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
“A Thousand Times” hit 100 subscriptions today!!! 🥹🥰
Thank you all for reading and commenting! And for being so enthusiastic and passionate about the story. Your energy is giving me LIFE! I’m working on chapter 14 now and can’t wait to share more soon. Stay tuned!
Including a link to the first chapter over on AO3 in case there are any newcomers to the tag! ♥️
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Been finishing up the last couple things I need for 100% in village ( 3 years late🫶) and took screenshots of Alcina just like 2021 my console screenshots will be full of her again
Summary: You notice that Larissa has started up an old anxious habit.
A/n: It’s finally posted!!! I’m so sorry this took so long to post! I just got the motivation to finish it (of course it had to be at four in the morning, though)
A/n: This was based on a post I commented on a while ago (can’t find the post for the life of me) mentioning that there’s no paint on one of Larissa’s nails during the fireplace scene in Wednesday. I made a comment saying that it could be due to an anxious habit where Larissa rubs/picks off the paint on her nails and thought it might make a good fic.
Word Count: 1,036
“Riss, I’m home!” you cried, the door clicking shut behind you as you walked into your shared apartment.
The apartment was quiet, save for the fire crackling in the hearth, basking everything in either shadows or a soft golden glow. Though the place technically belonged to the both of you it smelled of Larissa; faint traces of jasmine and vanilla clinging to every surface.
“Hi, darling.”
You turned your head as you hung up your jacket and purse, smiling slightly as you caught sight of your wife leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, her silk, olive green rode hugging her body and long silvery curls brushing against her back.
“Long day?” you asked as she walked to you, placing a kiss on her jaw. Larissa never took her hair down or put on her robe this early in the evening unless she’d had a stressful day. She nodded, pulling you close and tucking her head into the crook of your neck, “Have you eaten yet? I had a late lunch, but if you want something—”
“I ate.” Larissa mumbled quietly. You could feel her hands trembling as they clutched your shirt, rubbing your hands up and down her sides to try and soothe her, “Can you just… come lie with me for a bit? Please?”
You nodded, kicking off your shoes before allowing her to pull you onto the bed, holding Larissa close as she curled up beside you on the mattress. Something was wrong and you knew it, but you wouldn’t press her about it. You trusted Larissa to tell you in her own time.
“So… how was your day?” you inquired, stroking Larissa’s back as you looked down at her.
“Eventful.” Larissa groaned out with a huff, the hand grasping your shirt tightening ever so slightly, “I swear Miss. Addams is going to be the death of me.”
“She’s Morticia and Gomez’s, you can’t really expect anything less, can you?” you teased, hoping to lighten her mood even a little bit.
Larissa gave a low chuckle, looking up at you with a smile. You could tell it was clearly forced, not quite reaching her eyes. She shifted against you, her hand moving to your hip. It was then that you caught sight of her nails, the ruby red paint clearly picked off, the skin around her nails red and raw.
“When did you start doing that again?” you asked, taking Larissa’s hand in your own and looking at her nails a little closer. Several of her nails had been scrapped clean, the skin around them was irritated, and her cuticles were specked with dried blood. “You said you’d quit?”
“It started this past week,” Larissa said meekly, curling her hands into fists and hiding her face in the crook of your neck, “With what happened to Rowan and Miss. Addam’s fanatics…”
“Rissa… why didn’t you say something?” you stroked your thumb over her knuckles as you spoke, kissing her hair.
“Didn’t want to upset you,” Larissa mumbled against your neck, “—Knew you wouldn’t like it…”
“Riss… Honey, I don’t like it when you don’t tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know something’s wrong.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” you felt Larissa’s frame shake against yours and tears start to stain your shirt, “I-I just… I didn’t want you to worry… I… I thought I could handle it… I’m sorry-I’m so sorry… Don’t-don’t be mad…”
“Honey, I’m not mad.” you assured, “Okay? I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you. I’m always going to be worried about you. That’s my job… We’ve been through this already… You have to tell me when something’s wrong, alright?”
She sniffled, pressing her face into your chest. "I just don’t want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden," you said firmly, “Not to me. Ever. Alright?”
Larissa nodded, breathing began to calm, her body relaxing against yours as she soaked in your words. "I’ll try... I’ll try to be better about telling you. I promise."
You kissed the top of her head, brushing her hair back. "I know you will."
A few days later as you were lounging around in Larissa’s office, waiting for her to finish up with her monthly teacher evaluations so that you two could go get dinner, you found a spare bottle of Larissa’s nail polish hidden away on her bookshelf. You chuckled, grabbing the bottle and turning to her with a smirk plastered over your face.
"Nice try, Larissa," you said with a teasing smile, “I’m not blind, sweetheart.”
Larissa looked up and froze upon seeing the bottle in your hand, her cheeks flushing as she quickly turned away, not meeting your gaze. "I didn’t think you’d notice."
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily.” She sighed, pushing her chair back and rubbing her temple. “Hey. It’s not the nail polish I’m worried about. It’s you not telling me what’s going on. We’ve talked about this, Larissa."
Her eyes softened as she nodded. "I know. I just... I didn’t want to worry you."
"Well, too bad," you replied, giving her a wink. "I worry whether you like it or not. But don’t think you can get away with hiding your habits from me. I’ve got you all figured out, sweetheart."
Larissa let out a soft chuckle, shooing you from her office, claiming that she wouldn’t get anything done with you prowling around. You let out a light laugh, but conceded, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door. Just as you reached for the handle though, you paused, remembering that Larissa had a backup for everything, and turned back to her.
“I’ll take the other one too.” you stated, walking back over to her and holding out your palm.
Larissa looked up at you from her chair, her face scrunched up in the most adorable pout, and sighed, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a second bottle of ruby red nail polish. You gently snatched it out of her hand, laughing to yourself, and gave her a knowing look before turning back around again and walking out the door, silently debating whether or not you should start tracking Larissa’s purchases.
I'm so sorry I haven't been posting for a while!!! between PT and doctors appointments I'm usually too exhausted to write. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into the swing of things here soon
Hello author ! I have a request for Larrisa. Reader is a prostitute and Larissa goes to her to forget Morticia. May I ask for shifted cock ? Thank you keep up the good work 🥳
Unraveled Illusions (NSFW)
Larissa Weems x prostitute!reader
A/N: Slowly going through my request list. I loved this idea, wrote this tonight instead of preparing my lessons for next week (work can wait). I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request!!
tw: shapeshifted cock
You thought when your latest client picked you, it was for your body. After all, that's what most people are paying for. They weren’t looking for conversation or connection—just the fantasy of intimacy.
Over the years, you’d learned to read them: the ones who worshipped breasts, ass, legs, as well as many other common—and uncommon—things. Larissa seemed like a hair woman, judging by the way her fingers twisted through your locks, keeping you bent over the bed.
She hadn’t touched you beyond that, though. One hand was locked around your hair, the other... Well, she was stroking herself, seemingly content to maintain the distance between your bodies. It was unusual. Clients usually tried to consume you, to use you until there was nothing left. But Larissa, this woman with her piercing gaze and sharp cheekbones, seemed more like a collector.
You could hear her laboured breathing behind you. But it wasn’t pleasure—at least not entirely. There was something raw in it. Frustration, maybe. Longing.
You turned your head, curious to catch her expression, but her grip tightened, and she guided your face back toward the headboard.
"Stay."
Her voice was low, almost commanding, but there was something fragile underneath it. Something you’d seen before in others: a woman who wasn’t really here with you.
It always came down to projection, didn’t it? You weren’t yourself in these moments—you were the canvas they painted on. Larissa, too, was searching for someone else.
"What's her name?" you asked, breaking the silence.
Larissa's movements faltered.
“Don’t talk.”
You didn’t listen.
“Her name,” you repeated, turning your face enough to glimpse her. "The one you’re thinking of."
She scoffed, shaking her head, but didn’t deny it.
“Not everything has to be spelt out,” she muttered, but the way her shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.
This woman—this ghost—haunted her.
“You know you’ll feel better if you say it,” you pushed gently, straightening enough to sit back on your knees. Larissa stilled, her hand falling away.
She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, and you weren’t sure if she was trying to gather herself or find an escape. Finally, she muttered one word.
“Morticia.”
Her lips barely moved when she said it, like she was afraid of summoning something painful.
"Good." You let the name sit between you, an offering of sorts. “Now, was that so hard?”
Her icy blue eyes snapped to yours, narrowing.
“Do you always try to psychoanalyze your clients?”
“Only when they make it this easy.” You smiled, softening the edges of the dig.
For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Larissa smiled back. It wasn’t warm—not yet—but there was something wry in it, something almost playful.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
“A little.”
She exhaled a short laugh, running a hand through her hair. The updo she’d tried to keep intact earlier was half undone now, strands curling rebelliously around her face. You thought she looked beautiful like this—dishevelled and human.
You didn’t often allow yourself to feel for clients. It was dangerous, after all. But something about Larissa's loneliness, the way it clung to her like a second skin, called to you.
“You miss her,” you said softly, not a question.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t deny it.
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
“No.” The word was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. But the way her fingers trembled slightly as she worked to rebutton her blouse betrayed her.
She stood abruptly, reaching down for her pants that she quickly put back on.
“I should go,” she muttered.
“Larissa,” you said, her name falling from your lips without thought.
She froze, her hand on the door handle. Slowly, she turned, her eyes searching yours.
"Say that again," she murmured.
“Larissa.”
There was a flicker of something in her gaze, something raw and unguarded.
“You almost sound like her,” she said softly. Her voice wavered, but her expression was steel.
You crossed the room, closing the space between you, emboldened by her hesitation. When you reached her, you lifted a hand, letting your fingers hover near her temple. “Do you want me to be her?”
She swallowed hard. “You can’t.”
“No,” you agreed. “I can’t. Because in what world would she ever want to be with someone like you?”
The words were cruel, but you’d seen what women like her responded to. Pain. It was familiar to them. Comforting, even. You held your breath, waiting for her reaction.
Her eyes flared, something igniting in their depths.
She stepped forward, her presence filling the air between you, heavy and electric. It took everything you had not to retreat—not to give her the satisfaction of seeing you falter. She was close now, too close, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours, turbulent and searching. They flickered like a storm barely held in check, and you wondered if she was about to lash out or leave altogether.
Your heart raced, an unpredictable rhythm, and you weren’t sure if it was fear or desire that caused it. Maybe both. Then, before you could steel yourself, she closed the distance.
Her lips crashed against yours, a punishing press of mouth on mouth. It was rough and demanding, all sharp edges and no finesse, but you met her fervour head-on, refusing to let her dominate entirely. You pushed back, kissing her with just as much bite as she gave.
It was the right move. A low growl escaped her throat as her hands found your hips, gripping tightly. She pulled you against her, guiding you down onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The mattress dipped beneath your combined weight as she covered you, her lips relentless.
The kiss was messy, a heady mix of clashing teeth and lingering wine. Her perfume lingered faintly on her skin, a floral note beneath the heat of the moment. It was intoxicating, but not enough to distract you.
Your hands worked quickly, curling around the collar of her blouse and tugging her closer. The buttons she had so meticulously fastened earlier came undone with ease under your fingers, and when you finally managed to peel the fabric off her shoulders, she hovered above you, breathless and dishevelled.
“You’re an idiot,” she growled, and you knew she wasn’t talking to you but rather herself.
“You’re a cunt,” you shot back, breathless but smiling.
She pulled back just far enough to smirk, the expression sharp and self-assured. “You are what you eat,” she quipped before diving back in.
A laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected but genuine. The sound didn’t seem to bother her; if anything, it spurred her on. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to anchor herself.
Her weight pressed down on you, solid and comforting in its intensity. Your hands roamed to her biceps, gripping them, feeling the tension in her muscles as they shifted and flexed beneath your touch. She moved with purpose, her hands sliding over your body, down to your hips, then lower still.
Your legs moved instinctively, wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. The fabric of her pants rubbed against your skin, and when her hardened length brushed against your core through the layers, you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you.
She hummed softly, rolling her hips against yours.
"Larissa, please," you begged, the words tumbling out more earnestly than you'd intended.
Her movement stilled. Rising to her feet, she left you sprawled on the bed as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she reached for the zipper of her pants. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she slid them and her panties down in one fluid motion. Your eyes stayed locked on her face, unblinking, even as she stepped out of the fabric and crawled back toward you, her movements deliberate.
Your arms stretched toward her as she closed the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, you reached into your discarded purse beside you, your fingers quickly finding a condom and tearing it open with practised ease.
The other hand drifted down her body, brushing over the curve of her breasts, the smooth line of her navel, and lower. When you felt the soft hair below her belly button, your fingers ventured further, wrapping around her cock, heavy and hot in your palm.
The first experimental tug earned you a soft groan. The second, a deeper growl. By the third, her forehead came to rest against yours, her breathing laboured as you carefully rolled the condom over her length. Satisfied, you lifted your eyes to hers, offering a small nod of readiness.
She crushed her lips to yours in a fierce kiss, pushing you back onto the bed. The kiss was rough, more teeth than softness, and you moaned against her mouth, your breath hitching when her fingers finally found you. They slipped through your folds with practised precision, circling your clit with just the right pressure to make you gasp. Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, her control maddeningly exact.
Sweat slicked your skin as your breaths mingled, and more than once, she brought you right to the edge of release only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink. By the third time, you shot her an exasperated glare.
“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry in the slightest,” she said, her grin equal parts smug and infuriating.
Your response caught in your throat when she finally positioned herself at your entrance. With a deliberate push of her hips, she filled you, the stretch overwhelming in the best way. You whimpered, unable—or unwilling—to hold back the sound.
"Larissa," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.
She buried her face against your neck, her breath hot against your skin as she groaned. It almost sounded like a name—Morticia, perhaps—but before you could linger on the thought, she thrust again, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you cry out.
Your arms wrapped around her shoulders as her pace quickened, each movement precise and powerful. Her hands roamed your body, squeezing, gripping, and claiming. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe she wanted you—not whoever haunted her mind. But you quickly dismissed the thought. This was just a transaction, nothing more.
Her pace grew erratic, her body trembling as she neared her climax. To your surprise, you felt your own release building, an unfamiliar sensation creeping over you. You rarely let yourself enjoy these moments with clients, but something about Larissa’s focus, the weight of her presence, unravelled you.
The wave of pleasure hit suddenly, your cry sharp and unrestrained. At almost the same moment, Larissa thrust deep one final time, her body going taut as she groaned through her release. The condom dulled the sensation, but you swore you could still feel the faint pulse of her inside you.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. Then, with a grunt, she pulled away, disposing of the condom in the bin before beginning to redress in silence.
“Dinner?” she asked casually, buttoning her blouse without looking at you.
You laughed, reaching back to zip up your dress. “I don’t have dinner with clients.”
Sliding onto a nearby stool, you bent down to clasp your heels.
“Even if they pay you?” she asked from the doorway, her tone light but curious.
Looking up, you caught her gaze, noticing the brief flick of her eyes to your cleavage before they returned to your face. A smirk tugged at your lips, mirrored instantly by hers.
“Good night, Larissa,” you said, your voice soft but firm.
She chuckled, a low sound that lingered even as she turned to leave.
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
dededos
