#flip zimmerman au

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

Day 3, Flip x OC

[the one] [fifth element au]

Summary: Flip works an unusual serial killer case. Right as he’s about to reach a dead end, he has the ultimate breakthrough, as the intended victim appears on his doorstep.

CW: descriptions of murder, mutilation, autopsies, corpses, torture, occult themes, hair and smoking porn

WC: ~4.3K

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a Flip x Fifth Element AU for a long time. The story has had many iterations and the remaining two versions a full space opera, and a more subdued, bleaker, gorier version, with some supernatural elements. Since we’re finally in the best season of the year – Halloween – I’ve gone for the slightly darker one, but there’s still some fluff and comedy throughout :)

*

The first body was a floater. Detectives and pathologists both found floaters to be the worst kind of dead to deal with. The water washed everything away, from fingerprints to trauma. It left the skin bleached gray and mushy, like runny pudding. In this case, the ashen pallor of the dead woman made her almost translucent, like those uncanny species of fish living in total darkness.

As Flip examined the photos - at first out of morbid curiosity and to lend another pair of eyes to the stumped team of pathologists and investigators - his eyes drifted to her exposed teeth. At first glance, it seemed like the lips were pulled back over her white teeth – the only part of her that remained pretty - as if in a snarl or some hideous rictus. He knew, however, it was the fish who had done that to the victim’s mouth. When her eyelids were pulled back, they revealed once blue eyes, now gone milky and lusterless. Her hair, tangled and filthy with river refuse, was an ugly shade of copper now. The pathologist could say very little with certainty, apart from the obvious slashes to her gut. Few of her organs remained after the river fauna had been at her for so many days, but they postulated she may have been at least partially disemboweled.

In the next couple of days, after a more thorough investigation, it was revealed there was a flat black stone, smooth on the side with razor sharp edges, lodged in her uterus, as well as an unidentified white organic matter, reminiscent of a membrane, caught in her throat.

*

The next body was found in the woods. Photos of the crime scene revealed cult-like elements. Flip was immediately put in mind of the Louvre Roman voodoo doll. For once, no one was in the mood to make ignorant, macho comments about what an unmanly thing it was to be a patron of the arts or make such comparisons. When he explained the significance of the totem, as a vessel for sympathetic magic, the scene started to make more sense.

The woman was found on her knees, her arms behind her back, bound tight with black rope. The rope connected to her feet, also bound in elaborate knots. She was bound tight, enough to curve her spine and pull her head back. Her red hair cascaded almost down to her toes. Her pubis was dusted with dark hair, revealing her hair was dyed. Initially, no one connected the two murders. Apart from the victims being Caucasian and having red hair, the two crimes appeared unrelated. This one did not have the unusual insertions in her body and the body was disposed of in an entirely different environment.  

Flip explained the tablet accompanying the Louvre doll. It was a very ancient form of magic, meant to cast a powerful spell over the object. The Louvre doll had 13 rods stuck in her body, many in the same places as the victim. Eyes, ears, mouth, heart, genitals.

A call to the University of Chicago and their Egyptology department yielded useful, but unsettling revelations. They faxed over a section of their members’ magazine dealing with erotic spells, which included the figure Flip had described.

Translated and simplified, the tablet read ‘just as this needle is fixed in the heart of this image, so may her love be fixed to me, so that she cannot sleep, wake, lie down, or walk until she burns with love of me. I conjure your entire substance, that you may not sleep or sit or lie down or perform any work of craft until you have satisfied my desire.’

Another similar spell instructed the caster to ‘take thirteen copper needles and stick one in the brain while saying, “I am piercing your brain”; and stick two in the ears, and two in the eyes and one in the mouth and two in the midriff and one in the hands and two in the pudenda and two in the soles, saying each time, “I am piercing such and such a member, so that you may remember no one but me, alone.’

It was concluded the murder was a particularly twisted crime of passion, a lover’s quarrel gone very bad. Adding to the conclusion was the extent of the violence, which was severe, attacking all her senses, all the tenderest spots of her anatomy, with spikes protruding out of every soft orifice in her body. And to augment the humiliation and injury inflicted, she was left outside, exposed to the elements, and to the prying eyes of anyone who found her, who handled her body, and subsequently found out the gruesome details of her death – the final humiliation of the brutalized woman. No sexual assault was found to have taken place, but with the nudity and the apparent erotic slant of the violence and staging, it could not be counted out.

If they managed to get an ID, definitely look out for a husband or boyfriend, Flip advised as the elder statesmen to the guys from Homicide. This was personal.

He assured he would make himself available to help further if necessary, despite his already grueling schedule.

*

The third body helped piece together information they were missing from the first. A natural redhead this time, same features, same method, same elements found. This one was caught in some fishermen’s nets shortly after being discarded, with minimal damage from the water.

Now the first body made more sense, and the second took on a different meaning, as revenge for tricking the killers with the hair color as opposed to a vengeful lover or stalker.

The pathologist’s report revealed that an incision was made across her abdomen. The killer then shoved his hand inside, deftly navigating around the organs until they clutched the still beating heart in their hand. Only a prodigiously strong and practiced hand could squeeze the heart into stillness. This was not performed randomly, nor without vast experience. After death, a snake egg, about a week from hatching, was stuffed into the victim’s throat. The bruises on the inside of the mouth and the soft palate revealed this was done post mortem. An iron rod, identical to the 13 found in the second victim was rammed through the chest plate and into the heart. Salt was packed into the stomach wound, through the incision under the solar plexus. Another smooth black stone was recovered in the uterus.

Flip was brought in then. He had already been part of a successful manhunt for a serial killer on the Heartkiller case and after the requisite third body was found to make this another serial killing, he was sent forth like a hound after a scent.

*

Flip woke up with a start. His body jolted as though undergoing electroshock therapy. He had been having unremembered dreams for the past few weeks, and some of them caused him to wake up drenched with sweat, heart hammering so hard in his chest that the blood pounding in his ears made his eardrums feel like they would burst. Above him sat a white cat with luxurious, silky fur and two different eyes, one green, one blue. Flip had the distinct sense she was watching him, imperious, as though her ten pounds of fluff were a protective presence. Her uncanny eyes were trained on him from the foot of his bed, where she moved as he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side.

The cat didn’t protest, didn’t rush him into making her breakfast, didn’t ever move as he stood, stretched with his arms behind his head and felt how dangerously loose the elastic on the underwear he slept in had become. One large hand grabbed low on his hips, protecting his modesty from her two mismatched, prying eyes and just then, the drilling metallic din of his phone ringing shrieked through the air. Flip winced and the cat gave the loathed machine an evil look.

He let the machine fire off a few more infernal rings as he tapped his palm blindly over his nightstand, feeling for his cigarettes and hoping against hope there was at least one straggler in the crushed pack remaining. Victorious, with a cigarette bitten between his teeth, he reluctantly lifted the receiver, squinting against the light of the lamp he flicked on.

“Yes?” he garbled grumpily, knowing a call at this hour could only come from work.

“It’s Ron speaking.”

Flip felt the warm, downy soft body of the white cat coil around his ankles. She rubbed her perfect little head up his shin and looked right at him with her sparkling emerald-sapphire gaze, her bushy tail twisted around his calf.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greeted, the crooked smile he gave her audible in his voice.

“Well, I love you too, Zimmerman. I was hoping you’d make a move one of these days,” Ron gave a deep, rumbling belly laugh.

“I was talking to my cat,” Flip smoothed the long hair out of his eyes and squinted, looking for a lighter in the halflight of his bedroom, protected from the invading sun by thick, dark drapes, assiduously drawn at all times.

“Your cat now, is it? Careful, or you’ll become one of those crazy cat ladies we hear about, alone and found a month after kicking the bucket, half eaten by the predators they hoarded in lieu of human companionship.”

She was his cat, as a matter of fact, Flip tried to telegraph telepathically to the pretty little lady now standing on two legs, with the soft pads of her front paws walking up over his knee, considering climbing him like a post. She had come to his house on the day of the first in this string of murders. Of course, he only found that out later, when they were able to date the first death. He came home and she was sitting there, staring at him with her transfixing eyes as though he was dreadfully late for an appointment with her. When he unlocked the door, she weaved between his feet and scuttled inside, positioning herself defiantly high on a bookshelf where she sat for the rest of the evening.

“Cats are aloof and good about solitude; that makes them more compatible with my lifestyle than a wife,” Flip winked at the cat and continued his search for a lighter in the den, feeling the filter of his cigarette slowly get soggy between his lips.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re committed to your role as a detective unless you have a crippling addiction to caffeine and at least two divorces under your belt,” Flip could hear the strain in Ron’s voice as he lifted his legs onto the desk and made himself comfortable, settling in for the kind of time-wasting conversation that filled many slow days at the station.

“I don’t want a marriage with an expiration date. I’m looking for…” Flip trailed off, already deciding against sharing personal information with a coworker this early in the morning.

“The one?” Ron mocked and Flip could see his wide, bright grin. He would love nothing more than to slap it clean off his stupid face.

“I’m looking for a lighter, actually, Detective Stallworth, is what I’m looking for. And it wouldn’t hurt to know why you’re calling on my fucking day off.”

Silence. Flip’s gut twisted forebodingly.

“Another one?” he asked, the search for a lighter abandoned as he took the dangling cigarette out of his mouth and set it down on yesterday’s newspaper, sprawled on the table.

A long sigh came before Ron grumbled out his words. “Yeah,” he said and launched into a brief summary. That’s why he had been stalling, asking dumb questions and supplying even dumber answers. Kid was still wet behind the ears, Flip thought as he listened, this was all getting to him too much. He gathered his stuff around the small house, phone nestled in the crook of his arm like a baby as he walked room to room, the long cable stretching behind him and catching the cat’s eye with its slithering movement.

“I’m on my way,” Flip muttered and hung up without waiting for a response.

*

“What’s this about a wackadoodle priest?” Flip asked off-handedly as he examined crime scene photos, waiting for the pathologist. The station was abuzz with impressions of the priest that had everyone holding their round bellies with laughter and Ron looked like he needed to engage with some levity.

“Just some nutty old guy,” Ron shrugged. “He came to the station, asking around for information on the case. He was raving about some weapon he had to stop all the killings. I think he was mainly trying to find out who was in charge of the investigation.”

Flip looked up from the folder in his hands, lips pursed and eyes narrowed almost comically.”Well, that’s plenty suspicious, wouldn’t cha say? Can I safely presume you had him arrested or brought in for questioning?”

“Nah,” Ron waved a hand and clicked his tongue, “he’s a small old guy, can’t do nothing to nobody.”

“Killers can be small, rookie.”

“He was sweating bullets and babbling incoherently, probably coming off of something. He’ll sleep it off – we don’t need to waste time on him.”

Flip’s reproach was interrupted by the pathologist beckoning them inside.

“What do you got for me?” Flip asked, preferring to stand and lean his weight on his hands, gripping the backrest of the proffered chair.

“The snake egg in both victims’ throats is the Crotalus viridis, or the Great Plains rattlesnake. It’s native to this area, doesn’t tell us anything unusual. More iron stabbed through the heart, sodium chloride – salt –  in the stomach cavity, and it turns out the stones found in all three uteruses are volcanic glass.”

“Obsidian?” Flip asked.

“That’s right.”

“Was it sharpened, smooth, ornate?”

“Sharp edges, flat smooth sides. Uniform in size. Seems like these stones are made to measure, for some purpose.”

Flip contemplated in silence for a while. “Someone has a serious problem with these women,” he muttered, thinking out loud.

“Gee, what clued you in? Was it all the murder?” Ron muttered back, somewhere between nervous and teasing.

“No, rookie. It’s the choice of these objects, the ceremonial way in which they were chosen to violate the bodies.”

Ron was intrigued and so he opted against saying whatever smartass remark he had brewing.

“Iron is a well-known ward against witches,” Flip started, knowing that the taskforce was already receptive to the idea of the occult from the time of the second murder, “the snake is probably the most common representation of evil – you name the culture and religion, chances are they have some evil snake tale or deity. You salt the earth when you don’t want anything to grow there anymore, and salt is a common barrier between good and evil. Obsidian, made in fire, is durable, an excellent weapon - stays incredibly sharp for extremely long. Common in occult ceremonies in various roles. It seems to me they wanted to destroy these women’s very essence, if you’ll forgive a metaphysical turn of phrase.”

“They?” Ron crossed his arms, protesting for the first time not about any of the outrageous claims, but the suggestion of plurality.

Flip shrugged, not married to the idea. “I could be off – not like we haven’t seen very involved killings from lone perpetrators – but these are rather elaborate jobs for just one person. And the staging, the paraphernalia – it seems to suggest some sort of cult, and with it, multiple people involved.”

They left off speculating for the time being and made their way to the chief’s office. Ron was dismissed and Flip stayed behind a few more minutes. He was not surprised to find Ron lurking by his desk when he returned. “Looks like your priest is going to find out what he wants to know about the case. The chief is holding a press conference in an hour. We have to let people know what to be on the lookout for.”

*

In the days following the grim announcement, supermarket shelves were emptied of every kind of hair dye but red. Most women were seen out only in daylight hours and in the company of men with protective body language and scanning eyes.

Flip busied himself with tirelessly tapping into contacts in the city’s underbelly, shaking down informants and unsavory acquaintances about all manner of odd characters; listening for any outrageous stories; visits to reptile dealers with unusual requests; trying to confirm the provenance of obsidian weapons from the guys who can get you whatever sordid thing you’re looking for, from kiddie porn to human teeth, sold individually or as a set. None of his efforts yielded anything useful. It was beginning to look as though, with no more clues to go on, the taskforce could really only just sit around and dread – while secretly hoping, with shame and disgust - that another body would be fished out of the water, and they would find something to crack the case open.

Then one day, the case knocked on his door.

Flip knew the man without ever having met him. His jittery, anxious manner was convincingly imitated at the station from time to time, and the little priest banging down his door and pleading to be let in hardly needed to introduce himself.

“I have someone you must meet!” Cornelius, standing almost a full foot shorter than Flip, in medieval-looking brown roughspun robes, pulled a woman by the hand. There was no disguising it, despite the attempt made to cover her up with the same coarse robes and cloak. Her curves protested against the material, twisting them into submission around the swell of her breasts and hips, the cinch of her waist. The hood of the cloak obscured her face and a delicate pale hand peeked out of the robes, holding the hem so it wouldn’t come flying off and reveal her face.

“Listen, man,” Flip sighed, hands held up defensively against the pleas he knew would be forthcoming from the priest, “I’ve had a long day and I’m about to have a long night – I’m not looking for company.”

“Oh, t-trust me, detective, one look will change your mind,” Cornelius, predictably, went right on.

“You should get outta here before I have you booked for solicitation,” Flip pretended to misunderstand and had the door half-shut in the little man’s face already.

“I’m sorry to have to resort to these m-measures,” Cornelius fumbled in his robes for a gun, pointing it at Flip with shaking hands.

Flip sighed, looked left to right to make sure no one was seeing the ridiculous scene, and then at the sky, wishing for some divine intervention. “So, Cornelius. You’re gonna threaten me at gunpoint to – do what?” he cocked his head and gave the priest a sympathetic, almost pitying look.

“You need to take this woman in, put her into some sort of protection program,” Corneilus’ confidence was crumbling away and his voice rose in pitch.

“Is this how priests are taught to negotiate in seminary?” Flip’s cheek itched with a few day’s growth of his sparse beard, but he steeled himself against it. If he reached out to scratch himself, the little priest might fire and hurt someone – himself, probably, or just die of fright on the spot.

“We’re beyond negotiations, my son. The world is in danger. And we’re going to save it,” Cornelius seemed to recover and his determination convalesced, lending his tone gravitas.

“You’re going to save the world?” Flip felt ridiculous saying the words back. Cornelius straightened with his divine purpose, gaining a whole half inch in stature, shoulders back, and took a step closer, intent on entering Flip’s home. Flip took a step back, watching the miniscule man holding a gun in his trembling hand stand on his threshold. It was all he could do not to laugh.

“I don’t think you are, not with that hammer sitting up,” Flip pointed, gently, with his chin.

“The what?” Cornelius’ eyes went wide in alarm.

Poor guy, Flip thought with the sort of affection reserved for children spilling juice out of cups despite their best efforts and dogs committedly chasing their own tails. “You have to, uh” he tried pointing, speaking in an almost apologetic tone. The gun was now shaking so badly it was hard to point out anything on it. “See, it’s a single-action semi-automatic, you have to pull that little guy back there towards yourself…” Flip instructed and waited. Cornelius looked at the hammer and back at him. “Put your thumb over it, and draw back,” he modeled the motion with his own thumb and the priest reluctantly placed his thumb in place. “Take your time,” Flip encouraged gently, taking a moment to look at the woman. He could see her pale chin and shapely red lips in the shadow of the hood. For the first time during the whole incident, he felt his heart kick up with excitement.

The gun clicked and Cornelius’ whole body jerked with it so much that he came a full inch off the ground. He pointed it, more jerkily than ever, at Flip as he stepped aside to let the woman walk in. She walked gracefully past and shut the door behind her. Flip decided to press his luck.

“And see that little button on the side?” he pointed and Cornelius craned his neck to see. Flip indicated the man should press it, which he did now without hesitation. The magazine release clicked and the magazine holding the bullets slipped smoothly out, clattering on the hardwood floor. Cornelius barely had time to let his jaw slacken open in disbelief and some sort of breach of trust, before Flip had the useless gun wrestled out of his clammy hand.

“You better let me hang onto this for you,” he said as he tucked the emptied gun into the back of his jeans. “You don’t mind?” he asked casually as he kicked the magazine away, out of reach should the jittery priest get any ill-advised ideas.

“Take it,” Cornelius sighed, looking relieved more than anything, as if the whole matter of handling a gun were distasteful, “guns are no good against the enemy we’re fighting.”

“We’re back to that, are we?” Flip grumbled, torn between having the man arrested and playing host. His mind went over the unholy mixture of leftovers and alcohol he had in the fridge, and he quickly decided jail would be preferable to delving into that mess.

“Oh,” Cornelius sighed, rubbing his wrinkled forehead and pushed past Flip, going into the den and falling, exhausted, into a heap into Flip’s favorite lounge chair.

“Make yourself at home, father,” Flip rolled his eyes as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Then he recalled the quiet woman, standing quite calm and composed, to the side of them, as if excusing herself from the farce playing out between the two men.

He looked between the odd pair, her still shrouded and the little priest almost dissolving into tears. There was something earnest about the sweaty little man, and Flip felt like a big brother who needed to help a younger one out of a mess he himself created.

“If you promise not to threaten me with anymore guns that can hurt you worse than me, you can make yourself comfortable, tell me what’s on your mind, and then we can look into some solutions. There are some decent homeless shelters I can put you in touch with, clinics, mental help resources…”

Cornelius looked up, right through Flip, to the woman accompanying him. “Show him.”

She finally pulled off her hood and looked at Flip wordlessly, right into his eyes and all the way through him. Everything was instantly clear to him. She was it, she was the one. Similar to all the rest, but more perfect, more refined, like a rendering of a master artist compared to crude initial sketches.

Her hair was more lustrous, allowed now to tumble past her shoulders freely in fiery red waves; her skin was porcelain smooth and creamy; her dazzling eyes sparkled like an emerald and a sapphire, mismatched, but perfect. In one look, the whole truth was revealed to him. They were looking for her.

Images of the dead bodies shuffled through his mind like cards in the hands of a skilled croupier. The hair, the wounds, the hearts squeezed to eternal rest, the unyielding drive to find her and do it all over.

His cat hopped noiselessly through the den and rushed past the two men, with the haughty disinterest reserved solely for felines and the most conceited of women. She came to rest at the woman’s feet, staring with her own discrepant eyes, mirrored exactly in hers, and allowed her to pet her round little head, right between the ears.

”Sweetheart,” she cooed at the cat with an adoring smile.

The voice cut Flip off at the knees. The concept of a voice so powerful, that the speaker honed in such a way as to have control over the listener, was often discussed in science fiction and occultism. A voice that could seduce, command, ask for anything at all – servitude, fervor, adoration, atrocities. One word could compel a person to claw at their chest, break through the breastbone and rip out their own heart, root and stem, and offer it, still beating, to the speaker, all the while smiling.

From one moment to the next, he was changed. He belonged entirely to the woman whose name he had yet to learn, and he realized he would go to any lengths necessary to keep her from harm. The change did not escape the frazzled priest and, finally, he could breathe easy.

*

@safarigirlsp ​  @thegrislady @lumberjack00fantasies @mythrielofsolitude @queeniebee @house-of-cadwyn

Birthday Week Vignettes

*

As a little gift for my bestie and worstie, for her birthday week, I’ve written a selection of fun little vignettes (stretching the terms fun, little and vignette to mean several thousand words of something gory or fucked up).

It has been the greatest and most treasured experience I’ve had on here getting to know you. From the hilarious shit talking, to expanding my horizons in terms of what I read and write, and giving each other constant new ideas and support, I am so grateful for all the downsides of existing in an online space as it’s meant making a wonderful, cherished friend. Happy birthday and may we enjoy your presence in our lives and this garbage fire for a long, long time to come! 😍😍❤️❤️😈😈 @safarigirlsp

*

Day 1; assassin!Mills x RC

*

Summary: The Museum needs two operatives to pose as a married couple and go into a chateau full of depraved people letting loose and acting out their fantasies in an Eyes wide shut-type party. That old chestnut.

A/N: I’m a sucker for going undercover as a couple, in every iteration of that trope, and undercover at a sex party is an especially fun variation. This little episode didn’t fit into my main assassin!Mills story, but it was too interesting to throw out completely, so this seems like the best way to share it. If you like the premise, I’m happy to write a conclusion for it.

CW: mentions of wlw, mlm, group sex, fetishes, voyeurism, dubcon, murder, drugs, alcohol, sex work

WC: ~5.5k

*

Cipher and Gage picked up their small leather bags soon after they landed, exiting the airport hand in hand. Cipher’s steel toe boots thumped loudly on the tiles, his long leather coat rustling with every casual move of his tall, broad frame. Gage sized him up out of the corner of her black-rimmed eye, appreciating the sexy, disheveled swoop of his sandy hair, the frosty glint of his blue eyes, his sharp jawline dusted with a few days’ growth of beard. Her eyes wandered lower, to the tight black tank top that peeked out from his unbuttoned white shirt, the studded belt drawn tight around his narrow hips, and the tightly coiled muscles of his legs working under his equally tight pants. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him in the car. Their quick encounter in the airplane toilet was too short for her appetite.

She walked briskly in her six inch shiny leather boots, barely reaching his shoulder despite the added height, feeling the chill in the airport as a gust blew under her scandalously short skirt. A man walking past them balked at what the blown up material revealed and she giggled to herself. Cipher squeezed her hand tighter and walked even faster in retaliation, leaving her to practically run to catch up with him. They barely jumped into the stretch limousine parked and waiting to take them to the rendezvous point that Rostov decided on when Cipher pulled her roughly onto his lap and glared, squeezing his large hand painfully around her thigh until she squirmed and pouted, removing her round Windsor sunglasses and giving him a plaintive look, all innocence and invitation. She had often remarked that it didn’t serve him any good to get all worked up over other men ogling her like that; if he wanted an attractive and flirty wife like her, then there were consequences to deal with.

They had enough time to redress and clean up as well as could be managed on a backseat when the limousine pulled up on Museum property. The partition rolled down and an Acquisitions operative pointed the barrel of a gun at the pair.

*

The heavy metal door creaked and moaned as it was pushed open for Adriane. She entered the small circular cell, windowless and bleached by harsh white halogen lights, where Cipher and Gage sat bound and gagged.

Without gracing either with eye contact, Adriane walked briskly, sweeping an elegant circle around the small cell, her heels clacking an ominous rhythm on the concrete floor. “In a moment, you will be separated. You will never see each other again,” she spoke the chilling words quietly and emotionlessly, as though to herself, as she circled the young pair like a crow awaiting carrion to feast on. “Whoever talks first will go free. The other will not leave this place alive.” She tossed the last words over her shoulder as she slipped like a shadow out the door and it closed heavily behind her.

She was not negotiating. She was not trying to entice them with anything only to pull the rug out from under them, as other people they had dealt with in the past had. The pair understood the danger they were in as they locked eyes, determined to leave this place together, and alive.

*

30 minutes, my office. A, the letters scrolled across the beeper in your hand.

When you arrived, with a minute to spare, you were feeling pretty smug about yourself that you managed not to be late, to say nothing of the fact you were chosen as the operative to be entrusted with this last minute, highly sensitive task.

Adriane’s office looked like the wardrobe department of some grungy photo shoot, with distressed denim, faux leather, fishnets and studs galore. Racks and racks of clothing were hurriedly rolled in, no doubt for the purpose of outfitting for this impromptu exhibition you were going on.

“Our guests have a meeting with their prospective employer this evening. We intercepted the coordinates Rostov provided and took Cipher and Gage on a detour here,” Adriane informed as Mills strode out from behind a rack with an armful of clothes. You looked from him to Adriane, wondering if this was some test and her omitting he would be there was supposed to catch you by surprise. Satisfied you did not betray your heart jumping into your throat, you diverted your attention to the racks of female clothing surrounding you.

“Won’t he know we’re not them? You know, when he looks at us?” you asked too snarkily for someone who knew Adriane wouldn’t waste anyone’s time if this was a real concern.

“Rostov doesn’t know what they look like. Both he and our guests are too discreet in their dealings to allow something like that. And the private party you are attending is designed to ensure privacy. At least where your faces are concerned.”

You felt a nervous knot tie in your gut, thinking ahead at what the night would more than likely demand of you. “And their stupid nicknames?” you asked, forcibly casual, as you pressed a red plaid skirt to your hips, wondering if it would even cover half your ass.

“For the same reason. They are decently intelligent, cautious people in their business dealings, even if their behavior otherwise is questionable. Under different circumstances, they might have been potential operatives for the Museum. As it stands, their use is limited to a single outing.”

You followed Adriane to her laptop computer, as thick as a briefcase, sitting in front of her leather chair, with a video paused. Scattered on the desk were photos of Cipher and Gage, taken over the last few weeks, as evidenced by the changes in the color and style of their hair. They were photographed several times in rather compromising positions, not that they seemed to mind. Gage was always smiling brightly when her hand was shoved possessively in Cipher’s back pocket, and he was not shy about embracing her in a town square and kissing her with what you personally deemed to be an excess of tongue, with both his hands on her ass, peeking out of another too-short skirt. Frenzied moaning and the squeak of leather grabbed your attention and you looked up at the video Adriane played.

“This was just over an hour ago, in the back of the car we sent for them,” she informed, looking unimpressedly at the screen.

The parallels between you and Julian were not lost on you. Two people, outrageously in love, killing for a living. Except the pair rutting wildly in a limo were free to be out in the open, not concealing anything from anyone, while you could only look at Julian askance and steal brief moments when you were sure no one was looking, which was hardly ever.

“The girl has great stamina,” you quipped, averting your eyes discreetly. From their copious, almost defiant public displays of affection, you didn’t imagine either would be bothered to know a few people had watched some blurry, low resolution footage of their intercourse, but the aversion was for your sake, not letting the Museum make a voyeur out of you. It was enough they made you a ghost and a killer.

“You need to become Cipher and Gage for the duration of this Exhibition,” Adriane underscored. “They are ruthless, reckless, and passionate. Their reputation precedes them in Rostov’s inner circle.”

“We understand,” Mills assured, seeming to imply that even if you didn’t quite get it, he did.

Adriane came up to stand next to you and snatched the blue tinged, white rimmed sunglasses off your face, replacing them with a dark, edgy pair more in line with Gage’s confirmed style. “Rostov is a hedonist with wild delusions of grandeur. He will try to flirt with you, and his demands are known to go far,” she informed in a tone that signaled you were to go along with it, as far as necessary.

“I’m cool,” you shrugged, stomach twisting with disgust you were still not entirely able to suppress.

“He will likely flirt with you too, Julian,” Adriane said in the same demanding tone to him.

“Mh,” he grunted vaguely, shucking on a leather biker jacket and ruffling his hair, as he studied his reflection, deciding if it all came together just right for Cipher.

You barely contained a grin, thinking of this scrawny little man, twisted with perversion, trying to entice the architectural marvel that was Julian Mills.

A clink of metal on hard wood rang through the air. “Put these on.”

Julian made his way to Adriane’s desk first, picking up the two rings with discreet tracking devices installed inside. He deftly slipped the smaller one up to the knuckle of his ring finger and let the other one drop. You followed moments behind and picked up the ring off the desk. It gaped around your ring finger, looking too big even for your thumb.

“Doesn’t fit,” you dismissed, setting it down and pushing it towards Adriane.

“Let me,” Julian said lowly, his long, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brought your hand up and twisted the ring off his finger, sliding it carefully over yours and inspecting his work when he was done. He seemed to approve of the way your hand looked adorned with his wedding ring.

He then picked the other ring up and set it in your hand, expecting you to put it on him.

“Do I have to love, honor and obey?” you looked up at him as he offered a waiting hand. His silence filled the air with crackling intensity and you fought with yourself not to look away.

“Just obey,” Adriane answered for him and brought the moment to an end. Without ceremony, you slipped the ring on Julian’s finger and turned away from both of them.

Obey, you scoffed inwardly. Love was easy. Honor, you conceivably could. The only demand they both had of you was the one you struggled with most.

“You leave in 15 minutes,” Adriane informed as dispassionately as ever.

Before you left, curiosity got the better of you. “You got all this information out of them… Which one cracked?”

“They both did, of course,” Adriane gave a serene, composed smile, assured in the Museum’s methods.

“So who got to go free?”

Adriane blinked and for a moment, you had the distinct sense a huge grin would slice across her face. A jeering, hideous one, mocking your naiveté. “You should go get ready,” was all the reply she would give, and all the reply you needed.

*

As you descended in the gold-adorned elevator, on your way to the armory, Julian was quiet, looking at his panel and committing every detail of the plan, of Cipher and Gage’s history and activities, of intelligence on Rostov - all he could - to memory.

“Why was I chosen for this task?” you asked, choosing the opposite approach to Julian’s and clearing your mind before jumping into the task at hand.

He was silent as you descended for several levels and you started to assume he had not even registered your question. “It was an opportunity to improve your field mechanics,” he answered like a politician on the campaign trail.

Silence then followed from you. “Field mechanics,” you repeated, deeply unconvinced.

He turned and looked hard at you, pleading with you to hear what he was not allowed to say. “Adriane is under the impression that we are convincing as two people in love.”

It was not a compliment. The words had the cadence of a slur, and his tone of regret. It was not a good thing at all. He narrowed his eyes, satisfying himself that you took his meaning correctly.

*

The warm sunset, full of purples and oranges, gave way to a fine evening as you drove outside the city. As soon as you exited, you donned your masks as a precaution, wary of how far Rostov’s eyes reached. Yours was a white mask that extended into a crescent moon shape above your forehead and under your chin. Along its edges and around the eyes, the mask was outlined in silver and small stars twinkled along its face. Julian’s mask was white and gold, representing the sun, with five curvy rays creating an inverted pentagram around the smooth white face of the mask, adorned with golden arabesque designs. You looked at each other once the masks were on and the eerie blank canvass they presented, not knowing what face and expression they hid, was chilling.

You joined the scattered trail of other cars, uniformly black and armored, as they traveled noiselessly  down a private road that would have been impossible to find without very specific instructions. The road was maintained to perfection, allowing you to glide smoothly down and weave its serpentines as they appeared without the slightest trouble. If not for the heady mix of trepidation and excitement that kept you wired and buzzing awake, you could have been lulled into a dreamlike sleep and sunk into the impenetrable darkness that surrounded you.

After stretching for what felt like an eternity, the road finally ended at a well-fortified gate, where you were ushered in and led up a lavishly landscaped path. A veritable army of masked guards stood sentinel all along the path, the entrance to a grand building and all the way to a sequestered area separated by gold stanchions and a red rope. Neither the host nor the guests wanted the security’s scrutiny while indulging in their hidden pleasures, a mistake that Julian and you were instructed to exploit. Behind unadorned gunmetal gray masks, the guards’ eyes followed every guest as they approached the rope forbidding entrance to the room beyond to all but a select few. There, you were instructed to shed your clothing and don party attire.

Rostov had purchased the magnificent château a few years back and it currently served as the crown jewel of his ostentatious tendencies and debauched proclivities. He restored it to its former glory, and had it outfitted with every modern comfort to boot, ensuring maximum pleasure and safety. It soon became the perfect place to host his monthly bacchanals, a pleasurable distraction from his usual activities of acquiring and testing biological weapons.

Invitations were handed out either to former collaborators who had displayed a keen sadistic and perverted streak, or to prospective talent, like Cipher and Gage, to ascertain if they possessed the requisite depravity of character to join in on Rostov’s activities unflinchingly. Masks and the privacy of the location guaranteed zero risk of discovery and damage to anyone’s reputation that would result from engaging in this sort of activity in a public venue.

With that in mind, you did not hesitate to disrobe. There was little to remove anyway and the mask served another useful purpose in making you bolder by hiding your face and whatever chagrined expression it might reveal. Julian watched, his eyes moving appreciatively behind his white and gold mask, as your skirt hit the floor and you removed your cropped top in one smooth movement. He waited, and at first you wondered why, but quickly surmised he meant to wait and have you undress him. You were proven right when he stepped into you as your last stitch of clothing came off and stood facing you, to shield you from any prying eyes. He did not put it beyond this rabble to be spying on guests as they changed. You slipped his trench coat off and, suddenly aware of your nakedness and his imposing proximity, made quick work of his shirt and pants, unzipping them roughly and making him flinch, before tugging them down just as harshly. Remembering your role, you chuckled, as though you had done it to tease him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, eager for the dress, as revealing as it was. Julian seemed unfazed by being completely naked in a large anteroom and offered the white halter neck satin dress for you to step into. The dress had a large slit in the side and flowed with every step, and the back was left entirely bare. It glided as smoothly as water up your body as he pulled it up and tied it at the base of your neck. He pressed his mask into your neck, in an approximation of a steadying kiss, and you felt the length of his body pressed into you, with the material of the dress dividing you leaving little to the imagination.

Julian’s attire was similarly revealing. A similar white material folded and tucked in around his hips, like the bottom half of a toga, and draped over his torso, cinched over one shoulder with a gold hoop and cascading down like a cape. He looked like an ancient marble statue, its perfection exaggerated by an impassioned artist in ardent love with his model, was brought to life.

The low thump of the music pulsed through the closed door as you neared it, and Julian brushed the bare skin of your lower back with his clever fingers as he claimed your waist, holding you close to his side as you ascended the steps and entered the party.

The renovated château was a blend of showy rococo and sleek modern styles. The dichotomy made for a luxurious experience, striking a balance between the lavish furnishings of the past and the present-day creature comforts, such as telephones, cameras, air conditioning, and modern mechanics. You followed a servant, distinguished by her plain gunmetal gray mask, into a spacious ballroom where the main activities were taking place. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn over the tall windows that lined the walls, keeping the lighting in the room low and atmospheric with only the dimmed chandeliers and scattered candelabras to set the mood. Dry ice created a mist swirling around the floor and ghosting around your steps. Erotic house music filtered in from the speakers embedded high above, and its thumping bass rattled in your bones as it provided a steady rhythm to rut to.

You passed sections of the ballroom, some divided by pillars and more heavy drapery, others raised on a dais, and each offered different activities. In some, more accessible areas, guests mingled and leaned masked faces close to exchange conversation and toasts, lifting only the bottoms of their masks to take quick sips. On a chaise longue, red and trimmed in gold, lay a man with his toga hiked up around his waist, straddled and vigorously ridden by a woman with nipple piercings connected by a series of chains and pendants, and her dark skin extensively tattooed. A small group of people, in various stages of undress gathered around them and commented on the participants and their activity.

You passed onto a higher level, leaving the couple behind you, and noticed that this area had raised platforms around one central viewing point. Each platform had two red leather sofas, one lower and one higher, permitting more positions and participants, surrounded by several waist-high columns. Each column held an object for members to use, either for pleasure or pain. You took in a few, including phallus-shaped implements, ball gags, riding crops, and pliers. In the viewing area, more of those comfortable chaise longues were laid out for those wishing to observe. Several platforms were currently occupied, but one drew your attention. A masked woman had her long legs wrapped around two men, one inside of her, the other inside of the man between them, and the three were being observed by a masked man in a black robe. He was one of Rostov’s inner circle, designated by his robe as untouchable – unless he asked to be – and irrefusable. His build was wrong; he was too young and too fit to be Rostov, so you moved on.

Sooner rather than later, you remembered as the stench of too many bodies fucking in an enclosed space hit your nostrils, you would have to engage in some activity yourself, lest your restraint draw unwanted attention. Even now, you felt appraising eyes land on you and Julian as you passed. You could not blame them. For all the young and attractive participants present, paid or drugged, who walked around and offered themselves like hors d’oeuvres to be sampled, they smacked of sex workers who were only doing a job. Some had the shaky, twitchy physique of junkies, while others had the used up bodies of veteran sex workers. You and Julian, by contrast, were trained by the Museum to be lethal, and having looks to kill was not a mere phrase where you came from. All those lessons in walking runways, learning classical dances, gymnastics, yoga, and the subtle art of erotica over the two years of your training made you both stand out in the most noteworthy way. Every step showed off your bodies, effortless grace and proud bearing; every brush of your fingers against Julian’s sculpted arm promised something more between you, and you felt eager eyes follow you, hoping to witness the moment you decided to take it farther.

The sounds of leather cracking and moans, quickly drowned out by delighted praise or mockery, led you into a large chamber, lined with ornate columns. A red carpet painted the floor red and several servants walked unobtrusively around with smoking censers, diffusing aphrodisiac scents around the cavernous chamber and perfuming the aroma of sex before it grew stale. In its center sat a long table, with a smorgasbord of men and women on top. From your vantage point, you could see two women with their heads between the other’s legs, one on her back, the other over her on her knees, both writhing and exaggerating their pleasure as their surgically enhanced breasts jiggled in one unmoving spot. Next to them were two handsome men on their sides, performing the same act and moaning deeply around the other’s shaft. In the middle was a piano bench with three women of widely varying ages in an embrace, busily alternating positions and acts. Around the table sat the more important attendees, watching, some stroking themselves or others under the table. The first woman you’d seen dressed in a black robe sat on the lap of a bony old man, his skin hanging like wet paper over his frame. She wriggled on his lap from his touch under her robes and pulled up a sleeve to offer her arm. He produced a syringe and injected her with a cloudy substance before resuming his ministrations. Julian walked by and caught the woman’s attention. She reached out for him and he extended her a hand, letting her pull him in close as she arched her back and spread herself across the table for him to sample. Julian loomed over her until she couldn’t wait anymore and tugged on his arm, splaying his large hand over her comparatively small breast, instructing him to knead at her chest. He did so, leaning closer over her so he could swipe the empty syringe from the floor and tuck it into the folds of his clothing. When he accomplished his task, he disengaged from the woman and you could see her roaming hand had found his way in between the folds of his toga and was trying to get in another one or two strokes as he retreated. As his partner, his wife, for the evening, you felt no need to disguise either your proprietary sense or your jealousy. Grabbing for his elbow, you jerked him towards you and spun him out of the way, positioning yourself between the woman in black and the object of both your desires. Too late it occurred to you that it could be huge mistake to challenge a high-ranking member. Your body spoke for itself, like a cat bristling and hissing, ready to claw out any eye that rested too long on Julian. You looked at her hand, suspended in midair as she considered demanding Julian back. With what relish you would break each and every finger, enjoying the snap of each knuckle. The flash in your eyes seemed to communicate this rather eloquently to the women and she turned back to the decrepit old man she was sitting on and threw her head back, her deranged laughter muffled behind her mask. The scene drew many masked faces to turn towards you and examine you with uncanny glittering eyes from behind impassive disguises. They had the eerie curiosity of carrion birds, waiting for their prey to become carcasses.

Julian drew you close, acting possessively, as if the fighting and territorial behavior was part of your foreplay. Grinding his hips into your backside, you felt him stiffen reflexively. His hands squeezed your hips and you threw your head back against his broad shoulder, letting him play out the scene and get you safely away. His hands roved up your body, following the contours of your waist and ribs. One hand slipped inside your dress and drew a lazy circle around the nipple, drawing it into a stiff peak and rolling it between his rough fingers. You let a shudder roll visibly through you and pressed your thighs theatrically together for the benefit of those savoring your reaction, creating some friction and relief. Julian’s other hand snaked up and coiled around your throat as he bent to whisper in your ear. “Fuck,” you heard a guttural grunt as he panted behind his mask, and his strained voice sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. You arched your back into him before you could think not to and his hips responded with a deep thrust as his stiffening cock sought some relief against the curve of your ass. “We should get out of here, he’s--” words failed him and he had to swallow hard before resuming, “he’s not here.”

As you straightened up, trying to find the closest exit point and make for it, one of the marauding sex workers, emboldened by whatever chemical cocktail she was on, made her way to you and placed one hand over the breast Julian wasn’t cupping, and the other around his neck, inviting herself into your company. Not worried about causing trouble due to her rank, you unceremoniously slapped her hand away from Julian, to delighted comments and encouragements from the throng watching on. She tottered like a toddler and you knew a single push could knock her down, and in her state, she likely wouldn’t even feel it. Still, she did not take the hint and tried to touch Julian again. His hand fell away from you and you caught her wrist, twisting only a little before she crumpled into the ground.

As you turned to leave, you nearly bumped into a woman, stripped to her waist, holding a young man’s wrists over an antique letter writing desk. Another woman, with sagging breasts that suggested breast feeding several children, bound in a leather harness, was whipping the youth across the back while an old man in black robes held his hips and frantically pumped. His legs were wiry and crooked and his gut was visibly round as he worked around the protruding flesh to stick his small member into the young man. You squeezed Julian’s thigh in question, as the gesture could be viewed as announcing your eagerness to join in. He wrapped his hand around yours and stilled you, signaling no. Rostov was scrawnier than this round-bellied man. But you were likely getting close. 

Julian raised his masked head towards the upper levels of the chamber. All along the top floor were small viewing chambers, like opera boxes, and most of them held a member dressed in black, with a select guest, or guests, keeping them company. It was there he spied him.

Rostov, ever the attention seeker, was the only attendee with a mask made entirely of gold. Noticeably shorter than the naked woman accompanying him, he seemed to be watching Julian too. Without flinching or looking away, Julian stood and waited for a few beats. Finally, Rostov seemed to make up his mind and with a quick summoning gesture, a servant materialized next to you and asked you to join the host on the uppermost level.

As you were led along the balustrade to Rostov, you saw peep show-like personal rooms with acts going on in glass cages. These seemed to be one per box and, anticipating that you were brought here to perform rather than talk, you were grateful you wouldn’t be ogled by a multitude of criminals. Just one.

In one box, there was a woman in thigh-high boots and a collar around her neck, with a leash leading to some unseen master, bound to a velvet-cushioned chair. The viewer was issuing commands on what was to be done to her and you tried not to listen as you passed that box and approached another. In the glass box, a throuple was enjoying hot wax and blindfolds. At Rostov’s box, you saw a naked man wipe himself down as he exited and a pair of servants untied the woman and helped her out of a harness. The truncated scene confirmed what Julian had shared about Rostov and his penchant for more dominant men and submissive women. Gage’s impish and dominant behavior was a departure from that, so you made sure to remember not to play a meek, passive role.

The small man, hardly larger than a child, wore a golden mask that was reminiscent of hannya masks from Japanese theater, with large eyes, and a twisted grimace with a gaping mouth, revealing sharp teeth. Rostov examined Julian first, holding his large hand in his two small ones, looking at the golden band on his ring finger. He gave yours a glance to confirm he had it right, and let Julian’s hand go. As if examining a thoroughbred, he ran his hands over Julian’s thickly muscled chest, the marvelously  sculpted ridges and valleys of his arms.

“You hold Gage so close, so very close,” Rostov said in a thick accent and sighed. “I can see why.” He ran a finger over your mask, down its smooth, cool cheek, and lower still, dragging his small hand flat down your chest, down the valley between your breasts. Julian shifted his weight and his chest involuntarily puffed up, making Rostov huff a small laugh.

He walked a few small steps away, into his box, and Julian surmised he should follow. When Rostov lounged on the divan, Julian did the same, and they were at last on the same plane.

“From the moment you two walked in, I had one single thought.” He waited until Julian leaned in closer, tacitly asking for an answer. “I want to fuck your wife,” he stage-whispered, loud enough for both of you to hear. “This is a family, Cipher,” Rostov placed a proprietary hand on the back of his neck, pulling him intimately in. Without the masks, they would have been a hair away from kissing.  Julian heard Rostov’s labored breath behind his mask and was sure the man was hard to bursting, though his proportions were such that robes successfully hid on his body what they could never hope to hide on Julian. The man’s eyes devoured him, taking in his body greedily, lust shining in his beady eyes. “We do everything as a unit,” he coaxed.

Julian did not blink. He was playing the role of a man who did not share the woman he loved, and it came naturally to him. Both he and Cipher were the sort to risk powerful people’s displeasure for what they truly wanted. He observed his host, aware of his own intensely masculine appeal and let the man’s desire win out, breaking his determination and making him willing to negotiate.

“Bah,” the little man waved a frustrated hand, “I can see that your wife is not the sharing sort – for a moment there, I was worried she would break my wife’s arm when she was playing with you. And you can imagine the sort of pain in the ass she would be then,” Rostov laughed and phlegm rattled in his lungs. “I’m saddened to see you have the same sick notions of fidelity.” He sighed again and shook his head. “I’ll satisfy myself with watching you this first time, then.” With the matter decided in his mind, Rostov rolled away from him, and servants came in to escort you and Julian inside the glass box, while the pair that was in it before you came back and fell into an embrace with their host.

*

@thegrislady @lumberjack00fantasies @queeniebee @vedavan @mythrielofsolitude @house-of-cadwyn

[rynwritesstuff]

Into the West - Sheriff!Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Sheriff!Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Warnings: Brief period-accurate shittiness towards women, mentions of blood, brief violence, NSFW, (unprotected) PIV sex, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Based on a request by the magnificent @safarigirlsp! Sheriff Flip and reader have some eye-opening sex after an incident at the saloon, which reader runs.

The sun is setting over the small Western town. There’s a breeze – soft but there nonetheless – and Sheriff Zimmerman’s hair blows gently before he puts his hat back on. His boots dig into the sandy road as he walks along. His head is held high and his gun is holstered at his hip. Women turn to look as he passes by, and he bites back a smile as he chews on his tobacco. 

Horses whinny and neigh, carriage wheels turn, and working men grunt. The sounds of the town are music to Sheriff Zimmerman’s ears. Nothing is awry. Nothing is out of place. Nothing is wrong. He turns the corner, brows furrowing as the bright sunset peers down at him through the clouds. Zimmerman brings a hand up, blocking the light from his view as he continues on down the way. 

“Sheriff?” a voice calls. Zimmerman looks around as quick footsteps approach. The Sheriff smiles, glad to see his good friend, John Bartlett, approaching. He’s a small man with strawberry hair and red cheeks to match. His brows are knit together, but Sheriff Zimmerman hopes that it’s because of the bright sun and not out of concern. “Ah,” Zimmerman says, “John. Evenin’–”

“There’s a tussle in the saloon,” John tells Zimmerman. “The owner, she–”

John is hardly able to get his words out before Sheriff Zimmerman is taking off down the road, hand flying down to his gun. He knows you’re working tonight. Oh, for Christ’s sake, you work every damn night. You work too much, you deal with too many men who wanna play with fire, something was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it? 

Zimmerman bursts into the saloon, hand still resting on his holstered gun. People’s heads turn. The music isn’t playing, but Zimmerman figures that it hasn’t been for a while. It almost always stops when something starts happening. It’s in people’s nature to wanna hear the goings on, he supposes. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” comes a loud, familiar voice. Your voice. Zimmerman’s eyes widen, and as he surges forward to round the corner, he hears the sound of glass shattering, then stumbling. He turns the corner, and just as he does, a man falls to the ground in front of him. Zimmerman moves back so that the gentleman doesn’t fall on him, then looks up with wild, confused eyes. You stand in front of the floored man, a broken bottle in hand. Your chest, which is accentuated by your corseted dress, rises and falls quickly.

Your eyes meet the Sheriff’s and he steps up to you as everyone in the room goes silent. He says your name, soft and purposeful. You watch as he approaches you. 

“Let me have that,” Zimmerman says, reaching for the jagged bottle top. You move away. He pauses, then says your name again. 

“The fucker came at me,” you say quickly. You gesture to your arm. “He grabbed me right here, right here–”

“If he tries again, I’ll shoot ‘im,” Zimmerman says in that honest tone of his. You know he’s not lying to you like all the other men in this town do. “Give me to bottle, I don’t want you t’cut yourself.”

You exhale softly, then hand it over. Zimmerman looks at the man on the ground. His head is bleeding where you hit him, and he’s groaning softly. He’s covered in beer and broken glass, and you clench your jaw at the sight. He tries to get up, but Zimmerman nudges him back down. He groans. 

“Let him get back up,” you say, adrenaline pumping. “Let him come at me again, I swear I’ll–”

“I’ll take it from here,” Sheriff Zimmerman says firmly, looking back at you. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. His eyes dart down to your hand, the one holding the bottle. You look down too. Blood drips from your hand to the hardwood floor. You didn’t even feel it. You bring your hand up to rest against your chest carefully, letting yourself bleed onto your dress. It’ll come out, you remind yourself. It’ll come right out. 

Zimmerman grabs a pair of cuffs from his belt, then demands that the man on the ground roll onto his stomach. He does so slowly, clearly not wanting to get further hurt by the glass, but the Sheriff doesn’t seem to care all that much about the glass as he leans down and chains the man’s wrists together. He yanks him up to his feet, then starts towards the door. You let out another shaky breath, then look around the saloon. 

“Get back to your drinks,” you say grimly. You turn away as the music starts back up. You throw the bottle top into the trash, then reach for the broom with trembling hands. Your hand. You feel it, now, the sharp, throbbing pain in it, and pause. One of the barkeeps approaches you with a small smile. 

“I’ll get the mess,” she says to you. “Go wash up.”

You nod, then silently move upstairs to your quarters. There’s an angry lump in your throat. The audacity of that man, you think as you start the water in your washroom. The fucking nerve of him to put his hands on me. I should’ve jammed that broken bottle right into his–

You shake your head as you pull some alcohol from the cupboard and unscrew the top. 

“Fuckin’ Zimmerman,” you whisper. You pour the alcohol over the cut, cringing as you do. “I had it all under-control. Everything was under fuckin’ control.”

The sun has almost completely set, now, and when you put your hand beneath the warm running water, you glance out the window at the town you love so dearly. You really do find this town beautiful and full of hope – if only the men would stop treating you like garbage. 

How many times have you had to defend yourself like this? How many times have you had to push back or pull away or tell a man off? What a curse it is to live in a time where men don’t know how to treat a goddamn woman right.

Still, life goes on. The saloon draws in money, enough for you to keep this place open and thriving. You’ve made a name for yourself out here. You know damn-near everyone’s drink orders by heart, you know names and faces, you know the different walks of life your patrons come from. That’s a gift, being able to hold all of it.

But sometimes you’re tired, and tonight is one of those nights. You dry off your hand and wrap it up, not knowing how much time has passed. On your way back downstairs, you hear feet coming up. The footfall is heavy – a man’s. Your heart surges, and you consider turning back, going to get your gun, but it’s pointless when you see who it is. You exhale. 

“You fuckin’ scared me, Zimmerman,” you huff as the Sheriff ascends the steps. He offers you a smile. 

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, ma’am,” he tells you as he continues towards you. 

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” you say, crossing your arms. Zimmerman stops on the step beneath yours, but he’s so tall that you still have to tilt your head to look him in the eye like this. His smile widens. 

“I thought about you all day long, miss.”

The corner of your mouth turns up. You hate how soft he makes you, but you also fucking love it.

“All day? How’s that?”

“Well,” the Sheriff starts, sliding his hands over your hips, “I woke up and thought about you while I washed up. Then, I thought about you while I got dressed, and headed down to the jail, and–”

“Alright, alright,” you say, pushing at his chest. “Enough’a that.”

Zimmerman catches your wrist. His smile fades slightly. 

“Your hand. It’s alright?”

You nod. 

“Just a small cut,” you say. 

“I’m glad you got ‘im before I did,” he says. You sigh. You know what he means. 

“I know,” you say, looking away. Zimmerman squeezes your hips. 

“Lookit me.” You do. “I’m here to give you a good time.”

Somehow, that lump in your throat is back. Are you angry, still? Or is it something else, do you think? You’ve got half a mind to wrap your arms around him and cry. That’s so unlike you. He knows you’re sweet on him, though, and he is, too. He’d probably welcome any crying, any tears you’ve got in you, but you just can’t. 

“A good time. Zimmerman, what–”

“Don’t call me that,” the Sheriff says quietly. It’s a soft request. A prayer. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck. 

“Flip.”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do to show me a good time, Flip?”

“The same thing I do everytime.”

“No. Give me more than that.”

Flip looks taken aback. His brows furrow slightly. 

“More?”

“That’s right. More. I give all’a myself to this town just to be met with perverts and angry prostitutes and people tryin’ to take down my business, so yes.” You clench your jaw and bring your hands to his cheeks. “I want more.”

Flip glances at your lips, then presses his firmly against them. You sigh, letting your body move forward against his. You pull yourself into him, kissing him back with fervor. 

“I’ll give ya whatever you want, sweetheart,” Flip breathes in-between kisses as you grab onto his collar and tug him up the stairs with you. He goes willingly, and when you reach the top step, Flip pulls you down the hallway to get to your quarters. He turns the handle, and the two of you move inside. He kicks it shut behind him. You unbuckle his belt and toss it aside, letting his gun and other things clatter on the dresser. You unbutton his shirt quickly. 

“Get me out of this dress,” you tell him. He begins to undo it, kissing you again. He lets out a soft grunt against your mouth. He must know that you need this. He must be alright with that. The thought makes you want to weep. 

Flip pulls your dress off and throws it aside, then tugs your shift up over your head, leaving you bare in front of him. You reach down to undo your boots and toss them aside while he shrugs off his shirt. Your body is properly revealed to him when you get your boots off and stand up straight. Flip looks you up and down as you move towards him, and he puts his hands on your cheeks. 

“Prettiest girl in the West,” he says. He kisses you, then, and you never were a religious woman, but this is how you imagine Heaven. If you were to die tonight, you’d die happy and needed. Flip Zimmerman always makes you feel that way. Christ, maybe Heaven isn’t a place, but a feeling. Maybe it’s the way the sunset turns the sky pink and orange. Maybe it’s the way the saloon feels after nine o’clock when the drinks are strong and the music is loud. Or, maybe it’s the way Flip Zimmerman holds your face like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen – like you're the only woman around.

Either way, you’re here now, and you have him like this, and anything else happening outside of this room is unimportant. You get on the bed and Flip follows after you eagerly. 

“Take the rest of your clothes off and get over here,” you tell him, leaning back and watching as he undresses. He chuckles softly. 

“You’re mighty bossy tonight.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” you tell him. “I’ve got a lot that I want.”

Flip finishes undressing, his cock hard and proud, you see, and you beckon him towards the bed. He gets on top of you easily and nudges himself against your core. You spread your legs further for him, inviting him to press on.

One of your hands moves up to hold onto his hair, and the other hand rests on his shoulder. You lean up and nibble at his jaw as he presses his tip inside of you. You inhale sharply, then let out a satisfied hum. 

“C’mon, Sheriff,” you breathe, “give it to me rough.”

Flip smiles against you, then thrusts the rest of the way in. You gasp again, brows furrowing.  “Oh, right there,” you sigh. “Right there, give me more, Flip.”

Flip draws his hips back, then pushes them forward again. Your body bounces with each fast thrust. His cock hits your sweet spot over and over and over, and your moans get louder each time. Surely they can hear you downstairs, but you don’t care. How could you when you’ve got Flip like this? How could you, when he’s making you feel this fucking good? You tug at his hair. 

“Is this – Mmm – enough?” Flip asks as he fucks you harshly. You tug on his hair again. 

“Yes, it’s enough, Zimmerman. M-Making me sound n-needy . . . Oh, fuck . . .”

“Not needy,” Flip shakes his head. “Just a woman w-who knows what she wants.”

Your grip on him tightens. He gets you. You like to pretend that he doesn’t sometimes, but he truly does. There’s not another man like Flip Zimmerman. You’ll never need another man as badly as you need him. Hot tears spring into your eyes. 

You’ll never love another man the way you love him. 

“I like a man who u-understands,” you breathe. You smile at him as he pounds into you. Your core clenches around his cock, begging him for more, and he obliges without needing to be told. He gets it. Whatever it is, he gets it. You can always count on that. 

You wrap your legs around him as you pull him closer. You hold him against you, keeping his firm body against yours. It almost feels like an embrace, holding him like this. It almost feels perfect. It almost feels like Heaven. 

“Please,” you breathe. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Flip grunts. He’s close. You moan. 

“Mm, please!”

“I’m almost there,” Flip promises. Sweat beads at his hairline as he continues, and you groan. 

“Fuck, fuck . . . Flip!”

You feel him pull out suddenly, and he grunts as he jerks his cock until he’s cumming across your stomach with a moan. His eyes flutter and his cheeks flush. You love seeing him come undone for you. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you look up at him. You tuck a few pieces of hair behind his ears, then smile at him. 

“How was that?” Flip asks. He goes to grab his handkerchief off of the floor, but you stop him. You don’t want him to pull away just yet. You nod, then kiss him again, blissed out from what he gave to you. You moan quietly against his mouth. 

“More than enough, Sheriff.”

Tagging a few friends: @mrs-gucci @babbushka @safarigirlsp

rynwritesstuff, 2025 | Divider by saradika-graphics

[mrs-gucci]

For the Hunt

{ werewolf!flip zimmerman x female reader }

anon

Werewolf Flip wanting to knock you up (or role play at it) and scenting when you’re ripe for him and chasing you down and pounding you

thank you for submitting this!!

warnings. SMUT (18+), werewolf in rut, primal kink (hunter/prey), breeding kink w/no intention of actually getting pregnant, dirty talk, outdoor sex, creampie, minimal aftercare.

word count: 995

🐺 written for werewolf wednesday 🐺

Your breathing is soft, exhilarated, creating little puffs of steam in the cold night air. A shiver runs down your spine, out of excitement or nerves, you’re not really sure.

You two have an agreement that on rut nights, he has full consent to use you however he wants or needs to. He tells you what he needs from you on a particular night and you give it to him willingly, whether it's being tied up on the bed down in the basement or up at his remote mountain cabin.

His absolute favorite thing, however, is when he gets to hunt you. Which is why you’re currently standing behind a big pine tree, trying to steady your breathing.

By now you’ve nearly perfected the art of giving Flip a good chase, having been with him for almost six years. And tonight is an extra special full moon because you’re ovulating, which gives Flip the ultimate prize in his werewolf brain: the chance to breed you.

He looks up at the full moon with his golden eyes, knowing it’s time to hunt, he lifts his snout eagerly.

Almost instantly, he picks up traces of your scent and his paws thud against the earth as he runs into the thick Colorado wilderness. He can already feel that this is one of his more mild ruts, but he's still just as desperate and tuned-in regardless.

Flip slows down and sniffs the air again, knowing that he's close. You can feel him nearby, sticks snapping and leaves crunching under his large paws.

You sneak a look around the tree and he doesn't seem to notice, so you quickly attempt to sneak to another tree. But of course, his head whips over and you freeze, then take off running.

He feels the familiar tingle of his primal hunting instinct creeping up through his body, but he still gives you a head start before taking off in your direction, eyes beginning to turn black with desire.

Your breathing is heavy as you sprint away from Flip, trying to give him a good chase. He growls softly out of sheer thrill and quickly dips to the side to run around you, then stands proudly. You come to a screeching halt.

Strands of drool hang from his jowls as he takes a step forward, then another, piercing you with his lustful stare. You let out a shaky breath and step back, not actually afraid but acting so anyway.

"Please don't hurt me," you say softly, eyes flickering down to his hard member for just a moment.

He grunts when he notices your quick downward look and stands a bit taller, eager to present himself to you.

"I have something else in mind," he says in his deep, gruff voice. "If you do your job correctly, then it should be pleasurable for both of us."

You bite your lip as he steps forward again, sniffing the air.

"You smell especially good tonight, little girl. I could smell your ripe, fertile pussy from back at the house. You're so ready to be bred."

"I don't--"

"Run," he says, interrupting you. "If I catch you, you're mine."

Immediately, you take off again and he gives you a moment before taking three long strides, catching you and causing you to fall over. He quickly catches you with a clawed paw, though.

He brings his mouth down to your ear as he lowers you to the ground.

"I got you," he says. "And now, I get to pound you until you're swollen with my seed."

You whimper softly as he holds your wrists down and takes a sharpened claw to your pants, tearing the crotch open to make room for his thick, pulsing cock. He lets out a shaky breath as he pushes your legs apart and lines himself up with your wet entrance.

Flip groans when he finally gets the wet, hot relief he's been desiring all night within your walls. He gives you a moment to adjust before beginning to move, his hips delivering sharp thrusts.

You moan unashamedly as Flip growls and fucks you from behind. Hearing his noises of pleasure only arouses you more and you clench, earning a surprised, breathy grunt from your husband.

“F-Flip…”

His noises get louder and he leans down again, beginning to lick at your neck and jaw, occasionally scraping his teeth lightly against your skin as an alternative.

“I need you,” he grunts, hips speeding up slightly. “I need you to h-hold all my cum inside, keep it a-all��give me pups…”

You gasp softly, eyebrows knitting in pleasure.

“I will,” you breathe. “I-I’ll keep it all f-for you, my love.”

His cock throbs and he knows he can't hold on much longer. He always feels guilty that more often than not, you don't get to cum like this. But he definitely makes sure to return the favor the first opportunity he gets.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna--" He cuts off as the intense orgasmic sensations suddenly rush through him. His eyes flutter shut and he rocks his hips desperately, spilling every drop he has deep inside of you. "O-Ohhhh god..."

You sigh softly as he lets go of your wrists and sits up a bit, still staying buried deep in your pussy. He helps you get up on your hands and knees, then licks your neck again.

"Are you alright? I wasn't too harsh?"

"I'm fine, honey," you reassure, looking back at him with a small smile. "I promise I'm okay. I would've used the safe word if I wasn't."

Flip nods and pulls out slowly, letting out a shaky huff as he does so. When you stand up, he gently picks you up and you rest in his large arms. You smile up at him.

"I love you, Flip."

His eyes soften and wishes he could return your smile. "I love you too."

You sigh softly and look up at the night sky as Flip carries you back to the house.

****

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[vintagevict0ria]

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Chapter 3 "But what would you do if I went to touch you now?"

pairing: Adam Driver x f!reader content: Alcohol consumption, fingering, handjob, close proximity trope, smut, MDNI!! a/n: omg- all time my favorite chapter ive written so far. I've also planned to have around 6-7 chapters!! Its been so fun to write this and sometimes I can never stop. When i said this would come out on saturday- I was fully convinced I would have it done by friday and have it out this morning. BUT last night I was at a party and didn't get back till midnight. So this morning i cranked out this chapter on dunkin coffee and a donut. ALSO first sex chapter??!!! IDK if its too soon but who cares! we love a good close proximity trope!!!! I am so excited for yall to read this!! The love and support for this series has been amazing and Im so grateful!! LOVE YOU ALL!! xoxo

“It was mine.”

The wine glass, suddenly and slowly, was taken away and set back down on the table. Your heart was jumping out of your chest but Adam could be far from affected. His eyes were locked in on the menu in front of him. “What do you think you're going to get?” He glanced up at you. You were captivated by him. His eyes. His nose. His smile. It was all beautiful. You wondered if he thought about you as much as you did him. The call of your name shook you out of your trance. “Huh? Oh yeah um- I was thinking of the Ribeye with a lobster tail aaand a side salad.” You placed your menu back down and grabbed your glass. Adam nodded, looking back down at the menu. 

“Are we ready to order?” The waiter walked back over and Adam gestured for you to go ahead. After a while of Adam going back and forth on what to get, he finally ordered. 

It didn't take long for the food to arrive, but you had already drank half a bottle of wine and had no appetite. In order to push away your feelings for the man in front of you, you stupidly assumed alcohol was the answer. “Yeah an’ then he kiss her!” Your mind was a blur. Words slurring together as you spoke. Adam had eaten his food and ordered for yours to be taken to-go. Laughing, you poured yourself another glass but Adam grabbed the bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet before you could finish. “Heyyyyyy!” Your attempt to fight back was useless as he pulled back and placed it out of your reach. “Here, let's get you some water, okay?” Adam raises his eyebrow at the passing waiter- he knew instantly when he looked quickly at you- taking a heavy sip of what you did pour into your glass- and then at Adam who had the expression of ’help.’ all over him. This is the last thing you remember- that was until your vision was black.

———————————————

You weren't sure what time it was. Your head pounded and your world was spinning around you. Slowly, you sat up. You squeezed your eyes shut before rubbing them open with the palms of your hands. Setting your hands beside you, you realized something- you aren't in your bed. Or your room. At this realization, you jumped off the bed and stood in the middle of the room. You looked around the dark, monochromatic, room around you. You listened closely to see if you could hear anything that gave you clues to where you were. Then you heard the faint sound of water running in the room adjacent to you. But for some reason, something still felt off. You went to adjust your dress when you realized that you weren't wearing the red dress you had put on. At this point, panic set in. Not only were you in a random ass room, but your kidnapper had taken off your dress and replaced it with an oversize ‘budweiser’ t-shirt. Then the sound of water stopped. Glancing around the room, you tried to find somewhere to hide but it was too late. The bathroom door swong open. A dark mysterious figure stood there, a white towel around its waist. You weren't sure if it was the hangover, but you couldn't make out the face of your abductor. The figure then turned on the light, revealing themselves. It was Adam. You immediately found comfort in knowing you indeed had not been kidnapped. His towel was loosely tied around his hips, his full chest and abs on full display. “Good morning.” Adam spoke as he grabbed a smaller towel to dry his dark locks. “Good morning.” You were now back on the bed. You laid down and hit the bed with a groan. “So, how bad was I?” Adam let out a chuckle, turning to you.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Well, you had about a bottle and a half of wine, passed out at the restaurant. Carried you to the cab and back here. I wasn't really sure what to do so I put you on the couch. Then you threw up all over your dress, and I gave you a spare shirt I had.” You couldn't help but laugh. As you sat up, you continued to laugh but the uncomfortableness sat in and the laughing turned to tears- you were sobbing-. At Adam's realization, he ran over to you, squatting down. “Hey hey hey, it's okay! What's wrong?” You were on the edge of his bed, head in your hands. Adam, who was in front of you, placed a hand on your knee and said your name. “God, I'm so sorry! This is so embarrassing! It was just supposed to be a nice dinner but I had to be stupid and now I'm here! In your bed! In your clothes! God what is wrong with me!” Adam- who mind you, was shirtless, and with wet hair, had this look of deep concern on his face. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about.” He laughed, running his hand through his hair. “Here, let's get you in the shower and I’ll get Carolina to pick you up. Sounds good?” Wiping the remainder of your tears, you nodded. Adam smiled. Taking your hand and guiding you go to the bathroom. His bathroom was modern but mostly dark. Black and white tiles plastered the shower walls.Once you had gotten out of the shower, you put  Adam's shirt back on. It smelled like Sauvage by Dior. Adams' scent was surrounding you and it was intoxicating. Adam walked you to the door but grabbed your wrist before you walked out and spun you around to face him. You both held eye contact for at least 5 seconds before clashing into each other with a kiss. It was a slight peck but it drove this euphoric feeling to your core. When Adam pulled back, his face was flushed and quietly whispered “God i'm so sorry i just-” You shushed him “No it's okay, I’ll see you tomorrow Driver.” A few minutes later, Carolina came to pick you up. Entering the car you gave her a stern look “No questions. Nothing. Do you hear me?” She laughed, “Okay okay” Before the car drove off you realized you had left your wallet and keys in Adam's room.

You jumped out of the car and ran inside. “Hey sorry! I left my wal-” You didn't get to finish your sentence because Adam's mouth was on yours. Then his hands grabbed ahold of your waist, bringing you closer to him. Your hands followed but went up to his beautiful hair. His mouth was intoxicating and this feeling was new to you. “Fuck im so sorry Ive just been wanting to do that for a while.” You shut him up by kissing him. “Shut up Driver” Adam moaned into your mouth, the grip on your waist tightened as he pushed you into the living room and laid you on the couch. A million thoughts were running through your mind- was this really happening? You were on Adam Driver's couch and he was on top of you???!?!?!??! But there was no time for thinking- His hands were already in your pants- well your underwear because the only thing you had on was his shirt. “Wait wait wait” Adam pulled back- face flushed red. “Are you sure you want to do this Adam?” He paused before replying, “I mean we have to practice for the scene in the movie, don't we?” His words were echoing in your head and all you could do was nod your head. When he started to kiss you again, his rough and large fingers started to linger over your sex. When two of his fingers entered your shopping hole, your back arched against the couch. “oh my-'' you let out a moan of his name as he began to curl and pulse his fingers against the spongy spot that made your vision go blurry. Your free hand that wasn't tangled in his hair- traveled down his chest and down to his sweats where he was rock solid. The second your hand started to brush against him, his body contracted and shivered under your touch. The mix of a moan and a whisper of your name left his mouth. His fingers were speeding up and you weren't sure how much longer he would last. Your hand, finally in his pants, started stroking him and matched the pace of his fingers inside you. “Shit- Adam im-” He was now going faster than before, attending to get you to reach you high as soon as possible. His thumb began to rub slow and hard circles on your clit and you were gone. Your hips matched bucked against him and loud moans and whines left your voice. “C’mon, you can do it. Cum for me.” His soft spoken words took you over the edge. The living room reverberated the sounds of both you and Adams moans as you both reached your climax.

Now panting, you realized Carolina was still waiting on you. “Shit shit I have to go! Where are my keys?” You maneuvered yourself out from under Adam and adjusted yourself. “On the table-” Once you saw them you grabbed them and were out of the house before Adam could say anything else.You appoligized to Carolina when you sat in the passenger seat. “Sorry, me and Adam were uh… talking. Got distracted.” Your friend raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh that makes sense. So how did your hair get messy and why are you painting and sweating?”

----------

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[ladyzimmerman]

I ❤️ my husbands

[driversdarling]

im your little scarlet starlet 💋 based off wormgirls fic “money power glory.” go read!!

[brideofkylosolo]

Fifth AU-Gust fic is up. Hope you all like it

[cas-backwards-tie]

ADCU Masterlist

A/N: Just making a separate masterlist for this because I have a fair number of these and also there's a bunch of different characters!

Kylo Ren

Call Me Kylo | Officer!Reader ↠ You're tasked with getting the Commander's signature to finish your assignment. Unfortunately, you can't find the Commander anywhere.

Correspondence ↠ The Supreme Leader has a lot on his plate, leading him to neglect certain things... like himself, for example.

Nothing But A Monster | Vampire! AU ↠ Forced to accept help from a mysterious stranger, you find yourself in a predicament of sorts.

It’s The Small Things ↠ Kylo finds your optimism odd in place of the First Order.

The Meaning Of Care | Officer!Reader ↠ Kylo Ren takes care of you when you're sick? That's something you never would've seen coming.

Clyde Logan

Pinball & Motels ↠ Roadtrips, A present for Clyde, and the one-bed trope? What more could you ask for?

A Day Off ↠ Clyde finally takes a well-deserved day off.

Flip Zimmerman

Frenzied Rendezvous* ↠ Flip finally has his way with you after enduring your teasing all night long.

Pale

Early Mornings ↠ Pale wakes up to find you making breakfast. It's like you plan on staying or something. Wait... do you plan on staying?

Solo Triplets

A Quiet Night ↠ The boys want to take you out on a proper date.

Ben Solo

Fairytale Mess* ↠ Sleeping with Ben Solo doesn't seem like such a bad idea when you're both under the influence.

Paul Sevier

Extraordinary ↠ Paul attempts to go out and have a social nigh. After everything that's happened... things haven't changed him that much, have they?

Daniel Jones

Late Night Confessions ↠ Dan wakes you up with a drunken phone call.

Multi-Character

headcanons

Breakup Headcanons

[daydreamlib]

⋰˚☆ 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙘. 𝙫𝙤𝙡. 𝟮

𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘳: 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 ♡

♡ — 𝗌: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 | 𝖺: 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 | 𝖿: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

♡ — 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

♡ — 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖼. 𝗏𝗈𝗅. 𝟣

♡ — 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖼. 𝗏𝗈𝗅. 𝟥

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 

the xx file (jonathan byers; s)

alexei surprising you (alexei; s)

breeding kink (alexei; s)

hi, pretty (steve harrington; s)

neglected husband (steve harrington; s)

single dad/dilf!steve and the babysitter (steve harrington; s)

it happened one night in detention (abo!universe; eddie munson; s)

take the edge off (eddie munson; s)

who’s to say (older!eddie munson; s)

worship (eddie munson; s)

husband and wife (eddie munson; s, f)

trailer park babydoll (wayne munson; s)

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗸

an interrupted nap (montgomery scott; s)

of oil and antiseptic (a/b/o universe; alpha!montgomery scott; s)

the natural order (a/b/o universe; alpha!leonard “bones” mccoy; s)

the seduction of scotty (montgomery scott; f)

hold my hand (montgomery scott; f)

worrying about scotty when he’s on a mission (montgomery scott; f)

red (montgomery scott; a, f)

being held hostage and bones worrying sick (leonard “bones” mccoy; a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮 𝟭

braids (max verstappen; f)

rings (lance stroll; f)

obsessed (lance stroll; f)

green suits you (lance stroll; f)

biggest champion (lance stroll; f)

lover (oscar piastri; married!au; f)

wildflowers and fruits (series; lance stroll; s, a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗱

home movie (s)

squirm (vincent renzi; s)

keep watching (vincent renzi; s)

sometimes, love isn’t enough (vincent renzi; a)

a gloomy december morning (vincent renzi; f)

soft, early morning (vincent renzi; s, f)

touch starved (vincent renzi; s, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗴𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗸𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗺

a personal experiment (s)

daylight (f)

sleeping buddies (f)

death and doughnuts (f)

rock, paper, scissors (f)

nightmares (a, f)

the tortured poets department (a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼

love to lay (s)

“i’m not wearing underwear, thought you’d like to know.” (s)

shivers (s)

dirty mouth (s)

somnophilia (s)

nights like this (s, f)

chef’s kiss (s, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗱𝘄𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘃

life always comes down to a game of chess (f)

what good may come (f)

maybe in another life (a, f)

you’re worth the pain (a, f)

the white rose of jerusalem (a, f)

you are the one i’d come looking for. over and over and over again (a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗺 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 

the delinquent (marriage!au; flip zimmerman; s)

lemonade (marriage!au; flip zimmerman; s)

love on me (ancient emperor!au; kylo ren; s)

bedding (medieval!au; kylo ren; s)

paris pregnancy (mob!kylo ren; s)

╰ ⌗ 𝗾 '𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗱'

sadness is fixed with coffee cake and cuddles (f)

late night’s and tea (f)

birthday cuddles (f)

every breath we drew (a, f)

logical fallacy (series; a, f)

[inklore]

🗡. KINKTOBER'23

who’s ready to get skanky spooky?!!! i swear i wait in anticipation every year for the sluttiest month to plague the tumblr tags. as we all know your girl has zero self control so here i am again bringing you some filthy feral content during this wonderful month.

minors please dni with the fics below, it is strictly eighteen+ content. i highly rec following @lorelibrary to stay updated.

WEEK ONE.

PARASITIC ( MARC SPECTOR ) ….. the one where marc goes searching in a cave and comes home with something attached to me. a leech who wants to do more than drain him.

⚠︎: succubus, haunting, mind control, somnophilia.

WEEK TWO.

PUNISHER ( JOEL MILLER ) ….. the one where your father owes a debt and joel is not opposed in taking what is owed to him. what is promised to him. and you’re the perfect little consolation prize.

⚠︎: purge au, claiming, praise kink, agegap, deceit.

WEEK THREE.

MY WOMAN ( CARMY BERZATTO + LUCA ) ….. the one where you can’t remember who came first carmy or luca, the lines having blurred the longer you split your time between the two.

⚠︎: threesome, double penetration, deep throating.

WEEK FOUR.

CRAWLING INTO YOU ( FLIP ZIMMERMAN + CLYDE LOGAN + OFFICER PETERSON ) ….. the one where hot pavement and rattle snakes are the least of your worries when driving through the desert turns into a game of survival you’ve already lost.

⚠︎: texas chainsaw au, hunter x prey, breeding, dubcon.

— BONUS DAYS.

tell me where it hurts — love quinn (choking, murder)

concentrate — jake ‘hangman’ seresin (phonesex)

figured you out — joe velasco (forbidden, hair pulling)

asteroid blues — poe dameron (sexpollen)

midnight snack — bruce wayne variants (spitting, cheating)

guilty of love — villanelle (restraints, forced voyeurism)

[safarigirlsp]

Wicked Fairytales

My fun little series in which I give my own twisted twist on some classics.

Bah Humbug

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Kylo Ren x Reader

Charlie Barber x Reader

Clyde Logan x Reader

Henry McHenry x Reader

Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Commander Mills x Reader

Word Count: 35.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Extra Smut. Language. Angst. Romance. Graphic Violence. Murder. Main Character Death. Light Violence Against Reader. Old Timey Sexism. Bastardization of Classic Literature.

AO3 Link

Based on A Christmas Carol

A Comedy of Eros

Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Humor. Romance. Soulmates. Violence. Non-Con Elements. Physical Aggression Toward Reader. Possessive and Jealous Behavior. Dominant Men. Bitchy Women. Conniving Wizards. Drugging - Kids today might call it Sex Pollen. Confusion. Duplicity. Bestiality. Orgies. Cuckolding. Exhibitionism. Misogyny. Old Timey Sexism. Toxic Men. Jacques/Pierre Canon as Developed by Silky and Myself aka Shithead Behavior. Bastardization of Shakesperean Tropes. Misuse of Shakespearean Quotes, try to count them all. Fear Not, No Attempts at Ye Olde English Contained Herein. ☠️Rey☠️

Don’t let the warnings scare you! This is Romance and Comedy.  

AO3 Link

Based on A Midsummer Night's Dream

Outrun the Devil

Lawyer Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 14.9k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Blood. Gore. Murder. Beheadings. Supernatural Themes. Romance.

AO3 Link

Based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Love & War

Regency Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Smut. Non-Graphic Mentions of Violence and Death. Old Timey Sexism. Fluff. Romance. Humor. Stilted Language.

AO3 Link

Admiral Ren in Love

Top notes of Pride & Prejudice with undertones of Cinderella.

The Beast

Vampire Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: None! Shocking! Some light horror and sexy themes.

AO3 Link

Notes of Beauty and the Beast, Dracula, and The Raven in my best Poe-ish attempt.

Music of the Night

Victorian Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Graphic Violence. Fires. Guns. Murder. Old Timey Sexism. Romance. Dark Phantom of the Opera Vibes. Victorian Kylo.

AO3 Link

Based on The Phantom of the Opera

Here There Be Monsters

Pirate Captain Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 51.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Action. Adventure. Romance. Light Violence. Swords. Guns. Orgies. Bar Fights. Pirate Shenanigans. Old Timey Sexism. 

AO3 Link

This is the result of my love for Pirates of the Caribbean. Yes, it's a classic.

Maneater

Commander Mills x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 37.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Violence. Blood. Gore. Graphic Dinosaur Violence. Enemies to Lovers. Idiots in Love. Sexism in Survival Situations. Hot Toxic Masculinity. Character Crossovers. The Commander Mills Jurassic Park AU that had to happen.

AO3 Link

Mixing two of my favorites together for a fun AU - Commander Mills and Jurassic Park! Yes, it's a classic.

Ghost Town

Gunfighter Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 14k

AO3 Link

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Alcohol. Graphic Violence. Gun Violence. Lots of Violence. Horror Themes. Possession Themes. Supernatural Themes. Shameless References to The Shining. This is a Darker take on Flip than I usually write, but it’s Halloween!

Inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins.

Everything A Big Bad Wolf Could Want

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Fluff. Language. Chasing kink. Primal Play. If there’s such a thing as Lumberjack kink, it’s in here. Extreme bastardization of fairy tale dialogue.

AO3 Link

If I were Little Red Riding Hood...

Cinderella

Kylo Ren x Reader

HCs Only

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Light Smut. Fluff. Happy Murder Thoughts. Humor.

Cinderella Themes.

[mrs-gucci]

What Happens at the Cabin...

{ werewolf!flip zimmerman x female reader }

anon(s)

Werewolf Flip keeping you locked away in his cabin for when the full Moon hits please 💛

Werewolf Flip in the middle of a serious rut and just needing to use you like rag doll Please and thank you 🐺

just a quick disclaimer, sorry if this sucks lol, I'm writing this half asleep at 11:45 pm and I'm only doing quick proofreading as I go along.

warnings. SMUT (18+), werewolf rut, objectification (treated like a sex doll), dirty talk, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of breath play, creampie, minimal/no aftercare.

word count: 790

🐺 written for werewolf wednesday 🐺

Flip's ruts are always pretty intense, matching his human personality quite well. He's impulsive, passionate, a bit temperamental, but most of all, horny. Oh so horny.

Rays of moonlight shine through the thin curtains hanging in the cabin's master bedroom as Flip's wolf form stands over you, casting a shadow on your bare, bound form. You look into deeply his amber eyes, watching them darken with lust the more they roam your nude form.

It's quite a sight, you're sure, seeing your wrists and ankles each tied to one post of the old metal bed frame, spread out just for his pleasure.

You watch as his length fills out and hardens, the sight making your thighs want to rub together, but alas, they're bound apart. Flip looks down and sees that you're beginning to glisten and your pussy is clenching ever so slightly. The sight alone turns him on even more.

He growls lowly and quickly pounces, getting on top of you and beginning to lick at your neck, hips rolling forward instinctively in order to rub his hard, leaking cock against your abdomen.

"Do you feel what you acting like a little slut does to me?"

You smirk. "What do you mean?"

Flip huffs, nipping gently at your throat.

"You know exactly what you did, wearing your low cut sweater dress at the station on the day of a full moon."

Your smirk widens slightly.

"Maybe I...wanted this to happen."

"Mm, I'm sure you did."

He chuckles breathily, then forces your legs apart a little more, cock nudging against your entrance. You open your mouth to say something but he thrusts in suddenly, abruptly finishing your sentence before it even begins.

"Ohh fuck."

Flip looks down at you. A shiver runs down your spine at his sudden tone of seriousness.

"You will lay perfectly still while I do what I want to you at my discretion. And you'll be nice and quiet as I do so." He thrusts abruptly, harshly. "Y-You'll be my perfect little doll, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Your mouth falls open and a soft, pathetic-sounding whimper slips from your lips. You somehow manage to nod and he begins fucking you at a quick pace.

His eyes remain on you, watching closely for any slip-ups. You try your best to stay still, you really do, but the more he fucks you, the more your body begins to jerk and squirm with arousal.

Suddenly, one of his paws wraps around your neck and presses down gently, impairing your breathing only slightly, but enough to choke you up for a few moments.

"Quiet," he snarls. "Dolls are m-meant to take cock, not to be heard."

Your eyes roll back in your head, pussy clenching around him. Everything is happening all at once and it's all bringing you to levels of arousal you've never known were possible. Your body tenses and you focus on staying still, wanting to give your beloved a pleasurable experience.

He presses a bit harder on your neck, long enough to make you squirm again, before pulling away completely. You inhale deeply and he grunts softly in satisfaction, then drags his sharp claw gently, slowly down your neck, across your collarbones, tracing the swells of your large breasts to tease your senses.

Then, he suddenly yanks your shirt down and tears your bra, exposing your bare breasts to the cool Colorado night air. His textured tongue begins to lap at your hardened nipples, enjoying how it makes you whimper and whine beneath him

Soon enough, your attempts at staying still and quiet are thrown out the window, and you let out a long moan.

"Christ, Flip..."

He growls, fucking you harder, enjoying the sight of you breaking character and the feeling of your insides tightening around his thick cock.

"Good girl, tighten for me," he grunts. "Make me fill you up."

His words propel you into a sudden, powerful orgasm, and you cry out in pleasure as it washes over in intense waves. Seeing and feeling your orgasm is enough to send Flip hurdling over the edge as well, his bellowing growls and grunts echoing through the small room.

You sigh, biting your lip while Flip continues to jerk his hips, fulfilling his most primal desire to breed you. He gives your breasts a few more licks before moving back up to your neck.

Once he's settled and his orgasm has faded, Flip looks down at you, his eyes returning to their usual beautiful amber color. You smile, knowing that your Flip has returned to you, at least for now.

Your hand smooths across where his cheeks would be. He leans into your touch.

"Better?"

He nods, nuzzling you with his wet nose.

"Much. Thank you."

****

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[rynwritesstuff]

Request Guidelines

Below the cut, you will find all guidelines and information needed to make a request here on my blog.

☆ Please remember that I have the right to decline anything that makes me uncomfortable or doesn't strike my fancy. Please also remember that this is an 18+ space, and you should not be here if you are a minor. ☆

Who I write for: Billy The Kid (Tom Blyth), Coriolanus Snow, Kylo Ren, Flip Zimmerman, Clyde Logan, Charlie Barber, Paterson, and Pale (Burn This). I'm also open to AU's for these characters. If you have an idea for an Adam Driver character that isn't listed, please send me an ask or message.

What I will NOT write: Incest, extremely dark content (murder of reader, rape, etc.), things relating to self-harm or eating disorders. I reserve the right to add things to this list and turn away ideas if they make me uncomfortable.

A few more things to keep in mind: I always try to keep my reader as neutral as possible in terms of descriptions. My writing is for everyone regardless of what you look like. That being said, my reader has a female body because that is what I know as a cis woman.

Please be patient with me, as I am a working individual who sometimes can't find the time to write. I will get to your request when I can if I've decided to write it.

If you want to know if I'm currently taking requests, please refer to my Navigation post and look for the bullet point that says requests are currently... in order to find out

Happy Requesting!

[babbushka]

Sindays Are Back, Baby!

Hi friends, I missed you all and hope you’ve been well! I am happy to say that prompts are now open for Sinday. 

If you’re new here, hi! I’m Zannah and on Sundays back in the day I had a prompt event called Sinday where I wrote up 1k word fics based on prompts you guys send in! They can be smutty, fluffy, angsty, or somewhere in between! 

Here’s how it works: prompts are open all week, and then close Saturday evening at midnight. On Sunday, I post as many as I can for everyone to enjoy throughout the following days, and we do it all again! 

I reblog some fun prompt lists but you do not have to use them. As long as you follow some basic rules, you can send in whatever you’d like! (I do withhold the right to ignore/delete requests, please don’t be upset if your prompt isn’t chosen!) 

The rules: Please don’t ask for reylo, and please don’t ask for anything that includes violence against the reader character. 

As a quick reminder, I write for the following characters:

Kylo Ren in a variety of AUs such as:

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren (Any ‘canon’ Kylo Ren content is from a Canon Divergent!AU that I have, where Kylo has crushed the Resistance and reigns as Supreme Leader with his Empress (You))

Mob!Au

Medieval!AU

Edwardian AU aka BB!Kylo aka Titanic!AU

Biker Gang!AU

Ancient Emperor!AU 

Bond Villain!AU

Criminal Prosecutor!AU

Flip Zimmerman 

Pale (from Burn This on Broadway)

Clyde Logan

Charlie Barber 

Paterson &, and/or Paul Sevier aka Sevier Twins AU

BUT I am always down to come up with fun new AUs and headcanons -- I can’t wait to see what you guys come up with!!

[something-divine]

‼️‼️‼️

Hello!

Welcome to my page, where I post/repost anything I wanna.

Interactions are encouraged-bullying is not.

Here’s a little overview for your convenience.

About Me

Name: Aengyra (pronounced ann-jeer-ah)

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 20

Content

Do I write? Occasionally, when I get the urge to.

Do I draw? Yes but I don’t post it (lol sorry).

Requests? Sure, but I might not respond depending on the request.

Fandoms? Ooh, many. Here’s a list.

BlackKKlansman

COD

Game of Thrones/House of Dragon

Marvel

POTC

Sam and Colby

Stranger Things

Star Wars

The Orginals

Characters? Also, a lot. Here’s another list.

Flip Zimmerman

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Captain John Price

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Jon Snow

Jamie Lannister

Aemond Targaryen

Loki Laufeyson

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Captain Jack Sparrow

Eddie Munson

Billy Hargrove

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Niklaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Media? Mostly aesthetic stuff, sometimes fan art.

<This is all subject to change>

Masterlist

NSFW-🥂

angst-🧸

fluff-🪽

AU-🪐

Finished:

pet names (TF141) -drabble 🪽

protective or possessive? (TF141) -drabble

oral (TF141) -drabble 🥂

In Progress:

bitchy gf (S.R) -drabble

single mom neighbor (S.R) -drabble

roommates (TF141) -one shot

…are you high? (TF141) -one shot

————————————————————————

Updated 09-13-2024

[revengeworld]

Meat - Masterlist [COMPLETE]

Werewolf! Flip x Reader Medieval / Monster AU

An unhealthy obsession from a Werewolf for a human women will turn both their worlds upside down.

-

PART I

PART II

PART III

PART IV

PART V

PART VI