#larissa/reader

[dianneking]

The Affair - Chapter 3 (Larissa/Reader)

Hi darlings. I am back from the shadow realm and I finished a new chapter, posted on AO3. You can find it here, and in case you missed it, here's the link for chapter one.

Here's a little snippet, to hopefully make you hungry for more:

You shivered, but the winter air had nothing to do with that.  “Cold, darling?” her voice murmured in your ear, her fingertips not faltering in their hypnotic movement, running on the back of both of your arms at the same time. From the wrists, up, languidly caressing your forearms, elbows and then slowing down at the shoulders, before changing direction and slowly, torturously descending towards your hands once again. God, you wanted those hands running all over you. “...No” your reply came delayed, and your voice sounded strange to your own ears. Drunk on Larissa's own intoxicating attention more than on wine. She was standing behind you, almost looming, and even if your breath was visible in the night breeze, you felt on fire. You wanted to feel those hands on your skin without the impediment of clothes. You wanted to turn around and sink into her looming figure. Allow her to wrap all around you and swallow you whole.  You didn't move.  “Aren't the lights beautiful?”  You were supposed to be looking at the light show, right. That was the whole reason the two of you were on the restaurant’s terrace - the whole excuse , your brain suggested, but even the alarm bells had stopped ringing, and your common sense had given up trying to steer you towards safety. You tried to focus on the kaleidoscope of colors in front of you, but all you could perceive was that Larissa's hands had now stopped their motion and were resting on your arms, just above your elbows. A part of you was cursing the thick fabric of your coat for keeping those hands away from your skin. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Her lips were once again next to your ear, her breath hot on your skin. If you had turned, you could have kissed her. 

[milfsloverblog]

Delayed (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Larissa Weems, you, an airport lounge. The rest is history! Enjoy <3

VIP Lounge, Terminal B
Somewhere between cities, between hours

The rain had been falling in thick, unrelenting sheets for hours. It beat against the glass with the low, sullen rhythm of a heartbeat, steady and heavy, too familiar now to notice unless you let your mind drift toward it. The sky had bruised into a deep blue-black, clouded over entirely. Somewhere out there were lightning forks cracking open the night, but inside, the airport lounge was muted, cocooned in sterile quiet and artificial warmth.

You’d claimed your place in the corner hours ago. Half a glass of flat tonic water sat abandoned on the small side table beside you, your phone long dead, your book forgotten somewhere in the bottom of your carry-on. The air held a low hum—whispers, an occasional clink of cutlery, the soft sigh of a tired receptionist fielding questions about standby lists. You had stopped checking the monitor when the third flight delay came through. There would be no flying out tonight.

And yet, you stayed.

The lounge was a space designed to dull inconvenience with velvet upholstery and dim, expensive lighting. No one looked anyone else in the eye here. Everyone was floating. Between cities, between obligations, between versions of themselves. You were no exception.

That was when you saw her.

She wasn’t there, and then she was. Like someone had written her into the room just slightly out of time. Seated at the lounge bar, one elegant arm stretched along the marble counter, her posture the picture of composure. Hair pinned back in that old-fashioned twist, every pale strand immaculate. Her profile was sharp under the warm overhead light—cheekbone catching it just so, the sweep of dark lashes veiling a glance you couldn't yet see.

She was alone.

You looked once, casually. Then again, slower.

Her suit was a shade of ivory too rich to be mistaken for white, tailored to fit like a whisper. She raised her glass—something gold-toned, neat, deliberate. You watched her sip. The lipstick she wore was a kind of red that should’ve felt loud in a place like this, but somehow didn’t. Everything about her was too intentional for accident. Too perfect to be tired, delayed, or adrift like the rest of you.

Still, there was something beneath the surface. You couldn’t name it. A quiet intensity. A suggestion of waiting.

You stared too long. Caught yourself. Looked away.

Then back.

This time, she was looking directly at you.

It wasn’t a dramatic thing. Her gaze didn’t snap or linger or invite. It just found you—settled on you like gravity, calm and assessing, and held you in place. Your breath caught somewhere under your ribs. Her lips curved faintly at one corner, more acknowledgment than smile. Then, as if nothing had passed between you, she turned her head, lifted her glass again, and resumed whatever internal rhythm she had been keeping before.

Your fingertips tingled.

You weren’t brave. Not yet.

You tried not to look again.

You tried, but the space between you hummed with the awareness of that brief, searing glance. Like an invisible thread had pulled taut between your corner chair and the polished curve of the bar. Every time you shifted in your seat, her presence whispered at the edge of your senses. Not imposing. Not loud. Just there.

You watched her reflection in the chrome of a coffee machine, in the black glass of the television screen no one was watching. Once, you saw her cross one long leg over the other, the hem of her trousers sliding just enough to show the sharp line of her ankle. Another time, she touched her glass to her mouth and lingered there, eyes fixed distantly ahead—though you could’ve sworn her lashes flicked up toward the mirror.

You thought she might be watching you back.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she’d already forgotten you. A glance meant nothing. A look could be a thousand things. But your hands were sweating.

You waited for something to give. For the staff to announce another flight. For her to gather her coat and disappear into some silent hallway without ever meeting your eyes again.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly—and looked at you once more.

This time, there was no room for ambiguity.

She held your gaze for three full seconds. Not a smile, not quite—but something softened her expression. Interest. Confidence. Permission.

You stood before you could think better of it.

Your legs felt unsteady, like you hadn’t walked in hours. You crossed the lounge, heart hammering in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the kind you felt in your throat more than your chest. As you neared her, she turned slightly on her stool, body angled toward you now, open in a way that felt rehearsed. Regal. Welcoming.

But she said nothing.

Neither did you, at first.

Up close, she was... impossible. A sculpted thing, lacquered and real, scent clinging faintly to her—something floral but cold, expensive. Her gaze was sharp even in stillness, made of glass and intellect and something untouchable.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, voice quieter than intended.

A pause. The corner of her mouth curved. Not kindly, not unkindly. Almost like she was amused by the idea that you thought you needed to ask.

“I would’ve been disappointed if you hadn’t,” she said.

Her voice was low and deliberate, velvet over ice. Polished vowels. The kind of voice you only ever imagined hearing in dreams or in old films. She gestured faintly to the empty seat beside her.

You slid onto the barstool, pulse ticking in your throat. She lifted a hand and caught the bartender’s eye without looking. A moment later, he was in front of you both.

“I’ll have another,” she said, holding up her glass—nearly empty now, but not quite.

The man nodded. “And for you?”

You hesitated.

“She’ll have the same,” she said simply, gaze not leaving yours.

That made you smile. A quiet, startled little thing.

“Don’t like giving people choices?” you asked.

“I find most people don’t know what they want until it’s offered.”

There it was again—that hum, that low thrum of something dark and thrilling beneath the surface. You weren’t sure if she was talking about drinks anymore. You weren’t sure you cared.

You accepted the glass when it came, letting the burn of the alcohol settle something nervous in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was oddly comfortable, though your mind raced with every breath she took. Her posture was perfect even in rest. One fingertip drew slow circles along the rim of her glass. She wore a ring on her right hand—a single pearl, perfectly set.

“What brings you here?” you asked eventually, just to hear her speak again.

She tilted her head, a cool, unreadable glint in her eye.

“A delay,” she said. “Same as everyone else.”

“But you don’t look... stranded.”

She looked at you then. Properly.

“And you don’t look nearly as discreet as you think you are.”

Heat rushed to your face. You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “Fair.”

Another sip. Another moment. Then she leaned in just slightly.

“You’ve been watching me for a long time.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mind.”

You swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the... return attention.”

Her smile, this time, was undeniable.

“I don’t return attention I don’t want.”

That pulled the air right out of your lungs. You reached for your drink again, hands a little unsteady. She watched you calmly, with the air of someone who had never once been nervous in her life.

“I’m not usually like this,” you said, not sure why.

“I would hope not,” she murmured. “It’s much more interesting if I’m the exception.”

You sipped your drink again. It burned less now.

The silence between you had shifted. Still comfortable, but heavier, like a room with the door shut. The clink of cutlery and low hum of televisions faded to a distant buzz. You weren’t sure when you’d last looked at the clock. Maybe time had stopped mattering.

She looked forward again, not at you, but not far—eyes fixed on something beyond the glass walls, where the night swelled with storm and shadow.

“What do you see out there?” you asked.

A pause. “Nothing I haven’t already lived through.”

You let that settle. It didn’t feel dramatic when she said it. Just tired. Or honest.

“That bad?”

She turned her head slightly, meeting your gaze without flinching. “No,” she said. “Just long.”

You nodded, unsure if that made her older than she looked or just more tired. The kind of tired you recognized. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of lack of sleep, but the quieter kind. The kind that comes from holding yourself upright too long.

“I always thought airports were a little liminal,” you said. “Like you could be anyone, and it wouldn’t matter. No one really sees you.”

“They look at you,” she said. “They don’t see you.”

You glanced at her.

“Do you?” you asked. “See people?”

Her lips curved, almost fond. “Only when I want to.”

You let out a small breath of laughter, shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m aware.”

Her fingers lingered against the rim of her drink. You watched the way her shoulders moved when she turned toward you, slow and deliberate, like she was never in a rush to be anywhere.

“There’s a comfort in being unmoored,” she said quietly. “In drifting. No past to explain, no future to plan for. Just... now. Just this.”

You swallowed. “You speak like someone who’s been doing that a while.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Too long.”

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the bar, drink cradled between your hands.

“I don’t usually talk like this,” you said. “Not to strangers. Not to...” You glanced at her. “Beautiful women who look like they’ve stepped out of a novel.”

She smiled, indulgent, almost a purr of amusement. “You should do it more often. It suits you.”

You hesitated, then said it.

“I left someone. A few months ago. Three-year relationship. Comfortable. Safe. But I was disappearing.”

She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t say sorry. Just waited.

“I thought travel would help. I needed to remember who I was before... I tried so hard to be who he needed me to be, I forgot what I actually wanted.”

“And what is it you want?”

Your eyes met. Her gaze didn’t press—it invited.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m still trying things on.”

“Then try this,” she said, voice low, silk sliding beneath the words. “This night. This conversation. No name, no past, no future. Just... this.”

You felt it again—that gravity. That quiet but undeniable draw to her. She wasn’t promising anything. She wasn’t offering safety. But she was real in a way that felt impossible. Like something plucked from an older world, or a dream you didn’t remember having.

“You?” you asked. “Are you trying something on, too?”

She looked at you, and her expression softened—not the way someone softens when they care, but the way someone softens when they decide to share something real. Risk something.

“Once,” she said, “I believed I had to be everything for everyone. The poised one. The perfect one. I thought if I held it all together long enough, someone might finally see me.”

Your chest ached. “Did they?”

“No,” she said. “But I stopped waiting.”

You let the silence fall again.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full.

“I don’t want to forget this,” you said, almost without meaning to. “Even if we never speak again. Even if we never...”

She looked at you, calm and unwavering. “You won’t forget. That’s the thing about moments like these. They root themselves quietly. You’ll think about it when you least expect it. The next time you’re stuck somewhere. Or lonely. Or trying on someone else’s version of you again.”

You reached for your drink. She reached for hers.

Only yours was empty.

Her gaze slid to your hands—steady, but no longer hiding how tightly you were holding on.

She slid her glass towards you and when her fingertips brushed yours, it wasn’t an accident.

It was an invitation.

You didn’t pull your hand away when she touched you.

Her fingers were cool—slim and deliberate, like they were meant to hold crystal or tilt chins. She didn’t linger, but the impression stayed. Your skin hummed. You swallowed around the ache rising in your throat.

You brought her glass to your lips, purposefully placing your mouth on the lipstick marks that stained the rim.

She watched you steadily, lips parted just slightly, as though deciding something. Then—

“Truth for truth?” she asked.

You nodded.

She turned toward you fully then, crossing one long leg over the other. The hem of her trousers shifted, revealing the sharp line of her ankle again, elegant even in the smallest of movements. The lounge lights caught the pearl on her finger as she lifted her glass, though her eyes never left you.

“I’ll go first,” she said, voice soft but assured. “I haven’t had someone look at me the way you have in a very long time.”

You blinked. “What way is that?”

“Like I might still surprise you.”

Your breath caught. She didn’t say it for effect—it wasn’t flirtation, or self-pity. Just the simple, naked truth of it.

“My turn,” you said, quieter. “I think I wanted to talk to you before I even saw you. Does that make sense?”

She considered the question, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass.

“Your question.”

You hesitated, then asked, “When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

She huffed out a low, amused sound—more breath than laugh. “You don’t start small.”

“I don’t think you’d enjoy it if I did.”

“I wouldn’t.” Her voice dropped slightly. “The answer is... right now.”

Your pulse thudded low and hard.

Your turn. You curled your fingers around your glass. “Ask me something hard.”

She didn’t even blink. “When was the last time you felt desirable?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up at her.

“I don’t remember,” you said. “Until now.”

Her expression shifted—just slightly, but it did. Something softened at the edges. Approval, maybe. Or heat.

She leaned in a little then, close enough for her perfume to catch in your throat. “Then let’s make sure you do.”

Your stomach dropped. Your breath quickened.

“Come with me,” she said.

You rose without asking where.

She didn’t wait to see if you would follow. She simply stood, gathering her coat—not to put on, just to sling carelessly over one arm—and walked with unhurried grace toward the far end of the lounge. Past the empty concierge desk. Past the hushed hallway with the restrooms marked in gold lettering. Her heels clicked against the marble only when she allowed them to.

You followed.

Of course you followed.

And every step you took felt like shedding something.

The lounge restroom was designed for elegance, not necessity.

Muted lighting glowed from behind golden mirrors. Marble counters, pale and gleaming. Velvet chairs against one wall, absurdly comfortable for a space meant to be transitory. The scent of eucalyptus and wood polish hung faintly in the air. Not a sound but the hush of your own breath and the soft click of your shoes on tile.

The moment the door clicked shut, she turned to you.

Not in a rush. Just with that quiet, unshakable certainty.

Her hand found your wrist, her fingers wrapping there like they’d always meant to. She pulled you closer—until your hips met the counter, until your breath mingled with hers, until her eyes, steady and blue as storms, pinned you there.

You thought she might kiss you.

But she didn’t.

“You’re trembling,” she murmured, voice low and indulgent.

“I’m not used to being wanted like this.”

She tilted her head, studying you. “Then let me show you what it’s like.”

Her hand traced the curve of your waist, down your hip, until her fingers dipped just beneath the hem of your shirt, touching skin—barely. You inhaled sharply. She watched your face as she slipped that hand lower, slid beneath your waistband, unbuttoned you without breaking eye contact. Her mouth curved, like she liked how breathless you were getting just from the anticipation.

Her fingers slid between your thighs, and—

Oh.

Warm. Sure. She stroked you through your underwear first, a teasing glide that made your breath catch. Then she slipped beneath the fabric and touched you properly, slick and wanting and already so ready for her.

You let your head fall back against the mirror, knees trembling.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Let me.”

One long finger slipped inside, then two. No fumbling. No hesitation. She took you slowly, deliberately, her palm brushing just right as she curled her fingers inside you. Her other hand braced at your lower back, holding you up when your thighs began to shake.

She watched every flicker of your expression. Every stuttered breath. Her eyes were on your mouth when you moaned, on your chest when you arched, on your throat when you whimpered in a voice you barely recognized as your own.

It felt like being unraveled one touch at a time.

“You’ve been watching me all night,” she said softly.

“Yes,” you gasped.

“Imagining this?”

You managed a nod, though your body felt molten.

“Good,” she said. “I want you to remember me when you fly away.”

You came with a quiet cry, body clenching around her hand, hips grinding down into her palm. She held you through it, whispering soft encouragements—that’s it, just like that, you’re doing so well—until your pulse stopped hammering and your breath came back ragged.

When her fingers slipped free, they dragged slowly along your thigh. She reached for a towel, cleaned you gently—too gently for someone who hadn’t asked your name—and then kissed the corner of your lips. Not possessive. Not romantic.

Just a moment.

Just a mark.

You both returned to the lounge without speaking.

The storm had quieted outside. The lightning was gone, the thunder a fading echo somewhere in the distance. Through the tall, soundproof windows, the tarmac gleamed wet and silver under the pale light of early morning.

The air was different now. Less charged. Less heavy. But something still hung between you, thread-thin, invisible, and impossibly strong.

She took a seat at the bar again, legs crossed, posture impeccable. You slid into the seat beside her. Close, but not quite touching.

The bartender reappeared like magic. She ordered a whiskey, neat. You asked for water, suddenly parched.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just sat in the afterglow, the quiet hum of music and low conversation filling the space around you. You glanced at her hands, remembering the way they’d felt between your legs, and had to look away again.

And then—

A chime rang through the lounge.

“Now boarding: Gate A19, Flight 704 to London Heathrow.”

She turned her glass slowly in her hand.

“That’s me,” she said softly.

Something in you faltered.

You weren’t surprised. You’d known this couldn’t last—hadn’t been meant to—but the finality of it still hit sharp.

She stood and gathered her coat, draped it over her arm again. She didn’t rush. She didn’t linger. She was exactly what she had been through the evening: composed, graceful, impossible to hold onto.

You rose with her, suddenly unsteady. “Wait—”

She looked at you. And God, her eyes were soft. Not sorry. Not cruel.

Just real.

You swallowed. “Your name.”

A beat. She studied you like she might refuse, like keeping it sacred would make it easier.

But she didn’t.

She stepped a little closer. Lowered her voice.

“Larissa.”

It landed in your chest like the softest impact. A name. A tether.

You nodded, almost to yourself. “Thank you.”

Her smile was small. Almost sad.

“Don’t lose sleep over me,” she said.

“I won’t,” you lied.

And then she turned.

You watched her walk away—tall and calm, heels quiet against the floor, disappearing into the soft blur of travelers and announcements and time.

And even though you knew you’d never see her again, you would remember.

The storm.
The glances.
Her hands.
Her name.
Larissa.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 @jkregal @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne @ficsloverblog

[weemssapphic]

stay.

Larissa Weems x f!reader

Tags: smut (cunnilingus, dildos - Larissa receiving), overstimulation, hurt/comfort, alcohol may be involved, Larissa is kind of subby and has a praise kink and is hopefully not too ooc

Words: ~4.8k | ao3 link in title

Where does the thump of the bass end, where does your body begin? The song that’s playing doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you can feel its vibrations in your chest. You’re slightly tipsy — not hammered, not by a long shot, but just intoxicated enough to feel relaxed in the mass of people. Scantily clad bodies push against you from all sides, sticky and warm. No ‘excuse me’s, no ‘sorry’s, just vibing. It doesn’t bother you, they don’t bother you; you’re having fun, they’re having fun. You push your way across the dance floor, the bar is your goal. 

As you get closer, you notice a woman standing at the bar. She’s nearly a foot taller than everyone around her, her hair so pale that it takes on the color of the flashing LEDs above her head. Blue red purple yellow. Blue again. It’s curled into an updo, too sophisticated for a place like this, she doesn’t blend in with the rest of the crowd. She leans forward on her elbows, tries to get the bartender’s attention — he’s flirting unsuccessfully with some guy at the other end of the bar, hopeless. Now this woman is your goal.

The person to her left heads towards the dance floor — you take the opportunity to sidle up next to her. A glance at her out of the corner of your eye tells you she’s starting to get annoyed that she can’t get the bartender’s attention, so you do it for her. Luckily, he glances over at just the right time and sees you wave him over and, luckily, he decides he should be getting on with his job.

“Gin and tonic for me, please,” you shout over the music. “And…?” You turn towards the woman, motion for her to speak. She doesn’t yet, she’s taken aback for a moment, and the bartender raises his eyebrows impatiently as he starts on your drink. 

“Whiskey on the rocks, please.” She’s found her voice, and you almost lose yours — it’s just slightly deeper than you’d expected it to be, smooth and velvety, and she’s got the most melodic English accent. You wonder how long she’s been in Vermont.

She shoots you a grateful look, her tension clearly easing with the promise of a drink on the way. The bartender sets down both drinks and she opens her little clutch, but you’ve already tapped your phone to pay by the time she’s snapped open the clasp. Her eyes widen imperceptibly — she starts to protest, you shake your head and give her a look, a broad smile, and her words die in her throat. Her lips move, you assume that she’s thanking you but you can’t hear her over the music. Her lips are pretty. Soft, plump, you don’t know anyone who wears red lipstick like that. She knows you’re staring at her lips, her cheeks are starting to match them in color, but today you don’t care. You take a sip of your drink and she mirrors you.

“What brings you here?” you shout. It’s a basic question, but you genuinely want to know the answer. She doesn’t look like she’s having a good time. And she’s not dressed like the rest of the partygoers. Not that she isn’t dressed well, she is. A little black dress, a satin clutch, with gold details to match her jewelry. But her dress is a few inches longer than what most of the women here are wearing, and her heels a few inches shorter, and she doesn’t have any cleavage on display. She’s a bit stiff, proper, hesitant, like she’s drinking everything in, deliberating, considering. What to say, how to say it, who to trust. You think you already know what she’s going to say before she says it.

“My friend dragged me here,” she shouts back. Bingo. You smile. A beat. “Is it that obvious?”

You smile wider. “Yes.” You pause. “But not in a bad way, trust me.”

The woman gives you a quizzical glance. “What do y-”

“Larissa, I lost you in the crowd!”

Larissa. It fits her somehow. You’ve never known anyone with that name before. That belongs exclusively, uniquely to her now.

The source of the interruption is a petite redhead with long bangs and thick-rimmed glasses. Larissa’s friend places a hand on her arm and leans in to shout directly into her ear, so loud that even you can hear her. She’s a little drunk. “I’m going home with Chel-sea,” she slurs.

Chelsea lingers by the dance floor. It must be Chelsea because the redhead glances back at her and winks. She’s young and she’s butch and she looks a little jealous at the way the redhead’s lips are plastered to Larissa’s ear. She looks away when Larissa looks at her. 

You miss the rest of the conversation between Larissa and her friend, but you don’t really care. Her friend leaves with Chelsea and Larissa is still standing next to you at the bar, and that’s all you really care about. 

“It appears I’ve been abandoned,” Larissa says, you can tell it's an attempt at self-deprecating humor, you smirk. 

“Sometimes it’s more fun on your own. You get to meet new people.” Larissa knows you mean her, her eyes drift from your face down your body, slowly — scanning, appraising — then snap back up to your face. You wonder if she likes what she sees, and you know you’re fucked because you even had that thought in the first place. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” she says, and you take it as a sign that she, at the very least, doesn’t find you completely repulsive.

You introduce yourself and Larissa repeats your name, and you think you don’t ever want to hear anyone else say your name but her. She says her own name then, and you smile, because you already heard her friend say it, but it sounds even more beautiful falling from her own lips. Larissa.

“It’s nice to meet you, Larissa.” 

She smiles with her lips closed, it’s sweet and almost shy — maybe she likes the way her name sounds coming from your lips.

Someone pushes past you, trying to get the bartender’s attention — he’s flirting again, with the same man. He’s down bad. You move to make room at the bar and find yourself closer to Larissa. You’re close enough to smell her, she smells nice, heavy, white florals. She doesn’t smell like sweat or booze or cheap body spray like everyone else here. She’s different, she doesn’t belong. In a good way.

Larissa asks you something but you can’t hear her. “What?” you shout, and she repeats herself but you still can’t make it out, and the person behind you elbows you in the back and you nearly spill your drink down your shirt, and it would annoy you if Larissa weren’t clearly suppressing a smile. You have to shoot your shot. “You wanna get out of here?”

Thankfully Larissa’s hearing is better than yours and, thankfully, she agrees — you both down what’s left of your drinks and you lead her around the bar and towards the door. You’re afraid to lose her in the crowd, you keep looking over your shoulder, but then her hand closes around your bicep and suddenly the thick, warm, sticky air of the club is less suffocating, fades into the background. Your skin is on fire even through the fabric of your shirt, and you cannot get out fast enough.

The air outside is a welcome contrast, there’s a cool breeze, and Larissa loosens her grip on your arm but doesn’t let go completely. The door closes and muffles the music playing and your ears ring. “I don’t know why I come here anyway, I have this ringing in my ears for days after,” you joke. You’re still shouting and it makes Larissa laugh, and you realize that her laugh is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. You’d like to make her laugh some more.

“I don’t think I’ll let Marilyn take me here again,” she admits with a smile. “It’s not really my scene.” You could tell. You wonder how hard her friend had to beg her to come along.

You lean your back against the cool brick of the building, breathing deeply, getting some cold air into your lungs. Larissa’s hand drops from your bicep and you miss the feeling immediately. “What made you come in the first place then?”

Larissa takes her time answering, leans against the wall next to you, clearly pondering her words carefully. “Marilyn always picks up girls here,” she starts slowly. “She insisted on being my ‘wing-woman’. Which has clearly worked out quite well, seeing as she’s gone home with someone and abandoned me.” There’s a touch of humor in Larissa’s tone, as if this isn’t the first time Marilyn has done something like this, as if it’s some endearing personality trait of Marilyn’s.

“The night isn’t over yet…” You try to sound nonchalant — you wonder if Larissa would consider coming back to your place, but you can’t get a good read on her. “There’s still time, you could go back in?”

Larissa deliberates again. “Or I could stay right here?” Her voice rises at the end, like a question. Your gaze snaps to hers, searching, searching for what?

“Would you like to come back to my place?” you ask bluntly. Larissa smirks, her cheeks turn pink — there’s something about her mixture of confidence and shyness that has you desperate for her. She steps closer and nods. 

“Yes.”

Not shyness, something else. She’s reserved, as if she’s never done this before, you wonder why she’s doing it now, if she’s proving something to her friend, if she’s sick of being alone. If she just really likes you.

Your arm goes around her waist. It feels soft and warm. Your eyes go to her lips. They look soft and warm. Your body draws nearer to her as if pulled by some magnetic force, the same force that’s slowly pulling her face down towards your own. 

Her lips are just as soft and warm as they look. Softer even. You feel as though you’re melting into her. She tastes like whiskey and lipstick and you know that the latter will stain your chin but you couldn’t care less. She’s eager but so are you and you deepen the kiss simultaneously, your tongues brushing as you taste each other. The feeling makes you shiver. Makes your arm tighten around her waist and your free hand trace her hip. You wonder what it is about you that makes her let go of her reservations, you shake the thought from your head, you don’t care, kissing her feels so good.

She buries her hands in your hair. Tugs a bit. Scratches your scalp. You moan, dig your fingers into her hip, maybe she’ll bruise. Fuck, she feels like heaven. You’re floating. You mumble something about calling a cab. You don’t though, not right away anyway, you don’t want the kiss to end.

You end up in a cab together. Larissa is handsy, you’re handsy. Your thigh is squished against hers, your hand is inching up her thigh, her hand is in your hair again. Her breath is heavy against your lips. The windows are cracked. The driver is used to this. He clears his throat, he’s come to a stop at the bottom of your driveway.

He’s happy about your generous tip, and you’re happy about Larissa’s hand in your own as you lead her up the driveway in the dark. You let go of it to fumble with your keys and Larissa giggles in your ear, her hand rests on your lower back as she waits, fuck, her fingers are so long, the thought makes you drop your keys.

Finally inside, you close the front door with your ass, lean back against it, pull Larissa against you by the hips, bypass her lips in favor of her neck. Moans fill the air, Larissa’s moans, deep and sensual. They vibrate against your lips as you taste the skin beneath her jaw. Heat fills your belly, sparks shoot up your spine, your groin aches.

You give Larissa a push, walk her backwards through the dark house towards your bedroom. She clings to your shirt, she’s panting, she likes kissing you, her lipstick must be all over your face, it turns you on. Her back hits the bed and she pulls you on top of her by the shirt. Your thighs bracket her hips and your breasts press against hers through your clothes, your teeth clash as you briefly lose the rhythm of your kisses. Her hands slip beneath your shirt, brush against your lower back, you’re sweaty, she doesn’t seem to care, enjoys the way you grind against her.

Your hands push at her dress, it clings to her, you’re almost jealous of the dress, you should be wrapped around her like that, where does your body end and hers begin, you want to meld into her. She tries to sit up, you let her, she pulls the dress over her head, you pull your shirt over your head. Both of your chests are heaving, Christ, it’s hot in here — your gaze traces the lace that clings to Larissa’s breasts, the delicate black pattern creating a delicious contrast against the milky white flesh that strains against it, that moves up and down with every breath. 

“May I?” you ask, fingering the straps that dig into her shoulders. At her breathless “yes” you push your fingers beneath them and drag them down her arms. There are pink indents in her shoulders, your fingertips soothe over them, your lips replace your fingertips which search Larissa’s back for the clasp. The bra falls away from her body and your lips follow her shoulder down to the swell of her breasts, kissing, licking, nipping, letting out little moans, soft soft soft so soft.

Your hands on her waist, also soft, something out of a renaissance painting. Her hands on your back, she’s found the clasp of your own bra, you smile against her flesh. Bra is tossed aside, your nipples poke against her skin, hard, her nipples are hard, too. She arches her back when you lick them, slides her hands into your hair to keep you in place — you’re starting to realize what she likes.

Larissa’s belly is soft, you want to bite it so you do, she groans. You pull back to admire your handiwork, the indents of your teeth in the soft fat of her lower belly, the faint reddish marks covering her torso, remnants of her own lipstick that have transferred from her lips to yours to her skin. You kiss the bite mark, there, all better, you kiss your way down to her venus mound, pull her underwear down, dark blonde curls tickle your chin, her thighs part.

Kiss the crease where thigh meets groin, smell her arousal — shudder in delight. It coats your tongue, tastes just as good as it smells, makes your own cunt ache. Your nose is in her pubic hair and your arms are around her thighs, the softness of which press against your ears and muffle her moans. Your tongue laves her folds, shit, she tastes better than anyone you’ve ever had, you can’t remember ever having anyone else, you don’t ever want to have anyone else.

Larissa holds your head in place by the hair, you can tell she’s a little desperate for release by how roughly her nails scratch your scalp, not gentle like outside the club, and by the way her hips roll against your mouth. It’s hot, how bad she wants this. 

“Mm, good girl,” you moan against her clit — her fingers flex against your head and her hips stutter, fuck, she’s so responsive.

You let go of one of her thighs to touch yourself, popping open the button on your trousers and shoving your hand into your underwear — relief courses through you as you start to rub your clit, matching the pace of your tongue on Larissa’s clit. Her thighs tense around your ears, her hips buck erratically, she’s close, you suck her clit with urgency, you hump your own hand with the same fervor. Come on, same time maybe, it’s building, building, Larissa cums all over your chin, you can’t hear whether or not she moans, your heart is pounding in your ears, your own orgasm coats your hand and drenches your underwear. Trousers ruined, who gives a fuck, being between Larissa’s thighs is worth it.

Long fingers tug at your hair, pull you up, soft lips descend upon yours — you feel Larissa’s breath catch in her throat, you taste like her. You wiggle your hips, kick off your trousers, tug off your underwear, Larissa gasps when she feels how wet you are. Flexes her thigh against you, you mewl, god, what a pathetic sound, you don’t have time to be embarrassed, she kisses you harder. Her hands on your hips encourage them to roll, grind against her, use her to cum.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you pant — you’re looking down at Larissa as you ride her thigh and she looks like a goddamn angel, lips swollen, parted, lipstick smeared around them, pupils blown, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed, hair half undone and stuck to the sweat on her forehead, tits bobbing, belly rippling, arms flexing. Her gaze tracks your own features, the movements of your own body as your muscles tense, your tits bounce, your chest heaves. You wish you could take a photo of the way she’s looking at you.

Your release is the sweetest thing you’ve ever felt, heightened by the way Larissa’s throat bobs as she swallows thickly. You want to kiss her senseless, so you do. “God, I want to fuck you so bad,” you mumble against her lips — she groans and squirms beneath you, you reach blindly over to your bedside table and pull your strap out of the drawer and Larissa shivers at the sound of the silicone bumping against the drawer. “Is it okay if I fuck you?”

Larissa moans a “yes” into your mouth as her hands cup your ass to pull you closer, her fingertips brushing against your core. Fuck, your eyes roll back in your head and it takes all your willpower to sit up, climb off of her, put on the harness. Her eyes track your every move, her tongue darts out to wet her lips, it drives you wild. You climb back on top of her, straddling her, squeezing some lube onto the dildo and spreading it with your hand — Larissa’s fingers twitch against the sheets, as though she’s itching to touch you, as though not touching you is driving her wild.

You settle between her legs, they part for you, her eyes are locked on the dildo, she pushes herself up on her elbows to watch as you tease her inner thighs with the tip. Her folds stick together with cum, you part them with your finger, her head falls back and her thighs twitch. She’s glistening, she’s drenched, you push your finger inside of her and she clenches around it, you wish the dildo was a real cock, that she would clench around you like that. A second finger, she takes it well, her body drawing you in, clenching with every pump of your fingers, your free hand gently rubs her outer thigh, there, that’s good, ‘fuck, so wet for me, are you ready?’

You withdraw your fingers and replace them with the dildo, teasing her folds, her clit, circling her entrance, pushing in, slowly, slowly, watching Larissa’s lips part, ‘breathe, that’s it, be a good girl and breathe for me.’ Your hips meet hers and you still for a moment, you let her get used to the feeling of being full.

“You okay?” you ask, you wait for Larissa to find her voice.

“Y-yes… it’s just a little big.” She blushes, it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. You’ll start slow, you tell her, and she looks grateful, she takes a few more breaths before she tells you to move and you drag the fake cock out of her until only the tip is left inside. Wait a beat. Push it back in, just as slow as the first time. She moans. Fuck, make that sound again, you pull your hips back and push them forward, just a little faster, she makes that sound again. 

You call her a good girl again and she responds by rocking her hips into you. She really likes being called a good girl, she closes her eyes and her hands fist at the sheets and her chest turns pink. She mewls and moans and whimpers and her hips meet your pace thrust for thrust, even when you start to pound into her. She grabs your hips for stability, her fingers dig into your flesh, her palms are warm and sweaty and they stick to you, you wish they would stay stuck, you like how they feel on you. 

Larissa cums hard, her face contorts in ecstasy, her eyebrows knit together and the creases there are deep, would it be weird to kiss them? Fuck it, you kiss them — that was the right move, Larissa’s arms wrap around your back, slide down to your ass, give it a squeeze, try to guide it to move again, to keep fucking her. You snap your hips, you kiss her sloppily, you moan into her mouth as if the cock were part of you, as if you could feel her warmth around you, you almost can if you focus on it hard enough, she moans back and clenches as if you could really feel it. She cums again, stops kissing you while she does, just pants erratically into your mouth.

“Be a good girl and turn around for me,” you mumble against her lips, receiving a tired moan in return. You pull back, slowly slip out of her, she whimpers a bit at the sensation. Your whole body is on fire. “I’d love to see you on your hands and knees for me.”

She turns, groans a bit, clenches her thighs together. You grip her by the hips and give her a gentle tug and she falls onto her elbows, her forehead rests against the mattress, her ass is in the air. So pretty, you run a hand along its curve as you push her legs apart with your knees, she’s open wide like this, she’s perfect. “This feel good?” you confirm as you tease her slit with the dildo, you wait for a muffled “mhm” before pushing in again, she’s tight like this and you go slow, you stroke her hips, her thighs, you watch the muscles in her back tense.

Something is different, you notice — Larissa’s moans are much quieter, her hips are much more static than before, she slowly stops meeting your thrusts, her biceps shake as she holds herself up. You slow to a stop, your hands rub her hips, you ask if she’s okay — she freezes, that tells you everything you need to know. You’re going to pull out, you tell her, and she stays perfectly still as you do just that, she stays still as you crawl beside her and urge her to relax, to lie flat on the bed. 

“Larissa?” She avoids your gaze, she lies on her stomach with her head turned the other way. You hardly know her, you don’t know what’s happened or what she needs. “Larissa?” you try again, trying not to sound pleading or desperate.

“Sorry, I just need a minute,” she finally replies, her voice shaky. You give her a minute, two minutes, three minutes. She sniffles and your heart sinks. You sit up a bit and peer around her, seeing tear tracks run down her cheek.

“Larissa…” You tug gently at her shoulder, urging her to turn towards you — she resists, then she relents. She lets you pull her onto her side, she buries her face in her hands, one covering her eyes, one covering her mouth, as if you can’t tell she’s crying like that.

You don’t know what to do, your heart constricts in your chest, your stomach hurts. “I’m sorry,” you say — you don’t know exactly what you’re apologizing for, but you feel like it's your fault that Larissa is crying, you want to make her feel better, you don’t know how. She shakes her head and her palm muffles a sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and your brow furrows. What the fuck are you apologizing for, you want to say, but the words get stuck in your throat and you rub her bicep in what you hope is a soothing manner. Is it worse to touch her or worse to pull away completely?

“What are you sorry for? You have nothing to be sorry for,” you finally say, but you don’t think Larissa has absorbed your words, because she keeps mumbling something about being sorry, that she’ll be ready to go again in a minute. “It’s okay,” you whisper over and over again as you rub her bicep. “We can stop, we don’t have to keep going.”

“We don’t?” Larissa sniffles, glancing up at you, and you shake your head vehemently. 

“We don’t.”

Another sniffle. The words ‘I’m sorry’ repeated again. You don’t like that she’s apologizing. You ask her why. She sniffles again. She dabs at the inner corner of her eye.

“It’s s-silly to be crying,” she says dismissively, it makes you frown. 

“It’s not silly,” you tell her. “What happened? Did you get overstimulated? Was it the position?”

She nods reluctantly, avoids your gaze. “I’m s-sorry… It was just too much…”

Your heart threatens to crack in two — what sort of shitty partners has Larissa had in the past that she didn’t feel comfortable telling you to stop? You push down your sadness and anger, they aren’t productive. You brush Larissa’s hair off her face, catch a stray tear on your thumb, trace her jaw with the tips of your fingers. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, Larissa. If one of us wants to stop, for whatever reason, we stop. Whether it’s just a break or we stop altogether, we both deserve to have fun and to feel safe.”

Larissa closes her eyes, nods slowly, wipes her nose with her wrist — you get up, you’ll be right back, to get her some tissues and a wet washcloth. Larissa blushes as you clean her up, tries to be subtle as she blows her nose, mumbles out another apology which you chastise her for. 

“I doubt this is how hook-ups are supposed to behave,” she retorts — you laugh, that gets you a reproachful look from the blonde. 

“You’re not a ‘hook-up’, you’re a human. You don’t have to behave a certain way. I just want you to have a good time. And to be able to tell me if you’re not having a good time. I’m many things but a selfish cunt isn’t one of them.”

The tension breaks, Larissa snorts and shakes her head, you grin up at her from between her legs. She looks like a mess — lashes clumped together, mascara streaked down her cheeks, lipstick smeared down her chin and up onto the tip of her nose, foundation caked beneath her eyes. She’s beautiful. It’s the kind of moment that could make you fall in love — you shake the thought out of your head.

A trickle of morning light is seeping in through the blinds, bathing your bedroom in a soft glow. As you toss the washcloth aside and crawl up next to Larissa, you realize you can see her irises clearly for the first time. They’re the truest blue you’ve ever seen, deep and bright at once. Your eyes flicker between each of hers, which do the same to yours. 

“Sun’s come up,” Larissa says hoarsely.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

She gives you a shy, closed-lip smile. You cup the back of her neck, wait. It’s her move. She closes the gap, kisses you. Still smiling. You smile back, kiss back, stroke the base of her skull with your thumb. She hums, you hum back. 

You pull away first. “We should get some sleep.” You get up, cross the room, close the blinds, the room is dark. Stumble back to bed, bang your knee against the bed frame, curse — your eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Larissa chuckles.

“Should I leave? It’s morning…” she suggests almost timidly as you lie beside her.

“Only if you have somewhere to be. Otherwise I’d very much like for you to stay, if you want that, too…” You hold your breath, you hope she does want that too. Her answer comes in the form of lying down to face you, tugging the covers over herself.

Your eyes meet. “Thank you,” Larissa whispers. “Nothing to thank me for,” you whisper back. 

Even in the dark her smile is radiant. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Larissa.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Taglist: @alexusonfire @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @fictionalized-lesbian @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @http-sam @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @niceminipotato @thevillagegay @barbarasstar @jadewolf22 @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @lilfartbox1 @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @thesamesweetie @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @daydream-cement @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @ilovetlcc @lesbiahonest24 @wastdstime @gwens0girl @larissa-weems-chokehold @makemyworldworthliving @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @nightingalespen

[rippersz]

𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆'𝒔 𝑨 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Larissa Weems x Reader x Alcina Dimitrescu (NSFW; Double Penetration; Lewd Language; BDSM; Mommy Kink; Breeding; G!P)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

It’s too much. 

It’s way too much.

Too much touching, too much pleasure, too much passion. 

It’s all warm bodies, panting breaths, deep growls, small whimpers, and so much heat that you feel faint with it. They have you stuck in between, held up and hovering over thick thighs while two sets of strong hips alternate powerful thrusts. In and out. In and out. In… out… Easy and light for the two of them as sharp nails leave deep indents in the flesh of your ass, clenching and unclenching. She shoulders most of the weight, the taller of your two lovers, while she takes her fill. Insatiable and dark. Hard, fast, and rough. There’s grunts that pour past your ear and fan against the sensitive skin of your neck, creating the most precious addictive harmony as she scrapes razor-sharp fangs along the soft flesh of your trapezius. Skirting around the very edge of pain. She knows you fear it. She knows you’re waiting. Fortunately, she’s already made up her mind. The feeding will be for another night- or perhaps later, when you’re passed out on the bed between them, plugged to keep the warmth of their cum from spilling out of your pretty body. She’s unbelievably excited about that if the flex of her hips and strong steady hold is anything to go by. It’s a sweet gesture in the long run, keeping you in place so that the woman in front of you, grasping onto your lower thighs, can have an easier time using you for pleasure. 

And she is. Absolutely. 

Larissa’s porcelain skin is flushed pink with desire, spreading all the way down to the milky expanse of her bare chest. She’s huffing, her beautiful red lips parted with a sense of disbelief while her eyes, blown dark with an appreciative pupil, lock themselves onto the sensitive place where your bodies meet. She studies your venus mound, the soft curls wetted by your desire, and licks her lips without thought while you watch the hypnotizing roll of her torso. In and out… in and out… smooth and easy and deep enough to make both of you exhale soft moans and whimpers on each thrust. She doesn’t have the stamina Alcina does, but that’s why your draconic lover takes most of the force… and most of the resistance. Their difference in size, in moments like this, is terribly noticeable. You feel it in their hands, in the closeness of their chests and their heights, even while kneeling on the bed, and in the thick of their cocks as they grind into you from both ends. 

Filling all that they can, for all that they’re worth, and enjoying the sounds of your broken cries. 

“P-please- can’t!- Sens-sensitive!” You scream, vision blurring with hot tears as they continue their evil dance. 

Alcina is absolutely fucking punishing. You’re not sure how you’re going to walk comfortably come morning with the way she smacks against your backside. She’s obviously not shy and only finds a sick sort of enjoyment in your answering sobs whenever she whispers how tight you are for her. How desperate. Clenching around both of their lengths like a needy depraved little slut. 

And Larissa, who listens with sharp ears and responds with appreciative moans, can only watch and partake in her own lewd show as she sees the way Alcina hovers over you. Making eye contact with those golden fires, feeling adored beneath the heavy heat that comes with the constant stare your taller lover gives her. Eyes raking over the softness of her breasts, the hickies on the swell of her ribs, the golden curls at the base of her cock… Slightly smaller than Alcina’s, and tinged pink with delight as it moves in and out of you with fervor. Stretching with ease as you take her right to the hilt over and over and over. It feels like a piece of Heaven all on its own, plucked right from the stars, as Larissa looks up from beneath her lashes and bats her eyes at Alcina. Her cock throbs, wild with pleasure, as it fills you swiftly- and she takes that moment to pause. The lull barely has time to confuse you before Larissa is leaning closer, pressing your chests together in warm, hazy damp delight, so she can bring her lips right up to your-... shoulder. Over your shoulder. To meet the pull of Alcina’s body as her bountiful chest, soft and gentle, pins itself to the contours of your back. You can almost feel the heavy thump of her heart. 

“Kiss me, darling,” Alcina breathes quickly, her voice a deep pleasant rumble brushed against Larissa’s lips. They keep themselves inside of you, prolonging the ache in your body as they kiss. Slow and sensual, red lips opening and parting, pink tongues licking into each other with languid strokes. Eyes closed, suspended in bliss, throats bobbing with the most erotic moans. You can only watch, entranced and bewitched, as a strong shiver races down your spine. You quake in their shared hold and shift your gaze to see- Oh. Gold. Striking gold, glowing beneath a heavy lid, watching you with cloying amusement. It’s embarrassing to be seen in such a needy state, blushing and clenching and eager for whatever they can give you… you want to hide away, but you have nowhere to go. They’re so warm, so strong, and kissing so lovingly. 

Alcina’s eye closes as she loses herself in your other lover’s sweet mouth, and the desperation in your body only shoots to unbearable heights as the attention is stolen away.

“Please,” you whimper. Give it to me. Anything. Fuck me until I pass out and you can’t control yourselves anymore. Please. Anything. I love you. 

Larissa is the first to pull away. She’s slow, letting Alcina steal one last moan from her lungs, before she’s settling back onto her heels and licking the spit from her lips. Slow and appreciative. You figure they both taste like wine and sex and your body begins to squirm without much thought–completely taken by the envious nature that swells in your heart. 

Kiss me too. Please. Please, kiss me too. 

“Poor thing…,” your lover whispers, her breath like a cool balm against your heated skin. You nod immediately, trying to garner some appreciation, some sympathy, and lean your head back to rest on Alcina’s collarbone. She feels so strong behind you, still holding your legs without even a tremor in her forearms - and keeping you open for Larissa, who ducks to nuzzle against your neck. “Have we been neglecting you?” She asks in a murmur, the words flowing like individual pieces of silk from her cherry lips. 

You nod, quickly, and bring your hands up from your thighs to rest over her shoulders. A small tug has her settling closer, pressing so far into you that no space slips between your bodies. Chests kissing and hips locked, the sweat on her skin glistens beneath firelight. 

The hearth is proudly lit and burning away, flickering with shadows that dance across your sinful tango. Everything smells of perfume and sex and you’re eager to feel them moving again. Alcina is starting to hurt, aching so much within her nestled spot that you try to adjust - but her hands only dig into your thighs with renewed vigor. She doesn’t want you to escape. She doesn’t want you to leave. You feel the burn and you stay there for them, because tonight that’s your job. 

Larissa’s little pet. Alcina’s little fucktoy. That’s usually how it goes. 

And the sweet peck that the former gives you a moment later, lingering in the space between your eyebrows, sparks a little whimper to run from your throat. It’s a raw sound, betraying your need, and you watch as Larissa’s eyes soften. She is always so weak for you—never able to keep up the mean façade for very long. She can tease like a motherfucker, but the near punishing pace Alcina often sets is not something she can always adapt to. So she loves as she does now, kissing every bit of your face that she can reach, letting out soft moans that make your mouth water. And when you try moving to capture her lips, lazily twisting your head, she backs away. A terrible game of cat and mouse. A form of torture that has you in near tears because goddammit you just need them to DO something alread-

“Hngh!” A strained, choked sound, taken from the very depths of your eager soul, splits the heavy air.

It’s tinged with pain, overwhelmed with pleasure, as Alcina’s cock, in all of its big glory, drags out of your hole and slams back in.

“Fuck,” you hear her low murmur before the rest of her appreciation is drowned out by Larissa’s gasp. 

She’s clearly very sensitive, instantly shutting her eyes in undeniable bliss as the motions of your dance start up again. Alcina grinds easily, producing the dirtiest sounds as the meat of her thighs slaps against your ass. And no moan is stifled. No growl is hidden. She wants you to hear her. She knows how much it makes you throb, and when that happens, she knows it pleasures them both. And that’s part of it, of course. A common point of teasing. She pulls out certain reactions from you so you can please Larissa. Your sweet angel. Bucking her hips like she is now, a mad woman made by your own hands. White hair in disarray, chest painted in lipstick and light bruises, legs shaking with need. 

They stretch you so well… The perfect fits for your body. Even if it hurts. Even if, occasionally, you wince. It doesn’t matter. You’re just so warm… So easy… Constantly ready to drop to your knees if they ask. Always in the mood to give yourself up. It’s just as Alcina says:

“Such an eager little whore for your Mommies, aren’t you darling?” 

Yes. Yes, you are. 

“Mhm… Our pretty little cocksleeve…”

God, yes.

“Isn’t that right, Larissa? Such a good princess we have, hm?” 

The response is a deep purr. “Without a doubt, my love. So… oh gods, fuck… so obedient…”

Very. The most obedient. No choice but to be. Doesn’t matter. You’re a good princess. Best cocksleeve. All for them. Pretty Mommies…

Out there, you are more than this. You are something perhaps a bit more human. A bit more independently functional. You are expected to do things. Told to be mightier. Conditioned to work and provide and never rest.

But here… 

Oh here you are nothing but a means to an end. A hole to fill as your lovers, all red lips and aureate eyes crashing into sapphires, black and white hair in complete contrast, fuck you at their own paces. Staring at each other over your shoulder, hearts in their pupils, while they use you like the two-holed toy in between. Your pleas go unanswered. Your tears go unlicked.

They use your body like they’ve spent their whole lives waiting to. And your body accepts them. Eager for their care, their love, the heat that they want to fill you with.

“Cum with me, Larissa.” In your foggy haze, you hear Alcina pant. “Please,” she begs, a sweet sound you rarely get to hear, “Help me- hngfuckfuck- f-fill our little girl.” 

The term of endearment has you exploding in goosebumps, growing stiff with the amount of times your cunt squeezes around Larissa’s length in the span of only a few moments. It’s addicting, this position. This intimacy. The mind-numbing passion that follows in the wake of their rapid, eager thrusts. An easy tell for the bliss you’re about to feel. 

“Yes- yesyesyesyesyes!- Al-cina-!” Your fair-haired lover squeaks as she doubles over, presses her forehead into your neck, and pumps her hips erratically. The shiver flows through her veins and comes to a head, quick and hard, as she crumbles inside of you. 

Alcina, delighted by the show of those blue eyes rolling back in pleasure, follows without preamble. Her thrusts are mad, lost in their forgotten timing, and descend into short bursts of strength as she works herself all the way inside and finally gives into the electricity that floats into her body. 

The feeling of their breasts pressed to your front and back, heaving with the love you’ve given them, the Heaven that’s been taken, is enough to send you into a small orgasm of your own. It’s a weak pulse of your body, too tired and hazy to register anything but the thick warm cum that floods you. Spilling and spilling until you’re nearly certain that it’s all going to dribble out onto the length of their cocks as soon as they pull out, and then dirty the bedspread.

But really who gives a fuck about the bedspread? 

They’ll just buy another set, rich and expensive and softer than feathers. 

And then ruin that one too.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Drops dead - Rip x

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Too tired for tags... waaaa...

[theswordmaiden]

Stress Relief

Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader

Poor Larissa is frustrated after a long day and needs a helping hand... or throat. Thank you @ weemssapphic for being willing to beta this <3

∙ CW / Mentions: NSFW, g!p, shifted cock, blowjob, praise/degrading maybe, finger-sucking, name calling, pet names. R! is just a whore

∙ Word Count: 2.4k | ao3 link in title

Larissa had been fidgeting with the end of her pen when you’d entered her office only moments ago, her little darling, so sweet to check in on the poor woman. Today had been exhausting, from the moment she’d dragged herself out of bed, joints aching and stiff, to the constant bickering of students outside her door all afternoon arguing about who knew what.

But then you’d come in with a cup of hot chocolate, perhaps no longer as warm as you would have preferred, but enough to satisfy, and she’d sipped it gratefully, relieved to have something else to focus on besides the mounting stress of the day — and to have you perched so prettily on the corner of her desk. 

Now she listens as you ramble about the obnoxious construction in Jericho, but her attention is more focused on how your fingers trace the rim of your cup with slow deliberation. It is hypnotic, like a siren's call, lulling her senses into a trance-like state. When you fall silent and look at her expectantly, you can’t help but notice the slight twitch in her eye. It seems that her frustration has returned, though perhaps in a different manner than before.

Larissa flinches at the hand that suddenly brushes against hers. "Is something the matter, Riss? You look flushed..." you question, your thumb pressed against her palm, somewhat amused as her eyes meet yours. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"Sorry, darling,” Larissa clears her throat and reaches for her drink. Watching you makes her feel parched. "Today has been quite frustrating…” Her voice trails off as she contemplates the lingering emotions, dark eyes staring at you curiously.

"Well," you lean in closer until your lips brush against the skin of her knuckles, "I could help you forget about that...?" The warmth of your breath causes Larissa to shiver, your voice like silk against her sensitive flesh. Anticipation pools within her belly as she watches you ease yourself from her desk and coax her up from her chair to take a much-needed break.

Your hands come to rest against Larissa’s hips, tracing the generous curve of them, pressing into the soft flesh as you massage small circles. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up with an innocent smile that belies your intentions. It bunches around her waist, revealing a tantalizing patch of hair that trails from her belly button down to the waistband of her panties.

“Careful, pet,” Larissa warns, though still leans into your touch, allowing you to continue, “Someone should teach you some manners…” The corners of her lips tilt upwards in a coy smile as she studies you, her fingers idly playing with your hair as she waits, wanting to see how far you can be pushed. “I’m sure we can think of something, hm? Sweet girl, always taking care of me..”

Sinking to your knees before she even has to ask, your head tilts back to meet her gaze with big doe eyes, the tip of your tongue naturally darting out to wet your pouting lips. Your hands reach down around her calves to pull her closer, nails biting at the flimsy stockings protecting her skin from your touch.

Slowly you trace up the mile-long expanse of her legs, the tantalizing touch making Larissa’s cock strain against her panties as your warm palms make their way across the tautness of her thighs — drawing closer to where she aches, but never fully giving in to what she needs. Finally rounding the sides of her hips, two fingers hook around the sage green lace holding her and pull down, releasing the writhing length of her cock.

Sucking in a shaky breath, your eyes trail down Larissa’s body, groaning in appreciation as you settle on the sight of her dick twitching between milky thighs, following the slight curve of it with your gaze. It stands proudly, thick and heavy, framed by a neat patch of blonde curls at the base, and a prominent vein that runs up the side you want to trace with your tongue. The thought of her using your throat for her pleasure, just how deep she could push before you choke around her, sends shivers down your spine, and your mouth begins to water. You let out a small whine as your eyes meet hers once again, only to see them completely black, pupils dilated wide with desire, and you give a squeeze to her thighs in a silent plea.

“You make me want to ruin that little innocent look you’re always so careful about showing,” Larissa murmurs, sighing as she cups the side of your face, tilting it slightly. “Such a perfect mouth..” Her thumb stretches out to trace along your bottom lip, soft and inviting, watching in fascination as she pulls it down, parting your mouth slightly, revealing the velvety surface of your tongue. “Open for me, would you, sweetheart? Wider… Ah, there we go. Good girl.” A pleased hum leaves her crimson lips as you obey, allowing the digit to travel the length of your tongue, pushing as deep as it can go before stilling.

“Now suck.” 

Her thumb slides farther between your lips, in and out, back and forth, and you taste the saltiness of her skin as it lingers against the warmth of your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out soft moans as you suck on her digit, cheeks hollowing and tongue twirling. Larissa curls her index finger under your chin after a few moments and guides your head up, your eyes opening to meet her intense gaze, while her other hand caresses the side of your face.

Larissa’s touch is gentle, leaving a trail of heat in its path as her knuckles trace down the side of your face, starting from your temple and working their way lower. She pauses at the roundness of your cheek, the pad of her fingers pushing against the skin of your cheekbone before continuing their journey down. Lower and lower they go, until her thumb reaches the corner of your mouth, tugging it down, only to watch it snap back into place. 

“I’ve been thinking about these pretty lips all day... and how much prettier they’d be wrapped around my cock.”

With gentle pressure on your chin, she urges it loose, and you can’t help but to obey, eagerly opening your mouth as she guides her cock towards your waiting tongue — teasingly tapping the tip against its velvety surface before finally easing herself inside, filling your mouth with her presence. A pleased hum rumbles from the depths of her chest as she watches you eagerly take her in.

Your throat constricts, struggling not to gag as you adjust to the length of her shaft. You can feel every movement, slow and deliberate, inch by inch, as Larissa’s cock invades the cavern of your mouth, stretching your lips to accommodate its thickness. She shifts her hips back before slowly pushing forward to enter your mouth once more, your lips puffy and pink, becoming greedy, not wishing to spend a second away from the warmth of your tongue.

The head of her cock presses deliciously against the back of your throat each time it slides back inwards, Larissa’s hips twitching in restraint from just holding your skull in place and fucking your throat to a bruise. 

Slowly, you push your head down until you reach the base of her cock, blonde curls tickling at your lips and nose as they meet the junction between plush thighs, each grunt and shaky breath from the woman above you making you shudder with need. You pull back, releasing her with a wet and lewd pop that echoes, a glistening strand of saliva connecting your mouth to the pink tip of her aching length, leaving a messy trail down your chin as you inhale shakily.

Larissa’s gaze flickers down to watch the connection break, her breathing deepening as she takes in the sight of you — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, a bead of sweat trickling down your brow. The way you look at her, eyes half-lidded in your blissed state, mouth still parted and waiting, ignites a primal urge within her to claim you completely. Her little pet, so perfectly pliable and eager, as if you were nothing but a hole to fill.

You, so obedient, made just for her, on your knees like a saint praying at an altar, worshiping the length of her neverending body. Your hands roam around the back of her legs, carving marks into the supple skin, begging to feel her back down your throat.

“Look at you,” she coos, her voice so sickeningly sweet and low that it sends another wave of heat pooling in your lower belly. “So good to me, aren’t you? So willing to take what I give you, letting me put that mouth of yours to good use...” Larissa’s fingers thread through your hair, grabbing a fistful to gently tug you back down onto her waiting cock.

She begins to thrust forward again, just enough for you to feel every twitching inch of her filling your mouth. Your hands grip at the flesh of her thighs for stability, nails digging in as she increases the pace, each thrust pushing deeper into your throat, swallowing around her length. You groan around her cock as she sets a bruising rhythm, pushing you down, holding you there, keeping you still, before drawing you back up again, forcing you to meet each quick thrust.

“Look at how perfectly my cock fits in that pretty mouth of yours,” she growls, accentuating each syllable with a purposeful thrust that makes you clench around nothing — so desperate to be used for her pleasure, licking and sucking and slurping as if your life depended on it as she uses your face like a fuck-toy.

“That’s right, just like- oh gods- like that.. choke- mmph- on it like a good- ngh- good f-fucking girl.”

Your throat constricts around her, a desperate gasp escaping as you gag, fighting against the urge to pull away even as your lungs scream for air, eyes watering at the gratifying stretch as you take it like the desperate bitch you are. Again and again, her cock hits the back of your throat, another sputtering moan escaping from your drooling mouth, your tongue lapping and swirling at every inch she gifts you with.

“Breathe through your nose, honey,” Larissa instructs through gritted teeth as she finds a heavenly rhythm, angling your head just right so that it makes her see stars. Her breaths are ragged, chest heaving as she cries out your name, over and over like a mantra, thighs trembling on either side of your head. “Just- ah- a little longer, doing so- so well for me- ugnh, fuck!”

Your jaw is beginning to ache, your throat raw and sore, yet you can’t help but moan around her cock, wanting more, always wanting and craving it. Larissa’s hands tangled within your hair grip harder to hold you steady as she bucks against your face, her thrusts becoming deeper. You feel her length twitch against your tongue and you know she’s close.

“Almost there, t- take it all, darling,” she gasps, her voice thick with urgency, “want you to- fuck- swallow it down like a- ngh- good little slut.”

Larissa’s thrusts become more desperate, hungry, her hips jerking forward in quick, erratic movements. Whimpers fall from her lips, her head thrown back in pleasure, teeth bared to the ceiling, each sound sending white-hot pleasure down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the tension building like a coiled spring, threatening to snap.

You whine around her as she thrusts harder and faster into your mouth like a depraved beast, every bit of your remaining energy focused on pleasing her. Your tongue flicks out, tracing circles around her cockhead as she drives deeper into your mouth, begging — pleading — to let her cum down your throat, and all you can do is hum around her shaft, hoping she’ll do just that.

Larissa breaks apart above you in a series of loud moans and curses as you surge forward, hitting down to the base of her cock once more, pushing her over the edge. Stars dance behind her closed eyes as her hot release spills into your mouth, which you eagerly swallow, milking her for all that she’s worth until there’s nothing left and she’s nudging you away from her sensitive length; trembling and panting as she lets you pull back.

As you lean back on your heels, a rush of oxygen fills your lungs, bringing sweet relief to your heaving body. The lingering taste of her still coats your tongue, and you savor it before wiping the remnants of saliva from your face with the back of your hand.

Larissa’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours with an appreciative smile. “My precious girl,” she whispers, the deep timbre of her voice low and husky, as she reaches down to stroke your cheek and tuck away damp curls behind your ears. There is something intoxicating about the way she gazes down at you — sated yet still hungry, a predatory glint in her stormy blue eyes that hints this is far from over. “Thank you for taking care of me...”

You lean into her touch, nuzzling against her palm and relishing in the attention, and you press your mouth against the skin, despite your exhaustion. Your lips trail a path of kisses from the inside of her wrist to the delicate curve of her elbow, savoring the saltiness of her skin as you work your way across her body.

“More, Rissa,” you rasp against the softness of her belly, nipping at the ivory skin. Larissa shivers as your lips meet her navel. You look up at her through your lashes, eyes wide and pleading as you pout — surely you deserve to cum, too, after all of that? “Please?”

“More?” Larissa echoes, her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness as she tilts her head in mock innocence. Her fingers weave into your hair again, tugging gently but with enough force to elicit a soft gasp from your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Greedy thing...”

You nod fervently, unable to resist, like the obedient little thing you are. The heat between your thighs is unbearable, after all, and you’ve been so, so good for her…

“Such a desperate little pet. Always wanting more, hm?” she tuts, her voice laced with amusement as she continues to toy with you, relishing in your desperation for her touch. Larissa enjoys making you wait until you’re dripping with need. And only then when you decide to pout some more does she relent, just as she always does for her favorite girl.

“Get up, then... I think you deserve to be taken care of, after being so good to me...”

─────⋅⋆.‧₊☆₊‧.⋅⋆─────────⋅⋆.‧₊☽₊‧.⋅⋆─────────⋅⋆.‧₊☆₊‧.⋅⋆─────

A/N: This has been rotting in my docs since February because I was, admittedly, quite hesitant to post this.. There was a time when Larissa fans were complaining about people writing her with shifted parts, which made me a little nervous about receiving backlash.

But, considering there are far worse things out there being written about her, fuck it — literally, lol.

[mandy-asimp]

A simp's list of stories

(my masterlist :D)

✫- smut ୨ৎ- fluff 𖦹- angst ꕥ- kinda smut

Abbott Elementary:

With a smile ( ୨ৎ 𖦹)

Melissa Schemmenti x OC (Claire) Summary: Claire has a crush on a specific redhead and it only seemed to have gotten worst over their friendship. After 5 years of friendship, dreams begin to become more persistent.

The Two Year Teacher (✫୨ৎ)

Melissa Schemmenti x reader (Y/N) Summary: Y/N is a very big CEO of her own company. And when her daughter comes home talking about her teacher she’s had for the second year in a row, Y/N just goes with it. but when she meets a red head at the grocery store, she never would've put her as a teacher. Then when Y/N's daughter gets into a mishap, a lot happens

Heartaches, and Other Aches (✫୨ৎ)

Melissa Schemmenti x reader (Y/N) Summary: Working on the furthest side of Abbott meant you avoided the cameras a lot. Especially when you would always have everything you need in your classroom. But the inevitable day came when you needed to journey to the teachers lounge.

Random Confessions (୨ৎ)

Melissa Schemmenti x OC (Alex) Summary: For two years Melissa had alway believed Alex hated her. Then one day, everything she's known is thrown out the window by a simple confession.

Forever Home ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Melissa Schemmenti x reader (Y/N) Summary: When you hush Melissa in defense of Janine, Melissa begins to let herself slip into her own thoughts. Yet, without noticing her actions, she hurts you in doing so.

Fast Lane (✫𖦹୨ৎ)

Melissa Schemmenti x OC (Phoebe) Summary: Melissa is dating one of NASCAR's greatest drivers, although nobody knows that. Yet, with the race that decides history appears, a lot more stress is arising for Phoebe.

Redecorating Your Heart (୨ৎ)

Melissa Schemmenti x reader (Y/N) Summary: You begin to make changes to Melissa's home, but one year you have a different change in mind

Criminal Minds:

Safe and Sound ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Emily Prentiss x reader (Y/N) Summary: Emily begins to see your face around more, but it's impossible. You were dead. But when Ian Doyle is rumored to escape, you couldn't stay dead forever.

Needed Me ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Emily Prentiss x reader (Y/N (they/them)) Summary: When the job grows too hard for Emily, Rossi comes and seeks Y/N for help. Knowing if there was anyone to soothe her better than him, it was them.

A Game for Two (✫)

Emily Prentiss x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: Y/N is the youngest agent on the team with a TikTok account. And after video goes viral, people notice a connection between her and emily.

Baby Whisper ( ୨ৎ )

Jennifer Jareau x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: JJ finds out she's pregnant and when Will doesn't want the baby, she finds herself crying in the parking garage. Yet, Y/N is there to solve all her issues.

Florida Secrets (✫)

Jennifer Jareau x reader Summary: The team takes a vacation to Florida, and you're paired with the blonde of your dreams. Which isn't an issue until out of the state with alcohol in your system. After all, what happens in Florida, stays in Florida.

Shut Up and Dance (୨ৎ)

Aaron Hotchner x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: One night while out with the team, Y/N and Hotch seem to be entirely carefree when their song comes on.

After Hours (✫)

Emily Prentiss x reader x Aaron Hotchner Summary: You stayed late in the office, Emily was your ride and she was still doing paper work. Being bored, you had started a solo dance party...only it didn't stay solo for long.

Dread of Secrets (ꕥ)

Jemily x OC (Natalie Hotchner) summary: Natalie is Aaron Hothcner's younger sister (27) and for seven years she's kept a secret against the BAU, until the day Penelope Garcia slips up and all comes out.

Marvel:

The Innocent Act (୨ৎ)

Wanda Maximoff x reader Summary: Y/N has been in Wanda’s class all four year, and in her final year she starts to get lost in the history of the language. asking for extra help but on the wrong day with the wrong outfit. Wanda, who’s kept control, finally lets free and speaks her mind. A/n~ looking back on this one is actually insane, like this was my first on this app!

Underneath the tree ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Wanda Maximoff x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: Y/N goes home for the holidays. The comfort of home being destroyed by her girlfriend. But soon, after hearing a conversation, Y/N finally falls the shots. And there was someone always waiting for her.

Sacrifice ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

pt. 1 l pt. 2 Wanda Maximoff x reader (Y/N) Summary: Wanda shows up to Kamar-Taj, but she finds something more desired. Something she lost back with Thanos. Her love.

It's a beautiful night (୨ৎ)

Wanda Maximoff x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: While performing at her concert, Y/N has a confession to make.

High school Party (୨ৎ)

Natasha Romanoff x reader (Y/N) Summary: You never were one for high school. at least for the first three years. senior year was your year. But the only thing you couldn't pick out, was Natasha Romanoff. However, one party was all it took.

Winning the witches ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

pt. 1 l pt. 2 Wanda Maximoff x reader x Agatha Harkness Summary: Agatha came to collect the power. Wanda came to get the life she always wanted. Y/N came to protect herself.

Late Night Dancing ( ୨ৎ 𖦹)

Agatha Harkness x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: Y/N is a gamer and plays among us because that's what I was feeling and is dating Agatha who is a big CEO but their relationship is exposed one night.

Curiosity (୨ৎ ✫)

Lilia Calderu x reader Summary: Your an inspiring actress who tends to have late rehearsals. And having no car, you had resorted to a the train. But then one night you meet a mysterious woman who captures your curiosity instantly.

Cards and Clay (୨ৎ ✫)

Lilia Calderu x reader Summary: You move into town and start a new pottery place, you bring in much business and are pleased with your tiny living. Or so you think that's what's happening

When She Calls (masterlist) (୨ৎ 𖦹 ✫)

Lilia Calderu x reader (Life (she/her)) Summary: When Life is asked to make a promise, she doesn't seem to be able to say no. But that promise was going to be served out so much longer than what she could see.

Basement of mysteries (୨ৎ 𖦹 ✫)

Agatha Harness x reader Summary: As Wanda Maximoff's oldest, you just graduated college and your summer living situation brings much more than just your hot neighbor down the hall.

Quiet on the Set (✫)

actress! Lilia Calderu x director! reader summary: While filming a movie, you're faced with the demanding nature of the Lilia Calderu. But when it comes to a crucial sex scene, you suddenly can't take her demands anymore.

Wednesday:

winter getaway (✫୨ৎ)

Larissa Weems x reader (Y/N) Summary: Y/n and Larissa Weems have never interacted unless needed. Which was almost everyday as Y/n had to explain why a random plant or tree had appeared in the courtyard. So when a friend convinces Y/n out of the comfort zone at the school getaway, many things happen.

sex in the flowers (✫୨ৎ)

Larissa Weems x reader (Y/N) Summary: You haven't been in the game long, but when you met Larissa Weems, your life changed. And after a few months of meeting, you quits your job. On the last meeting you have, you try to tell her but Larissa just wont listen.

sensitive baby ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Larissa Weems x reader Summary: As the first hybrid teacher at Nevermore, you did everything you could to find your place. Which included taking charge to plan the Raven.

School For Good and Evil:

you're all mine ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Leonora Lesso x reader (Y/N (she/her) Summary: Y/N was meant to be an Ever, but what happens as she becomes a Never?

Dragons Oh My! ( 𖦹 ୨ৎ )

Leonora Lesso x reader (Y/N Summary: Y/N and Lesso have been dating for a long time, but the three words have never been said, always implied. One day Y/N is with the other ever teachers and gets upset at their conversation.

Other's:

an interview online (୨ৎ)

Sandra Bullock x reader (Y/N (she/her)) Summary: During the pandemic,Y/N and Sandra decide to move in after a few years of datings. And what better time than a pandemic. With their relationship hidden from the world, a single shadow could finally bring light to them.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Winter Wonderland

Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader 18+ Minors DNI or you will be blocked

Summary: The ever inevitable mid-winter brings a quiet snow in, trapping your best friend and sometimes lover in your quiet residence up in the snowy, intimate New England hills.

Warnings: Smut, G!P, Mommy kink, grinding, reader gets squished under Larissa, cheeky ear invasion, arousal gel, mild overstimulation, unprotected piv

A/N: Like a lot of my WIPs, this was a kinktober concept I never managed to finish due to the unbearable weight of massive academic dedication. (2024 was a fucking shithole and I'm so glad to be back to posting regularly). Ear invasion inspired by this art from @gayzone24.

Word Count: 3k

Reblogs and comments are very appreciated!

The soft crackle of the fire mixed in with the soft ambience of Larissa’s voice as she phoned Nevermore Academy. She was snowed in, stuck in the hills of New England due to a late January storm that had come over the weekend. Visiting you, visiting her sometimes lover and best friend for one weekend wasn’t common. But now, in the morning light, blue-grey from the overcast snow, Larissa was grateful she had decided to take up your offer for a late night dinner and a quiet night in.

Her soft footsteps drew closer as she gently settled back into bed with you, her breath tickling the back of your neck. Neither of you were hungry, last night’s meal had been more than enough to hold you over until mid-morning. As if unconsciously agreeing with the unspoken sentiment, Larissa’s hand trailed lower, grazing your nightgown covered tummy. The soft satin felt good over your skin, a personal touch made by Larissa. She liked the finer things in life; she liked seeing you in them, even if only for a few nights out of a long school calendar year.

The morning intimacy held no immediate rush, no agenda to be filled. Her arms were soft and firm around you, the subtle weight of her torso pressing down as she nuzzled the back of your neck. A break, yes exactly. Larissa sighed in contentment, and you followed her example, taking a deep breath in and releasing it. From your field of vision you could see the tiniest sliver of the outside world, peeking through poorly closed curtains. Snow. It sparked all kinds of desires, the desire to top off the fire, bake cookies, perhaps even take a winter stroll. But those festive impulses faded away as Larissa grew bolder.

One of her hands slowly crept down from your tummy, fingertips kissing the curve of your hip as it bent to meet your pelvis. She pressed her face more insistently into your neck, and with that, her lips. Larissa’s breath on your neck was scorching now, so warm in the otherwise cold room. Larissa didn’t like a warm bedroom. She preferred her bed warm, and filled with something to maintain that temperature.

“Larissa…” you sleepily mumbled, melting into the tender kiss at your neck.

“Yes, my dear?” she murmured back, voice low and gravely; sensuous.

The hand that had been merely stroking your hip moved down, softly sliding across your inner thigh.

“You’re awfully touchy so early in the morning.”

Larissa hummed once, a hint of a chuckle tapering the end of it. Again her nose grazed the back of your neck, tickling the hairs there.

“It’s hardly early at all. I just phoned in that I wouldn’t make it. This was after they called the late start last night… It’s almost ten, love.” she husked, finishing her sentence with another soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Mmm… I guess we could get up.”

Larissa chuckled, shaking her head. Her voice was warming up, slowly working towards its usual gentle alto, and with that tone, the accent that made your stomach churn.

“No, I want you right here. And for as long as possible.” Larissa murmured, softly nibbling at the nape of your neck.

Her hand gripped your hip tighter, her other hands angling up as she carefully, delicately maneuvered you onto your front. She took great care positioning your head, manicured nails gently scraping the skin of your cheek as she stared down at you. Now you finally had a look at her, long blonde hair mussed and frizzed from sleep, out of her usual updo. The nightgown she brought in her overnight bag gaped, your line of sight following the skin down, down, down until you could see no more. 

Larissa’s face was a little flushed, a make-up free face decorated only by the natural redness of her pale skin. She leaned forwards, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as she lay her body down, down down, until her weight comfortably pressed against your smaller frame. She was all soft planes and forms, her breasts pressing into your back, tummy against your butt. On either side of you were her thighs, warm and soft as they squished yours in.

“Such a sweet little thing.” Larissa cooed, pressing increasingly open mouthed kisses to your neck and jaw.

She could feel your rapidly increasing pulse against her lips, the tender gasps as you processed her gentle adoration. You squirmed, against the warm sheets, the give of the mattress, the softness of her weight atop you. And you found the hardness, pressing insistently against your lower thighs, proof of the ever present tension between you two. Larissa was enamoured by the way your breathing accelerated, as you processed the precarious position you were in. She let it sink in, let her weight sink in above you. Trapped. Pinned. Exactly where she needed you to be.

“You can’t imagine how vexed I was last night, watching you drift off to sleep on the couch while we were watching that movie… A big dinner was just too much for you, huh?” Larissa cooed.

“I was too stuffed.” you managed, looking up at her through the corner of your eye.

“Stuffed?” Larissa grinned, white teeth flashing in the low light. “We didn’t even get that far if I remember.”

You opened your mouth to protest, she’d been in just the same state as you without doing any of the clean up. The hand that curled around your shoulder squashed that protest. The threat, or moreso the promise of what was to come held a weight that made your cunt throb. She hummed sensuously at your obedience, leaning down to press more kisses up to your ear. 

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Larissa cooed. “Cat got your tongue?”

She chuckled at herself, amused at her pun. You tried to turn, tried to catch a glimpse of her, maybe even weasel out enough to catch her lips in a kiss. You were desperate for the softer elements of foreplay that paved the way to penetration. But that wasn’t what Larissa had in mind.

“Push your hips up.” 

The weight of her hips against yours, the press of something familiar and hard and potentially organ rearranging was too good to argue with. Using more strength than you thought you had so early in the morning, you pressed your hips up and she pressed down.

“Oh… God.” Larissa moaned, grinding her newly shifted cock against your clothed ass. “Stay, for just a minute.” she wheezed, face pressing against the back of your neck as she savored the friction.

The drag against your pajama clad bottom, the morning grogginess that made your mind ever so blank… It was wonderful how soft it all was, how ever achingly sure the two of you were. Larissa grunted with a bit of effort, pulling your bottoms down. Her mouth fell against the nape of your neck, breathing in and out with hoarse excitement as she stroked herself to full attention above you. There was the wet sound of her palm dragging over the weeping head of her cock, and you tried to turn to look, only catching the side of Larissa’s body through your peripheral vision. 

“Unnghh… Grab the lube, wait no, fuck…” Larissa cussed, her highbrow accent making her words seem dirtier than they were had her accent been muddier, less pronounced.

Your inflamed lover reached for her bedside table, manicured hand rifling about in the drawer for lube, something to aid the stretch of your body so early into the day. Coming back to you, she huffed against your turned cheek in impatience as she returned to her straddle. The squirt of cool jelly against her fingers mixed with the sound of her heavy breaths, the rest of the world too quiet to hear. You could feel your body heat up, the buzzing in your lower tummy turned to throbbing, a little bit of aching as you prepared for her attentions.

“Stay still, and breathe…” Larissa coaxed, softly kissing the tender skin behind your ear.

Two fingers moved, pressing the cool jelly against your relaxing entrance. Your hips jutted up at the shock of cold, but it was quickly forgotten; the pads of Larissa’s fingers spreading it around your clenching hole, lathering it in distracting gel. There was some tingling, a heightened awareness of the flesh around and just inside your vagina. You moaned aloud, hole clenching against her fingers, preparing yourself for the wonderful agony to come.

“Mmm… I knew you’d figure it out, my smart little minx.” Larissa cooed, leaning forwards and taking the lobe of your ear into her insufferably hot mouth. “Your pussy just creams when I use the special gel on you.”

Your soft whimpers fell against the pillows as you felt the tingling sensation of the gel grow, the throbbing, the unbearable stimulation placing all of your waking focus on your buzzing entrance.

“I know, I know bunny.” Larissa murmured, letting the tip of her tongue wiggle inside your ear as her fingers dragged up, rubbing some of the gel upwards, swirling over your swelling clit in insensitive, torturous circles.

“Rissa, please!” you whined, thighs squeezing together around nothing as the dull throbbing of your pussy heated up into a consistent pulse.

“Not my name, bunny.” Larissa chided, nipping at your neck in jest. “Spread your legs, come on now.”

A bratty whine left your lips, but you obeyed, lifting your hips up for a few more brownie points. Larissa hummed in satisfaction, dragging her lube coated fingers around your clitoris once more. It was derisively insufficient, mean. Nowhere near enough for you to cum, but more than enough for you to ache.

“Say my name, bunny.” Larissa repeated, tone firmer.

“... Please touch me more, Mommy.” you whispered, cheeks flushing an embarrassed pink.

Larissa’s approval came quickly; a devastating thwap of her cockhead against your inflamed folds. 

“Fuck!” you yelped, feeling your cunt throb, ache, practically begging for more.

“Naughty words, baby.” Larissa clicked her tongue, another thwap, harder and aimed directly at your clit causing you to jerk against the pillows.

You ached for her cock. It was early, your mind was fuzzy, and the arousal gel was making your vulva buzz with insufferable heat. There were no words good enough in your muddled brain to please her, to satisfy her urge for submission. So you pressed your hips up as best as you could, aiming to return to the earlier doggy pose you’d been in before.

“Not what I’m after, bunny love.” Larissa chuckled. “Say you want it.”

Larissa was always insistent about consent. Not just a ‘yes’ or ‘okay’. Always a ‘please’ or ‘now’. And in the moment it was infuriating, feeling like you were begging, but the intimacy, the deliberate attention to boundaries, and trust within the dynamic was safe. It was touching. It was why you felt safe enough to let her lay atop of you and fuck you into the bed like a doll.

“Please Mommy, please…” you whimpered, shame killed by the urge to fuck, to be claimed, to be pressed into the bed and take it.

Larissa shuddered, grunting softly as she aligned the tip of her dripping cock with your ever inflamed entrance she pressed in, gently at first, and then firmer. You felt the subtle sting of your entrance as it stretched, and your grunts and gasps echoing hers.

“Fuck, tight.” Larissa groaned, pressing in and out in rapid little humps, gently stretching you open with her heavy cock.

Shifting above you, Larissa wiggled a bit, finding the perfect position for her knees and hips. You knew she’d found it when she fully sank down, pressing herself forward, sinking every inch of herself down, down, down until you were stuffed. Larissa let out a long exhale, her breath stained with last night’s wine, sour and sweet against your neck. Her breasts smushed into your shoulder blades and tummy pressing into your back. All of her crushing you down, pressing the air out of your lungs, pressing your head into the pillows, heavy, heavy, heavy-

“Breathe.” she commanded, stroking hair out of your eyes.

You forced your lungs to comply, and with effort they did, ballooning air back, bringing sensation and touch, the eroticism of being trapped beneath the woman you so loved. 

“There’s my good bunny.” Larissa cooed, leaning down to nibble at the shell of your ear with mild attention.

Her gentle presence, the adjustment period allowing your cunt to relax, to shape itself around her cock, to learn to breathe with her weight atop you… It was just the calm before the storm. With a throaty sigh Larissa lifted her hips up, lifted her ass in the air, pulling her cock out of you at a deliberately enticing angle only to bear down in a heavy thrust.

In and out, in and out, she fucked herself into you, the squishing of your meeting flesh filling the quiet bedroom with sounds intermingled with cries, with moans. And Larissa loved every second of it. 

“Good bunny, good girl.” Larissa moaned, scattering heavy kisses over your flushed cheeks, your gaping mouth sucking what little air you could into your mouth.

“Gah… Huh… Mmmph.. Puh-lease..” you whined, incapable of full words beneath her gravid thrusts.

She was breathing heavier now, the exertion catching up to her this early in the morning. But Larissa wasn’t finished, not even close. Her thrusts only got heavier, emphasizing the rapid stretch of your cunt paired with the ever agonizing withdrawal, dragging against your g-spot, against spots that were deeper, those without names that brought hers clawing out of your lips.

“Mo-mm-my, please!” you whined, struggling for air, for pleasure, for more of her.

The arousal gel brought a terrible, maddening tingling to your clit, the lack of attention almost as worse as being attended to; they were both pleasurable but could become too much. Your lover understood, Larissa pausing her thrusts to fumble in the drawer for something more. Her breath returned, hot and heavy on your neck as her fingers slipped down to press something small and deliciously vibrating underneath your clit.

“You’ll take it for Mommy, won’t you? You need the highest setting, I know you do.” Larissa smirked, kissing your temple patronizingly.

The highest setting?! No god, please, no, no, no, no-

“Lari-” you gasped, mouth agape and searching for oxygen as she pressed her full weight down once more.

The vibrator sat at the perfect angle to nudge against your clit with each of her down strokes. Combined with the arousal gel, it was enough for your vision to white out. The pattern was perfect, not enough to completely overstimulate you, but enough to feel your brain melt. Larissa continued on unbothered, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you felt your entire lower body go limp.

“So good, such a sweet bunny for me.” Larissa gasped, staring down at you as the whites of your eyes rolled. “I can feel you squeezing my cock, you’re close, aren’t you darling?”

You were close. Close to cumming or levitating into the next dimension, you weren’t sure. All you could really focus on was the rhythm; hard and unyielding, bringing forward the inevitable conclusion, the natural climax to your passionate encounter. You managed to turn your head to catch her out of your peripheral vision, and what you saw completed the experience. Beads of sweat dripped down her flushed red face, Larissa’s hair falling out of its curl as her hair gathered sweat. Larissa’s lips were wet and agape, brows cinched together as she pressed on, pressed forwards, grunting and concentrating on not cumming, not blowing herself and this experience away before you felt pleasure.

“Please… Cum for me, cum for me baby.” Larissa whispered, biting her lip to hold out a little bit longer, long enough for-

One slap of her balls against the end of the slipping vibrator pushed it up, directly atop your aching, pulsing clit. You felt your entire body go tense, eyes popping out of your skull as you careened forwards and into la petit mort, meeting her there as she spilled herself hot and wet into your aching hole.

“Oh god… Little darling…” Larissa moaned, fucking herself slower, pressing her cum back inside your rapidly shuddering entrance.

The vibrator still sat against your clit, buzzing at an unbearably intense degree. It prolonged your orgasm, but as you came out of it, spent and shuddering, the ever buzzing sensation brought forward painful, devastating contractions that alerted Larissa to your plight.

“Shh, shh. I’ve got it.” Larissa cooed, reaching her hand down to pull it away from your engorged clit.

The removal of the vibrator brought the relief of the incessant buzzing, but not the relief of emptiness. 

“... Mmm… Larissa, too sensitive.” you whined, trying to shift your hips.

Larissa tutted once, brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes. Her softening cock slowly eased itself out of you, and with a gentle shift of her hips, slipped out of your tired, spent hole. Your cunt wept with relief, spilled essences dripping out of you and onto the sheets below.

“Stay still for me, hmm, darling?” Larissa murmured, still laying atop you. “Let me spoil you for a minute.”

She trailed soft kisses up your neck, tracing the natural path of your tendons. Your gentle lover pressed soft kisses to your ear only to trace the shell of it with her tongue.

“I think that was a successful start to the morning. Perhaps we should find other ways to occupy ourselves?” Larissa whispered into your ear.

You thought she was being sweet, offering an alternative to another round. But as her breath drew nearer, as she pressed her tongue out of her lips, tracing your inner ear only to press inside your ear, you knew it was all a play.

“I think I could use the attention of your lovely mouth next.” she smirked, biting the shell of your ear in jest.

The slow shift of her body, the shrinking of her cock upwards and into her body was your only warning. The shapeshifter had plans; it was going to be a long, long morning.

Tags: (Tagged my Rebecca people, sorry if this isn't your thing), @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange hmu if you want to be tagged in future works.

[marilynthornhilllover]

{ The trees, they have eyes }

G!pTaissa Turner x Fem!Reader

Warning:, semi public sex, hair pulling, spanking, fingering gentle foreplay, breast play, sucking cock, slight praise kink, talk of having a baby wilderness sex, creampie.

Synopsis: Tai shows you why she’s been giving you the cold shoulder lately…..

You knew it was wrong, but man did you love the suspense— the getting in trouble with her. You see taissa was like a drug that you ‘accidentally’ got addicted too because curiosity lead you down the wrong road. Before her you were your schools best student, always getting straight A’s, top of your class, honor rolls every term. The teachers loved you…. Oh they craved you.

You’d be given special treatment and privileges that no student ever got. You’d be able to leave class early, pick up teachers lunch and take it to them, do school announcements for dismissal, and even being able to stay back to help with school activities to prepare for big events .

And man did bitchs despise your guts. Taissa was never one of them though, she’d be in the back of the back of the class all curled up at her seat. She was not one of those shy students though, she was the kind that didn’t give an absolute fuck. She’d submit work late, get in trouble with students and teachers, show up to school late sometimes not at all, she swears all the time and get into fights often, she’d smoke and drink in the bathrooms.

She was literally the schools rotten apple, when your biotony teacher made you her mentor because she was terribly failing you were scared at first. But after a while you got comfortable with her. She was actually very misunderstood. She was really kind and sweet. Always bringing you snacks and soda for study sessions and with you she improved in behavior. But after you were given an award for ‘best mentor of the year’ and she wasn’t given ‘best improved student’ things got dark.

Taissa stopped turning up for study sessions, her behavior got far worst and completely stopped coming to school. So when you saw her on the bus to the first camp road trip for the schools science department outing you were beyond surprised. She didn’t look at you though. She was curled up on the seat with her headphones and her bag on the spare seat beside her. It was clear she didn’t want anyone to bother her.

Not wanting to get on her bad side especially since the school is gonna be on this trip for three days you don’t wanna mess things up, plus you already didn’t have friends, incase of anything you knew how to crack her — she’d always come back.

At camp you didn’t see her for the entire day, except at rehearsals for the drama act which was tomorrow. It was late afternoon and everyone was having a good time and enjoying themselves with their friends or partners, even the teachers were all grouped up and laughing while having a great time. And you? You were all alone.

Deciding you didn’t need to be shown how much of a loner you were you decided to take a walk in the forest, because not far up was a small check point area with benches and a small fire place circle. When you got there you immediately froze in your tracks. Seated on the bench was no other than Taissa, and she had a blonde haired bitch on her. You quickly bent down and carefully looked at what your eyes were seeing.

You couldn’t believe your eyes, you weren’t sure if you were seeing right or right…… the bitch was riding Taissa’s fingers and moaning her name. You bit your lips, you couldn’t help the ounce of jealousy that boiled within you. Before you could comprehend more a hand grabs your shoulder, and to quickly stop you from making a sound the hand places itself over your mouth while another grabs your waist from falling.

That’s when you suddenly realize that you’re face to face with Taissa. She urges you to hush as she releases you from her grip. You turn around slowly to see that the girl sitting there was another girl from your class who had identical facial features to tai, but of course she couldn’t come close. Sighing you push pass her but before you could go far she grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“ what is your problem—“ before you could even get your sentence out her lips meet yours in a fierce longing kiss. It’s tender and unapologetic— rough even. You melt against her as you kiss back. She pulls away and the both of you look over at the couple that was long gone by now.

“ missed me baby” she whispers as she grips your underwear from under your shirt and pulls in down mid thigh. Your eyes widen as she rises the hem of your shirt towards your abdomen before she swiftly turns you around pressing you against the tree. Thank god the forest was a shaven wood tree park otherwise you’d be getting nothing more than bruises after this. You feel taissa grope your breast through your shirt before she rips the fabric.

“Tai!” Your shout falls on deaf ears as she continues to fumble with her pants. She was like a wild animal, and you were loving it. You’ve always dreamt of a moment like this. To be intimate with her, to feel her rawest parts deep within you.

“ fuck I need you so bad, need to feel that pussy” she continues to remove her pants and boxes as she bends you over some more by pressing her hand against the small of your bad, gently forcing the arch to deepen. You hold onto the tree for dear life. You shiver when you feel her damp fingers slicked their way through your folds and back. You moan softly as you close your eyes, basking in the feeling. Soon her tip was prodding against your entrance. She chuckled when she saw your hand coming back to squeeze her thigh as you squirmed.

“ it’s ok baby, it’ll fix, just relax ok” her voice was calm and sharp, you could almost hear her smirk. She slid her dick through your folds a few times gathering your arousal before she slowly starts to ease her way into you. You let out a grutal moan at the intrusion as you wait for her to bottom out but instead she pulls back all the way out. Her hand gently caresses you ass cheek before she lightly delivers a blow to it.

You shiver slighting, turning your head to look at her— god damn she was a sight. Beads of sweat dripping on her forehead, chest slightly heaving from anticipation and desire— the desire to completely ruin you and your future, make you fall pregnant for her and marry you. Make you hers. God she loved that idea. She bites her lip as her hand reaches down to grab your hair, tugging you back slightly as you gasp. She lays you against her chest as her mouth positions behind your ear.

“ I’m gonna fuck you for all to hear baby girl, I want you round and full of me” and a wish said is a wish delivered because taissa released your hair and thrusted back into you harshly causing you to cry out. Her cock had the perfect curve, it was thick and veiny and god did you love it, you’ve been wanting it for the longest time now. And now you had it, it was heaven.

She increased her pace, thrusting deep and hard within you, your eyes shut tight as you take it , it felt so fucking good. Her head hitting the spot that had you cumming in seconds so perfectly. The stretch of it re-entering you felt like heaven. Your spongy warm walls hugging her so tightly making it even harder for her to move. You feel her arms get tangle in your hair again for a while as she bent down to leave trails of kisses on your back.

“ fuck tai deeper” you moaned parting your legs wider and pushing back against her to meet her eager and fast thrusts. They were fast and loud, you could probably hear the slapping nosies of her balls against you from miles away. And that’s what she wanted. For everyone to know how much of a slut you were for her. You were becoming needy and close to the edge and she could tell by the way your hips pushed back hard against her dick.

“ fuck you feel so good, yeah just like that baby” she pants.

Her hands positioned themselves on your ass cheek, parting them slightly as she looks at all your slick coating her dick so perfectly.

“ look at that, you love making a mess on this dick. Yeah?” Her body pushes into your somemore as she invades your personal space, shoving you up against the tree and she slightly lifts her leg, deepen her thrust. Your back arches all the way as your eyes roll back. Your mind was starting to mush and your body was starting to go limp. You just stood there and took it.

“ fuck tai! Right here! You’re gonna make me cum!” Your hand flys back to her thigh as you push back your hips more aggressively, feeling your orgasm near as the knot ties in your tummy. Her thrust were ruthless and completely raw.

“ yeah baby cum on my cock, it’s yours.” You didn’t need another sentence. After a hot second Taissa feels as her dick becomes a warmer as she feels the hot liquid pour out on her long shaft. She doesn’t stop or slow down her pace though. She continues to fuck you senseless, hazing after her own high. You try to run from her but she grabs your waist and forces you back down making you cry out in pleasure.

“ yeah baby, take this dick, take it, take it, take it please—“ her pleas were broke and her pace was starting to differ and become broken and sharp.

“ fuck baby! Gotta fill you up with my baby!” She moans and you try to pull away from her but she holds your hands and she’s stronger.

“ tai no! Wait—stop you’re gonna get me pregnant tai, I can’t be pregnant!” But she doesn’t listen she continues to rut her cock deep within you.

“ your pussy needs me, she’s wrapping around me so neatly” your eyes roll back as you feel her start to get stiff with her thrust as she pushes you deeper into the tree.

“ that’s it baby, take it for me” was all she repeated until you felt her hot seed spill shoot far in you. She slows her thrust but doesn’t pull out completely. When she does pull out she’s quick with it and covers your pussy with your underwear so her seed doesn’t leak out. She spins you around and kisses you passionately. It’s sloppy and rough. You shiver as you feel her release drop within you.

“ tai—“ but she cuts you off by pushing you to your feet.

“ clean my cock” you follow her orders and take her cock in your mouth, she moans when your warm mouth touches her tip and her hand immediately goes to your hair. She pulls you off after you get the job done and you quickly put your clothes back on and tidy your appearance.

“ tai what if i get pregnant?”

“ then you’ll have my baby and I’ll breed you again and again and again til everyone understands that you’re not just some perfect student, you’re my cock loving slut”

[mysteriouslysapphic]

Late night confession

Larissa Weems x reader | NSFW

• First time ever publishing my writing, I hesitated a lot before posting on here but then I thought why not! I hope you will enjoy it :)

It was late in the evening. Most of the school had gone quiet, and the only sound left was the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Larissa Weems was still at her desk, finishing up the last of the paperwork. You were sitting on the couch in her office with a folder in your lap, pretending to read through it. Really, you were just watching her.

She looked tired, but still beautiful. Her blonde hair was pinned back as usual, and her lips were pressed in a straight line as she signed something. Her shoulders were tense. You had wanted to say something for weeks now, but every time you tried, the words got stuck.

“I can help with that,” you said, voice soft.

Larissa didn’t look up. “You’ve already done more than enough,” she said. Her voice was calm but kind.

You nodded and looked down at your hands. You felt stupid for even offering. Of course she didn’t need your help. She never seemed to need anything. That was part of what made it so hard. You didn’t know how to get close to someone like her. Someone so strong. Someone who always looked perfect.

The silence stretched between you. You could feel her watching now, even though you weren’t looking at her.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said after a moment. “Quieter than usual.”

“I guess I’m just tired,” you said.

She didn’t answer right away. You could feel her still looking at you.

“That’s not it,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

You hesitated. “No. Not really.”

“You can tell me if something is,” she said. Her voice was a little softer now.

You didn’t know what made you look up, but you did. Her eyes were on you, and there was something different in them. Not just concern. Something more. You swallowed and tried to find the words.

“It’s kind of personal,” you said.

Larissa leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “I can handle personal.”

You felt your face get hot. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Start anywhere,” she said. “I’m listening.”

You looked down at your hands again. They were shaking a little. You felt like an idiot. But you also knew that if you didn’t say something now, you never would.

“I like you,” you said. “More than I should. I know you’re the headmistress, and I work here, and it’s probably not okay, but I’ve been feeling this way for a while and I didn’t know how to stop.”

You stopped talking and waited. The silence was so heavy it made your chest hurt.

Then you heard her stand up. Her footsteps were slow as she walked around the desk. When she reached the couch, she sat down next to you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her.

“You’re not the only one who’s been hiding it,” she said quietly.

You finally looked up. She was watching you with a soft expression, her blue eyes gentle. You didn’t know what to say. Her hand reached up and touched your cheek. You froze.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” she asked.

You nodded.

Her lips touched yours lightly. It was soft. Careful. Like she didn’t want to scare you. Your hand moved up to rest on her arm. She kissed you again, a little deeper this time. Your heart was beating fast, but you didn’t pull away.

Larissa kissed you again, longer this time. Her hand slid behind your neck, holding you steady. Her lips were warm. You let yourself lean into her. It didn’t feel rushed. It felt safe.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she said.

“I want this,” you whispered. “I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

Her eyes searched yours, making sure you meant it. Then she kissed you once more before standing up and offering you her hand.

“Come with me,” she said.

You took her hand. She led you gently to the bedroom behind her office. You had never been in there before. It was warm and quiet. There was a large bed in the center, the blankets neatly folded, everything in place. It felt strange and intimate to be here, but you didn’t feel afraid.

Larissa sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at you. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded. “A little.”

She smiled and pulled you gently between her legs, resting her hands on your hips.

“You don’t have to be,” she said. “We’ll go slow.”

You touched her face, brushing your fingers along her jaw. Then you kissed her again. This time, it felt a little braver. Her hands moved under your shirt, just resting on your skin. You gasped a little at how cold her fingers were, and she smiled against your lips.

“Still okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” you said. “Please don’t stop.”

She helped you out of your shirt, her fingers brushing carefully over your sides. Her touch was warm now. She looked at you like she was trying to memorize everything.

“You’re beautiful,” she said softly.

You blushed, not knowing what to say. So you kissed her again instead.

She let you undress her slowly. Her blouse came off, then the skirt, until she was sitting there in just her bra and stockings. You stared for a moment, heart racing. She was even more stunning like this, real and close and looking at you like she wanted you just as much.

You climbed onto the bed beside her. She rolled over to face you, her hand resting on your waist.

“Tell me if you want anything to stop,” she said again.

“I will,” you promised.

She leaned in and kissed down your neck, taking her time. Her hand slid up your stomach, over your chest. You gasped and arched into her touch, wanting more now. It still felt slow, but there was heat building under it, like something about to break.

“Do you want me to touch you?” she asked, voice low in your ear.

You nodded quickly. “Yes. I really do.”

Larissa’s fingers dipped lower, under your waistband, her movements slow and careful. She kissed you again while her hand moved between your thighs. You gasped against her mouth when she touched you, your hips bucking up slightly.

She didn’t say anything. She just watched your face while she moved her fingers, learning what you liked, what made your breath catch. You clutched the blankets, trying not to be too loud.

“You’re so sensitive,” she whispered. “So sweet like this.”

You whimpered as her pace got a little faster. It wasn’t rough, not yet, but it was building. You buried your face in her shoulder, moaning softly against her skin.

“I’m close,” you whispered.

She kissed your temple. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You came with a soft cry, her name on your lips. She held you through it, never letting go.

When your breathing slowed, she kissed your forehead and pulled you close.

“You’re amazing,” she said softly.

You smiled against her chest, still catching your breath. “So are you.”

You lay there for a while, her arm wrapped around you, your head resting on her chest. Her breathing was slow and steady. You listened to it, letting it calm you down.

Neither of you spoke for a bit. The silence wasn’t awkward this time. It felt peaceful.

Her fingers traced slow circles on your back, up and down, again and again. You could feel her heartbeat under your cheek.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen,” you said quietly.

“Me neither,” she replied. “But I’m glad it did.”

You tilted your head to look at her. She smiled down at you and brushed your hair gently behind your ear.

“You didn’t have to be so gentle,” you said with a soft laugh.

Larissa raised an eyebrow, amused. “You were shaking when you kissed me.”

You laughed a little harder and hid your face again. “Okay, fair.”

She kissed the top of your head. “I liked taking my time with you.”

You felt warm all over again, but in a different way now. Safe. Wanted. Seen.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you asked.

“Of course,” she said, pulling you in tighter. “As long as you want.”

You closed your eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of her heart. Your fingers curled around hers. There were still things to talk about, things to figure out. But for now, you didn’t need anything else.

[paarthunaxx]

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 CALL MY NAME, I’M YOURS TO TAME — 18+

larissa weems x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

status: completed

summary: You and Larissa Weems have been best friends since your years spent together at Nevermore. You have been meeting for tea every week since your graduation. But when the pharmacy in Jericho runs out of heat suppressants, you have to miss your afternoon tea with her.

And Larissa, being the dutiful best friend, pays you a visit instead.

tags: smvt, fluff, werewolf reader, in heat, kn0tting, decades of mutual pining, established friendship, soft larissa weems, larissa weems with a d1ck, shapeshifting, p in v, nickname mommy, nickname puppy

read here on ao3!

“Here is your tea, dear.”

“Thanks, Riss,” You take the teacup from Larissa’s pale hands and rub the pad of your thumb over the painted golden rim of the cup before setting it down on a pretty white saucer. “So, anything else to catch me up on this week?”

Larissa takes a long sip from her own florally adorned teacup and sinks into the armchair across from you. “Do you remember Morticia Frump?” She asks with the smallest hint of bitterness on her tongue. It doesn't come as a surprise to you. Larissa is a sweet woman, but you don't think you've ever heard her speak about Morticia without that resentment in her voice.

“Yes. Your roommate from when we attended Nevermore?” You nod and settle back into your own chair, folding one leg over the other. You notice Larissa’s gaze lingering on them for a flash of a moment, but don’t bother bringing it up. “You’ve spoken to her recently?”

Larissa gives a grim incline of her head and huffs a soft sigh through her nose. “Indeed. She called last night to request that I meet her child and consider enrolling her in the school.”

“And will you?” You ask curiously, lifting your teacup and taking a slow sip. There is just the right amount of sugar and milk mixed in. Larissa always makes the perfect cup of tea.

“I have a duty to look after the children of outcasts. I would not cast a young girl out just because I am not on the best of terms with her mother,” Larissa whispers. “I just wish I did not have to meet Morticia in order to enrol her daughter. I’m afraid it will be too painful to see her again.”

You send a sympathetic smile in her direction and shift forward in your seat. Leaning across the coffee table, you reach out to squeeze her knee. Her breath hitches at the touch as she watches you like a hawk. “It’ll be okay, Riss. Everything happened so long ago. And if she annoys you… Just think about all the different ways you’d like to fight her, then tell me all about it next week.”

Larissa giggles at that and places her large hand over your smaller one which rests on her knee, giving it a gentle pat. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, which you mentally blame on static. “You are right. There’s no point in being so absorbed in the past.”

“I usually am right,” You tease with a soft laugh. “Be the bigger person.”

Larissa raises a neatly plucked eyebrow at that. An amused smirk dances across her painted lips and she quips, “Pun intended?”

You snort around another sip of tea, almost spitting the stuff everywhere. You manage to choke it down and the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. After your laughter trails off, you spend another half an hour catching each other up on everything that has happened in the past week. Just like you have been doing every week for… well, years.

Larissa has been your best friend since you both attended Nevermore. Many times you have looked at her and wondered if there could be something more between you, but you don’t even know if she would want that. If she even likes women. And you’re terrified to risk your friendship by asking her out… No matter how much you adore her.

When the teacups have been drained and the grandfather clock pushed up against the wall starts to chime the hour, you sigh and lean back in your chair. “Time for me to get going.”

Larissa tsks softly, a playful pout poking out her lower lip. “Shame. Time always flies by so quickly with you.”

“I know,” You agree with a short nod. “Maybe we should start doing sleepovers instead of tea.”

“Maybe,” She whispers. A soft pink blush dusts across her pale cheeks and she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. She nudges her empty cup of tea out of the way and rises from her chair, towering over you. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Oh, how you'd love to climb her like a tree.

You follow her out of her dimly lit office and walk by her side as she leads you through the school to the large front entrance. You fit in some more idle chatter along the way through the familiar hallways, before coming to a stop on the stone steps outside.

“Until next week, dear,” Larissa leans down to wrap her arms around you, giving you a tight hug.

“See you then, Riss,” You stretch up on your tiptoes to hug her back, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of her sweet perfume lingering in your nose.

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” She whispers in your ear. There is such conviction in her soft voice that it feels as though she truly means those words.

She gives your waist a gentle squeeze and you reluctantly pull away from her. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as your brain immediately cries out in protest at the absence of her warmth. With one final goodbye, you turn away from her and make your way down the steps, bracing yourself for the walk home in the bitter afternoon air.

ᥫ᭡

You hum a soft tune to yourself as you bustle around your apartment, struggling with the bundle in your arms. You snatch up every pillow and blanket you can find, tossing them onto the bed to be arranged into a nest later. Each of them have been picked out specifically for the purpose of nesting, every one as warm and comfortable as possible. The pile on the bed is almost bigger than you, and you stand and stare at the mess of blankets with a proud smile on your face. Although you have your suppressants, it still feels comforting to bury into your nest during your heat, even if it is just to nap or read a book. Like being wrapped up in a warm hug from La—

You startle at the sudden shrill ringing of your phone from where it rests on your nightstand. You place a hand over your thundering heart and puff out a breath to calm yourself. In a few long strides, you cross the room and snatch the phone up to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is the Jericho pharmacy calling,” The familiar voice of Mrs Jones, the pharmacist, comes from the other end of the phone. “We are so terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we will not be able to refill your prescription for suppressants at the moment. Our supplier has had a stock issue, and we have to wait for more to come from a bigger supplier in the city.”

“What?” You swallow hard, your eyes widening. Panic splits through you like branching lightning, your hand curling into a fist around the phone so hard you almost shatter it. “How long will that take?”

“Around a week and a half,” The pharmacist informs you.

“A week and a half? But… My heat starts tomorrow, and I don’t have any suppressants,” You whisper. “I haven’t gone through a heat in years. You don’t even have enough to get me through the week?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m so sorry. We can fill your next prescription free of charge as an apology for the delay. And if you need scent blockers, we can have them dropped outside your door.”

“Alright… Well, thank you for telling me. See you in a week and a half,” You hang up and toss your phone on the bed. Scrubbing your hands irately down your face, you mutter one word.

“Shit.”

ᥫ᭡

Sleep doesn’t come easily to you that night. Even wrapped up in the bundles of pillows and blankets that have been arranged for your nest, you can’t stop tossing and turning. Anxiety floods through your veins, making your body feel cold and your chest tight. It’s been so long since you allowed your body to go through a heat. There will be years of pent up energy in control of your body, and it's terrifying. You turned to the internet, searching through outcast forums to find out whether it will be more intense when it comes. Every werewolf in the world seems to be in agreement.

The longer it’s been, the worse your next heat will be.

By the time morning comes, you haven’t slept a wink. You sigh and force yourself out of your bed, shuffling to the kitchen to shove a cup of coffee down your throat. As you stir the sugar cubes into your favourite mug, your gaze happens to drift towards the calendar pinned up on your wall. On the square for that day, there is a large red circle with a little teacup scribbled in the middle.

“Shit,” You hiss for what feels like the millionth time in the last twelve hours. You stand there and stare at the doodle of the teacup, pondering whether you should still try to attend or call Larissa up and tell her you can’t make it to tea that day.

You know if you venture out of the house and your heat comes on, any alpha nearby will be able to smell you from a mile away. There may not be that many in Jericho, but even one would pose such a great danger to you… Never mind the werewolf students at Nevermore.

It would also be incredibly embarrassing to go into heat right in front of your best friend, and have her drive you home as you gush all over the seats of her car and whine in need. You shudder at the thought of what Larissa might think of you after something like that.

Before you can even make a proper decision on what to do, an odd feeling shoots through you. You feel your knees going weak, a sticky liquid clinging to your thighs and soaking your shorts. Another curse slips out as you clutch onto the edge of the counter, gasping at the coiling sensation twisting through your lower stomach. Your whole body shakes and you grab onto the counter for dear life.

Looks like you definitely won’t be seeing Larissa today.

You abandon your coffee, letting it go cold on the counter as you drag yourself back into your bedroom. It’s a difficult trip. Your legs threaten to give out beneath you the whole way there, your mind screaming at you to lay down with them spread and just hope an alpha happens to come along. Your brain has never felt so fuzzy before. You’ve never felt so stupid.

The moment you make it back to your room, you throw yourself into the nest. Your clothes are off in an instant. Flung carelessly in a heap in the corner. With trembling hands, you reach into your nightstand and grab a small purple bullet vibrator, fumbling around to switch it on. The trusty little toy has been used many times in the past while you thought of Laris— of… stuff. As soon as it makes contact with your aching clit you whine and arch off the bed, your body flooding with relief now that you finally have some friction. You bring yourself to the peak within minutes. And again. And again. And again…

But it’s not enough.

You shove your fingers inside while stimulating yourself with the bullet. Two isn’t enough. You add another. Not enough. You sob and writhe, your stupid mutt brain and your body aching for one thing. A quick glance at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand shows the time Larissa should be waking up for the day. You know you should let her know while your brain still works somewhat.

You lick your dry lips and reach out for your phone. Reluctantly, you switch off the vibrator and set it to the side while you call Larissa. She answers almost immediately.

“Hello, darling,” Her sweet, sleepy voice comes through the other end of the phone. “Are you alright?”

Biting back the soft whine that bubbles up from your chest proves almost impossible. The sound of her voice sends another flash of desire through you, your essence coating your shaking thighs. “Larissa,” You whisper hoarsely. “I… I can’t… Make it… Today…”

Concern rings clear through her voice as she hears you panting. “Oh? Is everything alright, dear?”

“Yeah,” Your fingers gravitate towards your swollen clit, rubbing at it slowly as you listen to her speak. You gasp before you can bite back the sound, and clear your throat. “Yeah. Just… Don’t feel so good. I’ll see you next week?”

“Okay… Get better soon, alright? Do call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” The words come out in a breathless mumble before you hang up the phone and chuck it to the side. Just the memory of her voice has you growing wetter by the second, your fingers coated in your juices as you desperately try to satisfy yourself. Flashes of her face shoot through your mind, of her large hands and long fingers…

The vibrator is snatched up again in an instant.

You spend the next hour pleasing yourself without a break. Overstimulation makes your body jolt and twitch, but you can’t stop. You can’t. It just isn’t enough. Your mind is well and truly mush at this point, shown in the way your gaze drifts towards the door and for just a second, you consider opening the door and letting your scent waft out. Waiting for the first alpha to come and claim you.

For a moment, you seriously think about it. It would make your heat more bearable. Yes, said alpha might do horrible things to you, and you don’t really want that, but…

Before you can do anything stupid, the doorbell rings.

Sobbing in frustration, you set your vibrator down again. You force yourself up on shaky legs, not bothering to put pants on. You simply tug the oversized t-shirt down over yourself and shuffle to the front door, yanking it open.

Standing there in front of you is Larissa. Clutched in her hands is a wicker basket stuffed full of gifts. Teabags, cough drops, a couple of face masks, some flowers and a small teddy bear. “Hello,” Larissa greets you with a bright smile. “Since you aren’t well, I thought I would bring—” As soon as she catches sight of you, her words trail off. “...Oh.”

“Larissa,” You gasp. You have to grip onto the door frame to keep yourself upright. Your cheeks are flushed beyond belief, your eyes glazed over and distant. There is a thin layer of sweat on your skin, not to mention the wet patches on the back of your long shirt and your thighs. “I’m in heat.”

Her own cheeks flush when she hears those words. “I… I thought you didn’t go into heat. I thought you took pills.”

“I do. Pharmacy ran out.” Those are the only words you can manage before another tidal wave of need crashes through you and you whimper, sinking to the ground.

“Oh, my darling…” Larissa coos and invites herself inside. She closes and locks the door behind her, sets the gift basket down on the coffee table, then lifts you gently from the floor. She pulls her coat off and folds it over the back of the couch, then slips her feet out of her high heels. “Come on, my sweet. Let’s get you nice and comfortable, okay?”

You know there is no comfortable for you right now, but you don’t dare mention that to her when she is being so sweet. So attentive. You feel yourself getting more wet.

She scoops you up into her arms with ease and carries you to the bedroom. Her chest rumbles a little when she clears her throat upon seeing the vibrator carelessly left on your soaked sheets. Thankfully, she says nothing about it and carefully sets you down.

It kills you to have her so close. You just want to rut against her milky white thigh and have her praise you, you want those long fingers inside you, you want her mouth on you. You’ve loved her for decades, but you’ve never felt such intense need for her in all that time.

“Larissa,” You whimper again, but you have nothing to say. You just need her attention.

“Poor thing,” She whispers. She hesitates for half a second before reaching out to brush her fingertips over your slick thigh. “What can I do for you, dear?”

That simple touch over your thigh alone makes you jolt and gasp. “Don’t… ask me that,” You plead. “You won’t like the answer.”

Larissa leans closer, her larger frame looming over yours as she reaches her free hand out to cup your chin. Her fingers are so gentle as they tilt your head back, as though she is handling something as delicate as a porcelain doll. “What can I do for you, dear?” She repeats in a firm whisper.

You melt as you’re forced to stare up into her sapphire eyes. It feels like you could become nothing more than a puddle in a pile of blankets if she continues this. “I…”

“Tell me,” She urges. Keeping her gaze fixed on you, she dips her head and presses a sweet little kiss to your jaw. “Let me help you. Tell me how.”

As pathetic as it is, the very little resolve you had left snaps as soon as you feel her lips on your skin. “Fuck me,” You pant, raising your hips unabashedly.

“Are you sure?” She asks, her grip on your chin growing slightly firmer. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I’ll do that for you if that’s what you need, but I don’t want you to regret it later…”

“Larissa!” You groan before breaking out into a pathetic ramble. “I won’t regret it. I have loved you since we were teenagers, you’re the love of my life, there is literally nobody else in this world I would rather have help me with this. You must know that. You must have picked up on how much I love y—“

Before you can even finish that word, her lips are on yours.

Both of her hands move to pin your hips to the bed, forcing you to keep still instead of uselessly writhing around. The sheets beneath you become soaked almost to the point of ruin as she kisses you hard, her tongue brushing against yours desperately. You struggle to keep up with the searing heat of her kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she takes complete control. Your hips fight against her hold, and as a result she pins you down harder.

“Riss,” You whine against her lips.

“I know, darling,” She shushes you, one of her hands drifting from your hip to between your legs. You gasp out as her fingers press against you, teasing between your folds. “I know. Give me a minute, okay?”

“Can’t,” A soft sob slips past your parted lips as you pant, the pure desire for her making your body shake. “Can’t. Need you to knot me.”

“You need to wait a moment for my powers to work,” As though trying to sate you for the moment, two of Larissa’s long fingers slip inside you while her thumb rubs at your clit. When you gasp and arch into the feeling, she coos softly and begins kissing along the column of your throat. “My poor puppy. So desperate, aren’t you?”

All you can do is whine, unable to decide whether you should arch into her kisses or her fingers. Another orgasm rips through you as she circles your clit, your body squeezing around her fingers as you gasp and squirm.

“That’s it,” Larissa praises, lightening her hold on your hip. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ride it out.”

You don’t need more convincing than that as your hips move wildly through it, taking everything those digits are giving you.

But you still need more. More sobs leave you and you stare up at her pleadingly. The ability to form words on your lips has left you entirely. All you can do is whimper like the pathetic little thing you are.

“I know, puppy,” She suddenly slips her fingers out of you, making you whine louder. She shushes you firmly and you fall silent in an instant. She straightens up to her full height and begins hitching her skirt up to her thighs, unclipping her stockings and pulling down her panties. Your whole body seizes up at the sight of the penis beneath her skirt, hard and already leaking. She seems to have taken size into account, knowing you will be stretched with the knot. It isn’t too long or thick, made perfectly to fit in your tight hole.

She’s so damn considerate you can’t believe it.

Larissa lays back against the mountain of pillows you have set up, giving herself a tantalising stroke before patting her lap. “Come here, pup.”

You don’t hesitate, scrambling across the bed and setting yourself on one of her large thighs. You fight the urge to rut against it, knowing there is a much better reward waiting right there for you if you’re a good girl for her. She rests her hands on your hips and carefully guides you over here. The leaking tip of her cock rubs against your folds, teasing your clit.

“Are you positive you want this?” Larissa questions in a gentle whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It won’t hurt,” You assure her and cup her cheek. A little smile twists at your lips as she leans into the touch and sighs. Even if she hadn't created her cock to fit you perfectly, you would be so soaked and opened up by this point she could fit inside easily without hurting you.

“Okay. Relax for me, dear,” She nods. She surges forward to capture your lips with her own again. Her big hands pull you closer, and as she distracts you by kissing you like a woman starved, she slips inside you. Both of you gasp in unison, the sensation unfamiliar to each of you. She groans as your tight pussy clenches around her, taking her time to sink deeper and deeper inside you.

That isn’t going to fly with you.

Without warning, you slam your hips down and sheathe her fully inside you. She moans in surprise and chokes out, “Darling—”

Finally getting what you’ve wanted this whole time, you don’t stop. You fuck yourself feverishly on top of her, taking her cock deep inside you over and over again. You keen and whimper as your lips trail down to her neck, sucking and biting at every inch of pale skin you can reach. Even as your mind starts to blur, you have to force yourself not to sink your tiny fangs into her throat and claim her.

“Darling, please, slow down—” Despite her pleading words, her hands continue to guide your hips at the brutal pace you have set for yourself. Her head tips back against the headboard, harsh pants leaving her parted lips every second. “Gods, you need to slow down—”

The stretch of her cock inside you is like pure heaven. To finally be filled, and have her doing it, is the most exhilarating thing you could ever dream of. Having her hit that spot deep inside you, hearing her moans and knowing you are the cause of them. You’re sure you’ve had this wet dream about a hundred times over the past couple of decades, but fuck none of those dreams could ever compare to the real thing.

“You want me to slow down?” You pant in her ear, willing to do whatever she wants even that means slowing down when you just want her to fuck your brains out.

“Gods, no,” She whispers and pulls you down as she starts meeting you halfway in quick thrusts.

You moan in sheer delight, melting against her chest as she fucks you hard. Like she’s been holding back these same feelings for just as long as you have, and now she finally gets to let them out. She holds you tight to her chest with one hand while the other squeezes your ass, kneading it appreciatively between her fingers.

“Riss, I—” You gasp as yet another climax starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. You can already feel this one is more intense than the others, and not just because you’re far beyond oversensitive at this point.

“That’s it,” Larissa coos, “come for me, darling. Let me feel you coming around me like a good pup.”

That is all the encouragement you need. This orgasm crashes through you like a tsunami as she pumps into you hard enough to fill the room with harsh slapping sounds. Your nails tear into her shoulders, sharpening into claws that rip right through her nice blazer. Clinging onto her for dear life, your whiny moans fill the room. All you can do is keep riding her and taking her with every deep thrust as your body jolts and writhes under her hold, your whole being on fire with the pleasure she gives you.

“You want mommy to knot you, sweetheart? Want me to fill up that sweet little pussy?” She pants. Your body tightens around her cock at the sound of those words and she giggles, gripping your hips and dragging you down even harder into every snap of her own. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes,” You pant, nuzzling your nose into her neck and becoming pliant in her hands, allowing her to do whatever she wants with you. “Please please please. Please knot me.”

Moments later, she gives you exactly what you want. She moans sweetly into your ear, her thrusts growing sloppy before she buries herself all the way inside you. She gasps and pants as her release pulses through you, the base of her cock swelling and keeping her stuck inside your pussy.

“You’re mine, now,” She whispers possessively into your ear. You’ve never heard her use that tone with you before, and it makes you shiver with another wave of need. If she wasn’t already stuck in you, you’d be riding her all over again just for that. She brushes some hair back from your sweaty face and kisses your temple. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“I’m yours,” You repeat in a brainless whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” Larissa sighs, brushing her nose against your cheek. “I love you so, so much.”

She holds you for a long time, rubbing her hands up and down your back and praising you in a gentle voice. When she can finally pull out of you, she does so slowly, not wanting to hurt your sensitive hole. She curls a finger inside you to feel her own come filling you, and shivers at the feeling of her own stickiness on her fingertip.

“Just beautiful,” She murmurs and casts her blue eyes up to your face. “Do you feel better now, pup?”

“Yeah,” You nod, still a panting mess -- but a satisfied panting mess. “Thank you, Larissa. You… You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” She scoops you up and holds you close to her chest, before slipping her long legs over the side of the bed and carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

“Larissa?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Did you really mean it?” You ask nervously as you peer up at her. “When you said you loved me?”

“Of course,” Larissa smiles down at you. Her eyes shine with sincerity, and you can tell there isn’t a hint of dishonesty in her words. “I’ve loved you for… a very long time, sweetheart.”

There is a flutter of hope deep in your stomach as you swallow down a lump in your throat. “You have?”

“Yes.”

You can’t even bring yourself to say all of the things you want to as she perches you on the edge of the bath and begins running the hot water. As the steam fills the bathroom and she pours scented liquid into the water, all you can do is stare at her. At the red lipstick smudged across her beautiful lips, at her flushed cheeks visible even beneath her pale foundation. Her hair is still neatly pinned into place, she still looks eternally graceful despite the slight dishevelled appearance around her. This woman loves you. This… this goddess, standing before you, loves you.

“Larissa?” You clear your throat.

“Yes?” She chuckles, clearly amused by your line of questioning.

“After my heat ends, would you like to go on a date with me?” You blurt out before you can talk yourself out of it.

Larissa watches you for a long moment, a smile twitching at her painted lips. Eventually she nods, reaching out to caress your face. “I would love that.”

She bathes you with a great deal of care, making sure to be delicate near your swollen clit and cum-filled hole. You soon convince her to join you as another rush of heat goes through you, and she knots you again in the bath. Then she has to wash you all over again. Over the course of the next three days, the two of you can’t stop fucking. A couple of decades of pent up desire makes itself known in the course of a few days. During some point in those three days, she creates a set of long canine teeth for herself, sinks them into your throat and marks you as her own. At the end of it, you’re both utterly exhausted, but you’re happy.

So fucking happy.

[official-cvntified-gay]

Me cause kinktober is coming:

(it's not the only one that's coming😏) (we're about to get fed)

[dianneking]

Nightmares (Larissa x Reader comfortfic)

What??? A comfort fluffy fic from the Angst Fairy themselves? Well, what can I say. I like to try things out. Also I love a challenge. Also, it felt right to write this fic today and so I did (who am I to argue with the Muses?). All of that aside, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: Fluff, Comfort, Nightmares, Established Relationship, Second-Person POV, Teacher!Reader, Ungendered Reader, Lots of Cuddling. Wordcount: 1.719 words. AO3 link in title below!

This fic is dedicated to all the people who have offered me comfort. There's many out there, and you all know who you are and are all precious to me, but in particular I want to mention Cat and Cal @tenderheartgrumpymind, @scream-queenlover, @bigolgay, and @heidsworld. I am grateful for all of you.

Nightmares (Larissa/Reader)

You looked at her silhouette in the darkness. She was by your side, the faint light from the stars filtering through the window just to glide on her chiseled cheekbones, kissing her forehead, for once relaxed in the deep embrace of sleep, where no worries could reach her and no decisions had to be taken.  Her breath came out in slow, rhythmic puffs, so soft that you could only hear them thanks to the total tranquility of the night around you. Usually that would be enough. You’d wake up in the night, and just fall asleep after a little while, allowing yourself in the meantime to bask in her beauty, in how lucky you were to see this side of Larissa Weems. The side that had shed her armor, the signs of her power. The side with her hair rolled up and held in place by a silken scarf. It had taken so long to get to this point. For your relationship to progress far enough for her to trust you with the whole of herself.

She had been cautious at the start. You could see she was holding back, giving you her whole attention but not her whole heart. You could understand why. The both of you were not at your first relationship, you both had been hurt, you both had been burned. You knew that sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of something new, of a new special connection with someone, just to discover that that that person was not at all how you had imagined them to be, or maybe they were, but still for all the affection held for one another, you simply weren’t compatible.

And so people came and go, and you both had found yourself older, and less trusting towards potential partners. Always expecting something to go wrong, because it had always done so. You could see the same reticence in Larissa and – maybe paradoxically – you had been reassured by that.

And as time had proven, it had not been a flash in the pan. While the physical attraction was there and undeniable (how could it not? It was Larissa Weems you were talking about! The closest thing to a goddess that the earth was blessed with!), it was not and had never been just sex between you two, there had always been hope to see it become something else, something more – and the determination to try your best to make it so.

Date after date, evening in front of the fire after evening in front of the fire, you had slowly grown to know Larissa. She had opened up to you as you had to her – the good, the bad, the ugly. She had slowly let the “perfect principal” mask fall, and had shown you her flaws, she had candidly told you how she was aware of many of them, how she still was working on them, trying to get better at them.

“I had given up, you know?” she had confided in you once, as you were sipping wine staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace “I thought, well, I thought I was too old. What’s the point of trying to change after 40? I am already too set in my ways. Ha. Ironic, isn’t it? A shapeshifter who can’t change.” She had snorted at that. A loud, inelegant sound that was perfect precisely because it wasn’t perfect. It was real. “But then I saw you. You came to Nevermore and you took each day as a personal challenge. You brought so much good to the academy, to the students, to the staff itself! You fixed things that I hadn’t even realized were broken. And suddenly, I felt like I wanted to change as well. I still do. I want to be better. If Nevermore, that has been stagnant for centuries can be changed for the better, why can’t I?”

The question had hung in the air, and you had understood the unsaid things hidden between the lines. Somehow, in your self-appointed crusade to make the academy a better place, you had given her hope. Hope for herself. Hope she hadn’t allowed herself to have.

That night was the night you had realized how in love you were with Larissa Weems.

Maybe, it was the night she fell in love with you, too.

Even if you were both living on campus, it had taken two full years before you had decided to move in together. Well, it was more of you going to live in Larissa’s large, luxurious principal quarters. That had come well after you two had officially announced your relationship status, first to the board, then to the staff, and finally to both students and parents.

That had been petrifying. You had been afraid and so had Larissa, even if she showed it less than you, used as she was to have her mask always firmly in place. If it came down between choosing between your relationship and Nevermore, you both knew what her first choice would be. You had explicitly talked about it. You had pulled numbers. You had checked the rulebook. You had prepared as much as possible, hoping that it wouldn’t have to come to giving up your work to stay with her.

You would have done it.

You both knew it, as much as you knew that Larissa would never give up hers.

But luck had been on your side. You had only been showered with positivity and kindness and heartfelt well-wishes. There had been no difficulties, not mutterings, nothing. The only awkward moment had been when the Addams family had expressed their felicitations by sending about a dozen severed heads “To bring horrid prosperity to the new couple”. But even that had made a wry smile come to Larissa’s face, and she had just shaken her head and had the severed ones brought to the biology lab (“Well they’re here already, might as well use them for science”).

It felt like yesterday and yet it had been seven years ago. Your tenth-year anniversary was drawing closer and closer. By now you knew each other like the back of your hand. You knew what made each other tick, you knew what brought comfort. You enjoyed simply spending time together, each immersed in their own activity, and yet able to lift your eyes and bask in each other’s company.

Which brought you to your current predicament.

She knew you suffered from nightmares, and she had told you over and over again to wake her up if you ever needed comfort after one of them. You knew that. And you knew you wouldn’t mind if the positions were reversed. Sleep be damned, if Larissa needed you, you’d stay awake for days on end.

You stretched your hand over, letting it hover in the air above her shoulder. Was this okay? Were you really allowed to? No matter how many years passed, it felt like you were back to being Larissa’s employee, waiting outside of her study, hand just about to knock on her door, wondering if you weren’t just about to waste her precious time.

You could picture her, shaking her head at you, “Don’t be silly, darling! You never disturb me.” And smile at you that precious smile, the smile she reserved for you and you alone, the smile that made her eyes light up and dance. Even just imagining – remembering – that smile gave you strength. You brought you hand down softly on her shoulder, a gentle caress, a tender touch.

“Love?” You tried to keep the pleading out of your voice. She was immediately awake, used to being on call for any emergency in the school.

“What’s it, darling? Everything alright?” Her British accent was even thicker when her voice was still wrapped in sleep. It was adorable.

“Nightmare. Could…Could you hold me?” You hated how little your voice sounded. How it had broken halfway through. You hadn’t even realized how close to tears you had been before you had woken her up, but you could feel them filling your eyes now, making her lovely silhouette wobbly in the darkness.

“Oh darling, of course. Come here.” She turned towards you, opening her arms. You lost no time diving into them, hiding your face in the crook of her neck, the soft fabric of the scarf pleasant against your forehead. “Oh darling, that bad?” You nodded against her neck. You had put up a brave face, not even realizing yourself how much the images and the sensations from your dream had shaken you.

She hummed and you could feel the vibrations against your own body. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. It was going away anyways, the dark, cold tendrils of it being chased away by the warmth of the embrace Larissa was wrapping you in.

“Very well. Then you can just relax. I am here. I have you. You are safe.” You could feel your legs entwining together, skin against skin. She had always been so warm. You nuzzled her neck further, breathing in her scent. Patchouli and black pepper and something else, something comforting and relaxing, something utterly and completely Larissa. You felt her wrap her hands around your back, pulling you tight against her soft body. You felt her lips press a tender kiss to the top of your head.

You were enveloped in a cocoon of comfort, with the world so far away, with all its burden of sadness and hatred and worries. There was nothing of that that could reach you here, in the safe nest of your lover’s arms.

One of her hands started moving up and down your back, rubbing it lightly, soothingly, hypnotically. You focused all of your attention on that, on that single, simple movement. You didn’t know how long you were there, soaking up her affection, her care, her love. Slowly, you felt your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, your breathing slowing down, until finally you fell asleep in Larissa’s arms.

You couldn’t see the small, tender smile that graced her face when she looked down at your sleeping form, nor the second, even more loving kiss she pressed on your hair.

“Sleep well, love.” She whispered in the darkness of night.

And you did.  

Liked it? You can find more of my fics in my fanfiction masterlist or in my AO3 profile page!

[milfsloverblog]

hola!! I would like to request larissa x reader where they broke up years ago and when larissa sees reader again she finds out reader has a daughter who looks just like her 👀 lots of angst please

All the Quiet Things

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Ngl, I usually wouldn’t write fics where a kid is involved, but reading this request my brain was immediately flooded with angst ideas…. I hope you’ll enjoy it, I sure enjoyed working on it! Oh and happy pride month!

She tells herself it’s the books.

There’s a stall in Greymoor Square that sells rare volumes. Bindings cracked from age, typefaces long since faded. The woman who runs it speaks only in riddles and won’t haggle for anything less than a poem. It’s charming, Larissa tells herself. Worth the hour’s drive, if only for the atmosphere.

That’s why she’s here.

She repeats it like a mantra as she steps onto the cobbled main street of the town just past Jericho. Her heels click sharply against stone. The air smells of baked bread, cherry blossoms, and something sweeter underneath. Something she refuses to name.

It’s early yet. The market is just waking.

Sunlight stretches pale across the awnings, catching on glass bottles filled with syrup and honey. Someone’s tuning a fiddle in the corner. Wind stirs the edges of paper signs.

Larissa inhales. Exhales. Keeps walking.

She should be back at Nevermore, revising staff evaluations, fielding calls from the board, dealing with that absurdly smug fencing instructor who’s started teaching metaphors alongside parries. Instead, she is here, in a town she once passed through and never returned to.

The lie still holds.

Barely.

She stops at a table of marmalades, nods politely to the vendor, pretends to study the jars. Her gloved fingers pass over labels—plum-rose, blackberry-thyme, fig and burnt orange. The colors are rich and glimmer faintly in the morning light.

She does not buy anything.

Instead, she drifts. Watches the life of the market unfold in pieces. An elderly man arguing about tomatoes. A pair of girls balancing loaves of bread between them. A woman with a sleeping child tucked against her chest, the tiny hand curled in soft trust.

Larissa’s stomach turns.

She pauses at a flower stall. The scent is almost overwhelming: lilac, sage, and freshly cut mint. She remembers the smell. Not the exact one, but the shape of it. You once carried mint on your fingers, tucked wild herbs into your pockets. You used to tell her she smelled like winter, and you were determined to warm her up.

She hadn’t thought of that in years.

Hadn’t let herself.

But now the memory presses forward uninvited, and she cannot push it away.

Because someone said your name.

It had been nothing, really. A casual remark over coffee in the staff room. One of the teachers, cheerful and unobservant, had mentioned passing through the Greymoor market the weekend prior.

“Oh, and I could swear I saw a woman who used to work at the Academy years ago… What was her name? The one with the clever mouth. You know, the one Principal Weems was always—well. Never mind.”

Larissa had smiled. Tilted her head. Raised one perfectly plucked brow.

“You must be mistaken,” she had said.

But her tea had gone cold in her hand.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

And this morning, after the groceries, her car somehow veered west instead of north.

And now, now she is here. Pretending not to search for something she has no right to find.

She rounds a corner and sees the bookseller’s stall in the distance.

Her breath stutters. Not because of the books.

Because someone just turned away from the herbs stall, and she would know the shape of your shoulders anywhere.

There are moments the mind saves for after the fall.

Not the arguments. Not the leaving. Just the quiet before it all began to end.

It comes to her now like mist curling through an open window. Soft and familiar, tinged with the ache of what she never gave.

You used to come to her only after dark.

Never earlier than midnight, never later than two. The hours when the halls of Nevermore slept, and her corridors belonged to no one but ghosts. You never knocked. You didn’t have to. The door was always unlocked, cracked just slightly as if her restraint had slipped at the last minute.

She remembers the sound of your steps.

Barefoot on stone. Careful. You used to hum to yourself on the nights you thought she wasn’t listening.

She always was.

Her quarters were colder than they should’ve been. A high-ceilinged thing with windows far too large, draped in velvet so deep it swallowed moonlight whole. You hated the curtains. She used to watch you wrinkle your nose at them, mutter something about feeling like a kept secret.

And you were.

She made you one.

Every time you touched her, she felt seen in ways she didn’t know how to bear. You peeled her open with fingertips and laughter and soft, unrelenting trust. And what did she give in return?

Nightfall. Shadows. Silence.

You’d crawl beneath the covers beside her, skin warm from sneaking across cold floors. Your body always found hers instinctively, one knee slipping between her legs, one hand brushing her hip like you had every right. You’d smile into her collarbone and call her headmistress in that irreverent way that made her shiver.

She let you shift her. Literally, sometimes. Those were nights she gave in to the instinct buried deep in her kind, the one that allowed her to change shape and body, to take on something heavier, harder. You liked that. She did too. Not because of what she became, but because it was still her, and you never flinched.

But even then, in the dark, there were boundaries she never let you cross.

No hand-holding outside.

No pet names. Not where anyone could hear.

And always—always—you left before dawn.

She told herself it was protection. That if the wrong person knew, your job would be in danger. That you didn’t want that kind of attention. That the board wouldn’t understand. That she was sparing you.

But the truth lived deeper.

She didn’t want to risk herself.

It was easier that way. To keep the thing sacred only in secret. To let love bloom behind curtains, never in daylight. She convinced herself you understood. That the way you curled closer afterward, pressing your forehead to her sternum like it was the only place you slept well, meant you were content.

But she remembers the last night.

You’d said it like it didn’t matter.

“I won’t do this forever, you know.”

Your voice had been soft, almost sleepy. You were lying on your side, hair mussed from her pillow, fingers tracing idle circles over the inside of her wrist. Larissa had stilled. Not enough for you to notice, not enough to seem afraid, but she had felt something tighten.

You didn’t look at her when you said it. You looked at the drawn curtains, the ones you always hated, as if they were the ones holding you captive.

“I can’t keep being nothing in the daylight.”

And Larissa, she didn’t answer.

Not with anything that counted. Just touched your hair, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and pretended the moment hadn’t happened. She thought, maybe, if she stayed quiet long enough, you'd stay too.

But you didn’t.

You left before dawn, as always.

Except you never came back.

She had told herself it was for the best. That you’d moved on. That some bright-eyed suitor had offered you a life that didn’t involve shadows and silk-draped secrets.

That it was easier this way.

It’s what she clung to—until now.

Because now, in the center of the market, the crowd parts for just a moment—and you’re standing not ten paces away.

Older. A little.

Your hair is longer. Or maybe shorter. She can’t tell. Her breath has stilled in her throat like a bird caught behind glass.

You haven’t seen her yet.

You’re studying a jar of jam like it contains the answer to something complicated. The sun lights your cheekbone in the exact way it used to when you turned toward her bedside window. She feels the past stretch toward her like an echo trying to find its source.

It hits her all at once:

You’re real.

You’re here.

You suddenly lift your eyes.

And the world stops.

Larissa doesn’t remember stepping forward. Only that your face is exactly as she remembers, and nothing like it at all. Softer around the edges, perhaps. More tired. Or maybe just sharper, carved by five years of silence and everything they didn’t say.

Your expression changes.

Not shock. Not warmth.

Something colder. Something closed.

Her breath stumbles. She swallows it.

“…Hello,” she says.

It lands with all the grace of a stone dropped in water.

You don’t smile. Don’t look away. You just set the jar down on the table—deliberate, controlled—and straighten.

“Principal Weems,” you say, voice dry as paper.

That stings more than she’ll let show.

She gives a small nod, trying to hold herself upright beneath the weight of her own cowardice. “You… look well.”

“Do I?”

There’s no warmth in your voice. No invitation. But you don’t walk away.

Larissa seizes on that small mercy and steps closer. The space between you is measured now, not by feet, but by regret. The kind that yawns wider the longer it’s left untouched.

“I didn’t expect—” she starts, then stops herself. She can’t say she came looking. Not like this. Not when she barely deserves your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to see me? Or didn’t expect to see me here?”

The market bustles around you, oblivious. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle begins to play. It’s light, cheerful. Out of place.

Larissa draws in a breath. “I heard your name. A colleague mentioned seeing you. I… didn’t believe it at first.”

Your jaw tightens, just slightly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back this way,” she adds.

“I didn’t,” you say flatly. “Not until recently.”

A beat.

She wants to ask everything. Where you went. What you’ve done. Who you became without her.

But you speak again before she can find the words.

“You look exactly the same,” you say, tone unreadable. “I guess time doesn’t touch you the way it does the rest of us.”

Larissa flinches inwardly. “That’s not true.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

Her throat closes.

There are a thousand things she could say. Apologies she’s rehearsed in the silence of her chambers, explanations that don’t excuse but still try to make sense of her choices.

But you glance to the side. Just slightly. As if checking for someone. Your posture shifts, not in fear, not in nerves, but in the guarded way of someone who has something precious nearby.

A little girl—no older than five—comes sprinting toward you across the square. Pale curls bouncing, face alight with joy. You bend slightly as she flings her arms around your waist, and you catch her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like you have always done it.

Like you are her mother.

Larissa can’t breathe.

The child turns and looks up at her. Wide blue-grey eyes. A dimple in her left cheek. The shape of her nose, her chin, the curl of her lashes…

Larissa staggers a step backward.

“She looks like me,” she says.

You don’t answer right away.

Larissa can’t move.

Because suddenly, the past five years shift. They realign. Every breath, every sleepless night, every echo of your body in her bed.

It all collapses into this one impossible truth:

She hadn’t just left you behind.

You hold your daughter a little tighter.

It’s instinct. Not fear. Just the kind of silent tether a mother keeps when the ground starts to tilt.

You don’t look at Larissa. Not right away.

Because you can’t.

Not when her eyes are locked on the child like she’s seen a ghost. Not when her voice trembles with that awful, fragile kind of disbelief.

“She looks like me,” she says again.

You breathe through your nose. Slow. Measured.

You’ve practiced this.

You’ve practiced everything.

The way you kept your voice steady through the morning sickness. The way you signed the birth certificate without a second name. The way you buried that old photograph, the one where you lay half asleep, curled into her bare chest, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You buried it all.

But it still breathes.

Your daughter shifts in your arms, resting her head against your shoulder. Her curls brush your cheek. You close your eyes.

She smells like sun-warmed linen and lemon soap and the apricot pastry she insisted on having for breakfast. She smells like home.

You open your eyes and finally meet Larissa’s.

She’s pale. Paler than you’ve ever seen her. Her lips parted. Her hands slack at her sides.

You don’t want her to look at your child like that. Like she’s a riddle. Like she’s an answer. Like she’s a revelation Larissa didn’t earn.

So you speak. Soft. Sharp.

“Don’t.”

It stops her cold.

Her mouth opens. Maybe to ask. Maybe to apologize. But you cut in before she can do either.

“You don’t get to look at her like that.”

Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Just slightly.

Larissa notices. Of course she does.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were—”

“Pregnant?” You exhale. “Neither did I. Not when I left.”

The words sit heavy between you.

“I wasn’t hiding her from you,” you add. “I just didn’t know she existed yet.”

Larissa stares. Frozen. Like if she breathes, the world will split open.

You look down at your daughter. Your voice softens without meaning to.

“I left because I was tired of being a secret, Larissa. Not because I stopped loving you.”

She looks like she might fall over. Like the ground has opened and nothing is holding her up anymore.

“I would’ve stayed forever,” you say. “If you’d let me exist in the daylight.”

The silence that follows is raw. Almost sacred. The kind that only lives between people who were once everything.

Your daughter stirs, blinking up at you.

“Everything okay, Mommy?”

You brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Smile, soft and instinctive. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

You glance back at Larissa. Her face is shattered.

You should walk away. You know you should.

But something stops you. Not pity. Not cruelty.

Just history.

Just love. Old and threadbare, but not quite dead.

So your voice gentles when you speak again.

“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”

You shift your daughter higher on your hip, thumb smoothing the back of her dress.

“I didn’t plan any of this.”

You start to turn away. Then pause.

And when you meet her eyes again, something quiet lingers there. Not forgiveness. But not quite blame, either.

“If you’re wondering,” you say, “I named her Solene. she’s kind. And she’s bright. And she likes to sing when she thinks no one’s listening.”

A breath.

“She got that from you.”

A silence.

A heartbeat.

Then you’re gone.

The car door slams harder than she means it to.

Inside, the silence is too much. The stillness. The absence.

Larissa grips the steering wheel with both hands, but it’s pointless. Her palms are damp and shaking. The leather is warm under her fingers, but she’s cold. Icy, bone-deep cold.

She stares straight ahead.

The market is still busy. Families move between stalls, children tugging their parents toward sweets and painted wooden toys. Laughter floats through the air. Bread, flowers, the sharp salt of feta samples. It all smells like life continuing. Like nothing has happened.

But something has.

You.

And the child.

Her child.

Larissa shuts her eyes.

“She looks like me,” she had said.

And it was true. God, it was true. Those wide grey-blue eyes. The dimple. That nose. That mouth. It was like someone had taken the smallest, most human parts of her and carved them into new life.

A daughter.

Your daughter.

She presses her forehead against the steering wheel.

You didn’t tell her.

Not because you wanted to hurt her. Not because you meant to hide it. You just… left.

Larissa feels the ache of it now. The terrible symmetry of what she did to you—hiding you behind drawn curtains and late-night shadows—and what you had to do in return. Raising a child alone. Bearing the weight of both your griefs in silence.

She had no idea.

All these years, she thought you walked away out of pride. Out of anger. That you’d found someone new. That the pain she’d tried not to feel was mutual, deserved, symmetrical.

But you didn’t know you were pregnant.

And you still chose to walk away, because Larissa never once gave you the sun.

She breathes through her teeth.

Something hot and acidic swells in her chest. Grief, yes, but something else too.

Longing.

Want.

Not for the past.

For now.

For that child who looked up at her like she was no one. For that child who should’ve known her. For the curve of your voice when you said she sings when she thinks no one’s listening.

She should’ve heard that.

She should’ve known that.

Larissa shoves the door open and climbs out.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t lock the car. Doesn’t glance at the market square. She just walks—quickly, eyes darting, scanning for any glimpse of your silhouette, your hair, that soft blue dress your daughter wore.

She doesn’t care how foolish it looks. How desperate. How loud.

She needs to see you.

Not to apologize.

Not to explain.

To ask.

To beg.

Let me try.

Let me meet her. Let me know her name. Let me hold her just once. Let me be the thing I never thought I was allowed to be.

Let me be her mother.

She turns a corner and sees the crowd begin to thin.

Shops give way to cobblestone alleys and quiet cafés. She slows slightly, eyes searching every step ahead.

She has no idea what she’ll say when she finds you.

But she knows she won’t let it end in silence again.

She sees you half a block ahead.

Near the bakery. That little one with the peeling paint and the lavender hanging in the window.

You’re slower now. Your daughter’s hand is wrapped tightly in yours. She’s walking on the low stone edge of the path, carefully balancing herself as you guide her. You glance down every few steps, steadying her with just a brush of your palm.

Larissa doesn’t call your name. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

She just walks faster.

You hear her steps before she’s close enough to speak.

You stop walking. Don’t turn around—just stand still, spine straight, hand still curled protectively around your daughter’s. You murmur something to the little girl, and she hops gently off the stone ledge. You gesture toward the bakery door.

“She’s hungry,” you say as Larissa slows to a stop behind you. “We came here for bread and I let her get distracted. She loves the cheese twists.”

Larissa swallows. “You do too.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

“She’s five,” Larissa says, quietly.

“Four and a half,” you correct. “Birthday’s in November.”

There’s silence. A breath too long. A breath too charged.

You sigh.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Larissa’s voice is hoarse. “Because I didn’t get to say anything.”

You don’t turn around. Not yet.

“She asked who you were,” you say. “I told her your name. That’s all.”

“And if she asks more?”

“She won’t. Not today.”

Larissa nods. She deserves that.

You shift slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Your eyes are tired. Not just from today. From years of it.

“She doesn’t know,” you say. “Anything. She doesn’t know you exist.”

The words land with a weight she can barely bear.

“And it wasn’t to punish you,” you say again. “I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I didn’t want to give her a ghost.”

That’s what Larissa had become, after all.

A name unspoken. A grief unshared. A memory too sharp to explain to a child with nothing but questions.

“But now I’m not a ghost,” Larissa says. “I’m here. And I want…”

You turn fully now. Still holding your daughter’s hand. Still standing between them.

Larissa’s voice cracks.

“I want to know her.”

You say nothing.

“I want to learn her favorite color. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to know she came from something… from someone who would have loved her so much if she’d only known.”

You blink, and something shifts in your face. Not forgiveness, not yet. But a fissure. A place where something old has started to melt.

“I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Larissa steps closer.

“I’m asking you not to shut the door. I’m asking you to give me a chance to meet my daughter. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Just…” Her voice breaks again. “A beginning.”

Your daughter tugs lightly on your sleeve.

“Mommy,” she says. “Is she sad?”

You crouch to her level, brushing a curl from her face.

“She’s someone I used to know,” you murmur. “And maybe… maybe someone we’ll get to know again. What do you think about sharing your cheese twist?”

The little girl looks at Larissa.

Then nods.

Larissa doesn’t move.

You rise slowly and tilt your head toward the bakery. “Come in, if you want.”

Larissa breathes. For the first time in minutes. Maybe in years.

You’re not promising anything.

But you’re not walking away.

Not this time.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 8 @jkregal @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

[weemssapphic]

Little One

Larissa Weems x f!werewolf!reader

Just a fluffy little one-shot in which Larissa is pregnant and reader dotes on her a bit. Enjoy!

Words: ~1.8k | ao3 link in title

Radiant — the only word able to truly capture the way Larissa was blossoming during her pregnancy. She’d always been the most beautiful woman in the world to you (and that would never change) but every morning you woke up convinced she looked even more stunning, even more vibrant than the day before. 

You would never forget the smile on Larissa’s face the moment she found out she was pregnant — after months of trying, Larissa followed a hunch and the two of you huddled over a pregnancy test. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop — you both held your breaths, and even the air seemed to still around you as you waited for the minutes to tick by, for the lines to show up. Even then, it took you a moment to decipher the result because of the tremble in Larissa’s hand. Two lines, positive — your wife’s eyes brimmed with tears as she beamed at you, and her shriek dissolved into laughter when you picked her up and spun her around.

Spoiling Larissa became your number one priority — trying to bear the burden of Larissa’s pregnancy as much as possible, by trying to make it as easy as possible, waiting on her hand and foot. Being a werewolf gave you a distinct advantage — you could smell every single pheromone change, most before your wife was really aware of them herself.

Today was no different. 

You slipped into Larissa’s office with a gentle knock, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of her sitting at her desk, typing away as if her entire life, and that of your unborn child, depended on it. She looked up at the sound of the door and greeted you, her lips curling into a smile and the creases between her eyebrows softening (you kept insisting that she get reading glasses so that she would no longer have to squint at her laptop, and she kept refusing and saying her eyesight was “just fine, thank you”).

“How are my girls doing?” you asked, just as you did every evening when you got home from work, because you loved the idea that you had not one but two people waiting for you at home, a little family all of your own. And you knew Larissa liked it, too, from the way her cheeks would flush ever so slightly and her smile would turn shy and a little giddy.

“Well, I think,” she replied, the click-clack of her typing coming to a stop as she rested her hand on her stomach, glancing down at it with an affectionate gleam in her eyes. “She’s a bit restless today, she’s been kicking nonstop and distracting me from my work. Just like her mum...”

Both you and Larissa chuckled — with both parents being different types of outcasts, you never really knew what you were going to get, but with your werewolf genes there was no doubt that your little girl was going to be quite the active child, and that this was just the beginning. Which meant that you couldn’t help but to worry about your wife. You knew it exhausted her to deal with her various symptoms, how much it stressed her that she wasn’t getting as much work done as she used to, how much it worried her that her stress could affect the baby.

“You’re stressed.” No matter how hard Larissa tried to hide it, you couldn’t be fooled — you could, quite literally, smell it on her from a mile away. Her tension was sharp, acrid, a scent that immediately set off your alarm bells.

“I’m fine, really,” she insisted with the most pathetic attempt at a placating smile you’d seen her make since you’d known her. You gave her a pointed look, a raised eyebrow with a hint of a challenging smirk, and she sighed, the creases between her brows returning as she shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Softening your gaze, you rounded her desk and placed your hands on her shoulders to massage her sore muscles. 

The tension seemed to visibly melt from Larissa’s body, her head tipping forward as her neck and shoulders yielded to your touch. A soft moan slipped from her lips, a sign that you were doing something right, and you pressed your nose to her hair, inhaling deeply. Beneath her stress and worry was the scent you were so addicted to: an intoxicating mixture of flowery perfume, sweet shampoo, the natural musk of her skin. And the special scent she’d developed during her pregnancy, the one that told you your baby was alive and well, the one that made you feel absolutely feral.

“Is there anything I can take off your hands?”

“Well…” Larissa hesitated a moment. “I’m short a teacher this week due to illness…” Larissa rolled her eyes with a huff and continued, “if you could even call a minor cold an illness, and of course Wednesday has driven the substitute away, so unless I find someone to cover tomorrow afternoon’s gorgon biology class, which is highly unlikely as my staff is stretched thin as is, I’ll have to-”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupted, unable to keep a slight growl from sneaking into your tone. You knew Larissa was about to suggest she teach the class herself, and that just wouldn’t do. She had enough on her plate as it was and she should be resting, handing over some duties — not taking on more. 

“Are you sure?” Larissa asked, but she already knew the answer. Her pregnancy had driven your overprotective side to new heights, and she didn’t need heightened senses to feel your resolve. It was easy to tell that you were annoyed — not at her, never at her, but at the poor teacher who called in sick, at Wednesday for causing trouble, at the substitute for not being able to handle troubling students. 

“Of course I’m sure,” you huffed. “I’ll just rearrange some things in my schedule. I’d much rather do that than have you on your feet all day, dealing with Wednesday.” Larissa chuckled at the way you said the student’s name — she’d grown rather fond of the girl herself, but you were still highly skeptical of her, mostly because she did always seem to make Larissa’s life harder.

Your hands continued to knead at the knots in Larissa’s upper back, your lips pressing light kisses to the crown of her head. She leaned forward, poised to place her hands back on her keyboard and continue working, but you were faster, reaching over her shoulder and snapping her laptop shut. She let out a frustrated huff and you smiled against her scalp. “It’s getting late, take a break and have dinner with me…” you mumbled, nudging her gently.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to argue with you, Larissa stood up, placing her hands on the edge of her desk for support. You were beside her in a second, one hand on her arm and one on her lower back. Larissa chuckled and mumbled something about not being an invalid, though she leaned into you anyway and let you lead her into the quarters you shared.

It was your favorite part of the day, coming home after work and cooking something that would bring a smile to Larissa’s face (even if her cravings were sometimes an affront to your sense of smell), talking and updating each other on your respective days before moving to the sofa or the bed and cuddling, sometimes talking more, sometimes reading or watching a film. After a chaotic day, a mundane evening of snuggles with your favorite person was exactly what both of you craved.

After dinner, Larissa curled up in bed with a book and you slipped in beside her, spooning her from behind. Your hand seemed to have a mind of its own these days, always wanting to be close to your two favorite people — one of your hands slipped beneath Larissa’s camisole to splay across her stomach, the other propped up your head so that you could look down at your wife and press the occasional kiss to her jaw, the base of her ear, her temple. She was focused (or at least trying to focus) on her book but your focus was on her, and she reveled in the attention, letting out soft little sighs and pleased hums, tilting her head slightly when you kissed a spot she particularly enjoyed so that you would kiss it again.

“You’re so beautiful…” you whispered reverently, pressing a kiss to Larissa’s temple. “So soft,” another kiss, “so kissable…” Your fingertips traced absent-minded little shapes over Larissa’s abdomen as you nuzzled your nose against her hair. Larissa turned in your arms, just enough to be able to look up at you. Even after all those years it still made your breath catch in your throat, the way she looked at you. Eyes the color of sapphires twinkled brightly, pale lashes fluttered with each slow blink, those little crinkles at the outer corners of her eyes deepened because she couldn’t help but to smile when looking at you. 

Your grin matched Larissa’s own as you dipped your head down to kiss her, lingering for a moment, tasting the sweet honey of her lips. The covers rustled as Larissa abandoned her book in favor of covering your hand with hers to cup her stomach, and you kissed your way along her jaw, down the column of her throat, along the fabric that clung to the sides of her breasts, until your lips reached the soft bump and lingered there. You nuzzled your nose playfully against the swell of it.

“Hi, little one,” you whispered, and Larissa laughed because your breath tickled her belly. She wiggled her fingers and you took the hint, threading your fingers between hers. “Please be gentle with your mama, you’re gonna wear her out if you keep this up.” You smiled as you felt the baby kick against your lips and Larissa carded her free hand through your hair, her nails scratching so lightly at your scalp that it sent electric tingles down your spine, all the hairs on your body standing on end. 

Larissa rolled her eyes. “Your mother is being very dramatic,” she whispered fondly.

“Am I not allowed to be worried about my favorite person?” you whispered back, glancing up at Larissa, and her gaze softened. 

“I’m fine, you know. We’re fine.”

“I know. But I like taking care of you anyway.”

Larissa’s lips stretched into a wide smile. ‘Thank you…’ she mouthed.

“And of you, my little one,” you whispered fondly, turning your attention briefly back to Larissa’s belly and showering it in kisses.

“My turn?”

Glancing up, you couldn’t help but grin as you saw Larissa smirk down at you. “Your turn.” Your lips abandoned Larissa’s stomach in favor of her lips, and you crawled up her body and kissed her slowly and gently. 

“Careful, or I might get jealous of how much attention our little girl receives…” Larissa mumbled into the kiss — you huffed out a laugh.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” you husked with a smirk, deepening the kiss, smiling into it, your chest exploding with warmth. You were right where you belonged.

x

Taglist: @alexusonfire @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @fictionalized-lesbian @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @http-sam @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @niceminipotato @thevillagegay @barbarasstar @jadewolf22 @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @lilfartbox1 @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @thesamesweetie @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @daydream-cement @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @ilovetlcc @lesbiahonest24 @wastdstime @gwens0girl @larissa-weems-chokehold @makemyworldworthliving @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @nightingalespen

[numbyday]

Finished product if you care hehe..😍

[cappulcino]

The Shape of Us

Read on AO3

Words: 6,440

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Larissa are on a “break”. When you agree to meet for coffee at the Weathervane, you finally get to start healing.

Tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending, some fluff (flangst if you will), emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut (skippable, but maybe minors dni), maternal Larissa, character development, no Y/N

Trigger warnings: non-graphic mention of G!P (tell me if I should add more)

A/N: Quite a change of style with this one. I had the idea and just wanted to use it to practice instinctive writing, kind of. It’s also the first time I try to write present tense. Very experimental overall, not as thought out as usual, Larissa might not even be characterised the way I like her to be. Also, no beta, we die like Phasma. I hope you still enjoy it.

Eight months. That's how long you haven't seen Larissa.

You're not divorced –not yet anyway. But after four years of marriage, six years total of a seemingly perfect romance, Larissa had asked for a 'break'. You had agreed to it, and perhaps it had been the right decision, too.

You and Larissa had been constantly fighting over trivialities. And since you had been barely having any, not even sex could have saved your relationship at that point. The main argument often revolved around Elias, your son from your previous spouse.

You had met Larissa when you were seven months pregnant after a particularly hard divorce, and it had never discouraged her. She had courted you all the same, made you feel loved and beautiful like your abusive ex never had –or any other partner, for that matter–, and she had sworn to stay by your side forever.

Elias' birth had propelled your relationship into something terribly concrete in very little time. It had not been easy. But Larissa had helped you raise your little boy as her own without complaining once.

That was until your somewhat divergent views on Elias' upbringing got in the way, amongst other things, leading to endless arguments late at night, trying to keep your voice hushed so as not to wake Elias, but gesticulating and pacing furiously until you were both too tired to say another word.

And then one night, Larissa had said, "I think we should take a break."

Out of anger, you had asked her to be the one to pack her stuff and leave. You had bought your house together –she could have claimed the right to stay, too. But you had Elias and nowhere else to go. She had her quarters at Nevermore. So she had packed and left that very same night without even putting up a fight.

Eight months ago, then.

The break had hurt, kept hurting month after month, and to this day it still hasn't stopped hurting. It might even be worse.

Today, however, you and Larissa have agreed to meet for coffee at the Weathervane –just to see each other and talk, nothing more–, and you are desperate for this pseudo-date to mark the end of that damned break.

But while Larissa had been the one to initiate it, you had been the one to be a bitch about it, so you know you can't expect Larissa to jump for joy when you bring yourself to step inside the Weathervane.

Yet, you're filled with hope, and when you finally push that door, you realise it's not the chilly wind making you shiver, it's the anticipation.

With faked determination in your stance, you head towards the counter. But then you catch the shy wave of a hand with perfectly manicured red nails from the corner of your eye and stop abruptly.

Larissa is already here –of course she is– and slides a cup of coffee across the table she is sitting at. She knows she is always ten minutes early to everything and you, ten minutes late, and has ordered accordingly so your cardamom and sea salt vanilla latte is waiting for you, still steaming.

You want to run to her –you almost do. But you have to take a second to compose yourself. There is a whole range of emotions on her face, from bitterness to sadness and hurt. But she flashes you a weak smile and you are pleased to find out that there is still love underneath it all.

Slowly, with less determination than before, you walk up to the booth she has chosen and sit across from her.

"Hey…"

"Hey…"

There is a slight hesitation in Larissa's attitude and tone as you take off your coat and put your bag down, and you wonder if she's excited to see you or scared –or both, like you are.

"I took the liberty to order for you. I hope that's okay," she says tentatively, as if worried your tastes might have changed in the past eight months.

"More than okay. Thank you."

Your eyes start a game of roaming all over each other's bodies without ever meeting, and you notice how Larissa unclasps her hands and her fingers start reaching out before she changes her mind to pull away and fidget under the table instead. It makes your heart clench.

"You look good," she suddenly blurts out.

It's game over for you as your eyes snap back up, boring into hers. You tell her that you think she looks even better. You mean it. But you are pained to see the weary look on her face, the hint of exhaustion no amount of makeup can hide.

You also notice the dress she is wearing, the same one she was wearing the day Elias was born. She had complained time and time again that it didn't fit her anymore, and the thought of her losing so much weight it does again almost brings tears to your eyes. Guilt is consuming you.

Larissa clears her throat in that particular way you know she does when she is struggling to stay calm, and you know it's your cue to pretend you haven't seen anything and start an actual conversation.

"How have you been?" you ask before taking a sip of your latte.

Larissa shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, even though she is anything but.

"Oh, you know… Busy. With Nevermore, mostly. The new term is approaching, so there's a lot to take care of. What about you? And… Elias?"

You purposely ignore the first question. You feel anything but good and don't have the strength to pretend like Larissa does. You don't want to admit you have been obsessively thinking about her every single day for the past eight months either. And when she mentions your son, you can't help but let your heart speak before your brain can reason it anyway, your tone clipped and cold.

"Let's not pretend you don't know how he's doing. I know you've been calling his school, and that you 'casually dropped by' Clarisse's house right when Elias was there for Timothy's birthday."

Feeling caught, Larissa pinches her lips and looks away. But she quickly recovers, her expression slightly hardening.

"You cannot expect a mother to stay away from her child for months on end without any news. Elias is my son, too." 

"He's my son."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like dying inside, drowning in instant regret.

Larissa feels punched in the gut –so hard that it makes her gasp audibly. You notice the way her nostrils quiver and her eyes immediately water. But she clenches her jaw, forcing herself to remain cordial.

"Now you're just being cruel."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" 

"Yes."

"Then why did you say that?"

"I don't know!"

And it's true. The worst part in all this is that you never mean any of the poison you spit at your wife. It just comes out and you're not even sure why.

An awkward silence sets in for a moment, and you bring your cup to your lips with trembling hands before speaking again.

"He barely talks to me now. And when he does, it's only to ask, 'When is Mummy coming back?'"

"What do you tell him?" Seeing your lack of response, Larissa presses further. "He deserves answers."

"But I don't have them, do I? Just like I don't know what to tell him when he comes home from school and tells me that little Lisa's parents are getting divorced and her father is now with another woman, and asks me if his mummy is, too."

"What do you mean, you don't know what to tell him?" Larissa asks, briskly bringing her hands back on the table to better lean forward.

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?" 

"With another woman."

Larissa scoffs loudly, visibly shocked by your question.

"Heavens, no! I'm still wearing my ring."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"No?"

Once again, Larissa visibly aches at your reaction, and you hate yourself for it. Thing is, the fact that she is still wearing her wedding ring does mean a lot to you. It means everything. But you're too scared to get your hopes up, and before you can do anything about it, your heart decides it's best to kill that hope in the womb.

"So… You haven't seen anyone else? At all?" you ask nonetheless, still needing to make sure Larissa remains yours.

You have always felt like she was the most attractive of the two, and have always had this fear she would go look for someone better than you whenever she got the chance.

Larissa glares at you as she sips her own coffee, debating whether to indulge your jealousy or not. Eventually, she decides to be entirely honest.

"Someone did ask me out." Your eyes instantly darken while she continues. "Hannah, the florist. But–"

"But what?" you cut her off, feeling yourself turning green. You can't bear the thought of her with anyone else.

"But I said no, of course! Gosh, who do you think I am? I was never interested in her."

There is another pause and, seeing your eyes dart away, Larissa suddenly worries you might have been trying to tell her something. You notice her gaze quickly scanning your left hand to check your wedding ring is still there.

"Have you been seeing anybody else?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good."

The relief that washes over Larissa's face is undeniable. You find it almost cute, but mostly you feel a weight lifting from your own shoulder, reassured by the notion that you both remained fiercely faithful, no matter what.

Impulsively, Larissa stops fumbling with her napkin, cup, and whatever is in front of her, and gives in to her desire to touch you again, snatching your left hand. She squeezes it, presses it to her cheek. Her thumb traces loving circles on your skin, her lips pepper your knuckles with urgent kisses. Her breath is heavy as she relishes the familiar touch.

"I still love you, you know," she finally blurts out in a desperate whisper. "So much."

You can't help but gasp. Larissa wants to see you. She is wearing the same dress she wore for your son's birth. She hasn't taken her wedding ring off. She doesn't want Hannah the pretty florist. She still loves you.

It has been way too long since you last heard these words, and they make your eyes instantly well up, tears threatening to fall over your waterline like a dam bursting open.

Seeing that, Larissa brings a hand to cup your cheek without letting go of your left one, which she still kisses now and then. The movement is barely there, but you see her shake her head as well, and you can tell she hates seeing you like this and wonders if this break was truly a good idea after all. You're both more miserable than you care to admit.

Eventually, she dares express her doubt.

"Was this break beneficial to you at all?"

You can't say that a little distance wasn't needed. But God knows you can't live without Larissa either, and raising a six-year-old on your own is just too difficult.

"Was it to you?" you ask, once again eluding her question.

Larissa looks up, both forcing herself to swallow her own unshed tears and trying to come up with an answer. But for the first time since you sat at that table, she seems not to have any.

"All I know is that I miss you," she confesses instead. "And I miss our son."

"I miss you, too. We both do."

Your voice cracks at these last words.

"I want to see him. I need to see him," Larissa practically begs. "You can't keep me away from him forever."

You nod slowly and snuffle. You know that's fair –you had no right to forbid her to see Elias. Worse than that, you had no right to forbid your son to see his mother.

After a moment, you carefully pull away and grab your napkin to wipe your tears and blow your nose rather disgracefully. Larissa can't help the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she hears that sound and sees how red the tip of your nose has turned.

"Do you, uh… Do you want to come home for dinner?" you ask then. "I think Elias would be delighted to see you."

Larissa's heart skips a beat at your invitation. The idea of going home, spending some time with you, with your son… It's everything she has secretly been yearning for. Yet, you sense a slight hesitation. Larissa is still wary of how the evening could go –rightfully so, considering all the arguments you've had in the past.

"Are you sure?"

You don't want to imagine anything negative right now, so you just nod.

"Be there at eight?"

"I'll be there."

That evening, at eight, when the bell rings, you send your son to open the door.

"Elias, honey, I think you might want to answer that."

Your son turns away from the cartoon he is watching to glare at you darkly, but you insist, jerking your head towards the door, and he finally complies, sliding off the couch to go answer it.

When he does, you can see Larissa standing rather awkwardly by the doorway from where you are. The realisation of how uncomfortable she must feel to have to be invited into her own home truly tugs at your heartstrings. But then you see her eyes land on Elias, and her demeanour changes immediately.

"Hello, sunshine!"

Elias gasps loudly.

"Mummy!" he shouts, bouncing excitedly on his legs.

But just when you expect him to jump into Larissa's arms and squeal like he has just seen Santa, he freezes on the spot and a noisy whine escapes his mouth, quickly turning into full, ugly cries –the only way for him to express all those big emotions he had apparently kept bottled up all these months.

"Oh, oh, oh… Baby, no…"

With practised ease, Larissa picks Elias up, even though one of her hands is already full with the bouquet of roses she has bought for you on her way here. Hearing your son cry so desperately is killing you. But your heart breaks even further when you notice his short hair turning platinum blonde.

Elias has inherited your shapeshifting abilities but is too young to control them, of course –and you've never been too keen on teaching him how to, either. When a young, inexperienced shapeshifter feels strong emotions, it is not uncommon for their powers to go haywire. Quite often, the youngest partially shapeshift into someone they feel close to, usually a parent. For Elias, it's Larissa. Always Larissa.

"Mummy…"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart. Mummy missed you, too. More than you can imagine."

As you lean against the wall of your entrance, your hand on your chest to prevent yourself from choking on your guilt, Larissa glances at you, silently communicating her own mixture of sadness, guilt and affection.

Seeing Elias won't let go of her anytime soon, your wife invites herself inside. You come closer, closing the door behind her, while your son struggles to calm down.

"I… brought you these," Larissa says, bending at a weird angle to hand you the flowers without letting go of the little boy in her arms.

You take them, a small smile on your lips until you realise whom she must have bought the roses from.

"Did you buy them–"

"From Hannah? Yes." Larissa notices your jealousy flaring, but she quickly tames it. "I asked her for the most beautiful roses she had so I could gift them to my wife."

The pride in her eyes and her slight possessiveness make your heart soar and the smile returns to your lips.

"They're beautiful. Let me find a vase for them."

As you go find a vase for the roses, you can hear Larissa struggle to get out of her coat and then walk into the living room without ever putting Elias down.

"It's okay, sunshine. Oh… What's that you were watching? Is that Pokémon?"

"Mmh."

"You like Squirtle, don't you?"

"No. My favourite is Lucario."

"I'm sorry," you hear Larissa reply with a melancholic tone. "Of course, it's Lucario."

That simple exchange makes you realise just how fast things can change in a child's life, and therefore how much Larissa has missed because of you. You wonder if she will ever find it in her heart to forgive you. You know you won't.

Throughout dinner, Elias simply cannot stay still. Every time Larissa so much as shifts on her chair, his little hands reach for her to make sure she won't leave without him. Despite your instructions to eat his food –especially his vegetables–, he also keeps wiggling free, running back and forth between the table and his bedroom upstairs to go fetch his new toys and latest drawings and show them to Larissa. He speaks fast and loud, as if scared to give even the tiniest opportunity to either of you to say something negative and ruin the night for him.

Larissa, for her part, seems overwhelmed but far from unhappy. She holds each drawing carefully, murmuring praises as she flips through them, her smile never leaving her lips. Still, she regularly sneaks glances at you, and you understand she is waiting to be finally alone with you for a moment. You're waiting for this, too. You also both can't stop your eyes from darting to each other's lips, and it definitely doesn't help with the tension that has been building up since your coffee date at the Weathervane.

Thankfully, with all those emotions and that energy spent, Elias is quick to collapse on Larissa's lap, his thumb stuck in his mouth. You reach for his tiny wrist –you have successfully started weaning him off that habit over the past months and don't want him to pick it up again. But Larissa gently pushes your hand away.

"Leave him," she says, her voice not unkind but firm. "He needs it."

You sigh but give in. Tonight is not a night to argue about anything.

"You should go tuck him in," you offer after observing your sleepy child for a moment. By now, even his nose has shapeshifted into Larissa's.

Your wife smiles at the proposal and excuses herself, cradling Elias close to her chest as she brings him upstairs. Your gaze follows them fondly until you can't see them anymore and you decide to get up to clean the table a little bit.

But you quickly stop to go upstairs instead and see how things are going. You can't help it. Not necessarily because you want to control your wife, no. It's more because you find the sight of her with Elias comforting and absolutely heartwarming, and you need that right now.

As you arrive in front of your son's bedroom and peek through the crack of the door, you hear Larissa trying to explain to Elias how "mommies can still love each other very much and not be together for a while". You find her courageous. You've never had the balls to attempt such a difficult explanation, despite Elias' incessant questioning.

"I want you to be with me and Mommy again," you hear him plead sleepily.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Larissa coos, her fingers delicately brushing his still-platinum hair away from his forehead. "I want that, too. I really do. But Mommy and I… we're working on some things, okay? We're trying to make things better, I promise."

"I hate her."

The brutal honesty of your own child as he thinks you're not looking makes you want to scream, throw up, and bang your head against the wall. The pain burning in your chest is indescribable, and you have to cover your mouth so your inevitable sobs don't ruin the moment for Elias and his other mother.

Still, through it all, you are glad to find out Larissa has your back.

"Don't say that, Elias. I know you're sad, but Mommy loves you very much."

"But she doesn't want me to see you."

"I know, beautiful. I know. But Mommy is just… She's hurting, too. And sometimes, when people hurt, they say and do things they don't mean."

There is a moment of silence only broken by the constant stroking of Larissa's hand on your son's face. Then Elias speaks up again, his voice still weakened by the fatigue.

"Mummy?"

"What is it?"

"Is it my fault you and Mommy don't talk anymore?"

You can hear Larissa's heart break from the hallway.

"Oh, no, no, no, angel… No. Never. You have done nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing wrong. Adults disagree and need some alone time sometimes, but sweethearts like you are never the reason why, alright? Now, close those pretty eyes. You need to rest."

"But you won't be here when I wake up," Elias whines.

"I know. I'm so sorry, baby. But we'll see each other soon, I promise. Mommy will let me see you now."

You haven't even really talked about this with Larissa yet, but there is no point in denying it –Elias needs both his mothers with him and you can't prevent Larissa from loving him and wanting to take care of him.

There is a pause, and you can hear in Elias' lack of response that he is contemplating accusing his mother of lying. But thankfully, he is too tired to put up a fight and settles for a "Goodnight" instead.

You watch as Larissa tucks the covers around his tiny body and leans in to kiss his forehead, then step aside to rest your back on the wall next to the door so Larissa doesn't feel too overwhelmed by your presence when she comes out.

Still, she stops in her tracks when she spots you waiting outside. She looks at you, you look at her, and you both notice the tears in each other's eyes as you both ache deeply for your little boy.

"Do you want to say goodnight?"

You shake your head slowly. Deep down, you want to. But you figure Elias is halfway in the arms of Morpheus –if not already there– and might not want to see you anyway. With a small nod of understanding, Larissa closes the door.

"I haven't seen him so happy in a long time," you tell her as she moves to lean against the wall opposite you. "I shouldn't have kept you away from him. He misses you too much."

"You shouldn't have. But I think I understand why you did."

"He doesn't," you reply with a jerk of your head towards Elias' bedroom.

"He's just a child caught in the middle of our problems. It's not fair to him, we have to make things better one way or another."

You nod, your heart heavy with profound sadness, but say nothing because what is there to add? Larissa is right through and through –she always is. You're the one who keeps making the wrong decisions.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," Larissa eventually says, her voice soft and quiet like it always is after she has spent some time with Elias.

"Which one?"

"How are you?"

Your eyes meet hers, but only for a fleeting moment. You miss her, you long for her, you crave her, her touch, her lips, her scent… You feel like if you look at her for too long you're either going to pass out or do yet another regrettable thing.

Larissa calls your name, asks you to look at her. You don't answer. You can't. And then, in one swift motion, she is only inches away from you, tugging at your shoulders to pull you into a hug.

You don't resist, of course, and lean against her with your whole weight. But you don't have the strength to lift your arms to hug her back and instead just start crying, your face buried in her chest.

If there was any word stronger than miserable, that's what you would be.

"I know, I know," she says tenderly as if reading your thoughts. "Me too."

Her voice cracks and she finally lets her emotions fully show, too. Her silent cries pierce your heart, and only then do you feel strong enough to wrap your arms around her and clutch.

Now both crying, you hold each other like you're trying to mend the pieces of each other's broken mind. It feels so painful and so terribly good at the same time. Her body feels nice and comforting, you had almost forgotten just how much.

When you both finally start calming down, you realise you're scared of pulling away. But Larissa keeps you close, only shifting slightly to rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is warm, but as always, the tip of her nose is cold on your cheek. You don't mind it, it's one of Larissa's little things you often find yourself missing the most at night.

Your eyelids flutter open, and, inevitably, you make the mistake of staring not at her eyes but at her lips. The faint aroma of wine coming out of her mouth in hot puffs makes your skin tingle, and you know that you have to look away or you won't be able to refrain from kissing her. And if you kiss her, you won't be able to stop.

But Larissa cups your face with both hands before you have a chance to move and before your brain can formulate a single thought, her lips capture yours in a slow, loving kiss. You can feel the yearning and despair that have pent up in the past eight months in the way she moves her mouth against yours, and it makes you weak at the knees.

You reply to her kiss with a whimper and she deepens it, her tongue seeking entry into your mouth with a mix of hunger and fear. You welcome it without hesitation and move your arms up to wrap them around her neck, carding your fingers through her perfect hair bun. Meanwhile, her hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You had missed this and obviously can't prevent your hips from bucking against hers, begging for more.

Larissa responds to your silent plea with a low groan and a hand moving further down to grip your butt. The air catches violently in your throat at the intimate contact and you throw your head back with a moan.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Larissa says. "Not like that."

But there is no conviction in her words, and she still has a hand on your rear and her mouth on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your sensitive spots before soothing them with her tongue.

The noises you make are so needy that it becomes fairly evident you haven't taken much care of your own needs over the past months. The realisation makes your wife growl possessively, and her resolve crumbles. She needs to have you. Now.

"Bed?"

"God, yes."

Larissa doesn't pull away even once as she pushes you towards your bedroom. Her hands move urgently, her kisses become hungrier, her breathing accelerates.

"I love you."

You both repeat those words so much that it is unclear whose mouth they're coming from.

Larissa is quick to take off your clothes, revealing the skin she has longed to touch again for so long. You, on the other hand, try to take your time. Larissa had changed before coming home for dinner, and you've been wondering all evening if there is any fine lingerie under that burgundy dress. But it's Larissa –of course there is. You just like to torture yourself by unwrapping her like a priceless present. Besides, you don't want to look too desperate, nor do you want to make her feel like she isn't in charge. You want her to be now.

Unlike you, Larissa is not afraid to show how much she desires you. As soon as you're both naked, she pushes you onto your marriage bed, covers your body with hers and starts making up for lost time in every way possible. Fingers, vibrator, tongue… Nothing is off-limits tonight.

Then something different, something you haven't done in a very long time. Larissa shapeshifts, and you feel it –the size, the weight of it against you. Your wife looks down at you expectantly, hoping for your consent. It's something you've never downright refused, but have always felt conflicted about. It often reminds you of a past you'd rather forget and tends to make you question your sexuality in ways you don't want to think about while having sex –even though Larissa has reassured you countless times already that it didn't make you any less of a lesbian.

Not tonight, though. Tonight you nod eagerly and spread your thighs a little further to welcome her shapeshifted appendage, needing that special connection. In the faint orange glow coming from that one lamp post at the end end of your street, you see Larissa smiling brightly.

"Thank you," she whispers against your skin as she pushes into you.

She loves this, you know it, and the obscene moan she lets out as she stretches you only confirms it. It feels good, too good, and you meet her sensual thrusts with deliberate rolls of your hips, the way she moves, gasps your name, and loses herself completely to the moment only spurring you on.

She takes you twice like this. In a row. The first time, deep and slow, then rough and frenzied, until you're shaking and can't even call her name coherently. And by the time your final climax hits, you're so sensitive you feel like you're going to faint.

Larissa keeps moving, chasing her own release, her thrusts messy, uneven. And then with one last push, she spills over the edge, burying her face in the crook of your neck with a broken, "You’re mine. Mine."

You've always loved that possessive side she works so hard to mask under heavy decorum. The way she calls you hers reminds you of your wedding night and makes your chest burn with love. So when she collapses on top of you, panting in your ear, you just have to squeeze her tight in your arms and kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

You keep her close even long after she has pulled out of you, simply enjoying the warmth of her body and the scent that floats in the room in the aftermath of your passionate lovemaking.

It's about two in the morning now, but neither of you is sleeping. You're both just basking in the intimacy of the moment, exchanging gentle kisses and caresses until you break the silence.

"Come home."

Larissa shifts then, and you're suddenly scared you've ruined it all and she is going to leave. But she just props herself on her elbow to look into your eyes with a blend of vulnerability and longing.

"I want to. More than anything. I need you to know that. But…" She sighs. "There are things we need to talk about and settle, compromises to make."

"Like what?"

The way Larissa takes a deep breath before answering lets you know whatever she says won't be up for debate if you want this to work.

"We need to find common ground about our parenting styles. And I want you to try therapy."

"Are you saying I don't know how to raise my own son?"

Larissa sighs in frustration at the defensiveness in your tone.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying we have different ways of doing it, and we need to find a way to reconcile them for Elias' sake."

"You want him to explore his shapeshifting abilities," you mumble as you roll onto your back, an arm on your forehead.

"Yes, I do," Larissa replies with a kind but firm voice. "He is a shapeshifter. It's part of who he is, and it's a part we need to let him embrace, not suppress."

"The world is a terrible place for Outcasts."

"That's why there are places like–"

"If you're going to say Nevermore, I swear–"

"Yes, I am going to say Nevermore. It would be the safest place on earth for him, and he would still get to evolve around Normies. You know I've even hired a Normie teacher this year."

"And I don't trust her."

"You don't trust many people."

Touché. You sigh heavily, letting your arm fall to cover your eyes as if trying to shield yourself from Larissa's truths –or rather, from how much you hate being wrong when it comes to making choices for Elias. But Larissa pushes your arm away and tilts your chin with a finger so you look at her again.

"I know you're scared. I am, too. But what scares me the most is the thought of Elias thinking he has to hide a part of himself, even around us, or that he can only move through life safely if he denies every fundamental aspect of who he is."

If you were to be completely honest –even if only to yourself–, you would admit Larissa has already convinced you. It's hypocritical to expect Elias to repress his abilities when both his mothers are exactly like him and free to use them, or to deny him an education at Nevermore when you have spent your own childhood hoping there was a place for people like you. What would be next? He'll come out as gay, and you'll tell him it's wrong? No, this is preposterous.

But you know this is not where the problem truly lies, and it's high time you communicated with your wife to treat it at the root.

"You're his model," you finally say, your voice too hoarse for your liking. So you clear your throat and start again. "You're his model, the one he instinctively shapeshifts into when he's not doing it on purpose. Look at how quickly his hair turned like yours when you arrived. It's you, always you. Never me. I'm his mother, his birth mother. I made him. But it's always you."

Larissa doesn't like it too much when you're this possessive over Elias because it throws her lack of biological connection to him back in her face, and it is something she has always struggled with. Still, her voice remains calm and understanding.

"Yes, you brought him into this world. But I've been a part of his life since he was in your womb, I was there when he was born, I fed him, changed him, taught him how to read, and let myself be vomited on more times than I can count. I have as much an impact on the person he is as you do."

"But shapeshifters are supposed to take on the traits of their closest parent the first time, and he took yours," you protest, your voice cracking. "Why not me? What have I done wrong?"

"Oh, darling…"

Larissa sits up, pulling you up with her so she can hug you properly and draw slow, soothing circles on your naked back.

"You have done nothing wrong. Sometimes, it doesn't work like it usually does and it's nobody's fault."

"My baby hates me…"

Larissa gasps and brings her hands to your face, clasping your jaw tightly while you start weeping again.

"No. Absolutely not. Elias does not hate you. Why would you ever think that?"

"That's what he told you earlier."

Larissa presses her lips into a thin line, feeling pained that you've heard these words.

"He's only six… He's in pain and doesn't have any better way to express himself," she says, pulling you back against her chest. She stays quiet for a moment, and then continues, "It's… It's the reason why you kept him away from me all these months, isn't it? You wanted to feel him closer to you."

You realise how ridiculous this sounds and can't even begin to explain just how hard you blame yourself.

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," Larissa coos, rocking you back and forth, even though you know it's all but 'okay'. "We just… We need to communicate. I understand your fears, I do. I have my own. But we need to do better for Elias. I don't want him to suffer because of our problems anymore."

"I know, I know," you say with a weak nod. Then after a moment, you add, "Therapy, then."

"Yes, therapy. Please. But we're in this together, I'm not letting you go. We're a team, aren't we?"

"'Til death do us part'."

Larissa chuckles softly at your choice of words.

"Mmh, that's right. You, my love, are absolutely stuck with me. So we're going to work as a team for our son. No more isolating each other."

"But you're not coming home yet, are you?"

"No, not yet. But if we do this right, I might come back sooner than we both expected."

You untangle yourself from Larissa's embrace and let yourself fall back on your bed with a sigh. You're getting tired, and aren't sure what to feel anymore. And then you feel your wife's hand coming to rest lovingly on your belly, and it definitely doesn't help your weariness, both physical and mental.

"If you want me to leave now, I can," Larissa ends up offering, sensing your fatigue and disappointment and not wanting to cause you more pain by leaving in the morning after a whole night together.

Your eyes snap to her, wide with confusion.

"Are you serious? I'm asking you to come home, we've just had the best sex we've had in over a year… No, I don't want you to go. Stay. Elias will be so happy to see you at breakfast."

Your decision and the mention of your son's name make Larissa smile brightly, and she lies back next to you with a tiny, excited squeal before leaning in to press her swollen lips against yours one last time.

"I want to be better, Larissa," you whisper when she pulls back and makes herself comfortable on her pillow. "For both of you."

"I know, darling. I know. I believe in you."

"I love you."

Before Larissa can even reply, you're already drifting, your breath evening out and your body melting into hers.

Eight months. That's how long you hadn't seen Larissa. But you figure once you've spent your whole life with her –because you will–, it won't matter anymore.

Taglist: @cordeliasdarling @cygnetteflor @eurydice-shenanigans @vii-v @ellovett @schlaegerpaula-blog @peridot-pineapple @simonknowsnothing @goddessfloresz @barbarasstar @anothersapphicgirl @emeraldoceansstuff @dingdongthetail @valerielovebug @hasthebaconinhispants

(Click here to join the taglist)