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cardierreh15 · 1 year

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Poison

If you’re wondering if I hate you, I do. Enjoy guys 😉

**I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!

Warnings 18+: Toxic Couple Behavior , Strong Language , Mentions Of Cheating , Mentions of Divorce , Mentions of Alcohol Intake , Domestic Violence , Mentions Of Heart Break and Trying to Move on .

Pairings: AU!DrugLord Henry Cavill x Black!Woman OC (London)

Description: things had been a little rocky between Henry & His Wife, London. So when he has a problem with her going out with her friends unannounced, she snaps!

Word Count: 1.7K

Song: Love Language by SZA

She was sneaking her way into the house. Trying to be as quiet as possible with her footsteps on the tile floor. But with the liquor making her feel heavier, she was making more noise than she thought she was.

London was locking the door, she hadn’t even noticed that he’d turn on the lights. And once she turned around, he was there leaning against the stairs with his large arms folded across his broad chest. She instantly sobered up when she saw him, jumping slightly, ‘Jesus—‘

‘Where have you been?’ He lifted his head to look up at her across the room.

It was so quiet and the air was thick was tension.

Her own cause she was tired of looking at him.

His because she always found ways to disobey him. But why did that matter? They were getting a divorce anyway.

‘Since when do I have to answer to you, Henry.’

‘You don’t. But you do answer to our kids. They’ve been worried about you all night.’

London rolled her eyes and walked towards the stairs. Her hips swayed; her black tight and form fitted dress hugging those curves her children blessed her with. ‘I bet my last dollar they weren’t even concerned about me.’

Henry stepped to the side, standing before her with an intimidating glare. ‘London, I get it… alright— you don’t want to be around me and to be completely fucking honest I’m ready to be over this divorce shit too. But you are still my problem. When I say you need to be home at a certain time— I expect you to be there before then!’

She took a step back and a snarl curled on her lips before she kissed her teeth, ‘Boy! Fuck you. I’m a grown ass woman and I will come and go as I please!’ She tried to step around him but he stood in her way once again.

‘Oh? It’s “fuck me” now. Alright, I’m not doing this shit with you tonight.’ He chuckled as he turned around and began to walk up the steps.

‘Henry, it’s been fuck you OK,’ she followed him. She wanted him to hear what she had to say. ‘You had me at home with our boys while you were fucking the next bitch. But I can’t go out and have a good time with my friends?!’ She stomped up the steps, ‘HELLO!! Henry! I’m talking to you!’

They made it to the stop of the steps. Henry’s hands tucked in his pockets as he tried his best to tune out her shit, ‘London, just let it go man. I’m starting to think you’re not over the shit!’

‘I am over it!’

Henry swiftly turned around, ‘THEN WHY DO YOU KEEP BRINGING IT UP!?’ He didn’t realize he was yelling just then.

London stared up at him with fiery eyes, a deep frown curled downward on her lips. She didn’t say a word

‘… when people keep bringing up bad shit of the past, it clearly means they’re not over it! I told you I was sorry! And I have been trying to make it up to you for a fucking year! You keep pushing me over the fucking edge, London!’

‘Oh you’re not sorry! If you were sorry, it wouldn’t have happened twice!’

‘UGH!’ Henry threw his hand up in the air as he kissed his teeth and turned around to walk into their old bedroom.

London didn’t back out, she followed suit.

‘Oh so we’re not gonna talk about the affair with your dealer?!’

‘I told you, nothing happened between me and her! Shit, if I knew you were going to accuse me of it, I might as well fucked!’

London inhaled sharply, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘You are sick! I swear to God! I don’t know how I got stuck with a PIECE OF SHIT LIKE YOU!’

Henry stood up straight, taking a deep breath and turned around to face her. ‘Then that makes two of us.’

The room grew quiet. You could hear pin drop.

London sighed, walking towards him with her hands on her hips. When she stood before him, her head fell as her tears fell from her eyes; creating traces on her make up. She lifted her hand, brought it back and slapped it across his face in a hurry. ‘You ain’t shit. You ain’t gone ever be shit! I gave up my life for you! I sacrificed EVERYTHING FOR YOU!’

‘I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO! I told you what kind of fucking person was and you overlooked the shit anyway!’

‘I OVERLOOKED IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU HEN!’ Her voice shattered; It was then when she completely broke down.

Henry stared at her a thin sheet of tears glossed over his eyes and settled at his eyelids. She had seem to be taking the separation well at first… she made it clear on many occasions that she didn’t want this shit to work. But her telling him that she loved him gave him a glimpse of hope.

He wanted his family back.

‘I tried… I tried moving on! I tried dating, I tried everything! But I couldn’t… I’m still in love with you even with your sick ass tendencies, I’m still fucking HERE! When will you see it! When will you see me?!’ She gave his chest a hard shove.

He stumbled back a little bit, inhaling deeply before clenching his jaw together. ‘I— London, I been seen you. I have only been following your league! You wanted 50/50 custody over the boys? I didn’t fight that! You want child support?— I am willing to do that and give you spousal support! I have given you everything you ever wanted when it came to this fucking divorce but you don’t even seem like you know what you truly want… do you?’

London gently wiped her nose with her wrist and looked away from him. She couldn’t look at him.

‘You… don’t want a divorce…’

She didn’t say a word, instead her arms stayed crossed across her breasts.

Henry let out a shuddered sigh and rubbed his face then let out a chuckle before he walked around her.

‘I was only trying to scare you…’

Henry just shook his head.

‘Once I knew you weren’t budging when it came down to it… I just went through with it.’

‘And how’d you know I wasn’t scared?!’ He said before he turned around to face her once again. ‘London, that’s the first time I’ve been scared in my entire life! The thought… the thought of losing you and my boys to the next fucker… I was afraid you were done with me.’

She wiped her tears and sniffed, ‘Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve worked it out, Hen! Why have us waste all this money on lawyer fees instead of just working it out?!’

‘Because I wasn’t going to press you… I had fucked up… many, many times London. I just accepted my fate— I made my bed, so I must lay in it.’

She sniffed before she heard a tiny, tired voice. Her head snapped towards the bedroom door. Their youngest son, Adonis spoke up, ‘mommy… you’re back home?’ He rubbed his bright blue eyes. The same ones he and his brother stole from their father.

‘Hii my baby boy,’ she walked over to him and scooped him up into her arms, placing kisses on his cheek and head. ‘I’m sorry I was late. But I’m home now, and I missed you and your brother.’

Henry stared at them with a soft smile on his face. Then his head fell forward to hide the joy he felt in that moment.

‘I heard yelling… we’re you and daddy fighting?’ He whined, pouting out his bottom lip.

London looked up at Henry. Henry looked up at her, ‘No… no just- a simple misunderstanding my love.’

‘Yeah, just— we were just talking loud…’ he gave his son a reassuring smile and walked over towards them. ‘Here. Let me go tuck you in alright? Mommy is really tired.’ He opened his arms out to Adonis and the tiny human just reached out for his daddy. He then let out a tired yawn.

‘Come on boy, off to bed!’

‘Goodnight my love,’ she said softly, ‘I will see you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight mama…’ and he waved his tiny palm at her as they exited the room.

London let out a shaky sigh and turned around to look at the king sized bed. The bed that they shared all their 7 years of being together. She walked over towards her side, dragging her fingertips over the soft linen.

She then sat down on it. Remembering how soft and comfortable it was. The one she slept on in the guest room was a full and no where near as delightful as this SleepNumber.

Suddenly, it seem as if she lost control of her body. She just laid her head down on the cool pillow and shut her eyes. She fell asleep in record time. Between dancing the night away at the club he owned and their argument… she was beat.

After Henry had put Adonis back to sleep, he placed a kiss on his boys head and shut their door behind him.

He walked down the hallway slowly, I’m his own head about the things that were said tonight between the both of them. But as soon as he made it back to his bedroom, he felt tense all over again. ‘Here we go…’ he sighed and opened the door.

To his surprise, she was laying on the side of the bed she used to sleep on; knocked out. He just stood there, scoffing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Henry walked over to her side and placed a gentle kiss on her head, ‘rest well, my queen.’

Afterwards, he discarded his clothes, placed them in the hamper and dressed in something more comfortable. Gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He crawled into the bed, careful not to wake her. Then, he tucked her in and wrapped his arms around her in a snuggle.

Suddenly, London murmured in her sleep, ‘Henry?’

‘Yes?’ He answered with his eyes closed.

‘It’s still fuck you.’

Henry’s chest rumbled with a dark chuckle, ‘I know.’

#henry cavill x black reader #Henry Cavill #henry cavill fanficton #Henry Cavill fan fic #henry cavill x black!oc #henry cavill x black!female oc #henry cavill x black!female reader #henry cavill fanfic #dad!henry cavill #daddy!henry cavill #au!henry cavill #Mob boss

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ignis-writes · 2 years

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By Chance, By Choice

Summary: Summary: Will Syverson and y/n find love during hard times in an alliance made to keep the peace? (im bad at summaries)

Pairing:mob boss!Logan Syverson x female reader

Word count: around 1.7K

Warning: mob and stuff like that, mentions of fight bloodshed, arranged marriage. angst, fluff, and hardcore smut in future parts

A/N: This chapter is just an introduction to the universe from the reader's pov. English is not my first language and this fic is Not beta'd like everything else on this page. So look out for obvious mistakes

Image credits: Pinterest

Even if u don't like this, please comment, would be a great help to improve

*No permission is given of reposting, copying my work or ideas and parts from it and claiming it as your own*

Arranged marriage AU -

Mob Boss AU

Chapter 1

The Engagement

An Arranged marriage? It sounded ridiculous and impractical. But belonging to a mob family that had been around the blood business for so long, I've heard it often, especially around my eldest brother's marriage. Back then it felt like an alternate option if tinder doesn't work, but right now I'm close to no option.

From a third-person perspective, It was like, everything was handed to me on a silver plate, and to a point it was true. Being the daughter of an influential man, and being raised in a wealthy family I did not have many struggles compared to an average person. But the problem with the silver plate is that it comes chained to your arms. This chain essentially limited my freedom to choose many things for myself, from where I studied to what I wore. And now who I married.

So when my father casually broke the news of this proposal at the dinner and asked for my opinion, I was not surprised. And by the looks exchanged between my brothers, Jude and Milan, It was clear that I shouldn't have a bad opinion for starters. This was not a proposal but a promise, a promise made on my life without my knowledge or consent. A promise put together by two mobsters for god knows what purpose. A business agreement? A peace treaty? I was yet to find.

The Syversons were a familiar name in the underworld. The man I was supposed to marry was Logan Syverson, the old Don's younger son and only heir since the passing of his father and the murder of his elder brother Richard. Richard's death created a series of shootouts and gang wars which led to a fiasco that called for immediate negotiations and peace. Plus Syverson shared his high school and college days with my second brother, so they were pretty close even after all these years. This is all I knew about the man I was supposed to marry and his family. Still, I got ready to meet him and his family since my father had way too much hope in this alliance and he even went to the extent of thinking we would make an excellent couple. That was the clue, father wasn't just wagering a business deal, he wanted to "join the families " or whatever it meant.

____________

The night before my engagement to him or my first time meeting my future husband, I couldn't sleep and had mixed feelings about him, about the marriage, and its aptitude for building anything more than a peace treaty between 2 groups of influential people. I wondered if I will like the stranger of a fiancee. A part of me feared it was probably gonna be another faux excuse for marriage, like Jude and Catherine. Even though they were lovely individuals with much kindness and love in their hearts they didn't work well as a team. On the other hand. I had my parents and their extraordinary bond to look up to. They loved cherished and respected each other and set a great example for their 4 kids to follow. Once I heard Uncle Benjin say they hit the jackpot when it came to an arranged marriage while toasting to the well-being of their relationship on its 25th anniversary, that was 10 years ago when I was 15.

I kept tossing and turning in my bed for a few more hours so I went down to the kitchen to grab a drink, maybe if I had enough alcohol to doze off my system, I could fall asleep. Stupid thought actually, I was more likely to stay up if I drank. So I opened the fridge instead, to find ice cream. There was always some ice cream in this fridge. When I was around 5-6 used to sneak out with my brother to get some sweets past midnight, but pappa would catch us. He was never mad at us once he even joined our Lil ice cream adventure with his own share of choco chip cookies dipped in a warm glass of milk. It was our lil guilty pleasure. But this time for a change I saw my mamma, she stood by the kitchen window looking out into the vineyard.

"Mamma? "

"Oh honey, you can't sleep either? "

"yeahhh. I'm glad I have company, maybe a lil ice cream would help?

"sit down you, I'll get the ice cream"

she turned to the fridge in a hurry before I managed to turn up the lights, and a tear? Was she crying? For what???

Knowing my mom, if I asked she would get annoyed further so I didn't ponder it any further. We sat together with the ice cream and talked about the past, not anything serious but all the silly stupid things I and my brothers did as kids, and giggled at some really awkward memories. We purposefully avoided talking about that time when pappa got shot and we had to move away for some time. After all, weren't trying to send away any hopes of sleeping tonight, and when silence fell again I asked.

"ma, I don't know what it is but you know you can talk to me, right...…"

"Oh it's nothing honey, it's just " her eyes were damp again.

"It's just I always felt like you never liked this lifestyle, the constant fear, instability and everything bad that came with the money and power… *sigh * I didn't get to choose who I married, but fortunately I married a good man. Together we made a family brick by brick. It was not easy, we took it slow and steady. Had to pretend at some part, had to turn a blind eye, forget and forgive but the efforts were mutual, we fell in love with each other.

But for you, I hoped better, like you could choose your life, your husband, and ever since your pappa came up with this proposal I had this impending feeling that like you would have chosen to marry outside this society if it was your call. Even cut all ties with this dangerous world and move out to somewhere peaceful, and…and normal. So yeah..." She wiped another drop of tear and continued "Im sorry we had to lock u right back into this world where mothers start every day with the fear of not seeing their children and husband ever again... it's terrible, really"

For a second I didn't know what to say, but I couldn't leave her in the silence either so I said, just for the sake of saying anything

"Oh mamma, you don't worry about that for a moment. I am your daughter, I will not just let somebody's arrangement decide the course of my life. And about getting out of this world, I was born here but never a part of it. Always a bystander to whatever went on in the name of the "family business" always a wallflower. I hated it of course, by trying my best not to see too much, not to let it bother me. my life was good so far ma, it will be good in the future cuz it was and will always be my decision to keep my happiness. So My marriage will be good, or I will make it good. " I said smiling

No matter what I said, no matter how confident I sounded It was confusing, the hour was late and my mind was still wandering but after a few minutes with mamma, I felt like I could nod off for a while.

__________

The engagement went well, well…not uneventfully well. I wore a simple pink dress and waited in my room, Catherine was there to help me calm down my nerves. She said she knew him, not well enough but she said he wasn't a bad guy maybe it was true, maybe it was true. Maybe she just wanted me to calm down. When pappa led me to the hall he was silent except for the kind smile he offered me but his face was optimistic.

The hall was decorated in pink and white flowers and laces. The delicate sound of the piano kept humming a familiar tune. Not many people stood there, just his family, the closest of his friends, and mine. He was already there when I walked down the stairs, he must have seen me first because when I spotted him his eyes were already on me. Damm, he was handsome.

Some part of me wished I could meet him sooner. But another part of me was still a bit anxious. Finally, we got engaged, shook hands, and talked a bit....a lot. He was taller than I expected and well built. His eyes were many hues of blue with an isle of brown.

'Cute. My kids are gonna have those eyes' I caught myself thinking. wait, what???? I met this man 5 mins ago and I was already planning kids and their eye color. There is seriously something wrong with me.

As soon as the crowd around us took off to socialize with others, he asked me if he could get me a glass of champagne. Sure he might have noticed me not standing still and shifting weight from leg to leg. So we sat down by the balcony and he got me my glass. The fact that he served in the army as a captain back when Richard and his dad ran the business was new to me. He asked if I was okay, with this... This means the marriage and him. He was a good listener, he let me talk and paid attention. He seemed friendly and polite. Altogether a nice guy but still a stranger. Some part of me hoped this sweet demeanor was not just an act.

My parents and his mom's brother, ( who first approached my dads with this proposal) were in a hurry to get us married so the wedding was fixed 2 weeks away from the engagement. Wow. It was too fast, and I was quite stressed as it was. The ceremony would be a gathering for the so-called superiors of the mob world. I would be able to call my best friend Vivienne, that's it. No one else. But what intimidated me was the haste around getting this done, why this rush, were they preparing for something else? The silence and the haste surrounding the engagement and the wedding gave me an eerie sensation, one strong enough to wonder if I was walking into a trap.

Or Maybe I can walk into a fairytale.

I went to bed replaying the conversation we had. It felt comforting, but not enough. I wanted to see him again, talk to him, and dance with him. That night I fell asleep quicker than I expected with a silent smile upon my face and a hopeful warmth filling my soul.

'It's gonna be alright ' I told myself

#henry cavill #captain syverson #mob!boss syverson #mob au #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #chris evans #arranged marriage

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shy-violet-soul · 2 years

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Recent Recs - June 4, 2022

Here is a list of fantastic works by amazing authors that I highly recommend.

18+ years old or older - assume all fics have adult content!

Marvel

Steve Rogers:

His Inheritance by @jtargaryen18: Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his. (Mob!Steve Rogers AU)

A Few Good Reasons by @angrythingstarlight: Steve has a few good reasons to get up this early. All of them revolve around the pretty new waitress that just started at his favorite diner. (Biker! Steve AU)

Matilda Rose by @christycurlswrites: the relationship between you & Steve fell apart. Four years later, Steve learns he has a daughter.

Bucky Barnes:

Thin Ice by @angrythingstarlight: Bucky has a few rules. The most important is that you always tell him you love him when you leave the house. Because “I love you, Bucky” are his four favorite words. (cute Biker!Bucky AU!)

Bucky’s Bumblebee by @angrythingstarlight: fearsome mob boss James Barnes is ruthless. His tiny little girl has him wrapped around her finger!

Stucky:

Right Under Your Nose by @foxgloveprincess: It’s not your fault that you bump into two super soldier and endear yourself to them. Seriously. You have no idea what they see in you, but having friends you can trust implicitly is nice. Right?

Henry Cavill & characters

Syverson:

And So Much More by @sillyrabbit81: after a disappointing blind date, your best friend’s older brother comes to pick you up.

Even if You Don’t Mean It by @sillyrabbit81: an unexpected phone call from a brief fling leads to a long-distance romance.

Where Kindness Grows by @rmtndew: The Great Depression took its toll on a lot of people and some had to get creative to survive. Seraphina’s father decides his solution is to sell his only daughter to a much older man. But when Sy overhears a conversation about the young woman, he makes a decision that will change his life - and Seraphina’s - forever.

People Like Us by @rmtndew: Sy is set up on a blind date with a single mom. When the babysitter cancels, so does his date. But Sy is determined to salvage what he can.

ACOTAR

Elain & Azriel:

A Surprise Bun by @tswaney17: Elain has a secret. One that even the male she’s been seeing doesn’t know about yet. But, when Cassian shows up unannounced at the townhouse, everything comes crumbling around her as her secret comes to light. And now she must face the reality of her hidden relationship with Azriel and the consequences it has brought.

Season of the Rose by @fawnandshadows: The agreement has been signed for the engagement of Lady Elain and Lord Lucien Anserra. Everything has been arranged - or has it?

Blooming Shadows by @fawnandshadows: “Are you ready?” Azriel asked from the shadows. His tall frame leaned elegantly against the wall in the study, shadows licked and swirled around him as if shielding him from Elain’s gaze. It made her heart cry, seeing him hidden around her. There was a time when his shadows would vanish completely when she entered a room. When he would look at her and smile, but now, ever since the solstice, something had changed.

In the Garden by @fawnandshadows: Elain saw Azriel watching her in the garden from a window. When she beckoned him to join her, he refused. But he can’t resist the lure of the loveliest flower forever.

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mocnlighted · 8 months

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i'm gonna start going through my drafts now , against my better judgement, i have added new muses (in addition to new ones i already had sigh) and i would love to use them so pls give this post a like if i can write you a starter from one of them? 🥺💗 (all listed below with their pinterest boards linked!)

antonella rojas // paloma elsessar, twenty-nine, bi - human who found their 'soulmate' in highschool, married them only for them to pass three years into their marriage. now she is trying to put her life back together and focusing on her radio show.

camille cho // jennie kim, twenty-seven, bi. - mermaid who lives on a yacht all on her own with her cat, she's an aquatic veterinarian and spends a lot of her time out at sea. her personality is sorted of closed off/cagey but is a total cinnamon roll once those layers are peeled back.

celeste moon // zoe kravitz, thirty, bi - human who is the daughter of a mob boss and was married to her first husband at twenty one to satisfy an agreement between her family and their old rivals. he died less than a year into their marriage, he was thirty years older than her. her second marriage ended after her husband was killed during a turf war, leaving her widowed twice and now refusing to walk down the aisle again.

miles beckett // henry cavill, forty, het - human, the black sheep/connor roy of his family who is really just doing his best but failing massively at it. to make matters even more complicated, his best friend passed away leaving him responsible for their five year old son.

nomi diallo // anna diop, thirty, het - human who, on the outside, has her entire life together. she has a high paying corporate job as a financial analyst and lives in a sxc apartment in the city but on the inside nomi is wrecked with guilt over her sister who died when she was a teenager, and nomi feels responsible for it.

mj ryland // alycia debnam-carey (might change this tho), thirty, bi - werewolf who is low-key on the run because she killed the guy she imprinted on (and was totally right for it!!). her job as a air hostess ensures that she is always on the move and keeping the distance from the community that want to hold her responsible.

#( mutuals only ! ) - if u have a preference pls lmk otherwise i'll choose at random #this is wat happens when u spend too much time on pinterest dfgdffk #ps. these are just the ones i'm super keen to use but honestly feel free to take ur pick of ANY muses on my blog.#ooc ( if i had a mic i’d drop it. )

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lustbitten · 1 year

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mobile friendly muse page

all fcs on this page are also available for new charas * means not yet added to full muse page

males:

andrew rogers / sebastian stan fc / heterosexual / 31-36 yo / mob boss august cowan / pablo schreiber fc / heterosexual / 41-48 yo christian deleon / lewis tan fc / heterosexual / 33-42 yo / handyman darren pittman / dacre montgomery fc / heterosexual / 28-34 yo grant carpenter / andrew lincoln fc / heterosexual / 49-53 yo / rich divorcee jason griffin / henry cavill fc / heterosexual / 35-39 yo jude vega / jon bernthal fc / heterosexual / 42-51 yo nicholas vaughn / ben barnes fc / heterosexual / 34-39 yo samuel hart / frank grillo fc / heterosexual / 48-54 yo vincent jimenez / pedro pascal fc / heterosexual / 44-52 yo

females:

addison greer / anne hathaway fc / pansexual / 36-42 yo aida warren / alycia debnam carey fc / pansexual (prefers ladies) / 26-32 yo arden blackwell / jessie mei li fc / pansexual / 29-34 yo celine houston / alexis ren or lili reinhart fc / pansexual / 25-31 yo channing graves / elizabeth olsen fc / pansexual / 28-34 yo cherry bennett / natalia dyer fc / pansexual / 22-28 yo frankie benton / jessica chastain fc / pansexual / 38-46 yo hanna burgess / madelyn cline fc / pansexual / 23-29 yo heather galvan / alexa demie fc / pansexual / 28-34 yo ivanna marks / camila mendes fc / pansexual / 26-31 yo maria almasi / may calamawy fc / pansexual / 34-40 yo marie mcdaniels / famke janssen fc / pansexual / 41-47 yo mayson hayes / morena baccarin fc / pansexual / 38-42 yo rowan dunn / grace van dien fc / pansexual / 25-29 yo stella monroe / dianna agron fc / pansexual / 26-37 yo

faces i'm willing to play

lili reinhart madelaine petsch sydney sweeney dakota johnson ella purnell sophie nelisse camila morrone savannah smith liz gillies alexa demie natasha lyonne oscar isaac jensen ackles glen powell charlie cox andrew garfield john boyega + more, just ask!

#excuse the spam lol needed to post this tho #lustbittensaved

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angryschnauzer · 2 years

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The Devil Inside You

Summary: He wants you to dance for him and you can’t say no. He’s in charge and not to be argued with, he’s the devil.

Fandom: Non-specific. The male character is never identified or named, i imagined him as Henry Cavill in perhaps August Walker guise, but it could work for any male.

Pairing: August Walker Mob Boss Devil x Female Reader (No one is named)

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Nudity, Suggested Prostitution, Exotic Dancer, Fingering, Performing Sex Acts, Sybian/Riding Dildo, Oral Sex/Blowjob, Choking/Airplay, Cum swallowing, Devils/Demons.

Wordcount: 1485

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications.

Henry Cavill Masterlist

The Devil Inside You

The marble floors were slippery from being freshly polished, the heels of your sky high sandals struggling to make traction as you tried to keep up with the enormous man that had come to get you from where you’d been getting ready in the dressing room with the other girls. You had known it would eventually be your turn, your turn to be called into the luxury offices above the club in the ancient building, to entertain him.

He owned the club. He owned the city. He was in charge of everyone and everything. Even if you didn’t know it, he knew what was going on everywhere. Politicians bowed to his every request, law officials couldn’t touch him. Whatever was thrown would never stick as he had eyes everywhere. There were rumours of course, whispers of a darkness that surrounded him, of his way of being able to reply to an argument before it’s even said. Something dwelled behind those eyes, the pale blue making you think of an icy cage on the occasion you’d caught a glance of him as he’d been passing through the club whilst you’d been on stage.

The enormous goon in front of you turned and let out a short puff of frustration at your inability to keep up with his long strides.

“Okay okay, i’ve only got little legs and these floors are slippery in these heels”

“Rubbish, i’ve seen you wrap those legs around a pole and strut your stuff in heels higher than those…” his eyes raked up and down your body; “...In less clothing”

You went to retort back but a foreign noise caught your tongue before you could speak.

I’m waiting.

Both you and the goon turned towards the closed door ahead of you, the colour draining from his face;

“You’d better get in there, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting”

He stepped aside and let you approach the door, the handle making your hand seem tiny as you turned it and stepped into the room.

It was as if time kept jumping ten seconds at once. You were in the middle of the room but had no recollection of stepping through the door or shutting it behind you. He sat on a low seat next to the window, the pale light of day illuminating his strong features. He was impeccably dressed, an expensive suit clung to every part of his body, then the jacket open and he was sitting back, you were stood at his feet. His gaze was hypnotic and it sent a chill down your spine.

“Don’t be scared Little One”

His voice surprised you, deep and soft, it licked at your senses like an cold mist, whisps of smoke curling around you. His hand captured your own, pulling you towards him as he smoothed the palm of his other over the back of your hand;

“You’re shaking. You’ll be ok, its just us in here”

That’s what scared you the most. You felt like you were in the lions den, the reputation of the beast before you the most you feared. Finally finding your voice you spoke;

“I was told you wanted a dance? But there is no music…”

“There will be music to my ears” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth; “Now, let me see…”

He nodded to your robe and released your hands, his own moving to the silk tie at your waist, pulling the strings and letting it fall open. He sat back to appreciate what he saw, the expensive lingerie that had been delivered to you just an hour before, what little ribbon and lace there was not covering anything, instead it framed your assets.

Entranced by his gaze, you found yourself letting the robe fall into a pile on the floor, the cool silk draping over your feet. With feather light touch his fingertips danced over the bare skin of your hip down to your knee, before they travelled up your inner thigh. The first touch of his finger against your bare lips caused a gasp of surprise to escape your mouth, but as he rubbed his thick fingers through your swollen petals which were devoid of panties, you hummed as sparks started to ignite in your belly and your arousal grew. Pressing the back of his hand just above your clit, he parted two fingers and ran his thumb over the sensitive pearl, drawing it out from beneath its hood, teasing it - and you - until you felt your leg start to shake. Then he stopped and sat back, a move that caught you by surprise.

“I think you’re ready to dance now” he nodded his head, indicating something behind you.

Turning you were surprised to find a small leather footstool behind you, maybe a foot long and half as much wide. But was was glaringly obvious now was what you would be dancing on, the thick phallus that rose from the centre. The piece of obscene furniture hadn’t been there when you’d entered the room, and no-one had come or gone since you’d arrived.

A voice in your head tugged at your subconscious, telling you to move and that you knew exactly what you were expected to do. Straddling it, you slowly dipped down, a move you’d done many times in front of many people, but then it had only been to simulate the act, never to actually do it. His ministrations had left you soaked, so as the blunt tip nudged at your folds it slid through them easily, bumping against your clit. Lowering yourself you whimpered as the thickness stretched your velvet channel. Barely two inches in and you could lower yourself no further, instead with some seasoned dexterity you moved to your knees, first one then the other as you braced your hands on the front edge of the padded leather and started to ride.

Your gaze was always trained on him, as he watched you perform the most private dance. With renewed vigour you took the shaft deeper, your juices flowing down your thighs and soaking the leather beneath you, the phallus seemed to grow and mould to your inner walls. To be on show like this in an act so private, yet being watched sent pleasure straight to your core, the rush enveloping your mind as your head fell back and your eyes fluttered shut, it felt so good.

A quiet huff of breath brought your attention back to the room, to the devil in front of you. His eyes now dark and beneath hooded eyes, his large hand palmed himself through his expensive suit. You rode harder and faster, and it was as if you were riding him. He rested his head back against the seat, fighting the urge to close his eyes and miss seeing your beautiful performance.

You knew you were getting close, so when he suddenly stood it threw your rhythm off for a moment as he strode over to you and quickly unzipped himself, pulling his hard length from his pants. As he held the thick base his other hand moved to your throat, gripping you as he fed his wide mushroom head between your lips.

“Ride. I want you to swallow what you do to me”

Never releasing your throat, instead he pressed a little harder, restricting your airflow just enough to tell you he was in complete control. It restricted your movements but you still bounced up and down on the shaft, all whilst he was deep in your mouth, the salty tang of his precome a tart reminder that he was close. With each rise of your hips it was as if you were riding him, yet he was overwhelming your senses, his voice in your thoughts as barriers between realities dissolved.

Your body constricted as your orgasm hit, a white heat spreading through your core and enveloping your mind, but through it all you could feel the phallus move and jerk inside you, its movements identical to the way he filled your mouth, each spurt of his thick seed a delicacy on your tongue and a ghost in your womb.

With a groan and in a moment of clarity he released his hands and took hold of your shoulders, to support you from falling and himself from the same. You fell against his thigh, the thick muscle warm and firm beneath the expensive fabric as he zipped himself up. He carefully lifted you from the device, carrying you like a bride as he exited the room and made his way to his chambers, doors seemingly opening and closing on their own.

“Sir, you have meetings this afternoon…” a voice called out.

“No, i do not”

“But it’s the Mayor”

“Definitely not”

In his arms the world narrowed, it was just him and you, his voice in your head.

The devil inside you.

#henry cavill x reader #august walker x reader #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #mob boss august walker #devil august walker

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everything-person · 2 years

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Okay so we all know the fanfic trope of writing (insert character name) Mob boss and girl being sold/given to mob boss to pay off family debt. It’s kinda a internet joke trope. (Not hating on the trope)

I think the girl/protagonist knowing this trope and it still happen should be used more often.

#chris evans #steve rogers #henry cavill #jeffery dean morgan #john winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #mob boss #mob boss x reader #fanfic comment #fanfic idea #fanfic prompt

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thetaoofzoe · 3 years

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Fic: The Company Woman 1/1

Title: The Company Woman

Pairing: CEO Henry x YOU

Summary: No other company has made you want to become a Company Woman. No other company made you want to surrender to your boss. I would suggest trying to get a position in this luscious Company, but only if you’re good ;).

Rating: Explicit. Unprotected sex, cock-warming, strict rules, Soft Dom Henry, giddy and willing participants

And thank you to my ever loving @lightsidecalling.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Puckering your lips against one side of a small square of pink tissue, you watched yourself lightly dab at the other side with a soft powdered brush until you were satisfied you’d absorbed enough excess moisture from the matte lipstick. Carefully peeling the tissue from your dark cherry red lips, you tapped them with a clean manicured fingertip and then smiled at your reflection.

Perfect.

Picking up the parfum atomizer you layered yourself with a light floral scent. Not too much. Just enough so that the boss could smell it, appreciate it, but not be distracted by it.

Replacing the bottle on the vanity tray, your eyes drifted to the large pink sticky note affixed to your broad wall-length bathroom mirror. You leaned in to briefly consult it, as you had done every morning since landing a coveted position with The Company last year.

In your neat print, you’d copied the ‘Requirements for personal hygiene and workplace presentation’ instructions from your personalised employee handbook.

1. A bath or shower must be taken the night before bed and in the morning after rising from bed. Cleansing must pay close attention to delicate areas where unwanted scents can accumulate during general activities.

2. Hair must be neat no matter the style.

3. While professional whitening is not expected, you will maintain clean healthy teeth. At-home whitening strips are recommended.

4. Trousers are not allowed in the office and all clothing must be form-fitting, but not constricting or ‘tight’. Heels and nylons must be worn.

5. Makeup must be natural and unobtrusive and any scents must be light.

6. All foundation garments must not be detected beneath the outer clothes.

Mentally you ticked off the six boxes, stood back, and admired yourself in the brightly lighted mirror. You tucked the back of your rose coloured silk blouse into a darker rose coloured pencil skirt and made sure that the zipper that ran the vertical length of the skirt was centered on your backside.

Flicking off the bathroom light and picking a pair of matching shoes from the upper hall closet, you padded down the stairs to the lower level of your townhouse. Your work mobile was charging on the kitchen counter and picking it up from the cradle, you saw that you had a message.

A flick of your thumb across the dark screen revealed what Mr. Cavill wanted for lunch:

CUISSE DE VOLAILLE FARCIE AUX HERBES, JUS A L’ECHALOTE from Le Gavroche.

You hadn’t even had your own breakfast yet, and here he was requesting lunch. However, the thought of ensuring that your boss got whatever expensive meal he had a taste for that day, was exciting.

In fact, everything about working for the extremely posh company headed by five brothers was exciting. Everything was required to be of the highest quality and it was up to everyone involved to maintain the aesthetic of The Company. After all, appearances in that world were everything. One wrong move could spell the end of them. Nonetheless, you relished the strict nature of your working environment and eagerly submitted to your superiors.

Stepping into your shoes, and grabbing your handbag, you shrugged into a light jacket on your way out of the front door.

As a personal assistant to the middle (and in your opinion the smartest and most attractive) brother, Henry, your job afforded you the kind of luxuries of which you’d only dreamed.

When Henry travelled for business, you travelled for business. When he dined in impossibly decadent restaurants and slept in extravagant hotels, well, so did you. You didn’t always dine with him, (and you never slept with him), but you had unfettered access to all of the amenities that he enjoyed. The Company did well enough to, in turn, pay their employees handsomely and offer generous year-end bonuses.

You loved it. No other employer had been able to turn you into The Company woman you were now and make you like it. You loved your job so much that you barely blinked when, during a late afternoon meeting with Henry, he slid a neatly formatted document across his glossy desktop towards you.

You leaned in, but did not pick it up. You read it where it lay, white and crisp against the deep cherry mahogany.

‘This is a non-disclosure agreement,’ you said and let your eyes drift up to Henry’s face.

He looked cool and perfect in his bespoke icy blue three-piece suit, offset by a creme coloured necktie knotted in a full Windsor. The ticking of his wristwatch was loud in the silence and he held your gaze wordlessly.

Henry was all raw masculine power and you were aroused by him. Constantly. When you performed your morning and nightly routines, you thought about him, wondering if he appreciated the extra effort you put in just to impress him.

Had he noticed?

You sucked your lower lip and lowered your eyes to the document again.

‘Um..’

‘I want you to read and sign it,’ said Henry in his warm honeyed voice, and you were startled a little by the clack of the Montblanc coming down next to the document.

‘Is this different from the disclosure documents I signed when I first started?’

Henry leaned back, relaxed and the leather chair creaked softly.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve been with us for what, nearly a year?

‘Yes. A great year!’

His rosy pink lips lengthened into a charming smile and you thought about how his nipples and his cock must be that very same colour. The heat of arousal rose in you and tingled between your thighs. It was a familiar and welcomed feeling, the muted buzzing that signalled the beginnings of your body awakening. You crossed your legs.

‘A great year,’ he agreed. ‘And, we want to continue to have more great years with you.’

‘I hope so too, Mr. Cavill.’

Henry’s blue eyes lowered to the document and you followed his gaze.

Picking up the pen you realised that your hands were damp. You were nervous and there was something tantalising hanging heavily in the air, something that you became much more aware of as you finished reading carefully through the document.

By the time you looked up, your heart was crashing against your ribs and it was hard to catch your breath. Without signing, you put the pen down, and neatly lined it up with the edge of the paper. You took in a long breath, held it and then let it out between perfect lips.

Your eyes finally met his and the shift in your relationship suddenly became very clear. It was no longer he who held the power in that room.

It was you.

Holding his gaze, you picked up the pen again and then looked down to carefully sign on the dotted line above your printed name.

You set the pen atop the document and with two fingers, slid it back across the desk to him. You saw him swallow hard, but that was the only crack in his impassive exterior. Henry picked it up, slotted it into a pale blue folder and stored it in the top drawer of his desk. The pen was capped and secreted into an inner jacket pocket.

He stood then and watching him walk around the desk to stand directly in front of you, you wet your lips and followed suit.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you,’ Henry purred leaning in to murmur against your ear. ‘Your smell, your lips… that beautiful arse.’

His broad hand came down hard on your bottom, grabbed you possessively and gasping with delight, you swayed against him.

‘Lucky for you,’ you answered and earned a soft chuckle from him.

You thought about resisting, pulling back to teach him a lesson for being so eager. You wanted to play a little, a little slap, and a little bit of rough. What was he like under that cool crisp exterior? Was he dull? Or was he fiery? You knew he played rugby in his limited free time and made regular use of The Company’s private gym.

So, just what was he like?

You lifted your face and moaned softly beneath the pressure of his kiss. He tasted just as you imagined. Expensive, masculine, luscious.

You pushed him back then, face brightening into a look of shock and faux outrage. Holding your hand against his broad chest you teased in a soft voice,

‘You. Didn’t. Ask.’

Henry gave you a sly grin and you were glad that there was nothing within reach on his desk because he effortlessly spun and then sprawled you across it. He dug his fingers into your hips and pulled you back just enough so that your bottom was presented perfectly to him.

You let out a squeak of surprise and bliss.

Well, you thought belatedly as he unzipped your skirt from the hem up, at least the zipper on the skirt was finally making its fantasy debut. You had purchased that skirt in the hopes that one day he would be doing exactly what he was doing now.

‘Mr. Cavill!’ you exclaimed, trying to swallow down a giggle as you attempted to press up from the surface of the desk. He chuckled, sounding smug behind you as one big hand eased across your back and pressed you down again.

‘Mmm,’ he murmured, voice soft with praise and anticipation as he stroked his fingertips up beneath the elastic of your garters, starting from where the laced edge of your thigh-highs ended, gliding elegantly up your overheated flesh, before fanning his hands to grasp you beneath your ass. He squeezed. Hard. And you let out a shuddering groan, only to bite down on the noise and jerk forward with a surprised gasp when Henry swiped a sturdy finger up the wet crotch of your panties.

You closed your eyes and when he leaned against you, you felt the press of his heavy erection through his expensive gabardine. You squirmed, and he leaned away to lightly slap your bottom.

‘Please… please Mr. Cavill,’ you whimpered when he stepped back.

God you felt so cold without him against your skin.

You reached back, scrabbling trembling fingers up under your flagrantly open skirt, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties, and attempted to pull them down. Henry stopped you and, grasping the edge of the thin pink scrap of material, giving it one sharp tug until it ripped easily.

Fuck.

His hand came down on your back again, holding you, and he licked the pad of his thumb before sliding it into your slick warmth.

‘Look at you. Look how wet you are. I love hearing you, baby,’ he growled, sucking your juice off of his fingers. ‘Taste so good.’

You heard him unbuckling and opening his trousers and bit down on your lower lip, ready for it. Yes, God. Yes, God, yes.

‘Do you remember rule number 10?’ he asked, leaning in close now, covering you with his hard body and rocking you up to your tiptoes. The scent of him made it hard to think.

Rule number 10 – internal contraception only.

‘Yes,’ you managed to say, your voice barely over a broken whisper. ‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. I remember. I ha-haven’t broken it.’

‘Good.’

Henry made a low noise in the back of his throat, a sound that rippled deliciously through you, and using both strong hands, he opened you. With a low growling gasp, he pushed so gently into you that you stilled suddenly and closed your eyes, shutting out every visual distraction in order to be able to deeply experience the heat and power of his sex. You arched and against the desk, splaying your hands but failing to hold onto anything. Seeing this, Henry lightly grasped your wrists and pulling them behind you, he pinned them together against your lower back.

‘I like you like this,’ he rumbled. ‘Be a good girl. You’ll be a good girl for me?’

It took a moment for your brain to start working enough to form a coherent response, but even when your brain engaged with rational thought, straying away from the thick, delectable cock easing hot and insistently into your body, you could only choke out,

‘Y-yes! Yes, Mr. Cavill. Yes. I’ll be good!’

Henry seemed satisfied with your enthusiastic compliance and then a short amused laugh came out of him when the phone on his desk twittered gaily.

You both stilled and you whimpered like a denied little puppy, your hands flexing against the slick, glossy desktop, nearly reaching out for the phone out of habit. It was your job to answer the phones for Henry, after all.

‘Answer it,’ he said and was magnanimous enough to release your hands and stop fucking you.

You naughty boy, you thought and with a trembling hand you reached for the desk phone.

The slim narrow plastic slipped a bit in your sweat-slick hand but your voice was surprisingly steady when you spoke between clenched teeth,

‘This is Henry Cavill’s office. How may I help you?’

A young woman’s chipper sounding voice started rattling off information that you were sure you should have been writing down, but all you could think about was that stiff cock nestling just that much deeper inside you. Henry rolled his hips just then and you clamped down on a squeal.

‘Bless you,’ the woman said.

You gasped and made a belated attempt at sniffling to support her assumption that you’d sneezed and not that you were getting a thorough seeing to by your boss.

‘Th-thank you. Is ahh.. is there anything else?’

There wasn’t, and when she ended the call, you just dropped the receiver and shoved back against him. Henry took this as a cue to redouble his efforts and you soon came apart beneath his expert handling.

Your orgasm took you quite by surprise as if a switch had been thrown and you buried your face in your arms, biting down on your forearm to keep from screaming as Henry gushed into you. Blood rushed to your head and you lay there, collapsed against the desk and didn’t move even when Henry finally drew back.

You listened to him cleaning himself up and then putting himself back into place.

‘Shall I?’ he asked and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him reach for the small box of tissues in that lacquered wood box you’d always admired.

You made a soft, blissful sound of assent and basked in the pleasurable strokes of impossibly soft tissues on your tender delicate areas. And you giggled at the final kiss Henry placed on your skin when he was done.

With clothes righted, and skirt securely zipped, you leaned against the desk and looked at him. He didn’t seem chagrined at what had just transpired, only satisfied and content.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you admitted after a stretch of silence.

With the edge of his thumb, he stroked your cheek and curled the rest of his fingers beneath your chin. His kiss was tender and full of promise.

‘Have an early evening and tomorrow we need to discuss the Zurich trip.’

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill,’ you grinned and turned to leave the now overly warm office.

‘Come in early so that we can have breakfast together.’

Your heart leapt, but you kept your cool.

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. Anything in particular that you want?’

‘Just you,’ he said.

Nodding, you closed the door behind you and did a full body dance.

The Company Woman indeed.

-end

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #ceo henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #man of steel #clark kent #mob boss #ceo #geralt #sherlock holmes #enola holmes

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ramp-it-up · 1 year

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Valentine Asks 2023

Maybe a few. Here we go.

Character List

💕 Chris Evans (HIMYF)

💕 Barkeep! Andy Barber (The Bar AU)

💕 Steve Rogers

💕 Lloyd Hansen

💕 Jake Jensen

💕 Andy Barber

💕 Bucky Barnes

💕 CEO! Bucky (Playlist)

💕 Mob Boss! Bucky Barnes (This Thing Of Ours)

💕 Mob Boss! Sam Wilson (This Thing Of Ours)

💕 Mob Boss! Steve Rogers (This Thing Of Ours)

💕 Henry Cavill

Prompt List Here

Send me a prompt and character and you never know what will happen. 💕

#dj speaks #Valentines Characters ‘23 #valentine’s day prompts #Valentines Day asks #ask dj

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cardierreh15 · 1 year

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POISON - One Shot

Coming soon to a tumblr near you!

(If you’d like to know about it just ask lol I can’t put my words right at the moment

#henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill fanfic #au!henry cavill #henry cavill x black!oc #henry cavill x black!female oc #henry cavill x black!reader #mob boss!henry Cavill #mob boss au

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duchessavalentino · 3 years

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Mob boss Henry?

Mob Boss Henry

#henry cavill #tribeca film festival 2009 #whatever works #whatever works premiere #mob boss!Henry #found on pinterest

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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Crystal Ship - Part 2

Summary: Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get. Read Part One | Master List

Pairing: AU! Mafia Boss!Henry Cavill x OFC (Ash)

Word count: 7K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, MaleDom / FemSub, abuse of power, dirty language, size kink, rather bratty behavior, knife play, rough unprotected sex, bodily fluids.

A/N: Okay, part deux is here. Que: Freya having a panic attack. I hope I don’t let you guys down. Many thanks to @agniavateira who is my beta and supported me through and to @wondersofdreaming who helped me get out of my funk.

Please leave feedback 💖🥺 and more importantly, enjoy.

Title: The Crystal Ship - Part Deux

“I’d like to fuck you.”

His smooth baritone thundered like a storm inside her mind.

It was a few minutes before midnight. Ash sat restlessly next to the white wooden vanity in her snug London pad. A place so ‘cosy’ that the double bed was squeezed between two naked walls. Space was definitely sparse, but it was enough for a life of solitude.

The silver card laid in her grasp, various colours curved upon the metallic surface, reflecting luminance onto her eyes. It has been the third night since her encounter with “the king of crime” himself, and his scent refused to depart.

Smoky, spicy, indomitable. An intoxicating blend of desire and dismay.

Henry was not seen at the club since that evening. In his absence, she spiralled into a squall of anxiety. She was scared of his return and yet the desire to see him was insatiable. The idea of the big, handsome beast returning to claim what he coveted made the hairs at the back of her neck stand up.

Don’t, just don’t. This is a man who can really fuck up your life.

Indeed, what a man: an alpha, dwarfing any other guy who briefly entered and exited her life.

And this powerful golden king wanted to be inside her.

Her breath fell short just from the thought, while the phantom feeling of his touch shadowed at her breasts. Underneath her bra, stains of purple and yellow blended with her skin tone.

This man can break you.

Henry was the first man to touch her in 2 years, his large hands awakening the very dormant lonesome need inside. Desperately, she reached a hand to cup her breast in comfort and gave a miserable sigh. It was far from enough; her fickle skin demanded broken blood vessels and mingling sweat, the violence of skin slapping onto skin.

She needed the big, dark, lust-filled danger with eyes like ice and luscious coal curls.

This man could kill you. But you have already made your decision, haven’t you?

The sharp corners of the cardboard stung the softness of her palm. It was then when she noticed her fist was squeezed tightly over the card. Splaying her hand open, she straightened the thick paper and mouthed the numbers that were inked onto the crumpled surface.

Will one time really be so bad? He might be a monster but at least he doesn’t look like one.

Ash’s heart began pounding as thrill poured in. Excitement flapped in her chest like a little bird in a cage, eager to be free.

~*~*~

Tiny drops of rain began falling on the ground as Ash waited beneath the penumbra of the lamp post. The gentle shower dampened her ponytail and filled her nose with the relaxing smell of the wet earth. It was quite chilly at that time of the year, but her faux leather jacket and skinny jeans felt like enough.

The small street of her neighbourhood was dead that time of night, the red brick homes standing silent and bleak. It was the first time she preferred it that way, not wanting anyone to spot her being picked up by a stranger in the middle of the night.

Waiting for Henry’s driver, she wondered how many times a week he would do these sort of pussy takeaways for his boss. Shame hinged on her mind, yet she assumed it wouldn’t matter much to a man who ran errands for England’s king of organized crime. It was too late to change her mind anyway. Henry knew she was on her way, and to go back from their contract would have been an insult.

Bright lights blinded her vision as a black Bentley pulled into the driveway and a window rolled down. A man in his late 40s with striking blue eyes and hard lines trailing his face narrowed his eyes at her.

Suddenly wearing jeans and sneakers didn’t feel like the best of ideas, but a part of her dreaded the thought of playing a character just to appease “the king”. Her wardrobe was far from the outfits she wore at work, and wearing high heels all day took a toll on her aching ankles.

“Ashleigh?” The driver asked in a husky Cockney accent.

She nodded and offered him a polite smile while he remained stoic. Not bothering to introduce himself, he stepped out of the car: a tall, lean man, wearing a dark tailored suit and an earpiece which she gathered was used to help him respond to his boss quickly.

Holding one hand behind his back the way Ash only saw in the movies, the driver moved toward the door.

“There is no need, I can get it myself.” she waved him off but the man ignored and opened it for her, gesturing toward the creme-coloured leather seat.

“Boss insists you’d be treated like a lady,” he explained and waited for her to step inside.

Ash released a long sigh and stepped inside the Bentley. The backseat was spacious and smelled new. Even the seatbelts were stylized to blend with the colours of the car. The only thing that didn’t fit was her and her £15 worth of denim. Feeling awkward and out of place, she leaned back and buckled in.

A small white bag was laid on the seat next to her. Ash eyed it carefully and flinched in her seat as if it was a trap of some sort.

“For a lady,” the driver spoke as he saddled himself back in his seat and ignited the car. Ash peered at him through the rearview mirror and their eyes met for a split second. There was a smile on his face but for some reason, it felt degrading.

~*~*~

Heavy grunts filled the room, followed by the heavy, blunt noise of bones mashed beneath muscle and fat. Thick crimson blood sprayed onto the wall and some on his face. Henry released a sigh and paused, wiping the misguided drops from his face with a small towel while his chest heaved with effort.

“What an unfortunate turn of events,” he spoke to the men who watched unmoved and stood quietly behind him. The victim strapped to the chair was still breathing, a choking sound cracking from his mouth. Shaking his head, Henry lifted his fist again when the vibration of his phone halted him mid-air.

Exhaling with frustration, he grabbed the phone from his pocket and answered, tilting his head with a disgusted expression as translucent bubbles of blood and snot came out of the man’s mutilated nose.

“She’s upstairs at the main door, Sir,” Sean spoke on the other line.

“Leave her at the front door,” he replied and hung up the call.

Henry wrung his hands to remove the bloodied brass knuckles. He hung them from his fingers until one of his men quickly reached to take them from him.

“Finish this and leave for the night,” he ordered and shrugged on his suit, checking his sleeves to make sure he was clean of blood splatter.

~*~*~

Mr. Cavill’s villa hid amidst a landscape of boxed family homes like an evil mansion from a fairytale. Large grey graphite bricks surrounded three stories with dark-tinted windows so vast it was impossible to peek into the house from the outside.

Her hand trembled as she rang the doorbell. The bag was scrunched between her fingers, her knees nearly giving in as she heard the lock twist and the door shift open. Leaning against the doorframe, Henry puffed his chest, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he drank the small woman in. His bulky features blocked the entire entrance and a hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his perfect lips as he noticed the apprehension that drifted from her like cheap perfume.

Fright and passion twisted into a single rope as the beautiful monster attempted to conciliate her. Near-angelic curls framed his carved face, his pale skin freshly shaven and a golden glow layered his face. A beast so civilized and attractive: donned in a three-piece navy suit and a pale cerulean shirt, yet the sinister glint that sparkled in the steel of his sight exposed his true nature.

Ash made a quick study to appreciate what was in front of her when her ears and brow suddenly burnt with silent panic. A faint crimson smudge peered beneath the thick bundle of the dark earthy curls on his forehead while another much apparent blood splatter soiled the edge of his shirt’s sleeve.

Henry’s welcoming smirk faded as he noticed the colour draining from her face and the small cavity that formed between her lips. Trailing the path of her gaze, his sight landed on the brownish trace of blood. He sighed, calmly adjusting his suit to hide the stain.

Bloody fantastic.

Sickness spread through Ash’s pumping veins, the terror that wormed itself into the back of her brain twisted and bent her perception. Escape was a futile idea that she brushed away like a pestering fly. Her survival instincts failed, the sense of looming peril doing nothing but beat her blood to run and draw herself to him.

It wasn’t courage that made her offer a pacifying smile, but fine recklessness.

Henry could see the battle in her big hazel eyes. Logic was defeated by the spear of terror and attraction. It smelled delicious. He hoped to further play with this sensation later tonight, but not to the point of traumatizing the poor girl.

“Finally she arrives,” Henry broke the silence and teased her in his deep bass.

The young woman appeared much smaller with her flat, worn sneakers. The top of her head edged at his shoulder which he found both cute and arousing. There was nothing she could do to fight him; he would have her in any way he’d choose.

Noticing his observant glare and his expensive suit, she shrugged her shoulders and smiled with faint amusement. The difference in class was so evident it was screaming in the narrow distance between them.

“Not what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

“No, but don’t worry about that, you won’t be wearing that for long.” he answered and cocked his eyebrow up at her with mischief.

Ash kept a straight face yet inside she was already a trembling, gasping mess. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t bother wearing a bra.”

He fought the laughter that circled in his chest. There was something charming about the striking opposite between the succubus he saw at the Imperial club and the mousy girl who stood in front of him right now. Yet the power she had over him was not absent. If anything, it felt even stronger without the assistance of sexy lingerie and heavy makeup.

It must have been the way in which she fought her own fear and willingly walked into the fire, knowing it would sear yet welcomed it anyway.

And he indeed had plans to make every part of her sore.

“Please, come inside.”

Ash’s heart pounded at her rib cage like an angry fist as Henry moved aside and allowed her to pass. The sound of the door closing behind her and the slow recoil of his breath sent a cold sweat beneath her clothes.

Walking into his house with shaky legs, she felt as if she was descending into the underworld. The pearly black marble on the floor spread throughout the house like an endless night sky with sparkling stars that glittered between the creases. The walls were of heavy grey paint, decorated by large abstract pieces of art that only birthed slight colour into the darkness.

Hades’ realm, Ash mused as she stepped further inside, impressed by the modern golden chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. There was something erotic about the decor of the house, sensually chilling like the man who lived in it.

“Beautiful place,” she noted, standing in front of him and letting her curious eyes venture through each decorated archway and every single door. Quietly, she wondered how many skulls this malicious man had counted to fund such a lovely place to live.

“I guess I chose the wrong profession.” she teased before allowing her daring glare to rest upon his. “Doing whatever you do must be more profitable than showing your tits to strangers.”

Henry tilted his head at her with wonder and wrapped his large arms across his chest, his blue eyes giving a sharp warning spark. The fluffy little bunny was now a captive in the lion’s den and instead of lying on her back, she poked the lion at his loins.

Oddly, it was just as pleasing as it was agitating.

“You really like to play with fire, don’t you?” Henry retorted, his voice lowered by an octave to scare her, yet awe and fascination danced in his eyes as if he dared her to show him more.

Ash observed him carefully, reading into the beautiful lines that defined his strong face. She allowed herself to drown in the cold molten metal and felt the chill as it surrounded and seeped into her lungs.

Like a game of cards, she played herself right into his hand.

“I guess I like being burnt.”

Her past relationship would have definitely proven that notion to be true. Yet something told her Mr. Cavill was a man who would mess her up far worse than any other man she had.

Content by her reaction, the broad man crept closer, his shadow darkening her delicate face while his proximity alone sucked whatever oxygen remained in her labouring lungs.

“Don’t worry then, I’m about to fuck you so hard your skin and other certain parts will catch flames,” he paused, a slanted leer skewed onto his face as he watched the courage drain from her eyes in seconds. “Isn’t that what you’re here for, little Ashleigh?”

Ash's breath caught in her throat. Passion and anxiety weaved in her gut while her heart shrunk. She couldn’t even muster an appropriate response. Her fingers clutched around the bag, knuckles sweaty and white.

Henry flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and in a gentleness that was completely surprising, took the bag from her clenched fist. Being so nervous, she didn’t even think to peek inside.

Smirking seductively, he reached a hand into the bag and pulled out a silky red fabric. The material was so thin and slick it felt like liquid in his grasp. Letting the bag fall to the floor, he took the straps between his index fingers and held it in front of her.

“Lovely!” Ash exclaimed, looking at the cherry red maxi dress which suspiciously appeared to be in her size, or at least close enough.

“I’d like you to wear this tonight.” Henry asked with a tinge of demand in his heavenly voice.

Ash frowned, bewildered by his request. This was supposed to be a quick hookup. She didn’t plan to have any clothes on yet there she was, playing dress-up with London’s kingpin.

“Do I get to refuse?”

The corner of his lips stretched into a wider grin, forming a deep dimple that lined down his cheek. A smile which made him irresistible and turned her legs boneless.

“You surrendered your free will the moment you stepped inside my house."

Ash stared deep into Henry’s beautiful eyes, reading into the coldness of his glare and finding nothing but severe honesty. A stabbing memory of his words from their first encounter echoed in her mind: He was not one to beg. After a short hesitation, she took the dress while giving him an equally chilly glare.

The fabric was so delicate it “melted” within her grip. She trembled at the imagination of how sensual it would feel on her bare skin.

“Where?”

“Bedroom is upstairs, the last door on the left,” He replied and gestured his head toward the large cast of stairs that led to the upper floor. “Don’t go into the room next to it, you’re not going to like what you’ll find.”

~*~*~

His bedroom was just as large and dark as the rest of his house. Taking off her old sneakers and ridding herself of her socks, she toed the black furry carpet that covered the entire room. The large bed was neatly made and it almost felt like a sin to sink onto it. But she imagined she was going to end her night pressed to it one way another, so she allowed herself the luxury to sit down before discarding her clothes.

Henry’s scent rose from the mattress in an invisible cloud of fumes: strong and earthy. It made her feeble as if she was under his hypnotic powers. Bare to her lace underwear, small fantasies of him pinning her down to this very mattress began slipping into her mind.

The man was a beast to be feared and yet she soaked at the need to drown in his musk.

Sighing deeply she rose from the mattress and stood to her knees, flinging the expensive dress over her head. The red material fell down the valley of her body like wine into glass.

Henry waited at the bottom of the steps. Anticipation and awe were beaming in his eyes like two large shiny diamonds. The red fabric spilt like a river of blood down her petite form as she appeared in front of him, the material so thin he could see the outline of her hard nipples and the soft bounce of her breasts.

Ash paused a few steps before the edge, nearly matching Henry in height whilst standing barefoot on the cold marble of the stairs. The king of the night sucked his lips in, his thick dark eyebrows crooked with the mischief of a hungry wolf. Staring at his face, Ash felt herself getting lost in the celestial constellation of his irises, different hues of blue, brown and green blended in what she thought to be the most beautiful eyes she ever saw.

“Such a small girl,” he mocked and reached two steady hands to her small waist and gripped her tightly. Ash let out a small shriek. Henry lifted her with disturbing ease, his thumbs pressing into the bones of her ribs before he set her back on the ground in front of him.

Towering above her, the familiar musk seeped into her lungs as she inhaled his scent. Spiced Whiskey. Ash parted her lips, her body ablaze as he leaned closer and looked at her through a hazy glance. His fingers caressed the side of her body, setting little vibrations through her skin.

Scoffing at the expression of yearning on her face, he lifted one hand to the back of her head and slowly pulled her hair tie loose, letting the long raven waves hang loosely at the small of her back.

“Better,” he breathed, half whispering against her lips. “Shall we?”

Henry wrapped his long fingers around her slim wrist and led her through his house. The callous pads of his fingers pressed against the base, feeling her pulse which raced irregularly.

They arrived at what seemed like a dining room. A large table made of timber and dark glazed lava stone stood in the centre of the narrow chamber, set to a romantic dinner for two. A large bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne was placed at the base next to two plates with sirloin steaks and steamed vegetables.

“I hope you are hungry,” Henry murmured, letting go of her hand and pulling the chair behind her like a perfect gentleman. Ash registered his polite behaviour, musing at the fact that no man has ever treated her this way before. Standing behind her, his fingers latched around her bony shoulders and pushed her down forcefully. A small huff escaped her as her ass slammed onto the seat.

He moved to the other side of the table, sitting right in front of her. “My chef thought you might be a sirloin type of woman,” Henry spoke as he grabbed the large serrated steak knife in his hand. “You look like a girl who enjoys a little bit of meat in her mouth.”

Ash frowned at his insult and stared down at the juicy piece of meat on her plate. No hunger evoked in her gut. Perhaps it was the hour of the night or the fact that her stomach was turned over and paraded by a variety of different sensations.

“Do you have these dates, often?” She wondered aloud and watched as Henry began slicing himself a hefty piece of meat.

Stabbing his fork into the steak, he paused thoughtfully and gave a small shrug.

“Every now and then.”

Leaning onto her elbow, she stared at the man with intrigue, watching how he chewed his food ever so elegantly. Civilized beast.

“What do you guys talk about, your hopes and dreams?” She could have hardly fought the snide in her voice.

Henry averted his eyes to hers. The young woman gave a goading smirk while her food remained untouched. Laying down his cutlery, he wiped his mouth with a small purple napkin. The gold of his signet ring blinded her eye as his hand shifted.

“What are the hopes and dreams of a stripper?”

Even though it was meant to shame her, Ash smiled. No one has asked her what she wanted in ages.

“To get away from the men who harmed me,” she answered sincerely.

Henry spotted the twinge in her eyes. Tiny little wrinkles formed above the bridge of his nose as his brows knit together. “Who are the men who harmed you, Ashleigh?”

There was a mixture of concern and silent rage in his eyes and even the demand in his voice was mingled with care. It left her dumbfounded. She didn’t expect a monster to look so dangerous and compassionate at once.

Especially not for a woman he had no other intentions toward other than fucking.

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Learning the pain on her face, he picked up the knife again and spun it slowly in his hand. Tarnished by grease, the light broke on the stainless steel and shone brightly onto his eyes.

“All you have to do is give me his name.”

Ash’s lips parted with awe, smitten by the way his beautiful eyes darkened. Something twisted inside her, a sort of sick fascination that made blood pool at the apex of her pelvis.

“You really do kill people…” she uttered as if surprised.

Stern silence broke across the room. Ash could hear the flutter of blood that throbbed like the flapping of wings in her ears. Henry stared back, his face giving no emotion. Why should a monster apologize for what it is? What it was born into.

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” Henry broke the silence, his smooth voice doing nothing to ease the rush of searing heat that raged in her core. To her horror, she pulsated with an aching will.

“Yes,” she confessed and her face beamed. It felt as if she was watching the room from outside, thrilled by the tension that rang in the air like a buzzing hornet nest.

“And yet you came here freely” Henry noted and then shook his head. “Eat your food before it gets cold.” he chided, stabbing into the sirloin while never breaking his gaze from hers.

Ash regarded his voice carefully, peering at the sharp knife that rested in his fist. By all means, she believed she should despise him; he was a vicious man, harming and exploiting others. He even abused his power over her and yet staring at his sheer intimidating size, the only thing she felt was the need to get lost in him.

“I like danger.”

In a sudden spike of bravery, the young woman jumped onto the table, her bare feet landing softly on the flat surface, tapping gently as she moved from side to side with sensual grace. Henry’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as she turned and glimpsed at him from above her shoulder.

“I don’t eat dinner after 7 PM.”she remarked, her voice like velvet as she slid her foot next to her plate and guided it off the table like a cat abusing its owner. The sirloin steak landed flat onto the clean marble floor, followed by the plate that smashed into large pieces.

Henry scowled, watching the young woman with growing irritation.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, steam rising from his breath.

Ash gave him a daring look, chuckling while sliding the cutlery from her side of the table across to the sharp edge. The clattering noise of metal hitting the floor rang a chaotic sound.

“Get down from there!” Henry demanded, clenching his jaw at the sight of the rebellious woman.

Riddled with passion her hands clutched the fiery-red fabric and lifted the hem of her dress to expose her slender ankle. She looked like a fire elemental, a tenacious dancing flame. The dress wrapped tight and then loosened with every shift of her muscles, making Henry twitch with need.

The exhilaration swarmed in her tendons like thick hot oil. This man could kill you, she reminded herself, exhaling a flush of hot air while she moved closer toward Henry’s beautiful sulking face. Her tongue made a slippery trail around her lips, delightful of the anger that bloomed in the cerulean of his irises. The changing hues whispered all the bad things he wanted to do to her.

Damn, she wanted to be ripped apart.

Moving sensually, her leg hung in the air, reaching her toes to tip the ice bucket to the other side. Dragging onto the stone surface, the metal screeched horridly before it rolled to the edge.

Henry reached a quick hand, catching the bottle and the bucket seconds before it fell to the floor. Wet, cold, cubes of ice slipped on his palms before winding on the floor, leaving the sleeves of his suit tarnished with freezing water. Wringing his wet wrists, he blazed at her behaviour.

“I said: get. off. from. the. table.” he repeated himself slowly, emphasizing every word with a drop of his voice. His chest heaved and sank languidly, the thin thread of self-restraint stretching to a painful taut line.

“Or what?” Ash taunted, moving toward him with a seductive smirk on her reckless face. “You’ll kill me? You haven’t even fucked me yet.”

Henry tilted his head at the woman who soared above him. She had a smile full of teeth and evil nymph-like giggles. The red rivers of her dress floated in the air as she tugged it between her slim fingers.

The blood boiled in his veins as he watched her rhythmic sway. Aphrodisia spiralled in the warm honey of her eyes, her lust-swollen lips chanting a call to the hunter within him. Fisting the knife’s wooden hilt, he sustained a low growl and inhaled deeply.

He could smell her. Fervent, thick, dripping between her thighs.

“You want to be fucked and killed, little minx?”

His long digits circled a delicate ankle and then snapped around the bone, pulling down without a care. Ash shrieked in horror as she lost her balance, finding herself sprawled with her backside hitting the polished lava stone.

Her scream still echoed between the walls.

Terrified by his aggression, Ash attempted to crawl away but Henry left no room for that. His large hand captured her neck, forcing her flat on the table while he rose to his feet and hovered above her.

“That can be arranged,” his voice was guttural, his eyes tinged with famine-like a primal thing that sought for nothing but to feed his hunger. Clutching at the serrated knife, he brought it beneath her chin.

Ash’s lips gaped and her eyes widened, terror flickering as the sharp edge pricked the delicate skin. The tiniest of yelps shook through her throat involuntarily, making Henry break into a sinister, dry laugh.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, have you?”

His glare bore into hers, piercing sharper than the knife that slid down the arch that connected her jaw and her throat. “You are playing games with a very dangerous man,” he warned, his digits tightening and controlling the amount of air that entered her lungs. Panic rose in her chest, her breasts perked and in her gut, something whirled uneasily.

“Have you killed many women?” she inquired, her voice breaking into a husky whisper. Her throat felt like a drought. His musk became more prominent, intensifying as something vicious slithered into his soul, black and thick like tar.

“Only the ones who act like brats.” he sneered, lifting the knife and then snaking the silver blade at the deep cavity of her collar bone, descending to her chest ever so slowly. Ash swallowed hard, feeling the coldness of the sharp object as it danced across her flesh while Henry pushed himself to stand between her legs.

She was strangled, spread and had a knife edged to her chest like a fresh prey. Within the horror, arousal bloomed, wet and drenching in her pit. Surrendering her will, she lifted her arms and threw them above her head.

“How many people have you killed?”

Henry dragged the sharp steel at the cleavage of the red dress. He released her neck and held the soft fabric tightly as he began to tear it down, slicing the blood-coloured silk apart with malice.

“Too many to remember,” he murmured, working the knife between the fabric and watching the patches of skin being unravelled to him. “Beautiful,” he uttered as cut by cut, the little nymph was once again his to admire, her skin glowing with a soft layer of sweat, her little breasts still bearing his marks.

Her entire body squirmed, spasming and shuddering as Henry unwrapped what was now his to play with. The sound of every rip and tear turned her blood to ice. The knife sliced all the way down until the dress was nothing and Ash was bare but for her black lace underwear.

She lifted her head to watch as Henry stood between her folded legs. His vast erection stood hard in his trousers, he gave it an aching rub and then inched closer and grabbed her knee, sliding her closer to the edge so her groin met his.

The sinful friction made them moan in perfect synergy, their collision scintillating as they ground against one another. They panted and hissed, overwhelmed at the pleasant heat that poured from their groins. Ache gathered in her loins, the desperation reminding her how weak she was, wanting him to corrupt and brutalize her body.

“Take me!” she demanded from the crime lord, her lip a quiver as she watched him soar above her like a cruel king, her covered pelvis squirming harder.

“Please, Henry, Sir, I want you!”

Henry gave a wolfish grin, his hand reached for her throat and squeezed tightly, he surged her toward him and took her lips in a violent, punishing kiss that claimed her breath. His tongue invaded her mouth with no pardon, setting fumes down her throat.

He broke away with a bite on the softness of her lips.

“I am not done playing with you,” he rasped and slammed her back down the surface. Placing the blade between his teeth, arrogance painted his face as he rid himself of his top, layer by layer until he stood firm and admirable like a god. A cascade of amber lights and twilight flowed down muscles so large they mocked her smallness. His pecs were hard, squared pillows, brushed by dark fur that trailed down to his abdomen and disappeared below his trousers.

It wasn’t fair; no man should be so beautiful, especially not a civilized savage. The evil king played with all of her senses and she knelt before him, taken by everything he was.

Taking the knife out from his mouth, he pressed the brazen teeth onto her sternum. “Such sweet markings,” he growled at the bruises he gave her, letting the blade move and circle the rounded outline of her small breasts.

“Maybe I’ll leave a few permanent lines, so you can remember what happens when you misbehave.”

Ash let a shuddered gasp, she tried to stop herself from moving, sucking the air and holding it in but the sharp edge that traced her nipple dangerously made it impossible. “I don’t think your customers will appreciate a scarred stripper.”

Henry chuckled dryly and shook his head, lowering the blade along the cleft of her torso and leaving a fair red trail as he grazed a layer of her skin.

“Once I am done with you, you won’t dance at the club anymore.”

Ash sighed loudly, feeling the throb inside the yearning became unbearable. He descended below her navel, cutting dangerously close to her sacred nest. His hand sensed the heat that radiated from her lace-donned cunt. Entwining her favourite garment between his fingers, he pointed the knife between her skin and the delicate fabric and destroyed it with ease.

Ash hissed, her stomach tucked in, her eyes flared like a prey acknowledging its own demise. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I might,” he answered without a drop of emotion, licking his lips as he saw the wetness that glistened in the dim light. “Does it excite you?”

“Yes…” she broke, feeling him trace the swollen lines of her womanhood carefully, fold by fold, freezing cold against her heat. Once the small tip dipped into her entrance and collected silent drops of lust, she wheezed.

“But first, I’m going to fuck the brat out of you” Henry exclaimed darkly and discarded the knife on the table. His hand snapped at his belt, unbuckling hastily. His large cock stood heavy, glorious, and thick amidst an onyx sea-foam of curls. Tensed by his size, Ash squirmed backwards on the table, convinced she couldn’t take him, yet the vicious smirk on his face assured her she will. She must.

“Come here.” he chided, his hands locking around her knees, pulling her toward him and manhandling her to a position he found suitable. His height cast a dark shadow over her face as he leant down and hooked her legs over his shoulders, leaving her behind to hover in the air.

Doe eyes, lips trembling with fear yet bitten with wanton - she drove him mad, flinging herself around him with such provocation. But when she broke, she broke hard. He wanted this dance to last. Fisting his cock he lined himself in her entrance, crooning at the mewl she made as the drops of precum smeared on her clit and his head bobbed at her cavern.

“The things I’ll do to you...” he growled and plunged inside.

The air kicked from her lungs as his meaty cock tore into her body. Hot flashes of heat swarmed from her core like ardent flames, accompanied by a broken cry that chimed in his ears like a beautiful song. The beast was thick and stone-hard between her sanctified folds, stretching her to the point of pain yet he kept sinking in, lifting her ass further in the air to gain a better path inside her.

“So bloody tight.” he grunted slowly, feeling the zealous grip of her cunt around his girth. “but taking me all the way in.”

“Fuck!” Salty tears watered the rims of her lids. Eyes snapping shut, she yelped. He was big in every sense, searing her as he bottomed in. But amidst the pain, pleasure grew, and his brutal invasion ignited warm sparks of ecstasy that licked her spine. Entwined with bliss and whisk of twinge, her fingers gripped the edge of the table, nails scratching the stone with despair while more profanities cracked from her lips.

Henry frowned at her words, his talons clutching her thighs, leaving broken blood vessels beneath her skin.

“Still a fucking brat, even with my cock inside you.” he chided and shook his head. His eyes did not dare to leave her face, wanting to memorize every second of how hopeless she looked with him balls-deep in her tiny little cunt.

He gave but a moment to adjust, merely for his sake. Being squeezed between her succulent walls was bliss. She felt like home, yanking him deeper like a siren drowning a sailor into the abyss.

“You were made for this,” he spoke and damn if she didn’t. Ash felt as if she was always meant to shape him, to host this man’s brazen desires. Seeking inside her soul, she wanted to hate herself, to hate him but the fire burning in her chest spoke otherwise. Their bodies fit in a purest of forms.

Slow yet rough, he began to stroke inside her, emitting breathless, low moans while he tugged her body into his hips with vigour. Droplets of sweat rolled down his brow, his wide chest steaming as he controlled her body the way he would muster a machine, rutting back and forth earnestly.

It felt as if she lost power over her body, the only sparse freedom she had was to squirm helplessly, sobbing cries of joy and delirium as fire engulfed her from within while Henry fucked into her with unrelenting fury.

His nails bit into the muscles of her legs. With every thrust, he watched dazed at the way her gut shifted with his cock thrusting deeper inside. Like a predator rutting its prey between his fangs, he shook and shifted her body on occasion. There she was, completely at his dominion, despaired yet aching for more.

And more he gave her, fucking her raw like a touched-depraved animal.

“Please don’t stop!” she cried for him, feeling the heat spilling from her gut, tinders tingling from her seam and through the threshold of her body. The fire arose from her apex, inferno spreading as she fell intoxicated to the sight of the evil man who exploits her, using her like a fucktoy to fulfil his needs. The muscles of his torso flexed inward, his chest heaved and he never broke eye contact, staring right into her soul while he filled her body.

He was beautiful, and he was hers for this single moment.

Bound in a primal union that burnt hotter than the sun.

With the plunge of his wet cock against her cervix, the flames spread to each corner of her soul until she felt consumed by the rapture, coming into a quivering mess. Howling cries broke from her lips. The tighter she got, the harder he slammed into her, continuing to fuck her through her orgasm, ignoring the contractions that demanded to suck him dry.

Furrowing his brow he battered furiously into her, his balls slapping against her cunt. Lewd noise of flesh slapping sounded in the room, accompanied by Henry’s groans. “You want me to come inside your cunt?” he rasped, fucking her brutally, his thighs breaking into her ass with every loud thrust.

“Yes, sir!” she answered pathetically as a second orgasm began to ignite itself quickly. Henry’s fingers dug into her thighs, pulling her until he was buried balls-deep. She felt him swell hot and thick between her tremoring walls and with one last thrust, they came together. Henry’s shuddering grunt vibrated through the room as he released himself hot and thick inside her.

Ash gasped at the heat that washed inside her womb, slumping back as another hot wave of pleasure washed through her while he reached hand to pump his cock with a long, slow sigh, emptying whatever was left in him.

Finally, he pulled out and crouched above her with his muscular arms locking her beneath his body.

The sight of his seed trickling down from her swollen cunt felt almost as good as fucking her. Knowing he left a piece of him inside. Still panting, she shifted up slightly, feeling the burning mess between her thighs. Henry swallowed another grunt as his breath shortened and then reached to cradle her jaw, his coarse thumb grazing her lips.

“Now that I’m done with you I suppose I can kill you.”

Ash stared into his steel-blue eyes, shuddering with both effort and terror that pinched her heart. Her body tried to crawl into itself and the cold chuckle that rumbled in his throat did nothing but strengthen her fear.

He shook his head and then took her in his arms, lifting her with ease. One hand glided down her spine and the other held her waist, forcing her to wrap both her arms and legs around him for support.

“It was a joke, sweetheart.” He swallowed.

“I’m not done with you.”

Silence fell between them, fulfilled with nothing but the wheeze of air that surged through their mouths. Hugging his neck, Ash stared at him mesmerized by the calm beauty that he became, suddenly looking vulnerable. Defying her better judgment, she kissed the curve of his cheek and traced the salty sweat with her tongue.

To her great surprise, it seemed to calm him.

Softness was rare, nearly foreign. The others were always too frightened to do anything but let him fuck them but she was tough even when she stood no chance, she dared to give a predator some solace when others would flee. And this combination of tenderness and defiance was just what he lacked. He imagined that once she’ll trust him, the games between them will grow even more outrageous.

His fingers moved to clutch her jaw, his eyes piercing into hers. “You are not going to work at the club anymore,” he warned.

“But...” she began to reason with him foolishly only to be answered by the shake of his head and a forbidding smile.

“You are mine now, darling and I don’t share.”

Tightening his grip around her, he began to march out of the dining room and then toward the stairs, his hand holding possessively over her spine. Ash kept her lips sealed and laid her head onto his large shoulder, allowing herself to relax into his body. Being in this captivity felt nice.

Little did she know, she was the first woman to stay the night in his lair.

Enjoying the way she clutched onto him, he promised himself she will be the only exception.

________________________________________________________

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill x OFC #AU!Henry Cavill #mob!henry cavill #MobBoss!Henry Cavill #Mafia Boss Henry Cavill #henry cavill x reader

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samanthaneedsanap · 3 years

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They need to make a mobster movie together. 🔥☠️🗡️🖤

#henry cavill #chris evans #captain america #superman #mob boss

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agoodgoddamnshot · 3 years

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Shrike - Geraskier [E]

[Gif isn’t mine]

Warning(s): Smut (Rating E); Mild Violence

Originally posted to my AO3

Mob Boss Geralt is brought to the Rosemary and Thyme Bar, where he meets with an alluring Jaskier; who has a new work proposition.

In hindsight, he should have just punched Lambert in the jaw and left it at that.

But here he is, in the back of his own car, heading towards downtown. Gods only know what time it is, but Geralt’s eyes are already starting to sting. A tight pain runs up the side of his face. He’s clenching his jaw again. There isn’t a moment where he isn’t. But after catching himself going it, he manages to flex his jaw and wring the pain out.

The red-haired man laughs, mostly to himself. He’s sitting in the back of the car with him, letting Coën do all the driving. He can only assume the other man didn’t have much of a say in it, with how grimly he’s glaring back at Lambert stretched out along the backseat. “You work too much,” he lilts, looking out on to the changing cityscape.

Gods alive, he hates downtown. It’s busy and bright and desperately loud, assaulting every sense that he has. Work might lure him down here every so often, but that’s why he has Lambert and Eskel and Coën. If he can send them in place of him, then good. They’ll go. But more often than not, people want to meet the White Wolf personally. Even if it’s the last meeting with him they’ll ever have.

It’s not that he works too much. It’s that there is so much work to do. Vesemir retired and overnight Geralt found himself in charge of all of this. People underneath him who know who he is, knows that the Old Wolf raised him personally to take over. But he still watches those with uncertain eyes. Whispers of a coup have been brushing his ears ever since Vesemir fucked off to the countryside and left the title of boss to him. An argument could be made that they had talked about it. Vesemir was getting greyer, and young bucks were popping up all around the boroughs, crowing and fighting amongst themselves. It was only a matter of time before they ran their antlers through the Old Wolf and took over.

Best to get someone like Geralt in before any of that unpleasantness started. The White Wolf may have been a shy pup, quiet and always keeping to himself, but he could level anyone with a stare, enough to knock them over and have them scampering from the offices. Eskel, gods bless him, is too kind-hearted. Lambert is too much of a prick. Geralt has the perfect temperament; but is easy to anger.

And he can feel that very anger starting to bubble up now, just as downtown’s bright and irritating neon lights stream in through the dimmed windows of the car.

“Stay for an hour,” Lambert reasons, tilting his head to the side. His brother might be a prick and a degenerate, but he knows how to look at the elder in a certain way to get him pliant enough to do whatever he asks. That’s how he got Geralt to fight all of his battles for him when they were boys. Lambert was often the one to get them into trouble, and Geralt got them out. That’s how it worked. And then there was Eskel, wearing an ever-suffering expression on his face wondering why in the name of all of the gods their father put Geralt in charge in the first place.

Lambert splays his hands. “Stay for an hour,” he repeats, “and if you hate it as much as you think you’re going to, then you can leave. I’m sure Coën would drop you back home if you asked. Isn’t that right, Coën?”

There’s an illegible huff from the front of the car. Coën keeps his glowering eyes on the road, muttering something or other under his breath.

It isn’t directed at Geralt, that’s all he knows. So he allows it. If Coën had his way, he would be home in bed too. Geralt’s ache bleeds for them both.

Lambert slaps a hand on to Geralt’s shoulder. He leans over, lowering his voice. “It’s my job to make sure you don’t look so fucking grumpy all of the time,” he lulls, only sitting back when the bar comes into view. Geralt tries not to roll his eyes. Of course. Of course he would bring him here.

The dazzling, irritating lights of Rosemary and Thyme glare at him. A bar and club frequented by just about anyone who can slip in through the small army of security posted to the front doors. Just as Coën parks them in front of the door, Lambert slips out and has a word with the burly men. They nod and stand aside. Lambert looks back at him with a brilliant smile. “Come on, Geralt!” he calls out.

Coën offers him a sympathetic look through the rear-view mirror. “I can hang around, if you like?”

If you want to bolt after a minute.

Geralt grunts. “Might be an idea,” he rumbles, but steps out of the car all the same. He’s used to it; having security come up to meet him. Despite everything, even though they’re contracted by the bar and they could call the police on someone like him, they know to lead him past the queues formed outside and get him into the building as quietly as possible. He catches a few faint whispers, all about the White Wolf. He tries not to let his eyes roll. He’s had enough of it, to be honest. But Lambert laps it up. Sticking close to Geralt’s side, he gets anything he wants. A completely different world to the one he grew up in.

They’ve barely stepped into the bar before a woman meets them. Armed with a clipboard and armoured in a suit, she points to some secluded rooms to the side of the bar. “If you would like to come with me, Mr. Rivia?”

Geralt grunts and follows. Lambert makes idle chatter with the woman; always polite when he wants to be, laughing when he should be keeping the swearing to a minimum. But as soon as they’re shown to the rooms, Lambert turns on his heel and whispers something into her ear. They have a quiet conversation, one that Geralt can’t hear through the din of music.

She nods. “I’ll see if they’re available.”

“They’ll be available,” Lambert says firmly, palming some gold into the woman’s hand. She nods curtly before disappearing.

Geralt watches Lambert stride into the room. It’s a far cry from the main bar; chrome-lined and with a dance floor already heaving with people. Even the booths lining the sides of the room are full, with parties of people keeping to themselves. Curious glances had followed him while they walked through the floor. Now, shielded away, at least he doesn’t have to deal with them anymore.

But he still has Lambert, which is a problem. The man makes himself at home within the room; letting the door click shut behind them and tossing his jacket over the back of an L-shaped couch pushed to the back of the room. A well-stocked bar lines the walls, something that has grabbed Lambert’s attention.

“You work too much,” the man lilts, pulling some bottles from the shelves. “You need to loosen up a bit.”

Geralt grunts, stalking over to the couch. It’s plush and just soft enough for him to sink back into it. He leaves his jacket sprawled beside him, still within an arm’s reach just in case he decides to leave early. He thinks of Coën, driving aimlessly around downtown, or maybe grabbing something to eat while Geralt ponders when it would be an acceptable amount of time passed for him to leave.

“Then let me go home and sleep,” he sighs, burying his face into his hands. Lambert...is a lot. The only reason why Geralt hasn’t flung his body into the nearest river is that he’s family. And Vesemir will come out of hiding or retirement to make sure Geralt’s body joins his.

Not that there haven’t been moments. His fingers itch for the trigger, but not here. If he’s going to kill Lambert, he’ll make it look like a damn accident.

The man plies him with alcohol, setting a familiar drink down in front of him. Geralt’s glare softens slightly, but doesn’t disappear completely. He reaches out, taking a measured sip. It’s strong, whatever he’s concocted, mostly whiskey that burns the back of his throat. But it’s enough to start unwinding the tension from his muscles.

There’s a knock at the door. Lambert, midway through knocking back a shot of something, eyes the door. He sets his glass down and the same hand moves to his waist, to the sheathed gun resting there. Geralt’s eyes narrow. If he’s smart, if he can keep a hold on himself, then that gun will stay where it is.

Lambert cracks the door open just enough to glimpse at who’s outside. Geralt’s ears twitch as the man grunts, stepping outside for a moment.

There’s a short conversation, one that he can’t hear. He reaches for his glass, taking another measured sip of whiskey and letting it sizzle on his tongue. If he’s going to be dragged this far away from home, he’s not going to weather the night sober. He thinks briefly of fishing his phone out of his jacket pocket, dialling Coën’s number and getting the man to come back. He has enough drinks lining the bar in his own home. Who’s to say that he can’t get what he wants at home? At least his ears will be spared from having to endure endless thumping of music beyond the walls.

Lambert steps back into the room before he can make his decision. He’s as comfortable as he can be; his jacket set to the side as he lounges back against the plush couch. His legs drift apart from each other, but only because the day’s work finally starts coiling through his muscles and tensing them.

A devilish smile starts to curl along Lambert’s lip. Another man joins him, and Geralt blinks. He’s not a man he would expect Viola to have in her employ. He’s certainly not dressed like it. Hair that sweeps over and dusts his eyes, a luring smile that rounds his cheeks and highlights the faint flush of colour. Geralt’s eyes wander. His visitor is made up in tight-fitting pants – leather, if he were to guess – and a shirt that dips low enough into the middle of his chest.

Lambert just about manages to swallow a delighted laugh. “My dear brother works too much,” he lilts, nodding to the other side of the room. He turns his eyes back to the man. “He’s been terribly stressed lately. Be a good lad and make sure he enjoys himself tonight. He’s an awful bastard when he’s pent up.”

He’s going to fucking kill Lambert. Screw making it look like an accident. He might just have Coën drive by one of the biggest rivers in town just so he can hurl Lambert over the bridge and into it. So fucking what if Vesemir appears at his door tomorrow, glaring daggers at him.

But it’s either the whiskey or the man’s eyes slowly drifting over him, the urge to kill his brother is slowly fading. Geralt grunts.

He eyes his brother, watching the mop of red, curly hair try and disappear around the corner. Despite that, Lambert is loud enough for him to keep track of, even when the door clicks closed and he’s left alone with his guest. He turns to the man. “How much did he pay you?” he rumbles.

The man tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. Scrutinising whatever words perch on the tip of his tongue. If he’s one of Viola’s, which Geralt doesn’t think is likely with the more he stares at him, he’ll hold that tongue.

Geralt sighs. “I’ll pay you twice as much to turn around and leave me alone.”

The man’s face lightens. A delighted smile suddenly stretches over his lips, and just for a moment Geralt thinks that he might be free. There aren’t many things he can’t worm out of with money.

But this doesn’t seem to be one of them. Geralt notices the man holding a drink in one hand. He brings it up to his lips, resting them against the rim. “That’s a shame. If you don’t want me to do anything, fine,” he lilts, taking a measured sip. It’s bright and shines slightly when it catches the lights. Geralt can practically taste how sweet it must be. The man hums. “But company is free. We can talk. Or sit here in silence, since you don’t seem to be the talking type.”

Geralt stares at the man. “It’s bad manners to refuse a boss’ offer.”

“It’s bad manners to come into a whore’s bar and turn him down,” he replies just as easily, tilting his head again.

Geralt isn’t unused to having people try and read him. Ever since a grubby-faced, shaggy-haired pup appeared at Vesemir’s side one day, he’s had eyes watch and regard him. He’s learned how to shake them all off; to keep himself measured and in control, unreadable. Even when his temper flares, he can keep it to himself. He’s used to people trying to burrow under his skin.

But this man, with eyes the colour of oceans and a smile as bright as the sun, burns right through his skin and reaches into his muscles and bones. Geralt sighs. He grabs his drink and takes a mouthful, not even wincing at how the whiskey burns and stings the back of his mouth and his throat as he swallows it.

It’s suddenly not enough. He could pad over to the bar, down the whole bottle of whiskey sitting on one of the shelves. Or he could get his company to do it. He seems to know his way around a bar and its bottles.

Geralt’s jaw tightens. “Listen, you don’t want me for company,” he grounds out. It’s more words than he would normally gift anyone. Usually, if his patience starts to wear thin, or people annoy him just enough, he leaves. No reason to give any excuses. But his company is the responsibility of someone else, and if they see Geralt leaving as quickly as he plans to, words might have to be said to the man.

He has a certain soft spot in his heart for those who find their work in sex.

The man lifts his chin. “I know who you are. You don’t work here long before you start picking up names.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “And who is trading those names?” It’s all well and good having the right kind of people knowing your name in the boroughs; but it’s dangerous to pick up on whispers. People can be talking about you for all the wrong reasons.

“Everybody.” The man lifts a shoulder. “Everyone wants to be the White Wolf. Or in his pack.” The man’s eyes venture down. Brave things that linger on the open folds of Geralt’s shirt. His neck bobs as he swallows, taking a measured breath. He can feel his skin starting to flush from the scrutiny. “A few want to be in his bed.”

“And what about you?” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of the centre of his chest. “Do you fall into any of those groups of people?”

“I didn’t give it much thought, to be honest,” the man replies, lowering his voice to match, “until now.”

It’s almost lost to the thump of music. Even through the walls of the secluded rooms, broken off from the main bar where wandering eyes stop, it still worms into him. Before long, his heart matches the beat of the music, thumping in his chest and rattling his ribcage. Geralt swallows the last of his drink before setting his glass away. The couch underneath him is just plush enough to let him sink into it.

The moment he sits back against the couch, splaying an arm out to the side, sure fingers suddenly explore his chest. The fabric of his shirt is pulled at and scrutinised. A nice paying job means nice things. And even though he spent most of his life preferring to keep to simple clothes, Vesemir insisted on looking the part of the head of a pack. Pressed black slacks and a crisp white shirt, the top buttons always undone to reveal a portion of his chest. A simple silver chain sits around his neck, pooling in the hollow. Blue eyes investigate, spanning over everything fingers map out. “I knew you were the White Wolf the moment you walked in,” he lulls. Blue eyes glance up at Geralt’s hair. A tell-tale shade of white. “And not because of the obvious. But you hold yourself in a certain way. You want to walk a head higher than everyone, because that’s what someone taught you to do. But you want to blend into the walls, too.”

The man tilts his head, his gaze softening. “Have I caught myself a shy wolf?”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Are you a therapist?” he asks, not helping the small smile that quirks the corner of his lip. This one...this one is peculiar.

The man laughs. It’s a light thing, and the smile that stretches over his lips rounds his cheeks and crinkles his eyes. Too many strangers have batted their eyelashes and dazzled him with sweet smiles, while none of it was at all genuine. This man, though, Geralt likes. His smile lures a small one out of him, and he’d very much like to hear that laugh again.

Inquisitive fingers only get braver as they catch one of his shirt’s buttons, fidgeting with it. The man hums. Within seconds, Geralt’s lap is full.

The man moves surely, slinging his leg over Geralt’s thighs and perching himself on Geralt’s lap. Arms slowly wind around his shoulders, crossing at his nape.

Geralt’s hands go to the man’s hips, settling over the arches and feeling the soft swell of muscle underneath. He’s dressed just as well as Geralt; in a soft blue shirt that brings out the colour of his eyes, slacks that ride up and bunch around his thighs, showing off the muscle gathered there. He isn’t a small or lithe man by any means. Not in the way Viola’s people usually are. His fingers are sure in what they’re doing, as are his lips.

Geralt grunts as he’s caught in a kiss. The man dips down and the arms around Geralt’s shoulders tighten and draw him closer. The man’s lips are warm and plush and flavoured with tequila and something searingly sweet. Below it all, Geralt can taste him.

The hands on the man’s thighs tighten, with his fingers delving into any bit of muscle he can find. They eventually travel, slipping around and kneading the globes of the man’s ass. A cut-off groan is muffled against his lips. With that, hips roll and grind and the arms around his shoulders gather him closer—

There’s a firm knock at the door. It cuts through everything and almost scalds the both of them. The arms slung over his shoulders tighten, drawing Geralt closer, and the hands he has on the man’s hips firm too.

Geralt parts from those plush, reddening lips, barely swallowing down a growl. “What?” he calls out. It could be someone from the bar, it could be Lambert. Though, Lambert would just barge in and make himself known. He wouldn’t bother with doing something as polite as knocking.

He keeps his jacket in the corner of his eye. One hand parts from the man’s thigh, resting just beside his jacket, ready to draw his gun if he needs to. The man stiffens against him, probably seeing the movement too.

A woman’s voice cuts through the door. “Apologies, Mr. Rivia,” she calls in through the door. She doesn’t come in, and it’s probably from the sharpness of Geralt’s voice. That’s fine. The fact that she’s even here, taking him away from the body on top of him, annoys him to no end. But she continues on nonetheless. “None of our regulars are available. I’m afraid I don’t have anyone for you.”

The words take a moment to settle with him. He remembers Lambert palming gold into her hand, the mutterings of someone being available. He isn’t stupid. And he knows what his brother is like.

The body on top of him doesn’t even stiffen. But a small sigh is puffed against his lips. Blue eyes blink open, watching his, scrutinising. Waiting for Geralt to say something, either to him or the woman outside.

He muses over his words for a moment. Sly thing, he thinks, regarding the man on top of him.

“That’s fine,” he grunts, sitting up a bit. He moves them both, letting the man lay back slightly. The arms loosen from his shoulders, but still sling over them as if they always belonged there. And he finds himself loath to actually part with the warm body perched on him.

But the warm body isn’t meant to be there at all.

At Geralt’s quirked eyebrow, the man sighs. “I saw you come in,” he says, reaching up to brush some of Geralt’s hair back from his face. He curls it around his ear. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Geralt grunts. “You’re not one of Viola’s, are you?”

“I’m a whore, among other things,” the man corrects, but he muses over his words for a moment. Whatever he says next could earn him a death sentence. When he’s decided on what he’s going to say, his hips move. A slow roll over Geralt, keeping his attention. As if Geralt could focus on anything else but the enigma on top of him. “But I don’t work for Viola.”

Geralt hums, lifting his chin. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself,” the man replies. The same fingers that explored his chest now skim over the ridge of his jaw, sending slight shivers through Geralt as his skin scalds. The man’s touch is too much, even now. “Though, I’m currently looking for some new business ventures.”

Geralt huffs a short laugh. People have asked things of him in the past. And he has had certain people be more forward than others. This isn’t the first time he’s been straddled and kissed and plied with gentle touches, and suddenly a business plan is placed in front of him.

But this man may be the only one Geralt hasn’t shoved off of him yet. His hands settle back on the man’s thighs, feeling a gentle tremor shiver through them.

The man perched on Geralt’s lap straightens, pulling himself just out of kissing range. Brave little thing, Geralt things. “I heard a rumour that you’re looking for a new hitman,” the man lulls, letting his arms fall from Geralt’s shoulders. Sure hands map down his chest, lingering slightly over every swell of muscle they can find.

Geralt blinks. Letho’s death isn’t public knowledge. His own people haven’t been told yet, just because Geralt can’t be bothered dealing with the fallout just yet. He needs to gather everything he has, resource-wise, just because the Vipers might not be too pleased one of their own has fallen. He’s been keeping an eye on Lambert. One more outburst and Geralt will have run out of rivers to dump bodies in.

The man’s dexterous fingers linger on the buttons of Geralt’s shirt. He plucks one open, revealing more of his chest. It stops there, though. Geralt wonders vaguely if the man can feel how his heart hammers in his chest. He’s caught. And he could very easily shove the man off and go home. But this man knows about a vacancy in his house. How he knows about Letho’s death, that’s another matter.

For now, the man has his attention.

The man tilts his head. “I want to be a member of your house,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering up to meet Geralt’s. “I’m done with working by myself.”

Having the man within his house would keep him close. Wolves could keep their eyes on him; and tear him apart if he became too brave. Geralt hums, musing. “You know your way around a gun, I suppose?” Even though he doesn’t work for the woman, he knows that Viola teaches those on her payroll how to use one and a blade, if it ever calls for it.

The man nods. “I’ve known how to kill someone longer than how to pleasure them,” he counters.

Geralt’s chest tightens. He lifts his chin. “What’s your name?” he rasps.

“Jaskier,” the man replies.

A single name shouldn’t mean much, but when it’s Jaskier—

A slow smile slowly curls along Geralt’s lips. Of course. “The same Jaskier who dealt with one of my irritating problems in Cidaris?”

Jaskier laughs. The same laugh Geralt wants to hear more of. “I didn’t know that you considered Valdo Marx an irritating problem, but he was certainly irritating to me, and causing problems.”

“Well, I guess I owe you a thank you.” Without the pompous bastard strutting around like a peacock, making far too much noise about anything and everything, Geralt’s men can work a lot easier within the streets without being bothered by a man who’s far too brave for his own good.

Jaskier hums. His fingers pluck at the buttons of Geralt’s shirt, seemingly struggling between undoing them and revealing more of his chest, or leaving them be. Geralt hopes for the former. “I can think of a few ways to repay me,” Jaskier lulls. Those fingers venture further down, deftly catching and undoing Geralt’s belt.

At the clink of the buckle, a low moan slips out of Geralt’s throat. He reaches up, catching Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. “Careful, little lark,” he rumbles, delighting in how the man’s eyes shimmer. His attention is solely Geralt’s, already wrapped around him. The voice that rumbles out of him is deep and rasping. “Wolves are dangerous.”

A shiver shakes up Jaskier’s spine. “Good,” he replies, dipping down to lure a kiss out of Geralt. He hums against his lips, breath hitching when Geralt snags his bottom lip in his teeth and tugs.

A clever and sure hand slips down the front of his pants, reaching into his briefs and curling around his cock. He’s already half-hard. The man peaked his interests. Fingers coil around it, slowly pumping up and down. Geralt’s breath catches in his throat when Jaskier twists his hand around his head, gathering a bead of precum in his palm to slick his way back down. It’s dry, but the pressure and coil of the man’s fingers around him is just enough to keep his interest. And the squirming thing in his lap, plying him with kisses and luring words, has him very interested.

Geralt slides his hands into Jaskier’s pants, kneading the globes of his ass and rolling their hips together. A thrum of pleasure rumbles through him. A lithe groan slips out of the other man.

He pauses when he feels metal.

Geralt quirks an eyebrow.

Jaskier, for the first time all night, actually blushes. Though, he smiles his way through it. He pushes his hips back against Geralt’s hands, wanting them to keep going in their explorations. He’s a hopeful thing, if he expected Geralt to say yes. Or an incredibly self-assured one. Geralt isn’t sure which one he’d appreciate more.

Geralt’s finger traces around the man’s rim, following the edges of what he can only expect is a plug. He leans up, plucking a gentle kiss from Jaskier’s lips. “Stretched out already?” he hums, lounging in the way his lips tingle after kissing Jaskier’s.

The man doesn’t answer. It could be the blush that’s warming his cheeks giving him all the answers he needs, but Geralt delights in any sounds he manages to lure out of the man. He grabs the end of the plug and tugs it gently. The body on top of him shivers.

He sets up a gentle rhythm, delving the plug in and out of Jaskier’s hole. He can feel how wet the man is, and the images that flash in front of Geralt almost catch his breath. He might have spotted Geralt coming into the bar, or known that he would have come this way. To be as bold as to assure himself of a night with the White Wolf, to go into a bathroom stall or the back rooms of the bar, lube and plug in hand, readying himself.

Geralt’s growl rumbles through his chest. “Has anyone else had you today?”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, a moan slipping out. “No,” he manages to breathe.

Geralt nips at his jaw. “Good,” he mutters against the skin. “Because you belong to me now.”

Jaskier’s moan is a gorgeous thing, just as beautiful as his laugh.

He isn’t a possessive person. He sees other masters of their guilds hoard people in their beds, and while these people walk around the boroughs draped in silks and gold, people know who they belong to and wouldn’t dare look in their direction, let alone touch them. He’s never been like that. Those who have fallen into his bed have had their time and have gone with the changing wind.

And then there’s Jaskier, who he’s known for all of thirty minutes now, and he wants to keep him forever. He slowly works the plug in and out of Jaskier, languishing in every small choked-off sound that he wrings out of the man. Eventually, the man’s hand tightens around his cock. If he can tease him, then Jaskier can tease right back.

Geralt sets his teeth to the ridge of Jaskier’s jaw, slowly working the plug out of the man’s hole. There’s a broken attempt at Geralt’s name, followed by a high-pitched whine when the plug slips out of him. As soon as it’s gone, and Geralt sets it on to the couch to be forgotten about, he delves in with two fingers.

Jaskier did a good job of stretching himself, but he still tightens and clamps around Geralt’s fingers. He curls just enough to search out that spot inside of the man, and when he brushes it with the pads of his fingers, one of Jaskier’s arms coils around his shoulders and hauls them flush against each other. “Geralt,” he breathes.

The heat around him is hot and warm and wet. Geralt’s tongue sits heavy in his mouth at the thought of burying himself into it. His cock twitches in Jaskier’s hand. He nips at Jaskier’s jaw. “Get us both ready,” he rumbles.

Hand scramble and pull off what they can. He’s desperate, Geralt can tell that. And he is too. The more time Jaskier spends squirming in his lap, bunching their slacks down as far as he’s able too before perching back on his lap, the more fidgety he becomes. When Jaskier is close enough, he winds a firm arm around the man’s waist and holds him in place.

It shouldn’t sear his blood as much as it does. He’s lost count of the number of people falling in and out of his bed. Some appear more often than most, while others are gone by the time the sun decides to peer over the horizon. But this one...

Geralt reaches down, guiding the man’s hand on his cock. It’s tight and quick, and if he’s not careful then this will all be over with too soon. Jaskier’s hand eventually falls away. He squirms on Geralt’s lap, trying to roll back on to the other man. The noises that slip out of him Geralt will commit to memory. If he’s as serious about this new proposition as he thinks he is, Geralt will be hearing those noises for many nights to come.

He sets the head of his cock against the man’s hole. A small chuckle escapes him as Jaskier whines and tries to roll his hips back. Geralt tights his old on him. “I’ll give you everything, darling,” he rumbles, delighting in the shiver that shakes through the man’s body. He sets his lips to the ridge of Jaskier’s jaw, hints of teeth scraping, as he slowly pushes himself into the man.

He struggles to keep his breath. Jaskier might have stretched himself out, and Geralt might have played with him for as long as he could have, but the heat that surrounds him is hot and tight and already lures depraved sounds out of him. Jaskier’s moan is choked and stuttering as he lets his hips fall flush against Geralt.

He’s perfect. Geralt moans against Jaskier’s jaw. Short puffs of hot breath ghost the man’s ear, making him shiver and tremble against him.

Jaskier’s arms coil around his shoulders, tightening their hold on him and bringing him closer. “Fuck me,” he sighs, half into the air above them. He lets himself feel Geralt for a moment. He’s big, and there isn’t a lot of space inside of Jaskier that he isn’t flush against. Every twitch of his hips has the tip of the man’s cock brushing his prostate. And this could all be over too soon.

Geralt has his hips trapped. He might allow the small quivers and rolls of movement, but he can’t lift himself. The hands around him tighten and fingers dig into the arches of his hips. Jaskier whines against Geralt’s lips. It’s too much and not enough. His cock leaks between them, the first few drops of precum already beading around his tip. He needs a hand on it. Or the man below him needs to move. Or something.

The man laughs, mostly to himself. It’s a rumbling thing that comes from the depths of his chest. Geralt leans back against the couch. His hands don’t part with Jaskier’s hips, but his hold loosens, just a touch. Lain out in front of him, Jaskier’s eyes wander over any stretch of bared skin he can find. “Come on, little songbird,” Geralt rumbles. “Take what you want.”

Jaskier’s moan is the only thing he can hear. The thump of music worming in through the walls, the shitty fluorescent lighting overhead, the hum of alcohol buzzing in his veins. It all slips away the moment the man’s hips roll and lift and fuck down on to him. Jaskier’s breath hitches and his eyelids droop. There’s a struggle in him. To close his eyes and lean back, languishing in how Geralt feels inside of him. Or to watch the man underneath him, make those golden eyes meet his and see what he’s doing to him.

Geralt bites the edge of his tongue. The same war starts to unfurl within his own mind.

His hands do nothing more than guide. Jaskier’s thighs work and warm as he lifts himself up and down, slowly riding Geralt. The heat around him tightens and quivers. One of Geralt’s hand slips down to his thigh, feeling the muscle work. He pets skin and mumbles sweet, worshipping words. “That’s it,” he tries to steady his own voice. “Look at you, little bird. Taking my cock so well. You were made to be there, hmm?”

Jaskier’s eyelids flutter closed as a moan slips out of him. One of his hands moves, curling into the hair at the back of Geralt’s head. He grunts as the man’s hold on him tightens. He might be enjoying himself, but he isn’t as naive to lose himself completely. Surely he must know what kind of effect he’s having on the man beneath him.

And he does – if the smirk curling along his lips is anything to by. Geralt tries to keep his breath. In and out. Settle.

Jaskier leans down, setting his forehead against Geralt’s. Their noses brush and warm air is shared between them. The smirk doesn’t budge. “Do you say that to all of your whores?”

Geralt pushes back. They’re close. The man’s lips are just there. He could lift his chin and steal a kiss. And he’s sure the other man is betting on it. His lips are plump and bitten already, luring him closer. “No,” he hums. “Though my hitmen tend to have excellent bed-manners.”

A laugh lilts out of the man. That’s it settled then. Jaskier works for him. And if he has his way – and if the other man is amenable – he’ll litter marks all over Jaskier’s skin so people get the message. Having a bird-like Jaskier perched on his shoulder, ready to go and hunt those undesirables he has out in the other boroughs, it tightens the coil in his core.

His hips lift and fuck up into him. He meets Jaskier thrust for thrust, and it lures the most divine of noises out of him. The smirk slips off of his lips as they stretch around moans and half-formed attempts at Geralt’s name.

Sweat starts to bead on both of them. Eventually, Jaskier’s thighs warm and give out, and he’s moved along with each of Geralt’s thrusts. He sags against the man’s chest, tightening the hold he has around his shoulders. “Fuck me,” he breathes against Geralt’s ear. “I want to feel you for days.”

He grabs the backs of Jaskier’s thighs and stands. The man’s arms tighten around his shoulders as he’s lifted and carried and eventually set down along the length of the couch. With the firm cushions underneath him, he rolls his head back. Blearily blue eyes watch Geralt; hovering above him and setting a hand next to his head.

His hips roll, driving himself deeper and deeper into the body below him. Jaskier’s breath thins and his whines grow higher and wisp. Every thrust fucks out one more sound Geralt can’t get enough of. He wants to hear more. He wants his name falling from the man’s bitten, plump lips. He wants to see what those hands can do; in his bed and for him out on assignments.

The people he hates most in life won’t know what hit them when he lets the songbird out of its cage.

Well-toned legs move, hooking around Geralt’s waist. Feet cross and heels dig into the small of his back. “Come on then, White Wolf,” Jaskier lulls, stretching his arms up and over his head. “Thank me properly.”

Geralt grabs his hips in a sure grip. Even through the shitty lighting, he can see the beginnings of marks form. He’ll leave more, when there’s time. When he has his little bird at home and in his bed, he’ll mark every stretch of skin he can find. And from the way the man watches him, his lips curling into a satisfied smile, he’s sure he feels the same.

Jaskier’s moans thin as Geralt snaps his hips. He’s close. He can feel beads of sweat starting to trail down his back. He fucks into the body beneath him with all he has, chasing down the edge that he can see in the distance. Jaskier’s legs splay around him, hips opening up, inviting him to delve deeper. If he could get any deeper, he would. The heat around him trembles and tightens, and it’s so wet and hot Geralt wonders if it has truly just been him to fuck the man tonight. He’s so spread open and inviting.

One of Jaskier’s hands moves. He watches it trail down, palming over his chest for a moment before it ventures downwards. Geralt quirks an eyebrow. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Jaskier holds his gaze. Fiendish thing, Geralt thinks, watching a small smile curl the corner of his lip. “You can take your time with me later,” he wisps, not bothering to hide the moan that slips out of him when Geralt’s cock brushes his prostate. His hand curls around his cock and gives a slow pump. The heat around Geralt tightens. His pumps start to match Geralt’s quickening thrusts. “When I’m in your bed – fuck – you can do what you like. Your mouth, fingers, hands, cock. Whatever you like, darling. And when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll have a few less problems to deal with.”

His words rasp as he stumbles closer to the edge, but they lure the more depraved of sounds out of Geralt. His hold on the man tightens as his hips start to stutter. Jaskier lifts his chin. His breathing thins and he moans Geralt’s name better than any of Viola’s whores. “Are you close, darling? That’s it, oh gods. Fuck it into me, Geralt. Harder, good—Geralt—”

The man’s breath catches as Geralt thrusts deeply into him, his hold on him turning white-knuckled, as he comes. Bowing over the man, he catches the first splattering of cum across Jaskier’s abdomen. Geralt moans at the sight. He trembles around him, hole fluttering, as come starts to pool around his cock and spill out.

Jaskier’s chest lifts and falls, every breath heaving.

Geralt has danced with enough of Viola’s payroll to know when they’re genuine or not. And though this little songbird might not be one of hers, he’s sure that he’s been in enough beds to know how to play people to his advantage. And Geralt has been careful. This bird might be his, but he’ll keep an eye on him. Any creature can turn against their masters; especially when a better offer comes along.

But he watches the man below him, fingers slowly trailing up Geralt’s abdomen and chest, feeling his sweat-beaded skin. Hooded eyes follow where his fingers go, slowly taking him in. Even through the shitty lighting overhead, he can make out just enough of him to hum. Geralt’s breath threatens to hitch when blue eyes blink up and meet his.

He’s too soft to stay in the man. He bites down on a small whine as he slips out of him, already missing the warmth. Jaskier’s brow twitches in a small frown, but it’s gone within moments. Geralt sets a hand on the outside of the man’s thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

Jaskier blinks. “No,” he says, after a time. “No, no. Just...You were good.”

Geralt meets his gaze for a moment, holding it. He hums. “Well,” he rasps, “as you said; I can take my time with you next time.”

It lures a smile out of the little bird. Jaskier stretches out, lounging in how his muscles groan and protest the movement.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Geralt manages to gather enough energy to slip away from the couch, fixing his trousers up and around his hips and doing up his belt. Sweat starts to cool and he just about manages to clamp down on a shiver. His jacket lies nearby, tumbled to the floor after he had placed Jaskier along the length of the couch.

Geralt fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. Numbed fingers are barely able to tap out Coën’s number. The man answers on the second ring. “Bring the car back,” Geralt grunts, glancing over to the man still stretched out on the couch. He’s brought a leg up, splaying it to the back of the couch. Geralt’s breath threatens to hitch at the sight: the man reaching down and trailing a finger around his hole, feeling wet heat slowly trail out of him.

Coën hums. “Are you alone?”

“No,” Geralt replies, lowering his voice. He leaves it at that, because he’s sure that even if he doesn’t say anything, Coën will take one look at them both in the backseat and know everything he needs to know. He can already feel colour start to warm his cheeks.

Lambert will be given a wide berth. Gods forbid if he knew that his plan for the night worked – in a way. He’s sure this isn’t what the man planned, but he’ll lord it over Geralt for weeks on end if he finds out that Geralt did in fact have a good night.

He hangs up with the knowledge that Coën will be here in moments. His ears twitch at the sound of clothes shuffling.

Jaskier pulls down his shirt, and Geralt mourns the loss of a bare chest to look at. He’s managed to fix himself back into something more or less presentable; though his hair is distinctly out of place and a colour flushes along the heights of his cheeks. He doesn’t look much better, he guesses. He can feel wisps of hair dusting his face, fallen out of his ponytail. He should fix it, try and run his hands through his hair and fix it back into something normal. But blue eyes flicker up to his face. Jaskier smiles, reaching up to curl a stray strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Ready to go?” he asks. His voice is still rasped and nothing but a gentle rumble. His hand gentles down the side of his face, trailing gooseflesh in its wake.

Geralt hums.

Jaskier’s smile is a devastating thing. He lifts his chin. A silent request.

Geralt bows, brushing a light kiss on to his lips. Jaskier moans into it, trying to chase it even as Geralt pulls away. A sure, firm arm coils around the man’s waist. “We have a lot to discuss,” he rumbles, already leading them both out of the room. No one waits outside for them. Lambert will have taken up a space at the bar, probably having lured someone into his lap. He already made his promise to Geralt to keep himself out of trouble and make his own way home. And Geralt, knowing better, knows that at least one of those things is true.

Rosemary and Thyme has secret, more shielding, exits for certain patrons. Viola, catching Geralt’s eye just as he passes her, blinks at the man curled around him. Jaskier buries his laugh into Geralt’s shoulder, but winks at the woman all the same.

Coën and their car sit out in the alley. The man is still in the driver’s seat. He isn’t their driver, but often finds himself there because Lambert drives too recklessly and Eskel is never around enough. And if Geralt could drive himself, he would. But with a certain man starting to paw at him again, he clambers into the back of the car and shuts the door behind them without a word.

CHAPTER II

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