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astroboots · 10 months

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out.

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different.

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it. There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors.

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move.

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits.

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel.

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you:

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag.

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last.

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet.

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place.

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously.

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work.

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet.

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly.

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner.

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations.

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers.

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.”

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.)

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go.

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in.

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene.

He’s maddening and distracting.

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps.

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports.

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner.

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies.

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash.

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun.

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst.

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is.

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–”

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is.

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets.

It doesn’t take him very long at all.

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows.

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you.

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins.

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting.

“Better?”

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close.

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow.

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity.

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird.

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across.

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks.

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat. You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter.

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed? And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag??

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling.

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show.

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you.

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you. His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth.

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses.

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction.

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this?

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says.

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer.

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly.

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens.

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room.

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in.

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall.

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to.

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture.

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him.

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks.

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange."

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features.

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again.

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me."

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map.

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment, the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life.

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak.

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,”

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong.

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt.

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life.

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time.

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches.

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop.

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars.

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate.

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still.

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”.

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.”

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words.

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance.

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition.

The two of you sit in the silence.

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse.

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again.

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you.

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies.

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt.

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask.

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops.

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders.

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.”

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety.

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest.

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you.

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.”

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?”

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans.

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing.

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on.

He’s having a nightmare.

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making.

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring.

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him.

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily.

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.”

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well. I should have asked you before. I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?”

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears.

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he?

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing.

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow.

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late.

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment.

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise.

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder.

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed.

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you.

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown."

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces.

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there."

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft.

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly.

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head.

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension. But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away.

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.”

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm.

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.”

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe.

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance.

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you.

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her.

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter.

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you.

It’s her.

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling.

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self.

God that’s fucked up.

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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holewithinahole · 10 months

Text

Brown and Green | Olivia Octavius x Reader

Summary: After the accident with the collider, you end up on Earth 1610 in the Alchemax building. Dr Olivia Octavius is here to greet you. You can't help but notice all the resemblances with your own Octavius.

Ao3 Link

Warnings: shameless smut, no genitalia specified, no pronouns specified (reader), tentacle sex, restraints, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fantasising, non-native writer

I hesitated posting it here, but we don't post non-beta'd shit to be a coward. I wrote this in a few hours and took three days to resign myself and just post it. But after seeing Across the Spider-Verse, I had to re-watch the first one and I was, once again, hit in the face by my bisexuality and my obsession towards Dr Octavius. Tell me I'm not the only one...

Oh, reader is part of the Spider-Verse, I wrote with no gender nor genitalia in mind, I hope everyone can enjoy it!

Ok. Let’s do this one more time, shall we?

My name? Not really important because for the last few years, I’ve been the one and only Spiderman. You all know the story by now: being bitten by a radioactive spider which suddenly allows you to skip workout, the loss of a loved one... The usual Spidey-stuff.

I shoot my webs; I swing from Brooklyn to Queens to the Bronx to stop supervillains, rescue cats stuck in trees and help your grandma cross the road.

One day as I was doing my super-work, something weird happened: a flash of light and boom, I was in New York. But not my New York, a new New York. As for where I crashed, well–

“You seem tensed, Spiderman.”

You can feel your bones crack as those weirdly smooth, plastic-y tentacles wrap tighter and tighter around you.

“You, ow–” you hiss, out of breath. “You could say that.”

A shimmering laugh answers you and it’s just so weird. But after all, what could you expect from a parallel universe? You still have a hard time wrapping your head around the whole concept of dimension warping… and alternate versions of your enemies.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Dr Olivia Octavius.” She draws closer, that ridiculously hot smirk at the corner of her lips.

Fuck, can you concentrate for once?

“It sounds like you already knew the answer,” she says. With her free hands, she pulls her curly hair up, rebellious strands framing her face. Is amazing hair a multi-universal law for all Doc Ocks?

“‘Can’t say that I did–” you pause as long gloved fingers slide under the edge of your mask. “Hey! That’s a no-no, lady!”

She snaps the mask right off your face, an interested glimmer in her eyes. You feel like a mouse spread apart for dissection and she sure looks ready to whip out a scalpel. Was she really hiding a complete latex suit underneath her clothes? Not to be the one to pat supervillains on their shoulders to congratulate them on a job well done, but she really mastered the inconspicuous chemistry teacher cosplay.

Focus.

“It is quite fortunate that your portal opened here,” Octavius says conversationally as she readjusts her gloves. “I would have hated to run after you everywhere in the city.”

“Oh, you know me.” Your shrug looks like an uncontrolled twitch of your shoulder. “Always glad to help.”

“Indeed,” she chuckles. She grabs your face, inspecting it from every angle, ignoring your string of offended words. At the corner of your eye, an actuator reaches for a– ah, there is the scalpel. “Now…”

Oh hell no…

“Hey! Hey lady–“ Struggling is pointless and the more you try, the more she grins. “Olivia– can I call you Liv’?”

Octavius laughs. “Only my friends call me Liv.”

“We can be friends I’m sure.” You make sure to put on your best smolder. It looks painfully ineffective. “Or, you know, we can come to an arrangement.”

She raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t answer. She’s not considering it, is she? That’d be a lucky day for the smolder – not that it doesn’t usually work of course (It doesn’t.) You keep smiling but her slow approach makes all your senses – spider and regular, tingle. It takes all of your brain power to tame your fight-or-flight response and not recoil as much as you can.

Are you seriously sweating right now?

“Oh, that’s rich.” Her smile is predatory. “Is it a usual Spiderman tactic to try to seduce their enemies?”

The actuators tighten even more around your torso. The discreet cough you let out widens her smile.

Toothy.

“Perhaps not in your universe.”

You’re relieved when the scalpel is dropped carelessly on the table behind her. Even more relieved when the tentacles lessen their grip around you. Your relief is soon replaced by surprise as one of them curls slowly around your left leg. It’s definitely better than being cut open, right?

“Alright, little spider.” Octavius stares down at you. “I’ll entertain the idea.”

Right?

In a blur, she steps in between your legs, helped by the arm holding your limb hostage. “And to answer your question…” Her hand comes to rest in the dip of your hip, feeling up muscles under her fingertips. Somehow it’s this simple gesture that sends a strong shiver through your nervous system.

“You can call me ‘Doctor’ from now on.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Liv.” The actuator tightens around your throat. “Doctor!”

A low laugh answers you. And that’s just not fair. Octavius has you in the most vulnerable state you’ve ever been in. Except perhaps that time when you had to face Captain Stacy, near the corpse of your bestfrie— oops, no, wrong mind folder. The most physically vulnerable you’ve ever been then.

“You never stop talking, do you?”

Earlier, Octavius had taken all the time in the world to push your arms out of your suit, her actuators handling you like a puppet, until your torso was bare for her to enjoy. You did try to yank at the tentacles keeping both your arms secured behind your back but thanks to whatever kind of sick machinery she put in them, they just wouldn’t budge. You were genuinely impressed at the technology allowing those arms to both be flexible and unbreakable. Even your Octavius had to favor titanium steel when he built his own.

The actuator that isn’t wrapped around your throat – a menacing yet tantalizing statement, or holding your limbs down, creeps from the top of your thigh to your chest, not unlike a viper chasing for its food.

Ah yes, the situation at hand.

“To be fair,” you huff. “You love to hear yourself talk as well.”

“You seem to know a lot about me, little spider.” Her hand travels from your hip to the underside of your right thigh. “Altercations with my alter-self then?”

You chuckle, a breathy fucking embarrassing thing. “Oh, plenty.”

Your suit pools uncomfortably at the bottom of your stomach, the sleeves flapping underneath you. It must be so practical to have strong mechanical arms capable of holding your enemy one meter above the ground without even breaking a sweat. But you feel way too warm. Isn’t it hot right now? Isn’t she hot?

Oh, she definitely is, submit your traitorous mind.

“I’m sure we must have been tormenting you intensely.” She giggles, examining a large scar running from your pectoral to your lower belly. With a finger, she traces it like words on paper.

“That’s from you, actually.”

Your Octavius had looked so smug when it happened.

She looks up, smirking. “His actuators are way more pointy than yours,” you explain.

The double-entendre doesn’t go unnoticed, but she doesn’t comment. “Actuators, uh? I haven’t heard this denomination in a while, since my research paper on radioactivity in fact.”

“Yeah, I did my homework.”

You exhale shortly when the teasing actuator wrapped itself around your middle section allowing the others to tug at your suit. Octavius stopped her reverential petting to observe the spandex clinging to your skin, slowly displaying your legs and your underwear-clad pelvis like an exhibit. A free one at that, with free food and everything.

“So,” Octavius asks after discarding the suit to a corner of the room. “What’s the name of my counterpart?”

Both her hands come resting on your legs again. “Otto,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

“Funny,” she says, taking her sweet time feeling your backside muscles. She likes to grope, doesn’t she? “That’s the name of my father.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Ew, what a way to kill the mood, lady.”

Strangely, she doesn’t mention your slip, simply laughing while resting her palm on your– nether regions. The mood is far from being killed however judging by the humiliating wetness spreading through your underwear. She presses her palm down a little forcefully, and you moan loudly. Raising an eyebrow, it’s with a certain – perhaps misplaced – curiosity that she alternates between stroking up and down and toying with the tips of her fingers any potentially sensitive region. And you can’t contain the noise.

To be fair, you’ve never really been ashamed of anything.

There’s a daze settling in your mind, a fog behind your eyes as you only focus on the diffuse pleasure settling down there. You’re pulsating, every blood vessel tight, engorged as a blush spreads on your skin. You’re drifting, fuck– you’re so–

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to reflect on the fact that you obeyed so eagerly because her touch's gone and it's the only thing you can focus on at the moment. She knows that too because her smugness is plastered all over her face – some things never change, and you want to cum all over her arrogant little smile.

“That’s–” you struggle to catch your breath. “So uncool.”

“The arrangement is you get out of here alive and I,” Octavius smirks. “get to do what I want with you.”

The shiver that travels through you speaks volumes. So the key to the ultimate fuck was ‘travel to a parallel universe’ all along? Talk about a joke.

“Now.” She straightens up, towering over you. “Tell me a little more about your Otto.”

The tentacles raise you higher in the air, pushing your hips at almost eye-level to Octavius.

“Self-centered much?” You joke, trying to ignore the actuator crawling along your leg.

“Curious,” she replies, enjoying the show. “You didn’t go around flexing those beautiful muscles in front of his face, did you?”

“What–” You try not to blush but fuck– it’s hard to concentrate when there’s the equivalent of an alien tentacle nuzzling you through your underwear. “Hey! I’m a very respectable – ah!, person ok?”

She laughs loudly at that. “It’s not a no, is it?”

“It’s part of the job!” You huff, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing ever happened with Otto. I care about my life, you know.”

“But not enough to avoid trying your ridiculous seduction tactics on me?”

You wonder if there’s a sliver of internalized misogyny reprimanded somewhere but, in your defense, the smooth head of the actuator now slowly creeping towards your opening is hard not to focus on.

“Worth a shot?” you pant.

You let out a surprised groan as the rough feeling of your underwear breaches your entrance, pushed inside by the blunt head of the mechanical arm. Not nearly enough to truly be inside but the movement is a warning at worst, a promise at best.

For fuck’s sake, listen to yourself.

As the actuator keeps pushing against your hole, you’re assaulted by the wet sound your garment does as it moves. It’s reminiscent of your evenings alone in your shitty apartment when you have enough time to tease the shit out of you. And as Octavius’ hand is back on your crotch, sensations and recollections drive you mad, spilling moans and gasps from your open mouth. Are you going to cum just like this? Groped through your pants and your hole teased like a fucking teenager? You’re too old for that.

Octavius hums to herself, observing you and cataloguing all your reactions as she would do for her research. Her undivided attention on you is exhilarating, and you watch her through half-lidded eyes wishing you could see the curious glint in those wide brown pupils.

What the fuck?

“You seem out of it, Spiderman.” She chuckles. “Drifting away?”

You gulp. “You could say that.”

It’s like she can see right through you. “Fuck– I’m–”

She suddenly disengages, leaving you once again panting, muscles tensed under smooth plastic. “Oops,” she giggles. “Butterfingers.”

You can only stare, heart skipping a beat. She couldn’t possibly have–

“Let me help you with that.”

In seconds, she discards you of any remaining pieces of clothing, holding you upright in all your naked glory. Still dizzy from everything, the touches, the words, you don’t say anything.

“Well then.” She tilts her head to the side. “Spider got your tongue?”

As latex-clad fingers dip inside your mouth before you can even muster a clever answer, you let out a moan, obsessed with the slick feeling of spit on her gloves. Lost in thought, a smooth arm soon takes its rightful place on your groin, pocking, rubbing and your sex glistens, sticky and sensitive to the air. Octavius keeps pressing her fingers down your tongue, sampling every single strand of your DNA when she pulls them away. Now that she’s so close, you can see her green eyes through her goggles. Wait, green?

“Have I finally broken you, little spider?”

Her laugh is supposed to be taunting but it just releases another spike of arousal through your whole body as if she somehow managed to alter your genes, confuse every nerve. Your entire self had changed with a single bite from a radioactive spider, who said you couldn’t go through the same process all over again?

“Not by a long shot,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“If I’d known it’d be this easy…” Her wet fingers graze against a hard nipple and you bite your tongue to not release another embarrassing noise. “Perhaps your Otto should take lessons.”

You let out a breathy moan, weak against the surge of all those sensory attacks and perhaps from the superposition of brown and green, tiptoeing the leyline linking her universe to yours. Unlike him, she seems to see right through you, deciphering the codex of your fantasies with a single look.

“You should describe him to me.”

“What?” you sutter. “What for–”

The twist sears through you, making your knees shake, pleasure distorting pain. The actuator against your throat tightens imperceptibly, just enough to make you remember its presence.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Are we alike?”

You scoff. “Not at all. He’s…”

A pain in the ass. Always in the way, always stealing money, always speaking about grand schemes and higher purposes. Completely mad, a total whacko, undeniably intelligent, brilliant–

“Tall.”

It makes her laugh. The touch of the actuators against your feverish skin is almost enough to cool it down. “And?”

“Uh, large?” you mutter. “He’s like a mountain or– something…”

One hand keeps playing with your nipples as the other traces random figures along your stomach which, you realize, aren’t random at all but just the complex network of your battle marks. When she runs a finger along the scar adorning your torso, you gasp softly and her gaze is all-knowing. Octavius drives you insane, and you’ll soon be complete putty in her hands, using your body as she pleases while you’re assaulted with visions of large hands and uncovered skin.

“He has uh…”

Get a fucking grip.

“Uh, he has short brown hair.”

You realize that her spit-covered fingers have travelled all the way down when she uncaringly presses a digit inside. Breath knocked out of your chest, you still hiss at the dry and unpleasant sensation but the lone actuator is quick to distract you again. When you think you had enough time to gather all your unholy thoughts and the remnants of your oxygen, her finger is joined by another, spreading you open.

“What else?” she asks, focused on her task.

You sigh, annoyed. “He has brown eyes–”

The actuator’s head suddenly splits open, revealing four small appendages and the opening of the tube that controls it. It stares at you, almost mocking, and you can’t take your eyes off it before it starts to dip down.

“Wait, wait, what do you think you’re doing–”

The echo of Octavius’ laugh is registered far at the back of your mind as the arm traps the entirety of your sex like the mouth of a carnivorous plant on a powerless bug. You feel it suck, making you throb, sputtering everywhere. The rippling of the plastic membrane makes it look alive as if it was waiting to swallow everything your body has to offer.

“Whe– where they even– fuck!, designed for th–ah!”

Octavius retreats her fingers, laughing again before getting rid of her right glove with her teeth. You try not to dwell on how filthy it is.

Fuck, it’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen.

The suction on your crotch increases and now you can only pant, gasp and droll everywhere. It's a sensation like no other, making you ignore everything else. Nails dip in your cheeks as Octavius grabs your chin to look at you, pride of your current state written all over her face.

“His eyes, you said?”

You want to kill her. “His– eyes?”

“Yes.” She giggles. “I don’t think you finished your sentence.”

You want to kiss her.

The actuator around your throat releases you, leaving you gasping for air. But your relief is brief as it soon slides against your loosened hole, slowly but surely pressing in.

‘They’re– they’re,” you stutter, arching towards her, brain devoid of any coherence. “Brown?”

She grips your face more forcefully and every sensation suddenly comes to a stop. “Have your brain already melted through your ears?”

You whine. “Ok, ok– they’re big, too gentle even–”

She smiles, a predatory thing. Aren’t spiders supposed to be predators? One good, strong suction on your crotch has you moaning so loudly you’re afraid all Achemax will come running in. “Beautiful– he’s–”

The actuator pushes inside smoothly, leaving you a shaking mess, split apart by the chaos of sensations running underneath your skin. No casual sexual encounter could have ever brought you to such a delightful, painfully aroused state. Your senses are attacked, assaulted from every direction as you’re watched, dissected under the gaze of an enemy. Octavius takes immense pleasure watching you completely surrender to her, and you can’t not picture the smug crooked smile of her counterpart in the wrinkles at the corner of her lips. There’s a lot that you could question about yourself if you hadn’t left your higher brain functions under the hands – and the tentacles, of a magnificent opponent.

“I think you have some self-reflection to do, little spider.”

You register the press of her lips late. Still holding your chin in a death grip, she kisses you like a snake strikes its prey. Eyes rolling back as she sinks her teeth into your lower lip, you arch strongly towards her, arms hurting for being held down for so long, legs spasming and chest heaving. Her tongue plunges into your mouth and she sucks at your lips not unlike how her actuators pump in and out of you, suck you dry, drive you insane…

Suddenly, she draws back, exhaling harshly against your reddened lips and you can feel her body moving forward. You only have the time to register that her hips are trusting against the actuator stuck to your crotch before she grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls harshly.

“Come on,” she pants in the crook of your neck. “Break down, sweetheart.”

You come like this, lightning travelling up your spine as you release on the mouth of the actuator, overstimulated by the trusts inside of you and the feeling of Octavius’ teeth on your skin. You spasm like an insect trapped in a web, a mouse constricted by the body of a python, arching, trusting your hips up over and over as the arm milks your orgasm out of you. Your throat is raw, your tongue is heavy and all your muscles scream from overuse but you just can’t stop coming, wetness spreading against your groin. When the actuators finally move away, you drip all over the floor, as your sex pulses, crimson red and spent.

Breathing air like it’s the first time, you try your best to calm your beating heart as you’re finally free from the arms’ grip, lowered on a nearby chair. Octavius lets out a sigh, tugging a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh well.” She smiles. “Good, very good.”

She throws your suit at your face. “You better run, little spider.”

“Uh?” You put it back, ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs.

“This is my gift to you,” she says, putting on a clean glove. “You have five minutes before I hunt you down and use your body for my experiments.”

You laugh awkwardly, voice rough as you limp through the room. “I’ll be gone then. See ya, Doc!”

The giggle she lets out is hunting. As you swing away to central New York, the traces of her abuse all over your body, you think about your Octavius.

Perhaps you’ll try a new technique next time you meet.

#olivia octavius x reader #dr octavius x reader #otto octavius x reader #olivia octavius #into the spiderverse #spiderverse imagine #spiderman imagine

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muichirolover12 · 2 months

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Your Perfect Body: F!reader x Muichiro

Smut included!

Not for my OC

Muichiro is aged up in here so don't worry .

Enjoy :3

You were coming back from a exhausting mission. You and Muichiro, your boyfriend, has been apart from each other for days due to your missions.

All you wanted was to be in his arms, but little did you know he wanted something more... Lustful.

Once you made it back to you and Muichiro's Manor you realized that no one was there. You took that opportunity and went to the shower.

While you were in the shower, Muichiro came in. He noticed that someone was insane because he heard water running. As he stepped in he spotted that your sword was on your shared bed. " Y/N !?" He called out. As you heard his voice your heart was beating proudly. " Hi Mui! I'll be out in a sec!" You replied. You was so happy to know he was here with you.

With Muichiro hearing your reply he knew you had to be starving. So he made some tea and Donburi.

He was setting the table when he noticed that the shower wasn't running. It had to be off for a while so maybe you was dreaming he thought. He quietly walked in the bathroom and froze.

You were bent over drying off your lower body. He sat there looking at the body he haven't seen in what felt like years. How your curves and all was so perfect to him. He wanted you so bad. He wanted to feel how your soft skin would touch him every time he was down or injured. He wanted all of you.

You were still drying off when in the corner of your eye saw that a figure was behind you. You slowly turned around to see the mesmerized boy staring at you body. " Mui! " Y/N said . He quickly turned around and said " I'm sorry, I thought you were already dressed. " You could tell he was flustered. He was a blushing mess! " I made some food and tea. When you're done we can eat " He said. You gave him a slight hum and he walked out.

You were full dressed and was ready to eat. You saw Muichiro at the table , staring into the abyss. To get him out of his daze you slightly called his name. He looks towards you and gave you a smile. You sat down and admired what your boyfriend has Bronx for you. " Mui!" You said in a baby voice. " Thank you! " You said giving him a hug.

As he felt your touch, a lustful sensation filled his body. He tried to contain it,rubbing his legs together. " Lets eat " He said, wanting to not burst.

You two ate your food and laid down together. " I really missed you Mui." You said, getting closer to him. He let out a weak hum ,letting you know he did as well. If was a cold night so you kept close to Muichiro. Your head was in his chest and his chin on your head. While your lower body was close to his as well. His cock was near your vagina. He scooted closer to you as his cock touched your vagina. You let out a small moan but Muichiro heard it. " I'm sorry Muichiro. " You said,not knowing the that small sound turned him on. He came closer. More moans left your mouth. That continued until Muichiro suddenly got out of bed and on top of you. He quickly took off what was ounce covering your body. He started to kiss your neck then got more aggressive. He slid to your collarbone and bit it, giving you hickeys and all. You could feel your lower body getting warm. " I can see you want me too." He said lowly. He got out of bed and stood up. He looked at your body for a couple of minutes when he said " I won't hurt you that much. I promise. "

He then took off his clothes and you just stared at his huge cock. Its was so massive. It would definitely hurt once he got in you. Then, in a flash, he was on top of you again. His cock going in and out of you at the speed of light, while he was still kissing your neck and whispering in your ear how much he missed you and how perfect your body was.

The room was filled with your moans and body slamming against each other. You felt your self reaching your limit and about to cum. " M... m.m Mui?" Were the only words that came out of your two lips before moaning again. " I'll slow down. " He said. And with that he drove his cock into you at a slower pace.

Your neck was full of hickeys and bite marks. Your pussy felt like something huge with up it ( which it did) and came out , repeating it's actions. Muichiro had let out a few groans here and there. Tears was spilling from your eyes due to how much you loved what was happening to you. You missed everything about him and you knew he felt the same way.

This happened for a hour or so until Muichiro whispered in your ear, " Good job darling, you did it. Now you're prepared for next time. " You was blushing hard. You could only see a smirk on his face.

He carried you to the bathroom to get cleared up while he changed the bed sheets due how wet it was . ( You know why.😉) You was so tired from the excitement that you called Muichiro to carry you to the bed.

Once you were in bed again, Muichiro got some chips and chocolate to ease your mind.

After eating , the two of you drifted to sleep.

Extras! :3

What Happened At Five Sunlight:

Y/N had awoken to the smell of her favorite thing to eat in the Morning. ( pick whatever it is) She rubbed her eyes and sat up to shake the sleep off.

She tried to get up to prepare for the day but her legs felt weak and she fell to the ground. She knew what caused her legs to be this way. " Mui! " she whined. Muichiro came walking in to see what she needed.

As he saw her on the floor and quickly put her on the bed. " What happened dear? " He asked looking for any injuries, ignoring the ones he caused last night. " Fell" She said. " How?" He said, now looking at her. She explained how she thought he caused her legs to not work properly.

After hearing that , he just let out a soft giggle. " I'll help you don't worry. " He carried her to the bathroom to get ready and then to the kitchen to eat. " I'll tell master that you can't go on any missions today. " He said. Y/N nodded in agreement while reading.

Eventually , Muichiro had left to go on a mission and asked if Tegen and Shinobu could look after her.

Shinobu and Tegen came and asked Y/N what happened. " Well..." She said rubbing her neck. Tegen noticed a bite mark on her and smirked. " I see you and Tokitou had fun last night. Very ✨Flashy✨ of you both." She was now blushing. " Ara Ara! Y/N! Is that why? " Shinobu asked. Y/N slowly nodded.

After that the 3 of them chatted, did activities, and ate. Eventually Muichiro came back and Tegen and Shinobu left.

✨The End✨

Hi there! Its Zaria, I'm so glad I finished this with no problems other than losing sleep but I'm fine. Thanks for reading! Byeee :3

#muichiro x reader #fanfic #muichiro smut

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spacequokka · 4 months

Text

Say My Name | 09

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader Genre: Fluff, Smut Rating: M Summary: After you've chosen them over your job, Kyungsoo makes sure you feel loved. Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: soft hard hours, dry humping, fingering, breast play, vaginal sex, editing at the last minute because I overslept

I listened to Rain and Moonlight while writing. Enjoy!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Maybe you could have worded things better, but luckily Kyungsoo had been by your side to help you explain things to the guys. Once they understood that you weren’t moving out, they were quick to rush you with hugs and kisses, beyond grateful for the chance to try things out. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors declared Jongdae and Jongin as the cleanup crew while everyone else retired to the living room to watch whatever someone found on Netflix. As usual, you found yourself in a sandwich on the loveseat, this time Chanyeol and Baekhyun.

Minseok chose an action movie, insisting on a Jackie Chan classic. Rumble in the Bronx. The conversation was light as you all actually paid attention to the TV this time. Chanyeol tucked you against his side and relaxed allowing Baekhyun to cuddle into your other side. Before you knew it, the movie was over. Someone made a comment about beating someone else’s ass in Smash Bros, and controllers came out as the shit-talking intensified.

“Well, that’s my cue.” You peeled yourself off the loveseat, ignoring Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s pitiful pouts. “Gonna go shower while I can.”

You stopped by your room to pick out a change of clothes along with your essentials. The noise in the living room got louder by the time you made it to the bathroom. You were tugging your shirt over your head when you heard the door open and shut. Hands pulled at the shirt and you yelped when you saw Kyungsoo’s face inches from your own.

“Soo! What are you doing?” You held your shirt to your chest and he chuckled.

“A shower sounded good to me.” He held up his hands. “I cooked, remember? You moved faster than I could think to ask if you’d let me join you. I’ll behave, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Though you were a little self-conscious about it, you bit your lip and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Though, I planned to wash my hair so I might hog the water for a bit.”

He shrugged and began undressing. “It’s fine with me.”

You took a deep breath and forced yourself not to think about it. He didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at you like that. You turned the shower on then continued yanking off clothes. The second you were completely bare, you stepped in. The warm spray of water felt amazing on your tense neck and shoulders. You rolled your head slowly as you massaged every muscle you could reach.

Kyungsoo stepped in behind you. “Want me to try?”

You nodded, low-key grateful for the offer. He poured some of your shower gel into his hand and lathered up. His touch was nothing short of magical. You had to lean against the wall to keep your balance once you closed your eyes and just let him take over. You jerked when you felt yourself leaning too far and his hands flew to your hips to steady you. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Let’s wash up and get out.” He touched your cheek when you looked over your shoulder at him. You started with your hair, wetting it then adding shampoo while he grabbed a loofah. He washed his body while you gave your scalp a good scrub then rinsed the suds out. The silence between you while you washed was comforting, reassuring even. You wouldn’t mind showering with him in the future. Once you were sure the shampoo was out, you reached for the conditioner, but Kyungsoo gently pried it out of your hand. “Can I? Please, _____?”

Admittedly you were a little apprehensive about it. You hadn’t let anyone touch your hair in years, convinced no one would give it the same care and patience you did. You took great pride in your hair and to allow anyone else near it like that meant you trusted him. Did you trust Kyungsoo? You bit your lip then sighed. Of course you did. Despite your apprehension, the process went smoothly. He was patient and attentive to your instructions and even asked questions for clarity. It was a level of intimacy you’d never had with another person before. You were able to shut your brain off and simply enjoy the sensation of his fingertips massaging conditioner into your scalp as he hummed a song you couldn’t quite name.

Soon enough, you were out of the shower and helping each other dry off then getting dressed. He took care to help you get your hair in a towel, working as if he’d done it a thousand times before. He was the perfect gentleman, eyes and hands never straying too far. There was a tenderness in his actions you hadn’t felt until then. It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, content and surprisingly at ease. Once you both brushed your teeth, he took your hand and led the way to his room.

“We have time to hang out before it gets too late.” He flicked the light switch on and the room was bathed in a soft mellow light. “I might do some light reading.”

“Because reading is better than staring at your phone?” You snickered as you climbed onto his bed. You’d washed his sheets and comforter plenty of times before but not once had you ever sat on it. It was incredibly soft, like sitting on a cloud. “Oh, wow.”

He smirked at you as he went around to the other side and pulled a book out of the drawer of the nightstand. “What? Did you expect me to sleep on a slab of concrete or something?”

You shook your head. “No. I knew it was a good bed, but this,” you pressed into the mattress and watched it slowly rise again, “this is heavenly.”

His cheeks lightly flushed with color as he shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome to sleep here whenever you want.” He kicked off his slippers and leaned against the headboard. “Anything of mine is yours.”

“I could never take advantage of you like that.” You flopped back onto the pillows and sighed. “My bed will do for now.”

He leaned over you with a frown. “How would that be taking advantage? I was the one that offered.”

“I know, but you’re getting nothing in return.” You looked away and swallowed hard before finishing with, “Isn’t a relationship about balance?” Seconds ticked by without a response. When you couldn’t stand the silence anymore you looked up at him and found him with a dopey grin on his face. “What?”

His hand crept across his lap to your cheek, where his thumb gently brushed against it. “This is balance. You’re giving up your comfort zone for me, for all of us. I think unrestricted access to the best bed in the building is fair trade.” He pressed his warm, soft lips to your brow and whispered, “Thank you.”

You didn’t know what to say to his tender gesture. His kiss created a ripple of goosebumps over your body. It was an odd feeling but not unwelcome. When he pulled away and picked up his book, you were tempted to follow and snuggle into his side. You were allowed to do that, right? Would he mind or would it be a distraction? You could easily get your phone and play some games or scroll through your socials—

“Come over here.” He wiggled his fingers and you smiled, barely containing a giggle. You were at his side in a second curled into him like he was a blanket with his arm around your shoulders, chin resting on top of your head as he looked at the book. “Ah, here it is.”

He got comfortable and started reading. His voice was a soft murmur as he pulled the story from the pages. His warmth seeped into you, and before you knew it, you were fighting sleep. He took a peek at you and chuckled.

“One sec,” he whispered reaching somewhere behind you. A warm, weighted blanket covered your body and he settled down again. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” His little smile was everything to you. As he continued the story, you adjusted your position and ended up resting a hand on his chest, just over his heart. Your ear was pressed against his chest and you heard his heartbeat clearly. It was a steady rhythm that was both soothing and reassuring. He pressed a kiss to your forehead just as your eyes closed for the night.

When Kyungsoo felt your body sag against him, he marked the page with his bookmark and closed it with a contented sigh. He’d never be able to fully express how relieved he was everything worked out. As he reached over and cut off the bedside lamp, he recalled the conversation they’d had about you before coming home. The conference call had been a pain to work into their schedule on top of securing privacy for everyone in their different locations.

Yet they’d made it work, just like they were sure to make this work with you.

He pulled the blanket over his legs and scooted in closer allowing you to rest your head closer to his neck where he brushed more kisses against your face. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of doing it. Not with the way you lit up and blushed. And to think, you thought he’d be okay with you moving out. Madness. Life without you isn’t really living.

His limbs relaxed as sleep started to set in and his mind returned to a past conversation with the guys.

“If I knew that taking her out of the house was allowed, she could have traveled with me.” Yixing’s voice had held a hint of irritation yet remained cordial. Kyungsoo admired him for having restraint given the situation.

Baekhyun scoffed. “She can’t leave the house for that long. And it was just one evening.”

“Even so, the rest of us weren’t aware it was allowed,” Jongin stressed. “It’s bad enough you get to go before us, but you’re also making up your own rules as you go along. What happened to keeping it professional outside of the apartment?”

“And sex on a yacht?” Chanyeol cut in. “How do we top that?”

“This isn’t a competition. It was a unique situation that happened to work out in my favor.” Junmyeon hadn’t bothered to hide the smugness.

“Bullshit!” Sehun coughed.

Kyungsoo couldn’t agree more. “A dress and shoes just happened to be lying around?”

“I couldn’t believe it either.” Jongdae stroked his chin as Baekhyun suppressed a laugh. “Almost like it fell from the sky.”

“You’re so full of it.” Sehun laughed and chaos ensued as they began yelling and pointing fingers at one another. At some point, Minseok remembered the purpose of their conference call prompting him to grab a pot and spatula. The loud clanging cut through the group’s discussion.

“We’ll discuss rules another time. Right now, we have a more urgent issue.” He paused to make sure everyone was listening before he continued. “If we plan to take things further with _, then we have to address her fears and concerns first. Naturally, job security is her first priority.”

“But we already swore to keep it between us.” Jongin pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean that she trusts us to keep our word,” Yixing spoke softly. “Or believe that things will stay between us. We could easily be overheard even right now.”

“Which means she’s constantly thinking of losing her job which also provides her a place to live.” Junmyeon sighed. “We need some way to ensure that even if the worst happens she’ll be taken care of. A backup job and housing.”

“Maybe even emergency funds?” Minseok volunteered with a snap of his fingers.

From there, they were on the same page, a team working together to come up with ways to make sure you wouldn’t have so much to overthink your pretty little head about. Of course, he’d seriously underestimated just how active your mind and anxieties were, but he was glad he got you to see reason in the end.

A soft sigh left your lips as you readjusted your head and he held you a little tighter. He really hoped you trusted them more now that you were taking a chance. Trust and communication would be of utmost importance to make things work with so many people involved.

He inhaled and the scent of your conditioner filled his senses. It was really nice to finally get a proper scent of it after being teased with fleeting whiffs as you pass by. Finally nice…to hold you like this…

In your humble opinion, Kyungsoo’s room was the best to wake up in. It didn’t directly face the rising sun, yet still allowed enough light in to get that soft early morning glow. As awareness slowly seeped in, you realized that you were completely wrapped up in Kyungsoo’s arms. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back and the warmth of his breath on your neck. You turned over to face him and he stirred slightly before opening his eyes to meet yours.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, smiling softly.

“I’d love to wake up like this more often.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek and you leaned into his touch. Your eyes locked and in that moment, you felt completely safe and secure in his embrace. You leaned in and he met you halfway, starting with a soft brush of his lips before gracing you with a gentle kiss. Once wasn’t enough. Feeling bold, you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. He didn’t say a word but his grin said enough. His hands settled on your waist as you went for another kiss. Steadying yourself with your hands on his chest, your lips connected again, this time lingering longer. His hand came to your cheek as he held you in place, opening his mouth a little to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip. You whimpered at the chill that bloomed over your skin and he chuckled. “Music to my ears, jagi.”

The way his words sounded so tender, so full of love, really rocked you to your core. It was hard to have restraint and stay guarded when he was under you being so honest and vulnerable with his affection and feelings. You couldn’t help the way you ducked your head, cheeks flaming, as you turned your attention to his jaw with little pecks that trailed to his neck. When your lips brushed over a spot just under his ear, he groaned softly and pushed his hips up against your core. His reaction surprised you while stoking the growing fire between your bodies. Curious, you did it again and followed with a gentle nip. His hands squeezed your waist, holding you firmly in place as his hips bucked up again.

He exhaled with a shudder. “Please. Just a little harder.” His voice was husky and firm. When your teeth scrapped his skin again, he pushed his neck towards you, giving you ample room to fulfill his request. This time, you suckled as your hands moved to his shoulders while your hips pressed as hard as you could against his growing erection. He hissed then outright moaned, hands moving to cup your ass as he pushed up against you. “Yeah, jagi, just like that.”

You kept at it, testing new places across his neck and collarbone to see if you could get more of those sweet sounds. When you started to move down his chest, he sat up and pulled you into another kiss, this one much more heated. His teeth caught your lip before his tongue soothed the bite. He didn’t need to ask for permission for more. You immediately let him in, surrendering control so he could explore at his leisure. His kisses were a mixture of his shyness and passion, brushing across your lips before applying pressure and nudging your lips apart, tongue stroking yours then teasing the roof of your mouth. Whenever your thighs twitched because he’d found the right spot, he’d push up against your heat and moan, filling your head with his desire. Your arms went around his neck as his hands found your waist again, both of you pushing against each other seeking friction.

He pulled away slowly with an audible smack and looked into your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone like this.” His voice was just barely above a whisper and filled with wonder. His eyebrows wrinkled. “And I don’t want to try it with anyone else either.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “I know it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Kyungsoo—”

He inhaled sharply, grip tightening as he looked at you startled. “S-say it again. Say my name like that again, jagi.”

You leaned in and kissed him again. “Kyungsoo, please. Can we—” You couldn’t bring yourself to get the words out, to ask for what you both wanted. A whine escaped your lips before you squeezed him with your thighs, hoping he’d get the hint. You’d gotten used to them taking the lead yet here he was letting you lead the way. “Please.”

His chuckle was low and throaty making his chest rumble against yours. “Please, what?” He nudged your head to the side and skimmed his lips along your throat to your shoulder. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your cheeks burned, and you closed your eyes. “Don’t tease me. You know what I’m trying to say.” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “I want it.”

“Hm,” he looked up as if he were thinking. “Close but not good enough.” He fell back onto his pillows and pulled you with him then rolled both of you onto your sides. His kiss was deeper as his hand found your waist, fingers exploring your heated skin. “Tell me what it is you want, jagi. I’ll give it to you if you just tell me.”

Frustration threatened to consume you. You put a leg over his hip and pulled him closer, moaning softly at the feel of him pressed against where you wanted him. “Need you here,” you whispered against his lips with a pointed roll of your hips. “Wanna feel you inside me. Please?”

He smiled as the hand on your waist skirted over your silk sleep shorts down to your thigh. “Inside? Are you sure?” He pushed the fabric out of the way and his fingertips brushed over your panties. “Mmm, she’s soaking through your clothes, jagi.” His lips returned to your neck. “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes, please.” You pressed down against his fingers, crying out when he pushed your panties to the side and touched your slit.

“Shit,” he hissed and pulled away. “You need to take this off.” He tugged at your shorts. You nodded and lifted your hips to let him pull your shorts and panties down your legs. “All of it.” No sooner than you’d tossed the garments away, his hands were pulling at your shirt and then unclipping your bra. Cool air hit your nipples and you shuddered when his warm hands cupped your breasts. “Finally.” He brushed soft kisses over your chest before drawing a nipple into his mouth. His moan went straight to your core, making you clench and grab his hair.

“Oh, fuck—Soo—please!”

He lapped and sucked, twisted and pinched until he could barely keep you pinned to the bed. He casually trailed his hands down your body until one rested on your thigh as the other touched between your legs. “So messy.” His fingers smeared slick over your pussy before two parted your folds and went in, one then two. “So beautiful.”

You pulled at his shirt. “Off. I wanna see you too.” You finished with a pout and he smiled.

“Of course, my love.” He tugged his shirt off then laid beside you to kick his boxers off. He was rock hard, pressed against your thigh and so very close to where you wanted him most. You teased the tip of his cock with your fingers before wrapping your palm around it. “Mmm, love the feel of you.” He caught your lips in another bruising kiss as his hips started to move. His hand wrapped around yours and he guided your hand up and down the shaft, applying pressure around the head making him moan sweetly into your mouth. He pulled away and did the same with your hands. “Next time.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Will you put it in now?”

He slipped one hand under your neck. “Yes.” He pulled a condom from under your pillow and handed it to you. “Don’t question it. Baekhyun’s idea.” You laughed as you tore open the package and rolled it on for him. His other hand went under your knee and pulled it over his hip allowing his cock to glide across your sticky folds. He held his lip between his teeth as he rolled his hips, captivated by the way the tip would slide over your entrance making you moan a little louder than before.

“You’re teasing!” You groaned and pushed his shoulders. He rolled over onto his back as you positioned yourself on top, eagerly reaching behind you for his cock and lining it up. You had to swirl your hips a few times but once you felt pressure in the right spot, you pressed down with a delighted moan. It wouldn’t go in right away so you lifted up and tried again, getting a few more inches in.

“Please stop squeezing!” His eyes were screwed shut with a death grip on your waist. “J-just relax and let gravity do the rest.” You didn’t realize you were tensing up. Sure enough, once you took a deep breath and relaxed the fit was much smoother. “Ohhh, fuck.”

You put your hands on his chest, lightly rubbing his nipples. “Do you need a minute?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. Just—yeah a minute.”

“Okay, no rush.” You smiled and leaned down to kiss him. He welcomed the distraction, hands cupping your face as pecks turned into deeper kisses with playful nips and teasing tongues. When your fingers found his hair again, he rolled his hips up into you. You had to reposition your hands just above his shoulders to keep your balance. “Soo!”

“Don’t fall over.” He muttered before thrusting up into you again. “So good.” You braced yourself and met his next thrust. The gentle grind sped up until you had a steady, comfortable rhythm. “Slow down, jagi.” He kissed you gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”

“But I wanna cum. Want you deep.” You could barely think with the way your body was lighting up with pleasure. “Don’t wanna wait.”

“You can do it.” His hands cupped your breasts again, fingers toying with your nipples. “Keep the pace. Take it slow.”

You covered his hands with your own and whimpered, dropping down onto his dick harder. He flinched, squeezing your breasts. The feeling shot through you, making your pussy clench. “Fuck. I need—I need more. Please, Kyungsoo.”

He shifted his body, propping his feet up on the bed. “Then take it, jagi. Take what you need.” One of his hands grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled, arching your back. He sped up the pace, pounding up into you with long, deep thrusts that made you shake and cry out. Mindlessly, you followed his lead, riding him hard and meeting his hips with loud claps of skin. Your head went empty, focused on his grunts and moans and occasionally swirling your hips. “Almost there?”

You nodded, head jerking. “So close, so close.”

“Give me your hands.” He let go of you and held his palms up. You laced your fingers with his. “Okay, now pull your knees up and squat. Yes, good girl. Use the bed to bounce—fuck!”

You couldn’t even moan. He went impossibly deep, hitting that spot right on with each thrust. It felt so good, turning your legs to jelly the closer you got to orgasm. He watched you closely and the second you started to twitch, he quickly rolled both of you over onto your sides again, lifted up your leg, and pounded you through it. Your arms were around his shoulders as you babbled his name mixed with curses and moans right into his ear. You felt a tremor go through him and he sped up, working with shallow thrusts until he pushed in deep and let go. His embrace was tight as he buried his face in your neck, hips surging gently until he slowed to a stop and let out a deep breath.

His eyes opened slowly and he looked at you. “How do you feel? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head with a wide smile. “I feel amazing. Light as a cloud. You?”

He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes again. “I feel…complete. I can understand why they value the intimacy so much. I get to see another side of you and it’s exclusive to us. No one else gets to see you fall apart like that.” He pressed another kiss to your skin. “Makes me feel special.”

“You’ve always been special to me.” You leaned back. “You always will be.”

He looked into your eyes for a few seconds. “I love you. I hope you don’t think it’s too soon, but I’ve never been this sure about someone. I know I love you and I know it’d take a hell of a lot to change that.”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re right. Everything you said last night? It was more than just a job, and I love seeing your reactions to the personal touches. I love doing anything that makes you all happy.” You looked away, unable to take the full weight of his gaze. “And I know it wouldn’t be the same with another group…because this is my home. I love you, too.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” He kissed you, slow and gentle, stopping for air only to dive right back in. “So sweet to us. Thank you.”

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