i-write-sometimes-maybe

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

SIGNS AN ANGEL

summary — when your sister gets attacked in her manhattan apartment, your entire world is turned upside, but you don’t miss the signs of angels all around you as the case progresses and a certain ada takes interest in you

warning(s) — slight slowburn, strangers to friends to can i have your number, canon typical content, mentions of assault, alludes to rape/sexual assault, injuries and blood, medical jargon, trauma, shock, panic, anxiety, grief, ptsd, death, mention of child loss, parent death, slight mommy issues, interrogation, police questioning, slight legal jargon, murder, comfort, elements of fluff if you squint and believe in delusion, crush, slight pining, mention of potential flirting, alex cabot goes out of her way to be a shoulder to cry on, one mention of committing, repeated mention of nausea (not detailed), crying, breakdowns, violence, useless lesbians, alex cabot in glasses, olivia benson appears, amanda rollins appears, sonny carisi appears, fin is there, he’s always there, comfort and angst (i mean it), plot twist?

authors note — this is a long one, like over 20k long, so plan accordingly, maybe grab a snack or a drink, roll a blunt or just get comfy. i was going to split this up into thirds, but there was no good stopping period. so enjoy the twists and turns of realizing your developing a crush on the worlds finest ada. feedback is always welcome and appreciated. enjoy :)

Mercy General was crowded, but being the closest trauma center to Times Square, that was predictable. It was late enough for the majority of admissions to be teenagers and adults, so when Olivia Benson picked up the call about a new victim being transported to Mercy, status emergent, she was relieved to be reassured by dispatch that it wasn’t another impossible case with a minor at the center of their investigation being dropped in her lap once more. They’d just come off of one of those cases, and the precinct needed patching up after the emotionally draining endeavor for everyone involved. They’d gotten their win, but that hardly felt like a consolation prize knowing what else lies around the corner. Trauma, therapy. Olivia’s job was done, but that child didn’t even know what the rest of his life would entail yet. The thought haunts her in moments of found quiet.

Thankfully, there’s a steady beeping coming from the machines their current victim is hooked up to. After years on the scene, Olivia has some concept of medical equipment and their uses, but there are so many chords keeping the young woman— probably younger than thirty-five — alive, that she didn’t even know where to begin. What she could assess through the thick panes of glass, the fluorescent light overhead creating an ugly glare if she took just one step to her immediate right, was that an assault had definitely occurred. Olivia believed her victim always, until she was proven multiple times that she couldn’t and even then it was hard to be fully against the possibility, but there was nothing to put hope into right now.

Blood splashes the young woman’s cheeks. She’s pale, ghostly even, but there’s color on her skin where blood has pooled and poured out. Discolored patches speckle her like camouflage, it’s unsettling; ugly. Olivia would’ve winced years ago. She would’ve unconsciously rubbed her arms and grimaced in sympathy. Now, her jaw sets. She’s mad, but that anger is calculated, channeled. She’s learned a thing or two about finding a path and plowing it down without remorse, and coming off of the last seven weeks she’s had, every negative inkling in her tingling veins is set on prosecuting whatever jackass marred a woman so severely her face is unrecognizable beneath swelling and blood.

“Names Juliette Mills. Unconscious, but EMS said she was breathing at the scene and on the way in.” A Doctor, probably two decades older than Olivia, spoke knowledgeably. There was no emotional inflection in her tone, something noteworthy to the detectives who listened close. This was a woman who’d been on the scene a while, a woman who would make a compelling witness should they need to extort her involvement in patient care and injury assessment. Always thinking, always three steps ahead. This is a game Olivia plays to win, and rarely do the dice serve her less than the opponent.

Amanda Rollins is not so sharply composed, but her considerable lack of experience excuses the fire that’s visible to Olivia who knows her well and fondly. Amanda is a sight when she’s mad. The personification of anger when she’s beyond herself and comprehending the stupidity of others. That’s not how she appears right now, with the hospital lights washing over her hair like an incandescent halo, but the frenzy of their last big case has her warped. Her eyes are like daggers as they try to cut through the Doctor, bouncing back and forth between the open door of the patient's room and the white lab coat that’s somehow clear of blood.

If anyone else were to sweep their eyes across the scene of two of Manhattan's finest, they’d have probably told a friend or colleague they’d witnessed an investigation going down in it’s glory, they wouldn’t mention how Olivia’s eyes glare Rollins down until she breathes in deeply and restabalizes her ebbing patience, forcing out a smile that is so fake it makes her nose scrunch in condescension that the Doctor somehow excuses with her own resilient understanding. They’d have no idea, because these women are trained professionals, they’re dedicated to this craft and responsibility, to the victims and their families, and they are prideful in that, protective of it. But they’re also humans, mothers, daughters, sisters, women… this job isn’t only for women like Juliette Mills who they’ve already decided to help until they have nothing else to offer, but for themselves, because the only thing keeping them out of that bed and position is dumb luck.

“Do you know what made her unconscious?” Amanda asked, inclining her head. It felt like an obvious question, it was an obvious question, but too many people breeze over the details in their haste to explain what they could. Even a suspicious bump on the head could lead to a conviction, but only if the Detective on the case knew what to dig into. So, Amanda didn’t care if she seemed full of herself or impatient, there was a woman who had already lost a handful of hours of her life to pain and suffering, and she was going to make sure that the rest of what had to come would be as quick as possible. That’s the job.

“Her sister found her beaten up with duct tape over her mouth. The nose is broken; it would've been nearly impossible to breathe through it. We don’t know how long she was without oxygen. We’re doing an EEG to assess brain activity.” There was no name sewn into the women's lab coat, but Olivia had learned a long time ago that answers were often anywhere she needed them to be if she just thought abstractly. It’s hard to see through the reflection of herself and Rollins in the window, the bright lights painting a scene of the hallway against the pane of glass at first glance, but Olivia’s eyes strained to find the whiteboard on the wall inside, and she hummed when she broke down the three syllable name. Mulligan. She pocketed it for later.

“Have you found any DNA? Rape kit?” Olivia asked, she attempted not to sound to hopeful, more times than not DNA evidence was either slim to none in a case, the perpetrator too smart or somehow just irritatingly lucky, or it led to the wrong signs, the wrong person. But, when it was a shot in the dark, oh that was basically a grand slam.

Mulligan sighed, clearly discouraged that she had nothing to offer the detectives aside from what was glaringly obvious. “No hair or fibers. No fluids.” She confirmed the worst, though not entirely discouraging to Rollins and Bensons who had worked with a lot less time and time again. “Then again, the paramedics say her hair was soaked when they found her.” Rollins glanced at Benson at the detail, and both of them nodded slightly. The first place they’d check would be the apartment, namely whatever bathrooms had a shower. “As soon as I know anything more, I’ll call you.”

Rollins nodded, thanking Doctor Mulligan. “Uh, is the sister here?” She asked as an afterthought, realizing that in all of this, the woman in question hadn’t been pointed out, nor were there any unis left around to leech information from.

“Over there. Yellow sweater.” Mulligans let her finger guide Olivia and Amanda’s attention to the waiting area, and though the discretion of your yellow sweater was helpful, it took no genius to guess which one you were. Had Amanda really taken the time to look, she’d have concluded it easily, but confirmation was always a pleasure to have in open court.

Your hair was disheveled, tousled and frizzy. Amanda would’ve assumed you’d gotten caught in a storm, blown around and swayed by a strong current in the breeze carrying the promise of destruction, but she recognizes the kinks in your hair that can only come from the pressure of knuckles grabbing tight. Your fingers are busy now too, but on your lips, pulling and plucking at skin that bubbles with blood before you lick it away, trying to focus on the sting that you create, control, manipulate to ebb and flow with the strain of your heart, but it doesn’t work as well as you need it too. It doesn’t distract from you finding your sister unconscious in the bathroom, naked, holding onto a pink rubber duck that you’d never seen stained with anything but bubble bath residue. It was pink, a soft pink, the kind of pink you’d see at a fair, or on the walls of a nursery, but when you’d found her it was red, and the officers who swarmed the apartment when you’d called hadn’t even let you rinse it off before they took it away. Your breath trembles, you wheeze.

There are tears streaming down your face, they’re hot and uncomfortable. They tickle your nose, your lips, they create a cold sensation on your chin where they dry down or drip onto your sweater. Your sweater. It’s stained with blood, your sister's blood. When you’d found her, the first thing you’d thought to do was check her head. It was bleeding, weeping profusely, but you’d pulled it up into your lap and tried to see where it was bleeding from the most. You hadn’t noticed the duct tape, against the palette of blood, it hadn’t been too eye-catching, but when you’d found it and pulled it away, her blood had stained your sleeve.

Amanda looks at Benson, Mulligan's depiction of how Juliette Mills was found sparking every cop instinct in her brain all at once. “Victim was wet?” She muses, and Olivia hum, seeing the same red flags out of nothing, something so small, but so unbelievably . “Perp must have tried to clean her up.”

“So much for trace evidence.” Olivia sighed, confirming what Rollins couldn’t. All they had now was the physical evidence of an assault, and whatever recount you could give that led to any direct paths to follow. Amanda wanted to put her faith in you, but you didn’t look all that promising as you shook like a leaf in a tornado and gnawed at your nails.

Olivia made the first move, and Amanda took that as incentive to fix her face once again. She thought about tightening her ponytail, feeling the elastic slip away from her scalp every couple of seconds, but the appeal of seeming put together outweighed her need to feel it. It wouldn’t matter in a week if a piece of two fell from the hair tie in the middle of speaking to you, but it could make all the difference if her one ounce of humanity swayed your ability to trust in them right now. It felt far fetched, overdramatized, but there was no sense in these situations, no rational way of thinking or right or wrong. She had a role to fill, and appearing as confident in herself and her skills was what mattered, not the comfort of a tight ponytail. Had the Amanda that joined the academy known she’d be debating over whether a ponytail would make or break her case, she would've thought the world was ending, but Special Victims had changed her perspective, softened her edges and her unconscious movements. She was grateful for it, even with the heartbreak and the stress, she was grateful for this chance to be a stepping stone to recovery.

“Hey,” Amanda was the first to speak, and Olivia had anticipated such. The blonde was emotional, erratic sometimes when she got emotional, she was impatient and was learning that her actions could impact a case even if they were derived with good intentions, but she was the first on the squad to make herself available to a victim. There had been many reasons for Olivia to see Amanda for more trouble than she was worth as both a detective and a best friend, the gambling, the baby daddies, the self sabotage, but there was even more of a reason to keep pouring time into her. Amanda Rollins was going to outshine them all one day, and maybe, maybe a part of that journey to reform came from helping you. Olivia had learned that every case had the potential to teach, but it was Amanda’s turn to reel the lessons of its hardships and triumphs. “You Juliette Mills’ sister?” Confirmation was a good thing, a necessary thing, so Amanda asked the obvious.

Your head bobs, up and down, like a buoy on the water. Your colors are dimmed, bleached from the sunlight, but you’re still a buoy, you’re still floating. Amanda can work with that. “I’m Detective Rollins, this is my Captain. Can we ask you a couple’a questions?”

Her words panic you, and you’re not sure why. That sparks a sudden desperation for air, but the gasp that you aim to take is stifled by a blockage in your throat, maybe it’s all in your head, or maybe the numbing sobs have overfilled you with mucus. The possibility disgusts you, everything about sadness has always disgusted you, but it follows you, clings to your footprints in the sand that you’d wanted to be a beautiful thing, but had just become a path for it to follow at your every sharp turn. You shake your head, because answering questions feels impossible right now, but Amanda doesn’t let you take that panic and run away with it into the confines of your head where hurt doesn’t exist and this isn’t real, isn’t happening.

“What’s your name, honey?” Amanda redirects, changes her strategy. Getting you talking at all is important, it’s insightful, but if you shut down, this case goes cold faster than they can get to the apartment. Mulligan hadn’t seemed all that hopeful on your sister's recovery. She hadn’t counted against it, but there’d been no utterance of any hope to get you awake in her synopsis of injuries.

The words don’t feel like your own when they roll off your tongue, but Amanda smiles anyways, and she nods her head encouragingly. Her hands take yours, you don’t know when you pulled them away from your mouth, but she holds them in her own grip and makes you feel her next to you. “Can you tell me what happened, Y/N?” She asks again, squeezing your hand when she recognizes the panicked look in your eye that screams to bolt, to run, to avoid this and reality for as long as you can. “Just what you know, what you saw. Or, maybe you can tell me about Juliette? Would that be easier?” She glances up at Benson in a flicker of a gaze that you don’t catch, hoping that this is okay, that you have the time to derail important questioning for information that paints a story to tell a jury.

Amanda waits for you to nod, to recognize her question. You do so hesitantly, your head jerking as you consider it. It’s never been hard to talk about her before, she’s been your best friend since, well, as long as you could remember, even through her teenage years when she should’ve thought you were annoying and obsessive. “Anything you want to tell me.” She promises that nothing is too small, too insignificant to name right now, and it comforts you. You don’t know what’s important, don’t know what they’d care about or what you should say at all regardless, but that helps.

“J-Julie’s my older sister. She moved to Manhattan five years ago, with her ex-fiancé James. She’s a guidance counselor at the elementary school. U-Um, I don’t, I don’t know what you want to know, I’m sorry!” Your eyes sting with tears, another wave of fresh sadness coating your waterline visibly. Amanda frowns sympathetically, squeezing your hands again.

“That’s good, honey. That’s really good.” Amanda nodded, and Benson confirmed the usefulness of your short explanation with a nod of her own, her lips set into a neutral expression that doesn’t outright provoke panic, but isn’t necessarily a comfort. You know that’s tactical. She doesn’t want to sway you in any way, but it’s unsettling. “I know it’s hard to think about, but we really need to know about what happened today.”

“I got laid off a month ago, budget cuts.” Your voice trembles, it's hoarse, raw. It burns to speak, to force to words out into the open space between you and Amanda, not just because your throat has been stripped down by your wails on the drive over, but because the memory of finding her paints your memory with blood, and it trickles down the back of your throat like a nasal drip, uncomfortable and irritating. “Julie’s been taking this pilates class with me to take my mind off of it. I… I texted her that I forgot my water bottle, and she told me to just come upstairs instead of meeting her by the curb. I live in Harlem, and the bus was late, so I told her we could get lunch and hit the second class instead, because we weren’t going to make it to the first one anymore. She didn’t answer, I… I thought that she was just annoyed, or that she’d gotten caught up with her neighbor, Mr. Ferris, b-because sometimes he comes over to borrow sugar. He’s old school, still keeps an address book, still has a phone book, and J-Julie helps him out sometimes. I-I didn’t know that something was wrong!” You sobbed again, dropping your head into your hands, unable to comprehend that you’d missed all the signs. Julie wasn’t the type to ignore you, even if she was pissed off, and definitely not when you were on your way to see her. She answered her phone at a moment's notice if she could, and you should've known that when she didn't answer, when your notification was on delivered for ten minutes, then twenty, something should’ve started to ring in your head.

“Alright, that’s good, sweetheart. That’s good.” Amanda comforted, and Olivia sank into the chair beside you, her hands on her knees as she listened to your recount, the pain twinging your voice cutting through her. You were young, not a kid, not a college student still learning about life and everything that it came with, but young regardless. There was an edge of youth to youth to you that wasn’t dissuading or rough, but rather just innate, something to note. She felt for you, she really did. ”Did you go right up to her apartment after you got off the bus?”

You nodded, wiping your cheeks, glancing over at Olivia who, for the first time, smiled at you with a softness that held no candle to her badge of honor. Amanda didn’t waver in her reserve even though Olivia was finally allowing herself to approach you with warmth that would draw out more details. It was a slight manipulation tactic, good cop bad cop if you wanted to apply classic terminology, but it got you where they you needed without a meltdown or a breakdown, and you’d thank them for that later even if you realized this was the goal all alone at some point.

“There’s a bellhop. I told her it was r-ridiculous that she moved into a building with a bellhop, b-but it made sense at the time, and she felt safe there.” You blanched at the words. Julie had felt safe in that apartment. Safe enough to start a family. “Ricardo, he said good morning, and that I was late, and I told him what happened and he laughed, but after that I went right up. I promise.” You don’t know why that gets tacked on at the end, you hadn’t meant for it to, but Amanda deflates at the desperateness of your plea just slightly, enough for Olivia to know she has to play her role better.

“We know.” Benson aids, a hand falling onto your knee, squeezing it comfortingly. It should’ve been comforting, but instead, you feel a dull ache that you had been too distracted to lean into before. It comes back to you, in a flash, with the pain on your mind and the intent to remember how it stemmed encouraging the memories to pulse like beams in your memories, you remember a small detail you’d somehow glazed over. You’d hit it on the corner of the lid of the toilet when you’d bent down to check her head. It hadn’t occurred to you then. Only she matted then, and only Julie matters right now. You don’t let yourself think about it. “We know. It’s not your fault. None of this was your fault.”

“Keep going. You’re almost through.” Amanda brought your attention back to the question at hand, and while her coaching was gentle, there was an unmistakable command beneath her delicacy. You didn’t really have a choice whether you told them all of this or not, it didn’t really matter to them if you were ready for this or not. You swallowed dryly, suddenly uncomfortable, discouraged.

“I d-don’t know if I can do this.” You say instead of anything helpful, feeling like your body has just gone from sixty to zero. It gives you whiplash, the sincerity in her tone but the ‘all business’ execution of her timing. You want all of this to be over, you can’t handle it.

Amanda knows she messed up, Olivia knows it too, but the Special Victims Captain would be the first to say that your withdrawal from compliance was not Amanda’s doing. She would’ve responded the same way. They’d been putting your pieces back together so stably since they’d first approached, it felt right to encourage you to finish strong and be allowed to rest for a while, but they hadn’t considered a hidden variable that all your life you’d been forced to mask your emotions. They hadn’t been building you up at all. Not even in the slightest. When you’d told them that you were only taking this pilates class with Juliette because it was a distraction from your recent dismissal, they should’ve been clued into the fact that you aimed to please. You’d been aiming to please them this entire time and they’d fallen for it. Some decorated detectives they are.

“You can.” Olivia squeezed your knee, reeling you back in. Not with the elaborate role she’d created to just slightly manipulate you, not coerce and that needed to be stressed significantly, but with genuine encouragement that sparked something in your heart. It didn’t rewrite the hurt that had already scorned you, but it was a gentle push to keep going that well, kept you going.

”I have the only spare key. The door was locked, but the deadbolt wasn’t latched.” You swallow thickly, feeling like there are shards of glass lodged in your throat. “Nothing looked… nothing looked like I was supposed to notice that something was wrong.” Your voice trembles, Amanda’s exhale is shaky. “I grabbed a water bottle from the cabinet, and I called for her, but she didn’t answer. I thought… I thought she was getting changed, she can never… she can never pick something, if you give her the chance, she’ll spend three hours making sure her outfit is perfect and we’ll miss the entire event, so I went to find her, because, because, she thinks I’m slacking off, falling back into old habits. She thinks me getting laid off is the last straw but…” You can’t finish that thought, you can’t let yourself say this is the worst thing, the final straw in you, because it’s not over yet. Nobody has come out to tell you that she has no chance at bouncing back, so until then, this is just something that's happening, something that's pending classification in your head. Regardless, it’s going to be traumatic. “She wasn’t in the closet, but her outfit was still laid out on the bed, so I thought she was only just getting out of the shower. I wasn’t even going to look, b-but the door was open, so I went to peek my head in and let her know I made it, and that’s when I found her.”

“And what did she look like when you found her?” Amanda was soft this time, truly soft, and you found that you melted into the acceptance in her tone. She hadn’t tried to negate a single element of your story, hadn’t tried to question you or insist on blame. Even if you don’t trust her, can't trust her, she’s not all that bad of a confidant because you can’t keep this on your chest. It’s gone from avoidable to burning hot in minutes, and the longer it sits on you, your skin becomes branded by its influence. Julie wouldn’t want that for you.

”Dead.” The words make you shiver, but they’re true — painfully true. When your eyes had first swept over her, you hadn’t been able to tell if she was even alive. She was pale, she’d been pale every day of her life including the three months she spent living in Hawaii on a whim after college. Not even the hottest sun could bring color to her body, but somehow, she’d looked even paler on the tile floors with blood pooling around her head and smeared all over her body until you couldn’t even make out what was skin and what wasn’t. “She looked dead. She wasn’t breathing, and she… she was pale. The b-blood was by her head, or, or at least most of it was, so I just, my first thought was to just,” You took a deep breath, willing yourself to get through this. “I know that a head wound is one of the most dangerous injuries, our Dad was a nurse before he passed away, he would let you cry over a broken arm for an hour before he washed his hand and took you to the hospital, but he didn’t play about head injuries. That was all I could think about when I saw the blood, but then I noticed the duct tape. I pulled it off, and she still wasn’t breathing, but, um, I got my CPR certification in high school, I remembered how to do it, so I um, well, after she… she grabbed my arm, and she grabbed on tight, her nails broke my skin. She tried to tell me something, but I, I told her to hold on, that I needed to call an ambulance, and then she passed out. Hasn’t woken back up since. I forgot to tell the paramedics that she woke up before they got there, um, um, will you tell them?”

“We can tell them that.” Olivia nodded, a hand settling on your bicep. It’s weight was warm, and you didn’t outright lean away from it, but it did little to comfort you right now. “Is there anyone else we can call for her? For you?”

“No.” You whispered, swallowing hoarsely. “She hasn’t spoken to her ex in months, last I heard he had gotten a job in Brooklyn. And our parents passed away. It’s just us. It’s just me.” You hadn’t meant to insinuate that Juliette wouldn’t make it, all you’d meant was that you were the only one she had to see this through with, but then the hypothetical crept up on you and you wanted to sob all over again even if your body wouldn’t let you, too burnt out to even let the sound ripple through your aching chest. You sigh, dejected with your own wandering conclusions, “Am I allowed back in the apartment? I don’t… I don’t want to go back to Harlem, I want to be able to be with her.”

Olivia frowns sympathetically, shaking her head. “Not until CSU has everything they need. In the meantime though, we can get you set up at a hotel for the time being. Rollins can give you a ride while I get out ADA on the phone, alright?”

“I don’t know who would’ve done this.” You whisper, your eyes peering right through Benson. It’s not often anymore that the family of a victim gets beneath her skin like this, especially not so soon, but there’s something about you that she can’t shake. Maybe it's the color of your sweater. Olivia had always heard that yellow was a happy color. When she’d first adopted Noah, everything she bought was yellow because she couldn’t get away from the idea that she was encouraging positivity even when his life started out so rough. She hates that yellow didn’t bring that same comfort to you, or maybe it did. Maybe you’d chosen this sweater because it brightened your spirits, and you needed that while you were going through this off period, maybe yellow was ruined for you now. Maybe it wasn’t the color of your sweater at all. Maybe it was the fact that you sat in this waiting room looking like you expected the world to crash down onto your shoulders, like you were used to this pain.

”That’s our job to figure out, and if we have any questions, we’ll reach out to you.” Olivia promised, and Amanda guided you up. It didn’t feel right to leave the hospital now, to let the Doctors be the only ones to care for your sister, but there wasn’t anything you could do about that right now. You couldn’t go in there and run the tests they needed, and you couldn’t snap your fingers and have her wake up right then and there. So, you just let Amanda guide you.

Her hand was warm on your back, and you wanted to apologize for the blood she’s trying to avoid but the words fail you. You can’t think of a single thing to say, and she doesn’t make you try. You sit in silence the entire drive to the hotel, some random one that you’re sure is fairly nice, but you won’t be able to enjoy because how could you? It doesn’t matter if the room comes with a tub, or a King sized bed that sucks your weight up greedily. Juliette would’ve loved those things, those amenities and luxuries, but you can't even tell her about it. She can’t even curse you out and call you a bitch because all she has is a shower and a bidet she refuses to install because it was ridiculous when her ex told her about it and even more so when he ordered it on a whim.

Amanda stopped at the door, “Here’s my card. If you need anythin’, just let me know, alright?” She couldn't stress that enough, but all you hung onto was the twang in your voice that told you she didn’t quite belong in bustling Manhattan. You don’t know who would choose to come to the city of dreams and work in sex crimes, but clearly it's a path she’s paved for herself as she forces the cardstock between your shaking fingers.

“Is Julie going to die?” Your voice rattles, and even though you want nothing more than to go inside the room, drop your weight onto the bed and cry until you have nothing left inside of you, you find yourself seeking her validation that everything is going to be okay, even if she doesn’t know that at all.

Amanda falters, her hands slipping into her pockets warily. “I’m not a doctor,” She trails off, shaking her head, apologetic hesitancy in her tone. You almost smile at her care, her worry for how you’d react to that reminder, but it feels to hard to smile right there when everything is turned upside down.

“No, but you’ve seen a thing or two, and those doctors told you a lot more than they told me.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes, trying to get rid of the evidence that you just can't seem to pull yourself together. “So, off the record Detective, do you think my sister has a chance?”

Amanda’s lips quivered, and that was the only thing you needed to know. The blonde caught your elbow before you could turn away, her eyes pleading, genuine, soft and willing to connect on a level she had forced herself to close off before. It was too late. That failure to assess the situation correctly had driven an unmovable wedge between you. “She might. You said she woke up, that might mean it’s not as bad as you are convincing yourself. But, she might not. Whatever happens, you have to keep living.”

You chuckle dryly, shaking your head. “We’ve lived in New York our entire life. My birth mothers from Queens. I’ve been here my entire life, but I was sixteen before I saw my first play. It was Hamilton, Julie took me as a birthday present. Our parents thought Broadway was a tourist trap, and Julie never cared enough to argue about it with me at the dinner table, you know…” You laugh, but there’s nothing funny about the situation. “There’s this line… ‘Dying is easy, young man, living is harder.’… I never thought that would become my life.”

“It’s not your life yet, so don’t condemn yourself to grief you don’t need to feel.” Amanda was trying, but you wouldn’t hear it, scanning the keycard and watching the red light flicker to green before the lock clicked. She sighed, let go of your elbow. You disappeared into the hotel room, not even saying goodbye as you let the door close.

You’ve always hated how heavy hotel doors are. You hate how some of them have no tension built into the hinges, banging closed and reverberating through the entire room at whatever speed they deem. This door has tension, but you think that’s even worse, because you’re not expecting the loud sound to send shockwaves through the floor when it eventually happens, and it shatters everything inside of you all at once. The sob that cuts through you is loud, unforgiving, unabashed. You can't even begin to filter your sadness, so you do the next best thing. In your clothes that are stained with your sister's blood, you drop into the bed, on top of the white blankets, the wrinkleless pillowcases. They’re red in a moment, but you can’t care. You bury your face into the pillows and sob. You don’t kick off your shoes, or pull off your sweatpants even though you hate outside clothes on the bed. You can’t move enough to take off your sweatshirt — sweater, workout coverup, whatever — or roll onto your back and catch a breath that’s not muffled by the fabric of the pillow. You feel immobilized by sadness and panic and confusion and grief, and Amanda’s words hit you now. She’s not gone yet, she’s not on the other side where you won’t be able to reach her until the reaper comes for you next, but it feels like she is because you know there is nothing in this world that can fix her enough to bring back the woman that she was this morning. Juliette had thought you were the one hanging on by a thread, but you’ve always known that it was her. She’s your big sister, but you’re the protector, the one who sacrifices everything in order to appease, the one who constantly worries about validating feelings and being present when it counts. This is going to ruin her, and you’re going to have to watch it happen silently as it ruins you too.

At some point you must’ve rolled over onto your side, your body unconsciously preventing your death by negligent suffocation without your knowledge or consent after you’d fallen asleep. Or, maybe you’d cried so hard you’d lost consciousness and sleep had just come naturally afterward. Regardless, you couldn’t say that you were thankful to have avoided certain expiration when the sun streamed into the hotel room the next morning, accompanied by the ringing of your cell phone that you’d never taken out of your back pocket. Everything overwhelms you at once, but you try to find your phone through the spring of tears because the pitch is going right through your ears and splitting your brain into thirds.

Your eyes squinted at the numbers blurred together on your screen, trying to rub sleep out of your eyes with one hand while your other fumbled for the business card you don’t remember putting down last night after coming in from the hallway. You find it beneath your pillow, slightly crumpled from how your palm had gripped it unconsciously, but legible nonetheless. The area code was distinguishably New York, but a simple glance at the numbers beneath Amanda’s name in midnight black ink confirmed that it was her — special victims — requiring your presence and coherent consciousness before nine in the morning.

The ringing stopped, but only because you’d swiped at the glowing green button with desperation when it seemed to never stop ringing. You’d missed a few hundred phone calls in your life, all because it never seemed to ring long enough when you were preoccupied, but now… now it felt like it had been singing you a death wish for hours.

Amanda’s voice is chirpy despite the early hour, and you wonder briefly if she’s a morning person, or if she’d just been up long enough to have been hit with a dangerous second wind. Your name is weightless on her tongue, and in your half-awake, exhausted, drained, entirely disorderly state, you can’t make out if that’s a good thing or the lead up to something devastating. “I’m sorry to be callin’ this early, but we have something we need ya to take a look at. How fast can ya get down to the precinct?” There’s genuine sincerity in Amanda’s words, and you can almost imagine her wincing as she requests for you to come in and help untangle whatever evidence they think they’d found since last night. You can’t imagine they’ve accomplished much, but then again, you’re not sure you have the most tuned in perception of law preceding and investigations to gauge how far they could’ve come in this investigation with only nine hours between when you and Amanda had left the hospital. You’re far out of your depth here, and it’s probably obvious.

“Um,” Your cheeks flame at the croak in your voice, a telling indication of the emotional distress that’s weighing on you. Again, if you could see Amanda, last night was enough to say she was probably the depiction of sympathy with her bottom lip bitten. After she’d let her guard drop, let the rouse go and had just been in the moment with you on the drive to the hotel, you hadn’t needed to say anything or hear her spew anything else to know how she felt. The emotion was written broadly against her cheeks and her downturned lips and her sad eyes. You’d always been exceptionally good at reading people, Juliette and her psychology degree said it was a trauma response to the ways your parents failed to mold you as you aged, but you just liked to say it was something of a superpower, a radar that you cherished and trusted. Amanda was good, but you couldn’t trust her, and it scorned you to remember that you and Juliette were all alone together. “By ten?” You suggest, because that feels feasible. You’ve walked this area a few hundred times, you know the traffic and the route, but then it dawns on you that you don’t have any clothes, that you’d let Amanda lead you here last night without anything but your workout bag. You swallowed your pride, not wanting to sound incapable if you told you needed more time.

“Do you need me to send a ride?” The consideration was appreciated, but you declined. Your throat contracted at the thought of being in another squad car. That was an experience you never wanted to relive, even if you’d been in the front passenger seat and Amanda had the radio on to distract from her static squeaking radios.

She can’t see you, but you're so out of it that you shake your head anyways, gnawing on your bottom lip. “No. Do you need anything from me?” You asked eventually, finding that Amanda was evidently not going to end the call until she had confirmation that you were okay. You considered that maybe that was standard training, you figure that people can become pretty unpredictable in these moments, you’re pretty unpredictable right now, but then you ponder if this is just Amanda tryna to compensate for the deceit last night — the very stereotypical cop behavior that you get the sense neither her or Olivia stand for, but fell victim to because that’s just how life works sometimes. You don’t always realize when you become the thing you’re running from, it just happens along the way. “I don’t know how this works, h-how I can help.”

“Coming down and answering some questions for us is enough.” Amanda doesn’t think you realize how much your cooperation affects this case, how much you’re already contributing just by trying to appease time constraints you’re not even aware of. You don’t know that they’ve detained a suspect, that you’re not only going down to the precinct at Amanda’s request to answer some questions about Juliette, but to confirm the identity of who they think is a crucial element of this case.

The confirmation does little to ease your anxieties entirely, but its enough to get you out of bed and heading towards the duffle you mindlessly dropped by the door. You can’t really remember putting it on your shoulder after you stood up in the waiting room, but you don’t remember putting it down when you’d gotten there either. You took it with you because you’d shoved Juliette’s insurance card in the front pocket, thankful that she’d kept it in the same drawer of her kitchen since she’d moved into her first apartment at twenty-four. “Okay.” You're spacey, and you know Amanda is probably getting impatient, but your thoughts aren’t coming coherently, you haven’t given your body enough time to actually get moving and processing and masking, but the words come off your lips eventually and your hands pause on the straps of your duffle bag. “I’ll see you soon, Detective Rollins.”

“You can—“ You assume she was going to insist you call her Amanda, but your finger found the red button in the center of the keypad and hung up before you could finish. Guilt shot through you for a moment before it was outweighed by numbness. You couldn’t care about whether your chosen hostility upset Amanda, not when your sister was fighting for your life and Doctor Mulligan hadn’t called you with an update. You might not know if Amanda’s questions are good, but you can guarantee that Mulligan’s silence does not indicate anything positive for your near future.

You have a single pair of shorts in the side pocket. They’re lilac, short and form fitting, a purchase that you’d made in college and held onto because a good pair of workout shorts is never not needed, or at least that was Juliette’s motto in high school, and you’d adopted it as your own when you came of age to care about getting a gym membership. The only top you had was an oversized t-shirt from college, but you silently praised whatever guardian angel had decided to wake up and look after you at least enough that the shades of purple in the makeshift outfit didn’t entirely clash when you put them on after your shower.

The travel size brush you kept with you was perfect for touch ups, and you and Julie frequently passed it back and forth in the mirror after pilates, but you found that it did nothing for your knotted hair that desperately needed a conditioning treatment after your fingers had weaved and pulled into it. The thought sent you into a rage, and you punched the mirror in front of you when your frenzied eyes looked up and Julie wasn’t right next to you like she should’ve been, like she always was. The glass didn’t shatter, and somehow its resilience taunted you enough to make the rage worse, until you were on your knees, howling into your hands.

It must’ve been twenty minutes before the tears stopped coming, nothing left in you anymore, though there hadn’t been much there to start. The energy that you’d found upon stepping beneath the scalding water was gone, diminished to nothingness that left you hollow and cold. But, somehow you found it in you to stand up again. You didn’t glance in the mirror, nor did you pick up the brush. Who cares that only half of your hair is brushed? Who cares that the back is halfway matted? You don't. It doesn’t even tickle your skin to know that you look like a disheveled mess. There are bigger problems at hand, larger stakes than public opinion.

All that you stumble out of the hotel room with is your keycard. Your phone is basically dead, and what good is it if the only person you speak to isn’t awake to use her own. Your wallet hadn’t even been a thought. You couldn’t conceive needing anything. The only thing you’d brought was what would allow you to return to isolation, but you didn’t feel bare as you walked down the streets. You didn’t feel anything, or maybe, you felt everything at such an impeccably high rate that it became just pulsing in your nerves.

The precinct is closer than you remember it being, you get there before you’re ready, but are ushered inside regardless of your readiness by a crowd of arriving officers, your body somehow swarmed between theirs until you were inside and sheltered from the breeze and overcast sky that looked like it could open up at any moment despite how the sunlight that did still paint Manhattan was golden and crisp, sending beams down onto skyscrapers and bodegas when the wind blew just enough to displace all the clouds in the sky at the perfect angel. You have always loved these days. These days that felt like a piece of Florida sun showers without the gators or the statewide stupidity. Sometimes, you’d stand out in the downpours and accept your fate, other times, you’d find a playlist and ride the subway, aiming to see if you could hear the patter of rain when the flash flood warnings sounded. Perspective had changed so much, so quickly, since the last time the weather had turned like this. What you’d always considered forbearing signs from your parents, felt like an omen of approaching doom, the promise of something wicked even if the sky was still bright with sunshine.

It was hard to breathe in the precinct, but it was hard to breathe everywhere right now. Nowhere you went opened your airways, every change in scenery just made your suffering worse. You persevered though, because if you didn’t, nobody would for Julie. You didn’t have a choice, an out, another body in your shoulder to help carry the weight of being the sole witness and emergency contact. Julie’s your big sister, she’s always been bossy, and a little bit indecisive, but you’ve always thought it your job to protect her. It didn’t matter to you that she was bigger, taller, had friends that were older than you and stronger, you’d always stuck your neck out for her, because as you got older, you realized how easy it would’ve been for her to hate you the day you came home and allowed the resentment to grow. Juliette’s the bigger person between you two, and without her, you know you’re going to misjudge so many people upon first impression. Suddenly, your pockets feel empty. You’ve made it this far without your phone or your keys, but it dawns on you how utterly stupid that decision was. Now you have no identification, no way of calling for help, and you’ve never felt so unsafe in this city you’ve always called home even with the outstanding crime rates and rising violence. Those tears want to come again, they want to fall in hot streaks down your cheeks until the collar of your shirt is damp from them dripping off of your chin. You feel so vulnerable everywhere you go. Juliette was at home, in her apartment. She hadn’t even gone anywhere yet that morning, but somehow… she was attacked before she got dressed. You’re absolutely certain this will never be something you get over with time. Even if Juliette walks away from this as reformed as she can be, there will be no amount of recovery that will allow you to forget your big sister looking so small.

Your feet find the way to sec crimes little hub in the corner of the precinct, if only because you follow the steady flow of officers hoping that it’ll lead to a map, or at least numbered guide of the building, but instead found that the traffic was going directly through Special Victims itself. It surprised you but it shouldn’t have, you’ve spent your entire life being lectured about how to avoid becoming a victim, that was just the reality of being a kid in New York, but somehow, seeing the repercussions of what frequent assaults and rapes meant made it all so much more real. Anyone could tell you that assaults and sex crimes happen daily, hourly even, you’d believe them in a heartbeat, but watching thirty officers scramble to fix paperwork, to switch orders, to meet on the terms of an updated warrant or seizure… it’s sickening, harrowing, it hollows you out like a melon, but you’d already been scraped pretty bare. You’ve already received the worst reality check when needing a water bottle turned into needing to figure out how to stay above water for two people, not just one anymore.

“Can I help you?” A male’s voice cuts through the precinct, and while it’s not harsh, not aimed to startle you and entice you to scramble back to whatever alleyway you crawled out of, it still makes you jump, feeling so disconnected from reality that someone directly addressing you is unexpected, foreign.

“I’m here to speak with Detective Rollins,” You whispered, because you didn’t think you could get your voice any louder even if you tried. You’d always hated submitting to authority, and while you’re not the one they’re looking into, and you have no reason to mind your tongue when there’s not even a way for Olivia to tie you to this crime if she wanted to, but it feels like the right thing to do — to just let them throw you around and pull whatever they needed until your sister had justice. You hated it, but you’d do it for her. “about the Juliette Mills case.”

“Detective Sonny Carisi.” He held out his hand, willing to shake yours even though the tremble in your fingers was glaringly obvious. You don’t know why it takes you by surprise that your distress rolls off his shoulders the way it does, but you’re certain he’s trying his best not to snicker at your floundering lips that just can’t seem to get a name off your tongue. He knows it anyways, you’re almost certain that he does, and that he knows your third grade teacher and your home address, but it feels impolite to not give back the same introductional courtesy, so you force the syllables off your tongue and shake his head with a weak, clammy grip. “Can I get you a coffee? A water?”

“A water, if it’s no trouble please.” You don’t particularly need a drink, nor do you think liquid sitting heavily in your stomach is necessarily a great idea right now, but you’re not going to be able to get through this with the lump in your throat and the dryness that comes in waves when all of this gets too real. You sound pathetic now, asking a decorated detective to trouble himself with searching down a water for you, but you can’t help him if every other word is a rasp between a sob and a plea to understand so you don’t have to say it again.

“Of course.” Detective Carisi confirmed his willingness, guiding you toward what you assumed to be Olivia’s office if the name plaque above the door was up to date and accurate. A pit formed in your stomach, you swallowed harshly, freezing.

“The hospital still hasn’t called about my sister. I-I should’ve gone there first, I have to make sure she’s okay! I didn’t even bring my phone!” You don’t know why that dawns on you enough to stare wide eyed at your reflection in the pang of glass that’s covered by layered blinds. Your eyes are sunken in, purple and discolored, your cheeks are flush, raw from tears that you’ve rubbed away aggressively. Your pale all over, color drained from your features, blood pooling in your hands and your feet, turning them purple, twinging them with the evidence of collected blood.

You know that your commotion reaches the inside of the office where you’ve gather Amanda is already waiting for your dutiful cooperation, but nobody breaks the seal of the door, and Carisi doesn’t usher you inside regardless. You think that you should take a deep breath, the throught is fleeting, a whisper of Juliette’s tender instructions on how to handle your panic floating through your head, but the voice is too far to reach so instead you freeze, and you let yourself stay frozen even when Carisi claps a hand on your shoulder and tries to get your attention.

“…call the hospital.” You catch the tail end of his suggestion when every sound you’ve been blocking out comes rushing back in, loud, overstimulating, noisy. It sounds like a cartoon backing track, mindless chatter that blends into random noises with no distinctive consonants or vowels. It drives you crazy, paralyzes you even more.

“What?” You turn your gaze to Carisi, and you almost swear there’s a shadow of amusement on his lips as he watches you actively try and process his kindness and the situation. Nothing about this is funny, but you think if you worked with these odds and these weights every day, you’d start looking for lightness in the little things too. God knows you devote your life to searching for signs in the little things without valid reason to do so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

”I can call the hospital for you.” He repeats, and you nod, affirming that you agreed with that suggestion, that you appreciated the suggestion. “Are you ready, now?” He asks you considerably, and your heart stutters at the implication that it's truly now or never. You can’t outrun this, can’t outlive it. If you run, they run after you, and not only do you end up answering their questions anyway, but you remember your father telling you a failure to comply with police investigations can lead to your own detention. So, no matter what you want to do, no matter what direction your heart feels most pull toward, you have no where else you can be but here until they deem that you’re free to go, even if technically, you could remand the right to a lawyer. There was no reason for that, that would only make this worse, more complicated, a longer endeavor for Julie to deal with when she woke up. So, you nodded at Carisi’s question and drew in a breath that rattled in your rib cage.

“Yes.” You confirm even if it’s the last thing you want to do, and Detective Carisi nods acceptingly, letting his hand reach for the handle and twist until you’re able to see Amanda’s face at a circle table next to Olivia. There’s another body in the room, but you can’t make out who it is with the door obtaining half of your sight. It’s a woman, undeniably, the pantsuit is telling even if the body is faceless, and the sleek leather kitten heels are the next best indication that this woman holds power in your sister's case.

“Thanks, Sonny.” Amanda is on her feet and stalking to the door in seconds, and its suffocating to watch her step closer and closer until she’s guiding you into the room, closing the door on Detective Carisi who nods and utters a reminder to you and a note to Amanda that he’ll be back with a water and information n your sister. It doesn’t ease the panic and the intensity of this moment, but it does something to tame the fires raging in your belly at least. “This is ADA Cabot, she’s going to be prosecuting your sister's case.”

Your eyes flickered upward at Amanda’s informative introduction. Now that the door was closed and Detective Rollins had guided you deeper into the room,standing with you beside the circle table that handfuls of papers were spread across, a black tablet sitting on top of everything else, the screen dimly lit, ebbing away the longer it went untouched.

ADA Cabot wasn’t tall, but she had a couple inches on you in her two inch heels that accentuated her legs. They were long, but her torso seemed shorter than others, evening out the imbalance of her height. You weren't great at guesstimations, though thankfully they never really mattered much, but for the hell of it, because these people were about to know everything they wanted about you and your sister, you let yourself consider that without the heels, she was probably around five-six, but in them, a steady five-eight seemed reasonable.

The colors of her outfit are bland, neutral tones with dark elements all except the white collar that peeks out of her blazer. You think its a blazer, though you’ve never really needed any extensive knowledge on suits and courtroom attire, so you're not sure if there’s another name for the jacket that covers whatever white button up top she’s wearing underneath. The brightness of the color sparks her complexion nicely, and even though your eyes find thick rimmed glasses when they trail up to find her face and examine that closely too, her eyes are the most piercing blue shade you’ve ever seen another person bear. She seems to be analyzing you just as intently, her jaw locked, visibly tense as she rubbed her teeth with her tongue in contemplation.

Just the natural act of her authority threatened to unmake you, to reduce you to the hysterics you felt prickling you nerves and your muscles and your bones, but then in an instant she smiled, and there was no edge of authority in that wrinkle of a grin that forced her glasses to comply with the twitch of her nose.

“Alexandra Cabot. With the DA’s office.” She holds out a hand for you to shake, and you don’t hesitate, mostly because you don’t you know if you even could’ve with her blue eyes looking down at you so intently, commanding you to do what she said so naturally. It was never any wonder how people like her ended up in the careers that they did. She was naturally alluring, persuasive, she had you in the palm of her hand with a rehearsed sentence and she knew it proudly.

“Y/N.” You muse softly, because even though her influence is getting you through this introduction, you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder than a whisper, certain if you bring your voice up to an octave even just one above where you are now, the world will burn in an instant.

“Please, have a seat.” Olivia captured your attention, directing you to a rolling chair at the edge of the table, closet to the door. You think that’s intentional, a way to insist you still have your freedoms in this situation, but it doesn’t comfort you and she can tell.

You inch toward the table, taking your seat slowly. You don’t mean to drag this out, you’re sure they have more pressing matters to tend to in regards to this case and the others that are open, but you don’t know how else to get through this without trying to avoid it. That’s just what you do. You avoid, avoid, avoid, until somehow the task gets easier in the face of procrastination, or somehow it falls off your shoulders. It’s not healthy, it’s stressful actually, a habit that nearly had you dropping out of college because of the stress, but it's the only thing you know how to do right anymore.

“I told you everything that happened last night, I don't remember anything else. I’m sorry.” You start off with that, because that feels safe. You don’t remember anything else about last night outside of what you’ve already disclosed, but you’re glad you’ve done that part already, because already you’re beginning to forget the specifics, the order of events. Julie grabbed you, she woke up and talked to you, or tried to at least, but right now you can’t distinguish if that was in the ambulance, or the bathroom, if that was before you’d called the police or whist you’d been rambling to dispatch. You don’t know.

Alexandra was the one your eyes caught, and you found that she was a great distraction to zero in on. Her fingers moved constantly, they pressed for pressure, pinched for pain, wrung together just to pass the time you figured. Either way, you focused on her moving, her fidgeting, not on the way your heart hammers in your throat and nausea rises in your stomach. That won’t do you any good.

“We know, and that has been very helpful. We have a couple of questions about a suspect. But before we get into that, can you tell us about Juliette’s ex-boyfriend?” Olivia gave you a place to start, just like she’d done last night, and your eyebrows pull together. You hadn’t thought about James much in the last few months, probably even close to a year now if you had a clear enough mind to remember the date. It’s springtime, that’s all you know, and the last time you’d spoken to him personally or heard Julie mention him was summer.

“James?” You asked, because maybe she wasn’t right, maybe she meant a co-worker, or a boyfriend from the far past that Julie still kept in touch with. There was a guy from college, Kevin Jones, you remember that he’d taken her to homecoming during her sophomore year, and she’d puked on the car ride home after drinking too much unknown flask alcohol. He laughed about it, and didn't attempt to embarrass or humiliate her once. You think he’s married now, with two little girls and a wife in cosmetics, but you’re not sure. Julie was the one who kept up with him, not you.

“James Mills. They had a daughter together three years ago. Erica.” You blanch, the color in your face that had already ebbed away to your hands becoming a sheen of pale ghostliness that discreted your every account of being fine, okay, able to get through with this line of questioning without walking away a shell of a human. Alexandra noticed the look of horror on your face, the trauma in your eyes that burned brighter than the sun in Australia where the ozone layer had shrank away. The sun is hot, and you’re a buoy again, bobbing up and down in the water, no tether to keep you still, your plastic bleached from the sunshine. It’s haunting, a sickening cycle.

“Erica died last summer.” Your voice is raw, it’s fragile, there’s no hiding how much that event had ripped you apart when it happened last June even if you wanted to, even if it could change how everything happened. “Sepsis shock. James and Julie got a divorce three months later.”

“And they haven’t had any contact?” Amanda reaches forward, aiming to grab your hand, to steady you, but you pull away before she can succeed, remembering yesterday how she and Benson had tried to build you up with false roles just to make this easier. Maybe that tactic worked on some people, you’re sure that it does, but all it had accomplished was making you feel like shit. That feeling still lingers, even now hours later.

Alexandra inclines her head at the subtle motion of your withdrawal, a tick in her jaw that you don’t know how to perceive. You shake your head, deciding that answering the question at hand is the best thing you can do to understand this situation even a little bit. “James walked out. Erica was Julie’s world, she was meant to be a Mom. I never questioned that once. The second she found out she was pregnant, she already had a name picked out, she already knew what kind of car seat she wanted and what bottles aren’t BPA free. When Erica got sick, she brought her into their pediatrician. They said she was fine, it was probably just teething. James never wanted to believe something could be wrong with her. He thought Erica was perfect, their miracle. She wasn’t a baby to him, she was a possession. So, when she didn’t get better after a couple of days, he told Julie it was just teething, that he knew his baby and she wasn’t in any more pain than a toddler wasn’t naturally equipped to handle. Julie brought her back to the pediatrics anyway, and when they told her that Erica was fine, she brought her to the ER. She called me, it was a week before Erica died. James was in a mood, he thought they were wasting money, but Erica was only getting worse. She was sleeping more, she wasn’t eating. She threw a fit whenever Julie changed her diaper. She thought it was a UTI, and she brought that up, and every physician told her it was just viral, that it would clear up in a couple of days and if it went on, they’d prescribe antibiotics. Erica was admitted again the day after, diagnosed with sepsis, they moved her up to PICU, I… I left work early, met Julie in the hospital. James was gone, he showed up the day she died, told Julie that it was her fault, that she killed their baby. When we got back to the apartment, he was gone and so was all of his stuff. My sister has not spoken to him since they finalized the divorce, she would’ve told me. Losing Erica broke her, and losing James on top of all of that was like somebody had twisted the knife in her back. We tell each other everything, and the last thing. I heard her say, was that he could fuck off to hell and she still wouldn’t send a Christmas card.”

“Do you recognize the man in this picture?” Olivia reached for the tablet, and your eyes watched her intently. It was somewhat shocking to realize that the iPad didn’t have a keypad, her finger dutifully swiping the device open until she was showing you a picture of your sister's apartment hallway, the camera angled down at her door catching the top of a man's head. His build was wide, built with muscle that was evidently taken care of. You couldn’t see his face, though you don’t think that was intentional. His hand fixes a baseball cap, one that you don’t need to think about to recognize. Juliette had purchased it on the first father’s day that she and James had spent with Erica. It was simple, a black hat that said Dad on it, but it was hit hat, and the bleach stain on the bill declared that, because he’d gotten the same stain when he’d taken over laundry obligations one night and had foolishly dumped the bleach straight into the washing machine. Weaponized incompetence was one of his favorite workarounds to getting Julie to do everything in their relationship, but you hadn’t noticed until it was too late, until you were charged with picking up the pieces of what his absence shattered.

Your mouth is dry, and you wonder where Carisi went to look for that water, because he hadn’t come back yet. You swallow thickly, hardly able to accomplish the task, but you do so without anything else coming up afterwards, and that has to be good enough. “That’s James. James Mills.” You say the words slowly, because you can’t seem to get them off of your tongue even if they are the truth. You haven't seen that hat in nearly a month, but the sight of it in the presence makes you feel like Erica is still here, like not that much has changed. “W-When was this taken?” You know, something inside of you knows exactly when this was taken, but you can’t bring yourself to accept that on your own.

“Yesterday morning.” ALexandra speaks, and your eyes snap to hers, intent to listen to whatever she has to say because hasn’t lied to you yet, she hasn’t manipulated you yet, and that has to mean something right now. “We seized all surveillance from your sister's apartment and her phone records. James visited your sister's apartment three times leading up to yesterday, and they’ve been in communication for the last month. All conversations about Erica.”

“That doesn’t… that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he be visiting her?” You hadn’t known that, you hadn’t even considered it was a possibility. You’d thought James Mills was far removed from not only your life but Juliette’s as well. You’d made peace with that, overcome the grief that had spiraled from his initial absence and overcome it all. But, clearly you hadn’t. Clearly you didn’t know Juliette as well as you thought you did, because before this moment, you’d never thought her capable of lying to you, or specially withholding the events of her life when you were away in Harlem building something for yourself. Was this a punishment for finally separating your path from Julie’s? Your entire life you’d tried to be like her in every way, but you were an adult now, an adult with a job and her own apartment and a desire to start a life for yourself that included kids and a partner just like Julie’s did for a time. Was this all some cruel joke? An elaborate plan to get you to regret ever budding your own wings and learning how to fly. It feels that way, and it burns you.

Alexandra didn’t answer, not verbally anyways, or right away. She reached to her direct left, to a stack of papers that she didn’t even have to glance at to know what they were, and she handed them over to you with a grimace of sympathy.

Your eyes read the words, studied them even. Your jaw, at some point, unlatched, hanging

open as you dissected the words, the threats, the direct blame and manipulation to convince. Your bones shivered, deep within you, through your entire body until you were shaking like a leaf, your eyes brimming with tears. You’d made it longer than you’d thought you would without their appearance on your face, but it didn’t feel good to cry even if you’d made it twenty minutes standing strong.

The messages were vulgar. In about every explicit word that James Mills could find in a dictionary, he’d painted your sister as the villain in his life story. In every account of their years as parents, he’d told her she sucked the air out of the room. He'd called her a bitch, a whore, a useless, insufficient, joke of a mother. That was what really enraged you, because even if they’d always had their problems, Julie had never let Erica see them. That little girl, not even two and a half, and thought her Daddy was a hero, had clung to his neck, and climbed up his back, and in every tantrum, she called for him confidently even if he never came because Juliette had talked him up so good, Erica was blind to the carelessness of his conditional love.

“You think he did this.” You don’t look at Amanda or Olivia, you don’t want to, don’t feel any pull to gauge their independent reactions to your awakening. The only person you look at — to — is ADA Cabot, and her face is the pinnacle of certainty that they have the man they're looking for, that the man you’d called a brother-in-law, is now the man that derailed your sister‘s life and yours more than it already had been. First your parents, then your niece, now this… what do you do with this, how do you grow from here?

”Yeah.” Alexandra was soft, but she was firm. She would not give you the hope that this could all be explained away into a misunderstanding, even if she could say definitively that James had never put his hands on Juliette, that his anger is not what hospitalized your sisters, you will never look at your family pictures the same. You will never look at the video of your sisters wedding, the last piece of your mother that you have, with the same soft understanding that you did before. Everything that he’s touched is tainted. The memory of Erica that you keep alive is tainted. She’s half of him. Even if she was nothing like him, your eyes have been opened to the harsh reality that he’s touched everything you have in some way. Nothing will ever be entirely free of him again, and you're sure he hasn’t thought about you since the last time he’d seen you in the hospital.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain. I have your water, and I spoke with Doctor Mulligan. Juliette will be fine until you get there.” Carisi assured, coming into the office carrying a plastic cup of water. You can’t smile to thank him, but you try anyways, and he pretends like your quivering lips are enough of a thanks as he sets the cup in front of your body.

“She’s awake?” There’s hope in your face, and you don’t notice how Alexandra winces, shrinks into herself, anticipates your reaction to realizing that Carisi had specifically avoided saying that she was awake or even in a good condition. You didn’t know that his words were pointedly organized to take weight off your shoulders. Juliette was going to be fine until you got there was not the same as saying she was awake and responsive, but what did you know about selective police jargon that aimed to defuse any situation.

“You know what, we’ve got everything we need right now.” Aelxandra’s voice is the only thing you pay attention to, but you don’t quite realize that she’s releasing you, or attempting to release you. In other circumstances, she would’ve repeated herself, maybe even demanded that Rolllins see you to the hospital because she still thought the blonde was dispensable at points even if Amanda had proven herself time and time again, but instead she hummed, collecting all of the papers that were hers, that she needed to get back to the DA’s office, and stood up. “Why don’t I give you a ride back to the hospital?”

“I-I can go?” You stutter, and your cheeks flame in embarrassment, but Alexandra doesn’t wilt at your lapse in reserve. You’re the best witness they’ve had in a while. Your story has been consistent, your details insignificant but going to the character of all parties, so inherently helpful in the end even if details about their divorce wouldn’t help with a straight conviction. Alexandra appreciated the efforts you were going through to make her life easier, even if you seemed to think that there was still so much left undone on your part.

Her lips twitched, a budding smile on her face as her blue eyes pierced through you. It wasn’t a harsh feeling, one that left you feeling vulnerable and exposed to her, rather you found it kind of comforting, like a spark of something hopeful in the blackness of your life that’s been painted in greyscale for a while. “You can go.” She assures lightly, and Amanda confirms the truth in that, nodding her head and taking the tablet back.

You take a sip of water because you don’t want Carisi’s efforts to be in vain if you leave here without even picking up the cup. It’s refreshing, even if it settles in your stomach in a way that allows you to feel every slosh of it just sitting there. You take another sip, not realizing how thirsty you were, and Alexandra smiles, not rushing you, not even bothered by the fact that you haven't stood up. You don’t go in for a third sip, certain that you’d be pushing you luck at that point, so instead, you stand up and let Amanda take the cup with her outstretched hand.

Your palms are clammy, and you rub them down your purple shorts, suddenly aware of how underdressed you are in front of these women. “Sorry,” You blush, thinking that Alexandra is looking at your outfit. You’re not blind to the way her eyes sweep across your frame behind her black frames, nor are you unaware of her she lingers at the sight of your hands, but you construed that she’s assessing the disarray of your appearance, the knots in your hair, the shades of purple that don’t clash, but belong more on a six-year-olds body than a grown adult who knows how to match an outfit and dress according to the event their attending. “All I had was my workout bag, this was the best I could do.”

“And we cannot begin to tell you how much we appreciate your cooperation.” Olivia stepped forward, guiding you and Alexandra toward the door, the ADA quiet at your side, evidently not willing to acknowledge your apology now that Olivia has jumped for the gun. “If anything else comes up, we’ll call.”

“I don’t… have my phone. But, um, I don’t plan on leaving the hospital, so you can call there?” You asked hopefully, hoping to god you didn’t sound like the biggest idiot ever. You know people cope in all different ways, that there’s no right way to go through trauma, but you still feel ridiculous.

“We’ll find a way to reach you.” Olivia nodded, not deterred by your disheveled state and chaotic life. You were doing what you could, and that was enough for her.

”Okay.” You whispered, willing to leave the conversation at that. Amanda smiled one last time, but you didn’t return it, rather, following Alexandra out of the office and precinct.

She was quiet for a while, and you didn’t do anything to intervene with the silence, but then she looked at you and her features melted. “You’re sure you don’t have anyone I can call for you?”

“I’m sure.” You huffed, not because you didn’t want to kill time and talk to her, but because the reminder of your isolation was haunting. Julie had always warned you that you needed to make friends, establish connections, plant roots, but you’d always told her that was futile, that so long as your lives entertained, her company was plenty for you. She’d always said the same, but the difference was Julie had her own life. She had friends that she got coffee with, she met colleagues for lunch and attended weekend barbecues even if it didn’t sound that all appealing. Your roots were in her, and hers were in everything she’d built for herself. “Julie’s been my best friend since we were kids. Our Dad died when I was in middle school, Julie was a freshman in college at NYU. I spent a week at her dorm and not a single one of my friends realized, even though they all knew my Dad died because it was in the papers, and there was an announcement in homeroom. I wrote them all off after that. Julie was the only person that mattered. And then we grew up, and she was even more my best friend, and when our Mom died after her wedding, I’d just often out of a relationship, and that felt like a sign I should quit while I was ahead, so for the last five years, my life has been work, Julie, Erica, and sleep. No deviation, no individual path. The only person I still have is my sister, and she’s not going to answer the phone if you call.”

Alexandra was silent for a beat, but then she nodded, her gaze cutting through you. The wind swept through her hair, the blonde cut straight and even, all the same length. The differentiation came at her roots, some were splashed with darker tones of copper and a grey-toned brown, but most were blindingly blonde, nearly platinum when the sun hit. “You have me.” She hummed, her jawline sharp, her features cunning. She’s a sight, a true beauty, and somehow the sharpness of her profession adds to the experience of walking beside her at your lowest.

“Why?” You question, hyper aware of how she was obligated to do none of this. Walking you to the hospital when she’d realized just how far off track you were in your frantic state had been one thing. You’d been able to rationalize it as her wanting to assure your wellbeing, given it is her job and all, but this was beyond just professional courtesy. Offering to be your shoulder of support in all of this, your person to call if you need an out… you don’t come back from that, that permanently impacts the basis of your relationship because your emotional enough to take that as an advance for friendship.

Alexandra is the kind of person who always has an answer, you can tell just by looking at her. She doesn’t have an answer to your question, not a valid one, and she doesn’t seem thrilled to have been rendered speechless by you. Her eyebrows furrow, and her glasses jump on the bridge of her nose when her lips press into a scowl of defeat. It distracts you, for a single moment, but it's enough for you to consider that life would go on after this. “Am I wrong to assume you could use a little support?” She turned the tables, pointed the question at you. It only further amused you, and that seemed to rattle her.

“If I let you in, does that jeopardize Juliette’s case? I don’t need a shoulder to cry on more than I need justice for my sister, ADA Cabot.” The tremble in your voice is back, and it’s chilling, it strips the lighthearted mood that Alexandra has established, but you don’t care enough to apologize for your hostility or draining exterior. There’s too little left inside of you to appease everyone you see anymore. Julie would be shocked to know how far you’d fallen in so little hours.

“Alex.” She interjects, undeterred by your reluctance to let her in. She doesn’t blame you, she can’t blame you. Though she’d never walked this path, didn’t have a sister to watch go through hell, or a dead niece to get dragged through an open investigation, she’d been down the road of hell herself, and its misery loved company. She’ll never forget the look on Elliot’s face when she’d stepped out of the car, bundled up in a scarf and a pink blouse, dead to everyone in New York City at the time, including him. She can’t understand fully, but she can a little bit. “Everyone calls me Alex, even if they don’t want to accept my number.”

“I’m sure all your emails are answered at a moment's notice.” You don’t know what comes over you, what spark of personality flames in your belly, but the quip falls off of your lips in a moment of weakness, and all that keeps you from backtracking is Alex’s warm laugh.

“They make my ice cream order first too.” She quips back, and you note that this is easy, that it feels familiar and comfortable enough to ease the nausea a little bit. She distracts from the searing pain just enough to get the blood rushing through your body correctly again.

“Of course they do.” You grumble, because if there’s anything you're passionate about, it’s ice cream. You’d anticipated the day that Erica was old enough to steal and take for a quick bite since the moment Julie had called you and showed you the positive test in the bathroom of your childhood home. You’d gotten to indulge in three seperate Aunt/Niece dates to the ice cream parlor with her before the end had come, and now, you always get Bubblegum if they had it, even if you don’t like how sweet it was, or how your tongue was blue for hours if it happened to be the kind of a stark swirl. It was Erica’s favorite, though she’d only ever tried two flavors, but bubblegum was the proclaimed winner if the choices were between chocolate and that. So, you got it anyways, with rainbow sprinkles and gummy bears, and you forced yourself to think that she was giggling right next to you, her little pigtails slipped out and disheveled from hours of cuddles and affectionate roughhousing.

Alex laughs, and you’re close to letting yourself laugh too, but then the hospital comes into view and everything you’ve established disintegrates. “I have to see her.” You whisper, because it feels like you need an excuse to leave Alex behind and you don’t know why.

“I’m the sixth extension at the DA’s office if you need anything. And I mean anything.” She tells you because you’re too stubborn to take her number like she’s suggested, and she has an inkling handing you her card will be a dying fate as well.

Her insistence to assure that you know how to reach her makes you falter, and your head inclines slightly, “Thank you.” The words are genuine, representing more than just her walking you to the hospital, and Alex knows that, she nods, offers a smile, she squeezes your wrist before she walks away, turning back in the direction of the precinct, crawling back to the DA’s office where she needs to make miracles happen for you, although it doesn’t seem to be shaping up to impossible.

What you’d never been informed of, was the fact that they’d already detained James Mills. He’d been sitting behind the closed blinds throughout your entire conversation in Olivia’s office, and as of now, he still hasn’t requested a lawyer. Fin and Carisi have been handling him, dragging questions out of him left and right still without an admission or any physical evidence tying him to the crime. Alex should be worried, a defense can make a lot out of this if they were smart enough, but she was smarter, the text conversations were telling, leading to intent, to guilt, the fact that he talked himself in circles with Fin and Carisi even if he’d somehow evaded blame was helpful. She could see this win through for you, and she knew it, she just had to prepare herself for one hell of a fight if it came down to swaying a journey without evidence. She had no DNA, no fibers, no hairs, no fluids, but the defense had no exculpatory evidence, and Alex Cabot had learned that not all hero’s wore capes, but good things still happened every day without them.

Even when you’d gotten upstairs to Juliette’s room where Doctor Mulligan was conveniently already waiting, running tests and checking injuries, you thought about Alex. She stayed in the back of your head all day. Her haircut, how the blonde all came to a neat end just below her shoulders. Her glasses, how they added so much depth to her features, and forced you to look at the blue in her eyes. Her jawline, how sharp it cut when tension clenched it tight. She was a sight, a true sight, you’d admitted it to Julie’s unconscious body in weakness, though you know that if she could hear you, she’d be enjoying every moment of your floundering to entertain her whilst also tell a story, something you were not, and had never been, good at.

Mulligan came back around one o’clock, and she hadn’t been bearing good news. The blunt force trauma to your sisters head was worse than they’d thought, the swelling was extensive, the bleeding nonstop. She would more than likely never wake up, Mulligan had told you that clearly, in that many words, but it was undetermined if she could hear you right now. You’d sobbed at the information. Your head on Julie’s thigh over the railing of the bed, craned at an angle that was uncomfortable, but all that kept you going. She wasn’t warm, and Julie was always warm, but you tried to convince yourself that her thighs were warm as you sobbed into them.

You’d begged with her until you’d lost your voice to pull through. Your hands had grappled with the blanket thrown over her thighs, at her hands, you’d pulled at her fingers, twisted her knuckles until you’d thought you broke them. Your dad was a prankster. He loved a hard less joke, and when you were in third grade and Juliette was in tenth grade, he’d discovered what his co-workers called an indian rug burn, only, he didn’t know what it entailed, or how to actually do it. You’re still not sure if that’s even the correct name, it feels offensive, like something another culture has entirely overlooked, but it hits your memory anyway and you cant forget it. He’d loved to grab your arm, twist until you whined through giggles, your skin pink when he pulled away. That had led him to twisting your fingers in the middle of a handshake, and one night, Julie had asked him to help her with a business project. All he needed to do was sit down and shake her hand, answer questions that needed no thought, and just stick it though until she said cut. You remember screaming, loud, unabashed, hormonal screaming. He’d twisted her fingers, had thrown her off script, and she'd been near animalistic as she yelled at him. When he died, Julie had marched up to the casket with her hand in hers, and she’d sobbed openly about how she wished he could twist her fingers in a handshake one last time.

If anyone were to come in, they’d think you were insane. Your body was arched over Julie’s, her fingers purple in your grasp. You pulled away, suddenly scorned. You were hurting her, or maybe, they were just purple because her entire body was swollen and discolored, but the thought of you bringing any more pain over her was enough to have you sitting by yourself in the corner, shaking like a leaf, sobbing into your hands, falling apart at the seams.

Mulligan came in at seven o’clock for rounds. Julie’s condition hadn’t changed, but it hadn’t improved either, and that was not a good sign. Mulligan hadn’t told you that in so many words, but her face was enough to know that Julie wasn’t going to get better, time was running out before hope was lost and it became a matter of how and when she died.

At nine o’clock, when visiting hours ended, though Mulligan had dragged you to the front desk and had demanded they let you in at any hour of the night of their job would be in the line by the time she stumbled in for wrong at six am, you found yourself walking back to Juliette’s apartment. Mulligan, though having every sign to lose hope in your sister, had insisted that some patients in a coma will respond to familiar stimuli over time, and then she’d left you alone. It hadn’t come to you at first, the idea of grabbing her perfume, the one your mothers always wore, the one she’d been gifted on her sixteenth birthday after ten years of begging and being told no, that she wasn’t mature enough or responsible enough to possess a two hundred dollar bottle of perfume. She’d worn it seldomly back then. At weddings and family parties, on your parents anniversary and fourth of July because it was pungent enough to counteract the smell of beer on her breath when she staggered inside, but now she wears it every day. She wore it the day Erica was born, and while controversial, the day she’d brought her home she’d sprayed it on the best of the onesie because that was the only way you’d both been able to confidently say your mother was with you and watching. It was the only thing you could think of that could help, so you decided that a shower couldn’t hurt, even if that meant closing your eyes and praying to god nothing happened to you next.

You were on edge the entire time you stood beneath the stream, but the only reason you persisted was because CSU had finished their search, and Amanda had relayed a message to you through two of the charge nurses that everything was cleared for entry and safe, that had been the keyword in her message relayed verbatim by the nurse. You knew it was verbatim because he’d been shaking like a leaf, evidently being warned to assure you knew everything in its correct and formal order. They thought James was good for this, was good for sealing your sister's fate after she was finally starting to show the slightest signs of moving forward, and you could assume that meant they had him detained.

You were in the shower for longer than you realized. Two hours flew by like minutes as you stood beneath the pressure of the shower head, crying, sobbing, staring blindly at the wall until everything repeated again. You had the fleeting thought to call Alex when a pang shot through your heart and you were certain death was coming for you, but it was already ten o’clock, and you doubted she was still holed up in her office wasting personal hours on your life. So instead, you sank to the floor of the shower, let the water run over your body and wash shampoo into your eyes. You don’t remember rinsing that out, or conditioning your hair, or washing or body, or dragging Juliette’s razor over your body because she changes it every week after her pre-pilates shower and there's no reason in saving it when she’ll never use it again.

It’s eleven o’clock before you step out and start brushing your hair, but you don’t know that. You haven’t looked at a clock since Mulligan told you it was nine, and you don’t even know where there’s one in this apartment outside of the alarm clock in Julie’s bedroom. You stumble there naked, water dripping down your body. It doesn’t even register in your head, not really. There’s no consideration for water damage as you pad through the hallway, there’s no inkling of modesty. You hadn’t remembered to bring a towel in with you, and you hadn’t remembered that you forgot it when you’d stepped out from beneath the hot stream and brushed your hair back into a ponytail. You’re numb, so painfully numb, and you don’t know what to do about it.

You don’t pay attention to what you put on, just throw the first thing on your body that you find in Julie’s dresser. It’s sweatpants and a t-shirt that says ‘Mama’, tears prick your eyes all over again. You don’t know how you have anything left in you to cry out.

The perfume bottle you need isn’t in Julie’s bedroom. It hasn’t been in Julie’s bedroom since she’d cleared out what used to be her office and made it a nursery. The walls are a light pink color, and the wash across you with familiarity as you open the door. You haven’t been in here in months. Julie stopped coming in, not able to face the fact that nothing in the room ever changes anymore. She’d gone on a cleaning spree when Erica was sick. Every toy had been sterilized, every blanket soaked in disinfectant and washed three times. The room was in perfect order, and you know that haunts her. It shouldn’t be. There should be toys scattered all over the floor, torn out book pages should be shoved into the crib — the crib should be gone, it should be a big girl bed by now, a pink one, probably one that looks like a princess, but there’s no big girl bed because there’s no toddler to sleep in it, and pretty soon, there won’t even be a crib, because pretty soon, there will be no Julie to keep the lights on or the lease going.

The perfume bottle you're looking for is on the dresser, right next to a family picture from your childhood. It’s the best one you have, both you and Julie think so. You’re only six, two missing front teeth and pigtails encapsulate that fact, but Julie is thirteen, and she’s smiling for once. It feels like every picture from that time paints Julie as the monarch of sadness, but the truth is that you can’t remember her without a smile on her face, but she claims that was her edgy period, and youre inclined to agree if the Pierce the Veil shirt in the picture is any indication of her headspace of the time. Your parents stand with their arms around each other. Your father is slim from the cancer treatment, his facial hair is patchy, but he was too stubborn to shave it off entirely, so he accepted the mess for whatever it turned out to be each morning. Your mother was plump, a factor of stress as she took him to treatment, you and Julie to school, herself to work. You hadn’t known how much was on her shoulders back then.

Julie only ever had one bottle at a time. Your parents saving had gone to you. She’d arranged that herself because taking their money felt too much like accepting their death after her wedding. You hadn’t touched it, certain that she’d eventually come to her senses and want some of it, at least for Erica, for her future and her education and her babies, but that had left it untouched, and both of you like any other young adult in New York. She made the room for her perfume purchase, Julie lived a comfortable life even without her inheritance, but she prioritized Erica knowing who your mother was instead of remembering her for herself. There was one small roller bottle in the bathroom that she used daily now, but this was what you wanted. This was the bottle she sprayed every morning after getting Erica up for the day, this was the bottle that would stand a chance in changing her status if anything could help.

You can’t get out of the nursery fast enough. It feels wrong to stand in here when Julie never could, when you know the toys should be messy and all over the place, but they’re perfectly lined up waiting for their owner to let her imagination loose on them. If Julie could replicate the chaos of what Erica created when she played, she would’ve by now, but nothing she did as a grown woman could replicate her two-year-olds impulsivity.

There’s a knock at the front doors and your world stops spinning. You think for a second that it’s Julie’s neighbor, the little old man that she lends sugar to and shares deviled eggs with at Easter, but when you open the front door on autopilot, protectively gripping onto the bottle of perfume that you’re about to bring to the hospital, its Alex Cabot, and she does not look like the same woman you said goodbye to that morning in front of Mercy General.

“Alex.” You breathe, taking a step back, one that she takes as an invitation into the apartment. You don’t protest, you don’t feel the need to, but your stomach churns constructing possibilities for why she’s here at this hour. “What are you doing here? Did you have more questions? Detective Rollins kind of alluded to the fact that you have James in… custody, I think that’s the term.”

Alex tries to smile at your stammering, she wants to find your willingness to help paired with your lack of any criminal knowledge cute, but instead, it twists her heart and makes this harder. Her name rolls off her tongue, but it's more of a croak, and you hadn’t been scared before, but you are now.

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” You say, but it's futile, the fear is evident in your face, in the way your eyes go wide and they look directly through Alex as you try to demand answers, information, insight. Your lip is bitten the second there are no words left to say, held hostage by your teeth that are unforgiving in their assault. Your fingers tremble, and you're aware of how little you’ve consumed today now that your nerves are alight. Carisi gave you water at ten that morning. You’d taken two sips. You haven’t had anything else. Not since you ate breakfast before catching the bus. You think you're going to be sick, but there’s nothing for you to expel. It’s a feeling worse than endless puking. It’s one that sits in your belly, rises up your throat, it steals your breath regardless of whether you’re heaving or not, and it doesn’t go away.

She clears her throat, and in an instant she’s not here as a friend, she’s here as an assistant attorney and you know that something changed with the case, you’re just too frantic to figure out what. “We’re changing the charges against James Mills.” She tells you, and your eyebrows furrow, anger pools in your belly. Are they giving up ?

“What?” You question, taking another staggering step back. You don’t know why, but the farther you get from Alex, the easier it is to breathe. Her eyes are suffocating, they’re peering right through you, but you don’t hate it. You don’t understand the feelings clouding your mind right now. They try to outweigh the panic, the frantic anger, but they don’t come close, and all it leads to is every emotion settling numbly in your gut.

“We’re changing the charges from second degree assault to first degree murder. Juliette… Julie died half an hour ago.” The world stopped turning, the breath was stolen from your lungs. Alex was still talking though, her lips were still moving. “The texts we seized go to show intent to cause bodily harm, but a voicemail was traced to a burner phone purchased an hour before the attack by Mills. He’s good for this, and I am not going to rest until he’s behind bars for the rest of his life.”

You don’t hear her. You can see her lips moving, she’s still talking, but you can’t hear a damn thing she says over the beating in your chest and pounding in your ears and the buzzing in your fingers and… Julie’s dead. The words repeat on a loop. Dead. Julie’s dead. She died. Your sisters is dead. Your big sister, your best friend, your only remaining family. Dead. She’s dead. Killed. Murdered. James killed her. You’re sister is dead.

The perfume bottle drops. It falls to the floor, shatters into a million pieces. The stench is strong, uncomfortable, overwhelming. Your feet are wet, doused in alcohol. Your sister is dead. Your niece is dead. Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Your ex brother-in-law killed your sister because he’s deluded enough to think she killed their daughter. Two hundred dollars of perfume on the floor. On your feet. The perfume bottle fell. It slipped from your hands. The floor is wet. It broke.

“No, no, no, no,” You're moving before you can really process that you’re moving, dropping down onto your knees before you can consider that the floor is covered in shards of glass. Your fingers are nimble, trembling as they reach to try and fix this mess somehow. You don’t know how you’re going to fix this. You’ve never dropped Julie’s perfume before, not even when you’d been in middle school and you’d texted her asking if you could sneak into her room and borrow it for the Spring Fling dance. “What did I do? What did I do? No, no, no!”

You don’t recognize Alex getting closer until she’s crouching down in front of you, forcing your hands to remain cupped between hers protective. Blood warms her skin, your fingers bleeding from where sharp points had nicked your fingers. Juliette’s dead. Your wails are piercing, but Alex doesn’t shrink away from them. She guides you to your feet, and in the middle of your sisters apartment, she lets you sob into her chest until there’s nothing coming out of you other than hiccups and gasps. She doesn’t talk. There’s not a single thing she can say right now that would fix for you, and you appreciate the thoughtfulness in her chosen reserve.

Her shoulders are surprisingly soft, cushioned by weight that dispersed evenly across her frame. She holds your back like she’s done this a time or two, but you’d be surprised if she did. You’d be surprised if the Manhattan ADA with about a million fish to fry by the end of corporate hours spent her midnights comforting strangers whose sister had been murdered by their ex-lover. If she had done this before, you’d buy her a drink, but you know she hasn’t somehow. You know this is her first. That means something to you, even if you can’t feel it in your heart right now.

“Can I help you clean up?” She asks, because you’d been hesitant to accept her advances before, and she can't imagine how this has changed things for you. She is not going to jeopardize this case or your mental ability to have company right now, but she’s not going to run away either. It feels wrong to run away. “Can I stay for a while?”

You nod, because you can’t let go of her even if you wanted to. Your fingers are wound into the fabric of her t-shirt and only now do you realize that at some point, she’d gotten undressed and remade into a whole new person. She was lacking leather and expensive materials, buttons and tight fabric. Instead, she wore pants that you think are soft, but can’t tell with only the hallway light on to show you. Her t-shirt is grey, and it casts the same hue onto her eyes. You don’t know what you expected her to dress like when she wasn’t presenting as a knowledgeable, trustable, powerful lawyer, but this hasn't been quite it.

You move past the initial confusion, the surprise, the shock of the news. It doesn't come easily, you want to burst into tears at many moments that pass as Alex helps you wash your hands and then sweep up the broken glass. She sits on the couch with you for an hour, you know that because you’ve found the only other clock in the apartment, and the hand ticks steadily even though you wish it would stop. An hour has passed, and you’ve not died. The world hasn’t ended. But Julie is still dead. You’d never thought this was possible.

“I don’t know what I do from here.” You whispered eventually, because it felt wrong to have Alex sitting beside you and not fill the silence. You’d learned that it was easy with her, and you hoped it remained that way now, because you couldn’t listen to the clock tick anymore, but nothing else felt right. If you went to bed, that meant tomorrow was the first official morning without Julie. If you went into her fridge and grabbed your favorite protein yogurt, satisfied the hunger you know is there somewhere beneath all the other emotions, you’d be finishing some of the last groceries she’d ever bought. It felt silly to consider all these milestones, to force yourself to remember that just as you’d once learned to do everything with her, you were now not only going to have to learn how to do everything alone, but unlearn how to learn the things you somehow could only do together and master them yourself.

You’d lied in New York City your entire life, but you still can’t navigate the subway for shit. Julie can’t either, not when she’s not with you. It’s like your brain's short circuit once you step onto that platform, and the only way you can get anywhere is if you're laughing together and stressing out, though it had never really been that stressful. Even when you got off at the wrong spot, Julie found something to do or see.

Alex mulled over her answer, trying to decide which standpoint to come at this from. “You sit in this sadness for a while.” She sighs eventually, and your eyes snap to her in surprise. You did not anticipate that being her response to your defeat. “It’s unrealistic to bounce back from this. You are allowed to take your time in healing. You’re allowed to not know what comes next.”

“Is that in the best interest of the case?” You ask, and Alex sighs, a humorless smile on her lips as she shakes her head.

“No, not in the slightest. I need you ready and prepped for anything. I basically need you in my back pocket until we get a verdict. It’s not a fair system for the victims and their families, it’s a fair system for the perpetrators. We’ve come a long way in the name of civil justice, but some things just aren’t that easy to rewrite, no matter how quickly my emails get answered when they’re signed Alex Cabot.” She tries to lighten the scene, and you appreciate the efforts even if you don’t have the energy to smile. “ I know it’s not fair that I ask you to put your grief aside, but the sooner we get an admission or another piece of solid evidence that ties what we have to the crime scene, the sooner you can put Juliette’s name to rest in this light.”

“I was never very good at acknowledging grief.” You hum tastelessly, your mouth dry. “Our Dad died and I decided to take the emptiness and turn it into idolization for Julie. Our Mom died and I doubled my hours at work. Erica died and I…I threw myself into about every little thing I could find that took the edge off. So, if you need me in your back pocket, Alex, I’m there for the long haul because I cannot face this right now. Not when I’m going to have to tell her neighbor he outlived her too. Not when I’m going to have to call her school, and her landlord, and go through not only her bedroom, but my nieces…There are not enough hours in the day for me to take care of what needs to be done and feel the weight of her death without never getting out of bed again. So if you need an ace up your sleeve, I’m ready.”

The words perfect witness came to Alex’s mind, but she couldn't say them. Instead, she just smiled and fixed her glasses. She tells you the time frame she’s working beneath, but there’s a plan on the horizon that apparently Rollins hatched after deliberating with Carisi on their fifteen. It involved a wire, and a meeting with James. You wouldn’t be alone, but Alex wouldn’t be with you. She said she’d be there though, in the same breath as she’d told you that Amanda and Olivia and Carisi would be there too, like she felt something she shouldn’t at the prospect of only naming herself. You wouldn’t dwelled on it, but the realization that you too were hyper fixating on the specificities of her speech was haunting, humiliating.

She left shortly after that, stumbling out of the apartment at two in the morning with a flush on her cheeks that you think is just natural, just something about her that she tries to hide when the fate of New York civil justice is on her shoulders. You have plans to meet up tomorrow at the cafe down the block from the hotel. You’re going to tell James that Julie died. You’re going to act like you have no idea his hands are the ones that sealed her fate.

You have no idea how you managed to fall asleep, but you did, and you’re thankful for the hours that passed you by like seconds when you wake up. The first thing on your mind is that the hunger you’ve been ignorant of is back, sitting at the forefront of your mind. You're rested, as much as you can be, but it doesn’t feel like anything substantial when this is now day three of eating nothing. Your head spins with black spots when you sit up, and then it all hits you. Julie is dead. You slept in your dead sister's bed.

You’re surprised to find that no matter how long you spend staring at the walls, repeating the same words in your head over and over and over again — dead, dead, dead, dead, dead — the tears never come, You dont cry, don’t moan in unimaginable pain. You’ve thought you’d known what numbness felt like before, but you’re meeting it fully right now.

You move through the apartment on autopilot. You eat a bowl of yogurt standing by the sink, unblinking, unbreathing, only shoveling it into your mouth from the carton with a spoon you’re not even sure is clean. It was on the counter by the sink, and your hand grabbed it without thinking. You don’t think when you rinse it off, not even really cleaning it, not even bothering to rub your finger over the metal and pretend like you cared if your germs were gone or not. You were going to throw it out anyways. You had your own silverware and Julie wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

You take another shower, even though it's pointless, even though it won’t wash away the reality you live in now. You get dressed in another outfit of Julie’s, but you make sure there is no mention of Erica anywhere on the clothing. James doesn’t deserve the comfort that she lives on in everything you do. He doesn’t deserve to see you, to know that he killed your sister, and still get to think about his daughters sweet face. He lost that right.

You stumble your way to the cafe, only certain that you’ve found the right place when you find the van that Alex told you to look out for. She pulls you into it, her hand on your wrist when you pace up the street. It calms you instantly, and you don’t realize. She doesn’t either. Olivia does.

You have an hour before James shows up. Detective Odafin Tutuola, who you had not had the displeasure of meeting, had apparently released him at three in the morning to hatch this plan and you’d done your due diligence at sometime between getting yogurt and getting in the shower to lure him here with a twenty second phone call using Julie’s phone. He hadn’t thought anything of that, you’d explained it away by saying you had her possessions and his number had gotten lost in your contacts, which was not a complete lie. James wasn’t smart enough that you’d read the messages he sent to Julie, and made no reference of them when he agreed to meet at eleven am, also mentioning nothing of his arrest or suspected involvement in Julie’s death. If you hadn’t thought he was guilty before, you know he is now.

Alex didn’t give you a pep talk before she sent you out, but she had squeezed your hand, and you assumed it was meant to reference her unspoken good luck, not that you needed it. Your shower had been helpful, even if you still felt like shit, and you’d been preparing to channel all of that pent up energy into ripping James apart if he gave you the chance to get a good bite.

You were at a table by the window when James stumbled in, looking too smug for his own good with his hands shoved into his pockets. He greets you with a familiarity that makes your skin crawl, but you hug him anyway, because it wouldn’t be like you if you didn’t return the embrace, and then you sat down. He ordered a coffee, you ordered a water. You hate the he can drink that, that when the waitress sets it down in front of him, he rips open a half and half packet and pours it in like he didn’t just ruin your life.

“So, what’d you wanna talk about, berry?” You shiver, the nickname rolling off of his tongue too comfortably. You’d always hated when he called you that, when he used his relationship with Julie to somehow assert claim over your life and your choices. He thought he could manipulate you because he pulled out the childhood nickname you’d earned during a strawberry shortcake phase, but it never worked, and it certainly didn’t know.

“Julie…” You didn’t expect for this to be so hard, for the words to get caught in your throat, but it sells the point, it gets James right where you want him even if you can’t say that the emotion you release is intentional. The wire is hot against your skin, the pulse of electricity evident in its temperature, and you’re uncomfortable, but you can’t stop before you’ve even begun. “Somebody attacked Julie two days ago. I’ve been with her at the hospital, I went home last night to get her some things, and… and she died, Jimmy. W-Whoever did it, they hit her over the head with something. Her brain swelled, it… she…she died.” The last two words are a whisper on your lips, and they stick with you even when you reach for the water and take a sip. Julie’s dead. She’s gone forever.

“Somebody hit her?” James frowns, taking another sip of her coffee. “On the head?”

You can’t help but scoff, “That’s all you got from what I just said?” You should’ve been dumbfounded, shocked at his stupidity and lack of empathy, but this was just classic James, this was the guy that had been hiding beneath sheep’s clothing for years, luring Julie in farther and farther.

“I’m just saying, that’s what the doctors say happened? Somebody hit ‘er and she died?” You're shaking, but not because you're overwhelmed, devastated, beyond yourself with grief. You're shaking with rage, and even though you’ve only had two conversations with Alex, even though you’d only met her yesterday, there’s something in your head that warns you she’s telling you to calm down from somewhere inside the van parked across the street.

“Yeah, Jimmy. They think somebody hit her and she died. Is that not enough for you? The mother of your child is dead. She’s never coming back.” The worlds fall off your lips like venom, and they aim to poison you just as much as they do you. You feel suffocated, trapped. You're sure that your face is flaming with anger, but James is blind enough to only see your sadness, and he’s self-absorbed enough to not care.

“Well, she coulda fallen.” He gets defensive quick, and you can’t help but think he’s telling you exactly what happened to Julie in not as many words. “Bitch was clumsy.”

“Don’t call my sister, the woman who gave you a daughter, the woman who stood like an idiot at the end of a rose petal covered altar and said she’d spend the rest of her life devoted to you in sickness and in health, a bitch. Am I clear about that?” You seethed, hands slamming down on the table. It wasn’t often your fuse blew like this, but James had gotten beneath your skin successfully and he hadn’t even been aiming to try. “I said am I clear!” Your voice raises when he doesn’t answer you, and when he rolls his eyes, annoyed with your anger, it only further infuriates you.

“I forgot how testy you are.” He huffs, shaking his head.

“And how do you propose she fell, Jimmy? She’s had two feet her entire life. Nobody just wakes up one day and falls so hard in the shower they die of brain damage the next night. And besides, she was raped. So, clearly somebody was in there with her. Why does it matter to you if she fell or if she was hit?” You scoff, and you know that you’re playing it close, that this is all getting to a point where you either get the confession, a full and clear one, or you seal your sister's fate to an endless future of not having any kind of justice.

“Cause, can do a lot’a harm with lyin’ on a good man's name.” You hate the way he speaks like he’s never been to college a day in his life, meanwhile that’s where he and Julie met. You hate that he had a good paying job, and an apartment that he can pay for with said salary, and your sister is dead. You hate that he plays everyone so well, and it's taken this long for it to catch up with him. “She fell, and she probably deserved it.”

“You haven’t even spoken to her since Erica died. How did you end up hating her so much.” You can’t understand it, because even though they had their problems, and there had been many red flag you’d failed to notice, they had still been happy on the good days, and until there weren’t any good days left, you’d always thought a relationship had a chance at surviving.

“She killed my baby.” His eyes are cold, not an ounce of love or affection in them. Julie’s eyes brim with fondness whenever she brings Erica up… or, Julie’s eyes brimmed with sadness whenever she brung Erica up in conversation. She’d never once looked like there were endless weeks separating the last time she’d seen her daughter alive. James didn’t look the same.

“She fought harder than you ever did for Erica. Julie brought her to the doctors. Julie pushed for antibiotics. Julie brought her to the ER. Julie stayed with her in PICU when you were doing god knows what as your daughter, my niece, was dying. She did not kill Erica. The damn doctors that you listened to because it didn’t really matter to you at all if she got better killed Erica, and when you realized what that meant, you ran. It terrifies you that you don’t know how to love another person, doesn’t it? You convinced yourself that you hate Julie, that this is all Julie’s fault, but it’s not. It’s your fault. You killed Erica. You told Julie she was fine. You told her to stop going to any doctor that would take her. You told her that ‘the kid’ would get over it in a couple of weeks. You killed Erica, and when you couldn’t blame Erica anymore, you blamed yourself, and when that got old, when you didn’t know how to live with that on your conscience anymore, you went after the one person who would’ve forgiven you if you’d just apologized for being wrong. You killed my sister. And you killed my niece. And I fucking hate everything about you.”

James grabs your wrist, and your eyes widen, that fear you’d faced when you’d first stepped into the apartment last night coming back. He did this to Julie, what could he do to you. “And I’ll kill you to. Julie fell, and you know what I did after that? I slammed her head into the tile and left her there. It’s a good thing she’s dead. I hated the bitch anyways and I always have. All she had was her cunt, and that was never the same after she had that damn baby that only ever cried. I’m glad she’s dead. And when I come for you, because I will, because now you’ve forced me to tell you, just know, nothing will ever hurt more than what I did to her. You should’ve heard her scream. Had to tape her damn mouth shut.”

A violent sob tears through your chest, and you stumble out of the cafe. His fingerprints bruise your wrist, but you don’t recognize the dull pulse of pain beneath your skin even though your fingers rub at it frantically. It happens suddenly, the nausea you’ve been fighting wins. You don’t even know what’s coming out of you considering you’ve only put yougurt into it, but suddenly youre aware of hands holding your hair back as you wretch onto the sidewalk.

Alex’s voice is in your ear a moment later, and for a while, you can’t make out the words she’s saying to you, but when they got through, when eventually they clear the fog in your head and restabilize you, you realize what you’d done. You’d gotten an admission, a full confession of not only guilt, but how he’d seen the end of your sisters life with his own two hands, even if he wasn’t the one to so specially kill her. His actions had, and he would be punished according for it with or without a trail. Alex had warned you that if this went as planned, a plea would be on the table, but that didn’t matter. Whether he got life or forty years without the possibility of parole, just knowing you’d stood up for her sister one last time… it healed something in you that you’d expected to remain broken for a long time.

“Can we, um, can we go to the van?” You ask after a moment because the scent of vomit is even stronger than the perfume had been when it shattered, Alex smiles softly, and you almost smile when she takes the time to fix your hair, pulling away all the pieces that stick to your cheeks.

She leads you there, with one hand on the small of your back. There are cruisers all down the street now, lights on but no sirens, officers waiting for Benson to drag James out of the establishment in cuffs. You don’t want to be around to see it. You have no interest in seeing his face ever again, so your thankful that Alex closes the door to the van before she steps outside with him in tow.

There’s so much that you want to say to her, but you don’t know where to start. She’d been here for you in way that she hadn’t needed to be, and for whatever reason, you coulnd’t just let her go now that it was all over. Juliette would be infuriated if you just walked away from this, from her, from the potential that maybe you hadn’t been misreading her signs last night.

“It’s over. I bring this to him, he settles for a plea deal. There won’t be a trial.” She tells you, but that’s not what you want to hear. An hour ago, that would've been enough for you, but its not right now, and you think, or maybe hope, that there’s something more waiting to come out, but it doesn’t, and you think that’s because you’ve already turned her down.

“Um, it’s not still too late for that number though, is it?” You ask shyly, and you’re expecting her to say no, to turn you down and apologize for giving you the wrong idea, but then she blushes, and she holds onto the frame of her glasses, and you know definitively that you hadn’t misread a single thing.

“No. No it’s not.” She smiles and she pulls a card out of her pocket, like she’d been prepared for this moment all along. There’s a number on the card, her business number, you almost speak up, tell her this isn’t what you meant, but then her finger falls into frame and she points to ink at the bottom that you hadn’t noticed. What you also hadn’t noticed was her manicure, and it glimmered beneath the lights in the van. “Call me, anytime for anything.” Her words are like an echo of the people you were yesterday but would never be again. You expect it to smother you, for Juliette’s death to crush you. It hurts, your chest pangs, but nothing else happens, the world doesn’t end.

“How about you call me when you’re off and done for the day, and I can take you to dinner. Before you say that this is your job, I know damn well ADA’s don’t volunteer to ride along in a smelly cop van.” There’s a twinkle in your eyes that Alex has never seen before, but it only further entices her. “Dinner, and a drink. I don’t know how you do this job without one, and Julie was always a believer that wine isn’t a bad call for any function. So, what do you say ADA Cabot?”

“I say, I’d kiss you right now if your breakfast wasn’t still hanging onto your lips.” She teases, but you don’t realize she’s teasing you until you panickedly bring a hand to your lips and she giggles. “Dinner sounds nice. Seven o’clock.”

”Can’t wait.” You smile, only because you don’t know what else to do, and then you leave. The wire gets left behind and then there’s nothing connecting you to Manhattan SVU at all anymore, but you think something always will, you think Alex will be the bridge that keeps Julie’s memory alive even when it hurts to accept she's gone. Because she is gone, but you think Alex Cabot is the first sign she’s sent you that death isn’t as permanent as history has led you to believe.

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Throwback to all these Jesus comics I drew in 2012…

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Obsessed- Lady Lesso x EverReader!

Synopsis: Lesso has this thing, but no one knows. Not even you…

Word Count: 643

Warnings: Dark!Lesso, no smut, non-consensual stalking, readers gender isn’t mentioned. (Lmk if there’s anything else!)

A/n: (You can kinda see her tie pin in this gif, which is not mine btw) Okay, yes, this is short asf. I’m sorry! I really wanted to get something out while I’m working on this other smutshot (that includes working up the courage to do it too 😅) I figured something was better than nothing.? I legit have had this forsaken OneShot in the drafts at 5-6k words FOR A YEAR NOW GUYS. I’m trying! I want you guys to have it too. I’m also SO sorry to the few requests I’ve gotten, believe me I have seen them and I do plan on writing them! I’m just once again working two jobs and I’m also plainly in the dumps with writing motivation :/. I’m working on it 🫶🏻.

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

Obsession. It's a funny thing really. It usually builds from innocence, a simple crush maybe.

But then, it spirals.

Though, the obsessor most times doesn't realize the extent of said obsession.

Leonora Lesso wouldn't necessarily deny the fact she obsessed, of course, unless, she was asked.

It wasn't her fault. It was yours.

Yeah, that's it. Your fault.

You.

You with your bright smiles and warm being.

It really should make the Never woman feel sick.

But she watches you with a subtle warm fuzzy feeling, like how she would think it would feel if you made her soul smile.

Watching you at meal times with Dovey, laughing at whatever the conversation was.

She found satisfaction in watching you, joy almost, watching you teach. The passion you held was quite similar to hers, though you were an Ever.

And even now, her watching you from behind your balcony door. Enjoying the feeling that fills her as she watches you undress from the day.

No, she wouldn't say she's obsessed. Enthralled, sure.

Enthralled at the possibility you could see her in the reflection of the mirror you were standing in. Enthralled by your possible reaction if she chooses to make herself known, or maybe, if you were to catch her.

She often wonders what your reaction would be.

After all, she does this almost nightly.

How you haven't seen her at least once in the fortnight, Lesso wasn't sure. But she loved to think of the idea that you were aware of her watching you, and you enjoyed it as much as she did.

She continues to wait in the shadows, watching how you don't skip a single part of your routine.

She'd come to learn that you liked everything in a certain way, down to your showers.

As you climbed under the covers, your nightly steps coming to end, she never strayed.

She usually liked to stay until she knew you were asleep, loving how peaceful you looked.

Normally, it was enough.

Being 20 feet from you, a glass door in the way, it was close enough.

Normally.

Well, who’s to say what’s normal and what’s not.

Once again, you were peacefully in your slumber while Lesso hadn’t moved a hair.

But she needed more.

She carefully took her tie pin from the knot that she frequently adorned, using it to swiftly pick the door you always made sure to lock.

The first step into the unfamiliar, yet very familiar, space was enthralling for her. Your true scent, unbothered and unedited, hitting her nostrils so strong to the point she’s sure she would’ve faltered if she cared to pay attention.

But as always, her attention was elsewhere.

Neither her heels or her cane made their signature click as she entered, the carpet working in her favor.

Slowly she walked up to your bed, standing at the end and getting lost in your serenity.

But as realization set, she decided she wanted to learn more. No, needed to learn more about you.

Her painted nails just barely scraped the surface of your duvet as she slowly moved onto your bedside table.

Noticing the new book you recently picked up, she made a mentally note to look into it later.

She never stayed in one spot for too long, too afraid it would bring her a welcoming she can’t ignore.

Her final spot was your vanity.

The very same one you sat yourself at just mere moments ago.

Sitting in the same spot as you previously had could’ve made her head spin, she had to know that her heart was pounding, if she paid any mind to it.

But her mind was elsewhere.

Her eyes and her mind were on you, just like before.

But sitting there, seeing you, smelling you, feeling you….

She couldn’t help but think, just how much fun she’d have with you.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮��🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Taglist: @v3nusxsky @just-your-casual-nerd @pebbleswritessometimes @scream-queenlover @darkth1ngs @sgelessoanddoveykissing @hxzxrdous

(Okay, I’m def missing people on this list and if you’re one of them please leave a comment! 🫶🏻🫶🏻)

Part 2 maybe??

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Disobedient- Lady Lesso X Ever!FemReader (NSFW)

Synopsis: You’re a fun little ever, and Lesso can’t wait to play with you.

Word Count: 7.1k 🫣 (yes you read that right)

Warnings: SMUT, possible trigger warning as there will be blood mentioned, knife play, edging, edge play (cause, ya know, knives), kinda blood play, bratty reader, brat tamer Lesso, marking of many types, denial, coercion of admission of feelings 🤭 read it to see if there’s more😈. Also yes part of it is similar to my one shot ‘Celebration’ but since Ive been writing this for damn near a year I don’t care enough to change it. At least you know I wrote both 🥲

A/n: Everyone thank @pebbleswritessometimes for this oneshot cause literally a week ago I didn’t know when or if this would be finished soon, but they wanted and hyped me so they got it 🥰🫶🏻. Also, If you can’t tell, my motivation has been shot lately especially with smut, so this drags but I hope it’s good for you guys! I was trying to get this out a lot sooner than I actually did, my bad. I ended up getting a second job and been busy with both jobs as well as not having much motivation but then I quit said second job and continued to struggle with motivation, sorry it took so long lol hopefully the smut makes up for it. Also, yes, there’s a difference between edging and edge play!! Enjoy!

© This is my work, you have no right to repost my work for any reason without my explicit permission, all rights reserved. Likes, comments, reblogs are always welcomed!

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

You were stuck at the white cloth-covered table, sitting basically by yourself. The table next to yours had a couple of Never girls, Dot and Anadil, but they seemed to be sitting by choice. At least, that's what you guessed after they shoved off two boys that walked up to them.

Sitting at a table by yourself at the first ever, Never-Ever dance was certainly not one of the things you had planned for tonight. You just wanted to dance.

You were looking around the ballroom, finding the drastic change in aesthetics amusing. The school was unified but that didn't mean the students didn't stick to what they know. The dance floor was separated into light colors and dark.

Only a few mixed at the tables, but the students kept quiet. Creating a strange feeling in the air.

Your eyes scanned the room. At first, you were looking for your partner, at least, that's what you told yourself.

But then your eyes landed at the front of the ballroom. The two heads of the once-separated halves standing side-by-side, the Deans. The Dean of Good was dressed in a light, poofy ballgown that made her look like a cupcake. While the Dean of Evil remained in her signature dark suit.

This time, it was accented with a deep royal purple ascot, taking you by pleasant surprise. But you could tell this was one of her nicer suits, it fits her a little better than the others. Not that you would know, of course. This is definitely the first time you've taken more than a second to look over the red-haired Dean.

But gods, the way she holds herself. The way she looks at everyone. The way you can practically see her thoughts as she glared at the Never-Ever PDA. The way she would throw her head back laughing at something you desperately wished came from you.

But that's the thing. You kept wishing for things. But as an Ever, you get your wishes, right?

But now, you wished you could watch her shrug off the blazer. To watch her roll the cuffs of her sleeves up to reveal those toned arms. How you wish her hand would wrap around your-

You cleared your throat as if you've been caught red-handed, and you might've. You caught her eyes on you. They lingered longer than a simple look should've. But you're imagining things, now. Maybe a Never spiked the punch you were currently nursing.

'I think I'm mentally cheating. How could I be so disobedient.?'

She smirked at you, it couldn't be at you, right? Right? There's no way she knows what you're thinking. Her eyes landed on you once again, and she did a once-over on you.

And in that moment, you suddenly wished your outfit choice was good enough. You steered away from the baby pinks and champagne colored dresses that all the other Evers wore. Deciding on a royal blue floor length gown that fit to you perfectly but also complimented your skin tone. You thought you were being risqué with the slit that went straight to your hip, but as Lesso's eyes seemed to linger there for a moment, you knew it was a good choice.

You knew you shouldn't, you have a boyfriend.

Boyfriend! That's right, yeah. What was his name again?... Of course, you didn't forget your own boyfriend's name. Your mind certainly isn't occupied with the Dean, of course not. You definitely weren't dating him only to maintain the 'perfect Ever' appearance, nope.

You couldn't help it, her eyes are oh so enticing.

'I think I shouldn't be lookin' in those eyes. Why do they give mе butterflies?'

You took a second to try to find your boyfriend -unaware your thoughts were heard and the dean was barely biting back a smirk- your eyes rolling as you see him entertaining a group of Ever girls. Unconsciously, your eyes went straight back to the fiery-haired Dean. Who, to your surprise, was walking straight to you.

You wouldn't admit that your stomach dropped a little and you got nervous.

She stopped just a few feet from you, "You can't seem to keep your eyes off me, can you little one?"

You decided to hop onto some suddenly present charismatic boldness, you chuckled a little bit and stood to come face-to-face with her, though she was a couple of inches taller than you.

"It's hard not to when you're the best looking person in this room." It was wrong, you both knew that. She's the Dean and you are technically a student. But if it was so wrong, why does it feel so right?

You were well over age, being late to the start of your own story. It was late enough that you thought you'd not get the chance to go to the school and get your own fairytale.

Your heart skipped a beat as she took another step towards you, you never thought she'd be this close to you, especially in front of everyone else.

"I guess I could say same about you, Dove." Her head tilted slightly as she took the opportunity to examine you closer. Something igniting within her once she saw just how revealing your dress was, never mind the low-cut neckline.

You smirked, "Like what you see, do you?"

A humor-filled chuckle escaped her, and you yearned to hear it again, "My, my, what a bold little Ever. How cute." She wouldn't admit that she was honestly a bit surprised by the dress you chose, or that she secretly loved it.

"What? Haven't met anyone that isn't afraid of you?" You had no idea where this confidence of yours came from, but you didn't mind.

She fully chuckled this time, not expecting these remarks to come from you. But again, she did love it.

She started walking towards you, and you started walking backwards. You weren't afraid, that much was clear, but you did want to be away from the near-center of the room. You had no idea if anyone was watching, but you couldn't care less if someone was.

Luckily, your spot in the ballroom wasn't too far from the edges.

She licked her lips, a move that you wanted to watch on repeat, "Perhaps not, but this is going to be fun."

You only stopped moving backwards once you were sure you were at the back of the ballroom, your back hitting the wall being the dead give away, "Oh? I do hope you're not expecting me to just give in and fall to my knees for you." You spoke softly as her body continued to infiltrate your space.

"Oh, you'll be on your knees, pet."

You pulled her by the lapel of her suit, "You're going to have to make me, if you want anything from me." You smirked, tilting your head this time.

"You, my little one, are trenching in great waters."

"Well, luckily, I can swim."

She smirked again at your antics. Oh, she was gonna have fun.

"You really have no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you?" Though Lesso kept her tone, she was being genuine.

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me." You plastered on the most sickly-sweet smile, one that Lesso couldn't wait to taste.

She remained silent, whether is was to think about what she was about to do or to think about what to say,  she leaned forward and placed her hand on the wall next to your head.

You took this little moment as a chance to show her what you've got, that you're not one to be underestimated, "Tell me where you want us to go. Tell me, and I'll take you there." She raised her eyebrow at this, enthralled by the possibilities.

"Oh? So, if I say, take me to the gardens, you could do that?" She wanted to believe you, but teleportation is unheard of in the fairytale world, and especially from a student.

You stayed silent, looking into her eyes as you swiftly took hold of her other hand that was placed atop her blazer buttons. Lesso hardly had enough time to react, let alone speak, until she realized that you had taken you both to the gardens.

A big part of you was relieved at finally being alone with her. But you watched as she processed that you could teleport.

Before she had the chance to say anything, you spoke first, "It's not all I can do," You were proud of yourself, and you didn't try to hide it either.

She looked back at you, a new look swirling within her eyes and she hummed, "Really, care to share?" She tried to keep her teasing, uninterested tone but she was curious and it showed.

You fake pondered for a second, "Only if you earn it." You finished off with a smirk, knowing that you weren't necessarily hiding anything.

She chuckled again, filling your stomach with butterflies, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

She could see something unknown within your eyes, "You've got no idea."

She took another step closer to you, your fronts almost completely connected by this move of hers, and she used her pointer finger to push your chin up a bit more, "Well, I'm sure I can figure it out."

You grabbed the top of her shirt that was just under the ascot and used the material to pull her down and closer to you, close enough to smell the scent of whiskey that she probably thought she could hide, "And if I'd rather show you?"

Something overcame Lesso at that move, she wasn't sure what it was but her self control seemed to have dwindled to nothing. Excitement continued to do nothing but fill her, and couldn't wait to see just how much innocence you lacked.

Her eyes went to your lips for a moment before they flicked back to your waiting eyes, "Then show me, Dove."

That was all you needed to pull her even closer and connect your lips with hers, it was something that you both had clearly been waiting for. Gods, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't pictured this moment, and it was even better than imagined.

You moved your arms to wrap around Lesso's neck, pulling her nearly impossibly closer to you. In that moment was when her hands went to your hips as well, slightly squeezing once her hands settled in their spot.

You took this opportunity to take her somewhere else, you certainly wouldn't be complaining if she took you bare in the gardens but you'd prefer to not have the whole school witness such a thing. You took the both of you back to your room.

You lucked out, being such a late comer to the school got you your own room. And you were more than thankful you had just cleaned it.

Lesso pulled back from your lips, not only to catch her breath but to see where you've taken the both of you. She hid her impressed features once she looked from your quaint room back to you. She was unsurprised when she saw the proud look on your face being combined with your very obvious lust.

As your tongue peeked out to wet your lips -to taste Lesso once more- you noticed how her eyes instantly followed the action. So, you played into it, slightly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

Once you saw Lesso swallow the lump in her throat, you knew what effect you had on her. You thrived on the reactions she had to you. The subtle way her eyes narrowed at your smart mouth remarks, the way her pupils dilated every time you did, well, anything.

"You know you can look and touch right?"

Lesso sucked her teeth, "I am touching you, pet." She raised her eyebrow in challenge, seeing as her hands were still on your waist from the kiss.

The corner of your mouth twitched in attempts to hide your smirk, knowing that if you challenged her just enough she'd come to her limit and take you right then and there.

"But not in the way we both want you to," You started. "You're not, holding back are you?" This time you didn't hold back your smirk.

Her grip on you noticeably tightened, "I'll tell you this once, pet. Strip for me. Now." Her face remained stoic but you saw the amusement in her eyes.

You wouldn't admit just how her tone had affected you, causing your wetness to increase tenfold, "And if I don't?" It was redundant to say, you would've done anything she asked, but still not without a little bit of a fight.

Lesso summoned a blade, moving the very tip to the top hem of your dress, right in between your breasts. You knew it was sharp with the way the edge caught the light.

In a flash of movement, she pulled the blade down causing the dress to be cut in half once it connected with the pre-existing slit on your hip and fall right off your body.

"I liked that dress." You spoke near breathless.

"I gave you a chance."

Her other hand slowly snaked from its place on your waist, up across your abdomen. Her hand continued between your breasts, but it didn't linger there.

Her hand went on past your cleavage and up to your neck, her hand moving to wrap around your throat. You managed to hide the whimper that threatened to escape you as she applied pressure.

She leaned towards your ear to whisper her words, "I'm going to fuck that attitude out of you."

"Are you going to do that any time soon, or should I get myself started? I mean, you're making a lot of promises for someone that's yet to prove anything." You very well knew what you just started, and you couldn't wait.

Lesso's jaw clenched at your words.

"Oh, my little Dove, I'm going to break you." She spoke with a wicked simper.

"Then break me." You had the faintest of smirks on your face, eyes half-lidded as you spoke.

She started pushing you back by the hand that was still on your throat. Though it was quiet, it was clear that your chest started heaving from excitement. She moved her hand only long enough to push you down on your bed. A soft 'umph' coming from you at the contact.

The only light in the room was from the moonlight streaming in through your open window, but it was enough light to see her eyes darken as they roamed over your nearly naked form.

You couldn't help but take your bottom lip between your teeth as you could practically see her ideas raging through her mind as her head tilts the slightest bit. You were overwhelmingly ready for her to take you, in any way she saw fit, if the now-ruined panties you still adorned were anything to go by.

You watched with a bated breath as she slowly stalked her way onto the bed with you. You tried to resist the fidgeting of your hands as she took her time straddling you.

Her knees came up to rest by your ribcage, your breathing not resting at all as she practically ignored you as she begun twirling the blade once again. She watched as the edge caught the limited light, only watching you through her peripheral. 

Her signature head tilt returned, "You're so pretty. But, I'd bet anything that you'd be prettier with tears streaming down your face as you beg me to let you come."

"You're more than welcome to find out."

She let her wicked smirk come back to her face, she loved to play the game of cat and mouse, especially with you being her delectable prize.

Your whole body reacted as she leaned over you, lightly tapping the tip of the knife against the bulging artery of your throat. Your head instinctively tilted back to give her all the room she may want.

She slowly began dragging the blade down your sensitive skin, only enough pressure to leave a slightly itchy feeling but not enough to draw blood, yet. Your excitement continued to grow with each inch she dragged the blade.

"My beautiful pet," She started.

"Yours, huh? News to me." Lesso looked to your face just in time to watch you wet your lips.

"Don't think that you won't be mine, not after I'm done with you." She was beginning to get a little irritated with your insubordination, it was obvious in her tone.

You readjusted the strap of the bra that had managed to dislodge itself from its spot on your shoulder while being shoved to the bed, "Is that another promise?"

The blade moved from your collarbone, swiftly moving to the center panel of your bra, and in the time it took for you to blink, Lesso had sliced through it. The fabric was in half and it caused the cups to fall to the side, rendering the garment useless.

"Hey! That was my favorite one... It was expensive."

"Oh, was it? How evil of me. Maybe you can earn yourself a new one."

A displeased huff came from you but Lesso wasn't paying attention, now fixated on your body. The very same body that you couldn't bring yourself to look at in the mirror for too long without finding a list of things you wanted to change.

Her silence while observing you brought forth all the insecurities you had, and you instinctively moved to cover yourself.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lesso gripped your wrists and moved you away from your chest, only once she had your hands pinned above your head did she see the uncertainty in your features, "You don't get to hide yourself from me, this is all mine."

"I am my own, I belong to no one but me."

"Oh, my pet, we shall see how long you believe that."

Lesso bent further over you, her lips connecting to the slight cuts that were only just starting to become visibly irritated on your skin. Her tongue peeked out, causing a delicious sensation once she swiped over the superficial slice.

A breathy moan type noise left you and Lesso just couldn't wait to hear more, to make more come from you.

Her tongue continued down your chest and she latched onto a spot on top of your breast, beginning to leave a mark.

You may fight with her about being hers (for now) but she'll make it clear you're not available. The idea of seeing you covered in all the marks she could possibly leave on you, just had her itching to leave more.

And so she did.

She left another love bite on your sternum beside the now puffy cut on your chest.

Lesso was moving almost painfully slow, but that wasn't without effort. It was originally in efforts to make you writhe and beg. But now? The slow movement of her marks and tongue, it was in efforts to savor you. To get the chance to memorize the taste that's distinctly you.

It felt like minutes before she moved her lips again, only now connecting them to your nipple. Though it was hushed, a proper moan finally escaped you.

Her fingers grazed across your bare torso as her tongue swirled around your nipple, the sensation causing an eruption of chills across your skin which didn't go unnoticed by the redhead.

She finally moved onto your neglected nipple, instantly hardening the moment the tip of her tongue came into contact with it. You fought the urge to tangle your finger into her fiery locks.

You couldn't let her win that easily.

Only once you released a breath did Lesso manage to pull herself from you, before she lost herself.

"Gods, if I had known you look and tasted this good, I would've made you mine sooner." Her nails scraped up your ribcage.

You ignored the butterfly eruption in your stomach, a scoff would've came from you if you weren't so focused on the feeling of her, "I am not yours."

She looked from the marks forming on your skin to your face, "Really? It seems you're convinced."

Just as you opened your mouth to agree that you were, in fact, convinced, you felt the blade drag across your stomach. Instead, a stuttering breath came from you.

"What was that, Pet? I didn't quite hear you." Her words were empty, you both knew what she was doing.

You wouldn't let her off that easy.

But what you didn't know is she knew your refutal would come, so as your mouth opened once more to argue her tongue swiped up the blood that began to bead from the fresh cut above your navel.

Finally, finally, she got to hear a true moan of yours.

Your head pressed back into the mattress and your body instinctively arched towards her and the sensation she was providing.

She peaked up to see your eyes closed with bliss, "You taste addicting on the inside and out."

You looked up to see one of the best sites there is. Lesso's hair was slightly disheveled, her pupils blown wide, a little bit of your blood still present on her bottom lip.

The urge to pull her into a kiss, to know what you taste like on her lips was overwhelming. Almost too compelling...

"I'm still waiting for you to fulfill your promise." Your comment was breathless but you hoped it still held the snap you wanted it to.

Her eyes never left yours as you saw her lift the blade again, slicing off the excuse of an undergarment in a quick move.

You'd be a damned liar if you said you're not entirely enthralled by what's to come.

Her lips continued from your navel, grazing over your hip bones. Of course she would continue to tease the living hell out of you, her lips never quite going where you wanted them to.

Another mark was left on the very top of your thigh, her fingers just slightly brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of your other thigh.

She was so close, so close to where you were almost quite literally aching for her.

It was almost to the point of begging, almost. Your hips involuntarily thrusted to get her where you wanted.

You knew very well that if anything slightly resembling a beg left your lips, she would win whatever little rendezvous was going on and you couldn't have that.

But to your absolute pleasure, it wouldn't come to begging. Yet.

Just as you felt the slight of her breath on your throbbing clit, your head lulled back entirely too ready for what this woman would do to you.

The moment her tongue met your clit, your bottom lip went between your teeth as not to reveal how desperate you were. Your hand instantly moved to the sheets below you, knuckles turning white as her pace went from torturously slow to almost enough.

Your thighs parted even further to allow more of her to be closer to you.

"Oh, fuck," One of your hands left the bed and almost entangled itself in Lesso's hair, but that was before you caught yourself.

Part of you wanted to believe that this was so you'd win the game. But the part of you that you were ignoring was thinking it was so you wouldn't actually get lost in the redheads presence.

But what you didn't know was that the redhead had felt the way your fingers just grazed along her shoulder, and she wanted to feel more.

You could tell that her repetitive movements were bringing you closer to the peak of pleasure, the tightness in your stomach was starting to become distracting.

Lesso could've sworn she could taste how close you were, if the way your thighs twitched was anything to go by. She gave it just a moment more, another moment for you to think that you were actually about to get what you wanted.

But that moment would soon come and go.

Just as you were about to voice your closeness to the edge, all movements and sensations stopped.

Part of you knew to expect this, but that didn't mean you wouldn't be annoyed.

Lesso was no longer biting back her smirks, especially when your groan of annoyance escaped your lips.

"What was that, pet?" She gave a slight nip to your inner thigh. "I didn't hear you."

"Fuck, Leo," If you weren't so focused readjusting your head on the pillow you would've seen Lesso swallow at the moment her name left your mouth.

She wasn't expecting how breathless and perfect it sounded, leaving her a little bit shocked if she was being honest. But while she was honest, she wasn't even aware you knew her first name.

In her state, she didn't hear what else you said. With the slightest shake of her head, she knew she couldn't dwell any longer.

To your dismay, she moved away from your dripping pussy. Her lips slowly trailing back up your torso.

She left more love bites where there was room, slowly easing herself to hover above you.

She licked her lips as she felt your body erupt with chills as she was finally level with you, choosing to not say anything about it this time.

Another mark left on the spot where your neck meets your shoulder before she moved to speak directly in your ear, "If you want to cum, you know what I want." She said too cool and composed for your liking.

You fisted the fabric of her blazer, trying to pull her closer, "And I've told you, if you want it from me then you make me."

A deep chuckle came from her, as if she knew something you didn't, and she sat up once again.

Her eyes never left yours as she slowly pulled the blazer off, making a show out of it.

The only way you'd be able to describe her movements was entrancing. The way she swiftly undid the buttons of the blazer and tossing it somewhere you weren't paying attention to. You weren't even sure if you blinked as you saw her take off the waistcoat next.

The only thing you were sure of is how badly you wanted her to keep taking things off. To see what she's been hiding from you this whole time. To see if she's as toned as you imagined...

Her smirk returned, "Pet, if you want the shirt off you only have to ask."

Your eyes rolled back once you processed what she said, "Telepath..."

Gods if you could've seen the cocky smirk on her face, you would've been much more turned on. If that was even possible.

You didn't even want to dwell on the amount of times and things she's must've seen in your mind. And none of them were innocent. Luckily you looked up, flushed cheeks and all, in time to see her unbutton her top.

You had involuntarily laid your hands on her thighs, watching her as she's straddled above you. Slowly, more of her was revealed to you, feeling your mouth go dry and the throbbing in your ignored cunt strengthening.

You simply couldn't look away. Her pale skin was toned, each muscle having its own definition. She may not be the most chiseled sculpture but you'd still swear she was one of Michelangelo's works.

"You staring, pet."

"That, is no one's fault but yours." You spoke, still breathless, as you looked back in her viridian eyes.

The game was temporarily forgotten, desire had overtaken all actions from you both.

Her lips rejoined at the base of your neck, adding more fuel to your inextinguishable flame.

You simply couldn't help it anymore, one of your hands finally tangled itself in her fiery locks like you desperately wanted to do ages ago while the other went to her now bare side.

And gods was it diminishing the last of Lesso's control, the sensation of your touch was almost overwhelming. The feel of your breath on her neck was nearly making her head spin.

She once again moved downwards, going slowly as a way to regain her thoughts, but to you it was a way to get you to squirm.

And, it worked.

Your need had built up enough before she took away your bliss.

You may have given into your need to feel her, but you still wouldn't beg.

Your hips lifted from the bed, but not for long before her hand had pinned them still once again. You couldn't help but groan.

Yes, you were antsy. Yes, you desperately wanted to be taken and completely destroyed but you were not about to say that out loud.

You'd fight to win this forsaken game if it killed you.

And, it just might.

Her lips lingered on your hip bone, so close yet so far from where you needed her.

Lesso's eyes peered up your tense body, loving to discover new things about you. She loved how your brow furrowed as you focused, how your fingers fidgeted in place until you could decide where you wanted them.

Lesso simply loved to play with you, to get you to writhe and moan. She had discovered a new favorite thing.

And speaking of moans, a soft one rippled from your lips as her fingertips slightly grazed your clit. A whispered curse involuntarily left you as she finally provided some sensation to your needy and abandoned clit, pausing just as her pace speeds past excruciating to run just along your folds.

A stuttering breath left you this time, knowing that this tease was the ultimate move for her. That this is her play.

"Something you want to say, pet?"

You bit your bottom lip, merely an attempt at withholding your whimper, and shook your head. You were desperate, desperately hoping she'd continue but quicken her pace.

Again, Lesso wouldn't say it out loud but as much as she loved seeing you twist and turn with desperation, she wanted to see what you looked like when you come. To hear the symphony that is your moans. She wanted to know if you'd grip her tight as you came undone or push her and the stimulation away because she knows once she gets a taste she'd never be satisfied by anything else again.

Lesso's thoughts were interrupted as a louder moan coming from you.

Your back arched and mind went empty as her fingers suddenly and easily slid into you, your arousal causing no resistance.

"Oh, fuck-" Your head began to lull back once she finally began moving her fingers.

The pace was just as steady as her previous ones, not trying to work you too quickly, but the new sensations were welcomed.

"More, I need more." Your hand flew to the red locks, trying to get more of something, anything.

Lesso was tempted to have you beg like the desperate little whore you were, but she'll take that, for now.

Her pace increased ever so slightly, only enough for her to see the way your face contorted with desire and need.

Just as you were about to repeat your previous statement, she added a third finger. Stretching you just enough to have a mind fuzzing pleasure start to build.

Lesso decided now was the time she'd like to commit to memory, the way your hips thrusted to keep pace with her fingers, how your back arched off the bed in search of more. How you sound, all. Because. Of her.

Lesso was sure to stay consistent, knowing your desperate self was beyond ready for release.

She merely needed to wait for it.

"Fuck-" Your words came out rushed and desperate.

"Awe, does my pet want to cum?"

"I'm not your pet." You quickly realized and spoke on your autonomy.

Then, it all stopped.

The slow incline to the edge, the glorious way she filled you, the way your body urned for more. All of it. Gone.

Your breaths came out rapid and broken, "Oh, fuck me."

"Well, I'm trying, but you're making this awfully difficult for yourself."

"Me?!" Your head collapsed against the pillow at the audacity.

She moved herself away from you, "You already know what I want from you, pet."

A scoff came from you, knowing you won't give in that easy, "What? Think I can't take it? You think I'll just give in, just like that? Cute." You looked back in her eyes, a glimmer of frustration beginning to gather.

You smirked inwardly, knowing that the game is working in your favor.

Her head tilted a little, "Oh, you can take it, can you? You can handle all I can give you?"

"Oh, do tell me that wasn't your all, now..." Your delicious simper filled Lesso with the need to make you eat your words.

More than joy filled you as her fingers slid back into your pussy, only now she was moving at the fastest pace she's done all night.

A near guttural moan came from you at the sudden move of hers, no building or waiting necessary.

Lesso still hadn't spoken, but as her free hand slowly snaked up your body, only pausing for a moment to leave a quick pinch to your right nipple.

Just as your brain processed the sudden sharp sensation, her hand wrapped around your throat. Your head tilted back as automated response to her touch.

Just as she squeezed, a small mewl came from you as her pace didn’t ease. Her fingers continued to pound into you harshly, causing you to get closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to play with me?” Her voice lowered, no pleasure lied behind it then, it was almost dark. And as you saw her sharpened glare you wanted to be afraid, but something about Lesso makes it impossible for you to be afraid.

She chuckled lowly as your arousal increased at her words, “Pathetic.”

The pure pleasure she was giving you, the delicious look she had, the tone of her husky voice, it was just enough for you to come close.

And Lesso knew it. She could feel it.

But you wouldn’t.

Again, everything stopped suddenly.

Her hand left your pussy, as the grip on your throat loosened enough to hear a pathetic cry escape.

Okay, you thought you can handle it. But when she overloads your senses with nothing but the feeling of her, it becomes difficult to not give in.

Your eyes closed and your bottom lip went between your teeth as an attempt to keep yourself together.

Your hand reached up to hold onto her wrist that was homed around your throat. Maybe as a way of grounding, definitely as a way to keep some feeling of her on you.

Barely a moment passed before Lesso spoke up, "You're mine, say it." Her tone left no room for discussion.

"I belong to no one." Your voice however, was weak and low.

"Then you'll continue to be denied, entirely on you." A beat, two beats. You knew that you couldn't keep denying it, and not just because you wanted to come.

A stuttering breath, then a sigh, “I’m, yours. I belong to you.” It was no question, you both were aware of this fact before this rendezvous started. Something was so delectable about playing the game first.

She had the most aggravating smug smile on her face, and it looked so good on her. Damn you, damn it, damn her. You wouldn't take it back even if you wanted to. You were hers. Irrefutably, irrevocably, undeniably, completely hers.

She didn't have to say anything about how pleased she was with your admission, she knew it all along, her smile said it all.

Your chest was still heaving, trying to catch some of the breath Lesso stole from you, when she crawled on top of you once again. She straddled you like she had many times in the night, lightly tracing her nails over the marks she's made. She admired the discolored hues her love bites started to take on, loved seeing how your sensitive skin reacted to the slight edge of the blade, how your skin is adorned with marks from her nails all over.

She just couldn't get enough of the sight of you. All marked up by her, marked up where everyone can see, marked to show that you've been claimed.

But then, it hit her. You weren't technically marked by her. Oh, that just won't do.

She reached back over for the previously abandoned blade. Unconsciously twirling it once again between her fingers, an unknown habit of hers.

Where to put it? Where-to-put-it? She thought to herself, still silently looking over your tired and marked up form.

You simply laid there, you knew she was thinking of something, but you knew you'd find out soon enough.

And soon it was.

Not more than a moment after your thought, a hum came from the redhead and she leaned over you.

"This may hurt, but I'll make it quick." She spoke just as the tip of the knife cut into your skin.

'Fuck...' You thought as your mouth opened with silence.

The pained pleasure was the most mind spinning feeling you’d had felt to date.

The tip of the blade slicing through your delicate flesh.

And soon enough, a perfect “L. L” was carved right above your left breast.

A perfect marking that left no room for interpretation, you were now and forevermore, hers.

You, belonged to Leonora Lesso.

Both of your hands fisted her hair as her tongue swiped over the wound to clean you of the mess you were making.

Your eyes would’ve rolled to the back of your head at her move had they been opened.

“Please…” The slight tug in her hair was enough to tell Lesso everything she needed to know.

“What, begging already?”

“You’ve already won tonight, there’s nothing else for me to lose but one more thing for me to gain.” Your hips thrusted up enough for her to get the message.

And in that moment, Lesson realized it was time to keep her part of the bargain.

Her lips and tongue slowly moved south once more, exploring every part of you she could on the way.

She skipped past your navel, knowing that this would be the time you get what you wanted.

Gods the moment her lips came back into contact with your clit, you could’ve sworn you could come right then and there.

“Oh, fuck Leo, just like that.” Your hands never left her hair, nor eased on the grip.

Lesso would be a damned liar if she said she wasn’t entranced with the way your voice was breathless, or with the way her name simply rolled off your tongue.

Her pace increased on your clit while she brought her fingers back to your desperate pussy.

“Oh, fuck!” Your back arched off the bed and your grip in Lessos hair was a welcomed pained pleasure for her as it got even tighter.

You both knew you wouldn’t last long with the speed and expertise Lesso was using on you.

You were rapidly approaching the peak of bliss, feeling light headed as it was already and you haven’t even crossed the threshold yet.

“Leo, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

The swirling of her tongue on your clit pausing only long enough to speak, “Yeah? Does my pet wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes, I wanna cum!”

No other words came from Lesso but her lips once again wrapped around your clit. Along with the swift swirling of her tongue, she pared it with new suction.

The newfound pleasure caused white to appear in your vision, your overwhelming sensitivity becoming known.

Just as Lesso slightly curled her fingers, you were there. A near scream-like moan and the cinching around Lessos fingers told her you were there.

You came, and you came hard.

Lesso’s name fell from your lips like a mantra, being spoken over and over and over again.

Lesso got her answer as you started to use your grip in her hair to pull her from you.

The sensitivity was nearly unbearable and Lesso wasn’t easing up.

She knew you’d have to pry her away from you.

The pure taste of nothing but you was a craving she didn’t know had to be satiated.

Your hands finally relaxed enough to moved from Lesso’s hair to her jaw, now pulling her up to face you.

You still hadn’t caught your breath but you didn’t let that stop you from pulling the redhead in for a kiss.

Her hands moved to be resting on your waist, choosing to deepen the kiss.

Your body was weak but you needed a taste of Lesso too, even if it was a sample.

She was pliant in your hands, moving in any way your slight touch nudged her too. Your lips slowly moved down her jaw, the bliss causing her to briefly close her eyes.

You continued further down, reaching her neck and beginning to leave a mark right on her pulse point, "Only fair if I get to leave my mark too. Wouldn't want anyone else to think they've got a chance, now do we?"

You could feel the way her chuckle left her throat as your lips moved along her skin.

You were sure to make it worth while, leaving a bright large mark where it couldn’t be obviously hidden.

Sure, it was meek in comparison to the marks and cuts she’s left on you, but you like to think it’s the thought that counts.

Lesso pulled back a bit, and just as you were admiring your work, she was admiring you.

Neither would speak of it but this mutual liking, no infatuation, no no love, would be the center of a new universe.

Her eyes glanced down and a proud smirk rejoined her features.

“I’ll get a rag to clean you up, stay here.” She reluctantly climbed off you to grab a rag, finding it surprisingly easy to maneuver in your space.

Your voice was still soft, partly hoarse from the previous activities, “Not like I can go far right now.”

You yearned at her genuine laughter at your comment, knowing you’d gladly get to hear it again.

She came back with a water bottle and a rag, “I’ll be sure to ease up on you next time.”

And with one simple sentence, one small act of kindness, you and your heart smiled.

Next time.

Again, you were hers. Irrefutably, irrevocably, undeniably, completely hers.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Taglist: @v3nusxsky @just-your-casual-nerd @scream-queenlover @darkth1ngs @hxzxrdous @sgelessoanddoveykissing

Lmk if you wanna join the taglist! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

I love how we all collectively looked at our beloved redhead and nodded in agreement, all speaking in unison: kinky 🤭😏

@ all my mutuals

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

sorry if i’m being a party pooper but because rabies is apparently the new joke on here ??? please remember that rabies has an almost 100% fatality rate after symptoms develop so if you’re bitten or scratched by an animal that you aren’t 100% sure is vaccinated then GO TO A DOCTOR. it’s not a joke. really. 

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Is It Casual Now ?

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: To whoever requested this from me, your request was anonymous so I can’t tag you and for some reason Tumblr wouldn’t let me answer directly to your ask 🥲 I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, I’ve had Casual stuck in my head for days now hahaha!

You never meant to stay this long.

It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. A private indulgence. A whispered secret between silk sheets and stolen time. Larissa made it easy to pretend—her words velvet-soft, her hands knowing, her body impossibly warm in the quiet dark.

You told yourself you wouldn’t linger. And yet, here you are again, weeks later, lying in her bed while dawn tries to crawl its way through the blackout curtains.

She’s still asleep. Or pretending to be.

Your head rests against her shoulder, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of her chest. You breathe her in—something expensive and floral with a trace of vanilla—and wonder if it clings to all her lovers, or just you.

She shifts beneath you, her arm instinctively pulling you closer. The movement is gentle, practiced. Comforting. And yet, you can’t tell if it means anything.

You want it to.

“I should go,” you whisper, though you don’t move. You say it every morning. It's become part of the ritual, like the quiet sex and her occasional smirk when you stumble over your words, trying not to sound too eager.

Larissa hums, eyes still closed. “Mmm. Why rush?”

There’s that voice. Satin and command in equal measure. You’d do anything to hear it say something real—something just for you.

“I’ve got class in an hour,” you murmur, letting yourself linger just a little longer. You never mean to, but she makes it so easy to stay. You tuck your face into the crook of her neck. “I think the other teachers are starting to notice I’m always tired on Tuesdays.”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Let them wonder.”

You laugh, a small sound, but there’s something fragile beneath it. You don’t want to wonder. You want to know. You want to ask questions you don’t have the right to ask.

Do you sleep like this with everyone?
Do you think of me when I’m not here?
Is this more than nothing, or am I just pretending it is?

But you don’t ask. You never do.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to her throat and let her hold you like you matter. Like you’re more than warm skin and temporary comfort. Like maybe—just maybe—she wants you here too.

You let the silence stretch. You pretend it means something.

The warmth of Larissa’s bed still clings to your skin when you step into the halls of Nevermore, but reality is already cooling it.

You tell yourself not to expect anything. That it’s fine—normal, even—that she hasn’t texted. That she didn’t kiss you goodbye when you left her office this morning. That she only ever kisses you in private.

Still, when you catch sight of her at the end of the corridor, a quiet, nervous kind of anticipation stirs in your chest. Will she look at me? Will she smile?

You don’t expect her to rush to your side or whisper something meant only for you. But maybe—maybe—she’ll acknowledge you with something softer than professionalism.

But Larissa Weems is all business now. Immaculate in her pressed suit, clipboard in hand, speaking in hushed tones to a board member.

She doesn’t even glance your way.

You try to ignore the sting of it. The way it makes you feel like last night was something you imagined, like the weight of her hands on your skin, the sigh of your name in the dark, meant nothing at all.

You swallow it down.

You’re an adult. You knew what you were getting into.

Still, something bitter settles under your tongue when she turns slightly, offering the board member that smile—the poised, charming one, full of effortless grace. The kind that makes people feel special.

It shouldn’t bother you.

Except it does.

The board member laughs, and Larissa places a hand on his arm in that effortless, casual way she has, a gesture so smooth it might as well be instinct. You wonder if she even realizes she does it. If she touches everyone like that.

If she’s ever touched you like that outside of her bedroom.

Your stomach twists.

She’s not doing anything wrong. Not really. You remind yourself that whatever this is between you—whatever it isn’t—has no rules. No promises. You’re the one who stayed, the one who crawled into her bed again and again, the one who let hope creep into your ribs like a sickness.

Still, when Larissa finally walks past you, eyes skimming over you without even a flicker of recognition, it feels like a slap to the face.

And the worst part?

You don’t even think she notices.

You don’t bring it up right away.

You tell yourself it was nothing—just a moment. A busy morning. She probably didn’t see you. She probably wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of a board member. It’s not personal.

You repeat that to yourself all day.

But it keeps echoing.

She looked right through me.

Later, back in her office, the air is different. Quieter. Dimmer. The curtains are drawn and the fire crackles softly. She’s taken off her heels. Her hair is down.

Here, you’re not a stranger.

Here, she looks at you like she knows you.

She pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, brushing her fingers along yours in that way she always does. She’s graceful about it, as if affection is something she gives you in curated, elegant doses.

You watch her sink into the couch, legs crossed, wineglass balanced delicately in her hand. Her eyes flick to yours. “You’re frowning.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

“I saw you today,” you say, quiet.

Larissa raises a brow. “Yes?”

“In the hall. You walked right past me.”

A beat.

She tilts her head, feigning thought. “I must have been preoccupied.”

You nod slowly. Sip your wine. Pretend it doesn’t sting. “You were talking to the board.”

“Yes.” She says it like a full stop. No elaboration. No apology.

You set your glass down, fingers tightening on your knee. “Do you ever think it’s strange? That we act like we don’t know each other at all during the day?”

Her gaze flickers, just briefly. “I assumed you preferred it that way.”

You blink. “Why would you assume that?”

She shrugs, ever so slightly. “I thought you valued discretion.”

“I do,” you say, a little too fast. “But discretion’s not the same as pretending we’re strangers.”

Larissa leans back against the cushions, studying you now—calm, unreadable. “What is it you want from me, exactly?”

You freeze.

It’s not the question itself���it’s the way she asks it. Like you’re the one who’s overstepping. Like this is a negotiation and you’ve just asked for too much.

“I don’t know,” you admit, softer now. “Something that doesn’t make me feel... invisible.”

She sighs—tired, not annoyed, but not gentle either. “You knew what this was.”

You nod. You did.

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

You don’t go to her that night.

Or the next.

It isn’t some grand, dramatic decision—you don’t throw your phone into the sea or draft a final message you’ll never send. You just stop reaching out. You sit with the ache. Let it settle in your ribs like something dull and heavy.

And she does nothing.

No text. No knock at your door.

Maybe you were wrong to think she’d notice. Maybe this was always how it was meant to be—you, orbiting her, mistaking gravity for something reciprocal.

But on the third day, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stutters.

You consider pretending you’re not home. You consider waiting, letting her leave, letting yourself believe she was never really here at all.

But you open the door.

She’s standing there, one hand resting on the frame, looking as put-together as ever. But there’s something softer in her expression, something almost hesitant.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Her voice is smooth as ever, but there’s a question in it.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy.”

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “Too busy for me?”

Your throat tightens. “I thought you might appreciate the space.”

“Space,” she repeats, like it’s a foreign concept.

Like she never once considered that you’d pull away first.

She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, her perfume enveloping you, and suddenly it feels like every ounce of distance you put between you has collapsed in a breath.

Her fingers trail along your wrist—not grabbing, not holding, just there. A tether.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs. “Give me space.”

Your stomach twists.

Because she says it so softly, like she means it. Like it’s you who created this distance, like she would have reached for you if only you had let her.

Like this is still something real.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Larissa—”

She lifts your hand, pressing it to her lips. The kiss is barely there, the kind that makes you want to chase it.

“Stay,” she says simply. A single, quiet request.

You can’t stay quiet anymore.

You don’t even mean to say it—it just comes out. The words tumble from your mouth like they’ve been waiting behind your teeth for far too long, desperate to escape.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice tight. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

Larissa’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re making something out of nothing,” she says, like this is just another one of your moods, another one of your moments that will pass when she’s done with it.

But you can’t let it go. Not this time.

“You know what you’re doing.” The words hit the air between you like glass shattering. “You’ve been playing with me—using me—and I don’t even know why I let it go on this long.”

Her expression remains unreadable, but the flicker of something dangerous moves through her eyes. You’ve seen that look before—when she’s about to shut you down.

But you’re not backing down this time.

“You’ve made it clear that I’m just… convenient for you,” you spit out, your breath catching in your chest. “And I’ve been stupid enough to believe that I meant more to you than that.”

Larissa doesn’t flinch. Her gaze is cool, calculating, almost too calm. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” you snap. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to pretend like this means nothing when I can feel it. I can feel the way you pull me in, and then push me away. Every damn time.”

Her jaw tightens. She moves slowly, deliberately, her movements sharp and controlled. “I never made any promises to you.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in your ears. “And I never asked for any. But I was stupid enough to think that this—” you gesture between the two of you, “—was something real. That you cared. That I meant something.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you retort, feeling the sharp edge of her words cut through you like a blade. “I know. I thought this was casual—no strings attached, right? But I was wrong. I’m not some passing moment for you, am I? You wanted me to be casual—just another distraction—while I fell for you.”

Larissa’s face tightens at the implication. She steps toward you, her presence overwhelming. But you’re not backing down.

“I was the one who didn’t know any better, right?” you continue, your words growing more heated with every beat. “You’re the one who’s never been clear about what you wanted. Casual, right? That’s what you told me over and over. But I should have known that was just the line you fed me to make it easier to walk away when you were done.”

The words feel like acid in your throat, but they burn with truth.

“You were never casual, Larissa,” you say, a sudden intensity rising in your chest. “I thought I was—thought I was just another face you’d forget. But I’m not. Not now. Not when I’ve let you twist everything I thought we were.”

Larissa doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, it’s like she’s frozen in place. There’s a shift in the air, something almost imperceptible, as though she’s finally seeing you for the first time in this whole mess. But it’s too little, too late.

You take a step forward, the anger building in your chest, but it’s mixed with the sting of realization. “You never cared about me the way I cared about you. You were always so damn careful to not care. I was never more than a moment, wasn’t I? You were never going to be mine, Larissa. And you let me believe I could have you.”

Her lips press together tightly, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you dare her. “Tell me this was just casual for you. That it was just some game you were playing with me.”

Her eyes flick to the side briefly—then back to you, her gaze sharp and cold. “It was never a game. But you made it more than it was.”

“I didn’t make anything,” you bite out. “You used me, and I let you. You told me to keep it casual, but I wasn’t the one who needed it. You were. And now, it’s me who’s left holding all these pieces, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.”

She takes a step back, crossing her arms over her chest, and her voice is icy. “It’s your fault for reading into something that was never there.”

“Is that it?” you ask, laughter bubbling up bitterly. “Is that all I was? Just someone you could use when it was convenient? You really don’t care, do you?”

Larissa opens her mouth to respond, but you can’t hear it anymore. The words you’ve been too afraid to admit are crashing through your thoughts, unrelenting. You’ve been fighting so hard to convince yourself that this wasn’t a mistake, that maybe she cared about you even just a little. But now—now you see the truth, clear as day.

“I see it now,” you say quietly, stepping away from her, the words breaking your heart as you speak them. “I was just a distraction. And you don’t even have the decency to tell me I’m wrong. You let me fall for you, and when I finally do care, when I finally say enough, you’ll just turn away like you always do.”

Her face is unreadable now, but you know her well enough to see the tiniest flicker of something—guilt, maybe? But it’s gone in an instant.

“You don’t get to make me the villain here,” she says, the edge of her voice cutting through your chest like a jagged knife.

“Maybe I don’t,” you reply, “but you sure as hell made me feel like one. You made me feel like I was too much, too needy, like I was asking for too much. And I was—I was asking for something real. But you were just… playing with me, weren’t you?”

Her eyes flicker, and for a second, just a second, you think she might say something. Apologize, maybe, or at least try to explain herself.

But then she looks away. “I’m not sorry.”

And that’s it.

The final cut.

She turns on her heel, walking out without another word. The silence that follows is deafening, suffocating, and you can feel your chest tighten with every step she takes away from you.

The letter you write that night isn’t long.

You don’t see the point in making it poetic. You’ve said everything already—screamed it, cried it, bled it out on the floor of your quarters. This isn’t about drama now. It’s about survival. About reclaiming the parts of yourself that she tried to keep casual.

No, that’s not fair.

You were the one who believed her when she said it.

Still, you leave the resignation letter on her desk the next morning. Just a single sheet of paper folded neatly in half. Your name signed at the bottom with a shaking hand.

You pause for a moment in her office, the silence thick with everything unsaid. Her perfume lingers faintly in the room, floral and cold, like a memory that won’t wash off.

You don’t look around. You don’t need to. You know this place too well—its perfection, its elegance. The way she kept everything beautiful and just out of reach.

Kind of like her.

You take the long way out of Nevermore. Past the classrooms, past the rows of windows that once glowed warm when she waited for you. Past the hallway where she used to pull you aside with a smirk and a whisper, asking if you could stay a little later.

You remember the butterflies. The heat. The way she’d kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered—until the morning after, when you were nothing again. Just someone she kept in the dark, hidden beneath carefully measured glances and vague promises.

You walk past it all, and for once, you don’t stop.

Not even when you see her.

She’s standing at the top of the stairs, spine straight, arms crossed in that perfectly controlled way she always carries herself. Her eyes find yours, sharp as ever, unreadable. And for a split second, time stalls.

She knows.

Of course she knows. She’s already read it. Or maybe she hasn’t yet, but she always knew this was coming. She just didn’t care enough to stop it.

You hold her gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should, hoping—desperately, foolishly—that she’ll say something.

Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just watches you. Stoic. Cold. Silent.

Like you were never more than a passing moment. Like none of it mattered.

And maybe that’s the truth you needed.

You turn without a word.

No dramatic exit. No tears. Just the quiet click of your shoes on the stone floor as you leave it all behind—her, Nevermore, the hollow ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with.

Outside, the sky is heavy with clouds, the kind that feel like they’re holding something back. You don’t bring an umbrella. Let it rain. Let it soak through your coat and into your bones. Let it feel like something.

Anything is better than the numbness.

You don’t look back.
You’ve already done that too many times.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld , @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary , @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @ness029 , @geekyarmorel l , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr r , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 8 @jkregal l @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @mirandaswife @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Merry Fucking Christmas (Lady Lesso x f!Reader)

Synopsis: It's the work holiday party, and Lesso is wondering how it came to this. Especially when you look as beautiful as you do.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence

Lesso had no idea how Dovey had roped her into the whole stupid endeavour. Nevers didn’t celebrate Christmas. Nevers tried to steal the presents from under trees and burn the turkeys. They didn’t string up little lights and hang wreaths. They didn’t drape crystal snowflakes along the ceiling or hang mistletoe unless it cursed those who walked under it.

So standing in the middle of the ballroom with the Christmas decorations her staff had helped put up, a sense of unease rumbled through her body.

There was a band at one end playing, the Ever staff sweeping across the floor in some kind of waltz, twirling princesses in the arms of their handsome princes. Her lip curled up at the image. Without students, there was an air of revelry usually kept from their charges, alcohol flowing far more than usual, more exuberance and less care about maintaining a proper facade.

The entire idea of a staff holiday party was absurd on so many levels.

Her fingers clenched on the metal head of her cane, biting into her skin until she felt the prick of pain. Standing to the side of the hall she could observe, keeping herself hidden away from the prying eyes of those looking to mock. From her vantage point she could see Dovey, her wide smile bright in the light cast from the chandeliers overhead. She sneered at the other woman’s joy. It was painful, knowing her side had contributed to the happiness of Good.

Watching Dovey at least brought her some relief from the single person she didn’t want to be caught staring at. She was being careful, keeping one of those infernal Christmas trees between her and you, lest she find herself doing something drastic like watching you as you laughed.

You were practically glittering in the soft lighting. The moment you’d walked in her breath had caught and she’d frozen, not able to think of anything outside of the fact that everything about you called to her. She’d had to promptly turn away, smacking Manley out of the way with her cane as she’d swept to the furthest corner of the room. There was no sense giving in to the impulse to steal you away and see how quickly she could bring tears to your eyes.

You lent into Anemone as you spoke to her, your eyes glittering under the light of the chandelier. A slow smile spread over your face, soft and joyful, the exact kind she was certain the inane professor taught in her classes. It was vapid and vacuous and had no substance at all. That was why her heart was pounding in her chest. Because she was so angry.

No other reason.

Your laughter was so light, floating on the air towards her. It shouldn’t have reached her ear, not with the band playing. But it was as if her ears were attuned to you. Her stomach clenched, fingers tightening on the head of her cane. It was becoming too much, an overwhelming impulse to do something rising in her.

It wasn’t going to be pretty if she let it take control.

Edging her way around the wall, she placed another one of the towering Christmas trees between her and you. The air smelt of pine and spices, the fires roaring, magic in the air. It was sickening. Her stomach turned.

She snatched up a goblet of mulled wine, wrinkling her nose at it. She downed it before grabbing another. It was warm, seeping through her veins until her fingers could relax again.

Leaning against the wall, she glowered over the rim of her goblet as you were swept onto the dance floor. One of the Evers, a shining prince in his full regalia, was holding you in his arms, stiff and proper. You shone as he spun you around the floor, keeping perfect time with the music. Her teeth ground together.

“Can’t you put that scowl away for one night? It’s the holidays.”

She shouldn’t have let herself lose track of Dovey in the milling crowd. The annoying voice with the lilt of joy was enough to make her burst a blood vessel. Although, the undercurrent of annoyance was pleasing.

“I have a reputation to maintain,” she replied.

“Even Manley is having fun,” she said, looking over at the man dance alone in the crowd. Her nose wrinkled but she’d painted the smile on and wasn’t about to let it drop off for that muold stain of a man.

“Well, he is a buffoon,” she snapped.

“Just try and enjoy yourself,” Dovey said, losing patience, “everyone else is.”

Her eyes alighted on you again, watching the way the baubles in your hair caught the light of the candles around the ballroom. As you spun, your skirt fanned out around you, the puerile shade of blue only making your skin glow with health. There was nothing harsh about you, all soft curves and delicate lines, making her grit her teeth. You certainly looked as if you were enjoying yourself.

She wanted to sink her teeth into you until you begged her to stop.

“Why not find a partner and dance? You’ll have fun,” Dovey said.

She wasn’t about to admit she’d never learnt to dance like this. Nevers weren’t taught how to survive in a ballroom. Stick her in a forest and she would be fine, a concerning cottage and she’d thrive, a disreputable inn and she would delight in the experience. But give her a dance floor and she was lost.

But you with your perfect hair and perfect smile were right at home in the arms of some prince waltzing over the dance floor.

“Are those some students sneaking into the party?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Where?”

Dovey whipped around and in her moment of distraction with the Never students crashing the party, she slipped away. Sneaking, that was another skill she possessed in great quantities. Catching one last glance at you, shining and sparkling like the jewel you were, she left the party behind with a snarl.

The icy wind bit into the skin of her face as she strode out into the gardens. The moon was high in the sky, full, casting silverly light down upon her as she found a secluded place to brood. Skulking in the shadows, she stared out at the forest, trees swaying in the wind. Snow fell about her, entirely too picturesque for her current mood.

The entire night could be filed under disaster, and not because she’d planned for it to be. She took a sip from the goblet she’d stolen from the Evers, the mulled wine warming her up from the inside out. She’d known the entire endeavour would be just another defeat to add to her long list. She pursed her lips, fingers tightening on the head of her cane until the pain of it soothed her. Pain was familiar and delicious. Pain never let her down. Pain was comforting when the rest of the world made no sense.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The thing about Evers were they were light on their feet. Delicate footsteps were easy to miss when she wasn’t paying attention. But there you were, walking towards her with one of those perfect soft smile on your face, practically glowing in the moonlight. Snow fell on your bare shoulders, melting in your hair, getting caught in your eyelashes.

She had to tear her eyes from your figure, staring out at the forest again. With a wrinkle of her nose, she sneered at your question. She hardly wanted to be in a storybook winter scene. She was certain if she was then it would be as she was chased by pitchforks and swords. That’s how it usually went when someone was evil these days.

“Weren’t you enjoying the party?” you asked, voice bright and not discouraged in the slightest. Why were you never discouraged by her unpleasantness? She worked so hard at it.

“I’m not some Ever that can be charmed by decorations and music,” she replied.

“No, you want something more substantive, don’t you? You’re not interested in something as surface level as beauty,” you said.

Her eye darted towards you, sweeping over your form. You weren’t even hiding the way you were watching her. Your eyes were sparkling and your lips were tugging up into a smile that made butterflies erupt in her stomach like she was some simpering Ever. Beauty, it turned out, did very well for her when it was yours.

“Still, the dancing was fun,” you said.

“I’m sure,” she replied, “you should go back to it.”

All you did was shift closer to her, only an inch, but enough for her to stiffen. She could feel you, so aware of the space between your arm and hers. Her jaw clenched and she had to fight against the impulse to lash out and shove you away. If you fell, all the better. That would teach you a lesson about simpering in her direction.

“But I much prefer the view out here,” you said and you batted your fucking eyelashes at her.

Her heart should not be doing a backflip. She should not be feeling her cheeks flushing. Her gaze should definitely not be dropping to your pretty pink lips. She growled but you only inched closer to her again.

Only then you were close enough for her to notice the way you were shivering. The snowflakes were dusting your skin, slow to melt. You didn’t seem to care. If it wasn’t for the fact the air was still biting at her skin, she’d almost believe you weren’t aware of the cold. But you were shivering even as you lent towards her.

The only time she wanted to see you uncomfortable was when she was causing it.

Like when her nails dug into your skin and your eyes watered. Or when she threatened you and your eyes widened. Or when she pinned you up against a wall and your eyes sparkled.

“You should get back inside. Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death out here,” she grumbled.

“Lady Lesso, I had no idea you cared so much,” you said, but you were smiling and she thought you might be laughing at her.

“Get out of here,” she snapped.

Your shoulder brushed against hers. She should have been paying more attention and not letting you get so close. Just the heat of your body was making her head spin. Something was wrong with her. So very wrong.

“I can’t tempt you to come with me?” you asked.

You could tempt her to do so many things that were not appropriate for an Ever to do. She could corrupt you so easily. You’d be doing all kinds of things that would leave you a flustered mess. She wanted to see you beg.

“Just go,” she said.

Your fingers were warm against her chin as you turned her face towards you. Your teeth had sunk into your lower lip and it took a great amount of self control not to take the invitation and sink hers in too. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over her lips.

“What are you doing?” she demanded but her voice came out more breathless than she was hoping.

“Celebrating,” you replied.

Your lips brushed hers, soft and gentle, the exact way she expected Evers to kiss. Saccharine sweet, the exact kind of kiss that would spark true love. It shouldn’t make her heart flutter.

But then you pressed closer, kissing harder, your tongue running along her lower lip. Your fingers tightened on her chin, holding her in place and she found herself opening to you. You tasted like champagne and chocolate and all she wanted was more of it. The goblet tumbled from her had as she pressed it to the small of your back, hauling you as close as your full skirt would allow. You moaned, and it was filthier than anything she could have expected to come out of you.

You drew away, eyes slow to blink open, lips kiss swollen. She felt dumb struck, like lightning had struck her out of the sky. The blood in her veins was thrumming, the same way it did when she managed to pull off a particularly brilliant piece of villainy. Your lips curled up into a small smile, and you stepped back.

Her fingers clenched around the empty air, not liking the lose of your warmth. You chuckled, fingertips brushing over her cheekbone before you clasped your hands in front of you like the good perfect Ever you pretended to be.

“Merry Christmas, Lady Lesso,” you said, voice such a nice timbre it went through her like a shudder.

She watched as you disappeared back into the shadows, returning to the party she’d abandoned. Turning back to the forest, her hand rose to her lips, unbidden and unconscious. They still tingled from the feeling of yours against them, the taste of you still on her tongue.

Merry fucking Christmas indeed.

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Bitches love reblogging this post every Tuesday the 18th

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Abolish Tesla.

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see the THING IS I don't feel like I ever worked hard enough to have "earned" the burnout, which is. probably how we got here.

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

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