#rachwrites

~

Weakness was a burden.

After all, with it being the very first step to having his life ruined, there wasn’t really any other way for Wanderer to look at it, was there? Weakness was nothing more than a burden. In his past, it got him discarded and exploited. In his present, it got him pitied and fussed over. He disliked every end of the spectrum.

He blew his nose for the umpteenth time, tossing the used tissue off the edge of the platform and dooming it to fall to the bottom of the sanctuary where it would be someone else’s problem. What a pitiful situation. He was glad he didn’t have the misfortune of being witnessed by Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Allergic to Ley Lines. Isn’t that ridiculous? For a project, he was forced to sit in on a ley line experiment some other nobodies presented to his class. After a few minutes, his nose was buzzing. A few hours later he was congested, exhausted, and sporting a fever. A burden, by the way, he didn’t even know he was low enough to be affected by.

He wasn’t sure what it was in that experiment, but something interacted with his composition and not in a way that was palpable by any means. He’d have laughed if it had happened to anybody else. When it was him, it was just embarrassing. If his interaction with Sethos was anything to go by… he was glad he was alone today.

“Hey, Hey, Hey, Hat Guy!” Sethos had chimed, bouncing toward him with his usual chipper attitude.

"What do you wadt?" Wanderer had snapped, congestion clutching his words too intensely for him to brush off. He could only hope his face didn't turn as red as it felt as he turned and buried his nose into a handkerchief.

"Woah, you sound real bunged up," Sethos pointed out ever-so-helpfully. "Got a cold?"

"I don't get colds," Wanderer snapped behind a watery glare. Another helpful suggestion to LEAVE HIM ALONE was right on his tongue when he was snapping forward into cupped hands.

"Eh'ptisshhu!"

"Bless--"

Wanderer held up a hand to stop him. "Unnecessary."

"Right, well, if you have a cold I can bring you to Tighnari. He makes some preeetty good soup, and when you're sick--"

"Don't call me that," Wanderer snapped again, more harshly this time. He didn't like that word. 'Sick'. He might as well have said 'weak'.

"But you're--"

Wanderer's nose betrayed him again, barely giving a single twitch of a warning before he was completely doubling over. "ESSShhHww! huh'pTSChhhih!" A few dry coughs were dragged out of his throat as well.

"Jeez, you're bad off! You look flushed too. You okay?" Sethos stepped over to the ailing Wanderer, who was too focused on trying to catch his breath and keep himself upright to give much of a rebuttal. "Maybe this isn't just a cold... Stay put, I'll grab someone who can help."

Wanderer was lucky he was stupid enough to leave. He fled the scene the moment he was alone.

Was he regretting that he denied help? No. Did he need it? As much as he'd never admit it... maybe. He'd been lying on the cold floor for the past hour now, limbs too heavy and drenched with ache for him to even try to get up. Is this what humans dealt with... practically all the time? How pathetic.

As he reached for another tissue, he found his hands were shaking-- No, his whole body was shaking. He was suffering chills now? He'd really, truly fallen from grace. Not that he'd ever reached it to begin with... still, he thought he was at least above this.

He blew his nose. It did nothing. He blew his nose again. Nothing. One more time, and all it did was coax out a wet "iieTSSSHhh!" From the depths of his sinuses. How did mortals deal with this patheticness? Well, he had more pride than to ask anyone who could actually answer.

He finally found the energy to pry his body off the cold floor. He was freezing. Not that there were any blankets or heating in the Sanctuary of Surasthana... not that he was desperate enough to go out and find such mortal requirements. He sniffled, and as the congestion weighed on his head and caused it to spin, he berated himself for being so weak. Even some mortals did not surrender to such simple setbacks. Since when was he pathetic enough to do so himself?

Immediately his eyes caught the stack of empty papers on the table and he was suddenly relating to the classmates that would freak out when flu season overlapped with midterms. He was supposed to write a report on the stupid mess of an experiment that got him in this situation, and he wasn't feeling well enough for any of it. With all the bragging he constantly did of never falling ill, would his professor even believe him if he asked for an extension?

His head spun the more he looked at the few words he had gotten down. Of course, they were nonsense. Whatever was happening to his body was also frying his brain. He sunk to the floor.

"HtSHHIEEeeh! No, not again, st-- eeSSHHuh! Stop sn-- hehh--"

He quickly pinched his nose, trying to stare down at it as if it was a sentient being that would listen to reason. "I am not weak. I am not a pathetic human. I will not fall victim to this. I will... not... not...."

It wasn't any use. The more he thought about the tickle, the more it grew. He sucked in a sharp breath--

"HhnXGT-ch! nXX-tt!"

He was at least able to suppress those two... that made him feel at least a little in control. Maybe he'd keep doing that.

His eyes wandered over to the letter on the table. He'd almost forgotten about that. It had arrived this morning, and he'd been putting off reading it. He guessed now was as good a time as any. Maybe it would get his brain working again.

He sat down again, unfolding the letter and starting to read...

"Hat Guy!

Albedo taught me how to use a sword! I'm having a lot of fun. One day, I might be as strong as you! Sorry if that's not okay to say. I know your strength is important to you.

I got injured during training. I didn't want to be a burden or look weak, so I hid it... but the longer I hid it, the more I pushed through it, the worse it got. Soon I realized I was being a burden by lying, not by being hurt. So I told him. And... he wasn't upset.

He actually helped me. A lot. He got it bandaged and taken care of, and I was healed in a jiffy.

Albedo once let me cry in his arms after a nightmare. It felt really nice. Do you ever get nightmares?

I know you have different experiences than me, but all that stuff you told me about weakness seems to not be true around Albedo. Even sharing my emotional issues is helpful. I hope you can find someone you can do that with too. Not that I won't be that for you! If I can, then let me know how!

I know I can't do much from over here, but I hope you're doing okay. Not that I don't think you can handle yourself! I bet you're probably doing miles better than I am. But you're my friend, so don't be a stranger, okay?

-Durin"

Wanderer let out a bitter laugh.

So that little brat thought he was better than him, huh? Farther along in the 'healing process'? If Wanderer wanted, he'd be miles ahead. He just didn't do any of that stuff because he didn't want to.

...Durin probably was better than him. By a lot.

He sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but before he realized, his shaking legs were taking him outside.

"Oh!" Nahida had greeted as she caught him on her way into the Sanctuary. "I was just coming back! How are your studies? I heard you had a fun experiment today, I wanted to--"

You can find chapter nine here on AO3. I'll be uploading a new chapter every Friday until it's done!

Title: "Cowardice" Ship: Collector/Beheaded Rating: E Summary: The Collector’s morals had long since been abandoned in his search for the cure, his meddling burying the island in Malaise. Failure after failure, and still he persevered, praying that something would change. When the Beheaded broke down his door —a headless phantasm of his former king— the Collector was forced to reckon with a whole new problem. His one success burned away every lie he told to keep himself safe, and the Beheaded’s determination uncovered the deeply hidden part of himself that hoped he might be worth loving.

🎲 Charlie Barber x Female Reader   ⚠️  babysitter/client relationship, age difference (reader 18), inappropriate use of Scrabble tiles, hand kink, Daddy, cunnilingus, p in v ✏️ 3k words -

Henry's been asleep since before Charlie got home.

Since putting him to bed, you’ve managed to put away almost all of the night’s activities and start the dishwasher. You’re heading into the living room, sights set on picking up the game of Scrabble (in which Henry insisted ‘gleeba’ is a word) when the front door opens.

“Hey, Mister Barber,” you greet from the floor as you slide the tiles from your letter racks onto the board.

He approaches with a smile on his face and stands over you—tall, towering, his hands on his hips. You swallow and continue tossing tiles onto the board so you can more easily funnel them back into their bag.

"Wanna play?" Charlie asks. "Or do you need to get home?"

Even as he asks the question, he takes a seat on the floor, clearly confident in what your response will be. 

He’s right.

"I can play," you say, dumping the tiles onto the carpet as Charlie flips them with thick fingers. 

Desperately attempting to focus on anything that isn’t those hands, you spend an unnecessarily long amount of time straightening his wooden tile rack, ensuring it’s perfectly placed. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch his two massive palms covering practically all of the tiles as he swirls them around, mixes them up, and you stop breathing when your own fingers graze his.

You choose seven wooden blocks. 

“Ladies first,” he says with a smile, voice so deep, it shakes your core. You place your tiles across the star to play ‘CATCH,’ and then take five tiles to replace them.

Charlie keeps score, tallying up your points for you on the pad. 

Such a dad.

“How was your meeting tonight?” you ask so you have an excuse to look at his face. 

He shrugs, face laced with concentration as he anticipates his next move. 

“Fine. Boring.” 

You smile. “Hopefully this is a bit more titillating.” 

Charlie looks up at you. His eyes fall to your chest as he considers your word choice and you clench as your heart rate speeds up. 

“It definitely is, Sweetheart,” he says, voice deep, as he returns his own focus to the letters in front of him. 

You’d been babysitting Henry since you were 16, even before Charlie and Nicole broke up. Conveniently enough, you live in the apartment above them and over the years, you’d grown attached to Henry. He’s smart and funny, he always remembers you and doesn’t need Charlie to reintroduce you. And he’s a good kid, easy to hang out with. You never mind canceling plans to help out the Barbers. 

Well, to help out Mr. Barber.

Besides, Charlie pays incredibly generously and as you’ve gotten older, you’ve come to appreciate everything about him: his size, his demeanor, the way he’s such a dedicated father. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way you catch him staring at you since you’ve turned 18.

You know you shouldn’t have a crush on the man who pays you to watch his son. You should be interested in guys your own age but… there’s something about your 6’4” client whose hands appear as though they could wrap around your entire waist in one go. And you’ve tried to think of anyone else with your bedroom door locked, and your tiny fingers between your legs–like the captain of the football team, or the guy who sits behind you in Calc, but Mr. Barber always worms his way into your thoughts right as you’re about to come. 

Charlie plays the word ‘VEIN’ and you can’t help but clench at the sight of his own veins rolling over his knuckles as his hand flexes, the tendons straining when he reaches for his pencil to document his score. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks in a tone that implies he’d been trying to get your attention for a while. “Are you okay?” 

You can’t tear your eyes off of his hand as you apologize.

“It’s okay.” He smiles, his perfectly crooked teeth peeking out from behind his plush, pink lips.

When you look up at him, his eyes flick up to meet yours, his features laced with guilt as you catch him staring at your chest again. 

Then you play ‘WIDE.’ 

As you reach to place your tiles, you bend a little further than necessary, so more cleavage is revealed to his clearly hungry gaze. 

He inhales sharply. 

“We could uh… we could make this more fun,” he says. “If you want.”

“Okay,” you say immediately. “I want.”

Charlie swallows, looks you up and down, his gaze scorching as he takes in your tiny denim shorts. 

“Whoever plays the lower scoring word for the round… removes an article of clothing.” 

It’s always warm in his apartment, so it’s not like you have a ton of clothes on to begin with, but you nod anyway, and you’re not sure if he purposely plays a word that scores him lower than yours, but he slips his cardigan off his shoulders without prompting and you smirk. 

The following round, he’s delighted when ‘CLOSE’ earns him 24 points. 

You arch an eyebrow. 

“Shirt.” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, eyes dark and focused. He watches you cross your arms at the hem of your shirt and he inhales deeply as you tug it up and over your head, revealing your lace bralette. It’s not completely see-through, but your nipples ache and are desperate for attention. They’re clearly visible as they strain beneath the fabric. 

The second round goes to you and you memorize everything about the way his fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. You’re disappointed to see he has an undershirt on. He chuckles when you pout. 

The next round goes to you as well and unfortunately, you have to waste this win on his shoes, but he throws you a bone and takes his socks off as well. 

The letters you pick up are less than stellar and when it’s your turn again, you mindlessly drag your ‘W’ Scrabble tile across the bare skin of your chest while you survey the board. 

“Fuck,” Charlie mutters under his breath as he shifts his weight and you’d noticed the bulge in his slacks earlier but it must be uncomfortable for him now because he rearranges his long legs for the third time in the past minute. 

Still, he plays a word that scores him 21 points and his eyes unabashedly shift from your chest to your shorts, and back up to your chest as he considers his options. 

“Bra.” You take a deep breath in and bite your lip as you tug the bralette up and slip your arms out of it, your breasts dropping out of the lace. 

His expression is caught somewhere between pain and hunger as he devours your bare tits with his eyes. He sees you squirm where you sit, attempting to grind your center on the floor but it’s not the right angle, and it’s not enough. So you play your turn and win the round. You want his undershirt off desperately but you take pity on him and request his pants, his erection now so painfully obvious; it must be throbbing. 

Unfortunately, your replacement letters contain no vowels and your options on the board are extremely limited, so when he scores higher than you on the next round, you both know what it means. 

His eyes are on your tiny fingers working the button of your shorts after you’ve stood up but your hands are shaking so violently, you struggle. 

“Let me, Princess,” he says, walking toward you on his knees. 

He’s so tall, he’s eye-level with your chest. He nudges your legs apart before hooking his fingers into the waistband on either side and freezes, looks up at you. You nod, head moving half an inch but it’s all the permission he needs before his mouth wraps around one hard nipple, and his hands tug at your tiny shorts. 

You whimper as he pulls them down your thighs, his mouth siphoning at your tit like he’s sucking a milkshake through a straw, and your panties get hooked with the denim. 

You don’t even realize it's happening until Charlie pulls off of you to say, “fuck it, I’m taking this, too,” and yanks your thong down as well, leaving you completely bare in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, free hand climbing up the inside of your thigh. “Fuck, you’re so perfect. So gorgeous. So grown up now, aren’t you?” You nod as his finger reaches the apex of your thighs. 

You shift your weight back and forth as he strokes your folds, teases the creases between your sex and thighs.

“Mister Barber,” you whimper.

“Is this okay, Princess?” he asks.

You nod. “More.”

He smirks, but applies a bit of pressure and slides that finger through your folds. You can’t help but moan as his thick digit glides effortlessly through your soaked flesh, over your entrance and up toward your clit.

“So goddamn wet. This pussy. Fuck, Princess.” 

He gathers some of your arousal onto his fingertip and brings it to your clit. Once slick, he circles the throbbing nub a few times, earning gasps and moans from you. Your hands flail, desperately seeking purchase on his head, his shoulders, anything. 

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He presses his finger to your entrance and slips it inside to the middle knuckle with ease. “Anyone ever touch you like this, Honey?” 

You nod slowly. 

“Yeah?” he asks. “Bet they didn’t make you feel like I can… will you let me, Sweetheart? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?” 

You nod. 

“Say yes, Baby Girl. I need you to tell me.” 

“Yes,” you say immediately, walls clenching around his finger. “Please, more.” 

He curls his finger forward toward your front wall and you gasp as pleasure shoots through your system. Then, he adds a second finger. 

He pumps them slowly, testing you, watching your face contort to see how much you can take. You groan when he withdraws his fingers, but you get a good look at them when he lifts them to your face. 

“Look how wet you are for me, Princess,” he says, painting your bottom lip with your own arousal. 

You allow both fingers into your mouth when he prods and you moan as you taste yourself, suck your juices off of him. 

Then, you grab his wrist, holding his hand in place so your tongue can make figure eights around and through his digits. 

Damn, you never knew that fingers could taste so good, that their weight on your tongue could feel like this, that sucking them deeper into your mouth could cause a surge of arousal to flood your already soaked center. 

“You like this, Baby Girl? You like sucking Daddy’s fingers?”

Your knees nearly give out at that. You’d always wanted to say it, to call someone that but… most boys your age hardly want to be called ‘Babe,’ let alone ‘Daddy.’

But it fits him so well, you decide, as this fantasy knocks you off balance. 

Charlie sits back on the floor and beckons you down with him using those fingers, until you’re straddling his lap and he lets you continue to suck as his opposite hand plays with your tits. He massages them, squeezes them, holds them in his hand and makes them bounce. You moan when he pinches a nipple and gasp when he twists it. 

The ache between your legs is unbearable. It doesn’t help that your legs are spread open so you can’t even rub your thighs together in the way you usually do when you see Mr. Barber. 

“Atta girl,” he coos, bringing your free hand to the bulge in his boxer-briefs. “You like sucking on Daddy’s fingers, huh?” 

You nod, let your eyes fall shut as you hollow out your cheeks. “Will you do that while you let me fuck you, Baby Girl?”

You whine as he pries his fingers from your reluctant mouth and he chuckles. 

“You’ll get them back, Princess. I could never deny you.” 

He pulls his own shirt off and you marvel at his chest—the hard muscles and sheer width of him. His soft tummy bulges slightly over the waistband of his boxer briefs and brings you a sense of comfort you can’t explain and didn’t even know you needed.

His broad shoulders flex under your gaze and he smirks. Charlie keeps you in his lap as he maneuvers his boxer-briefs down and grips your waist so tight, his long fingers nearly wrap entirely around you. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, tilting his head up and capturing your lips with his. You moan as he squeezes you harder and thrusts his tongue into your mouth. 

You feel him, hard and thick beneath you. You want to see it, but your bodies are pressed too closely together. You feel too small in his embrace, too powerless to make any decisions for the two of you.

“Mister B-” you whisper-whine before stopping yourself and moaning, “Daddyyyyy…”

“Shh, Baby Girl, I promise I’ll take good care of you, okay?” he coos and you nod. “Trust me.” 

And you do. He lifts you slowly, until he’s lined up at your entrance. 

“Please tell me you’re on birth control.” 

“I am,” you breathe and he releases a sigh of relief as he lowers you onto him slowly. “Ahh,” you gasp as he stretches you out, pressing kisses to your chest and throat to distract you from any discomfort. 

“Sweetheart, you’re—“

He doesn’t finish his train of thought. Just lifts you up off of him and you groan as he falls out. 

“Daddy,” you whine as he sets you down on the scrabble board and pushes you back.

Charlie hovers over you and kisses you while one of his massive hands explores the curves of your body. You feel so vulnerable, spread open on his living room floor like this. 

Kissing his way down your body, he pays extra attention to your breasts—sucking, kissing, licking at your nipples until they’re soaked and pointed. 

“Daddy!”

Continuing south, Charlie positions your legs, spreads them the way he wants them and licks a stripe up your cunt experimentally and without warning. 

“Yes, Princess?” he asks coyly. His hand appears between your legs. 

Your back arches involuntarily as he licks your clit, and explores your folds with his tongue. Scrabble tiles dig into your back as you squirm and Charlie reaches up to pin you with a forearm across your hips. 

You nearly scream his name as his tongue works you and he covers your mouth with a massive hand. 

“Kid’s asleep,” he reminds you, but you hardly hear him when you grab his wrist and take two of his fingers into your mouth. 

As you suck them, he sucks on your clit, his siphons matching your pace until you’re moaning, lips vibrating against his knuckles as your climax builds.

No one’s ever done this for you before. Sure, you’d made yourself come, but the boys you’d fooled around with probably couldn’t even point to your clit, let alone know how to tease it and suck at it. 

Back arching, heart pounding, Scrabble tiles jabbing, you thrash across the floor and board as your orgasm wreaks havoc through your system, shakes you to your core. 

“Good girl,” he praises, lifting his head off of you. He wipes his soaked mouth and chin on your inner thigh, your hip bone, your ribs, like a dog rubbing its scent, marking its territory. 

“You came so well for me, Baby Girl. So good, so fucking good.” 

Charlie wraps one of your pliant legs around his waist and you do everything in your power to tighten your muscles and hold it there for him while he enters you for a second time, filling you completely, but this time, it’s so much better. 

“Fuck, oh my god, I-” 

“Shh,” he tells you again, covering your mouth and refusing to allow you to pull it away. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he thrusts hard and fast into you, the Scrabble tiles nearly cutting your back open. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight still. Fuck, such a perfect pussy. Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you,” he babbles as his hips snap against yours. 

The friction of his thick cock rubbing mercilessly against your stretched walls renders you unable to think, let alone speak. Whiney babbles escape from between your lips as your body rocks back and forth with the force of his thrusts, your tits jiggling, and legs hardly able to remain locked around his waist.

Your back can only lift so much with his weight over you but as he grinds into you, a second orgasm rakes through your system, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as his thrusts grow sloppy and he spills into you, hitting you hard and deep as he comes. His hand slides off your mouth and he plants it on the floor to lift himself off of you. 

“Fuck,” he breathes looking down at your naked body. “That was perfect, Baby Girl. You’re amazing.” He kisses your neck. “You were so good for me.” 

You accept his lips when he leans up to kiss you. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers, nudging your nose with his. 

“Yeah, I just…” you maneuver your hand behind your back and pluck a Scrabble piece jabbing your shoulder blade. “Maybe round two can be in your bed?” 

“Round two?” Charlie asks with an eyebrow arched. 

“Of Scrabble. After all, we didn’t get to finish our first game,” you tease with a coy smile before dropping your voice, looking up at him through your lashes and whispering, “Daddy.”

Charlie growls before whisking you away to his bed. 

aka scaramouche fic

~

These days, the Wanderer would look back on his memories of fatui harbinger banquets with fondness. The drama, the gossip, the pathetic fronts some of them would put on to get out of certain missions… it was just so amusing. There was very little he wouldn’t give to go back in time and show up with a friend, comment on Signora’s weight, then sit back and watch the chaos happen.

Back then, he found it bothersome. Back then he was ready to be rid of all worldly emotion, welcoming the day he’d simply be too high above such meaningless squabble. Gossip and chatter, however amusingly petty, was just not something a future god needed to concern himself with. 

He sat at the banquet, sipping his classically bitter tea and ignoring the food he did not need to eat. He didn’t speak a word, just idly listening to the chatter like he was simply above it. Practice for when he’d become a god, he supposed.

Sandrone was shouting at Columbina again for something absolutely trivial. Mortal issues a future god like him was probably too high above to understand. He shared a glance with Dottore. Soon, he’d leave all of this behind.

“Fine,” Sandrone huffed. “I guess I’m too busy to need to care about some meaningless singing.”

“Really?” Scaramouche muttered. “I thought I heard Arlecchino say your anger issues were a liability.”

“She said WHAT now?” Sandrone practically screeched, immediately launching into another argument.

….Okay, maybe the drama was a little entertaining.

Scaramouche sniffed, rubbing at his nose with a curled index finger. Ever since his last experiment with Dottore, his nose hadn’t stopped… buzzing. It was an odd sensation in the back of what probably would be his sinuses, as if there was something welling up inside for no other purpose than to make him utterly uncomfortable. It was tolerable before, but now, he was starting to notice the way it extended through his head and made him feel…

exhausted.

Him? Exhausted? No, he couldn’t be. A future god should be above exhaustion. Hells, a future god should be above… all of whatever this is! The buzzing, the sniffling, none of it should be happening. Especially not in front of Dottore, who has the fate of his deification in his very hands. If he deems him too weak…

“Scaramouche, tell Sandrone I’m not ‘childish’ and ‘annoying!’” Childe demanded, drawing a groan out of the tired puppet.

“Oh my me, I don’t CARE.”

“For the last time, Scaramouche, you don’t get to say ‘Oh my me’ instead of ‘Oh my god’, you’re not even a god yet!” Sandrone reminded him.

Scaramouche tuned out the rest of the petty argument, focusing on trying to get his pathetic nose under control. Whatever… reaction he was having to whatever Dottore did to him, no one was going to see it. He had to be extra careful too, he could feel Dottore’s eyes on him…

He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth. Don’t sniffle, don’t sneeze… they are watching your every move… That little ‘buzzing’ in the back of his nose had grown into an unstoppable force. Think, Scaramouche… think… what is there to do…?

“You okay, Scara?” Childe asked, nudging him by the shoulder, almost startling the sneeze out of him. In a moment of pure genius, Scaramouche dropped his fork onto the floor, giving himself an excuse to duck under the table to grab it.

“HehNGt! n’gtt-ch!”

Nearly silent… at least, nearly silent when covered by the sound of pointless bickering. He lifted his head once he realized incessant rubbing wasn’t going to will the tickle out of his nose.

“You were down there for a bit, are you-- woah there.” Childe was giving him a look he really didn’t like. “Your, uh…”

Childe pointed to his nose, and Scaramouche quickly covered his embarrassingly pink nose with his hand. Damn how human-like this puppet body was… he couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

“Hh--” He took a sharp inhale, not daring to release it. He thanked his future self that Dottore was distracted talking to Pantalone about something. He still had a chance…

He couldn’t falter now. Not when he was so close.

…Dammit, was Signora wearing perfume!? She was warned multiple times that that stuff was way too strong for comfort and no one in their right mind liked it, but no, the whole rest of world only exists just to serve number freaking eight of the fatui harbingers--

“Scaramouche,” Dottore cut in. “I am speaking to you.”

The way his name was spoken sent a chill down Scaramouche’s spine, thus knocking loose the sneeze he was so desperately holding back. He dipped forward into cupped hands, no time to even stifle.

“Eh’ptshhuu!”

The whole room went silent. Scaramouche sniffled, honest to his future self, wishing he had never existed.

“...You can sneeze?” Was Childe’s bewildered response after a good few seconds.

“So?” Scaramouche scoffed.

“Oh, he can sneeze,” Dottore confirmed through a breathy chuckle. “He used to be impossible to work with because of it. I’d have to find ways to sedate him if I wanted to even touch his nose.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Scaramouche muttered from where he’d sunk into his seat, his face burning red with embarrassment. “Besides, I’m much stronger now.”

“Maybe so. But regardless, unlike the most of us, you don’t sneeze without reason. Do you have something to declare, Scaramouche?”

“Not to you.”

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you,” Pantalone scolded with a tsk. “This kind of behaviour isn’t very becoming of a ‘future god’.”

“Right, because you’re the expert on being a god, not me, who will actually become one. While we’re at it, why don’t we go to Childe for medical advice?”

“Ha,” Sandrone scoffed. “Funnily enough, I think even Tartaglia would be a better doctor than Dottore.”

“Now now, it’s best we all calm down,” Pulcinella cut in. Scaramouche wasn’t having it. 

“I don’t need to listen to you,” He snapped, “I’m a future god, I-- I’m not--” He sighed in utter annoyance, letting the embarrassment come. It was more embarrassing to fight it and lose. “eh’issHhhu! heh-iSHHhieww!

“Here,” Arlecchino extended a folded napkin, to which Scaramouche swatted it away.

“I’m not one of your pathetic children.”

Arlecchino’s fingers tightened around the napkin, crushing the thin cloth beneath her grip. “You’re right, you’re not one of my children. But don’t worry, some day you’ll get to that level of maturity.”

“That’s enough,” Pierro cut in, silencing every voice. “I was hoping this time I wouldn’t be entering to witness such a mess, but here we are again. Why is it that you all behave like children the moment--”

“Hh’TSShhiuu!”

…Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, be damned with his troublesome nose, now is not the time…

“...Signora.”

….That… was not the name Scaramouche was expecting to hear.

“What did we say about the perfume?”

…Holy shit, God was real.

Scaramouche was too busy reeling over how lucky he got to notice what happened next, but when he was being snapped back into reality, Pierro was gone, Signora was gone, and one or two others he didn’t care for had left as well. 

“Scara.” Childe snapped his fingers once, twice, in front of Scaramouche’s face.

“Hh’NXTt--!”

“There he is,” Pantalone teased.

“Yikes, it’s gotta hurt to do that,” Childe winced. “Just let it out, comrade.”

“I’ll do what I-- n’gtt! What I w-- nXxt-ch!”

“Scaramouche,” Dottore’s voice came in next, and that shut him up completely. “It’s not the perfume… is it? You’re reacting to your last procedure.”

Scaramouche froze completely, all sneezes suddenly disappearing from his sinuses.

 “And to think you’re supposed to be number 6…” Pantalone tsked. He was probably just jealous his sugar baby was paying less attention to him.

Dottore tsked as well. “I didn’t think your body would be rejecting it in such a way… perhaps I overestimated you.” He must have noticed the way Scaramouche’s face fell, because he continued, “Ah, but, before you say anything, we will still be continuing with the experiment. We just need to make a few extra… changes first. Come find me when you’re ready. We’ll open you up and see where we went wrong.”

At some point during the conversation, Scaramouche’s fear turned into a glare, which he held onto Dottore his whole way out. A sigh. A moment in silence to rub his nose with his palm… and then…

“...He’s such a dick.”

“RIGHT!?” Sandrone practically screeched, a rant on the tip of her tongue.

The fear and embarrassment he’d felt in that moment, the amusement and belonging he felt ranting and gossipping with his coworkers… it was all a part of his past. Who he was, and who he is now.

🦕 Commander Mills x female reader 🔞 NSFW ⚠️ CW // skinny dipping, praise, waterfall sex ✏️ 2.8k words

-

Between securing shelter, exploring your surroundings, and running from creatures you still can’t believe exist in this world, it has been an endlessly stressful, restless three days since the crash.

"This way," Commander Mills says. He marks another tree as you both turn right down a semi-clear path lined on either side in trees, palms, shrubs. You follow and walk together for another half-mile or so.

You hear it before he does.

"Oh my god," you gasp, reaching for his wrist.

Mills steps in front of you, gun ready. "What?"

His instinct to protect you makes your body vibrate. A warmth spreads throughout you that you haven't felt in years prior to crashing in this god-forsaken place. You know it's wildly inappropriate fantasizing about a man who spends every second of every day and night protecting you and trying to get you home...

"Through here," he says, using his corded forearm to push a palm frond out of the way for you.

...but then his eyes do that thing when they look at you, and then that sexy strand of hair falls into his eye, and his hands are just so /so/ big. 

"Mills," you gasp, but he's already a step ahead, slipping out of his gun strap, and dropping it to the ground.

Before you... is paradise. 

It's a blue lagoon shaded by a canopy of palm leaves and lush, greenery. It's crystal-clear water and ample protection provided by the mountain behind. It's several thin streams of rushing water cascading from the cliffs above and into the pool below. It's...

Mills's chiseled back as he strips his shirt while approaching the water.

He falls to his knees at the shore and cups water into both of his massive hands, then lifts them to his mouth.

"It's fresh," he announces, looking over his shoulder. "I think it’s a cold spring."

He turns back to the oasis and you take the opportunity to drop your own pack, your gun, your knife. 

He must hear you unzip your pants because he turns to look, but stops himself. 

"S-sorry," he mutters, his attention returning to what he can gather in his paws and slurp down. (It's a lot).

"Don't mention it," you say, shucking your shirt and padding toward the water in just your bra and panties... the same ones you'd been wearing since the crash. 

And you know a bra is impractical in a post-apocalyptic, dinosaur infested, Jumanji-land, but... surely he'd notice that despite the heat, humidity, and relative discomfort of this location, your nipples are consistently as hard as diamonds.

"How is it?" he asks as you wade deeper into the lagoon.

You turn, just as your breasts disappear beneath the cool water, and clench when you realize his eyes are mid-snap from your chest to your face. Despite the naturally cool spring, you're warm all over again.

"It's perfect," you moan, dunking your head under.

"I'll keep watch," he says when you resurface. "Enjoy."

"No, come in!"

He clearly wants to. A bud of hope blooms inside of you that the cool water isn't the only reason he's considering joining. "I can go after you're done."

You frown and without warning, slap your hand across the water to splash him.

Mills feigns offense as you do it again and he wastes no time in unzipping his own pants. 

You squeeze your legs together like you do when you talk yourself out of letting your hand wander at night. When it's his turn to sleep and you're taking watch. When his soft snores consume your thoughts and make you wish you were lying next to him, against him, with his arm caging you in, keeping you safe. 

His black boxer-briefs and happy trail disappear beneath the water as he wades closer. You float onto your back, close your eyes, and attempt to picture anything over than the definition and contour between each abdominal muscle. 

"Please tell me you remember how to get here," you say, dropping your feet to find the sandy bottom. It's a bit shallower than you remember, and standing upright, the water only reaches your ribs.

Mills's eyes drop and his jaw clenches when he takes in your soaked bra, water droplets racing over the swells of the tops of your breasts, and getting trapped in the lace at the top.

All things considered, if you were doomed to one bra for an apocalyptic eternity, at least you're wearing a cute, lacy black one.

He clears his throat and looks at your face. "Yes, I remember."

His voice is low, eyes dark. You don't hide beneath the water.

The closest waterfall is just off to the right and as much as you'd love to stand there and have the sexiest man you've ever seen ogle your t!ts, a natural waterfall might be just what you need to truly cool you down.

"Where are you going?" he asks as you swim away.

"To check this out!" you reply, reaching the cascading water and giggling as it beats down on your head. The sandy bottom supports your feet as you tip your head back and let it pull your hair away from your face.

He smiles and makes his way over before placing his hand beneath the cascading water to catch it in his palm. Then, he ducks his head under, groaning as it beats down on his head, neck, and back.

You practically watch his tension melt away as his shoulders drop away from his ears.

You swim a little closer. 

You crouch down until the water reaches your neck and take some into your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you spit it out. He watches you intently but must not notice your arm bent behind your back because as soon as the cups of your bra float to the surface, his eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" you ask, removing the straps from both arms. "I'm just sick of it."

"Yeah," he says immediately. "I get it. I mean... I don't but... fine. 's fine."

His voice breaks when he says 'fine,' for the second time and you begin to wonder what he thinks of you.

Admittedly, when you fling your bra onto a nearby rock, you hope he thinks you have nice tits.

Mills clears his throat. "Any chance you're sick of your panties?" He jokes.

"Now that you mention it," you say, already working the elastic around your hips.

He notices your arms shifting. He says your name. His gorgeous mouth over-pronounces every syllable. "I was kidding, I... it was a joke. I never want to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," you assure him, kicking your legs free.

You lift your panties out of the water with one finger before tossing them to the side. The tiny garment clops loudly against the rock and he clears his throat.

"They're pretty wet."

"Yeah, well," you start. "The lagoon is only partially to blame."

That's all he needs.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped around him as he grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you close. His body is so hard, so solid.

"Commander!" you say with a smirk. 

Mills growls, pressing his face to your sternum, his nose preventing his lips from reaching your skin.

"Tell me. What else has you so wet?" he asks as you lock your ankles around his lower back.

"I think you know," you whisper.

"Say it." It's a command.

You swallow and look into his eyes. "You."

Mills groans and lifts his head to kiss your lips.

You can't help it. A moan immediately escapes from deep in your throat as your body processes what's happening:

Mills's big body holding yours secure, his plush lips working yours open so his tongue can find yours, his hands digging into your hips and pressing you down so your bare pxssy rubs against the bulge you'd spotted earlier.

"Please, Mills," you beg into his mouth, shaking from how desperately you need him, as you pull away.

You dip down to capture his mouth in another kiss and his hands immediately roam to your ass, making you whimper as he squeezes you, holds you steady with one hand, and lets the opposite wander up your torso to cup your breast.

His mouth catches your moans as he massages your flesh and gently pinches your nipple. You're helpless as you grind your center against him, desperate for some semblance of friction to ease the incessant ache that shouldn't even be there considering you've been fighting for your life the past three days...

But there's something about him.

"Mills," you gasp as he releases the hold on your breast and shifts down to rub between your legs.

"You're fucking soaked," he says, fingers slip-sliding through your folds.

"Uh huh," you agree, grinding down onto him.

"Who did this to you?" he demands.

"You."

"Did I?" He smirks. “I only kissed you, Baby.”

"Thinking of you," you amend. 

"Thinking of what?" A finger grazes your entrance and you gasp as you attempt to line yourself up. He manages to pull away, his teasing finger shifting to trace the crease where your thigh meets your hip. 

"Your hands."

"My hands?"

"They're so big and strong," you admit. "And your fingers are so thick. Makes me wonder what they're capable of. And how they'd feel..."

"Where?"

"On me. In- inside me."

He hums thoughtfully as a finger finds your entrance once more, barely applying pressure. 

You moan. He smirks.

"These fingers?" Mills confirms. "Here?"

"Yes!" you gasp.

"Fuck," he groans into the crook of your neck as he slides a fingertip inside. "So tight, Baby. Not sure how we're gonna get my cock in this tight little pxssy. But we'll make it fit."

It's embarrassing how close you are, considering he's barely touched you and only has half of a finger inside of you. But between the stress, the chaos, and the inappropriate pining, your body is so /so/ ready to feel good.

"Please, more," you moan. 

A second finger joins the first beneath the water and you gasp, moan, and cry out all at once when he pulls them back and thrusts them inside.

He keeps his rhythm consistent as he kisses your neck, your collar bone, your breasts. You've more or less surrendered your entire body to whatever he wants to do to it, so you're grateful he's holding you tight.

"Come for me, Baby," he coos when you start grinding against his hand. "I can feel you're close... squeezing my fingers with this perfect, hot, tight pxssy. Fuck, Baby. My c0ck is so jealous right now."

That does it.

"Ohh!" you cry out as his fingers curl forward toward your front wall and the heel of his hand rubs your c|it just right. Desperate to keep the angle, you lean into him, grinding down on him, moaning, panting, heart racing, as your orgasm tears through you, sending pleasure into every last bit of you.

Mills slows his hand but keeps moving, bringing you down from your high as your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to wrap his hot mouth around a nipple, sucking at it and injecting more pleasure into your already convulsing, overwhelmed body.

"Atta girl," Mills coos against your breast, lifting his eyes to look up at you. "Think you're even wetter after that. Wish I could taste ya, Baby."

"Later," you say hurriedly as you reach between you for his underwear. He shucks them down one-handed as best he can and as soon as your hand wraps around his thick, hard, ready c0ck, you gasp.

"I told you we're gonna have to make it fit," he says with a smirk. 

And something about this talented, protective, humble man admitting he knows he's got a huge d!ck just… does something to you.

"Please fuck me," you purr in his ear, letting him shift your pelvis back so he can line up his length. “Commander.”

He growls when you nip at his earlobe and the tip slides inside of you.

"Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna split you in two," he says, taking a bracing step backwards. 

Suddenly, you find yourselves beneath the cascading waterfall, clinging to his shoulders, and giggling as he kisses you, pressing in a bit more.

He stops to look around briefly and ultimately decides to carry you up onto the shore at the backside of the waterfall. You groan as he slips out of you and he chuckles. "Gimme one second, Baby. I gotcha."

Carefully, he lays you down in the sand and crawls between your legs, planting a hand on each knee to spread you wide. Instinctively, you want to close them. He's staring so intently, you almost feel self-conscious, but then he presses his thumb to your slick flesh and swallows as his eyes scan your body.

"You're beautiful," Mills tells you. "Fucking gorgeous, I'm... I can't believe you're letting me touch you like this."

Your back arches and the sand collecting in your hair will be well-worth it.

"You can touch me anywhere," you tell him. "Everywhere."

He slides his middle finger inside of you and it feels thicker, longer than it had in the water. When he pulls it out, it's covered in your slick, and he makes eye contact with you while popping it into his mouth.

He savors it while you remain laid out in front of him, your own gaze locked on his huge, hard c0ck bobbing, teasing.

"So sweet, Baby," he says.

Then, he's wrapping his arms around your spread thighs and yanking you closer. His massive hands support your ass as he lifts you to line your entrance up with his c0ck.

"Ohh, god. Yes," you pant as your walls struggle to contain him.

The stretch as he bottoms out is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

It’s  a tight fit, especially when he plants a hand on your lower abdomen and allows you to truly feel the pressure of every movement.

"Don't stop," you tell him as he picks up the pace, both of you keeping an eye on the bulge in your lower abdomen. "Do this to me forever."

He chuckles as he readjusts, planting one hand on the sand next to you and keeping the opposite on your ass so he can pull your body in every time he thrusts. 

He's hitting you so deep, you're not convinced he isn't hitting your lungs. At least, it feels that way, with the way he's forcing air out of you.

"So good, you... you feel so good, Commander," you purr and he seemingly loses his mind at that.

Mills's eyes darken as seemingly every muscle in his body bulges simultaneously. His fingers dig into your ass cheek as he thrusts harder into you. Spray from the nearby waterfall mists you both as his body pleasures yours, leaving a shiny sheen across your skin.

"You feel fucking incredible," he grunts as the sand beneath you caresses your body.

You can tell his rhythm is faltering a bit as he picks up the pace.

"Can you come again?" he asks, panting.

"Uh huh."

"Do it," he commands. "Touch yourself, Baby. Come on my c0ck."

Mills gaze is focused, intently zoned in on his c0ck as it slides in and out of you, and your fingers drawing circles into your swollen, throbbing c|it.

"That's it, Baby. Doing so good. You feel perfect.... I'm close, Baby. I'm close. Come for me..."

With his encouragement and deeper-than-ever thrusts while he chases his own release, you soon find yourself barreling over the cliff of pleasure as your orgasm crescendos. Your intimate walls squeeze his c0ck tight as he fights to stay inside of you, uses every ounce of strength within him as his face turns red, his jaw falls open, and the veins in his neck bulge over you.

"Yes!" he roars, accentuating each word with a deep thrust. "Fuck... Baby... god... so... fucking... good... UNGHHHHH."

You moan as his hips fuse to yours and hardly pull back before pushing deeper, deeper, deeper. The pressure is insurmountable but your waiting c*nt takes all of his warm cum as deeply as possible until he collapses over you in a hot, glistening, panting heap.

"Mmmm, Commander," you purr. "That was-"

"Yeah," he agrees, still out of breath, but suddenly more desperate than ever to kiss you. 

"Aren't you glad you joined me instead of taking watch?" you tease, dragging your nails up and down his back.

He chuckles against your sweaty neck and presses a kiss there, too.

Flip’s Day Off

Flip Zimmerman x Reader CW // free use, cunnilingus, some butt stuff, dirty talk, praise, light degradation, light choking, Daddy, p in v 2.4k words

Beams of soft light streaking through the gap in your curtains wake you. With your eyes open in the room’s rather dim glow, you can’t help but wonder how it wasn’t Flip’s snoring. 

Must be used to it, you muse, as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and search for the flannel he’d worn the night before. The one you desperately stripped off of him while he still had you in his arms, your legs around his waist. Seconds before he’d thrown you to the bed and spread your thighs with his bare shoulders. 

You shiver at the thought and look down at him as you fasten only the middle button, the too-big garment falling to mid-thigh. You have to roll the sleeves up to your elbows to use your hands. Worth it. 

From your bedside drawer, you pluck a clean pair of cotton panties and slip them on beneath his shirt. It’s Flip’s day off, so you’re not sure how long they’ll last but at least the effort is there. 

His scarred chest rises and falls with his even breaths, his naked lower half barely covered by the layers of blankets you need to stay warm on nights he works late. 

Following the thin trail of dark hair south of his bellybutton, the sheets are tented by his proud morning wood, and had he not had a rough round of shifts leading up to this: his first day off in two weeks, you’d wake him up with your tongue swirling around the tip. 

Your mouth waters at the thought. You know he’d love it. But he can use every minute of sleep he can get. So you pad into the kitchen and get the coffee pot going. 

Besides, on Flip’s days off… you’re the sex toy.

It’s just as the maker is spewing its last drops of hot coffee that Flip emerges from your bedroom, a pair of plaid boxers riding low on his hips. 

He runs a hand through his thick, lush hair, his fingers combing through and straightening out his middle part before his hand rubs lazily at his muscular chest and defined abs. You try not to gawk but when that hand drops and he scratches his happy trail, you clench. 

“Morning, Love,” you say calmly as he approaches you, wraps his arms around your waist from behind, and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

God, he feels so good like this. So big. So warm. You’ve never felt safer than you do in flip Zimmerman’s arms. 

“Would you like some coffee?” you ask as his lips find your neck. His mouth explores like it doesn’t have every inch of you road-mapped and you sigh as he sucks gently at your pulse point. “C-coffee?” you try again shakily. 

“After,” he says, though, his hands practically answer for him. His massive paws climb your thighs, reach beneath your (his) shirt and squeeze your ass so hard, he brings you up into your toes. 

You whimper as you look back at him over your shoulder and he claims your lips with his own, his tongue wasting no time in finding yours and forcing dominance. 

“Daddy,” you sigh as his fingers pinch the fabric of your panties and he drops to his knees as he tugs them down. 

“Drives me crazy. You in my clothes.”

“Yeah?” you gasp as he spreads your legs from behind and presses a wide palm to your lower back. His thumb and forefingers nearly stretch to wrap around your hips, his hand is so big. 

“Youre mine,” he says as he pushes you forward, your hands bracing yourself on the countertop as his tongue finds your sex. 

“Flip!” you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase. 

“The fuck did you just call me?” he asks, a finger dragging lightly up and down the inside of your sensitive thigh. 

“Daddy,” you sigh. 

“Good girl,” Flip murmurs and rewards you with his tongue between your folds. 

He steadies you with a hand on your thigh, holds you against the kitchen cabinet, and licks through your labia, tasting every inch of you. Probably tasting himself from a few hours ago as well. 

That thought drives you wild. 

“Fuck, Daddy, I…”

“I know, Baby Girl,” he murmurs, lifting the finger from your thigh to your heat. He circles your clit and traces the circumference of your opening… but never quite touches you where you need him. “My little sex doll can’t even go the morning without getting fucked, hm?” And before you can even insinuate that he’d initiated this, Flip spreads your arousal up to your clit, circling it, never touching it directly. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, Baby Girl. I’ve barely touched you.”

He urges your legs further apart and spreads you open for him, gently pulling your lips apart with his thumb and forefinger. 

“You just have the most perfect pussy,” Flip says. “Daddy likes to admire what’s his.”

You moan at that, your fingertips nearly puncturing the granite countertop as he circles, circles, circles your entrance with his finger. 

“Daddy, please,” you beg.

“Only because my baby girl asked so nicely,” he says, pressing a finger into you and you sigh, but your relief quickly morphs into a gasp as his tongue finds your clit. 

And the stretch you feel inside your cunt leads you to believe he’s slipped a second finger inside of you. 

“Ohhh, god. Yes yes! Daddy, don’t stop,” you pant as his tongue applies the expert pressure only he can deliver. “Close… I’m close…”

Flip maintains his finger speed and wraps his lips around your clit. As he sucks at your sensitive nub, you suck in a breath of air, and hold it until your orgasm flips low in your belly. 

And then you’re scrambling, you’re flying. 

Pleasure bursts within you, causing you to cry out as sensations flood your body and ricochet off every inch of your insides as the storm crashes back down in waves. 

Your scream goes silent as you rock back against his face, mouth open, desperately trying to keep from falling off the earth as your legs shake violently and your intimate walls clamp down on his fingers. 

And before your climax can even begin to dwindle, the tip of Flip’s tongue is between your ass cheeks, prodding the tight ring of muscle and prolonging your orgasm as your asshole gets the attention it didn’t even know it craved. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, once you’ve finally come down from your high. You’re still bent over the counter while Flip’s hand does god knows what to you between your legs as you recover. 

“I’m gonna fuck you here later,” he says, using the arousal he’d collected from your pussy as lube and inserting his finger inside your ass to the first knuckle. “It’s been too long. My cock misses fucking this perfect ass.”

He grabs a cheek with his free hand for emphasis. 

You look over your shoulder, your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why don’t you fuck me there now?”

“I’d be too rough.” He withdraws his finger and in one fluid motion, Flip grips your hips, turns you around to face him, and lifts you up onto the counter. Your ass hovers precariously on the edge but Flip’s strong hands keep you steady.

He’s got a hold on you but still manages to push his boxers down to his thighs, revealing his massive erection. 

You often forget how big he actually is. Usually so lost in the throws of passion, you’re just begging for it in some capacity. 

But this is one of those times your eyes bulge as he lines it up with your entrance and you wonder how it fits in your cunt at all, let alone your ass. 

Flip smirks when he catches your expression and you’re whining as he feeds you the tip, already begging for more. 

“I like to take my time when I fuck your ass,” he says, continuing his previous sentiment. “And Doll, I’m not gonna be able to hold back this morning.”

 He thrusts into you then, wholly, roughly, quickly. 

You cry out as your spine arches, pressing your chest toward him. With quick fingers, he rips the button of his flannel open, exposing your breasts as the fabric frames your curves.

Flip places a hand on your lower back and the other on the edge of the counter, using both for leverage to fuck into you hard, fast, wild, his eyes on your tits as they bounce and jiggle with his motions. 

“Daddy!” you gasp, looking between you. 

His huge cock is slick, shiny, covered in your arousal. The sheen matches that of his lips. 

“You like watching Daddy fuck you?” he grunts, pumping his hips a little harder. 

“Uh… uh huh,” you manage to say as you watch his cock go in and slip out. 

“Yeah you do, Daddy’s perfect little slut, hm? Lets him tear down her panties whenever he wants like the good little doll she is.”

His words make you moan but before he can continue whispering filth, his mouth is on your breast, teasing your nipple. He’s licking, sucking, biting at the skin around the aching, rosy nub and he smirks when you shift, attempting to line it up with his lips. 

“Daddyyyy,” you whine. Then, “DADDY!” when he sucks a bruise into your skin. 

“Good girl,” he praises, staring at the reds and purples. Flip’s lips curl into a smile and then he descends onto your nipple. 

His hot mouth sucks, laps, and nips at the bud. He sucks harder, eliciting tiny shards of pain that turn swiftly into pleasure on their way down to your center. 

“Feel good, Baby Girl?”

“Yes yes yes!” Your hands fly to his hair and tug while simultaneously holding him in place. 

“Need ya to come, Doll. ‘m close… fuck, baby. You- you close?”

You are but you’re also on another planet, so answering him doesn’t come as easily as it should. 

And he’s getting frustrated. 

Flip consumes your throat. A hand around your neck, squeezing the sides with his fingers, and you moan so loudly, it makes him chuckle. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to punish you anymore? You get off on this now. Answer me.”

“I’m close,” you squeak out and Flip smirks. 

“There’s my good girl, huh?”

His hand slides down the front of your body, roughly squeezing your tits and pinching your nipples as it continues over your stomach. 

“See? You can listen,” he says, his thumb finding your sensitive clit immediately. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet, Doll.”

Flip grunts before hooking his left elbow under your knee and hiking your leg up higher, spreading your legs even more for him. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says as his thumb moves in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. He slows both motions to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, Baby Girl. Can’t believe you let me do this to you. My perfect little slut doll…”

You gasp at his words, lips curling up into a smile as he hikes your leg up higher and finds an angle that makes you scream. 

“Harder, Daddy! Faster, please…”

“Gotta teach my doll some patience, hm? Don’t forget, Baby Girl…” You cry out as he hits you with a particularly deep thrust, so deep, you swear he hits your lungs, forces the air from your body. Then, his eyes darken and he says, “you’re my fuck toy. For when I need to get off.”

He thrusts into you so hard, his thighs clash against the cupboard, the door slams over and over with each pump. 

“Say it,” he whispers, eyes on his massive cock as it glides in and out of you, the base seemingly wetter each time he pulls out.

You’ve lost the ability to speak, think, form a coherent thought. All you know is…

“I’m Daddy’s fuck toy,” you sigh. 

“Good girl.”

“Please, please can I come? Daddy… Daddy… I’m—“

The room smells like coffee and sex when you take in a deep breath and hold it. Between the friction of his huge cock, the perfect circles of his fingers on your clit, Flip’s dirty talk, and the asphyxiation, you're a goner. 

“Come for me, Baby Girl. Let me feel this wet little pussy squeeze my cock. Fuckin’—“

You cry out as your second orgasm before 9am wreaks havoc over your system, stretching your spine tight like a bow. 

Flip fucks you through it, your climax a catalyst for his, and suddenly, his thrusts lose their rhythm and he’s grunting and groaning as he paints your walls with his hot, white cum. 

After your body collapses in pleasure, Flip uses the leverage of your leg to keep your body open for him, even after his hand has left your clit and grips the countertop, and you’re clinging to him, desperate for skin to skin contact. 

He wraps an arm around you and buries his face in your sweaty neck as he gives you two last pumps of cum, his shaking lips sucking at the skin below your ear. 

“There’s my good girl,” he says before gently pulling out. “Well done, Baby Girl. Stay right there.”

His cum drips down the underside of your ass cheeks while you wait for his return. He’s got a warm washcloth between your legs seconds later and you’re combing your fingers through his hair. 

Flip turns his head as kisses your wrist. 

“Come on, Doll, let’s go back to bed.” He bridal carries you while you cling to his neck, and sets you carefully on the mattress. “Turn over.”

You do as you’re told. 

“Good doll,” he praises as a slippery hand grabs your ass cheek. 

You gasp as the tip of a cold, stainless steel plug presses against your asshole. 

“I know, Baby, I know,” he coos behind you as you whine. “Tried to warm the lube up a bit. Take a deep breath in… good, now breathe out. Relax.”

As you exhale, he presses the plug inside of you. 

“For later,” he says with a smirk as he climbs into bed next to you and drapes your body over his. 

You can find chapter five here on AO3. I'll be uploading a new chapter every Friday until it's done!

Title: "Cowardice" Ship: Collector/Beheaded Rating: E Summary: The Collector’s morals had long since been abandoned in his search for the cure, his meddling burying the island in Malaise. Failure after failure, and still he persevered, praying that something would change. When the Beheaded broke down his door —a headless phantasm of his former king— the Collector was forced to reckon with a whole new problem. His one success burned away every lie he told to keep himself safe, and the Beheaded’s determination uncovered the deeply hidden part of himself that hoped he might be worth loving.

Chapter Summary: The Beheaded and the Collector share their first kiss.

🦕 Commander Mills x female reader 🔞 NSFW ⚠️ CW // somno, cunnilingus, p in v, praise, hickeys, possessive Mills ✏️ 1.5k words

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It's been 11 months since you’ve slept.

Eleven months without his large, warm, protective body beneath the duvet next to yours.

You’d spent your nights tossing, turning, praying, hoping, crying… but nothing helped.

Until finally, finally, he’d returned home to you.

He’s just as large and just as warm.

But his naturally protective nature had evolved into a primal possessiveness. As though you are his lifesource and he needs to spend every second of every day ensuring your safety, your comfort.

Your pleasure.

“Ohh,” you hear yourself moan before you fully come to consciousness.

Instinctually, your back arches up off the mattress and a distinct pressure increases on your thighs.

You thought you couldn’t get any rest when he was gone, but now that he’s back… you’re getting even less sleep than you were before.

“Mills,” you whimper, his nickname rolling off your tongue easier than his first name ever had.

His hair tickles the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as your body gradually wakes, his hot tongue lapping at your core incessantly.

“Go back to sleep, Baby,” he coos. “I just needed to warm my girl up a bit.”

You can hear the smirk in his tone as a thick finger slides inside of you and your eyes blink open only to shut tightly seconds later when his lips wrap around your clit.

You’re close.

How long had he been doing this?

“I need my baby girl,” he murmurs, tongue flicking out against the swollen nub. “So bad. So fucking bad. God, I missed eating this perfect pussy.”

His finger slides out enough that a second joins the first and he holds you steady with his other massive hand on your lower abdomen, keeping you pinned to the bed.

You attempt to adjust to this new fullness, this intense pressure, by tilting your hips but he holds you steady.

“It’s okay, Baby. I know you’re close already. Come for me.” His voice is so deep, so desperate. As though this is the first and last time he’s ever given you an orgasm. “Can feel these tight pussy walls squeezing my fingers, Baby. How do you even take my cock? Fuck… my girl, my perfect girl.”

“Mills, Mills… MILLS!” you scream, hands running through his hair, holding his head steady as your shaking legs frame his head. You’re squirming, babbling, gasping, sucking in your breath and holding it until your scaling orgasm crescendos.

His mouth is relentless, sucking your clit as his fingers pump in tune with his lips.

A gush of arousal floods the space between you as his fingers curl up toward your g-spot and he prolongs your orgasm even further.

Or makes you come again. You’re not sure which.

“I… I…” You’re unable to form words, still partially asleep, but mostly fuck drunk.

“I know,” Mills says with a smirk, kissing his way up your tummy and abdomen, leaving a trail of your essence in his lips’ wake.

He nuzzles his beard against your breast, tickling your nipple, and soaking the surrounding flesh before growling.

“Mine.”

He makes your tit taste like your pussy, then his mouth descends, takes your nipple and most of your breast into his mouth and sucks there, too.

He suckles hard enough to leave a mark, the pain morphing into pleasure as it races through your system and pools in your core.

“Need you, I need you,” you finally manage to gasp, subconsciously spreading your legs even wider for him. “Please… Commander.”

The title stops Mills in his tracks.

When he looks up at you, his gaze is poignant and intense. The darkness of your bedroom pales in comparison to the black in his eyes.

You smirk, but he seems hellbent on wiping that clear off your face when he reaches down to hook your leg in his elbow and presses your thigh to your chest.

Reaching between you, you attempt to help guide him to your entrance, but he’s already there, already pushing in, already stretching you wide open.

“Fuck, Baby,” he groans. “How is my girl so tight when I just fucked her an hour ago?”

You moan simultaneously when he bottoms out, your intimate walls pulsing as they attempt to accommodate his girth. He’s so big, you’re so full, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Then he starts moving.

“You were fucking made for me,” Mills says, pulling back and thrusting into you. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree.

With his massive biceps on either side of you, holding up his huge frame, he gets you stretched before pulling out and sitting back on his haunches. Instead of scooting closer to you, he grabs your hips and yanks your body until the bottoms of your ass cheeks are flush with his knees.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his cock in one hand, and your ankle in the other to throw it over his shoulder. “Wanted to see all these pretty marks I gave you.”

Without warning, he thrusts into you all at once and glides his hand up the center of your torso before grabbing one of your breasts and squeezing so hard, his fingertips likely leave even more bruises.

You cry out when he pinches your nipple and whimper when you glance down over your abused breasts and take in the purples, blues, and reds.

“Mills,” you gasp.

“I know, Baby,” he coos, hand stroking your skin as it slides down your abdomen. It’s so big, it covers nearly the entire expanse of your torso until it continues to your thigh, still bent on the bed. Mills pushes your leg deeper into the mattress, and opens you up even more. “Fuck, look at you.”

His opposite arm wraps around your other leg and secures it against his chest before he begins pounding into you with reckless abandon.

A chorus of your slapping skin harmonizes with the constant thuds of the headboard against the wall.

“Yes yes yes!” you gasp. “Harder!”

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours with a punishing pace. “Fuck. So tight.”

“Mills,” you moan, vision blurring as you begin losing your senses.

“Come again,” he orders. “Come on my cock.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Commander.”

Mills growls.

He adds a flourish to his hips to increase the friction of his cock against your front wall. Your breasts jiggle wildly with his violent thrusts and when you lift your hands to grasp at them, he grunts.

“I’m close, Baby. Need ya to come for me. Be a good girl and come on my cock. Come on.” His expression is desperate, thumb unrelenting until you suck in a breath of air and let go.

You scream as he pulls your orgasm from you, your own fingers pinching your nipples while your wail falls silent.

Your voice had already been strained from the past week of making up for lost time, but this likely did it.

“Fuck yes, look so pretty under me, Baby,” he praises, his own voice strained. “Screaming my name so loud, you lose your voice. That’s my good fucking girl.”

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch his biceps bulge as he holds your legs open and where he needs them. Beads of sweat drip down his massive pecs as his ladder of abdominal muscles contract with each motion.

“Pretty pussy squeezing me so tight… good girl. My good girl.. fuck!”

Mills pumps into you hard as his own orgasm peaks, the first ropes of white, hot cum filling your tight channel. His thrusts grow sloppy and desperate as your fluttering walls milk his cock and you take every drop he has to offer inside of you.

“Christ,” he groans, pulling out carefully once his balls have drained.

Mills wraps his long fingers around your calf and presses a kiss to your ankle before gently dropping your leg to the mattress.

“Come here,” he growls, collapsing next to you and pulling you close, your sweaty, heaving bodies colliding. “I maybe went a little overkill on the marks.”

His thick fingers circle and press into the bruises on your breasts, drawing swirls around the darkest ones.

“I like them,” you say with a giggle. “Commander.”

He growls. “Don’t call me that unless you’re prepared to go again.”

You whimper, knowing it’s not an empty threat. His refractory period seemingly disappeared since returning home to you.

You’re tired, but can think of no better reason to stay awake. So you hoist your exhausted body up, straddle his hips and smirk down at him.

“I think I wanna go for a ride, Commander.”

His massive hands find your hips as his eyes take in your gorgeous body.