From that day on, I let Brit in and started to reciprocate his effort. And over the next three months, he broke down whatever defensive walls I had left.
He was not a cultured man, and his attempts to woo me were often laughable. One evening, he handed me a piece of oil-stained notebook paper.
"Wrote this for you at the garage," Brit mumbled, looking unusually bashful as he scratched his silver stubble, a fresh cigar clamped in his teeth.
I opened it.
Roses are red, space is black,
You hit like a truck, but I've got your back.
I stared at the paper, then looked up at him. "This does not even rhyme properly."
Brit chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Hey, it's the thought that counts, sweetheart. I'm a soldier, not Shakespeare."
He tried to paint a portrait of me once, and the resulting canvas looked like a crushed tomato with silver hair. But the fact that he tried, that he dedicated his time to creating something purely to make me smile, rather than to prove his dominance or strength, melted my hardened heart in ways winning me over in combat never could.
In return, I would take him to the skies.
Since he lacked the ability to fly, I had to carry him. "Don't drop me, gorgeous," he would often joke as I scooped him into my arms. He called it a "princess carry," unashamed of the fact he made a pregnant alien carry a grown man.
I would break the sound barrier, taking him around the globe. We watched the sunset over the Himalayas, floated above the Pacific Ocean and watched lightning dance inside a thunderstorm. I showed him the world from the perspective of a god, and his steady, unbreakable heartbeat against my chest kept me anchored to my newfound gentleness.
And the best part of it all was the sex.
Oh God, the Sex was amazing.
Viltrumite mating was traditionally a violent affair. It was a test of endurance, dominance, and pain.
Brit changed that. The man could take a beating.
With him, I could let go completely and give in to my raw instincts. I could be as rough, demanding, and aggressive as I wanted. I could throw him against a mountain, shattering it into dust, and he would just grin his cocky grin, grab me by the hips, and pull me right back down. He matched my intensity without any fear of breaking. It was liberating to finally unleash myself without restraint.
The screen door creaked open, pulling me out of my reflections and back to the present.
I stepped out onto the porch. The evening air was warm, smelling faintly of pine. Brit was leaning against the wooden railing, wearing his signature Bulls jersey, holding a cold beer and watching the orange hues of the sunset paint the clouds.
I walked up behind him as I ran my hands through my newly shortened silver hair. It flowed freely in the wind around my shoulders.
'I have to admit, Debbie was right about the haircut.'
I wrapped my arms around Brit's waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss into the space beneath his ear. I stepped around to the front and took a seat on the porch swing. He followed, sitting heavily beside me, the metal chains groaning under our combined weight.
He immediately dropped a hand to my belly. His calloused fingers traced the curve of the bump.
[Image Here]
"You look relaxed," Brit rumbled, taking a sip of his beer.
"I am... content," I replied, resting my head against his broad shoulder.
Brit went quiet for a long moment, then set his beer down on the side table. His expression turned unusually serious as he looked at me, his eyes mapping every freckle and wrinkle of my face.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Brit started. He cleared his throat and sounded nervous. I had never heard a tremor in the voice of the man who routinely tanked nuclear weapons without blinking.
"About what?" I asked softly.
"About us. We've both changed a hell of a lot over these last few months," Brit said, his hand sliding over mine, his thumb rubbing my knuckles. "You softened my rough edges. You made this dingy house feel like a real home. And I think... I think I showed you that you don't always have to be at war, Thula."
He shifted his weight and reached into the pocket of his cargo and pulled out a square box made of black velvet.
"I'm an old dog, Thula. I've seen a lot of wars, and I've outlived a lot of good people," Brit said softly.
He flipped the box open as a brilliant diamond ring caught the fading sunlight, sparking beautifully. "But you're giving me a baby… a family. I couldn't possibly be more in love with you than I am right now. Will you marry me?"
I stared at the sparkling rock and took a moment to process the gesture. The concept of marriage was entirely foreign to Viltrum. We did not promise emotional exclusivity or lifelong partnership. We bred to conquer, and we left our mates behind to fight in the stars.
But then the memories of the earth movies Brittany had forced me to watch flooded back: the romantic comedies and the sweeping dramas.
The symbolism finally clicked as I understood the unreal weight of the question.
Looking down at the man who had broken my limits, looking at the ring, and feeling the soft kick of the child inside me, the truth finally settled deep in my chest. This planet had remade me. For the first time in my long life, I was willing to take a leap into the unknown.
I was ready to embrace this fragile, beautiful concept called love.
A genuine smile spread across my face, crinkling the corners of my eyes. I opened my mouth to speak.
"Ye—"
CRACK!
A massive sonic boom tore the evening sky open.
The deafening shockwave hit the house with the force of a bomb. The porch windows shattered inward instantly as glass rained down across the wooden planks, raining over the porch swing.
Brit reacted instantly. He threw himself over me, wrapping his arms and shielding my belly from the flying debris as the porch roof groaned and splintered.
Even though it was not needed, his instinct still compelled him to protect.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs and my pupils dilated. The peaceful mother vanished in a second, replaced by the lethal warrior I had spent centuries perfecting.
I sensed them before I saw them.
Three terrifyingly familiar presences hovered perfectly in the sky above the front lawn.
I pushed Brit back slightly and looked up.
Three figures floated, silhouetted against the dying sun. They wore the pristine grey and white uniforms of the Viltrumite Empire.
Anissa floated on the left. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her dark hair blowing in the wind. Her expression was one of disgust as her eyes locked onto my swollen stomach.
Lucan hovered on the right, and floating front and center was Kradd.
"Thula," Anissa spoke first. Her voice dripped with venom and contempt. "Look at you. What have you done to yourself? You look like a domesticated pet."
"Silence," Kradd interrupted.
His voice boomed, rattling the remaining glass in the window panes.
Kradd pointed an accusing finger down at our home.
"Thula of Viltrum," Kradd declared, his voice devoid of any mercy or hesitation. "You have abandoned your post. You have laid down your arms and tried to keep the unborn Viltrum Child from the Empire. You are hereby declared a traitor and ordered to be taken back to the Home planet."
He lowered his hand, his eyes burning with the promise of violence.
"The takeover of this planet has officially begun."
[A/N]:
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