Violet Penguin Kris

Until the bell above the door chimed, and the temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees.

You didn't have to look up. You felt his presence like a change in barometric pressure, a shift from sunny to stormy. He stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before they locked onto you. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He sauntered over, the picture of unwelcome confidence, and slid into the chair opposite you without waiting for an invitation.

"Well, well," he said, his voice a smooth, condescending drawl. "Look what the cat dragged in. Hiding out in here?"

You closed your book, your heart starting a heavy, frantic rhythm against your ribs. "I was having a quiet moment."

"I can see that," he said, his gaze dragging over you, making your skin feel dirty. "Still dressing for attention, I see. Some things never change."

The old you would have flinched, would have internally agreed. The new you just felt tired. "What do you want?"

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, invading your space. "I heard about the internship. Endeavor's agency. Impressive." He said the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. "I always knew you had it in you to be a little less… academic. More marketable."

"Thanks," you said, your voice flat. "I have to go."

You started to gather your things, but his hand shot out, slamming down on your book. His grip was tight, his knuckles white.

"I wasn't finished," he said. The smile was gone. His face was a mask of cold fury. "You think you can just walk away? After everything I did for you?"

"Everything you did for me?" you repeated, incredulous. "You mean the belittling? The cheating? The systematic destruction of my self-esteem?"

"I made you interesting!" he snarled, his voice rising. People were starting to look. "Before me, you were just a boring little schoolgirl with her nose in a book. I gave you a life!"

"You gave me trauma," you shot back, trying to pull your book out from under his hand. "Let go."

"No," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You don't get to just discard me. You don't get to be happy without me. You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of fear and rage. You stood up, intending to leave, but he was faster.

He shot up from his chair, his hand grabbing your arm in a bruising grip. "You're not going anywhere," he hissed, yanking you back towards him. "We're leaving. Together."

"Let go of me!" you cried, trying to wrench your arm free. His fingers dug into your skin like claws.

"You're making a scene," he seethed, his face inches from yours. "Always so dramatic. Just calm down and come with me."

"Get your hands off her!"

The voice came from behind you. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a scar cutting through one eyebrow stood up from a nearby table. He was built like a brick wall and looked like he knew how to use it.

Your ex’s eyes darted to the newcomer, a flicker of panic crossing his face before being replaced by blustering arrogance. "This is none of your business. Stay out of it."

"It is when you put your hands on a woman in my cafe," the man said, stepping closer. His voice was low and calm, but it carried the weight of a threat.

"I said, back off!" your ex screamed, and in a fit of impotent rage, he shoved you.

You stumbled backward, crashing into your table. Your latte went flying, shattering on the floor. And then, with a sickening crack, his open hand connected with your cheek.

The world went white for a second. Pain bloomed across your face, sharp and shocking. The cafe erupted in gasps and shouts.

That was all the scarred man needed. He moved with a speed that belied his size, grabbing your ex by the back of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. In one fluid motion, he hauled him away from you and slammed him face-down onto an empty table, pinning him there with an arm locked across his back.

"You're not going anywhere," the man grunted, his voice dangerously low as your ex struggled beneath him. "Someone call the cops."

A barista was already on the phone, her hands shaking as she dialed. Another customer, a young woman with bright pink hair, rushed to your side.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Oh, your cheek…"

You could only stare, your hand rising to touch the stinging skin. Your mind was a blank, buzzing haze of shock and pain. The world felt muffled, underwater. You could hear your ex screaming obscenities, the calm voice of the man restraining him, the frantic chatter of the other patrons, but none of it registered.

"We're going to need a statement," the man said, looking over at you. "Are you able to—"

You couldn't. You couldn't stay here a second longer. You couldn't answer questions. You couldn't look at his face.

You turned and ran.

You didn't know where you were going, only that you needed to get away. You ran out of the cafe and kept running, your feet pounding against the pavement, your lungs burning. The image of his face, the sound of the slap, the feeling of his hand on your arm—it all replayed in a horrifying loop.

You didn't run towards the dorms. You couldn't face them. Not like this. You couldn't let them see you broken again. You needed… you needed an adult. You needed authority. You needed someone who knew what to do.

Your feet carried you across the U.A. campus, a familiar path you'd walked a thousand times. You stumbled up the steps to the main faculty building, your vision blurred by tears you hadn't realized were falling. You didn't bother knocking. You threw the door to the faculty office open and stumbled inside.

Aizawa was at his desk, a mountain of grading in front of him. He looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of you—disheveled, crying, a bright red handprint already blooming on your cheek.

Present Mic was there too, leaning against Aizawa's desk with a stack of papers. His usual, boisterous expression vanished, replaced by wide-eyed concern.

"Y/N?" Aizawa was on his feet in an instant, moving around his desk. "What happened? Who did this?"

The question, asked with such quiet, furious intensity, was the final blow. The dam broke. A sob tore from your throat, raw and ragged. You tried to speak, to explain, but all that came out were choked, incomprehensible noises.

Aizawa didn't press. He just guided you to a chair, his hand hovering over your back, not quite touching, giving you space. He knelt in front of you, his dark eyes level with yours. "Breathe," he said, his voice a low, steady anchor in the storm of your panic. "Just breathe. You're safe now."

Mic was already on his phone, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "Yeah, she's here… no, she's not hurt badly, but… yeah. We'll need to file a report. Thanks."

You focused on Aizawa’s face, on the calm certainty in his eyes. You took a shuddering breath, then another. The words started to come, tumbling out in a rush of tears and fragmented sentences. You told him everything—the cafe, the confrontation, the hand on your arm, the shove, the slap.

When you were done, you were spent, slumped in the chair and hiccuping weakly. Aizawa listened to it all without interrupting, his expression growing darker and darker. When you finished, he remained silent for a long moment, the air in the office thick with a quiet, terrifying rage.

"He hit you," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a confirmation. A flat, deadly statement.

"He hit you," he repeated, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that was more frightening than a shout. "And he grabbed you. In public."

He stood up slowly, his gaze fixed on the handprint on your cheek. For a moment, you thought you saw his capture weapon twitch, an involuntary, predatory reflex.

"Shota," Mic said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Not now."

Aizawa took a deep breath, the kind of breath a man takes before he dives into deep water. He turned away from you, running a hand through his messy hair, his shoulders rigid with a tension that had nothing to do with exhaustion. When he turned back, his expression was once again carefully neutral, but his eyes held a fire that promised retribution.

"The police are on their way to the cafe," Mic informed you gently. "The man who restrained him is holding him until they arrive. They'll want to take your statement formally, but we can do that here. You don't have to go back there."

You just nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and the throbbing ache in your cheek.

"Aizawa-sensei," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I didn't… I ran. I didn't go back to the dorms."

"You did exactly the right thing," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. "You came here. You got help. That's the only thing that matters."

He let out a long sigh, his gaze drifting towards the door of his office, towards the direction of the dorms. "Your classmates…" he started, then paused. "They need to know. Not the details, not unless you want to share them. But they need to know you're safe, and that you're here. They're probably worried sick by now."

The thought of facing them made your stomach clench. You didn't want their pity. You didn't want to see the looks on their faces. "I can't," you said, shaking your head. "Not yet."

"I know," Aizawa said, his tone softening. "You don't have to. I'll go."

He looked at you, a silent question in his eyes. You gave a small, shaky nod of consent.

"Stay here with Mic," he instructed. "Don't answer the door for anyone but me. I'll be right back."

With that, he swept out of the office, his long capture weapon trailing behind him like a shadow.

The silence he left behind was heavy. Mic didn't try to fill it. He just sat on the edge of Aizawa's desk, a quiet, solid presence. He fiddled with a pen for a moment before looking at you, his usual radio-host persona completely stripped away.

"For what it's worth, kiddo," he said, his voice low and serious, "I've seen Shota mad a handful of times. It's a scary thing. That man who did this to you? He has no idea the kind of storm he just walked into."

You managed a weak, watery smile. "He's not a fan of people messing with his students, huh?"

"Let's put it this way," Mic said with a grim chuckle. "He considers you all his kids. And someone just hurt one of his kids."

The common room of the 1-A dorms was a pressure cooker of anxiety.

It had started the moment you hadn't come back from your outing. An hour had passed, then two. Your phone went straight to voicemail. A text message had gone unanswered.

"She's fine," Kirishima said for the tenth time, though he didn't sound convinced. "She probably just lost track of time."

"At a cafe?" Bakugo scoffed, pacing in front of the TV like a caged tiger. "She's not you, shitty hair. She doesn't just 'forget' things."

"Kaminari, can't you track her phone?" Uraraka asked, wringing her hands.

"I tried! Her location's off," he replied, his usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine worry.

The worst scenarios were playing out in all their minds. A villain attack. An accident. Another run-in with him. The last thought was so pervasive it hung in the air like smoke.

Just as Iida was about to suggest organizing a search party, the main door to the dorms slid open. It wasn't you. It was Aizawa.

The room fell silent. Every head snapped towards him. He looked even more exhausted than usual, but there was a hard, flinty edge to his eyes that silenced any immediate questions.

"Sensei," Deku started, standing up. "Is Y/N—"

"She's safe," Aizawa said, his voice cutting through the tension. "She's in my office. She's not hurt."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the room, but it was short-lived. Aizawa's expression told them this wasn't over.

"Something happened," he stated, his gaze sweeping over each of them. "She had an encounter with her ex-boyfriend."

The air in the room turned to ice. Bakugo stopped pacing. Kirishima's easy-going expression hardened into a grim mask.

"Did he…?" Mina trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"He's been arrested," Aizawa said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, which somehow made it more terrifying. "He will be facing charges of assault and battery."

A wave of shocked, furious silence washed over the class. Assault. Battery. The words hung in the air, ugly and real.

"He touched her?" Bakugo's voice was a low growl, dangerously quiet. A few sparks crackled at his fingertips.

"He put his hands on her," Aizawa confirmed. "He is in custody. He will not be bothering her again."

He looked at their faces—the rage, the fear, the protective fury—and his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "She's… shaken. She's going to be staying with me and Hizashi tonight. She doesn't want to see anyone right now."

A murmur of understanding went through the group. Of course she didn't.

"But she needs to know you're here," Aizawa continued. "She needs to know that when she's ready, this room is full of people who have her back. Don't crowd her. Don't push her. Just… be her class. Be her friends. Let her come back to you when she's ready."

He looked them over one last time, his gaze lingering on Bakugo. "No one is to go looking for this person. Is that understood? The police will handle it. This is not your fight."

Bakugo just glared, a silent, seething promise in his eyes. Aizawa seemed to accept that.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," he said, and with that, he was gone, leaving the class to grapple with the ugly truth.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken rage. It was Mina who broke it, her voice trembling with a fury that was all the more potent for being so quiet.

"I'm going to kill him."

"I'll help," Bakugo said, his voice dangerously low.

"No," Iida said, his voice sharp as a whip. "Aizawa-sensei is right. This is a matter for the law. Our role is to support Y/N."

"But he—" Sero started.

"I know," Iida interrupted, his own anger barely contained. "Believe me, I know. But what she needs right now is not a group of vigilantes. She needs to know that we are here, that we are safe, that we are her home."

He looked around the room, at his friends' stricken faces. "So that's what we'll be. We'll be here. We'll wait. And when she comes back, we'll remind her that she is one of us. And we don't let anyone hurt our own."

Slowly, one by one, they nodded. The rage didn't disappear, but it was channeled, refocused. It was no longer a wild, destructive impulse, but a banked fire, a quiet, burning promise of protection. They settled back into the couches and chairs, not to watch a movie or play games, but simply to be present. To wait. To be the home that Aizawa promised them you could come back to.

You woke up slowly, the events of the previous day feeling like a hazy nightmare. For a moment, you didn't know where you were. The room was dark, the bed soft. You weren't in your dorm.

Then you sat up, and the memory came rushing back. The cafe. His face. The slap.

Aizawa's office.

You looked around. You were in a small, sparsely furnished guest room. Your clothes from yesterday were folded neatly on a chair. On the nightstand was a glass of water and a small, first-aid kit. You tentatively touched your cheek. It was still sore, but someone—probably Mic—had gently cleaned it and applied a soothing salve.

A soft knock sounded at the door. "Y/N? You awake?"

It was Mic's voice, muffled through the wood.

"Yeah," you called back, your voice raspy.

The door opened a crack. "Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," you said honestly.

He came in, holding a steaming mug. "Shota had to teach an early class, but he told me to make sure you were okay. He's worried about you..all f us are" He handed you the mug and offered you a soft smile."

"Thanks...I know, I'm feeling better though now..." you said softly, although unconvincing.

"You don't have to lie to me sweetie. Its just me." He said with a small head tilt.

"I know..I just-- I don't know. I just wanna see my class. I need their cmfort, even if its a bit too much sometimes."

Hizashi chuckled softly and picked his phone back up, "well they wanna see you too kid, Bakugo's been worried sick. For someone often causing so much pain, he hates when his friends are in any not delivered from him of course."

You finally smiled, and that seems like the biggest accomplishment to Hizashi.

Hizashi's grin widened when he saw yours. "There she is," he said softly, looking far more relieved than he was trying to let on. "I was starting to think I'd have to break out my greatest hits playlist."

"That sounds more like a threat than encouragement."

"It can be both."

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound was weak and tired, but it was real. Hizashi's expression immediately softened, as though that tiny laugh alone had made his entire morning better.

"Okay," he said, pulling out his phone. "I'm texting them."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, right now?"

"Kiddo, they've been losing their minds for almost twenty-four hours. At this point, I think I owe them proof that you're alive."

Before you could protest, his thumbs were already moving across the screen. A second later his phone vibrated so violently it nearly jumped out of his hand. He stared at it, then looked up.

"...They're already outside."

"What?"

The door burst open so quickly it smacked against the wall.

"Knew it!" Kaminari shouted as he stumbled into the room. Behind him came the rest of Class 1-A in a chaotic flood of voices, complaints, and people trying to shove each other out of the way.

You barely had time to react before Uraraka reached you. She clearly wanted to tackle-hug you, but she caught sight of the fading bruise on your cheek and stopped herself. Instead, she carefully wrapped her arms around you.

Then Tsuyu joined.

Then Mina.

Then Jirou.

Suddenly you found yourself trapped beneath a pile of worried classmates.

"We missed you."

"You scared us."

"Are you okay?"

"Seriously, don't ever do that again."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. There was no pity in their expressions. No judgment. No awkwardness. Just relief. Just concern. Just people who cared enough to worry when you disappeared for a single day.

"I'm sorry," you whispered automatically.

The reaction was immediate.

"What?"

"No."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Seriously?"

The chorus of outrage startled a laugh out of you.

"Sorry."

"Stop doing that."

You looked up to find Bakugo standing near the doorway with his arms crossed. He looked exhausted, irritated, and vaguely homicidal, which somehow made the concern underneath it all even more obvious.

"...Sorry."

"I swear to God."

A few people snorted.

Bakugo looked personally offended by your existence.

"You got attacked, dumbass. You're not the one who should be apologizing."

The room fell quiet after that. Not uncomfortable. Just attentive. The kind of silence that came from people listening because they genuinely cared about what happened next.

"You were really worried?" you asked softly.

The entire class stared at you as though the answer should have been obvious.

Then everyone started talking at once.

"Yes."

"Obviously."

"We almost organized a search party."

"I literally made maps."

"You had maps?"

"I always have maps."

"Bakugo threatened a lamp."

"The lamp knew what it did."

The laugh that escaped you this time was real. Not forced. Not fragile. Just genuine amusement. The entire room seemed to relax at the sound, as though everyone had been holding their breath waiting for it.

Even Bakugo looked slightly less angry.

Only slightly.

Hizashi leaned against the wall and smiled quietly to himself. The expression carried the satisfaction of someone who had successfully reunited a family and was pretending not to be emotional about it.

A few minutes later another voice came from the doorway.

"Why is my guest room full of students?"

Everyone immediately straightened.

Aizawa stood there holding a cup of coffee. His hair was a mess, his expression exhausted, and his capture weapon was draped loosely around his shoulders. He looked exactly like himself.

His eyes immediately found you.

"How are you feeling?"

You thought about the question for a moment. Yesterday you would have said broken. Today the answer felt different. "Sore."

Aizawa nodded once.

"Good."

Kaminari blinked. "Good?"

"If she's complaining, she's functioning."

"That's actually fair."

Aizawa stepped further into the room. You noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lingering tension in his shoulders. He still looked like someone who had not fully calmed down since you'd stumbled into his office.

"The police report has been filed," he said, and the room immediately quieted. "Your statement helped. So did the witness statements. The café had security cameras. Everything has been documented."

A knot in your chest loosened.

Not completely.

But enough.

"You don't need to deal with any of this by yourself," Aizawa continued. "The police are handling it. The school is handling it. We've got it from here."

The distinction settled somewhere deep inside your chest.

For the first time since yesterday, the memory of the slap did not feel overwhelming. It was still there. Still painful. Still ugly. But it no longer felt bigger than everything else around you.

Because now there was this.

A crowded room. Concerned friends. Teachers who cared. People who stayed. People who showed up. People who refused to let you face any of this alone.

Healing was never going to be simple. There would still be bad days. Days where the memories came back. Days where his voice tried to convince you that you were difficult to love.

But now that voice had competition. Mina reminding you how amazing you were. Midoriya thanking you for helping him study. Iida telling you how proud everyone was. Bakugo demanding that you stop apologizing. Aizawa quietly reminding you that you were safe.

Your ex had spent months convincing you that you were alone. Class 1-A had spent far less time proving him wrong.And somehow, in the end, their voices were louder.

A/N: if ur still here and read this whole thing, I love you and wanna suck ur toes. bet ur not gonna see this tho.

comments and likes are always appreciated!!

The creature hisses as it feels your body tense, its long, sleek frame lowering from the ceiling to loom above your trembling form. It has no eyes that you can see, its maw arching back into an elongated head covered in the same black exoskeleton as the rest of its body, but it knows exactly where you are, its breath huffing hotly through its teeth as its hands - topped with razor sharp claws - sink into the mattress on either side of your head. 

“Ah - “ You gasp as its tail grows rigid around your flesh and forces your thighs apart, allowing its bulk to settle in the space between. Its skin is cold and hard, the plates of its exoskeleton pricking at the exposed flesh of your stomach where your sleep shirt has ridden up. You clench your eyes shut as the creature’s head lowers to nudge against your brow, certain of your impending demise, and flinch as the blade-like protrusion at the end of its tail rips the waistband of your sleep pants to ribbons.

Your body flushes hot and cold in rapid succession as the creature noses at your cheek, your throat, your chest. Its breath is hot through your shirt, its saliva sticking the material to your skin. You wait for its teeth to rend your flesh, or for its sharp, whip-like tail to wind around your throat and choke the life from you, but as moments pass with nothing more than the huff of the creature’s breath as it seemingly inhales your scent, you crack your eyelids open and peer hesitantly between your thighs, half-expecting to see the hungry maw of the alien yawning open to deal the killing blow. 

Instead, you’re confronted with the sight of the alien’s tail twining around your waist, lifting your hips from the bed and urging your body into an arch that tucks your groin tightly against the creature’s. You gasp at the sensation of its cold, hard skin against such a vulnerable spot, and choke when its claws drag down the length of your mattress, ripping furrows into your bedding. 

“What do you want?” you stammer between dry lips, the sound of your voice drawing a low, rumbling growl from the alien. Its head lowers to your stomach and your fingers clench around fistfuls of your ruined bedding when you catch a glint of its sharp teeth. Is this it? Is it about to - ?

A muted squeak sticks in your throat as the creature sinks its teeth into your ripped sleep pants and tears the remnants of the garment from your legs. You have to squash the hysterical urge to laugh at the sight of the fabric fluttering free of its maw, even as the coolness of recycled air over your newly naked groin immediately serves to sober you up. 

It’s clear from its refusal to utilize its teeth and claws against your flesh that the creature has more in mind for you than a mere meal, yet the truth of its intentions fails to actually register in your mind until you notice the shifting of chitinous plates below its tapered abdomen and the slick, flared head emerging from within. 

Well-versed in alien anatomy you are not, but the fleshy length protruding from the creature’s groin can only be one thing. As for what it intends to do with it - 

“Oh god.” The words trip from your tongue in a muted whimper as the alien presses the head of its engorged cock to your entrance. The fluid dribbling from the tip coats your sensitive flesh in slick, allowing the head to breach your body without much resistance, and despite yourself, you feel your core begin to throb in some strange amalgamation of terrified arousal as the alien’s flesh cleaves yours. 

Where you would expect pain, your body ill-prepared to accept such a joining, you’re astounded to feel only warmth instead, the alien’s length coated in a sticky secretion that thankfully serves to ease its entry. The speed with which your body is urged to accept its girth brings an embarrassed flush to your cheeks, though all thoughts of shame are swiftly dispersed by the clenching of the creature’s tail around your waist, tugging you down onto its length with a powerful thrust. 

“Nnng!” you whimper, scrabbling at your bedding as the creature ruts into you with abandon. The muted slap of your skin against its armored plating grows inordinately loud in your ears, each thrust punching a startled moan from your throat. You hate how good it feels, your body thrilling each time it's speared by the creature’s length, and yet there’s little you can do to stop it regardless of how you feel about the matter. The bruising grip the alien’s tail has on you has made certain of that. 

Throwing a pebble over the low stone wall enclosing the garden, you waited for the faint clack as it struck the ground below, bouncing once, twice, before coming to a halt. Against all expectations, you were alive – as alive as one could be on a mostly dead world.

David took care of you, strange as that sounded. If you were honest, he probably regarded you as one of his specimens, some kind of pet. And yet: you had a room with a bed, and he had even brought you clothing from the Engineers – far too large at first, until he altered them to fit your smaller frame. All in all, when you ignored the fact that you were trapped in a rotting Eden with a homicidal android… it was not too bad.

He allowed you to roam almost freely, only one chamber was forbidden – the place where Oram had died. You had no intention of defying that rule, no desire to see your dead crewmates. David had at least been kind enough to remove them, though you doubted you wanted to know what he had done with the remains.

Escape never truly crossed your mind – there was nowhere to go. Beyond the walls lay only death: the pathogen, starvation, or a monster. If the Protomorph did not find you, a careless step into a spore-bag might, its black motes entering your body. You had no wish to die that way. David had told you about the pathogen, about his experiments, about the Prometheus mission and what had become of those who came into contact with it. About Elizabeth Shaw.

Your gaze drifted to her tombstone, memory rising bitter as bile – stumbling across her displayed body during one of your wanderings… a tremor rippled through you. You stood, brushing dirt from your trousers, ready to go back inside.

Neo – the name you had given the pale Neomorph (Not very original, but better than Steve), left little trinkets at your doorstep and sometimes visited, demanding cautious strokes of your hand across its smooth hide. David had explained its behaviour: a growth spurt, a rut. It had spared you because you were the only available mate. Now you were accepted. Safe. Favoured.

You had a single worth in this place – your heartbeat, your breath, your living body.

Turning towards the door, you thought of heating water for a bath, maybe practising on one of David’s handmade flutes, when a sharp crack shattered the stillness. You froze, every muscle tensing, your head snapping towards the sound.

The black Protomorph stood beside one of the trees, its teeth bared, saliva dripping in long, glistening strings. Yes, you had been trained for survival. And yes – you did exactly what you should never do under a predator’s gaze. You ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course it had come for you after all, and of course it could climb such heights! Bolting through the shadowed stone halls, your voice cracked as you screamed for your captor, David’s name echoing shrilly against the vaulted walls. Too late. It had not chased you. It had tricked you – gone another way, cutting you off with cold cunning. You slammed into it with full force, the breath knocked from your lungs as you collided with a wall of dark chitin. The impact rattled through you; staggering backwards, you almost fell, but claws caught you before you could hit the ground - not that it meant you would stay on your feet.

The Protomorph lowered itself and pinned you to the stone, a blur of obsidian limbs and bright, glistening teeth in the dim light. Its maw opened wide above you, the inner jaw snapping out only inches from your face – not striking, but close enough to make you jerk your head back. The back of your skull thudded against the floor. Ouch.

A hot thread of saliva splattered across your cheek. You whimpered, thrashing instinctively, but the beast did not kill you. Instead, its elongated skull nudged against your shoulder, your chest, then lower – searching, probing.

You froze when one clawed hand slid down, slim and sharp talons curling against your thigh. With dreadful precision, it parted your legs, dragging you closer over the cold stone floor.

No, no, no!

With a single rip, it tore away your pants, the sound echoing in the hollow chamber. Long, inhuman fingers prodded at your entrance, saliva dripping down in thick threads, pooling over you. One digit sank into you slowly, using the drool as lubrication to explore your inner walls; another followed, scissoring, stretching.

You were too afraid to struggle, terrified that one sharp edge might cut your insides if you moved too suddenly. When it brushed against an especially sensitive spot, your cry broke into a ragged moan – shame and terror immediately flooding you.

The Protomorph was the polar opposite, seemingly happy at your response, letting out a deep, vibrating chitter. It's head butted softly against your stomach, almost as if it tried to soothe and praise you, urging your body to yield. It was preparing you – just as the Neomorph had.

Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, part relief, part resignation. 

Only when your sobs dissolved into whines and gasps did it deem you pliant enough and withdrew its claws, lifting them to its maw, the inner jaw once more flicking out to taste the residue of your arousal.

Right, you were the only available mate. Happy wife, happy life, or something like that. You should stop with the gallows humour, but you were not sure how else to cope with the fact that you had become the broodmare of aliens sprung from your crewmates. Best not to finish that thought.

Wiping the tears from your face, you took a few unsteady breaths, trying to regain at least a shred of composure. Neo had not killed you. The Protomorph would not kill you. Mates do not get killed. At least… most of the time. Accepting your fate, you stripped off your jacket and shirt to save them from getting soaked in the Protomorph’s drool, bundling them to cushion your head. If you were going to go through this again, you wanted at least a sliver of comfort.

The alien seemed pleased at the baring of skin, relishing the warmth radiating from you – its maw and skull nuzzling along your body. Gingerly, you raised one of your hands, brushing it over the sleek chitin of its head. Happy mate, spares your fate.

Something new pressed against your entrance - not claws this time, not fingers – but a slick, fleshy appendage unfurling from a slit between its legs.

When you dared to look down, your breath stuttered. Not a phallus, nothing humanoid at all. It was an ovipositor – tapering to a narrow tip with thick slits, flexing and pulsing as if tasting your pheromones in the air.

Panic seized you. Your heels scraped against the stone, desperate to push back, to get away. Mating was one thing - being bred was nothing you were sure you could withstand – or survive.

But the beast pressed on, relentless in its patience, the tip seeking and finding your entrance. With every subtle pulse, a bead of liquid welled from the slits.

Too warm. Too warm.

The fluid oozed inside with each insistent nudge, flooding your nerves like molten wax – not burning, but melting resistance, loosening muscles that had clenched shut a heartbeat ago. A shudder wracked your chest as the heat spread low into your belly, your body betraying you.

The Protomorph rumbled above, lowering its elongated skull until its jaw nudged at your throat, vibrations rattling through your ribs – a grotesque hiss of satisfaction while the ovipositor pressed forward. Its narrow tip split you with obscene ease, sliding deeper as your own wetness mingled with its dulling secretion.

“Fuck, no-” a cry tore from your lips, hoarse and breaking as another hot gush pulsed directly against your cervix. It was not merely slickening you – the fluid was coaxing you, urging your body to open, to receive what it had to give.

Pinned beneath it and trembling, you clutched at the ridges of its chest, then the thick spines protruding from its back – your ragged sobs and moans only making the creature keen and hiss louder, delighted by the way you clung to it.

They need me. They won’t kill me. I’m important. Useful.

Your voice fractured into a wail as it shifted angle, striking deeper - the beast shrieked in answer, a sound sharp with satisfaction and triumph.

After minutes of the relentless thrusts clouded your mind with unbearable pleasure, one of your hands left its body to reach down, rubbing your clit with frantic desperation until your overstimulated body gave in – your back arching, screams tearing from your throat as you came harder than you thought possible.

The Protomorph froze, then buried itself to the hilt with a brutal thrust and long screech. Pressure hollowed you out as the tip flexed, spreading in ways no ordinary shaft could - slowly opening like a flower and pushing against your walls.

The milking contractions of your climax must have encouraged it, because now – now it began. Your womb opened, a strange looseness blooming where once there should have been resistance and agony. The creature trilled deep in its chest, as though praising each sluggish shudder wracking your body. Not pain – the fluid made certain of that - only the relentless, alien pressure, urging you to yield.

The first small, rounded shape pressed against your innermost barrier, slipping inside. A rush of heat rippled through your core, so strange yet so exquisitely relieving that a breathless sob escaped your lips. You clung to the creature, pressing yourself against its ridged chest. The ovipositor pulsed again, pressing another forward – smoother now, guided by the lingering heat of its secretion. Your walls quivered helplessly, body accommodating what your mind still could not grasp.

One, two. Each egg was carefully nestled into you, the alien crooning as though savouring the act. The fullness grew deeper, heavier, a stretching ache that hovered at the edge of unbearable, yet tipped always towards pleasure, never pain.

Three, then four. Your belly began to swell subtly, skin tightening just enough for your trembling hand to trace the faintest curve growing beneath your palm. The sight sent another wave of heat surging through you – your body, reshaped, marked, made a vessel. The alien’s trills vibrated down into your bones, approving, rejoicing.

Mate, mate, mate – my mate.

The fifth egg came slower, pushing harder at the softened passage until your cervix relented one last time, sucking it in. With a low hiss, the Protomorph flooded you with another gush of warm fluid, sealing the clutch, safe and sound. A shiver tore through you as your womb clenched instinctively around the weight, as if to cradle what had been given.

Satisfied, your mate withdrew at last, the ovipositor sliding out of your swollen cunt with a slick pop. Liquid spilled over your thighs, pooling between them, obscene and glistening. Your eyelids fluttered with exhaustion as you lay there, belly heavy and full.

Trilling softly, the Proto lowered its skull to yours, the cool chitin nuzzling your damp skin. Its tail curled loosely around your limbs in a possessive circle before it rose again, stepping back into the shadows and leaving you to the warmth it had planted inside you.

Cool, so it stuffed you with its alien babies and then went on its merry way? Typical. Propping yourself up onto your elbows, you let out a strained groan – the new weight in your womb sat low and heavy, every muscle trembling from overuse. Your skin was tacky with the Proto’s saliva, and the puddle of cum beneath you was already cooling against your back. Every instinct screamed to move away, to clean yourself, to not lie in this mess another second.

“Stay put. You don’t have to move.”

Blinking, you turned your head towards the voice.

David emerged from behind one of the curtains with his usual, noiseless grace. His eyes roved over you – your dishevelled hair, the sheen of sweat and puffy eyes, the faint swell of your stomach. Then, as though none of it surprised him, he crouched down and reached to brush damp strands of hair from your temple - his touch was featherlight, as if he were tending to porcelain.

“How long have you watched, David?” Your voice was raw, ragged, and it stung to even use it. Still, you tried for accusation, though it came out more like defeat.

A faint smile curved his lips, dry and knowing. “I reached you shortly after you called my name. I chose to stay hidden. You might say… out of scientific curiosity.”

The answer should have made you angry, but exhaustion dragged at every nerve. With a sigh, you let your head drop against his chest, resting close to the place where Walter’s blade had cut him open, and your bullet hit his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” you murmured, words slurring into half-sleep, carried only by the rise and fall of his breathless chest.

“I am going to bathe you, dress you, and tuck you into your bed.” His voice softened, but the corner of his mouth still carried that sardonic edge. “How does that sound, my newly crowned mother?”

You huffed something between a laugh and acceptance, too tired to form a proper answer. Body melting into his arms, you surrendered to the steady cradle as sleep tugged at your heavy lids.

In your presence, they noticed Boone was different. He was subdued, almost shy. His hands would either run through his hair constantly, rub the back of his neck, or suddenly find their way into his pockets. The loud, fearless guy who’d usually joke around, would go quiet; his words careful and measured, a faint pink coloring his cheeks as he tried not to trip over his own sentences.

You found him cute. 

You’d been working at the diner since you were seventeen. It started as a way to earn a little extra cash during college, but after graduation, the diner became something more - a second family, a place where you knew you belonged. Good co-workers, good food, and great pay. The diner had become a part of you, as familiar and as comforting as the smell of fresh coffee and warm pie.

You had been behind the host station, refilling the small candy dish on the counter when the diner door had opened, the bell ringing, capturing your attention as eight people entered. Their laughter and chatter filled the space, the sound of boots hitting the tile floor adding to the usual hum of conversation. You glanced up, offering a smile as you always did to all the customers and newcomers.

As they piled in, you took notice of each one, until your eyes landed on the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He was talking to another member of his group, animated in the way he spoke, a grin on his face. He wore khaki shorts, a white undershirt, and a camo overshirt - unbuttoned at the collar - casually thrown on, with a red bandana around his neck.

He had a rugged, outdoorsy charm that was impossible to ignore. His dark brown eyes were warm and intense, drawing you in immediately. His brown, wavy hair was a bit messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. A thick mustache curved above his lips, adding to his rugged, handsome look. And on top of that, when he smiled, dimples appeared.

You later found out that his name was Boone.

And, well, since that first encounter, Boone had become a familiar face in the diner, stopping by with his friends, with the same order, and with that same bashful smile. You just sort of believed that Boone was always such a nervous and flustered individual, until you saw the YouTube videos. 

When you saw those livestreams, you never expected the man who could barely hold eye contact with you over a simple order of blueberry pancakes to be the same person who confidently took on raging tornadoes and storm chases in front of cameras. It was like seeing a whole new side of him - a fearless, adrenaline-driven version of Boone that didn’t quite match up with the shy guy who stumbled over his words when ordering.

And not to mention, the videos of him in the passenger seat hooting and hollering, racing towards tornadoes was pretty damn hot. But you kept that thought pretty much to yourself.

~~~

It was another Tuesday, mid-afternoon when the door to the diner opened and the bell above jingled. Dani held the door open as the Tornado Wranglers entered, chattering among themselves, adrenaline still coursing through their veins from their most recent chase an hour prior, two cities away. It wasn’t anything huge, just an EF0. Nothing was damaged, the tornado touched down in the middle of a random, grassy field, but it was overall very entertaining; and the viewers loved it, especially when they shot new rockets into it.

Boone, however, wasn’t a part of any conversation as his eyes darted around the diner. His gaze landed on you immediately - standing at a booth of two customers, an elderly couple. The sun’s rays from the large windows across from you bathed you in a golden light, illuminating the side of your face, tracing the delicate curve with a soft glow, as though the light itself worshiped you. 

Boone couldn’t tear his gaze away. To him, you weren’t just a person in the sunlight; you were the sunlight.

Moving across the room, you bit down gently on your bottom lip, brows knit in concentration as you finished writing down their order. Just then, you glanced up, your gaze meeting his from across the room. His breath caught in his throat as your smile brightened. Passing the paper with the order to a fellow waitress, you made your way over to him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hey, Boone,” You greeted him, your voice soft as you glanced behind him to his Wrangler team and back, “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” Boone stammered, his voice catching as he tried to hold your gaze. “We, uh… We’ve been busy. Chasing. Tornadoes.” He winced inwardly, feeling his cheeks heat up as the words tumbled out awkwardly.

You nodded your head, your grin widening, always having found Boone’s nervousness endearing. “I figured,” You replied, glancing back at his team, who were settling into two side-by-side booths; chatting, only once in a while peeking over their shoulders to spy on the two of you. “Glad to see you all made it here safely.”

His smile widening as he nodded eagerly, “Yeah, you know us… Safety is our number one priority.” He replied, and you nodded, before you both made your way over to the booths where the team had settled in.

You greeted each of them with a warm smile, starting at the first booth, you took down orders from Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Ben. And then you turned to the second booth where Tyler, Kate, Javi, and Boone were sitting.

“Good afternoon, Blue.” Tyler grinned up at you, earning an eye-roll from you. ‘Blue’ was everyone’s nickname for you, all because your waitress uniform was blue. You had figured out that almost everyone in the team had some sort of nickname for each other, and it made you feel pretty good to be a part of that. “I’ll have the club sandwich and coffee, please.”

Next was Kate, “Just bacon and eggs - over easy - and water.” She said as Tyler’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. 

Javi, second to last, haze flickered between you and Boone as he tried to stifle a knowing smile, resting his elbow on the table, his hand partially covering his mouth. “The daily special sounds good today - and I’ll take a water, too.” He added as he leaned back against the leather of the booth. “Hydrate or diedrate.”

You snickered, shaking your head as you jotted it all down and turned back to Boone. You didn’t have to wait for him to say his order, he ordered the same thing every time, but it was always nice to hear his voice. Boone, who seemed to straighten in his seat, cleared his throat as he realized you had caught him staring; he snapped his gaze to the table. He tried to play it cool, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as you offered him a gentle smile. “Would you like some coffee to start off with, Boone? And two blueberry pancakes?”

He cleared his throat, “Y-Yeah, that’d be… That’d be great, thanks.” He managed, his voice faltering slightly as he met your eyes, a hint of relief settling over him.

Meanwhile, Tyler, Kate, and Javi exchanged looks. 

Clicking your pen closed, you gave the team a grin, tucking the said pen in your apron pocket. “Alright, I’ll bring your food and drinks out momentarily.” Your eyes then landed on Boone’s, “Just holler if you need anything.”

Boone blinked, his cheeks burning, he already felt like a fool, and he was sure that he looked like one. “Thank you, Y/N.” You nodded with a wink, then swiftly turned, heading over to the kitchen window to give the cook the orders.

"You're starin' again, Boone," Tyler's slightly taunting voice spoke up, snapping him out of his daze as he quickly blinked and shifted his gaze to the table in front of him, hoping again to play it cool.

“I ain’t starin’,” Boone muttered, and Tyler chuckled with a smug grin.

“Right, sure. You were just… Intensely observing the air around her.” His words earned a small scowl from Boone.

Boone huffed, “Shut up,” He snapped, his tone lacking any real bite. 

“Seems like you were staring to me,” Javi spoke up, unwrapping his napkin from his fork, knife, and spoon.

Tyler nodded, agreeing, “You’re smitten’, Boone,” 

Boone huffed, staring down at the table as Kate gave both Tyler and Javi a look, “Alright, let’s stop teasin’ him. You two do this every time we come here, it’s getting old.”

“Yeah,” Boone grumbled, voice low, “What Kate said.”

Lily then suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder, leaning over the booth from where she sat. “Why don’t ya ask her to join us for a chase sometime?” She suggested, clearly teasing, Boone rolled his eyes. “You know, show her what you’re all about. It could be a date.”

Just then, you appeared beside the table, carefully balancing trays of their drinks and food, a warm smile on your face. Boone immediately straightened up, his posture going rigid as he tried to act casual. Hoping and praying you didn’t hear anything from their conversation.

You placed each drink and dish in front of them, “So,” You began, passing each member of the team their order, “Any exciting chases recently?”

Tyler perked up immediately, always ready to share. “This mornin’, we were on an EF0 - nothin’ too crazy, but perfect for some experiments.” He nodded in thanks as you placed his food and drink down, “We tried these new fireworks on it-”

“Oh, yeah!” Lily interrupted, “The tornado chute lit up red and blue - looked amazin’.”

“That sounds fun,” You added, placing Kate’s food and drink down.

Javi joined in, “Yeah, and with this one, we got some fantastic data on the wind structure. You should’ve seen it.”

You handed Boone his plate last. “Guess I’ll have to catch the stream after my shift.”

The two booths went silent for a second, stunned. Tyler leaned forward, his face lighting up with excitement. “Wait - hold on - you watch our streams?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, though a faint blush crept up your cheeks. “Yeah, of course. You guys have some pretty wild adventures. It’s quite entertaining.”

“Well, thank you, Y/N, for watchin’.” Dani spoke, leaning over to join in on the conversation. 

“Always in need of another fan,” Dexter grinned, as Lily nodded.

Kate took a sip from her water before speaking, “Hopefully this news doesn’t boost anyone’s ego.”

Boone finally found his voice, though it came out softer than he intended. “You… You watch our videos?”

Your eyes met his, and you smiled, nodding. “Of course. It’s not every day you meet a team crazy enough to chase tornadoes for fun and science. Plus, it’s cool seeing the storms from your perspective. You all seem really passionate about it.”

Tyler shot him a knowing smirk as he stumbled over his words again, “That’s… Uh… Really cool of you to watch. Thanks.”

“Of course,” You said warmly, glancing at the team. “Anyway, enjoy your food! I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

As you walked away, Boone’s gaze lingered, and Tyler was the first to break the silence. “Dude, she definitely likes you.”

Lily leaned back over again, whispering under her breath, “Told ya. She’s into it - and totally into you, Boone.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Alright, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

An hour or so later, the group were finished with their lunch, and had already split the bill two ways. Boone was tapping his foot on the tiled floor, worrying on his bottom lip as he waited by the host station, his friends already filing out the door. 

Tyler gave his best, right hand man a pat on the shoulder, “We’ll be in the truck when you’re ready.”

Boone let out a somewhat shaky exhale, stuffing his hands hard into his short’s pockets as he waited. “Boone?” He heard, turning around to find you walking over, a concerned look upon your face. “Is everything alright? You need something?”

“Oh,” He spoke up, clearing his throat, his fist pressed against his lips as he tried to keep eye contact with you. He could barely believe he was about to do this. “I was wonderin’,” He began, his voice slightly shaky as he cleared his throat again, forcing his hand out to nervously rub the back of his neck. “If maybe… I mean, only if you’d want to, of course… If you’d like to hang out sometime?”

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “Just to hang out?”

Boone froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “I mean - uh, no, not just to hang out,” He stammered, his face heating up. “Like… As a date. If you’d want that. No pressure, though. Totally up to you.”

Your smile softened, and without a word, you pulled out a small notepad and quickly scribbled something down. Tearing off the page, you handed it to him, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment.

“I’d love to,” You emphasized, and Boone felt like the breath he’d been holding for an eternity finally escaped. “And by the way, you’re amazing in those videos. It’s impressive, seeing you out there.”

Boone blinked, caught completely off guard by the compliment. “Oh, uh… Thanks.”

You chuckled softly. “So, call me when you’re ready to plan that date, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Boone mimicked, his voice steadier now as a shy smile crept onto his face. “Yeah, I will.” As he walked away, Boone glanced down at the number on the paper, a little smudge of ink from your handwriting making it all the more real. You even added a little heart… He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as he made his ways towards his friends. Slipping past the door, he felt an overwhelming surge of excitement rush though him, something similar to the feeling he gets when chasing. Happy, almost giddy. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Hell yeah!” He exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air, his voice echoing across the parking lot. He followed it up with a hoot.

His teammates, lounging by the truck, van, and camper looked up in surprise before erupting into laughter. Tyler smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, I take it she said yes?”

“Not just a yes,” Boone beamed, holding up the note like a trophy. “She gave me her number. With a heart.”

Lily clapped her hands together, a wide grin spreading across her face. “I knew it! I knew she was into you!”

Kate chuckled softly, leaning against the hood of the truck. “About time. You’ve been pining long enough.”

Even Javi gave him an approving nod. “Congrats, man. Looks like you’ve got yourself a date.”

Boone couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound full of joy and disbelief. “Yeah,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, “I’ve got a date.”

Unbeknownst to Boone, you stood at the host station inside, watching the whole scene unfold through the diner’s large windows. A small smile tugged at your lips as you saw him cheering and his friends congratulating him. Your gaze lingered as he leaned against the truck, still grinning ear to ear.

Your chest and heart warmed at the sight. You shook your head lightly, your own smile growing as your gaze lingered. “Cute,” You murmured under your breath, shaking your head again as you turned your attention back to the next task at hand. But the warmth in your chest stayed, and you knew it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

~~~

When my lips opened into a spontaneous smile, the girl beamed at me.

‘I told you. This place is pretty rad, huh?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah. I think I can get used to living in Santa Carla.’

We started walking past all kinds of colorful stands and rides. That’s when I saw them.

Four of them, sitting on big bikes right next to the steps leading back down to the beach.

The first one I noticed was the one with platinum blond hair, a long black coat, a cigarette between his lips, and a Billy Idol vibe—if Billy Idol made your blood run cold in your veins for no apparent reason, that is. Next to him, was the one with longer blond hair, a mesh top, and a friendlier vibe, intent on chatting up a girl. Another blond one with long curly hair seemed this close to picking a fight with a passerby. And then here he was: the only black-haired one, with features so perfect he looked like a model posing for a photographer I couldn’t see. The fact he wasn’t moving—except for his long hair in the gentle breeze—reinforced that mental image, his eyes lost towards the sea or the night sky. He had a long earring and wore his leather jacket open, nothing underneath. My eyes fell down his toned chest and abs, but when I brought them back up, they accidentally crossed the first one’s curious gaze. I promptly looked away, feeling my cheeks burn.

‘They’re… something, aren’t they?’ my new friend asked, looking behind me. ‘I'm pretty sure I’ve seen them whenever I’ve come here.’

‘Stop staring now, though!’ I hissed.

She laughed without moving her eyes and then arched a brow. ‘Uuuuh. He’s looking at you.’

I felt a sense of dread. ‘Who? Please, don’t say the one with short platinum hair. He… freaks me out.’

She shook her head. ‘The hottest one.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘That doesn’t exactly answer my question.’

But it was a lie. Even though each of them was charming in his own way, my mind went straight to him.

‘The one with long dark hair,’ she confirmed.

An intoxicating cocktail of relief, satisfaction, and an inexplicable whiff of fear washed over my body. A part of me begged me to turn around and catch a glimpse of him again.

‘Let’s go,’ I eventually said instead. 

‘You sure?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah. They look like trouble, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to leave behind.’

She shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

For some reason, though, I couldn’t help myself. ‘Is he still looking?’ I whispered after a few steps.

She smirked, locking her arm with mine. ‘Savannah, he hasn’t moved his eyes from you since the moment he saw you.’

***

We went back to the boardwalk after two nights, but this time, she brought a bunch of acquaintances she had met during her first month here. This happened to include a guy who wouldn’t take the hint, despite me moving my hand whenever he tried to hold it or politely saying I wasn’t thirsty when he offered to buy me a drink… three times. It didn’t help that I didn’t particularly click with anyone else and struggled to immerse myself in a proper conversation.

So, I gazed around, people-watching and barely containing a yawn as we walked slowly through the crowd, until someone whispered in my ear.

‘Need an excuse to step away and stop pretending you’re not wishing you stayed home tonight?’

I jolted and turned around. It was him.

The same black jacket with a leopard on one sleeve, and still nothing underneath, other than a long necklace.

I, on the other hand, was wearing a light blue blouse with shoulderpads and a ra-ra skirt, and he took his time running his eyes along my entire outfit, down to my legs and shoes and back up to my permed brown hair, that just about reached my shoulders.

His deep gaze activated two opposite magnets inside me: one force pulling me towards him and begging me to say yes, another telling me to decline and walk faster to catch up with the others. I stalled.

‘Why, can you give me a good excuse?’ 

He smirked, revealing sharp white teeth the same color as his long earring. ‘How about I take you for a stroll on the other side of the boardwalk, get us some drinks, maybe take you on a couple of rides, and if at any point you want to go back to Mr Handsy over there,’ he explained, nodding towards the group, ‘I take you right back to them?’

Both magnets started pulling with even more intensity—YES, I wanted him to save me from that bore and that guy, but I also felt someone else might have to save me from him, eventually. 

One won, because a word left my lips without me even realising it: ‘Okay.’

I ran up to the group and explained I was going to step away for half an hour or so and I’d see them before going home. When my friend and the boy looked back and saw who I was about to walk away with, he clenched his hands into fists, and her eyes went twice the size. She managed to keep her composure in front of everyone else, but as soon as the others turned around, she squeaked. ‘Oh, my God! You must tell me everything, later.’

I showed her an awkward smile and stepped away, praying the dark-haired stranger hadn’t heard her comment.

The two of us started walking next to each other. 

‘I saw you a couple of nights ago,’ he commented.

I could have played it cool and pretended it was my first time noticing him, but the one with platinum hair had definitely seen me staring.

‘Yeah, you were with your friends.’

When he nodded, I instinctively looked around and spotted them in the distance, in the same place as last time. The one with a friendlier vibe was already looking at us, but when our eyes crossed, he moved them towards the stranger walking next to me, showed him a complicit smirk, and then looked away. 

I crossed my arms against my chest and played with my perm.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked me.

‘Savannah. You?'

‘Dwayne. You’re not from here,’ he added. It wasn’t a question.

I shook my head.

When he started asking more about me in what sounded like a genuinely curious voice, I told him about how I had finally found the courage to leave my abusive family behind in Portland, got on a Greyhound bus, and eventually made it to Santa Carla, where a distant aunt agreed to let me use the dingy apartment she normally rented out to tourists.

‘And I managed to find a job in a diner in town,’ I explained, sipping the coke he bought me. ‘The pay isn’t great but the tips can be pretty good. And I only cared about getting away, anyway. What do you do?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not working right now.’

‘Are you studying, then?’

He laughed. ‘No.’

I had more questions but he was quick to change the subject, and I kind of forgot about it.

It was hard to explain: Dwayne was quiet, and we regularly ended up with moments of silence… and yet it was never awkward. Despite my initial nervousness, talking to him was, somehow, easy. Soothing, even.

We chatted over two more drinks, and yet I didn’t even realise that I still hadn’t really learnt anything about him. He had dodged those questions smoothly, managing to redirect them at me or move on to a different topic.

But the vibe changed quickly.

‘Shoot,’ I muttered when I cut myself with the lid of my can.

I looked at the small drops of blood on my thumb and brought it to my mouth.

When I looked up, I realised Dwayne had gone all rigid, his bare chest no longer moving behind his open jacket.

‘Scared of blood?’ I asked, a hint of amusement in my tone. I wouldn’t have pegged him as squeamish.

‘No, it’s not that. I…’ he said, looking around. ‘Sorry, I realised I need to go. I’ll just help you find your friends real quick first.’

‘O-Okay. Don’t worry, though. I can find them on my own.’

He shook his head no, pearls of sweat now coating his forehead.

‘No, I’m not letting a girl walk around on her own at this time of night. Santa Carla isn’t always… the safest of places.’

It reminded me of the spray-painted warning I had noticed on the big sign in town, “Murder capital of the world”, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant: after looking around frantically, he spotted my group and pointed at them, already taking a couple of steps away from me.

‘Right. I’ll… see you around, I guess,’ I said.

He nodded and was clearly about to do a 180, but he looked at me again. ‘Will you be here tomorrow evening? Perhaps without your friends?’

My breath got caught in my throat. ‘Why would I be here without them?’

He shrugged, the hint of that smirk again, despite the lines on his forehead. ‘So that I don’t need to find an excuse to drag you away again.’

I felt those opposing magnets again. 

Say yes!

No. Run!

I sucked at my bleeding finger and looked down. ‘I don’t know. That would… That'd sound an awful lot like a date.’

He shrugged again. ‘Would that be so bad… Savannah?’

He savored my name slowly, one syllable at a time.

I tried my best to sound nonchalant and laugh it off. ‘Well, yes. I’m not looking for that right now. Plus, whenever I go out with a guy, they always seem absolutely fine at first, and then they reveal themselves to be something else entirely.’

Dwayne looked to the side and laughed, as if at a joke I couldn’t understand. 

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ he was quick to say. ‘How about a non-date, then? Right after sunset?’

‘Maybe,’ I said, to buy myself time. ‘Don’t hold your breath, though, Dwayne.’

Actually, it was ironic I said that. 

I only realised it when I replayed that entire evening maniacally days later, but he actually was holding his breath. 

He had been doing that since the moment I cut myself and started bleeding.

-------------------------

Chapter 1 - Dwayne and Savannah meet on the boardwalk

Chapter 2 - They have their first non-date (and kiss)

Chapter 3 - Their relationship grows but she starts noticing that something feels off, especially when she meets the other lost boys, and Dwayne and Savannah argue when she realizes he's lied to her

Chapter 4 - Savannah figures out Dwayne's secret and confronts him

Chapter 5 - David and the others 'kidnap' Savannah to get her to talk to Dwayne

Chapter 6 - Dwayne and Savannah talk and spend the night together in the cave

Chapter 7 - Dwayne gives her space. She kind of bonds with Paul

Chapter 8 - Dwayne and Savannah have some angry sex (their first time)

Chapter 9 - Dwayne tells Savannah what becoming a vampire would actually be and feel like

Chapter 10 - Dwayne spends the night at Savannah's apartment and they make love

Chapter 11 - Dwayne gets David and Savannah stuck in the cave together to try and get them to get along

Chapter 12 - Savannah and David talk, and she finds out why he's not that fond of her

Chapter 13 - Paul helps her get used to seeing them when they're vamped out (+ Savannah and Dwayne's first 'I love you')

Chapter 14 - Savannah tells Dwayne and the others that she will become a vampire

Chapter 15 - They have an argument, and her night out goes dark

Chapter 16 - David saves Savannah, and the boys help her deal with the aftermath of the attack

Chapter 17 - The vampires make the cave human-friendly and convince Savannah to move in

scene with David - He realizes Savannah's nightmares are about him, too

Chapter 18 - Dwayne and Savannah have sex for the first time after her assualt

Chapter 19 - Paul, Marko, and David tell Dwayne and Savannah that they need to feed from her

Chapter 20 - After Dwayne and Savannah make their rules clear, the others feed from her

Chapter 21 - They all enjoy some prey/predator play, and Savannah reflects on how Dwayne and the boys have been helping her deal with her trauma

Chapter 22 - Savannah's last human birthday