#dianneking writes

[dianneking]

The Affair - Chapter 2 (Larissa/Reader)

Hello everyone, here's the second installment to this little fic. Writing has been slow-going but the kind comments I got on chapter 1 both here and on AO3 were a great motivation to put in the work when I had the time and brainpower to do so. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature Tags: Alcohol consumption, Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Seduction, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader, Power Imbalance.

AO3 link in title below

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Chapter 2 - Private Booth

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.” She murmured in your ear and you heard a breathy laugh exiting your mouth, feeling as if it came from miles away. 

You weren’t sure how the evening had evolved to this point, if you had to be perfectly honest. You were sure you both had been the picture of professionality at the start of your dinner together, sitting primly at the table in the private booth, ordering a light meal and talking about lesson plans and your previous work experiences.

You had been nervous, but except for the unusual setting, it hadn’t been that different from countless other meetings you’d had with principals. And, you mused as you took a bite of your salad, to be honest you appreciated having this conversation over food for once instead than in a stuffy office. 

Was it some sort of cultural difference that outcasts had? Or was it a peculiarity of the woman sitting in front of you? She seemed like someone who was more than able to disregard rules if she wanted to. 

You found yourself liking that, despite your usual aversion for rule breaking.

Then…then Larissa (she had asked you to call her Larissa at some point, you were sure of that) Larissa had offered to share a bottle of wine “to toast together at a fruitful collaboration” and you had had half a mind to turn the offer down, but found yourself agreeing. Why the hell not? It had been ages since you drank some good wine, and your principal looked like the kind of woman who’d only choose good alcohol. 

“You have great taste,” you had commented, sipping on your first glass, and it had been at that moment that you had felt the energy in the booth starting to shift. She had dabbed her mouth on her napkin, and let her eyes roam over your figure for a handful of seconds more than it was polite to do before replying, “Oh of course. I very rarely lose my time when it’s not worth it.” Her lips had curved up in a smirk and you had had to take another sip of that wine to give time to your suddenly galloping heart to slow down a bit. Surely she was still talking about the wine, wasn’t she?

But then the conversation had moved on and you thought you had imagined the flirty undertone. Surely she wouldn’t be the type to do something like that, would she? Even if you hadn’t actively sought out gossip, surely you would have heard if Nevermore’s principal was a serial seducer, right? 

Larissa had been an extremely pleasant conversationalist, and often you found yourself invested in the latest anecdote from one of her travels, or her opinion on one subject or another. You laughed at her recounting of the antics of her students, and were amazed at the lavish traditions of Nevermore that she insisted on educating you on. 

You could have listened to her talk all night long, looking at how her face danced with emotions, how the passion she had for her job and her loyalty to her school shone in her voice as well as her eyes. And the way she ran her tongue against her teeth every now and then had you completely mesmerized. You were hanging on her lips and had given up feeling self conscious about it. You wanted to know more about this mysterious lady. You wanted to know all that she’d be willing to tell you.

And you were acutely aware that you still hadn’t discovered what exactly had happened that had left her for several months on sick leave. The students talked of an attack of undead  to the school but you were sure those were exaggerations, and that there was a less…fanciful explanation. Teenagers are known for making a big deal out of small mundanities. Even taking that into account, it seemed like mysteries surrounded this woman, wrapping around her like the subtle yet lingering scent of her perfume. 

“You smell amazing.” You had blurted out, and almost clapped a hand over your own mouth, horrified at your sudden boldness. That was not something to say to your boss who apparently still had the power to fire you if she somehow found you lacking! 

But she hadn’t bristled, nor had she seemed in any way angry or offended. She had simply chuckled lightly, and busied herself with swirling wine inside her glass with slow, hypnotic movements.

“Thank you, dear. It’s Ambre Nuit, by Dior, obviously.”

“...Obviously.” You had parroted back, even though you knew nothing about perfumes and even less about Dior. Your eyes were glued to her hand, still cradling the bowl of the wine glass. You had not noticed until now just how long and tapered and beautiful her fingers were. How effortlessly they curled on the glass shoulder to loosely swirl its contents. A part of you wondered how those hands would feel on your body.

“You know? You could smell it even better if you came to sit beside me…there’s plenty of space on this bench…” her voice had trailed off, and it might have been the wine coursing in your system, but this time you felt like you could almost taste the promises in her voice. 

And that’s how you had found yourself squeezed besides her on the bench, your thigh pressed against hers, the fabric of her dress and of your trousers the only thing separating your skin from making contact with hers. You were acutely aware of how dimmed the lights had been in the private booth, and how the waiters had stopped coming around after they had delivered your desserts. 

A perfect setup, suggested the romantic part of your brain, a part that was often overlooked and laid dormant in the day to day routine.

A perfect trap, countered the more cynical part, who couldn't help but wonder how many times had the beautiful woman beside you put on this show for her latest prey. 

It just all seemed so effortless for her. She mixed her flirting (it had to be flirting by now, right?) with more easygoing topics, she kept topping your glass off with that lovely wine, as well as drinking just as much herself. One part red flag, one part irresistible temptation.  

And it was at that point that she had leaned over, and you had felt her breath hot on your ear, and you were sure you had drank way too much wine because just that little puff of air made your skin erupt in goosebumps and your head spin. 

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.”

“I must be dreaming” you said before your common sense could stop you, the tingling of your giggle still in your throat.

But not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined how her hand felt as it fell on your thigh, light as a feather, but making your skin burn white hot even through the fabric.. 

“Well I suppose I’ll have to pinch you then.”

---------------

Want more? Here's my fanfiction masterlist

Taglist: @barbarasstar @peggycarter3 @aemilia19

[weemssapphic]

Good evening, my internet-lawfully wedded wife. I would like to request that Hanahaki Phasma story please? 🥺🥺🥺

Hello 💖 Thanks for the request, lovely 🥺 I finally had an idea for how to write this and I am very happy with how it turned out - and nervous as I've never written for Phasma before. I hope you like it, regardless of the angst 🥺 Thank you to @dianneking for beta-ing and helping me with the title, it means a lot 🫶🏼

Forget-me-not

Captain Phasma x f!reader

Summary: Of all the people you could’ve fallen in love with, it had to be Captain Phasma. Could your love for her be your death sentence?

Words: ~3.1k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: Hanahaki disease trope, angst, no happy ending, mentions of blood + death, character death, briefly nsfw (light smut - minors DNI)

Icy blue eyes stare deeply into your own, pale pink lips are curled up into a devilish, seductive smirk. Phasma’s face is flushed and her pupils are dilated as she watches you come undone above her, bucking your hips against her and coating her abdomen in your arousal as you chase your high.

You’ve had sex with Phasma a handful of times now, which is strange in and of itself. You’ve heard plenty of stories about her since starting with the First Order – stories of one-night stands, lovers being used, abused, and discarded – threatened into silence, fired, even disappearing.

It would be dangerous to assume that you’re special – that you somehow mean more to Phasma than the other women she’s slept with. No one means anything to Phasma, that is one thing she has made abundantly clear. Phasma is the only person who means anything to Phasma. Everyone else is disposable, a means to an end – in this case, the end being her own sexual pleasure.

But then why has she let you into her bed time and time again? At first, she was demanding and dominating, relentless; taking, taking, taking. You cried during your first time with her – you were so overstimulated, yet she wouldn’t let up, and she punished you any time you tried to touch her. After that, you feared you’d be discarded like the rest – but then it happened again. And again. And then, one night, Phasma even allowed you to touch her. Watching the Captain Phasma reach the height of her pleasure on your fingers was something akin to a religious experience – you were ready to worship the woman, to give your soul over to her after hearing her moan and feeling her body shudder against your own. She’d taken her helmet off for the first time that night as well – you were immediately struck by her beauty. The planes of her face had a softness to them that had thrown you off-guard, her eyes – blue, oh so blue, oceans you could drown in – felt hypnotizing as they pierced your own. She’d been reluctant at first, but somehow – somehow – you’d managed to convince her – it must get quite hot and uncomfortable under that helmet after all. After the threat of torture methods that you hadn’t even heard of, ensuring you would never so much as think of telling a soul about seeing the great Captain without her helmet, she’d revealed her face to you.

And now, looking down at that charismatic, captivating smirk through the lustful haze of your fourth orgasm, you know you’ve gone and made the most fatal error you could possibly make.

You’ve fallen in love with Captain Phasma.

~~~

And what a fatal error, indeed.

After your latest rendezvous in Phasma’s quarters, you see her next at training the following morning. The bright fluorescent lights bounce off the chrome of her armor, flawlessly polished – though your mind is rather stuck on what lies underneath. Silken blonde locks, slicked back to emphasize her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. Long, muscular arms and large, slender hands; rock-hard abs and legs that seem to go on for miles, with thick thighs that you can’t help but picture wrapping around your head. After seeing the fearsome Captain outside of her armor, you fear you can never unsee it – and you’ll always be left wanting, yearning for more.

Perhaps there would be a way to convince her that you’re worth more than a quick fuck – you can’t stop thinking about those strong arms wrapping around your waist in your post-coital haze, fingertips tenderly caressing your bare flesh as soft lips press chaste kisses all over your face. You would look into her eyes – which would fill with affection – and tell her you love her, and she would say it back with a smile on her face.

Cough.

You’re caught by surprise at the sound that bubbles forth from your chest, tickling your throat.

“FN-196, is something the matter?”

Phasma’s voice is cool and collected – dangerous. You shouldn’t have made a peep – but you can’t help it. Another cough tickles the back of your throat and forces its way out – you try to stifle it but that just makes the coughing fit worse.

“N-no-“ cough “I’m sorry-” cough “It w-wo-“ cough “It won’t happen again, Captain.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and straighten your back as Phasma stalks towards you, stopping right in front of you. She’s inches away from your face, though she’s tall enough that you’d have to crane your head back just a bit to look up at her. You don’t – you think she might kill you if you do, so you look straight ahead at your reflection in her armor.

She looks down at you for a moment, her head tilted ever so slightly – you wish you knew what she was thinking. Does she really hold any shred of affection for you, does she favor you at all? Or is she plotting the quickest way to dispose of you?

“One more sound and I’ll have you scrubbing TIE fighters all weekend.”

Merciful.

You nod curtly. “Yes, Captain.” You don’t dare say anything else.

~~~

After your little coughing fit, you briefly worry that you’ve caught a cold. You seem to be in the clear, however – you don’t cough again after that, not for a few days.

But then it happens again, as you’re walking past Phasma in the corridor. One moment you’re fine, the next you look up and see her walking towards you. You come to a halt and step aside to allow her to pass, a sign of respect. She affords you the smallest of nods – an acknowledgement that makes you swoon – and that’s when it happens. You cough, more violently this time, as though your lungs have run out of air and are shriveling up as a result.

Phasma stops in her tracks and turns towards you, staring. Waiting for the coughing to stop. It does, eventually, and you feel your cheeks burn. You know she can’t see it underneath your helmet, but you’re certain she can sense your embarrassment in the way your shoulders droop and your hands begin to fidget as you stutter out an apology.

“Are you ill?”

“N-no, Captain, I don’t think so.” You shuffle from foot to foot – you can feel another coughing fit coming on, and you really don’t want Phasma to be around for that. “Just a tickle, must’ve breathed in some dust.” Right. Through your helmet. As if Phasma would believe that.

She hums, giving you a once over. You squirm.

“Good.”

She turns and starts to walk away. “Come to my quarters tomorrow night.”

Your heart flutters as you watch her round the corner, disappearing from view.

Cough.

~~~

“Mmh, oh- f-fuck,” you mewl, as Phasma’s hips slam into yours at a brutal pace, her dildo disappearing inside of you as she thrusts the entire length into your cunt. A bead of sweat collects at her temple, rolling slowly down her flushed cheek. Her hair sticks to her forehead, falling into her eyes – hungry eyes that devour you as she ravishes you. Her lips are parted to let out quiet grunts, her abs ripple with exertion and her biceps flex as she holds herself above you.

Your eyes roll back in your head as the dildo reaches deep inside of you – your breath quickens and you feel a guttural moan tear from your throat as your orgasm hits you, your walls clenching around Phasma’s cock. She’s relentless – she doesn’t let up, fucking you through your orgasm and even after, as you sink into the mattress and try desperately to regulate your breathing.

Phasma reaches her own peak and tumbles over it, and it’s a glorious sight. Her jaw goes slack and her eyelids fall shut, a broken moan slips past her lips. Her entire body trembles a bit and her hips stutter in their movements. The fact that she can get off by watching you cum is incredibly arousing to you, and it makes you feel special.

She removes the harness and the dildo and tosses it on the floor beside the bed, before lying down next to you – not to cuddle, no, never to cuddle – just to rest for a moment and recover from her orgasm. You turn your head to glance over at her. Her eyes are shut, allowing you to admire her openly. She’s breathing heavily, her cheeks are red, her forehead is sweaty. She looks heavenly, divine even.

You wish she would let you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close. You wish she would let you feel her lips against your own. You wish she would let you card your fingers through her hair and caress her jaw and tell her how much you love her, and you wish she would say it back. You wish-

Cough.

Oh no. Not again.

Phasma’s eyes shoot open and she looks over at you, raising an eyebrow. You avoid her gaze as your lungs constrict and you cough again, and again. Something tickles your throat – it’s as if something is stuck there. You cough harder – it has to come out. Covering your mouth, you cough again, and feel something soft hit your palm.

A small, blue flower petal. Your eyes widen in horror as you stare at the petal in your hand.

No. No, no, no, no. It can’t be. It can’t-

“What is that?” Phasma asks. Her brows are knit together and she cranes her neck to try and get a look.

“N-nothing” cough “it’s nothing.”

But Phasma isn’t one for playing games. Long, slender fingers curl around your wrist, vice-like in their strength – a snake devouring its prey, and she forces you to show her what you’ve coughed up.

Her upper lip twitches.

A billion micro-expressions cross her face, too quickly for you to place any one of them. When she looks you in the eyes a moment later, her face is devoid of any expression at all.

“It’s time you leave. Don’t be late for training tomorrow.”

You don’t need to be told twice – the hard edge to her voice scares you, so you clamber out of her bed and dress as quickly and as quietly as you can, your cheeks burning as you feel Phasma watching your every move. You hurry to leave, leaving the flower petal nestled among the sheets.

Phasma stares at it as you leave. She knows what it means. She’s no fool – she’s seen the way you look at her, how eager you are to please her – both in work and in sex.

An intense, burning rage fills Phasma - her insides suddenly feel like molten lava, her heart pounds viciously. If you die, Phasma will lose one of her best stormtroopers - and one of her best lovers. And you will die, if it's Phasma you’re in love with.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to love you back. There’s a reason she’s let you warm her bed for so long, after all. You’re skilled with your tongue, certainly, and you look so enticing when you’re being fucked into oblivion. But there’s something else – something Phasma doesn’t quite understand, something she’s never felt before. It’s not love, at least she doesn’t think it is – it’s nothing like how other people describe love, a feeling that Phasma doesn’t ever recall feeling.

But it’s something, and it’s been so long since Phasma has felt anything. Around you, in those brief moments after sex just before she kicks you out of her bed, she feels just a little lighter. Her usual anger is subdued, a dying ember where there’s usually a roaring flame.

It’s not enough, though. She knows this. She knows you know this – you must know this.

You’re a fool – a damned fool – Phasma thinks. Only an idiot would fall in love with her.

~~~

As is to be expected, your illness gets worse. You begin to disrupt training with your coughing – Phasma finds this annoying as is, but what she finds even more annoying is the unfamiliar sense of guilt that gnaws at her stomach, knowing she’s the cause of your… distress.

She dismisses you from training – the others will get suspicious, and your performance is lacking anyway. It’s best if you stay in your quarters.

She goes to check on you one day, in the middle of the night. Briefly, she wonders if she should have come at a more reasonable hour, but then she hears the coughing through your door and she knows you haven’t been able to fall asleep yet anyway.

You answer the door, your eyes bleary and your face pale. There’s blood trickling down your chin and a few small, crushed flower petals cling to the sweaty fabric of your nightgown. And yet, you smile at her. She tilts her head – why are you smiling? You’re a fool – a damned fool.

“It’s progressed then?” she asks. The modulator in her helmet keeps her voice level, and for that she is grateful.

Your eyes fill with sadness but your smile – soft, gentle – never wavers. You nod and open your mouth to speak, but you’re interrupted by another coughing fit, and bloody flower petals spill out of your mouth and onto Phasma’s boots.

Phasma looks down at the stained chrome, then back up at you.

“I-I’m” cough “sorry” wheeze “I-I’ll c-clean it-“

“Leave it.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks redden, but you don’t dare argue.

Phasma turns her head to the right, then to the left. The corridor is empty. She takes a step towards you, into your quarters, until she’s nearly flush against you. Lifting her hands to her head, she removes her helmet, and cool blue eyes pierce your own. Your smile is back now, and she doesn’t understand – in fact, it makes her a little uncomfortable. A smile like that has rarely been directed at her (even if there is blood dribbling down your chin and your eyes are slightly unfocused) – it takes all her willpower to maintain eye contact.

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love with me.” Her tone is lacking noticeably in bite, though neither of you acknowledge this fact.

“I know.”

Cough.

“You’ll die.”

“I know.”

Wheeze.

Phasma’s lip twitches and her eyes dart between your own. Your smile is steady and true, even as your eyes fill with tears.

Phasma knows what she should say – what anyone else in her position would say. ‘I’m sorry’. Except she can’t say it, because she isn’t. Is she? She’s unsure – she’s never actually felt sorry for anything, not even for betraying her own family. Why should some random woman, a subordinate of hers at that, change that?

She remains silent. She nods curtly. You stifle another cough as you nod back, blinking slowly – it appears as though, somehow, you understand. As though you know that Phasma even bothering to show up in your quarters at all before your body leaves this galaxy is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.

“You d-don’t h-have” cough “to love me b-back. Just d-don’t” cough “for-forget me.”

You chuckle. Phasma doesn’t think it’s funny. She blinks, puts her helmet back on.

“Goodnight, FN-196.”

She doesn’t spare you another glance as she leaves.

~~~

Early one morning, Phasma is called to your quarters – as your superior, if something has happened, she needs to be informed.

And Phasma immediately knows what’s happened. Underneath her helmet, her eyes scan your body – limp, pale, covered in blood and flower petals. Even worse off than the last time she saw you. Usually, such a gory sight stirs up a sort of crazed bloodlust deep within Phasma’s soul, a gleeful sort of giddiness. Only now, when it’s you covered in blood and sweat, unmoving, she feels no such thing.

Her lips curl into a frown – wrong way, wrong way, she should be smiling! She shouldn’t be upset!

Sometimes, when one is confronted with death, they regret. They think of all the things they wished they’d said, they wish for one more moment with the person they care for.

Phasma doesn’t regret. She knows she couldn’t have told you how she feels about you anyway. How does she feel about you? Perhaps, she could have told you that when she’s with you, she feels for the first time. But would that have been enough to save you? No, probably not. And perhaps it’s better this way. It would have gotten messy – Phasma doesn’t mix work and relationships (only casual sex, only ever casual sex, only with people who are disposable). She’s not even sure she was built for a relationship – in fact, she’s certain she wasn’t.

So, no, Phasma doesn’t wish for one more moment with you in which she would profess her undying love (is she capable of such a thing?) and see the bright smile on your face when you realize your affection is returned. But her heart does ache a little – just a little twinge, really, in a very foreign sort of way – and, when she thinks of never feeling your silken skin under her fingertips again, her stomach twists.

The stormtrooper tilts his head. “What should I do with her, Captain?”

Phasma’s gaze never leaves your body, even as she’s addressed directly. What should one do with you? The thought of doing anything at all makes her heart clench.

But she can’t show weakness.

She can’t.

She swallows thickly. Discreetly.

Blinks twice.

Then her face hardens. The stormtrooper can’t see it underneath her helmet anyway, but it’s part of her mask. She has to play the part if she’s going to keep the respect of her troops. Self-preservation has always been vital to her, after all.

“Take her away.”

The stormtrooper shrugs and slings your body over his shoulder, before carrying you out of the room – carelessly, like a doll. Phasma grits her teeth – you should be treated like a precious thing, carried bridal style and showered with kiss- no. What is she thinking? You’re nothing but a corpse now, it hardly matters how your body is treated. Except, for some reason, it matters a lot to Phasma, though she cannot let on to that.

She waits.

She waits until the door closes and the footsteps of the stormtrooper’s boots against the cold metal floor fade.

Her gaze falls to the floor where, amongst a few droplets of blood, a single, tiny, blue forget-me-not petal rests.

A single tear drips down her cheek, catching on the inside of her helmet.

x

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[just-your-casual-nerd]

Master List of Fics I like Pt. 3

Note: I did not write any of these fics, I just enjoy reading them and had a shit load of them saved. So, I figured I would put all of the ones I liked on a master list, figuring that its an easy way to keep track of them, and maybe you guys would like them as well. Have a Great Day fellow Nerds! 😁👋

2nd Note: If Someone wants me to take their fic or another fic off, let me know and it will be done. I don't want to offend anyone or make them upset.

3rd Note: I officially have so many more fics I like that won’t fit on my other master lists, lol. I hope you find this helpful for you all!! 

Larissa Weems: 🥰

Find What You Desire By: pro-weems-places

Begging By: Prettygreenpills

Private Dancer | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

Sex in the Flowers By: mandy-asimp

Headmistress By: Prettygreenpills 

Fear of Losing By: liliweems  

Sweet anniversary By: Prettygreenpills

Pasta and a bit of Magic By: leonorasbabygirl 

in my head (series) By: weemssapphic 

Staying After By: sharedramblings

Nightmares By: starrknessblog 

baked with love By: billiedeansbitch 

Let’s Try something new | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Vengeance By: rippersz 

I Love You By: pebbleswritessometimes 

Darling please | fluff By: v3nusxsky

Fuck Me Dirty By: cissyenthusiast010155

You’re not mad? | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

Painted Doubts By: alexusonfire 

Asking For It By: cissyenthusiast010155

Precious doll | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

First time pt. 2 (one of my favs) By:  cissyenthusiast010155

A writers muse By: littledollll

Play a game | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Misunderstanding By: pebbleswritessometimes

So desperately blind By: leonorasbabygirl

You’re safe my love By: v3nusxsky

Be my good doll~ NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Valentine’s By: pebbleswritessometimes

Keep Reading By: billiedeansbitch 

Way to shy for that By: leonorasbabygirl 

Use me, i’m yours By: weemssapphic 

My safe person | Agere By: v3nusxsky

Forever? Forever. By: littledollll

Safe space | fluff By: v3nusxsky

Five days, four nights (part 2) By: billiedeansbitch 

Lipstick Stains-Pt.2 By: weemssapphic 

Injured wings By:  v3nusxsky

A Perfect Fit (NSFW) By: fruitylo0pz 

Dangerous Games By: dianneking 

Admittance By: rippersz 

Just For You By: sharedramblings 

Come back to bed darling | Fluff By:  v3nusxsky

You little minx | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Untouchable By: littledollll

Chosen mother By:  v3nusxsky

Larissa Weems x fem!reader By: youranonymousauthor 

First time pt. 1 (one of my favs)  By: cissyenthusiast010155

It’s gones! | Agere By: v3nusxsky

Never a burden to me By: v3nusxsky

Your pleasure is mine By: littledollll

Innocent dove | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Let me by your girl By:  v3nusxsky

Hyde and need (so good, made me cry) By: alder-saan

Not odd but unique | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Late bloomer By:  v3nusxsky

Multitalented By: littledollll

Not so dirty secret | fluffy NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Accidentally on purpose | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

A New Start pt. 3 (NSFW) By: fruitylo0pz

Violet soul By: yourlocaldisneyvillan 

Morning Kisses By: sharedramblings 

You’re rightful place | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Pleasant interruptions By: milfmuses 

Even in my worst lies, you saw my truth in me By: averyalaska

Bunny. By: cherrysweetdevine 

Lipstick stains. By: cherrysweetdevine

A love like yours. By: cherrysweetdevine

The sound of heartbeat. By: cherrysweetdevine

The perfect way to end a long, hard day. By: cherrysweetdevine

Stood Up (part 2) (NSFW) By: milfsloverblog 

Happy to see you | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

In Deep By: spoilmesweetieforficssake 

Only Pretending #9 By: Tanith-rhea

A willing sacrifice | angst By: v3nusxsky

To People Watch One Person By: rippersz

Kiss me By: billiedeansbitch

My minx | NSFW By:  v3nusxsky

Call it revenge By: littledollll

Staying After By: sharedramblings 

Satisfied By: weemssappic 

Almost Caught By: starrknessblog 

Grandma Morticia {L. Weems} By: illegal-heartbreaker

Nightwalker By: milfswriter 

My brat | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

Punishment By: littledollll

Only Pretending #8 By: tanith-rhea

When the lights go down By: weemssapphic 

Five days, four nights [part 1] By: billiedeansbitch 

Old Wounds, New Dances By: alexusonfire 

Her Little Love By: littledollll

The first heat with you | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

New Years Kiss By: daydream-cement 

A New Start pt. 4 (NSFW) By: fruitylo0pz

Tattoos & Bruises: Chapter 6 By: mistressweems 

Lunch date By: v3nusxsky

Try me | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

Girl in Red (lips) By: gwensfreak

The Proposal By: ladylarissaweems 

Vengeance By: rippersz

Zebra By: alder-saan

A new lipstick By: purplexxsloth

Play thing | NSFW By: v3nusxsky

Call me Larissa By: purplexxsloth 

Pasta and a bit of Magic By: leonorasbabygirl 

Brienne of Tarth:😊

Battle field By: littledollll

Miranda Hilmarson: 😘

Records By: bobia13

Clingy By: daydream-cement 

Pussy is God By: hausoffilth

Lucifer: 😈

Violet Soul: Chapter 2 By: yourlocaldisneyvillain

Brainless pet By: littledollll

The Devils Maid By: rippersz 

Pretty Tears By: littledollll

Love language: acts of service By: littledollll

Comfort In Hell By: Littledollll

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

wip whenever ♥

thank you @allaganexarch for the tag!!! i exit the Void(TM) to shove my horny larissa content at the general public :)))

if anyone's interested in my jane murdstone dominatrix fic and would like to read about larissa weems getting caned, i guess this wip is for you!

tagging: @dianneking @notinmyvocab @the-frankenman-writes + whoever wants to do this consider yourself tagged!

“Are you ashamed of yourself, Miss Weems?” she asks as she walks around the desk. Larissa keeps stealing glances at her as she walks, unsure and shaking with the thrill of it all. 

Jane stands in front of her. “Well?” she asks again, coldly. “Do answer me.”

Larissa closes her eyes, swallows, then opens them again. “Yes,” she utters softly, staring in front of herself.

Jane sighs and tuts. She puts one finger under Larissa’s chin, urging her to tilt her head and look at her. “Miss Weems,” she starts, almost gentle now. “I’m aware girls your age are wont to… experiment. However, the school simply cannot encourage such inappropriate behaviour. You ought to know better.”

Larissa’s voice is but a whisper. “Yes, Miss.” 

“You were always such a well behaved pupil. I must say, I’m very disappointed in you.”

Tears well up in Larissa’s big, blue eyes. She nods. “Yes, Miss.”

“I can tell you’re very remorseful about it – but you’ll still have to receive a punishment. It is a grave offence, after all. That will be seven strokes of the cane.”

“Yes, Miss,” she says, unable to hide the thrill in her voice, despite the tears. Jane fights the urge to snicker at her – she shouldn’t do that just yet. There will be time for it.

“But before I give out the punishment, I want you to tell me what compelled you to even think of doing something like that. Have you seen it somewhere?”

Larissa swallows thickly. “I saw… I have a…a magazine,” she stutters. “And we saw… pictures of… women… doing things. And we wanted… We wanted to try them.”

Jane makes a sound of fake surprise. “A magazine! And however did you come in possession of such an inappropriate item?”

“I bought it,” whispers Larissa, turning her gaze to the floor. 

“That is how you spend your parents’ money? My, my, Miss Weems. I never suspected you’d be such a dirty girl.”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she mumbles, her face red with shame, but her eyes glaze over at what Jane just called her. 

“You should be sorry, alright. Honestly, who’d think such dirty thoughts could live in such a seemingly nice, polite girl’s head. I do worry about you, Miss Weems. I’m afraid I’ll have to change your punishment to match the severity of your misdemeanours. I want to make sure the idea of buying lesbian pornography never crosses your mind again.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa says, voice breathy and pupils dilated, her cheeks still red.

“That will be two weeks in detention, and no off-campus weekend this month,” says Jane matter-of-factly. “And I’m upping it to twenty strokes. Ten for the act, ten for possession of pornography.”

“Twenty?” exclaims Larissa. “But Miss–”

“There will be no arguing, Miss Weems,” she interrupts her sternly. “Skirt up. Bend over the desk.”

Larissa takes a step forward and slowly bends over the desk, lifting her skirt up, then leaning forward on her elbows. Jane can’t help but feel a pang of excitement when she sees her pale, round arse. She imagines how lovely it’ll look with red stripes all across it, how it’ll jiggle when the cane hits. She wonders if she should make Larissa remove the lovely, teal, lacy knickers she’s wearing. 

She decides she should.

“What’s that?” she asks harshly. 

“What, Miss?” asks Larissa, with her arse in the air, worry lacing her voice. 

“Those aren’t regulation knickers.”

Larissa’s breath hitches. “No, Miss.”

“Remove them. It’ll be a bare bottom caning. Not that that flimsy thing would provide much of a barrier anyway.”

Larissa quickly pulls her underwear down, eager to please.

“I want them fully off, not just out of the way. I’ll be confiscating those. A respectable girl has no business wearing such a thing.”

Larissa obediently slides the knickers down her long legs, and steps out of them. She leaves them on the floor and returns to her previous position on the desk. Jane bends down and takes them, inspecting them. 

“There’s a wet spot,” she says. “What am I supposed to make of that, hm?”

Larissa doesn’t respond.

“Do you find your punishment arousing, Miss Weems?”

Larissa shakes her head, gazing down into the desk.. “No, Miss.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I don’t know, Miss.”

Jane scoffs and crumbles the knickers in her fist. “Of course you don’t. I didn’t know you were such a perverted girl. I do hope you’re ashamed of yourself.” She pauses. “Well, I can assure you you won’t enjoy the cane in the slightest. I hope it’ll make you reflect on your actions.”

“Yes, Miss.”

There is complete silence in the room as Jane goes to fetch the cane. She makes a show of it, walking slowly and deliberately, heels clacking with each step. She circles around the desk, lays out the soaked knickers on it, then walks over to the shelf, from which she takes a long cane with a curved handle – old school style, as she knows Larissa will appreciate the attention to detail. She turns around, and catches Larissa quickly bow her head down again – she’s clearly been staring at her as she walked. 

She caresses the cane as she walks back to Larissa. “I could see you staring at my backside, Miss Weems. Shameful, really. I hope to cane those sick thoughts out of your head for good. Maybe I should do more than twenty strikes.” 

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane stands behind Larissa, caressing the cane, playing with it in her hands. She looks at Larissa’s cunt, bare and swollen, peeking between her buttocks as she leans forward. She enjoys the visual a lot. She briefly wonders if she could interest Larissa in pussy canings, and makes a mental note of it. She thinks Larissa would enjoy it – but she’ll save that for a different scene.

“Perhaps I should cane you all afternoon. How many sick thoughts must go through your head each day, I wonder. Do you stare at other girls in gym class? Clearly you go out of your way to corrupt your friends with sick ideas you got from looking at your lesbian magazines. What else do you do?”

She pauses, trying to think of how else to taunt her. “You know, I ought to call your parents. Wouldn't that be shameful? For everyone to know you sit in your dorm room at night, rubbing your soaked knickers to lesbian pornography?”

Larissa whimpers. Jane smiles. She seems to have hit a spot. 

“Depraved girl,” she tuts, and then, in one swift and expert move, she strikes her with the cane. Larissa yelps in surprise and pain. Before Larissa can recover, she strikes her another time. This time, Larissa only inhales sharply. Jane isn’t being very forceful, for Larissa isn’t warmed up yet – but even a light strike is enough to make her arse sting quite a bit. 

She lazily drags the cane along her stinging buttocks, letting her sweat in anticipation. She lightly taps, and Larissa flinches. Jane laughs at her, and Larissa whimpers. 

“That’s only two, Miss Weems. I want to make this last. You need time to reflect on your actions,” she says and strikes her quite a bit harder before she finishes the sentence. Larissa makes a strained sound and flinches. She’s breathing heavily and pressing her thighs firmly together. 

“Three,” says Jane nonchalantly. 

Silence, only filled with the sound of Larissa’s shaky breaths. She squirms, anticipating the next strike. Jane lets her stew.

After a minute or so, she strikes her again, hard. Larissa cries out and her muscles convulse, but she doesn’t move. 

“You’re taking it so well – one would think you were caned before,” says Jane with amusement in her voice. “Did your parents spank you a lot as a child?”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa breathes out. 

“And what for? Were you often a naughty girl?”

“I don’t know, Miss. I often didn’t understand why they did it.”

“Well, that won’t do,” says Jane, dragging the cane over the two red stripes on her buttocks. Larissa sucks in a breath. “In order for the punishment to be effective, the offender must know what they did so they can correct the behaviour. Repeat it to me, Miss Weems; why are you being spanked?”

“Because I… I was caught–”

Jane strikes her again and Larissa yelps. “No, no, Miss Weems. You aren’t being punished because you got caught. You’re being punished because you did something you shouldn’t have done. Try again,” she says and strikes her another time. Larissa whimpers.

“I… I’m being punished because I kissed another girl, and I… we… we touched each other… inappropriately.”

“That’s it,” says Jane and strikes her hard. Larissa flinches and squeaks. “That’s six. What else have you done? You did earn twenty strikes, after all.”

“I… I bought p–” she tries saying it and fails.

“Come on,” Jane taunts her. “If you could look at it you can say it.”

Larissa takes a deep breath. Jane strikes her. She yelps. “I bought pornography,” she spits quickly and breathlessly, as if the whole sentence was one word. “With my parents’ money.”

“You did, you dirty girl.” Jane’s voice is flat and void of emotion as she says it, almost disinterested, for she knows that makes Larissa wild – how impersonal Jane can get. She strikes her one more time, harder than any of the previous strikes. Larissa lets out an embarrassing squeak. 

“Eight,” she says, and decides to make a longer pause before nine. She lazily drags the tip of the cane along Larissa’s long legs, starting above the ankles and going up. When she reaches the sweet spot where her thighs meet her buttocks, she – seemingly accidentally, but very much on purpose – lightly grazes the cane over her soaked cunt. Larissa whimpers and shudders. 

Jane finds it truly fascinating how wet a bit of humiliation and a few strikes of the cane can make her. She’s literally dripping down her thighs.

“Oh my,” she fakes a gasp. “What’s that?”

She lightly taps at her cunt, and Larissa whines. 

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Weems,” she tuts, “The situation appears to be graver than I imagined. I don’t think your punishment is working. In fact, I think you’re enjoying it. Am I right?”

Larissa shakes her head. “No, Miss.”

“You get another five strikes for lying.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa whimpers into the desk, head buried in her elbows.

“It’s pathetic how depraved and sick you are, getting off to your Headmistress caning you. Perhaps I’ve been too gentle with you. Perhaps a more forceful caning will teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, Miss,” says Larissa breathlessly. “Forgive me, Miss.”

“You disgust me,” sneers Jane and swings the cane forcefully, hitting hard over the already glaring red stripes, making Larissa convulse and cry out. She strikes again, and then again, with the same amount of force, and Larissa cries out each time. 

She strikes her four more times. 

“Fifteen,” she says coldly. “I can’t believe you, Miss Weems. I thought you were a good, respectable girl. Your nice and wealthy parents sent you to a prestigious private school – and this is how you repay them? By being a perverted freak? By being found by a prefect with your head between another girl’s legs? By getting aroused by your punishment?”

Larissa presses her thighs together more firmly. “I’m really sorry, Miss. I’ve been so bad,” she whispers.

“I wonder, is it the punishment that arouses you… or is it the fact that I’m the one giving it to you? I saw you look at me, Miss Weems. It’s quite pathetic how attracted you are to a woman old enough to be your mother.”

Larissa whines and rubs her thighs together. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane strikes her – hard – and Larissa keens. 

“I’m afraid sorry won’t cut it, Miss Weems. You deserve a caning after which you won’t be able to sit for weeks,” she says and strikes her again, and again and again, starting to get into a rhythm. Larissa twitches and whines pathetically with each strike, squirming and squeezing her thighs together. Her cunt is clenching along with her arsecheeks. Jane keeps striking her, and doesn’t stop when she reaches twenty-five strikes. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” she announces flatly as she keeps caning her. “It’ll be however many strikes I see fit for you.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa all but moans. She keeps squirming and twitching, but doesn’t move in a significant enough manner for Jane to reprimand her for it. 

Jane, however, notices the way she shudders, then relaxes, moaning quite a bit louder than before and pressing her forehead into the desk somewhere around number thirty-five. 

Jane scoffs incredulously. She knew Larissa needed little to come, but this was new even for her. 

“Did you just come from this?” she asks, trying her best to hide the amusement in her voice. 

Larissa whimpers pathetically into the desk. 

Jane strikes her. “I asked you something, Miss Weems,” she says sternly. 

Larissa nods into the desk, hiding her face between her elbows.

“I want words, girl.”

“Y-yes, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss,” she whispers barely audibly. 

Jane laughs. “You’re truly incorrigible. I’ve never had such a depraved girl bent over my desk. It seems like no matter what I do, you enjoy it. I could kick you in the face with my shoe and you’d thank me.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa sobs. 

“In any case, I don’t think you’re learning a lesson. Perhaps the punishment didn’t go on for long enough. Or perhaps I’ve been too gentle.”

“Please, Miss, I– ah!” Larissa cries out when Jane strikes her quite hard just where her buttocks meet her thighs. 

“Do you lie in bed at night in your dorm room with your hand between your legs, thinking about your Headmistress? Have you imagined being caned like this for your own sick pleasure? Perhaps all of this has been a ploy to get yourself in this position?”

“No, Miss, please, please, ah! I’ll do better, I’m sorry!”

“You’re a disgrace. I’ll give you such a whipping you won’t even think about coming again. Dirty little dyke.”

Larissa whines at the insult. “Yes, Miss.”

“Say it. Say you’re a perverted dyke that rubs her pussy thinking about her Headmistress caning her.”

“I-I’m a perverted dyke that – ah! – rubs my p-pussy… ah! Thinking about my Headmistress caning me.”

“That’s right. And what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for being a dirty girl, Miss. I’m sorry my pussy gets wet when you cane me – ugh, fuck!” she cries out after a particularly well-aimed, hard strike. 

“Language, Miss Weems, or I’ll wash your dirty mouth with soap.”

“Yes, Miss! Ah! I’m sorry, Miss!”

Jane keeps striking her, relentlessly and without pause. She can tell when Larissa enters a blissful state of being. Her eyes are closed and she’s no longer able to utter coherent words. A soft cry escapes her every time her muscles convulse when the cane touches her skin, a barely perceptive smile on her face. Jane admires the neat, angry red marks across her buttocks as gradually slows down her rhythm, decreasing the intensity of her swings, bringing Larissa down from her high. Soon, she is only lightly snapping the cane against her skin, dragging it along her buttocks, lightly tapping, until she eventually stops completely. 

Larissa’s eyes are still closed and she is breathing heavily. Jane lets her have a moment of silence. Eventually, Larissa opens her eyes and lifts her head a bit higher up, but she’s still supporting herself on the desk.

“I still feel floaty,” she breathes out.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

WIP Game

First off, Thxxx so much for the tags @yourlocaldisneyvillain , @weemssapphic , @dianneking , & @billiedeansbitch !!! You have literally no idea how much you four have made my day by tagging me 🥰🫰🏻

Rules: Post the names of all your works in your WIP folder. Let people send you asks based on those titles and any that especially intrigue them, and then respond to them. Lastly, tag as many people as WIPs you have.

Fair warning, lots of my WIPs are not named rn, I usually name them officially at the end:

Saving Larissa

Criminal Minds college au

Power Couple

My Project

Soft!Lesso

1, 50 w/ Alex Blake

Teasing the hell out of Larissa when your a short, masc lesbian feat. @imprincipalweemspet

When Larissa just needs to slip into her Subspace and let you take care of her

@scream-queenlover ‘s Morissa Request

33, 51, 55 w/ Leonora Lesso

Nightmare Life

Cards on the Table Pt. 3

@athenodora-sulpicia-writer ‘s Miss P Request 

 First Times Pt. 4

@slutformisswena ‘s Cipher Request

Pomegranate Lips Pt. 5

Mars & Olive ~collab w/ @v3nusxsky !! (I’m so exited for this I can’t even)

Send me your asks!! 🤍✨

If you’ve already been tagged and I tag you, just know the universe has decided to send you extra love today 🥰🫶🏻 And please feel free to participate even if your nod tagged!! ♥️

Tag list: @silver-pieces @natsarrownecklace @natsvdova @no-phrogs-in-hats @gayerthanevertbh @hxzxrdous @clarkiewrites @shyladyfan @milfmuses @itzvintagevibez @iamnotoriginalphil @i-write-sometimes-maybe @rainbow-hedgehog @ladyzmilf002 @sapphicsbeloved @soft-astral @dj-bynum3718

[readingtheentrails]

QUESTIONS FOR 15 FRIENDS

Thanks for the tag @scorpsik!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Not my first name, but my middle name is after my great grandmother.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

Last week when I finished the The Last Campfire. What a lovely, sweet little game, I really enjoyed it. Thanks for the recommendation @weemssapphic!

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

No, and I won't be having any either. I love kids and I love being an auntie, but my wife and I don't want any children of our own.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

I'm not into sports but when I was fitter I was decent at basketball and table tennis.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

No, not really. I used to use it a lot, but it doesn't fit who I am as a person anymore. I'm a lot more sincere than I used to be.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

I'm not sure! Their overall friendliness and demeanour, I guess. A vibe-check, if you will.

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Light blue.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Happy endings.

ANY TALENTS?

It's been a long time since I dedicated the time and attention required to anything to actually be talented at it. I dabble in a few things but I'm not especially good at any of them 😅

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

Ireland

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Video games, reading, going to concerts and listening to music, and I sew sometimes

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

Yep, I have guinea pig pals.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

164cm. I'm a short queen.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?

Science/biology. I had big STEM dreams for myself.

DREAM JOB?

In my dreams I don't have a job 😅 But I think the ideal job is one that doesn't cause stress, that pays enough, and that doesn't stay with you when you clock out at the end of the day.

No pressure tags if you want to take part:

@weemssapphic @emsgwenstan @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @wh0re4gwen @h-doodles @dianneking @backlandsofbutter @defenestratedcow @pia-writes-things

And if anyone sees this and wants to join in, consider yourself tagged.

[alder-saan]

TAG GAME!!!

thanks to Mother™ @yourlocaldisneyvillain for tagging me

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

1... I only posted one work since I was writing on tumblr before haha

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

6199 :) just one work

3. what fandoms do you write for?

on tumblr, Agent Carter only

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

Well...

Of Scars and Fresh Blood first?

5. do you respond to comments?

yes! always (or almost) that's why I have as many kudos as comments under my only fic posted there

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

well...

Of Scars and Fresh Blood?

And it might stay in this position since the ending is... Well it's a major character(s) death soooooo

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

always the same even tho it might change :)

8. do you get hate on fics?

nope (or not that I'm aware of?) people seemed to like my fic haha :)

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I do. But I call it the pwtmp. Porn With Too Much Plot. Last time I tried I had 6k words of plot and no smut yet so I'm not very good at it.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

nope, never, I might do it one day (I just want to see Dottie from Agent Carter meet Dottie from Phryne Fisher's murder mystery :))

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope (or again, not that I am aware of)

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, I did it myself for an old fic in the Gwen Fandom, I translated it in French. But I stopped because no one was reading it.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

I am actually trying to do it even tho it's complicated with my lovely @tanith-rhea

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

uh... An obscure ship from Blake and Mortimer (not Blake/Mortimer, but Blake/Nastasia) I wouldn't say it's my favourite, because... I don't really have a favourite, but it's the ship I think I spent the most time thinking about it (I still do nowadays even tho I was in middle school when I shipped it loool)

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

A Larissa x non-binary! italian! reader I was writing and I know some of you (@dianneking) is waiting for me to finish it. I will (I hope)

16. what are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good with tension and pacing? Also, Mother™ said that I have "the sense of drama" and I'm happy with this.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

dialogues? I don't know I always feel like it's not natural for people to say this. (and also I always have the blank room syndrome)

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Idk, if it's translated I'm ok but if it's not (and I don't understand the languages, like wtf Carterwood fandom, stop writing whole sentences in Russian, I'm learning it but I cannot understand everything) well I'm like "what's the point in writing this if I don't understand? Why did you do it, you could've just said nothing" Also, please. Stop it with French or ask me. I'm willing to help you with French but don't post something in French without proofreading because there are A LOT of English sayings that are REALLY weird (in a creepy-pedophilic way) in French (all the things including "girl" or "boy", like PLEASE DO NOT TRANSLATE "MY DARLING GIRL").

19. first fandom you wrote for?

warrior cats

20. favourite fic you've written?

Of Scars and Fresh Blood

tagging idk man, just consider yourself tagged if you see it

[chaoticstateofaffairs]

Y'all, Imma Sweet & Spicy Sexy Chimken Strip

Blame @dianneking for this and for the future songs I will write on here

[dianneking]

The Affair - Chapter 1 (Larissa/Reader)

Hiya! As part of my weekly writing challenge, I wrote this chapter over two writing sessions, and I chose not to wait for the fic to be finished before posting. It'll probably be a couple of chapters all together.

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature

Tags: Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Infidelity, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader.

Link to AO3 in the title

Next Chapter >

The Affair - Chapter 1

Waiting in the snow for a married woman , you thought, moodily pulling your scarf up to cover your freezing nose as yet another car passed, how the fuck did my life come to this?

You had never been one for thrills in life. If anything, you had been pretty boring: you’d always liked English class at school, always got straight As, never stepped a foot out of line. You never felt the need to, nor the appeal of being rebellious. You’d gone on to get a bachelor’s degree and teacher’s certification, and then you’d gone on to teach English in a string of small town schools.

There was only one aspect out of the ordinary in your life up until now; you could never settle down in one place.. You felt a restlessness, a pull towards something you still hadn’t found, and after a couple of years in a place, it inevitably built up until it was too strong to resist. And so you packed your bags, applied for a job somewhere else, and started anew. 

You didn’t think Jericho would be much different. Small town, 5 thousand inhabitants, only spots of interest a tacky historical reconstruction site and a school full of outcasts. The same one you had applied to. Nothing much to offer. You’d give it a year or two at most. 

You didn’t really care about the fact that you were teaching outcasts. They might drink blood or howl at the moon or whatever in their spare time, but they were teenagers that had to learn to write a proper essay just like anyone else. You prided yourself in your work ethic and told that to the board when they interviewed you. Apparently they appreciated that. Or there was nobody else who had applied. There had been some accidents during the last school year, apparently. The board had repeated several times that it had been a one-off and it had been taken care of definitively.They had all seemed very defensive about the topic. 

Once again, you shrugged it off. You had no time to waste on rumors and things of the past. The school had its quirks, sure, but all schools had, each in their own way. You settled in your quarters on the school grounds, and started reviewing your lesson plans taking into account the notes left by the previous teacher. You settled in for your usual routine of lessons, tests, marking that you were familiar with by now. 

And then she barged into your life, throwing routine and predictability to the wind. 

Even with your aversion to gossip, you’d heard about her. Larissa Weems, the best principal Nevermore had ever had, mysteriously injured in the line of work, supposedly trying to protect the school, and hospitalized for months after that. When talking about her, voices dropped to a whisper out of respect - or fear, you hadn’t been able to ascertain that. 

The day she had come back, you’d have thought royalty was about to visit the school, with the amount of fretting, of preparations, of nervous energy filling the halls and rooms. You’d had to let your classes work on assignments because they had been unable to listen to one word of what you were explaining. You had rolled your eyes in the privacy of your room. Seriously, you’d seen plenty of disruptive principals in your years of teaching, but one who could be so distracting even before she had set foot back in school? That was a first. 

You felt obliged to show up as well to the welcoming committee. The whole staff was there, as well as the student body. Some had even prepared signs, and there was a white banner draped along the balcony on which was written, in red paint, a very wonky Welcome back Princ. Weems . 

It was cute that she was so beloved by her school, you thought, but you were also thinking of how to recover the day of missed lessons, and how to optimize the next days’ so as to go back on track. You tried not to be too miffed about it. 

All of the thoughts of lesson plans and all of the lingering irritation at them being disrupted fled your brain at the sight of the first foot stepping out of the car. Shiny, varnished black shoes, showing off a milky ankle, and a shapely calf that look longer than any you’d seen (not that you made a point of looking at women’s legs all the time, but sometimes your eyes did wander…)

The skin on show was sadly cut off below the knee by the modest hemline of a woolen dress and it was at that point that Nevermore’s principal exited the car in all of her towering beauty, and your mind went completely blank, cause in all of their gossip everyone in Nevermore had forgotten to mention a small, key detail about the principal.

She was stunning. 

The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen was standing before you, waving and smiling regally, as the whole school cheered. You almost didn’t notice all the jubilant ruckus, your eyes too busy raking all over her figure, as if trying to commit every single detail to memory. Her slender, elegant hands, wrapped in leather gloves. The perfectly-tailored coat, in the same fabric and color as the dress. The sparkle of her gold jewelry in the pale winter sun. The perfect proportion of her face, the way the bright red lipstick brought attention to her smile.

Her light eyes were roaming all over the crowd, as if taking stock of known faces and new entries. Finally her gaze fixed on you, and you could see a spark of amusement flicker on her face at seeing you.

You belatedly realized that you had been gaping at her like a fish out of water.

The day after you had still been beating yourself up about the humiliation at being caught slack-jawed staring at your boss when she visited you in your classroom after you were done with the day’s lessons.

She rapped against the doorframe, but strode in before you could say anything. You scrambled to your feet, awkwardly, while she covered the distance from the door to your desk in a couple of long steps. She was wearing another dress today, a tartan dress with a belt that cinched her waist, underlying the shape of her hips and chest while still being completely work-appropriate.  

“So you’re the new teacher they have hired to replace poor Collins.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “I’m Larissa Weems. Usually, I have the final word on new hires. The board does a wonderful job but sometimes they lack a certain sort of practicality in their assessment of candidates, as it happened with the last hire. I wasn’t convinced by her spiel, but the board insisted and…well. I should have trusted my gut instinct.” Her eyes grew distant for a second, before focusing back on you with a hard gaze. You could see the speckles of lighter and darker blue mixing in her irises, and the perfectly applied make-up that highlighted their natural beauty.  You tried to shake yourself out of her charm. She could be trying to fire you, and you were busy ogling her! That’s not the kind of person you were! You cleared your voice, trying to think up something to say to help your case.

“I…”

“I know you have been hired already, and I am sure you are a perfect fit for the role. I’d just like to have a little chat together, nothing too formal, just getting to know each other a little bit better.” She smiled as she said that, and while you were sure it was supposed to be a polite smile, you couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine at that. 

She looks like a predator closing in on prey , your mind unhelpfully suggested. 

You swallowed, suddenly conscious of your sweaty palms and increasing heart rate. 

“O-of course, ma'am." was all you could meekily say. 

"Perfect." she purred. "Meet me at seven sharp at the Lilac Lounge. I'll have a private booth reserved."

To be continued...

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[dianneking]

Nightmares (Larissa x Reader comfortfic)

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

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

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

Nightmares (Larissa/Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You would have done it.

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

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

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

Which brought you to your current predicament.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you did.  

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

[dianneking]

On The Seashore (Brienne x Reader)

Hi all! For my weekly fic challenge, @scream-queenlover suggested this prompt (#2584) @promptsforthestrugglingauthor :

"I'm tired of adventures. How about we just get married and stay home?" "I'm sorry…did you just fucking propose?”

You and Brienne have been adventuring together for years, and while you enjoy the friendship and camaraderie that the two of you share, you can't help but wish for more, maybe��but is it in the cards?

Tags: Brienne x Reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Brienne is an adventurer, Aroace spectrum, Brienne is on the aroace spectrum,  Friendly Banter, Dialogue-Heavy, Queerplatonic Vibes, Second Person POV, Reader is a woman.

I am not sure how it turned into a queerplatonic fic with a Brienne on the aro/ace spectrum but hey, happy belated aro/ace week. Link to AO3 in the title below:

On The Seashore

“I swear, if I have to shake sand from my boots one more time, I'll snap.” You grumbled, pulling once again your weathered traveling boots on your feet. 

“Might I remind you that getting this close to the coastline was your idea, milady?” 

“Brienne, it's been three years we're on the road together, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me by my name?” 

You could see her lips slightly tilting upwards and you knew her dry wit was about to come out to play once more.

“One more time, milady.”

You snorted. “One more time, my ass. I haven't been a lady since we took to the road. Just a common adventurer, that's all.”

“There's absolutely nothing common about you, milady, and if anyone dares to even imply anything of the sort, I'd be ready to duel them.” 

“Yeah we've learned that in Sandstone with that one guy who was a little bit too friendly…”

“He grabbed your arm!” 

“I know but we were trying to keep a low profile and you beating him up didn't really…”

“He insulted your honor! And mine too!”

You sighed. “Yes I know. Let's try not to beat anyone up in this village though. I'd like to lay low for a while.” 

“Well we still have half a day of walking in front of us before we get there, that is, if Your Grace doesn't keep stopping every ten minutes to shake sand off your precious feet.”

“Well excuse me for not wanting the whole beach in my boots.” 

The two of you kept going towards the village, bickering as you had become accustomed to over the time spent together. 

“This must be heaven!” You kicked your feet up, forgetting your previous adversity for the sand, your boots next to your wicker seat in the cool shade of the palm trees. 

“You have pretty low standards for the afterlife, milady, if all you require is a seat in the shade.” 

“Brienne! Was your mission successful?” 

You looked up at her silhouette, the sun behind her transforming her short hair in a golden halo. She looked even more like a goddess than usual.

“I have drinks and I have work opportunities so yes, I'd say my mission was indeed successful. And no duels yet, so you can rest easily.”

She handed you a tankard, keeping the second one in her hand. 

You lost no time chugging down the first half in a long sip.

“Ahhhhhh now that's something that was sorely missing in my heaven. A drink! I could kiss you right now, Brienne!”

She did not reply, taking a sip of her own tankard, but as she sat down in the wicker chair next to your own, you noticed her ears were slightly pinker. How had she managed to get sunburned in such a short time? Oh well, she was very fair-skinned so it probably took very little. That might be why she always had her hood or her helmet on most days. But the Dornian heat and the quiet reputation of this village had convinced even the uptight Brienne of Tarth to lighten her kit. 

“So you were talking about work?” 

She swallowed her drink and replied, her voice uncharacteristically flustered:

“Yes. Hmm, well, they're looking for night guards for their granary. They've had quite the bountiful harvest and they want to keep it safe until the village fair.”

“Are there actual threats to the granary?” 

“Not really. Seems to be mostly a precaution.”

“So a cushy gig. How's the pay?” 

“Not great, but they'd let us stay here at this cottage on the beach for free and add one golden coin each per week.”

“Sunshine, the seaside, free lodging and decent pay? Sign me up for life!”

“What about your beloved adventures? What about being a free spirit and roaming the world?”

"I'm tired of adventures. How about we just get married and stay here?"

The silence that followed alerted you that something was wrong. You turned to your companion.

“Brienne?”

She was looking at you as if you had sprouted a second head. 

"I'm sorry...did you just fucking propose?”

Woah. Brienne of Tarth, swearing? That was almost unheard of from your very proper companion, and only in very serious situations. 

Not that you’d mind. Marrying her, that is. Quite the contrary. The past three years had easily been the happiest of your life, and you knew it had to do with her. Her constant presence by your side, her dry humor, her unwavering support and loyalty…she had become a column you hadn’t even realized how much you were leaning against until you took a step back and allowed yourself to admire her. And she was beautiful. Gods, was she beautiful. 

You set your tankard down beside your chair, and turned to her, lifting your chin, fixing your eyes in hers with equal parts trepidation and boldness. 

“What if I did?” 

“This is not a subject for jesting, milady!”

“Who said I was jesting? And for all the Gods, stop calling me milady like I am some sort of court princess.”

“But you cannot...We wouldn’t…We’re two women!” 

“Believe me, I noticed.” You smirked up at her, letting your eyes roam her tall figure, allowing her to see the appreciation in your eyes. She spluttered, her face turning a bright red that had no correlation with her previous sun exposure. (Had her reddened ears from before also been…oh. Well. Who’d have known. You might even have a chance then.)

“Milady! I…That’s not appropriate! The law doesn’t-”

“Brienne. For once, this is not about the law, religion, traditions, nor customs.” You stood up, and placed your hands on the armrests of her seat, boxing her in. Tall as she was, her head was level with yours. You had never been so close to her. You could see beads of perspiration crowning her forehead, you could drown in the blueness of her eyes, wide open in shock, both at your boldness and at your closeness.

She hadn’t pushed you away though. That had to count for something.

“Brienne?”

“Y-yes?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, hesitant and softer than you’d ever heard before. This was not Brienne the warrior speaking. She was Brienne the woman. 

The woman you’d fallen for. 

“I am going to tell you something. You just say the word, and we won’t have to talk about this again. We’ll go back to our adventuring as it was before and nothing will have changed. But I don’t want you to think this is some sort of joke. I am serious.”

She nodded, and you could see her lower lip quivering slightly, and her eyes widening even more. 

“There’s nobody else in the whole world I would like to spend the rest of my life with. Nobody else I would gladly take an arrow for, nobody else I want to guard my back as I guard theirs. If there’s anything that the past three years have taught me is that my days of lonely wandering are done, as long as I can have you by my side. Would…would you consider becoming more than just traveling companions?”

She bit her lip, and let her gaze drop to her knees, as if unable to look you in the eyes anymore.

Oh. 

The silence stretched for what felt like ages. The usually pleasant sounds of waves crashing against the seashore and seagulls crying out to each other felt like a dissonant song to your ears, when all you wanted to hear was her voice.

But you guessed her silence was telling you all there was to know. 

“Very well.” You tried to keep the disappointment out of your voice as you straightened up, hands detaching from the wicker armrests, setting your companion free once again. “I’ll just… go check the water’s temperature. Be back in a bit.” 

You almost scoffed at yourself. Sure. Check the water temperature. Like you gave a damn about the ocean right now. It could all dry up for all you cared. 

You resisted the urge to kick at the sand in anger and frustration though. Mainly because you knew Brienne could be watching you, and you wanted to keep what little decorum you could. How could you be so stupid? To think that she might return your feelings, that you might have a chance with her. Ha. Clearly the blazing sun of Dorne had burnt off your common sense. 

You let the cool seawater lap at your bare feet, forcing yourself to look at the horizon and take a deep breath of salty breeze. 

It was okay. You’d gone through heartbreak before. You’d move on. 

Another deep intake of breath.

You would not allow those tears that you felt prickling at your eyelids to fall. You were a grown woman. An adventurer. Not a silly girl with a crush. 

A third breath. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sounds of seagulls, trying to shove all the feelings back in the little blackened and beaten container you called heart. 

“Nobody has ever told me that.”

“HOLY SH- Brienne, you almost gave me a heart attack!” You twirled towards her, a hand on your chest as you tried to get your breathing back in control. How a woman of her size had managed to sneak behind you without you noticing was a testament both to her athleticism and to how out of it you were.

She pinned you with her gaze, hard and unflinching. The soft, blushing Brienne was gone. This was Brienne the warrior, once again. You realized you had fallen for her, too. 

“Nobody has ever…wanted me.” She said that as if it was part question, part accusation. You didn’t know what to make of it. You shrugged.

“Well, apparently they’re all dumb as rocks and with no functioning eyes.”

She snorted. An inelegant sound that you found as endearing as the rest of her. 

“Seriously, Brienne. You probably have a lot of people that admire you from afar. I’m just the one with the least amount of self-preservation instincts of them all.”

“You seem to have been doing pretty well so far.”

“Well, if you don’t smite me for daring to punch above my weight, I should live to see another day!” You smiled up at her, cheekily, trying to lighten up the mood. You weren’t going to give up on the friendship and camaraderie you two had built together just because your advances had been turned down. A fool, you might be, but not an utter imbecile. 

You could see her lips pull up at the corners in a tiny but unmistakable smile at your antics.

“There it is! The smile of mercy! I shall live somewhat longer! Yay!”

She shook her head and gave you a small shove, almost throwing you completely off-balance. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ll take impossible as a title over milady anytime, so yep, that’s who I am! Also, please don’t throw me into the ocean, I can’t swim.”

“You can’t?”

“Nope! I’m a land rat, not a sea rat. Can you?”

“Of course! Everyone on Tarth learns how to.”

“Well, you’ll have to teach me at some point, but throwing me in is not how I’d like to go about it, thank you very much.”

Her hand landed on your shoulder, gripping it strongly, and you looked up to see that the smile had gone, and her expression was now closed off, and serious. 

“I…wouldn’t be opposed to it.” She ground out, as if it was physically difficult for her to even say it. 

“To teaching me how to swim?”

“No, to a… relationship. I…I like to spend time with you.” She looked like she was telling the truth but also like she was extremely uncomfortable doing so. You felt your heart break again, this time for her.

“As do I, but we can still have that. This is not an ultimatum, Brienne, I would never put you in that position.” Just the thought she would be willing to start a relationship she clearly wasn’t keen on not to lose your company was…both horrifying and heartwarming, to be honest. 

“It’s not that. I…I am not good with…romance. It doesn’t come as easy to me as it seems to be for other people. I don’t know how to go about it.”

You put your own hand on top of hers, on your shoulder, trying to find the right words.

“Hey. There is no right or wrong way. And there is no hurry. We can give it a try and see where it goes. If not, we’ll just be good friends that adventure together, alright?”

She seemed to ponder this, her eyes on your hand covering her own. You gave her the time to do so. 

“I would like that.”

You smiled tenderly up at her. This was so hard for her, always used to be the paradigm of perfection, of valor, of morals. The fact that she was able to challenge herself enough to go out on a limb with a relationship for you, of all people, made your heart skip a beat in your chest. 

“We will take things as slowly as you’d like, and you feel free to tell me at any time if you’re uncomfortable, okay?”

You could see the tension leave her eyes, and her face opened up in a hopeful smile. 

“You’d do that…for me?”

“But of course! We have all the time in the world, milady!” You smirked, throwing the title back at her and seeing her resigned grimace at the nickname.

“No more miladys, alright?” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying for years! Now. That drink is getting warm and that’s not something we can allow. Shall we?”

You gallantly offered her your hand to hold in a very bad imitation of a nobleman asking a woman at court to dance.  She shook her head, but accepted your hand, and you both turned your back to the sun, looking at your conjoined shadows on the sand in front of you with a look of incredulous joy on both of your faces. 

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[dianneking]

Breaking the Silence (Larissa/Reader)

Summary: You cannot bear the silence that surrounds your rendezvous with Larissa, you need to know where you stand with each other. But there might not be any coming back once the silence is shattered…

Tags: Angst with a happy ending (finally back on my turf), emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of sexual situations (nothing graphic), swearing, miscommunication, pining, gender neutral Reader, present tense.

Words: 1688 - AO3 link here or in title below.

Breaking the Silence

You look at her sinuous shape, languidly draped on her couch; at her half-lidded eyes; at the way her legs are slightly parted, in a wordless invite. Normally, you’d take that offering, you’d rush to be there where she wants you. But today that is not enough for you.

Today you want answers. 

“What are we even doing, Larissa?”

The change is sudden. In a fraction of a second, you can see her walls climbing back up, the sensual, alluring smile falling off her face, leaving the polished mask of Principal Weems behind. Not Larissa. She only was there when she was fucking you.

“What do you mean?”

Suddenly all of your bravado seems to leave your body, and you start shaking. You’ve never talked about it. The two of you never acknowledged this thing going on between you.

The first time it had happened almost by accident. You two had been arguing over something you couldn’t even remember anymore. Something to do with funding, or your lesson plans maybe. One moment you were on opposite sides of her table, staring daggers at each other – each too stubborn to concede their point –, the next her hand had grabbed you by the collar and her mouth had crashed against yours, hard, demanding, relentless.

The rushed lovemaking that had followed had been much of the same. Quick, rigorous, tough. Just like her. Once it had ended, the both of you had tidied up your clothes in silence, and in silence you had left her office, the thrum of gratification beating deep in your heart. At that time, you didn’t need words to be satisfied, you were content just with the spark of passion between you two.

Neither of you gave a name to the hungry kisses you two shared after that, to the way she pressed you against the wall when you were supposed to go over the budgeting, hands instead fumbling to get to your skin through the layers of clothing. Neither of you even acknowledged that it happened.

You didn’t talk about it the first time you kneeled between her thighs, her hand tangled in your hair guiding you without words. Not a word about the time she returned the favor.

But as time went by you started feeling antsy. You stole glances at her, noticing how beautiful she was when she allowed herself to give up control for a handful of moments. How her head was thrown back, exposing her long, pale neck, how her forehead corrugated more and more until with little more than a sigh she let go, her face went slack with contentment and relaxation and when she opened her eyes there was a small spark of euphoria dancing in the blue depths.

You fell irrevocably in love with her.

For a while that was enough, too. You were in love with her, and you had the privilege of having these moments with her. Surely, surely that could be enough for you, right? You didn’t have to rock the boat, you didn’t have to break the silence.

Except time passed and then you had to, love choking you up worse than any hand ever could.

You had to, because you felt like you were going insane keeping those three little words unsaid when they were all you could think of when you were with her.

You had bitten your lips one time too many, and there was no way you could keep going if all it was to her was simply a way to blow off some steam.

“It’s been six months of…whatever this is, and we have never talked about it.”

You can see she’s angry. You broke the routine the two of you had. The silent routine of seduction. You stopped the game and she’s not in control anymore. She hates that, you know it all too well. Even when she gives up control when you are together, it has always been on her terms and her terms alone. She doesn’t like to be blindsided like that. She glowers at you, a silent command to give this up before it all blows up in your face. You ignore the warnings, jaw jutting out in a show of a defiance you don’t feel.

“You never seemed to mind that.”

“Things have changed.”

“How so? Why the sudden need to stir the pot? Have you had enough of this? Bored already? Tired of our little game?” You know she’s just lashing out defensively but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

“I want more.”

Silence welcomes your muttered sentence. A silence that feels cold, unwelcoming.

“I beg your pardon?” she emphasizes every word, spitting them out like venom.

“I cannot do this anymore…I want more.” You try to explain, frustrated at how difficult it is to put your feelings into words now that you finally picked up the courage to speak. If that even counts as speaking - you yourself can hardly hear your own broken voice over the thundering rhythm your heart is beating in your chest.

She presses her lips together, and you can see the fury in the way her nostrils flare, in the way her eye that were already unforgiving, now harden into flint, eyebrows knitted downwards in a frown. Her hand shakes slightly as she slowly unfurls it from her side, extending the whole arm to point in the direction of the door.

“Get out.”

You stay where you are, as if rooted in place, and you stare at the way outrage spills over her face. She’s still so beautiful even when she’s mad at you. You think you can see a deep flicker of hurt within her eyes, too. Hurt at losing her plaything? Her fuck buddy? Whatever you had been for her? You don’t know.

She curls her fingers around the empty wine glass and you only have a split second to realize what she’s about to do before it comes hurtling towards you. You duck, more out of instinct than out of any rational thought.

The glass crashes against the wall behind you, and over that sound comes Larissa’s snarl, more cutting than the shards behind you: “You want more? Go! There’s the whole world for you! Get the fuck out and get whatever else I couldn’t give you.”

Hearing her swear shakes you more than her throwing her glass at you has.

Well.

You have gotten your answer. It’s her hand, once again pointing towards the door. Not much space left for interpretation anymore. No more wondering about how she might feel. That’s what you wanted, right?

Then why does if suddenly feel so hard to breathe? Why does it feel like one enormous glass shard has lodged itself in the middle of your chest? You heart got broken. Just like the silence did. Just like the glass. You curse yourself for not being able to settle for what you had, for stupidly craving more, for bringing this up on yourself.

But since breaking the silence is what brought you here, you might as well spit it all out before you go.

What do you have left to lose after all?

The only sound in the room is the slight panting of Larissa’s rage, and your whisper resonates louder that you thought it would, carrying your deepest secret out in the open.

“It’s you.” You take a deep breath, and feel it rattle in your chest as you try to put what you feel into words “It was you that I wanted. All of you, not just the physical part. I wanted to be able to hold you, and kiss you tenderly and hold your hand and take you on dates. I wanted…I wanted to be able to tell you that I love you.” You fight against the tears welling up in your eyes. There’s going to be time to cry later. There’s going to be time to recriminate and overanalyze where everything went wrong. You just need to cut your losses before Larissa throws something worse than a glass at you.

Not that it would hurt more than your broken heart.

“So yes, I’ll go. But I won’t be able to find what I want in the world outside. Because it was yours to give.”

You don’t look at her after that. You don’t want her to see the first tears finally overcoming the barrier of your eyelashes and come barreling down your cheeks. You have been pitiful enough. Needy enough. You turn towards the door, finally. The few steps that separate you from the wooden panel feel like miles upon miles but you force your body to take those steps, rigidly, almost mechanically.

The brass handle is cold under your touch.

“Wait.”

You cannot interpret what the intonation of Larissa’s voice means. It’s not the angry snarl of before that’s for sure, but apart from that? Could be anything and everything at the same time.

You stop, but you don’t turn, choosing to stare at the patterns formed by the knots in the wood in front of your nose. They are all wobbly because of the tears that keep silently pouring out of your eyes. You listen to the clacking sound of her heels on the wooden floor with the scared resignation of people on a death sentence.

You don’t know what you expected –  but her arms coming to wrap around you from behind is definitely not it.

You jump, as if electrocuted, your brain and your heart scrambling to make sense out of this, while your body is torn between tensing up in fear and allow itself to relax in her embrace.

And what an embrace it is.

In all these months, Larissa has never hugged you, and you only now realize how much you’ve been missing out. Her bigger, soft body presses against your back, and you are completely cocooned in the warmth emanating from her arms. Her forehead comes to rest in the crook of your neck, in a show of weakness that she had never allowed herself to show before.

“I want you, too. All of you.”

Liked it? You can find all of my other works tagged in my fanfiction masterlist! or on my AO3 profile, DragonMist.

[dianneking]

Larissa: what would I do without you? Y/N: well, you'd be very bored and have way less intrusive thoughts Larissa: you know what? That's...not wrong.

[dianneking]

Larissa's Gloomy Summer - Chapter 1

Hiiii! I am finally back with a fic, and with a longfic, too! This has been in the works for more than a year, I think the idea first came to me when I wrote First Evening Back and I did promise I would come back to write more in depth about my favorite trio...and here we are!

Cover pic by the amazing @scream-queenlover

Larissa's Gloomy Summer

(link to AO3 in title)

Summary: After the fire, the faculty quarters in Nevermore are not safe to live in. As the students go back to their homes, the principal gets offered a room in a certain gloomy mansion. Out of other viable options, she agrees. After all, it’s only until the school gets patched back up together. What could possibly go wrong?

A slightly AU, alternative ending fic filled with wacky domestic fluff, trauma processing, classical music references, and, of course, lots of feelings and angst. Endgame Gomez/Morticia/Larissa because polyamory is the solution to every love triangle.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, @yourlocaldisneyvillain

You can read the fic over on AO3, but here's a little snippet to get you started:

“Absolutely not. I cannot accept, Mrs. Addams.” “But Larissa, you’ve said it yourself: the faculty quarters are not up to living standards after the fire.”

“I can still move into one of the temporary accommodations for the workers.” “Ridìculo! The principal, living in a tent!" Gomez, from his usual place next to his wife, butted into the conversation.  Larissa could feel the start of a tension headache coming on. She had hoped the Addamses had only come to Nevermore to pick up their daughter – clearly she’d been too naive. How did this become a debate over Larissa's living situation? “I agree, mon coeur, that is preposterous. We have plenty of space in our gloomy abode, and you’d be able to organize all the reconstruction works, as well as face all of the press backlash better if you didn’t have to worry about room and board.” Ugh, the backlash. Larissa didn’t even want to begin thinking about that. She could already imagine the scene: the phone ringing, emails flooding her inbox, journalist vultures swarming in front of the school’s gates… and her alone to face it all, after she quite literally almost died. She shivered at the memory of her close encounter with death, but having neither the time nor the energy to unpack all of that anytime soon, she shoved it in the back of her mind and concentrated on the small practical things she could feasibly tackle right now… …like getting out of this situation.

read more on AO3

[dianneking]

Happy Birthday, Blondie - Larissa/Melissa

Hello hello! For the first week of Back on The Writing Horse (you can find the original post and masterlist here) I am using prompt 2553 by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

"Are you going to just spend the day alone?"

"That's what I do most days. It doesn't make a difference to me."

Thank you to @scream-queenlover for picking that prompt out for me and making this lovely cover art to go with the fic, as well as the closing one.

Fandom: Wednesday (2022) and Abott Elementary Characters: Larissa Weems / Melissa Schemmenti Tags: Friendly banter, Dare I say it's fluff? (it's fluff), Food, Mentions of skipping meals. Words: 1497

Happy Birthday, Blondie (link to AO3)

…Kind regards

Larissa Weems, principal of Nevermore Academy.

Larissa sighed in relief after clicking the send button on the latest email. Today had been quite the whirlwind of phone calls, emails and meetings, and it was still only lunchtime, who knew what the afternoon would entail. She closed her eyes, massaging her temples to try and stave off the tension headache she was starting to feel building up. She loved her job, and she loved Nevermore, but there was just something about this sort of days that really took a lot out of her.

The door to her study chose that moment to slam open, noisily hitting the cabinet at the end of its run. “Well, if it isn’t our principal caught dozing off at work!”

There was only one person in Nevermore who had the guts to barge into Larissa’s office unannounced and insult her work ethic at the same time. Larissa refused to give her the satisfaction of opening her eyes.

“What is it, Melissa?”

“Oi! At least look at me when you sigh my name. That’s a privilege not many people have, if you usurp it, I’ll have you move back to using Miss Schemmenti.”

“And we wouldn’t want that.” Larissa deadpanned. But she did crack open her eyes. The fiery head of her coworker was almost too bright in the sunlight that streamed in from the tall windows of her office.

“For sure not today of all days!” The smug grin on Melissa’s face told Larissa that the redhead knew she had won this round. Damn it.

“And what’s so special about today?” Asked Larissa petulantly.

“Are ya kidding me, Blondie?” Melissa looked at her as if she expected some sort of trick from her. Or a smart remark. That was their thing after all. A constant banter, prodding at each other trying to find the right button to push to make the other concede a point in their match of wits.

Larissa liked that. She had been too used to people in awe of her, or too scared of her power (both the political one and the actual shapeshifting) to pose much of a challenge for her. When Melissa joined Nevermore, Larissa had at first balked at what she had perceived as blatant disrespect from the latest addition to staff. But after a while a sort of understanding had formed between the two women, a sort of mutual recognition of kindred spirits (aided by a couple of heart-to-hearts brought along by copious amounts of wine, but they didn’t talk about those too much).

Melissa must have read that she was still missing the point, because she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as if to ask the heavens to grant her patience, and strode forward to place a cafeteria tray on Larissa’s desk. Larissa blinked at the plates: on one, a heaping portion of lasagna that looked way too good to be standard Nevermore fare, and on the second, bigger plate, a whole chocolate cake, complete with a dripping layer of decadent ganache and a wonky writing that recited: Are you a natural blonde or did you dye for attention?

Larissa tried to avoid drooling at the sight, while her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, again, this morning.

“Happy birthday, Blondie.”

Oh. Was it today? Larissa could’ve sworn today was still Thursday and her birthday wasn’t until…

…her eyes fell on the stylish calendar perched on the side of her desk.

Friday, February 16th.

Whoops.

“You can’t be serious. You had to check the calendar to be sure it was your birthday?”

“No!” Larissa lied quickly. “I just hmm…I wanted to check something, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure, whatever makes you sleep at night. Eat up, you don’t want my lasagna to get cold.”

Larissa picked up the fork. That was Melissa’s cooking. That’s why it looked – and smelled! – so absolutely divine.

“Thank you by the way, you didn’t have to.”

“Oh please. We both know that you skip more lunches than the ones you actually eat. At least on your birthday you should enjoy some good cooking.”

Larissa dipped her fork into the lasagna, inclining it sideways to slice a bite off of it and scooping it up to bring it to her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed in pure bliss as she chewed. It was an explosion of flavors and textures, perfectly balanced and delicious in every aspect. The fullness of the meat, the tangy and yet sweet tomato sauce, the sheets of pasta cooked to perfection, all enveloped by the smooth embrace of the bechamel sauce…it wasn’t just a lasagna, it was a masterpiece.

“Wow.” Was the only word that she could form before she dove back in.

She heard Melissa’s throaty chuckle, and knew without raising her eyes that there was another self-satisfied smile adorning her lips. Well, Larissa could allow her this one. The lasagna was really something else.

They sat in silence for some time while Larissa ate, Melissa having slouched in one of the armchairs in front of Larissa’s desk, as perfectly at ease as if she was in her own living room, before the redhead spoke conversationally.

“You know, I am glad I dropped by at lunch break, so I managed to remind you in time to get ready for whatever you have planned tonight. Not attending your own birthday party would be kinda lame.”

Larissa took her time swallowing the bite before she replied.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I don’t have anything planned for tonight. Just a quiet evening in, you know?” Actually, the more this conversation went on, the more Larissa was looking forward to curling up on her couch with a bottle of wine and some good music. Maybe read a bit, too? She almost didn’t remember the plot to the novel she was reading, so long it had been since she last had time to open it. Was that lame? She had just turned 46, she was allowed to wallow a bit and not go out and celebrate if she didn’t feel like it. Right?

“Oh come on. You’re not gonna spend your birthday evening here in your office, are you?”

“Why not? It’s a very nice study, I spent years decorating it just like I want to.”

“Yeah of course. I mean what’s a better birthday companion than a stuffed raven, after all? But seriously, Larissa,” Melissa’s tone turned serious, and the fact that she used her first name instead of a ridiculous nickname signaled that this was not a question Larissa could brush off flippantly, “are you really going to just spend the day alone?"

"That's what I do most days. It doesn't make a difference to me." Larissa shrugged, cleaning the last bit of lasagna sauce off the plate with the side of her fork. She had never been a huge fan of birthdays anyway.

“Absolutely not! I will not allow that.”

“I…beg your pardon?”

“You may beg all you want but you won’t get out of this. Be all ready and dolled up at six this evening. I might not have as many resources here in Vermont but the ex-husband of my second cousin owns the most disreputable dive bar in Williston. We’re going.”

“Melissa, there’s no need to…”

“No no. You misunderstand. This was not a question. You’ll be coming with me to party on your birthday night whether you like it or not, Miss Weems. And you’ll have the time of your life doing so.”

Larissa met her eyes, her bright green eyes looking up at Larissa as if challenging her to disagree, and all it did was make a lovely warmth spread in the taller woman’s chest. She shook her head, an exasperated smile climbing to her lips. 

“Alright, alright, you stubborn woman. You win. We’ll go celebrate my old age at your shady bar. But you’re offering the first round.”

“Ha! As if I’d let the birthday lady pay for her own drinks! I’ll have you know that my nonna raised me properly!”

They made eye contact across the desk, blue meeting green with an intensity that was new and warm and exciting. Larissa tried to convey in that gaze how much Melissa’s actions meant to her. Not just the cake and the birthday wishes. Hell, not even the invite to go out together. It was the fact that Melissa was there for Larissa in a way nobody had been in a very long time.

“Thank you, Melissa.” She said, frustrated at herself for being unable to say more, and yet charging those two simple words with all those untold things.

She was able to see the blush crawling up the other woman’s cheeks at her gratitude, and couldn’t help but think how adorable it made Melissa look. Clearly embarrassed, the redhead ran a hand through her locks and spoke in a gruff voice.

“So are you just gonna stare or are you gonna try the cake?”

The End

For anyone wondering, this is loosely in the same universe as my other Larissa/Melissa fic, New Teacher In Town. You can find more of my fics in my masterlist

Next fic in the challenge >

[dianneking]

Hiii👋 not sure if youre taking requests but I just had to send one!! Im inlove your fics 🫠 can I request Larissa/reader based on she by dodie wt a happy ending please 👉👈🥺 its alright if youre not accepting requests, just wanna shoot my shot :-))

Hi! I wanted to thank you for this request, because it made me discover this song that I didn't know, and it filled me with all the angst necessary to make this fic happen, so I hope you enjoy!

Tags: Angst and Feelings, Angst with a happy ending, Break-up, age difference, Boss/Employee relationship, hidden relationship, pining.

AO3 link in title, if you prefer reading it there!

She - Larissa/Reader Angsty Songfic

 Am I allowed to look at her like that Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at

  The light streamed through the window panes, silhouetting Larissa in sharp contrast against it. Her hair refracted the sun and for a moment it looked as if she was wearing a halo. Like a painting of a saint, or a goddess of old. And you, you, as always were her worshipper, blessed by the honor of drinking in her figure like that.

You were standing at the center of the room, the book you held in your hand forgotten by your side, so mesmerized by her beauty that you forgot to notice the tight curve of her shoulders, the way her hands gripped spasmodically the windowsill. You would remember all these details of course, but only later.

Too late.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach Oh, you would find her in a polaroid picture And she means everything to me

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think this is going to work.”

She chose not to look at you as she said this, her eyes roaming the grounds of Nevermore from behind the glass of her window. Not even sparing you a glance as she broke up with you. You felt all the air leave your lungs at that, and yet all that could be heard in the suddenly silent room was a soft, pained Oh.

(Oh)

“I can’t give you what you want. You need to build a future for yourself and I…I need to be able to concentrate on Nevermore without any distractions.”

A distraction. That’s all you boiled down to. What for you had been the happiest period of your life was little more than a nuisance to her. You tried to swallow around the pain that this caused you. Was that what she had been thinking through all of your time together? The nights curled up in front of the fire, the stolen dates hiking through the woods around Nevermore, the way her fingers curled around yours when no one was watching? Nothing but a distraction?

  “I… should probably go, then.”

Larissa’s head whipped back towards you as soon as the words left your mouth, but she didn’t say anything for what felt like an infinite stretch of time. Still, you waited, standing in the middle of her office like a misbehaving student. You always waited for her. Of course you did, you loved her. Was that part of what made you such a bother to her?

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Was there anything you wanted me to say?”

I'd never tell No I'd never say a word And oh it aches But it feels oddly good to hurt.

“…I guess not.”

“I’ll leave you to your work then.”

You clamped down on the instinct to say I’m sorry because you weren’t. You were grateful for the time she had given you. And if she wasn’t going to apologize for breaking up with you, then neither were you going to apologize for making her feel like she had to choose between you and her work. You turned on your heel, walking away from the room, leaving your heart behind with someone you thought would cherish it forever. After all, that had been your mistake, not hers, right?

You had been the one to fall for her, madly, deeply. You had looked at her and seen everything you could ever wish for. You wanted to shout her joy from the tallest tower of Nevermore to the deepest ravine in the woods. You wanted to court her, to hold her hand, to dine with her in the candlelight.

She had been more reserved with her affection. You are my employee. It wouldn’t be proper for people to know about us. And then there was the age difference. It had always disturbed her more than it did you (although she hadn’t seemed so disturbed by it when your head was buried deep between her thighs). What is a young thing like you doing with an old woman like myself? You should go find someone to build a family with, she had told you multiple times. And every time you told her that Nevermore was all the family you needed, and that she was everything you wanted. Had that been annoying? It was the truth.

She smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach Oh, you would find her in a polaroid picture And she means everything to me

  Going back to your usual work routine was unsettling. You went through the motions of your life as if you were sleepwalking, trapped in a bad dream. Re-shelving books, sending out emails, helping both students and fellow staff-members in their researches. The weekly meetings of the book club. They all felt familiar, and yet you couldn’t find comfort in any of those activities, that you used to love so much. It was as if you had left with her all of your ability to love anything else as well. And yet you powered through, with the determination of a machine that was only there to get its work done. Because anything else was now lost to her. How could you walk through the woods and not think of her carefree smile? How can you enjoy a sip of apple juice without remembering how it tasted on her lips?

Oh, oh

The meetings were the most difficult part of all. The first ones were staff meetings, and you somehow managed to get through those by sitting in the furthermost corner from her, letting your eyes roam all over her figure whenever she wasn’t looking in your direction. She looked perfect, as always. She was poised and attentive to her colleagues, ready to discuss the decisions that involved them and the school, always taking constructive criticism in stride, diplomatically mediating between arguing teachers with the ease of a natural leader.

Oh, oh

Had it been slipping when the two of you were together? Were the secret smiles that danced in her eyes when they met yours a sign of distraction, a weakness that would have been exploited in the long run?

She didn’t look any different in how she ran the school now.

The few meetings the two of you had to have together were painful. You stuttered through your reports, and forget to ask half of the things you needed to. After a while she just stopped inviting you for in-person meetings and asked you to submit the reports per email.

You retreated even more than usual into your reign, the library, and watched the seasons change from behind its stained glass windows.

And I'll be okay Admiring from afar Cause even when she's next to me We could not be more far apart

  “Happy birthday.”

She looked awkward, looming in the darkened library door without entering, her gaze suddenly shy, and that felt wrong. She’d never been shy. Not even when you were first together, she had always been the one to initiate contact. She had held your hand first, she had kissed you first. She had been the one to ask if you wanted to move your relationship further.

And she had been the one to put an end to it.

And now she was here, on the evening of your birthday, invading the one space that was safely yours, holding a small tray with a slice of peach cobbler from the Weathervane in her hand, as an offering. Your favorite. The fact that she remembered hurt you somewhat more. So whatever you had had not been completely erased from her memory. Did she remember all the other things, too? The things you whispered to her when she held you in the darkness if her room? Did she, and she managed to go on with her life as if nothing major had changed? As if it had been nothing more than a parenthesis in a novel. By then, you were used to the pain, and you let it wrap around you, like a dear friend who was becoming more familiar to you than her voice.

Cause she tastes like birthday cake, and storytime, and fall But to her I taste of nothing at all

  “Thanks.”

“Aren’t you going to celebrate?”

The small talk was painfully stilted, and you wondered why she was so adamant in pursuing it.

“Not much to celebrate, I’d rather stay here with my book.”

“We don’t see much of you outside of the library anymore.”

“I wonder why that is.”

A whiff of her perfume reached your nostrils and you almost keeled under the onslaught of memories. There had been a time when the faint undertones of lemongrass had clung to your clothes, so much so that you had enjoyed the illusion of bringing a piece of her with you all through the day. An illusion, like everything else.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach You would find her in a polaroid picture

“Why are you here, principal Weems?”

She seemed to recoil from her title, and seeing that didn’t give you any of the vengeful satisfaction you had hoped for. You didn’t like seeing her in pain. You never wanted to be the cause of her pain.

You knew all too well how it felt to be hurt by the one you love.

Except she didn’t love you.

You were starting to think she never did. It had probably been lust, the sense of adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. A younger body to press herself into. Maybe some sort of affection, too. But not love. You had made peace with that.

  “I miss you.”

And she means everything to me

  “I…beg your pardon?”

“I know I don’t have any right to say so. Not after I…I ended things between us. But I do. I miss you. I miss our time together, I miss having you reading on my couch as I wrap up the last emails in the evening. I miss asking for your opinion, I miss raising my eyes from my laptop and finding yours on me, since I don’t know how long. I’m sorry.”

Yes she means everything to me

“I’m not. Sorry, that is.”

You saw her close her eyes, resignation and sadness warring on her beautiful, kind face. She’d always been kind, even when she had hurt you. That’s why it was so important for her to understand.

“You chose Nevermore. I get it. It should have never been a choice you should have had to make, but I am grateful for the affection you have showed me in the time we were together. It made me feel alive in a way I never did. I understand it wasn’t the same for you and really, it is okay. It was probably foolish of me, but I did give you my all, and I don’t blame you for not knowing what to do with it. It was my choice, and I would do it again. I still love you but it’s alright. I made peace with it.”

She means everything to me.

“You still…love me?”

You nodded, unable to speak anymore. She looked soft, and her gaze didn’t hold the pity you were afraid of seeing, not the annoyance you dreaded. In her eyes you could only read an overwhelming wonder, as she looked at you as if you had just performed a miracle in front of her. “But don’t you want someone else? Someone younger, freer, more like yourself? Someone that hasn’t hurt you?”

“I don’t want anyone else. You mean everything to me. Whether or not you like me back, apparently. Whether or not I am a distraction.”

“Darling I…” the words caught up in her throat as she cupped your cheek with her hand. You had almost forgotten her touch, too. And at the same time, it was as if she’d never left.

  “I love you too. The gods help me, I love you more than Nevermore.”

-

liked it? you can find more of my writings linked on my fanfiction masterlist