#ic || slippy

[greatfcx]

@pilotofstorm "Yo, Pops!! Happy father's day!" Skippy smiled brightly. "Hope ya like what I made today, it's crab!"

"Wow! Thanks, buddy! And, yanno I always enjoy the stuff you make!"

[tiger-balm]

The rangers giant rookie falling like a baby deer 😭

[workingforitallthetime]

friends, it was a true joy to see rutger pull gavin down on top of him right in front of my own two human eyes, but i gotta tell you that the best thing about being at yost tonight was that my seat turned out to be right in view of the scratches in the pressbox. here are some things that i saw:

johnny tying seamus's tie for him

johnny and seamus having a water bottle flipping contest

good boy jacob truscott watching the game attentively while seamus and johnny and phil were on their phones

frankie joining the pressbox in the second period but sitting apart from the other four players like he's trying to reinforce my headcanons or something

johnny kicking back with his sneakers up on the table

seamus enthusiastically dancing to the blues brothers number during second intermission. johnny was bopping along too, but seated. only seamus stood up and got fully into it, and then he finished up with double finger guns and holstered them. nobody was watching this. (except me i guess.) this was solely for his own amusement. i am so glad to finally see some evidence of why everyone keeps saying he's a weirdo.

[krakenshipwreck]

(x)

[royalreef]

Anonymous inquired: To to use the spray bottle treatment on Miranda to stop her from acting up, she acts up more because HEY WATER ON SCALES FEELS GOOD 

       “Unfortunately, seldom does anyone check to ensure that it is saltwater they are spraying me with, as opposed to freshwater... But true regardless!”

[loverboy-ish-archive]

it snew :o

[jamck]

@starwolfslippy || 🫂

✒ — Having been at the bar for a while this evening, Jamack was already on edge. At least the traffic to and from the counter seemed to come to a complete stop for the time being, allowing him to slip away for a quick breather... and a nice surprise to greet him.

“Wow, where have you been hiding, Slip, and can I please hide with you?” There was an attempt to pass the overeager question off as a joke, though not much of one, as he hardly gives the smaller amphibian time to hug him first before returning it.

[f1-disaster-bi]

If I make it home without breaking a limb, it'll be a miracle

[starwolfslippy]

"You good?"

"A bit shaken up, but I'm fine! It was a pretty scary dream, to be honest. But, it's a bit hard to remember..

All I can recall is fire. Fire was breaking into something that I was in. And my skin was.."

He shakes his head. "Disturbing, but I'll manage."

[greatfcx]

[ @jazzwithnazz ; Bill] The pupper slowly creeps up. Despite his large size, being in the military has taught him well how to be sneaky. Very important skill. Sloooooowly creeps up to the poor unsuspecting Frog holding a bag of (opened) chip, and... "AWOOOOOOOOO!"

"WAAAAHH!!!"

That bag of chips is getting completely ripped into two halves, sending all of its flaky, potato goodness within all over the room as Slippy himself goes sailing straight up into the air as if to literally leap out of his own skin.

And now there's also a pheasant and a vulpine laughing hysterically long after the frog lands back onto the floor, right in the middle of the mess that had been just made.

"Bill! What the heck, man?? You can't just do that to somebody with springy legs like these, c'mooon!" Don't worry, he's failing a fight with his own grin as rises to his feet and dusts chip crumbs off himself.

[dhampling]

the gate girl!dadstarion, 1.5k

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail.  - astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure with you. wc: 1.5k a/n: dadstarion fridays! wooooo! hope you enjoy - love, dal x

“Come on. We’ll be late.”

Your hand meets his with a toothy grin.

Astarion teeters a little.

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. 

He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail. 

Weeks spent designing the overcoat now covering his clothes - almost feltish in texture, a deep blue with gentle golden threading. Brass buttons. The smallest red ribbon detailing in the seams. The fit is immaculate, despite the fact he had to take his own measurements. The gloves match beautifully, just as he’d intended.

Shoes polished within an inch of their lives. Shirt and trousers pressed to perfection. Hair neatly coiffed with assistance from your gentle hands.

He grimaces.

“She’s going to think I’m weird.”

“Is this for her, or you?’

He takes a moment. Examines both sides of his glove with a flex. Sniffs pointedly. 

‘She’s not going to think you’re any weirder than she already does. She’s your little freak.” You grab at his sides playfully and he shimmies around your clutches, breaking into a timid laugh. 

The dark skies of Deepwinter are primed to allow Astarion his first ever school pick-up. 

He hasn’t slept, you know that. Bag in hand holding the gift he’d spent the short day hidden away working on. Your matching scarves around your necks. The biting chill beyond the threshold of your hearth.  

Eyes round in a contemplative lax as his hand rests atop the door handle. 

“I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”

Your eyes roll fondly into your skull.

“Yes. Now, get moving.” 

It takes you enclosing your hand in his for the door to open, immediately facing a brutal fracas of ice-cold winds lapping at your face. 

“How in any realm is a child expected to walk home in this? Ridiculous!” He shuffles from foot to foot as he chunters while you lock the door and pocket the key, looking up to the stars.

“With a coat. And gloves. And…’

You point to the bag in his hand as you interlink your arms.

‘A scarf.’

Astarion gives a small smile, pressing a chaste kiss to your head.

‘Come on, now. We might get there in time to see her out the door.”

-

The walk there isn’t the leisurely gander Astarion had dreamt of when he’d thought of this moment. 

In his head it was always late summer. Sunblushed.

And yet as you turn your head to him in your giddy half-canter; cheeks flush and breath clouding the space around your perfect head, he can’t believe he ever imagined it any other way.

The stars overhead are familiar as they always have been. The slightest slippy tread of frost on the cobble. Windows around you lit with candles and the loud taverns you pass en-route seem well hunkered-down.

He finds himself pulling you closer with each corner turned, stumbling to keep with your gait.

And then, there it is.

A huddle of parents waiting out in the cold, hands rubbing together; a low hum of chatter. School gates still closed. When you greet some of them with familiarity - one or two even getting a hug as you make your way to your preferred circle - and introduce him as your husband, his heart swells. 

He didn’t realise you were friends with these people. That these fellow parents could be people to have anything in common with in the first place. Astarion is hardly the enigma he used to be within the city walls and they know of him. They know you’re with him.

But none have ever seen him in the flesh.

There’s a minute where he ponders what they think of him. How you’d described him, how they may have looked at your daughter under the orange gloaming light of Leaffall and wondered which features of hers came first from him as opposed to you. How they’d pieced him together in their minds.

He feels a little out of place as you chatter - hyper aware of each stolen glance in his direction. The whites of new eyes flickering in the darkness. 

It isn’t often he meets new people anymore. Even his client roster is exclusive. 

“Why would I tell you how good-looking he is when he isn’t even here to hear it?”

He tunes back in. They all look, you included.

“Hm?”

“Marta-’ 

A faux accusatory glance on your face as you look over to the human who - Astarion presumes - is Marta. 

‘Asked why I hadn’t told the group just how attractive you are.”

The way the most blinding smile breaks over your ruddied cheeks. He melts behind a scoff.

“Actually darling, Marta has a point. I’m hurt, frankly.”

Gods. They’re all laughing. Your gaggle of school-gate friends and he has them laughing.

“No, it’s just dark. See him by light. Then you’ll change your minds.”

You huddle closer despite the brazen lie and the group laughs away. He throws in a small chuckle for good measure and presses a kiss to your head once more.

They’re all relatively harmless, he decides.

What do school gate friends do? Why have you never invited them over for wine or something? 

“I mean - Astarion, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

“They’re showing a rather keen interest to come over one evening for dinner. Inconspicuous, I’m sure.” 

He looks around warily. Can they read his mind? Is someone here a weird school gate mind reader freak? What the fuck?

Your eyes narrow at Marta in jest.

Oh.

If you’re even showing the slightest hint at wanting the doting husband, the doting husband he will give you. Freely and willingly. Far too easily. Naturally.

“Oh! Whatever you want, my love. Anything.”

Astarion takes your head in his hands and brings you close for a warm kiss, eyes softening as he holds you in place. A gentle smile against the harsh wind.  

“What’s in the bag?” Another asks in a jarring fettle. Your head whips round. He answers softly. 

“I- I made the little one a scarf.” 

A coo arises from those huddled around the two of you. 

“He’s a tailor. A good one, too. Really good.” 

You nod with a smile, looking at him. You’re mid-cycle and the idea of your daughter spotting him with those big eyes makes you a bit weak.

A saccharine voice from somewhere in the mix - “He’s immaculate, honey. I’m a little jealous?” 

If he can blush, Astarion feels one coming on. This feels staged. 

“He can’t take his shoes off without kicking them up the wall. Or catch spiders.”

-

As you resume your quiet chatter amongst the group, Astarion catches the door open in the near distance and a soft amber glow pouring from it from the corner of his eye.

It’s a trance. He looks over the heads obscuring his view, the tips of his toes touching the ends of his pristine shoes. 

And there she is.

Absolutely perfect. Small, searching the crowd for the parent she knows will be here.

Then she sees him.

It’s not difficult from afar, even in the dark - she recognises the shock of white hair anywhere - and the look of sheer confusion painted on her face shifts to unfettered joy in seconds.

Gods. She’s running. Tiny legs, bag flailing in her hand. Shouting-

“DADDY!”

As she hurtles towards him, he realises he’s never seen her run like this. She can’t run like this in the house. It’d be enough to make him sad if he weren’t so wholly elated.

He crouches just in time for her to barrel into his open arms.

The way he cups the back of her head is as if he hasn’t seen her in years, spinning her as he stands and holds her at his hip. She’s babbling something wicked and all of it sounds like utter nonsense and he’s so besotted it doesn’t even matter.

His little girl, out in the world. Being a person. 

And it’s him that she chooses to run to. 

“Charming! Hello love!” You shuffle closer and plant a large kiss on the back of her head, taking the bags from her hand and hoisting them up over your back in a routine twirl.

You take Astarion’s hint of a glance toward his bag and roll your eyes fondly, feeling for the scarf and slipping it back into his hand.

“My little darling! Hello! I have something for you - close your eyes.”

He haphazardly wraps the scarf around her neck with one hand as she bristles against his hip, wiggling her shoulders in some impromptu happy dance.

“Look now! You match us!” He exclaims. 

She opens her eyes and squeals with glee you haven’t seen at the school gate before, ever.

And true to his word, the scarf wholly matches both of yours. Embroidered with small golden stars on navy fabric. Her name in some immaculate loopy hand. Far too big for her at present, but warm on this coldest of evenings.

“I love it daddy. I want another one.” She nods acutely and smatters his face in small kisses. 

As you look to Astarion, he raises both brows in amusement at her request. She tucks her head in under his chin.

“Come along now. Let’s get you warm by the fire.”

✦

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

req'd by @anonforlackofabettername

slippy slidey! :)

text: Hockey is inherently the funniest sport cuz it's played on ice which is slippy

[tysonhos]

hockey is the best sport because ice is slippy bench is also slippy

also lmao

[rrickgrrimes8]

Skater

summary: crossing over a frozen lake shouldve been a simple task - not with a tonya harding fan

Joel Miller x platonic!reader -- gn!reader, except Joel calls reader babygirl

warnings: almost drowning, near death experience, angst, hurt/comfort, father figure! Joel, soft Joel

masterlist

request guidelines (new)

requests are open!

word count: 1.2k

Trailing behind Joel and Ellie, you hum an unfamiliar tune. You walked to the beat, hands flowing as the nameless song played through your mind. Joel shot you a look, rolling his eyes and told you to hurry up. 

You ignored him though and found yourself mesmerized by the snowy landscape. You had never seen this before – well you’d never seen anything before really. Growing up inside the QZ in a brainwashing school by FEDRA didn’t exactly allow you to see the world like you so desperately wanted to. It was as beautiful as you imagined. 

Yes, there was infected, clickers, raiders, bloaters but none of that mattered as you walked through the forest with your new family. You had lost another part of your family months prior - Henry and Sam - and your heart still ached for them. Ellie’s did too. Joel, on the other hand, was stoney and stoic as usual. 

The teen stared ahead at the frozen over lake, a frown on you face. “We’re going over this?” 

Joel grunted in response, stepping forward to show them it was okay. 

Ellie went next, holding out her hand for you. “We’re okay,” She assured, “C’mon.” 

You sucked in a harsh breath and nodded, taking your first of many steps. 

“Did you ever ice skate, Joel?” You asked, slipping as you did. 

Joel quirked a brow and glanced over his shoulder, “How do you know about ice skating?” 

“Books,” You shrugged, “Found a book on Tonya Harding.” 

“Christ, haven’t heard that name in a while,” He chuckled. 

“Who was she?” Ellie spoke up, confused. 

“Ice skater… amongst other things,” He told them. 

“So have you?” You repeated, eyes flickering to either side of the lake – where the sun was falling and the bright hue was getting lost behind the terrain. 

“I have,” He confessed, “Once or twice.” 

“Really?” You perked up, “What was it like?” 

“Slippy,” He remarked, trudging over the ice – halfway at this point. 

“Sick,” The teen muttered, “I woulda loved to, you know?” 

“Still time, kid,” He shot you an earnest look before grunting, “We should speed this up though, lights going.” The teens nodded, Ellie quickening so she was closer to Joel. 

You stayed slightly behind though, willing yourself to glide rather than walk on the ice. Joel said there was still time and there’s no time like the present, right? 

You let your right foot lead, stumbling on your first go but quickly catching yourself. You tried again, soon after, and slid for way longer. “Joel, Ellie look,” You exclaimed, ready to do it again. 

“Just walk, kid,” He rolled his eyes, not sparing you a glance. Ellie too continued to walk on, arms wrapping around her chest to warm her. 

Pouting slightly, you paused before forming a perfect idea – you just needed to catch up to them and then they’d see. You straightened your back, lifted your foot from the ground before heavily stomping it down and began to glide, faster than before. 

It was going well at first – maybe a little clumsy as you closed in on the oblivious pair. 

But then you heard a crack, and without even a second to call for Joel, you felt a rush of cold, painful water. 

Ellie sighed as they neared the ¾ mark, turning to speak to her friend – breath catching in her throat when she heard the same crack. She snapped her gaze to you but felt an overwhelming fear grip her when she realized all there that was left was an empty space and a gaping hole in the ice. 

Having not heard, Joel continued, only stopping when he heard Ellie screaming your name. Wasting no time, he span to face them but was only met with Ellie, who was sprinting over to a hole in the ice. “No,” He shuddered, realization hitting him. 

Joel ran faster than he thought he was capable in that moment. His breathing was heavy in his chest, ears ringing – missing the panicked yells from Ellie – and collapsed beside the hole. He called your name, shakily and frantically – hand plunging into the freezing water, struggling to grab you. Joel felt a strange sensation overwhelm his chest – a fear he hadn’t felt since he lost Sarah. 

Forcing back some tears, he dived into the abyss – Ellie screaming as he did. He had forgotten how hard it was to open your eyes underwater but he ignored the burning and searched for a glimpse of you. And it didn’t take long. You were there – still, unmoving, corpselike. He almost let out a sob as he saw you – pushing against the liquid and pulling you into his arms. 

Joel got the pair of you out the water quickly, lying you against the ice as Ellie watched in fear, tears welling up. Looking at you then, Joel felt as if he was too late and maybe he was – he eyed your chest, motionless. It didn’t rise or fall, and your eyes didn’t open. 

The world seemed to vanish for a moment for Joel. His vision blurred and his body moved on autopilot. Hands finding your chest, he began to beat down on it – recalling briefly some first aid training he received 30 years ago. You didn’t move as he continued the chest compressions. 

“C’mon, baby,” He cried for what felt like the first time in 20 years (it probably was), “Come back to me. Come back, babygirl.” 

You looked dead, Ellie thought as she observed Joel’s attempts at saving you. She thought it was almost futile, that Joel couldn’t do a damn thing now and that terrified her. 

Lips finding yours, he forced a breath into your lungs, causing you to begin to splutter. Joel delicately, moved you onto your side as you continued to cough up the murky water. He let himself exhale as he helped you – you were here, you were alive, you were breathing. 

“Oh baby,” He called out to you, pulling you close to his chest. You seemed at once surprised by his actions before sinking into it soon after. The heat from his body radiated, quelling the shivers that didn’t seem to die down. “You’re okay,” He croakily voiced, more to himself than them, “Oh, babygirl, you’re okay.” You nodded against his chest. 

Ellie called out your name, tearfully and joined the pair of them, hand holding yours. “I thought you were dead, asshole,” She laughed but it seemed hollow – the comment far to genuine. 

“I-I wanted to skate,” You told them, “I w-was doing i-it.” 

“And you can’t do that again okay,” Joel scolded, “Damn near gave me a heart attack… no, you can’t do that to me- to us again.” 

“O-okay,” You shook, eyes closing as you snuggled into his chest. 

“Hey, b-baby,” He tapped your cheek, “You stay awake… keep your eyes on me.” 

You frown, groaning as your eyes felt so heavy, “S-so tired.” 

“Not yet, okay, baby?” Joel stressed, getting up – Ellie following with their bags on her shoulders, “We gotta get you warm first, okay?” 

“O-okay,” You mumbled, voice dazed and confused, “T-Thanks for s-saving me d-dad.” 

He inhaled sharply, more tears falling but he couldn’t bring himself to respond – the lump forming in his throat. All that mattered was getting you better. 

All that mattered was your life.

[toomuchracket]

ice lollies (barista!matty x reader smut)

once again, summer75. he is so dirty in this lol. and dominant! enjoy <3

“i swear to fucking god, cookie, you make a fucking sound and you won't cum for a week. got it?”

you nod frantically, looking up at matty with the biggest doe eyes you can muster. he rolls his in response, spinning you away from him and roughly bending you over; you smile to yourself as you hear him undo his belt, bracing your arms on the wall of the building - as best you can, given that the brickwork is slippy with moss - and wincing when your boyfriend flips up your sundress and spanks you, hard. when you successfully stay silent, other than a sharp intake of breath when his hand makes contact, matty hums approvingly. “so you can behave,” he all but sneers, voice dripping with condescension. “wasn't so sure after your little stunt with the ice lolly in there, you know? sucking on it like that, looking at me like that, getting me all worked up while i'm just trying to do my fucking job. desperate little slut.”

the combination of the memory and degradation sends goosebumps skittering up your arms and slick into your underwear. while he pays no notice to the former, matty definitely notices the latter, pressing his fingers against the damp silk as if he's trying to fuck you through it and chuckling mirthlessly when you writhe silently in response. “turns you on when i call you a slut, doesn't it? well, you're in luck, cookie,” he yanks your panties down so quickly you wouldn't be surprised if your skin scraped. “because i'm going to fuck you like one, too.”

before you even have time to react, he's buried inside you to the hilt, giving you even less time to adjust before his hips begin to quickly snap into yours. the sound of skin hitting skin is obscene, filthiness heightened by the additional sounds of the main street mere metres away at the end of the alleyway. the two of you are hidden from view by a wooden bin store, and really nobody ever comes out here except matty on his smoke breaks, anyway, so the likelihood of getting caught in flagrante delicto like this is almost nonexistent, but just the thrill that you might if you're not careful is really, really hot. you wonder if matty feels the same - he's certainly fucking you a lot more enthusiastically than usual (which is really saying something), hands clutching your hips so hard that bruises are definitely inevitable, but that might just be because he's so pissed off at your actions in the coffee shop.

either way, you're getting what you wanted.

a particularly pointed thrust has your back arching, so much that you can actually see matty behind you. he groans at the sight of you, all half-closed eyes and quivering jaw, reaching a big hand around and wrapping it around your neck; next thing you know, you're standing almost straight, head against your boyfriend's shoulder as he continues to piston his hips into you. “can't believe you're getting off to this, getting fucked in an alley like a cheap whore,” he murmurs into your ear, voice low and sexy and going directly to your cunt. “fucking ruined you, haven't i, gorgeous? made you so needy for my cock you'll bend over for me in the street in broad daylight? good grief,” he tuts, the smirk on his face audible even in his onomatopoeic sounds. “s'a proper shame you're not going into work after this, you know? would've enjoyed sending you wobbling back into the office with your neck all marked and my cum dripping out of that pretty cunt of yours, cookie, would've really enjoyed it. s'pose i'll just have to do that another time, yeah?”

jesus fucking christ.

your breath comes out in shakes, partially from how just how brutally you're being fucked, but mostly from the dirty talk. rolling your head back even further onto matty's shoulder, you look up at him dazedly - he smirks, and only then do you register that your lips are silently forming the word “please” practically of their own accord. “oh, you want that too, cookie? wanna be my little cumslut?” he coos, two fingers sliding up your neck and hooking between your bitten-red lips, pulling your jaw down so he can spit in your open mouth and shove your chin to close it again; his eyes lock onto your throat, and he beams when he sees it swallow. “fuck, you're filthy. maybe i'll need to fill up all those pretty holes of yours before sending you into work, hmm? one after the other, until you can't move, can't talk, can't think without remembering me inside you. what do you think, gorgeous, you like the sound of that?”

you clench around him, vice-tight, and he huffs out a laugh. “yeah, course you fuckin do. getting off to the thought of it right now, aren't you?”

even if you were allowed to talk, that question would be rhetorical. matty knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly how to get you off, knows exactly what the signs of your orgasms are - laboured breaths, eyes fluttering closed, jaw dropping open, cunt tightening around him, manicured hands clutching at any part of his body you can reach. today, the choice for the latter is the back of his neck, your arm carelessly thrown behind you in search of him; it's a way to stay grounded through the intense pleasure you know is imminent, but also a means of keeping matty close while he fucks you towards that climax, and you can tell he's also getting close to the edge because he doesn't rip the piss out of you for actually doing that.

that, and the way his façade of complete control slips as he gets lost in pleasure, dirty talk switching out in favour of broken whines. “oh, fuck, i need you to cum for me, cookie,” he moans into your temple, hips beginning to fall out of rhythm but still keeping tempo. “need to feel that pretty cunt cum so i can fill it up like it deserves, yeah? come on, gorgeous, please.”

after everything, it's the plea that does it. you fall apart around him, literally falling forward onto your arms against the cold wall, panting as matty slams his hips into you for the final time as he cums; once he's done redecorating your insides, his forehead meets the nape of your neck, both of you panting and recovering together while london rages on in the background.

a minute or two (or five) later, you go to straighten up - matty helps you, big hand on your stomach guiding you, and you hum happily when he hugs you. “thank you, angel,” your voice is scratchy with underuse. “sorry i was a brat.”

matty laughs, tired. “apology accepted, cookie. was it as good as you hoped it would be?”

“so much better,” you bring his hand to your lips. “fucking roasting now, though. maybe i could have an ice lolly to cool me down?”

“oh, fuck off.”

[bits-and-babs]

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

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