seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Ukraine
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
The Scientific Guide to Yautja Breeding: An Anthology
Log Entry: A1Z- 3117. Xenoanthropology Division. Predator OC x Female Reader.
Content & Warnings: dubcon, mating rituals, breeding, size difference, mild humor, unprotected piv, possessive behavior
Word Count: 3.5k
While observing a Yautja mating ritual, you enter the forest where the chase is taking place, expecting to observe and record in your science logbook. Little do you know that entering is a form of consent, and there is only one Yautja willing to protect you from the others.
ao3 // main masterlist // scientific guide masterlist
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
“That’s not right,” you mutter, erasing the error.
Field work requires hands and hard tools. Paper and pencil are tangible, holds you present, keeps you focused. They’re also the only tools you have, the rest confiscated when you landed on Yautja Prime, greeted by a Yautja clan that weren’t even the tiniest bit amused to see you.
You weren’t armed. Not a threat. Unworthy prey.
They were rightly pissed you arrived on their homeworld, but thought it better to keep you when you opened your mouth and Yautja followed. Your fluency in Yautja only went so far. They were curious but also suspicious, made worse by the Weyland-Yutani ship you arrived on.
Studying Xenoanthropology in school opened the door to employment with the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. They admired your observations about different alien species, offered you a job, sent you off-world to a colonized star system, on a planet that never saw the sun because of industrial pollution caused by Weyland-Yutani mining operations.
Your job landed you in the research labs, in front of Yautja technology. The Company told you all they wanted was to expand their cultural knowledge on the species, but when you were shown the Yautja ship, asking you to decode and translate the information contained within, you knew then that they didn’t care about Yautja culture. They wanted information. They wanted to find their homeworld.
And being the spontaneous idiot that you are, you did the exact opposite. Destroyed the labs, destroyed their research, destroyed the ship. Erased it all and fled, stealing the coordinates for yourself.
You can’t go home. You can’t return to any world or star system that’s been colonized by humans. Weyland-Yutani is looking for you.
A gentle blow, a rounding of the lips, and the grit of graphite disappears from the page. Angling the notebook toward the light, you glance between it and your point of study.
“Could be worse,” you sigh, returning the notebook to your lap. “Could be better.”
On the page are two sketches, each of a Yautja torso. One female and the other male. Anatomy was never your subject, but it’s still important to document, and here, witnessing this cultural ritual, gives you a clear view of their naked bodies. Trust, built over months, is the only reason you’re currently perched on a tree stump with notebook in hand.
A clan matriarch is in heat, ready to mate, but more than one male has caught her eye. Eight yards away from where you sit are a group of male Yautja, five in total. They’re naked except for a stripe of paint on their arms, each a different color designating what subset of the clan they’re from. Females spearhead each clan, typically the strongest amongst their number. When a female Yautja is in heat, her choice must come from a different clan. Like humans, they do not inbreed, the practice causing unfavored genetic traits.
The female Yautja in question, Ahra, is separated from the males, surrounded by other females, their tendrils gray. They are elders, deeply respected and cared for. You focus on her muscled limbs, returning to your sketch, erasing lines and redrawing for emphasis. Tongue between your teeth, you concentrate on the transition from torso to chest to shoulder.
A soft crunch of grass comes from behind you. You quickly turn, finding no one. Frowning, you slowly return to your notebook, only for large hands to yank it from your grasp.
“Bhatul! What are you doing?”
Bhatul, the only Yautja you’ve formed a true connection with, holds your notebook in front of him with both hands, head cocked, black quills falling over one shoulder, several decorated with gold rings. He’s a mix of dusty red, tan, and black spots, common for the members of his clan that live in the warmer, drier regions of Yautja Prime with a healthy amount of smaller quills on his arms and chest.
Using one hand, he turns the notebook around. “Me?” he asks, indicating the half-complete male diagram.
“And what if it is?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.
He chuffs. “You show truth. I am strong. Virile.”
The back of your neck grows hot. With you sitting on the tree stump, and him standing in front of you, naked, you have a clear view of his penis. It’s directly in front of your face.
“That’s not—” you begin.
“Do you think she will mate with me?” asks Bhatul.
“Ahra?” Bhatul inclines his head. “Isn’t it a contest?”
“Yes,” nods Bhatul. “We chase. Subdue. Mount.”
“All of you?”
Bhatul huffs, affronted. “A female Yautja has only one—”
You throw up your hands. “Yes. I know. I can see that.” You turn your head in Ahra’s direction. “Quite clearly.”
Bhatul tosses the notebook back to you. You catch it, nearly falling off the stump from the force behind the throw. “You will not enter the forest.”
“Excuse me?”
He steps forward and kneels, bringing him eye-level. “I know you. Too curious.” Bhatul lifts his hand, imitating a head opening and closing its mouth. “Talking.” He changes to two fingers that walk along an invisible surface. “Following.”
You roll your eyes. “You tell me to follow. And I have to.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “Makes other Yautja jealous.”
“Jealous?” you deadpan.
“You are…pet. Other Yautja want pet.”
Unbelievable. You’d pull on one of his mandibles but that would only rile him up more than he already is. Bhatul enjoys pushing your buttons, but it’s never mean. He was the first to approach you without an ulterior motive, to ask questions and answer yours in return. A friend, you suppose.
“So, what?” you laugh. “I’m your dog?”
Bhatul snorts, his mandibles flexing. “Dog?” he repeats slowly, the human word sounding odd in his mouth.
Since arriving, you’ve only spoken Yautja, but write your research in your native language. There are no mandibles for you to use, and the mouth structures are different, but they understand, even when you butcher their words.
“It’s an animal,” you say, switching back to Yautja. “A common pet for humans. Fluffy. Friendly. Cuddles with you. Follows you around.”
Bhatul nods. “You are dog.”
You punch Bhatul in the arm. He makes a rattling, chuffing sound you’ve come to know as the closest thing the Yautja have to laughter.
The first time you heard it, you had asked Bhatul if Yautja only see in infrared as research suggests.
“No,” he had said, tapping a finger close to his eye. “We have a gland. Links to our eyes. Helps us see body heat. Good for hunting.”
“And what if you’re not hunting?”
“The gland isn’t active.” He had leaned in, gaze observing your entire body in a slow perusal. “I can see you clearly.”
You punch Bhatul again. “Are you serious?”
“You follow me around.”
You keep hitting him. “You ask me to. Why do I have to repeat myself?”
Bhatul grabs your wrist, drawing your hand away from his massive bicep. Instead of releasing your wrist, he continues to hold it, staring into your eyes with an intensity that makes your stomach drop. It’s been happening more and more this look.
“I like your company,” he says, his already gruff, guttural voice deepening. “You ask questions.”
“I ask too many.”
“You do.” He drops your hand but doesn’t stand. “Don’t enter the forest.” And then he’s up, heading toward the male Yautja clustered nearby.
Technically, you’re supposed to listen and obey. You are human, not Yautja. You were not given the same rights or privileges. While in most circumstances, you’d listen to Bhatul, this might be your only opportunity.
With his back to you, you pack up your notebook and grab your satchel, easing into the tree line until the large leaves provide enough coverage to hide you. These are not hunting grounds, and the only predators are the Yautja.
Kneeling behind a tree, you carefully observe Ahra dashing into the trees, the males fanning out, the same amount of distance between each. You count the seconds from when Ahra enters the forest until the males takes off. Not all of them follow in her footsteps. Several branch off, splitting away from the main group, adding distance as they pass the tree line. One of the larger males charges in your direction, his speed immeasurably fast, almost a blur to your eye.
You throw yourself to the ground as he leaps. Above you, the tree violently shakes as he lands and pushes off, jumping to another. Hand over mouth, you wait until you cannot see him and the trees come to rest.
Slowly, you ease onto your knees, grabbing the tree to help haul you up to your feet. One step. Two. There is no rush, no need to run after them. It’ll only draw attention, and the point is to observe, not get in the way. You’ll keep back, follow at a distance, observe what you can, and record it all in your notebook. Bhatul will fill in the blanks.
Keeping to a crouch, you shift between the trees, listening for unusual sounds, watching for any movement. There is the wind, the occasional snapping of a twig, the buzz of insects, or a call of a bird. You’re not entirely sure what you’re listening for except the guttural grunts of mating.
You come to a stop. “What the fuck am I doing?” you groan, rubbing at your temples.
Observing a ritual of a secretive alien species that no one outside the species has seen? An amazing opportunity. Stumbling onto Yautja having sex? Less cool. In fact, not ideal.
Turning around, you take a step, intending to return the way you came. You’re mid-stride, determined, and then you’re flying, scooped off your feet by a large, powerful force. The impact is sudden and hard, temporarily pushing the air from your lungs, shoving you into a bout of dizziness.
Everything spins as you cling to whatever’s grabbed you, attempting to breathe through every jolt and jerk, yanked along like a children’s doll. Your captor lands, the impact shaking your bones. The hold around you loosens until you roll out of their embrace and onto the ground.
“I told you not to enter the forest.”
You turn onto your back, inhaling deeply through your nose, and exhaling through your mouth. You repeat the process until your hands stop shaking and there is no threat of falling if you stand.
You crack open your eyelids, staring up into Bhatul’s grim expression. “I’m observing. That’s what I do.”
He chuffs, mandibles flexing in agitation. “You do not understand.”
You prop yourself on your elbows. “Explain then.” Groaning, you sit up fully, rubbing at your neck and lower back. “Not like you said anything to begin with,” you mutter.
Bhatul releases a guttural snarl, quills swishing as he starts to pace. “This is a mating ritual. You are female.”
No shit you big idiot.
Slowly, you ease onto your knees, placing your palm against a nearby slab of rock to help ease the ascent. “I’m not Yautja. It doesn’t matter.”
Bhatul whirls on you, approaching with such ferocity you hit the rock in your attempt to back away. “It does matter. You are human but you are female.” He reaches out, one finger lightly tracing the side of your throat. “You give off a scent. Different from female Yautja. But we know it all the same.”
“You—you know—”
Bhatul leans in. “I smell it all the time.”
Female Yautja produce a specific pheromone when in heat, a signal to the males that she’s in her fertile window. Males don’t become senseless beasts. The instinct to reproduce heightens, and their behavior changes. They want to impress, to show the female their strength, that they are good providers and protectors, the fiercest hunter.
Humans don’t produce sex pheromones, but body odor can change, especially for people with female reproductive organs. Body odor can shift during different cycle stages because of hormone changes, but those changing odors don’t trigger sudden behavioral changes in other humans.
But Bhatul isn’t human. Yautja sense of smell is far stronger. What might be a mild shift in odor to you could be a beacon to him. You hadn’t considered it.
“What do you smell?” you ask tentatively.
Bhatul remains where he is. The space between your bodies is nonexistent. You are small and fragile compared to Bhatul’s height and broadness. He easily stands at two and a half meters. You have to bend your neck at a hard angle to look up at him.
“Sweet. Musky. Earthy.” He steps back. “You’re fertile.”
The urge to slap Bhatul increases by the second. You’d do it, too, if only you could reach his stupid face.
“But we can’t. Yautja and humans aren’t compatible.” Bhatul’s silence rings in your ears. He only stares, which makes it worse. “Bhatul.”
“We can. It’s happened before.”
“It’s happened before?” you guffaw, feeling delirious. “That’s impossible. You’re lying.”
As much as Yautja look like monsters, their eyes are deep pools of expression. Bhatul’s gaze cuts through you, twisting your stomach with staunch clarity.
“Humans are worthy prey. They have killed many of our kind. They have skills we lack,” says Bhatul calmly.
You lick your lips, swallowing hard. “Bridge the gap.”
“What gap needs a bridge?” he huffs, glancing around as if one will appear.
“No,” you laugh, some of the anxiety ebbing. “It’s a human expression. It means closing a divide or reducing differences.” You bring your hands together, interlocking your fingers. “Adding the advantages to your species makes you better predators.”
Bhatul nods. “This is why you cannot enter the forest.”
“If I knew—”
“When Ahra is subdued and mating, the other males will follow your scent. Hunt you down. Fight each other for the chance to breed you.” You place your hands below his chest. It’s the easiest spot you can reach. Pushing against Bhatul does nothing to move him or shift you away, not with the slab of rock at your back.
“You walked in willingly.” Bhatul grasps your wrists, drawing your attention to his face. “That is consent. That you want to mate.”
“Take me back. Out of the forest.”
Bhatul shakes his head, his quills swaying. “Leaving will not change things.”
Prior anxiety returns, overwhelming and overloading. Your hands shake. “I don’t want this. I—” Bhatul’s head whips to the right, mandibles flexing, his forked tongue extending slightly to taste the air. “What?” you prompt. “What is it?”
“They’re approaching.” Bhatul’s attention returns to you. “Remove your clothes.”
“No!”
His next words come with a snarl. “It is me or them.”
Maybe if you close your eyes and curl up into a ball, this will all go away. You’ll backtrack, exit the forest, remain on your stump until the whole ceremony is over.
Bhatul, as if sensing your distress, relaxes a fraction. “Do you think I’ll harm you?”
No. I’m just scared.
You shake your head. “No. Not you.”
“I will fight them,” he reassures, “but it’s better to mate.”
A sad smile crosses your lips. “Accepting the mating means I’ve chosen.”
“Yes.”
“Will it stop them from fighting you?”
Bhatul shrugs. “There is always one male that fights.”
“Okay,” you sigh, shuddering. “Okay.”
You’re barely out of your clothes before Bhatul flattens you onto your back on the rock slab. Stretching out, his large frame covers the majority of your body, his weight balanced to keep you in place but not crush. Bhatul’s thick arms cocoon your head, his chin and the bottom of his mandibles brushing lightly against your scalp as he shifts.
Glancing down between your bodies, your heart drops into your stomach. At the tree stump, you received an up front and personal view of Yautja dick from Bhatul and the other males strutting around, chests puffed up as they flaunted for Ahra. What rests against your thigh isn’t some appendage swinging between their legs. This is supposed to go inside you.
Gulping, you press your face into Bhatul’s chest, hands grasping for a hold as he shifts his hips, his cock pressing against your pussy. Looking is impossible. You refuse. All you need to do is stay still for him and it will all be over sooner than you think. Bhatul will protect you from the other males. He won’t hurt you. He said so, but it’s his actions that yell over his words, the lack of aggression over these long months. Bhatul is fearsome. You’ve seen him spar with the other males, but there is none of that with you. Never.
Reaching down, Bhatul fists the base of his cock. As he pumps, large beads of opalescent semen emerge from the slit. Bhatul pumps and shakes, rubbing it all over your pussy. Every time the head of his cock brushes your clit, you bite back a moan.
Does he even know it’s there? Do female Yautja have one, perhaps something similar, or nothing at all?
“Makes penetration easier,” he says, voice low and gruff. The words come from his mouth, but even you understand the primal switch. Yautja males are not much different from human men.
Nuzzling his neck, you inhale deeply, counting down slowly to relax your muscles in anticipation. Bhatul’s response is rolling clicks that remind you of purring. It’s then that the head of him penetrates, a tight stretch that yanks a gasp from you. He thrusts deeper, and this time you crack, choking on a sob as the ribbed shaft rubs deliciously inside you.
Bhatul’s mandibles flex, that pleased clicking returning. “You are different,” he manages, before a loud crunch of breaking wood fills the air.
You freeze, a sudden chill seizing your limbs as Bhatul shifts into the predator he is. The position he takes is defensive but it is also a threat, bleeding aggression at the Yautja looking on. This male is the largest of the group, Ob-Adtoth, if you recall correctly. His skin is pale and yellowish with sections of dark mottling on the sides of his arms and legs. One mandible fang is missing. In its place is a metallic, artificial replacement. Behind him, you notice two other males, approaching slowly, keeping to the trees.
Go away. Go away.
You repeat it internally, pressing as much as yourself as you can to Bhatul’s chest. His embrace tightens, and while you cannot see his face, you can hear him.
There were times when you sat and watched some of the warriors in the practice rings, sparring for the sake of training. On observation, you took their roars for battle cries. They didn’t scare you, only amused you.
Bhatul’s roar in response to Ob-Adtoth’s does not amuse you. Almost otherworldly, the sound that emerges from him silences the forest, shakes the rock beneath you, ignites that innate flight response. It is a bloodied knife. Lethal force. A violent fist. Bhatul is marking his territory, warning the other males away.
Ob-Adtoth steps forward. Bhatul grasps the back of your head, forcing it back, exposing your neck. This is where you fight of flee, to escape danger though the threat is impossible to run from. Ob-Adoth’s mandibles flare wide but so do Bhatul’s.
Not with a roar. Not with anger.
Resting between his mandibles is your exposed neck. His teeth, each one a sharpened needle, touch your skin but do not break the barrier. The coppery tang of human blood is absent. It does not pool in Bhatul’s mouth or clog your throat. Nothing for him to swallow, and nothing for you to choke on.
Ob-Adoth’s chest puffs, shoulders squaring like he’s ready to charge. Bhatul lowers himself over your body, creating a protective shell. His hips shift back, his thick cock drawing out. It’s the thrust forward that has your eyes rolling, your little human teeth biting into Bhatul’s rough skin as he ruts.
Pain is absent. All you know is pleasure. It builds in thunderous waves, crashing against your skull, drowning. The forest is a distant thing, absent from your current reality. Between your legs is wetness, a fullness that borders on bursting, each thrust echoing in your stomach, until it feels like Bhatul is in your throat.
The orgasm is a severing. A snapped twig. The building pressure peaks, and then expands outward, temporarily stealing your breath and voice. Your body shudders, heart hammering, and then you’re moaning, bordering on screaming, the sound muffled as you bite harder into Bhatul’s skin. You vaguely notice bright green as your head falls back; Bhatul’s mandibles still locked around your throat.
Bhatul’s pace increases, and you ragdoll, unable to do much else. You don’t know if the other males still linger in the trees, or if they’re watching, waiting for him to finish, to strike out when they think he’s most vulnerable.
His arms, which were once a protective cocoon, lift you off the rock, bringing your bodies flush. Bhatul is no longer thrusting, only panting, his cock inside you but still. His mandibles flex, releasing your throat.
You turn your head, survey the forest. “They’re gone.”
Bhatul slowly withdraws his cock, and with it comes a rush of cum. He gently flips you onto your stomach, taking position again, easing his cock into your cunt until your toes curl and you whimper.
“No,” he says. “Maybe.” Your cheek meets cool rock, hands reaching to grasp the edges of the slab. Bhatul begins again. “I must mark what’s mine.”
The Scientific Guide to Yautja Breeding: An Anthology
Log Entry: 71328. Linguistics Division. Predator OC x Female Reader.
Content & Warnings (MDNI): dubcon, ritualistic sex, breeding, size difference, alien anatomy, biting, anal/cunni-lingus, rough fellatio.
Word Count: 9k
You got a job as a linguist to push paper and sit in the aircon. So, why is it that you find yourself sweating to death in the middle of an alien jungle, staring at Yautja warriors running at you with swords? This cannot be good.
ao3 // main masterlist // scientific guide masterlist
It was late when Tau stumbled through the door, lugging a huge canvas bag behind them. The fabric stretched taut at its seams, and it looked like the shape of whatever was crammed inside had sharp corners that jutted out, threatening to puncture the bag as they shlepped it down the skinny hallway.
Your space vessel was small, and the living quarters left much to be desired. You were lucky enough to have a private cell, but Tau had set up their cot in the operations terminal, keeping odd hours as they ran ping after ping, hunting down artifacts and ruins as you travelled through alien territory. Over the past two months, you’d slowly managed to commandeer what was intended to be their side of the cell, shoving the beds together, sleeping in absolute luxury.
As you chewed through a dry, mysterious ration bar, you sighed, thinking ruefully to yourself: Yeah, luxury. Right.
You peered out into the hall and watched Tau struggle. The lanky anthropologist glared up at you, throwing up their arms and complaining, “You just gonna stand there and watch, or are you gonna actually use those muscles for something other than the gym?”
Sighing, you shuffled into the main capsule of the station which served as the lab slash kitchen slash sitting room, and you helped lug the sack onto a large, flat table, dumping the contents out with a few good shakes.
From the mouth of the bag, three tablets fell onto the metal workstation, each covered in runic writing that you immediately recognized.
“Oh, fuck no. Take these back right fucking now, Taubert. I mean it.” You stepped away from the large stone tablets as if they had burned you.
“What? What’s wrong?” They came and stood beside you, looking over your shoulder at their haul.
The tablets were black with deeply-carved etchings, and the very first word was one that you knew quite well.
Hish-qu-Ten.
“This is a Yautja tablet, Tau. And I need you,” you lowered your voice, hoping the tablets couldn’t hear you, “to take these back to where you found them.”
“No,” Tau threw up their hands, “We need the credits, babe. And Yautja don’t come to this sector. Look.”
Tau showed you the scanner on their datapad, targeting Yautja-class ship signatures and cloaking devices. No trace. Not even a week-old pulse trail. You let out a long, ragged sigh.
“We don’t need the credits that bad. No one’s gonna want some smelly old tablets anyway,” you argued, stepping forward to inspect the writing again, your curiosity overwhelming your fear. “And these are ancient. Like… too ancient. Wait a minute…”
Tau called out over their shoulder, collapsing into their hammock in the operation bubble, “Good luck! Don’t wake me unless you wanna get stabbed.”
“Motherfucker.” You murmured under your breath.
But, your bark had lost its bite. As you took a closer look at the writing, you realized that these tablets had been written in Old Yautja, in a time between the rise of the Hish and the predators you knew - and avoided - so well.
When you’d signed on to be a xenolinguist for Ryzom Incorporated, you’d expected a boring office job full of run-of-the-mill translations and transcriptions. But, when Tau’s partner had fallen ill last season, you jumped at the chance to be on the scavenging – correction: salvaging – team. You still weren’t sure you’d made the right call. A find like this, though…
This could make you famous.
“Asheigaan sh’et Kayaana… blah blah blah… naas-t jkh’iu… hmm… Interesting…”
Tau’s left eye popped open, and they glared at you, “You’re loud. What did you find?”
“This is a prayer to the Goddess Kayana, and I think… No. That can’t be right.” You looked at the second tablet, trying to figure out the strange syntactic formations that were so different from modern Yautja. “I think it’s a map.”
“A map!” Tau leapt up, almost getting tangled in their hammock’s net, and stumbled over to you, “A map means treasure.”
You sighed, laying the three tablets out side by side, inspecting them more closely, “Treasure? Or just more broken pots and bowls? I know it’s the same to you, Tauchie.”
“I’m an anthropologist,” Tau shrugged, “Pots and bowls are where I shine. And if you throw a little gold leaf on the edge, rich schmucks will pour credits right into your grubby little hands.”
They made a grabby motion in front of your face, watching you stare past them to untangle the translation.
“This line here – the word jkh’iu – it’s changed forms over time but it’s a meeting place. Sort of like a gathering point. But, this word… naa’iish-i'ythei… I don’t think that’s right. It should be chi'ytei. No fucking clue what the nasal is doing in the beginning. And the second vowel is lengthened… a missing coda, perhaps.”
“I think I know some of those words you just said. Can you give me some map coordinates, or…?” Tau snapped impatiently.
“Tau,” you looked up at them, your eyes wide and threatening, “This is six thousand years old. Give me a goddamn minute.”
Tau sighed, but they plopped down into the creaky chair at the foot of the table and fidgeted just out of your reach.
You went back to the tablets, looking again, racking your brain for ideas on what this could mean.
“What’s a chai-yeti, anyways?” Tau quipped, badly mispronouncing the Yautja verbal participle.
Rolling your eyes, you tried to explain in terms that Tau’s dusty brain could understand. “Chi'ytei is from the root chiryt-, which means to hold or to embrace. The -ei suffix is typically the agentive case marker. Yautja – obviously – is an active-stative language. So that’s wh–”
“A what now?” Tau pursed their lips, not allowing you to go too far off on your tangent.
“Look, if I slap you,” which you very much wanted to do, “then I am the agent of the slapping, and you are the patient. So, in active sentences, for the most part, I mean… There are some exceptions in Kartvelian languages like Geor–”
“You’re about to be the patient of my slap, word girl.”
You closed your lips into a flat line, huffing through your nose, slowing your explanation down to cave-person speeds.
“In active sentences, the agent of the verb – the one who slaps – is the subject, and the patient – the one being slapped – is the object. So, in words like chiryt- you should expect an embracer and an embrace-ee. Comprende?”
“Okay, and so what’s the problem?”
“This isn’t an active sentence. It’s passive. Like… The lamp broke.”
“What lamp?”
“No! Like, in English, the sentence: The lamp broke. The lamp didn’t break anything. It didn’t like, stab itself.” You threw up your hands. “It was the thing being broken, so it should be the patient. But, it’s not the object; it’s the subject of the sentence. So, that’s why it’s passive.”
Tau’s eyes looked like they had glazed over. You regrouped.
“Okay, in this sentence, it says: Tharin-dhaa ket sh’ naa’iish-i'ythei drai m’lar'jha rki. Which word-for-word makes no sense. It would be something like: strength have for something hold, or embrace, within dark temple. Which, the last part just refers to a temple that is enclosed and not open to the elements or else it would be vayuh'ta rki, or something like that.”
“So, maybe like,” Tau waved their hands as if trying to come up with words on their own, “Have strength to embrace something in the temple?”
“Indoor temple,” you corrected.
“Indoor temple, right.” They put their hands on the sides of their head as if trying to keep their brains from slipping out through their oversized ears. “So what is the word you don’t know?”
“This one,” you pointed to the first tablet, “It’s spelled naa’ii- here. It could be naaniink, which means like a traditionally cooked clarified butter sauce, or it could be anaina, which means galaxy. I guess it could be nain-, but that’s not a word in Yautja. It’s just a participle.”
“What does it mean? Because I don’t think these mofos are holding butter sauce with strength in the temple, genius.” Tau’s snark was going to give you a fucking aneurysm.
“Well, nain-de means ‘to hunt’ in modern Yautja, or technically, it means ‘to cause to become prey’. Whatever. But, nain doesn’t appear by itself. It requires the causative marker.”
“What is a hunting embrace?” Tau scrunched up their nose, trying to solve the puzzle.
“No idea. But, I guess we’ll find out. Coordinates are marked on the last slab. Here ya go, tiger. Pots and bowls await.” You scribbled the coordinates onto their datapad and passed it over to them.
With a very annoying exclamation of glee, Tau jumped out of their chair and raced to the operations desk, typing in the heading and slamming the warp button, flinging the station into hyperspace. They were shouting over their shoulder at you, trying to talk above the whir of the engine core, “It’s really close! Should be there in no time. Suit up, soldier!”
“Me? You love getting your hands dirty. Think of the pots! The bowls! So much flatware. Exciting.” You tried to convince Tau to take your spot. You didn’t want to wander around some smelly old temple.
“No can do. I’m timed out for the week. Company policy. But, don’t worry! You’ll be fine.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When you beamed yourself down to the planet’s surface, you decided that you most certainly were not fine. This place was a shithole.
The atmosphere was breathable, but it was hot and humid like a sauna in a rainforest. Everything around you was covered in some sticky sort of ivy, its tendrils wrapping around huge trees and overgrowing across the native shrubbery like a lime green blanket. The sky was egg yolk yellow, and a misty fog hung low over the ground, making your once-dry clothes very, very damp.
You saw the temple ahead, the angular Yautja architecture sticking out of the botanicals like a sore thumb. Their territorial race had very little need for aesthetics; it was all about efficiency.
“Ugh,” you groaned, tightening your empty rucksack around your chest and beginning the gross walk into the temple.
“Hey,” Tau’s tinny voice came through your headset, “I can hear you complaining down there.”
“Shut up.” You huffed, marching through the underbrush with a purpose.
Get in, get bowls, get out. That was your only job.
Once you got close to the temple, Tau started in on their pottery bullshit.
“Can you see any fragments yet? Evidence of their civilization? Rubbish piles are really common outsi–”
“I’m not digging through ancient trash, you fucking nerd. If I see a bowl, I’ll pick it up. I promise.”
“Wait -ksht- don’t -ksht- in the -ksht- there’s -ksht- out -ksht-”
“Tau?” You stopped walking. You put your hand on the headset as if your touch was somehow going to magically mend it. “Tau! Fix your shit!”
Nothing but static came back through your receiver.
“Tauko? Fuck!” You threw up your hands and marched into the large mouth of the temple.
Tau had promised to beam you back up in four hours, so you decided that you might as well get started on bowl hunting. At least you didn’t have to listen to their crap the whole time you were sweating your ass off down here.
The inside of the temple was surprisingly cool. The contrast to the absolutely steamy situation outside was a delight, and you stripped off your outer layer as soon as you could. Just like Tau said, there were some little piles of whatever rocks and broken bones and other useless snuts in the corners of the main entry way. You ignored them, hoping for more profitable finds deeper inside the structure.
You wanted rooms upon rooms, troves of treasure in piles so high that you couldn’t carry them – the real tomb-raider experience! But when you made it through the antechamber and into the main part of the structure, you realized that this was pretty much it.
Stretching out before you was a large stone pad surrounded by dark, black waters. You didn’t even want to guess what was lurking in there, so you steered clear of the edges, making a bee-line for the middle of the huge arching room. The ceiling of the structure must have been more than twenty meters high, and the urge to make your voice echo through the building was too great.
“Hello!”
Hello… hello… hello… Your own voice echoed back.
Suddenly, the entire room was bathed in an orange light emanating from the watery moat that surrounded you. A glowing wall blocked your exit and a voice came through the temple as your blood ran cold through your veins.
“Designation: Human; language selection: Terran English; biology: compatible. Commencing beacon deployment.”
“Hey! Hey-hey-hey. No, don’t– Don’t commence! Stop commencing!”
The orange wall began to come towards you, and you backed up, quickly, until you were on the center of the circular pad. Luckily, the barrier wall stopped at the edge, keeping you prisoner.
You approached it, but it was very warm. Warm enough to know that if you reached out with your hand, it would burn you.
In a white flash of light, far outside the circle near the entrance, two figures beamed into the temple. Your heart stuttered hard enough to send a jolt of pain through your chest.
Yautja.
“Oh, fuck,” you felt your stomach sink into your feet. You were dead.
You pulled out your lampstick and brandished it like the world’s saddest weapon and held it in front of you. With any luck, the Yautja warriors would have to brush right past it as they came to chop you into little pieces.
You watched them take in their surroundings. They were a hunting pair. Although Yautja anthropology was never a topic you’d been interested in, you’d taken to the language quite well. You knew enough about them to understand the basics of their honor-based culture, intent on hunting the biggest and baddest prey in all of the galaxy, but beyond that, you were at a loss.
You should have spent more time in that xenoanthropology course back in uni. Maybe you’d have a better chance at surviving this encounter than relying on the flimsy, plastic light tube in your shaking hand.
But, it was too late for that, now.
The leader, the larger one, wore a full face mask with long tendrils hanging over his shoulders. He was in dark armor, and he strode up to you like he was in a big goddamn hurry. But, as he held out his sword, pointing at you, you watched in horror as the sword fell into your little circle and the rest of him… fucking disintegrated?
“Holy shit!” You backed away, but you tried not to step too far lest you would be vaporized as well. Then, thinking of a better plan, you scrambled for his fallen sword, tossing away your lampstick and trying your best to lift the heavy blade.
The handle was too thick for your small human hands, but it was well-balanced, and so you managed to hang on.
“Stay back!” You shouted at the other one, “Or I’ll… I’ll zap you, too, motherfucker!”
You said a series of prayers that the orange circle would hold, and you watched the other hunter remove his helmet and roar in a fit of rage over his fallen companion.
“Ell-osde pauk, lou-dte kalei!” He shouted, his mouth widening as he snapped his fangs at you.
With your extensive knowledge, you could translate a Fuck you, bitch! in just about any language, and modern Yautja was no different. But, the computer voice that the orange light belonged to decided that you needed to hear it in English, as well. “Fuck you, weak child-bearer,” the synthetic voice translated flatly.
You sighed, knowing enough to understand that these people didn’t do apologies. So, instead of trying to get him to see reason, you doubled down.
“Yeah? Fuck you, too, buddy. Come a little closer and get zapped!” You brandished the sword in what you hoped was a threatening way.
“Sei’i? Ell-osde'pauk-dhak’de, mei'hswei. Dtai'k-dte nini s’ thei-de-ket!” The ancient computer voice translated your threat for you.
“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled sarcastically, unable to hold back your annoyance at this machine.
He replied with a sickening roar, which apparently did not warrant a translation. Then, he came closer to the circle, raising his weapon above his head and bringing it down in a slashing motion. His blade cut through the force field, accomplishing nothing.
The Yautja looked at you, and you looked back at him, both of you a little uncertain. Then, just as he was about to step away, the stone plate that he was standing on glowed red hot and then flashed, killing him as it sliced him in half vertically.
Green, glowing Yautja blood sprayed across your face and you couldn’t help but scream. Then, as your cry echoed out into the temple, it was quiet again. The half-body of the warrior lay oozing in front of you, and you tried not to gag.
But, just as you were about to try and reconnect to Tau’s signal, the orange forcefield flickered and went dark.
“No…” You stared at the space in horror, waving your arm tentatively in front of where it should be, begging it to come back on. “No! Computer! Hey! Come back. Please-please-please. Oh, my God, please come back. Open! Hey! Hello! Oh, fuck…”
You stood there, shaking like a leaf with no idea what to do. You wanted to run but it was like your body was glued to the spot.
Then, you realized, you had the worst luck ever.
In the same place where the others had materialized, another white flash broke through the shadows of the temple. A lone Yautja stood at the entrance, and he held a long sword in his hand. Upon seeing the body of his fellow warrior, he approached with caution, his eyes gleaming in the low light of the building.
You shouted, “Don’t come any closer!”
The computer did not translate for you. Thirty minutes was apparently your limit on this particular ride.
“Uh…” You tried to translate as best you could, “M-di chiva s’ ell-osdha! No trial for you! Go back. Um, go back s’ tyioe-ti-elln, while you still can. Alright?”
You raised the sword up a little more, trying to keep the tip from shaking in your weakening grip.
Then, he looked at you with a curious expression, and he replied in a growly, guttural sort of English. “You come to temple of Kayana on night of blood moon, ooman, and you kill two hunters.” If Yautja could smile, he would be wearing one right now, “You are worthy mate. Blessing of Kayana will be mine.”
The Yautja hunter stepped closer, advancing on you with confidence. His green-hued skin was dotted with brown and black spots, and you could see now just how much bigger he was than you by comparison. His body was immense, and his muscles made him wide and imposing, the prominent scars of past injuries raised on the surface of his flesh, the flesh dark and gnarled where he had been cut and bitten and who knows what other wounds.
“Woah, woah… what?” You held up one of your hands and backed away slowly. “Did you say mate?”
“You test my strength as well.” He seemed intrigued but not surprised. “Good. I will feel your wrath against me.”
Then, he rushed you. With whatever survival instinct you had left, you slid out from his open-armed swipe and tried to cut at his leg with the blade that you’d stolen. But, he was too quick for you, and your sword hit nothing but air.
“I killed them!” You shouted. “And I’ll kill you, too! Leave while you still can.” You hoped your threat would be enough.
“Leaving this naa’iish-i'ythei is dishonorable.” The male’s face twisted into a sort of expression of disgust. Then, he studied you closely, and he asked, “What do they call you, ooman?”
“Um… uh…” You dug into your brain for any name that wasn’t yours, and all you could come up with was a load of nothing.
“Um’ah?” The Yautja clicked his mandibles together for a moment, and he stepped a little closer, almost within sword-reach. “I am Khet. You know our ways or else you would not come here. You survived the trial, you are compatible, but you are too weak. Submit to me, Um’ah.”
You swiped out at him in rage, and he side-stepped you, chuckling a little bit to himself.
“My brothers tired you. Still, for ooman…” Khet stepped forward in a flash of movement, grabbing you around the throat, your body immediately dropping the sword in order for you to use both hands to try and free yourself, all while your attacker studied you like a puzzle. “I am impressed.”
You scratched and clawed at his hand, gasping for air, choking on your own fear and desperation, and he seemed to take some sort of sick pleasure from your struggle. But then, you managed to swing your leg up high enough to kick him right in the mouth, your boot making contact with those sharp fangs.
Khet dropped you, lifting his hand to his face, but he didn’t look injured. Just annoyed. He reached for your throat again but you dodged him, and he only caught your shoulder.
“Let me go!” You screamed and wriggled out of his grip while he was still stunned by your kick.
Then, you sprinted for the exit. You had only taken two or three steps before Khet had you by the leg, slamming you to the ground and dragging you beneath him.
“So much fire in you.” His yellow eyes dilated as he looked upon your face. You could feel his hot breath and body bearing down on you, inspecting you like a piece of meat. “We will make fearsome beasts together. I have no clan, but you will be my mate. With Kayana’s blessing, my honor returns.”
“No!” You shouted, and then your voice turned from a wail into a whimper, “No! Please…”
“You are in heat; I smell it, and you are in no shape for another fight. Yet you resist me. You know it is my way.” He purred like a large cat. You could feel the rumble of it against your ribs as he pinned you down with his immense weight. “Fire and softness. You make me hunger, Um’ah, but I will honor your way as you have honored mine. Ooman males put their pricks through your flat fangs, yes?”
Khet used a clawed finger to press your mouth open, touching the bottom row of your teeth to feel their smooth edges.
You tried to rip your head away from him, but he held your jaw fast.
Then, Khet grabbed you by the back of your head and dragged you up to your knees, sliding you around easily on the stone floor of the temple.
You looked up at him from your crumpled vantage point, and something inside of you couldn’t help but admire his obvious power. This Yautja could crush every bone in your body like you were nothing but an eggshell. So breakable.
And yet, he didn’t.
He touched your face and neck with his clawed hands, feeling the smooth swell of your bottom lip.
“Let me go back to my ship,” you begged him.
“Enough games. I will have this blessing.” His dark eyes narrowed, and you stared back at him for a moment before deciding that sucking him off might truly be the path of least resistance.
You raised your hands, and at first, he took it as an attack, yanking your hair hard enough to knock you off balance. So, you moved more slowly, carefully righting yourself so that you were face to face with his crotch. His prick was covered by a thin strip of black suede; a loin cloth of sorts, and you pulled it aside to reveal his enormous cock.
The body of it was a dark olive brown color like the rest of him, but there were green and black spots on the underside, almost like an over-ripe banana. Between his balls and the underside of his shaft, there were plush, furling folds, almost like labia, all hanging down like wet petals, and you wondered how they felt. You watched him throb under your appraisal, and when you reached forward, the Yautja’s chest began to purr again, deeper this time, lulling you into a sort of trance.
You lifted the heavy appendage up to your mouth, bringing the tip to your lips to suck. The moment you pressed a soft kiss to the covered head of it, he groaned, tightening his grip in your hair.
His foreskin was extremely thick and pliant. It was like a generous layer of velvet was surrounding the impossibly rock-hard dick that it covered, and the more you tried to fit in your mouth, the fuller your cheeks became. Pulling your head back didn’t take him out of your throat; it only rolled the soft foreskin down, leaving you to swallow and choke against him.
“Oh, yes,” Khet groaned, “Ooman ways are strange, but I like this very much. More, Um’ah.”
Khet began to thrust himself inside of you, slowly at first, and you struggled to breathe. Your jaw was stretched at its limit, and you could taste the first briny drips of his precome on the back of your tongue.
Then, once he understood the mechanics, he used his strength to pull your face up and down his length. You felt your body writhing, trying to find air, the urge to choke unbearable. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, and you did everything you could to find a way to breathe.
Khet didn’t seem to react to your teeth grazing his length as you struggled beneath him. In fact, he seemed fond of dragging his cockhead along your smooth molars, not that there was really any room for him to avoid them.
When he hit the back of your tongue, he pushed your head down on him with force, making you deepthroat his huge prick while your mouth oozed drool onto the stone floor of the temple.
“Mrrghh… Um’ah… You make me want to spill inside your smooth fangs… So warm…”
Khet was losing his mind. You could see his eyes roll back in his head, his thrusting becoming frantic. You didn’t fight him. Once you made him come, you could probably escape while he was dazed. So, you tried your best to remain pliant, and you used your tongue to rub against the veiny, fat body of his cock, encouraging him to fill your belly. You ignored the tears that were now falling down your cheeks, and you tried to keep yourself from passing out, sucking in air through your nose when you could.
But, he was too large. You realized with a sort of sickening thought that he was still not even fully hard. You felt him swelling against your lips, watching as those hanging petals of his also began to swell, filling for what reason you didn’t know, and you sent up a silent manifestation into the cosmos that Tau would beam your ass out of here…
“Um’ah!” Khet groaned, and he buried himself inside of your throat as far as he physically could, crushing your nose into his pubic bone, pumping hot spurts of his come deep into your belly. It was so warm that you could feel it settling inside of your middle, filling your empty stomach with his orgasm.
As he held you against him, you knew you should feel scared, perhaps even disgusted. You were being used like a sex toy by this two meter tall, green, scaly, fanged monster, and you should be pissing yourself with fear.
And yet…
You could feel a tell-tale wetness pooling between your legs, and you felt a hot flush creep up your neck and across your cheeks, the fire of your shame burning you up.
A low growl came from the male above you, and you could feel his clawed hands drag through your scalp, petting your hair away from your face. You looked up at him from below, and you saw his chest heaving, his fanged maw clicking together in a curious, pleased sort of way, and there was something boyish in his eyes, now.
“Smooth fangs feel good.” He clicked his mandibles a little more, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Um’ah is so soft…”
Khet pulled himself from your mouth in one long, slick movement, and he released your head. Immediately, you slumped forward, catching yourself on your palms against the cold stone floor, coughing from the tight burn in your throat and watching as syrupy lines of spit and alien come pooled from your lips.
Suddenly, you felt Khet’s enormous hand tug at your flimsy shirt, raking it over your head like he was tearing open a present. Then, he yanked down your trousers, taking your panties with them, and when they got caught around your boots, he simply pulled harder. It was at that moment that you realized the truth: this man – entity – was being gentle with you.
You watched him carefully as you trembled in the cool open air of the temple, still crawling on the ground, trying to catch your breath.
Assuming he would jump right into action, you steeled yourself for his assault, but he did not rush. He discarded your clothing, dumping your shoes and pants into a messy pile, but he didn’t advance on you.
There was no hurry to his movements. There was no rage in his eyes. He simply watched you. Studied you.
Khet carefully bent down next to you, his cock still dripping sticky strings of come beneath his loin cloth, and his clawed fingers traced their way over your soft skin, playing with your flesh and squeezing your body where he thought you might be the most delicate. He found your nipple, and he skimmed across it, petting your hanging breasts like you were made out of lace.
His gentleness now stood in dark contrast to the violent suffocation you’d just experienced when he fucked your face.
Khet touched himself as he watched you recover, unhooking his loin cloth and laying it over your clothes. But, he didn’t grope you roughly. He was still trying to be easy with you.
And only when his desire overcame him, only when the need to mate made his prick throb and bounce against his thick torso, did he approach you again, positioning you on your hands and knees in front of him, grabbing your thighs and spreading them wide, the angle of the stretch making you fall forward, your cheek planted to the cold ground.
You took a deep breath and held it. You’d be injured by his cock; you were sure. There was no way your pussy could take his inhuman size.
But his cock wasn’t what you felt against your wet sex. It was a long, writhing tongue.
Your lungs let out the rush of air you were keeping inside, and the breath shook as it escaped, hissing around your clenched teeth.
When you looked behind you, Khet was kneeling, his face low and hovering right behind your holes, his huge alien tongue dragging across your slit and through your folds, tasting your pussy.
“Khet…” You whispered. “Stop. Let me go.”
He stopped licking you, and he let out a broken, chuffing noise. The huge male positioned himself over you, as if he would fuck you from behind, and he bent his chest down until it was flat across your back. At the same time, you felt his cock slip along the outside of your pussy, through your lips, and then over your mons and your belly, and when he finally ran out of rope, the head of his prick was bobbing much too close to your sternum for your liking.
Khet fisted himself and unceremoniously slapped his sticky cockhead against your tummy, making a point to let you feel how big he was. He spoke to you in a low voice, “H’ko, Um’ah. I cannot.”
“Please…” You closed your eyes and lay your cheek back on the ground, losing hope every moment that this ordeal dragged on. He was going to kill you with that thing.
“Kayana demands my restraint.” He sighed, and you felt him press one of his fingers between your legs, bullying its way into your hole, surprisingly careful with the claw. He struggled to fit, and you couldn’t help but let out a grunt as you tried to relax around his hand. Then, Khet leaned his head down to your ear, and you could see his gleaming mandibles up close as he whispered to you, “If I do not lick you open, my nok will break you.”
Nok. A Yautja unit of measurement, equivalent to a short cubit. Thirty centimeters.
Khet was talking about his cock.
His thirty centimeter long cock.
You let out an involuntary shudder, and your reaction earned you more of his amused fang-clacking and chuffing. But, he leaned back, repositioning his mouth between your spread thighs. “I honor Kayana. Her temple accepts me. H’ka-se, ke dari-ki s’ kjuhte-kiin.”
In your mind, the syntax came late, but you understood him fully.
Now, I will taste my little void.
You peered around your shoulder and watched him spread his mandibles wide, and as he fixed his fangs around your thighs, encircling them with his dextrous outer mouth, you were immediately treated to the full length of his snake-like tongue as it burrowed its way deep inside of you.
It was endless, and it was hot. The thick ribbon of his muscle slithered between your walls, tasting and exploring every bit of your insides.
Then, when he reached some sort of end, a place so far beyond where you had ever imagined things could go within your anatomy, Khet began to purr. That same low rumble that you had felt before was now rolling in staccato waves through your hips and thighs and pussy, heightening every single sensation to a mind-numbing degree.
His tongue retreated, and then it laved through you again, folding and curling into your cunt, allowing your mate to suck down swallow after swallow of your wet pleasure.
You couldn’t help but cry out, keening loudly into the empty temple. Just steps away from you, the bodies of the fallen hunters lay forgotten on the floor, and you couldn’t have cared less about them. Right now, you didn’t even know your own name. All you knew was the wriggling invasion of Khet’s tongue, the vice grip he had on each of your thighs with his fangs, and the thrumming vibration of his purr as it wrecked your body.
As you looked behind you, you met Khet’s gaze. He was staring at you from his inescapable position against your sex, and you noticed that - all around you - the temple had begun to glow.
It wasn’t orange this time. The light that came from the pools was a sort of greenish blue. It was faint, but it creeped across the floor and up the wall, slowly getting brighter and brighter.
Khet swiped his tongue over your asshole, and you gasped, the pleasure of it immediately shocking you.
“Wait…” You tried to plead with him, but what the hell were you going to do to stop him?
So, with little recourse, his tongue pressed between your tight, unfucked rim. You tried to relax. You felt yourself shivering from the new feeling, and the deeper he licked into your hole, the louder you screamed.
You turned your head, trying to see what he was doing, your mind desperate to regain some semblance of control over your body. But, now, he was licking into both of your holes, and you were about to come.
You could feel the bubbling pleasure of it, lingering just on the edges of yourself. Every time Khet rolled another deep purr through you, you tried to fight the urge to come.
He was very fair with his tasting. He would lick inside of you one hole at a time; once for your asshole, once for your cunt. As steady as a drumbeat. You felt like you were being fucked by two men, one in each pleasure-hot sheath. When one would press forward, the other would retreat. And now, Khet could feel your bliss building. He could smell it. Hell, he could probably see your heat rising across your skin.
“No. Fuck…” you whispered, but there was no stopping it. With no small amount of embarrassment and a little dread, you confessed to him: “You’re making me come.”
The purr became a growl, but he changed nothing else. You rode his mouth, your hips jerking forward, your muscles battling against his powerful jaws, trying to close your legs. But, it was futile. You came hard, fully open, and you felt something pooling at the entrance of your pussy only to be immediately licked clean by your mate’s hungry, deft muscle.
Khet was slowing his movements, and you noticed he was spending most of his time at the edge of your cunt, slurping and sucking at your creamy orgasm, making the most lurid noises you’d ever heard in your life. You were still coming down from your high, your body convulsing, humping his tongue shamelessly at this point, every bit of your human instinct humiliating you in this ancient sanctum.
You hoped, at least, Goddess Kayana was proud of you, whoever she was.
When you had the strength to open your eyes again, that same blue light pooled around you, moving through the cracks in the stones as if it was alive. You reached out to touch it, and although you did not instantly get sliced in half, there was an energy there. Something powerful brushed against your mind.
You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. When Khet released you, your knees immediately gave out. But, instead of letting you crumple to the floor again, he held you up with his hands, one on each side of your hip. You sagged against the stones, feeling like you’d been drugged.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it. Your sword. It was almost within reach. You twisted your arm and reached for it; a last ditch effort, but your fingers barely brushed the handle, and the metal skidded away from you, sliding out of your grasp by only a few inches.
Khet reached forward with his clawed fist, grabbing your wrist in his grip and pulling your arm up. He raised your body until you were on your knees with your back to his chest, vertical and trapped against him.
His other arm curled around your belly, keeping you upright, and he stood with you still held tightly against his body. He snarled into your ear in Yautja, “Dtai’k-osde s’ bpi-de, kjuhte-iin, ay-i ell ket m-di h'chak…” Your fight is over, little void, and yet you have no mercy.
“H’kodin.” None. You answered with a nasty curl across your lip.
You felt his enormous prick throb against your lower back, like a reward for your bloodlust, and he let out a long purr. “Ell ket yin’tekai-osde. Ell s’ thar’n-de. Pyode r’ka-kiin…” You have your honor. You are strong. My soft little fire… “Ell kale-ki sain’ja-non gahn'tha-cte.” You will create ruthless warriors with me.
Khet placed your hand on the back of his neck, and you understood that you should hold onto him. With his hand now free, he traced the length of your arm, trailing the backs of his knuckles over your armpit and along the curved swell of your breast. Finally, he reached between your bodies and lifted his hard cock, notching his tip in the pliant sling of your hole’s entrance.
Your mate pressed forward, and you hissed through your teeth in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He was too big.
“Nnghhh… No… Too big… Anngh! Please, Khet… Please…” You whimpered, and you heard his fangs chittering together behind your head.
He took himself away, and then pressed forward again. This time, he slipped inside of you, just his head, the plush foreskin rolling down to reveal his bright green glans. You breathed deeply, willing yourself to become soft for him, to relax your insides, to accept him.
You weren’t sure where your sudden motivation was coming from, other than your stubborn will to survive this coupling, but as you allowed yourself to sink further and further down his throbbing prick, Khet’s purring grew louder, soothing you and making your breaths deep and even.
“Nok-osde s’ ki’kain-desintje-de…” Your cock is so hard for me… You murmured, using your new vocab word, grabbing him tighter, knowing that you couldn’t hurt him. When you looked back at his face, his body was bathed in the swirling aquamarine light of the temple. Every stone and pillar and pool was now glowing with veins of fluorescent power, pulsing bright in the large sanctum.
“Sei-i, Um’ah,” Khet growled into your ear, “Kaale-oske z'kvy-ti.” Make yourself come.
Without hesitation, you reached between your legs and started to play with yourself, your fingers slipping into their usual places, framing the hard body of your clit and making delightful little ovals at speed. Between the thickness of his invasive cock and the agile familiarity of your own touch, it was mere moments before you felt yourself clenching around him, the first pricklings of your orgasm sparkling along your nerves.
As your legs dangled in the air, held aloft by Khet’s strong arm, you reached down lower between your thighs to explore yourself. When you found your entrance, you could feel the juicy coating of your own come that covered your skin, and when you touched the thin sling of your pussy that held his cockhead inside of you, the flesh was so sensitive that even just your fingertip was too much. So, you reached further, and you touched his shaft, rolling your palm over his cock’s body to please him.
His hips rocked forward, taking you with him, and he snarled against your neck. You returned your hand to your clit and touched yourself with intent, speedy and efficient. Your pussy squeezed in on itself, milking his swollen head like a fist.
“Pauk…” Fuck… Khet dragged his fangs along your neck, opening his mandibles until you felt his inner mouth brush against your skin. The teeth there were just as sharp, and he set them against your throat.
But, oddly, you didn’t feel any fear. You knew he would not kill you with them. He was your mate. He would protect you from anything and everything in this galaxy until he took his last breath.
As you worked on yourself, Khet’s prick continued to dip inside of you and then pull out, each time going little further than his glans, but just the stretch of him was enough to make your cunt sopping wet. The feeling of him entering you over and over and over was driving you insane.
Using the hand that was on his shoulder, you moved it up to the back of his head, weaving your fingers through the long tendrils of his mane, and you pressed his mouth down onto you, commanding him: “Dari-osde s’ ki-thwei, kv’var-de. Mmff–” Taste my blood, hunter. “Mmmgh… Shit!”
You were so close to coming. Your hand was sore, and your arm was tired, but you willed yourself to continue, frantically teasing your clit at a merciless pace. Then, when you felt Khet press the sharp tips of his fangs to your neck, you knew he would send you over the edge.
When he bit you, you came hard. “Khet!” You cried out for him, and your eyes shot open, your face pointed upwards towards the glowing arched ceiling of the temple, watching as the blue and green lights swirled and danced for you, almost as if they were celebrating your pleasure.
As you continued to come, your pussy squeezed him all the way out of you, and you heard a splatter of your release spray onto the stone floor of the temple. Your whole body twisted in on itself, and the only reason you didn’t crash to the ground was because of Khet’s unyielding strength.
He hadn’t bitten you very hard, but you could feel his tongue lapping up your blood, healing your wound with the same mouth that had caused it in the first place. He was purring so loudly, you could feel it through your entire body, and when he tried to press himself back inside of you, he could sink himself inside. Your pussy was still throbbing, still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you were soft for him, just like he needed you to be.
Khet’s cock cleaved you open wider and wider for him, each pass letting him reach further than before.
With the hand that you had been using to pleasure yourself, you lay it on your lower belly and felt the outline of his bulge each time he slid all the way inside of you.
Your touch on the outside of your belly made him purr deeply, and he was breathing harder, all the while snarling his dark promises into your ear. “Kjuhte-kiin…” My little void… “Ell s’ ven’ke ni’naa’iish-i'ythei, es’ ke s'aseigan-ki.” You came here to be bred, so I am your servant.
You listened to the wet, smacking sounds that your body made against his in the echoing temple. Each time that Khet found the end of your sopping hole, you thought you could feel something being left behind. It was so hard to describe. It was like he was painting your womb with a gooey adhesive, making your cunt stickier and stickier with every swipe.
Khet still wasn’t fully inside of you, yet. And now, you knew why. Aside from his immense length, the furling labia between his shaft and his balls were now fully engorged. There were four of them, and you could feel them with your hands when you reached between your legs.
Each swollen lobe was as thick as your thumb, and they were all as rigid as his cock. When you touched them, Khet growled very deeply. It was a new noise from him; one that went right to your clit.
Khet nuzzled against your nape, his breaths exciting the sensitive nerves just below your hairline as he spoke to you in broken phrases, “Neye-de, kjuhte-kiin… neye-desintje-de…” Soon, my little void… very soon…
You were so full that your pussy was sort of riding a wave of pleasure. You felt it waxing and waning as Khet thrust himself inside of you, and when his cockhead dragged cruelly against your most sensitive spots deep within you, you felt yourself respond. Your heart raced, your cheeks grew hot, your fingernails dug into his arm and his shoulder as you hung on for dear life. Then, you would crash. Your orgasm would rip through you, and Khet would fuck you as you came, the sounds of your own silken heat sluicing out of your well-used hole.
And he was still gentle. Not gentle compared to a human – your past lovers had been far easier on you physically than Khet – but for a dominating, all-powerful, alien race, he was actually kind of… sweet. He let you fall apart through each one of your orgasms, and he never threatened you, and he didn’t shame you. Which, in fact, was more than you could say for some Terran males.
But, yes, you admitted to yourself as you opened your mouth to accept his reptilian tongue down your throat, his face was… difficult to come to terms with. And yet, somehow, you were growing fond of watching him enjoy you, the way he would worry his fangs against each other as he watched his cock spread you apart, those hunter’s eyes rapt and calculating as he bred your soft, weak human body.
Suddenly, Khet paused his thrusts, letting you come down from your most recent blissful spiral in relative peace. He removed himself in a wet schlep of disconnection, and he lay you on your back against the floor of the temple. You were still in the middle of the circle, but when you came to your senses and took a look at your surroundings, the dark temple was no longer cold and shadowed. It was full of light. The blue-green hues were a watercolor of luminescence, and the way they danced across Khet’s attentive face made you catch your breath.
Goddamn, he was massive. Your mind kept normalizing him for you, but when you saw him kneeling between your legs, holding each of your ankles in his immense clawed fists, you realized that you were just a pet to him. The physicality between you was too disparate. You’d never be equals. You didn’t stand a chance, actually. What had you gotten yourself into?
But, all that worry dissipated when Khet let go of one of your legs and positioned himself back inside the cradle of your cunt, thrusting himself forward in a loud, wet snap. Then, you had a new dilemma.
The engorged lobes of his cock were throbbing and full. He edged them inside of you, and the stretch you felt was searing.
Khet leaned forward, pinning your ankles against his chest, pressing your thighs into your belly as he knelt over you. Now that you were face to face, you could study his expressions, and you found them surprisingly easy to read. He was full of wanting, and yet he knew he had a responsibility to you.
He spoke quietly, his rough voice desperate to soothe you before he completed his task. “Ell ket-osde m-di h'dlak, kjuhtiin.” Do not be afraid, little void.
“Mmmhhh… Khet… I can’t…” You held onto his neck, your fingers rolling across his tendrils, canting your hips, trying to find some relief.
“Grrrnnhhhgh! Um’ah!” Khet shouted, his voice filling the high ziggurat and echoing around you.
He pressed, and you cried out at the burn, but suddenly, his swollen cock popped into place, and you realized that his swollen petals were emptying inside of you through the head of his prick. Khet was growling and crying out into the temple, his muscles snapping as he fought the feeling of his orgasm, his clawed hands leaving little bleeding impressions on the meat of your thigh.
All around you, the temple glowed like a star. You watched the pools beam their light around you, and on the stones, rivers of light rushed towards your bodies, warming you and making your skin buzz with energy.
Deep inside of your pussy, you could feel an almost foaming sensation. There was a lot of heavy, creamy fluid, but as it mixed inside of you, stirring with each one of Khet’s powerful throbs, you could feel it becoming viscous and pasty. It wasn’t rushing out of you like you assumed it would. True, your cunt was stuffed so full that you couldn’t imagine anything else fitting inside, but you expected the warm dribble of his seed and it never came.
Instead you started to feel yourself get heavy. You put your hand back onto your lower belly, right over your womb, and you were so shocked to find a round distention… and it was warm. With each pump of sticky come, Khet kept filling you up. As you looked at your tummy, you tried to breathe, but you were panicking.
“Wh–What… I can’t… Khet, I can’t –”
Khet nuzzled against you, purring hard, holding your body close to his chest, chittering at you in what felt like a comforting way. You were panting so hard, trying to settle yourself, laying your cheek on his shoulder, and you trembled as he peered down at you, fearful of what might happen to you now.
“What’s happening to me, Khet?” Your voice was something lower than a whisper, but you knew he would still hear you.
“Kayana accepts us, kjuhte-kiin. My seed stays in you,” he leaned back, and he ran his hand over your round belly, “Here.”
Over the next few breaths, you felt Khet’s cock slow its throbbing, and when he finally was able to pull himself free, you felt a wet gush, but not as much as there should have been. You tried to sit up, but you were dazed. The room spun, and the lights were too strong. You reached out to balance yourself, and Khet helped you to your knees.
You looked down at your belly again and marvelled at the roundness he had made within you, and you knew that you would be pregnant. This was some otherworldly biology, and this temple had done something between you. You were having this Yautja’s child.
So, what were you going to do? If you went back to your space station, they would sell you to the first lab that would pay them. A hybrid alien child? That seems like an expensive mistake. You couldn’t go back.
Khet was kneeling with you, and you watched him unwrap a chain from around his huge shoulder. Then, before you even realized what was happening, you felt him clip it around your neck. The collar clicked together, locking in place.
“Ki’tyioe-ti s’ vayuh'ta-kesh.” My ship is in orbit. Khet explained, “Ki taa’h kantra-osde sh’ chiva bpi-de-iz.”I will recite the prayer to end our ritual.
“S’non?” And? You asked, feeling the worry paint itself across your face.
Khet looked down at you and touched your cheek with his hand, petting you as if you were a precious thing. Then, he clicked his fangs together and tilted his head, telling you, “Ki-ket’osde.” I have you. Khet leaned down and put his forehead against yours for a moment, and he leaned back, staring into your eyes, whispering in his low, gravelly voice, “Ki-ket’osde, Um’ah. Zi ah’lo-kwesh s’Toh-zi.” I have you, Um’ah. We will follow our Path.
Khet helped you stand, and on shaking legs, you stood behind him and watched him put his loin cloth back on. He didn’t even bother to dress you, and you watched as he took out a ritualistic dagger from his belt, turning it over in his hands. Then, he stood over the center stone, and lifted the dagger high into the air, straight above his head.
“Kayana-omo’k! O-shu-ki kantra-d’ki!” Goddess Kayana! Hear my prayer! Khet shouted into the temple. “O-yin'tekai naa’iish-i'ythei-zi.” Honor our coupling.
Khet drove the knife downward into the stone circle, and all of the light in the temple converged upon him, and he was washed in a bright, powerful beam. The whole room turned, and you watched as the black pools of liquid erupted, soaking through the temple and flooding the flat room. It started to rise up to your ankles, threatening to wash you away.
Khet turned his head to look at you, and he reached out his hand. You took it; you didn’t even question it. You just grabbed his palm and stepped into the light.
This collab is made possible with the amazing @gloomwitchwrites!
Does anyone know what these types of pictures are called??
10 Ways a Yautja Treats Their Mate
1. Presenting Food
This is one of the strongest mate-signs in Yautja behaviour.
How it works:
He cuts a piece of the freshest, warmest meat.
He kneels slightly, just enough for only you to notice, and offers it to you first.
Meaning of this:
If you accept the first taste, it means:
I trust you.
I submit my victory to you.
I place your well-being above mine.
If you approve the flavour, he eats.
If you don’t finish your portion, he eats the rest with deep satisfaction, since it carries your scent.
This is considered extremely intimate.
2. Positioning Himself Between You and Threats
This includes:
crowds
aggressive hunters
loud environments
even strong winds or rain
He steps in front of you, not blocking your view, but shielding you.
It is instinctual. He barely realises he is doing it.
3. Sharing His Heat
If you’re cold, he doesn’t offer his coat like a human would.
Instead, he simply sits behind you and pulls you against his chest, mandibles resting against your hair.
For Yautja, this is what mates do to warm each other.
4. Small Touches
Not like a parent and child, that would insult you, but gentle touches.
Examples:
smoothing your hair behind your ear
brushing his fingers over your wrist
tapping his mandibles softly against your cheek
adjusting your clothing or cloak
lifting you onto a rock or ledge instead of letting you climb
Each gesture says:
Mine to protect. Mine to soothe. Mine to admire.
5. Standing Watch While You Sleep
Most Yautja believe sleeping in pairs means sharing shifts.
But he refuses to wake you during your part of the watch.
He would rather sit awake all night than disturb your rest.
He says nothing.
He simply does it.
6. Silent Territory Claiming
When other males pass too close to you, he:
lets out a low rumble
shifts to stand slightly behind you, but closer
brushes his fingers against your lower back
lets his mandibles flex just a little
It is never threatening to you.
Only to them.
7. Cleaning His Hands Before Touching You
Yautja are not naturally soft, but a mate-worthy male will always clean:
the tips of his claws
the palms of his hands
his mandibles
before touching your face, hair, or belly (if you are expecting).
This is a huge act of respect.
8. Bringing You Water Before Himself
On long walks or hunts, he always hands you the water first.
He watches until you’ve had enough. Not a drop less.
Only then does he drink.
9. Carrying Your Things
He doesn’t ask.
He sees something heavy in your hand, takes it, and attaches it to his belt or shoulder netting.
If you protest, he gives a confused tilt of his head.
In his mind, caring for you is instinct, not effort.
10. Staying Close Without Touching
When he senses you are overwhelmed, shy, or tired, he stays near, just within arm’s reach, allowing you to initiate contact if you want.
To a Yautja, this restraint is a sign of profound respect and love.
~Masterlist~
PREDATOR'S CHOICE
Pairing: Male Yuatja x Female Reader
divider by: @sinisterexaggerator & @enchanthings word count: 5k synopsis: After killing the Bad blood who hunted you, you gain the attention of another hunter. a/n: Y'all don't judge me for my hear me out. I did not intend for this to end the way it did, but clearly I got carried away. For those apart of the Predator franchise, I'm new here and still learning the lore so I hope I got most of it correct. warning: 18+, yautja smut, biting kink, size kink, more plot than porn, etc.
The jungle was unnervingly quiet in the wake of the slaughter. Smoke curled lazily from the scorched wreckage of gear, bodies strewn like broken dolls among shredded foliage. The metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burnt flesh.
Above, smoke still clung to the treetops, drifting from where your unit had been ambushed. Twelve soldiers—half gone in less than ten minutes, the other half having slowly been hunted down over the course of the day. You were the only one left, though “standing” felt generous. Your breath came hard and uneven, weight braced on your rifle, every muscle screaming from hours of evasion and bursts of return fire.
You hadn’t seen the thing kill your squad, but you’d heard them die. One by one, their voices had crackled over comms—panicked screams cut short, the sound of erratic gunfire halting as you heard pleading cries dissolving into wet, choking gurgles that left no doubt about their fate.
A sharp crack broke the stillness to your right. Your head snapped toward the sound, rifle coming up in reflex, finger tight on the trigger.
What stepped—or rather, crashed—into the clearing was massive. Armour hung on its frame in mismatched plates, rusted and scored from old battles, the surface stained with rot and dried blood. The helmet was jagged, clearly scavenged, its targeting system flickering with an unstable red glow.
It let out a feral snarl, the reminded you of battle cry before it charged. That was your only warning before the hulking shape bore down on you.
You didn’t think—you reacted. Ducking under its wild swing, you drove your combat knife deep into the unarmored joint beneath its shoulder plate. It roared, claws lashing for your throat. You ducked, but its other hand shot out, fingers closing around the front of your vest. It hurled you into a tree with bone-jarring force, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. You hit the ground hard, vision going white at the edges.
The creature lunged for you again. This time, you rolled, mud slick beneath your palms, and your hand closed around a fallen sidearm half-buried in the muck. You brought it up and fired point-blank into the gaps of its helmet until sparks spat from the damaged metal.
It staggered.
You surged forward, using the opening, and drove your blade into its throat. Hot, alien blood fountained over your hands, thick and bright green. You twisted hard, feeling resistance give way, and ripped the knife free. The creature gurgled once before collapsing in a final, heavy thud that sent leaves shivering from the canopy above.
Panting, you stood over the body, blood and sweat running into your eyes, staring down at the corpse. Only then did you sense another presence.
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward.
It was another of the same kind of alien you had just killed—but this one was different. Taller. Broader. His armour was etched with intricate markings that caught the fractured light filtering through the canopy. Every step he took set the small skulls, teeth, and bones hanging from his loincloth clattering together in a grim rattle.
You swallowed hard, forcing back the instinctive prickle of fear. Everything about him screamed superiority—the easy way he moved, the measured weight of his presence. This was no frenzied brute like the one before. This was a true seasoned hunter.
The realization struck like ice: he had been here the entire time. Watching the battled you had with his partner.
His mask turned toward the body at your feet, then back to you. Slowly, he extended one massive arm and the twin wrist-blades slid free from his gauntlet with a metallic hiss.
You were already bleeding from the ribs, every muscle aching from the last fight, but your grip tightened on your knife all the same. There was no way in hell you were going down without a fight.
A low, almost amused sound rumbled from his chest—but beneath it was something else. Interest.
Then he moved.
The world narrowed to motion—your blade flashing, his gauntleted arm swiping out a strike that would have struck a normal human. But you weren’t normal. You were one of the best, forged through years of elite military training. You were ducking the backhand before your mind could even catch up with your body, pivoting and delivering a sharp kick into his abdomen hard enough to make him grunt. Pain flared white-hot through your side from your sharp movement, but you stayed upright, refusing to back down.
Steel found flesh once—your knife slicing across his upper arm. It wasn’t deep, but it made him pause. His head tilted slightly, as though you had just passed some silent, unspoken test. Then he shifted, fast as lightning, and sent your knife spinning into the dirt.
Even weaponless, you swung at him, but his palm slammed into your sternum—not hard enough to break bone, but enough to knock the breath clean from your lungs. The jungle tilted around you. You stumbled, vision tunneling, before a massive hand caught your shoulder to keep you from collapsing entirely.
The edges of the world blurred. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the tilt of his mask, as he studied you.
When awareness returned, it did so in fragments—heat against your skin, the slow rhythm of your own breathing, the faint hum of something mechanical in the distance.
You pushed yourself upright with a groan, every muscle protesting, and realized immediately that this wasn’t Earth.
The air was thick and humid, smelling of strange herbs and cured hides. You lay upon furs softer than any wool, beneath a ceiling worked in patterns you could not read. Through a latticed wall, the light was amber and alien, casting long shadows over weapons mounted like trophies.
The fight came back to you in shards—Your murdered team, the berserking alien, the fighting. And then… him.
Your gaze flicked to the doorway as a shadow fell across it.
Your alien captor stepped inside, filling the space with his presence. Without the chaos of battle to blur the details, you could take him in more clearly now—the well-maintained armour marked with intricate etchings, the heavy, mid-length dreadlocks falling over his shoulders, and the steady, assured confidence in every movement.
In his hands he carried a carved slab piled with thick cuts of red, raw meat and a horn flask filled with water. Crossing the room, he set them on the floor within your reach, then straightened without a word. The bones and charms hanging from his armour gave a faint clatter as he shifted, his mask angled toward you, watching.
You didn’t touch the offering—not at first. Your eyes stayed locked on him, waiting for the trick, the catch. Instead of closing the distance like you might've expected, he lowered himself onto a seat across the room. Then his hands rose to the sides of his helmet, claws working the clasps with practiced ease.
A hiss of released pressure filled the air as the mask came free.
Your breath caught. This was the first time you’d seen his face—alien in every sense. The ridges along his crown swept back in bold, clean lines, their mottled patterns catching the light. A scattering of scars marked his hide—evidence of battles survived. His mandibles flexed subtly as though testing the air between you.
What struck you most were his eyes—molten gold, sharp and unyielding, fixed on you with a predator’s unwavering focus. There was a confidence there, the quiet certainty of one who knew his own skill and strength and had proven it time and again. Everything about him was so distinctly inhuman and yet, to your own surprise, you didn’t recoil in fear or disgust.
You were… intrigued. But instead of embracing your curiousity, you looked away. You still didn't trust him. He had tried to kill you, and then abducted you. You had no idea what the hell he wanted with you.
The first week passed in that tense rhythm. Each day, he returned with food—slabs of raw meat still warm from the kill. The second day, you’d shifted closer for a better look before instinct made you recoil. He’d only grunted, as though your refusal was of no consequence. By the third day, hunger gnawed deep enough that you carved off a strip and held it over the flames, certain by now it wasn’t poisoned.
At the sight, he’d grunted again, eyes narrowing as he tore into his own portion raw. All the while, he watched you, gaze following the slow chew of your jaw as you struggled to bite through the cooked meat with your ooman teeth.
Neither of you spoke—not for lack of trying on his part. He didn’t fully understand your tongue, and whatever sounds came from him were low, clicking growls and deep-chested trills you couldn’t begin to match.
But there was no mistaking the way he studied you—the way your steps carried you through his home, how your gaze lingered on the carved trophies along his walls, the way you instinctively stiffened whenever his shadow fell across you.
Just as he watched you, you watched him. You noticed the smooth, predatory ease in the roll of his shoulders when he moved through the dwelling. The way his hands—large enough to encompass your skull—handled his weapons with a quiet reverence. You took note of the small ritual before each meal, the careful sharpening of his blades, the pause at the doorway each dawn as he scented the air like a wolf testing the wind.
He never closed the door completely when he left. You noticed that too. You weren’t sure if it was meant as a test or as bait. Without your weapons, you weren’t confident enough to risk finding out.
Yet, by the seventh day, the walls of his home as if they were closing in, even your own skin felt too tight. When he stepped toward the door with a spear slung over his back, you followed him.
“I’m coming with you,” you said.
He paused, turning his mask toward you. A long silence stretched between you. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he beckoned you forward—and held out your knife. The sight of it made your pulse quicken. You hadn’t even realized he’d taken it, you thought it had been left back on Earth.
The terrain outside his home was like nothing on Earth—mountains formed from jagged black stone, plains broken by thick forests of emerald-leafed trees. The air carried the distant roars and shrieks of unseen things.
That day’s quarry was a thresk—if you managed to understand his guttural growl correctly—a six-legged, deer-like creature with thick, scaled hide and wide antlers that shed once a season. It was fast and skittish, grazing in small herds on broad-leafed plants. Not harmless as you soon learned—it could gore you if startled—but it was food. He moved like the forest was an extension of him. You followed his lead, scanning the ground as he did—reading the bend of crushed stems, the imprint of heavy claws, the faint sway of disturbed foliage, caused by the passing of the herd.
When the kill came, it was sudden and brutal—your knife in the creature’s throat while his spear pinned it in place. He let you take the final strike, then showed you something strange. From his belt he drew a narrow, curved blade and cut free one of the creature’s fangs—long, polished by wear. He pressed it into your palm and curled your fingers around it. A mark of the hunt. A piece to keep even if the meat was the true prize.
You didn’t realize until later how much that small gesture shifted something between you both.
Days later, the second hunt changed everything.
You’d just brought down a gar’shun—a thick-bodied, tusked boar with spiny ridges along its back—when the air split with a scream. The sound was sharp enough to cut through the pounding of your pulse. Out of the undergrowth burst something you hadn’t seen before—a varik, all coiled muscle and hooked claws, its mottled hide blending perfectly with the ferns until the moment it struck.
You didn’t spot it until it was too close.
He did.
He slammed into you, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs, shoving you clear just as the varik’s claws tore across his chest. The sound of rending armour was followed by the wet, ugly rip of skin beneath. The fight that followed was brief but brutal—two predators colliding in a flurry of snapping mandibles, slashing claws, and spear strikes. He drove the weapon deep into its side, twisting until the creature let out a final, guttural shriek and collapsed.
When the beast hit the ground, he was already staggering.
You could have run. You could have vanished into the terrain, taken your chances finding your way home. But you didn’t.
Instead, you dropped to your knees beside him, your hand already reaching for the small pouch of emergency supplies still strapped to your belt. You cleaned the wound with what little you had, tearing strips from your undershirt to bind it tight. The alien blood was shockingly bright green, slick and hot against your fingers.
His mask tilted down at you, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and gravel-edged. “Why?”
It was the first time you’d heard him speak your language. The words were rough, growled, thick with an alien accent that rolled strangely over familiar sounds.
You didn’t stop working as you answered. “You saved my life. Now I’m saving yours.”
After the varik attack, that shift became more apparent.
It was subtle at first. He lingered closer when you moved through the forest—more protective. His gaze, though still sharp and assessing, had lost the hard edge of suspicion. When you worked together over the thresk carcass, he wordlessly passed you the choicest cuts—something you didn’t even notice until later.
One evening, as you sat beside the low-burning heat pit, he placed a strip of raw meat into your palm and gestured toward his own mouth.
You gave him a look. “It’s raw. Human's don't tend to eat meat raw.”
A low rumble sounded in his chest—amusement, maybe—and he tilted his head, urging. His massive hand came up, the tips of his claws nudging the meat closer to your face.
You eyed it warily, sighing when he gave your hand another insistent push. Finally, you lifted it to your mouth and took a small bite. The taste surprised you—sweet and tender, almost buttery, with a freshness that made Earth’s cooked rations seem dry and lifeless by comparison, and every time you’d been cooking it, the meat’s subtle flavour had been vanishing, becoming tough and leathery, but raw it was tender and flavourful.
After that, you stopped bothering with the fire.
Days passed, and you began to notice something about his speech. His helmet’s built-in translator let him understand you perfectly, yet when he spoke, it was almost always in his own language. The sounds were a mix of deep-chested trills, low growls, and the sharp clicks of his mandibles.
One evening, curiosity got the better of you.
“You can understand me,” you said, tearing off another strip of meat. “But you don’t speak my language.”
His mask tilted slightly, as though your observation amused him.
“You could,” you pressed. “I could teach you.”
He let out a low click, then gestured for you to continue. And so you did—pointing to objects, naming them in English, repeating the words until the alien syllables began to form on his tongue. The consonants were difficult for him, vowels stretching oddly in his deep voice, but you could hear the improvement with each attempt. Sometimes you corrected him, sometimes you laughed at how adorable he was trying to say the correct word, and sometimes he repeated a word so carefully with that rumbling growl it sent a shiver down your spine.
You fared no better when it was your turn. Listening to him rumble the Yautja equivalent of whatever English word you were trying to teach, you tripped over the sharp clicks and guttural rolls. He was patient in a way you hadn’t expected, correcting you with a low growl or the faintest click of his mandibles when you mangled a syllable.
Slowly but surely, you were both learning. The exchanges were broken, imperfect, but the gaps between you were closing. Bit by bit, you were beginning to communicate.
It wasn’t until a week into your growing truce that you finally asked the question that had been nagging at you.
“Why did you take me?” you asked, curiosity edging your voice.
He clicked his mandibles, as if weighing his answer, then spoke slowly, choosing his words. “You kill bad blood. Bad blood leader come. He take you. You fight… until die.”
You frowned. “Bad blood?”
“Me. Yautja,” he said, tapping a closed fist against his chest before pointing to a helmet resting on a shelf—one you hadn’t realized was there until now. Recognition jolted through you. It belonged to the Predator you’d killed. “Him. No honour Yautja.”
“So… me killing the bad blood would’ve had his leader take me and make me fight until I died?” you clarified.
He nodded once.
“But why save me from them?” you pressed.
He hesitated, mandibles clicking once before he spoke. “I don’t. I bring you to heal… and hunt. No honour to hunt broken. Only strong.” His head tilted slightly, his voice dropping into something almost gentle. “But no more. You now… friend.”
You blinked, the words settling heavily between you. “You brought me here to heal, and then you were going to finish your hunt?”
A part of you didn’t know how to feel about that revelation. Another part wasn’t surprised—that explanation fit more with the creature you’d first met than the one you’d begun to know.
“No more hunt,” he said firmly. “You. Friend.”
Your lips twitched despite yourself. “You know, I just realized—if we’re friends, I still don’t even know your name.”
He straightened slightly, then spoke—clicks and rolling syllables that resonated low in your bones. “Drak’ven.”
You tried it, mangling the guttural tones until his mandibles finally flared in what you guessed was approval.
“Y/n,” you replied, pressing your hand to your chest.
He repeated it slowly, tasting the human sounds, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, hearing your name in his voice made something tighten in your chest.
A few days later, you decided to test the luck of your new-found friendship.
“I need a shower,” you announced one morning. It had been weeks since your arrival, and you could take an educated guess that his kind didn’t share the same hygiene habits as humans. Still, your skin itched with the need to be properly clean, more than the small basin and a cloth you'd been using and you silently prayed he had something to help.
His head tilted, mandibles shifting slightly.
You mimed scrubbing your hair, letting your hands trail water down your arms. He watched, still as stone, for a long moment. Then his mandibles twitched in thought, and he turned, gesturing for you to follow.
The walk took you into the denser part of the forest, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the calls of unseen creatures. Eventually, the trees opened into a secluded clearing, revealing a hot spring cupped by jagged stone and draped in thick vines. Steam curled lazily upward into the shafts of golden light breaking through the canopy.
You nearly gasped. The place was beautiful, untouched. You were still taking it in when you heard Drak’ven shift behind you. Excitement to wash away days of dirt and grime overrode any hesitation; you stepped to the edge and tugged at your clothes.
His gaze followed—steady, unflinching—as you stripped and slid into the water. Heat enveloped you instantly, seeping deep into your muscles and drawing a low sigh from your lips.
When you looked back, he was removing his armour. Piece by piece, it revealed the thick cords of muscle beneath, the mottled pattern of his skin, the faint sheen of condensation forming where steam met flesh. Broad shoulders, sculpted arms, the ripple of strength across his chest.
You caught yourself staring, pulse quickening in ways you hadn’t felt in a long while. And when his gaze met yours again, you knew he’d been doing the same.
The water rippled as Drak’ven stepped in, steam curling around the edges of his broad frame.
You swallowed, your body moving before you had the sense to stop it, wading toward him as if drawn by something you couldn’t name. When you reached him, your hand rose—hesitant at first—until your palm met the solid heat of his chest. Your fingers traced the ridges of muscle, skimming over old scars that told stories you could only imagine, then followed the curve of his shoulder to the powerful line of his arm.
A low, resonant sound rolled from his chest—something almost like a purr, but with the underlying edge of a predator’s growl. Before you could pull away, his hand closed around your hip, claws pressing lightly into your skin as he hauled you through the water until you were flush against him.
Your breath caught. The heat of him was unmistakable, the hard, unyielding press of his body against yours impossible to ignore. Instinct tugged your gaze downward—just for a moment.
And gods help you, you looked.
Your eyes widened fractionally, and his mandibles flexed in what might have been amusement… or a warning.
You’d never cared much for human men—always finding them lacking in ways you could never quite explain—but standing this close to him, feeling the hardened length that was now pressing against your stomach, something inside you tightened. The want came sharp and sudden, curling deep in your loins like a spark catching flame.
It had been too long since you’d last touched yourself, too long since anyone had stirred your interest—and now, despite the gulf between your species, Drak’ven was the first male in years to make that spark flare.
His head tilted slightly, mandibles shifting as he scented the air. You realized, with a jolt, that he could smell the change in you—the growing arousal sweetening your already sweet scent. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze was not. It was filled with growing hunger.
Yet, despite his own desires he slowly shook his head. When he spoke, his deep voice rumbled low with warning. “Me too big. You too little… to mate.”
No human man had ever come close to him in scale or presence. Not even close. You should have been intimidated by his sheer size, should have let his words cool the moment—but they didn’t.
Instead, you pressed closer, your breath hitching. “I can take you.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
His kind mated only for reproduction, never for pleasure, and among the Yautja, it was the females who dominated. Mating was a brutal contest—if the male wasn’t strong enough, he could be killed in the process. This was different. He wanted you despite knowing his seed would not take.
You felt so soft in his arms, pliant where his kind were unyielding. He knew you could be a vicious little thing when you wanted. Like when he’d seen you take down the bad blood, it was why he had marked you as his next hunt recognizing the predator you were. He’d intended to bring you here, let you heal, and then face you in an honourable fight. But then you had hunted with him, fought alongside him, saved him, and something in him had shifted.
He was still considered young by the standards of his people, and the elders would sneer at the idea of taking an ooman as a mate. But the more time Drak’ven spent with you, the more he found himself seeking your presence. There was strength in you, fierceness in the way you moved, in the way you met his gaze without flinching.
Still, your body was smaller, more fragile than his own. In his grip, you felt delicate—breakable—and that unsettled him. Gentleness was not something bred into his kind. He did not know how to wield it.
He let out a low, frustrated growl, hauling you up with sudden, effortless strength until your legs locked around his waist. The water lapping at his waist. Your faces were inches apart and the weight of his stare held you in place as surely as his hands.
Your gaze flicked to his mouth—not quite a mouth, not as you knew it. The mandibles were powerful, edged with faint ridges, twitching slightly as he studied you. You didn’t overthink it; you simply leaned in, closing the distance until your lips brushed lightly against the outside edge of one mandible.
His entire frame went still.
For a heartbeat, you thought you’d crossed some unspoken line—until that low, resonant sound rumbled from his chest again, the one you were beginning to recognize as approval. His head dipped, and one mandible shifted, grazing along your cheek in a deliberate, unhurried sweep.
It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly. But it felt like his version of one.
Your breath caught, the heat of him sinking through you. In that moment, it didn’t matter that you were two different species from two different worlds—you understood him. This was his way of returning what you’d offered, of saying I accept you too.
His hand tightened on your hip, pulling you imperceptibly closer as he began to move through the water toward the rocky edge. You soon realized what he was doing when he sat down at the ledge, shifting you higher on his lap. He was leaving you in control and giving you the choice to continue with what you both wanted or not.
You stared down at him, heart pounding. Everything about this was strange, and quite literally alien… and yet, you didn’t want to pull away.
Your body was already primed and aching, heat pooling deep inside you. It was almost embarrassing how wet you were and how much of it had nothing to do with your swim in the springs. His low growl vibrated through you as your hand slid lower, feeling the firm, heated weight of him resting against your thigh. You could barely encircle him, your fingers mapping the unfamiliar texture along his length.
A deep, purring sound rumbled from his chest as you explored, tracing those ridges with tentative strokes. The warmth between you grew until every nerve felt alive, and you took your time, ensuring you were both ready and his cock was throughly slick with both your fluids before lining him up with your enterance and slowly sinking down.
You gasped as his head pushed into you, the stretch of him burning. A deep snarl tore from his throat, his entire body tensing as he did everything he could to hold back and let you adjust to his sheer size. You were so tight, so warm and soft—softer than any Yautja female—that all he wanted was to bury himself fully inside you and savour the sensation of your walls gripping him. But he held back.
As much as it drove him crazy, he let you set the pace with shallow movements, your body gradually allowing him to sink deeper inside you. Slowly, the burn faded into pure pleasure as those ridges brushed against every sensitive nerve ending within you. Soft, breathless moans slipped past your lips, your hands bracing against his hard chest as you rocked against him. His hands found your hips, steadying and guiding you until, eventually, you were taking all of him—and he was practically taking over for you, lifting you on and off his length like you were a doll for his pleasure.
Moans spilled past your lips as your nails dug into his chest in pleasure. The moment he felt the sharp pinpricks of pain, the last thread of his control snapped. In an instant, you were on your back, and he was rutting into you without restraint. Broken moans escaped you, your eyes fluttering as your head fell back against the soft moss in rapture, baring your neck. Drak’ven’s mandibles came down, pressing against your skin in a primal stake of your submission, keeping you exactly where he wanted as he claimed your body.
His claws dug into your soft skin, blending pleasure with the slightest bite of pain. Tears stung your eyes—the sensations were almost too much, yet you craved more. You urged him on, digging your nails into his shoulder and tugging him closer, earning a low growl as he snapped his hips faster, driving you steadily toward your peak. Finally, you when you were all but sobbing, that tightening coil inside of you finally snapped and your vision went white, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Your entire body shuddered as utter bliss ricocheted through you.
You barely felt it when his teeth sank into the junction where your shoulder met your neck, marking you as his mate before he pulled back with a mighty roar, releasing himself inside you.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the low, purring growls rumbling from his chest. Gradually, your awareness returned, each heartbeat pulling you further from the haze.
You slowly became aware of his touch again, his tongue lapping over the tender spot where his teeth had sunk into you. The sensation was strangely soothing despite the sting, a primal mix of comfort and possession that sent a shiver racing down your spine.
“Mate,” he growled, the word deep and certain, resonating through you as much as it did in the air.
He pulled back, eyes molten and unreadable, before rolling to your side. One massive arm hooked around your waist, hauling you effortlessly against him as he curled around your smaller form.
You only sighed in contentment, snuggling closer. “Yours.”
Are the actors trying to tell by their pose that predators are obssessed with humans personal space
Random things I think your Yautja Mate would hate
(Filled with headcanons that may not be accurate btw but I don’t care it’s my house)
Being called “Baby”: Does not fuck with that at all. They might find 90% of your pet names endearing, except that one. Do not infantilize them, they hates to think you see them as weak and vulnerable as a baby is. Would honestly loved to be called “Elder” or “Senior Citizen” instead, at least age has some pride to it.
Beds: Yautja don’t really sleep in ‘comfortable’ conditions, their mattress are very stiff and only adorned by furs from valuable prey they’ve killed. Besides that, they often camp on in trees or on forest floors, even in the worst of weather. So squishy human mattresses and fluffy pillows are not their thing, they always feel like they’re sinking. Plus the bed frame can hardly handle their full weight. But blankets are the worst, why would you want to be constricted and tangled up like that in your sleep?? On the plus side, they’ll never hog your sheets. In fact, they may just prefer the floor.
Perfume/Cologne: Okay, so if it’s the exact same scent you had on you the day you met, they can tolerate it. But anything outside of that is a no-go. Scent is largely how they familiarize others and smelling something foreign basically always registers as a threat. If you change it regularly, you might find all your perfume bottles in the trash one day. They find your natural body odor delectable anyway, nasties. If you switch it up on them once randomly, they straight up nearly attack you until they realized what happened and then make you swear to never do it again.
Haircuts: Their dreads are full of sensitive nerves, they’re a large part of Yautja affection and cutting them is a huge, painful sacrifice. So when you have to cut yours at least a few times a year? Horror story, basically. Literally flinches every time they see the scissor snip. They know, logically, that your hair is different from theirs but they still see the equivalent of an amputation.
Shaving: On a similar note, they don’t understand why you would ever want to get ride of your natural fur. Granted, they won’t try to fight this one as hard, but they actually love your fuzzy little hairs and get rather disappointed whenever your skin is freshly smooth.
Periods (if you get them): Another one that they logically know is normal and healthy, but they cannot stand to smell blood on you for an entire week. Their instincts are screaming that their mate is injured and they need to do something to fix it, but they just can’t. You pretty much get doted on and treated like you’re dying of an exotic illness.
Processed foods: They’re diet is a solid 60% meat they killed and 40% fruits/vegetables they foraged. All raw, of course. Cooking seems like a huge waste of time to them but they understand you needing to get rid of harmful bacteria. What they don’t understand is like…Takis. Or Candy Corn. Or Dr.Pepper. Like, anything that didn’t come directly from nature disgusts them to no end, they taste only pure chemicals and they cannot fathom how you eat a whole bag of gummy bears.
Clothes: Okay it’s not that they hate clothes, they just don’t understand your hesitation with nudity. To them, being naked means you are content and relaxed, even if you happen to be surrounded by strangers. They don’t really get body shame. What do you mean you don’t want your belly showing? Why are male chests more okay than female chests? Who cares if your genitals are out? Obviously some clothes have some purpose, but do oomans seriously need special garments just to not get embarrassed while they swim? How absurd.
If anyone else has any they’d like to share, please do! I love the differences in Yautja and human culture.
