Smutty fics

When Larissa passed away no one was more heartbroken than me. We’d been together for less than a year and suddenly she was snatched away from me, I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her I loved her. My only hope of seeing her again was dependent on my psychic ability to see spirits, but months passed and I didn’t even hear a whisper. I spent my nights in mourning, looking through our memory box of items and drinking her favourite red wine just to feel close to her again. But I’d always end up drunk and crying as I poured over old photos, ticket stubs and pressed flowers. I even kept the mug she’d made for me at a pottery class we went to on one of our first dates. It was lovingly crafted but a bit lopsided. She’d painted it white with different coloured flowers all over it and wrote a small message on the bottom, “you’re my cup of tea”. It was funny and romantic, just like her.

As Nevermore’s librarian I found comfort and solace amongst the shelves of books and tomes. Before we were together Larissa would always take time out of her day to visit me there, under the pretense she was looking for a book to read during her breaks. But when I caught her staring at my legs while I was up a ladder one time I knew there was more to it. I playfully teased her about it until she finally asked me out and we sealed the deal with a secret kiss in the history section.

One afternoon I was in that same section, thinking back to that first kiss, when I heard hushed voices nearby. They seemed to be muttering with urgency and for some reason I felt a magnetic pull towards them. I turned a corner and saw Wednesday Addams hurriedly flipping through the pages of a leather bound book, but when I saw who was standing over her I almost burst into tears. “Larissa?” Both of them looked over at me and Larissa gasped, “oh my love…you can see me?” I was too stunned to speak but managed a nod. Wednesday closed the book she was holding as Larissa darted over to me with her arms outstretched, “I’ve missed you so much darling!” She threw her arms around me and held me close as I weeped into her chest, tears of joy that we’d been reunited at last. But I still had so many questions. “How are you here? How can you touch me?” “I’m Wednesday’s spirit guide. I suppose that means I’m a little different from a ghost, so I can touch you” she guessed. “This is amazing! I can’t believe it!” I said and reached up to stroke her cheek, her skin was still as soft as silk. “But why didn’t you come to me? As my guide?” I asked with a hint of disappointment. “Because spirit guides have to be blood related. It turns out Wednesday and I thirteenth cousins twice removed, so we share a minute bit of DNA that allows me to be her guide” she explained, “and other blood relatives weren’t exactly very forthcoming”. That wasn’t surprising but I could feel my frustration growing. “Then…why didn’t you at least show yourself to me?” “Believe me I tried to, but the fates wouldn’t allow it. You needed time to grieve. But I was with you my love, every day and every night” she told me but it didn’t bring me comfort.

I spent a few moments gazing into those heavenly blue eyes of hers, still so full of life and love. It made me miss her more even though she was standing right in front of me. “I still can’t believe you’re here. I have so much to tell you-” I blurted out. “So do I love, but I’m afraid that will have to wait for now. Something sinister is afoot and Wednesday needs my help”. “I can handle things on my own thank you” Wednesday snarked and Larissa went into principal mode. “Miss Addams, I am here to assist you whether you like it or not! You need my knowledge of Nevermore and Jericho if we’re to put an end to this chaos” she told her sternly. Wednesday scoffed and Larissa shot her another scolding look, even in the afterlife she was still as strict as ever. “I can help if you like?” I offered but Larissa immediately objected. “No darling, I can’t have you putting yourself in danger. I’ve already lost my life to a psychopath, I won’t let the same fate befall you”. “Then let me help with your research at least. I know this library like the back of my hand and I have access to all of the archives” I told them. Larissa and Wednesday shared a look considering my offer. “Alright” Wednesday agreed, “but keep your mind on the job. No…distractions”.  She shot a pointed glare at Larissa who rolled her eyes in annoyance.

This whole situation was a lot to process and I couldn’t help but feel jealous of Wednesday. Her and Larissa never got along yet she had the privilege of having her as spirit guide and not me?! It felt so unfair, like some kind of cruel joke from beyond. But I quickly realised that although Larissa may not be my spirit guide my abilities had allowed me to see her again and for that I had never been more grateful.

For the next few hours the three of us trawled through various books, records and articles. We found some interesting newspaper clippings that told of scientific breakthroughs along with inhumane experiments conducted at Willow Hill. We also discovered that hydes become even more volatile when they lose their master, so now that Thornhill was dead Tyler was likely to be even more dangerous. Larissa stayed by Wednesday’s side the whole time and I could shake that envious feeling. I tried to push it aside and concentrate on the task at hand but Larissa could sense something was off. “Darling” she said as she reached across the table to place her hand on mine, “are you alright?” “Mmhmm” I nodded, but she could always tell when I was lying. “Come over here”. She took my hand and led me to a quieter part of the library, out of earshot from Wednesday. “I know this has been a lot for you to take in but we do appreciate your help” Larissa thanked me. “I just want us to be together again, but I have to share you with Wednesday bloody Addams” I snapped. “I know. I think even the devil himself was reluctant to help” she joked and I let out a breathless laugh. Larissa chuckled too then sighed, “there’s that lovely smile”. She cupped my cheek and ran her thumb over my cheekbone to wipe a stray tear away. “I’ve missed you. More than you know” I said and pressed her hand harder into my cheek. “I do know love. I’ve seen you struggling and I’m sorry I couldn’t reach out to you sooner. But now I’m here…standing in the exact spot where we had our first kiss” she recalled. “I remember. It was the best kiss I’d ever had” I told her. Her blue eyes softened as she cradled my cheek then she pulled me closer until our lips met, drawn together like magnets. It felt like an eternity had passed since I last kissed her and my next words were straight from the heart. “I love you”. “I love you too” she replied and kissed me again. After a few heavenly moments the moment was broken by a familiar deadpan voice. “If you two have finished canoodling I’ve found some more interesting information about hydes” Wednesday informed us and walked back to her seat. “Tsk, duty calls” Larissa sighed. “I heard that” Wednesday retorted.

One of the drawbacks of Larissa being Wednesday’s spirit guide was that she couldn’t stray too far away from her. So later on, as Wednesday prepared to leave, I realised that Larissa couldn’t stay either. “Where are you going?” I piped up. “Back to my room” Wednesday said, “I’ll continue my research there”. “But-" Larissa saw panic flash across my face. “It’s OK darling, we’ll be back tomorrow” she assured me. “Stay. I don’t care. I’ve endured enough of your swooning for one day” Wednesday said bluntly. “You know the rules Miss Addams, where you go I go” Larissa reminded her, “more’s the pity”. “Let me come with you, at least for a while” I pleaded. Wednesday rolled her eyes, “fine. I’ll take the long route back to Ophelia Hall. But if I hear ANY romantic nonsense-“ “You have every right to scold us” I interjected. “Good, because I’d rather staple my eyelids shut than witness you two fawning over each other”. Wednesday made for the door without looking back and I quickly followed, dashing around the table and grabbing Larissa’s hand.

I must have looked so strange to any onlookers, trailing behind Wednesday with my hand cupped at my side. But I didn’t care, I could see Larissa next to me and feel her hand in mine just like when she was alive. It was so hard not to lead her to a quiet corner and have some proper alone time, but we abided Wednesday’s strict rules.  However as we walked along one of the darker corridors Larissa decided to throw caution to the wind and pushed me into an alcove, it was only when Wednesday heard me giggling and Larissa shushing me that she realised what had happened and backtracked. “I swear you’re worse than a pair of hormonal teenagers. I would know” Wednesday scolded us. “I'll be sure to remind you of this when you're in love Miss Addams” Larissa promised as I fixed my mussed up hair. “Oh please. Hell will freeze over before that ever happens” Wednesday replied firmly. Just then we all heard a familiar cheerful voice call out Wednesday’s name. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Enid chirped. “Well now you’ve found me” Wednesday answered dryly. “Oh hey Ms Y/L/N” Enid said as she spotted me over Wednesday’s shoulder. “What is it Enid?” Wednesday probed, “I’m busy”. “Um…I was just wondering if you wanted to grab some food together. You know, just you and me?” Enid asked shyly, her cheeks flushing pink as she fiddled with her finger and looked down at the floor. “Well I never…” Larissa murmured, “looks like someone has an admirer”.  “Shut up” Wednesday hissed over her shoulder. “Hey I was only asking!” Enid said defensively, holding her hands up in surrender. “She’d love to Enid. In fact we were just heading to the cafeteria” I chipped in. “We were?” Wednesday and Larissa said in sync. “Yes. I’m starving after all that research” I said and winked at Larissa. Wednesday sighed, “fine”. “Don’t sound too excited now” Enid quipped and we started walking. “I’m…sorry. I just…have a lot going on right now” Wednesday mumbled apologetically. “I understand. But you know I’m always here for you. No matter what” Enid told her and Larissa nudged me. “Thanks. I appreciate that” Wednesday replied and we could tell she meant it. “No problem bestie” Enid said happily. “Besties? Hmm, whatever you say Miss Sinclair” Larissa mused. “I swear to-” Wednesday hissed.

Wednesday walked alongside Enid to the cafeteria and every now and then I noticed their hands brush together, Enid even discreetly wrapped her pinkie around Wednesday’s and surprisingly Wednesday didn’t resist. Larissa giggled next to me and copied Enid’s small but meaningful gesture. I looked up at her and smiled, still in disbelief that she was even here.

I sat a few seats away from Wednesday and Enid once we reached the cafeteria giving them some space, Larissa sat next to me and was thoroughly entertained watching the pair. Enid chatted animatedly while Wednesday listened patiently. “Ah young love” she said wistfully. “I know. Opposites really do attract, don't they?” I said as I tucked into a pasta bowl. “Indeed. Who would have thought that Miss Sinclair would be the one to warm Wednesday’s cold black heart”. I almost choked, “that’s a little harsh isn’t it? Surely she's not that bad?” “Her words not mine!” Larissa stated. I chuckled then clocked Wednesday and Enid holding hands under the table, Wednesday’s thumb stroking Enid’s knuckles lovingly. I gasped a little loudly and Wednesday shot me a warning look, I quickly averted my gaze while Larissa sniggered. “It seems the little storm cloud has let some sunlight through” she mused. “Shut. Up” Wednesday spat over at her but Larissa didn’t care, she made a mental note to tease Wednesday about this later.

The next day Larissa and Wednesday came back to the library as promised and Larissa had a very mischievous grin on her face. “What’s going on?” I asked curiously. “Wednesday here has agreed to let us spend some…quality time together. On the conditions that we don’t tease her about a certain werewolf and leave her in peace to carry out her research” she explained. “Really? So does that mean-?” Larissa cut me off with a kiss then dragged me to the most secluded part of the library, the archives. “Try to be quiet and if I need to borrow something I’ll just go around you” Wednesday said and started working while me and Larissa got reacquainted in the same place where our story began.

Only when she shrugs off her coat does silk shift and a red bruise rises on her neck, small as a coin and just as undeniable.

You stop with the grocery bag halfway to the counter. Apples thunk and bump like clumsy hearts.

“What happened?” Your voice aims for light and lands a shade too careful.

“Door,” Larissa says quickly. “I walked into it.”

You smile because that is what the script asks. “The door won?”

“It was very persuasive.” She’s already coming to you, already soft and smiling and threaded with warmth you have trained your days around. She kisses the corner of your mouth, then your mouth, and the week empties out of you like you accidentally set it down.

But the bruise sits there, ripe and wrong, and every time you remember to not look at it your whole face tries to look anyway.

“Big day?” you ask against her shoulder. Perfume and silk and the small contained power of her.

“Endless. Budget, board, parents.” Her fingers find the back of your neck like kindness that’s memorized the route. “I thought about you when someone misquoted Shakespeare.”

“Which play?”

“All of them,” she says, and you laugh into her collar, but the bruise is a third presence. It waits.

In the bedroom the lamplight is generous and the curtains are a rumor of storm. Larissa starts on her buttons with that priestess efficiency you love her for. It has always felt like being let into something sacred, the ritual of it. You step in, reach for the last pearl because helping is how you say devotion. As you push the fabric from her shoulders, your thumb grazes the edge of red.

The world undoes its laces and spills.

No up, no down, just the sensation of being pulled through warm gold. The air tastes like a match right after it dies. A room resolves around you that is not the bedroom. You are not standing anywhere so much as existing inside the hinge of a moment that isn’t yours.

Larissa is there. Laughing, lit from the throat. The earrings you picked in Verona catching the light. Her head tips back because someone’s words are close enough to touch her.

Morticia Addams steps into the frame like she’s been summoned by the idea of a shadow. Tall. Dark. A practiced ease that looks like history preserved under glass. She leans in. Her mouth is red in the ritual sense of the word. She says something you don’t hear because you feel it instead, an ache under your breastbone. Larissa’s mouth parts on a small sound you haven’t heard from her, and Morticia’s lips close over the soft hollow at the base of Larissa’s throat. The press holds. The color rises. The bruise is made while you are there to witness the making.

Your body returns as if dropped. Knees on carpet. Hands catching ground. The lamp’s gold crashes back like an insult, and your face goes hot, then wet. Your nose is bleeding, fast, an alarming ribbon.

“Darling?” Larissa is on her knees, her command shortened into care. “Hey—look at me. Breathe.”

You look. Her hands are steady, her eyes are not. She tips your head, packs a tissue against your nose with a practiced, ridiculous gentleness, and you think: I touched the bruise and it opened a door.

You try not to say anything. For one long, dragging minute, you try to be the person you thought you were—sensible, ordinary, the kind of lover who would joke about doors and clumsiness and help tuck the blouse away. But the truth in your chest is an animal that will not be domesticated by kindness.

“I saw something,” you say, voice raw. “When I touched you.”

Larissa stills. Not theatrically, but in the tiny, decisive way a whole sea stills when the wind drops. “You fainted,” she says, and she is trying to be kind.

“I saw Morticia.” The name is fire in your mouth. You swallow anyway. “I saw her mouth. Here.” You point, shaky, to the place the bruise blooms. “I saw her leave that.”

The tissue goes redder in her hand. She doesn’t let go of your face. She doesn’t reach for a lie fast enough to save either of you.

“Larissa,” you say, and it’s almost a plea, and also a verdict.

Her lips part. A hundred versions of her—principal, survivor, queen—sort themselves behind her eyes and step aside for the one that can do this without shattering the furniture. “Yes,” she says, plain. “Morticia was here. This afternoon.”

The room narrows. Your blood is too loud. You nod because your body needs to do something that resembles an answer.

“She was here,” you echo, “and she—”

“She kissed me.” Larissa’s voice doesn’t beg. It doesn’t explain yet, either. It just says the thing. “I let her.”

Everything in you that can tear does.

You pull back, tissue limp in your hand. The lamp is suddenly too polite, the bed intrusive, your own name a poor fit. “I touched you and saw it,” you say, as if that’s the strangest part, and maybe it is. “I think—Larissa, I think I’m a raven.”

Something like awe, grief, and recognition passes over her, quick as an eclipse. “Of course you are,” she says softly, like she’s placing a crown you didn’t know you’d earned. “That explains so much.”

“Don’t.” Your laugh is brittle. “Don’t make it pretty.”

“I’m not.” She folds her hands together to keep from reaching. “You deserve truth, not dressing.”

“Then give it.”

A beat. Two. Larissa inhales like she’s stepping into an auditorium. “It was—foolish,” she says. “Selfish. She came to discuss alumni donations. We had wine. We talked about old things that know how to sound like safety. I felt… lonely on a crowded day. I wanted to be wanted without instructions. She is very good at asking for what she wants.”

“And you are very good at saying yes.” Your mouth tastes like iron and the word disappointment.

Her flinch is an elegant, controlled thing—blink and you miss it. “Sometimes,” she admits. “I am good at many things I wish I wasn’t.”

The blood has slowed. The throbbing hasn’t. You sit up, wipe your lip with the back of your hand, and the sheer ordinariness of the gesture scrapes something raw. “How long would you have let me believe a door did that?”

“I hadn’t decided.” She’s honest. It makes it worse and better. “I wanted to tell you. I wanted not to ruin the one uncomplicated thing I have ever allowed myself.”

“Uncomplicated?” You let out a sound you don’t recognize as yours. “You let Morticia mark you and came home to me.”

“I came home to you,” she says, and it lands messy and true.

You stand because sitting feels too defenseless. “I can’t—” You hold your hands out, helpless in the space between fury and grief. “I can’t unknow it. It’s in me. I touched you and it lives in my head now.”

Her gaze glances towards your hands—as if she can feel the echo too—and she nods, small, as if taking notes in a language she hasn’t used in years. “I’m sorry,” she says, and there’s nothing ornamental on it. “For doing it. For letting you find out like that. For all of the above.”

You want to wound her with words, and you also want to lay down on her chest and listen to her heart and give this a different ending. Both wants are true, both wants are terrible.

“Do you love her?” you ask, low. You don’t know which answer would be worse.

“No.” No hesitation. “Not like I love you.” She steps once closer and stops, as if the carpet has a line painted on it. “But I love what she reminds me of. A girl who wasn’t always careful. A woman who believed wanting made her invulnerable.”

“And me?” Your own voice breaks into the question. “What do I remind you of?”

“Home.” The word lands so softly you almost miss the damage it does. “You remind me that I survived. That I don’t have to audition in my own life.”

You close your eyes because tears would be too much. The bruise lives behind your lids anyway. When you open them, your hands are steadier, which feels like betrayal to your hurt. “So what now? Do I pretend a door did it? Do I nod at parents meetings when she walks by and I know what her mouth did?”

“No.” Larissa’s answer is savage with certainty. “You owe nobody that.”

“Avoid her. Build a moat.” It comes out meaner than you mean.

“If a moat would save us, I’d build it in a night.” Her mouth twists. “But she’s the mother of a student. Soon two. A ghost with a seat at the table.”

“So am I.” You aim a small, rueful smile at the floor.

Larissa almost smiles back, then doesn’t, because today does not believe in mercy. “Tell me what you need,” she says instead, and there is a softness in the command that undoes you more efficiently than shouting could.

You let silence push against both of you until it hurts. You try out a dozen answers in your head and watch each one fail. Finally: “I need you to be done with her.”

Larissa exhales through her nose like she’s swallowing glass. “I can promise to not see her privately again,” she says, and the qualifiers in the sentence clings hard enough to bruise. “I can move meetings, insist on public spaces, refuse wine. I can make it so there’s no room for… this.”

“It already happened.” Your voice is small and, somehow, colder. “It will keep having happened.”

She closes her eyes. When she opens them, the blue is steady. “Then let me spend the rest of my days making sure it is the worst thing I do to you.”

You hate that your heart lurches towards that vow like a dog towards a familiar whistle. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you say, and it’s the truest thing you’ve ever said, and the most insufficient. “Not yet.”

“I will not ask you to hurry.” She lifts her hands and—slowly, like a tide negotiating with rocks—sets them back down at her sides. “I won’t touch you unless you ask. I won’t explain myself into your mercy. If you want me gone, I will go. If you want me to sleep on the sofa, I will fold myself obediently into repentance.”

The tenderness in her choosing obedience for you is so naked it makes anger feel like cruelty. You look at the bed, the lamp, the bruise. “I want the truth,” you say, hoarse. “All of it. No theatre. No editing for my comfort. If we try to patch the hole with pretty, it’ll just sink slower.”

“Truth,” she repeats, as if swearing in a church you built together. “You have it.”

“And I don’t know what we will be tomorrow.”

Something cracks at the edges of her composure. Not much. Enough that you see the woman under the principal. “We’ll be whatever you can bear,” she whispers. “If that is strangers, I will learn your face again from across a hallway. If that is… not yet, I will be not yet until my bones ache with it.”

Your nose twinges like a memory. You wipe it, your fingers come away clean. The bleeding stopped. The hurt didn’t.

“Okay,” you say finally, and it is not forgiveness, not even a reprieve. It is a boundary at the edge of a cliff. “One week. No Morticia. No wine. No pretending. We talk or we’re silent, but we don’t lie. I… need to see if I can breathe in here.”

Larissa nods once, again, as if counting off measures. “One week,” she says. “I’ll rearrange the earth if that buys us another day.”

“Don’t,” you say quickly, because you know her. “Don’t perform miracles at me. Just—be simple.”

She huffs a laugh that isn’t a laugh. “I don’t know if I remember how.”

“Learn,” you say, and it’s almost gentle.

She looks at you like a vow she plans to keep even if it kills her. “I will.”

You should leave. Or stay. You put the groceries away because it feels like something a person does when the ground gives under their feet—find a small surface and make order. Larissa stands at the counter with quiet hands, not touching, not instructing, not filling the silence with anything you didn’t invite. Every once in a while you feel her looking at you and it is a relief and a wound.

When you head for the door, she doesn’t follow. She has learned enough in one evening to let you be the one who moves or doesn’t. You stop. Your hand on the knob. The suite smells like tea, dust, and the first snow. The red coin on her neck is blazing.

You turn back. “I keep seeing it,” you admit, barely audible. “The room. The light. Her. You.”

“I know.” Larissa’s voice is soft enough you almost don’t hear it. “Then let me change the end, at least. Tonight, I am alone in this room. Tomorrow, I am alone. And the day after, and the day after, until the picture in your head grows bored and leaves.”

“That’s not how memories work,” you say.

“I’m stubborn,” she says, and something like a smile ghosts her mouth. “I might win.”

You shake your head. The ache doesn’t lighten, but it becomes bearable enough to walk with. “I’ll text,” you manage. “About… breakfast. Or not.”

“I’ll be here.” She stands straighter, as if bracing for weather. “Whatever you decide.”

You open the door and the corridor’s cold takes a small bite out of your cheek. You step through before you can change your mind. A minute later, you’re halfway down the hall and your face breaks without witnesses. You hold the banister, breathing like you’re learning a new set of lungs.

Somewhere outside, a raven drags a cry across the winter evening—complaint, omen, song. You don’t know which. Maybe all three. You whisper to the bird or to yourself, you can’t tell which: “I hear you.”

Behind you, in her lamplight, Larissa stands still and does not chase. It hurts in a way that feels like love trying hard enough to resemble penance.

One week, you think, and the thought is equal parts promise and threat.

You keep walking.

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