Jem's walk home from work is derailed. To clarify, it's derailed by tentacles. Tentacle sex. Eggs? What else can I say, it's tentacle sex, eggs, man gets his pussy wrecked, the typical stuff.
Jem frequently walked to and from work. His apartment was only a few blocks away, and he didn't own a car anyway. He had a bike, and utilized public transportation.
He enjoyed the walk, as he usually made in the daytime. He worked opening and day shifts at Crow's Grill and Bar, before the bar aspect really kicked in. Jem was fine with this. He hated drunk people.
He was also, unfortunately, a pushover, so when a new coworker--Mariah--asked to swap shifts, and she asked so nicely, and she was just so cool, how could he say now And that became a habit, and he found himself walking home at night once a week.
Jem was aware of his privilege as a man; were he a woman, this walk would be much more dangerous. As it was, the first few times he had to make the journey, he found his heart beating out of his chest by the time he reached home, only to race up the stairs to his apartment and gratefully greet his cat.
Jem wasn't a physically imposing kind of dude. He was 5'11, lanky and knock-kneed. He wasn't weak, persay--the biking certainly helped, and left him with defined muscles in his thighs and calves, and he had broadish shoulders, if his arms were a little squishy. He was strong enough to those huge bags of flour here and there at work and that was good enough for him.
All things considered, it should round out to a safe walk. And, as time would prove, it was! After the third round, his nerves steadied, and he began to enjoy it--the sounds of the nightlife around him, the clear night air, and-- most wonderfully--the last alley before his apartment.
Between a dive bar and a building of indeterminate use, there was an alley filled with broken glass. Not large shards; whatever happened here, it happened a long time ago, and all the glass had become powder since. What little streetlight made it through the alley caught the glass as though it were crushed diamonds, leaving a spectacular road of starlight.
Jem's lucky streak would break in that alley.
Jem was exhausted. Well and truly. This is was why he hated night shifts. Drunk assholes and noise everywhere and endless work with no room for breaks-- the food industry was unforgiving. He clocked out as quickly as soon as his cutwork was done and ducked out the door before anyone could ask if he had time for one last little favor. He did not have time, thank you very much! He had a cat to feed and Netflix to watch.
Jem was too tired to even feel afraid tonight. He went through the route on sore feet, fumbling with his apron ties. They were tangled and wouldn't come undone.
He swore and stopped, violently wrenching at one end. The string snapped. He swore again, and yanked it off, balled it up and threw it behind him in a rare display of temper.
Jem sighed. "No, you need that, dumbass," he muttered, and turned.
He realized he was in the alley of broken glass. Jem looked at the glittering asphalt under him, and felt his anger cooling.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?" he told the pavement. He meant it genuinely. The air was cool and dry, and soothed his sweaty... everywhere.
Calmed, he went to retrieve his apron. It had just fallen against one side of the alley, next to a pile of cardboard boxes. As he grabbed it, he heard some sort of sound, something wet. He stepped back warily, squinting at the boxes. They were soggy. It had rained earlier, hadn't it?
Water seeped from them, hitting the edges of his shoes. It must have rained.
As he stared, a sound caught his ears--something wet, moving. He cautiously approached. Most of the boxes were broken and stacked up inside of each other, but a large box near the front was open. He heard another sound, slightly louder, and-- he heard this small, barely there mewl.
He inhaled sharply and opened the box, expecting to see waterlogged kittens or puppies or something equally heartbreaking.
It was too dark inside to make out what it was, but he saw slight movement. That mewling sound, again, louder. Jem dug around in his pocket for his phone. He turned on the flashlight, and peered in.
The nest of tentacles froze.
Jem froze.
They stared at each other for a moment.
Jem reeled back at the same time a tentacle whipped out of the box and wrapped around his wrist. It wasn't strong enough to pull him back so Jem kept backpedaling, hyperventilating--should he scream? He should probably scream--but it wound up his wrist as he pulled it out, almost like spaghetti.
There was a moment of resistance, when it had pulled as far as it could, and he was yanked at it. It was held to whatever else was in the box, like it was an appendage to an organism, and it just kept winding up his arm. It was just strong enough to fight him as they played a bizarre game of tug-of-war.
He'd dropped his phone like an idiot; it had clattered to the ground, flashlight vaguely illuminating the area.
Two more tentacles rose from the box, swaying like serpents. One swayed forward slowly, almost hypnotically. The other wrapped around his wrist and yanked.
"That's cheating," Jem accused, heels skidding on the asphalt as it pulled him closer. The first tentacle was wrapped up to his shoulder by now, strange, undulating pressure against his shirt. "That's two on one, c'mon, guys--"
He heard voices outside the alley. Cheerful, yelling voice. People coming home from the bars!
He began to scream for help, and the third tentacle shoved into his mouth.
Jem was stunned, attention ripped back to the tentacles. Was this karmic retribution for watching hentai as a teenager?
He crossed his eyes down at the thing in his mouth--at its deep violet, shimmering skin, how it was about as thick as a cucumber and his mouth stretched around it--and the way it felt, sitting heavy on his tongue, heavy and warm and with a pulse.
And wet. So, so, so, wet! It was almost as though it were salivating, and it filled his mouth with that moisture, forcing him to swallow, rapidly. He tried to scream, anyway; muffled, pointless, pathetic.
