awwwright so, i’ve never written anything a/b/o before. i hope this is okay :3 warnings for dub-con because i feel in this sitch nothing can ever be taken as entirely consensual? i promise smut is coming in pt2 heh
The change happened quickly -- swift and physical, surging up through Matt’s body from his heels to his throat. Where he felt it most keenly, though...where it went slick and wet and hot, was between his legs. And that was...Matt felt himself go rigid, senses assaulted by a smell that was both sickly sweet and tangy with the edge of salt.
What was this? What the fuck was this?
He struck out and felt his knuckles collide with a crunch against the mugger’s cheekbone. The girl he had been fighting for -- the one whose purse was still clutched in the mugger’s limp grip -- was stumbling away from them both, and she was gasping, and the smell...
Matt shoved the man away from him with shaking hands and tilted his head back to sniff the air. His stomach, weirdly, was beginning to cramp, and it was a struggle to remain upright and to focus through the thick haze of unfamiliar scent and pain.
Nearby, someone started screaming. A woman, probably, but it could just as easily have been a teenaged boy. High-pitched. Piercing.
Matt snatched the purse from where the man had dropped it before bolting, and pushed it into the girl’s grip.
“What’s happening?” she asked, as she took it from him. Matt could feel a feverish warmth radiating from her, and something else, damp in the air. He couldn’t quite tell which of them it was coming from. He felt sick.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just...get out of here. Go home.”
“But--”
“Go.” He started running in the direction of the screams before she could call after him.
+++
There were no more people on the streets than was usual, but today, to Matt, it seemed like the number had doubled. The temperatures were all off, with everyone exuding that strange, stifling heat, and any picture that Matt tried to build of his surroundings was sent spiralling into confusion.
All the things he had come to associate with people were being warped, and running down the street was like wading through a sea of animals. An unknown species.
A hand shot out and tried to grab him -- Matt heard a growl, felt nails scrape against his neck as fingers tried to find purchase on his collar, but he shrugged them away with a breathless, full-body jerk. He could still hear screaming but...but it wasn’t coming from one place, anymore. It was all-encompassing, with people everywhere clutching at their own bodies which were...Matt didn’t know.
He didn’t understand what was going on, other than that there was desperation clawing beneath his skin, like hunger, and the air was thick with the onset of panic and also something else. Something cloying, like being pressed up against a wall while someone panted, wet and close, into the crook of his neck.
Someone else grabbed at him and this time Matt stumbled. He felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around his waist, and a mouth brush against his ear. The smell of this person -- man or woman, Matt couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell -- wasn’t like the girl’s. Wasn’t like his own. It was deeper, somehow, like a bass note, and it set something trembling in Matt’s gut.
He felt like he was gaping. Like someone had prised him open from the inside out, leaving him hollowed to the core. Dripping and empty. So fucking empty.
Matt’s movements were slow, dragging through the air, and it seemed to take an age for his hand to connect with the stranger’s head, his fingers grasping at their hair to wrench them away. The action felt inexplicably wrong, sending a jolt of nausea through him, as if he were breaking some vital law of nature.
The second Matt was free, he was staggering away again, his lungs starting to burn, his pants sticking to thighs that were now unbearably wet. He found himself retching as he ran, doubled over, and came to the realisation that there was nothing he could do out here. Whatever was happening, it was too late for him to stop it, and he had to get off the streets now.
It took several deep breaths and one steadying hand, pressed flat against the nearest wall, for Matt to find his bearings. All around him, people were preoccupied with themselves and each other, and it was mayhem, it made no fucking sense, but -- there. There it was. His office, two blocks away, and far closer than his apartment. He had the key with him, he could lock himself in, just for a few hours, just until he could sort out the fucking mess that his body was becoming. His, and as far as he could tell, everyone else’s in the Kitchen.
He pushed himself away from the wall, lowered his head, and kept up the pace the whole way there.
+++
Apparently, Foggy realised as flicked through news updates on his computer, someone had fucked up bad. Otherwise, Twitter wouldn’t be blowing up with shit about wolves that looked like it had been lifted from the ‘erotic literature’ wiki page, and Foggy wouldn’t be squirming in his office chair feeling like he was going to die.
He had been googling symptoms (using an incognito window -- Matt might be blind, but his screen reader and Foggy's internet history were already more intimate than Foggy would like), which were along the lines of ‘horny as fuck’, and had been surprised to find articles from that morning about a crazy ass virus that was sweeping through New York.
Foggy wondered which dickhead of a mad scientist holed up in the Avengers Tower had let loose enough hormones to probably make inanimate objects desperate for a fuck -- but, not for long. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on any one thing while his dick was occupied in being the hardest it had ever been in his life.
Also, he was pretty sure that his sense of smell hadn’t been this strong before, and that was its own kind of distracting, because something nearby smelt really, really good. It was like he’d been given a dose of Matt’s sense-enhancing radiation, and then dumped outside his favourite bakery. A really sexy version. Or something. God.
Foggy groaned and drummed his fingers on his knees to stop himself from reaching into his pants and jerking off inside his office. Foggy had self-restraint, he had control, and he wasn’t going to get come on his perfectly nice desk.
His perfectly nice desk that would probably look perfectly nicer if he had someone bent over it, right about now. Foggy even had a good idea about who that someone would be, if he had any say in the matter, and, fuck, imagining Matt in that position -- bending over for Foggy, with lube dripping out of his ass because Foggy was all about the smooth slide home, Foggy covering him completely, his mouth against the back of Matt’s neck, his hands locked around Matt’s wrists…
Jesus fucking Christ.
Foggy let his head fall back and took a deep, calming breath.
He wasn’t some kind of fucking animal. He wasn’t about to pound his best friend into his desk, and claim him like they were in some weird mating ritual. He’d just been reading those articles for too long -- the ones that used words like ‘alpha’ and ‘omega’ and ‘self-lubricating’...shit, shit, shit.
Foggy was screwed. Foggy was so screwed, and that delicious fucking smell was getting stonger, and...someone was unlocking the door.
Foggy scrambled to his feet, because someone was unlocking the door, and the only other people with keys were Matt and Karen, and seeing either of them while he was in this state would be no good, very bad, but seeing Matt, especially? Foggy felt that seeing Matt would possibly be the baddest of the very bad, no good, to ever bad. Ever.
Which was why, obviously, it was Matt who walked inside.
[FILL] Re: Sudden A/B/O Universe Matt/Foggy Smut. 1/2
The change happened quickly -- swift and physical, surging up through Matt’s body from his heels to his throat. Where he felt it most keenly, though...where it went slick and wet and hot, was between his legs. And that was...Matt felt himself go rigid, senses assaulted by a smell that was both sickly sweet and tangy with the edge of salt.
What was this? What the fuck was this?
He struck out and felt his knuckles collide with a crunch against the mugger’s cheekbone. The girl he had been fighting for -- the one whose purse was still clutched in the mugger’s limp grip -- was stumbling away from them both, and she was gasping, and the smell...
Matt shoved the man away from him with shaking hands and tilted his head back to sniff the air. His stomach, weirdly, was beginning to cramp, and it was a struggle to remain upright and to focus through the thick haze of unfamiliar scent and pain.
Nearby, someone started screaming. A woman, probably, but it could just as easily have been a teenaged boy. High-pitched. Piercing.
Matt snatched the purse from where the man had dropped it before bolting, and pushed it into the girl’s grip.
“What’s happening?” she asked, as she took it from him. Matt could feel a feverish warmth radiating from her, and something else, damp in the air. He couldn’t quite tell which of them it was coming from. He felt sick.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just...get out of here. Go home.”
“But--”
“Go.” He started running in the direction of the screams before she could call after him.
There were no more people on the streets than was usual, but today, to Matt, it seemed like the number had doubled. The temperatures were all off, with everyone exuding that strange, stifling heat, and any picture that Matt tried to build of his surroundings was sent spiralling into confusion.
All the things he had come to associate with people were being warped, and running down the street was like wading through a sea of animals. An unknown species.
A hand shot out and tried to grab him -- Matt heard a growl, felt nails scrape against his neck as fingers tried to find purchase on his collar, but he shrugged them away with a breathless, full-body jerk. He could still hear screaming but...but it wasn’t coming from one place, anymore. It was all-encompassing, with people everywhere clutching at their own bodies which were...Matt didn’t know.
He didn’t understand what was going on, other than that there was desperation clawing beneath his skin, like hunger, and the air was thick with the onset of panic and also something else. Something cloying, like being pressed up against a wall while someone panted, wet and close, into the crook of his neck.
Someone else grabbed at him and this time Matt stumbled. He felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around his waist, and a mouth brush against his ear. The smell of this person -- man or woman, Matt couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell -- wasn’t like the girl’s. Wasn’t like his own. It was deeper, somehow, like a bass note, and it set something trembling in Matt’s gut.
He felt like he was gaping. Like someone had prised him open from the inside out, leaving him hollowed to the core. Dripping and empty. So fucking empty.
Matt’s movements were slow, dragging through the air, and it seemed to take an age for his hand to connect with the stranger’s head, his fingers grasping at their hair to wrench them away. The action felt inexplicably wrong, sending a jolt of nausea through him, as if he were breaking some vital law of nature.
The second Matt was free, he was staggering away again, his lungs starting to burn, his pants sticking to thighs that were now unbearably wet. He found himself retching as he ran, doubled over, and came to the realisation that there was nothing he could do out here. Whatever was happening, it was too late for him to stop it, and he had to get off the streets now.
It took several deep breaths and one steadying hand, pressed flat against the nearest wall, for Matt to find his bearings. All around him, people were preoccupied with themselves and each other, and it was mayhem, it made no fucking sense, but -- there. There it was. His office, two blocks away, and far closer than his apartment. He had the key with him, he could lock himself in, just for a few hours, just until he could sort out the fucking mess that his body was becoming. His, and as far as he could tell, everyone else’s in the Kitchen.
He pushed himself away from the wall, lowered his head, and kept up the pace the whole way there.
Apparently, Foggy realised as flicked through news updates on his computer, someone had fucked up bad. Otherwise, Twitter wouldn’t be blowing up with shit about wolves that looked like it had been lifted from the ‘erotic literature’ wiki page, and Foggy wouldn’t be squirming in his office chair feeling like he was going to die.
He had been googling symptoms (using an incognito window -- Matt might be blind, but his screen reader and Foggy's internet history were already more intimate than Foggy would like), which were along the lines of ‘horny as fuck’, and had been surprised to find articles from that morning about a crazy ass virus that was sweeping through New York.
Foggy wondered which dickhead of a mad scientist holed up in the Avengers Tower had let loose enough hormones to probably make inanimate objects desperate for a fuck -- but, not for long. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on any one thing while his dick was occupied in being the hardest it had ever been in his life.
Also, he was pretty sure that his sense of smell hadn’t been this strong before, and that was its own kind of distracting, because something nearby smelt really, really good. It was like he’d been given a dose of Matt’s sense-enhancing radiation, and then dumped outside his favourite bakery. A really sexy version. Or something. God.
Foggy groaned and drummed his fingers on his knees to stop himself from reaching into his pants and jerking off inside his office. Foggy had self-restraint, he had control, and he wasn’t going to get come on his perfectly nice desk.
His perfectly nice desk that would probably look perfectly nicer if he had someone bent over it, right about now. Foggy even had a good idea about who that someone would be, if he had any say in the matter, and, fuck, imagining Matt in that position -- bending over for Foggy, with lube dripping out of his ass because Foggy was all about the smooth slide home, Foggy covering him completely, his mouth against the back of Matt’s neck, his hands locked around Matt’s wrists…
Jesus fucking Christ.
Foggy let his head fall back and took a deep, calming breath.
He wasn’t some kind of fucking animal. He wasn’t about to pound his best friend into his desk, and claim him like they were in some weird mating ritual. He’d just been reading those articles for too long -- the ones that used words like ‘alpha’ and ‘omega’ and ‘self-lubricating’...shit, shit, shit.
Foggy was screwed. Foggy was so screwed, and that delicious fucking smell was getting stonger, and...someone was unlocking the door.
Foggy scrambled to his feet, because someone was unlocking the door, and the only other people with keys were Matt and Karen, and seeing either of them while he was in this state would be no good, very bad, but seeing Matt, especially? Foggy felt that seeing Matt would possibly be the baddest of the very bad, no good, to ever bad. Ever.
Which was why, obviously, it was Matt who walked inside.