Summary: Your mate returns from a failed hunt and you know exactly how to make him feel better
Paring: Yautja x Reader
word count: 7523
warnings: NSFW, Cock worship, Blowjob, lots of cum, made up Yautja name
A/N : Hope you had a great Christmas! I hope you enjoy this one! ;)
Masterlist
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
You stir the pot over the hearth, the aroma of spiced stew filling the cavernous space of your shared home. It's not much by human standards—a sprawling network of stone chambers carved into the side of a rugged mountain on this remote planet—but to you, it's sanctuary. The walls are adorned with trophies from hunts long past: skulls of formidable beasts, polished to a gleam, and weapons that hum with latent energy. The air is always warm, tinged with the scent of alien woods burning in the fire pit, and the distant roar of wildlife outside reminds you that this world is as wild as the creature you call your mate.
Vrak’tar. The name alone sends a thrill through you, a mix of fear and desire that you've grown accustomed to over the years. You met him during what should have been your last moments—a crashed ship, a hostile jungle, and predators closing in. He could have ended you like any other prey, but something in your defiance sparked his interest. What started as a hunter's curiosity evolved into a bond deeper than any you've known. Yautja mating is fierce, possessive, eternal. And now, you're his ooman—his little one—in a world where humans are rare and often seen as weak.
The heavy door to the entrance chamber slides open with a hydraulic hiss, pulling you from your thoughts. You hear his footsteps before you see him: heavy, deliberate, each one echoing like a drumbeat of restrained fury. Vrak’tar emerges from the shadows, his massive frame dwarfing the doorway. At over eight feet tall, he's a towering mass of muscle and dreadlocked tendrils, his skin a mottled green-gray that shifts in the firelight. His armor is scarred from the day's hunt—deep gashes from claws or blades, caked with dried ichor that isn't his own. His four mandibles twitch irritably around his tusked mouth, and his eyes, those piercing yellow orbs, glow with barely contained rage.
He doesn't greet you as he usually does, with a rumbling purr or a gentle touch of his claws against your skin. Instead, he grunts something unintelligible in his native tongue, a series of clicks and growls that translate roughly to "failure" in your mind. The translator implant behind your ear hums faintly, but you don't need it to understand his mood. He's keeping his words to a minimum, his voice a low vibration that he reins in tightly. You've seen him in rages before—roaring challenges that shake the walls, smashing training dummies to splinters. But with you, he's always careful. He knows his temper could terrify a fragile human like you, and the last thing he wants is to drive you away.
"Bad hunt," he mutters finally, his voice a gravelly baritone that usually sends shivers of anticipation down your spine. Today, it's clipped, controlled, like he's biting back a storm. He stalks past you without a glance, shedding his cloak and weapons belt with sharp, jerky movements. The cloak lands in a heap on the floor, and he lowers himself into the large, fur-draped chair by the fire—the one he carved himself from the bones of a massive beast. The wood groans under his weight, protesting the force with which he sits.
You watch him from the corner of your eye, your heart aching at the tension in his shoulders. His mandibles are clenched, his claws digging into the armrests. He stares into the flames, the fire reflecting in his eyes like molten gold. He needs space, you know that. Alone time to process the frustration, to let the adrenaline bleed out without lashing out. On days like this, he might disappear into the training chamber for hours, practicing with his combi-stick until exhaustion claims him.
But you have other ideas. You've learned him over the years—his needs, his desires. Yautja females are fierce warriors, built for combat and dominance, but their physiology is different. Their mouths aren't soft like yours; they can't envelop and tease like a human can. It's one of the things that drives Vrak’tar wild about you: the way you can worship him with your lips, your tongue. He craves it, especially when the world outside has beaten him down. And tonight, you decide, you'll give him exactly that.
You set the stirring spoon aside, wiping your hands on your simple tunic—a garment woven from soft hides that clings to your curves in a way that always draws his gaze. The fire warms your bare legs as you move silently across the thick furs carpeting the floor. The chamber is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, and the crackle of the flames provides a soothing backdrop to the tension in the air.
He doesn't look up as you approach, but you know he senses you—his predator instincts are too sharp to miss the soft pad of your feet. You kneel between his booted legs, the pelt beneath you plush and warm. The scent of him hits you immediately: ozone from his plasma caster, leather from his armor, and that underlying alien musk that's uniquely his. It's intoxicating, stirring a heat low in your belly.
Gently, you nuzzle your face against the tough mesh of his combat pants, right over the heavy bulge that's already beginning to stir. He's not fully aroused yet, but his body responds to you instinctively, even when his mind is elsewhere. A low rumble starts in his chest, not quite a growl, but a vibration you feel through the fabric.
"Little one," he rasps, his massive clawed hand coming down to cradle your head. His touch is careful, claws retracted to avoid scratching your delicate skin. "You do not have to. My mood is… foul."
You look up at him, meeting those glowing eyes. The firelight casts dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the ridges of his brow and the sharp angles of his mandibles. "I know," you whisper, your voice soft but firm. "Let me make it better. Let me taste you."
His low groan is all the permission you need. Your fingers work at the fastenings of his pants, your movements deliberate, worshipful. You free his cock, and it springs forward, thick and heavy, already weeping a pearly bead of precum from its broad, flared tip. The sight of it, of him, always steals your breath. Yautja females don’t have mouths like this, you think, running your thumb through the slick fluid. They can’t worship a cock like this. But I can. And he fucking loves it.
You leaned in, letting your hot breath wash over his shaft before you touched him. You heard his sharp intake of air. You rubbed your cheek along the thick, pulsing vein on the underside, smearing his precum on your skin. “My beautiful, fierce mate,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin. “Let me take all that anger. Let me swallow it.”
Then you opened your mouth and took just the swollen head inside.
The taste was musky, salty, uniquely him. You swirled your tongue around the corona, licking into the slit, drinking the steady drip of his pre-cum. His hand tightened in your hair, not pulling yet, just holding. A deep, approving rumble started in his chest.
“Fuck,” he hissed, the word mangled by his mandibles.
You sank down slowly, taking more of him, your throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. You focused on the sensations—the smooth, hot skin under your tongue, the way he pulsed against your palate, the sheer, overwhelming fullness of having him in your mouth. You pulled back with a wet, sucking pop, making eye contact as you licked a broad stripe from his balls to his tip.
“Tell me about the bad day,” you said, your voice husky as you nuzzled his heavy sac, breathing in his primal scent.
“Stupid,” he growled, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust. “The prey was cunning. Got away. My brothers… they laugh.” His frustration was a living thing in the room.
“You’ll hunt it tomorrow,” you promised, taking one of his balls into your mouth, rolling the tight orb with your tongue. He shuddered. “But tonight… tonight, you’re my prey.” You sucked gently, then released him with a lewd, wet sound. “And I’m going to suck this magnificent fucking cock until you forget your own name.”
You took him deep again, setting a slow, relentless rhythm. One hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, working in time with your mouth. The other fondled his balls, feeling them draw up tight. You used your teeth just the way he liked—little grazing scrapes along the sensitive underside that made his whole body tense. Your saliva coated him, dripping down onto his pants and the furs below.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his claws now tangling tightly in your hair, guiding your pace. “Take it. Take all of it, my clever human. Your mouth… fuck… it is a paradise.”
You moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tremble. You worshipped every inch—the thick root, the throbbing vein, the sensitive spot just beneath the head that made his mandibles flare wide. You slurped and sucked, your noises obscene and wet in the quiet room. You pulled off, panting, a long string of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock.
“You taste like power,” you breathed, stroking him fast and hard with your fist. “I want you to fuck my face with it. I want you to use my mouth until you’re empty.”
With a snarl, he took control. His grip in your hair became insistent, pulling you back onto his length. He didn’t thrust, not violently, but he held you deep, letting you gag and sputter before pulling you back just to slam you down again. “You want my cum, little one?” he grunted, his other hand coming down to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him as he fucked your throat. “You want me to paint that pretty human face?”
You could only nod, your eyes watering, a flood of arousal soaking your own thighs. The pressure built in his shaft, a telltale throbbing you knew intimately. You redoubled your efforts, sucking fiercely, hollowing your cheeks, milking him with your tongue.
“Now!” he roared, his body bowing off the chair.
He pulled you off just as the first hot, thick spurt erupted. It hit your lips, your tongue. The second shot splashed across your cheek. The third, a massive, ropey load, painted your neck and collarbone. But he wasn’t done. He kept coming, an excessive, unbelievable flood of cum, more than any human man could ever produce. It drenched your chest, hot and sticky, pooling between your breasts. Rope after rope splattered against your skin until you were glazed with it, dripping with him.
You clung to his thighs, panting, your mouth open to catch the last few drops on your tongue. The taste was overwhelming, bitter and potent, and you swallowed greedily.
For a long moment, the only sound was the fire and both of your ragged breathing. He looked down at you, his anger completely gone, replaced by a sated, possessive heat. He dragged a claw through the mess on your chest, then brought it to your lips. You sucked it clean without hesitation.
“A bad day,” he rumbled, his voice now thick with pleasure, “is always better when it ends in your mouth.”
You feel him thicken again against your tongue, a slow, relentless resurgence of his impossible stamina. The taste of his first release still coats your mouth, your skin, but the hunger in you isn’t sated. It’s only been stoked. You suck gently, teasingly, just the tip, your eyes locked on his glowing ones. His chest rumbles, a sound of pure, possessive pleasure.
“You are insatiable,” Vrak’tar growls, his voice a low vibration that you feel through the floor. His claws slide back into your hair, not to pull, but to pet, to possess. “My clever little human. Your mouth was made for this. Made for me.”
You hum in agreement, the vibration traveling down his shaft. You feel his balls, heavy and full again, already drawing up tight against his body. He wants to cum, you think, a thrill of power shooting through you. He wants to fucking explode again, and I’m the only one who can make it happen.
You pull off with a wet, slick sound, kissing your way down the thick vein on the underside. “Tell me what you need, my mate,” you whisper, your lips brushing his sensitive skin. “Tell me how you want to use me.”
He tilts your head back, his grip firm. His mandibles click softly. “I want to fuck this perfect, wet mouth,” he says, the words blunt and hot. “I want to feel your throat stretch for me. I want to watch your lips stretch around my girth until you can’t breathe.”
A shiver of pure lust runs through you. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please. Fuck my face. Use it.”
He guides you back onto him, and you open wide, taking him in. But this time, he doesn’t let you set the pace. He holds you there, the broad head nudging the back of your throat. “Breathe in, little one,” he instructs, his voice surprisingly gentle beneath the raw command. “Hold it.”
You suck in a sharp breath through your nose and hold it. The moment you do, he pushes forward.
It’s a slow, inexorable invasion. Your throat opens, a reflexive, protesting spasm that you force yourself to relax, to accept. He slides deeper than ever before, the thick, alien length of him filling a space never meant to be so full. Your eyes water instantly. Your nose is buried in the coarse hair at the base of his cock. You can smell nothing but him—musk, sex, power.
He holds you there, impaled, for a long, dizzying moment. You feel every pulse, every throb of his heartbeat in your throat. Then, with a low groan, he pulls you back, letting you gasp in a ragged, choked breath.
“Good,” he praises, his thumb stroking your wet cheek. “So good for me. Now again.”
He doesn’t give you time to recover. He guides you back down, fucking into your mouth with a steady, controlled rhythm. In. Out. Each thrust goes a little deeper, lasts a little longer. He watches you intently, his predator’s gaze missing nothing—the tears tracking through the drying cum on your face, the flush on your skin, the way your throat visibly bulges with each intrusion.
It’s a brutal, breathtaking intimacy. The wet, gagging sounds fill the room, mixing with the crackle of the fire and his guttural grunts. You can’t think. You can only feel. The stretch of your lips. The scrape of his skin against your palate. The overwhelming presence of him dominating your every sense. Your own cunt is dripping, aching with a need you’ll address later. Right now, your entire world is his cock.
He pulls you off, letting you drag in sobbing breaths, saliva and pre-cum stringing from your lips to his. “You worship this cock like you were born for this,” he snarls, his own control fraying. His hips buck upward, seeking your heat. “It is yours. This fucking weapon is yours to suck. Tell me.”
“It’s mine,” you gasp, licking the salty-slick length of him. “Your perfect, huge cock. I love it. I love how it feels splitting my mouth open. I love how you taste. I want you to flood me with it again.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
His hands cup your head, holding you steady. The rhythm changes. It’s no longer controlled. It’s desperate, driving, deep. He’s fucking your throat in earnest now, short, powerful pistons of his hips that slam him into you over and over. You gag, you sputter, you take it. Every time he pulls back, you gasp and swallow, and then he’s surging back in, claiming the space all over again.
“Gonna cum,” he grunts, the words tight. “Gonna fill that greedy human throat. Take it. Take every fucking drop.”
You moan, a desperate, choked sound of encouragement. You feel the telltale swell at the base of his shaft, the frantic throbbing. He rams in one last, devastating time and holds you there, buried to the hilt.
The first eruption is a scalding geyser directly down your esophagus. You convulse, swallowing on instinct, but it’s too much, too fast. The second blast follows instantly, and your throat can’t contain it. Thick, hot alien cum floods your mouth, spills past your stretched lips in a torrent.
He pulls back, just enough to watch.
The third, fourth, fifth pulses paint the inside of your mouth, then overflow. It spills out in gloopy, white rivers, dripping down your chin, your neck, your chest. It’s excessive, unbelievable, a second massive load that renews the mess on your skin, making it slick and fresh. You keep swallowing, gulping down as much as you can, the bitter, potent taste flooding your senses, but it’s a losing battle. It leaks from the corners of your mouth, a constant, sticky stream.
He’s not done. Rope after rope follows, splattering across your face, matting in your hair, joining the river flowing between your breasts. He empties himself into you and onto you with a ragged, roaring groan of release, his whole body tense and trembling.
When the last shuddering pulse finishes, you slump against his thigh, panting, dripping, utterly used and gloriously happy. His cum is in your mouth, down your throat, all over you. You are his canvas, and he has painted you perfectly.
His claws are gentle as they tilt your face up. He looks at the mess, at your dazed, worshipful expression, and a low, purring sound emanates from his chest. “Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging a finger through the cum on your lower lip and pushing it back into your mouth. You suck it clean. “My devoted little mate. You drink me down like water. You wear my mark like the finest jewels.”
You nuzzle into his hand, your voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ll always want it. Your cock, your cum… I always want your cock.”
He shifts in the chair, and you feel him—still hard, still demanding. He’s Yautja. He recovers fast. He looks from his glistening, spent cock to your cum-soaked body, then back to your eyes.
But you're not done yet. The fire has burned low, casting longer shadows across the room, but time means nothing in this moment. You've promised him relief, and you'll give it until he's utterly spent. Your jaw aches deliciously, your throat raw from the abuse, but the heat in your core drives you on. You know he can go for hours—his stamina is legendary, a product of his warrior physiology. And tonight, you'll match it, drawing out every drop of frustration until only contentment remains.
You lean in again, your lips brushing the tip of his cock, which twitches at the contact. It's sensitive now, post-orgasm, but that's part of the fun. You start slow, teasing licks along the underside, tracing the veins that pulse with renewed vigor. "My strong hunter," you murmur, your breath hot against him. "Let me worship you properly. No rushing this time."
He groans, his head falling back against the chair, mandibles flaring in pleasure. His hand returns to your hair, fingers weaving through the strands—not pulling, just holding, guiding. "You spoil me, ooman," he rumbles, the anger from earlier a distant memory. "No other could do this. Your mouth... it is a gift from the gods."
Encouraged, you take him in again, but gently, savoring the taste of his cum mingled with your saliva. You bob slowly, your tongue swirling lazy circles around the head, dipping into the slit to coax out more pre-cum. One hand strokes the base, the other cups his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them refill impossibly fast.
Time blurs as you work him. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. You alternate rhythms—slow and teasing, then faster, building him up only to ease off, denying him release until he's growling with need. You use your teeth again, light nips that make him hiss, followed by soothing sucks. You lavish attention on his balls, sucking one into your mouth while stroking his shaft, then the other, humming vibrations that travel straight to his core.
"Tell me how it feels," you whisper during a brief pause, your lips swollen and slick. "Tell me I'm making you forget that hunt."
He looks down at you, eyes blazing. "It feels like paradise," he admits, his voice rough. "You erase the failure. You make me strong again." His claws tighten in your hair, pulling gently now, urging you deeper. "Deeper, little one. Take all of me."
You oblige, relaxing your throat to swallow him whole. The gagging sounds return, wet and obscene, but you revel in them. He praises you constantly now— "Good girl," "My perfect mate," "So beautiful with my cock in your mouth." Each word fuels your praise kink, making you wetter, more eager. The cum from earlier dries sticky on your skin, but new spills join it as you bring him to the edge again and again.
After what must be an hour, you feel him tense for another release. This time, you don't pull back. You suck hard, hollowing your cheeks, milking him with your hand. "Cum for me," you mumble around him. "Fill my mouth again."
He roars, hips bucking as he floods you once more. You swallow greedily, but some escapes, dripping down your chin. You pull off, stroking him through the aftershocks, watching rope after rope paint your chest anew. The cum kink ignites in you both—he loves marking you, and you love being marked.
But still, you continue. Your knees ache from the floor, but the furs cushion them. The fire has died to embers, the room growing cooler, but the heat between you keeps you warm. You tease him back to hardness, sucking for another stretch of time—slow laps, deep throating, ball play. He pulls your hair more firmly now, guiding the pace, but always mindful of your limits.
"You're incredible," he pants after the next orgasm, his voice laced with awe. "Hours... and you don't tire. I love you, my mate. You heal me."
His words melt you. "I love you too," you reply, voice hoarse. "Let me keep going. Until you're done."
He nods, pulling you deeper. Another hour passes in a haze of pleasure. You lose count of his releases—each one massive, coating you further. Spit drips from your lips, mixing with cum, creating a slick mess. He praises you endlessly, his temper long forgotten.
Finally, as the first hints of dawn filter through the cracks in the stone, he softens slightly, sated at last. "Enough, little one," he murmurs, his voice tender. "You have given me everything."
You look up, smiling through the haze of exhaustion and satisfaction. Your body is a canvas of his pleasure—face, chest, hair all sticky and marked.
"Come here," he says, gently pulling you up by the arms. His strength makes it effortless, lifting you onto his lap like you weigh nothing. You straddle him in the chair, your head resting against his broad chest. He leans in, his rough tongue—long and textured—lapping at the cum on your face. He cleans you methodically, starting with your cheeks, then your lips, sharing the taste in a bizarre, intimate kiss. His mandibles brush your skin, careful not to nick.
"Thank you," he rumbles, nuzzling your neck. "You always know what I need. And I needed you."
You snuggle closer, his arms wrapping around you like a protective cage. The chair creaks under your combined weight, but it's sturdy. The embers glow faintly, and outside, the world awakens, but here, it's just you two. "Always," you whisper, drifting into contented sleep in his embrace.
He holds you tight, purring softly, the bad hunt a forgotten shadow. In this moment, you're both whole.
Summary: While Kwei is away on a hunt, you give birth to your son with the help of the clan’s women.
The night Kwei leaves, his hand rests over your stomach longer than usual.
He does not speak at first. He rarely does when his thoughts are heavy.
“I should stay. The time is close.”
You smile up at him, tired but certain.
“And when our son is born, you will not leave at all. This hunt matters. You should go.”
His mandibles twitch, frustration and fear blended.
He presses his forehead to yours, a gesture that still makes your chest ache in the best way.
“I do not like distance,” he murmurs.
“I know. That is why I trust you to return.”
You smile as he leans over and places his forehead against yours. He breathes you in, settles in your scent.
He leaves at dawn.
The labour begins before the second sun sets.
It is nothing like the stories you were told among humans.
Pain comes in waves that steal your breath, sharp and ruthless, but you are not alone. The women of the clan surround you without question. Strong hands steady you. Warm cloths press against your skin. Voices rise and fall in a rhythm.
They calm you. They protect you. They teach you how to breathe.
How to endure.
How to bring life into the world without fear.
When your son is finally placed against your chest, slick and warm and crying, something inside you breaks completely.
He is beautiful.
Broad brow. Strong jaw already evident. His skin bears the faint patterning of his father’s kind, darker along the temples and spine.
But his eyes.
Human eyes. Soft. Blinking up at you, unfocused and curious.
You cry quietly as you hold him. The women applauded you with soft words and affection.
Kwei returns at dusk two days later.
He arrives carrying an impressive trophy, armour scarred, posture proud. The clan gathers to witness his return, murmurs rising in approval.
Then he sees you.
You are seated near the hearth, wrapped in furs, your arms full.
He stops dead.
The trophy slips from his grasp and hits the ground with a heavy thud.
“Kwei,” you say softly, smiling at him.
He crosses the space in three long strides, kneeling in front of you, eyes locked on the small bundle against your chest. His breath stutters, a sound you have never heard from him before.
“You gave birth."
You nod.
“He is healthy.”
Anger flashes through him. Not at you but at himself.
“I was not here, I should not have left.”
You reach out, placing your hand against his cheek.
“You left because I asked you to, and I would ask you again.”
His eyes lift to yours, torn.
“You endured pain without me.”
“I was not without you. Your clan stood with me.”
You move, carefully lifting your son and holding him out.
“Meet him.”
Kwei freezes.
For a moment, the great hunter looks uncertain, almost afraid.
Then he reaches out, arms trembling slightly as he takes the child into his grasp.
The baby quiets instantly.
Your son studies his father’s face, blinking slowly, then curls his small fingers around one of Kwei’s.
Kwei makes a sound that can only be described as pure happiness.
“He looks like me,” he whispers.
You smile.
“Except his eyes.”
Kwei nods, overcome, holding the child as if the world might shatter if he moves too quickly.
“I will never leave again,” he says fiercely.
You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“You will. But when you do, he will know you always return.”
Kwei lowers his forehead to his son’s.
“I was taught to be strong. You taught me to be whole.”
You watch them together, father and son, and feel a certainty settle in your chest.
Summary: Trained to outlast any Predator, you never expected to earn the respect and heart of one.
You were doing fine until something far worse than the Yautja entered the territory.
The creatures were not natural.
Mutations, maybe. Bloodthirsty beasts designed for something else's war.
You heard the Yautja before you saw him, you heard clicks low in the trees, that faint hum of cloaking tech.
At first, he was your death sentence.
Now he was your only chance.
It started with a standoff.
You had your knife drawn, back to the river, as he de-cloaked in a shimmer of light and metal.
Eight feet tall, heavy with muscle, body scarred and worn from a hundred battles. His mandibles clicked as he studied you with a curious expression.
You should have attacked.
Instead, you lowered the knife.
"Common enemy," you said slowly, keeping your voice low, hands spread open. "You can kill me later. But right now we both have bigger problems."
He tilted his head sharply, as if weighing your words. His wrist-blade retracted.
It was the beginning.
You learned to communicate through simple gestures at first.
Pointing. Nodding. Grunts of acknowledgement.
He didn’t speak human languages, but he understood survival, a universal tongue.
You nicknamed him R'thok in your mind, it sounded close to the snarling sound he made when introducing himself.
In turn, he began to call you a series of low clicks that almost sounded affectionate.
When you saved him, dragging his heavy body out of a pit trap, using your last medical kit to seal his bleeding side, everything changed.
He touched your wrist afterwards.
A careful touch. Not demanding and not threatening.
Grateful.
Respected.
At night, you camped near each other.
Not too close but close enough that you could hear his breathing.
He carved strange symbols into the dirt. You answered by sketching your own.
A new language bloomed between you, drawn in sand and mud.
Safe.
Danger.
Hunt.
Stay.
And sometimes he would leave you little offerings, cleaned bones from his kills, scavenged tech scraps, a strange fruit you had never seen before.
His way of caring.
You started smiling more around him.
He noticed.
His mandibles twitched into what you thought might be a grin.
The first time you touched him was after another ambush.
One of the mutated beasts had cornered you.
Its claws had ripped through your shoulder, blood hot down your arm.
R'thok tore it apart with a roar that shook the trees.
You stumbled. He caught you.
Huge clawed hands, shockingly gentle, cupped your body and kept you from falling.
You pressed your forehead against his chest without thinking, panting.
"You… you’re warm," you whispered weakly.
He made a rumbling sound, almost like a purr.
Without words, he hoisted you up, carrying you like you weighed nothing, and set you down in the shelter of a hollowed tree.
When you woke later, the wound was stitched neatly, and R'thok was there. Watching. Guarding.
Yours.
The final fight was brutal.
The leader of the beasts pinned R'thok first.
You had a split-second decision: save yourself, or save him.
You didn’t hesitate.
You drove your knife into the creature’s eye, grabbing a discarded plasma caster and blasting it at point-blank range.
The thing screeched and died.
You turned to R'thok, chest heaving.
He was staring at you in a way he had never before.
Not as prey.
Not as an equal.
As something more.
He leaned down, his clawed hand brushing your cheek. You shivered, not in fear, but at the intensity in his gaze.
When he pressed his forehead gently to yours, you understood: it was a vow.
Among his kind, that meant something deeper than any words.
A bond. A claiming.
Love.
You closed your eyes and pressed back.
Yes.
Months later, after the rescue teams came and went, after you chose to disappear from your old life, you lived among the stars.
In a hidden place where Yautja and humans met in secret.
Where no hunt ruled your days anymore.
Only him.
Your mate.
Your hunter.
Your heart.
The ship thrummed around you, metal walls glowing faintly blue with low light.
You sat on the narrow sleeping platform in R'thok's quarters — if they could even be called that. Everything was raw, functional: weapon racks, a table of trophies, pelts spread across the floor. The air smelled like steel, blood, and something warmer... him.
He stood before you, massive and still. His armour stripped away, leaving only thick, scarred skin that shimmered faintly in the low light.
His golden eyes softened as he looked at you.
You got up slowly, your pulse a wild drumbeat. You barely came up to his chest, but he bowed his head to you, patient, waiting.
Waiting for you to make the move.
You reached up, fingertips brushing the hard line of his jaw. His skin was warm, surprisingly soft over the brutal strength beneath. His mandibles twitched, a low, almost uncertain rumble rising from his chest.
"R'thok," you whispered.
You didn’t need to say more.
The bond between you crackled like a live wire.
With a low groan, he caught your hand and drew it to his mouth. His tusks brushed your knuckles as he breathed you in.
And then, so slowly it made your head spin, he pulled closer.
You felt the heat of him.
His massive hands slid down your sides, claws grazing lightly over your hips, your thighs, as if memorising every inch.
You reached for the woven cords across his chest and tugged.
He growled low, a sound of approval and need, and helped you, stripping the cords away.
He was all muscle and old scars.
A living weapon who had chosen you, knelt for you.
He bent, pressing his forehead against yours again, the sacred gesture of his people, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering as wildly as your own.
Your fingers traced the thick cords of muscle over his shoulders, his chest, sliding lower.
His body shuddered under your touch.
When your hands grazed the hard line of his abdomen, he snarled low, catching you at the waist and lifting you as easily as if you weighed nothing.
You gasped, but he was already carrying you to the furs on the floor, laying you down with impossible tenderness.
Hovering above you, he hesitated.
He brushed your cheek, your throat, your racing pulse.
Are you sure? - his eyes asked.
You answered by grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down.
The kiss was clumsy at first, Yautja mouths weren’t made for it, but he learned quickly.
Pressing his mandibles against your skin, nipping lightly, tasting you.
His scent wrapped around you, wild, electric, addictive.
Your clothes came off in pieces, discarded into the dark.
When you were finally bare under him, his gaze raked over you with a hunger that was almost reverent.
He touched you like a treasure, each brush of his massive hands making you ache.
He was careful as he explored you.
Mapping every sound you made, every shiver, every sharp intake of breath.
You gasped when his hand slid lower, between your thighs, and he paused, snarling softly in warning, in need.
Telling you he would go slow.
You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, anchoring yourself to him, and whispered against his ear:
"I'm yours."
He froze.
Then he roared and surged against you.
The first push of his made you cry out, he was so big, you could feel every inch.
But he was gentle, trembling with the effort to hold back. Giving you time to adjust and grow used to him.
You clutched at his shoulders, at the ridges of his back, moaning into his skin.
He rocked into you slowly at first, every movement careful, deliberate. Worshipful.
But soon restraint gave way to need.
His pace quickened, driving deeper, and you met him eagerly, rising to meet each thrust.
It was overwhelming. Consuming.
You felt the bond between you ignite — something ancient, primal — not just physical, but something deeper.
As you shattered beneath him, you felt him follow, his body locking tight against yours with a desperate, broken snarl.
He didn't let go.
Not even after.
He curled himself around you, protective and fierce, his breath hot against your neck.
One massive hand covered your belly. His way of marking you.
You lay there, panting, stroking the side of his face with trembling fingers.
"Yours," you whispered again, kissing the corner of his mandible.
A deep, vibrating purr answered you, the sound of utter devotion.
You closed your eyes, safe for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
Not hunted.
Not alone.
Chosen.
Loved.
Forever.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
I wanna get on a Yautja and ride immediately bleez
tags & content: NSFW, sexual content, male yautja, alien/human relationship, yautja culture, established relationship, size difference, riding, AFAB reader, human reader, healthy mates!
Ma’tho adores it when you ride him.
You sense it’s something beyond your comprehension, an inherit male Yautja trait to accommodate their females. You aren’t anything close to a female Yautja in any way, but Ma’tho lets you ride him like one.
His cock is always too big at first, and your thighs tense around his hips (as far as you can manage them). Your fingers curl into his chest, feeling the vibrations of his low purrs. He’s trying to comfort you, but equally, he’s trying not to snap his hips and bury his cock inside of you, or grab your hips to force you down himself.
With female Yautja, they took charge. It was better if their male counterpart wrestled and fought, a violent fight part of foreplay, but they ultimately stood no chance against an aroused female who knew what she wanted.
On the contrary, you weren’t capable of wrestling Ma’tho, or pinning him down. It made it that much harder for him to reel in his self control, knowing he had the most strength to take control instead.
“Your cock is so big,” you whine, your hips rocking. You try to ease yourself down, but it’s a slow and arduous task.
Ma’tho’s mandibles almost flare.
“Careful,” he warns in a growl. “You will make me lose patience.”
You let out a soft little laugh, something that makes his eyes crinkle. He’s been your mate for so long, but sometimes, it feels like your heart flutters like it’s the first time. You sit back, intending to put on a show. You circle your hips, run your hands through your hair, tilt your head back.
The more of his cock you take, the more pleasure wrings up your spine. You moan, teeth biting down on your bottom lip.
“Fuck, Ma’tho,” you whine, your voice a slur. “Feels good. You feel so good.”
His hands cup your waist, large enough for his fingers to touch at the small of your back. He doesn’t help the rhythm, just holds you, his eyes scanning holes into your bare skin.
You rock a little faster, chasing a much needed release. But you’re still happy to rile him up a little more, just to feel his claws sink into your skin. You cup your breast, stretching your spine a little higher as you toss him a cheeky look.
“I love you,” you moan, and it’s enough to send you over the edge. Your orgasm always comes easily, and the moment your pace falters, Ma’tho decides it’s time. His hips buck up into you, tearing a wet gasp from your throat.
Your fall forward onto your elbows, and he immediately clamps an arm across your waist, pinning you to his chest. You can’t do anything but let him fuck you, your fingers digging hard into his chest.
“Oh, m’god,” you slur, the pleasure so intense it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. You don’t know how long you’re there for, Ma’tho’s hand cupping your ass, fucking into you, but you feel a growl vibrate in his throat, and before long, his come floods into you.
It’s warm, and viscous, and it sends you into a second, bone shaking orgasm before you can even suck in a breath.
His mandibles kiss your temple, smoothing at the sweaty hair.
“I love you too,” he finally murmurs, and you manage a lopsided, sleepy smile. You know he’s not finished with you for the night. But you don’t mind.
"Yes love?", you ask, sitting up from your nest of furs and pelts, your mate slowly lowers himself to you.
"We are leaving...", he mumbled, "This trip was not successful, I was wrong to bring you here, I will take you home, and then come back alone when I can get a second chance"
You sighed, cupping your mates face, giving him a gentle kiss on the armored mask.
"Very well," you agreed, getting up from your nest, packing your items and then eventually getting on the ship and taking off back home.
It was a short trip back, you felt back you had ruined the trip by basically getting kidnapped by the game. Berserker could sense your sadness and promised that when you returned back to the clan, he would have a young one go to Earth and bring you back some nice Earth things, so that you could see some of the things that hail from your home planet. You smiled at this thought and proceeded to snuggle into your mates chest as he sat in the command room.
The return home was uneventful, as you were usually allowed to walk around, the first couple weeks home you weren't feeling so well. Often spending your mornings vomiting outside in the bushes, sleeping till noon, and eating weird foods that were even considered odd in yautja culture.
Berserker got quite nervous when you started getting moody, you never seemed to lash out at him, as you were afraid of upsetting him, but now you were a bit more annoyed at his mating advances, often refusing to go along with him on small hunts.
Worried you may have caught a strong virus, he took you to the clans healers, and the news was wonderful.
You were pregnant.
Your mates mandibles clicked with joy, and he purred into you, his claws grazing over your stomach gently, happy with the news he threw together a hunting party and went off into the local wilderness to find the largest animal he could to serve to you, as per tradition (that I made up).
He returned victorious, slaying the beast and presenting its skull and spine to you. It now hangs over the area where you decided to put your younglings sleeping bed.
Eventually as things go, days become weeks, and weeks become months, soon you were very swollen with child, carrying a yautja pup was very hard on your body, as you progressed you slowly began to slow down, not going out to hunt, you stopped doing chores, tending to be on bedrest more often that usual.
One day, while you were in a heated herbal bath, Berserker came in and joined you, causing the water to swish over a bit, he swayed over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his large hands over your stomach.
"(y/n)", he whispered, taking in a breathe of your hair.
"Yes love?" you ask, turning your head to look at him closer.
"The hunting spot came up again...I wish to go, but I will not go if you find it unacceptable for me to go."
You thought for a moment, as it took so long for him to get the spot for himself the first time, and now here you were ready to pop at any moment. Not wanting to be selfish you agreed that he could go, and that you would be fine.
Watching him, Tusk, and Falcon leave was a little heart breaking, you spent the time alone, thinking of names for the baby, learning to write in their language, and learning how to read their machines, as soon you would have your one communicator bracelet, so that when your mate goes off planet, you could still talk to him while he was gone.
He wasn't gone very long this time, he returned after a few days, you were so happy when you heard the news you waited at the landing dock for him to return. When those ship doors opened, you saw him walk off full of pride, new trophies tied to his belt, mostly human, perhaps he had hunted those humans from before. You ran into his arms, and he hugged you back, taking you up from under your legs, holding you up with his great strength.
"Was the hunt honorable?", you asked, feeling his dreads with your hands.
He carried you back to his home.
"I have many trophies to give to you my mate," he purred, leaving Tusk and Falcon to unload the ship.
But with their arrival back, Tusk and Falcon were sought out by other yautja women, and left the ship unattended, not knowing of what they brought back with them to their home planet.
While the darkness of night overtook the sky, two people stepped off planet, truing not to be scene by the lights coming off of the ship, they quickly scurried to the Jungle Hunters Clan. Taking note of the buildings, they looked around for anyone that would be out of place, something that wouldn't be needed by full blood yautja.
These two humans who have stepped off the ship, were familiar faces that had met you before. Isabelle and Royce, they had snuck onto the ship while your mate was hunting the others, Edwin and Nikolai did not make it, but they did not seem, bothered all that much, their minds were preferably stuck on their own survival.
Quickly scanning the many homes, their eyes landed on the ones that had a set of very small shoes sat outside the door, feet too small for yautja, but big enough for an adult to wear outside to cover the soles of their feet from the spikey ground.
The two of them walked up to the door, and gently pushed it in, not having locks on doors were often common on this planet, as it was dishonorable to attack someone while they were asleep. It was a code of like that many did not dare to cross, as it would bring dishonor upon themselves and their clans.
Walking throughout the halls of the place you called home, Isabelle and Royce walked through the kitchen rea, taking note of the abundance of fruit and veggies, often things yautja do not eat frequently, then walking past a living area where they saw a CD player and some discs of random artists.
"She's definitely here.." Royce whispered, continuing the sweep of the house, his eyes landing on the back room, which its doorway was covered with a large cloth.
Royce took a few moments to sneak up to the curtain, slowly pupping it back. In the middle of the room he could see the floating nest where Berserker and you slept. The two forms sleeping away peacefully on the bed, you curled up in his arms, while his limbs danged off the sides of the nest, hovering in the air.
Royce raised his hand above your mouth about to wake you up and smother your gasp, but Isabelle quickly ran up and stopped him
"What?", he whispered, annoyed that he was stopped.
"Look at her!" Isabelle, gestured to your body, "She's pregnant! This isn't a good idea"
Royce rolled his eyes, going back to his original plans, smothering his hand over your mouth and then tapping you awake.
You jolted awake, about to scream, but you felt a warm hand covers your mouth. You looked over to the owner of the hands owner, you felt tears sting your eyes, realizing the possible predicaments you were in.
Royce signals to you to come on, and slowly eases you off the bed, and out of your mates arms, trying not to wake up, and then sneaking you out of your home, Royce dragged you to the ship and shoved you towards it, pointing a pistol at you.
"Fly us home." he ordered, pointing the gun at you,
"I do-I don't know how to fly," you stammered
"Bullshit" he snarled, pushing you inside the ship and then forcing you into the pilots seat.
You felt uneasy as you were placed in the captains chair, the familiar hologram screen appearing before you, you slowly began to type into the control console, hitting enter.
Royce looked at you expectantly, watching you push buttons with symbols that didn't make sense to him at all, watching you hit the enter key, hoping that soon the ship would take off and they would be on their way way home. Yet nothing happened.
"What the hell was that?" he yelled, shoving your shoulder
"I don't know how to fly!" you cried,
"Royce, c'mon" Isabelle remarked, placing hand on your shoulder
Royce stomped back and forth, and looking out the open door of the ship, he began to see lights turn on, as yautja began to run towards the ship, his brain clicked.
Grabbing you by the hair, he dragged you to the front of the doors and threw you on the ground, you fell to the ground shielding your stomach from the fall.
"She fucking alerted them" Royce growled, pointing the pistol at the back of your head.
You looked up to see Berserker run at you, behind him Tusk and Falcon followed, along with other blooded members of the tribe.
Royce fired a warning shot a few inches away from your head, forcing all the yautja to stop in their tracks.
"Fucking traitor to your race," Royce spit at you, looking up at the yautja who were staring him down.
"I want to go home!," he shouted, "If I don't get to go home, neither does she"
You half expected for Berserker to have some sort of plan in dealing with this, but instead he slowly popped off his armored helmet, dropped his utilities belt, and walked up slowly towards the three of you. Isabelle had her gun pointed at your mate the whole time.
Clicking can be heard coming from your mates mandibles, as he pointed towards the captains chair, he calmly walked onto the ship, and silently typed on the keyboard, the rumbling of the ship started, indicating it was taking off.
Berserker then walked back, and picked you up slowly, not taking his eyes off of Royce and Isabelle. The ships door began to slowly shut, and since their window was closing, the two of them quickly hopped aboard the ship, and it slowly made its way off of the ground, and then eventually was floating through the air. Its thrusters slowly increasing in power.
As the thrusters began to glow a bright orange, your mate held his arm out in front of you, a single symbol was on his wrist brand, you looked at him and then at the ship. Smiling while doing so, you pushed the button, and together you watched the ship prepare are for takeoff, and then self detonate in the sky.
The clan erupted with roars and growls, chanting at the death of these humans who dared try and hold you hostage on their turf.
A part of you felt bad, you had just murdered the nicest human you've ever known, the first few humans you had met who had actually been to earth. Maybe you were a traitor to your race, but you were reassured, as the next days you found yourself in labor, and after that, you held close to your chest a small suckling, who was identical to his father.
Having his wrapped to your chest constantly apparently was a weird sight, as most mother of yautja did not care for their children the same way you did, but you didn't care, as your instincts were different, you were different.
He was the Berserker predator, and you his mate, the two of you from different sides of the planet.
One a grand warrior to his people and his race, and the other a loving mother, traitor to hers.
Plot: You’re mated to the Berserker predator, and his hunting reserve slot comes up, but you are in the middle of your cycle for the month, and for the desire to sire his offspring, he brings you along for the trip. But while along for the trip, you get mistaken for one of the humans who were recently dropped on the planet for game. Thinking you have head trauma, they drag you along for the ride, causing your mate to get even more aggressive and even a little jealous.
Summary: Kwei realises that something is wrong when you begin to withdraw emotionally. Confused by human needs, he seeks guidance from Thia.
Kwei notices it during your quiet moments.
Not when you laugh. Not when you speak. But when you go silent beside him.
Your gaze unfocused, hands folded too neatly in your lap.
You sit near him, but not against him.
You sleep beside him, but curled inward.
He tells himself it is nothing. Humans are quieter, smaller, and more contained.
He was taught that closeness is for heat, for battle, for mating. Not for stillness.
And yet.
You smile less.
You touch him less.
One night, you wake before dawn and stare at the wall, eyes glossy with something you do not say out loud.
When Kwei reaches for you out of instinct, you hesitate before leaning into his hand.
That hesitation unsettles him more than any wound ever has.
He seeks Thia the next day.
She listens without interruption as Kwei speaks.
“She is not injured. She is not ill. But something is wrong.” Kwei says and Thia could tell how scared he was.
“Does she withdraw?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Does she grow quiet instead of loud?”
“Yes.”
Thia thinks slowly.
“Then she is lacking something.”
Kwei frowns.
“Food is plentiful. Shelter is secure. She is protected.”
Thia looks at him for a long moment.
“She is human. Not prey. Not warrior. Human.”
She leads him to a storage chamber and retrieves a data log, old and well used.
“This was compiled for diplomats. It details human emotional patterns. Needs. Bonding behaviours.”
Kwei accepts it.
“Humans require closeness,” Thia continues. “Touch without purpose. Attention without demand. They strengthen through softness.”
Kwei stiffens.
“Softness is weakness.”
Thia meets his eyes.
“Then your teaching is incomplete.”
That night, Kwei reads the logs.
He learns about oxytocin. About comfort touch. About how humans bond through closeness rather than dominance. How silence without contact feels like rejection. How being held is not submission, but reassurance.
He closes the log, and he thinks of you.
The next time you sit beside him, he moves closer.
Not abruptly, slowly.
Just enough that your shoulders brush.
You notice immediately.
Your posture relaxes.
Kwei watches closely, and takes mental note of every small detail.
That night, when you sleep, he pulls you closer without waking you. One arm wraps around your waist, careful, steady.
You sigh in your sleep and turn into his chest as if you had been waiting for permission.
Something in Kwei also changes.
Over the following days, he continues.
He rests his hand on your back when you stand too long. He presses his forehead to yours when you go quiet. He allows you to curl against him without asking why.
The change in you is unmistakable.
You smile more. You speak more. Your eyes soften when you look at him.
One evening, you laugh quietly and tuck yourself against his side, head resting over his heart.
“You seem happier,” you murmur.
“So do you,” he replies.
He realises then that his own mood has changed.
The tension he carried without noticing has eased. The constant vigilance has softened into something steadier.
“You need this,” he says quietly.
You glance up at him.
“Need what?”
“This,” he answers, tightening his hold just slightly. “Closeness.”
You hesitate, then nod.
“Yes.”
Kwei lowers his head, resting it against yours.
“I was taught softness makes one weak. But you are stronger like this.”
“And so are you,” you say gently.
He believes you.
For the first time, Kwei understands that strength is not only forged in silence and steel, sometimes, it is also built in arms held open.
Summary: Somehow, you were always at the wrong place at the wrong time. And what seemed to be your demise, turned into your future.
A/N: Once again, this is a Yautja I made up, hope you like it, enjoy.
A Yautja was a different kind of being.
Although that was rather obvious just by the fact that they were literal aliens, you did notice similarities between them and humans. Sometimes they were small little things that you noticed and other times they were very obvious.
You, a humble little human, who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Summary: During a sacred Yautja ceremony, a warrior must choose the mate who will stand beside him for life. Among proud hunters and warriors, you expect to remain unseen.
Kwei walks through the forest slowly, the weight of the skull resting in his hands. The creature had been strong. Fast. Its claws had cut through stone and bark alike, leaving deep scars across the trees where it fought for its life.
But it had not been strong enough.
Kwei had brought it down before sunrise, ending the fight with a clean strike through the spine.
Now, its skull belongs to him.
And soon, it will belong to someone else.
It is quiet as he returns to the clan grounds.
The evening air is cold, carrying the smell of distant fire smoke.
The clan is already preparing. Fires are being lit.
Warriors move through the settlement, carrying supplies and sharpening blades.
They all know what tomorrow is.
The claiming ceremony.
A tradition older than most of the warriors present.
A hunt is completed. The skull of the creature is offered. And from the females of the clan, one is chosen to become a wife.
Kwei reaches the entrance of the central courtyard and pauses for a moment.
His brother is waiting.
Dek stands near one of the fire pits, arms crossed over his chest. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes immediately fall on the skull in Kwei’s hands.
“A worthy kill,” Dek says.
Kwei steps closer and sets the skull on the stone table between them.
The bone is thick and ridged, its teeth curved and brutal. A dangerous creature. The kind that earns respect when it is brought down.
Dek runs a clawed finger across one of the horns.
“It will make a fine first gift.”
Kwei grunts in agreement.
The skull will not remain here long. By this time tomorrow, it will be placed in the hands of his chosen mate.
Dek glances at him.
“You have decided, then.”
It is not a question.
Kwei has never been one to hesitate.
“Yes.”
Dek leans back slightly, studying his brother.
“And yet you have told no one.”
Kwei does not answer.
He reaches for a cloth and begins cleaning the remaining blood and dirt from the bone.
The silence stretches.
Dek snorts softly.
“You enjoy this.”
Kwei glances at him briefly.
“What?”
“The mystery. Every female in this clan has been preparing for weeks.”
Kwei knows.
He has seen it.
Some train harder. Some speak louder. Some walk closer to him than they once did, hoping their presence will be noticed.
Dek gestures lazily toward the outer paths of the settlement.
“They believe they know what you want.”
Kwei finally sets the cloth aside.
“They are wrong.”
Dek’s brow ridges lift slightly.
“Oh?”
Kwei leans his weight against the stone table.
“I do not want a warrior.”
Dek blinks.
That is not the answer he expected.
“You are a hunter. One of the strongest in this clan.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you not want a warrior beside you?”
Kwei looks toward the distant treeline.
Because he has seen what that looks like.
He has watched the pairings before.
Two warriors sharing a home that feels more like a training ground.
Competition.
Strength measured every day.
He does not want that.
“I have enough war in my life,” he says simply.
Dek studies him carefully now.
“You believe a warrior cannot bring peace.”
“I believe a warrior will not try.”
Dek crosses his arms again.
“And the others?”
Kwei knows what he means.
The females who have approached him these past months.
Strong hunters.
Impressive fighters.
Loud.
Proud.
They want to stand beside him because he is strong.
Because his name carries weight in the clan.
Because they believe standing next to him will raise their own.
But that is not what he wants.
Kwei glances down at the skull again.
“I do not want someone who sees me as a prize.”
Dek tilts his head slightly.
“And yet you have chosen.”
“Yes.”
The answer is firm.
Certain.
Dek’s gaze sharpens.
“Then tell me who you chose.”
Kwei meets his brother’s eyes.
“No.”
Dek laughs under his breath.
“You truly intend to surprise the entire clan.”
Kwei does not smile.
But his eyes shift slightly toward the path leading down to the water pools.
Earlier that day, he had passed by there.
He had seen you kneeling beside a youngling, cleaning a cut on the small warrior’s arm.
Your hands had been gentle.
Your voice soft.
You had not noticed him watching.
You rarely notice him.
Most of the others do.
They look at him with calculation.
With ambition.
With the quiet hunger to be chosen.
You do not.
You speak to him when spoken to.
You nod respectfully.
Then you return to whatever task you were doing.
Water.
Food preparation.
Helping someone who needed it.
You never try to impress him.
And that, strangely, had made you impossible to ignore.
Dek notices the shift in his gaze.
“You are thinking of her.”
Kwei’s attention snaps back to his brother.
“I did not say that.”
“You did not need to. Is she strong?”
Kwei considers the question.
Then shakes his head.
“Not in the way you mean.”
Dek leans forward slightly, curious.
“Then why her?”
Kwei looks around the courtyard.
The stone.
The weapons.
The skulls of old hunts mounted along the walls.
This place is strong.
Impressive.
But it is not warm.
His home is the same.
Strong.
Cold.
Empty.
He exhales slowly.
“A hunter can fill my walls with trophies. But they cannot fill my home.”
Dek’s expression changes slightly.
Understanding flickers there.
“You want warmth.”
“Yes.”
Dek studies him for a long moment.
“You believe she can give you that.”
Kwei nods once.
“I know she can.”
Dek pushes away from the fire pit and stretches his arms.
“Well. Tomorrow will be interesting.”
Kwei lifts the skull from the table again.
The bone is heavy.
Solid.
A worthy gift.
Tomorrow, he will place it in your hands.
You will be shocked.
He knows that already.
You will look up at him with those wide, uncertain eyes and wonder why he has chosen you.
He can already imagine the question forming in your mind.
Why me?
Kwei turns toward the ceremonial hall.
The fires inside are already being prepared.
The clan will gather.
The elder will speak.
And when the moment comes, he will walk past every female who tried to be noticed.
Until he stops in front of the one who never tried at all.
Dek calls after him.
“One last question.”
Kwei pauses.
His brother grins slightly.
“Are you certain she will accept you?”
Kwei glances back over his shoulder.
For a moment, his expression softens.
Then he answers.
“If she does not, I will accept it. But I will not choose another.”
Dek studies him carefully.
That answer surprises him even more than the rest.
Kwei turns away again and continues toward the hall.
The skull rests steady in his hands.
Tomorrow, the clan will believe he is choosing a wife.
But the truth is simpler than that.
Tomorrow, he will choose warmth.
---
You were the only human living in the settlement. Yautja wasn't really the kind to accept other species. But after one of their Elders took you from Earth as a live trophy, you began to live amongst them. You learned their language, their traditions and soon, you became a member of their clan.
During an attack, you proved yourself worthy by saving the younglings. They were left behind, not a priority. But you fought a monster and kept them safe.
It earned you your place in their society.
An independent female living on her own, doing chores she can.
This will not be your first ceremony. During such events, all females are present.
You were never chosen and you expect the same to happen today.
The fire is already burning when you arrive.
The smell of smoke mixes with the cool evening air.
You pause at the edge of the courtyard.
There are many females already standing near the stone platform where the ritual will take place.
Some are hunters.
Some are warriors.
All of them know why they are here.
You lower your gaze slightly as you move to stand among them.
The ceremony is an old tradition. One that carries weight within the clan. A warrior proves himself through a hunt, bringing back the skull of the creature he killed. That skull becomes the first gift to the female he chooses as his mate.
A promise.
A declaration.
A sign that he can provide.
And tonight, the warrior who will make that choice is Kwei.
You have spoken to him before.
But not often.
You do not think he even notices you.
So you take your place quietly among the others and keep your head lowered.
Around you, the other females stand tall.
Some wear their armour proudly. Others carry the marks of previous hunts on their skin. Their posture is confident. Their movements are careful and deliberate.
They expect to be seen.
You do not.
Your hands rest loosely in front of you as you stare at the ground underneath your feet.
The stone floor is warm from the fire.
The air around you feels heavy with anticipation.
Then the drums begin.
A deep, steady rhythm echoes across the courtyard. Warriors of the clan begin to gather around the outer circle, their large forms surrounding the ceremonial space.
You feel their eyes moving over the line of females.
Judging.
Watching.
Waiting.
You try not to think about it.
You try not to think about Kwei.
The drums grow louder.
Then suddenly they stop.
Silence falls across the courtyard.
You lift your eyes slightly.
The elder steps forward first.
He stands beside the stone platform, raising one hand to quiet the crowd completely.
“Tonight,” he begins, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard, “a hunter returns with honour.”
You hear movement behind you.
Heavy footsteps.
You already know who it is.
Kwei enters the courtyard slowly.
You do not look directly at him at first.
But you see the shape of him from the corner of your vision.
Tall.
Broad.
Strong.
In his hands, he carries the skull.
The bone is pale beneath the firelight, thick and ridged with long, curved horns. Even from this distance, you can see how dangerous the creature must have been when it was alive.
The elder gestures toward the skull.
“The hunt proves strength,” he says.
Kwei steps forward and places the skull on the ceremonial stone.
The bone lands with a heavy sound.
“The gift proves worth.”
You swallow slightly.
This is the moment every female here has been waiting for. You don't expect anything tonight. But then, why are you nervous?
The elder continues.
“From among the females of this clan, the hunter will choose the one he believes worthy to stand beside him. The skull of his hunt will become the first gift given to his mate.”
The elder steps back.
All attention turns to Kwei.
Your heart beats even faster now.
Kwei stands beside the skull for a moment.
He lifts it.
The bone looks heavy in his hands.
He turns.
And begins to walk.
You keep your head lowered.
You do not want to draw attention to yourself. You do not want to seem as if you expect anything.
So you stare at the stone floor and wait for the moment to pass.
Kwei’s footsteps move slowly down the line of females.
He stops briefly in front of the first.
She stands tall.
Confident.
But after a moment, he moves again.
Another female.
Another pause.
Another step forward.
You hear the faint murmurs of the crowd.
Everyone watching.
Your hands tighten slightly together.
You know he will not stop here.
You barely know him.
And you certainly are not the kind of female warriors usually choose.
You are not the strongest.
You are not the fiercest.
You have never tried to be.
So when the footsteps stop in front of you, you assume he is choosing the female standing beside you.
You remain still.
Head lowered.
Breathing quietly.
But the footsteps do not move again.
Seconds pass.
You lift your eyes.
And find Kwei standing directly in front of you.
Your breath catches.
For a moment, you simply stare at him.
Surely this is a mistake.
Surely he means someone else.
But his eyes are on you.
Only you.
The courtyard has gone completely silent.
Your heart begins to pound.
You glance slightly to the side, wondering if he will move again.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lowers the skull.
And places it gently into your hands.
The bone is heavier than you expected.
You nearly stumble under the sudden weight.
Your eyes widen in shock.
A ripple of murmurs spreads through the watching clan.
You barely hear them.
All you can see is Kwei standing in front of you.
All you can feel is the heavy skull resting in your arms.
Kwei speaks.
“This hunt, I dedicate to my mate.”
Mate.
The word echoes through your mind.
Your fingers tighten instinctively around the bone.
You look up at him again, searching his face for some sign that this is a mistake.
But there is none.
His expression is calm.
As if this decision was never in doubt.
The elder steps forward again.
“The gift has been given. The choice has been made.”
Your heart is still racing.
You feel the eyes of the entire clan on you now.
Some surprised.
Some curious.
You barely know what to do.
So you hold the skull carefully and bow your head slightly.
It is the only response you can manage.
You accepted.
The elder nods once.
“Then the bond is acknowledged.”
The drums begin again.
The ceremony continues.
But you barely hear any of it.
Your mind is still caught on one simple thought.
Kwei chose you.
Out of everyone standing here.
He chose you.
And you have absolutely no idea why.
The celebration lasts long into the evening.
Fires burn across the clearing, and the scent of roasted meat fills the air. Yautja warriors sit together, recounting hunts and victories, their deep voices carrying across the night. Skulls and trophies gleam in the firelight, reminders of strength and survival.
You sit quietly among the others. The other females congratulated you, you could tell, they were truly happy for you.
The skull Kwei offered you rests beside you, polished and carefully placed on a mat. It is heavier than you expected. Not just in weight, but in meaning.
You try not to think about it.
Instead, your fingers trace the ridges of the skull, remembering the moment he placed it in your hands. The heat of his gaze. The certainty in his voice.
You are still not entirely sure this is real.
Across the fire, Kwei sits with the other hunters.
He speaks little. That part does not surprise you.
But his eyes move often.
And every time they do, they return to you.
You feel it each time.
It makes your heart beat strangely.
Eventually, the celebration begins to thin. Warriors rise and return to their homes. The fires burn lower. The air grows quieter.
You stand slowly, unsure of what comes next.
You feel his presence before you hear him.
Heavy footsteps approach behind you.
"Kwei."
His voice is low, gentle in a way that surprises you.
You turn.
Up close, he seems even larger than before. The firelight catches along the plates of his armour and the faint scars across his skin.
For a moment, neither of you speak.
Then he gestures.
A simple motion toward the path leading away from the clearing.
You follow him.
The walk is quiet.
The clan settlement fades behind you, replaced by the softer sounds of night insects and distant wind moving through the stone.
His home stands slightly apart from the others.
It is sturdy, built from thick wood and dark stone, decorated with trophies of hunts long past. Bones, claws, and carved markings line the entrance.
Yet the inside feels strangely empty.
Cold.
You step inside cautiously.
Kwei enters behind you and closes the door.
For a long moment, he simply stands there, watching you.
You feel suddenly very aware of yourself.
Of the skull you still carry.
Of the strange new weight of being chosen.
Finally, you speak.
"Why?"
The word leaves you before you can stop it.
Your voice is quiet, but the question feels enormous in the silence.
Kwei tilts his head slightly.
You force yourself to continue.
"There were stronger females."
Your hands tighten slightly around the skull. You look down briefly.
"I am not like them."
Silence fills the room.
You wonder if you have spoken out of place.
Then Kwei moves.
He steps closer until he stands only a short distance away.
Up close, his size is overwhelming.
But his posture is calm.
Not threatening.
His voice is softer than you expected.
"I know."
You blink.
He reaches out slowly, tapping two claws gently against his chest.
"My home."
Then he gestures around the room.
The cold walls.
The empty space.
"It is cold." His gaze returns to you. "I do not want another hunter."
His head tilts again, studying your expression carefully.
"I want warmth."
Your breath catches slightly.
He gestures again, mimicking the shape of something being built with his hands.
"A nest."
A nest.
A home.
His voice lowers even further.
"You bring warmth."
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
You stare at him, trying to understand.
"But... we barely speak."
His mandibles shift slightly in what you slowly realise might be something like a smile.
"I observe."
You freeze.
"You bring food to injured younglings. You share water. You speak gently. You are kind."
Your cheeks grow warm.
You had never thought anyone would notice those things.
Kwei steps closer.
"The others want battle. I want peace."
His hand lifts slowly.
For a moment, you think he might touch you.
But he stops just short, as if he is unsure if he is allowed.
"You are different."
Silence settles between you.
Your heart beats quickly.
Slowly, carefully, you set the skull down on the nearby table.
Then you look back up at him.
"I don't know how to be a Yautja wife."
The words feel embarrassingly small.
He shakes his head.
"I do not want a Yautja wife. I want you."
The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else.
Your chest tightens.
Slowly, you step forward.
His posture goes completely still.
You lift your hand.
For a moment, you hesitate.
Then you place your palm gently against his chest.
The warmth under your hand surprises you.
His breath catches slightly.
You look up at him.
"I can try."
The words are quiet but sincere.
Kwei does not move for several seconds. Then his large hand slowly lifts, covering yours where it rests against him.
---
The clan is quiet when Kwei returns from the hunt.
Night has already fallen. The air is sharp with the coming winter, cold enough that frost gathers along the edges of leaves and stones.
His armour is heavy with the scent of blood and earth. A large creature hangs across his shoulder, its claws bound with thick rope.
The hunt was successful.
Any other hunter would walk proudly through the clan with such a prize. Many do. They enjoy the attention, the admiration, the loud praise from other warriors.
Kwei walks past them without stopping.
His path leads somewhere else.
Home.
The word still feels strange sometimes. Not because it is unfamiliar, but because of what it has become.
Years ago, this place was nothing more than a shelter. Stone walls. A place to sleep between hunts. Cold, quiet, empty.
Now it is something different.
Now it is yours.
The door opens with a low wooden creak.
Warm air greets him first.
Then the smell.
Cooked meat. Herbs you gathered earlier in the day. The faint smoke from the fire burning in the hearth.
It is a scent he knows well now.
It is the scent of peace.
Furs cover the stone floor, and the large sleeping nest in the corner is piled high with thick pelts from hunts. Some are from creatures that live far. Some from beasts so large that bringing them home nearly cost him his life.
Every single one was brought here for the same reason.
You.
Humans feel cold easily. He learned that very quickly.
And so the nest grew warmer with every passing season.
Kwei lowers the creature from his shoulder onto the floor near the door.
The sound draws your attention.
You step out from the back room, wiping your hands against a cloth.
When you see him, your face lights up immediately.
"Kwei."
Your voice is soft and warm, exactly the way it always is when he returns.
You walk toward him without hesitation.
You are smaller than him. Much smaller. Yet you stand before him without fear, reaching for him.
Your hand touches his arm.
"You are back."
He nods once.
Your eyes move briefly to the creature on the floor.
"You had a good hunt."
Another nod.
You smile.
There is no jealousy in your voice. No competition. No pride that demands proof of strength, the way many Yautja females would.
Only quiet happiness that he returned safely.
The warmth in his chest spreads instantly.
You turn slightly, already moving toward the fire.
"I made food. I was not sure when you would return, but it should still be warm."
You speak casually, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe for you it is. For him, it is still something precious.
Something rare.
He watches you move around the room, adjusting the pot above the fire, setting out the carved wooden bowls you prefer to use. The soft fur around your shoulders shifts when you move.
You hum quietly to yourself while you work.
Kwei removes his armour slowly, placing the heavy pieces against the wall.
Your home is full now.
Not with trophies or weapons.
With life.
You glance back at him over your shoulder.
"Was the hunt difficult?"
He could tell you many things.
About the creature that nearly tore open his side. About the long chase through the frozen river. About the moment he drove his blade through the beast's skull.
But he only answers simply.
"It was good."
You laugh softly.
"You always say that."
Kwei tilts his head slightly.
It is true.
He does not enjoy talking about hunts the way the others do. They sit for hours telling stories of blood and battle.
He listens.
But he does not speak.
You bring the food to the low table near the fire and sit down.
"Come. Eat."
He steps closer.
But instead of sitting immediately, he reaches for you.
Large arms wrap around your body, lifting you easily from the floor before you can react.
You laugh in surprise.
"Kwei!"
He does not answer.
Instead, he carries you across the room toward the large nest of furs.
You try to continue your earlier conversation.
"What did you hunt this time? It looked big."
No answer.
You glance up at him.
He lowers himself onto the nest, pulling you with him until you are pressed safely against his chest.
Your head rests just under his chin.
Only then does he finally speak.
"I want to hear you."
You blink.
"What?"
His arms tighten slightly around you.
"Talk."
You laugh again, quieter this time.
"You just came back from a hunt and you want to hear me talk?"
He nods.
Your fingers trace small circles against the skin of his arm.
"What should I talk about?"
Kwei closes his eyes briefly.
Your voice is calm.
Soft.
Warm.
It fills the space in a way nothing else ever could.
"Anything."
You think for a moment.
Then you begin speaking about your day.
About the herbs you gathered near the river. About the young hunter who slipped in the mud during training and covered himself completely in dirt. About how one of the elders tried to teach you a new recipe, but nearly burned the meat.
Your words flow easily.
Kwei listens.
He does not interrupt.
Does not move.
His large body relaxes slowly under your gentle voice.
This is what he wanted all those years ago.
Not another warrior.
Not another hunter eager for battle.
Warmth.
A home.
A nest filled with life.
Your hand eventually moves through his dreadlocks absentmindedly while you continue talking.
Your fingers are gentle.
Comforting.
At some point, your voice slows.
"You are very quiet tonight."
He opens one eye slightly.
"I am listening."
You smile against his chest.
"Did you at least miss me while you were gone?"
The question is playful.
Light.
Kwei opens his eyes fully now.
His hand moves up, gently holding the back of your head as he pulls you closer.
Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t slept properly in two days.
Maybe it was the fact your body had been bent in every way a human body could bend the night before.
Maybe it was because your throat still burned, raw and tender from the way Zha’kor had used it like a toy for his pleasure.
Whatever it was, one thing was certain.
You were exhausted.
You had only a faint recollection of what happened while he helped you bathe. Fragments drifted back to you, the warmth of his arms around you, the way you clung to him without thinking, his touch gentle. You remembered his hand cupping your face, wiping away the water with slow, careful strokes.
“Zha’kor.”
You remembered the name, the sound of it on your tongue, rough, heavy and perfect. When you had said it, his chest had vibrated with something softer than you had ever heard from him, a low, satisfied purr, telling you that you had pronounced it just right for him.
And then everything went dark. You had passed out in his arms, slipping under like a candle burning its last drop of wax.
When you woke, you were tucked beneath a soft fur, your skin scented faintly with that same sweet fruit he had fed you once. Your hair was still damp, your body clean.
You blinked once. Twice. Adjusting to the dim glow of the room… only to find the nest empty beside you.
Of course.
He wouldn’t stay to cuddle. What were you expecting?
You sat up, clearing your throat, then coughed once, the sound scraping against the tender ache left behind.
“I could fucking die,” you muttered, wide-eyed as you touched your neck, half surprised it was still intact.
How could someone make you feel so feral, so utterly undone, that even choking on him felt like a privilege?
But he wouldn’t do that. You knew that now. He was brutal, yes, but never cruel. His strength had always met your desire, never crossed it. He pushed, teased, tested… but he never took.
It was strange, though. For a creature so alien, he understood you too well. Your rhythm, your needs, the way your body responded. It made you wonder, for a second, if you really were the first human he had done this with.
You drew a breath, eyes roaming the empty space around you. No sign of him, but nearby sat a familiar sight. A platter of fruit.
You smiled. Of course he had left you breakfast. Again.
Only this time, something new caught your eye. Nestled among the familiar shapes were strange fruits you hadn’t seen before, deep purples, blushing pinks, thick stems that looked too large for their delicate bodies.
“Oh, you’re feeding off my curiosity now,” you murmured to the empty room, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. You could almost hear the amused click of his mandibles in reply.
He knew you too well by now. Knew that boredom gnawed at you when he wasn’t around, so he left you something to discover, something to explore.
You picked up one of the pink fruits, pressing it to your nose. It smelled divine, like honey and sun-warmed berries. You pushed your thumbs into the stem and split it open easily, the scent blooming through the air, sweet enough to make you salivate.
The first bite was heaven, soft, creamy, a perfect blend of sweet and tart that melted over your tongue. For a fleeting second, it reminded you of strawberry milk ice cream, your favorite.
A strange coincidence. Or maybe not.
You moaned softly without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut as you savored the taste, licking the juice from your lips. The world blurred to that single sensation, soft, sweet, indulgent. You didn’t even notice that your throat no longer ached.
He had left that fruit on purpose…
Quietly, carefully, without a word.
Your chest warmed at the thought.
He was a hunter, ruthless, unrelenting and yet somehow, when it came to you, he was gentle.
You stood up, your body still bare, and decided it was time to find something, anything, to cover yourself with, before he decided to chase you around again just because you dared to walk through his ship naked.
He had warned you, made it painfully clear that you weren’t to walk around without clothes again. You didn’t know exactly what he would do if you disobeyed, but he had been too worked up at the time for you to even think about questioning him.
You stepped out of the nest quietly, your bare feet carrying you to where your underwear had been tossed and forgotten. You tiptoed over, slipping it on quickly, half-expecting him to appear out of nowhere and grab you for breaking one of his strange rules.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
It wasn’t surprising, though. He was probably out hunting. Yesterday, after all, he had stayed behind just to play with you.
You shook your head at the thought.
Play. That word didn’t fit what had happened between you. All you had wanted was his attention, but now even you called it playing, as if that softened what you truly wanted. Because deep down, you wanted so much more.
Your mind drifted to the promise you had made to yourself last night.
“I’m going to drive him insane.”
You didn’t even remember what had pushed you to think it, but as the memory replayed, you found yourself agreeing again. You wanted to make him lose control, make him chase you, crave you, beg for a taste. You wanted to see him crawl, desperate and thirsty.
You had done enough crawling for him.
You bit your lip at the image that sneakily formed in your mind, his massive frame dropping to his knees, crawling like a beast but with eyes that begged, heavy dreadlocks brushing the floor as he moved toward you. You could almost hear the low, rhythmic clicks of his mandibles, the soft sounds he made when he wanted you to soften up for him.
“No,” you’d smile at him, your voice calm but commanding, your foot pressing between his shoulder blades, pushing him down. He would growl in frustration, but even then, a pleased groan would escape his mouth just from feeling your touch.
Let me touch you, please.
You could almost hear his plea.
Your heart was racing now. The images felt too vivid, too real and for a moment you realized you were the one going insane instead.
You exhaled slowly and shook your head. No. This time, it was his turn to beg. You were done surrendering. He would have to be the one crawling for you.
You made your way back to the pool, quietly, searching for your T-shirt. But it wasn’t there. You were sure you had tossed it somewhere near the bath before you slipped in. You remembered it clearly… didn’t you?
You retraced your steps, first to the nest, then to the room you had once been locked in, but it wasn’t there either.
You huffed, frustration bubbling up as if your memory had decided to turn on you.
“What the fuck…” you muttered.
You wandered through the ship, trying to recall, maybe hoping something would spark your memory. Maybe I blacked out again… you thought, feeling uneasy.
Then came into view a massive metallic door you didn’t recognise, standing at the far end of the corridor. You weren’t sure if you were even allowed in there and you doubted your shirt had somehow ended up behind it. But something, some reckless, foolish impulse, made you want to snoop. Maybe he was in there. Maybe he was watching you, hidden in the shadows, amused at your curiosity again.
You approached the door. There was a padlock, sleek and red, mounted on its surface. You tilted your head, thinking.
You might have lost track of your shirt, but your memory? That was solid. You still remembered the exact sequence he had entered with his clawed finger the first time he had let you out of your cage.
You crossed your fingers, hoping he hadn’t changed it. Then, carefully, you began to press the symbols in the right order, your fingertip dancing across the glowing red surface.
Click.
A soft hiss followed and the padlock released.
Your eyes widened.
“Well, that was easy,” you whispered, grinning as you patted yourself on the back. Your memory hadn’t failed you.
The room wasn’t as big as you had expected, smaller than the pool room, but far more important. It was the flight deck of the ship and you looked around curiously, taking in the flickering lights and soft hum of dormant alarms. There was a massive seat near the cockpit, clearly designed for Zha’kor, broad enough to fit his size, yet luscious enough to suit his style.
You knew he was impressive in size, but he intended on making sure everyone else knew it too. Every surface reflected his strength and triumph, the place arranged like a museum of victories.
The control panel stretched wider than the seat itself and your feet carried you closer, your eyes tracing the alien buttons and strange glowing symbols. You touched the cold, reinforced glass of the viewport, but it was dark for now.
Still, your attention kept drifting back to the massive seat… and there, at its base, something white caught your eye.
You leaned down, fingers brushing the fabric before you even registered what it was. Soft. Familiar. Your shirt, crumpled and warm.
The realization hit you like a sudden, cold wave.
He had taken it.
The same hunter who had snarled that if you ever strolled the ship naked again he would hunt you down, pin you, make you regret every teasing step. He had hidden your shirt here, in his locked lair, so you’d stay bare and give him an excuse to chase you again…
Oh.
Oh.
A smirk curled your mouth.
That slick bastard…
He wanted you running, heart hammering, thighs trembling with anticipation while he stalked you through the corridors. Wanted the moment he caught you, claws sinking into your hips, cock shoving deep, your back bowed against cold metal as he growled your name like a threat.
Your fingers tightened on the shirt.
It was wet.
Not bath-water damp. A thick, warm slickness coated the cotton, shimmering faintly green under the low lights of the deck. You dragged it closer, the scent hitting you, sharp, musky, him.
He had used it…
Fisted himself right here, shirt bunched around his cock, hips jerking as he spilled into the fabric that still carried your scent. Probably came with your name caught behind his mandibles, struggling not to roar.
A mischievous laugh escaped you as you eyed the ruined shirt.
“You sick perv,” you muttered under your breath, as the scene unfolded behind your eyes like a fever dream.
You pictured him finding your damp T-shirt after bathing you, steam still clinging to the fabric, his claws flexing uncertain.
He would turn it over in his massive hands, your scent soaked into every thread, driving him sick with need.
A war inside his thick skull: keep it, burn it, bury it in the trophy room?
Then he would surrender, slowly and inevitably.
He would sink into this very chair, legs spread wide, the metal creaking under his weight. Your shirt squeezed in one fist, pressed to his face, dragged down the ridges of his chest until it wrapped around the thick, alien length of him.
He would imagine you there, straddling his lap, thighs trembling as you sank inch by agonizing inch onto his cock. Your moans would spill against his throat, teeth sinking into the tough hide of his shoulder to muffle the scream when he bottomed out. His claws would grab your hips, pinning you, guiding you, forcing you to take every brutal roll of his hips until your voice cracked on his name.
Pull, he’d rasp, guiding your hands to his dreadlocks. You would fist them hard, yank, and the growl that tore from him would rattle the walls.
You could almost see it clearly now, his fist pumping, relentless, your shirt a ruined sleeve around him. The other hand twisted in his own dreads, mimicking what he craved from you. Hips snapping up, chasing his orgasm, chasing the ghost of your heat. When he came, it was probably with a choked snarl, hot stripes soaking through cotton, his whole frame shuddering with the shame of wanting a fragile human so badly.
“Fuck…” The word slipped out of you, as you dropped into the chair. The seat was still warm. The air reeked of sex, of him. You pressed your thighs together, pulse thudding low and let your head fall back against the seat where his scent lingered the strongest.
He had been right here, losing his mind over you.
Why did he have to be such a filthy tease? Stealing your clothes, jerking off into them like some perv. What were you supposed to do, pretend you didn’t notice? That after flooding your mouth with his cum, he was still so wrecked for you, he came again with nothing but some cotton with your scent on it?
You liked it… God, you liked it way too much.
A shaky breath left you, burning low in your belly and sparking fire between your thighs. One more second and you would combust if you didn’t touch yourself. Right here.
Let your scent soak into his chair, his air, his everything.
When he’d come back and find the shirt gone, found you had been here, sprawled in his seat, fingers slick and trembling… oh, he would lose it.
You grinned, wicked and breathless and let your hand slip beneath the waistband of your panties. You were already drenched, clit swollen and begging.
The fantasy slammed into you again, him earlier, shirt pressed to his mandibles, inhaling you like oxygen while his fist pumped hard. Cursing in his guttural language as his cock jerked at the memory of your tongue on him, your throat opening, gagging sweet around his girth, tiny hands pumping what your mouth couldn’t take, his hips rolling to meet every thrust of his fist.
Your fingers found your clit and circled, slow, then faster, matching the rhythm you imagined he had used.
You imagined him gripping the armrest, dreadlocks moving, hips snapping into the ruined shirt until thick ropes of cum painted the fabric.
The image shattered you.
Your eyes rolled back, a broken moan slipping free as your pussy clenched hard around nothing, pulsing, aching for what wasn’t there.
You didn’t stop, you couldn’t.
Kept rubbing through the aftershocks, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling while you pictured his tongue lapping at your clit, hot and relentless, until you fucked his face chasing the next orgasm.
You came down panting, a stupid, sated grin smeared across your lips. The chair beneath you was warm, wet now with you. Lazily, you dragged your soaked fingers across the armrest, marking it.
“Pervert,” you whispered, not sure if you meant him or yourself.
You scooped your ruined shirt off the floor, the fabric heavy and warm, still slick with his release.
A low hum left your throat as you pulled it over your head. It slid down your body, clinging to your breasts, your ribs, the wet cotton cooling fast against your flushed skin.
Every shift made it drag across your nipples, teasing them until they tickled. You didn’t bother fixing it, letting it hang crooked, one shoulder slipping, the hem barely skimming your thighs.
Let him see what he had done.
Revenge tasted sweet on your tongue. You would work him up until his control snapped, until those primal growls turned into please and he bent you over the nearest surface and fucked you raw, just like he had threatened.
Your feet carried you through the corridors and you let your heels click louder, hips swaying, calling him like a siren.
No answer. No growl, no shadow peeling from the walls.
You almost felt disappointed.
Another door caught your eye, smaller, set deep into the bulkhead.
The padlock wasn’t on the outside this time. It was bolted to the inside of the room, a heavy red mechanism glowing faintly. You traced it with your fingertip, eyes narrowing before you realise it locks from within and opens only from within.
A safe room.
You slipped inside. The space was almost empty, bare metal walls, a single low bench, a sealed water pouch clipped to the wall and weapons. A rack of blades, curved and alien.
An idea bloomed in your mind, dark and delicious and stupid. You tried to shake it off.
No, too risky.
But it clung to your brain, sticky and persistent.
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head harder.
“That’s suicide.”
But your body was already answering, cheeks flushed red, the thought of him clawing at the door, mandibles flaring, voice cracking with frustration when he realized his prey had caged herself.
One wrong move and you’d be dead. One right move and he would tear the ship apart to get to you, fuck you until you forgot your own name.
You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.
“Fuck it.”
You spun on your heel and went hunting for some traps. The danger tasted like copper and honey on your tongue and you were grinning like a mad thing as you disappeared down the corridor.
You sneaked through the rooms until the right door slid into view, the same one you had spotted from your first frantic game of hide-and-seek.
Darkness swallowed you before the room woke, low amber strips flickering to life, consoles humming, the air itself pulsing like a living thing.
Every vibration touched your bare skin under the ruined shirt, reminding you how little you wore, how much you reeked of him.
You walked deeper, eyes adjusting.
One table covered with hunting gear, coils of black rope, fine mesh nets and those sleek, toothless traps with wide jaws meant to clamp, but not to cut. A clean capture. Slow the prey, keep it breathing, skin it later.
Your pulse fluttered at the thought, how he never rushed the kill. He was truly terrifying in nature.
You ran a finger along a trap’s edge, imagining it snapping shut around his thick ankle, the growl that would follow.
A helpless grin tugged your mouth.
Perfect.
You gathered the ropes, the nets and two of the traps.
Then you moved to the next bench. Grenade-shaped canisters glinted, matte black and tempting. You lifted one, thumb brushing the cap and suddenly it blinked alive, counting down in red. Panic spiked in you and you slapped the cap again, the timer freezing at 00:03. Breath rushed out of you. Not those. You wanted smoke, flash, something to confuse him not actually hurt him.
Another device caught your eye, smaller, palm-sized. You pressed the stud and it leapt from your grip with a shriek so shrill your vision blurred, your knees buckling. You hit the floor crawling, ears ringing, lungs burning until your fingers found the switch and silenced it.
The sudden quiet left you gasping, forehead pressed to cool metal, heart pounding. You laughed shakily and pocketed it.
Oh, you’d use that. You wanted him on his knees anyway, mandibles trembling, claws scrabbling at the floor while that sound broke his control.
Ideas poured in, hot and reckless. Routes, angles, him snarling through your maze like a bull in a net.
You mapped it obsessively. Flight deck to safe room, back again, counting steps, testing sightlines. On the fifth pass you paused in the corridor, grinning at the shadows.
He would strut in here cocky, sure of his little human pet.
Time to remind him prey could bite back.
“You’re in for a hunt,” you breathed, the words tasting like sweet venom.
You scaled walls, crouched in alcoves, planted your toys with steady hands.
First, the heavy clamp-trap, half-hidden under a loose deck plate. Let it bite his ankle, slow him, make him think that was the worst you had.
He would laugh at the “soft human” trying to play hunter.
Then the net, with the laser tripwire strung low. After that, the near-invisible cords stretched ankle-high, ready to tangle those long legs of his. Enough space between each trap to keep him guessing, to drag the chase out until he was panting, furious, desperate.
You ran the course again and again, memorizing every dodge, every leap, making sure you wouldn’t get caught in one of the traps by accident.
Adrenaline sang in your blood as you waited for him, counting down the seconds.
And when the ship’s hatch finally opened, you were ready.
You had stashed a thick fur in the cold storage room earlier and now you wrapped it around your shoulders, masking your heat. He had bragged once, how he could see your heat glowing in your body.
Let him hunt blind for once.
You crouched behind crates, pulse hammering so hard you felt it in your ears. His feet hit the deck, heavy and fast, the echo of a predator fresh from a kill.
The air thickened instantly, thick with him, sweat, blood and that goddamn pheromone haze that turned your knees wobbly.
“Damn perv,” you hissed, but your voice cracked as the scent crawled over your skin. A wave of numbness rolled up your spine, you kneeled, catching yourself on a crate.
Not yet. You yanked a strip of cloth from the fur, tied it tight over your mouth and nose.
A makeshift filter, but it dulled the smell enough to think.
The flight-deck door hissed shut behind him.
And you waited, patiently, counting down the seconds until he realises.
And then came a very expected crush.
Metal screamed, followed by a guttural growl that vibrated through the walls.
The door slid open again and he stepped out.
Dreadlocks slick with sweat, chest streaked with strange blood from the hunt, muscles still twitching with leftover violence. His mandibles flaring wide, clicking loud and furious. His gaze swept the corridor, his predator vision searching for you, starving.
You bit your lip hard, noticing his frustration.
He hadn’t even showered, he had come straight for you, for the shirt, for the scent he couldn’t scrub from his mind.
Such a pervert.
He inhaled, slow and deep, throat rumbling with a sound that made your blood freeze and boil at the same time.
You stepped from behind the crates, letting the heavy fur slide from your shoulders as it landed with a soft thump.
His head snapped toward you, dreadlocks moving gracefully, chest rising and falling in frustrated pulls. His red eyes narrowed, mandibles clicking a warning.
“Looking for this?” You hooked two fingers under the hem of the ruined shirt, tugging it just high enough to flash the soft underside of your breast.
The clicking sharpened as he took one hurried step towards you.
“Ah-ah.” You lifted a single finger, wagging it.
“Stay where you are.”
He froze mid-stride, claws flexing, gaze locked on that tiny, shaking no.
His obedience was delicious, making you smirk.
“Did you hide my T-shirt so I wouldn’t find it?” you asked, tilting your head with a knowing smile.
He gave the smallest shake of his head, red eyes locked onto you. For a fleeting moment, you almost believed him, until you noticed the subtle hitch in his breath.
The lie looked gorgeous on him.
“You’re a bad liar, Zha’kor.”
You clicked your tongue in mock disappointment.
“What did you plan to do with it?”
You took a few slow steps back, drifting toward the corridor where your makeshift traps waited in silence.
His gaze followed you, calculating, measuring every step, every flick of your fingers.
“I meant to destroy it,” he rumbled.
The words came rough and deep, his tongue dragging over the consonants in a way that made your jaw clench. You hated it how he always sounded dangerously attractive after a hunt, electric, restless, always on edge.
“But I couldn’t.”
Your brows lifted.
“Your smell lingered on it.”
“And?” you pressed, fingers slipping under the fabric, slowly lifting your T-shirt.
“I couldn’t do it.”
A low shrug rolled through him.
“So I kept it as a trophy. Use it when I want.”
He started walking toward you, but you lifted a hand and stopped him with a slow shake of your head.
The confession came so easily from him, no shame, no hesitation. Just truth.
His honesty hit you harder than the admission itself.
He didn’t care how it sounded almost pathetic that he couldn’t bring himself to destroy something because it smelled like you.
It was…
too attractive of him.
Almost unfair.
“You already did,” you murmured, sliding the shirt off one shoulder, then the other. It dangled from a single finger, swinging like bait.
“Came all over it, didn’t you?”
His growl dropped low now, velvet and teasing. “Told you, no parading naked on my ship.”
“You’re a pervert, getting off to my smell.”
You clicked your tongue, pretending to scold him.
“I won’t argue with that.”
He answered back, head tilting, fingers flexing and relaxing at his sides before he folded his arms across his chest, posture daring you to say more.
You scoffed and suddenly hurled your T-shirt at him.
He caught it without even looking, the movement fast and precise.
A low growl rippled out of him, deeper than before, a warning, a line you had just crossed.
He lifted the shirt to his face, never breaking eye contact, breathing in your scent through the fabric.
Clawed fingers gripping it tight enough you thought he might tear it.
“You didn’t wash it?”
His voice dropped lower, pleasure threading through every word.
His throat vibrated with a dark, satisfied rumble.
“Who’s the pervert now, ooman?”
His gaze swept over you, slowly, soaking in every inch of your half-naked body.
Almost smiling with his eyes.
“I know what you want from me.”
His voice softened into something molten, a quiet purr rolling through his chest.
You heard it. You felt it.
Goosebumps exploded over your skin, every hair standing on end.
You had to shake it off before he noticed how badly your body betrayed you.
But he noticed.
Of course he did.
“Yeah… that’s right.”
The growl slid out of him, low and certain, and he started walking toward you with confidence, the way a predator approaches prey that has already surrendered.
You knew he wouldn’t stop now.
This was him claiming what he came for.
He had waited for this, for the moment to use you however he wanted for his own pleasure.
This little hunt was about to begin and he was going to enjoy every second of catching you and so would you.
You took two careful steps back, slipping over your first trap with ease and waited.
You figured he’d be too wrapped up in the push-and-pull between you, to notice any of the traps you had set.
“Aren’t you going to run this time?”
His voice was calm, taunting, as he closed in… until the first trap snapped.
A metal cuff locked around his right ankle, jerking him to a stop.
He groaned, head snapping downward.
“What the fuck?”
The growl vibrated low and dangerous in his chest, but he still hadn’t connected the dots.
When he lifted his gaze again, he found you smirking.
Proud.
Unapologetic.
His eyes narrowed, gaze darkening.
“You did this?”
There was no anger though, not really. Only something shockingly close to approval.
No.
No way.
He couldn’t be impressed by this.
“Tiv’ka.”
Your nickname slid off his tongue tenderly, almost proudly.
The sound alone nearly made your knees weak.
You nodded, confused at his reaction.
You had expected him to roar, to tear the trap apart and lunge straight at you.
Instead he just stared, chest heaving, mandibles parted on a breath that sounded like a stifled groan. The loincloth around his waist did nothing to hide the thick ridge straining against it now.
Your own breath caught.
The trap was meant to piss him off, to spark the chase. Not to make him look like he was enjoying this.
Fuck.
Heat spread across your face as you froze in place.
Did he just get turned on because you managed to trap him?
You wanted to provoke him, rile him up, tease him for using your shirt to get himself off.
But this?
This wasn’t part of your plan.
Well… you had hoped the chase would end like this.
You just didn’t expect it to start this way.
His name slipped from your tongue as you pulled the makeshift mask around your neck up and over your nose again.
You knew he would try to overwhelm you with his pheromones, but not this soon.
He tilted his head, mandibles flexing in curiosity as he watched you straighten, his scent muted behind the fabric.
“You came prepared, Tiv’ka?” he asked, voice a warm velvet that brushed along your skin. He still hadn’t moved, his leg remained caught and he looked perfectly content to stay that way.
His fingers caught the hem of your shirt again, lifting it to his face. He inhaled deeply, red eyes glowing, sharp and focused.
“That won’t do it for me anymore.” His voice dropped, low and sincere. “I need your body now.”
He threw the shirt with an effortless flick, sending it flying out of your reach.
“Come and get it then,” you murmured behind the cloth, soft and taunting.
“Come, Zha’kor.”
It came out like a command to a creature meant to obey.
That was what finally broke his restraint.
He crouched, claws scraping against metal as he snapped the trap apart with a single irritated twist of his wrist.
“Tiv’ka,” he growled, your chosen name rumbling in his chest and into yours, “you shouldn’t tell me what to do.”
His mandibles clicked another warning and that was your cue.
You backed away, then spun and sprinted, adrenaline buzzing in your chest.
You vaulted over the next trigger, anticipation thrumming through your veins.
How much more worked-up could he get for you?
Apparently enough to ignore the obvious.
He walked straight into it, the laser caught him, the mechanism hissed and a net dropped over his massive body, cinching tight.
You suddenly stopped running, breathless, turning around.
He had frozen mid-step.
Red eyes stared at you through the mesh, wide, almost startled.
Your hand flew to your mouth, smothering a laugh.
This—this exact moment—was what you had been waiting for.
Taking him by surprise.
Showing him he wasn’t the only one who could play games. Proving you could toy right back.
He looked around, finally taking in the net that bound him before his gaze locked onto yours again.
A different sound rumbled through his chest, low and unfamiliar.
You had heard it only once before, a growl that wasn’t a threat at all, but something strangely close to laughter.
His shoulders rose and fell with the vibration, head tipping back as the sound deepened, rich, dark, amused.
“Oh my God…” you whispered, stunned.
For a moment you fought the sudden urge to run to him and press yourself against that shaking chest, to feel that strange laughter vibrate through your bones. He looked… almost approachable. Someone you could touch without being devoured.
That single thought made your chest tighten as you forced a small, innocent smile to cover it.
You wanted to hear that sound again, someday.
“Ooman…” he exhaled, amusement still lingering in his words, “you’re going to regret this.”
Your blood went cold.
That was no jest.
He had humored your trap, but now he wasn’t playing.
He knew there were others hidden around him, the realization only sharpened his hunger for you.
“Please…” your voice softened, deceptively gentle, “make me regret it.”
You turned and bolted.
No glancing back this time, your only thought was the safe room.
But the raw, animalistic growl that tore after you made your head twist despite yourself. It crawled along your spine, rough, primal and dangerous.
More rope, coiled and triggered, caught him before he could fully chase you. He dropped to one knee, fist planted against the ground, head bowed.
Oh.
Now he was furious.
You stopped, unable to resist.
Your lips curved into a grin as you stared, savoring the sight.
Him finally kneeling.
Just for that second, he looked vulnerable, his predatory confidence gone.
It was everything you had secretly imagined and more.
All you needed now was his voice breaking, begging for whatever you’d let him have. You didn’t care what for anymore, seeing him trapped, pride broken, need warred in his eyes, was the filthy, perfect start.
And then came the roar.
You expected it, just not like that.
It hit you like a physical thing, freezing your blood, warning you that this was no longer playful danger.
This was real.
He was going to chase you and judging by that sound, you might even end up dead.
It was primal, raw, nothing a human could make.
Your heart slammed in your ribs as you sprinted, unsure if it was fear driving you or damn excitement.
Your knees trembled beneath you.
You glanced back just long enough to see him grab the thick vine-rope with both hands.
He didn’t need to, he was already free.
But fury boiled over in him and he tore the rope apart with a violent snap, the sound so loud you flinched.
He was staring directly at you, pupils blown wide. You wondered what he felt for that second, what he thought of you.
He launched himself forward on all fours, body lowering to gain speed, like an animal in pursuit.
The sight made you gasp.
Eight feet of predator muscle tensing, dreadlocks touching the floor, claws gouging the deck for traction. You felt your hands shaking as you reached the safe room.
You fumbled with the handle, threw the door open, slipped inside and slammed it shut.
Your fingers pressing random patterns on the padlock until it locked.
Click.
Only then did your legs give out.
You slid down the door, back scraping the metal until you collapsed onto the floor.
Your breath came fast, shallow, almost choking you, while your palm flew to your chest, trying to slow your racing heart.
You felt like you had just ran a marathon.
You were actually afraid.
Truly.
But it didn’t stop the heat that pulsed low in your body.
Your insides twisted restlessly, your nipples hardening under your touch as adrenaline scorched through you.
“Shit…” you whispered, before the door behind you shuddered violently and you gasped, scrambling away.
“What the hell…?”
It shook again, harder this time.
Was he throwing himself against it?
Your eyes widened in horror, imagining him forcing himself on the door like a battering ram, just to get to you.
Then you heard a softer sound, scraping dragged across the metal door.
His talons.
Slow, teasing, scratching.
Your skin crawled with something you couldn’t even name.
“You riled me up,” his voice came through, muffled but calm now, almost gentle, “only to run and hide after?”
The door jolted again, his fist landing on the barrier between you.
You bit your bottom lip, teeth digging into it at the thought of him getting to you, of what he might do when he finally had you trapped beneath him.
“Come out, Tiv’ka. Let’s play hunt again.”
His voice sounded gentle now, deep, calm and devastatingly tempting.
Your hand slid down almost without your permission, pressing against the damp heat gathering between your legs, your body betraying every rational thought once again.
You were supposed to be the one teasing him, not the other way around.
You let out a soft, broken moan as your fingers brushed the soaked cotton, two pressing hard against your clit through the fabric. The adrenaline had you drenched, every nerve screaming.
“Tiv’ka…” His voice slid through the door, low and coaxing, nails dragging slow lines down the metal, screech that vibrated straight to your core.
“Open the door,” he groaned, the words cracking with raw need.
“Ah—” Your back arched off the floor, hips chasing your own touch. He responded immediately, a rough, frustrated growl, like he was punishing himself for not having you under his hands already.
He could hear everything.
And a thrill ran straight through you knowing it, knowing he was forced to listen, barred just inches from you, desperate. He could hear every hitch of breath, every slick sound.
You wanted him to know exactly what he couldn’t have.
“Zha’kor…” You moaned his name, crawling closer until your spine pressed flush to the door. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers gliding through slick folds to circle your entrance.
Another growl behind the door, frustrated, desperate, the kind that said he’d tear the ship apart if it meant watching you come.
The damn voyeur he was.
“If I get to you…” He let the threat hang, voice gruff and guttural, then you heard his heavy body sliding down the other side of the door, sinking against it.
“Yeah?” you taunted, as you eased one finger inside you again. Your pussy took it greedily, a soft gasp slipping out. “What then?”
“Open the door, let me touch you instead.” The words scraped out of his throat, need and threat braided tight. You could feel the heat of him through the metal, claws worrying the surface like he was trying to claw his way inside.
“Say please,” you murmured, finger sliding in and out with lazy, wet sounds filling the space between you.
But instead of another threat, came…
Silence. Absolute, sudden silence.
You still felt him there.
A moment ago, his claws scraped the metal, fists pounding, heat radiating even through the cold steel.
But now, nothing. No scraping. No breathing.
Just silence.
You wondered if please was a foreign word to him or if he was debating whether to obey… or simply leave.
You froze, pulling your hand away, pressing your ear to the door, listening.
Had he really stopped?
A few seconds passed, then metal shrieked against metal, the entire door ripped free of its frame with a tortured shriek.
You lunged forward, scrambling on your hands and knees away from it.
One hand gripped the frame above him, his chest rising and falling like he had run miles. His eyes were darker, dreadlocks hanging wild around his face. His breathing was heavy, ragged, almost smoking with heat.
He looked like a wild animal, and god, he really was.
Your jaw went slack.
He filled the doorway, huge, terrifying, breathtaking.
He braced his forearm against the frame, looming over you, still trying to steady his breath.
Your hand crept behind you, fingertip brushing the trigger of the sound trap that could drop him to his knees.
But before you could speak, he did.
“Please.”
The word fell from him like a painful confession.
Your heart kicked hard, heat rushing up your neck. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to stay composed, but that single begging word hit you harder than all his growls and threats combined.
He sounded so genuine, as if the word had been pulled from somewhere deep inside him.
He stood outside the threshold, refusing to cross it, simply waiting… waiting for you to come to him.
Your fingers slackened, dropping the trigger behind you.
Using it felt like cheating, like breaking the unspoken promise that had formed the moment he had given that word to you.
He had begged.
That was all you wanted.
No need to push your luck.
“Say it again,” you whispered, sinking to your knees, tilting your face up to him with the sweetest, most innocent smile you could muster.
“Please…” he repeated, immediate, instinctive and you wondered if he understood what that word did to you.
Your heart beat unevenly now, breath catching faster, your mind swarming with images of him begging for more, to touch you, to fill you… begging you to let him cum.
Heat flushed over every inch of you. You needed to touch him, needed to feel those muscles tense around you as he buried himself deep inside.
You rose slowly, your skin aching to be touched.
He saw it, your heat flaring bright in his vision, the tremor in your legs, the way your nipples strained against nothing. His mandibles parted on a silent inhale, drinking you in, nothing but a thin, soaked cotton clinging to your hips and the scrap of cloth tied over your nose and mouth. His own heat and pheromones emitting in waves, thick and dizzying even through the filter.
You took one step. Then another. Close enough now to feel the needy warmth of his body, close enough to see the thickness straining beneath his loincloth.
One more word from him and you’d crawl the rest of the way.
Your palm met the rough blue of his chest, fingers spreading, nails scraping just enough to draw a low, rolling groan from his throat.
You tipped your chin up, his red eyes were already waiting, pupils studying your face.
“Were you going to hurt me?” you asked, voice soft, nails dragging again over his skin.
“Never.” His answer came quick, certain. His massive hand lifting, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness, tracing the edge of your mask. You leaned into it, eyes never leaving his.
“You’re a good hunter, Tiv’ka.” The praise rumbled out, warm and proud, and your heart stumbled again.
If only he knew what that praise did to you.
“But now,” he continued, voice dropping to a growl that vibrated through your palm, “you learn what happens when you taunt a bigger one.”
Before you could answer, his arm hooked your waist. The world flipped. You landed across his shoulder with a soft oof, the ship tilting, his scent flooding your senses even through the cloth. One clawed hand clamped possessively over the backs of your thighs, holding you steady.
Your eyes snapped wide, his shoulder a solid bar beneath your belly. He strode down the corridor, snatching the discarded T-shirt mid-stride and tucking it into his belt like a trophy.
The flight-deck door hissed open. Heavy steps thudded across the deck. The pilot’s chair groaned as he dropped into it, sliding you from his shoulder to his lap in one motion.
You blinked, breath catching up your throat. In his grip you were weightless, breakable, like a doll.
“Did you smear your cum all over my chair?” he asked, voice low and threatening.
His claws hooked your mask and tossed it aside. The cool air of the deck hit your face, before his scent flooded in, thick and heady.
You nodded at him.
“You did?” A soft huff of amusement. His fingers caught your chin, tilting it up until you had nowhere to look but those red eyes.
“Why?”
Thumb brushing your lower lip as he waited for an answer.
“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
His thumb pressed harder against your lips. You parted them, tongue sliding wet along the rough pad and the growl in his chest deepened, rolling like a deep purr.
He watched, transfixed, as your lips curled around his thumb, your small mouth always entertaining him. Then he hooked inside your cheek, tugging just enough to make you flinch.
“I wanted you to beg for me,” you breathed, the words raw against his grip.
He released your cheek, leaving the inside tender. “Too bold for a soft ooman,” he rumbled, voice painted with something close to irritation.
“You know what I could do to you?”
His thumb brushed your swollen lip again, gentler now, but the threat lingered in the air between you.
“Do you?”
He pulled you closer to him, your legs straddling his lap now and you were pressed tight against him, your eyes drifting down. You flicked the loincloth off his waist with one finger, gaze landing on his alien shaft, already pulsing against his thigh, veins thick and alien adorning it.
That thing was somehow bigger than last time, the pointed tip glistening with that milky, green-tinged precum. You dragged your thumb over the slick bead, gathering it, then pressed it to your tongue, your eyes locked on his as the sweet, sharp taste flooded your mouth.
And oh what a sight he was.
You’d never seen him that shocked before, his red eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, trying to process what you had just done.
And you smirked.
You had him again.
Your plan was going exactly how you wanted it.
Or so you thought.
Because his next move stole every word from your throat.
One massive hand clamped the control stick and shoved it forward. The ship roared to life, charging ahead so hard your stomach flipped. You gasped, fingers scrabbling on his chest, clinging to him for dear life.
Eyes squeezed shut, you buried your face against his skin, too terrified to watch the blur of stars streaking past.
You couldn’t think past that wild spike of adrenaline flooding your veins, your heart threatening to break your ribs.
And he felt it. He knew how you enjoyed this.
The ship slammed to a dead stop. Your nails had carved crescents into his rough chest to keep from pitching forward.
You blinked, twisted in his lap and looked ahead.
Your jaw dropped. The viewport framed the edge of a cliff, the ship hovering a few meters from a drop into the void.
“Zha’kor,” you whispered, his name barely a breath, terrified the slightest move would nudge the ship over the edge and send you both to your deaths.
He tilted his head at you slowly.
“Scared, Tiv’ka?” A low rumble in his chest. “My brave girl afraid of heights?” His claws combed gently through your hair, casual, as if death wasn’t just inches beneath you.
“No, I’m scared of dying,” you snapped, trying to scramble off his lap. His arm locked around your waist, planting you firmly back against him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, the sound rumbling deep, like a lion warning its prey.
You folded your arms, frowning.
“What are we doing here?”
“I thought you liked danger.” He leaned in closer and you jerked back, your spine bumping the control stick again, the ship inching forward.
You gasped, freezing solid.
“Isn’t that what gets you wet? Danger?” His growl burned hot against your ear as he leaned in, chest pinning you to the console. Your back nudged the stick again, the ship creeping closer to the void.
“No,” you snapped, palms shoving at the wall of him, “I like it when you chase me, not when I’m about to fucking die.”
He didn’t budge. Just tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming. “What makes you think you’re not about to die when I chase you?”
His claws planted on either side of your head now, caging you. His chest pressing harder against your hands, daring you to push again.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his mandibles grazed your neck, warm tongue dragging slow and wet down your throat.
“I wouldn’t,” he rumbled, mouth traveling to your shoulder, biting softly at your flesh, just enough to sting.
“But you put up a hunt, Tiv’ka. What did you think I’d do?” He hummed over your neck.
“You don’t get to choose what happens now.” The growl vibrated against your ear, low and feral, raising goosebumps across every part of your body.
His head dipped lower, still planted in the chair and he dragged his tongue slow over your belly until he reached your sweet spot, dragging the underwear off your thighs. Your pussy clenched greedily for his tongue, welcoming the wetness you’ve been longing for.
“Fuck…” you exhaled, head snapping back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as your hips rolled shyly, chasing the friction.
“Oh my God—” you gasped when his shoulder nudged the control stick, the ship groaning forward.
“Fuck—” he growled against you, voice thick and dazed.
“You clenched on my tongue just now.” He sounded drunk on it, utterly mesmerized that your cunt had sucked him deeper the instant death was closer.
He pressed that split tongue back to your entrance, pushing deeper, hungrily, rubbing inside you like he was starving for every drop of your taste.
“Oh God—” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he forced your thighs wider across the panel. Buttons clicking beneath you, before a low boom echoed through the hull.
You snapped your eyes open, looking back at the viewport where a missile streaked across the chasm and detonated in a fiery explosion.
“Zha’kor—” you gasped, palms shoving him away. “You’re crushing me into the damn buttons.”
“I know,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice sinking straight into your clit. His dreadlocks dragging soft across your inner thighs and you bit the back of your hand, struggling not to moan.
“But there was an explosion—” you started, voice shaking.
“I don’t fucking care,” he growled into your wetness, tongue circling your sweet spot just how he knew you liked it.
That reckless, sex-drunk bastard had just torched half a planet because he needed your taste on his tongue, more than air in his lungs. Your pulse spiked again.
You enjoyed this a little too much, how out of control he was for you.
“Ah—fuck—” you gasped as his rough thumb found your clit, circling just right, sending your back arching off the panel for more.
He pulled back an inch, red eyes locking on yours, his mandibles moving in time with his shallow breath and he looked desperate for more.
“You look scared,” he rumbled, voice thick with amusement, chest buzzing with a laugh he wouldn’t let out.
“I fucking love it when you look like that.” The growl rolled low as he rose, hands slamming down on either side of your head. His dreadlocks brushing your cheeks, before his tongue dragged slow across your bottom lip, letting you taste yourself on his saliva.
Your eyes opened wide in shock.
“You’ve never done this before,” you breathed dazed, tasting yourself on your lip. This was the closest you had ever come to kissing him, something you never thought was possible with your anatomies contrasting.
“Do it again,” you begged, needy and sweet, honey dripping off every syllable.
And he obeyed. Of course he did. He was helpless against you and you knew it.
You knew how you looked to him, cheeks flushed red, lips swollen and bitten raw, eyes blown wide with want, your heart beating faster every time he touched you.
He had a soft spot for you when you needed him so badly, when your own body betrayed you so obviously.
His head lowered again slowly, his tongue brushing your lips. You were quick this time, darting yours out to meet it. A low growl rolled from his chest, a satisfied purr when he felt your tongue slide against his.
“Again,” you begged, needy, “again.”
And when he pulled away for a second to look at you, you grabbed a dreadlock in each fist and pulled him down, crushing his mouth to yours, tongue ready and eager. He made a startled little noise that had you grinning into the kiss as you worked your lips against his strange mouth, soft and slow, showing him the human way. You didn’t know if he felt anything close to what you did, but to you it was so natural, so intimate, almost feeling romantic.
You and your damn human needs…
His hands grabbed your hips then, claws biting in as the rumble in his chest grew louder. You clung harder to his dreadlocks, tongue sliding over his again and again, teasing and tasting until you sucked on it hard. His nails dug into your soft flesh before one massive hand shot up, gripping your entire jaw, holding you locked in place. His mandibles closed slowly around your face, gentle but possessive, as he pushed his tongue deeper into your mouth, eager to feel every inch of it against his.
Oh… so he feels just as good.
He growled deeper, pinning you hard against the console as his tongue swept every corner of your mouth, lapping at your saliva like he had been dying of thirst and you were the only water left in the world. His mandibles stayed locked around your face, but with every moan you fed him they eased just enough to let you gasp for air.
Then he slid a thick finger in alongside his tongue. Both of you licking it messily while you stared up at him with wide, watery eyes as he pressed down on your tongue. You loved how wrecked he looked, pupils blown wide, dreadlocks falling messy across his face.
Completely out of control. Like making out was a brand new territory for him. And it probably was.
His tongue curled over yours one last time, tasting you, tasting him on you, before he dragged that slick finger free and lowered it slow between your thighs.
He rubbed twice against your folds before pressing it inside hurriedly, like he couldn’t control anything anymore, neither his body nor his mind.
“Stop me,” he growled into your mouth, that guttural alien voice rumbling between licks, his mandibles moving as your tongues battled for dominance.
“No,” you breathed against his efforts to pull back.
You knew he was scared of himself, of what he’d do to you if you let him.
You swallowed his saliva, dragging a dreadlock to your lips, the rubbery texture strange against your tongue as you sucked it deep. He moved his finger faster inside you, way faster than you expected, not a hint of caution left, making you gasp.
He was done treating you gently since you refused to stop him.
He dropped his head, biting hard into your shoulder like he was trying to trap the sounds in his throat, but his hips betrayed him, jerking against the control panel the moment you gagged on his dreadlock.
“Zha’kor,” you whispered, something in you needing to see him right then.
And you were glad you did, because there it was, that face you had only glimpsed once before. Utterly lost, sweat beading and sliding down his forehead, red eyes wild with hunger yet begging for a control he had already lost.
He looked beautiful like that, a lethal alien crumbling under your touch, your soft voice, staring at you, waiting for you to say the word.
You cupped around his mandibles, pulled him down until your lips brushed the rough skin beside his temple, and breathed,
“Do whatever you want to me.”
He leaned back just enough to take your face in, staring up at him breathless, your slick walls clenching around his buried finger, as you begged him to use your body however he wanted.
In a second you were on your stomach against the control panel, thigh brushing the control stick and you tried your best to shift away so you wouldn’t trigger it and send you both to your doom.
But he didn’t care, lifting your hips up to his face, his tongue sliding hot between your ass cheeks. You gasped in surprise, twisting your body to look at him and accidentally nudging the stick. The ship crept even closer to the edge.
“Shit,” you whimpered scared, shutting your eyes tight as his tongue licked you again, your ass now as wet as your pussy. Pleasure and fear mixing dangerously.
He pressed a heavy hand on your back and you couldn’t move, trapped beneath him. You felt his hot cock rubbing against your ass cheeks and you squeezed them on instinct, intrigued but scared of what he was about to do.
“Zha’kor?” you called his name, before you felt his cock sliding between your cheeks and ending up against your lower back.
His hips snapped forward, again, again, skin slapping skin, low groans rumbling in time with every thrust, his breath hot against your ear.
He was addicted now, chasing every soft inch of you after tasting the inside of your mouth. He just couldn’t get enough of you.
You gripped the panel tight as he kept sliding between your cheeks, his alien cock burning hotter with every thrust, pulsing, throbbing, desperate to spill. A broken moan slipped from your lips before you feel the first hot splash of cum streaking your lower back.
You gasped. Already?
Before you could catch your breath, his hands grabbed your hips and shoved you farther across the console.
“Squeeze your legs together for me,” he rasped against your ear, chest pressing to your back, the rumble in him vibrating through your body, his breath shallow and fast.
You obeyed. He lifted your ass higher, then eased his still-hard cock between your thighs, the thick heat gliding along your clit and beyond, dragging a delicious gasp from your throat at the wet, perfect friction.
He pulled back and slammed forward harder, your knee smacking the control stick. You gasped as the ship moved, the cliff’s edge coming closer and closer in view.
“Zha’kor, wait—” you whimpered, but he only thrusted again, harder, your knee striking the stick with the force. Fear and pleasure twisted tight in your gut as his slick, ridged cock dragged over your clit, every bump teasing you just right. You rocked back on instinct.
“We’re going to die,” you whined.
His hand snatched your wrist then, yanking it behind you for leverage, using it to haul you onto his cock. Your thighs clenched without thinking, his hips snapped faster, harder, as if you had touched him exactly where he needed you to, finding the sweet spot on his dick. A raw, primal groan tore from his throat.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled, dragging you back to meet every brutal thrust.
He cursed in his language, voice rumbling against you, his dick vibrating between your thighs and against your clit, making you squirm underneath him. Your hands desperately trying to sneak beneath you as you finally managed to take hold of his pointy spongy tip sliding in your fist now.
He choked on a breath, then pounded into your grip, each thrust ripping a guttural, animal growl from his throat, air hissing out like he had been chasing prey. The ridges of his shaft dragged over your clit with every stroke, sending shocks of pleasure up your spine.
You bumped your knee against the stick again and the ship moved just enough so you could feel it tilting on the edge of the cliff, and you gasped in fear, squirming helplessly underneath him to back away from the control panel.
“Don’t. You. Fucking. Move,” he groaned, voice cracking with lust and frustration, mandibles snapping beside your face as the ship teetered on the edge.
His massive hand clamped your jaw, wrenching your face sideways until his tongue found your mouth.
He fucked between your thighs like a beast in a rut, wet, filthy slaps filling the room, his mouth against yours. With your eyes squeezed shut, you tried to block out the cliff’s edge creeping closer, but your pulse hammered, your pussy flooding hotter with every tilt of the ship. You were addicted now, ruined by him, chasing danger.
His chest crushed against your back, arms locking you in a cage of muscle and heat.
He pinned your face close, forehead grinding against your temple, tongue dragging over your shoulder to lap at the thin trickle of blood from his earlier bite.
His thrusts turned wild, sloppy and desperate, as the ship groaned louder, metal scraping the cliff’s lip.
Your eyes were wide open now, locked on the cliff’s edge coming closer, pupils wide as you bit down hard on his finger brushing over your lips. Your hips shoved back against him, heat pooling in your gut, clit throbbing against his vibrating, alien shaft.
“We’re going to crash,” you moaned, walls clenching hard, before you let yourself go. Eyes flaring wider as your pussy gushed, a shocking flood of wetness you had never felt before.
You gasped, air punched from your lungs, squirting for the first time in your life. Slick poured over the panel, your jaw locked open in a silent scream as you rode the blinding orgasm, grinding back on his cock trapped between your thighs.
He froze for just a second, his cock gripped tight between your thighs as you rubbed your clit against it, still pulsing from your release.
His hips snapped back to their frantic rhythm once he registered what you’d just done.
You hadn’t even finished riding it out when another hot spurt flooded between your thighs, this time his. His hand clamped your waist, the other seized your nape, locking you in place as he drove forward. His cum shot thick and messy across the control panel, streaking your stomach, hot and heavy just like last time.
He came with a deep, broken groan, words in his native tongue spilling out raw and guttural.
Your arms shook, you gripped the console hard so he wouldn’t fuck you straight through it and into another dimension.
Your belly dripped with him now, warm, thick, everywhere.
You slid your palm over his tip as he kept thrusting, and he groaned louder, burying himself deeper between your thighs, hips stuttering to a halt while you rubbed faster. Wild gasps tore from his throat, rough and broken above you, his whole body locked rigid as he came harder and you still couldn’t fathom how much semen he had stored in him.
He sagged over you, hands slamming down on either side of your head, chest sealing to your back. His cock kept vibrating between your thighs, pulsing out the last thick ropes of cum.
He was burning hot above you, wrecked and spent, breath coming out rough and heavy, dreadlocks spilling around you like a dark curtain.
You tried to move, wincing at the sticky mess on your belly, but your jaw clenched when his tongue dragged slow across your nape, lapping the sweat there before licking your ear, making you hiss.
“Aren’t you tired?” you smirked, twisting to meet his face.
“I’m stopping only because you’re tired,” he rumbled. “I can go like this for days.”
You gulped.
Days?
You couldn’t tell if it was excitement or pure threat you were feeling.
You forced a shaky smile as he gave one final, hot push between your thighs, stopping right at your clit and letting out a soft, satisfied groan, his breath falling hot across your neck.
The ship groaned in echo, finally falling over the edge.
Your stomach dropped as the world tilted before his hand shot from your waist, clamping the control stick and yanking it back. The ship coming to a halt, one second before plunging.
You sucked in air, eyes stinging, bloodshot, and spun to glare at him.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held the stick steady, the ship hovering on the brink, the low thrum of engines vibrating through the deck and into your bones. His other arm stayed locked around your waist, pinning you to his lap, his still-hard cock twitching against your thighs.
“What is it?” he finally asked, voice low, but his eyes were sharp, watching every tremor in your body.
His hand slid from the stick to your hip, thumb tracing slow circles over the mess he had left on your skin, enjoying the feeling of his cum on your body.
“You thought I’d let you die?” He scoffed, chest rumbling, breath still fast from his climax.
He looked… calm. Too calm. A soft afterglow settled over his features, smoothing the sharp edges of his face. His red eyes stayed on you, claws tracing slow paths down your neck and over the swollen curve of your breast, still tender from scraping the panel.
“Was I too rough, Tiv’ka?” His voice rumbled low, but the usual bite was gone, replaced by something careful, almost gentle. His thumb brushed your nipple, then slid lower, wiping a streak of his cum from your stomach.
“You weren’t exactly gentle,” you teased.
His mandibles clicked once. Just that sound and the way his hand stilled, waiting.
“I can handle you,” you smiled, fingers gripping gently around one dreadlock, lifting it to your lips for a soft kiss.
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice quieter now. His hands had frozen, resting on the seat’s arms like he didn’t dare touch you now.
You tilted your head at the sudden change.
“Yes, you didn’t hurt me.” Your palm rose to his neck now, rubbing slow circles over his rough skin.
A low purr begun in his chest, eyes drifting shut as he leaned into your touch.
“You bruise too easily. You humans are so weak…” The words came out gruff, but the insult didn’t hit. The soft purr in his chest giving him away.
“Right, right,” you nodded, smiling knowingly, fingers still scratching gently. The purr deepened, vibrating through his body, warm with satisfaction.
That rough mask was slipping, the hunter giving way to something warm and real. You hadn’t made him crawl (not yet), but he had begged today and that victory bloomed softly in your chest.
“How come every part of you is soft?” His eyes had opened, red and curious, head dipping low. His tongue dragged slow over one nipple while his thumb and finger rolled the other.
You gasped, still shaky from your orgasm, burying your face in the rubbery fall of his dreadlocks. A soft, content purr vibrating against your cheek.
“You have to let me breathe for a second,” you laughed, breathless against his ear.
He stopped instantly, lifting his head until his face hovered inches from yours.
“And what is that?” His eyes looked past you, claw tracing the control panel, gathering a slick mix of his cum and yours on one thick finger.
Your face flamed hot. You shook your head, suddenly losing your ability to speak.
He lifted the finger up to his mandibles and licked it clean, red eyes locked on yours the whole time as you stared back at him.
He growled your name, a satisfied noise rumbling in his throat.
“Next time, you release all that in my mouth.”
It was your turn to choke on a breath now. You shoved at his chest, scrambling to escape his lap as embarrassment burned over you. His hands clamped your hips right away, pinning you on his lap.
A deep, amused rumble vibrated under your thighs. His mandibles nipped your neck playfully.
“Drown me with it,” he teased with a husky voice.
You gasped, slapping his thigh.
“Stop—I didn’t even know I could do that…”
You melted back against his chest, giving up as embarrassment took over.
“So no ooman has ever made you come like that?” His voice softened, curious now.
“No,” you admitted.
You felt him exhaling against you, long and slow, body melting into the chair. “You shouldn’t have told me that, Tiv’ka.”
“Why?” You turned around and your gaze immediately dropped.
His cock was already swelling again, pulsing in time with his breath, growing thicker with every passing second.
“Oh my…” You flicked your eyes back to his.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he shrugged, arms pulling you closer. “You know it’s your fault.” He hummed, his head resting over your shoulder.
“Tiv’ka.” He said your name softer than ever, like only meant for you to hear.
“My body wants to breed the fuck out of you,” he murmured, voice gravel and needy. “Good thing you humans don’t go into heat, or you’d already be carrying my younglings.”
You laughed, light and teasing.
“If you decide to cum inside me one day, maybe we’ll get to see that.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Your face scrunched in confusion.
What the hell did I just say?
“Can’t do that,” he replied, his mouth finding your neck, licking it softly.
“Because I’m not an alien like you?” you asked, still wondering why you kept pushing this, like some part of you wanted it.
“Because you’ll break,” he said, tongue gliding over your ear, making you hiss. He couldn’t stop tasting you now, your skin, your sweat, like every part of your body was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
“What if I don’t break?” you mumbled, cheeks hot. “I could… practice taking you in. All of you.”
A low, amused rumble rolled through his chest, vibrating against your skin.
“You have no sense of danger, do you?”
He leaned back in the seat, one clawed hand beckoning come. You crawled up his chest, knees settling on either side of his hips.
“I mean, aren’t you curious how your dick would feel insi—”
His palm slammed over your mouth, claws gripping your jaw until it stung. Your breath hitched against his skin.
“You don’t want to know,” he growled, but the words cracked. His pupils blown, mandibles trembling.
He was fighting himself. Every muscle locked, cock jerking against your thighs, leaking. The thought of your tight walls clenching around him, stretching, taking, had him shaking.
You licked the pad of his palm slowly, a shudder ripping through him. Pride flared hot in your chest, you had crawled under his skin again and made him beg without a word.
You simply nodded at him, letting him think the teasing was over.
His hand released your mouth, slid to your chin and drew you in until his breath hit your lips.
“But if you dare set another trap for me,” he murmured, voice low and lazy, “I’ll pump my cum into every hole you own.”
The threat landed soft, almost sweet. You giggled, the sound bubbling up as his mouth pressed to your cheek, mandibles grazing your skin like a playful nip. His arms tightened, crushing you closer, every inch of him branding you.
“Sure, sure,” you teased back, body molding to his, giggling harder as his mandibles tickled your neck. And if you were to suffocate in his grip, you weren’t even able to resist him even that.
a/n: It’s been a hot minute but I promised myself I’ll update this story before Badlands drops 🤭 thank you everyone for showing this story so much love, if it wasn’t for you I don’t think I’d get out of my writer’s block 💙 Now I need to be honest with you, I’m dying to know what you thought of this extra long part 😏 comment your favourite moment and I’ll see you on the next part 🫶
You woke up wrapped in furs, the warmth clinging to your skin and before your eyes even opened you remembered last night.
Your chest rose with a long sigh.
What the fuck was that?
You had all the time in the world now to reflect on the dangerous little game you had let yourself get pulled into. A hunting game. His game.
And you weren’t even the predator. Not really. You weren’t born for that.
But you had still played along, teeth bared, daring him, letting yourself get caught.
Deep down, though? You couldn’t deny it. It was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to you.
Earth was safe, familiar, boring in comparison. Out here, a massive alien who could crush you with a flick of his wrist had chased you through the dark…and got off on it. And you had too. The memory made your heart jump against your ribs.
How it would end… you had no clue. But the excitement alone kept you going.
Last night he had left you, shoved you gently off him, let you curl up in his nest like some pet he had grown bored of.
Rejection? Maybe. But when you finally opened your eyes, that thought melted away at the sight waiting for you.
A pile of fruit, stacked high next to the nest. Too many, honestly. Enough to make you blink and wonder.
An alien declaration of… affection? Or just fuel for the next round of chasing, so you wouldn’t collapse too early?
You smirked at the sight anyway, tugging one close and biting into it greedily. Your stomach was empty after last night.
But eating here, eating anywhere on this ship, meant too much time alone with your thoughts. And they came crawling in the moment your mouth was busy.
Images of straddling his thigh. Grinding yourself against him until you lost your mind.
Your chewing slowed, your face heating with the memory. God. What was that?
And it wasn’t just pheromones. He had said it himself, he hadn’t pushed them on you after a point.
It was me.
You groaned, pressing your hands into your face. “Ah, fuck. That was just me…”
And then came the excuses.
“I mean, he’s huge… he takes care of me… he plays with me…”
Your voice dropped until you cut yourself off. Because suddenly it hit you.
Maybe you were the real pervert here.
Sure, he had set the chase. But you were the one clinging to him, rubbing yourself raw, grinding down like you needed him, like lungs needed air.
And he…
He had barely touched you.
The realization made your stomach flip. Last night had been all you, your hands, your hips, your sounds. He had mostly held you steady, let you lose yourself on top of him. Watching. Testing.
And now? That wasn’t enough anymore.
The thought of his hands, huge, cold, strong, finally roaming your body, of his weight pressing you down, of that dark blue body covering you completely… it had your mouth watering before you could stop it.
“Ugh,” you groaned, dropping your head back against the furs. “How could he not touch me? I was losing my mind on top of him…”
You slipped out of the nest, your old T-shirt hanging loose, the only thing covering your body. Your underwear was long gone, lost somewhere in last night’s chaos, but you didn’t care. Right now you were on a mission: find water, any water, and wash yourself down.
Your hair was a wild mess, your shirt stretched and torn, and you looked like you had crawled out of a fight you definitely hadn’t won. Still, a smile kept tugging at your lips as flashes of last night’s chase slipped back into your head. You could almost feel him at your heels again, almost hear that rumble behind you.
You padded through the corridors on bare feet, light and careful, trying not to make a sound. The last thing you needed was for him to hear you and decide you were fair game again. Not when you reeked of sweat and sex and needed a damn bath.
The ship was huge, of course it was, it had to fit him. Every corridor seemed to stretch forever, metal cold under your toes, your reflection faint in the walls as you crept along. And with every corner you turned, your chest squeezed tighter. Where was he? By now he usually would’ve dragged you back, or at least stalked you from the shadows. The empty silence felt… wrong.
Maybe he’s out hunting, you told yourself. Still, your stomach sank at the thought.
Then, you saw it. Another room, door half-open and inside a true oasis.
A bath.
No. Bigger. A massive pool of strange transparent liquid, wide enough that it made you feel even smaller than usual. You stepped in slowly, stunned. It was almost ridiculous, like walking into some rich man’s house on Earth and finding a pool indoors just because he could.
You edged closer, crouched, and dipped your fingers in. Cold, but not painful. Not acid. Thank god.
The shirt slid off you in one motion, hitting the floor, and you slipped into the strange water naked. The shock of cold wrapped around you but then it soothed. Immediately. The ache in your skin eased, your shoulder, marked with his bites, stung less as the water seemed to calm the raw edges. Even between your thighs, where you had been burning from the friction of grinding against him, the relief came fast.
You let out a long, shaky sigh and tipped your head back against the edge of the pool, a grin spreading across your face.
Maybe you didn’t miss Earth as much as you thought.
You stayed there until your skin prickled, until you couldn’t take the cold anymore. Then you dragged yourself out, dripping, grabbing your ruined shirt without putting it back on. What was the point? You were clean now.
You tossed the shirt aside, deciding you’d rather stay this way until you figured out how to wash it.
Your steps carried you deeper into the ship now, each one heavier with that strange, crawling sense that you weren’t really alone. You couldn’t shake it, like eyes might be on you, like every corridor hummed with the weight of him even if he wasn’t there.
The next room you slipped into made your stomach turn. Food storage.
Weird fruits stacked in piles, skinned creatures hanging from hooks on the ceiling, their hides stripped clean. The smell alone made you wrinkle your nose and gag, but your hand still reached out. Hunger didn’t care about disgust.
You grabbed a few fruits, different ones than before, curiosity pushing in you. Out of the bunch, one stood out immediately, a massive purple thing, heavy as a bowling ball, thick stems coiling out of the top. Strange, alien, but… tempting. You had to try it. At least until he came back with more.
He won’t mind, you told yourself as your nails dug into its skin. The rind split with a soft pop—
And then it hissed.
Purple dust burst out, spilling straight into your face. It clung to your skin, your lashes, your nose. You coughed, eyes burning, tears spilling down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. The sting grew sharper when you rubbed at your eyes, stupid mistake, your hands making it worse. Your breaths came out in hiccupped gasps, chest hitching as the burn clawed at you.
The door slammed open. Heavy steps, stomping straight for you.
Through the blur you caught his massive shape before he crouched in front of you, yanking the fruit from your reach and hurling it aside. His hands wrapped around yours, big and rough, grounding you.
“I leave you alone for five minutes…” his voice rumbled, low in his chest. He didn’t sound furious, not at first. He sounded… worried.
A moment later, something damp and cool pressed against your burning eyes.
You blinked against the wet cloth, the relief immediate, his large hand holding it steady while the other kept your head still.
“Why did you pick that?” His tone sharpened, angrier now.
“It looked like the fruits you’ve been giving me,” you mumbled, blinking through the tears that wouldn’t stop.
“But it’s not,” he snapped, voice rising, and you flinched at the sound.
Your nose burned, your chest shaking with another sob as he touched your face. He brushed the cloth clumsily under your eye, rough and hesitant.
“What… what is this?” he asked, the words uncertain, almost uneasy.
“Tears,” you croaked, before another sob cracked through your voice.
His chest rumbled again, louder. “What… are you doing?” The question tumbled out of him, raw, angry.
You almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded, but all that came out was another wet sniffle. “I’m crying, what do you think I’m doing?” Your voice rose between gasps, frustration spilling out with the tears.
And then it hit you. Of course. Crying wasn’t a thing for all species. Maybe for him, tears looked like something entirely different, something he couldn’t understand.
“I’m okay,” you whispered, your lips swollen, your face wet, the sting fading now.
Before you could think, his arm slid beneath your knees, the other bracing around your back, and suddenly you were lifted.
You let out a startled welp, fingers digging into his chest as he carried you, his strides quick, heavy, almost frantic. You didn’t even dare to ask what the hell was happening, too distracted by the rough skin of his forearm pressed under your ass, every step making it drag against your exposed folds. The friction made your jaw clench tight, shame burning through you. God, you felt like a pervert for even reacting like this.
By the time your brain caught up, he had lowered himself into his nest, your body still clinging to him like you somehow belonged there. He moved you, settling you down on his thigh, one massive hand steady on your back, the other brushing against your wet cheek, collecting your tears like they were something precious.
“What… are you doing?” your voice came out rough, shaky.
His eyes stayed locked on you as he pressed a clawed thumb against his forked tongue.
“It’s salty,” he rumbled, the sound almost curious, hungry. “Like your sweat.”
And then his mouth was on your cheek, tongue dragging slow and hot until it reached your eye, lapping up what it could.
You froze. Mouth parted, no words, no air, just shock. What the actual fuck was going on?
By the time his tongue slid back down your cheek, your gaze dropped and there it was. The nearly transparent loincloth did nothing to hide him. Your breath caught. That wasn’t just a bulge, that was an erection, obvious and impossible to ignore, and you were done pretending otherwise.
His arms tightened around you, a cage you weren’t escaping, holding you there as his tongue wandered from your cheek to your ear. The wet heat made you hiss through your teeth, body twitching.
“What is that?” your eyes flicked down again, glued to the massive, strange shape straining against the cloth.
“It’s not my fucking fault,” he growled into your ear, teeth grazing your skin, mandibles brushing dangerously over your neck.
Your breath stuttered, vision swimming, stars popping in your eyes.
“Are you sure this crying thing isn’t a mating ritual?” His voice was rough, barely restrained, claws grazing your throat threateningly as if daring you to answer wrong. His gaze locked you down, red and brutal.
“Why do you look like you’re begging to be bred?”
Your eyes went wide, your mouth opening only to snap shut, no words able to crawl out.
“Speak,” he snarled, thumbs brushing the tears away, “or I’ll just take you right here.”
“Is that a threat?” The words slipped out before you could stop them and you cursed yourself instantly. Really? Taunting an alien four times your size?
His mandibles clicked sharp, his chest vibrating with a low purr that was more warning than comfort. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone your size.”
You smirked despite yourself, lips curling, your hand sliding down to rub the inside of his thigh, deliberately stopping just short of his cock. “A big mouth is necessary in your case.”
“Don’t play with me.” His voice broke low, feral. “If you can’t handle me, don’t tease me.” His forehead brushed against your cheek, dragging over damp skin, desperately, like he couldn’t control himself.
“Ah, fuck…” His voice cracked into something guttural, raw, like he was biting back words in his own tongue.
“You like to see me crying?” you whispered, leaning in closer. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t even move, just let you climb into his lap, straddling both thighs. The heat between your legs met the thin fabric of his loincloth, dragging against the hard shape beneath, and your breath caught again.
You could feel it. That massive, impossible length beneath you, pressing hot through the thin barrier of fabric.
He said nothing. Didn’t need to. His hands gripped the furs beneath, claws buried deep, holding on as you rolled your hips, forehead barely reaching his chest. Every wiggle of your body made his breath hitch, the tension building, his silence screaming louder than words.
When you leaned down and started kissing his broad chest, that was the first time you saw him crack that day. His head snapped back, an animalistic growl ripping out of his throat, mandibles twitching like he couldn’t hold them still.
A win for the human, you thought, grinning against his skin as you trailed his pecs with slow, teasing kisses, your hips rolling in agonizing circles over the solid shape beneath his loincloth. He still refused to touch you, hands clenching into the furs, claws digging deep as if grabbing anything but you was the only way he could keep control.
His throat was exposed now, long and taut, his chest rising and falling hard enough to move you with every breath.
“Let me look at you,” you teased, grabbing a dreadlock in each hand and tugging them slow but firm, forcing his head down toward you. He didn’t resist. You had him in the palm of your hand now.
And when your eyes met his, it was all there. Dark, menacing, hungry. His pupils blown wide, chest heaving like you were breaking him down piece by piece.
You smirked, running your fingers through his locks until you found the sensitive curve of his ear. “You can touch me… if you want.” The whisper ghosted hot against him and then he snapped. Shifting, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and holding them high above your head.
His breathing was strained as he looked at you, his gaze devouring. You blinked up at him, caught and helpless. Like a prey.
“You don’t want me to touch you,” he growled, his voice wrecked and guttural. “Not when you’re looking like that.”
“Like what?” you tilted your head, pretending innocence you didn’t feel.
“Who told you,” he leaned closer, his mandibles clicking sharp, threatening “you could walk around my ship naked?”
Before you could answer, his free hand closed over your breast, fingers pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. Your gasp hitched, pleasure and pain tangled.
Punishment. Oh… delicious punishment.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, arms aching from being pinned so high.
“An apology won’t save you now,” he rumbled, forcing your wrists even higher with one hand as the other slid down your ribs, claws skimming light but dangerous.
You jolted when his thumb pressed under your ribs, the sound that left you somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
His head tilted, eyes narrowing. “What was that?”
“I’m… ticklish,” you admitted, instantly regretting it.
His mandibles flexed in what could only be amusement, and then his fingers were at it again, stroking that same spot mercilessly.
You squirmed, thrashing uselessly under his iron grip, moans and laughter spilling from you in a wild mix as he toyed with you, relentless.
“Please—please,” you begged, body twisting against him, but he only pressed harder, more curious, more hungry for your desperate moans.
Your eyes blurred, tears spilling fresh as you gasped for breath between laughter and whimpers. “Please, stop—”
And still, he held you there, watching every shudder, every tear, every sound you gave him like it was another kind of prize to him.
“What are you going to do about it?” he finally asked, your body trembling under his grip.
He stopped pressing into your ribs, his hand settling heavy beneath your breast, thumb flicking lazily over your nipple. Torture in a new form.
“I’ll do anything,” you begged, voice weak, your face wet with tears. “Please, no more tickling.”
“If I see you naked again,” he leaned to your ear, voice low and venomous, “you’re going to regret it.”
The words curled down your spine like a blade, soft and threatening all at once. You gulped, nodding frantically. No more naked time. At least… not anytime soon.
Finally, he released your wrists. You collapsed forward, landing against his lap, your cheek pressing into his abs, cold, rock-solid, just how you remembered them.
You should have pulled away. You should have… But instead, you nuzzled closer, inhaling the strange scent of him, every instinct drowned out by the raw, desperate need to feel him.
No human had ever made you ache like this. No one had ever stripped you down to pure hunger.
His skin scraped rough against your nose and lips, making you moan softly. Your hands slid down, roaming along the thick lines of his thighs. Your lips brushed against the stretched fabric of his loincloth, your tongue pressing against it without thought. The sheer size and heat beneath had your mouth watering.
A palm flattened on your head, then fingers tangled in your hair, tugging, forcing your gaze upward.
He hadn’t pulled you off him, not yet. But the tension in his hand screamed warning.
“Are you in heat?” His voice was gravel, his grip on your hair sharp enough to sting.
You shook your head, breathless. “Humans don’t go in heat.”
At that, he released you instantly. Your mouth fell back against his stomach, dragging your tongue over the carved ridges of his abs. He twitched beneath you, a guttural curse tearing out in his mother tongue and that only made it worse.
If you had him speaking in his language, you knew he was losing the fight.
You dragged higher, licking broad, wet lines over his chest, the muscles so large your tongue could never cover them. You smirked when his eyes locked on yours. Dark, feral, undone, then teasingly flicked your tongue across the edge of his right mandible.
His hand snapped to your throat.
Not punishing. Not choking. Just holding you still, caging you in his grasp.
“Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?” he rumbled, squeezing just enough to make your gasp catch.
A weak chuckle left you anyway, reckless and wanting. “You taste good,” you breathed, your voice torn apart by lust, by the haze clawing through your chest. You couldn’t think. You could only crave.
The fact that this 8 feet tall beast was holding back, careful with you, refusing to touch you even while you were losing your mind on his lap, had you riled up beyond reason.
You needed to feel him. Anything but this torture of restraint.
“Let me taste you again,” you whispered, voice cracked and begging. His grip loosened slightly on your throat, and you pushed further. “Please.” Your eyes shimmered, tears gathering at the corners.
Slowly, he let you go.
You didn’t waste a second. Sliding down his body, you pressed wet kisses along the hard planes of his abdomen, following the thick veins that mapped his skin until you were lower, dragging your tongue once more over the heavy bulge beneath his loincloth.
The sound he made—deep, guttural—wasn’t the quiet, restrained rumble you were used to. This one was raw. Animal. A beast warning its prey to run.
Your mouth trailed over the loincloth, lips grazing the heat radiating from his erection. You parted them, teeth catching on the thin fabric just enough to tug, until his voice cut through the heavy silence.
“Use your teeth on me and I’ll choke the life out of you.”
The words rolled out low and easy, as if he was casually stating the time. A threat that felt less like a warning and more like a fact. And knowing him, you weren’t sure he was bluffing.
You tilted your head up, catching his half-lidded eyes as he looked down at you, his massive frame sprawled, chest heaving. He didn’t look threatening at all. No bared fangs, no anger, just heat pooling in those red eyes.
You almost laughed.
“Mhm,” you hummed, short, dismissive, like you didn’t believe a word of his threat.
Your teeth grazed the fabric again, more careful this time than you dared to admit, tugging it slowly between them as your eyes locked onto his.
And even though you hadn’t seen him fully yet, that moment—the silent standoff, that dangerous back-and-forth charged with lust—was the hottest thing you had ever experienced.
Knowing he could break you in half if he wanted to, yet chose not to. Knowing he let you linger, tease, test his patience.
The monster let you do as you pleased.
And for that fleeting second, it felt like he was the one obeying you.
Then you let the loincloth slip free from your teeth, ready to see him for the first time.
But your breath caught.
This… this was not what you were expecting.
Your head tilted, eyes wide as you took him in. His cock wasn’t human, not even close. It pushed from a dark sheath, retractable, alive, the same deep blue shade as his skin. Thick ridges and raised bumps ran along the shaft, textured in ways that had your imagination spiraling out of control. You could see it pulse, throbbing in time with the rumbling in his chest, every beat making your thighs clench tighter.
But it was the tip that stole the air from your lungs.
Pointed. Alien. Leaking a pale, viscous fluid that clung and stretched, drooling from the sharp, greenish head.
Your lips parted in shock, a gasp stuck in your throat. You couldn’t look away, your body humming with a need that made you tremble.
Curiosity tangled with hunger. You needed to know. How he tasted, how those ridges would feel dragging against your tongue, how that pulse would stretch inside you, how the strange liquid would coat your mouth.
Your lip was caught between your teeth, biting hard.
A shiver raced up your spine at the thought of him slamming this monstrous cock inside you. Excitement burned away the fear that should have been there.
Your mouth watered before you could stop it, your lungs pulling in his scent. Musk, earthy, alkaline.
“Fuck…” you whispered, voice wrecked, lips swollen from biting too hard, restless hands twitching against his thighs, squeezing, digging your nails in his thick skin.
You pressed your cheek against the leaking shaft, feeling its impossible hardness. The spongy tip smeared precum across your skin, hot and sticky, as you tilted your face up with wide, wet eyes.
He was staring down at you. Not broken, not undone… he looked proud. His chest puffed, shoulders squared, those red predator eyes locked on you. The same eyes that would freeze your blood if you saw them in the dark… but here, now, they only made your cunt clench and throb, heat searing through you.
Your lips brushed a ghost of a kiss near his tip.
His clawed thumb pressed at your mouth, dragging your jaw open, stroking across your bottom lip like he was testing the softness.
“You’re too soft,” he rumbled, the words guttural, but the tone, there was something else there. A strange warmth.
“And small.” His thumb slid further in, pressing flat on your tongue until you lightly gagged on it.
“I can take it,” you smirked against him, words muffled, spit slicking your chin as his thumb traced down, pressing into the hollow of your throat.
The sound he made was a low, sharp growl that almost tipped into a laugh. Amused. Disbelieving.
“I never doubted you,” he said, mandibles twitching in soft clicks before his palm caught the back of your head, forcing your lips down onto his tip.
“Fuck…” The word rolled thick and broken from his mouth, the way he dragged it in your language only making your stomach flip with heat.
Your tongue touched him. Finally. Circling the swollen tip, tasting him. Metallic, bitter. Strange but… addictive.
Your lashes fluttered half-closed, your tongue tracing every ridge and bump, sliding down the veined length before you dragged back up and pushed him deeper into your mouth.
Too big. Way too big. You didn’t want to think about what would happen if this thing actually went inside you, but your body craved for it anyway.
Your hands wrapped around what you could of him, pumping slowly, your fingers so small against the sheer size of his cock it almost made you laugh.
You pressed your lips to his tip again, kissing it before sucking slow and messy, your hands working his shaft up and down.
“Eager little thing,” he growled, head tilting back, one hand clawing into the furs while the other fisted one of his dreadlocks, pulling it taut as his chest rose and fell fast.
You locked your gaze on his, sucking harder, tongue circling the swollen ridges, your hands dragging hard and slow. The steady vibration you felt against your tongue made your thighs squeeze together, it was insane, he was insane, and you couldn’t get enough.
That’s when it crossed your mind. A dangerous, reckless thought.
Make him beg.
It was stupid. You knew it wouldn’t work, not on him, not ever. But the brat in you wanted to try.
You pulled off with a wet pop, your tongue lazily teasing his tip with little flicks, hands squeezing hard around his length.
He was breathing like he had been running, chest rising and falling, mandibles clicking sharp with agitation.
“Do you want more?” you asked, your tongue licking him in soft, taunting swipes, watching the way his cock twitched each time.
His head tilted, eyes glowing red and dangerous, pinning you where you sat. For a second you forgot how to breathe, he was massive, dreadlocks falling heavy down his chest and arms, his whole body coiled tight like he was deciding how to break you.
“You think you can mess with me?” His voice dropped lower, darker, as he ripped a strange tie off his wrist and swept half his dreadlocks back into a ponytail.
Your mouth parted, awe-struck. His chest looked even broader like that, while he worked on his hair, every thick muscle of his biceps flexing with the motion, making him look less like a predator and more like a Greek God, sculptured into perfection.
“Stupid little human,” he growled, the words sharp but somehow tasting sweet in your ears, almost intimate in their cruelty.
Before you could crawl back, his massive hand shoved you flat against the nest. Your slick hands slipped from his shaft as you scrambled back on your elbows, staring at him crawling toward you like a hunter cornering prey.
“You’ll beg for me to fuck you when I’m done with you,” he rumbled, his guttural voice rolling straight to your chest.
Your eyes went wide in shock.
You didn’t know what to expect now. Had your teasing really pushed him so far that he would make good on his threat, to break you until you begged?
“If you want to run, do it now,” he said, voice low, palms sliding over your thighs, prying them open slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.
You shook your head, breathless. “No.”
“Bad idea,” he rumbled, and then his hand was on you, palming your soaked folds, his middle finger dragging through the mess of your arousal, smearing it everywhere.
A broken wail escaped you, your back arching. His other hand pressed hard into your stomach, pinning you flat as he lowered himself between your legs.
Clawed fingers spread your folds open, holding you apart before a hot, wet stripe dragged over your pussy.
“Fuck—” you gasped, your hips jerking, but his hand pressed harder on your stomach, caging you down. You weren’t going anywhere. You had to take it.
His dreadlocks brushed your thighs as his face lowered, mandibles extended just enough to avoid grazing you. His glowing eyes never leaving yours.
“Keep looking at me,” he growled, voice guttural and thick, before his tongue slid over you again, his fingers rubbing lazy circles against your folds.
Heat coiled tight in your stomach. You couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. You were trapped under his mouth, under his hands, and it had your heart pounding so hard you swore he could feel it under his tongue.
Then you felt the pressure. A digit pressing at your entrance, sliding barely inside before pulling out just as quick.
You let out a choked gasp, legs trembling, body twitching for more. He did it again, slow, shallow, just enough to drive you insane before retreating, making you whine in frustration.
“Please,” you begged, your voice broken, desperate. “Please, I won’t tease you again, just—please.”
That made him stop. His hand stilled, his mouth lifted from you, his eyes blazing as he looked at you, his grip shifting to hold your thighs, thumbs stroking small circles on your trembling flesh.
“What do you want?” he asked, voice deep.
You whined, shaking your head, shame burning through your chest. “You know what I want…”
“Say it.” His voice dropped darker, demanding. His hands slid higher, palms heavy on your breasts now, thumbs and fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples until you gasped.
“Say it,” he repeated, dragging the word out slow, taunting, daring you.
Your arm flew up to cover your face, hiding, voice cracking.
“I want your… fingers,” you whimpered, the words tumbling out broken.
“Again.” His hand ripped your arm away, forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze burned into you, unrelenting.
“Look at me,” he growled. “Say it again.”
That was the most humiliating thing you had ever felt. Humiliating and intoxicating, the pulse of your blood pounding straight into your throbbing cunt.
So embarrassing… so dangerously hot.
You couldn’t believe it. You had given in so easily, crumbled under his touch so fast you were already on the verge of tears as you whispered again, eyes locked on his.
“Please… I need to feel you… inside.”
He dragged his thumb over your cheek, surprisingly gentle.
“Good girl,” he rumbled and the word made you bite down on your lip so hard it hurt.
Then his finger pressed past your lips, slick with your own wetness.
“Suck it.”
Your tongue curled around him immediately, obeying, making his digit shine with spit as he commanded.
“Are all humans this obedient?” he asked, his voice teasing, mandibles clicking with amusement. “Maybe I should capture myself some more.”
And that made you bite down. Hard. Your teeth clamped around his finger, your eyes glaring up at him with defiance.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pull away. His chest rumbled instead, a low, dark vibration that almost sounded amused.
“Alright, Tiv’ka.”
You frowned at the unfamiliar word, still biting his finger. What did that mean? Some kind of name?
He leaned down, his forehead brushing yours, his voice low but soft in its own strange way.
“Got it. No other humans allowed.”
You eased your teeth off, lips parting as he slid his finger free, slow, leaving behind a wet string of saliva that slipped down your chin.
“Are all humans this possessive?” he asked, the faintest growl edging his tone as his finger drifted down between your thighs again, sliding into your slick folds with agonizing slowness. “Or just mine?”
Mine.
The word hit you like a shock.
As in… his?
Are you his now?
You wanted to ask. Needed to. The question clawed at your throat—
But your voice broke on a gasp instead, because his finger pushed inside you.
He groaned, a guttural sound deep in his chest, while your eyes rolled back, your lips parting as your whole body shivered around the stretch of just one of his massive digits.
Even that felt impossibly big, impossibly filling. You couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—what his cock would do to you.
His finger slid back, slow, then pressed in again, deeper this time.
Your back arched, your body chasing the angle, desperate, already trembling for the stars he was about to make you see.
But you didn’t have time to think, his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, lazy circles.
You gasped, stomach clenching, completely undone as your eyes rolled toward the ceiling, words falling broken from your lips.
“Oh… God.”
When you turned your head, his chest was rising and falling in time with yours, his gaze locked and hungry.
“You… took notes?” you managed, breathless, teasing him, because his fingers worked you exactly the way you had touched yourself in front of him. The same angle. The same rhythm. The same slow teasing of your clit.
He didn’t answer. Just rumbled, low and deep, a satisfied sound vibrating from his chest.
“I… I want to touch you too,” you whimpered, almost begging as his finger slid faster inside you, stretching, stroking.
“Please.”
This time, he reacted. His hand shot to your face, clawed fingers squeezing your cheeks painfully until your lips puckered.
“Don’t use that face on me.” His tone was low, dangerous, like he was holding something back, like you had no idea what line you were crossing. He pushed your face away with a growl, as though he couldn’t bear to look at it.
But that only gave you a reason to do it again.
“Please.” The word came muffled against his grip, your eyes wide and wet, begging shamelessly up at him.
His chest rumbled deep, the sound primal, almost scary, making the hair on your body stand.
“You pushed me enough, now I’ll fuck that mouth of yours until it forgets how to tease me.”
No hesitation. No warning. Just a raw, savage promise.
Your heart lurched. This wasn’t teasing anymore. You were in trouble.
His fingers left you, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching at the sudden emptiness. You gasped, desperate, but didn’t have a second to complain before his hand tangled in your hair.
With a tug, he yanked you to your feet. You stumbled but obeyed, legs shaking, heart hammering up into your throat, half terrified, half burning alive at the thought of what he was about to do.
He grabbed your waist and lifted you off the nest as though you weighed nothing.
The next second, your back hit the cold floor. He shoved you down, positioning your nape at the nest’s edge, angling your throat just how he wanted. Your body lay sprawled on the metal ground, your head dangling, and all you could see was him looming above you—an upside-down vision of a beast about to destroy you.
You didn’t have time to process before your mouth was forced open, stuffed full with his massive alien cock.
Your eyes flew wide as the thick, vibrating length pressed down the back of your throat from that angle, cutting off your breath. You choked, gagging, until his hand wrapped firmly around your neck, holding it in place, pinning you, forcing the perfect angle so he could sink deeper.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, spilling down your temples as his spongy tip slammed against the back of your throat again and again. And the worst part? Not even half his cock was inside you yet. Not even in this position.
That thing could kill you.
His breathing came heavy and fast, chest rumbling with low growls as he fucked your mouth, not recklessly, but with a pace that skirted the edge, just slow enough to keep you alive.
Your hands moved on instinct, one sliding between your thighs, desperate fingers circling your swollen clit in rhythm with his thrusts. The vibrations of his cock made your whole body shake, heat pooling low in your stomach.
A guttural curse spilled from him in his own tongue, rough and primal. Your throat clenched tight around him, and his hips stuttered, driving faster now, losing himself in the wet heat of your mouth.
You tapped at the hand gripping your neck, nails digging into his thick wrist. He quickly retreated, pulling free with a wet, loud pop.
His cock slapped against your forehead, slick and hot, leaving a smear of his precum across your skin. You coughed and gasped for air, throat raw, chest heaving.
And then, his thumb brushed across your cheek.
Your watery eyes blinked up at him—upside down, blurred—but somehow, you saw it. Gentleness. His massive body still breathing fast, mandibles flexing with each breath, but his touch was unexpectedly tender.
He looked like the embodiment of sex. Skin glistening with sweat. Chest rising and falling, each inhale dragging his dreadlocks across his broad shoulders. His body was raw, brutal power, and yet in that moment he was just… beautiful.
You wished you could read his mind.
Because you knew, by the way his gaze softened, by the warmth burning behind his predator’s eyes, that you both felt it. The same hunger. The same heat pooling at the pit of your stomachs. The same desperate need to take and be taken, to push until the other broke.
You wanted to taste him, bite him, claw at him until you couldn’t feel anything else. You wanted to be consumed, to beg for more, to make him beg in return.
And for one fleeting moment, you wished you could simply kiss him. Just like that, in the most stupid human way possible. Lips to lips—even if he didn’t have lips. Tongue to tongue. His hands roaming your body, yours digging into him, both of you drowning with need.
You wanted everything he had to give. And in the way his thumb stroked your face, you swore he wanted the same.
“I’m okay now,” you breathed, his hand shifting from your cheek to your ear, stroking softly as though testing how delicate every part of you really was.
Then he fisted your hair, tugging until your head angled back the way he wanted and pushed his dripping cock into your mouth again.
The ridges dragged over your tongue, the pale liquid coating every surface, strange, bitter yet addicting in its flavor. His pointy, spongy tip brushed the back of your throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, as if gauging your limits, noticing how hard you struggled to take him in.
His massive hand cradled your skull, guiding the movement, helping his cock slide deeper, smoother, until he found a rhythm. Not relentless, but not merciful either. A pace both of you could savor.
You closed your lips tight around him, sucking hard, your throat stretching to its limit, trying to give him everything you could from this impossible angle. It was clumsy, messy, mouthing his massive cock was more challenge than skill, but he noticed.
Oh, he noticed.
His hips twitched, pace faltering, a sharp breath leaving his chest.
Victory surged through you. You pressed your lips tighter, ignoring the raw sting, determined to wring another break in his control. And when he jerked again, body betraying him for just a second, you grinned around him.
Another win for the human.
The wet sounds of your mouth, the obscene slide of his cock in and out, your muffled gags tangled with his uneven breathing. The nest reeked of sex—your musk, his musk—melding thick in the air until you thought you could drown in it.
The pace shifted, his hips thrusting harder now, faster, rougher, as though he was losing control. Your hands scrambled to his shaft, pumping the length that couldn’t fit in your mouth, stroking him in sync with his thrusts.
The result was devastating. A chain of curses ripped from his throat, breaths sharp and uneven, his massive body trembling above you as though you were undoing him piece by piece. His hand clamped your breast, squeezing hard, as he fucked your throat raw.
The sound built in his chest, a low, monstrous roar and when it broke free, it shook the nest. His cock throbbed violently against your tongue, swelling, twitching, and then—
Hot, thick release flooded your mouth.
You barely had a second to register the first rush before he pulled free with a wet pop, and the next torrent hit your face instead. Strands of pale cum splattered across your lips, your cheek, your throat, dripping down onto your breasts.
He snarled, hips bucking, as more thick ropes spurted out, across your closed eyes, your nose, your chest, painting you in his release. It was endless. He came hard, and then harder, his growls matching each violent spasm of his cock as his hips ground into your desperate little hands. His other hand clutched at your breast, kneading like he needed something to hold while his orgasm tore him apart.
It was everywhere. Him, his taste, his smell, his heat, covering every inch of you.
His cum still swirled in your mouth, thick and metallic against your tongue. Panic clawed at your chest, if you swallowed, you might choke. Desperately, you forced it out, spitting as much as you could, your mouth dripping with it while you gasped for air, trying to steady your breathing.
The wet, desperate sound of your mouth seemed to draw him in, and his thumb came down, brushing across your lips. He didn’t bother with delicacy,just cleaned you messily, gathering his release, leaving a slick, warm trail on your skin.
By the time his hips slowed, he was spent, didn’t have any more cum to give. But he kept pressing lazily into your sticky palms, savoring the feel of your tiny hands struggling to wrap around him.
He sighed heavy, chest rising and falling hard as the beast in him came down.
And you lay beneath him, utterly ruined. Eyes sealed shut with his cum, lips smeared and dripping, his taste thick on your tongue, alkaline, metallic, almost spicy. Unlike anything you had ever had in your mouth before. Unlike anything human at all.
If he had released all of that inside you, a dark thought crept in… you weren’t sure he wouldn’t actually breed you, as he had promised.
He pulled you up from your lying position, thumbs dragging over your sticky face, wiping the cum from your lashes so you could see again.
“You did it,” you rasped, coughing, your throat raw as you chuckled. “You fucked my mouth so hard, for a second I thought I’d choke to death.”
You laughed, and the low rumble in his chest followed, a sound that almost resembled laughter.
“If I didn’t have a sliver of respect for you,” he said, voice dark and guttural, “I wouldn’t give a fuck. I’d kill you with my cock.”
Your chest fluttered at the honesty of it and then his massive arm scooped you up, forearm pressing against your ass as he stood and started walking.
“But that would be a shame,” he exhaled, his tone almost thoughtful. “Having a soft toy with so many entrances to play with… I need to try every hole before I decide your fate.”
You slapped his chest twice, clicking your tongue in mock-annoyance.
“Oh, so I’m only good for fucking?” you teased, squeezing at his pectoral, digging your fingers in like you meant to hurt him.
“You’re also good at opening fruits you’re not supposed to,” he rumbled unbothered, the sound vibrating through his chest with a teasing edge.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’ll bite your dick off next time. See if you like that.”
You wriggled, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he only tightened his hold, pressing you harder against his chest. From there, you could hear it, his heartbeat. Fast. Hard. Still racing even after his orgasm.
“Okay, Tiv’ka, no more teasing.” His thumb brushed over your shoulder, gentle now, like an apology.
“What do you keep calling me?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously as the familiar scent of water and stone reached your nose now. “Is that some kind of an insult?”
His chest vibrated lowly, a quiet hum.
“No, little bite. It’s not an insult.”
And that… God, that was the softest you had ever heard his voice. Like he was forcing himself into a tone he wasn’t used to, but wanted you to hear. And that alone set a different kind of heat in your chest. Something warm. Sweet. And maybe more dangerous than his claws.
He stepped into the pool, carrying you down the steps without ever loosening his arms. Cold water lapped at your skin, biting first, then soothing as you sank into it. You hissed, then melted against him, letting him hold you steady. His thumbs traced slow circles across your back, warming your body against the cold water.
“So…” you exhaled softly, tilting your head up to him. “Do I have to find a name for you, or do you already have one?”
“Zha’kor.” The name rolled out of him, rough, gravelly in his throat, with a slow bow of his head.
A rough name for a rough alien. It matched him too well.
You whispered it back twice, tasting its roughness on your tongue.
“Zha’kor. Zha’kor.”
A low, satisfied rumble vibrated from his chest and through your body. A small spark of pride flared inside you. I said it right… you thought, a tiny grin tugging at your lips.
Slowly, his massive hand found your face, cupping it gently as he scooped up the cool bath water. He brought it to your skin, wiping away the mess of sweat, cum, and tears, tracing over your cheeks with an unusually careful touch. The water slid down your skin, leaving a slick trail as his rumbling continued, as if your voice calling his name, had struck the perfect chord.
Now you weren’t just in the arms of an alien who had broken your body open and filled you with his cum. You were in the arms of Zha’kor. A name as jagged and brutal as he was. A name that fit him like armor.
But armor could be cracked.
The thought stirred something dangerous in you. You wanted more than his control, more than his strength. You wanted to see him fall apart. You wanted to see him crawl for you, beg for the slick heat of your cunt, tremble under your touch the way you had under his.
That was your new goal now, blooming and gleaming in your chest, like some sort of flare. Make the great hunter crumble. Make him desperate. Make him forget himself inside you.
For now, though, you let yourself rest in the cold water, his arms holding you tight, his fingers rubbing your skin. But in the back of your mind, your next move was already forming.
“I did run,” you said, slowly rising to your feet, chin tilted in defiance. “And I am.”
And then you darted.
You sprinted toward the door behind him, but your movement was barely a second old before his hand caught the back of your shirt, yanking you to a dead stop.
You gasped, chest jerking from the force.
“You’re not fast enough,” he growled in his guttural voice, laughter rumbling like thunder in his chest.
He held you effortlessly, feet dangling above the floor like you weighed nothing.
“Yes, okay, fine. I’m not fast enough for you,” you said, playing defeated. You lowered your head with a dramatic sigh, giving in.
But you’re a human.
And humans are liars.
“But…” you looked up at him now. “I take pride in being unpredictable.”
Before he could blink, your hands shot up, grabbing a fistful of his dreadlocks and yanking with all the force you could gather.
He gasped, stumbling back half a step, surprised more than hurt, but it was all you needed.
You twisted your body free, slipped out of his grip like smoke, and bolted.
Behind you, the alien let out another rumble — louder this time, half-choked between frustration and delight. He dropped to one knee, catching his breath.
“You are feisty,” he growled breathlessly, voice edged with something that could have been appreciation.
“Damn right,” you shouted over your shoulder, already running again.
Your feet carried you into another corridor, heart racing, lungs burning with the excitement. You could hear him behind you, doors slamming open, his presence a crashing wave, unstoppable.
You were in trouble now.
Delicious, dangerous trouble.
You slowed down, just enough to taunt him with a glance. And that was your mistake.
Because this time, he didn’t play.
You heard it, the shift in his movement, the predator dropping the act.
His footsteps turned brutal, fast and hungry.
Your blood turned to ice.
You tried to speed up, to recover your lead, but your knee caught the edge of a crate and you stumbled, hitting the floor with a thud.
Before you could crawl forward, something latched around your ankle.
“What the—fuck?!” you gasped through your laughter, twisting to look behind you.
He had you, again.
And this time, he didn’t even bother pulling you upright.
He just dragged you by your ankle.
Your body slid across the metal floor, your hands scrambling to grab anything to stop him, but nothing held. His grip was absolute, his strength unimaginable.
“You know you could try being civilized about this!” you shouted, laughing even harder now.
He didn’t answer, just clicked his mandibles in amusement, dragging you like a hunter hauling his prize.
The hallway darkened as he turned into a new chamber, and when the light returned, you saw it.
A room.
More personal than the others. In the middle of it, the floor was padded with hides and layered furs, messy and warm like a nest.
He lifted you with one hand still around your ankle, holding you upside down like he was inspecting you.
Your shirt slid up, your body aching from the rough ride.
“That hurts,” you grumbled, slapping at his abdomen — abs like stone.
“I know,” he said flatly, no apology in his voice. His hand shifted, and without ceremony, he dropped you onto the nest.
You landed with an oomph, twisting onto your side as you stared up at him.
“What now?” you asked, tone sharp.
He paced around the furs, arms folded, voice low.
“You run like prey.”
“I’m not one though,” you snapped, sitting up, arms folded to mirror his stance.
“I know.”
He said it so simply. No malice. No smugness. Just truth. It twisted something inside you.
You tilted your head. “I caught you off guard.”
“I know,” he repeated, stopping in front of you.
Then he said something that made the air in your lungs turn to fire.
“I can see your heat. Everywhere.” His voice was low, almost vibrating, each word sinking into you like a pulse. He started crawling forward, slow and focused, like an animal closing in. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but you stayed put. This felt like another test. How far you would go. How much you could take.
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the way his long dreadlocks dragged against the furs, the strands swaying with his movements. His gaze was darker now, heavier, pure predator locked on prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“You’re a beast.” You meant for it to cut, but the words slipped out softer, breathless. Scared.
Something in him moved at that sound. He groaned, deep, rich, and unhurried, like he was tasting your fear and savoring it. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and you felt small under the weight of them. Small, but not weak.
Then something in you moved. You reacted, fast, turning like you might bolt from the nest, muscles tensed and ready. You wanted to bait him, see him move, see what would happen if you pushed.
You almost made it, until his voice stopped you cold.
“If you leave,” he said calmly, “I will hunt you and breed you right there on the floor. Your choice.”
Your eyes widened.
You knew he meant it. You were in his game now. And once he caught you, there’d be no running.
But still… part of you wanted to. Wanted to see him snap.
Your lips twitched, almost a smile, but you kept it tight, jaw clenched. You wanted to push him, see him lose that perfect control. You wanted the weight of him again, his breath in your ear, the press of whatever was straining under that loincloth.
Instead, you turned back and sank down into the furs like you hadn’t moved at all.
“I’ll bite your dreadlocks and make you bleed,” you said, chin tipped up.
He didn’t scare you. Not exactly. You were just… curious. Curious about what sat behind that calm, the exact point where you could make him break and groan for you. The memory of how he had moved, how his hips had rolled when you had dragged your tongue along his locks, flashed in your mind, and your teeth caught your bottom lip.
His eyes tracked it. Tracked everything.
“You won’t have any breath left to move if I let myself touch you,” he said, voice low but heavy with certainty.
Then he leaned back on the other side of the nest, sprawling his long legs out. One arm braced behind him, the other bent so his fist could hold the side of his head. The position made him look impossibly big, relaxed, but dangerous in a way that made your pulse crazy.
His gaze traveled slow—painfully slow—from your feet up your body, inch by inch, like he was reading you.
You felt naked under his stare, stripped bare without a single touch. Goosebumps prickled up your arms and you instinctively folded them across your chest, glancing away just long enough to steady your breath before letting it out slow.
He moved—just a slight shift—but his hand came up, a single finger pointing toward your legs.
“Do what you did earlier,” he rumbled, voice deep in his chest. He leaned back against the nest like he owned the space, one knee lifting, the loincloth sliding over his hips and resting against his abdomen. His head tilted, eyes sharpening, as if he wanted a better view before he braced his head against his fist again.
Heat crept up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. You knew he could see it. Shame. Want. Hunger. All tangled together.
You clenched your jaw, ready to tell him no. Ready to push back.
But something inside you—something that had nothing to do with pheromones—wanted to give in. To put on a show. To see him lose that grip he kept so tightly around himself.
You slid back into the furs, your body mimicking his posture. His legs nearly brushed yours, his sheer size making the air between you feel thin.
Your knees lifted slightly. Your fingers found the heat between your thighs, pressing against your underwear, but your other hand rose as a shield, blocking his view, letting him know you would only give him so much.
The sound he made was low and dangerous, a growl that promised teeth if you pushed your luck.
You kept going anyway, fingers pressing in slow circles over your clit. Your head tipped back, your lips parting, the quietest moans slipping free. The heat was everywhere now, around you, in you and you let it consume you.
When you looked at him again, your eyes half-lidded, you saw the change. His breath was heavier, each exhale laced with something primal. He looked like he could tear the air apart if you made him wait another second.
“Move your hand,” he said finally.
But what you expected never came.
The snatch of your arm, the sudden weight of him pinning you down in the furs, claiming you like a prize, that moment you braced for… It didn’t happen.
Instead, heat bloomed across your skin like wildfire, crawling up your body until your chest felt too tight, your breath catching like the air was slowly leaking out of your lungs.
Then came the pressure, curling in your gut and spreading downward until you couldn’t think past it. You gasped, desperate for air, every inhale shallow and shaky. Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill, but you didn’t stop, your hand pressed hard over your damp underwear, fingers slipping inside to stroke that maddeningly sensitive spot. Your other hand rose to your breast, twisting your nipple until the jolt of sensation dragged a raw moan from your throat.
Your body melted into the nest, your back sinking into its center, knees up and shaking. You touched yourself like it was the only thing keeping you from burning alive, every nerve strung tight, every muscle begging for him. You needed him. Needed his weight, his heat, the way he would fill you and you couldn’t explain it. You didn’t need to.
The low rumble in his chest broke through the haze. Steady, deep, vibrating like it was meant for you. It wrapped around you, an unspoken command to keep going, to push until you shutter.
You lifted your head, just enough to see him watching you. Eyes locked on you, unblinking. Not touching himself. Not moving. Just leaning back, drinking in every second like it was enough to feed him.
The flush of embarrassment hit you hard, you wanted him to react, to lose himself the way you were losing yourself. You started to pull your hand away.
“Keep going,” he said, low, firm, a voyeur’s demand, as if stopping now would offend him.
A slow smile tugged at your lips. So, he was enjoying himself. He didn’t have to touch himself, not like a human would. He wasn’t human.
The thought of him taking you in like this, feeding off your sounds, your desperate little gasps, the way your thighs squeezed together trying to hold on just a little longer, made your body twitch. The heat surged again, and the sound that left you was half squeal, half moan, raw with need.
You were breathless, clinging to the last scrap of sanity in your head just so you wouldn’t finish right there, so you wouldn’t drown in the rush of hormones pounding through you.
It was obvious now. He had punished you for not obeying his command and let him see you touch yourself, but in his own way. Releasing that heavy wave of pheromones again, choking you in your own breath and spit, making your body beg for him without a single word.
You wanted him—God, you wanted him—but this wasn’t just want anymore. When those pheromones hit, it was like something deeper and primal woke inside you. A gut instinct to be taken. To be bred. It scared you. It thrilled you. And it made you burn with a shame you couldn’t hide.
Your body trembled, your mind lost, when suddenly, the fire just… stopped.
You sucked in air like you had been underwater for minutes, chest heaving, your hands flying up to clutch at yourself just to ground your body.
“Fuck…” you muttered, in exhaustion and frustration.
“Don’t disobey me again,” his voice cut in, rasp, low, that guttural tone crawling over your skin.
You nodded fast—yes, yes—you didn’t even trust yourself to speak. You knew if he hit you with that scent again, you would lose every last shred of control. You would be on him, begging, clawing for him to take you.
You stayed there, breathing hard, staring up at the ship’s ceiling, still not fully down from the high when a deep, heavy scoff pulled your attention back to him.
It was subtle, intentional. He wanted you to hear it.
“You’re enjoying watching me struggle, aren’t you?” you shot back.
He made a sound, almost a hum, like he was agreeing with you. But there was something else in it. For once, he let a sliver of real emotion through.
“Come here,” he said, not a command this time. There was something almost… gentle in it. Or as gentle as he could be. It didn’t sound like he wanted to boss you around this time. It sounded like he wanted you close, to touch you, to feel you, to explore you.
You lifted your head to look at him, and his face seemed… different. The hard edges hadn’t gone and his expression wasn’t exactly soft. But you saw a frown that was trying to hide something desperate underneath.
“Come,” he repeated, sharper this time. It made you flinch.
You tried to push yourself up, to obey, but your body wouldn’t listen. You were still weak, breathless, your palms pressed into the rugs just to hold yourself steady. The air felt thick, heavy, and the aftermath of his pheromones still clung to you, weighing you down.
And then you felt him move. He extended his massive hand toward you, the shadow of it stretching over your skin.
You stared at it, unsure. Was he helping you up?
Your eyes flicked back to his, sharp, alien. He moved his fingers slightly, a wordless signal to come closer.
You hesitated, caught between wanting to give in and wanting to make him wait.
Slowly, you reached out. You braced for a rough yank, for that predator’s grip you knew so well. But instead… he took your hand, his palm rough and cold, the texture of his kind written on it.
He pulled you toward him, slow at first. You crawled forward, your breaths shallow, your skin slick with sweat, the corners of your eyes still damp with tears. Your body burned, flushed, aching and yet there was that voice in your head, whispering danger, telling you to stop.
You ignored it.
His grip slid from your palm to your wrist, and then the pull became stronger, more impatient.
You ended up on his lap, his legs stretched open beneath you. You sat onto one of his massive thighs, solid and powerful under you, bigger than anything you had ever seen attached to a body. And sitting there, you knew you weren’t just close to him. You were in his space completely, exactly where he wanted you.
He guided you onto him slowly, pulling until you collapsed against his chest. Your palms found his pecs to steady yourself. One of his hands slid to your back, holding you there, keeping you grounded while you tried to breathe through the chaos he had left in your mind and body.
You clung to him, pressing your face into his chest, counting his slow breaths to steady your own. His hand came up to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, studying its softness the same way you had once studied him.
“Breathe,” he growled, the sound deep and rough. You were trembling against him, nails digging into his skin, the feverish heat in your body making every inch of you throb.
You were touching him everywhere you could reach—shoulders, chest, sides—your body melting against his. He didn’t push you away. Your legs rested between his, and with your eyes closed, your nose pressed to the side of his neck, you inhaled him. That alien scent wrapped around you, sank into you, made your teeth ache with the urge to bite.
“Will you stop releasing pheromones now?” you asked, voice muffled against his cool skin. You chased that coolness with your lips, desperate for relief from the heat consuming you.
“I’m not,” his chest rumbled.
Your eyes snapped open. You leaned back slightly, searching his face.
“What…?”
He tilted his head, at you. He was honest.
So all this—this dizzy, aching need—wasn’t his pheromones? Just you… wanting him?
Could be.
The purr in his chest grew louder, and it curled through you, sliding up your spine and settling low between your legs. You closed your eyes, shivering, your hands finding the thick column of his neck, holding on as you tilted his head down toward yours.
Red irises locked on you, alien and sharp, set in a sclera as black as deep space. But there was something softer in the way he looked at you… or maybe you just imagined it.
He clicked his mandibles, like he was waiting for you to speak, but you didn’t. You just held him there, close enough to feel his breath.
He was brutal. Unforgiving. Deadly.
And yet, he let you hold him like this, let you stay on his lap while that low purr kept pushing you to melt against him.
You swallowed hard as he leaned down, his massive hand sliding over your head, fingers tangling in your hair before tugging it back gently. His teeth pressed into your shoulder, not sharp enough to bleed, but enough to make your body jolt.
You flinched, biting down on a sound, trying to swallow it back.
His hand shot up, gripping your wrist and pulling it away from your mouth.
“Don’t hide it. I want to hear you,” he said, his voice thick with want.
You held his gaze, but your stomach was twisting with heat you couldn’t name.
His mandibles shifted, brushing your skin before his teeth found the side of your neck. The bite was hard, enough to make a sound slip from your lips, in pain, in pleasure. The rumble in his chest matched your voice, feeding off every gasp, every whimper.
You held his head, fingers tangled in whatever you could grip, as he tested you, biting harder, pressing deeper, pushing to see how much you would take before you finally told him to stop.
His mouth roamed like he couldn’t help himself, down your arm, over the curve of your neck, the inside of your wrist, tasting you, tracing you, as though the feel of your skin was some impossible temptation he had finally given in to.
You touched his chest, both to steady yourself and to explore. His skin was cold, thick, strange… yet somehow you wanted more of it.
He caught your wrist, his mouth still at your neck, and guided your hand up to his head. You didn’t need him to explain. You understood.
So you touched him, fingers slipping into the weight of his dreadlocks, feeling the texture, the life in them. He took your hint just as you had taken his, his forked tongue dragged along your neck, licking your skin until it brushed your ear. You hissed, and without thinking, your fingers tightened around two of his locks, giving them a small squeeze.
The sound he made against your ear, deep, choked, almost unwilling, hit you harder than you wanted to admit. It was the most attractive thing you had ever heard from him.
A strange heat radiated off his body, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to hold you there. Not painful, but firm enough to remind you.
Don’t push too far.
“I’ll behave if you do,” you murmured, turning your head so your lips brushed close to where his ear might be.
“You don’t get to make the rules,” he rumbled, leaning back enough to look at you. His grip shifted, moving your head from side to side, studying your face like he was deciding what to do with you.
“I think I do.” Your hand was still tangled in his hair, and you gave it a playful tug—once, twice—warning him right back. Your smile was knowing and a little dangerous.
“You’re soft,” he said, almost to himself, “yet you don’t know not to challenge bigger threats like me.” His thumb skimmed over your lips, and you opened your mouth, letting him slide it in.
“You’re so willing to open for me,” he murmured, testing a softer voice, like it was the first time he was using it.
The purr in his chest began again, low and deep. His eyes stayed fixed on your mouth as you took his thumb in, your tongue curling around it, wetting the skin before pulling it deeper. He let you have it, even though you both knew you could bite if you wanted.
And you did.
The urge to tease, to test him, took over. Your teeth grazed his skin, closing just enough for him to feel it.
His hand on your nape tightened.
You opened your mouth, freeing his finger and looked up through your lashes. “I won’t bite,” you breathed, your smile curling at the edges.
He hesitated, eyes locked on you, weighing whether you were worth the risk.
“Please…” This time, your voice was a purr, soft and inviting, as you guided his hand back to your mouth.
He didn’t resist, which was almost more dangerous than if he had. You slid his finger past your lips again, teeth grazing it lightly as it entered your mouth, your tongue slow and teasing.
His head tilted, watching you like he was trying to make sense of your nature.
How you could use your teeth so… gently.
The hand around your neck loosened, drifting lower until it rested above your chest. The tips of his claws tapped there, a slow rhythm, testing the fragility of your skin like he couldn’t get enough of how soft you were.
You sucked his thumb again, just enough pressure to make him feel the edge of your teeth. His claws responded in kind, pricking against you, a mirrored warning.
Then his patience snapped, he grabbed your waist, his palm pressing hard into the small of your back, dragging you across his thigh until you straddled it. His hand came down fast, slapping the outside of your thighs so they open, settling you over the solid muscle beneath.
Your eyes widened at the sudden move, your lips parting to protest but you didn’t get the chance, because his hand was on your face, fingers squeezing your cheeks together, holding your mouth shut.
“Keep going,” he rasped, voice low and rough, vibrating deep in his chest. It wasn’t just an order, it was an invitation to play along.
He wanted more. Your teeth on him, your hands, your body testing him the way he tested you.
His palm pressed into your lower back again, pushing you forward. The friction between you made you shiver instantly, his skin cold, alien, yet against your heat it felt almost unbearable. A hiss escaped you before you could stop it.
He answered with a sound of his own, a deep, resonant purr that poured out of his chest like a wave, running straight into your body. You felt it between your legs, low and electric, like he knew exactly how to vibrate the air between you until your muscles went slack and your breath caught.
It wasn’t just the purr, it was the way it was for you, tuned to the frequency of your want. And he was watching to see just how far you would let yourself go on top of him.
You leaned in, mouth parting as you buried your face against the side of his neck, clutching at his dreadlocks like they were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your breath came in short, shaky gasps as you moved against his thigh, slow at first, the friction building with every drag forward, every roll back.
His hand stayed firm at your lower back, not pushing, just holding you there, letting you set the pace like he wanted to memorize the way you liked it, the way your hips moved and pressed into his skin, the way you kept coming back for more.
Then he rumbled something low, the sound heavy and rough—definitely a word, but in his language. You couldn’t understand it, but you could feel it. The tone was guttural, almost desperate, like it slipped out without his permission.
His other hand found your face where you were hiding in the crook of his neck, trying to smother your flushed cheeks and swallow your moans. His fingers slid under your chin, lifting it up until you were forced to meet his eyes.
You shook your head slightly, a quiet plea to let you hide, but he wasn’t having it. The thought of looking him dead in the eye while you were this close to falling apart made heat pool in your stomach and your knees go weak, but the vibration running through his body was driving you straight there whether you wanted it or not.
“Don’t,” he snapped, low and sharp, not loud, but with a kind of control that didn’t need volume. “Keep your eyes open.”
His thumb brushed your chin, steadying you, holding you in place so you couldn’t break eye contact. You felt naked under his stare again, every sound you made caught between you, his red eyes locked on yours as you moved on him, chasing the pulse of heat with every roll of your hips.
“Good,” he murmured, the praise deep and warm, before his hand slid around the back of your head. You braced for another tug to your hair.
But that’s not what came next. His hand stayed resting at the back of your head, just there, moving with your body as you lost your breath because of him.
“Keep going,” he said, his chest rumbling with that deep, rich sound again. It hit you like a wave, making you feel like you might finish right there, the way his voice was low but not threatening. Nothing like anything you had ever heard before, alien and strange, but somehow encouraging. Like warm water washing over your skin, easing your body and mind.
“Are you using your pheromones again?” you asked, heat pooling between your legs, a warm fire spreading through your stomach.
“No,” he rumbled low. “That’s all you.”
You knew he felt it, the wetness soaking into his thigh under you.
His hand held you steady as you leaned closer, your forehead resting against his chest. He finally let you close your eyes, your hips picking up pace, chasing that friction, your climax closer now.
Your palms pressed against his chest to keep balance as your hips moved on their own rhythm, angling just right so the cold touch of his skin sent shivers all through you.
You knew he knew. He could feel your heartbeat racing, the way your hips moved, the warmth pooling between your legs.
You held onto him tight, losing yourself in the feeling, the slick heat meeting his thigh with harder thrusts now.
Your climax hit you hard and fast, uneven gasps spilling from your lips, your mouth falling open in a moan that shook with every move you made.
His vibration never stopped, a steady pulse under you, urging you on, making you want to stretch that moment forever.
Your eyes closed as you leaned into him, but then, caught somewhere between bliss and chaos, you opened them just in time, looking up at him before the wave of pleasure faded.
And that was the best decision you made all night. Because the sight was unforgettable.
His chest rose and fell fast, breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he looked down at you.
The hand holding your head had shifted, gripping the fur beneath you so tightly his knuckles had turned pale, almost another color.
His mouth was open, mandibles clicking rapidly to match his ragged breath.
There he was. Slowly breaking down under you, undone by your sounds, the way you clung to him, your nails digging into his flesh as you rode that perfect orgasm on top of him.
You didn’t get to savor the wreck he had become, his hand shifted, pulling you back on top of his thigh, urging you to finish on him. So you did.
You were coming down from your high now, every touch made you sensitive. You moaned softly, biting your lip as you rode his thigh lazily, a slow smile spreading over your face just from the sheer bliss of watching the mess he had turned into.
“You like it when I’m loud?” you whispered close to his ear, moaning the words like you knew exactly how to tease him now.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand grabbed your face again, guiding you so you met his gaze fully.
Your skin flushed, hair wild, lips bruised from biting too hard. A living painting of the after-glow. You could feel it too, chest light and stomach fluttering like butterflies were dancing inside.
“You don’t want to know,” he rumbled low, his voice thick with that guttural growl. He let go of your face, resting his hands on your thighs, eyes locked on yours.
Behind those eyes, you caught a flicker, something telling him you were more than just a toy to pass the time.
Because the way you sounded, the way you moved, it was intoxicating. He worried he might get addicted to it.
And then, in a blink, his gaze changed. The beast you knew came back now.
His grip tightened for a second and then slowly he pushed you off his thigh. You slid down, confusion twisted inside you at the sudden change.
You searched his face, looking for a clue why he was pulling away.
“You can sleep here tonight,” he said quietly before standing and walking away.
Your heart thumbed hard in your chest.
What had just happened?
Why did he leave like that?
Had you pushed too far?
You let your fingers trail over the fur beneath you, so much better than the cold floor you have been sleeping. You sank onto your back, letting the warmth wrap around you.
Before you knew it, exhaustion pulled you under, your little chase and the game you played finally settling you into deep, heavy sleep.
It had been nearly a week since your last encounter, and your alien captor had been holding back ever since.
When he realized you could bite back, fight and resist, something shifted inside him. A flicker of respect, maybe…
He returned you to your cage, dropped the usual strange fruit inside, and locked the heavy door with a final clang.
Confusion churned inside you. You had thought your little game might crack his silence, that maybe your playfulness would spark something—anything—in him. But instead, he met it with cold aloofness.
At first, you clicked your tongue, annoyed. Then, frustration blossomed, growing inside you every day.
You stopped holding back. You raised your voice whenever you could, every sharp word meant to needle, to provoke.
“And what now? You let me out just to help you, but I don’t even get to walk freely on this filthy ship of yours?”
“You’re such an ungrateful…” You blinked, hesitation catching you mid-insult, then spat the words —“son of a bitch!”— as he passed your cage, gathering his weapons for the hunt ahead.
He ignored you completely. Not a glance, not a word. Your frustration ricocheted off his indifference.
You felt smaller, lost in that silence, more miserable than before.
“If you come back hurt again, don’t expect me to help. ASSHOLE,” you shouted, watching him leave the ship, leaving your words echoing in the empty space.
You had expected more. You couldn’t be the only one that felt it.
The way he had looked at you pinned down, the heat buzzing deep in your chest, the way your skin had flushed and your breath caught… you both had wanted it.
His bite marks were healing, green bruises fading from purple where he had tested your limits, squeezing soft flesh, marking you with his roughness.
You wanted more. You needed more.
But he stopped.
Why?
You beat yourself up, blaming your own stubbornness, your failure to soften him, to crack his armor. You thought you could break him, make him vulnerable and then escape.
Escape?
Funny… lately, you hadn’t thought about running at all. You were too busy yelling, provoking, even pretending you needed help.
He never bought it. Somehow, he saw through the lies, as if he could read your very heartbeat.
When he returned from the hunt, you decided to try something different.
Maybe… begging would work.
If you promised to obey, not run, not fight, maybe then he would trust you.
You would do anything to leave that cage, even if it meant begging like prey.
He walked in with heavy steps, dragging something that looked like a skinned animal, a bag full of fruits and vines—likely the ropes he used for traps.
“Um…” your voice softened, tentative, and it caught his attention.
Well, that was new.
“Please… will you let me out for a bit? I won’t run or fight. I just want to walk around the ship—”
Before you finished, he slammed his palm against the cage bars, making them tremble.
“You can even…” you swallowed hard and finished, “watch me.”
His mask gleamed under the ship’s dim lights. A strange yellow substance dripped down its surface, likely from the beasts he had slaughtered.
You didn’t flinch when he struck the bars, you stood your ground, ready if he opened the cage. You knew how to defend yourself.
But you wished you didn’t have to go this far.
His mask’s eyes flared red, and his chest rumbled a deep, threatening roar, like a lion warning its chase.
As if he was telling you: push any further, and you’d be fighting for your life.
But you smirked, nerves bubbling up in a shaky laugh.
“You don’t scare me. You know that, right?”
He stared down, towering and silent, his chest rumbling the same way it had a week ago when you bit his dreadlocks.
Were you close? Would he give in now?
Did you frustrate him enough to finally let you play with him?
Your heart hammered, a wild vibration on your skin as excitement bloomed.
No. This wasn’t excitement, you told yourself. It was fear.
But your belly flipped, toes curling at the thought of pushing him, feeling him push back.
Your breath quickened. Your eyes smiled with your lips, daring him, inviting a punishment you secretly craved.
You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head mockingly.
This is it. I got under his skin.
Then he stepped back.
Your smile faltered.
He turned and gathered his things like none of it had happened, leaving you staring, mouth agape, trapped behind the cold bars.
“Fine,” you murmured.
No more yelling. No more talking. No more games.
You knew now how he felt and he had no plans to free you or touch you like last time.
So you chose silence.
An eye for an eye.
.
.
.
Two hours passed.
You sat, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, a promise made. No interest, no words, no more engagement.
You would ignore him as he ignored you.
Until he emerged from what you considered the ship’s bathroom…
After every hunt, he disappeared in there, coming out clean, no traces of mud, blood, and grime you expected.
No scent of flowers or anything sweet either. Just… better.
This time though, something was different.
Was this another test? You wondered.
You couldn’t give it any other explanation… Because he was obviously teasing you.
He entered the room completely naked. No armor, no loincloth, nothing.
Your first instinct was to look away, palm rising to shield your eyes.
You stayed still, holding your breath and staring at the ceiling awkwardly, cheeks betraying you as you felt them turning hot red.
You heard a rustle, as he searched for something and then, barely clad in a thin, almost transparent loincloth, he reappeared in front of you.
You quickly averted your gaze again, face burning with heat.
Despite yourself, you had glimpsed everything. The hard planes of his body, the taut muscles, and the undeniable but strange bulge beneath the cloth.
Your fists clenched nervously at your sides, the human instinct to know the unknown curling inside you.
Pressing your back to the cage bars, you vowed not to look again.
But something inside you stirred.
Heat flushed your face and spread, your breath quickened, your body betrayed you.
You let your head fall back, swallowing hard as warmth pooled low and deep, softening you in places you hadn’t expected.
No, this wasn’t right.
Your body disobeyed you.
Primal instincts fired up, urging you to surrender, to submit.
You needed to touch yourself. No, you needed him to touch you more.
“What are you doing?” you snapped, spinning around to face him.
He sat casually, legs crossed, arms resting easily, water dripping from his wet skin and dreadlocks.
Mandibles clicked softly in response.
“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing to me?” you demanded, frustration and confusion mingling in your voice as you gripped the bars.
“Are you…” You struggled to catch your breath, heart pounding.
“Are you releasing pheromones or something?”
He rested his head on his fist, elbow propped on the armrest, utterly unbothered.
You took a shaky breath and scratched an itch over your chest.
When your hand brushed your nipples, a soft gasp escaped you.
Everything was too sensitive.
Your fingers grazed again, and a muffled moan slipped free.
Your eyes fluttered half-shut, lost in pleasure and shame.
You heard his body shift, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped, all attention on you now.
You were his entertainment after all.
His gaze burned into your skin, hot and heavy, as you touched yourself wherever the fire itched.
You bit your bottom lip, fighting to hold back the sounds.
But when you pinched both nipples at once, the rumble in his chest deepened, vibrating through the room.
Like he wanted you to know, he’s watching.
You had gotten a reaction out of him and you hadn’t even planned to.
Your body shifted instinctively, limbs sprawled out as heat pulsed through you, one hand still resting on your tender, bruised nipple, the other trailing down, stopping at your thigh as if unsure whether to cross the line entirely. The ache was unbearable, a slow burn that spread across your skin like a fever.
You didn’t know how rough your own touch had become, how desperately your fingers tugged and squeezed, seeking relief. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
You knew it was him—he was doing this. Ever since he came out of that damn room, he had filled the air with whatever chemical madness this was. Pheromones. Lust-slicked tension. It coated your lungs like smoke and made your skin crawl with need.
The sound he let out, a rumble thick with intent. Low, steady, and hungry. You heard it every time you whimpered, every soft gasp like fuel tossed into a fire. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. He wanted this. He wanted you.
“You keep me locked up,” you murmured through shaky breaths, dragging your palm over the damp heat of your underwear, “when you know it would be better if I was out there… with you.”
You rubbed yourself slowly, almost lazily, too sensitive to press harder but too turned on to stop. The fabric clung to you, slick and darkened with your need. And that noise—God, that noise he let out when he saw you do it. It was louder this time, rougher, guttural and undeniably needy.
He was feeding off of this.
You felt it in the air around you, like it was wrapping itself around your limbs, forcing you to stay pliant and aching. Your eyes stung with tears that refused to fall, breath hitching as your fingers moved in slow, maddening circles, the soaked cloth adding friction where it already burned.
You didn’t dare imagine how it would feel to really give in, slipping your fingers inside yourself, curling them just right, feeling your walls clench around the thought of something bigger. His hands. His tongue. Him.
You were close—too close—when suddenly, something shifted. Not in the air, but in you. A pulse of awareness, something primal kicking in, and for a second it felt like your body was letting you control it again.
With a gasping whimper, you tore your hand away, chest rising and falling as you fought for air, grounding yourself with a hand pressed tight against your sternum. Your whole body trembled, still on the edge of a climax you didn’t fall into.
Your head fell back, eyes fluttering up toward the ceiling. Vision blurred. Lungs empty. You blinked hard.
What the fuck was that?
You felt it creeping in. Not fear. Just the weight of what just happened pressing against your ribs, as the heat began to dull.
You turned your head toward the seat he had taken.
Empty.
He was gone.
That’s when you realized. The heat wasn’t just you. It was him. The pheromones, the raw hormonal pull he had been releasing, had vanished the second he left. Like someone had turned off a switch and set your body free.
No wonder you could finally breathe.
You let your palm rest over your chest again, calming yourself, but your thoughts still spun. This creature—this impossibly terrifying and intoxicating being—was dangerous. Not just to your body, but to your mind.
He had you coming apart with nothing more than proximity.
And you hated to admit it, but you wanted more. Not just the chemical-induced desire—him. You craved the feeling of his eyes on you, the vibrations of his voice rattling your bones. You wanted him close.
You wanted him to touch you.
You fell asleep without meaning to, your body wrecked from tension and craving. The moment sleep took you, it was heavy, but unsatisfying.
Because even after all of it, your trembling, your whimpering, your whispered begging… you were still left wanting.
Still left aching.
And he had disappeared like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.
.
.
.
You woke to the sound of absolute silence.
The spaceship, once lit, was now swallowed whole by darkness. The only signs of life were the faint flickers of scattered indicator lights across the control panels.
Your skin prickled, your pulse picking up speed.
There was something about the silence that felt wrong. Suffocating. And the darkness… it wasn’t just an absence of light, it was thick, hostile, like it had weight, like it could reach out and touch you if you stayed still too long.
You didn’t like either. But that wasn’t the only thing making your chest tighten.
Your eyes found something that made your breath hitch.
The cage door.
It wasn’t wide open… but it was unlocked. Just slightly ajar, like someone had stepped inside, or out, and hadn’t bothered to close it.
Your heartbeat spiked. You moved closer, pushing the door with a finger. It slowly creaked open.
But relief never came.
Instead, your thoughts went straight to him.
Was he okay?
Why was the door open?
Had someone else come in?
You should have felt grateful for the chance to escape, but instead your stomach twisted into knots. The air felt wrong. Danger crackled at the edges of your senses. And if it wasn’t him out there… you didn’t want to find out what it was.
You took two sharp breaths, trying to gather any faint memories from before sleep dragged you under. Where had he gone? Why hadn’t he come back?
You pressed your palm against the door and stepped out.
And just like that, your body knew something was off. Your instincts fired. The hair on your arms stood on end, your blood pulsing with adrenaline.
Something was watching you.
You were human, yes. But primal still. Something deep in your gut screamed that you were being hunted.
But staying frozen wouldn’t help you. You had to move.
You didn’t know if you wanted to escape… or find him. You hated this ship. But you hated the idea of him not being near you even more.
Your bare feet padded against the cold metal floor as you moved through the dark, navigating blindly until you saw it. A corridor, faintly illuminated at the end. Just enough light to guide you. Not enough to feel safe.
Your heart drummed in your chest now. Every step felt heavier. You weren’t sure if you were about to fight… or flee.
Then—a crack.
Soft. Distant. But it sent you spinning.
Before you could react, a massive hand slammed against your face, pinning your cheek to the wall, his rough skin pressing into yours. His body followed next, solid, unmoving, trapping you between him and the cold metal.
You barely had time to breathe before the low, animal growl rumbled at your ear, dark and possessive.
“Do you want to leave?”
His voice—so deep it vibrated through your spine—wasn’t really angry. More curious. He was holding your head there, but with no real force. Just enough to make you aware that if you wanted, you could slip out of his grip.
But you didn’t.
You stayed perfectly still.
You didn’t want space between you. Not now. Not after how your body had responded to his absence.
You gave a small shake of your head.
“Use your words,” he demanded, voice still a guttural rasp, but gentler now, as though pushing the truth out of you.
He was playing. And you knew it. For the first time, he wasn’t just controlling you, he was inviting you.
A smile tugged at your lips.
His hand curled slowly into your hair, gripping it in a slow, careful pull until your head tilted back and your throat was exposed to him.
“No,” you breathed.
And then… heat. Wet and slow and claiming. His forked tongue dragged over your shoulder, where his earlier bite had left its mark. Your skin shivered, that pleasure you had longed for.
His free hand snaked down your thigh, rough fingers gripping your soft skin hard enough to make you yelp. But it wasn’t just about pain, it was a question.
He was testing limits again.
How far could he go?
How far would you let him go?
The excitement was building again, undeniable, maddening. His hand brushed between your thighs, grazing the damp fabric of your underwear. You whimpered and let your head fall back onto his shoulder.
“Is this where you touched?” he growled into your ear, breath hot and heavy.
He moved slowly, dragging his palm up and down, teasing the soaked fabric. Then his clawed digit pressed against your clit, testing, circling, learning.
His own breathing became ragged. He grunted at your every gasp, every twitch. His mandibles clicked softly as they bit at your shoulder, grounding you, holding you still, while his hand continued to explore your wetness like it was something intriguing to him.
You reached up instinctively, fingers curling around one of his alien dreadlocks.
His body froze.
A warning growl vibrated deep in his chest. You knew what not to do. You had a choice and he was watching you make it.
You could bite.
He knew you could.
Instead, you dragged your tongue slowly along the thick braid, tasting him.
That was it.
He lost it.
His body slammed against yours, hips grinding into your backside, breath caught, a groan escaping him in a guttural language you couldn’t understand, but felt it.
His hand left your hair and clutched your waist, claws pressing into your skin as he tried—failed—to ground himself. When you licked the lock again, his hips jerked forward and he let out a broken sound, a desperate groan.
You had him.
But then, his hand shot up, grabbing your nape, squeezing tight.
A Warning.
Your turn to freeze now.
His hot breath ghosted over your ear, his voice low and terrifyingly calm.
“If you want to play… I’ll play with you.”
You held your breath, waiting for what came next.
But the word that followed wasn’t what you expected.
“Run.”
He let go.
You turned, heart hammering, but the hallway behind you was empty. Nothing but shadows.
Run.
As in… running?
You blinked, stunned, mind spinning.
Why?
Why did he want you to run?
Your breath came fast now. Your hair was a mess, skin burning, nerves tingling.
You had him touching you a second ago, letting you ride his palm while he dry-thrusted against your back and then he just vanished?
What the fuck is this?
Oh.
Oh.
Your mind reached for an explanation, and though you weren’t completely sure, it fit.
The low rumble in the distance, not threatening, but not a purr either,confirmed your suspicion.
He was playing with you.
You were in his game now.
And his game, as you should have expected, was a hunt.
It made sense. Too much sense.
You turned your head toward the half-lit corridor, then glanced back toward the darkness where his voice had disappeared.
Your pulse surged.
Okay.
I can do that.
You took off, sprinting toward the light at the end of the corridor, lungs already tightening with anticipation.
You had no idea how massive this spaceship truly was, you only knew it was bigger than you had imagined. Every step you took echoed like a countdown, the walls unfamiliar and vast. You felt the danger closing in behind you, not because you saw it, but because every cell in your body screamed it was there.
And worse — or better — you wanted to get caught.
The thrill of it sent fire rushing through your limbs, every movement fueled by a terrifying, euphoric kind of adrenaline.
You were running not just for survival… but for the high.
You threw open the door at the end of the corridor, slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying clang.
Then silence.
You were alone again, heart racing, breath ragged.
The room had three more exits.
You stood still, chest heaving, eyes scanning each door like you were choosing your next move in a deadly game.
And you were.
A crooked smile curled at your lips.
You were being chased, hunted and for once, it didn’t make you afraid.
It made you livid.
You darted to the door on your left, ripped it open and slipped inside, pressing your back to it once it closed.
A low laugh escaped your lips, muffled by the need to stay silent.
You were losing your mind a little… or maybe just finding another part of it.
The new room was bright, cluttered with strange crates and alien weaponry you couldn’t even name. You barely had time to glance at them before you heard the unmistakable hiss of a door opening in the adjacent room.
He’s close.
Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. Your whole body was trembling, from fear, from anticipation, from desire you couldn’t suppress even if you tried.
You looked around wildly until you spotted it. Another door, camouflaged against the far wall. It almost tricked you, but once you saw the outline, you didn’t waste a second.
You ran.
You threw yourself at it, crashing into the next room. You yanked the door shut behind you and sagged against it, panting hard.
Small room. Four walls. No exits.
Your stomach dropped.
You were trapped.
A slow grin crept onto your lips.
You will get caught now.
You backed away to the farthest wall and slid down to the floor, heart still jackhammering. The blood in your veins felt like fire. You didn’t know if you were terrified or thrilled, both emotions tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them anymore.
You clasped your hands together, fingers twitching.
Then… silence again.
Except for your own breathing.
Until the loud creak of the door handle in the room behind you.
He was coming.
Your body froze, every nerve strung so tight it hurt.
Your thoughts raced. What will he do when he finds me? Is he going to punish me? Be gentle ? Be… rough?
God, you wanted him to.
You wanted him wild, just as much as he wanted you willing.
You knew he was taking his sweet time on purpose, letting the anticipation drown you, letting the need build and boil over inside you until you were delirious with it.
And you knew he was enjoying every damn second of it.
You curled your fingers into your palm, breath caught in your throat, waiting for the moment you would see him again.
Or feel him.
The door next the room you were hiding in slammed under the force of a fist.
The sharp sound cracked through the air, making you jolt.
He knew exactly where you were.
Which made you think… maybe he always knew.
Another hit. The door rattled in its frame, like the final warning before a predator sinks its teeth into trembling prey.
He wasn’t trying to break in, no, that would be too easy.
He was letting you feel it. The fear. The thrill. The anticipation.
He was letting you hide again, if you dared.
You pressed yourself between two crates, barely fitting, heart pounding like you were about to explode.
Then the door swung open.
His mandibles clicked in satisfaction, heavy steps echoing into the space like an inevitable storm.
He could have stayed quiet. He could have crept in like a ghost.
But no, he announced his arrival, intentional and loud, because he was that kind of hunter.
Respectful in his own twisted way. Never cheating. Giving you a chance to feel it coming.
You clapped a palm over your mouth, trying to silence your breath as he stalked closer.
And when he found you… God, when his glowing eyes landed on your curled-up body, he let out a low sound.
A rare one.
A rumble, deep in his chest. Familiar.
Laughter.
It was definitely laughter.
He stood above you, shadow falling across your face, looking down with something dark and amused swimming in his gaze. You squealed, startled, not even meaning to, but the reaction made his chest rumble louder.
“I told you to run,” he growled, voice low, amused, like he was reminding you of the rules of the game.
You held onto the crates beside you, unsure if he would snatch you up like a rag doll. But no. Not yet.
It had been nearly a week since your last encounter, and your alien captor had been holding back ever since.
When he realized you could bite back, fight and resist, something shifted inside him. A flicker of respect, maybe…
He returned you to your cage, dropped the usual strange fruit inside, and locked the heavy door with a final clang.
Confusion churned inside you. You had thought your little game might crack his silence, that maybe your playfulness would spark something—anything—in him. But instead, he met it with cold aloofness.
At first, you clicked your tongue, annoyed. Then, frustration blossomed, growing inside you every day.
You stopped holding back. You raised your voice whenever you could, every sharp word meant to needle, to provoke.
“And what now? You let me out just to help you, but I don’t even get to walk freely on this filthy ship of yours?”
“You’re such an ungrateful…” You blinked, hesitation catching you mid-insult, then spat the words —“son of a bitch!”— as he passed your cage, gathering his weapons for the hunt ahead.
He ignored you completely. Not a glance, not a word. Your frustration ricocheted off his indifference.
You felt smaller, lost in that silence, more miserable than before.
“If you come back hurt again, don’t expect me to help. ASSHOLE,” you shouted, watching him leave the ship, leaving your words echoing in the empty space.
You had expected more. You couldn’t be the only one that felt it.
The way he had looked at you pinned down, the heat buzzing deep in your chest, the way your skin had flushed and your breath caught… you both had wanted it.
His bite marks were healing, green bruises fading from purple where he had tested your limits, squeezing soft flesh, marking you with his roughness.
You wanted more. You needed more.
But he stopped.
Why?
You beat yourself up, blaming your own stubbornness, your failure to soften him, to crack his armor. You thought you could break him, make him vulnerable and then escape.
Escape?
Funny… lately, you hadn’t thought about running at all. You were too busy yelling, provoking, even pretending you needed help.
He never bought it. Somehow, he saw through the lies, as if he could read your very heartbeat.
When he returned from the hunt, you decided to try something different.
Maybe… begging would work.
If you promised to obey, not run, not fight, maybe then he would trust you.
You would do anything to leave that cage, even if it meant begging like prey.
He walked in with heavy steps, dragging something that looked like a skinned animal, a bag full of fruits and vines—likely the ropes he used for traps.
“Um…” your voice softened, tentative, and it caught his attention.
Well, that was new.
“Please… will you let me out for a bit? I won’t run or fight. I just want to walk around the ship—”
Before you finished, he slammed his palm against the cage bars, making them tremble.
“You can even…” you swallowed hard and finished, “watch me.”
His mask gleamed under the ship’s dim lights. A strange yellow substance dripped down its surface, likely from the beasts he had slaughtered.
You didn’t flinch when he struck the bars, you stood your ground, ready if he opened the cage. You knew how to defend yourself.
But you wished you didn’t have to go this far.
His mask’s eyes flared red, and his chest rumbled a deep, threatening roar, like a lion warning its chase.
As if he was telling you: push any further, and you’d be fighting for your life.
But you smirked, nerves bubbling up in a shaky laugh.
“You don’t scare me. You know that, right?”
He stared down, towering and silent, his chest rumbling the same way it had a week ago when you bit his dreadlocks.
Were you close? Would he give in now?
Did you frustrate him enough to finally let you play with him?
Your heart hammered, a wild vibration on your skin as excitement bloomed.
No. This wasn’t excitement, you told yourself. It was fear.
But your belly flipped, toes curling at the thought of pushing him, feeling him push back.
Your breath quickened. Your eyes smiled with your lips, daring him, inviting a punishment you secretly craved.
You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head mockingly.
This is it. I got under his skin.
Then he stepped back.
Your smile faltered.
He turned and gathered his things like none of it had happened, leaving you staring, mouth agape, trapped behind the cold bars.
“Fine,” you murmured.
No more yelling. No more talking. No more games.
You knew now how he felt and he had no plans to free you or touch you like last time.
So you chose silence.
An eye for an eye.
.
.
.
Two hours passed.
You sat, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, a promise made. No interest, no words, no more engagement.
You would ignore him as he ignored you.
Until he emerged from what you considered the ship’s bathroom…
After every hunt, he disappeared in there, coming out clean, no traces of mud, blood, and grime you expected.
No scent of flowers or anything sweet either. Just… better.
This time though, something was different.
Was this another test? You wondered.
You couldn’t give it any other explanation… Because he was obviously teasing you.
He entered the room completely naked. No armor, no loincloth, nothing.
Your first instinct was to look away, palm rising to shield your eyes.
You stayed still, holding your breath and staring at the ceiling awkwardly, cheeks betraying you as you felt them turning hot red.
You heard a rustle, as he searched for something and then, barely clad in a thin, almost transparent loincloth, he reappeared in front of you.
You quickly averted your gaze again, face burning with heat.
Despite yourself, you had glimpsed everything. The hard planes of his body, the taut muscles, and the undeniable but strange bulge beneath the cloth.
Your fists clenched nervously at your sides, the human instinct to know the unknown curling inside you.
Pressing your back to the cage bars, you vowed not to look again.
But something inside you stirred.
Heat flushed your face and spread, your breath quickened, your body betrayed you.
You let your head fall back, swallowing hard as warmth pooled low and deep, softening you in places you hadn’t expected.
No, this wasn’t right.
Your body disobeyed you.
Primal instincts fired up, urging you to surrender, to submit.
You needed to touch yourself. No, you needed him to touch you more.
“What are you doing?” you snapped, spinning around to face him.
He sat casually, legs crossed, arms resting easily, water dripping from his wet skin and dreadlocks.
Mandibles clicked softly in response.
“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing to me?” you demanded, frustration and confusion mingling in your voice as you gripped the bars.
“Are you…” You struggled to catch your breath, heart pounding.
“Are you releasing pheromones or something?”
He rested his head on his fist, elbow propped on the armrest, utterly unbothered.
You took a shaky breath and scratched an itch over your chest.
When your hand brushed your nipples, a soft gasp escaped you.
Everything was too sensitive.
Your fingers grazed again, and a muffled moan slipped free.
Your eyes fluttered half-shut, lost in pleasure and shame.
You heard his body shift, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped, all attention on you now.
You were his entertainment after all.
His gaze burned into your skin, hot and heavy, as you touched yourself wherever the fire itched.
You bit your bottom lip, fighting to hold back the sounds.
But when you pinched both nipples at once, the rumble in his chest deepened, vibrating through the room.
Like he wanted you to know, he’s watching.
You had gotten a reaction out of him and you hadn’t even planned to.
Your body shifted instinctively, limbs sprawled out as heat pulsed through you, one hand still resting on your tender, bruised nipple, the other trailing down, stopping at your thigh as if unsure whether to cross the line entirely. The ache was unbearable, a slow burn that spread across your skin like a fever.
You didn’t know how rough your own touch had become, how desperately your fingers tugged and squeezed, seeking relief. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
You knew it was him—he was doing this. Ever since he came out of that damn room, he had filled the air with whatever chemical madness this was. Pheromones. Lust-slicked tension. It coated your lungs like smoke and made your skin crawl with need.
The sound he let out, a rumble thick with intent. Low, steady, and hungry. You heard it every time you whimpered, every soft gasp like fuel tossed into a fire. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. He wanted this. He wanted you.
“You keep me locked up,” you murmured through shaky breaths, dragging your palm over the damp heat of your underwear, “when you know it would be better if I was out there… with you.”
You rubbed yourself slowly, almost lazily, too sensitive to press harder but too turned on to stop. The fabric clung to you, slick and darkened with your need. And that noise—God, that noise he let out when he saw you do it. It was louder this time, rougher, guttural and undeniably needy.
He was feeding off of this.
You felt it in the air around you, like it was wrapping itself around your limbs, forcing you to stay pliant and aching. Your eyes stung with tears that refused to fall, breath hitching as your fingers moved in slow, maddening circles, the soaked cloth adding friction where it already burned.
You didn’t dare imagine how it would feel to really give in, slipping your fingers inside yourself, curling them just right, feeling your walls clench around the thought of something bigger. His hands. His tongue. Him.
You were close—too close—when suddenly, something shifted. Not in the air, but in you. A pulse of awareness, something primal kicking in, and for a second it felt like your body was letting you control it again.
With a gasping whimper, you tore your hand away, chest rising and falling as you fought for air, grounding yourself with a hand pressed tight against your sternum. Your whole body trembled, still on the edge of a climax you didn’t fall into.
Your head fell back, eyes fluttering up toward the ceiling. Vision blurred. Lungs empty. You blinked hard.
What the fuck was that?
You felt it creeping in. Not fear. Just the weight of what just happened pressing against your ribs, as the heat began to dull.
You turned your head toward the seat he had taken.
Empty.
He was gone.
That’s when you realized. The heat wasn’t just you. It was him. The pheromones, the raw hormonal pull he had been releasing, had vanished the second he left. Like someone had turned off a switch and set your body free.
No wonder you could finally breathe.
You let your palm rest over your chest again, calming yourself, but your thoughts still spun. This creature—this impossibly terrifying and intoxicating being—was dangerous. Not just to your body, but to your mind.
He had you coming apart with nothing more than proximity.
And you hated to admit it, but you wanted more. Not just the chemical-induced desire—him. You craved the feeling of his eyes on you, the vibrations of his voice rattling your bones. You wanted him close.
You wanted him to touch you.
You fell asleep without meaning to, your body wrecked from tension and craving. The moment sleep took you, it was heavy, but unsatisfying.
Because even after all of it, your trembling, your whimpering, your whispered begging… you were still left wanting.
Still left aching.
And he had disappeared like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.
.
.
.
You woke to the sound of absolute silence.
The spaceship, once lit, was now swallowed whole by darkness. The only signs of life were the faint flickers of scattered indicator lights across the control panels.
Your skin prickled, your pulse picking up speed.
There was something about the silence that felt wrong. Suffocating. And the darkness… it wasn’t just an absence of light, it was thick, hostile, like it had weight, like it could reach out and touch you if you stayed still too long.
You didn’t like either. But that wasn’t the only thing making your chest tighten.
Your eyes found something that made your breath hitch.
The cage door.
It wasn’t wide open… but it was unlocked. Just slightly ajar, like someone had stepped inside, or out, and hadn’t bothered to close it.
Your heartbeat spiked. You moved closer, pushing the door with a finger. It slowly creaked open.
But relief never came.
Instead, your thoughts went straight to him.
Was he okay?
Why was the door open?
Had someone else come in?
You should have felt grateful for the chance to escape, but instead your stomach twisted into knots. The air felt wrong. Danger crackled at the edges of your senses. And if it wasn’t him out there… you didn’t want to find out what it was.
You took two sharp breaths, trying to gather any faint memories from before sleep dragged you under. Where had he gone? Why hadn’t he come back?
You pressed your palm against the door and stepped out.
And just like that, your body knew something was off. Your instincts fired. The hair on your arms stood on end, your blood pulsing with adrenaline.
Something was watching you.
You were human, yes. But primal still. Something deep in your gut screamed that you were being hunted.
But staying frozen wouldn’t help you. You had to move.
You didn’t know if you wanted to escape… or find him. You hated this ship. But you hated the idea of him not being near you even more.
Your bare feet padded against the cold metal floor as you moved through the dark, navigating blindly until you saw it. A corridor, faintly illuminated at the end. Just enough light to guide you. Not enough to feel safe.
Your heart drummed in your chest now. Every step felt heavier. You weren’t sure if you were about to fight… or flee.
Then—a crack.
Soft. Distant. But it sent you spinning.
Before you could react, a massive hand slammed against your face, pinning your cheek to the wall, his rough skin pressing into yours. His body followed next, solid, unmoving, trapping you between him and the cold metal.
You barely had time to breathe before the low, animal growl rumbled at your ear, dark and possessive.
“Do you want to leave?”
His voice—so deep it vibrated through your spine—wasn’t really angry. More curious. He was holding your head there, but with no real force. Just enough to make you aware that if you wanted, you could slip out of his grip.
But you didn’t.
You stayed perfectly still.
You didn’t want space between you. Not now. Not after how your body had responded to his absence.
You gave a small shake of your head.
“Use your words,” he demanded, voice still a guttural rasp, but gentler now, as though pushing the truth out of you.
He was playing. And you knew it. For the first time, he wasn’t just controlling you, he was inviting you.
A smile tugged at your lips.
His hand curled slowly into your hair, gripping it in a slow, careful pull until your head tilted back and your throat was exposed to him.
“No,” you breathed.
And then… heat. Wet and slow and claiming. His forked tongue dragged over your shoulder, where his earlier bite had left its mark. Your skin shivered, that pleasure you had longed for.
His free hand snaked down your thigh, rough fingers gripping your soft skin hard enough to make you yelp. But it wasn’t just about pain, it was a question.
He was testing limits again.
How far could he go?
How far would you let him go?
The excitement was building again, undeniable, maddening. His hand brushed between your thighs, grazing the damp fabric of your underwear. You whimpered and let your head fall back onto his shoulder.
“Is this where you touched?” he growled into your ear, breath hot and heavy.
He moved slowly, dragging his palm up and down, teasing the soaked fabric. Then his clawed digit pressed against your clit, testing, circling, learning.
His own breathing became ragged. He grunted at your every gasp, every twitch. His mandibles clicked softly as they bit at your shoulder, grounding you, holding you still, while his hand continued to explore your wetness like it was something intriguing to him.
You reached up instinctively, fingers curling around one of his alien dreadlocks.
His body froze.
A warning growl vibrated deep in his chest. You knew what not to do. You had a choice and he was watching you make it.
You could bite.
He knew you could.
Instead, you dragged your tongue slowly along the thick braid, tasting him.
That was it.
He lost it.
His body slammed against yours, hips grinding into your backside, breath caught, a groan escaping him in a guttural language you couldn’t understand, but felt it.
His hand left your hair and clutched your waist, claws pressing into your skin as he tried—failed—to ground himself. When you licked the lock again, his hips jerked forward and he let out a broken sound, a desperate groan.
You had him.
But then, his hand shot up, grabbing your nape, squeezing tight.
A Warning.
Your turn to freeze now.
His hot breath ghosted over your ear, his voice low and terrifyingly calm.
“If you want to play… I’ll play with you.”
You held your breath, waiting for what came next.
But the word that followed wasn’t what you expected.
“Run.”
He let go.
You turned, heart hammering, but the hallway behind you was empty. Nothing but shadows.
Run.
As in… running?
You blinked, stunned, mind spinning.
Why?
Why did he want you to run?
Your breath came fast now. Your hair was a mess, skin burning, nerves tingling.
You had him touching you a second ago, letting you ride his palm while he dry-thrusted against your back and then he just vanished?
What the fuck is this?
Oh.
Oh.
Your mind reached for an explanation, and though you weren’t completely sure, it fit.
The low rumble in the distance, not threatening, but not a purr either,confirmed your suspicion.
He was playing with you.
You were in his game now.
And his game, as you should have expected, was a hunt.
It made sense. Too much sense.
You turned your head toward the half-lit corridor, then glanced back toward the darkness where his voice had disappeared.
Your pulse surged.
Okay.
I can do that.
You took off, sprinting toward the light at the end of the corridor, lungs already tightening with anticipation.
You had no idea how massive this spaceship truly was, you only knew it was bigger than you had imagined. Every step you took echoed like a countdown, the walls unfamiliar and vast. You felt the danger closing in behind you, not because you saw it, but because every cell in your body screamed it was there.
And worse — or better — you wanted to get caught.
The thrill of it sent fire rushing through your limbs, every movement fueled by a terrifying, euphoric kind of adrenaline.
You were running not just for survival… but for the high.
You threw open the door at the end of the corridor, slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying clang.
Then silence.
You were alone again, heart racing, breath ragged.
The room had three more exits.
You stood still, chest heaving, eyes scanning each door like you were choosing your next move in a deadly game.
And you were.
A crooked smile curled at your lips.
You were being chased, hunted and for once, it didn’t make you afraid.
It made you livid.
You darted to the door on your left, ripped it open and slipped inside, pressing your back to it once it closed.
A low laugh escaped your lips, muffled by the need to stay silent.
You were losing your mind a little… or maybe just finding another part of it.
The new room was bright, cluttered with strange crates and alien weaponry you couldn’t even name. You barely had time to glance at them before you heard the unmistakable hiss of a door opening in the adjacent room.
He’s close.
Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. Your whole body was trembling, from fear, from anticipation, from desire you couldn’t suppress even if you tried.
You looked around wildly until you spotted it. Another door, camouflaged against the far wall. It almost tricked you, but once you saw the outline, you didn’t waste a second.
You ran.
You threw yourself at it, crashing into the next room. You yanked the door shut behind you and sagged against it, panting hard.
Small room. Four walls. No exits.
Your stomach dropped.
You were trapped.
A slow grin crept onto your lips.
You will get caught now.
You backed away to the farthest wall and slid down to the floor, heart still jackhammering. The blood in your veins felt like fire. You didn’t know if you were terrified or thrilled, both emotions tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them anymore.
You clasped your hands together, fingers twitching.
Then… silence again.
Except for your own breathing.
Until the loud creak of the door handle in the room behind you.
He was coming.
Your body froze, every nerve strung so tight it hurt.
Your thoughts raced. What will he do when he finds me? Is he going to punish me? Be gentle ? Be… rough?
God, you wanted him to.
You wanted him wild, just as much as he wanted you willing.
You knew he was taking his sweet time on purpose, letting the anticipation drown you, letting the need build and boil over inside you until you were delirious with it.
And you knew he was enjoying every damn second of it.
You curled your fingers into your palm, breath caught in your throat, waiting for the moment you would see him again.
Or feel him.
The door next the room you were hiding in slammed under the force of a fist.
The sharp sound cracked through the air, making you jolt.
He knew exactly where you were.
Which made you think… maybe he always knew.
Another hit. The door rattled in its frame, like the final warning before a predator sinks its teeth into trembling prey.
He wasn’t trying to break in, no, that would be too easy.
He was letting you feel it. The fear. The thrill. The anticipation.
He was letting you hide again, if you dared.
You pressed yourself between two crates, barely fitting, heart pounding like you were about to explode.
Then the door swung open.
His mandibles clicked in satisfaction, heavy steps echoing into the space like an inevitable storm.
He could have stayed quiet. He could have crept in like a ghost.
But no, he announced his arrival, intentional and loud, because he was that kind of hunter.
Respectful in his own twisted way. Never cheating. Giving you a chance to feel it coming.
You clapped a palm over your mouth, trying to silence your breath as he stalked closer.
And when he found you… God, when his glowing eyes landed on your curled-up body, he let out a low sound.
A rare one.
A rumble, deep in his chest. Familiar.
Laughter.
It was definitely laughter.
He stood above you, shadow falling across your face, looking down with something dark and amused swimming in his gaze. You squealed, startled, not even meaning to, but the reaction made his chest rumble louder.
“I told you to run,” he growled, voice low, amused, like he was reminding you of the rules of the game.
You held onto the crates beside you, unsure if he would snatch you up like a rag doll. But no. Not yet.
well look at that, my horniness took the better of me, so here’s the result
I bite back
Yautja x Reader / Yautja x Human female
Rating: 18+ mdni
Read: Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
“When is this going to end?” you murmured, gently tapping your forehead against the cold glass of the chamber that held you.
“You keep feeding me. Giving me water. What do you want?” you asked again, your voice low, tired.
It was strange. You were aboard a spaceship—held captive when you’d expected to die the instant you locked eyes with the creature that had taken you.
At first, you fought. You cried. You screamed. You pounded your fists against the reinforced glass until your hands ached.
You had been so much fiercer in the beginning.
Now? You were numb. Almost bored.
Days blurred together, each marked only by meals of unfamiliar but oddly palatable fruits and endless silence from your captor.
The questions haunted you: Why did it take me? Where are we going? What does it want?
Fear had long since faded into fatigue. You were too tired to be terrified anymore.
In truth, some days, you thought you would’ve preferred death over this drawn-out uncertainty.
But then… something changed.
One day, the alien stumbled into the ship, and you froze.
It was wounded.
A deep gash ran down its arm, green blood—neon and thick—oozing from the torn flesh. The limb hung at an unnatural angle, barely attached.
You watched, breath caught in your throat, as it clumsily moved through the ship, almost forgetting your presence entirely.
It collapsed onto a pile of thick rugs, panting, trembling.
You observed behind the glass, transfixed.
It was the first time you’d seen it in pain. The first time it looked… vulnerable.
Maybe, just maybe, this was your chance.
It stitched itself with crude but efficient movements, applying strange, iridescent substances you couldn’t identify. It let out a low, guttural sound—half a roar, half a groan—and then lay still.
You sat down, quietly, eyes on its shifting, unsteady breath as it twisted in discomfort.
It wasn’t out for long.
Minutes later, it stirred abruptly, eyes opening wide with a sharp inhale.
Then it disappeared and returned shortly, holding a tray of those strange fruits you’d been living off of.
As always, it slid open the small hatch of your chamber and pushed the tray inside.
But this time, you moved.
You reached out, quickly, instinctively and grabbed its wrist.
It froze.
For once, it didn’t pull away. Maybe it couldn’t. The wound had slowed it down.
But still… it let you touch it.
Your hand trembled slightly as your fingers wrapped around the rough, scaly texture of its skin. It was cold. Not quite like a reptile, but close. Unfamiliar. Alien.
You didn’t expect it to go this far, that it would allow contact.
You swallowed hard.
“Are you… hurt?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
No response.
“I saw you. You collapsed.”
A pause.
“Let me help you.”
You didn’t know what you could do. You had no training, not even with human medicine, let alone whatever this was. But the words came anyway.
“You’ve been feeding me. Taking care of me. Let me return the favor.”
Still, it said nothing. But it didn’t move either.
Maybe it was trying to understand your intent—measuring the risk.
Then, slowly, it shifted its hand beneath yours.
Your fingers slid over its palm as it moved. Coarse. Cold.
You repressed a shiver.
The creature took a step back, eyeing you carefully. You were still kneeling, looking small, unthreatening.
You knew how you looked to it. Fragile. Weak. But that was the point.
You wanted this—this moment. A crack in its guard.
If it trusted you, even a little, maybe… just maybe… you could turn that into a chance.
A way out.
The creature took two ragged, guttural breaths before stepping closer to the chamber. Its clawed finger slid over the padlock in a slow, deliberate motion. With a soft, mechanical click, the door released.
What?
Was that it? Was it really that easy?
Had all it taken was appearing small—fragile—for it to trust you?
Before the door had even swung halfway open, you were already slipping through the gap, adrenaline firing through your veins. You moved fast, fueled by a desperate, animal instinct to flee.
But freedom didn’t last more than a breath.
A hand, massive and unrelenting, wrapped around your throat and slammed you back against the cold glass chamber. Your skull hit the surface with a thud, and all the air was gone from your lungs.
Panic overtook you.
The creature’s clawed fingers squeezed, just enough to restrict your breathing but not crush it entirely. Its grip was so strong, so terrifyingly effortless. The sharp curve of its nails dug into the tender skin at the nape of your neck, pressing hard enough to hurt, to warn.
You clawed at its wrist, nails scraping over its scaled skin, desperate for air.
It didn’t flinch.
Even with blood still dripping from its wounded arm, it held you firm, as though pain meant nothing.
Your feet dangled, your body pinned like prey, caught and immobilized.
It could kill you. Right now. Just one twitch of that wrist and it would all be over.
Your vision blurred at the edges. Your eyes welled from the pressure.
“Please—” you gasped, voice cracked.
The grip loosened, barely.
Air returned in small, painful sips, but the hand remained, keeping you locked in place, back pressed hard to the smooth surface behind you. You coughed, instinctively reaching to support yourself, but the creature didn’t move away.
It leaned in closer, massive frame radiating heat. Its head dipped low, its strange mandibles brushing your cheek. Its breath, hot and coarse, ghosted along your skin, and then came the sound.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated from deep within its chest. Not quite a purr. Not quite a snarl. Something primal.
It grew louder, reverberating in your ears and against your ribs, until it cut off sharply.
Then came the voice… deep, guttural, foreign… but unmistakably clear.
“If you try to escape again, I won’t hesitate.”
He didn’t say what he would do. He didn’t need to.
You nodded quickly—yes, yes, you understood.
You were no threat. Not now. Not yet.
Slowly, his grip slackened, and you dropped to the floor in a heap, gasping, fingers clawing at your throat as your lungs fought for air.
You looked up at him.
He towered over you, chest rising and falling rapidly. The wound on his arm had reopened, neon blood dripping down in thick lines, staining the floor.
Even in pain, even with one arm nearly useless… he was still dominant. Still terrifying.
And yet…
You saw it. Something behind the rage, the instinct, the brute force. He was hurting. Breathing heavily. Off-balance. Vulnerable… in his own way.
This was dangerous. All of it. You knew that.
You rose to your feet—slowly. Carefully.
Every movement was cautious, as if one sudden gesture might awaken some dormant, primal instinct in him.
You kept still once upright, eyes locked on the heaving rise and fall of his chest. The green blood still poured from his arm, trailing in slow rivulets down his thick, scaled skin. It was grotesque and oddly beautiful. Like art painted in pain.
You had never seen anything like him before.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke, your voice soft and unsure.
“Tell me how to help you.”
Silence.
He didn’t look at you immediately. Instead, he walked toward the part of the ship where he’d earlier attempted to patch himself up.
You watched him, his steps heavy, his breath audible. With a sharp tilt of his head, the long, rope-like dreadlocks shifted around his shoulders with grace.
He turned, mandibles twitching, the low clicking sound they made vibrating in the air between you like a warning or a signal.
He held something out.
A skin stapler—if you could even call it that. It was massive compared to any human medical tool, mechanical and crude, made for strength over finesse.
Then, without a word, he turned his back to you.
And only then did you see the true damage under the light.
A jagged slash, deep and raw, tore across his back. It wasn’t just bleeding—it was gaping, the green fluid seeping from it in thick, steady drops. You could see sinew beneath. Maybe even bone.
You stifled a gag, covering your mouth briefly before forcing your hand back down. Your stomach churned.
This was worse than you thought.
His back muscles twitched under the strain, contracting with each breath. Even still, he stood tall, tense, waiting.
You had to do this.
You needed his trust. And if earning it meant holding back the bile in your throat and pretending your hands weren’t shaking uncontrollably, then so be it.
Your fingers trembled as you took a step forward. You reached out with your free hand and gently touched his shoulder to steady yourself and him.
He flinched.
His skin was cold, much colder than you expected, and the contrast between your warmth and his body made him shudder. But he didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, before pressing the device to his torn flesh.
You braced yourself, and then pulled the trigger.
The stapler hissed as metal bit into skin.
He grunted, guttural sound rumbling from deep in his chest. His hands slammed down onto the metal table in front of him, claws digging into it, leaving deep gashes in the surface.
You kept going.
Staple. Staple. Staple.
With every burst, his muscles flexed. His arms shook under the pain, and the table beneath him groaned under the pressure of his grip.
But he didn’t move. He didn’t strike out. He simply endured.
By the time you were done, the line of staples snaked clean across his back, sealing the worst of the wound. You stepped back, your hands slick with sweat and blood, the device trembling slightly in your grip.
You had done it.
He leaned against the table, his breaths deep and uneven. You watched his back shift with each inhale as he flexed the stitched muscles, testing the damage, testing your work.
Your hands were still trembling slightly when he turned and took the stapler from your grip.
Then, he faced you.
He didn’t speak. He simply watched.
The kind of stare that made the air feel heavier.
You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing. But he seemed to be waiting for something—anything.
And when you remained still, uncertain, he closed the distance.
His hand reached for your face, fingers curling around your cheeks, thumb and forefinger applying just enough pressure to coax a reaction. You flinched slightly.
“What else do you want?” you asked, voice low and guarded, a frown forming on your face.
But the alien didn’t respond. He merely observed, eyes flicking across your features like he was trying to learn you, maybe even memorize the softness of your skin beneath his clawed fingertips.
His hand left your face, trailing down to your neck, then your shoulder, tracing a path beneath your arm and along your forearm. You shivered involuntarily when his thumb pressed firmly against the underside of your wrist, pinning your pulse.
He felt it.
Your heartbeat.
Unsteady.
And undeniably human.
A low purr resonated from deep within his chest, vibrating through the air like distant thunder. It wasn’t threatening, but it was possessive. Satisfied.
You let him explore you, not out of desire, but out of necessity. Every touch was a test. You didn’t know what he would do next and neither did he, maybe. But still, he touched like someone who had been holding back for too long.
When his hand slipped under your shirt, brushing just below your bellybutton, you stepped back instinctively, muscles tightening.
You couldn’t read his intentions, maybe he didn’t fully understand them either.
“I’m… ticklish,” you said quickly, a shaky breath escaping as you gently pushed his hand back up to your stomach.
Whether he believed the lie or not, he withdrew, wordlessly. Then, with fluid strength, he turned you around by your shoulders.
His claws traced along your back now, slow,intentional strokes.
Right over the spot that mirrored his own injury.
The gesture didn’t feel like threat.
It felt like recognition.
You bit your lip, steadying yourself when his touch followed the length of your spine. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth when his claws reached the small of your back. A tingling ripple ran across your skin.
He paused there.
Then, nothing.
Just silence.
Until you felt it.
Hot breath—on your neck.
It ghosted over your skin in slow waves. You froze, every instinct inside you telling you not to move.
His mandibles clicked, close to your ear. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your head turning slightly away, just to escape it.
That’s when his grip tightened. Hands holding your shoulders firmly, anchoring you in place.
Don’t move, your mind warned.
Don’t give him a reason to think you’re resisting.
His breath returned, heavier now, brushing over the nape of your neck and then came the sharpness. You hissed softly as you felt the faint sting of his mandibles grazing your skin.
There was moisture.
Not blood—at least not yours.
Then, a slick warmth dragged slowly over the same spot.
His tongue.
You hadn’t seen it before, but now you knew. It was real, and it was on you.
Testing you.
Tasting you.
You clenched your jaw, holding in the gasp that threatened to escape. The sensation was foreign, unnerving, but strangely cautious. He wasn’t being careless. He was exploring. Reading your reaction. Studying how far he could go.
You were being mapped with his mouth, his claws, his curiosity.
And all you could do was endure it.
You hadn’t expected things to escalate this quickly—yet they had.
The sensation that bloomed where his mandibles had latched onto your skin again was so alien, so unfamiliar, you could barely contain the noise that threatened to rise in your throat. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before, stinging, with a strange heat. And that’s what unsettled you most.
And still… that same unknown sent a pulse of something dark and electric down your spine.
Your knees trembled—not just from fear, but from the way your body responded to the contact. Helplessly, shamefully. Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest, as if caught in a tug-of-war between terror and… something else.
Another hiss slipped from between your clenched teeth when his tongue swept along your wounded nape, tasting the blood he had drawn moments before. You could feel the deliberate slowness in the way he licked over the bite, like he was trying to understand you—your scent, your flavor, your limits. This had to be a test, didn’t it? A threshold he was pushing you toward, waiting to see whether you would flinch… or endure.
If you could survive this, if you could hold your ground, maybe he’d trust you. And if he trusted you, then eventually… maybe you’d be free.
Then his hands were on you again, turning you to face him.
His breathing was ragged, strained, his chest rising and falling fast.
His mandibles were slick with crimson, your blood still fresh on him.
You should’ve recoiled in horror.
But you didn’t.
Instead, your eyes lingered on the tautness in his body, the tension in his shoulders. His gaze bore into you unrelenting and unreadable. Yet there was something unmistakably raw in it. As if he didn’t fully understand what he was doing, only that he needed to.
One clawed hand rose slowly, catching the hem of your shirt and giving it the smallest tug, pulling you closer until you were pressed to him, your face just above the curve of his chest. He was colder than any being you’d ever touched… and yet somehow, from within, he radiated heat. Like a furnace buried under stone.
Your breath stuttered as you tilted your head up, eyes meeting his.
He studied you the way a predator studies prey, but there was no hunger. Just intensity. Curiosity.
And then, without a word, one long, talon-tipped finger rose to your lips.
You held your breath.
He dragged it gently across your bottom lip, then pressed inward, urging your mouth open, just enough to trace the warmth inside. Your lips parted automatically, breath catching as the cold of his skin met the heat of your tongue. You didn’t even realize you’d made a sound until his chest rumbled in response—a satisfied purr.
He was testing you again. Learning the intricacies of your body the way someone learns the pressure points on a weapon.
And still… you didn’t pull away.
“Ooman, your heart is racing… yet you don’t seem scared.”
His guttural voice struck the air like a blade, freezing you where you stood.
Those red eyes—dark and unreadable—pierced you from above. There was something almost gentle in the way he stared, but it was impossible to ignore the sheer force behind his stance.
And he wasn’t wrong.
Your heart was hammering inside your chest like it was trying to escape your ribs… yet you hadn’t ran.
You hadn’t screamed.
He had touched you—bitten you—and you hadn’t moved.
Maybe worse… part of you didn’t want to.
Shame curled hot and thick in your chest, but shame didn’t undo the way your body had reacted. You were only human. You couldn’t control everything. Not when it felt this strange… this overwhelming.
He pressed his thumb further against your tongue, forcing you to choke slightly, the reflex hitting before you could stifle it. Tears welled up in your eyes from the gag, but even as your vision blurred, he didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze sharpened, his mandibles twitched, and the shimmer in his eyes suggested… fascination.
He liked that sound. Like he had just discovered a new function in a toy he hadn’t yet finished learning to play with.
“Are you sad, ooman?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked. That question was… unexpected. But you realized quickly why he asked it.
He had only ever seen you cry when you begged him to let you go, sobbing behind reinforced glass. You were sad then. Terrified.
But now?
“…No,” you whispered.
He pulled his thumb from your mouth, glancing at the saliva stretched between his fingers. He examined it with the same curiosity a scientist might give a strange specimen before flicking his gaze back to you.
“Then what do you feel?” he asked again, this time quieter.
You didn’t know how to answer.
Fear, yes. Curiosity, definitely.
But the heat coiling inside you, the warmth spreading down your spine and pooling between your legs—it wasn’t curiosity alone. It was something deeper. Something primal. Something neither of you seemed able to name.
“I’m not sure,” you admitted.
And you meant it. The confusion, the contradiction of everything in your body and mind. It was too much to untangle.
But something about your honesty changed him.
He studied you again, slower this time. And then his claws returned, sliding under the hem of your shirt. With one decisive movement, he tore the fabric, the sound ripping through the quiet as you gasped.
Your stomach, exposed now, just below your ribs, was bare beneath his stare. A sharp sound left your lips as he pressed a single claw to your abdomen, not aggressively, but intently.
He was testing you again.
The touch crawled up, just below your chest, and stopped when you tensed, your eyes shut tight in fear and… anticipation. But he didn’t go further.
“Why is your heart racing again?” he asked, voice low and impossibly close.
You opened your eyes, meeting his.
“Are you scared, ooman?”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to lie, to give a simple answer and end this test. But there was no hiding from him.
You nodded. Then, unsure… you shook your head.
His mandibles clicked, clearly confused by your response.
“Use your words,” he commanded, the demand more like a nudge this time.
Your face burned with shame.
“I… I am scared,” you whispered. “But I also feel… hot. Wherever you touch me.”
You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, so you looked away, resting your forehead lightly against his chest. Partly to hide, partly because he felt so real.
He was massive. You hadn’t truly registered the sheer scale of him until now.
“Does it feel good?” he asked, his voice hoarse, strained. Desperate to understand.
You nodded again.
“Speak,” he said, more forcefully now.
“…Yes.”
The sound rumbled from deep in his chest—a pleased, almost feral purr that vibrated through his body and into yours.
He liked that answer. All of it. Your hesitation, your embarrassment, your honesty.
And then, without warning, he moved.
In a swift motion, he slid an arm beneath you, gripping you just under your thighs and lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing. A yelp escaped you—startled, unsteady—as your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck.
You felt the wetness of his healing wound bleed onto your pants, staining them green. The contact was hot and sticky, and your panic spiked just enough to make your breath hitch.
“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice trembling.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered into a crouch and dropped you onto the pile of thick, ragged furs that covered the floor. The makeshift bedding cushioned your fall, but your body tensed as he loomed above you.
He knelt now, towering yet strangely calm.
The light overhead cast shadows across his skin, accentuating the dark blue hue of his chest. Scars, some old, some fresh, lined his torso, like a war map drawn across his body. He didn’t speak, didn’t gesture. He simply presented himself.
And you stared, drawn in despite yourself.
He didn’t wait for your permission this time. His hand grabbed your wrist firmly and brought it to his chest.
You hesitated.
Then… slowly, he let you explore.
Your fingers traced the hard lines of his muscles, the roughness of scarring, the slickness of partially healed wounds. He made a noise, deep and choked, when you grazed one of the fresh cuts.
Your eyes drifted up to his dreadlocks, long and heavy, brushing over his chest like strands of ink.
Hesitantly, you reached for one, curious now. You wrapped your fingers around it, stroking once, then again, before giving it a light squeeze.
That’s when it happened.
His entire body jolted, his muscles seizing as though you’d flipped a hidden switch. He collapsed forward slightly, one fist hitting the ground to steady himself, breath tearing from his chest in ragged bursts.
Your eyes widened.
Whatever those were… they weren’t just hair.
You let go immediately, crawling back into the furred rugs as he struggled to regain composure.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.
But your mind raced.
What was he?
And what had you just done?
You thought, for one breathless moment, that maybe this was your chance.
Maybe that flicker of weakness, his body buckling from your touch, meant you could shift the balance. Regain some control. Use it against him.
But that illusion vanished the instant he caught his breath.
He looked up at you with a low inhale and you saw it. The shift. The hunger. The intent.
Like a predator fixing its gaze on something it knew it could catch.
You stared, uncertain whether to brace or beg.
He didn’t give you time for either.
With a sudden, terrifying grace, he lunged forward, crawling fast over the rugs until he loomed above you. His forearms landed on either side of your head with a thud, enclosing you in his shadow.
You barely had time to gasp.
Warm blood dripped from his healing wound, trickling down to your cheek. You clenched your jaw to keep still, holding your breath, afraid to move or speak. Maybe this was it, maybe you’d pushed too far.
Then he lowered his head.
You heard the click of his mandibles before you felt his teeth.
He sank them into your shoulder, not deep enough to break bone, but enough to make you cry out. Sharp, white-hot pain bloomed across your skin as you twisted beneath him, but his weight pinned you like prey caught in a trap.
His hand pressed hard over your chest, flattening you against the furs, and then he struck again. His mouth finding your other shoulder with terrifying speed.
Another bite. Another cry.
This time, something was different.
He lingered.
You felt his tongue glide slowly across the mark he had made, the heat of it dragging across your skin, soothing and igniting at the same time. The sting of pain morphed into a low, building ache. You gasped, but not from pain. From…
Frustration.
But not the kind born of anger. This burned lower, deeper. A need you didn’t recognize, spreading like fire in your belly.
Your nipples stiffened under the thin fabric of what remained of your torn shirt. You weren’t sure when it happened, but his hand, still pressing on your chest, seemed to be aware before you were. Every brush of his palm made the sensation worse. Unbearable.
His mouth trailed lower, tongue dragging along your collarbone, then upward toward your neck.
You knew what was coming. Another bite. Another mark.
And some primal instinct in you snapped.
You acted before thinking, before fear could stop you.
You reached up, grabbed one of those thick, heavy dreadlocks hanging over your face… and yanked.
Hard.
He reacted instantly.
His body spasmed, his torso pitching forward until his chest nearly collapsed onto yours. A guttural sound erupted from him—not a growl, not a roar, but something building in his chest, shaking through his ribs like a lion’s warning.
His breathing turned ragged, desperate again. You felt him straining against the instinct to move, to react—to take.
His fist slammed down into the furs beside your head to steady himself.
You’d hit a nerve. Literally.
You let go. You could’ve stopped there.
But you didn’t.
Driven by something reckless, something stupid, you leaned up—and bit the same dreadlock between your teeth. Not enough to maim… just enough to threaten. To warn.
To show him that you could.
And that’s when it changed.
His hand shot up, clawed fingers wrapping around your throat.
Not with full strength, but enough to knock the air from your lungs and force you to release your bite.
He held you there, suspended between danger and awe. The grip at your throat was firm, unrelenting… but conscious. Just enough pressure to remind you: he was in control now.
Yet his eyes… they told another story.
Because in that moment, he wasn’t just looking at a fragile, soft-skinned thing he’d captured.
He was looking at something dangerous.
Something wild.
Something that bit back.
Your teeth might be small, but they could’ve torn through that sensitive appendage. And he knew it.
You saw that realization land behind his eyes.
And you saw something else too.
Respect.
Predator or not, he now understood:
You were not prey.
You stared up at him, breath hitching under the pressure of his hand, your body thrumming with adrenaline, confusion, heat.
“You bite like an animal,” he growled, voice low. “Yet you’re not one of them.”
The hand around your throat stayed firm, his grip no longer punishing, but purposeful. Curious. Possessive.
He studied you like a puzzle he hadn’t expected to find inside his cage.
Your chest rose and fell beneath him, breath caught somewhere between panic and anticipation, your lips parting reflexively as his thumb pressed against them—harder this time. Enough to make your head tilt slightly, your jaw strain. Enough to draw out those same desperate, involuntary sounds that had already begun to unravel him.
Mewls. Gasps. Whimpers that betrayed you, that sent heat rushing through both your veins and his.
He made you feel weak, pinned under his massive frame, restrained, breathless and yet the trembling in his chest betrayed a dangerous truth: he was just as undone as you were.
There was green blood staining the rugs now, hot and slick, smeared along the curve of your hip where he’d held you. His claws flexed at your sides, eager, restrained, and trembling. The Yautja was trying to hold himself together, and you… you were the reason he was falling apart.
In all his years of battles, of honor duels, of hunts through hostile terrain and endless bloodshed, he had never been brought to this edge. This need.
And not just because you fought back.
It was how you did it.
You didn’t bare fangs to kill.
You bared your teeth to warn, to challenge. To play.
And in his world… that meant something else entirely.
The way you looked up at him, defiant even as his hand rested on your throat. The way you gasped around his thumb, shame flushing your cheeks but never reaching your eyes. You weren’t meek. You were alive. Burning.
That was a language he understood.
It wasn’t what he expected when he first claimed you. You hadn’t fought then. You’d been taken without a struggle. No weapons, no resistance, just a shaking, wide-eyed creature.
He was supposed to drag you back. A trophy. A specimen.
Maybe even meat, if the elders had deemed it so.
But he hadn’t brought you to them.
He hadn’t handed you over.
He hadn’t harmed you.
Not even once.
Instead, he kept you.
Why?
He hadn’t known the answer… until now.
Now, your body squirmed beneath his. Your heat mixed with his, and your spirit rose like a flare against his instincts. You weren’t just prey. You were spark.
His chest began to tremble with a low, guttural noise, not quite a growl, not quite a purr. Something deeper.
Amusement.
He laughed.
It was alien, yes, but unmistakably pleased.
A sound from deep inside his chest, vibrating through your body like a drumbeat.
You blinked up at him, startled by the change. The gleam in his eyes was no longer just predatory. It was amused. Intrigued. He tilted his head as if seeing you for the first time, not as an obligation, not as cargo.
But as entertainment. A wild, feisty creature dropped into his hands.
You felt it then, something shift in the way he looked at you.
You weren’t just a captive anymore.
You were his distraction… his companion… his toy.
And in a life filled with blood, silence, and cold steel…
You were the first thing that ever made him feel alive.
Summary: You are cherished yet captive sex slave of a Yautja king, you surrender to his every whim, your body his to claim and ravish whenever he desires.
Paring: Yautja x Reader
word count: 8000+
warnings: NSFW, Smut, Sex Slave, Made up Yautja names
A/N : I have been wanting to write a Yautja x Reader sex slave story for a while and I finally got around to it! Enjoy!
Masterlist
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
You never imagined your life would end up like this—trapped in the clutches of an alien predator, reduced to a plaything for a king among beasts. It started on Earth, in the dead of night, when shadows moved like living things and a net of energy snatched you from your bed. You woke in a cage, surrounded by the guttural clicks and roars of creatures that defied nightmares. Yautja, they called themselves—hunters from the stars, warriors who prized strength and conquest above all. You were auctioned off like livestock on some distant world, your curvy form and long hair drawing the eye of the highest bidder: K’thar, the King of Clan Varak, larger than any of his kind, his body a tapestry of scars and muscle that spoke of countless victories.
He bought you not for labor or sport, but for pleasure. His pet. His fuck toy. And in the years since—how many, you’ve lost count—you’ve become his obsession. He adorns you with a collar of polished metal, embedded with glittering gemstones that catch the light like stars. It looks more like an exquisite choker necklace than a symbol of ownership, comfortable against your skin, but impossible to remove. It hums faintly with alien tech, a reminder that you are his, bound to him in ways deeper than chains.
K’thar is immense, towering over you at nearly eight feet, his dark, mottled skin stretched taut over rippling muscles. His mandibles click and flare when he’s pleased, and his eyes—glowing amber slits—fix on you with a hunger that makes your knees weak. He loves your long hair, weaving his clawed fingers through it absentmindedly. Your curvy body, with its huge breasts that spill over even the thinnest fabrics he allows you to wear, drives him to distraction. He gropes you constantly, his massive hands encompassing your flesh, kneading and pinching until you gasp.
You are always with him. In his grand throne room, a cavernous hall of bone and obsidian on his flagship, the air always warm and heavy with the scent of incense and musk. He sits on his throne, a colossal seat carved from the skeletons of his greatest kills, and you are his constant companion. Sometimes you sit at his feet, the cool stone a contrast to the heat of his touch as he pets your head like a favored animal. Other times, you curl on his lap, your head resting against the hard planes of his chest, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic purr of his breathing while his hand strokes your back.
But not all moments are tender. When his advisors gather or rivals visit, he asserts his dominance in ways that leave you flushed and exposed. He’ll spread your legs wide on his lap, his thick fingers delving into your cunt without preamble, pumping slowly while he discusses clan matters. Your moans are ignored by the others, but they echo in your ears, a symphony of humiliation and unwanted pleasure. Or you’ll kneel between his massive thighs, hidden somewhat by the furs he drapes over you, sleeping in the protective cage of his legs.
And then there are the times he commands more. Like now, as the day’s council begins.
The throne room hums with the low murmurs of Yautja advisors, their armored forms lining the walls like sentinels. K’thar lounges on his throne, his presence commanding silence as he gestures for the first report. You kneel before him, naked as always in these private displays—your thin clothes discarded at his whim. The air is warm, wrapping around your skin like a lover’s breath, but it does nothing to quell the shiver of anticipation.
“My pet,” he rumbles, his voice a deep vibration that travels straight to your core. His clawed hand descends, tangling in your long hair, guiding you forward. “Serve your king.”
You know what he wants. His codpiece is already unlatched, his massive cock freed—thick as your forearm, ridged along its length, a deep greenish-gray that pulses with need. It’s enormous, the size a constant reminder of how small and fragile you are compared to him. Pre-cum beads at the tip, glistening in the dim light.
Obediently, you lean in, your lips parting to take the head into your mouth. It stretches your jaw wide, the ridges scraping lightly against your tongue. You suck gently at first, hollowing your cheeks, the wet slurping sounds filling the air as you work him deeper. His advisors drone on about border skirmishes, but K’thar’s focus is on you. His fingers play with your hair, twisting strands around his claws, petting you encouragingly.
“Good girl,” he purrs, his mandibles clicking softly. “My tiny human pet. So eager to please.”
Bobbing your head, you taking more of him, your hands coming up to stroke what won’t fit. One hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten under your touch. The other licks along the base, your tongue tracing the veins that throb with his arousal. Slurping noises echo as you suck harder, saliva dripping down your chin. He’s so big, filling your mouth completely, the musky taste of him overwhelming.
The advisors continue, one clicking about resource allocations. K’thar responds in his gravelly tongue, his voice steady, but you feel the tension in his thighs. “Continue,” he says to them, then to you: “Deeper, pet. Swallow me.”
Pushing forward, you gag slightly as the head hits the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes, but you don’t stop, slurping and sucking with renewed vigor. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your rhythm. “That’s it. Such a good fuck toy. Praise your king’s cock.”
You hum around him, the vibration making him growl low. Your tongue swirls over the ridges, lapping at the pre-cum that flows freely now. His balls draw up in your hand, and you know he’s close. The room fades; it’s just you and him, your world narrowed to the heat of his flesh in your mouth.
With a guttural roar that interrupts the advisor mid-sentence, K’thar cums. Thick ropes of hot, viscous seed flood your mouth, more than you can swallow. You drink greedily, gulping down the salty, alien essence, but it overflows, dripping down your chin, cascading over your neck and onto your heaving chest. It’s so much—waves of it, marking you inside and out.
No one dares interrupt. The advisors fall silent, watching as K’thar gently pulls you off his cock, a string of cum connecting your lips to him before it snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, settling you on his lap facing him. His amber eyes gleam with possession as he leans in, his mandibles parting. His rough tongue laps at the cum on your chin, cleaning you with long, deliberate strokes. Down your neck, over your collar, to your breasts where he lingers, sucking the sticky fluid from your skin while groping your huge tits.
“My pet,” he murmurs between licks. “So perfect. All mine.”
The advisors resume, but their eyes linger, envy burning in the younger ones. They’ll never have a pet like you. You’re his.
As the council drags on, K’thar keeps you close, his hand wandering between your legs now and then, teasing your slick folds. But today, with rivals from a neighboring clan present, he decides on a grander display. The air thickens with tension; these visitors challenge his borders, their postures aggressive. K’thar will remind them who rules.
You sit at his feet, naked, the damp chill of the floor against your knees. The heavy, musky scent of the Yautja fills the air, and the weight of their stares feels like physical hands roaming your body. A low, grinding chuckle echoes from above.
“Look up, little pet.”
The voice is a gravelly vibration that goes straight to your core. You lift your chin. King K’thar fills his massive throne of bone and black metal, a mountain of corded muscle and dark, pebbled hide. His mandibles flex, clicking softly. His eyes, glowing amber, stare down at you with a heat that makes your skin flush. Around the perimeter of the chamber, his advisors and the visiting rivals stand, still as statues, watching. This isn’t just about sex. This is a fucking statement.
“You see what I keep?” K’thar rumbles, his voice carrying to every corner. He doesn’t take his gaze off you. “A soft, warm thing. A fertile thing. Mine.”
He shifts forward, the armor on his thighs scraping against the throne. One large, taloned hand beckons. “Come here.”
Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. Rising on shaky legs, the warm air cool against your exposed tits and cunt. You climb the dais, each step bringing you closer to that immense presence. You stop before him, within reach.
His hand shoots out, not to strike, but to firmly grasp your hip. His fingers nearly span your entire side, the tips of his claws pricking your skin just enough to sting without breaking it. He pulls you forward, between his spread knees, until your thighs brush the edge of the throne. He begins to grope you all over, his massive palms engulfing your huge breasts, squeezing them roughly, thumbs circling your hardened nipples until you whimper.
The thick, heavy ridge of his cock is already visible, straining against the codpiece of his armor. With his other hand, he releases a series of latches. The armor plating falls away with a heavy thud.
His cock springs free, thick and long, a deep greyish-green, ridged from base to tip. It’s already dripping with clear fluid. The sight of it, in this room full of spectators, makes your mouth go dry and your pussy clench with treacherous need.
“Turn around,” he orders, his voice dropping to a private, vicious rumble. “Show them what is mine to use.”
Trembling, you turn, presenting your bare ass and back to the room. A collective, hissing, clicks and intake of breaths comes from the shadows. Humiliation burns through you, hot and sharp, but underneath it, a deep, treacherous pulse of arousal throbs between your legs.
You feel the broad, wet head of his cock nudge against your asshole. You gasp.
“This tight little hole is for my pleasure alone,” he announces to the room, his voice booming. One taloned finger, slick with his own pre-cum, finds your dripping cunt from behind. He pushes two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them against that sensitive spot. You cry out, your knees buckling. He holds you up effortlessly. “And this wet, greedy cunt… this is where I plant my seed. You feel how empty it is? How it aches for it?”
He fucks your pussy with his fingers, hard and deep, the rough pads rubbing over that spot inside that makes you see white. Your own juices soak his hand, dripping down your thighs. You’re panting, moaning, your forehead pressing against the cool bone of his throne armrest.
“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for—more, less, everything.
“You beg so pretty,” he growls. He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mandibles. He tastes you, a long, slow lick that makes the rivals shift uncomfortably. “You take what I give you.”
Now, he turns his attention to your ass. He knows you need preparation; his size could tear you otherwise. One finger, slick with your arousal, circles your tight ring before pushing in slowly. You gasp at the intrusion, the burn mixing with pleasure as he works it deeper. He adds a second finger, scissoring them, stretching you with patient ruthlessness. The wet sounds fill the room, obscene and intimate.
“Good pet,” he murmurs. “Relax for your king. Let me open you up.”
Minutes pass—or is it hours?—as he fingers your ass, his free hand stroking your back, playing with your hair. You’re trembling, arousal pooling between your legs, when he finally deems you ready.
The pressure at your asshole increases. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t try to be. With one brutal, upward thrust, he buries the head of his cock in your ass. The stretch is immense, burning, exquisite. You scream, the sound echoing in the silent hall.
“Fuck, you’re tight around my cock,” he grunts, his hips snapping forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in your clutching, desperate heat. The fullness is unbelievable. He fills your ass completely, every ridge dragging against your sensitive inner walls. He holds himself there, buried deep, letting you feel every inch.
Then his hand comes back to your pussy again. Three fingers this time, pushing into your soaked cunt alongside the massive girth in your ass. The double penetration makes you sob. You’re stretched impossibly, stuffed full of him. He begins to move, a slow, devastating rhythm. His cock pistons in and out of your ass, a rough, claiming fuck, while his fingers scissor and thrust in your cunt.
“You feel that, pet?” he snarls in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. “You feel both parts of me owning you? My cock in your ass, my fingers in your breeding hole. This is what you are for. To be my fuck-toy. To take my seed when I decide you’re ready.”
His pace quickens. The slap of his hips against your ass, the wet, filthy sound of his fingers in your cunt, your own ragged cries—it’s the only sound in the world. The audience is forgotten. There’s only the brutal, perfect friction, the burn in your ass, the dizzying pleasure coiling in your belly. You’re a live wire, every nerve ending on fire.
His mandibles graze your neck, sharp tips scratching lightly at first, then deeper. A thin line of blood wells up—a marking, his way of claiming what’s his. He licks it away immediately, his tongue rough and soothing, tasting your essence mixed with the metallic tang. “Mine,” he growls against your skin. “Marked for all to see.”
The pain blends with the pleasure, heightening everything. “I’m gonna fill you,” he promises, his thrusts becoming erratic, powerful. “I’m gonna pump this ass so full of my cum it spills out of you. I’m gonna fuck a pup into you right here, and they will all see it. They will all know this ass belongs to me and is full of my seed.”
His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, violent and blinding. Your cunt clamps down on his fingers, squirting your release over his hand, while your ass spasms around his cock, milking him relentlessly. Your cry is a raw, broken thing, echoing off the walls.
With a final, grinding roar, he shoves his cock as deep as it would go in your ass and knots his fingers in your cunt. You feel the hot, sudden rush of his cum flooding your asshole, wave after wave of it, painting your insides. It’s so much, overflowing, leaking out around where he’s buried. Heat spreads through your lower belly, a possessive, claiming brand. Your body shudders, sweat glowing on your skin, making you slick and shiny under the lights.
He stays there, buried in both holes, his big body shuddering against your back. His cum leaks out around his still-buried fingers, dripping down your inner thighs, a hot, sticky testament. You’re sweaty, exhausted, but the aftershocks of your climax still pulse through you.
Slowly, he pulls his fingers from your cunt, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. He holds them up, glistening with his cum and your juices, for the silent watchers to see. Then he carefully pulls his softening cock from your ass. A thick strand of fluid connects you to him for a second before snapping, more cum trickling out of your stretched hole.
You sag, boneless, every muscle trembling. He catches you, turning you around and pulling you down onto his lap. Your back is to his chest, his arms like iron bands around you. His cum is a warm, wet pool between your thighs, soaking into his own armor. He adjusts you, his still-half-hard cock nestling against the cleft of your ass.
“Look at them,” he murmurs, his mandibles brushing your ear. “Look at their faces. They see my cum leaking from your used hole. They see my mark on you.”
You force your eyes open. The rival Yautja in the room look away, their postures stiff with what you can only interpret as resentment… and respect. His advisors give slight, approving nods, their mandibles twitching.
K’thar’s hand slides down your belly, his fingers sliding through the mess of fluids on your skin, pushing back between your legs. He cups your swollen, oversensitive pussy, his palm pressing his own cum deeper into you. Two fingers slip inside easily, curling lazily.
“Such a good pet,” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You took my cock so well. You took my seed. Now you will sit here, on your king’s lap, and let them all see what a well-bred, well-fucked little thing you are.”
The council resumes, voices droning about alliances and hunts, but K’thar’s attention is divided. His fingers move inside you, slow at first, building that familiar pressure. You squirm, oversensitive, but he holds you firm. “Be still, pet. Let me reward you.”
He fingers you for the rest of the day, his touch relentless. He makes you cum on his fingers over and over—three, four, five times—your naked body writhing in his lap, moans spilling from your lips unbidden. Sweat beads on your skin, glowing under the warm lights, as your hips buck against his hand. He loves it, the way you arch and tremble, your huge breasts heaving with each gasp.
“My obedient little human,” he whispers during a lull, his free hand stroking your long hair. “So perfect. How you listen, how you take everything I give. No other male will ever touch you. You are mine.”
He rewards you between sessions—feeding you choice morsels from his hand, succulent fruits and tender meats that melt on your tongue. His claws are careful, never nicking you as he brings the food to your lips. He strokes your head, purring praises. When he notices the scratches on your neck from earlier, he leans down, his tongue lapping at the dried blood, cleaning and soothing the marks he made.
You should hate this—being his sex slave, forced to fuck whenever he pleases. Your mind rebels at times, whispering of freedom, of Earth. But your body… your body loves it. The dominance, the possession, the way he fills you so completely. It craves his touch, his commands, the way he spoils you when you please him.
As the sun sets—the council disperses. K’thar rises, cradling you in his arms like a precious artifact. “Time for rest, my pet.”
He carries you to his chambers, a vast room dominated by his nest: a pile of luxurious furs and silks, scented with his musk. This is the only place you’re allowed to sleep, curled against his massive form, protected in the curve of his body like a pet in its master’s bed.
He lays you down gently, stripping off his remaining armor before joining you. His cock, ever ready, hardens at the sight of you splayed out. “One more time,” he growls, positioning himself over you. “I need to feel that small, tight pussy around me.”
You nod, spreading your legs willingly. He enters you slowly this time, savoring the stretch, his ridges dragging deliciously inside your walls. “So good,” he groans, thrusting deep. “Your cunt was made for me, pet. Tight and wet, milking my cock.”
He fucks you languidly, drawing it out, his hands roaming your curves, groping your breasts, playing with your hair. He praises you endlessly—“Beautiful human. My fertile pet. Take my seed, let it fill you.”—until you both cum, his release flooding your womb, warm and claiming.
After, he pulls you close, his arms enveloping you. He licks any remaining marks, purring contentedly. “You please me greatly. I will spoil you tomorrow—new gems for your collar, perhaps.”
You drift off in his embrace, body sated, mind conflicted but leaning toward acceptance. You should hate being his slave, but in his dominance, you’ve found a twisted love. He cherishes you in his way, possessive and fierce. And as sleep claims you, nestled in his nest, you realize: you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
