#cigar enthusiast

[ikaikaaaron]

Room 101 '808' San Andres Gordo 6 x 60 A toasty aroma and pungent flavors of cocoa, citrus, espresso, leather, cinnamon, and sweet cedar.

I had this cigar in one of my humidors for 5 years.

[ikaikaaaron]

I have 3 of these in one of my 4 humidors.

[mkonz]

Good friends, nice hotel, good bourbon and cigars... can't ask for much better every once in a while.

[auroralwriting]

poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

[allfearstofallto]

When it Comes to You

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Yandere content, bribery, blackmail, Dub-con, Reader works at a brothel (is not a courtesan)

AN: I've just been watching a lot of apothecary diaries tbh and I needed to write something

A job is a job, you often thought to yourself as you tried not to cough from the smell of booze and tobacco, and mora is mora. You didn't have the luxury of denying yourself a single cent. Every little piece of gold, shiny and polished or scuffed and dirty was one step closer to your goal and another away from your debt. Away from him, who didn't try to hide that he was finding his pleasure in watching you drowning under the weight of your obligations.

You were to pour drinks. Whether it be tea, water, or wine. Scurry around the large main hall, entertain the guests waiting for their chances with a lady of the night and pour their drinks. Keep a smile on their faces and their pockets empty. Keep them distracted from just how much they were spending, keep their cigars lit, keep them cheerful and drunk. All simple tasks, in theory. In practice you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, all while the guests leered at you like a piece of meat. It was dehumanizing, but it paid well and paid quickly. You'd receive a bag of mora at the end of every shift, the amount varying based on how well you'd done that day.

Most of it, you couldn't keep. After paying for necessities, you'd walk on your aching feet to the northland bank and pay off a bit more of your debt. You were barely chipping at the high fortune that you owed, but anything was better than the alternative.

And much to your dismay, the alternative was sitting at one of your tables. With that same empty eyed smile and one long leg casually crossed over the other. He tapped his finger against the rim of his empty glass, taunting you in the one place where he knew you couldn't retaliate. Another lady approached him, head bowed while she attempted to pour his wine, but he shooed her away just as quickly with a wave of his hand. He didn't want her, he wanted you. He wanted you to see and know that he wanted you.

You couldn't look angry, nor annoyed, anything less than an enthusiastic smile meant less pay. So with your lips curled too tightly, to the point of near pain, you kneeled next to his table and filled his glass with the cooled liquid. Ajax seemed pleased with your service. Although, he always seemed pleased when you were around. He kept a smile on his face in your presence , not because he had to, but because he wanted to, like he was incapable of looking anything but smug when near you. With that same expression, he took a singular sip of his wine before sitting the glass back on the table. 

“Stay,” he ordered quickly when he saw even the flicker of possibility of you leaving. You stayed kneeled next to his table as you were told, the last thing you needed was him complaining to your boss, a habit he'd made to keep you as in debt as possible. And Ajax was a high paying customer, one that they wanted to keep. His words were like law to your employers, anything less than perfection with his service would be met with the dock of your pay.

Ajax wanted you to be as poor as possible. He wanted you to be pressed under his thumb, to be weak to his will and in need of his favors. It was those same favors that'd gotten you into this mess now, and those same favors were only digging your hole deeper. You owed him a lot. Not him, per say, but the Northland bank. Usually owing money meant you'd be shaken down by a low level fatui foot soldier, yet Ajax had taken a particularly notable interest in you. One that did more harm than good. It bordered on obsession, although he'd play that observation off with a smile.

“You're late,” his words were followed by another sip of wine. He didn't have to tell you what you were late on, you knew he was referring to a payment. There was a happy chirp to the way he spoke, a playful sweetness to his tone that would've been charming, had he not been smiling at your misery.

“I paid yesterday,” you insisted. It was difficult getting your anger across with a forced smile on your face, but your strained voice and gritted teeth would have to suffice.

“You paid the principal,” he playfully tapped your nose with the cold tip of his finger and you resisted the urge to snap and bite, “Not your interest.”

“I was told I could pay it later, I'll have it by the end of the week,”

“Told by whom? Was it me?” He looked so proud of himself as he spoke watching you grow more and more frustrated while being unable to express it, “If it wasn't by me then it wasn't part of your arrangement.”

“I can pay at the end of the night if you wait for my shift to be over,” you sighed, letting the smile drop for only a moment. You thought it strange how sweetly the teller at the bank was when she insisted that you could pay the interest later. Against your better judgement, you listened. Why were you dumb enough to think you had allies on your side? To think that he wasn't still pulling strings, even when he was nowhere near.

An expression crossed Ajax's face. A familiar one. A bad one. The look he made when an idea struck him. Or, perhaps when he knew he'd finally be able to get what he wanted. That's the look he gave you, and felt your heart sink. 

“You won't make enough,” there he was again, saying those harsh words with a singsong tone, reveling in your misfortune, “With the late fee on top, you'll be short.”

You scoffed, letting the cheerful facade drop. There'd never been a late fee before, but Childe was insistent in getting what he truly wanted from you. Your one slip up was going to be your detriment, and his greatest achievement so far. You could see it in the sparkle in his dead, hollow blue eyes. He was anticipating just this, almost as if he'd plotted the entire thing himself. A conspiracy like that wasn't far off in terms of what the man in front of you was capable of, the one who was looking down upon your pitiful kneeling form in delight about the ownership of you that he dangled over your head.

“Take me as a client tonight and consider yourself cleared of this weeks payment-”

Your glossed lips parted quickly to stop his train of thoughts, but he cut you off by placing a finger against them. You couldn't see it, but you could feel the soft shade from your lips smear across his digit and onto your cheek.

“-and the next,”

You felt your world stop at this statement. Suddenly, the brothel that was so noisy and overbearing, was silent. Two weeks with no payment? Childe was never that generous. But he was also a man who was always two steps ahead. He'd been wanting to bed you since the day you walked into that bank the first time. All smiles with a hand resting too low upon your waist while selling you a loan that would essentially take your entire life to pay back. You were naive then. Naive and desperate. And somehow, you were worse now.

When things were rough and you knew you didn't have the money to pay him, he'd accept little things. A date. Handholding. A hug. There was even a day where he accepted a kiss upon the lips in exchange for a week's payment. 

A real kiss. 

He wanted you to initiate. He wanted you seated on his lap, your tongue in his mouth, he wanted to claim you completely, while making it feel like you desired it too.

The kiss was suffocating and vile, not romantic at all. It was a kiss that screamed ownership and possession, nothing close to a true affection. You couldn't even pull away when you wanted to, his hand was holding the back of your head, keeping you in place while he lapped at the inside of your mouth, slurping at your tongue while simultaneously tracing his fingertips over your cheeks.

“I don't take customer's, I'm not a-” you couldn't bring yourself to speak the word, but all he did was cock an eyebrow at your silence.

“Anything can be arranged,”

A deal that feels too good to be true, is usually just that. His smirk, mischievous and cold spoke of a desire that wouldn't end with one taste of your body. Silently, you were cursing yourself for even considering it. Having your head above the water, even if just for a week more would be like a balm to your soul, but at what cost?

“Two weeks?” You peaked up at him through your lashes. The way his smile spread told you that you were already making the wrong decision, but you didn't turn back, “You have to promise me Childe, do you mean it?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” his words made you feel even sicker as he mimicked the childish gesture.

His hand was outstretched to you, fingers long and lanky, still wet and cold from the condensation of his glass. The sight of that hand was familiar. The last deal you'd made with the man being the reason you worked yourself to the bone now. The last time you'd shaken that same, cold hand, you'd done something stupid. It was a bad deal. It was always a bad deal with him. There was always some hidden clause or play of words that you didn't decipher quick enough, always something hidden up his sleeve, especially when it came to you.

And despite your better judgement, you still shook his hand. Instead of feeling the weight of the world fall off of your shoulders, you only felt it grow heavier upon your already weak body. It was better to give it to him now, than have him take it later, right? Who knew what he had planned for you if you couldn't pay.

“Shall we take a room upstairs?” He pointed to the staircase. Only courtesans and their clients used those stairs. You were sure he knew that, yet he spoke as if he also knew that there would be one free for the two of you to use together, like he'd planned this very scenario from the get go.

The thought wasn't lost on you. Ajax always planned things to a tee, when it came to you.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Elvis teaching reader how to use vibrators one day then catching her using the, by herself one day..then using them on her til she can't take it anymore.

Dolly

A/N: oooh this was a fun one! Elvis is a little mean 😈

Pairing: 1970!Elvis x reader

Word count: 4.3K

TWs: Elvis is dominant, reader calls him daddy and sir(!), dollification (kinda), exhibitionism (if you squint), praise kink, orgasm control, pillow humping, mean!Elvis, teasing, forced orgasms, overstimulation, little bit of choking, general smut.

You sit on the sofa with your legs crossed demurely at the ankle, flicking through a magazine. Elvis has been out all morning, leaving you alone in the house to make your own entertainment. You’re not sure why he didn’t want you to go with him, and you find yourself worrying your lower lip with your teeth again, wondering if you did something wrong. The bang of the door opening and the chatter of conversation make you sit up, putting down the magazine and quickly smoothing down your little dress. 

“Where’s my little dolly?” Elvis’ voice booms out through the downstairs of his LA house. 

You spring to your feet, pushing them into your kitten heels and trotting towards the source of the noise, eager to see him. 

“Here, Daddy!” You exclaim as you reach him. 

One arm pulls you against him, his palm flat on your lower back as your face turns up towards his expectantly. You feel yourself enveloped in a cloud of cologne and cigar smoke as he leans down to kiss you. He lets you go to run his thumb over the bitten skin of your lower lip, eyes narrowing with concern. 

“Need ta take better care a these here lips, dolly.” His thumb presses just that little bit more firmly, making your lips part a little. “Want ‘em nice an’ soft, sweetheart. Not like my old calloused fingers, here.” 

He laughs then, eyes flicking around to the rest of the Mafia who’d come through the door with him. As if on cue, they all start laughing too. You’re not sure they could’ve all heard what he said, but they know which side their bread is buttered on. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe. 

He hums, seemingly satisfied, and steps back, holding out a bag that he’d been hiding behind his back. 

“A gift for my pretty little doll.”

You beam with delight. He must've gone out without you to buy you a surprise. He knows how much you love surprises.

“Oooh, Daddy.” 

Your hands go to either side of your face in girlish excitement and his lips curl into a slightly smug smile at such an enthusiastic response.

“Go on, take it baby.”

Your hand closes around the handle and he lets it go with a satisfied hum. 

“Why don'tcha take it into your bedroom?” 

You feel him watching you as you trot off with it, your ass jiggling in the tight little dress he'd set out for you to wear that morning. He follows at a more sedate pace but when you pause to open the door he catches up, and you feel the flat of his hand against your ass cheek. You giggle. 

“You like my dress?” You tease, coquettishly, looking over your shoulder at him through your big false lashes. 

“I love yer dress, baby,” he coos in response, moving his hand to press his groin against your ass instead, showing you just how much he likes it. 

“Mmmm. Daddy!” Wiggling against him, one hand over your mouth, pretending to be scandalised. 

“C'mon,” he clicks his tongue, back to using his hands again. “Don'tcha wanna open yer gift?”

You nod quickly, affirming him with a “yes, Daddy,” before moving quickly into the room and sitting down on your plush, pink bed. You'd asked for a heart-shaped one, almost as an unreasonably bratty demand, but he'd got it for you anyway. 

His thigh presses up against yours as he sits down next to you, and you feel a familiar warmth start to spread between your legs. Peering into the bag, you dip your hand in to pull out a small pink box. You open it, rifling through the layers of pink tissue until you find another, smaller box. 

You frown. What could it be? Perfume? It's kind of long and thin… opening one end you shake it carefully into your palm. 

“Daddy? What is it?”

You pout as you try to comprehend the object in your hand. It's pink and plastic, shaped like a long thin ice cream cone. He gently takes it from you and thumbs a switch at the base that you hadn't noticed. It comes to life with a buzz, and he holds your hand palm up, pressing the end against your wrist. You jump.

“Ooh!”

That self-satisfied smirk reappears. 

“A treat for my dolly. Ya like that?”

The vibrations creep along your skin and the feeling between your legs intensifies. 

“Mmmm. What's it for?” You blink at him.

The smirk spreads further across his face. “Ya haveta guess, baby.”

Moving the pink toy from your wrist to your thigh, he studies your face as he drags it higher and higher. Suddenly, understanding spreads across it and your lips form a little o.

He chuckles, his other hand pushing your skirt all the way up, exposing your pink panties. Your eyes flick towards the semi-open door. 

“Daddy?”

You watch his tongue poke out to wet his lower lip. “Don't worry ‘bout that, baby.”

Hearing the Mafia as they laugh and joke in the living room, you squirm, eyes fixed on the doorway now. 

“What if they see?” 

“Then they'll have me ta answer to.”

He presses the vibrating stick against your panties, and you forget all about the open door. 

“Oh!”

A finger presses against your lips, and you flutter your eyes open, barely even realising you'd closed them in the first place. 

“Lil bit a quiet now, darlin’. Know I said I'd deal with anyone seein’ ya, but yer only encouragin’ them with those pretty little noises, ain'tcha? Could ya blame ‘em if they came in?”

You shake your head and stare back at him, your eyes wide. 

“N-no,” you whisper back. 

“Be a good girl an’ be quiet f’me then, hm?”

You tell him yes again and he starts the vibration up again, having flicked it off when you’d cried out. Your teeth start worrying your lower lip until you remember what he’d said about it being rough. You suck it into your mouth instead, tongue running over it repeatedly. The feeling between your legs is growing and with it the wetness of your thin little panties. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and switches the toy off again, making you wriggle about and let out a tiny moan. You look up into his blue eyes pleadingly, finding them dark with lust. 

“You enjoin’ yerself, little girl?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yessir.” 

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk at the honorific. Your chest is heaving with your ragged breathing, you’re so turned on and desperate for him to touch you again. 

“Darlin’. Daddy is just fine.”

“Yes Daddy,” the words tumble out of your mouth quickly, giving away your desperation if it weren’t already painfully obvious. 

“Not that I don’t like it when ya call me sir…”

Your head spins. “Yes, Daddy… Sir… oh…”

He chuckles, thumb rubbing your cheek as his fingers rest underneath your chin. 

“Poor ‘lil thing. Reckon ya really like yer new gift, hm?”

You nod again, deciding to not to confuse yourself further by speaking. 

“Good girl,” he coos. “Let’s get these wet panties off, shall we?”

You shift your hips to help him as he pulls them down for you, instructing you to sit at the head of the bed with your legs spread. You watch as he closes the bedroom door, then stalks back towards you like a tiger stalking its prey. Your heart starts beating out of your chest and it takes all your concentration not to press your thighs together again. 

He sits down beside you on the bed, his hand on your face again as he starts to kiss you. You're melting into him, the way his tongue gently and patiently parts your lips and then dances with your own. The noise of the vibrating stick buzzing into life reaches your ears just before the feeling of the vibrations reach your pussy. You jolt and moan into his mouth, and you can feel him resisting a smile. Pulling away, his thumb brushes your saliva-coated lower lip and the smile appears. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream. 

“Ya can make all the noise ya want to now, dolly.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” rushes out of your mouth again, making his smile somehow even bigger. 

“Ya like this, honey?” He asks, pushing it against your clit firmly. You’re starting to sweat and you wonder if this is too much pleasure and maybe you might have to scream. 

“Y-yes. Oh God. Feels so good.”

“What about this?”

Without warning, he slips the long thin toy inside you and suddenly you’re vibrating from the inside out. Your hips buck and you moan, eyes fluttering closed. 

“So good,” you whisper. Your brain seems dangerously blank. 

He starts to fuck you with the vibrating toy and you can feel arousal spilling down your legs and onto the bed. If only Elvis’ dick did this when he fucked you. You think that his thick, vibrating dick would be even better than this feeling right now, before the feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit stops all further thoughts. 

“Oh! Daddy!” 

“Ya gonna cum fer me, dolly?”

You nod quickly, feeling the edges of your orgasm as he keeps up the pace with the toy and his thumb rolls your clit around. 

“Oh… Oh…” you moan, helplessly, your body jolting and writhing with pleasure. 

“That’s it. Cum f’Daddy.”

Your vision blurs as you feel the wave of orgasmic bliss crashing over you, the pleasure is so overwhelming you don’t know what to do. Wetness streams between your legs and you’re calling out Elvis’ name between desperate moans. You’re not sure sex has ever felt quite this good, although you know you definitely shouldn’t ever mention that to Elvis, feeling your body still and his hands move to gentle, tickling strokes of your thighs. 

“Mmmmm. Good girl,” he hums. 

Eventually your eyes flip open again and you gaze up at him in wonder. 

“You never told me what it was, Daddy.”

He laughs. “Ya still don't know? Innocent lil thing. That's a vibrator, baby. A sex toy.”

“Are there more?” You ask, breathily. “Sex toys I mean.”

Those tickling, teasing fingers are still running over your skin as he considers your question. 

“Yes dolly, lots more of ‘em. But this is all we need right now.” He moves his hand to your throat, thumb gently pressing against your windpipe. “An’ no usin’ it on yer own now, little girl.” 

The warning tone is one you're used to by now, and you reassure him quickly that you wouldn't possibly dream of using it without him. He seems satisfied by your promises, tucking his thumb away and letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. He kisses you gently and you lean into him. You've barely come down from your high and you're already thinking about when you'll be allowed to use the toy again. You hope it's soon. 

***

Elvis has been gone all day and he shows no sign of coming back. You flick through one of your magazines disinterestedly, then try reading one of his books. It's no good, though, you can't concentrate. He wasn't interested in pleasuring you last night, just teasing you until your pussy ached and then making you please him instead. Your pussy still aches now. It pulses with need, and you shuffle your legs back and forth, squeezing your thighs together as your dress rides up higher and higher.

Joe coughs.

“Uh… princess?” He has a habit of calling you princess when Elvis isn't there and you don't really like it. 

“Hmmm.”

“Your uh… your skirt…” he mumbles, and you watch the blush spread across his cheeks as he says it. 

“What about it, Joe?” 

You probably wouldn't be this bratty if Elvis were here, but he isn't. 

Another cough. “You might need ta… pull it down, honey. I don't think Elvis would like the view you're givin’ us right now…”

“Well Elvis isn't here!” You declare. Standing up, you pull your skirt down to where it belongs and huff loudly. “I'm going to bed!” 

You can hear Joe humming and muttering to himself as you leave and you have half a mind to go and find his wife and tell her that he's been looking up your skirt. But the ache between your legs is reaching a fever pitch and you have to find a way to relieve it, right now. You stride into your bedroom and close the door behind you, looking quickly around as if you expected to find Elvis hidden in some corner or other. Of course he is nowhere to be seen, but you sigh anyway. You miss him. You like him being there to tell you what to wear and what to do and, hell, probably what to think too. In his absence you always make silly decisions, and as you unzip your dress and let it fall to the ground at your feet, you feel another one coming on. Sloughing off your panties and unclasping your bra, you stand in the middle of your bedroom completely naked aside from your heels. Elvis loves you in heels, he tells you they make your sooties look pretty, so you even wear them indoors. You spin around on the spot for a moment, looking at your white peeptoes. They do make your feet look nice. Then the throbbing between your legs makes itself known again and you remember your earlier frustrations. You don't think it's fair that Elvis denied you last night and then disappeared all day today. He doesn't like you touching yourself on your own, he always tells you Daddy has to be there to make sure his pussy is being treated right. But you don't know where he is, and your pussy isn't being treated right at the moment, you're damn sure of it. 

Wandering over to the full-length mirror in the room, you take some time to give yourself a once over. You don't look bad naked, and the heels add a certain something. You turn to the side, kicking one foot up behind you and putting a hand on your hip. Pulling a pin-up style expression, you imagine Elvis behind you. Before you know it, the girl in the mirror has her hand between her thighs and is stroking herself there. She puts her other hand to her mouth in faux-surprise. Pleasure starts to pulse through your veins, excitement too, and the next thing you know you're thinking of the vibrator. Elvis did say it was a gift for you. An unhelpful part of your brain reminds you that Elvis also said you weren't to use it without him. You push the thought away, concentrating for a minute or two on the coquettish girl in the mirror, surprised at her own hand between her legs. Then you go in search of the box. 

You’re on the bed, vibrator in your pussy, humping one of your pink fluffy pillows when the door opens a crack and Elvis looks in. You don’t notice him at first, of course you don’t, he’s being deliberately quiet and you’ve got carried away, lost in pleasure. You don’t even notice him slipping into the room completely, silently closing the door behind him. Your mouth falls open as the delicious friction on your clit brings you close to orgasm. That’s when you hear it. 

“Dolly.”

At first you think you’ve imagined it. You want him here so badly that your brain has conjured up that soft southern drawl. As your eyes slowly open and your hips still, you finally register him standing in the middle of your room. 

“Daddy!” You squeak, throwing yourself backwards off the pillow and quickly trying to cover up with one of the many throws on your bed. Your hand reaches between your legs to switch the vibrator off in a way that you pray is subtle but you’re pretty sure is anything but. 

Elvis stares at you with ill-concealed annoyance. His jaw is ticking, clenching and relaxing over and over again in a way that you know spells trouble for you. He rakes a hand through his previously beautifully coiffed hair, leaving it spilling haphazardly over his forehead. You can’t help noticing how good he looks, the way his pants cling to his thighs, his rolled up shirt sleeves emphasising the muscles in his forearms. 

“Jus’ what d’ya think yer doin’ exactly, little girl?” He asks, through gritted teeth. 

“I-I was missing you, D-daddy…” you try. It’s not a lie, but it probably isn’t enough to save you. 

He purses his lips, titling his head to the side as he huffs air out of his nose. “What have I told ya ‘bout pleasurin’ yerself without me?”

You wriggle uncomfortably under the blanket. The toy is still inside you and you’d been so close when he interrupted you. It’s not as if you’ve stopped wanting to finish. If anything, the way he’s talking to you is just making you wetter, your stomach twisting and turning, body aching with want. 

“Not to,” you whisper. “‘M sorry, sir.” It’s a long shot, but maybe upping the ante will help. This might be a get-down-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-forgiveness sort of moment. If only doing that wouldn’t make it immediately obvious that not only had you been pleasuring yourself on your own, but you’d been using the toy that had been expressly forbidden too. 

“I’ll make yer sorry,” he hisses, closing the distance between him and the bed in two large strides. Okay, so maybe your kneeling and begging moment has passed you by. 

The speed with which he pulls the blanket off your body makes you squeal, and you try to wriggle away from him. Anything to stop him seeing what you’ve done, but of course he’s quick, much quicker than you and he grabs your ankles and pulls you across the bed by them. Another deeply exasperated and disappointed sigh falls from his lips and you know he’s spotted the toy. 

“What. Did. I. Tell. Ya. About. This?”

You’re on your back now and he’s pushed your legs up and apart, hands on the backs of your knees as he leans over you menacingly. 

“Sorry, sorry…” you mumble, eyes wide and afraid though you know the wetness leaking out of you is giving away your arousal. “...’m so sorry, sir.”

There’s a silence then, during which you can only assume Elvis is considering exactly what he’s going to do with you. You can almost see his brain working on his face, the way he frowns and then eventually his lips curl into a cruel smile. 

“Ya wanna cum, little girl?”

You nod slowly, unsure. It seems like a trap, but you’re not sure exactly how it could be. The smile is wolfish now, and you start to feel like his prey laid out underneath him as he flicks the switch on again and the delightful buzzing fills your pussy. 

“Well let’s see if that’s what ya want when I’m done with ya.”

Your brain latches on to the words briefly, and then stops trying to work out what they mean as he starts the same process as before, moving the toy in and out of you as he touches your clit. It’s mere moments before you’re cumming, the thrill of your orgasm rushing through your body from your core to your fingers and toes. The relief is so great you sigh with satisfaction, hands thrown above your head. You can hear him laugh a little, and you force your eyes open to try to figure out why. He’s already undone his pants by the time you look, and then his dick is in his hand. 

“Warmed up now, aint’cha?” He coos, replacing the vibrator with his dick in one quick movement. 

You yelp in surprise. You’re relaxed, but not relaxed enough to take him in one go so quickly and you feel your pussy stretch a little painfully. Elvis doesn’t care though, he barely gives you a second to adjust before he’s thrusting into you, making your body shake with each movement. The feeling is overwhelming, it’s pleasure and discomfort and a little sprinkle of oversensitivity to boot. You just lie there, being fucked, panting and moaning, barely able to string a thought together. Your ability to string a thought together leaves you completely when you feel the vibrations again, this time on your clit. You squeak. 

“Daddy!” 

“Mmmm. Want ya ta cum again, sweetheart,” he tells you, hair falling into his eyes, sweat on his brow. 

“O-Oh…” you manage, and then your brain is gone again. 

He keeps thrusting and holding the vibrator against your clit so firmly that all you can do is what he wants, and this time everything goes white and you feel like you’re floating in space, in your body and out of it at the same time. He moves the vibrator for enough time for you to catch your breath and then it’s back. And then he does something you didn’t know was possible - he turns it up. 

“Ahhh! No!” You squirm and struggle, trying to get away from him. The feeling is just too much. 

“Uh-uh, little dolly,” he chides. “Yer gonna lie here until ya cum again.”

“I-I can’t… I… oh God…”

“Ya wanted ta cum. ‘M jus’ lettin’ ya cum.”

You keep wriggling until his hand wraps around your throat. 

“Stay. Still.” 

You feel it tighten, blocking off your airway just enough to make the message clear. You stop moving your body but your head nods quickly and desperately. He presses the toy against your clit again.

“Relax and cum f’Daddy.”

His dick is still inside you as your walls flutter and then squeeze for the third time, your pussy hot and swollen. You don’t know how much more of this you can take. He’s not interested though, and he doesn’t give you another chance to try to escape after this one. Pulling out, he flips you onto your belly and lies on top of you, holding you down. Once he’s got you where he wants you, he shifts just enough to slip the vibrator between your legs and turn it up to full. 

“No… no… ‘s too much, please…” 

“One more, little girl.” His voice is gravelly, dark, dangerous. 

Your clit is so sensitive now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Not that there’s much you can do with yourself, with all of Elvis lying right on top of you, holding you against the terrible buzzing torture. You can feel his hardness against your bare ass, you know he’s getting off on this. You hear someone start to whine, and then after a minute or so you realise it’s you.

“Relax, baby.” Sudden gentleness, his lips next to your ear, the smell of him all around you. 

He kisses your neck and you’re screaming out the fourth orgasm, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes and then spilling down your cheeks, wetting the already much-abused pillow. 

“Oh, good girl.”

“No more, please Daddy… no more…” you whine, arms and legs thrashing as he rolls off you and pulls the toy away, switching it off and tossing it over the other side of the bed. 

“C’mere.”

He guides your face to his lap and your mouth to his stiff dick. Gently helping you move up and down on him, he tells you when he’s going to cum so you can prepare for it spurting down your throat. You only gag a little. The satisfied moan he makes fills you with pride, and you look up at his blissed-out face feeling warm and fuzzy now too. You lick your lips as you rest your head on his thigh, starting to feel tired. After a while he comes round from his orgasm and you feel him move you gently and stand up, tucking himself away again. 

“I’ll run ya a bath,” he announces, getting up and going into the en suite. 

Sitting up slowly, you realise your pussy feels about twice its usual size, puffy and hot between your legs. 

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you tell him as soon as he’s back, eyes big and desperate for approval. 

The corners of his lips pull into a little smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “So ya should be, sweetheart.” 

Your face falls and you look down, studying the carpet, worried he hasn’t forgiven you and he might start torturing your clit again. Then you feel a finger under your chin as he tilts your face back up towards his. 

“I forgive ya. Think ya took yer punishment.” He smirks then, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Not well, but ya took it. An’ now I gotta look after my lil dolly, haven’t I?”

You wiggle closer to him as he sits down next to you on the bed, your arms around his neck, pouting lips and big doe eyes. 

“My pussy’s sore,” you whisper. 

He laughs and slings his arm underneath your legs, picking you up so you’re sitting sideways on his lap.

“‘M not surprised, baby. Maybe next time ya won’t try ta take care a yerself without yer Daddy around, hm?”

You nod and he kisses you affectionately, first on the lips and then on the end of your nose, finally landing on a last gentle kiss to the forehead. 

“That’s my dolly. Let’s go and check on this bath, sweetheart.”

You cling to him as he stands, holding you in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. You can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck as your face presses against it. 

“Love you, Daddy.”

He strokes your hair, then kisses you. “Love you too, darlin’. More ‘an anythin’. Now let's get ya nice an’ clean.”

***

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[the-californicationist]

FaceTime (Price/Reader)

Warning: video/phone sex

It was around lunchtime when you usually heard from John. His deployment was stationed in some Eastern European locale, and over there, it would be late at night. He usually texted you throughout the day, and you’d wake up to his updates, but it had been radio silence for at least twenty-four hours and you were nervous.

You tried to stay busy, keeping yourself calm by talking to your friends and calling your mom, but the house was so empty without him. Sometimes you stole a cigar just to smell his smoke in the house again, lighting it on a plate like incense. He’d be cross if he found out, but you knew he’d forgive you. 

You logged out of your work email and undressed to hop in the shower. Then, just as you were about to step in, you heard your phone buzz. Abandoning the running shower, you lunged for your phone, turning it over to see John’s profile photo on the screen, smiling at you.

“John?” You panted, fear crawling up your throat. 

“Hey, love,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. He sounded exhausted.

“Thank God. I was worried sick. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sounded like he wanted to say no, “Everything’s fine.”

That was his code for ‘don’t ask.’ It made you even more concerned, but you kept that to yourself, not wanting to add to his mental stress.

“I miss you, John,” you sighed. 

Then, he was video calling you. You were naked, but he was careful. He would never call you in front of anyone. You swiped up to answer it. 

He seemed surprised to see your bare collarbones. He was shirtless, too. Ready for bed, alone in his bunk. 

“Oh, hey,” he smiled, “Look at you, pretty thing.”

You blushed, 

“Right back at you, handsome.”

He grinned, rubbing his big hand across his chest. You loved it when he did that. There was something so hot about his fingers petting through his thick chest hair, flashing over his pink nipples, warming his tired muscles, rippling and rising with his breaths. 

“Mm, careful, love. I’m already missin’ ya. Start praising me and I’m gonna grab you through this phone,” he joked with you, playfully threatening, flirting through his tiredness. 

“Wish you would, John,” you moaned, testing his limits. If you were lucky, maybe he would take the bait.

You heard the fabric of his sweatpants rustle, and when he repositioned the phone, you saw his pink cock being dragged out, heavy and hardening under its commander’s grasp. You moaned again, more enthusiastically this time, 

“Oh, fuck. I miss that cock,” you propped your phone up on the sink, leaning it against a bottle of soap and the tap. 

You saw your body on the screen, tossing your towel on the counter to show him your entire naked form. Your hands found your breasts, pulling at your nipples, squeezing the flesh for him and for you, feeling better by the second. Your hands were no match for his hands, but it would have to pass. 

“This cock misses you, baby. Why don’t you touch that soft little cunt for me, hm?”

You do as he says, eagerly sinking your fingers into yourself to obey him, sending waves of pleasure through your core as you do. You’re not ready yet, and you work yourself slowly as you watch his giant hand pump his fat shaft faster and faster in the darkness of his bunk. 

“I can’t wait for you to come home, John. I need to taste you again. I want you to put so much come in me that I feel full from it.”

“You like how I taste, love?” His voice was strained. He was concentrating on watching you fuck yourself on your hand. 

“I love it,” you confessed honestly, “You want me to show you how much?”

You didn’t wait for him to reply. You gathered your wetness on your fingers and showed it to him, making sticky strings of your own come drip between your fingers. He groaned, and then he gasped when he watched you lick them clean. 

“Fuck, do that again.”

You dipped your fingers into yourself, coating them with your own fluids and bent down closer to the camera so he could see the gleam of your juices as your fingers slid into your waiting mouth. You used your tongue to show him how clean they were. 

He groaned loudly, a familiar sound, and you saw white streams of come burst from his rosy tip, melting down his shaft like a tall candle. 

“Bloody hell, I needed that.”

You smiled, making a mental note to charge your vibrator before you get in the shower. You needed to let off the insane tension he had just built up inside of you.

You blew him a kiss and he caught it with his free hand, 

“Me, too. Call me tomorrow?”

“No need. Tomorrow, you’re gonna get the real thing.”

[littlelovelunette]

my english is not the best but i hope you understand :(

could you do one where reader and sev adopt a puppy and sev is super cute with him and treats him like a son?? 😭😭 I'm a big animal enthusiast lol

you can decide whether to add some smut or not, anyway, I love your writing!! :3 byee

Tiny Paws

The first time Sevika said no to the idea of a puppy, it was automatic.

“No,” she grunted, arms crossed over her chest, a cigar dangling from her fingers. “Too much work.”

You expected that, but you also knew how to wear her down.

The next time you brought it up, you took a different approach—showing her a picture of a pitiful, scrappy little thing with dark fur and big, scared eyes.

“Found him outside the Last Drop,” you said casually, placing your phone in front of her. “Poor thing’s shivering.”

Sevika barely spared a glance before exhaling smoke, flicking ash into the tray. “Not my problem.”

“Would be if you saw him in person,” you murmured, already pocketing your phone.

You didn’t bring it up again—not directly, at least. But the next night, you returned to the apartment with a small bundle in your arms.

The puppy, barely the size of a loaf of bread, whined softly as you set him on the couch. His ribs showed under patchy fur, his ears drooping in exhaustion.

Sevika, seated in her usual chair, sighed loudly. “You brought it home.”

“I couldn’t just leave him.”

She groaned but didn’t argue.

Instead, she took a long drag from her cigar, staring at the tiny thing curled up on your lap. You braced yourself for more protests, but instead,

Sevika muttered, “What’s his name?”

You hid your smile. “Haven’t picked one yet.”

She grumbled something under her breath, but later that night, you caught her crouching near the puppy, scratching his tiny head with her flesh fingers.

Sevika liked to pretend she wasn’t invested.

Sure, she acted indifferent when you bought the puppy a proper bed, when you set out food and water bowls in the kitchen. But you noticed how she always checked if his bowl was full before sitting down for the night.

And then came the moment that sealed it—when you woke up one morning to find Sevika asleep on the couch, the puppy curled up against her chest, his tiny body rising and falling with her slow breathing.

You nearly gasped, but before you could even reach for your phone, Sevika cracked one eye open. “Don’t,” she warned, voice rough with sleep.

You grinned. “Didn’t say anything.”

She carefully shifted, making sure the puppy stayed nestled against her. “He’s gonna get spoiled.”

“Maybe,” you teased, “but I think he’s already your favorite.”

Sevika scoffed, but when the puppy stirred and whined, she immediately ran a hand down his back, soothing him.

From that moment on, she dropped the act.

She carried him under one arm like he was her son, grumbling about how soft he was making her while feeding him scraps from her plate.

She kept him close during storms, rubbing his ears when thunder made him whimper.

And when some idiot at the bar made a joke about how ridiculous it was to see a fearsome enforcer doting on a puppy, Sevika simply narrowed her eyes and said, “Say that again.”

The guy didn’t.

You never said I told you so, but every time you watched Sevika cradle the little thing in her massive arms, talking to him in that rare, gentle voice of hers, you didn’t have to.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can you imagine a fake dating scenario where you hire Lloyd to pretend to be your partner for a family gathering because you can’t stand your family and want to spend the night watching him gleefully terrorize them? 🤣

Hehehe I wrote this on the bus...

Do You Trust Me?

No explicit warnings. Comments and reblogs always welcome. Love you all! 😍

"Look, I need you on your worst behaviour," you say as you face the grey brick manner.

"You don't gotta ask me twice, toots," Lloyd comes around the front of the car to meet you. "I'll be sure to pay extra attention to the oysters."

You want to sigh and smack him in the face. That's a common feeling towards this man, you're sure. Yet you hate to admit, you need him. Just for tonight. You don't think your father could ever tolerate him longer than that.

"Come on," he taps your ass and you yipe.

"Hey!" You sneer.

"Gotta make it believable. Besides, gotta get my shots in where I can."

"Not part of the deal, Hansen." You push his hand away.

"Ah come on--"

"No, you got your money so stop."

"You know, if you want them to buy it, you're gonna have to play along. Spare a few smooches," he hooks his arm around you instead.

"Yep, and I'm dreading it." You charge forward, knowing it's too late to back out now.

You just need him to be himself. He never really has a problem with that. He is shamelessly genuine.

As you approach the door, it opens from the other side. Belinda, the resident maid, lets you in, greeting you with a smile and the offer to take your coat. Lloyd helps you out of your jacket before he removes his own. He's being... too helpful.

You look at his deep blue velvet blazer. He even dressed well. Goddamn, he couldn't find a pair of slides and some socks?

"Cut it out," you whisper as you follow Belinda.

"I'm not doing anything," he hisses back.

"For once," you snip.

He laughs softly and takes your hand as you enter the bright dining room, more of a hall. The chandelier shines over the polished table, gleaming off the cutlery and candelabra. So ostentatious but that's your parents.

"There you are, dear," your mother strides over, "we were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Got her here in one piece," Lloyd declares, "all to see her beautiful sister."

"Sister?" Your mother gasps and touches her chest. "Nooo, I'm her mother. Oh silly. You must be the fiance?" She preens.

You send Lloyd a piercing look. He's charming when he tries but why is he doing that?

"Could've fooled me," he grins and takes her hand, "honored."

He kisses her knuckles and you almost recoil. She giggles. Your mother. A giggle. Like a school girl.

"Where's dad?" You ask. He's harder to impress.

"He's around. He was just going out to get--"

"Ah, you're here," your father's staunch tone carries across the high ceiling. You turn to meet him. "And this is your... addition."

He nods at Lloyd and offers his hand. The shake, veins bulging in their masculine tango. Your father hums and pulls the cigar from behind his ear.

"Lloyd Hansen, sir," your plus one introduces himself. "Is that a black dragon?"

Your father squints and dips his chin again, "you know your cigars?"

"I'm a casual purveyor, no enthusiast by any means."

"Hansen," you cough and touch your throat. "I mean, honey," you tug on him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Ah, sorry, sir, she's the boss," he says to your dad and turns to you, "yes, dear?"

"Come here," you growl and drag him away.

You take him to the corner and face him, "hullo? What are you doing? You said you would ruin this. Okay? I need out of this bloodline."

"Pfft. You don't know what you got, toots," his eyes scan the walls. "This is spectacular--"

"No, shut up," you whisper sharply. "You promised-- I paid you. Alright? I just need you to get me out of this dumb arrangement. I don't get my trust unless I marry, well, if my fiance is a clown, my parents might just pay me to call the whole thing off--"

"That's a good deal. How much is the trust?"

You tweak your brow and puff out in exasperation, "Hansen..."

"Ah, you know me, baby," he winks, "I'm no good at doing what I'm told. Besides...." he runs his hand down his chest; a designer tie under the velvet and looks around. "Googled this place and well, I like what I see." He turns back to you, "don't look so heartbroken, toots, it's not just the money. I got me a wife with a hot ass to boot."

You gasp and raise your hand. He catches it and cradles it with his other. He kisses it and chuckles.

"Don't worry, you'll get a full refund," he slithers.

[ikaikaaaron]

HVC Black Friday 2023 Petite Gordo 4 1/2 x 56 notes of cocoa, baking spice, cedar, and pepper.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik turns 50. TF 141 throw him a surprise party. (As the author continues to build their voices and headcanons in his head.)

cw: none.

“I can't believe Nik’s going to be fifty next week. The man's aging like a fine wine. It must be something in the water over there.”

It had been a fairly innocuous comment by Laswell over one of their frequent phone calls, but it had sent Price into an unfathomable tailspin.

Fifty.

Fifty was a big birthday where Price came from. The kind where the extended family, and wider community around them, were invited to a village hall for an old fashioned knees up, and you ended up carrying your uncle Rodney home so your aunt didn't smother him with a throw pillow after he pissed all over the doorstep.

Price had never really thought much about the families and wider lives of his contacts. They got the job done and then they parted ways. In every sense, a contact held the same position in Price's mind as the weapon in his hand; a tool to be used and then set aside once you were done.

But Nik… Nik was becoming more than a contact. A lot more. Price knew there was no uncle Rodney for Nik. There was no family whatsoever. No one special to mark half a century with, except maybe… fuck.

Price didn't share scotch with just anyone, let alone pass his cigar over for them to take a toke. As much as he respected Laswell, he was never inclined to spend hours with her chattin’ shit, until the sun broke through the blinds and they both had to slam some black coffee so they looked remotely presentable for their operators. His hand never lingered on anyone else's carrier vest, and no one else's voice made warmth and light curl in his chest.

No one else slotted against Price's... everything quite like Nikolai.

Price wasn't stupid. He knew what these signs meant, but that didn't mean he had any idea what the fuck to do about them. It was safer to just… be, too cowardly to progress any further. And yet, this felt like a milestone somehow.

“Captain, are you there? John?”

“Rog, yeah… uh. Continue.”

By the time Price had hung up, he had resolved to do something to mark Nik’s birthday. Laswell had coughed up the exact date and then slyly asked why Price was so interested. Her tone suggested she already had a hunch. “141 tradition,” he'd said, before hanging up. Rude, but she'd cope.

He finished some paperwork and turned in for the night, but sleep didn't come easy. His plans played out across the dark ceiling above his head and each time he settled on a course of action, he picked a hundred holes in it and cast it aside.

“Buy him a bottle of vodka and put a bow on your prick,” Simon said over eggs and bacon. The majority of the base was still asleep, with only a few other troopers skulking around the canteen.

Price choked on his gulp of tea and thumped his chest. “Classy, Simon.”

“You’ve been dancin’ round each other for years,” Simon murmured, rubbing at the stubble below the line of his mask. “Best time as any to pull the trigger.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black,” Price said as he stabbed at the bacon on his plate to emphasise each word.

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled, “sir.”

Price snorted a laugh and they finished the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence. After a session in the gym, a myriad of brain-numbing meetings and supervising some training runs, Price was no closer to shaking out of his decision paralysis. If they were on mission he could have hashed out a plan without taking a breath, but he… didn't want to fuck this up. It felt too important.

Price was left with no choice but to consult professionals.

“Surprise party,” Soap said gleefully, chucking his playing cards onto the coffee table. “In th’ hanger, we invite him over tae ‘discuss an op’,” Soap lifted his fingers to emphasise the spoken quotation marks, “get Laswell tae send the invite.”

Gaz nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, then he won't suspect anything - oh, oh, I've got Farah's number, we can get her in on it. She’ll know if he’ll want anyone else, and… uh, you know, we’ll get clearance.”

“Right,” Price leaned back, arms folded over his chest. “So, what… we need food, and cake.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said, squinting. “And booze. Gaz an’ I'll sort the logistics, and ye jus’ need tae sort the pressie.”

“We’re on it, sir. Leave it to us.”

The present. Price could do that. No worries.

Two days later, he stared down at the forty item long Amazon wishlist he had titled “Operation Black Hawk” and had no idea what to get. Something that walked the line of funny but sentimental, that said ‘you’re hot as fuck but I'm not desperate but I absolutely wank over you in the shower’.

“Fuckin Christ,” Price whispered at this office ceiling, slouched deep in his chair. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to quiet but for thoughts of Nik. Think, think.

So many conversations, ice tinkling against glass, low chuckles and borish jokes; a warm palm on Price’s shoulder and a smile so toothy it was contagious. Endless memories of time at Nik’s side. There had been that summer Nik had come fishing with him. Just a few days of peace before they both returned to the field. Nik had snoozed through most of it, exhausted by their previous mission, but in between he had surveyed the lake, watching the insects flit across the water.

“Poprygun'ya strekoza, leto krasnoye propela,” Nikolai had murmured.

“Cursing my ancestors?” Price had asked before gulping down a mouthful of beer.

Nik had chuckled. “Nyet, captain. It means a playful prankish Dragonfly, the whole summer have sung out. It is a poem by Ivan Karylov. One of my favourites.”

“Yeah? What's it about?”

“It is a fable...”

“Oh bloody hell, not another Russian morality lesson.”

“Pssh, this is good one. You will like it,” Nik had sat up in his camping chair. “It is about a beautiful dragonfly who spends her summer dancing and resting, while the hardworking ant prepares. When winter comes, she begs the ant for help, but he refuses, because he worked hard and she did not.”

“Harsh but fair. Work hard, play hard, them’s the rules..”

“You see, I knew you would like it. You are an ant. You earn your rest. This,” Nik had gestured at fishing tackle, the camping equipment, and the lake, “is the fruit of your labour, and I am privileged to share it with you, my friend.”

“And I you, mate.”

They had knocked their bottles together and moments later one of Price’s reels had begun spinning out. By that point they'd drunk so much that landing the damn carp had left them both up to their knees in lake water, pissing themselves laughing on the bank. It had been both the worst and best fishing expedition of Price’s life.

Price opened his eyes in the present and grinned at the ceiling, digging his phone out of his pocket. He knew exactly what he was going to get Nik.

The rest of the week sprinted by quicker than a RAF pilot on his way to a champagne dinner, and before he knew it Price was standing on a rickety plastic chair hanging a bloody banner from a rusty nail high on the hanger wall.

“It's wonky, cap,” Gaz said just as Price was climbing down.

“I think you'll find your eyes are wonky, sergeant.”

“Of course, sir. I'll get that sorted.”

Price pressed his hands to the small of his back and glanced around at the preparations. The sergeants had done well. Soap had even managed to draft Simon in on the booze run and there was a healthy selection of spirits on the buffet table by the birthday cake. It was a Colin Caterpillar from Marks and Spencers, one of Nik's favourite shops to visit when he was in the UK, with a joke candle stuck in the top that he wouldn't be able to blow out. Soap's idea.

The majority of Chimera had turned up to mark the occasion, as had a few faces Price recognised from previous ops with other organisations and task forces. Soap had said a few didn't quite pass the bar for security clearance, which wasn't surprising.

It was just as Gaz and Soap were bickering over the playlist that they heard the telltale drum of helicopter blades beat overhead. “Places, places!” Soap crowed from the hanger door, slamming the lights off. Booted feet scuttled across the dusty floor to find hiding places behind the vehicles and crates stacked around the edges, and Price joined Soap by the door.

Several minutes passed, and then… “And you have no idea where the weapons store is?”

“None at all, Nik. Price should have more intel,” Laswell replied. She had rendezvoused with Nik in Germany as part of the plan. Her wife was currently squatting behind a crate with Gaz.

“I hope so or this will be a difficult mission.”

Soap was practically vibrating at Price's shoulder as Nik rounded the corner. He slammed on the lights and everyone erupted from their hiding places on cue. Price didn't miss how Nik’s hand dropped for his sidearm, his eyes blown wide.

“Laswell, what is–?”

“Happy birthday, Nikolai,” she said, walking by to plant a kiss on her wife's cheek.

“I–” Nik glanced around the hanger as he accepted hugs from Gaz and Syd, handshakes from others, still bewildered. “How–?”

“It was th’ captain's idea,” Soap said, jutting his chin at Price. “He told us ye were hittin’ the big five-oh, old man. Ye not gettin’ off that easy.”

“Here, drink,” Simon grunted, pressing a glass into Nik's hand. “I'm startin’ the food, Johnny. I've been patient.”

“Aye, L.T. Bust open th’ sarnies. Farah, th’ ones on the left are halal - aye, bet.”

Nik was drawn into conversation briefly and Price hung back, glancing at the badly wrapped parcel he'd stashed on top of an empty oil container. He was so focused on his internal misgivings that Nik’s hand on his elbow made him startle. “Oi, give me a bloody heart attack…”

“You did this?”

“MacTavish and Garrick did this,” Price said.

Nik, who knew that the 141 did nothing without Price's express permission, grinned toothily. They stood in silence as he surveyed the many faces scattered around the hanger, some shoving sandwiches in their faces while others swigged from freshly open bottles. “I… have never had a birthday party before.”

“What? Not even as a kid?”

Nik shrugged one shoulder. “Nyet, it was not a… priority.” He looked back at Price, dark eyes heavy with something complex and unreadable. “Thank you.”

Price swallowed and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “You're uh… you're welcome, I… got you something. But, uh…” Before he could wuss out, Price grabbed the poorly wrapped parcel and shoved it into Nik's hands. “Happy birthday.”

Nik set his glass aside. “Your wrapping skills are…”

“Bloody fantastic.”

“...unique.”

“I'll take it.”

Nik huffed a laugh as he tore the brown paper away and flipped the book over in his hands. Price was relieved to see his face brighten. “Aesop’s fables. Captain, this is beautiful…”

To be fair, it was a damn pretty book. The hardcover was illustrated with the animals from the fables, the pages edged in gold, and the inside cover was patterned. You know… posh. And then Nik found the second part, tucked about a quarter of the way through. It was a photograph from their fishing expedition. A rough selfie, with half a fish head in shot where Nik was trying to display their catch, and Price’s face smeared with mud from where he had stumbled onto the bank.

Nik's eyes lingered on it, his fingertips brushing over their grinning faces, and he swallowed.

Price panicked. “I'm sorry, it's shit, I'll uhm–”

Nik pulled him into an embrace that crushed the air from his lungs. There was definitely a stutter in Nik’s chest, and Price wrapped his arms around him in return. If he happened to turn his nose into Nik's neck, and Nik happened to press his face a little closer, then that was fine. More than fine.

Price's toes curled in his boots, his fingers tightened in Nik’s shirt, the aching in his chest becoming that much harder to ignore. “You alright?”

“Da,” Nik said tightly. “I just need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Price murmured, closing his eyes as he cradled Nik against him. He didn't mark the time, happy to revel in the warmth of the solid body in his arms, and the smell of Nik's skin, pressed so close Price could feel the thrum of his heartbeat.

When Nik finally pulled away, slightly reddened eyes lingered on Price’s lips before turning to the rest of the party, who were doing a shitty job of pretending they hadn't all been watching. “Later, I would… like to spend some time with you.”

Price didn't want to examine the heat under his skin too closely, lest it be entirely misplaced. “Course.”

“Nik, get over ‘ere tae blow th’ oot before Ghostie eats yer cake’s face!”

Nik tucked his book under his arm and walked over to the buffet table with Price to a horrifically off-key rendition of ‘happy birthday’. Once Nik had worked the candles out, flicking them at Soap with a loud Russian cuss, festivities descended, as they usually did on base, into raucous drinking games and whatever the sergeants decided passed for dancing. Simon lost the Ring of Fire and had to down the filthiest pint Price had ever seen in his life, Laswell thrashed them all at beer pong and Gaz tried to teach Farah how to do the worm. As far as fiftieth birthday parties went, it definitely beat out the village hall knees up.

Later, when the majority of the party had slunk off to dark corners, fallen asleep where they sat or retired in good order, Nik pulled his captain back into his arms and kept him there until the sun rose. Except, this time, they did a damn sight more than talk.

[thedropsofblood]

I love reading a platonic yandere family with a reader who's completely different from them

Idk if this was a request or not but here we are

You'd say your family was fairly normal? Well, as normal as a mafia family can be. You had wonderful parents and two loving caring older siblings. Wonderful, right? Yeah, no, you wish it was.

Your brother was hugging you and whining about how you shouldn't get too close to your friends, meanwhile you ignored him and paid attention to your homework. Your sister looked at the scene with a frown before dragging your brother away, stealing his position and refusing to let go of you instead. They were like cats and dogs around you, constantly bickering and only shutting up once you've actually gotten mad at them.

Meanwhile your father sat on the couch a little away from you, reading his newspaper and smoking a freshly wrapped cigar. Your mother sat between your father and you, occasionally helping you out with your homework but mainly distracted by her phone. Despite all their flaws, in your opinion, they were the best family you could've asked for. You thought to yourself as you closed your textbook, leaning in to rest your head against your mother's shoulder.

You really needed a nap, especially after a rough day at school.

What you didn't know was how they acted when you're not around.

"I knew something was wrong with my poor, poor baby..." Your mother muttered after moving your jacket up to reveal your bruised arm. Your sister frowned, leaning over to look at the mark before saying with a rather harsh tone. "Are they getting bullied? Dad, did you say brother would keep an eye on them at school What about the principal? Didn't you buy that old hag out already?!"

"Your brother was preoccupied today. He needed to catch up on his missions, don't blame him for something out of his control." Your father sets down his newspaper, his attention moving over to the bruise on your arm and taking a deep breath of the cigar. "I'll deal with the hag later. Seems like she's forgotten the only reason why she's still alive."

"The death of her entire bloodline wouldn't make up for our sunshine's bruise now wouldn't it, father?" Your brother barked back, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. He was already in a bad mood today because of his missions, this was oil on top of the already burning flame. Your mother silently nodded, her gloved hand grazing over your bruise as if she just got robbed of her most precious jewellery. No, this was even worse than her entire net worth being taken away and burnt at the stake, they injured her entire livelihood, the only ray of sunshine in their corrupted blood stained world, they deserved much worse than just death.

Her hand subconsciously tightens around your arm, causing your sister to grip onto her wrist and pull her hand away before she accidentally wakes you up, gaining a sigh of relief and gratitude from your mother.

Your father meanwhile was rubbing his temples from a supposed headache. He spoke up roughly, eyes narrowing at you as he brushed his hair out of his face. "What if we just homeschool them then? If you're all so persistent about keeping them safe?"

"Do you remember the last time we tried that? They sneaked out and almost got assassinated by your old rival, dad." Your sister frowned, tightening her hug around your torso and nuzzling her head into your chest, all to the dismay of your other family members.

Your brother seemingly had an idea that made his eyes sparkle. He said enthusiastically, hands on his hip as if he just made a major discovery. "What if we just buy out an entire school and make them move into it? It wouldn't be that expensive, just a few millions, and our sunshine will be completely safe."

Despite your brother often having horrible ideas, this, somehow, seemed surprisingly reasonable. Your mother crossed her legs as she thought about it, before giving a nod towards your father, who puffed out the smoke and muttering. "I'll assign it then, honey. Please, treat our sunshine bruises for me, I'll notify you when it's done." Your father held your mother's hand and placed a kiss on it before grabbing his phone, walking out to make a phone call.

Your mother smiled before standing up and setting you to lay down on the sofa, making your sister let go of you, albeit hesitantly. She puts a thin blanket over your sleeping body and a pillow underneath your head, before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Come on, mom. We have a hag to take care of." Your brother said, sending your mother a glare, which she returned right back to him, causing him to look away to pack up his firearms, preparing for his upcoming with his sister. Your mother sighed, following behind them, her gaze lingering on your sleeping body for a moment before quickly setting off.

No matter how little they get along with each other, they can at least try to get along for the sake of your happiness.

A/N: This was so rough but I live laugh love through it 💔

[merbear25]

Needing release

You've found your way into the Cross Guild's heart. How you've come to entrance them, they haven't figured out yet―swirling thoughts of your grace, strength, smile, and your body, which was the focus of tonight's events.

CW: NSFW, MDNI!! gn!reader, male masturbation

Cross Guild

pt. 1, pt 2, pt.3

Mihawk: They'd entrusted missions to you in faith that you would deal with them swiftly and without a hitch. With each one, you continued to prove yourself to them, earning their respect. Complaining, tardiness, and lack of an attention to detail: none of these would ever be used to describe you. You were now understood to be one of the best.

Mihawk answered when you phoned in. You were calling to confirm your completion of the mission you'd been given. Everything went smoothly, like you expected it would. Hearing you explain each of the properties they'd find useful, caught him off guard this time. The self-assurance lacing your voice was making him fidget in his chair―trying to readjust.

Even after hanging up, the confidence coating your words were ringing in his mind, worming their way deeper into his imagination. Gripping at his thighs, he looked down at the enlarged bludge in between them.

Living in a massive castle has its advantages; taking advantage of one of these, he released his aching length and thrusted into it more enthusiastically than he'd anticipated. Thinking of how bold yet competent you were with each task was a massive turn-on.

Imagining you kneeling in front of him, your eyes on his, and your mouth open and ready for him, made it nearly impossible to keep his load from shooting onto the rug. What a waste he thought to himself having wanted to see you making better use of it.

Crocodile: Having you around was proving to be useful; you were capable, dependable, and were always ready to take on a new challenge. You'd grown on him over the time you'd spent with them.

He'd given you an assignment to gather further intel on; expecting nothing less than a thorough job, he bestowed this responsibility onto one of their best―you. The time for turning in such a vital one was drawing near, and as he was waiting for you, he took a long drag of his cigar.

Moments before the deadline was up, you came hurling into his office; you were beaming with excitement from your discoveries, and without hesitation, you began giving him the run-down.

Despite the information you were disclosing being genuinely interesting, he noticed you looked different. The outfit you'd chosen that day suited you nicely―the fabric sinched around each curve of your body perfectly. The flattering outfit was causing his mind to wander, leading him to excuse you from his office. He couldn't allow one of his employees catch him pitching a tent.

He locks the door behind you and sits back on the couch. The troublesome rush of seeing you in such flattering clothes was too prominent in his mind―he needed to relieve himself of such images.

Invisioning you standing before him, he began stroking himself. The way you'd undress for him, giving a stiptease: the image he had of you was already pushing him over the edge. Coating his own hand in sperm, he fantasized his grip being that pretty mouth of yours.

Buggy: He couldn't understand you. Even after you'd spent a considerable amount of time around them, he still couldn't figure out why you were as kind as you were to him. And even after he'd thrown numerous things at you to bate you into showing your true colors, you never broke.

Letting the warm water fall on him, he let himself get lost in his thoughts. The way you laughed at his jokes, how he found comfort in your tender words: these were the things about you he didn't think he could ever understand, yet he wasn't entirely complaining.

Thinking how lovely you looked when you laughed―showing him a genuine smile was something truly beautiful. The way you pressed up against him when you did it too. You looked breathtaking that day.

The last one was lingering, showing to be a rather favored memory. In that moment, he was okay with not fully understanding you. All he wanted now was to return the feeling you'd given him.

Fantasizing you pressed up behind him, guiding your hands along his body was making it difficult to hold back his moans. Closing his eyes, the warmth of the droplets running down his body could easily be replaced by light touches from you: dancing across his skin, trailing further down, reaching his full length. Visualizing you reaching around to be the one to guide him through his climax had him seeing stars. He let out each bit into the drain.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Bonus content!

This is just a scene that I couldn't fit into the previous chapters but I wanted to treat you guys for being so enthusiastic over the last update 💕

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking,

Masterpost

There was a pale pink box sitting on the bed when you got out of the shower. Nikolai always found a way to make your jaw drop. It was a gorgeous lingerie set. Black silk with sheer tulle and blue-pink beaded embroidered flowers. Bra, panties and garter with matching stockings. He left the price tag on. You didn't even know a bra could cost almost a thousand pounds.

He was waiting for you in the living room, lounging on the couch, cigar in hand.

"You dance at the club, no?"

"Sometimes." It wasn't your strongest talent. You could shake ass when needed but you weren't a big moneymaker on stage like other girls.

"Want you to dance for me." He fiddled with the remote, dimming the lights and turning on music. "Come here."

You stood between his knees, trying to sway to the beat the best you could. He had a small smile as you turned to sway your hips and ass in his face. He looked more amused than turned on.

"I'm sorry." You stopped. You shifted between your feet. "I don't really do this part."

"You are not good, that is true." He stuck a finger under the bottom elastic of your bra. "Still pretty."

He snapped the elastic, "On your knees, over the coffee table."

Nik kept you between his legs on the couch, panties wet with his spend dripping out of you. You traced his tattoos. You wanted to ask about them. You'd heard a lot of Russian tattoos had deeper meanings.

"Kolya?"

"hmm?"

"What does this say?" you asked, underlining the Cyrillic letters on his chest. He huffed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's my mother's name. She killed herself when I was young."

"I'm sorry." You kissed his left pec. It was easy to forget that you both existed outside of this building. That you each had lives before this. You could guess all the horrible things he'd done to get to where he was, you never thought about all the horrible things that could have happened to him.

His face didn't betray any emotion as usual. He had two stripes of white in his beard, just faint lines. How old he was, you supposed you'd never know. Old enough to be born in a country that no longer existed, watch the wall crumble and all the chaos that followed. You dragged your fingers across the lines.

He chuckled and caught your hand, pulling your fingers into his mouth to nip at them.

"Don't remind me I'm old." His teeth skated across your knuckles.

"I don't think you're that old." He raised an eyebrow at you. "Most old men don't leave bruises on my hips like you."

He laughed, tugging you flush against him.

"Keep talking like that and I'll never send you back." A flutter of hope. Nik was a deeply awful man and you'd come to understand that what he did to Marcus was a show of restraint. He was the snake in the garden, Hades in the underworld, a fae - dangling fruit in your face hoping you'll take the bait.

He'd never let you go if you did.

This is pretty unedited but I felt like I owed you guys once again.

[discordantwritings]

Discipline (Crocodile x Reader)

Warnings: Fem! Reader, mean dom Crocodile, bratty Reader, spanking, fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, PiV sex, inappropriate use of Crocodile’s hook, creampie

WC: 4K

Summary: Despite your dad’s warnings you decide to go have some fun at Rain Dinners. Sir Crocodile decides to keep an eye out for you- but he’s not expecting just how unreceptive you’d be towards his help. Seems like he will have to teach you some lessons…

Notes: I just like when he’s mean ok

Tagging: @keiva1000 @fanaticsnail

“Are you sure you want to come? You know how dangerous some of these people are…” Your father’s worried voice causes you to hesitate on your way out the door.

“Dad, it’s not like anyone would hurt me, they know I’m your daughter. And besides- you never let me have fun I just want to play at the casino! I probably won’t interact with any of your contacts.” You do your best not to be annoyed with him, he’s well meaning but overly paranoid- although that’s probably why he’s been so successful in dealing with so many pirates.

“Just- promise me you you’ll do your best to keep safe alright?” He looks at you with earnest that melts any budding defiance you had.

“Of course.” You wrap your arms around your dad’s shoulders and pull him into a tight hug.

“Alright kiddo let’s get going.” He squeezes you once before letting go and opening the door for you, letting you lead the way to Rain Dinners.

You knew it was going to be loud but nothing could prepare you for the overlapping sounds of slot machines, roulette tables, cards, and yelling all coming together in a wall of noise. While off putting for a second you quickly adjusted- the loud hustle and bustle was just what you wanted to experience. Bouncing on the balls of your feet you give your dad a thumbs up before bounding off further into the casino, ignoring the worry on his face.

You quickly find yourself at a blackjack table- the only game you have some confidence in your ability to not lose all your berry immediately- and strike up friendly conversation with the people already at the table. You’re not ignorant of the way some of the men lean in when you talk, the way the man sitting next you tried to guide your choices. The attention was exactly what you wanted, giggling as you played dumb and let the man on your right explain to you that you should always double on an eleven as if you didn’t know that already. The attention rode the line on smothering- which is why you noticed when everyone suddenly went cold and glued their eyes to the table.

“Find another table.” A gruff voice sounded to your right and for a second you think it’s directed at you but when you see the man sitting next to you scramble away without his chips you realize what’s going on.

Sir Crocodile, owner of Rain Dinners and notorious pirate slides into the seat next to you, golden hook absently counting the chips left on the table. You can’t help but stare at him, broad shoulders pushing into your space and imposing presence making everyone else at the table slowly collect their chips and leave.

“Don’t tell me I’m getting kicked out already.” You smile up at him, already mapping the features of his handsome face.

“No, certainly not. You’re a valuable customer.” There’s a twinge of sarcasm to his voice that has you raising your eyebrow.

“Now don’t sound so enthusiastic.” You watch as he slides a bet forward and you do the same, letting the dealer get the round started.

“Your father called in a favor.” The dealer is showing a ten and you frown at your sixteen.

“Do I want to know what my dad did to get a favor from you?” You joke but Crocodile is still gravely serious.

“No.” Of course he has twenty in front of him so he waves and leaves you to pick your move.

“I’ll hit.” You tap the table and the dealer flips a card- a five.

Crocodile scoffs next to you as the dealer flips over his own seventeen. You shoot him a look as he lights an expensive cigar.

“You don’t hit on sixteens? It’s statistically even, one way isn’t better than the other.” You explain yourself but Crocodile just shrugs you off.

“I just don’t like seeing berry leave my casino.”

“Well I’m not leaving yet.” You slide another bet forward and Crocodile does the same.

“I doubt playing with me is the thrilling night out you wanted, you should just take your small winnings and get out of here.” As he does his best to dismiss you you realize exactly what your dad has done.

“He called in a favor for you to be my babysitter tonight didn’t he?” Crocodile rolls his eyes and you know you’re right. “He’s so… sometimes I don’t think he realizes I’m an adult.”

“Barely.” He scoffs and you glare back.

“More than barely. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to- I’m perfectly fine in a casino by myself.” You focus back on the table as you win another hand.

“I can’t imagine you weren’t aware of the way the sharks were circling you.”

“I was. And I was in control of the situation. I wanted the attention.” As you talk Crocodile pauses, turning slightly to face you more.

“You don’t realize how dangerous most of these people are.” You feel like you’re being talked down to like a child.

“What? And being alone with you is so much better. You’re not going to hurt me because it would ruin your relationship with my dad. The rest of them would do the same.” You stare him down but he just laughs at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, no one wants to hurt you. Those men wanted to take advantage of you.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s not taking advantage of me if I want it.”

You watch as his eyes scan your face for a second before a grin settles on his face. “Your dad was right to have me watch over you.”

“I highly doubt you would care enough to stop me from going off and doing whatever- or whoever I want.” You fire back, blackjack game long forgotten.

“If you had done that before we had this conversation you would have been right. But now? I think you need to learn some manners.”

“Manners? Excuse me?” You can’t even get in his face, his figure towers over you even as you both sit.

“Yes, manners. Your father gets a very powerful man to protect you for the night and this is how you treat that kindness? With a bratty attitude?” You’re getting under his skin, his fist balled in his lap evidence of his waning patience.

“You’re stopping me from having a good night out. I think I have a little right to be pissed.” You say, dodging the probably appropriate brat label.

“You really don’t know how those disgusting men would treat you.”

“Oh- I am fully aware. Didn’t you hear me before? I want to be taken advantage of.” You push yourself up a bit to get some more height as you lower your voice. “I want one of those disgusting men to take me home. Well, honestly I’d settle for one of the very nice bathrooms here. Oh I bet there are some nice secluded alleyways around here… I don’t mind a brick wall if I’m being fucked well enough.”

The vulgarity of your words catches him off guard for a second and you let a smug smile come over your face- only for it to be quickly wiped away as Crocodile literally throws you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck!” You yell as he starts walking somewhere. “Put me down you piece of shit!”

Your objections fall on deaf ears as you’re hauled into an elevator and taken to some higher floor. You huff and stop yelling as he gets off the elevator and practically throws you onto a plush couch. When your brain orients itself you find yourself in a very nice office- one you quickly put together is Crocodile’s.

“What am I doing here?” You ask as he walks to his desk and sits behind it, already getting out paperwork.

“This is where I can keep an eye on you so you don’t do anything stupid tonight.” He explains like it’s a basic fact.

“Seriously? You can just kick me out of your casino instead of putting me in this weird time out.”

“I told your father I would watch after you tonight. As much as I want to kick you out I wouldn’t be holding up my end of the deal.”

“Perfect. Great. Whatever.” You pull your legs up on the couch and lay down. “So tomorrow night-“

“You’re not allowed back.”

“You could be at least a little fun.”

“I’m not really known for my levity.”

“Clearly.”

The room falls silence except for the scratch of his pen and the occasional shuffle of paper. You let your gaze drift over to him as he works. His large coat was draped over the back of his chair, leaving him in just his vest and button up shirt. You could probably watch the way his muscles subtly flex under the tight fabric of his shirt for hours. And so you let yourself watch, rolling over and perching your head up to at least give yourself some entertainment. You get probably 15 minutes of this before Crocodile’s eyes meet your own and his brows furrow.

“What?” You ask, smug smile on your face once again.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” You play innocent, head tilting slightly.

He doesn’t play into your game. “Staring.”

“Ok so I can’t play in the casino and I can’t even look at you so what am I supposed to do? Just lay here and stare at the ceiling?”

“Yes.”

You groan and dramatically flop onto your back. “Fucking impossible.”

“Well, when you act like a child you get treated like one.” He comments and that causes you to sit upright.

“Really? This again?”

“You’re throwing a temper tantrum so, yes.”

You get up and stalk over to his desk, standing on the opposite side and slamming your hands down, which in hindsight was not helping your case. “Let me leave.”

“No.” He ignores you and continues on his paperwork.

You walk around his desk and are about to rip some of the paper off of it but Crocodile is fast and the point of his hook is at your neck before you can blink. Adrenaline rushes though your veins as you fight to stay still as the cold metal threatens to pierce your skin. Crocodile hasn’t even gotten up from his seat, simply turned just enough so his hook can reach you. His gaze is cold as he looks you up and down and you feel fear creep up your spine.

“Do you know what I would have done to you if your father wasn’t a close contact of mine?” He asks, voice even.

“Kill me?” You guess, given the deadly weapon a few inches from ripping open your throat.

“Oh, no.” He stands up, moving slow and deliberately so his body towers over you and cages you against his desk with the point of his hook still at your throat. “I would have fucked this bratty attitude out of you on that blackjack table.”

Fear quickly bleeds into arousal, warming your skin and stomach. The power he holds over you is absolute there’s not a single doubt in your mind he could and would kill you- and for some reason that made you want him more. You test how much you can move, leaning back into his desk with both your arms behind you for support. The hook follows you but the movement doesn’t draw any punishment. Looking into his eyes you use your support to push yourself up to sit on the desk, already short dress riding further up your thighs. You watch his gaze dart down to your legs for a second and you know you’ve won.

“In front of all those people?” You press your neck gently into the point of his hook. “Took you for someone a little more private.”

“No one would dare look.” His hook drags upwards and settles under your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact.

You don’t move your head but you open up your thighs, the fabric of your dress bunched up where your ass sits on the desk. He keeps eye contact with you but you know he’s felt your movement as he steps forward, his large thighs now keeping your knees apart.

“You really think you can break my resolve?” He asks, voice low and gravely.

“I think I can convince you that you’re a very smart man who knows that I’ll keep this a secret from my father. Or…” You hum. “That this already looks very very bad for you. I could run down to my dad right now and say you… debauched me. Everyone already saw you take me over your shoulder and up to your very private-“

“That’s it.”

Before you can react Crocodile grabs your hips and forces you to turn, chest pressed against his desk and ass displayed for him. He shoves your dress up to your hips, fully revealing the incredibly small thong you wore tonight. His hook presses between your shoulder blades as his hand rubs over your ass, grabbing handfuls occasionally.

“Maybe I can teach you a lesson.” His hand stills and you look over your shoulder at him.

“What? Gonna make me beg-“

Your words are cut off by a harsh slap to your ass, the sting of skin on skin making your grip tighten on the wood of the desk. His hand rubs over the red mark forming as you see and feel him lean over you.

“I am going to make you beg. That smart little mouth is going to be doing nothing but pleading with me.” One of his fingers finds its way under the strap of your thong around your hip, pulling it up until you think it’s going to break before letting go and letting it snap against your skin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get off if you learn to be obedient.”

“Don’t you think for a second you fucking reptile-“ You hear the spank before you feel it and you have to bite down on your cheek as the pain blooms out from the impact.

“You can call me sir and nothing else.” He growls, pinching the spot he just hit causing tears to well up in your eyes.

“Fuck you.” You spit back, only to earn another swift hit that further presses you against the desk.

“That’s not how you get what you want.” His fingers go beneath the strap of your thong again, this time pulling the thin fabric over your crotch. “Although by the looks of it I’d say this is what you want.”

Your face burns red as you realize that he can see how soaking wet you are, slick drenching the scrap of fabric between his fingers. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Still so much attitude…” He sighs.

He pulls on the fabric until it snaps, ripping it free from your body. His foot kicks at one of yours, forcing your legs wide suddenly. There’s another swift hit to your ass that has you swearing under your breath but his hand lingers, fingers dipping between your thighs. You moan as a thick finger shoves its way inside you, easily slipping in with how wet you are. A second finger stretches you open and with how worked up you’ve been the whole night it’s not surprising that you already feel so close to your orgasm. You press your hips back to get him deeper but just as you feel like you’re getting close his fingers leave you.

“No! Fuck!” You try to stand up but his hook shoved you right back into the desk.

“What? Did you really think I was going to let you cum?” His hand continues to grope your ass, dragging your slick across your skin.

“You’re a piece of shit.” You mumble and he laughs.

“This could all be over. You could just be a good girl and I’d let you cum on my fingers or my cock… but you keep choosing to be a brat.” His fingers dip between your folds again. “You’ll come around eventually.”

Now you had a goal, if you could just get there faster before Crocodile realizes you’ll have beaten him. As his fingers slowly work into you you do your best to will yourself to orgasm faster but he can feel the way your walls react and is able to pull out again before you get too close. You yell as Crocodile chuckles at you, reveling in your suffering.

“It’s so easy. C’mon now.” His fingers press into you again and you feel like you’re going mad.

This cycle repeats until you lose track of how many times your orgasm has been ripped away from you. He can’t keep his fingers in you for more than a few seconds before you’re about to orgasm now, your body on edge and strung out. You’re not sure what’s the last straw- but you break.

“Please.” Your voice is hoarse as you plead quietly.

“What’s that?” Crocodile stops his movements and leans in closer to you.

“Please!” You repeat, louder.

“Not quite- I know you know better.” His hook rubs between your shoulder blades.

“Please, sir.”

But just when you thought that would be enough, he moves the goalpost. “Much better, but I know you could do just a little more. You had all these vulgar words before… where did those go? Are you suddenly shy?”

There’s still a small part of you that wants to fight back at those words, but you’ve come so far at this point that the bratty voice inside is easily snubbed out. You look over your shoulder at him, face stained with tears and swallow your pride.

“Please let me cum sir. On your fingers, on your cock, fuck I’ll take your hook just please-“ You plead and you’re afraid it’s not enough when he pulls back and sits down in his office chair.

You wait a few seconds before you slowly stand up straight and look back at Crocodile. He’s sitting with his legs wide in his large chair, hands slowly working at the buttons on his pants that strain against his large bulge. You watch, entranced, as the buttons open and he drags the waistband of his boxers down under his cock to free it. When his movements pause you look up at his face and he smiles, a single finger beckoning you over.

Your wobbly legs manage to carry you the short distance and he guides you to straddle his lap. His hand moves his cock so his tip drags against your folds and you move your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself. When he stops moving you take the initiative to slowly lower yourself onto his cock, both of you moaning as he fills you up. Taking him would have been a struggle if he hasn’t already been edging you for god knows how long, but even so you feel his girth stretch your walls close to their limit.

“Fuck- see? Being a good girl is so much better isn’t it?” His hand firmly grips your hip while his hook rests behind your back.

“It’s- it’s nice.” You relent, but wiggle your hips to encourage him to move.

“Just nice?” His head tilts and he has a smug grin on his face.

“What do I have to say to get you to move?” You snap back, brattiness threatening to rear its head again.

“Oh, sweetie. You wanted this so bad, you’re going to do the work yourself.” He leans back into the chair, hand now loose on your hip.

“But-“ You start to protest but he cuts you off.

“You still need to make up for your attitude. Now, be a good girl and fuck yourself on my cock.”

You want to be angry. You want to smack that smug look off his face. You want to spit in his eyes and leave him here. But more than any of that some deep traitorous part of you wants to be a good girl for him. That maybe making him cum too would earn you some respect or praise. And most of all you just need an orgasm.

Your thighs are already burning as you raise yourself up, you have to use the support of his shoulders as you try not to let the drag of his cock take away your little remaining control over your legs. Dropping yourself back down is a relief in more ways than one- your muscles getting a short break while his cock hits deep inside you. Just one thrust has you needing a break, leaning forward to press your forehead to his.

“That’s it-“ His thumb rubs over your hip in a surprisingly soft move. “You’re so close already, I can feel you tightening around me.”

You nod wordlessly as you raise yourself up again, mouth hanging open as you savor every inch of him. When you drop yourself down you hold yourself there, grinding your hips down, chasing the sensations you need to bring you over the edge.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and cum all over my cock?” He asks, and those filthy words send your orgasm crashing over you.

The release after so much denial is overwhelming, stars swimming in your vision as your head collapses on Crocodile’s shoulder. You’re confident you’ve made a mess of his very expensive pants but you’re also sure you don’t care. Crocodile doesn’t give you a second to rest though.

His strong hand maneuvers you around, twisting you until your back is to his chest and your legs are over top of his. You make a noise of confusion, unable to form words, but are quickly shushed.

“I’ll do the work this time- don’t worry.” You can still hear the that smug smile but you suddenly don’t care when he starts thrusting up into you.

The new angle paired with the fact you were still feeling your orgasm has you practically screaming, reaching up and behind you to tangle your fingers in his dark hair. Every rough thrust hits your bruised ass, sparking new pain that you are learning you love.

“Fucking tight- see this is all you needed huh? A good fucking? Next time maybe I’ll get all those mean words out of your mouth by shoving my cock down your throat- shit- I feel how much you like that idea.” His arm is holding you tight against his chest as he says all these nasty things into your ear.

“Sir-“ Your body feels like it’s on fire, overheated, overstimulated, and every inch of his cock drains what’s left of you.

“I know baby-“ He coos, and you feel the cold metal of his hook trail on your thigh. “Just need you to cum one more time, get me off like a good girl-“

The outside curve of his hook travels up your thigh and finds your clit, the sensation of the hard cold metal unlike anything you’ve ever felt there. He presses down firmly as his thrusts become faster and less consistent and despite having cum just a few minutes ago you’re pushed over the edge to another orgasm. Crocodile isn’t far behind you, burying himself inside your contracting walls and cumming deep inside you.

The two of you sit there in silence, both catching your breath as you feel his cum slowly leak out of you. He still has you held close to his chest and you can’t help but relax back into his hold, back of your head resting on his shoulder.

“So…” You break the silence first. “Am I still banned from the casino?”

“As far as your father is concerned? Yes. But don’t worry, I’ll show you where the back entrance is.” His nose brushes against your neck as he speaks. “I’m sure you’ll need a lot more discipline to keep you in check.”

And despite how absolutely destroyed you feel, you think that’s exactly what you’ll need too.

[a-headless-angel]

What fragrances would the Hazbin Hotel cast wear?

Ever wondered what your favorite Hazbin Hotel character would smell like?

No? Well, too bad, because now you’re about to.

As a former fragrance enthusiast, someone who spent way too much time sniffing tiny paper strips at department stores, I’ve decided to use my expertise to answer the real questions: what perfumes and colognes would the Hazbin Hotel cast wear?

Some of these choices make sense and some are unhinged. Let’s begin this psychological warfare analysis.

First up:

Charlie – KILIAN I Don’t Need a Prince to Be a Princess

I Don’t Need a Prince to Be a Princess is basically marshmallows in a bottle: sweet, fluffy, and comforting, much like Charlie herself. The notes? Vanilla, benzoin, and a touch of green tea, making it smell like a hug wrapped in a bedtime story. It’s innocent yet oddly addictive.

Vaggie – CHANEL Chance Eau Tendre

CHANEL Chance Eau Tendre is the perfect fit for Vaggie. It’s fresh, clean, and perfect for someone with a sporty, no-nonsense personality. It smells like someone who will absolutely win an argument (and a physical fight). With crisp grapefruit, delicate jasmine, and a soft, musky base, this perfume has that effortless "I just stepped out of the shower" scent.

Alastor- Raid

Self-explanatory. I mean he could wear a high-class vintage cologne, but why bother when raid is more effective at clearing a room? He’ll occasionally use the lemon scented one though.

Husk – Nautica Pure Blue Toilette (Present Day) / Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille (Overlord Days)

There was a time when Husk smelled like expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and power. But now, he sprays himself with whatever cologne was cheapest at the gas station. Nautica Pure Blue is the olfactory equivalent of “I don’t give a f*ck” and “I lost a bet.”

Angel - Victoria’s Secret Bombshell

Now you may be asking yourself, why Victoria’s Secret Bombshell? because he IS the bombshell. It’s sexy, flirty, and lingers in a way that makes everyone wonder, Why does it smell like sin and bubblegum in here? Subtle? Absolutely not. But then again, neither is he.

Sir Pentious - Axe body spray

Once saw an ad that Axe attracts all the ladies. Spoiler: it did not.

Nifty- Moschino Fresh Couture

Niffty picked this perfume for one reason and one reason only: the bottle looks like a cleaning spray. That’s it. That’s the entire reason.

Moschino Fresh Couture comes in a Windex-style bottle, which speaks to Niffty on a spiritual level. She has no idea what notes are in it. She just loves the bottle. And honestly? That’s reason enough.

Mimzy - Chanel No. 5

Chanel No. 5, the scent of a bygone era (a.k.a the grandma perfume). Classic, timeless, and so potent that if you stand too close, you will get a headache. Mimzy doesn’t apply perfume, she marinates in it. It’s all part of her charm (and why you can smell her coming from two blocks away).

Bonus: The Vees

Valentino – Dior Sauvage

Ah yes, the classic f-boy fragrance. The red flag in a bottle. The scent of toxicity, well-practiced apologies, and knowing exactly what to say to get what he wants. Dior Sauvage is the cologne equivalent of a smooth-talking incubus in designer shoes, and Valentino wears it like armor.

Why? Because it works. Because no matter how many times people warn about the guy who wears this, it still reels them in. It’s fresh, spicy, and undeniably attractive. The bergamot and pepper hit first, clean and crisp, tricking people into thinking he’s a gentleman.

But as long as he smells good all is well…right?

Velvette - Versace Crystal Noir (daily) / Baccarat Rouge 540 (special occasions)

Velvette is the queen of fragrances. Her collection is massive, categorized by mood and outfit. She could wear anything, but her daily signature? Versace Crystal Noir. It is dark feminine in a bottle. But for special occasions, she swaps to Baccarat Rouge 540. It’s rich, luxurious, and smells like money and power.

Unfortunately, Baccarat Rouge 540 has influenced Hell so much that now every nightclub, high-end lounge, and wannabe influencer reeks of it. What was once an elite, intoxicating fragrance has become so overused that Velvette can barely step into a club without gagging. If she smells it on a random low-level demon trying to act important? Immediate side-eye.

She started the trend. Now she regrets it.

Vox - Versace Eros

2nd red flag fragrance.

And there you have it folks, the Hazbin Hotel cast in fragrance form.