❛❛ So. Who do you belong to now? ❜❜
❛❛ Holy shit, Princess. Quit bustin' my balls and do it already. ❜❜
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WARNING: NSFW Content and Images Ahead! CLICK TO VIEW CONTENT
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Occupation: Acting Sheriff of the Hickory Ridge Police Department whilst the old man is in the hospital.
Eye Color: Hazel.
Hair Color and Length: Dirty to a lighter blond, depending on how much time he's spent in the sun. He tends to easily fluctuate between short to medium length hair, but for the moment, he has it medium length and often likes to slick it back or to the side.
Build: Cifer Calaway isn't a small man. Towering over most people at 7 '2, it's quite easy to spot the Sheriff coming from a mile away; if not hear his boots hitting the ground, considering he weighs close to 300 pounds. Cifer is proportionately built and muscled to match his height—his fitness habit he got from his time in the US Marine Corps. was impossible to shake. The officer keeps himself fit to make his job as a small town cop easier; that, and it makes taking care of his semi-remote place in the woods less arduous. Because of his work around the yard and his active, boots-on-the-ground lifestyle, the man's skin is usually sun-kissed in the spring and summer.
⌞╰┈➤⌝ NEXT
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The first thing he remembers is being held by an impatient, persnickety woman, dragged by the arm down some old hallway. From his earliest memories, Cifer Calaway was a nightmare child. Surrounded by other children, both older and younger than he was, he fought tooth and nail for the Nan to even look at him. Perhaps that was the root of his foul behaviour later in life, but considering Cifer doesn't give two shits about how anyone else sees him, he couldn't be fucked hard enough to dig into that. Growing up in a group home—an orphanage, or whatever else they called it—wasn't exactly easy, but it wasn't hard, either. They ate consistent, bland meals three times a day. The Nan taught them their numbers, letters, reading and writing. The large, rickety house was old, but from what Cifer could remember, it was part of some kind of compound straight outta the sixties.
It had furniture that could have been considered expensive in the sixties and plenty of space to run around, so Cifer never really complained. In fact, he wouldn't have to continue fighting for attention for long; he started growing immediately. He was big, even as a child; Cifer looked ten when he was only six or seven, despite him being a tangled mess of primarily limbs. Other kids looked up to him, commenting on how big and cool he was, and how he was good at everything. Or, you know, that's what he remembered, anyhow. He was sticking to it. Soon the Nan and the other adults took notice of how his clothes fit one day and were too small the next. From then on, getting people's attention was a breeze. They listened when he spoke, going so far as to actually look him in the eyes while they did.
Life was hard, but if he got hungry while he was growing, he could just fish for something by the ocean. He'd spent weeks looking at the old broken rods down by the rotting docks and figured out how to make a makeshift rod out of reeds, twine, and carved branches. He'd catch himself and everyone some snacks, cooking his prize over a fire as the sun went down and they were eventually forced to return home. It was then he picked up one of his most notorious habits—ugh, you're shit at this. Lemme do it. There was just something both frustrating and saddening about watching the little ones struggle to catch up to the bigger ones that drove Cifer to watch out for them. If something needed doing, Cifer was the one to do it. Even if nobody else realized it needed doing, or that he'd done it in the first place, it was still somehow his responsibility to care for his family when the Nan refused to.
It was obvious he was a leader, not a follower, and that got him into trouble with the older boys and the adults all the time. If he wasn't cracking his knuckles on some kid's face, he was getting his hands held under boiling water for not listening again. Or… shit. Those times felt so real, but if that actually had happened, he'd have scars, wouldn't he? Whatever. Cifer's memory around that place is hazy as hell. Anyway, when he wasn't fishing, keeping an eye on the kids, fighting or being punished somehow, he was curled up in the dusty crawl-space of an attic with an old book he'd found. Books were banned, but this place was huge and a few gems were bound to be missed. Cifer snapped it up as soon as he'd found it, putting everything he had into learning his letters properly so that he could find out what was written inside. The curiosity was killing him.
Turned out to be a fairy tale about a royal knight and his princess, her being whisked away in some hostile power grab by her uncle. On the verge of being forced to bed and marry him so he would take the throne from his dying brother, the King, the knight fought through his own countrymen, traitors, and foreign influences in order to find her and save her before it was too late. In the end, the Knight succeeded, but not after sacrificing almost too much just to get there in the first place. Cifer had thought it was stupid when he first read the entire story, but as he got older, he realized why the man would give up damn near everything for her. He loved her. She was his princess. He'd do anything for her, and she needed him.
Perhaps it was because that book had been his only form of outside entertainment and comfort, but he quickly grew obsessed with it, putting himself into the knight's shoes. One day, he thought, he'd save everyone from… ah. Something. It was hard to remember, actually. As Cifer grew older and got closer to aging out of the orphanage, his memory gets even worse; large chunks are missing towards the end, but he does recall the moment a bullet sank into the Nan’s forehead as she was reaching for a shotgun. Turns out, it wasn't a group home or an orphanage at all. It was some kind of psychotic cult, though Cifer hadn't experienced anything overtly nuts or bad that he could recall. Then again, he'd learned later that was how cults got you to stay in the first place.
Didn't matter now, he guessed. Cifer had been freshly 18, moved halfway across the state to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and had a small place of his own from the aid money he and the others got from the government. There was just one problem, though. He'd never been to school a day in his life, and now that he was on the outside, he had no goddamn clue what half of anything was, nor how he was supposed to act in public. The transition was brutal, long and mind-numbing, but by the time he reached twenty, he sort of had things figured out. You know. Aside from the whole homeless thing. Not exactly easy to snag a job without even grade school, apparently. And people tend to freak out over the whole ‘raised in a cult’ thing. If it weren't for a marine corps. recruiter happening to pass the massive boy by on the street, he probably wouldn't have made it through the next month.
Fun fact, the military doesn't give a shit about your past. Are you big and strong enough to kill a guy, deft enough to hold and shoot a gun, and fast enough to not get shot? Great news, you're hired. It was odd, taking home a paycheck just for working out and learning how to kill dudes efficiently whilst surviving actual torture, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Just had to look out for sneaky faggots trying to ruin your life by offering to suck your dick during basic and you were fine. So, for the next 10 years of his life, Cifer was engulfed in the life of a Marine. Hell, he was excited to get shipped out to Iraq to gank terrorists and chill the middle east the fuck down. He lost count of how many tours he did, spending 7 years in the debris and the dunes, killing anyone who was dumb enough to get in his way or piss him off.
It really was the best time of his life. If only he didn't have that massive chip on his shoulder and a hatred for authority, he might have been allowed to stay. Shit, Cifer disobeyed orders, sure, but he got what they'd needed done, so why'd they piss themselves over it? Yeah, he got hurt real bad in the process, but he lived, didn't he? The resulting argument exploded into violence, earning Cifer a nice, shiny dishonourable discharge and a one-way ticket back to America. If he felt out of place after he left the compound, he felt like a foreigner inside his own country when he came back from the war. Bitter, resentful and accustomed to social interaction with other male killing machines, it was impossible to make friends. Or get a fuckin’ job, considering nobody will hire a guy with 0 normal experience and a dishonourable discharge on his record.
It seemed like he was about to be homeless all over again; up until he heard back from the Hickory Ridge Police Department. Either they had the world's shittiest background checking guy, or they were just plain stupid, but Cifer wasn't about to waste time and let them change their minds. He agreed to the conditional job offer, drove his shitty, run-down pickup to the ass crack of Florida, heading to the police academy in Jacksonville before he graduated and made it to the butt fuck of nowhere. Hickory Ridge. The Sheriff didn't ask questions about Cifer's past, and he liked it much better that way. Considering his active combat experience, Cifer was being trained and fast-tracked to chief of the Police. After a year of street training and hands-on policing, Cifer was promoted to chief of police and began thriving with his newfound authority over everyone else.
It's been about 4 years since he moved to Hickory Ridge, and despite the fact that everyone hates his guts, Cifer has managed to get comfortable. Or, rather, as comfortable as a man can get with an old, improperly treated back injury, at any rate. It's not like he could report his pain to a doctor, either; as soon as someone actually took a look, he'd likely be declared physically unfit for his job. And considering this shithole is his last resort, Cifer wasn't about to compromise that in the slightest. He'd been scraping together what pain meds he could manage to swipe from evidence lockup, but it was too big of a risk if anyone actually came back there and counted shit. One of the reasons the Sheriff had hired him in the first place was the arrival and steady increase of the Cartel’s presence in Hickory Ridge.
So, under the guise of attempting to clean the streets, Cifer tracked and hunted a few potential drug trafficking targets. Eventually, he managed to cuff one. That was about 6 months ago. Cifer was desperate enough to cut the guy loose on a deal; drugs and whatever the hell I ask for, or I'm putting your dumb ass away for life. With a now steady supply of proper medication to manage his old war injury, Cifer has slipped into a more comfortable state as he continues to hunt the Cartel presence in their shitty little town. Perhaps he was more relaxed because he had some pretty little thing at his beck and call that he could bruise up and mess with whenever he felt like it, but that's besides the point.
The old bastard of a Sheriff was hospitalized about a month ago, forcing Cifer into a more political position than he'd ever wanted to take in the first place. Sitting around the office, talking to the media during press reports, talking with the mayor and attending council meetings, parties and fundraisers? Oh, fuck, no. He wasn't even voted into the position in the first place, and he wouldn't have been caught dead running for office. For some reason, the nurses won't let him in to see the old coot and he can't contact him for shit. Trapped in a cycle of on the ground work and late nights with paperwork, Cifer can't wait to pass the baton back to the old man and return to doing what he did best; knocking out cartel freaks for the fun of it.
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Traits, Hobbies and Other Info
Hobbies: Fishing, hunting, guns, cigars, fitness, MMA, Krav Maga, reading fiction novels, his job, making his own ammunition, healthy cooking, getting into physical altercations for no reason.
Likes: People, camping, survival techniques, being in control, whiskey, taking guns apart and putting them back together again, violence, exerting his authority on others, stories about knights and princesses, stories about heroes, Charlie—his new puppy, medieval fantasy and cooking.
Dislikes: Authority that's not his own, being told no, paperwork, politicians, bureaucracy, rules he didn't make up himself, being lied to, betrayal, other people hurting or exploiting innocents who can't defend themselves, terrorism, being called a faggot in any sense; including insinuations, animal abuse, loud and unexpected noises due to shell shock, waiting and having his skin dry out.
Strengths: Loyal, reliable, relentless, caring for others through actions and not words, cool under pressure and in life or death situations, observant, good at his job.
Weaknesses: Zero emotional education, angers at the drop of a hat, violent, crass, sexist, bigoted against certain religions, unable to communicate properly with others, lack of self control, never backs down from a challenge, doesn't consider his life important in certain situations, obsessive, abusive, constantly breeds misunderstandings, dominant and forceful, doesn't care too deeply about consent, possessive and violently jealous, undereducated about the world, often solves problems with violence, has a difficult time understanding other people's feelings, toxic and often cruel.
Massive, muscled, attractive, giant cock, pretty face; in Cifer’s eyes, he has it all. In reality, one can only be blessed with so many things before they hit a wall and shit goes downhill from there. Well, for Cifer in particular, he’s nothing short of cursed in the personality department. Sporting the emotional capacity of about a teaspoon, Cifer Calaway is far from the perfect being he envisions himself to be. Narcissistic to a fault and oozing a superiority complex, he genuinely believes himself to be better than literally everyone else, despite this most obviously not being the case. Cifer is haughty, smug, condescending, blunt, and cruel. He doesn't give a shit if the truth hurts your feelings. He’s going to say it anyhow. What’s the point in living in some kind of grand delusional state where you think everything’s fine when it’s not? What does that solve? Absolutely nothing. His own superiority delusions and hypocrisy aside, Cifer has a permanent, uncontrollable need to be looked up to; even worshipped, if he could at all manage it. Naturally, this makes it impossible for him to bend to someone else’s will without having a gun to his or someone else’s head and spelled disaster for his military career. Cifer and authority don’t vibe well together, unless said authority is his and remains firmly clamped in his grip.
Life would be easier if it was what he imagined it to be—everyone else on the planet was sheep and Cifer was the only wolf left. However, the world doesn’t revolve around him and he’s not the only leader type out there. Many people don’t appreciate being lorded over, making it damn near impossible to have any friends. Which brings us to an enormous source of Cifer’s own self-induced bitterness: the man is a social creature. He grew up surrounded by other children, many learning to follow him right from the start, looking up to and constantly rushing to his side whenever they saw him. But the real world wasn’t as simple as an isolated compound, and because of his hyper violent, angry and argumentative nature, people held a particular aversion to him wherever he went. It was easier in the military; he established himself on the pecking order pretty damn quick, and that was the end of it. He could make friends with connections far deeper than mere childhood closeness; they lived, died, mourned and fought for one another. They ate, slept, shit in the same destroyed buildings, camped out, got sick and invented stupid games together, watching out for each other and bonding in a way he couldn’t quite describe.
But that ripped apart in a matter of seconds. He got shipped back home and because of what happened, none of his military buddies ever spoke to him again. To be frank, Cifer Calaway is lonely beyond belief, spreading a thick sludge of sadness inside him that he’d never dare to admit aloud. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just… get along with other people? Couldn’t they see the only purpose in his life was to save, to protect others, to where he was willing to take bullets for them? How come nobody understood what he was trying to say, and why did it always come out so very fucking wrong? It was like he’s genuinely cursed or something. He was a man who needed and craved company more than anything else in this world, yet his own nature, uneducated stride and inability to communicate his feelings prevented him from forming even a single thread with anyone else. It wasn’t just that, though. It was legitimate hatred. People despised him, often going out of their way to try to get him fired or run out of town.
After an incident he doesn’t quite feel like thinking or speaking about, he moved out of town and into a run-down fix-me-up out near the west woods. The seclusion was easier. No way for other people to get dragged into his own mess, nor for things to get dangerous. Still, he somehow felt more lost than he ever had in his entire life; he remembered the advice from his veteran affairs psychologist—get a dog. He’d thought it was stupid at first, but in the end, he caved. After calling around to a bunch of shelters in Florida, Cifer found a little rottweiler pup up for adoption that was about to be euthanized for being unwanted. He booked the weekend off, shirked his duties onto this deputy and drove ten hours to pick the little guy up. When he arrived, they gave him the number of a vet who could crop his tail, but as soon as he laid eyes on that tiny, terrified creature, there was no goddamn way he was letting them chop his little tail off. After he got the wiggly creature home, Cifer named him Charlie.
He’s had Charlie secretly for about 4 months now, and the small creature is his only solace in life. He cares deeply for it, making sure he’s well taken care of above all else as soon as he gets home from work. For Cifer, he shows his care and affection through actions rather than words, which works far better with a pup considering they don’t speak a lick of English. If anything, Charlie has been better for his mental health than even the euphoria he gets from the pain meds when he occasionally takes too many to get high. Right now, Charlie is enough. But… well. Maybe the small creature might teach him a thing or two about caring for someone else enough to improve his relationships with others. Either way, he remains a massive, hot mess all the same.
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Kinks, Attributes & Tendencies
Kinks: Being called 'daddy', any levels of BDSM, violence, seeing bloodied or bruised individuals, being worshipped or praised, being challenged, he has an oral fixation and a thing for mouths, emasculating others, forcing others against their will, he got a thing for cum; Cifer wants his partners covered in his seed or having it burst out of them when he pulls out, brutalizing others and in general being a massive brute, begging him to stop, pretty people, people who are shorter than himself, a pain kink—both giving and especially receiving, public or risky sex, other men wearing women's clothing, people displaying fear or attempting to get away from him, physical altercations of any kind, domination and asserting his authority over others, people serving him, showing off his strength by any means; if someone has a favorite outfit, they should avoid wearing it to bed with him because it's likely coming off them in pieces, being watched during sex, forbidden or illegal sex.
Turn Offs: Whiny bitches, brats who think they know everything, tree-hugging hippies, constant challenging of his authority, anything to do with unpleasant bodily fluids, dudes trying to bend him over, women wearing hijabs or niqabs, people coming on too strong to him, people using him only for sex, snotty women and overly faggy men with high pitched voices.
Position: Hard dom. Cifer would never let another man rail him. He'd bite off his own tongue before he let that happen.
Intimacy: Cifer may have been blessed with his body and being really, really good at fucking, but he quietly craves something more than just a quick fuck. A small piece of him dies every time he brings a woman to his place for the night and she disappears before morning. His only wish is to have someone stay after using him like a dildo to get off, waking up together in bed to gentle touches and intimate looks. Cifer's love language is touching; not his usual, bruising roughness, but sweet, light flutters of his fingertips against his partner's skin. Much to the shock of many women he'd taken home—he is an utter asshole, after all—Cifer is a cuddler after sex, chasing after an emotional connection he knows he'll never receive. As such, he's vastly different after sex than he is during, and often takes it upon himself to care for the damage he left in his wake. Hell, he's got meds and a medical duffle bag full of things to treat injuries, disinfect, reduce pain from bruising and help it heal faster amongst other things. If not for how he was after the sex, it was likely the different women he railed every week wouldn't keep coming back for more. Despite craving a deep, emotional bond that would take him from savage fucking to love making, Cifer isn't good at verbally expressing it, so to this day he continues to be used as a cock with legs rather than a person. It's not like he complains; however, despite his awful personality, he is very aware that everyone's sentiments are a result of his own actions and never blames anyone but himself.
Sexual Attributes: Cifer is not a small man, in any respects. He's a beast of a man with the cock to prove it; cut before he could remember and simply took big to wear briefs, Cifer is stuck wearing as long of boxers as he can find whilst letting his length run down the inside of his leg in an effort to conceal it properly in public. If not, everyone would accuse him of running around hard all the time; trust him, when he's hard, you'll see it whether he wants anyone to or not. As such, he tries not to buy tight-ass jeans, but it's not like this fuckin' town has a proper big and tall to buy from around here, so more often than not he's just kinda stuck with the outline poking through no matter what. Due to this, he doesn't fuck women without the help of generous amounts of lube and has thusly stashed that shit everywhere inside his home, truck, around the yard, in his office at the station; hell, he sticks one in every pocket of every jacket he owns before he leaves the house. Paranoid? Maybe. A result of how often he's propositioned for random sex? Definitely. Can't be caught lacking, he supposes. Cifer blows bigger and far thicker loads than he rightly should. Even when he's fully erect, it hangs between his legs from the seer weight of it, and it's often annoying as hell when he has to pry it out to take a piss. It's not all fun and games either; sitting is uncomfortable, it's easy to get hurt, and people don't have to try very hard to sock him in the dick. He can't sit without his legs spread eagle and people often think him rude or inappropriate during formal occasions, getting him into more trouble for no real reason. He also has to be very careful with women, meaning they leave far more satisfied than he does which pushes him to more random hookups despite how much they sting.
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