chrstigx

[chrstigx]

hi :) can I request Larissa and reader ? they’re both at nevermore during the summer break, reader thought it would be an opportunity for them to spend more time together but Larissa is always working on something so reader decided to take the lead one day. some smut please :)

Office Hours (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: This was such a fun request to work on, thank you!!! Enjoy <3

Nevermore in the summer is unrecognizable.

Without the cadence of classes or the murmur of adolescent mischief, the school falls into a strange kind of hush—like a cathedral emptied of its congregation. The corridors breathe, but only dust motes move. Windows stand open to the summer breeze, letting in the occasional birdsong or the creak of an old shutter. The ghosts of school bells linger in the walls, but no one rings them anymore.

There are no uniforms. No scuffed shoes squeaking against the stone floors. No students ducking into alcoves with hushed giggles and forbidden hands. There are no hurried breakfasts, no cracked knuckles over exams, no shrieked laughter down by the greenhouses.

There is only time. And stillness. And Larissa.

You had thought it would be romantic.

The notion had been indulgent from the start—something half-plucked from an overwrought fantasy. The two of you alone in a gothic castle, left to your own devices. You imagined silk robes brushing bare skin at breakfast, slow mornings tangled in sun-drenched sheets, wine shared in the late hours when the world felt smaller and the walls felt closer. You imagined her undone, unhurried. Yours.

But the fantasy has frayed at the edges.

Because even in the quiet, even without students underfoot, Larissa Weems is still the Headmistress. Still an institution. And she cannot seem to put that part of herself down.

If anything, she works more now.

She rises with the sun and sits at her desk until long after twilight. Files accumulate like snowdrifts around her. Papers, budgets, curriculum drafts, term projections—her days vanish into piles of parchment and the glow of her reading lamp. She answers letters with the sharp efficiency of a general in wartime. You’ve watched her go hours without even a sip of tea, let alone a glance in your direction.

You try not to take it personally.

You remind yourself, often, that love does not always come dressed in roses and reverie. That Larissa’s constancy is not measured in how often she touches you, but in the steadiness of her presence. The way she lets you roam her spaces, share her silences. The way she always folds your laundry herself.

Still. There are only so many mornings you can spend sipping tea alone on the veranda. Only so many times you can watch her walk right past you—eyes glazed with duty, hands full of ink-stained folders—before something inside you sharpens.

And today?

Today is the day it breaks.

It begins with the light.

Her office catches the best of the morning sun—long, golden bars that stretch across the floorboards, warming the old velvet furniture and the edge of her desk. You’re drawn there like a moth, barefoot and quiet.

You wear one of her silk shirts—pale blue and soft as breath, its hem brushing your thighs, sheer enough in the sunlight to turn suggestive. The sleeves fall past your hands. The top few buttons remain open, revealing the slope of your collarbone and the glint of your skin. Your hair is mussed with calculated negligence. Your lips shine faintly, tinted balm and a whisper of want.

It is a performance. And she is the only audience that matters.

You find her at her desk, unsurprisingly. Her glasses are perched low on her nose, one hand curled around a pen, the other buried in a stack of correspondence. The silver in her hair gleams like starlight where the sun catches it. Her blouse is crisp and fitted, ivory turned gold at the shoulders by the light. She doesn’t look up.

You lean in the doorway, a shadow cast across the threshold.

“Good morning, darling,” you say, voice velvet-wrapped.

“Mmm,” she answers, distracted. “Morning, love.”

You wait.

You wait for the pause. The glance. The slow smile she’s given you a hundred times before when she catches sight of you in her clothes.

But today there is nothing.

She turns a page. Her eyes flick to the clock. She scribbles something in the margin.

You move closer, bare feet whispering across the hardwood. You perch on the arm of the velvet chaise, letting one leg dangle and the other fold elegantly beneath you. The silk shirt rides up just enough to bare more thigh.

“You’ve been in here since six,” you murmur.

“It’s only nine,” she replies, without glancing. “I had a faculty meeting draft to finish.”

You tilt your head, watching her. “You’ve barely even kissed me.”

That earns a flick of her eyes, brief and unreadable. “Is that so?”

“That is so.”

She sighs, fond but tired. “I seem to remember a kiss last night.”

“That was on the forehead,” you counter. “I am not a child, Larissa. You haven’t kissed me properly in three days.”

She hums, and it’s half amusement, half acknowledgement. Her pen finally stills. “Is this a request?”

You arch a brow. “It’s a complaint.”

Now—finally—she looks at you.

And smiles. That cool, slow, maddening smile. “Come here, then.”

You don’t hesitate.

You rise and cross the room, slow and languid, letting her watch the sway of your hips beneath the silk. She turns her chair toward you just as you step between her knees. Her hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs brushing bare skin. You lean down, kiss her—soft, open-mouthed, tasting of need and something sweeter. Earl grey lingers faintly on her tongue. So does defiance.

When you pull back, her hands tighten on your waist.

“You’re beautiful when you pout,” she murmurs.

You frown. “I’m not pouting. I’m suffering.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Poor darling.”

You lower yourself to your knees.

The movement is fluid, practiced. Her eyes widen slightly—surprise flickering, but not resistance.

You rest your cheek against her thigh, nuzzling the fabric. “You know,” you murmur, lips brushing her skirt, “I think you spend too much time behind this desk.”

“I like my desk.”

“I think your desk likes you too much.”

That earns a quiet laugh. “And what would you suggest I do about it?”

You smile against her. “Walk away. Come ravish me on that chaise.”

Her brow arches. “Tempting.”

You trail your fingers up her calf, deliberate. “But?”

“But I have two more files to finish before noon.”

You sigh, wounded. And then you slip under the desk.

Her reaction is immediate.

“Love,” she warns, voice catching, “don’t.”

You press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Just keep working.”

“Darling—”

“I mean it. Pretend I’m not here.”

Her body tenses beneath your hands. You can feel her considering, feel her mind war with her body. But then she exhales, long and slow. Her pen resumes.

You smile into her skin.

Her skirt is already hitched high enough to give you access. She’s wearing silk—black, thin, nearly translucent. Your breath ghosts over the fabric, and she shivers.

You kiss her there.

Just once.

She jolts.

You part her thighs further, hands reverent. She’s already damp. You mouth at her through the silk, warm pressure, gentle insistence. Her pen falters, then continues. You hook your fingers into the waistband and slide the garment down, slow and worshipful. She lifts her hips without argument.

You kiss her again, this time without barriers.

Your tongue traces her softly, slowly, until she gasps.

Above you, the pen stops.

Then starts again.

She’s trying. You’ll give her that.

You move with intention, tongue dancing in slow circles, teasing her clit without quite giving her what she wants. She squirms, barely, but you feel it. The way her thighs tense. The way her breath starts to come in shorter puffs.

When you slide a finger inside her, she clenches around you instantly.

You groan softly against her.

She tries—valiantly—to keep writing. To stay composed. But her legs are spreading further, her hips beginning to move.

You add a second finger.

She gasps.

The pen falls.

You don’t stop. Your mouth moves faster, tongue working her clit while your fingers curl in just the right way. Her hand disappears beneath the desk—finds your hair, tangles in it, grips hard. Her nails graze your scalp.

You fuck her with your fingers while you worship her with your mouth.

She’s trembling now. Her thighs shake. Her breath is ragged, her head tilted back.

You know the signs.

“Come for me,” you whisper against her. “Come now. I want to feel it.”

And she does.

She shatters—gripping your head, hips rocking hard against your mouth. She muffles the sound with her own hand, biting her palm to stay silent. But you feel it. The flood of it. The way she arches. The way her entire body locks, then collapses.

You don't stop until her grip loosens.

Until her thighs stop shaking.

Until she whimpers.

Then, slowly, you crawl out.

Larissa looks wrecked.

Her blouse is wrinkled. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips red, her pupils blown wide. Her hair has come loose from its twist, and her chest rises and falls in soft, uneven waves. She stares at you like she’s not sure whether to scold you or pull you in for more.

You climb into her lap, straddling her.

She lets you.

You kiss her slow. Deep. Her hands slide under the shirt—her shirt—and splay wide across your back.

She sighs against your mouth.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers.

“And you love me.”

“I do,” she says, breathless. “God help me, I do.”

You smile and rock your hips slowly against hers. “Then take the rest of the day off.”

She closes her eyes, pretending to consider it.

“I have two more—”

You grind down gently, cutting her off.

She swallows the rest of her sentence.

Her hands tighten.

You lean close to her ear.

“Your desk has had you all morning,” you murmur. “It’s my turn now.”

And this time, she listens.

————————————————————————

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

[chrstigx]

[chrstigx]

AWWWWW TJIS IS SO GOOD CNANTKGKFNDJGJG

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

[chrstigx]

After Hours (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x secretary!reader

A/N: Never ask a man his salary, a woman her age and an Ethics teacher what she does in her free time (writes smut about fictional characters). Enjoy the filth!

The last light in the west wing of Nevermore belongs, as always, to Larissa Weems.

It started as something you noticed in passing—late nights when the rest of the school was quiet, a faint golden glow under her office door. Now, it’s become a kind of ritual. You stay later than necessary, finishing reports that could wait until morning, and organizing files that were already neat. Just so you can walk past her door. Just in case she needs something.

She never does. But sometimes she calls your name anyway.

You’ve been her secretary for four months now. Long enough to learn the precise way she likes her office organized. The exact tone of voice to use when redirecting phone calls she doesn’t want to take. Long enough to learn what not to ask when she stares too long out the window or clutches her pen like it’s something she could break.

But not long enough to figure out why she watches you when she thinks you’re not looking.

You catch it sometimes—reflected in her glass cabinet or the polished surface of her desk. A glance too long, a pause before she answers. Her voice softens by half a tone when she says your name. And the way her eyes drag down to your mouth when you're talking—it’s subtle but deliberate.

It’s also unspoken. Strictly professional. Always.

Until tonight.

You’re still in the staff wing long after dark. The halls are quiet, the storm outside nothing but distant tapping against the tall windows. You’ve rewritten the same email twice, each time changing the phrasing of a single sentence. Your desk is pristine. Everything’s finished. There’s no reason to stay.

Except one.

You glance at the clock—8:47 p.m. Her office light is still on.

Your fingers tighten around the folder in your hand. A legitimate reason, at least. Finalized logistics for the upcoming donor weekend. You could leave it on her desk. You should.

Instead, you smooth down your skirt and walk to her door.

You knock once. Crisp. Controlled.

“Come in,” her voice calls—calm, measured, like it’s still mid-afternoon.

You step inside, letting the door click quietly shut behind you. Her office smells like warm wood and faint rosewater. The fire in the hearth casts flickering shadows against the walls. She’s seated behind her desk, as always, tall and immaculate in a tailored navy blouse and fitted black skirt, her white hair pinned back in perfect waves.

Her head lifts slowly. Eyes flick from your face to the folder in your hand.

“Working late again?”

You nod. “I thought you might want this tonight. It's the final itinerary.”

Her brow arches slightly. “That couldn’t wait until morning?”

You hesitate. She knows. She always knows.

“I thought it best not to assume.”

She leans back in her chair, folding her hands on the desk. “How thoughtful.”

You step closer, offering the folder. She doesn’t take it. Just looks at you with the kind of quiet intensity that’s made your stomach twist since week two.

“New lipstick,” she says suddenly.

You blink. “Yes.”

“Striking.” Her gaze lingers on your mouth. “Though perhaps not entirely professional.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Apologies.”

She says nothing to that—just holds your gaze a moment longer before finally taking the folder. Her fingers brush yours. You’re not sure if it’s accidental.

She flips it open, scanning the contents in silence. You wait, trying not to shift under the weight of her attention.

“You filed this under Thursday,” she says.

You swallow. “It’s for Friday. I was rushing.”

She closes the folder. “That’s unlike you.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

There’s a pause. A long, loaded one. Then she removes her glasses, sets them carefully aside, and looks up at you—direct, unblinking.

“Come here.”

You hesitate. Barely. Then step forward, rounding the desk.

“Closer,” she says, voice like velvet dragged across glass.

You stop in front of her, inches away. She rises slowly. She’s taller than you already, but in heels—like this—it’s almost dizzying. Her presence fills the room. Fills you.

“You’ve been waiting,” she says.

“For what?” you manage.

She steps closer. “For me to stop pretending.”

Your breath catches.

“Oh, I noticed.” Her voice drops. “The way you look at me. The way you fidget when I stand too close. That little hitch in your breath whenever I say your name.”

She’s so close now you can feel the heat of her body through your blouse.

“Tell me to stop,” she says.

You don’t.

Instead, you whisper, “Please.”

Her mouth is on yours before the word fully lands.

It’s not tentative. There’s nothing unsure about the way she kisses you—open-mouthed and commanding, like she’s been thinking about it for months and has no intention of being gentle. Her hand grips the back of your neck, angling your head just so, while the other finds your waist and pulls you in.

When she breaks the kiss, you’re breathless.

“You’ll do exactly as I say,” she murmurs.

You nod, already dizzy. “Yes, Principal Weems.”

Her eyes darken. “Good girl.”

She turns you without warning, one hand flat against your lower back as she pushes you toward the desk.

“Hands on the edge,” she says. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

You obey, heart pounding. You hear her moving behind you—slow, deliberate. A drawer slides open. Then closes.

Then silence.

You glance back, just as her hands find your hips.

“Eyes front,” she says.

You face forward again, heat pooling between your legs. Her fingers trail along the waistband of your skirt before slowly—agonizingly—peeling it down over your hips. Your panties go with it. Cool air hits the back of your thighs. You shiver.

She doesn’t touch you right away.

Instead, she moves behind you—circling—until you feel the press of her thigh between yours, spreading them further.

“You want this?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Prove it. Stay still.”

You brace yourself. Her hand slides along your thigh, fingertips grazing just where you need them before pulling back again—teasing, testing. When she finally touches your centre, she groans low in her throat.

“Dripping. And here I was starting to think I’d misread you.”

You don’t have time to respond before two fingers slide into you—slow but firm, filling you just enough to make your eyes flutter shut.

“Keep them open,” she says sharply. “Look at my desk. Imagine how many nights I’ve sat here thinking about bending you over it.”

You clench around her fingers. She laughs—quiet, dark.

“Sensitive already?”

She sets a punishing rhythm—deep, unrelenting. Her other hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, but she leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“No one’s here. You can be loud for me.”

A whimper escapes your throat. She fucks you harder in response, adding a third finger. Your knees buckle.

“I said stay still.”

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” Her voice is steel. “You’ll come when I tell you. Not before.”

You nod desperately. “Yes, Miss Weems.”

Her nails graze your inner thigh as she shifts behind you. You feel her breath against your skin—warm, maddeningly close.

“Let me taste how much you want this.”

She drops to her knees.

You gasp as her tongue replaces her fingers—slick, hot, and devastatingly precise. She licks you slowly at first, savouring it, then flattens her tongue and drags it over your clit with just enough pressure to make your head spin.

“Fuck—Larissa—”

She hums in response, the vibration jolting through you. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you open as she buries her tongue inside you, then circles your clit in slow, ruthless strokes.

You’re shaking. Falling apart.

“I’m close,” you warn.

She pulls back just enough to say, “You’ll wait.”

You whimper, gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles ache. She teases you for another minute—tongue flicking, sucking, retreating—before pulling back entirely.

You nearly sob.

She stands behind you again, one hand on your back, the other between your legs.

“I said I wouldn’t feel guilty,” she murmurs. “But I lied.”

You turn your head slightly, dazed. “What?”

“I’ve thought about this,” she says, her fingers sliding back inside you, “every goddamn day since I hired you.”

She curls them just right, and your whole body arches.

“Come for me.”

The order hits you like a breaking wave. Your climax rips through you—white-hot and overwhelming. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just keeps going until your face presses into the cool wood of her desk.

When she finally pulls away, your knees nearly give. You hear her behind you—adjusting something, maybe wiping her hands. Composed. Unbothered.

“You can fix your skirt now.”

You do, still trembling slightly as you stand. You turn, unsure what to say—but she’s already back behind her desk, smoothing her blouse like nothing happened.

She doesn’t meet your eyes. Just picks up her pen and starts writing again.

“Lock the door on your way out.”

That’s it.

You pause, fingers on the handle. “Is this going to happen again?”

She doesn’t look up.

“Only if you’re working late again.”

————————————————————————

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 , @ness029 , @geekyarmorel l , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr r , @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

[chrstigx]

Back on my bullshit of putting my beloved Lady D in stupid shirts. Happy belated international womens day to HER.

[chrstigx]

NEW 📸 (POST 2)

Gwendoline Christie attends the Dior Homme show Menswear Fall-Winter 2025/2026 💫

📌 Paris Fashion Week

📆 January 24, 2025

(-> POST 1)

(-> twitter thread)

[chrstigx]

‘Do I wanna know?’ - Pt.1

a/n: hey guys! so i decided to post this in two parts, one where reader is in her teen years, the next where reader is an adult. I did this so that you guys weren’t reading too many words at once and getting bored. The first part of the fic IS happy.. at first. I would like to point out, there is a lot of internalized homophobia and lgbtq topics in this fic as well as a lot of angst. the grammar may be eh, so just let me know. i also made up a few things for it to make sense to the story.

warnings: none (i don’t think??)

words: 2.1k

——————————————————

Larissa Weems.

Your first love.

The name ran through your head for years, even after the break-up. The break-up that you caused. You had taken her heart and shattered it and at the time and being around seventeen years old while still attending Nevermore academy, you thought that it was a good idea. That you were doing yourself and her a favor.

How wrong you were.

You admittedly always had a hard time coming to terms with being a lesbian. It started at a young age, around thirteen years old. You could remember your friends always sitting with you at the lunch table and asking who you had a crush on, to which you would look around the lunchroom until you found a boy who seemed to be ‘attractive enough’, even if you never found him attractive. This unfortunate cycle continued into your teen years and even when you met Larissa in your early adult years. In the back of your mind, you always wondered two things, one, why couldn’t you seem to love men? Why didn’t they stand out to you like women did? And two, how could anyone even like men? These thoughts were always at a constant battle with each other, making you feel like you were crazy.

It all started in your first year of highschool. You were transferred from an average American highschool to an academy in the middle of nowhere that was twelve hours away from home. Your parents sent you away when your ‘unique’ abilities had become too out of control for anyone to handle.

At first, you felt betrayed, heartbroken, as if nobody would ever appreciate all of you. The good and bad. You mostly kept to yourself in school, rarely talking to other students and teachers, barely even participating in class unless you absolutely had to. You quickly became the laughing stock of the school for being a weirdo and outcast. You were clumsy, awkward and scared of literally any confrontation which unfortunately made you the perfect target for bullying and isolation. It was sort of ironic that you were outcasted in a school full of literal outcasts. It made you almost laugh. Almost.

Larissa was the first person who genuinely seemed like they wanted to talk to you. It all started when you were switched from your dorm in Adira Hall (which you had all to yourself), over to Ophelia Hall due to spacing issues. You couldn’t have a dorm all to yourself forever, right? You were escorted to the dorm by the principal at the time, dragging your bags almost pathetically before stopping in front of the room you’d be staying most likely for the rest of your Nevermore days.

Upon entering, there was a large colorful stained glass window which had an amazing view of the campus garden, followed by two sides of the room, one being decorated and organized, the other only having a bed, a chair and a desk with a barely working desk lamp attached to it. How homey. You obviously took the undecorated side, assuming that the decorated side already belonged to your new roommate. Your ‘future best friend’ as the principal liked to call it, to try and cheer you up.

After setting down your bags and listening to the principal explaining the rules of respecting the dorm campus (even though you had already heard them at least twenty times before), a young girl around your age with the prettiest blue eyes that you had ever seen, paired with long, curly platinum hair stumbled into the room. She seemed to be out of breath, as if she ran over to Ophelia Hall from across campus.

You stared blankly at her for a moment before she straightened up and walked over to you, holding out her hand and immediately starting to rant. “Hello! You must be Y/N!! I'm Larissa Weems, it’s a pleasure to meet you!! I can't believe I have a new roomie….” Her words slowly faded out as you slowly and hesitantly took her hand, giving it a weak shake and you would just stare at her while she continued to talk for the next two or three minutes before finally stopping and chuckling awkwardly. “Sorry, I talk a lot.. dang it..!!” she would chastise herself and you would just chuckle very quietly… and awkwardly, “It's fine.. Larissa, right? I'm Y/N.. as you know. Obviously. Uhm- I’m glad we're roomies?” You’d state, almost as if you were unsure of yourself.

Feeling the room shift into an uncomfortable awkward silence, Larissa would try to ease the awkwardness by walking over to her bed, picking up a moon shaped stuffed plushie, walking back over and placing it right into your hands. You would inspect it, flipping it in all different angles in your hands before looking at her with a raised eyebrow. You could see the nerves in her face so with a soft, mumbled ‘thanks’, you would toss it onto your bed. Your first decoration.

After Larissa gave you an in-depth tour of the whole school, it was time for dinner. She would lead you to the mess hall where everyone in all of the grades seemed to gather along with the professors and the principal to keep an eye out for any trouble makers. The whole scene made your stomach turn and instinctively, you moved closer to Larissa while waiting in line to receive your tray with whatever dinner slop they were serving tonight.

Unable to soothe your nerves, you would tap Larissa on the shoulder to which she would quickly spin around, a smile that seemed almost too wide to be real plastered on her lips and you would pause for a second before clearing your throat. “I think I am gonna grab my dinner and go back to my dorm.. I don’t like it here.” You would say with an awkward shuffle of your feet as you slowly progressed in the lunch line. Her expression would falter a fraction and you could’ve sworn you had seen a hint of softness in her eyes before she snapped out of it again. “Well- that’s fine.. But I'm coming with you!” She would declare with a determination you couldn’t really say no to.

Back in your dorm, you were both sitting on the plush rug in the middle of the room. After a few minutes of eating in awkward silence, stealing a few glances every so often, you would decide to speak up. “So.. I know you had a roommate before me. What even happened?” and the silence after was crushing. With a reluctant sigh, Larissa would place down the plastic fork on her tray before looking at you. “Morticia Frump was her name. We had a falling out after she basically stole the guy I had a crush on and left me in the dust, so we both requested for room change since we couldn’t even stand looking at each other. Since then, we have held this animosity toward each other and every chance she gets, she rubs it in my face that she took Gomez from me.” Your eyes would widen at the raw hurt in her voice and you would feel your expression soften sympathetically as you reached out to touch her hand. She would flinch at first before resting her hand against yours and you two would make eye contact. “I promise that I won't… steal your man and be a bitch?” You would promise, elicited a chuckle from the both of you. Maybe having a roomie was what you needed after all to make everything feel okay in this school.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since then, months had passed and you were both well into your school year now. It was getting closer and closer to prom time, both of you growing more and more excited. The theme this year was Midnight Garden. After weeks and weeks of dress shopping, you had opted for a deep maroon dress with the sleeves hanging off the shoulder while Lairssa chose a deep sea blue dress with no sleeves at all. Now the only mission was to find your dates.. Except, you wanted your date to be Larissa, but you weren’t even sure if she was into you like that– if she even was into women at all. After getting some coaching from a few of your mutual friends, 1. You found out that Larissa was bisexual, which was great for you and 2. You made a huge poster to ask her to prom, you just had to hope she’d say yes and also have the courage to not run away when she walked out and saw it.

Now, you were waiting in your dorm, awkwardly holding a poster up with the word, ‘PROM?’ spelled in rose petals because she loved roses and the theme was Midnight Garden. You thought it was creative, your friends thought it was cheesy but you didnt care what they thought, only Larissa. After a few hushed whispers, the door would be pushed open with a soft creak, revealing Larissa and id smile nervously and shyly, holding up the sign for her to see, “Larissa, will you go to prom with me??” You would ask nervously, the silence deafening before she squealed a loud and excited “Yes, I'll go to prom with you!!” and you could feel a huge weight being lifted off of your shoulders when you let out a big sigh of relief. When she walked over, you both hugged as you placed the poster down and before you could react, Larissa was cupping your face and leaning down, giving you a soft and tender kiss, full of love, and after the initial shock passed, you would kiss back. Your friends would all squeal in the background though you were more focused on Larissa than anyone or anything else.

The months leading up to prom were magical, full of love and passion between you, until the dreadful night directly two weeks before prom. You were on the phone with your parents discussing your time at Nevermore and you accidentally told them about yourself and Larissa being together. Big mistake. Your parents were definitely not the friendliest toward people who were a part of the LBGTQ community so when they found out, they immediately scheduled you to come home. To stop attending Nevermore and to never speak to Larissa again. Your heart had shattered into a million pieces at this, the fact you had to leave everything and everyone behind, your friends, your school, the love of your life, gone.

That same night, you dragged your suitcase out of the closet that you had barely touched since you first met Larissa. The sight of the suitcase made you sick to your stomach. Each drawer that was emptied was another crack in the damn that was threatening to burst, threatening to just make you spiral into a mental breakdown, until you saw the plushie Larissas had gifted you when you first arrived. Without even thinking twice, you grabbed the moon shaped plush and shoved it under your clothes in your suitcase. At least you would have something to ‘comfort’ you back home. Soon you would be looking at the three suitcase you had brought, all packed and zipped up. The sight made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out and the worst part hadn’t even happened yet.

You still had to tell Larissa.

Larissa would enter the dorm, seeing you standing there in front of your suitcases. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she quickly approached you with quick steps. “Y/N, what's going on?” She would ask, reaching up to cup your face, though you’d push her hand away and when you did, it felt like your heart had just been ripped out of your chest and stabbed with a dagger. “Don’t touch me.” You would practically hiss, venom dripping in your words, causing Larissa to recoil a step or two back. You would compose yourself, looking at the floor as you let out a shaky breath. “I’m leaving you, Larissa. I.. I found someone better. A man. What we are isn’t right. I am leaving Nevermore for good in two days.” You would say, each word shakier than the last and you could see the way Larissa’s expression fell, her face going pale. “Y/N, you can’t be serious.. Say this a lie, say it now Y/N!!” She would practically yell in your face. The room fell into a heavy silence, the silence feeling like a huge weight just crushed you. You would simply turn your back to her. This isn’t how you wanted it to end, you never even wanted it to end, but it was either this or your parents most likely beating the ever living hell out of you and more likely than not, disowning you. “Goodbye, Larissa.” You would say as you dragged your now packed bags out of the dorm. Silence.

You and Larissa’s heart’s shattered and torn.

@barbarasstar @milfsloverblog @gwenstulip @snakeskins-world

[chrstigx]

Long Overdue Promise

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

When a shadow from Larissa’s past shows up at her door, reminding her of a promise she made twenty years ago.

A/N: Writing is basically keeping me sane right now. Enjoy! Jordan, this one’s for you! See you in 20 years!

The house was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Larissa Weems sat curled in her armchair, a glass of wine perched precariously in her hand. She stared into the burgundy liquid, swirling it idly, though her mind was far from the drink. The evening had been like so many others lately—lonely, subdued, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Forty-one.

The number lingered in her mind, heavier than she'd expected it to feel. Her birthday had passed a few weeks ago, marked by polite well-wishes and a dinner she had hosted herself. But no celebration could erase the quiet truth of it: forty-one years, and her life looked so different from what she’d imagined when she was a student at Nevermore.

Her lips curved into a small, self-deprecating smile. What had she expected? A perfect career? A family? Some grand, sweeping romance? She’d told herself over the years that she didn’t need any of it. She had her work. She had her home. Her students. But tonight, as she stared at the fireplace, she felt the faintest echo of longing—a hollow space she couldn’t quite name.

It was like a pull, the quiet tug of a memory buried so deep she’d almost forgotten it existed. The weight of it, however, was undeniable now. She was older. Her heart, once a wide-open vessel for hopes and dreams, had been shut away behind layers of practicality and caution. For so long, she’d told herself she was fine on her own, that love wasn’t something she needed, or that it was something for other people—people who didn’t carry the weight of history on their shoulders.

Her thoughts drifted to a time when she had believed in everything—the fierce optimism of youth, the way she had once thought she could be anything, do anything, with the world at her feet. But it hadn’t taken long for the truth to sink in. She hadn’t just built walls around her heart—she’d constructed an entire fortress. And that fortress had been reinforced by the memory of a love that had never been fully hers.

Her thoughts returned to Morticia Addams, the sharp, intoxicating magnetism of her presence still alive in Larissa’s memory. Even as she’d built her career, her identity, Larissa had always carried that secret, private love. It was the kind of love that never quite faded, never quite disappeared, but that you learned to keep tucked away in the quietest corners of your heart. And it was that love—unrequited, unspoken—that had shaped every relationship since. None of them had ever felt real enough, close enough, because none of them had been her.

Larissa’s fingers tightened around her glass, but before she could take another sip, a sharp knock at the door startled her, breaking her reverie. She frowned, setting the glass down carefully before standing. Visitors weren’t exactly common at this hour, especially unannounced ones.

Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she crossed to the door, her mind already flipping through possibilities. A student? A staff member? An emergency, perhaps?

But when she opened the door, the sight that greeted her was one she hadn’t imagined in years.

It was you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, rain clinging to your coat and hair, a nervous smile playing on your lips. Larissa’s breath caught in her throat as she took you in. You looked older—of course you did. But there was something about you that hadn’t changed, something that tugged at a part of her she thought she’d buried.

“Happy belated birthday,” you said, your voice soft, familiar, and entirely too casual for the weight of the moment. “I just realized we’re overdue on a promise.”

Larissa stared at you, her mind struggling to catch up. And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, the memory hit her.

It had been a warm spring night, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the faint hum of crickets. You and Larissa had been sprawled on the grass near the Nevermore lake, a stolen bottle of wine between you.

“I’m serious,” you’d said, your words slurred but your tone insistent. “If we’re both still single at forty, we’ll marry each other. Deal?”

Larissa had laughed, a rich, musical sound that echoed across the water. “Oh, absolutely. Because nothing screams romance like two lonely spinsters making a drunken pact.”

You’d nudged her shoulder playfully. “I’m being serious, Weems.”

“And I’m being drunk,” she’d teased, though the warmth in her smile betrayed her fondness for you.

Still, there had been a sincerity in your eyes that had quieted her laughter. She’d felt something shift in that moment, though she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Fine,” she’d said at last, raising the nearly empty bottle in mock solemnity. “If we’re both single at forty, we’ll get married. Deal.”

You’d clinked your glass against the bottle, your grin wide and mischievous. “It’s a promise.”

Larissa had never expected to think about that night again. She hadn’t thought about much from her past, especially not from her time as a student, when she’d been far more carefree. Those years had become a series of disconnected moments, each one replaced by the demands of her career and the cold weight of responsibilities. She’d buried those lighter, hopeful parts of herself beneath layers of control and composure.

But now, seeing you there, the years didn’t seem to matter. Everything felt familiar—too familiar. She had always known there was a reason she hadn’t had long-lasting relationships, a reason she’d spent so much time alone. And that reason had always been tied to her feelings for Morticia. There had never been room for anyone else—not really.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember,” Larissa said, her voice soft as the memory faded.

You smiled, a little shyly, and shrugged. “How could I forget?”

She stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You hesitated for a moment before stepping past her, shedding your damp coat and setting it carefully on the rack. The warmth of the room enveloped you, though it did little to ease the nervous flutter in your chest.

Larissa led you to the living room, her movements graceful despite the slight stiffness in her posture. She sat down in the chair she’d just vacated, gesturing for you to take the couch opposite her.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I suppose I should offer you a drink,” Larissa said at last, her voice tinged with wry humor.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

Her gaze lingered on you, searching, questioning. “So,” she said slowly, “is this a social visit? Or have you come to collect on our… agreement?”

The teasing lilt in her voice couldn’t quite mask the vulnerability beneath it.

“I…” You hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to begin. “I’ve been thinking about that night. About you. A lot.”

Larissa raised an eyebrow, her expression carefully neutral. “Have you?”

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I turned forty a few weeks ago,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Larissa said softly. “I saw the announcement in the papers. Congratulations, by the way.”

You looked up at her, startled. “You… you still read those?”

She smiled faintly. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile.

“I never forgot about you,” you said at last, your voice trembling slightly. “I know we haven’t spoken in years, but… I don’t know. I just felt like I needed to see you.”

Larissa’s expression softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Why now?”

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “Because I think we made that promise for a reason. And I think… I think I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to convince myself I didn’t need you. But I do, Larissa.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her gaze fixed on the flickering fire.

“I’m not the person you knew,” she said quietly. “I’ve changed.”

“So have I,” you replied, your voice steady. “But I think some part of us—of what we had—is still here. Don’t you?”

She didn’t answer right away, her fingers tightening around the armrest of her chair. When she finally looked at you, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“You deserve someone who can give you everything,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not someone who’s spent their whole life building walls.”

“I’m not asking for perfection,” you said, leaning forward. “I’m asking for you.”

The vulnerability in your words broke something in her. She stood abruptly, pacing to the window as though the act might give her space to think.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her back to you. “I don’t know how to let you in.”

“You already did,” you said gently. “A long time ago.”

Larissa’s breath caught at your words. She turned to face you, her expression raw and unguarded. For a moment, she looked like the girl you’d known all those years ago—soft, hopeful, afraid of wanting too much.

Her heart beat a little faster as she watched you, feeling the weight of everything between you—years of silence, of missed opportunities, of dreams that had never quite come true. She had spent so much of her life convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she was fine alone. But the truth was, she'd been lying to herself for so long.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

“You won’t,” you said, your voice a promise—fragile, but full of hope.

The words hung between you, a delicate thread of possibility that neither of you could ignore. Slowly, cautiously, Larissa crossed the room and sat beside you on the couch. Her hands trembled as she reached for yours, her fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice barely audible, the weight of the question pressing against her chest.

You nodded, tears spilling over as you squeezed her hand. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

And for the first time in years, Larissa allowed herself to hope.

The silence between you felt different now, less oppressive. It wasn’t a promise yet, but it was something. It was a beginning—of something new, or perhaps something old, rekindled. The road ahead would be difficult, filled with the shadows of your pasts, but for the first time in a long while, Larissa didn’t feel so alone.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, she wouldn’t have to be.

————————————————————————

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 l , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @ness029 , @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

[chrstigx]

Again, y’all. I’m sorry. She’s got me in a chokehold. I might write more chapters for this one. I kinda like it.

Don’t Take My Sunshine

WC: ~2.2k

“What did you call me, Schemmenti?!” Your voice rang through the empty hall of Abbott Elementary. The red-headed teacher has driven you crazy on every level possible for the last three years. She infuriated you from the beginning. She hadn’t even given you a chance when you started teaching at this school, immediately starting in on your appearance and your happy-go-lucky attitude, and then evolving to criticizing your teaching methods! She always knew exactly how to get under your skin, and after all this time you had hoped that she would have calmed down. Or that your skin would’ve gotten thicker.

Fiery hair flew out of the door down the hall, followed by piercing green eyes, a bright pink blazer over a charcoal blouse, flowy black dress pants, and heels that could puncture your heart. Her eyes landed on you, and you felt your breath catch slightly. Even though they always held contempt for you, her eyes were the most beautiful you had ever seen. They almost made her insults bearable. Almost.

“You’re a little sfigata! Comin’ in here, actin’ so full o’ life, an’ now I got my students wantin’ to know what youse guys are doing in the class next door! I can barely keep my kiddos engaged, then we got Mary Freaking Poppins havin’ sunshine and musicals every stinkin’ day! I’m so over you and your chipper little attitude! Get over yourself!” If this was how hostile she was going to be on week three of school, you were going to have to resign yourself to a long year. Your chipper attitude was hard-earned through years of bullies, exes, angry parents, and just plain mean people.

After three years, you had decided two things when it pertained to Melissa Schemmenti:

•She was undeniably attractive- a Philly thirteen, you swear to Gods- and she only got hotter when she was angry

•You were gonna kill her with kindness

“You think I sound like Mary Poppins?” You asked her sweetly, giving her as genuine of a smile as you could muster. You swear you saw her eye twitch. “That’s really sweet of you, Melissa. Just because you’re being so sweet, I’ll try to keep it down.” You gave her a quick wink, and dipped into your classroom to finish grading the tests from today.

You disappeared from Melissa’s line of sight so quickly, you missed the shocked expression flash across her face. It lasted less than a second before it turned to one of annoyance. She tightened her hands into fists, crumpling the papers in her left, before storming back into her own classroom.

The following week found you staying true to your word, keeping the volume to a lower octave than before. You didn’t have any less music throughout your day, though. The week also brought less snide remarks from the Italian next door. They were still there, but they were slowly losing their bite.

By the time Christmas break rolled around, she was almost… complimenting you? She took to not being so snide when she had a request to make, and you think last week you heard a ‘please’ come from those beautiful lips. You’re pretty sure it’s a real smile she gives you when she calls you things like ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ and ‘Princess Happy.’ You realized that, sure, when she was angry she was gorgeous, but when her eyes softened, and the corners of her lips curled up into a smirk at one of your sarcastic remarks, she went from beautiful to straight-up ethereal.

———

“So what did you do over Christmas break?” Janine Teagues slid into the seat next to you, while you attempted to eat your lunch. The stress from seeing your family over break had you so caught up in your own mind, you barely noticed Janine had sat down. You definitely didn’t notice the redhead’s eyes on you.

“Huh?” Was all you managed for a response in between stabbing at your salad with your fork. This seemed to shock a few of your colleagues, as Barb and Jacob both looked at you with concern on their faces. You were usually one to chat animatedly with Janine, or anyone, about a variety of subjects.

“Did you do anything over break?” She repeated, slightly more hesitant than last time.

“Oh, I went home to see my Grandpa,” you sighed slightly, remembering the disaster that was your impromptu family reunion.

It was just supposed to be dinner between you and your grandpa, but apparently over the last three years, he and your father had reconnected. You haven’t talked to your father since his horrible reaction to you coming out. It had been years since you had seen him, and you definitely had not wanted to see him yet. The night ended with you and your cousin screaming and arguing over respecting your elders, even if they disrespect you.

You ended up apologizing to your grandfather for the scene and coming home three days earlier than planned. You spent the remainder of your time away from Abbott making lesson plans, and trying to come up with more projects to get your kids excited to learn. The four pints of ice cream you went through did nothing to soothe your emotions.

“That must’ve been nice! I miss my grandpa. When I was little, he used to take me and my sister…” her voice trailed off as you pulled your mind back into school mode. After you had finished your lunch, you made your way straight to your classroom, not even bothering to bid farewell to a soul in the break room. Not a single one of those souls missed the frown that donned Melissa’s face as you left without saying goodbye, though no one was brave enough to call attention to her suddenly soured mood.

It took all of two minutes before Melissa was out of her seat, and marching down the hall towards your room. The bell rang as she was halfway to your room, signaling that her little eagles would be on their way back to her room. She muttered to herself, something about ��saved by the bell” and “stinkin’ sunshine anyway,” and turned to meet her kids in her class.

The rest of the day went by without any major disasters. Other than the usual messes, and small arguments, the children were well-behaved, and your mode started to lift slightly. Being back in your class was bringing a sense of normalcy that you needed after the break. You were reminded that these kids look up to you and really do care for you as much as you do for them.

After dismissal, you gathered your things and made your way to the parking lot, avoiding goodbyes for the second time that day. It wasn’t that you were avoiding them per se, you just didn’t have the energy to be the happy-go-lucky person you try to be when at school, and you didn’t want any of your friends to see you like this.

It took an entire week back from break before you were finally feeling like yourself again. You had avoided any and all unnecessary interaction between your coworkers, which was surprisingly difficult, especially by Wednesday when Melissa had begun to try and seek out interactions with you. You taught kindergarteners, so the only teacher you couldn’t avoid at all costs was Barb, and she seemed to understand you needed space, so she only approached you if she absolutely had to. Thankfully, she hadn’t needed much, so you were able to keep to yourself all week.

Having to endure the entire week without you, got Melissa thinking. On Tuesday, she had thought maybe she had done or said something that crossed the line. Whether or not your cute little laughs had grown on her, she was still a Schemmenti, and Schemmentis had attitude. But between not talking to anybody the day before, and now you’re not at lunch, she realized she might miss that laugh a little more than she wanted to.

On Wednesday, she decided she’d find you and apologize. If she had hurt your feelings, she would actually feel a little bad. You had been a whole ass ray of blinding sunshine for three years, never once faltering at any of her quips, jokes, or all out insults, and if she had really gotten you with one, she hadn’t meant to. Especially not now, not when your smiles were make or break for her day, and your tears made her want to bare knuckle fist fight anyone who made you feel like shit.

Thursday morning brought fumes for Melissa. She hadn’t seen you in the parking lot before school, the break room for coffee, or first recess break, which she knew that you shared with her. And if anyone asks, no, she was not looking forward to seeing you or that beautiful smile that made her question everything or the way you clearly cared about every single student within these walls. She was definitely just upset because clearly you were shirking on your duties, that’s all. It was only during her planning period that she calmed down, and it was due mostly in part because of Barb joining the hot-headed Italian and expressing her concern for you. Realizing that Melissa was not the only teacher at Abbott that you had been avoiding made it slightly more bearable for the woman.

Then came Friday. The morning had been a nightmare for you, starting with waking up late, burning breakfast, and then forgetting your packed lunch right there on the counter in the kitchen. You got to work, and decided to sit in your car to decompress for a moment. Across the parking lot, you saw Melissa getting out of her car and start looking around, probably looking to see if Barb was here already. You were surprised when her eyes stopped on your vehicle, and she started making a beeline towards you. When she got close enough, you two locked eyes, and she began talking. You couldn’t understand her, of course. You were still sitting in your car, in shock that she had sought you out. You opened your door and the barrage of words was audible.

“-get off thinking that you can become a staple in my routine and then disappear? You got some nerve! You can’t just come in and make it all sunshiney and make everyone like you, and then avoid us all! Some of us rely on your insufferable chipperness, ya know?”

The funk of your last week was washed away in an instant as you realized something. Here Melissa Schemmenti was, scolding you, infuriated because she hadn’t seen you for a week. The last three months of you giving her the biggest smiles you could muster and the politest compliments you could think of, had worked.

“Hello?” Melissa’s voice snapped you out of your reverie, “You got anything to say for yourself?”

You grinned mischievously before replying. “You missed me, Schemmenti, didn’t ya?” You saw her soften slightly. Unbeknownst to you, she was flooded with relief. Barb had been growing increasingly worried about you, which of course only raised Melissa’s concern tenfold.

“How can I not miss my sunshine?” She asked with a smile. A real, genuine smile. You would’ve noticed her blush, had you not been too worried about hiding your own. “Just don’t take it away again, ya hear?”

———

“There’s my sunshine!” Melissa was leaning against the doorframe of your classroom with her arms folded across her chest, and a beautiful smile radiating across the room. It was the last day of school and you were just finishing packing the last of your things to head home for the summer. The months since winter break had brought a friendship between you, Melissa, Barb and Jacob that you had never thought would be possible. The four of you had become inseparable, sharing laughs and jokes amongst your days of dealing with the children of chaos, though you wished for more than friendship with one of them.

You looked up at her and smiled. She took your breath away. The last few years with Melissa took your emotions on a rollercoaster. The process from moving from enemies to friends was a long one, but it took no time at all for your good platonic feelings to turn into something very less platonic. You thought about all the work you did to become her friend, and decided you weren’t willing to risk losing that. Not yet.

So instead, you settled with the fact that for now, Melissa Schemmenti didn’t hate you anymore. “Hey, Mel. You, Barb, and Jacob ready to go?” She nodded and you followed her into the hall, meeting up with the other two of the Fearsome Foursome (Jacob’s idea), and heading out to dinner with your best friends.

As far as Melissa was concerned, she thought as she walked with her friends out of Abbott Elementary, she didn’t need to label whatever it was she was feeling for you. You had brought a sunshine into her life that penetrated all the dark little corners of her heart, and she’d be damned if anyone tried to take her sunshine away.

[chrstigx]

[chrstigx]

sneak peak of 'Do I wanna Know?'

(this has not been edited/revised yet, nor is this the final product but enjoy thus far!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Larissa Weems. 

Your first love.

The name ran through your head for years, even after the break-up. The break-up that you caused. You had taken her heart and shattered it and at the time and being around seventeen years old and still attending Nevermore academy, you thought that it was a good idea. That you were doing yourself and her a favor. 

How wrong you were.

You admittedly always had a hard time coming to terms with being a lesbian. It started at a young age, around thirteen years old. You could remember your friends always sitting with you at the lunch table and asking who you had a crush on, to which you would look around the lunchroom until you found a boy who seemed to be ‘attractive enough’, even if you never found him attractive. This unfortunate cycle continued into your teen years and even when you met Larissa in your early adult years.

You were transferred from an average American highschool to an academy in the middle of nowhere that was twelve hours away from home. Your parents sent you away when your abilities had become too out of control for anyone to handle. 

At first, you felt betrayed, heartbroken, as if nobody would ever appreciate all of you. The good and bad. You mostly kept to yourself in school, rarely talking to other students and teachers, barely even participating in class unless you absolutely had to. You quickly became the laughing stock of the school for being a weirdo and outcast. It was sort of ironic that you were outcasted in a school full of other outcasts. It made you almost laugh. Almost.

Larissa was the first person who genuinely seemed like they wanted to talk to you. It all started when you were switched from your dorm in the Adira Hall (which you had all to yourself), over to Ophelia Hall due to spacing issues. You couldn’t have a dorm all to yourself forever, right? You were escorted to the dorm by the principal at the time, dragging your bags almost pathetically before stopping in front of the room you’d be staying most likely for the rest of your Nevermore days. 

TBC.....

@barbarasstar

[chrstigx]

Quiet After

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Two fics in a week? Is this a miracle?! Me when life is testing me so I decide to be the bigger person and write this fanfic instead of slashing tires and burning houses. VERY MUCH ANGTSY!! PAIN!!! You have been warned 🫶🏻

Larissa sat at the kitchen table, the dim light of dawn spilling across the paper before her. Her pen hovered over the letter, trembling slightly in her grasp as the weight of what she was about to do settled in her chest. She had never imagined this moment would come. At least, not like this.

Her gaze flickered to the bedroom door, where she could still hear the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You were asleep—peaceful, unaware of the storm she was about to unleash upon both of your lives.

With a final, shaky breath, she began to write.

Hours later, the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the bed. You stirred awake, reaching instinctively for the warmth of Larissa’s body. Your hand met the cold, undisturbed sheets instead.

Your heart sank.

“Larissa?” you called softly, voice thick with sleep. The apartment was silent. A glance at the clock told you it was early—too early for her to have gone anywhere without telling you.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped yourself in the cardigan draped over the chair and made your way to the kitchen. The knot in your stomach tightened as you entered and saw the counter.

A single letter sat there, folded neatly in half. Your name was written on the front in Larissa’s familiar, elegant handwriting.

No.

Your breath hitched, and you stood frozen, staring at the letter as though it might disappear if you didn’t move. The past few months had been rocky, full of arguments and moments that left you feeling like you were grasping at something slipping through your fingers. But this… this was something you weren’t prepared for.

With trembling hands, you picked up the letter and unfolded it. Her words, written in ink that was beginning to smudge, stared back at you.

My dearest,

This is the hardest letter I will ever write. I know you’ll hate me for leaving without a proper goodbye, but I feared I wouldn’t have the strength to walk away if I saw your face one last time. Please believe me when I say this decision comes from a place of love.

When we first met, I was certain you would pass me by—a fleeting encounter, forgotten as quickly as it happened. But then you smiled at me, and I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: hope.

The memory struck you like a wave, pulling you under.

It had been a rainy day, the kind that made the city seem quieter. You’d ducked into a coffee shop to escape the downpour, your coat dripping as you scanned the room for a free seat. Most of the tables were full, except for one by the window, occupied by a tall, elegant woman reading a book.

“Excuse me,” you’d said, your voice tentative. “Is this seat taken?”

She looked up, startled, her ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Oh, no. Please.” She gestured for you to sit.

What began as polite conversation soon turned into something more. She was magnetic—sharp-witted, articulate, and achingly beautiful. Her name was Larissa, and as she spoke, you found yourself leaning closer, hanging on to every word. By the time the rain stopped, you were utterly captivated.

I look back on those early days with so much joy. You brought light into my life, a happiness I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, I felt young again, alive in a way I’d long forgotten.

You closed your eyes, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. The memory shifted to another moment: the first time Larissa had taken you to Nevermore. She’d been nervous, fussing over the details, worried about how her world would look through your eyes. But you had reassured her, holding her hand tightly as she introduced you to the place she loved.

That day, she’d kissed you for the first time, standing beneath the towering gates of Nevermore as the evening sun bathed everything in gold. It had felt like a fairytale, one you never wanted to end.

But as time went on, I began to see the truth I had been too selfish to acknowledge. You are so much younger than I am, my love. I thought I could ignore it, that it wouldn’t matter in the face of what we shared. But it does matter. How could it not?

You have your whole life ahead of you, a life full of possibilities, and yet here you are, tethered to someone whose years are numbered. Someone who will grow old far sooner than you. Someone who will leave you far too soon.

Another memory surfaced, this one sharper, heavier. It had been late at night, and Larissa had been unusually quiet. You’d asked her what was wrong, and after a long silence, she’d finally spoken.

“I worry about the future,” she’d said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happens when I’m no longer here? What will you do then?”

You’d reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care about the future, Larissa. I care about us. Right now.”

She hadn’t looked convinced, her eyes clouded with something you couldn’t name.

I’ve tried to silence my doubts, to tell myself your love is enough. But the truth is, I’ve only made things worse. I see it in the way I’ve treated you—the way I’ve snapped at you, pushed you away, hoping you’d leave. But you stayed, because that’s who you are. Kind. Loyal. Too good for me.

Another tear fell as you thought back to her sharper moments, the way her words had begun to cut deeper as the months wore on. “Why do you insist on fussing over me?” she’d snapped one night after you’d asked her if she was all right.

You’d flinched at her tone, but instead of walking away, you’d stayed. Always. Because you loved her.

This isn’t the life I want for you. You are too vibrant, too full of life, to spend your best years with someone who is holding you back. You deserve laughter and adventure, late nights and sunlit mornings, a love that isn’t weighed down by guilt. You deserve someone who can give you everything I cannot.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, the letter trembling in your hands.

Please know that this choice is not born of a lack of love. On the contrary, it is because I love you more than I thought possible that I must let you go. I want you to live, my darling, to truly live—without the weight of me holding you back.

The apartment felt too quiet, the air too still, as though the world itself had stopped as you read the last few words.

My final act of love is staying away from you for the rest of my life.

————————————————————————

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 , @ness029 , @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

[chrstigx]

hello everyone! i’m excited to announce that after 4months of not writing due to life, i’m finally writing an angsty larissa fic based on ‘Do I wanna know?’ cover by Hozier. Not sure if anyone will see this but… 😗

[chrstigx]

[chrstigx]

YESSS YESSSS YYAYAYAAYYAYAA SO TALENTED

Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3

After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.

You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.

Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”

The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.

“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”

“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Risk what?”

“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.

“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.

Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”

Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”

“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.

Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.

You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.

“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”

Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.

“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”

Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.

“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.

Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.

The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.

You believed her.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi i @i-love-nerdy-stuff @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[chrstigx]

Quiet After

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Two fics in a week? Is this a miracle?! Me when life is testing me so I decide to be the bigger person and write this fanfic instead of slashing tires and burning houses. VERY MUCH ANGTSY!! PAIN!!! You have been warned 🫶🏻

Larissa sat at the kitchen table, the dim light of dawn spilling across the paper before her. Her pen hovered over the letter, trembling slightly in her grasp as the weight of what she was about to do settled in her chest. She had never imagined this moment would come. At least, not like this.

Her gaze flickered to the bedroom door, where she could still hear the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You were asleep—peaceful, unaware of the storm she was about to unleash upon both of your lives.

With a final, shaky breath, she began to write.

Hours later, the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the bed. You stirred awake, reaching instinctively for the warmth of Larissa’s body. Your hand met the cold, undisturbed sheets instead.

Your heart sank.

“Larissa?” you called softly, voice thick with sleep. The apartment was silent. A glance at the clock told you it was early—too early for her to have gone anywhere without telling you.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped yourself in the cardigan draped over the chair and made your way to the kitchen. The knot in your stomach tightened as you entered and saw the counter.

A single letter sat there, folded neatly in half. Your name was written on the front in Larissa’s familiar, elegant handwriting.

No.

Your breath hitched, and you stood frozen, staring at the letter as though it might disappear if you didn’t move. The past few months had been rocky, full of arguments and moments that left you feeling like you were grasping at something slipping through your fingers. But this… this was something you weren’t prepared for.

With trembling hands, you picked up the letter and unfolded it. Her words, written in ink that was beginning to smudge, stared back at you.

My dearest,

This is the hardest letter I will ever write. I know you’ll hate me for leaving without a proper goodbye, but I feared I wouldn’t have the strength to walk away if I saw your face one last time. Please believe me when I say this decision comes from a place of love.

When we first met, I was certain you would pass me by—a fleeting encounter, forgotten as quickly as it happened. But then you smiled at me, and I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: hope.

The memory struck you like a wave, pulling you under.

It had been a rainy day, the kind that made the city seem quieter. You’d ducked into a coffee shop to escape the downpour, your coat dripping as you scanned the room for a free seat. Most of the tables were full, except for one by the window, occupied by a tall, elegant woman reading a book.

“Excuse me,” you’d said, your voice tentative. “Is this seat taken?”

She looked up, startled, her ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Oh, no. Please.” She gestured for you to sit.

What began as polite conversation soon turned into something more. She was magnetic—sharp-witted, articulate, and achingly beautiful. Her name was Larissa, and as she spoke, you found yourself leaning closer, hanging on to every word. By the time the rain stopped, you were utterly captivated.

I look back on those early days with so much joy. You brought light into my life, a happiness I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, I felt young again, alive in a way I’d long forgotten.

You closed your eyes, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. The memory shifted to another moment: the first time Larissa had taken you to Nevermore. She’d been nervous, fussing over the details, worried about how her world would look through your eyes. But you had reassured her, holding her hand tightly as she introduced you to the place she loved.

That day, she’d kissed you for the first time, standing beneath the towering gates of Nevermore as the evening sun bathed everything in gold. It had felt like a fairytale, one you never wanted to end.

But as time went on, I began to see the truth I had been too selfish to acknowledge. You are so much younger than I am, my love. I thought I could ignore it, that it wouldn’t matter in the face of what we shared. But it does matter. How could it not?

You have your whole life ahead of you, a life full of possibilities, and yet here you are, tethered to someone whose years are numbered. Someone who will grow old far sooner than you. Someone who will leave you far too soon.

Another memory surfaced, this one sharper, heavier. It had been late at night, and Larissa had been unusually quiet. You’d asked her what was wrong, and after a long silence, she’d finally spoken.

“I worry about the future,” she’d said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happens when I’m no longer here? What will you do then?”

You’d reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care about the future, Larissa. I care about us. Right now.”

She hadn’t looked convinced, her eyes clouded with something you couldn’t name.

I’ve tried to silence my doubts, to tell myself your love is enough. But the truth is, I’ve only made things worse. I see it in the way I’ve treated you—the way I’ve snapped at you, pushed you away, hoping you’d leave. But you stayed, because that’s who you are. Kind. Loyal. Too good for me.

Another tear fell as you thought back to her sharper moments, the way her words had begun to cut deeper as the months wore on. “Why do you insist on fussing over me?” she’d snapped one night after you’d asked her if she was all right.

You’d flinched at her tone, but instead of walking away, you’d stayed. Always. Because you loved her.

This isn’t the life I want for you. You are too vibrant, too full of life, to spend your best years with someone who is holding you back. You deserve laughter and adventure, late nights and sunlit mornings, a love that isn’t weighed down by guilt. You deserve someone who can give you everything I cannot.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, the letter trembling in your hands.

Please know that this choice is not born of a lack of love. On the contrary, it is because I love you more than I thought possible that I must let you go. I want you to live, my darling, to truly live—without the weight of me holding you back.

The apartment felt too quiet, the air too still, as though the world itself had stopped as you read the last few words.

My final act of love is staying away from you for the rest of my life.

————————————————————————

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 , @ness029 , @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

[chrstigx]

- "Is there a scene [in GoT] that was your favourite?“

- "All of Season 3! All of Season 3 on the road! And watching Nikolaj Coster-Waldau getting kicked in the ribs as he rolled in the mud 😇"

Gwendoline Christie was a guest on "Watch What Happens Live"

📆 January 16, 2025

(-> twitter post)