing in harmony with his usual baritone.

You kept your mouth on him, moving your fingers in circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. You could feel him twitch inside of you, cock leaking more of that sweet and savory taste you craved. You felt his body shaking, his movements becoming sloppier as he got closer to spilling into you. There wasn’t anything you craved more in that moment than to have him fill your belly with every bit he could.

Again you found yourself a mess, eyes rolling back in your head and body quaking as your orgasm ripped through you. You kept your mouth around him, the feeling of his cock in your throat felt even better when you were in a mind-numbed state of ecstasy. He fucked faster, the bruising pace gagging you and causing more tears to fall down your cheeks in streams.

He was there. He was right there…

You were shocked, and mildly disappointed when he pulled out of you, shooting hot spurts of his precious cum all over your body. Your face wasn’t the only part of you painted by him, he covered your tits, your neck, and even your thighs.

“There,” he sighed, licking his lips as satisfaction washed over him. “Now go back to your chair, my precious little muse. And keep those pretty legs parted, I want to make sure I get all your best features.”

You slowly stood and strode back in your chair, spreading your legs like he’d told you to. He pulled his pants back up, walking back to his canvas where you saw him grab a small dish and a brush before walking back over to you. He knelt down, holding the dish under your cunt and using the brush to collect your arousal into the porcelain bowl. 

“W-what are you–”

“Sh,” he smirked, looking up at you with a mischievous grin. “I’m trying out a new medium, chérie. Keep quiet and let me work.”

He collected your slick until he had a small amount in the dish. He took a bit of his own cum, still decorating your skin in various areas of your body, and he began mixing it with yours.

“Now don’t move, oui?”

You nodded, “oui.”

You watched as he painted, using both your juices to mix the pigment powders he’d brought with him. His eyes darted over the top of the canvas from time to time, narrowed in concentration as he worked. His spend dried on your body and face as the time went on, and you started to feel a bit chill, though you didn’t dare ask to put your clothes back on.

After quite some time he stopped, stepping back with a proud grin sporting his handsome face.

“Come see,” he whispered excitedly.

You walked over to see the painting the man had made of you. It truly was breathtaking, though it was clear the medium wasn’t binding well with the pigment. There were cracks from the dried slick, causing the paint to flake. A heartbreaking sight, but something about it made the creation all the more beautiful. The art piece was temporary, like a quick and wonderful thing that was never meant to last.

Like two strangers meeting a couple of times in a bar only to one day part ways, never to meet again.

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