#the vibe is very carol-esque don’t you think 🌝

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Messages for her, hidden in the flowers”

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

▸ 𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬

▸ 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬 : 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

wowie it’s been months :3 i feel bad for tagging after so long but since you guys asked @idontlikepexple @theregoesyourlifeagain

gif ©mybeautifulwickedness

Longing breeds gloominess.

Days have bled into a week, and a week into weeks since the first, and judging by no glimpses of hair the hue of sun-soaked clouds in the vicinity of your shop, seemingly last sighting of your angel inside your little floral haven. As hyperbolical as it sounds, you have been drenched in blues over the woman whose name you do not even know. A day after her appearance, you have told yourself that what the woman has evoked in you has been nothing more than an infatuation that will go away with time. However, when time only brings about the ripening of a pair of cherry red lips that come into your mind uninvited at the most random times, you are convinced of how hapless and hopeless you truly are.

Uneventful will be the most suitable word to describe your morning thus far. The absence of customer gives way to the tranquility of the shop, and that in its turn, leaves your thoughts whirling aloud. The availability of time on your hands is spent tending your flowers which for you is a means of catharsis. Faulty though it is, your endeavour to keep your mind from wandering off to a certain white haired goddess has been working impressively well, until it no longer does. While the redness of the roses conjures up a picture of sanguine lips, the yellow tulips that your eyes land upon next spill forth a waterfall of memories.

Her face has been so close to yours that you can count every little strand of peach fuzz on her cheeks. Her fingers, dressed in leather, has touched you with buttery smoothness, and the sensation lingers. Now, as it tingles pleasantly from where they have softly kissed your cheek, the pads of your fingers trace the echo of her touch with a tentative caress. You fear that too tangible of a touch will break the spell that she has seemingly casted upon you.

Just then, the sudden chime of a bell on the front door alerts you to a potential customer. In your haste to welcome them, you are rendered uncoordinated, subsequently causing the stool, that has been aiding you in reaching the topmost shelves, to wobble on its legs. Your attempt to stabilise the support is precarious at best, and unable to bring it back to steadiness, you poise to take the damage that is certain to come with the fall.

Broken bones, cracked head, sore limbs; out of all the terrible disasters that can befall you, you fall into the gentle arms of a gorgeous disaster that effortlessly takes your breath away.

“Careful now.”

The face of an angel who has sowed the seed of longing in you has seemingly manifested out of thin air, conveniently in your hour of need, and you have half a mind to believe that it is your eyes playing tricks on you. However, more than one evidence supports against such claim: the very palpable feeling of the tiniest flex of her fingers on your body, her warm breath like a delicate flap of a butterfly’s wing against your cheek, and the ambrosial aroma that transports you to the garden of Eden.

How she has managed to catch you in a heartbeat, you do not know. The perks of having long legs perhaps. What you do know though is that her arm is snug around your waist like a well-tailored belt while a palm on your abdomen keeps you steady.

“Are you alright?”

Her gloves, you realise, are obsidian dark as your eyes trail from the arrestingly blue depths of her eyes to her fingers that are holding on to your waist with unyielding resolve. They stay fixed on the lustrous leather for just a beat too long. Journeying back to the scenic planes and valleys of her face, and upon finding an emotion akin to concern, one part of you is a little bit perplexed while the other part of you is unabashedly pleased.

“Quite. Thank you.”

As soon as an affirmation has left your lips, a shadow of a smile touches her lips.

“My pleasure.”

“Here, let me.”

You slip your fingers into the offered palm of her hand which, partnered with a gentle palm on the small of your back, assists you in getting down from the stool.

“Hi.” Your sheepish murmur is received with a sultry drawl. “Hello there, darling.”

“Are you quite sure that you’re alright? You look positively flushed,-” You are too distracted by the miraculous manifestation of your angel to take notice of the peeling off of her gloves, but by the time a hand finds home on the curve of your cheek, you learn that it is very much naked. “-and oh my, feel that way too.”

“Mmhm.” You say dumbly. “Mmhm. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Very fine. Just a bit hot is all.”

“That you are indeed.”

“Anyway, I was beginning to believe that our encounter was but a figment of my imagination.”

“My, do I appear unreal to you?”

The strawberry shade of your cheeks encourage one corner of her scarlet lips to curve slightly skyward.

“Well?”

Lips opening and closing with no words coming out, you must look every bit the picture of a fish out of water.

“I jest, although I have to say darling, red suits you spectacularly well.”

“I- uh- Thanks?”

“My, where are my manners. I come here to repay the debt.”

“Do you see anything that catches your eyes today?”

At that, she gazes you deeply in the eye with an intensity that almost has you collapsing in a heap.

“I’m rather indecisive for they’re all quite lovely. Why don’t you choose something for me?”

“If you could give me a moment.”

“Please, go ahead.”

Immediately, you walk towards the aisle that house varying shades of Camellias. Despite having a wide variety to choose from, it has been easy for you to settle on a colour. Pink Camellias in particular signify longing, and longing for her is what makes up the better part of your mind since her appearance weeks ago.

As you fix the flowers into a charming bouquet, you can tangibly feel the blue-eyed gaze that is quietly observing you up until the final embellishment is made with a neat little red bow.

“A gift for you.”

When you offer said gift directly into the hands of this living sculpture of a woman, you cannot help but zero in on her delectably painted lips, and their tentalising plumpness riddles you with dizziness.

“Let me buy you a drink then. If you’re not too busy, perhaps something to eat?”

Suddenly, the woman of your dreams is offering to take you out on not-exactly-a-date. A too-good-to-be-true opportunity has offered itself to you on a diamond platter, and you would be the most foolish of fools not to pounce on the opportunity to spend more time with her.

“Ah- yeah I-” Your attempt to look down at your watch results in futility when you find your wrist watch-less.

“The clock has struck eleven. Too late for breakfast, yet too early for lunch.” Her smile is that of amusement as she regards you with a faint tilt to her lips. “Say darling, shall we have brunch together?”

“Sure, let’s.”

Once the pair of you have comfortably settled into your respective seats and ordered dishes of your respective choices, she initiates conversation.

“You never told me your name.”

“You never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now, aren’t I?”

It is with a sheepish grin that you give her your name. When she tastes it on her tongue, she makes it sound sweet, sacred.

“It’s lovely.”

“And yours?”

“Larissa Weems.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Principle Weems of Nevermore Academy. Rings any bells?”

“You’re.” Silence ensues during which you search for a suitable word that will not rouse offence. “Different.”

“Outcasts, so we’re called.”

“Does it bother you? Me being different.” She pronounces the word as though it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“No.” More firmly, with an adamant shake of your head, you repeat. “No, it does not bother me.”

There is a certain warmth in her voice as she murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

“We’re having a ball coming Sunday. I’m still in need of a partner. I’d like for you to be that person, but-” While, blue eyes are boring into you with a dizzying intensity, crimson lips close around the rim of a glass of water. “-would you?”

You gulp. Then, smile.

“Please, Miss Weems. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Larissa. Call me Larissa, please.”

Her hand engulfs yours on the table. The sweet gesture has your heart doing giddy somersaults.

“Alright, Larissa. I’d love to be your partner. Very much.”

#larissa weems x reader #principle weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #character x reader #fanfic #wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday series #gwendoline christie x reader #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #sweet #the vibe is very carol-esque don’t you think 🌝