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autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze · 4 days ago

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I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with

Larissa Weems x f!reader

It's been years - decades, even - since Larissa Weems broke up with you. Running into the shapeshifting principal at the Weathervane all these years later, she's just as striking as you remember.

This is sort of a part two to my fic do you get deja vu when she's with you? but it can definitely be read as a standalone (which is why I ultimately decided to post it this way).

Words: ~2.7k | ao3 link in title Hurt/comfort with a little angst but a happy ending

For all of the times you ran into Larissa in the year or two after your break-up, you somehow managed to completely lose sight of her in the years to come. Years have passed without so much as a whisper of the woman you once loved - the woman you’d have once given up everything for turned to nothing more than a distant memory.

Moving helped, of course - no longer feeding your daily caffeine habit at the Weathervane, giving up your Jericho library card, taking up a new job out of town, spending your summers traveling and trading your usual haunts for theaters in New York, cafés in Paris, parks in London - never stopping, always looking ahead. Towards a better life, you told yourself, towards something new and exciting. Towards a future worth living for.

You didn’t realize that you were actually running away. Away from heartache, away from her.

A failed relationship and a wave of nostalgia has brought you back to Jericho. It's fall, and there’s a pleasant chill in the air, and you’re craving a latte - for old time’s sake. You haven’t been back here in years, and you’re almost shocked at how time seems to have stood still for the sleepy little town. The interior of the Weathervane has been renovated, but just barely, looking so similar still to how it looked the last time you were here that it sends an uncomfortable chill down your spine. You ignore the overwhelming wave of deja vu threatening to pull you under and step up to the counter, ordering a latte from the teenage boy at the till.

“For here or to go?”

You shouldn’t stay. You shouldn’t indulge your nostalgia. You shouldn’t risk running into anyone you used to know.

“For here.”

If you hadn’t been so lost in your thoughts, you might’ve noticed her sooner.

As it stands, you’re watching the kid steam some milk, watching him pour it into a glass - the espresso at the bottom of the glass mixes with the milk, creating rich brown swirls that wind their way up the walls of the glass. You thank him and take your coffee, heading back to the corner booth you used to sit in - old habits die hard. You’re so preoccupied looking around the little café, taking in the change in upholstery that had apparently taken place at some point during your absence, that you don’t notice that someone is already sitting in the booth until you’re right in front of it, until it’s too late to turn around.

Thin, white eyebrows raise in shock, blue eyes go wide before she’s able to school her features into a look that you’ve seen on her face before, usually when dealing with difficult parents - a polite but vaguely disinterested smile, seemingly relaxed yet with an undercurrent of irritation, evident in the way the muscle between her brows twitches. It’s truly been ages - how long, 10 years? No, definitely more like 15 - but the years have been kind to Larissa. Of course they would be, you think, unable to help the twinge of bitterness pricking at your tongue at the realization. You wonder, vainly, if Larissa will think that the years have been kind to you, too. You hate yourself for caring in the first place.

She’s clearly aged though, you note, the wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes more pronounced, fine lines etched into her skin - skin that’s a bit looser around her neck, her jaw. Her nostrils flare slightly, and you can tell she’s uncomfortable beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You’re sure she’s growing self-conscious - it brings you a fleeting sense of satisfaction before the guilt sets in, a heaviness deep within your bones. It shocks you to realize that you’re nearly, though not quite, the same age that Larissa was when you first met her, and that she, in turn, must now be nearly old enough to retire.

Retire. Is Larissa capable of such a thing? Surely she’s still at Nevermore. Surely she must be married by now - surely she must have children of her own, like she once admitted to you she’d dreamed of having. She’s alone, you note, but you quickly remind yourself that that doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Larissa.” You hate how smoothly her name rolls off your tongue, like the melody of a beloved nursery rhyme, not sung since childhood yet stubbornly ingrained in the recesses of your memory. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” It's a flimsy lie - Larissa knows it, and you know it, but neither of you addresses it.

“How fortunate I am that you did,” she replies with a bit of a sardonic bite behind her words, no doubt a reaction to your own distant tone. To both your shock and hers, it makes you grin.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you retort, your smile wide, and Larissa's mouth twists at the corners as she lets out a haughty chuckle - she can’t tell if you mean it as an insult or not and, honestly, you’re not too sure yourself.

You’re expecting her to wrinkle her nose in disdain and tell you she must get going, or perhaps even have the audacity to tell you to leave. Instead, she utters the words “care to sit with me?” with a look of surprise in her own eyes, as if she hadn’t meant to ask you to sit with her at all.

She has, though, and she doubles down on her offer when you hesitate by arching an eyebrow and gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Why not?” You shrug and sit opposite her, annoyed by the way your hand trembles as you place your glass on the table, by the clumsy way your knee bumps against the edge of the booth and sends a shooting pain through your leg, making you grimace. Larissa pretends not to notice.

Her own hands rest on the table, her fingertips grazing the porcelain of a large, white coffee cup. The backs of her hands show her age more than her face does, and a lump rises in your throat - you look away, focusing instead on the faint print of deep red lipstick on the edge of the cup, watching as those hands raise the cup into the air, towards pursed, painted lips, with fine lines stretching out into pale, incandescent skin.

Everything about Larissa reminds you of how much time has passed since you last saw her, and you quickly look out the window to your left instead, taking a strange solace in the fact that the view is exactly the same as the last time you’d sat here.

“You don’t live here any longer, do you?” Larissa asks, her voice a deep, soothing rumble, her accent smooth and pleasant as ever, and you chuckle in response, focusing your gaze back on her face.

“Astute observation.”

“I haven't seen you here in a very long time.” Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she sounds a little bitter, as if displeased that you had the audacity to try and move on.

“Well, I haven't been here in a very long time…” You sigh, taking a sip of your latte - it burns your tongue. “You’re right, I moved.”

Larissa nods, sapphire eyes mapping out your features, no doubt assessing the visible passage of time against your own skin. Her expression remains neutral - it borders on disinterest, though the twitch of her lips betrays her. At one time, long, long ago, she might’ve asked you why you’d moved. Where you’d moved to. What brings you back. Something, anything, that shows an interest in you, in your life. Today, she doesn’t. And you don’t even think it’s because she doesn’t care, but because you both know it doesn’t matter. You both know that you left Jericho because of her, and no amount of small talk is going to erase the past. It doesn’t matter if she cares now or not - not anymore.

“You still at Nevermore?”

Larissa smiles - it almost upsets you. You wish that she’d smiled at you when she first saw you, as she once did - instead it takes a mention of her career to get her lips to curl up into that familiar grin you once coveted.

“Yes,” she replies, both pride and fondness evident in her tone.

“I don’t suppose you’ll retire soon…”

Larissa’s mood seems to sour a bit. It's a fragile thing, her mood - it always has been, but it seems a little more so today. You can’t blame her, you suppose, not when her ex is ruining her lunch break.

“I don’t think it’s quite time for that yet,” she says bitterly, and you realize that she’s self-conscious of her age, of you recognizing that she’s gotten older in the time you haven’t seen each other. You can see the resentment slowly growing in her gaze, a tiny flame that could turn into a roaring inferno at the slightest gust of wind and burn down everything in its path. Turn you, yourself, to ashes. You smile in spite of yourself.

“Nevermore wouldn’t be Nevermore without you anyway, would it?” you hum thoughtfully, placating her, and it works. A calm washes over her features and her knuckles unclench and she cocks her head to the side as her gaze sweeps over your form.

That gaze makes you feel so small. It makes you feel so worthless, because it reminds you of that time she looked at you in the bar on New Year’s Eve, the first New Year’s Eve after she’d broken your heart - like she was looking at a stranger, like she was looking straight through you, like you didn’t exist to her. And it’s been 15 years and you shouldn’t feel that way, still, after all this time, but you do. And you can tell that she knows. You can tell by the way something in her expression changes that she can see the subtle way you shrink down in your seat, the anxiety swirling in your pupils even as you keep your own expression as impassive as you can.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to sit with me,” she says in a sudden, uncharacteristic bout of honesty. The words are so matter-of-fact, said so abruptly, that they go through you like a cold shower.

She’s probably right, though it angers you to admit it.

“Then why did you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “I wanted to know how you were doing,” she says, after a long period of silence.

“You haven’t asked,” you grumble.

Larissa looks down at her cup, twisting it this way and that on its saucer, seeming to study her own lipstick print for a moment. “I don’t suppose you think I deserve to know.”

Her answer infuriates you even more, because, once again, she’s right. She doesn’t deserve to know. But she has a lot of nerve assuming how you feel after all this time.

“Do you think you deserve to know?”

Larissa doesn’t answer - you clench your teeth.

The silence that befalls your little corner booth is almost too heavy to bear. Except it’s not a silence, not completely - there’s music playing over the radio, and the song that’s just started hits you like a punch to the gut.

It’s “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel, and for a moment you think Larissa hasn’t made the connection. That’s what sets you off - that what you and Larissa had could mean so little to her that she barely remembers any of it - barely remembers something that shoots straight through you and makes you feel, for a single, fleeting second, as though you’re still madly in love, as though you could just reach out and grab her, kiss her and feel her smile against your lips as her arms wind around you and shield you from the world.

“How’s your girlfriend? Or is she your wife now?” you ask - you might as well start asking her questions until you find one she’ll answer. This question is a bit childish, a little petty - you know that before you’ve even opened your mouth to ask it, but you can’t help yourself. You can tell Larissa thinks so, too, by her raised eyebrow. To your surprise, she answers.

“I don't have a partner.”

You’re not sure if the emotion bubbling up inside of you, licking greedily at your insides, is glee or pity - surely it’s a strange, ugly mixture of both seeping into your expression at her admission.

“Did you get bored of her, too?”

Larissa’s lips part ever so slightly as a blush colors her cheeks - a faint pink hue that’s gone faster than it came. You hate that you know Larissa well enough still to immediately recognize what she’s done: shapeshifted away the visible evidence of an unwanted emotional reaction. You hate that you can’t shapeshift away the redness in your own cheeks.

“That isn’t fair,” Larissa says quietly.

You don’t know what’s more interesting - the fact that she doesn’t deny your statement, or the fact that her eyes are swimming with guilt, even as she frowns at you.

“Isn’t it?”

Larissa doesn’t answer - again - and the song seems to get louder and louder as it goes on, filling the space between the two of you, and your hands clench into fists on the table.

“This fucking song…” you mutter bitterly, and Larissa freezes as a flicker of recognition crosses her face.

“You really liked this song,” she says, as if it’s some sort of revelation to her as she sounds, for the first time, a bit regretful.

You can’t help the hollow laugh that vibrates in your chest at her words. “I really liked you, Larissa.”

Larissa seems taken aback at your statement. She runs a hand over her pristine updo, smoothing down imaginary fly-aways, turning her head to look out the window as tension seems to grip her at the shoulders.

“I know I don’t have much of a right to say this,” she says finally, her voice just a bit softer than it was before. “But I liked you, too. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

You’re stunned into silence. In a way, it’s more of an apology than you ever dreamed you could get. On the other hand… she’s making it sound a whole lot like she hadn’t had a choice in the matter, like she didn’t leave you as if it were the easiest thing she’d ever done.

“You’re sorry it didn’t work out?” you repeat, your voice strangely hollow, and Larissa shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “You’re the one who left, Larissa. You’re the one who made it seem like I was nothing to you.”

“I know I did, and there’s no excuse for that.” Larissa pauses, deliberating. “One thing I never did get the hang of was being in a stable relationship.” She pauses again. “I regret hurting you in the process.”

“But do you regret leaving me?” The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, and you could choke yourself to death, you really could, for sounding so helplessly pathetic after over a decade of unsuccessful mourning.

To your surprise, Larissa doesn’t laugh or shrug off your comment. She tilts her head, meets your gaze. “Yes, I do.”

Larissa takes one final sip of her coffee and stands. Red-tipped fingers slowly disappear into a pair of tan, leather gloves that fit snugly around her wrists. One hand reaches for her handbag, lying on the bench beside her, as the other is placed firmly on the table, used to steady herself as she rises from the booth.

It’s not that you’d necessarily forgotten how tall she is, but you’re somehow struck with the realization anyway, as if seeing her for the first time. Her kitten heels add an inch or two to her already towering height, and she tilts her head down to look at you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Where are you going?”

Larissa smoothes a hand nervously over her hair. “I need some fresh air.” Her voice sounds the slightest bit hoarse. “It really was lovely to see you.”

“You’re not leaving again?” you ask incredulously, pushing yourself to your feet and stepping up to Larissa, craning your neck back to get a good look at her face. Her eyes widen and, to your surprise, her lips quirk up at the outer corners.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a walk, then?”

“I would, actually.”

Something within Larissa seems to relax, and she leads you out of the Weathervane with a hand on the small of your back.

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autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze · 9 days ago

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Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

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.

You believed her.

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