Bunny's Forest

Bunny | 31 | 18+ MDNI

[mistyyyy]

Thinking about Sylus with a piss kink but it’s him on the receiving end and he enjoys holding his piss in all day with you purposely teasing him and when he wakes up in the morning he moans and cums as he takes his morning piss. Thank you.

[zaynezone]

“Oh thank god.”

Sylus barely has a time to greet you, let alone process your words, before you’re climbing into his lap and kissing him passionately. Your fingers fist his shirt, tugging at the fabric.

“Eager, are we?”

“Went to visit Zayne during his lunch. I was-fuck-two seconds away from cumming when he got called away.” The desperation in your voice is clear as your hips weakly grind against his.

“Poor thing. Have you been this needy all day?” Sylus’s voice is heavy, the desire coming off of you in waves that makes his right eye burn brighter.

“Y-yeah. Please Sylus I-I need you now.” You whimper, undoing his belt with a shocking speed.

“Zayne will be home soon. You can’t wait?” He hums, helping you out of your clothes. Clearly, you do want to wait for him, your head falling to Sylus’s forehead as you sigh.

“I-I can’t. Just m-make me cum once? And then we can wait, I’ll be good I promise!” You’re practically trembling already, the thin fabric of your panties soaked.

It doesn’t take much. He finds your clit with ease, coating his fingers with your slick and circling steadily. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you cum, crying out his name and biting his shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait till I got home to cum?” Zayne’s unamused tone makes you go rigid, and Sylus raises a brow at this new information, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Sweetie, we really need to teach you a lesson in patience.”

[unknown-ends]

[spacekittiesmeow]

YOUR HUSBAND IS C☆MING .ᐟ

SYNOPSIS :☆: it's your wedding day!

zayne ⋮ he's too overwhelmed seeing you in white .ᐟ caleb ⋮ you just cannot get your hair right .ᐟ xavier ⋮ your wedding is in 5 hours and you haven't slept a wink .ᐟ rafayel ⋮ he finally gets to fuck his bride .ᐟ sylus ⋮ he's not allowed to see you .ᐟ

CW :☆: MDNI! unprotected sex (p in v), semi-public sex, blindfolding, spit play, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, thigh-fucking, creampie, rafayel nearly ebbing, LIs being mushy

ZAYNE LI ☆

It’s a modest wedding—just close friends and family gathered to bless the two of you. Still, you’re getting married. So here you are, dressing together, and Zayne—god, zayne, is overwhelmed at the sight of you in white. Ready to marry him.

And he doesn’t know what to do with it than to—

“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.

“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”

“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.

His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”

He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.

“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.

“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.

His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.

“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.

“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”

His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.

waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.

He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.

He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“shall we go get married now?”

CALEB XIA ☆

It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.

“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately.  Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.

You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.

“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”

You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.

“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.

He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?

“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.

“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.

“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.

“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”

“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.

And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.

XAVIER SHEN ☆

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.

The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.

“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.

His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.

He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.

“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”

By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.

“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.

“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”

He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.

“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.

Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”

He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.

“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.

“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”

RAFAYEL QI ☆

You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.

Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?

“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.

his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.

“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”

He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.

“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.

“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”

You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.

“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.

“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—

you nearly kick him away before he can start again.

“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.

“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.

And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.

SYLUS QIN ☆

“boss lady!”

“boss-man’s back!”

The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.

“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”

“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"

“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.

His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.

He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”

“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.

“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”

Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”

His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.

He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.

Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.

“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.  

“touch it again and you will,”

[afreakforyautja]

Unbound (Part 2)

(Yautja x Human)

[Continuation of my original story Trapped]

(Bet you didn’t see that one coming 😅 I was just feeling down lately and writing about Keth’raal always brings me joy 💚 missed you guys, hope you enjoy this one and can’t wait for your comments as always 🖤)

You could feel his eyes on your back as you hurried around the kitchen, trying to throw together something quick. Keth’raal leaned against the wall nearby, massive arms crossed over his chest as he silently watched you move from counter to counter.

Your stomach had growled so loudly a few moments ago that you had practically launched yourself off the bed in embarrassment, rushing to the kitchen before he could start questioning the strange noises humans apparently made when starving.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to catch his relaxed posture as he studied you cooking.

“I’m okay.” The mechanical rasp of his vocoder answered.

You hummed softly, rinsing the lettuce one last time before chopping through it quickly.

“Let’s say you were hungry,” you continued, “could you even eat human food?”

“Not really. Some fruits are acceptable.” He paused briefly, the translator crackling for half a second before continuing. “The rest taste… off.”

That last word came delayed and you frowned slightly, unsure whether the vocoder had malfunctioned or if he had simply hesitated.

“What kind of fruit?” you asked, reaching for a tomato.

But you completely missed the shift behind you.

Keth’raal had gone perfectly still.

Three crimson targeting dots slid silently across the kitchen floor, settling over the tiny shape creeping near the cabinets. Before you could even notice, his form shimmered and vanished beneath his cloak.

Meanwhile, you remained entirely oblivious, still focused on your dinner.

“Keth’raal?” you called after a moment, turning around with a confused blink.

He was suddenly back where he had been before, leaning against the wall again, though his head remained tilted slightly toward the floor as if he had been watching something there moments earlier. Then his gaze snapped back to you.

“What kind of fruit?” you repeated, smiling before returning to your cutting board.

“Melons. Star fruits—”

“Have you tried grapes?” you interrupted quickly.

You crossed the kitchen in a hurry, opening the fridge before plucking a grape from one of the containers. Then you walked straight back to him, stopping close enough to feel the cold radiating from his armour.

He looked down at the grape between your fingers before slowly shaking his head, his thick dreadlocks shifting over his shoulders with the movement.

“Can you try one?” you asked, suddenly unsure whether feeding him random human food counted as a terrible scientific decision.

For a second he simply stared at you and then nodded.

His fingers hooked beneath the edge of his mask, slowly lifting it just enough for his mouth to show, his mandibles spreading open for you.

You blinked at the sight of him opening his mouth.

And somehow, even more unexpected than that, was the fact you were about to feed him. As if this was something normal between you. Something that had always been waiting to happen.

You had fought together. Bled together. Nearly died together.

But you had never shared something as simple as food.

You took a small breath, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him. As if sensing your hesitation, his hand rose and wrapped gently around your wrist, guiding your hand closer to his mouth. Your fingers slipped carefully between his parted mandibles as he opened them wider for you, and then his mouth opened too, revealing that serpent-like tongue.

No matter how many times you had seen his anatomy, studied it, worked around it as an extraterrestrial biologist, it still fascinated you beyond reason.

But this was different from the lab.

Back then, Keth’raal had been wounded, restrained, unconscious half the time.

Now he was letting you see him.

Letting you touch him.

You slowly pushed the grape between his teeth before his mouth closed around it. Your fingers began retreating carefully, but halfway through, you changed your mind.

Instead, your hand settled lightly beneath his mandibles, fingertips resting against his chin. Your thumb brushed once, twice, over the cold texture of his skin before you finally pulled away completely.

A low sound rumbled through his chest as he chewed, soft and deep, almost like a hum.

Your eyes lit up instantly.

You recognised that sound.

Approval.

“Good?” you asked with a grin.

He pulled his mask back down immediately afterward, tilting his head at you.

“Was it good?” you repeated.

He stared at you for a second before nodding once.

“It’s tolerable.”

You burst into a quiet laugh, almost certain he had probably tried grapes before and disliked them, but couldn’t bring himself to refuse you.

“You don’t have to try things if you don’t want to” you said, turning back toward the stove.

“I want to.”

Even through the distortion of the mask, the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

You were humming a soft melody now, a song you didn’t even recognise and you felt truly at ease. The safety of your home wrapped around you, becoming warmer by Keth’raal’s presence nearby.

Then his voice broke the silence.

“Why here?” He asked, still watching you as you moved around the kitchen.

You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s a good question, but I might disappoint you.” The memory felt strangely distant, even though it had only been two years. “After we escaped the lab, I ran straight to the airport. I didn’t even have clothes with me, just the ones on my back. The first flight on the board was this one, so I took it. No real plan. I just needed to get as far away from that place as possible.”

“It’s quiet here,” he said, voice low through the vocoder. “It suits you better.”

“I kind of miss the chaos of the city sometimes,” you admitted with a small shrug.

“I can take you there,” he offered without hesitation.

You clicked your tongue in gentle refusal. “I’m not going back.” You smiled, but there was no humor in it.

You really meant every word. You would never return to that life. Not while this quiet, remote island kept you safe from the world that had once tried to destroy you both.

This place, far from everything, had become your sanctuary.

You would only step back into noise and crowds again if it was for his safety.

“You need help with that?”

His voice came from behind the mask as you shook your head immediately, still struggling with the can in your hands.

You had learned to adjust to little things like this over the years. Since your left hand never healed properly, you couldn’t fully close it anymore, so even simple tasks sometimes turned awkward and frustrating.

But Keth’raal hadn’t questioned it once.

Not a single pitying look. Not even curiosity.

As if he didn’t see it as weakness at all.

Only an injury earned surviving beside him.

He had offered to help once and when you refused, he respected it without pressing further.

“It didn’t heal all the way,” you said casually, still working at the can. “I can’t fully close it anymore, but honestly? That’s a pretty small price considering your injuries.”

His posture shifted slightly against the wall.

“Did it hurt?”

The question caught you so off guard you almost laughed.

An alien built like a tank, with battle scars all over his body, asking about your pain.

“Like hell,” you scoffed softly, finally managing to open the can before reaching for another grape and tossing it into your mouth.

“But I couldn’t stand the thought of you bleeding to death. I mean—” you gestured vaguely with one hand, almost laughing at yourself. “Are you kidding me? I’d go through that pain again if it meant you survived.”

Silence followed for a second.

“You are too selfless.”

The vocoder sounded unusually serious this time. Lower somehow. Heavier than before.

You shook your head quickly.

“I don’t feel selfless. I just acted on instinct.” You glanced back at him with a small smile. “You would have done the same for me.”

You turned back toward the stove, completely unaware of how deeply that smile settled into him.

“You were ready to get captured again if it meant not leaving me behind,” you murmured after a moment, quieter now as the memories resurfaced. “Talking about selfless.”

“I was selfish back then,” he corrected immediately. “I did not listen to you. I was stubborn.”

A soft laugh escaped you.

“I was stubborn too.”

Your movements slowed as the memory hit harder this time. The final shove forcing him out of the lab while you trapped yourself behind instead.

“You were.”

His voice came closer now.

Closer than before.

But you didn’t turn around.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked quietly.

And honestly, you weren’t even sure what you meant anymore.

Mad because you forced him to leave?

Mad because you never found him afterward?

Or because fear had kept you frozen for far too long?

You didn’t even know yourself.

“I was.”

His voice came from right behind you now.

You felt the change in the air before you felt him, the coldness of his body somehow making the space around you warmer instead, charged like live wires stretched too tightly.

“For the first hour.”

His longer dreadlocks slipped over your shoulders as his head lowered, resting carefully against the crook of your neck.

Heavy. Helmeted. And somehow still careful, touching you with just enough weight to remind you he was there without ever truly pressing down on you.

Maybe everything about Keth’raal was softer than he wanted the universe to believe.

Or maybe you simply could not see him any other way anymore.

“What happened after the first hour?” you asked quietly, remaining perfectly still beneath him.

You barely even breathed.

One wrong movement and the moment might break apart completely. He might retreat again, hide behind silence the way he always did when he felt you hesitating.

A low sound rumbled from deep inside his chest, thoughtful and rough, something instinctive in his language before the translator could catch up.

“I was…” another growl-like hum vibrated against your shoulder, “…devastated.”

This time you heard the word beneath the vocoder too, his real voice slipping through the helmet from how close he was. Deep. Guttural. Honest enough to make your chest ache.

His hands settled on the counter beside yours, caging you, his chest pressed carefully against your back as if he was still learning how much of his weight you could carry.

And when you finally breathed again after holding it for far too long, you felt him exhale too.

The tension slowly left his body, his shoulders easing as he let himself lean against you properly now, almost like exhaustion had finally caught up to him the second he realised you were truly here.

His breath warmed the space near your ear.

One of his hands flexed against the counter before relaxing again, restless fingers curling as though he wanted to touch you, hold you, make sure you were real.

“Keth…” His name left your mouth softer than you intended.

You wanted to say something else.

Anything else.

But the words dissolved before reaching your tongue.

His hand made of metal and artificial flesh rose first, gripping the edge of his helmet before slowly pushing it upward just enough to expose his mouth. His mandibles spread open in silence and your eyes fluttered shut instantly, nervously.

You felt the brush of his mandibles against the crook of your neck.

Your head tilted slightly, giving him more room without even thinking about it.

The moment you felt a talon hook beneath the collar of your shirt, dragging the fabric lower to expose your shoulder, a shiver ran violently down your spine.

Cotton gave way beneath the sharp edge of his claw with a soft rip.

He didn’t stop until your shoulder was fully bare beneath him, exposed, sensitive.

And then nothing.

No sudden movement.

No aggression.

Just the feeling of his unmasked face resting there against your skin.

Cold skin brushing yours carefully.

Feeling you.

You heard him inhale deeply against your shoulder, the sound dragging straight through your nervous system.

Your jaw clenched immediately, forcing yourself silent before any sound escaped that you wouldn’t be able to explain afterward.

His hand settled on the counter beside yours, close enough that the heat of his palm traveled over your skin. His mouth hovered just above the curve of your neck, breath ghosting warm across flushed skin. Even though his body ran cooler than a human’s, the sheer presence of him wrapped around you like a furnace. Or perhaps it was only your own temperature rising, blood rushing hot beneath your skin in a dizzying fever.

You couldn’t see him. That alone made the moment feel like one of the half-remembered dreams that had haunted you for two years.

His voice, his touch, the solid wall of his chest at your back, but never his face. The image of him had blurred with time. Yet this was real. He was here, his claws shredding the front of your shirt open, inhaling your scent like a predator savoring prey he had no intention of harming.

You tried to turn, desperate to look at him, to convince yourself he wasn’t another cruel dream.

But his bionic hand rose swiftly, the synthetic skin warm and startlingly lifelike as it covered your eyes. You shivered and obeyed, lashes fluttering shut and with your sight stolen, every other sense sharpened. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint metallic scent of his armor, the low thrum of his breathing through the vocoder.

“If you look at me with those eyes…” the vocoder murmured softly, “I do not know what I will do.”

Your breath faltered.

Only then did you realise he must have lowered the mask again just enough to tell you that himself. Not through distance. Not safely hidden away in his native language.

Close enough for you to understand he was struggling to get the words out.

“What do you want to do?” you whispered, barely audible.

His free hand slid over yours on the counter, claws barely grazing your skin while the artificial hand continued shielding your eyes.

A low sound vibrated in his chest before the translator finally caught up. “No language I know can describe it.”

Beneath the translator’s flat tone, you caught the real sound of him, rich, guttural, layered with clicks and that rough accent that made your stomach flutter. You almost smiled.

“Your voice has changed,” you murmured.

“You sound… older.”

“I am older,” he answered, matter-of-fact, yet the low rumble of it felt almost suggestive against your ear.

You swallowed. “What did two years change for you?”

Instead of answering immediately, he lifted your hand from the counter and guided it upward. Your fingertips brushed the thick, rubbery dreadlocks that framed his head. You caught one gently between your fingers, stroking the strange, smooth texture.

“What didn’t change,” he said, voice dropping lower, “is how desperately I wanted to see you again.”

Your smile faltered. Heat flooded your cheeks, a deep, embarrassed flush that spread down your throat and across your chest. You took a small, shaky step backward, pressing yourself fully against the hard plane of his torso, letting his slow breaths guide your own breathing. His hand remained over your eyes, protective, possessive and just a little teasing as his thumb brushed lightly over your temple.

How could he admit something like that so easily? After two whole years apart, how could he lay his heart bare without a trace of reluctance?

Then again… this was Keth’raal. He wasn’t just a tease. He was the most brutally honest being you had ever known. Once something took root in his mind, he pursued it with the focus of a hunter who had already marked his prey. Unapologetic. Assertive. When he wanted something, he claimed it.

“You’re here now,” you breathed, voice small and trembling.

His bionic palm slowly lifted from your eyes. You wondered what he would do next, but you never expected what actually came.

His hand slid down, talons grazing over your throat before his fingers wrapped around it with soft pressure. His thumb settled over the front of your throat, right where your pulse beat wildly.

“Say that again,” he whispered, voice rough and low. The translator barely masked the desperate click beneath it, the begging tone of his voice. And when you stayed silent a second too long, his thumb pressed a little firmer, coaxing.

“Na’kai.”

You swallowed against his palm. “You’re… here now.”

The moment the words left you, his thumb stroked slowly over your throat, savoring the vibration of your voice against his skin. A deep, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, followed by a series of soft, satisfied clicks right beside your ear.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered, your own hand drifting up to cover his. Your fingers traced over his knuckles, then higher, until they found the cool steel of his mask. Your nails dragged down the metal with a slow, scraping screech that made his grip tighten for a second.

“Again,” he demanded softly, hips moving forward in a slow, impulsive roll against your back. The movement pressed you more firmly between his body and the counter, an invisible and undeniable pull drawing you together.

You closed your eyes on purpose this time, surrendering completely to sensation. His heavy breath hissed through the mask. His dreadlocks brushed and tickled across your bare shoulders. The heat of his torso burned against your back and the firm press of his hips made your thoughts scatter. You said his name again, slower, letting the vibration of your throat caress his palm like a secret you had decided to share only with him.

You could feel the war inside him, the desire to keep you trapped like this, safe between his chest and the counter, your voice singing against his hand forever. His thumb brushed one last time along your throat before he finally released you, claws trailing lightly down your collarbone.

But beneath the heat of the moment lingered a heavier tension, one you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

What could possibly exist between a human and a Yautja? Was something like sex even possible? How would your bodies fit? And if you tried, how would he—

A loud crack from the living room stopped your spiraling thoughts.

Keth’raal’s shoulder cannon was already tracking the sound, red lasers cutting through the darkness. He didn’t speak. He simply stood there, ready and lethal as always.

You turned back to the kitchen counter, heart hammering against your ribs. The ghost of his body still clung to you, his solid chest at your back, the low click of his mandibles, the possessive weight of his hand wrapped around your throat as he drank in every vibration of your voice.

Swallowing hard, you picked up the knife and tried to focus on the vegetables, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His heavy footsteps moved away, giving you space. You heard him lean against the far wall, arms folded across his broad chest as he watched you again.

“What is that thing wandering around your home?” The vocoder made his voice sound dry, almost skeptical.

You kept your eyes on the cutting board.

“What thing?”

“That black thing.” He lifted a clawed hand, pointing toward the shadows in the living room.

“That’s Ke—”

The word died in your throat before you turned back toward the counter and resumed mutilating the poor lettuce for what had to be the tenth time.

“Ke?” Keth’raal echoed, the single syllable low and curious.

“Kelly!” you blurted, forcing a bright, fake laugh. “Her name is Kelly.”

You could feel his gaze burning into you and you knew—knew—that damn biomask was feeding him every spike in your heart rate, every degree of the blush crawling across your skin.

You prayed he wouldn’t connect the dots.

“What is Kelly?” his voice asked through the vocoder.

And somehow, despite your spiraling panic over almost revealing you had named your cat after him (well, after “Keth”) the innocent question caught you so off guard your panic subdued immediately.

A laugh escaped you for real this time.

“She’s a cat,” you said, finally turning to face him with a shy smile. “A small Earth mammal. She lives with me.”

And you didn’t notice.

How could you? Your back was turned as you finished plating your food, completely unaware of the way Keth’raal’s clawed fist rose and struck his own chest once, hard, as if trying to punish his heart for pounding too fiercely against his ribs. The smile you had given him had hit his insides harder than any blade he had ever faced. He would remember that moment long after you forgot it.

“And why do you keep the mammal around?” he asked as you carried your plate to the table. “Does it protect you?”

“No,” you replied softly, setting the plate down. “She’s just for company. Humans get lonely quickly.”

“You were lonely?” Keth’raal asked as you sat down at the table.

The already-torn shirt he had ripped open earlier slipped further, exposing the curve of your shoulder and the top of your chest. You yanked the fabric back into place quickly, but Keth’raal’s gaze never left you.

You risked a quick glance at him before dropping your eyes to your plate again.

“Were you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Lonely?”

He gave a small nod, his dreadlocks barely shifting with the motion.

Your stomach twisted into a tight knot.

You pushed the plate away and stood, drifting toward the couch in the living room. You didn’t need to ask him to follow, his footsteps were already right behind you, obedient and inevitable.

He surprised you by sinking to his knees in front of the couch, bringing the two of you eye to eye. At this height, he didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

“How did you manage?” you asked quietly.

“I didn’t,” he admitted, voice low and steady through the mask. “I simply kept moving. Fighting whatever stood between me and returning to you.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity. You reached out, fingers threading gently into his thick, rubbery dreadlocks, pulling him a little closer. He leaned into your touch without resistance, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.

“Are you in trouble?” you asked, concern painting your words.

Another quiet purr.

Yes.

“I won’t bring trouble to your door,” he promised.

“I don’t care if you do,” you answered quickly. Your hand slid down to his chin, gently lifting his masked face so you could look straight into the dark voids of his mask. “I don’t care… as long as you’re here.”

The moment stretched, fragile, tender, until your stomach gave a loud, embarrassing growl.

Keth’raal tilted his head. Without a word, he rose to his full height, retrieved your plate from the table and returned. He knelt once more, offering it to you with a small nod, silently urging you to eat.

He was adorable in ways no one would ever believe, naive in his curiosity, yet impossibly sharp. Lethal beyond measure and still so gently protective. Keth’raal was a walking paradox and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

He watched you eat, head tilting one way every time you lifted the fork to your mouth, then the other when you swallowed. You didn’t tell him to stop staring, even though the weight of his gaze made your cheeks warm. You understood that look. He was studying you the same way you loved studying him, trying to memorize every small habit, every tiny detail.

“How did you find your way back home?” you asked after swallowing another bite, your eyes lifting from your plate to meet the steady glow of his mask. This was the question you had carried for two long years.

Keth’raal gave a slow nod, silently encouraging you to keep eating as he answered. “After I recovered my ship. Its last recorded destination was my planet. I was meant to return there, right before the humans captured me.”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. A heavy wave of grief and guilt settled over your shoulders, pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t you who had taken him. You had been just as much of a prisoner in that lab as he was. Still, in this moment, you felt the full weight of humanity’s sins resting on you alone.

“Why didn’t they accept you back home?” you asked, your voice dropping softer on the next question. “What about your brothers?”

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask about his family. You wanted to respect whatever invisible boundaries existed, even if he had never drawn any.

Keth’raal remained silent for a long moment. The vocoder crackled once and then fell quiet.

“My homeworld was eradicated,” he finally said. “A new King has seized control of our planets. I—”

The translator cut off. You blinked, realizing he had hesitated.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, setting your plate aside. “You don’t have to talk about it—”

“If there is any being in this universe I wish to speak with,” he interrupted, “it’s you.”

Then, slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on your lap. Your eyes widened in shock. This was the first time you had ever seen Keth’raal look truly exhausted.

Not when you had fought xenomorphs together. Not when his arm had been severed. Not even when both of you had been bleeding out, clinging to life. None of those moments had left him bare like this.

But now, kneeling before you with his head heavy in your lap, the weight of years of loneliness and loss seemed to crash down on him all at once. His broad shoulders sagged. A deep, tired exhale left him, mandibles clicking faintly beneath the mask.

You placed your hands on his head without thinking, fingers sinking gently into his thick locks. You brushed through them slowly, until you found the nape of his neck. Your warm fingertips pressed against the cool skin there, right along the faint blue line you remembered from your time in the lab. You rubbed slow, soothing circles against the sensitive spot.

“I have no family left,” Keth’raal continued, voice quiet. “And those who survived no longer consider me one of their own. I wasn’t there to fight beside them. I was still trapped in that lab while my world burned.”

“I’m sorry…” The words left you in a broken whisper. The guilt settled heavy on your shoulders, humans had stolen his last chance to defend his home.

His head lifted slowly from your lap, dreadlocks sliding off your knees as he tilted his masked face toward you.

“It was never your fault—”

“But humans did this to you,” you insisted.

“You helped me escape. You saved my life, Na’kai.” His large hand rose, cold fingertips brushing your cheek, tracing the honored mark he had once given you. “You are not like the ones who captured me. You were as trapped as I was.”

Your throat tightened. “But now you have no home to return to…”

“I will find a new one.” The mechanical voice sounded softer somehow, almost tender.

“Half of my memories from those years are gone anyway. What remains… is mostly you.”

You glanced at him, then quickly looked down at your fidgeting hands. “How? We didn’t even know each other for that long.”

“I knew you,” he said quietly, echoing the confession he had made back in the lab. “I remember the hours you spent examining me. Talking to yourself. Taking samples. I was sedated, but not fully unconscious.”

You had been fascinated by him, his alien physiology, the striking power of his body, the silent strength in his eyes even when weakened.

Every day you had whispered apologies while drawing blood and tissue, watching him grow frailer under your hands.

Seeing him now, vibrant, powerful, muscles full and skin glowing with health, filled you with relief.

“I couldn’t understand your words,” he continued, “but you were always gentle. I never thanked you for that.”

“Don’t,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I spent every session apologizing for what I was doing to you. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Remember the days you weren’t assigned to me?” he asked. “Because I do. No one else was gentle. Only you.”

“Keth’raal…” His name left your lips like a plea.

“We are both here because of you,” he said firmly. His hand moved to your shoulder, pressing it gently until you finally met his gaze. “And I am grateful for that.”

You nodded, even though the guilt still sat like lead in your chest. No matter what he said, you weren’t sure you would ever fully forgive yourself for what you had done to him in that lab.

Keth’raal lowered himself back to the floor, kneeling in front of you once more. His large hand came to rest on your knee, feeling warm despite the coolness of his skin. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, natural. You let out a long, slow breath and allowed your body to relax into the quiet you had dreamed about for two years, his presence beside you, his gentle nature no longer just a memory.

His fingers began to tap a slow, rhythmic pattern against your knee. You had no idea he was matching the beat of your heart, but he did. He always knew how to calm you down since the beginning.

“So… you didn’t have anyone back home?” you asked, avoiding his gaze by pretending your half-eaten salad was suddenly fascinating.

“You mean a mate?” he replied without hesitation, his masked eyes fixed on you, never letting you dodge.

You nodded, fidgeting with your fork.

“Is that what you mean, Na’kai?” he pressed, a clear tease in his tone.

“Why do you want me to say it if you already know?” you groaned, reaching out to push his face away in embarrassment.

“Because you react like this,” he said simply. “And I like it when the blood rises to your cheeks.”

Even without sweet words, the honesty made your heart jump inside your chest. He enjoyed your shyness. After years of survival and violence, your softness must have been something entirely new to him and it did make you feel special.

“Did you have a mate or not?” you asked, faking an exaggerated sigh before stuffing another bite of salad into your mouth.

“I don’t remember,” he answered. “But I wasn’t blooded when I was captured, so I assume not”

“And what about those two years you were travelling—”

“Surviving,” he corrected.

“Right, sorry. Surviving.” You set your fork down, food completely forgotten now.

“What about those years?” he asked, even though you were almost certain he already knew exactly what you were asking.

You kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate. “Did you meet anyone?”

A soft clicking sound came from beneath the mask, almost amused.

“I did not have time to bond with anyone.”

“Oh.”

“Nor did I want to.”

Your fingers tightened around your fork.

“Oh,” you repeated quieter this time.

Keth’raal’s mask tilted. “Where is your mate, then?” He made a show of looking around the room before his mask’s eyes returned to you.

One of the mask’s lenses flashed white for a second, almost like a wink.

You stared at him. “Did you just wink at me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I am asking a question.”

You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head before mumbling, “Relationships are complicated these days. Who has time for that?”

But he clearly wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“So you didn’t bond with any humans?” he pressed.

“I went on a couple of dates, but—”

“Dates?” He rose from the floor in one fluid motion and settled onto the couch beside you.

“Yeah, it’s when two people go out to see if they match—”

“Did you match with any of them?” His voice dropped lower as he tugged you toward him. Your torn shirt slipped again under the pull of his hand.

“They were… nice—” you started, but the words vanished as his fingers caught the edge of the ripped fabric and lifted it higher.

“Nice?” he echoed, the single word sounding dangerously unimpressed. Before you could protest, he pulled you smoothly onto his lap, your legs curling against your chest as his massive arms caged you against him.

“Yeah, they were okay,” you shrugged, fingers

finding one of his dreadlocks and rubbing the thick, rubbery tip. “But they didn’t have… that something I was looking for.”

A low rumble started in his chest before he quickly silenced it, pretending nothing had happened. But you noticed. The way his body tensed beneath you, the subtle change in his breathing. And you were surprised by how much you enjoyed this side of him.

“They weren’t tall enough,” you added.

Keth’raal tilted his head. “But you’re rather small—”

“I like them massively tall, okay?” you interrupted, faking annoyance even as a smile tugged at your lips. He still wasn’t catching the very obvious hint.

“And they were too… soft.”

“Soft?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Are you not all soft? You’re hu—”

Realization hit him mid-sentence. The vocoder couldn’t hide the knowing click that followed.

“You like them rough-skinned,” he murmured, tilting his head to press the side of his mask against your cheek. You burst into quiet giggles as he continued, “And tall.” His fingers pressed lightly into your ribs, making you squirm. “Maybe even green?”

A deep, thrumming purr rolled through his chest, the Yautja equivalent of a chuckle. In one smooth motion he dropped you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he climbed over you. The furniture groaned under his weight. He caged you between his powerful forearms, dreadlocks falling around your face like a dark waterfall.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back a grin.

“Hmm…” The low sound vibrated through him as he stared down at you. “Where are you going to find a mate like that?” he teased. “I don’t see anyone on Earth who matches your… specific preferences.”

“I don’t mind if they’re not from Earth,” you said, smiling up at him sweetly.

“You are a very open-minded human,” he replied, nodding slowly. His clawed hand rose to cradle your cheek, a talon grazing your skin.

“Do you have anyone in mind you could introduce me to?” you smirked, tugging on two of his dreadlocks.

Keth’raal lowered his body instantly, pressing you deeper into the cushions. His mask hovered inches from your face.

“You shouldn’t play with a Yautja’s locks,” he warned, voice dropping into a rougher tone.

“Why not?” you asked, surprising yourself with your boldness.

“Because,” he murmured, bumping his mask gently against your forehead, “I can feel everything.”

Your hands froze.

You knew his dreadlocks were sensitive, but you hadn’t fully understood until now. The way his breathing grew heavier above you, rougher, more strained, made the realization sink in. Every touch had affected him far more than he let on.

You released his locks immediately. He exhaled sharply, as if you had been holding his very life in your palms.

Slowly, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his massive body enveloping you completely. His arms and legs caged you on the couch, yet instead of feeling trapped, you felt safe. Exactly where you wanted to be.

“Where is your hair ring?” you asked softly, remembering the single ornate bead he used to wear on one of his locks.

He lifted his head, bringing you eye to eye with the dark voids of his mask. “I took it off after my clan rejected me. But I keep it safe.”

“It was your only memento,” you murmured. In the back of your mind, a quiet thought started forming. Maybe I could give him a new one. Something to come back to. Someone to belong to.

He didn’t belong on Earth… but perhaps he could belong with you.

The thought made your heart miss a beat. What are you even thinking?

“Can I…?” you whispered, hands rising hesitantly toward his mask. Your fingers curled around the edges. The lenses flashed red for a brief second , startled, before you gently lifted it away.

The mask dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Without it, his mandibles flexed and parted, the vibrant green of his eyes finding you. They were stunning up close, intense and strangely vulnerable as they searched yours. You whispered his name and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft series of clicks escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Da’to thwei,” he rumbled in his native tongue, the words low and intimate. His hands cradled the back of your head, talons carefully threading through your hair as he rubbed his forehead gently against yours.

He seemed lighter without the mask. Freer. As if speaking without the translator’s barrier allowed him to finally breathe. His body relaxed fully against yours, native clicks and rumbles leaving him effortlessly.

“If you’re saying you missed me…” you murmured, unaware of the true weight of his words, “I missed you too.”

In his language, however, he had already claimed you. Completely.

“Can you stay longer?” you whispered. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

But Keth’raal was already reaching for his mask.

“No, wait, please.” You caught his wrist. “I don’t have the courage to say this while you can understand me . I… I want you to stay. I want you to come back to me after every hunt. I want to be your—”

His hand moved quickly, pressing two fingers gently against your lips, silencing you. He slipped the helmet back on and shook his head, the red glow of his lenses steady on you.

“You’re not going to tell me what you just said, are you?”

“No,” you breathed, a small, shy smirk tugging at your lips. “Not yet.”

“Are you going to tell me what you whispered in Yautja earlier?” you continued.

“No.” He pulled you up from the couch with, your hands resting in his open palms.

“Then we’re even.” You smiled brightly up at him. His head tilted at the sight, as if wanting to commit this moment to his memory.

“You will tell me eventually,” he said, his thumb brushing beneath the scar on your cheek.

“You’ll have to come back to me if you want to find out.”

“Is that so, cunning human?” A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.

You shrugged playfully, “don’t underestimate me. Humans evolved by outsmarting bigger predators like you.”

“So you’re tricking me into coming back?”

“Exactly.”

Keth’raal let out another amused click. “I would return even if you didn’t want me here. I need to check on the soft human—”

“Ow!” He feigned pain when you slapped his arm, rubbing the spot dramatically.

“Don’t talk down to a blooded warrior, Keth’raal.”

“My apologies,” he replied, the translator somehow making the words sound anything but sorry.

You plopped back onto the couch, crossing your legs and folding your arms.

“So you’re a marine biologist now?” Keth’raal asked, settling on the floor across from you. He mirrored your posture, head tilting slightly to the left in that familiar, curious way.

“How do you know?” You raised your eyebrows in mock surprise. “Were you stalking me?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Your robe has it written on it.” He smoothly avoided answering the stalking question.

You glanced at the white lab coat draped over the chair and muttered, “Right…”

Something hot erupted in your chest at the thought that he might have been watching over you these past two years, keeping his distance for your safety.

“I’m just a junior researcher,” you continued, “but I like it. It’s quieter. Safer.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

“I mostly work with marine mammals right now. Orcas, specifically.” You shifted on the couch, stretching your legs out with a soft sigh and leaning back against the armrest. The tension in your shoulders finally began to ease.

Keth’raal rose from the floor without a word. The couch creaked in protest as he sat at the far end, his big frame taking up most of the space. You started to pull your legs back to give him room, but his hand caught your ankle gently, tugging you toward him until your legs rested across his lap.

Your breath caught.

His large hand settled warmly on top of your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of your pants. You froze for only a moment before scooting closer. When his arm lifted in a quiet invitation, you leaned into his side, resting against the cold wall of his torso.

It felt almost too natural.

You knew Yautja weren’t like humans. They weren’t supposed to crave gentle touch or closeness the same way. And yet here he was, initiating the touch, pulling you closer, offering the exact comfort you hadn’t realized you had been starving for.

Or maybe… he needed it too.

He had always been proud, sometimes even arrogant about his strength and skill. But this was different. This wasn’t pride. This was quiet certainty. He knew you wanted to be closer. He could read every racing heartbeat, every change in your breathing and he gave you exactly what you needed without hesitation.

It was pure confidence.

And it made your stomach twist with something like pleasure. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask him to claim you the way only a Yautja could.

Your time in the lab had taught you far more about Yautja than most humans would ever know, their traditions, their rigid hierarchy, even the brutal reality of how they reproduced. That last part still made you nervous.

Yautja mating wasn’t simple or gentle. It was a ritual. The strongest were chosen and the much larger, more dominant females left scars on their mates, breaking their spines before carrying their children. Keth’raal had quietly admitted earlier that he had never been claimed. Never gone through that rite. Which meant…

He was untouched.

The realization sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your face. The arrogant, reckless young hunter you had met in the lab had been all bluster and show. But this version of him, calmer, quieter, radiating confidence, felt entirely different. He wasn’t showing off anymore. He simply knew his worth. He knew what he wanted.

And he knew he could have you.

Keth’raal’s finger curled, the cool tip gently brushing your flushed cheek. His head tilted in silent question: Why are you blushing again?

You let out a nervous laugh and quickly changed the subject.

“You know, when I started here, I never expected to end up studying orcas,” you said, eyes fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It felt like the universe was pulling a prank on me.”

His thumb kept tracing circles over your knee as he listened.

“Orcas are the apex predators of the ocean,” you continued.

His head tilted further. “You have a favorite?”

You blinked.

That was his question? Out of all questions?

“What if I do?” you asked, fighting back a grin.

“Tell me where this orca is—”

“I’m joking, Keth’raal,” you laughed, pressing your lips together to keep from bursting out. His masked gaze stayed locked on you, clearly expecting a real answer.

You reached out, resting your left hand on his broad chest. “I can’t communicate with them the same way I do with you,” you murmured, rubbing gentle circles over the hard plating as if trying to calm the heart you could feel beating faster beneath your palm.

You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, the urge to tease him just a little more, to push until you drew out those frustrated growls from under his mask.

You wanted to see the beast he kept so carefully leashed.

He stayed silent after that, still, as you continued rubbing your hand over his chest.

Yet his arm slid around your shoulders, his large hand stroking protectively down your arm while he searched for words.

“I have some books on orcas I could show you—” You started to pull away, but his grip on your arm tightened instantly, tugging you back against him.

You yelped, the sound quickly turning into a suppressed laugh as your lips twitched with a smile.

“Keth’raal…” you called softly.

No response. Not a tilt of his head, not a single click. He kept his gaze lowered, arm still wrapped around you like a steel band.

You whispered his name again, tapping his chest. When that earned you nothing, you decided to make a bolder attempt to get his attention. Lifting your legs from his lap, you turned and straddled him fully, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his massive thighs.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you or not.

Your hands settled on his broad chest. Only then did the full weight of your compromising position hit you, sitting on his lap, straddling him like this, with nothing but thin fabric between you.

A nervous chuckle escaped you as you tried to climb off, terrified by your impulsiveness.

But before you could, his bionic hand caught your thigh, squeezing once, making you gasp.

“I thought—”

“Don’t leave,” he said, voice rough through the mask. His hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, claws grazing lightly over your clothes. Your already torn shirt slipped further down your shoulder and you quickly tugged it back up.

“Your face,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing your burning cheek. “It’s all red again.”

“It’s just… hot in here,” you exhaled, fanning yourself weakly.

“How do humans usually cool their skin?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious, though the way his other hand joined the first at your lower back, locking around you, felt far from innocent.

“Sweat… or by taking a shower,” you answered, slowly allowing yourself to sit fully on his lap despite the burn under your skin.

“How do you produce sweat quickly?” His thumbs stroked up and down your back, sending shivers across your spine.

“Exercise, mostly. If we move fast and long enough… we sweat.”

“Right…” he rumbled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he finally lifted his head and looked straight at you.

And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes stayed locked on the dark voids of his mask, every sense heightened to the point of a meltdown. You were somehow still straddling his lap, your thighs spread wide and your backside pressed against his crotch. His body was solid and cool beneath you, pulling you in like a moth to freezing flame.

You couldn’t help yourself but imagine his arms locking around you, holding you while your mouth found the exposed skin of his neck, tongue tracing lines as he fought not to make a sound. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, loud enough that you knew he could hear every beat. He could read you so easily, it was almost unfair.

You drew in a shaky breath and forced yourself to climb off his lap.

This is insane. He’s a Yautja. You don’t belong with him. A bond like this isn’t even possible… right?

He let you go without resistance this time. His hands slipped from your waist, leaving your skin colder than before. Only then did his chest begin to move again, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were pressed against him.

“Want to know why I chose marine biology?” you asked softly, offering him a small smile. You crawled a little closer and pressed a quick, shy kiss to his bicep before pulling back.

Keth’raal glanced down at the spot you had kissed, then lifted his head to stare at you.

“It was the closest thing to alien biology I could find,” you admitted, eyes dropping to his lap. “Something that… reminded me of you.”

A long second of silence passed, as if registering your words before he spoke.

“I kept your voice in my helmet’s audio log.”

Your mouth fell open, the sudden confession hitting you harder than anything you had just admitted. You stared at him, stunned into silence.

He kept recordings of me?

A series of soft, uncertain clicks escaped him. He looked down at his lap, almost… shyly.

You tried to speak, but no sound came out. Your mouth simply stayed parted, heart racing as the weight of his words settled over you.

He had kept your voice with him? This whole time?

Keth’raal drew in a deep breath, exhaling roughly through his mask. “We use recordings like that to lure prey,” he admitted, almost to himself. “But I kept yours. I listened to it… sometimes.”

He didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t need to really. The honesty behind the words was enough to steal the air from your lungs. You had a thousand questions, when had he recorded you? How often did he listen? Why did he listen… but you didn’t push. Not tonight.

“It gets lonely,” he continued, his voice quieter “when the whole galaxy is hunting you.” His arm slid behind your back, fingers splaying possessively over your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Can I hear it?” you asked, settling against him.

He let out a short, rough sound, almost a scoff, clearly amused and shook his head.

“Maybe some other time.”

“So there will be another time,” you teased, tilting your head. “What is this? Are you trying to convince me to see you again?”

“As if I need to convince you.” He lowered his head until his masked forehead rested against yours. “I still have things to settle on your planet.”

“Mmm? Like what?” you murmured, hands instinctively rising to cradle the sides of his head, pressing your forehead firmly to his.

“Much more… urgent things.” His actual voice bled through the mask, rough and strained.

He pushed you back slowly until your spine met the couch cushions for the second time tonight, his massive frame hovering over you. His hands captured your wrists, pinning them above your head.

Well… that was a first.

His dominance was smooth yet quiet, making you melt under him.

“So you missed me so much,” he rumbled, amusement clear even through the translator, “that you started studying something that reminded you of me?”

“Roughly,” you countered, biting back a smile. “Nothing compares to real alien biology. It’s one of a kind.”

A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “We are one of a kind.”

“You think you’re special?” you challenged, tugging at your wrists just to be difficult.

He held them firmly above your head with one hand, pressing you deeper into the couch. “Am I not?”

“You’re more arrogant than I remember,” you huffed.

“Or maybe I simply know what I mean to you now.” His voice dropped lower, with that calm, unshakable confidence.

“You can’t possibly know,” you protested. “I’ve never told you.”

“Even without the translator, I would still know how you feel about me.”

Your heart pounded hard once before it went back to normal. “And how do you feel about me?”

Keth’raal’s head dipped closer, his masked face hovering just above yours. As he leaned in, the braided necklace around his neck slipped free from the edge of his armor. The emerald green stone swung gently between you, catching the lamplight and gleaming with a soft, inner glow. It looked strangely… earthly. You weren’t sure if it actually was, but the color and polish made you curious.

He didn’t bother tucking it back. Both his hands were occupied pinning your wrists and he clearly had no intention of letting you go.

His broad chest pressed heavier against yours as he let out a slow breath, the cool stone now brushing lightly against your sternum with every small movement.

This was it.

After two years of waiting, of wondering, of aching, this was the moment you had been waiting for.

How do you feel about me?

But then his gauntlet shattered the moment with a loud, insistent beep.

You gasped before you realised, Keth’raal was already on his feet, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest in a needy embrace. He rested his helmeted head atop yours, whispering a low apology that vibrated through you.

Before you could speak, he lifted his mask just enough to expose his mandibles. He guided your hand upward, pressing your palm between them. His hot breath ghosted over your skin as he inhaled your scent deeply.

The intimacy of it had you staring because this wasn’t just a gesture. It felt like a kiss. An actual one. The one you would read on old fairytales where the knight presses his lips to a royalty’s hand to show his devotion.

Your skin burned where he breathed you in and just as quickly, he lowered the mask again. His hands rose to cradle your face, thumbs stroking tenderly beneath your eyes as if memorizing every detail. You didn’t need to ask if he had to leave. It was written in every urgent movement, every silent apology.

Your eyes stung, your throat tightened as you desperately tried to hold onto the moment, the way he felt, the faint tremble in his hands as he fought not to hold you too hard, the rough exhale that sounded like it physically hurt him to let you go.

“Keep this for me,” he said quietly.

He reached behind his neck and tore off the braided cord with a single sudden tug. The emerald stone dangled from it and when you opened your palm, he didn’t drop it there. Instead, he pressed his closed fist against your chest, right over your heart. Only then did he slowly open his fingers, letting the necklace settle against you.

It didn’t feel like a simple gift. It was heavier than that. Deeper. More like a promise. A piece of him he was leaving behind for you to guard.

You covered his fist with your hand, holding it there against your heart.

And then he was gone.

Months passed before you saw him again.

And when he finally returned… it felt like the last time you ever would.

a/n: it’s always so lovely coming back to you guys, hope this one compensates for my absence 💚 I’d love to hear your thoughts on this cute little chapter! Also Keth’raal acting all jealous wasn’t in my plans but I just love imagining him all grumpy and bothered because of his feelings 😳 and the way he held mc’s throat to hear the vibrations of their voice??? still not over 🫣)

[afreakforyautja]

Unbound

(Yautja x Human)

[Continuation of my original story: Trapped]

[I can’t believe the time has come 🤭 I missed you guys so much and I know you missed Keth’raal just as much 💚 this is my gift to you, for always being supportive and kind to my works and even checking in on me when I was gone for a while. I love every single one of you!!! NOW LETS GOOO OUR BABY BOY IS BACK!!!]

“And I was starting to think you liked keeping me waiting.”

Your smile stretched wider than you thought possible, light flooding your chest until your whole body felt weightless, like the ground itself had let you go.

He appeared the way he always did, piece by piece.

A shimmer in the air.

A ripple of static.

And then he was there, crouched on the thick branch outside your window like the silent, lethal predator he really was.

The red laser dots faded from your face as he disengaged his invisibility cloak. He straightened slowly, leaning his massive frame against the tree trunk, arms folding over his chest. His head tilted in that familiar, assessing angle and you were suddenly grateful the tree was older than your entire town, anything younger would have snapped under him without question.

Night wrapped everything in soft shadows, your quiet neighborhood offering barely any artificial light, but the sky was clear and the stars were generous. Their glow skimmed over him, enough for your eyes to trace every line and shape.

He looked… bigger.

Broader shoulders.

Thicker muscle.

Taller, somehow, though maybe that was the distance, or maybe it was simply the memory of two years softening details you once saw every day.

His armor wasn’t the battered set from the lab anymore. This one gleamed, polished to a dark shine, perfectly fitted, meticulously cared for. It almost felt intentional, as if he had prepared, made himself presentable for this specific moment and the thought tugged a quiet smile from you.

You glanced down at your own clothes, still in your work attire, painfully plain compared to him.

His head tilted again, this time to the left. You mirrored it instinctively, a wordless greeting the two of you had never agreed on but somehow shared anyway.

His dreadlocks were longer now. Still no decorative rings and a few still ended abruptly where they had once been cut by the xenomorphs on the lab.

Somehow, the imperfection suited him. Made him more approachable like he always felt to you.

Your eyes drifted now, searching instinctively for that part of his body you really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The memory flashed uninvited, the lab, the panic, the xenomorph, the brutal snap of it all and your chest tightened. You had never really forgotten. You just hadn’t let yourself think about it.

You squinted through the dim light… and froze.

It wasn’t the same.

Before you could study it further, his gaze flicked to where yours lingered.

And then he shifted, tucking the limb behind his back, shoulders straightening just enough to hide it from view.

Your confusion melted into something softer, something like ache. He wasn’t ashamed of scars. You knew that. This was different.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed, leaning forward without even thinking, your body stretching over the windowsill like getting a few inches closer might somehow bridge the years between you.

But he stayed where he was.

“Are you not coming in?” you whispered, the tremor in your lips betraying you. Panic pricked the back of your throat, the fear that he might vanish again, cloak himself into nothingness and leave you talking to empty air.

Instead, his clawed finger lifted, pressing to the place where his mouth would be beneath the mask.

Be quiet.

The deja vu crashed over you hard, the memory of sterile lights, metal corridors, the two of you moving through shadows while he motioned you to hush, every nerve in your body screaming. You swallowed, shaking your head lightly as if you could dislodge the memory and drop it somewhere far away.

You frowned at him anyway, worry written all over your face,but you understood. There were humans nearby. And if he didn’t want to be seen, then he wouldn’t risk it.

You didn’t need to hear them. You trusted his instincts ten times more than your own.

You nodded, retreating slowly from the window so no one would look up and find you whispering at a tree like the neighborhood eccentric. You pulled in a breath and held it, your eyes refusing to leave him, reading every line and shape, still trying to decide whether time had warped your memory… or whether he truly had grown into something even more astonishing.

He looked impossibly huge, as if every muscle had thickened with the years and your gaze traced him in silent disbelief, like you were relearning the outline of someone you had never really forgotten.

But his body vanished the next second.

You blinked, stunned, every muscle ready to vault you out the window and call his name, when the floorboards inside your room gave a soft, protesting creak. He was already halfway in, using the window as if it were a doorway made for him.

He shimmered back into visibility, crouched low so his head could fit through the frame.

Your eyes went comically wide. You were sure you looked unhinged staring at him like that, but you couldn’t help it.

He had truly turned massive…

As if his body had gone through a second growth spurt, not just broader, but taller, more sturdy in a way that made the lab memories feel unreal. You had never truly known what a healthy Yautja was supposed to look like and now you knew for certain. The ones in stasis, drugged and experimented on, were shadows by comparison.

He looked better than anything your imagination had allowed you to picture. Every line cut with strength, muscles shifting beneath rough green skin. He straightened just enough to face you, chest subtly puffed, as if aware of how thoroughly you were studying him… and quietly inviting you to continue.

So you did. Your brain taking in the details with curiosity and something much more human layered beneath it. You rewrote your mental files, this is what a healthy Yautja looks like, a Yautja that thrives.

He was so changed it almost felt like meeting him for the first time.

Only the color remained familiar, that deep forest green, its tones fading and darkening like clouds drifting over trees. It was still beautiful. Just like the last time you had dared to let yourself study him through the glass you left him behind.

You swallowed, nerves fluttering, your gaze finally traveling to the thing you had been carefully avoiding.

And you stopped breathing.

He eased his right arm forward, lowering his head and you felt his hesitation sparkling through the air between you. The phantom of old pain. The quiet uncertainty about what you’d think.

But it was… stunning.

The prosthetic began higher than you expected, seamlessly cupping over the stump, then extending outward as if it had always belonged there. Strong. Shiny. Chrome kissed with shifting iridescent light. The shape mirrored his other forearm and talons perfectly, built for him and no one else. Beyond anything humans could design, as it didn’t replace his arm, but it became it.

The fingers flexed naturally and before you could stop yourself, you reached out.

Your hand slid into his.

He made a sound, that soft, confused rumble you remembered so clearly and the corner of your mouth curled into a quiet smile. For all the ways he had changed, that gentle hesitation remained.

You watched as metal threaded between your fingers.

“Can you feel that?” you whispered.

He gave a slight shake of his head, dreadlocks swaying.

But neither could you. Not really. Your hand twitched, the pads of your fingertips brushing the metal and you knew the motion was incomplete. It always would be. Another memory flashed in your mind, the slick of his blood, the desperate way you had pressed the balm into his open wounds, terrified, whispering to a body that might not survive.

You swallowed, forcing your fingers to tighten as best they could around his prosthetic, hoping the movement looked natural, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

So you reached for his other hand, the one that blood traveled in its veins, and wrapped your working fingers around it the same way.

It was cold, yet somehow the slow stroke of his thumb against your skin sent heat racing up your face, like standing too close to open flame.

Your gaze lifted.

His mask hovered between your joined hands, watching them, then shifting back to you, his head lowering, closing the distance so the two of you were level again.

And for the first time in two years, neither of you knew what to say.

“Are you okay?”

It was all you could manage, your voice small while your fingers stayed laced with his. You couldn’t look at his face, not yet, so your gaze settled on his chest instead, lips pressed tight to hold the nerves in place.

He gave a slow nod.

And you mirrored it, already starting to pull your hands back, the moment feeling too intimate, too exposed, but he caught you immediately. His grip tightened, drawing you forward until you were a breath away from his chest. You gasped at the closeness, your head tipped back, angling awkwardly just to find the dark plates of his mask looking down at you.

“Are you?”

The translator’s metallic voice broke the silence and your eyes flooded before you even realized it was happening. Your fingers squeezed his on instinct, clinging.

You hadn’t meant to break down. But nearly two years had waited quietly behind your ribs, and now they spilled out of you in tears you couldn’t stop.

He released one of your hands only to bring the back of his knuckles beneath your eye, brushing gently, gathering the tears that fell uncontrollably, before his hand lowered to cradle your jaw. His thumb traced softly beneath your scar, the scar he had given you that night, after you had fought beside him and slain a xenomorph on your own. You closed your eyes tightly, letting him touch there, letting him remember the scar, the memory it held and the trust it carried between you years after.

His head tilted, curiously.

“Are you sad?” the translator echoed.

You shook your head, a broken little laugh slipping out with your sob. He remembered. He remembered what tears meant. He had kept that piece of you with him.

“I’m happy,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Happy to see you again.”

Worry deepened in his body anyway. Both hands, metal and flesh, cupped your face carefully. He sank down onto one knee so the two of you were nearly level, as if it might make the tears easier to understand.

“I missed you so much.”

Your voice was barely there. You covered his hands with yours and finally, after all this time, you looked at him, at the familiar mask, scarred deeper now, yet still marked with old lines you recognized immediately.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Every part of you ached to close the distance, to fold yourself into him, feel the rumble in his chest, the strange cold of his skin warming as he purred. But you stayed where you were, letting him choose how close this reunion should be.

“It took me longer than I thought to get to you,” the translator murmured through him, his thumbs tracing patient circles along your damp cheeks.

Another quiet sob slipped out of you, muffled behind a chuckle.

And you felt your body shaking as you waited for the inevitable.

Waited for that question you had always known might come. Why you sent him first, why you tricked him into freedom while you stayed behind. The guilt still stung, even if you knew you’d make the same choice again. Maybe because it brought you to this moment.

But the question never came.

“Why are you crying?”

The translator carried the words gently, softened by the low rumble that began to build in his chest, slowly melting into a purr. He remembered that also. He remembered crying, a human thing he didn’t need to keep and yet somehow he had.

He took your hand and guided you toward the bed. You sat carefully at its edge and he lowered himself again onto one knee in front of you. Like this, your eyes finally aligned.

His hand returned to your face, thumb brushing your cheek, the other settling at your nape.

“Keth’raal.”

His name slipped out before you could second-guess it. His thumb froze mid stroke. You swore even his breathing paused.

“Say it again,” the translator urged, demanding in the most endearing way.

Heat flushed up your neck. Your fingers drifted into his dreadlocks, tangling in the thick, rubbery texture. He leaned almost helplessly into your touch.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered, softer this time, like the sound belonged only to the two of you. You caught one strand and smoothed it slowly between your fingers.

The purr deepened. It rolled through him, then through you and your lungs finally let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I waited a long time to hear you say my name.”

His voice rumbled beneath the translator rough and warm. His chest unlocked with the words and the air around him felt less tense now.

“I missed your voice,” he added, leaning slightly closer as your fingers continued to ghost through his thick locks.

“I missed yours.”

Your hand slid from his hair to the mask, fingers brushing the familiar tube. You paused, giving him the chance to refuse, to tell you not yet.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand left your cheek and covered yours, guiding your movements slowly. His fingers pressed lightly over yours, showing you how to disconnect the tube. The moment it released, the mask hissed faintly, a soft exhale.

Your heart hammered. The intimacy of the motion, him letting you do this, tightened everything in your chest.

You were about to see him again. And a strange fear sparked through the anticipation. What if memory had dulled him into something different? What if you had forgotten the exact pull of his mandibles, the precise depth of green in his eyes?

His prosthetic hand found your left one, placing it at the other edge of the mask, arranging both of your hands so you held the helmet together.

And then he stopped.

You both breathed. Slowly. Carefully. Your rhythms synced, the steady purr of his chest being the only sound in the room besides your breaths.

You stared at the mask, at him and the fear softened into something bright and trembling.

Excitement.

Because this time, there were no lab walls. No glass. No xenomorphs or humans to interrupt you. Just you and him.

“Are you sure?” you whispered.

He didn’t need the translator this time. The answer came from his chest, a low, short rumble that turned into a groan, an unmistakable yes.

You drew in a breath, bracing yourself and curled your fingers at the edge of his mask. You lifted slowly, searching first for the familiar curve of his mandibles. When they finally came into view, something inside you loosened. They were exactly as you remembered.

A soft laugh left your lips. His mandibles clicked and then his hands covered yours firmly, helping you ease the mask free.

It settled across your lap and your hands went straight to his face, finding the spaces behind his mandibles, gently angling him toward you.

But his gaze didn’t follow. His eyes stayed fixed on the mask in your lap, his shoulders pulled tight.

You took him in properly now. New lines. Healing marks. Ceremonial scars tracing his features. And beneath all of that, the deep set frown that refused to leave his forehead.

Without thinking, your thumb smoothed across the ridges of his forehead, as if you could erase what time had carved.

“Hey,” you murmured, your fingers slipping behind his mandibles, bringing his face closer. “You changed.”

It took a second, but then he finally looked at you.

His eyes were the same. That dark, forest-deep green. Except, there were flecks of yellow now, catching the light. You narrowed your eyes slightly, studying them.

Had they always been there?

No, you thought, no, I simply had never pulled him this close before to notice them.

You felt your stomach sink and you leaned back with a small, awkward laugh, only to gasp when his palm came to the back of your head, guiding you forward again.

Your forehead met his.

His scent hit you properly for the first time, spice and metal and something warm beneath it. Cinnamon, almost. You bit your lip, swallowing the reaction back.

His skin was cool where it touched yours, but his breath spilled over your face and then down your neck was warm and slow, tracing paths over your nerves and sending quiet shivers racing along your spine.

“Na’kai.”

Your name rumbled out of him, low and rough and it felt like it crawled straight under your skin. No machine. No echo. Only that raw, guttural voice you had carried around in your memory, richer now, deeper and gentle when it called your given name.

A tremor went through you.

His palm guided you closer until your foreheads touched again and the world thinned to the cool of his skin and the warmth of his breath across your lips. The vibration in his chest sank into you, slowing your thoughts, pulling all the frantic nerves out of your body one by one until there was nothing left but this quiet sound shared between you.

Your fingers moved from the curve beneath his mandibles and dragged along the back of his neck, finding the thick fall of his dreadlocks. You curled them into your palm before you could think to stop yourself and tugged him just a little nearer.

The sound that answered, startled and almost bitten back, made you freeze.

“Sorry—” You released him, heat flooding your face, shame prickling across your skin when you remembered just how sensitive those locks were.

You began to lean away, but he followed you down.

The mattress dipped. The bed creaked. And then he was above you, guiding you higher against the pillows with his hand.

His body never fully settling on yours, but the space between you felt thinner than a thread.

“Keth’raal—” His name left you on a whisper that barely sounded like your own.

He caught your wrist and drew your hand to his chest. The rumble beneath your palm spiked, deepening into something fierce, like years of yearning trapped behind bone. With each beat, it pressed into your hand, as if demanding to be known I’m here. I’m breathing. Don’t look away.

His gaze held you there, dark and intense, pupils swallowed in black. He urged your hand against him and for a moment you had the wild impression he wanted you to reach beyond his skin and grab his heart to take as your trophy.

And knowing him, maybe he wanted exactly that.

His living hand lifted and hovered over you. Hesitation flickered through his fingers before they finally came to rest against your chest, just over your heart.

He listened to the stutter and gallop of your pulse, to the uneven breaths you tried uselessly to steady. Something faint painted his features, the hard lines of worry loosening as your heartbeat answered his.

You nodded at him, a simple reassurance, before his hand slid lower, tracing your ribs carefully with his sharp nails. His frown softened. The hungry chaos behind his eyes fading slowly.

“I missed you too,” you breathed.

Your fingers rose again, seeking the familiar groove beneath his mandibles. Your heart skipped wildly and you knew he felt it, but you didn’t stop. Because what tied you together wasn’t calm, wasn’t logic, it was this raw ache of longing mingled with an unbearable relief.

Whatever had dragged him across stars and planets, whatever need had driven him into your room and onto your bed, it lived in you as well. You felt it mirrored perfectly. That devotion, that desperate urgency to be close enough to prove that neither of you had imagined the other.

His breath spilled warm across your cheek. The bed shifted beneath the weight of him again.

He leaned in, his hands locking on your sides. His fingers flexed and eased over your ribs in steady pulses, as if he had to teach himself how your body reacted, how it shifted and bloomed under his touch alone.

His breath brushed your lips, while the cool plate of his brow cooled the heat burning beneath your cheeks. He didn’t need translation for that. Your face had already confessed everything to him.

“Kaail’thwei,” he murmured, the word pulled from deep in his throat. You felt every layered sound of it, the subtle click of his mandibles, the raw scrape of his native tongue, the faint metallic tang of his breath warming your skin.

God, you had missed all of it. Every strange, detail and sound that belonged only to him.

You exhaled slowly, your eyes closing as he lowered more, his mandibles grazed your throat and his forehead settled into the curve of your shoulder. He rubbed there, skin to skin, a quiet gesture that had your arms slid instinctively around his neck, holding him close, trusting him completely.

“I wish I could understand you without the helmet,” you whispered into the quiet. “I missed your voice.”

He drew back at last, the mattress creaking beneath him. Dreadlocks spilled forward, tickling your cheeks as he planted his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in. Those green-gold eyes searched yours as if trying to decipher your expression and the feelings under it.

You tilted your chin slightly, inviting him closer.

When he hesitated, you gently hooked a finger around one of his mandibles and guided him down. He followed without resistance, closing the last inch between you until his breath became yours.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him.

The sound woke that low, answering rumble in his chest again. You slid your hand up, fingers curving around the back of his neck and pressed a soft kiss beneath his collarbone before sinking back into the mattress with a smile you couldn’t stop. Warmth bloomed through your chest like sunlight you hadn’t seen for two years.

He tilted his head, curious, as if he was taking in every new expression you made.

“Sha’len,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue, while his thumb traced across your lower lip. He seemed entranced by the softness, by how fragile and human it felt under him.

You kissed the pad of his thumb lightly. His gaze flicked down, pupils blown wide.

He tried again, lowering his palm to your mouth. You pressed your lips there too, cool skin meeting warmth and watched the faint shudder that went through him. Slowly, almost experimentally, he moved until the inside of his wrist rested against your mouth. You kissed that spot too, feeling his strong, unsteady pulse jump beneath your lips.

His eyes never left yours.

He leaned in once more. His focus dropped to your lips, then rose to your eyes, then returned again and your body went rigid, your throat working as you swallowed against the lump that had formed in it. You whispered his name, your mouth hovering an inch from his.

That was when the wind slammed your window wider, shaking the frame with a loud crack.

You both flinched, jerked back into the room and into reality. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten that the world still existed outside your little bubble.

His gaze returned to you, lingering, before he eased back. The bed protested beneath his weight as he crawled away, then lifted himself to stand. He crouched to retrieve his helmet, turning it in his hands for a quiet second before fitting it into place. The lenses flashed to life and then dimmed.

You remained sprawled on the mattress, chest rising and falling too fast, the feeling of his touch still ghosting along your skin.

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. He waited at the foot of the bed, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his gauntlets before finally looking at you.

He gave a quiet nod. One step, then another and you moved aside, inviting him back. The mattress groaned as he lowered himself beside you, his long legs still hanging off the end like the bed was something built for children.

“How did you get so tall?” you breathed, half-laughing at how unbelievably large he had become. He rested his head against his fist, watching you with a calm you remembered too well.

“I wasn’t fed by a tube anymore,” he said, amusement clicking faintly beneath the mask. His hand found yours, tugging you closer until you were lying shoulder to shoulder.

“And you also—” Your hands faltered in the air, not knowing how to phrase it.

He tilted his head. “Also what?”

“You’re… huge now,” you managed at last, settling on your elbow to face him.

“I think I can become bigger,” he replied, a low rumble echoing through his chest, almost sounding like a laugh.

“My bed won’t survive you,” you said, eyes widening at the thought.

“You want me in your bed?” His head tilted, dark locks spilling over his shoulders and suddenly it was hard to remember how to breathe, let alone answer. That familiar curiosity of his, unchanged, disarming, leaving you speechless.

“Where will you sleep if you visit again?” you shot back quickly, somehow keeping your voice steady while your heart skipped beat after beat.

“I’ll manage,” he murmured. His hand lifted, claws tracing the soft line of your cheek. The gentle vibration in his chest deepened, a warm sound that seemed to settle into every corner of your room.

Your fingers lifted almost of their own accord as they traced the curve of his mask now, mirroring him.

A new scar cut across the surface, deep and long. You followed it slowly, as if the line itself might tell you where he had been, what he had endured in the two years without you.

“I went back to look for you,” the translator murmured.

Your hand froze. Your breath did too.

“You did? What if they had found you? They were hunting you, Keth’raal, that was so reckless—”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he interrupted gently. His hand closed around yours and guided it back to the mask.

“That was still… reckless,” you whispered, the protest dying in your throat as he leaned into your touch. He sought your hands the way a drowning man might seek the surface and you had no words to defend yourself anymore.

“I’ve been known for my recklessness,” the vocoder replied dryly, while the faint clicking of his mandibles betrayed his teasing tone.

You sighed, shaking your head, yet a small smile appeared on your lips.

“I ran the moment you escaped. The xenomorphs kept them busy long enough for me to…”

The memory surfaced like a blurry picture and you tried to make sense of it.

“I still don’t know how I managed— how I ran — I… I uh…” The words thinned and vanished, your eyes drifting to that narrow space between you and you wished it’d be gone.

“It’s all right.” His fingers circled your wrist and you let him draw you in.

He guided you down against his chest, one broad palm cradling the back of your head. You held on, pressing into his cold skin, still afraid that if you blinked he would dissolve into a memory again.

“I was scared for so long,” you whispered, fingers digging his flesh, over the hard rise and fall beneath you.

“I know. I’m sorry.” The translator delivered the words in its rough monotone, but the deep, rumble in his chest told the truth of them, easing through you like balm. Your eyes shut closed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you breathed, letting your forehead rest against him before shifting slightly, settling your head along his forearm so you could look up into his mask again.

Before you realized it, his hand was on your face again, his clawed thumb skimming your cheek.

“You saved my life that day,” the translator murmured, but you were close enough to hear the actual words he had used beneath it. The faint, guttural sound that never made it to the device.

“I owe you everything.”

You pressed your palm to his chest in answer, drawing slow circles onto it.

“Keth’raal,” you breathed, a small laugh caught halfway in your throat. “Do you remember the first time you saw me?”

He nodded, his hand closing over yours, keeping it pinned on his chest.

“You ignored me completely and went straight for the xenomorph.” Another soft laugh escaped you, and his mask flickered red for a moment.

“You know I was looking for you.”

“Yeah. My scent led you right to me,” you said, smiling at the memory, surreal but still so vivid.

“You were the only thing I remembered.”

“Keth’raal…” His name cracked in your voice as your hand rose again, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. “Did anything ever come back? From your past?”

“Not really,” he admitted. His hand drifted to your shoulder, stroking, a quiet reassurance for a worry neither of you wanted to speak aloud.

Because neither of you knew how long this moment could last. The past still clung to both of you like chains, heavy and cold,no matter how desperately you wanted to escape it.

“I wasn’t welcomed back either,” he added, quieter now.

Your brows knit. “What? Why?”

“Yautja code. I was no longer one of them. Too weak when I returned, useless to the clan.”

“But you’re strong now,” you insisted.

“I am. But I don’t belong with them anymore.”

Your chest tightened. “Keth’raal… you can’t be alone forever.”

“I survived this long,” he replied simply.

The words you wanted to say trembled on your tongue.

Can I be where you go? Can I be home?

But they felt too human. Too much. He was still a Yautja, born of a world that was never meant to intertwine with yours.

You couldn’t be his peace.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

So you swallowed it back.

“Then… what did you find when you went back?” you asked instead.

“Nothing but debris,” the translator spoke. His hand froze at your shoulder, then slipped down along your arm, claws grazing lightly over your skin.

“I thought I had lost you.”

He said it without lifting his head, his gaze fixed on the spot where your skin touched his. The goosebumps that rose there seemed to hold him captive.

The confession made you feel empty. His chest vibrated softly against your ear, that quiet, needy noise that always stripped you naked. Too honest. Too real.

But the ache between you had changed. It wasn’t the frantic hunger of two years ago. Back then, everything had been urgency, fear and adrenaline, the thrill of danger pressing in and that didn’t let you name that feeling.

Naming it had felt like tempting death when every minute could have been your last.

And yet, across those years, your thoughts kept finding him. Memory turned him into something immortal, as if you had lived a lifetime beside him instead of days.

He had once been a subject under your hands, a strange, wondrous being you whispered apologies to every time a needle pierced his skin. You had marveled at him without ever glimpsing the full truth of what he was.

But now he was here, whole, powerful, almost unfairly beautiful.

“How did you find me?” you breathed, turning your face into his chest, pressing your cheek to the cool plane of his skin until it soothed the heat in your cheeks.

“Just like the first time,” he said, after a long pause. His claws threaded slowly through your hair, sending tingles to your scalp.

“By my scent?”

You pulled back in shock, a grin breaking over your mouth before you could stop it.

He nodded and immediately guided you closer again, until your forehead brushed his collarbone. His palm settled at the back of your head, holding you as if you might vanish if he loosened his grip. A deep hum rolled up from his chest, forcing you to melt.

“Keth’raal, you’re not getting out of this,” you laughed, nudging at him, watching his mask tilt toward you in faint confusion.

“What do you mean, scent?” you pressed, eyes wide, a smile pulling at your lips. The idea that just your smell had led him here, still didn’t sound convincing.

“I found your medical robe,” he said.

For the third time his hand found your arm, drawing you toward him until your face hovered inches from his mask. Close enough to feel the faintest sound of his breath, close enough that staying away from him felt like the least possible option in the universe, judging from the way he held on you.

He used his artificial arm now, slowly pushing his mask up just enough for his mandibles to be exposed. He brought your hand closer, pressing the inside of your wrist over his mouth, his mandibles clicking softly against your skin, almost tasting you.

He exhaled a short word in his own language, rougher this time, small and sharp, like an instinctive reaction pulled straight out of him at the scent of you.

He sounded almost angry, or maybe it was something deeper, heavier, that you couldn’t quite name.

“What?” you whispered, afraid that if you pushed too hard he might suddenly realize how close you were and pull away.

His mechanical claws lowered the mask again, sealing it back into place. The lights flickered across the dark voids and you waited. Patient on the outside but burning up underneath.

“What was that?” you asked again, now that the translator could catch your voice, while your fingers absently traced the medallion you had just noticed resting at his neck.

It was thick and roughly made, primitive and heavy, yet adorned with a large green stone that had been catching your eye for some time now.

“I think I’ll keep that to myself,” the translator finally responded, but beneath it, you could clearly hear a sound that was unmistakably laughter.

Your eyes gleamed with excitement.

Was that… a tease?

He really hadn’t forgotten his manners or his wit. Even after all this time, he still carried that sassy trait you were almost certain he wasn’t allowed to show to anyone else but you.

His ways always seemed to lean more toward human than Yautja and that was what made him so uniquely dangerous, not only as a hunter, but as something incredibly adaptive in nature.

“You’ve only changed on the outside,” you teased softly, your thumb brushing the emerald stone before your fingers crept higher, searching along the back of his neck for the faint blue line you had once seen in the lab.

His skin tightened beneath your touch. His body went still, as your fingers moved along the sensitive ridge of his nape.

“You’re still the same stubborn Yautja,” you added, but it came out more like a breath than a joke. Then your fingers found it, a pale, thin seam you could still distinguish over his skin.

You traced it gently.

The sound that came out of him wasn’t the deep rumble you had grown used to. It was darker, a low, raw growl that erupted in his chest. It startled you so much you gasped and jerked your hand away, your heart racing.

It felt like you had touched something forbidden, a spot you were never meant to find, let alone touch. Whatever that scar meant to him, it surely wasn’t for your eyes to see.

You tried to pull back, but his hand caught yours.

His thumb slid to the inside of your wrist, brushing slowly before pressing down, right over your pulse. Your breath hitched as he held it there, as if counting every beat of it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not entirely sure what you were apologizing for this time.

His thumb eased away from your vein and instead rose to your face, finding the thin line of your own scar, the ceremonial mark that tied the two of you together no matter how much time passed.

He explored the scar quietly, reading you, studying the way your features changed under his touch.

Then his hand slid into your hair. His talons threaded gently through the strands before he tightened his grip, just enough to guide you forward. You gasped, blood rising on your cheeks.

The motion felt startlingly human. Intimate in a way that erased everything you thought you understood about his kind.

“Keth’raal,” you breathed, his hand still fisted lightly in your hair as he guided you closer until your forehead bumped softly against his mask. The metal was cold against your skin.

You could hear him, his fast, uneven breath under the mask, his struggle to simply hold you.

The closeness wrapped around you like a net, warm and suffocating and not nearly enough.

Something was missing.

You wanted the mask gone.

You wanted his real breath on your lips, his presence overwhelming and taking over your senses.

That little gap between you felt more painful than the two years you had lived without him.

So you reached for his mask, your fingers brushing along the edge and he shook his head. No words. Just that quiet refusal.

You stopped immediately. Your hand slipped down, landing on his chest instead, trembling against it.

You drew in a breath, metal, earth and that faint sweet scent that belonged only to him filling your lungs before you leaned back, your forehead suddenly burning without the cool press of him.

He released you then, watching as you settled onto your pillow.

Your heart echoed inside your ears, loud and demanding, almost irritating and you were sure he could hear it too. His instincts were built to track prey, pulse, fear and want and pretty much all the signals your body was screaming right now.

Another slow breath. In. Out. You tried to calm your heart first and then your mind.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift away. He simply stayed there beside you, propped on his elbow, his head braced in his fist as his gaze traced your face while you tried to calm down.

“Na’kai… is your heart okay?”

The translator carried the words, but his chest gave that soft purr underneath, as if the name itself coaxed it to life. He spoke it casually, as though it was simply you, but you knew how much more it meant in his language. In his world.

You looked up at him and noticed his hand. It rested by his side, appearing relaxed… yet his fingers tapped fast into the mattress. Nervous. Restless.

You hadn’t known Yautja could display nerves like that, like a human caught somewhere between tension and hope. And the curiosity gnawed at you again, that thrill of discovery you hadn’t felt in so long.

Sure, marine biology had fascinated you. But this, he, was something else entirely. This unknown wrapped in bone and metal and scars that begged you to discover it.

Your hand reached for his.

The tapping stopped instantly.

His hand softened beneath yours, then he turned it, letting his palm cover yours as his fingers slowly interlocked with your smaller ones.

You looked down, mesmerized by the sight of them together, your hand dwarfed, wrapped by his, struggling to weave your fingers through his.

“How did you really find me?” You returned to your earlier question, the thought of him tracking you down by scent alone still refusing to sit right in your chest.

“Why do you think I’m lying?” he rumbled back, that slow vibrating sound travelling into your hand now, slipping beneath your skin like a pulse that wasn’t yours.

“Did you really find me by my smell?” you pressed, your voice quieter this time, shock settling in as your smile faded at the realization.

He couldn’t have possibly found you… by your scent alone. Not this time. You were too far from him to reach you.

He didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

It said everything.

He had admitted to it more than once already. Asking again was useless.

Besides, he had never lied to you. Not once. Why would he start now?

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. His fingers tightened over yours and suddenly your skin was burning.

All those questions.

All those nights you felt completely alone.

All that time waiting to be found.

They crashed over you at once, relentless and unforgiving.

Your eyes stung before you even realized you were yelling. “Then what took you so long?” Your body moved before your mind caught up, pushing at him as you rose to your knees on the mattress, looming over him.

He tilted his head, unfazed by your outburst, answering with that same calm composure.

“Found some trouble on my way.”

Your anger died instantly. The words hit you like cold water, freezing the frustration right out of your bones. Your gaze searched for his eyes through the mask.

So he really was hunted by everyone…

Humans were after him.

Yautja were after him.

No place, no side, nowhere to belong.

He truly didn’t fit anywhere at all.

“I waited days and nights for you,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a confession you would never give to anyone else. That strange pull toward him wrapped tight around your ribcage and for once you didn’t fight it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave anything behind so you could find me faster—” you tried, staring at the mattress.

“You waited for me?” he interrupted, the vocoder sounding rougher than his actual voice.

You noticed his palms curling into fists, talons disappearing into his hands.

You nodded, throat tight, glancing between the empty voids of his mask. His fists slowly relaxed, but neon green blood remained smeared along his talons, gleaming in your room’s low light. You barely had time to ask if he was hurt before he spoke again.

“You’re such a strange human,” he said, still composed, still watching you with that quiet attention that always made you feel seen. As if he admired the way you held your ground now, something you had learned because of him. He had taught you to stop shrinking, to fight for what mattered, when once you would have simply endured and stayed small.

“And you’re a strange Yautja,” you muttered under your breath, just as his hand lifted. His thumb and forefinger brushed your earlobe, rubbing softly and for the tenth time tonight you felt heat instantly rising beneath your skin, because of him.

“Looking for me after two years…” you whispered, your voice faltering as he continued those slow circles that sent sparks through you.

“I knew where you were,” he murmured through the vocoder. His hand lowered, claws tracing a slow path down your arm until they reached your hand again.

“You did?” Your voice barely carried the words. “Then why didn’t you—”

But you already knew the answer. Trouble. Hunters. Survival.

So you let the question drop, watching instead as his sharp nails dragged across your skin, leaving faint pink trails in their wake.

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gasp.

It didn’t hurt, not even close, but something in your nerves lit up, addictive and unsettling and you wanted more of it.

“How long did it take you to find me?” you asked instead.

His talons stopped moving against your skin as he thought.

“A month after I lost you.”

You blinked as the words landed, like a giant rock pressing straight into your chest.

He didn’t mention his escape. Didn’t talk about freedom.

Only that he had lost you.

His nails raked gently across your arm again, more faint pink lines appearing as you stared at his mask, your mind loud and annoying. The way he said it, the way he described that day shook something inside you, violently.

Your shoulders sagged. Your defenses melted. That familiar heavy feeling spread in your chest as you lowered yourself toward the mattress… only to pause, deciding against your pillow.

Instead, you reached for him.

You found his arm ,the one propping up his head and rested your cheek against his bicep. The artificial metal graft felt cool against your skin, before you slowly turned inward and pressed closer to his chest. Your lips brushed the green stone of his medallion as you buried your face there.

You inhaled deeply.

His hand slid to the back of your head, holding you in place , like he knew exactly what you needed. And by now, you were pretty much sure he did.

He guided your hand , moving it gently from his arm down your wrist and across his torso, placing your palm over his chest. Your skin buzzed at the contact. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your touch, fast, uneven, buried deep inside his massive ribcage.

You pressed harder, searching for it, for that rhythm struggling beneath layers of muscle and armor. Then you lowered yourself more, pressing your ear to his chest so you could hear it better.

His hand covered yours, large and cold, flattening your palm firmly against him, making sure you listened. Making sure you understood.

And you wondered if he could hear yours too, how violently it screamed inside your ribs the closer you were, like it was trying to answer his.

“You went back? Only a month later?” you whispered, your lips brushing his chest as you spoke. You felt him tense, that deep rumbling sound stirring inside him, restless enough to almost scare you.

His breathing quickened. Your own matched it, shallow and shaky and you struggled to swallow as you pressed your lips faintly against his chest again. A spark raced through you at the slight contact, like electricity lived under your skin.

“I wanted to go back the next day…” His voice faded, the translator catching the restraint, the way he had to force himself to talk while your mouth kept ghosting over his skin.

“That was so reckless, Keth’raal,” you breathed, the accusation soft and intimate against him, hoping the whisper of your lips affected him the way his fingers tangled through your hair were affecting you.

Driving you absolutely insane.

His loyalty, the fact that he had risked himself again and again for you, brought a small smile to your lips as you kissed his chest.

“So stubborn,“ you kissed him, “so reckless…“ you kissed him again.

It almost hurt to think about. You felt your core tightening with the urge to give something back, because the feeling inside you needed somewhere to go.

Because you had missed him.

Far more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe even differently than he had missed you, in a way you refused to name, especially not now.

“I…” Your voice faltered. His fingers paused in your hair as you searched for the right words.

“I also… you know…” You swallowed, your lips lifting from his chest as heat rushed to your face.

He shifted slightly, angling his head down to look at you.

“Your gauntlet…” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your forehead back to his chest to hide. You inhaled deeply, realizing only then that the soft purr he had been making was gone.

Silence.

Fear crept in slow and cold, but retreating wasn’t an option anymore. You pressed both palms against his chest, almost desperately, trying to steady your racing heart.

“I found your gauntlet on the ground… after you were gone,” you confessed in a single breath.

Your body trembled. You had no idea how he would react and that uncertainty pounded louder than your heartbeat.

How could you possibly explain it? That you had found his broken gauntlet lying on the ground the moment the lab doors burst open and he was gone?

And the worst part was that after you had snatched it up and run, clutching it like the last piece of him you would ever have, you realized you had no idea how to turn it on.

Two years.

Two whole years and it still lay hidden in the back of your drawer, untouched except for the countless times you had tried to force life back into it. You had given up after a year of failed attempts, pressing buttons, prying seams, whispering his name like the damn thing might recognize your desperation.

All you had wanted was to find him again. Or at least feel closer.

“That damn thing wouldn’t switch on…” you muttered, your lips brushing his chest again. You still didn’t dare look up, not even with the mask between you.

Embarrassment burned through you and some reckless, foolish hope he would understand. He’d probably be impressed by your attempts… and furious.

But he didn’t move.

His hand rested against your head, completely still. His chest barely rose, as if he had stopped breathing.

“Please… say something,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you. You lifted your gaze at last, because you couldn’t stand the silence and found his mask staring down at you.

As if he had been waiting precisely for that.

The instant your eyes locked on the dark voids of the helmet, his hand left your hair. In one sudden, powerful move he tore the mask free and then his hand returned to you, pulling you closer.

His face was bare now, pressing his forehead to yours. Your breath snagged as his exhale washed over your lips, fast, almost shaken.

Before you could react, his hands slid over yours, pinning them to the mattress as your back sank into it. He leaned over you, his shadow swallowing you, his dreadlocks spilling forward like a cascade of black silk over his shoulders.

Your eyes flew open in surprise as he leaned closer, his forehead finding yours again and you shut your eyes at the closeness, sudden and overwhelming.

He felt restless above you, for the first time mirroring exactly how you had felt this entire night. Shaking. Overwhelmed. Barely holding himself together.

“Vrek’shai-ka,” he rumbled, the word spilling straight from his throat. You heard it perfectly, but couldn’t grasp its meaning.

And you knew what that meant.

When he spoke his own language without the helmet, it was because he didn’t want you to understand. Because it was safer to confess things in words only he could truly claim.

Safer to keep you from knowing.

You tried to break free, not to escape, but to reach him, his chest, his dreads, anything he would let you hold onto. But the instant he sensed it, his grip shifted, sliding from your hands to your wrists. He pinned them to the mattress, trapping you under him completely.

A sharp breath burst from you. His strength was impossible, with so little effort, you were caught, like a prey running straight to a trap.

But you kind of liked this trap.

He leaned lower, his forehead brushing your shoulder, his breath hitting your chest.

His chest rose and fell too quickly, each inhale ragged, as though he’d sprinted across miles just to get here.

You whispered his name again, not wanting to break whatever fragile control he was clinging to.

And he pulled back, like your voice had burned him.

It struck you all at once.

He wasn’t afraid of touching you.

He was afraid of you touching him, of losing whatever restraint he still had the second your fingers found his skin.

His hands pressed you into the mattress at the sound of his name, his forehead settling against the side of your head. His breath grazed your ear, warm, tingling, the clicking in his throat sending a jolt through you. You turned your head, trying to escape the tickling sensation.

But the second he realized how sensitive you were, it was over.

He leaned closer, breath brushing your ear with deliberate slowness and another word slipped out in his language, familiar, yet still just out of reach.

Goosebumps ran down your spine. You writhed beneath him without meaning to, biting your lower lip hard to keep that helpless sound trapped in your throat, while he held you down, as if a battle he refused to lose.

“Let me hold you back… please,” you begged, your voice breaking on the last word. He exhaled against your ear and the sound crawled over your skin, setting every nerve alight. Goosebumps spread everywhere. That low, controlled rumble inside his chest grew louder, heavier, as if the need itself had taken shape.

“Please.”

You said it again.

Only then did he release one of your wrists, as though he had understood the word the first time… but needed to hear you surrender to him twice.

Your free hand moved on instinct. It slid to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his dreadlocks. You tugged him back just to pull him forward again, pressing his forehead to yours and a sound escaped him, a sharp gasp that melted into a deeper groan.

You shut your eyes instantly.

His other hand cupped your cheek carefully, the pad of his thumb gliding under your scar as if tracing a memory engraved into both of you.

“Keth’raal.”

You breathed his name, lips barely moving. His proximity felt suffocating and still you welcomed it, ready to drown in the air he breathed.

“Let me try something… please,” you whispered again, knowing now he recognized the pleading word.

You inhaled slowly and didn’t open your eyes. Your hand slid from his dreadlocks and moved between your faces, fingers grazing his mandible. Carefully you opened the right one… and he didn’t resist.

He let you.

You lifted your head slightly, your lips brushing against the inside of his mandible.

Then you lowered yourself again, finally opening your eyes.

He was staring at you.

A deep frown shadowed his features, confusion tangled with something like pain, or hunger, or both. You reached up, cupping the side of his head with both hands, fingers brushing behind his mandibles.

“I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but humans—”

You never finished.

His artificial hand gathered your shirt and hauled you upward, pulling you flush to him. His mandibles spread open, wider, inviting, beckoning you wordlessly back to him.

No hesitation.

No translator.

Nothing else but his need to feel you again.

You cupped his face, your lips softening into a smile as you leaned in again, brushing another kiss against the inside of his mandibles. You lingered a second longer, moving slowly toward the left one, pressing a peck over it and only then did he release you, letting you fall back onto the mattress.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

The words came freely now, safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t understand them.

“If only you knew…”

Your fingers slid toward his medallion, hooking around the rough vine. You tugged him closer by it and he followed without question. His eyes gleamed with that helpless curiosity, searching your face, studying you, as he leaned in.

Your mouth found the emerald stone, lips closing around its cool surface. You kissed it slowly, never looking away from him. Your tongue grazed the chilled green and his gaze dropped fully to your mouth.

“Mouths aren’t only for biting,” you whispered, breath feathering across the space between you as you let the medallion fall. It swung lazily, tapping once against your chest.

He still looked torn, that same quiet ache lingering in his eyes, as if even now, even here, there was still a distance neither of you knew how to cross. Whatever he couldn’t say, you knew it already.

You reached up, trying to smooth the tension from his brow again. He moved back slightly and then his fingers curled firmly around your wrist, guiding you upright with him. The bed dipped under both your bodies, wooden frame creaking and this was your time to act first.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, burying your face into the thick fall of his locks. You held him tight, lips pressed together as you swallowed down the ache in your chest.

“I missed you. I missed you—”

The words trembled against his skin, your breaths breaking as you fought back the urge to finally give in, to let the tears come, to let them say everything you still couldn’t.

His artificial arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand slid to the back of your head, keeping you close, his mandibles brushing your temples.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you when I said I would follow you. You wouldn’t be safe with me, you wouldn’t—” you stumbled, “I would just be a burden and— and you’d end up dead—” Your words broke off mid-sentence.

His middle and index finger rose to your lips, pressing them closed.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide and startled.

He released your lips only to return, rubbing over them with the rough pad of his thumb. He lingered a moment longer, always captivated by the softness of your human nature.

Your heartbeat slowed, no longer kicking your ribs, your hand curling gently around his wrist as that low, soothing growl began deep in his chest.

“You should wear your helmet now,” you whispered, glancing toward the discarded mask at the edge of the bed, but then his talons slipped just an inch past your lips and you forgot how to breathe.

Your mouth parted, heat rushing to your face while your hands twitched uselessly at your sides. Whatever was happening, whatever strange moment this was, you prayed it wouldn’t end just yet.

He withdrew slowly, leaving your lips cold and turned toward the mask. Your fingers rose to your mouth instantly, tracing the exact path his had drew over them, as if replaying the sensation might help you understand what it meant, what he meant.

When he turned back with the helmet in his hand, your arm snapped down to your side, pretending you hadn’t just touched your own lips.

He pressed the helmet over his head and looked down at you.

His thumb returned to your bottom lip, rubbing softly. “It’s soft,” the translator finally said.

You nodded too quickly, unable to stop yourself and then his hand slipped away.

He turned and climbed off the bed, rising to his full height.

“Do you have time?” you suddenly asked, nerves gathering again as you stared at his back, just the thought of him leaving making your jaw lock.

He turned then, placing his palm gently on the crown of your head and then sank to one knee before you. You moved on the mattress, still kneeling, facing him.

“All my life,” came the low reply through the vocoder, his hand settling once more behind your head.

And you finally let yourself go.

You lunched forward, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to him with everything you had. His arms closed around you and you allowed yourself to hold the hug longer, as long as you needed, until the years you’ve been waiting fade into a distant memory.

a/n: I hope somebody gets why I chose an orca for a widget 💙 you guys are the best thing that has happened to me on this app 🥹 Now let’s talk about our boy and his biologist 🤭

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 10

[The long awaited part 💚 Bombard my comments and asks for this story, I love hearing your thoughts about it 🥰 and if any artists are reading this, please I’d love to see how you have pictured Keth’raal in your mind 🥹]

Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 💚

Tagging 💚: @celticsrightbuttcheek @sojetocame @shmoopah @kyriedesai @btsgangleader @legallyblindasian @ineffable-maniac02 @tea-drinking-nerd @umbralremedy @maemaymayo @fujistarrbytz @blushycadaver @lilly-main @jaxxyz @shylahjoy24 @spoopydidit @broken0verseer @lemonbl0od @bamtomio7597 @stupendousnightmaretrash @just-a-sewer-goblin @carminhadaavenidabrasil @anothergojostan @iprezolgyuve @sojetocame @night-shadowblood-writes2 @moon-trash1507 @ghostslillady @xxvoidgrangerxx

You looked at him now.

Unmoving like a statue carved in pride, impossible to sway.

Stubborn. Reckless. Infuriatingly arrogant.

You were so sick of him. Sick of how little he valued his life. How he flirted with death like a lover that kept coming back.

You knew how dangerous he was, but danger to him was like an instict he was chasing after.

“You’re so stupid,” you whispered under your breath, stepping off the stretcher and pulling him into a sudden embrace.

His head came to rest beneath your chin, catching the breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

His arm jolted upward, instinctively bracing for a hit, but then froze midair.

Processing.

You laced your fingers through his dreadlocks, bringing your lips to the forehead of his helmet and resting there, the gesture gentle but heavy with meaning.

He didn’t move, but something shifted in him.

The steel tension of his body softened ever so slightly under your touch, his shoulders releasing weight like a drawbridge finally lowering.

His breath grew heavier, deeper, like someone finally letting themselves collapse into bed after carrying too much in a day.

His remaining arm dropped into his lap, the last of his defenses falling with it.

And then… he tilted his head.

The side of his helmet aligned with your sternum, as if listening.

Your heart pounded beneath his ear.

A low purr rumbled up his throat, warm and rich, a sound meant only for you.

It was deep, steady and meaningful. Like words he didn’t dare to speak.

His helmet grew heavier in your arms, as if the last lock in his body had finally clicked open.

You could feel the way his breath matched yours now. A bubble of silence where the outside world no longer mattered.

You held onto his helmet, not tightly, not enough for him to know what you were about to do. But just enough to stay. Your grip trembled, your jaw locking as you leaned in, pressing it against the curve of his mask. You didn’t touch his skin, but somehow, it still felt like him.

And for a second, you let yourself breathe like this. Cherishing the moment, carving it into your memory.

His arm rose carefully now, uncertain, his clawed hand found your waist, hesitant at first, as if afraid he might crush you. His touch was rough in texture, but the pressure was soft,delicate, almost nervous. He always handled you like this. As if strength was something he wore, not something he used.

You felt his palm leave the small of your back, trailing upward carefully. It slid along your side, past your ribs, then swept down your arm in one careful motion. His claws traced the line of your forearm, barely grazing skin, until he reached your wrist.

You shivered as his cool skin ignited something impossibly warm in you.

He held it there for a moment, your pulse beating beneath his fingers, before guiding your hand downward. And you let him, you always did. He brought it to his chest, just beneath his collarbone, where his armor gave way to his bare skin.

Right where his heart should be.

You could feel it. Strange and fast beneath your palm. Not human. Nothing about it was human. But it was real and it was him.

You didn’t speak. No words. No translation.

But something passed between you.

A truth you weren’t sure you were ready to carry.

My life is yours.

The thought echoed in your mind, not in your voice, but in his. Your throat tightened and your stomach turned painfully with it, as if the weight of his trust was too much. You tried to chase the thought away, but it clung to you, clawing onto your heart.

You weren’t strong enough to hold this. To hold him.

He lifted his head to look at you. The dark lenses of his mask catching your reflection.

He didn’t speak again, even though he could.

No words passed between you, yet you felt it in your bones.

The way he held you and the way you clung to him, unwilling to let the moment just slip away.

It was your peace, fragile and precious, and you were quietly counting the seconds before it shattered. Before all that remained was this memory of calm you would carry inside you forever.

Your focus stayed on him. The rest of the world blurred, your hearing dimmed until all you could catch was the rhythm of his breath, the rise and fall that held you to the present. He looked at you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like nothing else existed.

Your mind betrayed you with a false memory, a crafted wish.

You imagined the two of you lying under the stars, free from fear, simply existing together. No words needed. Just the quiet understanding you always shared. You didn’t bother scripting your fantasy with witty dialogue, you already knew how it would feel.

In that place, there was no war. No walls, no alarms. Only you, him, and the night sky stretching endlessly above.

Sometimes in those quiet moments, you would ask him about the stars, how far they were, what they looked like up close. He would click his mandibles in that way he always did when he felt proud, boasting. But the pride would soften and he would ask you to go with him and see them yourself.

Because to him, you were an equal. Just as capable. Just as brave.

And, like now, you would refuse, not because you didn’t want to, but because you believed people needed you here, on Earth, more than you needed to see the stars. And he would accept that without argument. Because your happiness meant more to him than his longing to keep you close.

It was perfect in its way, this fragile bubble of wishful thinking, these stolen moments that could never be real.

“I’ll come with you,” you said, brushing your thumb across the cold glass of his mask, right where his eye would be.

He leaned back slightly, taking a moment to process it, as if the words didn’t make sense yet.

As if he had always assumed you would say no.

Then, slowly, he rose from the chair.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the weight steady but always careful.

It lingered there, before moving up, the cool edge of his claws brushing your neck until his palm cupped your face.

His thumb touched just beneath your mark.

Not just a touch. An acknowledgment.

As if he was reminding himself of the honour it meant, the trust bound into it, and the moment he had given it to you because he believed you were worthy.

No words passed between you.

They weren’t needed.

His choice had always been clear in the way he touched you and you understood him better in silence than you ever could in speech.

He started gathering what remained of his weapons without hesitation, tossing you the pouch he had carried alongside his armor.

You caught it with your good hand and fastened it to your waist.

He had accepted your final touch.

Now you needed to get him out of here.

You tested your weight against a makeshift crutch, some battered piece of lab equipment he had fashioned into something functional. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. You could move. Slowly.

Carrying you was no longer an option, not with one arm and a full arsenal to manage.

You would have to walk beside him.

When the lab door creaked open, you were relieved to see that the exit wasn’t far.

His ship had to be nearby.

He walked first, spear strapped across his back, his remaining hand navigating through the flickering map on his forearm.

You couldn’t stop watching him, how impossibly powerful he looked, even missing an arm.

It somehow made him more. Like his scars told the story of survival better than any battle cry ever could.

You admired how his dreadlocks swayed against his back, some sheared, some still intact, yet each moved gracefully.

You followed him, the pain flaring in every joint and breath, throbbing down your fractured shin, but you refused to slow down.

This wasn’t about comfort, it was about survival.

And you weren’t going to be the reason he didn’t make it.

The corridor ahead was long and sterile.

Your path out of hell.

He glanced over his shoulder, snapping the map shut and moving to lift you.

But before he could, you heard it.

Voices. Humans.

Your blood turned to ice.

They were just as dangerous as the xenomorphs, maybe even more.

And they wouldn’t spare him.

Not now. Not ever.

There was no time.

Carrying you on his shoulder would impale you on his spear.

Cradling you was impossible.

Instead, he moved beside you and threw your arm over his shoulder.

You clung to him as he broke into a run, dragging you at his pace.

And still, you didn’t stop.

Even as your lungs burned and your leg threatened to give out.

You kept moving.

This was it.

One last sprint.

One last chance.

Your bodies were in sync now, he could feel your exhaustion, you could sense his determination.

Adrenaline linked you, both craving freedom.

The final door came into view, its window revealing falling snow on the other side.

There it was. Your way out.

He let go of your arm, watching your every move as you stumbled to the padlock and entered the code with shaking hands.

Behind you, he raised his plasma gun, lasers ready, watching every shadow.

You pressed the final key.

The lock hissed and the door split open with a mechanical groan.

A burst of cold air hit your face, you inhaled the scent of soil and ice, tasting the freedom on your tongue.

Suddenly, a gunshot cracked through the corridor like thunder.

You flinched, body curling in on itself, ears ringing loudly.

Humans.

Armed.

Already firing. No warning. No hesitation.

Always taking what’s not theirs.

Keth’raal stepped in front of you, red laser dots flashing across the white walls, spear sliding into his hand.

He didn’t flinch. He never did. Never backed down from a fight, even if it meant certain death.

But you saw it in an instant, he wouldn’t survive another fight. Not this close. Not with you next to him. Because you knew, he would die just to protect you.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and pulled him hard.

Yanking him through the door with you.

Behind you, voices screamed.

In the midst of the chaos, loud and all-consuming, he had somehow obeyed the pull of your hand.

He let you drag him outside with you.

And then, with the last shred of strength you had left, you pushed him forward.

Out of your grasp.

Out of danger.

You slipped from his grip, slamming your weight into the reinforced door and sealing it behind him.

Silence.

Not in the corridor, not really… but inside you.

You stared through the small glass window, your breath fogging the surface as you watched him react.

You could barely hear his roars, muffled beneath the mask and the door between you.

But you could see the rage.

The betrayal.

It was in every movement, wild and raw, animal and deliberate.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was hurt.

Your fingers met the glass, gently, like you were touching him again.

One last time.

A silent apology whispered.

For lying.

For leaving.

For choosing his life over your own.

He couldn’t hear it.

And still—no matter the betrayal, he didn’t stop.

He clawed at the door, kicked at it, slammed his fist until his knuckles bled, just to get you out of there.

It was in his nature, feral and loyal, violent but protective.

He lifted his plasma caster, aiming it at the lock.

A crack.

But thankfully, not enough.

Tears welled in your eyes as you watched him, striking the reinforced window with the full weight of his fury.

But you tried not to focus on his rage.

You searched his mask instead, imagining the eyes behind it, trying to memorise him.

The weight of him, the sound of his voice when it softened just for you, the way he tilted his head like he was always trying to figure you out.

The purr in his chest when your hand found his dreadlocks.

A sound only you had ever earned.

A beast moulded from war and violence had softened for you.

He had given up instinct for something that made no sense, something dangerously human.

You had found him behind glass.

And now you were leaving him behind it.

Your chest ached, twisting painfully. He wasn’t going to stop. And if he didn’t, if he broke through, then both of you would die here.

They would cut you down before he even reached you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, resting your forehead against the window.

“Please… just go. Leave. If you stay, they’ll kill us both.”

But he didn’t hear. Or maybe he did and refused to listen.

Another kick rattled the door. Another guttural roar that you could barely hear. He wasn’t leaving. He would rather die tearing through steel than abandon you.

And still, somewhere inside the ache, a fragile thread of hope twisted in you. If he understood, if he chose to walk away, then maybe you both could live. He out there and free. You here and alive. Apart, but not gone.

Behind you, the soldiers were closing in.

You turned away, giving him the only thing you had left. Time.

Time to run.

Time to disappear.

You turned from him as the boots came closer, weapons raised, fingers ready to fire.

A hand grabbed your arm and yanked you away from the door.

“Open it! Now!”

You didn’t answer.

You stumbled forward, your palm slapping against the keypad. Your body screamed in protest as they pushed you, but you forced yourself to stay on your feet.

You punched in the wrong code. The panel spat back a warning. A shock jolted through your arm. You bit your tongue and stayed silent.

“Code! Now!”

You hesitated.

Still listening.

Still searching for the sound of him on the other side.

Roaring. Breaking. Refusing to leave.

You fumbled the keypad, pressing the wrong sequence on purpose again.

Another shove. Your ribs hit the edge of the panel.

You flinched, but said nothing.

You only listened, counting the seconds, waiting for him to understand, to leave.

The third time, you thought you heard it. The silence. The door no longer shook. The roars fell quiet. The steel stayed still.

It broke something inside you, that silence. But it was what you had begged for.

Only when you were sure, when the sounds behind the door had gone quiet, when he was no longer there, did you enter the correct code.

The door hissed open.

Cold air struck your face again and you inhaled deeply, welcoming the burn in your lungs.

You smiled, despite the pain that throbbed through your body, because for the first time, you felt relief.

He was gone.

No longer trapped.

You had made it.

Both of you.

.

.

.

Epilogue

It had been almost two years.

Your time at the secluded facility quickly came to an end after the incident.

Bodies—human and alien—were buried beneath silence, and silence is what followed.

The incident never made it to the news. Of course it didn’t.

Things like that don’t.

You never went back.

You didn’t even return home that day.

You fled to another country, close to the sea. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere where the wind smelled like salt instead of blood.

You started studying marine biology less than two weeks later.

Something you used to daydream about, back when your days were filled with cold corridors, lab coats and screams muffled by concrete walls.

It kept you busy.

You needed to be busy.

Because if you weren’t, the nights would swallow you whole.

Some nights they still tried.

When your cat curled up against your chest and purred softly, your throat would tighten.

You would press your face into her fur and pretend it was him.

It helped. But not always.

Surviving in a foreign country alone wasn’t easy.

But after what you have been through, nothing really felt hard anymore.

You had faced death and dragged it to the finish line.

Everything after that felt… do-able.

Your hand healed, mostly.

You could never close it all the way, frozen in that moment of time.

A small price.

You didn’t regret it.

Like the scar across your cheek, it became a quiet souvenir.

A reminder of him.

A part of him he had left behind.

At first, it hurt to look at.

You would trace the line in the mirror and cry without knowing why.

But time, ever so slowly, softened the pain.

Now, you touched the scar gently.

And smiled.

You didn’t cry yourself to sleep anymore.

You didn’t wake up gasping for breath, or calling his name into the dark.

Now, you woke up… and wanted to live.

Wanted to work.

To explore.

To keep going.

You had figured out what you wanted

and more importantly, what you would never settle for again.

He had taught you that.

Not with words, but with everything else.

Through survival, through grief, you had found your own strength.

And now you believed in it.

You believed in yourself.

Life had texture again.

Light. Flavor. Wonder.

Still, some nights, your chest would ache with the memory of him.

Your body remembering things your mind tried to leave hidden in the past.

But it didn’t hurt the same way.

It was tender now.

Bittersweet.

He had become a part of your story.

Not the ending, just a chapter.

One that would always matter.

You were happy.

And somehow, you couldn’t help but blame him for that, too.

You returned home late, the sky already dark, wrapped in the hush of a summer night.

The warmth clung to your skin like a soft touch.

You opened your window.

The breeze kissed your face.

The sky had turned into deep velvet, adorned with stars like shattered glass.

You used to look up at the sky every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of something—anything—different. Something alien. A sign that he was still out there, somewhere.

But that habit had faded now.

You no longer searched the sky. You simply let yourself enjoy the moment, holding on to one quiet truth.

He was out there. Alive.

And that was all that mattered.

You closed your eyes.

Breathed in the scent of salt and jasmine.

And then…

The black behind your eyelids pulsed orange.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Three red laser dots glowed steady on your skin.

“And I was starting to think you liked keeping me waiting,” you breathed, a grin stretching widely across your lips.

The End

Author’s Note

This started as a silly little prompt (as I state in the first part) but ended up becoming a full story 🥹 It has been a lovely ride everyone 🩷 I’m going to miss all your comments and reactions on this fic so much. Keth’raal is my first OC I decided to post online and for that, he will always have a special place in my heart. I hope you also got to love him throughout the story. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this finale! I’d love to see you in my next work! And I have a feeling, Keth’raal’s story will get a sequel one day 🤭

oh and for anyone who doesn’t read my tags (that usually contain spoilers 😆), the word “Na’kai” that Keth’raal uses in the previous chapter means “worthy”, finally deeming the reader as the most important thing in his culture.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 9

[So apparently you can’t post over 4.096 characters on a single post 😆 so tune in for the next part asap 💚 Once more, I want to express how grateful I am for every single one of you who comment and show love to this story. You’re the best thing and can’t wait for your reactions on this one 🥰]

Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 💚

Tagging 💚: @celticsrightbuttcheek @shmoopah @kyriedesai @btsgangleader @legallyblindasian @ineffable-maniac02 @tea-drinking-nerd @umbralremedy @maemaymayo @fujistarrbytz @blushycadaver @lilly-main @jaxxyz @shylahjoy24 @spoopydidit @broken0verseer @lemonbl0od @bamtomio7597 @stupendousnightmaretrash @just-a-sewer-goblin

Faint sounds… distant shouts, maybe screams… a gunshot in the background.

Your body floated, weightless and with no direction, like you were being moved by something other than yourself.

You couldn’t feel anything. Only sound reached you.

Am I dead?

The thought drifted through your mind like a whisper. It didn’t come with panic, just a strange detachment. You tried to hold onto something familiar, something real. But nothing responded. You were trapped, somewhere between awareness and total darkness.

It felt like sleep paralysis.

Only deeper.

Only colder.

You tried to speak. Tried to breathe. But your lungs didn’t move. Your voice never came.

You weren’t sure if your mouth was even real anymore.

Am I dreaming?

You begged the void for an answer. But it didn’t answer, it never did.

So you stopped asking.

And in that silence… you found something like peace.

No more running.

No more bleeding.

No more pain.

Your body had fought beyond its limits. You were no warrior — not in the way others were — but the fight moulded you into one anyway. You had endured. That was enough.

It had to be.

And you found peace in that thought.

So you let go.

It was quiet.

And it was good.

No more chaos, no more alarms. Just this numb, soundless abyss where nothing could hurt you anymore.

And that, somehow, was mercy.

But then…

A flicker.

A tremor in your eye, twitching against the darkness.

Your thoughts confused, reluctant.

Wait… wasn’t it over?

Why were you still here?

Why was your mind still awake?

Still thinking?

Your lips trembled. You could feel them again.

Then your neck. Stiff and heavy.

Your back. A crawling ache starting at the spine and sinking into your hips.

Your stomach twisted.

Everything hurt.

Then came the fire.

Your hand was burning.

The kind of pain that doesn’t make sense at first, like your skin was in shock, melting and freezing all at once. It was unbearable.

You wanted to scream.

Stop. Please. Stop.

But your lungs heaved, dry and strained. One breath. Then another.

Your throat burned as you gasped, and when your eyes snapped open, light stabbed through them like knives.

You lurched upward.

Blurry and painful.

Everything was wrong, too loud, too bright.

You flinched at the hand that pressed you down, not sure if it meant harm or help.

You fought it, or at least tried to. But your limbs barely listened.

Somewhere, through the chaos and panic in your mind, a word came. The only word that made sense.

Keth’raal.

Over and over. That name.

Like your brain had chosen it as the only anchor left.

Keth’raal.

You tried to speak it. Call his name. Ask where he is.

But it slipped away.

And just like that, you were gone again.

Dragged under the weight of your broken body and mind.

The light blinked out.

And again — silence.

You shot upright with a gasp, as if emerging from deep water.

The air hit your lungs like knives again, but this time you welcomed it.

You blinked and gasped, looking around you.

The world was blurred at the edges, but it was there. You could feel it. Real. Tangible.

Pain throbbed beneath your skin like a reminder, but it was manageable.

You looked down, your hand was wrapped in layers of gauze. Sloppy, maybe, but careful enough to mean something.

Someone had tried.

The fingers on your damaged hand twitched. Barely. The tips stung but you could feel them.

Still yours.

Then your throbbing leg, bandaged too. The pain flared in your shin when you moved, but that meant it was still there. Still alive.

You weren’t dead.

But that begged a deeper, more terrifying question.

How?

You remembered falling beside him, not just collapsing but choosing to stop, because there was nothing else to give.

And now…

The thought came before you could even stop it.

Him.

Keth’raal.

Your breath caught, heart pushing violently against your chest.

Where was he?

Your eyes darted around the room, searching, frantic.

Was he captured? Left behind? Did he—

No. You couldn’t finish that thought.

Couldn’t even let the image form in your mind.

“Oh God, please no” you pressed your palms over your eyes, as the pain returned, sharp and blinding.

You hadn’t even said goodbye.

Not after everything.

You didn’t get to thank him, for protecting you when no one else did. For being the only one who stood between you and certain death.

He had given everything.

And something in you knew… it hadn’t just been about honour.

Your throat tightened.

A sob threatened to break loose, but you swallowed it down, muffling it against your hand.

It felt like something had been carved out of your chest.

You looked up.

The flickering ceiling lights caught your eye, and for a moment, the room started to look familiar again.

You were still in the facility.

Still in one of the labs.

But this one… it was far north, tucked into the coldest wing of the facility.

Why were you still here?

Was this some kind of personal hell?

Had you died after all, and this was it?

You tried to make sense of it, but the pain in your skull pulsed like static, blurring every thought before it could land.

You inhaled—through your nose —just as he had taught you. That first time you had panicked in front of him, breath hitching, frozen, wild-eyed… and he had shown you how to come back to yourself. One breath at a time.

You closed your eyes.

And there he was, your mind conjuring him, standing before you, whole and unbroken, silently watching.

His mandibles twitched with a familiar click, soft now, not threatening.

His eyes, always dark, glowed faintly with that strange green that somehow made him look gentle. Not human. Never that. But still—gentle.

His gaze had always changed when it found you. You had seen it.

The tension in his face, the sharp lines of his head, softened when you were near.

Even in silence, he looked at you this way.

And you could never quite define what you felt for him—not back then, not now.

It wasn’t simple. Wasn’t clear. Wasn’t anything human.

Because he wasn’t human at all.

What you shared wasn’t friendship, though there had been respect. A kind of recognition. You both offered help when it was needed, and maybe that was a kind of trust.

But it went deeper, stranger.

Even when he wasn’t using the translator, you understood him.

Even in the silence, something unspoken flowed between you.

It wasn’t romance.

And yet, it stirred something in your chest—something warm, magnetic.

The first time he stood close to you, you had felt it, like particles crashing together.

It wasn’t love. Not the kind you had grown up reading about.

It was something rawer. Something that went beyond language entirely.

It felt like belonging.

You had both been trapped in this cursed place.

Both prisoners.

And somehow, you found each other in the ruins of it.

You had pieced together the truth behind the facility long before it collapsed.

This wasn’t about peaceful contact or research, it never had been.

It was about control. Evolution through manipulation.

Humanity didn’t want to understand aliens, it wanted to use them. Enhance its soldiers. Build its weapons. Prepare for wars it intended to win.

And in that chase of power, it had created something it couldn’t contain.

The bioweapon that tore off Keth’raal’s arm, too fast, too strong, a beast that turned on its creators.

Evacuation protocols failed. Containment went under.

You guessed someone, reckless or terrified, had tried to return Keth’raal to his chamber and left it unlocked.

And maybe, by accident or instinct, that’s how he found you.

But no…

He hadn’t found you by chance.

He knew you. Your voice. Your scent. Something in you had pulled him close, something deeper than instinct.

And it wasn’t desire. It wasn’t attraction in the way people often meant it.

It was connection.

When he was near, you didn’t feel afraid.

Your body moved differently, faster, braver.

Pain dulled. Breath steadied.

You lived, in a way you hadn’t before.

Even caged, you felt free.

Like the universe had pushed him into your path, so you could fight beside him.

So you could share his burden.

So you could know him.

You sniffled, wiping at the corner of your eye with the back of your hand as a tear slipped free.

You had fought like hell to help him.

But in the end, you had failed.

And now that he was gone… it hurt more than you ever imagined.

Your sigh shivered in your chest, as tears trailed down your cheeks.

You stared up at the ceiling.

And then, slowly, closed your eyes.

The world went quiet again.

“Na’thek.”

You heard the low, guttural rumble echo through the air, and your eyes snapped open.

You turned your head sharply to the left and there he was.

Materializing before your eyes, rising out of the dim light like a ghost you had begged the universe to give back. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. Your palm flew to your mouth, muffling the gasp that escaped you. You didn’t want him to see you weak like this. But you wanted to fall apart. Wanted to leap off the bed, wrap your arms around him, and feel that he was alive. That he was real.

And… you did.

You didn’t wait. There was no time for hesitation anymore, not after everything. Time had become sacred, fragile, and you refused to waste even a second.

Your body ached as you pushed yourself upright with trembling arms. You knew your injured leg wouldn’t hold you, but you didn’t care. You shifted to the edge of the stretcher, used your good leg to throw yourself forward and crashed into him.

Your arms wrapped around his broad chest as your weight hit him, and you clung to him like a lifeline.

He stood still, unmoving under your hold.

His mandibles clicked in that strange pattern he always made when he didn’t quite understand your behaviour, but tolerated it anyway. His breath lifted his chest slowly, rising and falling against your cheek where you had buried your face. You pressed yourself tighter into him, refusing to let go. Not this time. Not now that you had found him again.

Your tears returned, warm and happy, soaking into his cold, scaly skin.

He was here. He was alive.

You didn’t even register the missing limb, the bruises, the scars. All that mattered was the pulse beneath your cheek, the scent you remembered, the sound of his breath.

And then, slowly, one of his arms shifted. He untangled it from your grip carefully. You lifted your head, not letting go but easing just enough to look at him.

His hand cupped the back of your head with odd gentleness, talons careful not to scratch, thumb dragging in cautious circles—like he was studying the motion, like affection was something new he was still trying to understand.

You stared up at him, and he looked down at you.

Words didn’t matter. Not right now. You both knew that.

His fingers slid now, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing faintly beneath the scar he had given you.

It was no longer just a mark of honour—it was a memory. Something shared between you.

A quiet piece of him that stayed with you.

“Ki’cte’ya,” he rasped, the word vibrating low in his throat. The sound was coarse, unfamiliar and yet you knew he spoke in his language.

You tilted your head, a silent question in your eyes.

His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb moving in slow circles. The heat of your skin met the coolness of his, and you felt your cheeks flush—not just from the touch, but from the way he looked at you. The way his presence wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” you whispered, barely audible, like saying it too loudly might fracture the moment. You were scared your closeness might break if you weren’t careful. Like it could disappear if you made a wrong move.

You knew well enough that the Yautja weren’t a species known for their affection. A hug like this might feel strange to him, maybe even like a challenge for dominance. But Keth’raal had always been different. Curious. Always eager to learn.

He had studied you just as carefully as you had studied him.

And you knew, without words, that he understood your touch meant safety and never harm.

He tilted his head again, the way he always did when something confused him. His claw traced the tears beneath your eye.

“Sometimes… humans cry when they’re happy too,” you explained, voice small, smiling faintly through the blur.

Your still-working hand rose slowly, hesitant about the contact you were about to make.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the single bead still clinging to one of his locks — the one that set him apart. That golden bead wasn’t just an adornment. It was a symbol. A reminder of freedom. A piece of the past he still carried. And you loved that about him, that something within him still resisted captivity. Still remembered.

Your thumb traced over the ridges of the bead. It felt foreign, yet somehow familiar. It gave him a sense of pride, of identity.

You knew — even though he never said it — that he cherished this tiny piece of gold.

As it meant belonging.

He had told you that when he woke up here, the only thing he remembered was you.

The rest of his past was a blur of violence and time.

Maybe it was the experiments. Maybe it was the brutal way he had been captured. Or maybe it was the guards, kicking and striking him while unconscious, simply because they could.

But this bead — someone had once placed it there with care. Someone he trusted.

It wasn’t rusty, but it was worn — old like a relic passed through time and pain.

He didn’t belong here, and he knew it. Somewhere out there, he had a home, a life, a name that meant something. And this bead was proof of that.

You didn’t know if his memories had returned since finding you. But you knew he was still fighting for freedom, for the right to reclaim what had been stolen from him.

You felt his gaze on you now, lingering on your hand. Watching, not with suspicion, but with curiosity. You were touching something sacred. His only reminder of who he was.

The golden bead was textured and cool beneath your touch. You rubbed it once more with your thumb, memorizing the shape of it before your hand slid lower, gently closing around the length of his lock.

His entire body went rigid.

It felt like he was holding his breath.

You remembered how aggressively he had reacted when you first touched his dreadlocks.

You hadn’t known why then. You still didn’t.

But now… now everything was different.

A deep, low rumble rose from his chest, a vibration that echoed into your bones.

You looked up at his face. Always unreadable.

But not now.

His eyelids were lowered. The sharp ridges of his face softened. The mask of aggression peeled back, revealing something else. Vulnerability. Maybe… even comfort.

He didn’t stop you this time.

“Na’kai,” he rasped, the sound rumbling through his throat, heavy with something you couldn’t name. It was a word you recognized, yet not the one he usually used for you.

Shorter. Different.

Intimate.

He had let you touch him where he was most sensitive.

And in doing so, you had earned his complete trust.

Not just as an ally.

Your eyes left the lock between your fingers and met his.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice soft, “for saving me.”

Reluctantly, you released the strand.

He seemed to nod, the soft purr in his chest fading as you let go.

His eyes opened fully now and he exhaled slowly, as if he could only now breathe again.

A strange tingle lingered over your fingertips. The reminder of a contact that had meant more than words ever could.

But you didn’t focus on that now.

You took a step back, heart sinking as you turned your eyes to the truth you had been avoiding.

You had felt it. You had known it.

But now, you had to look at it.

His body, once the epitome of strength, bore the aftermath of war now.

His face scratched, shoulders slashed, his thighs and knees bruised a deep shade of green.

But it was his arm that made your breath catch.

Gone.

The wound still sealed by the salve you had put on it.

It shimmered faintly, an odd blue hue glinting in the light. No blood. No oozing.

But he stood tall anyway.

No shame in his posture. No fear. Only pride.

He had survived. He had fought. And he had endured.

He had turned his back to the enemy once and had paid the price. A lesson learned.

You stared at the stump on his left arm, then down at your own ruined hand — the right one.

You raised it slightly in greeting, a crooked wave.

And he lifted his own damaged arm, mimicking your gesture.

Left and right. Mirror images of each other.

You were both broken.

But you were still standing.

You had a storm of questions spiraling through your mind, each one crashing into the next.

Was he the one who bandaged you?

How had he escaped the humans?

Did he carry you here?

But only one word left your lips.

“How?”

It felt too small—too simple—for everything racing through your head. But it was honest. It was all you could manage.

Keth’raal tilted his head at the question. It was vague, but he didn’t need more. He could hear your pulse and your nervous gulping. He knew confusion when it stared him down.

He glanced at his helmet first, then turned to walk toward it. You finally saw his back, damaged like the rest of him. More of his dreadlocks had been severed in battle, shorter now, uneven. But they weren’t bleeding. He must have used the salve.

You took two cautious steps backward, sitting on the stretcher to relieve the throbbing in your leg that was coming with every heartbeat.

He returned, slipping the mask over his face. The lights in its eyes blinked on. Then his hand gently rested on your shoulder, encouraging you to speak.

You stared at it. His touch wasn’t foreign, but it had never been quite like this. Maybe he pitied you. You were broken. Barely stitched back together after everything. But so was he, just as broken, if not more.

Your gaze found the line etched across his mask again—the one he had confessed was left by his own brothers in a sparring match. You lifted a hand, your index finger tracing it slowly, eyes soft and distant. Trying to find the right words. Trying to hold onto this fleeting moment.

“How?” you asked again, quieter this time. “How did you do it? I thought… we were both gone.”

The mask tilted as his hand slid from your shoulder. He lifted it to your face slowly, carefully. His thumb touched just beneath your brow. A shallow cut. You flinched as he tapped it once. Twice.

Then finally spoke, the mechanical voice from his mask almost gentle.

“I hid us under my cloak. Because of you… I didn’t bleed out. The humans never saw us.”

You remembered the blur, the chaos the voices in the distance, the weight of someone carrying you. That must have been then.

His thumb, now tinged with your blood, rose to the line on his mask. He pressed it there, your blood over the scar left by his own kind.

Your breath hitched.

What was this?

Another ritual?

He rubbed the blood into the old mark, like he wanted it to stay. To linger. A part of him now.

“Keth’raal—” you whispered, reaching up, your fingers just grazing his mask, until a loud sound cracked through the silence.

You flinched.

Both your heads turned toward the door.

“Come with me,” the voice said through the mask, thick with urgency.

You blinked at him, the noise still ringing in your ears.

“What?” your voice faltered.

He didn’t move. Just stared at you, still, silent, waiting. Maybe listening to the panic spiking in your chest.

Your skin flushed. Not just with fear, but something deeper. A growing pressure in your ribs, like a thought you didn’t want to name.

“I can’t—” you began, already shaking your head.

But he interrupted you, cutting through the hesitation like he could read it before you voice it.

“Why?”

His head tilted again, curious. Sincere.

You scoffed softly, trying to joke, even though your hands were trembling. “Do you see me? I wouldn’t last a second in your world.”

His response silenced you.

“That wound on your shoulder… is from a human.”

You looked at your arm.

He was right.

That bullet had torn through you without hesitation, without warning. From someone meant to be on your side.

“I can’t fight forever,” you muttered, letting your head drop. The ache in your bones felt permanent now. Your body begged you to stop, to just stop.

“I’m not built for this.”

“You think we only fight?” he asked, his voice lower now, quieter.

You looked up.

That… wasn’t what you expected him to say.

“And how do you think we reproduce?”

He shifted, weight moving to his other leg, the stance casual, but still looming.

You stared at him. Did he just—?

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out.

Was he smirking under that mask?

You knew it was impossible.

But it felt like it.

“We have a life,” he continued, as though he saw your disbelief and chose to keep going. “We don’t just hunt.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck, a tension tightening your throat.

“You don’t have to fight,” he said, lifting his chin up. The same way he always did when he felt sure of himself.

You had picked up on his patterns. How he moved. How he expressed himself without words. Measured and minimal, never wasting energy or time.

But still, there was so much there, beneath the surface.

He was reckless and careful. Proud and watchful. Guarded and raw.

A complete paradox.

“I—” you started again, looking at the floor now. Blood stained the tiles—his blood. Still fresh.

“What if they attack me first?” you asked, your voice nearly lost.

He moved again, subtly. His hand hovered near the stump of his missing arm. Maybe it throbbed. Maybe he still hadn’t completely registered it was missing. You would never know.

“You fight back,” he said.

Three simple words.

But they hit harder than anything else that night.

You looked up at him again.

He believed in you. That much was obvious now. Not because he said it, but because he didn’t need to.

He had fought for you, over and over. Put himself between you and death again and again.

He had chosen you, the moment he woke.

“What if I can’t…” you whispered, looking down at your fidgeting hands. Skin bruised. Nails cracked. Just human.

“If you can’t, I will.”

Your breath caught.

You blinked at him, stunned.

That wasn’t a promise. It was a fact. A vow wrapped in reassurance.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it sinking in.

He would fight for you. Had always fought for you. And you—somewhere along the way—had started fighting for him too.

You had feared death your whole life. The void. The unknown.

But with him standing this close, you didn’t think of dying.

You thought of surviving.

“I don’t fear death,” he said, as if to echo your thoughts.

And you believed him.

You always had.

But now your chest ached.

Not because of the pain. Not even because of the fear.

Because you finally understood what you were most afraid of.

Not death.

Not pain.

But losing him.

And that fear had rooted itself so deeply, you hadn’t even noticed it growing.

Whatever this was—whatever bond fate had wrapped around the two of you—it wasn’t just survival anymore.

He had saved your life.

But you… had saved his too. Even if it had taken this long to see it.

“I would die for you.”

Your mouth fell open, unable to contain the gasp that escaped your lips.

His words struck you like the fine edge of a knife—not painful at first, but still making you bleed the most.

Your eyes burned, your jaw clenched, holding back the tears now threatening to fall. Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms, trembling as you looked at him.

He hadn’t moved.

He meant it.

All of it.

He would sacrifice his life—not just for honor, not for duty—but for you.

And deep down, you knew it wasn’t just because you had saved him. It wasn’t repayment.

He would do it for the bond you shared—the one neither of you could name. For the strange, inevitable pull that had tied your lives together from the moment you met.

And you knew the truth.

You would do it, too.

You already had—sacrificing your own hand—just for a chance that he might survive.

And you would do it again.

“I would too,” you murmured. First to yourself. Then, louder, to him. Your eyes unfocused, your gaze locked to the floor as thoughts churned through your head like a storm you couldn’t stop.

“I know,” he said.

His remaining hand reached for you—resting lightly on your head, fingers sliding to your jaw to tilt your face upward. Slowly.

“Come with me,” he said again.

But this time… it felt different. He meant it. He truly meant it.

You stared at his mask—the way your blood had dried, oxidized over that fine scar etched across it. A mark stained forever.

Yes. Say yes. Just say it.

A voice screamed inside your head.

You wanted to go with him.

You didn’t want to return to this lab—to the cold, sterile cage that had nearly destroyed you. You didn’t deserve this life. This prison.

You would do anything to escape it.

Even die in the process.

Your hand moved to his, guiding it over your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch like it was the last warmth left in the world.

But then, quietly… you shook your head. No.

You weren’t strong enough. You didn’t belong in his world.

His kind didn’t accept the damaged.

If he was damaged, it probably meant honor.

If you were damaged, it meant useless.

You were nothing but dead weight. A risk. A weakness he couldn’t afford.

His need to protect you would only lead him closer to death. If you hadn’t been in the battle… if you hadn’t needed saving… maybe he would still have both arms.

You were the reason he would die.

And you couldn’t live with that.

You needed him alive.

Your soul wouldn’t rest unless you knew he was safe.

Your eyes blinked open as his hand withdrew. You looked up, and even without seeing his expression behind the mask—you knew.

He was angry.

Why hadn’t his words been enough?

Why couldn’t you believe him?

He was frustrated. Not with you—but with the weight of everything he couldn’t fix. With your fear. Your silence.

“Why?” he asked at last. “You’re just as afraid of humans as you are of aliens.”

He was right. But that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t go with him.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You were afraid for him.

“I can’t,” you said softly, forcing a crooked, apologetic smile.

You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, your eyes dropping to the floor.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His silence said everything.

But time was slipping between your fingers, fast and unforgiving. You could feel it. Hear it. The humans would be here soon and this time, he wouldn’t escape.

This time, they wouldn’t let him live.

“Please, you need to go,” you begged, voice shaking, low, like you didn’t want to say the words at all.

You kept your gaze down. You didn’t want to see his reaction.

But you knew… it would all be over once he realized you meant it.

“Please…” you said again, barely audible.

Your chest ached. Your heart twisted in your ribs. The thought of never seeing him again felt like the final blow after all you had been through. After everything you had survived together. To be torn apart now?

You had always known it would end like this.

You just hoped it wouldn’t hurt this much.

You had grown to care for him, in ways you never thought possible. Somewhere along the line, survival became something more.

You couldn’t deny it.

But now, you had to.

His feet remained rooted. His stance unshaken.

You glanced up, trying to understand. Confused and desperate.

“You need to go,” you said again, louder.

“Humans are coming. You need to escape,” you said, your voice breaking as frustration took hold.

Still, he didn’t move.

He reached for a lab chair, dragging it across the floor with a loud scrape, placing it in front of you and sat down.

“What are you— You don’t understand?” you snapped, voice rising. “They’re coming! You need to run!”

“What are you doing?” you cried, already halfway off the stretcher, ready to grab him and shove him out of the lab if you had to.

“I’m making a decision,” he said.

His voice was calm. Certain. The lights in his mask glowed softly, unshaken by your panic.

“What?” you asked, heart pounding.

“I’m staying.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief and then fury.

You couldn’t believe the stubborn creature fate had dropped into your life.

You wanted to scream. Fight him. Drag him out by force.

But his words echoed through your mind.

“I’m staying.”

You couldn’t help it.

You thought of his name.

Keth’raal.

The one who watched and decided to stay.

Was it a coincidence?

Or had he given himself that name—after choosing to stay behind?

You remembered him saying he didn’t recall anything when he first woke up.

What if he had forgotten his name?

What if he chose that name—because of you?

What if… you were the reason he called himself that at all?

You bit your tongue, the thought crashing into you like a wave you couldn’t escape.

So many possibilities. All of them painful.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered.

His name fell from your lips like a plea.

“Please… just go. They’ll kill you. I can’t protect you.”

“I’m begging you,” you said, as tears slipped down your cheeks.

He stiffened, his body instinctively reacting to your broken voice.

But he didn’t move.

He had made a decision.

It wasn’t up for negotiation.

“Let them come.”

He sounded young. Reckless.

“You can’t kill everyone,” you snapped. “They’ll get you.”

“Then I’ll get caught.”

“Is that what you want?” you cried. “You craved freedom a second ago and now you’re staying here to die?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His silence was the answer.

The noise outside grew louder—boots on tile, voices echoing.

Your mind was a chaos, your body hurt.

And the worst part was…

You didn’t want to survive this time.

Not without him.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 8

[CHAPTER WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT]

(And now that the warning is out of the way, I want to thank everybody who has liked, commented and given feedback on the story 💚 it means everything to me! Looking forward to your reactions on this one)

Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Part 6 | Part 7 💚

Tagging 💚: @celticsrightbuttcheek @shmoopah @kyriedesai @btsgangleader @legallyblindasian @ineffable-maniac02 @tea-drinking-nerd @umbralremedy @maemaymayo @fujistarrbytz @blushycadaver @lilly-main (tumblr didn’t let me tag some of you guys I’m sorry 🫠)

You stood right beside him, eyes locked on the dark expanse of the lab ahead, where that echoing sound had come from, distant and unmistakably threatening. The air hung heavy again, thick with the kind of silence that presses against your chest, waiting to be broken by something worse than before.

You knew this wasn’t going to end easily.

There was always a bigger threat. And you had felt it in your bones since the alarm first screamed to life. Since that moment, you were always running, dodging from one unseen horror to another. Like all the other creatures in this cursed lab, you had just been trying to survive. You stumbled upon them, collided with them by accident, but always because something else, something worse, was coming.

And now… it was here.

You sensed Keth’raal shift beside you. It was subtle, a minor realignment of weight, but you felt it. He didn’t move, didn’t rush in. Not out of fear, no. You caught the reason quickly.

He was waiting for you.

You.

Not the fragile human who had once flinched at the sound of their own breath inside the sterilized lab, but the one who stood beside him now, blooded and marked. Equal in name and action. You were no longer just a survivor, you were someone he trusted to endure.

And… you had changed.

You never thought your life would intertwine with something like him. A Yautja, a predator. But then again, nothing about your life had gone the way it was supposed to. You were meant to work in xenobiology, to study organisms and take readings. You weren’t meant to form a bond with one of them. But that’s what happened anyway.

Your mind drifted off, too afraid to stay in the present and face the horror. You found yourself back in old memories. Memories of him. Your only ally.

Working on Keth’raal had become routine at some point, familiar. They always assigned you to him. Every day. There wasn’t a single shift you hadn’t checked his vitals, extracted blood, collected dermal samples. Always with care. Always with a part of yourself hoping he didn’t feel like another caged animal.

You couldn’t remember your first day at the lab clearly, your mind had pushed it somewhere far back, too loud and painful to relive. But you remembered the creatures you had worked on. Every one of them. The neomorph with translucent flesh that shimmered under lights, the river ghost with its uncanny exoskeleton. And him. Keth’raal.

You could never forget him.

Not with the distinct green shades blooming across his chest, his skin like a forest at dusk. Natural, wild, alive. His presence had stayed with you.

But what had marked him most in your memory wasn’t just his biology. It was the single golden bead threaded through one of his dreadlocks. A deep-colored talisman, worn and solid. You had seen the guards remove everything else from the others, every token, every relic, crushed under pliers or torn away without care.

But not that bead.

Maybe it was too strong, or maybe someone simply didn’t think it was worth the trouble. Either way, it remained. And with that, he became identifiable. Distinct. You could always tell when it was him, when they wheeled him into your lab, unconscious and bound. You never forgot his face. His shape. His presence.

You always apologized. Every time. For every needle. For every scan. For every moment he spent in that cold, artificial room.

And he had heard you.

You knew he had.

Because when he saw you again, free, unarmed, exposed, he didn’t attack. He had remembered your voice. He never saw you as a threat.

Another memory came back to you now, clearer than most. A particularly bad day. You had been on the verge of walking out. Out of the contract, the lab, everything. You were sick of being owned by a line of unread fine print. That day, you had been reckless. Distracted. Barely functioning.

You remembered extracting blood from Keth’raal’s arm, and for a split second, you had misjudged the pressure, pierced deeper than you wanted.

“Shit,” you muttered, the vial nearly slipping from your gloved fingers.

Blood surged faster than it should have, running dark down his forearm.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” you panicked, fumbling with gauze, pressing your palm over the broken vein. You lifted his arm quickly, applying pressure in all the ways you had been trained to.

“Please stop bleeding,” you whispered, voice trembling. It was silly, saying it out loud, but you meant it. You had already felt guilty every day. You didn’t want to hurt him—not him. Not someone who had bled far more than you could possibly understand.

Then— he twitched.

His head jerked, just slightly.

Your whole body froze.

The chill spread down your spine like a shot of ice. Was it a natural reflex? Or had you just stirred him awake?

You couldn’t tell. You slowly lowered his arm again, eyes locked on him, unblinking. Every breath was tight in your chest, as you took him in.

Of all the aliens, he had always felt closest to you. Not just in proximity, but in… something else. You didn’t even have the word for it.

And maybe that’s why you hadn’t screamed or bolted when you first saw him, standing, staring at you before the xenomorph attacked. You should have collapsed in fear. But you didn’t. Because something in you had already known him. Recognized him, not just as a subject, but something familiar.

But something still didn’t make sense.

You wondered now, how had he ended up so close to your lab in the first place?

His glass chamber was far from yours. If escape was the goal, he should have gone the opposite way. North, toward the docking systems. Toward freedom.

But instead… he ended up outside your lab door.

And you weren’t sure if it was by accident.

You made a mental note to ask him—later.

If there was a later.

Suddenly, his arm brushed your shoulder, a light, intentional touch that shattered the bubble of your daydream. The past dissolved, leaving you standing again in the suffocating darkness of the lab. Your breath caught for a moment as you focused on the vast blackness ahead, the unknown threat lurking just beyond the shadows.

But… maybe there wouldn’t be time later for the questions burning in your mind.

You turned, gripping Keth’raal’s wrist and pulling him down to your height, the urgency in your pulse demanding. Your face leaned in slowly, nuzzling the side of his head, fingers threading gently through the thick strands of his dreadlocks. You felt the subtle tension beneath your touch, a silent warning that these weren’t just hair, they were sensitive, a part of him you were only beginning to understand.

You expected resistance, maybe a sharp recoil or a warning growl like usual. But instead, Keth’raal froze, still as stone, like you had broken a fragile boundary and he was holding his breath now, waiting for your next move.

Your lips hovered near the hidden ear tucked within the dark tangle of his hair. “How did you find me?” you whispered, voice soft. You felt him shift away, just slightly, like the closeness of your lips was more than he could bear. You pulled back a little, giving him space. But now it was your turn to study him, head tilted in quiet confusion.

Because something didn’t add up.

Not anymore.

Not after everything.

Was this some twisted form of payback for what you’d done to him in the lab? Some kind of long, calculated vengeance?

Or was it… something else?

He looked at you, and you wished — just for a second — that you could see through the mask. Not because it would give you all the answers, but because you were starting to recognize the way he held himself. That strange blend of alien and familiar.

The way he sometimes felt… almost human.

He tilted his head slightly, a mirror of your own gesture and you swore he was studying you the same way you studied him. Like he was the one asking you the questions now.

Why now, his body seemed to ask.

Why questions… now, of all times?

A nervous laugh nearly bubbled up your throat. What the hell were you doing?

Right before facing death, standing in the dark, with your heart pounding and danger closing in?

Ah. Right.

You were stalling.

Your body betrayed you.

Face flushed. Hands trembling. Breath shallow.

You were afraid.

And, of course, Keth’raal noticed.

He always noticed.

Something bloomed in your chest. Painful and warm, like grief and safety tangled together. Because no matter how strange this all was, somewhere deep down, you knew.

He would fight death itself for you.

“Your smell,” came the answer, unexpected, distorted and rough through his mask.

You blinked.

For a second, everything just… slowed.

He what?

He had followed your scent? He remembered it? And that was enough for him to track you, through all of this?

Your brain struggled to keep up.

You stared at him like you couldn’t understand what he was anymore.

“Why?” you asked without expecting an answer. Not really knowing what to do with one, even if it came.

Silence stretched between you, you could only hear your breathes mingle with one another.

He clenched and unclenched his hand around his weapon, like a nervous tick. So painfully human.

You found yourself mimicking it, like it might ground you.

“Because you were the only thing I remembered.”

Your face… it burned hotter now, a fire in your gut twisting like restless butterflies fighting inside you.

It wasn’t a confession of love, not that kind of warmth. It was something rawer, painful. The thought that this creature—captured and experimented on—had woken lost, disoriented and yet somehow found his way to you, it filled you with a mix of sadness and awe.

No matter what…

He still chose you.

He trusted your scent. Your voice. The echo of who you were when he was powerless.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t possibly find words right now. No words could describe what you were feeling.

And as if sensing your thoughts, he added lower now, almost inaudible.

“Your voice was always gentle.”

Your throat tightened. Because you always knew it.

It wasn’t just your scent he’d followed.

It was the apologies whispered when you thought he couldn’t hear.

The guilt. The regret. The way you spoke like he was still a person, not a specimen.

If you hadn’t talked to yourself while working…

He might have never come for you.

You looked at him , while he stared ahead, alert, still. His body coiled, ready to move. His focus was on the threat, but yours… yours was on him.

He had spoken more now than ever before.

And each word peeled away a piece of the mystery he was.

Your heart raced, and for a moment all you wanted was to reach for him, touch his shoulder, his hand—anything— to prove he was really here. That he had chosen to be here.

You didn’t know if he was avoiding your gaze or simply preparing for what was coming.

There wasn’t time to figure it out anyway.

You heard a crack at the far end of the lab.

Keth’raal’s grip tightened around his weapon. His arm tense.

He still didn’t aim, didn’t fire his plasma gun. He was protecting your position. Shielding both of you in silence.

You tried to steady your breath, mind spinning.

This is it.

“Stay alive and if you can’t, run.” Keth’raal’s voice was low, edged with a weight that made the words feel like a command.

“There’s no honour in that.” you half-joked, feeling your knees weaken as you matched his stride.

His head snapped slightly, just enough to glance at you.

“Then don’t be honourable,” he shot back, his tone sharp, almost a snarl beneath the mask.

He was already moving into the dark.

“I’m blooded, remember?” you said, forcing a smile. “I can’t do that.”

You walked beside him, blade clenched tight in your grip. The air between you tensed. Not with hatred, never that, but frustration. He knew what you were doing.

You were scared.

And you were covering it with bravado—unsuccessfully.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. Even with the mask’s translator, he guarded his thoughts like they were sacred. He only spoke when it mattered.

A metallic sound scraped across the floor ahead. Loud, piercing, alien.

Your feet froze. Your body refused to move, desperately wanting to run instead of fighting.

But Keth’raal didn’t stop.

He kept walking, straight toward the sound.

Always ready to die with honour.

You swallowed hard.

Your mind screamed at you to turn around.

Run.

Hide.

There’s still time.

But your body moved forward anyway, helplessly, like it no longer belonged to you.

Is this what foolishness feels like? Knowing the bad ending… and choosing it anyway?

The deeper you went, the more the shadows devoured you.

Your eyes strained, struggling to adjust.

He didn’t have that problem, you knew that. His infrared vision cut through this darkness like a blade.

You noticed him shifting now, going left, moving slightly in front of you.

The danger had changed positions. And so did he.

He had seen it.

And without a word, he stepped between you and it.

He had told you to run if it got too much, but he never pushed you to leave the fight. The mark beneath your cheek wasn’t just a scar, it was trust, respect. He treated you as an equal, but always kept an eye on you.

Another sound sliced through the dark.

Metal on metal, like blades scraping together, throwing sparks into the air.

Closer now.

Much closer.

On your left.

Exactly where he had gone.

You tugged your shirt now, fingers twitching with nerves, the other hand clenched so tightly on your blade your knuckles whitened.

Then he suddenly stopped.

And you did too.

He turned slightly, enough that you could make out the faint glint of his mask. His eyes lit for just a second, then dimmed.

His finger rose to where his mouth should be.

A quiet hush.

Then he vanished.

Gone.

Like mist.

You stared at the spot where he had been.

Your heart jumped into your throat, caught there.

He wouldn’t leave you.

Not like this.

Not now.

You pressed your palm over your mouth to hold in the panic.

You trusted him. You had to.

“Better have a damn plan” you whispered under your breath, heart hammering.

Were you bait? Maybe. Would he really leave you to die? Unlikely.

Another scrape echoed, louder, sharper.

You stayed still, cringing at the sound but never backing away.

Then it screamed.

A high, wet screech that sent every cell in your body into retreat.

It wasn’t just the sound.

It was the wrongness of it.

It was like something had taken the scream of a xenomorph and twisted it.

Deeper.

Hungrier.

More… aware.

And it came from above.

You looked up, just as the flickering light buzzed to life for a fraction of a second and what you saw made your soul jump in fear.

It was taller than anything you had faced. Towering, hunched, unnatural.

But what stopped you cold were the blades.

Its claws weren’t claws. They were weapons. Bone-forged, curved and serrated, like it had grown to kill. Like it was only natural for it to attack.

You took a step back, throat dry.

“What the fuck…” you breathed, too low for anyone to hear but yourself.

You had never seen this creature before. Never examined it. Never heard a whisper of it in any file, any report, any careless conversation in the lab.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t trapped in here.

You were trapped here with it.

It hadn’t seen you yet.

Its head shifted, like it was tracking something… invisible.

Him.

You had one chance.

Its left side faced you.

So you moved, slowly, deliberately.

One step.

Two…

Three—

It screamed again.

And charged.

The entire floor shook as it sprinted toward you, its footsteps thunderous, primal.

You bolted, blade still clutched, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

You didn’t dare to look back.

You just ran.

The hallway stretched endlessly ahead, like a nightmare.

Your limbs felt slow, too small to escape what hunted you.

And death… was close. You could feel it behind you.

Then, all at once…

A crash.

A scream.

You turned just in time to see the creature, slammed against the wall, a spear impaled through its chest.

You stumbled into the exit door, shoving it open.

Light flooded in, cold and sterile, the kind of light that usually meant safety.

But not this time.

You turned back just as it moved.

The beast didn’t die.

It twitched , then slashed, breaking the spear shoved in its chest like it was nothing.

Its claws gleamed.

You choked on your own breath.

Terror curling deep in your gut.

This thing…

How were you supposed to survive that?

It stood now, towering—even taller than Keth’raal—balanced on its two hind legs with grotesque grace.

Its body seemed to pulse with violence, shoulders rising and falling with each breath like a living weapon itching to be unleashed.

It flexed its talon-blades, then let out a piercing, guttural screech, not a mindless shriek, but a taunt. A challenge.

Keth’raal answered it in kind.

He uncloaked without hesitation, emerging from the shadows.

His staff was shattered, split clean in half. No time to mourn it. He reached for his other weapons: wrist blades, shurikens , plasma caster.

The dance had begun.

They moved in circles, slow side steps at first, reading each other. Measuring. You could only watch, paralyzed, as two monsters, one bred for war, the other born of nightmare, stalked each other in the dark.

You thought of running. Maybe distracting the creature. Maybe buying time.

But you knew it wasn’t that simple. If you moved, Keth’raal’s attention might split and one misstep could leave either of you bleeding out in this cursed lab.

And then, it saw you.

The creature’s black, glistening head twitched slightly in your direction, and you felt it.

That weightless feeling in your chest, like your soul had just tried to slip out.

Keth’raal reacted instantly.

He recklessly threw himself toward it, but the creature was faster, impossibly fast, leaping over him like a shadow and landing with thunderous weight in front of you.

Your mind screamed the word.

RUN.

RUN.

But you didn’t. You stayed. Just long enough. Long enough to give Keth’raal a window.

Maybe it would be enough. Maybe—

It wasn’t.

It reached you. A blur of claws and wrath. You raised your blade, too small for what faced you and then came the pain. Pure and unforgiving.

The xenomorph’s tail lashed out like a whip, it struck your side, knocking the breath from your lungs before you could even scream.

Pain flared hot as your body twisted from the impact, but instinct kicked in.

You grabbed the tail.

Not out of strategy, just survival. Your fingers clamped down on its slick, ridged surface as it dragged you with it, hurling you like dead weight across the lab.

Your back slammed into the wall.

The world blinked out for a second and then the floor rose to meet you.

The sound your leg made when it hit was unforgettable. A sickening crack, sharp and deep like a branch snapped by a foot.

Your scream tore through the lab. Not threatening. Not brave. Just raw pain.

You grabbed at your leg, sobbing through clenched teeth. You couldn’t move it. Couldn’t feel it. You only felt that hot, white agony blooming across your thigh and knee.

But then — a roar.

Not from you this time.

Keth’raal.

You turned your head just in time to see him slam into the creature like a meteor. He wrapped around it, blades out, stabbing again and again. Relentless. Furious.

He didn’t sound like the warrior you knew. He sounded like something deeper. Something older. A primal thing screaming through him.

The creature thrashed and shrieked, acidic blood spraying in thick gouts and some of it landed on Keth’raal’s armor, hissing, smoking, melting.

You tried to scream a warning “Take it off!” but your voice broke before the words could form.

Instead, pain drowned you again.

You tried to move your ankle and it twitched. A tiny, useless hope sparked in your chest. Not a clean break maybe. Just shattered enough to keep you down.

You felt eyes on you.

Oh God… not again.

The creature — still alive — crawling toward you.

You watched, frozen. The light from the corridor behind you caught its form as it dragged itself upright.

It was hideous. Worse than any xenomorph you had ever seen. Taller. Thicker. Its claws longer than your forearm. And its face…

God, its face. It had no expression, and yet it looked hateful.

It stumbled toward you, faster than it should have.

Keth’raal was down behind it, missing some of his armour and struggling to get up.

You tried to crawl, dragging your useless leg behind you. Each movement lit your nerves on fire, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

You cursed aloud, your blade trembling in your grip as you turned to face it.

“If I’m dying,” you muttered, “I’m dying fighting.”

You gritted your teeth, let out a choked yell and held your blade up as the thing rushed you. You swung it in blind desperation, hoping for skin, hoping to draw blood.

Until the creature knocked the blade out of your hand…

And then chaos again.

An echoing thud. Keth’raal had grabbed it from behind, wrapping it in a brutal lock, dragging it down to the floor with him.

He pinned it, legs locked around its thighs, arms restraining its limbs. A dead man’s hold. Not to kill. To stall.

He didn’t roar this time. He just breathed, heavy, strained, furious.

And then he looked at you.

Run.

He didn’t need to say it. You felt it.

You pushed yourself up with trembling arms, your shin screaming with every inch.

Just a few more steps. You could make it. You could leave.

You could survive.

But…

You didn’t.

Of course you didn’t.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your blade again and hobbled toward the chaos, dragging your ruined leg.

You saw the way Keth’raal looked at you, even through the mask.

He knew.

He should have known.

You apologised to him— internally—for disobeying him.

But you were blooded after all.

You weren’t going to run away.

You leapt, falling onto the creature, driving your blade down with everything you had, but missing the stomach where you aimed. You caught the leg instead, pushing the blade in. You didn’t dare to pull it out.

You scrambled away before the acidic spray could touch you.

“MOVE! LET IT GO!” you cried.

Keth’raal didn’t hesitate. He kicked the beast off of him and rolled away in a fluid motion.

Then with a screech, the creature rose again, relentless.

Keth’raal let out a roar as the xenomorph climbed back to its feet. He aimed his plasma gun and fired, once, twice. The first hit landed, burning into the creature’s side. It staggered but kept going. Your stab had barely slowed it down.

Another blast rang out. The xenomorph hissed and then ran again.

It was heading straight for him.

Keth’raal didn’t move. He stood, blades out, grounded like stone. Ready. Death didn’t scare him. Regret did. Honour mattered more.

But then… he did the unthinkable.

He reached up and removed his mask.

With a growl that shook your bones, he hurled it across the room towards you.

It landed beside you and you stared at it, stunned.

You had reached the wall. You were right next to the door. You could leave. Survive. Escape.

But the mask beside you said otherwise.

Keth’raal had made a choice.

And now so would you.

You pulled yourself up, using the wall like a lifeline.

The helmet wasn’t far.

If you were going to live with no regrets, you had to wear it. Help him. Not because he needed you, Keth’raal was fighting like a monster unleashed, but because something in you refused to die a bystander.

Each step was a war. But you moved. You had to.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you reached the mask, just as Keth’raal was slammed against the wall with a force that echoed through the room. He crumpled to the floor, grunting in pain.

He was still standing, but barely.

Neon blood painted the floor, the walls, him. He was covered in it, shoulders, chest, legs, bleeding from wounds big and small, death creeping closer with every drop.

You weren’t much better. Knees bloodied, face torn, leg fractured. Every movement was survival carved into bone.

And the mutated nightmare? Untouched by exhaustion. Your blade still stuck in its leg like an afterthought. It fought like it couldn’t feel a thing.

Your mind threatened to crack… but didn’t.

Because somewhere in that second, clarity hit. You grabbed the helmet, slammed it on, and chose to fight.

The mask synced with your vitals, scanning everything—Keth’raal, the xenomorph, the air, the blood on your skin. It struggled to register the mutation, its data on the creature was scrambled, incomplete. But you could see what mattered… where it hurt.

You tapped at the interface, desperate to activate something, anything. You didn’t know how he used this thing, you didn’t care. You focused on the alien and shouted, “FIRE, DAMN IT!”

The gun roared.

The blast went off beside you— too close—sending you stumbling, the sound tearing through your skull. But when you looked up, the xenomorph shrieked.

You had hit it…

Keth’raal used that second, rising, grabbing the jagged end of his broken staff and driving it into the xenomorph’s ribs with a brutal snarl.

“Fire!” you yelled again, locking onto the target.

The gun obeyed, but this time, it clipped him too.

Keth’raal dropped, rolling to his side, body and dreadlocks soaked in green. He crawled away, panting, his body trembling. The xenomorph was still standing, wounded, furious, but alive.

Keth’raal let out another roar, but it was strained. He was running on fumes.

You stepped forward, firing the gun again. And again. Your eardrums violated by the blasting sound. You didn’t stop until the creature turned to face you.

That was the point. You wanted its rage. Its attention.

Keth’raal got it.

He launched a disc, slicing deep into the beast, then leapt forward with his wrist blades, driving them through its back. With a roar, he yanked your blade from its leg and plunged it into its side.

The mutated xenomorph let out a screech—then collapsed.

The thud it made was heavy. Final.

And for the first time in what felt like eternity, the room was quiet.

Was that it?

Was this finally over?

You took the helmet off with trembling hands, finally able to breathe, your limbs shaking from pain and shock.

Your eyes found him. He was still standing, looming over the corpse of the xenomorph.

You called his name, voice strained and raw. But he heard it. He always did.

Always ready. Always coming when you needed him.

He turned around, dreadlocks trailing behind him, slick with green blood and still, somehow, he looked like art.

Not the polished kind, but the kind born from pain. The kind you stare at for too long, unsure if it’s beautiful or tragic.

Because even bleeding, even broken, he was still standing.

And in that moment, you didn’t just see a warrior.

You saw the masterpiece pain had sculptured.

A shaky smile pulled at your lips, as you watched him. He was there—really there.

Alive and breathing.

You were free.

He took a step toward you.

Finally.

.

.

.

“NO!”

Your scream burst from your throat, your hands flying up to stifle it.

“No, no, no!”

You tried to run—move—but your leg gave out and you crashed back to the floor, pain splitting through you like fire.

All you could do now was watch.

Keth’raal hadn’t made a sound yet.

But his arm—his entire forearm—was on the lab floor. Severed clean at the elbow. Green blood poured from the wound in thick, urgent pulses.

He looked down. Stunned.

And for the first time… he looked afraid.

The xenomorph— its bladed arm soaked in his blood—let out one last choking breath. One final, dying twitch. Almost mocking.

Then came the roar.

It tore through the space. Loud, guttural, raw with pain and agony.

Keth’raal lunged. He grabbed the creature’s skull with his remaining arm and smashed it into the floor again and again, roaring, huffing, his body shaking in desperation.

You crawled.

You didn’t even feel your hands anymore, you just clawed at the floor, dragging yourself, trying to get to him.

“Please,” you begged your body, your voice breaking, your fractured shin pulsing like it might rip through your skin. It felt foreign now, no longer part of you.

Your stomach turned at the sight—Keth’raal drenched in blood, the floor slick with it. He stepped back from the crushed body, barely able to walk, holding his arm stump tight against his side.

His breath came in painful gasps. He was hurt, bleeding… dying.

But still… he walked to you.

And you, crawling, shuddering, reached out for him.

The distance between you felt unbearable. Too long. Too wide.

You pushed through it. Hands burned. Tears streamed down your face. You just kept going.

And so did he.

Step by step.

Until—

He dropped.

First to his knees, then down, his body collapsing hard onto the floor.

So close.

So unbelievably far.

You reached for him, your hand shaking as you touched his shoulder. “Keth’raal,” you whispered.

No response.

You shook him. Again. Again. “Keth’raal—please—wake up—” you yelled now.

But he didn’t move.

His blood soaked the ground. He had fought until the very end. And now that it was over, he let himself fall.

“Please don’t leave me,” you sobbed, pressing your palm to his chest. Trying to feel it, his heartbeat. Anything. Just a sign that he was still here.

But your hands trembled so hard you could barely feel anything.

Panicked, you reached into your pouch, grabbing the salve, the one thing you had left.

Your hands trembled at the thought of touching this impossibly cold substance again.

But you did.

Your fingers dipped into the salve, and it was like shoving your hand into liquid frost and fire all at once. A broken scream tore from your throat before you could stop it.

God—

It felt like knives. Tiny, invisible ones slicing deep beneath the skin. Your nerves lit up in blinding agony as the cold spread into your bones, gripping them like icy jaws. It burned so violently, you thought something had gone wrong, like you were about to lose your senses.

You gasped, nearly vomiting from the shock of it. Your vision blurred. Your mind screamed Drop it—drop it now! but your body refused to let go.

Keep going. For him.

You forced your shaking hand toward Keth’raal’s wound, your skin already pale and stiff, like it no longer belonged to you. Every nerve ending shrieked as you pressed the salve onto the open gash, spreading it as best as you could over the raw, mangled flesh.

He didn’t flinch.

You did.

The pain roared louder now. Your hand was going numb, but somehow that was worse, because beneath the numbness, you could still feel it. The biting, blistering cold. The fear that you were ruining your own hand in the process. That it would never move properly again. That maybe this was the cost of saving him.

Still, you kept going.

You smeared every last bit across the stump, watching the frost bloom, crystallizing over the wound like a shield. It slowed the bleeding. It sealed the worst of it. You hoped.

Your own skin was blistering now. Red. Mottled. Maybe worse beneath the surface.

You’re okay, you told yourself. You’ll live. Even if your hand won’t.

“Keth’raal…” you whispered, voice weak and cracked, as your frozen fingers fell away from his arm.

You wiped your ruined hand on your clothes, every nerve still flaring with cold fire.

And that was it.

Your body gave in.

The blackness crept in so quickly, like your body had just been waiting for permission.

Your vision dimming at the edges, when you felt it…

A shift.

He moved…

Keth’raal’s hand — his remaining hand — twitched, then dragged itself up slowly until it rested on your wrist. It wasn’t a grip, just weight. Just contact.

A reminder.

Alive.

Your breath hitched, a choked sound leaving you, half a sob, half a laugh, strangled and wet with relief. Your tears came faster now. You didn’t even try to stop them.

You looked at him, blinking through the blur. His eyes had opened, not fully, not sharp like before, but they were on you.

A low rumble escaped his throat, something like a word, though you couldn’t quite make it out. Didn’t matter.

You knew that sound. You had heard it before. The softer one. The one he only ever used for you.

Your lip trembled. You leaned closer, shaking under the weight of everything. Your ruined hand still sat beneath his, trembling like it was barely yours anymore.

“I’m here,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I stayed.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Pain dulled them, but still… something moved there. A thread of recognition. Maybe even gratitude. Maybe something more.

His fingers slipped, falling from your skin.

You caught his hand instinctively, just for a second, holding onto the warmth before it left. Just to let him feel that you were still there.

Then, quietly… you let go.

And you let yourself fall too.

You had helped him. You had fought. You had stayed.

And now — only now — you allowed yourself to fall.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 7

(The long awaited part! I’m grateful to everyone sticking to the story, commenting and sharing their thoughts with me 💚💚💚 it means everything!)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 💚

(Tagging my 💚: @celticsrightbuttcheek @kyriedesai @shmoopah @btsgangleader) whoever wants a tag let me know!

With your filled pouch held tight at your side and Keth’raal fully suited in armor from head to toe, the two of you moved slowly toward the exit of the armoury.

You glanced back once, eyes falling on the unconscious body of the man who had fired at you.

“Maybe…” you said reluctantly, “…maybe we should pull his body out. So they find him—”

A sudden, guttural sound cut through your words. It was like a growl mixed with a scoff, exaggerated and pointed. Keth’raal tilted his head at you sharply, clearly not following your logic.

“I know he tried to hurt us,” you explained quickly, hands raised a little, “but he didn’t know you weren’t the enemy—”

Before you could even finish, his hand came up and pressed firmly against your chest. Not violent, but not gentle either. You stumbled back and hit the wall behind you, air leaving your lungs with a soft, startled grunt.

Three red laser dots snapped into place on your face, blinding you.

You turned your head, eyes squeezing shut, the sharp pulse of fear rising in your throat.

You were pinned, targeted, weapon-locked. Just like that, it felt like the balance had shifted again. You weren’t an ally. You were just… prey.

You froze.

For a moment you’d let yourself forget, he wasn’t human. He would never be. No matter how much progress you thought you’d made, Keth’raal was a hunter before anything else. A being of instinct and survival.

You lifted your hands, trying to push at his arm, but he didn’t budge. If anything, the pressure on your chest increased.

And then…

“I’m not an enemy to you.”

The voice was strange, mechanical, distorted, but unmistakably coming from him.

You blinked, stunned. The translator. It was working!

You stared at his mask, breath caught in your throat.

You could communicate.

The fear dissolved into something else, something fierce and bright. Excitement didn’t even begin to cover it. You reached up and grabbed his forearm, pulling him slightly toward you. He didn’t move—barely flinched—but you could tell the motion surprised him.

“Am I not?” you asked quietly, a small smile twitching at your lips.

The laser dots flicked back onto your face, scanning you again.

He didn’t answer.

Maybe he didn’t understand your reaction. Or maybe you just looked strange to him, smiling at a moment like this.

“I’m an enemy to them,” the voice said again, rough, deeper now. You could hear the echo of his real voice beneath the tech. Guttural. Raw as always.

You stared at him in question.

So… he wouldn’t hurt you, but he would hurt the rest.

You hesitated. “What if we make a deal, and they let you live—if you cooperate—”

You didn’t even finish before his hand pressed harder against your chest. You winced, struggling for breath.

“No.”

One word. Sharp. And final.

You didn’t need to ask more. That one syllable carried everything.

He wouldn’t stay. Not for them. Not even for you.

You’d hoped—somewhere deep down—that maybe if he stayed, he could help you. That you could study his people, learn from him, maybe even… find a kind of truce.

But no was the clearest word he’d ever said.

“I understand,” you muttered, strained. “You can stop pushing me now.”

He pulled his hand back, slowly, deliberately. His head dipped, just slightly.

Was that… an apology?

You didn’t ask. You just watched him in silence, noting the smallness of the gesture. The way he carried himself. Sometimes he seemed so close to human, and you wondered—was it always like this with the Yautja? Or had he changed, after being trapped here for so long?

His head lifted again. The laser dots disappeared.

That’s when you noticed it.

Now that the mask wasn’t glowing red, your eyes caught a marking you hadn’t seen before. A faint line etched across his helmet. Thin but deliberate. It began at the top of the helmet, arched over his eye, and dragged all the way down to his jaw.

You reached up, fingers brushing the metal lightly.

He tensed under your touch, every muscle stilling.

But he didn’t stop you.

You traced the line from top to bottom, slowly, curiously. The surface was rusted in places, rough. You wondered, was it a scar from a fight? The helmet had protected him, since there was no damage to his skin underneath.

“My brothers,” came the voice again—quieter now. Maybe even hesitant.

You blinked up at him, your fingers grazing the line again, more gently this time. Up… and down.

“So it was a friendly fight?” you asked, offering a soft smile.

Keth’raal gave the faintest nod. As if afraid moving too much would make you pull away.

Your thoughts flooded you. How many brothers did he have? Was he the oldest? The youngest? Were they still alive? Did he have parents? Had he been sent here on a mission… and never returned to them?

The last thought stuck to your ribs. You pulled your hand back.

He hated humans.

And yet, here you were.

“Why aren’t you attacking me?” you asked quietly. The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He didn’t reply, but you knew he heard you.

“Will you hurt me once we’re out of here?” you added, voice barely above a whisper.

Still no answer.

Maybe you were pushing your luck. Too many questions. Too much hope. He wasn’t here for conversation. You were just a means to survival.

He stepped back, and you felt the shift.

The moment was over.

He turned toward the door, and for a second you were frozen, still processing everything. Then your survival instincts kicked in. You had to move. Stay close. If he left you now, you’d be dead within minutes.

The corridor’s cold air slammed into you like a warning.

Back to this again.

Back to running. Fighting. Surviving.

You watched him check the hallway carefully before stepping out. Then he lifted his gauntlet and slid a clawed finger across its surface, revealing its interface.

Symbols glowed to life. Yautja script, lines and shapes you had studied a hundred times but never fully understood.

“Is that a map?” you asked, stepping closer, eyes wide. The hologram flickered to life, projecting something between you.

No human had been able to access this before. No scientist, no tech specialist. It was like it had been designed for him—and him alone.

The map rotated, pointing toward a location.

“What’s there?” you asked breathlessly.

“My ship.”

Your heart jumped.

“Your ship is still out there?” you gasped. “How have they not found it yet—?”

A loud bang echoed through the corridor.

Your heart dropped.

Humans.

Instinct took over. You sprinted to the nearest lab without thinking. Doors hissed open, and you ducked inside, hiding behind the steel counter.

Your breath came in sharp bursts.

But then—

Silence.

No footsteps. No voice. No movement.

You turned around, heart pounding.

Keth’raal wasn’t behind you…

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t looked back. You’d just assumed he’d be right behind you. Like always.

But the lab was quiet.

Dead quiet.

Your chest tightened. Was he gone?

Are you alone now?

You hesitated, half-crouched in the sterile lab, staring at the empty doorway.

Maybe you should go find the humans. Let them take you. At least you’d be safe.

…But that would mean leaving him behind.

And somehow, that felt worse.

A loud metallic bang echoed through the half-lit lab.

You turned your head sharply, heart pounding.

The flickering lights overhead left much of the room in shadow, broken bulbs casting eerie, fractured beams across the floor.

You stepped back instinctively, pressing your back against the cold wall, trying to make yourself small, unnoticeable.

What now?

You couldn’t fight.

You couldn’t defend yourself.

And now, you were trapped.

Again.

Every move felt dangerous, like a trigger waiting to be pulled.

Something was in the room with you—crawling, watching. You could feel it, but couldn’t make sense of it.

Adrenaline roared in your ears as panic clawed at your chest.

Should you run?

Should you stay still?

What was in the dark with you?

No answers. No one.

You’d have to survive on your own.

He wasn’t obliged to help, not anymore.

You were foolish to think you could trust him, cooperate with him.

A burden. Dead weight with zero survival skills and knowledge barely worth anything here.

You hated yourself for it. For trusting him. For being this weak of a human.

Your palm covered your mouth now, the way he had done before, to silence your breathing, to calm you down.

You pressed harder, trying to ground yourself, to mimic the only comfort you remembered.

Your skin prickled with terror.

You focused on your breath.

In through the nose.

One… two… three.

Then you bolted.

You sprang to your feet and sprinted toward the door, just as it slammed shut in front of you.

You gasped, stepping back.

Something was keeping you inside.

You spun around, scanning every sliver of light in the room.

But the darkness? It was thick, impenetrable.

You had nothing to defend yourself, until you remembered.

Your pouch.

Fumbling with shaking hands, you reached inside and pulled out your pen. Tiny, but fitted with a small front light.

You clicked it on. A narrow beam pierced the dark.

Now, you had to find the back door, your only way out.

You took two cautious steps, the sharp tap of your heels echoing.

Then the sound… scraping.

Crawling.

You froze. You knew what it was.

Xenomorphs.

But what emerged from the shadows made your heart stop.

Not one.

Not two.

A dozen. Small, fast, skittering.

A living nightmare.

You staggered back until you hit the sealed door. No way out. No weapon. Nowhere to hide.

Panic swallowed you whole.

One of the creatures lunged! Fast and shrieking. You braced for the impact, eyes squeezed shut.

You had given up.

All hope gone.

This can’t be your end.

Not like that.

And then…

A wet splat.

A shriek cut short.

You opened your eyes.

The xenomorph’s head was split open.

A disc—like a blade—spun on the floor, slick with acid blood.

Your head snapped to the side.

There he was.

Keth’raal.

Materializing from nothing, appearing out of thin air.

He hadn’t left you.

You barely had time to process anything before another xenomorph launched at you.

You ducked instinctively, screaming as it soared past.

From your peripheral, Keth’raal moved—fast, almost primal—propelling himself on all fours like a beast.

You’d never seen him move like that, driven by animalistic instinct.

He vaulted over you, spear in hand, and impaled the alien midair.

Its body twitched violently before the predator yanked out its spine in a single brutal motion, roaring with feral rage.

The lab went still.

All the xenomorphs froze at the sound.

Even you did.

Keth’raal’s war cry echoed through the room. A predator’s call, sharp enough to freeze blood.

He tossed the twitching spine aside, retrieving his spear with ease.

Then he readied himself.

His wrist blade snapped forward. His shoulder cannon whirred to life, already locked onto targets.

His legs tensed, lightly bouncing, as if warming up for war.

A dozen enemies and no fear in his stance.

The first two fell instantly from precision plasma blasts.

You rose, slowly, not wanting to draw attention.

Keth’raal moved with terrifying efficiency, fluid, fast, brutal.

His spear arced over his head, piercing another xenomorph behind him.

His wrist blade carved through another.

His foot slammed down on a twitching tail trying to escape.

He grabbed it, swung the creature’s body like a wrecking ball, and hurled it into two others.

His arm was bleeding, green blood seeping from a fresh gash.

His breath came fast, heavy… but he looked exhilarated. Alive in the hunt.

His eyes flicked to you.

Two of his dreadlocks were sliced, leaking green down his chest.

He reached into a pouch and tossed something at your feet.

A blade. The same one he offered before.

You hesitated then.

But not now.

You crouched, picked it up, held it close.

There was no time to be afraid.

This was survival.

When your eyes met his again, he gave you a small nod.

An honor.

You clutched the alien weapon, trembling.

You were no warrior, but maybe, just maybe, you’d stand your ground beside him.

Another alien charged.

Keth’raal roared again, that guttural snarl freezing your spine.

This time, you decided to follow.

From somewhere deep inside, a primal roar escaped your lips.

It filled you with some fake sense of power.

You mimicked his stance. His snarl.

If nothing else, you’d bluff your fear with noise.

He looked over—puzzled, maybe amused.

Proud, even?

You couldn’t tell.

But you were shaking and still you held the blade tight.

Another small xenomorph scurried toward you.

At least the bigger ones were focused on him.

You gulped, roaring again as it lunged.

It crashed into you, knocking you flat.

You barely kept the blade pressed against its throat, careful not to let its acidic blood spill on you.

Using your legs, you kicked it off.

It screeched, regained its footing, then lashed at you with its tail.

You rolled aside just in time.

It lunged again and you kicked it midair, surprised by your own reflexes.

You shed your lab coat, wrapping it around your arm as a makeshift shield.

Your arm throbbed, blood oozing from the earlier graze, but the pain hadn’t fully hit yet.

You knew it would, once the adrenaline wore off.

You readied the blade now, hoping your hand would stop shaking when you’d need to defend yourself.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Keth’raal.

Two xenomorphs in his grasp, skulls crushed repeatedly against each other with terrifying force.

He was truly a sight, always attracting your attention with his skills. You’d rather stare at him, than taking part in the chaos.

But your fight wasn’t over.

The xenomorph lashed at you again and you stepped back.

You waited. Lured it.

It would attack you when you wanted.

It lunged and this time, you were ready.

Its claws raked your side, pain seared through your ribs, but you pushed through, jamming the blade into its throat.

You didn’t pull it back. Not yet. Not until it hit the ground and you knew its blood wouldn’t spill on you.

It screeched violently, convulsed, and then stilled.

You backed away, panting. Covered in blood and bruises. Shaking.

But alive.

You… had made it.

You fell back down, gulping hard, overwhelmed by your achievement.

You couldn’t believe it… you had done this on your own.

You wanted to tell someone, anyone, but mostly the Yautja who had trusted you with this blade. He had known how lethal it was against xenomorphs, easily piercing through their skin. He had even considered carrying it himself, just in case.

You turned around, your eyes finding Keth’raal. His stance was menacing as always, he had impaled a Xenomorph with his spear and was now stepping on its chest to keep it down.

Eight dead creatures surrounded him. He was heaving, his chest rising and falling, and his green blood was splattered all around him. He had lost another dreadlock, and his thighs bled from deep scratches the Xenomorphs had left while he pinned them down with brute force.

He had used everything, on him and in him. Reckless and brutal, drawing attention from all directions just so he could fight them all.

For a moment, a thought struck you:

Had he been roaring the entire time… just to keep them off me?

He yanked the spear free from the last Xenomorph and let out a final, guttural roar.

He had emerged victorious.

Standing above his kills, proud, his chest out— now, with the battle being over, you allowed yourself to stare at him a second longer.

He turned, his mask’s eyes locking onto yours.

You both stood there, still, alive and maybe changed.

You were lucky. Smaller Xenomorphs had come your way. If not… the outcome might’ve been different. You didn’t even want to imagine it.

Just the thought of him being impaled by a venomous tail turned your stomach.

Your eyes were gleaming as you stared at him.

There were no words, none that mattered really.

Just seeing each other alive was enough.

You shared a second of silence, as you both tried to breathe.

His breath was slow and guttural. Yours was fast and ragged. The contrast, so alien, so undeniable.

But you had both survived.

You parted your lips to speak, to ask if he was okay. He was bleeding, after all…

Suddenly.

“BEHIND YOU!” you shouted.

A slithering, smaller alien was lunging toward him.

A facehugger.

Disgusting. Parasitic.

Meant to repopulate their species.

Keth’raal moved, so fast you didn’t see it.

His arm snapped up, wrist-blade flicking out, slicing the creature in two before it could reach his face.

Did he know it was there? Or had you just saved his life?

Before you could think twice, you had sprinted toward him.

You didn’t even understand what drove you—only that you had to be near him.

To see if he was okay. To feel that he’s alive. If he still breathed.

You reached him and grabbed his hands.

A purely human gesture.

You hoped you wouldn’t regret it.

But…

He let you.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back.

Just let you hold his large, rough hands in yours.

Your palms were quickly stained neon green from the bleeding dreadlocks.

He looked at you through his mask. Silent. Waiting.

You had never touched him before, not like this.

You were afraid he’d interpret it as a threat. You knew Yautja weren’t affectionate like humans.

But he didn’t reject it.

Didn’t grip back, either, just let you hold him, completely still.

You had so many things to say—too many.

Instead, you laughed.

Not because it was funny, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

The rush of adrenaline. The relief. The sight of him letting you touch him.

The realization that he was okay.

You laughed and your eyes turned warm.

You knew that would happen sooner or later.

Tears started to form at the corner of your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

But it happened anyway.

You smiled, but the tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably.

Laughter crumbled into sobs.

You didn’t want to break down, but the weight of it all—the danger, the survival, the almost—

It hit you like a wave.

Your knees weakened. You tried to pull your hands back, embarrassed, unsure.

But he didn’t let go.

His thumbs moved gently, just enough to keep your hands there.

You gasped softly, blinking through your tears.

Had he really… stopped you from letting go?

His thumbs pressed again, mimicking your earlier touch.

So gentle. So unexpected.

He remained silent, despite the fact he could’ve spoken now.

His mask had a communicator, but he didn’t use it.

So you cried. And he let you.

Your knees gave out. You dropped down, trembling.

And he crouched too. Still touching your hands.

“I can’t believe we both survived,” you said between sobs.

“I thought… you’d left me,” your voice cracked, as you tried to hide your sobs with a pathetic attempt of laughter.

“Look at your dreadlocks,” you whimpered, reaching to touch a bleeding one. He didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry you had to fight them on your own. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. I don’t know how to fix this—”

He stopped you.

One large hand wrapped gently around your wrist. His thumb slid inward, brushing the soft, inner skin of your wrist.

You fell silent, sniffling.

He raised his other hand, checking the slash the Xenomorph had left on your arm.

A low purr vibrated from his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You froze.

A hunter. A warrior. A killer.

Asking you if you were okay.

While he was bleeding out from his wounds.

He used his index finger to softly trace under the wound, checking for venom.

His touch was careful, calculated.

You noticed new scratches on his mask.

You reached to touch them instinctively.

And somehow, he was doing the same to you.

He checked your arms for wounds.

Tilted your chin to inspect your bruised neck.

Checked your legs for cuts.

You checked his thighs.

His bleeding chest. His trembling muscles.

It was silent, just your hands shifting.

“I’m okay,” you said at last.

He raised a finger coated in your blood and showed it to you with a tilt of his head.

“It’s not that deep. I can patch it up,” you reassured, half-smiling.

Your tears had stopped. Now, your attention was fully on him.

His muscles shifted—flexed and relaxed—under your fingers.

You wondered if he was ticklish.

Or if he simply had never been touched like this before.

Before you could ask where to apply the salve, he moved.

His fingers traced over you, gently, almost mimicking the same way you had touched him.

Rough fingertips. Gentle pressure.

He touched your eyes, red and stinging from crying.

He studied your tears, rubbing one away with his thumb.

He seemed fascinated by the clear substance.

“Tears,” you explained. “We produce them when we’re sad… or scared.”

You paused.

“I was mostly scared you’d die.”

He said nothing.

Just listened.

“I know I’d be the first to die,” you went on. “I’m a weak human, compared to you. I probably looked like the weakest prey. That’s why they came for you instead.”

Still, he said nothing.

Then…

He pressed a button on his mask. It hissed, releasing gas.

With both hands, he removed it.

Slowly. Deliberately.

You held your breath, without noticing.

You saw him now—really saw him—and for a second, you felt like you’d almost forgotten his face. Scarred and wounded, he looked more familiar like that. More real.

“Na’thek,” the guttural word rumbled from his throat again, as he reached out and pressed gently beneath your eye with his thumb

You knew it was your title. You’d heard it before, always in that soft, deliberate tone he used only with that word. You wanted—no, needed—to know what it meant. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. Why hadn’t he ever said it when he wore the mask? Was he hesitating? You desperately wanted to know what it meant, even more now.

His hands moved toward the mask now, slow and intentional, until he lifted it, toward you.

“You want me to wear it?” you asked, voice quiet, almost careful, like speaking too loudly would break something delicate between you.

Because you were freaking out. Hard. You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, watching as he slid the mask over your head.

It felt massive, heavy. Warm from his skin and breath. He adjusted it slowly, securing it over your shoulders with a precision that made it clear this wasn’t just a gesture. It meant something.

Your hand instinctively found his wrist, holding onto him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was grounding. Either way, he didn’t pull away and you were grateful for that.

And then the mask powered on.

Darkness first. Then… light.

Your vision flooded with infrared tones, the expected Yautja spectrum, but it shifted, adapting. Sharpening. Adjusting to you.

This wasn’t just a mask. It was alive in a way. Responsive.

The technology… it was beyond anything humanity had ever touched.

You let go of Keth’raal, breath caught between awe and disbelief.

Your eyes darted around, overwhelmed.

Symbols danced across the HUD, locking on to targets: the dead xenomorphs, scattered weapons, heat trails. Information. Warnings. Everything.

It was exhausting and… fascinating.

You were breathing fast now. Curious. Hungry. Learning.

And then you froze at the sound of his voice.

“Na’thek,” he said again.

This time, the word didn’t just sound in your ears, it unfolded across your vision, translated by the mask:

Name: Na’thek

Na – Not / Beyond

Thek – Prey / Lesser

Meaning: Not prey. Doesn’t mean you’re a predator. It means you’re something else entirely.

You blinked. The words hung in front of you.

Not prey.

It wasn’t just a title. It was a name.

You remembered how Yautja named each other, not by birth, but by deeds. By worth.

This meant something. You had been deemed something else. Not predator. Not prey. Something in between.

Something… worthy.

You remembered when he first called you that. After you talked about being a worthy ally in the armory, flustered and nervous. He had agreed with you.

He had seen you—even then.

It wasn’t affection. Not in the human sense.

It was something deeper in his culture. Something harder. More earned.

Predator or prey, those were the only categories in Yautja code.

But you were neither.

You swallowed down the emotion tightening your chest.

Your fingers adjusted the mask slightly, and you whispered, “Keth’raal.”

The translation blinked again.

Name: Keth’raall

Keth – To observe / Witness

Raal – To stay, remain by choice

Meaning: Watched, and Chose to Stay

You stared at the words, stunned.

You wanted to ask. How? When? It felt… too personal. Like he had named himself. Had he?

“Watched, and chose to stay,” you repeated, quietly.

Did it mean he’d already made the decision long ago? Or had he just done it now? Chosen to stay… with you?

Before you could gather your thoughts, he reached for the mask and lifted it off your head, slow and careful.

Cool air hit your skin again, and your breath came easier. He placed the mask down beside you on the floor, the two of you still seated where you’d collapsed earlier.

Then he stood, quiet and focused, walking over to the xenomorph you had killed. He bent down and pulled the blade from its throat with a sharp motion. The body twitched once before going still.

He returned to you and crouched low, just at your level. His head dipped, a small bow, enough for you to see the healing scar on his forehead. Not fully closed. Still fresh.

He raised the blade now, xenomorph blood still clinging to it and held it between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No,” you said, voice uneven. “I don’t think I deserve that scar. I only defended myself… I didn’t mean to kill it—”

His response came fast, a short, low roar. Not angry but still firm, like he wanted you to stop talking.

You froze, blinking up at him. The scar scared you. It was far from any human rite, far from anything you knew. But the way he looked at you, the way he held the blade, it wasn’t just ceremony.

It was trust.

“I’m a bit scared,” you admitted, blood rushing to your face.

He moved slowly now, placing one massive hand behind your head, his palm cradling you. You felt so small compared to him. Always had… but this was different.

He didn’t press the blade yet. He waited.

Waited for you to nod.

You inhaled deeply, steadied your breath, and gave him the smallest of nods before closing your eyes.

His grip tightened slightly at the back of your head, not in force, but in certainty and he pulled you forward with a careful touch.

Then came the pain.

A sharp, burning slice under your left cheekbone, just above your jaw.

It stung. But somehow… you were proud.

The pain was eclipsed by what it meant.

He moved the blade again, mimicking the same lines carved into his own skin.

It was fast. Efficient. Ritualistic.

And then it was over.

But he didn’t let go. Not right away.

You opened your eyes, his hand still holding the back of your head. The two of you caught in a silence that stretched impossibly long.

Your cheeks were burning now, not from the wound, but from… something else. Something new.

You felt the blood rush beneath your skin.

Then, without warning, he let go, too fast.

You inhaled sharply, breath catching.

What was that?

You hadn’t felt this strange around him before. Not like this.

You didn’t know his intentions. But you felt them. Whatever they were.

He stood up and grabbed his mask, snapping it back on in one fluid movement. His pace quickened, fierce, focused. Almost agitated.

You stayed on the floor a moment longer, your fingers brushing over the new scar. You couldn’t make sense of the feeling inside you. Not fully. And definitely not right now.

You stood up finally, clearing your throat as you watched him gather his weapons.

“I’ll get the salve,” you muttered, pulling the pouch from your side.

Before you could fully open it, he was in front of you in an instant, snatching it from your hands.

He smeared it over his wounds, over his thighs and arm. Even dipped the ends of his cut dreadlocks into it.

No roar this time.

But something about him was… off. His movements sharp, almost agitated. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You didn’t interrupt. Just watched. Quietly.

You wondered if you’d crossed a line. If the scar meant more to him than you realized. Your fingers rose again to your cheek, touching the skin gently.

“Keth’raal,” you said, louder this time.

He turned sharply toward you. Like he had to.

“I’m honoured,” you told him, offering the smallest smile. You tilted your head slightly, letting him see the scar.

He didn’t speak. But he nodded once, then again. Slower this time.

That was enough of a reassurance to you.

The heavy feeling had been lifted, for now.

His armor now fully secured, he returned to you and handed back the salve.

You took it, sliding it back into your pouch. “Wait.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist again, just for a second. Testing.

He stopped.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said, voice lower, but steady. “Truly.”

He didn’t speak. But you felt it. That understanding between you. You saw it in the way he didn’t pull away.

“You know where your ship is now, right? Are you going to it after we escape?”

He nodded once, and you slowly released him. But something tugged at your attention. A sound.

Far. Quiet. Too quiet.

Your body tensed. The air changed.

You reached for your blade, fingers curling tight around the handle. Keth’raal mirrored you, pulling his retractable staff from his back in one smooth motion.

You wanted to ask if it was what you thought it was.

But you didn’t.

You both understood. No words.

One last fight.

No time to rest. No time to recover.

Your blood was still dripping. Your power nearly drained.

But this was it. Do or die.

You didn’t need to look at him to know.

He’s ready.

And so were you.

Scarred. Blooded. Standing together.

Not prey. Not less. Not alone.

Human and Yautja.

Allies.

Against the biggest threat.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 6

[Hope you’re excited for this one cause it’s LONG 🤭 I’d love to know what you think of their dynamic! Your comments are literally the best part of this journey to me 💚]

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 💚

You pressed a few buttons on the padlock, and the door opened with a loud clunk. The noise echoes, but the lab was still too quiet… so quiet it made your stomach churn. Was it just you and the Yautja left here? Did everyone abandon the place because of this creature’s escape… or did something else take them out?

You couldn’t help but wonder, was this Yautja really the first one to get out? Could another alien have caused the damage? This one didn’t seem affected by human weapons. No bullet wounds, no injuries, aside from some healed slashes that came from the xenomorph. It didn’t add up.

What really happened here?

The silence grated on you. It twisted in your chest, simmering as anger and fear. You walked to the end of the corridor, still stained red… and now green. The Yautja had passed through here before reaching you. It followed you now, not because it needed direction, but because you were moving fast, taking the lead. Surprisingly, it let you.

But your panic grew with every empty hallway. No signs of life. No humans. Your breath caught in your throat tight, like it was being pulled from inside. Where is everyone? Your eyes scanned the vast, vacant facility, but saw nothing.

Are you alone?

Is this the end?

What’s going to happen to you?

Your breath turned shallow, fast… too fast. The air suddenly felt too thick to pull in.

Your vision warped with that awful fish-eye blur, like the corridor was stretching, bending around you. The lights above seemed too bright, flickering at the edges, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

Your hand shot up to your chest, gripping your shirt like it might stop your ribs from caving in.

It felt like dying.

Are you dying?

Did something get inside you?

Are you infected?

What is happening???

Your knees wobbled, like the floor wasn’t steady anymore. Everything was spinning too fast, too loud and your mind couldn’t keep up.

Then came the sound.

A low, sharp growl pulled your attention.

You turned and saw it.

The Yautja was suddenly in front of you, backing you into a corner. You stumbled until your back hit the wall, your palms gluing on the cold surface behind you, breath hitching, eyes darting for an exit. But there was nowhere to go. It closed the space between you, chest nearly brushing your forehead.

It wasn’t attacking.

You pushed against its scaly chest with whatever strength you had left, but it didn’t move. Instead, it raised one hand slowly and pressed its palm over your mouth.

You shook your head in protest, trying to free yourself, but its grip was firm, strong but not painful. More like another warning. A reminder of who’s in control.

Desperate, you reached up and yanked one of its dreadlocks, instinctively… recklessly. Panic made you stupid, and you realized that a second too late.

The growl deepened. It stepped into you slightly, body stiffening, chest rumbling with something that sounded like a restrained snarl… or maybe even a gasp. You remembered then: their dreadlocks were sensitive. Some kind of organ. You had just touched something you shouldn’t have…

Its free hand shot up and clamped around your wrist, halting you. Its growl wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make your entire body scream danger. It didn’t attack, but it let you know exactly how close you were to pushing too far. It pushed your hand down firmly, like it was teaching you a rule.

Don’t touch the dreadlocks again.

You winced from the grip, your wrist throbbed, but part of you thought maybe you deserved that. Its hand remained over your mouth, eyes locked on yours.

But this wasn’t a power move, you realised. Not really.

Its mandibles clicked softly, and a low purr began to rise from deep in its chest.

With your mouth sealed, your only choice was to breathe through your nose. You met its gaze, trying to read it and you could swear, for a second, its eyes softened. So did its grip. The purr continued, steady, low, rhythmic. A reminder: Breathe.

You nodded faintly, understanding. This thing… it was different. Smarter than you expected. Attuned to you. Maybe it could hear your racing heart, feel your pulse, and every time it purred, it seemed to settle you, almost intentionally.

Your body eased.

The sound was strange, but oddly comforting. You felt yourself go lax. You hadn’t spoken a word, but you and the Yautja had reached some kind of understanding. By cornering you and forcing you to breathe, it had made it clear, it needed you to stay focused.

To help it find its armor.

Only when your heart slowed to normal did it let you go.

You tapped its hand lightly, signaling you were ready. It pulled away, but didn’t move from your space, still cornering you, making sure. Once your breathing evened, it stepped back.

And now, it led the way. No more waiting for you to take the lead. It moved first, fast and confident. You didn’t mind. Honestly, the idea of being in front again was terrifying. Still, it kept checking, behind, ahead, scanning constantly like it expected an ambush.

Then it hit you, it let you walk in front before to keep you in sight…

“I can go first,” you said, unsure if it would even understand.

But before it could react, new sounds emerged, footsteps. Human voices. Guns being readied.

You froze, heart leaping with relief.

Finally. Other people.

But then, your mind turned to the Yautja, already tensing, bracing to fight.

And you thought… this isn’t fair.

Wait… What are you thinking? Not fair?

The Yautja is a threat. It should be restrained.

But it was unarmed. Alone. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

And in that blur of confusion and instinct, you reached for its wrist and pulled.

It didn’t budge. Didn’t look at you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice cracking.

You didn’t know if it could understand your words, but it seemed to understand your tone this whole time.

“Please, we have to run. They’ll kill you.”

It finally turned, those sharp eyes meeting yours. It must have heard your heartbeat again. Must have known you meant it.

“Put your armor on first,” you added weakly, not sure what side you were on anymore. You were human. But you had made an alliance. And to the Yautja, alliances were sacred. They didn’t back down. They didn’t run.

But this one did.

It ran with you.

You both sprinted away, ducking into the closest lab, the one you called the glass room. Rows of glass chambers lined the corridor, each holding creatures, aliens, specimens meant to be studied.

Or… they used to. Now, many of the chambers were shattered.

Something had been here before you. And it had let them out.

Your breath caught again. This wasn’t over. This was worse than you imagined.

The Yautja scanned the room, then looked at you.

“Its armor is not here,” you whispered to yourself. “We need to keep moving.”

You pointed to the far exit, to the right, where you hoped the armory was still intact.

It followed you, and you both exited cautiously. As you approached the armory door, you saw it, wide open.

Luck? Or a trap?

Before you could decide, the footsteps returned. Closer. Voices.

No time.

You jabbed your finger toward the hallway, barely catching your breath before taking off. The Yautja was already ahead, its stride powerful and effortless, covering in seconds what took you three times the effort.

You reached the armory just behind him, lungs burning, heart pounding. He turned only to make sure you were in before slamming a fist against the control panel. Sparks flew as the padlock gave in with a metallic crunch.

The door sealed behind you with a sharp hiss.

Maybe that would hold. Maybe it would buy you some time.

The Yautja looked around like a kid in a candy store, or rather, a warrior in a sacred temple. Weapons of all kinds, from all over the galaxy. Even you were impressed every time you’ve been here.

Then it saw it, its armor.

It walked toward it, reverent, touching it like it was something holy.

Only then it started to suit up.

You couldn’t do anything but stare intrigued. Its body was massive, so much so that you couldn’t even imagine the scale of its armor.

You tried to look away as the Yautja began putting on its armor. Until now, the only thing covering its body was some sort of loincloth the humans had put on it, and even that was long gone, tossed aside with a casual snatch of its hand.

You begged yourself to avert your gaze, but you couldn’t. As a biologist (and as a human) curiosity had its claws in you. You wanted to look. You wanted to know.

All those times you had studied it, there was never any protocol about reproductive methods. You knew plenty from what you’d studied, but that particular detail was never discussed. You had always wondered. You just never imagined you’d be here, now.

You fidgeted with your fingers, stealing glances at its back, the only side you could see. Your eyes darted toward the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but where you truly wanted to look.

You had seen this creature plenty of times, but this time, it wasn’t just observation. This time, something felt different.

This time it was awake and moving.

Your eyes traced the curve of its back, the way the muscles shifted under that thick, reptilian skin. It was mostly a deep, earthy green, almost blending with the dull tones of the room. Thin, brownish stripes that started at its back and stretched forward across the ribs and chest. They looked natural, yes, but oddly symmetrical.

And then, just as the Yautja slightly moved its head, you saw it.

At the base of its neck, almost hidden beneath the heavy dreadlocks, was a line, a singular, faint marking, different from the others. A muted, bluish tone, barely catching the light. Not random. It was too clean, too deliberate.

You had never noticed that before.

“What is this?” you caught yourself muttering.

You cleared your throat, an actual, anxious reflex.

The Yautja turned. Its body was nearly exposed, save for the abdominal armor it had just placed. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted if you’d seen it completely bare.

This could’ve been a breakthrough.

Maybe it would’ve been terrifying. Maybe just… fascinating.

As hard as it was for you, you looked away now, finally letting it finish dressing.

Since you were in the armoury… maybe it was time to actually equip yourself.

Your hand instinctively went to your pocket—the small container with the salve was still there, thank god. You’d managed to snatch it back in the lab and hadn’t let go of it since.

You started looking around the room, eyes darting between racks and cases. To your surprise, there were all sorts of pouches, different shapes, sizes, even materials, lined up and stored like they were ready to be picked.

Your fingers brushed over a few before you found one that looked like it could work. You strapped it around your waist, worn like a belt, and started loading it with what little you had: the salve, a couple of instruments you always kept tucked in your lab coat, forceps, a data pen, a small scanner. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something.

A small, strange comfort. Like pretending you were prepared.

You turned to look at the Yautja now, its armor, though not heavy or extravagant, somehow made it look even more imposing. Plates covered its chest, arms, and legs, though many vital areas remained exposed. You couldn’t help but wonder, was it for protection, or simply for appearance?

It moved to look for its helmet.

“It’s up there,” you pointed, motioning toward a high shelf in the armory.

You knew it could leap and grab it. Yautja were incredibly strong in the legs, they could launch themselves into the air as if gravity barely applied.

But it didn’t move. Instead, it crossed its arms.

“What? You want me to get it?” you scoffed, half-joking.

Still, it remained still.

“Seriously? Why can’t you just spring up like a grasshopper?” you added, hoping to change its mind.

No reaction.

Was it being serious?

“I’m not climbing for you. What is this? Some kind of test? I’ve proven myself already, haven’t I? I’m a worthy ally!”

You stepped closer, your voice rising with each word, your hands gesturing wildly. When it still didn’t move, you sighed, clicking your tongue in frustration.

You weren’t built for climbing. But apparently, if you wanted its respect, or its help, you had to prove yourself again.

With reluctance, you climbed onto the counter, steadying yourself. You stretched toward the helmet but quickly realized you’d need to go even higher.

“Shit…” you muttered. You weren’t afraid of heights, but this wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

The Yautja clicked its mandibles.

“Yeah yeah, I know you’re watching,” you mumbled, annoyed.

You clambered up a shelf, your knees trembling. You took a deep breath, eyes locked on the helmet. You braced yourself and made the final reach.

It was heavier than you expected, your arm dipped with its weight. You gripped the shelf with one hand, clutching the helmet with the other, swinging slightly in mid-air.

A stream of curses spilled from your mouth. You hoped it could somehow understand them.

You thought about dropping the helmet, but you knew that would piss the Yautja off. So you swung your arm and tossed the helmet toward it, praying it’d catch it.

And it did. One-handed. Effortlessly.

“Show off” you said under your breath.

You glared at it as you climbed down, panting.

“Okay? Was that amusing to you?” you snapped.

It didn’t respond. Just stood there, holding the helmet under its arm, watching you pace angrily.

“Tell me I won’t have to do that crap again,” you muttered.

You vented, cursed your luck, questioned every decision that led you to ally with a damn alien. You even pointed a finger at it, until you saw its eyes darken.

Maybe that was a step too far.

“Sorry, okay?” you said, crossing your arms. “I just don’t understand why I had to prove myself again. I’ve been helping you this whole time.”

But then again, Yautja weren’t human. They didn’t know unless you showed them.

You took a deep breath to calm down, feeling your face red hot. It stepped closer now, slowly. Standing in front of you, its stance had changed. Maybe… it was seeing you differently now.

Or maybe that was just your imagination.

“Can you wear your helmet now? I… I want to know…” You hesitated.

What did you want to know?

It clicked its mandibles and let out a growl, one you hadn’t heard before.

“Keth’raal,” it said.

The first word you could clearly distinguish.

It placed a hand over its chest, where a human’s heart would be.

Your breath caught.

Was it introducing itself?

Goosebumps prickled your skin, your eyes slowly widening.

You looked between its hand and its eyes. Its gaze was… calm.

“Kee…thraal?” you tried to say, uncertain.

“Keth’raal,” it repeated, deep and rumbling. Its voice was alien, guttural and rhythmic, the mandibles moving in sync with the sound.

You stared in awe. “Keth’raal,” you repeated softly, like a sacred word.

You almost wanted to touch its hand, for trusting you with its name. But that felt too human, so you held back.

Still… you whispered his name again, in hopes you don’t forget it.

“Keth’raal.”

He purred. It made you wonder if you had pronounced it correctly.

You nodded, a quiet understanding forming between you again.

You opened your mouth to say your name—but a loud knock on the door made you jump.

“Is anybody there?” someone called from the other side.

You didn’t recognize the voice.

Another hard bang - louder, more urgent.

Behind you, the Yautja stirred, tensing. Ready to strike if the door burst open.

You had to move. Now.

You were the only one who knew the truth.

The Yautja shouldn’t be killed — not just because he hadn’t hurt you, but because…

he felt like something more.

A bridge between two worlds.

Before he could react, you ran in front of the door, placing yourself between them. If it opened, they’d see you first.

The door finally swung open.

A man, armed, uniformed, raised his gun. His eyes jumped from you to the creature behind you. Panic lit his face, you couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind.

“No! No, don’t shoot!” You threw your hands up, heart hammering.

The man froze for a breath –stunned by what he saw– then shouted over you. “Move! Move out of the way!”

“Please, he—” you caught yourself, “it’s not hostile!”

“Get out of the way!” he shouted again, voice cracking.

But you didn’t move. You stepped even closer to the Yautja, your arms out as if your body could protect his (it could never).

“Then you shoot me first,” you said, louder than before. “If you want him, you go through me.”

He had saved your life after all. You owed him this much.

Behind you, a low, guttural roar built.

You felt him move, the Yautja surging forward. His helmet clattered to the floor recklessly as he readied a strike.

The man panicked and fired.

You moved before you could think — just enough.

The bullet grazed your arm, burning through flesh. You gasped and dropped, hand clutching the wound.

Pain shot through you. Hot. Sharp. You swore you could taste it in your mouth.

Your vision wavered.

The man hesitated for a second too long.

And that was all it took.

The Yautja lunged, disarming him with brutal ease. One clean strike, a slice of his blade and the man hit the ground, unconscious, bleeding from his arm.

It should’ve ended there, but you saw it in the Yautja’s eyes.

He wanted more.

He wanted to end him.

But then he turned, saw you struggling to breathe through the pain and the anger shifted.

He dropped beside you, eyes focusing on the bleeding spot.

“It stings,” you hissed, blood dripping from your arm. “I need to patch it…”

Before you finished, he’d already torn the hem of your lab coat and wrapped it around your arm. Clumsy, but careful.

“Thank you,” you breathed, as you adjusted the cloth over the wound.

He stared at you —really stared at you— fury still fresh in his eyes. Then turned to the man’s body.

“C’jit,” he growled.

You didn’t know the word, but you could guess.

He wanted to rip out the man’s spine, maybe even use it as a weapon and somehow, you wouldn’t have blamed him.

“Keth’raal.”

You said his name louder now.

He snapped his head toward you like a switch had been flipped.

“We need to leave.”

Your words must have gotten through to him, because his movements slowed—too careful now. He took a long second before he decided to make another noise.

“Na’thek,” he growled softly, this time in a voice so quiet it almost didn’t match the beast he was.

You frowned slightly, curious. “What?”

He placed his palm on his chest. “Keth’raal.”

Then he touched your hand, letting it rest there. “Na’thek.” you distinguished the same word again.

You didn’t know the word, but something in your chest tightened at the sound of it.

A name? A title?

You weren’t sure but… maybe you wanted to find out.

“We need to go,” you whispered, pulling back slowly, still unsure of your exchange.

You stood, wobbling a bit, but steady. He rose with you.

He picked up his helmet from the floor and placed it back on. The moment it clicked into place, something shifted. The same being, but more dangerous now. Sharper.

Lethal.

He looked like a warrior again. No doubt about it.

You caught yourself staring.

You shook your head. No time for this.

Before the two of you could leave the armoury, the Yautja paused.

It turned toward you, then reached to one of the racks and picked up a small weapon, something compact, sleek, alien in design but clearly made for close combat. A dagger, maybe, though it had an odd curve to it, almost like a claw forged in metal.

It held it out to you.

Your heart skipped.

You stared at it, the weight of what that gesture meant settling fast and hard in your chest.

You lifted your hands slightly and gave a quick shake of your head, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile.

“I appreciate it,” you said, voice a little shaky, “but if I carry something like that, I’ll probably hurt myself before anyone else.”

Truth was, just looking at it made your stomach twist. The idea of holding something meant to hurt, meant for violence, it unsettled you in a way nothing else did. You didn’t even want to imagine a moment where you’d need to use it.

The Yautja tilted its head slightly, mandibles flexing once. But it didn’t insist.

Instead, it turned and tucked the blade back into one of the many pouches across its armor. One more piece of silent protection it would carry, for both of you.

You had what you came for, and you needed to disappear before more showed up.

He was ready. Armed and deadly.

But not to you.

You had no idea where you’d go.

You’d think about that later.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 5

[And to think this started as a silly little prompt 🤭 can’t wait for your reactions on this one!!! Can you guys guess the characters intentions for each other? 💚]

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 💚

You looked at the Yautja, unsure if it actually expected you to come closer… maybe even help it.

You gulped, still anxious, still wary of the closeness. Let’s not forget, this thing had every intention of hunting you before the Xenomorph showed up.

Clutching the container of salve you had grabbed from the cabinet, you took a step toward it, avoiding its piercing gaze.

Its eyes were already on you. You could feel them, watching. Scanning. Maybe trying to figure you out, what kind of creature you were and why weren’t you attacking like the rest of the humans. You had no doubt it was still deciding whether you were a threat or not. Humans were the ones who captured it, after all. You couldn’t imagine it had any fond opinions about your kind.

You sighed, maybe louder than you wanted.

The Yautja tilted its head slightly and let out a soft clicking sound, as if wondering why you had frozen up, standing there with the medicine in hand, like a lost kid.

You blinked at the noise. It pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. It was studying you again. The slight head tilt, the narrowed gaze… unmistakable.

You finally opened the small container. Inside was a blue, slimy substance. Strange, slick, almost glowing faintly. You hesitated, then slowly held out your hand, offering it for the Yautja to decide whether it wanted to take it and use it itself.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it looked you right in the eye and then, oddly, almost proudly, pushed its chest out, like it was presenting itself. Like it was… expecting you to help.

You blinked again. That wasn’t right. From everything you had read or heard about them, Yautja were loners. Fiercely independent. They didn’t want help. They didn’t need help. But this one…

It was just waiting for you.

Did it… somehow know you were the one who tried to treat its wounds when they first brought it into the lab? You hadn’t done a great job then. There were scars along its arms now, stitches that healed badly (you partly blamed yourself for that). Human medicine hadn’t worked, you hadn’t even thought to use this balm at the time.

But now… now it was letting you try again.

You dipped your fingers into the gel and instantly jumped back, gasping. It was freezing! So cold it burned. You dropped the container in surprise, your fingers stinging.

The Yautja growled. A low, amused kind of growl… almost like a scoff.

You frowned at it. “Was that a laugh?” you muttered, annoyed but a little thrown off.

You bent to grab the container from the floor and spotted a nearby lab spatula. That would have to do. You didn’t trust your fingers to survive another dip in that blue stuff.

You approached again, slowly, and for a second you considered asking if it was okay to apply the balm, but what was the point? It probably didn’t understand you anyway. So you dipped the spatula in the gel and brought it toward its bleeding arm.

The Yautja didn’t move.

You took that as permission and carefully spread the salve over the deep slice in its right arm.

The reaction was immediate. It let out a sharp roar, head thrown back, mandibles flaring. The sound made your chest rattle.

You flinched hard, stepping back, your heart racing.

Was that pain? Had you messed up?

Then you noticed. The green blood had stopped oozing. The wound was frosting over, the salve turning dusty and hard on the surface. It was… working.

There was another gash near its chest, and you figured you should deal with it fast, before the Yautja had second thoughts and ripped you apart.

You scooped more of the gel and applied it quickly.

Another roar, louder this time.

Its hand, gripping the edge of the operating table, crushed the metal like it was tinfoil… You shifted back, staring wide-eyed, caught somewhere between fear and awe. That grip alone could have turned your bones to powder…

But the grip slowly loosened. Its chest rose and fell. Its breathing slowed back to normal.

You wanted to ask if it’s okay, but it wouldn’t understand anyway, so you ignored the urge.

The Yautja shook its head, dreadlocks swaying with the motion, and then looked at you again. Directly. Expecting.

You held its gaze, confused. Was it angry now? Offended? Or just enduring the pain?

You took a hesitant step forward and the low growl that rumbled from its chest made your human instincts scream. Like a lion warning you to keep your distance.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath. “Message received,” you lied.

Ignoring its warnings, you moved fast, hoping maybe the last scratch on its forehead wouldn’t sting as much if you applied the salve quickly.

Bad idea.

Its hand shot up and gripped your wrist, tight enough to hurt, but not enough to break. You made a pained sound. Its claws pricked your skin. It was letting you know, it could hurt you. It was a warning.

Your breath hitched.

“I just… I thought if I did it fast, it wouldn’t hurt as bad” you said, voice trembling. “I just wanted to help…”

The Yautja didn’t move for a moment. You could feel it calculating, its grip flexing and relaxing slightly over your wrist, as if testing how easy it would be to crush you.

But then, slowly, it let you go.

It took you a second to gather courage, before you decide to help again. Carefully now, you spread the salve across the scratch near its eye, this time without breaking eye contact. Neither of you flinched. Neither of you looked away.

You were too aware of it now.

It just breathed. Heavy, steady. Taking the pain silently.

Then its eyes shifted, not to the salve, not to the next wound, but to you.

Specifically… your head.

You noticed the way it looked at you, just a little sharper than before. Its head nodded slightly, and it let out a low growl.

You blinked. “What?” you mumbled.

It’s eyes dropped to the side of your head.

Instinctively, your fingers went to the spot.

You pulled your hand back, blinking at the smear of blood on your fingertips.

You hadn’t even realised, not until now. The pain had been buried beneath adrenaline and noise. But now, as you touched the torn skin again, you remembered. The Xenomorph. Its clawed grip, fisting a handful of your hair before the Yautja intervened. The skin must have torn when it pulled. You hadn’t had time to notice. Until the Yautja did.

You turned away quickly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from the nearby shelf and pouring some on a gauze.

A sharp burn bloomed beneath your skin as you pressed the soaked cloth against the wound. You sucked in a breath between your teeth, muttering curses under your breath.

The Yautja observed in silence.

Its eyes lingered on the wound, then the blood, then the way your body reacted to pain. You could feel it watching, dissecting the moment, trying to make sense of it… of you.

And then, it’s eyes darted to the small container of the blue alien medicine, and then back to the blood on your fingers.

Unlike its own, your blood hadn’t crystallized. The antiseptic hadn’t frozen to your skin. Your biology worked differently. Messier.

You glanced at the container and let out a dry breath, half a laugh.

“I wish I could use that stuff,” you said softly, nodding toward the blue gel.

The Yautja didn’t move, or made any noise. Still studying you like some strange creature it didn’t quite understand yet.

That made two of you.

God, if only you could communicate. This would be so much easier. But then again… maybe you didn’t want to know what it thought of you. What if it was just weighing when to peel your skull off?

Then it hit you.

“The helmet…” you muttered “it has a translator, doesn’t it?”

You stepped forward, almost too fast, a little more excited than you intended. “I know where your armor is. The helmet, it can translate, right?”

You saw no recognition in its eyes. Not yet.

You then decided to motion over your own head, trying to mimic the shape of its helmet. When the Yautja didn’t react, you used your hands to gesture around its head instead, hoping it’d get what you meant.

The Yautja tilted its head again, like it did whenever it was studying you.

Did it understand?

“If I help you find it,” you said slowly, “will you help me get out of here?” You didn’t know what else was crawling outside of this lab, you definitely needed some help to survive.

It stood up. Towering over you.

You held your breath by the sudden move. You noticed your head barely reached its chest.

You felt small, fragile, completely exposed in front of it.

You looked up and it suddenly roared, a sound that slammed into you like a wall, mandibles flaring and mouth wide open.

To your surprise, you didn’t back down. Didn’t flinch. Maybe you should have, but something told you this was a test. A show of strength. And maybe… just maybe… it respected the fact that you didn’t fall over yourself.

Its mandibles relaxed, and its gaze softened… or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Then it turned to the dead Xenomorph in the corner of the lab.

It walked over and ripped off the end of its tail with both hands. A clean, brutal snap, like most of its movements.

The Yautja kneeled, nodding towards you, like a command. You followed, kneeling beside it without a question.

The Yautja pressed the tip of the tail to its own forehead and growled low, carving a mark into its skin.

You winced at the sight of its flesh burning. But the scar it left behind, you recognized it. A rite of passage. It had marked itself as blooded. As worthy. As a survivor.

You stood with it, still stunned. Had it… shown you that on purpose?

Maybe.

It glanced at you, then puffed its chest slightly. Almost proud looking.

It had let you witness the ritual. That had to mean something. Right?

Then it looked past you, toward the door. A silent command.

Time to move.

Time to get its armor.

Had you just made an alliance… with a predator?

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 3

[This is turning into a full story 🥹 all thanks to your likes and support 💚]

Read Part 1 | Part 2 💚

You stood still, knowing it had seen you. There was no point in holding your breath or crouching anymore, it knew you were here. You slowly rose behind the glass chamber, squinting at the alien as it searched the lab for something.

Its dreadlocks shifted with every motion, brushing its shoulders as it rummaged through the lab, grabbing objects and tossing aside what it didn’t need. What was it looking for?

At one point, it walked dangerously close to the chamber. You instinctively held your breath, waiting for the inevitable.

This is it, you thought.

“It’s going to kill me”.

It probably wanted revenge, for all the blood samples you took, for the tests, the poking and prodding. But you never wanted to do any of it. It was just a job. Hell, you were as much a prisoner in this place as it was.

You had signed a contract you hadn’t even read all the way through, too desperate for money to care about the fine print. And now… this.

You slowly raised your hands again, hoping it would recognize the gesture like it did before. You were ready to beg if you had to.

It walked past the chamber, giving the glass a light tap with its fist.

You blinked, confused.

It didn’t stop—just kept searching. But each time it passed by, it knocked lightly against the glass again. Not hard. Not enough to break it.

What… what was that?

Was it playing with its food?

“What are you looking for?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

The Yautja spun around with a growl, mandibles flaring in what looked like distress, not just anger.

You froze. Prey. That’s what you were.

You were looking at a Predator, a creature that killed for sport, not survival. You could be its next trophy.

It stomped toward you and slammed its fist into the glass, this time with more force. Its eyes locked onto yours, those sharp, otherworldly eyes. You’d never seen them open before. Terrifying… yet captivating.

The green blood dripping from its shoulder drew your gaze away for just a second…

and that was enough to anger it again.

It let out a quieter growl this time.

For a fleeting moment… you imagined it was trying to communicate, maybe warn you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, it turned around and resumed its search.

“If I help you find it… will you let me leave?” you said, immediately regretting it.

What the hell were you thinking?

It doesn’t understand you… right?

Maybe if you helped—maybe if you treated the wound—

You tapped on the glass before your brain could catch up to your hands.

The Yautja turned. Its dreadlocks followed the motion, almost graceful in how they moved.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like an alien. It felt… humanoid. Too human actually.

“I can help” you said softly, careful not to sound like a threat.

It stomped toward you again. You raised your hands.

“I know how to treat your wound,” you blurted out, heart pounding in your chest.

It stopped just inches away from the chamber, staring at you—really staring at you—like it was trying to make sense of what you were.

“You recognize my voice,” you said quietly, more a statement than a question. You had a feeling it did. The hesitation earlier, when you came face to face with it before the xenomorph attacked… it hadn’t been random.

A deep, rhythmic purring started in its chest. It didn’t seem to mean harm. It sounded… natural, involuntary.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the same words you always said when it was unconscious and you had to take more samples.

Its mandibles twitched, but no growl came.

The purring got louder. Then came a few soft clicking sounds. It was studying you again—like a hunter sizing up prey, its eyes slowly taking you in.

You held its gaze, despite how terrifying those eyes were. You wanted to show you weren’t afraid.

Big mistake.

It growled sharply, taking your eye contact as a challenge.

You immediately dropped your gaze, chest rising with anxious breaths.

Had you just made it worse?

It moved its hand, clicking its talons against the padlock on the outside of the chamber.

Was it… unlocking it?

Was it setting you free to help it…

or to hunt you?

You didn’t have time to figure it out.

The chamber clicked open, just as a slithering xenomorph launched from the shadows.

You gasped as the Yautja ducked just in time, the xeno crashing into the chamber glass where you had been standing.

How is this thing not dead?!

The door was open now.

But the Yautja didn’t turn to you. It grabbed the xenomorph by the tail and swung it away from the chamber, even as more green blood poured from its arm.

It let out a growl, nothing like the sounds it made toward you. This was primal, furious… deadly.

The xenomorph twisted free, fast and agile. It climbed onto the Yautja’s back, sinking its inner jaw into the side of its neck. Green blood splattered everywhere.

The Yautja fell, chest hitting the floor.

You had to make a choice.

Run for your life or lock yourself in the chamber again, in hopes it withstands another blow.

You chose neither.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 2

(I was originally going to keep this as just a little prompt, but your support meant the world to me. So here it is! Part 2 💚)

Read Part 1 | Part 3 💚

The battle unfolded in front of you, the xenomorph looking like it had the upper hand. The yautja had no armor, no weapons, but it was fighting back hard, using its talons to stab at the xeno and shove it away.

When the xenomorph finally had the yautja pinned to the floor, its inner jaw (something you’d studied countless times and always found horrifying) extended out of its mouth. That’s when you thought: this is your chance to run.

You bolted out of the lab, smacking your hand against the panel to shut the door behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to. You just searched desperately for someone, anyone, (preferably human) who could help you.

That’s when the worst realization hit you: everyone was gone. They must’ve evacuated the moment the yautja escaped.

At the end of the corridor, you saw blood. Red blood. There had been a fight. But it wasn’t the yautja’s, otherwise the floor would be painted in that neon green you’d come to recognize so well.

You ran, lungs burning, mind blank, trying to think of anything -anything- that could help you survive. But panic had a grip on your brain, and you couldn’t think fast enough.

The facility was still under lockdown, but then… the doors started opening. All of them. At once. You knew you had only minutes before something worse found you, something that had already taken out the guards at the far end of the base.

You forced yourself to take a breath and closed your eyes. One image came to mind: the most secure room in the entire facility. The place the yautja had been held. It wouldn’t go back there, no way.

You remembered exactly where the room was and sprinted toward it, hoping you could get inside and lock it before it was too late.

You turned left down another corridor… more red stains. More blood. You couldn’t understand how the yautja had escaped and managed to injure so many people on the way out.

No bodies, though. Maybe they’d gotten away, wounded, but alive.

The door to the room stood open, like every other door. You tried not to think too hard about why the alarms had stopped or why everything was unlocked.

Had the yautja figured out the system? Or had the situation been “contained”?

You didn’t care. You rushed inside and went straight for the glass chamber where the yautja had been kept unconscious.

You knew how strong that thing was, nothing could break it. Not even another alien.

The chamber door was open. You slipped inside and sealed it behind you.

It was small, you couldn’t fully sit down if you tried. It had been designed to hold the yautja upright, strapped at the back.

The only problem now was that you were completely visible. If anything walked in, you were a glowing target in a glass box. No cover, nowhere to hide.

Still, the door was locked. You could feel the humid air around you, engineered to mimic the yautja’s natural environment.

You waited. And waited.

Then… movement. A shadow crossed the lab’s entrance. You froze.

You knew how silent these creatures were, perfect hunters. No footsteps. No sound. You’d always found their stealth fascinating. Studying the yautja had taught you that much.

Over the last few months, you’d gotten familiar with this specific specimen. You were certain it was male. But you still referred to it as “the yautja”. The last thing you wanted was to start feeling attached.

The growing shadow at the doorway snapped you out of your thoughts. You crouched down again, trying to make yourself small. Hoping (somehow) it wouldn’t see you.

But how could it not? You were in a damn glass chamber!

The yautja stepped into the room. Its movements were slow, calculated. Silent as always.

Then you saw it, green blood dripping from its left shoulder. The xenomorph must’ve gotten in a bite after all.

For a second, you felt a strange kind of relief. You weren’t dealing with a xenomorph anymore, you were facing something that at least recognized you.

The yautja turned its head. Looked at you. Then looked away…

Just… ignored you. Like you weren’t a threat. Or worth bothering with.

And honestly, that was fine by you. Even if it wanted to get to you, it couldn’t break through the glass.

Probably.

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 1

[Silly little prompt]

Read Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 💚

Read Sequel: Unbound

You’ve been assigned as a biologist to an extremely remote location.

You took the job because you needed the money, and you didn’t question the oddly high salary they offered.

It didn’t take long to realize the truth: you were there to study and collect samples from alien lifeforms such as yautjas and xenomorphs.

The catch behind the generous paycheck became obvious… you could be killed at any moment while working.

At least the aliens were unconscious during your examinations, but there was always the slim, terrifying chance they might wake up and eviscerate you.

You stuck to a strict schedule, never missing a second. A tiny delay in your work could mean your death.

One day, while working on a xenomorph, the facility alarm blared through the room. The doors slammed shut, completely locking you in.

You didn’t even know what to panic about first: the fact that you were now trapped with a deadly alien… or the reason the lockdown had triggered in the first place.

What could’ve possibly escaped that made the entire facility seal itself off?

Seconds dragged like hours as your shaking hands fumbled with the manual override.

You finally got the door halfway open, only to find yourself face to face with another alien. One you recognized.

Its mandibles clicked as it tilted its head at you in a strange, almost curious motion.

Your mouth went dry as you stared. You remembered all the times you’d examined this particular yautja, speaking softly to yourself while studying its body.

“Please, don’t,” you whispered, raising your hands in surrender, trying to make yourself look as small as possible.

The yautja just stared, its head tilting slightly again, studying you.

Maybe it recognized your voice, all those hours you spoke aloud while working.

A deep, rumbling purr built in its chest. You blinked, stunned.

Then, in a flash, it shoved you aside—just in time.

The xenomorph behind you lunged, missing you by inches.

The yautja caught it mid-air, gripping it tightly. Their battle had begun-

and you had nowhere to run.

[spacekittiesmeow]

zayne is a little too big!

"slow down." his glassy eyes narrow at you in concern. "youll hurt yourself."

you can never take all of him. every time you try, he stops you short. denies you those last few inches.

inches of his swollen length that spread your walls wiiiide as they can go. when you sink on him, take the weight of him up to your stomach—you can’t help craving the rest of him—the depth he keeps just out of reach.

not today, though. the fat head of his cock slots itself right against your cervix, momentarily blinding you. "ha-ah! ngh zayne..." you feel him nudging the back of your throat somehow.

"s'deep mmmhh." you've never slurred before. but again, when have you not made a mess of yourself on his cock.

"are you—hah—alright?" he tries to keep his eyes from rolling back from the way the untouched few inches of your gummy walls squueeeze him.

you pull his hand to your stomach, guiding his fingers to the faint outline of him beneath your navel.

the moment he feels it, his arm tightens around you. he lifts your hips just enough to draw back an inch. the emptiness tears a broken whine from your throat.

"it's better if we don't jump into this prematurely." he tells you. and it's true. partially. before you can retort, his thumb finds your clit as distraction.

because if he doesnt do this, he knows he's going to shoot a load right up your womb.

find all my drabbles here | masterlist

intellectual property of © spacekittiesmeow 2026

[meanhamster]

Camping With Your Caleb <3

Summary: Caleb decides to take you away for an entire weekend in the mountains. Prepare to be his pampered princess <3

Content Tags: NSFW! Tender-lovin' tent sex; panty sucking; pathetic, lover boy Caleb; Whimpering; pleading, Oral Sex, m&f; Cowgirl; So.Many.Hickies; Mentions of touching grass (fictional). Reader is implied female, other than that, no descriptors used.

From Hammy: Holy moly! This thing got away from me. We're looking at 6,874 words, with nearly half of it being the most filthy smut I've ever written. Enjoy responsibly. Hammy is not responsible for any personal injuries that may occur after reading...

It was finally the weekend.

You felt like you were barely holding it together, only able to count down the hours until you could see Caleb again. Work had been particularly brutal for both of you lately, which meant you were surviving on late night video calls and text messages.

Now, though, you could hardly remember your misery. Not with the top off the Jeep that Caleb had rented and the wind roaring in your ears.

The city and all its worries were far behind you now, there were only trees blurring together as you passed them while lazily winding up the side of a mountain.

You took a moment to glance over, marveling at how good Caleb looked like this. The sun poured over him, glinting off his aviators as he drove—one hand on the steering wheel while the other held yours tightly. He looked so relaxed, even threw a cheeky smile at you to let you know he was enjoying the view as much as you were.

Eventually the pavement ended, giving way to abandoned logging roads that twisted through old forests. The Jeep lurched over a rut, hard enough to knock you back against your seat. A startled laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

Caleb glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting,

“You alright over there?” The Jeep hit a pothole and rattled the cab, bouncing you against your seatbelt.

“Fantastic,” you giggled, “this is so luxurious!” He laughed—the sweet, boyish sound of it nearly swallowed by the tires crunching over gravel and the wind whipping around you.

His hand held yours a little more tightly, bringing them up to his mouth to press a kiss into your knuckles.

Dust billowed up and swirled around you in golden clouds while the trees grew thicker, casting shadows across the road the deeper you went. For awhile you were both content exploring, taking in the scenery as you went.

Finally, he slowed and pulled off at a rocky outcrop. You were near the top of the mountain where you could see the valley below you stretch for miles, dappled in shades of green mingling with the turquoise river.

“Wow…” You breathed, climbing out of the dusty Jeep to admire the view.

“Will this spot do?” Caleb asked, stretching his stiff limbs out as he stood and walked over to you.

“I think so.” You gave him a look—the one you always gave him when you were promised some mischief to get into.

Caleb’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. He would never admit how much he adored that wicked little spark, even though he knew it probably spelled trouble for him at some point.

In typical Caleb fashion he insisted on all the heavy lifting, setting up the camp site quickly while you drifted in and out of his reach, fussing over arranging your sleeping bags and hanging string lights.

“We make a pretty good team,” he remarked, clapping the dust from his hands as you both stood back to admire your work. You leaned into his side, taking in the little patch of wilderness you had claimed and made your own. Something about the way your sleeping bags laid next to each other in your little orange tent made your heart flutter, but you stuffed the feeling down before it could make you misty-eyed.

“A team? You hardly let me do anything.” You whined and he chuckled like he always did when you got petulant.

“Feeling hungry yet? I can get started on dinner…” He offered in penance, wrapping his arms around you waist.

You shook you head, wrapping your arms around his neck in return.

“I wanna go down that trail and dip my toes in the river,” you sighed, “it’s so hot.”

Caleb nuzzled your hair, pulling your warm scent in through his nose. He could smell the heat lingering on your scalp, the salt dampening your skin and hair, then squeezed you once before letting you go.

“Grab your pack then, pipsqueak. It’s a long hike down.”

You abandoned your shoes almost immediately after setting off, opting to feel the cool dirt press into your bare soles. Caleb scrunched up his nose at the thought of you dirtying your feet, but didn’t argue when you shoved the shoes into his hand to carry.

The air smelled sweet and green, and the further you went, the cooler it got. You didn’t really need conversation to keep you company, having him next to you was enough, filling in the empty space that ached so badly all week.

The silence suited him just fine too. After all, the opportunity to observe you closely without getting caught rarely presented itself these days, and he could watch you like this for hours—softly transfixed by every little detail.

He watched the breeze lift loose strands of hair off your face, watched the way you stooped to look at an interesting bug or pick up a pretty stone—secretly smiling to himself when you stuffed it in your pocket, eager to test its smoothness on the river’s surface.

Your collection grew as you continued down the trail, until your hands were full of smooth, pretty treasures. Eventually, Caleb caved and tucked your shoes in his pack, freeing his hands up to help you carry them. You giggled in delight, filling his hands and pockets with stones.

He suffered it with a hopeless little sigh because how could he ever deny you?

You could smell the river getting closer as you moseyed down the trail—cold and wet and faintly fishy.

You looked back at Caleb, who was still weighed down with your rock collection.

He immediately caught that look in your eyes, that devious little glint as you smiled back at him. And he could only sigh when you suddenly took off giggling, darting into the trees and out of his line of sight.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he called after you, already jogging to catch up.

He decided he could humor you—let you think that you could run away from him for a minute or two. He listened carefully for your footsteps hitting the ground, the frantic rustle of underbrush, and finally, a triumphant splash as you hit the water.

Caleb broke into a sprint, bursting through the treeline just in time to see you calf-deep in turquoise water, laughing wildly as you frantically waded deeper.

For a split second you thought he might actually let you escape…

That is, until he dumped his pack at the shore next to yours, already grinning in anticipation.

You didn’t even have time to mourn your poor rock collection as it clattered out onto the shore.

“If you’ve got an escape plan, you better use it!” He called before barreling into the river.

You shrieked, trying to run, but the water was already up to your thighs and you could barely manage to keep upright much less cover any ground.

Water exploded around his legs as he charged, doing absolutely nothing to slow him down. You accepted your fate, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing for impact as he closed in—dissolving into giggles as his arms caught you around the middle and squeezed you.

His laughter crashed into yours, loud enough to echo over the chilly surface of the river as he spun you around and around. You thrashed and clung to him at the same time, splashing water until you were both soaked.

“Caught you…” He murmured, breathless with victory, before nuzzling into the ticklish spot just under your jaw.

You squeezed your arms around him, still giggling as you peppered little kisses against the shell of his ear.

“You still lost, though.” You muttered between kisses, delighted when his breath caught.

“How so?” His voice had lost some of its playful lilt.

It was huskier now, and his cheeks flushed red all the way up to his ears..

“I beat you to the river, duh.”

He scoffed, “I wasn’t aware we were racing.”

You pulled back to gloat, smug even while captured and dripping, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Doesn’t matter. I still won.” You shrugged as if the matter was settled.

His fingers trailed up the side of your neck before catching your chin,

“It’s not winning if you cheat, dummy.” You huffed and jutted your lip out at him.

“How dare you.” You poked a finger between his brows and pushed, sending his face tipping back with a satisfying little jerk.

“Ouch!” He chuckled, catching your wrist and ducking down to kiss your lips before you could further weaponize that pout. The sweet taste of river water mingling with your chapstick made him sigh, his lips lingering against yours so he could savor it.

You smiled, suddenly smug again, and deepened the kiss—just enough to tempt him, inviting him to take more.

But he pulled away instead, refusing to let you win this round too.

“Come on, trouble.” He chuckled, “Your nose is gettin’ red. Better put on some sunscreen before you burn.” He left no room for argument, carrying you out of the river in his gentle hold.

Your frigid skin nearly sizzled as he set you on a boulder jutting out from the shoreline so he could rummage through his pack. And you sat there patiently, letting him rub sunscreen into every inch of exposed skin while you lounged.

The moment felt a bit like heaven—with the sun above you and a heated rock beneath you warming your wet clothes and slowly drying them out. The lazy slide of his hands over your body, applying just the right amount of pressure as he rubbed you down, clearly in no hurry to finish. The river gurgling softly over the rocky shore at your feet…

His voice broke through your reverie.

“Stand up Pips, lemme get the back of your legs.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before hoisting you onto your feet.

“Wha—did you already burn?”

The sight of your bright red legs seemed to genuinely distress him for a moment.

“No, the boulder was just a little hot.” You calmly remarked over your shoulder.

He sucked in a little gasp. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I like it. I’m a lizard, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember… I guess I just underestimated you.” His brows furrowed. “Does it hurt?”

“No. You can touch it—see?” You poked the back of your thigh, jiggling the reddened skin with a sly little smile.

Caleb shooed your hand away. “Don’t do that, you’re gonna irritate it. Here—”

You hummed appreciatively as he smeared cool sunscreen over your burning skin. His hands were softer now, massaging soothing little circles into the plushest parts of your thighs.

“Better?” He asked, pressing a kiss into your hip.

“Mhm.” You smiled as he stared up at you, his pretty eyes shining with adoration from where he knelt.

With sun protection out of the way you pulled a snack out of your bag to share while you skipped rocks together—giggling when he used his Evol to send your smooth pebbles flying impossibly far.

Time ceased to exist for a while, here in your little world where only you and Caleb existed—prowling the shore for pretty rocks and river critters and taking pictures of your posing shadows.

But eventually…

“It’s getting late.” Caleb sighed, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the sky—wishing he could coax the sun into stillness for just a while longer. “We should head back and get started on dinner.”

“Aw mannn…”

He came up behind you and pressed a kiss to the heated skin on your shoulder.

“I know… I’d hate for you to miss the sunset up on the mountain, though.”

You grumbled but agreed, signaling for him to turn around.

Caleb sighed, but slipped his backpack over his chest so you could climb up onto his back. Your feet hurt too much to walk—that was the flimsy excuse you gave him—and he didn’t call you out on it. He just hooked his arms under your thighs and hoisted you up into place.

If you ever bothered to ask, he would tell you he preferred it this way, though. He would always pick the option that allowed him to be touching you in some way—any way.

You nuzzled into his neck as he carried you, unable to resist breathing in his heated skin. He always smelled so good after working out…

You told yourself it was innocent enough, but the more you indulged yourself the harder it became to resist him.

Maybe just a little taste…

Your tongue darted out from from your lips, mere centimeters away from the ticklish skin of his throat before you thought better of it. Best not to risk your piggyback privileges in times like these…

You sighed in resignation, resting your chin in the crook of his neck instead and humming a little tune to pass the time as he labored up the trail.

Caleb deposited you in the hammock he’d hung near the fire pit as soon as you got back to camp. He stuck both of your packs in the tent before digging ingredients out of the cooler and organizing them in piles while you enjoyed the view.

Dinner came together quickly under his capable hands while you watched from the hammock. A cold beer rested in one hand while the other pointed lazily up at clouds, naming their shapes and inventing stories that made him chuckle.

“See that rabbit over there?”

Caleb’s gaze followed your finger to find a pink bunny-shaped cloud.

“Her name is Daisy, and I think she’s very sweet.”

“She looks like a biter, to me.” Caleb mused, returning his focus to the wooden skewers.

“She would probably bite you. She’s a girl’s girl, and we have to stick together.”

Caleb’s glanced at the cloud again, then back at you, clearly fighting a smile.

“It’s your own fault. You’re very bite-able, you know.” You said it casually, and Caleb chuckled—but something inside him clenched at that thought.

“Must be because I’m so delicious.” He mused, while stabbing marinated meat onto skewers and laying them in neat piles.

You laughed wholeheartedly because you couldn’t argue. Caleb was indeed delicious and there was no way around it.

Evening settled around you slowly, the bright shafts of light spilling in from the trees shifted into molten ribbons of gold as you chatted and he cooked.

The smell of grilled meat eventually won over your comfort, pulling you out of your hammock. You wandered over to the cooler to grab another beer before plopping down next to Caleb.

“Mmmm!” You hummed appreciatively, “Smells so good. When do we eat?” The alcohol buzzed pleasantly through you—made you a little loose, a little silly.

Caleb giggled, that sweet boyish sound that you loved so much, as you grabbed his face in both hands and planted sloppy kisses all over him.

He pulled away, blushing all the way up to his ears again.

“Do that again, and dinner will be canceled.” His voice dipped, “We’ll skip straight to dessert…” He murmured, leaning down to kiss you in earnest.

You sighed as he pulled away, meeting his gaze as he stared down at you. You could tell he was teasing, but he would still rip your clothes off right here if you asked him to.

“Okay, okay.” You conceded with a sigh, “I’ll behave, I guess.” He hummed in agreement, nuzzling your nose and turning back to cooking.

The fire burned low before you both, crackling softly, occasionally spitting up sparks that drifted into the dark. You stared into it while slowly turning the last meat skewer, the glowing embers lulling you into a trance while the crickets chirped around the edge of camp.

Caleb sat quietly beside you, close enough so your shoulders bumped whenever you moved. He watched you with a satisfied little smile that he didn’t bother hiding, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head when he couldn’t take it anymore. His smile broke into a grin when you hummed contentedly under his touch.

“Having fun, pips?” His eyes sparkled a little, running his lips over your soft hair.

You giggled, shaking your head yes, because of course you were having fun. How could you ever not have fun with Caleb by your side. Nothing could ever compare to this feeling…

“Dunno how I feel about my favorite lizard sitting on the cold ground,” he murmured. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You pulled your skewer out of the fire to inspect the char before shaking your head.

“I’m alright.” You consoled him with a sweet smile before sticking it back in.

“Besides, I can be closer to the fire this way.”

Caleb huffed, unconvinced, and leaned down into your space—his breath tickling the back of your neck. He brushed a little kiss along your ear and the skin on your arms immediately responded, erupting into goose-flesh.

“I dunno.” He murmured, his voice dipping in your ear. “It’s too chilly for lizards to lie on the ground.” His arms slid around your waist. “Don’t think I can leave you like this.” He scooted up behind you and gathered you into him, settling you between his thighs, and tucking you into the heat of his lap.

You melted immediately, slumping back into his broad chest as his arms tightened around you.

“My savior…” You sighed in contentment. You both sat like that for a little while, watching the fire slowly dim out—until you finally broke the silence.

“I love you,” you murmured when it bubbled up inside you.

Caleb went still.

You felt his heart suddenly pounding hard against your back.

His arms came around you in a tight bear hug, and you giggled, wriggling to free yourself.

“I love you too, pips.” His voice sounded a little wispy as it trembled over you.

“Aww, my mushy puppy.” You wiggled and squirmed, turning in his lap.

He gasped softly as you wrapped you legs around his waist, burying your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“Caleb?”

“Hmm?”

You tipped your head back to look at him, smiling when you saw his expression—the tender melancholy shimmering in his eyes.

He loved you so much it physically hurt…

“We’ll… always be together, now… wont we?”

His hand came up to caress your face, his thumb gently sweeping along your cheek while he thought of a good enough answer.

His heart ached for you, for how scared you must still feel after the accident happened. How could he sooth your worries, though, when he didn’t know the answer?“I think… you and I are the most closely bound souls in this universe.” He whispered, nuzzling you as he spoke. “Not even death could keep us apart for long.” His response surprised you a little.

Your eyes were suddenly misty.

“So yes…” he whispered, “we’ll always be together. I’ll find you in every single lifetime.” His arms came up around your shoulders and squeezed you into him, against the steady thump of his heart.

“Promise?”

Caleb loosened his grip and leaned back so he could look at you once more. Your expression broke his heart a little…

He kissed you tenderly, slowly—pressing his lips to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and finally your mouth.

“I promise.” He whispered, pulling back to stare into your eyes so you knew how serious he was.

He drew his legs up around you and caged you against him, hugging you until the ache in his heart settled.

Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his crazy body heat. It bled through his hoodie and seeped into you as he held you close.

The fire popped loudly in the background and you turned to look at it. It was only glowing embers now, pulsing faintly against the endless dark.

“Look up pips…” Caleb whispered.

You did, and immediately gasped at the sight of the brilliant night sky.

You had never seen so many stars. The moon was nearly full, hanging silently above you, casting everything in a silvery glow. The dark forest, the tent, the dying fire, Caleb’s face— everything was painted in its soft light.

“Wow…” Your voice came out hushed. “It’s so beautiful.”

Caleb sighed in relief, seeing your eyes light up once again.

“You finally get a little glimpse of what I see on the starship—ouch!”

You smacked his chest before he could finish that thought.

“I don’t want to hear about that…”

Caleb blinked, caught completely off guard. Then softened as he studied the pinch between your brows, the way your lip jutted out in an angry little pout.

“You’re my Caleb tonight. Fleet ships don’t exist.” He chuckled, secretly relieved.

“Noted… only your Caleb tonight—oomph!”

Your lips crashed into his, arms flying wildly around his neck. The kiss was messy and the alcohol was making your head spin, but you persevered—pressing into him, squeezing him tighter.

Caleb gasped underneath you, panting—trying to catch his breath, but you wouldn’t let him. You chased him every time he tried to pull away, biting him as punishment. Relishing in the beautiful noises he made.

“I missed you so much…” You gasped between kisses, trailing your lips down his neck. Caleb didn’t have time to ponder if you were talking about just this past week or…

He hissed as your teeth sank into the sensitive skin over his collarbone, the sound breaking into a groan when your tongue soothed over the fresh mark.

“I missed you too, sweetheart…” He managed to choke out, “I’m right here…” His hands flew to your hips, gripping like he needed something to hold on to as you ground onto him.

He unleashed a wanton moan, sent it echoing into the dark forest, as you attacked the weak spot on the back of his neck, right at the junction of his shoulder.

“W-wait a minute pips—” He tried to find a pause button, just long enough to get you into the tent where it was warm.

“No…” You growled, shoving him back.

Caleb was as good as done for. He laid back helplessly under your insistent hands, gasping as you licked and sucked a trail up his throat. You took your time with him, desperate to leave behind evidence of your love. His grip on your hips would clench tight whenever you hit a particularly sensitive spot.

You loved him like this. Helpless and squirming under you, his mouth parted, eyes shut tightly as he restrained himself so you could have your way for a bit.

The thought should have thrilled you… It did, for a moment.

But then you looked at him properly—Caleb, your Caleb, lying back in the cold dirt with his hair mussed, watching you like he would follow you wherever you went—and your ravenous hunger suddenly dissipated.

“Am I being too rough?” You whispered.

Caleb took hold of your hips and ground you down onto him, his own hips bucking a little at the sensation of your heat dragging over his aching length.

“Anything you do to me,” he gasped, “is perfect…”

You moaned into him, tracing his lips with your tongue while you ground into him again.

You knew you were running on borrowed time at this point, any moment now Caleb would snap, and all that patient restraint would turn on you.

Sure enough, as soon as the thought flitted through your mind, Caleb decided your turn was over.

A growl vibrated through his chest as his arms closed around you. He rolled you beneath him, catching your weight before your back could touch the dirt.

“Enough.” He huffed, hoisting himself up with you in his arms and making his way to the tent.

He fumbled with the zipper, losing precious seconds because you refused to stop kissing him. By the time he finally managed it, his breath was ragged against your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, he backed you into the cozy warmth of the tent and eased you down onto the sleeping bags, then turned just long enough to yank the zipper shut.

You had maybe a second to blink before he was on you again, suddenly everywhere all at once. You felt his hand press you down while he bent with you, chasing your lips.

Slowly, he slid the hem of your hoodie up, warming his chilly fingers on your stomach and laughing when you squealed. You laughed, trying to smack his hand as it traveled up.

Your giggles suddenly dissolved, though, as his fingers traced your nipple through your bra.

“S’not fair…” you gasped, “how do always find them?” He laughed mischievously, giving it a little pinch.

You let out an undignified little yelp, which only fueled his shenanigans.

Suddenly he was moving with urgency, shifting your hoodie up, sliding it over your head with quick practiced hands. Next your shirt, and finally, that obnoxious sports bra that kept your glorious chest bound too tightly. He was nearly drooling by the time your tits spilled out.

So perfect…

This view would never get old, he thought, leaning back to look at you as you hid your blushing face from him.

“Awww, is my Pipsqueak suddenly shy?”

Damn him... He sounded so innocent.

“Come on, let me see your pretty face,” he crooned, taking your wrist gently and coaxing your arm away.

You peeked out at him, only to find his sweet smile and searching eyes waiting for you, glowing softly in the fairy lights.

“Look at me, baby,” he whispered, tenderly nuzzling your palm.

You pried your eyes open, trying to be obedient even while your thighs were clamping together.

Caleb held your gaze for a moment, searching—making sure you were really okay—before smiling as he watched you melt.

“Good girl…” He caressed your cheek, dipping down to kiss you.

His hand traced a lazy pattern on your tummy, his fingertip just barely grazing your skin, sending shivers wherever he touched while his mouth worked you thoroughly.

He slid his lips down your shoulder, tenderly kissing your collarbone before dipping to down to lavish your chest in attention. The heat of his mouth closed firmly over one nipple, his tongue swirling, lapping, sucking, before moving to the other—then back again.

Your face was on fire.

“Caleb—” you gasped, bucking your hips into his touch as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweats.

He paused there, looking up at you, taking a second to memorize you like this—the flush in your cheeks, the dazed shine in your eyes, your kiss-swollen lips still shiny with his spit.

“What is it, baby?” he whispered.

His mouth traced a slow trail down your stomach, the feather-light kisses making you shiver beneath him. Around your navel. Then lower, kissing along the waistband of your pants.

“You’re going to kill me if you keep this up…” You nearly sobbed as he hooked his finger in your waistband and slowly stretched it down, trailing wet little kisses as he went.

“Already at your limit?” His voice was muffled, face already buried in the heat of your core.

You cried out as his tongue pressed against the mesh of your panties and sent your eyes rolling back. Suddenly your pants were yanked clean off. Caleb growled at the sight of your soaked panties clinging to your lips before diving back in.

His arms snaked under your thighs and locked you tight against his face while he devoured you through the lacy barrier, soaking them and sucking them while you sobbed and cried out.

“Poor thing,” he murmured against you, sounding almost apologetic. “I know. I know baby…” His tongue was insatiable—relentless as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your slit.

“I just can’t help it…” He breathed. “I need to taste you… just a little bit longer.” He was half gone out of his mind, driven to a frenzy by your taste, your smell…

Finally he yanked the sopping fabric aside and dove into you in earnest. You felt like you were suddenly weightless, a euphoric heat exploding through your core, up through your stomach. Caleb moaned openly as you gushed, licking and slurping every last bit before diving back in.

Caleb knew the over stimulation was too much—felt so mean for holding you down while you squirmed. But your taste… your silky heat sucking up his tongue as he plunged in and out. Over and over, in a trance, as your body wriggled and clenched around him.

His eyes rolled back as you came a second time, your thighs clamping down around his head.

You body melted into a boneless puddle beneath him.

The frenzied spell over Caleb seem to break for a moment, long enough to remember himself. He released your sopping heat at once, propping himself up so he could look at you.

You blinked down at him, dazed and glossy-eyed, your chest heaving.

He leaned over you, still fully clothed, hair mussed, mouth swollen. His hands, when they came up to touch you again, were impossibly gentle.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Look at me.”

You did, barely.

Caleb’s face softened with relief at once.

“Too much?” he asked against your shoulder, pressing a little kiss there.

You swallowed, trying to find your tongue.

“No,” you whispered. Your fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie, tugging at him weakly. “Come here.”

He gladly obeyed, leaning down to kiss you properly—tenderly brushing your hair out of your eyes while you caught your breath. You sighed into him, already heating up again under his touch.

His mouth tasted like you and it made your face burn…

He ducked so you could pull his hoodie off and you giggled at the sight of his bare chest.

“You didn’t put a shirt on?”

“Didn’t see a point, pips.” He huffed, his eyes sparkling as he caught your mouth in another heated kiss.

You pushed yourself upright, still a little unsteady, and Caleb instinctively followed your lead, leaning back to give you space. His eyes stayed locked on yours as your hand slid lower, feeling the tremble under his skin as you dipped under the waistband of his pants and into the heat of his arousal.

He hissed as your soft hand squeezed and pet him gently through his boxers.

“Lie down,” you whispered.

Caleb swallowed. For once, he didn’t tease you, let you guide him back onto the sleeping bags.

The tent rustled softly as a breeze swept past, the thin walls shuddering faintly before settling once more.

You followed him down slowly, kissing your way over his flushed chest, taking your time now that he was the one looking up at you, breathless and flushed head to toe.

He reached for you, but you caught his wrist and pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Be still, gege…”

Caleb moaned as you dipped your head to suck a path of hickies along the line of his Adonis belt, pausing to kiss his painfully hard bulge. Only when he started trembling under your lips did you look up at him. His eyes were misty and full of adoration as they gazed down at you, his hands fisted up in the blankets. He watched you slowly hook your fingers in his waistband and pull with that wicked spark in your eyes.

His erection sprung free, slapping up against his stomach.

“Gah!” He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

You wasted no time, dragging your tongue along the bulging vein running up his length, sucking the tip into your mouth and enjoying the view as he threw his head back, his entire body straining against itself. You worried for a split second about the sleeping bags shredding in his grip as he fisted them.

They seemed to be holding though…

The corners of your mouth stung as you stretched your lips over his girth, his salty taste flooding your senses.

Caleb groaned as you bottomed out. The sight of your throat bulging with him sent a hot, filthy thrill fluttering through his stomach. You sucked him down, tried to swallow around him, but he was too big.

You bobbed your head once, then twice, twisting your hand around his shaft, over and over again-only pulling off of him when you were sure he was good and lubed up. He was ready now, reduced to a flushed, gasping mess underneath you.

You crawled over him slowly, looking down at him with a satisfied possessiveness.

The fairy lights blurred into a golden haze above him, then disappeared behind your shadow as you loomed over him.

“My Caleb,” you sighed.

His hands came up to your hips at once, helping you line yourself up. Beneath the haze of all that desire, his eyes went tender again.

“Yours,” he whispered, voice barely there.

You closed your eyes, sinking down until your felt the fat, silky head of his cock prod your entrance. You took a deep breath and sank slowly, taking him inch by burning inch.

Caleb’s eyes squeezed shut as your heat sucked him up, your warm gummy walls pulsing around him. It was heaven every single time, he swore he could hear choir music when you clenched around him.

His mouth fell open as you seated yourself fully, a thin sheen of sweat already forming along your pinched brows.

You could only sit there, resting in his lap while you adjusted to the heavy fullness stretching you to your limit. Caleb’s hands left your hips to trail delicately up your waist and grope your chest-taking in the view as you panted, flushed and sweating and fully impaled on his cock.

But he let you take your time, not daring to move an inch.

Eventually the sting faded, the fullness didn’t feel so sharp and uncomfortable.

You rolled your hips experimentally, gasping as the tip of his cock nudged your cervix, his ridges grinding against yours to create a delicious friction.

“Ah—” You gasped, “I’m—I’m not gonna last long like this…”

Caleb’s hands settled back around your hips,

“Here, let me…” He guides your hips forward, rolling them gently, letting the heat build slowly at first.

He had you gasping in no time, sweat beading along his temples as he thrust up into you. The obscenely wet sounds of your bodies connecting bounced off the walls of your tent.

“Oh—Caleb!” You cried out, right at the edge of a great precipice and wanting so badly to fall.

Caleb groaned, his cock jumping inside you.

He wanted nothing more than to pound you silly, to chase his own relief inside your squeezing heat, to smother your insides until you were leaking for days.

But he also didn’t want this to end… wanted it to last all night…

You could tell exactly what he was thinking and refused to let him have his way this time.

Your thighs locked around him tightly and you began riding him in earnest, swinging your hips in tight little circles as you ground down on him.

“W-wait—hold on!” His pleas fell on deaf ears, he was reduced to begging under your relentless pace.

Caleb felt it like a tidal wave off in the distance, gaining power and momentum as it surged towards him.

He panted, his whimpering pleas climbing in octaves as he begged you to slow down. It was no use, your heat had engulfed him, swallowed him whole.

“I-I’m gonna—” The tidal wave was suddenly upon him, violently ripping him from his body as white exploded across his vision. Your name fell from his lips in a sweet, stuttered melody as his body jerked under you.

You threw your head back, the sensation of his cock twitching and spurting his hot release into you sent you hurtling over the edge after him.

You were weightless and seeing spots by the time you floated back into your body. The first thing you felt was Caleb’s thumbs gently stroking your face. You hauled your body off of his sticky chest and flopped over into your sleeping bag.

You could hear Caleb’s voice murmuring over you but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying over the ringing in your ears. The late hour, the afterglow, the alcohol—it all left your body exhausted and useless where it slumped.

You felt a cool cloth sweep over your face, then down your neck, and whimpered when it passed between your thighs, your body still too sensitive for even his gentlest touch.

Caleb cleaned you as carefully as he could, murmuring soft apologies whenever you shivered. The blankets tucked themselves around your chin as you faded out.

“I love you,” he whispered.

His lips pressed tender kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth—one after another, soft enough to follow you down as the world faded into darkness. And you stayed there, drifting comfortably until—

Pop!

A loud crack snapped you awake.

You shot upright in your sleeping bag, head spinning as you looked for—

“Sorry.”

Caleb stepped through the half-open tent flap, his voice soothing your nerves before they had the chance to turn into panic.

“The fire’s extra noisy,” he said, glancing back toward it with a little chuckle. “I think it’s eager to see you.”

You blinked at him, still caught in a sleepy daze. Then your gaze snagged on his neck and your stomach flipped.

The marks there were impossible to miss, and the memory of last night rushed back all at once. A bright flush bloomed across your cheeks, and you yanked the blankets up to your chest.

Caleb’s gentle gaze never left yours.

“Did you sleep alright, Pips?”

He knelt in front of you, offering you a steaming mug of coffee. You rubbed at your eyes, suddenly aware of the chill in the morning air.

“I must have,” you mumbled, accepting the mug gratefully. “I can’t even remember falling asleep.”

Caleb’s mouth twitched with amusement, but he didn’t tease you. Not yet.

He only ducked his head, pulled off his hoodie, and held it out to you.

“Here.”

He took the mug back just long enough for you to slip into it. It was soooo warm and smelled like his cologne and campfire smoke.

You hummed happily when he pressed the mug back into your hands.

“Come sit by the fire. I already set up your chair.”

His hoodie fell nearly to your knees as you clumsily stood, swallowed up in the soft fleece. Caleb took your hand, pressing a little kiss to your knuckles as he steadied you.

Birds chirped excitedly nearby, hopping around the edge of the campsite to peck at the dirt in search of crumbs. Caleb watched you watching them, a goofy smile tugging at his mouth.

Your hair was wild. Your eyes were still heavy with sleep. You looked, frankly, like you had survived a Wanderer attack and barely lived to tell the tale.

He loved your sleepy little face so much, though, he just couldn’t resist.

“Hey, Pips…”

You looked over at him, only to dissolve into giggles as he smushed your cheeks between his hands.

“It’s too early for surprise attacks!”

Caleb laughed too, taking one last fond look before pressing a quick to your squished lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Couldn’t help myself.”

He turned back to the fire, poking it for a bit while you settled beside him, soaking in the warm morning sun.

“What do you wanna do today?”

You hummed in contemplation, warming your hands around your mug as you looked out over the endless valley below. Sunlight spilled slowly over the mountains, turning the whole world gold.

The possibilities felt endless with your Caleb at your side.

These are my ladies（づ￣3￣）づ╭❤️～: @ch3rrycher @belzoka @algrimmammon @violojezel