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celticsrightbuttcheek · 13 hours ago

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Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 7

(The long awaited part! I’m grateful to everyone sticking to the story, commenting and sharing their thoughts with me 💚💚💚 it means everything!)

(Tagging my 💚: @celticsrightbuttcheek @kyriedesai @shmoopah @btsgangleader) whoever wants a tag let me know!

With your filled pouch held tight at your side and Keth’raal fully suited in armor from head to toe, the two of you moved slowly toward the exit of the armoury.

You glanced back once, eyes falling on the unconscious body of the man who had fired at you.

“Maybe…” you said reluctantly, “…maybe we should pull his body out. So they find him—”

A sudden, guttural sound cut through your words. It was like a growl mixed with a scoff, exaggerated and pointed. Keth’raal tilted his head at you sharply, clearly not following your logic.

“I know he tried to hurt us,” you explained quickly, hands raised a little, “but he didn’t know you weren’t the enemy—”

Before you could even finish, his hand came up and pressed firmly against your chest. Not violent, but not gentle either. You stumbled back and hit the wall behind you, air leaving your lungs with a soft, startled grunt.

Three red laser dots snapped into place on your face, blinding you.

You turned your head, eyes squeezing shut, the sharp pulse of fear rising in your throat.

You were pinned, targeted, weapon-locked. Just like that, it felt like the balance had shifted again. You weren’t an ally. You were just… prey.

You froze.

For a moment you’d let yourself forget, he wasn’t human. He would never be. No matter how much progress you thought you’d made, Keth’raal was a hunter before anything else. A being of instinct and survival.

You lifted your hands, trying to push at his arm, but he didn’t budge. If anything, the pressure on your chest increased.

And then…

“I’m not an enemy to you.”

The voice was strange, mechanical, distorted, but unmistakably coming from him.

You blinked, stunned. The translator. It was working!

You stared at his mask, breath caught in your throat.

You could communicate.

The fear dissolved into something else, something fierce and bright. Excitement didn’t even begin to cover it. You reached up and grabbed his forearm, pulling him slightly toward you. He didn’t move—barely flinched—but you could tell the motion surprised him.

“Am I not?” you asked quietly, a small smile twitching at your lips.

The laser dots flicked back onto your face, scanning you again.

He didn’t answer.

Maybe he didn’t understand your reaction. Or maybe you just looked strange to him, smiling at a moment like this.

“I’m an enemy to them,” the voice said again, rough, deeper now. You could hear the echo of his real voice beneath the tech. Guttural. Raw as always.

You stared at him in question.

So… he wouldn’t hurt you, but he would hurt the rest.

You hesitated. “What if we make a deal, and they let you live—if you cooperate—”

You didn’t even finish before his hand pressed harder against your chest. You winced, struggling for breath.

“No.”

One word. Sharp. And final.

You didn’t need to ask more. That one syllable carried everything.

He wouldn’t stay. Not for them. Not even for you.

You’d hoped—somewhere deep down—that maybe if he stayed, he could help you. That you could study his people, learn from him, maybe even… find a kind of truce.

But no was the clearest word he’d ever said.

“I understand,” you muttered, strained. “You can stop pushing me now.”

He pulled his hand back, slowly, deliberately. His head dipped, just slightly.

Was that… an apology?

You didn’t ask. You just watched him in silence, noting the smallness of the gesture. The way he carried himself. Sometimes he seemed so close to human, and you wondered—was it always like this with the Yautja? Or had he changed, after being trapped here for so long?

His head lifted again. The laser dots disappeared.

That’s when you noticed it.

Now that the mask wasn’t glowing red, your eyes caught a marking you hadn’t seen before. A faint line etched across his helmet. Thin but deliberate. It began at the top of the helmet, arched over his eye, and dragged all the way down to his jaw.

You reached up, fingers brushing the metal lightly.

He tensed under your touch, every muscle stilling.

But he didn’t stop you.

You traced the line from top to bottom, slowly, curiously. The surface was rusted in places, rough. You wondered, was it a scar from a fight? The helmet had protected him, since there was no damage to his skin underneath.

“My brothers,” came the voice again—quieter now. Maybe even hesitant.

You blinked up at him, your fingers grazing the line again, more gently this time. Up… and down.

“So it was a friendly fight?” you asked, offering a soft smile.

Keth’raal gave the faintest nod. As if afraid moving too much would make you pull away.

Your thoughts flooded you. How many brothers did he have? Was he the oldest? The youngest? Were they still alive? Did he have parents? Had he been sent here on a mission… and never returned to them?

The last thought stuck to your ribs. You pulled your hand back.

He hated humans.

And yet, here you were.

“Why aren’t you attacking me?” you asked quietly. The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He didn’t reply, but you knew he heard you.

“Will you hurt me once we’re out of here?” you added, voice barely above a whisper.

Still no answer.

Maybe you were pushing your luck. Too many questions. Too much hope. He wasn’t here for conversation. You were just a means to survival.

He stepped back, and you felt the shift.

The moment was over.

He turned toward the door, and for a second you were frozen, still processing everything. Then your survival instincts kicked in. You had to move. Stay close. If he left you now, you’d be dead within minutes.

The corridor’s cold air slammed into you like a warning.

Back to this again.

Back to running. Fighting. Surviving.

You watched him check the hallway carefully before stepping out. Then he lifted his gauntlet and slid a clawed finger across its surface, revealing its interface.

Symbols glowed to life. Yautja script, lines and shapes you had studied a hundred times but never fully understood.

“Is that a map?” you asked, stepping closer, eyes wide. The hologram flickered to life, projecting something between you.

No human had been able to access this before. No scientist, no tech specialist. It was like it had been designed for him—and him alone.

The map rotated, pointing toward a location.

“What’s there?” you asked breathlessly.

“My ship.”

Your heart jumped.

“Your ship is still out there?” you gasped. “How have they not found it yet—?”

A loud bang echoed through the corridor.

Your heart dropped.

Humans.

Instinct took over. You sprinted to the nearest lab without thinking. Doors hissed open, and you ducked inside, hiding behind the steel counter.

Your breath came in sharp bursts.

But then—

Silence.

No footsteps. No voice. No movement.

You turned around, heart pounding.

Keth’raal wasn’t behind you…

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t looked back. You’d just assumed he’d be right behind you. Like always.

But the lab was quiet.

Dead quiet.

Your chest tightened. Was he gone?

Are you alone now?

You hesitated, half-crouched in the sterile lab, staring at the empty doorway.

Maybe you should go find the humans. Let them take you. At least you’d be safe.

…But that would mean leaving him behind.

And somehow, that felt worse.

A loud metallic bang echoed through the half-lit lab.

You turned your head sharply, heart pounding.

The flickering lights overhead left much of the room in shadow, broken bulbs casting eerie, fractured beams across the floor.

You stepped back instinctively, pressing your back against the cold wall, trying to make yourself small, unnoticeable.

What now?

You couldn’t fight.

You couldn’t defend yourself.

And now, you were trapped.

Again.

Every move felt dangerous, like a trigger waiting to be pulled.

Something was in the room with you—crawling, watching. You could feel it, but couldn’t make sense of it.

Adrenaline roared in your ears as panic clawed at your chest.

Should you run?

Should you stay still?

What was in the dark with you?

No answers. No one.

You’d have to survive on your own.

He wasn’t obliged to help, not anymore.

You were foolish to think you could trust him, cooperate with him.

A burden. Dead weight with zero survival skills and knowledge barely worth anything here.

You hated yourself for it. For trusting him. For being this weak of a human.

Your palm covered your mouth now, the way he had done before, to silence your breathing, to calm you down.

You pressed harder, trying to ground yourself, to mimic the only comfort you remembered.

Your skin prickled with terror.

You focused on your breath.

In through the nose.

One… two… three.

Then you bolted.

You sprang to your feet and sprinted toward the door, just as it slammed shut in front of you.

You gasped, stepping back.

Something was keeping you inside.

You spun around, scanning every sliver of light in the room.

But the darkness? It was thick, impenetrable.

You had nothing to defend yourself, until you remembered.

Your pouch.

Fumbling with shaking hands, you reached inside and pulled out your pen. Tiny, but fitted with a small front light.

You clicked it on. A narrow beam pierced the dark.

Now, you had to find the back door, your only way out.

You took two cautious steps, the sharp tap of your heels echoing.

Then the sound… scraping.

Crawling.

You froze. You knew what it was.

Xenomorphs.

But what emerged from the shadows made your heart stop.

Not one.

Not two.

A dozen. Small, fast, skittering.

A living nightmare.

You staggered back until you hit the sealed door. No way out. No weapon. Nowhere to hide.

Panic swallowed you whole.

One of the creatures lunged! Fast and shrieking. You braced for the impact, eyes squeezed shut.

You had given up.

All hope gone.

This can’t be your end.

Not like that.

And then…

A wet splat.

A shriek cut short.

You opened your eyes.

The xenomorph’s head was split open.

A disc—like a blade—spun on the floor, slick with acid blood.

Your head snapped to the side.

There he was.

Keth’raal.

Materializing from nothing, appearing out of thin air.

He hadn’t left you.

You barely had time to process anything before another xenomorph launched at you.

You ducked instinctively, screaming as it soared past.

From your peripheral, Keth’raal moved—fast, almost primal—propelling himself on all fours like a beast.

You’d never seen him move like that, driven by animalistic instinct.

He vaulted over you, spear in hand, and impaled the alien midair.

Its body twitched violently before the predator yanked out its spine in a single brutal motion, roaring with feral rage.

The lab went still.

All the xenomorphs froze at the sound.

Even you did.

Keth’raal’s war cry echoed through the room. A predator’s call, sharp enough to freeze blood.

He tossed the twitching spine aside, retrieving his spear with ease.

Then he readied himself.

His wrist blade snapped forward. His shoulder cannon whirred to life, already locked onto targets.

His legs tensed, lightly bouncing, as if warming up for war.

A dozen enemies and no fear in his stance.

The first two fell instantly from precision plasma blasts.

You rose, slowly, not wanting to draw attention.

Keth’raal moved with terrifying efficiency, fluid, fast, brutal.

His spear arced over his head, piercing another xenomorph behind him.

His wrist blade carved through another.

His foot slammed down on a twitching tail trying to escape.

He grabbed it, swung the creature’s body like a wrecking ball, and hurled it into two others.

His arm was bleeding, green blood seeping from a fresh gash.

His breath came fast, heavy… but he looked exhilarated. Alive in the hunt.

His eyes flicked to you.

Two of his dreadlocks were sliced, leaking green down his chest.

He reached into a pouch and tossed something at your feet.

A blade. The same one he offered before.

You hesitated then.

But not now.

You crouched, picked it up, held it close.

There was no time to be afraid.

This was survival.

When your eyes met his again, he gave you a small nod.

An honor.

You clutched the alien weapon, trembling.

You were no warrior, but maybe, just maybe, you’d stand your ground beside him.

Another alien charged.

Keth’raal roared again, that guttural snarl freezing your spine.

This time, you decided to follow.

From somewhere deep inside, a primal roar escaped your lips.

It filled you with some fake sense of power.

You mimicked his stance. His snarl.

If nothing else, you’d bluff your fear with noise.

He looked over—puzzled, maybe amused.

Proud, even?

You couldn’t tell.

But you were shaking and still you held the blade tight.

Another small xenomorph scurried toward you.

At least the bigger ones were focused on him.

You gulped, roaring again as it lunged.

It crashed into you, knocking you flat.

You barely kept the blade pressed against its throat, careful not to let its acidic blood spill on you.

Using your legs, you kicked it off.

It screeched, regained its footing, then lashed at you with its tail.

You rolled aside just in time.

It lunged again and you kicked it midair, surprised by your own reflexes.

You shed your lab coat, wrapping it around your arm as a makeshift shield.

Your arm throbbed, blood oozing from the earlier graze, but the pain hadn’t fully hit yet.

You knew it would, once the adrenaline wore off.

You readied the blade now, hoping your hand would stop shaking when you’d need to defend yourself.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Keth’raal.

Two xenomorphs in his grasp, skulls crushed repeatedly against each other with terrifying force.

He was truly a sight, always attracting your attention with his skills. You’d rather stare at him, than taking part in the chaos.

But your fight wasn’t over.

The xenomorph lashed at you again and you stepped back.

You waited. Lured it.

It would attack you when you wanted.

It lunged and this time, you were ready.

Its claws raked your side, pain seared through your ribs, but you pushed through, jamming the blade into its throat.

You didn’t pull it back. Not yet. Not until it hit the ground and you knew its blood wouldn’t spill on you.

It screeched violently, convulsed, and then stilled.

You backed away, panting. Covered in blood and bruises. Shaking.

But alive.

You… had made it.

You fell back down, gulping hard, overwhelmed by your achievement.

You couldn’t believe it… you had done this on your own.

You wanted to tell someone, anyone, but mostly the Yautja who had trusted you with this blade. He had known how lethal it was against xenomorphs, easily piercing through their skin. He had even considered carrying it himself, just in case.

You turned around, your eyes finding Keth’raal. His stance was menacing as always, he had impaled a Xenomorph with his spear and was now stepping on its chest to keep it down.

Eight dead creatures surrounded him. He was heaving, his chest rising and falling, and his green blood was splattered all around him. He had lost another dreadlock, and his thighs bled from deep scratches the Xenomorphs had left while he pinned them down with brute force.

He had used everything, on him and in him. Reckless and brutal, drawing attention from all directions just so he could fight them all.

For a moment, a thought struck you:

Had he been roaring the entire time… just to keep them off me?

He yanked the spear free from the last Xenomorph and let out a final, guttural roar.

He had emerged victorious.

Standing above his kills, proud, his chest out— now, with the battle being over, you allowed yourself to stare at him a second longer.

He turned, his mask’s eyes locking onto yours.

You both stood there, still, alive and maybe changed.

You were lucky. Smaller Xenomorphs had come your way. If not… the outcome might’ve been different. You didn’t even want to imagine it.

Just the thought of him being impaled by a venomous tail turned your stomach.

Your eyes were gleaming as you stared at him.

There were no words, none that mattered really.

Just seeing each other alive was enough.

You shared a second of silence, as you both tried to breathe.

His breath was slow and guttural. Yours was fast and ragged. The contrast, so alien, so undeniable.

But you had both survived.

You parted your lips to speak, to ask if he was okay. He was bleeding, after all…

Suddenly.

“BEHIND YOU!” you shouted.

A slithering, smaller alien was lunging toward him.

A facehugger.

Disgusting. Parasitic.

Meant to repopulate their species.

Keth’raal moved, so fast you didn’t see it.

His arm snapped up, wrist-blade flicking out, slicing the creature in two before it could reach his face.

Did he know it was there? Or had you just saved his life?

Before you could think twice, you had sprinted toward him.

You didn’t even understand what drove you—only that you had to be near him.

To see if he was okay. To feel that he’s alive. If he still breathed.

You reached him and grabbed his hands.

A purely human gesture.

You hoped you wouldn’t regret it.

But…

He let you.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back.

Just let you hold his large, rough hands in yours.

Your palms were quickly stained neon green from the bleeding dreadlocks.

He looked at you through his mask. Silent. Waiting.

You had never touched him before, not like this.

You were afraid he’d interpret it as a threat. You knew Yautja weren’t affectionate like humans.

But he didn’t reject it.

Didn’t grip back, either, just let you hold him, completely still.

You had so many things to say—too many.

Instead, you laughed.

Not because it was funny, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

The rush of adrenaline. The relief. The sight of him letting you touch him.

The realization that he was okay.

You laughed and your eyes turned warm.

You knew that would happen sooner or later.

Tears started to form at the corner of your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

But it happened anyway.

You smiled, but the tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably.

Laughter crumbled into sobs.

You didn’t want to break down, but the weight of it all—the danger, the survival, the almost—

It hit you like a wave.

Your knees weakened. You tried to pull your hands back, embarrassed, unsure.

But he didn’t let go.

His thumbs moved gently, just enough to keep your hands there.

You gasped softly, blinking through your tears.

Had he really… stopped you from letting go?

His thumbs pressed again, mimicking your earlier touch.

So gentle. So unexpected.

He remained silent, despite the fact he could’ve spoken now.

His mask had a communicator, but he didn’t use it.

So you cried. And he let you.

Your knees gave out. You dropped down, trembling.

And he crouched too. Still touching your hands.

“I can’t believe we both survived,” you said between sobs.

“I thought… you’d left me,” your voice cracked, as you tried to hide your sobs with a pathetic attempt of laughter.

“Look at your dreadlocks,” you whimpered, reaching to touch a bleeding one. He didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry you had to fight them on your own. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. I don’t know how to fix this—”

He stopped you.

One large hand wrapped gently around your wrist. His thumb slid inward, brushing the soft, inner skin of your wrist.

You fell silent, sniffling.

He raised his other hand, checking the slash the Xenomorph had left on your arm.

A low purr vibrated from his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You froze.

A hunter. A warrior. A killer.

Asking you if you were okay.

While he was bleeding out from his wounds.

He used his index finger to softly trace under the wound, checking for venom.

His touch was careful, calculated.

You noticed new scratches on his mask.

You reached to touch them instinctively.

And somehow, he was doing the same to you.

He checked your arms for wounds.

Tilted your chin to inspect your bruised neck.

Checked your legs for cuts.

You checked his thighs.

His bleeding chest. His trembling muscles.

It was silent, just your hands shifting.

“I’m okay,” you said at last.

He raised a finger coated in your blood and showed it to you with a tilt of his head.

“It’s not that deep. I can patch it up,” you reassured, half-smiling.

Your tears had stopped. Now, your attention was fully on him.

His muscles shifted—flexed and relaxed—under your fingers.

You wondered if he was ticklish.

Or if he simply had never been touched like this before.

Before you could ask where to apply the salve, he moved.

His fingers traced over you, gently, almost mimicking the same way you had touched him.

Rough fingertips. Gentle pressure.

He touched your eyes, red and stinging from crying.

He studied your tears, rubbing one away with his thumb.

He seemed fascinated by the clear substance.

“Tears,” you explained. “We produce them when we’re sad… or scared.”

You paused.

“I was mostly scared you’d die.”

He said nothing.

Just listened.

“I know I’d be the first to die,” you went on. “I’m a weak human, compared to you. I probably looked like the weakest prey. That’s why they came for you instead.”

Still, he said nothing.

Then…

He pressed a button on his mask. It hissed, releasing gas.

With both hands, he removed it.

Slowly. Deliberately.

You held your breath, without noticing.

You saw him now—really saw him—and for a second, you felt like you’d almost forgotten his face. Scarred and wounded, he looked more familiar like that. More real.

“Na’thek,” the guttural word rumbled from his throat again, as he reached out and pressed gently beneath your eye with his thumb

You knew it was your title. You’d heard it before, always in that soft, deliberate tone he used only with that word. You wanted—no, needed—to know what it meant. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. Why hadn’t he ever said it when he wore the mask? Was he hesitating? You desperately wanted to know what it meant, even more now.

His hands moved toward the mask now, slow and intentional, until he lifted it, toward you.

“You want me to wear it?” you asked, voice quiet, almost careful, like speaking too loudly would break something delicate between you.

Because you were freaking out. Hard. You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, watching as he slid the mask over your head.

It felt massive, heavy. Warm from his skin and breath. He adjusted it slowly, securing it over your shoulders with a precision that made it clear this wasn’t just a gesture. It meant something.

Your hand instinctively found his wrist, holding onto him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was grounding. Either way, he didn’t pull away and you were grateful for that.

And then the mask powered on.

Darkness first. Then… light.

Your vision flooded with infrared tones, the expected Yautja spectrum, but it shifted, adapting. Sharpening. Adjusting to you.

This wasn’t just a mask. It was alive in a way. Responsive.

The technology… it was beyond anything humanity had ever touched.

You let go of Keth’raal, breath caught between awe and disbelief.

Your eyes darted around, overwhelmed.

Symbols danced across the HUD, locking on to targets: the dead xenomorphs, scattered weapons, heat trails. Information. Warnings. Everything.

It was exhausting and… fascinating.

You were breathing fast now. Curious. Hungry. Learning.

And then you froze at the sound of his voice.

“Na’thek,” he said again.

This time, the word didn’t just sound in your ears, it unfolded across your vision, translated by the mask:

Name: Na’thek

Na – Not / Beyond

Thek – Prey / Lesser

Meaning: Not prey. Doesn’t mean you’re a predator. It means you’re something else entirely.

You blinked. The words hung in front of you.

Not prey.

It wasn’t just a title. It was a name.

You remembered how Yautja named each other, not by birth, but by deeds. By worth.

This meant something. You had been deemed something else. Not predator. Not prey. Something in between.

Something… worthy.

You remembered when he first called you that. After you talked about being a worthy ally in the armory, flustered and nervous. He had agreed with you.

He had seen you—even then.

It wasn’t affection. Not in the human sense.

It was something deeper in his culture. Something harder. More earned.

Predator or prey, those were the only categories in Yautja code.

But you were neither.

You swallowed down the emotion tightening your chest.

Your fingers adjusted the mask slightly, and you whispered, “Keth’raal.”

The translation blinked again.

Name: Keth’raall

Keth – To observe / Witness

Raal – To stay, remain by choice

Meaning: Watched, and Chose to Stay

You stared at the words, stunned.

You wanted to ask. How? When? It felt… too personal. Like he had named himself. Had he?

“Watched, and chose to stay,” you repeated, quietly.

Did it mean he’d already made the decision long ago? Or had he just done it now? Chosen to stay… with you?

Before you could gather your thoughts, he reached for the mask and lifted it off your head, slow and careful.

Cool air hit your skin again, and your breath came easier. He placed the mask down beside you on the floor, the two of you still seated where you’d collapsed earlier.

Then he stood, quiet and focused, walking over to the xenomorph you had killed. He bent down and pulled the blade from its throat with a sharp motion. The body twitched once before going still.

He returned to you and crouched low, just at your level. His head dipped, a small bow, enough for you to see the healing scar on his forehead. Not fully closed. Still fresh.

He raised the blade now, xenomorph blood still clinging to it and held it between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No,” you said, voice uneven. “I don’t think I deserve that scar. I only defended myself… I didn’t mean to kill it—”

His response came fast, a short, low roar. Not angry but still firm, like he wanted you to stop talking.

You froze, blinking up at him. The scar scared you. It was far from any human rite, far from anything you knew. But the way he looked at you, the way he held the blade, it wasn’t just ceremony.

It was trust.

“I’m a bit scared,” you admitted, blood rushing to your face.

He moved slowly now, placing one massive hand behind your head, his palm cradling you. You felt so small compared to him. Always had… but this was different.

He didn’t press the blade yet. He waited.

Waited for you to nod.

You inhaled deeply, steadied your breath, and gave him the smallest of nods before closing your eyes.

His grip tightened slightly at the back of your head, not in force, but in certainty and he pulled you forward with a careful touch.

Then came the pain.

A sharp, burning slice under your right cheekbone, just above your jaw.

It stung. But somehow… you were proud.

The pain was eclipsed by what it meant.

He moved the blade again, mimicking the same lines carved into his own skin.

It was fast. Efficient. Ritualistic.

And then it was over.

But he didn’t let go. Not right away.

You opened your eyes, his hand still holding the back of your head. The two of you caught in a silence that stretched impossibly long.

Your cheeks were burning now, not from the wound, but from… something else. Something new.

You felt the blood rush beneath your skin.

Then, without warning, he let go, too fast.

You inhaled sharply, breath catching.

What was that?

You hadn’t felt this strange around him before. Not like this.

You didn’t know his intentions. But you felt them. Whatever they were.

He stood up and grabbed his mask, snapping it back on in one fluid movement. His pace quickened, fierce, focused. Almost agitated.

You stayed on the floor a moment longer, your fingers brushing over the new scar. You couldn’t make sense of the feeling inside you. Not fully. And definitely not right now.

You stood up finally, clearing your throat as you watched him gather his weapons.

“I’ll get the salve,” you muttered, pulling the pouch from your side.

Before you could fully open it, he was in front of you in an instant, snatching it from your hands.

He smeared it over his wounds, over his thighs and arm. Even dipped the ends of his cut dreadlocks into it.

No roar this time.

But something about him was… off. His movements sharp, almost agitated. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You didn’t interrupt. Just watched. Quietly.

You wondered if you’d crossed a line. If the scar meant more to him than you realized. Your fingers rose again to your cheek, touching the skin gently.

“Keth’raal,” you said, louder this time.

He turned sharply toward you. Like he had to.

“I’m honoured,” you told him, offering the smallest smile. You tilted your head slightly, letting him see the scar.

He didn’t speak. But he nodded once, then again. Slower this time.

That was enough of a reassurance to you.

The heavy feeling had been lifted, for now.

His armor now fully secured, he returned to you and handed back the salve.

You took it, sliding it back into your pouch. “Wait.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist again, just for a second. Testing.

He stopped.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said, voice lower, but steady. “Truly.”

He didn’t speak. But you felt it. That understanding between you. You saw it in the way he didn’t pull away.

“You know where your ship is now, right? Are you going to it after we escape?”

He nodded once, and you slowly released him. But something tugged at your attention. A sound.

Far. Quiet. Too quiet.

Your body tensed. The air changed.

You reached for your blade, fingers curling tight around the handle. Keth’raal mirrored you, pulling his retractable staff from his back in one smooth motion.

You wanted to ask if it was what you thought it was.

But you didn’t.

You both understood. No words.

One last fight.

No time to rest. No time to recover.

Your blood was still dripping. Your power nearly drained.

But this was it. Do or die.

You didn’t need to look at him to know.

He’s ready.

And so were you.

Scarred. Blooded. Standing together.

Not prey. Not less. Not alone.

Human and Yautja.

Allies.

Against the biggest threat.

156 notes · View notes

celticsrightbuttcheek · 14 hours ago