Alien bf never knew there was even more love and affection to behold than what you had shown him and what heâs seen in the data archives found on their ships computers. But ever since he discovered sex and what it felt like to be so deeply connected to you he had turned into a fiend.
If you thought he was taking up all your time before, you literally cannot take a breath without him sliding up behind you and gathering you in his giant arms. Picking up your plush body with ease and molding it against his hard frame.
He carries you everywhere to the point where you often forget the last time your feet have touched the ground. The rest of your crew looks over at you in pity but you honestly canât find it in yourself to complain. He views you as his mate, it only makes sense to want to do these things for you.
You canât even delude yourself into thinking itâs innocent anymore. He knows what heâs doing, especially since he was caught watching porn with a hand around his cock. Moaning your name loud enough for someone to think he was calling for help. And he loves it. Making you squirm as he shamelessly feels you up. Soft chirps leaving him as he noses at your cute blush.
But his favorite noises from you come when heâs gotten six or seven orgasms out of your pretty cunt. Making a total mess of his throbbing cock thatâs been wrecking you for hours. Fucking you stupid to the point where you forget your own language and start letting out the familiar clicks of his species.
His clawed fingers curl around your waist, using you like a fleshlight as he slams back down on his cock at a brutal pace. Meeting his own thrusts to hammer up into you even harder. Those lovely clicks that sing your pleasure pierce the air and your pussy pulses around his thick girth.
It brings him more satisfaction than he can express. Above all he relishes in the fact that thereâs no doubt by now that your crew knows whatâs going on in just the next wing of the ship. Thatâs right. Youâre taken and no human cock could ever compare to what he can give you.
âLouder, sweet mate. L-let them, unngh, let them hear how good I make you feel. Need them to know youâre mine,â he growls, his cock twitching inside you and hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.
You cry out loudly, not wanting to admit how good his possession over you feels. Now that you know itâs intentional it makes it all a million times hotter. Youâd be embarrassed by the loud squelch that echos with each thrust if you werenât so unbearably needy, even after coming so much already.
The coil in your belly tightens so hard you fear youâre about to burst. And the second it snaps your releasing streams of your orgasm all over your Alien bfâs huge lap, soaking his lower half entirely. He only lasts for a few more thrusts before heâs burying himself inside you and splashing buckets of cum into your eager cunt.
He keeps you firmly on his lap, your bodies still deeply joined long after he grows soft again. Both of you panting heavily. His breath ghosts across your burning skin as he nuzzles into you, showing no signs of letting go any time soon.
It wonât take much to get him going again. So you take advantage of the break for as long as you can. Trying to ignore the way your pussy flutters as if trying to get him hard again. You canât control it, heâs turned you into as much of a sex fiend as he is.
Reaching behind you, you brush your hand against your bfs large cheek until youâre weaving your fingers in his long silky hair. A deep purr rumbles from his chest and he leans contently into your touch.
âYouâve gotten pretty good at this whole human intimacy thing. Is there anything else you want to learn?â You ask teasingly, every inch of your body humming with satisfaction.
But of course he takes your words seriously. Perhaps humor will be next up on the list of lessons to get through. Something to think about perhaps when his cock isnât creating a bulge in your soft belly.
âI wish to learn everything⊠so long as itâs you teaching it to me, my mate.â
Though all thoughts of lessons and teachings fly out the window when you feel his long thick fingers slowly making their way down to your swollen puffy clit. That he finds with ease by the way. Your bf already growing needy for you again.
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Am I the only one that thinks marathons are weird??? Not because I hate running (which I do) or because of the way people lose toenails (gross) but because of the history of it!! (I do know this is a legend but I like to *think* it actually happened because what a way to rub it in this guy's face)
Human *stretching*: You don't stand a chance. I used to run cross country.
Other human *also stretching*: I've ran four marathons. I am not intimidated.
Alien: What is a marathon?
*Both humans turning, looking far too excited*
Human: it's a long distance run. It can be an accomplishment to finish one.
Other human: 26.2 miles. It's not easy.
Alien: That is...a specific amount.
Other human: Well, there was this guy that ran that far once to announce a victory in battle and he promptly fell over and died.
Alien: so you...run it regularly to prove he was weak?
Human *laughs*: Exaclty
Alien *eyes wide*: You are ruthless.
If you want to see more scenes like this, I have a Humans Are Weird book! It's a full-length sci fi rom com based around scenes just like this with an overarching storyline! You can get it here -> https://tinyurl.com/azvfr4fk
You had never thought aliens were real until one appeared in your backyard. When it happened, you had only been in your new home for about a month. As a writer, you had moved to a small, secluded house in the countryside for some peace and quiet while working. Other than the bi-monthly trips to the food market, you were completely alone with your work and thoughts.
The day had started like any other. You had made breakfast, showered, and even got in a few hours of writing. Suddenly, there was a noise outside your office window. Upon looking, you had seen nothing and waved it off, but moments later, you heard it again. No longer able to ignore it, you had gone out back to see what it was.Â
Imagine your shock when a massive creature stood in your backyard, poking around your garden. The creature stood about eleven feet tall and was a dark blue, almost black. Its chest was broad, double the length of your shoulders, and seemed packed with hard muscle. Its shoulders had sharp ridges that nearly looked like thick scales. Its thick thighs had similar ridged scales along the outside. Strong arms lead down to large hands that look terrifying with their sharp nails. The creatureâs head was all sharp angles, and its eyes were solid black as they stared at you.Â
The scream had been stuck in your throat, but the creature must have seen the panic on your face because it quickly held up its hands and claimed that it meant no harm. You still kept your distance as the creature explained that he was not of your planet but was currently stuck on earth while working out how to build a way home.
You had taken pity on the creature and, against what most would consider better judgment, had decided not to freak out and instead befriend the large creature. You learned his name was Oltuth, and he came from a planet you had never heard of. He was traveling and exploring when his ship malfunctioned and crashed a few miles from your secluded home. Your house was the first place he had come upon that wasnât just open land, so he had been looking for sustenance in your garden.
You knew you probably shouldnât invite some strange alien creature into your home, but you felt bad for him, and you couldnât deny that it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to. You also knew that most people would probably just attack Oltuth without hesitation if they found him, so you offered him refuge in your home under the promise of him being peaceful and kind. He quickly promised, and you were very glad he did.
He became a great help around your house and an even better friend. He helped you around the house and with your now flourishing garden. You both built a routine together while you worked on your book, and he worked on a way to rebuild and repair his ship. The days passed much faster with him to talk to, and before you knew it, months had passed. You both grew closer, and you grew almost sad when you thought about him eventually leaving you to return home.Â
Today had gone like any other with Oltuth, and you now sat with a nice cold glass of sweet tea, simply enjoying the late-night sky full of stars while you both talked about the different ways of your species.Â
Oltuth clears his throat before he says, âI would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you have shown me these past few months. If you are okay with it, I would like to show you how the males of my planet thank our females for caring for us the way you have for meâ. Excited to learn something new about his species; you quickly agree with an enthusiastic, âYes.âÂ
He grabs your smaller hand in his own and brings you inside to the couch. He gently guides you to sit, your butt on the edge of the sofa. Your breath hitches as Oltuth moves his large body between your legs, gently prying your legs open. He kneels before you, gently removing your shorts along with your panties. His long, pointed tongue starts gently lapping at your clit as soft mewls leave your mouth. His jet-black eyes stay trained on your face as you wriggle on the couch.Â
His hands grip your thighs tighter as he shifts his tongue into your wet hole. The thickness makes you moan as he licks along your inner walls. You lay back against the cushions, hips thrusting against his face as you slowly feel that beautiful high building. Without warning, you feel something wet, flicking against your swollen clit. Your eyes snap open, and you look down. His large tongue is still buried deep in your cunt, but another slightly smaller tongue is now playing with your needy clit.
You whimper and moan out his name at the double stimulation, tears gathering in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling. The tip of his tongue flicks along that special spot deep inside you, and you try to close your legs on reflex. Oltuth growls and pulls your thighs further apart, speeding up both of his tongues.Â
Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the couch. The tongue inside you practically vibrates with how fast itâs thrusting inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches as the smaller tongue moves to match the speed and vibrations of his bigger tongue.Â
You look down again to find Oltuth staring right at you, and with one more thrust, you cum hard, clenching on his tongue, your juices squirting out of you as a scream is ripped from your body. Each clench of your cunt is met with another thrust from him, making your orgasm feel like it lasts for hours. He finally slows down as your legs twitch in his hands, giving you a few final licks to clean you up.
He stands before picking you up and bringing you to your room to lay you on the bed. You give him a smile and say, âI really like how your males say thank you, Oltuth.â He gives you a grin before saying, âThat was just to get you ready for the real way we say thank you.â Your eyes widen as you look down at his body. A slit at the apex between his thighs opens as three large cocks extend out, one by one, each a little bigger than the last.Â
Your eyes flick back up to his face, and all you can think is that your next book is definitely going to be a smutty alien romance story.
When Grace is six years old he receives his soulmateâs first lost item. Itâs a strange hollow cylinder, similar to a pencil, semi-translucent and blotchy brown. It looks like glass, but it canât be; Grace has dropped it several times in his clumsy enthusiasm, and hasn't broken nor chiped. He is absolutely overjoyed by the fact that he finally has a soulmate, even if he has no idea what the object actually is. His parents are mostly just relieved that their son has stopped crying over not having a soulmate.
Grace goes to class the next day and shows everyone his soulmateâs strange object. He tells them itâs a pencil cover, something to make pencils look nicer. The classroom stares at him strangely, and his teacher gives him a look of pity, Grace in his young enthusiasm doesn't notice, too enamored with the object in his hands.
His bullies catch wind of it quickly. Grace is a weak kid, an easy target. They rip the cylinder from his hands and throw it to the ground. The cylinder doesnât break, but something inside Grace does. He feels small, insignificant. He cries to his parents about what happened, but his father only tells him he was stupid for taking something precious to school, where things are always lost or stolen.
Grace drags himself to his room, whimpering softly. He doesnât know where to keep something so important without losing it. In the end, he places the cylinder inside a shoebox. He doesnât have anything better.
__________
Grace is twelve when the second object from his soulmate arrives.
One morning he wakes to find the strangest thing sitting on his pillow. For a second, he wonders if he lost a tooth and this is some bizarre version of the tooth fairy, but thatâs impossible. Which means it came from his soulmate.
He jumps around the room in excitement.
Itâs a small figure, around the size of his fist, mostly turquoise with brown spots that somehow blend together beautifully. It looks like a mix between a crab and a spider, five limbs attached to a rounded carapace that spikes upward. The material almost looks 3D-printed, though Grace has never seen anything quite like it before.
Itâs gorgeous.
The figure immediately becomes Graceâs most precious possession. He tells no one about it because he wants it to be his and his alone. He keeps it on his nightstand because he wants to fall asleep looking at it and wake up to the sight of something his soulmate once touched. Whenever someone strange comes to the house or his parents visit his room, Grace puts the figure into the shoe box. Â
With it comes a realization: his soulmate must be an artist, someone who loves arthropods and strange little creatures.
That realization quietly shapes Graceâs future.
He studies biology in school, always choosing every science elective he can. Eventually he discovers that molecular biology fascinates him even more. Sometimes he thinks, distantly, that he owes his soulmate everything. Without them, he might never have found what he loves.
Turquoise becomes Graceâs favorite color.
______________
Grace is eighteen, living in his tiny student apartment after starting college early, when the next item appears.
The box itself is the first thing that catches his attention. Itâs made from the same strange material as the cylinder his soulmate sent years ago. Grace turns it over carefully in his hands, marveling at it before opening it.
The lid is covered in strange mathematical symbols.
Inside is, frankly, junk.
At least thatâs the only word Grace can think of for the bizarre collection of trinkets, rocks, and crystals filling the box. Nothing looks functional, yet Grace loves every single piece anyway.
One crystal in particular catches his attention. Itâs transparent with flat sides, though it isnât any polyhedron he recognizes. A hexagonal prism sits at its center, and the whole thing glimmers beautifully in the light.
The next day, Grace visits one of those tiny crystal shops with incense smoke thick enough to choke. He asks the woman behind the counter if she has a way for him to wear the crystal safely.
The woman is older, dressed entirely in blue, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp green eyes settle on the crystal the moment he places it on the counter.
âOtherworldly,â she murmurs as she touches it briefly . âYour soulmate is unlike anyone else. Just like this gem.â
Grace freezes.
He never told her it came from his soulmate.
Still, he leaves the shop wearing a spiraling wire pendant that cradles the crystal safely without altering it. The word otherworldly lingers in his mind the whole walk home.
It feels right.
From then on, Grace never takes the pendant off. It stays tucked beneath his shirt, resting close to his heart. The junk box becomes the new shoe box and the upgrade heals something within him.Â
At twenty-four, he receives another figurine.
This one is smaller and rounder than the first, almost its complete opposite. Grace finds that oddly amusing and terribly endearing. Itâs mostly brown, but three of its limbs are tipped with the same bright turquoise.
The figurine becomes his little companion while he works on his thesis in the research lab.
By now Grace has a few friends, enough people around him that he feels comfortable showing off the gifts from his soulmate. They coo over the little crab-like figure, fascinated by its curious design.
For once, life is good.
____________
When Grace turns thirty, life reaches its lowest point.
His thesis about water not being necessary for life is treated like a joke by the scientific community. No one gives him a chance. Linda, his girlfriend, cheats on him with Markâher soulmate. Objectively, Grace knows it never would have worked; they werenât each otherâs soulmates. But the silent treatment and her sudden disappearance still hurt deeply. He spends days crying, trying desperately to understand where he went wrong. He wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. Maybe he doesnât really have a soulmate. Maybe heâs simply meant to end up alone, because not even his parents love him, he hasnât spoken to them in four years.
Eventually, Grace becomes a teacher because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to, the best he can do is to put his science knowledge to work.Â
After his first day teaching, he returns to his tiny apartment exhausted, only to find another gift waiting for him.
Itâs a scale model of a solar system. Not Earthâs solar system, but something entirely alien and impossibly beautiful.
Grace cries the moment he sees it. Because he does have a soulmate. Someone out there likes the same things he does. Someone out there exists.
The gift gives him hope.
So Grace throws himself into teaching. He teaches his students about space with colorful models and impossible enthusiasm. He takes control of his life again, and for the first time in years, it feels good to make a difference in the world, even if itâs only through children who leave his classroom loving science just a little more than before.
________
At thirty-two, Grace is a well-established teacher in his community. The kids adore him. He holds the unofficial title of coolest science teacher in the school, and nobody fails his class.
Life is genuinely becoming good.
Then Eva Stratt appears.
The Petrova crisis drags Grace into becoming the right hand of the most powerful woman on Earth. The pressure is unbearable, and the number of people they fuck over in the process is catastrophic. Part of Grace would rather stay in his classroom teaching children about planets and cells.
But another part of him is enthralled. Astrophage is everything he ever dreamed science could be.
And then it happens.
âDr. Ryland Grace, you have to go as the Hail Maryâs scientist.â
âI put the ânotâ in astronaut,â Grace jokes weakly, voice trembling around the words.
âYou have three hours to decide.â
âI⊠I donât want to go. Iâm not made for that.â
âYes, you are. You have the coma gene and are the leading expert in astrophage. Apprehend him.â Her eyes are cold.
âNoâNO! Iâm not gonna go!â They chase him. Karl included. That betrayal hurts far more than Lindaâs ever did.
They force him to the ground.
âDonât worry,â Stratt says, holding up a syringe. âBy the time you wake up, you wonât remember any of this and will do your job rightâ
âYouâre murdering me,â Grace sobs into the pavement, salt tears soaking into the ground.
Chapter 2 â
Thank you for reading!! Coments and kudos are highly apreciated.
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alien!Bruk'x x human!Reader
Good to know: male masturbation
Summary: You drive Bruk'x crazy without knowing about it.
Bruk'x resists the urge to follow you out of the mess hall and through the long, echoing corridors of the base back to the wing that you and the other humans have been occupying since your arrival. You are always there, always busy with one thing or another. Your work ethic and excitement are like a fire he cannot look away from. Even when he cannot understand your language, he finds himself captivated by the rapid, animated way you speak with your co-workers. Your voice rises and falls in rhythms unfamiliar to his ears, and your hands move as if your whole body is involved in the conversation. Every emotion flickers across your face, so expressive and so different from his own people, and each nuance draws him in, holding him spellbound.
Ever since you arrived on his planet as a scientist, seeking the military's help to explore uncharted territory, his mind has been tangled with thoughts of you. Your enthusiasm and your questions, which seem to never quiet your always racing mind, amaze him. Bruk'x can never quite predict what youâll ask next, and he finds it amusing. It feels as if thereâs always something you are eager to discuss, always a new curiosity sparking in your eyes. And it seems to him that you are always working. He never sees you in the simple, casual clothes the other humans wear from time to time. Instead, you wear black pants, a white shirt, and a matching lab coat that never looks quite clean. There is always something on it, a telltale mark that reveals what you've spent your day doing.
Today, blue stains speckle the fabric and smudge your fingers, unmistakable evidence of your work with the ink-blue flowers that grow in the shadowed parts of their world and leave stains that last days. You even approached him about it earlier. Your brows were slightly furrowed in worry as you held up your hands. Your accent was thick but charming as you struggled with his language. Are you sure it will come off? Bruk'x chuckled and nodded, offering you a warm smile as you gazed up at him. You always listen to him with such intent that it makes it all too easy for him to imagine you looking at him the same way for other reasons. In his mind, instead of asking him about his home and people, you ask about him for more than scientific reasons. Your white, blunt teeth flash in a smile as you laugh at something he says, and your small, human eyes crinkle at the corners, framed by those dark circles that have worried him ever since he learned they are a sign of lack of sleep for humans. Itâs so easy for him to imagine that you might be genuinely interested in him, maybe even needing or wanting him.
Bruk'x grapples with the cultural rules that bind him day after day. In his society, itâs customary for females to make the first move, a tradition he can neither forget nor dismiss. He cannot reveal his interest in more than a few kind gestures, and although you respond to his small displays of affection, you do not take it further, driving him to the brink of sanity.
The night presses on, but Bruk'x stays at his table in the dimly lit mess hall, long after his mates have retreated one by one to their quarters or the night shifts that await them. Itâs late, and the base has settled into a hushed calm, with only the faint hum of machinery and the occasional shuffle of feet echoing in the corridors. His own duties are over, but he clings to the hope of seeing you again, of catching one last glimpse of you today.
He knows you are likely still deep in some task, your mind so engrossed that youâve lost track of time. He can almost picture your tired, determined eyes scanning the shelves in the lab, one hand absentmindedly pushing a strand of hair from your face as you murmur to yourself in your own language.
He glances up whenever he hears a faint sound near the doorway, hoping itâs you. Youâve made a habit of sneaking out to the mess hall, sometimes in the dead of night, to find a leftover snack or something warm to drink. Heâs caught you more than once, your eyes bright with a mischievous glint as you riffled through supplies, muttering to yourself about how little food humans need compared to his kind, and why that somehow doesnât stop you from needing just one more bite before bed.
He shifts in his seat, the ache of his long day forgotten as he imagines what he might say to you if you show up. He might pretend he came here simply to unwind, just another coincidence, or he might let slip a small comment about the strange customs of humans who work so late. He often wants to say more, but he knows he must tread carefully.
Soon, his Captain, Carmek'x, appears at one of the doors, which slip apart with a quiet, hissing sound as he steps inside. Bruk'x watches him approach, his four long arms moving in perfect sync with each quiet, measured step. Despite his broad, muscular frame, Carmek'x moves with a surprising elegance, gliding around the tables until he stops in front of Bruk'x. The dimmed lights cast a faint glow over his skin, a deep blue that almost matches the shade of your fingertips, still stained by the flowers you collected today.
The big alien halts at the table, raising one eyebrow in a familiar, questioning gesture. Bruk'x knows that his captain picked up the expression from a certain nurse on base, but he says nothing.
"Everything alright?" Carmek'x asks, his voice low and calm. Behind him, the long, ropelike strands that cascade from his head, weapons than what you and your people would call hair, shift restlessly. The protective plates at the ends click together every now and then as a subtle reminder of their strength.
"Long day," Bruk'x replies, his tone weighted with unspoken thoughts.
Carmek'x regards him with a knowing look, and Bruk'x meets his golden eyes without flinching. They both know what the other is thinking, though neither says it aloud. "Be patient."
Bruk'x only nods in a silent acknowledgment. With the way things are and the unspoken rules binding him, patience is the only option he has.
When he finally retreats to his room, Bruk'x feels as though he has been running circles around the base for hours. Exhaustion settles deep within him, dragging through his limbs like a weight he can't shake off. His mind feels fogged. You are so tightly tangled in his thoughts that no amount of distraction seems enough to get rid of you.
With a deep, resigned sigh, he sinks down onto his bed, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to push the image of you away for even a moment. But it doesn't work. He isn't even surprised. You linger in his mind, vivid as ever. He images your uniform, messy hair, and bright, curious eyes. He can almost feel the warmth of your arm brushing against his as you lean in to speak. Your accent is thick and heavy in his ears. You always stand so close, digging through your pockets for those small scraps of paper you use to scribble down your questions or ideas because otherwise, you forget them within a few minutes. He almost smiles to himself, remembering how eagerly you jot down everything you want to discuss with him later.
Your scent drifts through his mind too, that strange brew you call "coffee" mingling with the earthy fragrance of the plants and soil from his world, clinging to you as if they are a part of your very being.
His four arms lie tensely at his sides, twitching and fidgeting restlessly, not quite sure what to do as his imagination wanders. He can almost feel himself reaching for you, his hands moving of their own accord, yearning to pull you closer. In his mind, he buries his head into the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth, letting your softness lull his racing mind. He imagines you tilting your head slightly, instinctively giving him the space to press his lips to your bare skin, so soft and vulnerable. It strikes him how much you trust, how effortlessly you embrace the unknown, and how your vulnerability seems to bother you so little. It unsettles him. You often seem so careless with your own safety. The thought of being the one who guards you, who ensures youâre safe, cared for, and treasured, surges within him. A need to protect you stirs within him, an instinct stronger than any heâs known. His hands move instinctively, his breathing deepening as the thought of holding you close consumes him. How would you feel against him? Youâre so soft and smooth, so delicate compared to the solidity of his own form. His chest rises with every labored breath, longing coursing through him. If only he could hold you in his arms, feel your heartbeat against him, grounding him in a way nothing else could.
His cock throbs insistently, pulsing against the rough fabric of his uniform, which suddenly feels unbearably tight. Every seam and stitch seems to scratch at his skin, igniting a strange, burning itch across his body. Almost instinctively, his arms move, fumbling to shed his clothes quickly. One by one, his garments fall away until his cock springs free, hard and glistening with pre-cum. It juts out, slapping against his abdomen.
Every image of you that flashes through his mind sends a new wave of need surging through him, making him ache.
He wonders, no, he craves to know what you would look like without your clothes. Would you be like the human women he saw in the images his comrades pulled up? The memory makes his cheeks burn with an embarrassed heat. When they heard about humans coming to their lands, some of his mates eagerly searched for information about your kind. It didnât take long before they uncovered pictures and videos of human women, bare-skinned and open. Are you as soft as you appear? Would your skin yield beneath his touch, pliant and warm? He growls low in his throat, driven by the thought. His large hand trails down his taut abdomen, grasping the base of his cock with a firm grip. The shock of his own touch makes his hips jerk forward involuntarily. He wants it. He needs it. Would you like him to take your nipples into his mouth like those in the videos? He would love nothing more than to feel your delicate hand at the back of his head, guiding him down, pressing his face to your chest. His mouth waters at the imagined taste of your skin. The honor of pleasuring you overwhelms him. He pictures you arching your back, pushing yourself against him, allowing him to worship your body.
His hand starts to slide up and down along his length, his fingers spreading the pre-cum across his thick shaft.
He wonders what you would think of him, of his cock. In the videos, he noticed how the human males seemed⊠softer, even at their hardest. His mates laughed at this, baffled at how these humans could protect themselves. Would you be disturbed by his hardness, or would it spark your curiosity as heâs noticed so many things do? A rough chuckle escapes him, hoarse and pathetic. The sound vibrates in his heaving chest. Would your soft hands explore him, tracing every ridge and scar, lingering over the roughness of his cock? Heâs certain youâd be fascinated. He can imagine your curious gaze, the same one you use when studying every new thing in his world, directed at him. He would let you examine him, ask your never-ending questions, and touch him wherever you wanted. Heâd answer all of them, body strained, tense as a bow, fighting not to snap from the pleasure.
His hips buck upward, thighs hard and trembling as he braces himself on his bed.
Would you let him do the same to you? Would you let him part your thighs and taste you, take you apart slowly, carefully? Heâd have to be so patient. He would need every inch of his restraint to make sure you were ready. Patience isnât his strong suit, but for you, heâd find it. He can picture you pressed against the bed or even splayed across his chest, letting him take his time. Heâd be careful and slow, watching every reaction to make sure you could handle him, each movement more controlled than the last.
Since heâs met you, heâs watched more videos than heâd care to admit, scouring for any glimpse of a woman who resembles you, seeking to understand what human men do to pleasure their mates. He'd told himself it was just curiosity, but he knew he wanted more. He wanted to know what youâd sound like, feel like, if youâd arch and gasp when he finally touched you. Would your body feel as soft as those women looked? And how would you taste? The thought of you on his tongue makes him groan, swallowing hard as he imagines your warmth and scent enveloping him.
His hand tightens as he picks up the pace, squeezing every so often to prolong the rush building at the base of his spine.
He would ask you to sit on his face, pressing yourself down so he could savor every inch of you. The mere thought makes him groan. The sound is thick with desire. He is a sergeant, used to commands and obedience, and he would gladly submit to your every need. Heâd let you lead, eager to follow your guidance and surrender to your desires.
And when it was time⊠how would you want him to take you? Would you prefer to be taken from behind, or would you want him to press you against the wall, holding you in place as he pounded into you? Or maybe, youâd want to ride him, allowing him to watch every expression cross your face, every bounce of your body, each gasp youâd make. He imagines the feel of your body; tight and wet, gripping him so perfectly, pulling every ounce of his essence from him as though you couldnât bear to let him go. Heâd give you everything he had, and after that, no other male would ever be enough.
His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding as the edge nears, imagining how youâd feel wrapped around him, tight and hot, squeezing every drop out of him. Heâd make sure to give you everything, to show you that no other could satisfy you the way he could. No other man would ever compare; he would make sure of that.
Would you bite him, marking him with your blunt, human teeth? He hopes so. He imagines your teeth sinking gently into his neck, marking him, or your nails scratching down his back, leaving a trail of evidence that heâd carry with pride. Would you even be able to draw blood? The thought alone nearly undoes him.
His hand moves faster, hips thrusting up as he chases his release. His imagination runs wild, painting vivid scenes of you in every position. Youâre breathless, naked, and beautiful in each one. The vision is too much. His release crashes over him like a wave as a hoarse shout tears from his throat. The sound is raw and guttural. His body convulses, muscles tightening and shivering as his climax pulses through him. Thick ropes of his cum spill over his hand and across his abdomen, leaving him a panting, trembling mess. He keeps thrusting into his grip until he canât bear it anymore, finally collapsing back against the bed, every ounce of strength spent.
It takes Bruk'x a long time to gather himself, his body heavy and his mind muddled. The satisfaction he felt moments ago has already faded, replaced by the gnawing frustration that seems to cling to him no matter what he does. It drives him to madness, a helpless ache that no release can seem to soothe.
He sighs and prepares to return to bed, hoping that sleep will come, but his thoughts are interrupted by a loud, insistent knock on his door. He frowns, annoyance tugging at his expression when the knock echoes again, followed by a familiar voice.
"Captain?" Bruk'x calls, swinging the door open to reveal the other alien standing there.
Both of them look disheveled, faces flushed and breathless, but neither of them acknowledges it.
Carmek'x gaze is intense. "Forget patience," he says. His voice is clipped and direct.
Bruk'x stares, confused. "What?"
"Human women," his captain explains, his tone laced with frustration and perhaps a touch of irritation. "They work in different ways. Patience be damned."
_
You can dive into Carmek'x's story and explore many others I've shared throughout the year on my Patreon, with even more exciting content coming this month.
Sooo I saw your post about neurodivergent reader and and alien and that has me thinking about Imagine when he finds out how other normal people treat neurodivergent people and he gets mad or disappointed at them, because what you mean they bully you for being different and treat you like your an alien, you can do something with it if you want. đđ
A/N: This is in reference to this post. And this is pure fluff because I can.
Alien!boyfriend who gets so incredibly mad that everyone seems to ignore your needs that he starts pointing out every time somebody is rude to you in any way. He gets even more mad when somebody responds with rudeness to it. You have to drag him out of multiple places when people start being poorly accommodating.
Alien!boyfriend who gets almost violent when somebody suggests that you are just faking your neurodivergence for attention. How could they be so stupid? Why would they say something like that? You are having a hard time and they think it's just because? They should put their head in their asses and scream.
Alien!boyfriend who hides you away in his ship because he doesn't trust humanity with your precious self. You chuckle, calling him cute and telling him it's okay, things are getting better, but it doesn't seem to convince him. Not at all. More like he wants people to stop being stupid.
summary: the mark on your collarbone tells every hunter in the galaxy that you belong to a bad blood. when an honorable yautja finds you, he decides to kill the monster who claimed you. the only problem is⊠you never asked to be rescued.
warnings: alien claiming, possessive behaviour, power imbalance.
the mark burned again. not pain, not really. it hadnât been pain in a long time. just heat under the skin. a slow, steady warmth sitting over your collarbone like an ember buried in flesh.
you touched it without thinking. the raised edges of the symbol dragged lightly under your fingers.
three long slashes curved inward around a small circle, carved deep enough that the skin would never forget it. the edges were ridged and pale where the wound had healed wrong, like thin rivers of scar tissue tracing the shape of a hunterâs claim. sometimes the skin still flushed faintly red around it when he was close.
a hunterâs mark. ownership. the first time he had carved it into you, the smell of your own blood had filled the clearing. the air had been thick with heat and the metallic scent of iron, and you had thought for a moment that he might kill you after. he hadnât.
instead, he had pressed his clawed hand over the mark while it still bled, rumbling something deep in his chest that sounded almost⊠satisfied. you hadnât understood then. now you did.
every yautja who saw it knew exactly what it meant.
claimed.
---
the forest was quiet. too quiet. the kind of silence that made the back of your neck prickle. wind slipped slowly through the branches above, stirring leaves in long whispering waves. somewhere far away a bird called once and then went silent again, as if it had thought better of making noise in territory that didnât belong to it.
you had learned to listen the way he did. small sounds. the shift of leaves. the weight of something large stepping somewhere it shouldnât. your yautja had taught you that much without ever trying. by watching. by surviving. by being dragged into a world where predators didnât hide what they were. you straightened slowly.
âyouâre close,â you muttered under your breath. as if saying it would summon him. sometimes it did.
sometimes you would only notice him when a shimmer appeared beside you and a massive hand settled against the back of your neck. sometimes he would simply appear, towering and silent, like he had been there the whole time. watching. today, something else answered. a clicking sound came from the trees.
not his. different. slower. measured. your stomach tightened.
another hunter stepped from the shadows.
he was taller than the one you knew, his armor darker and etched with clean, ceremonial lines. bone trophies hung from his shoulder plates, polished and carefully placed with obvious care. small symbols were carved into the plates themselves, marks of hunts completed and victories earned with honor. his mask tilted toward you.
the moment his gaze dropped to your collarbone, he froze.
a low growl vibrated from his chest. not aimed at you. at the mark. the device on his wrist crackled.âbad blood,â the translator rasped in a distorted mechanical voice. his mandibles flared open in disgust. you swallowed. âyeah,â you said quietly. âi figured someone would react like that eventually.â the hunter took a step closer.
his footsteps were deliberate, heavy enough that you could feel them through the ground.
his eyes moved between your face and the mark again. slowly. studying. measuring. trying to understand.
âhuman,â the translator said. âcaptured.â
ânot exactly.â
his head tilted. confusion. you rubbed the back of your neck.
âitâs complicated.â
another low growl rolled through the trees. but this one you recognized instantly. your chest tightened. the honorable hunter heard it too. his posture shifted immediately. alert. ready. the forest shimmered.
a tall, broad shape uncloaked beside you.
your yautja.
he stepped forward, massive shoulders rolling under worn armor plates, dreadlocks shifting heavily against his back as he moved. dried trophies clinked faintly at his belt, fragments of past hunts that he had never bothered polishing.
his gaze landed on the other hunter. the clicking that followed was sharp and hostile.
the honorable hunter answered with a sound just as aggressive.
you sighed softly.
âgreat,â you muttered. âthis is going to be a thing, isnât it.â
your yautja moved closer to you. close enough that his arm brushed yours. a heavy hand settled against the back of your neck. possessive. claiming. his claws rested just barely against your skin, curved enough that you could feel their weight without being cut.
the honorable hunterâs mandibles flared again.
his gaze dropped to that hand. then to the mark.
his voice crackled through the translator.
ârelease the human.â
your yautjaâs response was a deep, rumbling snarl. you didnât need a translator for that one.
no.
the honorable hunter stepped forward.
âbad blood,â the device rasped.
his clawed hand lifted slightly toward you.
âhuman will be freed.â
your yautjaâs grip tightened on your neck. not painful. just firm. a warning. jealous heat flared in your chest.
âiâm not a prisoner,â you said.
both hunters looked at you.
that was⊠unsettling.
two predators focusing on you at the same time.
their gazes were heavy, intelligent, and intensely aware of everything you did.
âiâm serious,â you continued. âiâm here because i want to be.â
the honorable hunter stared at you.
long enough that the forest felt like it was holding its breath. his gaze dropped again to the mark. the scarred symbol.
âmark is ownership,â the translator said.
âyeah.â
âhuman belongs to bad blood.â
you shrugged.
âtechnically.â
your yautja made a pleased clicking sound beside you. a sound that vibrated deep in his chest like quiet laughter.
the honorable hunterâs mandibles snapped in irritation.
âdishonor.â
âprobably.â
the tension in the air thickened.
you felt it before either of them moved. your yautja shifted in front of you. the honorable hunterâs wrist blades extended with a metallic hiss. you groaned quietly.
âguysââ
the fight started anyway. they moved faster than your eyes could track. a blur of armor and claws and flashing metal. the honorable hunter swung first. your yautja caught the strike and slammed him backward into a tree hard enough to split bark and send splinters spraying across the clearing.
the forest exploded with noise. plasma fire lit the canopy in bursts of violent blue light.
cloaking fields flickered on and off as they circled each other like two storms colliding. you backed away quickly.
âokay,â you muttered, ducking behind a fallen log. âthat escalated.â
the honorable hunter lunged again. blades slashing. your yautja met him head-on. they crashed together with a force that shook the ground.
a deep roar tore from your yautjaâs chest when the other hunter tried to grab you during the struggle.
the honorable hunter paused.
just for a second.
his gaze flicked toward you. and you realized something.
he wasnât trying to take you as a prize.
he was trying to pull you away. your yautja saw it too.
the growl that followed was pure fury.
he shoved the other hunter back with enough force to send him skidding across the clearing.
you stepped forward instinctively.
âstop it!â
both predators froze. slowly. the honorable hunter looked at you. really looked this time. not at the mark. at your face. your yautja stood beside you, breathing hard, shoulders tense.
his hand found your neck again. possessive. protective. jealous.
his claws shifted slightly when the honorable hunter took a step closer, as if he might drag you back behind him if needed.
the honorable hunter watched that gesture. and something in his expression shifted. confusion. realization.
âhuman,â the translator said slowly.
âyeah?â
ânot afraid.â
you shook your head.
âno.â
the hunter stared at you a moment longer. then at the bad blood. the silence stretched. your yautja made a low clicking sound.
a challenge. the honorable hunter exhaled slowly. his blades retracted. the motion made your yautja tense again immediately.
you reached up and grabbed his wrist.
his massive hand stilled under your touch.
ârelax,â you murmured.
the honorable hunter saw that too. a human. touching a bad blood without fear. standing beside him instead of running.
his mandibles twitched in visible frustration.
âdishonor,â he muttered again.
you smiled slightly.
âyeah. you mentioned.â
another long silence passed. then the honorable hunter spoke again.
âbad blood should die.â
your yautja rumbled agreement. which was⊠concerning. you sighed.
âbut?â
the honorable hunter looked at you. then the mark. then the bad blood. his voice came through the translator again, slower this time.
âhuman chooses.â
your yautja stiffened.
clearly he didnât love that concept. you crossed your arms.
âiâm not leaving.â
your yautja made a pleased sound again. a deep rumble that vibrated through the air.
the honorable hunterâs mandibles flared in irritation.
âhuman foolish.â
âmaybe.â
another pause. then the hunter growled something in his own language. your yautja answered. short. sharp. argumentative. you looked between them.
âare you two negotiating?â
neither of them answered.
the honorable hunter finally stepped closer. not threatening. just⊠present. his gaze lingered on the mark again. then he reached out. your yautja immediately snarled.
the sound was so violent it made your chest vibrate. you grabbed his arm quickly.
âheyâhey.â
the honorable hunter stopped his hand a few inches from your skin. studying the mark.
âbad blood claim,â the translator murmured.
he straightened slowly. his shoulders rolled back in reluctant acceptance.
a low irritated rumble came from his chest.
âhuman under protection.â
you blinked.
âwait.â
he gestured toward himself. then toward the bad blood.
then toward you.
your yautja made an extremely smug clicking sound. you stared at them both.
ââŠyouâre serious?â
the honorable hunter clearly hated the idea. his mandibles twitched in obvious disgust. but he did not take it back.
two predators stood on either side of you.
one possessive.
one reluctant.
both watching the forest like they were daring anything to come near.
you looked between them.
ââŠthis is going to be weird, isnât it.â
your yautja rumbled happily. the honorable hunter made a deeply annoyed sound.
and somewhere in the dark forest beyond the clearing, something moved.
but nothing came closer.
not with two hunters guarding the same marked prey.
- A
word count - 2,050â2,150 words
a little treat for yall before tomorrow ;). also a second final part can be done just say so and it shall be done.
