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wasjustred · 1 year

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Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you.

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings.

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen.

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you.

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew.

She’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore.

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down.

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

#i’ve been super stressed trying to live up to ‘easy does it’ tbh so i hope this is at least decent 😅#don’t think i’ll ever beat the sugar mommy fic lol #ah well!#i love exploring/constructing the parts of larissa we never saw (like her childhood) ﹠. i hope you guys do too!#my girl’s def a rider #i’ll stand by that till the day i die #accompanied by expensive purebred well-trained dogs throughout childhood #but is more of a cat person now – relaxed and easy #guilty pleasure romcom is ‘the proposal’#and not just bc that’s also MY guilty pleasure romcom 😇#n e ways hope you all enjoy :)#lmk your thoughts! 🫶🏼#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #wasjustred

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lewishamil10n · 1 year

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here it is finally!!! bday valewis for @milflewis <333 happy birthday once more, i love you sooooo much!! sorry it's late, but i hope you enjoy it anyway <333

—

By the end of the second hour, even Valtteri was beginning to get antsy.

“Would you sit still!” Lewis snapped, after the third time Valtteri’s knee accidentally hit him in the side.

“Well, now you know how it feels,” Valtteri retorted. “You are so much more fidgety than I am!”

“I’m not this bad.”

“True… you’re worse.”

Lewis glared at him. Valtteri glared back. The effect was somewhat ruined due to the lack of light in the tiny space.

“For God’s sake,” Lewis said in the end, looking away so he could check his phone. “It’s been two hours!” His foot had been asleep for ages. Any longer and he was genuinely afraid it might fall off.

Valtteri, who was squished beside him, sighed. “Do you think they forgot us in here?”

“I’ll kill them,” Lewis muttered.

He had been in a variety of situations in his life, and he was proud to say he handled them all with some modicum of grace and patience. Occasional yelling and cursing, yes, and the memorable time he poured milk in Nico’s suitcase and let it stew for a night before Nico discovered it — but, for the most part, grace and patience.

This, however, had to be the strangest thing that had happened to him.

“How did we even end up here?” Valtteri said glumly.

“Well, George said you needed me so I came to see where you were, and then it turned out you were for some reason in this stupid little closet, and then we got locked in here, in the dark,” Lewis recapped succinctly.

“I was being rhetorical,” Valtteri said after a moment.

“I wasn’t,” Lewis retorted. Then, softer, “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Being stuck in a closet? No, this has always been my greatest dream,” Valtteri said sarcastically.

“Wow,” said Lewis after a moment. “Familiarity does breed contempt.”

“We have seen bits of each other very few other people have,” Valtteri pointed out. “It’s not familiarity, it’s the fact that both my legs are asleep and so is my butt.”

“I didn’t even know they made broom closets this small,” Lewis said, choosing to ignore the first part of Valtteri’s sentence for his own sanity. “How many brooms can you fit in this one anyway? Like, three?”

“Three brooms and two men,” said Valtteri dryly. “Have you managed to contact anyone yet?”

“Toto isn’t picking up, George’s phone is off, Mick seems to have tossed his in a lake, and no one is replying to me on the group chat,” Lewis listed off.

“Try Guanyu,” Valtteri suggested, not for the first time.

“I forgot to save his number,” Lewis reminded him, not for the first time.

“Check the drivers’ group chat.”

“Valtteri, I literally only have yours, George’s, Mick’s and Daniel’s numbers saved. And half of them don’t have profile pictures. I literally can’t tell which number is Guanyu’s.”

“Try them all, then.”

“My phone is at 3%, Val.”

“Power bank?”

“In my bag at the garage.”

“So we’re fucked?”

“Pretty much,” confirmed Lewis.

Valtteri sighed again, and then squirmed until he was in a more comfortable position. His elbow hit Lewis in the side, who made a muffled sound of indignation but otherwise decided to be nice about it.

“Better settle in, then,” Valtteri said glumly.

“Already have,” Lewis said.

The closet really was tiny. They were sitting on the floor pressed against each other, with Lewis between the wall and Valtteri, and both of them next to a disgustingly smelly mop. It smelled like someone had used it to mop up broken eggs, and then just not washed it. Lewis had been nauseous for the past hour and a half because of it.

“Who told you I needed you anyway?” Valtteri asked, after a few moments.

“George,” Lewis said. “He said you needed my help urgently.”

“Why would I need your help in the Aston Martin hospitality?”

Lewis shrugged. The movement was difficult in the tight space. “I didn’t question it, Val, all I cared about what that you needed me.” Then, “How did you end up here anyway?”

“Guanyu said you needed my help,” Valtteri replied, and then went still.

Both of them arrived at the same conclusion at the same time. “Oh my God, they played us,” Lewis said.

“This is a plot,” realized Valtteri. “A scheme. A — a conspiracy.”

“For what, though?” wondered Lewis.

“Also, why Aston Martin?”

“Yeah, why Aston Martin? Did you know I had to see Fernando on my way up here?” Lewis made a face. “He’s so annoying.”

Valtteri made a sound of exasperation. “Never mind Fernando,” he said. “Try calling someone else, Lewis. Call Lance if you have to—”

“I told you, I don’t have anyone’s numbers—”

A sad little chime from Lewis’s phone interrupted them. Both of them watched in dismay as the screen turned off.

“Dead?” asked Valtteri, like he already knew the answer.

“Dead,” Lewis confirmed, morose. He shoved it back into his pocket and thumped his head back against the wall. “Now what?”

“Someone must have realized we are missing, right?” Valtteri sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “They’ll find us—”

“Val, it’s been two hours,” Lewis said glumly. “And even if they’re looking for us, why would they look in freaking Aston Martin?”

Valtteri exhaled. “This is terrible,” he muttered, letting his head fall back against the wall too. “We are stuck here, in this tiny space, next to this stupid smelly mop, a dead phone, and no one to hear us yelling or banging the door. What the hell?”

“Well,” sighed Lewis. “If I had to be stuck with anyone though, I’m glad it’s you. I’m pretty sure if it was anyone else I would have killed them by now.”

“Even Mick?” Valtteri asked. “Or Sebastian?”

Lewis shrugged. “Probably,” he said with a little laugh. “Mick because he would take up too much space, and Sebastian because he would annoy me.”

Valtteri snorted at that. “Fair enough,” he allowed. Then, “If it helps, I’m glad it’s you, too. Not glad I’m stuck — but if I have to be, I’m glad it’s with you.”

“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Lewis said after a moment.

“You’re not serious?” In the low light coming in from the slats of the door, Lewis could see Valtteri frown. “Do you really think I don’t say nice things to you?”

“What— Val, no, I’m just kidding,” Lewis said, a little bewildered at the sudden change in tone.

Valtteri seemed to be taking this more seriously than Lewis intended, going by the way he was still frowning. “I know I am not very expressive,” he began.

“Val, you’re fine,” Lewis said. “Swear. You don’t need to, like, say anything, I always know what you mean. I know you, man. I know you care. About — about me.”

“Still,” Valtteri said after a moment. “Maybe sometimes it’s nice to say it.”

“Maybe,” conceded Lewis, “but, you know, you don’t need to say anything you don’t want to just ‘cause you think it’s what I want to hear—”

“I don’t,” Valtteri said. “Say things just because you might want to hear them, I mean,” he clarified.

“I know,” Lewis said softly. “It’s what I like about you. I always know you’re honest with me, even when—” he laughed a little, “even when it’s not what I want to hear.”

“You’ve had enough people try to manipulate you,” Valtteri said after a pause. “I never wanted you to be afraid of that with me.”

“I never was,” said Lewis, and it was true. “With you, I always knew… well, I always knew I could trust you, Valtteri. ‘Cause you’d never lie to me.”

Valtteri didn’t reply to that immediately. In the silence, Lewis became aware once more of their proximity, forced though it was — the way Valtteri’s body was pressed against his, the way he could feel Valtteri’s chest move with each breath he took. It was not the first time they’d shared space like this, but it felt different this time. Something about this entire situation felt charged somehow, and it was not just due to the tight space or the smell of rotten eggs.

“Is keeping a secret considered lying?” Valtteri asked in the end.

“You mean lying by omission?” Lewis considered it. “Why do you ask?” It felt strange to think that there was stuff Valtteri might not have told him. He had always been under the impression they knew each other through and through; that was just what happened when two people who were meant to find each other finally did.

Valtteri exhaled slowly. “You know how I said that sometimes it’s nice to say things you’re feeling, even if you don’t have to?”

“Yeah,” Lewis said.

“Well, I have been hiding something I’ve been wanting to say,” Valtteri said. “Though… maybe it’s not as much a secret as I thought.”

“What is it?”

In response, Valtteri simply reached out and intertwined his fingers with Lewis’s. He didn’t say anything — but then he didn’t need to. It clicked, and it was like Lewis had known it forever. Maybe he really had.

“What, that you like me?” he asked, looking at their joined hands resting on his knee.

“That — that I love you,” Valtteri corrected, haltingly. “I always thought… how could you not have known?”

“I do know,” Lewis said, and squeezed Valtteri’s hand. The revelation did not really feel like one. The only thing strange about it was hearing it out loud — or maybe the situation in which it was being said. In his head Lewis had always imagined it would be during a day out, or maybe a night in, something more pleasant… but then again, anything was more pleasant than a closet and dirty mops.

“You know?” Valtteri sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Like I said… you don’t always need to say things for me to understand. But,” he added, “it is nice to hear it.”

“And?” Valtteri asked after a moment.

“And I love you too,” Lewis said simply. “I thought you knew.”

There was another short silence, and then Valtteri said, sounding a little awed, “Yes, I suppose… I think I did.” Then, “Why didn’t you say it?”

“Oh.” Lewis thought about that for some time. “I don’t know, actually,” he said in the end. “If it was anyone else I would have been afraid, but… with you, I never was. So I don’t know, really. Maybe I was just waiting.”

“For?”

“For you to say it.”

“You wanted me to make the first move?”

Lewis shrugged. Their hands were still joined. “It felt important that you should. I don’t know why, Val.”

“You know that I want this,” Valtteri said quietly. “That I want you. That I have for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Lewis breathed out. “And you know that I’ve felt the same for just as long.”

“Then,” asked Valtteri, “what more are we waiting for?”

All Lewis had to do was turn his head towards Valtteri, and then Valtteri’s mouth was on his. He turned his body into Valtteri’s as much as he could, Valtteri mirroring his movement, both of them laughing into the kiss as he accidentally knocked into a bucket.

“Ow,” Valtteri said against Lewis’s mouth, his free hand sneaking under the hem of Lewis’s shirt.

Lewis giggled. “I could kiss it better?” he suggested, and pecked Valtteri’s lips without waiting for a reply.

“That does help,” whispered Valtteri, and Lewis laughed again.

Valtteri’s hand was warm on his skin, leaving goosebumps as it went higher. Lewis didn’t have much space to move, so he settled for trying to put his arms around Valtteri’s body, his weight settling against the locked closet door.

He could hear dim voices just outside, and was vaguely made aware of the fact that someone must have walked into the hallway their secluded little closet was in, but for the first time in a couple of hours he didn’t feel like doing anything about it. He couldn’t feel his legs, but he could sure as hell feel Valtteri’s hand on his chest, fingers ghosting over his nipple, and he could feel the tightness in his own pants, and Valtteri’s hard-on against his thigh—

“There’s people,” he managed to say in between kisses.

“Fuck people,” Valtteri retorted, somehow managing to pull Lewis closer.

Lewis laughed. “No, fuck me—”

Of course, because this was just the kind of luck they had, that was when the door was pulled open forcibly. Lewis, who had no time to brace himself, and who’d had his weight supported by the door, spilled out on the floor, Valtteri on top of him. He only narrowly escaped hitting his head on the hard floor.

“Shit,” he gasped out, wincing as the feeling returned to his legs in a violent flood. His shirt was half rucked up, and Valtteri was red in the face. He was pretty sure it was obvious what they’d been doing.

“Is this a joke?” demanded someone above them, and Lewis groaned when he looked up and saw Fernando standing there, arms crossed. Lance was there too, looking stunned, but Lewis decided to focus on the bigger problem.

“Yes,” he snapped, glaring upside down at Fernando. “I love being locked in broom closets in my free time.”

Fernando looked unimpressed. “Well, I always knew about the closet,” he snapped.

“You’re not funny,” Lewis retorted.

Valtteri sighed, sitting up. He held out a hand to help Lewis sit up too, and then said, “Well, at least we’re no longer in there.”

“Congratulations,” said Fernando dryly. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I told you, it’s my new hobby,” Lewis told him as he got to his feet. “I do the best thinking of my life in small dark spaces, you should try it. It really gets you in the right headspace for driving.”

Fernando looked like he genuinely couldn’t tell if Lewis was joking or not. Valtteri stifled a laugh, and then said, “Well, I suppose we should be on our way then, Lewis?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lewis said, dusting his trousers off. He took an experimental sniff at his shirt, and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t smell like a dirty mop.

“Oh,” said Lance, appearing to come back to reality. “So this is what Mick said he needed my help for.”

“Of course he’s in on it too,” groaned Lewis.

“In on what?” Fernando asked suspiciously.

“Oh, the closet thing,” Lewis said. “He wanted to know how I prep for races.”

“I never saw you do this before,” Fernando said, narrowing his eyes.

“Like I said, it’s new,” Lewis said.

“Why a closet here? Why not one in your hospitality?”

“It has to be a really gross one,” Lewis explained. It was getting harder and harder to keep a straight face, especially because he could tell Fernando was listening carefully. “The smelliest one you can find. See, if you can ignore the smell, you can ignore any distraction. Helps with the driving, trust me.”

“I have tried it, it does work,” Valtteri added, and then reached out to take Lewis’s hand again.

Fernando either did not notice or did not care (Lance was back to texting on his phone, probably apprising Mick of the situation). “This closet thing,” he said, and then, “No… you are messing with me.”

“When have I ever done that?” Lewis asked solemnly, making a wounded face. “I’m telling you, it works. Just try it. In the meantime, Val and I have to go.”

“Bye,” Lance said without looking up.

“Bye,” Lewis said, and then thumped Fernando on the shoulder with his free hand. “Later, Fernando.”

“Do you think he bought it?” Valtteri asked the moment they were out of earshot.

Lewis laughed. “Oh, he definitely did. But never mind him,” he added. “I don’t know about race prep, but I can think of a few other things we can do in closets.”

“Must we?” asked Valtteri. “We’ve got two perfectly good hotel rooms, Lewis. I really do not want to be stuck again.”

“Fine,” said Lewis, grinning. “Hotel room it is, then.”

They were still holding hands as they emerged out into the paddock. Most people looked too busy to care, but the ones that did notice them didn’t look all too surprised. Lewis supposed he and Valtteri had never really been as subtle as they’d thought themselves.

“Is it okay to kiss you?” Valtteri asked.

“For you? Always,” Lewis said, and smiled against Valtteri’s lips when he kissed him.

#valewis #f1 rpf #my writing #remy.txt #niamh #i hope u like the nando cameo !!! also i tagged this fic with the right ship this time asdfgfds #n e way !!! i love you sm!!!

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