Bunny's Forest

June 8, 26. ENTRY 01 : taking a shot while zayne fucks you

“i’ll take the shot,” you say quickly. “but it’s not the needle. it’s the anticipation. I tense up and it hurts more than it needs to.” you grimace at the reminiscence.

“what if,” you continue, warming to the idea, “we pavlov my brain to associate injections with something… good. an amazing, earthshattering-ly good feeling."

he follows through the first half of your proposal. the next half just earns an exasperated sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose as he mumbles an "...alright."

June 15, 26. ENTRY 02 : asking zayne to make you squirt

"I'm sorry?" The book in his hand is long forgotten and his ears are tinted pink. What were you thinking asking that to your medical prodigy husband? nothing, really. this is what you wanted.

"I've never done it even though I've attempted to multiple times." You sigh, slumping next to him on the couch. He shifts in his place, immediately stiffening at your presence. "In the end, all I could achieve was a cramped wrist and pruny fingers."

June 22, 26. ENTRY 03 : how many times can zayne cum?

"women don't have a refractory period after orgasm. which would imply that there isn't an established maximum number of orgasms a woman can have in one session."

“is this a new line of inquiry?” he asks calmly. “an attempt to determine how many times you can finish in a single session?” his arms curl around you.

"why pursue established data?" you quip. “we’ll keep count,” you say simply. “until you reach your limit.”

“i see.” he swallows once. “in that case—your test subject can only surrender.”

June 29, 26. ENTRY 04 : zayne refuses to touch your clit

"approximately 25% women can climax solely from penetration. would you like to find out if you fall in the category?"

the shy rub of his neck at the suggestion was deceptive and his idea was in the very least--spontaneous. because now that hes got you splayed out beneath him, soft body completely under his command, you know he's rarely ever impulsive.

--

"squirting and female ejaculation are two different phenomenon." his voice is buttery soft as his fingers glide over your slit, gathering your slick to spread it over your glistening lips.

"ngh—released from the skene's glands and urethr—ah! respectively." you manage, lifting your head to see the way his slender fingers disappear into your syrupy hole.

"Its commendable how well informed you are. however, I'd rather you lost your mind on my fingers right now, darling." with that, his digits hook up, rubbing the swollen spot inside you.

his thumb finds your clit, making your walls quiver and melt around him. Your brain is melting into a mush. He hasn't moved his fingers. He's just caressing your sweet spot intently.

a strange weight accumulates in your stomach each time he does it, making you squirm under him.

"zayne—i feel something here..." your palm comes to your lower tummy.

"good. we're making progress." he mumbles, leaning down to replace his thumb with his lips. he nips and sucks your clit, mouth opening to lick broad stripe over your pebbled nub.

his fingers stop moving. His wrist does instead. Fingers he keeps hooked tight, massaging your sweet spot with pin-point precision.

"focus on the anterior wall is key." he tells you, taking your clit back in his mouth for a deep suckle, making your thighs tremble with need. his fingers trickle up your skin, to your navel, planting kisses alongside his touches.

"a little pressure here..." The heel of his palm presses down on your lower stomach. gently at first, slowly growing. You nearly choke on a moan. "Do you feel it?"

Feel what? The way you want to pee? cum? Or both?

"oh-oh god!" your fingers find purchase in his hair as he scissors you open. you're sucking him in, spasming around him wildly.

His fingers jab your g spot. He can feel them against his palm. that alone has him pathetically leaking pre in his pants as he ruts himself against the mattress.

"this makes your g spot more accessible. Paired with the pressure on your anterior wall..." He emphasizes it with his arm moving up and down, prodding that spongy spot, making your pussy gurgle and squelch lewdly. the intensity grows. his entire arm works now, making you quake violently with every movement.

"oh shitshit-zaynee—" the heat in your stomach is growing, coiling—a little more and you'll snap so hard. the thought alone has you letting out a perverted laugh.

"zayne... I think I'm about to—" you're so perfectly fucked out right now.

"I can feel it." He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your thigh. "Relax your pelvic muscles."

"y-youre gonna get sprayed in your face—"

"perhaps I want that." he admits, mesmerized. "after all, the female ejaculate contains high amounts of glucose." whaat a fuckin perv

but that's all it takes to maul your restraint. you gush around him with a silent cry, spraying so hard that your back arches off the mattress. his fingers keep going. rightly so because something else approaches. that familiar coil in your stomach.

mother of all things good. are you cumming? you see white before you can ruminate on it further. he groans in delight, mouth latching on to your creaming pussy. it makes you squeal in overstimulation.

when he finally lifts his face, licking your cream off his fingers—you see it—face dripping wet and dazed.

zayne never refuses to assist your research after that.

part 2 of the FOR SCIENCE series

he’s tired—can barely move, and yet, he still calls you to him.

“sweetheart,” his voice gruff, carrying a slight rasp as he beckons you. “c’mere please.”

a frown etches itself on your face, walking your way to him from the kitchen. “baby, ‘m almost done with din–”

you don’t get the chance to finish your complaint when he’s pulling you by the arm into his lap. a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement. then you’re settled, straddling the large expanse of his lap and you feel it. 

he wraps his arms around your body, flushing you against his chest. his lips press against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “don’t care about dinner, just let me hold my wife, yeah?”

he swears it’s all he needs—to hold you close and inhale your scent—but his pulse is racing and blood roars in his ears all due to sheer desire and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips the slightest bit. 

you feel that, too. it elicits a sharp gasp. 

you can almost hear the small smirk forming on his lips, “how was your day, beautiful?” he murmurs, hands moving to your hips. 

and his movements are so calculated. from the way he ever so gently grounds you into him to the way his breath fans against your ear sending shivers down your spine. 

“was fine…” you mumble, unable to stop the way you shift in his lap, body begging for more attention. “missed you.”

“yeah?” he asks, his voice is low and nearly unrecognizable. “missed you s’much more, my love. been waiting for this moment all day.” 

you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. they’re tired. exhausted even, but they still hold that fire. that pure, burning desire. they’re his fuck me eyes. and, god, do you love them.

“zaynie,” you whisper, unable to trust your shaky voice. 

he hums, and the soft, pitched noise has you leaking through your bottom, probably leaving a wet patch right on his pants. “tell me, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze at your sides and his hips slowly, but surely, roll into you. "what did you do today?"

you whimper, pussy clenching around nothing. "mmph, not much…" another roll, evoking another wet gasp. "fuck, just… cleaned, w-went on a walk—" he's pushing against you deeper now. you feel the outline of his cock push into you with every not-so-little thrust. "s-saw, saw that stray kitty in the park again."

"mmm, we should really take her in, shouldn't we?" he breathes, cock twitching at the sound of your voice breaking with every grind.

"zaynie," your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him back so you can look at him. his face is flushed, pink blooming over his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. you gyrate against him, pulling a breathy moan from your husbands hung open mouth. "dinner's gonna burn."

"let it burn then." he says, the words coming out in a hiss. "need my wife—we can order takeout later, i'll even cook, don't care. let me just have you like this first." 

a beg. to the untrained ear, you can't hear it, but you know zayne like the back of your hand. you know that heat curls in his stomach, that tension lies in every bone in his body, that pure desire is the only thing he feels right now. the need to be close to you is strong, but the need to be fully sheathed inside you, fucking you till he's completely stress free and you're completely full of his cum is much, much stronger. 

it's why all the fatigue evaporates and he can't stop himself from flipping you onto the plush couch— rubbing into you you like he might die without feeling the outline of your pussy through your soddened panties and leggings . he can't even be bothered to rid you of your clothes… he craves the release. he needs it more than anything. needs you more than anything.

you let out a pathetic needy sob, overly worked up by him fucking you through your clothes. "z-zayne, more—ugh, need more. t-take it off, please." 

his cock twitches helplessly at the sound. it's what he's been missing while drowning in work for hours on end. 

"sweetheart," he moans brokenly. "promise i'll fuck you just the way you like—just need you to take this first. you can do that for me, can't you?" he whispers and the word shoot an immense amount of heat straight to your core. "you can be a good little wife, right, darling?"

you can never say no to him, especially when he talks to you like that. you respond wordlessly, giving your husband what he wants—no, what he needs—and wrap your legs securely around his slim waist. 

"that's it, good girl." and the way zayne sounds is the polar opposite of the weight of his words. his voice is frayed, desperate. "f-feels, ha, feels so good like this, yeah?" 

his hips move faster, imitating the way they would if he were actually inside of you fucking you with full force. your body rocks with every thrust, every grind, your tits bounce underneath your apron, the couch—even as firm as it sits—sways with you in tandem.

it goes on and on. endless, whiny praises from him, sobbing pleas from you, your bodies rubbing against one another effectively ruining his dry-clean-only slacks till you finally feel that tight knot form in your lower belly. 

and he's close, too, but zayne's been close to coming undone—he just didn't want to let go without you. 

it happens so quickly that you barely have the time to process it. "baby, baby," you gasp, nerve-endings coming alive while your heart pounds at the speed of light. "'m—oh, fuck, baby. 'm cumming, cumming, cumming."

"cum with me, sweet girl." he wheedles, never losing his momentum for a second. he grinds you both through it till he feels your body pull taut underneath him. till you're shaking and sobbing and clinging onto him for dear life. 

then he stills and his orgasm is explosive. he's vocal, moaning out your name mixed with all the sweet pet names he's given you. his cum leaks through his boxers and said dry-clean-only slacks, beading out of the fabric in a taboo, yet very erotic way. 

it takes you both minutes to come down till the smell of burning food fills your nostrils.

then you hear the unmistakable beeping of the fire alarm.

"oh, shit."

KIT SAYS... they took my yaoi/bl app away from me. if you guys know where i can read my yaoi ad free, email me. (dm me or send me an ask, I'm begging i need to fujo out over hot men that kiss) oh and this isn't proofread lol

“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.

“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”

“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.

His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”

He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.

“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.

“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.

His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.

“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.

“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”

His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.

waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.

He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.

He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“shall we go get married now?”

CALEB XIA ☆

It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.

“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately.  Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.

You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.

“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”

You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.

“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.

He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?

“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.

“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.

“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.

“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”

“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.

And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.

XAVIER SHEN ☆

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.

The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.

“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.

His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.

He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.

“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”

By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.

“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.

“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”

He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.

“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.

Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”

He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.

“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.

“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”

RAFAYEL QI ☆

You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.

Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?

“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.

his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.

“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”

He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.

“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.

“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”

You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.

“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.

“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—

you nearly kick him away before he can start again.

“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.

“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.

And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.

SYLUS QIN ☆

“boss lady!”

“boss-man’s back!”

The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.

“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”

“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"

“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.

His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.

He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”

“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.

“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”

Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”

His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.

He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.

Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.

“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.  

“touch it again and you will,”

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 🫣)

Your smile stretched wider than you thought possible, light flooding your chest until your whole body felt weightless, like the ground itself had let you go.

He appeared the way he always did, piece by piece.

A shimmer in the air.

A ripple of static.

And then he was there, crouched on the thick branch outside your window like the silent, lethal predator he really was.

The red laser dots faded from your face as he disengaged his invisibility cloak. He straightened slowly, leaning his massive frame against the tree trunk, arms folding over his chest. His head tilted in that familiar, assessing angle and you were suddenly grateful the tree was older than your entire town, anything younger would have snapped under him without question.

Night wrapped everything in soft shadows, your quiet neighborhood offering barely any artificial light, but the sky was clear and the stars were generous. Their glow skimmed over him, enough for your eyes to trace every line and shape.

He looked… bigger.

Broader shoulders.

Thicker muscle.

Taller, somehow, though maybe that was the distance, or maybe it was simply the memory of two years softening details you once saw every day.

His armor wasn’t the battered set from the lab anymore. This one gleamed, polished to a dark shine, perfectly fitted, meticulously cared for. It almost felt intentional, as if he had prepared, made himself presentable for this specific moment and the thought tugged a quiet smile from you.

You glanced down at your own clothes, still in your work attire, painfully plain compared to him.

His head tilted again, this time to the left. You mirrored it instinctively, a wordless greeting the two of you had never agreed on but somehow shared anyway.

His dreadlocks were longer now. Still no decorative rings and a few still ended abruptly where they had once been cut by the xenomorphs on the lab.

Somehow, the imperfection suited him. Made him more approachable like he always felt to you.

Your eyes drifted now, searching instinctively for that part of his body you really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The memory flashed uninvited, the lab, the panic, the xenomorph, the brutal snap of it all and your chest tightened. You had never really forgotten. You just hadn’t let yourself think about it.

You squinted through the dim light… and froze.

It wasn’t the same.

Before you could study it further, his gaze flicked to where yours lingered.

And then he shifted, tucking the limb behind his back, shoulders straightening just enough to hide it from view.

Your confusion melted into something softer, something like ache. He wasn’t ashamed of scars. You knew that. This was different.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed, leaning forward without even thinking, your body stretching over the windowsill like getting a few inches closer might somehow bridge the years between you.

But he stayed where he was.

“Are you not coming in?” you whispered, the tremor in your lips betraying you. Panic pricked the back of your throat, the fear that he might vanish again, cloak himself into nothingness and leave you talking to empty air.

Instead, his clawed finger lifted, pressing to the place where his mouth would be beneath the mask.

Be quiet.

The deja vu crashed over you hard, the memory of sterile lights, metal corridors, the two of you moving through shadows while he motioned you to hush, every nerve in your body screaming. You swallowed, shaking your head lightly as if you could dislodge the memory and drop it somewhere far away.

You frowned at him anyway, worry written all over your face,but you understood. There were humans nearby. And if he didn’t want to be seen, then he wouldn’t risk it.

You didn’t need to hear them. You trusted his instincts ten times more than your own.

You nodded, retreating slowly from the window so no one would look up and find you whispering at a tree like the neighborhood eccentric. You pulled in a breath and held it, your eyes refusing to leave him, reading every line and shape, still trying to decide whether time had warped your memory… or whether he truly had grown into something even more astonishing.

He looked impossibly huge, as if every muscle had thickened with the years and your gaze traced him in silent disbelief, like you were relearning the outline of someone you had never really forgotten.

But his body vanished the next second.

You blinked, stunned, every muscle ready to vault you out the window and call his name, when the floorboards inside your room gave a soft, protesting creak. He was already halfway in, using the window as if it were a doorway made for him.

He shimmered back into visibility, crouched low so his head could fit through the frame.

Your eyes went comically wide. You were sure you looked unhinged staring at him like that, but you couldn’t help it.

He had truly turned massive…

As if his body had gone through a second growth spurt, not just broader, but taller, more sturdy in a way that made the lab memories feel unreal. You had never truly known what a healthy Yautja was supposed to look like and now you knew for certain. The ones in stasis, drugged and experimented on, were shadows by comparison.

He looked better than anything your imagination had allowed you to picture. Every line cut with strength, muscles shifting beneath rough green skin. He straightened just enough to face you, chest subtly puffed, as if aware of how thoroughly you were studying him… and quietly inviting you to continue.

So you did. Your brain taking in the details with curiosity and something much more human layered beneath it. You rewrote your mental files, this is what a healthy Yautja looks like, a Yautja that thrives.

He was so changed it almost felt like meeting him for the first time.

Only the color remained familiar, that deep forest green, its tones fading and darkening like clouds drifting over trees. It was still beautiful. Just like the last time you had dared to let yourself study him through the glass you left him behind.

You swallowed, nerves fluttering, your gaze finally traveling to the thing you had been carefully avoiding.

And you stopped breathing.

He eased his right arm forward, lowering his head and you felt his hesitation sparkling through the air between you. The phantom of old pain. The quiet uncertainty about what you’d think.

But it was… stunning.

The prosthetic began higher than you expected, seamlessly cupping over the stump, then extending outward as if it had always belonged there. Strong. Shiny. Chrome kissed with shifting iridescent light. The shape mirrored his other forearm and talons perfectly, built for him and no one else. Beyond anything humans could design, as it didn’t replace his arm, but it became it.

The fingers flexed naturally and before you could stop yourself, you reached out.

Your hand slid into his.

He made a sound, that soft, confused rumble you remembered so clearly and the corner of your mouth curled into a quiet smile. For all the ways he had changed, that gentle hesitation remained.

You watched as metal threaded between your fingers.

“Can you feel that?” you whispered.

He gave a slight shake of his head, dreadlocks swaying.

But neither could you. Not really. Your hand twitched, the pads of your fingertips brushing the metal and you knew the motion was incomplete. It always would be. Another memory flashed in your mind, the slick of his blood, the desperate way you had pressed the balm into his open wounds, terrified, whispering to a body that might not survive.

You swallowed, forcing your fingers to tighten as best they could around his prosthetic, hoping the movement looked natural, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

So you reached for his other hand, the one that blood traveled in its veins, and wrapped your working fingers around it the same way.

It was cold, yet somehow the slow stroke of his thumb against your skin sent heat racing up your face, like standing too close to open flame.

Your gaze lifted.

His mask hovered between your joined hands, watching them, then shifting back to you, his head lowering, closing the distance so the two of you were level again.

And for the first time in two years, neither of you knew what to say.

“Are you okay?”

It was all you could manage, your voice small while your fingers stayed laced with his. You couldn’t look at his face, not yet, so your gaze settled on his chest instead, lips pressed tight to hold the nerves in place.

He gave a slow nod.

And you mirrored it, already starting to pull your hands back, the moment feeling too intimate, too exposed, but he caught you immediately. His grip tightened, drawing you forward until you were a breath away from his chest. You gasped at the closeness, your head tipped back, angling awkwardly just to find the dark plates of his mask looking down at you.

“Are you?”

The translator’s metallic voice broke the silence and your eyes flooded before you even realized it was happening. Your fingers squeezed his on instinct, clinging.

You hadn’t meant to break down. But nearly two years had waited quietly behind your ribs, and now they spilled out of you in tears you couldn’t stop.

He released one of your hands only to bring the back of his knuckles beneath your eye, brushing gently, gathering the tears that fell uncontrollably, before his hand lowered to cradle your jaw. His thumb traced softly beneath your scar, the scar he had given you that night, after you had fought beside him and slain a xenomorph on your own. You closed your eyes tightly, letting him touch there, letting him remember the scar, the memory it held and the trust it carried between you years after.

His head tilted, curiously.

“Are you sad?” the translator echoed.

You shook your head, a broken little laugh slipping out with your sob. He remembered. He remembered what tears meant. He had kept that piece of you with him.

“I’m happy,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Happy to see you again.”

Worry deepened in his body anyway. Both hands, metal and flesh, cupped your face carefully. He sank down onto one knee so the two of you were nearly level, as if it might make the tears easier to understand.

“I missed you so much.”

Your voice was barely there. You covered his hands with yours and finally, after all this time, you looked at him, at the familiar mask, scarred deeper now, yet still marked with old lines you recognized immediately.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Every part of you ached to close the distance, to fold yourself into him, feel the rumble in his chest, the strange cold of his skin warming as he purred. But you stayed where you were, letting him choose how close this reunion should be.

“It took me longer than I thought to get to you,” the translator murmured through him, his thumbs tracing patient circles along your damp cheeks.

Another quiet sob slipped out of you, muffled behind a chuckle.

And you felt your body shaking as you waited for the inevitable.

Waited for that question you had always known might come. Why you sent him first, why you tricked him into freedom while you stayed behind. The guilt still stung, even if you knew you’d make the same choice again. Maybe because it brought you to this moment.

But the question never came.

“Why are you crying?”

The translator carried the words gently, softened by the low rumble that began to build in his chest, slowly melting into a purr. He remembered that also. He remembered crying, a human thing he didn’t need to keep and yet somehow he had.

He took your hand and guided you toward the bed. You sat carefully at its edge and he lowered himself again onto one knee in front of you. Like this, your eyes finally aligned.

His hand returned to your face, thumb brushing your cheek, the other settling at your nape.

“Keth’raal.”

His name slipped out before you could second-guess it. His thumb froze mid stroke. You swore even his breathing paused.

“Say it again,” the translator urged, demanding in the most endearing way.

Heat flushed up your neck. Your fingers drifted into his dreadlocks, tangling in the thick, rubbery texture. He leaned almost helplessly into your touch.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered, softer this time, like the sound belonged only to the two of you. You caught one strand and smoothed it slowly between your fingers.

The purr deepened. It rolled through him, then through you and your lungs finally let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I waited a long time to hear you say my name.”

His voice rumbled beneath the translator rough and warm. His chest unlocked with the words and the air around him felt less tense now.

“I missed your voice,” he added, leaning slightly closer as your fingers continued to ghost through his thick locks.

“I missed yours.”

Your hand slid from his hair to the mask, fingers brushing the familiar tube. You paused, giving him the chance to refuse, to tell you not yet.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand left your cheek and covered yours, guiding your movements slowly. His fingers pressed lightly over yours, showing you how to disconnect the tube. The moment it released, the mask hissed faintly, a soft exhale.

Your heart hammered. The intimacy of the motion, him letting you do this, tightened everything in your chest.

You were about to see him again. And a strange fear sparked through the anticipation. What if memory had dulled him into something different? What if you had forgotten the exact pull of his mandibles, the precise depth of green in his eyes?

His prosthetic hand found your left one, placing it at the other edge of the mask, arranging both of your hands so you held the helmet together.

And then he stopped.

You both breathed. Slowly. Carefully. Your rhythms synced, the steady purr of his chest being the only sound in the room besides your breaths.

You stared at the mask, at him and the fear softened into something bright and trembling.

Excitement.

Because this time, there were no lab walls. No glass. No xenomorphs or humans to interrupt you. Just you and him.

“Are you sure?” you whispered.

He didn’t need the translator this time. The answer came from his chest, a low, short rumble that turned into a groan, an unmistakable yes.

You drew in a breath, bracing yourself and curled your fingers at the edge of his mask. You lifted slowly, searching first for the familiar curve of his mandibles. When they finally came into view, something inside you loosened. They were exactly as you remembered.

A soft laugh left your lips. His mandibles clicked and then his hands covered yours firmly, helping you ease the mask free.

It settled across your lap and your hands went straight to his face, finding the spaces behind his mandibles, gently angling him toward you.

But his gaze didn’t follow. His eyes stayed fixed on the mask in your lap, his shoulders pulled tight.

You took him in properly now. New lines. Healing marks. Ceremonial scars tracing his features. And beneath all of that, the deep set frown that refused to leave his forehead.

Without thinking, your thumb smoothed across the ridges of his forehead, as if you could erase what time had carved.

“Hey,” you murmured, your fingers slipping behind his mandibles, bringing his face closer. “You changed.”

It took a second, but then he finally looked at you.

His eyes were the same. That dark, forest-deep green. Except, there were flecks of yellow now, catching the light. You narrowed your eyes slightly, studying them.

Had they always been there?

No, you thought, no, I simply had never pulled him this close before to notice them.

You felt your stomach sink and you leaned back with a small, awkward laugh, only to gasp when his palm came to the back of your head, guiding you forward again.

Your forehead met his.

His scent hit you properly for the first time, spice and metal and something warm beneath it. Cinnamon, almost. You bit your lip, swallowing the reaction back.

His skin was cool where it touched yours, but his breath spilled over your face and then down your neck was warm and slow, tracing paths over your nerves and sending quiet shivers racing along your spine.

“Na’kai.”

Your name rumbled out of him, low and rough and it felt like it crawled straight under your skin. No machine. No echo. Only that raw, guttural voice you had carried around in your memory, richer now, deeper and gentle when it called your given name.

A tremor went through you.

His palm guided you closer until your foreheads touched again and the world thinned to the cool of his skin and the warmth of his breath across your lips. The vibration in his chest sank into you, slowing your thoughts, pulling all the frantic nerves out of your body one by one until there was nothing left but this quiet sound shared between you.

Your fingers moved from the curve beneath his mandibles and dragged along the back of his neck, finding the thick fall of his dreadlocks. You curled them into your palm before you could think to stop yourself and tugged him just a little nearer.

The sound that answered, startled and almost bitten back, made you freeze.

“Sorry—” You released him, heat flooding your face, shame prickling across your skin when you remembered just how sensitive those locks were.

You began to lean away, but he followed you down.

The mattress dipped. The bed creaked. And then he was above you, guiding you higher against the pillows with his hand.

His body never fully settling on yours, but the space between you felt thinner than a thread.

“Keth’raal—” His name left you on a whisper that barely sounded like your own.

He caught your wrist and drew your hand to his chest. The rumble beneath your palm spiked, deepening into something fierce, like years of yearning trapped behind bone. With each beat, it pressed into your hand, as if demanding to be known I’m here. I’m breathing. Don’t look away.

His gaze held you there, dark and intense, pupils swallowed in black. He urged your hand against him and for a moment you had the wild impression he wanted you to reach beyond his skin and grab his heart to take as your trophy.

And knowing him, maybe he wanted exactly that.

His living hand lifted and hovered over you. Hesitation flickered through his fingers before they finally came to rest against your chest, just over your heart.

He listened to the stutter and gallop of your pulse, to the uneven breaths you tried uselessly to steady. Something faint painted his features, the hard lines of worry loosening as your heartbeat answered his.

You nodded at him, a simple reassurance, before his hand slid lower, tracing your ribs carefully with his sharp nails. His frown softened. The hungry chaos behind his eyes fading slowly.

“I missed you too,” you breathed.

Your fingers rose again, seeking the familiar groove beneath his mandibles. Your heart skipped wildly and you knew he felt it, but you didn’t stop. Because what tied you together wasn’t calm, wasn’t logic, it was this raw ache of longing mingled with an unbearable relief.

Whatever had dragged him across stars and planets, whatever need had driven him into your room and onto your bed, it lived in you as well. You felt it mirrored perfectly. That devotion, that desperate urgency to be close enough to prove that neither of you had imagined the other.

His breath spilled warm across your cheek. The bed shifted beneath the weight of him again.

He leaned in, his hands locking on your sides. His fingers flexed and eased over your ribs in steady pulses, as if he had to teach himself how your body reacted, how it shifted and bloomed under his touch alone.

His breath brushed your lips, while the cool plate of his brow cooled the heat burning beneath your cheeks. He didn’t need translation for that. Your face had already confessed everything to him.

“Kaail’thwei,” he murmured, the word pulled from deep in his throat. You felt every layered sound of it, the subtle click of his mandibles, the raw scrape of his native tongue, the faint metallic tang of his breath warming your skin.

God, you had missed all of it. Every strange, detail and sound that belonged only to him.

You exhaled slowly, your eyes closing as he lowered more, his mandibles grazed your throat and his forehead settled into the curve of your shoulder. He rubbed there, skin to skin, a quiet gesture that had your arms slid instinctively around his neck, holding him close, trusting him completely.

“I wish I could understand you without the helmet,” you whispered into the quiet. “I missed your voice.”

He drew back at last, the mattress creaking beneath him. Dreadlocks spilled forward, tickling your cheeks as he planted his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in. Those green-gold eyes searched yours as if trying to decipher your expression and the feelings under it.

You tilted your chin slightly, inviting him closer.

When he hesitated, you gently hooked a finger around one of his mandibles and guided him down. He followed without resistance, closing the last inch between you until his breath became yours.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him.

The sound woke that low, answering rumble in his chest again. You slid your hand up, fingers curving around the back of his neck and pressed a soft kiss beneath his collarbone before sinking back into the mattress with a smile you couldn’t stop. Warmth bloomed through your chest like sunlight you hadn’t seen for two years.

He tilted his head, curious, as if he was taking in every new expression you made.

“Sha’len,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue, while his thumb traced across your lower lip. He seemed entranced by the softness, by how fragile and human it felt under him.

You kissed the pad of his thumb lightly. His gaze flicked down, pupils blown wide.

He tried again, lowering his palm to your mouth. You pressed your lips there too, cool skin meeting warmth and watched the faint shudder that went through him. Slowly, almost experimentally, he moved until the inside of his wrist rested against your mouth. You kissed that spot too, feeling his strong, unsteady pulse jump beneath your lips.

His eyes never left yours.

He leaned in once more. His focus dropped to your lips, then rose to your eyes, then returned again and your body went rigid, your throat working as you swallowed against the lump that had formed in it. You whispered his name, your mouth hovering an inch from his.

That was when the wind slammed your window wider, shaking the frame with a loud crack.

You both flinched, jerked back into the room and into reality. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten that the world still existed outside your little bubble.

His gaze returned to you, lingering, before he eased back. The bed protested beneath his weight as he crawled away, then lifted himself to stand. He crouched to retrieve his helmet, turning it in his hands for a quiet second before fitting it into place. The lenses flashed to life and then dimmed.

You remained sprawled on the mattress, chest rising and falling too fast, the feeling of his touch still ghosting along your skin.

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. He waited at the foot of the bed, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his gauntlets before finally looking at you.

He gave a quiet nod. One step, then another and you moved aside, inviting him back. The mattress groaned as he lowered himself beside you, his long legs still hanging off the end like the bed was something built for children.

“How did you get so tall?” you breathed, half-laughing at how unbelievably large he had become. He rested his head against his fist, watching you with a calm you remembered too well.

“I wasn’t fed by a tube anymore,” he said, amusement clicking faintly beneath the mask. His hand found yours, tugging you closer until you were lying shoulder to shoulder.

“And you also—” Your hands faltered in the air, not knowing how to phrase it.

He tilted his head. “Also what?”

“You’re… huge now,” you managed at last, settling on your elbow to face him.

“I think I can become bigger,” he replied, a low rumble echoing through his chest, almost sounding like a laugh.

“My bed won’t survive you,” you said, eyes widening at the thought.

“You want me in your bed?” His head tilted, dark locks spilling over his shoulders and suddenly it was hard to remember how to breathe, let alone answer. That familiar curiosity of his, unchanged, disarming, leaving you speechless.

“Where will you sleep if you visit again?” you shot back quickly, somehow keeping your voice steady while your heart skipped beat after beat.

“I’ll manage,” he murmured. His hand lifted, claws tracing the soft line of your cheek. The gentle vibration in his chest deepened, a warm sound that seemed to settle into every corner of your room.

Your fingers lifted almost of their own accord as they traced the curve of his mask now, mirroring him.

A new scar cut across the surface, deep and long. You followed it slowly, as if the line itself might tell you where he had been, what he had endured in the two years without you.

“I went back to look for you,” the translator murmured.

Your hand froze. Your breath did too.

“You did? What if they had found you? They were hunting you, Keth’raal, that was so reckless—”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he interrupted gently. His hand closed around yours and guided it back to the mask.

“That was still… reckless,” you whispered, the protest dying in your throat as he leaned into your touch. He sought your hands the way a drowning man might seek the surface and you had no words to defend yourself anymore.

“I’ve been known for my recklessness,” the vocoder replied dryly, while the faint clicking of his mandibles betrayed his teasing tone.

You sighed, shaking your head, yet a small smile appeared on your lips.

“I ran the moment you escaped. The xenomorphs kept them busy long enough for me to…”

The memory surfaced like a blurry picture and you tried to make sense of it.

“I still don’t know how I managed— how I ran — I… I uh…” The words thinned and vanished, your eyes drifting to that narrow space between you and you wished it’d be gone.

“It’s all right.” His fingers circled your wrist and you let him draw you in.

He guided you down against his chest, one broad palm cradling the back of your head. You held on, pressing into his cold skin, still afraid that if you blinked he would dissolve into a memory again.

“I was scared for so long,” you whispered, fingers digging his flesh, over the hard rise and fall beneath you.

“I know. I’m sorry.” The translator delivered the words in its rough monotone, but the deep, rumble in his chest told the truth of them, easing through you like balm. Your eyes shut closed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you breathed, letting your forehead rest against him before shifting slightly, settling your head along his forearm so you could look up into his mask again.

Before you realized it, his hand was on your face again, his clawed thumb skimming your cheek.

“You saved my life that day,” the translator murmured, but you were close enough to hear the actual words he had used beneath it. The faint, guttural sound that never made it to the device.

“I owe you everything.”

You pressed your palm to his chest in answer, drawing slow circles onto it.

“Keth’raal,” you breathed, a small laugh caught halfway in your throat. “Do you remember the first time you saw me?”

He nodded, his hand closing over yours, keeping it pinned on his chest.

“You ignored me completely and went straight for the xenomorph.” Another soft laugh escaped you, and his mask flickered red for a moment.

“You know I was looking for you.”

“Yeah. My scent led you right to me,” you said, smiling at the memory, surreal but still so vivid.

“You were the only thing I remembered.”

“Keth’raal…” His name cracked in your voice as your hand rose again, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. “Did anything ever come back? From your past?”

“Not really,” he admitted. His hand drifted to your shoulder, stroking, a quiet reassurance for a worry neither of you wanted to speak aloud.

Because neither of you knew how long this moment could last. The past still clung to both of you like chains, heavy and cold,no matter how desperately you wanted to escape it.

“I wasn’t welcomed back either,” he added, quieter now.

Your brows knit. “What? Why?”

“Yautja code. I was no longer one of them. Too weak when I returned, useless to the clan.”

“But you’re strong now,” you insisted.

“I am. But I don’t belong with them anymore.”

Your chest tightened. “Keth’raal… you can’t be alone forever.”

“I survived this long,” he replied simply.

The words you wanted to say trembled on your tongue.

Can I be where you go? Can I be home?

But they felt too human. Too much. He was still a Yautja, born of a world that was never meant to intertwine with yours.

You couldn’t be his peace.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

So you swallowed it back.

“Then… what did you find when you went back?” you asked instead.

“Nothing but debris,” the translator spoke. His hand froze at your shoulder, then slipped down along your arm, claws grazing lightly over your skin.

“I thought I had lost you.”

He said it without lifting his head, his gaze fixed on the spot where your skin touched his. The goosebumps that rose there seemed to hold him captive.

The confession made you feel empty. His chest vibrated softly against your ear, that quiet, needy noise that always stripped you naked. Too honest. Too real.

But the ache between you had changed. It wasn’t the frantic hunger of two years ago. Back then, everything had been urgency, fear and adrenaline, the thrill of danger pressing in and that didn’t let you name that feeling.

Naming it had felt like tempting death when every minute could have been your last.

And yet, across those years, your thoughts kept finding him. Memory turned him into something immortal, as if you had lived a lifetime beside him instead of days.

He had once been a subject under your hands, a strange, wondrous being you whispered apologies to every time a needle pierced his skin. You had marveled at him without ever glimpsing the full truth of what he was.

But now he was here, whole, powerful, almost unfairly beautiful.

“How did you find me?” you breathed, turning your face into his chest, pressing your cheek to the cool plane of his skin until it soothed the heat in your cheeks.

“Just like the first time,” he said, after a long pause. His claws threaded slowly through your hair, sending tingles to your scalp.

“By my scent?”

You pulled back in shock, a grin breaking over your mouth before you could stop it.

He nodded and immediately guided you closer again, until your forehead brushed his collarbone. His palm settled at the back of your head, holding you as if you might vanish if he loosened his grip. A deep hum rolled up from his chest, forcing you to melt.

“Keth’raal, you’re not getting out of this,” you laughed, nudging at him, watching his mask tilt toward you in faint confusion.

“What do you mean, scent?” you pressed, eyes wide, a smile pulling at your lips. The idea that just your smell had led him here, still didn’t sound convincing.

“I found your medical robe,” he said.

For the third time his hand found your arm, drawing you toward him until your face hovered inches from his mask. Close enough to feel the faintest sound of his breath, close enough that staying away from him felt like the least possible option in the universe, judging from the way he held on you.

He used his artificial arm now, slowly pushing his mask up just enough for his mandibles to be exposed. He brought your hand closer, pressing the inside of your wrist over his mouth, his mandibles clicking softly against your skin, almost tasting you.

He exhaled a short word in his own language, rougher this time, small and sharp, like an instinctive reaction pulled straight out of him at the scent of you.

He sounded almost angry, or maybe it was something deeper, heavier, that you couldn’t quite name.

“What?” you whispered, afraid that if you pushed too hard he might suddenly realize how close you were and pull away.

His mechanical claws lowered the mask again, sealing it back into place. The lights flickered across the dark voids and you waited. Patient on the outside but burning up underneath.

“What was that?” you asked again, now that the translator could catch your voice, while your fingers absently traced the medallion you had just noticed resting at his neck.

It was thick and roughly made, primitive and heavy, yet adorned with a large green stone that had been catching your eye for some time now.

“I think I’ll keep that to myself,” the translator finally responded, but beneath it, you could clearly hear a sound that was unmistakably laughter.

Your eyes gleamed with excitement.

Was that… a tease?

He really hadn’t forgotten his manners or his wit. Even after all this time, he still carried that sassy trait you were almost certain he wasn’t allowed to show to anyone else but you.

His ways always seemed to lean more toward human than Yautja and that was what made him so uniquely dangerous, not only as a hunter, but as something incredibly adaptive in nature.

“You’ve only changed on the outside,” you teased softly, your thumb brushing the emerald stone before your fingers crept higher, searching along the back of his neck for the faint blue line you had once seen in the lab.

His skin tightened beneath your touch. His body went still, as your fingers moved along the sensitive ridge of his nape.

“You’re still the same stubborn Yautja,” you added, but it came out more like a breath than a joke. Then your fingers found it, a pale, thin seam you could still distinguish over his skin.

You traced it gently.

The sound that came out of him wasn’t the deep rumble you had grown used to. It was darker, a low, raw growl that erupted in his chest. It startled you so much you gasped and jerked your hand away, your heart racing.

It felt like you had touched something forbidden, a spot you were never meant to find, let alone touch. Whatever that scar meant to him, it surely wasn’t for your eyes to see.

You tried to pull back, but his hand caught yours.

His thumb slid to the inside of your wrist, brushing slowly before pressing down, right over your pulse. Your breath hitched as he held it there, as if counting every beat of it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not entirely sure what you were apologizing for this time.

His thumb eased away from your vein and instead rose to your face, finding the thin line of your own scar, the ceremonial mark that tied the two of you together no matter how much time passed.

He explored the scar quietly, reading you, studying the way your features changed under his touch.

Then his hand slid into your hair. His talons threaded gently through the strands before he tightened his grip, just enough to guide you forward. You gasped, blood rising on your cheeks.

The motion felt startlingly human. Intimate in a way that erased everything you thought you understood about his kind.

“Keth’raal,” you breathed, his hand still fisted lightly in your hair as he guided you closer until your forehead bumped softly against his mask. The metal was cold against your skin.

You could hear him, his fast, uneven breath under the mask, his struggle to simply hold you.

The closeness wrapped around you like a net, warm and suffocating and not nearly enough.

Something was missing.

You wanted the mask gone.

You wanted his real breath on your lips, his presence overwhelming and taking over your senses.

That little gap between you felt more painful than the two years you had lived without him.

So you reached for his mask, your fingers brushing along the edge and he shook his head. No words. Just that quiet refusal.

You stopped immediately. Your hand slipped down, landing on his chest instead, trembling against it.

You drew in a breath, metal, earth and that faint sweet scent that belonged only to him filling your lungs before you leaned back, your forehead suddenly burning without the cool press of him.

He released you then, watching as you settled onto your pillow.

Your heart echoed inside your ears, loud and demanding, almost irritating and you were sure he could hear it too. His instincts were built to track prey, pulse, fear and want and pretty much all the signals your body was screaming right now.

Another slow breath. In. Out. You tried to calm your heart first and then your mind.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift away. He simply stayed there beside you, propped on his elbow, his head braced in his fist as his gaze traced your face while you tried to calm down.

“Na’kai… is your heart okay?”

The translator carried the words, but his chest gave that soft purr underneath, as if the name itself coaxed it to life. He spoke it casually, as though it was simply you, but you knew how much more it meant in his language. In his world.

You looked up at him and noticed his hand. It rested by his side, appearing relaxed… yet his fingers tapped fast into the mattress. Nervous. Restless.

You hadn’t known Yautja could display nerves like that, like a human caught somewhere between tension and hope. And the curiosity gnawed at you again, that thrill of discovery you hadn’t felt in so long.

Sure, marine biology had fascinated you. But this, he, was something else entirely. This unknown wrapped in bone and metal and scars that begged you to discover it.

Your hand reached for his.

The tapping stopped instantly.

His hand softened beneath yours, then he turned it, letting his palm cover yours as his fingers slowly interlocked with your smaller ones.

You looked down, mesmerized by the sight of them together, your hand dwarfed, wrapped by his, struggling to weave your fingers through his.

“How did you really find me?” You returned to your earlier question, the thought of him tracking you down by scent alone still refusing to sit right in your chest.

“Why do you think I’m lying?” he rumbled back, that slow vibrating sound travelling into your hand now, slipping beneath your skin like a pulse that wasn’t yours.

“Did you really find me by my smell?” you pressed, your voice quieter this time, shock settling in as your smile faded at the realization.

He couldn’t have possibly found you… by your scent alone. Not this time. You were too far from him to reach you.

He didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

It said everything.

He had admitted to it more than once already. Asking again was useless.

Besides, he had never lied to you. Not once. Why would he start now?

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. His fingers tightened over yours and suddenly your skin was burning.

All those questions.

All those nights you felt completely alone.

All that time waiting to be found.

They crashed over you at once, relentless and unforgiving.

Your eyes stung before you even realized you were yelling. “Then what took you so long?” Your body moved before your mind caught up, pushing at him as you rose to your knees on the mattress, looming over him.

He tilted his head, unfazed by your outburst, answering with that same calm composure.

“Found some trouble on my way.”

Your anger died instantly. The words hit you like cold water, freezing the frustration right out of your bones. Your gaze searched for his eyes through the mask.

So he really was hunted by everyone…

Humans were after him.

Yautja were after him.

No place, no side, nowhere to belong.

He truly didn’t fit anywhere at all.

“I waited days and nights for you,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a confession you would never give to anyone else. That strange pull toward him wrapped tight around your ribcage and for once you didn’t fight it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave anything behind so you could find me faster—” you tried, staring at the mattress.

“You waited for me?” he interrupted, the vocoder sounding rougher than his actual voice.

You noticed his palms curling into fists, talons disappearing into his hands.

You nodded, throat tight, glancing between the empty voids of his mask. His fists slowly relaxed, but neon green blood remained smeared along his talons, gleaming in your room’s low light. You barely had time to ask if he was hurt before he spoke again.

“You’re such a strange human,” he said, still composed, still watching you with that quiet attention that always made you feel seen. As if he admired the way you held your ground now, something you had learned because of him. He had taught you to stop shrinking, to fight for what mattered, when once you would have simply endured and stayed small.

“And you’re a strange Yautja,” you muttered under your breath, just as his hand lifted. His thumb and forefinger brushed your earlobe, rubbing softly and for the tenth time tonight you felt heat instantly rising beneath your skin, because of him.

“Looking for me after two years…” you whispered, your voice faltering as he continued those slow circles that sent sparks through you.

“I knew where you were,” he murmured through the vocoder. His hand lowered, claws tracing a slow path down your arm until they reached your hand again.

“You did?” Your voice barely carried the words. “Then why didn’t you—”

But you already knew the answer. Trouble. Hunters. Survival.

So you let the question drop, watching instead as his sharp nails dragged across your skin, leaving faint pink trails in their wake.

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gasp.

It didn’t hurt, not even close, but something in your nerves lit up, addictive and unsettling and you wanted more of it.

“How long did it take you to find me?” you asked instead.

His talons stopped moving against your skin as he thought.

“A month after I lost you.”

You blinked as the words landed, like a giant rock pressing straight into your chest.

He didn’t mention his escape. Didn’t talk about freedom.

Only that he had lost you.

His nails raked gently across your arm again, more faint pink lines appearing as you stared at his mask, your mind loud and annoying. The way he said it, the way he described that day shook something inside you, violently.

Your shoulders sagged. Your defenses melted. That familiar heavy feeling spread in your chest as you lowered yourself toward the mattress… only to pause, deciding against your pillow.

Instead, you reached for him.

You found his arm ,the one propping up his head and rested your cheek against his bicep. The artificial metal graft felt cool against your skin, before you slowly turned inward and pressed closer to his chest. Your lips brushed the green stone of his medallion as you buried your face there.

You inhaled deeply.

His hand slid to the back of your head, holding you in place , like he knew exactly what you needed. And by now, you were pretty much sure he did.

He guided your hand , moving it gently from his arm down your wrist and across his torso, placing your palm over his chest. Your skin buzzed at the contact. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your touch, fast, uneven, buried deep inside his massive ribcage.

You pressed harder, searching for it, for that rhythm struggling beneath layers of muscle and armor. Then you lowered yourself more, pressing your ear to his chest so you could hear it better.

His hand covered yours, large and cold, flattening your palm firmly against him, making sure you listened. Making sure you understood.

And you wondered if he could hear yours too, how violently it screamed inside your ribs the closer you were, like it was trying to answer his.

“You went back? Only a month later?” you whispered, your lips brushing his chest as you spoke. You felt him tense, that deep rumbling sound stirring inside him, restless enough to almost scare you.

His breathing quickened. Your own matched it, shallow and shaky and you struggled to swallow as you pressed your lips faintly against his chest again. A spark raced through you at the slight contact, like electricity lived under your skin.

“I wanted to go back the next day…” His voice faded, the translator catching the restraint, the way he had to force himself to talk while your mouth kept ghosting over his skin.

“That was so reckless, Keth’raal,” you breathed, the accusation soft and intimate against him, hoping the whisper of your lips affected him the way his fingers tangled through your hair were affecting you.

Driving you absolutely insane.

His loyalty, the fact that he had risked himself again and again for you, brought a small smile to your lips as you kissed his chest.

“So stubborn,“ you kissed him, “so reckless…“ you kissed him again.

It almost hurt to think about. You felt your core tightening with the urge to give something back, because the feeling inside you needed somewhere to go.

Because you had missed him.

Far more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe even differently than he had missed you, in a way you refused to name, especially not now.

“I…” Your voice faltered. His fingers paused in your hair as you searched for the right words.

“I also… you know…” You swallowed, your lips lifting from his chest as heat rushed to your face.

He shifted slightly, angling his head down to look at you.

“Your gauntlet…” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your forehead back to his chest to hide. You inhaled deeply, realizing only then that the soft purr he had been making was gone.

Silence.

Fear crept in slow and cold, but retreating wasn’t an option anymore. You pressed both palms against his chest, almost desperately, trying to steady your racing heart.

“I found your gauntlet on the ground… after you were gone,” you confessed in a single breath.

Your body trembled. You had no idea how he would react and that uncertainty pounded louder than your heartbeat.

How could you possibly explain it? That you had found his broken gauntlet lying on the ground the moment the lab doors burst open and he was gone?

And the worst part was that after you had snatched it up and run, clutching it like the last piece of him you would ever have, you realized you had no idea how to turn it on.

Two years.

Two whole years and it still lay hidden in the back of your drawer, untouched except for the countless times you had tried to force life back into it. You had given up after a year of failed attempts, pressing buttons, prying seams, whispering his name like the damn thing might recognize your desperation.

All you had wanted was to find him again. Or at least feel closer.

“That damn thing wouldn’t switch on…” you muttered, your lips brushing his chest again. You still didn’t dare look up, not even with the mask between you.

Embarrassment burned through you and some reckless, foolish hope he would understand. He’d probably be impressed by your attempts… and furious.

But he didn’t move.

His hand rested against your head, completely still. His chest barely rose, as if he had stopped breathing.

“Please… say something,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you. You lifted your gaze at last, because you couldn’t stand the silence and found his mask staring down at you.

As if he had been waiting precisely for that.

The instant your eyes locked on the dark voids of the helmet, his hand left your hair. In one sudden, powerful move he tore the mask free and then his hand returned to you, pulling you closer.

His face was bare now, pressing his forehead to yours. Your breath snagged as his exhale washed over your lips, fast, almost shaken.

Before you could react, his hands slid over yours, pinning them to the mattress as your back sank into it. He leaned over you, his shadow swallowing you, his dreadlocks spilling forward like a cascade of black silk over his shoulders.

Your eyes flew open in surprise as he leaned closer, his forehead finding yours again and you shut your eyes at the closeness, sudden and overwhelming.

He felt restless above you, for the first time mirroring exactly how you had felt this entire night. Shaking. Overwhelmed. Barely holding himself together.

“Vrek’shai-ka,” he rumbled, the word spilling straight from his throat. You heard it perfectly, but couldn’t grasp its meaning.

And you knew what that meant.

When he spoke his own language without the helmet, it was because he didn’t want you to understand. Because it was safer to confess things in words only he could truly claim.

Safer to keep you from knowing.

You tried to break free, not to escape, but to reach him, his chest, his dreads, anything he would let you hold onto. But the instant he sensed it, his grip shifted, sliding from your hands to your wrists. He pinned them to the mattress, trapping you under him completely.

A sharp breath burst from you. His strength was impossible, with so little effort, you were caught, like a prey running straight to a trap.

But you kind of liked this trap.

He leaned lower, his forehead brushing your shoulder, his breath hitting your chest.

His chest rose and fell too quickly, each inhale ragged, as though he’d sprinted across miles just to get here.

You whispered his name again, not wanting to break whatever fragile control he was clinging to.

And he pulled back, like your voice had burned him.

It struck you all at once.

He wasn’t afraid of touching you.

He was afraid of you touching him, of losing whatever restraint he still had the second your fingers found his skin.

His hands pressed you into the mattress at the sound of his name, his forehead settling against the side of your head. His breath grazed your ear, warm, tingling, the clicking in his throat sending a jolt through you. You turned your head, trying to escape the tickling sensation.

But the second he realized how sensitive you were, it was over.

He leaned closer, breath brushing your ear with deliberate slowness and another word slipped out in his language, familiar, yet still just out of reach.

Goosebumps ran down your spine. You writhed beneath him without meaning to, biting your lower lip hard to keep that helpless sound trapped in your throat, while he held you down, as if a battle he refused to lose.

“Let me hold you back… please,” you begged, your voice breaking on the last word. He exhaled against your ear and the sound crawled over your skin, setting every nerve alight. Goosebumps spread everywhere. That low, controlled rumble inside his chest grew louder, heavier, as if the need itself had taken shape.

“Please.”

You said it again.

Only then did he release one of your wrists, as though he had understood the word the first time… but needed to hear you surrender to him twice.

Your free hand moved on instinct. It slid to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his dreadlocks. You tugged him back just to pull him forward again, pressing his forehead to yours and a sound escaped him, a sharp gasp that melted into a deeper groan.

You shut your eyes instantly.

His other hand cupped your cheek carefully, the pad of his thumb gliding under your scar as if tracing a memory engraved into both of you.

“Keth’raal.”

You breathed his name, lips barely moving. His proximity felt suffocating and still you welcomed it, ready to drown in the air he breathed.

“Let me try something… please,” you whispered again, knowing now he recognized the pleading word.

You inhaled slowly and didn’t open your eyes. Your hand slid from his dreadlocks and moved between your faces, fingers grazing his mandible. Carefully you opened the right one… and he didn’t resist.

He let you.

You lifted your head slightly, your lips brushing against the inside of his mandible.

Then you lowered yourself again, finally opening your eyes.

He was staring at you.

A deep frown shadowed his features, confusion tangled with something like pain, or hunger, or both. You reached up, cupping the side of his head with both hands, fingers brushing behind his mandibles.

“I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but humans—”

You never finished.

His artificial hand gathered your shirt and hauled you upward, pulling you flush to him. His mandibles spread open, wider, inviting, beckoning you wordlessly back to him.

No hesitation.

No translator.

Nothing else but his need to feel you again.

You cupped his face, your lips softening into a smile as you leaned in again, brushing another kiss against the inside of his mandibles. You lingered a second longer, moving slowly toward the left one, pressing a peck over it and only then did he release you, letting you fall back onto the mattress.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

The words came freely now, safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t understand them.

“If only you knew…”

Your fingers slid toward his medallion, hooking around the rough vine. You tugged him closer by it and he followed without question. His eyes gleamed with that helpless curiosity, searching your face, studying you, as he leaned in.

Your mouth found the emerald stone, lips closing around its cool surface. You kissed it slowly, never looking away from him. Your tongue grazed the chilled green and his gaze dropped fully to your mouth.

“Mouths aren’t only for biting,” you whispered, breath feathering across the space between you as you let the medallion fall. It swung lazily, tapping once against your chest.

He still looked torn, that same quiet ache lingering in his eyes, as if even now, even here, there was still a distance neither of you knew how to cross. Whatever he couldn’t say, you knew it already.

You reached up, trying to smooth the tension from his brow again. He moved back slightly and then his fingers curled firmly around your wrist, guiding you upright with him. The bed dipped under both your bodies, wooden frame creaking and this was your time to act first.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, burying your face into the thick fall of his locks. You held him tight, lips pressed together as you swallowed down the ache in your chest.

“I missed you. I missed you—”

The words trembled against his skin, your breaths breaking as you fought back the urge to finally give in, to let the tears come, to let them say everything you still couldn’t.

His artificial arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand slid to the back of your head, keeping you close, his mandibles brushing your temples.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you when I said I would follow you. You wouldn’t be safe with me, you wouldn’t—” you stumbled, “I would just be a burden and— and you’d end up dead—” Your words broke off mid-sentence.

His middle and index finger rose to your lips, pressing them closed.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide and startled.

He released your lips only to return, rubbing over them with the rough pad of his thumb. He lingered a moment longer, always captivated by the softness of your human nature.

Your heartbeat slowed, no longer kicking your ribs, your hand curling gently around his wrist as that low, soothing growl began deep in his chest.

“You should wear your helmet now,” you whispered, glancing toward the discarded mask at the edge of the bed, but then his talons slipped just an inch past your lips and you forgot how to breathe.

Your mouth parted, heat rushing to your face while your hands twitched uselessly at your sides. Whatever was happening, whatever strange moment this was, you prayed it wouldn’t end just yet.

He withdrew slowly, leaving your lips cold and turned toward the mask. Your fingers rose to your mouth instantly, tracing the exact path his had drew over them, as if replaying the sensation might help you understand what it meant, what he meant.

When he turned back with the helmet in his hand, your arm snapped down to your side, pretending you hadn’t just touched your own lips.

He pressed the helmet over his head and looked down at you.

His thumb returned to your bottom lip, rubbing softly. “It’s soft,” the translator finally said.

You nodded too quickly, unable to stop yourself and then his hand slipped away.

He turned and climbed off the bed, rising to his full height.

“Do you have time?” you suddenly asked, nerves gathering again as you stared at his back, just the thought of him leaving making your jaw lock.

He turned then, placing his palm gently on the crown of your head and then sank to one knee before you. You moved on the mattress, still kneeling, facing him.

“All my life,” came the low reply through the vocoder, his hand settling once more behind your head.

And you finally let yourself go.

You lunched forward, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to him with everything you had. His arms closed around you and you allowed yourself to hold the hug longer, as long as you needed, until the years you’ve been waiting fade into a distant memory.

You knew how dangerous he was, but danger to him was like an instict he was chasing after.

“You’re so stupid,” you whispered under your breath, stepping off the stretcher and pulling him into a sudden embrace.

His head came to rest beneath your chin, catching the breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

His arm jolted upward, instinctively bracing for a hit, but then froze midair.

Processing.

You laced your fingers through his dreadlocks, bringing your lips to the forehead of his helmet and resting there, the gesture gentle but heavy with meaning.

He didn’t move, but something shifted in him.

The steel tension of his body softened ever so slightly under your touch, his shoulders releasing weight like a drawbridge finally lowering.

His breath grew heavier, deeper, like someone finally letting themselves collapse into bed after carrying too much in a day.

His remaining arm dropped into his lap, the last of his defenses falling with it.

And then… he tilted his head.

The side of his helmet aligned with your sternum, as if listening.

Your heart pounded beneath his ear.

A low purr rumbled up his throat, warm and rich, a sound meant only for you.

It was deep, steady and meaningful. Like words he didn’t dare to speak.

His helmet grew heavier in your arms, as if the last lock in his body had finally clicked open.

You could feel the way his breath matched yours now. A bubble of silence where the outside world no longer mattered.

You held onto his helmet, not tightly, not enough for him to know what you were about to do. But just enough to stay. Your grip trembled, your jaw locking as you leaned in, pressing it against the curve of his mask. You didn’t touch his skin, but somehow, it still felt like him.

And for a second, you let yourself breathe like this. Cherishing the moment, carving it into your memory.

His arm rose carefully now, uncertain, his clawed hand found your waist, hesitant at first, as if afraid he might crush you. His touch was rough in texture, but the pressure was soft,delicate, almost nervous. He always handled you like this. As if strength was something he wore, not something he used.

You felt his palm leave the small of your back, trailing upward carefully. It slid along your side, past your ribs, then swept down your arm in one careful motion. His claws traced the line of your forearm, barely grazing skin, until he reached your wrist.

You shivered as his cool skin ignited something impossibly warm in you.

He held it there for a moment, your pulse beating beneath his fingers, before guiding your hand downward. And you let him, you always did. He brought it to his chest, just beneath his collarbone, where his armor gave way to his bare skin.

Right where his heart should be.

You could feel it. Strange and fast beneath your palm. Not human. Nothing about it was human. But it was real and it was him.

You didn’t speak. No words. No translation.

But something passed between you.

A truth you weren’t sure you were ready to carry.

My life is yours.

The thought echoed in your mind, not in your voice, but in his. Your throat tightened and your stomach turned painfully with it, as if the weight of his trust was too much. You tried to chase the thought away, but it clung to you, clawing onto your heart.

You weren’t strong enough to hold this. To hold him.

He lifted his head to look at you. The dark lenses of his mask catching your reflection.

He didn’t speak again, even though he could.

No words passed between you, yet you felt it in your bones.

The way he held you and the way you clung to him, unwilling to let the moment just slip away.

It was your peace, fragile and precious, and you were quietly counting the seconds before it shattered. Before all that remained was this memory of calm you would carry inside you forever.

Your focus stayed on him. The rest of the world blurred, your hearing dimmed until all you could catch was the rhythm of his breath, the rise and fall that held you to the present. He looked at you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like nothing else existed.

Your mind betrayed you with a false memory, a crafted wish.

You imagined the two of you lying under the stars, free from fear, simply existing together. No words needed. Just the quiet understanding you always shared. You didn’t bother scripting your fantasy with witty dialogue, you already knew how it would feel.

In that place, there was no war. No walls, no alarms. Only you, him, and the night sky stretching endlessly above.

Sometimes in those quiet moments, you would ask him about the stars, how far they were, what they looked like up close. He would click his mandibles in that way he always did when he felt proud, boasting. But the pride would soften and he would ask you to go with him and see them yourself.

Because to him, you were an equal. Just as capable. Just as brave.

And, like now, you would refuse, not because you didn’t want to, but because you believed people needed you here, on Earth, more than you needed to see the stars. And he would accept that without argument. Because your happiness meant more to him than his longing to keep you close.

It was perfect in its way, this fragile bubble of wishful thinking, these stolen moments that could never be real.

“I’ll come with you,” you said, brushing your thumb across the cold glass of his mask, right where his eye would be.

He leaned back slightly, taking a moment to process it, as if the words didn’t make sense yet.

As if he had always assumed you would say no.

Then, slowly, he rose from the chair.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the weight steady but always careful.

It lingered there, before moving up, the cool edge of his claws brushing your neck until his palm cupped your face.

His thumb touched just beneath your mark.

Not just a touch. An acknowledgment.

As if he was reminding himself of the honour it meant, the trust bound into it, and the moment he had given it to you because he believed you were worthy.

No words passed between you.

They weren’t needed.

His choice had always been clear in the way he touched you and you understood him better in silence than you ever could in speech.

He started gathering what remained of his weapons without hesitation, tossing you the pouch he had carried alongside his armor.

You caught it with your good hand and fastened it to your waist.

He had accepted your final touch.

Now you needed to get him out of here.

You tested your weight against a makeshift crutch, some battered piece of lab equipment he had fashioned into something functional. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. You could move. Slowly.

Carrying you was no longer an option, not with one arm and a full arsenal to manage.

You would have to walk beside him.

When the lab door creaked open, you were relieved to see that the exit wasn’t far.

His ship had to be nearby.

He walked first, spear strapped across his back, his remaining hand navigating through the flickering map on his forearm.

You couldn’t stop watching him, how impossibly powerful he looked, even missing an arm.

It somehow made him more. Like his scars told the story of survival better than any battle cry ever could.

You admired how his dreadlocks swayed against his back, some sheared, some still intact, yet each moved gracefully.

You followed him, the pain flaring in every joint and breath, throbbing down your fractured shin, but you refused to slow down.

This wasn’t about comfort, it was about survival.

And you weren’t going to be the reason he didn’t make it.

The corridor ahead was long and sterile.

Your path out of hell.

He glanced over his shoulder, snapping the map shut and moving to lift you.

But before he could, you heard it.

Voices. Humans.

Your blood turned to ice.

They were just as dangerous as the xenomorphs, maybe even more.

And they wouldn’t spare him.

Not now. Not ever.

There was no time.

Carrying you on his shoulder would impale you on his spear.

Cradling you was impossible.

Instead, he moved beside you and threw your arm over his shoulder.

You clung to him as he broke into a run, dragging you at his pace.

And still, you didn’t stop.

Even as your lungs burned and your leg threatened to give out.

You kept moving.

This was it.

One last sprint.

One last chance.

Your bodies were in sync now, he could feel your exhaustion, you could sense his determination.

Adrenaline linked you, both craving freedom.

The final door came into view, its window revealing falling snow on the other side.

There it was. Your way out.

He let go of your arm, watching your every move as you stumbled to the padlock and entered the code with shaking hands.

Behind you, he raised his plasma gun, lasers ready, watching every shadow.

You pressed the final key.

The lock hissed and the door split open with a mechanical groan.

A burst of cold air hit your face, you inhaled the scent of soil and ice, tasting the freedom on your tongue.

Suddenly, a gunshot cracked through the corridor like thunder.

You flinched, body curling in on itself, ears ringing loudly.

Humans.

Armed.

Already firing. No warning. No hesitation.

Always taking what’s not theirs.

Keth’raal stepped in front of you, red laser dots flashing across the white walls, spear sliding into his hand.

He didn’t flinch. He never did. Never backed down from a fight, even if it meant certain death.

But you saw it in an instant, he wouldn’t survive another fight. Not this close. Not with you next to him. Because you knew, he would die just to protect you.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and pulled him hard.

Yanking him through the door with you.

Behind you, voices screamed.

In the midst of the chaos, loud and all-consuming, he had somehow obeyed the pull of your hand.

He let you drag him outside with you.

And then, with the last shred of strength you had left, you pushed him forward.

Out of your grasp.

Out of danger.

You slipped from his grip, slamming your weight into the reinforced door and sealing it behind him.

Silence.

Not in the corridor, not really… but inside you.

You stared through the small glass window, your breath fogging the surface as you watched him react.

You could barely hear his roars, muffled beneath the mask and the door between you.

But you could see the rage.

The betrayal.

It was in every movement, wild and raw, animal and deliberate.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was hurt.

Your fingers met the glass, gently, like you were touching him again.

One last time.

A silent apology whispered.

For lying.

For leaving.

For choosing his life over your own.

He couldn’t hear it.

And still—no matter the betrayal, he didn’t stop.

He clawed at the door, kicked at it, slammed his fist until his knuckles bled, just to get you out of there.

It was in his nature, feral and loyal, violent but protective.

He lifted his plasma caster, aiming it at the lock.

A crack.

But thankfully, not enough.

Tears welled in your eyes as you watched him, striking the reinforced window with the full weight of his fury.

But you tried not to focus on his rage.

You searched his mask instead, imagining the eyes behind it, trying to memorise him.

The weight of him, the sound of his voice when it softened just for you, the way he tilted his head like he was always trying to figure you out.

The purr in his chest when your hand found his dreadlocks.

A sound only you had ever earned.

A beast moulded from war and violence had softened for you.

He had given up instinct for something that made no sense, something dangerously human.

You had found him behind glass.

And now you were leaving him behind it.

Your chest ached, twisting painfully. He wasn’t going to stop. And if he didn’t, if he broke through, then both of you would die here.

They would cut you down before he even reached you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, resting your forehead against the window.

“Please… just go. Leave. If you stay, they’ll kill us both.”

But he didn’t hear. Or maybe he did and refused to listen.

Another kick rattled the door. Another guttural roar that you could barely hear. He wasn’t leaving. He would rather die tearing through steel than abandon you.

And still, somewhere inside the ache, a fragile thread of hope twisted in you. If he understood, if he chose to walk away, then maybe you both could live. He out there and free. You here and alive. Apart, but not gone.

Behind you, the soldiers were closing in.

You turned away, giving him the only thing you had left. Time.

Time to run.

Time to disappear.

You turned from him as the boots came closer, weapons raised, fingers ready to fire.

A hand grabbed your arm and yanked you away from the door.

“Open it! Now!”

You didn’t answer.

You stumbled forward, your palm slapping against the keypad. Your body screamed in protest as they pushed you, but you forced yourself to stay on your feet.

You punched in the wrong code. The panel spat back a warning. A shock jolted through your arm. You bit your tongue and stayed silent.

“Code! Now!”

You hesitated.

Still listening.

Still searching for the sound of him on the other side.

Roaring. Breaking. Refusing to leave.

You fumbled the keypad, pressing the wrong sequence on purpose again.

Another shove. Your ribs hit the edge of the panel.

You flinched, but said nothing.

You only listened, counting the seconds, waiting for him to understand, to leave.

The third time, you thought you heard it. The silence. The door no longer shook. The roars fell quiet. The steel stayed still.

It broke something inside you, that silence. But it was what you had begged for.

Only when you were sure, when the sounds behind the door had gone quiet, when he was no longer there, did you enter the correct code.

The door hissed open.

Cold air struck your face again and you inhaled deeply, welcoming the burn in your lungs.

You smiled, despite the pain that throbbed through your body, because for the first time, you felt relief.

He was gone.

No longer trapped.

You had made it.

Both of you.

.

.

.

Epilogue

It had been almost two years.

Your time at the secluded facility quickly came to an end after the incident.

Bodies—human and alien—were buried beneath silence, and silence is what followed.

The incident never made it to the news. Of course it didn’t.

Things like that don’t.

You never went back.

You didn’t even return home that day.

You fled to another country, close to the sea. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere where the wind smelled like salt instead of blood.

You started studying marine biology less than two weeks later.

Something you used to daydream about, back when your days were filled with cold corridors, lab coats and screams muffled by concrete walls.

It kept you busy.

You needed to be busy.

Because if you weren’t, the nights would swallow you whole.

Some nights they still tried.

When your cat curled up against your chest and purred softly, your throat would tighten.

You would press your face into her fur and pretend it was him.

It helped. But not always.

Surviving in a foreign country alone wasn’t easy.

But after what you have been through, nothing really felt hard anymore.

You had faced death and dragged it to the finish line.

Everything after that felt… do-able.

Your hand healed, mostly.

You could never close it all the way, frozen in that moment of time.

A small price.

You didn’t regret it.

Like the scar across your cheek, it became a quiet souvenir.

A reminder of him.

A part of him he had left behind.

At first, it hurt to look at.

You would trace the line in the mirror and cry without knowing why.

But time, ever so slowly, softened the pain.

Now, you touched the scar gently.

And smiled.

You didn’t cry yourself to sleep anymore.

You didn’t wake up gasping for breath, or calling his name into the dark.

Now, you woke up… and wanted to live.

Wanted to work.

To explore.

To keep going.

You had figured out what you wanted

and more importantly, what you would never settle for again.

He had taught you that.

Not with words, but with everything else.

Through survival, through grief, you had found your own strength.

And now you believed in it.

You believed in yourself.

Life had texture again.

Light. Flavor. Wonder.

Still, some nights, your chest would ache with the memory of him.

Your body remembering things your mind tried to leave hidden in the past.

But it didn’t hurt the same way.

It was tender now.

Bittersweet.

He had become a part of your story.

Not the ending, just a chapter.

One that would always matter.

You were happy.

And somehow, you couldn’t help but blame him for that, too.

You returned home late, the sky already dark, wrapped in the hush of a summer night.

The warmth clung to your skin like a soft touch.

You opened your window.

The breeze kissed your face.

The sky had turned into deep velvet, adorned with stars like shattered glass.

You used to look up at the sky every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of something—anything—different. Something alien. A sign that he was still out there, somewhere.

But that habit had faded now.

You no longer searched the sky. You simply let yourself enjoy the moment, holding on to one quiet truth.

He was out there. Alive.

And that was all that mattered.

You closed your eyes.

Breathed in the scent of salt and jasmine.

And then…

The black behind your eyelids pulsed orange.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Three red laser dots glowed steady on your skin.

“And I was starting to think you liked keeping me waiting,” you breathed, a grin stretching widely across your lips.

The End

Author’s Note

This started as a silly little prompt (as I state in the first part) but ended up becoming a full story 🥹 It has been a lovely ride everyone 🩷 I’m going to miss all your comments and reactions on this fic so much. Keth’raal is my first OC I decided to post online and for that, he will always have a special place in my heart. I hope you also got to love him throughout the story. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this finale! I’d love to see you in my next work! And I have a feeling, Keth’raal’s story will get a sequel one day 🤭

The thought drifted through your mind like a whisper. It didn’t come with panic, just a strange detachment. You tried to hold onto something familiar, something real. But nothing responded. You were trapped, somewhere between awareness and total darkness.

It felt like sleep paralysis.

Only deeper.

Only colder.

You tried to speak. Tried to breathe. But your lungs didn’t move. Your voice never came.

You weren’t sure if your mouth was even real anymore.

Am I dreaming?

You begged the void for an answer. But it didn’t answer, it never did.

So you stopped asking.

And in that silence… you found something like peace.

No more running.

No more bleeding.

No more pain.

Your body had fought beyond its limits. You were no warrior — not in the way others were — but the fight moulded you into one anyway. You had endured. That was enough.

It had to be.

And you found peace in that thought.

So you let go.

It was quiet.

And it was good.

No more chaos, no more alarms. Just this numb, soundless abyss where nothing could hurt you anymore.

And that, somehow, was mercy.

But then…

A flicker.

A tremor in your eye, twitching against the darkness.

Your thoughts confused, reluctant.

Wait… wasn’t it over?

Why were you still here?

Why was your mind still awake?

Still thinking?

Your lips trembled. You could feel them again.

Then your neck. Stiff and heavy.

Your back. A crawling ache starting at the spine and sinking into your hips.

Your stomach twisted.

Everything hurt.

Then came the fire.

Your hand was burning.

The kind of pain that doesn’t make sense at first, like your skin was in shock, melting and freezing all at once. It was unbearable.

You wanted to scream.

Stop. Please. Stop.

But your lungs heaved, dry and strained. One breath. Then another.

Your throat burned as you gasped, and when your eyes snapped open, light stabbed through them like knives.

You lurched upward.

Blurry and painful.

Everything was wrong, too loud, too bright.

You flinched at the hand that pressed you down, not sure if it meant harm or help.

You fought it, or at least tried to. But your limbs barely listened.

Somewhere, through the chaos and panic in your mind, a word came. The only word that made sense.

Keth’raal.

Over and over. That name.

Like your brain had chosen it as the only anchor left.

Keth’raal.

You tried to speak it. Call his name. Ask where he is.

But it slipped away.

And just like that, you were gone again.

Dragged under the weight of your broken body and mind.

The light blinked out.

And again — silence.

You shot upright with a gasp, as if emerging from deep water.

The air hit your lungs like knives again, but this time you welcomed it.

You blinked and gasped, looking around you.

The world was blurred at the edges, but it was there. You could feel it. Real. Tangible.

Pain throbbed beneath your skin like a reminder, but it was manageable.

You looked down, your hand was wrapped in layers of gauze. Sloppy, maybe, but careful enough to mean something.

Someone had tried.

The fingers on your damaged hand twitched. Barely. The tips stung but you could feel them.

Still yours.

Then your throbbing leg, bandaged too. The pain flared in your shin when you moved, but that meant it was still there. Still alive.

You weren’t dead.

But that begged a deeper, more terrifying question.

How?

You remembered falling beside him, not just collapsing but choosing to stop, because there was nothing else to give.

And now…

The thought came before you could even stop it.

Him.

Keth’raal.

Your breath caught, heart pushing violently against your chest.

Where was he?

Your eyes darted around the room, searching, frantic.

Was he captured? Left behind? Did he—

No. You couldn’t finish that thought.

Couldn’t even let the image form in your mind.

“Oh God, please no” you pressed your palms over your eyes, as the pain returned, sharp and blinding.

You hadn’t even said goodbye.

Not after everything.

You didn’t get to thank him, for protecting you when no one else did. For being the only one who stood between you and certain death.

He had given everything.

And something in you knew… it hadn’t just been about honour.

Your throat tightened.

A sob threatened to break loose, but you swallowed it down, muffling it against your hand.

It felt like something had been carved out of your chest.

You looked up.

The flickering ceiling lights caught your eye, and for a moment, the room started to look familiar again.

You were still in the facility.

Still in one of the labs.

But this one… it was far north, tucked into the coldest wing of the facility.

Why were you still here?

Was this some kind of personal hell?

Had you died after all, and this was it?

You tried to make sense of it, but the pain in your skull pulsed like static, blurring every thought before it could land.

You inhaled—through your nose —just as he had taught you. That first time you had panicked in front of him, breath hitching, frozen, wild-eyed… and he had shown you how to come back to yourself. One breath at a time.

You closed your eyes.

And there he was, your mind conjuring him, standing before you, whole and unbroken, silently watching.

His mandibles twitched with a familiar click, soft now, not threatening.

His eyes, always dark, glowed faintly with that strange green that somehow made him look gentle. Not human. Never that. But still—gentle.

His gaze had always changed when it found you. You had seen it.

The tension in his face, the sharp lines of his head, softened when you were near.

Even in silence, he looked at you this way.

And you could never quite define what you felt for him—not back then, not now.

It wasn’t simple. Wasn’t clear. Wasn’t anything human.

Because he wasn’t human at all.

What you shared wasn’t friendship, though there had been respect. A kind of recognition. You both offered help when it was needed, and maybe that was a kind of trust.

But it went deeper, stranger.

Even when he wasn’t using the translator, you understood him.

Even in the silence, something unspoken flowed between you.

It wasn’t romance.

And yet, it stirred something in your chest—something warm, magnetic.

The first time he stood close to you, you had felt it, like particles crashing together.

It wasn’t love. Not the kind you had grown up reading about.

It was something rawer. Something that went beyond language entirely.

It felt like belonging.

You had both been trapped in this cursed place.

Both prisoners.

And somehow, you found each other in the ruins of it.

You had pieced together the truth behind the facility long before it collapsed.

This wasn’t about peaceful contact or research, it never had been.

It was about control. Evolution through manipulation.

Humanity didn’t want to understand aliens, it wanted to use them. Enhance its soldiers. Build its weapons. Prepare for wars it intended to win.

And in that chase of power, it had created something it couldn’t contain.

The bioweapon that tore off Keth’raal’s arm, too fast, too strong, a beast that turned on its creators.

Evacuation protocols failed. Containment went under.

You guessed someone, reckless or terrified, had tried to return Keth’raal to his chamber and left it unlocked.

And maybe, by accident or instinct, that’s how he found you.

But no…

He hadn’t found you by chance.

He knew you. Your voice. Your scent. Something in you had pulled him close, something deeper than instinct.

And it wasn’t desire. It wasn’t attraction in the way people often meant it.

It was connection.

When he was near, you didn’t feel afraid.

Your body moved differently, faster, braver.

Pain dulled. Breath steadied.

You lived, in a way you hadn’t before.

Even caged, you felt free.

Like the universe had pushed him into your path, so you could fight beside him.

So you could share his burden.

So you could know him.

You sniffled, wiping at the corner of your eye with the back of your hand as a tear slipped free.

You had fought like hell to help him.

But in the end, you had failed.

And now that he was gone… it hurt more than you ever imagined.

Your sigh shivered in your chest, as tears trailed down your cheeks.

You stared up at the ceiling.

And then, slowly, closed your eyes.

The world went quiet again.

“Na’thek.”

You heard the low, guttural rumble echo through the air, and your eyes snapped open.

You turned your head sharply to the left and there he was.

Materializing before your eyes, rising out of the dim light like a ghost you had begged the universe to give back. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. Your palm flew to your mouth, muffling the gasp that escaped you. You didn’t want him to see you weak like this. But you wanted to fall apart. Wanted to leap off the bed, wrap your arms around him, and feel that he was alive. That he was real.

And… you did.

You didn’t wait. There was no time for hesitation anymore, not after everything. Time had become sacred, fragile, and you refused to waste even a second.

Your body ached as you pushed yourself upright with trembling arms. You knew your injured leg wouldn’t hold you, but you didn’t care. You shifted to the edge of the stretcher, used your good leg to throw yourself forward and crashed into him.

Your arms wrapped around his broad chest as your weight hit him, and you clung to him like a lifeline.

He stood still, unmoving under your hold.

His mandibles clicked in that strange pattern he always made when he didn’t quite understand your behaviour, but tolerated it anyway. His breath lifted his chest slowly, rising and falling against your cheek where you had buried your face. You pressed yourself tighter into him, refusing to let go. Not this time. Not now that you had found him again.

Your tears returned, warm and happy, soaking into his cold, scaly skin.

He was here. He was alive.

You didn’t even register the missing limb, the bruises, the scars. All that mattered was the pulse beneath your cheek, the scent you remembered, the sound of his breath.

And then, slowly, one of his arms shifted. He untangled it from your grip carefully. You lifted your head, not letting go but easing just enough to look at him.

His hand cupped the back of your head with odd gentleness, talons careful not to scratch, thumb dragging in cautious circles—like he was studying the motion, like affection was something new he was still trying to understand.

You stared up at him, and he looked down at you.

Words didn’t matter. Not right now. You both knew that.

His fingers slid now, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing faintly beneath the scar he had given you.

It was no longer just a mark of honour—it was a memory. Something shared between you.

A quiet piece of him that stayed with you.

“Ki’cte’ya,” he rasped, the word vibrating low in his throat. The sound was coarse, unfamiliar and yet you knew he spoke in his language.

You tilted your head, a silent question in your eyes.

His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb moving in slow circles. The heat of your skin met the coolness of his, and you felt your cheeks flush—not just from the touch, but from the way he looked at you. The way his presence wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” you whispered, barely audible, like saying it too loudly might fracture the moment. You were scared your closeness might break if you weren’t careful. Like it could disappear if you made a wrong move.

You knew well enough that the Yautja weren’t a species known for their affection. A hug like this might feel strange to him, maybe even like a challenge for dominance. But Keth’raal had always been different. Curious. Always eager to learn.

He had studied you just as carefully as you had studied him.

And you knew, without words, that he understood your touch meant safety and never harm.

He tilted his head again, the way he always did when something confused him. His claw traced the tears beneath your eye.

“Sometimes… humans cry when they’re happy too,” you explained, voice small, smiling faintly through the blur.

Your still-working hand rose slowly, hesitant about the contact you were about to make.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the single bead still clinging to one of his locks — the one that set him apart. That golden bead wasn’t just an adornment. It was a symbol. A reminder of freedom. A piece of the past he still carried. And you loved that about him, that something within him still resisted captivity. Still remembered.

Your thumb traced over the ridges of the bead. It felt foreign, yet somehow familiar. It gave him a sense of pride, of identity.

You knew — even though he never said it — that he cherished this tiny piece of gold.

As it meant belonging.

He had told you that when he woke up here, the only thing he remembered was you.

The rest of his past was a blur of violence and time.

Maybe it was the experiments. Maybe it was the brutal way he had been captured. Or maybe it was the guards, kicking and striking him while unconscious, simply because they could.

But this bead — someone had once placed it there with care. Someone he trusted.

It wasn’t rusty, but it was worn — old like a relic passed through time and pain.

He didn’t belong here, and he knew it. Somewhere out there, he had a home, a life, a name that meant something. And this bead was proof of that.

You didn’t know if his memories had returned since finding you. But you knew he was still fighting for freedom, for the right to reclaim what had been stolen from him.

You felt his gaze on you now, lingering on your hand. Watching, not with suspicion, but with curiosity. You were touching something sacred. His only reminder of who he was.

The golden bead was textured and cool beneath your touch. You rubbed it once more with your thumb, memorizing the shape of it before your hand slid lower, gently closing around the length of his lock.

His entire body went rigid.

It felt like he was holding his breath.

You remembered how aggressively he had reacted when you first touched his dreadlocks.

You hadn’t known why then. You still didn’t.

But now… now everything was different.

A deep, low rumble rose from his chest, a vibration that echoed into your bones.

You looked up at his face. Always unreadable.

But not now.

His eyelids were lowered. The sharp ridges of his face softened. The mask of aggression peeled back, revealing something else. Vulnerability. Maybe… even comfort.

He didn’t stop you this time.

“Na’kai,” he rasped, the sound rumbling through his throat, heavy with something you couldn’t name. It was a word you recognized, yet not the one he usually used for you.

Shorter. Different.

Intimate.

He had let you touch him where he was most sensitive.

And in doing so, you had earned his complete trust.

Not just as an ally.

Your eyes left the lock between your fingers and met his.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice soft, “for saving me.”

Reluctantly, you released the strand.

He seemed to nod, the soft purr in his chest fading as you let go.

His eyes opened fully now and he exhaled slowly, as if he could only now breathe again.

A strange tingle lingered over your fingertips. The reminder of a contact that had meant more than words ever could.

But you didn’t focus on that now.

You took a step back, heart sinking as you turned your eyes to the truth you had been avoiding.

You had felt it. You had known it.

But now, you had to look at it.

His body, once the epitome of strength, bore the aftermath of war now.

His face scratched, shoulders slashed, his thighs and knees bruised a deep shade of green.

But it was his arm that made your breath catch.

Gone.

The wound still sealed by the salve you had put on it.

It shimmered faintly, an odd blue hue glinting in the light. No blood. No oozing.

But he stood tall anyway.

No shame in his posture. No fear. Only pride.

He had survived. He had fought. And he had endured.

He had turned his back to the enemy once and had paid the price. A lesson learned.

You stared at the stump on his left arm, then down at your own ruined hand — the right one.

You raised it slightly in greeting, a crooked wave.

And he lifted his own damaged arm, mimicking your gesture.

Left and right. Mirror images of each other.

You were both broken.

But you were still standing.

You had a storm of questions spiraling through your mind, each one crashing into the next.

Was he the one who bandaged you?

How had he escaped the humans?

Did he carry you here?

But only one word left your lips.

“How?”

It felt too small—too simple—for everything racing through your head. But it was honest. It was all you could manage.

Keth’raal tilted his head at the question. It was vague, but he didn’t need more. He could hear your pulse and your nervous gulping. He knew confusion when it stared him down.

He glanced at his helmet first, then turned to walk toward it. You finally saw his back, damaged like the rest of him. More of his dreadlocks had been severed in battle, shorter now, uneven. But they weren’t bleeding. He must have used the salve.

You took two cautious steps backward, sitting on the stretcher to relieve the throbbing in your leg that was coming with every heartbeat.

He returned, slipping the mask over his face. The lights in its eyes blinked on. Then his hand gently rested on your shoulder, encouraging you to speak.

You stared at it. His touch wasn’t foreign, but it had never been quite like this. Maybe he pitied you. You were broken. Barely stitched back together after everything. But so was he, just as broken, if not more.

Your gaze found the line etched across his mask again—the one he had confessed was left by his own brothers in a sparring match. You lifted a hand, your index finger tracing it slowly, eyes soft and distant. Trying to find the right words. Trying to hold onto this fleeting moment.

“How?” you asked again, quieter this time. “How did you do it? I thought… we were both gone.”

The mask tilted as his hand slid from your shoulder. He lifted it to your face slowly, carefully. His thumb touched just beneath your brow. A shallow cut. You flinched as he tapped it once. Twice.

Then finally spoke, the mechanical voice from his mask almost gentle.

“I hid us under my cloak. Because of you… I didn’t bleed out. The humans never saw us.”

You remembered the blur, the chaos the voices in the distance, the weight of someone carrying you. That must have been then.

His thumb, now tinged with your blood, rose to the line on his mask. He pressed it there, your blood over the scar left by his own kind.

Your breath hitched.

What was this?

Another ritual?

He rubbed the blood into the old mark, like he wanted it to stay. To linger. A part of him now.

“Keth’raal—” you whispered, reaching up, your fingers just grazing his mask, until a loud sound cracked through the silence.

You flinched.

Both your heads turned toward the door.

“Come with me,” the voice said through the mask, thick with urgency.

You blinked at him, the noise still ringing in your ears.

“What?” your voice faltered.

He didn’t move. Just stared at you, still, silent, waiting. Maybe listening to the panic spiking in your chest.

Your skin flushed. Not just with fear, but something deeper. A growing pressure in your ribs, like a thought you didn’t want to name.

“I can’t—” you began, already shaking your head.

But he interrupted you, cutting through the hesitation like he could read it before you voice it.

“Why?”

His head tilted again, curious. Sincere.

You scoffed softly, trying to joke, even though your hands were trembling. “Do you see me? I wouldn’t last a second in your world.”

His response silenced you.

“That wound on your shoulder… is from a human.”

You looked at your arm.

He was right.

That bullet had torn through you without hesitation, without warning. From someone meant to be on your side.

“I can’t fight forever,” you muttered, letting your head drop. The ache in your bones felt permanent now. Your body begged you to stop, to just stop.

“I’m not built for this.”

“You think we only fight?” he asked, his voice lower now, quieter.

You looked up.

That… wasn’t what you expected him to say.

“And how do you think we reproduce?”

He shifted, weight moving to his other leg, the stance casual, but still looming.

You stared at him. Did he just—?

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out.

Was he smirking under that mask?

You knew it was impossible.

But it felt like it.

“We have a life,” he continued, as though he saw your disbelief and chose to keep going. “We don’t just hunt.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck, a tension tightening your throat.

“You don’t have to fight,” he said, lifting his chin up. The same way he always did when he felt sure of himself.

You had picked up on his patterns. How he moved. How he expressed himself without words. Measured and minimal, never wasting energy or time.

But still, there was so much there, beneath the surface.

He was reckless and careful. Proud and watchful. Guarded and raw.

A complete paradox.

“I—” you started again, looking at the floor now. Blood stained the tiles—his blood. Still fresh.

“What if they attack me first?” you asked, your voice nearly lost.

He moved again, subtly. His hand hovered near the stump of his missing arm. Maybe it throbbed. Maybe he still hadn’t completely registered it was missing. You would never know.

“You fight back,” he said.

Three simple words.

But they hit harder than anything else that night.

You looked up at him again.

He believed in you. That much was obvious now. Not because he said it, but because he didn’t need to.

He had fought for you, over and over. Put himself between you and death again and again.

He had chosen you, the moment he woke.

“What if I can’t…” you whispered, looking down at your fidgeting hands. Skin bruised. Nails cracked. Just human.

“If you can’t, I will.”

Your breath caught.

You blinked at him, stunned.

That wasn’t a promise. It was a fact. A vow wrapped in reassurance.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it sinking in.

He would fight for you. Had always fought for you. And you—somewhere along the way—had started fighting for him too.

You had feared death your whole life. The void. The unknown.

But with him standing this close, you didn’t think of dying.

You thought of surviving.

“I don’t fear death,” he said, as if to echo your thoughts.

And you believed him.

You always had.

But now your chest ached.

Not because of the pain. Not even because of the fear.

Because you finally understood what you were most afraid of.

Not death.

Not pain.

But losing him.

And that fear had rooted itself so deeply, you hadn’t even noticed it growing.

Whatever this was—whatever bond fate had wrapped around the two of you—it wasn’t just survival anymore.

He had saved your life.

But you… had saved his too. Even if it had taken this long to see it.

“I would die for you.”

Your mouth fell open, unable to contain the gasp that escaped your lips.

His words struck you like the fine edge of a knife—not painful at first, but still making you bleed the most.

Your eyes burned, your jaw clenched, holding back the tears now threatening to fall. Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms, trembling as you looked at him.

He hadn’t moved.

He meant it.

All of it.

He would sacrifice his life—not just for honor, not for duty—but for you.

And deep down, you knew it wasn’t just because you had saved him. It wasn’t repayment.

He would do it for the bond you shared—the one neither of you could name. For the strange, inevitable pull that had tied your lives together from the moment you met.

And you knew the truth.

You would do it, too.

You already had—sacrificing your own hand—just for a chance that he might survive.

And you would do it again.

“I would too,” you murmured. First to yourself. Then, louder, to him. Your eyes unfocused, your gaze locked to the floor as thoughts churned through your head like a storm you couldn’t stop.

“I know,” he said.

His remaining hand reached for you—resting lightly on your head, fingers sliding to your jaw to tilt your face upward. Slowly.

“Come with me,” he said again.

But this time… it felt different. He meant it. He truly meant it.

You stared at his mask—the way your blood had dried, oxidized over that fine scar etched across it. A mark stained forever.

Yes. Say yes. Just say it.

A voice screamed inside your head.

You wanted to go with him.

You didn’t want to return to this lab—to the cold, sterile cage that had nearly destroyed you. You didn’t deserve this life. This prison.

You would do anything to escape it.

Even die in the process.

Your hand moved to his, guiding it over your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch like it was the last warmth left in the world.

But then, quietly… you shook your head. No.

You weren’t strong enough. You didn’t belong in his world.

His kind didn’t accept the damaged.

If he was damaged, it probably meant honor.

If you were damaged, it meant useless.

You were nothing but dead weight. A risk. A weakness he couldn’t afford.

His need to protect you would only lead him closer to death. If you hadn’t been in the battle… if you hadn’t needed saving… maybe he would still have both arms.

You were the reason he would die.

And you couldn’t live with that.

You needed him alive.

Your soul wouldn’t rest unless you knew he was safe.

Your eyes blinked open as his hand withdrew. You looked up, and even without seeing his expression behind the mask—you knew.

He was angry.

Why hadn’t his words been enough?

Why couldn’t you believe him?

He was frustrated. Not with you—but with the weight of everything he couldn’t fix. With your fear. Your silence.

“Why?” he asked at last. “You’re just as afraid of humans as you are of aliens.”

He was right. But that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t go with him.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You were afraid for him.

“I can’t,” you said softly, forcing a crooked, apologetic smile.

You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, your eyes dropping to the floor.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His silence said everything.

But time was slipping between your fingers, fast and unforgiving. You could feel it. Hear it. The humans would be here soon and this time, he wouldn’t escape.

This time, they wouldn’t let him live.

“Please, you need to go,” you begged, voice shaking, low, like you didn’t want to say the words at all.

You kept your gaze down. You didn’t want to see his reaction.

But you knew… it would all be over once he realized you meant it.

“Please…” you said again, barely audible.

Your chest ached. Your heart twisted in your ribs. The thought of never seeing him again felt like the final blow after all you had been through. After everything you had survived together. To be torn apart now?

You had always known it would end like this.

You just hoped it wouldn’t hurt this much.

You had grown to care for him, in ways you never thought possible. Somewhere along the line, survival became something more.

You couldn’t deny it.

But now, you had to.

His feet remained rooted. His stance unshaken.

You glanced up, trying to understand. Confused and desperate.

“You need to go,” you said again, louder.

“Humans are coming. You need to escape,” you said, your voice breaking as frustration took hold.

Still, he didn’t move.

He reached for a lab chair, dragging it across the floor with a loud scrape, placing it in front of you and sat down.

“What are you— You don’t understand?” you snapped, voice rising. “They’re coming! You need to run!”

“What are you doing?” you cried, already halfway off the stretcher, ready to grab him and shove him out of the lab if you had to.

“I’m making a decision,” he said.

His voice was calm. Certain. The lights in his mask glowed softly, unshaken by your panic.

“What?” you asked, heart pounding.

“I’m staying.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief and then fury.

You couldn’t believe the stubborn creature fate had dropped into your life.

You wanted to scream. Fight him. Drag him out by force.

But his words echoed through your mind.

“I’m staying.”

You couldn’t help it.

You thought of his name.

Keth’raal.

The one who watched and decided to stay.

Was it a coincidence?

Or had he given himself that name—after choosing to stay behind?

You remembered him saying he didn’t recall anything when he first woke up.

What if he had forgotten his name?

What if he chose that name—because of you?

What if… you were the reason he called himself that at all?

You bit your tongue, the thought crashing into you like a wave you couldn’t escape.

So many possibilities. All of them painful.

“Keth’raal,” you whispered.

His name fell from your lips like a plea.

“Please… just go. They’ll kill you. I can’t protect you.”

“I’m begging you,” you said, as tears slipped down your cheeks.

He stiffened, his body instinctively reacting to your broken voice.

But he didn’t move.

He had made a decision.

It wasn’t up for negotiation.

“Let them come.”

He sounded young. Reckless.

“You can’t kill everyone,” you snapped. “They’ll get you.”

“Then I’ll get caught.”

“Is that what you want?” you cried. “You craved freedom a second ago and now you’re staying here to die?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His silence was the answer.

The noise outside grew louder—boots on tile, voices echoing.

Your mind was a chaos, your body hurt.

And the worst part was…

You didn’t want to survive this time.

There was always a bigger threat. And you had felt it in your bones since the alarm first screamed to life. Since that moment, you were always running, dodging from one unseen horror to another. Like all the other creatures in this cursed lab, you had just been trying to survive. You stumbled upon them, collided with them by accident, but always because something else, something worse, was coming.

And now… it was here.

You sensed Keth’raal shift beside you. It was subtle, a minor realignment of weight, but you felt it. He didn’t move, didn’t rush in. Not out of fear, no. You caught the reason quickly.

He was waiting for you.

You.

Not the fragile human who had once flinched at the sound of their own breath inside the sterilized lab, but the one who stood beside him now, blooded and marked. Equal in name and action. You were no longer just a survivor, you were someone he trusted to endure.

And… you had changed.

You never thought your life would intertwine with something like him. A Yautja, a predator. But then again, nothing about your life had gone the way it was supposed to. You were meant to work in xenobiology, to study organisms and take readings. You weren’t meant to form a bond with one of them. But that’s what happened anyway.

Your mind drifted off, too afraid to stay in the present and face the horror. You found yourself back in old memories. Memories of him. Your only ally.

Working on Keth’raal had become routine at some point, familiar. They always assigned you to him. Every day. There wasn’t a single shift you hadn’t checked his vitals, extracted blood, collected dermal samples. Always with care. Always with a part of yourself hoping he didn’t feel like another caged animal.

You couldn’t remember your first day at the lab clearly, your mind had pushed it somewhere far back, too loud and painful to relive. But you remembered the creatures you had worked on. Every one of them. The neomorph with translucent flesh that shimmered under lights, the river ghost with its uncanny exoskeleton. And him. Keth’raal.

You could never forget him.

Not with the distinct green shades blooming across his chest, his skin like a forest at dusk. Natural, wild, alive. His presence had stayed with you.

But what had marked him most in your memory wasn’t just his biology. It was the single golden bead threaded through one of his dreadlocks. A deep-colored talisman, worn and solid. You had seen the guards remove everything else from the others, every token, every relic, crushed under pliers or torn away without care.

But not that bead.

Maybe it was too strong, or maybe someone simply didn’t think it was worth the trouble. Either way, it remained. And with that, he became identifiable. Distinct. You could always tell when it was him, when they wheeled him into your lab, unconscious and bound. You never forgot his face. His shape. His presence.

You always apologized. Every time. For every needle. For every scan. For every moment he spent in that cold, artificial room.

And he had heard you.

You knew he had.

Because when he saw you again, free, unarmed, exposed, he didn’t attack. He had remembered your voice. He never saw you as a threat.

Another memory came back to you now, clearer than most. A particularly bad day. You had been on the verge of walking out. Out of the contract, the lab, everything. You were sick of being owned by a line of unread fine print. That day, you had been reckless. Distracted. Barely functioning.

You remembered extracting blood from Keth’raal’s arm, and for a split second, you had misjudged the pressure, pierced deeper than you wanted.

“Shit,” you muttered, the vial nearly slipping from your gloved fingers.

Blood surged faster than it should have, running dark down his forearm.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” you panicked, fumbling with gauze, pressing your palm over the broken vein. You lifted his arm quickly, applying pressure in all the ways you had been trained to.

“Please stop bleeding,” you whispered, voice trembling. It was silly, saying it out loud, but you meant it. You had already felt guilty every day. You didn’t want to hurt him—not him. Not someone who had bled far more than you could possibly understand.

Then— he twitched.

His head jerked, just slightly.

Your whole body froze.

The chill spread down your spine like a shot of ice. Was it a natural reflex? Or had you just stirred him awake?

You couldn’t tell. You slowly lowered his arm again, eyes locked on him, unblinking. Every breath was tight in your chest, as you took him in.

Of all the aliens, he had always felt closest to you. Not just in proximity, but in… something else. You didn’t even have the word for it.

And maybe that’s why you hadn’t screamed or bolted when you first saw him, standing, staring at you before the xenomorph attacked. You should have collapsed in fear. But you didn’t. Because something in you had already known him. Recognized him, not just as a subject, but something familiar.

But something still didn’t make sense.

You wondered now, how had he ended up so close to your lab in the first place?

His glass chamber was far from yours. If escape was the goal, he should have gone the opposite way. North, toward the docking systems. Toward freedom.

But instead… he ended up outside your lab door.

And you weren’t sure if it was by accident.

You made a mental note to ask him—later.

If there was a later.

Suddenly, his arm brushed your shoulder, a light, intentional touch that shattered the bubble of your daydream. The past dissolved, leaving you standing again in the suffocating darkness of the lab. Your breath caught for a moment as you focused on the vast blackness ahead, the unknown threat lurking just beyond the shadows.

But… maybe there wouldn’t be time later for the questions burning in your mind.

You turned, gripping Keth’raal’s wrist and pulling him down to your height, the urgency in your pulse demanding. Your face leaned in slowly, nuzzling the side of his head, fingers threading gently through the thick strands of his dreadlocks. You felt the subtle tension beneath your touch, a silent warning that these weren’t just hair, they were sensitive, a part of him you were only beginning to understand.

You expected resistance, maybe a sharp recoil or a warning growl like usual. But instead, Keth’raal froze, still as stone, like you had broken a fragile boundary and he was holding his breath now, waiting for your next move.

Your lips hovered near the hidden ear tucked within the dark tangle of his hair. “How did you find me?” you whispered, voice soft. You felt him shift away, just slightly, like the closeness of your lips was more than he could bear. You pulled back a little, giving him space. But now it was your turn to study him, head tilted in quiet confusion.

Because something didn’t add up.

Not anymore.

Not after everything.

Was this some twisted form of payback for what you’d done to him in the lab? Some kind of long, calculated vengeance?

Or was it… something else?

He looked at you, and you wished — just for a second — that you could see through the mask. Not because it would give you all the answers, but because you were starting to recognize the way he held himself. That strange blend of alien and familiar.