My Mate in the Stars (Yautja OC) (CH. 1: The Pull)
Ta'Kall (Yautja OC) x Fem!Reader
Words: 4.5K+
Summary: Needing to refuel, Ta'Kall goes against his senses to whatever is pulling him, finding himself at an illicit resort with a little ooman there.
Warning(s)/Content: soulmates/fated mates, kinda graphic detail of what goes into prepping game post hunt, blood, threats of violence/SA, talk about drugging in different instances, intergalatic enslavement, reader gets shocked, nudity, probably some stuff not canon to the Predator lore bUT IDC.
A/N: Heyo, finally posting this. its just been sitting in my docs and i've just been a little self conscious to post it. i keep thinking that no one is gonna read it, but you know what? this is for me! lol. So i hope yall enjoy.
Series Masterlist
A successful hunt has Ta’Kall roaring over his quarry. His mandibles flare widely as he shakes his head, his dreads swinging around his head. The lifeblood of the beast slowly cools against his skin but the heat in his body still remains. It always does after a hunt.
He lets out a snarl and kneels down before his kill. He easily lifts the beast over his shoulders and stands up. Thankfully it is just a short trek back to his ship. He won’t have to worry about other beasts trying to steal his trophy, but he will welcome the challenge regardless. Just more trophies.
Once he reaches his ship Ta’Kall is quick to start dressing his kill and get it hung up on a tree next to his craft for its blood to drain. He takes a moment to inspect his kill, looking over its form to gauge what can be made into a trophy, what can be taken for food, and what can be used for trade and selling. His eyes land on the claws and he feels the urge to make a necklace from them. A soft, longing growl leaves his throat at the feeling and that ever looming ache in his chest returns.
Ta’Kall nearly snarls. The concept of finding his mate and courting them with the trophies he has hunted over the years was practically a pipe dream. It was rare amongst Yautja to find their true mates most settling down with those who’ve proved their prowess as a worthy hunter. Yet, Ta’Kall can’t help but long for one to call his own. The others in his clan call him foolish for not picking out a strong female Yautja in the clan to impress since many have been eyeing him, but none appeal to him. None fill that longing ache.
He absentmindedly rubs his chest as if to soothe the pain he feels while his golden eyes watch the deep red blood drip from his hunt. He huffs a little and steps into his ship to take stock of supplies. He needs to get his mind off of the thought of his mate.
He curses as he digs through his supplies. His food stores are fine but if he wants to keep throwing himself into hunts, he will either need to stay on this planet for more game or go elsewhere to procure some. He has plenty of the common currency stored in small chips since he rarely uses it. Additionally, he has some rare items he’s procured from hunting more advanced creatures outside of beasts. He could return to his home planet to restock, but when he moves to his piloting chair and checks his ship's levels he nearly snarls again. He wouldn’t have enough fuel to jump through the solar systems. He’ll have to stop at a station to refuel and that stokes fires of irritation in his being.
He just wants to hunt. To prove himself. To find his mate.
Ta’Kall clicks his mandibles in irritation and stalks back outside his ship. The blood has slowed considerably. He brings down his strung up beast and brings it aboard his ship. He can butcher and skin it after he gets on course to whatever station he can find. He’d rather just go to his clan or trade with one of the others on Yautja Prime, but his lapse in keeping track of his fuel prevents him from doing so.
“Cjit.” He curses to himself as he starts his ship’s engines. He pulls the controls and presses the necessary buttons–all secondary nature to him. His ship shakes ever-so-slightly but otherwise stays steady as he breaks through the planet’s atmosphere and glides through space.
He turns his attention to his navigation and swipes over the holo keyboard in search of a station. Little lights immediately blink into existence and all Ta’Kall has to do is pick where to go. It would be sensible to go to one of the smaller stations. Less likely is he to interact with other beings, less likely is someone going to challenge him to a fight since some individuals think Yautja are just mindless beasts.
Yet, a little farther into this solar system, there was a much bigger blip. He shouldn’t consider the idea yet Ta’Kall can’t help but touch the circle. Expanding the station, he sees it’s not just a fueling station, but it seems to be some intergalactic resort as well named The Secret Relief. He’s heard of it as it's notorious in this solar system for the exotic species that both work and go there, gambling, access to drugs and liquor, all sorts of illicit activities underneath its ‘pristine’ and ostentatious appearance, and its supposed neutrality clause–no one is allowed to fight.
Normally, he’d avoid such a place. Not only is the neutrality clause bullshit to him, but it’s simply a place where he doesn’t belong. He enjoys the wilds, the hunt, the thrill. There, the thrill comes from wasting away useless currency and it’s a recipe for trouble no matter what.
Yet, as his eyes gaze over the holographic images of the resort and what it has to offer, Ta’Kall feels a pull to it. He should be putting in the coordinates of a closer station, but instead he’s setting his ship’s course to The Secret Relief. He clicks his mandibles softly at his own actions before he turns on the cruise controls and gets up to finish dressing his kill.
----
Your wrists feel raw from the metal cuffs that have been on them for the last three days. Your bare body shivers from the lack of clothes as you stare at the three aliens on the other side of your glass pen. You glare at Zorvath, an ugly Quk’ax with hanging jowls and muddy red, splotchy skin. Back on Earth, he would likely have been seen as a cross between an ogre and orc. Those were fictional creatures of course, but many aliens in space resemble what humans long ago have thought up.
It’s been a long hundred years since space travel was introduced to Earth, opening the human population up to a vast new world within the stars. For the most part it has been good. Technology and knowledge has been exchanged, Intergalactic Human Embassies have opened on a plethora of planets in different solar systems, and humans and aliens alike have emigrated and swapped cultures.
And yet, assholes are still assholes, and of course you were abducted like the old stories. But they aren’t just stories anymore nor were they ever were. While there have been many positives with space becoming open to humans, it also opened Earth up to intergalactic criminals targeting humans more blatantly. And so, when you were walking home from your job, looking forward to cuddling your cat and watching trashy television, you were taken by enslavers and then bought by Zorvath, the owner of The Secret Relief. You were his prized pet–one of the few Terrans this deep into space.
That was nearly four years ago.
The glare his beady, fluorescent orange eyes give you is just as nasty as the one you were giving him behind your glass cage. To his left is his right hand man, Lozar–a rather violent Vrelgek (more orcish and goliath looking)– and to his right is a Bhuvah whose name you don’t know but your fists sure know his face. His pale, almost purplish, skin is bruised and his lip is split from when you caught him off guard after he gave you your food. You can’t help your smirk when you meet his green eyes and he shrinks back.
“Will you behave yourself, human? We have important individuals coming today that want a glimpse of a terran.” Zorvath grumbles, his guttural language translated by the language chip implanted in you, and your smirk drops back into a glare. He lifts his large hand, his ring finger missing, and he holds an all too familiar remote in his hand. You swallow thickly as you’re reminded of the collar around your neck. Memories of the violent shocks are at the forefront of your brains and you try your hardest not to let the instinctual fear show on your face.
You don’t reply and just shuffle your feet.
“Answer me.” He growls and suddenly the painful electrical currents course through your body. Your muscles lock up completely and you fall on to the hard ground unceremoniously, your limbs jerking until his thumb lets up on the remote. You pant as tears spill from your eyes. You refuse to look up at him.
You don’t want to answer him. You don’t want to be shown around like some pet. You don’t want him to lend you out to his friends to sit pretty in their laps like he has done before. You don’t want him to send Lozar in to punish you.
But you grit your teeth and spit out, “I will behave.” Even if it pains you to say.
“Good. Esteel will come in to dress you. If you cause any problems, know the collar will be the least of your problems.” Zorvath shoves the remote in his suit pocket before fishing out a vial with a deep, purple liquid. Elysian. It’s a nasty drug in the underground market that can be found in places like The Secret Relief. It gives the taker a euphoric high before it melts into an aphrodisiac. You visibly shudder at the sight of it which makes the Quk’ax smirk. He gestures for the other two with him and they all leave his underground pen.
The whimper you were holding back finally slips as you can’t help but cry. After four years in this hell, you’d think there wouldn’t be anymore tears to spare, but you always find yourself crying at least twice in a week. You slowly sit up, wrapping your arms around your bare chest, as you look elsewhere. While the other glass cages were empty–you know the others under Zorvath’s control were forced to entertain guests upstairs–it still is reminiscent of a zoo of sorts.
You were the only human in this sector of space, making you an exotic rarity and Zorvath’s ‘favorite.’ That title both protected you and made you a target. He wasn't as willing to let patrons of his establishment have you like he does with his other slaves, but people were always trying to touch. They tried pushing what little boundaries Zorvath had when it came to you. And just once, did someone offer the right price for you and you were forced to drink Elysian to comply. It's not something you want to ever happen again.
It isn’t long when Esteel comes in with a basket in one arm and clothes in another, also sporting a collar like yours around her neck. She’s a small Edrul, with pointed ears and pale blue hair that reaches her knees, eyes, and markings along her deep blue skin. She gives you a sympathetic look but doesn’t speak. Instead she hands you the clothes and turns around. You’ve both seen each other nude plenty of times yet she’s always giving you privacy when she can.
You quickly dress in the flowing, revealing outfit that accentuates your body. You know Zorvath picked this out as it is similar to the Edrul's, though yours is a little more flashy and revealing. Esteel gestures for you to sit and you do before she joins you on the floor.
“Do I get a say in how I want my makeup and hair done or does that jackass have that planned too?” You murmur to her. You manage to crack a small smile on her otherwise passive face.
“He wants you in colors that match his clothes.” She nearly whispers, her voice sounding soft like a lullaby. She gets her supplies ready before she starts working on your face. It is silent again before you see her brows furrow. “There is talk about wealthy investors coming.”
“So I have heard… And I assume that I am to be the perfect, dressed up pet?”
“You are to be a bargaining chip.” Her words freeze you and herself. You can see the look of sympathy and pity on her face once again and you swallow thickly.
“Oh.”
“I am sorry.” She touches your cheek with her palm ever so softly before she resumes her task. You don't say anything and let her work. You feel ice cold dread slowly drip into your entire being and you're sure your face looks vacant.
Even if I do behave, I am getting punished. You think to yourself. You force the fresh tears that fill your eyes to not fall down your cheeks, not wanting to trouble Esteel and get her punished if you are late.
Her hands are nimble and quick as she works on your makeup. And soon enough, she's styling your hair just as quickly. Even though Zorvath’s pets aren't allowed to talk much with one another, Esteel is the closest thing to a friend you have in this place besides Enox, her brother who is also kept here.
“There. You look beautiful.” She whispers again as she leans back. She pulls out a mirror and holds it up for you.
You do look beautiful, yet not like yourself. You look like a doll and you're half tempted to mess everything up, to be bare, but you know Esteel will get punished for it.
“Thank you.” You try to sound grateful but you're sure it falls flat.
Your friend packs the basket and slowly stands up, before offering her hand to you. You gingerly take it and let her help you to your feet, and you both make your ways to the door of your cage. She sets her basket outside that heavy metal door and loops your arm with hers, giving your hand a small pat.
The door that leads up stares opens and you stiffen at the sight of Lozar, a dark grin on his ugly face.
“Boss wanted me to make sure you were ready to come up. I'm a little sad to see that you are.” He growls as he reaches out to both of you with his meaty hand. He cackles when Esteel nearly stumbles back in fear. “I would have loved to punish you both.”
Neither you or Esteel reply, even though the stubborn part of you wants to. Instead, you both drop your hold on each other and silently follow him upstairs.
“Now, Zorvath’s new friends ain't here yet but that doesn't mean you stick to the wall. You entertain guests when they talk to you and you come when you're called for.” Lozar growls at you. He turns to face you once the three of you reach the main hall, the smell of smoke and liquor burn your nose and lungs. “I'd be careful though. Rumor has it a Yautja just landed and they ain't too friendly.”
He has a wicked gleam in his eyes before he saunters off through the crowd.
“A Yautja? Here?” You try to whisper but can't over the noise of the idle chatter and music around you.
“A rarity indeed. Let's just hope Zorvath isn't keen on caging them as well.” Esteel mutters before a regular at The Secret Relief whisks her away for his own whims.
You're left alone amongst a sea of aliens and you try to ground yourself in the moment and hold your head high. Your confidence is next to nothing, but you refuse to be treated less than dirt here. Your spirit slowly wanes, but you still have hope you'll get out of this. That you'll get to a human embassy and go home.
Through the pungent smells of smoke and the nauseating colognes and perfumes, there was a scent that stuck out to you. It was faint, but the woodsy and a smell you can best describe as cinnamon cut through all the others and oddly, for the first time since you were brought here, you felt almost calm.
----
Whatever pull Ta'Kall felt when he saw The Secret Relief in his navigation doubled when he entered the atmosphere and parked. He was quick in getting his ship fueled up and ready to go and he should have left it like that. But when he looked to the extravagant building near the fueling spot, he felt that pull even stronger. He rumbled softly to himself and made sure to lock his vessel before he stalked over to the building.
The workers at the door stared as he approached and were almost frozen, but one quickly scrambled to open the door. Once inside, he immediately feels out of place here. The other occupants wore flashy jewelry and finely tailored clothes. He sees no use for things like that if they do not aid him in his hunt or in combat. Eyes find his imposing form instantly as he stalks through the ostentatious building. So many scents assault his senses and he has to will himself to stay calm and alert.
But a soft, gentle smell cuts through the masses and has his feet planting themselves firmly against the glossy, stone floor. Ta’Kall nearly rumbles out loud as wildflowers and something sweet invades his senses. It was oddly comforting and soft. He blinks and decides to follow that scent the best he could.
It’s faint but as he approaches a large, dim hall, it gets stronger. Bodies of different species fill the room, making it harder to pinpoint the scent. But he is an excellent hunter and tracker, he will find the source with ease. He scans the room for potential threats and starts to enter.
“Well aren’t you a sight, big guy.” A Vrelgek that nearly matches his height stops him, his words translated through his Yautja tech. Ta’Kall eyes the sharp tusks jutting from his bottom jaw and the dull markings along his rugged face. The Yautja cocks his head to the side and his mandibles twitch with his low growl. “I don’t mean disrespect but we haven’t had one of your kind come through here. What brings you to The Secret Relief?”
Ta’Kall doesn’t want to answer the Vrelgek. He just wants to find the source of that sweet scent. But given the way this male is dressed, with The Secret Relief’s logo on the breast pocket, and how he holds himself, he can tell he is either security or of high importance at the resort. As much as he loves a good brawl, he isn’t going to risk losing whatever is pulling him here. “Had to refuel.”
“Well, enjoy yourself. My boss is keen on speaking with you at some point. You can’t miss him. My name is Lozar.” He stretched out his hand and all Ta’Kall does is stare, unblinkingly, until Lozar drops his hand with a chuckle. Ta’Kall doesn’t say any more and continues to walk into the large hall, air heavy with smoke. His muscles ripple and tense as he sticks to the outskirts of the hall. Gambling, drinking, and borderline sex is all happening before his eyes.
As he stalks around, garnering stares of both fascination and fear, he picks up a pattern. Of the ones wearing similar flowing garments that leave little to the imagination, they all have collars adorning their necks with the resort's logo. All have smiles, yet all seem off. It makes Ta’Kall bristle more. He is well aware of enslavers and slaves. The Yautja of other clans take on servants from different species or take worthy fighters for hunts. His clan never partook, but they have faced threats of enslavement by foolish smugglers. Seeing these collared individuals, likely acting under duress, makes something inside the Yautja burn with anger.
Ta’Kall can smell the scent growing stronger and he almost rumbles once more. Compared to the pungent smells around him, that scent is a soothing balm to his growing agitation. He wishes to be back on his ship, planning his next big hunt. But first he must sate this curiosity.
Something deep–something primal–in his being calls to him and he cannot deny it. It's when he gets to the far left corner of the room that everything freezes for him. His system is shocked to its core and he almost feels like he is floating in space.
A ooman. The source of this tempting scent, what's pulled him to this awful establishment, comes from a little ooman. He, personally, hasn't dealt with a human but he's heard tales of humans taking down and working with Yautja of the past. Naru, Mike Harrigan, and Lex Woods are names he's heard through stories shared between clans.
And this little ooman, wearing dazzling and loose fabrics with a collar around that soft looking neck, is his mate.
----
Never in your life did you think you would come face to face with a Yautja. And yet here you are. Your eyes lock with his golden ones before you sweep over his appearance. His skin is scaly with an almost ashen grey skin with faint, blue markings along his body and crest. Long, black dread-like tendrils adorn his crest and you see his mandibles twitch as he stares right back at you. He is hardly wearing any clothes save for some pieces of armor and fish nets, giving you a nice view of his muscles. He is big… probably bigger than Lozar.
You part your lips to say something but you don't…you can't. Only when he steps closer to you, further backing you into the corner, is when you finally find the source of that pleasant scent and any tension in your body flees for just a moment. Your eyelids flutter and finally you find your voice.
“Hello.” You murmur and take your own step forward. You almost want to smack yourself in the face. You know how to flirt, how to butter up a guest for Zorvath, yet with this Yautja you find it difficult. You hear a series of clicks that don't translate as the Yautja tilts his head, his eyes sweeping over your figure. Usually the stares you get at your body made you feel like curling up and hiding, yet his gaze didn't hold the same perversion as the other guests.
“Little human.” His voice is deep when he speaks and while you've been called ‘little human’ plenty of times, when it comes from him it almost sounds like endearment and not degradation. You swear you see his eyes soften as he holds his gaze with yours. He takes another step forward, his body nearly touching yours, before he swipes his clawed finger tips against your cheek.
You can't help the shiver his touch elicits and you have to stop yourself from pressing your cheek into his large hand. Something about this alien has you nearly hypnotized. You're almost scared because of how new these feelings are. Your lips part as his thumb touches your chin, his claw touching your bottom lip.
“Ah, there's the Yautja. You are the talk of my resort.” Zorvath’s voice cuts through whatever is happening between you both. You blink and nearly jump away, your heart racing as you fight back a glare at the Quk’ax. The Yautja's hand drops from your face and his mandibles tighten as a scowl appears on his already terrifying (yet, strangely handsome) face. “I see you've taken a liking to my pet. She's also a rarity in these parts.”
The Yautja growls softly, his mandibles clicking.
“The name is Zorvath. Now, what brings you here?”
“Her.” The Yautja growls, his head tilting in your direction. Your eyes widen and you feel heat rush through you. You shake your head. Stop it. He is just fascinated by you like everyone else. He's not claiming you, you tell yourself.
“Ah, while I don't mind some touching, I am afraid she is off limits.” Zorvath grins but has that challenging gleam in his eyes. “But the right price can get you a private room.”
Your mouth opens but you're silenced with a hard look from Zorvath. You weren't even sure what you would have said. What about the investors? Would they want some used pet? You ask yourself. You've come to understand Zorvath’s body language and facial expressions pretty well and you can tell when he is scheming something. You feel a chill down your spine as he eyes the large Yautja and Esteel's words echo in your mind.
‘A rarity indeed. Let's just hope Zorvath isn't keen on caging them as well.’
You watch as the Yautja fishes in one of his utility pouches before he hands Zorvath a credit chip. Your heart sinks and whatever you were feeling before dissipates at the realization the Yautja has rented you. The Quk’ax swipes his thumb over the chip and his beady, orange eyes widen. He looks up at the Yautja in surprise before a boisterous laugh leaves Zorvath.
“Why, you can have her for a couple hours then, my new friend.” He grins and claps his rough hand on the Yautja's shoulder, who tenses and lets out a low growl. He takes that hand and points to the hallway that leads to the private rooms. You shiver in fear, both for yourself and the Yautja. “Go see one of my attendants and they will lead you to a private room.”
The Yautja stares for what feels like a long time before he stalks off to where Zorvath gestured.
You feel lighted-headed and forced yourself to take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart. Zorvath laughs at your expression and gets close into your personal space.
“You’ll go show that Yautja a fun time, you here? And when the timing is right…” He reaches into one of his suit pockets and pulls out a syringe, capped with a protective barrier. “Jab him in the neck or thigh with this. It should knock him down quickly.”
“W-What…” Your voice trails off as you stare almost horrified at the task given to you.
“Don’t be so surprised, pet. Having something like him in my collection would be amazing. He could make a useful guard… enough voltage can get any creature to submit. ” He looks proud of his idea. When his eyes look at your expression, they narrow into a scowl. “Don’t give me that look. Be grateful that you don’t have to fuck him unless you want to. When he becomes my pet I may just stop giving you that Zevarix shot and we shall see what happens next.”
His implications are clear when he threatens to stop giving you birth control.
You swallow what feels like bile before looking at the floor. You give him a singular nod and that forced gesture you give him feels like the weight of a hundred suns are on your shoulders and chest. You’d be the one subjecting another to Zorvath’s torment. Pocketing the syringe, you clench your fists as Zorvath shoves you in the direction of the private rooms.
You stumble as your feet drag you to that dreaded hallway.
And yet, despite the fear coursing through you for your safety, you can’t help but fear for the Yautja you’re tasked to doom.