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the horrors persist but so do books, art, hot chocolate, winter nights, the moon, the sea, the stars, sunsets, literature, libraries, cats, flowers, stories, love and the wistful feeling you get when you finally return home
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
modern social media should stop offering "sync with your phone contacts to follow them" options and start offering "block all your phone contacts so they never see your account" options
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A/N: Here it is - the last chapter. I am, admittedly, very sad that we've reached the end of this fic, as my Mondays have been made infinitely brighter by sharing them with you. THANK YOU, so deeply, for all of the support - the likes/kudos, comments, and feedback that have reached me over the past thirteen weeks have been a great source of joy. I hope to post a one shot soon that I've been working on. Happy Monday and take care of yourselves xxx
Tucked against Larissa’s chest, with her arm draped over your waist and the covers tangled around the both of you, is how you woke on Christmas morning. You felt safe. Protected. The air was cold but her body was radiating a comforting warmth, keeping you cocooned in your own little shared world.
For just a fraction of a second, the comfort gave you pause — was this some sort of dream? Had last night actually happened? You couldn’t believe you were just allowed to nuzzle into Larissa like this, without reservations or restraint, but then her hand flexed against your lower back as she stirred, fingertips brushing against the exposed strip of skin just above your waistband, and all of the tension melted away as you let her touch soothe your worries.
Before you even opened your eyes you pressed your nose deeper against Larissa’s chest, inhaling the intoxicating scent that clung to her. The top of her cleavage was soft against the tip of your nose, and it smelled faintly of jasmine, vanilla, laundry detergent, and a natural musk you’d eventually come to recognize as the scent of her sweat.
“Your nose is cold.” Larissa’s chest vibrated against your face with every word, and you burrowed deeper against her skin as she spoke, a sheepish smile spreading across your face.
“I’m sorry,” you said with a giggle, pressing an apologetic kiss to her sternum as you peeked up at her. It was impossible not to have your breath taken away by the way Larissa was looking down at you, her expression soft and sleepy, her eyes half-lidded, her lips cracked, her hair falling across her cheek. You reached up, brushing the offending strand of hair back and tucking it behind her ear. Larissa’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, her cheeks flushing as your fingers trailed along her jaw before reaching her chin, tilting it down so that you could kiss her — you could hardly believe that you could just do that now.
“How’d you sleep?” you mumbled as you pulled back from the kiss, sucking your own bottom lip into your mouth just to savor the taste of her.
Larissa hummed thoughtfully, propping her head up on her hand and regarding you, her other hand rubbing up and down your waist. “Very well, thank you.” Her voice dropped nearly a full register lower than usual, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “How did you sleep?”
“Good.” You burrowed again into her chest, as if trying to create a nest there, missing the way her lips twitched in amusement. “Really good.”
Larissa hugged you tightly against her, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. She shifted onto her back, pulling you with her, and a soft groan left her lips.
“You okay?” you asked, peeking up at her with a furrowed brow.
“Of course,” she assuaged you softly, chuckling when the crease between your brows only deepened. “The bruise, darling... My hip is a bit sore.”
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, am I putting pressure on it?” You tried to pull back but Larissa locked her arms around you, shaking her head with a laugh.
“It’s alright.”
“Can I see it?”
Larissa huffed, clearly not used to being fussed over, but her grip on you loosened all the same. You pulled yourself free from her grasp, pulling down the covers and hooking your finger beneath the waistband of her pajama pants — before pausing and looking inquiringly up at her. She smiled, though her cheeks turned a bit pink, and pulled the trousers and her underwear down for you, just past her hip on one side to reveal bruised skin.
“Ouch,” you whispered, tracing a feather-light fingertip along the edge of it. The bruise was still massive, the center a rich purple, though the edges had already turned a muddy shade of yellow. It was quite the brilliant contrast to the alabaster tone of her skin. “It looks very tender…”
“It is,” Larissa chuckled, watching the path of your fingertips along the outline of the bruise.
“It’s healing fast, isn’t it?” you murmured, fascinated by how quickly it was already changing color.
“The perks of being a shapeshifter…”
You glanced up at her to see her watching you with a smirk on her face. “Really?”
“Our bodies regenerate a bit quicker than most.”
“Oh…” Being a normie, you weren’t too familiar with different types of outcasts — despite your proximity to Nevermore in recent years, you still spent a majority of your time with other normies, and your knowledge was mostly limited to the more common or obvious types of outcasts; vampires, werewolves, sirens. Before Larissa had mentioned being a shapeshifter, it hadn’t even really dawned on you that they existed, though it seemed obvious enough now. “I’m ashamed to admit I don’t really know anything about shapeshifters.”
Larissa carded her hands through your hair, smiling softly down at you. “Even many outcasts don’t know much about shapeshifters, darling, it’s alright. You can ask me anything you like, you know.”
Scratching gently but insistently against your scalp, Larissa’s fingers were slowly but surely turning your brain to mush, sending a warm, tingly feeling straight down your spine. You let out a thoughtful hum. “I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted softly, and Larissa’s smile widened.
“We have all the time in the world…”
Her words made your insides melt and you rested your cheek against the soft skin of her plush thigh, careful not to put pressure on the edge of the bruise. You sighed, your breath fluttering across her skin, and watched goosebumps rise in its wake. Fingers tightened in your hair and Larissa’s thigh flexed beneath your cheek. Glancing up at her, you could see how dark her gaze had become, pupils slightly dilated as she watched you, and you pressed your lips gently to the crease of her hip, maintaining eye contact.
“How very cheeky of you,” she husked, her voice deep and gravelly, the look on her face equal parts flustered and wanting.
Her expression was quickly stirring up a hard-to-ignore heat in your own abdomen, and you smiled against her skin before giving it a gentle nip that earned you a raised eyebrow. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Come here,” Larissa said, tugging you up by the hair until your lips met in a heated kiss that took your breath away — you straddled her, your arms wrapping around her shoulders as you held her close, your tongue brushing into her mouth and eliciting a delicious moan from her chest.
Outside in the hall, the quick pitter-patter of footsteps and slamming doors could be heard, and you couldn’t help but grin into the kiss. It was Christmas morning, after all, and your niece was nothing if not eager to see what gifts Santa had to offer her this year. “Let’s see if she knocks first,” you mumbled against Larissa’s lips, receiving a hum in return as the footsteps stopped, another door slammed, and then the footsteps resumed, coming closer.
There was indeed a knock on your bedroom door moments later, and you adjusted yourself on Larissa’s lap and pulled the blankets up to hide her half-exposed thigh. “Come in,” you called out — seconds later, the door flew open and Alice barrelled across the room and jumped onto the edge of the bed, landing on all fours and beginning to bounce eagerly on the mattress.
“Santa was here!” she exclaimed, reaching out to grab your hand and trying to tug you off the bed.
You laughed, resisting. “I know, sweetheart, we’ll be right there, okay?” Alice’s eyes widened, her head bobbing up and down. “You go first.”
And off she went, as quickly as she’d come, leaving you and Larissa alone again, though with the bedroom door wide open. You groaned softly. “Guess it’s time to get up.”
Larissa pressed her lips to your temple. “I suppose it is… wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“I doubt she’ll wait for us to start unwrapping her presents,” you mused with a chuckle, sliding off Larissa’s lap and digging around in your dresser for something to throw on, settling on a cozy sweater and jeans.
Larissa, meanwhile, began to head to the bathroom with an armful of clothes and her toiletries bag. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll be in the kitchen?”
Larissa nodded, offering you a soft smile before closing the bathroom door behind her.
Meanwhile, you changed quickly and padded down the hall into the kitchen, rummaging around for mugs for hot chocolate as the rest of your family slowly and tiredly emerged from their respective bedrooms. A glance at the clock on the oven told you that it was 7:48 am — of course Alice would have you all up before 8 on Christmas morning. She was the only one in the house with any sort of energy, already in a chatty mood and almost literally bouncing off the walls in the adjacent living room as she waited for the adults to get settled. Your mother and your sister joined you in the kitchen, the former putting on a pot of coffee before heading into the living room and the latter carrying your tired nephew in her arms, greeting you with a stifled yawn.
“Is Larissa coming or is she still sleeping?” Deanna asked curiously, an almost knowing glint in her eyes that brought a flush to your cheeks.
“No, she’s coming,” you said softly, focusing on measuring out hot chocolate powder.
You could tell Deanna wanted to say more (she always did) but, at that moment, long arms encircled your waist and Larissa’s chin came to rest on top of your head.
“You were fast,” you teased, trying not to let the warm length of Larissa’s body pressed against your back distract you from the task at hand.
“I decided to leave my hair down.” Larissa’s voice vibrated against your head, an oddly soothing feeling that had you leaning back against her for more.
“You look nice with your hair down,” you commented quietly, and Larissa hummed in response, her arms squeezing you a bit tighter before letting go — you made a soft noise of protest which drew a chuckle from Larissa’s throat.
Glancing over your shoulder, you felt your jaw drop — Larissa looked incredible, the only one in the house who’d put any effort into their appearance that early in the morning. She had indeed left her hair down, silvery locks cascading over her shoulders, though she’d done her makeup (albeit a bit lighter than usual, forgoing eyeliner). Her lips were painted their usual ruby red, a gorgeous contrast to the forest green dress she wore — velvet, with a high collar and a lace trim.
“What?” Larissa asked, her cheeks turning pink and her lips twitching at the outer corners.
You shook your head, acutely aware of the heat rising in your face. “Nothing. You look incredible.” You scratched awkwardly at the back of your neck, flustered.
“You’re a bit underdressed,” your sister teased, and you frowned, flipping her off.
“So are you,” you retorted.
Larissa suppressed a smile, clasping her hands awkwardly in front of her as her gaze darted between you and your sister as if watching a riveting tennis match.
Footsteps sounded from the living room, coming closer and closer, and Alice padded into the room, hovering in the doorway and rocking on the balls of her feet. “Mommyyy,” she whined, causing Deanna to let out a tired sigh and follow her daughter into the living room and leave you and Larissa alone in the kitchen.
Larissa took a step towards you, slowly infiltrating your personal space until you had to crane your neck back slightly to meet her gaze. A blush spread down your neck as her hands came to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in.
“Hi,” you whispered, your eyes darting between Larissa’s own.
She smiled softly. “Hi.” Then, in a much quieter voice, as if unused to giving such compliments: “You look beautiful.”
You could feel your heart hammer against your chest as if threatening to break free, your stomach strangely light and floaty. “Thanks,” you murmured hoarsely, hesitating for a moment before leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of Larissa’s lips — feeling them curl into a smile.
Larissa stepped back and offered you her hand. “Shall we?”
Feeling almost dizzy with desire and affection, you took her hand in your own, offering her a mug of hot chocolate with your other hand and then picking up your own mug. Hand in hand, you headed into the living room.
Your sister and her husband had outdone themselves — gifts for the kids spilled out from beneath the Christmas tree, neatly wrapped in colorful paper, adorned with ribbons and bows. Your mother pulled you in for a hug as you entered the room, nearly making you spill your hot chocolate, before turning her attention to Larissa and gushing over her beauty until she was red-faced and speechless.
Alice was finally allowed to start unwrapping presents, and she tore into the paper of each one with a feverish glee that you hadn’t experienced on Christmas since your own youth. Ben was much more calm and cautious with his gifts, the contrast between the siblings almost comical, but with all of the adult’s attention on the children, you and Larissa could exchange your own gifts in relative peace.
“You first,” you said, gently pushing a small box into Larissa’s lap. She was careful tearing into the paper, lifting it at the corners and trying not to rip it — it was an endearing sight, and you fought hard not to tease her about it. In the box were several bags of your own blend of peppermint hot chocolate that you sold at the Weathervane, lovingly hand-labelled ‘to my favorite customer.’ “As promised,” you said, watching a smile bloom on Larissa’s face.
“You’ll make it for me, I presume?” Larissa purred, batting her lashes in a way that made your knees feel like jell-o.
“Every morning,” you replied hoarsely, making Larissa laugh softly.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she teased. “It’d be quite the drive to Nevermore and back before the Weathervane opens.”
“I don’t care,” you said quickly — then blushed profusely. Larissa’s own cheeks matched yours, and her hands tightened around the box on her lap. You cleared your throat. “Anyway, there’s something else.”
Larissa took the second gift from you, tilting her head curiously. She picked carefully at the taped edge of the paper, lifting it gently, then lifting the tissue paper from the gift — a silk scarf you’d picked up from a boutique in Burlington, sage green and cream with little golden threads woven throughout, and an intricately detailed pattern of leaves and little white flowers.
Deep blue eyes lifted to meet yours, her gaze wide and impossibly soft. She looked down at the scarf again, running her hand over it. “Thank you,” she whispered, her nostrils flaring slightly.
“Do you like it?” you whispered back anxiously, and Larissa’s hand immediately darted out to cover your own, fingers squeezing yours.
“I love it,” she reassured you softly. “It’s very beautiful.”
You squeezed her hand back, blushing. “Not half as beautiful as you.” Larissa scoffed, rolling her eyes — eyes that were slightly watery.
“You flatter me too much. Here,” she reached behind herself on the sofa, procuring an envelope with your name on the front in the most beautiful, sloping calligraphy. “Merry Christmas.”
You took it gingerly, raising an eyebrow at Larissa, who looked suddenly anxious and very stiff, though you could tell she was trying to conceal it. Opening the envelope, you pulled out a piece of thick paper — personal stationary, with ‘Principal Larissa Weems’ and the Nevermore crest in the corner — and a smaller, rectangular piece of paper fluttered into your lap, also adorned with the Nevermore crest.
Your brow furrowed as you picked up that paper first — then your heart skipped a beat as you saw it was a check, with a few too many zeros on it. “What…?” you whispered through the lump in your throat.
She brushed her fingers against the letter and you unfolded it, scanning it quickly. In her own elegant, slanted, looping writing, a proposal for a complete remodel of the Weathervane’s old kitchen.
“Larissa…” Your voice was hoarse, failing you. Your gaze darted between the paper in your hands and Larissa’s anxious expression. “I can’t accept this,” you whispered.
“It’s an investment,” she whispered back, her hands coming to rest on your thighs, trembling slightly. “In your future. And in the Weathervane. You’re always talking about how much work it still needs…”
“I…” Your eyes darted between her own, searching, as your pulse fluttered in your throat. “Are you sure?”
Larissa nodded once, blinking slowly.
“Larissa?”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
Dropping the check, your hands flew to Larissa’s cheeks, cupping them and holding her head in place as you leaned up and pressed your lips firmly to hers. Her lips parted for you, allowing you to slip your tongue between them, not caring about your family or her lipstick or anything except feeling as much of your girlfriend as possible.
Larissa’s hands squeezed your thighs, her thumbs rubbing soothing, grounding circles against the fabric of your trousers. Your cheeks began to grow damp, though it took you a moment to realize that it was because you’d begun to cry, and you quickly pulled away to apologize for getting Larissa’s face wet — only to be confronted with the absolute mess you’d made of her lipstick, red smudged up to the tip of her nose and at the sides of her mouth, making her look vaguely like the Joker.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” you said with a wet laugh, tugging the sleeve of your sweater over your hand and reaching up to wipe the lipstick off Larissa’s nose — but she swatted your hand away instead, cupping your cheek and going in for another, deeper kiss that knocked the breath right out of your lungs.
You laughed into the kiss, feeling lightheaded with joy when Larissa echoed your laugh, her breath warm against your mouth. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered against her lips, disbelief still coursing through your veins along with a healthy dose of adrenaline.
“You do,” she whispered back, smiling, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. “You deserve the world.”
“Lucky I have you then, I guess…”
“Auntie Rissy,” Alice exclaimed with a tug on Larissa’s skirt, making the both of you look down at her. “Look!” She held up a new doll she’d gotten, an expectant look on her face as she waited for Larissa’s approval of the gift, one she’d previously told Larissa she was hoping to receive.
“You got her,” Larissa said warmly, brushing a hand through Alice’s hair and grinning as Alice nodded excitedly up at her. You glanced up to see Deanna watching you with a knowing smirk, holding back a thousand and one comments that would probably come out later, in private — after all, if Larissa’s lipstick was smudged across half her face, you could only imagine how your own face looked.
“Don’t,” you warned Deanna, and Larissa tilted her head, giving you a quizzical look — you shook your head, a blush rising in your cheeks. “Forget it.”
“You have a little…” Larissa lifted her thumb to the corner of your mouth to wipe off some lipstick and you laughed.
“Just a little?”
“Alright, a lot… perhaps we should go wash our faces?”
“Perhaps?” you teased with a grin. “Perhaps… later…” you murmured, pressing your lips to hers again — pleased when she responded immediately and with urgency. “Merry Christmas, Larissa,” you mumbled into the kiss.
Human relationships are not transactional but they are reciprocal, which I think many of you with your ‘i don’t owe anyone anything’ shtick are too happy to forget
Transactional: everything has to be exactly 50/50 all the time, pay me back for the £5 sandwich or buy me something worth exactly £5, I refuse to make an effort for you if there’s nothing in it for me
Reciprocal: you were there for me when I needed help, and I’m going to do the same for you, it doesn’t matter if one of us needs more or is capable of less, because the point is not equivalent exchange but mutual care
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A/N: happy Monday :p long overdue I think ♡ just a warning, I do think next week's chapter (13) will end up being the last in this fic - as devastating as that is to say. We'll see how writing goes this week 🫧 hope you are all well!!
Deep breaths.
Stopping just outside of your bedroom, you paused for a moment to steel your nerves — and to see if you could hear anything from inside (you couldn’t). You gripped the door handle — why were your hands sweating so much? With a slight ringing in your ears and a suffocating tightness in your chest, you pushed the door open and slipped inside the bedroom, closing the door gently behind you.
Something in your chest loosened the moment you saw Larissa sitting on the edge of your bed, donning cream-colored silk pajamas that hung off her collarbone and clung to her chest, leaving visible the weight of her breasts and the faint outline of her nipples. She was pulling pins carefully from her hair, one by one, methodically tugging each individual curl loose and placing the pins gently beside her into a small, ornate tin. One by one, her curls spilled onto her shoulders, down her back, looking silken in the dim light of the lamp on your bedside table and shining almost yellow in its warm glow, like spun gold.
Larissa looked up as you clicked the door shut and, if you hadn’t been so distracted by how otherworldly she looked sitting in the mundanity of your childhood bedroom, you might have noticed the slight hitch of her breath, or the subtle bob of her throat.
You leaned with your back against the door for a moment, drinking her in, trying to find both the right words to say, and the voice to say them in. “Do you want help?” was all that ended up coming out, in a choked sort of way that made you wish the ground beneath your feet would swallow you whole.
Larissa inclined her head. “Please,” she said quietly, and you took the invitation to sit beside her at the edge of the bed.
Angling your body towards her, you reached up with a trembling hand and pulled at a pin on the left side of her head, loosening the curl that it clung to. “You know, I’m in awe of your hair… It must be so much work, to pin it all up like this every day.”
A ghost of a smile passed across Larissa’s lips. “I find it meditative.”
“You would.” You chuckled as you reached across her lap, dropping the pin into the little tin — it clattered as it joined its companions. As you pulled your arm back it brushed against Larissa’s chest and you felt her suck in a sharp breath. You reached up again, this time taking one of her loose curls between your fingers. It was impossibly soft, and you rubbed the pad of your thumb down the strands of hair, watching them catch the light. When you glanced up Larissa was watching you carefully, her own face cast half in shadow.
You twisted the curl once around your finger then tucked it gently behind her ear, trailing your fingertips down the side of her neck and along the curve of her jaw. As your fingers reached her chin, Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted, and you could feel a subtle shudder against your side.
“Breathe,” you whispered, your own voice pathetically breathy, and Larissa let out a shaky exhale. Gripping her chin between your forefinger and thumb, you tilted it towards you with a gentle downward tug — Larissa let you maneuver her with ease, her eyes still closed and her hands gripping the edge of the bed on either side of her, her pinky brushing against your thigh. You leaned up, your gaze fixed on her lips — devoid of lipstick, a pale pink. Her tongue darted out, leaving behind a thin sheen of saliva. The action made you shudder in anticipation, and your own eyes threatened to fall shut as you felt her shallow breaths fan across your face. “May I kiss you?” you whispered hoarsely, and Larissa’s answer came in the form of her closing the distance between the two of you.
The slight edge of desperation that had marked your first kiss was absent this time. This time, when your lips met Larissa’s, it was slow and unhurried, a gentle press as your hand slid from her chin to her cheek, cupping it as you angled your head a bit more to the side. Larissa began to slowly relax, the tension dropping from her neck and shoulders as she melted into the kiss, her grip on the bed loosening, her hands finding the tops of your thighs, your free hand gripping her hip as the hand on her cheek slid further back, fingers curling behind her ear.
You pulled back just a fraction of an inch to take a breath, then kissed her again, parting your lips this time, waiting for her to do the same before teasing your tongue against her bottom lip. Her fingers twitched against your thighs and her tongue teased you back, licking at your lip just as your own tongue retreated, making a soft noise escape the back of your throat. Larissa’s breath quickened and heat began to pool low in your belly.
Without thinking you pushed yourself up onto your knees and swung one leg over Larissa’s lap — bringing your knee right down on the open tin filled with pins. You hissed, wincing as it dug sharply into your skin and tipped over, spilling the pins across the sheets and onto the floor.
“Shit,” you hissed, pulling back from the kiss. “I’m sorry.” You started to collect the pins from the bed and drop them back into their tin, your cheeks burning. Larissa let out a chuckle, catching your wrist with her hand to still your movements and guide your arm to rest on her shoulder. You met her gaze, your brow furrowing — the look in her eyes, her lowered lids and blown pupils, stole the breath right out of your lungs.
“Leave them,” she said, pushing the tin roughly to the side and placing her hands on your hips, keeping you in place against her.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you again all day,” you admitted hoarsely, stroking your thumb absently across her cheekbone.
Larissa’s fingers flexed against your hips, her lips brushed against yours, teasing and feather-light, her breath warm. “What about our agreement?” she echoed her words from the kitchen earlier, though her voice was softer, laced with something that sounded a lot like hope — it made you feel like you were simultaneously being cracked wide open and stitched back together again.
“Fuck our agreement. Be my girlfriend for real. Please.” The words spilled out of your mouth unbidden but the second you spoke them, you knew they were what you had wanted to say all along.
There was an almost desperate edge to the way that Larissa crashed her lips against yours, her fingers tightening against your hips. “I thought you’d never ask,” she mumbled into the kiss, her voice deep and laced with amusement as it vibrated into your mouth. Heat shot straight to your core, every nerve-ending in your body seemingly alight as you pressed your hips forward against Larissa’s stomach, not quite grinding but seeking full-body contact in any way you could get it. Your arms wound tighter around her neck, as if you were trying to fuse your body to hers — as if you were trying to burrow under her skin and build a home there.
“Is that a yes?” you mumbled between heated kisses, caring very little for how desperate you sounded.
Larissa let out a surprised giggle into your mouth, her lips twitching. “Yes. Yes, darling, yes.” It pleased you that she sounded just as pathetic as you did and you smiled back — the way your teeth clashed with hers only served to make you grin harder.
“Stop smiling so much,” she husked, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s making it difficult to kiss you…”
A giddy laugh bubbled out of your chest, her words making it difficult not to smile even harder. You mumbled an apology into her mouth, only to be met with another laugh when the kiss turned slightly sloppy.
You pushed Larissa gently back against the mattress, guiding her down and covering her body with your own as you made out. The soft noises that began to escape her throat were downright addictive, radiating straight down your spine towards your core and making your toes curl. She was obviously very vocal, her breath coming in heavy and loud against your mouth as her hands splayed across your lower back and hips, holding you in place against her — it made your head spin.
Searching for the bottom of her shirt, you pushed it up just enough to slip beneath it, feeling the soft skin of her stomach beneath your bare hands. You ran them up her sides and she arched into your touch, pushing her rib cage against your palms.
“How are you even real?” you mumbled into Larissa’s mouth as the tips of your thumbs brushed against the bottom of her breasts, making you both shudder in unison. You’d never felt anything quite as soft as the underside of Larissa’s breasts and you dared to run your fingertips along them, eliciting a gasp from the older woman.
“Darling, don’t tease…” she murmured breathlessly. She pulled back from the kiss ever so slightly, opening her eyes, and you met her gaze to find her pupils completely blown, her face flushed a delightful shade of pink.
Her hands flexed against your tailbone, dangerously close to your ass, and you couldn’t help but buck your hips against her, your own cheeks turning red as you huffed out a laugh. “If I’m not allowed to tease then you aren’t either.”
Larissa gave you a shy smile, blinking coyly as she ducked her head in apology. “Sorry,” she said, sliding her hands a bit higher on your back. “Perhaps we should slow down a bit…?”
The implied question made a bolt of desire lance straight through you. Looking down at Larissa, with her darkened gaze and kiss-swollen lips and messy curls, it took every ounce of restraint in your body not to ravish her on the spot. Every bit of your own desire and arousal were mirrored back at you in the woman beneath you, the woman who was impossibly soft and pleasantly warm and unbelievably gorgeous.
With an unsteady sigh, you shook your head, though you were unable to keep the sheer want out of your expression. “Maybe…” You huffed, frustrated. “I want you so bad, I just don’t know if I want to do that… here…” you whispered hoarsely. Your thumbs traced idle patterns at the top of her ribs, just beneath her breasts, the action simultaneously grounding and torturous.
Larissa’s understanding smile was nothing short of your undoing. She gave you a peck on the lips and shifted you both onto your sides, facing each other. “As long as I can still kiss you,” she murmured, her lips once again seeking yours. Smiling, you closed the distance, kissing her again, and again, and again.
“I’d be very upset if you didn’t,” you murmured before brushing your tongue into her mouth with a slow, teasing stroke that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Kissing Larissa was intoxicating — you found yourself craving the feeling of her lips upon yours the second you parted, like some sort of addict. Like no amount of contact would ever be enough to satiate your need for her proximity. Your fingers tangled in her hair and your legs intertwined with her own, and you let yourself be entirely engulfed by her.
Somewhere between serving Larissa hot chocolate every week at the Weathervane and pretending to date her for the sake of your family, you’d fallen for her so deeply that imagining a scenario where you drove her back to Nevermore after Christmas and pretended as though nothing had happened between you felt a lot like ripping your own heart out of your chest. You could hardly fathom the thought.
“I wish we’d been doing this all week,” you confessed softly between kisses, and Larissa smiled as she pulled back to look at you, her fingers curling into the back of your shirt.
“I wish we had been, too.”
You felt your heart skip a beat, your stomach fluttering pleasantly. “Really?”
Larissa nodded, her nose brushing lightly against yours.
“I wasn’t sure… I felt…” You took a breath, your gaze drifting briefly over Larissa’s shoulder as you struggled for words. “I think I was too busy worrying if I was massively overstepping to notice if you liked me or not,” you said finally, your cheeks burning. “You do like me, right?”
Larissa let out a chuckle and you felt her hand cup your cheek, gently guiding you to meet her gaze. Mirth sparkled in her eyes as they danced between your own. “I thought that was clear when I agreed to be your girlfriend.”
“Well…” When she put it like that… “I mean, yeah, okay, but before that?”
“I liked you before that, too,” she confessed, her voice low and certain.
“How long before?” you dared ask, holding your breath.
Larissa hesitated visibly, her long fingers tightening twitching against your cheek, her gaze flitting away from yours for a moment before she seemingly forced it back to your own. “I think I realized at your parent’s Christmas party that I wanted this to mean more than I thought it did. Though,” she swallowed thickly, “if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’d have come here at all if I didn’t already like you a little bit.”
Her confession made you feel dizzy and you closed your eyes, dropping your forehead against hers. “Oh.” You couldn’t help but let out a relieved laugh. “I feel silly for worrying so much.”
“If it helps at all, so do I,” Larissa retorted with a smile, her lips pressing briefly against yours once again. “I’ve been dreading the moment we go back to Jericho and nothing has changed between us.”
“And here I was thinking you couldn’t wait to get away from my family and this tiny bed,” you teased, making Larissa laugh again — a sound that you were quickly becoming addicted to.
“I meant it when I said I’ve been thoroughly enjoying myself. Your family is lovely, and I would miss them terribly.”
“Ohhh, you’d miss them, would you? Do I even factor in at all?”
“Oh hush, darling, you know exactly what I mean. After I kissed you in the car I was afraid I’d never be able to show my face at the Weathervane again.”
“As if that would deter me… I’d probably have started leaving little hearts on your to go cups.”
Larissa’s cheeks turned pink. “Flattery will get you very far,” she said, her voice dangerously low.
You grinned. “Oh, will it? And if I tell you that you’re genuinely the most radiant woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and that I thought you were so far out of my league that I couldn’t even entertain the thought of liking you?”
You’d never seen another person turn so red so quickly before and it almost made you laugh. Larissa’s eyes widened and her grip tightened against your cheek, her palm turning almost clammy — you reached up to take her hand in your own and hold it between your chests.
“You can’t be serious,” she murmured breathlessly, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. She huffed. “I’m not out of anyone’s league.”
“Okay, most people would definitely disagree with that,” you argued. “Have you seen yourself?”
“Darling, please–”
You cut Larissa off with a deep kiss, pressing your torso against her own and slotting your leg between hers, cradling her jaw gently in your hand and feeling the muscles there flex as she parted her lips to slip her tongue into your mouth. “So beautiful,” you hummed, reveling in the soft little moan Larissa let out as your tongue flicked against hers.
You could have kissed her forever, until you were both breathless and dizzy, until you were so deliriously tired that you could hardly keep your eyes open. As the hour grew later and later, the sky outside an inky black and dotted with stars, snow fell just outside your bedroom window and frosted over the windowpane. The house was silent, as though there was a bubble around your bed, keeping everything else out except the warmth of Larissa’s body and the sound of her heavy breaths and whispered words.
Larissa pulled back and rested her head against your shoulder, stifling a yawn — you nuzzled your nose against the top of her hair, her scent sending a ripple of tranquility through you. “Let’s get some sleep? We’ll have to be up early for presents anyway…”
“I almost forgot about Christmas…” she mused with a chuckle, lifting her head to meet your gaze with a sleepy smile as you reached down to fumble with the blankets, tugging them out from beneath the both of you and making sure to tuck them carefully around her.
The room was bathed in shadow when you flicked off the lamp on the bedside table. For a moment, it was too dark to see anything — then, as your eyes adjusted, you could make out the faint outline of Larissa’s face in front of you, her hair a silvery halo backlit by the moon outside.
And, above you, those glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling.
“Goodnight, Larissa,” you whispered, nuzzling as close to her as humanly possible, allowing your hand to rest on the curve of her waist.
“Goodnight,” she whispered back, her breath ghosting across your face. “Sleep well, my love.”
Warmth bloomed in your chest, unfurling like a flower. My love.
A/N: I just finished this chapter this morning as last week was so busy and then the weekend was spent in London at the Sleaford Mods concert. When I tell you I am still in awe and shock at having been blessed to see Gwendoline's performance with my own two eyes from the front row... I am never ever getting over this, I fear. She was fucking incredible.
The house was bustling with action: Deanna was comforting a crying Ben, your mother was cursing over something from the other room, Dan was helping your father set up a tripod in the living room. The dog started barking the moment Larissa stepped across the threshold into the front hallway, making her jump back nervously.
You closed the door behind yourself and your mother, who had clearly been busy in the kitchen before you’d arrived, began to fuss over you, smoothing some flyaway hairs down even as you tried to duck away. “There you are! I was beginning to think we’d have to take the photo without you.” She took off her apron and tossed it onto a table by the door. “Larissa, dear, would you come with me a moment?”
Larissa glanced quizzically over her shoulder but you simply shrugged, your brow furrowing slightly. Turning again, she followed your mother down the hall into your parent’s bedroom, carefully side-stepping the dog with a wary glance.
Your mother closed the door behind Larissa, and the moment suddenly felt too familiar — like when Larissa had been in her first year at Nevermore and Morticia had invited her home for the summer, and Grandmama had shown Larissa how to conduct a proper séance while Morticia went out with her friends. She felt thirteen again.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for being too sentimental,” Joan started, pulling Larissa back into the present as she opened the top drawer of her dresser. Larissa made a soft noise of protest. “My daughter hasn’t brought anyone home in years — well, to be honest, she’s hardly been home at all in years. You’re good for her.”
Larissa listened in silence — she didn’t trust herself to speak, not when she could feel the ghost of your lips against her own, not when she wasn’t sure what the kiss meant for the two of you.
“Anyway,” Joan turned around, a necklace dangling from her index finger — a thin, gold chain with a small, teardrop-shaped sapphire pendant. Larissa’s heart stuttered. “I thought of this the moment I first saw you. It’s just about the same color as your eyes.”
Larissa looked away instinctively. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tight, carefully restrained.
“It was a gift from Henry when we first started dating. Between the two of us,” Joan lowered her voice conspiratorially, “He’s a sweet man but absolutely clueless. I haven’t worn it since, blue isn’t my color.” Larissa forced a smile, though she could hardly hear a word your mother was saying over the rush of her pulse in her ears. “I’d like you to have it.”
There they were, the words she’d known were coming the moment she laid eyes on the necklace. Larissa silently willed Joan to take them back, but it seemed to be her unlucky day, as the woman pressed on.
“It would suit you so well.” Joan unclipped the clasp and walked around Larissa, and she felt her throat tighten.
“I couldn’t possibly–”
“Please,” Joan insisted, placing the necklace around Larissa’s neck and doing the clasp from behind. In spite of herself, Larissa bent her knees and leaned back awkwardly, just so she wouldn’t have to feel Joan sway on her tip-toes behind her. “I see the way you two look at each other, it’s that same foolish look Henry always gives me. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time. Take it.”
Larissa swallowed thickly — the necklace was light and dainty, and yet it felt like a truckload of cement resting upon her sternum. Joan stood in front of Larissa then, smiling in satisfaction as she placed her hands on Larissa’s shoulders and turned her gently towards the window. The light caught the sapphire, sparkling a deep, rich blue in the afternoon sun. “It suits you.”
“Thank you,” Larissa said, almost robotically, her heart and her mind racing as she tried to force a smile.
“Thank you. Welcome to the family. Now–” Joan turned Larissa again, this time towards the bedroom door. “Let’s go take that photo, before we lose the natural light.”
Larissa allowed herself to be led back into the hallway and to the living room, her legs moving on autopilot. Something inside her felt fractured, and she had to trust that her years of putting on a confident persona as an educator and principal of Nevermore would pay off and carry her through the next few hours.
The rest of your family was already gathered in the living room, Deanna was combing Alice’s tangled hair, and you stood from the sofa the moment Larissa entered the room. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the necklace resting against Larissa’s sternum, and her hand flew up subconsciously to finger the pendant. “You okay?” you mouthed, your brow furrowed. Larissa inclined her head once, stepping to the side and leaning against the wall with her hands clasped in front of her as you and the rest of your family gathered in front of the Christmas tree and your father adjusted the camera.
“Oh, no, sweetheart, come here,” Joan said, waving Larissa over — her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“That’s alright,” she said quickly, the polite smile on her face masking the stab of anxiety that came with being in a family photo she didn’t think she had any right to be in.
She was helpless against your mother, though, who turned to you and insisted you pull Larissa into the frame. “I’m sorry,” you whispered as you took Larissa’s hand.
Larissa smoothed a hand over her hair, picked at an invisible piece of lint on the front of her dress, straightened the necklace — when she glanced down and caught your gaze, you were suppressing a smile.
“You look great,” you murmured, your voice slightly husky, and Larissa willed her legs not to buckle. Your arm wound around her waist, pulling her tightly into your side, your fingers splaying across her hip as your dad clicked the shutter and quickly hurried into position beside your mom. When you released her from your grip after the photos were taken, Larissa wasn’t even sure if she had smiled for them.
She felt torn. She knew she should be happy, over the moon. You’d obviously reciprocated the kiss, enthusiastically so — the moan you’d let out when she’d tugged your hair seemed to ring in her ears even now, hours later. And you were smiling at her, even flirting with her — that was almost more than she’d ever dared hope for.
And yet, Larissa couldn’t help the guilt that kept creeping in throughout the evening, and it seemed that everything that happened only intensified the feeling. The weight of the necklace on her chest. Your mother asking her to set the table for dinner. The way your sister trusted her with questions about school choices for Alice and Ben. When Alice called her “Auntie Rissy”, with the sharp lisp on the s’s, and tugged at her sleeve to show her, very proudly, how one of her bottom teeth was loose now, too.
Or when you’d all settled in the living room after dinner and Ben waddled over to her, of all people, and insisted on sitting on her lap.
Larissa wound her arms around your nephew as he rested against her, his eyelids growing heavy, and gently stroked his soft curls. She glanced down at him to see his chubby cheek smushed against her chest, and she couldn’t help but press a feather-light kiss to the crown of his head, her heart fit to bursting.
Watching you laugh with your sister, she realized she would miss this. Your family. You. In spite of being thrown in the deep end at every turn, she’d never felt so accepted or cared for outside of Nevermore before. Never just been part of a family without expectation or pretense. She truly felt like part of your family, and it was clear that they felt the same.
Except she wasn’t, not really, and that was where the guilt and anxiety found their point of attack. She wasn’t your real girlfriend, this wasn’t some fairytale or cheesy Hallmark Christmas rom-com, this was her real life. And her real life was never this easy. The “relationship” was based on a lie for your family’s sake, and she was, first and foremost, your friend — you’d drive her back to Nevermore after the holidays and things would go back to the way they were and then, in a few months’ time, you’d break the “news” to your family that it hadn’t worked out, that the two of you had broken up. Just like you’d planned from the beginning, Larissa reminded herself. She imagined your sister comforting you, and Alice asking where Auntie Rissy was when you visited for Easter, and your mother regretting giving Larissa that necklace, and how awkward it would be for your family to have to see her in that Christmas photo for years to come.
Larissa knew she was only hurting her own feelings at this point, but she couldn’t bear the alternative — the sting of inevitable disappointment if she allowed herself to hope that the kiss actually meant something to you.
“Oh, look at the time! We’d better get you two to bed, otherwise Santa will have to skip this house.” Deanna’s voice was loud, and it broke Larissa from the strange, somber trance she found herself in.
Alice immediately sprung up from the sofa and ran towards the hall in a near-panic, and all of the adults in the room laughed. Ben stirred at the sudden noise, and Larissa was reminded that she was cradling him against her chest, and that she ought to let go and let Deanna carry him to bed. She carefully handed him to your sister, smiling weakly.
~~~
There was a reluctance in the way that Larissa handed Ben over to Deanna that gnawed at your heart. She had been distant all evening — present, of course, laughing at jokes, talking with your family as if she’d known them for years, but there were moments when she wasn’t being spoken with where she would be staring off into space with a faraway look in her eyes, where you nudged her or asked her a question and she seemed almost startled.
Not that you could blame her, exactly, when your thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only — the kiss. The feeling of Larissa’s tongue brushing against yours, of her hands tangling in your hair, tugging gently. The way she’d moaned, playing over and over again in your mind like a broken record, making it hard to concentrate on anything else at all.
Larissa had kissed you, and now she could hardly look at you — and you had no idea what to do with that.
Now that her lap was free, you dared to scoot a bit closer to her on the sofa, placing a tentative hand on her thigh. You could feel the muscles tense beneath your fingers and you nearly pulled away, but then they relaxed again. Glancing up, you could see the lights from the tree reflected in Larissa’s eyes, casting shadows across her hair, and you found your gaze drawn to plush, red lips, remembering how they’d felt pressed to yours. You licked yours subconsciously — and then you remembered your family’s presence and quickly looked away, refocusing on the story your sister’s husband was telling.
Larissa’s hand came to rest on your own, her pinky slotting perfectly next to yours, twitching — then she gave your hand a subtle squeeze. You looked up to see the ghost of a smile on her face, and you smiled back and rested your head against her shoulder, the warmth radiating off of her making you feel cozy and a bit sleepy as snow fell outside. It felt right, to be leaning against her like this, as if everything in your life until this point had been leading you to this exact moment. As if you’d never wanted to be anywhere else, with anyone else.
It was starting to get late, and your sister asked for help setting the kids’ presents under the tree. You and Larissa headed to the kitchen to get some milk and cookies for Santa — and carrots for the reindeer, just as Larissa had suggested.
“Did my mother give that to you?” you asked, nodding to the sapphire pendant resting against Larissa’s chest. She turned a little pink, her hand flying to the pendant to straighten it subconsciously as she nodded. “It suits you… it’s the same color as your eyes.”
“That’s what your mother said as well,” Larissa replied, her voice tight as she poured some milk into a glass. You watched her for a moment, your brows drawn together in confusion.
“What’s wrong?”
Larissa frowned, opening her mouth as though she was about to argue — then she closed it again, putting the carton of milk back in the fridge.
“I feel guilty,” she said, so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it. Her back was turned to you, her shoulders a hard, tense line.
Her confession made your heart sink. “Guilty? Why?”
“She should have given this to you. Or your sister.”
“No,” you said quickly, reaching out for Larissa’s shoulder — tugging gently, trying to urge her to face you. “Of course she gave it to you. You deserve it. You’re basically family at this point.”
Larissa’s eyes darted between your own, searching. “Am I?”
“Of course you are.”
“What about our agreement?” she pushed.
You paused. She had a point. You hadn’t talked about the kiss yet — about what it could mean, if it even meant anything at all.
“I mean…” You lowered your voice slightly, afraid someone would hear. “Even if we’re not actually together, you still deserve to have the necklace. My mom still likes you.”
Larissa frowned. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, too close for your own comfort, and Larissa shrugged her shoulder out of your grip as your sister came into the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” Larissa said under her breath, pushing quickly past your sister, who leaned back against the counter with her arms folded across her chest and her head cocked to the side.
“What?” You couldn’t keep the irritation out of your voice at being interrupted yet again, every cell in your body aching with the urge to run after Larissa.
Deanna raised an eyebrow. “What were you guys talking about?”
“Nothing. None of your business,” you muttered.
“Nothing? Or none of my business?”
You rolled your eyes. “Both. Goodnight, Dee.”
Brushing past your sister, you made a beeline for the hall — but her voice stopped you dead in your tracks.
“What did you mean when you said you’re not actually together?”
You swallowed thickly, refusing to turn around and meet your sister’s gaze as your heart hammered in your chest. “Just drop it, please,” you murmured weakly, already knowing that your sister was far too nosy not to press you for information.
“Who is Larissa, really?”
A heavy sort of silence settled over the kitchen. You turned, leaning against the counter for support. The knot forming in your stomach tightened. Who was Larissa to you, actually? How could you possibly explain to your sister that you’d spent the past few days pretending to have a girlfriend just for your parents’ sake? That every time you held her hand, even if it was just for show, it made your heart race? That somewhere in between asking Larissa to pretend to like you and kissing her in the car only a few hours prior, you’d fallen head over heels in love with the most incredible woman you’d ever known? You could lie again, of course you could, but you suddenly felt so tired.
“A friend,” you said finally.
“A ‘friend’? So you lied to us?”
A wave of anger rose within you and you opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. You couldn’t really argue — you had lied to your family, after all.
“Please don’t tell mom and dad…” you whispered.
“So do you… like like her?” Deanna asked, and you finally met her gaze. You could feel your hands begin to tremble and balled them into fists.
“Yeah.”
“Then why don’t you ask her out for real?”
You huffed. “Why do you think? I don’t want to ruin our friendship… What if she says no?”
Deanna laughed, pinning you with an incredulous look that made you blush. “Why would she say no? I’ve never seen anyone look at you like she does before, it’s honestly really cute.”
Your throat suddenly felt impossibly dry, your stomach clenching. “H-how does she look at me?” you croaked out.
“Fuck, you’re useless,” Deanna rolled her eyes, pushing off the counter and turning to set the plates of cookies and carrots and the glass of milk on a tray. “Why don’t you go ask her yourself?”
Before you could answer she picked up the tray and carried it towards the living room, leaving you alone in the kitchen with only your racing thoughts and a shimmer of hope. There was a fluttering feeling taking root in your stomach and bubbling up through your ribcage, and your feet began to carry you down the hall and towards your bedroom — towards Larissa.
A/N: This may be my favorite chapter so far... hehe. Also. This is a "warning" that there may only be 2-3 more chapters left in this story, depending on how writing the rest goes and how I end up splitting up the remaining storyline. As much as I don't want it to be over ever 😭 Anyway, enjoy and have the loveliest Monday you could possibly have ❣️
“Fancy seeing you here! Merry Christmas Eve.”
Larissa had to repress the urge to roll her eyes at the cheeriness in your ex’s voice.
“Hi, Taylor,” you said stiffly, though you rose from your seat to hug her. She held on just a little too long for Larissa’s liking, her hand a little too low on your back, and Larissa felt a vein in her forehead pulse with the onset of a headache.
“Larissa, is that right?” Taylor asked as she let go of you, turning her head towards the shapeshifter. Larissa nodded curtly, her face set in what she hoped was a polite smile, and murmured a “hello.”
“I was gushing to my mom after the party about how cute you two are together — my mom says hi, by the way, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it.” Larissa couldn’t tell how sincere Taylor was being, and it rubbed her the wrong way — though it did please her in a sick, selfish sort of way that you didn’t seem nearly as happy to see your ex today as you had at the party.
“You’ll have to come over at some point, she would love to see you again,” she continued. Larissa looked down at the menu in front of her, running her finger along the laminated edge. Your ex had turned slightly, now speaking exclusively to you, and Larissa’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “When are you going back to Virginia?”
“Vermont,” Larissa interjected. Taylor glanced at her, feigning surprise, while you fidgeted nervously with your own menu.
“Vermont… I could’ve sworn you moved to Virginia. Well, anyway, don’t tell me you’re heading home right after Christmas?”
“We probably are, actually,” you said apologetically — the “we” caught Larissa slightly off-guard, and she fought a smile as she pretended to read through the appetizers section on the menu. “I might be able to pop by before we drive back, though.”
Like hell you would, Larissa thought. Especially not alone.
She was taken aback by her own thoughts — when had she gotten so possessive? You weren’t even hers, but something about your ex set her on edge. She didn’t deserve you, not with the way she’d treated you, and Larissa couldn’t bear to see you being so kind and forgiving. She wondered if you missed her, if you were still in love with her — if Taylor asked, would you give her a second chance?
“Honestly? I haven’t thought about her in years.” “I’d rather be with someone who cares about me and isn’t going to dump me on a whim, you know?”
How much of that had been true?
“I was hoping you’d be around longer, to be honest.” Taylor’s words made Larissa feel nauseous, and she toyed with the edge of her menu to keep her hands busy. “Seeing you at the Christmas party brought back so many memories — but I guess you won’t have time to catch up…?”
Larissa stiffened, bending the corner of the menu forcefully between her forefinger and thumb, leaving a permanent crease. When she looked up, she found your gaze flitting to the crease, and she quickly looked back down and read through the appetizer section for a third time, her cheeks pink and her jaw set. Get a grip, she chastised herself, fighting the unbearable urge to tear the menu apart entirely.
“Probably not.”
“Too bad…”
“Yeah, I’m not sure when we’ll be back, actually,” you said, your tone guarded. The subtle emphasis of the word ‘we’ll’ made Larissa’s heart stutter in her chest. “I’ve got the Weathervane, you know, that keeps me pretty busy, and Larissa has a school to run.”
“You really can’t get away from that café for a weekend?” Taylor said, ignoring your comment about Larissa entirely.
“Not really.”
Larissa knew that you were lying — your employees could handle the place for a day or two, you’d trained them well enough. Still, Taylor’s dismissive tone made Larissa bristle, and she excused herself to use the restroom, praying that Taylor would be gone by the time she got back.
She had no such luck — she stepped back out into the restaurant to see Taylor sitting across from you, in her seat, and her pulse skyrocketed. Her heels clicked aggressively against the checkered floor as she strode back over to the table, looming over your ex-girlfriend.
“Oh, sorry…” Taylor stood and excused herself quickly, telling you that her number hadn’t changed, and that you should call her. Her, “Bye, Larissa, was nice seeing you again,” was directed over her shoulder as almost an afterthought as she walked away, heading to her own booth near the front of the diner.
“I’m sorry about that,” you said quietly after a moment’s silence. “I didn’t think we’d run into her.”
“Why are you apologizing for her behavior?” Larissa cocked her head to the side, watching your brows furrow. You shrugged, slumping back in your seat and picking up your menu, though she could tell you weren’t really reading it.
“She’s not usually like that… or maybe she is — was — who knows…”
The waitress interrupted just then to take your order, though Larissa found her appetite had significantly diminished during the conversation with your ex. She ordered water and a salad and, for once, you didn’t tease her or encourage her to go for a more indulgent option — she wished you would, and her stomach twisted further.
“Would you like to see her before we leave?” Larissa asked when the waitress left, her voice flat and her face a mask of cool indifference as she leaned back in the booth.
You shrugged again, but your silence was unsettling. Larissa felt her palms begin to sweat.
“I don’t think so,” you murmured, your gaze finally meeting Larissa’s. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, each trying to decipher the look in the other’s eyes — the waitress cleared her throat as she set two cups of ice water on the table and tossed some straws beside them. The paper wrapping on the outside of the straws was already soggy from the condensation dripping off the red, plastic cups.
“You shouldn’t have to say no on my account,” Larissa forced out, even as everything in her screamed the opposite. She forced a smile, her gaze flickering down to the straws as she picked one up, plucked it from its wrapping.
“I’m not,” you replied, picking at the paper from your own straw. “I’d, uh… honestly rather just spend the time with my family. And with you. If that’s okay.”
Larissa’s heart did a cartwheel in her chest. “I wouldn’t say no to that,” she said carefully, watching as a smile broke out over your own face, as if the clouds over your head had suddenly parted. She couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile brought a flush to your cheeks that made her knees feel weak, and made her feel very glad that she was already sitting down. Neither of you fully registered when the waitress brought your food to the table.
“I’m still sorry about dragging you into all of this but I can’t lie, this is the best Christmas I’ve had in years,” you admitted, a soft smile gracing your lips that made something in Larissa’s chest loosen.
She found herself distracted by the way you ran your fingers along absently over the condensation on the outside of your cup — the way they brushed along the plastic, the way the beads of water clung to your skin. She shook her head as if to dislodge a train of thought, her gaze going, instead, to the window.
“Don’t be sorry… I’m not,” she murmured, remembering all of the years she’d spent holed up in her quarters at Nevermore for the holidays, hardly even leaving to go to the staff lounge, passing the time with stacks of paperwork, a little too much red wine, and re-reading her favorite novels. The last few years she hadn’t even bothered with a tree or decorations.
“Thank you for being my fake girlfriend,” you said, and the words sounded a bit far away, your teasing tone gently tugging Larissa back into the present moment. She glanced at you and the smirk on your face made her heart constrict.
“Yes… well… thank you for inviting me,” she said faintly.
The rest of lunch felt so much like a date that Larissa almost found herself a bit disoriented — in fact, it was nicer than most of the dates Larissa had been on in her adult life. You even insisted on paying and Larissa, still stuck somewhere halfway between the present moment and Christmases past, was too distracted to protest. She walked half a step behind you as you headed for the door and, when you passed by the table where Taylor sat with some friends, Larissa’s hand came to rest on your lower back of its own accord. She could feel Taylor’s eyes on her, and she opened the door and guided you gently through it, suddenly caring very little for the appropriateness of her fingers brushing against your waist.
On the way home you gave Larissa a guided tour of your hometown — your past. You drove past the school you’d gone to, the playground where you’d had your first kiss at age 11 with some boy named Matthew, the animal shelter where you’d gotten your childhood dog, the movie theater that you frequented in high school, the river — currently frozen solid — that you and your sister used to play by in the summer.
Every detail fascinated Larissa — every story you told, every street corner or shop that you pointed out. Little fragments of your life, snippets of the person you used to be, the person she recognized sitting beside her, talking animatedly about the summer where you’d flown off your bike and broken your arm a week before school started, and how you’d gotten everyone to sign your cast. Larissa remembered her own hometown, dozens of fragmented memories. She wished she could show you where she came from and who she’d once been — her thoughts were going down a dangerous path and, for once, she couldn’t be bothered to stop them.
There was a moment when you pulled into the driveway and cut the engine where neither of you made a move to leave the car, savoring the brief silence without the hum of the engine or the crunch of gravel beneath the tires, without the light tinkling of the radio or the gentle buzz of traffic. Larissa took her gloves into her hands, smoothing her fingers over the light creases in the worn leather. Exhaling slowly, she could see her breath in the rapidly cooling car, though the absence of the car’s heater did nothing to cool the lingering warmth creeping through her veins like ivy.
Larissa looked over to see you watching her and the air shifted almost instantly, charged with something heavy, something undefinable. Something like a magnetic pull dragged her towards you over the center console — just a fraction — each of her senses sharp, tingling. You leaned in as well, just slightly, and then, before Larissa could second guess herself, she closed the distance between you, one hand tenderly cupping your cheek as her lips pressed against yours.
The entire world stilled around Larissa when your lips met, frozen in time — and then it began to melt away, everything outside of the softness of your lips and the warmth of your cheek and the scent of your perfume fading into the background.
Larissa’s tongue teased your lips, gently coaxing them open, sliding against your own velvety tongue. A shiver ran down her spine as you titled your head to get a better angle, your cold nose brushing against her skin — she felt the ghost of a smile on your lips and a strange, strangled noise sounded at the back of her throat. A tug at the collar of Larissa’s coat told her that you were groping blindly at it, and she slid her hand from your cheek back into your hair, nails brushing against your scalp — she felt you shiver, and it was her turn to smile into the kiss.
Her tongue flicked against yours, the start to a passionate tango, her breath coming in harder pants and her fingers tangling lightly into your hair, eliciting the most delicious, head-spinning moan from deep within your chest.
A frantic tapping at the driver’s side door made the two of you jump apart so fast that it disoriented you both. You looked at Larissa, dazed, her lipstick smeared around your mouth — the sight damn near undid her entirely.
The tapping continued, and Alice’s voice sounded, slightly muffled through the closed door as she called your name.
“You’ve got…” Larissa’s voice trembled (though she could hardly hear it over the sound of her own heart, pounding wildly in her throat) and she used her thumb to wipe away the lipstick on your chin.
“Th-thanks… you too…” You brushed the corner of your sleeve against the tip of Larissa’s nose — she shuddered.
Alice’s tapping continued and Larissa could see the reluctance with which you tore yourself away from her to open the car door for your niece — the cold air rushing in and settling immediately in Larissa’s bones.
“What is it, sweetheart?” you asked your niece urgently as she crawled into your lap.
“Missed you!” She giggled, throwing her arms around your neck. “Grandma said it’s picture time.”
Larissa’s brow furrowed and you chuckled. “The annual family Christmas photo,” you explained. Your voice was hoarse and your cheeks were flushed, and you had this strange look in your eyes that Larissa couldn’t quite decipher. She swallowed thickly, nodding and reaching for the car visor out of habit to flip it down and check her lipstick.
“Then we’d better get inside, hadn’t we?” she said with a cheeriness forced for your niece’s sake, not quite trusting her own voice.
Out of the corner of her eye, Larissa saw you nod as you watched her, though she refused to meet your gaze. “Alice, sweetheart, can you go inside and give us a minute?”
A sudden flutter of nerves rose in Larissa’s stomach and she snapped the car visor up as Alice skipped back up to the house. She sat perfectly still, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you didn’t. You both sat there, staring ahead of you at the closed garage door, the air in the car thick and heavy and strangely warm.
“So,” you started, right as Larissa said, “Should we–”
You chuckled and she let out a breathless laugh in return, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. “Go ahead,” she said, her lips twitching as she suppressed a smile, even as her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.
“That was, um…” you started again, pausing as you struggled for words. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, almost as if savoring the taste of her, and Larissa felt almost lightheaded at the gesture. “What was that for?”
Larissa felt her cheeks burn and she opened her mouth to respond, but the front door to the house flung open and your mother stood in the doorway calling out to you, and you let out a groan, dropping your head against the steering wheel with a dull thud.
“Coming, mom,” you called out through the open door, your voice laced with irritation — though your eyes were bright and happy when you glanced over at Larissa. “Later?” you whispered, and Larissa felt her heart skip a beat as she nodded. Later.
A/N: I believe most of you know why I haven’t updated this series in a year, despite it being the most popular on my blog. The harassment some people sent my way about this fic genuinely stopped me from feeling any sense of joy at the thought of writing more chapters. I reread it a few weeks ago—nostalgia—and it made me want to write another chapter, so I did. I suggest rereading the previous part(s) before diving into this new chapter. I hope you’ll enjoy it and that it was worth the wait, I would love if you’d let me know your thoughts on this.
Something was wrong before either of you admitted it.
You noticed it in the way Larissa folded her dress with excessive care, smoothing invisible creases from the fabric as though she could iron out whatever had unsettled her evening. She did not reach for wine. She did not glance at you the way she usually did when you crossed the room. Her eyes avoided yours—not suspiciously, but deliberately.
You told yourself you were imagining it.
When you slipped into bed, you left space for her, as you always did. She usually closed that space without hesitation. Tonight, she lay down carefully on her back, staring at the ceiling as if she were studying architectural flaws in the plaster.
You waited.
You watched the faint rise and fall of her chest.
You moved closer first, pressing a soft kiss beneath her jaw. It had always been an easy place, one gentle touch and she would respond. A quiet inhale, a tightening of her grip at your waist, some low instruction whispered into your hair.
Tonight, she inhaled.
And did nothing.
You brushed your fingers over her ribs, tentative at first, then more certain.
Her hand came down over yours—not forcefully, but firmly enough to stop you.
“I don’t think I can tonight,” she said.
The words were quiet. Almost polite.
You pulled back slightly, searching her face. “Can’t?”
“I’m tired.”
You almost laughed at that. Larissa Weems had worked twelve-hour days and still pulled you into her lap with command in her voice and hunger in her eyes. She had never been too tired.
“Did I do something?” you asked.
Her gaze snapped to yours too quickly. “No. Of course not.”
The quickness unsettled you more than the refusal.
She turned away from you after that, offering you her back, the curve of her shoulder exposed but unreachable.
You lay there staring at the ceiling long after her breathing evened out. The distance between your bodies felt wider than the mattress allowed.
It did not fix itself the next night.
Or the night after.
You tried again on the fourth evening—not seductively, not dramatically. You simply rested your hand on her thigh while you lay beside her, your thumb tracing the familiar line just above her knee.
She stiffened.
It was subtle, but you felt it like an electric current.
“Not tonight,” she murmured again.
You swallowed. “You said that three nights ago.”
She closed her eyes.
“Are you not attracted to me anymore?” The question left you before you could stop it, and you hated how small it sounded.
Her eyes opened instantly. “Don’t.”
“Then what am I supposed to think?” Your voice sharpened without permission. “Because I am not stupid, Larissa.”
She pushed herself upright in bed, running a hand through her hair in a rare display of agitation. “It isn’t you.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and unfinished.
She reached for you then, not with desire, but with something gentler—almost careful. She pulled you against her chest and held you there like something fragile.
You let her.
But you did not relax.
The shift eventually bled into daylight.
She still made your coffee the way you liked it. Still brushed your hair away from your face when you leaned over her desk. Still welcomed you with an embrace when you came home from your classes.
But the heat was gone.
The possessiveness softened into something distant.
You found yourself watching her instead of leaning into her.
One evening, you stood in the doorway of her office and said, very evenly, “Did something happen with her?”
She did not look up immediately. When she did, her composure was flawless.
“No.”
The lie was smooth.
Too smooth.
You nodded as though you believed her.
You did not.
Morticia did not wait long to return once more.
Larissa found her seated in her office two days later, dressed in black velvet as though grief itself had taken physical form.
“You didn’t answer my message,” Morticia said pleasantly.
“I have nothing further to discuss with you.”
Morticia smiled, slow and deliberate. “You kissed me, Larissa.”
The words lingered in the air like smoke.
“It was a mistake.”
“Was it?” Morticia rose gracefully from her seat. “Because you seemed quite willing.”
Larissa’s jaw tightened.
“I will not be manipulated.”
Morticia stepped closer, voice lowering. “Does she know?”
“Do not.”
“Does she know,” Morticia repeated gently, “that you couldn’t resist me?”
The silence was answer enough.
Morticia’s smile deepened.
“You haven’t told her.”
“That is none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is,” Morticia said lightly. “Because if you don’t… I might.”
Larissa’s voice dropped.
“You wouldn’t.”
Morticia’s eyes gleamed.
“You underestimate me.”
That night, you had reached your limit.
You were not soft about it.
You were not patient.
You walked into her quarters and stood in front of her where she sat reading, and you took the book from her hands.
“Look at me.”
She did, her eyes already exhausted.
“What did you do?” you asked.
The directness startled her.
“I need you to be more specific.”
“No,” you said sharply. “You don’t get to do that. Something happened at dinner. You have not touched me in a week. You look at me like you’re afraid of something. So I will ask you again—what did you do?”
The silence that followed was no longer delicate.
It was heavy.
She rose from the couch slowly, as though preparing for impact.
“Morticia kissed me.”
Your breath stilled.
“And?” you asked.
She held your gaze.
“I did not stop her quickly enough.”
“Did you kiss her back?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
It felt as though something inside you cracked cleanly down the middle—not shattered, not explosive, just split.
You stepped back from her.
“You refused to touch me,” you said, your voice unnervingly calm.
She nodded once, barely perceptible. “I felt guilty.”
You laughed then—a sharp, brittle sound that did not belong to you. “How noble.”
“Do not mock this,” she said quietly. “I have hated myself for days.”
“You’ve hated yourself for days, and you said nothing.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?” Your voice rose now, anger finally surfacing. “After she did it again? After she told me herself? After you decided I was strong enough to handle it?”
“She threatened to tell you,” Larissa snapped.
The admission hung there.
Your anger cooled instantly into something far worse.
“She threatened you,” you repeated slowly. “And you still did not tell me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth?” Your voice no longer shook. It flattened. “Or from losing control?”
She flinched at that.
“I chose you,” you said quietly. “I chose you when you told me you loved me. I chose you when you told me about your secret. And you chose to lie.”
“I did not choose her.”
“You kissed her.”
“One second,” she whispered.
“One second is enough.”
Silence again—but this time it was not heavy. It was empty.
You felt the anger drain from your body, leaving something colder behind.
“I can forgive weakness,” you said after a moment. “I cannot forgive being shut out.”
Her composure cracked then. Truly cracked.
“I was afraid you would leave.”
You met her eyes without heat.
“You do not get to decide that for me.”
The words landed with more force than shouting ever could have.
She took a step toward you.
You stepped back.
The distance between you was deliberate now.
“I need space,” you said.
Her face went still. “Will you leave?”
“No.”
But you did not reach for her.
That night, you lay again in the same bed with gap between your bodies. When she shifted slightly closer in her sleep, you did not move toward her.
You did not move at all.
The days after the confession were quiet.
Not explosive.
Not dramatic.
You did not scream.
You did not cry.
You simply withdrew.
You answered her questions politely. You allowed her to hold your hand in public, but you did not intertwine your fingers. At night, you turned away first.
She felt it.
Every inch of it.
Larissa Weems had always thrived in tension—in power dynamics, in control, in heat.
She did not know what to do with cold.
She stopped initiating entirely. She did not kiss you unless you leaned in first. She did not give instructions. She did not guide your hands.
She watched you instead.
Like she was waiting for a verdict.
Morticia sent a message.
I suppose honesty won, after all. Such a shame.
Larissa blocked her without ceremony.
And then she came home and found you standing by the window, arms wrapped around yourself.
“I will not see her again alone,” she said before you could speak. “I have already made that clear.”
You nodded.
“I should have told you immediately.”
“Yes,” you said calmly.
“I will not lie to you again.”
You looked at her then.
Truly looked at her.
“I don’t want promises,” you said. “I want partnership.”
Her throat tightened.
“I am here,” she said.
“For now,” you replied quietly.
That hurt her more than anger ever could have.
The letter arrived—ironically—on a Wednesday morning.
It was slipped beneath the door of Larissa’s quarters, cream-coloured envelope, thick paper, your name nowhere on it. Only hers.
Principal Larissa Weems Written in careful, slanted ink.
You weren’t looking for it. You hadn’t been snooping. You had only risen earlier than usual, unable to sleep beside the measured distance Larissa still kept between your bodies. When you stepped out of the bedroom, barefoot and heavy-eyed, the envelope was there, waiting.
You knew the handwriting immediately.
Elegant. Old-fashioned.
You stood there for a long moment before picking it up.
You told yourself you would only place it on her desk.
You did not tell yourself you would open it.
And yet.
The seal gave way beneath your thumb with quiet resistance.
Inside, a single sheet folded in half.
Larissa,
One last evening. The Velvet Vesper. Tonight, eight o’clock. I believe we both deserve a proper conclusion, don’t you?
I do hate unfinished business.
M.
You read it twice.
There was no threat written explicitly.
That made it worse.
You folded the letter carefully and slid it back inside the envelope.
You did not put it on the table, you kept it.
That evening, Larissa noticed something different.
You had been distant since her confession. Not cruel. Just… cooler. You no longer reached for her hand first. You no longer leaned into her side when you sat together. You no longer kissed her absentmindedly while she read.
She had accepted it.
She told herself she deserved it.
But that night, when you stood in the bedroom doorway and said, “I’m going out,” something inside her tightened.
“Out?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
She watched you button your coat, adjust your hair in the mirror. You did not look at her.
“With friends?” she asked carefully.
“No.”
The answer was quiet. Neutral.
She stepped closer without thinking. “May I ask where?”
You finally turned toward her, the expression in your eyes unreadable.
“Do you trust me?”
The question struck harder than accusation ever could have.
“Yes,” she said immediately.
You held her gaze for a second longer, then nodded.
“I’ll be back later.”
You left before she could ask anything else.
Larissa stood there long after the door closed.
She did not know whether she felt jealousy—or fear.
The Velvet Vesper looked the same.
Dim lighting. Velvet seating. Soft jazz humming through the space like something expensive and restrained.
You had dressed carefully. Not provocatively. Not defensively. Simply composed.
Morticia was already there.
Of course she was.
She sat in the corner booth, dressed in silk that caught the low light like oil on water. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and when her eyes found yours, she smiled.
Not surprised.
Amused.
“You look younger than I expected,” she said as you approached.
You slid into the seat opposite her.
“And you look exactly as I imagined.”
Her smile deepened.
“So she told you about the letter.”
“No,” you replied evenly. “She didn’t see it.”
Something flickered in Morticia’s eyes.
Interest.
“How industrious of you.”
She leaned back slightly, studying you as though assessing a chess opponent.
“I must admit,” she said, “I thought Larissa would come.”
“She won’t.”
Morticia’s lips curved.
“Is that what she told you?”
“It’s what I’m telling you.”
A pause.
Then Morticia reached for her wine, taking a slow sip.
“She has always had a weakness for unfinished things.”
“Then consider this finished,” you replied.
Morticia tilted her head.
“You are very young.”
There it was.
You did not flinch.
“I’m aware.”
“We were the same age when we met,” Morticia continued softly. “We understood each other in ways that come only with time. History. Experience.”
You let the silence stretch before answering.
“And yet she chose me.”
Morticia’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“For now.”
The words were soft. Almost gentle—but meant to wound.
You felt the sting, but did not show it.
“Larissa and I share a bond forged over decades. You share… what? A few months of infatuation?”
Your jaw tightened.
“She loves me.”
Morticia’s expression shifted at that.
Briefly, almost imperceptibly.
“Love,” she repeated. “Larissa has loved before.”
“Yes,” you said quietly. “She has.”
The calmness in your voice unsettled her more than anger would have.
“You kissed her,” you said.
Morticia’s eyes gleamed.
“She kissed me back.”
“And you threatened to tell me.”
Morticia did not deny it.
“You were hoping to fracture something,” you continued. “You were hoping I would leave.”
Morticia leaned forward slightly.
“And will you?”
You met her gaze.
“No.”
The word landed with finality.
Something changed then.
Her amusement faded, replaced by something colder.
“You cannot possibly understand her the way I do.”
“I don’t need to understand her past to stand in her present.”
Morticia’s fingers tightened subtly around her glass.
“She will always have a part of herself that belongs to me.”
You stood slowly.
“No,” you said quietly. “She won’t.”
Morticia’s eyes narrowed.
“She gave in.”
“And she regretted it.”
You leaned closer, not threatening, but certain.
“You think you can pull her back with nostalgia. With tension. With memory.”
Morticia did not look away.
“You’re wrong.”
“And why is that?” she asked softly.
“Because she told me the truth.”
That hit.
You saw it.
The smallest flicker.
“She chose honesty over you,” you continued. “And you hate that.”
Silence—heavy now, not playful.
“You will leave her alone,” you said.
Morticia’s lips curved again, but it lacked warmth.
“And if I don’t?”
You held her gaze.
“Then you’ll prove that you never loved her. Only the control you had over her.”
That landed.
Morticia stood slowly.
Graceful as ever.
“You have more steel than I expected.”
You did not respond.
She stepped closer as she passed, voice low.
“Be careful. Larissa does not forgive betrayal easily.”
You did not turn.
“She doesn’t have to,” you said. “Because I won’t betray her.”
Morticia paused.
Then she left.
When you returned to Larissa’s quarters, it was nearly midnight.
She was awake, sitting at the kitchen table.
When you stepped inside, she stood immediately.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
You removed your coat slowly.
“Yes.”
She studied you carefully.
“Where were you?”
You pulled the envelope from your pocket and placing it on the table.
Her eyes fell to the handwriting.
Her face drained of colour.
“I intercepted it,” you said calmly. “She asked you to meet her. One last time.”
Larissa looked up at you.
“I went instead.”
Silence.
“You should not have,” she said softly.
“I know.”
A beat.
“Did she hurt you?”
You shook your head. “She tried.”
Larissa’s hands clenched at her sides.
“And?”
“I told her to leave us alone.”
Something in Larissa’s expression broke then.
“You should not have had to do that,” she whispered.
“Neither should you.”
The distance between you still existed.
But it felt… different now.
Not cold.
Not hollow.
Earned.
She stepped closer, cautiously.
“Why?” she asked.
You looked at her for a long moment.
“Because I am not competing with her,” you said. “And I am not running.”
Her breath caught.
“You are angry with me.”
“Yes.”
“And yet—”
“And yet,” you interrupted softly, “I’m still here.”
Larissa reached for your hand slowly, as though you might pull away.
You didn’t, not this time.
And when she pressed her forehead against yours, it wasn’t possessive.
It was grateful.
You slid your hands up her arms and around her shoulders, feeling the tension still coiled beneath her skin. She responded slowly, as if afraid that moving too quickly might fracture the moment.
When your lips met, it was nothing like before.
There was no urgency.
No claiming.
No command.
Just warmth.
Just the quiet recognition of two people who had nearly lost something precious.
Larissa’s hand settled at your waist, but she did not pull. She waited. When you pressed closer of your own accord, she exhaled softly against your mouth.
“Is this alright?” she murmured, the question brushing your lips.
You nodded, then answered properly. “Yes.”
That seemed to undo her more than anything else.
Her fingers trembled slightly as they moved beneath the hem of your shirt, exploring. As if reacquainting herself with something she had been afraid to touch.
You felt the difference immediately.
Before, she had led you.
Tonight, she followed.
You guided her back toward the bedroom slowly, your hands never leaving her. There was no rush. No dramatic stumble. Just measured steps and shared breath.
When she helped you out of your clothes, she paused between each piece, searching your face. Checking. Asking without speaking.
And you let her.
You sighed—whether of relief of pleasure, you weren’t sure—your legs falling open for her.
“I need you…” you whispered.
“I’m right here,” she replied, placing a soft kiss beneath your collarbone.
You shuddered, moving her hand between your thighs and letting her feel the dampness there.
Larissa closed her eyes, pressing her fingers between your folds, sliding through the slick skin.
She drew slow circles against your clit, smiling at the whine that left your lips. She shushed you quietly, cupping your cheek with her other hand.
“Please,” you begged, lips brushing against her thumb.
Larissa hummed softly, moving her fingers away from your clit. Her platinum hair fell in drapes as she kissed you, stroking your fevered skin. You whimpered into her mouth, your hips bucking against her hand on their own accord.
You thought you might faint when her fingers slipped further between your thighs, two of them finally pressing knuckle deep into you.
She relished in the blush that crept up your chest when her fingers began thrusting in and out of you, wet squelch filling the dim lit bedroom.
Larissa knew how to undo you—where to press, where to squeeze. So when her lips attached themselves to the thin skin of your neck, and her fingers pressed onto the spongy spot inside you, you couldn’t help but let out a string of moans.
You were close. Larissa knew, your walls pulsing dangerously around her fingers.
“Will you come for me, sweetling?” She breathed into your ear, her palm rubbing onto your clit with each thrust.
“Y-yes—“ you managed, “God—fuck!” You cried, hands finding purchase in Larissa’s white locks as your orgasm ripped through you.
You were shaking by the time she released you, her forehead pressed against yours.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I know,” you replied, kissing the corner of her lips.
Outside, somewhere in Jericho, Morticia Addams lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly into the night.
And for the first time in years—
She understood that Larissa Weems was no longer hers to haunt.
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