Summary: You and Larissa have been together for three years—or rather, had been. These past few months at Nevermore have been absolute chaos, and you’ve barely seen your girlfriend. You didn’t intend for things to end this way, and you’re not even sure if it was the right decision… but maybe it was for the best. Right?
Warnings: Angst. (Nothing else, I think...?)
Words: ~2.3K
A/N: Hi! This is the first fic I've written about Larissa (and only the second fic I've ever written in my life), so if anything seems off, please let me know :) Just have in consideration that I'm just starting out with writing, and English isn't my first language... I'm open to tips and constructive cirticism, as long as it's respectful, please <3
That said, here's this one-shot that came to me yesterday and I just couldn't resist writing it. Enjoy! :D
Each photo and video you scrolled through on your phone felt like another stab to your heart. You were curled up in bed, wrapped in the sheets, tears streaming down your cheeks.
You kept swiping through pictures and videos of your relationship with Larissa. Irreplaceable memories capturing your happiness, the love you had for each other, the care, respect, loyalty... All of it had gone down the drain in these past few months, and now you were hitting rock bottom, reliving those once joyful moments.
After three years together, you and Larissa had broken up. Well, technically, you had ended it. Ironic, wasn’t it? Suffering so much when the decision had been yours...
The problem was, it hadn’t been a well-thought-out decision. And even though you were starting to regret it now, your pride wouldn’t let you turn back. Why would I? You thought. To end up in the same place again? To keep waiting, and waiting, and waiting...
And part of you was right. Your mind replayed the argument from last weekend on a loop—the moment you’d had enough and stormed into Nevermore to confront her in her office, where she spent more time than anywhere else.
Larissa was furiously typing away at her computer, dozens of emails piling up in her inbox, all waiting to be answered. The helplessness she felt over the normie attacks on her students and Wednesday Addams' unruly behavior had been wreaking havoc on the principal's life for nearly three months.
The woman barely slept, hardly ate, and almost never left that damned office. But her work had always been her priority; the academy needed her, and her students depended on her—or perhaps it was the other way around.
Amid the sound of her furious typing, the sharp creak of her office door opening interrupted her. Larissa's head snapped up, prepared to scold whoever dared to enter without knocking. But her anger softened when she saw you. Confusion replaced her initial irritation as she watched you close the door behind you and stride purposefully toward her desk.
“Y/N...? What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes scanning your face. Your eyes were red from crying, but the furrow in your brow and the way your arms were crossed told Larissa you were angry.
“Do you even know what time it is?” you demanded, your voice sharp as you glared at her. “Better yet, do you even know what day it is?”
Larissa stared at you, her confusion evident as she tried to make sense of your sudden, fiery entrance.
“Uh...” Her hesitation only made your blood boil. You didn’t let her finish.
“I’ve been waiting for hours, Larissa. What the hell…” You let out a dry, bitter laugh. “...no, I’ve been waiting for months!”
Larissa began to rise from her chair, hands up in a calming gesture. “Darling…” she started softly.
“No!” you cut her off sharply. “Don’t you dare start with that. No ‘darling’ or ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’... Look me in the eyes and tell me what day it is.” You challenged her, your gaze locked on hers, her icy blue eyes showing a flicker of panic.
Larissa blinked, her lips slightly parted, clearly searching her mind for the answer.
Her silence was excruciating, and a single tear escaped down your cheek. “It’s our anniversary, Larissa,” you whispered, frustration coursing through you like a tidal wave.
Larissa bit her lip, the familiar pang of guilt creeping in. You had reminded her about this night for days—the dinner, the special dinner at your apartment... You’d gone weeks barely seeing each other except to sleep occasionally. Between your work schedules and the absurdly long hours Larissa dedicated to the academy, it had become nearly impossible to spend meaningful time together.
“Y/N... I’m so sorry, it’s just—”
You raised your hand to stop her mid-sentence.
“I don’t want to hear it, Larissa. I’m done.” Your voice was firm, even as you fought back more tears. “We’ve been like this for months now. You work ridiculous hours, you barely come home to sleep, you don’t answer my messages, we don’t even call each other… And when we’re together, all we talk about is work. Wednesday this, the normies that, this event, the mayor...” You gestured wildly, desperation lacing your words.
Larissa’s expression shifted defensively, her pride beginning to take over. “Well, it’s complicated!” she snapped, her voice raising louder than she intended.
“I know! I know, Larissa, and that’s why I’ve never brought it up before!” you exclaimed. “I know my shifts at the café don’t make things easier either. But tonight…” You shook your head slowly, your eyes locked onto hers, mirroring the disappointment etched on your face. “This is too much, Larissa. You need to start leaving work behind sometimes. It can’t be your entire life. You knew how important tonight’s dinner was to me. I just wanted to spend an evening with my girlfriend—have dinner together, maybe watch something before bed.” You explained, your voice softening with emotion. “I didn’t even suggest going to a restaurant because I knew you’d be tired from work!”
Larissa looked offended. How could you expect her to set her work aside? It had been her entire life—she had sacrificed so much to get where she was. She missed you too, but the situation wasn’t entirely her fault, was it?
“You don’t understand, Y/N.” she accused, her voice sharp.
“Don’t I? Do you really think I don’t understand? You think I’ve spent three months barely seeing you and haven’t figured it out? Really?” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, the bitterness in your tone making Larissa clench her fists in frustration.
“It’s not my fault I’m the headmistress of an academy instead of a mere barista!” Her words hit you like daggers, leaving you speechless. Larissa had said it without thinking, without meaning to… Words born from the heat of the moment and the frustration of the past few months.
The headmistress lowered her head, her expression shifting from anger to regret, but it was already too late. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, and I didn’t mean for us to end up like this either. It’s over, Larissa.”
Before she could see the tears welling in your eyes, you turned on your heel and stormed out of her office, slamming the door shut behind you.
This was your new routine now: you’d go to work, come home, and scroll through pictures and videos of the two of you until the tears drained all your energy and you finally managed to fall asleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop replaying the argument, or the raw, brutal way it had all ended.
You wondered how she was doing, if she was still working as if nothing had happened, if she had taken a day off because of how bad she felt... or if she had buried herself in even more work to avoid having the time to think about you.
The latter was the correct answer. Larissa had spent the past week piling on more work, working even longer hours than before, and beginning to plan future events as though they were happening the next week. She felt awful—terribly so. She knew there was no excuse for what she had done. You always forgave her for everything, always consoled her when she needed it most.
And now, as she sat in her office on a Saturday night, staring out the window, she began to remember all those times you had been her unwavering support…
You woke up as soon as you heard the door to your apartment close. You were lying on the couch, and in the background, some TV show that had once seemed interesting to you was playing.
Larissa peeked through the living room door, clearly exhausted. "Did I wake you? I thought you'd already be in bed." she said, her voice tinged with guilt.
"I wanted to wait for you... your dinner's in the kitchen," you replied, getting up from the couch and walking over to give her a quick peck on the lips. "Go drop your things off, I'll heat up the food." You smiled, still feeling the weight of having been sleeping.
You kept her company while she ate, talking about her day and comforting her about the complexities of her job. You helped her remove her makeup and undo her perfect French bun because you knew she was too tired to do it herself, and you loved seeing her relax with your help.
Afterward, you both got into bed; it was too late to watch any of the series you had on your list, and both of you were too tired to extend the conversation any longer.
Depending on the day she had, Larissa would fall asleep in your arms. Although she never spoke of it, she loved it when you were the big spoon. You would fall asleep knowing that this had been your quality time together because, the next day, whether it was Saturday or Sunday, Larissa would sit in front of her computer, and you would head off to work at the café.
And when you returned, she would still be there, focused and greeting you without even looking up from her computer. You knew it wasn't on purpose, that these were difficult months for her, and she was really struggling. But you'd been holding on for too long, too long without being the one to come home and have dinner ready, with a warm bath waiting for you. You had been the big spoon for far too long, sending the first "Good morning" message that would go unanswered until lunchtime…
A couple of weeks after you broke up, you were working at the café, serving customers early on a Tuesday morning. It was rush hour, and you had a long line to attend to.
You rang up one of the customers and called the next in line, keeping your eyes on the screen, ready to take another order for a specialty coffee to go. “Welcome to Weathervane, what can I get for you?”
“Y/N…” The voice made you look up immediately, your expression puzzled but serious. Larissa was standing behind the counter, looking at you with a furrowed brow and a clear sense of regret.
Not now, not here. You thought. Keeping your eyes locked on hers, you slightly turned your face. “Tyler, can you take care of the customers? I’m going to clean some tables.” Just as you said it, your coworker stepped in to cover for you, leaving Larissa standing there with a frustrated look on her face.
You stepped out from behind the counter with a rag and a tray in hand, noticing how Larissa followed you toward one of the dirty tables. You began clearing the table of dirty cups and used napkins, ignoring the woman.
“Y/N, please, listen to me for a moment,” she pleaded. Although it broke your heart to see her like this, you didn’t want to give in. A part of you knew that nothing would change if you just gave her your forgiveness so easily. The night of your anniversary flashed in your mind, and her words once again sparked the anger that had brought you to this point. A mere barista. You remembered.
You turned around suddenly, looking at her with your hands on your hips. “Now you have a moment for me? How curious,” you said, turning back to wipe down the table. “Right now, I can't. Even if I’m just a ‘mere barista’, I have work to do too.”
Her own words stung. She knew it would be difficult to see you and convince you to talk, but she hadn’t expected you to emphasize her mistake like this.
“Let me take you out to dinner, please,” she blurted out, making you turn around again to look at her, a mix of confusion and disbelief on your face. “What day works for you? Friday?”
You looked at her, considering whether to give in or not.
“Please... let’s have dinner together and talk about it,” she begged, those blue eyes pleading for your forgiveness. You couldn’t say no. You nodded, sighing.
"Alright, we’ll have dinner," you gave in, looking away with your arms crossed. You saw how Larissa’s face lit up, and with a soft smile, she nodded as well.
"Friday at seven at The Velvet. Should I pick you up?" she asked, searching for your gaze.
"We’ll meet there," you said, glancing at her one last time before turning back to grab the tray full of items. The Velvet, of course. You thought with a slight smile. It was the restaurant where you had your first date, and even now, she knew how to win you back…
"You’d better get in line if you want a coffee, or you’ll be late," you said, disappearing into the crowd with the tray in your hands.
Larissa felt a little relieved now, despite having to wait in line again and be late for a meeting—she didn’t care. What mattered was that she had gotten a date with you, a chance to make things right.
And this time, she really wanted to do it right; she was going to hire an assistant, someone to whom she could delegate some of her heavier tasks. She promised herself to close her laptop when the students finished their classes, to spend her free afternoons with you, and not check a single email during the weekends. She promised to go to the movies again, take walks, cuddle with you on the couch during winter afternoons, and delay getting out of bed on Sunday mornings. She promised to love you and be your safe place...
Before she realized it, you returned to her side while she waited in line, your hand offering her a to-go coffee: her cappuccino with chocolate, just the way she liked it.
"Now go," you said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turned to disappear behind the counter again.
Larissa chuckled softly to herself; everything was going to be alright.
A/N: Hey! I hope you liked it :) I’m considering writing a second part… but I don’t want to promise anything just yet!
Aside from a some one-shots I’m planning to post, I’m working on a very, very (seriously, VERY) long Larissa x Professor!Fem!Reader fic. It’s technically an OC because the character has a lot of backstory, and I’m not a big fan of using Y/N…
Anyway, let me know what you think or if there’s anything you feel is missing. Thanks! <3
Summary: You and Larissa are on a “break”. When you agree to meet for coffee at the Weathervane, you finally get to begin healing.
Tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending, some fluff (flangst if you will), emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut (skippable, but maybe minors dni), maternal Larissa, character development, no Y/N
Trigger warnings: non-graphic mention of G!P (tell me if I should add more)
A/N: Quite a change of style with this one. I had the idea and just wanted to use it to practice instinctive writing, kind of. It’s also the first time I try to write present tense. Very experimental overall, not as thought out as usual, Larissa might not even be characterised the way I like her to be. Also, no beta, we die like Phasma. I hope you still enjoy it.
Eight months. That's how long you haven't seen Larissa.
You're not divorced –not yet anyway. But after four years of marriage, six years total of a seemingly perfect romance, Larissa had asked for a 'break'. You had agreed to it, and perhaps it had been the right decision, too.
You and Larissa had been constantly fighting over trivialities. And since you had been barely having any, not even sex could have saved your relationship at that point. The main argument often revolved around Elias, your son from your previous spouse.
You had met Larissa when you were seven months pregnant after a particularly hard divorce, and it had never discouraged her. She had courted you all the same, made you feel loved and beautiful like your abusive ex never had –or any other partner, for that matter–, and she had sworn to stay by your side forever.
Elias' birth had propelled your relationship into something terribly concrete in very little time. It had not been easy. But Larissa had helped you raise your little boy as her own without complaining once.
That was until your somewhat divergent views on Elias' upbringing got in the way, amongst other things, leading to endless arguments late at night, trying to keep your voice hushed so as not to wake Elias, but gesticulating and pacing furiously until you were both too tired to say another word.
And then one night, Larissa had said, "I think we should take a break."
Out of anger, you had asked her to be the one to pack her stuff and leave. You had bought your house together –she could have claimed the right to stay, too. But you had Elias and nowhere else to go. She had her quarters at Nevermore. So she had packed and left that very same night without even putting up a fight.
Eight months ago, then.
The break had hurt, kept hurting month after month, and to this day it still hasn't stopped hurting. It might even be worse.
Today, however, you and Larissa have agreed to meet for coffee at the Weathervane –just to see each other and talk, nothing more–, and you are desperate for this pseudo-date to mark the end of that damned break.
But while Larissa had been the one to initiate it, you had been the one to be a bitch about it, so you know you can't expect Larissa to jump for joy when you bring yourself to step inside the Weathervane.
Yet, you're filled with hope, and when you finally push that door, you realise it's not the chilly wind making you shiver, it's the anticipation.
With faked determination in your stance, you head towards the counter. But then you catch the shy wave of a hand with perfectly manicured red nails from the corner of your eye and stop abruptly.
Larissa is already here –of course she is– and slides a cup of coffee across the table she is sitting at. She knows she is always ten minutes early to everything and you, ten minutes late, and has ordered accordingly so your cardamom and sea salt vanilla latte is waiting for you, still steaming.
You want to run to her –you almost do. But you have to take a second to compose yourself. There is a whole range of emotions on her face, from bitterness to sadness and hurt. But she flashes you a weak smile and you are pleased to find out that there is still love underneath it all.
Slowly, with less determination than before, you walk up to the booth she has chosen and sit across from her.
"Hey…"
"Hey…"
There is a slight hesitation in Larissa's attitude and tone as you take off your coat and put your bag down, and you wonder if she's excited to see you or scared –or both, like you are.
"I took the liberty to order for you. I hope that's okay," she says tentatively, as if worried your tastes might have changed in the past eight months.
"More than okay. Thank you."
Your eyes start a game of roaming all over each other's bodies without ever meeting, and you notice how Larissa unclasps her hands and her fingers start reaching out before she changes her mind to pull away and fidget under the table instead. It makes your heart clench.
"You look good," she suddenly blurts out.
It's game over for you as your eyes snap back up, boring into hers. You tell her that you think she looks even better. You mean it. But you are pained to see the weary look on her face, the hint of exhaustion no amount of makeup can hide.
You also notice the dress she is wearing, the same one she was wearing the day Elias was born. She had complained time and time again that it didn't fit her anymore, and the thought of her losing so much weight it does again almost brings tears to your eyes. Guilt is consuming you.
Larissa clears her throat in that particular way you know she does when she is struggling to stay calm, and you know it's your cue to pretend you haven't seen anything and start an actual conversation.
"How have you been?" you ask before taking a sip of your latte.
Larissa shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, even though she is anything but.
"Oh, you know… Busy. With Nevermore, mostly. The new term is approaching, so there's a lot to take care of. What about you? And… Elias?"
You purposely ignore the first question. You feel anything but good and don't have the strength to pretend like Larissa does. You don't want to admit you have been obsessively thinking about her every single day for the past eight months either. But when she mentions your son, you can't help but let your heart speak before your brain can reason it anyway, your tone clipped and cold.
"Let's not pretend you don't know how he's doing. I know you've been calling his school, and that you 'casually dropped by' Clarisse's house right when Elias was there for Timothy's birthday."
Feeling caught, Larissa pinches her lips and looks away. But she quickly recovers, her expression slightly hardening.
"You cannot expect a mother to stay away from her child for months on end without any news. Elias is my son, too."
"He's my son."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like dying inside, drowning in instant regret.
Larissa feels punched in the gut –so hard that it makes her gasp audibly. You notice the way her nostrils quiver and her eyes immediately water. But she clenches her jaw, forcing herself to remain cordial.
"Now you're just being cruel."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you say that?"
"I don't know!"
And it's true. The worst part in all this is that you never mean any of the poison you spit at your wife. It just comes out and you're not even sure why.
An awkward silence sets in for a moment, and you bring your cup to your lips with trembling hands before speaking again.
"He barely talks to me now. And when he does, it's only to ask, 'When is Mummy coming back?'"
"What do you tell him?" Seeing your lack of response, Larissa presses further. "He deserves answers."
"But I don't have them, do I? Just like I don't know what to tell him when he comes home from school and tells me that little Lisa's parents are getting divorced and her father is now with another woman, and asks me if his mummy is, too."
"What do you mean, you don't know what to tell him?" Larissa asks, briskly bringing her hands back on the table to better lean forward.
"Well, are you?"
"Am I what?"
"With another woman."
Larissa scoffs loudly, visibly shocked by your question.
"Heavens, no! I'm still wearing my ring."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"No?"
Once again, Larissa visibly aches at your reaction, and you hate yourself for it. Thing is, the fact that she is still wearing her wedding ring does mean a lot to you. It means everything. But you're too scared to get your hopes up, and before you can do anything about it, your heart decides it's best to kill that hope in the womb.
"So… You haven't seen anyone else? At all?" you ask nonetheless, still needing to make sure Larissa remains yours.
You have always felt like she was the most attractive of the two, and have always had this fear she would go look for someone better than you whenever she got the chance.
Larissa glares at you as she sips her own coffee, debating whether to indulge your jealousy or not. Eventually, she decides to be entirely honest.
"Someone did ask me out." Your eyes instantly darken while she continues. "Hannah, the florist. But–"
"But what?" you cut her off, feeling yourself turning green. You can't bear the thought of her with anyone else.
"But I said no, of course! Gosh, who do you think I am? I was never interested in her."
There is another pause and, seeing your eyes dart away, Larissa suddenly worries you might have been trying to tell her something. You notice her gaze quickly scanning your left hand to check your wedding ring is still there.
"Have you been seeing anybody else?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good."
The relief that washes over Larissa's face is undeniable. You find it almost cute, but mostly you feel a weight lifting from your own shoulder, reassured by the notion that you both remained fiercely faithful, no matter what.
Impulsively, Larissa stops fumbling with her napkin, cup, and whatever is in front of her, and gives in to her desire to touch you again, snatching your left hand. She squeezes it, presses it to her cheek. Her thumb traces loving circles on your skin, her lips pepper your knuckles with urgent kisses. Her breath is heavy as she relishes the familiar touch.
"I still love you, you know," she finally blurts out in a desperate whisper. "So much."
You can't help but gasp. Larissa wants to see you. She is wearing the same dress she wore for your son's birth. She hasn't taken her wedding ring off. She doesn't want Hannah the pretty florist. She still loves you.
It has been way too long since you last heard these words, and they make your eyes instantly well up, tears threatening to fall over your waterline like a dam bursting open.
Seeing that, Larissa brings a hand to cup your cheek without letting go of your left one, which she still kisses now and then. The movement is barely there, but you see her shake her head as well, and you can tell she hates seeing you like this and wonders if this break was truly a good idea after all. You're both more miserable than you care to admit.
Eventually, she dares express her doubt.
"Was this break beneficial to you at all?"
You can't say that a little distance wasn't needed. But God knows you can't live without Larissa either, and raising a six-year-old on your own is just too difficult.
"Was it to you?" you ask, once again eluding her question.
Larissa looks up, both forcing herself to swallow her own unshed tears and trying to come up with an answer. But for the first time since you sat at that table, she seems not to have any.
"All I know is that I miss you," she confesses instead. "And I miss our son."
"I miss you, too. We both do."
Your voice cracks at these last words.
"I want to see him. I need to see him," Larissa practically begs. "You can't keep me away from him forever."
You nod slowly and snuffle. You know that's fair –you had no right to forbid her to see Elias. Worse than that, you had no right to forbid your son to see his mother.
After a moment, you carefully pull away and grab your napkin to wipe your tears and blow your nose rather disgracefully. Larissa can't help the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she hears that sound and sees how red the tip of your nose has turned.
"Do you, uh… Do you want to come home for dinner?" you ask then. "I think Elias would be delighted to see you."
Larissa's heart skips a beat at your invitation. The idea of going home, spending some time with you, with your son… It's everything she has secretly been yearning for. Yet, you sense a slight hesitation. Larissa is still wary of how the evening could go –rightfully so, considering all the arguments you've had in the past.
"Are you sure?"
You don't want to imagine anything negative right now, so you just nod.
"Be there at eight?"
"I'll be there."
That evening, at eight, when the bell rings, you send your son to open the door.
"Elias, honey, I think you might want to answer that."
Your son turns away from the cartoon he is watching to glare at you darkly, but you insist, jerking your head towards the door, and he finally complies, sliding off the couch to go answer it.
When he does, you can see Larissa standing rather awkwardly by the doorway from where you are. The realisation of how uncomfortable she must feel to have to be invited into her own home truly tugs at your heartstrings. But then you see her eyes land on Elias, and her demeanour changes immediately.
"Hello, sunshine!"
Elias gasps loudly.
"Mummy!" he shouts, bouncing excitedly on his legs.
But just when you expect him to jump into Larissa's arms and squeal like he has just seen Santa, he freezes on the spot and a noisy whine escapes his mouth, quickly turning into full, ugly cries –the only way for him to express all those big emotions he had apparently kept bottled up all these months.
"Oh, oh, oh… Baby, no…"
With practised ease, Larissa picks Elias up, even though one of her hands is already full with the bouquet of roses she has bought for you on her way here. Hearing your son cry so desperately is killing you. But your heart breaks even further when you notice his short hair turning platinum blonde.
Elias has inherited your shapeshifting abilities but is too young to control them, of course –and you've never been too keen on teaching him how to, either. When a young, inexperienced shapeshifter feels strong emotions, it is not uncommon for their powers to go haywire. Quite often, the youngest partially shapeshift into someone they feel close to, usually a parent. For Elias, it's Larissa. Always Larissa.
"Mummy…"
"Oh, I know, sweetheart. Mummy missed you, too. More than you can imagine."
As you lean against the wall of your entrance, your hand on your chest to prevent yourself from choking on your guilt, Larissa glances at you, silently communicating her own mixture of sadness, guilt and affection.
Seeing Elias won't let go of her anytime soon, your wife invites herself inside. You come closer, closing the door behind her, while your son struggles to calm down.
"I… brought you these," Larissa says, bending at a weird angle to hand you the flowers without letting go of the little boy in her arms.
You take them, a small smile on your lips until you realise whom she must have bought the roses from.
"Did you buy them–"
"From Hannah? Yes." Larissa notices your jealousy flaring, but she quickly tames it. "I asked her for the most beautiful roses she had so I could gift them to my wife."
The pride in her eyes and her slight possessiveness make your heart soar and the smile returns to your lips.
"They're beautiful. Let me find a vase for them."
As you go find a vase for the roses, you can hear Larissa struggle to get out of her coat and then walk into the living room without ever putting Elias down.
"It's okay, sunshine. Oh… What's that you were watching? Is that Pokémon?"
"Mmh."
"You like Squirtle, don't you?"
"No. My favourite is Lucario."
"I'm sorry," you hear Larissa reply with a melancholic tone. "Of course, it's Lucario."
That simple exchange makes you realise just how fast things can change in a child's life, and therefore how much Larissa has missed because of you. You wonder if she will ever find it in her heart to forgive you. You know you won't.
Throughout dinner, Elias simply cannot stay still. Every time Larissa so much as shifts on her chair, his little hands reach for her to make sure she won't leave without him. Despite your instructions to eat his food –especially his vegetables–, he also keeps wiggling free, running back and forth between the table and his bedroom upstairs to go fetch his new toys and latest drawings and show them to Larissa. He speaks fast and loud, as if scared to give even the tiniest opportunity to either of you to say something negative and ruin the night for him.
Larissa, for her part, seems overwhelmed but far from unhappy. She holds each drawing carefully, murmuring praises as she flips through them, her smile never leaving her lips. Still, she regularly sneaks glances at you, and you understand she is waiting to be finally alone with you for a moment. You're waiting for this, too. You also both can't stop your eyes from darting to each other's lips, and it definitely doesn't help with the tension that has been building up since your coffee date at the Weathervane.
Thankfully, with all those emotions and that energy spent, Elias is quick to collapse on Larissa's lap, his thumb stuck in his mouth. You reach for his tiny wrist –you have successfully started weaning him off that habit over the past months and don't want him to pick it up again. But Larissa gently pushes your hand away.
"Leave him," she says, her voice not unkind but firm. "He needs it."
You sigh but give in. Tonight is not a night to argue about anything.
"You should go tuck him in," you offer after observing your sleepy child for a moment. By now, even his nose has shapeshifted into Larissa's.
Your wife smiles at the proposal and excuses herself, cradling Elias close to her chest as she brings him upstairs. Your gaze follows them fondly until you can't see them anymore and you decide to get up to clean the table a little bit.
But you quickly stop to go upstairs instead and see how things are going. You can't help it. Not necessarily because you want to control your wife, no. It's more because you find the sight of her with Elias comforting and absolutely heartwarming, and you need that right now.
As you arrive in front of your son's bedroom and peek through the crack of the door, you hear Larissa trying to explain to Elias how "mommies can still love each other very much and not be together for a while". You find her courageous. You've never had the balls to attempt such a difficult explanation, despite Elias' incessant questioning.
"I want you to be with me and Mommy again," you hear him plead sleepily.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Larissa coos, her fingers delicately brushing his still-platinum hair away from his forehead. "I want that, too. I really do. But Mommy and I… we're working on some things, okay? We're trying to make things better, I promise."
"I hate her."
The brutal honesty of your own child as he thinks you're not looking makes you want to scream, throw up, and bang your head against the wall. The pain burning in your chest is indescribable, and you have to cover your mouth so your inevitable sobs don't ruin the moment for Elias and his other mother.
Still, through it all, you are glad to find out Larissa has your back.
"Don't say that, Elias. I know you're sad, but Mommy loves you very much."
"But she doesn't want me to see you."
"I know, beautiful. I know. But Mommy is just… She's hurting, too. And sometimes, when people hurt, they say and do things they don't mean."
There is a moment of silence only broken by the constant stroking of Larissa's hand on your son's face. Then Elias speaks up again, his voice still weakened by the fatigue.
"Mummy?"
"What is it?"
"Is it my fault you and Mommy don't talk anymore?"
You can hear Larissa's heart break from the hallway.
"Oh, no, no, no, angel… No. Never. You have nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing wrong. Adults disagree and need some alone time sometimes, but sweethearts like you are never the reason why, alright? Now, close those pretty eyes. You need to rest."
"But you won't be here when I wake up," Elias whines.
"I know. I'm so sorry, baby. But we'll see each other soon, I promise. Mommy will let me see you now."
You haven't even really talked about this with Larissa yet, but there is no point in denying it –Elias needs both his mothers with him and you can't prevent Larissa from loving him and wanting to take care of him.
There is a pause, and you can hear in Elias' lack of response that he is contemplating accusing his mother of lying. But thankfully, he is too tired to put up a fight and settles for a "Goodnight" instead.
You watch as Larissa tucks the covers around his tiny body and leans in to kiss his forehead, then step aside to rest your back on the wall next to the door so Larissa doesn't feel too overwhelmed by your presence when she comes out.
Still, she stops in her tracks when she spots you waiting outside. She looks at you, you look at her, and you both notice the tears in each other's eyes as you both ache deeply for your little boy.
"Do you want to say goodnight?"
You shake your head slowly. Deep down, you want to. But you figure Elias is halfway in the arms of Morpheus –if not already there– and might not want to see you anyway. With a small nod of understanding, Larissa closes the door.
"I haven't seen him so happy in a long time," you tell her as she moves to lean against the wall opposite you. "I shouldn't have kept you away from him. He misses you too much."
"You shouldn't have. But I think I understand why you did."
"He doesn't," you reply with a jerk of your head towards Elias' bedroom.
"He's just a child caught in the middle of our problems. It's not fair to him, we have to make things better one way or another."
You nod, your heart heavy with profound sadness, but say nothing because what is there to add? Larissa is right through and through –she always is. You're the one who keeps making the wrong decisions.
"You didn't answer my question earlier," Larissa eventually says, her voice soft and quiet like it always is after she has spent some time with Elias.
"Which one?"
"How are you?"
Your eyes meet hers, but only for a fleeting moment. You miss her, you long for her, you crave her, her touch, her lips, her scent… You feel like if you look at her for too long you're either going to pass out or do yet another regrettable thing.
Larissa calls your name, asks you to look at her. You don't answer. You can't. And then, in one swift motion, she is only inches away from you, tugging at your shoulders to pull you into a hug.
You don't resist, of course, and lean against her with your whole weight. But you don't have the strength to lift your arms to hug her back and instead just start crying, your face buried in her chest.
If there was any word stronger than miserable, that's what you would be.
"I know, I know," she says tenderly as if reading your thoughts. "Me too."
Her voice cracks and she finally lets her emotions fully show, too. Her silent cries pierce your heart, and only then do you feel strong enough to wrap your arms around her and clutch.
Now both crying, you hold each other like you're trying to mend the pieces of each other's broken mind. It feels so painful and so terribly good at the same time. Her body feels nice and comforting, you had almost forgotten just how much.
When you both finally start calming down, you realise you're scared of pulling away. But Larissa keeps you close, only shifting slightly to rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is warm, but as always, the tip of her nose is cold on your cheek. You don't mind it, it's one of Larissa's little things you often find yourself missing the most at night.
Your eyelids flutter open, and, inevitably, you make the mistake of staring not at her eyes but at her lips. The faint aroma of wine coming out of her mouth in hot puffs makes your skin tingle, and you know that you have to look away or you won't be able to refrain from kissing her. And if you kiss her, you won't be able to stop.
But Larissa cups your face with both hands before you have a chance to move and before your brain can formulate a single thought, her lips capture yours in a slow, loving kiss. You can feel the yearning and despair that have pent up in the past eight months in the way she moves her mouth against yours, and it makes you weak at the knees.
You reply to her kiss with a whimper and she deepens it, her tongue seeking entry into your mouth with a mix of hunger and fear. You welcome it without hesitation and move your arms up to wrap them around her neck, carding your fingers through her perfect hair bun. Meanwhile, her hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You had missed this and obviously can't prevent your hips from bucking against hers, begging for more.
Larissa responds to your silent plea with a low groan and a hand moving further down to grip your butt. The air catches violently in your throat at the intimate contact and you throw your head back with a moan.
"We shouldn't be doing this," Larissa says. "Not like that."
But there is no conviction in her words, and she still has a hand on your rear and her mouth on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your sensitive spots before soothing them with her tongue.
The noises you make are so needy that it becomes fairly evident you haven't taken much care of your own needs over the past months. The realisation makes your wife growl possessively, and her resolve crumbles. She needs to have you. Now.
"Bed?"
"God, yes."
Larissa doesn't pull away even once as she pushes you towards your bedroom. Her hands move urgently, her kisses become hungrier, her breathing accelerates.
"I love you."
You both repeat those words so much that it is unclear whose mouth they're coming from.
Larissa is quick to take off your clothes, revealing the skin she has longed to touch again for so long. You, on the other hand, try to take your time. Larissa had changed before coming home for dinner, and you've been wondering all evening if there is any fine lingerie under that burgundy dress. But it's Larissa –of course there is. You just like to torture yourself by unwrapping her like a priceless present. Besides, you don't want to look too desperate, nor do you want to make her feel like she isn't in charge. You want her to be now.
Unlike you, Larissa is not afraid to show how much she desires you. As soon as you're both naked, she pushes you onto your marriage bed, covers your body with hers and starts making up for lost time in every way possible. Fingers, vibrator, tongue… Nothing is off-limits tonight.
Then something different, something you haven't done in a very long time. Larissa shapeshifts, and you feel it –the size, the weight of it against you. Your wife looks down at you expectantly, hoping for your consent. It's something you've never downright refused, but have always felt conflicted about. It often reminds you of a past you'd rather forget and tends to make you question your sexuality in ways you don't want to think about while having sex –even though Larissa has reassured you countless times already that it didn't make you any less of a lesbian.
Not tonight, though. Tonight you nod eagerly and spread your thighs a little further to welcome her shapeshifted appendage, needing that special connection. In the faint orange glow coming from that one lamp post at the end end of your street, you see Larissa smiling brightly.
"Thank you," she whispers against your skin as she pushes into you.
She loves this, you know it, and the obscene moan she lets out as she stretches you only confirms it. It feels good, too good, and you meet her sensual thrusts with deliberate rolls of your hips, the way she moves, gasps your name, and loses herself completely to the moment only spurring you on.
She takes you twice like this. In a row. The first time, deep and slow, then rough and frenzied, until you're shaking and can't even call her name coherently. And by the time your final climax hits, you're so sensitive you feel like you're going to faint.
Larissa keeps moving, chasing her own release, her thrusts messy, uneven. And then with one last push, she spills over the edge, burying her face in the crook of your neck with a broken, "You’re mine. Mine."
You've always loved that possessive side she works so hard to mask under heavy decorum. The way she calls you hers reminds you of your wedding night and makes your chest burn with love. So when she collapses on top of you, panting in your ear, you just have to squeeze her tight in your arms and kiss every inch of skin you can reach.
You keep her close even long after she has pulled out of you, simply enjoying the warmth of her body and the scent that floats in the room in the aftermath of your passionate lovemaking.
It's about two in the morning now, but neither of you is sleeping. You're both just basking in the intimacy of the moment, exchanging gentle kisses and caresses until you break the silence.
"Come home."
Larissa shifts then, and you're suddenly scared you've ruined it all and she is going to leave. But she just props herself on her elbow to look into your eyes with a blend of vulnerability and longing.
"I want to. More than anything. I need you to know that. But…" She sighs. "There are things we need to talk about and settle, compromises to make."
"Like what?"
The way Larissa takes a deep breath before answering lets you know whatever she says won't be up for debate if you want this to work.
"We need to find common ground about our parenting styles. And I want you to try therapy."
"Are you saying I don't know how to raise my own son?"
Larissa sighs in frustration at the defensiveness in your tone.
"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying we have different ways of doing it, and we need to find a way to reconcile them for Elias' sake."
"You want him to explore his shapeshifting abilities," you mumble as you roll onto your back, an arm on your forehead.
"Yes, I do," Larissa replies with a kind but firm voice. "He is a shapeshifter. It's part of who he is, and it's a part we need to let him embrace, not suppress."
"The world is a terrible place for Outcasts."
"That's why there are places like–"
"If you're going to say Nevermore, I swear–"
"Yes, I am going to say Nevermore. It would be the safest place on earth for him, and he would still get to evolve around Normies. You know I've even hired a Normie teacher this year."
"And I don't trust her."
"You don't trust many people."
Touché. You sigh heavily, letting your arm fall to cover your eyes as if trying to shield yourself from Larissa's truths –or rather, from how much you hate being wrong when it comes to making choices for Elias. But Larissa pushes your arm away and tilts your chin with a finger so you look at her again.
"I know you're scared. I am, too. But what scares me the most is the thought of Elias thinking he has to hide a part of himself, even around us, or that he can only move through life safely if he denies every fundamental aspect of who he is."
If you were to be completely honest –even if only to yourself–, you would admit Larissa has already convinced you. It's hypocritical to expect Elias to repress his abilities when both his mothers are exactly like him and free to use them, or to deny him an education at Nevermore when you have spent your own childhood hoping there was a place for people like you. What would be next? He'll come out as gay, and you'll tell him it's wrong? No, this is preposterous.
But you know this is not where the problem truly lies, and it's high time you communicated with your wife to treat it at the root.
"You're his model," you finally say, your voice too hoarse for your liking. So you clear your throat and start again. "You're his model, the one he instinctively shapeshifts into when he's not doing it on purpose. Look at how quickly his hair turned like yours when you arrived. It's you, always you. Never me. I'm his mother, his birth mother. I made him. But it's always you."
Larissa doesn't like it too much when you're this possessive over Elias because it throws her lack of biological connection to him back in her face, and it is something she has always struggled with. Still, her voice remains calm and understanding.
"Yes, you brought him into this world. But I've been a part of his life since he was in your womb, I was there when he was born, I fed him, changed him, taught him how to read, and let myself be vomited on more times than I can count. I have as much an impact on the person he is as you do."
"But shapeshifters are supposed to take on the traits of their closest parent the first time, and he took yours," you protest, your voice cracking. "Why not me? What have I done wrong?"
"Oh, darling…"
Larissa sits up, pulling you up with her so she can hug you properly and draw slow, soothing circles on your naked back.
"You have done nothing wrong. Sometimes, it doesn't work like it usually does and it's nobody's fault."
"My baby hates me…"
Larissa gasps and brings her hands to your face, clasping your jaw tightly while you start weeping again.
"No. Absolutely not. Elias does not hate you. Why would you ever think that?"
"That's what he told you earlier."
Larissa presses her lips into a thin line, feeling pained that you've heard these words.
"He's only six… He's in pain and doesn't have any better way to express himself," she says, pulling you back against her chest. She stays quiet for a moment, and then continues, "It's… It's the reason why you kept him away from me all these months, isn't it? You wanted to feel him closer to you."
You realise how ridiculous this sounds and can't even begin to explain just how hard you blame yourself.
"I'm so sorry…"
"It's okay," Larissa coos, rocking you back and forth, even though you know it's all but 'okay'. "We just… We need to communicate. I understand your fears, I do. I have my own. But we need to do better for Elias. I don't want him to suffer because of our problems anymore."
"I know, I know," you say with a weak nod. Then after a moment, you add, "Therapy, then."
"Yes, therapy. Please. But we're in this together, I'm not letting you go. We're a team, aren't we?"
"'Til death do us part'."
Larissa chuckles softly at your choice of words.
"Mmh, that's right. You, my love, are absolutely stuck with me. So we're going to work as a team for our son. No more isolating each other."
"But you're not coming home yet, are you?"
"No, not yet. But if we do this right, I might come back sooner than we both expected."
You untangle yourself from Larissa's embrace and let yourself fall back on your bed with a sigh. You're getting tired, and aren't sure what to feel anymore. And then you feel your wife's hand coming to rest lovingly on your belly, and it definitely doesn't help your weariness, both physical and mental.
"If you want me to leave now, I can," Larissa ends up offering, sensing your fatigue and disappointment and not wanting to cause you more pain by leaving in the morning after a whole night together.
Your eyes snap to her, wide with confusion.
"Are you serious? I'm asking you to come home, we've just had the best sex we've had in over a year… No, I don't want you to go. Stay. Elias will be so happy to see you at breakfast."
Your decision and the mention of your son's name make Larissa smile brightly, and she lies back next to you with a tiny, excited squeal before leaning in to press her swollen lips against yours one last time.
"I want to be better, Larissa," you whisper when she pulls back and makes herself comfortable on her pillow. "For both of you."
"I know, darling. I know. I believe in you."
"I love you."
Before Larissa can even reply, you're already drifting, your breath evening out and your body melting into hers.
Eight months. That's how long you hadn't seen Larissa. But you figure once you've spent your whole life with her –because you will–, it won't matter anymore.
someone on twitter is trying to claim that use of an em-dash is an indication of AI-generated writing because it’s “relatively rare” for actual humans to use it. skill issue
In order to stop the culture of faking orgasms, we need to stop the culture of shaming others for their sexual experiences.
Can’t get your partner off on the first try? Cool. You can still be thoughtful and make them feel good.
Can get your partner off within 30 seconds? Awesome, good for you both, don’t let it get to your head.
Can make someone cum in less than 5, but for others, it’s a process that takes an hour? That’s alright, everyone’s different.
Does it take you 30 minutes to cum? That’s okay, you’re not broken, you’re not a failure.
Does it take you 10 seconds to cum? That’s great, you’re not a slut, you’re not overly sensitive or dirty.
Can’t cum without toys/vibrators? That’s awesome, that’s a valid part of sexual play!
Can only cum with loving, vanilla sex? That’s perfectly normal, and you will find lots of great partners to experience that with!
Can’t orgasm at all? THAT’S ALSO COOL. It’s not a bad thing, you can still enjoy sex TONNES just like others.
Orgasms are NOT the defining characteristic of your sexual prowess. They are great, they’re lovely when they happen, but for the love of science, stop bringing them up higher than they need to be.
Yes, but don’t get a big head about it – I come so easily it doesn’t matter what you do.
No, but I bet I can get you up again
Yes, but I’d rather keep edging because I always get a huge drop after coming and it really puts me off sex for a while
No, thank you, orgasm denial leaves me deliciously horny for days
No, and I’m really frustrated, let’s brainstorm how to change that
All of these are fucking awesome answers. Including the last one. They’re also 100% legitimate answers. Including the last one.
Only the last one is even a little bit “negative,” and, really, how bad, arrogant, or egocentric a lover do you have to be that you’d rather not know when your partner says “here are some great ways to help me come next time, lover?”
If on the other hand you’re going to panic or be unhappy about that last answer then you’re not a bad lover (no shame either way) but your sex life will be less workable. With the result that you’ll continue having, well, the same result.
To be honest, whether you or your partner comes isn’t the most important thing about sex. It’s whether you’re both satisfied afterwards. The only trick being that
You get to decide what “satisfied” means for you
You don’t get to decide what “satisfied” means for your partner(s.)
Asking “did you come” isn’t really the right question. “Does this work for you” is way healthier. That’s the culture we want to look for and encourage.
—
P.S. Your partner isn’t a video game. His or her orgasms aren’t a boss fight. The question you want to ask isn’t “did I beat the previous high score” but “would you like to play again.”
i had to do this. my lesbian needs were tingling. semi nsfw.
enjoys going to the gym. she likes to stay strong in case she needs to protect you - or herself. prefers boxing to stay fit.
you probably met through mutual friends, or at the gym. i don't know. even in modern date i can't really see brienne as the type to go to bars or clubs, even gay ones. maybe on a whim if her friends want her to? she's initially very shy but she keeps seizing every opportunity to talk to you. she's all blushy and simultaneously is holding eye contact and looking away all nervously.
likes your general size and height difference. she likes looking down at you, picking you up, holding you in her strong arms. as you become involved more, she definitely goes out with you to make sure you're protected and is not shy about shoving or punching a man... or two.
her fashion i feel would consist of breathable button up shirts, and trousers or pants she can move around easily in but fit her well. likes slicking her hair up, or just leaving it down.
eventually you move in together. she makes herself very helpful by doing handy things around the house, helping you reach things you can't, and helping you handle sharp knives when a piece of meat or fruit is particularly difficult to cut. likes to stand behind you during such, and does it for you to 'show' you how it's done. also carries all of the groceries in and likes carrying ur bags when u go out shopping.
tbh... i feel it in my bones that she's a top. i can see her being a switch in terms of sub/dom, though, and she's definitely a possessive soft dom. she enjoys everything. from scissoring, using her mouth on you, using a strap, her fingers - she just likes to make you feel good, and i feel like she's also more than eager to be touched herself.
she likes kissing you. and touching you. a lot. more than often you spending time together whether it's cooking or shopping, she likes to hoist you up on the counter or playfully wisp you off into a wall to shower you in kisses.
she is not confident in herself all too much, but she is confident in her strength and muscles. couple photos include her hiding her face while she kisses her head and playfully flexes for the photo, or bending down to kiss your shoulder and wrap her arms around your waist.
loves early morning cuddles. when you try to get up, she groans and just wraps her arms around you tighter. pulls you on top of her in a bear hug and sleepily kisses your head or face. probably gets up to shower with you and make you breakfast, then kisses you at the door when you leave.
likes seeing you in skirts. and dresses. she likes how smooth your legs look and she likes to run her fingers along them and playfully the hem of your dresses or skirts – but also, she just thinks you look painfully pretty.
sometimes she needs reassurance. she's likes when you call her beautiful, or other variants. you make her feel like the most gorgeous woman alive — and your comfort helps her more than you know. sometimes she needs such a thing, and to just lay in your lap and have you play with her hair while you speak to her gently.
I’m working on these two fics right now, but I should try to focus in one of them, because I don’t have much time to write and I really want to post something soon!
I have like four chapters of the new teacher one, but it’s slowburn– like, real EXTREME slowburn. It also has more story than just them falling for each other (which is cool, but I wanted to add something else to it). Sooo… it’s more like a big fictional story of Larissa’s past and the OC having a troubled background.
The ex-wife plot is much more centered in just them, funnier maybe(? But also intense, I think, so expect hurt without comfort (although I can’t make unhappy endings so it would eventually be alright hahaha). I’m writing the first chapter of that yet. :)
Tell me what you think about it and I’ll try to post something soon! 🫂
BTW i see these posts all the time like "ohhh i dont know what to comment on fics.." and every response is "keysmashes! or hearts!! anything works :3" and thats GREAT!! thats helpful!!
but: consider. if u genuinely like analyzing writing.. do u know ur just allowed to go through and quote your favorite parts and ramble abt what they mean to u and the author will LOSE IT WITH HYPE?
genuinely. i felt SO WEIRD the first time i did it.. but like. holy shit authors love it. its crack for authors. the first time i did it, it was on a fic that hadnt updated in half a year, give or take, and the author made 3 updates that month BECAUSE OF MY COMMENT.
LIKE. as an author every comment is INCREDIBLE!!! but also, dont feel like your comment has to be short or otherwise ur invasive or smth!! authors ADORE long comments more than ANYTHING.
A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3
After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.
You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.
“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.
Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”
The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.
“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”
“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”
Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.
“Risk what?”
“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”
Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.
“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.
Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”
You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”
Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”
“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.
Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”
The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”
You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.
Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.
“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.
You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.
“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”
Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.
“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.
“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”
Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.
“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.
“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.
Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.
You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.
The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.
“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.
The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.
“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.
The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.
Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.
“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”
“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.
