#which knots up exactly at the top of my spine and makes existing an absolute nightmare!

[traumacupcake]

so it turns out the one thing I can hate more passionately than my job is trying to learn coding!

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Prowling For Pleasure

You treat Vergil to a night of indulgent luxury and forbidden pleasures.

Rated Explicit for: Dubcon, Vampiric Manipulation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Femdom, and the usual Vampire Activities. 

Part Two: Decadence & Depravity 

Tonight is the night of your promised hunt, and you can honestly say that you’ve never felt this excited in all your undead life! Everything is almost ready for your date…all you need to do is finish getting dressed, which is easier said than done with the ever-growing knot in the pit of your stomach. You’ve grown accustomed to spending your solitude with only a few trusted confidants, but the thought of stepping out for a night on the town with Vergil is exhilarating!

You can’t stand all the pent-up nervousness and excitement raging inside you any longer. Your eyes dart over to a black velvet bag sitting on a nearby shelf as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup. You reach over and grab it before taking out a deck of tarot cards at Vergil’s desk. Their musty scent wafts through the air as you shuffle the cards a few times, envisioning your question before splitting the deck into three smaller stacks. Then, you gather them all back up in a different order and spread the top four cards out on the desk in the form of a cross.

Time to see how our date will play out.

You turn over the first card to reveal the image of a nude woman pouring two vessels of water, one over land and the other into a calm river. Your lips curve into a fond smile at the familiar card, The Star, which has popped up in a lot of your readings ever since Vergil started calling you by the sweet endearment. So, it makes sense why this card represents you and your feelings in the matter at hand: you hope to grow even closer with your fierce fella after tonight.

Your brow quirks at the next card in the spread, which depicts a man in full armor riding atop a valiant steed with a large wand. Huh…how curious, you muse, tilting your head at the Knight of Wands as you ponder its meaning. It usually denotes a popular person prone to grand gestures crossing your way…this person may also be full of themselves and impetuous, leading them to make rushed and foolish decisions. You’re not exactly sure what this means for your date tonight, but you get the feeling that it won’t be favorable.  

The next card has you blinking a couple times before leaning in just to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. But the scene of three young women dancing in a circle with their golden chalices held high in a joyful toast remains the same. Curiouser and curiouser, you thought while tapping your nails on the desk, wondering if the proposed outcome of success is too good to be true. Drawing the Three of Cups is all around a good omen though, so you press onto the very last card of the spread.

A shiver runs up your spine at the sight of a man and a woman embracing each other in paradise. The consequences of tonight’s date will lead to what you’ve always wanted in your previous life…and what you desire now more than ever despite your cursed existence. Now I know it’s too good to be true, you consider sullenly, warning yourself to not get your hopes up as you begin clearing the desk. But a peculiar notion pops into your head when you touch The Lovers card again; it doesn’t seem like your usual stray thoughts at all…it feels like a sudden prediction of moments yet come…    

Two souls shall converge in a moment of destiny.

“I didn’t take you for a fortune teller.”

Your head whips around at the sound of your lover’s voice. His soft lips curl into a smirk as you check out his delectable attire for tonight. The paisley pattern of the midnight blue jacket looks absolutely regal buttoned around his waist. A black and blue handkerchief pokes out of his jacket’s pocket, bringing your attention to the silky black lapels framing his broad chest. The matching black dress shirt and pants starkly contrasts with his silvery white hair while the Yamato hanging on his hip completes his elegant wardrobe.

“I don’t dabble in tarot much,” you explain while storing the cards back inside the small velvet bag. “But I thought a little insight might help us with our date tonight,” you admit, softly nipping your lower lip with a single fang as you get up from his desk.

Vergil hums in understanding as you stow the bag back on the appropriate shelf. “And where, exactly, shall this date take place?” he inquires, slicking back his perfectly styled hair while watching you with a curious gleam in his eyes.

Your hands become a blur as you quickly wrap your hair into a low bun before pinning it in place. “There’s this posh jazz lounge downtown,” you reveal while grabbing a starry headpiece with two chain swags. “It has an excellent bar, great music…” you pause for a moment as you carefully stick the headpiece right above your bun. “And some private sitting rooms for exclusive members,” you finish, clipping the two chains on either side of your head.

Vergil tilts his head. “Sounds like you’ve hunted there before.”

You chortle at his keen deduction as you swiftly fasten an elaborate shoulder necklace around your neck. “It was my usual haunt on those nights whenever I needed a break from blood packs,” you recall with an impish smirk while adjusting the hanging strings of pearls on your arms. “But I haven’t had to go back since you feed me so well, my love,” you point out with a playful purr before showing off your strapless black dress.

The sparkling diamonds and iridescent pearls twinkle like stars as you spin around with a slow and sensual twirl. His husky growl sends pleasant tingles below your belly as the skirt flares out, revealing your bare legs and black stiletto heels. You run a finger down your cleavage with a flirty grin, relishing the spark of desire in his silver blue eyes as your knee pokes out of the scandalously long slit of your dress.

“Well?” you prompt with a pleased smile. “What do you think?”

Vergil slowly stalks over to you. “Now I know why mortals can’t stay away when you’re on the prowl,” he softly declares while taking your hand. “You’re irresistible…” he trails off, turning your hand so that he may place a gentle kiss upon your wrist. “And utterly magnificent,” he murmurs with a reverent smile as he tips your chin up into his amorous kiss.    

You grasp the lapels of his jacket as both of your lips slowly smack against each other for a moment before withdrawing with delighted hums. He offers his arm and you gladly accept by wrapping both of your hands around his elbow. His wicked smirk stirs that ever-present hunger deep inside you as he leads you out of his room, effectively distracting you from sharing one more crucial detail of the date.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to do before we leave,” you reveal nervously as both of you descend the stairs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone but…”

Vergil looks down at you inquisitively as you close your eyes and focus on reaching out with your mind. His eyes widen in shock as your quiet thoughts brush against his consciousness. “It’ll help us keep track of each other tonight,” you reassure, patiently waiting for him to let down his guard. You can feel him contemplating for a few moments before your mind is suddenly flooded with another presence. It feels familiar and little apprehensive, so you decide to test the connection with a simple thought.

Can you hear me, my love?  

Vergil stares at your unmoving lips in wonder as your words pass through his mind. Then, he gives you an affectionate smile while his response slips past your barrier.        

You continue to surprise me, my Evening Star.

“Shall we?” he asks aloud while opening the door.

Your soft giggle fills his mind as both of you leave the shop. He slashes open a portal with the Yamato and takes your arm before leading you to the other side. Then, you explain your powers and abilities in more detail as you both walk through the more upscale part of the city towards your destination. It doesn’t take long for both of you to arrive at The Nightingale, a high-end jazz lounge and your hunting ground for the night.

Vergil asks if a reservation is needed to enjoy this swanky club as you approach the entrance. You nod and admit that you’re not on the list but that can be rectified with just a few words. He quirks his brow at you as he opens the door, letting you enter first before following right behind you.

A young lady greets you in the entryway. “Hi! Welcome to The Nightingale! Your name, please?” she inquires with a friendly smile.

You give her some random name and as she looks down to check the list, you let a tiny bit of the magnetizing presence hidden within you slip out. “Hmm…I don’t see you…” she trails off with a soft gasp as her head snaps up to meet your gaze. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she admits with a dreamy sigh before blinking with surprise. “Oh! I’m so sorry, miss! I dunno what’s gotten into me,” she hastily apologizes with a shake of her head.

“Think nothing of it, darling,” you reassure with a tilt of your head as you stare into her awestruck eyes.

Your vampiric charm pulls her in deeper as you delve into her mind, sifting through a few recent memories before reshaping one for your intended purpose. “Perhaps you should check the list again,” you kindly suggest while receding from her mind. “We don’t want any trouble over a simple misunderstanding,” you add with a patient smirk as you glance over at Vergil, who looks just as confused and fascinated as the hostess.

“Yes, of course,” she replies before checking the list again. “Oh! There you are!” she exclaims while marking the exact name she now remembers you saying to begin with. “Must’ve misheard you…so sorry about that!” she apologizes again with a sheepish grin as she points down a nearby hall with huge double doors. You thank her with a smile before heading in that direction, silently amused at her quiet muttering about making a fool of herself in front of a beautiful stranger.

Vergil observes you from the corner of his eye before speaking softly. “It all makes sense now…how you’re so good at gathering information,” he muses with an amazed smirk as both of you come to a halt in the hallway.

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do, my love,” you boast, noting the two doormen just outside the main venue as you stare up at him with a smug smile. His arms wrap around you as he chuckles at your boldness, bringing you in close to bestow a soft kiss above your brow.

“Happy hunting, my dear.”

And with that, he teleports away in a blink of an eye, leaving you to deal with the spooked doormen. Damnable devil, you thought while rolling your eyes with an annoyed huff. But you’re able to calm them down easily by assuming a peaceful aura within your vampiric presence. They both go back to their positions by the double doors and swing them open as you approach the loud and lively venue.

The smooth sounds of jazz along with the excited chatter of the crowd brings back memories of a past long forgotten. You pause just outside the door to capture this moment before a magnificent storm while nostalgia sweeps you away to a bygone age. Then, you slowly release the full majesty of your presence, letting it unfurl like a blooming flower as you stride into the main floor with your head held high.

All eyes are instantly upon you as the entirety of the club notices your grand entrance. Even the music slows down as your presence hits the musicians, but they quickly recover and find the rhythm again. You can’t help but to smirk at their awed stares and gaping faces as you pass by multiple tables. Several waiters completely ignore their current customers to assist you with your every need. Your soft laughter makes all their hearts beat faster, stirring your hunger as you request a secluded table on the second floor. Their heavenly sighs fill the air when they behold your gracious smile before rushing off to do their task.

You search for Vergil with your mind as you head up to the second floor, questioning if he successfully made it inside the venue unnoticed. His impressed hum brushing against your consciousness lets you know that he’s not only there but close by. Your eyes dart from side to side as you wonder where he could be hiding…but the mystery of his whereabouts has you shivering with anticipation. The thrill of being watched from the shadows runs through you as you’re seated on a plush couch by a table with a fantastic view of the stage.  

That’s when your hunt truly begins.

Most of your kind usually like to roam around looking for their prey and play pretend as they chat up some gullible mortals. Then, they lure them to a private place where the ignorant human will experience the bliss of the Dark Kiss while their new acquaintance indulges in their blood. It’s typical of all vampires to hunt this way…but some predators wait for their prey to come to them.

And oh, do they come…like a swarm of moths to a dangerous flame.

Quite a few people approach you with various requests over the next hour. Some ask if they can join your table while others just want to buy you a drink. You accept some patrons at your table and refuse others, steadily surrounding yourself with potential prey while listening to excellent jazz. Your keen sense of hearing picks up their whispered conversation, learning a little about these mortals as you judge the potency of their blood. All of them show promise but their constant gawking and shallow compliments are boring you to death…again!

Your eyes begin to wander as the band starts playing a slow and smoky tune, totally changing the atmosphere of the club to something more intimate. And that’s when you spy a young woman standing by the bar, trying her hardest to not get caught staring as she peeks over at your table. How adorable, you muse while admiring her curves and pretty dress. You tilt your head with interest when her body quivers under your alluring gaze, which only whets your appetite even more…that is until the sudden appearance of a young man distracts her.

You manage to hold back the irritable growl crawling up your throat at this unfortunate interruption. But you continue to watch closely as they start talking, noting that they must know each other very well going by their friendly demeanor. The woman must have mentioned you since the man glances your way and his body instantly reacts much like his lady friend. Your brow quirks as they lean in close, sharing a few more hushed whispers before turning around to face you together.

Oh my…what an adventurous couple, you surmise, softly laughing to yourself as you dismiss your entourage with a mere flick of your hand. They all follow your silent command without question, leaving you alone with a couple bottles of unopened champagne. You pat the now empty couch with your hand as you lure them over with an inviting grin.

The daring couple immediately join you and introduce themselves while sitting on either side of you on the couch. You take one of the bottles of champagne and pop the cork, smiling at their eager faces as you kindly offer to pour them a drink. They each grab a glass and propose a toast about seizing opportunities for new experiences before taking a sip as you steer the conversation towards themselves.

It doesn’t take much cajoling to learn that they’re not only a couple but engaged, and you just so happen to catch them the night before their wedding! You ask why they’ve chosen to spend their time with you rather than enjoying each other’s company and they both give a vague answer…but curiosity gets the better of you. So, you simply urge them to be honest with your captivating presence, holding them even tighter within your seductive sway as they spill all their dirty little secrets.  

Oh, this is just too delicious! you gush when they reveal one in particular fantasy about having a threesome with a gorgeous stranger. You lean in real close to each of them and whisper your own craving for something new and exciting, tempting both of them with the promise of exquisite pleasure as you nibble on their ear. Your hunger intertwines with lust as you eye both of their necks, reveling in the aroused blood running through their veins.

You’re absolutely ravenous by the time they finish off one bottle of champagne, and you dare say that your venturesome couple is ready for more…but the sudden announcement of a song request draws your attention. You look down at the stage to see the bandleader pointing up in your direction.

“This next song is for the star up above.”

The band begins playing some mediocre number that barely manages to be tolerable. Your brow furrows at the awful request while your lovely couple remains totally oblivious to your confusion. The insidious whispers of paranoia invade your thoughts, but you push them aside as you mentally reach out to Vergil.

Did you…?

His reply is swift with a hint of cold anger.

No. It was him.

You scan the room and instantly spot the man that has provoked the ire of your fierce fella. It’s not hard to pick him out with that shameless leer on his face as he struts towards you. As he gets closer, you feel this distinctive shift in the air around him while the potency of his blood sets you on edge. You can sense his influence seeping through the mortals around him, bending their will in a show of dominance as he finally makes it to your table.  

There’s no mistaking it.

You’re in the presence of another vampire.  

“Hey there, sugar,” he greets, making your skin crawl as his lips curve into an oily smile. “Mind if I join you?”

You give him a quick once over before looking back up with an unimpressed frown. “Would if I could but I’m quite busy at the moment,” you decline coolly, wrapping an arm around the woman as you tousle the man’s hair.

“Aww, c’mon now…can’t a couple of night owls share a drink?” he persists as his eyes flicker over your adventurous couple.

Your eyes squint into an icy glare. “Go get your own and leave me be.”

The meddling mosquito laughs in your face. “Listen, I don’t appreciate you moving in on my turf without the proper courtesy that’s expected of one so young,” he discloses while that oily smile turns more sinister with every word. “But I’m willing to put this lil’ transgression behind us.”

You roll your eyes as he moves in closer, encroaching on your personal space while staring you down. His lecherous gaze makes your blood boil as a foreign presence slams against consciousness. “All you have to do is-” he abruptly gets cut off as his eyes meet with your furious stare.

KNEEL!

Your harsh command assaults his mind with overwhelming force. His knees buckle under the weight of your superior power as he falls to the ground. He looks back up at you in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide as he begins to grovel at your feet. “I’m deeply sorry, mistress…I didn’t realize-”

SILENCE!

The pathetic little tick instantly shuts his gaping mouth. “I know for a fact this is not your turf,” you reveal, slowly raising his chin up with your foot before shoving the tip of your stiletto heel between his lips. “In fact, no one has claim over this place…until tonight.”

His eyes widen in terror as you pierce his filthy damned soul with your scornful gaze. You mentally nudge the young woman beside you to grab the bottle of champagne off of the table. She complies and pops the cork before handing it over with a sweet smile, not even acknowledging the cowering vampire kneeling before you.

“It’s all mine now.”  

Your overpowering dominance keeps him from standing up or speaking out as you pour every last drop of champagne atop of his head. An amused chuckle flits through your mind as the sparkling bubbly dribbles down his mortified face. You wedge the tip of your heel deeper between his teeth, letting the slope of your foot guide a good amount of champagne into his mouth. He gags and tries to spit it out, but you command him to swallow every fizzy drop, knowing that he’ll have to suffer through the unpleasant process of purging it from his body once you’re done with him.  

You order him to clean your foot as soon as the champagne stops flowing, carefully instructing him to only lick the bottom since your stiletto heels are way too expensive for his vile tongue. Your lips curl into a cruel smirk as he laps up all the dirt and grime with a disgusted frown on his face. You take pleasure in his humiliation while handing the empty bottle over to the young man sitting calmly beside you. And when you tire of his submissive cleaning, you decide to give this worthless tick one last word of warning before setting him free.

“I highly suggest you never darken my domain again,” you threaten while molding his will like wet clay, “unless you want to suffer a fate worse than Final Death.”

And with that final command, you release him with a dismissive wave of your hand. He quickly stands up and tries to speak, but something behind you catches him off guard. You see a flicker of blue reflect in his horrified eyes, visibly shaking with unbridled fear as he slowly backs away before making a hasty departure.

You follow his speedy retreat until he’s no longer in sight. “Now, where were we?” you murmur while cupping the lady’s cheek as your foot rubs up and down the young man’s leg. “Ah yes…I remember now.” Your hungry gaze flickers between your adventurous couple before looking at one of the private sitting rooms. Their bodies shiver in delight as you finally close in on your prey with one final question:

“Care to join me somewhere more private?”      

🌹🦇🌹 (Vergil’s POV) 🌹🦇🌹

Vergil knew he was in for an intriguing experience when he agreed to this lascivious date. So far, it’s played out exactly as he expected: you’ve ensnared everyone in the club with your enthralling presence and caught some prey within your alluring web. The detestable appearance of another vampire nearly made him come out of hiding to cut him down. But he stayed his hand and watched as his Evening Star bent the miscreant to her will before ordering him to leave immediately.

Remarkable, he muses, impatiently wringing the collar of his dress shirt while intense yearning flushes through his body. His keen ears pick up your sensual whisper as you ask the enamored young couple to follow you somewhere else. They nod their heads eagerly before wrapping themselves around each of your arms. He hears your voice ringing through his mind like a delicate breeze as you stand up and glance at a vacant room guarded by a doorman.

Better hurry, my love…the show’s about to begin.

Vergil smirks at your playful tone as you glide across the floor with refined grace. He follows close behind, trying his best to remain unseen while waiting for an opening to sneak into the room. Your captivating gaze falls upon the doorman, staring at him with intense focus while muttering under your breath. His eyes glaze over as he stands stock still for a few seconds before snapping out his momentary daze. Then, the doorman smiles politely at your approach and opens the door for you, giving Vergil the opportunity to slink in after you when he walks away.

He quietly shuts the door behind him and creeps among the shadows of the room, checking for any sign of the couple being aware of an uninvited guest. But you have them wrapped around your finger, completely infatuated and fawning over your every move as you lead them to a large couch in the corner. He leans against the opposite wall as you guide the woman to sit down and halt the young man from following suit by gently placing your hand on his chest.        

“Ladies first.”

The young man shivers and nods his head in understanding. He moves to stand by the young woman while you sit beside her, giving Vergil a perfect view as the climax of your hunt begins. You cup her face and bring her in close, only stopping a hair’s breadth from her lips as your hands slide down her neck. She whimpers and tries to lean in for a kiss, but you gently push her to lie down on the couch and continue to caress the curves of her body.

Vergil remains motionless as you lift the young woman’s dress up, spreading her legs to reveal her soaking wet panties. His cock twitches as you settle between her thighs, nipping at her skin while moving lower and lower…then, the woman gasps and her face contorts in pain for only a second before slacking in pleasure as your fangs sink into the prominent vein near her clothed sex.    

“Holy shit,” the young man grunts, palming his bulging crotch as he watches you partake of his lover.

Vergil finds himself mirroring the action, cupping his aching cock while taking in every detail of this depraved moment. The euphoric moans of the young woman as she writhes in pleasure on the couch has him itching to loosen his pants. But he resists the urge to touch himself and just continues to witness the power his Evening Star welds over these mortals.

You withdraw from the woman after drinking a couple more mouthfuls and pin the young man down with your lustful gaze. His eyes widen as you smack your red lips, letting out a pleased hum while drops of blood dribble down your chin. “What the fuck?!” he gasps with realization as you bend down and close the wounds on his lover’s thigh with a swipe of your tongue.

Vergil senses his fear and summons the Yamato at the ready for a quick getaway if needed. But you simply rush over to him in a mere second and place a single finger on his trembling lips. “Shh,” you coo, staring deeply into his eyes as you ease him to a state of total relaxation. His lips curve into a dopey smile as you circle around and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” you whisper while staring down at the blissed-out woman still laying on the couch.

“Y-yes!” he gasps as your fangs graze his ear. “I love her so much,” he tacks on with genuine fondness, making your lips quirk into an amused smirk while prompting him to look at you once more.

“Be a good boy and feed your mistress.”

The young man turns around and bares his neck for you. He seems to melt in your embrace as you scrape your fangs against the pulsating vein. You peer over his shoulder before biting down, seemingly staring right where Vergil is standing in shadows. The young man grunts in pain as your fangs sink into his flesh, but then he moans as his body quakes in pleasure.

Vergil’s grip on the Yamato tightens as his other hand moves on its own accord, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants while you enjoy your second drink of the night. He quietly hisses as his cock springs free from its tight confines, already engorged and weeping white droplets at the tip. His blatant gaze never wavers from your mesmerizing stare as he finally succumbs to his deepest desire and begins pleasuring himself. He grits his teeth with every pump of his hand, consciously holding back any grunts and growls that try to escape his throat. The intense yearning from earlier overtakes his mind, hardening his cock even more with the thought of you handling mortals like mere playthings.

After a few more moments of silently watching each other, you release the young man’s neck with a pleased hiss. Your tongue closes his wounds with a quick lick before relinquishing him from your grasp. You softly gasp and cover your delighted smirk with a dainty hand as you examine the huge wet spot on the front of his pants.

“Looks like somebody got too excited!” you playfully note while directing him to sit next to his lover on the couch. “But that’s alright,” you sigh as the young man just smiles happily, totally oblivious to coming undone by your sensual bite alone. “I know exactly what you need for round two,” you divulge with a wicked gleam in your eye as you take a seat between them.

Vergil pauses at your mysterious words and quirks his eyebrow when you prick your middle finger with one of your fangs. “Both of you have pleased your mistress greatly,” you gush while holding your hand over to the young woman. “So as a reward…” you murmur as a few droplets of your blood drips between her parted lips.

The young woman lets out an ecstatic cry as your thick and redolent nectar touches her tongue. You let her suckle on your finger for a moment before giving the young man his fair share of his prize. He also cries out at the taste of your blood, eagerly lapping every drop off your finger. The front of his pants grow tight with his reinvigorated arousal while his lover rubs her cunt through her drenched panties.

You get up from the couch and stare at the hedonistic couple with a satisfied smile. “I suggest you fuck each other hard and rough,” you coax with a provocative purr. “Oh! And one more thing,” you quickly add while cupping both of their enraptured faces. “After you both come…” you trail off as they meet your entrancing gaze, remaining still and silent until he hears you whispering your final command.

FORGET.

Vergil sees the light in their eyes glaze over as you slowly retreat from the couch. He swiftly puts his cock away and waits until you’re close enough to pounce on you. His arm encircles your waist before dragging you back into the shadows.  

“You shine so brightly, my Evening Star,” he whispers fondly, earning a quiet giggle and soft whimper from you as he nibbles your ear.

Your head tilts to the side as you look up at him from the corner of your eye. “Enjoy the show, my love?” you inquire with a naughty grin while grinding against his crotch.  

“Immensely.”

“Mmm…I’ll say!” you quietly exclaim with glee while eyeing his straining cock.

You suddenly become a blur of motion before his eyes, completely taking him off guard as he leans back against the wall. His head snaps down to see his pants by his knees and you licking the underside of his cock, pulling a surprised grunt from him while the sound of passionate sex fills the air. You gesture with your head towards the swooning couple, subtly prodding him to watch as they fulfill your request.

Vergil beholds the scene of pure debauchery just a few feet in front of him: torn clothes strewn across the floor surround the couple vigorously making love on the couch. He focuses on the lady bouncing up and down in the young man’s lap, admiring her swaying breasts as she struggles to keep up with her lover’s fast pace. His curious gaze lingers down to where they’re connected, so wet and slippery as they slap against each other over and over. He feels your mouth sink all the way down his cock as both of their cries of shared ecstasy stoke the flames of his desire.  

You waste no time with your usual teasing and start sucking him off with the fervor of a wanton harlot, eagerly bobbing your head in time with the couple’s raunchy pace. Their litany of shameless moans drown out his approving growl as he cups the back of your head and thrusts his hips to meet every downstroke of your mouth. He can feel his cock growing more taut against your tongue while the tightening sensation of imminent release pools below his belly. The hand clenching the Yamato starts to shake as he pursues that blessed peak of pleasure, approaching fast and getting closer and closer and closer…  

The private room’s door abruptly bursts open, startling both him and the randy couple but not you in the slightest. A strange sensation swathes him with a spine-tingling chill as a doorman hurries inside and begins asking the couple to get dressed. Your lips curl into knowing smirk around his cock, still sucking with gusto as his heart begins to pound with the thrill of getting caught.

The doormen turns his head towards your hiding spot in the shadowy corner. Vergil takes the Yamato in both hands and presses its sheath against the back of your head, effectively barring you from making any more movement. But that doesn’t stop your tongue from lavishing his shaft…nor your hands from caressing his innermost thighs. He purses his lips and glares down at you in warning while attempting to remain silently composed.

You look up at his scowling face as your fangs elongate in defiance, grazing the silky skin around the base of his cock. The lone doorman comes closer, peering at the darkened corner as you stroke and squeeze his balls. The preserve thought of coming undone in front of a total stranger makes his pleasure soar sky high, climbing higher and higher until his impending release starts to curl and crest…and despite his best efforts to stubbornly resist, he comes crashing down with a restrained roar at the back of this throat.

Vergil watches as the doorman scratches his head in confusion, seemingly unaware of a devilish intruder emptying his load into your mouth. He doesn’t dare to move with the doorman standing so close, resigning to just enjoy the decadence of such carnal delights as the last tremors of his orgasm leaves him breathless. But the doorman eventually departs with the perplexed couple in tow, finally giving both of you respite from the utterly tense yet highly arousing situation. He glances down at you through half-lidded eyes, noting the white streaks of his seed leaking down your pretty chin with a gratified hum.    

Your lips curve into a pleased grin as you pull his spent cock out of your mouth. He knows that you can’t partake of his seed, but the thought of you spitting it out seems like a waste. So, he sweeps you up into his arms before you find a trash bin and captures your lips with a hungry kiss. You throw your arms around his neck as he pries your mouth open, softly moaning while thick white cum trickles down on his waiting tongue. He swings you around and presses your back against the wall, eagerly drinking every last drop before tearing away from your lush lips with a low growl.

“I have half a mind to punish you for your disobedience,” he scolds with an irritable snarl.    

“Even though you liked it?” you point out with an amused giggle. “You shouldn’t have let me taste you again if you really wanted to berate me for fulfilling your voyeuristic fantasies,” you point out while licking your lips with a satisfied hum. His brow twitches at your response but he doesn’t deny that he enjoyed the rush of adrenaline when the doorman unknowingly looked straight at him. You smile knowingly as he lowers you down to the ground with an indignant huff.

“And don’t worry, my love,” you coo softly as he makes himself presentable again. “I cloaked us both in the shadows of their mind, so we weren’t in any real danger of being caught.”

Vergil pauses as he remembers the strange sensation that overtook him when the doorman showed up. “You’ve failed to mention that you can extend that deceptive power to me,” he mutters with a suspicious squint while zipping up his pants and buckling his belt.

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” you note with a nonchalant shrug and cheeky grin.

A rumbling growl emanates from his throat as he crowds you against the wall with his looming height. “Such insolence will not go unpunished, my dear.”

You nip your lower lip with a single fang as his hand slides up along the slit of your dress before slipping between your legs. He softly growls while stroking you over the flimsy fabric of your panties, utterly pleased by slick essence of your sex dripping down his long fingers. You whimper as he shows off just how wet you are by bringing his hand up close to his face before licking a finger clean. Then, he presses another glistening finger against your lips, silently demanding you to open your mouth while gazing down at you with dark promise in his eyes. You hum indulgently while sucking his finger clean before titillating him with your brazen response to his enticing threat.          

“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me, my love.”    

I’d like to thank @bettybattaglia for her galaxy brain idea of champagne guzzling and heel licking! And I gotta give a shout to all my fellow judgement sluts in the discord server for encouraging this filth! 😂🙈

Tagging: @drusoona @exsultry @tehrevving @varen-neoraven @shiranyaaww

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Half As Good As You (1 / 2)

Jax Teller x Female Reader

A/N:��I know i’m late to the party, but I am finally catching up with Sons of Anarchy, also known as one of the greatest shows ever made. I absolutely adore it, for so many reasons (Charlie Hunnam obviously being one of them). Jax Teller is such a promising character, with such an enormous literary potential, I couldn’t resist. 

This two-part story is loosely based on Tom Odell’s song “Half As Good As You”. 

Please enjoy, feedback is appreciated if you feel like leaving something. 

Warnings: a lil’ bit of angst and heartache. 

What a spectacular day for murder, you thought, grabbing your Balenciaga bag from the passenger seat right next to you, your cold take-out coffee’s smell still hanging in the confines of your car.

Charming welcomed you back with cloudless, infinite azure and blinding yellow sun, an airplane chalking a line on the canvas of the sky above your head.

Swinging that bag over your shoulder, you let your gaze wander back to the house in front of you; the empty driveway, those colorless roses and the unwelcoming cold blue paint that you never thought you’d see again.

Your sister might have lived in that house now, but the vibe of it hadn’t changed much - it still stank of bleach, burned leather and filthy secrets. 

And to think you were to spend a weekend in these walls, where every little detail, everything - reminded you of him.

It felt like it had been ages; all your memories were just some stories someone had told you at some point, with no beginning and no end, pages ripped from old dusty journals for which no one had a care in the world anymore.

You lied, of course, when you told your sister if you’d come down it’d strictly be out of the goodness of the heart. Over the phone, you insisted on not wanting to leave the house before the wedding - that fucking house you hated the most in the entire world, that gas chamber in which you knew you’d have trouble to breathe - because you’d only come to watch her kids, while she gets drunk & partially naked before she ties the knot.

The sound of a roaring engine a few blocks away interrupted your train of thought as shivers ran down your spine, your fingers gripping steering wheel so hard your skin turned white.

Coming to Charming was a mistake.

Leaving the city in the first place was a choice, with which you’d learned to live.

Or so you thought.

Dawns were always the worst.

The subtle shift of light at around five in the morning gave the shit in his room back its color: the deep navy of his crumpled sheets, striking whites, yellows and greens of his underwear, scattered around, and the soft amber of the dresser, with framed pictures on top.

Jax would look at these colors perfect themselves, come out in all of their intensive glory, yet this would never amount to anything - no change in his black-and-white routine.

The rising sun later chose the best angle for its mindful rays, whitening out the faces on those photos. Most of the time, if Jax would let his eyes slip over the paper’s polished surface - accidentally, he kept telling himself - all he saw was perfect squares of bright light, the sun doing the job his brain couldn’t - saving him all the heartache.

The morning would paint his misery a new, less lethargic color as he’d drink his coffee at the bar, surrounded by his brothers, all laughing and talking in hoarse, morning voices. That would shake him up a little, the claws of last night’s dreams letting go some. Those dreams died eventually, but the nightmare of reality went on, and sometimes it was difficult for Jax to tell one from the other.

He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to push his coping mechanisms to a whole new level.

Sitting at the bar, his long fingers wrapped around a big cup of coffee, Jax kept digging holes in the middle of a microwaved cherry pie with a table spoon. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to get some food into him - the day promised to be busy and chaotic, he’d get lucky if he got a chance to eat before dinner.

“Aye, Jackie-boy, any news from Ope?” Jax slowly registered Chibs’ words as the Scot called for his attention, carefully sipping on his steamy tea.

It took a moment for Telford’s words to settle in; retrieving his phone from the side pocket of his sweats, Jax powered the display.

“Yeah, he’s...”

Words stuck in his throat, a lump he tried to push down, swallowing hard. He dropped the phone flat on the bar table, the sound deafening. Inhaling deeply, Jax brought one of his hands up to rub his eyes, his elbow knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee.

The drops of brownish liquid landed on your face, smiling at him from his phone, with Opie’s kids on either side.

Y/N’s in town. I’m sorry, man, we didn’t think she’d actually show. I’m on my way.

‘He’s on his way.’

Wiping his phone with the white t-shirt he still wore from last night, Jax scrolled down to see if Opie sent more of that stunningly pretty, makeup-free face of yours.

Winston didn’t.

It didn’t really matter, because one look at you had already sent his imagination reeling, his heart twisting in regret while beating ten hundred miles a minute.

You were back in Charming. The idea seemed outrageous, his thoughts even more so.

Maybe, it was a sign. Maybe, this was his past coming around to give him another shot to do this different. Better.

Maybe you two could work the shit out in the end of the day, maybe... maybe you came back for him.

“Hey Prospect, clean this shit up, will you?”

Grabbing his phone from the table, Jax motioned towards the black puddle on the floor once he got Half-Sack’s attention.

Running his fingers through the dirty-blond mane of hair, Teller headed to his room to take a shower, wash those bullshit thoughts away.

That’s all they were. Bullshit.

Your arrival lit a match in his mind, anger consuming him quicker than fire licking at dry paper.

And to what end?

The anger would come and go, leaving not even a fucking hint of solace behind.

So would you.

You never got around to babysitting that evening.

Dua Lipa’s voice blaring from the speakers, you could feel your chest rumble to the rhythm. The place was swarming with people; the bar welcomed a big crowd tonight, and under flickering lights you zeroed in on a face now and again, pacing your evening by the number of people you managed to make out from the human drunken mass.

Donna was having the time of her life as she swayed her hips to the beat. Her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, she laughed at something your friend Chloe said, wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, silent witnesses of her happiness.

Fumbling with your Margarita, you watched your sister closely, trying to convince yourself it was okay. It was Harry she was marrying for God’s sake. That teddy bear of a man that’d kill for her if needed.

And that was exactly what didn’t sit quite well with you.

You threw your head back, finishing your drink in one single gulp. Slamming the glass against the bar, you motioned for the bartender to approach. The young man with a messy man bun flashed you a smile, silently asking what your next choice would be.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” you yelled over the music, leaning over the bar so he could hear you better. Smiling still, the guy nodded, getting to it right away.

You plopped back on your seat, scanning the crowd with your eyes, again, trying to pass the time.

The scene hadn’t changed much since the last time you checked - most of the faces remained the same, the only difference being the cloudiness in people’s stares and sloppiness of their movements.

Yet your eyes narrowed as soon as you caught a young, handsome man staring at you, averting his gaze as soon as you spotted him. You were pretty sure you had never met him, yet something about him felt familiar... and suspicious.

Paying for your whiskey, you slipped off the bar stool, and slowly made your way to Donna.

“I’m going to get some air,’ you screamed into her ear, the beat of the basses making your knees tremble. Donna looked at you for a moment, as if trying to figure out your motives. Then she quickly nodded, lightly squeezing your wrist before letting go.

Gripping your whiskey glass tightly in order not to spill its contents, you made your way through the shifting crowd and into the hallway, slowly but surely.

Just as you walked out from the bar area, you noticed that young man you caught staring before turning around on his heels, following you.

It was a fleeting moment kind of realization, as you noticed Prospect written in bold letters on the back of the kutte the guy was wearing. Immediately you squirmed, pushing your way out of the bar with your elbows, slamming your glass on one of the unoccupied tables as you advanced.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes dashing around in search for a place to hide as soon as you reached the hallway.

You were being fucking followed. From the very fucking beginning. And by whom? By the Sons of Fucking Anarchy.

That would definitely up the number of candidates on your list for a well-deserved one night stand.

Thank God they didn’t think of sending someone bigger and meaner-looking, like Tig. Then your chances of getting laid tonight would have been non-existent, with the blue-eyed biker following you around like a shadow... shadow of death.

You froze at the thought, your mind painting the reaper tattoo before your eyes, angry black traits marking Jax’ ripped back.

The Prospect didn’t stay inside with Donna. It’s you he’d been told to follow around.

Clutching both of your fists in a sudden wave of anger that hit you like a speeding train, you muttered obscenities, your chest heaving.

Trying to swim against the current was useless at this point - you couldn’t change the way things were in this town years ago, why jump headfirst into that fight all over again? - yet two could play this game, you thought, Jax fucking Teller.

“Hey there, beautiful,” you were so lost in your thoughts, your eyes drilling a hole in the marble floor, you hadn’t noticed a pair of bright classy purple shoes walk out of the men’s restroom. Your eyes instantly flicked up to face a handsome stranger with deep grey eyes and a three-day black stubble on his razor-sharp cheekbones. The stranger smiled at you warmly, slipping both of his hands in the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans.

Bingo, you thought, mix of liquid courage and adrenaline spilling into your veins.

“Hi,” giving him a half-smile, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder.

Damn Prospect was watching you through the small dirty window in the door.

Grabbing the stranger by the lapels of his leather jacket, you pulled him in, your lips smashing against his.

You couldn’t even register one thing at a time, whirlwind of sensations and puzzle-like thoughts flooding your mind. He smelled of leather, cigarette smoke and musk, a sinful mix so familiar your stomach ached in an overwhelming need to stain yourself with it; steal it, carry it. The only thing stopping you was the absence of an important undernote, something sugary and spicy like oud or patchouli...

You figured it out in a matter of seconds, and even though the detail was bound to ruin everything, you still tried. Tried to fool yourself.

Even though his lips were a little too full for your liking. A little too soft. A little too innocent. A little too different from what you loved.

With your eyes closed, you bit his bottom lip, focusing on the way his rough cheeks felt against the palms of your hands as you cupped his face.

He didn’t bite back. He didn’t grab your hips with his hands, pulling you in closer. He didn’t moan into your mouth.

You didn’t click and that was that.

You still tried.

Holding on to that familiarity of rough beard under your fingertips, his scent completely engulfing you, you thought whether he hollowed his cheeks when he inhaled the smoke. He wasn’t a manual worker - you could tell from the softness of his touch as he positioned one of his hands on the nape of your neck. Exactly, positioned - that was the word. To describe a nearly mechanic movement of those soft little fingers.

Probably ain’t that good with his hands, darlin’ - Jax’ shit-eating grin appeared before your eyes for a millisecond, exactly the time it took for you to try and get a hold of yourself again.

You tried.

Your eyes fluttered open as the stranger rolled his tongue over your bottom lip - a little provocation that made you lose your mind back in the day. This time it felt like an ice-bucket full of water being dumped on the top of your head. It felt invasive, arrogant and wrong. It felt wrong, fault of his lips, his smell, his cheeks... Fault of him not being who you wanted him to be.

The stranger kissed you with his grey eyes open. And it shouldn’t have mattered at all - for all you knew, you’d have never seen him again - but it fucking did; the man you wanted always closed his eyes with your lips on his.

‘Hey, could you...’ you whispered, your lips still touching his. ‘Could you please close your eyes?...’

No answer followed. The stranger moved his head a little, confused look of those grey eyes settling on your face.

You ransacked your mind for something to say that could justify the shitty stunt you pulled; nothing came out. Luckily, the outside world came knocking soon enough.

‘Y/N!’ swinging the door to the bar open, Donna and her flushed and happy face came into view. ‘We’re doing shots, you with us?’

‘Yeah!’ you answered a little too quickly, relief in your voice almost tangible. ‘I’m coming’.

You gave the stranger a sympathetic look before letting go of his jacket.

‘I’m sorry,’ you told him blankly, not sure what kind of emotion he’d expect from you, given the context. ‘It was nice meeting you, uh...’

‘Gabriel’, he filled in, his lips still raw from the kiss you shared.

‘Gabriel,’ you repeated, knowing you’d forget his name the moment you’d turn away. ‘See you around, I guess’.

Just as you left the man with purple shoes behind, following Donna, you noticed the Prospect by the bar. He caught your eyes and gave you an uneasy smile.

For a spy, the guy isn’t exactly hiding, you thought. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you decided to finish what you started for once and headed his way.

Nighttime had always been the time for his demons to come out to play. To bring out the worst in him.

Tonight, however, felt different.

The night was silent, save for the car engines revving miles away from Teller Morrow. Stars dotted the inky sky, their shine so bright they looked like holes in heaven’s floor.

Jax’s mind was clear – not a single stray thought corrupting the peacefulness of the moment. The roof may have trembled under his feet, good old tunes rocking the walls of the club, but he heard none of it, not a single note. Hollowing his cheeks, he took a deep drag of his cigarette ; the smoke eddied coolly down his throat, until he puffed it out slowly – milky white and circular.

This stillness was new to Jax, the feeling of time rolling by in its silent and endless way soothing him. He wallowed in it for a moment ; until the thuds of careful steps reached his ears.

Dumping the cigarette butt over the roof and straight down on the parking lot, Jax watched Opie’s impressive, broad frame block the harvest moon from the view, as he slowly climbed the stairs.

‘If this ain’t the man of the hour,’ Jax said, his lips bearing the semblance of a smile. ‘Tired of enjoying your last days of freedom yet?’

Opie chuckled quietly, making his way to his best friend. He shook his head slightly, taking a seat next to Jax, his eyes immediately drawn to the beauty that was the night sky.

‘I’ve belonged to Donna since forever, man,’ Opie shrugged, moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes. ‘This is just an excuse for boys to enjoy booze and pussy’.

Jax rolled his tongue over his bottom lip before biting on it, smiling knowingly.

‘Yeah,’ he let out, nodding slowly. Fumbling with his cigarettes, he offered one to Ope. Winston gladly accepted, lighting it up.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to downtown Charming snore softly in its agitated sleep.

‘Saw you talking to Ima at the bar,’ Opie was first to break the silence, exhaling the smoke. ‘She still carries a torch for you?’

A crooked half-smile graced Jax’ face at the question; he slowly stood up, raising both of his hands and stretching, the hoodie he was wearing rolling up a tad, thus showing toned muscles.

‘Don’t even get me started on this one, man’, Jax shook his head, raising his eyebrows in desperate gesture. ‘She keeps pestering me about that old lady shit…’

Opie whistled, watching Jax lean over the roof barrier, and following him shortly.

‘Ima? An old lady?’ Opie repeated in disbelief, Jax watching him with a blooming smirk. ‘She’s really getting desperate ain’t she?’

Jax let out a booming laugh before staring down into the ground, his thoughts taking him elsewhere.

Comfotable silence settled over the roof again. It were as if the world had stopped, came to a much needed halt, yet both Jax and Opie knew the feeling wouldn’t last.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get around to what you’re doing, Ope’, Teller suddenly confessed, unblinking, voicing the thoughts that’d been plaguing his mind for what seemed like ages. ‘How am I supposed to ask someone to just open themselves up to the neverending load of shit we’re dealing with on a regular basis? I deal arms, I sell porn, I hurt people. That’s all I’m good for. Who would ever want to be associated with this kind of psycho, huh? Maybe Ima is my end game.’

Jax smiled bitterly, stealing a quick glance at the Teller Morrow sign on his left, even unlit a painful reminder of who he was. Opie grabbed Jax’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

‘Bullshit,’ he protested, shoving Jax back a tad unintentionally. He looked Teller right into the eyes, holding that heavy stare of stormy blue orbs for a moment. ‘I know someone who did want that, Jax’, he finally said, letting go of his friend, sadness lacing his words. ‘You’re not asking for a goddamn moon’.

The Vice-President of SAMCRO sneered, biting on the inside of his cheek. Opie knew he took a plunge in dangerous waters with that statement, but he also knew he needed to put this shit Jax’d been going through ever since that fight of yours on the table.

‘Damn straight I am,’ Jax bit back roughly, not even trying not to rise to the bait. ‘That someone you know made sure I was aware of that,’ he spat, his voice dripping with anger.

‘You’re not being fair, man’ Opie stated sternly, taking a step back and shoving both hands into his jeans’ pockets, his eyes never quitting Jax’ face. ‘You both said things you didn’t mean that night. Besides,’ his voice softening up a bit, he continued. ‘Can you really blame her? After what we did to the A.T.F.?’

Jax scoffed, turning his head in Opie’s direction. The fire that anger lit in his eyes wasn’t quite gone yet, its sparks still lingering on the surface of Teller’s irises.

‘Donna didn’t seem to mind,’ he observed spitefully, turning around and leaning on the barrier, folding his hands across his chest, as if protecting his bleeding heart.

‘Donna doesn’t know!’ Opie retorted almost instantly. ‘That’s why I’m still marrying her on Tuesday!’ once the words were out of his mouth, he rubbed one of his hands against his beard, looking away, exasperated. ‘Y/N didn’t tell her shit’, he added quietly.

Gritting his teeth, Jax faced the barrier again, grabbing it with both of his hands. Rocking himself back and forth on his heels, he let out an irritated, rumbling sigh.

There was something in that sound of air pushing its way in between Jax’s lips that made Opie freeze; the fierceness of heartache behind it. Opie watched. He watched Jax’s face, as Teller bit the inside of his bottom lip, shaking his head, lowering his gaze – hiding those glossy baby blues of his.

Then he knew.

Jax’s anger was nothing but a shield for pain. Empty bravado. Signifying nothing.

Each word coming out of Teller’s mouth was an activated grenade; Jax was a soldier, cornered by his pain, scared, desperate and so damn lonely. Bitterness was his surviving mechanism. Little did he know that those verbal grenades he threw would eventually end up backfiring at him. And then that anger – that shield he carried – would clatter to the ground and the pain would hit him like a tsunami. Choking him. Drowning him.

‘I don’t care,’ Jax finally spoke, facing his best friend again. Strangled emotion seeped out of his words, only confirming what Ope had already knew.  ‘If I had to choose between Y/N and that A.T.F.’s wife again, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently. I will always choose Y/N.’

Protectiveness rang in Jax’s voice, like bullets falling on the ground. He eyed Opie almost threateningly, daring him to challenge his statement.

Opie nodded slowly, reassuringly. This simple gesture made Jax’s body relax a bit, as he rolled back his shoulders.

‘I know, man,’ Opie spoke calmly. ‘Y/N knows it, too, and she’s grateful, trust me. There was only one way to do it with her getting out alive,’ Winston frowned at the thought, watching the same kind of expression darken Jax’s features. ‘She now lives with the weight of two deaths on her shoulders, for God’s sake, cut her some slack.’

‘She didn’t pull that trigger on the A.T.F. when he came asking about his old lady, Ope,’ Jax rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands tiredly. He clearly did not want to have the same kind of conversation with Ope that he would have with himself in the darkness of the night. ‘I did’, he said, more to himself than to Winston, not even looking at his brother. ‘I killed him.’

Jax vocalized what he’d been telling himself ever since you left, forcing himself to believe that this – he – was the reason you two broke and could never be put together again.

‘Those two deaths are on me,’ he added, hoping his mind would be satisfied with the self-hatred audible in his confession. But it wasn’t. He knew the same thoughts would be back to haunt him in the night all over again.

‘This is on Mayans, Jax, all of it’, Opie tried to counter, watching Jax being submerged with the idea of who he thought he was. The idea that was, of course, complete and utter bullshit. ‘All you did was protecting your family. Protecting the club.’

‘Yeah, whatever’, Jax managed a small smile, almost free of bitterness. ‘It’s over, Ope. It’s done’.

Lowering his head, Jax searched for his cigarettes in his pockets, slapping his palms against the leather of his kutte. Finally finding what he’d been looking for, he took a Zippo lighter from Opie’s stretched hand and lit up the cancer stick.

Hollowing his cheeks, inhaling deeply, Jax raised his eyebrows at Ope, judging from his uneasy expression that he wanted to speak, but weren’t sure how to go about it.

‘You know it ain’t over, man’ Winston finally managed, his voice quiet and hoarse. ‘You still love her’.

The statement made Jax chuckle for some mysterious reason ; he threw his head back, slowly exhaling the smoke as it carressed his lips. Watching Ope with the same amused yet hard expression he learned to master, Jax spread his arms, as wide as they would go.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m shit out of luck then, ain’t I?’ a wicked smile grew on his mouth. ‘I’ll just have to find someone half as good as her, and that’s that. Consider myself lucky if I do.’

Opie huffed out a breath, looking away and down at the parking lot, shaking his head. Jax leaned against the roof barrier, taking another deep drag of his cigarette, dropping his gaze.

‘Or,’ Opie broke the silence all of the sudden. ‘You can just talk to her. Work this shit out’.

Jax gave his friend a sideways glance, a ghost of hope settling along the curves of his red lips.

‘She won’t see me, Ope,’ Jax’s words were contradicting his body language. He stood straighter, letting his chest open up as he leaned backfirst onto the barrier. ‘I’m dead to her’.

‘Guess she’s here to visit your grave then,’ Opie smirked, motioning towards the parking lot with a slight movement of his chin.

Jax’s immediate reaction was a deep, skin-creasing frown, his mind a surging perplexity. Opie could literally see the realization dawn on him, the walls he had spent all these years bulding high and deep crumbling at his feet. All it took was one look at you ; one look at that black car that brought you home.

Dread flashing in his blue eyes, excitement creeping up his spine, Jax didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath for three minutes straight. His heart trying to escape the rattling cage that was his chest, Teller closed his eyes. Anticipation tingling through him like electric current, down to his Nike-cladded feet, he bit his bottom lip, regaining control over his body.

His blue sparkling eyes flashed in the darkness as Opie’s gentle, yet slightly mocking voice cut the tension like a knife :

‘If I were you,’ trying to keep the urge to smile at bay, Winston pursued his lips. ‘I’d hurry downstairs before Ima spots Y/N at the entrance…’

‘Shit !’ Jax hissed, already climbing down the stairs as fast as his feet would take him. In one adrenaline-fuelled jump he leapt towards the entrance door of the club, his brain on fast-forward and his heart skipping several beats at a time at the thought of seeing you…

[tobns]

                             𝒮𝐸𝒱𝐸𝒩 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐸 𝒟𝐸𝒞𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅

I will myself to smile despite the instinctual urge to wilt.

                                                     ALEXANDER

It’s raining when we land in Newark – apparently, LaGuardia and JFK are options that are now null and void – and the feeling in my gut is screaming at me to turn around, hop on another plane that’s headed to an entirely different time zone and not look back.

Jen is all but excited to leave me choking on her dust the second her feet touch the tarmac, as her duties to me have technically ended from this point forward. Jen is not my biggest fan on a good day, and somewhere along the line, I thought that as a businessman I was making a strategic decision by hiring someone who had absolutely no bias towards me to promote my tour. She’d also gotten a thumbs up from someone whose opinion mattered most to me, which for me, set the deal in stone. I’d made it a goal to try and sway her, at least get Jen to appreciate me as a person before the tour wrapped. However, I think I’ve managed to create even more of a case for her disliking me throughout the duration of the tour than I actually did remedying my reputation in her eyes.

It’s all moot now, as she hops into a car without so much as an informal goodbye and rides off.

Dayo may as well be my shadow, next to me in the car that’s on a one-way trip to the city. He says nothing, doing his best to avoid any and all eye contact with me. As uneasy as I am, the situation only increases ten-fold in awkwardness for Dayo. He’s always present when I’m involved, and he doesn’t always appreciate that. 

My leg shakes the entire car ride, my attempt at keeping an idle body busy to prevent what I hope isn’t an impending anxiety attack. Coming home should not be this stressful. Coming home is supposed to be the breath of fresh air, the sigh of relief after spitting out a sentence that’s been building in the lungs, a drink of water in a drought. It’s supposed to be the only place in life where you are never anything but one hundred percent certain, and I can barely convince myself to be at one percent.

The buildings don’t pass by slow enough, they move at a blur until the only one that’s in focus is the same one that I paid an unspeakable amount of money to in order to call the two-story penthouse apartment my own. The car rolls smoothly to a stop in front of the entrance, Dayo and the driver both hopping out to retrieve bags from the trunk and leaving me frozen in my thoughts. My hand feels like an anvil as it rests on the handle of the door, feet refusing to move. The only part of me that’s moving is my mind, whirring past me at a rate I can barely comprehend – there’s a common thread running through the jumble of my thoughts, urging me to bow out now. Some man I am.

“You coming?” Dayo’s voice startles me, my eyes snapping back across the backseat and meet his as he peers his head back through the open door.

Still feeling as though I’ve been shot with an immobilizing agent right in the middle of my spine, I swallow and nod. It’s now or never, and clearly the fates prefer the former.

I step out of the car, the crisp autumn air forking a breeze right through my path. The building stretches upward, and I can feel my head naturally reclining back to watch it trail all the way up to the sky. Home sweet home, I think dully as the driver hands me one of my duffel bags.

The elevator is out of service, which doesn’t come as a surprise. It’s always up in the air as to whether or not it operates, most of the time it not. It doesn’t perturb me all that much; I’ve had plenty of practice hiking up these stairs, especially with luggage. Dayo, who’s made the same trip many times himself, enjoys it very little. Every time I round the corner and start up another flight, I catch a glimpse of his face and the frown that continues to make itself much more visible deepening.   

When we reach the right floor, I push the door open with my shoulder to reveal a very short hallway. There’s a door that sits at the end of it, facing me directly with its gleaming gold knob and all staring right at me, as if it’s been waiting. I force another deep breath into my lungs as I keep marching ahead, if only to save myself from Dayo’s grumbling and him ramming me along with one of our rolling suitcases. The distance between the door and I grows shorter and shorter, until it’s within an arms distance.

I can almost feel the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulder as I lift one of my hands, and deliver a swift knock to the door. Might as well put the ball in someone else’s court.

Plus, the truth of the matter is, I’m not sure if the key Dayo still has on his ring will work with the lock anymore. 

Out from underneath my fist, the door is yanked open. My heart goes into free-fall, expecting to slam right into concrete until I see my own blue eyes looking back at me in such elation, it’s like all the power in the city is rerouted right into one little girl.

“Hi daddy!”

My bags have barely brushed onto the ground before Noelle launches herself into my arms, a whirl of ribbons tied to her pigtails and gleeful laughter ringing in my ears. Relief floods through me as I sigh, pulling her into a tight hug. When she pulls away after a moment and both of her hands come to rest on my face, all of my problems seemingly melt away into oblivion. My eyebrows furrow together as I feign confusion, solely to get a rile out of her. “Do I know you?” I tease.

Another high-octave peal of laughs floods the foyer. “It’s me!” she insists, and I nod slowly.

“Well, hi ‘me.’” I say jokingly, holding out one of my hands for her to shake. “I’m Dad.” This excites Noelle, her face scrunching up as she flings her arms back around my neck.

“No, I’m Noelle!” she squeals as she squeezes in another hug. “I missed you.” I manage to kiss the top of her head before she squirms back out of my arms.

When she pulls away this time, I push a stray piece of hair that’s escaped from her braids out of her eyes and smile at her. “Oh, but I missed you more, Noah-Kate,” I claim, her eyes lightening at the use of the nickname that only I ever call her by. “I guess next time, I’ll just have to smuggle you on tour with me.”

“Really?” she asks me enthusiastically. The last remnants of her lisp have seen very little improvement over the last few months, her r’s still hinting on the edge of a w-sound. I nod.

“Sure thing, jellybean. My triangle player now is nowhere near as adorable as you.”

“Where do you want these?” Dayo grumbles from behind me, leaning up against the doorframe and interrupting the moment. I glance behind me, Noelle already beginning to tug at my hand in an attempt to redirect my attention.

“C’mon, daddy!” she says, her impatience only heightening with every second I’m not focused entirely on her.

“You can just leave ‘em down here,” I tell Dayo, my eyes leaving him before I even finish my sentence and allow Noelle to pull me along behind her.

She drags me into the kitchen, where everything smells like a goddamn sweet shop. Once it all comes into frame, it certainly looks as though one’s exploded – there are baking trays and flour everywhere, stacks and stacks of Tupperware containers housing treats and a rack of brownies still on the sheet resting on the island. The sweetness stops there, a wave of hostility subsequently crashing into me.

I should have known it would have taken an army to create this kind of mess, and that’s exactly what Jackie Emerson and Jack Quaid have always been: a two-man army that could send a thousand men running. Their eyes are glued to me the second they lay sight, and already I want to turn around and walk out. Their glares are scrutinizing and pierce right through me, especially Jackie’s. Jack, who’s always been a few inches taller than me, is a little less threatening when he’s sitting down on one of my barstools, but even at a foot and a half shorter, nothing could possibly take away from the fear Jackie strikes in me. She’s standing with one hand propped up behind her on the counter, the other hand resting on her hip as her eyes wield daggers that have got my name all over them.

Standing next to her is Isabelle, eyes cast down at the floor and her body ever so slightly turned in Jackie’s direction. My stomach is knotted up in my throat, fear shooting through my bloodstream like Novocain. The world still stops when I look at her, but now it’s for all the wrong reasons. Her hair is tied back in a loose bun that’s halfway fallen out, wearing a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt with Columbia written over the chest in burgundy letters that she’s owned for years on end. I can’t find any words to say to her, and she can’t be bothered to look at me. It’s not a surprise by any means.

Noelle doesn’t seem to take any note of the tension that’s suddenly blanketed the air, instead tugging on my hand as she drags me towards the island. “Look, daddy, Momma and I made sugar cookies!”

“Yeah, I see that,” I say, my voice strained. One of my hands rests on her head and I ruffle the top of her hair. “Looks like you’ve been busy this morning, huh, Noah-Kate?”

“Noelle,” comes the thin correction from across the room, so quiet that if I didn’t know any better, I would have dreamed I imagined it. I force myself not to cut my eyes back over to Isabelle, even though the irritation wedges its way under my skin in a split second. Isabelle has always loathed the Noah-Kate nickname, for reasons that are entirely beyond me. Her excuse was that she’d intentionally picked out a name that very, very few nicknames existed for; Isabelle is the queen of nicknames, about a dozen variants for her name alone and she didn’t want the same fate for her kid, being referred to by a different name every five seconds. She’d picked a solid name, and she was hellbent to stick to it. It wasn’t my fault, really, that Noah-Kate just rolled right off the tongue, but she sure did punish me for bringing it into existence. Isabelle refuses to call her anything other than Noelle and threatens anyone else within an inch of their life to do the same, leaving only me to stray from the rules.

Noelle pulls herself up onto one of the barstools, reaching for a cookie and handing it off to me. “Sit next to me!” she requests, and I do my best to comply without accidentally stepping on one of the many, many landmines that have been planted in the room. It is most definitely me against all of them, Noelle being none the wiser towards the evident strain among the adults. It must be nice to still be that naïve, not even know enough on what tension is to sense it.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jackie inch a little closer to Isabelle, presumably whispering something to her. The rigidity is radiating off of Jack; it’s very clear that I am unwelcome. He seems to be biting his tongue, resorting to just glaring at me for the sake of the girls. Or, rather, Isabelle, I’m sure Jackie has given him full permission in advance to do as he pleases.

My daughter is talking twenty miles a minute, all of her words running in one ear and out the other as I try to somehow ground myself in this environment’s unstable climate and get out of my thoughts before things proceed any further. She looks over at me to ensure I’m keeping up, two rows of teeth exposed as she grins. All I can do is smile back and nod, acting as though I’ve heard every single word she’s said thus far. She’s my only lifeline in here – everyone else is on a team opposite from mine, and just my eyes meeting her own makes me feel a little less like a stranger in my own home. Like I’m actually wanted here.

Isabelle shifts away from Jackie, her eyes finally lifting back up to sea level and moving right around me to look at Noelle. “Baby,” she says softly, catching Noelle off guard in the middle of a rapid-fire sentence about how she’s got two loose teeth (maybe I’ve retained more than I think I have). “Why don’t you go ahead and get your stuff?”

Noelle deflates a little, but she obliges, scrambling off of the barstool and exiting the kitchen. I look over at Isabelle, catching her line of sight for the first time since I’ve gotten home.

“Get her stuff?” I repeat, confused.

Isabelle doesn’t respond. Making eye contact with me seems to have had the same sensation as her getting electrocuted, her green eyes jumping away and locking back onto the floor. I try Jackie, because even though she scares me to death, she’s much easier to read than Isabelle. Unfortunately, she’s already looking at Jack, the two of them having some sort of silent conversation.

I figure out soon enough what secret they’re all in on when Noelle comes back into the kitchen, her pink Disney princess suitcase clacking along behind her as the wheels roll over the hardwoods. She’s staring up at Isabelle expectantly, waiting for her next cue.

Jackie’s apparently up to bat next, the corners of her lips forging her mouth into a smile. “Ready to go, bug?” she asks cheerfully as the hand comes off of her hip.

“Go?” My voice echoes out, and I glance back over at Isabelle in bewilderment. Noelle, whom I don’t think was entirely sold on whatever plan her mother and Jackie have concocted for her, suddenly lights back up with a swell of hopefulness that I’ll take her side.

Isabelle has apparently foreseen this happening, and she walks over to the doorway where Noelle stands. She bends down, her back to me as she rests her hands on either of Noelle’s arms. “You and Aunt Jackie and Uncle Jack are gonna have so much fun at your sleepover while Momma and Daddy catch up, yeah?” she asks, the chipper tone a little too saccharine to be real. “Aunt Jackie told me you guys are going to Times Square tonight. I think if you asked really nicely, they’d even take you to the Disney store.”

My heart sinks a little in my chest. I’d planned to take Noelle down to the Disney store tomorrow, since it was all she talked to me about doing over the last three weeks’ phone calls.  

Noelle looks past Isabelle at Jackie and Jack for some sort of confirmation to Isabelle’s theory. Jackie gives an overexaggerated shrug (meaning that it’ll be a yes, so long as it gets her out the door) and Jack shoots her a thumbs up. I’m very quickly arriving to the conclusion that I don’t get any say in this, no matter how I might feel about it.

After squeezing Noelle’s shoulders, Isabelle prompts, “Go tell Daddy bye, alright?”

Trudging over towards me half-heartedly, Noelle holds her arms out for a hug. “Bye, Daddy,” she says, just as Isabelle’s told her to.

I have to bite down on the tongue that wants to protest all of this bullshit, because I’m sure Noelle is none the wiser and the last thing I need to do is throw a wrench in the plans of the people holding much more terrifying weapons. Straightening myself out, I stoop down to Noelle’s level and give her another hug. “Bye, jellybean. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Arms still looped around my neck, she leans away from me and is visibly excited at the prospect of this.

“Daddy will come get you sometime tomorrow after lunch,” Isabelle quickly throws out. I think it’s meant to appease Noelle and myself, show us that we’re not really getting that bad of a deal in all this.

Noelle blinks a few times, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as she looks for me to affirm it. I nod. “I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, mimicking my nod.

Jackie swoops in like a goddamn hawk the second Noelle is released from my arms, grabbing onto one of her hands. “C’mon, Noelle,” she says brightly. “If we beat Uncle Jack to the elevator, we get to pick where we go to dinner tonight. And I know you don’t want Tony’s again.” Noelle giggles.

“Elevator’s out of service,” I find myself interjecting as I stand back up. Jackie glares at me over her shoulder, and if looks could kill, she’d only be one step away from shoveling dirt on top of my body.

“It was working earlier,” is all that Jackie has to say in response, her voice cold.

Noelle gravitates back towards Isabelle before she leaves, Isabelle bending down from where she’s taken up leaning against our refrigerator to kiss the top of her head. “Bye, baby.” She offers Noelle one more smile, and even from across the kitchen, I can see the cracks forming in the façade already.

Jack slides his barstool back, getting up and pushing it back under with his foot as he grabs a giant Tupperware container of cookies. I get one more scowl from him before he moves in Isabelle’s direction, folding her underneath his free arm in a hug. He mutters something in her ear, and when he pulls away, I watch as Isabelle gives him the single nod of her head. Her lips are pressed down in a thin half-smile now.  

Jackie, Jack, and Noelle all walk out of the kitchen, Isabelle shifting her body against the refrigerator so she’s no longer facing my direction, but that of the window. We stand in silence, able to hear as the three of them make their way out of the apartment. The door finally shuts, and the veil that was only ever up for Noelle’s sake swiftly drops from the atmosphere.

“Really, Isabelle?” I growl. Some of the tension leaves Isabelle’s frame, and one of her hands comes up to massage her temples. “I just got back home.”

“She doesn’t need to be around to hear us fighting,” Isabelle snaps, finally cutting the evasiveness and looking at me. Now I understand why she wouldn’t earlier; her green eyes are poisonous as they slice right through me in the manner a knife would. “That I figured you’d agree with me on.”

“You could have given me more than five minutes.”

She shakes her head in defiance. “No. I wasn’t going to subject her to being in the crosshairs of an impending explosion. Jackie and Jack both have quite the piece they’d like to give you; the only reason they kept their mouths shut was because of her.”

“And I thought we agreed this was just going to be between you and me, not you, me, and all our fuckin’ friends.”

Isabelle shrugs, peeling herself off the refrigerator and letting her hands slap against her thighs as they fall. “Yeah, well, that was before you fell into bed with some other woman.”

Her words sting as they ricochet off me, despite them being nothing but the truth. I run my hand over the countertop idly. “Look,” I start, my voice quiet. “You know I didn’t want for you to—”

“Didn’t want for me to what?” Isabelle finishes for me, her eyes wide in offense. “Find out?”

“Not like that.”

“Or at all,” she adds. At first, I’d figured that the only reason Isabelle had been clinging to Jackie was to add a little backbone to whatever stressed and brittle state she’d gotten herself in upon my arrival, but it’s pretty evident now that Jackie was the only deterring force between me and Isabelle’s unleashing of her wrath. “I’m terribly sorry that I ruined your little affair with your opening act, honey, next time I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut when I get a phone call from someone who isn’t even involved telling me so and just…share my husband like a good little girl.”

“Do you want the papers?” I fire back at her. “’Cause we can still do that. I offered it to you up front.”

She snorts. “Because you always want an easy out.”

“Well, can you blame me? Why the hell would I want to stay in a relationship with someone who’d prefer to see my head on a stick?”

“This is not about you,” Isabelle seethes. In her eyes, I can see that there is plenty more she’d like to say to me, but she swallows it down. Her face goes dangerously blank as she exhales shallowly. “This is why I didn’t want her here. We can’t even have a civil conversation.”

“Civil,” I mumble under my breath. “A little hard to do when the environment’s far from it.”

If Isabelle hears me, she simply elects to ignore it. Her head is back in her hands, giving me a small reprieve of her fury. The heels of her hands go dragging down her face, body slumping back against the refrigerator. “We need to decide on an arrangement for Noelle,” her voice small as it attempts to cleave through the heavy silence. “You’ll…you get her tomorrow, pick her up from Jackie’s. Do whatever you guys want – I’m not gonna be at home. But after that, we need to just decide how we’re gonna do this.” One hand leaves her face, gesturing between the two of us. “It can’t be like this, though.”

“This being?” I trail off, unsure.

“The both of us under the same roof,” she says bluntly. Apparently, my reaction isn’t what she had anticipated, one of her eyebrows lifting into her hairline when she sees my face settle into a frown. “What? I’d assumed that you weren’t going to hang around once you got back home. You’d come in, say your hellos, serve me, and then have Dayo be the middle man when you come to pick Noelle up from then on.”

My fist clenches, and I bring it up to my lip in the hopes of restraining the words instantly rising to the surface. “Do you really think so little of me that you think I’d just…stroll in and serve you without so much as a hello?” I mutter, my voice rough as I try to focus on the pattern of the floor.

Isabelle’s shoulders fall as she shrugs. “I haven’t seen you in five months,” she replies simply. “And you were the one who wanted something else. What was I supposed to expect?”

I don’t have an answer to that, so I guess she makes a decent point.

“Arrangements,” she redirects the conversation back to where we’d left off.

“I’m…” I take a deep breath, carefully lifting my eyes up to Isabelle. “I’m not moving out. I didn’t come home to start playing musical beds.” If I know Isabelle as well as I think I do, it is physically paining her not to make any kind of comment. Her lower lip is trapped tightly between her teeth, a hand knotted in the roots of her hair.

“Well,” she finally says, voice strained. “I’m not staying.”

I can feel the blood begin to rise in temperature as my heart begins to pound a little harder in my chest. Conversations with Isabelle used to be clear-cut, linear, and now they’re mazes with no exit or end in sight. “I don’t get it,” I tell her stiffly. “You don’t want to go through with a d—”

“Don’t say that word,” she immediately snaps, and my face falls.

“See?” I gesture out at her. “You don’t even want to entertain the idea of separating, shutting me down the minute you think I’m going to say the magic word, but yet you don’t want to live under the same roof in the hopes that we might be able to salvage our relationship if we do? Where is the logic in that, Isabelle?”

Isabelle’s chin tilts up towards the ceiling as she laughs, her eyes glassy when the light catches them. “God, Alexander, I know you’re not talking to me about logic,” she scoffs. She’s got a white knuckled grip on the counter now, turning so her back is now facing me.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” I argue.

“Yeah, I said that a lot when I got the phone call,” Isabelle informs me, and the chill in her voice sends a ripple down my spine. “’Cause I just kept thinking, there’s no way my husband would do that to me. The person in the world that knows me the best, loves me the most, he wouldn’t hurt me like that. He couldn’t. It doesn’t make sense that he’s cheating on me.” Her eyes cut over her shoulder. “It still doesn’t. But I’ve had to make do.”

“What, by giving me whiplash and getting off on it somehow? You certainly don’t want for me to leave, but god-fucking-forbid I leave!”

Something inside Isabelle snaps. Her hand smashes into a glass mixing bowl, sending it toppling over the edge of the counter and shards exploding as it collides with the ground. I jump a little, Isabelle having the more severe recoil. She nearly goes stepping on a piece of glass barefoot, catching herself and grabbing back onto the counter. “You tore me apart,” she growls hoarsely as she looks at me, the tears burning in her eyes and hanging on the edge of falling over. “Do you think I know how the hell to react to all of this, what I’m supposed to say? I can barely look at you, Xander.”

Her words strike such a painful chord inside me that I have the urge to double over. Not being face-to-face with Isabelle has spared me a lot of the pain that comes with seeing where I’ve put her emotionally. A tear slides down her face, and she angrily swipes it away.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she whispers, a hand extended out as she gestures up and down. “Whoever this is, it isn’t who I married.”

There’s an overwhelming lack of words coming to my brain, but my window of opportunity to say something, anything, closes almost as soon as it opens. I watch as Isabelle knots her fist back in her hair, giving me a half-hearted shrug. “If you don’t want to leave, then that’s fine. I can stay with Jackie, go somewhere else—”

“Isabelle,” I interrupt, trying to save her from verbalizing a train of thought that I particularly don’t feel like hearing.

“No,” she insists, shaking her head as she goes about stepping around pieces of glass. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out at some point. Until then, let’s just…not do this.”

She’s making her way towards the doorway of the kitchen when Dayo suddenly appears, eyes wide as he looks around. I’d almost forgotten I’d sent him upstairs to drop off my luggage, that he was still even in the apartment. Chances are, the sound of glass breaking caught his attention. “Everything okay?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine before moving down towards Isabelle.

“Yeah,” Isabelle responds before I can. Her voice adopts that false cheeriness again, picking up her shoulders a little. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Good to have you back, Dayo.”

I spin around on the bar stool, both elbows propped on the granite island as my eyes catch a quick glimpse of the city out through the kitchen window before I bury my head in my hands. Manhattan is the most densely populated borough in one of the most densely populated locations in all of America, and I have never felt so insignificant inside what feels like the most infinite ocean than I do in my own kitchen.

                                                        ISABELLE

After flashing two rows of teeth in the direction of the waiter as a means of grabbing his attention, I ask, “Can we get another bottle of the rosé?”

He smiles back at me, a curt nod following. “Absolutely.”

He then scurries away from the table, my attention shifting back to the snickering figure sitting across from me. “And what if I wasn’t able to afford a second bottle of the Dom Perignon?”

“Then I don’t think you would have taken me out to the NoMad,” I counter, resting my chin on top of my hand as I lean forward.

“Fair point.” A few tendrils of blonde hair fall off Leven’s bare shoulder as she tilts her head slightly. “Plus, after the day you had yesterday, I’m not gonna be the one to slap the hand that’s pouring.”

I will myself to smile despite the instinctual urge to wilt. Leven knows me well, much more than I sometimes think she does. Her hand slides across the table, palm facing up and extending out for me. I take it, her fingers wrapping tightly over mine. “Sweetheart,” she murmurs. “It’s gonna be alright eventually. He just got home.”

“Yeah, only just. There’s no tour waiting for him to come back. There is no…out.” I exhale, slumping down a little. “He likes the easy outs, and I’ve gotten so used to expecting them that now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, do I let him stay in the apartment? Do I make him find somewhere else? Do I leave?”

“Easy, Belle,” Leven warns me. “Don’t work yourself up just yet. You’re…what, five minutes into this? You don’t have to start apartment hunting just yet, you don’t even know if he’s still seeing her.”

I bite down on my lip, positive that if I’m not drawing blood, I’m taking up quite a chunk of my worn lipstick. “Does that really matter at this point?” I whimper hoarsely. “I mean, even if he doesn’t have her, I’ve got…I’ve got you.”

The edges of Leven’s mouth curl up. Part of me can sense that she’d like to continue playing devil’s advocate, so I keep letting the words fall out as they please. “And even if that wasn’t the case, Noelle’s still in the picture. I can’t just dump her off on Jack and Jackie, act like she isn’t affected by any of this. She adores him, Lev. I got an earful out of her when I wouldn’t let her go visit him on the road like last time – but what was I supposed to say? Yes? Let her meet Sawyer?”

My eyes shift downwards towards the table, where my hand is still clinging to Leven’s. Her nails are painted a deep shade of red, so rich it may as well be black. “Ever since this has happened, I feel like I’m always playing the bad guy. And I’m not the one who cheated.”

Leven’s thumb runs over the tops of my fingers reassuringly. “My parents got divorced when I was ten,” she tells me. Her voice is soft as it falls onto my ears – I think it’s why I’m so quick to latch onto her. She’s living, breathing comfort. “My dad was having an affair, and infidelity was just something my mom couldn’t work past, so they ended it. All these years later, she’d still tell you that she was partly to blame for what happened, even though she didn’t do a damn thing wrong. There aren’t any good guys in situations like this. No one’s better or worse than anyone else. You go into a marriage as equals, and if you come out of it, you come out of it as equals, too.”

The corners of my eyes are burning as they meet Leven’s. In the low light provided by a small candle on the edge of the table, there’s a certain glint to her green irises as she looks at me, something I feel I may just be imagining there for my own sake.

Right as I go to answer her, our waiter reappears with another bottle of Dom Perignon. He sets it down on the edge of the table and then backs away as he flashes us a smile, the knowledge and slight guilt of his interrupting something there on his face. Leven’s hand uncurls from mine, reaching out and grabbing the bottle.

“Let’s get a little more rosé in you, yeah?” she propositions, one of her eyebrows lifting in invitation. “You should take me up on it, since next time I’ll be a cheap date.”

The laugh that comes out of my mouth seems to originate out of nowhere, but it feels genuine, and I don’t feel as though I’m trying to stretch myself out across all the cracks to keep from collapsing. Leven is one of the few places I can be in pieces, and she doesn’t mind if she has to dance around all the broken shards or clean herself up if I scratch her. She comes prepared with a dustpan and a broom, or simply throws herself off the mantle so I’m at least not in pieces alone.

“If that’s true, then you might not be getting another date with me,” I tease, holding out my glass for her to refill.

“Oh please, I’m irresistible,” she counters.

“Sure,” I drawl out, watching as the rosé splashes around the glass walls when Leven moves to pour me more. The low candlelight makes it look as though it’s twinkling.

She sets the bottle back down, and I’m quick to lift up my glass once she backs away. “Here’s to not being the bad guy anymore,” I offer.

Leven seems a little mystified by me presenting that up as a toast, but she doesn’t question it. Instead, she raises her own glass and clinks it against mine – if I didn’t know any better, and my mind was buzzing much more than it already is, I would have assumed I was sitting at another tea party with my daughter, Jack, and Jackie. “To not being the bad guy.”

I down nearly half the glass in the gulp I take, and Leven merely laughs.

Drinking your sorrows away works, after all, even if it is only for a brief moment.

[wildroseofarran]

Disappointing Day || Clarke & Mason

Mason: *Mason holds him from behind, kisses his neck.*

Clarke: -purrs- "Well hello there."

Mason: "Good evening. When did you walk in?"

Clarke: "Few minutes ago. Surprised you didn't hear me."

Mason: "Mm, was somewhere else."

Clarke: "Somewhere fun I hope."

Mason: "Not as fun as I would have liked."

Clarke: "Then we're in the same boat."

Mason: "Bad day at the office?"

Clarke: "Disappointing day."

Mason: "Kiss me. I'll make it better."

Clarke: Clarke grinned and turned to kiss him.

Mason: Slowly, Mason backed them towards the couch, lips connected for their brief walk. He pushed his lovely pet to sit.

Clarke: He gave an approving hum, not so much sitting as lounging. Well wasn't this day starting to turn around? Coming to his second home had been the right move.

Mason: "Such a long day," he mused. Like everything else, he was taking his time with the buttons to Clarke's shirt. "I know what'll make both of us feel better."

Clarke: Clarke liked that Mason took his time. He didn't have the same guilty desperation some of his other clients had.

And he was in for a nice surprise once he got to undoing Clarke's pants. There was something distinctly lacy in there.

"What do you have in mind?"

Mason: "Mm, someone bought you somethin' nice." He traced the outline of the lace panties. "Nothing ornate. I'm just going to suck your cock. Is that to your likin'?"

Clarke: "That someone was me." The panties were dark purple lace trimmed with silver thread and had a matching corset, which he'd gone without today. "Glad they're not going to be wasted on a preoccupied corporate lawyer."

Clarke hummed again as he pulled Mason in for another kiss. "That suits me just fine."

Mason: "Perish the thought. Won't be wasted at all. Though I picture you more in orange and white." As soft as his hands were, his mouth was ravenous and to the point. He didn't care if there was another man on Clarke's mouth. No human was going to make him jealous; Clarke was paid for in advance. This man was his to keep.

Clarke: "I cater to my audience. Everything I have in white and red I save for you." He was about to say that he didn't think he owned anything in orange when all rational thought flew right out of his head.

The only things Mason would be able to taste were wine and raspberry sorbet. Clarke hadn't been kissed by anyone else today, and just now he was glad of it. Being devoured by Mason was worth the disappointing evening.

Clarke pulled him as close as possible, purring like a kitten and wrapping around Mason like an octopus.

Mason: "Just for me?" His tongue was slow and deliberate, tasting Clarke's and chasing. This would become a game for him, taking those disappointing days and seeing what he could do with them, if for just a moment the human would smile.

"I know what we'll do. What would you say to champagne and a massage?"

Clarke: "Mmhmmmm...." Another time he would've made a game of this, making Mason chase him with more than his tongue. But not today. Today he was in the mood to be pampered.

Besides, why would he deny himself those kisses, that intoxicating flavor, that heat being stoked in his belly?

Clarke grinned against Mason's lips. "I would say yes please."

Mason: "Yes, please," he repeated. Those words with that smile was where his money had gone. He was so very much in lust.

If there was more, he would not kiss and tell.

"But first, my beautiful..." Those kisses transferred to his abdomen, lavishing as all, giving special attention to the lace barrier.

Clarke: Clarke's breath hitched. Surely Mason wasn't still going to--apparently he was.

His muscles jumped and tensed beneath Mason's lips as his skin, extra sensitive due to the lace, pebbled with goosebumps. "Better take those off," he murmured. "I'll ruin them."

Mason: "I'll buy you more." Lips wrapped around the head of Clarke's cock, suckled, cupped but not squeezed. He wanted to see if the warning held merit.

Clarke: Mason was rewarded with an obscene moan. The lace was heightening sensation in a deliciously wicked way, awakening his body, furthering his arousal. If Mason kept that up he was going to start leaking like a faucet.

Mason: Seeing and tasting precum had the demon sitting up to observe, stroking slowly through the lace, leaning back to watch as though admiring a sculpture. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Who would ignore this man? Who would not give him everything? Someone with a heart colder than his own. Someone who belonged in Hell. Surely, anyone with the sadistic desire to tear this man apart would be one of his kin.

"What a pretty face ya make, that plead."

Clarke: Clarke was able to spare enough focus to smile at the compliment. After that, it was all about Mason's hand.

He moved his hips in time with Mason's strokes, not so much searching for friction as trying to move the lace in just the right way. Any time he managed to drag the seam against the head of his cock, a veritable flood of whimpers and precum seemed to pour out of him.

Mason: I need to purchase all manner of lace for my pretty boy. Everything, anything.

Still, as appealing as this was, it wasn't satisfying. The lace had to be pulled down, enough to confine his scrotum, enough to expose his cock for Mason's warm mouth, sucking him down inch by inch. He could be congenial when the situation was befitting.

Clarke: "Jesus fucking Christ," Clarke moaned, hips stuttering as glorious wet heat engulfed him. No one had ever accused him of being quiet during sex, and this interlude was no exception.

He made sure Mason knew exactly how good he was making him feel. The lace was the farthest thing from his mind as he thrust into Mason's mouth, chasing his pleasure without apology.

Mason: Mason hummed and growled and chuckled against the occupied length, leaning back only to kiss and nip foreskin, tugging with teeth and pulling down to expose to the neutral air conditioned room.

Clarke: Every sound Mason made added vibration that heightened his sensitivity even more. Coupled with all that teasing--even the air was teasing him--meant that Clarke was very close to losing it.

He fell back against the cushions, chest heaving with labored breaths. "Mason....Mason...close...."

Mason: Oh, all the more reason to bring him back into his mouth, to suck with purpose, to stroke and fondle and growl and use Clarke just as he in turn was being exploited for an orgasm. He wanted to take from Clarke, remind him that he was owned, remind him that this? this was paid for. He was possessed in the best way possible. Yes, Mason would swallow him, claimed on yet another level.

Clarke: Clarke was more than reminded. He felt almost branded by Mason's mouth, by his tongue, by his lips.

There was nothing calculated or rational about his movements anymore; it was just a mindless pursuit of pleasure. And when he finally found it? Clarke completely fell apart, shooting into Mason's mouth with a cry that was far too feminine to have come from a man like him.

Mason: Swollen lips were being licked as Mason sat up. They were healing right before Clarke's eyes, but he was almost certain the young man was too hazed to notice or care.

"Now that was delicious. I think it's time for that champagne."

Clarke: Mason's assessment was exactly right. Clarke was on a whole other plane of existence right now and miraculously healing lips were not on his radar.

He stretched and purred. "Mmmm....?"

Mason: "Ya stay just like that." Fingers brushed over his throat. Kisses were given to his jaw. "I'll get the champagne."

Clarke: Clarke turned into the affection. "Mmmm." Code for: okay, I will.

Mason: Champagne and two glasses were brought to the living room, placed on the nearby table. Again, he disappeared, heading to the linen closet for the thickest winter blanket, lying it on the floor directly in front of the couch.

"Champagne n'a massage," he said, taking a seat beside the blanket.

Clarke: While Mason gathered whatever it was he needed to gather, Clarke stretched luxuriously and set himself to rights. Sort of. Mostly he just put himself away and kicked off his pants.

He smiled. "You really are spoiling me today."

Mason: "Some days, this is how I need to unwind. Ya just happened t'have a shitty day n'which I can exploit."

Clarke: "Didn't start out that way. I must've pissed off some kinda evil fairy or something." He stretched again and turned over onto his stomach.

"Want me to lay down on the blanket?"

Mason: "Yes. I want ya on the blanket. I want ya naked on the blanket with a glass of champagne."

Clarke: "Yes, sir," he said with a grin, wiggling out of the lace thong and settling on the blanket.

Mason: The cork was popped quietly, glass filled and offered before making his own. "List to me your kinks."

Clarke: Clarke accepted the glass with a nod of thanks. "My upper back feels like there's concrete in it."

Mason: The demon smiled to himself, sliding his hands up the human's spine to the back of his neck, squeezing. "I meant in the bedroom."

Clarke: He gave a pained wince. There was absolutely no give there, it was all tension.

"Does lace count as a kink? Because that's top of the list."

Mason: "You've been downstairs, have you not?" Finding the largest knot, Mason began to circle his thumbs around it, working it slowly.

Clarke: "Yeah, once." Clarke groaned, trying not to squirm away. "Damn Mark Rosenberg."

Mason: "And your opinion on what you've seen?" Mark Rosenberg, hmm?

Clarke: "A lot of it would give me a rash. There's a reason I like silk."

Mason: "Sensitive, are you?" Mason leaned down, pressing lips to Clarke's ass cheek. "Blister, red skin raised and itchy?"

Clarke: Clarke nodded, giving a little purr. "Yep. In all the good ways and most of the bad ones." He wouldn't mention that he kept oatmeal for baths and a giant bottle of calamine lotion at all times because of it. That would kill his sexy image.

Mason: "Well, I'll be keeping that in mind should you act up on me."

Clarke: "Act up? Little ol' me?" He grinned. "I'm always on my best behavior."

Mason: "We'll see 'bout that," said the demon. "Some excuse. You'll do somethin', I guarantee it. A reason for me t'spank your ass."

Clarke: "I'm sure you will. I'll just have to take care, won't I?"

Mason: "I won't spank too hard. Can't have ya havin' a reaction t'it, can we?"

Clarke: "Definitely not. It would make me significantly less pretty for a little while."

Mason: "That's an impossibility." A kiss to his neck, a kiss down his back, a kiss over his perfect ass. Slowly, the knot below his neck was lessening.

Clarke: Clarke hummed softly at all Mason's ministrations before groaning in relief. His back hurt less already.

"You've got magic hands."

Mason: "I do have magic hands. You have a magic body. How fortunate for us that we've found one another. How fortunate I get to enjoy this ass."

Clarke: He turned to smile at Mason. "How fortunate indeed. You can add my disappointing day to that list of blessings. I probably wouldn't have come tonight if I'd had the day I was expecting."

Mason: "You would have ignored our contract with a good day?"

Clarke: "I would've come much later."

Mason: "The contract is to see you every day. I should punish you on principle alone, pet."

Clarke: "You would have," Clarke chuckled. "I meant later in the day not later in the week. Today's client goes to bed early."

Mason: "And they didn't try to hurt you?"

Clarke: "He was too busy ignoring me."

Mason: "Is he blind?"

Clarke: He laughed softly. "Oh, how I wish all men were like you. No, he's not blind. He just expects everyone and everything to be at his beck and call even if he doesn't deign to pay attention to them. You know how I spent my evening?"

Mason: "Not with your tongue in his mouth." Not from what he could tell, could taste.

Clarke: "Pretty much. When I got to the hotel he was on the phone. I barely got a hello. And he stayed on the phone the entire time I was there. I had a drink alone, I ate dinner alone, got waved off when I tried to reveal my lacy surprise. I ended up watching TV until he gave me my check and dismissed me."

Mason: "Well, easy money. Can't say ya wanna fuck every client."

Clarke: "Yes I do. Otherwise they wouldn't be my clients."

Mason: "You want him?"

Clarke: "I was looking forward to my evening with him. I've looked forward to lots of evenings and have spent at least half of them like I spent today. I don't like being ignored and brushed off."

Mason: "A day without sex, a day with free money, literally free, as your services weren't required." He considered. "Are you going to use him again?"

Clarke: "It's not just about the sex. If someone regularly promised you shared meals and conversation and attention inside the bedroom and out and failed to deliver over and over, wouldn't you be disappointed?"

Clarke sighed. "I don't know."

Mason: "Well, that is our contract, but it's for your company. The sex is a bonus, but it's when I want. They are paying you for the company, too. He paid you..." He shrugged. "Some days I'm going to want your presence and nothin' else."

Clarke: "Is it company when he acts like I'm not even in the room? At this point he's paying me to come when he calls me. Like a dog. The check is my treat."

Mason: Mason kept silent. He was in no mood to start an argument over Clarke's need for attention. It was interesting to say the least, in the moment, literally kissing his ass and biting softly at his ribs.

Clarke: Thing was, if Mark Rosenberg was any other client, Clarke wouldn't have minded nearly as much, if at all. The reason he did mind was because of Mark's...physical similarity to someone Clarke cared very deeply about. He wasn't about to explain that, however.

Best to put it out of his mind and focus on someone who was paying attention to him. Clarke took a deep breath, trying to release some of the tension Mason had just eliminated.

Mason: "How's the champagne?" he asked. "Your back feelin' better?"

Clarke: "It's lovely and yes." He stretched, humming happily at the lack of stiffness. "It's much better."

Mason: "Excellent." Now, to spread those cheeks and kiss between them.

Clarke: Clarke inhaled sharply in surprise before dissolving into the blanket and arching against Mason with what almost sounded like a whimper.

Mason: That's a good pet. Again he kissed, lapping his widening tongue over the puckered bit of flesh, caressing tight muscle. "I think champagne, massage, cock sucking... it's not enough."

Clarke: His only response to that was another whimper. Whatever dark cloud had been hovering over him today, it was certainly gone now.

Clarke arched even more, bringing himself as close to Mason's mouth as possible. "Is this what's gonna h-happen every time I have mmmm....a disappointing day?"

Mason: "No." No sense in lying. "Today is a special exception. Some days I'm just not gonna care. Today... " Today, he sucked on his middle finger, forcing it between his cheeks.

Clarke: "Well aren't I luc--" And that's all Clarke managed before Mason surprised him again and caused yet another outpouring of whimpers and moans.

Mason: His glass of champagne was sipped as he slipped another finger inside. It was a tight squeeze, considering his lack of lubrication. It was entirely on purpose. "This really is delicious," he mused, studying his glass as he shoved his fingers as deep as possible.

Clarke: He was too focused on Mason's finger and clinging to the blanket too tightly to process what Mason was saying. It may have been a tight fit, but not so much that he felt pain. It was just enough to have him begging for more.

Mason: Carefully, his fingers were removed. It would take less than a second to disappear and reappear with a bottle of lubrication. With Clarke distracted by sensation, the demon teleported and returned. What clothes remained were slipped off and set aside. "I'm gonna fuck ya, darlin', just as ya are. You've already had your orgasm, so I won't be allowin' ya t'touch yourself. D'ya understand?"

Clarke: Having been trying to set a rhythm with his hips, Clarke made a noise of protest when the fingers were taken away. No, not yet. He still wanted more.

He didn't feel Mason leave or return; as far as Clarke was concerned, he'd only taken a few moments to undress which meant that he was definitely going to get what he craved.

"Yes," he said quickly, "Yes, I understand."

Mason: "D'ya want me t'wear a condom, pet?"

Clarke: He shook his head. "You don't have to." He'd seen enough by now to know Mason was clean.

Mason: So trusting, he thought. That was a point out of favor. Trust like that made for vulnerable men. That didn't mean he was going to stop. Two drenched fingers returned and slipped within, spreading and pampering Clarke's prostate.

Clarke: Trusting yes, but only to a point. Only with just cause. And  only with a very select few.

For whatever reason, Mason had made his way to that list.

Clarke groaned in relief when Mason's fingers re-entered him, dissolving into a mess of needy whimpers and moans under the delicious assault. At this rate he wouldn't need to touch himself to reach his second climax of the night.

Mason: Those whimpers were enough of an indication of readiness. Clarke's legs were brought together, ass spread once more as his lover coated himself with lubricant. This was as he had planned. A perfect naked form, relaxed, submissive, his to possess. It would take time, as always due to his size. Once buried, the demon sighed, laying his weight over Clarke's body, kissing his ear, holding him by his wrists above his head.

Clarke: The time it took for Mason to sheath himself was never an issue for Clarke. He enjoyed that long, slow journey toward complete fullness almost as much as he enjoyed being fucked, and he had absolutely no qualms about letting Mason know that.

It was a miracle none of the neighbors had complained about how loud he was.

The added weight and kisses had him purring and smiling to himself, basking in Mason's affection. Curious about his lover's reaction, Clarke bore down at the same time began to move his hips.

Mason: The reaction was an instantaneous growl and a warning bite to the back of Clarke's neck. Submissive though he was, Clarke was also a cheeky lover, one Mason felt required a little more taming. Who gave him permission to tease?

Clarke: Clarke wasn't sure if it was the growl or the bite or a combination, but it definitely sent a slew of shivers up and down his spine.

And put a ridiculous grin on his face.

He groaned and arched his back, offering himself to Mason now instead of teasing.

Mason: Mason was a predator with his teeth against Clarke's throat, biting into his skin with the urge to suffocate. It was primal but held down by sheer will. His movements were sharp and as wild as the human made him feel.

Clarke: He was probably going to have a hickey but he didn't care. The sharp movement, the complete fullness, the thrill of being claimed in every way imaginable was making him come apart at the seams.

Clarke's hips rose to meet every thrust, glorying in being taken, voicing his pleasure without a thought as to who might be listening.

Mason: Mason placed his hand on Clarke's head, holding him against the blanket mindfully as he sat up, rolling his hips and relaxing his head back. He marveled at his lover's tolerance threshold. A hundred and one praises were simply not enough. This man was allowing him the use of his body and all with a smile on his face.

"Where d'ya want my cum?"

Clarke: Mason could thank Jackson Stewart for that excellent tolerance. The man had a great love of edging, god rest him.

Clarke groaned as Mason pulled away, feeling a pleasant frustration he had no pressing need to sate. He'd just take care of it later if it persisted.

"Back," he breathed, sounding almost drunk with his pleasure. "Lower back."

Mason: It was another minute before Mason pulled out and pulled the condom away, finishing on his lover's back as requested. It was a pool of seed, one which he worsened by smearing it up Clarke's spine before tasting himself on two fingers. The image was more erotic than the orgasm itself. "Time to clean up."

Clarke: Something that sounded very much like a whimper escaped Clarke's lips as Mason pulled out. There was just something about that delicious drag and the friction it caused that couldn't be beat or matched by anything else. Rimming was the only thing that came close.

When he felt that warmth hit his skin he purred and arched like a cat, reveling in this latest claim. "Mmmmmm. Do you have something decadent in mind for that as well?"

Mason: His lover's laugh was something dark and almost unwelcoming. The phrase "happy wife happy life" flashed in neon. He stood. "No, not at all. I have nothing in mind past this point." Perhaps that was harsh, but this was about control, and he was in a mood.

You're mine. I bought you.

"Showering upstairs." Clothes were gathered and taken with him.

Clarke: "Shame. Enjoy your shower," he said to Mason's retreating back. If he hadn't already had an orgasm, a massage, and really excellent champagne, he'd be annoyed. Such as it was, he was only mildly disappointed.

But that could be easily remedied with a little more champagne. He'd shower in a bit.

Mason: Mason was laying in bed by the time Clarke took to the shower. He was laughing at the book he was reading, door open, wearing only a pair of torn pants.

Clarke: Clarke made quick work of bathing himself, playing particular attention to his back. Good as it had been in the moment, he didn't have any desire to sleep with Mason's seed still coating his skin.

Once he was clean he slipped into his pajama pants and paid his paramour a quick visit. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

Mason: "Here?" he asked, glancing up from his book. "Not going to leave me?"

Clarke: "Well you did give me a lovely room. Be a shame to trek across the city rather than make use of it."

Mason: The book was placed flat on his chest, hand offered. "C'mere."

Clarke: Clarke stepped further into the room and took Mason's hand. "Yes?"

Mason: The hand firmly taken, he was then yanked into bed. "Better."

Clarke: He gave a little surprised yelp as he was pulled onto the bed, landing with a surprised chuckle. "Well all right then."

Mason: "Ya can sleep here t'night, or just... lay here for a minute. Whatever."

Clarke: Clarke smiled. "Okay. Thanks." He shifted just enough to wiggle under the covers and burrow himself in them, subtly inhaling. They smelled of Mason.

He snuggled against the pillow. "Whatcha reading?"

Mason: Mason watched from his peripheral and smiled. "The Exorcist. Have ya read it? It's a laugh."

Clarke: He gave a delicate shudder. "No way. The idea of someone being possessed and doing weird and evil things gives me the creeps."

Mason: "Ha," was his only reply. If only his bedfellow knew the truth of the man beside him. "Close your eyes, beautiful."

Clarke: "Okay," Clarke said softly, yawning as if on cue. He snuggled in further, curling up until he was practically in a fetal position.

Mason: The page of his book was turned. His hand then rested in Clarke's hair. It was comfortable there. This was comfortable. Goodnight, sweet pet.