#yaujta

[ominouspuff]

Old timer

[iydiamartinx]

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.”

[vindemi]

Well, it looked like Dek got somewhat trashed in that last fight with Tessa. So of course his Labubu offers some help with that.

[lime-bucket]

I chose to post this until there r 3 days left for the end of pride month cause i love dramatic exists

[redheadedramblings]

Enslaved by the Hunter King

Summary: You are cherished yet captive sex slave of a Yautja king, you surrender to his every whim, your body his to claim and ravish whenever he desires.

Paring: Yautja x Reader

word count: 8000+

warnings: NSFW, Smut, Sex Slave, Made up Yautja names 

A/N : I have been wanting to write a Yautja x Reader sex slave story for a while and I finally got around to it! Enjoy!

Masterlist

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

You never imagined your life would end up like this—trapped in the clutches of an alien predator, reduced to a plaything for a king among beasts. It started on Earth, in the dead of night, when shadows moved like living things and a net of energy snatched you from your bed. You woke in a cage, surrounded by the guttural clicks and roars of creatures that defied nightmares. Yautja, they called themselves—hunters from the stars, warriors who prized strength and conquest above all. You were auctioned off like livestock on some distant world, your curvy form and long hair drawing the eye of the highest bidder: K’thar, the King of Clan Varak, larger than any of his kind, his body a tapestry of scars and muscle that spoke of countless victories.

He bought you not for labor or sport, but for pleasure. His pet. His fuck toy. And in the years since—how many, you’ve lost count—you’ve become his obsession. He adorns you with a collar of polished metal, embedded with glittering gemstones that catch the light like stars. It looks more like an exquisite choker necklace than a symbol of ownership, comfortable against your skin, but impossible to remove. It hums faintly with alien tech, a reminder that you are his, bound to him in ways deeper than chains.

K’thar is immense, towering over you at nearly eight feet, his dark, mottled skin stretched taut over rippling muscles. His mandibles click and flare when he’s pleased, and his eyes—glowing amber slits—fix on you with a hunger that makes your knees weak. He loves your long hair, weaving his clawed fingers through it absentmindedly. Your curvy body, with its huge breasts that spill over even the thinnest fabrics he allows you to wear, drives him to distraction. He gropes you constantly, his massive hands encompassing your flesh, kneading and pinching until you gasp.

You are always with him. In his grand throne room, a cavernous hall of bone and obsidian on his flagship, the air always warm and heavy with the scent of incense and musk. He sits on his throne, a colossal seat carved from the skeletons of his greatest kills, and you are his constant companion. Sometimes you sit at his feet, the cool stone a contrast to the heat of his touch as he pets your head like a favored animal. Other times, you curl on his lap, your head resting against the hard planes of his chest, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic purr of his breathing while his hand strokes your back.

But not all moments are tender. When his advisors gather or rivals visit, he asserts his dominance in ways that leave you flushed and exposed. He’ll spread your legs wide on his lap, his thick fingers delving into your cunt without preamble, pumping slowly while he discusses clan matters. Your moans are ignored by the others, but they echo in your ears, a symphony of humiliation and unwanted pleasure. Or you’ll kneel between his massive thighs, hidden somewhat by the furs he drapes over you, sleeping in the protective cage of his legs.

And then there are the times he commands more. Like now, as the day’s council begins.

The throne room hums with the low murmurs of Yautja advisors, their armored forms lining the walls like sentinels. K’thar lounges on his throne, his presence commanding silence as he gestures for the first report. You kneel before him, naked as always in these private displays—your thin clothes discarded at his whim. The air is warm, wrapping around your skin like a lover’s breath, but it does nothing to quell the shiver of anticipation.

“My pet,” he rumbles, his voice a deep vibration that travels straight to your core. His clawed hand descends, tangling in your long hair, guiding you forward. “Serve your king.”

You know what he wants. His codpiece is already unlatched, his massive cock freed—thick as your forearm, ridged along its length, a deep greenish-gray that pulses with need. It’s enormous, the size a constant reminder of how small and fragile you are compared to him. Pre-cum beads at the tip, glistening in the dim light.

Obediently, you lean in, your lips parting to take the head into your mouth. It stretches your jaw wide, the ridges scraping lightly against your tongue. You suck gently at first, hollowing your cheeks, the wet slurping sounds filling the air as you work him deeper. His advisors drone on about border skirmishes, but K’thar’s focus is on you. His fingers play with your hair, twisting strands around his claws, petting you encouragingly.

“Good girl,” he purrs, his mandibles clicking softly. “My tiny human pet. So eager to please.”

Bobbing your head, you taking more of him, your hands coming up to stroke what won’t fit. One hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten under your touch. The other licks along the base, your tongue tracing the veins that throb with his arousal. Slurping noises echo as you suck harder, saliva dripping down your chin. He’s so big, filling your mouth completely, the musky taste of him overwhelming.

The advisors continue, one clicking about resource allocations. K’thar responds in his gravelly tongue, his voice steady, but you feel the tension in his thighs. “Continue,” he says to them, then to you: “Deeper, pet. Swallow me.”

Pushing forward, you gag slightly as the head hits the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes, but you don’t stop, slurping and sucking with renewed vigor. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your rhythm. “That’s it. Such a good fuck toy. Praise your king’s cock.”

You hum around him, the vibration making him growl low. Your tongue swirls over the ridges, lapping at the pre-cum that flows freely now. His balls draw up in your hand, and you know he’s close. The room fades; it’s just you and him, your world narrowed to the heat of his flesh in your mouth.

With a guttural roar that interrupts the advisor mid-sentence, K’thar cums. Thick ropes of hot, viscous seed flood your mouth, more than you can swallow. You drink greedily, gulping down the salty, alien essence, but it overflows, dripping down your chin, cascading over your neck and onto your heaving chest. It’s so much—waves of it, marking you inside and out.

No one dares interrupt. The advisors fall silent, watching as K’thar gently pulls you off his cock, a string of cum connecting your lips to him before it snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, settling you on his lap facing him. His amber eyes gleam with possession as he leans in, his mandibles parting. His rough tongue laps at the cum on your chin, cleaning you with long, deliberate strokes. Down your neck, over your collar, to your breasts where he lingers, sucking the sticky fluid from your skin while groping your huge tits.

“My pet,” he murmurs between licks. “So perfect. All mine.”

The advisors resume, but their eyes linger, envy burning in the younger ones. They’ll never have a pet like you. You’re his.

As the council drags on, K’thar keeps you close, his hand wandering between your legs now and then, teasing your slick folds. But today, with rivals from a neighboring clan present, he decides on a grander display. The air thickens with tension; these visitors challenge his borders, their postures aggressive. K’thar will remind them who rules.

You sit at his feet, naked, the damp chill of the floor against your knees. The heavy, musky scent of the Yautja fills the air, and the weight of their stares feels like physical hands roaming your body. A low, grinding chuckle echoes from above.

“Look up, little pet.”

The voice is a gravelly vibration that goes straight to your core. You lift your chin. King K’thar fills his massive throne of bone and black metal, a mountain of corded muscle and dark, pebbled hide. His mandibles flex, clicking softly. His eyes, glowing amber, stare down at you with a heat that makes your skin flush. Around the perimeter of the chamber, his advisors and the visiting rivals stand, still as statues, watching. This isn’t just about sex. This is a fucking statement.

“You see what I keep?” K’thar rumbles, his voice carrying to every corner. He doesn’t take his gaze off you. “A soft, warm thing. A fertile thing. Mine.”

He shifts forward, the armor on his thighs scraping against the throne. One large, taloned hand beckons. “Come here.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. Rising on shaky legs, the warm air cool against your exposed tits and cunt. You climb the dais, each step bringing you closer to that immense presence. You stop before him, within reach.

His hand shoots out, not to strike, but to firmly grasp your hip. His fingers nearly span your entire side, the tips of his claws pricking your skin just enough to sting without breaking it. He pulls you forward, between his spread knees, until your thighs brush the edge of the throne. He begins to grope you all over, his massive palms engulfing your huge breasts, squeezing them roughly, thumbs circling your hardened nipples until you whimper.

The thick, heavy ridge of his cock is already visible, straining against the codpiece of his armor. With his other hand, he releases a series of latches. The armor plating falls away with a heavy thud.

His cock springs free, thick and long, a deep greyish-green, ridged from base to tip. It’s already dripping with clear fluid. The sight of it, in this room full of spectators, makes your mouth go dry and your pussy clench with treacherous need.

“Turn around,” he orders, his voice dropping to a private, vicious rumble. “Show them what is mine to use.”

Trembling, you turn, presenting your bare ass and back to the room. A collective, hissing, clicks and intake of breaths comes from the shadows. Humiliation burns through you, hot and sharp, but underneath it, a deep, treacherous pulse of arousal throbs between your legs.

You feel the broad, wet head of his cock nudge against your asshole. You gasp.

“This tight little hole is for my pleasure alone,” he announces to the room, his voice booming. One taloned finger, slick with his own pre-cum, finds your dripping cunt from behind. He pushes two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them against that sensitive spot. You cry out, your knees buckling. He holds you up effortlessly. “And this wet, greedy cunt… this is where I plant my seed. You feel how empty it is? How it aches for it?”

He fucks your pussy with his fingers, hard and deep, the rough pads rubbing over that spot inside that makes you see white. Your own juices soak his hand, dripping down your thighs. You’re panting, moaning, your forehead pressing against the cool bone of his throne armrest.

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for—more, less, everything.

“You beg so pretty,” he growls. He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mandibles. He tastes you, a long, slow lick that makes the rivals shift uncomfortably. “You take what I give you.”

Now, he turns his attention to your ass. He knows you need preparation; his size could tear you otherwise. One finger, slick with your arousal, circles your tight ring before pushing in slowly. You gasp at the intrusion, the burn mixing with pleasure as he works it deeper. He adds a second finger, scissoring them, stretching you with patient ruthlessness. The wet sounds fill the room, obscene and intimate.

“Good pet,” he murmurs. “Relax for your king. Let me open you up.”

Minutes pass—or is it hours?—as he fingers your ass, his free hand stroking your back, playing with your hair. You’re trembling, arousal pooling between your legs, when he finally deems you ready.

The pressure at your asshole increases. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t try to be. With one brutal, upward thrust, he buries the head of his cock in your ass. The stretch is immense, burning, exquisite. You scream, the sound echoing in the silent hall.

“Fuck, you’re tight around my cock,” he grunts, his hips snapping forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in your clutching, desperate heat. The fullness is unbelievable. He fills your ass completely, every ridge dragging against your sensitive inner walls. He holds himself there, buried deep, letting you feel every inch.

Then his hand comes back to your pussy again. Three fingers this time, pushing into your soaked cunt alongside the massive girth in your ass. The double penetration makes you sob. You’re stretched impossibly, stuffed full of him. He begins to move, a slow, devastating rhythm. His cock pistons in and out of your ass, a rough, claiming fuck, while his fingers scissor and thrust in your cunt.

“You feel that, pet?” he snarls in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. “You feel both parts of me owning you? My cock in your ass, my fingers in your breeding hole. This is what you are for. To be my fuck-toy. To take my seed when I decide you’re ready.”

His pace quickens. The slap of his hips against your ass, the wet, filthy sound of his fingers in your cunt, your own ragged cries—it’s the only sound in the world. The audience is forgotten. There’s only the brutal, perfect friction, the burn in your ass, the dizzying pleasure coiling in your belly. You’re a live wire, every nerve ending on fire.

His mandibles graze your neck, sharp tips scratching lightly at first, then deeper. A thin line of blood wells up—a marking, his way of claiming what’s his. He licks it away immediately, his tongue rough and soothing, tasting your essence mixed with the metallic tang. “Mine,” he growls against your skin. “Marked for all to see.”

The pain blends with the pleasure, heightening everything. “I’m gonna fill you,” he promises, his thrusts becoming erratic, powerful. “I’m gonna pump this ass so full of my cum it spills out of you. I’m gonna fuck a pup into you right here, and they will all see it. They will all know this ass belongs to me and is full of my seed.”

His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, violent and blinding. Your cunt clamps down on his fingers, squirting your release over his hand, while your ass spasms around his cock, milking him relentlessly. Your cry is a raw, broken thing, echoing off the walls.

With a final, grinding roar, he shoves his cock as deep as it would go in your ass and knots his fingers in your cunt. You feel the hot, sudden rush of his cum flooding your asshole, wave after wave of it, painting your insides. It’s so much, overflowing, leaking out around where he’s buried. Heat spreads through your lower belly, a possessive, claiming brand. Your body shudders, sweat glowing on your skin, making you slick and shiny under the lights.

He stays there, buried in both holes, his big body shuddering against your back. His cum leaks out around his still-buried fingers, dripping down your inner thighs, a hot, sticky testament. You’re sweaty, exhausted, but the aftershocks of your climax still pulse through you.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers from your cunt, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. He holds them up, glistening with his cum and your juices, for the silent watchers to see. Then he carefully pulls his softening cock from your ass. A thick strand of fluid connects you to him for a second before snapping, more cum trickling out of your stretched hole.

You sag, boneless, every muscle trembling. He catches you, turning you around and pulling you down onto his lap. Your back is to his chest, his arms like iron bands around you. His cum is a warm, wet pool between your thighs, soaking into his own armor. He adjusts you, his still-half-hard cock nestling against the cleft of your ass.

“Look at them,” he murmurs, his mandibles brushing your ear. “Look at their faces. They see my cum leaking from your used hole. They see my mark on you.”

You force your eyes open. The rival Yautja in the room look away, their postures stiff with what you can only interpret as resentment… and respect. His advisors give slight, approving nods, their mandibles twitching. 

K’thar’s hand slides down your belly, his fingers sliding through the mess of fluids on your skin, pushing back between your legs. He cups your swollen, oversensitive pussy, his palm pressing his own cum deeper into you. Two fingers slip inside easily, curling lazily.

“Such a good pet,” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You took my cock so well. You took my seed. Now you will sit here, on your king’s lap, and let them all see what a well-bred, well-fucked little thing you are.”

The council resumes, voices droning about alliances and hunts, but K’thar’s attention is divided. His fingers move inside you, slow at first, building that familiar pressure. You squirm, oversensitive, but he holds you firm. “Be still, pet. Let me reward you.”

He fingers you for the rest of the day, his touch relentless. He makes you cum on his fingers over and over—three, four, five times—your naked body writhing in his lap, moans spilling from your lips unbidden. Sweat beads on your skin, glowing under the warm lights, as your hips buck against his hand. He loves it, the way you arch and tremble, your huge breasts heaving with each gasp.

“My obedient little human,” he whispers during a lull, his free hand stroking your long hair. “So perfect. How you listen, how you take everything I give. No other male will ever touch you. You are mine.”

He rewards you between sessions—feeding you choice morsels from his hand, succulent fruits and tender meats that melt on your tongue. His claws are careful, never nicking you as he brings the food to your lips. He strokes your head, purring praises. When he notices the scratches on your neck from earlier, he leans down, his tongue lapping at the dried blood, cleaning and soothing the marks he made.

You should hate this—being his sex slave, forced to fuck whenever he pleases. Your mind rebels at times, whispering of freedom, of Earth. But your body… your body loves it. The dominance, the possession, the way he fills you so completely. It craves his touch, his commands, the way he spoils you when you please him.

As the sun sets—the council disperses. K’thar rises, cradling you in his arms like a precious artifact. “Time for rest, my pet.”

He carries you to his chambers, a vast room dominated by his nest: a pile of luxurious furs and silks, scented with his musk. This is the only place you’re allowed to sleep, curled against his massive form, protected in the curve of his body like a pet in its master’s bed.

He lays you down gently, stripping off his remaining armor before joining you. His cock, ever ready, hardens at the sight of you splayed out. “One more time,” he growls, positioning himself over you. “I need to feel that small, tight pussy around me.”

You nod, spreading your legs willingly. He enters you slowly this time, savoring the stretch, his ridges dragging deliciously inside your walls. “So good,” he groans, thrusting deep. “Your cunt was made for me, pet. Tight and wet, milking my cock.”

He fucks you languidly, drawing it out, his hands roaming your curves, groping your breasts, playing with your hair. He praises you endlessly—“Beautiful human. My fertile pet. Take my seed, let it fill you.”—until you both cum, his release flooding your womb, warm and claiming.

After, he pulls you close, his arms enveloping you. He licks any remaining marks, purring contentedly. “You please me greatly. I will spoil you tomorrow—new gems for your collar, perhaps.”

You drift off in his embrace, body sated, mind conflicted but leaning toward acceptance. You should hate being his slave, but in his dominance, you’ve found a twisted love. He cherishes you in his way, possessive and fierce. And as sleep claims you, nestled in his nest, you realize: you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Read Part 2 HERE

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

[alienburn]

How lazy im?

[plutoniumwritten]

You Look Lonely, I can Fix That- Dek X Fem!Reader TEASER

TW- Cursing, Smut, Alcohol, The fic itself will have more warnings. MDNI Everyone else enjoy!

FULL FIC HERE

“What is this place?” Dek asked as they landed.

Kwei wanted to cheer his brother up after Father had spent the last three days degrading him. He felt bad for his younger brother, so he decided the two would take a trip to his favorite planet, A’Veroh.

“A secret paradise,” Kwei answers, piloting the ship to the ground. “You will enjoy.” Dek takes a look out the window. They’re in the desert, a lone building surrounded by other Yautja ships. “We will leave our weapons on the ship.” Kwei takes off his cloak, knife and sword, placing them onto the weapon wall. “It’s safe brother, trust me.”

Dek is still confused, giving his brother a look, but follows his brother, removing the weapons. The two walk off the ship, Dek noticing how his brother’s attitude changes at the sight of the building. “You haven’t told me where we are.”

“It is a surprise.” The doors automatically slide open and there, behind the glass door is a male Yautja, taller than Kwei, eating a piece of meat. Kwei walks up to the glass, and knocks three times. The Yautja presses a button on his wrist gauntlet. A flash of blue light, the two brothers are scanned. Dek looks to Kwei who in turn just nods.

When the scanning is finished, a secret door on the wall is opened, “Come.” Kwei tugs on his brother's arm. Dek would never have guessed what laid behind the door.

Yautjas, female and male, some naked, some clothed, all engaged in some sort of sin. But who they were doing it with surprised Dek the most.

It was women. Human women, all races and sizes, some sitting on the laps of Yautja, some giving oral, some receiving, others being fucked. There was a female Yautja fingering a red headed woman, the woman moaning loudly with a smile on her face. Two more women, one sitting on the lap of a Yautja male licking his face, the other sucking on his cock.

In the middle of the room, as Asian woman dancing on a pole, Yautjas surrounding on couches watching her.

All the women in the room….naked.

“I told you you’d enjoy it.” Kwei brings him out of his stupor. Another naked woman, this one with short pink buzzed hair walks up to them, a tray in her hands, offering C’ntlip. Kwei takes “You can pick who you want, they’ll do anything.” Kwei gropes the woman’s breast and she smiles at him, her eyes shining like gold. Wait, not like gold, they are gold.

Kwei takes two cups and hands one to Dek. The woman turns around and pauses, looking back at Kwei. He huffs in amusement and slaps her on the ass, she walks away with a grin. “Welcome to paradise, Dek. Drink, pick and fuck.”

A/N- I saw Badlands and it was amazing, I had to write something fr. I’m ofc still working on the next chapter of ITBTWY, I just want it to be longer than the previous chapters 😭

Also just a reminder this is a DEAD DOVE account. I feel like a lot of ppl don’t know that.

[thatborednerd]

Wolf

POV You’re the Predalien.

Here’s a wee drawing of Wolf and his Holy Folding Chair.