Like Loving the Dead (ch. 4)
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Larissa Weems/reader
Tags: Haunted Houses, Ghost Sex, ghost!larissa, Masturbation, elements of voyuerism, Ouija, Ghosts, Dream Sex, Supernatural Elements, Paranormal, Touch-starved Larissa Weems, Shower Sex, Temperature Play, Vaginal Fingering, erotic horror
Summary: House sitting for your great aunt should have been easy, but when strange things begin happening in her home, you take to communication with the other side to find out what exactly is going bump in the night.
AO3 Link
Friday Morning
You woke in a start, the fabric of your shirt stinging the fresh scratches on your back. Larissa's brooch was under your stomach, pressing a deep imprint of the lips against your abdomen, the mark marbled with pink. You traced your finger along the ridges, certain now they weren't modeled after Larissa's lips, but it still felt like a kiss nonetheless.
"Good morning," you whispered, though you felt her absence through the warmth in the air. Outside, wind howled and rattled the loose window panes. The buzzing of the glass in its frame was low and ominous, but inside was still warm and bright for now. You carried the brooch to the window, accustomed to the way it fit in your hand and was pleasantly cool to the touch.
Your phone rang, the number unfamiliar but in a nearby area code. "Hello?"
"Hi. It's Aunt Deb, sweetie, how are you?"
"I'm good! The house is good, too." The suddenness of her call, the random phone number, the storm outside, all came together to mean you would not be going home today.
"Listen, I'm stopped at a motel just outside of town, and you know my old car," she laughed, "in this storm I'd be sliding left and right."
"Yeah," you offered a nervous laugh.
"So, if it's no trouble, can you stay another night or two? I'd really appreciate it, but if you have to get back to work…"
"No, no, it's no problem."
She sighed in relief. "Ah jeez, thanks doll, I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Hey, before you go, can I ask you about something I found in the house?" You turned the brooch over in your fingers, studying the pin and the clasp.
"Shoot."
"It's a...a brooch. The gold one, with the lips?"
Deb hummed. "I find a lot of jewelry at estate sales, I don't remember off the top of my head ever seeing a gold lip one."
"Huh. Okay, well it was on the table under your note when I got here, you didn't leave it for me?"
"Nope, not that I remember. Though I am getting old," she chuckled, "but no, I don't think I have a gold brooch shaped like, what'd you say, a pair of lips? I mean, if you found it you're welcome to it, sounds ugly anyway."
You laughed, the pounding of your heart in your ears growing louder and louder with each beat. You turned the brooch over and over again, not sure what you were looking for anymore. They can be tricksters.
"Thanks, Aunt Deb, really. I'll, uh, keep the place warm for you."
She spoke to someone in the background, what sounded like another older woman. "Yeah, yeah, dear, well thank you and I'll talk to you later." She clicked off the call before you could say anything else.
Your throat was suddenly quite dry, the skin on your arms crawling with goosebumps. She probably just forgot she had it—easy to lose stuff in this house. Still, you wondered how something that was apparently so expensive ended up in the house with the one and only resident not knowing about it.
In the living room, something metal clattered to the ground hard.
"Larissa?" You could swear your breath was visible even inside, the chill settling deep in your bones as your heart hammered to compensate with warm blood. The culprit, a corroding fireplace poker, rolled across the floorboards and landed with its point facing the stack of firewood by its side. "Are you cold or something?" you teased, swallowing the fear that had crept up your throat. Stupid.
The fire wasn't too difficult to start and it immediately warmed and lit the living room in a comforting glow against the wintry landscape outside. You poked at it, moving the ash to the bottom to letting the flames lick up more oxygen, and thought of Larissa. Removed from the ability to see her, to feel her, you let the eeriness of her situation—of your situation—truly sink in. You didn't even know how she'd passed, maybe she was an axe murderer herself. Or: she wanted to possess your body, using it as a vessel to carry out her evil underworld whims. It was only a matter of time before your head was spinning in circles, mouth spewing pea soup. More likely even, some kind of sexual succubus draining your yonic life force through every orgasm to become ever more powerful and take over the world with the help of young gay people everywhere.
You hadn't noticed you picked the threads at the end of the living room rug to shreds, strips of red and brown where a functioning pattern used to be. "Shit," you muttered and began picking up the loose threads. Holding them there in the palm of your hand, you let yourself think rationally. She's just lonely. A lonely, sexy, British ghost desperate to be held. Anyone would be insane to ignore her, right? To not let her kiss you, touch you in the shower, to invade your subconscious and rummage around it while you slept, was all unfathomable. Yes, Larissa was dead, a questionable amount older than you even without the however many years of death in between, but she was also kind and considerate, even from beyond your plane of existence. You sighed and dumped the scraps of rug into the trash.
The blizzard outside only picked up in force and speed throughout the morning, splattering fluffy snowflakes across the frosty windows and rendering the street invisible within a few hours. The fire was still burning, low now and hardly more than embers. A whoosh of cold air and gardenia swept through the living room where you were settled, bundled in a quilt on the sofa.
"Hey," you said. The hair on the back of your neck stood up for the first time in a while. The Ouija board laid on the table, planchette sitting lazily to the side. You thought of the protection oils, no longer sure where the little vial even was. Maybe she hid it. You swallowed the thought and positioned the planchette in the center of the board.
Before you had a chance to speak, it slid across the letters to spell out "H-I"
"Hi, Larissa," you smiled. "I need to ask you something."
YES
Your heartbeat was in your fingertips, the chill of her arrival hadn't left, and your legs twitched to run. "How did you die?"
The planchette didn't move, but her perfume was strong as ever.
Normally you'd backtrack, tell her to only respond if she wanted to, but this time you needed an answer.
P-O-I-S-O-N
Your stomach leapt to your throat. "You were poisoned?"
YES
"I'm sorry to hear that. But, just for my own sanity, if I were to look up your murder, you'd be real, right? Like I can verify you lived and died?" And owned that brooch.
YES
You sighed and dropped a weight you hadn't realized was on your shoulders. "What's your last name?"
W-E-E-M-S
"Larissa Weems," you whispered to yourself, "I can't wait to learn more about you."
S-A-D
"You're sad?"
M-Y-L-I-F-E
"Oh. I see." You wished you could reach over to hold her hand, but fingertips on a planchette would have to do instead.
Larissa's life, at least according to the news articles, seemed like an overly-dramatized crime novel. Headlines like Headmistress Poisoned—Teacher Suspected, and Remembering Larissa Weems' Contributions to Nevermore popped up next to her portrait. The gorgeous headmistress, tragically poisoned by one of her own employees. The articles were all the same: surface-level condolences and the gory details followed immediately by speculation on who would take over her position as principal. Her obituary was short, only a paragraph or two, and used that same school yearbook portrait above the date and location for where her funeral would be held (years ago, now, almost to the date). Glaringly absent were any comments or posts from loved ones. Not one single comment offered more than a heart emoji; no fond memories, no pictures, not even a "thoughts and prayers" to be found.
The only article written before her death featured a picture of her standing proudly in her office, beside a big mahogany desk and wearing a similar dress to the other picture. It was another basic article for a column about the "Professional Women of Vermont" that mostly remarked on her makeup and office decor choices. One line read, "when asked about her work/life balance, Weems declined to comment."
You sighed and closed the tab. Maybe she's right, that was sad… which would make me an asshole. "Shit," you muttered and rubbed your temples. You couldn't bear the short simple words the Ouija offered—you needed to speak to her for real.
Your feet dangled over the arm rest of the couch, arms folded over your chest and eyes shut tight. The wind whipped so hard against the siding it sounded like a whisper, or a scream. Over that, you're brought the fire back to a dull roar, crackling and glowing at the other end of the room. Times like this, when it was quiet and calm in the house, the sense of unease crept into the corners of your vision. The air was warm, her distinct smell didn't hang in the air, but how could you know you weren't being watched? Worse, how could you expect to feel alone ever again if her brooch made it home with you? You shivered and tugged a blanket around your shoulders before squeezing your eyes closed one last time.
The next time your eyes opened, they focused on the fireplace. The fire had grown much bigger, in fact the stone surrounding the flames had expanded as well. And it was much further away from the couch, across tile floors you didn't recognize. Where is this?
A bang, then a low creak as the huge wooden door opened, the light from outside blindingly white. You squinted and watched Larissa materialize in the light and step through the door. It swung shut behind her as if it had been pushed and clicked into place.
"Well this is a surprise," she said, taking in the room with wide eyes.
"It is to me, too."
Larissa laughed. "My old office?" She ran her palm along the huge wooden desk.
You rose from the couch, a lovely red velvet piece with gold detailing. "I saw a picture in an article, I must've been thinking about it when I fell asleep."
Larissa hummed, her fingers digging through drawers that hadn't been touched since her death. "They're empty, I don't know what I expected," she said. She slammed a drawer shut and sighed before stepping back around to the front and leaning her thighs against it.
"I'm sorry, Larissa. I can…wake up? Try again, new setting? I'll imagine Paris next time." You walked to meet her at the edge of her desk. She leaned back with her palms flat, looking down at you in a way that made your throat feel dry and your heart beat a little faster.
"Don't worry about me, dear." The corner of her mouth twitched up into a smirk and you felt her cold palm settle on top of your hand.
"Are those mirrors on the ceiling?"
Larissa followed your gaze up and met your eyes in the reflection. Her cheeks blushed red. "I suppose so. It was like that when I moved in, promise."
You raised an eyebrow. "And you left them."
"I did." In the mirror, you saw her hand creep further up your arm and felt the goosebumps rise as she did.
"Did you ever…you know." You bit your lip and smiled, watching her squirm a bit.
"Um, no. I did not, 'you know,' in my place of work." Her eyes came back down to meet your real ones, just as she put both hands across your shoulders and pulled you to her.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. I was their boss, it would have been wrong!" Her eyes flicked over your face and settled on your mouth. She licked her lips unconsciously.
"You never thought about it though? I mean, the mirrors, the couch, this desk?" You shuffled your hips so that your legs were intertwined with hers and pushed closer, your knee just barely lifting the hem of her skirt.
Her fingers grazed the back of your neck, sending a shiver through your entire body and making your nipples hard against the fabric of your sweater. "I suppose the thought crossed my mind, once."
"Just once?" You leaned in, nostrils filling with the scent of her perfume, the tip of your nose pressed to the side of her neck so your breath would brush lightly against her skin. "So, who did you picture bending over the desk, huh?"
Her breath had grown shallow, her body paralyzed by its own desire. "No one in particular," she whispered.
"That can't be true." Your tongue darted out to lick her pulse point. She groaned quietly and tightened her fingers around your back. She was so desperate for your touch, so needy and willing. "Wait, it was you being bent over, wasn't it?"
Her blush darkened. "Perhaps." Her grip stayed tight on your shoulder so you couldn't back away too far and see the shame on her face.
"Oh, Headmistress, how scandalous!" You wrapped an arm around the small of her back and pulled her in so that the front of your body pressed against hers.
Larissa gasped and quickly melted into your touch. Her cold frame leeched the heat from your chest, but you didn't mind. Your lips brushed her throat and her legs seemed to part further on their own accord. "Switch with me," you whispered and pulled her by the hands so she stood before you while you sat at the edge of her desk, feet dangling off the edge. Her cheeks and neck were flushed pink, pupils wide and lips wet and parted as you guided her to your knee, gently lifting her skirt so it sat up around her hips. Her thighs trembled with want, but she just looked at you obediently, waiting for her next instruction.
Her hips were perfectly soft, cold handfuls of flesh as you encouraged her to grind down onto your thigh. The dampness on her underwear began to soak your pants at the knee, and she leaned forward so hard you were practically holding her up with your body, her head resting on your shoulder and arms tightly gripping the back of your shirt. "Do you like that, Headmistress?"
"I shouldn't," she whispered back, though her hips still rolled against you agonizingly slowly. "Please don't tell anyone."
The whine in her throat set a fire in your pelvis, not helped by the increasing need in her hips as she ground herself closer and closer to coming. "You want me to keep your secret?" you panted, "keep you from getting fired?"
She nodded against your neck, her brows scrunched together and moans beginning to escape her parted lips.
You wrapped a hand around the back of her neck to steady her and pull her head back. She was dazed, eyes lidded and face flushed, her hips reluctantly stilled against your knee. "If you don't want me to tell, I'll need something in return."
Larissa nodded, her lips parted so her chilled breath hit your face. You dragged her closer by the nape of her neck and darted your tongue out to taste the creamy lipstick on her mouth. She offered no resistance, teeth open and wet for your tongue to enter. She whined as your tongue invaded her mouth, her hands gripping at your sides as her hips began to rock again.
"Would you get on your knees for me?" you said into her lips, other hand already working to unbutton your pants.
Larissa nodded fervently, immediately backing up to tug her skirt back down and hide the dark wet spot at the front of her panties. She helped tug your pants and underwear over your hips and down your legs, discarding them off to the side. Larissa settled on all fours while you adjusted to be closer to the edge of the desk, careful to balance by grabbing hold of the opposite edge.
"I—" Larissa started, big blue eyes looking up at you beneath thick eyelashes.
"Yes?" You reached down to caress the side of her face. She nuzzled into your touch, never breaking eye contact.
"I hope to be satisfactory enough to earn your discretion, professor." Her lips pressed to your inner thigh and you had to resist bucking your hips in response.
"We'll see about that, Headmistress."
The corners of her mouth turned up into the slightest smile before she let her eyes flutter shut and your fingers tangled into her hair. She kissed along both thighs, her hands reached up to steady herself against your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there.
You gasped when her cold tongue finally swept between your lips, the heat of your arousal mixing with her saliva and sending wild sensations through your clit. Your fingers tightened at her scalp and she groaned, burying herself deeper between your thighs with each tug of her hair. Her updo was certainly ruined, but you doubted she'd mind. Larissa's eyes were shut tight, her eyebrows furrowed above them in concentration as her jaw and tongue worked to tighten the pressure that was building inside of you.
You groaned as she pressed her tongue as deeply inside of you as she could, throwing your head back and being met with your own reflection. You watched her white-blonde head bob between your legs, watched your own hips roll uncontrollably up into her face, urging her deeper with your grip on her hair. You pushed your sweater up to your armpits and scooped your breasts from your bra before groping at yourself, pinching a nipple between your fingers in time with Larissa's tongue.
"Fuck, Larissa—Headmistress—you're doing so good," you panted. Watching her devour your sex in the mirror and when you glanced down, along with the sounds of her groans and whines from deep within her chest—it was almost too overwhelming. She felt your thighs tighten around her skull, felt the tremble in your muscles, and dug her nails in harder at your sides. With a tug to her hair, you let yourself come undone in her mouth, your contractions and screams of pleasure swallowed by her plump red lips.
Your dazed reflection awaited you from the ceiling, sprawled out across Larissa's desk, chest heaving. She stayed on her knees, only the mussed top of her head visible in the mirrors. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her.
"I think you've earned my—"
A shrill, piercing scream tore you from the dream, your vision flickering back and forth between the view from the living room couch and Larissa's bloody, wide-smiled face. Her eyes were too dark, a pinprick of light reflecting from them and nothing else. Gore tainted her chin and cheeks crimson, painted like a smile. Even the spaces between her teeth were tinged dark red, making her mouth look uncannily wide. This, along witb her usual pallid sunken features, made her look more corpselike than ever.
"What the fuck?" you shouted, and the world flicked once more to Larissa's ghastly face before you woke fully and she was gone.
