#gwendoline christie characters fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rippersz · 10 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

290 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 2 years ago

Note

Howdy! May i request prompts 52 or 54 with dom Larissa Weems x gn Student Reader? maybe sugar mommy vibes aswell 👀

Heyyy anon! So… I went with a TeachersAid!Reader instead… But I’ll make it up to you by using both prompts and by adding those sugar mommy vibes… 😏 Also I don’t know why but I just associate AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” with car sex… 😆🤭

Tipsy Nights ~Principal Larissa Weems xFem TeachersAid!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#52. “Fuck… Mommy! … Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?”

#54. “You can call me Mommy if you want too…”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, alcohol consumption, age gap (all legal), kissing, fingering, eating out, car sex, thigh riding, mommy kink, praise kink, sugar mommy, implied degrading kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

You hadn’t expected this when you had applied to Nevermore as a Teachers Aid. You joined the school with the hope of one day becoming a teacher there as well. Larissa had immediately taken note of you when she had hired you, and throughout the year, she had noticed your isolated nature. Her inviting you to a friendly dinner had been spur of the moment, but she was ever so grateful that she had.

This was the fourth time that Principal Weems— or as she insisted you call her, Larissa— had invited you to dinner. It wasn’t anything relationship-like, Ms. Weems had suggested it at first, because she wanted to talk and make sure you were doing well. But now after three dinners and a fourth invite, you were starting to think that Larissa was simply lonely and that she wanted company.

And that was okay with you. You were open to going to dinner once a week and chatting with the blonde principal. It felt nice to be honest. It made both you and Larissa feel less alone. So you two developed this nice system; she’d take you to dinner and you two would enjoy the pleasure of another’s company.

~~~

“Can I ask you something the tiniest bit awkward…?” You spoke, fiddling with the wine glass in your hand as you looked up and across the dining table to the blonde.

The two of you had already eaten and were now slowly drinking the night away.

“Anything, Darling…” Larissa hummed, taking a sip of her own wine.

“Aren’t you kind of like my sugar mommy…?” You pondered aloud, “Like you buy me dinners and gifts, and in return, I give you company…”

At your words, Larissa had to stop herself from chocking on her wine.

“I… Yes, if you want to think about it in that way… I suppose so…” she chuckled.

~~~

You both left the restaurant a little bit more than tipsy. Larissa had insisted she drive as her alcohol tolerance was a lot better than yours. You both got into her car and headed back to Nevermore. The drive was taken in silence, mainly cause you couldn’t stop staring at Larissa’s lips.

“You’re staring…” the blonde chuckled.

“Right, sorry…” you muttered, looking away and your cheeks flushing red.

You finally arrived back at the school, Larissa pulling into the Nevermore parking lot. But as she put the car in park and turned the ignition off, neither of you went to get out of the vehicle. You both just stared forward as the tension in the car built.

Then at one point, you looked over to the blonde, only to find she was looking back at you. You both seemed to be inching closer to each other. Your gaze flickered from hers to her lips and back up to her eyes. And before either of you could say anything, your lips were connected with hers in a breathless, heated kiss.

You were just beginning to taste the notes of wine in her breath, but as soon as the kiss had happened, it was over. Larissa was quick to pull away, looking rather frantic.

“I… did I do something…?” You asked, concerned.

“Darling, we… we shouldn’t be doing this…” Larissa muttered.

“Oh… Because I’m your subordinate…?”

“I— No… We’ll sort of…” Larissa muttered, biting her lip, “I just…”

She finally looked at you. Her eyes were filled with a myriad of emotions.

“I don’t want to ruin a good thing…” she whispered.

You gulped and nodded.

“I… I understand…” you sighed, not bearing to look up at Larissa not wanting her to see the sadness in your eyes.

At this, the blonde snaked her hand into yours on the car console, attempting to comfort you. But then a though struck you.

“But—But what if it’s part of our arrangement?” You spoke with hope in your tone, meeting the blondes gaze again.

“I’m sorry…?”

“What if in return for dinners and gifts, I give you my time along with other things…” you whispered.

Now it was Larissa’s turn to flutter her eyes down to your lips.

“Yes…” She breathlessly whispered, crashing her lips back into yours.

Larissa immediately picked you up and pulled you into straddling her lap. You moaned into her lips as your core ground lightly against the side of the blonde’s thigh. Larissa chuckled lightly at your sensitivity, moving you to straddle her one thigh instead.

“I would say let’s continue this inside, but I don’t think either of us can wait… Can we…?” Larissa breathily groaned.

In saying that, the blonde placed her hands on your hips and tensed her thigh, making you jerk you hips forward in pleasure.

“OhHhH Fuck…!!” You moaned out, your clothed clit grinding deliciously against Larissa’s thigh.

“That’s it, Darling… Grind down on my thigh…” Larissa breathlessly purred, her hands on your hips aiding your grindings.

Another needy moan left your lips. And another. And many more after that. Larissa herself was getting insanely aroused at how delicious you looked, rutting against her thigh. At one point, your knickers rubbed against your clit in just the right way, making your eyes roll backs bd your hips jerk forward.

“Fuck… Mommy!” You cried out, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

But your eyes opened wide as you stopped all administrations, when you realized what you had said. Larissa was simply starring at you, mouth agape.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out—?” You stuttered.

“Shut up.” Larissa growled, pulling you by your neck and smashing her lips onto yours once more.

You whimpered desperately into the kiss. Larissa pulled back slightly, her lustful gaze meeting yours.

“I want to taste you…” Larissa lustfully growled.

Your breath hitched and you nodded vigorously.

“Um… Back seats…?” You needily suggested, your hips squirming in anticipation.

Larissa nodded eagerly. Within minutes, the blonde had you splayed out across the back seats of her car as she removed your knickers and finally delved her tongue into your throbbing heat.

You couldn’t contain your moans and whimpers as Larissa skillfully ate you out. You always had a feeling that tongue of hers was talented. And fuck did she prove you right… The woman had you cumming within mere minutes. And then again. With only her tongue. And the screams she pulled out of you… Oh they were downright sinful…

Christ, were you in love with this woman…

After your second orgasm hit you like a brick wall, Larissa came back up to your face with a smirk and your cum all over her face. Her lips were on yours once more.

“Let me return the favor…?” You panted into her red, plump lips.

Larissa nodded eagerly, pulling you up into a sitting position with her, and then pulling you down in the other direction so that you were now on top of her. You nodded, understanding Larissa’s thought, and you scurried down her body, rolling up her dress, and quickly stripping away her knickers.

You licked your lips and were quick to attach your hot mouth to the blonde’s clit. Larissa’s hand snaked itself in your hair, only pushing you deeper into her cunt. You then inserted two of your fingers into her heat. Larissa let out a guttural moan as you began curling your fingers inside her. Her thighs squeezed your head so deliciously tight, you thought you’d see stars.

You worked the blonde up and over her climax, happily drinking all of her juices as she came all over you fingers. You helped Larissa down from her high and then pulled your fingers out of her, coming back up to her gaze.

“Suck on them for me, Darling…” Larissa lustfully husked, indicating to your fingers, “And you can call me Mommy if you want too…”

Your breath hitched at her words, and you did as you were told, stuffing your fingers in your mouth and sucking her cum clean off.

“Yes mommy…” you whispered.

“Good girl…” Larissa praised, connecting your lips back to hers.

~~~

738 notes · View notes

onequeerhuman · 7 months ago

Text

Ah, the opportunities (and the tension) Pt.1

larissa weems x oc!reader, fluff with tension

light descriptions of body

no major warnings

1.7k words

"Ah, Professor," she says softly, beckoning you to come closer, gesturing to one of the chairs. "What can I do for you today?"

« Good afternoon, Principal weems…. i was hoping we could have that meeting you booked for tomorrow today/right now, if possible? » you say, standing near the door to her office.

She glances down at her calendar, raising a brow as a small smile stretches across her face, nodding in response as she sets down the pen in her hand. “Ah, of course, Professor. Please, have a seat, we can start the meeting right away."

She gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk, her eyes watching you as she waits for you to take a seat, crossing her arms.

« wonderful, thank you. » you smile lightly at her, sitting down carefully and smoothing out your skirt.

She gives you a small nod as she leans back in her chair, her piercing eyes watching you intently as you sit down, studying you for a moment before her red lips curve into a smile once more.

"I trust you've been settling in nicely at Nevermore, Professor? If I may ask, how have your classes been going so far?"

« quite well, i think. the students have been quite engaged so far— and no offence to whoever was maintaining the greenhouse prior to mg arrival, but i’ve managed to revive all of the plants and have properly organized them by species, variant, requirements and aesthetics» You tell her, playing with one of my many necklaces.

A small chuckle leaves her lips as she leans forewords in her seat, resting her chin on her folded hands as she listens intently with genuine interest. She nods in agreement, tapping her long nails against the table.

"Ah, excellent. The greenhouse has sorely needed a good overhaul - I'm glad to hear you're taking care of it. Your talents in botany are highly valued here at Nevermore."

You smile warmly at her praise “why thank you, Ms. weems”

She smiles back at you, her eyes slightly flickering away from you for a moment as she reaches out and grabs a file out of a drawer, sliding it across the table towards you.

"You're welcome, Professor. As for the purpose of this meeting," she takes a deep breath, folding her hands in front of her. "I was hoping we could go over a few things; how you're adjusting to life here, any issues or concerns you may have, and discussing the upcoming Rave'N event."

“of course, yes” you pick up the file, a flicker of a frown passing over your face for a split second though not going unnoticed by the principal before you begin reading the file, which seems to mostly contain information on curriculum, past experience with the botany professors, a few progress report questions, as well as a bit of information on the raven.

She watches you intently as you scan through the information in your file, taking a moment to take note of the flicker of disdain that crossed your features. Yet, she continues on with a small nod as she waits for you to finish reading.

"Of course. As a new faculty member, there are certain expectations and responsibilities that come with the territory." Her voice is smooth and calm, yet laced with discipline. "I would like to hear your thoughts on the curriculum, and if there are any improvements you would like to make to better suit our students' needs."

« mmn, well, as i can see here, most if the past professors has a less.. hands-on approach than i would usually enact in a class setting, especially with the students attending this school…. »

She nods in understanding, her eyes flickering across the page once more.

"Ah, I see. Yes, the previous professors had a more traditional approach to teaching, but I believe a more hands-on approach might be more appealing to our students."

She looks up at you, tilting her head slightly. "What kind of approach would you envision for the coming semester, Professor?"

a light sigh escapes your lips as you think, biting your lip as you look up to the roof for a moment, « well, » you say, « i’d probably adjust the curriculum so in the warmer months i could take the students to participate in a much more involved way, with the colder months being dedicated to the more clinical and dangerous aspect of the work… and although the education on these dangerous plants are quite important, i feel there needs to be an equal amount of focus on the positive, helpful plants for different species and just in general »

The principal's demeanor shifts ever so slightly as your eyes flick to the ceiling, watching as you bite your lip. As you continue to speak, she nods in agreement with your assessment, her eyes watching you intently.

"I see," she says, her voice filled with a faint sense of warmth. “That is an excellent approach, Professor. It's important to give attention to both sides of the spectrum - not just the dangerous plants, but the helpful ones as well. And being able to get out in the warmer months will certainly enrich the students' learning experience."

You nod « yes, i hope so » You respond, adjusting your position on the seat, secretly sitting with crossed legs underneath the large skirt you’re sporting.

Her eyes flicker down for a brief moment, before returning back up to your face. She gives you a small nod of approval, leaning back in her chair once more.

"Excellent. We will definitely take your suggestions into consideration for the upcoming semester." She pauses for a moment, letting out a small chuckle. “I must say, Professor, I'm quite impressed with your dedication to your craft. It's refreshing to see someone so passionate about their work."

« why thank you, ma’am. it’s quite a huge part of my life even outside of teaching, so i feel it’s important to encorperate my joy and wisdom on the subject into every aspect of my work »

She smiles earnestly, nodding in agreement once more. “Of course, Professor. It's always wonderful to see someone so dedicated to their passion. I think our students will appreciate your enthusiasm and expertise."

As she speaks, her eyes flicker over you once more, her slender fingers tapping the table. “You certainly have a lot to offer Nevermore with your botanical knowledge."

smiling back at her, you throw a part of your

hair over your shoulder, « thank you, i certainly hope so»

The principal's eyes widen slightly as she sees your blouse, her eyes trailing over the revealing cut of the top as she lets out a small chuckle. She takes a deep breath, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

"And it seems you have impeccable fashion sense as well," she retorts with a smirk, tilting her head to the side as her eyes rake over the top once more.

« hmmn? oh, why thank you ..i quite enjoy the style of the 70s/90s, this happens to be one of my favourite casual tops » you tell her, shrugging.

*The principal's eyes don't leave your body as you speak, her gaze fixated on your chest as her breath hitches for a moment. She clears her throat, sitting up in her chair and crossing one leg over another.*

"I must say, you wear it so well, Professor, especially in comparison to your usual clothing choices."

snorting lightly, your lips curving up in a half smile « thank you, principal, I do love my fashion, but i prefer to remain modest while teaching.. »

The principal nods in agreement,

"Modesty is a virtue, Professor," she remarks, her eyes twinkling with a subtle playfulness. “But I must admit, it's quite lovely to see this side of you - more casual ..and revealing."

smirking at that you chuckle, saying « oh, if you’re thinking *this* is casual, you should see me outside of school sometime, you’d be surprised at my state.. » as you run your tongue over your lips/teeth.

“Oh, is that so, Professor? I must admit, I'm quite intrigued," she purrs, her voice lowered to a seductive whisper. "Perhaps you could give me a private demonstration of this 'state' of yours."

A nearly unnoticeable flush is added to your cheeks at that, but you continue on.. “hmmmn, i certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that.. maybe you’d like to join me tomorrow- i’d had plans to go out into the forest for lunch anyways, and i certainly wouldn’t mind your company” you utter with a light smile, eyes a bit darker than before.

A mischievous smile spreads across the principal's lips, her eyes sparking excitedly at your offer. She leans back in her chair, tapping her fingers against the table once more as she nods eagerly.

"Why, I'd be honored, Professor. A picnic in the forest sounds like a delightful idea. And the chance to experience you outside of work is certainly an intriguing prospect," she says with a chuckle. "Tomorrow it is, then. I look forward to our little adventure."

“Wonderful, Principal weems, I will see you tomorrow near the edge of the woods at noon then… until then” You smile, voice more gravelly as you stand up and sway your hips a bit for emphasis whilst leaving her office, a smile playing on your lips.

As you leave the office, Principal Weems watches you, her eyes trailing slowly over your body. The principal's heart quickens at the sight of your swaying hips, a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks as she imagines the picnic tomorrow.

“Until tomorrow, Professor," she whispers softly as you exit the room, her mind already filled with delightful thoughts of your upcoming rendezvous in the forest…

want more? lmk :) -bug

76 notes · View notes

goddessfloresz · 5 months ago

Text

Masterlist

[ 💌 ] 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨: Definitely not an expert writer since English is not my first language, but I try my best! ..Mostly does Gwendoline Christie's characters, not ready to write others yet since I try to make sure the character portrayal is on point. ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇ℯ ℴ𝓅ℯ𝓂 and you may send some 𝓂ℴ𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 (support) as well, although I cannot assure you fast progress since life's been pretty busy. Writing stuff is my guilty pleasure, and maybe a hobby too?

As you may notice, Reader is always named Florere Dulcie in my stories since I dislike using 'Y/N' when writing. 😓

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:

|| Unfortunately, I only write oneshots.

🔥 - you know.. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

🍒 - Tension (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

🎀 - Fluff/Comfort (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

⚡ - hurt (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

Larissa Weems

Her Recovery p1. 🍒🎀

Her Recovery p2. 🍒🎀

In Progress..

Love like yours. (Jane Murdstone x mother!reader) 🎀 [Draft writing]

...

{Untitled} (Percy: Helix Station [Audio Drama: The Callisto] x reader) 🎀🔥 [Planning]

24 notes · View notes

asimperingswannsong · 2 years ago

Text

The Silent Type

I'd like to dedicate Part 2 of this fic to Jan Steven's neck ruff. 💅 I salute you. 🫡 👑

Jan Stevens (Flux Gourmet)/Deslys (OFC)/Manuel & Pilcher (OMCs and honestly afterthoughts)

SMUT! Good ole fashioned smut NSFW 18+ It's a triple penetration party & the whole crew is invited.

-------------

Deslys walked into Jan's atelier and stood regarding her for a moment as she was bent over her drafting table reviewing stills from their most recent performance through a jeweler's loupe.

She was wearing a tailored waist length black jacket with a white silk neck ruff, gauzy multilayered floor length tulle skirt, and a pair of four inch black heels. She paired her signature red lip with that absurd smoky eye that fully engulfed her eyeballs and caused Deslys inexplicably to think of the monster from the black lagoon.

Deslys approached her and Jan startled when she realized she was no longer alone. They stared at each other in silence. Jan didn't bother to ask any questions as she knew she wouldn't receive a response. Her gaze dropped to Deslys' hands, which were holding a necktie. The ends were being wrapped around each of her hands; just that action combined with the intensity of Deslys' gaze caused warmth to pool in Jan's core like a Pavlovian response.

Deslys dropped one end of the tie and approached Jan. She placed her hand behind her head and pulled her in roughly for a kiss. As soon as their lips made contact Deslys pressed in backing Jan up against her table while reaching down and unbuttoning her jacket.

Deslys tore it down and off of her while licking into her mouth. Next she ripped the blouse open and down, leaving behind just the neck ruffle. Jan wore nothing else up top.

Deslys grabbed the top of Jan's skirt and peeled it down as she broke the kiss to move down Jan's neck, sucking hard and leaving a trail of marks. She took her by the hips and coaxed her to step out of the skirt which she kicked to the side as she leaned down and licked her nipple. Jan groaned and clutched Deslys' shoulders.

Deslys was pleased to see Jan wore no panties to match the lack of bra. She was left in only heels and a neck ruff. Deslys ran her fingers through Jan's slit to test whether she was wet and removed them covered in slick. She took her by the hips once more and turned her around facing her away.

She palmed the back of her head and pressed it down pushing Jan's face onto her worktable while slipping a foot between her legs and gently tapping the sides of her ankles to part her legs. Once she was in place, bent double over the table, she smacked her hard across the ass leaving a red spot behind and causing Jan to whimper.

She took one of Jan's wrists and tied it in the necktie before wrapping it up and around the top corner of the table, looping it around the table leg. She then pulled Jan's free hand up and tied the wrist to the other end of the tie holding her in place.

She shoved two fingers into Jan's cunt and curled them inside collecting more slick before removing them and circling Jan's asshole dipping first the index finger inside before adding her ring finger and scissoring them to open the ring of muscle. She worked the opening until Jan's muscles relaxed.

Deslys then pulled out and reached down unzipping her trousers removing the strap she wore. She took lube from her jacket pocket and spread it down the length before pressing against Jan's opening with the tip. Jan wiggled her hips. "Please, please use my cunt," she pleaded. Deslys ignored her and pressed inside. "Ungh," Jan groaned at the stretching sensation.

Deslys pressed Jan's face more firmly onto the table as she bottomed the strap out in her ass. She gripped Jan's hips tightly digging her nails in until the skin broke before she began thrusting forcefully into her.

Jan could feel slick from her unused cunt spreading down her thighs as Deslys reached beneath her and squeezed hard at one of her nipples. The muscles of her ham strings started to burn from the overextended position she stood in, and her ass burned from the stretching she was receiving. The grip on her hips was bruising. The discomfort was making her wetter; she was dripping onto the floor below her.

Jan turned her head and saw Manuel standing in the doorway watching Deslys fuck her in the ass. He was rubbing his clothed cock. When their eyes met he unzipped his trousers and freed his erection; jerking off as Jan continued to watch him. She felt her orgasm building in her belly and she began whining and wiggling her ass. She was desperate to have attention aimed at her cunt.

Deslys smacked her hard on the ass again stopping her wiggling but not her whining. Jan was eager for release but couldn't make herself cum from the pressure inside her ass. Finally, mercifully, Deslys reached down and under Jan, stroking her clit fast and a little rough.

Jan came almost immediately clenching down tightly on nothing and sending more slick sliding down her thighs and dripping onto the floor. Deslys loosened her grip on Jan's hips and slowed to a languid pace continuing to fuck her as Jan sprawled across the table.

Manuel spoke up, "Is that a share toy?" Deslys removed a knife from her jacket and opened it. She reached up and cut the tie from the table freeing Jan's wrists. She slid the strap from her ass and ran an arm under her belly coaxing her up off the table.

She led Jan backward locating the ottoman behind them with the backs of her legs. Deslys sat down and pulled Jan back by her hips opening her legs to either side of her feet. She pulled her back and down pausing to line the strap up before impaling her ass on it as Jan lowered onto her lap.

Deslys leaned back further pulling Jan with her and causing her legs to spread open wider. Manuel walked over and stood between Jan's legs. He reached down and flicked the neck ruffle with the end of his finger. "Cute."

He knelt down and shoved his cock into Jan's cunt. She gasped then moaned before latching her hands onto his arms as he crawled on top of her sandwiching her between himself and Deslys as they fucked both her openings.

She dropped her head back moaning at the fullness inside of her. Her eyes slipped closed and when she opened them again, she found Pilcher in the doorway. "Must have missed the invite." No one spoke to him. Deslys and Manuel continued to fuck Jan while Manuel enclosed one of her nipples inside his mouth. Deslys was busy placing open mouthed kisses along Jan's shoulder blades.

Hearing no feedback, Pilcher walked over and looked down. Jan stared up at him slack jawed; eyes unfocused. Pilcher smirked and reached down inserting two fingers inside her mouth and shaking them around a little as though he were checking the wetness of her cunt.

He pulled his fingers from her mouth as he opened his trousers removing his cock and spreading her spit down the length of it as he worked himself until he hardened fully. He then grabbed the back of Jan's head and held it firmly as he shoved himself into her mouth.

When he hit the back of her throat she gagged slightly. "Be a good girl and try a little harder," he said before continuing to press in. Finally she relaxed enough for him to slip past the muscle and into her throat.

Jan's eyes rolled back and her brain shut off. She was just three erogenous zones being fucked and filled with an expanse of skin between that was being mercilessly pinched, caressed, kissed, licked, and sucked from all directions. She offered no resistance as she allowed herself to be used for the pleasure of the trio.

She felt the coil in her belly drawing tight again and her cunt fluttered around Manuel's dick. "Ugh, I think she's getting close. I can feel her getting tighter." They continued to fuck her as Deslys leaned up, placing her lips against the shell of Jan's ear. She breathed against the sensitive thin skin before kissing it gently causing a tingling sensation to run down her neck and down her belly into her core. She kept her lips pressed against her ear as she whispered, "Cum for us sweetheart."

Jan's eyes shot open as she came. Her muscles spasmed causing her body to shake with the force of it. The tightening of her walls made Manuel grunt loudly before cumming inside of her. The muscles in her throat caused PIlcher to finish in her mouth spilling himself down her throat.

Deslys held her hips firmly as she rode out her pleasure swallowing Pilcher's seed and milking Manuel's cock inside of her. They both finished and pulled out standing back and zipping themselves up into their trousers.

Jan lay her head back on Deslys' shoulder with her legs still spread wide. A mix of hers and Manuel's cum dripped from her core onto the ottoman below her. "That was fun," Manuel said. He and PIlcher admired the view once more before turning and leaving.

From underneath Jan, Deslys cupped her jaw and gently turned her head nuzzling her nose against Jan's cheek and placing light kisses along the side of her face and her ear as she gently ran her fingers down and over Jan's body over her breasts, ribs, belly, and the top of her mound before pressing them down further.

She inserted three fingers into Jan's well used cunt causing more of Manuel's cum to slide out. "Oh God please," she cried as she gripped onto the sides of the ottoman tightly. Deslys massaged one of Jan's breasts with her free hand as she fucked her with the other. She squeezed gently rolling the nipple between her fingers.

She released her breast and moved down to tease gently at Jan's clit with her fingertips while continuing to work inside of her. Jan's grip on the edge of the ottoman became white knuckled. Deslys kissed along the back of her neck.

Suddenly the muscles of Jan's upper body locked up and she came a third time before falling slack against Deslys' body. Deslys placed her hands gently at Jan's hips and pushed her up slightly pulling the strap from her ass before positioning her to the side off of her lap and onto the ottoman.

Jan lay unmoving. Deslys stood and zipped her trousers. She turned and walked over to the door, reaching down outside of it. She returned with a robe and a pair of Ugg slippers. She leaned down over Jan and pulled the neck ruff up and off of her before kneeling down between Jan's legs.

She removed her heels and placed the slippers onto her feet. Before rising, she leaned forward and caressed Jan's slick covered thighs admiring the view of her swollen pink cunt. She placed a kiss on the top of mound just above the glistening opening and stood up.

She leaned over Jan and kissed her gently on the lips before wrapping an arm underneath her and pulling her up off the ottoman. Jan stood a little wobbly as Deslys held the robe open for her to slip into it. Deslys tied the belt around her waist and wrapped both arms around Jan placing them over the robe's belt.

From behind Deslys led a sleepy Jan shuffling along in her slippers as they exited Jan's studio and made their way slowly across the grounds of the institute to Jan's rooms. Deslys drew her a bath to soak in before putting her to bed.

#flux gourmet #my fic #gwendoline christie #original female character #wlw smut #drunk writing #smut #fanfiction #jan stevens

56 notes · View notes

agathaandbrienneslesbian · 9 months ago

Text

Part 2 of Heart of Gold ❤️❤️❤️

Heart of Gold - Part 2

Miranda Hilmarson x Mounted!Police!Fem!Reader

HELLO EVERYONE <3 I finally managed to finish Part 2 of my Miranda Hilmarson Fic. I'm sorry it took so long but it's finally here. I hope you enjoy this little addition to the first part. I'm not yet sure if I should make a 3rd part but if you guys want one, I'll look into it <3

Huge thanks to @weemssapphic for proofreading this part <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Talk of bullying, talk of death and dying, descriptions of blood, death and being shot (I'm sorry... this is an angsty one)

Authors Note: Hurt/Comfort with a shit ton of Angst. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Words: 2'400+

AO3 Link

Taglist

-------

“Why do you care so much about me?”

You look at her, unable to answer the question. Should you tell her? Should you take the risk and risk the friendship you’ve built? Miranda looked at you intensely, chest heaving from being dragged around. You tried to collect your thoughts but just as you were about to answer, Miranda dropped her head, looking down at her feet. A sigh of defeat left her lips.

“It’s a joke to you as well isn’t it?” she asked through clenched teeth, tears threatened to spill from her eyes any second. You looked at her in shock.

“No! No Mir that's not the case!!! That's not the case at all-”

“Save it!” Miranda looked up at you, eyes red, tears wetting her face as she furiously wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks.

“I should have known… you’re like everyone else… I- I should have never trusted you…” and with that, Miranda stormed out before you could say anything else.

The defeat on her face, the betrayal, the way she looked so full of hope only for it to be replaced by pain, a pain you felt right in this moment with her. How could you have fucked up this bad… you should have just told her… you should have just SHOWN her. You had to catch up to her. Without further hesitation your feet carried you through the stables towards the parking lot only to see her drive off in a hurry.

“Shit… SHIT'' Defeated, you return to the stables to gather your things and leave. You’d see her tomorrow! You’d get your chance to talk to her again… hopefully.

—

However, luck wasn’t on your side. Miranda had started avoiding you, leaving the room when you entered, walking the other direction when you walked towards her. And this had been going on for a few weeks now.

It hurt.

You knew better than to follow her but… it hurt. After a particularly busy day, you went to get some drinks with your colleagues, wishing you were with Miranda. A heavy sigh left your lips as you absentmindedly picked at the label of your beer. You felt sick…

“Hey guys… I’m gonna go home… I don’t feel too well…”

You stood, handing your beer to your friend, and gathered your things. Of course you were met with protest but you just ignored it, and soon enough they figured that it might be best to just let you leave. So that is what you did.

Exiting the pub you felt the cold breeze on your skin. The air was a bit chilly and it smelled like rain. Cool darkness enveloped you and you stood there for a minute, just feeling the breeze on your skin and the smell of rain. When you opened your eyes again, that’s when you saw her.

Miranda anxiously stepped on a cigarette she’d just finished. It looked as if she were considering coming into the pub or not. She hadn’t seen you yet. Should you approach her? Go back inside? Before a choice could be made, she looked up, making eye contact. You were expecting her to run away, to flee from your loving and pained gaze once again but…. She didn’t. She held your gaze, waiting.

“Miranda-“

“Can we walk?”

She interrupted. You looked at her, surprise painted all over your face as she just waited for you to reply. Quickly, you nodded, walking over to her and following.

“Miranda… I am so sorry. If I have done something that hurt you please just let me know I-“

“Don’t apologise… I should-“

The blonde took a deep breath, shoving her hands in her vest pockets and looking down at her feet, kicking some stones around as she walked with you. She had missed you… but she needed time to think.

“I should have let you answer that night… I am sorry…”

Suddenly, Miranda stopped, looking out over the beach and the dark ocean. You stood beside her, your eyes trained on her face. You had to tell her how you feel. You had to let her know that she is worthy of love and affection. That she is beautiful, wonderful, perfect. In your eyes, Miranda was perfect.

“I care because you’re worth it.”

Miranda was avoiding your gaze, but you saw her eyebrows furrow. This just spurred you on more.

“I care because you are worth the time and energy. I care because you are the sweetest and most adorable and kind person on this planet. I care because you lit up my world when I met you the very first time. You make my days better and I cannot fall asleep or wake up without thinking of you.”

Miranda looked down at you, her eyes, usually so blue and bright now seemed grey, and were welling up with tears. Carefully, you took her hand into yours, giving her a reassuring squeeze with your hands.

“I care because I fell in love with you…. Miranda… I love you”

You said it, admitted your feelings, and it sent a rush of anxiety down your spine, leaving its sticky tingling feeling behind. You were expecting her to leave again, to get upset at you… what you didn’t expect were her lips suddenly pressed against yours, a big hand with long, slim fingers, gently cupping your cheek and pulling you closer.

Miranda had hoped you would say that. It took her a while to realise… several weeks. She simply wasn’t used to it. No one had ever shown her the care and affection you had. And she found herself falling for you. Afraid you would hate her if she admitted it, she kept quiet.

But that night…. She had to know.

However, as soon as the question left her lips, she felt herself getting anxious. She was terrified. What if you said you pitied her and that’s why you ‘acted’ like you cared so much? So, before you could answer, she pulled away. She ran away. To protect herself, not noticing how much her actions had hurt you. Until she saw how your smile faded, how your eyes stopped shining, how you seemed to have lost your joy. And she hated herself for hurting you so much.

“I am sorry Y/N… I… love you too. I was just anxious and-“

Now it was your turn to interrupt her with a kiss. Your arms wrapping around her shoulders, holding her close. You didn’t need to hear more. It was no secret that Miranda was oftentimes anxious. Who could blame her… she’s been through a lot.

“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear Mir… you don’t have to apologise. You’re okay. I am not mad at you. I’m glad you told me…”

Your whispers and words of affirmation and understanding caused Miranda to completely dissolve. Her tears flowing freely as she held onto you, finding comfort in your embrace. She did not know how she deserved you, but she would be an idiot if she’d ever let go of you. You loved her… and she loved you.

—

And so it happened that the two of you became the cutest couple at the police station (at least according to you two. Who cares what the others think).

More often than not, you brought Miranda a coffee, some treats or even flowers. You started spending almost every waking moment together, only separating to go home and sleep.

Both of you wanted to take it slow. There was no hurry. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Miranda. The love you experienced in each other's embrace and kisses was enough to keep you two glued together. No force could ever part you… not even a routine patrol that ended more dangerous for you than expected.

—

It was like every Wednesday afternoon.

You were patrolling the promenades before going back to the stables and calling it a day. Already excited to spend time with Miranda after work, you did not realise that the altercation you rode towards, would end up being almost fatal for you.

Of course it had to happen.

You knew you shouldn’t have split up with your colleague. But there was no harm in thinking that if he took the lower road, you could take the higher one and still be close enough to hear each other.

The second you realised that there was a gun pointed at you, you started calling for your colleague. Reaching for your own gun, you suddenly felt a piercing pain in your shoulder. A BANG was heard and then your ears were ringing. The pain in your shoulder increased, dragging its disgusting talons over your neck to the back of your head, digging deep into your skin. You started feeling faint, head pounding and everything started looking fuzzy and far away. At first you hadn’t even noticed that your horse was galloping towards the stables. Your hand just instinctively grabbed onto the horn of the saddle and your grip tightened.

Artemis was huffing, whining and neighing the closer she got to the stables. A place she knew was safe. She felt your shift in energy, understanding the severity of the situation more than you. The smart horse she was, she stopped in front of the station, making a ruckus to get the other officers’ attention.

Miranda looked out the window, expecting to see you waving at her but what she saw, sent her into a panic. She rushed out to you and Artemis, gently pulling you from your mare and asking you questions. What exactly she asked, you didn’t know… you didn’t hear. All you knew was that you were in Miranda’s arms and it soothed the pain you were experiencing.

Meanwhile Miranda tried to stay calm. She had called the ambulance, staying with you and holding you close, trying to stop the bleeding. Her hands, your shirt and her sleeves were covered in thick, dark red, warm blood. Your blood.

Miranda tried really hard to keep it together, to stay strong for you, but she couldn’t keep the sobs in. Tears coated her soft pale skin, huffs and sobs escaped her lips, frantic breathing accompanied by the fear that she could lose you. She couldn't lose you… Miranda wouldn’t survive without you, she knew that. She needed you. She loved you.

The next few hours were a blur for Miranda. You were unconscious, the medics doing everything they could to keep you alive as she accompanied you, holding your hand throughout the entire drive to the hospital. There, you were separated.

But Miranda didn’t let up.

She waited, and waited, and waited. Minutes turned to hours, hours filled with anxiety, fear and pain. She did not even wash up, her hands, shirt and trousers still soaked in your blood. Now cold, sticking to her skin, as if death itself latched onto her.

It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the nurse finally went to fetch Miranda. She did ask her to at least wash her arms before bringing her to your room. There you laid, unconscious, but breathing. You were breathing. Miranda immediately went to your side, gently brushing some hair from your face, caressing your cheek, and holding your warm, soft hand.

“I need you… please don’t leave me just yet…” She whispered.

“I love you. Come back to me…” She begged.

“I can’t lose you..”

She breathed.

Miranda hoped you would hear her. She would tell you about all the things she wanted to experience with you, places she wanted to show you and future plans she had dreamed about. For more than 48 hours, Miranda sat by your side. The nurses had to force her to at least eat and drink something if she wasn’t going to sleep or go home to get changed. She sat by your side and wouldn’t leave. It was as if Miranda was in a frozen state. Holding your hand and pressing kisses to your cheek and forehead. She was only ripped from her trance as the heart monitor flatlined. She shot up, calling out for help, screaming, begging, sobbing, but no one heard. She was alone… and you were gone… —

“Miranda?”

Suddenly, Miranda felt a soft hand on her arm, another on her cheek, wiping away tears that escaped her eyelids once more. She opened her eyes, finding herself in her bedroom. Her breathing ragged, panic evident on her face, she started looking around. Where were you? “Miranda… darling… It’s okay. It was just a bad dream…” Her eyes shot to the direction of the voice, and she started sobbing. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her head. Miranda’s arms immediately wrapping around your middle, so as not to hurt your healing shoulder. She pulled you close and that's when she realised where she was. Miranda was at home, in her bed, with you holding her, consoling her.

“I am here Mir. I won’t go anywhere… I promised you I won’t.” Your soft voice brought her peace. This wasn’t the first time she awoke in this manner. Once the nurses and doctors were happy with your recovery, they allowed you to go back home. Miranda insisted you live with her, so she could take care of you and protect you. Of course you said yes. But ever since then, Miranda was plagued by nightmares. One worse than the other, the outcome was the same every time. She couldn’t save you. She couldn’t protect you. You were gone, leaving her alone in her pain and loneliness.

But it was just a dream. Every night she would feel your arms around her, your soft voice rousing her from the hell she fell into. Every night, you would reassure her that you were still there, that you survived, and that it was thanks to her quick thinking. Every night, you would dry her tears and have her fall asleep with her head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat. You were alive, and you were with her. It would take some time for the two of you to overcome the trauma, the horrors both of you faced each night. But you would overcome it. Together. Miranda could overcome it with your love, and you with hers. And her heart of Gold.

So, just like every night, you reminded her of that. A kiss pressed to her head as you noticed her relaxing in your arms, sleep ready to take her again. You whispered, so as not to wake her again: “Miranda?”

“Hm?”

“I love you”

------

End Note: As always, reblogs, comments and likes are well appreciated <3 Taglist: @vivendraws @erinyaya @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @Xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorious @gwenistheloml @yourgaeyisshowing @readingtheentrails

#miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson fanfic #miranda hilmarson #reblog #fanfiction #gwendoline christie fanfics #gwendoline christie character #gwendoline universe

62 notes · View notes

viivenn · 10 months ago

Text

making an important announcement about some things i’ve noticed in the gwendoline christie fandom that really bug me.

disclaimer: read this at your own convenience and discretion. i am not responsible for any sort of hurt feelings and frankly… i don’t care. if you’re mad about this, you are probably the problem. /lh

to start with id like to begin on a positive note so that i’m not diving into negativity, i don’t want to be completely negative about my experiences because i’ve actually met some of the kindest people in the world through this fan base.

the gwen fandom, the gwandom, the gwendoline christie fandom , the lesbian cesspool, has been an incredible experience that i’m grateful i’ve had the pleasure of being apart of.

i went through a rough patch during november, and if i hadn’t found out about gwen, or met such wonderful people during my time here , i honestly wouldn’t be here right now. i owe my life to these people, gwen included. i will forever adore miss christie and what she stands for alongside the friends i’ve made along the way.

and while i know someday this hyperfix will end, it’s really disheartening to me when a fandom is what makes me grow distant from things i enjoy. it happened before, i feel as though it is happening all over again.

and no, i’m not taking issue with anything like the catrissa stuff or the brienne and larissa ship going around or anything like that. i like that we can all be weird together and enjoy aus like catrissa and crackships like bririssa (not sure the official name that was decided lol). my issue is the amount of content i’ve seen that either focuses on gwen herself, or the strange relationship with minors, or the odd artwork of gwen, and the absolute disgusting behaviour towards giles.

gwen would be absolutely appalled seeing fanfictions of herself that involve nsfw or just her in general, anyone would, it’s disgusting to make works of real people in that setting. it’s like you’re treating them as an original character you can mould and manipulate as you see fit and using someone who is real with thought and feeling and consciousness for smut fics is not okay, or any fic in general. i totally get the hype around her characters, i literally have “brienne’s princess” in my bio and i’ve had “jane murdstone’s bloodbag” (in reference to my vamp au) as a name in a discord server.

but i think the fandom has begun to blur the lines between fictional characters and reality settings when it comes to gwen and the personalities she portrays on the television screen. it’s not fair to her. it’s disgusting. i’ve seen a minor do it, i’ve seen a grown adult do it. it’s something i don’t see shamed and frowned upon often enough and it’s really not okay.

on that note i’d like to quickly mention the photos, we alllll know what photos i’m talking about. the bunny one, the nudes, the ones gwen has expressed regret towards and wishes to not have them spread. was there not a “fan” who brought her a book of her nudes and wanted her to sign it? that person who was blocked on instagram by gwen because they reposted her nudes on their story and tagged her???? how can you refer to yourself as a fan after behaving so abhorrently? absolutely disgusting behaviour. as a collective fandom we need to stop touching those photos (metaphorically speaking) and leave them in the past.

i’ve been told of numerous circumstances in which adults have shown their nsfw works to minors in this fandom and it has to fucking stop. it’s disgusting!! how can you do that knowingly? i constantly ponder terminating my account after a minor got ahold of my nsfw work, and upon realising they WERE a minor it was as simple as blocking and moving on. it’s truly not that hard, folks. and the minors on tiktok who fight with others saying silly things like “that’s my wife” or worse. i’ve seen it all, i feel like, and the more i see it the more sick i become. i cannot stand it.

i have seen and heard of fans who have fat shamed gwen for that one pink dress she wore to the met gala. she looked so happy in that dress, and the audacity one must have to fatshame that poor woman on twitter then turn around and continue to proclaim your ‘love for her’ as if you’d done no wrong? are you fucking serious? are you mental?

and the sexualisation over the porcelain doll look, gods some of you are sick. those were not real breasts, people. considering the fact she wholeheartedly regrets her nude photoshoots , what possesses you to believe she would actually flaunt her chest in that outfit?

the blatant mistreatment of poor giles is not fucking okay either. just because you’re jealous of someone who makes her immensely happy does not give you the right to post something so vile and cruel about him. shame on you. why do you believe this is okay to post:

????????

are you serious? have any of you stopped to consider how HAPPY giles makes her? or is her happiness the last thing you ponder when you look at her? have you even noticed how unhappy she looks lately? have you truly paused to consider how she would feel about seeing this on your page, random twitter user, or the rest of you who think this is okay? bless your hearts.

and some of the absolutely horrific things i’ve seen about her online and the hurtful behaviour towards giles makes me question the difference between a fan and just the general paparazzi. because if you truly loved her and you truly loved giles then i would not be ranting into the fucking void about it for no reason.

i avoid interacting with pages i find problematic on here to keep from stirring the pot but tonight i chose violence and got reeeeeal pissy about how i felt about this place. it’s not okay what i see on here and it’s getting exhausting seeing the same cycle of content on a daily.

that’s everything i have to say, i think. i probably missed a lot that should be discussed in the comments but i’m done for now because i know if i go on i’ll probably cry.

before you post things about real people with real feelings , stop to consider how they will feel those real feelings towards the content you put out. chances are you’ll become less problematic and obnoxious that way. 💘

331 notes · View notes

dianneking · 2 years ago

Text

Dangerous Games - Larissa/GN!Reader

Reader declares that jealousy doesn’t apply to them. Larissa takes it upon herself to prove a point. Will she take it too far?

TW: Explicit sexual situations, explicit language, swearing, angst, jealousy, non-exclusive relationship, mentions of love bites and bruising, emotional manipulation.

Reader has no specified gender.

Crossposted on AO3.

Dangerous Games

Wordcount: 4378

"What do you mean, you don't believe in jealousy?" Larissa scoffed from where she was lounging on her bed gloriously naked, as you kept putting your clothes back on.

You had a sort of arrangement going on. A purely physical, no strings attached kind of arrangement: when the stress of managing and teaching a school full of teenagers with paranormal abilities got too much, either of you would call for a meeting. You would rant to each other about your frustrations, until words left the floor to frantic kissing, hands exploring each other's bodies, items of clothing flying across the room. Sometimes you made it to Larissa’s custom-built canopy bed, sometimes only to her desk. Sometimes she had you pinned to the door, a hand finding its way to the fly of your jeans, as she rutted against your thigh.

It was tawdry, it was dirty, it was highly unprofessional. It was also extremely hot. Even when you were in staff meetings that ran too long you could feel the tension building between you two, measured in stares, in the brush of your fingers against hers as you passed her some papers, in the apparently casual touch of her foot against your calves. Neither you nor she went out of your way to talk about it too much, not wanting to put a label on it that would force you to face the connection that the two of you felt for each other. As if by talking about it you would jinx it somehow.

"I think jealousy is overrated. Either you are in an exclusive relationship with someone, and you should be able to trust them not to cheat on you, or you are non-exclusive, and whomever they sleep with is none of your business. Simple as that."

"You make it sound so cold and calculated. But jealousy is illogical, darling, it’s pure unadulterated fire that burns you from within. You cannot think your way around it when you feel it. You cannot rationalize it." She sounded patronizing, as if you were but a kid who didn’t know the way of the world yet. You shrugged, not showing how that tone bothered you, reminding you of the age gap between you, just another reason why you could never aspire to have something more with this amazing woman. "I guess I've never felt it then. Or maybe it doesn't work on me."

“One day, darling, you’ll feel it too.” She promised, vague and menacing like a soothsayer.

“I guess I might. Sleep well, Larissa, I’ll see you around.” As always, you didn’t turn back when you left her room, too afraid she might be able to read on your face the longing to just stay there with her until morning.

You stopped in front of the teacher’s lounge, your hand already on the handle, dead in your tracks as you heard the raised voices inside. It was unusual for Larissa to be found here unless there was a meeting, she usually preferred to spend time in her study. You tried to listen in, trying to understand what was going on before barging in.

“I told you, Larissa, no.”

“Oh, don’t be so uptight, Vlad. It’s all in good fun.”

“No, it’s not. It’s unprofessional, and borderline immoral too.”

“Aw, come on, Vlad. Just the one time…who knows, maybe you’ll end up enjoying it too.”

Well. That was more than unusual. You knew that lilting, suggestive tone well, but had never heard it outside of your own meetings with Larissa.

“Hello there!”

You saw Marilyn coming up from the other side of the hallway, smiling as always, blissfully oblivious to the exchange going on into the teacher’s lounge, and you couldn’t lurk in front of the door any longer. You opened the door, and strode in, holding it open for the redhead, while your eyes fell on the two whose conversation you were interrupting. Larissa was looming over Vlad, invading his personal space, having backed him up against the bookshelf on the far end of the lounge. His hands were up, as if trying to fend her off, while one of hers was directly beside his head, holding onto one of the shelves and half-blocking him in. Like a deer in the headlights, Vlad’s eyes darted to you and Marilyn, who candidly asked, “Is everything alright?”

The fencing coach unfroze at that, and without bothering to respond, he dashed away from his compromising position and towards the door, followed by Larissa’s voice calling after him: “When you change your mind, you know where my quarters are, Vlad!”

Clearly, he had changed his mind at some point because when you were coming back from your usual morning run the next day, you saw him slinking out of Larissa’s rooms, still in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, his normally tidy hair sticking up in every direction. Bed hair. He looked at you, sending you a sheepish smile in lieu of a greeting, as he shrugged in a ‘What could I do?’ way.

You didn’t blame him. It was hard to say no to Larissa when she wanted something, you had some first-hand experience with that. Did they fuck all through the night, or had he been allowed to sleep there? You had never dared to ask to spend the night. You had assumed she wouldn’t want you to, it would have been part of that putting a label on whatever you had going on. And she for sure had never thought to ask. Or maybe she simply had someone else to fulfil that need.

It couldn’t have been Vlad, you thought as you studied the bite mark on Larissa’s thigh, while she was squirming and panting on her chair, three of your fingers knuckle-deep into her, curling up to stroke her just in the right place. Vlad was a vampire, and the imprints his canines would leave were quite different from the ones you could see from your vantage point, kneeling between Larissa’s long legs, as your tongue ran along the milky expanses, marred with bruises you surely didn’t leave.

She had yet another lover, then. You swallowed around the realization, unsure on how to properly wrap your mind around it. You were spared for the moment, as her hand came to tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth back to her folds, back to pleasuring her. You buried yourself into her, trying to lose any semblance of rational thought in her inebriating taste.

It felt like once you started seeing the hints, they just kept popping out more and more. The librarian’s soft blush as Larissa gave her shoulder a squeeze and left her hand there for a while, as she congratulated her on the success of her book club. The Lycan Studies teacher’s glassy eyes as the principal leaned into his personal space, asking him if he could please go into more detail about his changes to the curriculum about werewolf mating habits, such a fascinating topic. Lingering glances, casual touches that you had never given any relevance to suddenly took on deeper meaning.

Even the school nurse wasn’t allowed medical neutrality, apparently. You had the dubious pleasure of discovering this as you were accompanying a young gorgon who had managed to stone his right arm from the shoulder down in an attempt to avoid a surprise quiz (it hadn’t worked, as he still had his left hand to type with).

“I never knew you had such a passion for red wine, Mx Lin, you’ll have to drop by my office sometime or another, so you can sample the best I have to offer.”

“Oh, well Principal, I hardly think that–”

“I insist. Drinking them all alone by myself would be such a waste…some things are meant to be enjoyed in company.”

You irritatedly cleared your throat. Flirting was all fun and everything, but some things were best kept away from the students. While the nurse had the decency to look sheepish, Larissa looked down at you, unrepentant, a predatory smirk gracing her crimson lips as she let her eyes roam over your stiff body.

It had been the longest week of your life. A week piled up with evidence that pointed all in one direction, towards a flashing neon sign that you were trying your best to still ignore. But all illusions have to break at some point when confronted with reality.

Apparently, your breaking point was the resident normie botanist.

“Marilyn?”

“Oh hi, there! I didn’t know Larissa had another meeting after ours! She really goes hard at it, doesn’t she?”

“I…I’m sorry?”

“I mean, it’s a Friday night and she has one-on-one meetings with the both of us back to back…she sure can be intense, can’t she?”

“I’m sure she can…”

“Well, I’ll be off! Don’t let her tie you up for the whole evening, it is Friday after all!” She waved at you and left, skipping down the hallway, oblivious to your sputtering, or maybe ignoring it willingly, as you tried to ascertain whether she was being suggestive on purpose or if it was your mind that went straight to the gutter. Unable – or maybe unwilling – to solve that specific mystery, you knocked lightly on Larissa’s door to announce your presence, and pushed the door open without waiting for her reply.

The office was partly plunged in the shadows, the main source of light being the flickering flames of the fire, and a couple of small lamps scattered across the room. It wasn’t the sort of ambience you would have at the end of a business meeting. It felt cozy, intimate, more suited to a rendezvous of different nature than discussing lectures and school funds for greenhouses.

Was Marilyn yet another of Larissa’s seemingly endless string of lovers? The bubbly redhead that skipped down the corridors muttering country songs to herself? That Marilyn, who always looked like the epitome of the oblivious virgin? What did she have to offer to someone like Larissa? Was it some sort of sick corruption fantasy?

Your eyes sought the familiar figure of your boss and found her using the glass of her window as a mirror as she fixed her hair. She had probably messed it up running her own hands through it, while going over the paperwork, it didn't have to mean anything. You let your gaze drop to her wrinkled pencil skirt, it could have been due to a long day of sitting at the desk. Even within your own mind you didn’t know why you kept trying to make up excuses, but when she turned towards you, a sultry smile on her face and a greeting on her lips, you couldn’t help but stare transfixed at her mouth as you slowly made her way towards her, as if sleepwalking.

Beside her bottom lip, there was a smudge of lipstick.

In a different color to the one she was wearing.

A color matching Marilyn’s coral pink.

“Are you alright darling?”

You ignored her question as well as the moniker, simply advancing towards her like an unstoppable wave. You walked right into her space and lifted a hand to her face.

“You…” Your voice felt rough, dry. As if you had forgotten how to speak. You cradled her cheek in your hand, an unexpected jolt of pain coursing though you when she leaned into your touch, her long lashes fluttering closed for a second as if unconsciously relishing in the contact with you. She was such a good actress, no wonder so many of you had fallen into her lure.

“You have a smudge here.” You tracked the pad of your thumb against it, removing the proof. You searched her gaze, unsure and possibly afraid of what you’d find there. She held your stare, no trace of guilt and regret in her eyes, but a weird questioning intensity, as if she herself was searching for something in you, and not finding it. Maybe she was looking for whatever she found in all of her other lovers. Or maybe they didn’t have it, either, always coming up short to Larissa Weems’ high standards.

"Jesus, Larissa. I get it that you are the principal and so you’re good at multitasking, but you sure need to worry about crowd control in here." You tried to sound light and teasing about it, but your joke fell flat, weighted down by the vein of bitterness in your voice.

"Whatever could you possibly mean by that?" The intensity in her gaze was suddenly gone, supplanted by a flirty playfulness in her voice that rubbed you the wrong way. You wondered if she used the same tone with them as well. Did she tailor her flirting to whomever was in her clutches at the time, or she was always like this, and all of you simply had a thing for your hot, tall, domineering boss?

Not that you could be one to talk. The minute she had flirted with you the first time around, you had been completely captivated by her, ecstatic at the chance you had been offered. That fumbling first time together had been one of your most treasured memories until this day, but it was somehow turning sour as you thought about it now.

"How many?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How many people have you fucked in Nevermore? The whole staff? Maybe one or two students of age, too? I hope you still have the morals to leave the minors be."

"There's no need to be crass, darling. One might think you are being jealous."

The word hit you like a slap and you took a step back, away from her. Was that the reason for the roiling pit of resentment at the bottom of your stomach? It couldn't be. It was just disappointment. You honestly thought that what you two had was somewhat special, even if purely physical. Instead, you had found out that you were just one of many. Another bed warmer in the principal’s collection.

"Of course I'm not." You answered, mechanically.

"You say it, but somehow I don't believe you."

"I mean it though. I don't have any claim on you, Larissa. You made it pretty evident in the past week."

She looked like she was getting angry with this conversation, her hand gripping the back of her chair until her knuckles were white. "Is that so? Then why should you care how many people I choose to sleep with?"

"I don't! I just…want to know whether it meant at least something to you, or if I'm just another fucking notch on your bedpost."

"You know…" she prowled closer, and this time you couldn’t move away, frozen to the spot as she bent her head and started to kiss the side of your neck. Her perfume enveloped your senses, making you lightheaded, while her hands played with the hem of your shirt, slipping under it, grazing the side of your torso, cold against your almost feverish skin. You were already beginning to give in, throwing your head back to give her better access to your throat, to suck on it, leaving a necklace of bruises as she often did (you always had to wear turtlenecks for a few days after one of your meetings with her, and she seemed to take great pleasure in that).

But this time she ignored your exposed neck, choosing to let her lips ghost across yours, so that when she spoke again, you could feel her breath on you. "You can admit that you were wrong. That you are jealous after all. That seeing me with someone else makes you want to scream from the rooftops that you want me to be yours and yours alone…Your little secret would be safe with me." She closed the distance between your mouths, pressing her lips to yours in a hard, unyielding kiss, her tongue immediately trying to gain entrance to spar with yours.

The same mouth, lips and tongue who had been ravishing Marilyn not five minutes ago, if you could put two and two together. And that sum was suddenly too much for you.

You felt like a vat of burning tar had been poured inside of you. Heavy, and scorching hot. “Jealousy is illogical, darling, it’s pure unadulterated fire that burns you from within.” Her own voice resonated in your brain, mocking, patronizing, like that day when apparently everything had started to go wrong.

“You can admit that you were wrong.” You felt yourself go rigid as your mind caught up to your emotions. You had been had. You were jealous. The mere thought of Larissa being in this same position with countless other people filled you with indescribable rage. And she knew it, and did it on purpose. That was probably the most painful aspect of it all: the realization that it had been nothing but a game to her.

Suddenly you felt just sad, dirty, and used. Whatever connection you had deluded yourself into thinking the two of you had, was obviously just a bit of fun to Larissa. Something that could be thrown to the side to prove her point in a debate you had almost forgotten about.

Expendable. Like a pet that started misbehaving and was unceremoniously dropped in front of a shelter.

You pushed her away, your eyes filling with tears of rage and disappointment. She even had the audacity to look at you with a surprised expression, as if you detaching yourself from her irresistible lips was the last thing she imagined could happen. Like you were there just to do her bidding. Another one of her malleable playthings. One she could manipulate into feeling whatever she wanted to, to appease her ego.

“Fuck you, Larissa.” The sentence came out angry, curt and it didn’t make you feel any better.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fuck you. I’m done here. You can go shag some other fucktoy from your collection when you’re in the mood.”

You turned on your heel, leaving her warmth behind as you crossed the room to the door in short, agitated steps.

She caught up with you as you were fighting against the lock, and held the door closed, leaning against it with one hand, the other roughly grabbing your shoulder to turn you around.

"Let me out."

You took in her face, still beautiful even when hardened by anger. Her voice was low and menacing as she spoke to you: "If you think for one second that you can just insult me and leave, you have vastly misunderstood me, darling."

"Yeah well, I'm starting to realize as well that I misunderstood you."

"Is that it? How so?"

You felt tears coming back to your eyes, and you looked away from her, towards your feet, trying not to show her your hurt. A pointless endeavor, really, because you were sure it filtered into the words you spoke next.

"I thought you were a kind, strong person. Someone who put the good of Nevermore before anything else, even your personal life. And I accepted it, admired it even. That's why I never asked you more than what we had – she already has her hands full with all her duties, I thought, a relationship that goes beyond the purely physical level is clearly not what she wants."

You scoffed, and it came out as more of a sob than anything else.

"Of course, I didn't realize that your hands were full because they were down any pants you could find… more fool me I guess, to think that what we had was something more than another roll in the hay for you."

"You…wanted to make it something more?" the disbelief coming from her voice piled more pain on your poor abused heart.

"Ridiculous, right? To think that I truly and well fell for you, how pitiful. At least I know you won't be left alone to take care of your frustrations if I leave our little arrangement."

"Darling, I…"

"You made it pretty obvious that I don't mean jack shit to you, so if you please let me out, I'd appreciate it."

"It was not real."

"Yeah, I realized it as well. Spare me the pity."

"No, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what on Earth did you mean, Larissa? I'm not following anymore."

"I… I just wanted to prove you wrong. To make you admit that you are jealous. Of me."

"Yeah, I gathered as much. Congratulations, you've won. You've also fucked me up and broke my heart while you were at it, but that's not something you care about, do you?"

"That was never my intention, none of it was real."

"You keep saying that, and I get that you don't think twice about sleeping around, but we're all real people, with real emotions. Someone was bound to get hurt at some point. That someone was me, just my luck."

"I've never slept with anyone else." She murmured this, as if it was a confession, and you couldn't help the strangled laugh that fell from your lips. "Unbelievable. You're just…” You rubbed your hands on your face, your incredulity at the sheer nerve of her making it hard to put into words. “God, Larissa, gaslighting might have worked if you hadn't given me time and time again proof of your activities. Wasn't it the point of this little game of yours? To let me see that you have just as much fun with all the others?"

"I know how it seems, but I never did anything with them. I…used my powers so it would look like I did."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

You looked up at her, disbelief written plainly on your face. Why couldn’t she just let you go? There was nothing you could offer that she couldn’t find in all the others, so what was the point of this whole production?

"It's the truth. I did nothing more than flirt with other people. I shifted the love bites and the lipstick on myself."

"What about Vlad?"

"I was trying to convince me to help with this ruse. He refused.”

"Larissa, I saw him coming out of your rooms one morning."

"I know. It was me."

You let yourself slowly slide along the door until you were sitting on the floor, hiding your face in your hands. You really didn’t know what to think now. Was she being serious, or was this another elaborate plot?

"You have a lot of issues woman."

"I know. I said I was sorry."

"Actually no, you didn't."

"I'm saying it now, then. I am truly sorry, darling. I fucked everything up to prove a point."

"You really did."

The conversation, the whole week was spinning before your closed eyes, as you tried to make any sense of it, and of what it all meant. Was it really just an illusion? And even if it was, where did this leave you? You had confessed your feelings for her, there was no way you could now go back to the no-strings-attached dalliance you had before. And you didn’t want to, either.

You felt the warmth from her body seep into yours as she sat beside you, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Your traitorous heart leapt in your chest, beating faster just because of that little touch. Oh, the hold this woman still had on you. It was unfair. You wished that you could instantly turn all of your feelings for her to hatred instead. That would make this all easier to go through. If you hated her, you could leave this room and never come back except in a professional setting.

What would that even look like? To set your eyes on Principal Weems and just feel resentment for her, until it dulled into nothingness, leaving behind only the memory of feelings. To listen to her talk during meetings and not be captivated by her smooth, melodious voice. To hate the way her lips quirked up when something went her way.

You couldn’t even imagine it, so in love you were with her, still.

“Is there…is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Larissa,” it came out tiredly, you were “Are you already trying to get back in my pants?”

“No! I meant… I am sorry, and I do care about you, and what we have.”

“I…I’m not sure I can trust you enough right now. I am afraid I wouldn’t be able to go back to whatever we had before. I…I don’t think I could take it.”

“Can I take you on a date?”

“What?” The question came out strangled, disbelieving. Never in your wildest fantasies you had dared to dream Principal Larissa Weems would be asking you out. It just wasn’t how the real world worked. “Is this another kind of game? Because I told you I’ve fallen for you?”

“I…I didn’t think you’d want to have anything more with me. That was why it made me so angry when you said you weren’t jealous. I thought it meant you didn’t care. I wanted you to care. About me.”

“Larissa, I’ve been head over heels for you for ages. You never hinted that you wanted anything more. I don’t want your pity.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to agree. I am your boss, I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. It is one thing to release some tension together, I didn’t think you’d want to…be seen with me.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground as she said this, and she suddenly didn’t look like the confident principal you were used to seeing. She looked afraid and lonely and small. You brought your hand to her chin, lifting it so that her eyes could meet your own.

“Larissa, there’s nothing in the world I would love more than to date you. But if we want to make it work, we both need to talk to each other, okay? No more games, no more assumptions. Deal?”

Her incredulous smile lit up her whole face, as her mesmerizing eyes once again searched yours, and sparkled with joy at finally finding there what they were looking for.

“Deal.”

Liked it? Here’s my fanfiction masterlist, where you can find more deliciously angsty fics! (And also some non-angsty ones).

#larissa weems #larissa weems oneshot #larissa weems fanfiction #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x gn reader #dianneking fanfiction #dragonmist fanfiction #angst fairy #larissa weems angst #angst fanfiction #Gwendoline christie fandom #gwendoline christie fanfiction #gwendoline christie characters #gwendoline christie #principal weems fanfiction #principal weems

544 notes · View notes