The best kind of trophy - Yautja x Reader

Chapter 6: 'A' is for asshole, and someone should call the burn-unit

Vanilla. Butterscotch.

Those smells enveloped her senses as she stirred from her sleep. For a moment she was home with her grandma, napping on her couch as she baked up a storm. For a moment she felt the gentle caress of her nana's vanilla-soaked fingers dance across her cheek. Those days were long gone, but the memories remained deeply ingrained in her olfactory senses.

Max shot up with a loud gasp. Was she dead? Had her shenanigans cost her her life after all?

For a brief moment her eyes struggled to make heads or tails of her dimly lit surroundings. Grey, so much grey. But not concrete grey; it was metallic, like steel or titanium.

She shifted and heard a rustle. Her senses slowly tried to take in her new surroundings as she realized that she sat on something surprisingly plushy and warm.

Animal hides? But such odd colors? And the smell? She brought a greenish looking long-haired hide to her nose and scrunched her eyebrows as her mind rejected the whole sensation. It smelled just like Butterscotch, so much so that she was tempted to give it a lick, but restrained herself.

She grabbed another one, a hide that was peach-toned and akin to a wooly texture, and inhaled deeply only to smell warm vanilla and milk.

"The fuck?" she whispered in astonishment and denial.

She brought another one to her nose, a pleasantly striped white and red one.

"Ugh" she sneered as she pushed it aside. That one smelled like wet dog and cat's ass.

"If I'm not dead, then I'm having the weirdest fever dream in history" she concluded and pinched her lower arm. Nothing. She pinched again and scoffed when she failed to awake from her self-proclaimed dream.

She looked around the room once more, saw things, but didn't really register them. The blonde felt a distinct haziness reminiscent of the feeling you have when you awake half-conscious from a dream or are under immense shock. Both could be true in her case.

She closed her eyes again, her hands reaching for her temples as she shook her head to dispel the fog in her mind only to feel a sharp throb in her shoulder that triggered the magnitude of the prior events to wash over her like a dark storm.

For a split second she felt like a bunny stuck in a washing-machine; the whole world spinning around her as her mind jumped from one overwhelming memory to the next all the while she failed to process any of them.

Her mind was trying to put the pieces together, but no matter how she turned them, they didn't fit. Where on Earth was she? Was she even alive, or was this maybe some coma? Perhaps she was in some kind of prison?

"Hah. Guantanamo-Bay I reckon" she whispered, her voice thick with horror and regret, only to quickly brush that thought off. If she was indeed a prisoner, they wouldn't give her some trippy, pleasant-smelling furs, would they?

The blonde wondered what had become of the Alien and Matthew as her hand reached for the place where shoulder and collarbone met and felt something cold and rubber-like. It was only then that she thought to look down on herself, realizing that she was wearing her bloodied lab uniform still, or what remained of it anyway.

Her shirt had been ripped open clean down the middle and the places where the creature had, consciously or not, sunk his claws into her skin, were covered by some green, translucent tape-like squares, and so was the bullet wound on her shoulder.

Max did her best to sneak a look at her shoulder and noticed that the wound seemed eerily well-mended; as if it had been days since it had been inflicted. Through the weird bandages she could see that the claw-cuts were all but gone and that the newly grown pink flesh of her shoulder was closing in around the hole; that it was healing remarkably well. No puss, no discoloration, no drainage.