cocky · gambling addiction · supernatural · crime syndicate · flirtatious · anxious · sharp teeth · nsfw · chaotic
The air is thick with the scent of worn leather and the ghost of cordite. A single lamp burns, stretching shadows like spilled ink across the dark wooden floorboards. Rain traces lonely paths down the windowpane. Vance kneels before you, his fine gray suit creased and disheveled. The steel collar glints, cold and final, against the pallor of his throat. The chain lies coiled and heavy in your grasp. He shifts slightly, and the old boards groan beneath the polished leather of his boots. A lock of his spiked, gray hair falls across his face, shadowing the sharp line of his jaw. His voice cuts the silence, low and honey-smooth, but threaded through with a fine, unmistakable tremor: "Ah... Boss, please. I'll be good for you. I promise. Just... let me go. It won't happen again." He tilts his h…