Doux Mouton Noir

11 Weeks Earlier.

She was taking too long. Already 18 minutes late now. And he wasn’t even annoyed by the rudeness of it, like he usually would be. Because he was too focused on wondering if she would even turn up at all. He was always good at reading people. It came with being quiet; never speaking much, even before the side of his face that practically melted off and left him unable to physically talk anyway. He didn’t think she seemed like the type of person to be dishonest, let alone cruel and stand him up like this. Noir slowly bows his head in sadness after staring at his phone with growing gloom as the minutes passed and she still hadn’t texted to let him know she was here. He’s been standing right by his front door, just waiting for that text so that he could go meet her down in the lobby. He’d already sent her an envelope—which he mailed in person, while she was at work—with the VIP pass to get her through the front doors, and then, the reception area. Now that he’s thinking about all of that...maybe he’s intimidated her with all this fancy bullshit he calls his daily life. Shit. He thinks with growing depression, Maybe I scared her off. Shit, what if I scared her off? If it were anyone else; any other woman, he’d be thinking what he always does, she’s not worth his time and he’s better off. But with her, none of that even comes close to his mind. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t care. He just wants to hold onto it. Hold on the feeling he’s been feeling since he first laid eyes on her. Wants to hold on to her and never let her go... Yeah, or I just scared her off with my usual misinterpreted intensity. He’s quiet, not intense. At least, not unless he’s fighting...or fucking. Not that he even does the latter much anymore anyway. Doesn’t really stroke his ego or his cock too much when he has to mainly resort to paying hookers to get laid, for the obvious reasons of his face. And that’s of course only after he finally gave up on trying to fuck without his suit and mask on. Since, then, of course, who wouldn’t want to fuck Black Noir of The Seven? It would be flattering...if it wasn’t so fucking insulting. Noir lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping as he finally gives up and takes a step back from his front door. The moment he does, however, his phone finally buzzes. Noir sucks in a sharp breath, his movements halting, save for his heart, already hammering with excitement. Though, this time, the moment he sees her text, his heart speeds up for different reasons and his entire body goes ridged. Only one word is written on his screen: Help No full stop, which he notes is weird, because he takes note of everything about her, and in the couple of weeks he’s known her, he already knows she is very OCD about her grammar and punctuation—just another thing he finds endearing about her. Noir doesn’t waste a second. Though, he does briefly think about visiting downstairs to get the geeks to help him find her. He can’t afford those precious seconds. He’s never seen Homelander run before—the man relies to heavily on his powerhouse abilities, like flight and his laser eyes, and of course, his almost Superman-like strength. But Noir would like to fucking see Homelander fucking try to keep up with him right now as he races out into the night. Of course, she doesn’t know he knows where she lives. But he knows she’s smart enough to figure out he’s got the connections to find out—and hopefully never finds out that he actually simply just followed her home that first night he met her...after skulking around the shadows of the campus, like a creep, while waiting for her to finish work. But none of that shit fucking matters right now. All that matters— “Sir—again—please, can I have my phone back?” He doesn’t know how long he took to run almost 14 blocks over to her small end street, but it feels like mere seconds. Because he blinks, and the next moment, he’s somehow already landing silently on the roof opposite hers, which just so happens to be a ratty old pub from the 70s. (Another reason he can’t wait to persuade her to “borrow” some money from him to move fucking, ASAP.) She’s as polite as she is with literally everyone he’s seen her interact with, including himself. Though, of course, with this fat old fuck of a drunk swaying and wobbling in front of her, now, there’s a certain edge to her tone. Not exactly fear, which makes him rather proud, but something less than confidence. Noir’s eyes narrow as the man chuckles and says with clear suggestion in his slurred words, “You c...can have anything you w...want, baby. All you g...gotta do is ask.” Thankfully, there are only a couple of people standing just outside of the pub doors, smoking and talking amongst themselves. Noir jumps and silently lands a few meters away from them. Moving through the shadows just as silently, in less than 2 seconds, Noir doesn’t even hesitate as he grabs the man roughly by the throat and hauls him up until his feet dangle in the air and he is choking to death. Mya gasps. Stumbles back. Almost turns on her heels to fucking run...until she realises it is Noir standing there with his back to her. Her eyes widen now more in shock than anything else. Though, she does begin to grow a little worried over the man now choking to death, despite him almost doing fuck knows what to her. She simply stands frozen, unsure of what to do for the moment. She jumps very slightly in surprise when Noir suddenly lifts his free arm. Slowly and calmly, Noir holds out his hand in front of this asshole’s face, makes sure he can see him, while he’s choking him. Noir then cocks his head to the side and waits. Mya watches as the guy frantically rushes to place her phone into Noir’s awaiting hand. Noir slowly wraps his gloved fingers around Mya’s phone. Slowly lowers his arm back to his side. Then, for a few moments, just to make sure his secret head camera can capture every detail of this man’s face, he stares at him before finally letting him go. Mya clamps both hands over her mouth to keep her gasp from escaping over how roughly Noir shoves the man down, making the pavement crack, and surely cracking some bones, too. The man lets loose a loud and painful groan, but is mostly only half conscious now. Noir slowly turns to face Mya and when he sees the shocked and slightly fearful look in her lovely dark orbs, his heart slowly begins to sink. He is wary as he slowly then holds her phone out to her, but a spark of hope reignites at the small flicker of her bright smile. Mya carefully takes her phone from him. Smiles a little wider, clears her throat and quietly says, “Thank you.” Despite her nerves, she still feels her stomach flutter with butterflies when he lifts his hand and gently presses it over his heart. Noir just as carefully reaches into his back pocket for his own phone. Unlocks it and types out a text before sending it to her. His shoulders relax a little—though, his heart races a lot—when she glances down at her phone before grinning teasingly back up at him. Mya chuckles. Opens the texts and reads to herself: I’m sorry if I scared you. I feel very protective of you already. I’m sorry if that scares you, too. Mya feels her cheeks flush. And not because of his text... She smiles shyly up at him, tells him, “Actually, I...kinda think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” In his mind, Noir is reaching out and grabbing her by the waist, tearing off his mask and pressing his mouth to hers... In reality, Noir feels his cheeks heating up and even with his mask still on, he can’t help dipping his head coyly.