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Morticia Addams loves Death.
It’s like the embrace of a familiar entity, the cool soothing of earthly afflictions. Death is wiser than all, fair and unyielding to any god— since childhood, she had always tried to be as untameable and unrelenting as It, devoted herself completely to Its worship.
Deaths come to her life as gentle reminders of companionship, of confirmations of her faith.
With the exception of one.
And that one destroys the life she had worked so hard to achieve.
Larissa Weems is dead.
And Morticia can’t accept it.
The first month it’s subtle denial. The funeral is a muted affair, completely void of all personality or actual care, and it makes it easy for her to pretend it’s not about her. Life continues as it always does, Wednesday comes home with her and eventually starts getting ready for the new year. Gomez is Gomez, loving and sweet as ever and focused on all the wrong things, whilst Pugsley remains blissfully oblivious to her struggles. They all are.
That’s when the anger starts.
Anger at the world for doing this. At herself for being so weak, for resenting her goddess and these circumstances. At Larissa for leaving with so much unresolved, so much she wanted to say.
Morticia isolates. Cuts herself off her family in her quest for something that will make the heaviness in her chest ease. She reads, her grief growing into obsession with each book she grabs from the shelves. She wants to give an offering, maybe searching for closure.
On the new moon of the second month after Larissa’s death she stands before the gravestone, a copper bowl cradled in her hands. Dried petals have been crushed into a fine powder— chrysanthemums for fidelity, lilies for renewal, anemones for that which she cannot say out loud— and mixed with rosemary and fennel, the fragrance subtle yet carrying despite the humidity in the air. Morticia pours fresh rainwater and drops of ichor drawn by her own hand days before, swirling the contents until the liquid staring back at her is dark and even.
She pours it over the polished stone, watching the liquid seep into the earth and make its way to the coffin.
It almost feels like a weight of her shoulders… until everything around her shifts and freezes, bowl slipping from her hands as a deep rumble comes from the depths of the ground beneath her,
The visions are so intense her legs give out from underneath her, back colliding with dried out leaves and branches that poke into her back sharply. Morticia gets lost in flashes and snippets of incomprehensible scenarios, the constant presence of platinum hair catching her attention from her peripheral vision.
When the world around her stops spinning, there’s a noticeable weight on top of her, pining her down to the damp soil that allows her to sink slowly, the musky scent filling her lungs. Morticia’s breathing is restricted, her hands grabbing handfuls of dirt whilst her eyes struggle to come into focus— she sees a flash of white, followed by a light pricking on the side of her neck.
She freezes, goosebumps appearing on the expanse of her arms and legs. It’s weak, but there; she can sense the looming danger, that innate urge to run when in the vicinity of a predator heavy in her consciousness.
Alas, she can’t. The reason becomes apparent soon enough.
“To think it would be you to do such an idiotic thing.”
Plump lips part to allow a sharp gasp, her eyes wide as Larissa gently traces the length of her neck with the tip of her nose, hands grasping Morticia by the hips and making sure she cannot escape. The strength she displays is… inhuman, almost suggesting—
“What are you doing?” She asks as the cold breath fans over her clammy skin, the unfamiliar presence of apprehension causing her shoulders to tense. This shouldn’t be possible, and yet it’s too real.
“Why,” the other says, the word slightly muffled given her lips are so close to Morticia’s pale flesh. “I am about to have my first proper meal.”
The world stops and shrinks into itself when cold, sharp fangs pierce her skin— the next thing she knows is the burning sensation erupting from the wound, sky turning a blur once again as she writhes and grabs a the blazer covering Larissa’s shoulders, desperate to anchor herself to something as a scream is ripped from the back of her throat. Morticia can hear the blood rushing in her ears, pulse wild and erratic as a cold tongue laps the drops of ichor oozing steadily from the wound.
She isn’t scared— she isn’t, yet the buzzing in her chest might be easy to mistake her for that, taking slow control of her limbs. Her soft whimpering drowns Larissa’s soft moans once she’s done drinking, tears squeezing out of the corner of her eyes and rolling down pronounced cheekbones unbeknownst to her.
“You have no idea what you have done, Tish.”
Morticia realises, right as she passes out, that her tears are not ones of pain— they are confirmation of the raw pleasure and a sense of belonging coiling deep in her bones.
Like every rope keeping her tied to the world snaps, wrapping themselves around Larissa’s hand.
*
She wakes up in deep darkness like one does after an unsettling dream, the taste of metal heavy on her tongue.
The silence is deafening around her, broken only by her own breathing and the shuffling of sheets as she tries to sit on the bed she’s been resting in. Morticia’s eyes adjust to the pitch black room with ease, recognising the outline of unused furniture in the corner of the space.
“Someone decided to get rid of my belongings— I’ll take care of it soon enough.”
The velvet quality in that voice makes her shudder and she turns to look at Larissa sitting on an armchair, one leg crossed over the other and hands resting on her lap. Morticia is too smart to assume she’s dreaming, even if the deep crimson replacing baby blue is surreal. It still manages to render her speechless, having assumed she would only ever see her again through séances.
“You look surprised,” Larissa notes, amusement lacing her tone.
The dove opens her mouth slowly, trying to find something worth saying. Nothing comes to mind. “What are you?”
Feeling fangs on her skin is one thing, but seeing them is entirely different— they give the usually poised woman a feral look combined with her red eyes, rouge lips stretched into a smirk that resembles a wolf’s snarl. She tries to ignore the tingling in her chest. “I would expect the brightest student of our generation to figure it out with relative ease.”
“You’re not a vampire,” she hears herself say in an almost accusatory tone, more upset at the idea of being kept in the dark than anything else. “Do forgive me if I refuse to accept that as an acceptable answer.” It’s petty, she knows, but there’s little she hates more than not knowing something.
What she doesn’t quite expect is Larissa to leave her seat in order to practically crawl into the bed, mattress dipping as soon as she rests her knee on the edge. Excitement sparks in the pit of Morticia’s stomach, sending a thrill down her spine as the blonde expertly closes the distance between them. The mewl the psychic releases is terribly unbecoming but she doesn’t care, her thoughts becoming foggy by the sudden proximity.
“You so hate being kept in the dark, don’t you?” Her expression softens when Morticia shivers again, a cool hand moving to rest on the small of her back. Completely possessive, not allowing the other to even think of pulling away. “Principal Elias thought it would be wise to hide the fact that I am a hybrid— the habit stuck quickly enough.”
“Why did you never say? We were… friends.” There’s that obvious resentment juxtaposing the way she melts into the touch without meaning to, her pulse quickening until her heart is fluttering like a nervous bird. Her deepest desires are surface-level, commanding her to bend to whatever Larissa’s will might be.
“You’re so naive, Tish. You should be more worried about the blood pact you fulfilled at my gravestone.” How can she be worried, when Larissa is making it so hard to think? Morticia has to bite on the inside of her cheek, desperate to focus on the words rather than the warmth pooling between her legs.
This is too dangerous, and she’s already addicted to it. Craving more.
“It was an old pagan ritual— I was paying my respects.” She leans back on the pillows, forcing herself to keep her eyes on Larissa and her hands to herself. “Do you really think I would complete rituals I know nothing about?”
Amusement flashes again in those red eyes, making her look more human despite the ethereal air around her. “You offered a vampire your blood. Unfortunate as it might be, my human side is… steadily dying, thanks to the poison. Your blood is the sustenance I need to make sure I survive it.”
The horror that comes with the realisation is enough to have her snap out of her trance, straightening her back until their faces are millimetres away from each other. Rationally speaking, she knows Larissa is there, yet the knowledge of her human side dying brings a profound sense of sadness, something she hadn’t anticipated.
“Do you need it?”
“Every single drop of it.” There’s a wry smile that appears on aristocratic features, the Larissa she knows shining through strongly. Morticia immediately wants to hold onto it and make sure she stays. “With any luck, I won’t be enough like my mother to want to off myself properly.”
She doesn’t even know what to say, clearly not ready to process what it would’ve like to lose Larissa a second time, which also begs the question—
“What happens when the human side dies?”
“I don’t have a reference guide, I’m afraid,” Larissa replies with slight sarcasm lacing her syllables, yet the dove doesn’t take offence given how uncharted these waters are. Pale eyebrows are drawn together as principal thinks, tongue tightly ghosting over her fangs. “… How long has it been?”
“Two months,” Morticia whispers, acutely aware of the closeness. Her fingers move to touch the small puncture on the side of her neck, barely stifling a moan as something akin to an electric shock travels from the wound to her sex.
“I see.” And when Larissa looks at her again, her eyes have turned a deep wine colour, fingers pressing into the other’s back. “It explains my thirst, decades of neglecting it too.” She’s not actually asking for the obvious; Morticia supposes there is no need, when she has a mortal being— unwilling or not— to supply her with exactly what she needs.
Where words fail her, action takes over; the psychic feels decidedly like a teenager again when she flicks her hair over her shoulder and offers the unmarked side of her neck, curious and eager yet with enough nervousness to make her movements not as smooth as she would like them. Morticia feels like herself yet very much not at the same time, the constant fog clouding her mind. All she knows is that she wants to please and serve Larissa, the sudden purpose etched onto her consciousness like it’s always been there.
It must be the oath, yet it feels so right when Larissa adjusts her grip so that she’s tenderly cradling Morticia’s head that it makes her question if that’s not what she’s always yearned to do anyway.
Anticipation builds in waves, a weak little sigh escaping her when those lips touch the joint where her neck and shoulder meet. Her face feels warmer than usual, with every cell in her body responding to the kiss like a fire that cannot be contained. Not even the biting of her flesh is enough to kill it, only causing Morticia to hold onto the blonde once more, the fabric of her underwear becoming wet as she’s rewarded for being attentive with a sudden pleasure that has her shaking.
It’s cruel, sneaky. An oath meant for the victim to want to be consumed completely, turning them into a willing slave.
Larissa is mindful, at least. She drinks briefly but quickly forces herself to lick at the two small holes until the blood has completely stopped flowing, leaving a trembling Morticia in its wake. She’s not left unaffected— her breathing deepens and catches in her throat when Morticia, lost in the moment, tries to wrap her arms around her neck.
“You should sleep,” she eventually says, her voice slightly strained as she pulls away to reveal a couple of drops rolling down the corner of her mouth. “I will fetch you something to eat.”
*
They spend a week together, days blurring into each other where Larissa feeds and Morticia slips deeper and deeper into something there isn’t any escape from.
It gives them plenty of time to talk about time lost, at first— there’s an underlying resentment coming from the blonde that cannot be denied, and it starts eating at Morticia the more she tries to make her warm up to her. It’s inevitable to develop some closeness in the predicament they’re in, but the woman is greedy and grows desperate at the idea of Larissa finding someone else, which is why the subject of her family is promptly ignored and locked away behind a door she finds herself turning to less and less.
The need for anyone but the principal sounds more and more comical with each passing hour. Morticia naps consistently given Larissa’s still irregular feeding schedule, keen on having enough blood and energy. Larissa brings her food and other things in return— a new dress, toiletries, a hair brush, a book no doubt stolen from the library’s restricted section that keeps her entertained when words grow tiresome. Being together, as they soon realise, is something they don’t tire of.
Somewhere in between the feelings, light touches begin to occur. A soft brush of hands, Larissa tucking a lock of hair behind Morticia’s ear, her lips constantly pressed to the small marks she leaves on her neck religiously before biting that leaves the dove dripping with need. More than once they catch each other staring at their lips, fleeting gazes thrown their way when the other takes a shower in the adjacent bathroom. The tension grows thick between their bodies, with Morticia beginning to crack as her body yearns for more.
One night, with the moon high in the sky and silver rays coming through the window, it crumbles completely.
Morticia’s eyes flutter open when she feels the mattress dip, the comforting weight of Larissa’s frame hovering close to hers as fingers gently caress her upper arm.
“I apologise,” says the blonde, her platinum hair cascading down her shoulders to create a curtain that seems to shut the outside world even more. Bright red has settled into a rich burgundy, the purplish hue around Larissa’s neck having disappeared completely to leave her skin looking closer to marble. She takes a moment to admire her openly, shame being a currency she never carried with herself to begin with.
Morticia offers a sleepy smile that widens when some of that mystic veil drops around Larissa, her gaze impossibly soft. “It’s alright,” she mumbles before tugging the collar of her dress down, revealing healing punctures scattered like freckles. There’s that heat in her insides once more when Larissa grabs her by the hips, making her fingers twitch and tug on the fabric harder.
She wonders if the blonde does it on purpose; the second her tongue meets the side of her neck she’s already fighting for some self-control, feeling it trace every mark slowly as if trying to find the best place to leave another one. A soft gasp is followed by a moan that has Larissa tensing, her teeth grazing the soft skin to torture her even more.
“Please,” Morticia pants, her other hand falling on Larissa’s stomach. “Darling—“
“Be careful.” It’s not an unkind warning, but Morticia is tired of adhering to caution when she clearly wants to be ruined.
“I beg you,” she insists, shuddering when Larissa growls low in her throat. Morticia is about to ask again when fangs pierce her neck and the plea turns into a cry of pleasure, her back arching off the bed. “Gods, yes.” The blonde settles between her spread legs once the skirt of her dress rides up enough to reveal the expanse of her thighs, pressing their hips together which Morticia returns by grinding against her in absolute desperation.
There’s that feeling again of blood rushing to her head, hands tugging and undoing every button within sight to try and shrug the blouse off Larissa’s frame. Her mouth waters at the sight of unexplored skin, lips soon leaving feverish kisses between her breasts and only stopping when a rip of clothes leaves her lower half exposed. She glances up at her lady, completely overwhelmed by the demanding digits that spread her pussy open, Larissa’s middle finger easing into her without an ounce of resistance.
Morticia is a vocal lover, but nothing compares to the way she screams the other’s name as she stretches her with a second digit, her orgasm catching her unprepared to deal with its intensity. Her frame is nothing but fire and electricity, sparks dancing behind her eyelids as she succumbs mind, body, and soul to the other.
“Is this not what you wanted?” Larissa pulls away to look at Morticia’s flushed face, lips slightly parted as a third… and fourth finger are added, chuckling softly when it forces another scream out of the psychic. “I think you can do better than that.”
“I can’t—“ Morticia says between big gulps of air, nails raking down Larissa’s front and leaving angry welts behind. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, the heat becoming unbearable as she gets fucked closer and closer to her second climax.
“You will, because I tell you to.” The tone leaves no room for argument, dark and still so strongly Larissa’s, and it triggers that senseless urge to please her any way she can. There’s that filthy squelching disrupting the air around them, accompanied by Morticia’s unbound sounds of pleasure. She can feel it build every time she curls her fingers up against her sensitive walls, slick coating her hand and soaking the ruined bedsheets under their tangled bodies.
Morticia does come again, hard. And even then Larissa still pumps her fingers into her, thumb flicking her clit until she’s a sobbing mess. Her hands move to cover her face but they’re soon pinned above her head by the blonde that looks like a damned succubus. Tears of pleasure well up in her eyes and roll down her face, getting into her mouth as broken ‘please’ and ‘can’t’ leave it. It seems to be enough for her to stop, each digit slipping out one by one. There’s a fleeting kiss pressed to her bottom lip, entirely too quick for her to even return it in the pitiful state she’s in.
“Keep it open.”
Already slipping in and out of consciousness, Morticia clears her throat but does her best to obey despite the light ache in her jaw, the salty taste of her come heavy on her tongue as Larissa wipes her fingers on it carefully. “You’ve done good, Tish,” she says with such affection Morticia might start weeping again, her eyes glued to those perfect features. With saliva-coated fingers, the blonde runs a hand down the front of her body, considering her own words. “However…”
“Y-Y-Yes?” She asks, a sinking feeling in her chest at the idea of not doing something right.
Larissa regards her silently, pulling her close with such ease it gives the impression that Morticia is more ragdoll than human. She doesn’t say anything when the zipper on her back is pulled down, not a word when the wet garment is tugged off her body and thrown far away from the bed, and only utters a whimper when the blonde carefully helps her roll onto her stomach once she’s completely naked.
“I’m not done with you yet, pet. Didn’t you beg for this?”
It all becomes clear when Larissa shuffles between her legs once more, lifting her hips with ease until her knees are resting on the mattress with her head hidden between the pillows. Morticia’s eyes widen and she tries to look at her over her shoulder, the contrast of Larissa still being fully clothed making her pussy throb. The button of her trousers is released, and something thick and hard gently rubs against her clit before she even has a chance to see it.
Oh.
“La—“
“Quiet, darling.” The tip of Larissa’s cock drags alongside the length of her sex, applying enough pressure to slip into her entrance before making its way back to her swollen clit. Morticia whines but does as told yet again, rewarded by cool hands kneading the soft flesh of her arse. Her whole body melts, barely holding itself in the right position.
Just as Morticia manages to even out her breathing Larissa angles her hips and thrusts deeply into her, her walls immediately closing around the new intrusion as her pleasure builds and turns into molten lava in her veins. With her throat dry from overuse, Morticia merely closes her eyes as her mouth opens in a silent scream, unable to process all the pleasure the blonde keeps drawing out of her. Larissa’s groan sends her mind into overdrive, effectively switching off the second she starts moving.
This isn’t just about desire— this is a display of absolute ownership, with Larissa claiming her in ways not even Gomez had been able to accomplish. She fucks her with vigor, pulling her hips back against hers so she’s buried to the limit, rubbing all the right spots that make Morticia go crazy. The dove takes it all as any fuck toy would, choked moans released right against the pillows, and Larissa compliments her without reservations— so tight, so good for her— until her own words turn incoherent from the pleasure. Morticia knows when she comes because she is so impossibly full, Larissa’s hips rigid against her own.
“Stay still, pet— I don’t want you to waste a single drop of my cum.”
And Morticia falls asleep in her arms, with Larissa holding her close to her chest to make sure that doesn’t happen.
*
Her return causes an uproar.
Understandable, really— one day Larissa Weems is dead, with the governor board grappling with the scandal that such a death brings to the outcast community… and the other she is back, ethereal to the point of divinity, her composure shocking everyone into silence before the explosion. Larissa— blue-eyed to the public— smiles and refuses to comment on the nature of her return, simply expressing that change is coming, and the school shouldn’t fret because she is back, better than ever.
Morticia sees it from a safe distance, hidden from most. She sees the apprehension in some parents, adoration in others, the sheer terror in every single one of the board member’s faces— there’s power, and it’s exhilarating because whilst everyone is looking at the blonde, she’s only looking at her.
Later, Larissa kisses her deeply against her office door, and it seals Morticia’s fate. She fucks her repeatedly, with Morticia bent over her desk holding herself open so the principal can see how much she needs her. They only stop when Morticia can’t hold herself up, the name of her lover falling from her lips like a prayer given by the gods themselves.
*
She begins to hear something, too. At first it’s a distant rumble in the back of her head, distant emotions that she believes to be the usual remnants of spirits wishing to be taken to the afterlife; then it becomes structured sentences, growing to the point feelings not her own boil and bubble underneath her skin, demanding attention.
Thirst.
Warmth. I crave her warmth.
The words are almost purred in the back of her consciousness, the voice so familiar it robs her of her breath, light tingling in the most intimate areas of her body.
Larissa. She can hear Larissa.
Morticia, whilst utterly devoted to her lady, still appreciates having some little secrets, so she keeps this knowledge to herself— and of course, uses it to her advantage. She ‘visits’ principal Weems and drapes herself over strong shoulders, sharing some of her warmth with the vampire that is always too cold to the touch. She offers her neck when the slightest indication of hunger reaches the edges of her mind, offers her body too when the blonde aches with the need of release. Companionship too, late at night when sleep doesn’t come to Larissa.
It’s effortless, bending to her every will.
If Larissa suspects something, she never makes it known. Over time she begins to show her possessiveness in return as a rare gift, insisting Morticia stays with her from then on. “You don’t need a bedroom when you belong in my bed,” she says, and the dove is so utterly enamoured by those words she begs Larissa to take her against the wall. Of course she does, and she allows a sex-drunk Morticia to suck her cock clean after that because the thought simply crosses her mind.
Their relationship is twisted, morally reprehensible even, but it works. It’s theirs to perverse further, to feed their darkest desires until it’s something only they can understand.
*
The thought of her ex-husband doesn’t cross her mind once, much less their unresolved situation or the damage she’s indubitably caused. Morticia’s mind is a vastly different picture with Larissa right at the centre; the only thing that occupies her brain, because she doesn’t need absolutely anything else. Her children are blurry flashes in her third eye, motherly instincts dulled— though she feels no regret. Whether it’s the oath of something else, Morticia Frump rises every morning a changed woman because she wants to be. She is wise to avoid Wednesday’s presence, a ghost every time her child comes demanding answers from Larissa. Smart as she might be, not even a gifted mind like hers can bulldoze the walls the blonde has so carefully constructed around the mystery that is her return and her mother’s disappearance.
It makes her feel important.
She takes care of herself because her lover deserves someone perfect as she is, healthy to keep supplying her with blood even after the poison is long gone. She wants to be desired, to be rewarded for doing everything right— and she is. Larissa showers her in finery and her own version of love, even if she doesn’t show her off to the world after months of indulging in this relationship. Too precious, she explains one day and Morticia believes it, not needing to keep contact with the rest of humanity. Her thoughts echo the same sentiment, making Morticia love her so much it’s difficult to breathe.
Morticia looks at herself in the mirror, the new addition of a thick white gold chain around her neck held together by an ornate lock— the surface is engraved beautifully, barely concealing the initials of the woman who decided to collar her.
Whatever they have is all she needs.
Blood, sex, and magic.
*
Morticia wakes up one morning before the sun creeps into the sky, the new moon submerging the academy in darkness. She stretches slowly, sore between her legs but so deliciously spent.
“Can’t sleep?”
She blinks a couple of times to focus on Larissa’s figure next to her, the burning candle on the bedside table allowing her to admire her naked figure before she allows their gazes to meet.
“Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me, darling.” A playful smile stretches on her lips and she shuffles lazily with the soft clink of her collar as background noise, head resting on Larissa’s chest so she can kiss one of her nipples, taking it into her mouth to suck on it lightly. Larissa runs a hand through her hair, eyelids fluttering in clear approval at the action.
“I dread to think— ah— what the world would have to deal with if you were to turn,” she whispers rather distractedly, gently tugging on her hair when Morticia moves to show the other nipple the same attention.
The soft rumble of laughter is all Morticia offers as an answer, kissing her way up until her lips rest against Larissa’s own. The kiss is lingering, tainted with obsession and greed. She should be happy with their bodies just existing together… but she isn’t allowed a moment without needing to worship that body. It’s rare for Larissa to allow her to take over, but this feels like the right time to try her luck.
“May I?” She asks hopefully, fingers brushing down Larissa’s stomach until they’re ghosting right between slightly spread legs.
“Tish,” she starts, soon cut off by Morticia kissing her way down, nipping and licking the skin reverently. Her breathing deepens, the sigh that leaves her almost defeated. “I don’t— think you deserve it,” Larissa still says, if only to be difficult because she knows Morticia will listen like a good little girl.
Her brow furrows as her lips touch the inside of Larissa’s thigh before her expression softens into one of painful innocence, doe eyes searching burgundy ones. “But… mummy,” she whines softly, watching smugly as Larissa groans softly at the particular weakness Morticia found a few days ago. “I’ve been so good… I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”
“Darling—”
Morticia moves lower, parting those knees with too much ease before giving Larissa’s clit a gentle lick, barely stopping herself from going mad with desire. Her pulse thrums in her throat, and she’s certain the other can hear it as well. “Please, mummy?” It’s a battle won when the blonde’s head drops back, body giving in and allowing Morticia to lap every inch of her wet pussy all the way to her entrance. The taste goes straight to her head, stronger than any drug out there— she sucks and kisses all over, catching every drop of arousal that prolongs her rush.
It’s like she can feel it too, the memory of Larissa doing the same to her still hot and real against her own skin. Morticia moans and pushes her tongue into her entrance, panting as Larissa tenses and begins to ride her tongue slowly, denying herself the opportunity to come undone right away. Unsatisfied, the dove rubs circles on her clit with her thumb, applying light pressure before increasing her speed. She drinks her greedily, feeling her clench around her every time she flicks her tongue.
Larissa’s hips rock faster, her orgasm closer the harder she breathes— when she does come it’s hot against Morticia’s mouth, who diligently ignores the fire in her jaw to help her through the intensity of it. She stops as soon as her frame relaxes, lips smacking gently after the feast she’s had.
“Thank you, mummy,” she teases, shooting a small grin when Larissa wraps a finger around Morticia’s chain and tugs firmly yet without the necessary force to actually hurt her. As soon as they are eye-to-eye she wraps a hand around her neck to pin her to the bed, hungry lips bruising against her own. “Rissa—“ she mumbles breathlessly into the kiss, back arching when she finds herself in the same position she had her master moments before.
“I will give you something to thank me about, you bloody brat,” Larissa growls hotly against her skin, giving her a pointed stare before biting into the flesh of her thigh to feed herself. Morticia props herself on both elbows to look at her wide-eyed, mouth opening in shock and pleasure as she feels the very familiar intrusion of digits in her—
“Mummy, mummy, mummy…”
Anything Larissa— anything her master wants to do to her. Anything at all.
*
Morticia cracks her neck, a deep breath being taken as the moon peeks from between the clouds. The air feels crisp in her lungs, everything around her crystal clear and overly sharp to her senses.
“It takes some time getting used to it.”
Larissa is sitting on the edge of her chair, the only thing to betray her excitement being her nails drumming on the stem of her tall glass filled with blood rather than wine.
“… And the thirst?” She asks, bright red eyes scanning the room before stopping at the gulp Larissa takes into her mouth.
The blonde slides closer, fingers grasping her chin firmly to keep her in place; their lips touch in a kiss that feels even better than before, warm ichor being pushed into her mouth so she can drink it. Morticia swallows with a purr, fingers curling into her blouse.
“It won’t go away… but I know a few things to distract you with, pet.” The locket is a comforting weight on her chest, reinforcing Larissa’s words.
And that, she knows, is a promise.