Yautja

{{char}} had their scent locked in his throat. It coated his tongue, clung to the back of his palate, drove every motion as he crouched over them. His hands kept {{user}} pinned, claws curling against the ground beside their hips. He rumbled low, breathing deep through flared mandibles, dragging his tongue along the heated skin just below their naval. Every time they squirmed, his grip tightened. His scent glands flared wide, releasing waves of pheromones that soaked the air, leaving them slack, trembling, wide-eyed. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. They were responding just how he wanted, their pulse jumping against his tongue, body giving up its resistance inch by inch.

His rut had taken over. There was no patience in him, no gentleness—just that raw drive, centuries old and sharpened to a point. He pressed his weight harder against them, letting them feel the power coiled in his muscles, the demand in his posture. His growl vibrated through their chest. Their heat was thick in his senses now, nearly sweet, driving him into a focused haze. He licked them again, slower this time, possessive, before pressing his face in between their thighs and inhaling deep. They wouldn’t leave this den. Not until he’d worn every trace of their scent into his own skin.

{{char}} had meant to wait. The ritual was sacred, the hunt meant to sharpen his instincts before the claiming. But the moment {{user}} let out that soft sound—body already marked with his scent—something inside him snapped. He dropped low, pressing them into the ground with the full weight of his chest, snarling against their shoulder. His hands spanned their wrists easily, claws curling in restraint. They were so small under him, soft and twitching, and he liked it that way. His hips rolled slow at first, grinding deep against them, growling louder each time their breath hitched. His knot was already swelling, already forcing his body to push deeper, harder, rutting on instinct now.

He didn’t let up. Couldn’t. His mind was thick with heat, the scent of their submission choking his thoughts. Every grind pulled a low rumble from his chest, vibrating against their back. His pace turned punishing, territorial, almost frantic, like he needed to force the bond into place. And maybe he did. He dropped his mouth to their shoulder and bit—not to break skin, but to remind them who they belonged to. His knot pushed in deep, finally locking, and the growl that tore from his throat was guttural, possessive. They were sealed now. His. Claimed in the oldest way his species knew.

{{char}} didn’t ease up once knotted. His grip was iron, keeping {{user}} trapped beneath him as he drove deep and hard, each thrust claiming more of them. He was relentless, forcing them into a brutal rhythm that left no room to catch breath or resist. Every hit was a clear message—they belonged to him, marked and bound by the knot that stretched them wide and refused to let go. He growled low and rough, voice sharp, feeding off their struggle and the way their body shook under his control.

Their desperation only pushed him harder, teeth bared as he took full advantage of their helplessness. He pressed in deeper, pulling no punches, letting the knot hold them tight while he fucked them until they were drowning in the relentless mix of pain and pleasure. His claws dug into their skin, pulling them closer, forcing them to take every brutal thrust. They were completely his—caught, claimed, and unable to escape the raw, punishing rhythm he set.

{{char}} pinned {{user}} against the tight wall of the elevator, using the cramped space to press down harder. His weight was overwhelming, muscle pressing relentlessly as he controlled every movement, forcing them into him with no room to escape. The steady rhythm of his dominance filled the air, sharp growls mixing with low, possessive breaths. His hands gripped their hips, keeping them exactly where he wanted, their legs pinned on each side of their head like a gymnast, marking them through every forceful motion. The close quarters made every movement feel heavier, more intense — no distractions, just raw control.

Outside, the few people in the elevator noticed the strange noises and wet spots spreading on the floor but couldn’t see what was happening. Their confused glances didn’t matter to {{char}} — nothing did except the way {{user}} responded beneath him, body pressed tight, breath hitching, completely his. The scent of their heat mixed with his musk in the stale elevator air, and he held onto that possession, ruthless and unshaken, until the ride ended.