“So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me”
Lady Lesso x Ever Reader
cw : soulmate au // blood and injury // angst and hurt comfort // fluff // bffs lesso x dovey // age gap // older woman x younger woman
wc : 5500 ish
ao3 — https://archiveofourown.org/works/42983871
I love the fact that we are all collectively simping for Lady Lesso. Everywhere I go, I see her. Also, is it just me or does it make you incredibly happy when someone you’ve followed for some other women you love began posting contents of this new woman that you’ve just fallen for? No? Just me? Ok.
Fyi, the title is from Ben L’Oncle Soul version of Frank Sinatra’s I’ve got you under my skin
You have always deemed your parents the quintessence of the vows “in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health”.
There has been a period of time where your jovially energetic mother has peculiarly lost her enthusiasm.
One of the first few signs is exhaustion. The woman who used to be on her feet all day with gusto, executing a whirlwind of tasks about the house, would become short of breath with only a handful of movements.
Then, comes heart palpitations, which eventually lead her to collapse in bed. When it happens, your father has been there for her, taking the houseworks upon himself on top of his own workload. Along with you, your father would take your mother to see a physician before he would, then, have to continue on to his job.
He has to burn the candle at both ends, juggling between his work and taking care of his wife. You help as much as you can, but still, bigger responsibilities fall on your father’s shoulders. Tirelessly, he works day in and day out, never complaining one bit.
The silver lining to it all is that your mother’s case is not so much a decline in health than an ailment, so after a few days of taking prescribed medicines coupled with bed rest, the jovially energetic woman makes her spirited return.
As it so happens, your father comes home one day with a flu, and despite exercising social distancing amongst the three of you, the whole family unfortunately falls prey to the disease.
Whilst recovering however, in the death of one night, the town officials appear on your doorstep, taking your father away on the grounds that he has to be interrogated for an alleged crime.
In the morning, he does not return home. Nor does he within the next day. Eventually, a day melts into two, three. Then, days grow into a week. A week becomes weeks.
Your mother has not been sitting idly by during all that time; she contacts her husband’s friends, does everything within her capability to get even a trace of his news.
Your father is a real people person. If there is one thing he has in abundance, it is friends, and they are good friends, offering to help in any way they can, and indeed, consistently helping your mother in pursuing news of your father’s whereabouts.
The painstaking efforts have had no luck so far, until after having no traces whatsoever of him for a whole month, you and your mother are finally informed of the news that he will be put on trial.
As it turns out, your father has been unfairly accused of a crime that he has not committed, and subsequently detained for it.
You and your mother have gone to meet him a couple of times already, and the both of you are pleased and relieved to find that he is doing well, cheeks getting chubbier and appearing as radiant as ever.
You find the whole ordeal but a testament to their unyielding love for each other.
There have been inevitable arguments between the two of them. But, it is, you suppose, what makes their connection, all the more admirable. Getting to grips with disagreements and surmounting obstacles hand in hand, they nurture their imperfectly perfect tale with conflicts and reconciliations, cries and apologies, curses and sweet nothings.
“After all, what is love without a little pain?”
Your mother has said to you one evening, sitting on the porch and knitting a hat for her dearest husband.
“Your father, he is my one true. People usually say that you will see it. But, my darling girl, mama has to disagree. When you find them, you will feel it.” Her palm rests on your chest. She smiles, drops her voice to a whisper as if what she is about to say is confidential. “In here.”
And indeed, feel you do as soon as your eyes behold her.
Funnily enough, the fated encounter comes as a by product of chasing after your cat, Eclipse for she has midnight sky for fur. After running after her all over the Great Lawn like a headless chicken, you find her sitting curiously at the feet of someone.
Up until this point, you have been in a single-minded pursuit of your cat that everything else has been a blur. Yet, by the time you stand up after gathering your beloved furball in your arms, you are enthralled by the vision before you, so enthralled in fact that you do not realise the proximity of your bodies.
How curious, you muse, that you are bombarded with a queer indecipherable feeling, as if a piece of you, that you do not realise has been missing, has returned to you at long last.
“Get that repulsive thing away from me.”
A voice, rich and smokey, jostles you out of your musings, a tip of a cane landing atop your chest to push you away.
Her lips are pulled tight into a scowl, you notice, and the only thought whirling around your empty head is that this woman is absofuckinglutely captivating, very much the epitome of handsome and gorgeous combined.
And then, before you can formulate a response, she is gone, dark stilettos drumming against the floor with every elegant footfalls of those impressively long legs.
Only then do you see it, a red silky thread coiled around her pinky, stretching across the distance between the two of you, then twining itself round yours.
And just like that, you have found your one true.
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Finally being made aware that the fairytales you have grown up loving after all this time, are real does not make you as happy as it is supposed to.
Instead, you are busy envying the nevers who get to interact with the dean of the school for evil on a daily basis, and it does not help either that the woman seems to be deliberately avoiding you like you are the very plague.
Every time she sees so much as a shadow of you, she flees the room. When you try approaching her in front of other people, she disregards your existence altogether.
Fed up to the back teeth with her unreasonable behaviour, you foolishly decide the best course of action would be to confront her, and thus, you find yourself standing in the middle of her study one afternoon.
“Do you plan on keep ignoring me, Lady Lesso?”
“Who says you could come as you please into my study?”
“Why do you keep turning a blind eye to me?”
“Riddle me this ever, what obligation have I to take notice of you?”
Her aloofness stings as well as irritates you, and exasperated, you thrust your arm out, as if it isn’t the elephant in the room.
“Isn’t this reason enough?”
“It is but a worthless string.”
“It’s a string that ties us together. Does it mean absolutely nothing to you?”
A nonchalant hum.
A beat. A painful throb of your heart.
“Lady Lesso, why do you dislike me so?”
“Now, don’t be presumptuous, little girl. Aside from disinterest, I harbour not an ounce of feeling towards you. Your significance to me is as existential to me as my love for cats.”
“But I thought you hated Eclipse?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
“How mean of you.”
“I’m the dean of the school for evil. Does that suggest anything to you?”
“And I am your soulmate. Does that suggest anything to you?”
“Soulmate this. Soulmate that. How utterly risible! It is sheer folly that leads you to believe that two literal strangers can magically, readily feel something deep and profound for each other. I don’t give a flying fuck who my soulmate is. Your existence matters not to me. In fact, it in itself is a downright insult to my face. An ever, a student and a reader at that? I simply do not care.”
Tears of frustration have been pooling in your eyes, but those that finally cascade down your cheeks are tears of dejection.
“Ever since you’ve appeared in front of me, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my flesh. So, yes, it does suggest to me that you are a pesky little vermin.”
“All it takes is a flick of my finger,-” Suddenly, the tip of her forefinger starts glowing, and before you know it, you watch, crestfallen, as the little red thread is instantly reduced to dust. “-and there, this “our tie” that you’re so annoyingly fixated on is no more. Now, leave me alone. I certainly have far more important things to attend to than deal with this tomfoolery.”
You return to your dormitory a snivelling mess.
You have half a mind to believe that it is heartbreak that has you descending into an awful illness come morning.
────────────────────
After you have run out of her study, Leonora has been left transfixed by the staggering pain that has marred your features, unable to do anything productive for the rest of the evening.
She has thought that without those annoyingly captivating eyes perusing her every move, her heart would not feel as jittery. She has been certain that she would get satisfaction out of her little display of cruelty, and she has, if only for a while, but now, her mind is relentlessly plagued by the images of you. As soon as she has hit you with those words, it is like a dam has been broken behind those big wounded eyes.
It happens three days ago, and she has not seen you ever since. As much as she loathes to admit it, lately, all she can think of is you. In classrooms amidst teaching, at night as she lies awake in bed, it is always your agonised little face sullied with tears that makes a repeated appearance.
You have cried as if physically harmed.
She almost feels bad then, and now, she does.
Regret always comes too late, does it not?
“Why, pray tell, is the dean of the school for evil skulking about the corridors of the school for good?”
She doe not even realise that she has mindlessly wandered off to your school until a sickeningly sweet voice reaches her ears.
Slowly, she swivels on her heels, signature cane in one hand, an equally sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.
Her lips have just moved to utter something when she is rudely interrupted by an ever.
“Lady Dovey, I’ve searched the whole perimeter but there’ve been no signs of her.”
It is none of her concern and yet, oddly, she is inclined to ask. “No signs of who?”
And, to her dismay, it is your name that falls out of the other dean’s lips.
After impatiently listening to the detailed recount of your last known whereabouts, subsequently learning that you have been sick in bed, she storms out of the school for good, intent on conducting a surreptitious search of her own.
On her way back to her school, coincidentally, she happens upon a group of nevers. She sees them talking animatedly and hears them all collectively laughing over the story of hexing an ever.
Neither is it strange nor wrong to have nevers and evers going against each other’s throats, but there is something particularly strange about this conversation that is rubbing her up the wrong way.
Soon, she understands why, and simultaneously, her anger is justified once they mention your name.
────────────────────
Your wounds sting, your body aches and your head throbs, contrapuntal with the relentless pounding of your haywire heart. Around you, the naked branches creak, crows cackle, stymphs squeal and various other inhabitants of the forest sneer.
Emitting a cacophony of condescending noises, the woods itself seems to be making a mockery of your misery. Even the moon, in her full golden glory, appears to be looking down on your sorry state from her majestic onyx throne.
Should you were within the comfort of your dormitory, the occasional zephyr would have been a soothing, charming embrace, but currently as you are with nothing more than a flimsy silk on your frame, it is anything but charming.
You are not sure whether it is the spiricks’ venomous bites finally rearing their ugly heads or the weather being particularly unforgiving tonight as the chilliness seeps into your bones, and seems to swell from deep within. In the end, you conclude that it must be a combination of both taking a toll on you, for there is a profound aching agony blooming from beneath the area where their fangs have sunk into your flesh. It does not help either that some of the deeper cuts you have sustained continue to ooze blood, liquid crimson making a macabre artwork of the blank canvas that is your nightdress.
Unconsciousness sounds like a rather enticing idea right about now, but the wicked woodland does not appear too keen on giving you even a semblance of reprieve. No sooner have you entertained the thought than come the rustling noises from the inky thickets adjacent the tree under which you are taking sanctuary.
Scrambling to your feet is instantly proved a careless mistake when, under the influence of a woozy mind and on your wobbly legs that appear to have suddenly lost their purpose, you topple over. Along with a pained little grunt, you lean against the thick mossy trunk, bracing yourself for what you believe to be the imminent danger.
However, all the fear and trepidation that have taken hostage of your mind ebb away once an impeccably dressed woman enters your vision. Her arrestingly gorgeous red curls backdropped by the golden glow of the moon serves as a halo befitting a dark goddess.
If you didn’t know any better, you might have found it puzzling: the fact that her presence alone has the effect of a calming salve on your mayhem of a mind. It swaddles your whole body in an invisible cloak, soothing stings and healing wounds, suffusing warmth and supplying solace.
All this time, your subconscious mind has been desperately craving her, you realise with a start at the lack of surprise and abundance of relief upon seeing her. During the last few days, it has gone as far as daring to harbour the flimsiest of hopes that she will find you while the more logical part of your mind keeps reminding you that she has made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing, absolutely nothing in fact, to do with you. Your last interaction itself is proof enough of that claim, and your wishful thinking regardless of what she has said to your face, is certainly proof enough of your, as she likes to put it, folly.
Then, as a gust of wind plucks sickly leaves out of fragile branches, forcing you to shake on your feet in a similar fashion, a coat suddenly lands on your shoulders, shielding your trembling frame from the assault of the freezing air.
The residual heat from her body seeps into your skin. The familiar fragrance of the dean, dark, rich and dangerous with wonderful woodsy notes, leaves a trail of blood red roses in its wake. Your arms lock themselves around your body, savouring each whiff and soaking every droplet. The combined senses warm you to the core.
On the other hand, you muse with bittersweet fondness that perchance, this is as close to being cocooned in her arms as you will ever come. The sad reality instantly drenches you in thick melancholy.
When your eyes meet the dean’s, dewy though they are with unshed tears, they lack the shine of which she has always been rather fond, she has now just realised, and the realisation hits her like a ton of bricks.
Drowning in your wounded eyes while being well aware that she is unequivocally the culprit, it is well-nigh torture for her not to engulf your dainty frame in her arms. The apparent fragility of its current state is the only reason behind her hesitation to do so.
However, when you stagger on your feet like a newborn fawn, as if possessing a mind of their own, her hands move to hold you on your delicate waist. Immediately, your fingers, lovely and lithe, find home on her forearms, maintaining a determined grip. If she has oh so foolishly thought that this little electrifying contact is going to be the death of her, imagine her absolute bewilderment once your forehead falls onto her chest, dainty digits digging into the fabric of her waistcoat.
An aggressive exhale through her nose is a poor attempt to prevent herself from gasping audibly, a not so flawless facade masking her crumbling resolve.
A muffled little whimper that subsequently drizzles out of your lips is as much a candy to her ears as it is toxin to her mind.
The string that ties the two of you together is now but a flickering red. This usually is a sign of one’s soulmate being in a potentially life threatening condition. She has said such bitter, hatful words to your lovely little face, intentionally injected poison into your veins, simultaneously making you believe that you are absolutely unwanted by the one true who is meant only for you.
Instead of making her feel liberated as she has stubbornly believed, it has weighted heavily on her heart ever since those words, acidic in nature, have left her nefarious lips, and now throbs a pang of guilt, unforgiving and relentless, as your eyes, as shimmery as a moon reflected in a pond, seek her face once more.
“Y- you came.”
Your voice is worryingly feeble, breath ragged, tapering to a choked sob, crumbling into sporadic wheezes.
“Shhh, I’ve got you now.”
A gentle thumb traces a tear as it trickles down your cheek, plucking the blossoming droplets out of your lashes before they burgeon and burst.
A breath catches in her throat when you nuzzle your peachy soft cheek into her palm like a sweet, affectionate kitten.
However, the swaying of your body coupled with the crimson cuts on your once faultless skin reminds her once more of the alarming state you are in.
Hooking an arm under your knees and twining the other round your back, you are effortlessly lifted into her arms, cradled close to her chest. Cheek pressed against her bosom, one of your arms wind up around her elegant neck while your fingers seize her collar in a white-knuckled grip, as if letting her go would colour you crazed.
“Let’s get you out of this godforsaken woods.”
Her voice is the last thing you hear before consciousness slips into oblivion, with the last thing on your mind being if it meant being alone with her, then you wouldn’t mind staying trapped inside the endless woods even if indefinitely. Deem you selfish or even mad for thinking so but as long as you get to be in the receiving end of her concern, you consider a couple of nasty wounds but a small price to pay.
────────────────────
With a broken little darling bird tightly secured in her arms, the dean of the school for evil makes a hasty return.
No sooner has she taken a step into the school grounds than out strolls the dean of the school for good, frazzled and clearly vexed.
“Where in the great lawn have you-” Upon seeing not one but two people, one of which has been declared missing for the past couple of days, she cuts herself off with a gasp, “Where did you find her?” , inching closer to examine the queer little bundle in her evil counterpart’s arms.
When her queries aren’t answered, she knows better than to press, understanding immediately that there is more to it than meets the eyes. Even when she notices that they are not heading towards the school on the right, but the left, piqued though her curiosity is, she asks no questions until someone else does it for her.
“The school for good is this way. Where are you taking her?”
She recalls this lad as a prince endeavouring fruitless attempts at wooing you. Sighing internally, she muses, distracted by her recollections, Just how clueless can he get! You are clearly not interested.
“She’s been lost for days. She must be terribly malnourished, to say nothing of the state she’s in. We need to get her immediate medical attention.”
She wants to feel sorry for her student when he moves to arrogantly pry you out of firmly fixed arms, but she is more intrigued by her friend’s reaction to pay him any mind.
“Touch her if you dare and bid your hands farewell.”
One glance at the red head is enough for Clarissa Dovey to see her true emotions. On the front, her friend’s mien betrays nothing, quintessence of cool and collected. It may work in fooling other people but Clarissa Dovey is not just other people. They go way back and, albeit unintentionally, she has mastered the art of fathoming this intricacy of a person.
She sees it all in those foxy eyes; behind their frosty aloofness lies a brewing storm of anger, desperation and anxiety, sprinkled with just a touch of possessiveness.
“I must tend to her myself. I can’t even for a fraction of a second let her out of my sight.”
Clarissa Dovey knows that the declaration is directed at her, an almost imperceptible crack in her facade as her voice wavers, but she has noticed it all the same.
And, as she watches her friend swiftly disappear into the school for evil with one of her ever students cradled close to her chest, “Don’t.” , she shakes her head at the puzzled lad whose eyes seem to be overflowing with incredulity. “Let them be.”
She thinks she has deciphered the gist of her friend’s odd behaviour.
────────────────────
With every bit of skin that is revealed to Leonora’s intense scrutiny, too, comes a new wound to add to the gradually increasing collection.
The bite on the left side of your chest is arguably the most dreadful of them all. She has magically extracted as much venom from your system as she can manage, being extra careful to instantly heal most of the superficial cuts closed while giving ample attention to the more serious injuries that necessitate organic healing.
Gingerly, she cleans the wounds, stitches them extremely cautiously if stitches are warranted. Once she is satisfied with her work, she dresses them with pristine white linens, and you, in one of her dress shirts.
The sight of you in nothing but her white shirt is a rather dangerous vision, she decides as she tucks you under the covers, and flees the room under the guise of putting the soiled linens away. The pull between the two of you has suddenly become overwhelmingly powerful that she fears it will stoke the flame within her lest she puts some distance.
As long as you are under the same roof as her, she will be fine, she reasons.
“How is she?”
The voice that soon greets her is her friend’s.
“Still unconscious but thankfully, out of the woods. Venom has been extracted and I’ve dressed her wounds. Well, some of it at least.”
The blonde has joined her by her side as she rummages in her potions cabinet for something equivalent of multivitamin supplements to give you. So, she stops, turns to face her best friend, her only confidante.
“Dovey, I said some hateful things to her. I treated her quite horribly. I don’t know if she’s ever going to forgive me for it.”
Resuming her search, she utters her terrible confession.
“It was I who pushed her away, and yet, being away from her, truly away from her, it was awfully unbearable, as if, as if a piece of my heart is being ripped away.“
A hand lands on her shoulder.
“That’s even more reason for you to make it up to her. She needs you as much as you need her.”
The eyes that greet her upon making contact are kind, gentle, and full of wisdom, not anything near the usual Dovey who revels in throwing merciless quips at her with a fiery passion. There however is a hint of reproach in her voice as she adds, eyes hardening for just a fraction.
“Trying to deny the connection will only continue to hurt the both of you. If you are clever enough to understand the importance of it, you would do well to fix your mistakes.”
It is during times like these that she is infinitely grateful for having a friend like Dovey. More often than not, they will be seen partaking in almost ruthlessly aggressive banter, making them come across as nemeses who despise one another to those around them, but Dovey, to Lesso, is a port in the storm: someone, no the only one she can turn to.
Suddenly, following her friend’s much needed advice, even being under the same roof becomes painfully insufferable. Her heart demands that she returns to your side, and thus, after shocking Dovey with a rare moment of expressing gratitude, grabbing the bottle in hand, she walks briskly back towards her chamber.
────────────────────
By the time you wake up, there significantly is less soreness overall. Cocooned in satiny softness, you feel infinitely better, up until the last couple of hours gain on your foggy mind. It is too beautiful of a memory to be real, and you wonder if you have just made it all up when a delightful whiff of a familiar fragrance teases your nose.
Tracing the scent leads you to the conclusion that not only are you in the dean’s chamber, you are buried under her feather-soft duvet, sinking into her pillowy bed. Upon peeling the satin sheet off your body, you find yourself in Lady Lesso’s pristine white shirt.
Your cheeks are painted sunset pink, jolly little hummingbird causing mayhem inside its bony cage, but then, rears the ugly head of reality, crushing the delicate buds of hope beneath its foul boots.
You are inside her room, enveloped in her scent, and surrounded by her things, and yet, it is such a depressing disappointment that the woman herself is nowhere to be found.
She has been adamant that she doesn’t wanted you then.
What are the chances that she will want you now?
Your tie has meant nothing to her after all. Is there even any reason for you to keep pestering her now that what little connection you have to her is no more, due to her own doing no less.
With thoughts running rampant, your bare feet have just barely touched the fluffy carpet when the click-clack of heels notify you of her impending arrival.
Panicked and emotionally unprepared to force back into the bitter reality, you dive back under the covers, pretending as though sleep has yet to release you from its grip.
There is silence for a few minutes.
And then, “If you’re awake, let’s get some elixir in you. It’ll help you heal better.”
You comply, peeking one eye open first before moving to sit on the bed.
Trying your damndest not to unabashedly stare at her is proven to be a rather challenging affair as your eyes are keep being drawn to her tantalisingly dishevelled state. Her sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, displaying her surprisingly strong arms; you can see her veins, emerald green and amethyst purple, under her skin like milky porcelain.
Then, a bottle is handed to you. Your eyes are busy admiring her beautifully long fingers with their stylishly painted nails, sharp as talons, to give any mind to the peculiar looking colour and consistency of the contents of the bottle.
When it comes to most potions, the first droplet is always the most unpleasant, and then, you somehow get used to the taste, and watery as they usually are, the rest of the liquid goes easily in. However, with this one, the taste is unrivalled, in that it does not go down easily, the thick consistency of the liquid making it terribly unpleasant for you to swallow.
You almost end up giving up halfway, and you certainly would have if it wasn’t for her hand holding your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek, while the other is clasped over yours around the bottle, urging you on.
The roundness of the bottle is soon replaced with the thinness of the glass when a glass of water is put in your hand.
“Good girl.”
The lowly husked praise has come out of the blue that you very nearly choke to death amidst mouthfuls of water.
Silence reigns for some time afterwards before it is dethroned once more by her voice, “If you would give me another chance,” soothingly tender and conveying genuine repentance. “I would like to give this, us a proper chance.”
The sincerity of her words stuns you for a moment.
“Would you?”
You choose your words carefully. She has finally warmed up to the idea of you and her, and you do not wish to scare her away.
Still, you must state what you must.
“I won’t lie and say that you didn’t hurt me, Lady Lesso because you did, possibly even more than you’ve intended.”
At this, to your genuine shock, she wilts, the prim and proper Lady Lesso with her shoulders slumped and brows furrowed.
“I took you for granted. Of course, you would want nothing to do with me anymore. I understand. If I were you, I’d hate me, too.”
“Regrettably, even if I want to hate you, I am unable to. Not that I want to in the first place.”
Your hand finds hers on her lap, gingerly brushing a thumb against her warm skin, and when she stares intently at it, stupefied and breath caught in her slender throat, you smile to yourself.
“As foolish as it sounds, I have wanted nothing but you ever since you’ve entered my vision. I think you would have enamoured me all the same even without this string binding us together.”
“So, yes. Yes, I would.”
Her eyes are a mesmerising green as they seek yours. Now it is her doing what she does best, exercising the art of taking one’s breath away.
“No darling,-” A shadow of a smile makes its breathtaking appearance on her lovely lips. “-not only have I been a fool but I have also been a coward. It is an age-old belief that villains are never granted a happily ever after, and I-” Her hand engulfs yours, mirroring your ministrations from earlier. “-I resorted to subjecting you to my wrath before, as my irrational fear had made a foolish presumption, you would, one day, make a fool out of me. Ironically, I ended up making a fool of myself.”
Emboldened by the revelation, you intertwine your fingers with hers. “I know that our case is unique, possibly even unheard of from what I’ve gathered thus far, but Lady Lesso-” Squeezing her hand reassuringly, you make your unfaltering confession. “-even while being well aware that our path will not always be all sunshine and rainbows, I will unequivocally choose to walk the arduous path as long as I can have you.”
A beat.
Your heart thrums anxiously beneath your ribcage.
Two.
Have you divulged too much?
Three.
And then, she cracks the most fabulous smile, “Be careful darling. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
The warm, pulsating sound of it is the loveliest melody to your ears.
The tip of your ears burning, you move to hide from her mischievous gaze, but as if reading your mind, her fingers slide along your jaw, gingerly running a thumb across your raspberry suffused cheek.
“Verily, you have the purest heart.”
She muses more to herself than talk to you, only after some time, aiming utterances to you.
“Very well then, we have all the time in the world to tackle our situation. Now, rest, for it is your utmost priority. These past few days have been terribly unkind to you after all.”
“Mmhm, but Lady Lesso?”
“Yes?”
“I thought you had severed our ties. Why is it still intact?”
“Because I didn’t.”
“It was only a mirage then?”
“Yes.”
“And, Lady Lesso?”
“Yes?”
“Stay with me?” You ask meekly, then add. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I couldn’t wish for anything less.”
Your belly butterflies rejoice when after tucking you back into her bed, “Sleep tight, my sweet little songbird.” , you feel the warm press of her lips on yours. It is but a fleeting touch. But, when they descend upon your cheek next, they linger, brushing against your skin in the softest, most delicate caress.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
That night, you fall asleep with the goofiest of smiles on your face.
Tied around your pinkies, and cascading into a stream amongst the creamy sheets, the string of fate that binds your souls together burns the brightest red.
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Arrange marriage, yknow the lady leonora lesso one can u do a part two of that. If not then could u do a lady lesso x female reader in the tub, playing around splashing each other cause it's be a boring sad day.
Arranged Marriage - part 2
Hi Anon, thanks a lot for the request, and I hope your days get better. So, in order to achieve that, you can have both.
Also, thanks for submitting a request with an idea and not just " write smth for Lady Lesso, please "
Part 1 Part 3
Everybody knew that Leonora was behind it. Yet, nobody could prove that the dean was even near the crime scene.
She had the perfect alibi, as she was enjoying the perfect taste of her tea alongside her wive at the time of the incident.
Nobody needed to know that you actually drank your tea alone that day.
Even so, you couldn't not go at Philip's funeral.
After what happened at the ball last year, Leonora never once did she forget about the man who must have been infatuated with you.
After all, nobody - except her - could now see her pregnant wife sexually.
You were five months pregnant already, and the never thought that the prince's death could no longer be postponed. He needed to go for you to focus totally on your baby and the family you would build together.
It was quick. She told you it would.
Just one slice.
Down his throat.
Leonora's coat didn't even get dirty as she avoided efficiently the river of blood, which followed the huge cut.
You didn't try to stop her, like she thought you would. Fact, which angered her even more.
What could have done that bastard to you for your ever-always willing to save everyone ass to say nothing ?
However, she came to the conclusion that that didn't matter anymore.
You were married now and waiting for your pretty daughter to come to this world.
Philip was playing with the fire and led himself to this.
So, that's how you ended up wearing a black dress and leaning against your wive's arm while she was wearing her usual coat, smiling at the dead body inside the coffin.
You waited patiently for the funeral to come to end suddenly wishing to eat pizza with chocolate.
You brought Leonora's hand to your growing tummy as you pressed your head against her arm.
The dean immediately understood that you were once again hungry.
Leonora kissed the top of your head and whispered to you that you would leave the moment this was to end.
Soon enough, the priest finished, and you were the first to give your condolences to his family.
Of course, Leonora chose to honor her evil side and tease his parents and sister instead.
" I'm curious. How does it feel to be an only child ? " She inquired to Philip's sister.
The girl shook her head, ignoring the evil dean as she turned her attention to you. " I'm so sorry for your unfortunate marriage. Unlike her, my brother had at least manners. "
You froze. One hand on top of your belly and the other snaked around Leonora's.
Leonora raised an eyebrow at the girl. " You know that I'm over here, and I can hear you, right ? "
She continued purposely ignoring her, focusing on you. " Philip could have provided you with everything you wish... We both know that a never and their insensitivity will never be capable of that. "
You couldn't believe what you were listening. Someone talking shit about Leonora in front of her. You would have felt so bad if you were in her shoes.
" I guess we will never know. Anyway, we need to go now, even the slightest of things tire me with my whole pregnancy ordeal. " You excuse yourself.
The girl couldn't say anything against that and watched as Lesso dragged you outside of the church. But she didn't leave before sending to Philip's family her signature smirk.
When you returned to your quarters, you were starving. You didn't bother undressing before eating.
Leonora, after helping you to the kitchen table and making sure you had everything you needed, went to the bathroom to prepare the bath.
It was a pity you were unable to drink wine while laying in the bath together, but Leonora did not mind.
She was willing to sacrifice everything for the health of her baby.
When you were finished, you were pleasantly surprised with Leonora.
" You deserve a kiss. " You said with your most serious face, stepping on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek.
Leonora chuckled at your antics and led you to the bathroom.
The woman helped you undress and step into the tub.
After disregarding her own clothes and, of course, folding your dress, she joined you in the tub.
You sighed happily when your head rested against Leonora's shoulder. The woman wrapped her hands around you, pulling you closer to her.
You stayed like that for several moments until a crazy idea came to you.
You looked up at Leonora, who had her eyes closed and head resting on top of yours.
Perfect.
She wouldn't even see it coming.
With a quick move, you slightly pull away from her grasp. Leonora's eyes opened, not realizing what was happening until some water fell on her face.
The evil dean raised an eyebrow at you. " What was that for ? "
You shrugged. " Nothing. But I always wanted to do that. "
Lady Lesso hummed at your reply, faking deep thought. You returned to your previous position, thinking that she probably won't do it back due to your pregnancy.
She proved you wrong, though.
You turned your head to look at her, offended. " Hey ! "
She smirked at you. " What ? I thought that this was what the princess wanted. "
You shook your head. " You splashed more water to my face than I did to yours. "
Leonora chuckled. " Is that so ? "
" Yes. " Was your response alongside a splash aiming for her face.
" I see. The princess chose war. " She said said splashing water back at you.
And War it was.
The walls around the tub were wet from the water missing your faces, and whatever had remained from your makeup was long gone.
After what felt like hours, you grew tired.
However, Leonora didn't seem ever near to it.
You closed your eyes, covering them with your hands. " Okay, Okay. That's enough, Leo. I wanna go to bed. "
Leonora gave a triumpant hum before standing up to get the towel and help you dry.
As the Dean of Evil was drying your belly, she couldn't resist kissing it.
" Goodnight, baby. Hope you gonna avenge your mother's loss one day. "
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