Summary: A visiting Yautja clan quickly learns the consequences of disrespecting King’s pregnant human mate.
The arrival of another clan always changed the atmosphere of the stronghold long before their ships ever appeared, because among the Yautja, visits between clans were never simple matters of diplomacy or celebration, instead, they were carefully balanced displays of strength, hierarchy, and control where every gesture, every word, and every movement carried meaning under the surface.
You could feel the change everywhere around you.
The guards stationed throughout the halls stood straighter than usual, their armour ceremonial rather than practical. At the same time, servants and lower-ranked warriors moved with noticeably greater urgency through the towering stone corridors. They were preparing feasting halls, organising trophies for display, and ensuring that every inch of the stronghold reflected the power of the King who ruled it.
And because you carried his child, because his heir now grew safely underneath your heart, the tension surrounding the visit seemed even sharper than before.
You sat near the great fire within the upper chamber, one hand resting against the curve of your stomach while the flames cast warm light across the stone walls, and despite the comfort of the room, you could still sense the unease spreading throughout the fortress like an approaching storm.
The child had been moving since morning, restless and strong, moving under your skin often enough that you wondered if perhaps he could somehow feel your mate’s tension as clearly as you could.
The doors to your chamber opened heavily.
Your mate entered, and even after everything the two of you had shared together, the sight of him still carried the same overwhelming presence that had once frightened entire villages, because there was simply no way to ignore a creature built so powerfully, wrapped in armour and trophies, carrying himself with the kind of confidence only a true ruler could possess.
Yet despite his terrifying appearance, his attention found only you.
Always you.
His eyes swept across the room first, assessing in the instinctive way of a hunter, ensuring no danger had entered his territory before finally settling where you sat beside the fire.
“There you are,” you murmured, smiling as he approached.
He crossed the chamber in slow steps until he stood directly in front of you, one large hand moved carefully against the swell of your stomach with a surprising gentleness that never failed to make you smile.
The child shifted almost immediately under his touch. A pleased rumble sounded from deep within his chest at the reaction.
“They approach,” he said after a moment, his voice low and steady.
“The western clan?” you asked quietly.
“Yes.”
You knew of them already, at least through stories and reputation, because the western clan was among the oldest surviving bloodlines still aligned with your mate’s territory, made up of hunters known for their efficiency and deep devotion to honour, though they were also infamous for their pride and unwillingness to tolerate weakness in any form.
Your fingers brushed lightly against his wrist.
“You’ve been tense all day.”
“They are guests,” he answered carefully.
You smiled faintly because that was not truly the issue.
“And?”
His mandibles moved slightly before his eyes dropped briefly toward your stomach once more.
“You carry my heir.”
There it was.
The real concern.
Since your pregnancy became visible, your mate’s protective instincts had intensified to almost absurd levels, to the point where nothing entered your chambers without inspection, no warrior approached you without permission, and even the healers who examined you regularly found themselves watched with heavy scrutiny.
At first, you had found it excessive.
Now, strangely enough, you found it comforting.
“You know they are not going to challenge me,” you said softly, tilting your head up toward him.
“They would not survive it.”
The confidence in his answer made you laughh.
“You are very intense.”
“I am correct.”
“You usually are.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him enough that some of the tension left his posture, and then he leaned down and pressed his forehead briefly against yours in one of the rare moments of intimacy he allowed himself when no one was watching.
“You will remain beside me during the gathering,” he told you.
“I assumed as much.”
“You will not leave my sight.”
“You say that as though I wander endlessly when you are not looking.”
“You would if allowed.”
That made you laugh properly, and for a short moment, you watched the severity in his expression soften at the sound.
---
The visiting clan arrived before nightfall, their ships descending while warriors lined the entrance hall in ceremonial formation, creating a display impressive enough that even you found yourself pausing to admire the sheer scale of it all. Even though you have seen it before. They never fail to amaze you.
When the western clan finally entered the great hall, they did so with the confidence of warriors who feared nothing, their leader walking first, his huge frame decorated with sea-creature bones, polished skull fragments, and old scars that spoke of countless victories earned across many worlds.
Your mate remained seated beside you on the elevated stone platform overlooking the hall below, his posture relaxed enough to appear respectful while still carrying the unmistakable dominance of a King within his own territory, and as expected, his hand rarely strayed far from where it rested protectively near you.
The Western leader noticed you immediately.
Of course, he did.
A human seated beside a King was impossible to ignore.
Still, unlike lesser warriors, he possessed enough wisdom not to allow surprise to turn into disrespect, and after studying you for a moment, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement before addressing your mate directly.
“Your Queen is honoured greatly within your halls,” he observed.
“She is, as she should be,” your mate answered immediately before you even had the chance to speak.
“Yes,” he replied. “Of course.”
For a while, the gathering remained peaceful as stories of hunts echoed throughout the halls, trophies were examined and admired, and warriors traded tales of victories earned through blood and skill, while servants carried endless platters of food between the enormous stone tables.
You almost began to relax.
Almost.
Then two younger warriors ruined everything.
You noticed them long before your mate did, mostly because they lacked the discipline to hide their interest properly, their eyes staying on you too long while whispering between themselves with faces carrying familiar arrogance young hunters often mistook for confidence.
One finally spoke while passing near the elevated platform.
“A human carrying royal blood,” he remarked mockingly. “The King lowers himself.”
The entire hall fell silent instantly.
You felt the change in the atmosphere. It was like a blade pressing against exposed skin.
Your mate did not move immediately, which somehow felt more dangerous than if he had exploded into violence, because slow anger from him was always far worse than impulsive rage.
Very slowly, he turned his head toward the two warriors. The sheer weight of his attention caused several nearby hunters to lower their eyes.
“You speak boldly,” your mate said quietly.
The second warrior, foolish beyond reason, actually laughed.
“She is prey pretending to be queen.”
Your mate rose to his feet.
Every sound inside the great hall disappeared entirely.
You remained seated despite the quickening pulse in your chest while your mate descended the platform with calm steps, not rushing, not roaring, not losing control even for a moment, because this was not mindless fury.
This was judgement.
The western clan leader exhaled slowly through his mandibles, disappointment evident in the sound.
“The young die foolishly,” he muttered.
Only then did the two warriors seem to understand the magnitude of their mistake.
Far too late.
Your mate stopped directly in front of them, towering over both.
“You insult my mate,” he said.
Neither warrior answered.
“You insult my unborn child.”
Still silence, then his voice lowered further.
“You insult me.”
The first warrior attacked in panic. It was the worst decision he could have made.
Your mate caught the strike effortlessly before twisting hard enough to shatter the warrior’s arm completely, and the sound of bone breaking echoed throughout the silent hall only moments before his wrist blades drove cleanly through the warrior’s throat.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
The body collapsed instantly.
The second warrior barely had enough time to draw his weapon before your mate turned towards him, and though the younger hunter fought harder than the first, it changed absolutely nothing about the outcome.
You watched every moment
And strangely, rather than fear, all you felt was pride.
Because your mate did not fight wildly.
He fought with purpose.
With absolute certainty.
The final blow split the second warrior open across the chest, sending his lifeless body crashing heavily onto the blood-covered stone beside his companion.
Silence followed.
Your mate stood over the bodies, breathing slowly while neon blood dripped from his blades onto the floor. Then the western clan leader rose calmly from his seat.
“Their deaths are justified,” he declared for the entire hall to hear. “They disrespected the Queen.”
Agreement rumbled immediately throughout the gathered warriors.
None challenged it
None dared.
Only then did your mate finally turn back to you, and the moment his eyes found you again, the fury visibly lessened, as he returned immediately to your side, one large hand settling protectively against your stomach as though reassuring himself that both you and the child remained unharmed.
You looked up at him with a faint smile.
“That was excessive,” you murmured teasingly.
“They were warned.”
“You enjoyed that.”
“They insulted you.”
“Yes,” you said softly. “They did.”
---
By the following evening, the skulls of the two fallen warriors decorated your home.
Cleaned and mounted high along the stone walls overlooking the entrance, they served both as trophies and as warnings to anyone foolish enough to forget what happened to those who disrespected the Queen of the stronghold.
Deep within your chambers, the fire crackled warmly as you rested comfortably beside your mate, wrapped in heavy furs.
For the first time since the western clan’s arrival, he finally seemed fully at ease.
You leaned against his side while one of his large hands rested over your stomach, feeling the strong movements of the child moving underneath your skin every so often, and when the baby kicked particularly hard, your mate immediately looked down with interest.
Another movement followed beneath his palm.
A deep, pleased rumble echoed from his chest.
“He grows stronger already,” he murmured.
“He is going to be enormous,” you sighed dramatically.
“As he should be.”
Eventually, your eyes moved toward the mounted skulls decorating the walls.
“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “most husbands bring flowers.”
Your mate looked toward the trophies before looking back at you.
“They brought disrespect.”
“And you brought home their heads.”
“They are decorative.”
The seriousness in his voice made you laugh hard enough that your stomach tightened slightly, immediately causing his attention to snap back toward you.
“You are in pain?”
“No,” you managed between soft laughter. “I am fine.”
He continued watching you carefully for another moment before finally relaxing once more, after which he leaned down and rested his forehead gently against yours.
“My Queen,” he murmured.
You closed your eyes, smiling, while his hand remained protectively over both you and your unborn child,
You were surrounded by warmth, safety, and the guarantee that no force in the universe would ever be allowed to harm either of you while your King was alive.
(Bet you didn’t see that one coming 😅 I was just feeling down lately and writing about Keth’raal always brings me joy 💚 missed you guys, hope you enjoy this one and can’t wait for your comments as always 🖤)
You could feel his eyes on your back as you hurried around the kitchen, trying to throw together something quick. Keth’raal leaned against the wall nearby, massive arms crossed over his chest as he silently watched you move from counter to counter.
Your stomach had growled so loudly a few moments ago that you had practically launched yourself off the bed in embarrassment, rushing to the kitchen before he could start questioning the strange noises humans apparently made when starving.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to catch his relaxed posture as he studied you cooking.
“I’m okay.” The mechanical rasp of his vocoder answered.
You hummed softly, rinsing the lettuce one last time before chopping through it quickly.
“Let’s say you were hungry,” you continued, “could you even eat human food?”
“Not really. Some fruits are acceptable.” He paused briefly, the translator crackling for half a second before continuing. “The rest taste… off.”
That last word came delayed and you frowned slightly, unsure whether the vocoder had malfunctioned or if he had simply hesitated.
“What kind of fruit?” you asked, reaching for a tomato.
But you completely missed the shift behind you.
Keth’raal had gone perfectly still.
Three crimson targeting dots slid silently across the kitchen floor, settling over the tiny shape creeping near the cabinets. Before you could even notice, his form shimmered and vanished beneath his cloak.
Meanwhile, you remained entirely oblivious, still focused on your dinner.
“Keth’raal?” you called after a moment, turning around with a confused blink.
He was suddenly back where he had been before, leaning against the wall again, though his head remained tilted slightly toward the floor as if he had been watching something there moments earlier. Then his gaze snapped back to you.
“What kind of fruit?” you repeated, smiling before returning to your cutting board.
“Melons. Star fruits—”
“Have you tried grapes?” you interrupted quickly.
You crossed the kitchen in a hurry, opening the fridge before plucking a grape from one of the containers. Then you walked straight back to him, stopping close enough to feel the cold radiating from his armour.
He looked down at the grape between your fingers before slowly shaking his head, his thick dreadlocks shifting over his shoulders with the movement.
“Can you try one?” you asked, suddenly unsure whether feeding him random human food counted as a terrible scientific decision.
For a second he simply stared at you and then nodded.
His fingers hooked beneath the edge of his mask, slowly lifting it just enough for his mouth to show, his mandibles spreading open for you.
You blinked at the sight of him opening his mouth.
And somehow, even more unexpected than that, was the fact you were about to feed him. As if this was something normal between you. Something that had always been waiting to happen.
You had fought together. Bled together. Nearly died together.
But you had never shared something as simple as food.
You took a small breath, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him. As if sensing your hesitation, his hand rose and wrapped gently around your wrist, guiding your hand closer to his mouth. Your fingers slipped carefully between his parted mandibles as he opened them wider for you, and then his mouth opened too, revealing that serpent-like tongue.
No matter how many times you had seen his anatomy, studied it, worked around it as an extraterrestrial biologist, it still fascinated you beyond reason.
But this was different from the lab.
Back then, Keth’raal had been wounded, restrained, unconscious half the time.
Now he was letting you see him.
Letting you touch him.
You slowly pushed the grape between his teeth before his mouth closed around it. Your fingers began retreating carefully, but halfway through, you changed your mind.
Instead, your hand settled lightly beneath his mandibles, fingertips resting against his chin. Your thumb brushed once, twice, over the cold texture of his skin before you finally pulled away completely.
A low sound rumbled through his chest as he chewed, soft and deep, almost like a hum.
Your eyes lit up instantly.
You recognised that sound.
Approval.
“Good?” you asked with a grin.
He pulled his mask back down immediately afterward, tilting his head at you.
“Was it good?” you repeated.
He stared at you for a second before nodding once.
“It’s tolerable.”
You burst into a quiet laugh, almost certain he had probably tried grapes before and disliked them, but couldn’t bring himself to refuse you.
“You don’t have to try things if you don’t want to” you said, turning back toward the stove.
“I want to.”
Even through the distortion of the mask, the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.
You were humming a soft melody now, a song you didn’t even recognise and you felt truly at ease. The safety of your home wrapped around you, becoming warmer by Keth’raal’s presence nearby.
Then his voice broke the silence.
“Why here?” He asked, still watching you as you moved around the kitchen.
You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s a good question, but I might disappoint you.” The memory felt strangely distant, even though it had only been two years. “After we escaped the lab, I ran straight to the airport. I didn’t even have clothes with me, just the ones on my back. The first flight on the board was this one, so I took it. No real plan. I just needed to get as far away from that place as possible.”
“It’s quiet here,” he said, voice low through the vocoder. “It suits you better.”
“I kind of miss the chaos of the city sometimes,” you admitted with a small shrug.
“I can take you there,” he offered without hesitation.
You clicked your tongue in gentle refusal. “I’m not going back.” You smiled, but there was no humor in it.
You really meant every word. You would never return to that life. Not while this quiet, remote island kept you safe from the world that had once tried to destroy you both.
This place, far from everything, had become your sanctuary.
You would only step back into noise and crowds again if it was for his safety.
“You need help with that?”
His voice came from behind the mask as you shook your head immediately, still struggling with the can in your hands.
You had learned to adjust to little things like this over the years. Since your left hand never healed properly, you couldn’t fully close it anymore, so even simple tasks sometimes turned awkward and frustrating.
But Keth’raal hadn’t questioned it once.
Not a single pitying look. Not even curiosity.
As if he didn’t see it as weakness at all.
Only an injury earned surviving beside him.
He had offered to help once and when you refused, he respected it without pressing further.
“It didn’t heal all the way,” you said casually, still working at the can. “I can’t fully close it anymore, but honestly? That’s a pretty small price considering your injuries.”
His posture shifted slightly against the wall.
“Did it hurt?”
The question caught you so off guard you almost laughed.
An alien built like a tank, with battle scars all over his body, asking about your pain.
“Like hell,” you scoffed softly, finally managing to open the can before reaching for another grape and tossing it into your mouth.
“But I couldn’t stand the thought of you bleeding to death. I mean—” you gestured vaguely with one hand, almost laughing at yourself. “Are you kidding me? I’d go through that pain again if it meant you survived.”
Silence followed for a second.
“You are too selfless.”
The vocoder sounded unusually serious this time. Lower somehow. Heavier than before.
You shook your head quickly.
“I don’t feel selfless. I just acted on instinct.” You glanced back at him with a small smile. “You would have done the same for me.”
You turned back toward the stove, completely unaware of how deeply that smile settled into him.
“You were ready to get captured again if it meant not leaving me behind,” you murmured after a moment, quieter now as the memories resurfaced. “Talking about selfless.”
“I was selfish back then,” he corrected immediately. “I did not listen to you. I was stubborn.”
A soft laugh escaped you.
“I was stubborn too.”
Your movements slowed as the memory hit harder this time. The final shove forcing him out of the lab while you trapped yourself behind instead.
“You were.”
His voice came closer now.
Closer than before.
But you didn’t turn around.
“Are you mad at me?” you asked quietly.
And honestly, you weren’t even sure what you meant anymore.
Mad because you forced him to leave?
Mad because you never found him afterward?
Or because fear had kept you frozen for far too long?
You didn’t even know yourself.
“I was.”
His voice came from right behind you now.
You felt the change in the air before you felt him, the coldness of his body somehow making the space around you warmer instead, charged like live wires stretched too tightly.
“For the first hour.”
His longer dreadlocks slipped over your shoulders as his head lowered, resting carefully against the crook of your neck.
Heavy. Helmeted. And somehow still careful, touching you with just enough weight to remind you he was there without ever truly pressing down on you.
Maybe everything about Keth’raal was softer than he wanted the universe to believe.
Or maybe you simply could not see him any other way anymore.
“What happened after the first hour?” you asked quietly, remaining perfectly still beneath him.
You barely even breathed.
One wrong movement and the moment might break apart completely. He might retreat again, hide behind silence the way he always did when he felt you hesitating.
A low sound rumbled from deep inside his chest, thoughtful and rough, something instinctive in his language before the translator could catch up.
“I was…” another growl-like hum vibrated against your shoulder, “…devastated.”
This time you heard the word beneath the vocoder too, his real voice slipping through the helmet from how close he was. Deep. Guttural. Honest enough to make your chest ache.
His hands settled on the counter beside yours, caging you, his chest pressed carefully against your back as if he was still learning how much of his weight you could carry.
And when you finally breathed again after holding it for far too long, you felt him exhale too.
The tension slowly left his body, his shoulders easing as he let himself lean against you properly now, almost like exhaustion had finally caught up to him the second he realised you were truly here.
His breath warmed the space near your ear.
One of his hands flexed against the counter before relaxing again, restless fingers curling as though he wanted to touch you, hold you, make sure you were real.
“Keth…” His name left your mouth softer than you intended.
You wanted to say something else.
Anything else.
But the words dissolved before reaching your tongue.
His hand made of metal and artificial flesh rose first, gripping the edge of his helmet before slowly pushing it upward just enough to expose his mouth. His mandibles spread open in silence and your eyes fluttered shut instantly, nervously.
You felt the brush of his mandibles against the crook of your neck.
Your head tilted slightly, giving him more room without even thinking about it.
The moment you felt a talon hook beneath the collar of your shirt, dragging the fabric lower to expose your shoulder, a shiver ran violently down your spine.
Cotton gave way beneath the sharp edge of his claw with a soft rip.
He didn’t stop until your shoulder was fully bare beneath him, exposed, sensitive.
And then nothing.
No sudden movement.
No aggression.
Just the feeling of his unmasked face resting there against your skin.
Cold skin brushing yours carefully.
Feeling you.
You heard him inhale deeply against your shoulder, the sound dragging straight through your nervous system.
Your jaw clenched immediately, forcing yourself silent before any sound escaped that you wouldn’t be able to explain afterward.
His hand settled on the counter beside yours, close enough that the heat of his palm traveled over your skin. His mouth hovered just above the curve of your neck, breath ghosting warm across flushed skin. Even though his body ran cooler than a human’s, the sheer presence of him wrapped around you like a furnace. Or perhaps it was only your own temperature rising, blood rushing hot beneath your skin in a dizzying fever.
You couldn’t see him. That alone made the moment feel like one of the half-remembered dreams that had haunted you for two years.
His voice, his touch, the solid wall of his chest at your back, but never his face. The image of him had blurred with time. Yet this was real. He was here, his claws shredding the front of your shirt open, inhaling your scent like a predator savoring prey he had no intention of harming.
You tried to turn, desperate to look at him, to convince yourself he wasn’t another cruel dream.
But his bionic hand rose swiftly, the synthetic skin warm and startlingly lifelike as it covered your eyes. You shivered and obeyed, lashes fluttering shut and with your sight stolen, every other sense sharpened. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint metallic scent of his armor, the low thrum of his breathing through the vocoder.
“If you look at me with those eyes…” the vocoder murmured softly, “I do not know what I will do.”
Your breath faltered.
Only then did you realise he must have lowered the mask again just enough to tell you that himself. Not through distance. Not safely hidden away in his native language.
Close enough for you to understand he was struggling to get the words out.
“What do you want to do?” you whispered, barely audible.
His free hand slid over yours on the counter, claws barely grazing your skin while the artificial hand continued shielding your eyes.
A low sound vibrated in his chest before the translator finally caught up. “No language I know can describe it.”
Beneath the translator’s flat tone, you caught the real sound of him, rich, guttural, layered with clicks and that rough accent that made your stomach flutter. You almost smiled.
“Your voice has changed,” you murmured.
“You sound… older.”
“I am older,” he answered, matter-of-fact, yet the low rumble of it felt almost suggestive against your ear.
You swallowed. “What did two years change for you?”
Instead of answering immediately, he lifted your hand from the counter and guided it upward. Your fingertips brushed the thick, rubbery dreadlocks that framed his head. You caught one gently between your fingers, stroking the strange, smooth texture.
“What didn’t change,” he said, voice dropping lower, “is how desperately I wanted to see you again.”
Your smile faltered. Heat flooded your cheeks, a deep, embarrassed flush that spread down your throat and across your chest. You took a small, shaky step backward, pressing yourself fully against the hard plane of his torso, letting his slow breaths guide your own breathing. His hand remained over your eyes, protective, possessive and just a little teasing as his thumb brushed lightly over your temple.
How could he admit something like that so easily? After two whole years apart, how could he lay his heart bare without a trace of reluctance?
Then again… this was Keth’raal. He wasn’t just a tease. He was the most brutally honest being you had ever known. Once something took root in his mind, he pursued it with the focus of a hunter who had already marked his prey. Unapologetic. Assertive. When he wanted something, he claimed it.
“You’re here now,” you breathed, voice small and trembling.
His bionic palm slowly lifted from your eyes. You wondered what he would do next, but you never expected what actually came.
His hand slid down, talons grazing over your throat before his fingers wrapped around it with soft pressure. His thumb settled over the front of your throat, right where your pulse beat wildly.
“Say that again,” he whispered, voice rough and low. The translator barely masked the desperate click beneath it, the begging tone of his voice. And when you stayed silent a second too long, his thumb pressed a little firmer, coaxing.
“Na’kai.”
You swallowed against his palm. “You’re… here now.”
The moment the words left you, his thumb stroked slowly over your throat, savoring the vibration of your voice against his skin. A deep, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, followed by a series of soft, satisfied clicks right beside your ear.
“Keth’raal,” you whispered, your own hand drifting up to cover his. Your fingers traced over his knuckles, then higher, until they found the cool steel of his mask. Your nails dragged down the metal with a slow, scraping screech that made his grip tighten for a second.
“Again,” he demanded softly, hips moving forward in a slow, impulsive roll against your back. The movement pressed you more firmly between his body and the counter, an invisible and undeniable pull drawing you together.
You closed your eyes on purpose this time, surrendering completely to sensation. His heavy breath hissed through the mask. His dreadlocks brushed and tickled across your bare shoulders. The heat of his torso burned against your back and the firm press of his hips made your thoughts scatter. You said his name again, slower, letting the vibration of your throat caress his palm like a secret you had decided to share only with him.
You could feel the war inside him, the desire to keep you trapped like this, safe between his chest and the counter, your voice singing against his hand forever. His thumb brushed one last time along your throat before he finally released you, claws trailing lightly down your collarbone.
But beneath the heat of the moment lingered a heavier tension, one you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.
What could possibly exist between a human and a Yautja? Was something like sex even possible? How would your bodies fit? And if you tried, how would he—
A loud crack from the living room stopped your spiraling thoughts.
Keth’raal’s shoulder cannon was already tracking the sound, red lasers cutting through the darkness. He didn’t speak. He simply stood there, ready and lethal as always.
You turned back to the kitchen counter, heart hammering against your ribs. The ghost of his body still clung to you, his solid chest at your back, the low click of his mandibles, the possessive weight of his hand wrapped around your throat as he drank in every vibration of your voice.
Swallowing hard, you picked up the knife and tried to focus on the vegetables, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
His heavy footsteps moved away, giving you space. You heard him lean against the far wall, arms folded across his broad chest as he watched you again.
“What is that thing wandering around your home?” The vocoder made his voice sound dry, almost skeptical.
You kept your eyes on the cutting board.
“What thing?”
“That black thing.” He lifted a clawed hand, pointing toward the shadows in the living room.
“That’s Ke—”
The word died in your throat before you turned back toward the counter and resumed mutilating the poor lettuce for what had to be the tenth time.
“Ke?” Keth’raal echoed, the single syllable low and curious.
“Kelly!” you blurted, forcing a bright, fake laugh. “Her name is Kelly.”
You could feel his gaze burning into you and you knew—knew—that damn biomask was feeding him every spike in your heart rate, every degree of the blush crawling across your skin.
You prayed he wouldn’t connect the dots.
“What is Kelly?” his voice asked through the vocoder.
And somehow, despite your spiraling panic over almost revealing you had named your cat after him (well, after “Keth”) the innocent question caught you so off guard your panic subdued immediately.
A laugh escaped you for real this time.
“She’s a cat,” you said, finally turning to face him with a shy smile. “A small Earth mammal. She lives with me.”
And you didn’t notice.
How could you? Your back was turned as you finished plating your food, completely unaware of the way Keth’raal’s clawed fist rose and struck his own chest once, hard, as if trying to punish his heart for pounding too fiercely against his ribs. The smile you had given him had hit his insides harder than any blade he had ever faced. He would remember that moment long after you forgot it.
“And why do you keep the mammal around?” he asked as you carried your plate to the table. “Does it protect you?”
“No,” you replied softly, setting the plate down. “She’s just for company. Humans get lonely quickly.”
“You were lonely?” Keth’raal asked as you sat down at the table.
The already-torn shirt he had ripped open earlier slipped further, exposing the curve of your shoulder and the top of your chest. You yanked the fabric back into place quickly, but Keth’raal’s gaze never left you.
You risked a quick glance at him before dropping your eyes to your plate again.
“Were you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Lonely?”
He gave a small nod, his dreadlocks barely shifting with the motion.
Your stomach twisted into a tight knot.
You pushed the plate away and stood, drifting toward the couch in the living room. You didn’t need to ask him to follow, his footsteps were already right behind you, obedient and inevitable.
He surprised you by sinking to his knees in front of the couch, bringing the two of you eye to eye. At this height, he didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
“How did you manage?” you asked quietly.
“I didn’t,” he admitted, voice low and steady through the mask. “I simply kept moving. Fighting whatever stood between me and returning to you.”
Your chest ached at the sincerity. You reached out, fingers threading gently into his thick, rubbery dreadlocks, pulling him a little closer. He leaned into your touch without resistance, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.
“Are you in trouble?” you asked, concern painting your words.
Another quiet purr.
Yes.
“I won’t bring trouble to your door,” he promised.
“I don’t care if you do,” you answered quickly. Your hand slid down to his chin, gently lifting his masked face so you could look straight into the dark voids of his mask. “I don’t care… as long as you’re here.”
The moment stretched, fragile, tender, until your stomach gave a loud, embarrassing growl.
Keth’raal tilted his head. Without a word, he rose to his full height, retrieved your plate from the table and returned. He knelt once more, offering it to you with a small nod, silently urging you to eat.
He was adorable in ways no one would ever believe, naive in his curiosity, yet impossibly sharp. Lethal beyond measure and still so gently protective. Keth’raal was a walking paradox and you wouldn’t have him any other way.
He watched you eat, head tilting one way every time you lifted the fork to your mouth, then the other when you swallowed. You didn’t tell him to stop staring, even though the weight of his gaze made your cheeks warm. You understood that look. He was studying you the same way you loved studying him, trying to memorize every small habit, every tiny detail.
“How did you find your way back home?” you asked after swallowing another bite, your eyes lifting from your plate to meet the steady glow of his mask. This was the question you had carried for two long years.
Keth’raal gave a slow nod, silently encouraging you to keep eating as he answered. “After I recovered my ship. Its last recorded destination was my planet. I was meant to return there, right before the humans captured me.”
Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. A heavy wave of grief and guilt settled over your shoulders, pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t you who had taken him. You had been just as much of a prisoner in that lab as he was. Still, in this moment, you felt the full weight of humanity’s sins resting on you alone.
“Why didn’t they accept you back home?” you asked, your voice dropping softer on the next question. “What about your brothers?”
You weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask about his family. You wanted to respect whatever invisible boundaries existed, even if he had never drawn any.
Keth’raal remained silent for a long moment. The vocoder crackled once and then fell quiet.
“My homeworld was eradicated,” he finally said. “A new King has seized control of our planets. I—”
The translator cut off. You blinked, realizing he had hesitated.
“It’s okay,” you said quickly, setting your plate aside. “You don’t have to talk about it—”
“If there is any being in this universe I wish to speak with,” he interrupted, “it’s you.”
Then, slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on your lap. Your eyes widened in shock. This was the first time you had ever seen Keth’raal look truly exhausted.
Not when you had fought xenomorphs together. Not when his arm had been severed. Not even when both of you had been bleeding out, clinging to life. None of those moments had left him bare like this.
But now, kneeling before you with his head heavy in your lap, the weight of years of loneliness and loss seemed to crash down on him all at once. His broad shoulders sagged. A deep, tired exhale left him, mandibles clicking faintly beneath the mask.
You placed your hands on his head without thinking, fingers sinking gently into his thick locks. You brushed through them slowly, until you found the nape of his neck. Your warm fingertips pressed against the cool skin there, right along the faint blue line you remembered from your time in the lab. You rubbed slow, soothing circles against the sensitive spot.
“I have no family left,” Keth’raal continued, voice quiet. “And those who survived no longer consider me one of their own. I wasn’t there to fight beside them. I was still trapped in that lab while my world burned.”
“I’m sorry…” The words left you in a broken whisper. The guilt settled heavy on your shoulders, humans had stolen his last chance to defend his home.
His head lifted slowly from your lap, dreadlocks sliding off your knees as he tilted his masked face toward you.
“It was never your fault—”
“But humans did this to you,” you insisted.
“You helped me escape. You saved my life, Na’kai.” His large hand rose, cold fingertips brushing your cheek, tracing the honored mark he had once given you. “You are not like the ones who captured me. You were as trapped as I was.”
Your throat tightened. “But now you have no home to return to…”
“I will find a new one.” The mechanical voice sounded softer somehow, almost tender.
“Half of my memories from those years are gone anyway. What remains… is mostly you.”
You glanced at him, then quickly looked down at your fidgeting hands. “How? We didn’t even know each other for that long.”
“I knew you,” he said quietly, echoing the confession he had made back in the lab. “I remember the hours you spent examining me. Talking to yourself. Taking samples. I was sedated, but not fully unconscious.”
You had been fascinated by him, his alien physiology, the striking power of his body, the silent strength in his eyes even when weakened.
Every day you had whispered apologies while drawing blood and tissue, watching him grow frailer under your hands.
Seeing him now, vibrant, powerful, muscles full and skin glowing with health, filled you with relief.
“I couldn’t understand your words,” he continued, “but you were always gentle. I never thanked you for that.”
“Don’t,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I spent every session apologizing for what I was doing to you. There’s nothing to thank me for.”
“Remember the days you weren’t assigned to me?” he asked. “Because I do. No one else was gentle. Only you.”
“Keth’raal…” His name left your lips like a plea.
“We are both here because of you,” he said firmly. His hand moved to your shoulder, pressing it gently until you finally met his gaze. “And I am grateful for that.”
You nodded, even though the guilt still sat like lead in your chest. No matter what he said, you weren’t sure you would ever fully forgive yourself for what you had done to him in that lab.
Keth’raal lowered himself back to the floor, kneeling in front of you once more. His large hand came to rest on your knee, feeling warm despite the coolness of his skin. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, natural. You let out a long, slow breath and allowed your body to relax into the quiet you had dreamed about for two years, his presence beside you, his gentle nature no longer just a memory.
His fingers began to tap a slow, rhythmic pattern against your knee. You had no idea he was matching the beat of your heart, but he did. He always knew how to calm you down since the beginning.
“So… you didn’t have anyone back home?” you asked, avoiding his gaze by pretending your half-eaten salad was suddenly fascinating.
“You mean a mate?” he replied without hesitation, his masked eyes fixed on you, never letting you dodge.
You nodded, fidgeting with your fork.
“Is that what you mean, Na’kai?” he pressed, a clear tease in his tone.
“Why do you want me to say it if you already know?” you groaned, reaching out to push his face away in embarrassment.
“Because you react like this,” he said simply. “And I like it when the blood rises to your cheeks.”
Even without sweet words, the honesty made your heart jump inside your chest. He enjoyed your shyness. After years of survival and violence, your softness must have been something entirely new to him and it did make you feel special.
“Did you have a mate or not?” you asked, faking an exaggerated sigh before stuffing another bite of salad into your mouth.
“I don’t remember,” he answered. “But I wasn’t blooded when I was captured, so I assume not”
“And what about those two years you were travelling—”
“Surviving,” he corrected.
“Right, sorry. Surviving.” You set your fork down, food completely forgotten now.
“What about those years?” he asked, even though you were almost certain he already knew exactly what you were asking.
You kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate. “Did you meet anyone?”
A soft clicking sound came from beneath the mask, almost amused.
“I did not have time to bond with anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Nor did I want to.”
Your fingers tightened around your fork.
“Oh,” you repeated quieter this time.
Keth’raal’s mask tilted. “Where is your mate, then?” He made a show of looking around the room before his mask’s eyes returned to you.
One of the mask’s lenses flashed white for a second, almost like a wink.
You stared at him. “Did you just wink at me?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I am asking a question.”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head before mumbling, “Relationships are complicated these days. Who has time for that?”
But he clearly wasn’t satisfied with your answer.
“So you didn’t bond with any humans?” he pressed.
“I went on a couple of dates, but—”
“Dates?” He rose from the floor in one fluid motion and settled onto the couch beside you.
“Yeah, it’s when two people go out to see if they match—”
“Did you match with any of them?” His voice dropped lower as he tugged you toward him. Your torn shirt slipped again under the pull of his hand.
“They were… nice—” you started, but the words vanished as his fingers caught the edge of the ripped fabric and lifted it higher.
“Nice?” he echoed, the single word sounding dangerously unimpressed. Before you could protest, he pulled you smoothly onto his lap, your legs curling against your chest as his massive arms caged you against him.
“Yeah, they were okay,” you shrugged, fingers
finding one of his dreadlocks and rubbing the thick, rubbery tip. “But they didn’t have… that something I was looking for.”
A low rumble started in his chest before he quickly silenced it, pretending nothing had happened. But you noticed. The way his body tensed beneath you, the subtle change in his breathing. And you were surprised by how much you enjoyed this side of him.
“They weren’t tall enough,” you added.
Keth’raal tilted his head. “But you’re rather small—”
“I like them massively tall, okay?” you interrupted, faking annoyance even as a smile tugged at your lips. He still wasn’t catching the very obvious hint.
“And they were too… soft.”
“Soft?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Are you not all soft? You’re hu—”
Realization hit him mid-sentence. The vocoder couldn’t hide the knowing click that followed.
“You like them rough-skinned,” he murmured, tilting his head to press the side of his mask against your cheek. You burst into quiet giggles as he continued, “And tall.” His fingers pressed lightly into your ribs, making you squirm. “Maybe even green?”
A deep, thrumming purr rolled through his chest, the Yautja equivalent of a chuckle. In one smooth motion he dropped you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he climbed over you. The furniture groaned under his weight. He caged you between his powerful forearms, dreadlocks falling around your face like a dark waterfall.
You nodded, biting your lip to hold back a grin.
“Hmm…” The low sound vibrated through him as he stared down at you. “Where are you going to find a mate like that?” he teased. “I don’t see anyone on Earth who matches your… specific preferences.”
“I don’t mind if they’re not from Earth,” you said, smiling up at him sweetly.
“You are a very open-minded human,” he replied, nodding slowly. His clawed hand rose to cradle your cheek, a talon grazing your skin.
“Do you have anyone in mind you could introduce me to?” you smirked, tugging on two of his dreadlocks.
Keth’raal lowered his body instantly, pressing you deeper into the cushions. His mask hovered inches from your face.
“You shouldn’t play with a Yautja’s locks,” he warned, voice dropping into a rougher tone.
“Why not?” you asked, surprising yourself with your boldness.
“Because,” he murmured, bumping his mask gently against your forehead, “I can feel everything.”
Your hands froze.
You knew his dreadlocks were sensitive, but you hadn’t fully understood until now. The way his breathing grew heavier above you, rougher, more strained, made the realization sink in. Every touch had affected him far more than he let on.
You released his locks immediately. He exhaled sharply, as if you had been holding his very life in your palms.
Slowly, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his massive body enveloping you completely. His arms and legs caged you on the couch, yet instead of feeling trapped, you felt safe. Exactly where you wanted to be.
“Where is your hair ring?” you asked softly, remembering the single ornate bead he used to wear on one of his locks.
He lifted his head, bringing you eye to eye with the dark voids of his mask. “I took it off after my clan rejected me. But I keep it safe.”
“It was your only memento,” you murmured. In the back of your mind, a quiet thought started forming. Maybe I could give him a new one. Something to come back to. Someone to belong to.
He didn’t belong on Earth… but perhaps he could belong with you.
The thought made your heart miss a beat. What are you even thinking?
“Can I…?” you whispered, hands rising hesitantly toward his mask. Your fingers curled around the edges. The lenses flashed red for a brief second , startled, before you gently lifted it away.
The mask dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
Without it, his mandibles flexed and parted, the vibrant green of his eyes finding you. They were stunning up close, intense and strangely vulnerable as they searched yours. You whispered his name and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft series of clicks escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours.
“Da’to thwei,” he rumbled in his native tongue, the words low and intimate. His hands cradled the back of your head, talons carefully threading through your hair as he rubbed his forehead gently against yours.
He seemed lighter without the mask. Freer. As if speaking without the translator’s barrier allowed him to finally breathe. His body relaxed fully against yours, native clicks and rumbles leaving him effortlessly.
“If you’re saying you missed me…” you murmured, unaware of the true weight of his words, “I missed you too.”
In his language, however, he had already claimed you. Completely.
“Can you stay longer?” you whispered. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”
But Keth’raal was already reaching for his mask.
“No, wait, please.” You caught his wrist. “I don’t have the courage to say this while you can understand me . I… I want you to stay. I want you to come back to me after every hunt. I want to be your—”
His hand moved quickly, pressing two fingers gently against your lips, silencing you. He slipped the helmet back on and shook his head, the red glow of his lenses steady on you.
“You’re not going to tell me what you just said, are you?”
“No,” you breathed, a small, shy smirk tugging at your lips. “Not yet.”
“Are you going to tell me what you whispered in Yautja earlier?” you continued.
“No.” He pulled you up from the couch with, your hands resting in his open palms.
“Then we’re even.” You smiled brightly up at him. His head tilted at the sight, as if wanting to commit this moment to his memory.
“You will tell me eventually,” he said, his thumb brushing beneath the scar on your cheek.
“You’ll have to come back to me if you want to find out.”
“Is that so, cunning human?” A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.
You shrugged playfully, “don’t underestimate me. Humans evolved by outsmarting bigger predators like you.”
“So you’re tricking me into coming back?”
“Exactly.”
Keth’raal let out another amused click. “I would return even if you didn’t want me here. I need to check on the soft human—”
“Ow!” He feigned pain when you slapped his arm, rubbing the spot dramatically.
“Don’t talk down to a blooded warrior, Keth’raal.”
“My apologies,” he replied, the translator somehow making the words sound anything but sorry.
You plopped back onto the couch, crossing your legs and folding your arms.
“So you’re a marine biologist now?” Keth’raal asked, settling on the floor across from you. He mirrored your posture, head tilting slightly to the left in that familiar, curious way.
“How do you know?” You raised your eyebrows in mock surprise. “Were you stalking me?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Your robe has it written on it.” He smoothly avoided answering the stalking question.
You glanced at the white lab coat draped over the chair and muttered, “Right…”
Something hot erupted in your chest at the thought that he might have been watching over you these past two years, keeping his distance for your safety.
“I’m just a junior researcher,” you continued, “but I like it. It’s quieter. Safer.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
“I mostly work with marine mammals right now. Orcas, specifically.” You shifted on the couch, stretching your legs out with a soft sigh and leaning back against the armrest. The tension in your shoulders finally began to ease.
Keth’raal rose from the floor without a word. The couch creaked in protest as he sat at the far end, his big frame taking up most of the space. You started to pull your legs back to give him room, but his hand caught your ankle gently, tugging you toward him until your legs rested across his lap.
Your breath caught.
His large hand settled warmly on top of your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of your pants. You froze for only a moment before scooting closer. When his arm lifted in a quiet invitation, you leaned into his side, resting against the cold wall of his torso.
It felt almost too natural.
You knew Yautja weren’t like humans. They weren’t supposed to crave gentle touch or closeness the same way. And yet here he was, initiating the touch, pulling you closer, offering the exact comfort you hadn’t realized you had been starving for.
Or maybe… he needed it too.
He had always been proud, sometimes even arrogant about his strength and skill. But this was different. This wasn’t pride. This was quiet certainty. He knew you wanted to be closer. He could read every racing heartbeat, every change in your breathing and he gave you exactly what you needed without hesitation.
It was pure confidence.
And it made your stomach twist with something like pleasure. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask him to claim you the way only a Yautja could.
Your time in the lab had taught you far more about Yautja than most humans would ever know, their traditions, their rigid hierarchy, even the brutal reality of how they reproduced. That last part still made you nervous.
Yautja mating wasn’t simple or gentle. It was a ritual. The strongest were chosen and the much larger, more dominant females left scars on their mates, breaking their spines before carrying their children. Keth’raal had quietly admitted earlier that he had never been claimed. Never gone through that rite. Which meant…
He was untouched.
The realization sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your face. The arrogant, reckless young hunter you had met in the lab had been all bluster and show. But this version of him, calmer, quieter, radiating confidence, felt entirely different. He wasn’t showing off anymore. He simply knew his worth. He knew what he wanted.
And he knew he could have you.
Keth’raal’s finger curled, the cool tip gently brushing your flushed cheek. His head tilted in silent question: Why are you blushing again?
You let out a nervous laugh and quickly changed the subject.
“You know, when I started here, I never expected to end up studying orcas,” you said, eyes fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It felt like the universe was pulling a prank on me.”
His thumb kept tracing circles over your knee as he listened.
“Orcas are the apex predators of the ocean,” you continued.
His head tilted further. “You have a favorite?”
You blinked.
That was his question? Out of all questions?
“What if I do?” you asked, fighting back a grin.
“Tell me where this orca is—”
“I’m joking, Keth’raal,” you laughed, pressing your lips together to keep from bursting out. His masked gaze stayed locked on you, clearly expecting a real answer.
You reached out, resting your left hand on his broad chest. “I can’t communicate with them the same way I do with you,” you murmured, rubbing gentle circles over the hard plating as if trying to calm the heart you could feel beating faster beneath your palm.
You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, the urge to tease him just a little more, to push until you drew out those frustrated growls from under his mask.
You wanted to see the beast he kept so carefully leashed.
He stayed silent after that, still, as you continued rubbing your hand over his chest.
Yet his arm slid around your shoulders, his large hand stroking protectively down your arm while he searched for words.
“I have some books on orcas I could show you—” You started to pull away, but his grip on your arm tightened instantly, tugging you back against him.
You yelped, the sound quickly turning into a suppressed laugh as your lips twitched with a smile.
“Keth’raal…” you called softly.
No response. Not a tilt of his head, not a single click. He kept his gaze lowered, arm still wrapped around you like a steel band.
You whispered his name again, tapping his chest. When that earned you nothing, you decided to make a bolder attempt to get his attention. Lifting your legs from his lap, you turned and straddled him fully, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his massive thighs.
His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you or not.
Your hands settled on his broad chest. Only then did the full weight of your compromising position hit you, sitting on his lap, straddling him like this, with nothing but thin fabric between you.
A nervous chuckle escaped you as you tried to climb off, terrified by your impulsiveness.
But before you could, his bionic hand caught your thigh, squeezing once, making you gasp.
“I thought—”
“Don’t leave,” he said, voice rough through the mask. His hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, claws grazing lightly over your clothes. Your already torn shirt slipped further down your shoulder and you quickly tugged it back up.
“Your face,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing your burning cheek. “It’s all red again.”
“It’s just… hot in here,” you exhaled, fanning yourself weakly.
“How do humans usually cool their skin?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious, though the way his other hand joined the first at your lower back, locking around you, felt far from innocent.
“Sweat… or by taking a shower,” you answered, slowly allowing yourself to sit fully on his lap despite the burn under your skin.
“How do you produce sweat quickly?” His thumbs stroked up and down your back, sending shivers across your spine.
“Exercise, mostly. If we move fast and long enough… we sweat.”
“Right…” he rumbled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then he finally lifted his head and looked straight at you.
And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
Your eyes stayed locked on the dark voids of his mask, every sense heightened to the point of a meltdown. You were somehow still straddling his lap, your thighs spread wide and your backside pressed against his crotch. His body was solid and cool beneath you, pulling you in like a moth to freezing flame.
You couldn’t help yourself but imagine his arms locking around you, holding you while your mouth found the exposed skin of his neck, tongue tracing lines as he fought not to make a sound. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, loud enough that you knew he could hear every beat. He could read you so easily, it was almost unfair.
You drew in a shaky breath and forced yourself to climb off his lap.
This is insane. He’s a Yautja. You don’t belong with him. A bond like this isn’t even possible… right?
He let you go without resistance this time. His hands slipped from your waist, leaving your skin colder than before. Only then did his chest begin to move again, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were pressed against him.
“Want to know why I chose marine biology?” you asked softly, offering him a small smile. You crawled a little closer and pressed a quick, shy kiss to his bicep before pulling back.
Keth’raal glanced down at the spot you had kissed, then lifted his head to stare at you.
“It was the closest thing to alien biology I could find,” you admitted, eyes dropping to his lap. “Something that… reminded me of you.”
A long second of silence passed, as if registering your words before he spoke.
“I kept your voice in my helmet’s audio log.”
Your mouth fell open, the sudden confession hitting you harder than anything you had just admitted. You stared at him, stunned into silence.
He kept recordings of me?
A series of soft, uncertain clicks escaped him. He looked down at his lap, almost… shyly.
You tried to speak, but no sound came out. Your mouth simply stayed parted, heart racing as the weight of his words settled over you.
He had kept your voice with him? This whole time?
Keth’raal drew in a deep breath, exhaling roughly through his mask. “We use recordings like that to lure prey,” he admitted, almost to himself. “But I kept yours. I listened to it… sometimes.”
He didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t need to really. The honesty behind the words was enough to steal the air from your lungs. You had a thousand questions, when had he recorded you? How often did he listen? Why did he listen… but you didn’t push. Not tonight.
“It gets lonely,” he continued, his voice quieter “when the whole galaxy is hunting you.” His arm slid behind your back, fingers splaying possessively over your waist as he pulled you closer.
“Can I hear it?” you asked, settling against him.
He let out a short, rough sound, almost a scoff, clearly amused and shook his head.
“Maybe some other time.”
“So there will be another time,” you teased, tilting your head. “What is this? Are you trying to convince me to see you again?”
“As if I need to convince you.” He lowered his head until his masked forehead rested against yours. “I still have things to settle on your planet.”
“Mmm? Like what?” you murmured, hands instinctively rising to cradle the sides of his head, pressing your forehead firmly to his.
“Much more… urgent things.” His actual voice bled through the mask, rough and strained.
He pushed you back slowly until your spine met the couch cushions for the second time tonight, his massive frame hovering over you. His hands captured your wrists, pinning them above your head.
Well… that was a first.
His dominance was smooth yet quiet, making you melt under him.
“So you missed me so much,” he rumbled, amusement clear even through the translator, “that you started studying something that reminded you of me?”
“Roughly,” you countered, biting back a smile. “Nothing compares to real alien biology. It’s one of a kind.”
A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “We are one of a kind.”
“You think you’re special?” you challenged, tugging at your wrists just to be difficult.
He held them firmly above your head with one hand, pressing you deeper into the couch. “Am I not?”
“You’re more arrogant than I remember,” you huffed.
“Or maybe I simply know what I mean to you now.” His voice dropped lower, with that calm, unshakable confidence.
“You can’t possibly know,” you protested. “I’ve never told you.”
“Even without the translator, I would still know how you feel about me.”
Your heart pounded hard once before it went back to normal. “And how do you feel about me?”
Keth’raal’s head dipped closer, his masked face hovering just above yours. As he leaned in, the braided necklace around his neck slipped free from the edge of his armor. The emerald green stone swung gently between you, catching the lamplight and gleaming with a soft, inner glow. It looked strangely… earthly. You weren’t sure if it actually was, but the color and polish made you curious.
He didn’t bother tucking it back. Both his hands were occupied pinning your wrists and he clearly had no intention of letting you go.
His broad chest pressed heavier against yours as he let out a slow breath, the cool stone now brushing lightly against your sternum with every small movement.
This was it.
After two years of waiting, of wondering, of aching, this was the moment you had been waiting for.
How do you feel about me?
But then his gauntlet shattered the moment with a loud, insistent beep.
You gasped before you realised, Keth’raal was already on his feet, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest in a needy embrace. He rested his helmeted head atop yours, whispering a low apology that vibrated through you.
Before you could speak, he lifted his mask just enough to expose his mandibles. He guided your hand upward, pressing your palm between them. His hot breath ghosted over your skin as he inhaled your scent deeply.
The intimacy of it had you staring because this wasn’t just a gesture. It felt like a kiss. An actual one. The one you would read on old fairytales where the knight presses his lips to a royalty’s hand to show his devotion.
Your skin burned where he breathed you in and just as quickly, he lowered the mask again. His hands rose to cradle your face, thumbs stroking tenderly beneath your eyes as if memorizing every detail. You didn’t need to ask if he had to leave. It was written in every urgent movement, every silent apology.
Your eyes stung, your throat tightened as you desperately tried to hold onto the moment, the way he felt, the faint tremble in his hands as he fought not to hold you too hard, the rough exhale that sounded like it physically hurt him to let you go.
“Keep this for me,” he said quietly.
He reached behind his neck and tore off the braided cord with a single sudden tug. The emerald stone dangled from it and when you opened your palm, he didn’t drop it there. Instead, he pressed his closed fist against your chest, right over your heart. Only then did he slowly open his fingers, letting the necklace settle against you.
It didn’t feel like a simple gift. It was heavier than that. Deeper. More like a promise. A piece of him he was leaving behind for you to guard.
You covered his fist with your hand, holding it there against your heart.
And then he was gone.
Months passed before you saw him again.
And when he finally returned… it felt like the last time you ever would.
a/n: it’s always so lovely coming back to you guys, hope this one compensates for my absence 💚 I’d love to hear your thoughts on this cute little chapter! Also Keth’raal acting all jealous wasn’t in my plans but I just love imagining him all grumpy and bothered because of his feelings 😳 and the way he held mc’s throat to hear the vibrations of their voice??? still not over 🫣)
Summary: The adventures of being pregnant with your second son, Vir'ock
Warnings: Wholesome, pregnancy, child birth, sorry this one took long
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"Kweitiri, we have some wonderful news to tell you"
You've never had siblings and Ch'Kall has had several. Your daughter's reaction to the news of potentially having a new sibling should be... interesting
"Your jor and I... are planning on having another baby" you nervously smiled.
Kweitiri just stared at you, so blissfully not understanding what you just said.
"Another bay-bee?" Her head tilted
"Yes, you'll have a little brother or sister who can play with you, like a new friend"
She was sort of understanding now, but she still looked to Ch'Kall as if to clear anything up. So he got an idea.
Ch'Kall geared up "Lets go outside" he said
Your family went out for a walk in the forest. After a while he motioned for you to move slowly and quietly. Away from the heavy forest into a meadow-y area you found a whole herd of fern deer.
"There" he pointed "you see them? They're like a clan, a family. You see that giant one with the horns and thick hide? He's the father, their protector, like me. You see the one next to him? She's his mate, the mother, like your mama"
"Awh" Kweitiri whispered
"And you see that small one between them? Thats their youngling, a child, like you. And then you see the much smaller one who's struggling to stand? Thats another youngling, a bay-bee, like we'll have soon"
"Woah"
You didn't understand a word they were saying but you could tell Kweitiri putting it all together. Such a sweet moment your little family is sharing.
Back home, your family is eats by the fire pit.
"So how will we get a new baby?"
"The baby will grow in my tummy" you placed a hand on your stomach "and soon they will come out and join our family"
"How the baby get in your belly?"
You froze in place and looked at Ch'Kall, who only looked away. Jerk.
"Thats... a secret" you winked. For the rest of dinner she kept staring at your stomach
"Is the baby coming now?"
You giggled to yourself "no, not for another several months, we'll have plenty of time until then" it had only been a week since you and Ch'Kall mated under the tree, and knowing him he'll take every opportunity to continue mating with you.
A month passed
"HURGGHL" you didn't have time to run outside so you threw up in an empty bowl.
"Mama!" Kweitiri ran to you all worried "are you okay?"
"Oh, Tiri" you smiled "im okay, this is normal, it just means the baby is finding its place safely in m- HURGGHL" why am I throwing up even worse than last time!?
Kweitiri hugged your back, it warmed your heart that your baby girl was by your side looking out for you.
You were 4 months along now.
"Mama! Your belly is getting big!"
"Mhmm" you groaned. You remember all your old symptoms, cravings, aching, but if you thought it was difficult then, having a toddler who'd run around driving you crazy is making it even harder.
"Is the baby coming now?"
"No, sweetie, we still have... *sigh* several months to go" she sits by you and stares at your stomach "*sigh* I could so eat some strawberry ice cream right now"
Kweitiri looked up at you "staw-berry?"
"Strawberry" you corrected her "its a type of berry I loved eating back when I was a kid like you, and strawberry ice cream was my favorite treat. Im not sure how to make it exactly, but I know it's used with strawberries, ice, milk, sugar" and other ingredients you can't find on this planet "it was delicious, and I've been craving it for years, ever since I was pregnant with you"
"I was in your belly?"
"Yes, thats how you first came to us, then you came out and became the most precious thing to me and your jor"
Kweitiri suddenly clutched onto your arm "when the baby is here is it going to be more pre-shush than me?"
"Aw, my baby girl, no no you'll still be more important than anything" you embraced her close to you "its just that now you'll share that special place in my heart with the new baby, whether its a little brother or a little sister"
6 months pregnant. Kweitiri is wearing Ch'Kall's mask as she sees your ultrasound
"So tiny!" She chirps
"Just as you were" Ch'Kall purrs he rests his head over your stomach and whispers "please be another girl so I can convince your mother to keep trying again for a boy" he clicks a chuckling laugh
"You want da baby to be a girl, jor?" She said in English
"Huh?" You sat up and stared at your husband in not-so-serious disbelief
"I-I say nothing, Kweitiri, you hear me wrong... now let's keep looking at your baby sister"
You scowled at his direction. He wants another daughter so we'll have to have more kids, doesn't he? Typical
A few days later your clan was out for a small camping trip. Ch'Kall wants to find his old ship that he hadn't seen since he landed here. He knows it could take days and he will not want leave you and Kweitiri all alone.
"So what will you be looking for once we find it?"
"Old tech, all is left on my ship; will take long to get there"
You gently held your stomach "this won't take too long will it? I'm always happy to be out of the den and explore but I also want to be back when the baby is born, y'know?"
"We will have time"
Your family has gone camping out before. Its nature for Yautja to travel away from home, as is with humans. Before Ch'Kall decided you would be his mate he never had a den and just went on in a nomadic lifestyle. But after a while of staying home he wanted to get out and stretch his legs again. Going out to explore and sleeping under the stars is always fun.
Two weeks pass.
"Uuuuuuggghhhh, joooorrr my feet are tired" Kweitiri complained
"Mine too" you groaned "we've been walking for hours can we take a small break?"
"It not be hours only-" his wrist comm started beeping. He faced in a direction and immediately ran towards it
"Ch'Kall! Where are you going?!"
"HERE! COME FAMILY WE ARE HERE!"
Kweitiri bolted to follow him. So much for being tired. You followed behind not as fast as you'd like to thanks to your aching feet and the papaya growing in your stomach.
You finally caught up only to be taken back at the large dark alien craft before you. "Oh shit" you mumbled "we're not... taking all of this back with us... are we?"
"No! I get what I need!" He jumped towards you and gently scoops you up "come, wife, rest inside, me and Kweitiri will get what I need"
He carried you into a room where there was a large metal slab attached to the wall. It was dusty and full of overgrown plants. Ch'Kall set you down and began pushing it out of the way, placing a large pelt over it.
"Rest here" he helps you sit on it.
"This place seems furnished, why didn't you just settle here?"
"Ship not good home, only to fly across the stars"
"Oh" you look around at the space craft. Ch'Kall lives a primitive life style yet his kind, the Yautja, seem to be so technologically advanced.
"We rest here tonight. Kweitiri, help me with this while your mother rests"
Night fall. Sitting around the fire roasting some meat and eating red oranges. You feel a sudden kick in your abdomen.
"She move" Ch'Kall spoke
"She?" You glared at him
"Another daughter not be bad, females are dominant among Yautja"
"Uh-huh" you squinted "please be a little boy and knock some sense into daddy" you smiled. You heard Ch'Kall huff "but on a serious note, what names do we thinking for the baby?"
Ch'Kall thought about it "Vir'ka, if daughter"
"And for a son?" He didn't answer, you leaned on him and whispered "Ch'Kall, baby, I know that the traditional way is fun and all but we can't just keep having more and more kids. Think about it, its only the two of us and Kweitiri is already a handful. We have more kids we'll be too busy too... you know"
You lean on him. "I love you, Ch'Kall, but we have to think this through"
"I love you" he said your name as he purrs "if son, we name him Vir'ock"
"Vir'ock, I like it" you smile.
You stayed by the ship for at least a few days. Ch'Kall showed you all sorts of cool gadgets and kinks that yautja tech had to offer. He'd show Kweitiri the Yautja language and how to fly this thing... if it could fly that is... so there goes trying to fix it with your old ship's parts and maybe try to fly.
Ch'Kall says the engines were destroyed on purpose so he couldn't be found, but everytime you'd see him looking at the walls of the ship you could tell he missed his home world.
Ch'Kall purred into your nape, assuring that even is he misses it he wouldn't leave you for anything. And if he was being forced back home, he'd do everything in his power to bring you along.
He would tweak his mask here and there until he clicked happily. He positioned his mask to face a large empty wall and out shot a projection.
"Prime" he said "my home world" you and Kweitiri saw a vast jungle thriving with all sorts of life. Everything was a perspective shot of Ch'Kall's past. He was running along side other yautja, knocking each other off, wrestling. Ch'Kall pointed "brother"
"Oh, so this is like... play-fighting?"
"Training, but yes its how Yautja play"
Makes sense. Ch'Kall would spend the rest of the night watching old memories of his family. They don't normally wear their helmets unless they're out hunting but any shots when he'd see his family, his mother, his siblings, he'd slow it down or pause to see them like an old photo.
"You miss them, don't you?" Ch'Kall said nothing, only holding you close while caressing your stomach.
The walk back home was just as difficult. Your baby, Vir, made you feel like you had to pee every few minutes and despite hating the smell of beef you need to eat some jerky. You must be 8 months along by now... or more...
"The baby will be due soon" you laid in the nest, Kweitiri leans her head on your stomach. Ch'Kall returns with extra food. "Once the baby comes, Jor won't be out hunting so much to care for me and Vir, so we need to pack as much food as we can"
"I can help jor hunt!" She yells cheerfully
"My little hunter, I admire your enthusiasm but you are not yet ready for the hunt, but soon enough I will begin to train you to be a mighty warrior" Ch'Kall purred
2 weeks passed. Came the day you finally gave birth. Your screams were painful and ear piercing. Ch'Kall ordered that Kweitiri go hide in a corner because you don't want her to witness this. After long hours of pain, pushing your child into the world it was finally born.
"Kweitiri, you can come out now, your mother needs you"
She ran towards you in the nest, but she slowed down seeing your exhausted state
"Baby, im okay, and the baby is okay too" you mumbled. You both looked at Ch'Kall who was cleaning your baby with warm water.
He turned around, presenting the squirming and crying little creature to you and your daughter. "Greet to your younger brother," he looks to you "a son, Vir'ock"
You gave a weak smile as you reached out to hold your new baby boy.
"Come, Kweitiri" you gesture for her to lay in the nest with you "this is your baby brother, as his big sister you'll help is protect him and love him and play with him as he gets older, okay?"
Kweitiri stared in awe at the small guy
"Okay, mama" she chirped quietly
A week passes. You jangle some small bones and beads as your new son, Vir'ock reaches his hands out to grab them.
"He looks like me" Kweitiri coos
"Yes he does, and he's so precious too" you smile "someday you'll both grow up and be big and strong like your daddy" you lift him up as he excitedly kicks his feet
Kweitiri takes a long look at the both of you,
"Mama, why me and Vir look like jor, but you no look like us?"
"Hmm?"
"Jor says you ooman, you no talk same, you no look same, why? Whats an ooman?"
Ypu take a deep sigh. "Well, thats a long story..."
Later your husband finally arrives home. It tickles you inside to call him that. You tell him that Kweitiri was asking about her heritage earlier so with enough time and preparation you finally set up the proper way to explain your origins... the g-rated version.
"Your dad and I, we came from two different worlds. His home planet was called Yautja Prime, its where his kind are born and train to be honorable and fierce warriors. I am from a planet called earth, a planet full of humans and several other creatures. It was once beautiful, full of many natural land scapes, but none compare to beautiful jungle forest that is our home here"
"My parents were two notable warriors. Back on prime, yautjas don't normally fall in love or get mah-reed, they only... have children with who they view are the strongest. My mother was a matriarch, a mighty leader. My father was... a hunter who took much pride in himself. He didn't like me that much. So my mother sent me to this planet so he could not hurt me and after many years I met your mother"
"Back home we wanted to see many other worlds out there and see what new homes we could make. I was sent here with other humans but... Sadly they died trying to survive... I almost could've died then but your father came in and saved me. I didn't know it at the time but thats when our life together truly began"
"You should've seen her, she was brave and amazing, I knew then and there I had to make her mine. So I brought her to my den to help her heal and over time we..." he nervously looked towards you "fell in love, soon that love resulted in you, Kweitiri, and now it made your brother, and someday maybe a new brother or sister" he purred, cueing you in
"And that, baby girl, is how we became a family. No matter our differences we are one clan" you cradle Vir'ock in your arms.
Kweitiri's eyes sparkled in wonder "there more planets with others like us?"
"Yes, more planets and more creatures" you chimed in
"Maybe one day we leave and go to see new planets" said Ch'Kall
You and Ch'Kall laid in bed as Kweitiri climbs over you. She was about to place her hand near your hip before Ch'Kall gently but firmly grabs her.
"Watch where you step, your mother is still healing, come lay by me"
Kweitiri moved down to crawl over your legs onto her father. You smile at the sight of the significantly smaller yautja compared to this brolicing yautja who is being used as a bed. Ch'Kall opens his eyes to look at you.
"You smiling"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I like you smiling" he purrs
"I do too" you look down at Vir'ock who laid in between you two in a small basket laced with furs. He held on to your finger.
"Mama? Can you sing to us?"
"Sure, baby girl," you yawned
"And the blood will dry underneath my nails
And the wind will rise up to fill my sails
See you can doubt and you can hate
But I know no matter what it takes,
Im coming home, im coming home
Tell the world im coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes
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: 9000+
warnings: NSFW, Smut, Sex Slave, Made up Yautja names
A/N : Hello! I wrote another chapter for this series, I love these two characters so much and the power dynamic. I am also write 2 more chapters and possibly more because I have no self control. So keep an eye out for them in the next few months! I hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
The storm howled like a living beast outside the towering walls of the Yautja palace, a fortress carved from the obsidian heart of Yautja Prime's most unforgiving mountain range. Lightning spears cracked across the sky, not the fleeting flashes you remembered from Earth, but jagged, sustained arcs that lit the world in blinding violet and crimson, as if the gods themselves were warring in the heavens. Thunder followed, not a rumble but a seismic roar that shook the very foundations of the structure, vibrating through the stone floors and into your bones. These storms were nothing like Earth's gentle rains or even its fierce hurricanes; they were primal, cataclysmic events born from the planet's volatile atmosphere, laced with ionic discharges that could fry electronics and sear flesh if you were foolish enough to venture outside.
You huddled in a forgotten alcove deep within the palace's labyrinthine corridors, naked save for the ornate gold collar encrusted with jewels—rubies the color of fresh blood, emeralds like the lush forests you'd once known, and diamonds that caught even the dimmest light like stars. The collar was a symbol of your status: cherished pet to King K’thar, the sovereign ruler of the Yautja clans. It was heavy around your throat, a constant reminder of your captivity, yet it gleamed with the care he'd taken in crafting it himself, embedding each gem with his own hands during one of his rare moments of quiet reflection. But now, it offered no comfort. Your knees were drawn to your chest, your hands clamped over your ears as another thunderclap exploded overhead. Low cries escaped your lips, muffled whimpers that echoed faintly in the narrow space. You weren't supposed to be here alone; K’thar's rules were clear—you were to be by his side at all times, or at least accompanied by his trusted guards. Wandering off was forbidden, a risk in this world of rival clans and hidden dangers. But the storm had driven you to panic, seeking any shelter from the noise that clawed at your sanity.
King K’thar, a towering figure at over eight feet tall, his muscular frame clad in ceremonial armor etched with the symbols of his conquests, moved through the palace with frantic urgency. His dreadlock-like tresses, adorned with metal rings signifying his royal lineage, swayed as he prowled the halls. His mandibles clicked in agitation, his amber eyes scanning every shadow. "Where is my pet?" he growled to the guards flanking him, their plasma casters at the ready. They were elite warriors, scarred from countless hunts, but even they sensed the king's worry—a rare emotion for one who had felled beasts that could devour worlds.
"Did she flee? Has an intruder taken her?" K’thar's voice was a deep rumble, laced with the clicks and purrs of Yautja speech, though he spoke in a guttural approximation of human language for your sake when you were near. His mind raced with dark possibilities: rival clans seeking to undermine him by stealing his human, or perhaps you'd finally broken under the weight of your captivity and tried to escape. The thought twisted something in his chest, a possessive ache he'd come to recognize as affection, alien as it was to his kind.
The guards fanned out, their bio-masks scanning for heat signatures, but it was K’thar who found you first. His keen senses picked up the faint scent of your fear-sweat, mingled with the floral oils he'd bathed you in that morning. He rounded a corner into the alcove, his massive form blocking the dim light from the corridor. Relief flooded him, washing away the panic. "There you are," he murmured, his voice softening.
You looked up, your eyes damp from tears, lashes clumped together. Expecting a scold—his rules were ironclad, after all—you braced yourself. But his expression shifted from fear to concern, his mandibles relaxing as he dismissed the guards with a quiet gesture. "Leave us," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. They bowed and retreated, their footsteps echoing away.
He approached slowly, not wanting to startle you further. To your surprise, he knelt, his massive hand extending gently. "Come, my pet," he said, his voice a soothing vibration. When you didn't move immediately, overwhelmed by the storm's latest crash, he reached out and gently scooped you up with effortless strength, cradling you against his broad chest. His skin was warm, pebbled like fine leather, radiating heat that chased away the chill of your fear. He held you close, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees, as if you were something fragile and precious.
"I was so worried," he admitted, his mandibles brushing your hair. "I thought... perhaps you were taken from me." His words carried a vulnerability you rarely heard, the king of predators admitting fear for your sake.
You buried your face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent—ozone from his armor's energy fields, the earthy tang of his skin, and that underlying musk that always stirred something primal in you. "I'm sorry, Master," you whispered, your voice trembling. "The storm... it's so loud. So terrifying. Not like Earth's. I couldn't think straight."
He carried you back through the palace, his long strides eating up the distance to his private chambers. The corridors blurred past: walls lined with glowing runes that pulsed in rhythm with the storm, servants—lower-caste Yautja—averting their eyes in deference to their king and his human pet. The royal suite was a sanctuary within the fortress, a vast room dominated by a massive bed carved out into the floor—soft pelts from Ooman worlds mixed with soft furs from beasts slain by K’thar. The walls were insulated, muffling the storm's fury to a distant growl. Braziers burned low, casting flickering shadows that danced across tapestries depicting K’thar's victories.
He gently set you down amid the furs, the plush layers enveloping your naked form like a warm embrace. Kneeling beside you, he petted your hair, his clawed fingers careful not to scratch. "Tell me of your fear, little one," he urged, his amber eyes locked on yours.
"The thunder... it shakes everything. The lightning feels like it's going to tear the sky apart. On Earth, storms were bad, but here... they're monsters. I’m sorry Master..." Your voice cracked, fresh tears welling.
He listened intently, his hand stroking your arm. "You have no need to apologize," he said sympathetically. "These storms are the planet's rage, a test of strength for my people. But you are not Yautja; your softness is what I cherish. There is no shame in seeking shelter." His mandibles clicked softly, a comforting sound he'd learned soothed you.
To distract you, he shifted closer, his presence a wall against the outside world. "Look at me, my pet."
His voice was a low rumble, a vibration that cut through the howling fury of the storm outside and settled deep in your bones. You obeyed, your gaze lifting from the safe, solid plane of his chest to meet his own. Those predator’s eyes, usually gleaming with calculated intensity, were soft now. A deep, molten amber that held you, steadied you. The crash of thunder that followed the spear of lightning made you flinch, a full-body jerk that pressed you tighter against the heat of him.
His massive hand, the one splayed possessively over the small of your back, stroked a slow, soothing path up your spine. The other cradled the back of your head, his thick fingers tangling in your hair, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring.
“Shhh,” he crooned, the sound more felt than heard. His mandibles flexed, clicking softly near your ear. “The storm cannot touch you here. You are safe in my furs. In my arms.”
You believed him. You had to. The palace of K’thar, the Yautja king, was a fortress of stone and strange metals, but the violence of the planet’s weather was a living thing that screamed against the walls. The fear was still a cold knot in your stomach, but it was unspooling now, replaced by a different kind of tension, a warmth that started where your skin met his and began to spread.
“Let me distract you,” K’thar murmured, his breath washing over your forehead. It was warm, carrying his unique scent—ozone, old leather, and something deeply, fundamentally male.
His hand left your hair, his touch trailing down the side of your neck, over your shoulder, then skimming down your arm. Everywhere he touched, your skin woke up, humming. The cool air of the chamber a shock against your bared skin. His gaze drank you in, the amber of his eyes darkening. “My beautiful pet,” he said, the words thick with appreciation. “All this softness… for me.”
His head lowered. You expected his mouth, but he nuzzled instead, the tough, leathery skin of his forehead and the smoother plates of his crest rubbing against your cheek, your jaw. It was an affectionate gesture, one that always made your chest ache. He was a being of supreme violence, a sovereign who commanded legions, and he was nuzzling you like something precious.
His mouth found your neck, not to bite, but to taste. His tongue, so much longer and more agile than a human’s, swept a hot, damp stripe from your collarbone to just below your ear. A sound escaped you, part sigh, part moan. The knot of fear was gone, dissolved entirely, replaced by a liquid heat that pooled low in your belly.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a gratified purr. “Give me your fear. I will take it and give you pleasure instead.”
His hands moved to your hips, turning you gently onto your back against the deep furs. He loomed over you, a mountain of corded muscle and dark, pebbled skin. You felt tiny. Helpless. And utterly, deliriously safe. He worshipped your body with his eyes, his gaze a physical weight on your breasts, your stomach, the junction of your thighs.
“I love these,” he said, his hands coming up to cup your breasts. They were full in his grasp, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples, making them peak into tight, sensitive buds. He rolled them between his finger and thumb, not harshly, but with a firm, knowing pressure that had you arching off the furs. “So responsive. So perfectly made for my hands.”
He bent his head, and his mouth closed over one peaked nipple. Not his teeth—he was always so careful with his teeth—but his lips and that incredible tongue. He laved it, circling the areola, then sucking the stiff peak deep into the heat of his mouth. The sensation was electric, a direct line of fire to your core. Your back bowed, a ragged cry torn from your throat.
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same lavish attention, his free hand continuing to knead and massage the first. You were writhing now, your hips making small, desperate circles against nothing. The storm was a distant echo, a mere soundtrack to the one raging inside you.
“Master…” you pleaded, not even sure what you were asking for.
He understood. He always did. With a last, soft suckle, he released your breast and began to move down your body. His mouth painted a wet, burning trail over your ribs, the dip of your navel, the soft plane of your stomach. He hooked his hands under your knees, spreading you open, putting every inch of you on display for him.
The cool air hit your wet cunt, making you shudder. His gaze was fixed there, unwavering. A low, approving growl vibrated from his chest. “Look at this,” he commanded, his voice thick. “So pretty. So wet for me already. All for me.”
He didn’t wait for your answer. He lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue was a flat, broad stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit. It wasn’t tentative. It was claiming. A deep, rasping lick that made your entire body seize. You cried out, your hands flying to the furs, clutching blindly.
“Yes,” he growled against your flesh, the sound sending new vibrations through you. “Taste your fear turning to need. It is sweet.”
He settled in, feasting on you. His tongue was an instrument of pure, undiluted sin. It speared into your cunt, fucking into you with shallow, rapid thrusts that made you sob. Then it would flatten, lapping at your slit, gathering your wetness before focusing its relentless attention on your clit. He circled it, flicked it, pressed against it with the blunt, firm tip of his tongue. He knew the rhythm that unraveled you, the specific pressure that made your thighs tremble and your vision blur.
One of his hands left your thigh. You felt the broad, calloused pad of a finger—just one—trace your soaked folds, petting you, before it pushed slowly inside your cunt.
You gasped. He was so big, everywhere. Even a single finger stretched you, filled you in a way that made your inner muscles flutter and clutch. He curled it, finding that spongy, perfect spot inside you on the first try.
His tongue was back on your clit, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitized nub in time with the slow curl of his finger inside you. The dual assault was devastating. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, a spring wound to its breaking point. Your hips rocked against his face, fucking yourself on his finger, chasing the feeling.
“Come for me, pet,” he ordered, his words muffled against your flesh. “Let me feel you come on my tongue. Be a good girl and come.”
It was the permission you didn’t know you needed. The coil snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you, a silent, screaming wave of white-hot sensation that clenched around his finger and soaked his tongue. Your body arched violently, held in place by his strong hands. He didn’t let up, licking and sucking you through the convulsions, gentling only when your shudders turned to weak twitches.
He rose above you, his finger sliding from your spent cunt with a soft, wet sound. His mandibles were glistening with your release. He looked utterly satisfied. “My good pet,” he praised, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “So sweet when you fall apart.”
But he wasn’t done. Not even close. He moved over you, settling his weight between your spread thighs. You felt him then, the hot, heavy press of his cock against your inner thigh. It was immense, a thick, ridged length of alien flesh that never failed to make your breath catch. A size that promised overwhelming fullness, a stretch that bordered on pain, but that he always, always turned into unbearable pleasure. The ridges along its length were natural to his species, designed for maximum stimulation during mating, each one a textured bump that dragged deliciously against your inner walls.
He reached between your bodies, his huge hand wrapping around his own cock, guiding the broad, blunt head to your slick, swollen entrance. He rubbed it through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, pressing against your clit and making you jolt with oversensitive shocks.
“Ready for me?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. His eyes were on yours, watching.
You nodded, words beyond you. “Please.”
He pushed inside.
It was a slow, inexorable invasion. He fed his cock into your cunt one throbbing inch at a time, giving your body a chance to accommodate him, to stretch around his impossible girth. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You whimpered, your nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms.
He paused, fully sheathed, letting you feel the complete, devastating fullness of him. Your cunt was stretched taut around him, every inner ridge and contour of his cock imprinted on your sensitive walls. He dropped his forehead to yours, his breathing a deep, steady rhythm.
“You take me so well,” he groaned, the sound ragged. “So fucking tight. Wrapped around my cock like a perfect, wet fist.”
He began to move. Withdrawing almost all the way, then sliding back in with that same slow, deliberate push. It was a gentle, deep fucking, each thrust a deliberate worship of your body. He kept his weight on his forearms, caging you in, his hips setting a steady, rolling rhythm that rubbed his cock against every perfect spot inside you.
The initial stretch melted into a deep, throbbing pleasure. Each time he sank back in, a fresh wave of heat radiated out from your core. You wrapped your legs around his narrow waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
“Fuck,” you breathed, the crude word feeling right in the haze of sensation. “Master… don’t stop…”
“I have no intention of stopping,” he promised, his pace increasing incrementally. His thrusts became sharper, deeper, each one punching a soft cry from your throat. The sound of skin meeting skin, of wet friction, filled the chamber, louder than the storm.
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and the next thrust dragged his cock directly over that bundle of nerves inside you. You saw stars. A broken, sobbing moan was torn from you. He did it again. And again.
“There?” he growled, his control fraying. “You like that, pet? You like when I fuck your sweet cunt just right?”
You could only nod frantically, your head thrashing on the furs. The pressure was building again, faster this time, hotter, fueled by the relentless, perfect friction of his cock.
He read your building climax in the tightening of your limbs, the frantic clutch of your cunt. He drove into you harder, faster, his rhythm becoming punishing in its precision. The claim of it sent a new, dizzying thrill through you.
“Come,” he commanded, his voice guttural, final. “Come on my cock. Milk me, pet. Give it to me.”
The brutal, perfect way he was fucking you—it shattered you. Your second orgasm exploded, a deeper, more convulsive wave than the first. Your cunt milked his cock in frantic, fluttering pulses, a tight, wet vice that pulled a roar from his chest.
He slammed into you one last time, hilting himself deep, and you felt him pulse inside you. A hot, liquid flood filled you, jet after jet of his release painting your inner walls. He ground his hips against yours, pumping his cum as deep as it would go, claiming you, marking you from the inside. The sensation of being filled so completely, of feeling his heat spill into you, triggered a secondary, smaller climax that left you trembling and boneless. His seed was thick, viscous, designed by evolution to ensure breeding in the harsh Yautja mating cycles, but with you, it was pure possession—a mark that no other could erase.
He stayed buried in you for long moments, both of you breathing raggedly. Finally, he softened just enough to slip from your well-used cunt, a gush of his cum following, hot against your thigh. He made a soft, approving sound at the sight, his finger tracing the trail lazily, as if admiring his work.
Before you could even process the loss, he was moving you. Gently, he turned you onto your stomach. He arranged the furs beneath your hips, propping you up slightly for better access. You lay there, compliant, your body still humming from the aftershocks. He positioned himself behind you, his massive form covering yours without crushing you—his weight distributed carefully on his elbows and knees, a testament to his control despite his size.
"Stay still, my pet," he murmured, his voice a low purr. His cock, still hard and slick, nudged against your entrance again. With a slow thrust, he entered you once more, filling your pussy with that familiar stretch. You moaned into the furs, the angle allowing him to go even deeper, pressing against spots that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
His one hand reached around, fingers wrapping gently around your throat—not choking, just holding, a possessive collar of flesh that grounded you in his dominance. The other hand snaked beneath your body, finding your clit amidst the press of furs and skin. He circled it with expert precision, the calloused pad of his finger applying just the right pressure.
You loved it—the fullness, the control, the way he owned every inch of you. "Yes, Master," you gasped, pushing back against him. "More... please."
He chuckled, a deep vibration against your back. "Greedy little thing. I will give you everything." His thrusts started slow, building to a steady rhythm, each one driving you into the furs. His hand on your throat tightened fractionally, a reminder of his power, while his fingers on your clit worked in tandem, rubbing and pinching lightly.
The pleasure built swiftly, your body sensitized from before. You felt every ridge of his cock dragging inside you, every flick against your clit sending sparks up your spine. "I'm... oh god, Master, I'm close," you whimpered.
"Come for me again," he growled, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, clenching around him, your cries muffled by the furs. He followed moments later, roaring as he came inside you once more, another flood of cum filling you to overflowing.
He pulled out slowly, and a gush of his seed leaked from you, soaking the furs beneath. He leaned back slightly, still behind you, his hands gripping your hips. With gentle insistence, he lifted your ass into the air. You went willingly, pliant, floating on a sea of endorphins and satisfaction.
His hands smoothed over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh. You felt the slick, wet head of his cock nudge against your other entrance. Your asshole, untouched until now, clenched instinctively.
“Shhh,” he soothed, one hand rubbing your lower back. “I will be gentle. I always am with you, my pet.”
He used the copious mix of your arousal and his own cum as lubricant, smearing it over your tight ring and the head of his cock. He pressed forward, not thrusting, just applying steady, inexorable pressure until the tight muscle yielded and the broad tip of him popped inside.
You gasped into the furs. The stretch was different, more acute, a sharp, burning fullness that slowly melted into a deep, illicit ache as he pushed deeper, inch by impossible inch. He filled you completely, your ass stretched snug around his thick shaft.
Once fully seated, he stilled, letting you adjust. His hands roamed your back, your hips, soothing. “So good,” he murmured. “Taking all of me here, too. My greedy, perfect pet.”
He began to move. Slow, shallow thrusts at first, each one a deliberate glide in and out of your tight channel. The friction was intense, a raw, thrilling scrape that made your toes curl. One of his hands slid under you, his fingers finding your swollen, sensitive clit with unerring accuracy.
You jolted. The dual stimulation—the deep, full feeling of his cock in your ass and the clever circles he was rubbing on your clit—was overwhelming. Pleasure, sharp and bright, began to spark along your nerves again.
“Play with yourself,” he urged, his voice strained. “Make your cunt feel good while I fuck this sweet ass.”
You reached down, your fingers joining his, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. The sensations merged, a feedback loop of pleasure that coiled tight in your gut. His thrusts grew longer, harder, his hips slapping against your upturned ass. The sounds were obscene, wet and lewd, and you loved them.
“Gonna come again,” you whimpered, your voice wrecked. “Master, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he snarled, his control slipping. His thrusts became ragged, pounding into you. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
Your third orgasm took you by surprise, a sharp, clenching crescendo that ripped through your ass and cunt simultaneously. You screamed into the furs, your body bowing as you convulsed around him.
It triggered his own release. With a guttural roar, he drove deep and held, and you felt another hot flood fill your ass, just as copious as the first, a claiming so complete it left you feeling utterly owned, utterly used, and utterly cherished.
He collapsed over you for a moment, his weight a comforting blanket, before carefully pulling out. He gathered you, turning you, pulling your spent body against his chest as he rolled onto his own back on the furs. You lay draped over him, a mess of sweat, cum and satisfaction, listening to the fierce beat of his heart under your ear.
After a few minutes of quiet, his hands stroking your hair and back, he shifted. He lifted you easily, as if you weighed nothing, and positioned you to straddle his hips. His cock, still semi-hard and glistening with the evidence of both your releases, lay against his stomach.
“Your turn, pet,” he said, his voice a drowsy rumble. His hands settled on your hips, guiding you. “Take what you need. Ride your master’s cock. Make yourself feel good.”
You were sore, overstimulated, but the embers of desire still glowed. You reached between your bodies, guiding his slick length to your sore, well-used entrance. You sank down onto him, a slow, sighing descent that filled you once more, a familiar, stretching fullness. He was so deep like this, seated fully in your lap, his cock reaching places that made you gasp.
You began to move, a slow, rolling grind of your hips. His hands came up to grope your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples, his eyes dark with pleasure as he watched you use him. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Fuck yourself on me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it, my good pet.”
You rode him, building a slow, building rhythm, your inner walls fluttering around his thick shaft. The soreness faded into a deep, throbbing pleasure, a sweet ache that built with every rise and fall of your hips. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and he took the opportunity to capture your mouth with his.
His tongue slid between your lips, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as he’d claimed the rest of you. It was a slow, sensual duel, a messy exchange of breath and taste. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the intimacy of it, the feel of his mandibles against your cheeks.
He broke the kiss, his hands coming up to frame your face. “Look at me, my pet,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion.
You opened your eyes, meeting his burning amber gaze.
He held it as he began to thrust up into you from below, meeting your downward strokes, driving even deeper. The change in angle, the intensity of his stare, the feel of him moving inside you—it pushed you over one final, breathtaking edge. Your climax was a silent, shuddering release, a pulse that seemed to originate in your soul and radiate outward, milking his cock with weak, fluttering contractions.
He followed you, his hips stuttering, his grip on your face tightening just a fraction as he emptied himself into you for what felt like the third, impossible time, another hot flood joining the others already inside you.
He then sat up with his cock still inside, shifting seamlessly into a more intimate hold. His warm arms enveloped you, pulling you flush against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your mouths met again in a deep, languid kiss. His tongue played with yours, exploring with gentle insistence, tasting of salt and desire.
As you made out, he started to move you, his hands gripping your ass firmly but tenderly, guiding your hips in slow, circular motions. You ground down onto him, matching his upward thrusts, the friction reigniting the fire in your core. Straddling him like this, you felt every inch of him, the ridges stimulating you anew.
Your tongues danced, a wet, heated tangle, as your bodies moved in sync. The kiss grew more fervent, his mandibles framing your face, careful not to hurt. Pleasure built once more, a slow burn that crested into ecstasy. You came first, clenching around him with a muffled cry into his mouth, your body shuddering in his arms.
He followed suit, growling deeply as he came inside your pussy again, his release mixing with the previous loads, filling you beyond capacity.
You sat there for a while, entwined, his cock still buried deep as your breathing slowed. He held you close, his hands roaming your back in soothing patterns. When your heart rate steadied, he gently flipped you over onto your back amid the furs, his movements careful and loving.
He pulled out slowly, and a torrent of cum spilled from you, soaking your thighs and the furs beneath. The sight seemed to please him, a low purr rumbling from his chest. He pushed your legs up slightly toward your chest, exposing you fully.
"Let me clean you, my pet," he murmured, his voice husky. "Let me lick you clean."
His head dipped between your thighs, his long tongue lapping at the mess with deliberate strokes. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue delving into your folds, swirling around your clit, tasting the combined essence of your releases. The sensation was exquisite, overstimulating yet soothing, and it built another wave of pleasure. You came again from his tongue alone, a soft, trembling orgasm that left you gasping.
When you were all clean, he lay next to you, pulling the warm furs over your naked body. He held you close, his arm draped possessively over your waist.
"How do you feel, my pet?" he asked, his amber eyes searching yours.
You smiled weakly, sated and content. "Thank you, Master. I feel... safe. Loved."
He leaned in, kissing you softly once more. "I will always take care of you," he vowed, his voice a solemn promise. "Keep you safe from storms, from enemies, from everything. You are mine, and I am yours. Rest now, in my arms."
You nestled against him, the storm outside forgotten, replaced by the warmth of his embrace. In this palace on a distant world, you were his cherished captive, and in that moment, it felt like home.
Summary: The fearsome Jotun, worshipped as a god, grows restless when the only human who treats him as more than a monster stops giving him attention.
The first time the villagers called him a god, you almost laughed. Not because he was not terrifying enough to deserve the title, but because they said it as if the massive figure standing at the edge of the forest was something divine rather than something very real, physical, and capable of tearing through anything and anyone without so much as slowing down.
You had seen him up close and you knew better.
He was not a god.
He was something far more dangerous and, as you would come to learn, far more complicated.
The others called him Jotun.
A giant of the mountains, a creature of war that brought death to those who strayed too far into his territory.
You called him nothing at all, at least not at first because when he had found you, injured and alone after a raid that had scattered your people, he had not spoken, had not even approached immediately.
He had simply watched you and when you did not scream, did not run, did not bow… he had stepped closer.
That was how it began.
Now, seasons later, he stands just beyond the village once more, watching.
He does that often.
Standing at the edge where forest meets open field, his presence alone was enough to keep most people from wandering too far without reason.
The others avoid him.
They always do. They lower their heads. They whisper. They move away.
But you…
You walk straight past him.
Because you are used to him and he is used to you.
At least, that is how it has always been.
Until recently, you have been busy.
The village has needed you.
Injuries from hunting, sickness from the cold, small accidents that turn serious when left unattended, all of it falling into your hands because you are one of the few who knows how to treat more than just surface wounds.
And so your days have filled, and so did your nights.
Time that once you spent with quiet walks near the forest’s edge, to and conversations that no one else would dare attempt, even with moments where a massive, silent hunter would sit beside you.
All that time has been given elsewhere.
You do not notice it at first, you only notice when he speaks.
“You neglect your duties.”
The voice is low, rough, and unfamiliar to most but not to you, it makes your chest tighten just slightly when he uses it.
You glance up from where you are kneeling beside an injured hunter, your hands stained with dried blood as you work carefully to wrap a wound along his arm.
“My duties?” you repeat, blinking slightly in confusion.
He stands behind you.
Closer than usual.
“You attend to them,” he says, his eyes flicking briefly toward the man you are helping, then back to you. “You have not attended to me.”
For a moment, you simply stare at him, then, a small breath of amusement escapes you.
“I didn’t realise you needed tending to.”
“I do not.”
“Then what am I neglecting?”
He does not answer immediately, instead, he remains where he is, is silence.
“You have been absent.”
You shake your head lightly, returning your attention to your work.
“I’ve been busy.”
“I see that.”
Something in his tone makes you glance up again.
There is something in his eyes, you see it, but you choose to ignore it.
That is your second mistake.
Over the next few days, he becomes impossible to ignore.
Before he would watch from a distance, now he is always there. Standing just outside whatever space you occupy.
Silently.
Unmoving.
Watching.
If you move, he moves. If you leave one place, he appears in another not long after.
At first, the villagers grow uneasy.
Then they begin to avoid you as well, unwilling to be too close when the so-called Jotun has decided that your presence is where he will remain.
It becomes inconvenient.
You are tending to a child’s fever when he steps inside the hut without warning, his large frame forcing him to duck.
The child’s mother immediately backs away.
You sigh.
“What are you doing?”
“You are needed elsewhere.”
“I am needed here,” you reply, not even looking at him as you adjust the cloth on the child’s forehead.
“You have been here long enough.”
“I have not.”
Without warning, he reaches down and takes the bowl of water from your hands.
“What are you doing?”
“This is inefficient.”
“Give that back.”
“No.”
You stare at him. He stares back.
The child whimpers softly.
You press your lips together, irritation rising deep in your chest.
“You cannot just interrupt me every time you decide I’ve spent enough time with someone else.”
“They are not important.”
“They are to me.”
That stops him, but only for a second.
But you notice it immediately.
The slight shift in his posture.
The way his mandibles tighten just slightly.
“They are weak,” he says.
“They are human,” you counter.
“So are you.”
“Yes,” you say firmly. “And I still choose to help them.”
A moment of silence, then he slowly sets the bowl back down, but he does not leave.
He watches you give your time, your attention, your care to others, and every time, something in him seems to grow more agitated, though he refuses to admit it.
Until you finally have enough and snap a couple of days later.
“What do you want from me?”
The words come sharper than you intended, frustration finally busting through as you turn to face him fully, your arms crossing over your chest.
“You follow me everywhere, you interrupt my work, you scare half the village just by standing there, and you refuse to explain why.”
He does not answer immediately, instead, he looks at you.
As if he is trying to find something in your expression that will give him the answer he refuses to say aloud.
Then he looks away.
He makes his usual clicking noises, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you have ever heard it.
“You have not touched me.”
You blink.
“What?”
“You have not, in many days.”
For a moment, the frustration drains out of you entirely, replaced by something else. Something close to laughter.
“That’s what this is about?”
He does not respond. Which is answer enough.
You step closer until you stand directly in front of him, close enough to see the faint changes in his breathing, the tension in his shoulders.
“You could have just said that,” you murmur.
“I did.”
“Finally.”
He huffs slightly, a low sound of clear dissatisfaction.
You smile, then you lift your hand and touch him.
Your fingers brushing against his arm, tracing the cold skin, then moving higher, resting briefly against the side of his face, just under his mandibles.
The reaction is immediate.
Subtle to anyone else but not to you.
His entire body relaxes, the tension that had been coiled tight through him for days loosens all at once, his shoulders lowering just slightly, his head tilting ever so faintly into your touch as if he cannot quite help it.
You watch it happen, and you smile.
“You’re calmer now,” you tease gently.
“I was always calm.”
“You were brooding.”
“I was not.”
“Yes, you were.”
He does not argue further, but instead, he remains where he is, close to you, not moving away.
When you finally pull back, he does not follow, but he does not step away either.
“Will you ignore me again?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter.
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“You were.”
“I was busy.”
“That is the same.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then do not be busy for so long.”
“I’ll try.”
That seems to satisfy him for now.
He turns around, stepping back toward the doorway, but not before pausing just long enough to glance at you once more.
As if he is making sure you are still there.
Still his.
You offer hims a smile and when he leaves, the space does not feel as heavy.
Because you know, he will be back, and next time… you won’t make him wait so long.
Summary: A desperate human escapes the arena and finds the one person he should never have threatened, the King’s mate.
Your son is warm against your chest.
Even through the thin cloth wrapped around him, you can feel the gentle rise and fall of his tiny body as he sleeps. His small claws curl softly against your skin. Every few breaths, he makes a quiet little noise, something between a sigh and a hum.
You stroke the smooth ridges along the side of his tiny head.
“Shh, I'm here.”
The room around you is quiet and safe.
Your home sits deep within the structure, far from the roaring arena where warriors prove their strength. Your mate made sure of that when your belly first began to grow with new life.
Still, you know the sounds of the arena when they carry through the stone.
Roars. Metal. The echo of violence.
Today is one of those days.
You shift slightly on the bedding and wince.
The healer told you to rest. Your body is still recovering from bringing your son into the world only days ago. Your abdomen aches if you move too quickly. Your muscles feel weak. Everything inside you still feels tender.
But you do not mind the pain.
Not when you look down at him.
Your son.
Half human. Half Yautja.
Perfect.
He yawns, opening a tiny mouth filled with barely visible little teeth. You laugh softly and press a kiss to the top of his head.
“You are going to rule the stars one day,” you murmur.
A sudden crash echoes through the corridor.
Your body freezes.
Your heart begins to beat faster.
That sound did not belong here.
Your home is guarded. Secure. No one comes here without permission.
Another sound follows.
Footsteps.
Running.
Your stomach tightens as fear fills your chest.
Then the door bursts open.
A human man stumbles inside.
He is covered in blood. Some of it is clearly not his own.
His clothes are torn and dirty. His chest heaves as he drags air into his lungs like a drowning man who has just broken the surface of the water.
For a moment, the two of you simply stare at one another.
Shock locks your body in place.
His eyes widen.
Then they drop to the small shape in your arms.
Everything changes in his face.
Recognition.
Hatred.
“You,” he breathes.
Your grip tightens around your son.
The man laughs. The sound is ugly and sharp.
“Oh, that is rich. The king’s little pet.”
Your heart begins to pound harder.
“Please. Leave.”
Instead, he steps further into the room.
Your son stirs at the rising tension. A small whimper escapes him.
The man notices.
His smile grows wider.
“That thing yours? Half one of those monsters?”
Your son begins to cry.
The sound slices through your heart.
You pull him closer to your chest, rocking him instinctively.
“It is alright,” you whisper desperately. “Mama’s here. It’s alright.”
“Shut that thing up!” the man snaps.
Your eyes fill with tears.
“Please,” you say again.
He runs a hand through his dirty hair and begins pacing like a trapped animal.
“I saw the fights, I saw what they do. What they make people do.”
His gaze snaps back to you.
“But you.”
He points at your son.
“You sleep with them. Have babies with them.”
The words drip with disgust.
Your son cries harder at the shouting.
You feel your fear growing.
“You are going to help me,” the man says suddenly.
You shake your head.
“No.”
“Yes, you are.”
He steps closer.
“You are their queen or whatever they call you. That means you can get me out of here.”
Your pulse hammers in your ears.
“No,” you repeat.
His face twists with anger.
“You do not get a choice!”
He lunges forward.
That is the moment your instincts finally take over.
You turn and run.
Your son clutched tightly against your chest.
Pain flashes through your abdomen the second you move too fast. Your body protests violently after the recent birth.
But adrenaline drowns it.
Behind you, the man shouts.
“Hey! Get back here!”
Your bare feet slap against the cold floor as you race into the corridor.
You know this place.
He does not.
You run left.
Then right.
Through a long hall lined with carved stone.
Your son cries loudly against your chest, but you keep whispering to him between ragged breaths.
“It’s alright… Mama’s got you… Mama’s got you…”
Behind you, the footsteps continue.
He is still chasing you.
“Stop! You are going to help me whether you like it or not!”
Your lungs burn.
Your abdomen aches worse with every step.
But then you see them.
Warriors.
Three towering Yautja are standing guard at the far end of the corridor.
Relief floods your chest.
You stumble toward them.
“Help!”
The warriors turn instantly.
Their masks tilt as they assess the situation in a heartbeat.
Then the man bursts around the corner behind you.
Weapons lift.
The warriors move.
And the hunt is over.
You collapse to your knees the moment safety surrounds you.
Pain spreads through your abdomen as exhaustion crashes over you.
Your son wails in your arms.
Then another presence arrives.
A towering shadow moving with terrible purpose.
Your mate.
The King.
He drops to one knee beside you immediately, massive hands gentle as they steady your shaking body.
His deep voice rumbles with alarm.
“My Queen.”
You look up at him, breathless and trembling.
“There was a man. He escaped the arena.”
Behind you the human begins shouting again as the warriors hold him.
Your mate slowly rises to his full height.
The temperature in the corridor seems to drop.
“You entered my Queen’s home,” the King says.
The human laughs nervously.
“You are monsters. All of you!”
The King says nothing more.
His wrist blades extend with a soft metallic click.
The man’s shouting ends moments later.
Silence returns.
Then your mate kneels beside you again.
His large hand cups the side of your face with infinite care.
“You are safe.”
But your body is still shaking.
You glance down the corridor toward your home.
And suddenly it does not feel safe anymore.
Your whole body trembles.
The world around you feels distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart. Your son cries against your chest, his tiny claws gripping the fabric of your clothing as he presses himself into you.
“It’s alright,” you whisper weakly.
But your voice shakes.
Large hands gently touch your shoulders.
The King kneels in front of you again, his towering frame shielding you from the rest of the corridor. Even with his mask, you can feel the intensity of his gaze studying you, searching for injury.
His voice rumbles low and deep.
“My Queen… look at me.”
You lift your head slowly.
His mandibles twitch with tension. The usually calm, controlled ruler looks dangerously close to losing that control entirely.
“You ran,” he says.
You nod.
“He came into the house. He just barged in. I didn’t know what to do.”
Your arms tighten around your son instinctively.
“He started yelling. He scared the baby.”
Your son whimpers as if remembering the moment.
The King leans closer, one large claw carefully brushing the small ridges of the infant’s head.
The touch is gentle.
“Our son,” he murmurs softly.
Your baby hiccups between cries.
Then his attention returns to you.
“You are hurt.”
It is not a question.
You shake your head quickly.
“No. Just tired.”
But as you try to stand, pain flares sharply through your abdomen.
You gasp.
The King moves instantly.
Before you can protest, strong arms slide beneath you and lift you effortlessly from the ground.
Your breath catches.
“I can walk,” you insist weakly.
His deep voice answers immediately.
“No.”
You are already resting securely against his broad chest, your son still tucked safely between you.
“You should not have been running.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
The King begins walking down the corridor, warriors falling into step behind him.
“You had the choice of calling for guards,” he replies.
“He was already inside.”
That stops him for half a second.
Just long enough for the tension in his body to grow.
His mandibles tighten slightly.
“He entered our home,” the King repeats quietly.
“Yes.”
A low growl vibrates deep in his chest.
“You were alone.”
You swallow.
“Yes.”
The growl deepens.
The warriors behind him remain very silent.
Your mate continues walking, but you can feel the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
“He frightened you,” the King says.
“He frightened our son,” you answer softly.
Your baby makes a soft little sound as if agreeing.
The King glances down.
His massive hand gently adjusts the blanket around the small infant.
For a moment, his expression softens.
Then you whisper the thought that has been sitting heavy in your chest.
“I don’t want to go back there.”
The King stops walking.
The corridor falls completely silent.
He looks at you.
“Explain.”
Your voice trembles slightly.
“He got in too easily. I thought it was safe but it wasn’t.”
You glance at your son.
“What if someone else comes?”
Your eyes return to your mate.
“I cannot protect him alone.”
Something changes in the King’s posture.
The words strike him deeper than any weapon.
“My Queen, you were never meant to protect him alone.”
“I know, but today I had to.”
Your mate exhales slowly.
You can feel the guilt settling heavy in his chest.
“My warriors failed.”
“They didn’t,” you say quickly. “The man escaped the arena.”
“That is failure.”
His voice hardens with quiet fury.
“He should have died before he ever reached this level.”
You reach out and gently touch the side of his jaw.
“It’s over now.”
The King stares at you for a long moment.
Then he begins walking again.
“We will not return to that home.”
Relief floods through you.
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
Your mate turns down a different corridor, one that leads deeper into the royal section of the complex.
“You will have a new residence. Far from the arena. Far from the prisoners.”
Your chest tightens with gratitude.
“Thank you.”
The King glances down at you.
“I do not refuse my Queen.”
Soon, you reach a wide chamber filled with soft light.
The healer waits inside.
The moment she sees you being carried, she rushes forward.
“My King.”
Her eyes move quickly over your body.
“My Queen, what happened?”
“An intruder,” the King answers.
The healer’s expression darkens.
“Put her here,” she says, gesturing to a large resting platform.
Your mate carefully lowers you onto the bedding.
You finally release a long breath.
The healer gently examines your abdomen.
You tense slightly when she presses the tender muscles.
“You ran too soon after birth,” she says.
“I know,” you admit.
“But the baby is fine,” you add quickly.
The healer smiles softly.
“Yes. He is strong.”
She looks up at the King.
“Your Queen is not injured. Only exhausted. Her body is still healing.”
The King stands very still beside the bed.
“Will she recover?”
“Yes,” the healer says calmly. “She simply needs rest.”
You already feel the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids.
Your mate notices immediately.
He kneels beside the bed again.
“You should sleep.”
You glance down at your son.
“He’ll wake soon.”
“I will watch him.”
You hesitate.
The King reaches out and gently brushes your hair away from your face.
“You are safe here.”
The words settle deep inside you.
For the first time since the intruder burst through your door, your body begins to relax.
You carefully place your son beside you on the bedding.
He squirms sleepily but does not wake.
You lie down slowly.
Your mate remains beside the bed like a silent guardian.
Your last sight before sleep takes you is the King watching over both of you.
Unmoving.
Unbreakable.
Protecting everything that belongs to him.
Sleep takes you quickly.
Your body needed it more than you realised. The moment your eyes closed, exhaustion pulled you under like deep water. The ache in your muscles fades into the background and the frantic fear that once filled your chest finally loosens its grip.
For a time, everything is quiet.
Then something wakes you.
Absence.
Your arm reaches out across the bedding automatically, searching for the warm little shape that had been curled beside you.
Your hand touches empty fabric.
Your eyes snap open.
Panic crashes through your chest so fast it steals the air from your lungs.
You push yourself upright.
Pain fills your abdomen, but you ignore it completely.
“Where is he?”
Your voice comes out breathless.
Your gaze flies around the chamber.
Then you see them.
Across the room, near a large window carved into the stone wall, your mate stands with something small and wrapped in his arms.
Your son.
The King holds the infant carefully against his chest, one massive hand supporting the baby’s back while the other steadies his tiny head.
Relief floods your body so powerfully that you nearly collapse back onto the bedding.
Your heart slows.
“Oh.”
The sound escapes you in a soft breath.
Your son is awake.
He is not crying.
Instead, he makes a series of soft babbling noises while waving his tiny arms.
Your mate tilts his head slightly as if studying him.
The baby squeaks.
The King rumbles something back in the deep clicking language of his people.
Your son answers with another little noise.
For a moment, you simply stare.
They look like they are having a conversation.
You watch your enormous, battle-hardened mate gently adjust the small blanket wrapped around the baby.
The baby makes another bubbling sound.
The King replies again.
You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you.
Your mate turns his head.
His gaze lands on you instantly.
“You are awake.”
His voice is quieter now, softer than it was in the corridor earlier.
You nod slowly.
“You stole him.”
“I protected him.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“From me?”
The King walks back toward the bed.
“You were sleeping.”
He kneels beside you again and gently places the baby into your arms.
Your son immediately curls against your chest like a tiny magnet finding its place.
He lets out a satisfied little grunt.
You kiss the top of his head.
“I was terrified when I woke up,” you admit.
The King watches you carefully.
“My Queen, you are not alone here.”
“I know.”
You glance up at him.
“But I did not know if someone had taken him.”
Your mate’s posture stiffens slightly.
“No one will ever take him.”
You believe him.
Still, your arms tighten around the baby instinctively.
Only then do you notice the small tray sitting beside the bed.
Food.
Warm broth. Fresh fruit. Soft bread.
Your stomach growls loudly.
You blush slightly.
The King tilts his head.
“You have not eaten.”
“I forgot.”
“You should not forget.”
He gestures toward the tray.
“Eat.”
You shift carefully on the bedding, still cradling your son while you reach for the bowl of broth.
The warmth spreads through your hands.
The first sip makes you realise just how hungry you actually are.
You eat slowly while your mate watches the two of you.
Your son babbles again between small, sleepy movements.
The King answers him once more.
“What are you telling him?” you ask with a smile.
“I am explaining the world.”
You laugh softly.
“He’s three days old.”
“He should begin learning early.”
You take another sip of broth.
“And what has he said in return?”
Your mate pauses.
“He disagrees with many things.”
That makes you laugh.
When the tray is finally empty, your body feels much stronger than before.
You carefully set the bowl aside.
Then you reach out and gently touch your mate’s arm.
“You stayed with us.”
“I will always stay with you.”
But something in his voice feels heavier than usual.
You study his face.
“What is wrong?”
The King lowers his gaze slightly.
For a moment, he says nothing.
Then he finally speaks.
“I failed you.”
Your heart sinks.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes. A human entered our home. You ran through the halls with our newborn child while your body was still healing. That should never have happened.”
You shake your head.
“Escapes happen.”
“Not near my Queen.”
Your mate looks at you again.
The intensity in his eyes burns stronger now.
“If you had fallen… if the human had reached you…”
He does not finish the sentence.
He does not need to.
You reach for his hand.
“I’m alright.”
“But you were afraid.”
You nod honestly.
“Yes.”
The King’s chest rises slowly with a deep breath.
Then he straightens slightly.
“I will correct my mistake.”
You tilt your head.
“How?”
“You will live further from the arena.”
Your eyes brighten.
“New residence?”
“Yes.”
His voice grows steadier now, filled with determination.
“A larger place. Safer. Guarded by my most trusted warriors.”
Your son makes a soft chirping noise as if approving the idea.
Your mate glances at him.
“You will have space to grow,” he tells the baby.
Then his gaze returns to you.
“And my Queen will have peace.”
Your chest warms.
“You would really do that?”
“I would build you a palace if you asked.”
You smile softly.
“I don’t need a palace.”
Your fingers gently trace the tiny ridge along your son’s head.
“I just need somewhere safe.”
The King nods once.
“You will have it.”
He stands slowly, towering beside the bed.
“Tomorrow we will move you.”
Your eyes widen.
“Tomorrow?”
“I will not risk another night.”
The determination in his voice makes your heart flutter.
Then his tone softens slightly.
“You will help me make it a home.”
You smile.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
Your son wiggles in your arms again and makes another small babbling sound.
The King looks down at him.
“What does he say now?” you ask.
Your mate pauses.
Then he answers in a serious tone.
“He says he approves of the idea.”
You laugh again, warmth filling the room.
For the first time since the intruder entered your life, you feel something else stronger than fear.
Hope.
A new home.
A safer world.
And a future for the small life sleeping peacefully in your arms.
---
The move happens quickly.
Your mate does not waste time when he makes a decision.
By the next morning, the corridors outside the healer’s chamber are busy with warriors moving supplies. Large crates are carried past the door, along with bundles of soft fabrics and personal items taken from your previous home.
You sit on the edge of the resting platform while holding your son against your chest.
The healer had insisted you eat again before leaving.
Your mate had insisted you rest.
Neither of them seemed interested in arguing.
Now the chamber door slides open.
The King steps inside.
The movement in the room seems to calm immediately around him. Even the warriors in the corridor fall silent as their ruler enters.
Your mate approaches slowly.
His gaze moves first to you.
Then to the small infant in your arms.
“Our son slept well?” he asks.
You smile softly.
“For most of the night.”
Your son makes a small squeaking sound as if responding to the attention.
The King crouches beside you.
One large finger gently brushes the tiny ridges on the baby’s head.
“He is strong,” he murmurs.
“He is loud,” you reply.
That earns a soft rumbling sound from your mate that almost resembles laughter.
“It is time.”
Your stomach flips with nervous excitement.
“The new place?”
“Yes.”
He reaches down and carefully lifts you into his arms before you can even think about standing.
You sigh.
“I can walk a little.”
“You will not.”
You know better than to argue.
Your son remains safely pressed between you and the King’s chest as he carries both of you through the corridors.
The path you take is unfamiliar.
Further from the roaring echoes of the arena.
The sounds of battle slowly fade until the only noise left is the quiet hum of the structure itself and the steady footsteps of the warriors escorting you.
You relax a little more with each turn.
Finally, the King stops before a large set of doors carved with intricate markings.
He nods to the guards.
The doors slide open.
You inhale softly.
The space beyond is enormous.
Light pours through several tall openings in the walls. The chamber is wide and open with high ceilings and smooth stone floors. Several connecting rooms branch off in different directions.
A large resting platform already sits near the centre of the main chamber, covered in thick blankets and soft fabrics.
There are shelves, seating areas, and even a smaller alcove that looks like it was designed specifically for a child.
Your eyes widen.
“It’s beautiful.”
The King steps inside with you still in his arms.
“I hoped you would approve.”
You look around slowly, taking everything in.
“It’s huge.”
“It will hold everything you need.”
You laugh softly.
“It might hold three families.”
“That means our son has room to grow.”
Your heart melts a little.
He carries you over to the resting platform and gently lowers you onto the soft bed.
Your son squirms slightly before settling again.
The King remains standing nearby.
Warriors begin quietly placing crates and supplies around the room.
You look up at him.
“You did all of this overnight?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
His mandibles twitch slightly.
“I gave orders.”
You shake your head in amazement.
“You really are the King.”
His voice grows quieter.
“But I was not a good protector yesterday.”
You sigh.
“That again.”
“Yes.”
He kneels in front of you, his towering form lowering until his eyes are level with yours.
“I must say it.”
Your hand rests gently on your son’s back as you listen.
“I allowed danger to reach my Queen. A human entered our home and frightened you. You were forced to run while still healing from giving life to our son.”
His claws tighten slightly against his thigh.
“That failure belongs to me.”
You study his face.
The fierce warrior who rules countless hunters looks almost troubled.
“My King, you didn’t fail.”
“But the intruder reached you.”
“And you stopped him.”
The King shakes his head slightly.
“You should never have faced that fear.”
You consider his words carefully.
Then you reach forward and place your hand over his much larger one.
“You protected us.”
His eyes soften slightly.
“I should have protected you sooner.”
You squeeze his hand gently.
“Well,” you say quietly, glancing around the new home. “You did a pretty good job fixing the problem.”
That earns another low rumbling sound from his chest.
The King finally stands again.
“This place is further from the arena. No prisoners ever pass this level.”
He gestures toward the large open space.
“There will always be warriors guarding these halls.”
You nod.
“I feel safer already.”
Your son suddenly makes a loud babbling noise.
Both of you look down.
The baby waves his tiny arms dramatically.
The King tilts his head.
“He has something to say.”
“Oh?” you smile. “What now?”
Your mate watches the baby very seriously.
“He demands more space for his territory.”
You laugh out loud.
“He’s a few days old.”
“He is ambitious.”
You gently kiss the baby’s forehead.
“He gets that from his father.”
The King studies the room again.
“You will arrange it as you wish,” he says.
“Arrange it?”
“Yes.”
His voice carries quiet pride.
“This is your home now. You may change it. Build in it. Fill it with whatever makes you comfortable.”
You look around again.
The space suddenly feels even more special.
“Our home,” you whisper.
“Our beginning,” he corrects.
The King steps closer and carefully places one large hand over both you and your son.
The gesture is protective.
Possessive.
Loving.
“My Queen, no harm will reach you here.”
You believe him.
You lean back into the soft bedding while your son curls happily against your chest.
The King remains standing beside you like an immovable guardian.
Battles rage in the arena.
But here, far from the violence, something new begins.
A home.
A family.
And a future for the small life that now sleeps peacefully in your arms.
A/N: The above photo is from Pinterest, I do not own it!
Summary: While Kwei is away on a hunt, you give birth to your son with the help of the clan’s women.
The night Kwei leaves, his hand rests over your stomach longer than usual.
He does not speak at first. He rarely does when his thoughts are heavy.
“I should stay. The time is close.”
You smile up at him, tired but certain.
“And when our son is born, you will not leave at all. This hunt matters. You should go.”
His mandibles twitch, frustration and fear blended.
He presses his forehead to yours, a gesture that still makes your chest ache in the best way.
“I do not like distance,” he murmurs.
“I know. That is why I trust you to return.”
You smile as he leans over and places his forehead against yours. He breathes you in, settles in your scent.
He leaves at dawn.
The labour begins before the second sun sets.
It is nothing like the stories you were told among humans.
Pain comes in waves that steal your breath, sharp and ruthless, but you are not alone. The women of the clan surround you without question. Strong hands steady you. Warm cloths press against your skin. Voices rise and fall in a rhythm.
They calm you. They protect you. They teach you how to breathe.
How to endure.
How to bring life into the world without fear.
When your son is finally placed against your chest, slick and warm and crying, something inside you breaks completely.
He is beautiful.
Broad brow. Strong jaw already evident. His skin bears the faint patterning of his father’s kind, darker along the temples and spine.
But his eyes.
Human eyes. Soft. Blinking up at you, unfocused and curious.
You cry quietly as you hold him. The women applauded you with soft words and affection.
Kwei returns at dusk two days later.
He arrives carrying an impressive trophy, armour scarred, posture proud. The clan gathers to witness his return, murmurs rising in approval.
Then he sees you.
You are seated near the hearth, wrapped in furs, your arms full.
He stops dead.
The trophy slips from his grasp and hits the ground with a heavy thud.
“Kwei,” you say softly, smiling at him.
He crosses the space in three long strides, kneeling in front of you, eyes locked on the small bundle against your chest. His breath stutters, a sound you have never heard from him before.
“You gave birth."
You nod.
“He is healthy.”
Anger flashes through him. Not at you but at himself.
“I was not here, I should not have left.”
You reach out, placing your hand against his cheek.
“You left because I asked you to, and I would ask you again.”
His eyes lift to yours, torn.
“You endured pain without me.”
“I was not without you. Your clan stood with me.”
You move, carefully lifting your son and holding him out.
“Meet him.”
Kwei freezes.
For a moment, the great hunter looks uncertain, almost afraid.
Then he reaches out, arms trembling slightly as he takes the child into his grasp.
The baby quiets instantly.
Your son studies his father’s face, blinking slowly, then curls his small fingers around one of Kwei’s.
Kwei makes a sound that can only be described as pure happiness.
“He looks like me,” he whispers.
You smile.
“Except his eyes.”
Kwei nods, overcome, holding the child as if the world might shatter if he moves too quickly.
“I will never leave again,” he says fiercely.
You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“You will. But when you do, he will know you always return.”
Kwei lowers his forehead to his son’s.
“I was taught to be strong. You taught me to be whole.”
You watch them together, father and son, and feel a certainty settle in your chest.
synopsis: Your mind raced, desperate to survive, but as your body drained the last bits of adrenaline, an impending doom settled in. Would it catch you?
a/n: I am sorry for the long periods between posts, the pieces sit in my drafts, suffering as I torture them for days, weeks... This is a shorter blurb. I’m thinking of materializing a longer storyline, but I’ll see.😊
content warning: use of knives, drowning, slight choking (on water), dark body of water mentioned and described in detail, blood mentioned, suggestive in parts, mature content
yautja vocab: oomani-di -> human woman
masterlist
You groan.
A blunt, numbing ache bloomed across your fingers. The rough leather handles bit into your palms as your knives swooshed through the night. Sweat slid down your temples as your heart slammed against your ribs—wild, desperate, unrelenting. Each pulse driving you forward.
Adrenaline crackles in your skull, skewing thought, flooding your veins with a high, feverish hum. Your footsteps hammer the earth in rapid bursts. Each one a promise. Each one a prayer.
Run. Just run.
Your breath scrapes raw against your throat as it rips past your lips. Lungs flushing with cold air, pushing against your ribs, straining to keep you alive. You tear through the vast field, blazing towards the comforting rush of water. A river.
Your clothes whip forward as your heels screech to a sudden stop, teetering at the rivers edge. You hesitate.
The water roars, black and violent, tearing through the land like an unleashed beast, slithering against the riverbed. The dirt trembles beneath your feet, soft and treacherous. You hover on the edge, toes grazing the void, mind a haze of instinct and panic.
But you stand for a moment too long. Your caution dooms you.
The ground collapses.
The river seized you, dragging you down into its icy grip. A hollow scream fades as it swallows you whole. The cold sinks its teeth into your flesh, mercilessly tearing through the ruined fabric clinging to your body.
With a greedy gurgle, the world above vanishes and you are left floating in the darkness. The pounding in your chest the only rhythm in the quiet.
For a heartbeat, the surface was still. The land indifferent. The sky a faint shimmer reflecting on the dark surface below.
You explode upward, breaking through—gasping, choking, knives still clutched tight. Air pours into your lungs like fire as you gulp it down in short, greedy lungfuls. You spit the river out, thick and cold.
You have no time.
The current slams into you again, hurling you downstream. Your boots fill with water, dragging you under like heavy anchors. You shove at them, wiggling desperately before you kick them free, letting the river claim them. Lighter now, you paddle upwards, clawing your way to the opposite bank.
You seize the black sludge ahead, fingers digging in viciously as you desperately haul yourself onto land, the river regurgitating you ashore.
Your muscles scream as you push upright, trembling, the ache spreading deep into your bones. You stand barefoot and numb, feet blackened by the strange dirt, skin muddied by the river.
Silence consumes the world. A low buzz drums in your head.
You turn, hopeful.
Maybe you escaped.
Maybe the river saved you.
Then you stiffen. There it stands, across the river, its vicious gaze cutting through the dark. But as your eyes widen, the beasts’ only sharpen, calibrating.
You stumble back. The knives slip slightly, then you clamp down tighter, your last defense against whatever had followed you from the dark.
Swift, like a shot, you hurtle towards the forest. Branches snap behind you as the floor muffles your steps. For a fleeting breath you imagine splintering into the green, cutting in any direction, disappearing. The ground is soft and firm, it won’t give you away.
But the trees are a maze. The trunks all the same, the shadows repeating themselves like a mocking chorus. You spin, heels carving the soft soil, tearing the grass, breath wheezing too fast. The forest narrows around you.
A cold twist curls in your gut. You’re trapped.
You panic, knives raised, palms slick. Your head jerks on a hinge, every nerve straining. The quiet thickens until you can taste it.
A sound—low, patient—uncoils from the undergrowth. A faint push of a bush. A gentle shove as something large moves past.
Close. Closer.
You move, your body carrying you before your brain can connect the dizzied neurons. You sprint up, shoving towards elevation like a startled animal.
You climb, perching on a thick branch, shrouded beneath the canopy. You peer through the leaves like through cracked blinds. Cautious and relenting, you lurched in the darkness, feline limbs carrying you across the sharp stump. Each shift of bark a sharp echo beneath you.
The forest hums with false safety. The darkness drapes a distorted surety across your mind.
As your heart slows its fluttering, unease slithers back in.
A soft crunch—subtle, but unmistakable. The grim zing of crushed branches sang quietly. Something massive moves below. Ominous and violent.
The foliage swallowed most of the view, but through a thin slit of leaves you see the moonlit clearing. And there it stands—a towering, muscular silhouette. A slow, searching predator. It noses the ground, scanning the shrubs like a metronome. It does not know where you are. The river’s chill clings to your skin, masking your scent, body still numbed by the cold.
Your feet shift—tangled, aching.
Crack.
Bark snaps beneath you. The broken piece drops, thumping on the ground. Your heart plunges.
You mutter a curse, looking down, hoping—praying—that it went unnoticed. But then you see them. Two piercing orbs flash upward, locking onto you with frightening certainty.
Impossible.
Time blanks. Fear smothers reason. Instinct snaps free.
You launch yourself from the tree, ripping through the leaves, knives slicing the air, ready to carve flesh as soon as it meets you.
But the creature slides aside with infuriating ease as if expecting you. Predicting you.
You fall—air slaps your face—the world condenses into a single, violent direction: down.
Before your body hits the ground, a single blade—sharp, threatening—whistles through the air, carving towards the beast. But pain crashes into your skull as you smack against the ground with a sickening thump, the impact blurring everything into a dizzy smear.
Your eyes flutter open to the sound of metal plunging into its target. You shoot up, your head ringing, hips aching.
Your knife sits lodged in the tree beside you.
Useless.
Your face falls.
One blade short and body dizzied, you heave, toes digging the grass in preparation, steadying yourself.
But as you gripped the knife further, it towered above you. Tilting its massive head. Intrigued.
It stood across from you. Patient and studying.
The black rubbery locks swayed against its broad chest. Muscles rippling beneath taut reptilian skin. Its strength radiates, coiled and savage.
It draws a long, terrifying blade from the gauntlet on its wrist, taunting you.
A dare.
You lunge beneath its guard, slicing across its calf. It snarls—deep, furious. You brace your hands and shove hard against the bend of its knee, sending it crashing down with a violent boom.
Awe flickers across your face. You jump while it’s disoriented, pouncing for its throat.
Straddling its heaving chest, you dig your heels into its elbows, feet planted against the cushion of its arms. Your eyes flick to the wicked blade still attached to its wrist. Securing yourself atop your downed opponent, you lift your knife above its eyes. A promise of violence.
The world narrows. Its breath warms your face. Its pulse beating against your thighs.
Gently, the blade glides through the air as you draw the knife to your lips. The metal kisses your skin—cold, biting. Green liquid clings to the blade, trickling down your chin.
Your hand trembles, a feathered thing. You don’t intend bravado. You wish to know. To prove.
The blade touches your tongue and the taste hits intensely—iron, acid and a wet, unfamiliar tang that makes your eyes water.
You swallow.
In a flash, large palms hug your hips, talons digging into your waist.
The beast has a name now; it’s vulnerable and bleeding.
It growls beneath you, the vibration rippling through your body, electric.
It writhes, patience thinning, preparing to cut the moment short. In promise, you press the knife to its throat. A fierce, fleeting superiority flares inside you.
“Got you”, you breathe, cutting stern, but your voice betrays you with a tremor.
A low, terrible rumble answers. “Have you?”
In a blink, your knife flies above you, your eyes darting helplessly, following the shiny flash. In a flurry of rough shoving and agonizing grunts, you lay subdued. Pinned. Crushed under his weight.
You gaze into his eyes. Your eyebrow quirks. A sly smirk curls the corner of your lips. Your palms slide over his chest, nails scraping gently as they scratched leisurely toward his neck.
He snarls, rough hips pressing against your core, the heat radiating through you as he cages you with his body. His warmth drags a groan from your throat as you wriggle beneath him.
“Little oomani-di’s getting dangerous.”, he rasps.
You giggled—breathless—before a warm, sudden swipe slithers across your neck. He licks you, tasting your skin. You shove at him halfheartedly, but it only riles him more. Your earlier ferocity turning him on rather than warning him off.
Your knife at his throat never scared him. It seduced him.
The sounds of the forest melt into a distant blur as you rustled in the dark—no longer hunted, no longer afraid.
The night presses close, intimate. The darkness no longer troubling you.
.
.
😏
I hope you enjoyed. And as usual a little gif with love. 🫶
I’ll sneak ya another one just bc I love Scar and Lex :)
Summary: When your half-Yautja son’s instincts lead him to act out, it is up to your mate to teach him the true meaning of strength and honour.
The shriek of frustration echoed through the walls of your home, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing on the ground.
You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temple as the pounding in your head only grew worse.
Your son, your beloved but utterly disobedient little half-Yautja son, was once again throwing a tantrum.
You had tried everything, calm words, firm commands, even attempting to hold him still in your arms like you used to when he was smaller.
But now, at three years old, he was stronger, faster. His Yautja blood made him stubborn, his instincts urging him to challenge, to push, and to dominate.
And unfortunately, today, you were his chosen target.
“Gah-dee!” he growled in his broken mix of Yautja and English, knocking over a chair. “Weak! No listen!”
You took a slow breath, trying to keep yourself calm.
He had been testing you all day, grabbing at things he shouldn’t, growling when you corrected him, ignoring your words entirely.
But the last straw came when he yanked your arm too hard, his tiny claws scratching across your skin.
The sting was minor, but the intent behind it cut much deeper.
Your eyes darkened. “Enough.”
Your voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.
He bared his tiny fists, but when he saw the look in your eyes, hesitation flickered across his face. Even as young as he was, he knew he had pushed too far.
Before he could say another word, a shadow loomed over the both of you.
Your mate had been observing quietly, his sharp golden eyes taking in every act of disobedience, every defiant glare your son had given you.
He had waited, as Yautja fathers did, to see how you would handle the challenge.
But now, as his son crossed a line, he stepped in.
Your child's defiance momentarily stopped at his father’s presence. “You dare wound your mother?” The deep voice sent a shiver down your spine.
Your son huffed, attempting to puff out his chest, but your mate only tilted his head, calm but dangerous energy radiated off of him. Like a predator watching its prey.
“Mother is weak,” your son muttered, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. “No fight. No strength.”
A deep, rumbling growl filled the air.
Your mate knelt before him, gripping the back of his tiny neck in a firm but controlled gesture, an unmistakable sign of dominance in Yautja culture. Not meant to harm, but to force submission.
Your son froze, his tiny claws twitching as he looked up at the father he so desperately wanted to impress.
“Strength is not in claw or fang alone,” your mate said, his voice slow and deep. “It is in restraint. It is in wisdom. It is in honour.”
Your son blinked, confusion evident in his eyes.
“She gave you life,” your mate continued, tilting his head toward you. “She has nurtured you, taught you, protected you. And you dishonour her?”
Your son shifted uncomfortably, his small mandibles twitching.
He was still too young to fully understand, but he knew his father’s disappointment was something he did not wish to bear.
Your mate released him, watching as he hesitated before turning to you. His large eyes, so much like his father’s, were filled with uncertainty and regret.
“I… I sorry.” His voice was small now, a stark contrast to the loud defiance of moments ago.
His little hands twitched as if wanting to reach for you but not knowing if you would allow it.
Your anger had not fully vanished, but as you looked down at your son, you saw past the misbehaviour of the child who simply wanted to find his place between two completely different worlds.
You knelt down and held your arms open.
He hesitated only for a moment before running into your embrace, his small body trembling as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.
“I love you,” you whispered into his hair. “But you must never hurt me again.”
He sniffled, his small arms tightening around you. “I be good. I promise.”
Your mate’s approving growl was low but unmistakable.
He reached out, resting a large hand on both of you, solidifying the bond between the three of you. You looked at him, silently thanking him.
Parenting a half-Yautja child was never going to be easy, but as your son curled closer into your arms, you knew one thing for certain.
Love, honour, and strength would guide you.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
and what if I ignore my actual projects to come up with another prompt 🫣
“Yeah, best negotiator my ass,” you muttered, grabbing fistfuls of that ridiculous ceremonial dress and hiking it up so you don’t face-plant the second your boots hit the ramp.
Another week of smiling until your face hurts while ancient killers bicker over who gets to hunt what. You’re so over it your jaw aches just thinking about it.
If anyone else had dared send you on this errand, you’d have laughed in their face.
But when the King of the Yautja, your father in every way that counts, gives an order, even you bite your tongue and board the damn ship.
He found you as a screaming infant on some torched human colony and carried you home like a trophy that happened to be breathing. You’ve never seen Earth. Never felt real rain or the warmth of the sun against your skin.
Yautja Prime is all you’ve known, blood-red skies, gravity that makes your spine creak and a palace full of towering death machines who drop to one knee when you walk by even though you’re soft-skinned, breakable and barely come up to their chests.
Your father spotted the talent early. Said you could talk a queen off her throne or a Hard Meat into surrendering with nothing but that sweet human voice and a crooked smile. So he sharpened it.
Drilled you until words became blades. Now half the treaties keeping the outer clans from tearing each other apart are written in your handwriting.
You’re the best there is.
And you’re done.
Something’s been clawing at the inside of your skin lately, hot, hungry, painfully human. You craved noise that rattles your bones. Bodies pressed too close. Music so loud you can’t hear yourself think. You wanted to taste something that wasn’t recycled air and duty.
You’ve watched the young Yautja stumble back to their homes at dawn, dreads wild, blood smeared across scarred chests, clicking laughter echoing down the halls. You want that. Just once, you want to vanish into a crowd where nobody knows you’re the king’s fragile human daughter.
Where nobody’s afraid to lay a hand on you.
You stepped out of the ship, cursing under your breath as the stupid dress tried to murder you on the ramp again. Fingers twisted in the heavy fabric, as you yanked it up to your shins.
Your guard is already on your right, exactly one stride back, exactly the same distance he kept the entire trip. You never told him where to stand, he just… placed himself there.
Like a shadow that decided it belonged to you.
The King assigned him the morning of your departure without ceremony. Just one low growl across the throne room: “Kel’Rakur goes with you. Discussion over.”
You had glanced up long enough to take him in. Not the biggest Yautja you’ve ever seen, maybe seven-three, seven-four if he straightens all the way, but there was something wound tight beneath the armor. No trophies clattering on his belt. No bragging scars. Just silence and eyes that locked onto you and haven’t looked away since.
You still hadn’t heard his voice. Not once.
Three days in the ship and the only sounds he had made were the soft clicks of his mandibles when he breathed and the occasional low growl when some junior pilot got too close to you in the corridor.
He never sat, never ate in front of you, never slept where you could see. Just stood. Watched. Mask tracking every flicker of movement like he was waiting for the universe to give him an excuse.
You tried ignoring him. Then you tried provoking him, blasting music through the ship’s speakers, leaving the cockpit door open while you danced in the pilot’s chair just to see if he’d react.
Nothing.
He had simply turned the volume down with one claw when it got too loud for navigation and went straight back to watching you.
You were already mapping the city in your head, neon districts, back-alley clubs, the kind of places a princess isn’t supposed to know exist.
You’ve done it before, snuck out, got blissfully wrecked, stumbled back before anyone noticed. But something told you Kel’Rakur noticed everything. Something told you he would report to the king the second you stepped out of line.
You let the dress drop, squared your shoulders and painted on the polite princess smile you had perfected over the years.
Smile. Nod. Sign whatever they shove in front of you.
The ramp clanged under your boots. One more step and your dress got caught again, ready to send you sprawling in front of the honor guard waiting below.
Fantastic first impression.
Then a huge, clawed hand appeared at the edge of your vision, scarred, olive brown, sliding under the trailing hem of your dress and lifting it just enough for you to walk without tripping.
You froze for just a second.
“…Thank you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them, startled.
He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He just let the fabric fall once you were on solid ground, stepped back to his exact one-stride distance and resumed being a silent statue of barely-contained violence.
The negotiations wrapped up so fast you almost felt insulted.
A couple of smiles, one carefully worded compromise and suddenly the Sylthari king was clasping your hand like you’d just handed him the keys to the galaxy.
His son, Serion, hadn’t taken his eyes off you once. Tall, broad-shouldered, skin the color of storm clouds shot through with silver markings, tusks polished to a gleam. Every time you spoke he leaned a little closer, pupils blown wide like he was trying to memorize the way your mouth shaped foreign words.
When the ink dried and the elders shuffled off to toast their own cleverness, Serion’s grin turned sharper.
“My father insists on a tour,” he said, voice low and warm. “But I know something better.”
That something better turned out to be a freight elevator that dropped you three levels under the ground, into a world of pounding bass and strobing violet light.
The air hit you first, hot, thick with sweat and spiced smoke and something sweet that made your pulse race before you even took a sip.
“Finally,” you breathed, the word slipping out raw and grateful.
Your ceremonial dress looked ridiculous here, floor-length fabric threaded with Yautja runes, but nobody cared.
A laughing Sylthari with glowing tattoos shoved a drink into your hand the second you stepped through the archway.
It tasted like fire and honey and went straight to your cheeks.
Serion’s big hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you deeper.
“Come. Let me teach you how we move.”
The crowd parted for him before he hoisted you up onto a raised platform that throbbed under your boots.
The music slammed into your ribs, an addictive beat that had your hips rolling before you even decided to dance.
Serion stepped in close behind you, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. His palms were warm through the thin fabric, thumbs tracing the curve of your sides as he showed you the rhythm.
You caught it instantly. Of course you did. You’ve spent your whole life reading rooms, reading people, so reading bodies was just the fun version.
You let your head fall back against his shoulder, hair spilling loose from your braids, and laughed loudly like you’re never allowed in the palace.
The strobes painted everything in electric purple and white. Hands grabbed yours, spun you, pulled you into a circle of Sylthari who encouraged you to move with their rhythm.
Somewhere in the haze you remembered the shadow that was supposed to be glued to your side.
You turned, half-drunk already, scanning the purple sea of bodies.
There.
Kel’Rakur hadn’t followed you onto the platform. He stood at its edge, half swallowed by darkness, mask reflecting the strobes in violent flashes. Motionless.
But even from here you could feel the tension rolling off him, shoulders rigid, claws flexing at his sides, mandibles probably flaring inside the mask every time someone got too close to you.
Serion’s hands slid lower, fingers brushing the bare strip of skin the dress left exposed above your hips. You let him.
You wanted the heat, the friction, the proof that you weren’t untouchable.
Kel’Rakur took one step forward. Just one.
Something hot and dangerous coiled low in your belly, sharper than the alcohol.
You lifted your glass in a mocking little toast, tipped your head back and drained it in one go. The burn felt like victory.
Until it didn’t.
Your smile faltered the next second. Kel’Rakur bending at the waist, slowly, like a mountain deciding to bow.
The Sylthari on their knees, some pretty little thing with silver skin and glowing tattoos, had their hands clasped like they were begging a god for mercy. Their friends were howling, slapping the floor, shouting encouragements in three different dialects.
You had been ready to laugh at him. Ready to watch the stoical Yautja freeze while a drunk alien begged him to step on them.
But then he reached down, slid one arm under their knees and the other behind their back, lifting them like they were made of glass. He carried them through the crowd, moving slow so no one jostled them, then carefully handed them off to their laughing friends.
The Sylthari clung to his neck for a second, blubbering something about undying love before passing out cold.
Their friends howled, hauling the limp body away while slapping each other on the back.
It was funny.
Until it wasn’t.
Why the hell was he gentle with them and icy with you? Why did a random drunk stranger get cradled in those arms while you got nothing but silence and cold distance?
“Princess?”
Serion’s voice came warm against your ear.
He had bent all the way down to your height, concern flickering in his silver eyes.
“Hm?” You couldn’t look away from Kel’Rakur. Another Sylthari had already zeroed in on him, this one bolder, fingers sliding into his thick rubbery dreads, tugging playfully, mouth moving with obvious intention .
“Yeah?” you answered Serion absently, watching Kel’Rakur just stand there, arms folded again, letting himself be touched.
“Excuse me for a second,” you muttered, already moving.
Your feet carried you across the platform before you could talk yourself out of it.
The crowd parted without you having to ask.
“Excuse me,” you said, planting yourself right in front of the new admirer.
They didn’t even glance down, too busy tracing the ridges of Kel’Rakur’s chest plate.
“Excuse me!” You shouted louder this time, sharp enough to cut through the bass.
That got their attention. The Sylthari blinked, looked at you and immediately dropped into a sloppy bow. “Oh! Princess!” A bright, tipsy smile. “Didn’t see you there!”
They were sweet and you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.
“Don’t touch my guard,” you said, voice flat and cold.
The Sylthari’s gaze flicked up to Kel’Rakur for confirmation. He gave them one slow nod.
Only then did they step back, leaning up on tiptoes to whisper something right against the side of his mask before darting off with a giggle.
You didn’t catch the words, but the intimacy of it made your skin burn and your stomach twist.
“Move,” you snapped at their lingering friends and they scattered.
Then it was just you and seven feet of armored silence.
“What the hell are you doing?” You had to shout over the music.
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at you, arms still crossed, body language infuriatingly relaxed.
“Why are you interacting with them?” you demanded.
And then for the first time during your whole trip, he spoke.
“Is there a rule that says I’m not to interact with them?”
The voice that came through the mask was low, rough, like dark gravel poured over fire.
You blinked. Actually blinked at his deep voice, almost startled.
“There is now,” you shot back, tilting your head up defiantly.
Your eyes flicked to the dark voids of his mask, flashing red for a split second, as if responding.
He leaned down slowly, until the front of his mask hovered inches from your face. His dreadlocks slid forward over his shoulders, heavy strands brushing your bare arms. A soft, clicking sound rolled out of his throat.
“I’m in your command, Princess,” he said, making the title sound mocking.
The last syllable tilted up, light and taunting, like he was daring you to do something about it.
Your heart pounded against your chest.
He stayed bent over you, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his skin, close enough that the next word out of your mouth came quieter than you meant.
“Then act like it.”
You couldn’t even name what was twisting in your gut and that made you twice as pissed.
You spun on your heel with a sharp little scoff, stormed straight back to Serion, grabbed his wrists and slapped his hands onto your hips.
“Dance,” you ordered, flashing the sweetest smile you had.
Serion didn’t need telling twice. His fingers dug in, greedy and eager, pulling you flush against him. You let him. You even hooked an arm around his neck, threaded your fingers through his hair, buried your face against the warm skin of his throat like you were craving for it.
But your eyes never left Kel’Rakur.
He hadn’t moved. He stood there, dreads gleaming under the strobes, arms tight over his chest. Watching.
Always watching.
Go ahead, you thought, smiling to yourself . Run back to my father and tell him what a disgrace I am.
Then that same silver-skinned Sylthari from earlier came stumbling back, tears already shining on their cheeks again. They latched onto his forearm like a lifeline, mouth moving a mile a minute, begging.
Kel’Rakur didn’t even glance down.
His mask flared red, once, twice, long enough for you to notice. A signal aimed right between your eyes.
You smirked, thinking you had him in the palm of your hand.
The smirk lasted exactly half a second.
Because he moved, one smooth motion, a big hand cupping the back of the Sylthari’s head, the other sliding under their thighs, and he lifted them against his chest like they weighed nothing. They squeaked, arms flying around his neck, before he turned and vanished into the crowd.
Just like that.
Your whole body froze. Serion kept moving, grinding to the beat, but you were a statue in his arms. Heat rushed to your face so fast your ears rang. Embarrassment, rage, something deep in your stomach.
He had looked you dead in the eye and disobeyed your orders anyway.
You shoved out of Serion’s grip without a word. He called after you, confused, but you were already moving, feet stomping, shoulder-checking anyone too drunk to get out of your way.
The music changed as you pushed deeper into the club, darker now, heavier, the bass crawling inside your chest. You scanned every corner, every shadow, your breath coming short and fast.
“Where the fuck—”
“Who are you looking for?”
The voice came from right behind you, low and rough enough to make the soft hair on your nape stand.
You whipped around so fast you nearly tripped.
He had found you before you find him.
He looked massive this close, bigger than he ever had on the ship, bigger than he had any right to.
The purple lights turned his dark olive skin strange shades of violet and black, made the thick ropes of his dreadlocks look wet and alive. The mask reflected your own furious face back at you.
You opened your mouth and nothing came out. Just a sharp inhale that tasted like him, earthy, metallic and strangely sweet.
He tilted his head now, slow, waiting for you.
You still couldn’t find words. All you could do was stare up at him, heart pounding against your chest like it was trying to claw its way out and throw itself at his feet.
He took one step closer.
The space between you shrank to nothing.
“Where the fuck did you go?” you snapped, voice cracking over the music.
“Does it matter?” he fired back with the same bite. “I’m here now.”
The bass was so loud it felt like fists against your skull. You hated that you had to shout at him. Hated that he didn’t.
“What is it, Princess?” His mask tilted again, in that same mocking way.
“The king’s son not good enough company for you?”
You shoved him hard, both palms slamming into his chest.
Nothing. He was a wall. A warm, breathing, taunting wall.
“That didn’t answer my question,” he said, low and smug, arms folding again so the muscle flexed under your hands like he wanted you to feel exactly how little your push had done.
You bared your teeth.
“You’ve got a real big mouth for hired muscle. That going in the report to the King too?”
He leaned down until the mask filled your whole vision. “Want me to tell him what you’ve been doing for the last three hours as well?”
His breath fogged the inside of the mask, you heard it, heavy and close. You had nothing now, words stuck in your throat again.
“You damn—”
“Are you ready to leave?” he cut in, head cocked like he already knew the answer and was just enjoying the game.
“Fuck you,” you spat, spinning away.
You stormed back toward the dance floor, snatching two glowing glasses off a passing tray. One went down your throat in a single, brutal swallow that you instantly regretted.
You whirled, slammed the second glass against Kel’Rakur’s chest plate hard enough to spill neon over his armor.
He caught it without looking, flicked it over his shoulder like trash and followed you.
The drink hit you like a ship jumping to outer space.
One second you were marching, the next your legs forgot their job.
You staggered back, dizzy, burning from the inside out and fell straight into his arms. His hands grabbed onto your shoulders, steadying you while his dreads rained down around your face, thick and cool and smelling like smoke and something sweet again that made your head spin worse.
You growled and tried to jerk free. But just as you took one step, you almost kissed the floor.
He yanked you back by the waist, rough, possessive, hauling you against his chest. Your cheek smashed into cold skin where his armor didn’t cover. His heart thundered under your ear, strange double-beat, too fast.
“Let me go,” you mumbled into his skin, but you didn’t move. You pressed harder, chasing the chill of his skin against your burning face.
His talons brushed your hair back slowly. Then the pad of his hand swiped across your lips, wiping away the spilled drink. You whined, annoyed and shoved at him again.
“Go find your little worshipper, you asshole—” you slurred, palms smacking against his chest. His arm only locked tighter around your waist, pinning you harder against all that heat and metal.
You gave one last drunk shove. This time his grip loosened, slow, steady, like he was proving he was letting you go because he wanted to, not because you made him.
Your hands stayed planted on his chest. His mandibles clicked sharply, right next to your ear.
He bent down, the cold edge of his mask brushing your cheek.
One clawed hand came up, pushing your hair back from your face like he had every right to. His talons barely grazed your skin, but it lit you up like a match.
“I’ll be watching you,” he growled, voice so low you could barely hear it.
Goosebumps exploded across your skin, your breath stuck in your throat and you couldn’t even swallow.
Then he was gone, the crowd swallowed him whole, or maybe you were just too fucked up to track him anymore.
“Princess?”
Serion’s hand landed on your shoulder, gentle, worried. He tugged you over to his group, sat you down on some low couch that smelled like smoke and spilled liquor. His thigh pressed warm against yours.
“I can’t help but wonder,” he murmured, leaning in, “is he more than just your guard?”
You barely heard him. Your head was full of bass and that rough whisper still echoing, skin still burning where his claws had touched. For the first time ever he hadn’t acted like a silent weapon on a leash. He had touched you like he wanted to. Warned you like it mattered.
You blinked and tried to focus on Serion’s face. “What?”
He just smiled softly and let it drop.
A red dot slid across his cheek, quick and precise, gone in a blink.
Your head snapped toward it, drunk reflexes somehow still razor-sharp.
But nothing was there now. Just bodies and strobes, moving in rhythm with the music.
But you felt it. No… you felt him.
Eyes crawling over every inch of you, slow and greedy and pissed off. Like he was memorizing exactly who you were sitting next to, exactly how close Serion’s hand was to your thigh.
Something hot bloomed in your chest. Power. Victory. Whatever this was, you liked it. Liked knowing he was somewhere in the dark losing his goddamn mind while you sat here untouchable.
You blamed the drink.
But you knew you were lying to yourself.
You snatched Serion’s hand and dragged him back into the crush, his friends trailing behind like a tail. The floor pulsed under your feet, the beat so thick you could chew it. You shut your eyes, let the music take your body, finally enjoying yourself.
Your hands found a warm body. You slid your palms up someone’s ribs, slow and intimate. Didn’t matter whose ribs they were. In your head they were colder. Rougher. Claws running down your sides. Thick dreads dragging across your cheek while a low growl told you exactly how much trouble you were in.
Your eyes flew open.
“What the fuck,” you breathed, jerking back from the random Sylthari you had been grinding on. They blinked, confused, but you were already shoving through bodies again, lungs burning, head spinning.
This was insane. You were drunk-dialing your own brain and it kept picking up with Kel’Rakur’s voice.
You were searching for him, for the second time tonight. And that filled you with shame.
You spotted the balcony earlier, second floor, perfect sightline for that little red dot. You took the stairs two at a time, anger shoving you forward faster.
And there he was.
Sprawled across a low couch like he owned the place, legs spread wide, thick arms stretched along the backrest. Two Sylthari were putting on a private show three feet in front of him, hips popping, glowing skin slick with sweat, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing in the room worth dancing for.
“Is that how you fucking guard someone?” You planted yourself right in his line of sight, arms crossed so hard your nails dug half-moons into your skin.
He didn’t move. Barely tilted his mask. “Thought you didn’t want me breathing down your neck.”
“My neck is literally your job!” you yelled over the music.
He leaned forward then, slow, elbows on his knees, claws lacing together. “What, the prince’s not keeping you entertained?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You took a step closer. “You’re my guard, not—”
“Hey!” The word ripped out of you when his hand shot out, hooked your hip and yanked. One tug and you were off balance, dropping onto the couch beside him, his palm still burning over your dress.
He pointed one claw toward the main floor, straight down to where Serion stood scanning the crowd for you, his worry clear even from up here.
“My eyes,” he said, voice rough, “never left you.”
Heat slammed into your cheeks, but scoffed to cover it. “Yeah? Then why the private dance show?”
“I can multitask.”
A low, rolling click came from under the mask as he laughed.
“Unbelievable.” You shifted closer without meaning to, your thigh brushing his.
“What happens if someone jumps me right now, genius? You gonna finish your lap dance first?”
He turned his head. The mask was so close you had to lean back a little.
“How fast,” he rumbled, taking one of his dreadlocks between two clawed fingers, rubbing the thick tip, “do you think I am, Princess?”
Your mouth went dry. Words piled up behind your teeth, but nothing came out again.
He leaned in, just enough that his next words brushed the shell of your ear.
“I’m pretty fucking fast.”
You shot to your feet, knees wobbling but pride holding you up. “We’ll see about that.”
You started for the stairs.
“Careful down there, Princess,” he called after you, lazy and smug. “I might not catch you this time.”
“Shut up,” you threw back, the words snarling out of your throat.
You didn’t look back.
He was absolutely going to regret poking this fire.
You dropped onto the couch next to Serion, the cushions bounced, the music punched your ribs and that stupid drink was still crawling in your bloodstream. Your skin felt too tight, too hot, especially where his hand had been.
Fuck…
You could still feel it, the confident, almost reckless touch of his palm gripping your hip like he had been waiting all night to do it. Not a rescue grab, not a “princess is falling” reflex. That had been pure possession. And your body had answered like it was begging for it.
Serion said something beside you, but the words never registered. You just stared at the half-empty glasses on the table, neon liquid glowing under the lights, while two Sylthari across from you made out. Every time their lips met, their skin flashed this soft, electric blue that had you stare in awe.
You blinked at them. Humans definitely didn’t do that with their skin. You doubted Yautja did either, you had witnessed enough of their “affection” back home to know.
You wondered if Kel’Rakur made that low clicking sound when he kissed, like all Yautja do.
What…
You blinked again. And again.
Your own brain refused to admit what you had just thought.
Why in Paya’s name would you think of him while thinking about kissing?
You rubbed your face, trying to scrub the thought out of your skull, but it didn’t work. Something settled in your stomach, annoying, heavy, familiar.
That gut feeling you had been ignoring.
This whole night, the sneaking out, the drinks, the grinding on strangers, the starting fights you knew you couldn’t finish, wasn’t about freedom. It wasn’t about Serion or the Sylthari or finally living like a normal human being.
It was about poking the one bastard in the universe who wasn’t allowed to poke back.
You didn’t want to party.
You wanted to be reckless enough that he would have to punish you for it.
You wanted those cold, calloused hands dragging you out of the fire you started. Wanted that growling voice in your ear telling you in how much trouble you were in while his grip said you’re going to regret this.
You wanted your guard to snap.
And the worst part?
You were sober enough now to know it. Drunk enough not to care.
You knocked back the rest of whatever was in front of you, the burn barely registering anymore and let a slow, dangerous smile curl across your mouth.
Your eyes snapped up to the second floor, head tilting just enough to catch the glint of his mask in the dark. Three tiny red dots flared to life, blinding bright for a split second before they slid down your body like a slow touch. Across your cheek, down the line of your throat, lingering over your chest, tracing your stomach, dragging over your thighs until your skin burned under the attention.
He was watching. Always watching. Counting every beat of your heart, every flush of heat, every stupid little shiver.
You lifted your hand and waved, slow and mocking, fingers spread wide. The dots locked onto your palm, held there and then flicked back to the hollow of your throat.
A shaky laugh slipped out of you. He was way more dedicated than you ever gave him credit for.
And fuck, that did something to you worse than any drink tonight.
You stood up, legs wobbling but moving anyway, letting the crowd pull you back into the crush of bodies. The lasers followed, painting targets on your shoulders, your collarbones, the curve of your neck every time you moved to the rhythm.
Then big hands clamped around your waist from behind.
“Different little thing, aren’t you?” a rough voice rasped against your ear, hot and sour with booze. “So easy to just… take. No one would even hear you shout down here.”
Your whole body went cold.
You twisted, palms slamming down on the Sylthari’s wrists. “Get the fuck off me.”
He only laughed and yanked you back, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “Relax, pretty. I’ll be gentle.”
“No—” You shoved again, weaker this time, the alcohol turning your muscles weak.
“No, stop—”
He wasn’t listening. His grip tightened, dragging you flush against him and you felt how much stronger he was, how easily he could break you in half.
Serion was yelling somewhere behind you, voice cracking with panic, but it sounded muffled, far away.
Then a mouth landed on your neck, wet, invasive, teeth tearing skin that didn’t belong to him.
A bile rose in your throat. Tears stung instantly, hot and humiliating. You clawed at his neck, nails raking deep, drawing blood, but he just growled and pinned your wrists with one hand like it was nothing.
You sucked in a ragged breath and in that same second the Sylthari’s head snapped back like a broken doll. One second his tongue was on your skin, the next his neck was wrenched at a sickening angle, a huge arm locked around it, squeezing the life out with terrifying ease.
Kel’Rakur.
You stumbled back, swiping the back of your hand across your face, then frantically scrubbed at your neck like you could burn the memory off your skin.
The Sylthari dropped to his knees, clawing at the forearm choking him. You stepped forward without thinking, palm slapping across his face so hard your hand stung.
“Touch me again and I’ll have your head on a spike,” you hissed.
He tried to look away, but Kel’Rakur’s free hand clamped onto the bastard’s forehead and forced his eyes back to you.
“Apologise,” Kel’Rakur snarled, voice raw gravel. The red glow in his mask burned hotter, dreads spilling forward like a curtain of living shadow.
The Sylthari choked, face turning purple. When the words didn’t come fast enough, Kel’Rakur’s arm flexed and something in the guy’s throat crunched.
“I’ll fucking kill you right now,” he growled against the Sylthari’s ear, loud enough for you to hear every syllable, “say the word.”
Your pulse was roaring in your ears. You couldn’t look away from him, how effortless it was, how casually he held a life in one arm like it meant nothing.
The apologies spilled out, wet and desperate. Kel’Rakur finally released him. One brutal kick between the shoulders sent the Sylthari sprawling face-down at your feet, begging for mercy.
You didn’t even glance down. You stepped over him and headed straight for the Yautja who torn through a crowd for you.
“Hey, what took you so—”
His hand shot out, locked around your upper arm and suddenly you were moving. Fast. He dragged you through the panicked crowd, out a side exit, into the narrow alley behind the building where the music dulled to a muffled throb.
“Hey!” You yanked back.
“Let go—”
He didn’t. If anything his grip got tighter, claws pricking your skin as he hauled you deeper into the dark.
A massive hand slammed flat against your chest, pinning you to the wall behind you. His free hand ripped his mask off violently and flung it aside, clattering across the ground loudly.
Your body went rigid.
His face filled your vision for the first time.
Tusks gleaming, mandibles flared, eyes glowing that feral yellow even in the shadows. He dropped his head instantly, his dreads sliding forward and he hovered over the exact spot on your neck where that bastard had put his mouth.
A growl built in his chest, low and long, vibrating through the hand still pinning you.
He didn’t touch the mark. Just breathed over it, hot and shaking, like he was seconds from licking it clean or tearing the memory out of your skin with his teeth.
Slowly his head lifted. His eyes locked on your lips first, then dragged up to meet yours.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything except stare back while every inch of space between you burned hot with your breaths.
His palm was still flat over your sternum, but the pressure had eased, just enough to let you breathe, not enough to let you forget who was in control.
“Open your mouth.”
The words came out low, almost soft, but they hit like a slap. You blinked fast, then parted your lips before your brain caught up.
His thumb hooked under your chin, rough callus grazing your skin as he tipped your head back. Yellow eyes narrowed, scanning the inside of your mouth like he was looking for traces of someone else.
“Where else did he put his mouth on you?” His voice had deepened now, a growl wrapped around every syllable.
“Just my neck,” you managed, the air between you suddenly felt too thick to swallow.
His hand slid up from your chest, until his palm curved around your throat. Thumb pressing gently into the hollow beneath your jaw.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low, almost careful, like he was scared the answer might send him right back into that club to finish what he started and completely ruin the treaty you had managed with the Sylthari.
But his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. They were fixed on your lips, burning there, jaw clenched so tight you could hear the faint click of his mandibles grinding. The only thing keeping him from turning around and snapping that Sylthari’s spine the rest of the way was the thin thread of control he was clinging to.
You nodded, barely a dip of your chin and he looked at you now.
His thumb kept moving, slow, soothing circles in the hollow of your throat, right over the spot where your pulse was still hammering.
“Is that what you came here for, Princess?” His gaze dropped to your mouth again. “To drink and fuck until you can’t stand?”
The question hung there, filthy and heavy.
You swallowed against his thumb.
“Pretty much.” Honesty tasted bitter this time. “But I didn’t start anything with that Sylthari. He grabbed me and—”
He tilted his head the other way, as if questioning you.
“I just wanted to have fun,” you finished, quieter, eyes dropping to the broad chest rising and falling in front of you.
“Your fun consists of getting fucked up?” Each word dug deeper into your skin like a knife.
“Why?” You lifted your chin and found his stare again. “Did you worry about me?”
A low snarl rumbled out of him. “I was going to kill him, Princess.” He leaned in until his mandibles nearly brushed your cheek, voice dripping acid. “Still might.”
Your pulse kicked against his thumb, heat flooding south so fast it made you dizzy.
“If you’d come a minute earlier,” you said, voice steady even though your knees weren’t, “none of this would’ve happened. I thought you were faster than this.”
Something dangerous flashed behind his eyes.
You were sober now, adrenaline and pure spite burned the booze right out of you.
“Did you get too busy with your little dancers?” you snapped,“you were supposed to have your eyes on me—“
“My eyes are on you. Always.”
His hand slid from your throat to your shoulder, pinning you harder against the brick like the wall itself had grown claws.
“Not enough, apparently.”
He leaned in, dreadlocks spilling forward, brushing your cheeks. “Want more of my attention, Princess?”
The growl melted into something darker, teasing, dangerous. You felt it in your stomach and you couldn’t ignore it this time.
“You’re supposed to keep me safe,” you shot back.
“Orders never said anything about saving you from drunk aliens who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” His breath hit your forehead, hot and spiced. “You were just trying to—”
“To have fun. I know,” you cut in, scowling.
“Did you really have to damn near get assaulted just to make me snap?”
You opened your mouth, but closed it. Heat flooded your face, because he wasn’t wrong.
“If you wanted my attention,” he murmured, both massive hands planting on the wall beside your head, caging you in without touching, “all you had to do was ask.”
You swallowed hard.
“Do you think I can’t see how your body reacts?” His voice dropped, an unusual velvety tone. “I was trained to read prey’s pulse. Yours is going feral every time I’m close.”
Your arms wrapped around yourself like that could somehow hide the truth.
Because you did want his attention. Watching him handle those Sylthari, touching them without hesitation…it had burned something low in your stomach. A desperate, infuriating need to drag his attention back to you.
“Even now,” he said quietly. “I can see the heat on your face. Hear your pulse spike.”
His head tilted, mandibles moving with slow, teasing clicks.
“What is it that you want, princess?”
You tried to swallow, but your throat was bone dry.
Your hand lifted on its own, fingertips brushing the side of his face before your index finger hooked gently around one mandible, drawing him toward you.
“Your attention,” you whispered. “That’s what I want.”
He let you pull him down until his forehead rested against yours, sweet, warm breath washing over your face and you clenched your jaw as you inhaled it, almost dizzy from the scent alone.
“Can you leave this out of your report?” you breathed.
He laughed, a low, rolling sound that vibrated through both of you.
“You think I have a death wish?”
He let you guide him in, your tongue giving a soft lick to the edge of his mouth, tasting alcohol he definitely wasn’t supposed to have drunk on duty. He opened for you instantly, tongue sliding along yours, slow and hungry.
Then he moved.
His mouth dropped to your neck, right over the spot that Sylthari had bit.
An angry growl vibrated against your skin.
“He tried to mark you.”
“I don’t think Sylthari mark their mates like Yautja—”
You didn’t get to finish. His tongue dragged over the bite, hot and wet, and then his teeth sank in, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to mark.
A shocked moan slipped out of you. Your hands shot up, fisting his dreads, pulling hard.
He growled against the fresh mark, satisfied, his breath ghosting over your skin.
“Now they’ll know,” he rumbled,mouth still over the bruise he had just made.
Your grip tightened in his hair until he hissed, almost sounding pleased.
“Careful, Princess,” he whispered against your ear, mandibles clicking softer than any Yautja you’d ever heard.
“No one’s here to save you from me.”
His hands finally dropped to your waist, palms spreading wide, thumbs tracing slow circles over your stomach like he was mapping territory.
You glanced down at the way he held you, possessive, greedy, not planning on letting go.
“If only my father knew,” you said, a shaky smirk tugging at your lips.
He laughed again, mandibles flaring in shared amusement.
“Who’s gonna tell him?” His eyes gleamed. “Because it sure as hell won’t be me.”
You had come to this planet hunting trouble.
Turns out trouble had been stalking you the whole damn time, seven feet tall, masked, and finally done pretending he wasn’t starving for you.
a/n: I… I don’t know what happened here. The taunting and the heat was just so pleasing to write 🫣 I’m eagerly waiting for your comments 🤭
synopsis: Going hunting with your mate, meanwhile a bet is in place on who gets to the kill first, but things take an unexpected turn…
a/n: I am liberating this out into the void. This started out as an idea and lead here. Please note that english isn’t my first language therefore if you’ve noticed any grammatical errors, no you didn’t. Hate isn’t welcome on this blog, I will rid this space of any form of hatred. This wasn’t intended as a stand-alone part. Depending on the interaction I will post another part. Without further ado, enjoy.
content warning: hunting fetish, primal play fetish, mention of blood in a sense of scrapes, plot with smut, yautja universe, mature themes
masterlist
You despised the heat of this accursed jungle. The humidity slowly seeped into your clothes, rough material sticking to your skin. The accumulated sweat causing irritating friction and painful rubbing with each movement. The air around you dense, pressing on your lungs. If it so happened that the heat subsided for a moment, then you started noticing the incessant buzzing of the strange insect-like creatures around you.
The environment was making you irritable, which was unlike your usual self. The worst part about this whole scenario is that he knew. The moment he chose this planet, he knew these factors would offset your game, giving him an advantage in the start.
What came as a light-hearted bet, a spur of the moment when he let slip a comment which you mistook as underestimation, now became regret. Given your stubbornness and strong will to persevere and prove yourself, even if he deems it unnecessary as you are invaluable in his eyes, you would conquer this till no strength remains in your body. You are willing to put your body on the line in order to win this wager and be seen as a true hunter. Picturing yourself proudly lugging home a trophy and putting it on display in your shared hut kept you pushing.
Being a proud, fierce yautja always teeming at the possibility of an exciting hunt, he couldn’t find himself skipping out on the idea of sharing his culture with you in such a way. He wouldn’t openly admit that your hunting with him makes him beam with rapture. Instead, he concurs that the bet is an opportune moment for you to prove his teachings or “skill refinements” bear fruit.
Feeling remorseful for letting him pick the hunting grounds, seeing as he has the best insights and expertise in this area, you push on through the lush foliage and the heavy air.
You keep following the holographic map projector on the control panel securely attached to your wrist. The metal cold in contrast with your burning skin. He specially made it for you when he saw your rising interest in potentially hunting with him. The device sitting snugly on your wrist and forearm having never once failed you.
You try to shift your losing focus from swatting the relentless insect-shaped pest off your face and onto getting to the hunting grounds. Swatting at it, your hands flying about, you couldn’t miss the familiar sound from behind you. Unmistakable rapid clicking of his mandibles, sowing no doubt that he found this extremely amusing.
Not sparing a second, you shot him a look of warning only to be met with fierce yellow eyes already locked on your form. Taunting.
Seeing how intently he had been watching you shot an intense tingle up your spine. You fluttered your eyes before quickly looking away and regaining focus.
Realizing how self-assured he was at proclaiming himself the winner of your little wager when it hadn’t yet properly started made you huff in annoyance. Your brain zapped, quickly turning up an idea.
He thought he could rig the game with sticky heat and some slimy insects. Well, two can play at this.
After a while of uncomfortable trekking, with him following suit just a few feet behind you, you come to a slow stop. You’ve come to the edge of the jungle now only hidden by large foliage, robust tree columns and some knee-height bushes sprinkled about.
Properly taking in your surroundings, you briefly close your eyes. Taking a long inhale, feeling the high humidity of this planet as the air briefly touches your soft palate. Rolling your tongue against the roof of your mouth you can feel the high levels of different kinds of particles sweltering in the air. The taste sweet and sharp, prickling your tongue.
Not long goes by before you open your eyes, adjusting to the soft colors of fading light infront of you as the sunset over the horizon comes into view.
Suddenly, you are plucked from your fleeting moment of reminiscence by a piercing, persistent feeling of being watched. Turning your head slightly over your shoulder, you could make out his figure just a few steps away from you, his gaze intently set on you, studying you, evaluating.
You can’t resist but throw a small, implying smirk his way. Knowing, no matter how much he denies it, you got him wrapped around your finger, completely smitten.
Before you could see his reaction, you turn your eyes back onto the unusually vast clearing ahead. Having turned off your technological wrist assistance, you now rely on your eyesight and pure instincts for a successful hunt.
Putting out any thoughts other than the task at hand, you start to notice a small herding of possible prey animals at the edge of the grassy field. Alien to you with their six limbs, strong hind legs and two sets of front limbs encasing a meaty body covered in spike-like fur. Their heads bore tusks, obviously an evolutionary feature carrying a defensive characteristic about them.
They chewed on the spare bushes laid about the blue-green field and the tall grass which covered the whole clearing. The grass was just tall enough for you to disappear in if you crouched slightly.
Securing a sure pathway to the prize, you grabbed onto the handle of your blade, which was securely encased in your thighs holster. Running your finger over the blades’ sharp edge, remembering how he had advised you to push through the animal’s shoulders to get to the heart in between.
The quickest, most efficient route, especially with a sharp blade such as the one you carried. It was going to be a challenging stunt to pull, seeing as you estimated their height roughly up to your chest.
You were hastily pulled out of your thoughts by a low grunt-like purr emanating from the hulking mass of muscle you knew as your mate. Fully turned to him now, you raised an eyebrow, gesturing that he had given too short of an allowance of time to plan for your hunt.
Just because he had done this a thousand times and was most likely ready the moment we reached the forest’s edge doesn’t mean he can cut your planning time short. Seeing as he was about to step forwards in order to physically push you into the grass, your idea from earlier crystallized in your mind.
Before his foot hit the ground, you cushioned the blunt side of your knife between your lips, causing him to tilt his head in confusion, his dreads following the movement of his skull in a swift, fluid movement dancing across his broad shoulders.
His tusks clicked lightly as he was caught now mid-step, his eyes narrowing on the weapon in your mouth, entirely oblivious to your next move.
Quickly, having freed your hands, you reached for the hem of your top. Tugging at it before you swiftly pulled it up until it was just below your jaw right at your collarbones.
You were bare.
Showcasing your breasts to him in hope of a head start.
Seeing as your action bore fruit and struck him a statue, you bolted into the thick grass blending into the vegetation ahead, securing the knife back into the palm of your hand.
You couldn’t focus properly when you heard the resonating growl, an ill-intended purr and his heavy footsteps thundering behind you. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips, reveling in moments when you catch him off guard.
You could hear him entering the greenery behind you but the bastard turned on his cloaking device, rendering him invisible to your senses. Knowing he has shifted his focus from beating you to the prey, you picked up your pace.
The prey no longer mattered. You weren’t the hunter anymore - you were the hunted.
Ensuring you remain crouched and quiet as possible, you squeezed the blades edge so tight it caused slight numbing pain in the cushion of your palm.
Coming to a stop to slow your breathing, your ears suddenly perk up. You could feel the grass shifting beside you. Barely audible crinkling of the tall vegetation.
Deliberate.
Purposeful, to install fear into your core, shaking your determination.
In the corner of your eye you notice a movement. Unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but to you plain as the nose on your face. A cloaked hand brushing past the blades of grass, reaching towards your neck. Stopping within inches, assessing. Feeding off of the heat it’s emitting.
Feeling the quickening beat of your heart rapidly pulsing in your neck. The chemical signals your body is releasing betraying the true nature of your feelings. Fear mixed with excitement and he was getting drunk off of it.
Slowly, the hand retracted, claws just barely grazing the thin skin of your neck. Taunting. Blending back into your surroundings.
Without giving him a moment to achieve parity your legs started moving beneath you. A primal instinct kicking in.
Run.
Moving quickly to ensure your kill, a low guttural purr sounded not far behind you. Riddling your skin with goosebumps.
Your breathing shaky, uneven. Your ears perking up in fear he was about to close in on you and finish the game too quick.
You couldn’t help the heat that pooled at your core at the excitement of the shift this little wager took.
If the rustling wasn’t giving away your position, the scent of your arousal surely was. You knew he could smell you, triggering a fight response in you as you were just feet away from your assured win.
You knew he enjoyed this twisted game of cat and mouse, otherwise he would’ve caught you already.
Suddenly, you could hear his loud footsteps closing in. The grass swallowed you, hiding you from your prize. Your knife felt alive in your grip, viciously cold against your palm. Adrenaline rushing your system.
Crouching in the grass you decided the moment is now. Your body carried you. Your muscles taking over in instinct.
One step.
Two steps.
Your body leapt into the air, knife held above your head, about to struck an unforgiving blow to the animal below. Mouth opening to bellow a deafening scream. To terrify. Before you were able to, a massive weight slammed into your side.
The knife flew up. You hit the ground with a thud, breath knocked out of you.
You stared in disbelief above yourself as he revealed himself from the cloaking system. His eyes were locked on yours in something you could only recognize as a mixture of anger, amusement and arousal.
He crouched beside you, his mandibles clicking in a quickened pace. His body language oozed confidence.
“You really thought you could beat me?” his voice rumbled. Steady. His head tilting in challenge. A purr escaping him in appreciation of your disheveled state.
You looked at him in disbelief.
“I was going to have that kill.” you spat at him in annoyance.
Catching your breath, each swallow of air further ridding your body of adrenaline. Your fingers gripping the strange dirt below.
Your mouth shut. Lips pressed in anger.
You wouldn’t submit so easily. Accept defeat so quickly.
You scrambled back, lungs burning, heart hammering.
The prey scattered. Gone.
“You’re fast.” his tone approving. Eyes glued to your body. His gaze creeping up from your legs, taking notice where the sharp grass has cut you, leaving small gashes behind. Continuing his ministrations to your exposed stomach, your unsteadiness showing through ragged breathing. Persisting up your neck, appreciating the droplets of sweat carving a pathway downwards between your breasts, hidden only by the thin material of your top. Furthering his inspection to your flushed lips, ultimately meeting your gaze. His eyes beaming with challenge.
“But not fast enough.”
Heat surged your body.
You rose to your feet in a flash.
His body twitched in reaction, ready to close the distance. Before he could do so, you bolted. Running like the wind towards the thicker vegetation of the jungle.
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