theswordmaiden

[theswordmaiden]

I'm all for creative liberty, but why did I just see a story about reader tongue-fucking Brienne's FRESH cuts she got from the bear pit... and they portrayed Bri to enjoy it, from a complete stranger. . Blinks in confusion 🧍‍♀️

Am I crazy for thinking it's gross and weird, or does this just make me mean and hateful. . probably the latter.

It's no different than those who write Wednesday aged up to pair her with an adult, or make Larissa out to be abusive, or any other ridiculous OOC content that gets written... I just find it strange, is all. And this is more than just putting your headcanons into writing, because YES do that, it's associating sick kinks/fetishes with them...

Not trying to be hateful on the main LOL but my gods, I just needed to get that out, FFS. Hopefully I'm not alone in feeling some disappointment in certain things that have been written..

[theswordmaiden]

Burn

Jane Murdstone x Original Female Character (angst, hurt no comfort)

Note: I decided to write an angsty Victorian lesbian fic without sleeping. This may have been done by a sleep deprived person in a couple of hours who needed a reason to cry. Enjoy, I guess. I don't own anything other than my characters.

Burn

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for your birthday?”

Jane sighs. Her birthday isn’t something she likes to think about. What she used to get as a child were things a child wouldn’t want. Normally, it was to help with her posture or manners; a fan for a lady, a new bonnet, an embroidered handkerchief. She looks to Iris doubtfully.

“I am not usually of the type to want things for birthdays. Not material things, in any case,” she says, finger twirling a lock of the other woman’s brown hair between her fingers.

“Yes, but imagine you did. Even if you wish for a golden watch, I would do my best to seek out something akin to it.”

Jane scoffs, looking upwards, the tree above her allowing for slivers of light to peek through and glare into her eyes. She blinks at the intrusion. “Gold watches hold no more use than silver ones.”

“Jane.”

“Well, I hardly know what you wish for me to say. Materially, I have all I need,” she sighs.

“A scarf?”

“Oh, I beg of you, do not invade me with any more items of clothing, I fear I shall drown in silk and cotton as it is.”

Iris giggles and peers up at Jane from where her head rests in her lap. “A book?”

“Another item I wish not for as I own an abundance.”

“Once again, such a simple quest is made more exasperating by you than it need be, my dove.”

“You do realise the only thing I need, you provide.”

Iris raises her eyebrows and cocks her head as best she can in her position. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

Jane lifts her head with gentle fingers beneath her chin.

“Love.”

-

“My Lady?”

Jane blinks. She looks up from her book. She’s been reading the same page for over ten minutes. She sees one of the maids in the doorway. “Yes?” she replies curtly.

“Dinner is ready.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Edward keeps the household on a tight leash. He trusts Jane to work with the maids and staff, but little else. Jane hardly feels free to leave the premises, always questioned by her brother like some sort of convict planning to tunnel out of the house with a spoon. Most days, she lays in her room. It matters not that it smells of the smoke from the fireplace or that the sunlight is rarely allowed to peek through the curtains. She reads by lamp or candlelight and stands in the garden only when the maids come to clean her room.

If anyone notices how mellow she is, they do not speak of it. Her once sharp and observant talents have been run into the ground from disuse. Somehow, the household staff are more on edge because of it.

Clara and little David are not to speak at the table. David because, according to Edward, children have no reason to speak if not spoken to, and Clara because her topics of chosen conversation are too inane. Jane is silent, not because of any established rule. It is only because she doesn’t want to find out what reason they would give her. What more the world will take from her and why.

-

“I told you not to get me anything.”

“I remember, but I saw this and couldn’t help myself,” Iris says, beaming as she holds out the package, brown paper wrapped neatly and tied off with a red silk ribbon.

Jane can hardly deny the other woman when she has such a smile on her face. Her eyes light up enough that Jane almost looks for the introduced source of illumination, only to be reminded that it is Iris’s excitement that makes her glow.

Hesitantly taking the package from Iris’s hand, Jane peels it open. She knows it’s only paper and ribbon, but she’ll be damned to tear even the edges. Everything Iris gives her is precious, even paper creased in every way possible. Inside is a necklace; a locket on a chain. She holds it up, observing it in the sunlight.

“You can put anything you’d like in it. Pictures, flowers, things like that. I know you don’t have the tendency to wear jewelry but you can leave it in a drawer. Or sell it, I don’t-”

Jane stops her with a finger on her lips, which is then replaced with her own, kissing her tenderly. She smiles when they part; even with Iris, this is a rare occurrence.

“I’m sure I will figure it out. It’s beautiful, Iris, thank you.”

Iris’s responding smile is just as beautiful as the gift.

-

“Miss Murdstone?”

“Yes, child?” Jane responds impatiently, eyes focused on her embroidery in front of her. The little boy’s voice never fails to irritate her, even now.

“I was um… wondering where Ms. Turner has gone. It has been a while since she has visited and-”

Jane’s hands stop cold and she looks up at David. His face pales when he sees her expression, knowing he has done something wrong. The only problem is that he never knows what. It seems to him that he is always doing something incorrect though he never means to.

“Boy, do you think your impertinence has any place in this house?” Jane snaps, putting her embroidery aside. She has been working on a crimson rose that lays half-stitched into the fabric. She has used the backyard garden as a reference. The dark, velvety petals, rich in its vermillion in a way only nature can provide.

“N-no, Miss Murdstone. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to-”

“It matters not what you meant to do. Have you not yet learned the consequences of your actions or do I need to get Mr. Mudstone in here to remind you?” Jane rises from her chair and David only shrinks back further.

“No! No, I’m sorry.” The boy cowers and Jane doesn’t feel the usual satisfaction she gets from someone distressed by her authority.

“Why did you ask if not to be impertinent?”

David peeks out from between his little fingers and stutters out a response. He never stuttered when Iris was with her. Maybe it was Jane that was different in her presence and not David. “Only that… you seemed to approve of her company. I feared she had passed when she ceased to visit. I wished to offer my regards if that was so.”

Jane frowns and blinks, looking to the fireplace in the corner of the drawing room.

“She has not passed,” she says quietly. “Death would be a mercy for her.”

-

Jane looks at the locket in her hand. It currently holds a little note of paper Iris has signed in her usual pleasant handwriting, a little heart added to the top. When she told Iris of the idea, the younger woman was delighted, all too eager to sign her name a hundred times so Jane, the perfectionist Iris knows her to be, can pick her favourite. Her favourite is the first one.

“You mean to say you made me write all of those names and picked the first I did? Do you desire to drive me mad?” Iris says, playfully shoving at Jane’s shoulder as she puts the pen down. She flexes her hand that has cramped up from the writing.

“I hardly made you do anything. You volunteered, I refuse to be blamed for that,” Jane chuckles, appreciating the paper in her locket. She tucks it safely into her nightstand drawer and lays down on her bed. Iris joins her, head on her shoulder. There’s silence for a long while, the crackling of the fire calming them both. Iris leans in and kisses Jane’s cheek, which Jane readily sighs contentedly at.

“I’ve decided I want a cat.”

“A cat?” Jane repeats, an amused smirk directed at Iris gracing her pale features.

“Yes, a cat,” Iris nods decisively. “My home shall have a cat. The world has no shortage of them and they keep the mice away.”

“I see. You are telling me this why?”

Iris smiles at her, as mischievous as it is soft. “Because if you are to join me in a home as we have planned, then it must have a cat. If you have a protest, I’m afraid we will have to re-evaluate.”

“Is that so? A felidae mouse-catcher ranks above me in your list of home necessities?”

“No, of course not. I need you in the home. But I would also only be truly content if I were to be allowed a cat.”

Jane thinks, looking to Iris, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “As if you have ever heeded the responses to your requests.”

“Hush. You have moved the cat up to the top rank now,” Iris pouts.

“The hypothetical cat.”

“Yes.”

“I have lost a battle against a cat that does not, as of yet, exist.”

“Yes.”

“Iris.”

“Jane.”

Jane pushes her away, laughing softly. Iris’s eyes light up again, so familiar, so warm. Nothing can be wrong when Iris’s eyes do that. Iris grabs her closer and tugs on her hair. Jane bats her hands away. This is what children feel, Jane realises. Without the jadedness, without the resistance and self-control. Children don’t care how they look to other people. They push and shove and joke without a care in the world. Jane pulls Iris in and the other woman giggles, squirming in her hold.

“Impossible woman,” Jane tuts, unable to help a smile when they calm, arms around her waist, looking into her eyes..

“I love you,” Iris responds in the soft voice she knows gets Jane to melt. She kisses her softly and Jane abandons the rest of the ridiculous conversation.

They would have had a cat.

-

Today was particularly taxing. Edward had some business associates over and on top of dealing with the maids and cooks, Jane was required to put on a polite face, acting as if she didn’t want to wring every neck in the room and save her own for last. She is not one to entertain, true, but while Clara took over that job, Jane ensured propriety. No small feat considering most of the people in the room had children that seemed to have been raised in some sort of wilderness experiment in Jane’s opinion.

The burgundy tablecloth has been stained from the childrens’ uncouth manner of feeding themselves. Jane has to resist throwing the hand-selected decoration in the bin out of frustration. But it is expensive and the stains are removable so she resists an expression of distaste directed at the maids when they take it to be washed.

Horribly trivial thing to lose one’s head over, isn't it? A tablecloth.

In her room, Jane sits in the bed, nightgown on, dark hair braided over her shoulder. She observes herself in the vanity. She looks the same as she always has. It’s terrible. She always heard that when people are in pain, it will be obvious. Their eyes grow hollow and their cheeks grow gaunt. Their skin takes on a certain hue and their weight changes. Jane looks as she always has. It feels wrong, as if she isn’t actually hurting if it can’t be seen. True, it has been only around three months, but she can imagine that everyone around her thinks of her the same way they always have.

She feels it, though. The heaviness in her limbs, the cloudiness in her head. Everything is so empty and colourless, which sounds impossible to imagine until one is deep inside that vortex. A drain, sucking everything out of the day that provides life. What is the reason, she wonders, for continuing the rose embroidery, to clean the tablecloth, to continue day by day without any sense of accomplishment? She is disrespected by her brother and feared by everyone else. She cares for no one and the entire world is only too happy to respond as such. She knows some women live a spinster’s life, dying alone with only their sparse family to barely acknowledge their absence.

She closes her eyes, a stinging behind her lids. This happens less and less as days go by, but on the ones where she is particularly exhausted, all Jane wants to do is tell Iris about it. To have her stroke and braid her hair and murmur comforting words into her ear. Her lap was always so comfortable to rest her head in, warm and soft, cradling her in a way she fears she always needed. She opens her nightstand. The locket no longer remains there and she swallows harshly.

Nothing but ashes now, this and everything Iris ever gave her. Fire discriminates not, greedily devouring all it is allowed to consume. It made Jane sick to her stomach to see how brightly it burned when it was fed. Where Iris’s eyes would light up with joy, the fire flared with glee, bragging, taunting her with its power. Letters, pressed flowers, books, and the locket. She watched it get swallowed by the flames and a scream had built up in her throat. She managed to restrain it but it released instead through a torrent of tears instead. So many that her head had hurt, her eyes had swollen, and she was afterwards amazed that she hadn’t snuffed out the flames.

She held the present’s wrapping in her hands; the brown paper and red silk ribbon. She tossed the paper into the fireplace, watching with absolute agony as it dissolved quickly. She dipped the tail of the ribbon in as well. Just as the end started to smoulder, she yanked it back, tapping it out with her bare hands, burns be damned. She gripped it viciously in her fists, muffled sobs bruising her diaphragm.

The ribbon remains where the locket was, folded neatly in her nightstand. On special occasions, she weaves it into her hair. No one would ever know.

-

Jane opens the door to the house when the mail arrives. She sorts through them, putting aside the ones she doesn’t need to read at this moment. There is one at the bottom; her name is written on it in Iris’s handwriting. Jane holds back a smile and opens it. She wishes she hadn’t. The handwriting is rushed, but holds Jane’s heart no less.

‘Dearest Jane,

I realise letter-writing is not our favoured method of communication, but I fear that I will not be able to contact you in alternative ways for quite some time. I do not know how or when, but it has come to my attention that my family has discovered our relationship. They had me followed or something along those lines. It has not yet been made clear to me and I believe it never will be. As proof of repentance for the sins I have committed, I will be sent to Saint Mary’s Women’s Hospital to be reformed. The length of my stay there is indiscriminate at best and eternal at worst. Visitors are not allowed and their methods of aid are to remain undisclosed. I was allowed one more letter to you as my family believes they are not cruel. I disagree, for what could be more cruel than to believe that having you in my life is anything other than bliss in the truest sense of the word?

I ask you to burn this letter after you have read it. I know I have provided you little in ways of material goods, but I encourage you to burn those as well. If my family ever decides to inform yours of our relationship, as little proof of our relationship as possible is in your best interest. I want to know that you are living in the world, not locked in a cage as no creature ever should be. I weep writing this letter as I am sure the smudged ink shows, and I know you will shake your head at this horrid, open display of emotion, but I hope you may forgive me this one time.

I love you.

Eternally yours,

Iris’

[theswordmaiden]

Gwen Character Prompts/Req's

To get myself to write more, and also to get some new content going on in tags, I'd like to attempt a "writing challenge", of sorts. They are meant to be short, meaning 100-800 words ideally.

Just send a prompt! It can be a one-liner, a song/lyric, a trope—anything you desire. If you'd prefer a specific character, please include it; otherwise, I will simply use whoever I deem fits your request best.

I'm open to just about anything... within reason, of course.

Assuming I actually get any asks LOL please do not take it personally if I do not respond to yours by the way. It probably means I was unable to do something with it, or it was a request that was perhaps out of my comfort range—hence why if you've sent a request prior, it was not done, sorry ):

I have something to post soon, and then I'll dedicate any time to asks. This post will get deleted later but my requests are always open regardless. I still need to post my masterlist that's been in my drafts since 2023, but with the drama going on in the fandom lately, I've debated on no longer posting... so this is me hoping that taking prompts will help.

[theswordmaiden]

[theswordmaiden]

Why is the fandom dying?

Why do authors stop writing?

Why is there barely any fics being published?

Because some of you are acting like entitled little children, that’s why.

I swear, every single week, we receive abhorrent asks in our inboxes.

“Next fic/chapter when”

“You haven’t posted/updated since x amount of time”

Etc etc etc.

I’ve been writing fics for a decade now, and I have NEVER seen such behaviour before. There’s a new generation of readers out there who simply lacks basic fanfiction etiquette.

Fics authors are doing FREE LABOUR, they’re creating FREE content for you to enjoy. And it’s still not enough. You don’t bang on the oven door and scream at the cake to bake faster. Nor would you sit in a restaurant and yell at the chef to cook your meal quicker—especially if they’re feeding you for free. So why, why, do you feel entitled to come into our inbox and DEMAND things from us, complete strangers?!

You want authors to write? Boost them. Give them some motivation. Leave comments. Repost stories you enjoyed reading. Engage with us between fics updates. Make us feel like you don’t only care for the free content, but care about the person behind the writing.

Be patient, be kind, be respectful.

[theswordmaiden]

I want to TRY and write something quickly for Phasma for May 4th (I have never even seen star wars). What would you prefer to read?

[theswordmaiden]

Reposting since I just updated it 🙂‍↕️💙

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Larissa Weems x Reader

I decided to update my original post from 2023 since we desperately need some new content, lol. Mostly SFW, but some NSFW at the bottom. Rewrote my originals & added new ones. This is quite long, apologies!

Her work always comes first, and Larissa made certain you understood how packed her schedule would be before pursuing a relationship with you. If you make a comment that she's spending too much time working and not enough time with you, Larissa will do her best to carve out time just to remind you how much she loves you and appreciates your patience.

More often than not, Larissa will fall asleep in her office when she's staying up later than usual to catch up on paperwork or responding to emails. On occasion, she may invite you to stay with her while she works to keep her company—even if all of her attention is on her laptop, Larissa does enjoy having you close.

Because of how busy she is, do not be surprised if any anniversaries or important dates may slip from Larissa's mind. The first time it happened, she felt absolutely horrible and would go out of her way to make it up to you. Since then, Larissa has started to keep little post-it notes in her office and mark the calendar so that she has a reminder.

Since Larissa prefers to maintain a certain type of appearance, she is not particularly big on PDA, primarily in any professional setting (in meetings, at work, etc). That's not to say she is ashamed of being seen with you, quite the opposite in fact, just that there is a time and place for everything. Larissa has no qualms about giving you a little peck on the cheek or allowing her hand to rest on your back when in public, and she does not mind if you cling to her arm while you walk together... (Larissa loves it, actually, and you can tell how much she enjoys it with the way her chest is more puffed out and her chin is held up higher than usual)

That being said, Larissa is absolutely the jealous type. While she will never admit to it, you can tell when she's feeling particularly jealous by the sudden change in her mood and appearance—the stiffness of her jaw, the way the line between her brows is more noticeable, how she glares at the person in question with a forced smile, etc. Larissa becomes clingier during this time and will scoff if you point it out.

On occasion, she can be very self-conscious, no matter how much you praise and reassure her. Larissa does not necessarily think she is unattractive, no, but there are times when she may compare herself to someone else while you're out—someone younger, who she thinks would be 'more suited' for you. Anytime you compliment her, Larissa will roll her eyes and deny whatever you say as "simply untrue, darling." But it makes her cheeks burn hot and her stomach twist because, deep down, she loves to hear how much you love her and find her attractive... (She returns the same praise tenfold)

Before she was with you, Larissa truly believed that she was not lovable. She always spent so much time focusing on her career that her personal relationships were often put on the back burner instead, often leaving her feeling rather empty in certain places.

She absolutely uses pet names. Always. Larissa prefers to use them for you rather than the other way around, but she does love it when you call her "Rissa"/"Issa". If you want to get her attention, you know to call her either of those names. The most common pet names she'll use are darling, sweetheart, my love, and sweet girl.

Larissa prefers to give gifts rather than receive because "I don't need any gifts when I already have you." That being said, she will cherish anything you get her, no matter what it is, and often will be overly emotional about it. A new dress? She's already taking off what she has on now to try it on immediately. New jewelry? She's always wearing it. A little trinket for her desk? Trust and believe it's front and center. The fact that you thought of her means more than the gift itself.

Her favorite holiday is absolutely Christmas because she loves to decorate and look at the lights. At Nevermore, Larissa would 100% do a Secret Santa event for the staff. Her gifts are always thoughtful yet practical; she wants you to actually be able to use them. She'd beg you to go into town to look at the lights together, and while you walk, Larissa would place her coat around your shoulders even though it's much too big on you. Afterwards, you go to the Weathervane to get hot chocolate. This time of the year is what she looks forward to the most.

Aside from the use of her laptop, she is not the most tech-savvy. Her personal phone is rarely used for anything other than work, but she may occasionally play a game or two if she has the time. Candy Crush or any word games would be her favorite, naturally. Her texts are always simple and straight to the point, and they are always grammatically correct. She does not use slang and does not particularly enjoy you using it, either. If she's texting you, she'll end each message with an "X" or "L.W".

If she has some free time, there is nothing Larissa loves more than reading near the fireplace, with you nestled against her chest. It comforts her, allowing her constantly worrying mind a moment of peace. One hand would occasionally card through your hair as she read, and Larissa hums to herself in contentment as you snuggle closer. She'd love more classical literature than anything else, and may often quote from her favorite poems—allowing you to finish the line.

Even though she can easily shift to forgo the tedious process of taking out the pins from her hair, Larissa enjoys the quiet process of both getting ready in the morning and undressing at night. It wasn't often that you were able to see her with her hair down, but you love to help take out the pins if she'll allow it. Larissa groans in pleasure if you massage your fingers against her scalp, and it often helps get her to fall asleep faster.

Larissa would be a horrible cook. She would prefer to go out to a restaurant than set foot in the kitchen, but she'd have a few simple signature dishes. If you mention having a favorite food, then trust that Larissa will learn how to make it for you and surprise you with it on your birthday/anniversary.

Considering her affinity for hot chocolate, Larissa definitely would have a sweet tooth. If she has the time, she will stop at the Weathervane for a blueberry muffin or scone to have with her coffee before work. You've been known to drop by her office a time or two with a bag of treats, and Larissa would reward you with a quick peck before asking you to eat with her.

(nsfw)

Since she is always in control in her day-to-day life, Larissa doesn't necessarily need to be the dominant one in your relationship all the time. Don't be mistaken, she enjoys it, but deep down, she'd like you to have control every now and then—both in and out of the bedroom. She was surprised the first time you had offered to take the lead, but strangely found out how much she enjoyed it.

Generally, she'd be a softer, passionate lover in bed. Larissa enjoys taking her time with you, to relish in the slowness after another hectic workday, to hear every soft breath from your lips and watch the way you squirm for her. But, after a particularly rough afternoon filled with meetings and angry parents, Larissa may use you to let out a bit of steam. She'd never hurt you, though, of course.

Larissa loves to bite. Anywhere and everywhere that she can reach. Your shoulder, your neck, across the softness of your belly, and the inside of your thighs—it doesn't matter. Her lips and teeth always want to be on your soft skin, and she especially enjoys seeing the small marks left behind the following day.

If you asked her if she preferred ass or tits, she is 1000% picking your chest. Larissa loves to rest her head against your shoulder and palm at your breasts until your nipples harden enough to suck. If you had a little stomach pudge, she would also love to squeeze and kiss your belly.

On rare occasions, Larissa will dress up in lingerie to surprise you. She loves to wear something you picked out, especially. It turns her on to put on what you want to see her in. Larissa is shy the first couple of times, but she eventually gets more confident over time. She loves to sit at the edge of the bed and wait for you to get home to take everything off of her.

When both your schedules allow it, Larissa loves morning sex. Sure, doing it later in the evening is easier and more practical, but where is the fun in that? It's more intimate and slow. She loves the way your eyes get all heavy afterward, and it's not long before you're nestled against her breast, skin to skin, ready for a quick power nap before getting ready for the day.

Just as something silly, Larissa absolutely gave that panda bear to Enid. And you know that goofy little unicorn cup that's on Larissa's desk? Enid gave that to her for Teacher Appreciation Week. 100%.

[theswordmaiden]

“The Maid from Tarth” (Color Pencil and Marker, 7x10)

[ID in Photo] born to play lacrosse forced to look for a maid of three-and-ten

[theswordmaiden]

in the mood to write, but cannot decide between Lucifer or Jan Stevens... oh decisions, decisions. . perhaps both?

[theswordmaiden]

The Lightbringer

shamelessly scratching my aching wingkink

[theswordmaiden]

After getting lost in the mail for eons, she’s finally arrived; a Brienne license plate cover 🙂‍↕️ I’m pathetic when it comes to anything Gwen related… as you’ll see beneath the cut

An updated display of my collection 😅 I finally got my hands on the Phasma vs Finn funko Ive always wanted, her comics, plus a few other things here and there. The last things I really want are the scale figures of Bri and Phasma (though she has a bunch), but I don’t think I’ll ever get them. I’m happy with what I’ve got though! My promo beanie is probably my most prized but I love them all, especially my keychains + the custom ones I have not shown

[theswordmaiden]

[theswordmaiden]

[theswordmaiden]

𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. (nsfw)

Miranda Hilmarson x f!reader

“We’ve been dancing around each other at the station for months,” Miranda had said when you arrived at the spot she picked. “Tonight, I’m pulling out all the stops. I want it to be perfect for us. Perfect for you. Just… trust me, I’ve got it taken care of.”

♥︎ thank you @theswordmaiden for your lovely beta work💞

‼️| nsfw ! minors dni , please.

🖋️| 1.1k words.

Tonight seemed to be a successful date.

For the past few months, you and your colleague Miranda had been seeing each other—albeit off and on—outside of work. It had been a challenge to keep it a secret, but none of your other coworkers had caught on to the fact you two were together. Well… not really together yet, but together enough for Miranda that she had saved up her last paycheck to take you out for a lovely dinner and chauffeur you around town on her motorcycle.

She’d brought you out to an expensive restaurant that neither of you could ever afford on any other given day, but Miranda had planned out everything, down to the very last detail. She greeted you with a rose when she first picked you up and flashed one of her mischievous grins, the kind that sent a flutter through your stomach and made your cheeks warm.

Her blazer over the top of her gear had your stomach doing somersaults; the dark colored leather suited her more than you’d ever admit. Miranda had given you one of her old helmets that didn’t fit her anymore, and she was gentle as she helped you put it on and buckle the clasp together. The Constable promised to drive extra carefully with you on the back of her bike, and once you were situated, the two of you were off.

“We’ve been dancing around each other at the station for months,” Miranda had said when you arrived at the spot she picked. “Tonight, I’m pulling out all the stops. I want it to be perfect for us. Perfect for you. Just… trust me, I’ve got it taken care of.” And before you could protest, your hand was already linked around Miranda’s as she led you inside.

“How’re you holding up back there?” Miranda asked loudly over the helmet’s microphone as she slowed to a stop at the traffic light. She could feel every movement from behind her and reached for your hands to adjust your hands to rest more snugly around her hips.

It was difficult for you to stay still. The skirt of your dress continued to hike up your thighs as the wind whipped through you, which left you the wiggle room to adjust your posture and move further against the seat. But you nodded at her question and tapped her side to get her attention before you flashed her a thumbs-up. You held onto her, yes, but barely… How could you keep your grip tight when your thoughts had wandered off and the engine hummed just right beneath you?

Miranda waited a moment once the light had turned green before pushing off the ground with her boot. The moment she revved the bike, you thought you might have fainted right then and there. Oh, Gods, how good the vibrations felt against you, your heated center separated from the seat by nothing but the thin cloth of your panties. The more you thought about Miranda’s leather jacket and how good it looked on her, the more sinful thoughts formed in your mind, and the pleasant thrum of the engine drove you crazy. You couldn’t think of anything else—Miranda had just been so sweet to you all night, yet here you were, on the back of her bike while you imagined her handsome face tucked between your thighs until they shook. What was wrong with you?

Your grip on Miranda’s sides tightened as the city blurred around you. Each time she turned the throttle it sent a shock down your spine and made you tremble in place. The cool air did little to help with the heat that had formed between your bodies, and you prayed that Miranda could not notice it. Your arms wrapped around her now and held her tighter as your head—still snug under her helmet—moved to rest against the Constable’s shoulder blade.

Your breaths were heavy as your cunt throbbed and clenched around nothing. Christ, this was torture… You closed your eyes and let out a soft sound of frustration. Too bad for you that, in your haze, you’d forgotten that she could hear every sound you made, every whimpered huff as you pressed yourself against her back, slowly getting off to your dirty thoughts about her on the back of her motorcycle.

“Don’t cum on my seat, I just cleaned my bike,” Miranda snickered over the headset, and the sound startled you. “Save that for my place. We’re almost there.”

“You heard… all of that?” You questioned, mortified. “Shit, I’m sorry, Miranda… I-I don’t know what got into me, I’m ashamed of myself…” God, how could you be so disgusting? How could you be so stupid… Stupid, stupid—

Miranda hit the throttle again to stir up the fire that burned between your thighs. Over, and over, and over, she twisted the throttle, just to purposely push your limits until you whined. “Don’t apologize. I think I like it.” She insisted, and if it weren’t for the helmets, you would have noticed the smug grin plastered across her face.

The rest of the drive home was miserable, not so much embarrassing as it was unbearably hot and humid, even with the cool wind against your scalding skin. You thanked your lucky stars when Miranda finally parked outside her flat. She stepped off the bike and unclipped her helmet, then turned to you with a smirk as she lifted your visor to get a look at your flushed face.

“Look at you, you’re a mess, sweet thing,” Miranda teased as she lifted the helmet from your head and fixed your disheveled hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up inside and dress you in something more comfortable. Please? It’s the least I can do after what I seemed to have caused.”

"Yes, please…” Your legs trembled as you stood, and you had to hold Miranda’s arm for support. The Constable chuckled at the glistening spot you’d left behind and smiled as a scowl formed on your face. “I’m sorry again, Miranda…”

“Don’t apologize, please. I did it on purpose.” Miranda adjusted your dress to ensure you were properly covered, and her pupils dilated at the soft whine you let out in response. She supported your lower back with the palm of her right hand while the left idly played with the front laces of your dress.

You glanced around briefly to ensure no one was around before you reached for her hand and guided it lower. Miranda wasted no time and brushed her fingers against the outline of your underwear. She groaned at how soaked you were, and she longed to taste you.

“Mmm… we’ll take care of that, too,” Miranda rasped as she pulled back her hand, unable to resist the urge to bring it to her lips for a taste. “I can run you a bath.”

You shook your head and swallowed thickly. “No bath… bring me to bed, Mir. .”

“Done deal, darling.”

[theswordmaiden]

Sometimes I feel like I should stop writing.. either the Gwen community here is dwindling, or I’m just doing something wrong. Idk, maybe it’s just a me thing.

I wish I had moots on here to actually talk to, not just the occasional message here or there.. just feeling terribly alone here, I suppose. I don’t think anyone would miss me if I was gone.

[theswordmaiden]

𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬

Larissa Weems x f!reader

“Come on,” Larissa tried again. “Talk to me. Please.” There was a crack in her voice this time, a pleading sound that she no longer could suppress. She hated this—the way you disappeared into yourself more often lately, leaving her stranded on the outside, only to look in. Hated how powerless she felt, how no matter what she said or did, she was never able to reach you.

∙ CW / Mentions: hurt/comfort, feelings of worthlessness, mental health issues, low self-esteem, emotional distress? r! is stuck in a depressive state. Should be it?

∙ Word Count: 2.8k | ao3 link in title

The rain drummed relentlessly against the windows of your small apartment, and each droplet seemed to echo the dull, insistent throb that had settled in the back of your skull. It made the panes rattle against the warped wooden frames each time there was a strong gust of wind. Everything was too loud, too overwhelming to handle. The curtains were drawn tightly shut. It did little to block out the dim light that filtered through the edges, but it was enough to keep the room dark enough so that it didn’t hurt your eyes.

You hadn’t moved all day. Not really. You were too exhausted to get out of bed. It didn’t help that the sheets clung to your skin, damp with sweat despite the noticeable chill in the air. They kept you trapped in its embrace, limbs twisted in the blankets. Your body felt… foreign, leaden, as if gravity had doubled its hold on you and wanted to keep you there. You hadn’t even bothered to open your eyes properly yet; instead, you lay there with them half open and stared blankly at the ceiling when you were not sleeping the day away.

It had been weeks—no, months—of this slow, suffocating descent. It started with the little things. Forgetting to take the trash out to the curb, skipping a meal, or neglecting to give yourself water. But now? Now it was everything. The dishes were piled up in the sink, you hadn’t showered in days, and you couldn’t find the energy to do anything about it.

You were always prone to these little bouts—it was only natural, you tried to tell yourself for the hundredth time. Surely everyone had bad days, right? This wasn’t just a bad day, not anymore. It was a relentless string of days after days where you could do nothing but fall into something deeper than you could describe. And now it felt like you were being swallowed whole by it, consumed by something unyielding. You hadn’t really been awake. You just… existed somewhere in that liminal space between consciousness and oblivion, where time lost its grip on you, and the sharpness of your surroundings softened and blurred.

Your chest tightened as that familiar hollowness settled in again—that little ache that wasn’t quite pain but wasn’t simply nothing either. It sat there trapped between your ribcage, heavy and unmovable as if you were dense stone.

Too lost in your spiraling thoughts, you hadn’t heard the front door open or Larissa’s voice as she softly called out to you. She had decided to take some time off of work to dedicate her time solely to you—which you would have known if you had ever bothered to check your phone earlier when she first texted you that she was coming over. Footsteps muted by stockings padded across the house, shuffling around in the kitchen.

You hadn’t noticed her approach your bedroom door, either, her figure framed by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. The dim yellow hue cast shadows across her features, accentuating the tension etched across them. Her brows pulled together as she frowned; the crease between them carved by worry, deep and persistent, as though it had taken a permanent residence.

From where she stood, Larissa could vaguely make out the outline of your body beneath the heavy blankets, tucked securely away from both her and the world. Her eyes followed the gentle slope of what she assumed was your shoulder, yet even that seemed defeated like the rest of you.

“Hi, my darling,” she uttered softly, her voice low to avoid startling you. The floorboards creaked as she slowly stepped into the room, and she cradled a mug between her fingers. Larissa sat on the edge of the bed beside you, a careful distance away. “How are you feeling? I made tea. I thought it might help with your migraine.”

The only response was the subtle rise and fall of the blankets—so slow and shallow that it seemed like even the act of breathing was too laboring for you, another unbearable weight that pressed you deeper into the mattress. Larissa’s fingers twitched as if she had to resist the urge to reach out and yank back the covers, to shake you from whatever dark place had wrapped its claws around you this time.

Her sigh broke the fragile silence, the sound heavy with helplessness. Larissa placed the warm mug on the nightstand before she ran a hand through her hair. She was a patient woman, far more than you thought you deserved, but it wasn’t enough for her. Not when her gaze flicked toward the blankets again to make sure you were still breathing. Not when every fiber of her being screamed at her to do something, anything, to pull you back from this funk you were in.

“Come on,” Larissa tried again. “Talk to me. Please.” There was a crack in her voice this time, a pleading sound that she no longer could suppress. She hated this—the way you disappeared into yourself more often lately, leaving her stranded on the outside, only to look in. Hated how powerless she felt, how no matter what she said or did, she was never able to reach you.

“I know you’re hurting, my love… But shutting me out like this won’t make it go away. I can’t help if you won’t let me in. . . You don’t have to say anything, just… can you at least let me see you? Just for a second?”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, Larissa thought she might have pushed too hard, said too much. Then came the shuffled movements from beneath the blankets. Slowly, cautiously, you tugged the fabric down just enough for your face to emerge. You looked so fragile—your eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears that dribbled down to your chin as it wobbled. 

“There you are, my sweet girl,” Larissa murmured, and her heart broke at the sight of you like this. A tender smile broke across her features—the kind only ever designated for you, the one that made her nose scrunch and her eyes crinkle in that familiar way that spoke of her love for you—despite the tears that welled in her eyes. She resisted the urge to reach out and cup your face, afraid it might startle you back into hiding.

Oh, but the gentleness of her voice, the tenderness in her eyes, and the genuine relief that settled over her once she saw you was enough to break something deep inside of you… It was too much and not enough all at once. A broken sob clawed its way up from your throat before you could stop it, and suddenly, the tears were spilling over your cheeks, hot and relentless. The sound of your cries tugged at her heartstrings terribly.

Larissa’s expression softened further when she saw the first sign of tears, now melted into something more tender and warm. “Come here, sweetheart…” She reached out to coax you closer, to welcome you in the comforting space between her shoulders. The distance between you dissolved in an instant as you leaned forward, and Larissa encircled her arms around you snugly to bring you closer to her chest. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

The warmth of her body against your own was so comforting, and God, you needed this—needed her. Her embrace was firm but not suffocating, as if she knew exactly how much pressure you needed as she held you together like you were about to unravel on her entirely. Larissa didn’t mind when you buried your face deeper into the hollow of her neck or when your tears soaked into the collar of her dress. She didn’t mind when your sobs turned ragged and uneven, when your apologies poured out in broken words between hiccuped breaths.

No, she only pulled you closer, ran her fingers through your disheveled hair, and softly cooed against the outer shell of your ear until you settled down.

You sobbed against her chest until nothing more could come out and your chest no longer heaved with each breath. The palms against your back gently soothed you back down to reality, where your heartbeat finally began to settle. Larissa felt so gentle, so caring and loving.

When you inhaled deeply to try and grasp ahold of yourself, you were overcome by her familiar scent. It filled your lungs so heavenly, made you float off into the stars and bury your nose deeper against her skin. She smelt of jasmine, vanilla, and something so uniquely and intoxicatingly hers that made your head spin. It grounded you, reminded you that you were home within her arms.

“No more apologies, darling.” Larissa’s thumb came up to brush away a stray tear from your cheek as she coaxed your chin upward with gentle insistence. “Look at me and listen.”

Slowly, reluctantly, as if you feared to see disappointment lingering in her eyes, you lifted your gaze until it met hers. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for feeling this way,” Larissa said firmly. “You’re allowed to cry. You know I’d never be upset with you for something like that.” The back of her knuckles traced against your cheekbone as she spoke, and she smiled as you leaned into her touch. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed and shut everything out for a while, just… not forever.”

She leaned in to press a kiss against your temple, her breath warm against your skin. “Don’t shut me out. Please. You’re not a burden to me; you never have been. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I don’t want to ever find out.”

Again, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightened at her words—too many emotions at once poured into you that it was difficult to grasp. It wasn’t just despair; no, there was something else. Relief, perhaps, or maybe gratitude. You opened your mouth to respond but faltered, unsure of how to put everything you felt into words. Instead, what came out was meek and riddled with self-doubt.

“I don’t know why you continue to put up with me… why you don’t just give up and stop trying,” you admitted under your breath, your gaze lowering as shame crept up your spine. You were too much to handle, and you began to convince yourself that Larissa would be better off without you… “I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. I can’t figure out how to fix it. I don’t even know why I’m… why I’m still here.”

Your words were thick with guilt, that familiar, suffocating weight you slowly became accustomed to. Guilt for being like this, for dragging Larissa down with you, for being a burden, for being a waste of space…

Larissa’s brows knitted together in an expression that was somewhere between frustration and heartbreak—not at you, but at whatever had planted such thoughts into your head. She reached out and cupped your face between both hands, keeping you from looking away from her even if you tried.

“How could I ever give up on the person who means so much to me? I would not abandon you. Not now, not ever,” she spoke firmly, hurt laced into her words at the mere implication that she would leave you over something like this. There was no anger in her tone, just an aching kind of love that she wished you could see so that you’d know her heart is forever intertwined with yours. “Would I still be here if I didn’t want to be? If I didn’t care about you, even when you’re like this? My love for you is not conditional—it does not ebb and flow when you lose yourself.”

Her thumbs moved slowly as she brushed away the fresh set of tears that had spilled over your round cheeks, as if she wasn’t just trying to remove the dampness from your skin but also the guilt that accompanied them. Larissa’s fingers trembled slightly, betraying her own emotions. But she had to put on a brave face for you.

She tilted her head, and her eyes searched yours. “Do you understand me?” Larissa’s voice was soft yet firm as she tried to get through to you. “I am not here because I feel obligated to be. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. I will only ever choose you every single day, in every lifetime that we are together.”

You wanted to believe her words; you really tried to. A part of you did, somewhere deep down, yet the ache in your chest refused to relent. It gnawed at your conscience, and you hated yourself for siding with your thoughts instead of your lover. You tried to laugh, but it came out weak and hollow.

“I’m such a mess though, Larissa,” you rasped. The words felt jagged as they rolled off of your tongue, as if admitting them aloud would make them more real. Your eyes searched hers desperately, looking for something, anything, that would settle the brewing thoughts inside of you. Instead, more guilt festered in your chest for doubting her, for not being able to accept her love as easily as she gave it. “I’m not the person I was when we first got together, and I hate it. I’m just… broken, and I don’t know how to go back to the way things once were.”

It felt like the truth of your words, so raw and unfiltered, might crush you entirely. You hoped the floor would open and swallow you whole. At least then you could wallow in self-pity without having to drag Larissa down with you.

But Larissa’s gaze did not waver. It never did when it came to you.

“You are not broken,” she said firmly, her brows furrowed together as she took in the sight of your defeated face. “You’re trying to heal, and healing takes time—time that you have to first allow yourself to take and accept where you are right now. I’m here with you, always.” “But I don’t deserve this… don’t deserve you. You’re too kind, and. . and considerate, but I’m not getting any better, it’s just getting worse and—”

“You deserve this,” Larissa interjected softly. She didn’t want you to start spiraling again; that wouldn’t do either of you any good right now. Her thumbs soothed along your jawline, then trailed lower until she held your shoulders. “You deserve this and so much more than what you’ve allowed yourself to believe. You deserve to be loved and tended to, deserve to have someone hold you while you cry, deserve to be shown the same kindness that you so freely offer everyone else…”

The genuine sincerity in her tone sent a fresh surge of emotions through you. You tried to speak, to argue and deflect her words more, yet nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully as tears blurred your vision, and all you could manage to let out was a pathetic whine of her name.

Larissa’s hands slipped away from you only so she could wrap her arms around you once more. She pulled you into her chest with a kind of determination that left no more room for doubt. Her hand found the back of your head, and she guided it to rest against her chest.

“Until you're able to see that for yourself,” she mumbled against the top of your head, her lips soft as they brushed against your hair, “I’ll spend the rest of our time together reminding you, my darling girl…”

You closed your eyes tightly as you tried to fight off the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you again, and you let yourself sink fully into her embrace. Her hand began to trace slow circles on your back while she whispered how much she loved you against your hairline. 

It wasn’t as if Larissa and her love was a cure. She was, unfortunately, not some sort of sudden, miraculous miracle drug to aid you in your recovery. The rain still drummed against the window, the darkness still surrounded the room, and the uncomfortable weight in your chest was still there. Perhaps it would always be there, in the back of your mind, always nagging in your ear. But something had shifted. You still felt weighed down, yes, but it wasn’t as unbearable as before. As though her words were like a seed, something fragile, meant to nurture, that had been planted in the cracks where your self-doubt had taken root. And maybe that would be enough for now.

—

A/N: This isn't something I'd typically do, much less share, so I know this is probably the weakest piece I've done and won't be liked all that much from those who prefer nsfw. But that's alright. I wrote it in a single sitting while crying off and on, so bear with me if there are any errors lol — I have no one to beta my work these days.

I feel pretty shameful for my feelings, and this just happened to be the next best outlet to somehow deal with them. I did not sleep last night, so I'm also very sleep-deprived at the moment. Whoops. The next piece I post won't be like this nonsense, don't worry.

[theswordmaiden]

[we don't abide such fripperies here.]