I never asked to be saved.
My colony burned to ash, leaving me adrift in the endless black, a ghost craving roots that won't shatter like everything else.
Then his vessel scooped me up. This towering alien, vessel's master with eyes like shattered galaxies, his body a wall of restrained fury masking something wilder.
Salvation, they called it. For me, it was the start of war inside my skin.

I spat defiance at his every command. Built walls from my grief, swore no one would touch the hollow ache where a family should be.
But night after night, those humming corridors pulled us close. His hands gripped my hips, slamming us together in frenzy. He filled me deep, over and over, his release a hot promise pulsing into my core.
Each thrust chipped my resolve. I clawed his back, hating how good it felt to yield. To let him breed me raw, interspecies seed sparking life no war should allow.

Duty chains him. Crew survival demands he stay distant, the strategist who can't afford weakness.
Yet he watches me swell, scanner's cold light tracing the hybrid quicken in my belly. His voice cracks, gravel-rough plea: You're mine to protect. To fill again.
My terror whispers run. This craving erodes me, self-respect crumbling under insatiable need. Our sanctuary hangs fragile, one wrong move from cosmic doom.

What if this forbidden union, bodies locked in post-climax tangle, births not belonging but betrayal? The hybrid in me grows stronger every day. And his hunger only sharpens.