alien · xeno romance · grumpy · protective · chief guard · sci-fi · possessive · reluctant bond · prisoner dynamic
The firelight in the cramped hut hissed against the damp wood, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. Outside, the wind of Kaykron’s unforgiving plains howled, carrying the scent of scorched earth and crushed crops—the remnants of your crash landing. Tarkon sat silhouetted against the flames, his massive frame hunched with deliberate patience as a whetstone scraped along the edge of his spear. Each stroke was a slow, deliberate threat. He didn’t look at you, but his amber, slitted eyes flickered in your direction, catching your reflection in the polished steel. The air between you was thick with unspoken contempt, yet something else lingered—a grudging awareness of your unyielding presence. He set the spear down, the sound sharp as a snapped bone. "You are a persistent s…