Red Haired Gfs - Blog Posts

GODDDDDDDDDDDD

“R.”

Lady Lesso x Ever Reader

cw : very light angst // my take on jealous and possessive leo with a little twist // just a sprinkle of spice // age gap // older woman x younger woman

ao3 — https://archiveofourown.org/works/43127551

it’s funny that aside from lady lesso’s scenes and edits, i still haven’t watched the film. it just goes to show how hopeless i am, i think :'))

both the name and the overall feel is inspired by the song K. by Cigarettes after Sex

“M’lady, will you attend tonight’s ball with me?”

Here, you, the final year student at the school for good, are being asked by a first year Prince to go to the ball on his arm. He is charming and all but, to be brutally honest, you are just not interested. You may be physically present in front of him, but mentally, you are anywhere but here, or more precisely, your mind is busy floating about the school for evil in search of one evil dean with hair the hue of deep rosé.

That perpetually kind face of yours has its own perks as well as drawbacks. In this instance, it has brought about an undesired outcome. Perhaps he must have mistaken the beginning of polite rejection on your face as meekness, because you are on the verge of expressing your disinterest when you suddenly find his lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. You swivel your head as soon as you realise, though he still manages to catch you at the corner of your mouth.

Quickly taking a few steps back, and re-establishing a good distance between the two of your bodies, repulsed though you are by his insensitive behaviour, you will the desire to slap him away, instead mustering a professional smile.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer. I already have someone I want to go to the ball with.”

With that, you leave, neither waiting nor wanting to see his reaction or hear his response.

Despite your mind being away from your body, your feet successfully, dutifully carry you towards the woman who reigns over your very mind.

Once you arrive at your destination, the woman in question whom you have been painstakingly trying to romance all these years is locked in a gentle waltz with another girl. The more rational part of you reasons that the dean is just coaching her students, but in the end, the green eyed monster outmatches logic.

And when the girl in those elegantly long arms inches closer to your woman than what is deemed appropriate, you decide that you hate this girl. The bubbling jealousy mingled with hatred may or may not have accidentally on purpose trigger a harmless spell from your lips. You watch, secretly amused, as she trips over her feet, falling onto her buttocks in a hilarious display. As evil as it will make you sound, to your relief, the dean makes no moves to prevent her student from falling even though she could very well have.

No sooner has she dismissed the nevers, leaving only the pair of you in the room, than you approach her, a grin on your face, and voice cheery as you ask, “So Lady Lesso, have you decided who you’re going to the ball with?”

You will not go as far as to say that she is fond of you, though you are relatively confident that after all your steadfast efforts, she has grown to fancy you even if only a teeny tiny bit. So, it is like a punch to the gut when you hear her say, “Whether I have decided or not, or whoever I’m attending the ball with is none of your business,-” Her words are laced with venom, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, and when she forces the next sentence, a scowl on her face, as if it repulses her to even say it out loud, you brace yourself for the worst. “-just as it is certainly not my concern whose tongue you allow to shove down your throat.”

And worst it is indeed.

“I- you-” The revelation that she must have seen you in that scandalous position renders you speechless. On the other hand, the possibility that, contrary to what she says, and judging by her way of wording, she could very well be jealous makes you jubilantly jittery.

A terrible mistake.

She must have interpreted your hesitation to reply as anxiousness for being caught red-handed. Her disappointed little sigh is the only trigger you need to pull yourself together, crying after her as she moves to walk away.

“No, wait! Please.”

Nothing.

Her back glares mockingly back at you.

“Please, Leo.”

That does it. The dean’s signature cane descends onto the floor with a resounding thud.

Her voice is stone cold, as she hisses the cutting retort through gritted teeth.

“You have no right calling me that!”

“I swear it’s nothing of that sort. Whatever you think happened did not happen.”

It earns you no acknowledgements: no retorts, no movements; only silence so loud and thick that it suffocates you.

She is slowly slipping through your fingers, and you feel utterly helpless.

Three years of pining over your sweetheart just for her to simply walk away from you, possibly forever.

Like hell you will allow that!

You have come across a peculiarly interesting topic in the library of virtue the other day.

An oath.

The lover’s demise, so it is labelled.

It should be obvious by the name alone that the oath poses a threat to anyone and everyone who dares use it.

Despite what the name suggests, despite what the instructions read, several instances have been recorded of people willingly exposing themselves to the thing that can very well lead them to their downfall.

The lover’s demise, or known once upon a time as the heart blood oath, is a curse in its essence, which requires for the user to get direct access to their heart by way of sticking a knife, a dagger or whatever is convenient, to their chests, and once done, by chanting a special spell, the user will then be able to prove whatever they wish to prove.

Little good comes from the oath.

According to the records, formerly, the oath is used to prove one’s innocence, most commonly seen in thievery and murder cases. The way it works is that if one’s confession, usually the accused, is false, one’s heart will immediately cease to beat. If it is indeed true, as long as one keeps leading an honest life, true to one’s words, no harms will befall them. However, once one commits a thievery, either unknowingly or deliberately, as opposed to their confession, one’s heart will begin to shrivel, eventually disintegrating.

Evidences further show that at one point in time, the heart blood oath has become a way for lovers to prove their love. Not only will the oath tell whether the feelings are true or not, but the user will also bear the brunt of the curse if their feelings are to waver in the future.

The most important information here is that the feelings of both parties involved are to be taken into consideration. Even when the oath user stays true to their feelings for the rest of their life, if whoever they are confessing their love to, does not reciprocate their feelings, or if their partner eventually falls out of love with them further down the road, the curse will still show its effects. However, only the one, whose person has been directly exposed to the oath, will meet their demise.

Hence, it is deemed the grandest gesture of love, and the name “the lover’s demise” comes to be.

It is said that only those with the bravest of souls and biggest of hearts dare take the oath, but “what lunacy” , you have thought, exasperated. Only the most foolish of fools can find such absurdity an act of bravery.

How ironic it is that right at this moment you are entertaining the idea of using the very thing which, until just a while ago, you have believed to be an extremely nonsensical stupidity.

Somehow, you find it woefully poetic that love holds the ultimate power of reducing even the most pragmatic of people to reckless fools.

Alas, one of those fools is you.

As soon as you extend your arm towards the weapon rack, a dainty dagger flies into your open palm.

The rustling of fabric as you cut open your corset in half attracts the dean’s attention back towards you. The razor sharp tip of a dagger has only just rested betwixt your bosoms when all of a sudden, your hands are pried away, wrists firmly locked in long unyielding fingers.

“Let me go.” Fuelled by stubborn determination, you struggle in her vice-like grip, “Let me go. I’ll prove to you now with whom my heart truly lies.” but the woman in front of you does not so much as budge. Instead, following a loud clatter of the dagger as it slips through your fingers, you are yanked into her arms, restrained against her chest.

“Are you mad?” Her query is glazed with irritation, and a sprinkle of, dare you say it, concerned disbelief.

“If falling in love with you is your version of mad, then yes, in fact, I am absolutely, irrevocably mad.”

Your resolute confession seems to render her speechless. Her brows unravel and she gazes down at you with something akin to hunger in her eyes.

Only then do you register, with burnt cheeks and a maniacally galloping heart, that all your fruitless attempts to struggle free from her hands have left your ruined corset more undone than it is supposed to be, making you more exposed to sultry green eyes than you have realised. The air has suddenly become awfully thick. It does little to help either that your chest, as good as bare, is pressed flush against the dean’s.

“I want to kiss you.” When she murmurs, her breath is warm on your face. You can almost feel the delightful throbs of her heart beating in harmony with your own.

“Kiss me.” Your response to her is as equally soft, breathless. “Kiss me, Leo.” And then, her lips are descending upon yours.

The kiss is both sweet and spicy as is she, both downy and desperate, sucking your lips rosy together with the breath out of your lungs, and leading your tongue in a soul-stirring, spine-tingling waltz. Once a need for air becomes too strong for you, it is with great reluctance that she frees your lips, a glistening string of saliva crumbling as she moves, but bodies remain melting into each other.

“I want you in my arms during tonight’s ball.”

“I do not wish to be anywhere else.”

By the time twilight comes, you are already dressed and ready for the ball.

Lady Lesso has sent you back to your dormitory with her coat atop your shoulders, subsequently dusting your cheeks maroon by remarking that you are for her eyes only. You have decided to incorporate the luxurious midnight piece into your outfit, layering it over your pearly white satin gown, giving it that yin and yang look which you think is only fitting considering that you and the dean are from opposite sides.

The banquet hall is anything but empty when you arrive, and yet, it is lacking the one person that you are most anticipating to see. After an exchange of pleasantries with some of your friends and familiar faces, with the red head whom you dearly adore still nowhere in sight, you excuse yourself to get a breath of fresh air. It is on the balcony, amidst tracing the twinkling little stars, where you are, once again, approached by the prince whose offer you have just declined earlier today.

“Just where is this someone you were speaking of, I wonder.”

“They’re on their way.”

He does not seem entirely convinced at your terse reply, incredulity evident on his features despite his understanding hum.

“If you’d like, and if you’ve changed your mind, my Princess, I am more than happy to accompany you.”

The way he addresses you, albeit not being uncommon amongst royalty, perturbs you, so much so that you intend to blatantly spell it out to this dunce of a Prince that you are absolutely, positively, utterly not interested in him at all, except that someone beats you to it.

There is an almost tangible presence behind your back. You immediately know whose without needing to turn, and you are subsequently proven true when her cadence, like warm whiskey, trickles down the length of your spine.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Care to enlighten me what the commotion is all about, hmm?”

“With all due respect Lady Lesso, I don’t think whatever happens between the two of us, evers, is of no concern to you.”

His face that you have once considered objectively charming, now looks very punchable all of a sudden.

“No?”

You can feel that her front is now pressed against your back.

“Oh dear me, I certainly believed that my partner’s safety and well-being was positively my concern.” Arms are suddenly slithering along your waist, fitting you like a well-tailored belt. “You’ve tested my patience enough with that little display of yours in the hallway. I don’t care that you’re not my student, certainly not that you’re an ever. I will personally shepherd you to the doom room and most delightedly demonstrate you just what villainy I am capable of, if you touch so much as a hair on her head again. This Princess, my Princess, right here is strictly off limits.”

She has addressed you exactly the same as the prince has mere moments ago, yet at the same time, it is entirely different somehow. Being called hers has a delightful effect both on and inside your body as the tips of your ears burn, and flowers of various shapes and hues thrive beneath your ribcage.

Meanwhile, the dean, whose arm around you never relents, commands with finality. “Now. back. off.” Instead, you can feel it tightening a touch as she pulls you into her, and following every word, she pokes the ever in front of you with the tip of her trusty cane, intentionally applying more force which leads to the poor thing unceremoniously falling onto his bums.

And as he leaves you two be, you get to behold your woman for the very first time tonight. Unabashedly, you stare, enthralled all over again, at her standing elegantly tall and regal in a dark body hugging gown that fits her like a glove. Not an inch of her body is left unhidden by the fabric, neckline high and sleeves long, and yet, you find it tantalisingly provocative that it is clinging to her body in all the right places.

“I think I like you best when you’re dressed in black.” Your voice is but a breathy whisper, and she lets out a delicious chuckle, a warm sound that pulsates deep within you, for you are still pressed against each other, now chest to chest. “I always dress in black, darling.”

“Indeed, and oh how well you dress it!”

“I think I like you best-” Her hand cradles your jaw in the same manner as her arm cradling your waist. “-when you’re just with me and no one else.”

“My my professor, is this your way of saying you love me?”

“No.” She denies, parks her forehead on yours, “This is my way of saying I love you.” , and then come her lips crashing down onto your lips, kissing you with a ferocity that is certain to leave bruises come morning.