Lol, I always cringe at my writing even when y'all say it's good, writer thingz. But alas, you wanted part two, I delivered it in one sitting monster lovers.
Part 1: Here.
Part 3: Here
Want more from me? Check it! /Masterlist\
Breeding Time (Predator)
Warning(s): Smut, noncon details, breeding, size difference, dacryphilia, triggering (do not read if this applies to you), unprotected, rough, mating press, he finally speaks! (surprise), lol short since it's a continuation, surprise number 2 at the end
You survive with a Predator who killed all of your friends...but it seems the Yautja have taken an interest in you and don't plan to let you leave...
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
At this point even if you did escape, you wouldn't find a human man that could make your body feel this way. Even if your mind was still hesitant.
As the Yautja thrusts, your body kept his rhythm, it had slowed a bit and changed into sharp bursts of force each time. Almost like he wanted it to last longer.
You clasped your hands together, grip tight as you tried to endure the overstimulation.
How long was this gonna last?
Your breathing was heavy from the intensity, you were almost envious of how his breathing lacked needing effort.
Your body was tired.
Hot.
Sweaty.
And he absolutely abused your sensitive bundle of nerves inside.
You let out a broken whine as the grip on your hair got almost painful.
When it was apparent you weren't gonna be able to move on your own, he adjusted, laying on his back, wrapping an arm around your waist, and jerking back into you.
You threw your head back, your head landing on his chest, as you released yet again, your hips juddered against his.
He only slowed his movements while you clenched against him, not able to move much. His nails dug into your side, no doubt leaving nail-shaped dents.
Now, even a puny human like you could smell it, the sweat, the juices, and you swear you could smell the sex.
Whimpering at the climax that was stronger than the first time, tears collected on your waterline before they finally did fall past the blindfold that had by now, loosened some, a sob making your chest jump.
"Please, I can't--I can't take any more. It's too much," you cried, tears sliding down, down, and falling from your face, for sure hitting his skin.
Suddenly, what was once relaxed became more hectic.
Your sobs only got louder, which made the creature let out a growl for the first time, gripping your chin tight. Enough for him to see your covered eyes cry, to see your quivering lips.
"Pl-ease," your voice slurred.
He pulled out, easily flipping you onto your back again.
Your legs were pressed against his, your feet straight in the air as he used a hand to hold the chain to keep them there.
Then he buried himself into you with a groan, sitting for a second before returning to his hectic pace.
This felt way too good for your liking.
You desperately pushed at his chest to no avail.
"Not this, please. Not--"
With his other hand, he groped you randomly, you yelp at the warmth. The table doesn't even feel cold anymore.
You let out a mewl as he, after all this time managed to fit all of his inches into you, clenching tight around him.
A long groan spilled from him, the light grip he had on a breast tightening just like you had around him. "C'jit...kwei ooman."
The first time he spoke, you didn't recognize the language. But the last word spoken by his deep, gravelly voice sounded similar to human...was it saying something about you?
You didn't have time to ask, because his hips picked up their frenzied pace again as he pounded into you, his breathing starting to sound labored.
Finally, you didn't know how time passed, but you're sure it's been hours.
The only sounds in the room are the slapping of skin, the thumping of his length, the squelching of your insides, and the sounds of your heavy breathing, leaning in, his breath mixed with yours.
Was he observing you? Why couldn't they just leave you alone and let you go?
You bit your lip as he groped your hide, the flesh soft in his hand.
You were getting close again, and you could feel it'd be the second most intense orgasm of your life, the first being the one before.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!"
You repeated it like a mantra.
You felt him twitch inside you, his breath hitching.
"Ah-"
And for the third time, you released, your body couldn't take anymore.
It seemed neither could he, his hips jerked into you and you could feel his seed spurt into you once again, filling you up more than the first time, if you paid enough attention, you could feel how full you were.
You could feel his body almost drop, like his climax was intense for him, too, but kept his body held up. He stayed inside for a minute like he did before as he caught his breath, almost like he was ensuring that nothing seeped out of you, ensuring that you would be with child.
Ta'yto POV
This human is meant to create a new breed with me.
This is supposed to be for our advancement.
But this human...feels good. She's small, tight beyond belief, and weak.
This is something I am not used to, having this... power over someone I mate with.
Perhaps if that unreliable human was right about her and she can bear my child...
She may have to become my primary mate, her pleading only makes me want to do more, despite her hoping it has the opposite effect. Humans can be quite strange.
She might be my favorite if every time is like this and she looks like she would look beautiful in royal garbs.
I take off that dreaded blindfold, I'd wanted to rip it off the whole time.
But even a prince must follow rules.
Even her eyes look weak.
Tired, too, like I am sure she is...but when I look a little closer I see the fire of the warrior I saw a few days ago.
I can't help but chuckle, ignoring her startled expression.
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Another silly little idea because I got sick and can’t work on my other projects. Enjoy!
... this probably being his father's idea: Njohrr captured you a while ago, but instead of keeping you as a trophy he thought you could be more useful as a punching bag. You couldn't be worse than his weakest son, anyway.
... you being a skilled fighter, which Dek would've never guessed – you were a human trained by a Weyland-Yutani's special force. You weren't as efficient and strong as a synthetic, but the corporation deemed you above average. And so did Dek.
... this leading Dek to build resentment and frustration towards himself, since defeating you was always quite the challenge: if he couldn't take over you, how would his father expect him to earn his place in the clan?
... Dek sometimes hitting you harder or injuring you more severely than he meant, so Kwei had to intervene to divide the two of you and patching you up afterwards.
... you hearing Kwei scold his little brother afterwards, when they thought you weren't there.
... you noticing the struggle in Dek's eyes everytime you sparred together: to him, he wasn't fighting, nor training – he was trying, day after day, to convince himself he was worthy enough.
... after some time, you proposing Dek to help him instead of fighting each other. He wasn't interested at first, but after seeing you and Kwei fighting so flawlessly he got intrigued and decided to give it a try.
... him learning quicker than you thought: not because of his adaptability, but because of his determination. And you admired that.
... Dek blaming himself when harder moves weren't perfect at the first try, so you always reminded him that mastering a skill required time, patience and mistakes – «You don't need to blame yourself, Dek.»
... you noticing Kwei watching over the two of you from a distance, especially over Dek: he was proud of his little brother, no matter what. And he would always thank you for teaching Dek to be a better fighter.
(I needed to write a little something something for Badlands and after some requests on my asks, here it is 💚 hope you enjoy everyone 🥰)
Headcanon! Where Kwei acts like the strict, disciplined older brother, but the truth is he’s terrified of Dek’s first solo hunt. He keeps delaying him with excuses, checking his gear, adjusting straps that are already perfect,because he’s scared something will happen. When Dek finally leaves, Kwei walks him to the ridge and squeezes his shoulder a little too long. When Dek returns alive, Kwei acts calm and silent… but the way his pupils widen in relief gives him away.
Headcanon! Where Dek constantly “observes the environment” but somehow he is always two steps behind Thia, shadowing her every move. If she stumbles, he’s instantly checking her balance, pretending it’s no big deal while his mandibles twitch with worry. He leans down to her height without thinking, protective in a way he’ll never admit. Thia pretends she doesn’t notice. Dek pretends he isn’t doing it. Both are very bad liars.
Headcanon! Where Thia picks up little things during their travels (bones, stones, shells) and brings them to Dek so he can braid them into her hair. She expects him to dismiss her, but he treats each item like it’s something precious. He braids everything in carefully, explaining quietly that trophies tell a story. He won’t say it out loud, but he loves how her smile widens whenever she finds another small trophy to braid in her hair.
Headcanon! Where Kwei isn’t the type to speak about his feelings, so he shows them in practical ways. He fixes gear, sharpens blades, leaves repaired straps where you’ll find them, but never from his own hands and always without a word. He sits near you, never directly beside you, but close enough that his shoulder might touch yours if you lean back. Dek teases him about doting and Kwei gets offended… mostly because it’s true.
Headcanon! When during a hunt, Thia accidentally shoots Dek and he insists he’s fine even while wobbling like branch in the wind.
“I’m so sorry.” She apologises, her voice cracking and Dek simply nods at her, staying as expressionless as he can be. He pulls the bolt out with a muffled scream and tries to keep walking, but she forces him to sit down. When she tends to his wounds, he stays quiet so she doesn’t worry too much. Later, he quietly admits he didn’t roar at her because he never wants her to be afraid of him.
Headcanon! Where Dek limps back from a hunt, claiming he is “victorious” even though he is one step away from collapsing. When he finally passes out and Thia patches him up, he grumbles about her worrying too much. But the moment she isn’t looking, he rests his forehead against her shoulder in silent thanks. It’s a soft gesture compared to his usual demeanour and he hopes she doesn’t notice. She definitely does.
Headcanon! Where Kwei adjusts gear when he’s worried. Your armor strap is a millimeter off? He adjusts it. Dek’s gauntlet sits loose? He tightens it. Thia’s braid slips in front of her face? He tucks it back with the gentlest touch she’s ever felt from him. He’ll mutter something like “Sloppy gear gets you killed.” But really, it’s his version of “please be safe.”
Headcanon! Where Kwei stands between you and danger automatically, but he will never admit it. Whether it’s a storm, a wild creature or even another Yautja training too close, Kwei steps in front of the person he cares about without thinking. He doesn’t make a big show of it, he just shifts his stance so he’s blocking the threat with his body. If you confront him about it, he’ll say something like “My position was strategic,” but you both know that’s not the whole truth.
Headcanon! Where Dek lets you touch his face only when you’re worried. Yautja are protective of their faces, but if you grab his mandible to inspect a bruise or scrape, he doesn’t flinch.
He actually softens, eyes half-lidded, mandibles relaxing.
He’ll grumble something like “Your hands might be small, but be gentle.”
But it’s obvious he trusts you in a way he doesn’t trust others.
How would kethrall react to reader getting sick and having an awful fever?
I give up… I’m going to answer this ask for Keth’raal cause I miss him to death 😩
Shivering under a mountain of blankets, my body burning up from the inside. The fever driving me delirious and miserable. Of course, that was exactly when Keth’raal decided to show up.
Me: “Keth’raal” I mumble burying my face in the pillow.
Keth’raal: “What is this smell?”
Me: “What smell?”
Keth’raal: leaning over me, mandibles clicking “You. You smell… wrong.”
Me: “Gee, thanks. I’m sick” I croak
Keth’raal: “Sick? You are injured?”
Me: “No. My body’s fighting something.”
Cue a very confused Keth’raal scanning my room like there was an invisible enemy in it.
Keth’raal: “Fighting something that isn’t there?”
Me: “Not like that, it’s just a fever.”
Keth’raal staring at me for a second, then crouching beside my bed, fingers brushing my forehead. His touch lingering.
Keth’raal: “You’re burning.”
Me: “Yeah. That’s kinda how fevers work.”
Before I could react, he scoops me up with his arm, my face against his chest.
Me: “Keth- what are you doing-”
Keth’raal: “You need to cool down. I’ll help.”
His skin naturally cooler than mine, the contact alone making me sigh in relief.
Me: “Oh… that’s nice.”
Keth’raal: “You humans are so fragile,” he sits back down, his hand remaining on my back, claws tracing small circles.
Me: “And you are bossy… but thank you.”
Keth’raal: “Next time, you tell me when your body starts fighting invisible things.”
Me: “Deal.” I mumble, eyes half-closed as I make myself comfortable on his lap.
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Finally got around to finish reading @afreakforyautja Trapped storyline and while I wanted to doodle the almost kiss from chapter 7 I ended up going jokey instead as it just wasn’t working
Also chap9 was Rough, tasty though (mostly bc I keep thinking of Keth’raal as an emo teen lol)
And another for the last chapter, 10, bc I am incapable of not making this silly from the Yautjas pov
Hi, I saw your last post and wanted to ask if you could make one where the boys react to MC being jealous or angry with them? I think it's going to be super funny and adorable. If you could also make them like jealous of another female human and another female Yautja, would be great!
Now anon… you’re asking the right questions 😏
Here is how each boy handles it when their human is visibly jealous, whether it’s over another female human flirting with them or a female Yautja showing interest 🤭
Keth’raal
He panics the second he clocks your crossed arms and narrowed eyes.
Over a female human: He is confused at first, “She was just asking about my gauntlet, why are you making that face?, then realization hits him and his mandibles start clicking nervously. He immediately starts over-explaining in the most earnest, adorable way: “No no no, she’s nothing. You’re the only one I want. I mean–“ He trails off, flustered, then just grabs your hands and presses his forehead to yours. “Tell me how to fix it. I’ll ignore every human forever if you want.”
Over a female Yautja: Instant defensiveness. He puffs up, steps in front of you like he’s shielding you from her and growls “She’s not my type. Too… aggressive. I like soft things that get jealous and glare at me.” Then he gets all sweet and teasing, “you’re cute when you’re mad. Want me to fight her for you? I would win. For you.” Ends up trailing after you like a puppy until you forgive him, offering to let you play with his locks as an apology.
Zha’kor
He doesn’t flinch, but you can tell he is uneasy because he goes overwhelmingly still.
Over a female human: He watches your jealousy with those half-lidded red eyes, then slowly tilts his head. “You think I would look twice at someone so… temporary?” His voice is dark and velvety, but there’s a hint of amusement. He steps close, one claw tipping your chin up “Your fire is far more interesting.” If you stay mad at him, he gets possessive in the quietest way, pulls you into his lap without asking, mandibles grazing your ear, “No one else gets this close. Ever.” He won’t apologize with words, he’ll just keep you glued to him until your anger melts.
Over a female Yautja: Cold fury. Not at you, at her. He turns, gives the Yautja one long, unimpressed stare that makes her back off instantly, then returns to you like nothing happened. “She overstepped, but it ends there.” If you’re still simmering, he leans in, voice dropping: “You doubt my loyalty to you? Let me remind you who I chose.” Cue to slow love making session until you forget why you were mad in the first place.
Tarr’kon
He freezes like a deer in headlights when he realizes you’re angry. At him.
Over a female human: He literally doesn’t understand at first. “She spoke. I answered. That is all.” When you snap or glare, his mandibles twitch and he looks… lost. He grunts, rubs the back of his neck (a very human gesture he picked up from you), then mutters: “You are the only one.” If you don’t soften, he does the most awkward thing ever… he picks you up gently, sits down with you in his lap, and just… holds you. No words. Just his massive arms around you and a low, rumbling purr until you stop being mad. It’s his only defense.
Over a female Yautja: Instant territorial shutdown. He steps between you and her without hesitation, a single snarled word in Yautja: “Mine.” Then he turns to you, still tense and for once his voice is softer: “I did not want her attention. I want yours.” If you’re still angry he’ll just sit there looking guilty, waiting for you to yell or hit his chest or whatever you need. He’ll take it all. Just don’t leave.
Kel’Rakur
He laughs at first… big mistake.
Over a female human: “What? She was just talking, wait, you’re actually jealous?” His grin fades the second he sees you’re serious. Then he’s on his knees dramatically: “Princess, you wound me. No soft-skin could ever compare to my fierce little mate.” He starts listing reasons why you’re better, getting more and more ridiculous: “She doesn’t have your glare. Or your laugh. Or the way you bite when you’re mad- Ow, okay, I deserved that.” Ends up begging for forgiveness with big puppy eyes and offering to let you “punish” him however you want 😏
Over a female Yautja: He gets cocky at first (“She wishes”), but when he sees real hurt or anger in your eyes? Instant switch. He scoops you up, throws you over his shoulder and marches off: “We’re leaving. Now. No more talking to anyone but you.” Later he’s all soft apologies, softly licking every inch of you, murmuring “Only you get me like this. Only you make me stupid.” He will spend days being extra attentive, showing off for you only, until you’re laughing again.
Which reaction is your favourite and let me know what more scenarios you want the boys in 🤭💚
(Bet you didn’t see that one coming 😅 I was just feeling down lately and writing about Keth’raal always brings me joy 💚 missed you guys, hope you enjoy this one and can’t wait for your comments as always 🖤)
You could feel his eyes on your back as you hurried around the kitchen, trying to throw together something quick. Keth’raal leaned against the wall nearby, massive arms crossed over his chest as he silently watched you move from counter to counter.
Your stomach had growled so loudly a few moments ago that you had practically launched yourself off the bed in embarrassment, rushing to the kitchen before he could start questioning the strange noises humans apparently made when starving.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to catch his relaxed posture as he studied you cooking.
“I’m okay.” The mechanical rasp of his vocoder answered.
You hummed softly, rinsing the lettuce one last time before chopping through it quickly.
“Let’s say you were hungry,” you continued, “could you even eat human food?”
“Not really. Some fruits are acceptable.” He paused briefly, the translator crackling for half a second before continuing. “The rest taste… off.”
That last word came delayed and you frowned slightly, unsure whether the vocoder had malfunctioned or if he had simply hesitated.
“What kind of fruit?” you asked, reaching for a tomato.
But you completely missed the shift behind you.
Keth’raal had gone perfectly still.
Three crimson targeting dots slid silently across the kitchen floor, settling over the tiny shape creeping near the cabinets. Before you could even notice, his form shimmered and vanished beneath his cloak.
Meanwhile, you remained entirely oblivious, still focused on your dinner.
“Keth’raal?” you called after a moment, turning around with a confused blink.
He was suddenly back where he had been before, leaning against the wall again, though his head remained tilted slightly toward the floor as if he had been watching something there moments earlier. Then his gaze snapped back to you.
“What kind of fruit?” you repeated, smiling before returning to your cutting board.
“Melons. Star fruits—”
“Have you tried grapes?” you interrupted quickly.
You crossed the kitchen in a hurry, opening the fridge before plucking a grape from one of the containers. Then you walked straight back to him, stopping close enough to feel the cold radiating from his armour.
He looked down at the grape between your fingers before slowly shaking his head, his thick dreadlocks shifting over his shoulders with the movement.
“Can you try one?” you asked, suddenly unsure whether feeding him random human food counted as a terrible scientific decision.
For a second he simply stared at you and then nodded.
His fingers hooked beneath the edge of his mask, slowly lifting it just enough for his mouth to show, his mandibles spreading open for you.
You blinked at the sight of him opening his mouth.
And somehow, even more unexpected than that, was the fact you were about to feed him. As if this was something normal between you. Something that had always been waiting to happen.
You had fought together. Bled together. Nearly died together.
But you had never shared something as simple as food.
You took a small breath, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him. As if sensing your hesitation, his hand rose and wrapped gently around your wrist, guiding your hand closer to his mouth. Your fingers slipped carefully between his parted mandibles as he opened them wider for you, and then his mouth opened too, revealing that serpent-like tongue.
No matter how many times you had seen his anatomy, studied it, worked around it as an extraterrestrial biologist, it still fascinated you beyond reason.
But this was different from the lab.
Back then, Keth’raal had been wounded, restrained, unconscious half the time.
Now he was letting you see him.
Letting you touch him.
You slowly pushed the grape between his teeth before his mouth closed around it. Your fingers began retreating carefully, but halfway through, you changed your mind.
Instead, your hand settled lightly beneath his mandibles, fingertips resting against his chin. Your thumb brushed once, twice, over the cold texture of his skin before you finally pulled away completely.
A low sound rumbled through his chest as he chewed, soft and deep, almost like a hum.
Your eyes lit up instantly.
You recognised that sound.
Approval.
“Good?” you asked with a grin.
He pulled his mask back down immediately afterward, tilting his head at you.
“Was it good?” you repeated.
He stared at you for a second before nodding once.
“It’s tolerable.”
You burst into a quiet laugh, almost certain he had probably tried grapes before and disliked them, but couldn’t bring himself to refuse you.
“You don’t have to try things if you don’t want to” you said, turning back toward the stove.
“I want to.”
Even through the distortion of the mask, the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.
You were humming a soft melody now, a song you didn’t even recognise and you felt truly at ease. The safety of your home wrapped around you, becoming warmer by Keth’raal’s presence nearby.
Then his voice broke the silence.
“Why here?” He asked, still watching you as you moved around the kitchen.
You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s a good question, but I might disappoint you.” The memory felt strangely distant, even though it had only been two years. “After we escaped the lab, I ran straight to the airport. I didn’t even have clothes with me, just the ones on my back. The first flight on the board was this one, so I took it. No real plan. I just needed to get as far away from that place as possible.”
“It’s quiet here,” he said, voice low through the vocoder. “It suits you better.”
“I kind of miss the chaos of the city sometimes,” you admitted with a small shrug.
“I can take you there,” he offered without hesitation.
You clicked your tongue in gentle refusal. “I’m not going back.” You smiled, but there was no humor in it.
You really meant every word. You would never return to that life. Not while this quiet, remote island kept you safe from the world that had once tried to destroy you both.
This place, far from everything, had become your sanctuary.
You would only step back into noise and crowds again if it was for his safety.
“You need help with that?”
His voice came from behind the mask as you shook your head immediately, still struggling with the can in your hands.
You had learned to adjust to little things like this over the years. Since your left hand never healed properly, you couldn’t fully close it anymore, so even simple tasks sometimes turned awkward and frustrating.
But Keth’raal hadn’t questioned it once.
Not a single pitying look. Not even curiosity.
As if he didn’t see it as weakness at all.
Only an injury earned surviving beside him.
He had offered to help once and when you refused, he respected it without pressing further.
“It didn’t heal all the way,” you said casually, still working at the can. “I can’t fully close it anymore, but honestly? That’s a pretty small price considering your injuries.”
His posture shifted slightly against the wall.
“Did it hurt?”
The question caught you so off guard you almost laughed.
An alien built like a tank, with battle scars all over his body, asking about your pain.
“Like hell,” you scoffed softly, finally managing to open the can before reaching for another grape and tossing it into your mouth.
“But I couldn’t stand the thought of you bleeding to death. I mean—” you gestured vaguely with one hand, almost laughing at yourself. “Are you kidding me? I’d go through that pain again if it meant you survived.”
Silence followed for a second.
“You are too selfless.”
The vocoder sounded unusually serious this time. Lower somehow. Heavier than before.
You shook your head quickly.
“I don’t feel selfless. I just acted on instinct.” You glanced back at him with a small smile. “You would have done the same for me.”
You turned back toward the stove, completely unaware of how deeply that smile settled into him.
“You were ready to get captured again if it meant not leaving me behind,” you murmured after a moment, quieter now as the memories resurfaced. “Talking about selfless.”
“I was selfish back then,” he corrected immediately. “I did not listen to you. I was stubborn.”
A soft laugh escaped you.
“I was stubborn too.”
Your movements slowed as the memory hit harder this time. The final shove forcing him out of the lab while you trapped yourself behind instead.
“You were.”
His voice came closer now.
Closer than before.
But you didn’t turn around.
“Are you mad at me?” you asked quietly.
And honestly, you weren’t even sure what you meant anymore.
Mad because you forced him to leave?
Mad because you never found him afterward?
Or because fear had kept you frozen for far too long?
You didn’t even know yourself.
“I was.”
His voice came from right behind you now.
You felt the change in the air before you felt him, the coldness of his body somehow making the space around you warmer instead, charged like live wires stretched too tightly.
“For the first hour.”
His longer dreadlocks slipped over your shoulders as his head lowered, resting carefully against the crook of your neck.
Heavy. Helmeted. And somehow still careful, touching you with just enough weight to remind you he was there without ever truly pressing down on you.
Maybe everything about Keth’raal was softer than he wanted the universe to believe.
Or maybe you simply could not see him any other way anymore.
“What happened after the first hour?” you asked quietly, remaining perfectly still beneath him.
You barely even breathed.
One wrong movement and the moment might break apart completely. He might retreat again, hide behind silence the way he always did when he felt you hesitating.
A low sound rumbled from deep inside his chest, thoughtful and rough, something instinctive in his language before the translator could catch up.
“I was…” another growl-like hum vibrated against your shoulder, “…devastated.”
This time you heard the word beneath the vocoder too, his real voice slipping through the helmet from how close he was. Deep. Guttural. Honest enough to make your chest ache.
His hands settled on the counter beside yours, caging you, his chest pressed carefully against your back as if he was still learning how much of his weight you could carry.
And when you finally breathed again after holding it for far too long, you felt him exhale too.
The tension slowly left his body, his shoulders easing as he let himself lean against you properly now, almost like exhaustion had finally caught up to him the second he realised you were truly here.
His breath warmed the space near your ear.
One of his hands flexed against the counter before relaxing again, restless fingers curling as though he wanted to touch you, hold you, make sure you were real.
“Keth…” His name left your mouth softer than you intended.
You wanted to say something else.
Anything else.
But the words dissolved before reaching your tongue.
His hand made of metal and artificial flesh rose first, gripping the edge of his helmet before slowly pushing it upward just enough to expose his mouth. His mandibles spread open in silence and your eyes fluttered shut instantly, nervously.
You felt the brush of his mandibles against the crook of your neck.
Your head tilted slightly, giving him more room without even thinking about it.
The moment you felt a talon hook beneath the collar of your shirt, dragging the fabric lower to expose your shoulder, a shiver ran violently down your spine.
Cotton gave way beneath the sharp edge of his claw with a soft rip.
He didn’t stop until your shoulder was fully bare beneath him, exposed, sensitive.
And then nothing.
No sudden movement.
No aggression.
Just the feeling of his unmasked face resting there against your skin.
Cold skin brushing yours carefully.
Feeling you.
You heard him inhale deeply against your shoulder, the sound dragging straight through your nervous system.
Your jaw clenched immediately, forcing yourself silent before any sound escaped that you wouldn’t be able to explain afterward.
His hand settled on the counter beside yours, close enough that the heat of his palm traveled over your skin. His mouth hovered just above the curve of your neck, breath ghosting warm across flushed skin. Even though his body ran cooler than a human’s, the sheer presence of him wrapped around you like a furnace. Or perhaps it was only your own temperature rising, blood rushing hot beneath your skin in a dizzying fever.
You couldn’t see him. That alone made the moment feel like one of the half-remembered dreams that had haunted you for two years.
His voice, his touch, the solid wall of his chest at your back, but never his face. The image of him had blurred with time. Yet this was real. He was here, his claws shredding the front of your shirt open, inhaling your scent like a predator savoring prey he had no intention of harming.
You tried to turn, desperate to look at him, to convince yourself he wasn’t another cruel dream.
But his bionic hand rose swiftly, the synthetic skin warm and startlingly lifelike as it covered your eyes. You shivered and obeyed, lashes fluttering shut and with your sight stolen, every other sense sharpened. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint metallic scent of his armor, the low thrum of his breathing through the vocoder.
“If you look at me with those eyes…” the vocoder murmured softly, “I do not know what I will do.”
Your breath faltered.
Only then did you realise he must have lowered the mask again just enough to tell you that himself. Not through distance. Not safely hidden away in his native language.
Close enough for you to understand he was struggling to get the words out.
“What do you want to do?” you whispered, barely audible.
His free hand slid over yours on the counter, claws barely grazing your skin while the artificial hand continued shielding your eyes.
A low sound vibrated in his chest before the translator finally caught up. “No language I know can describe it.”
Beneath the translator’s flat tone, you caught the real sound of him, rich, guttural, layered with clicks and that rough accent that made your stomach flutter. You almost smiled.
“Your voice has changed,” you murmured.
“You sound… older.”
“I am older,” he answered, matter-of-fact, yet the low rumble of it felt almost suggestive against your ear.
You swallowed. “What did two years change for you?”
Instead of answering immediately, he lifted your hand from the counter and guided it upward. Your fingertips brushed the thick, rubbery dreadlocks that framed his head. You caught one gently between your fingers, stroking the strange, smooth texture.
“What didn’t change,” he said, voice dropping lower, “is how desperately I wanted to see you again.”
Your smile faltered. Heat flooded your cheeks, a deep, embarrassed flush that spread down your throat and across your chest. You took a small, shaky step backward, pressing yourself fully against the hard plane of his torso, letting his slow breaths guide your own breathing. His hand remained over your eyes, protective, possessive and just a little teasing as his thumb brushed lightly over your temple.
How could he admit something like that so easily? After two whole years apart, how could he lay his heart bare without a trace of reluctance?
Then again… this was Keth’raal. He wasn’t just a tease. He was the most brutally honest being you had ever known. Once something took root in his mind, he pursued it with the focus of a hunter who had already marked his prey. Unapologetic. Assertive. When he wanted something, he claimed it.
“You’re here now,” you breathed, voice small and trembling.
His bionic palm slowly lifted from your eyes. You wondered what he would do next, but you never expected what actually came.
His hand slid down, talons grazing over your throat before his fingers wrapped around it with soft pressure. His thumb settled over the front of your throat, right where your pulse beat wildly.
“Say that again,” he whispered, voice rough and low. The translator barely masked the desperate click beneath it, the begging tone of his voice. And when you stayed silent a second too long, his thumb pressed a little firmer, coaxing.
“Na’kai.”
You swallowed against his palm. “You’re… here now.”
The moment the words left you, his thumb stroked slowly over your throat, savoring the vibration of your voice against his skin. A deep, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, followed by a series of soft, satisfied clicks right beside your ear.
“Keth’raal,” you whispered, your own hand drifting up to cover his. Your fingers traced over his knuckles, then higher, until they found the cool steel of his mask. Your nails dragged down the metal with a slow, scraping screech that made his grip tighten for a second.
“Again,” he demanded softly, hips moving forward in a slow, impulsive roll against your back. The movement pressed you more firmly between his body and the counter, an invisible and undeniable pull drawing you together.
You closed your eyes on purpose this time, surrendering completely to sensation. His heavy breath hissed through the mask. His dreadlocks brushed and tickled across your bare shoulders. The heat of his torso burned against your back and the firm press of his hips made your thoughts scatter. You said his name again, slower, letting the vibration of your throat caress his palm like a secret you had decided to share only with him.
You could feel the war inside him, the desire to keep you trapped like this, safe between his chest and the counter, your voice singing against his hand forever. His thumb brushed one last time along your throat before he finally released you, claws trailing lightly down your collarbone.
But beneath the heat of the moment lingered a heavier tension, one you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.
What could possibly exist between a human and a Yautja? Was something like sex even possible? How would your bodies fit? And if you tried, how would he—
A loud crack from the living room stopped your spiraling thoughts.
Keth’raal’s shoulder cannon was already tracking the sound, red lasers cutting through the darkness. He didn’t speak. He simply stood there, ready and lethal as always.
You turned back to the kitchen counter, heart hammering against your ribs. The ghost of his body still clung to you, his solid chest at your back, the low click of his mandibles, the possessive weight of his hand wrapped around your throat as he drank in every vibration of your voice.
Swallowing hard, you picked up the knife and tried to focus on the vegetables, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
His heavy footsteps moved away, giving you space. You heard him lean against the far wall, arms folded across his broad chest as he watched you again.
“What is that thing wandering around your home?” The vocoder made his voice sound dry, almost skeptical.
You kept your eyes on the cutting board.
“What thing?”
“That black thing.” He lifted a clawed hand, pointing toward the shadows in the living room.
“That’s Ke—”
The word died in your throat before you turned back toward the counter and resumed mutilating the poor lettuce for what had to be the tenth time.
“Ke?” Keth’raal echoed, the single syllable low and curious.
“Kelly!” you blurted, forcing a bright, fake laugh. “Her name is Kelly.”
You could feel his gaze burning into you and you knew—knew—that damn biomask was feeding him every spike in your heart rate, every degree of the blush crawling across your skin.
You prayed he wouldn’t connect the dots.
“What is Kelly?” his voice asked through the vocoder.
And somehow, despite your spiraling panic over almost revealing you had named your cat after him (well, after “Keth”) the innocent question caught you so off guard your panic subdued immediately.
A laugh escaped you for real this time.
“She’s a cat,” you said, finally turning to face him with a shy smile. “A small Earth mammal. She lives with me.”
And you didn’t notice.
How could you? Your back was turned as you finished plating your food, completely unaware of the way Keth’raal’s clawed fist rose and struck his own chest once, hard, as if trying to punish his heart for pounding too fiercely against his ribs. The smile you had given him had hit his insides harder than any blade he had ever faced. He would remember that moment long after you forgot it.
“And why do you keep the mammal around?” he asked as you carried your plate to the table. “Does it protect you?”
“No,” you replied softly, setting the plate down. “She’s just for company. Humans get lonely quickly.”
“You were lonely?” Keth’raal asked as you sat down at the table.
The already-torn shirt he had ripped open earlier slipped further, exposing the curve of your shoulder and the top of your chest. You yanked the fabric back into place quickly, but Keth’raal’s gaze never left you.
You risked a quick glance at him before dropping your eyes to your plate again.
“Were you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Lonely?”
He gave a small nod, his dreadlocks barely shifting with the motion.
Your stomach twisted into a tight knot.
You pushed the plate away and stood, drifting toward the couch in the living room. You didn’t need to ask him to follow, his footsteps were already right behind you, obedient and inevitable.
He surprised you by sinking to his knees in front of the couch, bringing the two of you eye to eye. At this height, he didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
“How did you manage?” you asked quietly.
“I didn’t,” he admitted, voice low and steady through the mask. “I simply kept moving. Fighting whatever stood between me and returning to you.”
Your chest ached at the sincerity. You reached out, fingers threading gently into his thick, rubbery dreadlocks, pulling him a little closer. He leaned into your touch without resistance, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.
“Are you in trouble?” you asked, concern painting your words.
Another quiet purr.
Yes.
“I won’t bring trouble to your door,” he promised.
“I don’t care if you do,” you answered quickly. Your hand slid down to his chin, gently lifting his masked face so you could look straight into the dark voids of his mask. “I don’t care… as long as you’re here.”
The moment stretched, fragile, tender, until your stomach gave a loud, embarrassing growl.
Keth’raal tilted his head. Without a word, he rose to his full height, retrieved your plate from the table and returned. He knelt once more, offering it to you with a small nod, silently urging you to eat.
He was adorable in ways no one would ever believe, naive in his curiosity, yet impossibly sharp. Lethal beyond measure and still so gently protective. Keth’raal was a walking paradox and you wouldn’t have him any other way.
He watched you eat, head tilting one way every time you lifted the fork to your mouth, then the other when you swallowed. You didn’t tell him to stop staring, even though the weight of his gaze made your cheeks warm. You understood that look. He was studying you the same way you loved studying him, trying to memorize every small habit, every tiny detail.
“How did you find your way back home?” you asked after swallowing another bite, your eyes lifting from your plate to meet the steady glow of his mask. This was the question you had carried for two long years.
Keth’raal gave a slow nod, silently encouraging you to keep eating as he answered. “After I recovered my ship. Its last recorded destination was my planet. I was meant to return there, right before the humans captured me.”
Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. A heavy wave of grief and guilt settled over your shoulders, pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t you who had taken him. You had been just as much of a prisoner in that lab as he was. Still, in this moment, you felt the full weight of humanity’s sins resting on you alone.
“Why didn’t they accept you back home?” you asked, your voice dropping softer on the next question. “What about your brothers?”
You weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask about his family. You wanted to respect whatever invisible boundaries existed, even if he had never drawn any.
Keth’raal remained silent for a long moment. The vocoder crackled once and then fell quiet.
“My homeworld was eradicated,” he finally said. “A new King has seized control of our planets. I—”
The translator cut off. You blinked, realizing he had hesitated.
“It’s okay,” you said quickly, setting your plate aside. “You don’t have to talk about it—”
“If there is any being in this universe I wish to speak with,” he interrupted, “it’s you.”
Then, slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on your lap. Your eyes widened in shock. This was the first time you had ever seen Keth’raal look truly exhausted.
Not when you had fought xenomorphs together. Not when his arm had been severed. Not even when both of you had been bleeding out, clinging to life. None of those moments had left him bare like this.
But now, kneeling before you with his head heavy in your lap, the weight of years of loneliness and loss seemed to crash down on him all at once. His broad shoulders sagged. A deep, tired exhale left him, mandibles clicking faintly beneath the mask.
You placed your hands on his head without thinking, fingers sinking gently into his thick locks. You brushed through them slowly, until you found the nape of his neck. Your warm fingertips pressed against the cool skin there, right along the faint blue line you remembered from your time in the lab. You rubbed slow, soothing circles against the sensitive spot.
“I have no family left,” Keth’raal continued, voice quiet. “And those who survived no longer consider me one of their own. I wasn’t there to fight beside them. I was still trapped in that lab while my world burned.”
“I’m sorry…” The words left you in a broken whisper. The guilt settled heavy on your shoulders, humans had stolen his last chance to defend his home.
His head lifted slowly from your lap, dreadlocks sliding off your knees as he tilted his masked face toward you.
“It was never your fault—”
“But humans did this to you,” you insisted.
“You helped me escape. You saved my life, Na’kai.” His large hand rose, cold fingertips brushing your cheek, tracing the honored mark he had once given you. “You are not like the ones who captured me. You were as trapped as I was.”
Your throat tightened. “But now you have no home to return to…”
“I will find a new one.” The mechanical voice sounded softer somehow, almost tender.
“Half of my memories from those years are gone anyway. What remains… is mostly you.”
You glanced at him, then quickly looked down at your fidgeting hands. “How? We didn’t even know each other for that long.”
“I knew you,” he said quietly, echoing the confession he had made back in the lab. “I remember the hours you spent examining me. Talking to yourself. Taking samples. I was sedated, but not fully unconscious.”
You had been fascinated by him, his alien physiology, the striking power of his body, the silent strength in his eyes even when weakened.
Every day you had whispered apologies while drawing blood and tissue, watching him grow frailer under your hands.
Seeing him now, vibrant, powerful, muscles full and skin glowing with health, filled you with relief.
“I couldn’t understand your words,” he continued, “but you were always gentle. I never thanked you for that.”
“Don’t,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I spent every session apologizing for what I was doing to you. There’s nothing to thank me for.”
“Remember the days you weren’t assigned to me?” he asked. “Because I do. No one else was gentle. Only you.”
“Keth’raal…” His name left your lips like a plea.
“We are both here because of you,” he said firmly. His hand moved to your shoulder, pressing it gently until you finally met his gaze. “And I am grateful for that.”
You nodded, even though the guilt still sat like lead in your chest. No matter what he said, you weren’t sure you would ever fully forgive yourself for what you had done to him in that lab.
Keth’raal lowered himself back to the floor, kneeling in front of you once more. His large hand came to rest on your knee, feeling warm despite the coolness of his skin. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, natural. You let out a long, slow breath and allowed your body to relax into the quiet you had dreamed about for two years, his presence beside you, his gentle nature no longer just a memory.
His fingers began to tap a slow, rhythmic pattern against your knee. You had no idea he was matching the beat of your heart, but he did. He always knew how to calm you down since the beginning.
“So… you didn’t have anyone back home?” you asked, avoiding his gaze by pretending your half-eaten salad was suddenly fascinating.
“You mean a mate?” he replied without hesitation, his masked eyes fixed on you, never letting you dodge.
You nodded, fidgeting with your fork.
“Is that what you mean, Na’kai?” he pressed, a clear tease in his tone.
“Why do you want me to say it if you already know?” you groaned, reaching out to push his face away in embarrassment.
“Because you react like this,” he said simply. “And I like it when the blood rises to your cheeks.”
Even without sweet words, the honesty made your heart jump inside your chest. He enjoyed your shyness. After years of survival and violence, your softness must have been something entirely new to him and it did make you feel special.
“Did you have a mate or not?” you asked, faking an exaggerated sigh before stuffing another bite of salad into your mouth.
“I don’t remember,” he answered. “But I wasn’t blooded when I was captured, so I assume not”
“And what about those two years you were travelling—”
“Surviving,” he corrected.
“Right, sorry. Surviving.” You set your fork down, food completely forgotten now.
“What about those years?” he asked, even though you were almost certain he already knew exactly what you were asking.
You kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate. “Did you meet anyone?”
A soft clicking sound came from beneath the mask, almost amused.
“I did not have time to bond with anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Nor did I want to.”
Your fingers tightened around your fork.
“Oh,” you repeated quieter this time.
Keth’raal’s mask tilted. “Where is your mate, then?” He made a show of looking around the room before his mask’s eyes returned to you.
One of the mask’s lenses flashed white for a second, almost like a wink.
You stared at him. “Did you just wink at me?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I am asking a question.”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head before mumbling, “Relationships are complicated these days. Who has time for that?”
But he clearly wasn’t satisfied with your answer.
“So you didn’t bond with any humans?” he pressed.
“I went on a couple of dates, but—”
“Dates?” He rose from the floor in one fluid motion and settled onto the couch beside you.
“Yeah, it’s when two people go out to see if they match—”
“Did you match with any of them?” His voice dropped lower as he tugged you toward him. Your torn shirt slipped again under the pull of his hand.
“They were… nice—” you started, but the words vanished as his fingers caught the edge of the ripped fabric and lifted it higher.
“Nice?” he echoed, the single word sounding dangerously unimpressed. Before you could protest, he pulled you smoothly onto his lap, your legs curling against your chest as his massive arms caged you against him.
“Yeah, they were okay,” you shrugged, fingers
finding one of his dreadlocks and rubbing the thick, rubbery tip. “But they didn’t have… that something I was looking for.”
A low rumble started in his chest before he quickly silenced it, pretending nothing had happened. But you noticed. The way his body tensed beneath you, the subtle change in his breathing. And you were surprised by how much you enjoyed this side of him.
“They weren’t tall enough,” you added.
Keth’raal tilted his head. “But you’re rather small—”
“I like them massively tall, okay?” you interrupted, faking annoyance even as a smile tugged at your lips. He still wasn’t catching the very obvious hint.
“And they were too… soft.”
“Soft?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Are you not all soft? You’re hu—”
Realization hit him mid-sentence. The vocoder couldn’t hide the knowing click that followed.
“You like them rough-skinned,” he murmured, tilting his head to press the side of his mask against your cheek. You burst into quiet giggles as he continued, “And tall.” His fingers pressed lightly into your ribs, making you squirm. “Maybe even green?”
A deep, thrumming purr rolled through his chest, the Yautja equivalent of a chuckle. In one smooth motion he dropped you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he climbed over you. The furniture groaned under his weight. He caged you between his powerful forearms, dreadlocks falling around your face like a dark waterfall.
You nodded, biting your lip to hold back a grin.
“Hmm…” The low sound vibrated through him as he stared down at you. “Where are you going to find a mate like that?” he teased. “I don’t see anyone on Earth who matches your… specific preferences.”
“I don’t mind if they’re not from Earth,” you said, smiling up at him sweetly.
“You are a very open-minded human,” he replied, nodding slowly. His clawed hand rose to cradle your cheek, a talon grazing your skin.
“Do you have anyone in mind you could introduce me to?” you smirked, tugging on two of his dreadlocks.
Keth’raal lowered his body instantly, pressing you deeper into the cushions. His mask hovered inches from your face.
“You shouldn’t play with a Yautja’s locks,” he warned, voice dropping into a rougher tone.
“Why not?” you asked, surprising yourself with your boldness.
“Because,” he murmured, bumping his mask gently against your forehead, “I can feel everything.”
Your hands froze.
You knew his dreadlocks were sensitive, but you hadn’t fully understood until now. The way his breathing grew heavier above you, rougher, more strained, made the realization sink in. Every touch had affected him far more than he let on.
You released his locks immediately. He exhaled sharply, as if you had been holding his very life in your palms.
Slowly, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his massive body enveloping you completely. His arms and legs caged you on the couch, yet instead of feeling trapped, you felt safe. Exactly where you wanted to be.
“Where is your hair ring?” you asked softly, remembering the single ornate bead he used to wear on one of his locks.
He lifted his head, bringing you eye to eye with the dark voids of his mask. “I took it off after my clan rejected me. But I keep it safe.”
“It was your only memento,” you murmured. In the back of your mind, a quiet thought started forming. Maybe I could give him a new one. Something to come back to. Someone to belong to.
He didn’t belong on Earth… but perhaps he could belong with you.
The thought made your heart miss a beat. What are you even thinking?
“Can I…?” you whispered, hands rising hesitantly toward his mask. Your fingers curled around the edges. The lenses flashed red for a brief second , startled, before you gently lifted it away.
The mask dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
Without it, his mandibles flexed and parted, the vibrant green of his eyes finding you. They were stunning up close, intense and strangely vulnerable as they searched yours. You whispered his name and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft series of clicks escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours.
“Da’to thwei,” he rumbled in his native tongue, the words low and intimate. His hands cradled the back of your head, talons carefully threading through your hair as he rubbed his forehead gently against yours.
He seemed lighter without the mask. Freer. As if speaking without the translator’s barrier allowed him to finally breathe. His body relaxed fully against yours, native clicks and rumbles leaving him effortlessly.
“If you’re saying you missed me…” you murmured, unaware of the true weight of his words, “I missed you too.”
In his language, however, he had already claimed you. Completely.
“Can you stay longer?” you whispered. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”
But Keth’raal was already reaching for his mask.
“No, wait, please.” You caught his wrist. “I don’t have the courage to say this while you can understand me . I… I want you to stay. I want you to come back to me after every hunt. I want to be your—”
His hand moved quickly, pressing two fingers gently against your lips, silencing you. He slipped the helmet back on and shook his head, the red glow of his lenses steady on you.
“You’re not going to tell me what you just said, are you?”
“No,” you breathed, a small, shy smirk tugging at your lips. “Not yet.”
“Are you going to tell me what you whispered in Yautja earlier?” you continued.
“No.” He pulled you up from the couch with, your hands resting in his open palms.
“Then we’re even.” You smiled brightly up at him. His head tilted at the sight, as if wanting to commit this moment to his memory.
“You will tell me eventually,” he said, his thumb brushing beneath the scar on your cheek.
“You’ll have to come back to me if you want to find out.”
“Is that so, cunning human?” A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.
You shrugged playfully, “don’t underestimate me. Humans evolved by outsmarting bigger predators like you.”
“So you’re tricking me into coming back?”
“Exactly.”
Keth’raal let out another amused click. “I would return even if you didn’t want me here. I need to check on the soft human—”
“Ow!” He feigned pain when you slapped his arm, rubbing the spot dramatically.
“Don’t talk down to a blooded warrior, Keth’raal.”
“My apologies,” he replied, the translator somehow making the words sound anything but sorry.
You plopped back onto the couch, crossing your legs and folding your arms.
“So you’re a marine biologist now?” Keth’raal asked, settling on the floor across from you. He mirrored your posture, head tilting slightly to the left in that familiar, curious way.
“How do you know?” You raised your eyebrows in mock surprise. “Were you stalking me?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Your robe has it written on it.” He smoothly avoided answering the stalking question.
You glanced at the white lab coat draped over the chair and muttered, “Right…”
Something hot erupted in your chest at the thought that he might have been watching over you these past two years, keeping his distance for your safety.
“I’m just a junior researcher,” you continued, “but I like it. It’s quieter. Safer.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
“I mostly work with marine mammals right now. Orcas, specifically.” You shifted on the couch, stretching your legs out with a soft sigh and leaning back against the armrest. The tension in your shoulders finally began to ease.
Keth’raal rose from the floor without a word. The couch creaked in protest as he sat at the far end, his big frame taking up most of the space. You started to pull your legs back to give him room, but his hand caught your ankle gently, tugging you toward him until your legs rested across his lap.
Your breath caught.
His large hand settled warmly on top of your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of your pants. You froze for only a moment before scooting closer. When his arm lifted in a quiet invitation, you leaned into his side, resting against the cold wall of his torso.
It felt almost too natural.
You knew Yautja weren’t like humans. They weren’t supposed to crave gentle touch or closeness the same way. And yet here he was, initiating the touch, pulling you closer, offering the exact comfort you hadn’t realized you had been starving for.
Or maybe… he needed it too.
He had always been proud, sometimes even arrogant about his strength and skill. But this was different. This wasn’t pride. This was quiet certainty. He knew you wanted to be closer. He could read every racing heartbeat, every change in your breathing and he gave you exactly what you needed without hesitation.
It was pure confidence.
And it made your stomach twist with something like pleasure. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask him to claim you the way only a Yautja could.
Your time in the lab had taught you far more about Yautja than most humans would ever know, their traditions, their rigid hierarchy, even the brutal reality of how they reproduced. That last part still made you nervous.
Yautja mating wasn’t simple or gentle. It was a ritual. The strongest were chosen and the much larger, more dominant females left scars on their mates, breaking their spines before carrying their children. Keth’raal had quietly admitted earlier that he had never been claimed. Never gone through that rite. Which meant…
He was untouched.
The realization sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your face. The arrogant, reckless young hunter you had met in the lab had been all bluster and show. But this version of him, calmer, quieter, radiating confidence, felt entirely different. He wasn’t showing off anymore. He simply knew his worth. He knew what he wanted.
And he knew he could have you.
Keth’raal’s finger curled, the cool tip gently brushing your flushed cheek. His head tilted in silent question: Why are you blushing again?
You let out a nervous laugh and quickly changed the subject.
“You know, when I started here, I never expected to end up studying orcas,” you said, eyes fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It felt like the universe was pulling a prank on me.”
His thumb kept tracing circles over your knee as he listened.
“Orcas are the apex predators of the ocean,” you continued.
His head tilted further. “You have a favorite?”
You blinked.
That was his question? Out of all questions?
“What if I do?” you asked, fighting back a grin.
“Tell me where this orca is—”
“I’m joking, Keth’raal,” you laughed, pressing your lips together to keep from bursting out. His masked gaze stayed locked on you, clearly expecting a real answer.
You reached out, resting your left hand on his broad chest. “I can’t communicate with them the same way I do with you,” you murmured, rubbing gentle circles over the hard plating as if trying to calm the heart you could feel beating faster beneath your palm.
You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, the urge to tease him just a little more, to push until you drew out those frustrated growls from under his mask.
You wanted to see the beast he kept so carefully leashed.
He stayed silent after that, still, as you continued rubbing your hand over his chest.
Yet his arm slid around your shoulders, his large hand stroking protectively down your arm while he searched for words.
“I have some books on orcas I could show you—” You started to pull away, but his grip on your arm tightened instantly, tugging you back against him.
You yelped, the sound quickly turning into a suppressed laugh as your lips twitched with a smile.
“Keth’raal…” you called softly.
No response. Not a tilt of his head, not a single click. He kept his gaze lowered, arm still wrapped around you like a steel band.
You whispered his name again, tapping his chest. When that earned you nothing, you decided to make a bolder attempt to get his attention. Lifting your legs from his lap, you turned and straddled him fully, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his massive thighs.
His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you or not.
Your hands settled on his broad chest. Only then did the full weight of your compromising position hit you, sitting on his lap, straddling him like this, with nothing but thin fabric between you.
A nervous chuckle escaped you as you tried to climb off, terrified by your impulsiveness.
But before you could, his bionic hand caught your thigh, squeezing once, making you gasp.
“I thought—”
“Don’t leave,” he said, voice rough through the mask. His hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, claws grazing lightly over your clothes. Your already torn shirt slipped further down your shoulder and you quickly tugged it back up.
“Your face,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing your burning cheek. “It’s all red again.”
“It’s just… hot in here,” you exhaled, fanning yourself weakly.
“How do humans usually cool their skin?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious, though the way his other hand joined the first at your lower back, locking around you, felt far from innocent.
“Sweat… or by taking a shower,” you answered, slowly allowing yourself to sit fully on his lap despite the burn under your skin.
“How do you produce sweat quickly?” His thumbs stroked up and down your back, sending shivers across your spine.
“Exercise, mostly. If we move fast and long enough… we sweat.”
“Right…” he rumbled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then he finally lifted his head and looked straight at you.
And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
Your eyes stayed locked on the dark voids of his mask, every sense heightened to the point of a meltdown. You were somehow still straddling his lap, your thighs spread wide and your backside pressed against his crotch. His body was solid and cool beneath you, pulling you in like a moth to freezing flame.
You couldn’t help yourself but imagine his arms locking around you, holding you while your mouth found the exposed skin of his neck, tongue tracing lines as he fought not to make a sound. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, loud enough that you knew he could hear every beat. He could read you so easily, it was almost unfair.
You drew in a shaky breath and forced yourself to climb off his lap.
This is insane. He’s a Yautja. You don’t belong with him. A bond like this isn’t even possible… right?
He let you go without resistance this time. His hands slipped from your waist, leaving your skin colder than before. Only then did his chest begin to move again, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were pressed against him.
“Want to know why I chose marine biology?” you asked softly, offering him a small smile. You crawled a little closer and pressed a quick, shy kiss to his bicep before pulling back.
Keth’raal glanced down at the spot you had kissed, then lifted his head to stare at you.
“It was the closest thing to alien biology I could find,” you admitted, eyes dropping to his lap. “Something that… reminded me of you.”
A long second of silence passed, as if registering your words before he spoke.
“I kept your voice in my helmet’s audio log.”
Your mouth fell open, the sudden confession hitting you harder than anything you had just admitted. You stared at him, stunned into silence.
He kept recordings of me?
A series of soft, uncertain clicks escaped him. He looked down at his lap, almost… shyly.
You tried to speak, but no sound came out. Your mouth simply stayed parted, heart racing as the weight of his words settled over you.
He had kept your voice with him? This whole time?
Keth’raal drew in a deep breath, exhaling roughly through his mask. “We use recordings like that to lure prey,” he admitted, almost to himself. “But I kept yours. I listened to it… sometimes.”
He didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t need to really. The honesty behind the words was enough to steal the air from your lungs. You had a thousand questions, when had he recorded you? How often did he listen? Why did he listen… but you didn’t push. Not tonight.
“It gets lonely,” he continued, his voice quieter “when the whole galaxy is hunting you.” His arm slid behind your back, fingers splaying possessively over your waist as he pulled you closer.
“Can I hear it?” you asked, settling against him.
He let out a short, rough sound, almost a scoff, clearly amused and shook his head.
“Maybe some other time.”
“So there will be another time,” you teased, tilting your head. “What is this? Are you trying to convince me to see you again?”
“As if I need to convince you.” He lowered his head until his masked forehead rested against yours. “I still have things to settle on your planet.”
“Mmm? Like what?” you murmured, hands instinctively rising to cradle the sides of his head, pressing your forehead firmly to his.
“Much more… urgent things.” His actual voice bled through the mask, rough and strained.
He pushed you back slowly until your spine met the couch cushions for the second time tonight, his massive frame hovering over you. His hands captured your wrists, pinning them above your head.
Well… that was a first.
His dominance was smooth yet quiet, making you melt under him.
“So you missed me so much,” he rumbled, amusement clear even through the translator, “that you started studying something that reminded you of me?”
“Roughly,” you countered, biting back a smile. “Nothing compares to real alien biology. It’s one of a kind.”
A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “We are one of a kind.”
“You think you’re special?” you challenged, tugging at your wrists just to be difficult.
He held them firmly above your head with one hand, pressing you deeper into the couch. “Am I not?”
“You’re more arrogant than I remember,” you huffed.
“Or maybe I simply know what I mean to you now.” His voice dropped lower, with that calm, unshakable confidence.
“You can’t possibly know,” you protested. “I’ve never told you.”
“Even without the translator, I would still know how you feel about me.”
Your heart pounded hard once before it went back to normal. “And how do you feel about me?”
Keth’raal’s head dipped closer, his masked face hovering just above yours. As he leaned in, the braided necklace around his neck slipped free from the edge of his armor. The emerald green stone swung gently between you, catching the lamplight and gleaming with a soft, inner glow. It looked strangely… earthly. You weren’t sure if it actually was, but the color and polish made you curious.
He didn’t bother tucking it back. Both his hands were occupied pinning your wrists and he clearly had no intention of letting you go.
His broad chest pressed heavier against yours as he let out a slow breath, the cool stone now brushing lightly against your sternum with every small movement.
This was it.
After two years of waiting, of wondering, of aching, this was the moment you had been waiting for.
How do you feel about me?
But then his gauntlet shattered the moment with a loud, insistent beep.
You gasped before you realised, Keth’raal was already on his feet, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest in a needy embrace. He rested his helmeted head atop yours, whispering a low apology that vibrated through you.
Before you could speak, he lifted his mask just enough to expose his mandibles. He guided your hand upward, pressing your palm between them. His hot breath ghosted over your skin as he inhaled your scent deeply.
The intimacy of it had you staring because this wasn’t just a gesture. It felt like a kiss. An actual one. The one you would read on old fairytales where the knight presses his lips to a royalty’s hand to show his devotion.
Your skin burned where he breathed you in and just as quickly, he lowered the mask again. His hands rose to cradle your face, thumbs stroking tenderly beneath your eyes as if memorizing every detail. You didn’t need to ask if he had to leave. It was written in every urgent movement, every silent apology.
Your eyes stung, your throat tightened as you desperately tried to hold onto the moment, the way he felt, the faint tremble in his hands as he fought not to hold you too hard, the rough exhale that sounded like it physically hurt him to let you go.
“Keep this for me,” he said quietly.
He reached behind his neck and tore off the braided cord with a single sudden tug. The emerald stone dangled from it and when you opened your palm, he didn’t drop it there. Instead, he pressed his closed fist against your chest, right over your heart. Only then did he slowly open his fingers, letting the necklace settle against you.
It didn’t feel like a simple gift. It was heavier than that. Deeper. More like a promise. A piece of him he was leaving behind for you to guard.
You covered his fist with your hand, holding it there against your heart.
And then he was gone.
Months passed before you saw him again.
And when he finally returned… it felt like the last time you ever would.
a/n: it’s always so lovely coming back to you guys, hope this one compensates for my absence 💚 I’d love to hear your thoughts on this cute little chapter! Also Keth’raal acting all jealous wasn’t in my plans but I just love imagining him all grumpy and bothered because of his feelings 😳 and the way he held mc’s throat to hear the vibrations of their voice??? still not over 🫣)
[I can’t believe the time has come 🤭 I missed you guys so much and I know you missed Keth’raal just as much 💚 this is my gift to you, for always being supportive and kind to my works and even checking in on me when I was gone for a while. I love every single one of you!!! NOW LETS GOOO OUR BABY BOY IS BACK!!!]
“And I was starting to think you liked keeping me waiting.”
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.
a/n: I hope somebody gets why I chose an orca for a widget 💙 you guys are the best thing that has happened to me on this app 🥹 Now let’s talk about our boy and his biologist 🤭
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Imagine a different alien species tries to take you and you end up crash landing in yautja hunting territory and they all want to claim you as their prize 🥵😏
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Tw: canon typical violence, Njhorr's headless body lmao
WORD COUNT : 7,937
All of your poor choices led you to this exact moment.
Running away from your duties, fucking around through half the galaxy, and ignoring your fight or flight instincts in favor of looking at cool creatures who often tried slaughtering you the second your back was turned.
Every. Single. Thing.
It brought you here.
At the mercy of a Yautja that you saved.
Kwei could've acted the least bit grateful for your help, but fuck you and your own opinions, you guess. Nothing ever goes your way.
Kind actions?
Good deeds?
Respecting the golden rule?
Yeah, right, as if any of that bullshit would ever tilt the scales in your favor. Your good deeds did absolutely nothing for you. You should've been way more of an asshole to your previous coworkers if you knew you'd be dying at the hands of a Yautja that stood heads taller than you.
Give up on your dreams, kids. You're just going to end up dismembered by Kwei for lying once.
Poor, pathetic, pitiful you. You can't do anything right in your stupid goddamn life. Here you were, the most harmless human on Yautja Prime, being thrown to the wolves all because Thia recognized your lying ass. You didn't deserve all this rough manhandling from Kwei! You didn't deserve to be dragged back to your own ship, with Dek, Thia, and their freaky pet in tow, all so you could be interrogated about your past!
Speaking of which, it wasn't fun to remember.
You were once Weyland Yutani's bitch.
That's the truth of the matter, plain and simple. Who would ever want to be remembered for being such a willing puppet? That company bent you over and you couldn't be more mortified to be remembering it.
Thanks to Thia, though you couldn't really blame her entirely for all your problems, whatever sliver of trust you had with Kwei was shattered. Blown to smithereens. Pulverized.
Why?
Why? Oh, it's even simpler than that.
You're a weapons specialist.
It's not like you haven't been the picture perfect innocent human who just so happened to land on Yautja Prime. Nope! You crafted dangerous shit for your own amusement and to the detriment or benefit of others. Kwei saw you taking care of the guard who tried killing him and probably heard your little stabbing fit for the one who broke the important tech in your supply room.
In your smooth little brain, you think you're shouting to the skies of Yautja Prime that you wanted to fight with your hand crafted killing machines. Not that you wanted to. You wanted to go home.
You mourned over your soon to be death, reminiscing on everything you did to absolutely deserve everything coming your way.
Giving Kwei a cool prosthetic arm without his consent, shoving that apricot past his mandibles and into his mouth, touching his dreads, poking at his body, and generally being a nuisance of a host.
Hey, just thinking about all of that again makes you realize how crazy it was. How hasn't he killed you already?
It's a question that plagued your mind even now, as Dek and Thia busied themselves with digging around your ship. You're going to die and they're just exploring. The nerve.
Your head hung low as Kwei pushed you into one of the few seats situated in the cockpit. Yep. Your life's forfeit. Might as well lay back and watch him tear your heart out of your chest.
At least I got to see a Yautja up close without the threat of death. You wistfully reminisced about having Kwei on your poor excuse for an operating table. It was like watching over a bomb which didn't have its timer set yet.
Couldn't forget about touching his dreadlocks, either. Now that was a ten out of ten experience, one that you'd enjoy doing again—
A harsh pinch to your neck halted the mental writing of your will dead in its tracks. Kwei's clawed fingers were definitely dug into your soft skin.
First of all, ouch.
Secondly, did he seriously just do that?!
You obviously yelped from the pain, your hands flying up to try and wrench his own off. They don't budge. "What was that for?" You cried out, betrayed that he was dragging out your punishment.
He's toying with you, isn't he? How cruel of him. And Mean. And… ugh! Why does he have to be so mean to you?! It's not fair!
Did he forget everything you did for him?
Apparently, based on his next choice of words, he has. Kwei used his height to his advantage, like he always did around the conveniently puny human, and he kept a tight grip on you to keep your attention solely on him. He leaned down, his dreads curtaining your face. "Tell me what you used to be."
You're not even ashamed of how sour you felt the second he demanded answers, but you are embarrassed at how fast your heart dropped because of him. "Get Thia to do it after you kill me and take my weapons," you bitch back at him.
Bad answer.
Kwei's nails dig and scrape your skin, bringing forth prickly-feeling goosebumps and raised hairs on your arms. It's at times like these when you're forced to acknowledge how small you are compared to him. He could grab your arm and have plenty of room left over for his fingers to cover.
Your heart jumped as you imagined him crushing your head between his hands like a watermelon cracking open on the sidewalk.
He's totally going to crush me to death. Your eyes screwed shut. What a way to go.
With your horrible luck, he'd end up body slamming you into an early grave for feeling up his dreadlocks like some sort of forlorn mate seeing him for the first time in years.
His fangs sharply click together. Mandibles draw tightly together. From the way his language fell harshly upon your ears, you'd wager that he'd throw you if you continued acting like a little brat. "Quit throwing a tantrum. I have questions. Not time to play," he warned.
You cracked an eye open, only to see that Kwei was staring straight through your soul. Alright, fine, you'll stop dicking around. Your head thudded against your chair's headrest, a comforting break from all the hostility you're subjected to. "…I bet you've got plenty. Since you sorta told me about your baggage, I guess it's only fair that I told you about my past. Promise not to kill me."
"Talk."
Just trying to lighten the mood. You huffed. "Fine. Ask away."
Kwei took his own seat, observing you closely. Could he not do that? Please? You could only handle that dissecting stare for so long. Especially with those stupidly pretty eyes of his. Yautja get all the cool, breathtaking, otherworldly eye colors that humans don't. That's also not fair. He can't have pretty eyes.
Kwei noticed your staring and wasn't very pleased that you abruptly stopped talking. A deep rumble, not quite a growl, startled you right back into reality. You weren't off the hook quite yet.
"Who are you?"
With a heavy heart, you began the emotionally exhausting process of digging up your own past. "I didn't lie to you about my name. By now, you already know I'm a weapons specialist."
"You say you don't know how to fight." His words throw you back into the tiny, itty-bitty little skirmish you had with those lovely guards. "You kill two Yautja. Why hide your strength?"
"…I normally don't," you truthfully told him. "But I don't want Yautja to know that I can fight. Your guys' whole thing is fighting. I don't want to dig myself an early grave. I did have tests run on me at Weyland, yes, and their synths also learned from my data. I'm definitely not the strongest human out there. I just… know a thing or two about biology. Weak points, vital areas…"
Those were the kinds of things you needed to know as a weapons specialist. How else would you have given Kwei a kick-ass arm?
"—And survival instincts, by the way, those kick in when we think we're dying," you added, not wanting Kwei to think that you're asking for a brawl after this is all over. You remembered another thing that kept you alive during that fight. "I had an advantage on that other Yautja. The tranquilizer darts."
Kwei processed your answers just as quickly as he asked his questions. One after the other, with you giving out more information as time passed.
He inquired about why you built weapons that were catered to the individual. You said you wanted your inventions to work the right way and had to factor in how they'd be fighting with the weapons. Weyland saw how great you were at inventing and decided that your expertise would be used with the new Synth waves.
The more you started explaining, the less you actually wanted to share. Everything about the past, including how you used to act and how mindlessly you churned out weapons for Weyland, made you cringe and grimace. You certainly didn't like who you were back then, and while you think you're doing better, your past still left lasting marks on you. You made the effort to tell Kwei as much as you could stomach.
Then it came to the real reason you had to run away. Not that you weren't already going to do it, it's just that… this factor made you do it a bit more recklessly than you would've if it hadn't been in play.
If there's something you actually had in common with Kwei, it was that you both had a little brother. Yours wasn't the most morally upstanding citizen.
You begin the painful task of unearthing your personal business, cringing as you thought of your sibling. "I've got a brother, right? Younger. He's a genius, but also real stupid. Psychotic, too."
Kwei's attention came much easier at the mention of your brother.
"His name's Lorenzo, but he makes everyone call him Zee. It's not important, but I felt like telling you since he's the worst guy ever."
Just thinking about him had you hoping with all your heart that he'd get struck by lightning, or a moving vehicle, and then die. If death didn't claim him, maybe a coma would. Weyland just loved hiring the worst psychopaths and placing them on development teams paving a way for a 'better future'.
You rambled on. It's all you can do. "He was always trying to pick at my brain for even worse weapons. Not like, badly made, but more lethal— you get it," you gestured vaguely at Kwei. "He's all for furthering space travel and Earth's territory. If that makes sense. And I knew it wouldn't take long until he'd start stealing my designs."
Kwei's silence followed each and every little pause you made. It honestly scared you a bit. You've been isolated from a lot of human contact, yeah, but you're more used to active listeners than Yautja's with death stares.
"This brother of yours. Is he a threat to you?"
"Him?" You found enough humor left in you to scoff. "Not really, he's got weak bones. Bruises like a peach, too. I could cough and he'd fall over."
"Why is he a problem?"
So, so many reasons. Where do I even start? You swallowed the grumble threatening to leave you. "He's crazy. He'd probably try torturing more tech out of me if he caught me again. Since he knows I like to travel, he'd also try to get me to tell him about other specie's weaknesses just in case they're a threat to humanity."
"If he's weak and in your way, just kill him."
Oh, some classic Yautja mindset. Gotta love it.
"Kwei, no, I can't just… no…" you held back the biggest sigh of your life to keep yourself from getting punched in the face. You knew his mercy only lasted so long. "I can't just kill him. If I did that, I'd get swarmed by all the security on the main ship and then shredded by Synth guards."
He huffed, as though he was perplexed that you didn't like his idea.
He'd be right. You didn't like any of his ideas. They're fucking stupid.
Kwei let two guards into your home. You're still never letting it go.
Thinking about that is making me feel worse. You internally bemoaned about all of your blights. "Since I can't murder my brother and get away with it, I ran away. It's the only thing I could do. I made you a fully functioning prosthetic. You can move it like a regular hand." You leaned forward slightly to properly look Kwei in the eye. "That's with the shit I had on hand. If I had access to Weyland's up-to-date tech, I could probably give you more feeling in a new prosthetic. Do you think they'd let me go if I tried quitting? They'd keep me hostage. Like you!"
You jabbed your finger right in his face.
He brushed your hand aside. "Unimportant. Keep talking."
Unimportant? I'll beat your ass.
Oh! That impulsive thought will get you killed, so let's just usher that out of your mind.
"I— I mean, there isn't much else? That's basically it." You rubbed your chin in thought, wondering if there was anything else Kwei would want to know. He had the reason you ran away. The reason you do what you do. Is there much else you can offer?
Besides, ditching your job and tarnishing your brother's reputation while doing so doesn't affect Kwei.
The Yautja by your side processed all of this, taking in each detail you willingly gave up to him with his mandibles pinched together.
Funny. Must've been their version of scrunching up their brows.
Did this dickhead know how pretty he was?
You wanted to hit yourself. Stop that. Stop inspecting him. He didn't like your staring anyway. Last time you did that and he commented that he'd take out one of your eyeballs if you didn't stop.
"Your brother is your… enemy?" The Yautja asked. "That you will kill one day?"
No. No. Oh my god. I can't win. This time, you hold yourself back from sighing. "I mean… kinda? He probably thinks that I'm his mortal enemy. Aside from getting my soul back from Weyland after leaving, I've just been on the run trying to give other species good weapons to even the playing field."
He tipped his head a bit closer to you. "And running from your soft boned brother."
You let out a quiet snicker. Alright, that's kind of funny. Your brother is soft boned. He's like a shelled boiled egg.
"Yeah, mainly running from him. He'd probably lock me up if he ever caught me giving out my designs to beings other than Weyland."
He paused for only a moment, taking a bit longer to ask his next question. "What have you been… doing?"
You blinked, a little confused by his wording. "Like, for a living? Now that I'm not working for Weyland anymore?"
Kwei nodded.
His abrupt inquiry about your life afterwards momentarily stunned you. Huh. You assumed that he'd be satisfied with your explanation and leave.
"I've still been working on my tech," you admitted. Come to think of it, you've done a lot since leaving. You kept yourself busy. Letting yourself turn into a useless, lazy sack of meat wasn't very fitting for a star inventor like yourself. "It's been pretty fun being able to create without deadlines to worry about. I get to do what I love for… better reasons. It's like a fresh start. It's peaceful. It's what I want."
Sometimes, humanity was nice. But Weyland's decidedly not nice. They wanted your weapons for mass destruction and didn't hide it well.
"You already know from experience that I like giving people dangerous things." You pointed out, gesturing to his prosthetic.
Kwei's eyes drift away from yours. He focused on his new arm instead. After that fight, you tweaked it for him, leaving the fingers to clench and roll smoother than they had before, and his wrist flexed more comfortably.
There were others with weapons of your own design. He wondered what those others had. What trinkets you made for them just for the hell of it— all to get back at humans for making you feel attacked. Now you're here. Seeking peace and trying to right your own actions in your own peculiar ways.
You're complicated, aren't you? To Kwei, anyway. You're quite literally the strangest thing he's ever crossed paths with.
And his brother just came home with a Kalisk and a Synth.
You set the bar pretty high with your whole… everything.
He's already noticed how peculiarly you act around him. He understands why. He's Yautja. You've also made it clear that you like poking and prodding at him to see how he'll react. Since the moment he woke up, you messed with him.
You shoved food into his mouth, without any prior warning, tried bossing him around with a poorly hidden visage of fear and anxiety, and had this other weird thing where you'd act confident one second and then shatter like glass as soon as he raised a brow at you. The fact that it was that easy to get you to back off was a little amusing to Kwei. What was even weirder was how fast you switched back to your cocky little attitude whenever he wasn't intimidating you.
And, in return, you irritated him.
You fiddled with his dreads, and a little pressure is all it took to get you to apologize. Although, saying that it'd work the same against the comments you made wasn't the same story. You're a bit of a liar. You love talking yourself up.
You're strange. You're weird.
But you're interesting despite being a stupid little human.
In part, it's why he marked you. Also because you, y'know, killed two Yautja and saved his life a second time. Maaaaybe he wanted to see what would happen if you ran into another Yautja who decided to pick a fight. You'd be the instigator, that was a given, and it'd give him a deeper insight to the way you fight.
You spoke highly of your talent with weapons yet seemed oddly closed off about how you fought, citing that you weren't even that good at combat. You said Weyland trained some synths off of your own reaction time and 'basic fighting ability'. That's contradictory to your actions.
A regular human couldn't do what you did.
"You survive this way." His digits twitch and bend. You're content seeing that the creaking vanished from your latest touch-up. "…Helping."
"Uhuh. Some feel less inclined to kill people who actively help them."
Hint hint, nudge nudge.
"I've narrowly avoided some kidnappings. Once you get good gear, sometimes people don't like saying goodbye to one who made it. But…" Your fingers traced the mark on your cheek, courtesy of Kwei. "This will probably keep me out of some Yautja's hair, if I ever run into one anytime soon. Thanks for that."
He mimicked your slight slouch, letting the chair bear the brunt of his weight as he leaned back. You're glad he wasn't as temperamental like what you've seen and what you've heard from other Yautja. The hold he had on his emotions was astonishing.
Isn't that a great trait for a hunter like him? To you, he had more patience than most humans.
There's still so much about him you want to know. How he hunts when he's not being a dumbass and letting strangers barge onto your ship. What he looks like fully suited up in his hunting gear. What the inside of his ship looks like.
How long would Kwei stick around now?
The words left your mouth as soon as the thought occurred in your mind. "I actually have a question for you, Kwei."
His head lifted.
"What do you have planned?" You curiously prodded. "Not that it's any of my business. I'm just wondering because everything worked out for you. Your brother's back safe, and you told me that he's got his cloak, too. So… what's next for you?"
Really, it's all Kwei told you he wanted. He didn't have a reason to go to Genna himself. And if you were to go to Genna, it'd be to double check that they didn't send up any samples of the freaks on that death trap.
Silence followed your inquiry. His ochre yellow eyes trailed over your form, tracking your subtle movements. His gaze then darted away. He had to have been thinking about something important to go all quiet on you. His mandibles parted and closed. The once confident clicking of his fangs ceased entirely.
"…Kwei?"
He stood up abruptly. You jumped in your seat, gripping the stiff arm rest.
This is it, he's ripping my head off. You resigned to your fate. At least Zee didn't get the golden opportunity to deal the finishing blow.
"You still have my other weapons to work on. I will stay until you finish."
Huh? You sat upright, almost protesting from Kwei's swift exit. "But you haven't given me anything else to upgrade!"
He sent you a single, lingering glance. It's the closest thing you'll get to a warning for your sudden workload, later, so you can only hope he doesn't have an entire collection of swords stowed away on his ship that he's ready to dump on your ass.
Your body slumped back into the padded cushioning of your seat. I… I guess I should look on the bright side of this.
Upgrading Kwei's remaining weapons and repairing your stolen ship is one of those things. Your little home did house a Yautja brawl, which you won and are quite proud of, so you'd say it's far from picture perfect right now. You're honestly just glad their blood didn't harbor the same acidic blood that Xenomorphs did.
If you get to live another day, you'll do whatever Kwei wants. Aside from letting him eat all of your good food.
He needed to start hunting again. You didn't give a damn about recovery time anymore. He's a big Yautja. He can handle killing an animal or two for himself. If Kwei knew you thought that about him, he'd probably cut your head off with his newly upgraded plasma sword. Oh well. You can't win all your battles. Except for that one time you killed two Yautja to defend your livelihood!
Pushing everything else aside, you should get started on all the shit that's piled up. Ship repairs first, then Kwei's weapons. Once you're done with that, he'll hopefully set you free.
You've come to terms with the fact that he's not letting you go until he has what he wants. You've learned that from your odd, short, and vaguely threatening conversation with him. Until you're done, Kwei's staying right where he is, and so are you.
If you're lucky, which you've already proven to be, he might offer a helping hand if you announce you're fixing up the place. It's already an iffy plan, but there's no harm in checking.
Right after getting yourself changed into some clothes you wouldn't mind dirtying, you made your way to where Kwei typically resided. The cockpit.
"Hey, I'm…" You began, only to stop and trail off as you beheld the scene laid out before you.
Dek was in your captain's chair, fucking with the buttons on your center console for no reason at all.
What the hell?
Does this just run in the family? The need to mess with stuff that's not theirs?
You've got yourself propped against the wall, arms crossed, jaw slackened. Watching. You weren't even mad. No, you're baffled. Why the hell is he doing that? Is… Is he curious? Suspicious? Did he plan on piloting the damn ship off the planet and tossing you into the cold vacuum of space since he didn't like humans?
What would he need your stuff for?
He and Kwei had a fantastic ship. One that you'd like to see, but they were being very particular about not letting you onto at the moment.
"Uh. Hey."
Dek barely reacted. You barely caught that he acknowledged you with a simple glance once you were in his peripheral.
You cleared your throat. "Where's your brother…?"
"Here," said a voice from behind you.
You gave a garbled yelp, spinning on your heel to glare at the Yautja who startled you. It was painfully hard not to shout at the chuffing hunter.
Someone certainly cheered up after threatening you.
"Don't. Do that. Again. Ever. Please."
Kwei brushed past you and made his way into the cockpit, taking his time to focus on you to show off his obvious amusement, unlike his younger brother. You'd be surprised if Kwei wasn't trying to stick around Dek more. Dek did come back after a death mission, after all.
What's he doing now? You followed along. You're still going to subtly hint that you'd like a bit of help. "Kwei—?"
Kwei pulled Dek right out of the captain's seat, sliding into after his brother was out of his way.
"Not your chair," Kwei said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Yautja humor was odd.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and desperately tuned out the growl from Dek. It wasn't Kwei's chair either.
Dek, who didn't want to give up his inspection of your flight controls, reached over to hit another button. Kwei smacked his hand away. The two shared a long stare, which you interpreted to be a glare of challenge. There were a lot of those going around recently.
You found yourself watching this little staring contest, perhaps focused a bit too intensely to be considered a simple curiosity.
He's too interesting. It's impossible to ignore. Kwei, he's just…
Beautiful.
To anybody else but you, you probably sounded crazy thinking like this. Especially since he terrorized you recently. Maybe that yelling made him a little attractive in your eyes. So what? Yeah, you're insane. You've been without a conversation buddy for far too long. You're willing to brush past a lot if it means you're entertained and alive at the end of the day.
You're mainly zeroed in on him since he didn't cave your skull in for lying to him. Could he get any more riveting?
Hearing that he risked his life defending his brother from his murderous father was beyond incredible. You've never heard of a Yautja so caring in your life. You saw their dad's body on the ground earlier and he was a big Yautja. Kwei sent Dek off for his hunt, ready to pay with his own life. His resolve was admirable as it was outstanding.
It made Kwei even more respectable in your eyes.
His imposing stature gave off such an intense aura to you. He had the air of a guardian and a warrior combined. A great fighter, an impeccable defender… both of which you'd be glad to witness once Kwei fully adjusted to his metal arm.
Your gaze dipped lower. Your bottom lip ended up between your teeth. That's right. I might have to stick around longer than I mean to. So he doesn't get an infection or injure himself… or rip it off…
It's almost effortless— the way you naturally examined and explored the tank of a Yautja seated before you. Just like when you first performed medical malpractice on him the day you met, you picked apart his body with a silent, appraising gaze. Following along the prosthetic, you're met with his uniquely textured skin. The mixture of reddish brown and distinctly darker patterns, stretched over taut, corded muscles, all draped with his armor, still enthralled you.
You haven't had the chance to really sit down and get a good look at him ever since he woke up after the operation. Now you're finding that you can't stop. Your eyes wander to…
His mandibles. They moved with each breath, softly shifting from the air he exhaled.
His fangs, large and strong.
The nails on his remaining hand, sharp and pointy.
His dreadlocks, and the way they rested on his shoulders.
Every single thing about him was worth noting a million times over. Perhaps it's your curiosity, or plain idiocy, making you think all these silly things about him. You wanted to learn more. So much more. But you felt as though you've tested your luck enough with Kwei. Perhaps taking your leave and immediately running the second your work was done is the smartest course of action to take?
Ugh, but that sounds like it'll suck.
You'll be in space all sad and alone. With nothing to do but pick at your decimated dried fruit reserves and no big, strong, totally not hot, straight-to-the-point Yautja that's been giving you the best company you've had in a long while.
But you? Traveling with a Yautja? Talk about a pipe dream. He'd never let you onto that ship. That's like walking into an early grave.
If I could only touch those dreads again… You moped a little, rubbing your fingers against the pads of your thumb. You could almost recall how they felt against your hands, the phantom sensation pricking at your skin. It was so strange at first.
"You're staring," Kwei commented idly, tweaking some settings on his gauntlets that linked them to the controls of your ship. Great, he's already taking control over your possessions in the time it took you to get lost in his appearance. "Did you forget what I said?"
"I'm not staring and I didn't forget," you fired back. I really have to get out of here as soon as I can.
His movements ceased altogether. Kwei then gave you a look. A long, pointed one. One you recognized well, although you shouldn't have, given how little time you've spent with him. It's the classic "are we seriously doing this again?" that drew your mind back to when he crushed you against the wall thanks to your wandering hands.
He kept his own eyes on controls he already familiarized himself with during his lengthy stay. "Why do you stare now?"
With your hands on the back of the main chair, you leaned over the top to get Kwei to look at you. His dreadlocks caught your eye again. Staring really is your worst habit. You could hardly keep your gaze from him for long.
"I need some help."
"With what."
"Repairing my ship. Before you go on about how you don't need to, you actually do need to, since it's your fault it looks like shit."
You reached over Kwei's shoulder, ignoring the soft growl that came from him, and twisted a dial on your control panel. You held down on it until a soft light shone through its plastic casing. Those were your radio controls, and if these two fools could stop fucking with it for three seconds, you'd be able to play something nice for yourself while you worked.
"And since you're keeping me here to fix up your weapons, it's the least you could do. I need brute strength for some of the marred plating anyway…"
And you're the one with the biggest muscles. You kept that comment locked up, choosing to pay attention to how nice and clean your ship's windows are.
It didn't take long for Kwei to come back with a response. He mulled over your words in his head, admitting to himself that you did have a point. If he helped, you'd probably return to upgrading his weapons even faster. That was a reasonable trade off for Kwei.
Before you knew it, the repairs were done. No wonder. You had a monster of a Yautja by your side and cooperating for once.
It took a while, and the clean-up was brutal —you didn't even want to get started on re-organizing— and now you have all the time in the world to work on Yautja weaponry.
It wasn't going to be too fun, considering that it'd be a lot of what you did with Kwei's previous arsenal, but the things he brought you as soon as you settled into your workshop again did have your brain buzzing.
He let you see his shield. It wasn't something you could really upgrade for him, but it was cool to see. Everything seemed to be compact to maximize the amount of weapons they could carry.
For his wrist blades, again, there wasn't much you could do but sharpen them for him. Although, you wondered if Kwei had any thoughts about adding plasma to the very tips of the blade to make it even more lethal.
You fell into a rhythm before you even realized it. You had an entire collection of weapons to work with. Smart discs that needed sharpening, and starting the lengthy process of improving his large set of collapsible plasma swords. While you worked, you had many visitors dropping in and out of your workroom.
Bud was just pacing around and exploring your ship. She reminded you of a restless dog. Thia came in and out to just ask you some questions. You asked her some things about Weyland and didn't find out anything that caught your interest. Aside from them having a base in Genna that only raised mild concern on your end, you didn't feel like getting involved.
Whenever Kwei stopped by, it was to watch you from the doorway with crossed arms. That totally wasn't weird at all.
By far, your worst guest is Dek. He can't keep his hands off of your stuff.
Your blueprints? He might not understand your language, but he sure as hell wants to rifle through those papers of yours.
Incomplete projects? You nearly threw a wrench at him for nearly cracking the casing on a new pistol you were working on.
And Kwei isn't doing anything about him either. You're at a loss.
Some time passes. Obviously, you're not superhuman, so you can't get all of Kwei's things knocked out in a single day. You get your rest, Kwei stays nearby so you don't get any smart ideas and attempt an escape, and fall into a little routine. Breaks spaced out your work, as did your meals, and you found yourself getting familiar with this little group.
Except for Bud. Bud is getting bigger by the day and it's a little frightening. But Thia's nice to talk with. The cold, emotionless Synths back at Weyland were total buzzkills. Too cold and clinical, so you much prefer Thia's brighter personality.
Given that Yautja Prime's days were much longer than the ones you're used to, it's hard for you to tell how much time passes by the time you're almost done with the upgrades. Maybe around… three days? Four?
You say this because Dek took it upon himself to make your life harder than it already was.
You're finishing up a particularly stubborn nick in one of Kwei's swords when you heard Dek's familiar steps as he entered the workshop.
"Ooman."
"Yes, Dek?" You lifted your head, facing Dek with slightly weary eyes. Getting used to the days on Yautja Prime was rough.
"You're upgrading Kwei's swords."
"…Yes."
"What else?"
"Uhhh…" You quickly looked around to assess everything completed so far. You'd be surprised if you hadn't covered everything that Yautja dragged out of his ship's storage.
A ship you still haven't been to, by the way. You might break in there yourself if you keep losing sleep over these upgrades.
Pushing that out of the way, you turned back to Dek once you rounded up everything you worked on. "Wrist blades, smart discs, and most of his swords. Your brother collects a lot. Too many."
Dek reached over, none too kindly, and grabbed a much smaller plasma sword from the completed pile. You had no doubts that Kwei already displayed your craftsmanship during the first couple of days he had returned from Genna, which you definitely weren't secretly proud of, and wanted another look at the new and improved plasma output.
You didn't protest as Dek examined the plasma sword. If he fucked it up, Kwei could beat him up and you'd have no qualms about it. When Kwei called him stubborn, he meant it.
He squinted as the plasma on the edge of the blade changed color. You nearly missed it, but he nodded slightly before collapsing the sword and setting it back down. He then looked right at you and spoke.
"Do it to mine."
What.
Setting down your equipment, you rubbed your eyes, double checking that Dek was seriously in the room and you actually just heard him ask you that. A part of you wished he was a mirage, but alas, he wasn't.
"Sorry, come again?"
"Do it to mine," Dek repeated in a matter-of-fact tone, reminding you of his brother. "Make my sword better."
Holy shit. He really did ask you that.
"Um… Dek, my hands are full at the moment." You gestured at everything on your desk, delivering your soft rejection with a slight wince on your face.
He shot a careless glance to your soft, squishy, fleshy human hands. "They are not."
"That's not what I meant." Your shoulders dropped. Why did he take it literally?
Dek growled. It was a quick, irritated growl, reminding you of an annoyed scoff. You didn't miss it. First off— how dare he?
"What the hell? Don't try that with me!" You've had enough. You aren't their weapons specialist! You were doing this for Kwei because he was cool and he currently had control over your life. You covered your precious tools and hollered for help. "Kwei! Your brother's in here trying to scare me into doing work for him!"
Kwei passed by the doorway and didn't bother defending you. "Do it, pyode."
What the fuck?! He's supposed to shield you from shit like this! So what if he's known Dek all of his life and they're literally brothers? You deserve a little bit of leeway for saving Kwei's life twice and allowing him to gorge himself on your rations. He owes you big time for those, too!
This fucking sucks. You ignored the triumphant sparkle in Dek's eyes and tried tuning out the sound of him loading his own gear onto any free space he could find on your workbench.
You're getting back at Kwei later. Somehow. You'll find a way.
You put Dek's retractable double-sided dagger down, almost collapsing back into your seat. Words couldn't describe how relieving it felt to put down the last of Dek's weapons. All of them had been upgraded, with each blade also earning a freshly sharpened edge. Your hands were all tight and sore, your back was stiff from slouching over your work space, and your legs were aching from their lack of use.
The first time you even touched Kwei's blade it didn't take nearly as much time. But that was only because he asked you to fix one thing. Entire sets…? Never again.
Dek inspected his new and improved spinning dagger from each angle, satisfied with what you had done to it. He didn't thank you at all. Of course, his unspoken gratitude, which you didn't really sense at all, gave you the strangest urge to hurl an anvil at him.
"That took too long. I didn't think handling smaller weapons would be such a shit show," you murmured, more to yourself than the other two. Because of Dek being slightly smaller than the average Yautja, his weapons reflected that. The sudden difference in proportions gave you a harder time even though it was closer to a weapon that you yourself could handle. You cast a vaguely accusatory glance at Kwei. "Why'd you make me do that?"
Kwei also examined his brother's newly improved weapon, from over the younger Yautja's shoulder, giving you the slightest nod of approval. "Reward for Dek's successful hunt."
Ahh. Made sense.
"He did tame a Kalisk," you wholeheartedly agreed, unable to hide how impressed you were in spite of your exhaustion. Thia informed you about his accomplishments a while ago. Actually, it was the same day when you were being accosted by Kwei. "I'd normally say your brother would need rest, but I've yet to meet a Yautja who knows how to take a break. You guys are hardcore."
Seriously, you didn't understand how Yautja could fight beasts like Kalisks, return from a hunt, and heal up in a matter of days. Kwei decided he was ready to kill right after getting a new arm and Dek had put aside some extra time to slaughter his father after he came back from Genna. What a family!
I need so much sleep. Just then, your stomach grumbled. A tired groan was pulled from your throat.
You're exhausted, starving, and wasting away. You yearned for the comfort of your bed and its plush pillows. You could almost feel them now… Soft, silky-smooth, and wonderfully warm. Right after you get a meal in you, you're sleeping for the next nine years.
It was night anyway. You didn't need an excuse to ditch this group and go to bed.
"Don't move the ship when I go to sleep." You dropped your tools messily into one of your drawers, not quite caring about organizing them at the moment. That could come later. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Wait."
Kwei stopped you in your tracks by blocking the doorway. This fucking guy.
What now? Can't he see that you're tired and dying? Can't he see that you want to curl up in bed and cry quietly?
"Yes…?" You weakly replied, feeling your body grow heavier.
He paused, debating his next choice of words. "Pyode?"
Again with the soft name. I've killed enough to be addressed properly. You regarded Kwei as you usually did, albeit this time carrying with it a more lethargic angle. You truly were suffering from success. "Yeah?"
"You said you offered trades as payment?"
It sounds like something you'd say. Either when you confessed your problems or mumbled it to him whenever he dropped by to check on the state of his precious weapons. "Yep. I guess trades are nice…"
"And you like knowing about Yautja," he stated, like he was reading off a checklist about you. Where was he going with this?
You nodded along. You'd do anything he wanted, answer any question he had, if he just moved his freakishly big body out of the way so you could go to bed. "Yeah. That too. I like knowing about most people I come across."
His next words hit you like a sack of rocks.
"Have you seen a trophy wall before?"
All traces of fatigue in you are immediately tossed out. Trophy wall? With the bones? And skulls? Is he fucking with you?
Suddenly, it was all worth it. The time you spent working on Kwei's arm, his weapons, his brother's weapons. You'd do it again in a heartbeat because of what Kwei's currently saying. Is he implying that he's going to show you his trophy wall?!
Holy shit, you're so excited. Your legs felt all light like you're walking on clouds. Anticipation abruptly shot through you, and here you are, waiting on the edge of your seat to hear him out.
"No, I, uh, I've never seen one," you denied, perhaps coming off a touch too eager. It probably didn't help that you had begun biting your thumb nail to try and control yourself. "You asking me because you're gonna show me?"
Kwei stared down at you, studying your reaction. Your previous lethargy was long forgotten, and in its place was a poorly hidden expectation. He folded his arms across his chest. He really, really didn't like that you had saved his life a second time, and that you continued doing things for him. It just goes to show how far his intimidation got him with you.
He figured that you'd eventually want something in return. With your deadly curiosity and annoying desire to know everything you could about Yautja, his trophy wall might possibly be the very thing that quenches your thirst for knowledge.
In Kwei's mind, by then, he'd stop wanting to understand you.
"I have… considered it, yes," Kwei confirmed with a simple nod.
You don't even care how heavy your eyelids were. There were more pressing matters to worry about. He's thinking about it! He thought about you seeing his trophies.
"Can I see them? Now?"
He laughed, the sound huffy and short. "No. You have done enough for the day."
"Are you kidding me? You can't just drop that on me and expect me to stay tired after that!" You totally deserved to see his trophies now! You worked so hard for the privilege of it. "You marked me, didn't you?" you reasoned, attempting to negotiate him into letting you onto his ship sooner. "I'm good at fighting and crafting weapons! Oh! And upgrading all of yours."
Now you claim to be a good fighter so pridefully? Not too long ago, you said it was your instincts that helped you kill two full-grown Yautja. You really are something else, aren't you?
Kwei's eyes creased at the corners. "Not tonight. Tomorrow."
A twinge of disappointment stings your chest. You try again. You can wear him down. "Please? I'm ready. I won't pass out or anything like that. Let me see. Want a new arm after? It's yours."
"No," he firmly asserted. "Tomorrow. Your mood irritates me when you avoid rest."
That's because I wake up to less sweet rations, you dick. You held back a whine. "Your ship isn't even that far away. It would take, like, ten minutes for me to see your trophies."
Kwei straightened up at that. You think he possessed such a small collection that it wouldn't take long go through each one? Oh, how you irk him. Kwei thought that conversation you had with him previously told you that he wasn't to be trifled with so lightly.
His next command left him more severely than his others did. "Tomorrow. Or. Not. At. All."
You winced from his tone and immediately broke the eye contact you had been steadily holding with him. A nervous laugh, cracking sharply at the end, bubbled past your lips. "Tomorrow! Tomorrow, then. I'll see you tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Have a good night!"
You didn't give Kwei the chance to move out of your way. You squeezed your body past him, eliciting a grunt from the Yautja, and nearly tripped in your scramble to your chambers. You've brushed your teeth, fully forgetting about how hungry you previously were, and leapt into bed so fast you risked cracking the top of your head against the metal headboard welded to the wall.
You clutched your blanket tightly and stared up at the ceiling above you. You'd love to try and turn in for the night, but with the way your heart was thundering in your chest, you knew it was going to take a while until sleep finally claimed you. You couldn't help but let excited jitters wash over you.
You're going to see a Yautja's trophy collection tomorrow.
A/N: I accidentally used 'she' a few times for the mc so I went back and changed it. gender neutral reader still. my bad.
Posting this felt like breaking out of chains of my own making. FUUUUCCCKKKKK WHY DO I ALWAYS START SERIES WITHOUT THINKING
I will be more than happy to return to the abyss since I already have an erratic posting schedule. I basically write when I'm motivated and not busy. As I said, I'm often busy and unmotivated. Plus, I got into hunter x hunter and immediately became smitten with that bumfuck loser Leorio. He needs to be thrown into a black hole.
Cw: angst themes, poor communication and refusal to address it, canon typical violence, sketchy nightmare sequence
--
A few sleeps had passed. You hadn’t been retrieved from the depths of the dungeon once, not for anything at all. It was the first time in a long time where you had a moment to just… exist. No fractured bones, no bruises or scrapes, no being covered in blood from head to toe. Nothing to distract you, no adrenaline.
Hours dragged by slowly, minutes that weren’t whittled away with sleep were spent exercising, staring into the walls or ceiling and embedding pictures into the stone with your mind. Your leg had healed, there were no more sharp pains from the rapid mending, but you were starting to feel like you were going to gnaw it off anyway. Your heart hammered in your chest each time a guard walked past you, anticipation spiking your blood at the thought of being chosen, then immediately draining out when you were not.
Other alien peoples and beasts were dragged from their cells to their fate in the arena. You listened and felt the rumbles of cheering above you, keeping your mind occupied when sleep evaded you. Some of them returned, some did not.
How many others did they keep down here?
…
More sleeps passed. You felt restless from the inactivity, the lack of blood coating your skin. You hadn’t realized you had come to crave it: not until the absence of it became pervasive.
You spent a lot of time speaking to Kwei, who’s company you’ve frustratingly began to enjoy, who’s dialogue you anticipated whenever you awoke. If you were pacing, he’d watch you. If you were sulking and facing away from him, he would pester to you. You’d listen to him talk and often you’d offer a response, at night, laying on the ground and staring at him. You paid extra care to zip it whenever a guard would pass by.
Kwei was… interesting. He was yautja, but he was very dissimilar to the others of his clan that you had been able to observe. Granted, in the dark of your respective cells, there was not much to glean, but to you he spoke softly, much softer than any of the other yautja you’ve ever heard.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that he himself was a prisoner, like you, and at this point had no reason to look down on you— he had said he was impressed by you, after all. He’d watch you while you spoke, each word that would pass your lips he’d hang onto, like he was just as desperate for connection as you were. Who really knows. There was a tenderness in his eyes that caused something strange to settle in your gut that you were trying very hard to not acknowledge. Maybe that’s what made him different.
There were a handful of times where the guards would come for Kwei, during which you could do nothing but watch them take him away. There was no consistency; sometimes he’d be gone for half an hour, the next time he’d be gone upwards of an hour, each minute that ticked by turned the pit in your stomach into a crater that dug deeper and deeper.
He was always carried back— exhausted, smeared in blood belonging to him and otherwise. These nights however, Kwei stayed quiet, not indulging in any words and offering minimal response to any conversation you tried to share with him. He never ignored you, but… his silence was deafening.
You knew that awaiting his return every time would only end in your own agony. If that day were ever to come, the one where he didn’t come back.
You slumped your head against cold stone.
…
More sleeps had passed.
You thought about what Kwei said, maybe ten or eleven sleeps ago. I do not know yet… think about something to look forward to when we get… out…
Ain’t that a joke.
One that you really wanted to believe.
…
Today was not a good day. His father— his njohrr— had come.
The clan leader was a frightening yautja, a pale and towering beast that prowled the barracks until he stopped in front of your cells.
You had thought the ground shook when the arena roared; this yautja made the earth under your hands tremor with nothing but his presence.
He had ripped into him the moment he arrived.
“You disgrace yourself, sparing a whelp.” He snarled down upon his son. “You shame me. I should have sawed your head from your shoulders.”
Kwei sat in the darkness of his cell, silent, and from what you could tell, stared up at him expressionless.
“Even now, you bring further embarrassment upon yourself. Coward.” He spat. “I anticipate the satisfaction I will feel when you are felled.”
You bit your tongue until pain seared throughout your jaw. You knew better, saying anything was far from your place. Despite yourself, you exhale a tad too loud, the pale yautja slowly turns around to face your cell. The oxygen in your throat evaporates, your gaze fixating on the horns that adorned his helm. Throwing your gaze to the ground you say nothing, focusing on keeping your breaths quiet and even. You glance over to Kwei, whose eyes are locked on you, poised like he’s restraining the urge to pounce, his expression is one you have no idea how to navigate through. You look to the ground at the feet of his njohrr, begging the tremble in your soul to hold.
The clan leader slowly turned towards his son, back to you, then left without another word. The guards followed behind him and the barracks returned to almost utter darkness, save for the burning torches on the stone walls.
Silence settled over you and your companion for a long while. Companion? “He’s full of shit, y’know.” You say, carefully.
“Njohrr keeps me here to punish me for my shame. He makes me rot in it.”
“Shame? You don’t have anything to be ashamed about, from what you’ve told me. Whatever you did probably didn’t warrant you getting tossed in here.”
Kwei was quiet. It was jarring to realize the shift in your typical dynamic; mustering the courage to pester, to know, to reassure, to dig into his psyche and learn. You didn’t say anything, letting it sit between you both, undemanding.
“… I was supposed to kill my brother. Njohrr saw him as weak, thought that his life tarnished the clan’s honour. I… could not follow through.”
Your heart thudded harder in your chest. “Why?”
“I saw in my brother what our father… could not.”
“Okay, so you love your brother; who wouldn’t do what you did? He says that compassion is the cause of your shame, but there isn’t anything shameful, or even punishable, about that.”
Kwei’s face twists. “It is not so simple, there are rules unsaid that aren’t meant to be ignored. You do not know him. You do not understand us, and D—” Kwei seems to catch himself. Swallows the words down back his throat. “You would not understand.”
“Then help me get it. Saving your brother from a fate you know he did not deserve, sounds to me, like an incredibly honourable—"
“Disobedience is not honourable.”
“It can be—he doesn’t get to dictate what is and is not—”
“You do not understand—”
“Protecting someone you love is not wrong,” you knew you were pushing.
“It is not the same.” you tense when he snarls. “You know nothing of shame nor honour, and you know nothing of mine.”
You were stunned. Not really. Your throat tightened and you scorned it, clenching your hands into fists and unclenching repeatedly as hurt surged through you. “Fine. Fuck you.”
Standing to walk away, you pushed yourself into the farthest corner of your cell, hiding yourself in the darkness and out of view from him. Curling inward and facing the wall, you scrubbed away the hot tears that had dared to gloss your eyes— you weren’t going to allow yourself to cry.
You said nothing. Kwei said nothing.
He wants to stew in self pity then fine, I’ll let him.
Dinner came at its usual time. You took your bowl of meat and fruit into your hands, staunchly ignoring Kwei before returning to the corner of your cell, hiding yourself in the dark and away from his view.
More sleeps passed.
…
There were people, people you knew, but they were gone and had slipped through your fingers before you knew they were falling. It was your fault that you fell asleep.
Monsters the colour of oil crawled inside the walls, her chest had been broken from the inside and blood drenched her shirt and her skin and had splattered across the walls and floor of the medical wing
A blood path trailed from her and dragged across the steel floor
They were everywhere and were closing in;
She miraculously survived and was dying in your arms, choking on her blood while your tears pearled onto her face, a pistol shook in your trembling hands. there was the sound of scuttling, coming from somewhere, the awful hissing was all around you, you couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from—
she grabbed your face and smeared her blood over your lips with her palm
the call of your name surrounded you, alongside bodies
There it was at the end of the hall.
You jumped awake. It was probably nighttime, you weren't exactly sure what time it was anymore. You shivered, tried to curl into your blanket and wrap it around yourself, it wasn't big enough.
You turned to look at Kwei, he was asleep and facing the back wall of his cell, the outline of his large back was the only thing you could make out in the darkness. You gripped as much of the blanket as you could, trying to fit the pathetic cloth over your shoulders and huddled as best you could into the rock.
You didn't want to close your eyes again, but staring at the wall only works for so long.
…
You breathed deeply through your nose, awareness of your senses returning to you. You turned to look over your shoulder at Kwei and glared at his back then rolled back around with a huff, turning your glare to the wall.
You and him hadn’t spoken for eight sleeps and each waking moment you spent ignoring each other was starting to border on agonizing. On your end, at least. Deeply aggravated with him that he’d snap at you, you made a point of making your attention and conversation scarce; he was seemingly refusing to be the first one to break.
Stupid yautja and their stupid larger-than-life enormous egos.
You didn’t realize how accustomed you had become to his voice, the conversation and the questions he peppered you with were, at the time, immensely bothersome. Now in that absence, however, the minutes felt like they had turned into centuries, your thoughts devastatingly loud. There was no distraction, no relief against your inner voice spiralling you into despair, there was no one else. It was just you, again, by yourself with your thoughts now free to swallow you whole. Why aren’t they choosing me? Why not? Why are they keeping me down here just to rot.
As if being cosmically answered, the lights from outside the dungeon began to climb up the walls and the occupants of the surrounding cells began to chatter as they always did. You flipped onto your stomach and picked yourself up, watching three shadows approach until their silhouettes became the actual guards. The bars of your cell shook to life and began to rise, your heart began to pump.
Finally.
One giant guard marched into your cell as soon as the bars had receded and yanked your bicep into his hand and dragged you out of your cell, not letting you stabilize your steps. When you tried to right yourself, the guard growled and shoved you, purposefully knocking your legs out from under you. You struggled against him, but like every time before, your attempts were unsuccessful. There was snarling behind you, with what little control over your movements you had you turned your head around and saw the two other guards entering Kwei’s cell. You watched as the guards descended onto him, one slamming her elbow into the back of his head whilst the other jabbed into his abdomen, making Kwei double over. You opened your mouth to call out, for who or why you’re not certain, but the guard that held you dug his hand into the back of your skull, yanked on your scalp back and forced your face forward. You hissed in pain, the cuss you were ready to let erupt from your throat died in your mouth as the snarls behind you escalated, growls ascending into roars as you turned a corner. The ringing in your ears joined in tandem with your slamming heart and only became louder as you were tossed into a familiar chamber. You clambered back up to your feet to charge the chamber’s door, but once it had sealed shut you could do nothing but wail against the metal.
Sweat collected on the back of your neck, the coolness of the room sent damp chills down your spine. You stood rooted to the ground, staring into the metal, concentrating all your anger and misery into one spot on the door as if it would wither under your glare; it did not. Slowly, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against it, surrounded by the sound of your breathing. Your eyes stung. You were beginning to hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt your pulse thud against your temple, the chilled metal cool against your forehead.
It was quiet, you hated this quiet to hell. Fear gripped you, the edges of your mind growing hazy as you thought about what they were doing to—
The ground shuddered and light climbed up the wall as the chamber behind you opened. Cheers flooded into you as new light assaulted your eyes. Leaving this chamber has become muscle memory and as you covered your eyes from the sun, letting the sand rub against your soles, you began to feel yourself slip away as the killer you knew you were took over.
His presence in the crowd made you pause.
The stark contrast of white against the crowd of dark red, brown and beige caught your eye immediately. He was there, watching from above like a vulture, the depth of the arena gave you the courage to glare into the eyes of his mask.
You couldn’t see his actual eyes, but a part of you felt his gaze on you.
When the sound of the secondary trial chamber on the opposing end of the arena began to shudder and climb upward you stood ready, both your hands now at your sides. As the thick metal revealed who your opponent was, the silhouette of a yautja became clear. You groaned to yourself, fighting against yautja was never enjoyable.
Your heart fell into your stomach as the strange silhouette walked out into the light and transformed into your companion.
As soon as Kwei was hit by the light, his eyes landed onto you and for the first time since you fought, your eyes met.
…
Phew! This was sitting in my drafts for so long, but I’m happy I sat on it for as long as I did because I’m really happy with how this turned out. As always, thank you for reading :]!
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